Life is Incredibly Tenacious

A couple of summers ago I vacationed in the Pacific Northwest (an area of the country I had yet to visit) and it was a wonderful experience.  Initially I had not planned to visit Mt. St. Helen’s, but did so on the advice of a friend and I will be ever grateful for this travel tip.  It was a beautiful, clear day providing an expansive view of the mountain so dramatically changed on May 18, 1980 by a lateral blast of hot ash and debris that killed 57 people and in an instance wiped out nearly 230 square miles of forests, rivers, and lakes.  Thousands of miles of roads, highways, and railroad tracks were destroyed and numerous bridges washed away.  The explosion created a horseshoe crater nearly two miles across and lowered the mountain’s elevation by over 1,300 feet.  It remains the deadliest and most destructive volcanic event in our country’s history. 

The Mt. St. Helen’s eruption transformed the landscape, blowing away, washing away, and burying in ash over 20 feet deep a remarkably large area.  After a flyover tour of the region some days later, then president Jimmy Carter remarked, “Someone said this area looked like a moonscape, but the moon looks more like a golf course compared to what’s up there.”  His initial impression, like that of most experts, suggested nothing could survive the devastation – no vegetation, no wildlife, nothing – and it was unimaginable how life could ever return to the region, at least in our lifetime.

But just weeks after the eruption and once it was safe to explore, the first scientists on the ground were startled by what they discovered.  Insects had already begun making a home out of fallen trees, pockets made by gophers digging for food were evident, and even some aquatic life had managed to survive.  Within a year, various kinds of moss and fauna took hold and began to lay a foundation for habitat recovery.  The speed of all of this stunned experts and novices alike. 

Twenty-seven years later, as I surveyed the scene from the Johnson Ridge Observatory (the park facility named a scientist monitoring the mountain from this location when it erupted and whose body was never recovered), new life was everywhere.  Vast tracts of pine forest cover the region.  These areas received a jump start thanks to the work of the Forest Administration.  But huge swaths of land have been allowed to recover on their own by “letting nature take its course.”  And what nature is doing is remarkable.  The signs of destruction still abound (most notably in decomposing fallen tree trunks as well as the crater itself), but a new and complete ecosystem is now in place.  Life is ample and everywhere, something unimmanageable to all after the initial devastation.   Summing up what he learned from this, Don Zobel, a scientist from Oregon State, said, “Our expectation should be that life is incredibly tenacious.”

As we near the end of the season of Pentecost and another liturgical year, our assigned readings from the Lectionary begin to pick up of the theme of last things.  They anticipate the end of life and the hope of a life to come.  They speak of old things being made new.  There is in these readings a suggestion God is at work in the world as a life-giving force.  They suggest God has infused all reality with a principle of renewal.  It is a principle not always evident at first, often requiring the faithful to live with a faith that “God causes all things to work toward the good” (Rom. 8:28).  Still, this principle of life and renewal has the first word, the last word, and permeates every word in between.

Consider this morning’s first reading from the Old Testament prophet Haggai.  Lumped in with other works tagged as “minor prophets”, Haggai’s ministry of speaking God’s word covers only a few years in and around 520 B.C.  He encourages God’s people to do something they have put off for almost two decades – rebuild the destroyed Jerusalem Temple upon returning to the ruined city from exile.  Once work begins a general despair takes root because all involved sense the appearance of the new Temple will pale in comparison to the glory of the previous one.  They fear what will be will not be as grand as what was.  It is a fear to which we can relate.

Cultural observers note for the first time in our country’s history we now live in a period when the majority of people fret the quality of life for the next generation will be lower than what it has been in the past.  While this is a new dynamic in our national psyche, Haggai reminds us it certainly is not a new phenomenon in the history of our world.  He spoke God’s word to a people anguishing over what awaits beyond the horizon.

At last Thursday’s meeting of the Worship Committee we did our annual ritual of lamenting the demise of the Christmas Eve Midnight Service.  We all want it to be the way it was – the church packed with people, the worship space illuminated by the flickering of candles, a robust choir leading the carols, countless children with stars in their eyes sitting in silent motionless so as not to cause a disruption, a gentle snow falling as the faithful file out the doors after receiving communion exactly at the stroke of midnight, horse drawn sleighs at the ready to whisk worshippers back to their cabins heated by a coal burning stove and decked out with hung stockings each containing an orange and new scarf.  Well, maybe I went back too far, but you get the idea.  We long for the past – a past we can no longer have and, truth be told, perhaps never was. 

Haggai speaks two words from God to the people.  First, “No matter what may change, my spirit abides among you; do not fear.”  And second, “Someday, the splendor of the Temple you are building will exceed what had been here before,” a promise which is debatable if this ever actually happened (how does one measure such a thing).  But the first word rings true.  Much may change.  Things may not appear to be as grand or as significant or as sure as they once were, but God’s spirit is still with us.  Our expectation should be that God’s life-giving Spirit is incredibly tenacious.

Paul’s two letters to the Christians in Thessalonica deal with last things.  They reveal the early Church’s thinking as it evolves from an initial notion Jesus will return soon – any day, so don’t be caught asleep –to pondering its mission as the months and years wear on to grappling with the fate of those who die in the faith while awaiting the Lord’s return.  In Paul’s final communication with this church he writes the day of the Lord is already here, but accompanying it are all kinds of temptations, trials, and ways to turn off the path.  This word, true then, still holds true in our time.  God is here and with us, and life can be a challenge.  “Stand firm” and “hold fast” writes Paul, “and may God comfort your hearts and strengthen you for every good work.”  Have faith, because God’s life-giving Spirit is incredibly tenacious.

It is easy to get side-tracked by today’s Gospel reading; focusing on what it says about marriage when its real force and thrust is about resurrection.  There are two main groups of religious leaders in Jesus day – the Pharisees and the Sadducees.  The Pharisees rub elbows with the average Joe and extend their ministry into rural locations and villages.  The Sadducees gravitate to the elite and often restrict their work to the Temple and upper echelons of society.  Not surprisingly, the two groups hold to different theological perspectives.  Most notably, Pharisees believe in the possibility of life after death while Sadducees do not and, as we see in today’s reading, have no problem mocking those who do.  Jesus states as clearly as possible what his own death will soon reveal – God is the God of the living.  The tenacity of God’s life-giving Spirit is stronger than death itself. 

Ultimately, this is what impressed me during my visit to Mt. St. Helen’s.  The power of death and destruction is ferocious beyond imagining.  It is strong, to be sure.  But life is more tenacious than we realize because God is the God of life and has made it so.  We hold to this faith and hope in ways universal and in ways personal.  We pray for the resurrection of all those we love but see no longer while we hope through God’s Spirit that things which have grown old in our life are being made new even as God moves all things toward their perfection.  The theory of entropy holds all matter and energy in the universe is moving toward an inert state unless it is being acted upon by an external force.  We of the Christian faith hold the tenacious, life-giving Spirit of God works in and through all things, infusing all reality with a principle of life and renewal.  We see it in our world and pray for it in our lives.   

Prayer as a Stream of Living Grace

In a culture obsessed with body image you will not be surprised by the content of this prayer offered by a person depressed by the effects of middle age:

Now I lay me

down to sleep.

I pray the Lord

my shape to keep.

Please no wrinkles.

Please no bags.

And please lift my backside

before it sags.

Please no age spots.

Please no gray.

And as for my belly,

please take it away.

Please keep me healthy.

Please keep me young.

And thank you, dear Lord,

for all that you’ve done.  Amen.

The heart has only a few windows through which one can glimpse a person’s soul – the true and unfiltered self.  Prayer is one of these portals.  The content of a person’s prayers conveys much about who he or she is “on the inside.”

That a lawyer got down on her knees to pray every night before going to bed might surprise you.  The beginning of her prayer may not: 

To all Parties Concerned: This message contains confidential and/or legally privileged information.  Unintended recipients may not use, copy, or disclose any portion of this transmission.

The content of a person’s prayer is a window into his or her soul. 

This morning we hear another one of Jesus’ parables.  This one is a story about two people who are praying in the temple.  “Standing by himself”, one thanks God he is not like other people: “thieves, rogues, adulterers” and especially the other person praying at the time – a tax collector.  The tax collector, in his prayer, begs for God for mercy, knowing he deserves anything but.  The content of each prayer reveals much about the status of each person’s soul.  One is marked by self-pride and contemptuousness and the other by honest self-assessment and remorse.

I grew up in a church tradition valuing “prayer from the heart” – unprepared words emanating from a place of personal depth rather than a rote and repetitive reciting of ritualistic prayers.  We all know how liturgy can become a dry exercise of merely going through the motions, but prayers from the heart are not without their pitfalls.  I sat through many a service where the “spontaneous” prayers of the people offered by various church leaders sounded an awful lot like the headlines of the morning paper:

God, we just thank you for today’s sunny weather.  And we know we should remember the family who lost their house to a fire.  And we are worried about the war in Southeast Asia, but grateful the cost of a gallon of gasoline has declined in recent weeks.  And we know we should care more about people starving in Africa.  And we just pray that our kids won’t join a cult.

Shallow and disengaged souls offer shallow and disengaged prayers.  Then there is this… the Narcissist’s Prayer:

That didn’t happen.

And if it did, it wasn’t that bad.

And if it was, it’s not a big deal.

And if it is, it’s not my fault.

And if it was, I didn’t mean it.

And if I did, you deserve it.

Do you see my point?  Prayers from the heart are a reflection of the heart praying them and they tend to reinforce the heart’s nature, for good and for ill.

On a hike in Ohio this past week I paused for a moment to enjoy the sights and sounds of a small trickle of a stream as it made its way through a deep ravine and cascaded over a series of thin shale ledges.  The ravine was carved out by the water over time, removing obstacles in its path by its incessant movement toward lower ground.  I noted one place where the water fell only about a foot or two from a ledge to a flat rock surface below.  The water has smoothed out a shallow, bowl-like basin in the shale on which it falls.  At the edge of this rock it has worn out a V-shaped notch allowing the water in the basin to fall on to a lower level.  Completely natural, it struck me as more beautiful than any fountain feature I could imagine.

Liturgical prayer, in my experience, works like this on the heart.  It carves out and cleans what should not be there.  It makes a place receptive to all the goodness God intends.  If prayers offered from the heart are a window into the heart, then liturgical prayer is a stream of living grace flowing over and through the heart, ever creating a new and more godly space.

I may struggle to forgive, but there is something about saying the Lord’s Prayer on a daily basis that keeps it as a goal toward which I strive.  If I prayed from the heart, most likely I would say, “Help me to be nicer and more accepting of those who annoy me” but my perception of the people around me is being changed and shaped by these words from a collect for giving thanks for the Social Order: “Enrich our lives by ever-widening circles of fellowship, and show us your presence in those who differ most from us” (BCP p. 840).  The way I confront the presence of death is informed by the words of the burial rite: “Even at the grave we make our song: Alleluia, alleluia, alleluia.”   Over time, the liturgical prayers I offer are shaping who I am becoming.  What prayers have been shaping who you are becoming?

How might the Pharisee in Jesus’ parable have benefited from attending a Rite I Eucharist every Sunday and hearing these words?

And although we are unworthy, through our manifold sins, to offer unto any sacrifice, yet we beseech thee to accept this our bounden duty and service, not weighing our merits, but pardoning our offenses.

When Thomas Cranmer put together the first English prayer book (introduced in1549) he began with a foundational belief if people recited week after week the Ten Commandments, the Lord’s Prayer, and the Nicene Creed in their native tongue then most likely they would do the right thing most of the time.  Many Episcopal Churches built on this by having the three written out on large tablets, which were displayed in a prominent place in the worship space.  Our historic tablets in the chapel, carried with us to this site from our 1846 building, are an example of this.

People wonder if prayer changes the world.  Sometimes it is difficult to see to be sure.  Theologians debate if prayer changes God.  There are a few examples in the bible of God’s mind being changed by a person’s petitions, but it raises a host theological questions.  But this much I know with certainty: your prayers can change you. 

On Friday evening the AA group that meets in our church celebrated their 50^th anniversary.  The parish hall with filled to overflowing and the food rivaled our best potluck dinners!  I was truly honored to be asked to say a few words and offer a blessing and I can tell you the group deeply appreciates the hospitality our parish extends to them.  I was very touched at the beginning of the meeting when the group recited from memory the Serenity Prayer:

God grant me the serenity

to accept the things I cannot change; 
courage to change the things I can; 
and wisdom to know the difference.

Living one day at a time; 
enjoying one moment at a time; 

accepting hardships as the pathway to peace; 
taking, as He did, this sinful world as it is,

not as I would have it; 

trusting that God will make all things right
if I surrender to His Will; 

that I may be reasonably happy in this life
and supremely happy with Him

forever in the next.  Amen.

This invitation to God to work miracles in your life sustains millions of people every day.  It counters the worst in a person’s heart by naming the best God has to offer.  And every day living into this best is a victory for those who offer the prayer.

Yes, spontaneous, extemporary prayer has its place.  The heart that knows God ought to be able to speak to God anytime, anywhere, about anything.  But liturgical prayer has a way of strengthening the heart, of stretching the heart, of challenging the heart, and changing the heart in a way nothing else can.  It is a stream of living grace flowing over and through the heart, ever creating a new and more godly space.

Sensing Healing as He Went

This morning’s healing story from the Gospel of Luke stands apart from others in at least two ways.  The first relates to when the healing occurs and the second relates to the story’s focus on what transpires afterward. 

How and when it occurs.  Jesus instructs a group of ten lepers to go and show themselves to the priests.  This directive, taken from Old Testament code, requires a leper to be inspected by a priest in order to be certified as clean – free of a horrible, painful, disfiguring, and isolating disease.  That the lepers leave Jesus and set out to find the priests indicates they must have some level of faith something will happen.

When you have been knocked down or when you don’t know what to do about a certain situation or when you are grieving the loss of someone or something dear, there is something to be said for standing up and simply putting one foot in front of the other.  Sure, sometimes a friend or family member enters into your hurting world, takes you by the hand, and walks with you until you can walk on your own again.  But most often most of life’s hurts and challenges are overcome by doing whatever it takes to move forward. 

Jesus tells the lepers to go and so they go.  Are they hopeful?  Joyful?  Expectant?  Merely going through motions?  The text does not say.  What it does say is telling: “As they went, they were made clean.”  They aren’t healed in Jesus’ presence.  It isn’t by his touch or as a result of his verbal command.  How it happens we do not know. 

When it happens we do.  It happens as they went.  And, in fact, the text tells us the lepers at first do not even realize it has happened.  It states one of the ten, “when he saw that he was healed,” praises God and returns to Jesus to thank him.  The leper is healed as he goes on his way – as he puts one foot in front of the other – and initially is unaware anything about his condition has changed.

I was in pretty bad shape when my marriage ended in 2002.  I went through a long, dark, and difficult period and I am not sure I can say when exactly it abated and became more manageable.  But I have a clear memory of a conversation with a parishioner a year down the road.  She called to tell me her marriage was ending and as I listened to her I knew exactly where she was and what she was going through.  She was in an awful place and in the midst of an awful time.  I knew it because I had been there myself.  But as I listened I realized I was not there any longer.  I had moved on from the initial place of loss and was making my way toward God’s new beginning.  I wasn’t there yet, but for the first time I had a sense I was making progress.  I was moving forward and, while I did not detect its slow, persistent process, healing was taking place as I went. 

This experience stays with me even today and explains in part why I warm so favorably to the image of the Christian life being like a path we walk.  As your pastor I try to encourage you as a fellow pilgrim; as one who can tell you the path, even though challenging at times, is well marked.  And I can remind you that you never walk along.  As you put your whole trust in Christ’s grace and love you find Jesus is with you as your guide – as someone who shows us the way.

So the first part of the story focuses our attention on the process of healing – that it happened “as they went”.  The second part (and the part with the most force in the narrative) focuses our attention on the aftermath – one (and only one) of the ten lepers turns back to thank Jesus.  For his part Jesus is puzzled.  “Were not ten made clean?  Where are the other nine?”  We wonder with Jesus what their story is.  Surely they are overjoyed.  Surely they are grateful.  So how can we account for their less than hearty response?  Let me suggest three possibilities: perhaps they were literalists, or oblivious, or just plain clueless. 

Literalists.  Why didn’t they return?  Because Jesus told them to show themselves to the priests.  In fact, if you want to be technical, the one who does not follow Jesus’ instruction is the one who returns.  The literalist’s go-to excuse in a situation like this is, “I did exactly what you told me to do” and it makes us want to bang our heads against a wall.  Literalists treat life as if it requires only that you check the box, but never actually engage it.  They do what they are obligated to do, but for Jesus it is not enough merely to do your duty.  Your actions must emanate from your heart.

Perhaps the nine are oblivious to their healing.  The text tells us the one who returns does so only after he sees he has been healed.  Perhaps the other nine never notice something has changed.  Think about how life channels us from one problem to another; how we go from one crisis only to face another in a never ending tide of troubles.  If this is how your life feels it is likely you never fully recognize and appreciate how many problems are solved and how many crises are defused. Or maybe you are so focused on your scars that you never appreciate how each one marks a place where a wound has healed.

Or maybe the nine are clueless… aware they are better but unaware of how it happens.  If they don’t attribute their healing to Jesus why would they return to thank him?  What one person sees as a blessing from heaven another understands to be a cosmic accident or good fortune or the by-product of healthy living.  You only pause to thank the person you believe to have done some special for you. 

Literalist, oblivious, or clueless.  Each possibility presents us with a cautionary tale.  Do you approach religion as being little more than a series of boxes to check off in order to be a moral person? – the literalist’s approach.  Or do you fail to discern the manifold blessing of your life, perhaps because your focus is drawn only to the challenges? – the oblivious approach.  Or do you sense your life is marked by abundance and good will, but have no idea why or what to do with it? – the clueless approach.  If you see yourself in any of these, what would it take for you to praise God and to give thanks to Jesus, as the one leper did?

Let me close by saying how I grateful I am for the many blessings I have experienced in just the last week alone.  I was surprised by the surprise birthday party you all had for me last Sunday and I am deeply appreciative of your incredibly generous response to contribute to a gift.  I told Cindy and Janice I will have to keep a closer eye on things around the office because those two slipped all of it past me with very little effort.  Even more than what you did for me, I am so grateful for the way you invited my twin sister Karen to be a part of kindness, even if it meant I had to share with her half of Nina’s chocolate chip cookies.  On Monday Bev made a pan of chocolate chip brownies for a Food Pantry volunteers celebration.  Miko brought me a triple chocolate cake (made with Hershey chocolate) on Thursday and I began to wonder if you all love me or are trying to kill me with sugary sweets.  Yesterday, Dan Jones, his nephew Wesley, and Jim Gordon spent their entire day rebuilding the 10x20 foot shed I had to demolish in August.  You all have been exceedingly good and kind to me ever since I came to serve as your priest in 2007, but this week I feel it even more deeply.  I thank God for each of you and for the gift of God’s care and keep that comes through you.  If I am not mistaken, October is Pastor Appreciation Month and believe me, I feel appreciated.

I pray each of you may be as blessed as I am and each of you, as you go on the way, will sense the manifold goodness of life in God and the loving care which surrounds you on every side. 

Increase Our Faith

A woman approaches her pastor before the Sunday service.  “My husband is crazy,” she says.  “He is threatening to kill me if I go to your church this week.”  “You must believe,” the minister tells her.  “God would never let harm come to a faithful person like you.”  Somewhat relieved, she decides to stay.  The next week she speaks again with the pastor: “My husband says he will burn all my possessions and kill me if I attend your church this week.”  Again he says to her, “You must have faith.  God will never let that happen to you.”  With this, she takes part in worship.  The next Sunday she runs up to the pastor and says, “Now my husband says if I attend today’s service he is going to kill me and burn all my possessions, then he is going burn down your church and kill you.”  The pastor, somewhat unnerved by this new development, reflects thoughtfully and then responds, “My dear child, have you ever considered going to the church down the street?”

We seek many things through our participation in the life of a church: an experience of the Holy One, connection to other people, guidance in matters of behavior, healing of the body, mind, and heart.  The list could go on and on.  Each of our lists undoubtedly has on it something to do with faith.  We want our faith to grow throughout our lives, to be strengthened when times are tough, and to give us some measure of insight so we can understand things that are difficult to accept. 

Jesus’ apostles approach him in today’s reading with a request: “Lord, increase our faith.”  I suspect each of us has uttered this petition as a prayer more than once in our lives.  Jesus famously responds, “If you have faith the size of a mustard seed you can say to be mulberry tree, ‘Be uprooted and planted in the sea’, and it will happen.”  On a positive note, his teaching highlights the power of faith.  On a negative note, like the pastor whose easy counsel for another holds little sway in his own heart, it highlights how paltry most of us sense our faith really is. 

If you Google search the question “How can I increase me faith?” (as I did this week), one of the first suggested sights to appear offers three surefire steps:

Read the Word.

Heed the Word.

Test the Word.

And while this formula excels in memorability, it’s ease falls far short of our own experience.  We think to ourselves, “Anyone who has faced even the most basic challenges of life knows having, building, and sustaining faith is nowhere near as simple as this.”

When the apostles express a desire for increased faith, what exactly are they seeking?  Are they asking to grow in knowledge? – “I wish I knew more about the bible and what it says.”  Are they asking for more insight? – “I want to know why bad things happen to good people.”  Are they asking for a sense of certainty? – “I wish I had all the answers, like my fundamentalist friend.”  Are they asking for the strength to do the right thing? – “Lord, help me to be faithful.”  Or, are they hoping to find a deeper, more abiding trust and peace? – “I want to live with confidence is the face of life’s challenges.”  Faith has all of these facets and more. 

If we look closer at today’s reading, it is unclear which (if any) of these the apostles are thinking about when they ask Jesus to increase their faith.  In the verses just before Jesus instructs his followers to rebuke a brother who sins and then says you must forgive a person who repents, even up to seven times.  Well, speaking for myself, if faith is all it takes to do this, I’m going to need a lot more of it than I have!  Still, it is not apparent if the request for increased faith comes in response to this teaching or if it is independent of it. 

What is clear is the unclear way Jesus responds with the hyperbole of a tiny seed and expansive tree followed by the odd example of the exhausted servant who must keep on serving.  Based on his response, Jesus interprets the apostle’s request as a desire to have more confidence in their own abilities.  They want to believe they have what it takes to live something of the life they see in their master.   If you boil down his response, Jesus says of faith a little bit goes a long way and, like the old Nike campaign used to say, “Just do it!” – don’t over-think this, lace up your shoes and put them to use doing what you love. 

The opposite of faith is not doubt, it is fear and paralysis – an inability to move forward in the face of the opportunities and challenges facing you.  Jesus says “You have enough in you to do it.  Put one foot in front of the other and have faith.  I believe in you and I am with you.”  Faith, it seems to me, is not as much about confidence as it is about courage.  It is about trying to do what you know you must even when you do not know if you are able.  “It is not faith you are lacking,” Jesus says, “it is courage.”  You have all the faith you need.  What is holding you back from acting on it? 

Marianne Williamson, who is a far better life coach than presidential candidate, writes this in her book, A Return to Love:   

Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate.  Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure.  It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us.  We ask ourselves, “Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous?”  Actually, who are you not to be?  You are a child of God.  Your playing small does not serve the world…  We are all meant to shine…  We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us.  It’s not just in some of us; it’s in everyone

Accepting this to be true requires faith, but not much according to Jesus.  Acting on it… well, that is a different matter entirely.  Acting on it takes courage.

I have posed this question to you before, but it has been a while: If you were given the assurance you could not fail, what is one thing you would dare to do?  I want to hone in on this by magnifying the focus.  I suspect some of us here – perhaps most of us – have something weighing on our minds today.  What would you choose to do this afternoon if you could be assured you would not fail?  I am not talking about something as frivolous as buying a lottery ticket or curing cancer, unless you have a Ph.D. in Biology.  I am thinking about something that been an unaddressed concern, perhaps for a long time. 

Possibly it is something you have let slide because you don’t believe you have it within you take it on.  Maybe it is too complex for you to figure out on your own.  Who can you confide in for insight and guidance?  It is possible opening the door will lead to a host of other problems.  Still, pursing health and wholeness is far better than trying to manage sickness or holding together brokenness.  Or maybe you have an opportunity to do something that seems beyond you.  It requires you to take a risk, or to stretch yourself, or to make some sacrifices, but the reward could be wonderful. 

Is it faith you lack… or courage?  God has created you and you are special, gifted, and capable of so incredibly much.  Go ahead and ask Jesus for more faith and he will say, “You have all the faith you need.  Believe in yourself and just do it!”

A Sumptuous Life & an Unbridged Chasm

A number of golfers meet at the first tee.  They don’t know each other, but on this busy Saturday they are grouped into a foursome by the club.  They have an enjoyable round and afterward are changing in the crowded locker room.  A cellphone lying on a bench begins to ring and one of the four picks it up and answers.  “I’m fine dear, how are you”, he says?  “You are shopping.  Well, isn’t that wonderful!”  “You want to buy a $5,000 dress, with $2,500 matching shoes and a $1,500 coordinating pocketbook?  I think that is a marvelous idea.”  “You found a new style for decorating your SheShed and it’ll cost $50,000?  You certainly are worth it.” “And what was that sports car you have been dreaming about?  Right, the Alpha Romeo Spider convertible.  There will never be a better day than today to stop by the dealership and pick out one.”  “Sure, I think you should drive it off the lot.”  The other three golfers overhearing all of this are amazed.  How much money must a guy have to happily encourage his wife to spend so much so freely?  The man finishes the call and lays the device back down on the bench.  He looks at his stunned associates and says, “Any of you guys have an idea whose phone this is?”

Last Sunday we heard Jesus’ story of the Shrewd Manager, which we said was perhaps his most difficult parable to understand.  Nothing in its odd details seems to have any semblance of a redeeming message.  This morning we hear the Parable of Lazarus and the Rich Man.  Unlike last week’s, this one is about as straight forward as it can be.  The details are crisp and clear and we don’t have to puzzle much about its message and meaning.  The two share at least one thing in common: each puts us on the defensive.  “It is not talking about me, is it?”

As a literary genre, parables have their place, but are not necessarily the best basis on which to build a foundation of doctrinal truths, which is to say, it would be unwise to use this story to construct a comprehensive understanding of the afterlife.  Still, it suggests a couple of themes worth pondering.

The first is judgment.  I don’t know what it will look like, but our lives and how we lived them will be assessed.  The bible uses human imagery in an attempt to approximate what this might look like: a manager giving an accounting, appearing before a judge, a fire consuming dross while purifying gold, standing before St. Peter, facing a day of reckoning.  Whatever this experience will be like, human imagery provides only a shadowy sense of what is to come.  Clearly, in Jesus’ story, the rich man is judged for being unaware and/or inattentive to Lazarus’ need and suffering.

A second theme is reversal.  It is one of Jesus’ favorite motifs: the first shall be last and the last shall be first in the kingdom of God.  Did you notice this detail in the story:  In our world, everyone knows the names of the well-to-do (we even have TV shows about them… Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous), while the poor remain anonymous.  In Jesus’ parable, the poor man has a name, while the other person is known only by his financial status.  The conditions each experiences are reversed: the one who suffers is comforted and the one with comfort suffers.

Again the parable raises in me the response, “Oh my, is this going to be my fate?”

As Jesus tells his story he creates a vivid contrast between the two lives.  It seems to me there is one word in the narrative describing the Rich Man’s life that hones in on the difference.  It is the Greek word lampros, which at its root means “splendid”.  Here is how a few different bible versions translate it:

· The Wycliffe Bible (one of the oldest translations): [The Rich man] ate every day shiningly.

· The Message (one of the most recent): wasting his days in conspicuous consumption.

· The American Standard Version: living in mirth and splendor every day.

· The New International Version: lived in luxury every day

· God’s Word Translation:  Every day was like a party to him

The King James Version appears to be the first to translate lampros as “sumptuous”: he fared sumptuously every day.  The New Revised Standard Version, which most Episcopal Churches read from every Sunday, follows suit: He feasted sumptuously every day. 

Sumptuous seems to imply more than well-off.  The Marrian-Webster Dictionary defines it as “extremely costly, rich, luxurious, or magnificent.”  Synonyms include extravagant, grandiose, ostentatious, pretentious, and showy  Take a long, critical look at yourself.  Be exceedingly harsh and then, as I suggested with last week’s parable, ask yourself, “Does this sound like me?”

Here is something I notice about the Rich Man as Jesus presents him: Throughout his life he neither looks up nor looks around.  He does not engage God and he is oblivious of the people nearby, especially Lazarus. 

When we look up we discover a God who loves us and blesses us.  We meet a Creator who has filled the world delight.  Rather than receiving it from God in due course and good measure, the Rich Man wallows in pleasure day and night.  Rather than sharing it in the joy of family, the fellowship of community, or the supply of those in need, he is myopic; seeing only the delectables, but never people.

As Jesus tells his story, he describes two chasms.  The first is in this world.  It is the divide between the Rich Man and Lazarus.  Why does it exist?  Common sense and experience tells us people are separated by social status, religious affiliation, racial origin, and host of any other factors.  It just seems to be the way the world is.  A part of the Christian mission is to help people create bridges across the things which divide us.  In Jesus’ parable, the only way to bridge the divide across the chasm between the Rich Man and Lazarus is if the Rich Man builds it.  He doesn’t and the chasm remains uncrossed.

The second chasm in Jesus’ parable is in the life to come.  There is no explanation for why it is exists, but (from how Jesus tells the story) this much is certain… there is no way to bridge it from either side.  The divide is permanently uncrossable.  At last the Rich Man looks up and he looks around, but the time for this to matter has passed.

My own theology of the life to come is unfinished at best, but I like something C.S. Lewis says his book The Great Divorce.  Just as we have the opportunity in this life to move towards God, so too we will have the opportunity in the next.  The dispositions we create and cultivate in this life influence who we will be and what we will desire in the next.  Just as in this life, the next life will have a path that ends in God.  The chasm between us and God has been bridged by Jesus Christ.  If you do not want to take a single step on it in this life, why would you you think you will want to walk it in the next?  

As I pondered today’s reading throughout the week, I kept remembering something I witnessed many years ago.  I was visiting with the rector of an Episcopal Church in downtown Lancaster, PA, who impressed me very a priest and person.  The time came for lunch and he suggested we walk around the corner to a local favorite (imagine Baron’s Pub!).  Out on the street we encountered a man whose apppearance suggested he relied on the charity of others to make it in life.  The rector greeted him by name and they began to engage in a warm, friendly, and familiar conversation.  Honestly, it was the first time I ever witnessed two people bridge the chasm created by such econimic disparity.  The memory has stayed with me all these years and it is no wonder it kept coming back to me this week.

Like many of you, I find myself living a life now a little bit like the life of the Lancaster priest.  I greet a variety people as they stroll past my house, as I walk down the street, and as I traverse the aisles of Wal-Mart.  I know them through our Food Pantry and other ministries here at St. Paul’s.  It gives me great joy to think I am living now something like what I saw in those two people some thirty years ago.

Of all the bible’s images of judgment, the one I warm to the most is the consuming fire (no pun intended).  I’d like to think everything about my life will be tested and that what is good and worthy and of God will remain while all that is not and all that holds me back will melt away.  One thing I am confident will endure are the joyful interactions I have with the various and varied people of our community.

Jesus said, “There was rich man who feasted sumptuously every day.”  He neither looked up nor looked around and then one day it was too late.

Serving Mammon

When I was first ordained I was part of a small group of clergy and each of us served as an Assistant to a Rector.  We met monthly to support one another and to grow in our understanding of the priesthood.  I remember one gathering when we discovered we all had been assigned by our bosses to preach on the upcoming Sunday.  The gospel reading that day is the gospel reading today.  I realized then no matter how disorganized a rector may be, if he or she has an assistant than he or she has enough on the ball to look ahead in the Lectionary in order to pass the miserable readings to the underling. 

The Parable of the Shrewd Manager is perhaps the most difficult of Jesus’ stories to understand.  There really seems to be little (if anything) worthy of applause in the lead character’s makeup and actions.  The details of the story appear to make its meaning and message devoid of redeeming values.  This week I read several commentaries on the passage to try to get a better sense of how scholars approach the parable.  Most of their explanations felt like an attempt to bring order to a bowl of spaghetti.

Jesus commends the manager because when push comes to shove, when the chips are down, and when his back is against the wall, he comes to his senses and in desperation reprioritizes his life around what he now realizes matters.  That Luke adds to the parable’s end several of Jesus’ teachings about wealth suggests he understands it in some form or fashion to be a commentary on materialism.  Remember how I said last Sunday’s gospel reading focused on rules verses relationships.  Today’s reading hones in on something similar in Jesus’ mind and central to his teaching: riches verses relationships.  Plain and simple, prior to his hitting bottom, we can say of the shrewd manager he loves things and uses people rather than he uses things to love people.  Jesus commends him because what he had backwards he gets straightened around.

The last of Jesus’ teachings on wealth included here by Luke is the most well known: “You cannot serve two masters… you cannot serve God and money.”  It is a teaching that puts us on the defensive, compelling us to make the case this is not me.  Being challenged to look at yourself is not necessarily a bad thing and it is something Jesus does often through his stories and sayings.  But do most of us suffer from priorities this far afield?

The King James Bible translates this verse famously as “You cannot serve both God and Mammon.”  Some subsequent versions follow its lead, but most now use the word ‘money’ because, well, no one today knows what mammon means.  When was the last time one of your children said, “Can I have some Mammon to go to the movies?”

Mammon does means money, but it means a lot more.  It actually takes a physical thing – money – and personifies it, making it a living thing… an idol.  It is a pejorative term meant to refer to the absolute worst and most corrupting aspects of money and wealth, how they can take over a person’s life.  4^th Century writers such as Cyprian, Jerome, and John Chrysostom thought of Mammon as being an evil and enslaving master.  It became one of the names given to demons and even the Devil.  Thomas Aquinas metaphorically described the sin of Avarice as “Mammon being carried up from Hell by a wolf, coming to inflame the human heart with Greed.”

Ask yourself if this sounds like you? 

I once knew the owner of an expensive car sporting a bumper sticker stating, “The One with the Most Toys Wins!”  He is one of a small number of people I have known I would describe as enslaved by Mammon.  Sen. Elizabeth Warren, the Democratic candidate for President, states health insurance companies made 23 billion dollars in profit last year, and every penny came from saying “no” to a person’s request for medical treatment.  I am not saying her figures are accurate (I don’t know) or that I agree with her view of corporate profit, but from her perspective I think she would say health care insurers are serving Mammon.  She is not the only person who believes the corporate world is overrun with greed, and in some cases I am sure it is true.  “I’d do anything for money”, whether an individual’s motto or a corporate mission statement, is the banner slogan of those enslaved by Mammon.

Greed, as one of the Seven Deadly Sins, is an interesting temptation.  There are some for whom greed is pure.  They want things and/or money for its own sake.  But for most people enslaved by it, Mammon is just a means to an end.  They seek power or they desire pleasure and comfort or they want notoriety or prestige (a sense of self).  For them, Mammon is a means to one or more of these ends. 

If you have money you get to call the shots in a way those who don’t have it can’t.  There is one sure way to get the president of your college to take your call.  You have got to be a huge donor.  Money talks!  If you have money you can live it up – take it easy, travel, dine out, dress up, and feather your nest with the finest.  You may daydream about these possibilities from time to time, but some people are completely driven by it.  You may want to be known, admired, and respected – not only to be important in the eyes of others, but even more so to yourself.  Perhaps nothing else can do it for you.  Only wealth can validate who you are and what you have done with your life.

Is any of this descriptive of you?  If so, then Jesus says to you, “You cannot serve both God and Mammon.”

The alluring thing about idols is their promise to confer on you things God wants to give to you.  God promises power to those who open themselves to the movement of the Spirit.  It may not get a university president on the line, but I have seen faith move mountains – especially when people of faith pull together.  God promises to feed and clothe us, to lead us to green pastures and still waters.  God’s riches are at our fingertips.  God provides a comforting life no dollar amount can purchase.  And God created you to be you.  You are unique, special, and called to a glorious purpose.  God’s love for you is so deep and so sure God asked the Son to come into this world to make it known to all.  You are so important God’s Son gave his life to redeem you.  

Perhaps this sounds more like how you look at the world and yourself.  If so, Mammon does hold sway over you.

The truth is none of us lives at one end of the spectrum between Mammon’s lies and God’s promises.  In truth, each of us oscillates back and forth on the continuum, being pulled in the wrong direction at times while responding to God’s invitation at others.  This is why I appreciate Jesus’ challenging words.  They invite us to reexamine our lives, motivations, and actions.  They invite us to move toward God’s dream and away from the enslaving effects of Mammon’s charm.  Today I give thanks for the awkward Parable of the Shrew Manager and Jesus’ powerful and poignant reminder we cannot serve both God and Mammon.