Knowing Who You Are Not

 

John 1:6-8, 19-28

Advent 3 / Year B

When I was in seminary, the first week of January was a thing unto itself.  On our third and final year, you took the General Ordination Exams.  The first year we were taught how to be lectors – a little class we referred to as “Read & Bleed.”  In our middle year we were schooled in the Sung Service; what we called “Rant & Chant.”  Thankfully, this class was pass/fail.  Show up every day for a week then turn in a cassette tape of yourself chanting and you pass.  When I got my tape back it had a post-it note attached to it by the professor.  It read simply, “You may want to practice more before you attempt to do this in public.”  Well, I have never practiced, nor have I ever led chanting in a service.

Here is a question rattling around in my head all week as I have pondered today’s gospel reading: How do you learn what you are not good at?  Put another way, how do you discover who you are not supposed to be?

One of the amazing things about John the Baptist is he knows who he is not.  The John the gospel writer tells us emphatically the Baptizer is not the light.  He is a witness to the light.  John himself says, “I am not the Messiah.”  When asked, he says, “I am not Elijah.”  “I am not a prophet.”  Was there a time when he considered he might be the Messiah or Elijah or a prophet?  Perhaps.  I wonder how he discerned who he wasn’t.  When asked, John famously states, “Among you stands one whom you do not know, the one who is coming after me; I am not worthy to untie the thong of his sandal.”  Rather than a statement about humility, this too is a revelation about identity.   

In Levitical law, if a husband dies before his wife gives birth to a son, the husband’s brother is required to marry her in order to sire a son who will carry on the original husband’s name.  The brother is referred to as the ‘kinsman-redeemer’ because he redeems his kin’s name from death.  Now, if the brother refuses to take on this role and another person wishes to do so, that person takes the brother to the public square and in the presence of the elders takes a sandal off the foot of the one who will not do his duty.  By so doing, the willing person announces he will function as the kinsman-redeemer.  So when John says he is not worthy to untie the sandal of the one who is to come, he is saying, “I am not the redeemer, he is.”

Over my tenure of serving as your rector, we have been blessed to have two wonderful Music Directors/Organists – Al Reese and Thom Robertson.  We have not always been as fortunate.  In 1952 we hired Leroy Gross to fill this position.  Often referred to in the Vestry record as “Prof. Gross,” it seems he had a hard time getting along with folks.  He could not hold to spending limits, is divorced by his wife for desertion, takes up residence in the Parish House’s kitchen, and generally makes a pest of himself.  At one point he is told in writing by the Senior Warden to confine himself to the Music Room and not to interfere with the operations of the general offices.  Let your imagination run wild as you ponder what was going on!  In 1956 he resigns his position and the Music Committee hires his replacement – a Mrs. Thomas.  She prepares the choir and is ready to lead the hymns on her first Sunday, only to discover Prof. Gross at the organ bench.  He decides on his own and unannounced to unresign!  Whatever you might want to say about ol’ Leroy, he certainly is not the model of knowing who you are and who you are not. 

It occurs to me the times I have been most ineffective have been when I asserted myself into roles for which I was not well-suited.  It also occurs to me from a very young age we begin to learn who we are largely by weeding out who we are not.  My college chaplain told the story about teaching in a religion class on the Temple’s sacrificial system when a student passed out.  After revived, he said whenever he sees blood or even thinks about it he feels faint.  Then he added he needed to overcome this problem because he wanted to be a surgeon.

When I entered into the search process which eventually led to your calling me here, I considered want kind of church would be best for me to serve.  Out of college I worked as a lay minister at a huge church with three clergy and multiple full-time employees.  The two churches I served at as an assistant had an average Sunday attendance hovering around 300 people.  The two churches I served as rector averaged around 100 folks on Sunday.  I was the only priest and the only full-time employee.  Experts refer to this as a Pastoral size church. 

Now, many clergy in my position would have been looking to “move up”, to seek a bigger parish and the supposed prestige which accompanies it.  I wondered how do I know I would be happy in such place.  What if I don’t like directing staff and clergy?  I discerned I liked working in a Pastoral size church and that I understood its needs and unique dynamics.  And the rest, as they, is history.  Accepting your call has been one of the best decisions of my life.

We often talk about discovering who we are supposed to be and what we are supposed to do.  Equally important, but often flying under the radar, is ascertaining who we are not and what we are not called to do.  Through his clarity of self and place John the Baptist models this for us.  And because he knows who he is not he is ideally suited to be the voice in the wilderness pointing to the Light.

Make Straight a Path

 

Mark 1:1-8

Advent 2 / Year B

Several years ago I spent a wonderful week vacationing at Canaan Valley in West Virginia.  Now there is no easy way get to anywhere in West Virginia, hence there is no easy way to get home.  On my return trip I decided to make my way to Seneca Rocks, which was a wonderful decision if you don’t mind driving on remote roads.  From there I headed south and found myself on a scary, winding, narrow, and at times dirt road before connecting with U.S. 250, which I could have driven all the way to Richmond if I opted to.  A United States highway will be smooth sailing, I reasoned.  I could not have been more wrong.

Getting on 250 in the Monongahela National Forest and heading east, it took me nearly three hours to drive approximately 90 miles to Staunton.  There were, to my recollection, seven step accents and seven step descents over ridge lines.  And each way up and each way down over all seven was cluttered with numerous switchbacks and hairpin turns.  One ridge would have made for a fun drive.  Two would have given me my fill.  But after seven I vowed never again to drive 250 in West Virginia.  When I finally got to Staunton I decided to get on I64 and from there it was an easy drive home.

I thought about that drive as I pondered the words of the prophet Isaiah which we heard read just moments ago:

“In the wilderness prepare the way of the Lord,
make straight in the desert a highway for our God.

Every valley shall be lifted up,
and every mountain and hill be made low;

the uneven ground shall become level,
and the rough places a plain.

Then the glory of the Lord shall be revealed,
and all people shall see it together,
for the mouth of the Lord has spoken.”

The people of Israel had lived in exile in Babylon for more than forty years, but change was on the horizon.  Soon they were going to be allowed to go home.  Isaiah’s call to make a straight, level, and smooth highway in the wilderness was a message of hope.  I was a call for the people to plan and prepare for a second Exodus.  And, it had a practical element to it: the path from Babylon to Jerusalem had been sparsely traveled for four decades and no doubt was in sad repair.  The journey was going to be arduous.

Five centuries later, John the Baptist quotes from Isaiah and draws on the call to prepare a way and to make straight a path but utilizes this in purely spiritual and personal terms.  John senses how the twists and turns of life, with its highs and lows, have left people feeling disoriented, uncertain, and lost.  For him, the way forward and the way to God had become much, much to difficult and the average person needed a way to be reoriented.

For John, this looked like calling people to repent.   The Greek word metanoia, which we translate as ‘repent’, literally means to stop in your tracks and turn around.  We might say “do a 180” or “make a U-turn”.  There is so much to distract us along our journey and our lives are going to be a mess until we decide to stop traveling in the wrong direction. 

John offered a way to ground one’s decision to repent… baptism in the River Jordon.  This provided people with spiritual strength to return to the way.  And getting on the right way is essential to prepare the way for the Lord, who wants to do something marvelous in and through you.  But for this to happen we need to stop and ponder what God desires from us.  The prophet Micah asked, “What does the Lord require of you?  His answer: “To act justly, love mercy, and to walk humbly with your God” (6/8).  If your life is not moving in this direction, then you need to repent.

I suspect for many of us the images of twists and turns and highs and lows (like driving in West Virginia) is more poignant than metanoia.  We are trying to do the right thing and to be the people God calls us to be, but there are so many obstacles in our way. 

We want there to be peace in the world, but other than prayer and perhaps a charitable contribution, there seems to be little we can do.  We want there to be civility in our society, but short of treating others with respect and limiting our exposure to the most reprehensible voices out there, again, there is little we can do.  We care about climate change, but other than being as responsible as we can be, we are powerless to make an impact on the bigger picture.  We want to live into the Baptismal Covenant’s promise to respect the dignity of every human being.  We can do our part, but sense in our world a rising disdain for ‘the other’. 

It occurs to me believing your witness does not make a difference is a distraction from which we need to make a metanoia.  And if one witness makes a difference, it gets doubled if another joins in.  Think what happens when an entire faith community commits itself to living into God’s dream for all people.  Add enough people and soon you have a movement and movements have the power to reshape the world, or, as Isaiah put it, “to reveal the glory of God.”

God calls us to make a straight way in the desert.  Advent is a season marked by hope and it comes at just the right time… when we are burdened by a spirit of despair.  Both Isaiah and John proclaimed a hopeful message and they call on us to change, to be expectant, to be ready, and to prepare the way of the Lord!

Marking Time with the Church Year

 

Mark 13:24-37

Advent 1 / Year B

One of the lead characters in Elizabeth Goudge’s novel The Dean’s Watch is a gentleman by the name of Isaac Peabody.  He is the town horologist – a clock and watchmaker who is one part tradesman, one part craftsman, and one part artisan.  Set in 19^th Century England, the novel gives the reader insight into an era when keeping time is cutting-edge technology.  Peabody makes weekly rounds to wind clocks and is constantly working repairs in his shop.  And the pieces he makes are a thing of beauty… as unique in their design and appearance as the individual they are intended to serve.  Every timepiece Peabody crafts is built to last.  With proper care he anticipates his clocks and watches will tell time accurately for generations to come.

From the beginning of time all living creatures have sought ways to mark time.  Do the geese migrating to the Eastern Shore or the salmon swimming the streams of the northwest know time, or do they merely respond to a deep, instinctual rhythm beating with the motion of the seasons?  Perhaps they do not choose how to mark time so much as they obey patterns the origins of which lies in God’s blueprint for life.

From the construction of Stonehenge at the dawn of civilization to today’s incredibly precise atomic clock human beings have conceived of ways to mark time.  This pursuit is more than a passing fancy.  Do you remember the Tom Hanks’ movie Castaway?  Do you remember how he traced the subtle movement of a ray of sunlight on the wall of a cave to mark the years he spent stranded on a deserted island?  The scene rings true because at an intuitive level we know the human need to manage existence by quantifying it into discernable rhythms of time.

We have a variety of ways to do this now.  There is the calendar, of course, with its days and months and years.  Linked closely to the calendar are the seasons.  But we also measure time through such diverse means as the workweek, the school year, and the programming schedule of TV and radio programs, to name just a few.  The choices are manifold, and it is ours to make. 

The Christian faith provides us a unique way to mark time.  We call it the church year, and today, the first Sunday of Advent, marks the beginning of a new year.  The focal point of the Christian measure of time is not the sun or a schedule of work, but rather the life of Jesus.  The seasons of the church year correspond with events which unfold during his life. 

In Advent we await his coming.  At Christmas we celebrate his birth.  During the season of Epiphany we remember how his divinity – his inner light – shown out for all to know and see.  On Ash Wednesday we confront our mortality and during the season of Lent we focus on the brokenness of our lives.  All of this leads us to Holy Week where we remember how, on the night before his death, Jesus creates a new community of love nourished by his presence in bread and wine.  On Good Friday we watch as Jesus carries our brokenness to the Cross.  On Easter Sunday we celebrate his resurrection and claim his promise that our own mortality and brokenness have been overcome.  On Pentecost we celebrate the gift of the Holy Spirit and during the weeks that follow we learn again what it means to be a follower of Christ in the world.

The church invites those of us who are so caught up in the marking of time to orient our pursuit by connecting with God… who exists beyond time… as God has been manifested in time in flesh and bone.  And while the story of Jesus does not change from year to year, we do.  We come to this Good News as new people; people whose experiences over the past year have changed us.  Perhaps we are older or wiser or richer.  Perhaps we are leaner or meaner or battered or bruised or broken.  Whatever has happened to us has opened us to hear God’s word and to receive God’s love in a new way.  Following the church year helps us to remember all of our life is in God; that nothing happens to us happens apart from God. 

During the Sundays of the coming weeks and months we will read primarily from Mark’s account of Jesus’ life.  These readings will invite us to link our story with his… to integrate all we are and all we do with who Jesus is and with how he lived his life.  As our lives continue to unfold Jesus’ words in Mark’s gospel will help us to make sense of what is happening to us and where life is taking us.  Invariably the story of our lives will thicken and we will look for strength and comfort in the midst of tension and struggle.  We will find the words we need in the words of Jesus.  And our stories will twist as unexpected events transform our lives for good or ill.   But through it all we will be encouraged to remain in God.

There are many ways we can mark time and how we mark time affects how we perceive the world around us.  Do you have to follow the church year to be a ‘good’ Christian?  Of course not!  It is not a requirement.  It is an invitation... an invitation to mark time by using the life of Jesus as your reference.  

The Sole Criteria

 

Matthew 25:31-46

Proper 29 / Year A

For the third Sunday in a row our gospel reading is a parable taken from the 25^th chapter of Matthew’s gospel.  Like the parables of the Ten Maidens and the Talents, today’s focuses on a final judgment.  Jesus tells these stories in Jerusalem just days before he will be arrested, tried, and crucified.  Either the disciples are getting smarter or Jesus is getting better at his story-telling, because, unlike so many of his early parables, this one requires no explanation.  It is as straightforward as it can be. 

Jesus is going to judge people on one basis and one basis alone.  He will not count how many times you came to church.  He will not quiz you for creedal orthodoxy.  He will not check to see if you are born again.  All Jesus will do is recall the times you gave him something to eat, to drink, or to wear.  He will recall when you welcomed him into your home, comforted him in sickness, or visited him in prison.  You don’t even have to know it is Jesus you did these things for.  Anytime you do it for anyone you do it for him. 

Notice who is being judged.  It is not the church or Jesus’ followers.  Jesus says “all the nations” will be gathered before the Son of Man and separated into two groups… those who did something for him and those who did not.  “All the nations.”  Any time we read a verse like John 14:6, “No one can come to the Father except through me”, the conversation always gets around to other religions and people of different faiths.  Will they be saved and will they be punished for not believing in Jesus?  Well, according to this parable the sole criteria used to judge every person regardless of faith or race or nationality is this: what did you do to help other people, especially the neediest and most vulnerable people in your society?  Were you generous, caring, and selfless or were you critical, hardened, and indifferent?

One of the things I wonder about this parable is Jesus’ grading scale.  If one time you give one cup of water to a thirsty person is this enough to get you into the sheep pen?  Or, conversely, if one time you fail to give a cup of water, will this get you rounded up with the goats?  Or, what if you do the right thing, but do it for the wrong reason?  Are you a sheep if you give food to the hungry but have disdain for them?  Are you a goat if you do the wrong thing for the right reason?  “Jesus, I didn’t give you $10 that one time because I thought you were going to use it to buy liquor.” 

I don’t know what the grading scale will be, but here is what I experience.  There are times I do the right thing because it is the right thing to do.  I do it because I need to do it in order to feel good about me.  And then there are times I do the right thing because I recognize the humanity of the person I am helping.  I see the person as a person and I recognize the person’s need and I see I have an opportunity rather than an obligation to help.  When I recognize the humanity of the other person and respond to it, I sense more acutely the Kingdom of God in my presence. 

The opposite is also true in my experience.  When I fail to recognize the humanity of another person, the world seems darker and more hellish.  C.S. Lewis thought hell is a place where one’s humanity is diminished.  N.T. Wright, the English bishop and theologian, envisions hell as the end of a process where one consistently choses to dehumanize what once was human.

The great challenge in life is to see in other people what God sees in them.  Our challenge is to love the other person as we believe God loves them.  The theologian Gustavo Gutierrez writes, “God is committed to the poor, not because the poor are good—but because God is good.”  Today’s parable reminds us a good God created us to be good to one another.

Ultimately, I believe those judged to be sheep receive their reward not because they reached an arbitrary percentage of helping others, but because during their life they cultivated a disposition to recognize the humanity of other people and to base their interactions on this.  This inclination nurtured in this life continues on to the next.  The goats are those who cultivate the opposite and consistently fail to recognize the humanity of others.  It is an inclination which continues into the life to come and they receive judgment not as punishment but, based on their life’s story, as a recognition heaven and all its ways is not a place they would enjoy.

On this final Sunday of the church year, we proclaim the Kingship of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ.  We affirm one day every knee will bow to him and all tongues praise his holy Name.  I tend to side with those who believe in a crowded heaven and an empty hell.  Many theologians hold to the theory of an empty hell because they believe in the end all people will respond to the call of a loving God who desires none should be lost.  We begin to open our hearts to God’s voice here and now and one way we do this is to recognize the humanity of every person we encounter and to respond to their most basic needs.

 

I Quit!

 

Matthew 25:13-30

Proper 28 / Year A

George Bernard Shaw said people are always blaming their circumstances for what they are, but the people who make it in this world are the people who get up and look for the circumstances they want, and if they can’t find them, they make them.  Whatever philosophy provided the inner drive for the servant given the one talent in today’s parable, this was not it.  He looks at his boss and says, “I am afraid.”  He looks at his gift and says, “I don’t know what to do.”  And he looks within and says, “I don’t believe in myself.”  Putting it all together, he simply says, “I give up.  I quit.”  And that pretty much is that. 

There are two in the story who receive a trust and use it well and there is one in the story who does nothing.  Two are invited to enter into joy; although, as any of us knows, when you use your gifts and talents in pursuit of your deepest, most meaningful passions and interests, you already are in the midst of joy.  And then there is one who is sent to a place of darkness where there is weeping and ‘much dental distress’; but all of us, who from time to time, have been given to inaction, lack of focus, or loss of purpose, know doing nothing with what you have is itself already a place gloom and despair.

As we approach the end of the liturgical year, as what the church calls ‘ordinary time’ draws to a close, the Scripture readings always take on the theme of last things.  Last week we heard about the maidens who waited for the delayed groom’s arrival.  Some take extra oil for their lamps while others do not.  Those who do not are caught unprepared and miss out on the celebration.  And now this week we hear of a master who entrusts generous portions of his estate to servants who are to oversee affairs while he is away.  When he returns the servants are called to account, “What did you do with what I gave to you?”  “I was afraid.  I didn’t know what to do.  I gave up on myself.  I did nothing.  I quit.”  Judgment comes swift and sure to such a person.

George Costanza, in a Seinfeld episode, once bellowed, “Yeah, I’m a great quitter: it’s one of the few things I do well… I come from a long line of quitters.  My father was a quitter, my grandfather was a quitter… I was raised to give up.”  Christian theology does not bred quitters.  It tells us not to fear God, but to trust God.  It tells us not to wait for directions, but to trust the Holy Spirit to guide our instincts and to direct the righteous desires of our hearts.  It tells us to believe in ourselves because we are made in the image of a creative and creating God.  It tells us not to give up and not to give in and to use all we have, be it a lot or a little, to the glory of God and for the benefit of all.

In the days of Jesus, a talent was equal to fifteen years of wages for a day laborer – something close to $200,000 by today’s minimum wage standard.  It is not chump-change and this is what the servant given the least received.  What would you do if someone entrusted you with $200,000?  This, the least amount, is still sizeable, isn’t it.  According to the theology of Jesus, the least among us has gifts and talents and resources which are more than abundant.  What are you doing with yours?  Something?  Anything?  Or have you given up on yourself and quit on what God has given you?

Maybe you say to yourself, “I am too old now to make a difference.”  Nonsense.  Maybe you say, “I am too young.”  Wrong.  Maybe your excuse is, “I don’t have enough education” or “I am not qualified.”  Well, get the education you need and get qualified.  God gives you everything you need to do good things.  Heck, God gives you the ability to do great things.  What is holding you back? 

I am proud of the members of our youth group.  They have identified food insecurity as a community issue they care about and want to address.  They are planning to build what will be called “Suffolk’s Lil’ Food Pantry” and place it on our parish property.  Functioning just like the Lending Library boxes, Lil’ Food Pantries are a national movement.  Our motto is going to be “Take What You Need.  Leave What You Can” and it is a perfect example of using the talents entrusted to you to make a real difference.

Elizabeth Kubler-Ross, who is famous for her work on grief, said, “People are like stained-glass windows.  They sparkle and shine when the sun is out, but when the darkness sets in, their true beauty is revealed only if there is a light from within.”  This inner light is the light of Christ.  It guides us when we are strong.  It sustains us when we are weak.  It speaks to us of God’s love when we are afraid of God.  It helps us to pick up ourselves, dust off ourselves, and keep trying when things don’t go our way.  It is the voice that says, “I believe in you.  Do not give up on yourself.  Do not quit.”

Will You be Ready to Shine?

 

Matthew 25:1-13

Proper 27 / Year A

As the end of the church year draws near our assigned readings from Scripture turn to last things; especially to the Lord’s return and the judgment which comes with it.  Today we hear the prophet Amos describe with dread the “day of the Lord.”  We read Paul’s words to the church in Thessalonica how the dead will rise and we will join them when Jesus appears.  And we hear Jesus tell a parable about a wedding feast and we know from experience someone is going to get left out or kicked out.

Jesus’ story has been labeled the Wise and Foolish Maidens and the Ten Bridesmaids, but the Greek word used in the story indicates they are ‘virgins’.  Given most young girls in that society married around the age of 13, it is likely these maidens are 11 or 12 years old.  The five who plan ahead and bring extra oil for their lamps are called ‘wise’, but this is a bit misleading because the Greek word is best translated as prudent.  The five who do not bring extra oil are called ‘foolish’, however this too is a questionable translation given the Greek word actually means moron, which is much harsher than foolish.

The moral scale from moron to prudent seems a bit skewed, doesn’t it.  It especially feels off given its binary nature.  These is no middle ground, no shades of gray, just two extremes.  All ten are waiting for the groom to return with his bride.  All ten expect to join the celebration.  All ten fall asleep when there is a delay.  The five with oil are not praised for their generosity because, in fact, they don’t share from their reserves.  They are not commended for their sense of community because, in fact, they do not offer to go with the girls who must forage for oil in the middle of the night.  The single thing they do to merit favor and blessing is to plan ahead.  And the only reason the other five are excluded is because they didn’t do the equivalent of packing an extra pair of socks. 

I spent a lot of time this week staring out my office window trying to make sense of this story.  I kept coming back to the oil.  What does it represent?  What is the thing we would be prudent to prepare for? 

Some commentators play up the parable’s allegorical nature by giving detail and meaning to every aspect of the story.  And for them, oil represents salvation.  If you are saved you will be admitted into the Kingdom of Heaven when Jesus returns.  If you’re not saved, you won’t.  For some, it is just this simple.  But it raises another question.  What does it mean to be saved?  All ten were waiting for Jesus.  All ten wanted to be with him.  All ten had oil, it is just that half were running low. 

At some point I began to think back to Amos’ words.  He tells people who look forward to the day of the Lord they will be completely taken aback by it.  Speaking for God he says… 

Is not the day of the Lord darkness, not light,
and gloom with no brightness in it?

I hate, I despise your festivals,
and I take no delight in your solemn assemblies.

Even though you offer me

your burnt offerings and grain offerings,
I will not accept them;

and the offerings of well-being

of your fatted animals
I will not look upon.

Take away from me the noise of your songs;
I will not listen to the melody of your harps.

God is completely disgusted with the Israelites and abhors their attempts at appeasement through acts of worship.  It sounds completely hopeless, doesn’t it.  But then Amos points the way forward:

But let justice roll down like waters,

  and righteousness like an everflowing stream.

What if this is the oil!  The oil allows a person to be a light in the darkness.  Earlier in Matthew’s gospel Jesus said, “No one lights a lamp and puts it under a basket, but on a lampstand so that it gives light to the whole house.  Let your light shine so people may see the good you do and give thanks to God.”  This, I think, is the point of the oil.  It is to continue ceaselessly to be a light, a force for justice, a source of righteousness. 

I also spent some time wondering who the young maidens represent.  Most commentators say the church, but this means some good and faithful people are going to have the door shut on them.  I suspect they represent everyone.  We are all asleep wait for God to act.  In truth, Jesus draws nigh all the time.  Opportunities to celebrate, to do justice, to act with righteousness abound.  So the question is, when these moments come, will you be ready to shine?

 

Matthew 22:34-46

Proper 25 / Year A

Somehow I hold to the belief beneath all that is dark and dreary and damaged in this world a fundamental goodness holds sway.  I suppose this is why I am so moved by something the Irish priest and poet John O’Donohue wrote in his book, To Bless the Space Between Us:

There is a kindness that dwells deep down in the structure of things; it presides everywhere, often in places we least expect.  The world can be harsh and negative, but if we remain generous and patient, kindness inevitably reveals itself.  Something deep in the human soul seems to depend on the presence of kindness; something instinctive in us expects it, and once we sense it we are able to trust and open ourselves.

I hear O’Donohue’s words as being a faint echo of Jesus’s thundering proclamation the greatest commandment is to love God and to love your neighbor as yourself. 

I have always imagined the idea of loving God with all my heart, soul, mind, and (as Luke records it) strength as being akin to spiritual weightlifting; in other words, if I can bench press 200 spiritual pounds today, then tomorrow I should try to press 205.  The day after I need to go for 210.  The process is never ending because the ultimate goal of perfect love toward God and neighbor can never be achieved.  All – as in all your heart, all your mind, all your soul, and all your strength.  All is a very daunting word, isn’t it.  It suggests observing this commandment involves effort and rigor and determination and dedication and… failure.

I began to wonder what if fulfilling the command to love involves not trying harder and harder, but rather letting go and listening and allowing yourself to be carried in God’s goodness which undergirds all things.  O’Donohue begins his book with this:

There is a quiet light that shines in every heart.  It draws no attention to itself, though it is always secretly there.  It is what illuminates our minds to see beauty, our desire to seek possibility, and our hearts to love life.  Without this subtle quickening our days would be empty and wearisome, and no horizon would ever awaken longing.  Our passion for life is quietly sustained from somewhere in us that is wedded to the energy and excitement of life.  This shy inner light is what enables us to recognize our very presence here as blessing.

Something in his words resonates with me and it hints that loving God heart, soul, mind, and strength has more to do with the shy inner light than it does with spiritual weightlifting.  If the creation is God’s work, and if God called it good, and if God is omnipresent (found in all times, places, and things), then being attentive to our quiet, inner light – the part of our hearts which allows us to connect with the richness of life – is at the heart of what it means to love God.  It suggests reveling in the beauty of a gorgeous fall day is an act of loving God more significant than something like, say, memorizing the books of the bible in order.

And it suggests loving our neighbors as ourselves is not so much an act of effort on our part, but something more akin to becoming open to the possibilities of kindness which exist all around us.  In a passage reminiscent of how Paul describes the gift of love, O’Donohue writes about the nature of kindness:

[It] has gracious eyes; it is not small-minded or competitive; it wants nothing back for itself.  Kindness strikes a resonance with the depths of your own heart; it also suggests that your vulnerability, though somehow exposed, is not taken advantage of; rather it has become an occasion for dignity and empathy.  Kindness casts a different light, that has the depth of color and patience to illuminate what is complex and rich in difference.

Just like the notion of pay it forward, kindness begets kindness and the blessing we off to another has a way of returning back to us as blessing.

We use the word ‘kind’ to signify two very different things.  It can mean “to do good rather than harm” or it can mean “a class, sort, or variety,” as in “my kind of people.”  It is closely related to the word ‘kin’ and ‘kindness’ itself is derived from the word ‘kinship.’  To be kind is to see another as kin and to show kindness is to treat a person like family.  When Jesus commands us to love our neighbor he is asking us to do far more than to be our kind.  He is, as O’Donohue puts it, directing us to “illuminate what is complex and rich in difference.”

So let’s start here.  Let’s start with the belief there is something inside us, something O’Donohue describes as a quiet inner light which is always responding to something God is doing in this world.  It responds to beauty, to desire, and to possibility.  It offers kindness and blessing.  Nurture this light and you will be well on your way to living into love for God and love for your neighbor.