“On the sixth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me . . .”
Today is the sixth day of Christmas. We are halfway through the season. Next Tuesday evening we will hold our annual Twelfth-Night party in the parish hall. We will gather for food, fun, and the ever popular gift exchange and theft (for those who want to participate). We will also hear the story of the visit of the wise men and the tale of the one who was running just a little late.
But while today is the sixth day of Christmas, the world around us has already moved on as Christmas decorations have been taken down, you can't pay a DJ to play a Christmas song, and Valentine's Day decorations are beginning to appear. If in Advent our challenge is to hold off the Christmas crush and spend time in expectant and patient waiting, then our challenge in the Christmas season is to celebrate it fully and enthusiastically. But that's easier said than done.
So I started thinking about this song. Most people probably can't name the gifts in the correct order beyond day five. Most people only get to day five because of that long, drawn out, “Fiiiiivvvvveee golden riiiiiiiiinnnnnnnggggggsssss” (thank you, Miss Piggy). Most people I know actually detest this song; it seems to be the Christmas version of “99 Bottles of Beer,” never ending and rather annoying.
There is also a cute but false story that the verses have hidden meanings as a way of teaching the faith and avoiding execution (true love = God; verse 1 = Jesus; verse 2 = Old/New Testaments; verse 3 = faith, hope, charity; verse 4 = Gospels/Evangelists; etc.) As I said, that's cute, but not actually true.
But the song, for all its faults, can serve a purpose – and that is to remind us that the twelve days of Christmas do not end on Christmas Day but begin. Our calendar gives us twelve days, from Christmas Day until the day before Epiphany, from December 25 until January 5, in which to celebrate the birth of the Savior. This is the time we should be hosting Christmas parties and caroling around the neighborhood. And even though this wasn't a secret catechism song with hidden meanings, we can still think of “my true love” as God.
In the beginning, God created. In the beginning was the Word. God so loved the world. Above all else, Scripture should be seen as a love story between God and his people. Yes, there are ups and downs and definite problems, but it is a story about God calling the people of his creation back into his arms.
So on this sixth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me six geese a laying. On this sixth day of Christmas we have been given not geese, but eggs. These six eggs, each representing the hope of new life, are a fragile bit of creation you can hold in your hand and say, “In the beginning.” These six eggs can remind us of our own life, our own Christmas beginnings, that allow us to ask, “If this egg represents a new life born this Christmas season, how will I live for God?”
This is the sixth day of Christmas. As we move through the next six days, I would encourage you to take a look at the rest of the words of that long, sometimes annoying song, and ask yourself, “How can I use the gift my true love gave to me to proclaim God is with us?”
Merry Christmas
Wednesday, December 30, 2015
Wednesday, December 23, 2015
December 23, 2015
In those days a decree went out from Emperor Augustus that all the world should be registered. This was the first registration and was taken while Quirinius was governor of Syria. All went to their own towns to be registered. Joseph also went from the town of Nazareth in Galilee to Judea, to the city of David called Bethlehem, because he was descended from the house and family of David. He went to be registered with Mary, to whom he was engaged and who was expecting a child. While they were there, the time came for her to deliver her child. And she gave birth to her firstborn son and wrapped him in bands of cloth, and laid him in a manger, because there was no place for them in the inn.
In that region there were shepherds living in the fields, keeping watch over their flock by night. Then an angel of the Lord stood before them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were terrified. But the angel said to them, ‘Do not be afraid; for see—I am bringing you good news of great joy for all the people: to you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is the Messiah, the Lord. This will be a sign for you: you will find a child wrapped in bands of cloth and lying in a manger.’ And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host, praising God and saying,
‘Glory to God in the highest heaven,
and on earth peace among those whom he favors!’
When the angels had left them and gone into heaven, the shepherds said to one another, ‘Let us go now to Bethlehem and see this thing that has taken place, which the Lord has made known to us.’ So they went with haste and found Mary and Joseph, and the child lying in the manger. When they saw this, they made known what had been told them about this child; and all who heard it were amazed at what the shepherds told them. But Mary treasured all these words and pondered them in her heart. The shepherds returned, glorifying and praising God for all they had heard and seen, as it had been told them.
And to all who received him, who believed in his name, he gave power to become children of God, who were born, not of blood or of the will of the flesh or of the will of man, but of God. And the Word became flesh and lived among us, and we have seen his glory, the glory as of a father's only son, full of grace and truth.
Blessings to you this Christmas season.
In that region there were shepherds living in the fields, keeping watch over their flock by night. Then an angel of the Lord stood before them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were terrified. But the angel said to them, ‘Do not be afraid; for see—I am bringing you good news of great joy for all the people: to you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is the Messiah, the Lord. This will be a sign for you: you will find a child wrapped in bands of cloth and lying in a manger.’ And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host, praising God and saying,
‘Glory to God in the highest heaven,
and on earth peace among those whom he favors!’
When the angels had left them and gone into heaven, the shepherds said to one another, ‘Let us go now to Bethlehem and see this thing that has taken place, which the Lord has made known to us.’ So they went with haste and found Mary and Joseph, and the child lying in the manger. When they saw this, they made known what had been told them about this child; and all who heard it were amazed at what the shepherds told them. But Mary treasured all these words and pondered them in her heart. The shepherds returned, glorifying and praising God for all they had heard and seen, as it had been told them.
And to all who received him, who believed in his name, he gave power to become children of God, who were born, not of blood or of the will of the flesh or of the will of man, but of God. And the Word became flesh and lived among us, and we have seen his glory, the glory as of a father's only son, full of grace and truth.
Blessings to you this Christmas season.
Wednesday, December 16, 2015
December 16, 2015
God is in the lost and found business.
A Table in the Desert: Making Space Holy, W. Paul Jones, p. 92
That is not new to us. After all, Jesus told the parable of the one lost sheep. He also told the parable of the son who was lost and then found, and the rejoicing that ensued upon that son being found. We know that God seeks to bring all people back within that original loving embrace that was present at the beginning of creation.
But this is also difficult for us. It's difficult because, short of some Paul-like miracle of a blinding encounter of Christ out on the open road, God tends to work through us. That means that we are the ones doing the seeking. We are, in essence, an Ecclesiastical Search and Rescue Team; and anyone who has gone on a search and rescue mission knows that it's hard work.
But it is also difficult because, besides being on the S&R team, we are also manning the hospital in which those who have been found can recover. It's difficult because we are the ones who have to deal with those struggling through various issues and complications, doubts and fears, and all sorts of other conditions we may or may not have any experience of.
This has been a difficult week for me as I have dealt with a steady stream of lost people – a homeless woman requesting shelter that I couldn't provide, a transgender woman for whom I've been able to give minimal support, a man trying to hold it together while commuting to Winston and needing his car repaired, a woman living from one shut off notice to the next trying to come up with enough funds to keep things left on. Some weeks are better than others.
Sometimes I can help. Sometimes the help I offer isn't what the person is willing to take. Sometimes I can't help. Sometimes I don't want to help.
But in every instance I need to remember that God is in the lost and found business, and I am part of the Search and Rescue Team. In every instance, I need to remember to not be annoyed because those people aren't using the same map I am (if they're using a map at all). And in every instance, I need to remember that a search and rescue is often a long process.
God is in the lost and found business. We are the Search and Rescue Team. This may take awhile.
Amen.
A Table in the Desert: Making Space Holy, W. Paul Jones, p. 92
That is not new to us. After all, Jesus told the parable of the one lost sheep. He also told the parable of the son who was lost and then found, and the rejoicing that ensued upon that son being found. We know that God seeks to bring all people back within that original loving embrace that was present at the beginning of creation.
But this is also difficult for us. It's difficult because, short of some Paul-like miracle of a blinding encounter of Christ out on the open road, God tends to work through us. That means that we are the ones doing the seeking. We are, in essence, an Ecclesiastical Search and Rescue Team; and anyone who has gone on a search and rescue mission knows that it's hard work.
But it is also difficult because, besides being on the S&R team, we are also manning the hospital in which those who have been found can recover. It's difficult because we are the ones who have to deal with those struggling through various issues and complications, doubts and fears, and all sorts of other conditions we may or may not have any experience of.
This has been a difficult week for me as I have dealt with a steady stream of lost people – a homeless woman requesting shelter that I couldn't provide, a transgender woman for whom I've been able to give minimal support, a man trying to hold it together while commuting to Winston and needing his car repaired, a woman living from one shut off notice to the next trying to come up with enough funds to keep things left on. Some weeks are better than others.
Sometimes I can help. Sometimes the help I offer isn't what the person is willing to take. Sometimes I can't help. Sometimes I don't want to help.
But in every instance I need to remember that God is in the lost and found business, and I am part of the Search and Rescue Team. In every instance, I need to remember to not be annoyed because those people aren't using the same map I am (if they're using a map at all). And in every instance, I need to remember that a search and rescue is often a long process.
God is in the lost and found business. We are the Search and Rescue Team. This may take awhile.
Amen.
Wednesday, December 9, 2015
December 9, 2015
The Christian faith must be firm that the dwelling place of God is with creation, just as the dwelling place of humanity is in God. To be able to live within this understanding, our senses need to be purged – for the modern world has dulled them, by excesses of noise, sights, and images flooding our senses into insensitivity.
A Table in the Desert: Making Space Holy, W. Paul Jones, p. 86
How is your Advent going? Are you preparing properly for the Christmas feast? Do you have lights strung, trees decorated, lists checked off, cards in the mail, and cookies baked?
This, of course, is not the point of Advent. The world in general, and advertisers in particular, will tell you that the above is most certainly the point of getting ready for Christmas, with no thought of what it means to live into the already and not yet, and certainly no thought of celebrating the Twelve Days of Christmas.
We are continually inundated with, as Fr. Jones points out, an excess of noise, sights, and images that dull our senses. We get it everywhere, but here's some particular information regarding advertising. In a 3 hour, 13 minute college football game played earlier this season, there were 24 commercial breaks, 136 total commercials, an average of more than 5 commercials per break, and just over 50 minutes of air time for commercials. A 2013 study showed that, during an average 30-minute TV broadcast, there were 14 minutes and 15 seconds of commercial time; with an increase in the number of 15-second spots, thereby increasing the number of commercials people see. And in November, 2013, Business Insider estimated that children between the ages of 2 and 11 see over 1000 fast food commercials.
That's a lot of excess noise.
Part of Advent is learning to slow down and wait. Part of Advent is learning to live with expectant hope. Part of Advent is knowing that God is with us in both the already and the not yet. Part of Advent is recognizing that God dwells with us here in creation, and that we are meant to dwell with God in holy space.
Where, then, can we go to find holy space? Maybe the better question is, “Where can't we go to find holy space?” The answer is, “You can go anywhere, as long as you work to make the space holy.”
Begin the day with quiet Morning Prayer, either at home or in the chapel. Turn off the background noise and meditate in silence on something good that happened, or a time when you saw God at work during the day. Sit at a bus stop and pray for the people rushing by you. Go to a park and listen to the sound of God's creation. Stop for 15 minutes and pray the Noonday Office (BCP 103).
We are surrounded by holy space. The problem, as Fr. Jones points out, is that we have let the modern world dull our ability to see them, hear them, and find them. This Advent, may you find a holy space in which you make time to actively wait, in which you learn to live into the already and not yet, and in which your dulled senses are flooded, resharpened, and refocused to experience God in the mundane.
Amen.
A Table in the Desert: Making Space Holy, W. Paul Jones, p. 86
How is your Advent going? Are you preparing properly for the Christmas feast? Do you have lights strung, trees decorated, lists checked off, cards in the mail, and cookies baked?
This, of course, is not the point of Advent. The world in general, and advertisers in particular, will tell you that the above is most certainly the point of getting ready for Christmas, with no thought of what it means to live into the already and not yet, and certainly no thought of celebrating the Twelve Days of Christmas.
We are continually inundated with, as Fr. Jones points out, an excess of noise, sights, and images that dull our senses. We get it everywhere, but here's some particular information regarding advertising. In a 3 hour, 13 minute college football game played earlier this season, there were 24 commercial breaks, 136 total commercials, an average of more than 5 commercials per break, and just over 50 minutes of air time for commercials. A 2013 study showed that, during an average 30-minute TV broadcast, there were 14 minutes and 15 seconds of commercial time; with an increase in the number of 15-second spots, thereby increasing the number of commercials people see. And in November, 2013, Business Insider estimated that children between the ages of 2 and 11 see over 1000 fast food commercials.
That's a lot of excess noise.
Part of Advent is learning to slow down and wait. Part of Advent is learning to live with expectant hope. Part of Advent is knowing that God is with us in both the already and the not yet. Part of Advent is recognizing that God dwells with us here in creation, and that we are meant to dwell with God in holy space.
Where, then, can we go to find holy space? Maybe the better question is, “Where can't we go to find holy space?” The answer is, “You can go anywhere, as long as you work to make the space holy.”
Begin the day with quiet Morning Prayer, either at home or in the chapel. Turn off the background noise and meditate in silence on something good that happened, or a time when you saw God at work during the day. Sit at a bus stop and pray for the people rushing by you. Go to a park and listen to the sound of God's creation. Stop for 15 minutes and pray the Noonday Office (BCP 103).
We are surrounded by holy space. The problem, as Fr. Jones points out, is that we have let the modern world dull our ability to see them, hear them, and find them. This Advent, may you find a holy space in which you make time to actively wait, in which you learn to live into the already and not yet, and in which your dulled senses are flooded, resharpened, and refocused to experience God in the mundane.
Amen.
Wednesday, December 2, 2015
December 2, 2015
Now hope that is seen is not hope. For who hopes for what is seen?
Romans 8:24b,c
These words from St. Paul came to me at some point on Monday.
In the early morning hours of November 15, the gas to the building was shut off when someone called Avista to report a smell of gas coming from the building. After a series of phone calls and various people coming to the church to inspect one thing or another, it was determined that the two furnaces used to heat the church proper needed to be replaced. I contacted the company we have used, it seems, forever, and they gave us a bid to replace the furnaces. I presented that bid to the Vestry on November 19. I was hopeful that I could schedule a furnace replacement before Thanksgiving.
The Vestry, however, required at least two other comparative bids. So I had Merle call a few other companies to arrange that. On Monday, November 23, three other heating and air companies came out to look at the furnaces and generate bids. Two out of the three returned bids by Wednesday, November 25. As it turned out, the Vestry made the right call, and Caveman Heating and Air gave us a bid at a substantially lower price for essentially the same equipment. I called Caveman and was given an install date of Tuesday, December 1, at 8 a.m.
And on Monday, November 30, I began hoping. I was hoping that the crew showed up on time. I was hoping that there wouldn't be any “unforeseen problems.” I was hoping that the crew didn't go over budget, causing us to renegotiate. I was hoping they didn't drop the furnaces going down stairs. I was hoping they wouldn't break anything. I was hoping the furnaces would run correctly. As I write this, I am hoping they will be finished with the install today.
The crew did show up on time (early, even), and when they finish installing the furnaces, my hope will be complete. At that point it will no longer be hope, because the hope I had about all I mentioned will have been realized; or, in Paul's language, it will be seen. The furnaces will be installed. Nothing was dropped. Nothing will have been broken. They will be running smoothly. And we will once again be worshiping God inside the church proper, unconcerned about needing to wear parkas.
Advent is a time of hope. It is a time of looking back at the birth of Christ and hoping that that little baby can change both our lives and the world. It is a time of looking forward to the coming of Christ and hoping that that man can change both our lives and the world. But we aren't there yet. There are still wars and rumors of wars. There is still fear and trembling. There are still signs in the heavens. And still we hope.
One difference between the hope I had for new furnaces and the hope I have for Christ to be made known to the world, is that I played no part in the actual installation of the furnaces. Unlike that furnace installation, you and I both have parts to play in making Christ known to the world. And when that finally happens, our hope will be complete.
It's Advent. What are you hoping for?
Amen.
Romans 8:24b,c
These words from St. Paul came to me at some point on Monday.
In the early morning hours of November 15, the gas to the building was shut off when someone called Avista to report a smell of gas coming from the building. After a series of phone calls and various people coming to the church to inspect one thing or another, it was determined that the two furnaces used to heat the church proper needed to be replaced. I contacted the company we have used, it seems, forever, and they gave us a bid to replace the furnaces. I presented that bid to the Vestry on November 19. I was hopeful that I could schedule a furnace replacement before Thanksgiving.
The Vestry, however, required at least two other comparative bids. So I had Merle call a few other companies to arrange that. On Monday, November 23, three other heating and air companies came out to look at the furnaces and generate bids. Two out of the three returned bids by Wednesday, November 25. As it turned out, the Vestry made the right call, and Caveman Heating and Air gave us a bid at a substantially lower price for essentially the same equipment. I called Caveman and was given an install date of Tuesday, December 1, at 8 a.m.
And on Monday, November 30, I began hoping. I was hoping that the crew showed up on time. I was hoping that there wouldn't be any “unforeseen problems.” I was hoping that the crew didn't go over budget, causing us to renegotiate. I was hoping they didn't drop the furnaces going down stairs. I was hoping they wouldn't break anything. I was hoping the furnaces would run correctly. As I write this, I am hoping they will be finished with the install today.
The crew did show up on time (early, even), and when they finish installing the furnaces, my hope will be complete. At that point it will no longer be hope, because the hope I had about all I mentioned will have been realized; or, in Paul's language, it will be seen. The furnaces will be installed. Nothing was dropped. Nothing will have been broken. They will be running smoothly. And we will once again be worshiping God inside the church proper, unconcerned about needing to wear parkas.
Advent is a time of hope. It is a time of looking back at the birth of Christ and hoping that that little baby can change both our lives and the world. It is a time of looking forward to the coming of Christ and hoping that that man can change both our lives and the world. But we aren't there yet. There are still wars and rumors of wars. There is still fear and trembling. There are still signs in the heavens. And still we hope.
One difference between the hope I had for new furnaces and the hope I have for Christ to be made known to the world, is that I played no part in the actual installation of the furnaces. Unlike that furnace installation, you and I both have parts to play in making Christ known to the world. And when that finally happens, our hope will be complete.
It's Advent. What are you hoping for?
Amen.
Wednesday, November 25, 2015
November 25, 2015
I love to tell the story, 'twill be my theme in glory; to tell the old, old story, of Jesus and his love.
Katherine Hankey, 1834-1911
Those are the words from a poem which were eventually set to music and is a popular hymn in many churches and “Old Time Religion” shows. At some point, I'm sure that most everybody has heard at least a part of this hymn about loving to tell the story.
In his book, A Table in the Desert, Fr. Jones taps into this telling of the story by relaying an old Jewish parable:
During a crisis, an old rabbi went to a sacred place in the forest, lit a sacred fire, said
sacred words, and the Jews were saved. When another crisis developed, another rabbi
went to the place and lit a fire, but didn't know the words, and the Jews were saved.
Another crisis came, and another rabbi knew the place, but didn't know about the fire
or the words, and the Jews were saved. At the next crisis, the rabbi knew neither place,
fire, or words, but he knew the story. And it was enough, the Jews were saved.
If you think about it, we are in a similar place – we are so far removed from the actual event that all we have is the story. We have the old stories of the bible. We have the old stories of the resurrection. We have old stories of what God has done in ages past and what God has done for us in our current age. It is this story that Katherine Hankey wrote about when she put pen to paper, and it is this story that many Christians sing about and still tell.
But there's more to it than that. As Fr. Jones points out, and I agree, we need to do more than tell the story. We need to participate in the story, for it is through our participation that the story becomes part of us. We can read and tell many stories, but those stories do not become a part of us until we become active participants. I don't necessarily remember the bedtime stories I read to my daughter, but I remember participating in the ritual of bedtime stories.
Telling the story isn't enough. We need to participate in the story. We need to participate in the ritual until it sinks into our bones and becomes a part of our spiritual DNA. It is through our participation, through our reading and hearing, through our singing and praying, through our taking, blessing, breaking, and receiving of gifts that the story becomes holy. It is through these actions that these normal, everyday things of a story and of bread and of wine become holy.
It is not only those normal, everyday things that become holy through our participation, but it is us who become holy as well. As I said, it is our participation in the story that the story becomes part of our spiritual DNA. We knowingly laugh at the automatic response generated to, “The Lord be with you.” But our spiritual muscles also respond in kind to, “Glory to God in the highest, and peace . . .”, and “The Holy Gospel of our Lord Jesus Christ according to Matthew,” and “We believe in one God . . .”, and “Christ has died . . .”, and “Eternal God, heavenly Father . . .”, and so much more.
Yes, we need to tell the story. But we also need to participate in the story. When we participate wholly, the place of our participation becomes holy. When we participate wholly, the gifts become holy. When we participate wholly, we become holy. And it is when we participate wholly that we can truly say, “Holy things for holy people.”
Amen.
Katherine Hankey, 1834-1911
Those are the words from a poem which were eventually set to music and is a popular hymn in many churches and “Old Time Religion” shows. At some point, I'm sure that most everybody has heard at least a part of this hymn about loving to tell the story.
In his book, A Table in the Desert, Fr. Jones taps into this telling of the story by relaying an old Jewish parable:
During a crisis, an old rabbi went to a sacred place in the forest, lit a sacred fire, said
sacred words, and the Jews were saved. When another crisis developed, another rabbi
went to the place and lit a fire, but didn't know the words, and the Jews were saved.
Another crisis came, and another rabbi knew the place, but didn't know about the fire
or the words, and the Jews were saved. At the next crisis, the rabbi knew neither place,
fire, or words, but he knew the story. And it was enough, the Jews were saved.
If you think about it, we are in a similar place – we are so far removed from the actual event that all we have is the story. We have the old stories of the bible. We have the old stories of the resurrection. We have old stories of what God has done in ages past and what God has done for us in our current age. It is this story that Katherine Hankey wrote about when she put pen to paper, and it is this story that many Christians sing about and still tell.
But there's more to it than that. As Fr. Jones points out, and I agree, we need to do more than tell the story. We need to participate in the story, for it is through our participation that the story becomes part of us. We can read and tell many stories, but those stories do not become a part of us until we become active participants. I don't necessarily remember the bedtime stories I read to my daughter, but I remember participating in the ritual of bedtime stories.
Telling the story isn't enough. We need to participate in the story. We need to participate in the ritual until it sinks into our bones and becomes a part of our spiritual DNA. It is through our participation, through our reading and hearing, through our singing and praying, through our taking, blessing, breaking, and receiving of gifts that the story becomes holy. It is through these actions that these normal, everyday things of a story and of bread and of wine become holy.
It is not only those normal, everyday things that become holy through our participation, but it is us who become holy as well. As I said, it is our participation in the story that the story becomes part of our spiritual DNA. We knowingly laugh at the automatic response generated to, “The Lord be with you.” But our spiritual muscles also respond in kind to, “Glory to God in the highest, and peace . . .”, and “The Holy Gospel of our Lord Jesus Christ according to Matthew,” and “We believe in one God . . .”, and “Christ has died . . .”, and “Eternal God, heavenly Father . . .”, and so much more.
Yes, we need to tell the story. But we also need to participate in the story. When we participate wholly, the place of our participation becomes holy. When we participate wholly, the gifts become holy. When we participate wholly, we become holy. And it is when we participate wholly that we can truly say, “Holy things for holy people.”
Amen.
Wednesday, November 18, 2015
November 18, 2015
If everything is declared to be sacred . . . the distinction between sacred and secular becomes increasingly faint . . . if it is true of all, the temptation is that there is nothing special about anything.
A Table in the Desert: Making Space Holy, p. 25, W. Paul Jones
What makes something sacred or holy? What makes something special?
On the one hand, we can say that everything is sacred, holy, and special because God created everything. God created the earth, sky, and sea, and called it good. God created the plants, the animals, and humanity, and called it good. God saw everything that he had made, and it was very good. That fact, that everything was created by God and that we were created in the image of God, gives credence to the understanding that everything is sacred, holy, and special.
On the other hand, we can also look around and perceive that not everything is sacred, holy, and special. We can look at one thing and declare it beautiful, while we can look at something else and declare it ordinary. Some things we declare beautiful and valuable because of their scarcity (gold and diamonds, for instance), while other things we declare ordinary and cheap because of their abundance (tree leaves and gravel come to mind).
It would seem, then, that what makes something sacred, holy, and special is us. We determine what is beautiful and valuable. We determine what is ordinary and cheap. We determine what is sacred and holy. For some people, when you combine bread and wine you have the beginnings of a good Italian meal. For others, bread and wine taken together signify something else entirely and reflect the very real presence of Christ.
As an experiment, here are two musical links for you to click on (or to copy and paste into your browser, depending on how technology works):
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=80Ue0w45oGs
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xmkhk9Z8Lu4
They are both classified as Christian music. They are both loved by many people. They both attempt to exhibit God's love and presence. Which one do you find sacred, holy, and special?
We have a part in creating and determining what is sacred, holy, and special. But we need to actively participate in that creation and determination. If we decide that Riverside Park, Eight Dollar Mountain, or Cathedral Hills are as equally sacred, holy, and special as Holy Eucharist, what does that do to our view of Holy Eucharist? Does it diminish it's importance in our lives? Does it make it less sacred and holy than those other places?
I agree with Fr. Jones when he says that if everything is declared sacred and holy, then nothing is special. Things won't lose their sacredness or holiness, but they will lose their specialness. If we were to allow Holy Eucharist to become as ordinary as everything around us, then the bread and wine that is the real presence of Christ will then become so much sand and gravel. And that would be a shame.
Amen.
A Table in the Desert: Making Space Holy, p. 25, W. Paul Jones
What makes something sacred or holy? What makes something special?
On the one hand, we can say that everything is sacred, holy, and special because God created everything. God created the earth, sky, and sea, and called it good. God created the plants, the animals, and humanity, and called it good. God saw everything that he had made, and it was very good. That fact, that everything was created by God and that we were created in the image of God, gives credence to the understanding that everything is sacred, holy, and special.
On the other hand, we can also look around and perceive that not everything is sacred, holy, and special. We can look at one thing and declare it beautiful, while we can look at something else and declare it ordinary. Some things we declare beautiful and valuable because of their scarcity (gold and diamonds, for instance), while other things we declare ordinary and cheap because of their abundance (tree leaves and gravel come to mind).
It would seem, then, that what makes something sacred, holy, and special is us. We determine what is beautiful and valuable. We determine what is ordinary and cheap. We determine what is sacred and holy. For some people, when you combine bread and wine you have the beginnings of a good Italian meal. For others, bread and wine taken together signify something else entirely and reflect the very real presence of Christ.
As an experiment, here are two musical links for you to click on (or to copy and paste into your browser, depending on how technology works):
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=80Ue0w45oGs
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xmkhk9Z8Lu4
They are both classified as Christian music. They are both loved by many people. They both attempt to exhibit God's love and presence. Which one do you find sacred, holy, and special?
We have a part in creating and determining what is sacred, holy, and special. But we need to actively participate in that creation and determination. If we decide that Riverside Park, Eight Dollar Mountain, or Cathedral Hills are as equally sacred, holy, and special as Holy Eucharist, what does that do to our view of Holy Eucharist? Does it diminish it's importance in our lives? Does it make it less sacred and holy than those other places?
I agree with Fr. Jones when he says that if everything is declared sacred and holy, then nothing is special. Things won't lose their sacredness or holiness, but they will lose their specialness. If we were to allow Holy Eucharist to become as ordinary as everything around us, then the bread and wine that is the real presence of Christ will then become so much sand and gravel. And that would be a shame.
Amen.
Wednesday, November 11, 2015
November 11, 2015
Clock-time is not space-time.
So I'm reading this book, A Table in the Desert: Making Space Holy, and the author, W. Paul Jones, is discussing the difference between clock-time and space-time. Clock-time, he says, is artificial and finite, created by man to be “efficient.” Space-time, however, is natural and eternal, created by God as a way to be.
In clock-time, we always have to be somewhere, doing something. We need to be up. We need to be at work. We need to be at a meeting. We need to cook dinner. We need to go to bed. The clock tells us when and where we begin, and when and where we end.
In space-time, however, we just are. Time spent with good friends melts away into a shared experience. Days not ruled by clock-time are those summer days we used to experience as children, living our life from sunrise to sunset. If we are lucky, some vacations run on space-time in which we rise, eat, play and sleep when our bodies think it's time, fully experiencing the space around us.
When we gather for worship, which time do we use? It's fairly obvious that we begin with clock-time; after all, I made sure everyone set their clocks back last week to ensure everyone was present at the appointed hour.
But what happens when our worship of God begins? Do we think the readings are too long? Are we unable to sit quietly during our times of silence reflecting on what God might be saying to us? Did the sermon go too long? Will we be trapped at coffee hour, unable to extract ourselves from a conversation, making us late for or absent from another appointment?
Or, are we able to listen, pray and praise in the midst of space-time, without worrying about what comes next, where we need to be after this, or how long it's all taking?
When Moses asked who was sending him (basically asking what God's name was), the response was, “I am.” There is no clock-time involved with God, only space-time. No beginning. No ending. But also the alpha and omega, the beginning and the end. God is in all and all in all.
Our society constrains us to clock-time, but that doesn't mean we can't experience places of space-time where we just are; places where we can simply be. Worship can be one of those places if you let it.
Here are some ideas on how you can help make that happen: give yourself plenty of clock-time to arrive at church so you aren't rushed; enter the nave in silence and sit in the beauty of holiness, allowing yourself to be immersed with God's presence; participate fully, offering your responses intentionally and deliberately; enjoy the silence; be present to the mystery.
And remember . . . God has all the time in the world, even though we may not think so.
Amen.
So I'm reading this book, A Table in the Desert: Making Space Holy, and the author, W. Paul Jones, is discussing the difference between clock-time and space-time. Clock-time, he says, is artificial and finite, created by man to be “efficient.” Space-time, however, is natural and eternal, created by God as a way to be.
In clock-time, we always have to be somewhere, doing something. We need to be up. We need to be at work. We need to be at a meeting. We need to cook dinner. We need to go to bed. The clock tells us when and where we begin, and when and where we end.
In space-time, however, we just are. Time spent with good friends melts away into a shared experience. Days not ruled by clock-time are those summer days we used to experience as children, living our life from sunrise to sunset. If we are lucky, some vacations run on space-time in which we rise, eat, play and sleep when our bodies think it's time, fully experiencing the space around us.
When we gather for worship, which time do we use? It's fairly obvious that we begin with clock-time; after all, I made sure everyone set their clocks back last week to ensure everyone was present at the appointed hour.
But what happens when our worship of God begins? Do we think the readings are too long? Are we unable to sit quietly during our times of silence reflecting on what God might be saying to us? Did the sermon go too long? Will we be trapped at coffee hour, unable to extract ourselves from a conversation, making us late for or absent from another appointment?
Or, are we able to listen, pray and praise in the midst of space-time, without worrying about what comes next, where we need to be after this, or how long it's all taking?
When Moses asked who was sending him (basically asking what God's name was), the response was, “I am.” There is no clock-time involved with God, only space-time. No beginning. No ending. But also the alpha and omega, the beginning and the end. God is in all and all in all.
Our society constrains us to clock-time, but that doesn't mean we can't experience places of space-time where we just are; places where we can simply be. Worship can be one of those places if you let it.
Here are some ideas on how you can help make that happen: give yourself plenty of clock-time to arrive at church so you aren't rushed; enter the nave in silence and sit in the beauty of holiness, allowing yourself to be immersed with God's presence; participate fully, offering your responses intentionally and deliberately; enjoy the silence; be present to the mystery.
And remember . . . God has all the time in the world, even though we may not think so.
Amen.
Wednesday, November 4, 2015
November 4, 2015
Home has to do with sacred space, yet to be created.
W. Paul Jones, A Table in the Desert: Making Space Holy, p. 4
This book showed up on my desk not too long ago, and I finally got around to picking it up. In this book, Jones works to find the holy in places and spaces as diverse as Appalachian coal mines, the Grand Canyon, the Vietnam Memorial, the Incarnation and the Sacraments of Holy Communion.
I’ve spoken before about finding God in the mundane, or, as Katharine Jefferts Schori titled her most recent book, finding God in the middle of everything. And while that is a good thing to do, what Jones is doing here is just a little different. Instead of looking for God in the everyday, or in the mundane, or in the middle of everything, he is asking us to intentionally work to create holy spaces. He is asking us to participate with God as co-creators. Rather than looking for the holy after the fact, he is suggesting that what we create has holiness and sacredness as its foundation.
When we move into a new house, apartment, or office, one of the first things we do is to decorate and organize things how we want them. We want to make the place feel homey.
But what if, instead of wanting to make our space feel homey, we worked to make it feel holy? Is it possible to plan for holiness from the beginning? This could be good practice on a small scale for a large scale redecoration. After all, we do better when we start small and work our way up to bigger and more complicated things. Babies don't run marathons at two. Just because you learned to ride a bike at six, doesn't mean you get the keys to the car. Every sports official of every game you watch on TV began his or her career calling games at the lowest level imaginable. We can't make the space of the world holy and sacred without making our own houses holy and sacred first.
We might begin by giving thanks for every new day that we are able to breathe, move, and live in God's creation. We can work to create a holy and sacred space in our homes. We can view our relationships as being connected with sacred cords. We can work to live into the sacred mystery of Holy Eucharist, rather than seeing it as something we do once a week.
Starting small just might lead us to find ways to create larger sacred spaces around us. Which, if you think about it, is our ultimate goal. Every Sunday, and sometimes more often, we recite the Lord's Prayer: Our Father, who art in heaven . . . thy kingdom come . . . on earth as it is in heaven. This heavenly kingdom is, ultimately, our home. But this heavenly kingdom, this sacred space, on earth has yet to be created. And in that we are co-creators with God. We are tasked with helping to make that kingdom come.
The problem is, though, that transforming the world is a really big job. So the solution seems to be for us to start small. We begin at home. We begin with what we know. We begin there and expand out, creating ever larger sacred and holy spaces. We are, in a sense, working to create our home. Instead of looking at this creation as business-as-usual, or waiting for God to magically fix everything, let's revise the blueprint so that we are active co-creators with God and the first part of what we build is sacred.
Amen.
W. Paul Jones, A Table in the Desert: Making Space Holy, p. 4
This book showed up on my desk not too long ago, and I finally got around to picking it up. In this book, Jones works to find the holy in places and spaces as diverse as Appalachian coal mines, the Grand Canyon, the Vietnam Memorial, the Incarnation and the Sacraments of Holy Communion.
I’ve spoken before about finding God in the mundane, or, as Katharine Jefferts Schori titled her most recent book, finding God in the middle of everything. And while that is a good thing to do, what Jones is doing here is just a little different. Instead of looking for God in the everyday, or in the mundane, or in the middle of everything, he is asking us to intentionally work to create holy spaces. He is asking us to participate with God as co-creators. Rather than looking for the holy after the fact, he is suggesting that what we create has holiness and sacredness as its foundation.
When we move into a new house, apartment, or office, one of the first things we do is to decorate and organize things how we want them. We want to make the place feel homey.
But what if, instead of wanting to make our space feel homey, we worked to make it feel holy? Is it possible to plan for holiness from the beginning? This could be good practice on a small scale for a large scale redecoration. After all, we do better when we start small and work our way up to bigger and more complicated things. Babies don't run marathons at two. Just because you learned to ride a bike at six, doesn't mean you get the keys to the car. Every sports official of every game you watch on TV began his or her career calling games at the lowest level imaginable. We can't make the space of the world holy and sacred without making our own houses holy and sacred first.
We might begin by giving thanks for every new day that we are able to breathe, move, and live in God's creation. We can work to create a holy and sacred space in our homes. We can view our relationships as being connected with sacred cords. We can work to live into the sacred mystery of Holy Eucharist, rather than seeing it as something we do once a week.
Starting small just might lead us to find ways to create larger sacred spaces around us. Which, if you think about it, is our ultimate goal. Every Sunday, and sometimes more often, we recite the Lord's Prayer: Our Father, who art in heaven . . . thy kingdom come . . . on earth as it is in heaven. This heavenly kingdom is, ultimately, our home. But this heavenly kingdom, this sacred space, on earth has yet to be created. And in that we are co-creators with God. We are tasked with helping to make that kingdom come.
The problem is, though, that transforming the world is a really big job. So the solution seems to be for us to start small. We begin at home. We begin with what we know. We begin there and expand out, creating ever larger sacred and holy spaces. We are, in a sense, working to create our home. Instead of looking at this creation as business-as-usual, or waiting for God to magically fix everything, let's revise the blueprint so that we are active co-creators with God and the first part of what we build is sacred.
Amen.
Wednesday, October 28, 2015
October 28, 2015
Other seeds fell among thorns, and the thorns grew up and choked them.
Matthew 13:7
This verse from Morning Prayer yesterday stood out to me as I was reading through the Office. The parable of the sower appears in all three synoptic gospels; and even though Matthew's version is the only one appointed to be read in the Sunday lectionary, we've probably all heard this parable many times over the years.
The traditional explanation of this verse, and the one given by Jesus, is that the thorns represent the cares of the world and the lure of wealth which chokes the word out of the one who hears it, yielding nothing. I’m not one to generally argue with Jesus, especially over the interpretations he gives his own parables, but I wonder if there's more to it than that.
Or rather, I wonder if we get too focused on “the lure of wealth” and forget about “the cares of the world.” It's easy to accuse wealthy people of not following the precepts of Christ, or of not doing enough with their wealth to help reduce suffering in the world. It's easy to shake our heads at someone like Zack Greinke, pitcher for the L.A. Dodgers, who recently opted out of his $71 million contract in order to become a free agent . . . where he will probably sign for anywhere between $125 and $150 million. The lure of wealth, indeed.
But what about those cares of the world? I don't think they all revolve around our pursuit of wealth and happiness. I don't know Mr. Greinke, and he may be doing wonderful things with his money; after all, it's not his fault he landed a job in a business that values men who can throw a baseball.
Could it be that the cares of the world revolve around other things? Things like being offended when someone doesn't live up to your expectations. Things like attributing negative motives to people. Things like allowing work to control our schedules rather than making relationships a priority. Things like taking others for granted in favor of short-term gains.
There is plenty in this world to distract us and choke us off from the word. There are plenty of cares of the world to which we eagerly or slowly submit. If we only look to the lure of wealth, we might be openly blind to other things which just as effectively choke us.
So maybe I’m not arguing with Jesus as much as I’m digging a little deeper into what he's saying.
And maybe one way to trim back those weeds is to regularly ask ourselves, “How is what I'm doing consistent with, or advancing the cause of, the gospel?”
There will always be weeds, and we may not be able to eliminate them all. But if we worked to eliminate a few here and there, that's a few more places here and there in which the word can take root.
Amen.
Matthew 13:7
This verse from Morning Prayer yesterday stood out to me as I was reading through the Office. The parable of the sower appears in all three synoptic gospels; and even though Matthew's version is the only one appointed to be read in the Sunday lectionary, we've probably all heard this parable many times over the years.
The traditional explanation of this verse, and the one given by Jesus, is that the thorns represent the cares of the world and the lure of wealth which chokes the word out of the one who hears it, yielding nothing. I’m not one to generally argue with Jesus, especially over the interpretations he gives his own parables, but I wonder if there's more to it than that.
Or rather, I wonder if we get too focused on “the lure of wealth” and forget about “the cares of the world.” It's easy to accuse wealthy people of not following the precepts of Christ, or of not doing enough with their wealth to help reduce suffering in the world. It's easy to shake our heads at someone like Zack Greinke, pitcher for the L.A. Dodgers, who recently opted out of his $71 million contract in order to become a free agent . . . where he will probably sign for anywhere between $125 and $150 million. The lure of wealth, indeed.
But what about those cares of the world? I don't think they all revolve around our pursuit of wealth and happiness. I don't know Mr. Greinke, and he may be doing wonderful things with his money; after all, it's not his fault he landed a job in a business that values men who can throw a baseball.
Could it be that the cares of the world revolve around other things? Things like being offended when someone doesn't live up to your expectations. Things like attributing negative motives to people. Things like allowing work to control our schedules rather than making relationships a priority. Things like taking others for granted in favor of short-term gains.
There is plenty in this world to distract us and choke us off from the word. There are plenty of cares of the world to which we eagerly or slowly submit. If we only look to the lure of wealth, we might be openly blind to other things which just as effectively choke us.
So maybe I’m not arguing with Jesus as much as I’m digging a little deeper into what he's saying.
And maybe one way to trim back those weeds is to regularly ask ourselves, “How is what I'm doing consistent with, or advancing the cause of, the gospel?”
There will always be weeds, and we may not be able to eliminate them all. But if we worked to eliminate a few here and there, that's a few more places here and there in which the word can take root.
Amen.
Wednesday, October 21, 2015
October 21, 2015
Fear nothing so much, blame nothing so much, flee nothing so much, as your own sins and vices, of which ought to distress you more than any worldly loss.
Thomas a'Kempis, The Imitation of Christ, Book Three, Chapter 4
“From now on, I'm looking out for Number One, Numero Uno.”
I’m sure we've all heard something like that at some point in our lives. We may have even said something like that at some point in our lives. The point of that saying is that we need to be taking care of ourselves. We need to be watching out for ourselves, because nobody else will.
This applies to jobs and careers, but it also applies to retirement funds, healthcare and other benefits we may have in other areas. We have learned, sometimes by watching others, sometimes by noticing trends, and sometimes through our own failures, that we are are own advocate. Nobody is going to step up for us and make sure things are taken care of.
Isn't it interesting, though, that so oftentimes the people who champion a “me first” attitude are the ones who obsess over the behaviors and actions of others. People who loudly proclaim they don't want the government telling them how to live their lives are quick to support rules against those different from themselves. People who have no trouble accessing healthcare for themselves are quick to support a system that won't offer healthcare for everyone. People who rally around “religious freedom” slogans are quick to push for bans against any religion other than their own, or forced compliance with their own (think the Ten Commandments and Nativity scenes on and in government buildings, or mandatory Christian prayer before city council meetings or high school football games).
We fear that which we don't understand. We are quick to blame others for our own mistakes. We run away from that which we see as different, hoping to avoid contamination. And we condemn all of the above; sometimes in the name of offendedness, sometimes in the name of righteousness.
Maybe what we need to stop doing is trying to make the world and those around us into our image. Maybe we need to focus more on loving God and neighbor than sewing seeds of discontent because we are being invaded by those not like us.
If we are really looking out for Number One, maybe we should look ourselves in the mirror and consider which sins and vices we have committed today, and then work to commit one less tomorrow. Because in the end, it's not a blame game . . . it's an honesty game.
Amen.
Thomas a'Kempis, The Imitation of Christ, Book Three, Chapter 4
“From now on, I'm looking out for Number One, Numero Uno.”
I’m sure we've all heard something like that at some point in our lives. We may have even said something like that at some point in our lives. The point of that saying is that we need to be taking care of ourselves. We need to be watching out for ourselves, because nobody else will.
This applies to jobs and careers, but it also applies to retirement funds, healthcare and other benefits we may have in other areas. We have learned, sometimes by watching others, sometimes by noticing trends, and sometimes through our own failures, that we are are own advocate. Nobody is going to step up for us and make sure things are taken care of.
Isn't it interesting, though, that so oftentimes the people who champion a “me first” attitude are the ones who obsess over the behaviors and actions of others. People who loudly proclaim they don't want the government telling them how to live their lives are quick to support rules against those different from themselves. People who have no trouble accessing healthcare for themselves are quick to support a system that won't offer healthcare for everyone. People who rally around “religious freedom” slogans are quick to push for bans against any religion other than their own, or forced compliance with their own (think the Ten Commandments and Nativity scenes on and in government buildings, or mandatory Christian prayer before city council meetings or high school football games).
We fear that which we don't understand. We are quick to blame others for our own mistakes. We run away from that which we see as different, hoping to avoid contamination. And we condemn all of the above; sometimes in the name of offendedness, sometimes in the name of righteousness.
Maybe what we need to stop doing is trying to make the world and those around us into our image. Maybe we need to focus more on loving God and neighbor than sewing seeds of discontent because we are being invaded by those not like us.
If we are really looking out for Number One, maybe we should look ourselves in the mirror and consider which sins and vices we have committed today, and then work to commit one less tomorrow. Because in the end, it's not a blame game . . . it's an honesty game.
Amen.
Wednesday, October 14, 2015
October 14, 2015
All of us, then, should reflect seriously on how to appear before the majesty of God in the presence of his angels. That will lead us to make sure that, when we sing in the choir, there is complete harmony between the thoughts in our mind and the meaning of the words we sing.
St. Benedict's Rule, Chapter 19
You may recall that I have been asked by The Living Church to be part of a daily reflection project for their website. The project has several writers who have been assigned to write for four weeks, one week at a time, over the next six months. Our guidelines are to offer reflections on the Daily Office.
My first assignment is due November 1, and is set to run the week of November 15. As it happens, the series of readings on that Monday begin with the story of the Transfiguration. I am just now putting my thoughts down, but I find myself beginning to write about the difference between worship and ministry.
We need both.
While it would be easy to focus on worship, it is our ministry that ultimately gets God's word and presence out into the world. On the other hand, if we only focus on ministry, we may lose sight of the need for worship.
It's not original when I've said, “The one thing the Church does that no other social agency does is worship.” Worship is what we do. Our day should begin and end with worship. Our ministry should begin and end with worship. Worship should not only bookend everything we do, but it should infuse everything we do as well.
St. Benedict recognized the importance of worship when he included those words in his Rule. It remains so for us today.
When we worship, we are in the presence of angels and archangels. When we participate in worship, we need to reflect seriously on how we appear before the majesty of God so that there is complete harmony between our thoughts and the words we read and sing.
Do we joyfully praise God for his glory? Are we truly sorry, and do we honestly and humbly repent of our sins? Do we joyfully give God our thanks and praise? Do we go forth in the name of Christ, striving to live as his real presence in the world?
Worship and ministry are not two separate aspects of the Church; they are the warp and woof of our lives as Christians. Worship is ministry. Ministry is worship. But as intertwined and interdependent as they are, let us always remember that it begins and ends with worship.
The Lord be with you.
St. Benedict's Rule, Chapter 19
You may recall that I have been asked by The Living Church to be part of a daily reflection project for their website. The project has several writers who have been assigned to write for four weeks, one week at a time, over the next six months. Our guidelines are to offer reflections on the Daily Office.
My first assignment is due November 1, and is set to run the week of November 15. As it happens, the series of readings on that Monday begin with the story of the Transfiguration. I am just now putting my thoughts down, but I find myself beginning to write about the difference between worship and ministry.
We need both.
While it would be easy to focus on worship, it is our ministry that ultimately gets God's word and presence out into the world. On the other hand, if we only focus on ministry, we may lose sight of the need for worship.
It's not original when I've said, “The one thing the Church does that no other social agency does is worship.” Worship is what we do. Our day should begin and end with worship. Our ministry should begin and end with worship. Worship should not only bookend everything we do, but it should infuse everything we do as well.
St. Benedict recognized the importance of worship when he included those words in his Rule. It remains so for us today.
When we worship, we are in the presence of angels and archangels. When we participate in worship, we need to reflect seriously on how we appear before the majesty of God so that there is complete harmony between our thoughts and the words we read and sing.
Do we joyfully praise God for his glory? Are we truly sorry, and do we honestly and humbly repent of our sins? Do we joyfully give God our thanks and praise? Do we go forth in the name of Christ, striving to live as his real presence in the world?
Worship and ministry are not two separate aspects of the Church; they are the warp and woof of our lives as Christians. Worship is ministry. Ministry is worship. But as intertwined and interdependent as they are, let us always remember that it begins and ends with worship.
The Lord be with you.
Wednesday, October 7, 2015
October 7, 2015
Blessed are the ears that hear the Divine whisper, and give no heed to the whisperings of the world.
Thomas a'Kempis, The Imitation of Christ, Book Three, Chapter 1
There's a lot that happens in silence. We can say, “I love you” without saying a word. We rest in the comfort of people we know and trust without having to speak. We hear things we might normally not hear. Elijah heard the voice of God not in the rumble of an earthquake or roar of the wind, but in the sound of sheer silence (1 Kings 19:11-12). And Jiminy Cricket was the small voice of conscience for Pinocchio.
People often refer to the “still, small voice of God.” The NRSV, which we use for worship services and has become the default Bible of the Episcopal Church, does not use that term. It translates those verses from 1 Kings as “sheer silence;” but, as with many things, some terms from the KJV have a lasting impression, and this is one of them. The “sheer silence” of the NRSV is translation of the much more poetic “still, small voice” of the KJV.
But whether you prefer sheer silence or a still, small voice isn't really the point. The point is that that one verse has made an impression on all of Judaism and Christianity to such an extent that we don't often talk about the booming voice of God reverberating through us, but rather the still, small voice of God that cut through the noise of the world and spoke to our heart.
It's important for us to take time and listen for the whisper. This is why I have built periods of silence into the Sunday Eucharist, so that we can have an intentional time to hear what God might be saying to us through the readings and sermon. It's why I have longer periods of silence in the Morning Prayer service – so that we can not only listen for what God might be saying, but because that might be the only time of silence we get during the cacophony of modern life.
When you pray, are you taking time to listen for the Divine whisper? When you are going through your busy day, with traffic and sirens and radios and background noise of all kinds, are you able to hear
the Divine whisper?
Maybe that's why God speaks through the sheer silence in a still, small voice – because if God were to babble along as loudly as the rest of the world his voice would get lost as just so much background noise. But a whisper can get our attention. A whisper can make us say, “What was that?” A whisper can make us listen more intently.
God is calling to us in a whisper. Are we willing to make the effort and listen?
Amen.
Thomas a'Kempis, The Imitation of Christ, Book Three, Chapter 1
There's a lot that happens in silence. We can say, “I love you” without saying a word. We rest in the comfort of people we know and trust without having to speak. We hear things we might normally not hear. Elijah heard the voice of God not in the rumble of an earthquake or roar of the wind, but in the sound of sheer silence (1 Kings 19:11-12). And Jiminy Cricket was the small voice of conscience for Pinocchio.
People often refer to the “still, small voice of God.” The NRSV, which we use for worship services and has become the default Bible of the Episcopal Church, does not use that term. It translates those verses from 1 Kings as “sheer silence;” but, as with many things, some terms from the KJV have a lasting impression, and this is one of them. The “sheer silence” of the NRSV is translation of the much more poetic “still, small voice” of the KJV.
But whether you prefer sheer silence or a still, small voice isn't really the point. The point is that that one verse has made an impression on all of Judaism and Christianity to such an extent that we don't often talk about the booming voice of God reverberating through us, but rather the still, small voice of God that cut through the noise of the world and spoke to our heart.
It's important for us to take time and listen for the whisper. This is why I have built periods of silence into the Sunday Eucharist, so that we can have an intentional time to hear what God might be saying to us through the readings and sermon. It's why I have longer periods of silence in the Morning Prayer service – so that we can not only listen for what God might be saying, but because that might be the only time of silence we get during the cacophony of modern life.
When you pray, are you taking time to listen for the Divine whisper? When you are going through your busy day, with traffic and sirens and radios and background noise of all kinds, are you able to hear
the Divine whisper?
Maybe that's why God speaks through the sheer silence in a still, small voice – because if God were to babble along as loudly as the rest of the world his voice would get lost as just so much background noise. But a whisper can get our attention. A whisper can make us say, “What was that?” A whisper can make us listen more intently.
God is calling to us in a whisper. Are we willing to make the effort and listen?
Amen.
Wednesday, September 30, 2015
September 30, 2015
Pray also for me, so that when I speak, a message may be given to me to make known with boldness the mystery of the gospel.
Ephesians 6:19
I wrote those words in the front of my BCP either while in seminary or shortly after arriving at my first call in Montana. I honestly can't remember which, but it doesn't much matter, because I put them there as a reminder to me that preaching is a job I should always take seriously, that the gospel is a mystery, that the message should come from the leading of the Spirit, and that I need to proclaim that message boldly. I haven't always lived up to that ideal, but I try.
There's another part to that verse that, while I haven't overlooked, needs to be considered, especially today and in the future – Pray for me.
I have been writing The Wednesday Word for a year now – the first official piece came out on September 24, 2014. I have written about the words of the Desert Fathers, verses of scripture and other readings or sayings I have come across in that time. I have been both surprised and humbled at the overwhelming positive response I have received from those who read these little musings.
But these “little musings,” originally intended for the parishioners and friends of St. Luke's, have led to something somewhat larger. You may remember Fr. David Baumann, who attended for a time with his fiancee Elizabeth. They since moved to Illinois where he is serving a small parish, but have chosen to remain on our e-mail list. Fr. David is much more connected to the wider church than I, and that's where this gets interesting.
Through his connections, the people of The Living Church (TLC) reached out to him asking if he would be willing to be part of a new project and write a variety of meditations for their website. He respectfully declined, but said, “I know a guy . . .” That guy was me, and I was asked to be part a new writing project. I had some questions and said I'd think about it.
The questions have been answered, I assented and I have been given my assignment. I, along with a team of other writers, will be offering meditations on the Daily Office for the next several months. My designated offerings will be during the weeks of November 15, January 10, March 6 and May 1. TLC will, at some point, evaluate the project and then do one of three things: fire us all and discontinue the project; continue the project and ask us all to keep writing; continue the project with a slate of different authors. But for now, thanks to Fr. David, I will be writing for a larger audience than that of the parishioners and friends of St. Luke's.
As I begin to think about what this will look like and how I will turn my thoughts on the Daily Office into a meditation series for a much larger readership, the words of the prayer I prayed in the sacristy before services early in my ordained life, and up to today before large services, come to mind: Please God, don't let me screw up. Amen.
And now, as that process begins, I ask you to heed the words of Ephesians 6:19 – Pray also for me, so that when I write, a message may be given me to make known the mystery of the gospel.
Amen.
Ephesians 6:19
I wrote those words in the front of my BCP either while in seminary or shortly after arriving at my first call in Montana. I honestly can't remember which, but it doesn't much matter, because I put them there as a reminder to me that preaching is a job I should always take seriously, that the gospel is a mystery, that the message should come from the leading of the Spirit, and that I need to proclaim that message boldly. I haven't always lived up to that ideal, but I try.
There's another part to that verse that, while I haven't overlooked, needs to be considered, especially today and in the future – Pray for me.
I have been writing The Wednesday Word for a year now – the first official piece came out on September 24, 2014. I have written about the words of the Desert Fathers, verses of scripture and other readings or sayings I have come across in that time. I have been both surprised and humbled at the overwhelming positive response I have received from those who read these little musings.
But these “little musings,” originally intended for the parishioners and friends of St. Luke's, have led to something somewhat larger. You may remember Fr. David Baumann, who attended for a time with his fiancee Elizabeth. They since moved to Illinois where he is serving a small parish, but have chosen to remain on our e-mail list. Fr. David is much more connected to the wider church than I, and that's where this gets interesting.
Through his connections, the people of The Living Church (TLC) reached out to him asking if he would be willing to be part of a new project and write a variety of meditations for their website. He respectfully declined, but said, “I know a guy . . .” That guy was me, and I was asked to be part a new writing project. I had some questions and said I'd think about it.
The questions have been answered, I assented and I have been given my assignment. I, along with a team of other writers, will be offering meditations on the Daily Office for the next several months. My designated offerings will be during the weeks of November 15, January 10, March 6 and May 1. TLC will, at some point, evaluate the project and then do one of three things: fire us all and discontinue the project; continue the project and ask us all to keep writing; continue the project with a slate of different authors. But for now, thanks to Fr. David, I will be writing for a larger audience than that of the parishioners and friends of St. Luke's.
As I begin to think about what this will look like and how I will turn my thoughts on the Daily Office into a meditation series for a much larger readership, the words of the prayer I prayed in the sacristy before services early in my ordained life, and up to today before large services, come to mind: Please God, don't let me screw up. Amen.
And now, as that process begins, I ask you to heed the words of Ephesians 6:19 – Pray also for me, so that when I write, a message may be given me to make known the mystery of the gospel.
Amen.
Wednesday, September 23, 2015
September 23, 2015
It'll be a lot of fun to go out there and risk our lives.
Sgt. Floyd Pepper
For those who do not know, Sgt. Floyd Pepper is the bass player for the Electric Mayhem, the band from the original Muppet Show and movies. I always wondered if he and Janice had a thing going on . . . But I digress.
I had a conversation this week with a parishioner and we were discussing the idea of risk. In general, is the short-term reward greater than the required risk, or does the risk outweigh the potential reward? This is the question we all deal with at some point, and this question has a multitude of implications.
Many a professional athlete has cut his/her career short in the pursuit of winning a championship “now.” But that idea is being challenged by Matt Harvey, pitcher for the NY Mets. The Mets haven't won a championship since 1986, and the Mets' fans want Harvey to pitch well into the playoffs. But he and his agent have stipulated an “inning limit” so as not to damage his arm and his long-term career. The argument is one of risk: does he risk his arm and future for a World Series, or does he risk a World Series for a long career?
At Celilo Falls, near what is now The Dalles Dam, Native Americans would fish for salmon, recognizing that the salmon provided food for their families, their tribe, and the generations of people who would come after them. When the white man showed up and saw the abundance of fish, they nearly fished the river dry. It was a question of risk: the Native Americans were willing to risk losing out on personal abundance in favor of long-term survival, whereas the white fishermen were willing to risk losing long-term production in favor of short-term gain and immediate profits.
But for us as Christians and as members of St. Luke's, risk might have a different connotation. The annual pledge drive approaches; are we willing to risk increasing our pledge toward the long-term health of the church? We are continuing to examine and tease out those dots in order to answer the question, “Who do you say St. Luke's is?” Are we willing to view them as an indicator of who we might be, and then risk making the necessary changes to live into a possible new way of being? The Episcopal Church in general, and St. Luke's in particular, has something to offer the people of this community. Yes, we have a website, and yes, we've painted the doors red; but are we willing to risk meeting people face-to-face and talking with them one-on-one? Are we willing to risk putting a public face on our private faith?
At some point we need to get up, get out, and take a gospel risk. We need to risk our self-esteem in the face of rejection. We need to risk our need to be “safe” and talk with those we might not normally talk with. We need to risk changing from the way we've always done things for new and challenging ways that, quite honestly, may or may not lead to immediate results.
In short, we need to risk our immediate lives for the long-term arc of the gospel. Maybe that means we risk being more outgoing. Maybe it means we risk increasing our pledge. Maybe it means we risk doing things differently. And maybe, just maybe, if we take risks for the gospel, we can echo the words of Sgt. Floyd and say, “Hey, that was a lot of fun.”
Amen.
Sgt. Floyd Pepper
For those who do not know, Sgt. Floyd Pepper is the bass player for the Electric Mayhem, the band from the original Muppet Show and movies. I always wondered if he and Janice had a thing going on . . . But I digress.
I had a conversation this week with a parishioner and we were discussing the idea of risk. In general, is the short-term reward greater than the required risk, or does the risk outweigh the potential reward? This is the question we all deal with at some point, and this question has a multitude of implications.
Many a professional athlete has cut his/her career short in the pursuit of winning a championship “now.” But that idea is being challenged by Matt Harvey, pitcher for the NY Mets. The Mets haven't won a championship since 1986, and the Mets' fans want Harvey to pitch well into the playoffs. But he and his agent have stipulated an “inning limit” so as not to damage his arm and his long-term career. The argument is one of risk: does he risk his arm and future for a World Series, or does he risk a World Series for a long career?
At Celilo Falls, near what is now The Dalles Dam, Native Americans would fish for salmon, recognizing that the salmon provided food for their families, their tribe, and the generations of people who would come after them. When the white man showed up and saw the abundance of fish, they nearly fished the river dry. It was a question of risk: the Native Americans were willing to risk losing out on personal abundance in favor of long-term survival, whereas the white fishermen were willing to risk losing long-term production in favor of short-term gain and immediate profits.
But for us as Christians and as members of St. Luke's, risk might have a different connotation. The annual pledge drive approaches; are we willing to risk increasing our pledge toward the long-term health of the church? We are continuing to examine and tease out those dots in order to answer the question, “Who do you say St. Luke's is?” Are we willing to view them as an indicator of who we might be, and then risk making the necessary changes to live into a possible new way of being? The Episcopal Church in general, and St. Luke's in particular, has something to offer the people of this community. Yes, we have a website, and yes, we've painted the doors red; but are we willing to risk meeting people face-to-face and talking with them one-on-one? Are we willing to risk putting a public face on our private faith?
At some point we need to get up, get out, and take a gospel risk. We need to risk our self-esteem in the face of rejection. We need to risk our need to be “safe” and talk with those we might not normally talk with. We need to risk changing from the way we've always done things for new and challenging ways that, quite honestly, may or may not lead to immediate results.
In short, we need to risk our immediate lives for the long-term arc of the gospel. Maybe that means we risk being more outgoing. Maybe it means we risk increasing our pledge. Maybe it means we risk doing things differently. And maybe, just maybe, if we take risks for the gospel, we can echo the words of Sgt. Floyd and say, “Hey, that was a lot of fun.”
Amen.
Wednesday, September 16, 2015
September 16, 2015
The end is near; but then again, the end is always near for someone.
Everywhere you look it seems like we are seeing more and more signs of the End Times. Obviously wars and rumors of wars are big on that list. I read a description from a victim of the wildfires in California who said, “I felt like it was the end times. It was red and black and boiling.” Add to that the hundreds of thousands of displaced Syrians, and, well, it can feel like the End Times are indeed upon us.
Natural disasters bring on end times for people affected by them. Hurricanes Andrew and Katrina brought on end times for people in Florida and New Orleans. The Christmas tsunami brought on end times for people in the western Pacific. The wildfires that are tearing through the western states have delivered end times for homeowners and, unfortunately, a few firefighters.
For people involved in wars, the end times may indeed be here. They may lose their homes, their land, their friends, their families or their own lives. War creates end times for a lot of people.
Right now there are hundreds of thousands of people fleeing the war in Syria. They've lost their homes. They've lost their land. Many of them have lost friends and family members. The refugees have more reason to believe the End Times are upon them than any televangelist talking about some ridiculous “blood moon” prophecy.
Instead of focusing on the End Times and trying to read current events with an eye to the calendar and Jesus' return date, maybe we should be focusing on making the kingdom of God present and relevant in the here and now. Jesus said blessed are those who fed, watered, clothed and welcomed those who needed feeding, water, clothing and were strangers. Maybe this is where we exhibit and proclaim the kingdom and love of God.
There are plenty of resources and places to go if you want to be part of the solution; and one of those places is here: http://www.episcopalchurch.org/page/where-we-work. It doesn't cover everything, and it's a limited resource, but it might not be a bad place to begin.
What would happen if we all stopped worrying about the End Times and began working for, and living into, Kingdom Times?
Amen.
Everywhere you look it seems like we are seeing more and more signs of the End Times. Obviously wars and rumors of wars are big on that list. I read a description from a victim of the wildfires in California who said, “I felt like it was the end times. It was red and black and boiling.” Add to that the hundreds of thousands of displaced Syrians, and, well, it can feel like the End Times are indeed upon us.
Natural disasters bring on end times for people affected by them. Hurricanes Andrew and Katrina brought on end times for people in Florida and New Orleans. The Christmas tsunami brought on end times for people in the western Pacific. The wildfires that are tearing through the western states have delivered end times for homeowners and, unfortunately, a few firefighters.
For people involved in wars, the end times may indeed be here. They may lose their homes, their land, their friends, their families or their own lives. War creates end times for a lot of people.
Right now there are hundreds of thousands of people fleeing the war in Syria. They've lost their homes. They've lost their land. Many of them have lost friends and family members. The refugees have more reason to believe the End Times are upon them than any televangelist talking about some ridiculous “blood moon” prophecy.
Instead of focusing on the End Times and trying to read current events with an eye to the calendar and Jesus' return date, maybe we should be focusing on making the kingdom of God present and relevant in the here and now. Jesus said blessed are those who fed, watered, clothed and welcomed those who needed feeding, water, clothing and were strangers. Maybe this is where we exhibit and proclaim the kingdom and love of God.
There are plenty of resources and places to go if you want to be part of the solution; and one of those places is here: http://www.episcopalchurch.org/page/where-we-work. It doesn't cover everything, and it's a limited resource, but it might not be a bad place to begin.
What would happen if we all stopped worrying about the End Times and began working for, and living into, Kingdom Times?
Amen.
Wednesday, September 9, 2015
September 9, 2015
Maybe it represents the weight we carry when we wander off alone.
Durfee
Last week there was an article in the paper about a sheep which had been lost for an unstated amount of time in the Australian scrubland of Canberra. You may have seen it. We don't know for how long it had been lost, but it had been long enough that it had grown about 89 pounds of wool. The picture of the sheep that accompanied the story reminded me of those Looney Tunes cartoon sheep that Ralph E. Wolf was always trying to steal out from under Sam Sheepdog's watchful eye.
Durfee saw this article and gave me a copy after service on Sunday. Before that, she had sent me an e-mail asking if I had seen the article and her thoughts on it. In her e-mail, she was convinced that there was something biblical there, and gave me a litany of ideas that included Samson, hair shirts and the prodigal son.
But it was what she said at church that got my attention: “Maybe it represents the weight we carry when we wander off alone.”
The more I thought about that, the more I decided she was right.
We travel through our lives as individuals, but, for most of us, we are not alone. We have family members who, for however much they may annoy us, can offer support and insights we may not get elsewhere. We have friends who can lovingly call us back down to reality or lift us up to dream. We have partners with whom we can share our thoughts, dreams, fears, joys and whatever else might be on our mind. And, for us Christians, we have a savior who knows what it's like to make this human journey and who shows us what it looks like to be in unity with God.
But when we wander off on our own, we begin to take on burdens that we would normally share with others. The sheep in this story didn't grow 89 pounds of wool overnight. He didn't suddenly find himself unable to stand, struggling under the weight of his burden. Instead, it happened slowly, a little at a time.
The same is true for us. We don't wake up one day with the weight of the world bearing down on us. Instead, it's a slow process – an annoyance here, a crisis there, a lingering problem that just doesn't seem to go away. And, like good, self-sufficient Americans, we usually try to handle these problems ourselves. Whether that's out of a fear of being seen as incompetent, or not wanting to be a bother to others, or who knows what other reason, if we try to deal with all of our problems on our own, we will end up looking like that sheep carrying an extra 89 pounds of wool. We might be able to carry that burden, but it's not the best option for us.
If you find yourself wandering out in the scrublands alone, ask for directions. If you find yourself with a burden you think you can handle, ask for help in the beginning. Even God understood that it was not good humans were alone.
What might be weighing you down? What burdens might you need to unload? You may want to consider asking for help before you end up looking like that sheep.
Amen.
Durfee
Last week there was an article in the paper about a sheep which had been lost for an unstated amount of time in the Australian scrubland of Canberra. You may have seen it. We don't know for how long it had been lost, but it had been long enough that it had grown about 89 pounds of wool. The picture of the sheep that accompanied the story reminded me of those Looney Tunes cartoon sheep that Ralph E. Wolf was always trying to steal out from under Sam Sheepdog's watchful eye.
Durfee saw this article and gave me a copy after service on Sunday. Before that, she had sent me an e-mail asking if I had seen the article and her thoughts on it. In her e-mail, she was convinced that there was something biblical there, and gave me a litany of ideas that included Samson, hair shirts and the prodigal son.
But it was what she said at church that got my attention: “Maybe it represents the weight we carry when we wander off alone.”
The more I thought about that, the more I decided she was right.
We travel through our lives as individuals, but, for most of us, we are not alone. We have family members who, for however much they may annoy us, can offer support and insights we may not get elsewhere. We have friends who can lovingly call us back down to reality or lift us up to dream. We have partners with whom we can share our thoughts, dreams, fears, joys and whatever else might be on our mind. And, for us Christians, we have a savior who knows what it's like to make this human journey and who shows us what it looks like to be in unity with God.
But when we wander off on our own, we begin to take on burdens that we would normally share with others. The sheep in this story didn't grow 89 pounds of wool overnight. He didn't suddenly find himself unable to stand, struggling under the weight of his burden. Instead, it happened slowly, a little at a time.
The same is true for us. We don't wake up one day with the weight of the world bearing down on us. Instead, it's a slow process – an annoyance here, a crisis there, a lingering problem that just doesn't seem to go away. And, like good, self-sufficient Americans, we usually try to handle these problems ourselves. Whether that's out of a fear of being seen as incompetent, or not wanting to be a bother to others, or who knows what other reason, if we try to deal with all of our problems on our own, we will end up looking like that sheep carrying an extra 89 pounds of wool. We might be able to carry that burden, but it's not the best option for us.
If you find yourself wandering out in the scrublands alone, ask for directions. If you find yourself with a burden you think you can handle, ask for help in the beginning. Even God understood that it was not good humans were alone.
What might be weighing you down? What burdens might you need to unload? You may want to consider asking for help before you end up looking like that sheep.
Amen.
Wednesday, September 2, 2015
September 2, 2015
Oh come on now! Really?
The Rev. Dr. Eric Funston
The first reading of Monday's Daily Office comes from 2 Chronicles and tells of the dedication of Solomon's temple. This was the temple where the people of Israel worshiped. This was the temple that Solomon built for the glory of the Lord. This was the temple that was the center of religious and social life for the Jews at that time. And we are told that, on the day of dedication, King Solomon sacrificed 22,000 oxen and 120,000 sheep. Even in Montana, that's a lot of sheep and oxen.
One of the blogs I try to read regularly is written by the aforementioned Rev. Dr. Funston. He tries to write a daily observation on one of the readings of the Daily Office, and this was the title of his Monday post in regards to the reading from 2 Chronicles. He labeled this particular piece of Scripture “fiction,” and then he went on to say why he thought it was a fictional account. I posted a comment in which I said that this piece of Scripture may be fictional in the same way that the story of George Washington chopping down the cherry tree is fictional.
On Mondays I offer a bible study at Rogue Valley Retirement Center. It's an interesting group of people. There is one lady who recently began attending who is very adamant, and very vocal, that every word of Scripture is accurate as written. This has generated a few lively discussions as we work our way through Matthew. She was none to happy with me when I suggested that Jesus could possibly have made a mistake at one point (“Remember,” I said, “mistakes are not necessarily sins”), or when I suggested that Jesus was using a particular image to show God to be feminine.
Following Monday's discussion of Matthew 24, one gentleman came up to me and said, “I have a question . . . I don't understand how people can think that the gospels contain the actual words of Christ.”
What he was getting at was that the gospels weren't written until well after Christ’s death and resurrection. He wanted to know where the authors got all of their information, and wasn't it possible that in gathering that information from an oral tradition, they might have gotten some of the words wrong? Yes, that's probably likely.
It's possible that we don't have the actual, verbatim words of Christ in the Bible. It's possible (likely?) that Solomon didn't sacrifice 22,000 oxen and 122,000 sheep as recorded by the Chronicler.
The Bible may not be factually accurate in places; but in all places it expresses truth. And what I’ve discovered over the years is that it is much harder to read the Bible for truth than it is to read it while blithely ascribing factual accuracy to it.
While Fr. Eric's question was a cute blog post title, maybe there's more to it than that. If we read Scripture with that same question on our mind, might we be challenged to dig deeper? If we read Scripture with that same question on our mind, might we be willing to search for truth rather than settle for easy answers of 'facts'?
How are you reading Scripture?
Amen.
The Rev. Dr. Eric Funston
The first reading of Monday's Daily Office comes from 2 Chronicles and tells of the dedication of Solomon's temple. This was the temple where the people of Israel worshiped. This was the temple that Solomon built for the glory of the Lord. This was the temple that was the center of religious and social life for the Jews at that time. And we are told that, on the day of dedication, King Solomon sacrificed 22,000 oxen and 120,000 sheep. Even in Montana, that's a lot of sheep and oxen.
One of the blogs I try to read regularly is written by the aforementioned Rev. Dr. Funston. He tries to write a daily observation on one of the readings of the Daily Office, and this was the title of his Monday post in regards to the reading from 2 Chronicles. He labeled this particular piece of Scripture “fiction,” and then he went on to say why he thought it was a fictional account. I posted a comment in which I said that this piece of Scripture may be fictional in the same way that the story of George Washington chopping down the cherry tree is fictional.
On Mondays I offer a bible study at Rogue Valley Retirement Center. It's an interesting group of people. There is one lady who recently began attending who is very adamant, and very vocal, that every word of Scripture is accurate as written. This has generated a few lively discussions as we work our way through Matthew. She was none to happy with me when I suggested that Jesus could possibly have made a mistake at one point (“Remember,” I said, “mistakes are not necessarily sins”), or when I suggested that Jesus was using a particular image to show God to be feminine.
Following Monday's discussion of Matthew 24, one gentleman came up to me and said, “I have a question . . . I don't understand how people can think that the gospels contain the actual words of Christ.”
What he was getting at was that the gospels weren't written until well after Christ’s death and resurrection. He wanted to know where the authors got all of their information, and wasn't it possible that in gathering that information from an oral tradition, they might have gotten some of the words wrong? Yes, that's probably likely.
It's possible that we don't have the actual, verbatim words of Christ in the Bible. It's possible (likely?) that Solomon didn't sacrifice 22,000 oxen and 122,000 sheep as recorded by the Chronicler.
The Bible may not be factually accurate in places; but in all places it expresses truth. And what I’ve discovered over the years is that it is much harder to read the Bible for truth than it is to read it while blithely ascribing factual accuracy to it.
While Fr. Eric's question was a cute blog post title, maybe there's more to it than that. If we read Scripture with that same question on our mind, might we be challenged to dig deeper? If we read Scripture with that same question on our mind, might we be willing to search for truth rather than settle for easy answers of 'facts'?
How are you reading Scripture?
Amen.
Wednesday, August 26, 2015
August 26, 2015
And what I say to you, I say to all: Watch
Mark 13:37, RSV
Jesus says these words to his disciples during Holy Week when people were asking him about the end of days. “About that day or hour, no one knows . . . Keep alert, for you do not know when the time will come . . . Keep awake for you do not know when the master will come.”
Jesus is letting his disciples know that nobody knows when the end will come, so live every day as if it were your last. Live every day as if Jesus were coming back today. Or, like the bumper sticker says, “Jesus is coming back soon . . . Look busy.”
This little apocalyptic episode has a long tradition of being about “the end times,” or the end of days. Not only is there a long tradition of reading this passage as looking forward to the end days, but it has also generated that kind of press in current times with books like Left Behind, rapture-ready websites, certain Evangelical preachers claiming the end is near (such as the ridiculous “blood moon” prophecies of John Hagee) or the current mini-hysteria generated by the claim that two asteroids are going to strike earth on September 22.
It's important to remember that apocalypse simply means a revealing or uncovering. And in this apocalyptic portion of Mark, Jesus is pointing out that we need to be on guard, awake and watchful for the coming of the Lord because we don't know when that day will be revealed.
But it was this last line of the gospel reading from Tuesday's Morning Prayer service that caught my attention. The version of the bible I use at MP is the Revised Standard Version. Without getting into all kinds of technical stuff, there are some key differences between the RSV and the NRSV which we use for Sunday morning worship. One of those differences is this last verse of Mark 13.
What stood out to me was that word, “Watch.” It wasn't, “Keep awake.” It wasn't, “Be on the alert!” It was, “Watch.”
Watch for the revealing of God's kingdom. Watch for the uncovering of God's kingdom. God's kingdom is upon us. The kingdom of God is at hand, but if we don't watch for it, we'll miss it. The kingdom of God is near to us, but if we aren't watching, it might pass us by.
And just what are we watching for? Watch for opportunities to love your neighbor, and then do so. Watch for opportunities to proclaim justice, and do so. Watch for opportunities to extend mercy, and do so. Watch for opportunities to treat people with dignity and respect, and do so. Watch for the beauty of the Lord in all things and marvel at his wondrous works.
The kingdom of God is near to you – Watch.
Amen.
Mark 13:37, RSV
Jesus says these words to his disciples during Holy Week when people were asking him about the end of days. “About that day or hour, no one knows . . . Keep alert, for you do not know when the time will come . . . Keep awake for you do not know when the master will come.”
Jesus is letting his disciples know that nobody knows when the end will come, so live every day as if it were your last. Live every day as if Jesus were coming back today. Or, like the bumper sticker says, “Jesus is coming back soon . . . Look busy.”
This little apocalyptic episode has a long tradition of being about “the end times,” or the end of days. Not only is there a long tradition of reading this passage as looking forward to the end days, but it has also generated that kind of press in current times with books like Left Behind, rapture-ready websites, certain Evangelical preachers claiming the end is near (such as the ridiculous “blood moon” prophecies of John Hagee) or the current mini-hysteria generated by the claim that two asteroids are going to strike earth on September 22.
It's important to remember that apocalypse simply means a revealing or uncovering. And in this apocalyptic portion of Mark, Jesus is pointing out that we need to be on guard, awake and watchful for the coming of the Lord because we don't know when that day will be revealed.
But it was this last line of the gospel reading from Tuesday's Morning Prayer service that caught my attention. The version of the bible I use at MP is the Revised Standard Version. Without getting into all kinds of technical stuff, there are some key differences between the RSV and the NRSV which we use for Sunday morning worship. One of those differences is this last verse of Mark 13.
What stood out to me was that word, “Watch.” It wasn't, “Keep awake.” It wasn't, “Be on the alert!” It was, “Watch.”
Watch for the revealing of God's kingdom. Watch for the uncovering of God's kingdom. God's kingdom is upon us. The kingdom of God is at hand, but if we don't watch for it, we'll miss it. The kingdom of God is near to us, but if we aren't watching, it might pass us by.
And just what are we watching for? Watch for opportunities to love your neighbor, and then do so. Watch for opportunities to proclaim justice, and do so. Watch for opportunities to extend mercy, and do so. Watch for opportunities to treat people with dignity and respect, and do so. Watch for the beauty of the Lord in all things and marvel at his wondrous works.
The kingdom of God is near to you – Watch.
Amen.
Wednesday, August 19, 2015
August 19, 2015
Those who eat my flesh and drink my blood abide in me, and I in them.
John 6:56
For the last several weeks the gospel lessons have focused on the bread of life discourse. As I was reading through Chapter 6 again, this passage caught my attention. What does it mean to abide in? What does it mean for us to abide in Jesus? What does it mean for Jesus to abide in us?
I think we all probably have a basic understanding of what that word, abide, means. Dictionary definitions include: to remain; to continue in a particular condition; to endure; to wait for; to act in accord with; to remain steadfast or faithful. Even though we all probably have a basic understanding of what abide means, I think it is helpful to be able to actually see those definitions or synonyms, as they can help to give us a broader understanding.
As we go through our life and experience the many changes and chances it brings, from schoolyard friendships to any number of jobs held to our spouse and children, we learn that life is fluid. Friendships and jobs can come and go. Very few of us never leave the city or town in which we were born. Some of us have experienced multiple marriages. Even for those who have been married only once, that marriage is not the same today as it was when we were first married. Through all of those many changes and chances of our lives though, we remain in Jesus and he remains in us.
As we go through our lives we learn that nothing lasts forever. Friendships bloom and grow and fade away. We change jobs or careers. We relocate, sometimes across the country and sometimes across town. It's often cynically said that the only thing that lasts forever are death and taxes. But as we've gone through the bread of life series these past several weeks, we are told that Jesus offers us eternal life. In all of our uncertainties and changes, Jesus endures. In that endurance, Jesus abides with us.
As we go through our lives we can experience disloyal, unreliable and untrustworthy situations. Whether that is from a child who says, “No, not me . . . I didn't break the window,” or from an employer who promised no layoffs, or politicians who make promises they knowingly can't keep, there are times in our lives that don't deliver as promised. But Jesus is steadfast and faithful and remains with us to the end. In his faithfulness, Jesus abides in us.
There are many changes and chances that we experience in our lives. There are times that don't live up to our expectations. There are times when we don't live up to the expectations of others, let alone ourselves. But one thing is certain and that is that this church will continue to offer a foretaste of the heavenly banquet. We will continue to offer a glimpse of things to come. We will continue to offer the body and blood of Jesus Christ, which is holy food for holy people.
And in that holy act of receiving Holy Communion, in that holy act of partaking of the body and blood of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ, we can be assured that Jesus is faithful, that Jesus endures and that Jesus remains. In that act of receiving Holy Communion, we abide in Jesus and he in us.
Amen.
John 6:56
For the last several weeks the gospel lessons have focused on the bread of life discourse. As I was reading through Chapter 6 again, this passage caught my attention. What does it mean to abide in? What does it mean for us to abide in Jesus? What does it mean for Jesus to abide in us?
I think we all probably have a basic understanding of what that word, abide, means. Dictionary definitions include: to remain; to continue in a particular condition; to endure; to wait for; to act in accord with; to remain steadfast or faithful. Even though we all probably have a basic understanding of what abide means, I think it is helpful to be able to actually see those definitions or synonyms, as they can help to give us a broader understanding.
As we go through our life and experience the many changes and chances it brings, from schoolyard friendships to any number of jobs held to our spouse and children, we learn that life is fluid. Friendships and jobs can come and go. Very few of us never leave the city or town in which we were born. Some of us have experienced multiple marriages. Even for those who have been married only once, that marriage is not the same today as it was when we were first married. Through all of those many changes and chances of our lives though, we remain in Jesus and he remains in us.
As we go through our lives we learn that nothing lasts forever. Friendships bloom and grow and fade away. We change jobs or careers. We relocate, sometimes across the country and sometimes across town. It's often cynically said that the only thing that lasts forever are death and taxes. But as we've gone through the bread of life series these past several weeks, we are told that Jesus offers us eternal life. In all of our uncertainties and changes, Jesus endures. In that endurance, Jesus abides with us.
As we go through our lives we can experience disloyal, unreliable and untrustworthy situations. Whether that is from a child who says, “No, not me . . . I didn't break the window,” or from an employer who promised no layoffs, or politicians who make promises they knowingly can't keep, there are times in our lives that don't deliver as promised. But Jesus is steadfast and faithful and remains with us to the end. In his faithfulness, Jesus abides in us.
There are many changes and chances that we experience in our lives. There are times that don't live up to our expectations. There are times when we don't live up to the expectations of others, let alone ourselves. But one thing is certain and that is that this church will continue to offer a foretaste of the heavenly banquet. We will continue to offer a glimpse of things to come. We will continue to offer the body and blood of Jesus Christ, which is holy food for holy people.
And in that holy act of receiving Holy Communion, in that holy act of partaking of the body and blood of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ, we can be assured that Jesus is faithful, that Jesus endures and that Jesus remains. In that act of receiving Holy Communion, we abide in Jesus and he in us.
Amen.
Wednesday, August 12, 2015
August 12, 2015
The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it.
John 1:5
Depending on the day or the schedule, my alarm normally goes off at 5:16 a.m. I have it set at that time because, basically, that's when my wife and I need to roll out of bed in order for the two of us to get up, get moving and get out the door before 6:55 (her) and by 7:05 (me).
I am one of those lucky few (or abnormal few, if you talk to my wife and daughter) who wake up with the first glimmering rays of morning sunshine, bright and cheerful, and without the need of coffee. I often wake up with either The Beatles' Good Morning, Good Morning or Dear Prudence running through my head, as they are both good morning songs.
The problem with all of the above, though, is that I wake up with the morning sun. That means that during the winter months I revert to what my wife would call “a normal person,” because the sun doesn't appear until 7 or later, and I am not so chipper when having to get out of bed in the dark. I still don't require coffee to get moving, but I do move slower and morning songs are not generally running through my head.
If you haven't noticed, we are on the downward slide. Sunrise here in GP doesn't occur now until well after 6 a.m. That means that, from the time my alarm goes off, I am spending one full hour in the dark. For some, this time of darkness is an inconvenience, a time when alarm clocks become necessary. For others, this time of year begins the downward spiral of seasonal depression or sense of malaise generated by spending more time in the dark.
No matter how long it takes for the sun to rise, whether it happens at 5:13 a.m. or 7:27 a.m., the sun does rise. Every day the earth spins on its axis and causes some place that was dark to move into the light. Every year the earth revolves around the sun in such a way as to provide more light in the summer and less light in the winter. But regardless of whether it is December 21 or June 21, the sun will shine on us at some point in the day.
That's the thing about the dark . . . it doesn't last forever and even the smallest amount of light breaks through to help keep us from stumbling. Oh, we may not have the clear vision that full sunlight provides; but when there is even a little light we are more confident that we won't be cracking any of our toes into pieces of furniture.
Like the sun is the physical center of our solar system, providing light and sustenance for us who orbit around it, Jesus is the spiritual center of our religious solar system, providing light and sustenance for us drawn into his orbit. That's not to say that every day is sunny and bright. It's not to say that every morning we wake up with cheerful Beatles songs running through our heads. Some days we do. Some days it takes us longer to see the light shining than other days. And some days, because of where we are in our orbit, it can seem like there is hardly any light at all.
The dark won't last. The dark can't last. Even the smallest amount of light will break through. So as we begin the downward slide to less light and more darkness of the fall and winter, know that the sun will rise; and remember that the light shines in the darkness, and the darkness cannot overcome it.
Amen.
John 1:5
Depending on the day or the schedule, my alarm normally goes off at 5:16 a.m. I have it set at that time because, basically, that's when my wife and I need to roll out of bed in order for the two of us to get up, get moving and get out the door before 6:55 (her) and by 7:05 (me).
I am one of those lucky few (or abnormal few, if you talk to my wife and daughter) who wake up with the first glimmering rays of morning sunshine, bright and cheerful, and without the need of coffee. I often wake up with either The Beatles' Good Morning, Good Morning or Dear Prudence running through my head, as they are both good morning songs.
The problem with all of the above, though, is that I wake up with the morning sun. That means that during the winter months I revert to what my wife would call “a normal person,” because the sun doesn't appear until 7 or later, and I am not so chipper when having to get out of bed in the dark. I still don't require coffee to get moving, but I do move slower and morning songs are not generally running through my head.
If you haven't noticed, we are on the downward slide. Sunrise here in GP doesn't occur now until well after 6 a.m. That means that, from the time my alarm goes off, I am spending one full hour in the dark. For some, this time of darkness is an inconvenience, a time when alarm clocks become necessary. For others, this time of year begins the downward spiral of seasonal depression or sense of malaise generated by spending more time in the dark.
No matter how long it takes for the sun to rise, whether it happens at 5:13 a.m. or 7:27 a.m., the sun does rise. Every day the earth spins on its axis and causes some place that was dark to move into the light. Every year the earth revolves around the sun in such a way as to provide more light in the summer and less light in the winter. But regardless of whether it is December 21 or June 21, the sun will shine on us at some point in the day.
That's the thing about the dark . . . it doesn't last forever and even the smallest amount of light breaks through to help keep us from stumbling. Oh, we may not have the clear vision that full sunlight provides; but when there is even a little light we are more confident that we won't be cracking any of our toes into pieces of furniture.
Like the sun is the physical center of our solar system, providing light and sustenance for us who orbit around it, Jesus is the spiritual center of our religious solar system, providing light and sustenance for us drawn into his orbit. That's not to say that every day is sunny and bright. It's not to say that every morning we wake up with cheerful Beatles songs running through our heads. Some days we do. Some days it takes us longer to see the light shining than other days. And some days, because of where we are in our orbit, it can seem like there is hardly any light at all.
The dark won't last. The dark can't last. Even the smallest amount of light will break through. So as we begin the downward slide to less light and more darkness of the fall and winter, know that the sun will rise; and remember that the light shines in the darkness, and the darkness cannot overcome it.
Amen.
Wednesday, August 5, 2015
August 5, 2015
The choir's away and
the rest of us suddenly
have lost our voices
Episcopal Haiku
I have a little book of Episcopal Haiku on my bookshelf that originally belonged to Joan Collins. Everyone once in awhile I will glance through it just to see if there's anything in there that grabs my attention. I'm really not much of a haiku kind of guy, but you never know what might spark your imagination.
Summer is winding down. Autumn is not yet within reach. These are what people refer to as the dog days of summer. They seem to slowly creep by as parents eagerly wait for school to start, children try to milk every last day of freedom they can, and all of us look forward for the temperature to begin dropping.
There can be a sense that summer has no schedule, that it just floats along. There can be a yearning to get back to the regularity of a schedule; not only for sanity's sake, but because it lets us know what to expect. And if there's one thing I know about Episcopalians, it's that we like to know what to expect on Sundays.
The bulletin from this past Sunday indicated that choir practice would start up again today, August 5. I think that was the original plan, but Michele is in the middle of a house move, and several choir members are busy doing summer vacation-type things. So the choir will reconvene on Wednesday, September 9, or so I'm told (check with the office to be sure).
We have done a commendable job with our music during the summer. Deacon Joani has stepped up and taken on the task and challenge of playing the organ. And when she was off gallivanting around Spain, Edla filled in.
This past year Michele Kyle has, I think, done an excellent job with the choir. Everything from organization to choosing new music and directing, she has been a great asset for St. Luke's. Those in the choir have performed well and have helped to lead the congregation in various musical offerings.
But with summer also comes vacations, guests, a variety of other commitments and maybe even a house move. So the choir took a few well-deserved months off. While they were doing everything from floating the river to touring Spain to sitting with the rest of the congregation on Sundays, we were all busy making a joyful noise. And as I ponder the joyful noise we made together this past summer, and look forward to the choir's return in September, I offer you my own feeble Haiku:
Autumn now draws near
Angelic voices soon heard;
Hymns are sung with glee
Amen.
the rest of us suddenly
have lost our voices
Episcopal Haiku
I have a little book of Episcopal Haiku on my bookshelf that originally belonged to Joan Collins. Everyone once in awhile I will glance through it just to see if there's anything in there that grabs my attention. I'm really not much of a haiku kind of guy, but you never know what might spark your imagination.
Summer is winding down. Autumn is not yet within reach. These are what people refer to as the dog days of summer. They seem to slowly creep by as parents eagerly wait for school to start, children try to milk every last day of freedom they can, and all of us look forward for the temperature to begin dropping.
There can be a sense that summer has no schedule, that it just floats along. There can be a yearning to get back to the regularity of a schedule; not only for sanity's sake, but because it lets us know what to expect. And if there's one thing I know about Episcopalians, it's that we like to know what to expect on Sundays.
The bulletin from this past Sunday indicated that choir practice would start up again today, August 5. I think that was the original plan, but Michele is in the middle of a house move, and several choir members are busy doing summer vacation-type things. So the choir will reconvene on Wednesday, September 9, or so I'm told (check with the office to be sure).
We have done a commendable job with our music during the summer. Deacon Joani has stepped up and taken on the task and challenge of playing the organ. And when she was off gallivanting around Spain, Edla filled in.
This past year Michele Kyle has, I think, done an excellent job with the choir. Everything from organization to choosing new music and directing, she has been a great asset for St. Luke's. Those in the choir have performed well and have helped to lead the congregation in various musical offerings.
But with summer also comes vacations, guests, a variety of other commitments and maybe even a house move. So the choir took a few well-deserved months off. While they were doing everything from floating the river to touring Spain to sitting with the rest of the congregation on Sundays, we were all busy making a joyful noise. And as I ponder the joyful noise we made together this past summer, and look forward to the choir's return in September, I offer you my own feeble Haiku:
Autumn now draws near
Angelic voices soon heard;
Hymns are sung with glee
Amen.
Wednesday, July 29, 2015
July 29, 2015
“You give them something to eat.”
Jesus, Mark 6:37a
The Daily Office gospel reading for Tuesday of Proper 12 in Year Two comes from Mark and recounts the feeding of the 5000. Other than the Resurrection, this is the only miracle story that appears in all four gospels. The above words of Jesus appear in the synoptics, and they are implied in John.
A lot of the time we read a version of this story, or we hear it read on Sunday when it comes around in the lectionary cycle, and we immediately tend to gravitate to the miracle itself. Were there really only five loaves and two fish? Were there really 5000 people (more if you count women and children)? Maybe it was the miracle of sharing rather than Jesus actually multiplying the loaves and fishes. Why were there only twelve baskets-full picked up? Why and how seem to dominate our thought about this story.
But as I read this story at Morning Prayer yesterday (Tuesday), I was struck by these words of Jesus: You give them something to eat.
The disciples immediately protested. We can't feed all these people with only this! They need to go into the towns and buy food for themselves. It would take two-hundred days wages to buy food. The disciples only had two words running through their heads when Jesus spoke that sentence: We can't. Those two words come from a belief that we don't have enough resources, that we don't have enough money and that we need to worry about ourselves first.
We have the same concerns today. We don't have enough resources. We don't have enough money. We need to worry about ourselves first.
As we read this story, though, Jesus tells us something different. Not only do we have enough, but it is also apparently our job to care for those who come to us. We do have enough. Nobody is turned away.
But to move from scarcity to abundance, to move from inward thinking to outward thinking, to move from, 'We can't,' to, 'We will,' requires that proverbial leap of faith. It is hard to consistently look at what we don't have, or what we think we are missing, and begin to see that as enough.
We do have enough. We have enough resources. We have enough people. We have enough faith. We have enough with what we have on hand to take it up, offer it to God, and distribute it to those around us.
We need to focus more on what we have than on what we don't. And when we come to understand that we do have an abundance of resources, then it won't be so frightening when Jesus says, “You give them something to eat.”
Amen.
Jesus, Mark 6:37a
The Daily Office gospel reading for Tuesday of Proper 12 in Year Two comes from Mark and recounts the feeding of the 5000. Other than the Resurrection, this is the only miracle story that appears in all four gospels. The above words of Jesus appear in the synoptics, and they are implied in John.
A lot of the time we read a version of this story, or we hear it read on Sunday when it comes around in the lectionary cycle, and we immediately tend to gravitate to the miracle itself. Were there really only five loaves and two fish? Were there really 5000 people (more if you count women and children)? Maybe it was the miracle of sharing rather than Jesus actually multiplying the loaves and fishes. Why were there only twelve baskets-full picked up? Why and how seem to dominate our thought about this story.
But as I read this story at Morning Prayer yesterday (Tuesday), I was struck by these words of Jesus: You give them something to eat.
The disciples immediately protested. We can't feed all these people with only this! They need to go into the towns and buy food for themselves. It would take two-hundred days wages to buy food. The disciples only had two words running through their heads when Jesus spoke that sentence: We can't. Those two words come from a belief that we don't have enough resources, that we don't have enough money and that we need to worry about ourselves first.
We have the same concerns today. We don't have enough resources. We don't have enough money. We need to worry about ourselves first.
As we read this story, though, Jesus tells us something different. Not only do we have enough, but it is also apparently our job to care for those who come to us. We do have enough. Nobody is turned away.
But to move from scarcity to abundance, to move from inward thinking to outward thinking, to move from, 'We can't,' to, 'We will,' requires that proverbial leap of faith. It is hard to consistently look at what we don't have, or what we think we are missing, and begin to see that as enough.
We do have enough. We have enough resources. We have enough people. We have enough faith. We have enough with what we have on hand to take it up, offer it to God, and distribute it to those around us.
We need to focus more on what we have than on what we don't. And when we come to understand that we do have an abundance of resources, then it won't be so frightening when Jesus says, “You give them something to eat.”
Amen.
Wednesday, July 22, 2015
July 22, 2015
A soldier asked Abba Mius if God accepted repentance. “Tell me, my dear, if your cloak is torn, do you throw it away?” He replied, “No, I mend it and use it again.” The old man said to him, “If you are so careful about your cloak, will not God be equally careful about his creature?”
We generally like our stuff. After all, that's why we have it, because we liked it to begin with. Of course, some stuff was given to us; but the majority of our stuff came from us. Have you ever noticed that when we really want something we would prefer to purchase it ourselves rather than receive it as a gift? Or is that just me?
We tend to get attached to our stuff. Some of us get overly attached to a particular pen on our desk. Some of us love our cars and care for them deeply. I served on a volunteer fire department once that had in its jurisdiction a man with a classic car collection. We had standing orders to let the house burn and save the garage. If you need an example of this kind of devotion, make your way to the Classic Car Show in Grants Pass this weekend. And I should probably get a new Prayer Book, but red duct tape works wonders.
Whether we care for our stuff out of a sense of passion and devotion, or whether we care for our stuff because we want it to last, or whether we care for our stuff because we choose not to be part of society's throw-away mindset, the operative words there are, “we care for.”
Abba Mius used the image of a torn cloak to make the point that, if the soldier cared for a piece of cloth – just some stuff – enough to mend it and continue using it, would not God care for one of his living creatures enough to help it mend and be of continued use? We are more valuable than a piece of cloth. We are more valuable than stuff. We are more valuable because we were created from the boundless, and boundary-less, love of God.
I received a request to sign a petition this week from a Christian group determined to force a repeal of a variety of recent government actions granting equality to LGBT people. They are intent on stopping what they see as a threat to Christianity and America. There is no sense of love in that petition. There is no sense of caring. There is only hateful outrage that they are being required to share their equality with people they don't like. And that's sad.
It's sad because they choose to not recognize other people as people, just as “others” who need to be stopped and/or eliminated. It's sad because what they care for is maintaining their superiority, not other human beings. It's sad because they can't see God working in any way other than through their own agenda of exclusion. It's sad because they can't see the love of God manifested in people who happen to be different from them.
More than anything else, it's sad because this group of Christians view LGBT people as less valuable than a piece of cloth, stuff not wanted in the first place, whose only value is in the trash.
How do we care for our stuff? How does God care for his stuff? If we aren't caring for others with at least as much devotion as we care for our stuff, or if we are part of a group who sees other people only as useless stuff, maybe we need to rethink why that is.
Amen.
We generally like our stuff. After all, that's why we have it, because we liked it to begin with. Of course, some stuff was given to us; but the majority of our stuff came from us. Have you ever noticed that when we really want something we would prefer to purchase it ourselves rather than receive it as a gift? Or is that just me?
We tend to get attached to our stuff. Some of us get overly attached to a particular pen on our desk. Some of us love our cars and care for them deeply. I served on a volunteer fire department once that had in its jurisdiction a man with a classic car collection. We had standing orders to let the house burn and save the garage. If you need an example of this kind of devotion, make your way to the Classic Car Show in Grants Pass this weekend. And I should probably get a new Prayer Book, but red duct tape works wonders.
Whether we care for our stuff out of a sense of passion and devotion, or whether we care for our stuff because we want it to last, or whether we care for our stuff because we choose not to be part of society's throw-away mindset, the operative words there are, “we care for.”
Abba Mius used the image of a torn cloak to make the point that, if the soldier cared for a piece of cloth – just some stuff – enough to mend it and continue using it, would not God care for one of his living creatures enough to help it mend and be of continued use? We are more valuable than a piece of cloth. We are more valuable than stuff. We are more valuable because we were created from the boundless, and boundary-less, love of God.
I received a request to sign a petition this week from a Christian group determined to force a repeal of a variety of recent government actions granting equality to LGBT people. They are intent on stopping what they see as a threat to Christianity and America. There is no sense of love in that petition. There is no sense of caring. There is only hateful outrage that they are being required to share their equality with people they don't like. And that's sad.
It's sad because they choose to not recognize other people as people, just as “others” who need to be stopped and/or eliminated. It's sad because what they care for is maintaining their superiority, not other human beings. It's sad because they can't see God working in any way other than through their own agenda of exclusion. It's sad because they can't see the love of God manifested in people who happen to be different from them.
More than anything else, it's sad because this group of Christians view LGBT people as less valuable than a piece of cloth, stuff not wanted in the first place, whose only value is in the trash.
How do we care for our stuff? How does God care for his stuff? If we aren't caring for others with at least as much devotion as we care for our stuff, or if we are part of a group who sees other people only as useless stuff, maybe we need to rethink why that is.
Amen.
Wednesday, July 15, 2015
July 15, 2015
“Come away to a deserted place all by yourselves and rest awhile.”
Jesus, Gospel of Mark, 6:31
Those words uttered by Jesus come shortly after he was rejected in his home town where he could do no deeds of power. Those words come shortly after Jesus sends the twelve disciples out into the surrounding villages to preach the gospel, cast out demons and heal the sick. Jesus and the disciples have been busy. Jesus and the disciples have had to deal with handling pressure and people in a variety of circumstances.
After the rejection, after the mission, after the constant demands of their time, Jesus calls the twelve to a mini retreat – “Come away to a deserted place all by yourselves and rest awhile.”
There are days (or weeks if you read the previous Wednesday Word) where things seem to constantly crush and wear you down. Whether it is coworkers who constantly try your patience, family members who treat others in less-than-loving ways, small outside projects that turn into major overhauls sucking out the joy, or a seemingly never-ending litany of interruptions, complaints and problems with no answers, at some point we begin to feel like we are, or have, come to the end of our proverbial rope. And it seems like, despite all of the gadgets designed to make our lives simpler and easier, our lives are actually getting more complicated, frenzied and stressful.
We are told over and over in hymns and pithy sayings of one sort or another to “follow Jesus.” For many people that involves trying to love our neighbors, turn the other cheek, feed the hungry, clothe the naked and speak for the voiceless. And those are all good and holy things to do, or strive to do. But too many of us miss out on hearing these words, “Come away to a deserted place all by yourselves and rest awhile.”
I have a book on my shelf called, Too Busy NOT to Pray. It was written by Bill Hybels, founder and pastor of the original mega-church, Willow Creek in Chicago. While I don't necessarily agree with his theology, churchmanship or methods, this book is a good reminder that, no matter how busy we think we are, we need to commit to times of prayer. We need to remember to not get caught up in the busy-ness of life and remember to participate in the business of spending time with God.
Where are you in your life? Do you have too many commitments wearing you down? Do you have too many people trying to get a piece of you? Is the clutter of life in general keeping you from participating in the presence of God? We all get there. We all have “those days” or “those weeks.” There are times when we all wonder what we are doing this for.
If that is you, take time to slow down. Take time to pray. Take time to do a spiritual inventory. Take time to follow Jesus.
Come away to a deserted place all by yourself and rest awhile.
Amen.
Jesus, Gospel of Mark, 6:31
Those words uttered by Jesus come shortly after he was rejected in his home town where he could do no deeds of power. Those words come shortly after Jesus sends the twelve disciples out into the surrounding villages to preach the gospel, cast out demons and heal the sick. Jesus and the disciples have been busy. Jesus and the disciples have had to deal with handling pressure and people in a variety of circumstances.
After the rejection, after the mission, after the constant demands of their time, Jesus calls the twelve to a mini retreat – “Come away to a deserted place all by yourselves and rest awhile.”
There are days (or weeks if you read the previous Wednesday Word) where things seem to constantly crush and wear you down. Whether it is coworkers who constantly try your patience, family members who treat others in less-than-loving ways, small outside projects that turn into major overhauls sucking out the joy, or a seemingly never-ending litany of interruptions, complaints and problems with no answers, at some point we begin to feel like we are, or have, come to the end of our proverbial rope. And it seems like, despite all of the gadgets designed to make our lives simpler and easier, our lives are actually getting more complicated, frenzied and stressful.
We are told over and over in hymns and pithy sayings of one sort or another to “follow Jesus.” For many people that involves trying to love our neighbors, turn the other cheek, feed the hungry, clothe the naked and speak for the voiceless. And those are all good and holy things to do, or strive to do. But too many of us miss out on hearing these words, “Come away to a deserted place all by yourselves and rest awhile.”
I have a book on my shelf called, Too Busy NOT to Pray. It was written by Bill Hybels, founder and pastor of the original mega-church, Willow Creek in Chicago. While I don't necessarily agree with his theology, churchmanship or methods, this book is a good reminder that, no matter how busy we think we are, we need to commit to times of prayer. We need to remember to not get caught up in the busy-ness of life and remember to participate in the business of spending time with God.
Where are you in your life? Do you have too many commitments wearing you down? Do you have too many people trying to get a piece of you? Is the clutter of life in general keeping you from participating in the presence of God? We all get there. We all have “those days” or “those weeks.” There are times when we all wonder what we are doing this for.
If that is you, take time to slow down. Take time to pray. Take time to do a spiritual inventory. Take time to follow Jesus.
Come away to a deserted place all by yourself and rest awhile.
Amen.
Wednesday, July 8, 2015
July 8, 2015
“It's just another manic Monday.”
The Bangles
On Sunday, June 28, the Fifth Sunday after Pentecost, Proper 8, the gospel passage from Mark was the story of Jesus going to the home of Jairus to heal his terminally ill daughter. On the way there, Jesus was interrupted by a woman who had touched his robe in an attempt to be healed of her chronic bleeding. Jesus eventually arrives at Jairus' house, but only after the girl has died.
One of the two areas I preached on was the idea of holy interruptions. How do we deal with interruptions? Can we learn to see interruptions as grace-filled moments? Can we use them to express God's loving presence?
This past Sunday, July 5, the Sixth Sunday after Pentecost, Proper 9, I preached on where we are able to hear and see God at work in the world around us. The people of Jesus' home town were not able to hear or see God at work because they thought they knew who Jesus was. They thought they knew what he had to say, and they couldn't see him for anyone other than who they thought he was.
In that sermon, I asked how we heard the word of God being preached and where we might see God at work in the world about us. What I didn't say was, “Maybe we need to listen more carefully, and look more closely, at how God is being revealed in the world.”
Between Sunday, June 28 and Tuesday, July 7, I have had ample opportunity to live into these ideas of holy interruptions and looking for God in unexpected places. Last week I met with parishioners after the Sunday services. On Monday I assisted people with gas and emergency lodging. On Tuesday I gathered with others for the Men's Breakfast, had a lunch meeting and met with two people regarding visa issues. And on Wednesday I met with a parishioner and spent a good amount of time following up on the visa issue.
This past Monday and Tuesday I worked with a family member about her deceased father, dealt with someone referred to me for help with a bus ticket (and was also dealing with other legal issues), fielded yet another request for financial assistance, spent 11:45 p.m. to 1:15 a.m. with a self-destructive person who had too much to drink, delivered the man from yesterday to the Greyhound terminal and spent the rest of the day in a form of intervention with said recovering alcoholic and another mutual friend at the hospital working out a productive plan for life.
It has been a busier than normal week. And the question remains, “Can these interruptions to my life be grace-filled moments, and can I hear and see God working through those same moments?”
I hope so. I hope the man on the bus was able to see the face of God in my effort to help get him home. I hope the woman looking for a visa extension can see God working through perseverance. I hope the parishioners and the fallen alcoholic can hear God speaking through me. I hope they all see God caring for them through my actions.
More importantly, I hope I can see all that has transpired as not just another manic Monday, but as grace-filled moments where God is present and working in this very messy and broken world.
Amen.
The Bangles
On Sunday, June 28, the Fifth Sunday after Pentecost, Proper 8, the gospel passage from Mark was the story of Jesus going to the home of Jairus to heal his terminally ill daughter. On the way there, Jesus was interrupted by a woman who had touched his robe in an attempt to be healed of her chronic bleeding. Jesus eventually arrives at Jairus' house, but only after the girl has died.
One of the two areas I preached on was the idea of holy interruptions. How do we deal with interruptions? Can we learn to see interruptions as grace-filled moments? Can we use them to express God's loving presence?
This past Sunday, July 5, the Sixth Sunday after Pentecost, Proper 9, I preached on where we are able to hear and see God at work in the world around us. The people of Jesus' home town were not able to hear or see God at work because they thought they knew who Jesus was. They thought they knew what he had to say, and they couldn't see him for anyone other than who they thought he was.
In that sermon, I asked how we heard the word of God being preached and where we might see God at work in the world about us. What I didn't say was, “Maybe we need to listen more carefully, and look more closely, at how God is being revealed in the world.”
Between Sunday, June 28 and Tuesday, July 7, I have had ample opportunity to live into these ideas of holy interruptions and looking for God in unexpected places. Last week I met with parishioners after the Sunday services. On Monday I assisted people with gas and emergency lodging. On Tuesday I gathered with others for the Men's Breakfast, had a lunch meeting and met with two people regarding visa issues. And on Wednesday I met with a parishioner and spent a good amount of time following up on the visa issue.
This past Monday and Tuesday I worked with a family member about her deceased father, dealt with someone referred to me for help with a bus ticket (and was also dealing with other legal issues), fielded yet another request for financial assistance, spent 11:45 p.m. to 1:15 a.m. with a self-destructive person who had too much to drink, delivered the man from yesterday to the Greyhound terminal and spent the rest of the day in a form of intervention with said recovering alcoholic and another mutual friend at the hospital working out a productive plan for life.
It has been a busier than normal week. And the question remains, “Can these interruptions to my life be grace-filled moments, and can I hear and see God working through those same moments?”
I hope so. I hope the man on the bus was able to see the face of God in my effort to help get him home. I hope the woman looking for a visa extension can see God working through perseverance. I hope the parishioners and the fallen alcoholic can hear God speaking through me. I hope they all see God caring for them through my actions.
More importantly, I hope I can see all that has transpired as not just another manic Monday, but as grace-filled moments where God is present and working in this very messy and broken world.
Amen.
Wednesday, July 1, 2015
July 1, 2015
“All too quickly we feel and resent what we suffer at the hands of others, but remain indifferent to the suffering we inflict upon others.”
Thomas a'Kempis, The Imitation of Christ, Book 2, Chapter 5
When I first read this, the first thing I thought of was the quote from Jesus: “Why do you see the speck in your neighbor's eye, but do not notice the log in your own eye?” It's all too easy to point out the faults of others while ignoring or rationalizing our own faults.
That was the first thing I thought. But, as I sat with it, I realized that this wasn't really what Thomas was saying. It went deeper than that. It goes deeper because, while Jesus' words challenge us to exam our own faults before we criticize the faults of others, these words of Thomas begin to remind us of the suffering we cause to others. Thomas wrote these words at the earliest in 1418. He was ahead of his time by approximately 580 years when, in 1998, an updated Confession of Sin appeared in the supplemental liturgical resource Enriching Our Worship 1 with the words, “We repent of the evil that enslaves us, the evil we have done, and the evil done on our behalf.”
For some of us in our modern American society, we are accustomed to getting what we want when we want it. This is reflected in small ways in our expectation of being served at a restaurant promptly, or being politely waited on at clothing stores while we purchase the items we want, or being able to fill our refrigerators with fresh produce, or taking everyday activities for granted.
But when we don't get our food fast enough, when the clothes and food we want are unavailable, or when someone else is granted the right of equal access for something we thought was our privilege, too many of us make the claim, “It's not fair,” or make claims of persecution. In reality, we are not being persecuted and it is fair; it's just that we would rather see our own inconvenience and “suffering” instead of the inequality and suffering done to others by, or on behalf of, us.
And this goes well beyond quick, inexpensive food and clothing items. This also addresses a variety of privileges we take for granted but are often unwilling to grant to those who differ from us. A certain group of people can expect to be served and purchase basic items without question, while another group of people are unable to purchase those same basic items because of income inequality, lack of availability, or are refused services based upon “deeply held religious beliefs.”
There seems to be a (unfounded) belief that granting equal rights to “them” means fewer rights for me.
At its very worst though, it shows up in the actions of Dylann Roof and the recent unidentified arsonists, who are so afraid of granting people of color equal access to the various privileges they themselves enjoy, that they are driven to kill people and burn churches.
Will we continue to believe we are being persecuted when others are granted the same rights and privileges that we ourselves enjoy? Will we remain indifferent to the pain and suffering inflicted on others, either by us directly or by others “on our behalf?”
These words of Thomas a'Kempis, and the words in the aforementioned Confession, should give us pause and prompt us to open our eyes to a world fallen short of God's will that there is no partiality.
Amen.
Thomas a'Kempis, The Imitation of Christ, Book 2, Chapter 5
When I first read this, the first thing I thought of was the quote from Jesus: “Why do you see the speck in your neighbor's eye, but do not notice the log in your own eye?” It's all too easy to point out the faults of others while ignoring or rationalizing our own faults.
That was the first thing I thought. But, as I sat with it, I realized that this wasn't really what Thomas was saying. It went deeper than that. It goes deeper because, while Jesus' words challenge us to exam our own faults before we criticize the faults of others, these words of Thomas begin to remind us of the suffering we cause to others. Thomas wrote these words at the earliest in 1418. He was ahead of his time by approximately 580 years when, in 1998, an updated Confession of Sin appeared in the supplemental liturgical resource Enriching Our Worship 1 with the words, “We repent of the evil that enslaves us, the evil we have done, and the evil done on our behalf.”
For some of us in our modern American society, we are accustomed to getting what we want when we want it. This is reflected in small ways in our expectation of being served at a restaurant promptly, or being politely waited on at clothing stores while we purchase the items we want, or being able to fill our refrigerators with fresh produce, or taking everyday activities for granted.
But when we don't get our food fast enough, when the clothes and food we want are unavailable, or when someone else is granted the right of equal access for something we thought was our privilege, too many of us make the claim, “It's not fair,” or make claims of persecution. In reality, we are not being persecuted and it is fair; it's just that we would rather see our own inconvenience and “suffering” instead of the inequality and suffering done to others by, or on behalf of, us.
And this goes well beyond quick, inexpensive food and clothing items. This also addresses a variety of privileges we take for granted but are often unwilling to grant to those who differ from us. A certain group of people can expect to be served and purchase basic items without question, while another group of people are unable to purchase those same basic items because of income inequality, lack of availability, or are refused services based upon “deeply held religious beliefs.”
There seems to be a (unfounded) belief that granting equal rights to “them” means fewer rights for me.
At its very worst though, it shows up in the actions of Dylann Roof and the recent unidentified arsonists, who are so afraid of granting people of color equal access to the various privileges they themselves enjoy, that they are driven to kill people and burn churches.
Will we continue to believe we are being persecuted when others are granted the same rights and privileges that we ourselves enjoy? Will we remain indifferent to the pain and suffering inflicted on others, either by us directly or by others “on our behalf?”
These words of Thomas a'Kempis, and the words in the aforementioned Confession, should give us pause and prompt us to open our eyes to a world fallen short of God's will that there is no partiality.
Amen.
Wednesday, June 24, 2015
June 24, 2015
“If you knew the whole Bible by heart and the teachings of all the philosophers, what would all this avail you without the love of God, and without His grace?”
Thomas a'Kempis, The Imitation of Christ, Book 1, Chapter 1
On Mondays I lead a Bible study at the Rogue Valley Retirement Center. We are currently working our way through Matthew, and this week we focused on Chapter 15. That chapter opens up with scribes and Pharisees confronting Jesus over the issue of ritual hand washing. Jesus goes on the offensive and talks about how the traditions of hand washing and allowing children to abandon their parents are in direct opposition to God's will. What he's telling those around him is that we cannot be tainted by what we perceive as impurities in others. Verses 1-20 have Jesus arguing against limited, literal readings of Scripture that are designed to keep people out, in favor of generous readings of Scripture that look to manifest the love of God to everyone through our behavior.
The argument the Pharisees and scribes were essentially making was, “Scripture clearly says . . .”
The scribes and the Pharisees knew their holy scripture and the teachings that derived from it. They were constantly playing a game of scriptural one-upmanship with Jesus, looking to prove they had all the right scriptural answers in an attempt to maintain their purity and holiness. By holding to ritual law, by maintaining their cleanliness, as was dictated in both scripture and thousands of years of teachings, they could maintain their holiness while ostracizing and condemning others.
This wasn't just an issue for the Pharisees and scribes of Jesus' day, it is an issue for Christians today as well. Today we also have people who know the Bible by heart. Today we have people quoting scripture in reference to the curse of Ham. Today we have people who find scriptural support for slavery and the continued oppression of African Americans. Today we have people who find scriptural support for the degrading and exclusion of women, minorities and outsiders. Today we still have people more concerned with their own purity and being tainted by perceived impurities of others than with expressing the love of God in thought, word and deed.
I don't know Dylann Roof or what he knew about the Bible. But I do know that groups steeped in racism (such as the KKK and the Council of Conservative Citizens) and in the patriarchy movement (such as Quiverfull) often recite chapter and verse of the Bible as both a foundation of their hatred and rationale to ostracize, condemn and sometimes kill others.
The arguments these groups are essentially making is, “Scripture clearly says . . .”
Love your enemies, and pray for those who persecute you. Love your neighbor as yourself. Love does no wrong to a neighbor; therefore, love is the fulfilling of the law. Let all you do be done in love. Whoever does not love, abides in death.
If you knew the whole Bible by heart and the teachings of all the philosophers, what would all this avail you without the love of God?
Amen.
Thomas a'Kempis, The Imitation of Christ, Book 1, Chapter 1
On Mondays I lead a Bible study at the Rogue Valley Retirement Center. We are currently working our way through Matthew, and this week we focused on Chapter 15. That chapter opens up with scribes and Pharisees confronting Jesus over the issue of ritual hand washing. Jesus goes on the offensive and talks about how the traditions of hand washing and allowing children to abandon their parents are in direct opposition to God's will. What he's telling those around him is that we cannot be tainted by what we perceive as impurities in others. Verses 1-20 have Jesus arguing against limited, literal readings of Scripture that are designed to keep people out, in favor of generous readings of Scripture that look to manifest the love of God to everyone through our behavior.
The argument the Pharisees and scribes were essentially making was, “Scripture clearly says . . .”
The scribes and the Pharisees knew their holy scripture and the teachings that derived from it. They were constantly playing a game of scriptural one-upmanship with Jesus, looking to prove they had all the right scriptural answers in an attempt to maintain their purity and holiness. By holding to ritual law, by maintaining their cleanliness, as was dictated in both scripture and thousands of years of teachings, they could maintain their holiness while ostracizing and condemning others.
This wasn't just an issue for the Pharisees and scribes of Jesus' day, it is an issue for Christians today as well. Today we also have people who know the Bible by heart. Today we have people quoting scripture in reference to the curse of Ham. Today we have people who find scriptural support for slavery and the continued oppression of African Americans. Today we have people who find scriptural support for the degrading and exclusion of women, minorities and outsiders. Today we still have people more concerned with their own purity and being tainted by perceived impurities of others than with expressing the love of God in thought, word and deed.
I don't know Dylann Roof or what he knew about the Bible. But I do know that groups steeped in racism (such as the KKK and the Council of Conservative Citizens) and in the patriarchy movement (such as Quiverfull) often recite chapter and verse of the Bible as both a foundation of their hatred and rationale to ostracize, condemn and sometimes kill others.
The arguments these groups are essentially making is, “Scripture clearly says . . .”
Love your enemies, and pray for those who persecute you. Love your neighbor as yourself. Love does no wrong to a neighbor; therefore, love is the fulfilling of the law. Let all you do be done in love. Whoever does not love, abides in death.
If you knew the whole Bible by heart and the teachings of all the philosophers, what would all this avail you without the love of God?
Amen.
Wednesday, June 17, 2015
June 17, 2015
“Where is God in all this?”
Everyone everywhere in the midst of a tragedy
Bombings, shootings, buildings collapsing, terrorist attacks, sudden deaths, crashes and accidents of all kinds always bring out questions about the presence (or lack thereof) of God.
If God were a loving God, why would he let this happen? If God really is omnipotent, couldn't he have stopped this from happening? What did I do wrong that God is punishing me? All these questions and more surface when we are faced with a tragedy or loss of some kind.
And while it's easy to proclaim belief in an all-loving, omnipotent and omnipresent God who allows us to exercise our free will when things are going well, that seems to get more difficult or more complicated when things don't go our way or when disaster strikes. We want to hold to certain tenets of the faith as long as God doesn't get in the way, while also wanting to be engulfed in holy bubble-wrap to keep us from harm when things go wrong.
But that, unfortunately, is not how it works. God does not surround us with holy bubble-wrap. God does not step in and alter the course of bad or hateful decisions. God does not, generally speaking, suddenly and magically “make everything better.”
If God doesn't do any of those things, then we are back to the original question: Where is God in all this?
As Christians, we believe that God became incarnate in the person of Jesus Christ. This is an amazingly bold statement of belief: that the eternal, omnipotent, Creator of everything chose to humble himself and dwell with us as a fellow human being. But this can also be amazingly comforting when we realize that God Almighty chose to dwell with us as a fellow human being. It means that our suffering has become God's suffering. It means that our tragedies have become God's tragedies. It means that our joys have become God's joys. Our struggles and accomplishments are God's struggles and accomplishments. This is all reflected in Matthew's interpretation of Isaiah 7:14 when he writes, “ . . . 'and they shall name him Emmanuel,' which means, 'God is with us'.”
This question of where is God has been on my mind recently with the news of Dan Collins. On Monday afternoon he had the misfortune of falling down a flight of stairs resulting in eight broken ribs, a collapsed lung and lacerated spleen and liver. He was transported to the hospital in Tahoe and then airlifted to the Reno trauma center where he spent the past few days in ICU. Dan, apparently, could have benefited from holy bubble-wrap.
Where is God in all this? God is with the medics, nurses and doctors who have cared, and are caring, for Dan. God is with those who minister to Joan while in Reno. God is with Fr. John Seville, the interim rector at Trinity Church in Reno, who will visit Dan and Joan at the hospital. God is with all those who are praying for safety, healing and recovery.
Where is God in all this? God is with us.
Amen.
Everyone everywhere in the midst of a tragedy
Bombings, shootings, buildings collapsing, terrorist attacks, sudden deaths, crashes and accidents of all kinds always bring out questions about the presence (or lack thereof) of God.
If God were a loving God, why would he let this happen? If God really is omnipotent, couldn't he have stopped this from happening? What did I do wrong that God is punishing me? All these questions and more surface when we are faced with a tragedy or loss of some kind.
And while it's easy to proclaim belief in an all-loving, omnipotent and omnipresent God who allows us to exercise our free will when things are going well, that seems to get more difficult or more complicated when things don't go our way or when disaster strikes. We want to hold to certain tenets of the faith as long as God doesn't get in the way, while also wanting to be engulfed in holy bubble-wrap to keep us from harm when things go wrong.
But that, unfortunately, is not how it works. God does not surround us with holy bubble-wrap. God does not step in and alter the course of bad or hateful decisions. God does not, generally speaking, suddenly and magically “make everything better.”
If God doesn't do any of those things, then we are back to the original question: Where is God in all this?
As Christians, we believe that God became incarnate in the person of Jesus Christ. This is an amazingly bold statement of belief: that the eternal, omnipotent, Creator of everything chose to humble himself and dwell with us as a fellow human being. But this can also be amazingly comforting when we realize that God Almighty chose to dwell with us as a fellow human being. It means that our suffering has become God's suffering. It means that our tragedies have become God's tragedies. It means that our joys have become God's joys. Our struggles and accomplishments are God's struggles and accomplishments. This is all reflected in Matthew's interpretation of Isaiah 7:14 when he writes, “ . . . 'and they shall name him Emmanuel,' which means, 'God is with us'.”
This question of where is God has been on my mind recently with the news of Dan Collins. On Monday afternoon he had the misfortune of falling down a flight of stairs resulting in eight broken ribs, a collapsed lung and lacerated spleen and liver. He was transported to the hospital in Tahoe and then airlifted to the Reno trauma center where he spent the past few days in ICU. Dan, apparently, could have benefited from holy bubble-wrap.
Where is God in all this? God is with the medics, nurses and doctors who have cared, and are caring, for Dan. God is with those who minister to Joan while in Reno. God is with Fr. John Seville, the interim rector at Trinity Church in Reno, who will visit Dan and Joan at the hospital. God is with all those who are praying for safety, healing and recovery.
Where is God in all this? God is with us.
Amen.
Wednesday, June 10, 2015
June 10, 2015
“It is hard to forgo that to which we are accustomed, and harder still to conquer the will. But if you fail to overcome small and easy things, how will you overcome hard things? Resist your evil inclinations in the beginning, and unlearn your evil habits, lest perhaps little by little they bring you greater trials.”
Thomas a Kempis, The Imitation of Christ
This is more properly a Lenten meditation, for it is during that season in which we are more attuned to making changes in our lives that bring us closer to God. Change is difficult whether it is wanted or not; which is why I always tell people, “If you are going to give up chocolate for Lent, take on the habit of eating baby carrots; or if you are going to give up TV, take on the habit of reading Scripture.”
It's easier to overcome those small and easy things if we replace them with small but better habits. Baby carrots for chocolate, Scripture for TV, 30 minutes of walking for one TV show, etc.
And even though this seems to be more appropriate for a Lenten meditation, I was reminded of this quote from Thomas yesterday at Morning Prayer. For the last several days, the first reading has come from the book of Deuteronomy and is, essentially, Moses summarizing for the people of Israel both the benefits of obeying and the consequences of disobeying the Law.
“No, the word is very near to you; it is in your mouth and in your heart for you to observe . . . But if your heart turns away and you do not hear, but are led astray to bow down to other gods and serve them, I declare to you today that you shall perish” (Deut. 30:14, 17-18a).
I sometimes wonder if we aren't having the same conversation with the Serpent on a daily basis. “Oh, you won't die,” the Serpent whispers to us. “You'll be fine.”
But the truth is, we aren't fine. We slowly waste away by ignoring our physical health. We slowly create an enclave of one by focusing only on ourselves, ignoring others around us. We slowly drift away by seeing worship, prayer and study as non-essential activities. It doesn't take long for us to wander off into places we thought we would never go, one easy step at a time. And before we know it, we have a mountain of habits and practices too large to overcome. And eventually we get buried by that mountain.
How can we keep from being buried by the mountain? How can we avoid the trap of the Serpent? One step at a time, I think. Start small, maybe with a few baby carrots. Make an effort to unlearn one bad habit at a time. Make time to be more intentional about worship, prayer and study.
Lent comes around once a year to help us reorder our lives in relationship to God. The bad news is that those “evil inclinations” and “evil habits” don't pay attention to the Church calendar and have a way of cropping up on a daily basis.
The good news is that there's never a bad time to make a new beginning.
Amen.
Thomas a Kempis, The Imitation of Christ
This is more properly a Lenten meditation, for it is during that season in which we are more attuned to making changes in our lives that bring us closer to God. Change is difficult whether it is wanted or not; which is why I always tell people, “If you are going to give up chocolate for Lent, take on the habit of eating baby carrots; or if you are going to give up TV, take on the habit of reading Scripture.”
It's easier to overcome those small and easy things if we replace them with small but better habits. Baby carrots for chocolate, Scripture for TV, 30 minutes of walking for one TV show, etc.
And even though this seems to be more appropriate for a Lenten meditation, I was reminded of this quote from Thomas yesterday at Morning Prayer. For the last several days, the first reading has come from the book of Deuteronomy and is, essentially, Moses summarizing for the people of Israel both the benefits of obeying and the consequences of disobeying the Law.
“No, the word is very near to you; it is in your mouth and in your heart for you to observe . . . But if your heart turns away and you do not hear, but are led astray to bow down to other gods and serve them, I declare to you today that you shall perish” (Deut. 30:14, 17-18a).
I sometimes wonder if we aren't having the same conversation with the Serpent on a daily basis. “Oh, you won't die,” the Serpent whispers to us. “You'll be fine.”
But the truth is, we aren't fine. We slowly waste away by ignoring our physical health. We slowly create an enclave of one by focusing only on ourselves, ignoring others around us. We slowly drift away by seeing worship, prayer and study as non-essential activities. It doesn't take long for us to wander off into places we thought we would never go, one easy step at a time. And before we know it, we have a mountain of habits and practices too large to overcome. And eventually we get buried by that mountain.
How can we keep from being buried by the mountain? How can we avoid the trap of the Serpent? One step at a time, I think. Start small, maybe with a few baby carrots. Make an effort to unlearn one bad habit at a time. Make time to be more intentional about worship, prayer and study.
Lent comes around once a year to help us reorder our lives in relationship to God. The bad news is that those “evil inclinations” and “evil habits” don't pay attention to the Church calendar and have a way of cropping up on a daily basis.
The good news is that there's never a bad time to make a new beginning.
Amen.
Wednesday, June 3, 2015
June 3, 2015
“Just right.”
Josh
That was the favorite exclamation of Josh, the owner of one of the bars I used to frequent. Whenever something went exceedingly well, or whenever I said something he particularly liked, he always said, “Just right.”
We have just come through what some people call the Liturgical Season – the period of time that runs from Advent through the Day of Pentecost – and have moved into the Season after Pentecost – also called Ordinary Time – which stretches all the way to the end of November and Advent.
I have a saying that really needs to be on a bumper sticker: Episcopalians read the dirty pages. You can walk into any Episcopal church in any part of the country, pick up any prayer book in any pew, and you will find a thin, dirty line of pages running from 355 to 365. Those ten pages are, obviously, the most used pages of the BCP in any church and encompass Holy Eucharist. This really isn't surprising; it's just one of those common things that everybody does and, when pointed out, can make you laugh.
A long time ago I decided that we need to use more of the BCP on Sundays than is traditionally the case. So I sat down and created a system that utilized every Eucharistic Prayer on a regular basis. During Advent and Lent, I use Prayer B because I think it has a more somber tone and (more importantly) has the line, “For in these last days,” a phrase appropriate for those two seasons. At Christmas (and for services in which there are baptisms or a renewal of baptismal vows) I use Prayer D – at Christmas because of the strong reference to the Virgin Mary, and at baptisms/renewal because the Prayers of the People are incorporated into the Prayer. And during the Easter season I use Prayer C because of its greater congregational participation and theme of new creation.
We have now entered the long, green Season after Pentecost/Ordinary Time. This is the season of growth, hence the color green. This is the season that focuses on the ministry of Jesus. This is the season where we focus on discipleship. This is also the season where we can/should focus on our own ministries. And this is the season where I use Eucharistic Prayer A.
We used Prayer A for the first time in a long time this past Sunday. As I presided over Holy Communion, the familiar words and acts flowed through the service without missing a beat. As I glanced out over the congregation, I noticed how many parishioners either didn't bother to open their prayer books or, if opened, simply held it open out of habit without actually looking at it.
Prayer A is familiar to us. It's like meeting up with a good friend we haven't seen for years and picking up the conversation right where we left off as if we were never separated. Prayer A is like that comfortable old sweatshirt that you rarely wear, but when you finally slip it on, you say, “Oh . . . this is nice.”
Yes, the Season after Pentecost seems to last forever. Yes, Prayer A will eventually feel old and tired. But for now, Prayer A is just right.
Amen.
Josh
That was the favorite exclamation of Josh, the owner of one of the bars I used to frequent. Whenever something went exceedingly well, or whenever I said something he particularly liked, he always said, “Just right.”
We have just come through what some people call the Liturgical Season – the period of time that runs from Advent through the Day of Pentecost – and have moved into the Season after Pentecost – also called Ordinary Time – which stretches all the way to the end of November and Advent.
I have a saying that really needs to be on a bumper sticker: Episcopalians read the dirty pages. You can walk into any Episcopal church in any part of the country, pick up any prayer book in any pew, and you will find a thin, dirty line of pages running from 355 to 365. Those ten pages are, obviously, the most used pages of the BCP in any church and encompass Holy Eucharist. This really isn't surprising; it's just one of those common things that everybody does and, when pointed out, can make you laugh.
A long time ago I decided that we need to use more of the BCP on Sundays than is traditionally the case. So I sat down and created a system that utilized every Eucharistic Prayer on a regular basis. During Advent and Lent, I use Prayer B because I think it has a more somber tone and (more importantly) has the line, “For in these last days,” a phrase appropriate for those two seasons. At Christmas (and for services in which there are baptisms or a renewal of baptismal vows) I use Prayer D – at Christmas because of the strong reference to the Virgin Mary, and at baptisms/renewal because the Prayers of the People are incorporated into the Prayer. And during the Easter season I use Prayer C because of its greater congregational participation and theme of new creation.
We have now entered the long, green Season after Pentecost/Ordinary Time. This is the season of growth, hence the color green. This is the season that focuses on the ministry of Jesus. This is the season where we focus on discipleship. This is also the season where we can/should focus on our own ministries. And this is the season where I use Eucharistic Prayer A.
We used Prayer A for the first time in a long time this past Sunday. As I presided over Holy Communion, the familiar words and acts flowed through the service without missing a beat. As I glanced out over the congregation, I noticed how many parishioners either didn't bother to open their prayer books or, if opened, simply held it open out of habit without actually looking at it.
Prayer A is familiar to us. It's like meeting up with a good friend we haven't seen for years and picking up the conversation right where we left off as if we were never separated. Prayer A is like that comfortable old sweatshirt that you rarely wear, but when you finally slip it on, you say, “Oh . . . this is nice.”
Yes, the Season after Pentecost seems to last forever. Yes, Prayer A will eventually feel old and tired. But for now, Prayer A is just right.
Amen.
Wednesday, May 27, 2015
May 27, 2015
“Though she is an unlikely saint, Rahab is remembered by the authors of Matthew, Hebrews, and James as a faithful witness and as an ancestor of Jesus.”
Common Prayer: A Liturgy for Ordinary Radicals
In this alternative prayer book I have on my desk, today is the Feast day of Rahab, the famous prostitute who protected two Israelite spies in return for her family's protection during the raid on Jericho. After some negotiating, both sides kept their word: Rahab hung a crimson cord outside her window (thereby creating the very first red light district), and the Israelites spared everyone in her house from death. Rahab eventually became the great-great grandmother of King David and, according to Matthew, part of the lineage of Jesus.
Rahab is important for a variety of reasons. First, it reminds us that not even the Bible can keep a woman down. If you haven't noticed, the Bible doesn't necessarily do a good job of including women in its stories. Women are most often listed as 'mothers of,' and a few have stories dedicated to them, but for the most part they are anonymous characters in a male-dominated landscape. This is, unfortunately, still often the case today. But the story of Rahab reminds us that women are important players in the story of God and we need to remember them by name.
Second, we must remember that Rahab was a prostitute who became the great-great grandmother of David and a named ancestor of Jesus. So often it seems we try to portray church as the place where nice people go, or as the place where the right kinds of people go. But the story of the Bible isn't filled with the right kinds of people – it's filled with cheats and liars, prostitutes and foreigners, adulterers, rapists and murderers. Oh, there are the right kinds of people in the Bible, but they are in the minority. What this tells me is that the Bible's primary narrative isn't how people relate to God, but that the Bible's primary narrative is how God continually reaches out to all of humanity in an attempt to repair the breach.
If that's the case, if God is reaching out to all of humanity, if God is reaching out to all kinds of people in all kinds of circumstances, then we should be willing to make that same effort. Our first response to people looking to connect with God shouldn't be to look for reasons to bar them from entry; our first response to people looking to connect with God should instead be to look for reasons why God is reaching out to them.
On this day, remember Rahab and how God became a part of her life.
On this day, remember Rahab and ask if we are as willing as God to have a person like her in our midst.
On this day, remember Rahab – sinner, prostitute, saint, ancestor of Jesus and beloved by God.
Amen.
Common Prayer: A Liturgy for Ordinary Radicals
In this alternative prayer book I have on my desk, today is the Feast day of Rahab, the famous prostitute who protected two Israelite spies in return for her family's protection during the raid on Jericho. After some negotiating, both sides kept their word: Rahab hung a crimson cord outside her window (thereby creating the very first red light district), and the Israelites spared everyone in her house from death. Rahab eventually became the great-great grandmother of King David and, according to Matthew, part of the lineage of Jesus.
Rahab is important for a variety of reasons. First, it reminds us that not even the Bible can keep a woman down. If you haven't noticed, the Bible doesn't necessarily do a good job of including women in its stories. Women are most often listed as 'mothers of,' and a few have stories dedicated to them, but for the most part they are anonymous characters in a male-dominated landscape. This is, unfortunately, still often the case today. But the story of Rahab reminds us that women are important players in the story of God and we need to remember them by name.
Second, we must remember that Rahab was a prostitute who became the great-great grandmother of David and a named ancestor of Jesus. So often it seems we try to portray church as the place where nice people go, or as the place where the right kinds of people go. But the story of the Bible isn't filled with the right kinds of people – it's filled with cheats and liars, prostitutes and foreigners, adulterers, rapists and murderers. Oh, there are the right kinds of people in the Bible, but they are in the minority. What this tells me is that the Bible's primary narrative isn't how people relate to God, but that the Bible's primary narrative is how God continually reaches out to all of humanity in an attempt to repair the breach.
If that's the case, if God is reaching out to all of humanity, if God is reaching out to all kinds of people in all kinds of circumstances, then we should be willing to make that same effort. Our first response to people looking to connect with God shouldn't be to look for reasons to bar them from entry; our first response to people looking to connect with God should instead be to look for reasons why God is reaching out to them.
On this day, remember Rahab and how God became a part of her life.
On this day, remember Rahab and ask if we are as willing as God to have a person like her in our midst.
On this day, remember Rahab – sinner, prostitute, saint, ancestor of Jesus and beloved by God.
Amen.
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