A Labortary for Relationships

I initiated something with my twenty fellow pilgrims after we returned from Scotland.  I made up a list of the Top10 things never said as we walked the Way of St. Cuthbert.  Things like, “What do you mean we don’t get to walk up that step hill!”  Others quickly responded, adding their own statements to the list.  One of the slower walkers offered this: “I must be the first person here.”  I won’t read the list to you because, as they say, you had to be there to get it.

About half of our group also walked the English Way of the Camino in Spain in 2016.  Of them, half are clergy who I see a couple of times each year at diocesan meetings and functions.  It is always a reunion of sorts when we are together, punctuated by joyous hugs and good-natured ribbing about something funny that happened on the trip.  It is fascinating to me how ten days and 60 miles of walking can forge a group of people into a community.

Last Sunday I talked about negotiating two realities in our lives.  First, we are lovingly created by God to be a one of a kind masterpiece.  And second, we are a communal people who live in complex relationships with others.  We are created in the image of God and just as God does not exist as an isolated singular, but rather is revealed in the Holy Trinity as existing in relational harmony, so too we have been designed to be connected to other people.

In today’s gospel reading we get a sense of just how complicated this can be.  Scholars attack Jesus saying he is in league with the devil and his own family states publicly they fear he has lost his mind.  The first accusation must have been infuriating; the second must have been devastating.  

In developing his hierarchy of human needs, the psychologist Abraham Maslow held that after addressing our physical need for things like food and water and after making provisions for our personal safety and well-being, our greatest need is to secure a sense of belonging; social connectedness.  Typically we make these connections through friendships, co-workers, and family. 

These relationships are not luxuries.  They are a human need.  If you deny the body oxygen – a physical need – it will surely die.  If you deny a human being of vital relationships, it will have an intensely detrimental effect on a person’s well-being.  Given all of this, it is no exaggeration to say Jesus is facing a very real personal crisis in his life in today’s reading.  

In her book Braving the Wilderness: The Quest for True Belonging and the Courage to Stand Alone, the social scientist Brené Brown states “The greatest barrier to belonging is fitting in.”  Certainly this seems counter-intuitive because we grow up believing fitting in to get along is essential if we are going to be accepted and incorporated into a group, be it friends, coworkers, or family.  But through her research Brown discovered the people with the deepest sense of belonging have the ability to stand alone when necessary.  They will risk disconnection in order to maintain their own authenticity and integrity.  Last Sunday I named this as personal authority.

Brown notes, “We are more sorted than we have ever been in the history of our county.  We have built ideological bunkers.  We are more likely now to live with, worship with, and go to school with people who are politically and ideologically likeminded.”  Rather than fostering a sense of belonging, Brown notes this sorting has not resulted in deeper connections, but rather in what she calls “Common Enemy Intimacy” – being joined together only because you hate the same people.  And just as some said Jesus did the work of the devil or that he had lost his mind, today’s language about the other is largely dehumanizing.  The less human we think of a person or a group the more inhumane we are likely to treat them.  Brown says as a society we are being driven away from one another by fear.

Fear is a subtext in today’s gospel reading.  The Jerusalem scribes are afraid of Jesus even though it is very early on in his public ministry and all he has done is heal a few people, defy certain societal conventions, created a buzz, and attracted a few followers.  No doubt Mary and her children – Jesus’ brothers and sisters – are afraid of the attention he is drawing and for good reason suspect it will not serve well either him or them.  Fear ratchets up the drive to disconnect.  Think about Maslow – personal security comes before social belonging.

I suspect there is not one of us here this morning who is not experiencing some kind of social disconnectedness in life; some kind of estrangement from a person or group where once there was, or should be, a relationship.  Somewhere in this brokenness I guarantee you is a fear.  It may be complicated and disguised or obvious and open, but fear is a tremendous threat to relationship.

In my first years of ordained ministry I worked for the most dysfunctional person I had known up to that point in my young life and I was completely unprepared to negotiate this relationship.  I sought the counsel of a priest I trusted who suggested I refocus the emphasis on my ministry to serving the rector while I quietly looked for employment elsewhere.  It was a brilliant suggestion, but at the time I said I was afraid if I devoted myself to what my boss needed from me I would be swallowed whole and disappear.  Well, lets just say our ‘relationship’ did not end well and leave it at that.  But, as time has gone by, I don’t blame him or focus on his dysfunction.  I think about how inexperienced I was and how fear disabled me and limited severely the range of my possible responses.

Well, back to Jesus and today’s reading.  He dismisses the criticism of his ‘peers’ by noting the obvious: if he is creating health and well-being in those who are suffering he can hardly be in cahoots with the author of misery and pain.  More difficult to dismiss is the criticism of his family.  But Jesus has experienced in much greater intensity what I experienced with my fellow pilgrims and you have found to be true through manifold relationships in your life.  Our social connectedness – our sense of belonging – manifests itself in a variety of ways.  

Perhaps the deepest, most enduring level is spiritual.  Jesus found his connectedness neither through genetics or professional associations, but through shared, deeply held beliefs and experiences.  “Whoever does the will of God is my mother, my father, my brother, my sister.”  

Why are we at St. Paul’s bound together in social connectedness?  It is not because we share the same history.  Some of us have pedigree in Suffolk going back generations while others have not yet been here a calendar year.  We do not see eye to eye on politics.  We do not gather arm-in-arm singing Kumbaya every time the Episcopal Church makes a statement about our society.  

What binds us together?  Well, it may seem simplistic, but we are bound together because we are in the same place week in and week out.  We recognize how each of us – although flawed – is attempting to honor God and do God’s will.  Here is something I love about St. Paul’s: this is not a place of sorting.  We are not perfect, or perfectly diverse (whatever that means), but we come here to be with the people God is bringing here – all of the people.  This is not without its challenges, but it is not without its blessings.  If every child of God is welcomed here – no matter what his or her foibles me be – than guess what… I am welcome here, just as I am.  I do not need to boast about why I belong.  I do not need to grovel for acceptance.  I just need to present myself as a child of God desiring to be in relationship with my brothers and sisters in Christ.  

Here, you can be yourself.  You are welcome to stand apart, should you feel the need to do so.  But you have to be willing to allow another person to stand up and speak a word you struggle to accept.  In the end, we are a laboratory for relationships and belonging.  This is not a place to be coddled.  It is a place to be challenged and refined all the while being loved with the deepest love God has for each of us.  We are brothers and sisters, fathers and mothers.  We belong to one another. 

The Single Most Important Task in the Second Half of Life

Does not take directions well.  Has trouble listening.  Won’t color within the lines.  These are the kinds of evaluations made about kindergarten students.  Early in our lives two realities clash.  The first is highlighted in today’s breathtaking reading from the 139^th Psalm.  Each of us, like a snowflake, is unique.  We have been lovingly crafted by a skillful Creator to be ourselves – a one of a kind masterpiece.  The other reality is we are a communal people.  We do not live in isolation, but rather in complex relationships with others.  As such, we need to conform to certain standards and expectations.  There comes a time in life when you will be free to color outside the lines, but early on the emphasis is on mastering the skills necessary to fit in and get along.

To shift the metaphor to one I have used before, in life, each of us is meant to be a jazz musician.  Jazz music is a free-form, creative expression built on the unique talents of the artist and his or her interaction with others in the group.  You can’t just pick up a saxophone for the first time and blow jazz.  First you must master the basics and learn the scales.  Only when the fundamentals are so deeply ingrained as a tacit skill is it possible to break free of them and create something of your own.  

It takes years and years to get to this point, and one of the great sadnesses of life is when a person learns the scales but never deviates from them; when a person learns how to color within the lines, but never branches out into authentic, personal expression.  These people are everywhere, littering our lives.  They tend to be rigid, domineering, and highly critical of others who question convention.

We meet some of them in today’s reading from the gospel of Mark.  If the Pharisees are anything, they are masters of the scales of practicing religion.  When the Lord God said, “You shall honor the Sabbath and keep it holy,” they became the guardians of what this looked like.  They have all the details down pat.  What was intended as a day of rest and celebration of delivery from bondage in Egypt became for them an exercise of coloring within the lines and playing the scales.  Do it like this.  Nothing else is permissible.

Sunday in and Sunday out we gather in this place and pretty much do the same thing every week.  Yes, the readings and the hymns change, but we are a “prayer book” church.  It is how we come together to experience the Sabbath.  But we are not slaves to the prayer book.  Several years ago we received word early on a Sunday morning a parishioner had been rushed to a hospital with a life-threatening medical emergency.  I knew I had to be there, so I turned to Al Reese and said, “You need to figure out how to wing it.”  Everyone understood the Sabbath priority of pastoral care eclipsed prayer book worship in that moment.  Do you remember the Sunday we observed the 15^th Anniversary of 9/11 outside with the Unity Project?  Honoring the Sabbath is not the same as being obliged to a mandated form of worship.  

Try to tell this to the Pharisees.  They exercise what is known as positional authority.  This is the authority of a boss or teacher or police officer.  We do what they tell us to do because their position entitles them to place demands on us.  Positional authority is grounded both in the power of the person who wields it and in the fear of those who are under it.  The Pharisees’ title and role makes them the wardens of all things religious.  

Jesus operates with personal authority.  Its expression is grounded in a person’s own vision and values.    It inspires loyalty and trust in others and they will allow such a person to speak to their lives because they know the person cares about them.  Personal authority is not concerned with prestige, status, or image, but rather in the genuine well-being of self and others.  

Sometimes, but not always, a person with positional authority also has personal authority.  This is a powerful and potent combination.  In today’s reading, no one has both.  Jesus has personal authority, but not positional.  The Pharisees have positional authority, but not personal.  

Most often most people will not challenge positional authority even when they know it to be wrong.  The FAA has discovered many errors by flight captains go unchallenged by crew members because they do not believe it is their place to question.  One airline went so far as to create a flight simulator with scenarios designed to overwhelm the captain.  25% of the time subordinates failed to take corrective actions in the face of a captain’s fatal mistake.     

This suggests the Pharisees are not used to having their positional authority challenged.  They are not used to someone like Jesus who knows how to color within the lines, but at times elects not to.  And it illuminates why they take the dramatic step of consulting with the Herodians – members of the occupying ruling government – in order to find a way to “destroy” Jesus.   They are concerned only about the demands of communal living and insist on conformity and standards.  Jesus has moved past this and is focused on the reality that every person is a masterpiece and our highest pursuit is to discover the unique way we can express how we have been created in God’s glorious image.

Dr. James Hollis, in his book What Matters Most: Living a More Considered Life, states “the single most important task of the second half of life is the recovery of personal authority, namely, the discovery of what is true for us, really true, and mobilizing the courage and resources to live our truth in the world.”  He notes Carl Jung – the founder of analytic psychology – held “all our troubles stem from one place—the separation from our instincts”.  All those adaptations we make to fit in and get by, while necessary, have the cumulative effect of estranging us from the quiet and centered voice within each one of us; the voice telling us who we are and what is right and what will keep us healthy and help us to flourish.

Hollis talks about the adaptive self and the true self, which is longing to be expressed in the world.  He says, 

The ultimate question we have to ask ourselves is, “what wants to enter the world through me?”  This is not a narcissistic question; it is a respectful, reverential invitation to reflect on the purpose of our journeys.  And then we must ask, “what within me stands in the way of embodying that talent, that enthusiasm, that curiosity, that relational gift which I can bring to my family, my friends, my world, and to myself?”  This is not an agenda for being famous, recognized by others, or even understood by others.  It is rather a question of what do I experience as truly meaningful in my life.

“In the end,” he says, “we need to feel that the life we lived was our life, not someone else’s, that it was chosen rather than simply our following the instructions on the box.”

Christian spirituality adds to this search one critical element.  In the search for our true self we are also in pursuit of the true Jesus.  How does the Word Incarnate inform who you really are?  Say you discover your most authentic self-expression is that of a ne’er-do-well.  Such a discovery is not one to be celebrated or pursued.  Each one of us has been created for something more grand and glorious than this.  We have been created to manifest a unique expression of the perfect humanity we find in Jesus of Nazareth, what St. Paul's describes as making the life of Jesus visible in our mortal flesh.

This morning we see Jesus acting out of his personal authority.  He addresses human need and alleviates human suffering.   These are expressions of his deep, authentic self.  The single most important task in the second half of life is the recovery of personal authority.  What is true for you and how do you mobilize the courage and resources to live your truth in the world?

Prayers & Parents

Little five-year-old Suzie tells her mother she wants a baby brother or sister.  Her mother tells her if she prays every night for two months God will send her a sibling.  Suzie pours herself into the project, praying feverously every night for a month.  Then she begins to have her doubts.  She checks with all her classmates and discovers none of them got a brother or a sister through prayer.  So Suzie stops praying.  A month later her mother goes into the hospital and gives birth to twins.  When Suzie visits her and meets her new siblings her mother says, “Now aren’t you glad you prayed every night.”  Suzie replies, “Aren’t you glad I stopped praying when I did!”

This morning’s gospel reading is a small portion of what is known as Jesus’ “High Priestly Prayer” which he offers at the conclusion of the Last Supper.  What we read focuses on Jesus’ concerns for his disciples.  When the prayer concludes, Jesus leads them across the Kidron Valley to the Garden of Gethsemane where Judas betrays him.  One biblical scholar says the prayer is typical of John’s writings, “the wording spirals around, seemingly repeating itself.”  It is like a fabric, he says, “woven with repeating words and themes.”

One theme is the world.  The disciples have been chosen from the world, they are in the world, and they are hated by the world where the evil one is at work.  Jesus sends his followers into the world and prays they will be protected.

A second recurring word in the prayer is given.  It occurs nine times in this portion of the text.  The Father gives the disciples to the Son.  The Son gives his word to them and gives them his name to protect them.  Two other themes are the Word and Truth.  Knowing the Word and the Truth sanctifies the disciples and makes them holy.

Well, if world, given, Word, Truth, and sanctify still feel like heady ideas and the prayer seems abstract to you, don’t worry, you are not alone.  Let me try to help us by approaching it from a different direction.  Let’s imagine it is the prayer of a devout mother for her daughter. 

“I have made your name known to this child whom you gave me.” 

As parents, grandparents, aunts and uncles, we know what is to attempt to pass on the faith to our children.  We do our best, but often the fruit of our efforts is not seen for years.

“She was yours, and you gave her to me, and she has kept your word.  Now she knows that everything you have given me is from you; for the words that you gave to me I have given to her, and she has received them.”

We think of our children as gifts from God.  We understand they are a sacred trust requiring and deserving our absolute best as we seek to form and prepare them.   

“I am asking on her behalf; I am not asking on behalf of the world, but on behalf of this child you gave me, because she is yours.  What is mine is yours, and yours is mine; and I have been glorified in her.”

When we raise a child in the faith we do not parent in isolation, but in partnership with God.  All that we are and all that we have works with a Mystery from beyond to mold a unique and special human being.

“And now I am no longer in the world, but she is in the world, and I am coming to you.  Holy Father, protect her in your name that you have given me, so that she may be one, as we are one.  While I was with her, I protected her in your name that you have given me.  I guarded her.”

I have a vivid memory of taking my oldest daughter to daycare for the first time.  In those early years either her mother or I was with her all the time.  It was our job to watch her and care for her and protect her.  Leaving the center I realized for the next eight hours neither her mother nor I would fill that role.  Our daughter was now “in the world”, or at least a world without us.  I recall wishing the daycare had a one-way window so I could sit undetected and watch my daughter be herself as she engaged the world.  One of the toughest tasks of parenting is learning how to let go.

“I am coming to you, and I speak these things in the world so that she may have my joy made complete in herself.”

There are many things we want to pass on to our children: an inheritance, an education, certain values.  Surely one of the most important things we seek to develop in our children is a sense of joy.  The writer Sharon Draper notes, “Perfect happiness is a beautiful sunset, the giggle of a grandchild, the first snowfall.  It’s the little things that make happy moments, not the grand events.”  “Joy,” she says, “comes in sips, not gulps.”  What an incredible delight it is to watch our children delight in the small things.  Any child can be over the moon at Disney World, at least until the end of the day, but what we hope to cultivate is a child who is thrilled by the wonder in her own back yard. 

“I have given her your word, and the world has hated her because she does not belong to the world, just as I do not belong to the world.  I am not asking you to take her out of the world, but I ask you to protect her from the evil one.  She does not belong to the world, just as I do not belong to the world.”

The world hates her.  That sounds awfully harsh, but I think it is true.  Today’s standards of womanhood are cruel and exacting.  Even beautiful models look at their body or their facial features and see something not to like.  The measure of masculinity is becoming more and more difficult to achieve.  The world grounds our identity in how we look, what we do, and what we have.  The Christian faith grounds our identity in God’s love for us.  Each one of us is precious and valuable beyond all measure.  We are God’s children.  It is this value we acknowledge and affirm through baptism.  Above and beyond all else, we belong to God.  It is not a message you will hear in a Madison Ave. ad campaign, but it is the truth we embrace.

“Sanctify her in the truth; your word is truth.  As you have sent me into the world, so I have sent her into the world.  And for her sake I sanctify myself, so that she also may be sanctified in truth.”

As I said earlier, we do our best to pass along the faith that is within us.  It is not easy because often our faith eludes the words necessary to describe it.  Faith, like motherhood, is something we live better than we describe.  Most of our mothers never sat us down and taught us the 10 Commandments of being a good parent.  Still, we learned what to do from what our parents did well and hopefully we learned from their mistakes what not to do… just as we pray will happen for our children, grandchildren, and nephews and nieces.

So this morning we hear Jesus’s High Priestly Prayer for us and after scratching our heads at first we find in it many of the same thoughts and concerns we have for our children.  We give thanks for how Jesus has raised us up to be who we are.  We ask for his guidance and protection and we seek to live the life we have seen in him. 

A Place to Abide

When I was growing up my father planted two peach trees on what we good folk of Akron call “the devil strip.”  It is that narrow swath of land between the street and the sidewalk.  Well, a year or two passed and without any prompting, those two trees began to produce peaches.  A lot of peaches.  Manifold, delicious peaches.  More peaches than our family could eat.  Every morning in the summer I awoke to the sound of a garbage truck stopping in front of our house.  The men on it discovered our peaches during their weekly pick-up and now drove by every day to help themselves to breakfast.  As I recall, the summer of peaches lasted only two years.  The third summer the trees bore nothing and within a year or two died and had to be cut down.  We didn’t know about pruning or nutrients or identifying blight.  We just let them grow on their own and that is how they thrived and that is how they died – on their own.

This morning we hear Jesus present yet another metaphor to describe our relationship with him.  Last week we heard him say, “I am the Good Shepherd.”  This week he says, “I am the vine and you are the branches.”  As with last week’s image, which we understand even though we have never met a shepherd, so too this week’s image speaks clearly and powerfully even though most of us have never worked in a vineyard. 

I suspect the act of pruning is grounded both in judgment and in nurturing.  If a branch is broken or not bearing fruit, it must come off.  Or, if it is growing in a way which over time will be harmful to the whole, it must be pruned.  This is the judgment.   But cutting back can also be a healthy, revitalizing activity, giving the plant its best possibility to thrive and produce.  Jesus says he does both.  He calls us to account when and where we are in the wrong.  He nurtures and nourishes us so we may flourish.

When reading a passage of the bible, I always pay attention to verbs set in the imperative, that instruct us to do something.  Today’s gospel reading has two imperatives: abide and ask.  “Abide in me as I abide in you.”  “If you abide in me… ask for whatever you wish, and it will be done for you.”  Abide and ask.

The verb John uses translated as abide carries the sense of remaining.  Jesus talks about the Father abiding with the Son (14:23) and the Holy Spirit abiding with them (14:17).  When Jesus tells his followers “In my Father’s house there are many mansions”, the word used for mansions comes from the root word abide.  A literal translation might be, “In my Father’s house there are many places to abide.”  To abide with Jesus is to be in a place or a state where one is deeply at home.  We can only go out into the world and be fruitful if we have a place where we can abide and be “at home.” 

Home does not necessarily mean the physical space where you live, although no doubt this is a part of it.  Your abiding place includes a place of solitude where prayer and reflection are possible.  It includes a place to worship and people to worship with.  It includes family and close friends.  It is also a soothing place or a time – perhaps sitting on your deck drinking coffee while watching the sunrise. 

Whatever elements make up your abiding place, take even one away and you will soon begin to feel out of sorts.  You have been working on the road and haven’t had time to be with your family.  You have been sick and can’t get to church.  You have had to hit the ground running each morning and can’t relax and drink your coffee.  Whatever it is, take it away and you will begin to feel it.  Your fruitfulness will diminish (even if you are producing at a voluminous level).

Ask is the second imperative.  I have an odd reaction whenever I hear Jesus say, “Ask and it will be given to you.”  I am confident if I ask Jesus to make my lotto ticket a winner I am soon going to be holding a worthless piece of paper in my hands.  I can ask God to take away a friend’s life-threatening illness, but it doesn’t always happen.  I don’t think Jesus is a genie in a lamp which, if rubbed, will be bound to grant three wishes.  So what does Jesus mean when he directs us to ask?

The Greek word used here carries with it the sense of resolve or require.  It is not something flippant, extravagant, or trivial, but rather something necessary.  And taken in the context of the command to abide, it seems to say, “Whatever you need to abide in me, ask, and I will give it to you.”  So here is a question you may not be able to answer right away, but may want to ponder: What do you need to be able to abide in Jesus? 

I always thought if I was shipwrecked on a deserted island, either alone or with a group of people, or if I was imprisoned, or if I was a hostage, the one thing I would want to carry me through would be a Book of Common Prayer.  The ability to keep my daily, weekly, and yearly life grounded in prayer would be a matter of life or death, of hope or despair, of purpose or despondency, of abiding or being truly lost.

The Maharshi noted “that which comes and goes, rises and sets, is born and dies is the ego.  That which always abides, never changes, and is devoid of qualities is the Self.”  What do you need to sustain the Self, not your passing fancies, but the essence of who you are?  Ask for this and you will receive it.  

I love this time of year.  Even with the pollen, there is something magical about watching trees and plants begin to bud.  Through a system of roots, trunks and limbs, they gather water and nutrients and deliver them to the branches.  The branches, exposed to the sun and its warmth, break open with new life.  Every day I look out my office window and notice more fullness of green not there the day before.  The tree and plants are doing what each of us hopes will be true in our lives.  They are coming alive.  They are bearing fruit.  They are flourishing.  And they do so not because they set their mind to it, but because they are abiding in a good place.

I think back to those two fruit trees in front of my childhood house.  As I said, they lived and thrived on their own, but quickly ran their course and were gone.  “I am the vine and you are the branches.”  We are more like those peach trees than the mighty oak that endures year after year, through the worst of what the weather may throw at it.  We need care, correction, nurture if we are going to survive and bear fruit.  In short, we need a place to abide.

The Good Shepherd

This Fourth Sunday of Easter is unofficially known as Good Shepherd Sunday because the Collect of the Day and the appointed readings always hone in on this theme.  “I am the good shepherd.”  This certainly is one of the most beloved, comforting images of Jesus and God’s presence in our lives.  Most of us have never met a shepherd, yet still we have an intuitive understanding the idea conveys care, healing, guidance, and protection.  We can say the 23^rd Psalm by heart and when as a child we went to Sunday School we learned the parable of the shepherd who leaves the 99 in order to find the one lost sheep. Today ought to be one of the most comforting Sundays in the church year.

The readings offer anything but.  Right after Jesus says “I am the good shepherd” he says “The good shepherd lays down his life for the sheep.”  Then he talks about hired hands who run away at the first sign of trouble and a wolf who scatters the flock and picks off the stray.  His words cast a deep shadow on what we might have thought would be a joyful and reassuring day.

The context of John’s gospel helps us to understand what is going on.  In chapter 9 Jesus encounters a man blind from birth.  His followers want to know if the man is blind because he sinned or because his parents sinned.  Jesus tells them he is blind so that all might see the work of God.  Jesus then rubs some mud in his eyes and sends him to a pool to wash.  Once he does the blind man is able to see.  Jesus heals him and in so doing creates a firestorm.  The Pharisees demand to know what has happened and interrogate the man.  They question his parents.  They insist Jesus cannot heal because he is a sinner.  The man tells them, “I don’t know if he is a sinner or not, but one thing I do know is I was blind and now I can see.”  For his testimony, the Pharisees put him out of the synagogue, banishing him from the religious community.

Just like a musical such as Hamilton has a historic setting but speaks to contemporary issues, John’s gospel takes incidents from Jesus’ ministry and shapes them to say something important to the original readers.  For several decades these first readers have been followers of Jesus while remaining in the Jewish faith and adhering to its customs.  Friction develops over time and eventually believers are cast out of local synagogues and ostracized in the community.  They struggle to understand who they are if they are not a part of the religious tradition.  As John tells the story, Jesus says they are the ones who can see, while the spiritual leaders who have cast them out are the ones who are blind.

And then in chapter 10, Jesus tells them, “I am the good shepherd and I lay down my life for you.  These other leaders are just hired hands or worse, they are wolves.  I am your good shepherd.”  Who are those believers who have been barred from the Synagogue?  They are the ones for whom Jesus laid down his life.  They are his sheep.  His flock.  They are God’s children.

Jesus then tells his followers he has other sheep not yet in the fold he must gather so there will be one flock under the care of one shepherd.  Perhaps one of the sheep not yet in the flock is Matt, a self-professed unbeliever.  In his book lies we believe about God, Paul Young (the author of The Shack) recounts a conversation he once had with Matt.  He asks Matt what he believes.

“You want to know what I believe in?  Most people want to talk to me about what I don’t believe in.  Let me think.”  [Matt] paused before answering.  “I believe in the way I love my children.  Paul, I didn’t know I had the capacity to love like this until I had my own children.   Without question I would step in front of a bullet for them, or take their hurts to myself if I could.”

“So, Matt, you obviously aren’t talking about romantic love.  Would it be accurate to describe this love you believe in as other-centered, self-giving?”

“That is exactly what it is.”

We talked for the better part of an hour.  Turns out Matt not only believes in Love, but in Life and in Truth.  Not bad for an unbeliever.

We Christians sometimes get caught up in who is “in” and who is not, as if Jesus’ shepherd-like care is available only to those who have the right creedal faith and doctrine.  But when we read the gospels we find Jesus’ love is much, much, much more expansive and inclusive than we imagine.  In fact, the people with whom Jesus consistently tangles are those who hold God’s love is limited and offered only to the people who “deserve” it, either by heritage or adherence to specific religious customs. 

Peter certainly comes to understand this.  When he witnesses the Holy Spirit fall on Cornelius and his household (an event referred to as the Gentile Pentecost) he says, “in every nation anyone who fears God and does what is right is acceptable to God.”  (Acts 10:35)  This certainly sounds radically inclusive to me.  It suggests to me there are plenty of people like Matt who consider themselves to be unbelievers, but in reality they are a part of Jesus’ flock.  They just don’t know it.  And there are scores of people who follow another religious tradition, but by all accounts fear God and do what is right.  Jesus the good shepherd is the one whose life embodies other-centered, self-giving love.  Every person in any nation who manifests this love is a welcomed and valued member of Jesus’ flock.

This morning, as we baptize James and Finley, we recognize God’s other-centered and self-giving love abides in us.  As we listen to the vows made by the parents and sponsors we remember the shepherd-like care we received from our parents and we extended to our children.  We acknowledge all of it is possible only because God loves us first, because God cares for us as a shepherd cares for the sheep.  As we bask in this care we extend it to our family and loved ones and friends.  We learn to offer it to the people of our community, to strangers, and to the world.  We look forward to the day when there will be one flock under the care of one shepherd.

What does the Future Hold?

A woman visits a fortuneteller to inquire what her future holds.  The fortuneteller goes into a trance-like state for about a minute, during which time she groans and shacks and gasps with fear.  When she emerges from this condition, the fortuneteller says to woman, “You need to prepare yourself to be a widow because your husband will die a horrible, violent death within a year.”  The woman, visibly shaken, takes a few deep breaths, steadies her voice, and says, “I have one more question… will I be acquitted?”

As near as we can tell, humans are the only creatures on the planet who wonder about the future.  Every parent and grandparent who has held a newborn baby has looked into the infant’s eyes and wondered what the future holds.  Who and what will this child become?  As children, teenagers, and young adults we ask this same question about ourselves.  Who will I be in life?  What will I do? 

We wonder about the future of the world in which we live.  No era in history has experienced the kind of rapid change we have today and the pace of innovation is only going to accelerate.  Businesses specializing in futurism – thinking about what is next and helping corporations figure out how to profit from it – are booming.  Many report their revenues are doubling on a yearly basis.  Why are we so interested in the future?  Well, as George Burns once said, “I look to the future because that’s where I’m going to spend the rest of my life.”

Harvard theoretical physicist Michio Kaku has written several books about the future.  I started to read one, but put it down when he began to describe the inevitability within 100 years humans will live forever by having our personalities downloaded to a hard drive.  This, I thought, is not a world in which I want to live, if you can actually call it ‘living’. 

For those of us who won’t be around long enough for technological ‘advances’ to enable us to spend eternity as an Apple computer, we wonder what the next life holds.  We turn to religion for answers.  There seems to be three main possibilities.  One holds there is nothing after this life.  Once you die you are done.  Another possibility is the soul is eternal and gets reincarnated in some new form, either as a person or a plant or an animal.  This is a popular notion in many eastern religions.  A final option is the soul lives on, perhaps in a place like what we call heaven.  Within this position there are many nuanced possibilities, such as a bodily resurrection.    

As I read the bible I do not find one single, specific, vision of the future, but rather several different ideas and possibilities.  It is a mansion prepared by Jesus with a specific room for each one of us.  It is a place we to which we will go immediately after we die – “Today, you will be with me in paradise.”  Or, it is a place we go only after Jesus returns and wakes the dead from their sleep.  It is a city called New Jerusalem, which in the Book of Revelation descends from the sky and is established on this earth.  Other images abound, which you might try to reconcile into one coherent vision, but I choose not to.  Embedded in these diverse images is a deeper hope of heaven being a place where dying is no more, neither sorrow nor crying.  It is a place of joy and peace and light. 

This morning we hear the author of I John (whom scholars refer to as “the Elder”) speak very honestly about what we know and don’t know about the future.  Here is what we know.  “See what love the Father has given us, that we should be called children of God; and that is what we are.”  The Greek word for what used here in “what love” literally means “of what country?”  What an amazing kind of love it is, something totally foreign to us, that we should be called children of God.  God’s love is as astonishing as it is bewildering.  Why should a sinner like you or like me be considered by God to be God’s very own child?  There is nothing we can do to make this happen.  It is a designation and opportunity either we graciously accept or defiantly reject.

“Beloved,” writes the Elder, “we are God’s children now; what we will be has not yet been revealed.  What we do know is this: when Jesus is revealed, we will be like him, for we will see him as he is.”  This, I think, is the single best statement in all of Scripture about the future.  Right now we are God’s children.  We don’t know exactly what the future holds, but we hope and believe one day we will see Jesus and when we do, we will be become like him.  I am comfortable with this sort of minimalist statement.  To argue for anything more is to push the envelope of what is believable or provable.  It adjusts our vision from the future – what will become of us – to who we are now – beloved children of God.  And as beloved children, how should we act and what should we do?

When I was in my twenties, Nike aimed an advertising campaign at young men like me.  Featuring Michael Jordon – the most extraordinary basketball player of the time – it featured commercials of this incredible athlete doing amazing things on the court and it ended with the slogan “Be like Mike.”  It was grounded in the premise we all want to imitate greatness.  The Elder encourages us to be like Jesus.  Purify yourself, just as he is pure.  Do what is righteous, just as he is righteous.  Every time in this life we get a glimpse of Jesus, we are compelled to become a little more like him.  In the end, when we see him in all his glory and majesty, we will become like him.  This is the faith and the hope I will carry with me to the grave and to what is beyond the grave.     

What does the future hold?  It is a question we ponder, some more than others.  It is a question that controls and consumes some people.  The Elder encourages us to hold it lightly with regard to the specifics and the details.  More important is now, today.  Today, now, you are a beloved child.  The question is, will you live and act the part?

Easter Confession

If we say we have no sin, we deceive ourselves, and the truth is not in us.  If we confess our sins, God is faithful and just and will forgive us our sins and cleanse us from all unrighteousness.

These words from today’s second lesson feel like we have entered a time machine and turned back the clock to Lent.  Then in our gospel reading we hear the first words of the Risen Christ to his disciples.  Among them are these:

If you forgive the sins of any, they are forgiven them; if you retain the sins of any, they are retained.

Each year our community Lenten services remind me other Christian traditions talk about sin a lot more than we Episcopalians do.  Interestingly, while we don’t talk about it, we are one of the few traditions that has a confession as a regular feature of our worship.  When it comes to sin, we let our liturgy do the talking: “the remembrance of our [sins] is grievous unto us, the burden of them is intolerable.”  Everyone who has ever said these words from the Rite 1 confession knows their truth deep in the heart.

The Didache is a first century Apostolic writing lost for centuries before being discovered in 1873, much too late to be considered for the canon of Scripture.  Still, it gives us a window into the life of the early church.  In Chapter 14, it directs the faithful to gather on Sundays to celebrate the Eucharist “after having confessed your transgressions.”

The practice of Penance emerges by the third century as a means for fallen baptized people to be restored to the body of the faithful.  Initially it is a public act undertaken during the season of Lent, culminating on Maundy Thursday by kneeling before a bishop and receiving the laying on of hands.  The practice of making a private confession to a priest begins in Ireland.  Manuals called Pentitentials are developed, which list a variety of sins with accompanying acts required for forgiveness.  In time this practice spreads throughout the church. 

For much of the history of the church confession is understood to be an act of mercy for the penitent, not a penalty.  Priests were expected to suffer martyrdom if necessary before revealing what has been told to them in the confessional.  Not all clergy are quite this scrupulous, however.  Some use the information given to them to blackmail confessors.  Others are not able to control their behavior during confessions so a 16^th century Cardinal develops a booth with a physical barrier separating the priest from the penitent.  

While the Book of Common Prayer has a rite for the Reconciliation of a Penitent, it is seldom used.  I have used it only once in my life.  I did so not because I had committed a horrific sin, but because I was not able to forgive myself for something I had done.  Confessing it to a priest and receiving absolution was a part of the process of what I needed to receive God’s forgiveness in order to move forward.  In my 31 years of ordained ministry I have never had a parishioner request this rite.  Generally speaking, we find what we need in the weekly use of the General Confession. 

And what is it we find when we confess?  We find the truth about ourselves and the truth about God.  Here is what is true about us.  Our actions and our attitudes have consequences.  Much of what we think and do is a blessing to ourselves, to others, to world we live in, and to God.  Some of what we do creates brokenness.  Sometimes the brokenness is not something we intend.  Other times it is a deliberate choice.  The truth is we are sinners, but our sins do not have to define us.  We are more than the sum of our worst mistakes.  We affirm this every time we confess our sins.  We acknowledge sin as a part of who we are, but confirm it is not who we want to be.

And what is the truth about God.  God knows who we are.  God knows our strengths and our weaknesses.  God knows our passions and the desires of our heart.  God knows us in ways we do not even know ourselves and God loves us for who we are, as we are.  There is nothing we can do, writes Paul, to separate us from the love of God made known to us in Jesus Christ.  Nothing. 

Frederick Buechner says “To confess your sins to God is not to tell God anything God doesn’t already know.  Until you confess them, however, they are the abyss between you.  When you confess them, they become the bridge.”  

I have told you before about the beautiful rectory I lived in when I was in Iowa.  One day I noticed every doorknob, every hinge, and most every light fixture and switchplate was made of brass, but over the years had tarnished to the point they had turned black.  I set out on a project to clean them.  With each piece I restored, a little bit of polish and a lot of elbow grease wiped away all the tarnish revealing a golden brass glow.  Now, that gorgeous color had never gone away.  It was just covered, hidden.  It dawned on me no matter how tarnished our lives become God still sees the golden glow that is who we are and how we are created to be.  Repentance and confession is what takes away the tarnish of sin.

I suspect our readings on this Second Sunday in Easter focus on sin because Jesus’ death on the cross is the means by which God rubs off the sinful tarnish covering us.  It gives us the opportunity to repent and begin anew.  The purpose goes much beyond having our slate of wrongs wiped clean.  Jesus died for us hoping we would live life in a new way, following the example he set for us.  He sends his Spirit upon us to heal us and to empower us to be a blessing in this life, not a perpetrator of brokenness.  Confess your sins, repent and follow, and let God’s loving light shine in and through all you do.  Consider it an Easter invitation to a new life.