A Mighty Purpose

 

The Sunday of the Passion: Palm Sunday / Year C

Luke 22:14-5:56

Have you watched any of the Master’s Tournament this weekend?  I haven’t, even though it is the most prestigious event in the golfing world.  The purpose of golf is pretty straightforward: hit the ball down the fairway toward the green and into the cup using the fewest strokes possible.  Some are better at it than others. 

What is the purpose of life?  The answer to this question is a bit less clear and varies from person to person.  In fact, how we answer – if we have an answer at all – may even vary from day to day and certainly shifts over the course of one’s life.  If we don’t know what the purpose of life is, how do we know if we are living it well?  In golf you have a scorecard.  It tells you how you are doing over the course of eighteen holes.  But what about life?  How do we measure the way we are living?

I read of a gentleman who upon meeting a person for the first time never asked conventional questions such as “What do you do for a living?” or “Where are you from?”  He asked people “What have you done that you believe in and are proud of?”  For some it is an unsettling question, but not for all.  One woman told him that she was doing a good job raising her three children.  A cabinetmaker told him, “I believe in good craftmanship and practice it.”  Another person told him she had started a flower shop and it was the best for miles around.”  Perhaps the first step to finding your purpose of life is to have a good answer to the question “What have you done that you believe in and are proud of?” 

Every year as I listen to the Passion reading I am always struck by how Jesus was in charge of nothing yet in control of everything.  He lived his life with purpose and with passion: healing the sick, calling the lost, forgiving the sinner, lifting up the outcast, challenging the proud, confronting the powerful, and proclaiming the presence of the Kingdom of God in the midst of a society that looked like anything but.  He knew who he was, he embraced his calling, and he accepted the consequences that came with it.

In the preface to his book Man and Superman, George Bernard Shaw wrote this:

This is the true joy in life, the being used for a purpose recognized by yourself as a mighty one: the being thoroughly worn out before you are thrown on the scrap heap, and being a force of nature instead of a feverish selfish little clod of ailments and grievances, complaining that the world will not devote itself to making you happy. 

This quote helps me to understand why I so deeply admire Jesus.  He lived with a mighty purpose, he persisted to the end, and strove in all ways to make the world a better place.  I admire his singular clarity about living.  I suspect if we could ask Jesus what he had done that he believed in and what he was proud of, he would say he believed in the Kingdom of God and was proud of the way he lived and died for it.  Ralph Waldo Emerson, contemplating Jesus’ example, wrote, “The purpose of life is not to be happy, but to be useful, to be honorable, to be compassionate, to have it make some difference that you have lived life and lived it well.”

As you listen again to the Passion of our Lord I wonder if you come away with the same sense I do, that your life is small in comparison.  It is not that we have to be the Messiah, the one who saves all humanity.  This is not our goal, our calling, or our purpose.  But don’t you sit back and wonder if you are doing great things well within your ability and doing them to the fullest?  The old evangelist Billy Sunday once noted more people fail through lack of purpose than lack of talent.  I suspect he is right. 

Jesus died because he had a purpose to his life; a purpose which called humanity to live as God intends and as a result he threatened those in power.  I am suggesting many of us fail to live because we have not discerned a great purpose in life; a purpose worthy of the name ‘Christian’ – a follower of Christ.

Perhaps you can identify with the main character in the Afghani author Khaled Hosseini’s novel And the Mountains Echoed who says,

The cities, the roads, the countryside, the people I meet – they all begin to blur.  I tell myself I am searching for something.  But more and more, it feels like I am wandering, waiting for something to happen to me, something that will change everything, something that my whole life has been leading up to.

For many of us Holy Week will be the most spiritual time of the year.  We will attend services, gather in fellowship, listen to the bible, and relive the last moments of our Lord’s life.  I encourage you to use this week to think about your purpose in life.  Perhaps your prayer can be, “O God, I want to be like Jesus.  Please guide me to something I can believe in that will honor you and make me proud of what I do.”

A Very Human Need

John 12:1-8

Lent 5 / Year C 

“Mary took a pound of costly perfume made of pure nard and anointed Jesus’ feet.” 

A little background on nard.  It comes from the root of a plant in the honeysuckle family which only grows in the Himalayas at an altitude roughly between 10,000-15,000 feet above sea level.  Its roots, when crushed and distilled, form a thick, amber-colored oil with a very pungent, musky aroma.  In biblical times this product was used to scent perfume, included in recipes, and added to wine.  In addition, it was an herbal medicine used to treat a wide variety of health conditions, everything from insomnia to depression to wound care.  And because it had such a powerful, lingering fragrance, it was used in the burial process to mask the odor of decay.  Rare and expensive at the time, we are blessed to live in an age when you can purchase pure nard on Amazon as an oil, an air freshener, and even as a roll on starting at $11.99 on up.

In John’s gospel, Mary’s action, like most every other event he records, is deeply symbolic.  Jesus himself sees it as foreshadowing of own burial which is less than a week away.  But, as with the other signs, what holds deep significance also has a very practical, very human purpose.  The water turned to wine at Cana signals new life, but it is also a basic staple of a celebration. The water at the well in Samaria points to the living water Jesus makes available through the Spirit, but is also a refreshing drink at the noon hour on a blistering day.  The wine and bread at the Last Supper represent Christ’s body and blood, but at a fundamental level provides nourishment to a group of hungry people.   

Mary’s action addresses a very human need.  Jesus’ feet are dirty.  They ache.  They may have bruises or blisters or abrasions.  Taken at this level, what she does is thoughtful and kind.  It is a kind of grace, unneeded and yet much appreciated.  It is just one of those things which makes life easier to bear by easing a little bit of another person’s burden.  You never know when a simple act offered at just the right time will be for another an enormous source of relief and encouragement in the struggle which is life.

I do not consider myself to be the most attentive, situationally aware of the needs of others kind of person, but there are times when I do pick up on something and find myself inspired to act; and yes, I use the word ‘inspired’ intentionally because the impulse to do a specific thing to help another most often comes ‘to’ me, not from ‘within’ me.  Pilgrimages helped me with this.  I tended to finish each day’s walk before many in our group and, after resting a bit, I often backtracked (particularly on the long, difficult days) to welcome in those who, unaware, were closing in on the day’s destination, saying, “You are almost there!”  It was a small gesture, but always appreciated.

Mary’s gesture is much deeper than this.  In the culture at the time, her action speaks of humility, devotion, and service; with perhaps devotion being most significant to her.  Jesus had healed her father Simon of leprosy.  She sat at Jesus’ feet and listened to him teach while her sister Martha stewed in the kitchen.  And, after her brother Lazarus had been in the grave for several days, Jesus brought him back to life.  Yes, she is deeply devoted to Jesus and is keenly attuned to his needs.  The nard must have felt luxurious as she applied it to his feet.  And more than one commentator suggests its scent would have lingered long enough for Jesus to sense it even as he hung on the cross. 

In Mary we have a model of thoughtfulness and selflessness, sacrificing an alabaster jar of expensive nard which some commentators posit was a dowry, others a retirement investment.  And a good sermon might end with the preacher encouraging listeners to be like Mary, maybe even pointing out whatever act of compassion you offer to another you extend to Jesus as well.  It is a lesson worth keeping in mind to be sure.

But what does Jesus model for us to emulate?  He shows us what it is like to be human – to be physically tired, to be sore to the core, to be done in by the demands of the daily round.  He is aware of how he feels and receptive to an effort to ease what ails him.  He embraces the ministry of another’s care because he, like us, has physical needs.  

Throughout Lent we have been focusing on the metaphor of pilgrimage.  To see yourself as a pilgrim is to acknowledge life begins, continues, and ends in God.  Of the three, continues is the most challenging.  From time to time, we find ourselves physically spent, emotionally drained, and spiritually dry.  Jesus knows this because he knew it in his own life.  He willingly accepted Mary’s thoughtful and compassionate act.  His posture invites us to welcome gladly the grace others extend.  And it reminds us to seek refreshment at the Lord’s Table, where our Heavenly Companion offers us a balm which lingers long to meet our every need.

No Longer from a Human Point of View

 

2 Corinthians 5:16-21 & Luke 15:1-3, 11-32

Lent 4 / Year C

St. Paul writes, “From now on we regard no one from a human point of view.”  We might want to ask, “What is a human point of view?” and “What has changed so that we no longer categorize people in this way?”

Well, let me illustrate what a human point of view looks like.  Years ago I officiated a wedding and after the service, the wedding party went off to take pictures at a lovely city park featuring a picturesque lake with a charming arched bridge crossing at its narrowest point.  At least 30 other parties were there for the exact same reason.  And, as you can imagine, the bridge was a setting very much in demand.  Each individual group might hold it for twenty minutes or more as a photographer clicked away from every possible angle.  As soon as one wedding party vacated the bridge another pounced to get it.  All in all, the scene was quite comical, like something out of a Monty Python movie.  At one point I heard a photographer scream, “The bridge is empty.  If we most fast we can take it!”, launching a full-on sprint by a young woman in a wedding dress with her new husband hard charging right behind her.

The people gathered in the park that afternoon could have regarded one another by any number of perspectives they shared in common: all were young, all were celebrating a new marriage, all are members of the human family.  But how did they view one another?  As combatants seeking to occupy the same ground.  This is one snapshot of what it looks like to regard another from a human point of view.

Why does Paul say “we” no longer regard any person from a human point of view?  Because we are “in Christ”, made a new creation by embracing God’s reconciling love for us.  Everything about us before, including perceiving others from “a human point of view”, has passed away.  We now see the world in an entirely new light.  We see every person as God sees them.

And there is no better illustration of God’s perspective than today’s gospel reading… Jesus’ parable known as the Prodigal Son.  We find in the father’s love for his wayward son an image of God’s love for us.  Based on the father’s behavior we learn God grants us enough leeway to choose our own path (even when it can be destructive), is longsuffering as we stray, and receives us with open arms whenever we return.  Why?  Because from God’s point of view we are beloved, not because we earn it, but because we are.  No conditions are attached.  Our proper response to God’s unconditional love is to come home, or as Paul says, to “be in Christ.” 

In the elder brother we see what it looks like to regard another from a human point of view.  He sees his younger sibling in the full, unvarnished light of all his misdeeds, slights, foolish decisions, and willful disobedience.  And this is not an inaccurate assessment.  He describes his brother perfectly from a human point of view.  And did you notice how he sees himself from the same perspective?  He thinks of himself as being hard working, deserving on account of his loyalty and sacrifice, and (most of all) underappreciated.  And again, from a human point of view, he calculates his value accurately.  But the father’s calculation, like God’s, begins and ends with his unfailing love for each of his sons. 

Paul says we who are in Christ now view everyone from this perspective.  In fact, we are appointed as ambassadors to manifest this in the world and to proclaim it to all people… especially to Tyrell Montrel Echolas, a 40-year-old from Tennessee. 

Why do I mention him?  Because last Wednesday he began to send text messages to our parish members claiming to be me, pretending I needed money to for some pastoral need.  It was, of course, a scam and I know several of you were confused by it.  Someone shared with me information about Mr. Echolas garnered from a web service (including the fact he has 62 criminal infractions and has been in prison multiple times).

Armed with this report, I thought about calling him directly and giving him a piece of my mind.  From a worldly point of view, he deserved it.  But, because at the time I also was pondering what Paul wrote, I began to wonder what it would look like to approach him as an ambassador for Christ charged with sharing how God sees him as beloved.  I didn’t figure out what Ambassador Keith should do before I learned from one of you his phone is not set up to receive calls.  Still, I ponder the question because Paul says I should no longer view Tyrell from a human point of view.

One of the blessings of being a pilgrim on the Camino is how it transforms the way you experience others who are walking the Way with you, be they companions or total strangers.  The earthly perspectives of age, gender, nationality, physical condition, and more, gives way to a realization we are all on a spiritual journey.  It is a connection which becomes palatable as arriving pilgrims gather in the square in front of the Cathedral in Santiago.  We all had finished what we had set out to do and each one of us was in some way transformed by the experience.  Sensing this bond gives insight in what it looks like to see one another from God’s point of view.

We who are in Christ aim to live life informed by this reality.  We don’t need Mr. Echolas to remind us it can be a real challenge.  But still, with every step we take in the pilgrimage of life, we begin to connect with others from a perspective not merely human.  Gradually, more and more, our lives begin to embody one of my favorite prayers in the prayer book:

“Enrich our lives by ever-widening circles of fellowship and show us your presence in those who differ most from us” (p. 840).   

From now on, we regard no one from a human point of view.

Finding God in a Game of Paper, Rock, and Scissors

 

Exodus 3:1-15

Lent 3 / Year C

Lindsey Godwin, a college professor, writes about a family vacation at the Grand Canyon.  After the adventure was over, she asked her children about their favorite memory from the trip, supposing it might be standing on the edge of an awe-inspiring natural wonder or stargazing a night sky unpolluted by human light.  But no, their highlight moment was winning a stuffed monkey from a claw game at a hotel arcade.  After all the hours of planning, enduring the inevitable snafus which come up while travelling, and paying for it all, Godwin says she had hoped for something more impactful than this.

As a parent, I have been there.  I suspect you have too.  Still, I can relate to her children because of my experience on our pilgrimage on the Portuguese Way of the Camino.  At one point I encountered a local family enjoying a walk together on a beautiful day.  Even though I didn’t speak their language I recognized two of the boys were playing a game of Paper, Rock, and Scissors.  I can’t remember how I communicated it, but somehow I let on I knew the game and wanted to play.  And so it began: Paper, Rock, Scissors – shoot.  And just that quickly I won.  I can’t even begin to tell you how disheartened the little boy was.  Apparently, he enjoyed winning much more than I enjoy besting a small child at anything.  Now, I am not in the habit of asking God for miracles, but at that moment I prayed, “Please, please, please, dear sweet little baby Jesus, humble and mild, if you can hear me, I only ask one thing: don’t let me win the next game.”  Round 2: Paper, Rock, Scissors – shoot.  I shot paper while he had scissors.  I can still visualize his celebration dance and unvarnished joy and I remember how it reaffirmed my belief in the Nicene Creed and all things orthodox.

The Paper, Rock, Scissors Champion of the Camino

Like the stuffed animal from the claw game, why is this one of my most profound memories of that pilgrimage?  If the trip’s brochure would have advertised this to be the zenith of my experience, I never would have signed up.  And yet, it is one of my most cherished, enduring memories.

Graham says it is an example of what psychologists refer to as the “peak-end rule.”  It suggests we tend not to remember the totality of a grand undertaking but focus more on the peak moments.  But here is the catch, these peak moments typically are not the pinnacle, majestic, experiences, but ordinary moments you notice and savor.  Graham writes, “Research… on well-being… shows that happiness isn’t found in once-in-a-lifetime experiences, but in small, meaningful moments.”  

All of this may seem counter to today’s first reading from the Book of Exodus.  Moses is on Mt. Horeb and he is in the midst of doing a very ordinary thing (tending to his flock of sheep) at a most ordinary location (a non-descript mountain on the Saini Peninsula whose main distinguishing feature seems to be its parched landscape - the word horeb means ‘very dry’).  So, in this sense, he is merely tending to the daily round when the most extraordinary thing happens.  God becomes manifest to him in a bush on fire yet not consumed by the flame.  It is perhaps the single best-known encounter between a human and the Divine in all of scripture.  It truly is a peak experience. 

You might think it is so overwhelming Moses can do nothing other than to be drawn into it, but the text tells us he has to look aside from what he is doing in order to see the bush and then must decide to investigate it.  It is a small detail, yet it reminds us how Moses, like all pilgrims, is open to discerning God’s presence in mundane moments and times.  Who knows how many other shepherds had passed by this site yet failed to apprehend in it what Moses discerns.            

Do you know the story of St. Martin of Tours?  He grows up in the 4^th century during a time when Christianity has become a legal religion, but hardly embraced by Rome’s ruling elite class.  Martin, being the son of a veteran officer, is required to join a cavalry at the age of 15 and three years later is sent to a select unit assigned to protect the emperor.  At some point during this period in his life, Martin decides to be baptized.  While still in his training period, as he is riding into the French city of Amiens, he comes upon a scantily clad beggar.  Without hesitation, Martin cuts his military cloak in two, giving one half to the beggar to keep him warm.  That night, he dreams Jesus, wearing the beggar’s cloak, is telling angels how Martin had given it to him.  What begins as a simple act of kindness and compassion has become an example which continues to inspire the faithful to seek and serve Christ in all persons.

When you understand your life to be a pilgrimage, you become especially attentive to the ordinary moments of life, expecting them to be extraordinary opportunities to find joy and meaning in our life.  And while you may never come across a burning bush like Moses did, each day is filled with God’s presence, even in something as ordinary as a game of Paper, Rock, and Scissors. 

Destination & Uncertainty

 

Luke 13:31-35

Lent 2 / Year C

Daniel Boone, the 18^th century frontiersman, was known for going off into the wilderness on hunting expeditions which lasted for weeks or even months.  More than once he was gone so long his family thought he was dead.  Once a friend asked him if it was difficult to find his way in such a remote, unforgiving land.  “Well,” Boone replied, “I can tell you I have never been lost.”  Then he added, “But I do confess to having been confused for weeks at a time.”  

Uncertainty is a certain feature of life.  It happened every day on each of my three pilgrimages when, after walking for some time, the typical markers guiding the pilgrim’s way were nowhere to be found (a sure and certain sign I had missed a turn somewhere).  And it happens from time to time on our pilgrimage through life.  We find we are not where we expect to be, have little or no idea how we got here, and don’t have a clue how to find our way back on track. 

Abraham is a perfect example of this.  God has promised to make his descendants more numerous than the stars, but, as the years go by, it is not at all clear how this is going to come to fruition given he and his wife are old, getting older, and have no children.  What the path from where they are to where God promises one day they will be is a vexing concern to Abraham. 

This can make for great filmmaking when a movie begins by showing you the end, then develops the story by tracing how the main characters get to the climactic scene.  But what makes for wonderful cinema does not always translate well to life.  As I said last week, viewing your life as a pilgrimage means embracing the notion your life begins in God, moves forward with God, and ends in God.  It means living with the assurance every step you take brings you closer to your ultimate destination.  But there are times, as we see this morning with Abraham, when we begin to doubt how we will find the way to our destination.

Each morning on each of our pilgrimages, we began with a briefing of what to expect on the day’s walk.  It included such things as significant hills we would climb, cafes we would pass along the way, the total number miles we would be walking, and where the day was going to end… our destination. 

About half of the days, like Daniel Boone, I found myself “confused.”  I knew where I was supposed to end up, but I wasn’t sure where I was, and I certainly did not know how to get from wherever I was to where I was supposed to be.  Thank goodness for cell phone coverage and GPS, which often gave rise to another important, deeply spiritual question: How on earth did I get here when I am supposed to be over there (which strikes me as a great topic to pursue in another sermon, but strays from today’s focus on destination and uncertainty)? 

So, let’s stay focused on destination.  What is the ultimate destination of our pilgrimage which ends in God?  There are many different images and metaphors for where we are headed.  The Burial Office in the Prayer Book draws on one of my favorites.  The Rite II Prayer of Thanksgiving following the receiving of communion has us pray this:

We thank you for your assurance of our place at your heavenly banquet, which is our holy destination.

The Rite I version puts it this way:

We thank thee that in thy great love thou hast fed us with the spiritual food and drink of the Body and Blood of thy Son Jesus Christ and hast given unto a foretaste of thy heavenly banquet.

When you receive communion do you experience it as foretaste of your ultimate destination?  Do you conceive of it as a way of gathering around the Lord’s Table with all those you love but see no longer?  On our pilgrimages on the Camino and the Way of St. Cuthbert I knew every day was going to end with us sitting around tables, relaxing at a local café.  So too, God promises our earthly pilgrimage will end sitting at a Table with Christ (our gracious host) and all the saints (our eternal dining companions).  What we experience in part every Sunday one day we will know in full.

This is our promised destination but there are times when it does not feel at all certain.  We lose our way.  Our progress gets impeded.  Our stamina and strength slip away.  The way forward is unclear or seems impossible.  You may not doubt the ultimate destination, but the way to go get there is most certainly uncertain. 

Abraham was in such a place.  And God’s answer to him was as simple and direct as “Have faith.”  Abraham did and God was pleased.  It sounds simple and trite, but faith is the marker you need to help you find your way forward with God. 

During his fight for justice and equality, Martin Luther King certainly wondered how he would ever get to the destination when the path he chose was so riddled with challenge, resistance, and violence.  So he always drew on his faith, which he described as taking the first step even when you don’t see the whole staircase.  It is being brave enough to trust even though the details are not spelled out or nailed down.  God says to us, “Eventually this path will get you to where you want to be.  Are you willing to go if I walk it with you?”

Here is one final thought.  Ponder the difference between a diary or journal and a memoire.  A diary records what is happening in the moment.  It captures all of one’s emotion is real time, all the worry, all the fear, all the pain, all the doubt.  A memoire looks back and reflects on all you have been through and what you learned along the way.  It is much easier to see the hand of God at work when one looks back than it is to see in the present moment. 

Put another way, sitting in a café at the end of the day reflecting with fellow pilgrims on the day’s most strenuous climb was very different from standing at the foot of an incredibly steep hill and wondering how I was going to muster the strength to climb it. 

“God, be my help” is a prayer.  “God will help me” is a statement of faith.  “God was with me” is a testimony.  When Abraham could not see the way forward he set out in faith.  Only in hindsight does he make sense of how it all came to be.  As you look back over your life, when have you acted in faith?  What do you tell others about it?  And, is there a step you need to take today, but have been reluctant (for whatever reason) to take it?

"...with God's Help!"

 

Luke 4:1-13

Lent 1 / Year C

“Will you persevere in resisting evil, and whenever you fall into sin repent and return to God?”  “I will, with God’s help.”      

This year’s Lenten theme is pilgrimage.  It invites us to see life not as some tedious, pointless undertaking or as a self-centered enterprise where everyone’s sole purpose is to maximize one’s own personal experience, but as a journey which begins in God, goes forward with God, and ends in God.  And as I said on Ash Wednesday, I plan to use this motif to interpret the appointed lessons during our Lenten pilgrimage as we walk with Jesus on his journey to Jerusalem and to the Cross.

So we begin today, as we do on the first Sunday of every Lent, by reading about Jesus being tempted in the wilderness.  It points to something true in everyone’s life… namely, you cannot go through life without being tried and tested.  And it becomes especially acute once you have committed yourself to a particular purpose or practice.  As a trivial example, before I gave up chocolate for Lent I was never tempted not to treat myself to a sweet snack.  I simply felt an urge and indulged.  Now that I have committed to abstain during Lent, the pangs come often and temptation is as near as the bakery department at Publix.

Our pilgrimage in and to God is no different.  Once you are baptized and commit yourself to live in accord with the renunciations, affirmations, and commitments of its covenant the testing begins.  If you take your allegience to Christ seriously and if you intend to walk the pilgrim’s way then you can count on obstacles, just as surely as those of us who have gone on walking pilgrimages can count on sore feet, tired legs, bad weather, and heavy loads (none of which seem to happen if you opt to spend your vacation lounging around a pool while reading a book and taking advantage of the all-inclusive drink package). 

So, here is one thing we learn from today’s reading: trials and testing are inevitable.  Here is another thing we learn: there are ample spiritual resources to help see us through.

Before I made my first pilgrimage on the Camino, my friend Dale (yes, the same Dale with the packing protocol radically different from his wife’s) took me to an R.E.I. store to get outfitted.  If you are not familiar with it, R.E.I. stand for Recreational Equipment, Inc., but I think it stands for Really Expensive Inventory!  Dale took me through the process of buying a backpack, hiking shoes, wicking-fabric clothing, blister resistant socks, rain gear, a water filtration system, and so much more.  I will say, with the exception of the filtration gizmo which I never used, all of these resources proved to be immensely helpful on our 15-18 mile per day walks.

When Jesus responds to every temptation by quoting Scripture he points to one of the resources God makes available to us.  Our Ash Wednesday liturgy highlighted several more: self-examination and repentance, prayer, fasting, self-denial, and reading and meditating on God’s holy Word.  In a letter to the Church in Philippi, Paul compares the spiritual resources of truth, righteousness, peace, faith, salvation, and the word of God to armament worn by a soldier (6:11-18) and just as you would not even think of going into battle without being properly outfitted, neither should you attempt to face tests and trials without taking on what God provides.  To the church in Ephesus Paul describes what God provides as being the fruit of the Spirit (5:2).  They include love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness.

We Episcopalians are not particularly good about reaching out to God for spiritual help.  I think it is in our DNA going all the way back to Archbishop Thomas Cranmer, the architect of the first Book of Common Prayer in 1549.  He believed if people knew the 10 Commandments, the Lord’s Prayer, and the Nicene Creed most often most of the time they would know what to do and would do it.  This is why so many of our colonial era churches have what we have in our chapel: tablets with the words of these three teachings inscribed on them.  What I like about Cranmer’s thinking is this: we are not helpless agents who are not responsible for our foibles contending we simply have no power to do any different.  We have all the direction we need and are fully capable of giving it heed.  What I don’t like about his thinking is this: too often, when we are at our wit’s end, the message we hear is “buckle down on your own and try harder to be a better person.”

Let me suggest a mantra for us to use on our Lenten journey straight from the prayer book, right out of the baptismal covenant to repeat over and over again, especially when we are tried and tested: “I will, with God’s help.”  It’s such a wonderful synthesis between the tension of personal responsibility and our need to rely on God.  I will… with God’s help.  It confesses I am committed, and I have spiritual resources to help me do more than I can do on my own. 

One of my favorite verses for pilgrims is Isaiah 40:3: “Those who wait on the Lord shall renew their strength.  They shall mount up like eagles with wings of great length.  They shall run and not be weary, they shall walk and not faint.”  It reaffirms God is a present help for all who look to heaven for the provisions necessary for life’s journey.  “Will you persevere in resisting evil, and whenever you fall into sin repent and return to God?”  “I will, with God’s help.”     

Packing for Lent

 

Ash Wednesday / Year C

Our Lenten theme this year is ‘Personal Pilgrimages.’  My sermons will expound on this motif and a variety of parishioners are going to share a trip or experience they have had which meant much to them, touched them, and in meaningful ways is still present to them.  In all of this, I hope we can discover how the most ordinary journey can be transformed into a pilgrimage, a holy experience.

Pilgrimage is not a novel theme I came up with for Lent.  For centuries the faithful have viewed these 40 days as walking with Jesus as he journeys to Jerusalem and the Cross.  In it we see a template for our own pilgrimage.  And when I mark you with the ashes, saying the words “Remember you are dust and to dust you shall return,” I do not do so intending to be morbid.  Rather, I am encouraging you to view your life as being a pilgrimage that begins with God, goes forward with God, and ends in God.  This perspective has the power to be life-changing.

Along with colleagues and friends, I have made three pilgrimages now.  Prior to each, we have come together for a pilgrim’s mass and the Blessing of the Backpacks.  My friend Dale preached at the first service and he told a story which has stayed with me.  It seems he and his wife Doris (the planners of our trip) approach the task of packing for it like in very different ways. 

At least two months before the departure, Doris converts a spare bedroom into a staging area.  On the bed she begins to lay out the various things she thinks she will need.  A lot of discernment goes into her master plan: What might the weather be like?  Which outfits can be swapped in what ways in order to have something new to wear to dinner each night?  How much does it weigh (an especially important question for the things you will carry on your back)?  Is it really necessary?  What ultimately will make the trip changes many, many times as she deliberates what she really needs and what can be left behind.  Dale, on the other hand, pulls out a suitcase the day before the flight and, without much thought as to the specifics, throws into it a haphazard variety of shirts, pants, socks, and hiking paraphernalia.  His packing process takes about fifteen minutes.  Hers, even after weeks of deliberation, still takes the better part of two to three days.

There is something in this to guide us as we begin out Lenten pilgrimage.  If life is a journey, Lent affords us the opportunity to pause and reflect on what we are carrying that is no longer necessary.  I am not talking specifically about the stuff you may have stuffed away in your attic, garage, and storage facility, although it might be a good spiritual exercise to begin to rid your life of clutter.  I refer to the ‘baggage’ which weights you down and holds you back. 

In a few moments, after receiving the ashes, we will pray the Litany of Penitence.  As we go forward on our Lenten pilgrimage, think of it as a list of things you need to leave behind.  It is a long list – too long to attack all at once.  Spend some time with it and focus on one or two things you no longer want to carry; as things you know you should carry no longer.  If you commit to trying harder on your own, most likely you will fail.  In Sunday’s sermon I want to focus on the resources God provides for us as we walk the pilgrim’s way, considering the ready help provided to us which far surpasses what we can muster on our own.

And speaking of personal mustering, did you know the record for the longest time holding your breath underwater ‘voluntarily’ (and I don’t know if this surpasses or lags behind the record for doing it involuntarily) is held by Budimir Sobat.  On March 27, 2021, the Croatian native went without breathing for an astonishing 24 minutes and 37.36 seconds (and yes, those hundredths of seconds matter in matters like this because is a competitive sport and out there somewhere, someone is dreaming of breaking Bud’s mark).

Let me suggest this is not a good image for what a Lenten discipline should look like or feel.  The goal is not to give up something which is the spiritual equivalent holding your breath until Easter Sunday before pantingly returning to, say, gorging yourself on chocolates.

I think a better image to hold as you approach Lent is that of a pilgrimage.  And while a pilgrimage has a holy destination, the real power for transformation lies in the journey itself, not the journey’s end.  What happens along the way has a greater impact than what happens at the end. 

If I were to direct you to give up something really challenging for Lent or if I said, “If you give up something that doesn’t hurt, it doesn’t count”, I would be doing you a disservice.  Give up what distracts you from giving yourself fully to your Lenten pilgrimage.  When I undertook my pilgrimages I intentionally decided not to bring headphones because I wanted to be present to the sounds of the journey.  I reasoned on pilgrimage headphones are to hearing what a blindfold is to sight.  What are the headphones of your Lenten pilgrimage?

One of the things I am leaving behind this Lent is chocolate.  You all have been overly generous in giving me chocolate chip cookies, especially around Christmas, and I have supplemented your kindness in a variety of other delightful ways.  Now my body craves chocolate throughout the day.  On our physical pilgrimages we were encouraged to use the ache of sore feet as a call to focus on the real intention of the journey.  Many people elect to give up something like chocolate because the pangs and cravings can serve as a way to call them back to the reason they are undertaking the pilgrimage in the first place. 

On this day when we begin our Lenten journey, I ask you to consider what you need to leave behind as you set out.  And I pray these next forty days will be transformative in ways small and great.  And while we look forward to the day of Easter, dreaming of flowering the Cross and our church looking joyous decorated with an array of lilies, don’t forget to embrace each day of the journey, believing it will change and shape in ways which will stay with you throughout your life.

Empathy as Seeing

 

Luke 6:17-26

Epiphany 6 / Year C

Jesus said,

Blessed are the poor.

Blessed are the hungry.

Blessed are those who weep.

Blessed are those who are hated and persecuted on my account.

Woe to those who are rich.

Woe to those who are full now.

Woe to those who are laughing.

Woe to those of whom all speak well.

Unlike the 10 Commandments, as best as I can tell, no person, group, or organization is lobbying to have these words put on display in classrooms or courthouses… and for good reason.  If you take them at face value, they are enormously disconcerting because, if we are honest with ourselves, the lifestyle most of us enjoy in this world means we fall under the category of the woes.

Because Jesus’ teachings here makes us uncomfortable, we tend to do one of two things with them (or perhaps both).  Either we tell ourselves Jesus is not referring to us or we attempt to soften the bluntness of what he says.  To do the first, we might posit other people have more money than we do, eat better than we do, and are happier than we are, and we have our fair share of pain and sorrow in life.  To do the second we need look no farther than the Gospel of Matthew.  His account has Jesus saying “Blessed are the poor in spirit” and “Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness,” while all together omitting the corresponding woes.   

Yet Luke, which we read from this morning, weaves God’s purpose and Jesus’ teachings in a way with which we must wrestle.  When the angel Gabriel tells Mary she will give birth to God’s child, she responds by saying (in part) this:

God has shown the strength of his arm,
he has scattered the proud in their conceit.

He has cast down the mighty from their thrones,
and has lifted up the lowly.

He has filled the hungry with good things,
and the rich he has sent away empty.

Luke records Jesus’ parable of The Rich man and Lazarus (16:19-31) where a rich man continually ignores the pleas of a poor, starving beggar, even as he himself lives in comfort and dines sumptuously every day.  Yet in the end, Jesus says, the two find their stations reversed in the next life.

This parable gives us an excellent entry point for the teaching we hear this morning.  The rich man deserves woe, not because he is rich, but because he does not ‘see’ Lazarus.  He has made the poor beggar invisible.  Those times he is aware of him, no doubt he dehumanizes him, perhaps even contending his misfortune is a punishment of his own making.  He considers not Lazarus’ pain, only how his mere existence is an inconvenience to him.  The rich man no longer sees Lazarus as a person.  If he sees him, he only sees him only as a thing. 

Those who are blessed, in Jesus’ estimation, are not so because there is something inherently virtuous in poverty, hunger, sadness, or being hated.  They are blessed because he sees them, values them, understands them, identifies with them, and ultimately loves them. 

Today we would say Jesus has empathy with them.  Unlike sympathy, which involves feeling sorry for the misfortunes another experiences, empathy involves the ability to do several things:

·    To feel what the other is feeling (like when we blush when we see another person being embarrassed).

·    To understand why another person thinks or feels the way they do (to be able to grasp the world from their perspective).

· To discern the emotions driving another person and to respond appropriately.

·    To desire to do what is within one’s power to improve the lot of another person.

·    To recognize how our own words and actions affect people different from us.

The rich man in the parable, lacking all of these qualities, is completely indifferent.  Jesus says woe will come to such a person. 

If you want to know what the opposite of empathy looks and sounds like, turn on any cable news show and you will find people screaming to be heard as they labor to discredit and demonize those who do not think as they do.  It is a 24/7/365 contest to prove they are right and the other is wrong, never once seeking to learn what makes the other person tick.  Woe to us when we saturate ourselves deeply into this worldview of Me & Mine vs. Them & Theirs.

The Westminster Confession is a doctrine of faith drawn up by an English assembly in 1646.  One section addresses God’s Impassibility, the belief God’s essential nature and being cannot be altered or influenced by, among other things, emotions.  In the language of the confession, God is “without parts or passions.”

This implies God is wholly unlike us; not given to fluctuation or feeling.  Given this, why do we even bother to come here to worship, to pray, to pour out our hearts?  Why?  Because Jesus demonstrates God sees us.  Jesus reminds us God is empathetic, able to be as we are, able to join our place and state, able to see things from our perspective, and able and willing to respond. 

We seek to be empathetic because God empathizes with us.  We seek to see others for who they are, as they are, because God sees us for who we are, as we are.  God looks upon us and blesses us, therefore we are called to look upon others and be a blessing unto them. 

The Urge to Say 'No'

 

Luke 5:1-11

Epiphany 5 / Year C

A newspaper man before he answered God’s call to the ordained ministry, it seemed fitting after Ed Campbell was diagnosed with cancer he would write a weekly article for a local paper chronicling his fight.  After his death in 1997, Forward Movement published Letting Go, a booklet containing many of his columns.  Ed was my clergy supervisor when I was in seminary.  I learned a great many things from him, including how to share God’s working in your life in order to help others better understand how God is at work in theirs.    

This story is from Letting Go:

Today’s gospel reminded me of an incident a week ago.  We were home, when Sheila [Ed’s wife] said to me, “Come, get in the car.  We’re going somewhere.”  I was enjoying reading a book at the moment, so I asked naturally, “Where are we going?”  And she said, “It doesn’t make any difference, just get in the car.”  “How long will we be gone?” I asked.  “Never mind,” she said, “here’s your hat and your cane, get in the car.”

Do you see the point?  I didn’t want to go – didn’t want to respond to the “call” until I knew where we were going and how long we would be gone.  I was being asked to leave my comfort zone and risk placing myself totally in her hands.  I was really quite uncomfortable.  I didn’t want to take a risk, until I knew what was involved… 

I believe we are always receiving calls from Jesus.  And I think our tendency is to turn a lot of them down because it appears they will take us out of our comfort zone.

As I wrote in the E-News, unless it is the Godfather who makes me an offer I can’t refuse, my default response to almost every invitation, opportunity, or adventure is to pass.  I don’t know how long I have been this way, but I first noticed it when my daughters were young and I realized every time they asked if we could do something I almost always said no… often not because we couldn’t, but more as an ingrained reflex not unlike when Ed resisted his wife’s request to get in the car.  I wonder now, how much of the lasting joy of parenthood did I miss out on simply because at the time I didn’t want to be bothered.

In today’s gospel reading, Peter does something noteworthy; incredible really.  He has been fishing all night – ALL NIGHT – and has caught nothing – NOTHING!  Once ashore and tending to his nets he has to sit through a lengthy sermon with a congregation so large Jesus commandeers his boat in order to have a pulpit. 

Peter is exhausted.  He is frustrated after a fruitless night of fishing.  He is worried about lost income.  He is embarrassed by coming up empty-handed.  If he didn’t pack a meal, no doubt he is hungry.  I suspect he is more than a little ticked off.  Most likely he is focused on going home, going to bed, and getting some sleep before getting up and giving it another go when nighttime comes again.  So when Jesus invites Peter to head back out on the water and let down his nets, we can imagine every fiber in his being is protesting.  He has every reason to say no, but opts to give it a try.  It is no overstatement to say Peter accepts the call.  

Ed Campbell noted we often think of God’s call as requiring sacrifice… you know, like sacrificing a quiet night at home or giving up watching the end of the ball game.  But Ed believed a call requires not sacrifice, but a spirit of recklessness.  This is how he put it:

[Responding to a call] requires the same kind of recklessness that characterized the shepherd who left the ninety-nine sheep to search for the one that was lost; or the recklessness displayed by the woman who takes a large alabaster jar of an expensive perfume and pours it over the head of Jesus, despite the cries of the more frugal and prudent.

And while Ed didn’t cite Peter who, after a night of futility, puts out the nets for one more try, he could have.  Now, for Peter, the reward for saying yes is great; life-changing in fact.  Not every yes ends up with a blessing of this magnitude, but most do result in a blessing by contributing to the abundant life Jesus promises in the gospels.

Here is the reward Ed found:

For what it’s worth, I’m getting better every day – maybe more reckless – when Sheila rousts me from my comfort area and says, “Get your cane and hat and get in the car.  We’re going somewhere.”  Who knows?  The risk of responding might end up with ice cream, or a movie, or stopping by the side of the road to watch a beautiful sunset.  I think this is yet another call from God to me.  There are many, you know.  But I figure that this call is pretty good practice for another call I’ll receive before too long – the call [to] “go home.”

The next time you are tempted to say ‘no’ to an opportunity, why not – for the heck of it – say ‘yes’ and see what blessing ensues.  As Ed wrote, saying ‘yes’ to the minor calls in life prepares us for those calls of greater significance.  So go ahead.  Be a little reckless.  Toss out the nets once again and see what you might catch.