I am a channel surfer, and what guy isn’t! Commercials signal me that it is time to check the score of the other game, catch a glimpse of the modern marvel that is the world’s biggest bubble gum manufacturer, or take in a two minute scene from The Godfather. There are only a few commercials that can hold my attention. I used to love “Does a former drill sergeant make a terrible therapist,” but it is no longer being aired. My current favorite is “Apparently, riding the dog like it is a horse is frowned upon in this establishment.”
Another commercial that always takes me into its world is the one where a bystander observes someone do something thoughtful for another person; something like holding the door for a blind person. That bystander, moved and motivated by what she has witnessed, is somehow changed and becomes more attuned to the people around her. She then does something small, but thoughtful for a stranger. This act is observed by another bystander who is affected by seeing it, and the process repeats itself again and again and again.
I like that commercial because it builds on the belief that beneath all that is dark and dreary and damaged in this world a fundamental goodness holds sway. Listen to this insight in John O’Donohue’s book, To Bless the Space between Us:
There is a kindness that dwells deep down in the structure of things; it presides everywhere, often in places we least expect. The world can be harsh and negative, but if we remain generous and patient, kindness inevitably reveals itself. Something deep in the human soul seems to depend on the presence of kindness; something instinctive in us expects it, and once we sense it we are able to trust and open ourselves.
I hear O’Donohue’s words as being a faint echo of Jesus’ thundering proclamation that the greatest commandment is to love God and to love your neighbor as yourself; one implication, one manifestation of how we live into God’s highest intention for all God’s human creation.
As I meditated on today’s Gospel reading began to see how I have always imagined the idea of loving God with all my heart, with all my soul, with all my mind, and (as Luke records it) with all my strength as being something akin to spiritual weightlifting; in other words, if I can bench press 200 spiritual pounds today, then tomorrow I should try to press 205. The day after that I need to go for 210. The process is never ending because the ultimate goal of perfect love toward God and neighbor can never be achieved. All - as in all your heart, all your mind, all your soul, and all your strength - all is a very daunting word, isn’t it. It suggests that observing this command involves effort and rigor and determination and dedication and... failure.
I began to wonder what if fulfilling the command to love involves not trying harder and harder, but rather letting go and listening and allowing yourself to be carried away in God’s goodness that undergirds all things?
O’Donohue begins his book by writing this:
There is a quiet light that shines in every heart. It draws no attention to itself, though it is always secretly there. It is what illuminates our minds to see beauty, our desire to seek possibility, and our hearts to love life. Without this subtle quickening our days would be empty and wearisome, and no horizon would ever awaken longing. Our passion for life is quietly sustained from somewhere in us that is wedded to the energy and excitement of life. This shy inner light is what enables us to recognize our very presence here as blessing.
Something in his words resonates with me and it hints that loving God heart, soul, mind, and strength has more to do with the shy, inner light than it does with spiritual weightlifting. If the creation is God’s work, and if God called it good, and if God is omnipresent (found in all times, all places, and all things), then being attentive to our quiet, inner light - that part of our heart which allows us to connect with the richness of life - is at the heart of what it means to love God. It suggests that reveling in the beauty of a gorgeous fall day is an act of loving God more significant than something like, say, memorizing the books of the bible in order.
And it suggests that loving our neighbor as ourselves is not so much an act of effort on our part, but something more akin to becoming open to the possibilities for kindness that exist all around us. In a passage reminiscent of how Paul describes the gift of love, O’Donohue writes about the nature of kindness:
[It] has gracious eyes; it is not small-minded or competitive; it wants nothing back for itself. Kindness strikes a resonance with the depths of your own heart; it also suggests that your vulnerability, though somehow exposed, is not taken advantage of; rather, it has become an occasion for dignity and empathy. Kindness casts a different light, an evening light that has the depth of color and patience to illuminate what is complex and rich in difference.
As that commercial suggests, kindness begets kindness and the blessing we offer to another has a way of returning back to us as blessing.
We use the word ‘kind’ to signify two different things. It can mean “doing good rather than harm” or it can mean “a class, sort, or variety,” as in “my kind of people.” It is closely related to the word “kin” and “kindness” itself is derived from the word “kinship.” To be kind is to see another as kin and to show kindness is to treat a person like family. When Jesus commands us to love our neighbor he is asking us to do more than to be kind to our kind. He is, as O’Donohue puts it, directing us to “illuminate what is complex and rich in difference.”
Those of us who have been able to stop by St. Paul’s on Monday evenings in October have been deeply affected by the ministry of our Food Pantry and the various distributions of shoes, sweaters, and coats of the past few weeks. It is the clients themselves who have touched us with their joy, their gratitude, and their words of kindness. “Bless you” is perhaps the most common phrase uttered in the Parish Hall from 5:00 to 6:30 on Monday nights.
It would be a mistake to think of these give always as being simple acts of charity. They are far more complex than doing a good deed or ‘helping our fellow man.’ There is something richer and deeper at work; something that taps into God’s intention for life. The kindness goes both ways. Blessings offered become blessings extended. No one is lifting 205 spiritual pounds, rather we are tapping into something that exists beyond us and yet is all around us. We are discovering anew, if even in a small and limited way, God’s love which permeates all things.
During the week clergy friends will often post on facebook thoughts and questions about the upcoming readings. “Is anyone else having trouble figuring out how to preach these lessons” is not uncommon. This week a priest responded to such an inquiry by saying he was going to preach how the gospel directs us to love our enemies. I believe this is a legitimate implication of the greatest commandment, but it struck me as awfully daunting weight to press. Let’s start somewhere else. Let’s start with the belief that there is something inside us, something O’Donohue describes as a quiet inner light, that always responds to something God is doing in this world. It responds to beauty, to desire, and to possibility. It offers kindness and blessing. Nurture that light and you will be well on your way to living into love for God and love for your neighbor.
Tuesday, October 25, 2011
Monday, October 17, 2011
Offerings
“Render unto Caesar the things that are Caesar’s and unto God the things that are God’s.” Even those of us with a nominal working knowledge of the Bible recognize this saying of Jesus. But while the expression is widely known the context is not. Jesus was not approached by a group of local pastors and asked to give a quote or two for Stewardship Sunday. His enemies were plotting to bring Him down. Their efforts began with a rumor campaign, extended to trick questions, broadened to legal entrapment, and found their culmination in the lies that led to the Crucifixion.
In today’s lesson two groups come together to trap Jesus. The Pharisees were religious leaders who set out rule after rule for those who desired to live a holy life. The Herodians, a less familiar group to us, supported the kingship of Herod as the best means for Israel to maintain security and wellbeing. Both groups were highly invested in the status quo, either of the church or of the government, and each felt Jesus was a threat to its best interests.
So together they come up with a question: is it lawful for a good Jew to pay taxes to the emperor? This is no theological exercise for them. They are not interested in resolving a spiritual dilemma that keeps them awake at night. Plain and simple they frame a question that gives Jesus no easy way out. If he says that it is permissible to pay taxes then the devout Jews, led by the Pharisees, will be up in arms. If he says that the faithful should refuse to pay taxes then the Herodians will have all the ammunition they need to arrest Him for insurrection. It is important that we think about Jesus’ response in light of this context.
That Jesus has to ask for someone to produce a coin hints at how poor he was… that he did not have any money on his person. “Whose face is on the coin?” he asks. “The emperor’s,” they respond. “Well, give to the emperor what belongs to the emperor and to God the things that belong to God.” It is an answer that does two things. First, it gets Jesus off the hot seat and, second, it places the burden of interpretation squarely in the laps of the listeners.
And more than being a clever answer that extricates him from the trap, Jesus speaks to the heart of all Christian stewardship. He offers no detailed, strict set of rules and regulations to follow, as the Pharisees so often did. He simply says that each one of us will have to find our own way to resolve the inherent tension between being residents of this world and citizens of the next. Each of us will have to make our own way in the challenge that is meeting our tax burden, paying bills, putting food on the table, saving for the future, and contributing to God’s work in the world. No one can or should make this decision for us. It is ours and ours alone to make.
At its heart, Christian stewardship is about the desire to be in relationship with God. When a small child draws a picture and then gives it to a grandparent that child is expressing a desire to be in relationship with the recipient of the gift. In a very real sense the gift is an offering… given out of a sense of joy, love, and thanksgiving for all that the grandparent means to the child. Often the meaning of that relationship is beyond words, so the offering becomes a tangible expression of what the relationship means to the child. What we offer to God holds the same meaning. It is a tangible expression of our desire to be in relationship with God… an offering that often says more than we are able to put into words.
We might also acknowledge that the child’s drawing for the grandparent expresses a desire to be a part of the family; to be in relationship with all who are a part of the valued social unit. In the same way what we offer to God often connects us to those who make an offering similar to ours. Our common act of giving is a part of what binds us together as a community of faith.
The first recorded act of offering is found in the fourth chapter of Genesis. Cain, a farmer, brings an offering of grain to God while his brother Able, a herdsman, brings an offering from his flock. The narrative describes Cain’s offering as being “some of the grain” from his field while Able’s is described as being “the fattest portions of the firstborn of the flock.” Perhaps you remember how the narrative goes. God looks with favor on what Able offers, but not on what Cain gives. Cain offers some of what he has (and possibly this portion comes after all his other needs and obligations have been met) while Able offers from the first and the best.
Imagine two children, one who puts a great deal of time, effort, and creativity into making a card for grandma, and the other who at the last minute scratches out a note so as not to be empty-handed. Grandma will receive both cards with joy, but will know in her heart whose offering means more. She will know that both children want to be in relationship with her, but for one it is a high priority while for the other it is an obligation. One child makes an offering that is truly representative of all she is because it is the best she has to offer. The other child has not offered much of herself and, frankly, will expect grandma to make more of the card than it is really worth.
There are many ways that we can make an offering to God. Money is one of them. It is not the amount of money that you give that matters, it is the meaning behind it. Remember how Jesus pointed out the widow who gave a small coin, saying that she had put more into the offering than everyone else had. Here at St. Paul’s stewardship means much more than giving money to support an operating budget, although in practical terms that is one of the things our collective stewardship does. But stewardship is also about serving in the Food Pantry, teaching a class, singing in the choir, bringing a dish to a common meal, tending to the property and buildings, participating in the liturgy with vigor, and on and on and on.
Each of us must figure out for ourselves how we want to be in relationship with God. Each of us must determine what we will offer to God to signify our desire. We will have to ponder how we want our offering to connect us with others. And, perhaps most important, we will have to decide the degree to which our offerings will reflect our best efforts.
In today’s lesson two groups come together to trap Jesus. The Pharisees were religious leaders who set out rule after rule for those who desired to live a holy life. The Herodians, a less familiar group to us, supported the kingship of Herod as the best means for Israel to maintain security and wellbeing. Both groups were highly invested in the status quo, either of the church or of the government, and each felt Jesus was a threat to its best interests.
So together they come up with a question: is it lawful for a good Jew to pay taxes to the emperor? This is no theological exercise for them. They are not interested in resolving a spiritual dilemma that keeps them awake at night. Plain and simple they frame a question that gives Jesus no easy way out. If he says that it is permissible to pay taxes then the devout Jews, led by the Pharisees, will be up in arms. If he says that the faithful should refuse to pay taxes then the Herodians will have all the ammunition they need to arrest Him for insurrection. It is important that we think about Jesus’ response in light of this context.
That Jesus has to ask for someone to produce a coin hints at how poor he was… that he did not have any money on his person. “Whose face is on the coin?” he asks. “The emperor’s,” they respond. “Well, give to the emperor what belongs to the emperor and to God the things that belong to God.” It is an answer that does two things. First, it gets Jesus off the hot seat and, second, it places the burden of interpretation squarely in the laps of the listeners.
And more than being a clever answer that extricates him from the trap, Jesus speaks to the heart of all Christian stewardship. He offers no detailed, strict set of rules and regulations to follow, as the Pharisees so often did. He simply says that each one of us will have to find our own way to resolve the inherent tension between being residents of this world and citizens of the next. Each of us will have to make our own way in the challenge that is meeting our tax burden, paying bills, putting food on the table, saving for the future, and contributing to God’s work in the world. No one can or should make this decision for us. It is ours and ours alone to make.
At its heart, Christian stewardship is about the desire to be in relationship with God. When a small child draws a picture and then gives it to a grandparent that child is expressing a desire to be in relationship with the recipient of the gift. In a very real sense the gift is an offering… given out of a sense of joy, love, and thanksgiving for all that the grandparent means to the child. Often the meaning of that relationship is beyond words, so the offering becomes a tangible expression of what the relationship means to the child. What we offer to God holds the same meaning. It is a tangible expression of our desire to be in relationship with God… an offering that often says more than we are able to put into words.
We might also acknowledge that the child’s drawing for the grandparent expresses a desire to be a part of the family; to be in relationship with all who are a part of the valued social unit. In the same way what we offer to God often connects us to those who make an offering similar to ours. Our common act of giving is a part of what binds us together as a community of faith.
The first recorded act of offering is found in the fourth chapter of Genesis. Cain, a farmer, brings an offering of grain to God while his brother Able, a herdsman, brings an offering from his flock. The narrative describes Cain’s offering as being “some of the grain” from his field while Able’s is described as being “the fattest portions of the firstborn of the flock.” Perhaps you remember how the narrative goes. God looks with favor on what Able offers, but not on what Cain gives. Cain offers some of what he has (and possibly this portion comes after all his other needs and obligations have been met) while Able offers from the first and the best.
Imagine two children, one who puts a great deal of time, effort, and creativity into making a card for grandma, and the other who at the last minute scratches out a note so as not to be empty-handed. Grandma will receive both cards with joy, but will know in her heart whose offering means more. She will know that both children want to be in relationship with her, but for one it is a high priority while for the other it is an obligation. One child makes an offering that is truly representative of all she is because it is the best she has to offer. The other child has not offered much of herself and, frankly, will expect grandma to make more of the card than it is really worth.
There are many ways that we can make an offering to God. Money is one of them. It is not the amount of money that you give that matters, it is the meaning behind it. Remember how Jesus pointed out the widow who gave a small coin, saying that she had put more into the offering than everyone else had. Here at St. Paul’s stewardship means much more than giving money to support an operating budget, although in practical terms that is one of the things our collective stewardship does. But stewardship is also about serving in the Food Pantry, teaching a class, singing in the choir, bringing a dish to a common meal, tending to the property and buildings, participating in the liturgy with vigor, and on and on and on.
Each of us must figure out for ourselves how we want to be in relationship with God. Each of us must determine what we will offer to God to signify our desire. We will have to ponder how we want our offering to connect us with others. And, perhaps most important, we will have to decide the degree to which our offerings will reflect our best efforts.
Tuesday, October 11, 2011
Defiant Individualism & Biking with Dan
Once more Jesus spoke to the people in parables, saying:
“The kingdom of heaven may be compared to a king who gave a wedding banquet for his son. He sent his slaves to call those who had been invited to the wedding banquet, but they would not come. Again he sent other slaves, saying, ‘Tell those who have been invited: Look, I have prepared my dinner, my oxen and my fat calves have been slaughtered, and everything is ready; come to the wedding banquet.’ But they made light of it and went away, one to his farm, another to his business, while the rest seized his slaves, mistreated them, and killed them. The king was enraged. He sent his troops, destroyed those murderers, and burned their city. Then he said to his slaves, ‘The wedding is ready, but those invited were not worthy. Go therefore into the main streets, and invite everyone you find to the wedding banquet.’ Those slaves went out into the streets and gathered all whom they found, both good and bad; so the wedding hall was filled with guests.”
“But when the king came in to see the guests, he noticed a man there who was not wearing a wedding robe, and he said to him, ‘Friend, how did you get in here without a wedding robe?’ And he was speechless. Then the king said to the attendants, ‘Bind him hand and foot, and throw him into the outer darkness, where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth.’ For many are called, but few are chosen” - Matthew 22:1-14
In the summer on 1990, back when I was young and in decent shape, I led a youth group of thirty-five teenagers on a week-long bicycle ride. We covered 110 miles the first two days, staying in churches at night. We spent the third day at Cedar Point, one of the best amusement parks in the world. From there we took a ferry across Lake Erie to Canada and spent the remainder of the trip riding to Niagara Falls. All in all, we bicycled over 350 miles! That was no small accomplishment and twenty-one years later I think I am still a little sore.
Let me tell you about Dan, a teenager I did not know when he became a last-minute addition to the trip. From the very beginning of the first day of riding it was obvious he was going to be a challenge. He was always testing the rules, always flirting with the boundaries, always pushing others’ emotional buttons. Incidents began to mount. Things like riding on the wrong side of the road, getting ahead of the group, and bumping tires with the bike in front of him. The final straw came at the amusement park. Dan failed to show up at our meeting location when the park closed. It was ten at night and we had a ferry to catch at 7:30 the next morning. The group searched and it waited. We knew only two things: Dan had told his friends that he had no intention of leaving at closing time and he had met some girls who were staying overnight at a local motel.
At 11:00, the other adult supervisors drove the group back to the church where we were spending the night. I stayed behind, continued to look for Dan, and went to the security headquarters. They radioed every checkpoint in the park, but there was no sign of him anywhere. At 12:30 one of the adults drove back to the park to get me. Keep in mind that in 1990 there were no cell phones so we searched for a payphone, found one near the church, and called Dan’s parents. It was 1:15 in the morning. I had hoped that maybe Dan had gotten lost, didn’t know how to find us, and had called home. No such luck. Dan’s parents were no so much concerned about their son’s safety as they were intent on defending him. They assured me that whatever had happened was not his fault. It occurred to me then that this kind of thing must have happened before. I told them I would call again when I knew something more. The teenagers and other adult leaders were very worried.
At 2:00 I went back to the park to see if security had found Dan. They had. He “claimed” that he had been waiting on a park bench no more than a hundred yards from where the group met at 10:00. Somehow, he never saw us, nor we him. “What are you going to do,” he asked me? “I don’t know,” I said. “I think you are going to have to go home.” “You don’t believe me,” he protested. “I swear I am not lying.” “It is not whether I believe you or not that is important,” I responded. “What matters is I don’t think I am able to be responsible for your safety.”
By the time I called Dan’s parents to let them know he was alright it was 3:00 AM. They too wanted to know what I was going to do. By then it was clear to me – Dan needed to go home. His parents begged me to change my mind. I thought of the 34 other teenagers on the trip who had been left with two adults while I and another leader were out all night searching. I told the parents, “Be here at 7:00 before the ferry leaves for Canada.” I didn’t sleep at all that night.
A four-hour boat trip followed by fifty miles of biking gave the rest of the group plenty of time to digest what had happened. Most were angry at Dan, some at me. A few felt he should have been given another chance. We had an open and honest discussion about the situation that night. After listening for some time, I challenged the teenagers with these words:
“Think about where we are. We are in a tiny church in another country. We are hundreds of miles from our homes. Think of the fun we have had so far; the challenges; the rewards. Think about our goal to ride to Niagara Falls. Could any of you have done this on your own? Would you have the resources? The strength? Would your parents have let you go on your own?
Each of us is here only because we came as a group. We could not have done this without each other. That means if you want to ride faster and farther than the rest of the group, you can’t. It means that if we haven’t reached our destination and you want to quit, you can’t. You can’t pull over and eat lunch whenever you want because we have to do it as a group. You must sacrifice what you want for the good of everyone else. Dan was not able to do this. He wanted to take the trip on his own terms and we all suffered for it.
On our own none of us is capable of accomplishing what we can do together.”
Today’s gospel reading of the parable about the poor man who did not wear the wedding garment always reminds me of Dan. The gentleman in Jesus’ story responded to a last minute wedding invitation, but did so on his own terms. He came to the wedding feast but, for whatever reason, would not put on the customary clothing required for the event. At a gut level I want to feel sorry for the guy. Doesn’t it seem a bit unreasonable for the king to expect anyone invited on short notice to be properly attired? Yet everyone else who made hastily arrangements found a way to wear the appropriate garment. If they could do it, so could he. It would seem that his act was deliberate and defiant.
I believe one of the most important steps in our spiritual lives is a move from a “me-orientation” to an “us-orientation.” It is an important step in one’s family life, in one’s professional life, in one’s civic life, and in one’s religious life. The simple truth is that on our own we can only go so far, but working together we can accomplish much more than would be possible for an individual. If you are going to have a healthy marriage, happy family, sustained job, make contributions in the community where you live and in the church where you worship, you are going to have to do two things. First, you have to discover what you can contribute to a common good and second, you must discern which of your personal desires and aspirations will need to be laid aside.
The man without the garment is judged rather harshly for his defiant individualism. He is cast out of the wedding celebration where the community has gathered. For Dan, the judgment was much the same. But beyond the shame and humiliation of being sent home, I believe the greatest punishment he experienced was being cut off from his friends, missing out on the rest of the trip, and not experiencing the joy of achieving our goals. And it was all so unnecessary. Thirty-four other teenagers managed to fit in even though not everything was to their individual liking. Dan could not do this and ultimately his punishment, just like the man in the parable, was self-inflicted.
The same judgment is there for anyone who presses on others a defiant sense of individualism; be it in a family, a neighborhood, our community, or a church. Such persons limit the world, their existence, and their spirit, to their own finite vision of life; never once thinking they could find something greater if they just looked beyond themselves. Martin Luther talked about sin as being “incurvatus in se” – a state of being turned in one’s self to such a degree that the no one else matters. In the final analysis, unwillingness to let go of self in order to join with others blocks a person’s path to fuller life in God’s kingdom.
In this parable, Jesus Christ calls for each of us to put on the garment of his selfless humility and to join with a community of faithful believers in order to experience the richness and joy of God’s kingdom on earth. How are you going to respond to this invitation? What of yourself do you need to lay aside in order to accept it?
“The kingdom of heaven may be compared to a king who gave a wedding banquet for his son. He sent his slaves to call those who had been invited to the wedding banquet, but they would not come. Again he sent other slaves, saying, ‘Tell those who have been invited: Look, I have prepared my dinner, my oxen and my fat calves have been slaughtered, and everything is ready; come to the wedding banquet.’ But they made light of it and went away, one to his farm, another to his business, while the rest seized his slaves, mistreated them, and killed them. The king was enraged. He sent his troops, destroyed those murderers, and burned their city. Then he said to his slaves, ‘The wedding is ready, but those invited were not worthy. Go therefore into the main streets, and invite everyone you find to the wedding banquet.’ Those slaves went out into the streets and gathered all whom they found, both good and bad; so the wedding hall was filled with guests.”
“But when the king came in to see the guests, he noticed a man there who was not wearing a wedding robe, and he said to him, ‘Friend, how did you get in here without a wedding robe?’ And he was speechless. Then the king said to the attendants, ‘Bind him hand and foot, and throw him into the outer darkness, where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth.’ For many are called, but few are chosen” - Matthew 22:1-14
In the summer on 1990, back when I was young and in decent shape, I led a youth group of thirty-five teenagers on a week-long bicycle ride. We covered 110 miles the first two days, staying in churches at night. We spent the third day at Cedar Point, one of the best amusement parks in the world. From there we took a ferry across Lake Erie to Canada and spent the remainder of the trip riding to Niagara Falls. All in all, we bicycled over 350 miles! That was no small accomplishment and twenty-one years later I think I am still a little sore.
Let me tell you about Dan, a teenager I did not know when he became a last-minute addition to the trip. From the very beginning of the first day of riding it was obvious he was going to be a challenge. He was always testing the rules, always flirting with the boundaries, always pushing others’ emotional buttons. Incidents began to mount. Things like riding on the wrong side of the road, getting ahead of the group, and bumping tires with the bike in front of him. The final straw came at the amusement park. Dan failed to show up at our meeting location when the park closed. It was ten at night and we had a ferry to catch at 7:30 the next morning. The group searched and it waited. We knew only two things: Dan had told his friends that he had no intention of leaving at closing time and he had met some girls who were staying overnight at a local motel.
At 11:00, the other adult supervisors drove the group back to the church where we were spending the night. I stayed behind, continued to look for Dan, and went to the security headquarters. They radioed every checkpoint in the park, but there was no sign of him anywhere. At 12:30 one of the adults drove back to the park to get me. Keep in mind that in 1990 there were no cell phones so we searched for a payphone, found one near the church, and called Dan’s parents. It was 1:15 in the morning. I had hoped that maybe Dan had gotten lost, didn’t know how to find us, and had called home. No such luck. Dan’s parents were no so much concerned about their son’s safety as they were intent on defending him. They assured me that whatever had happened was not his fault. It occurred to me then that this kind of thing must have happened before. I told them I would call again when I knew something more. The teenagers and other adult leaders were very worried.
At 2:00 I went back to the park to see if security had found Dan. They had. He “claimed” that he had been waiting on a park bench no more than a hundred yards from where the group met at 10:00. Somehow, he never saw us, nor we him. “What are you going to do,” he asked me? “I don’t know,” I said. “I think you are going to have to go home.” “You don’t believe me,” he protested. “I swear I am not lying.” “It is not whether I believe you or not that is important,” I responded. “What matters is I don’t think I am able to be responsible for your safety.”
By the time I called Dan’s parents to let them know he was alright it was 3:00 AM. They too wanted to know what I was going to do. By then it was clear to me – Dan needed to go home. His parents begged me to change my mind. I thought of the 34 other teenagers on the trip who had been left with two adults while I and another leader were out all night searching. I told the parents, “Be here at 7:00 before the ferry leaves for Canada.” I didn’t sleep at all that night.
A four-hour boat trip followed by fifty miles of biking gave the rest of the group plenty of time to digest what had happened. Most were angry at Dan, some at me. A few felt he should have been given another chance. We had an open and honest discussion about the situation that night. After listening for some time, I challenged the teenagers with these words:
“Think about where we are. We are in a tiny church in another country. We are hundreds of miles from our homes. Think of the fun we have had so far; the challenges; the rewards. Think about our goal to ride to Niagara Falls. Could any of you have done this on your own? Would you have the resources? The strength? Would your parents have let you go on your own?
Each of us is here only because we came as a group. We could not have done this without each other. That means if you want to ride faster and farther than the rest of the group, you can’t. It means that if we haven’t reached our destination and you want to quit, you can’t. You can’t pull over and eat lunch whenever you want because we have to do it as a group. You must sacrifice what you want for the good of everyone else. Dan was not able to do this. He wanted to take the trip on his own terms and we all suffered for it.
On our own none of us is capable of accomplishing what we can do together.”
Today’s gospel reading of the parable about the poor man who did not wear the wedding garment always reminds me of Dan. The gentleman in Jesus’ story responded to a last minute wedding invitation, but did so on his own terms. He came to the wedding feast but, for whatever reason, would not put on the customary clothing required for the event. At a gut level I want to feel sorry for the guy. Doesn’t it seem a bit unreasonable for the king to expect anyone invited on short notice to be properly attired? Yet everyone else who made hastily arrangements found a way to wear the appropriate garment. If they could do it, so could he. It would seem that his act was deliberate and defiant.
I believe one of the most important steps in our spiritual lives is a move from a “me-orientation” to an “us-orientation.” It is an important step in one’s family life, in one’s professional life, in one’s civic life, and in one’s religious life. The simple truth is that on our own we can only go so far, but working together we can accomplish much more than would be possible for an individual. If you are going to have a healthy marriage, happy family, sustained job, make contributions in the community where you live and in the church where you worship, you are going to have to do two things. First, you have to discover what you can contribute to a common good and second, you must discern which of your personal desires and aspirations will need to be laid aside.
The man without the garment is judged rather harshly for his defiant individualism. He is cast out of the wedding celebration where the community has gathered. For Dan, the judgment was much the same. But beyond the shame and humiliation of being sent home, I believe the greatest punishment he experienced was being cut off from his friends, missing out on the rest of the trip, and not experiencing the joy of achieving our goals. And it was all so unnecessary. Thirty-four other teenagers managed to fit in even though not everything was to their individual liking. Dan could not do this and ultimately his punishment, just like the man in the parable, was self-inflicted.
The same judgment is there for anyone who presses on others a defiant sense of individualism; be it in a family, a neighborhood, our community, or a church. Such persons limit the world, their existence, and their spirit, to their own finite vision of life; never once thinking they could find something greater if they just looked beyond themselves. Martin Luther talked about sin as being “incurvatus in se” – a state of being turned in one’s self to such a degree that the no one else matters. In the final analysis, unwillingness to let go of self in order to join with others blocks a person’s path to fuller life in God’s kingdom.
In this parable, Jesus Christ calls for each of us to put on the garment of his selfless humility and to join with a community of faithful believers in order to experience the richness and joy of God’s kingdom on earth. How are you going to respond to this invitation? What of yourself do you need to lay aside in order to accept it?
Sunday, October 2, 2011
Living in a Way that does not Make Sense
Today we hear the last of Jesus’ “vineyard parables.” The vineyard was a common Old Testament metaphor used to describe the people of Israel, so it is not surprising that Jesus drew on this imagery. If you recall, two weeks ago we heard the parable of the workers called to the vineyard at various hours of the day who all get paid the same amount, regardless of the time they spent laboring. Last Sunday we heard the parable of the father who directs each of his two sons to work in the family vineyard. One refuses, but later changes his mind. The other agrees, but then does nothing. And today we hear the parable of the tenants’ revolt against the absentee landowner.
All three parables share some common themes that are worth noting:
• First, each proclaims there is a God. It may seem like an obvious point, but it is foundational and should not be overlooked.
• Equally as obvious, but still important, is the shared notion that the Owner – God – owns the vineyard.
• The next common premise is that Owner holds a rightful claim on the people associated with the vineyard. We see allusions of this claim in the relationship of an employer who hires workers, a father who has sons, and a landowner who rents out his property.
• Another common theme is that something is always going wrong in the vineyard: workers complain, sons misbehave, tenants revolt. These are good stories in that they always have a dramatic tension – a point of conflict – which renders them true to our experience of life. Far from being a tranquil, pastoral setting, the vineyard of life is a challenging place where things often unfold in ways that are troubling; and in the vineyard stories that trouble is of our own making.
• And finally, just as fairy tales always seem to end with “and they lived happily ever after,” each of these stories shares a common ending. It is surprising, even startling - jarring to some, hopeful to others, and it always seems to turn the world upside down on itself.
So the vineyard parables share these common story elements, but each is also distinctive. Today’s parable is the only one where the landowner places others in charge while he leaves the region. As the story unfolds the tenants decide to assert their authority by rising up and rebelling against the claim the landowner has over them. In short, they want to act as if there is no landowner, as if they are the ones in charge.
This week marked the birthday of Martin Heidegger, the German-born philosopher who died in 1976. He has been described as a nearly unreadable author, a racist and a bigot who never fully disavowed his support of Nazism, and one of the most important thinkers of the 21st century. Now how is that for a résumé!
Heidegger wrote a great deal about nihilism; the philosophical belief that our modern life lacks a shared meaning and direction. Those who write about nihilism point to society’s desire not to be under any authority beyond the individual, to have nothing and no one able to make a claim on us, and no commitments required of us. It is precisely what the tenants in Jesus’ parable were after.
A professor named Hubert Dreyfus sums up our times by pointing out that “the things that once evoked commitment – gods, heroes…, the acts of great statesmen, the words of great thinkers – have lost their authority.” He is saying that, like the tenants who shed the rightful claim of the landowner, our society has dispensed with any such notion of an objective norm or value or moral good that exists beyond ourselves.
In our Old Testament reading we heard the story of the Ten Commandments. Given by God as objective realities beyond human existence and human approval – to be received as something as unalterable as, say, the law of gravity – we now take them (if we take them at all) as being a helpful resource; an ingredient we tenants may want to mix into the stew of meaning we cook up for ourselves – if we even feel like taking the time to think through what a personal sense of meaning might look like.
To Heidegger’s way of thinking, life in an ownerless vineyard has some serious consequences. We become isolated in our existence, alienated from one another, and suffocated in a life devoid of meaning. Dreyfus puts it this way:
“When there are no shared examples of greatness that focus public concerns and elicit social commitment, people become spectators of fads and public lives, just for the excitement. When there are no religious practices that call forth sacrifice, terror, and awe, people consume everything from drugs to meditation practices to give themselves some kind of peak experience. The peak experience takes the place of what was once a relation to something outside the self that defined the real and was therefore holy.”
To the degree that I understand Heidegger I am intrigued by his thinking regarding how technology fosters nihilism. In a nutshell, he says that we have reduced creation to efficiency and adaptability, with little or no thought to its intended, greater purpose. He says that we have see the environment as being “a gigantic gasoline station, an energy source for modern technology and industry.” Most of us also see nature as something spiritual, particularly when, for example, we are moved by a beautiful sunset. But for us, both endeavors – industry and inspiration - share the common understanding that creation exists solely for our benefit and use.
Think of where we are today in relation to those basic premises of the vineyard parables.
• First, there is a God who exists independently of us. Today, haven’t we shifted this to say God exists for us; that it is God’s job to meet our needs?
• The second premise: God owns the vineyard. Today, we see creation as God’s gift to us that we can use any way we see fit. Its resources are ours. Its beauty is for us. The only analogy I can think comparable is what it would be like for a person to tour the White House and then decide to move in and take over the place as if was his. Isn’t that is what we have done to the vineyard?
• Next premise: God has a rightful claim on us. Today I think we have reversed this; believing we are the ones who have a claim on God. God is there to fix our problems, cure our ills, and bless our wars. Did anyone come this morning looking forward to hearing what God demands of you?
• Another common theme: something is always going wrong in the vineyard. Not only have we tenants risen up and rejected the Owner, but the end result is not at all what we wanted. Being free to do what has left us feeling lost, lonely, and confused. Nihilism – to use that fancy word –suffocates to the human spirit.
And then there is the parable’s ending, the startling surprise. Let me suggest that you are to be the surprise. Cardinal Celestin Suhard, who served as Archbishop of Paris in the 1940’s, famously said, “to be a witness [is to be] a living mystery. It means to live in such a way that one’s life would not make sense if God did not exist.” And while the world wants to live like there is no God, just as the tenants wanted to live as if there was no owner, we are the opposite - people who, in the absence of the vineyard Owner live in such a way that makes sense only because there is a vineyard Owner. We live in such a way that our lives are a mystery in a nihilistic world. We adhere to a meaning and direction from beyond us. We accept Jesus as our Lord and seek to live out his word and example; forgiving when forgiveness is a challenge, giving generously even when we have very little to offer, extending hospitality to all – especially to those people on the margins of society, picking up our cross and daily dying to self.
In a world that has either dispensed itself of God – or perhaps just tamed God to suit its own purposes – our lives should not make sense at all. But our witness does make sense because there is a God who owns the vineyard and has a rightful claim on each one of us.
All three parables share some common themes that are worth noting:
• First, each proclaims there is a God. It may seem like an obvious point, but it is foundational and should not be overlooked.
• Equally as obvious, but still important, is the shared notion that the Owner – God – owns the vineyard.
• The next common premise is that Owner holds a rightful claim on the people associated with the vineyard. We see allusions of this claim in the relationship of an employer who hires workers, a father who has sons, and a landowner who rents out his property.
• Another common theme is that something is always going wrong in the vineyard: workers complain, sons misbehave, tenants revolt. These are good stories in that they always have a dramatic tension – a point of conflict – which renders them true to our experience of life. Far from being a tranquil, pastoral setting, the vineyard of life is a challenging place where things often unfold in ways that are troubling; and in the vineyard stories that trouble is of our own making.
• And finally, just as fairy tales always seem to end with “and they lived happily ever after,” each of these stories shares a common ending. It is surprising, even startling - jarring to some, hopeful to others, and it always seems to turn the world upside down on itself.
So the vineyard parables share these common story elements, but each is also distinctive. Today’s parable is the only one where the landowner places others in charge while he leaves the region. As the story unfolds the tenants decide to assert their authority by rising up and rebelling against the claim the landowner has over them. In short, they want to act as if there is no landowner, as if they are the ones in charge.
This week marked the birthday of Martin Heidegger, the German-born philosopher who died in 1976. He has been described as a nearly unreadable author, a racist and a bigot who never fully disavowed his support of Nazism, and one of the most important thinkers of the 21st century. Now how is that for a résumé!
Heidegger wrote a great deal about nihilism; the philosophical belief that our modern life lacks a shared meaning and direction. Those who write about nihilism point to society’s desire not to be under any authority beyond the individual, to have nothing and no one able to make a claim on us, and no commitments required of us. It is precisely what the tenants in Jesus’ parable were after.
A professor named Hubert Dreyfus sums up our times by pointing out that “the things that once evoked commitment – gods, heroes…, the acts of great statesmen, the words of great thinkers – have lost their authority.” He is saying that, like the tenants who shed the rightful claim of the landowner, our society has dispensed with any such notion of an objective norm or value or moral good that exists beyond ourselves.
In our Old Testament reading we heard the story of the Ten Commandments. Given by God as objective realities beyond human existence and human approval – to be received as something as unalterable as, say, the law of gravity – we now take them (if we take them at all) as being a helpful resource; an ingredient we tenants may want to mix into the stew of meaning we cook up for ourselves – if we even feel like taking the time to think through what a personal sense of meaning might look like.
To Heidegger’s way of thinking, life in an ownerless vineyard has some serious consequences. We become isolated in our existence, alienated from one another, and suffocated in a life devoid of meaning. Dreyfus puts it this way:
“When there are no shared examples of greatness that focus public concerns and elicit social commitment, people become spectators of fads and public lives, just for the excitement. When there are no religious practices that call forth sacrifice, terror, and awe, people consume everything from drugs to meditation practices to give themselves some kind of peak experience. The peak experience takes the place of what was once a relation to something outside the self that defined the real and was therefore holy.”
To the degree that I understand Heidegger I am intrigued by his thinking regarding how technology fosters nihilism. In a nutshell, he says that we have reduced creation to efficiency and adaptability, with little or no thought to its intended, greater purpose. He says that we have see the environment as being “a gigantic gasoline station, an energy source for modern technology and industry.” Most of us also see nature as something spiritual, particularly when, for example, we are moved by a beautiful sunset. But for us, both endeavors – industry and inspiration - share the common understanding that creation exists solely for our benefit and use.
Think of where we are today in relation to those basic premises of the vineyard parables.
• First, there is a God who exists independently of us. Today, haven’t we shifted this to say God exists for us; that it is God’s job to meet our needs?
• The second premise: God owns the vineyard. Today, we see creation as God’s gift to us that we can use any way we see fit. Its resources are ours. Its beauty is for us. The only analogy I can think comparable is what it would be like for a person to tour the White House and then decide to move in and take over the place as if was his. Isn’t that is what we have done to the vineyard?
• Next premise: God has a rightful claim on us. Today I think we have reversed this; believing we are the ones who have a claim on God. God is there to fix our problems, cure our ills, and bless our wars. Did anyone come this morning looking forward to hearing what God demands of you?
• Another common theme: something is always going wrong in the vineyard. Not only have we tenants risen up and rejected the Owner, but the end result is not at all what we wanted. Being free to do what has left us feeling lost, lonely, and confused. Nihilism – to use that fancy word –suffocates to the human spirit.
And then there is the parable’s ending, the startling surprise. Let me suggest that you are to be the surprise. Cardinal Celestin Suhard, who served as Archbishop of Paris in the 1940’s, famously said, “to be a witness [is to be] a living mystery. It means to live in such a way that one’s life would not make sense if God did not exist.” And while the world wants to live like there is no God, just as the tenants wanted to live as if there was no owner, we are the opposite - people who, in the absence of the vineyard Owner live in such a way that makes sense only because there is a vineyard Owner. We live in such a way that our lives are a mystery in a nihilistic world. We adhere to a meaning and direction from beyond us. We accept Jesus as our Lord and seek to live out his word and example; forgiving when forgiveness is a challenge, giving generously even when we have very little to offer, extending hospitality to all – especially to those people on the margins of society, picking up our cross and daily dying to self.
In a world that has either dispensed itself of God – or perhaps just tamed God to suit its own purposes – our lives should not make sense at all. But our witness does make sense because there is a God who owns the vineyard and has a rightful claim on each one of us.
Tuesday, September 27, 2011
Celebrating a New Ministry & the Humility of the Religious
Some of you may recall meeting Earnest Graham at one of our Lenten dinners. He is a priest who at the time was serving at St. John’s Church in Chuckatuck and now is at St. Matthew’s in Chesterfield. Last Wednesday evening they had a wonderful Celebration of New Ministry that was not unlike the one we celebrated together several years ago (although, unlike here, the congregation did not present him with a squirrel trap!).
Worship services always speak to me in some way and this experience was no different. Several years ago, Earnest was identified by the Episcopal Church as a person suitable for priesthood. He was tested and trained in many different ways. Several hundred people weighed in on his fitness prior to ordination. This particular call came about through his own discernment, but also through that of a congregation’s search committee and Vestry, and with consent from the bishop and other diocesan officials. Given all of this, I was struck by the prayer which the liturgy directs a new priest to offer at this service:
“O Lord my God, I am not worthy to have you come under my roof; yet you have called your servant to stand in your house, and to serve at your altar…” (BCP p. 562)
It says something, doesn’t it, that a priest’s new ministry with a congregation begins with the posture of humility. Of all that we might say about our knowledge, our skills, our abilities, and our personal characteristics, what we priests acknowledge to God in the presence of God’s people is our unworthiness. And clearly the priest’s prayer is intended to rub off on all the people of the parish.
You see, it is our plight, as people of deep religious conviction and devotion, to be like the son who said he would go into the field and yet did not go. Jesus offers no insight into why each son moved from “yes” or “no” to the opposite. Rather than get into why, he focuses on the who, on the identity of each son – which group is represented by the son who was unwilling at first and which group is represented by the son who said yes but did nothing. What group said no to God at first? Prostitutes, tax collectors, and other sinners? And what group said yes to God at first? The chief priests and the elders of the people.
It is a story Jesus tells to condemn those who rejected the ministry of John the Baptist. Jesus says he came in the “way of righteousness” but was rejected by the learned and the religious professionals. Jesus does not spell out what he means by “way of righteousness,” but, given John’s ministry, here is something of what it looks like:
John proclaimed that God is near.
He taught that God loves everyone.
He called on every person to repent and be baptized.
Now that doesn’t sound like a very radical message, does it, but for the religious leaders it presented a real challenge. First, they were the ones who best understood God and God’s ways, not John. Who was John to say that God is near? Second, they did not accept that God loved everyone. They believed that God loved them and hated sinners. And finally, they believed they had no need to repent since they were not sinners. Any suggestion otherwise was deeply offensive to them and an affront almost beyond our imagining.
And while the world needs people to bear our religious tradition and elders to carry forward the wisdom and heritage of the past, if we take Jesus seriously we have to acknowledge there is something inherent in these roles that can insulate us from recognizing God’s dream for all people. While it is vital that we know the Holy Scriptures, the history of biblical interpretation is littered with examples of religious people holding on to incorrect understandings and misusing the word of God. And while it is important that we carry forward the tradition we have been given, we must always guard against protecting zealously against needed and necessary reforms. And while practicing the faith through such habits as regular worship, tithing, and acts of charity is the duty of all Christians, we must never allow these outward manifestations to be a substitute for inner devotion to God. All of this and more is embodied by the priest’s prayer at the beginning of a new ministry with a congregation: “I am not worthy to have you come under my roof.” We members of the congregation who listen in on the prayer may want to add under our breath, “me either.”
One of the dangers of our beautiful liturgy is that in can lead us to say things lightly that carry great weight. For example, at every baptism on behalf of God and the Church I ask the parents and godparents these questions:
Will you be responsible for seeing that the child you present is brought up in the Christian faith and life?
Will you by your prayers and witness help this child to grow into the full stature of Christ?
How easy is it to parrot the words on the page in response, “I will, with God’s help”? And what about those questions we are all asked as we renew our own baptismal covenant?
Will you continue in the apostles’ teaching and fellowship, in the breaking of bread, and in the prayers?
Will you persevere in resisting evil, and, whenever you fall into sin, repent and return to the Lord?
Will you proclaim by word and example the Good News of God in Christ?
Will you seek and serve Christ in all persons, loving your neighbor as yourself?
Will you strive for justice and peace among all people, and respect the dignity of every human being?
These elegant words and high ideals ring in my ear as I hear the story of Jesus about the father who said to his son, “Go and work in the vineyard” and the son replied “I will,” but did not go. If these promises and vows represent the work we are to do in God’s vineyard then let me be the first to confess that my labor can be pretty shoddy at times.
I like what Jesus says to the religious leaders and elders as the parable ends. He does not condemn them and say they will never get into heaven. What he says is that tax collectors and prostitutes will be going in ahead of them. Now I don’t take this literally as if it suggests God is going to pick sinners for his kickball team before he picks religious types. I take it more metaphorically in that I hear it saying there are “sinners” out there who are closer to God than we are, even though we see ourselves as being devoted to God. There are people who do not look like church types whose heart and life somehow live into the baptismal vows in ways more faithful than you and I.
The priest’s prayer at the Celebration of New Ministry continues with these petitions:
Fill my memory with the record of your mighty works;
Enlighten my understanding with the light of your Holy Spirit;
May all the desires on my heart and will center on what you would have me do.
Only after this prayer is offered does the Bishop say to the congregation, “Greet your new Rector.” And all of it reminds us that we walk a slippery sloop when we try to do things for God because each of us is called to allow God to work out the plan of salvation through us. Will you leave here this morning and allow God’s Spirit to live and move in you in such a way?
Worship services always speak to me in some way and this experience was no different. Several years ago, Earnest was identified by the Episcopal Church as a person suitable for priesthood. He was tested and trained in many different ways. Several hundred people weighed in on his fitness prior to ordination. This particular call came about through his own discernment, but also through that of a congregation’s search committee and Vestry, and with consent from the bishop and other diocesan officials. Given all of this, I was struck by the prayer which the liturgy directs a new priest to offer at this service:
“O Lord my God, I am not worthy to have you come under my roof; yet you have called your servant to stand in your house, and to serve at your altar…” (BCP p. 562)
It says something, doesn’t it, that a priest’s new ministry with a congregation begins with the posture of humility. Of all that we might say about our knowledge, our skills, our abilities, and our personal characteristics, what we priests acknowledge to God in the presence of God’s people is our unworthiness. And clearly the priest’s prayer is intended to rub off on all the people of the parish.
You see, it is our plight, as people of deep religious conviction and devotion, to be like the son who said he would go into the field and yet did not go. Jesus offers no insight into why each son moved from “yes” or “no” to the opposite. Rather than get into why, he focuses on the who, on the identity of each son – which group is represented by the son who was unwilling at first and which group is represented by the son who said yes but did nothing. What group said no to God at first? Prostitutes, tax collectors, and other sinners? And what group said yes to God at first? The chief priests and the elders of the people.
It is a story Jesus tells to condemn those who rejected the ministry of John the Baptist. Jesus says he came in the “way of righteousness” but was rejected by the learned and the religious professionals. Jesus does not spell out what he means by “way of righteousness,” but, given John’s ministry, here is something of what it looks like:
John proclaimed that God is near.
He taught that God loves everyone.
He called on every person to repent and be baptized.
Now that doesn’t sound like a very radical message, does it, but for the religious leaders it presented a real challenge. First, they were the ones who best understood God and God’s ways, not John. Who was John to say that God is near? Second, they did not accept that God loved everyone. They believed that God loved them and hated sinners. And finally, they believed they had no need to repent since they were not sinners. Any suggestion otherwise was deeply offensive to them and an affront almost beyond our imagining.
And while the world needs people to bear our religious tradition and elders to carry forward the wisdom and heritage of the past, if we take Jesus seriously we have to acknowledge there is something inherent in these roles that can insulate us from recognizing God’s dream for all people. While it is vital that we know the Holy Scriptures, the history of biblical interpretation is littered with examples of religious people holding on to incorrect understandings and misusing the word of God. And while it is important that we carry forward the tradition we have been given, we must always guard against protecting zealously against needed and necessary reforms. And while practicing the faith through such habits as regular worship, tithing, and acts of charity is the duty of all Christians, we must never allow these outward manifestations to be a substitute for inner devotion to God. All of this and more is embodied by the priest’s prayer at the beginning of a new ministry with a congregation: “I am not worthy to have you come under my roof.” We members of the congregation who listen in on the prayer may want to add under our breath, “me either.”
One of the dangers of our beautiful liturgy is that in can lead us to say things lightly that carry great weight. For example, at every baptism on behalf of God and the Church I ask the parents and godparents these questions:
Will you be responsible for seeing that the child you present is brought up in the Christian faith and life?
Will you by your prayers and witness help this child to grow into the full stature of Christ?
How easy is it to parrot the words on the page in response, “I will, with God’s help”? And what about those questions we are all asked as we renew our own baptismal covenant?
Will you continue in the apostles’ teaching and fellowship, in the breaking of bread, and in the prayers?
Will you persevere in resisting evil, and, whenever you fall into sin, repent and return to the Lord?
Will you proclaim by word and example the Good News of God in Christ?
Will you seek and serve Christ in all persons, loving your neighbor as yourself?
Will you strive for justice and peace among all people, and respect the dignity of every human being?
These elegant words and high ideals ring in my ear as I hear the story of Jesus about the father who said to his son, “Go and work in the vineyard” and the son replied “I will,” but did not go. If these promises and vows represent the work we are to do in God’s vineyard then let me be the first to confess that my labor can be pretty shoddy at times.
I like what Jesus says to the religious leaders and elders as the parable ends. He does not condemn them and say they will never get into heaven. What he says is that tax collectors and prostitutes will be going in ahead of them. Now I don’t take this literally as if it suggests God is going to pick sinners for his kickball team before he picks religious types. I take it more metaphorically in that I hear it saying there are “sinners” out there who are closer to God than we are, even though we see ourselves as being devoted to God. There are people who do not look like church types whose heart and life somehow live into the baptismal vows in ways more faithful than you and I.
The priest’s prayer at the Celebration of New Ministry continues with these petitions:
Fill my memory with the record of your mighty works;
Enlighten my understanding with the light of your Holy Spirit;
May all the desires on my heart and will center on what you would have me do.
Only after this prayer is offered does the Bishop say to the congregation, “Greet your new Rector.” And all of it reminds us that we walk a slippery sloop when we try to do things for God because each of us is called to allow God to work out the plan of salvation through us. Will you leave here this morning and allow God’s Spirit to live and move in you in such a way?
Tuesday, September 20, 2011
The Blessings of an Industrious Life
Parables, by their very nature, are intended to pack a punch. Jesus used this story form to surprise, to startle, and (at times) to unnerve his audience. We, like those who first heard today’s parable, wonder about the business savvy of the landowner. We wonder what his workforce will look like tomorrow – who in his right mind will show up for work at 9:00 in the morning if he can start at 3:00 in the afternoon and get the same pay? And while this is an obvious question, it takes us away from the main point the story teller wants us to consider, which is, “Why do you seek to put limits of the owner’s generosity?” and, in the story, the landowner represents God.
The parable speaks directly to an issue first encountered in the early Church and then revisited by every congregation and faith community thereafter: In God’s eyes those newest in the faith count every bit as much as those who have been around forever. So, for example, my service in the ordained ministry for twenty-four years gains me no greater reward than that merited by our newest acolytes. The person singing from the hymnal for the first time gains every bit as much as one who has spent a lifetime of singing in the choir. Your hours and hours of hard work polishing the brass count no more than the person who picks up a piece of trash in the parking lot and puts it in the garbage can. You see, God is generous; giving the same to those who work the least and to those work a little and to those who work a lot because even those who work a lot are richly rewarded by God well beyond anything they could ask or imagine.
But still the question remains, why work long and hard for God if you can kick back, relax, and receive the same amount of grace as if you had worked your tail off?
The answer can be found in how Jesus sets up the parable, and after all, it is his story. Notice that the contrast he puts forward is not between work and rest or labor and leisure, but rather between employment and idleness. Being idle is no treat, as Webster’s Dictionary suggests with these definitions:
1. Having no value, use or significance; worthless, useless (as in idle talk.
2. Baseless, unfounded (as in idle rumors.
3. Unemployed, not busy, inactive, not in use (as in idle machines.
4. Not filled with activity (as in idle hours).
5. Not inclined to work, lazy.
6. To move slowly or aimlessly, to loaf (as in idle along.
7. To waste or squander (as in to idle away one’s youth.
And while we all need our down time, the word idle does not convey much of anything positive. It is a state to be avoided at all costs. And for Jesus, it was the plight of those who had not been hired.
In our adult Sunday School class we have begun to look at specific developmental challenges we face in each decade of our life. We are using a book by Donald Capps who applies Erik Erikson’s theories to his approach. Erikson held that from roughly the age of seven to twelve (our school age years) we encounter a conflict he called Industry vs. Inferiority. It is a time when we begin to learn what we are good at and what we are not. This is the age when we become dissatisfied or disgruntled if we lack a sense of being useful, if we sense that we cannot make things and make them well. We want to be good at something – be it math or English or science or athletics or art or card tricks or whatever – and as we master something we gain recognition for what we produce. This affirmation becomes a vital component to help us move forward in our teenage years where develop a sense of identity, of who I am and what I can become. Without some sense of industry, we tend to abandon hope and assimilate a belief that we are doomed to a life of mediocrity at best.
While the conflict of Industry vs. Inferiority is always with us – as are the other seven conflicts Erikson identified – this one seems to reemerge in our forties – a time when our career path becomes solidified, our options closed, and our future set. Have we found the things we are good at doing? Are we doing them? Or are we stuck in a dead end job? In today’s world, with its stagnating economy, this seems to be the age when many people are let go and cannot find their way back into the workforce for meaningful employment. For folks out of work and for those stuck doing something they do want to be doing, life after forty can be a time of idleness, with all of its negative consequences, and it leads to a pervasive sense of inferiority.
Why would the labors in the parable go to work at the crack of dawn the next day when they can receive the same pay for a fraction of the effort? Because industry offers its own rewards and forced idleness is debilitating. There are many reasons why we work. What we are paid is just one of them and it doesn’t even factor in when we volunteer our time. What we crave in life are tasks which demand our best efforts that lead (as the prayer book puts it) to accomplishments which satisfy and delight us.
God’s gift to each of us is grace beyond all merit. God gives it evenly to all. But those of us fortunate enough to go to work in the vineyard in the early morning find we are stretched in life-giving ways all the days of our life. We are blessed with a sense that we are good at something; knowing that what we do matters in the big picture of God’s Kingdom. Hopefully others recognize our contributions and affirm our efforts, but at the very least we can be self-affirming by taking pride in a job done well. You can see why this matters and why those idling in the marketplace suffer in ways those working in the vineyard do not.
In reflecting on today’s sermon I found myself thinking a lot about my brother-in-law in Ohio. After twenty-some years of service to the same company he found himself “downsized” three years ago. He has been aggressive in looking for new work, but Ohio’s economy is not exactly fertile ground for someone of age and experience. He has had several short-term consulting jobs, but none materialized into something more permanent. During this time he has found a new kind of ‘work’ – one that does not pay a thing, but certainly qualifies as industry. He has developed his interest and skill in photography and from time-to-time he posts his work on the internet. My brother-in-law has quite a remarkable camera eye and he tells me he is especially interested in textures and contrasts found in the everyday world.
What I learn from my brother-in-law is that unemployment and idleness are not the same thing. Unemployment is something over which we have little control. Most often idleness is a state of our choosing. There is always something to do in God’s world. There is work to be done, joy to be found, passion to be developed. And be it early in the morning, midday, or late in the afternoon, God invites you to the vineyard to get to work and to experience the blessings of an industrious life.
The parable speaks directly to an issue first encountered in the early Church and then revisited by every congregation and faith community thereafter: In God’s eyes those newest in the faith count every bit as much as those who have been around forever. So, for example, my service in the ordained ministry for twenty-four years gains me no greater reward than that merited by our newest acolytes. The person singing from the hymnal for the first time gains every bit as much as one who has spent a lifetime of singing in the choir. Your hours and hours of hard work polishing the brass count no more than the person who picks up a piece of trash in the parking lot and puts it in the garbage can. You see, God is generous; giving the same to those who work the least and to those work a little and to those who work a lot because even those who work a lot are richly rewarded by God well beyond anything they could ask or imagine.
But still the question remains, why work long and hard for God if you can kick back, relax, and receive the same amount of grace as if you had worked your tail off?
The answer can be found in how Jesus sets up the parable, and after all, it is his story. Notice that the contrast he puts forward is not between work and rest or labor and leisure, but rather between employment and idleness. Being idle is no treat, as Webster’s Dictionary suggests with these definitions:
1. Having no value, use or significance; worthless, useless (as in idle talk.
2. Baseless, unfounded (as in idle rumors.
3. Unemployed, not busy, inactive, not in use (as in idle machines.
4. Not filled with activity (as in idle hours).
5. Not inclined to work, lazy.
6. To move slowly or aimlessly, to loaf (as in idle along.
7. To waste or squander (as in to idle away one’s youth.
And while we all need our down time, the word idle does not convey much of anything positive. It is a state to be avoided at all costs. And for Jesus, it was the plight of those who had not been hired.
In our adult Sunday School class we have begun to look at specific developmental challenges we face in each decade of our life. We are using a book by Donald Capps who applies Erik Erikson’s theories to his approach. Erikson held that from roughly the age of seven to twelve (our school age years) we encounter a conflict he called Industry vs. Inferiority. It is a time when we begin to learn what we are good at and what we are not. This is the age when we become dissatisfied or disgruntled if we lack a sense of being useful, if we sense that we cannot make things and make them well. We want to be good at something – be it math or English or science or athletics or art or card tricks or whatever – and as we master something we gain recognition for what we produce. This affirmation becomes a vital component to help us move forward in our teenage years where develop a sense of identity, of who I am and what I can become. Without some sense of industry, we tend to abandon hope and assimilate a belief that we are doomed to a life of mediocrity at best.
While the conflict of Industry vs. Inferiority is always with us – as are the other seven conflicts Erikson identified – this one seems to reemerge in our forties – a time when our career path becomes solidified, our options closed, and our future set. Have we found the things we are good at doing? Are we doing them? Or are we stuck in a dead end job? In today’s world, with its stagnating economy, this seems to be the age when many people are let go and cannot find their way back into the workforce for meaningful employment. For folks out of work and for those stuck doing something they do want to be doing, life after forty can be a time of idleness, with all of its negative consequences, and it leads to a pervasive sense of inferiority.
Why would the labors in the parable go to work at the crack of dawn the next day when they can receive the same pay for a fraction of the effort? Because industry offers its own rewards and forced idleness is debilitating. There are many reasons why we work. What we are paid is just one of them and it doesn’t even factor in when we volunteer our time. What we crave in life are tasks which demand our best efforts that lead (as the prayer book puts it) to accomplishments which satisfy and delight us.
God’s gift to each of us is grace beyond all merit. God gives it evenly to all. But those of us fortunate enough to go to work in the vineyard in the early morning find we are stretched in life-giving ways all the days of our life. We are blessed with a sense that we are good at something; knowing that what we do matters in the big picture of God’s Kingdom. Hopefully others recognize our contributions and affirm our efforts, but at the very least we can be self-affirming by taking pride in a job done well. You can see why this matters and why those idling in the marketplace suffer in ways those working in the vineyard do not.
In reflecting on today’s sermon I found myself thinking a lot about my brother-in-law in Ohio. After twenty-some years of service to the same company he found himself “downsized” three years ago. He has been aggressive in looking for new work, but Ohio’s economy is not exactly fertile ground for someone of age and experience. He has had several short-term consulting jobs, but none materialized into something more permanent. During this time he has found a new kind of ‘work’ – one that does not pay a thing, but certainly qualifies as industry. He has developed his interest and skill in photography and from time-to-time he posts his work on the internet. My brother-in-law has quite a remarkable camera eye and he tells me he is especially interested in textures and contrasts found in the everyday world.
What I learn from my brother-in-law is that unemployment and idleness are not the same thing. Unemployment is something over which we have little control. Most often idleness is a state of our choosing. There is always something to do in God’s world. There is work to be done, joy to be found, passion to be developed. And be it early in the morning, midday, or late in the afternoon, God invites you to the vineyard to get to work and to experience the blessings of an industrious life.
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
Nineteen Troubling Ribbons
We who strive to follow Jesus as our Lord and Guide are inheritors of a blessed tradition that at times is like the beauty of the pedals of a rose while at other times is more like its thorns. “Jesus, how many times should I forgive?” His answer is a thing of beauty when we are the ones who need to be forgiven, but it is very prickly when we are the ones who must forgive. How prickly? The Rev. Dr. James Cooper, Rector of Trinity Church, Wall Street, published his notes for today’s sermon a month ago in order to make New Yorkers aware of the readings they would be hearing this morning.
I am not going to preach a sermon that proclaims you must forgive. I am not going to tell you how to forgive. All I am going to do is lift up what Jesus teaches and tell you I struggle with it too – especially today. It is a struggle of the head and a struggle of the heart and a struggle of the spirit.
And it creates a very practical struggle right now for us at St. Paul’s. Here are nineteen black ribbons. Like the 3,000 ribbons that hang above us, each represents a life lost ten years ago today. As the color might suggest, these ribbons stand for the nineteen hijackers. We could add to their number: one for Zaccarius Moussaoui, the so-called twentieth hijacker who was arrest prior to 9/11 and is now incarcerated; one for Khalid Sheikh Mohammed, the architect of the plot; one for Osama Bin Laden, the head of the al-Qaeda network; and so on. But these nineteen will do for now.
They are challenging enough because we must ask what should we do with them? Should we hang them above our sanctuary with all the other ribbons – ribbons that represent innocent victims and courageous responders? Should we burn them, bury them, or spit on them? Should we make excuses for them, dismissing each terrorist’s personal responsibility for his actions?
I suppose our individual answers would be indicative of where we are on the path to forgiveness. If we could make a collective response it would be telling of where we are as a congregation. I guess we could do that by a hand vote or some other measure. I have no idea how we could do it as a society and I am glad for that because forgiveness is both a commandment and a gift – a grace that comes from God to each person in God’s good time.
I suspect many of you like me recently watched and read several retrospectives of the events of ten years ago. I came away from those experiences with the deep realization that every person’s sense of loss and pain and grief from the events of 9/11 is unique. The spouse on the cell phone to her partner on Flight 93 as it crashed, the young bride whose husband served in Iraq during the first birthdays of both their daughters, parents whose son died on the Cole, me whose life was changed as our world became a very different place in a matter of minutes… our experiences are so varied and what it takes to come to forgiveness is so very different.
This week a clergy friend of mine posted a quote by Nelson Mandela, he himself a victim of terror and terrorism. It said simply, “Resentment is like drinking a poison and then hoping it will kill your enemies.” I think there is great wisdom in his thinking. It encapsulates much of why Jesus directed us to forgive. Not only does hatred acted upon perpetuate hate, but as Mandela suggests it prevents us from moving forward into the possibility of a better future.
When the Worship Committee meet several weeks ago to discuss today’s service, I spoke of my desire to have the liturgy move from remembrance of the past to dreaming about the future: how can we as we recall the events of the last ten years dream of the world we would like to live in ten years from now? Jesus tells us that we get to that dream only as we take a step toward forgiveness. Mandela offers that we get there only as we stop drinking the poison that is resentment.
I don’t want to stand before you and pretend to be a great social theorist or analyst. Many of you can speak more intelligently and insightfully about the last ten years than I. All I can say is that I sense we have done some things well and other things not. We have pursued justice and vengeance. We have made sacrifices and we have engaged in indulgences. We have turned to God for solace and for guidance and we have used God’s glorious Name to exult our own fallen qualities. In short, we have been human; exhibiting both our highest and our lowest tendencies.
The age-old message of the faith is that, through the incarnation of our Lord Jesus Christ, God meets us and loves us where we are… where we are the best at what it means to be human and where we are the worst… and God invites us to follow Jesus to a better place. The way to that place, which we call “the way of the Cross,” is never easy, but always life-giving.
Those terrorists who carried out the events of 9/11 accomplished things they could never have imagined or dreamed - world conflict, economic turmoil, and a destabilizing sense of fear and uncertainty. But they also set in motion things which they never, ever would have intended – courageous self-sacrifice, a world-wide response against terror in all its forms, and (I think this is most important) a thirst in the Western Christian world to understand and appreciate the virtues and values of Islam. In communities around our country today there will be interfaith services that bring together Christians, Jews, and Muslims who will celebrate our dedication to the one true God and lift a vision for a peaceful future. That definitely was not a part of the 9/11 plan.
Last Lent we spent Wednesday evenings encountering the words and witness of five different saints from the Christian tradition. This past week I went back to those services to hear again what their voices might say to us today. Aelred of Rievaulx, a 12th Century Cistercian monk, said this:
Charity joins the lowest to the highest,
binds in harmonious peace
contraries to contraries,
cold to hot, wet to dry,
smooth to rough, hard to soft,
so that among all creatures
there can be nothing adverse,
nothing contradictory,
nothing unbecoming,
nothing disturbing,
nothing to disfigure the beauty of the universe.
He captured exactly why Jesus taught us to forgive. It is so we can move into a new future that more closely resembles God’s dream for the world.
And today we are left with these nineteen ribbons. What should we do with them? And what do we want the world to look like a decade from now? How should we work, pray, and give to make that dream a reality? If our faith tells us one thing it is this: God will bless any and every effort – be it offered by an individual or by an army – that aims to make God’s dream come true.
I am not going to preach a sermon that proclaims you must forgive. I am not going to tell you how to forgive. All I am going to do is lift up what Jesus teaches and tell you I struggle with it too – especially today. It is a struggle of the head and a struggle of the heart and a struggle of the spirit.
And it creates a very practical struggle right now for us at St. Paul’s. Here are nineteen black ribbons. Like the 3,000 ribbons that hang above us, each represents a life lost ten years ago today. As the color might suggest, these ribbons stand for the nineteen hijackers. We could add to their number: one for Zaccarius Moussaoui, the so-called twentieth hijacker who was arrest prior to 9/11 and is now incarcerated; one for Khalid Sheikh Mohammed, the architect of the plot; one for Osama Bin Laden, the head of the al-Qaeda network; and so on. But these nineteen will do for now.
They are challenging enough because we must ask what should we do with them? Should we hang them above our sanctuary with all the other ribbons – ribbons that represent innocent victims and courageous responders? Should we burn them, bury them, or spit on them? Should we make excuses for them, dismissing each terrorist’s personal responsibility for his actions?
I suppose our individual answers would be indicative of where we are on the path to forgiveness. If we could make a collective response it would be telling of where we are as a congregation. I guess we could do that by a hand vote or some other measure. I have no idea how we could do it as a society and I am glad for that because forgiveness is both a commandment and a gift – a grace that comes from God to each person in God’s good time.
I suspect many of you like me recently watched and read several retrospectives of the events of ten years ago. I came away from those experiences with the deep realization that every person’s sense of loss and pain and grief from the events of 9/11 is unique. The spouse on the cell phone to her partner on Flight 93 as it crashed, the young bride whose husband served in Iraq during the first birthdays of both their daughters, parents whose son died on the Cole, me whose life was changed as our world became a very different place in a matter of minutes… our experiences are so varied and what it takes to come to forgiveness is so very different.
This week a clergy friend of mine posted a quote by Nelson Mandela, he himself a victim of terror and terrorism. It said simply, “Resentment is like drinking a poison and then hoping it will kill your enemies.” I think there is great wisdom in his thinking. It encapsulates much of why Jesus directed us to forgive. Not only does hatred acted upon perpetuate hate, but as Mandela suggests it prevents us from moving forward into the possibility of a better future.
When the Worship Committee meet several weeks ago to discuss today’s service, I spoke of my desire to have the liturgy move from remembrance of the past to dreaming about the future: how can we as we recall the events of the last ten years dream of the world we would like to live in ten years from now? Jesus tells us that we get to that dream only as we take a step toward forgiveness. Mandela offers that we get there only as we stop drinking the poison that is resentment.
I don’t want to stand before you and pretend to be a great social theorist or analyst. Many of you can speak more intelligently and insightfully about the last ten years than I. All I can say is that I sense we have done some things well and other things not. We have pursued justice and vengeance. We have made sacrifices and we have engaged in indulgences. We have turned to God for solace and for guidance and we have used God’s glorious Name to exult our own fallen qualities. In short, we have been human; exhibiting both our highest and our lowest tendencies.
The age-old message of the faith is that, through the incarnation of our Lord Jesus Christ, God meets us and loves us where we are… where we are the best at what it means to be human and where we are the worst… and God invites us to follow Jesus to a better place. The way to that place, which we call “the way of the Cross,” is never easy, but always life-giving.
Those terrorists who carried out the events of 9/11 accomplished things they could never have imagined or dreamed - world conflict, economic turmoil, and a destabilizing sense of fear and uncertainty. But they also set in motion things which they never, ever would have intended – courageous self-sacrifice, a world-wide response against terror in all its forms, and (I think this is most important) a thirst in the Western Christian world to understand and appreciate the virtues and values of Islam. In communities around our country today there will be interfaith services that bring together Christians, Jews, and Muslims who will celebrate our dedication to the one true God and lift a vision for a peaceful future. That definitely was not a part of the 9/11 plan.
Last Lent we spent Wednesday evenings encountering the words and witness of five different saints from the Christian tradition. This past week I went back to those services to hear again what their voices might say to us today. Aelred of Rievaulx, a 12th Century Cistercian monk, said this:
Charity joins the lowest to the highest,
binds in harmonious peace
contraries to contraries,
cold to hot, wet to dry,
smooth to rough, hard to soft,
so that among all creatures
there can be nothing adverse,
nothing contradictory,
nothing unbecoming,
nothing disturbing,
nothing to disfigure the beauty of the universe.
He captured exactly why Jesus taught us to forgive. It is so we can move into a new future that more closely resembles God’s dream for the world.
And today we are left with these nineteen ribbons. What should we do with them? And what do we want the world to look like a decade from now? How should we work, pray, and give to make that dream a reality? If our faith tells us one thing it is this: God will bless any and every effort – be it offered by an individual or by an army – that aims to make God’s dream come true.
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