9th Sunday after Pentecost--Proper 15A
August 14, 2011
When I was driving up to Jackson on Wednesday, I noticed a church sign on the outskirts of Wiggins. It said, “When in doubt, don’t pout, just give Jesus a shout.” If only it were that neat and clean and simple!
But our gospel for today is very messy, even offensive and doesn’t quite fit into such a nice, neat formula for faithful living. In our gospel today, the very presence of the word “Canaanite” “stirs up memories of ancient foes—idol worshiping enemies over against whom the people of Israel defined themselves.” And in Matthew’s gospel it takes on an added complexity because the author of Matthew intentionally lists the Canaanite women Tamar, Rahab, and Ruth as a part of Jesus’s own geneology and a part of his family story.i So there’s already the presence of that messy mixture of associations with the people of Cana, and then, in our gospel portion for today, Jesus talks about eating and the bodily function that result, and he calls a woman who petitions him (via shout) to help her sick child a dog (which is a typical Jewish expression for Gentiles, but still quite offensive).
The two pieces of this gospel at first glance seem unrelated—Jesus is teaching the crowds about Jewish dietary law and ritual defilement and about how people should worry more about what is coming out of our hearts, and then Jesus takes a road trip into Canaanite country, where he encounters this woman who shouts at him, petitioning that he heal her demon possessed daughter. These two incidences may seem unrelated, but by placing them together, Matthew’s gospel and our lectionary indicate that there is some sort of connection. “In the first [part of today’s gospel] people who are socially accepted [the Pharisees] emphasize external differences [observance of the Jewish dietary laws] and miss the matters of the heart [what are truly impediments to our relationship with God and others—‘evil intentions, murder, adultery, fornication, theft, false witness, slander…’] Whereas in the second [part], a woman who is socially marginalized breaks through external differences [of gender, culture, and cultural prejudices] to claim God’s mercy.”ii The encounter between Jesus and his disciples and the Canaanite woman becomes the illustrative parable of what Jesus is teaching the crowds in the first part of the gospel. And interestingly enough, in the second part, the disciples play the part of the Pharisees.
Today, I invite you to take some time and identify with the different characters in the story of the Canaanite woman. Let’s look at the woman first. This is a woman who is not bound by conventional social propriety or norms or even deep-rooted conflicts. She is brazen in her cry to Jesus, and she shouts at him, “Lord, have mercy.” It is a prayer that echoes down through the centuries and has been shouted and whispered by millions of lips—“the cry of the soul in extremis, a raw witness to the depth and misery of the human condition.”iii In the Greek phrase that is translated as “Lord, have mercy,” mercy is not a noun, a sympathetic feeling; mercy in the Greek is a verb. It is an action. This woman’s challenge is for Jesus to act, to do something.
On the other hand, the disciples in today’s gospel are very worried about propriety. First they complain, “Lord, you offended some Pharisees,” and then they complain, “Lord, send that woman away; she keeps shouting after us!” I wonder what it is that they are really worried about in their seeming obsession with propriety? What do they learn by witnessing Jesus’s encounter with the Canaanite woman?
And then there is Jesus, who is especially enigmatic in this lesson. Why is his first response to the woman silence? Is his understanding of his mission changed in this encounter?
In Matthew’s gospel, mercy is absolutely central to Jesus’s ministry. He quotes Hosea on two different occasions (9:14, 12:7) and says, “I desire mercy not sacrifice.”iv In his encounter with the Canaanite woman, Jesus models for us what this means. He shows us what God’s mercy looks like and that it is all inclusive. He shows us that we don’t get to decide who is good enough (or not) to receive God’s mercy. And what does he mean when he speaks about the woman’s great faith? What is she doing or saying that leads her to the healing which she seeks? (I think it is that she doesn’t care a whit that she is acting against propriety; she gives her heart fully to her demand for God’s mercy and that Jesus heal her daughter, regardless of all that separates them.)
Have you ever acted like that woman and cried out to Jesus, Lord, have mercy! Do something! Help me! What happened? Were you met with silence? When in your life have you been like the Canaanite woman, willing to defy all social convention and propriety to demand your share of God’s mercy?
When are we like the disciples and the Pharisees, more concerned with outward appearances than what is in the heart; more concerned with propriety than with mercy? What concerns of our own about propriety and what is seemly get in the way of the matters of our hearts? How do our concerns about what is seemly get in the way of the healing and transformation that God is offering us? How does our squeamishness impede our encounters with God?
Mercy and propriety seem to be at odds in this gospel, and in fact, they can at times be at odds in our own lives. It is much easier to let propriety rule our hearts than to let mercy rule. Propriety is fueled and dictated by culture, by tradition, by “the way that we’ve always done it.” Mercy is fueled by God’s intervention in our lives and the world; mercy is inspired by God’s invitation to look at others through God’s eyes, and to see others the way that God sees them, to love others the way that God loves them.
But to follow that call, we must be willing to go deeper, beyond the surface of things, to peel back the layers that we build up on our own hearts and the layers put there by our families, our culture, etc. When we encounter someone who makes us uncomfortable because of who they seem to be on the outside, we are invited to peel back the layer of what is outside and try to imagine what might be in that person’s heart. Could it be the hearts of the “other” harbor the same hopes and dreams, fears and sorrows as our own? Can it be that the heart of the other longs as deeply as our own for their share of God’s mercy? And what is it in our own hearts that makes us so afraid of the other? Are we afraid that there is not enough of God’s mercy to go around, so that we try to hoard it all for ourselves? Are we afraid that our place in the kingdom will be diminished by God’s inclusion of all God’s children?
In today’s gospel, Jesus shows us that he will not allow himself and his understanding of his mission to be an impediment between the Canaanite woman and God’s mercy. May we have the courage to follow this way he has set, and to go and do likewise.
Essential idea from Feasting on the Word: Theological Perspective by Iwan Russell-Jones, pp356-357.
From Feasting on the Word: Exegetical Perspective by Jae Won Lee, pp 357-361.
Essential idea from Feasting on the Word: Theological Perspective by Iwan Russell-Jones, pp358
Wednesday, August 17, 2011
Tuesday, August 9, 2011
8th Sunday after Pentecost--Proper 14A
8th Sunday after Pentecost—Proper 14A
August 7, 2011
Jesus and Moses were out one day playing golf. They pull up to a hole in their cart, and they see that this hole had a water element. So Jesus pulls out his 5 iron and prepares to hit. Moses says, ‘I don’t know about that, Jesus. I think you should use your 4 iron here. Jesus replies, “No, I don’t think so, Moses. I’ve been watching a lot of Jack Nicklaus, and I think he’d use the 5 iron here.” Moses says, “Ok, Jesus, whatever you say.” So Jesus hits his ball with the 5 iron and it goes right into the water. Moses takes out his 4 iron and his ball sails over the water. So the two get into their cart and drive down to the water where Jesus is looking around for his ball. Not seeing it on the edge of the water, he proceeds to walk out across the water looking for his ball. Moses sits in the cart waiting when two other golfers drive up to him, and say, “Who does that guy think he is? Jesus?” Moses replies, “No, he thinks he’s Jack Nicklaus.” (I got that joke from Fred Hutchings, who got it from Bill Fellows. Any errors in its retelling are due to my own golfing ignorance).
Our gospel reading for today picks up immediately from where last week’s story of the Jesus’ feeding of the 5, 000 leaves off. And this story of Jesus walking on the water coming straight on the heels of the other is no accident in Matthew’s gospel. The writer of Matthew is drawing upon the identity of the people of Israel and we hear echoes of their stories of salvation in these stories of Jesus’s acts. In the feeding of the 5,000 we hear the echoes of God’s feeding of the children of Israel in the wilderness with manna, and in Jesus’s walking on water, we hear echoes of the salvation of the children of Israel through the parted waters of the Red Sea.
In Hebraic thought, water represents much more than a mere physical reality. It is unfathomable depths; it is the threat of darkness and chaos; it is the potential for drowning and the shadowy menace of the creatures that swim in its depths. For the children of Israel, water is that which is opposed to God’s order that is made manifest in creation and in the salvation of Israel. In the Old Testament, God is consistently triumphing over this chaos of water and trampling victoriously over that which seeks to drown out God’s purposes.
In our reading for today, Jesus has withdrawn to a deserted place by himself, but the crowds have followed him and found him. And so he heals their sick and then he has compassion on them and feeds them. Immediately after he feeds them, he sends everyone away, including the disciples, who he sends on ahead of him in the boat to the other side. And Jesus stays there on the mountain by himself to pray. Meanwhile, back in the boat, the disciples find themselves battered by the wind and the waves, and in the wee hours of the morning, they see Jesus walking toward them on the water. It’s not until this point in the story that these seasoned fishermen truly become afraid. They know wind and water and how to deal with it, but they have no idea what to do with this figure walking on the water. They think Jesus is a ghost, and they don’t seem to recognize them. He speaks to them, and says, “Take heart, it is I; do not be afraid.” (the Greek here can also be translated “I am”—the name that God gives to Moses.)
And this is the part that really captures my imagination. The disciples are all unified in their fear and are cowering in the boat. Peter is ostensibly just as afraid as the rest, and yet he asks Jesus to reveal himself to them by commanding Peter to get out of the boat to come to him. I wonder….What is it exactly that separates Peter from the others in their fear? What is it that prompts Peter to get out of the boat?
Just this past week, I read the November book club selection—The Art of Racing in the Rain by Garth Stein. It’s a great book about a family that goes through a lot together, and the entire story is narrated by a character named Enzo, who just happens to be the family dog. Enzo spends a lot of his free time watching racing on tv while his people are away, and he learns about racing from his owner, who is an aspiring race-car driver. Enzo’s owner, Denny, tells him that the secret to successful racing is found in the statement: “that which you manifest if before you.” Enzo spends some time wrestling with this notion and the concept that we manifest our own destiny, and then he translates it into meaning: “the car goes where the eyes go.” In racing, if a person loses concentration for one moment, if his eyes lose their focus, then the car can quickly and easily follow and it can mean the different between winning the race and crashing the car. The car goes where the eyes go.
That’s what got Peter out of the boat. That’s what made the difference between his fear and his faith. And that is why he faltered. When he got out of the boat, his eyes were on Jesus. When he walked those first timid steps across the water, his eyes were on Jesus. When he took his eyes off Jesus and became again aware of the wind and the waves and his own fear, he began to falter and to sink. And Jesus reached out his hand to him, called Peter’s eyes and his heart back to Jesus, and he walked back to the boat with him. “The car goes where the eyes go”.
All of us experience fear. The fear of the chaos of the world around us, the darkness of the hearts of people who live in this world with us, our nation drowning under our over-spending and our debt and our political gridlocks and power plays. The fear of not having enough. The fear of not being able to take care of ourselves as we age, not being able to take care of those who depend upon us. The fear of all the bad things lurking out in the world that might happen to us or to the people whom we love…. (Friday GMA report on how Dow plummeted 500 points, average 401K has lost $12,000—anchor must have said the word “fear” 12 times in 2 minutes).
Fear is rampant. What separates us, like Peter, from those who are paralyzed by their fears? What gets us out of bed early on a Sunday morning to gather here together in this boat amidst the storms of our lives? “The car goes where the eyes go”. We can overcome our fears when our eyes are fixed upon Jesus.
What does that mean for our eyes to be fixed upon Jesus? Living our lives, making our decisions based in hope, not in fear. Living our lives with the belief that the abundance of the kingdom of God is a reality and that the scarcity of the world is an illusion grounded in fear. It means being rooted in the peace and stability of God, who is I AM, and not being tossed here and yon by the fads and fears of others. It means treating all people with care and concern and respect, as fellow children of God, and not as tools to be used for our own agendas or devices. It means offering all of these things, hope, abundance, care, peace, good news, and love to all whom we encounter.
And when fear does get the better of us, which it may from time to time, Jesus is standing nearby with his hand outstretched, offering us grace and peace, and pulling us out of the waters that threaten to claim us, and helping us to remember. When we keep our eyes fixed on Jesus, then Jesus becomes for us a window to God—who says, “Take heart. I am. Do not be afraid.”
August 7, 2011
Jesus and Moses were out one day playing golf. They pull up to a hole in their cart, and they see that this hole had a water element. So Jesus pulls out his 5 iron and prepares to hit. Moses says, ‘I don’t know about that, Jesus. I think you should use your 4 iron here. Jesus replies, “No, I don’t think so, Moses. I’ve been watching a lot of Jack Nicklaus, and I think he’d use the 5 iron here.” Moses says, “Ok, Jesus, whatever you say.” So Jesus hits his ball with the 5 iron and it goes right into the water. Moses takes out his 4 iron and his ball sails over the water. So the two get into their cart and drive down to the water where Jesus is looking around for his ball. Not seeing it on the edge of the water, he proceeds to walk out across the water looking for his ball. Moses sits in the cart waiting when two other golfers drive up to him, and say, “Who does that guy think he is? Jesus?” Moses replies, “No, he thinks he’s Jack Nicklaus.” (I got that joke from Fred Hutchings, who got it from Bill Fellows. Any errors in its retelling are due to my own golfing ignorance).
Our gospel reading for today picks up immediately from where last week’s story of the Jesus’ feeding of the 5, 000 leaves off. And this story of Jesus walking on the water coming straight on the heels of the other is no accident in Matthew’s gospel. The writer of Matthew is drawing upon the identity of the people of Israel and we hear echoes of their stories of salvation in these stories of Jesus’s acts. In the feeding of the 5,000 we hear the echoes of God’s feeding of the children of Israel in the wilderness with manna, and in Jesus’s walking on water, we hear echoes of the salvation of the children of Israel through the parted waters of the Red Sea.
In Hebraic thought, water represents much more than a mere physical reality. It is unfathomable depths; it is the threat of darkness and chaos; it is the potential for drowning and the shadowy menace of the creatures that swim in its depths. For the children of Israel, water is that which is opposed to God’s order that is made manifest in creation and in the salvation of Israel. In the Old Testament, God is consistently triumphing over this chaos of water and trampling victoriously over that which seeks to drown out God’s purposes.
In our reading for today, Jesus has withdrawn to a deserted place by himself, but the crowds have followed him and found him. And so he heals their sick and then he has compassion on them and feeds them. Immediately after he feeds them, he sends everyone away, including the disciples, who he sends on ahead of him in the boat to the other side. And Jesus stays there on the mountain by himself to pray. Meanwhile, back in the boat, the disciples find themselves battered by the wind and the waves, and in the wee hours of the morning, they see Jesus walking toward them on the water. It’s not until this point in the story that these seasoned fishermen truly become afraid. They know wind and water and how to deal with it, but they have no idea what to do with this figure walking on the water. They think Jesus is a ghost, and they don’t seem to recognize them. He speaks to them, and says, “Take heart, it is I; do not be afraid.” (the Greek here can also be translated “I am”—the name that God gives to Moses.)
And this is the part that really captures my imagination. The disciples are all unified in their fear and are cowering in the boat. Peter is ostensibly just as afraid as the rest, and yet he asks Jesus to reveal himself to them by commanding Peter to get out of the boat to come to him. I wonder….What is it exactly that separates Peter from the others in their fear? What is it that prompts Peter to get out of the boat?
Just this past week, I read the November book club selection—The Art of Racing in the Rain by Garth Stein. It’s a great book about a family that goes through a lot together, and the entire story is narrated by a character named Enzo, who just happens to be the family dog. Enzo spends a lot of his free time watching racing on tv while his people are away, and he learns about racing from his owner, who is an aspiring race-car driver. Enzo’s owner, Denny, tells him that the secret to successful racing is found in the statement: “that which you manifest if before you.” Enzo spends some time wrestling with this notion and the concept that we manifest our own destiny, and then he translates it into meaning: “the car goes where the eyes go.” In racing, if a person loses concentration for one moment, if his eyes lose their focus, then the car can quickly and easily follow and it can mean the different between winning the race and crashing the car. The car goes where the eyes go.
That’s what got Peter out of the boat. That’s what made the difference between his fear and his faith. And that is why he faltered. When he got out of the boat, his eyes were on Jesus. When he walked those first timid steps across the water, his eyes were on Jesus. When he took his eyes off Jesus and became again aware of the wind and the waves and his own fear, he began to falter and to sink. And Jesus reached out his hand to him, called Peter’s eyes and his heart back to Jesus, and he walked back to the boat with him. “The car goes where the eyes go”.
All of us experience fear. The fear of the chaos of the world around us, the darkness of the hearts of people who live in this world with us, our nation drowning under our over-spending and our debt and our political gridlocks and power plays. The fear of not having enough. The fear of not being able to take care of ourselves as we age, not being able to take care of those who depend upon us. The fear of all the bad things lurking out in the world that might happen to us or to the people whom we love…. (Friday GMA report on how Dow plummeted 500 points, average 401K has lost $12,000—anchor must have said the word “fear” 12 times in 2 minutes).
Fear is rampant. What separates us, like Peter, from those who are paralyzed by their fears? What gets us out of bed early on a Sunday morning to gather here together in this boat amidst the storms of our lives? “The car goes where the eyes go”. We can overcome our fears when our eyes are fixed upon Jesus.
What does that mean for our eyes to be fixed upon Jesus? Living our lives, making our decisions based in hope, not in fear. Living our lives with the belief that the abundance of the kingdom of God is a reality and that the scarcity of the world is an illusion grounded in fear. It means being rooted in the peace and stability of God, who is I AM, and not being tossed here and yon by the fads and fears of others. It means treating all people with care and concern and respect, as fellow children of God, and not as tools to be used for our own agendas or devices. It means offering all of these things, hope, abundance, care, peace, good news, and love to all whom we encounter.
And when fear does get the better of us, which it may from time to time, Jesus is standing nearby with his hand outstretched, offering us grace and peace, and pulling us out of the waters that threaten to claim us, and helping us to remember. When we keep our eyes fixed on Jesus, then Jesus becomes for us a window to God—who says, “Take heart. I am. Do not be afraid.”
Monday, July 11, 2011
4th Sunday after Pentecost--Proper 10A
4th Sunday after Pentecost
Proper 10A
There once was a man who ran a large charity, and one day he noticed that the banker who lived in town had never given any money to the charity. He called up the banker and said, ‘According to our records, you make $500,000 a year. And yet you’ve never given one penny to our charity.’ The banker replied, ‘Do your records also show that I have a very sick mother with very expensive medical bills?’ The man replied: ‘Oh! Sorry! I didn’t know.’ The banker continued, ‘Or do they show that my brother is unemployed or that my sister’s husband died leaving her a widow with three small children?’ ‘I…I…I’ the charity representative stammered in embarrassment. The banker continued, ‘If I don’t give them any money, what makes you think I’ll give any to your charity?”
“And Jesus told them many things in parables, saying: ‘Listen! A sower went out to sow. And as he sowed, some seeds fell on the path, and the birds came and ate them up. Other seeds fell on rocky ground, where they did not have much soil, and they sprang up quickly, since they had not depth of soil. But when the sun rose, they were scorched; and since they had not root, they withered away. Other seeds fell among thorns, and the thorns grew up and choked them. Other seeds fell on good soil and brought forth grain, some a hundredfold, some sixty, some thirty. Let anyone with ears listen!’”
Jesus’s parables are designed to challenge us and our understanding of reality. The challenge of today’s parable, even a bit of the shock of it, really, is found in its radical conclusion. There may be some times in our live when we need to focus on the different types of soil Jesus talks about in this parable, and we certainly know that we’ve all been all of those different types of soil when our souls our inhospitable to God’s word and to faith, we understand that there are times a areas of our lives in which God’s word, and faith do not, for whatever reasons, take root and yield; and it’s all too easy for us to judge ourselves and others according to the parable and the different types of soil and their harvest (or seeming lack thereof).
But the challenge of this parable today is the shocking, wasteful, indiscriminate character of God’s abundance. And this parable challenges us to believe in that, and to give our hearts to that abundance.
The actual parable ends with a miracle. Even after the sower sows seed so indiscriminately, the yield is not just sevenfold, which would be a really good year for a farmer. The harvest is not just tenfold, which would mean true abundance. It is not even just thirty-fold, which would feed an entire village for a whole year, but it is a harvest of a hundred-fold—which would allow the farmer to retire to a villa by the sea for the rest of his life. A hundredfold harvest is miraculous, radical abundance.
If the parable ended with the sevenfold harvest from good soil, then it would be sufficient and a good story of encouragement and hope. However, this parable is not simply cautiously optimistic; it is a promise of a radical kind of hope and the assurance of miraculous generosity, of true abundance.
In the book, Singing with the Comeback Choir, novelist Bebe Moore Campbell writes, “Some of us have that empty-barrel faith. Walking around expecting things to run out. Expecting that there isn’t enough air, enough water. Expecting that someone is going to do you wrong. The God I serve told me to expect the best, that there is enough for everybody.”
Do we live out of abundance, or do we live out scarcity?
Do we live our lives as if we have that empty-barrel faith, or do we live our lives as if we believe in God’s miraculous, radical, outrageous abundance?
Do we worship with a belief in abundance or a belief in scarcity. Do we give—our time, our attention, our money—according to a trust in God’s abundance or according to what the world teaches us about scarcity?
If we ask ourselves about stewardship in our lives—mindful that the definition of stewardship can be “all that you do with all that you have after you say ‘I believe,’ then we have to acknowledge that how we live (either out of scarcity or out of abundance) is directly related to how we believe (or as Ted Dawson says—what you give you heart to. Do you give your heart to this God of miraculous, reckless abundance or do you give your heart to empty barrel faith, that there will not be enough. Do you give your heart to abundance or to scarcity?
It is so easy to give our hearts to scarcity in this life, as the anxiety in our country steadily rises and the conflict and drama around our economic woes continues. It is easy to give our hearts to scarcity as here on the Coast, we cinch our belts up a little tighter every day.
The call of our Lord and our challenge this day, and every day, is to give our hearts, again and again, to abundance.
Proper 10A
There once was a man who ran a large charity, and one day he noticed that the banker who lived in town had never given any money to the charity. He called up the banker and said, ‘According to our records, you make $500,000 a year. And yet you’ve never given one penny to our charity.’ The banker replied, ‘Do your records also show that I have a very sick mother with very expensive medical bills?’ The man replied: ‘Oh! Sorry! I didn’t know.’ The banker continued, ‘Or do they show that my brother is unemployed or that my sister’s husband died leaving her a widow with three small children?’ ‘I…I…I’ the charity representative stammered in embarrassment. The banker continued, ‘If I don’t give them any money, what makes you think I’ll give any to your charity?”
“And Jesus told them many things in parables, saying: ‘Listen! A sower went out to sow. And as he sowed, some seeds fell on the path, and the birds came and ate them up. Other seeds fell on rocky ground, where they did not have much soil, and they sprang up quickly, since they had not depth of soil. But when the sun rose, they were scorched; and since they had not root, they withered away. Other seeds fell among thorns, and the thorns grew up and choked them. Other seeds fell on good soil and brought forth grain, some a hundredfold, some sixty, some thirty. Let anyone with ears listen!’”
Jesus’s parables are designed to challenge us and our understanding of reality. The challenge of today’s parable, even a bit of the shock of it, really, is found in its radical conclusion. There may be some times in our live when we need to focus on the different types of soil Jesus talks about in this parable, and we certainly know that we’ve all been all of those different types of soil when our souls our inhospitable to God’s word and to faith, we understand that there are times a areas of our lives in which God’s word, and faith do not, for whatever reasons, take root and yield; and it’s all too easy for us to judge ourselves and others according to the parable and the different types of soil and their harvest (or seeming lack thereof).
But the challenge of this parable today is the shocking, wasteful, indiscriminate character of God’s abundance. And this parable challenges us to believe in that, and to give our hearts to that abundance.
The actual parable ends with a miracle. Even after the sower sows seed so indiscriminately, the yield is not just sevenfold, which would be a really good year for a farmer. The harvest is not just tenfold, which would mean true abundance. It is not even just thirty-fold, which would feed an entire village for a whole year, but it is a harvest of a hundred-fold—which would allow the farmer to retire to a villa by the sea for the rest of his life. A hundredfold harvest is miraculous, radical abundance.
If the parable ended with the sevenfold harvest from good soil, then it would be sufficient and a good story of encouragement and hope. However, this parable is not simply cautiously optimistic; it is a promise of a radical kind of hope and the assurance of miraculous generosity, of true abundance.
In the book, Singing with the Comeback Choir, novelist Bebe Moore Campbell writes, “Some of us have that empty-barrel faith. Walking around expecting things to run out. Expecting that there isn’t enough air, enough water. Expecting that someone is going to do you wrong. The God I serve told me to expect the best, that there is enough for everybody.”
Do we live out of abundance, or do we live out scarcity?
Do we live our lives as if we have that empty-barrel faith, or do we live our lives as if we believe in God’s miraculous, radical, outrageous abundance?
Do we worship with a belief in abundance or a belief in scarcity. Do we give—our time, our attention, our money—according to a trust in God’s abundance or according to what the world teaches us about scarcity?
If we ask ourselves about stewardship in our lives—mindful that the definition of stewardship can be “all that you do with all that you have after you say ‘I believe,’ then we have to acknowledge that how we live (either out of scarcity or out of abundance) is directly related to how we believe (or as Ted Dawson says—what you give you heart to. Do you give your heart to this God of miraculous, reckless abundance or do you give your heart to empty barrel faith, that there will not be enough. Do you give your heart to abundance or to scarcity?
It is so easy to give our hearts to scarcity in this life, as the anxiety in our country steadily rises and the conflict and drama around our economic woes continues. It is easy to give our hearts to scarcity as here on the Coast, we cinch our belts up a little tighter every day.
The call of our Lord and our challenge this day, and every day, is to give our hearts, again and again, to abundance.
Thursday, July 7, 2011
3rd Sunday after Pentecost--Proper 9A
Proper 9A
July 3, 2011
There’s a portion of today’s gospel reading from Matthew that is a part of our DNA as Episcopalians and Anglicans. This scripture is actually printed somewhere in our Book of Common Prayer. Who knows where it is? “Come unto me, all ye that travail and are heavy laden, and I will refresh you.” Matthew 11:28 It’s in our Rite One Eucharist on page 332 in between the confession of sin and absolution and the peace. What do you think that might be saying about the Anglican/Episcopal understanding of who God is? We believe that God doesn’t want us to feel badly about ourselves or our relationship with God. We believe that after we confess our sins and receive the assurance of God’s pardon, then we are invited by God to lay down the burdens that we might be carrying and to greet one another in peace and in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ.
In today’s gospel reading, Jesus is offering an invitation about how to deepen our relationship with him and thus with God, and he is offering us a new way of being in the world, a new way of being his disciples. Jesus is offering us a way to be healthier, more whole, more fully who God has created us to be.
Let’s look at this image of the yoke; for most of us, it is an image out of the past to which we have little reason to relate. A yoke is a wooden beam that links two animals (oxen, mules, horses, water buffalo) together so that they may pull together on a load while working in pairs. It has connotations of subservience. In some ancient cultures, the defeated army was forced to walk under a yoke created by the spears and swords of the victor; so it can by a symbol of something oppressive or burdensome, or it can also be a symbol for people who are working together, like in a marriage or partnership. (Did any of you military folk walk under the arch of swords at your wedding? That’s actually a practice that combines both of these historical understandings of the yoke—the conquering army piece and the yoking through marriage.)
A yoke can be something that can potentially make a really heavy load bearable by sharing the weight and the work between two workers.
In today’s passage from Matthew, Jesus is inviting his followers (us) to willingly take his yoke upon us. If we do this, he promises us a contradiction. His yoke, he says, does not mean back-breaking labor. His yoke, he says is easy and the burden is light and by sharing it with him, he promises us that we will find rest for our souls. Doesn’t that sound just lovely?! So why on earth do we still feel so restless, so burdened, so anxious, so stressed, so very heart-broken?
There are two questions I’m going to ask you this morning, that I think will help us understand the gap between Jesus’s life-giving offer to us this morning and the way that we experience the world and our lives truly to be. The first question I ask you is “to what and to whom are you really and truly yoked?” To what and to whom are you really and truly yoked?
What are you attaching yourself to these days? We all know that we always bind ourselves, however subtly, to something: people, places, habits, possessions, beliefs, ways of being in the world, groups, resentments, old hurts, ideas, schedules, expectations…Some of these yokings can be healthy and life-giving for us, but some of them can be toxic, poisonous, burdens that are just too heavy for us to bear. As you sit there in your pew this morning, take a minute and ask yourself: “to whom and to what am I yoked right now? (significant pause)
“Have you sought these connections or do you allow them to be placed upon you by others? Do these connections deepen or deaden you? Do they draw you closer to Christ or farther away from him? Do they connect you with the power, freedom, and choice that God gives you, or do they diminish your power, freedom, and choice?” (Jan Richardson The Painted Prayerbook).
What am I attaching myself to these days? It’s a question worth revisiting again and again over the course of our lives.
Here’s my second question for you this morning. When you do accept Jesus’s invitation to take up his yoke and walk with him, what do you really think, believe, understand about the nature of your yoke-mate?
A former spiritual director of mine used to tell me all the time, “Pray to the God you long for, not the God you have received.” Think for a minute which one of these is the Jesus that you really find yourself yoked with?
Often times the God that we have received demands that each of us individuals be good enough, do more, be more loving to every person, be more righteous and working toward perfection. Often the God that we have received demands that we never rest (from anything, especially doing the work of Christ), that we live up to others expectations for us, that we be successful—whatever that means. And sometimes the God that we have received inhabits the primary position of judge.
I don’t know about you, but that is most certainly not the God that I long for in my deepest heart! The God that I long for tells me that I am already enough, no matter what I may do or become. The God I long for whispers to me that I don’t have to do anything more for God to love me more than I can ask or imagine. The God I long for loves me, forgives me, invites me to find my rest in gentle Jesus and offers to me (and all of God’s people) the gift of God’s peace. The God I long for is a God who is “merciful and gracious, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love” (Psalm 103:8).
Which one of these Gods do you pray to? The God you have received or the God you long for? Which one of these Gods do you find yourself yoked to? And how might that affect not only your relationship with God but also how you experience God’s creation—the world and the people in it?
This morning, we are all invited to come forward to God’s table, to lay down all of our burdens at the foot of the cross of the Resurrected Christ, and to be fed and loved by the God for whom each of us desperately longs. And then we will go out into the world to love and serve and walk with the Lord.
July 3, 2011
There’s a portion of today’s gospel reading from Matthew that is a part of our DNA as Episcopalians and Anglicans. This scripture is actually printed somewhere in our Book of Common Prayer. Who knows where it is? “Come unto me, all ye that travail and are heavy laden, and I will refresh you.” Matthew 11:28 It’s in our Rite One Eucharist on page 332 in between the confession of sin and absolution and the peace. What do you think that might be saying about the Anglican/Episcopal understanding of who God is? We believe that God doesn’t want us to feel badly about ourselves or our relationship with God. We believe that after we confess our sins and receive the assurance of God’s pardon, then we are invited by God to lay down the burdens that we might be carrying and to greet one another in peace and in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ.
In today’s gospel reading, Jesus is offering an invitation about how to deepen our relationship with him and thus with God, and he is offering us a new way of being in the world, a new way of being his disciples. Jesus is offering us a way to be healthier, more whole, more fully who God has created us to be.
Let’s look at this image of the yoke; for most of us, it is an image out of the past to which we have little reason to relate. A yoke is a wooden beam that links two animals (oxen, mules, horses, water buffalo) together so that they may pull together on a load while working in pairs. It has connotations of subservience. In some ancient cultures, the defeated army was forced to walk under a yoke created by the spears and swords of the victor; so it can by a symbol of something oppressive or burdensome, or it can also be a symbol for people who are working together, like in a marriage or partnership. (Did any of you military folk walk under the arch of swords at your wedding? That’s actually a practice that combines both of these historical understandings of the yoke—the conquering army piece and the yoking through marriage.)
A yoke can be something that can potentially make a really heavy load bearable by sharing the weight and the work between two workers.
In today’s passage from Matthew, Jesus is inviting his followers (us) to willingly take his yoke upon us. If we do this, he promises us a contradiction. His yoke, he says, does not mean back-breaking labor. His yoke, he says is easy and the burden is light and by sharing it with him, he promises us that we will find rest for our souls. Doesn’t that sound just lovely?! So why on earth do we still feel so restless, so burdened, so anxious, so stressed, so very heart-broken?
There are two questions I’m going to ask you this morning, that I think will help us understand the gap between Jesus’s life-giving offer to us this morning and the way that we experience the world and our lives truly to be. The first question I ask you is “to what and to whom are you really and truly yoked?” To what and to whom are you really and truly yoked?
What are you attaching yourself to these days? We all know that we always bind ourselves, however subtly, to something: people, places, habits, possessions, beliefs, ways of being in the world, groups, resentments, old hurts, ideas, schedules, expectations…Some of these yokings can be healthy and life-giving for us, but some of them can be toxic, poisonous, burdens that are just too heavy for us to bear. As you sit there in your pew this morning, take a minute and ask yourself: “to whom and to what am I yoked right now? (significant pause)
“Have you sought these connections or do you allow them to be placed upon you by others? Do these connections deepen or deaden you? Do they draw you closer to Christ or farther away from him? Do they connect you with the power, freedom, and choice that God gives you, or do they diminish your power, freedom, and choice?” (Jan Richardson The Painted Prayerbook).
What am I attaching myself to these days? It’s a question worth revisiting again and again over the course of our lives.
Here’s my second question for you this morning. When you do accept Jesus’s invitation to take up his yoke and walk with him, what do you really think, believe, understand about the nature of your yoke-mate?
A former spiritual director of mine used to tell me all the time, “Pray to the God you long for, not the God you have received.” Think for a minute which one of these is the Jesus that you really find yourself yoked with?
Often times the God that we have received demands that each of us individuals be good enough, do more, be more loving to every person, be more righteous and working toward perfection. Often the God that we have received demands that we never rest (from anything, especially doing the work of Christ), that we live up to others expectations for us, that we be successful—whatever that means. And sometimes the God that we have received inhabits the primary position of judge.
I don’t know about you, but that is most certainly not the God that I long for in my deepest heart! The God that I long for tells me that I am already enough, no matter what I may do or become. The God I long for whispers to me that I don’t have to do anything more for God to love me more than I can ask or imagine. The God I long for loves me, forgives me, invites me to find my rest in gentle Jesus and offers to me (and all of God’s people) the gift of God’s peace. The God I long for is a God who is “merciful and gracious, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love” (Psalm 103:8).
Which one of these Gods do you pray to? The God you have received or the God you long for? Which one of these Gods do you find yourself yoked to? And how might that affect not only your relationship with God but also how you experience God’s creation—the world and the people in it?
This morning, we are all invited to come forward to God’s table, to lay down all of our burdens at the foot of the cross of the Resurrected Christ, and to be fed and loved by the God for whom each of us desperately longs. And then we will go out into the world to love and serve and walk with the Lord.
Sunday, June 12, 2011
Pentecost Year A
Pentecost-Year A—VBS closing
June 12, 2011
In VBS this week, we’ve spent a lot of time talking about the marvelous and wondrous works of the Lord.
We focused on 4 bible stories throughout the week, that had to do with our space themed VBS: God’s Galaxy Quest.
1. We talked about Creation—about how God created all that is—“the vast expanse of interstellar space, galaxies, suns, the planets in their courses, and this fragile earth our island home.”
2. We talked about Moses and the children of Israel, how they followed God into the promised land out of slavery in Egypt and how God went before them in a pillar of fire and a pillar of cloud.
3. We talked about how the wise men, the 3 kings followed a star to meet and worship the baby Jesus.
4. And we talked about the story of Pentecost—the reading from Acts that we just heard.
In each of these stories, God is actively present—present at creation as the one creating and as the Spirit-wind blowing over the face of the waters. God is present in fire—the pillar of fire for Moses and the children of Israel: present and actively leading them from slavery and fear into joy and freedom. God is present and active in the fiery star that the wise men followed, and God is present and active in the wind and fire at Pentecost.
In our sacred stories, fire signals the presence and the action of God.
But we often don’t know what to do with this fire, what to make of it. When we were talking about the story of Moses on night at VBS, JT was telling the children about how God spoke to Moses out of a bush that was on fire. He said to them, “Now, what do you think you would do if God spoke to you out of a bush that was on fire?” And a tiny little girl raised her hand high and then answered, “I would call 911!” Out of the mouths of babes!
Today, this day of Pentecost is a day when we celebrate the presence and work of God in wind and fire, and it is also a day when we try to remember what our baptism in fire at Pentecost means and, even more importantly, what to do with it.
In the fire of Pentecost, God’s spirit is loose and at work in the world, and through the baptism in fire at Pentecost God’s spirit continues to create.
Through baptism, God makes of each of us a new creation, people who no longer live for ourselves alone but who live to love and serve God and to love and serve others.
In baptism, we are saying yes to God, this God who has created all that is has created us and named each of us as God’s own beloved. In baptism, we accept that we are God’s beloved; we accept that we, as individuals, are also examples of God’s marvelous works.
Each one of you is a little universe created by God and you are just as breathtaking, just as lovely, just as marvelous a part of God’s creation as the sun or all the stars in the night sky.
We affirm and accept this truth in our baptism (or our parents affirm and accept this for us), and then we reaffirm it again and again throughout our lives because sometimes it’s hard to remember—when we hear voices around us or inside us telling us over and over again—you’re not good enough, you’re not attractive enough, you’re not smart enough, or rich enough…Then we have to remember our baptism and what God is saying to us at that moment and then over and over again if we will but listen: (God is saying) “You are amazing! You are a part of my marvelous works, and I love you, just as you are, just as I have created you; I love you more than you can ever imagine!”
In baptism, God isn’t just reminding us that each of us is a part of God’s marvelous works. God is making a marvelous work of all of us together. In our baptism in the Spirit, God is making of us the Church, the body of Christ; together we are the hands and feet, the eyes and ears, even the mouth of Jesus.
As a part of our baptism, we are called to give voice to the marvelous works of God; we are called to tell about God’s deeds of power; and we are called to remember that each person whom we encounter in this marvelous world that God has created is a little universe, a marvelous and unique and wondrous work of God; and we are called to treat each other accordingly. We are called to treat one another with grace, gentleness, and even reverence, and when we do that, God’s Spirit refreshes us and creates in us new hope, new faith, new life.
June 12, 2011
In VBS this week, we’ve spent a lot of time talking about the marvelous and wondrous works of the Lord.
We focused on 4 bible stories throughout the week, that had to do with our space themed VBS: God’s Galaxy Quest.
1. We talked about Creation—about how God created all that is—“the vast expanse of interstellar space, galaxies, suns, the planets in their courses, and this fragile earth our island home.”
2. We talked about Moses and the children of Israel, how they followed God into the promised land out of slavery in Egypt and how God went before them in a pillar of fire and a pillar of cloud.
3. We talked about how the wise men, the 3 kings followed a star to meet and worship the baby Jesus.
4. And we talked about the story of Pentecost—the reading from Acts that we just heard.
In each of these stories, God is actively present—present at creation as the one creating and as the Spirit-wind blowing over the face of the waters. God is present in fire—the pillar of fire for Moses and the children of Israel: present and actively leading them from slavery and fear into joy and freedom. God is present and active in the fiery star that the wise men followed, and God is present and active in the wind and fire at Pentecost.
In our sacred stories, fire signals the presence and the action of God.
But we often don’t know what to do with this fire, what to make of it. When we were talking about the story of Moses on night at VBS, JT was telling the children about how God spoke to Moses out of a bush that was on fire. He said to them, “Now, what do you think you would do if God spoke to you out of a bush that was on fire?” And a tiny little girl raised her hand high and then answered, “I would call 911!” Out of the mouths of babes!
Today, this day of Pentecost is a day when we celebrate the presence and work of God in wind and fire, and it is also a day when we try to remember what our baptism in fire at Pentecost means and, even more importantly, what to do with it.
In the fire of Pentecost, God’s spirit is loose and at work in the world, and through the baptism in fire at Pentecost God’s spirit continues to create.
Through baptism, God makes of each of us a new creation, people who no longer live for ourselves alone but who live to love and serve God and to love and serve others.
In baptism, we are saying yes to God, this God who has created all that is has created us and named each of us as God’s own beloved. In baptism, we accept that we are God’s beloved; we accept that we, as individuals, are also examples of God’s marvelous works.
Each one of you is a little universe created by God and you are just as breathtaking, just as lovely, just as marvelous a part of God’s creation as the sun or all the stars in the night sky.
We affirm and accept this truth in our baptism (or our parents affirm and accept this for us), and then we reaffirm it again and again throughout our lives because sometimes it’s hard to remember—when we hear voices around us or inside us telling us over and over again—you’re not good enough, you’re not attractive enough, you’re not smart enough, or rich enough…Then we have to remember our baptism and what God is saying to us at that moment and then over and over again if we will but listen: (God is saying) “You are amazing! You are a part of my marvelous works, and I love you, just as you are, just as I have created you; I love you more than you can ever imagine!”
In baptism, God isn’t just reminding us that each of us is a part of God’s marvelous works. God is making a marvelous work of all of us together. In our baptism in the Spirit, God is making of us the Church, the body of Christ; together we are the hands and feet, the eyes and ears, even the mouth of Jesus.
As a part of our baptism, we are called to give voice to the marvelous works of God; we are called to tell about God’s deeds of power; and we are called to remember that each person whom we encounter in this marvelous world that God has created is a little universe, a marvelous and unique and wondrous work of God; and we are called to treat each other accordingly. We are called to treat one another with grace, gentleness, and even reverence, and when we do that, God’s Spirit refreshes us and creates in us new hope, new faith, new life.
Thursday, June 9, 2011
The Sunday after the Ascension--Year A
Easter 7A—Sunday after Ascension
June 5, 2011
You would think that after the resurrection, nothing would surprise them, these disciples who had walked with him, who had seen him heal so many and work so many wonders. But that day, outside on the mount called Olivet, they were most surprised to see their friend and master lifted up in a cloud toward heaven until he was taken out of their sight. They were so surprised that all they could do was stand there, with their mouths open, watching and wondering, until two men in white approach them and seem to break their spell.
We know something about that, don’t we? Sometimes life surprises us, catches us off guard, throws us a curve ball, and we are so surprised that we cannot know or remember how to proceed. Sometimes this surprise comes through a blessing, but sometimes it comes through a loss. Sometimes it is even God who surprises us.
So, when the disciples finally come to their senses, what do they do? They remember what Jesus has told them, to wait in Jerusalem, and so they do just that. They go back to Jerusalem, and they wait; they’re not even really sure what they’re waiting for. But still they wait.
For us, waiting is a lost art. In our high-speed, technologically advanced culture, we chafe at any waiting we are forced to do. We fidget and fuss, we fret and we grow anxious. We as a people have lost the art of waiting gracefully. So when we must do it, we often do it badly.
This part of the Easter season in which we find ourselves today has much to teach us about waiting gracefully. It is an in-between time, after Jesus has ascended to heaven and before the gift of the Holy Spirit, the comforter given at Pentecost. We long for the gift of the Spirit, for some solid definition of who and where we are and what we are supposed to be doing. But for today, at least, we are called to follow the example of the disciples. Today we are called to wait.
We see in the story from Acts, that waiting gracefully, waiting faithfully is also a part of Christian discipleship. It is as much a part of Christian action as service, stewardship, charity…For the disciples didn’t go back to that room and twiddle their thumbs. They went back and they waited in an intentional way. Two notable actions characterize the disciples’ waiting. They stay together; and they pray.
As they wait together, they physically manifest the reality that, even though Jesus is gone, they are all still in this together. And even before they are given the gift of the Holy Spirit at Pentecost and are made the Church, they are already acting like how the church is supposed to act. For that is what the church really is: a body of people who are in this thing together, people who no longer have to “go it alone,” who do not have to wait and agonize and battle anxiety alone but who have a whole host of others to wait with.
And as they wait, they pray. They turn their focus away from the work of waiting and they turn it toward God, the source of all good gifts. They pray because in their waiting they are reminded that they are truly powerless, but that in God, all things are held in God’s care and in God’s power and in God’s time.
So much of our lives are made up of the in-between times. Already we have received the gift of the Holy Spirit at our baptism, but God’s kingdom is not yet fulfilled.
In our baptism, we are called to be people who wait well and also who wait with one another. Take a moment and remember when the last time was that you waited well? When was the last time you waited with another? What characterized that time? Was it the support, the community? Was it prayer?
In this in-between time between Ascension and Pentecost, and in all the in-between times in our lives, may we hold together, wait with and bear with one another, and may we turn our eyes to God, the giver of all good things and the creator of hope; may God grant us the spirit cast all of our anxiety upon God, to remain steadfast in our faith that Christ himself will “restore, support, strengthen and establish us;” may God give us the grace to hold together and to wait gracefully, through prayer and in hope.
June 5, 2011
You would think that after the resurrection, nothing would surprise them, these disciples who had walked with him, who had seen him heal so many and work so many wonders. But that day, outside on the mount called Olivet, they were most surprised to see their friend and master lifted up in a cloud toward heaven until he was taken out of their sight. They were so surprised that all they could do was stand there, with their mouths open, watching and wondering, until two men in white approach them and seem to break their spell.
We know something about that, don’t we? Sometimes life surprises us, catches us off guard, throws us a curve ball, and we are so surprised that we cannot know or remember how to proceed. Sometimes this surprise comes through a blessing, but sometimes it comes through a loss. Sometimes it is even God who surprises us.
So, when the disciples finally come to their senses, what do they do? They remember what Jesus has told them, to wait in Jerusalem, and so they do just that. They go back to Jerusalem, and they wait; they’re not even really sure what they’re waiting for. But still they wait.
For us, waiting is a lost art. In our high-speed, technologically advanced culture, we chafe at any waiting we are forced to do. We fidget and fuss, we fret and we grow anxious. We as a people have lost the art of waiting gracefully. So when we must do it, we often do it badly.
This part of the Easter season in which we find ourselves today has much to teach us about waiting gracefully. It is an in-between time, after Jesus has ascended to heaven and before the gift of the Holy Spirit, the comforter given at Pentecost. We long for the gift of the Spirit, for some solid definition of who and where we are and what we are supposed to be doing. But for today, at least, we are called to follow the example of the disciples. Today we are called to wait.
We see in the story from Acts, that waiting gracefully, waiting faithfully is also a part of Christian discipleship. It is as much a part of Christian action as service, stewardship, charity…For the disciples didn’t go back to that room and twiddle their thumbs. They went back and they waited in an intentional way. Two notable actions characterize the disciples’ waiting. They stay together; and they pray.
As they wait together, they physically manifest the reality that, even though Jesus is gone, they are all still in this together. And even before they are given the gift of the Holy Spirit at Pentecost and are made the Church, they are already acting like how the church is supposed to act. For that is what the church really is: a body of people who are in this thing together, people who no longer have to “go it alone,” who do not have to wait and agonize and battle anxiety alone but who have a whole host of others to wait with.
And as they wait, they pray. They turn their focus away from the work of waiting and they turn it toward God, the source of all good gifts. They pray because in their waiting they are reminded that they are truly powerless, but that in God, all things are held in God’s care and in God’s power and in God’s time.
So much of our lives are made up of the in-between times. Already we have received the gift of the Holy Spirit at our baptism, but God’s kingdom is not yet fulfilled.
In our baptism, we are called to be people who wait well and also who wait with one another. Take a moment and remember when the last time was that you waited well? When was the last time you waited with another? What characterized that time? Was it the support, the community? Was it prayer?
In this in-between time between Ascension and Pentecost, and in all the in-between times in our lives, may we hold together, wait with and bear with one another, and may we turn our eyes to God, the giver of all good things and the creator of hope; may God grant us the spirit cast all of our anxiety upon God, to remain steadfast in our faith that Christ himself will “restore, support, strengthen and establish us;” may God give us the grace to hold together and to wait gracefully, through prayer and in hope.
Wednesday, June 1, 2011
Easter 6A sermon
Easter 6A
May 29, 2011
Sometimes in a week, a homily creeps up on me. It started this week with a seemingly random song going round in my head:
“Sometimes I feel like a motherless child/ sometimes I feel like a motherless child/. Sometimes, I feel like a motherless child/a long ways from home/ a long, long ways from home.”
In our gospel reading today, we see Jesus and his disciples right in the middle of the Last Supper. I can just imagine the looks on the faces of the disciples as Jesus tells them that he will not be with them much longer. They are the expressions of people who have known in the past what it is to feel like be a motherless child. And so he says to them, “I will not leave you orphaned.” You may feel like motherless children now, but this will not always be so. I will send you a comforter, and advocate, and you will belong to me and to each other through what has always bound us: love.
Some of us also know what it means to feel like a motherless child, to be left alone, abandoned, to feel we have become orphaned with no kin or care to be found. We can be surrounded by people at all times and in all places and still feel alone, orphaned, like motherless children. So where is the good news in today’s gospel for us? Where is this fulfillment of Jesus’s promise to not leave us as orphans?
The 12th century Abbot Bernard of Clairvaux writes about the four degrees of love. “There is the infantile stage of ‘love of self for the sake of self.’ ‘Give me that bottle!’ We may progress to the next stage of ‘love of the other for the sake of self.’ ‘Oh, you gave me that bottle.’ And so on to the more or less selfless stage of ‘love of the other for the sake of the other.’ This is the place of genuine human love, a reflection of the love of God, the place of altruism. But, says Bernard, there is a final stage which is heaven’s healing. This is the ‘love of self only for the sake of the Other.’ Knowing this love is to arrive at a true image of myself, a measure of the view God has of me, to see myself to some degree in the way the One who loves me into being sees me.”
The gift of today’s gospel is a reminder of Jesus’s commandment to us. As followers of Jesus’s way, we are called to give love freely, called to love God and to love others. But we are also called to receive love. We are called to receive the love of God that is freely offered to us, and we are called to receive love from other people.
This past week, I read an article by the Episcopal priest Sam Portaro called “Practicing a Life of Prayer.” In this article, Portaro writes about two spiritual practices that we can do in our everyday lives, to help us grow more deeply in our knowledge and love of God and each other. The first, he says, is to “pay attention.” This is not as easy as it sounds. We all know how much is competing for our attention, and Portaro challenges us to be more intentional about where we give our attention; being intentional about being a steward of the gift of attention that God has given me.” He writes that we have to ask ourselves the difficult questions about where and how we give our attention: “Am I paying attention to the people and concerns that have the greatest value for me that represent love for God, neighbor, and self? Am I giving the 1st fruits of my attention, the best of my attention to God? Or am I squandering it, throwing my precious attention away…” “When I pay attention, I don’t have to remind myself of God’s presence in my life; God is nearly always present and manifest, recognizable in the other, the one in whom and to whom I have paid my attention.”
The poet Marge Piercy wrote “Attention is love.” And I think she is right.
The second spiritual discipline that Portaro articulates is to “take care.” This phrase, which is often used as a casual farewell, is of profound weight in our spiritual practice. We are called to “receive, reach out, and seize hold of care” that is offered to us. This is hard for us. We don’t want to seem weak or needy or dependent. We do not want to have to rely on the care of another, and so often we resist care and concern and love when it is offered to us. But Portaro insists that this care is a gift from God through others, and that we are called by God to accept it. “Take the care that God holds out, offers in the hands of those who reach out to help. Take the care proffered in those friends God gives us who manifest God’s love in the flesh, the companions whoare there for us and with us in the inevitable dark night, those who believe in us, love us even when we find it hard to believe in or love ourselves. Take the care that comes running to the door and leaps into your arms, happy that you’re home, whether it’s the love of your child, or the love of your dog. Take the care that comes your way and receive it as the gift of God that it is…”
This morning, may you hear and believe the words of our Risen Lord: I do not leave you orphaned, as motherless children. God is with you, loving you more than you can ask or imagine. And God has given you brothers and sisters to love you and walk with you along the way, to give you encouragement and hope; to give and receive love, and to help you remember that you are not alone.
References:
“Sometimes I Feel Like a Motherless Chile” hymn 169 from Lift Every Voice II .
From the Rt. Rev Jeffrey Lee’s article “On the Theology of Wellness” in Credo’s All Shall Be Well compilation.
From The Very Rev. Sam Portaro’s article “Pracitcing a Life of Prayer” in Credo’s All Shall Be Well compilation.
May 29, 2011
Sometimes in a week, a homily creeps up on me. It started this week with a seemingly random song going round in my head:
“Sometimes I feel like a motherless child/ sometimes I feel like a motherless child/. Sometimes, I feel like a motherless child/a long ways from home/ a long, long ways from home.”
In our gospel reading today, we see Jesus and his disciples right in the middle of the Last Supper. I can just imagine the looks on the faces of the disciples as Jesus tells them that he will not be with them much longer. They are the expressions of people who have known in the past what it is to feel like be a motherless child. And so he says to them, “I will not leave you orphaned.” You may feel like motherless children now, but this will not always be so. I will send you a comforter, and advocate, and you will belong to me and to each other through what has always bound us: love.
Some of us also know what it means to feel like a motherless child, to be left alone, abandoned, to feel we have become orphaned with no kin or care to be found. We can be surrounded by people at all times and in all places and still feel alone, orphaned, like motherless children. So where is the good news in today’s gospel for us? Where is this fulfillment of Jesus’s promise to not leave us as orphans?
The 12th century Abbot Bernard of Clairvaux writes about the four degrees of love. “There is the infantile stage of ‘love of self for the sake of self.’ ‘Give me that bottle!’ We may progress to the next stage of ‘love of the other for the sake of self.’ ‘Oh, you gave me that bottle.’ And so on to the more or less selfless stage of ‘love of the other for the sake of the other.’ This is the place of genuine human love, a reflection of the love of God, the place of altruism. But, says Bernard, there is a final stage which is heaven’s healing. This is the ‘love of self only for the sake of the Other.’ Knowing this love is to arrive at a true image of myself, a measure of the view God has of me, to see myself to some degree in the way the One who loves me into being sees me.”
The gift of today’s gospel is a reminder of Jesus’s commandment to us. As followers of Jesus’s way, we are called to give love freely, called to love God and to love others. But we are also called to receive love. We are called to receive the love of God that is freely offered to us, and we are called to receive love from other people.
This past week, I read an article by the Episcopal priest Sam Portaro called “Practicing a Life of Prayer.” In this article, Portaro writes about two spiritual practices that we can do in our everyday lives, to help us grow more deeply in our knowledge and love of God and each other. The first, he says, is to “pay attention.” This is not as easy as it sounds. We all know how much is competing for our attention, and Portaro challenges us to be more intentional about where we give our attention; being intentional about being a steward of the gift of attention that God has given me.” He writes that we have to ask ourselves the difficult questions about where and how we give our attention: “Am I paying attention to the people and concerns that have the greatest value for me that represent love for God, neighbor, and self? Am I giving the 1st fruits of my attention, the best of my attention to God? Or am I squandering it, throwing my precious attention away…” “When I pay attention, I don’t have to remind myself of God’s presence in my life; God is nearly always present and manifest, recognizable in the other, the one in whom and to whom I have paid my attention.”
The poet Marge Piercy wrote “Attention is love.” And I think she is right.
The second spiritual discipline that Portaro articulates is to “take care.” This phrase, which is often used as a casual farewell, is of profound weight in our spiritual practice. We are called to “receive, reach out, and seize hold of care” that is offered to us. This is hard for us. We don’t want to seem weak or needy or dependent. We do not want to have to rely on the care of another, and so often we resist care and concern and love when it is offered to us. But Portaro insists that this care is a gift from God through others, and that we are called by God to accept it. “Take the care that God holds out, offers in the hands of those who reach out to help. Take the care proffered in those friends God gives us who manifest God’s love in the flesh, the companions whoare there for us and with us in the inevitable dark night, those who believe in us, love us even when we find it hard to believe in or love ourselves. Take the care that comes running to the door and leaps into your arms, happy that you’re home, whether it’s the love of your child, or the love of your dog. Take the care that comes your way and receive it as the gift of God that it is…”
This morning, may you hear and believe the words of our Risen Lord: I do not leave you orphaned, as motherless children. God is with you, loving you more than you can ask or imagine. And God has given you brothers and sisters to love you and walk with you along the way, to give you encouragement and hope; to give and receive love, and to help you remember that you are not alone.
References:
“Sometimes I Feel Like a Motherless Chile” hymn 169 from Lift Every Voice II .
From the Rt. Rev Jeffrey Lee’s article “On the Theology of Wellness” in Credo’s All Shall Be Well compilation.
From The Very Rev. Sam Portaro’s article “Pracitcing a Life of Prayer” in Credo’s All Shall Be Well compilation.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)