Abba Job said to Abba Serinus, “I am careful about what I do in the cell, but when I come out I do as the brothers do.” Abba Serinus said to him, “There is no great virtue in keeping to your regime in your cell, but there is if you keep it when you come out of your cell.”
It's been said that you are who you are when no one is looking. And there's certainly some truth to that. Do we publicly advocate equality while telling racist “jokes” behind closed doors? Do we sing the praises of a healthy diet and then at night, like the song says, hide in our closet eating Twinkies? Certainly what we do and how we act when we think no one is looking can be a measure of our true selves.
But as this conversation between Abbas Job and Serinus points out, maintaining our regimens in public is also important. When locked away in our own world, with nothing to distract us, it's easy to maintain a holy regimen. It's easy to participate in Morning Prayer when there are no other demands on our time. It's easy to stop everything and take a few minutes to pray the Noonday office when we are in our own home. It's easy to keep a fast if you don't have to explain to anyone why you aren't eating.
It's much more difficult to keep daily Morning Prayer when you have office deadlines to meet. It's much more difficult to stop for 10 minutes to pray at noon when people are constantly demanding your attention. It's much more difficult to keep a fast when you have a lunch meeting scheduled and tell the waitress, “Just water,” or feel like you need to explain why you need to turn down someone's offer to take you to lunch.
Abba Serinus is basically telling us that if we can't keep our disciplines and regimens in the face of outside pressure, why bother starting them at all?
We are called to observe a holy Lent through self-examination, repentance, prayer, fasting, self-denial and by reading and meditating on God's holy Word. These are all good things and, hopefully, they will bring us closer to God. But they are designed to remind us, and for us to re-learn, that God is first and foremost in our lives.
If our regimen calls for any of these things, but we only keep them when it's convenient for us, then we really aren't putting God first and foremost in our lives. If we only keep our regimens when it's convenient for us, then we are following a convenient god who is subservient to our wishes and desires.
This Lent, no matter what your regimen is, I pray that you are able to keep it at all times, both in your own home and whenever you are out with your brothers and sisters.
Amen.
Wednesday, February 25, 2015
Wednesday, February 18, 2015
Feb. 18, 2015
“I invite you, therefore, in the name of the Church, to the observance of a holy Lent, by self-examination and repentance; by prayer, fasting, and self-denial; and by reading and meditating on God's holy Word. And, to make a right beginning of repentance, and as a mark of our mortal nature, let us now kneel before the Lord, our maker and redeemer.”
Invitation to a holy Lent, final paragraph, BCP 265
Every year on this day, Ash Wednesday, we hear these words immediately before the imposition of ashes. Every year we are called to observe a holy Lent through prayer, fasting and study. Every year we are called to make a right beginning. And every year it is that final sentence that eventually convicts me as guilty of being unable to live up to and into expectations, standards and vows made.
Every year I talk about giving something up for Lent and making sure to replace what we gave up with something else; because, really, giving something up just leaves a habitual hole that will eventually get filled with something equally bad if we aren't careful. Give up sweets and replace them with baby carrots. Cut down on energy drinks, replace it with basic water, and give the money saved to the discretionary fund. Help protect the environment by reducing how many times you drive your car and figure out when and where you can walk or bike instead. Give up one or two television shows and fill the time with reading Scripture or some other edifying work. Give up a television show and fill the time with prayer.
The point of all this is not to feel like we are fasting 40 days and nights in the wilderness so that we are famished when Easter arrives. The point of all this is not to endure Lent so that we can “get back to normal” after Easter. The point of all this is not to make Lent miserable, but holy. The point of all this is to make a right beginning.
Lent basically began as a lead-in to Easter. “If we are going to celebrate the Resurrection and all that means,” those first Christians thought, “then maybe it would be helpful if we spent time contemplating the Resurrection and what it means for us and for all humanity.” And so developed the custom of preparing for that holy time in what we now know as the season of Lent. And also over time, unfortunately, Lent took on the tone of self-flagellation, reminding everyone what poor, miserable sinners they were, and got everybody singing, “Nobody likes me, everybody hates me, guess I'll go eat worms.”
But what it changed into misses the point that Lent is, or should be, a season of holy self-examination. What it changed into misses the point that Lent is about drawing closer to God. What it changed into misses the point that Lent is about right beginnings. And it's the right beginning that eventually convicts me as guilty of being unable to live up to and into expectations, standards and vows made.
Because although I make vows and set expectations and standards at the beginning of every Lent, I eventually fall short and fall back into old habits and patterns. I fall back into those things because they are easy and mindless. Eventually I find that I have returned to life as normal. And just as certain that I will fail at some vow or expectation or standard and return to life as normal, it is just as certain that Ash Wednesday and Lent will arrive next year to politely request that I make a right beginning.
At baptism we are sealed and marked as Christ’s own forever. The ashes you receive today are an outward and visible sign of that perpetual mark. But unlike the one-time event that is baptism, and unlike the indissoluble seal given at baptism, discipleship is an everyday struggle with its ups and downs, joys and sorrows, successes and failures, falling away and drawing nearer, and its continual call to make a right beginning.
Today may we make a right beginning so that, come Easter, we don't return to life as normal, but begin a life resurrected.
Amen.
Invitation to a holy Lent, final paragraph, BCP 265
Every year on this day, Ash Wednesday, we hear these words immediately before the imposition of ashes. Every year we are called to observe a holy Lent through prayer, fasting and study. Every year we are called to make a right beginning. And every year it is that final sentence that eventually convicts me as guilty of being unable to live up to and into expectations, standards and vows made.
Every year I talk about giving something up for Lent and making sure to replace what we gave up with something else; because, really, giving something up just leaves a habitual hole that will eventually get filled with something equally bad if we aren't careful. Give up sweets and replace them with baby carrots. Cut down on energy drinks, replace it with basic water, and give the money saved to the discretionary fund. Help protect the environment by reducing how many times you drive your car and figure out when and where you can walk or bike instead. Give up one or two television shows and fill the time with reading Scripture or some other edifying work. Give up a television show and fill the time with prayer.
The point of all this is not to feel like we are fasting 40 days and nights in the wilderness so that we are famished when Easter arrives. The point of all this is not to endure Lent so that we can “get back to normal” after Easter. The point of all this is not to make Lent miserable, but holy. The point of all this is to make a right beginning.
Lent basically began as a lead-in to Easter. “If we are going to celebrate the Resurrection and all that means,” those first Christians thought, “then maybe it would be helpful if we spent time contemplating the Resurrection and what it means for us and for all humanity.” And so developed the custom of preparing for that holy time in what we now know as the season of Lent. And also over time, unfortunately, Lent took on the tone of self-flagellation, reminding everyone what poor, miserable sinners they were, and got everybody singing, “Nobody likes me, everybody hates me, guess I'll go eat worms.”
But what it changed into misses the point that Lent is, or should be, a season of holy self-examination. What it changed into misses the point that Lent is about drawing closer to God. What it changed into misses the point that Lent is about right beginnings. And it's the right beginning that eventually convicts me as guilty of being unable to live up to and into expectations, standards and vows made.
Because although I make vows and set expectations and standards at the beginning of every Lent, I eventually fall short and fall back into old habits and patterns. I fall back into those things because they are easy and mindless. Eventually I find that I have returned to life as normal. And just as certain that I will fail at some vow or expectation or standard and return to life as normal, it is just as certain that Ash Wednesday and Lent will arrive next year to politely request that I make a right beginning.
At baptism we are sealed and marked as Christ’s own forever. The ashes you receive today are an outward and visible sign of that perpetual mark. But unlike the one-time event that is baptism, and unlike the indissoluble seal given at baptism, discipleship is an everyday struggle with its ups and downs, joys and sorrows, successes and failures, falling away and drawing nearer, and its continual call to make a right beginning.
Today may we make a right beginning so that, come Easter, we don't return to life as normal, but begin a life resurrected.
Amen.
Wednesday, February 11, 2015
Feb. 11, 2015
“I would like to see them blow out some of these lower-level teams; they've never really dominated.”
NCAA Basketball Analyst when discussing Kentucky's 23-0 record
I'm not a basketball fan. I follow Gonzaga only because we started paying attention to them while in seminary as a way to stay connected to Spokane. And I will watch the NCAA tournament up until GU loses. But even if you've only been paying limited attention to the sports world, you've likely heard of Kentucky's quest for perfection (the Zags, by the way, are 24-1).
As I listened to this person discuss Kentucky's record and whether or not they could indeed wrap up the season undefeated, I kept hearing reasons as to why they weren't really that good. They allow “lower quality teams” to remain in the game. They don't dominate the teams they should. They've had to go to overtime and double overtime against two unranked opponents. In other words, they aren't doing enough to satisfy my personal standards.
And I got the distinct feeling that, had UK blown out their opponents, this same person would be complaining that we could never know how good they really were because they never got challenged, we've never seen them deal with pressure, we don't know if they have any strength of character.
This sounded to me an awful lot like how people view God.
At Morning Prayer yesterday, we read Part I of Psalm 78:
They railed against God and said,* “Can God set a table in the wilderness?
True, he struck the rock, the waters gushed out, and the gullies overflowed;*
but is he able to give bread or to provide meat for his people?”
He rained down manna upon them to eat* and gave them grain from heaven.
So mortals ate the bread of angels;* he provided for them food enough.
But they did not stop their craving,* though the food was still in their mouths.
At what point do we stop denigrating God and others for not always living up to our standards? At what point do we stop focusing on what's absent and begin focusing on what is present? At what point do we stop our craving even though we have been provided food enough?
Maybe that time is now. Now is the time to build up instead of tear down. Now is the time to focus on our abundance rather than our scarcity. Now is the time to give thanks for what we have been given rather than grumble about what we are missing.
In other words: All good gifts around us are sent from heaven above; then thank the Lord, O thank the Lord for all his love.
Amen.
NCAA Basketball Analyst when discussing Kentucky's 23-0 record
I'm not a basketball fan. I follow Gonzaga only because we started paying attention to them while in seminary as a way to stay connected to Spokane. And I will watch the NCAA tournament up until GU loses. But even if you've only been paying limited attention to the sports world, you've likely heard of Kentucky's quest for perfection (the Zags, by the way, are 24-1).
As I listened to this person discuss Kentucky's record and whether or not they could indeed wrap up the season undefeated, I kept hearing reasons as to why they weren't really that good. They allow “lower quality teams” to remain in the game. They don't dominate the teams they should. They've had to go to overtime and double overtime against two unranked opponents. In other words, they aren't doing enough to satisfy my personal standards.
And I got the distinct feeling that, had UK blown out their opponents, this same person would be complaining that we could never know how good they really were because they never got challenged, we've never seen them deal with pressure, we don't know if they have any strength of character.
This sounded to me an awful lot like how people view God.
At Morning Prayer yesterday, we read Part I of Psalm 78:
They railed against God and said,* “Can God set a table in the wilderness?
True, he struck the rock, the waters gushed out, and the gullies overflowed;*
but is he able to give bread or to provide meat for his people?”
He rained down manna upon them to eat* and gave them grain from heaven.
So mortals ate the bread of angels;* he provided for them food enough.
But they did not stop their craving,* though the food was still in their mouths.
At what point do we stop denigrating God and others for not always living up to our standards? At what point do we stop focusing on what's absent and begin focusing on what is present? At what point do we stop our craving even though we have been provided food enough?
Maybe that time is now. Now is the time to build up instead of tear down. Now is the time to focus on our abundance rather than our scarcity. Now is the time to give thanks for what we have been given rather than grumble about what we are missing.
In other words: All good gifts around us are sent from heaven above; then thank the Lord, O thank the Lord for all his love.
Amen.
Wednesday, February 4, 2015
Feb 4, 2015
One day some old men came to see Abba Anthony. In the midst of them was Abba Joseph. Wanting to test them, the old man suggested a text from the Scriptures, and, beginning with the youngest, he asked them what it meant. Each gave his opinion as he was able. But to each one the old man said, “You have not understood it.” Last of all he said to Abba Joseph, “How would you explain this saying?” He replied, “I do not know.” Then Abba Anthony said, “Indeed, Abba Joseph has found the way, for he has said, 'I do not know'.”
Every Monday at 3 p.m. I head up Bible study group at Rogue Valley Retirement Home on “A” Street. I took over from Steven Berry who had given it up because he thought his job would be changing, thereby not giving him time to do it. Wondering where to begin, I followed the advice of the King in Alice in Wonderland, and decided to “begin at the beginning, and go on until I come to the end.” In other words, I began with Matthew.
For the first few times, the group was all women – and small. But I’ve been there for several weeks now and the group has grown a little bit. They are also becoming familiar with me and beginning to ask questions and make comments. As anyone who attends the 9 a.m. Sunday Bible study can tell you, the questions and comments are what make the study fun and interesting.
This past Monday we finished Matthew's version of the birth narrative and we looked at the similarities between Matthew and Exodus, and Jesus and Moses. We also talked a little about what was and wasn't in that story.
“How many wise men showed up with gifts?” I asked.
After a few answers, I said, “The correct answer is: More than two. Matthew only says, 'wise men,' plural, never giving us an exact number. So we really don't know.”
At which point one gentleman vociferously responded, “There were three. And we even know their names!”
A minor argument broke out between the two of us, each of us challenging the other to prove his point. I eventually won the argument when he said he would go find it in the Bible and show me. I think he spent the rest of the hour looking for a place that gave him the number of wise men and their names.
But this reflection isn't about that argument or even about the number of wise men. This reflection is about our certainty of Scripture and how sure we are it says what we think it says.
How many times are we so sure about something in the Bible that we refuse to see or hear anything different? How many times are we so sure of our interpretation that we refuse to acknowledge that God just might be doing something new and different? How many times are we afraid of uncertainty? How many times are we afraid to say, “I don't know”?
In order to be open to the Spirit working in our lives, maybe, like Abba Joseph, we need the courage to say, “I don't know” more often.
Amen.
Every Monday at 3 p.m. I head up Bible study group at Rogue Valley Retirement Home on “A” Street. I took over from Steven Berry who had given it up because he thought his job would be changing, thereby not giving him time to do it. Wondering where to begin, I followed the advice of the King in Alice in Wonderland, and decided to “begin at the beginning, and go on until I come to the end.” In other words, I began with Matthew.
For the first few times, the group was all women – and small. But I’ve been there for several weeks now and the group has grown a little bit. They are also becoming familiar with me and beginning to ask questions and make comments. As anyone who attends the 9 a.m. Sunday Bible study can tell you, the questions and comments are what make the study fun and interesting.
This past Monday we finished Matthew's version of the birth narrative and we looked at the similarities between Matthew and Exodus, and Jesus and Moses. We also talked a little about what was and wasn't in that story.
“How many wise men showed up with gifts?” I asked.
After a few answers, I said, “The correct answer is: More than two. Matthew only says, 'wise men,' plural, never giving us an exact number. So we really don't know.”
At which point one gentleman vociferously responded, “There were three. And we even know their names!”
A minor argument broke out between the two of us, each of us challenging the other to prove his point. I eventually won the argument when he said he would go find it in the Bible and show me. I think he spent the rest of the hour looking for a place that gave him the number of wise men and their names.
But this reflection isn't about that argument or even about the number of wise men. This reflection is about our certainty of Scripture and how sure we are it says what we think it says.
How many times are we so sure about something in the Bible that we refuse to see or hear anything different? How many times are we so sure of our interpretation that we refuse to acknowledge that God just might be doing something new and different? How many times are we afraid of uncertainty? How many times are we afraid to say, “I don't know”?
In order to be open to the Spirit working in our lives, maybe, like Abba Joseph, we need the courage to say, “I don't know” more often.
Amen.
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