Luke 17:11-19
On the way to Jerusalem Jesus was going through the region between Samaria and Galilee. As he entered a village, ten lepers approached him. Keeping their distance, they called out, saying, “Jesus, Master, have mercy on us!” When he saw them, he said to them, “Go and show yourselves to the priests.” And as they went, they were made clean.
Then one of them, when he saw that he was healed, turned back, praising God with a loud voice. He prostrated himself at Jesus’ feet and thanked him. And he was a Samaritan.
Then Jesus asked, “Were not ten made clean? But the other nine, where are they? Was none of them found to return and give praise to God except this foreigner?”
Then he said to him, “Get up and go on your way; your faith has made you well.”
Today’s Gospel reading finds Jesus at a borderline area – a place where people of different ethnicities meet and interact. Then, as now, these regions and relationships offer a variety of blessings and set in motion certain challenges. Jesus is in a vibrant and volatile area as He encounters ten lepers. The focus of the story as Luke tells it is not so much on the miraculous healing that Jesus effects, but rather on the one person who returns to give thanks… that person being a ‘foreigner.’
Let me use the context of this story to comment on a Pastoral Letter issued from the House of Bishops who met a few weeks ago in Arizona. Bishops of the Episcopal Church typically gather twice a year under the leadership and direction of the Presiding Bishop. From time to time the bishops use these gatherings to craft a Pastoral Letter which is then disseminated to the church. In the mid-nineties, for example, the House of Bishops issued a Pastoral Letter on Racism. Clergy are bound by canon law to make these letters available to the parish they serve. Sometimes the diocesan bishop will give specific direction on how this is to occur. It can range from reading the letter in public worship to including it in the monthly newsletter to posting in on a bulletin board. On the occasion of this letter, Bishop Hollerith has made no directive, so the manner of presenting it to the parish is at my discretion.
This most recent letter addresses the immigration crisis facing not only our country, but countries throughout the world. Clearly this is a sensitive, polarizing issue around which many have strong feelings. The letter is included in your bulletin and I will allow you to read it on your own at another time. I did not reproduce the thirty-some pages of supporting documents that the bishops included with the letter. If you would like to see that I will help you figure out how to download it from the internet.
Here is what I like about what the bishops have said.
First, their meeting in Arizona was scheduled long before that state passed its controversial law to crack down on illegal immigrants. Rather than move their meeting out of the state in protest, they used the location to explore the issue more fully.
Second, I like that the bishops met in person with a wide variety of people connected with this concern: “migrants, immigrants, the border patrol, local ranchers, and Christian communities seeking to minister to all these groups.”
Third, I like that the bishops speak to us as leaders of the church, as people who think first and foremost about the kingdom of God, about God’s will being done here on earth as it is in heaven. Their perspective shifts the issue from Republicans verses Democrats, from Fox News verses CNN, and invites (challenges) us to consider what a faithful, Christian position might look like. For me, at least, this is very helpful, for while I am proud to be an American and while most of my personal political leanings are conservative, my first and primary allegiance is to the covenant I made with God at baptism.
Next, I like that the bishops have rejected a viewpoint which holds that this issue must be resolved in accords with the way only one perspective sees it. When emotions run high, competing interests have a way of shouting past each other, never hearing what the other is saying and never benefiting from the wisdom that the other speaks. So, for instance, the bishops “acknowledge the duty of governments to protect their people, including the securing of borders.” In addition they call on the government to create “fair and humane immigration policies” that allow for “a reasonable path to citizenship for undocumented workers” and “a viable system for receiving temporary or seasonal guest workers, with clearly defined points of entry.”
Finally, I like that the bishops mark the difference between those people who cross the border of any country “to escape poverty, hunger, injustice and violence” and those who are “drug traffickers, terrorists, and other criminals.” One group we should do all in a power to keep out, the other are “ordinary people who are simply seeking a better life for themselves and their children.”
The immigration crisis is a huge problem for our country, magnified by our inability as a people to have civil discourse that results in common consensus which then empowers our public leaders to act.
What might we at St. Paul’s do in response to this Pastoral Letter? Well, first we might pray – individually and collectively. Our prayers might dive under the surface of the issue and consider the very real needs and concerns of migrating people. We are connected to them through our common humanity. Many are our brothers and sisters in Christ, related to us through baptism. They need and deserve our prayers.
Next, we can get more deeply involved in the House of Hope, a ministry to migrant workers on the Eastern Shore that we supported through this summer’s Vacation Bible School dessert auction. Several of our partner churches here in Suffolk had made mission trips to House of Hope and we have been invited to join them in future projects.
Finally, our bishops are not telling us what to think, they are telling us what they think. I for one always want to listen to what our bishops have to say, but that does not mean we are not able to speak. In fact, it is quite the opposite. Our bishops hope that we will speak to one another and speak with them and speak with other people in our community and speak with our elected officials. We can and should make our voices heard and it will make a difference. Ultimately what our bishops ask is that we speak as Christians, as persons whose lives are dedicated to the life and teaching and witness of Jesus.
The foreign leper that Jesus encountered was not an undocumented worker or an illegal immigrant because there was no such thing in Jesus’ time. There were no nation states with fixed borders to cross. A person was a Hebrew by virtue of birth, not citizenship. When the bible talks of a person being a “foreigner” it is talking about birth, not nationality. Our bishops caution against reckless reading of scripture that translates the biblical injunction to welcome the stranger and the foreigner into tacit acceptance of illegal immigration. Never-the-less, we cannot disregard Jesus’ example of radical openness to those outside His own ethnicity and heritage. And we cannot dismiss the reality that Jesus’ ministry of healing, as seen in today’s story, extended well beyond comfortable relationships and conventional social norms. It touched all because regardless of immigration status all of us our children of God.
Monday, October 11, 2010
Monday, October 4, 2010
Pentecost 19: Faith as Role & Place
Luke 17:5-10
The apostles said to the Lord, “Increase our faith!”
The Lord replied,
“If you had faith the size of a mustard seed, you could say to this mulberry tree, ‘Be uprooted and planted in the sea,’ and it would obey you.”
“Who among you would say to your slave who has just come in from plowing or tending sheep in the field, ‘Come here at once and take your place at the table’? Would you not rather say to him, ‘Prepare supper for me, put on your apron and serve me while I eat and drink; later you may eat and drink’? Do you thank the slave for doing what was commanded? So you also, when you have done all that you were ordered to do, say, ‘We are worthless slaves; we have done only what we ought to have done!’”
Habakkuk is an ancient prophet with an odd name, but a very contemporary spiritual struggle. He lives in a time in injustice and hardship. The evil prosper while the average, faithful, hard-working citizens suffer. He prays. He preaches. He points out what is wrong. But nothing changes… especially the part that is God’s to fix. And so he cries out, “O God, just how long is this going to go on? I’m going to sit right here and not move until you give me an answer.”
Have you ever felt that way? Have you ever wondered when a wrong will be righted, when a wound will be healed, when an agitator will be discredited? If so, then you know Habakkuk’s struggle with God. You believe in God’s word and you have a clear understanding of God’s will for this world and you have been told that God’s way will carry the day. But sometimes – perhaps many times – it doesn’t. What is wrong becomes the way, what is wounded only gets worse, and the wicked always seem to exact their will.
And so Habakkuk puts his foot down and demands a response from God. And here is what God says: “Write this out in huge letters on a big billboard: The dream of justice is still alive, but things like this take time. If it seems to be a long way off, or if it seems like it is not going to happen at all, you must be patient. The proud believe in only what they themselves can do, but the righteous live by faith in what I am going to do.”
Faith like this can be a challenge. Years ago I had a youth group meeting on a Sunday evening when the Cleveland Browns were playing their archrival Pittsburgh Steelers. I set the VCR to record the game and looked forward to watching that night after the meeting was over. I had hoped not to learn of the outcome, but one of the parents – while picking up their teenager – let slip that the Browns won an incredible game. So as I watched the tape, I knew the outcome. For most of the game the Browns were badly outplayed and losing. And for a while I wondered if maybe that parent had misled me. But in the final 8:00 minutes, the Browns returned not one but two punts for touchdowns and pulled off one of the most storied wins in team history.
As people of faith, we possess a word about where all of reality is coming from and to where it is going. All begins and ends in God. This is our hope. This is our faith. There are times when it is not at all clear how it is going to happen. Those times when we are down by 12 with time running out is when our faith begins to wane.
I wish the Lectionary had included in today’s reading the first four verses of the 17th chapter of Luke, because they provide very helpful context for what we heard. Let me read them for you:
Jesus said to his disciples, “Occasions for stumbling are bound to come, but woe to anyone by whom they come! It would be better for you if a millstone were hung around your neck and you were thrown into the sea than for you to cause one of these little ones to stumble. Be on your guard! If another disciple sins, you must rebuke the offender, and if there is repentance, you must forgive. And if the same person sins against you seven times a day, and turns back to you seven times and says, ‘I repent’, you must forgive.”
Yes, forgiving is something I want to do. It is something I know I am supposed to do. But it is not always something I find easy to do. Given this teaching, it is no wonder Jesus’ followers ask Him to increase their faith. To this, Jesus responds with two more teachings. In the first about a seed He says that a little bit of faith goes a long way. And in the second (and this one is really curious), like a slave who comes into the master’s house after a hard day’s work, don’t expect a thank you… put dinner out on the table. What in the world does knowing your role and doing your job have to do with faith?
Let me offer this: in Genesis 4, after he murders his brother, God banishes Cain from Paradise. He is condemned to be a vagrant and a wanderer for the rest of his life in a place east of the Eden called “Nod;” a word that literally means ‘homelessness’ or ‘aimlessness.’ If homelessness and aimlessness is a punishment, than having a place and purpose is a blessing. Take Paul, for instance, who in today’s reading from 2 Timothy describes his own sense of calling and relates how it encourages him even when it causes him suffering.
Jesus tells His disciples that if they want more faith they should invest themselves more fully in the work God has given them to do. In the midst of life’s struggles and hardships and uncertainties, there is great comfort in the certainty of the daily round. Yes, sometimes the daily round becomes the daily grind. Sometimes it is little more than drudgery. But at its best, our roles in life have a way of containing us, giving us a sense of identity and place and purpose and meaning. Faith in the midst of hardship means being true to these roles, being authentic in the work we are given to do. “The servant who keeps on doing what he or she has been given to do,” Jesus says, “will have more than enough faith to meet the challenges of the day.”
From the time I began to understand the bible, the 37th Psalm has been one of the most influential passages of Scripture on my life and outlook. It proclaims much of what Jesus says about the role of the servant, but in a much less puzzling way:
Put your trust in the Lord and do good;
Dwell in the land and feed on its riches.
[Notice the connection between blessing and place]
Take delight in the Lord,
and he shall give you your heart’s desire.
Commit your way to the Lord
and put your trust in him,
and he will bring it to pass.
[This is the final score at the end of the game, although the outcome may look to be in doubt well into the fourth quarter]
He will make your righteousness
as clear as the light
and your just dealing as the noonday.
Be still before the Lord
and wait patiently for him.
[There is that word again, patience. It seems to be integrally linked with faith, doesn’t it!]
If faith is a multilayered cake, than today’s readings are just one slice. They don’t say everything there is to say about faith, but they do say one or two things that are important. First, faith can be a challenge as we live in the midst of what is not to be. And second, if we keep on doing the things God has given us to do – rejoicing in our role and place – we will find that this faithfulness has a way of fostering our faith.
The apostles said to the Lord, “Increase our faith!”
The Lord replied,
“If you had faith the size of a mustard seed, you could say to this mulberry tree, ‘Be uprooted and planted in the sea,’ and it would obey you.”
“Who among you would say to your slave who has just come in from plowing or tending sheep in the field, ‘Come here at once and take your place at the table’? Would you not rather say to him, ‘Prepare supper for me, put on your apron and serve me while I eat and drink; later you may eat and drink’? Do you thank the slave for doing what was commanded? So you also, when you have done all that you were ordered to do, say, ‘We are worthless slaves; we have done only what we ought to have done!’”
Habakkuk is an ancient prophet with an odd name, but a very contemporary spiritual struggle. He lives in a time in injustice and hardship. The evil prosper while the average, faithful, hard-working citizens suffer. He prays. He preaches. He points out what is wrong. But nothing changes… especially the part that is God’s to fix. And so he cries out, “O God, just how long is this going to go on? I’m going to sit right here and not move until you give me an answer.”
Have you ever felt that way? Have you ever wondered when a wrong will be righted, when a wound will be healed, when an agitator will be discredited? If so, then you know Habakkuk’s struggle with God. You believe in God’s word and you have a clear understanding of God’s will for this world and you have been told that God’s way will carry the day. But sometimes – perhaps many times – it doesn’t. What is wrong becomes the way, what is wounded only gets worse, and the wicked always seem to exact their will.
And so Habakkuk puts his foot down and demands a response from God. And here is what God says: “Write this out in huge letters on a big billboard: The dream of justice is still alive, but things like this take time. If it seems to be a long way off, or if it seems like it is not going to happen at all, you must be patient. The proud believe in only what they themselves can do, but the righteous live by faith in what I am going to do.”
Faith like this can be a challenge. Years ago I had a youth group meeting on a Sunday evening when the Cleveland Browns were playing their archrival Pittsburgh Steelers. I set the VCR to record the game and looked forward to watching that night after the meeting was over. I had hoped not to learn of the outcome, but one of the parents – while picking up their teenager – let slip that the Browns won an incredible game. So as I watched the tape, I knew the outcome. For most of the game the Browns were badly outplayed and losing. And for a while I wondered if maybe that parent had misled me. But in the final 8:00 minutes, the Browns returned not one but two punts for touchdowns and pulled off one of the most storied wins in team history.
As people of faith, we possess a word about where all of reality is coming from and to where it is going. All begins and ends in God. This is our hope. This is our faith. There are times when it is not at all clear how it is going to happen. Those times when we are down by 12 with time running out is when our faith begins to wane.
I wish the Lectionary had included in today’s reading the first four verses of the 17th chapter of Luke, because they provide very helpful context for what we heard. Let me read them for you:
Jesus said to his disciples, “Occasions for stumbling are bound to come, but woe to anyone by whom they come! It would be better for you if a millstone were hung around your neck and you were thrown into the sea than for you to cause one of these little ones to stumble. Be on your guard! If another disciple sins, you must rebuke the offender, and if there is repentance, you must forgive. And if the same person sins against you seven times a day, and turns back to you seven times and says, ‘I repent’, you must forgive.”
Yes, forgiving is something I want to do. It is something I know I am supposed to do. But it is not always something I find easy to do. Given this teaching, it is no wonder Jesus’ followers ask Him to increase their faith. To this, Jesus responds with two more teachings. In the first about a seed He says that a little bit of faith goes a long way. And in the second (and this one is really curious), like a slave who comes into the master’s house after a hard day’s work, don’t expect a thank you… put dinner out on the table. What in the world does knowing your role and doing your job have to do with faith?
Let me offer this: in Genesis 4, after he murders his brother, God banishes Cain from Paradise. He is condemned to be a vagrant and a wanderer for the rest of his life in a place east of the Eden called “Nod;” a word that literally means ‘homelessness’ or ‘aimlessness.’ If homelessness and aimlessness is a punishment, than having a place and purpose is a blessing. Take Paul, for instance, who in today’s reading from 2 Timothy describes his own sense of calling and relates how it encourages him even when it causes him suffering.
Jesus tells His disciples that if they want more faith they should invest themselves more fully in the work God has given them to do. In the midst of life’s struggles and hardships and uncertainties, there is great comfort in the certainty of the daily round. Yes, sometimes the daily round becomes the daily grind. Sometimes it is little more than drudgery. But at its best, our roles in life have a way of containing us, giving us a sense of identity and place and purpose and meaning. Faith in the midst of hardship means being true to these roles, being authentic in the work we are given to do. “The servant who keeps on doing what he or she has been given to do,” Jesus says, “will have more than enough faith to meet the challenges of the day.”
From the time I began to understand the bible, the 37th Psalm has been one of the most influential passages of Scripture on my life and outlook. It proclaims much of what Jesus says about the role of the servant, but in a much less puzzling way:
Put your trust in the Lord and do good;
Dwell in the land and feed on its riches.
[Notice the connection between blessing and place]
Take delight in the Lord,
and he shall give you your heart’s desire.
Commit your way to the Lord
and put your trust in him,
and he will bring it to pass.
[This is the final score at the end of the game, although the outcome may look to be in doubt well into the fourth quarter]
He will make your righteousness
as clear as the light
and your just dealing as the noonday.
Be still before the Lord
and wait patiently for him.
[There is that word again, patience. It seems to be integrally linked with faith, doesn’t it!]
If faith is a multilayered cake, than today’s readings are just one slice. They don’t say everything there is to say about faith, but they do say one or two things that are important. First, faith can be a challenge as we live in the midst of what is not to be. And second, if we keep on doing the things God has given us to do – rejoicing in our role and place – we will find that this faithfulness has a way of fostering our faith.
Monday, September 27, 2010
Pentecost 18: Keith on Trial
Luke 16:19-31
Jesus said,
“There was a rich man who was dressed in purple and fine linen and who feasted sumptuously every day. And at his gate lay a poor man named Lazarus, covered with sores, who longed to satisfy his hunger with what fell from the rich man’s table; even the dogs would come and lick his sores. The poor man died and was carried away by the angels to be with Abraham. The rich man also died and was buried. In Hades, where he was being tormented, he looked up and saw Abraham far away with Lazarus by his side. He called out, ‘Father Abraham, have mercy on me, and send Lazarus to dip the tip of his finger in water and cool my tongue; for I am in agony in these flames.’ But Abraham said, ‘Child, remember that during your lifetime you received your good things, and Lazarus in like manner evil things; but now he is comforted here, and you are in agony. Besides all this, between you and us a great chasm has been fixed, so that those who might want to pass from here to you cannot do so, and no one can cross from there to us.’ He said, ‘Then, father, I beg you to send him to my father’s house-- for I have five brothers-- that he may warn them, so that they will not also come into this place of torment.’ Abraham replied, ‘They have Moses and the prophets; they should listen to them.’ He said, ‘No, father Abraham; but if someone goes to them from the dead, they will repent.’ He said to him, ‘If they do not listen to Moses and the prophets, neither will they be convinced even if someone rises from the dead.’”
Tuesday morning and from my office window I can see a clunky pick-up truck pull into the church’s parking lot. A man gets out who bears the unmistakable signs of a person coming here for financial help. The doorbell rings and a voice asks, “Is the pastor in?” I tell Christa that I am busy and don’t want to be bothered. But the man insists, so she lets him in and I emerge from my work to speak with him. His story bears many of the usual themes:
• he needs money for medication for his sick wife.
• he is a painter whose job for the week fell through, but will have plenty of work next month.
• his truck is about to be repossessed, but his sister has lent him some money for that.
• he is behind on the rent and is about to be evicted.
I tell him that I don’t have any financial resources to help him, which is at best a white lie. I offer him a bag of groceries from our food pantry, but he declines. I ask if he has gone to social services, the Salvation Army, or the Red Cross. He has, but they couldn’t help him. I ask him if he attends a church. He says he does. I ask if they can help him. He says he left a message for his pastor, but hasn’t heard back. I ask if he has family or friends he can contact. He doesn’t.
I try to listen patiently, using my professional empathy skills,
• “It sounds like you are in a tight spot”
• “That must be frustrating”
• “I am sorry that there isn’t anything I can do for you.”
After a conversation of around ten minutes, he leaves in his vehicle… for where I do not know.
It is an episode that happens once or twice a week here. Sometimes I can and do help a person a little, other times I don’t – either because I can’t, or because their story doesn’t add up, or because I simply am not in the mood.
Well, whether or not I am in the mood for it, I – like you – have to listen to and wrestle with the words of Jesus in today’s Gospel reading. Will there be an age where the down-on-his luck painter is provided for handsomely while I am the one in dire need? What are the consequences of my present indifference? How big might the chasm be in a world to come?
In the courtroom trial unfolding within my soul, my spiritual defense attorney has no shortage of arguments:
• Keith gives to his church and supports other charities on a regular basis.
• From time to time Keith gives to the poor money from his own wallet.
• Keith’s society is completely different than it was in Jesus’ day. At that time there was no social safety system. In Keith’s, a significant portion of his wealth is taken from him and shared with the poor, the unemployed, and the elderly. Is he not doing his part for those in need by working and paying his taxes?
• Keith admits as true that most of the folks who come to the church looking for help are in real need, but wonders how many of them got themselves into that position through their own fault and need to experience the consequences of their bad decisions?
Bravo, I whisper in my attorney’s ear as he rests my case. Then the prosecutor stands up and says, “There was a rich man who was dressed in purple and fine line and who feasted sumptuously every day. And at his gate lay a poor man named Lazarus, covered in sores, who longed to satisfy his hunger from what fell from the rich man’s table.” I scribble a note to my attorney: ‘Does it make a difference that I don’t own any purple clothes made of linen?’ He shoots back a glance that lets me know the color and fabric of my wardrobe is not the issue.
I followed two interesting articles this week on a blogsite I read. In the first, a Texas reporter became intrigued with this quote from the Rev. William Sloan Coffin’s newest book:
“Had I but one wish for the churches of America I think it would be that they come to see the difference between charity and justice. Charity is a matter of personal attributes; justice, a matter of public policy. Charity seeks to eliminate the effects of injustice; justice seeks to eliminate the causes of it. Charity in no way affects the status quo, while justice leads inevitably to political confrontation.”
The reporter got responses from area religious leaders, the consensus being that Christians are called to acts of charity while working to create a more just society. There was a split opinion as to whether this meant that in their sermons ministers should advocate for or against specific issues. Should I, for example, preach on the moral implications of a new $37.5 million dollar city hall? Some say yes, others say no. Most held that preachers avoiding such subjects for the sake of being liked is wrong. Perfect, I thought to myself. Not only am I not charitable enough, but now I am also shirking my call to work for justice.
But this, I learned from the second article is not entirely my fault. It described the ministry of the Rev. Ben Campbell, an Episcopal priest in Richmond who, for the last 40 years, has prayed for that city three times a day every day. Far from being removed from political realities, Ben has used his prayers to fuel his advocacy for policy and social change. He believes that the mobility of clergy has diminished their desire to get involved in the nitty, gritty mess of local issues. Because clergy tend to live in a place only for 5-10 years, they come to be more interested in the health and well-being of the congregation they serve than the community in which they live. So I can dump some of the blame on the mobile and transient nature of our society.
All this runs through my mind as the judge prepares to pronounce sentence on me. But before He does, He asks if I would like to make a statement. “Well, your Honor, all I can say in my own defense is that I am not sure what to do, I am not sure if am doing the right thing all the time, but I am sure that I am not at peace with what I am doing. I think that as long as there are people in need I should wrestle with how I am responding, or not responding, and I should struggle with what my duty to those in need is.” And with that, the Judge postpones sentencing for the time being, contingent upon my continuing to engage prayerfully the issue while acting always in a manner I believe to be consistent with Jesus’ own life, words, and witness.
Jesus said,
“There was a rich man who was dressed in purple and fine linen and who feasted sumptuously every day. And at his gate lay a poor man named Lazarus, covered with sores, who longed to satisfy his hunger with what fell from the rich man’s table; even the dogs would come and lick his sores. The poor man died and was carried away by the angels to be with Abraham. The rich man also died and was buried. In Hades, where he was being tormented, he looked up and saw Abraham far away with Lazarus by his side. He called out, ‘Father Abraham, have mercy on me, and send Lazarus to dip the tip of his finger in water and cool my tongue; for I am in agony in these flames.’ But Abraham said, ‘Child, remember that during your lifetime you received your good things, and Lazarus in like manner evil things; but now he is comforted here, and you are in agony. Besides all this, between you and us a great chasm has been fixed, so that those who might want to pass from here to you cannot do so, and no one can cross from there to us.’ He said, ‘Then, father, I beg you to send him to my father’s house-- for I have five brothers-- that he may warn them, so that they will not also come into this place of torment.’ Abraham replied, ‘They have Moses and the prophets; they should listen to them.’ He said, ‘No, father Abraham; but if someone goes to them from the dead, they will repent.’ He said to him, ‘If they do not listen to Moses and the prophets, neither will they be convinced even if someone rises from the dead.’”
Tuesday morning and from my office window I can see a clunky pick-up truck pull into the church’s parking lot. A man gets out who bears the unmistakable signs of a person coming here for financial help. The doorbell rings and a voice asks, “Is the pastor in?” I tell Christa that I am busy and don’t want to be bothered. But the man insists, so she lets him in and I emerge from my work to speak with him. His story bears many of the usual themes:
• he needs money for medication for his sick wife.
• he is a painter whose job for the week fell through, but will have plenty of work next month.
• his truck is about to be repossessed, but his sister has lent him some money for that.
• he is behind on the rent and is about to be evicted.
I tell him that I don’t have any financial resources to help him, which is at best a white lie. I offer him a bag of groceries from our food pantry, but he declines. I ask if he has gone to social services, the Salvation Army, or the Red Cross. He has, but they couldn’t help him. I ask him if he attends a church. He says he does. I ask if they can help him. He says he left a message for his pastor, but hasn’t heard back. I ask if he has family or friends he can contact. He doesn’t.
I try to listen patiently, using my professional empathy skills,
• “It sounds like you are in a tight spot”
• “That must be frustrating”
• “I am sorry that there isn’t anything I can do for you.”
After a conversation of around ten minutes, he leaves in his vehicle… for where I do not know.
It is an episode that happens once or twice a week here. Sometimes I can and do help a person a little, other times I don’t – either because I can’t, or because their story doesn’t add up, or because I simply am not in the mood.
Well, whether or not I am in the mood for it, I – like you – have to listen to and wrestle with the words of Jesus in today’s Gospel reading. Will there be an age where the down-on-his luck painter is provided for handsomely while I am the one in dire need? What are the consequences of my present indifference? How big might the chasm be in a world to come?
In the courtroom trial unfolding within my soul, my spiritual defense attorney has no shortage of arguments:
• Keith gives to his church and supports other charities on a regular basis.
• From time to time Keith gives to the poor money from his own wallet.
• Keith’s society is completely different than it was in Jesus’ day. At that time there was no social safety system. In Keith’s, a significant portion of his wealth is taken from him and shared with the poor, the unemployed, and the elderly. Is he not doing his part for those in need by working and paying his taxes?
• Keith admits as true that most of the folks who come to the church looking for help are in real need, but wonders how many of them got themselves into that position through their own fault and need to experience the consequences of their bad decisions?
Bravo, I whisper in my attorney’s ear as he rests my case. Then the prosecutor stands up and says, “There was a rich man who was dressed in purple and fine line and who feasted sumptuously every day. And at his gate lay a poor man named Lazarus, covered in sores, who longed to satisfy his hunger from what fell from the rich man’s table.” I scribble a note to my attorney: ‘Does it make a difference that I don’t own any purple clothes made of linen?’ He shoots back a glance that lets me know the color and fabric of my wardrobe is not the issue.
I followed two interesting articles this week on a blogsite I read. In the first, a Texas reporter became intrigued with this quote from the Rev. William Sloan Coffin’s newest book:
“Had I but one wish for the churches of America I think it would be that they come to see the difference between charity and justice. Charity is a matter of personal attributes; justice, a matter of public policy. Charity seeks to eliminate the effects of injustice; justice seeks to eliminate the causes of it. Charity in no way affects the status quo, while justice leads inevitably to political confrontation.”
The reporter got responses from area religious leaders, the consensus being that Christians are called to acts of charity while working to create a more just society. There was a split opinion as to whether this meant that in their sermons ministers should advocate for or against specific issues. Should I, for example, preach on the moral implications of a new $37.5 million dollar city hall? Some say yes, others say no. Most held that preachers avoiding such subjects for the sake of being liked is wrong. Perfect, I thought to myself. Not only am I not charitable enough, but now I am also shirking my call to work for justice.
But this, I learned from the second article is not entirely my fault. It described the ministry of the Rev. Ben Campbell, an Episcopal priest in Richmond who, for the last 40 years, has prayed for that city three times a day every day. Far from being removed from political realities, Ben has used his prayers to fuel his advocacy for policy and social change. He believes that the mobility of clergy has diminished their desire to get involved in the nitty, gritty mess of local issues. Because clergy tend to live in a place only for 5-10 years, they come to be more interested in the health and well-being of the congregation they serve than the community in which they live. So I can dump some of the blame on the mobile and transient nature of our society.
All this runs through my mind as the judge prepares to pronounce sentence on me. But before He does, He asks if I would like to make a statement. “Well, your Honor, all I can say in my own defense is that I am not sure what to do, I am not sure if am doing the right thing all the time, but I am sure that I am not at peace with what I am doing. I think that as long as there are people in need I should wrestle with how I am responding, or not responding, and I should struggle with what my duty to those in need is.” And with that, the Judge postpones sentencing for the time being, contingent upon my continuing to engage prayerfully the issue while acting always in a manner I believe to be consistent with Jesus’ own life, words, and witness.
Monday, September 20, 2010
Pentecost 17: The Plan B Parable
Plan B. Wednesday dinner at the New England seminary was always Italian Night; pasta, spaghetti, sauces, meatballs, sausage, garlic bread, and the like. It was a real treat, except for two problems. First, the meal always sat heavy, which in and of itself would not have been issue save for the second problem… I had a class to attend from 7:00-10:00 at night. It was held in one of those large, theatre style rooms with comfortable, cushioned seats. The professor, a kindly older man with a white beard, lectured with a soothing, monotone voice as he read from his manuscript without ever looking up at the class. Do you get the picture? It was a real, real struggle to stay awake.
One dark night my friends and I made our way to lecture hall as a nor’easter set it. That the campus sat on an exposed hill north of Boston meant that we could feel the full force of the storm’s fury. We settled into our seats as dinner settled into our stomachs, prepared for yet another three hour torture test to stay conscious. But seventeen minutes into the lecture, the most amazing thing happened. Like a gift from the good Lord above, the storm knocked out the power and the hall was shrouded in near darkness. My friends and I looked at each other with near joy at the prospect of being set free early, at least for this one night. And then, down from the darkened lectern, the voice of the professor – normally soft, but now almost inaudible because the p.a. system was without power – said, “It is always important to have a Plan B.” With that, he pulled from his coat pocket a small pen light and thus commenced to read on – in very hushed tones and to our dismay – with the aid of its slim, focused glow.
Plan B. Sometimes, the situation shifts quickly and dramatically leaving no question but that we must take a new or different approach. Then there are times when the shift occurs over a long period of time and is near unperceivable. Slowly it dawns on us that our tried and true approach is no longer effective. When this happens it is often difficult to figure out what changed, why it changed, and what to do about it.
In today’s Gospel reading we hear one of Jesus’ more curious parables. In it a wealthy man employs a manager to oversee his affairs. When word comes to the boss that his employee has screwed things up he demands an accounting of all the transactions. The manager is in a real jam. What he has been doing over and over and over again no longer works. It is time to come up with a new plan. So he rolls up his sleeves and gets to work the cutting debts of those from whom he collects, so that, if he can no longer be in the graces of his employer, at least he can be in the graces of the debtors. By commending the manager for his shrewdness, Jesus is focusing the parable on the central message of Plan B, of cutting your losses and moving forward in a new world in a new way.
I can’t think of a better parable for the beginning of our Church School year than this one. St. Paul’s began this fiscal year with a balanced budget, but in order to accomplish this we had to make some painful cuts. The most painful was eliminating the position of Christian Education Director. Because we could no longer “dump” this responsibility on a staff person, a team of us came together and began to plan.
We recognized several things:
• While a lot has changed in the world since we were children, the church’s methods of passing of the faith are largely the same and have become ineffective.
• We have very few children attending our program on a consistent basis.
• No matter what curriculum we use, we never seem to be satisfied with the results.
• There is no coordination to the multiple ministries we offer for children and young people.
At the same time we saw signs of hope:
• Our children and young people like our special events, vacation bible school, and music camp.
• We have talented, committed adults who care about our children and want to contribute.
• We, as a parish, have a rich, wonderful way of living out the faith that can give meaning and purpose to young people if we can pass it on.
And so we launched into an attempt to come up with Plan B. The first step was to identify what we are already doing and to figure out ways to support and encourage these existing ministries. Forming a Nursery Committee is just one example and it has done a lot to improve and energize what was already a pretty good ministry.
Next we set out to articulate learning goals. By the time infants baptized at St. Paul’s turn eighteen, what do we want them to know and to have experienced? You received in the last newsletter mailing the fruit of this conversation – a document called “We will, with God’s help.” Organized around the Baptismal Covenant, these goals give us a way to measure how we are doing and are a resource to guide where we want to go.
And today we begin a new adventure in Christian formation here at St. Paul’s. We are creating design teams who will plan lessons around specific themes or ideas, developing programs that run from two to six Sundays. There is no curriculum, only the topic, the story, and the creative energy of the team; who will pass on their faith to the children and young people of the parish. In many cases, the team will have to grow their faith in order to have something to pass on.
This is not a ministry for a few of us, but for all of us. Every person here this morning has some gift, some passion, some interest, some ministry that can be woven into our learning goals. If you are a person of faith then you possess something which needs to be shared with others. I hope and expect that over the course of the next three years or so, each of you will be invited to be a part of a design team, and I trust that your response will be “I will, with God’s help.”
I am half-way through my active life in the ordained ministry. Over the first half of my career I have watched the Episcopal Church decline and its ministry to children and young people diminish significantly. There are so many factors involved in why this is so (many beyond our control) that it is not worth trying to point the finger at any one or two things. So here is what I say… all the changes mean that the Plan A approach to Christian Education is no longer effective. We can cry or curse, we can throw up our hands and throw in the towel, or we can get shrewd… I mean really shrewd. Plan B shrewd.
Many in our church believe that we are in an “Episcopal Moment”: a time when what we do best with the faith meshes with what the culture is seeking…
• Worship that centered on mystery and sacrament as opposed to dispensing moralisms and easy answers.
• A community of people with diverse backgrounds and opinions who come together for respectful conversation and mutual insight.
• A center where ancient and enduring practices are lived and taught.
• A faith which holds new scientific discoveries and artistic expression are a part of God’s ongoing creative activity.
• A spirituality that is life affirming, rather than pleasure denying.
This is just a small part of who we are as Episcopalians. It is a small part of who we are here at St. Paul’s. It is a small part of what I desperately want to pass on over the second half of my career in the ordained ministry. I am ready to roll up my sleeves and get to work. Are you ready to get shrewd? Are you with me?
One dark night my friends and I made our way to lecture hall as a nor’easter set it. That the campus sat on an exposed hill north of Boston meant that we could feel the full force of the storm’s fury. We settled into our seats as dinner settled into our stomachs, prepared for yet another three hour torture test to stay conscious. But seventeen minutes into the lecture, the most amazing thing happened. Like a gift from the good Lord above, the storm knocked out the power and the hall was shrouded in near darkness. My friends and I looked at each other with near joy at the prospect of being set free early, at least for this one night. And then, down from the darkened lectern, the voice of the professor – normally soft, but now almost inaudible because the p.a. system was without power – said, “It is always important to have a Plan B.” With that, he pulled from his coat pocket a small pen light and thus commenced to read on – in very hushed tones and to our dismay – with the aid of its slim, focused glow.
Plan B. Sometimes, the situation shifts quickly and dramatically leaving no question but that we must take a new or different approach. Then there are times when the shift occurs over a long period of time and is near unperceivable. Slowly it dawns on us that our tried and true approach is no longer effective. When this happens it is often difficult to figure out what changed, why it changed, and what to do about it.
In today’s Gospel reading we hear one of Jesus’ more curious parables. In it a wealthy man employs a manager to oversee his affairs. When word comes to the boss that his employee has screwed things up he demands an accounting of all the transactions. The manager is in a real jam. What he has been doing over and over and over again no longer works. It is time to come up with a new plan. So he rolls up his sleeves and gets to work the cutting debts of those from whom he collects, so that, if he can no longer be in the graces of his employer, at least he can be in the graces of the debtors. By commending the manager for his shrewdness, Jesus is focusing the parable on the central message of Plan B, of cutting your losses and moving forward in a new world in a new way.
I can’t think of a better parable for the beginning of our Church School year than this one. St. Paul’s began this fiscal year with a balanced budget, but in order to accomplish this we had to make some painful cuts. The most painful was eliminating the position of Christian Education Director. Because we could no longer “dump” this responsibility on a staff person, a team of us came together and began to plan.
We recognized several things:
• While a lot has changed in the world since we were children, the church’s methods of passing of the faith are largely the same and have become ineffective.
• We have very few children attending our program on a consistent basis.
• No matter what curriculum we use, we never seem to be satisfied with the results.
• There is no coordination to the multiple ministries we offer for children and young people.
At the same time we saw signs of hope:
• Our children and young people like our special events, vacation bible school, and music camp.
• We have talented, committed adults who care about our children and want to contribute.
• We, as a parish, have a rich, wonderful way of living out the faith that can give meaning and purpose to young people if we can pass it on.
And so we launched into an attempt to come up with Plan B. The first step was to identify what we are already doing and to figure out ways to support and encourage these existing ministries. Forming a Nursery Committee is just one example and it has done a lot to improve and energize what was already a pretty good ministry.
Next we set out to articulate learning goals. By the time infants baptized at St. Paul’s turn eighteen, what do we want them to know and to have experienced? You received in the last newsletter mailing the fruit of this conversation – a document called “We will, with God’s help.” Organized around the Baptismal Covenant, these goals give us a way to measure how we are doing and are a resource to guide where we want to go.
And today we begin a new adventure in Christian formation here at St. Paul’s. We are creating design teams who will plan lessons around specific themes or ideas, developing programs that run from two to six Sundays. There is no curriculum, only the topic, the story, and the creative energy of the team; who will pass on their faith to the children and young people of the parish. In many cases, the team will have to grow their faith in order to have something to pass on.
This is not a ministry for a few of us, but for all of us. Every person here this morning has some gift, some passion, some interest, some ministry that can be woven into our learning goals. If you are a person of faith then you possess something which needs to be shared with others. I hope and expect that over the course of the next three years or so, each of you will be invited to be a part of a design team, and I trust that your response will be “I will, with God’s help.”
I am half-way through my active life in the ordained ministry. Over the first half of my career I have watched the Episcopal Church decline and its ministry to children and young people diminish significantly. There are so many factors involved in why this is so (many beyond our control) that it is not worth trying to point the finger at any one or two things. So here is what I say… all the changes mean that the Plan A approach to Christian Education is no longer effective. We can cry or curse, we can throw up our hands and throw in the towel, or we can get shrewd… I mean really shrewd. Plan B shrewd.
Many in our church believe that we are in an “Episcopal Moment”: a time when what we do best with the faith meshes with what the culture is seeking…
• Worship that centered on mystery and sacrament as opposed to dispensing moralisms and easy answers.
• A community of people with diverse backgrounds and opinions who come together for respectful conversation and mutual insight.
• A center where ancient and enduring practices are lived and taught.
• A faith which holds new scientific discoveries and artistic expression are a part of God’s ongoing creative activity.
• A spirituality that is life affirming, rather than pleasure denying.
This is just a small part of who we are as Episcopalians. It is a small part of who we are here at St. Paul’s. It is a small part of what I desperately want to pass on over the second half of my career in the ordained ministry. I am ready to roll up my sleeves and get to work. Are you ready to get shrewd? Are you with me?
Thursday, September 16, 2010
Pentecost 15: Being Useful to God
For some time before the episode we encounter in today’s reading Jesus has had His "face set toward Jerusalem.” This idiomatic phrase means that He is about serious business; business that will take Him all the way to the cross. In today’s reading Jesus is being accompanied by a large crowd. They are enthralled with His teachings, delighted by the way He confronts powerful people, captivated by the healings, and pleased when He blesses scrapes of food and fills their bellies. No wonder there was a crowd, but Jesus wondered if they really knew the cost of discipleship and if they were willing to pay it.
And so Jesus challenges them. “You cannot follow me unless you hate your mother and your father and wife and your children and your brothers and your sisters and even life itself. You cannot follow me if you do not get rid of all of your possessions.” That is some strong talk. Taking Him at His word, more than one preacher has noted that Jesus would not have made a very good parish priest. One or two sermons like this and a rector can expect to hear from the wardens. If we took this seriously there would only be about three or four people left in the congregation and at least two of them would be self-deceived.
If you read on in Luke’s Gospel to chapter 18, Jesus is approached by a member of the ruling class who wants to know what he must do to inherit eternal life. Jesus tells the man that he must obey God’s laws, which the man indicates he has done all of his life. Seeing that the man is wealthy, Jesus then says he must sell his possessions, give the proceeds to the poor, and follow Him on the way. This the man is unwilling to do. In response, Jesus utters the famous statement that it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich person to enter heaven.
What comes next is what I want you to hear. Peter says, “We have left all of our belongings to follow you.” Jesus does not challenge the accuracy of his statement, but accepts it as truth by saying, “I tell you this: there is no one who has given up home, or wife, brothers, parents, or children, for the sake of the kingdom of God, who will not be repaid many times over in this age, and in the age to come have eternal life.” Now, we know from other places in the Gospels that Peter was married, had a home, and made a living as a fisherman. He had at least one boat and a supply of nets. And we know that after the Resurrection Peter went back home and went back to work. So it would appear that when Jesus says you must hate your family and sell all that you have He is speaking in hyperbole. He is going for effect. He wants those hanging around Him to know that His number one priority in life is ushering in the kingdom of God and it is to be theirs as well.
For many of them, and for us, that is still a tough sell. A wise saint (I don’t know who) once said that after God meets us as our friend God confronts us as our adversary. That God loves us as we are is a theme I have highlighted in sermons many times, including last Sunday. Yes God loves us, but the question is does God find us to be useful? How can I be generous as God is generous if I spend on myself all the money I have? How can I be compassionate as God is compassionate if I am unable to forgive those who have wronged me? How can I be loving as God is loving if my first priority is to meet my own needs? How can I walk in the truth as God is truth if I live my life as a lie? Yes, God loves you as you are, but that does not mean you are useful as you are.
In today’s New Testament reading we hear about someone who was “useless,” but becomes “useful.” Onesimus was a runaway slave. His name in Greek literally means “useful;” hence the play on words. After running away from his owner, Philemon, Onesimus finds his way to Paul. During his time with the apostle, the slave undergoes a dramatic transformation. He becomes a very real source of comfort and support to Paul who is imprisoned. But this new work will not be finished until Onesimus returns to Philemon and the act of reconciliation is complete.
It is like the wonderful image of the potter and the clay used by the prophet Jeremiah. God is about the work of molding and shaping us into something useful. You and I, we have our rough edges and our wobbly sides. We are a work in progress to be sure. And there are some aspects of our lives, our practices, our beliefs, our attitudes, our behavior, our priorities that simply need to be patted down flat by God our adversary so that a right and new beginning can emerge. You see, God who loves us as we are loves us to much to leave us as we are. God the potter wants to shape us into something beautiful; something (according to the poet of the 139th Psalm) that God has dreamed for you from before you were born.
If you believe this, if you believe that God has a dream for who you might become and how you might help to usher in the kingdom, is there anything you have or own that is worth possessing if it gets in the way of your being useful? Is there any relationship in this world that should not take a backseat to the molding work of the Potter? Is there are reason why the good work God has begun in you should be brought to a standstill?
And so Jesus challenges them. “You cannot follow me unless you hate your mother and your father and wife and your children and your brothers and your sisters and even life itself. You cannot follow me if you do not get rid of all of your possessions.” That is some strong talk. Taking Him at His word, more than one preacher has noted that Jesus would not have made a very good parish priest. One or two sermons like this and a rector can expect to hear from the wardens. If we took this seriously there would only be about three or four people left in the congregation and at least two of them would be self-deceived.
If you read on in Luke’s Gospel to chapter 18, Jesus is approached by a member of the ruling class who wants to know what he must do to inherit eternal life. Jesus tells the man that he must obey God’s laws, which the man indicates he has done all of his life. Seeing that the man is wealthy, Jesus then says he must sell his possessions, give the proceeds to the poor, and follow Him on the way. This the man is unwilling to do. In response, Jesus utters the famous statement that it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich person to enter heaven.
What comes next is what I want you to hear. Peter says, “We have left all of our belongings to follow you.” Jesus does not challenge the accuracy of his statement, but accepts it as truth by saying, “I tell you this: there is no one who has given up home, or wife, brothers, parents, or children, for the sake of the kingdom of God, who will not be repaid many times over in this age, and in the age to come have eternal life.” Now, we know from other places in the Gospels that Peter was married, had a home, and made a living as a fisherman. He had at least one boat and a supply of nets. And we know that after the Resurrection Peter went back home and went back to work. So it would appear that when Jesus says you must hate your family and sell all that you have He is speaking in hyperbole. He is going for effect. He wants those hanging around Him to know that His number one priority in life is ushering in the kingdom of God and it is to be theirs as well.
For many of them, and for us, that is still a tough sell. A wise saint (I don’t know who) once said that after God meets us as our friend God confronts us as our adversary. That God loves us as we are is a theme I have highlighted in sermons many times, including last Sunday. Yes God loves us, but the question is does God find us to be useful? How can I be generous as God is generous if I spend on myself all the money I have? How can I be compassionate as God is compassionate if I am unable to forgive those who have wronged me? How can I be loving as God is loving if my first priority is to meet my own needs? How can I walk in the truth as God is truth if I live my life as a lie? Yes, God loves you as you are, but that does not mean you are useful as you are.
In today’s New Testament reading we hear about someone who was “useless,” but becomes “useful.” Onesimus was a runaway slave. His name in Greek literally means “useful;” hence the play on words. After running away from his owner, Philemon, Onesimus finds his way to Paul. During his time with the apostle, the slave undergoes a dramatic transformation. He becomes a very real source of comfort and support to Paul who is imprisoned. But this new work will not be finished until Onesimus returns to Philemon and the act of reconciliation is complete.
It is like the wonderful image of the potter and the clay used by the prophet Jeremiah. God is about the work of molding and shaping us into something useful. You and I, we have our rough edges and our wobbly sides. We are a work in progress to be sure. And there are some aspects of our lives, our practices, our beliefs, our attitudes, our behavior, our priorities that simply need to be patted down flat by God our adversary so that a right and new beginning can emerge. You see, God who loves us as we are loves us to much to leave us as we are. God the potter wants to shape us into something beautiful; something (according to the poet of the 139th Psalm) that God has dreamed for you from before you were born.
If you believe this, if you believe that God has a dream for who you might become and how you might help to usher in the kingdom, is there anything you have or own that is worth possessing if it gets in the way of your being useful? Is there any relationship in this world that should not take a backseat to the molding work of the Potter? Is there are reason why the good work God has begun in you should be brought to a standstill?
Monday, August 30, 2010
Pentecost 14: Humbling Meals
Many years ago, when I was fresh out of seminary and a new kid in the diocese, I found myself at a clergy conference. I did not know a soul at this particular gathering and I remember entering the crowded dining hall on the first night and feeling completely lost. There were no faces that I recognized and no apparent open spaces at the tables. Perhaps you have been in a similar situation. My misery ended when I spotted a place to sit right across from the bishop. I made my way over and asked if I could join him. I was encouraged to do so.
Over the course of the meal I saw the bishop in a new light—not as the spiritual and judicial authority of the diocese, but relaxed in conversation with long-time friends. He talked and joked with others at the table who were obviously near and dear to him. The conversation rolled casually from church affairs to committee work to seminary days. The bishop was polite to me, asking how things were going in my new position and other usual pleasantries. His friends tolerated the intrusion I represented and I was grateful for the chance to be with them. The meal ended when a priest asked for some private time with the bishop and he excused himself. Without a good-bye the others left shortly thereafter and I remained sitting alone.
The next morning I went to the dinning hall for breakfast intent on meeting some new people. I saw a table with a tray on it and plenty of open chairs. I sat down not knowing whose tray it was, but confident that others would be joining me soon. It turned out that the tray belonged to… the bishop. For the second straight meal I was seated directly across from him. The other spaces were quickly filled by the same priests I had eaten with the night before. The bishop said good morning to me and not much more. His friends barely acknowledged my presence.
That breakfast was torture but it gave me a chance to sit back and observe the nature of the people who held forth in the king’s court. They talked in a kind of coded language, never once bothering to explain the discussion to me or to draw me in. They openly planned their afternoon’s golf outing, never once asking if I played or would like to join them. And as the conversation wore on I noticed that they didn’t so much talk to each other as they talked to each other through the bishop. They never looked directly at each other, only the bishop. They never directly addressed each other, only the bishop. It dawned on me that for each one of these priests only two people really mattered—himself and the bishop.
Someone once observed that a significant number of clergy share a lethal combination of two personality traits—low self-esteem and high idealism. If you look at any of us long enough you will see a person who has a deep need to good and an even deeper need to be recognized for doing good. For my colleagues, sitting with the bishop had a lot to do with their need for recognition and its derivative, self-worth. Seeing that helped me to understand their rude behavior as being nothing personal. It also strengthened my resolve to find new companions at lunch!
That episode came back to me as I pondered the Gospel reading for today. When Jesus encourages us not to sit at the best seat at the table He is not so much spelling out Emily Post-like manners for a social function as He is talking about one of the cardinal virtues of the religious life: humility.
Humility is one of the most misunderstood traits of our time. We tend to think of it in terms of self-effacement, but it is not that. For instance, when you work hard at putting together a dinner party and someone compliments you, being humble does not mean saying, “Oh, it was nothing,” or “the food could have been better.” That is self-effacing. And being humble does not mean hiding in the kitchen so no one can express their appreciation. True humility accepts the complement graciously. When someone says, “This dinner is wonderful,” humility might respond, “Thank you, I am so glad you are having a nice time.” When the boss says, “You did a good job on this project,” humility might say, “It was important to me to give it my best effort.”
If humility is not self-effacement, then what is it? The saints of the Church tell us that it has something to do with truth and peace. In the spiritual classic, The Cloud of Unknowing, which was written in 14th century England by an anonymous author, we find this thought:
A person is humble when he stands in the truth with a knowledge and appreciation for himself as he really is.
A humble person knows his or her own shortcomings and appreciates his or her own gifts. In other words, he or she knows the truth about himself or herself and accepts it.
Two centuries earlier, St. Francis spoke about the truth we each must find about ourselves:
Blessed is the servant who esteems himself no better when he is praised and exalted by people then when he is considered worthless, simple, and despicable; for what a person is before God, that he is and nothing more.
One of our deepest cravings by virtue of being human is a longing for affirmation—a desire to be recognized as being somebody. Where we take that desire and how do we seek to have it met is one of our most critical undertakings in the journey we call life.
Francis says that who we are is who we are as we stand before God. We are nothing more, nothing less. Who am I before God? Well, I certainly am not who I could be, but I am loved by the Author of all things. I am not perfect, but I am forgiven by the God of all mercy. I am not spectacular by any measure of the world’s standards, but I am dear and precious to the One who made me and is about the work of molding me day by day. The humble person knows this truth and the humble person derives from it an abiding sense of peace because the core of who he or she is rests safely in God. It can not be inflated by people’s praise nor can it be deflated by people’s poison.
The poet of the 112th Psalm wrote this about those who are humble...
...their heart is right;
they put their trust in the Lord.
Their heart is established and will not shrink.
The humble person then is the one who knows the truth about himself, who sees himself as God sees him, and as a result is at peace.
And from this self-perception, the humble person enters the world in a new way. Anthony de Mello of the Society of Jesuits, in his book, One Minute Wisdom, describes it this way:
The spiritual Master frequently told his disciples that holiness, like beauty, is only genuine when unselfconscious. He loved to quote the verse,
The Rose: she blooms because she blooms,
and does not ask why,
Nor does she prune herself
to catch my eye.
It is only when we derive our identity from being a child of God, not of the world, that we are able to let go of the insatiable need for self-inflation and move out in love toward others, especially those who will not advance us in some way. It is only when our sense of self is grounded in grace, in the eternal reality that we are loved by God, that we are able to break the tyranny of self-inflation and love others as we have been loved.
So, back to that clergy conference. At lunch I looked long and hard for a new place to sit. To my right was a table with the bishop and his friends. To my left was another table with a rather disheveled looking fellow, an over-weight woman, and some other rather non-descript folks. That is where I sat down. I was warmly greeted and genuinely engaged. In fact, the conversation carried over on to the lawn in front of the hall after the kitchen crew kicked us out and it lasted long into the afternoon. I found these colleagues to be genuine people who, though they were not outwardly beautiful enough to sit at the king’s table, had been inwardly transformed by the King of kings.
In a few moments I will invite you to join me at the King’s table where He is the host and each one of us are a valued guests. No matter who you are, no matter what ugliness you have done in life, God invites you to come to this table. God asks you to take the seat next to Him as you are and nothing more. God’s very self will be grafted into your heart. In this era of power lunches and positioning, where its not who you are but who you know that really matters, the Eucharistic meal beckons us to put our trust in God and His love for us. Let God be established in your heart and it will not shrink. May the truth of God’s love make you humble—at peace.
Over the course of the meal I saw the bishop in a new light—not as the spiritual and judicial authority of the diocese, but relaxed in conversation with long-time friends. He talked and joked with others at the table who were obviously near and dear to him. The conversation rolled casually from church affairs to committee work to seminary days. The bishop was polite to me, asking how things were going in my new position and other usual pleasantries. His friends tolerated the intrusion I represented and I was grateful for the chance to be with them. The meal ended when a priest asked for some private time with the bishop and he excused himself. Without a good-bye the others left shortly thereafter and I remained sitting alone.
The next morning I went to the dinning hall for breakfast intent on meeting some new people. I saw a table with a tray on it and plenty of open chairs. I sat down not knowing whose tray it was, but confident that others would be joining me soon. It turned out that the tray belonged to… the bishop. For the second straight meal I was seated directly across from him. The other spaces were quickly filled by the same priests I had eaten with the night before. The bishop said good morning to me and not much more. His friends barely acknowledged my presence.
That breakfast was torture but it gave me a chance to sit back and observe the nature of the people who held forth in the king’s court. They talked in a kind of coded language, never once bothering to explain the discussion to me or to draw me in. They openly planned their afternoon’s golf outing, never once asking if I played or would like to join them. And as the conversation wore on I noticed that they didn’t so much talk to each other as they talked to each other through the bishop. They never looked directly at each other, only the bishop. They never directly addressed each other, only the bishop. It dawned on me that for each one of these priests only two people really mattered—himself and the bishop.
Someone once observed that a significant number of clergy share a lethal combination of two personality traits—low self-esteem and high idealism. If you look at any of us long enough you will see a person who has a deep need to good and an even deeper need to be recognized for doing good. For my colleagues, sitting with the bishop had a lot to do with their need for recognition and its derivative, self-worth. Seeing that helped me to understand their rude behavior as being nothing personal. It also strengthened my resolve to find new companions at lunch!
That episode came back to me as I pondered the Gospel reading for today. When Jesus encourages us not to sit at the best seat at the table He is not so much spelling out Emily Post-like manners for a social function as He is talking about one of the cardinal virtues of the religious life: humility.
Humility is one of the most misunderstood traits of our time. We tend to think of it in terms of self-effacement, but it is not that. For instance, when you work hard at putting together a dinner party and someone compliments you, being humble does not mean saying, “Oh, it was nothing,” or “the food could have been better.” That is self-effacing. And being humble does not mean hiding in the kitchen so no one can express their appreciation. True humility accepts the complement graciously. When someone says, “This dinner is wonderful,” humility might respond, “Thank you, I am so glad you are having a nice time.” When the boss says, “You did a good job on this project,” humility might say, “It was important to me to give it my best effort.”
If humility is not self-effacement, then what is it? The saints of the Church tell us that it has something to do with truth and peace. In the spiritual classic, The Cloud of Unknowing, which was written in 14th century England by an anonymous author, we find this thought:
A person is humble when he stands in the truth with a knowledge and appreciation for himself as he really is.
A humble person knows his or her own shortcomings and appreciates his or her own gifts. In other words, he or she knows the truth about himself or herself and accepts it.
Two centuries earlier, St. Francis spoke about the truth we each must find about ourselves:
Blessed is the servant who esteems himself no better when he is praised and exalted by people then when he is considered worthless, simple, and despicable; for what a person is before God, that he is and nothing more.
One of our deepest cravings by virtue of being human is a longing for affirmation—a desire to be recognized as being somebody. Where we take that desire and how do we seek to have it met is one of our most critical undertakings in the journey we call life.
Francis says that who we are is who we are as we stand before God. We are nothing more, nothing less. Who am I before God? Well, I certainly am not who I could be, but I am loved by the Author of all things. I am not perfect, but I am forgiven by the God of all mercy. I am not spectacular by any measure of the world’s standards, but I am dear and precious to the One who made me and is about the work of molding me day by day. The humble person knows this truth and the humble person derives from it an abiding sense of peace because the core of who he or she is rests safely in God. It can not be inflated by people’s praise nor can it be deflated by people’s poison.
The poet of the 112th Psalm wrote this about those who are humble...
...their heart is right;
they put their trust in the Lord.
Their heart is established and will not shrink.
The humble person then is the one who knows the truth about himself, who sees himself as God sees him, and as a result is at peace.
And from this self-perception, the humble person enters the world in a new way. Anthony de Mello of the Society of Jesuits, in his book, One Minute Wisdom, describes it this way:
The spiritual Master frequently told his disciples that holiness, like beauty, is only genuine when unselfconscious. He loved to quote the verse,
The Rose: she blooms because she blooms,
and does not ask why,
Nor does she prune herself
to catch my eye.
It is only when we derive our identity from being a child of God, not of the world, that we are able to let go of the insatiable need for self-inflation and move out in love toward others, especially those who will not advance us in some way. It is only when our sense of self is grounded in grace, in the eternal reality that we are loved by God, that we are able to break the tyranny of self-inflation and love others as we have been loved.
So, back to that clergy conference. At lunch I looked long and hard for a new place to sit. To my right was a table with the bishop and his friends. To my left was another table with a rather disheveled looking fellow, an over-weight woman, and some other rather non-descript folks. That is where I sat down. I was warmly greeted and genuinely engaged. In fact, the conversation carried over on to the lawn in front of the hall after the kitchen crew kicked us out and it lasted long into the afternoon. I found these colleagues to be genuine people who, though they were not outwardly beautiful enough to sit at the king’s table, had been inwardly transformed by the King of kings.
In a few moments I will invite you to join me at the King’s table where He is the host and each one of us are a valued guests. No matter who you are, no matter what ugliness you have done in life, God invites you to come to this table. God asks you to take the seat next to Him as you are and nothing more. God’s very self will be grafted into your heart. In this era of power lunches and positioning, where its not who you are but who you know that really matters, the Eucharistic meal beckons us to put our trust in God and His love for us. Let God be established in your heart and it will not shrink. May the truth of God’s love make you humble—at peace.
Monday, August 23, 2010
Pentecost 13: Drawn by Desire to God
You could find Bob
in the same parish
in the same pew
sitting with his wife
every single Sunday.
He was as traditional
as traditional gets;
in his choice of cloths,
in his manner of speech,
and in his preference
for worship:
Kneeling in silence,
Rite One Holy Eucharist,
altar against the wall.
I once asked the congregation
what about it’s life
would appeal to a visitor:
the solid stone architecture?
the gorgeous stained glass?
the intricate wood carving?
Bob said it would be
the reverential demeanor
of the people at worship.
That was his manner,
which most people
experienced as being
gruff and off-putting.
Bob was not happy
with liturgical innovation,
livid with the new
center altar location,
longed for the old prayer book,
lamented a day gone by.
What would happen
I wondered
if at the pearly gates
St. Peter welcomed him
with word
that Rite 2 communion
was set to begin
in half an hour
but the devil whispered
Rite 1 would begin
in just five minutes
at his place?
Where would Bob
chose to be?
What is it that draws a person to the True and Living God? Today’s reading from Luke’s Gospel invites us to ponder this question as a seeker approaches Jesus and asks, “Lord, will only a few be saved?”
It is a question that most every religious tradition has mulled over. Buddhists and Hindus believe that all living creatures are reincarnated after death. Toaists believe that only an enlightened person achieves immortality. Judaism teaches that the righteous dead will be resurrected in a messianic age that is still to come. Muslims hold that everyone will be resurrected, but that those who have lived a bad life must undergo correction in hell for a time. Jehovah’s Witnesses teach the righteous will live eternally on the earth, which God will one day turn into paradise. They also believe that the 144,000 most righteous people will go to heaven: Jesus was the first of this number, more are being added, and once the group is complete our present age will come to an end. Mormons think that heaven (or glory) has three levels, each of these having sublevels. The lowest level will be here on earth and it is reserved for those people who have not lived a good life.
Jesus’ response to this question (here and throughout the Gospels) is less concrete, more nuanced, not nearly as specific, and consists of a multiplicity of images. What we hear this morning suggests that some who thought they were ‘in’ will be shut out, while others who never knew about it will be drawn it. It is an image that portrays God as both exacting and generous.
Several years ago I led a senior high youth conference in an exploration of C.S. Lewis’ book The Great Divorce. It is an allegory where various people find themselves on a bus which takes them to heaven. Once there, each person is met by an escort who is assigned to guide him or her on a journey to meet God. In most every instance the person resists, each for a specific and personal reason. In one of the most challenging chapters, a mother is met by her brother, but years early she had lost a child and it is her long-departed child that she most wants to see. Her brother assures her that she will be reunited with her child, but first and foremost she must want to meet God because everything else flows out of that desire. But her burning desire is to be reunited with her child. It is one that we can all understand, and yet it is not the most important thing. In the end, she leaves heaven angry and bitter that it does not give to her immediately the thing she wants.
After our discussion I worked with a group of students who were assigned to plan that evening’s worship service. We agreed that each would write a description of what he or she hoped heaven would be like. That night, after they put their thoughts together, I listened to descriptions of heaven as being a place where you could play your favorite sports and never get tired, as being a place where you could eat all that you want and never get fat; as being a place where you could be with your friends all the time and never have to go to school. After listening to them, here is what I asked them: Is heaven a place where you get to be with God, to know God, and to experience God’s love? And is any of that important to you?
What is it that draws a person to the True and Living God?
Jesus suggests that it has little to do with being a part of a church or holding to the tenets of the Nicene Creed or being a good person. He suggests that it has everything to do simply with what you desire. St. Paul found the same thing as he traveled the Roman Empire preaching the Gospel to those who had never even heard the name of Jesus. He found that there are people who, quite apart from the Christian faith and culture and ceremony and language, live with a desire to be like Christ, although then cannot name it as such. In his letter to the Christians in Rome, St. Paul argues that there are Gentiles who live according to God’s law even though they are completely unaware of it. These people, Paul says, will be deemed as righteous; in other words... they are people who desire to know God and live their life in pursuit of this.
In today’s reading, Jesus hints that our challenge is to live every day in this world while being less and less of this world, to desire to know God, and to develop specific practices which can nurture this desire.
Last Sunday I showed you two chapters from the film Baraka, a Sufi word which means “the thread which weaves all life together.” This week I want to show you another chapter called “Monk with a Bell.” It is shorter than last week and not nearly as disturbing. Last week’s chapters portrayed how modern life is creating what I called an assault on the God-given gift of our humanity. This chapter shows one person in the midst of the madness practicing the ancient spiritual art of mindfulness. While I am not advocating this eastern practice, I want to close with it because it is a visual image of how one person manifests a desire to know God. Your desire and my desire will look different, but this image helps me to keep in focus the practices that enhance my desire to be with God.
[Monk with a Bell]
“Lord, will only a few be saved?” “Many will seek to enter and not be able, but others shall come from the east, and from the west, and from the north, and from the south, and shall sit down in the Kingdom of God.”
in the same parish
in the same pew
sitting with his wife
every single Sunday.
He was as traditional
as traditional gets;
in his choice of cloths,
in his manner of speech,
and in his preference
for worship:
Kneeling in silence,
Rite One Holy Eucharist,
altar against the wall.
I once asked the congregation
what about it’s life
would appeal to a visitor:
the solid stone architecture?
the gorgeous stained glass?
the intricate wood carving?
Bob said it would be
the reverential demeanor
of the people at worship.
That was his manner,
which most people
experienced as being
gruff and off-putting.
Bob was not happy
with liturgical innovation,
livid with the new
center altar location,
longed for the old prayer book,
lamented a day gone by.
What would happen
I wondered
if at the pearly gates
St. Peter welcomed him
with word
that Rite 2 communion
was set to begin
in half an hour
but the devil whispered
Rite 1 would begin
in just five minutes
at his place?
Where would Bob
chose to be?
What is it that draws a person to the True and Living God? Today’s reading from Luke’s Gospel invites us to ponder this question as a seeker approaches Jesus and asks, “Lord, will only a few be saved?”
It is a question that most every religious tradition has mulled over. Buddhists and Hindus believe that all living creatures are reincarnated after death. Toaists believe that only an enlightened person achieves immortality. Judaism teaches that the righteous dead will be resurrected in a messianic age that is still to come. Muslims hold that everyone will be resurrected, but that those who have lived a bad life must undergo correction in hell for a time. Jehovah’s Witnesses teach the righteous will live eternally on the earth, which God will one day turn into paradise. They also believe that the 144,000 most righteous people will go to heaven: Jesus was the first of this number, more are being added, and once the group is complete our present age will come to an end. Mormons think that heaven (or glory) has three levels, each of these having sublevels. The lowest level will be here on earth and it is reserved for those people who have not lived a good life.
Jesus’ response to this question (here and throughout the Gospels) is less concrete, more nuanced, not nearly as specific, and consists of a multiplicity of images. What we hear this morning suggests that some who thought they were ‘in’ will be shut out, while others who never knew about it will be drawn it. It is an image that portrays God as both exacting and generous.
Several years ago I led a senior high youth conference in an exploration of C.S. Lewis’ book The Great Divorce. It is an allegory where various people find themselves on a bus which takes them to heaven. Once there, each person is met by an escort who is assigned to guide him or her on a journey to meet God. In most every instance the person resists, each for a specific and personal reason. In one of the most challenging chapters, a mother is met by her brother, but years early she had lost a child and it is her long-departed child that she most wants to see. Her brother assures her that she will be reunited with her child, but first and foremost she must want to meet God because everything else flows out of that desire. But her burning desire is to be reunited with her child. It is one that we can all understand, and yet it is not the most important thing. In the end, she leaves heaven angry and bitter that it does not give to her immediately the thing she wants.
After our discussion I worked with a group of students who were assigned to plan that evening’s worship service. We agreed that each would write a description of what he or she hoped heaven would be like. That night, after they put their thoughts together, I listened to descriptions of heaven as being a place where you could play your favorite sports and never get tired, as being a place where you could eat all that you want and never get fat; as being a place where you could be with your friends all the time and never have to go to school. After listening to them, here is what I asked them: Is heaven a place where you get to be with God, to know God, and to experience God’s love? And is any of that important to you?
What is it that draws a person to the True and Living God?
Jesus suggests that it has little to do with being a part of a church or holding to the tenets of the Nicene Creed or being a good person. He suggests that it has everything to do simply with what you desire. St. Paul found the same thing as he traveled the Roman Empire preaching the Gospel to those who had never even heard the name of Jesus. He found that there are people who, quite apart from the Christian faith and culture and ceremony and language, live with a desire to be like Christ, although then cannot name it as such. In his letter to the Christians in Rome, St. Paul argues that there are Gentiles who live according to God’s law even though they are completely unaware of it. These people, Paul says, will be deemed as righteous; in other words... they are people who desire to know God and live their life in pursuit of this.
In today’s reading, Jesus hints that our challenge is to live every day in this world while being less and less of this world, to desire to know God, and to develop specific practices which can nurture this desire.
Last Sunday I showed you two chapters from the film Baraka, a Sufi word which means “the thread which weaves all life together.” This week I want to show you another chapter called “Monk with a Bell.” It is shorter than last week and not nearly as disturbing. Last week’s chapters portrayed how modern life is creating what I called an assault on the God-given gift of our humanity. This chapter shows one person in the midst of the madness practicing the ancient spiritual art of mindfulness. While I am not advocating this eastern practice, I want to close with it because it is a visual image of how one person manifests a desire to know God. Your desire and my desire will look different, but this image helps me to keep in focus the practices that enhance my desire to be with God.
[Monk with a Bell]
“Lord, will only a few be saved?” “Many will seek to enter and not be able, but others shall come from the east, and from the west, and from the north, and from the south, and shall sit down in the Kingdom of God.”
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