Tag Archives: contemplation

How do you let go?

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How long shall we cling?

I am reminded of winter these days as temperatures are falling, and so are the leaves. Well, most of them anyway.

It was wintertime last year while walking when I stopped in my tracks. I heard something I had not heard in months. And it sounded out of place amidst the quiet wintry solitude of frozen rivers, snow-laden trees and crunching snow under foot.

I heard leaves rustling in the winter wind. I looked up into the branches of a giant oak tree most of whose brown, dried leaves did not fall to the ground in October.

These leaves were still hanging on despite the fact they were basically dead. And despite the sub-zero temperatures and the wind-chill factor. They sure were clinging! Talk about stubborn! They had refused to surrender to the natural change of seasons.

I sometimes worry that by moving forward in my life with big, life-changing decisions, I will lose something important to me. And so I hang on to the present circumstance like a crutch. Better the devil you know, right?

The rich man thought he had it in the bag by “following all the rules” of his religion (Mark 10:20). His question — “What must I do to inherit eternal life?” (Mark 10:17) — was rhetorical. In a manipulative, self-congratulatory way, he approached Jesus — even kneeling before him. He had self-righteously fooled himself into believing he already knew the answer. The gospel writer doesn’t even assign the rich man a name, underscoring the fake, surface nature of the man’s presence.

But Jesus cuts through the crap, skims the fat off the top, and goes to the jugular! Indeed, “the word of God is living and active, sharper than any two-edged sword” (Hebrews 4:12). Jesus sees through the rich man’s pretense, and uncovers the real, authentic person beneath the surface. There he finds an enslaved heart, and brings to light the truth:

In order for the man to be liberated and set free, he has to surrender what owns him, what captivates and grips his soul: For him — it’s material possessions. For someone else, it might be different. But he has to learn, if he wants to grow, to let go and not hold on to those things that keep him stuck.

It is not in hanging on, but in letting go when faith makes sense. Faith, for Martin Luther, was more an attitude of trust and self-abandonment. He wrote, “Faith does not require information, knowledge and certainty, but a free surrender and a joyful bet on God’s unfelt, untried, and unknown goodness.”

This may seem impossible, even undesirable. We don’t want to let go of those things that have defined us for so long. Whether we are talking about buildings, or investments, or our image, our special collections of treasurers we keep in our homes — how can we do this?

Those leaves that were clinging on to the oak tree through the winter would eventually have to let go. Why? Because the new buds in Spring will push them off, whether or not they like it!

Will we wait until forces beyond our control compel us to let go? When a crisis happens? When we no longer have any choice but to yield to the inevitable?

But have we heard the promise of God, here? Because we’re not letting go of whatever we need to let go of into nothing. Our choice to release our grip isn’t a release into emptiness. In our letting go we are making a certain bet on God’s goodness.

There is comfort and hope here: For, in God’s economy nothing is lost. In some mysterious way, even though I feel like I have lost something dear when I let go, I can trust that someday God will use what I have lost and reconcile it to my life again.

The rich man went away grieving. I hope the story didn’t end there. I hope that after the rich man had some time to think about it, he would have returned to Jesus. That’s all.

That’s all we need to do: Turn to Jesus with an open and honest heart. Why wouldn’t we? You see, when Jesus told him to sell all, the scripture inserts the phrase that “Jesus loved him” (v21). Jesus loves us, first and foremost — and it’s not a fake love, it’s real! 

How is this possible, when obviously this man is missing the mark? How can Jesus love such a sinner?

Yet, when we turn our hearts to Christ, we discover that God accomplishes what we cannot, and what often comes as a surprise to us. I like the Scots Confession (1560) written shortly after Martin Luther’s death (1546): It says, “… God accepts our imperfect obedience as if it were perfect, and covers our works, which are defiled with many stains, with the righteousness of his Son.”

“For we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but we have one who in every respect has been tested as we are, yet without sin. Let us therefore approach the throne of grace with boldness, so that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need” (Hebrews 4:15-16).

God will complete the “good work” begun in each of us (Philippians 1:6) — that nothing good in our lives will ever be wasted, but will further the reign of Christ on earth. This means that those who do not have what I have will benefit from my “letting go”. And in so doing, I, too, will receive abundance from others — whatever I need.

All things are possible with God, even sticking a camel through the eye of a needle (Mark 10:25). We can’t conceive of God’s wonders. But it’s not about us. It’s about what God can do.

And God can do anything. Even bring justice and peace where it doesn’t exist now. Even feed the hungry, raise up the poor, humble the proud and mighty. Even overcome the greatest challenges we face.

So, I can be bold and let go even when it’s not easy — but important and necessary. And then watch and wait for the new thing that will sprout in Spring.

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On whom have I given up?

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“First of all, I urge that thanksgivings should be made for everyone (I Timothy 2:1)

Let’s face it. Even the most mature, enlightened and experienced of us need to confess: There are those we have given up on.

Mitt Romney may have given up on half the population in the United States. Unwise to admit, politically.

And yet haven’t we all, personally? That is, given up on those who annoy us to no end. On those who are different from us. On those whom we know we can’t change for the better. On those who appear to threaten our sense of security and stability. On those who are very near and dear to us who have fallen away from the faith. On those we pretend to have some measure of control or influence over, but who have rebelled against our wishes and desires. On the infirm, the elderly locked away in their homes or on the ward. Those in prison, incarcerated for committing some crime. On our political leaders. Have we given up on them?

Have you given up on that dream, a hope for your life? Have we given up on ourselves, tragically, when all options seem closed to us?

There’s a kind of resignation that comes with giving up. After having argued, reasoned, persuaded and tried oh so long and hard. After having endured tension and animosity for a long time. After trying so hard and so long.

Finally, enough is enough. We find ourselves at the end of our rope. I give up on them! I don’t want anything to do with them anymore. I don’t want to dream anymore!

Talking about politicians, I think it was Bill Clinton who said, “You become old when memories of the past outweigh your dreams for the future.” Have you given up?

And we turn to the scriptures to justify our resignation, where Jesus counseled his disciples in a specific situation to “shake the dust off your feet” (Mark 6:11); Jesus, who gave us words we use to rationalize not caring for the poor (Mark 14:7). We turn to Paul, who in another situation encouraged his followers not to associate with the ‘immoral’ (1 Corinthians 5:11).

Our anger, fear and anxiety lead us to insulate ourselves from others — creating fortresses and cocooning in places and routines that preserve our sense of self. As our world gets narrower and we dig ourselves deeper in the rut of isolation, our hearts harden and we fight harder to exclude others from our vision.

And then, surprise! We encounter the Gospel which states in no uncertain terms that in “God’s world there is no them and us. There is no them. Only us.” (@JamesMartinSJ)

In Paul’s first letter to Timothy Paul encourages Timothy to pray for all people, for God desires ALL people to be saved (1 Timothy 2:1,4). Not just our friends. Not just those who agree with us. Not just those with whom we get along and are just like us.

But those very people who annoy us. Those who are different from us. Those with whom we have little in common. Those who do not listen nor agree with us. Those who intimidate us. ALL people.

Maybe I need to keep praying for these folks, and not give up on them. Because God Almighty Maker of heaven and earth surely hasn’t. God has not given up on them.

Maybe what I need to give up, if anything, is the presumption that somehow it is I who is going to save them, change them and make them into the person I want them to be. Maybe what I need to give up is the belief that it is I who will manufacture the life I want to live.

Maybe my job is to keep hoping, keep praying, keep being the person God made me to be. Maybe my job is to persist in a gracious disposition to those I encounter in my day. Maybe my job is to take the risk to reach out in love — and leave the rest up to God. Maybe my job is to let the Christ in me see the Christ in you.

Yes, that’s my job. But it is not my job to ever, ever, give up on anyone — including myself. My dreams. And God. And the person who I can’t stand.

How can I do this, and maintain this sense of compassion for all?

Listen to this story entitled, “The Old Man and the Gulls”, written by Paul Aurandt (in ‘Paul Harvey’s The Rest of the Story’, quoted in ‘Heaven Bound Living’ Standard Publishing, 1989, p.79-80):

It is gratitude that prompted an old man to visit an old broken pier on the eastern seacoast of Florida. Every Friday night he would return, walking slowly and slightly stooped with a large bucket of shrimp. The sea gulls would flock to this old man, and he would feed them from his bucket.

Many years ago, in 1942, Captain Eddie Rickenbacker was on a mission in a B-17 to deliver an important message to General Douglas MacArthur in New Guinea. But there was an unexpected detour which would hurl Captain Eddie into the most harrowing adventure of his life.

Somewhere over the South Pacific their plane became lost beyond the reach of radio. Fuel ran dangerously low, so the men ditched the plane in the ocean…For nearly a month Captain Eddie and his companions would fight the water, and the weather, and the scorching sun. They spent many sleepless nights recoiling as giant sharks rammed their rafts. The largest raft was nine by five. The biggest shark…ten feet long.

But of all their enemies at sea, one proved most formidable: starvation. Eight days out, their rations were long gone or destroyed by the salt water. It would take a miracle to sustain them. And a miracle occurred. In Captain Eddie’s own words, “Cherry,” that was the B- 17 pilot, Captain William Cherry, “read the service that afternoon, and we finished with a prayer for deliverance and a hymn of praise. There was some talk, but it tapered off in the oppressive heat. With my hat pulled down over my eyes to keep out some of the glare, I dozed off.”

Now this is still Captain Rickenbacker talking…”Something landed on my head. I knew that it was a sea gull. I don’t know how I knew, I just knew. Everyone else knew too. No one said a word, but peering out from under my hat brim without moving my head, I could see the expression on their faces. They were staring at that gull. The gull meant food…if I could catch it.”

And the rest, as they say, is history. Captain Eddie caught the gull. Its flesh was eaten. Its intestines were used for bait to catch fish. The survivors were sustained and their hopes renewed because a lone sea gull, uncharacteristically hundreds of miles from land, offered itself as a sacrifice. You know that Captain Eddie made it.

And now you also know…that he never forgot. Because every Friday evening, about sunset…on a lonely stretch along the eastern Florida seacoast…you could see an old man walking…white-haired, bushy-eyebrowed, slightly bent. His bucket filled with shrimp was to feed the gulls…to thank and remember that one which, on a day long past, gave itself without a struggle…like manna in the wilderness.

This story is about ‘not giving up’ — on several levels. Not giving up on life — even in the midst of desperate circumstances. Not giving up on God — for before the sea gull was caught, the surviving men praised God, said their prayers and sung a hymn. Not giving up on hope, even when all seemed hopeless.

And, finally, not giving up on giving thanks. The persistence that trumps a ‘giving up on’ kind of attitude is giving thanks over the long term. Not-giving-up is born from an attitude of gratitude. Thanksgiving is grown in the heart, over the long haul. Captain Eddie Rickenbacker didn’t start living gratitude after his miraculous survival story; it was already being cultivated before it. It is about learning to see whatever good there is, even in the direst of situations — and giving thanks for any glimmer of grace therein.

I like the way Mary Jo Leddy in her book, “Radical Gratitude”, wrote about the gratitude expressed by the birds at the start of a new day; she writes:

“There is a moment each day when it is morning before it is morning. Darkness still hovers over the deep. Those who wait for the dawn can hear it even before they see it. At first there are only the slight sounds of attunement as a chorus of birds assembles: twits and trills, chirps and peeps, and even the occasional squawk. Slowly they gather into one great concerted song of supplication: Let it begin! Let us begin! May it begin again! They are of one accord. They do not take the dawn for granted. When it bursts upon them, once again, as on the first day of creation, they give thanks once again for this once only day, to begin. The birds know, as we sometimes do, that the light does not dawn because of our singing. We sing because the dawn appears as grace.”

Is there someone you’ve given up on? Is there a dream, a hope, for your life you are on the verge of ditching. Make a list. And then, sometimes this Thanksgiving weekend, go down that list slowly and give God thanks for each of the people you’ve named there. Give thanks for each of those dreams and hopes you have listed there.

And then pray that their hearts, as yours, will be opened to receive the grace, love and light of God. And God will give you your heart’s desire (Psalms 20:4 & 37:4).

Amen.

Prayer is a subversive public act

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When I compare popular notions of prayer today with the original purpose and description of prayer in the Christian tradition, I see a great divide. Popular understandings of prayer suggest it is private, that it is done as a means to cure a disease, and that its public face is often divisive.

Let me clarify some of the basic biblical understandings of prayer. I base my commentary on the letter of James (5:13-16) in the Bible, since it is one of the texts which will be read in many mainline churches this Sunday.

I find that the biblical witness debunks prayer as a private act, prayer for the sole purpose of curing medical diseases, and prayer as a divisive tool in a multiple-voice culture. Practiced as fundamentally a public act whose unifying purpose is wholeness and restored relationships, prayer as such counters popular notions and is therefore a subversive practice.

First, prayer is fundamentally public. Time in prayer is not “my time”. Prayer is not exercised in some other-worldly state that separates one from social reality and relationships. Prayer is not, according to some spiritual mythology, done in some sequestered, secluded and isolationist context. Prayer is not withdrawal from reality in order to satisfy some escapist, narcissistic compulsions so evident in the pathology of our contemporary culture.

In James’ commentary, vivid images of prayer involving the “laying on of hands” and the “anointing of oil” makes  prayer a visceral act that invades the space of individuals, one to another. Prayer is inherently relational. It gets down and dirty in the bodily reality of our lives, one with another. It is about touch. Prayer is “our time”, and for the sake of the “other”.

Another scripture that will be read alongside James this Sunday is from the Gospel of Mark (9:38-39). Powerful, effective deeds are done “in the name of Jesus”. When we call on the name of the Lord, we are entering a power and reality that is beyond us. Everything we do as Christians is for and about the “other”. Prayer leads us beyond exclusive concern about our own individual lives; it draws us out of ourselves and into the needs and realities facing other people.

We can pray by ourselves, to be sure. But the power of prayer, which is clearly evident in the casting out of demons from the Gospel, is seen most clearly when it is communally, not privately, done, when it is done in the name of Another besides ourselves, when it is done together.

Which leads to the second aspect of prayer, addressing our understanding of healing. And here we have to be honest about our modern approach to illness and its cure. I don’t, for a moment, doubt God’s ability to cure our diseases, especially when offered in a prayer of faith. God is able in God’s freedom to cure anyone. And we’ve all heard, I suspect, of such miraculous healings. Certainly, the Scriptures reveal such astounding events.

And yet, the biblical witness shies away from making this God’s central way of healing. For one thing, after many of such cures that Jesus performs he often instructs those whom he cures to be silent and not tell anyone. And, while affirming that the “weary will be restored” (James 5:15), the kind of healing God is about does not emerge from a modern, Western, understanding of illness and healing. The kind of healing James is talking about is substantially more than merely prescribing antibiotics or applying scientific medical knowledge to a ‘problem’.

The restoration of which James speaks assumes a relationship between sin and sickness. It is a redemption that only God can accomplish incorporating all that we are. This holistic approach to healing involves our social illnesses as much as our internal chemical imbalances; it has as much to do with our spiritual and psychological health as it has our physiological and corporeal brokenness.

In the Mediterranean culture out of which Jesus and the biblical witness came, healing of broken and ailing bodies is not so much about fighting invading microbes, but of restoring community and social relationships so that people could live the good life intended by God. (John Pilch, “Healing in the New Testament”, Fortress Press, 2000).

This means that should one seek healing today, especially within the church, the way of healing must include awareness of and action toward restoring broken relationships — the relationship between the individual and her/himself, the relationship between the individual and others, the relationship between the individual and the earth, and the relationship between the individual and God — to name but a few of some basic relationships.

When appreciated in the context of the whole web of life on earth, prayer is a powerful and effective force in realizing the healing of our lives, diverse as we are. Prayer is mindful action toward bringing together that which has been divided.

Therefore, prayer functions as a unifying force. Often in our society prayer is used as a weapon to take a stand over against other Christians, a secular culture, or another religion. The fights over public school prayers, for example, give prayer a bad name. For one thing, it betrays a misunderstanding of the diverse yet unifying truth about our connection with God and others.

Prayer is not divisive, though it is diverse in form. There are various, legitimate forms of prayer: We offer verbal petitions in our devotions, in liturgical orders of worship, the Eucharist — these are some traditional forms. But meditation, walking prayers, art, music and even social action can also be a prayer. Any activity, for that matter, entered mindful of God’s abiding presence (i.e. done “in the name of Jesus”) are also forms of prayer often overlooked and undervalued.

The Book of James begins with an address to those who are “dispersed” (1:1). James continues his letter to address the divisive consequences of an “unbridled tongue” (3:6ff) and considers the reasons for the “conflicts and disputes” among the people (4). James’ letter is about divisiveness, disconnection and the splintering of our lives.

It is very suiting, and I believe not without purpose and inspired intention, that James ends his letter in chapter 5 with an appeal to prayer. And not only because prayer is the one activity among diverse Christians that we share. But in recognizing the diversity of form prayer takes, we can affirm the unity we share in Christ Jesus, in our prayerful living.

Thus, a book that begins with division ends with blessings promised those who restore another “wandering” sinner within the community of faith (5:20). Some remark that this is a rather abrupt ending to the letter. But with good purpose.

Because the abrupt ending can remind us that though the world today is still full of sin and death and those who wander, Christians, through prayer, continue “to engage the world in hope for a time when what has splintered can be reunited.” (p.114, “Feasting on the Word” Year B Volume 4)

Listen to your children praying

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Some of you have heard my incessant grumbling over the last couple of weeks that, “I need to get my hair cut.” You have given me good advice about the various places in town where I could receive a decent haircut. Even though three weeks ago I could have had it done, I’ve put it off. And off. And off.

And I wonder how commonly and naturally this condition plagues us, in general, on many levels: A project at home we know is good and important but we’re distracted and too busy with our regular routines to get it done; When we put off reaching out to so-and-so but never get around to it; When we put off sending that “thank you” card or making that phone call; When we put off engaging a new and healthy discipline — prayer, exercise, a regular visit to volunteer at the local shelter or food bank; etc. Whatever it is, procrastinating seems to be a universal problem.

What is the result? Well, I’ve found one of my initial emotional reactions is guilt. I beat myself up over the delay. And should I recommit myself to the task, often fear is the motivation. Because I remind myself of the consequences — and I don’t want to go there.

Just consider for a moment the weighty topic of the end times or the final judgment. There’s nothing like striking fear in our hearts to push us to try harder, right? Indeed, this is the final characteristic of the cycle: First guilt, with underlying fear, motivating us to try even harder.

But where does that leave us? Back at the beginning, because do we ever get done all that we want to get done? Do we ever achieve the goals of the perfect kind of world we are trying so hard to create for ourselves and for others? Someone once admonished me for my over-zealousness: “Remember, Martin, your inbox will still be full on the day you die.” Is just “try harder” the solution?

What to do, then, when we find ourselves mired in the mud, stuck in the rut, of despair and disillusionment?

I heard the story this week of an Anglican priest’s young child who declared that he didn’t want anymore to be a sheep in the church’s Christmas pageant. Even though the Sunday School teacher had slotted him to be a sheep, he protested.

“Why don’t you want to be a sheep, little darling?” the teacher asked. “The shepherd will take care of the sheep, and we are all like sheep.”

“I want to be a shepherd,” declared the young boy. Adamant.

“Why is that?”

“Because the shepherds were the only ones who heard the angels sing.”

What that child exposed was truth and wisdom that I hope the Sunday School teacher heard. The shepherds were indeed the only ones who heard the angels sing. And they were the first evangelists in Christianity — those lowly shepherds. They got it right.

Do we hear the angels sing? Do we listen to our children? Do we pay attention to the lowly in our society? Maybe we should. They often get it right.

In ancient times — out of which the bible was written, and famous passages of Jesus welcoming the children into his arms were told — adults considered children no more than chattel. They were economic units, bred and raised and tolerated only so they could become useful when they grew up.

Stoic philosophers, who influenced the thinking of many in Jesus’ day, taught that in children under seven years of age, reason was not active. So, you could treat them like young animals to be trained, rather than like human beings to be guided in a learning process.

Consequently, adults would not listen to or learn from children. Animal trainers do not look for significant insights from those they train. They give commands, observe behaviour, and hand out rewards or punishment (see pages 21ff in Catherine Stonehouse & Scottie May, “Listening to Children on the Spiritual Journey”, Baker Academic, Michigan, 2010).

Notice in the Gospel reading today how even from the original Greek ‘the child’ is translated into an inhumane “it”, not once but twice in verse 36 (Mark 9): “Then he took a little child and put it among them; and taking it in his arms…” In the ancient world you gained social capital as you got older. Kids weren’t even cute; they were a drain on the family budget.

Jesus begins his ministry by declaring that the Reign of Christ has come (Mark 1:15; Matthew 4:17). And then he astonishes everyone when he says that to enter God’s kingdom we need to become as children.

Talk about turning the tables on society and cultural norms! Suddenly the poor and weak and the vulnerable have something to say. And the rich and powerful need to listen to the poor! To the children! Because children are not marginal members of the kingdom of God, just tagging along with their parents, waiting to grow up and become real members. No, children are models in the kingdom of God, showing adults how to enter.

In a famous hymn we sing, “Lord, listen to your children praying.” Perhaps the Lord will listen when we — the privileged and mighty, by the world’s standards — start listening to the children ourselves.

I also heard this week about the plight of child labourers. We pride ourselves, you know, in saying that our modern society has advanced and evolved to the point where we don’t treat our children like animals anymore. Look again.

You know all those balls we buy in our stores — footballs, soccer balls? Well the majority of those balls today are still stitched by young children in developing countries. They get paid only 33 cents a day in Pakistan, for example, and work twelve hours a day there. They are forced into this labour by parents who so desperately need the money.

But as a result, they don’t go to school to learn how to read and write. And because their bodies are developing so rapidly at that young age, many of their hands become crippled from the repetative stitching by the time they are in their late teens. Consequently they are unable to secure gainful employment when they are older on account of their mal-formed hands and lack of education. So, they resort to prostitution, drugs and social violence.

Is there work to be done here? Darn right! When we talk about the evils of this world — what about the children and their plight caused by powerful global, economic and social systems that enable this injustice? What are we going to do about that?

And yet, after we express our moral indignation, is this another ‘good deed’ we’ll put on the shelf of good intention? About which we end up procrastinating, feeling guilty, and finding refuge in getting ourselves busy because we are scared about judgment?

Not that doing little things won’t help. Not that becoming socially active for some worthy cause won’t do some good. It will.

But do the children have anything to teach us? How do we prepare for the work that will bear fruit, in the end?

I began this sermon by describing a negative cycle with which we are familiar, even and perhaps especially, in North American Christianity. We read passages from the Bible like we sung today — Psalm 1 — and instinctively we zero in on the images of destruction of the unrighteous. With fear and trepidation we secretly hope we are not one of “those” people (you can fill in the blanks from the news this past week); and then we berate ourselves with guilt into “trying harder”.

And often we spin our wheels in anxious activity, ending in disillusionment and despair.

There is another way — a biblical way, by the way.

In the lectionary study this past week we talked about the image of the tree planted by streams of water bearing fruit in its season. But the tree didn’t choose to be by the river. The tree didn’t pick itself up, carry itself to where a river was flowing and plant its roots by it.

This image is not prescriptive, it’s descriptive. It describes the life of those who are, before they do anything, aware of where their true life is sourced, despite their circumstance. And, moreover, aware of the seasonal aspect of their activity. It’s not always, round the clock, 24-7, about doing good and being busy. There are some seasons of life during which dormancy, quiet, stillness, are not only a good idea and desirable. But necessary.

My mother told me a theological and living truth this week when we were discussing judgment day and the end times: For those who live in Christ, judgment day will be a wonderful experience. Judgment day will not be scary and frightening for those who are in Christ. She cited that well-known saying from Martin Luther: “If I knew judgment day was coming tomorrow, I’d go out today to plant an apple tree.”

Listen to the words of the biblical writer, Paul: “There is therefore now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus. For the law of the Spirit of life in Christ Jesus has set you free from the law of sin and of death” (Romans 8:1-2).

We don’t need to try hard to become like children. Because what’s one characteristic of children? — They don’t try to be anything or anyone other then themselves.

Our good deeds and good intentions will bear fruit in due season when we approach the end with joy not driven compulsion, with ease not by trying harder, with hope not guilt, with trust not fear, with gratitude not demands.

Amber (age eleven) explained: “God is my special person because I can talk to him anywhere. I can just speak to him in my mind … in the middle of class … on a race … sitting right here, just thinking, ’cause he can read my mind … So I don’t actually have to say a prayer out loud … sit down, close my eyes, and fold my hands. I can pray right now as I’m talking, and that’s one way he’s my special person.”

Although in her school public prayer was not allowed, Amber discovered that no one could deprive her of talking to her special person.

Lord, listen to your children praying. Lord let us listen to your children praying.

Amen.

Hosting a family reunion

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It may come as a bit of a surprise for you to hear that one of the most important reasons you are here today is to be a good host.

Almost every Christian I encounter — when the conversation goes deeper — touches on concerns about the demise and downsizing of the institutional church. And everyone, it seems, has an opinion about why it is so.

Most of those opinions are rather negative; that is, pointing to something that is deemed “wrong” with the way things are going in the church today. And if only the church did things the way it used to half a century ago, or like the “other guys and gals” down the street do it — well, then, everything would be hunky-Dorry and the church will grow again.

These negative reasons usually presume what needs to change is anything and anyone besides the person giving the “negative” opinion. We may have presumed that the reason I or you are here today is to ‘get something out of’ the experience of worship; so, we are here predominantly to be spectators in the entertainment business.

“But take care and watch yourselves closely,” directs the Deuteronomist from our first lesson for today (Deuteronomy 4:9). Maturity and spiritual growth begin from a healthy self-awareness, not the blame-game to which we more naturally and easily revert.

So for me to stand here and suggest that you are not here to be entertained; and my job is not to do the entertaining, but to encourage you to be good hosts to others, may come at you sideways!

Let me give you some recent examples:

I am grateful for my aunt and uncle for giving the whole lot of us a place and space within which to meet, in Wasaga Beach last month for our family reunion. What stands out for me was their quiet, non-intrusive, relaxed manner of their hosting.

Fundamentally they were gracious, accepting. And this affected the way I felt about myself, regardless of my self-conscious preoccupations. They simply allowed the family reunion to happen. They allowed everyone who came to make of the experience what they brought to it themselves.

The hosts didn’t impose their own agenda; the structure of the day was simple and accepted by all: we gather at noon for the meal; then for those who want, can go to the beach — and several of the younger generation usually go to spend the afternoon there together; and by the late afternoon before anyone is allowed to leave Wasaga Beach we get the family photos done.

The order of service, so to speak, allows for give and take, and everyone engages it together. My aunt and uncle, whose house upon which we descend, make sure the basic things are available for the meal; but everyone brings something and they simply stay in the background helping everyone with their needs. There’s a feeling of mutuality that pervades the experience; it’s not just about the hosts and what they can do for everyone else.

Then, a week later, when Jessica and I enjoyed a couple of days at Chateau Montebello (a parting gift from Zion Pembroke), I witnessed again something good from good hosts. Even though the Chateau was brimming with families and couples and all manner of people — there was even a wedding on site during the weekend — I watched the staff, from cooks to servers, to room cleaners, to receptionists, waiters, tour guides — there were many.

In fact, that’s the first thing I noticed about my hosts — there were many workers there; almost every time I turned around, another staff member was there … to answer my question, to guide me where I wanted to go, to attend to my need. They didn’t tell me what to do; they were there to help me — and make me feel welcome, accepted. They were there to give the space for me to be who I was and wanted to do in leisure and play.

And I wonder: What if the church behaved like this to newcomers, visitors, others who may be crossing the threshold of our church for the first time? What if we, each and everyone of us, allowed our guests to find their own stride with God, to express the mission of God from the giftedness that each of us bear, in Christ Jesus?

We are hosts, all of us. And in the end, it’s not about us. It’s about God’s mission, God’s love, God’s desire for all people.

And this outward stance to others begins inside of us. As I stressed last week, what goes on on the inside of us ends up on the outside. What we believe on the inside gets expressed, eventually, in our behavior, our attitudes, our decisions and way we are with others.

Let’s for a moment consider why it is we may have a hard time conceiving ourselves as good hosts. Perhaps a better question would be, simply: what do you believe? When we are honest about what we really believe, when we confess the truth about us, then we can grow into our identity as hosts.

Michael Harvey in @UnlockingtheGrowth makes the point that Christians are supposed to “see what we believe”. This is the basis for faithful living; we are ready to receive the power of God’s presence and purpose in our lives when faith is already active.

But normally, it’s the other way around, isn’t it? We will  rather believe what we see — we say, “I’ll believe it when I see it”. But, let’s be honest — that’s not belief; that’s not faith. Belief and faith are interior qualities that precede action, attitude and behavior.

The reading from James today (James 1:17-27) points to the discrepancy between our actions and what comes out of our mouths: “If any think they are religious” but then say and act in ways that are not — then what does that reveal about what they really believe deep down? Not to mention bring condemnation upon themselves. Our faith and what precedes does not depend on our circumstances. We see and therefore act from what is beyond the apparent, the visible, the material reality in which we find ourselves.

In the Gospel for today (Mark 7:1-8,14-15,21-23), Jesus’ teaching validates this relationship between what goes on in the heart and what comes out in our behavior, words and actions: “For it is from within, from the human heart, that evil intentions come.”

Not only what is evil, but what is good as well; because — back to the Deuteronomist (4:6) — our obedience to God will also show “your wisdom and discernment to the peoples”. And from the Psalm: “My heart is stirring with a noble song” (45:1).

If we believe that we’re not good enough, that we have nothing valuable to share with others, that church is about me and what I want out of it — well, then, you can imagine: We wouldn’t be good hosts, would we?

But if on the inside we believe that God loves everyone, even those who are not familiar with church life; if we believe we are precious in God’s sight, that we have remarkable gifts to share with the world, that we have something valuable in faith and that each person who walks in this door is “fearfully and wonderfully made” (Psalm 139) — then we WILL see what we believe, won’t we? We will be very good hosts.

God creates this new family in the kingdom of God to which we belong, in which we find our homes. And God invites us all, not because of what we look like on the outside, but because of what God sees on the inside of us. God sees a beauty beyond words.

And upon this gracious conviction, we will see growth and transformation in our lives, and in the life of the church. We will see so much value in what we are all about here that we will learn to invite others to share in the experience of God.

Prayers among the people – Pentecost +13B

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13th Sunday after Pentecost; Year B

With reverence for the whole human family and all of creation, let us offer our prayers to God, saying “Let us pray,” and responding, “Have mercy, O God.”

For the family of God in the church, that you empower our inner lives and renew our minds, so that we may act boldly to invite others to church; and that we may trust the work of your Spirit in all that is good in our action. Let us pray … /R

For the family of God among nations’ leaders, that your Word gives life to those who are mal-treated and victimized by greed and self-serving leadership. We pray for those families affected by the gun-violence in the United States – in Chicago, New York and Colorado, recently. We pray also for justice, peace and restoration in Syria. Let us pray… /R

For the family of God in all of creation – the sparrows, swallows and birds of flight – that they may find home in safe and clean environments. We pray for the families affected by the oil refinery explosion in Venezuela yesterday. We pray also for those affected by the devastating earthquakes in Iran a few weeks ago, that lives and communities may be restored and needed help offered by those who have much. Let us pray … /R

For the family of God in our local congregation, especially parents and students travelling together to colleges and universities this week, that heartfelt farewell is expressed and new beginnings and empty-nesting be embraced. Let us pray … /R

For those in the family of God hurting, ill, distressed and despairing, that you deliver all in trouble, affliction, danger, or need; especially we pray for ….and those we name in the silence of our hearts or out loud……. May they be rooted and grounded in your love. Let us pray …/R

Receive our hopes and prayers, O God of mercy. Because we are a church that belongs to Christ Jesus our Lord, we all find a place in your home and at your table. Great is your faithfulness, in Christ Jesus our Lord. Amen. 

Cold sores and family

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A highlight for me this summer was the family reunion at Wasaga Beach. We had been unable to attend this annual reunion the last few years, so it was a while since I had last connected with many people on my spouse’s side of the family. And as is consistent with my personality style, I was worried about making a good impression.

God has a funny way of challenging us where we need to be challenged. Because at about the time we decided to attend (which was a last minute thing on account of our recent move), I woke up with a big, festering cold sore on my lip.

Now, I had not had a cold sore for the last several years. It had also been a while since I knew what a cold sore was all about: irritating, itchy, never letting you forget it’s there (for a fleeting moment I wondered whether family reunions and cold sores had something in common!).

The cold sore has about a ten-day cycle, from initial growth to its drying, scabby end. I was to hit the high point of visible grossness the day of reunion. Everyone with whom I would have a conversation would have to be blind not to see the bulbess thing hanging from my lip. What would they say to me? (“Aahh, Martin, wipe your mouth man! Too much salsa for lunch?”) How would I respond? (“Awwh shucks, it’s nothing, really”) What would my extended in-law family think of the man their wonderful daughter had married?

As it turned out, God also has a funny way of reminding us of what is true, what is good, and what speaks of God’s love for us all. You see, my obsessive preoccupation with how I looked turned my conciousness away from others and the whole meaning of the event. Martin Luther defined sin as “being turned in on oneself”. I guess I was sinning: I was preoccupied with myself.

And yet, by the end of the day and contrary to my initial expectations, I felt accepted, loved and part of a family. No one drew attention to the cold sore; it was a non-issue. They were just happy to see me and my famly there! “It’s been too long!” That was the main thing: being together at the reunion. I felt like the Psalmist who expressed: “Even the sparrow finds a home, and the swallow a nest for herself where she may lay her young” (Psalm 84:3).

According to the Psalmist, it was the relatively insignificant, common, plain-looking, rather small sparrows who found a home among the rafters and ceiling crevaces in the tabernacle. It wasn’t the eagles, hawks, larger birds with colourful, attractive plumage.

What does this image suggest about who finds ‘home’ in God’s presence? The great? The mighty? The successful? The seemingly perfect? The beautiful?

By the end of the reunion day, I had almost forgotten about my cold sore because I was more focused on this collection of diverse people who found there way to Wasaga Beach on a sunny, August day: There were some fifteen youth and children under the age of twenty in addition to some twenty adults and seniors. And this collection of people spanned the whole socio-political spectrum and North American continent …. You get the picture.

Immersed in this blessed diversity I forgot about myself, because it wasn’t about me to begin with. This reunion was bigger than the sum of its individual parts. There was something more going on here.

The basis of our unity was not the visible aspects of our togetherness, otherwise we would all look the same! The basis of our unity was something we shared on the inside that was manifested on the outside. And what is true on the inside of our lives gets expressed on the outside by way of attitude, by way of our beliefs, by way of the nature of how we relate to one another.

“As it is on the inside, so shall it be on the outside,” as Michael Harvey explains (@Unlockingthegrowth). While mortals look on the outside, the Lord looks upon the heart (1 Samuel 16:7).

Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven. This notion from the Lord’s Prayer suggests that heaven (the invisible, interior reality) leads to a corresponding visible reality on earth. Like in the Holy Eucharist, Baptism — any Sacrament — an inner truth reflected exteriorly, in water, bread, cup, meal.

Over the past month we have heard scriptures from the sixth chapter of the Gospel of John reflect on Jesus as the “bread of life”. We conclude today this teaching of Jesus from the synagogue in Capernaum. And the disciples, it is reported, had difficulty with it (John 6:56-69).

Admitedly, I think for us, too, it is much easier to deal with external, material reality: we can touch, taste, manage, something on the outside of us. It is easier to make judgement on a crooked picture frame hanging on your wall; but to reflect on why that particular picture is there in the first place and who painted it, for example, takes much more work that often, quite frankly, we’re not up for.

To approach the inner realm of our lives can be dumbfounding, intimidating, overwhelming a prospect. And so we avoid this work and get ourselves immersed in unreflected, unexamined action and busyness. Because that’s easier.

Yet Jesus emphasizes the truth of the inner life giving reason and substance to the outer life. In his words, “It is the spirit that gives life; [without the spirit] the flesh is useless.” (John 6:63). The beginning points of all meaningful and effective action are prayer, contemplation, reflection, engagement with our inner lives in relationship with God and others. The spirit gives life.

And this is how to understand that more famous text from Ephesians 6 about putting on the armour of God. We put on the belt of truth, the breastplate of righteousness, the shoes proclaiming the gospel of peace, the shield of faith and helmet of salvation and sword of the spirit, NOT in an aggressive, confrontational, external stance against enemies of the flesh. “For our struggle is not against enemies of blood and flesh, but … against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly places” (Ephesians 6:12). Again, the beginning point of faith is in the internal, invisible reality of our lives.

That is not to say that sometimes when we don’t feel inside any stirrings of the spirit, we ought not do anything. Sometimes the reverse is true: we need to engage in right action despite our feelings or what might or might not be going on interiorily; our external action, then, may affect positively what is going on inside us. After all, Jesus doesn’t exclude one or the other: “The words that I have spoken to you are spirit AND life” — internal AND external are both vital, to hold in balance. Not either/or, but both/and.

As I said, the exterior reality that reflects the inner truth is that of attitude, and the quality of our relationships. And, more to the point, this attitude is pointed to the quality of our relationships with those whom we invite to church and those to whom we are strangers and happen to cross the threshold of our church.

These people, too, are part of God’s creation, loved and cherished. Every person on the planet can claim the passage from the Psalms: “I am fearfully and wonderfully made” (Psalm 139:14). And therefore they are among us for a divine purpose.

More Christians are raising concern about equating the church with ‘family’ – presuming the analogy refers to a traditional father-mother-children unit. For being exclusively defined as such, I agree with their objections. Because the family of God is so much more.

It is not our job to judge their status in the family. It is our job to invite them. To be an invitational church. That family reunion at Wasaga Beach happened because an invitation to come went out. I am grateful for that invitation.

Because we are a church that belongs to Jesus Christ, there is a place for you and everyone else here. “You did not choose me,” Jesus says, “But I chose you …” (John 15:16).

Christ’s invitation is about joining in God’s mission. And this mission is not just the purvue of the rich, the famous, the successful, the educated, those who have unblemished bodies, those who have been a part of the church forever — but to all, including you and me. Because God made us, “wonderfully”, from the inside out.

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What don’t you see?

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Implicit, Covert, Subversive — Adjectives you might not initially associate with Christianity.

But look again. What do you see? And perhaps the better question is, What DON’T you see? Because authenticity in faith calls for a deeper approach. I think it always does.

What is beneath the surface, or first impression, stays truer and lasts longer.

And that’s what Jesus was all about in his teachings. We are to be the salt of the earth (Matthew 5:13). But salt is not the food. We are to be leaven for the bread (Matthew 13:33). But the leaven is not the whole bread.

We don’t even see these ingredients once they are applied and mixed in.

Even Jesus’ followers eventually reflected the importance of the inner, hidden life in their writings to the early church: Saint Paul wrote, “We walk by faith, not by sight” (2 Corinthians 5:7).

“The Gospel tells us that we must first find our power and freedom within; then we’ll know what to do externally” (Richard Rohr, p.118 On The Threshold of Transformation).

How does awareness of the subtle affect our presence and influence in the public? As brazen, power brokers using all the overt means of money, media and culture to be in everyone’s face? To sensationalize the message and shock-and-awe those with whom and to whom we relate, in the love of Christ?

In considering the oft quoted text by social justice advocates from the prophet Micah – “…do justice, love kindness, and walk humbly with your God” (6:8), how much stock do we place on the last part of that verse?

What don’t we see here? What do we expect in following the Way?

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When roots show

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Roots are, by nature, unseen. They do their work below the surface. Roots absorb the nutrients and cherished water from deep within the earth. In fact, the deeper the root system the stronger and more enduring the plant, shrub or tree above.

The invisible character of the vital roots of any plant species draws a close parallel to spiritual truth: What exists internally, not easily seen but deep below the surface of things, is important in understanding the whole.

In North America we are often distracted and mesmerized by external, materialistic realities — whether how something or someone looks, or the stuff we own or acquire, even our over-emphasis on action.

When the roots show, however uncommon an occurrence, a deeper truth emerges — a serendipitous reminder to us exhausted, forever-running people.

For roots to show, something counter-intuitive has happened over time:
People have walked the path, stayed true and faithful to a practice of returning to their roots.

This may be a discipline of contemplative prayer. This may be honoring silence and stillness so that not the surface ego compulsions, but rather the true self rooted and sustained in God emerges.

For all to see. And invited to follow down the path forged by others before, and followed in faith that others still will come again.

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Thanksgiving is a Spiritual Discipline

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“Give thanks in all circumstances; for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you.” (1 Thessalonians 5:18).

Thanksgiving is a choice. Because if we wait until the time is right, if we believe that thanksgiving is only expressed in prosperous times, when enjoying perfect health, budget surpluses, and when peace on earth reigns — I’d guess thanksgiving wouldn’t apply to our practice of faith at all, would it?

Saint Paul encouraged the people of Thessalonica to “give thanks ALWAYS”. He was writing to a fledgling church bowing under the pressures of the culture. Early Christians there were targeted for unpatriotic behavior and often called to testify their loyalty (or not) to Julius Caesar and Emperor Octavian, considered widely as “God” and “son of God” respectively.

Under these oppressive cultural and political circumstances, why would you give thanks? When likely suffering from some form of persecution, for what would those Christians be thankful?

Saint Paul wasn’t naive. But he was wise. Because a heart oriented in faith in Christ, is a heart that instinctively seeks to emphasize the good, the positive, the hopeful, the silver-lining. Otherwise, why have faith? There is bad, to be sure. But there is always also some good. What is the good, even in a bad situation?

A loving phone call. Someone’s smile. A grandchild’s laugh. A note in the mail from a friend. Warm, sunny weather in Fall-time, a restful night, a few pain-free hours, etc., etc., etc.

A heart of thanksgiving does not live in denial of the harsh realities of life. It only holds those harsh realities in the larger perspective of faith. And our very lives are held always in the hands of a loving God. The end of history is the triumphal God the Father, the Son and Holy Spirit. Despite all that is bad in our world, we ARE heading toward that end where the Lord stands victorious!

Thanksgiving is a discipline because we have to be intentional about it. It isn’t always easy. We are called to make the time to remember the blessings of each day, no matter how tough it can get.

In an article written to the “Canada Lutheran” magazine this past summer (Vol.26,No.6,p.31), Bishop Michael Pryse of the Eastern Synod – Evangelical Lutheran Church in Canada relates what someone once suggested to him: “Life is not just a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in a well-preserved body, but rather to skid in broadside thoroughly used up, totally worn out, and loudly proclaiming, ‘Wow, what a ride!’ That’s the kind of spirit,” concludes Bishop Pryse, “I’d like to see more of in our churches.”

It’s the spirit of celebration and thanksgiving, despite the circumstances.

Happy Thanksgiving all!

Pastor Martin