Invitation & Expectation

The king said to the man without the wedding garment, “How did you get in here”?

One of the most popular movie genres going is the heist where super-smart, super-patient, super-criminals pull off a super-complicated robbery.  The Italian Job, Ocean’s 11, and The Thomas Crown Affair are fascinating films because of the intricate, elaborate detail involved in the plot.  And in end, standing in an empty vault, some poor police detective is left to ask, “How did they get in here?”  On an August weekend in 2005, a real-life team of robbers managed to steal over $81 billion dollars from a bank vault in Brazil, but it didn’t take authorities long to figure out how they got in.  The bandits left behind a tunnel the length of a football field.  They had spent months digging under buildings and city streets in order to launch a stealthy, subterranean assault on the bank.  One of my all time favorite lines from the movie Police Squad, a spoof on heist films, is when Leslie Nielson encounters a suspicious man who appears to have broken into a building.  “Who are you and how did you get in here,” Nielson’s character demands to know.  The person answers, “I am a locksmith, and I am a locksmith.” 

“How did you get in here?”  In Jesus’ parable, it isn’t that the person without the proper wedding garment breaks in to a place he is not supposed to be.  He was, after all, invited at the last minute.  His offense is wrapped around how he presents himself.  He is inappropriately dressed for the occasion (and let me assure you from personal experience that is not a good feeling!). 

Jesus’ parable revolves around a king, a wedding, and the invited guests.  In the Hebrew culture of that day marriages were often arranged between families.  A bride and groom were given in marriage, but before they live together the husband goes off to prepare a home.  It may be in the same village or it may be far away.  It may take a few weeks to complete the task or it may take many months.  When all is made ready the groom returns for his bride and a celebration begins.  Typically these feasts last for days and days and they are “don’t miss” occasions in the life of a community.  No one knows exactly when the groom will return for his bride, but when he arrives, all work stops and everyone makes ready for the celebration.

Given this background, some of the elements of the parable begin to make sense while others leave us scratching our head.  It makes sense that the king has to send out messengers to alert the invited guests.  It does not make sense that the guests casually refuse, preferring rather to go about the drudgery of daily business.  This would be puzzling no matter who hosted the feast, but standing up the king is an unthinkable offense.  When given a second chance, the invitees seize the messengers and mistreat some while killing others.  The king is enraged.  Now, instead of messengers, he sends troops.  The judgment is swift, severe, and (given the times) predictable. 

Messengers are now sent throughout the region to invite any and everyone to the feast.  The wedding hall is filled with guests.  The party appears to be a smashing success but just when everyone has settled in and is having a good time, the king notices a person who is not wearing a wedding garment.  Scholars vary on this detail.  Did the king supply his guests with a wedding garment or did they bring one of their own?  In the end it matters not because everyone else managed to appear with the right thing on except this one individual.  What is equally clear from the story (and perhaps lost to us as listeners from a very different era) is that the absence of the robe is an egresses offense and a horrible insult.  The king has the person bound and thrown out of the party. 

The parable suggests that with the invitation there are certain expectations.  “How did you get in here?” is a way of saying, “Why did you accept my invitation if you were not willing to meet my expectations?”

Remember how Jesus begins this parable: “The kingdom of God may be compared to this story I am about to tell.”  It is a simile and not at all a kind one to Jesus’ audience at the time.  He told it to a group of religious leaders and politicians on a Wednesday afternoon in Jerusalem.  They perceive correctly that in Jesus’ parable God is the king and they are the initial invitees who refuse the invitation, at first rudely but later violently.   They are so enraged by Jesus’ condemnation that within forty-eight hours they will have him hanging from a cross.

You and I are a part of this parable as well.  We are among the second wave of guests, each called in a unique and distinct way.  Look around the church this morning.  How did you get in here?  Some of you were born into this parish; either the second, third, or even fourth generation of members.  A few of you married into St. Paul’s.  Some of you are Episcopalians who moved here from another city.  Some of you have been attending for only a couple of years or months, or even weeks.  Each Sunday over the last month and a half we have had people attend a service here for the first time.  I believe that no matter who you are and no matter what your story is, you are here because God invited you – YOU – to this place, to us, to St. Paul’s.  No one is here by accident.  Carried inside each person who walks in the door is a story.  Embedded in that story is the reason God drew you here – HERE – today.  And that is the reason why every person, from the first time visitor to the oldest living member of the parish to a new born baby to a lost and hurting soul, is welcomed here with open arms.  We want you here because God wants you here.  We are like the kingdom of God when we welcome you into the marriage feast that is our common life together. 

That is the invitation that God issues to each one of us.  But what are the expectations that accompany it?  What does the wedding garment represent? 

Among Evangelicals it has become popular to associate the garment with St. Paul’s theology of righteousness.  Christians ‘put on’ the robe of Christ’s perfection in order to be justified in God’s eyes.  If we don’t put on Christ, but rather insist on relying on our own goodness to be saved, we will be rejected.  The only way to be saved is to put on Christ’s righteousness.  I tend to play down this kind of theology because it makes the whole pursuit of religion sound like some heavenly transaction that has little to do with us and our response.  It makes “believing in Jesus” feel like little more than purchasing car insurance: I’m covered so I am good if something happens.

Jesus’ expectations of his followers were more basic and concrete than Paul’s esoteric ideas.  First, like John the Baptist, he called on people to repent.  It was not so much a demand in order to get into the kingdom but a path you walk that leads away from the destructive nature of sin and toward the life and health of faithful obedience.  Next, Jesus called on people to believe in him; that he was sent from God and that his words and witness reflect the life God offers to all.  Finally, Jesus says that his followers are to pattern their lives after his by loving God and their neighbor.  If you accept the invitation than the expectation is you will repent, believe, and follow. 

So again, how did you get in here?  What ‘invitation’ brought you to this place?  And, are you meeting the expectations that come with accepting it? 

If we were to ask the people in today’s first reading “How did you get here?” they would answer, “Well, Yahweh brought us out of Egypt and delivered us through the waters of the Red Sea, and led us out to here into the wilderness.”  If you were to ask them how they are doing at living up to what is expected of them, they would look at the golden calf, look down at the ground, kick their feet in the sand, and have not much to say. 

In Jesus’ parable, the judgment on the first guests as well as the judgment on the person without the wedding garment is excruciating and final.  Every parable has its limits.  It tells us something of what God’s kingdom is like, but not everything.  No one parable can do that.  The truth is this: in this life there is no final judgment.  When we do wrong, with that judgment there is always the offer of mercy and grace.  There is always an opportunity to repent and return to the Lord. 

I have said before that my favorite image of the Christian life is the way or the path.  It suggests that we are moving from where we were and making progress getting to where we want to be.  Some days we make more progress than others.  Some days the path is easy to navigate while other days it is difficult and rugged.  Some days we make no progress at all and there is the occasional day when we lose our way altogether.  But always and every day we never walk alone.  The One sent from God gives us the very Spirit of God as a companion on the way.  And the One sent from God invites us into communities of faith so that we can walk with others who are on the way as well.  Each of us accepts the invitation and seeks, as best we can, to repent, to believe, and to follow.

Beaten Down / Raised Up!

“The tenants seized the slaves and beat one, killed another, and stoned another.  Again the vineyard owner sent other slaves, more than the first; and they treated them in the same way.” 

Here is one of my all-time favorite stories.  It will give you a chuckle, not a laugh, but it comes back to me again and again.  A man owned a bakery that was famous for two things: fabulous, fresh-baked bread and a talking parakeet.  The bird repeated almost everything the baker said.  Well, as you can imagine, the shop was very popular and at different times of the day was jammed with customers.  It was not uncommon for multiple people to shout an order at the same time.  In the face of such an onslaught the baker would insist, “One at a time!  One at a time!”  One day the unthinkable happened: the parakeet escaped out the front door of the shop.  The baker, only a step or two behind, dashed outside and spied the parakeet perched on the branch of a nearby tree where it had already attracted the attention of a huge flock of mean-spirited crows.  Dozens of birds were diving at the parakeet from all directions.  It was then that the baker heard his parakeet squawk, “One at a time!  One at a time!”

I suspect each of us knows what it feels like to be that parakeet.  No one gets through life without being challenged, and my experience is that challenges don’t confront us in a nice, orderly fashion.  They tend to come in bunches, don’t they?  Doesn’t the old expression ‘kick a person when he is down’ hint that challenges tend to attract more challenges, hardship seems to begat more hardship, affliction has a way of multiplying, and tough times often test us with even tougher times.  At one time or another, everyone one of us has been that parakeet in the tree.  Some of us are ducking for cover right now and screaming or pleading or begging with all our might, “One at a time!  One at a time!”

Earlier this week I happened upon a blogpost written a few years ago by Christine, a forty-year-old woman who lives in Massachusetts.  She has been diagnosed with Sjogren’s syndrome, an autoimmune disease that attacks the glands that secrete tears and saliva.  Some time after she began to deal with this, Christine developed blood clots in her lungs.  Then she was diagnosed with Guillain-Barre syndrome, where the immune system attacks nerves and leads to profound muscle weakness.  More treatment led to head pain, nausea, and increased tremors.  Add to this dealing with health insurance, which is not easy even under the best of conditions, as well as the day to day challenges we all face (her computer crashed) and it is pretty easy to understand why Christine gave her post the title “Beaten Down.”

“My body wants to feel pretty again,” she wrote.  “It feels disfigured from the bruises and the rashes.  From the hair that is starting to fall out, from the steroids and the often pale, makeup-less face that stares back at me in the mirror... the darkened eyes that used to be so much more vibrant.   My body does not understand that it is an effort to get it clean every day right now.  Will I ever be able to do an activity again for more than ten or fifteen minutes without needing to sit or lie down,” she wondered?  “Will I ever be able to stoop down again without falling over or needing help to get up?  Will I ever be able to shower and wash my hair again without it being this epic event that exhausts me and makes me shake?”

Some of you have been in that place, others not far from it, and surely the rest of us can sympathize with Christine and her plight.

When Jesus tells a parable he invites us, the listeners, to locate ourselves in the story.  Which person or character are you?  We may see ourselves in multiple characters, or, as our life changes, may recognized that we have shifted from one person to another.  Where do you see yourself in today’s parable of the vineyard owner and the wicked tenants?  If things are going well then you may not identify with the servants and messengers who are treated rudely, disrespected, beaten, and/or killed.  But my guess is there have been times in your life when you are they and they are you.  You don’t have to have been victimized by thugs to fill their shoes.  Sometimes life itself is the thug and it hits us with more than we can handle.  As with Christine, it may be health crisis.  It might center on a relationship.  It could involve employment.  Life has lots of ways to beat us down.

When I was younger I had a problem.  I believed that life should never do me wrong.  It wasn’t like I had never been challenged.  My father died when I was twenty.  I had the girlfriend or two who broke my heart.  I had a friend or two that betrayed me.  But I was making the path for my life laying one brick at a time and it seemed that nothing could or should get in my way.  That assumption was challenged mightily after I graduated from seminary and took my first job as an assistant to the rector of a parish.  Nothing in life had prepared me to work with a person as dysfunctional as he was.  He meddled and manipulated and basically made miserable both my professional and my personal life.  To make matters worse, I was completely unequipped to deal with such a person and that is a recipe for disaster.  Eventually, I was unemployed and nearly broken by the experience.

Last week I told you about a decision I had to make: keep my word and work for a church whose job offer I had accepted, or break my word and accept a new, second offer.  That dilemma came during this time of unemployment.  I hope you remember the counsel I received from priest who had welcomed me into the Episcopal Church (“What do you want your word to be worth?”) and the letter he wrote to me (“Blessed is he who giveth his word to his brother and dissappointeth him not… even though it be to his own hindrance”).  You may recall I said that letter was the most powerful and formative correspondence I have ever received. 

What I shared with you last week was the first part.  Today I want to read the second half, which addressed the residue I carried with me after the pain and disappointment of my first calling:

You may feel your experiences in ministry to date warrant cynical and angry responses.  The truth is that negative experience does not exist.  There is simply experience.  The Lord is with us when we use our experience to deepen our love and to strengthen our praise.  The cross was not a “negative” experience.  On the contrary, it is for us the ultimate witness to the power of God to evoke grace in every circumstance.  I pray that you will be entirely free of the fault of resentment which will rob you of all joy and disable you as a man and therefore as a minister.  Let all clamor cease in your heart, and if that is not possible, lay that fault penitently and incessantly before God in prayer.  Resentment and self-pity are the virtuous vestments put on by unregenerate egotism for disguise.  No one, of course, is deceived, except oneself. 

Congratulations on your new appointment.  Accepted with humility and offered in love, your ministry will be blessed.

Over the years the truth and wisdom of his words have been born out in my life time and again.  Life, like the ocean, is what it is.  Sometimes the tide goes out, sometimes it comes in.  Some days are calm while others are rough and choppy.  There are days when everything is as you would like it to be and other days when a hidden rip current is ready to take you for a ride into the unknown (and unwanted).  More than when I was younger, I now receive moments of grace with thankfulness and humility and I am better at facing adversity with joy, faith, and patient acceptance.  To quote again my friend, “The cross was not a ‘negative’ experience.  On the contrary, it is for us the ultimate witness to the power of God to evoke grace in every circumstance” and “the Lord is with us when we use our experience to deepen our love and to strengthen our praise.”   I see and sense that better now than I did years ago.

At the end of Christine’s blogpost she writes this:

I was sitting in church this morning and looking around at the various people scattering the pews and wondering how many of them were feeling beaten down right at this moment?  Or wondering how many of them had maybe felt beaten down at a different time in their lives?  A time where some things did not make sense or that they felt they had endured more than their fair share of beatings so to speak.  I don’t have to know all of their stories to know that those stories are there in some form or another.  Tales of survival.  Tales of people who became stronger and more compassionate people because of what they had to endure.  Journeys that were easier than mine and definitely journeys that were more difficult than mine.  People who were beaten down but yet rose up.  Again.  And again.  And again.  Just like I will.

Her words remind me of the ancient Japanese proverb: “Fall seven times, stand up eight.”  “My strength didn’t come from lifting weights,” another person said.   “My strength came from lifting myself up every time I was knocked down.”

In the parable he told, Jesus is of course the son who is killed, as he himself one day will be crucified.  He then quotes a rather obscure psalm that describes how the rejected stone becomes the cornerstone.  The message for us is straightforward: Life’s challenges and trials have a way, through the grace of God and the power of resurrection, to make us stronger, better, and more useful than we were before.  We who gather here this morning are stones weathered and hewed by the experiences of life, yet witnesses to God’s grace to use every experience to evoke a working of grace.

Working the the Fields

Well, lets get the morning off to a good start with a couple of jokes about brothers.  Did you hear the one about the teacher who asked a student what his father does for a living?  The boy answered, “He is a magician.”  The teacher, intrigued, asked what was his most daring trick.  “Well,” said the boy, “it has to be when he cuts people in two.”  “Is he good at it,” the teacher inquired?  “Not really,” came the answer.  “And do you have any siblings,” the teacher asked?  “Yes,” said the boy, “I have two half brothers.” 

Then there was the mother who for breakfast made pancakes for her two young sons.  The boys, both hungry, began to argue over who would get the first batch.  Well, the mom, being a good Christian woman, seized the opportunity to instill a moral lesson.  “If Jesus was sitting here,” she said, “He would say, ‘Let my brother have the first pancake. I can wait.’” The older brother then turned to the younger and announced, “Today, you get to be Jesus!”

Finally, an infant boy was baptized at a beautiful service.  Everything went fine until his four-year-old brother began to cry inconsolably as the rite was ending.  In front of the entire congregation the kindly priest said, “Johnny, what’s the matter?”  The little boy looked at the priest and replied, “You said that my baby brother should be raised in a good Christian home.”  “That’s right,” said the priest, “So why are you are so upset?”  “I don’t want my little brother to be taken away,” little Johnny sobbed.  “I want him to be raised my family!”

Today we hear Jesus’ parable about a father who had two sons.  He asks both to work in the family vineyard.  One refused, at first, but later went and did what had been asked of him.  The other agreed to work, but never followed through.  At the time of its telling, the story highlighted how some self-righteous religious leaders had failed to live up to their promises to God, while various sinners, in coming to Jesus, had done what they at first (through their actions) had denied.

In our day and time, the parable points toward moral dilemmas that we all face.  There are, of course, moments when we simply do not know the right thing to do.  These are times we possess little more than poor choices, none of which leads to an adequate response.  Other dilemmas occur when we are faced with confusing or conflicting options and cannot see the way.  This parable is not about these kinds of challenges.  It is about the times we know what to do (or what not to do), yet lack the conviction and determination to follow through.

The Oxford English Dictionary defines integrity as “soundness of moral principle, the character of uncorrupted virtue, esp. in relation to truth and fair dealing; uprightness, honesty, sincerity.”  If you think back to high school math, you may recall that an integer is a whole number, one that cannot be divided.  A person with integrity, therefore, must be an indivisible person; the kind of person whose life is guided by one magnificent obsession: to be the kind of person God calls each one of us to be.  Still, integrity involves more than just having the right set of values.  It includes having the strength and will to live out those values.

Every freshmen who takes a class in psychology learns of the classic study where four people are placed in a room and given a simple task.  They are to look at a couple of lines on a chalkboard and tell the examiner which one is the longest.  One line is clearly longer than the others, so the task would appear to be straight-forward.  The real test, however, is that three of the people are “in” on the experiment.  They point to a shorter line in order to gage whether the fourth person will hold his or her ground or cave in to peer pressure.  An overwhelming number go with what the other three say, even if they believe differently.  The study demonstrates the degree to which people will conform in order to be accepted.

How different that response is from the convictions of the Old Testament figure Job.  When his so-called friends bring unrelenting pressure on him to say things that are not true, Job’s respond is this:

“As long as I have life within me, the breath of God in my nostrils, my lips will never speak wickedness, and my tongue utter no deceit.  Till I die, I will not deny my integrity.  I will maintain my righteousness and never let go of it; my conscience will not reproach me as long as I live.” - Job 27:3-6

Years ago, I was facing a rather difficult decision.  I had accepted a job offer to be an Assistant to the Rector of a particular church and he had announced the hiring to the parish.  Then I received a second offer that had some distinct advantages over the first.  The circumstances had changed to a degree that I no longer wanted to fulfill my initial promise.  I was not sure what to do so I asked some people for advice.  I spoke with one of the bishop’s assistants and explained the situation.  What he said to me, in effect, was this: “If you take the second offer I will make sure your decision will follow you for the rest of your career.”  I left his office feeling threatened, but with no more clarity than when I had entered. 

Then I went to the priest who welcomed me into the Episcopal Church and encouraged me to go to seminary.  His counsel was different.  He talked to me about integrity and character.  Who did I want to be in life?  What did I want my word to be worth?  Who did God want me to be?  As a result of that conversation, there was no question in my mind what I needed to do.  I turned down the second offer and fulfilled my commitment to the first.

A few days later the priest I had talked with wrote me a letter.  To this day it remains the single most powerful and formative correspondence I have ever received:

My dear Keith,

There are moments when the tattered ends come together.  Some say these are “inspirations” that give life depth and range.  Sometimes we pray for years to have them, but they cannot be forced.  I remember such a moment thirty-five years ago in my life.  I had gone to visit a friend.  At some point he was called away and I found myself inspecting his collection of long-playing records.  Among them I found one which featured some Trappists monks.  I cannot explain why, but I was moved to put that recording on the turntable and for the next half hour I listened to the chanting of ancient psalms and hymns.  I recall as if it happened yesterday how the music moved me, almost to tears.  The simplicity and purity of the plainsong tones seemed to clear a space in my soul.  I remember that one of the psalms especially moved me, the 15^th.

“Lord, who shall dwell in Thy tabernacle, or who shall rest on Thy holy hill?  Even he that leadeth an uncorrupt life, and doeth the thing that is right and speaketh the truth from his heart… he that sweareth unto his neighbor and disappointeth him not, though it were to his own hinderance…”

I confess that I was more moved by the mystical than the moral aspect of the music, but as the years have past, the integration of the beauty and the duty have happened in my life now and then.  I blush to think how seldom, but I rejoice that it has happened at all.

Your decision the other day will bring you peace, more in the years to come than in the coming weeks… You will be grateful that you disappointed not your brother to whom you had given your word.  On such decisions character is built, without which nothing good and true can come.

Did you know that the English word for character comes from a Greek word meaning “an engraving tool and the mark it makes”?  Our character is the mark we make with our lives.  But more than that, our character is a byproduct of our walk with God.  Our lives become a reflection of the noble qualities of godliness that comes from walking daily with the Lord and acting upon that relationship.

Today we are called to examine our lives, to search our hearts, to confess our sins (those that are small as well as those that are large, those that are titillating as well as those that are petty, those which society abhors as well as those which society has come to embrace), to seek forgiveness, to amend our lives, to delight in God’s will, and to walk in God’s way.  Today we are called to be persons of integrity.

We fall short.  I fall short.  And yet the goal remains the same.  The good news is that the parable’s father, like our heavenly Father, loves both of his sons.  His lips are always quick to say, when appropriate, “Well done, my good and faithful son (or daughter).”  His ever-loving embrace is always ready to wrap around our remorseful souls. 

In many ways, I have built my life on that experience of so long ago and the way that priest interpreted for me.  I have not been perfect.  I have disappointed my brother, my sister, and my neighbor more times than I can bear to recount.  But the bar and the measure of integrity that was lifted up for me remains my goal.  It remains the object of my devotion to God.  I give thanks for every time and to every person I have been able to embody what I hope to be.  I give all thanks to God for those moments and rest in his mercy for those times when I have fallen short.

A father asked his two sons to go and work in the field.

 

Work! Pray! Give!

A house sat vacant for many years.  Its shutters hung at odd angles, the porch steps sagged, and the entire structure badly needed paint.  The yard around the house was in even worse shape; weed-infested and wildly overgrown.  One day a stranger moved into town, bought the house, and launched into an ambitious effort to bring it back to glory.  Day after day he labored on.  Slowly, but surely the eyesore was transformed into showplace.  The owner brought back the yard, cleaned up the beds, and created a beautiful flower garden.  It was hard, tiring work that took months to complete, but the effort was worth it.  One day the man was working in the front yard on a hot summer day when the local Episcopal priest happened to walk by.  “Wow,” the priest said, “your place looks incredible.  It is amazing what you and God have been able to do with it.”  The man stopped his work, wiped the sweat from his brow, and said, “Yes it is.  But you should have seen it when God had it all to himself.”

The ancient Greek philosopher Sophocles once wrote “No good e’er comes of leisure purposeless; and heaven ne’er helps the men who will act not.”  Euripides built on that thinking by saying, “Try first thyself, and after call in God; for to the worker God himself lends aid.”  When the Anglican priest and poet George Herbert gathered a collection of favorite proverbs, he included “Help thyself, and God will help thee”.  Today, the best known expression of this sentiment comes from Benjamin Franklin’s Poor Richard’s Almanac: “God helps those who help themselves.”  Sam Ewing, a former big league ball player, once quipped that hard work shines a spotlight on personal character.  In its face he said, some people will turn up their sleeves, some people will turn up their noses, and some people won’t turn up at all.  Industry, initiative, self-sufficiency: these values are hard-wired into us who have been raised to believe in the American dream.

Given our ethic around work, perhaps you share with me a feeling of being somewhat mystified by this morning’s Old Testament reading.  God has led the people of Israel out of Egyptian bondage into the Sinai wilderness.  Once they get there they realize they have no food to eat.  So what do they do?  Do they plant a field?  No.  Do they raise a herd?  No.  Do they string together a net to catch fish?  No.  What do they do?  They complain. 

Now, it is work to listen to people complain, but complaining is not working.  The actor Bradley Whitford once said,

Infuse your life with action.  Don’t wait for it to happen.  Make it happen.  Make your own future.  Make your own hope.  Make your own love.  And whatever your beliefs, honor your creator, not by passively waiting for grace to come down from upon high, but by doing what you can to make grace happen... yourself, right now, right down here on Earth.

That is wisdom the people of Israel had to learn firsthand and it took them forty years in the wilderness eating nothing but God-supplied, very bland manna to get it.

This morning’s Gospel reading features one of the most curious parables told by Jesus: laborers who work different lengths of time getting paid an identical wage.  Its message is simple: everyone is welcome to be a part of God’s kingdom and participation in that kingdom is its own reward.  The parable is built on a basic premise: people want to work.  The vineyard owner, upon meeting folks at five in the evening, asks incredulously, “Why have you been standing here idle all day?”  They answer, “Because no one has hired us.”  People want to work.  We want to be a part of something meaningful.  We want to contribute to a cause or a goal or a project.  We want to express our creative impulse because it is a part of the image of God woven into our nature.

Why have you been standing here idle all day?  If you were to ask this question of Maria Elena and her daughter Veronica you would get a surprising answer.  In their Honduran village there is no work for women to do.  They simply did not have the means to make a better life for themselves and their family.  But then they received a $50 micro-credit loan from the Episcopal Diocese of Honduras as part of the Gifts for Life program run by Episcopal Relief & Development.  They used the money to start a bakery in their home.  The program also provided the women with business training and planning methods.  They have repaid the loan, expanded their business, and now are able to send their children to school.  Stories like theirs inspires me to contribute money (and to raise it) because a small donation on our part can be life changing for another person.  

Robert Kennedy, speaking at the University of Cape Town in South Africa in 1966, said this:

Few will have the greatness to bend history itself; but each of us can work to change a small portion of events, and in the total; of all those acts will be written the history of this generation.

In life there is the work we do to earn a living and there is also the work we do to make a life.  Some are fortunate to have work that does both for them.  Others labor at one thing while finding meaningful rewards in other places.  Whatever your situation, you have the ability to make a difference for yourself, your family, your neighborhood, your church, your country, and even the world.

For me at least, it is impossible to reflect on this subject without scratching my head and wondering why so many people in our community (as well as communities around our country) appear to do so very little to improve their lot in life.  Even worse, these people engage disproportionally in activities that make their life even worse – substance abuse, lottery tickets, high-end electronics, automobiles that would seem to be out of their price range.  These are stereotypes to be sure - vast generalizations - but they bear a kernel of truth. 

In 2007 a professor at George Washington University by the name of Charles Karelis wondered the same thing.  The habits of the poor just did not make sense to him when viewed through traditional economic theory.  As an example of this, years ago I knew a person who delivered Wonder Bread to grocery stores.  His sales plummeted every time as the lottery payout went through the roof.  According to economics 101, that kind of behavior is irrational and unexplainable.  Well, Karelis began to wonder about the psychology of economics and came up with a ‘bee sting’ theory of poverty. 

He published his thinking in 2007 in a book called The Persistence of Poverty.  In it, he reasoned that when you are poor traditional economics (the rules by which most of us here govern our financial lives) don’t apply because your worldview is shaped not by opportunity but rather by deprivation.  When you are poor you do not see the world around you in terms of goods to be consumed but as problems to be alleviated.

This is where Karelis’ metaphor of the bee sting comes in.  A person with one bee sting is highly motivated to get it treated, but a person with multiple bee stings loses incentive to get one sting treated because the all the others still hurt.  Even if well-meaning others step in and voluntarily swat away a couple of bees, it does not do much to change the impact of the hive’s attack.  Poverty, Karelis says, has less to do with having few goods and more to do with having lots of problems.  He goes on to theorize that the more poor a person is, the less likely one will do anything to address any single problem. 

Karelis’ theory is not without its critics, but it has helped me to think of the plight of the poor in our community in a new way.  It doesn’t excuse what is going on, but it does describe it.  It suggests to me that we Christians have to expand our compassion and quest for justice into areas we might not think necessary. 

I knew a priest in Richmond who led a petition drive to have metro bus routes run from inner city neighborhoods out to Short Pump.  His reasoning was simple, without bus service, the working poor are denied the opportunity to go where new jobs were being created.  Over the years of my ordained life there have been a couple of times when I have extended help to people recently released from prison.  One person had had his truck impounded.  He painted houses and that truck was essential to his livelihood.  Every day he was locked up, the impound charged him $49 for keeping his vehicle in their parking lot.  After three months in jail, how would you like to face that bill, especially if you were on living on the financial margin before be locked up?  I have been pleased with the Virginia Council of Churches, an advocacy group to which all three Episcopal denominations belong, because for several years now they have persistently lobbied our legislature to reign in the pay-day lending institutions of our commonwealth. 

All of these efforts are good, but, as you might imagine, there are many more bees swarming in the lives of our community’s poor.  What does all of this mean for me and for you?  Well, as RFK noted, most of us here do not have the greatness to bend history, but we can do our part.  As members of the Episcopal Church we are encouraged to work, to pray, and to give.  We can work to make the lives of others better even as we work to improve our own lives.  A young, small town banker I once knew said that his primary work was to make the community better because as the community improved his bank would flourish.  We can pray.  For me, at least, I need to pray for compassion and hope as an antidote to cynicism and despair.  And we can give.  Maria and Victoria Elena remind us that a small amount of money effectively applied can make a huge difference.

…the Name of Love among Those Who Love Poorly

Gordon Wilson worked as a draper in a town in Northern Ireland called Enniskillen.  On Remembrance Day, November 8, 1987, Wilson and his twenty-year-old daughter Marie went to the center of their village to watch a parade that was to include the British Legion and local police.  They took a position next to a tall brick wall.  Gordon asked his daughter, “Will you be able to see from here?”  “Yes,” she replied.

Suddenly there was a tremendous explosion.  The Irish Republican Army had placed a forty pound bomb on the other side of the wall where Gordon and Marie were standing.  They were thrown forward and to the ground by the force of the blast.  The wall collapsed and fell on them.  Gordon found himself buried in four to six feet of rubble.  He was injured, but alive.  Five or six people around him were already dead.  Marie, also buried in debris, reached out for her father’s hand.  “Daddy, is that you?” she asked.  “Yes Marie, it’s me,” he responded, thinking to himself, “Thank God she is alright.”

All of this took place in a matter of seconds.  It was followed by a short period of complete silence that quickly gave way to screaming coming from every direction; screaming that was raw, naked, and terrifying.  Again Gordon asked his daughter, “Are you alright?”  “Yes,” she said, but then she too screamed.  Gordon was confused.  Why was his daughter screaming if she was not hurt?  Again and again he asked her if she was okay and each time she responded that she was fine.  The last time he asked her, Marie said, “Daddy, I love you very much.”  Those were her last words before slipping into a coma.  Marie had suffered catastrophic injuries and she died four hours later in a hospital.

How do you think Gordon Wilson would hear the gospel reading we heard just moments ago?  Peter asked, “Lord, how often shall my brother sin against me and I forgive him?  As many as seven times?”  “Not seven times,” Jesus responded, “but seventy-seven times!”

Undoubtedly one of the other disciples had wronged the great Apostle and he had forgiven that person.  The Pharisees taught that we are required to forgive the offenses of another just three times and now Peter wanted some praise for his manifold and great mercies.  Jesus’ response told Peter that he was just beginning to scratch the surface of what forgiveness looks like and what it costs.

Most of us have not lost a loved one to an act of terror and therefore might not be able to comprehend fully the agony and anger to which it gives birth, but I suspect most of us would not condemn Gordon Wilson if he said, “Forgive them?”  Forget it!”  Still, you don’t have to lose your daughter to a senseless act of brutality to know how difficult forgiveness can be to muster.

It is my experience that the stranger far away and the enemy close at hand are not the ones whose blows we find most difficult to forgive because they are outsiders.  We do not give them access to our innermost being where pain cuts cruelest.  It is the people we love the most and who love us the most who are the ones who can hurt us the most.  Those who are closest to us are the ones who can cause the deepest pain.

Our greatest hurts come from those who love us, but cannot love us in the way our heart desires.  It is our father, our mother, our brother, our sister, our spouse, our children, our closest friend, our neighbor, our priest who can hurt us most and be most hurt by us.  In these primary relationships our greatest joy and our greatest pain touch each other.  Henri Nouwen, the Roman Catholic Priest and author, wrote,

“The great tragedy of human love is that it always wounds.  Why is this so?  Simply because human love is imperfect, always tainted by needs and unfulfilled desires.”

Nouwen went on to say,

“Forgiveness is the name of love among people who love poorly.”

If it is true that we love poorly, it is equally true that we forgive poorly by substituting all manner of pretenders for the real thing.  Have you ever forgiven someone saying to yourself, “Oh well, it is no big deal,” when in reality it was?  Forgiving does mean denying your hurt and suppressing your pain.  In some situations, we rationalize “I’ll just have to grin and bear it,” but forgiveness bears no resemblance to martyrdom.  Sometimes we are willing to extend forgiveness with conditions attached (i.e., “I forgive you as long as…”), but forgiveness does not mean putting a person on probation.  To forgive is not to excuse bad behavior, saying for example “boys will be boys”).  And to forgive, with the exception of small indignities, is not necessarily to forget, like when we say, “I’ll just have to pretend this little episode never happened.”

If forgiveness is not these things, what than is it?  Here are five things to ponder:

First, forgiveness involves a conscious choice to release the person who has wounded us from the sentence of our judgment, however justified that judgment might be.  It represents our decision to forgo resentment and retribution.

Second, forgiveness also means giving up our expectation of emotional restitution.  We want so badly for the person who offended us to acknowledge the wrong, to do something to mend our hurt, and to repay us for the loss of dignity and trust we have experienced.  But in most instances, the person who wronged us does not comprehend the destructive magnitude of their behavior and, in many instances, never intended to cause us harm.

Here is a third truth about forgiveness.  The Latin word for mercy, eleison, literally means “to unbind.”  When we refuse to forgive, we hold others firmly enmeshed in the bondage of our judgment.  When we forgive, we loose others from their connection to our anger and vengefulness.  This act also frees us from the corrosive burden of anger and bitterness that eats away at the peace in our souls.  Thus, forgiveness is a gift that allows us to untie the knots that connect us to the offender while it unbinds the burden we carry inside.

Next, forgiveness must have as its goal reconciliation.  When we offer forgiveness, it is a one-way action undertaken without conditions.  Reconciliation is a two-way street where forgiveness is offered and received in such a way that restoration of a relationship is possible.

Finally, forgiveness constitutes a decision to call upon divine love in order to heal and rebuild a fractured relationship.  As we are drawn to God’s love we are compelled to imitate and express what we find.  Forgiveness is an important manifestation of the love we find in God.

All of this suggests that forgiveness is a choice to release another from internal judgment, to forego restitution, to loose emotional binds, to seek reconciliation, and to draw on God’s love.  I know that this is a lot to think about and that it makes something which is deeply emotional and painful sound as simple as following a Betty Crocker recipe.  Still, if today’s gospel tells us one thing, it is that we will not be forgiven any more than we learn to forgive.

Which brings us back to Gordon Wilson.  In an interview with the BBC, he described his last conversation with his daughter:

“She held my hand tightly, and gripped me as hard as she could.  She said, ‘Daddy, I love you very much.’  Those were her exact words to me, and those were the last words I ever heard her say.”

Then, to the astonishment of listeners, Wilson went on to add,

“But I bear no ill will.  I bear no grudge.  Dirty sort of talk is not going to bring her back to life.  She was a great wee lassie.  She loved her profession.  She was a pet.  She’s dead.  She’s in heaven and we shall meet again.  I will pray for these men tonight and every night.”

The historian Jonathan Bardon wrote of this, “No words in more than twenty-five years of violence in Northern Ireland had such a powerful, emotional impact.”

Due in part to the notoriety he received from losing his daughter, Wilson was elected to Ireland’s Senate.  He began to wonder if there was something he could do to end the violence.  He decided to meet with the leaders of the IRA because he felt Maria’s death would be in vain if it did not lead the country closer to peace.  Sitting around a table with some of the very people who executed the bombing that took Maria’s life, Wilson said this:

“I know that you have lost loved ones, just like me.  Therefore, on the grounds of our common humanity and for the love of God, is there not a better way to achieve our goals?  Surely enough is enough.  Enough blood has been spilled.”

Before his death in 1996, Wilson helped to found The Spirit of Enniskillen, a trust whose mission is to bring together Ireland’s youth in settings where they can cross boundaries in order to learn from and appreciate one another.

I suggest to you that Gordon Wilson suffered an incomparable loss.  I also suggest that, through the mercies of God, he was set loose from his deep loss.  Always remember this: forgiveness is the name of love among those who lover poorly.

Why God Cannot be Found in a Mirror

Father Joseph Grizone retired from active parish ministry in 1981 due to health concerns.  He then embarked on a second career as an author and has written numerous books, but none are better known than his nine works in what is called the ‘Joshua series.’  Joshua is a fictional character whose simple lifestyle, wisdom about life, and views of religion endear him to many folks in the small town into which he moves.  He is, in reality, Jesus visiting our present day and age. 

Like the Jesus of old, Joshua is a woodworker whose magnificent carvings are the talk of the community.  They capture the attention of two members of the clergy and each visits Joshua to commission a sculpture for the church he serves.

The first minister is one Father Jeremy K. Darby, an obese, pompous Episcopal priest, whose gothic style parish sits prominently at the north end of the town square.  Its members are among the wealthiest people in the community.  Father Darby wears expensive suits and a Roman collar.  He is chauffeured around town in a slickly polished, finely tuned foreign sedan (by the way, did I mention that the book is fiction?).  He comes to Joshua’s unassuming shop and says, “I would like a figure of the great Apostle Peter, a man for whom I have always felt a certain affinity and the greatest affection.  He was the chosen leader of the Apostles and was established by Jesus as the foundation of the Church.  I envision him as a man of great proportions and equal dignity, not unlike myself, if I may be permitted to indulge in a little vanity.”

The other minister is the Pastor Osgood Rowland who shepherds the town’s Pentecostal Church.  His congregation is poor, black, and located just outside of the city limits.  Its members are without means and scattered over a wide area of the county.  They make a great effort just to gather each Sunday for worship.  As it turns out, Pastor Rowland also requests a carved a figure of Peter for the Pentecostal Church.

Joshua works long and hard on both sculptures, trying to capture in each something that will speak powerfully to the congregation for which it is intended.  The day arrives when the works are completed and, as chance would have, both ministers arrive at the same time to pick up their figures.

Next to Father Darby Joshua places a sculpture that depicts Peter on his knees.  His three-tiered tiara is lying disrespectfully in the dirt as he caresses the head of a dying beggar.  The Episcopal priest is both horrified and offended by the rendering which is not at all like the great Apostle whom he has come to know and love and on whose life he has patterned his own. 

Next to Pastor Rowland Joshua places a sculpture of Peter standing in a toga and stole.  His left hand firmly grasps a shepherd’s staff as his right gestures with great force and determination to direct where the gathered disciples are to go.  Its focus on strong authority represents everything about religion that Pentecostals dislike. 

Both men feel certain that Joshua has made a great mistake in that the carving each was given should have been intended for the other.  Father Darby and Pastor Rowland decide to trade figures and each returns to his church happy with a carving that is familiar and comfortable to him.

In today’s gospel reading, Jesus, for the first time, tells his disciples that he must go to Jerusalem where he will be arrested, abused, and crucified.  Peter, who in last Sunday’s reading, confessed his belief that Jesus was the Messiah, the Son of God, just moments later in this reading protests that Jesus must never undergo these things.  Jesus’ response is sharp, pointed, and blunt, “Get behind me, Satan!”  Jesus will not succumb to the temptation to alter his mission to suit his own desire or the desires of others.  His statement to Peter is a warning to all of us not to worship that which is merely a projection of our own wishes.  It is a warning that Father Darby and Pastor Rowland do not heed.

There is a story about a man who learned of the existence of a wise old monk and set out on a pilgrimage to ask him a question.  Upon his arrival, the man knelt before the monk and said, “I have but one thing to ask of you: tell me this, who is God?”  The old monk sat in silence for several days pondering the question and then said, “Come with me.”  He took the man to an elaborately carved, ivory cabinet and instructed him to open it.  With trembling hands the man reached for the cabinet and opened its doors only to find another set of doors on the inside.  “Continue,” the monk implored.  Behind these doors was another set of doors, and then another, and another.  Eventually the man came to the final door.  It was made of plain, roughly hewn wood, without any decorative carving.  “Open this door,” said the monk, “and you will find the answer to your question.”  Steadying his hand, the man touched the door and gently, slowly pulled it open.  Inside was a small, round mirror.  The man who had come such a long way was now staring at an image of his own reflection.  “Behold your god,” said the monk.  “The god you seek is no different than the god you conceive in your own mind.”

The author of the 115^th Psalm rails against those whose life work is the crafting of idols.  The psalmist says of ‘heathens’ that their idols are the works of human hands.  They have mouths, but cannot speak; eyes but cannot see; ears, but cannot hear, noses, but cannot smell, hands, but cannot feel; feet but cannot walk.  It is a mocking critique made by one whose God is in heaven and does “whatever He wills to do.”  The psalmist’s most brilliant observation is that idols bear a striking resemblance to their makers: “They make their idols like unto themselves”, the author states.

The oft quoted Congregational minister G. Campbell Morgan once said that the Jesus we want to see is not the Jesus we really need to see.  It is a sobering reminder that before we can know anything about the true and living God we have to acknowledge the concept we hold is largely a god of our own making.  I find it to true of the people I meet that the more vehemently they defend their understanding of God and what God would have us do the more likely that understanding is a projection of their own making.  It also seems to be that case that these people are more blind than others to this reality.  Grizone captures this truth brilliantly in his Darby and Rowland characters. 

It may seem odd to hear me say this, but I find that the more I pursue God the less I actually know about God.  It is one of the great paradoxes of the faith that certainty about God indicates distance while uncertainty is a sign of approaching.  It is only as our projections onto God – our self-made idols – are peeled away that we can even hope to begin to know God as God truly is… holy, shrouded in great glory and awesome mystery, yet somehow made flesh in the person of Jesus of Nazareth.  Short of this, we are bound to move from idol to idol, trading one image or idea for another in a desperate attempt to find something that will speak definitively of the Great Eternal One.

Trading one image for another.  That is exactly what Father Darby and Pastor Rowland did.  Each chose a sculpture that reflected a life-long cherished belief about the Apostle Peter.  Interestingly, each found his figure had become mute.  It was as if each carving had lost its ability to communicate Peter’s cherished qualities.  It was Pastor Rowland who telephoned Father Darby to suggest they make another trade so that each would have the carving originally intended for him.  Father Darby’s chauffer drove him to the Rowland house to make the exchange.  When he arrived he was stunned to discover the poverty in which the Rowland family lived.  It dawned on him that a man so poor, yet so dedicated to faith, embodied something important about the Christian faith.  “Osgood,” he said, “I would be honored if you and your family would come to my home for supper this week.”  Pastor Rowland accepted the offer with great joy.

When Father Darby got back to the parish he placed the sculpture of the kneeling Peter in the place where the other had been.  Immediately it seemed to come alive and something about the dying beggar’s face caught Darby’s attention.  He moved closer to study it only to realize that the face was his own.  The thought of the great Apostle on his knees caring for him bothered Father Darby at first.  Surely it was beneath Peter to do such a thing.  But then tears welled up in his eyes as he began to realize that this was not beneath Peter’s dignity at all, rather it was a quality that made him great.  The self-projection of a pompous authority figure was forever smashed in an instant.  That night, in an act of humility, he donned the driver’s cap, opened the car door for his chauffer, sat behind the wheel, and drove him home.  It was the first time Peter’s life had informed his, not the other way around.

Today’s reading ends with an invitation, which is also one of Jesus’ most important teachings:  “If you want to become my follower you must deny yourself, pick up my cross, and follow me.  For if you love your life you will lose it, but if you lose your life for my sake you will find true life.”  It is as if Jesus is saying, “Do not make my life to be little more than a reflection of yours.  Your life is to be a reflection of mine.”