Working the the Fields

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

My dear Keith,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

Work! Pray! Give!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…the Name of Love among Those Who Love Poorly

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nouwen went on to say,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why God Cannot be Found in a Mirror

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Outside In or Inside Out?

David Letterman has made famous the Top Ten List.  I don’t know who came up with this one, but here ten things ministers never hear in church, but wish they did:

10. Your sermon was so enthralling I didn’t even notice that it lasted 25 minutes.

9.   I got here early just to make sure I could find a place to park.

8.   I can play golf any other day of the week.  On Sundays I would much rather be in church.

7.   I’ve decided to give our church the $500 a month I used to send to TV evangelists.

6.   What do I have to do to become the teacher for the Junior High Sunday School class?

5. I say the diocesan minimum salary guidelines are nowhere near generous enough.

4.   Father, we’d like to send you to a seminar in the Bahamas.

3.   I just love it when we sing hymns I’ve never heard before!

2.   Since we’re all here, let’s start the service early.

1.   Hey!  It’s my turn to sit in the front pew.

Well, since we’re talking about things you don’t often hear in church, try this one on for size: Jesus really blew it in today’s gospel reading.  There are not many times when you can say that, but today is one of them.

Just before the reading begins, some religious leaders attack Jesus because his followers do not observe all the ancient rituals and traditions.  Specifically, they do not go through a ceremonial washing of hands prior to eating.  We hear in this morning’s reading how Jesus turns this attack into a time of teaching and challenge.  In a previous confrontation, Jesus said these religious leaders are like white-washed tombs – clean and tidy on the outside, but full of dead bones on the inside.  Here Jesus elaborates on this theme, saying that it is not what you eat that makes you unclean in God’s eyes, it’s what you say and do.  It is not your outward appearance that makes you holy, but rather inner transformation.  What God sees is not the outer description of who you are – gender, race, ethnicity, class, education, and the like – but the inner state of your heart and how that affects your actions.

Well, this teaching of Jesus is wonderful news for the crowds that follow him and not such good news for religious specialists who fall back on their training in, what those of us who participated in this summer’s survey of the first books of the bible learned to be, a very complex set of exacting rules and regulations regarding ceremonies and rituals.  Imagine how liberating it must have been to be freed from that and pointed toward a holiness grounded in actual ethical behavior rather than strict adherence to religious practices.

At least one person was listening to Jesus and becomes empowered by his words.  She is a mother whose daughter is “tormented by a demon.”  She is also a Canaanite, which means she was not born as one of the Chosen People of Israel.  We read this summer about how Judah (one of Jacob’s twelve sons) married a Canaanite woman and was somewhat shunned by the family as a result.  Such things simply were not done.  It was akin to marrying out of your station and class.  But this particular woman must have heard in Jesus’ words something that gave her hope he would treat her differently.  If a person’s heart is what really matters to God, then she reasoned the external differences could be be eclipsed.

So she approaches Jesus and asks for help.  What does he do?  Amazingly, at first, nothing.  He ignores her, but she keeps pressing for attention.  The disciples think her to be a problem and a pest and they try to persuade Jesus to do something, anything.  He responds to them, “I was sent only to the lost sheep of Israel.”  In other words, this is not a part of my mission.  Put starkly, he says she is not worthy of my time.  And yet still the woman persists.  She kneels in front of Jesus and begs, “Lord, help me.”  His response is harsh and it is shocking.  Looking down at the Canaanite woman, Jesus says, “It is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs.” 

How incredibly insulting is that!  Then as now, being called a dog is no compliment.  How can these words be spoken by the same person who just verses before said, “What comes out of the mouth proceeds from the heart, and this is what defiles”?  Through baptism we enter into a covenant with Jesus to respect the dignity of every human being.  This does not seem to be a good example of that, does it. 

Some scholars defend Jesus by suggesting he was merely testing the woman’s faith and resolve.  Others posit that he was engaging her in a kind of clever banter favored by teachers of that era.  Frankly, the cold, hard truth is that Jesus just plain blows it on this one.

The grace that is to be found in this story emanates not from Jesus, but from the woman’s gritty determination.  Had it been me, I would have sulked away after receiving such a dismissive put-down.  Perhaps some of you would have errupted with a steam of angry words and cursing.  The Canaanite woman does neither.  The writer Ambrose Robinson says, “Courage is not the absence of fear, but rather the judgment that something is more important than fear.”  For this woman, clearly the thing more important than the fear of further insult is her daughter’s overriding need and so she finds the courage to say, “Lord, even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their master’s table.”

For Jesus, this moment becomes a conversion story of sorts.  In an instance he perceives that his focus has been too narrow and too provincial.  His eyes are opened to the wider world around him and he perceives that his mission is to build faith and respond to it, whenever it appears, wherever it might be, in whomever it can be found.  Jesus marvels at the woman’s faith and grants her request immediately.

While there is much that we can say about this episode, this morning I am drawn to the woman’s secondary status in that society and her patient, persistent response to Jesus’ resistance.  It has something to say to the people of Ferguson, MO as they demand justice for the shooting death of Michael Brown.  It says there is a right way to persist and many that are wrong.  It also says it may take time and patience for peoples’ eyes to be opened so that a willingness to facilitate justice emerges.  Looting and rioting do not enable this.  But based on the way the Ferguson police have conducted themselves, something is amiss in this town.  Something has been simmering for a long time and hopefully the weight of public attention will demand that everything there be brought into the light.

The woman’s response also says something about what is transpiring in Iraq.  America, understandably exhausted by its long, protracted military involvement in the region, has been loathe to reengage in the current crisis.  But it is clear that the United States cannot turn a blind eye to the humanitarian crisis unfolding as a radical, Islamic group seeks to institute totalitarian rule through genocide. 

Perhaps the most difficult struggle we face in the face of these kinds of challenges is the temptation to become jaded; to shrug our shoulders, pull the covers up close to our faces, and say it has nothing to do with us.  Because today’s reading holds that even the dogs deserves the crumbs that fall from the master’s table, we Christians have an obligation to stand with all who are treated no better.

For me, at least, how we make our stand matters.  I thought about this when I read a quote falsely attributed to Kurt Vonnegut making the rounds on social media this past week: 

“Be soft.  Do not let the world make you hard.  Do not let pain make you hate.  Do not let bitterness steal you sweetness.  Take pride that even though the rest of the world may disagree, you still believe it to be a beautiful place.”

There is something in this that captures the essence of the Canaanite woman, don’t you think.  It is not enough to stand and fight.  You must stand in a place of hope and peace and faith grounded in a strong belief that the world is a beautiful place, knowing that no amount of ugliness will make you an ugly person.  After all, it is not what is on the outside affecting a person that makes him or her clean or unclean, it is what is on the inside that matters most.  We are not reactive people who respond in kind, but kind people who respond with God’s love that fills our hearts.  Others may choose to live outside in, but we are a people who live inside out.

 

 

Resentment

A magician worked on a cruise ship and because he had a different audience each week he could get away with doing the same tricks over and over and over.  There was one problem, however.  The ship’s captain owned a parrot and the parrot always watched the shows.  Eventually it figured out how the magician did all his tricks and during performances began to squawk out things like “Look, it’s not the same hat!”, “He’s hiding the flowers under the table”, and “the entire deck is made up of the ace of spades.”  Well, as you can imagine the magician was furious, but because the parrot belonged to the captain there was nothing he could do.  Then one day the ship hit an iceberg and sank.  As fate would have it, the magician and parrot found themselves alone together drifting on a piece of wood.  They stared at each other with hatred but did not utter a word.  This went on for an entire day and then another and then another.  On the fourth day adrift, the parrot broke down and said, “OK, I give up.  What did you do with the ship?”

There is little we enjoy more than seeing a know-it-all, self-promoting, glory-hogging, show-boating so-and-so get taken down a peg or two.  There is nothing quite as satisfying as witnessing the downfall of those who think they are better than the rest of us.  There is something deliciously tasty about the governor’s trial going on in Richmond.  Who doesn’t want to peak behind the ‘Ken and Barbie curtain’ in order to see the mess that was couple’s real life?  Most Cleveland Browns fans are praying that Johnny Manziel (their rookie quarterback) will be able to walk on water while the rest of the world will be tuning in in hopes that he sinks like a stone in some glorious fashion.

If you understand this sentiment than you have tapped into a dynamic woven into two of today’s readings from Scripture. 

First, there is Joseph, the youngest of twelve brothers and his father’s favorite.  He enjoys snitching on his siblings, telling them about dreams he has where they bow down to him, and parading around in a special coat his dad made for him.  By the time he tracks them to field where they are tending to the flock, the brothers have had enough of Joseph’s act.  At first they plan to kill him, but eventually decide to sell him to a caravan of traders.  If you put yourself in their shoes you would believe that Joseph got what was coming to him.

And then there is Peter, the rock on whom Jesus will build his church.  The twelve disciples are in a boat, struggling all night to make headway in a storm.  As morning approaches they look out over the water and see a ghost walking toward them.  They are terrified.  The figure shouts out to them, “It is me, Jesus.”  That is when Peter pushes himself once again into the limelight and says, “Lord, if it is you, command me to walk on the water with you.”  He steps out of the boat and onto the water, walking toward Jesus.  Only when he looks down and sees what he is doing does he begin to sink.  You have to think that the eleven disciples back in the boat were chuckling under their breath as they whispered to one another, “Who does he think he is?”

I suspect that when you boil it all down, the same emotion is driving both Joseph’s brothers and the eleven disciples: the emotion of resentment.  While guilt is anger directed at oneself, resentment is anger directed at another for something either they did or did not do.  Both groups resented the special treatment received by one of their members.  The brothers resented Joseph for lording it over them.  I suspect that the disciples resented Peter for taking center stage. 

Some resentments are justified, like when we are offended by a governor and his wife who misuse an elected position to feather their own nest.  Other resentments are not worth the time, like when we are upset by all the attention given to a star athlete who has yet to prove himself.  But all resentments are more destructive to the person who holds them than they are to person who inspires them.  Friedrich Nietzche said that nothing on earth consumes a person more quickly than the passion of resentment.  Alcoholics’ Anonymous teaches that holding on to resentment in order to hurt another person is like drinking poison in hopes that person will die.

Here is something we should recognize about Joseph’s brothers and the eleven disciples: ultimately, what they resent is the ‘success’ of another.  Joseph did not ask to be the favorite son.  That was his father’s decision.  He did not ask to rule over his brothers one day.  That will be God’s decision.  Peter did not ask to lead the church.  That was Jesus’ decision.  He was not showing off when he went out of the water, he just wanted to be close to his Lord. 

Do you know who Dave Winer is?  He has been called one of the 25 most influential people on the web and one of the 10 inventories of internet technology no one has heard of.   Winer developed RSS, which stands for “Real Simple Syndication”, the software behind blogging, podcasting, and much of today’s content distribution.   Back in the day he was a simple programmer doing mindless work as just one more interchangeable part of a long line of people writing code.  But he was able to see something in the web’s potential that others could not.  He wanted to open up its potential to everyone by freeing it from the control of billion dollar business like IBM, Microsoft, and Oracle.  He quit his job, formed his own software company, and then developed RSS.   Do you know what Dave Winer says should be written on his gravestone?  “Who does he think he is?”  He writes on his blog that you cannot begin to imagine the demeaning and condescending things people have said to him or about him on account of his success.  Resentment runs deep in his critics. 

I am convinced that each of us is born with a distinctive temperament and set of gifts that are God given.  Through baptism I believe we acknowledge the power of the Holy Spirit to activate these gifts for service in God’s kingdom for the welfare and benefit of all.  Each of us has a job to do.  Each of us has a role to play.  We don’t measure ourselves against others, rather we evaluate ourselves based on how God has equipped us and on what God has called us to do.  Think about Jesus’ parable of the talents.  What the person given five talents was able to do was not compared to the achievements of the person given ten.  The person with five talents was judged based on faithfulness, not volume or outcome.   So, if this is true (and I think it is), there is no place for resentment of the success of another.

After graduating from seminary I served as an assistant to two different rectors.  Let me just say that they were very different people.  One was threatened by the things I did well.  He became uneasy if I did something that earned the praise of others.  I have known narcissistic priests where everything had to be about them, but this person was not like that.  He was more neurotic where everything that happened around him caused him to question his own worth and value.  In that environment I found it very difficult to discover, develop, and use my gifts.  The other priest I served delighted in the gifts and achievements of his staff.  When one of us shined bright he beamed.  I have always appreciated his witness and way and have tried to emulate it as best I can. 

We are here, each one of us, to build up, not to tear down.  I love the imagery of the proper preface in the Eucharistic prayer that says, “through Jesus Christ…, in whom we are built up as living stones of a holy temple.”  It suggests that we each have a place and a part.  It says that each of our places and parts is determined by Jesus.  And it hints that we may need help from others to figure out exactly where that place is and exactly what that part is to be. 

Let me leave you with this quote from Henri Nouwen:

Did I offer peace today?  Did I bring a smile to someone’s face?  Did I say words of healing?  Did I let go of my anger and resentment?  Did I forgive?  Did I love?  These are the real questions.  I must trust that the little bit of love that I sow now will bear many fruits, here in this world and the life to come.