I've recently taken to praying the Divine Hours again. It occurred to me the other day how much of my energy is wasted in creation when praying. I become distracted from the point of prayer - communing with God - when I am trying to "find appropriate words." Perhaps many of you don't struggle with this, but perhaps many of you do. Hour by Hour is put out by the Episcopal Church as a text to guide the laity into the practice of praying the traditional daily prayer cycle of Christendom.
The offices are written and organized so as to simply be prayed aloud. Read word for word. Now, one can read line by line with little meaning and complain that it is not real prayer because it does not come from the heart. Or, one may approach this with a sense of liberation from the burden of extemporaneous expression. What after all do we say to God? If God is God and we are not, what are the right words? And, when life becomes so convoluted that it makes us barely recognize ourselves, how do we find words to live, let alone pray?
Somehow in praying these ancient words, it becomes apparent that prayer is a state of mind and heart and very little about the words. It is about the way we allow the Spirit to breath through us, to pray for us, to tap into our subconscious and expose our deepest and most unknown self to God and to us. It can be exorcism, exhortation, and exaltation of the self. We are dynamic beings with an eternal reality. When prayer is liberated from the necessity of creation, we are liberated to find our true self with an enormous amount of inspired introspection.
This is not to say that extemporaneous prayer is inappropriate or lacking in value; but simply to elevate the status of the highly under-rated practice of written prayer. For within the context of the Divine Hours, it becomes painstakingly clear that our most fully human self is only bolstered by the fully divine Christ within us. Without the distraction of word hunting, we are free to see ourselves as both created and capable of healing re-creation that benefits ourself and the world around us.
It becomes clear that God is not a genie in a bottle who grants wishes to deserving doters but is rather a radically dynamic force within and around who animates us when we surrender to the reality that on our own, we will never be fully human. We were created to commune with the divine in the context of the gift of our own humanity. And, as an added perk, God cares very little about how broken that gift is, as long as we are willing to continually receive the healing love that extends to every person from this side of the Cross through the other side of Eternity. This is good news, indeed.
24 June 2011
21 June 2011
God’s Lunch Cart of Greater Economy
Isaiah 55:1-11
Sermon for Easter Vigil 2011
We have many images of God: mother and father; friend and lover; destroyer and disciplinarian; lion and lamb; Ancient of Days, and the great I AM. The image we get of God here, that of one much like a New York City street vendor pushing a Hebrew National cart amidst the hustle and bustle of lunch hour in the financial district, is rare yet familiar, crude yet poignant. The people running around are dressed a little more chicly than they would be with no one to impress, no promotion to strive toward, no client to schmooze. This reality is not what the college textbooks promised; the stress nor the lack of life, the lack of time to appreciate beauty nor the race to acquire for no other reason than acquisition’s sake are desirable choices when selecting a way to the abundant life, but this is the reality for those who seek that American Dream. Getting and spending we lay waste our powers, but we must sacrifice today for the better of tomorrow…right?
No one thinks much of God’s cart on the periphery. It’s nice. Always there. One of those comfort food carts, a mainstay that you can go to and count on when you are having a bad day and you want some illusion of order in the chaos. But it is not the place to dine. It’s okay to be caught there on occasion; we are all in a rush. But, with the myriad of places that cost more for lunch than an hour of work pays, it is important to give the illusion of doing well. How else with this economy recover if even those who “make the most” haven’t enough to dine as they please? What will the commoners think? This kind of belt tightening trickles down, after all; and we need them to spend so that the economy will recover. Yes, we better eat up, even though with every bite we force a smile knowing that we have given our hearts away to some force much too demanding.
Today, the crazy white-haired vendor with the Hebrew National cart gets a little loud. “Hungry? Thirsty? Come on. I have the cure right here. Scraping for change? That’s perfect; I’m here just for you. Dine well on me. I’ve rolled out the red carpet; the cloth napkins are all pressed. Don’t believe me? Taste, see. This is good stuff…and it’s on me. Just come and buy from my cart.” He catches the attention of many and the crowd starts to shift. Store owners realize there is a stir; the periphery has now taken center stage. People are really hungry. Starved. They have tried every which way but Sunday to fill up, but nothing works. So, why not the crazy vendor offering food on the house with the promise of being full for the first time in years?
Joyfully, God throws open the cart top and begins assembling the meal. Groans spread through the assembly. “It’s the same stuff you always bring. Why do you think we don’t come here much? Who’s going to get full on a that?” Store owners begin to laugh and the crowd begins to heckle. Then silence overcomes the crowd at God’s Word: “You come to work everyday hoping today may be the day that your life begins, don’t you? You go to lunch thinking today may be the day when you are satisfied, right? Every day on the way home you catch yourselves thinking, I’m working for this? For indebted dreams and wasted wages? When is the last time you didn’t wake up to the sound of the alarm and the emptiness of a house full of stuff?” A visiting woman yells from the back: “This problem is not just here; we’re all dealing with this kind of emptiness.” And, the crowd, for a moment, has the daunting feeling that God’s been reading their mail.
They begin to shuffle away, thinking they had been shamed, until they realize that God is still speaking. “Its not too late, you know. Sure, this economy has you coming up short. I know it doesn’t look like the food in my cart is going to fill you up, but I promise it will because it is my food. It is mercy and grace, forgiveness and joy, hope and love in a world that is choking to death on the bitterness of their tired tears.” A man speaks up from the back: “Are you telling us you know we have been starving for real fulfillment and that you have been holding out on us? Where have you been? Why haven’t you said anything sooner?” Sometimes, you just have to yell at God, especially when you’ve been working so hard to make so much sense out of nonsense.
The crowd turns in astonishment; who addresses God so audaciously? “My dear son, my silence does not translate into my absence. Some things are so terrible even I don’t have words that comfort. I met my Son’s Good Friday with silence because it was awful and I had no words. I’ve met all of your Good Fridays with silence, for the same reason: there are no comforting words when loosing a child, hearing the result is malignant, for genocide, war, famine, and economic peril; there simply are no words. In dire times, the best I have is my presence with my people, silently weeping with you. Comfort, comfort; oh my people. I’ve always been here. There is no use in being in your face; it only offends. So listen, while you’ve drawn near to me now. Listen while you have ears to hear. You are standing in the shadow of this economy’s Good Friday, but a greater economy transcends your perception of reality. I’ve always been here and will always be here. I am the Living God who never broke the covenant with my people even when they have with me. I’m here, with you now, renewing my covenant, granting you the abundant life.” Some leave. Some heckle: “There’s no such thing as free lunch!” Truth is often hard to hear, even when it’s good news. God continues from behind his lunch cart as the people decide whether to stay or whether to go.
“You are right to say ‘There is no free lunch;’ One thing I ask: lay down the busted dreams your getting and spending promises. Leave that emptiness for the fulfilling food of the cross. The cross is heavy, and cruel and gruesome but can’t be nearly as burdensome as the hollow existence you’ve shared with me today because at the end of it’s shadow lives Hope and nailed to it’s wood is Love. So take, eat, all of you. This bread and this wine is the abundant life. It always is, always has been, and always will be. This is filling food. Filling food indeed”
Suddenly, all of the other restaurants simply didn’t measure up to this modest lunch cart of greater economy, God smiles, reassuring them: “I admit, today, on this Black Sabbath it seems like midnight will never end. All hope seems lost when you stand in the shadow of the cross. But, trust me, just trust me, though your sorrow may last through the night, with the cross, Joy comes in the morning.
Sermon for Easter Vigil 2011
We have many images of God: mother and father; friend and lover; destroyer and disciplinarian; lion and lamb; Ancient of Days, and the great I AM. The image we get of God here, that of one much like a New York City street vendor pushing a Hebrew National cart amidst the hustle and bustle of lunch hour in the financial district, is rare yet familiar, crude yet poignant. The people running around are dressed a little more chicly than they would be with no one to impress, no promotion to strive toward, no client to schmooze. This reality is not what the college textbooks promised; the stress nor the lack of life, the lack of time to appreciate beauty nor the race to acquire for no other reason than acquisition’s sake are desirable choices when selecting a way to the abundant life, but this is the reality for those who seek that American Dream. Getting and spending we lay waste our powers, but we must sacrifice today for the better of tomorrow…right?
No one thinks much of God’s cart on the periphery. It’s nice. Always there. One of those comfort food carts, a mainstay that you can go to and count on when you are having a bad day and you want some illusion of order in the chaos. But it is not the place to dine. It’s okay to be caught there on occasion; we are all in a rush. But, with the myriad of places that cost more for lunch than an hour of work pays, it is important to give the illusion of doing well. How else with this economy recover if even those who “make the most” haven’t enough to dine as they please? What will the commoners think? This kind of belt tightening trickles down, after all; and we need them to spend so that the economy will recover. Yes, we better eat up, even though with every bite we force a smile knowing that we have given our hearts away to some force much too demanding.
Today, the crazy white-haired vendor with the Hebrew National cart gets a little loud. “Hungry? Thirsty? Come on. I have the cure right here. Scraping for change? That’s perfect; I’m here just for you. Dine well on me. I’ve rolled out the red carpet; the cloth napkins are all pressed. Don’t believe me? Taste, see. This is good stuff…and it’s on me. Just come and buy from my cart.” He catches the attention of many and the crowd starts to shift. Store owners realize there is a stir; the periphery has now taken center stage. People are really hungry. Starved. They have tried every which way but Sunday to fill up, but nothing works. So, why not the crazy vendor offering food on the house with the promise of being full for the first time in years?
Joyfully, God throws open the cart top and begins assembling the meal. Groans spread through the assembly. “It’s the same stuff you always bring. Why do you think we don’t come here much? Who’s going to get full on a that?” Store owners begin to laugh and the crowd begins to heckle. Then silence overcomes the crowd at God’s Word: “You come to work everyday hoping today may be the day that your life begins, don’t you? You go to lunch thinking today may be the day when you are satisfied, right? Every day on the way home you catch yourselves thinking, I’m working for this? For indebted dreams and wasted wages? When is the last time you didn’t wake up to the sound of the alarm and the emptiness of a house full of stuff?” A visiting woman yells from the back: “This problem is not just here; we’re all dealing with this kind of emptiness.” And, the crowd, for a moment, has the daunting feeling that God’s been reading their mail.
They begin to shuffle away, thinking they had been shamed, until they realize that God is still speaking. “Its not too late, you know. Sure, this economy has you coming up short. I know it doesn’t look like the food in my cart is going to fill you up, but I promise it will because it is my food. It is mercy and grace, forgiveness and joy, hope and love in a world that is choking to death on the bitterness of their tired tears.” A man speaks up from the back: “Are you telling us you know we have been starving for real fulfillment and that you have been holding out on us? Where have you been? Why haven’t you said anything sooner?” Sometimes, you just have to yell at God, especially when you’ve been working so hard to make so much sense out of nonsense.
The crowd turns in astonishment; who addresses God so audaciously? “My dear son, my silence does not translate into my absence. Some things are so terrible even I don’t have words that comfort. I met my Son’s Good Friday with silence because it was awful and I had no words. I’ve met all of your Good Fridays with silence, for the same reason: there are no comforting words when loosing a child, hearing the result is malignant, for genocide, war, famine, and economic peril; there simply are no words. In dire times, the best I have is my presence with my people, silently weeping with you. Comfort, comfort; oh my people. I’ve always been here. There is no use in being in your face; it only offends. So listen, while you’ve drawn near to me now. Listen while you have ears to hear. You are standing in the shadow of this economy’s Good Friday, but a greater economy transcends your perception of reality. I’ve always been here and will always be here. I am the Living God who never broke the covenant with my people even when they have with me. I’m here, with you now, renewing my covenant, granting you the abundant life.” Some leave. Some heckle: “There’s no such thing as free lunch!” Truth is often hard to hear, even when it’s good news. God continues from behind his lunch cart as the people decide whether to stay or whether to go.
“You are right to say ‘There is no free lunch;’ One thing I ask: lay down the busted dreams your getting and spending promises. Leave that emptiness for the fulfilling food of the cross. The cross is heavy, and cruel and gruesome but can’t be nearly as burdensome as the hollow existence you’ve shared with me today because at the end of it’s shadow lives Hope and nailed to it’s wood is Love. So take, eat, all of you. This bread and this wine is the abundant life. It always is, always has been, and always will be. This is filling food. Filling food indeed”
Suddenly, all of the other restaurants simply didn’t measure up to this modest lunch cart of greater economy, God smiles, reassuring them: “I admit, today, on this Black Sabbath it seems like midnight will never end. All hope seems lost when you stand in the shadow of the cross. But, trust me, just trust me, though your sorrow may last through the night, with the cross, Joy comes in the morning.
02 April 2011
Amazing Grace
Wesley E Cook • Sunday, April 3, 2011 • Fourth Sunday of Lent
Text: John 9
I know of a woman who had a flight delay in a large international airport. You know the kind. They look like a mall more than an airport. She picked up a box of cookies at one of those swanky little bistros and sat down to enjoy a book. A man sat down next to her. As she was reading, she grabbed a cookie from the box, savoring every chocolaty bite. The wrapper started rustling, and to her dismay, the man who sat down next to her took one of the cookies and began to eat it. She glared at him. He held the half eaten cookie up to her, smiled and nodded. She immediately took another one, glaring. As he took another cookie, so did she without pause. They continued this exchange until there was one left. He picked up the box, offered her both the last cookie and a nice day. Her glare turned into the evil eye as the man turned to leave; she was so upset she could not even enjoy her book. As she picked up her purse to put her book away, her unopened box of gourmet cookies stared her down. It doesn’t take poor eyesight to have vision problems.
Ask the teenager if the punishment fit the crime when Mom and Dad found out about the clandestine parking activity from last Saturday night. The story is simple: two high-school seniors kissing in a car parked in a public park caught by a lifetime neighbor of the girl’s parents, passing by unbeknownst to the enraptured. This is the kind of love that lasts a lifetime: high school romance. What more is there to life? They are going to nearby colleges. They have similar career goals, educational aspirations. He wants two children; she wants a boy and a girl. The foundation is perfect for a future together. It was just innocent necking between two doe-eyed kids, nothing more. A month of no dates is certainly inappropriate. And, to add insult to serious injury, prom falls within the grounding dates. Senior prom. To be separated from friends, forced out of the festivities, to know that they will miss you but the show will go on: that is the worst thing. The worst thing.
Ask the parents whether they feel like the consequences constitute justice. It sounds like a totally different story. The date was to be with a boy named Sam: the salutorian, the boy-next-door with aspirations for law school. The neighbor picked up the cell phone not to nark, but out of concern. Instead of Sam, the date was with Dean, the thug ex-boyfriend who had introduced their daughter to a world destined for pain and failure. They trusted her. She had lied to them. Neither could be home when she left the house; the feeling that they had been played was palpable. On overarching violation of trust, trust that they had spent months rebuilding, filled the atmosphere with almost suffocating consequences. To violate trust on this level, from a person that familial: that is the worst thing. The worst thing. They hated taking prom away, but it seemed the only way. Same story. Two different perceptions.
This is the fourth Sunday of Lent: Laetare Sunday. It’s the halfway point to the other-side of the cross. This break from the color purple and bare-bones worship is meant to be a sign of encouragement: we’re almost there. “Rejoice, for you have been sorrowful.” It can look kind of bleak in here during Lent, especially with the memories of Advent and Christmastide’s beauty so fresh in our minds. So, today, we invite ourselves to remember joy amidst sorrow. It seems easy in theory. Put out a few flowers. Dust off the organ if you want. Dawn pink, that’ll brighten things up. But, in practice, joy amidst sorrow is rarely easy.
We don’t have many stories yet of the Japanese parading in the streets, inspiring each other into reestablishing hope and normalcy. Instead, we have, as one would only expect, stories about how the fourth largest earthquake in world history brings devastation through a Tsunami and aggravated a nuclear power plant so badly that tens of thousands of people have been left homeless and many are left to bury their dead. The economy has been ravaged. There is not a whole lot of joy to go around here. Yet, college grads still took to the national tradition of singing the national anthem this past Friday as they celebrated the acquisition of a job with the first and possibly only company they will ever work for. Thank goodness, someone found some joy.
Turn to the Ivory Coast. The should-be ex-president violated the sense of electoral justice and a rebellion took to the streets to let it be known that a dictatorship will not be tolerated. Millions have fled their homes. Hundreds have been killed. Unrest continues. The future looks bleak, and the sorrows are high. Yet, the Red Cross is there distributing medical care, food, water, and shelter. I imagine the first sight of that crimson cross amidst a plane of white would bring at least a little joy to someone’s heart. Although, it is hard to imagine, let’s be honest.
How about the kid in Christian college, who knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that his calling is within the institution of the church while struggling with the reality that the church may never ordain him because he couldn’t be attracted to women if he wanted to. Believe me, he tried. To be ripped away from a divine calling by the very people you are called to serve: That’s sorrow. Imagine the joy at realizing there are plenty of valuable, useful ministries in the kingdom of God with no pulpit and finding that healing is not only a valuable calling, but a true one as well.
We have, this morning, a panhandler for whom Jesus and his gang opened Pandora’s Box. Unlike many of the other healings we understand Jesus to have performed, this man never asked to be healed. Here’s the scene: Jesus is hoofing it away from an angry mob that one verse ago had stones in hand ready to loft at him for being a blasphemer. Suddenly, the disciples notice a beggar and have an important question. Here is Jesus, literally running for his life as the Greek insinuates, and the disciples decide it’s time for an object lesson. They are the kid in the backseat who says, “Nuh Uh, Mommy, you just put it on” as her mother confirms with the police officer that she has been wearing her seatbelt all along. Sometimes truth just has to wait a minute to be convenient.
“They want to stone me and you are worried about how this man’s sins made him blind?” Nonetheless, Jesus stops. There is a reason for this distraction, for this moment of truth seeking. Just as the man begins to ignore the scene because it’s happened so many times before, Jesus says something so foreign, so unexpected, the panhandler can do nothing more than sit dumbfounded. “Folks, You are asking the wrong question. You’re looking for someone to blame. There is no such cause-effect here. Look instead for what God can do” (The Message). You can almost see the tears forming in the blind man’s eyes.
Suddenly, a heavy, musty smelling substance is being put on his eyes by hands full of power. It comes with instructions to go and wash. No instructions about being able to see, just “Go; wash.” In obedience, he goes to wash. We could call it faith, but what does he have to be faithful about. Remember, there is no promise of vision here. He just needs to clean the clay off of his eyes. Then, as he opens his eyes the way he has a thousand times before, things were radically different. He began to understand what Jesus meant by “I AM the Light of the world.” Can you imagine how overwhelming it must have been to see, anything, for the first time, and how much more it would have been without asking to or being told that you would. That is joy. That is real joy.
The joy, however, is short lived. People who have known him his whole life have such a hard time believing the truth that they do what we all do when we want to be right and have it known. They found a lawyer, a whole gaggle of them called the Pharisees. After a recap of the events, the ruling came down. “No. No. No. If this Jesus was from God, he would not have healed you on the Sabbath.” Born blind, then healed on the wrong day? I don’t even have to imagine the man’s reaction.
The debate continued on and on. Every jot and tittle was considered. Finally, they elicit the healed man’s testimony, “What do you say about him?” “He’s a prophet,” offers the healed man.
Dissatisfied at the answer and with no conclusion amongst them, the Pharisees call their next witness: his parents. They are not much help. “He’s of age. He can speak for himself. What do you want with us in this matter?” The Pharisees refocus attention to the man; leading the witness with reckless abandon: “Be truthful. You know this Jesus that healed you is not from God. Confess.”
Then, the man says something so profane, so immoral, so blasphemous to the court that even his own parents, knowing it to be true, dared not utter it: “This is very simple. I once was blind, now I see. You claim not to know much about this Jesus, but it must be you that wants to believe he is from God. You’ve taught us that God does not listen to the requests of sinners but only those with a full reverence and a heart for God’s will. If Jesus was not out of God, he would never have been able to do this.” Same story. Two completely different perceptions.
Caught with their pants down, the Pharisees reverted to their last option for winning the case: defame the character of the witness. And, that they did. There are few things so sorrowful as rejection from your family, friends, and faith, especially when it is because of good news. Just like that, this man, who did not asked to be healed, is forced out of church, family, his own humanity because he brought good news, because he brought an inconvenient truth. No, it certainly does not take poor eyesight to have vision problems.
We live in a world with this fundamental truth: We see the world as we perceive it not as it really is. And, this can be scary. What if both sides are ignorant to this vital truth upon which communication and understanding hinge? What happens when we retreat into the dark forest of our own mind with no map, no note for our loved ones to tell them of our venture, no boundaries set for how far is too far into a woodland full of the most dangerous predators we imagine? What happens to our understanding of the world when we finally realize it is just that, our understanding.
Lest we become too dismayed, it can also be beautiful. Can you imagine a world where everyone sees it as you do? There would be a lot of sorrow and not a whole lot of joy. Personal perception is the foundation of art and expression, of beauty and diversity. Seeing the world as we see is a greater gift, as well. In knowing the limitations of our perception, we are released from being right, from needing to be right. More importantly we are freed from thinking “being right” is the way of God. Perhaps this truth is why this gospel reading is so central to the “Scrutiny” experience of the Lenten candidates for baptism and confirmation. It lets us be human and God be God.
Revered Disciples of Christ preacher, Fred Craddock, tells of his father’s death bed confessional (Craddock Stories, 14).
His mother took them to church and Sunday school; his father didn’t go. He complained about Sunday dinner being late when she came home. Sometimes the Preacher would call, and his father would say, “I know what the church wants, another name, another pledge, another name, another pledge.” That’s what he always said. Sometimes they’d have a revival. Pastor would bring the evangelist and say to the evangelist, “There’s one, now sic him, get him, get him,” and his father would say the same thing. Every time, his mother in the kitchen always nervous, in fear of flaring tempers, of somebody being hurt. And, always his father said, “The church doesn’t care about me. The church wants another name and another pledge. “ I guess Fred heard it a thousand times.
One time his father didn’t say it. He was in the VA and he was down to seventy-three pounds. They’d taken out his throat, and said, “It’s too late.” They put in a metal tube and x-rays burned him to pieces. Fred flew in to see him. He couldn’t speak, couldn’t eat. Fred looked around the room, potted plants and cut flowers on all the windowsills, a stack of cards twenty inches deep beside his bed. And, even that tray where they put food, if you can eat, on that was a flower. And, all the flowers beside the bed, every card, every blossom, were from persons or groups from the church.
He saw Fred read a card. Fred’s father could not speak, so he took a Kleenex box and wrote on the side of it a line from Shakespeare: “In this harsh world, draw your breath in pain to tell my story.”
Fred said, “What is your story, Daddy?”
And, he wrote, “I was wrong.”
Last week, Jesus invited us, through the woman at the well, to beg the question, “Who are we not to engage God in meaningful worship, wherever and whoever we are?” Our healed guy didn’t get that memo. In such sorrow, it is not easy to seek out joy. He doesn’t go back to Jesus after he was cast out of the assembly. So, Jesus goes to find him. I’ll say that again: Jesus goes to find him. And, spinning last week’s question, Jesus asks: “Who are we not to allow God to engage us, wherever and whoever we are?” Reality may be infinitely more than our own perceptions but it is totally vacant without them.
The man born blind did not ask to be healed. He was engaged by God for no other reason than his destiny from birth was to have his brokenness glorify God. Face to face with such a reality, the healed man surrendered to God what is God’s: himself. While God may not have asked us if we wanted to be healed, we have been asked to acknowledge this: that before we knew we needed him, Jesus sought us out and now waits for us to accept our calling. Whoever, whatever, or wherever we are is exactly what Jesus requires of us to make the glory of God known through us, even in all of our brokenness. This is amazing grace. This is ultimate reality. Amen. Amen.
Text: John 9
I know of a woman who had a flight delay in a large international airport. You know the kind. They look like a mall more than an airport. She picked up a box of cookies at one of those swanky little bistros and sat down to enjoy a book. A man sat down next to her. As she was reading, she grabbed a cookie from the box, savoring every chocolaty bite. The wrapper started rustling, and to her dismay, the man who sat down next to her took one of the cookies and began to eat it. She glared at him. He held the half eaten cookie up to her, smiled and nodded. She immediately took another one, glaring. As he took another cookie, so did she without pause. They continued this exchange until there was one left. He picked up the box, offered her both the last cookie and a nice day. Her glare turned into the evil eye as the man turned to leave; she was so upset she could not even enjoy her book. As she picked up her purse to put her book away, her unopened box of gourmet cookies stared her down. It doesn’t take poor eyesight to have vision problems.
Ask the teenager if the punishment fit the crime when Mom and Dad found out about the clandestine parking activity from last Saturday night. The story is simple: two high-school seniors kissing in a car parked in a public park caught by a lifetime neighbor of the girl’s parents, passing by unbeknownst to the enraptured. This is the kind of love that lasts a lifetime: high school romance. What more is there to life? They are going to nearby colleges. They have similar career goals, educational aspirations. He wants two children; she wants a boy and a girl. The foundation is perfect for a future together. It was just innocent necking between two doe-eyed kids, nothing more. A month of no dates is certainly inappropriate. And, to add insult to serious injury, prom falls within the grounding dates. Senior prom. To be separated from friends, forced out of the festivities, to know that they will miss you but the show will go on: that is the worst thing. The worst thing.
Ask the parents whether they feel like the consequences constitute justice. It sounds like a totally different story. The date was to be with a boy named Sam: the salutorian, the boy-next-door with aspirations for law school. The neighbor picked up the cell phone not to nark, but out of concern. Instead of Sam, the date was with Dean, the thug ex-boyfriend who had introduced their daughter to a world destined for pain and failure. They trusted her. She had lied to them. Neither could be home when she left the house; the feeling that they had been played was palpable. On overarching violation of trust, trust that they had spent months rebuilding, filled the atmosphere with almost suffocating consequences. To violate trust on this level, from a person that familial: that is the worst thing. The worst thing. They hated taking prom away, but it seemed the only way. Same story. Two different perceptions.
This is the fourth Sunday of Lent: Laetare Sunday. It’s the halfway point to the other-side of the cross. This break from the color purple and bare-bones worship is meant to be a sign of encouragement: we’re almost there. “Rejoice, for you have been sorrowful.” It can look kind of bleak in here during Lent, especially with the memories of Advent and Christmastide’s beauty so fresh in our minds. So, today, we invite ourselves to remember joy amidst sorrow. It seems easy in theory. Put out a few flowers. Dust off the organ if you want. Dawn pink, that’ll brighten things up. But, in practice, joy amidst sorrow is rarely easy.
We don’t have many stories yet of the Japanese parading in the streets, inspiring each other into reestablishing hope and normalcy. Instead, we have, as one would only expect, stories about how the fourth largest earthquake in world history brings devastation through a Tsunami and aggravated a nuclear power plant so badly that tens of thousands of people have been left homeless and many are left to bury their dead. The economy has been ravaged. There is not a whole lot of joy to go around here. Yet, college grads still took to the national tradition of singing the national anthem this past Friday as they celebrated the acquisition of a job with the first and possibly only company they will ever work for. Thank goodness, someone found some joy.
Turn to the Ivory Coast. The should-be ex-president violated the sense of electoral justice and a rebellion took to the streets to let it be known that a dictatorship will not be tolerated. Millions have fled their homes. Hundreds have been killed. Unrest continues. The future looks bleak, and the sorrows are high. Yet, the Red Cross is there distributing medical care, food, water, and shelter. I imagine the first sight of that crimson cross amidst a plane of white would bring at least a little joy to someone’s heart. Although, it is hard to imagine, let’s be honest.
How about the kid in Christian college, who knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that his calling is within the institution of the church while struggling with the reality that the church may never ordain him because he couldn’t be attracted to women if he wanted to. Believe me, he tried. To be ripped away from a divine calling by the very people you are called to serve: That’s sorrow. Imagine the joy at realizing there are plenty of valuable, useful ministries in the kingdom of God with no pulpit and finding that healing is not only a valuable calling, but a true one as well.
We have, this morning, a panhandler for whom Jesus and his gang opened Pandora’s Box. Unlike many of the other healings we understand Jesus to have performed, this man never asked to be healed. Here’s the scene: Jesus is hoofing it away from an angry mob that one verse ago had stones in hand ready to loft at him for being a blasphemer. Suddenly, the disciples notice a beggar and have an important question. Here is Jesus, literally running for his life as the Greek insinuates, and the disciples decide it’s time for an object lesson. They are the kid in the backseat who says, “Nuh Uh, Mommy, you just put it on” as her mother confirms with the police officer that she has been wearing her seatbelt all along. Sometimes truth just has to wait a minute to be convenient.
“They want to stone me and you are worried about how this man’s sins made him blind?” Nonetheless, Jesus stops. There is a reason for this distraction, for this moment of truth seeking. Just as the man begins to ignore the scene because it’s happened so many times before, Jesus says something so foreign, so unexpected, the panhandler can do nothing more than sit dumbfounded. “Folks, You are asking the wrong question. You’re looking for someone to blame. There is no such cause-effect here. Look instead for what God can do” (The Message). You can almost see the tears forming in the blind man’s eyes.
Suddenly, a heavy, musty smelling substance is being put on his eyes by hands full of power. It comes with instructions to go and wash. No instructions about being able to see, just “Go; wash.” In obedience, he goes to wash. We could call it faith, but what does he have to be faithful about. Remember, there is no promise of vision here. He just needs to clean the clay off of his eyes. Then, as he opens his eyes the way he has a thousand times before, things were radically different. He began to understand what Jesus meant by “I AM the Light of the world.” Can you imagine how overwhelming it must have been to see, anything, for the first time, and how much more it would have been without asking to or being told that you would. That is joy. That is real joy.
The joy, however, is short lived. People who have known him his whole life have such a hard time believing the truth that they do what we all do when we want to be right and have it known. They found a lawyer, a whole gaggle of them called the Pharisees. After a recap of the events, the ruling came down. “No. No. No. If this Jesus was from God, he would not have healed you on the Sabbath.” Born blind, then healed on the wrong day? I don’t even have to imagine the man’s reaction.
The debate continued on and on. Every jot and tittle was considered. Finally, they elicit the healed man’s testimony, “What do you say about him?” “He’s a prophet,” offers the healed man.
Dissatisfied at the answer and with no conclusion amongst them, the Pharisees call their next witness: his parents. They are not much help. “He’s of age. He can speak for himself. What do you want with us in this matter?” The Pharisees refocus attention to the man; leading the witness with reckless abandon: “Be truthful. You know this Jesus that healed you is not from God. Confess.”
Then, the man says something so profane, so immoral, so blasphemous to the court that even his own parents, knowing it to be true, dared not utter it: “This is very simple. I once was blind, now I see. You claim not to know much about this Jesus, but it must be you that wants to believe he is from God. You’ve taught us that God does not listen to the requests of sinners but only those with a full reverence and a heart for God’s will. If Jesus was not out of God, he would never have been able to do this.” Same story. Two completely different perceptions.
Caught with their pants down, the Pharisees reverted to their last option for winning the case: defame the character of the witness. And, that they did. There are few things so sorrowful as rejection from your family, friends, and faith, especially when it is because of good news. Just like that, this man, who did not asked to be healed, is forced out of church, family, his own humanity because he brought good news, because he brought an inconvenient truth. No, it certainly does not take poor eyesight to have vision problems.
We live in a world with this fundamental truth: We see the world as we perceive it not as it really is. And, this can be scary. What if both sides are ignorant to this vital truth upon which communication and understanding hinge? What happens when we retreat into the dark forest of our own mind with no map, no note for our loved ones to tell them of our venture, no boundaries set for how far is too far into a woodland full of the most dangerous predators we imagine? What happens to our understanding of the world when we finally realize it is just that, our understanding.
Lest we become too dismayed, it can also be beautiful. Can you imagine a world where everyone sees it as you do? There would be a lot of sorrow and not a whole lot of joy. Personal perception is the foundation of art and expression, of beauty and diversity. Seeing the world as we see is a greater gift, as well. In knowing the limitations of our perception, we are released from being right, from needing to be right. More importantly we are freed from thinking “being right” is the way of God. Perhaps this truth is why this gospel reading is so central to the “Scrutiny” experience of the Lenten candidates for baptism and confirmation. It lets us be human and God be God.
Revered Disciples of Christ preacher, Fred Craddock, tells of his father’s death bed confessional (Craddock Stories, 14).
His mother took them to church and Sunday school; his father didn’t go. He complained about Sunday dinner being late when she came home. Sometimes the Preacher would call, and his father would say, “I know what the church wants, another name, another pledge, another name, another pledge.” That’s what he always said. Sometimes they’d have a revival. Pastor would bring the evangelist and say to the evangelist, “There’s one, now sic him, get him, get him,” and his father would say the same thing. Every time, his mother in the kitchen always nervous, in fear of flaring tempers, of somebody being hurt. And, always his father said, “The church doesn’t care about me. The church wants another name and another pledge. “ I guess Fred heard it a thousand times.
One time his father didn’t say it. He was in the VA and he was down to seventy-three pounds. They’d taken out his throat, and said, “It’s too late.” They put in a metal tube and x-rays burned him to pieces. Fred flew in to see him. He couldn’t speak, couldn’t eat. Fred looked around the room, potted plants and cut flowers on all the windowsills, a stack of cards twenty inches deep beside his bed. And, even that tray where they put food, if you can eat, on that was a flower. And, all the flowers beside the bed, every card, every blossom, were from persons or groups from the church.
He saw Fred read a card. Fred’s father could not speak, so he took a Kleenex box and wrote on the side of it a line from Shakespeare: “In this harsh world, draw your breath in pain to tell my story.”
Fred said, “What is your story, Daddy?”
And, he wrote, “I was wrong.”
Last week, Jesus invited us, through the woman at the well, to beg the question, “Who are we not to engage God in meaningful worship, wherever and whoever we are?” Our healed guy didn’t get that memo. In such sorrow, it is not easy to seek out joy. He doesn’t go back to Jesus after he was cast out of the assembly. So, Jesus goes to find him. I’ll say that again: Jesus goes to find him. And, spinning last week’s question, Jesus asks: “Who are we not to allow God to engage us, wherever and whoever we are?” Reality may be infinitely more than our own perceptions but it is totally vacant without them.
The man born blind did not ask to be healed. He was engaged by God for no other reason than his destiny from birth was to have his brokenness glorify God. Face to face with such a reality, the healed man surrendered to God what is God’s: himself. While God may not have asked us if we wanted to be healed, we have been asked to acknowledge this: that before we knew we needed him, Jesus sought us out and now waits for us to accept our calling. Whoever, whatever, or wherever we are is exactly what Jesus requires of us to make the glory of God known through us, even in all of our brokenness. This is amazing grace. This is ultimate reality. Amen. Amen.
27 April 2010
The Still Small Voice
Silence has become so deafening. In this culture, so saturated with advertisements, sound bites, palm-sized entertainment, and instant movies, temptation to ignore our need for silence is dangerously disguised. Masquerading as necessities, these things of modern life have amalgamated into an obsession of sorts. Their collective noise has become so much a part of the mundane, we don't know what to do with ourselves in silence.
Silence has an uncomfortable ringing to it, like that of a cell phone in a funeral. It doesn't seem to fit. When we are honest, we avoid silence because, it puts us face to face with our own ideas, our own voice, our own true self. So, we arrange church services to minimize it. We fire television producers who allow it to happen. We talk awkwardly and often unnecessarily rather than exchange a silent moment with a stranger next to us. Silence is uncomfortable. Therefore, if uncomfortable is bad then silence must be bad. This sort of if A is B and B is C then A must be C mentality is slowly robbing us of spiritual sensitivity.
God lives in the silence because that is where the still small voice can be heard most clearly, most purely, most prudently. The amount of noise that bombards us each day if we do not carefully and thoughtfully filter it is catastrophic. Noise of this frequency ravages our minds capacity to clarify priority, think critically, and investigate intuitively by finessing its way into even the nooks and crannies of our day-to-day living. It is to our mental and spiritual capacity as devastating as a strong wind, as shattering as an earthquake.
24-hour news. Billboards. Text messages. Phone ringing. Critical care monitor alarms. Television. Radio. The murmuring of any city. The running self-critical commentary in my head, affectionately called the "Itty Bitty Shitty Committee." Societal expectations. Familial expectations. All these things invade my space before breakfast. Some are important. Without the critical care alarms, a person entrusted into my care may die. I understand that noise. It's meaningful, like the cry of an infant whose breathed first breath. Some are neutral and unavoidable. The sounds of passers-by and car horns are part of my living landscape. Some are both avoidable and potentially damaging in the way that they take my eyes off the prize. The noise given off by television, radio, news, billboards, text messaging, the IBSC, and anyone's expectations of me but God form a toxic brew that if drank is the root of all kinds of evil. And, the lie we believe is that we have little control over the situation. We must be honest about our responsibility in this bombardment; we invite most of this noise because it drowns out any need to deal with the real, eternal issues of life.
Our lust for urgency has created animosity toward silence. And, this makes since. Silence requires time. Silence requires patience. Silence requires stillness, bravery, and initiative because it puts us ear to mouth with the voice that matters: God. Not only does it require us to listen in a culture that can barely hear, it often exposes those parts of ourselves toward which we are the most critical and uncomfortable. Living in a culture of pandaemonium confuses the mind into believing in "I'm okay" That, silence refuses to allow. Silence is like the friend who knows saying what needs to be heard is more important than the anger provoked by its exposure.
Discipleship requires honesty, occasionally that honesty must be brutal. The fruit born through silence is of such paramount importance that we must be brutally honest about its reality. Silence is not an escape from life's problems, it is the solution to them. It forces us into ourselves, into our minds, into the depths of our soul where the Holy Spirit resides within us. To not confront ourselves in the silence is to refuse not only our own humanity but the Creative nature of God. God bequeathed us the ability to analyze, plan, and create change in ourselves so that we may create change in the world. Choosing a life filled with mindless chatter must be like spiting in God's face when placed in comparison to all that has been given to us. And, the grip of grace is so much greater than our cultural mindlessness.
For my own spiritual survival, I must return to the place where temporary discomfort leads to lifelong spiritual gains. I have so much to learn from God about myself, about God's gifts within me, about how I fit into God's greater calling to humanity. Silence is the place where God says, meet me anytime. And, yet I am more afraid of that place than within the cacophony of our culture that is the sum total nothing important. I am more comfortable without than with my Creator. And, that is incredibly disappointing to me. This life is no dress rehearsal. If I am uncomfortable being with God now, how is an eternity with God heaven? Silence is compulsory discipleship activity. In knowing God and hearing the voice of God, we know ourselves. After all, without the breath of God, were were just lumps of clay lying cold on a shore. And, through Christ, the breath of God was restored to humanity. Nothing from the current cultural clatter will bring me closer to God until I have learned discernment from the silence.
I must be still and know. I must hear the still small voice that is only heard within a burning passion, only exposed after the mighty wind and earthquake have ended. I am choosing to end them today. The voice of God must be more present in my life. And, at this point more present is anything more than absent. I accept God's invitation to commune in the silence this day. Will you accept that invitation with me? I am committing to 30 minutes of silence each morning. Four mornings a week the silence will be while walking. Three mornings a week, the silence will be alone and still.
Grace and peace to you as we learn anew the Shepherd's voice; let me know about the table prepared before you in the silence.
Silence has an uncomfortable ringing to it, like that of a cell phone in a funeral. It doesn't seem to fit. When we are honest, we avoid silence because, it puts us face to face with our own ideas, our own voice, our own true self. So, we arrange church services to minimize it. We fire television producers who allow it to happen. We talk awkwardly and often unnecessarily rather than exchange a silent moment with a stranger next to us. Silence is uncomfortable. Therefore, if uncomfortable is bad then silence must be bad. This sort of if A is B and B is C then A must be C mentality is slowly robbing us of spiritual sensitivity.
God lives in the silence because that is where the still small voice can be heard most clearly, most purely, most prudently. The amount of noise that bombards us each day if we do not carefully and thoughtfully filter it is catastrophic. Noise of this frequency ravages our minds capacity to clarify priority, think critically, and investigate intuitively by finessing its way into even the nooks and crannies of our day-to-day living. It is to our mental and spiritual capacity as devastating as a strong wind, as shattering as an earthquake.
24-hour news. Billboards. Text messages. Phone ringing. Critical care monitor alarms. Television. Radio. The murmuring of any city. The running self-critical commentary in my head, affectionately called the "Itty Bitty Shitty Committee." Societal expectations. Familial expectations. All these things invade my space before breakfast. Some are important. Without the critical care alarms, a person entrusted into my care may die. I understand that noise. It's meaningful, like the cry of an infant whose breathed first breath. Some are neutral and unavoidable. The sounds of passers-by and car horns are part of my living landscape. Some are both avoidable and potentially damaging in the way that they take my eyes off the prize. The noise given off by television, radio, news, billboards, text messaging, the IBSC, and anyone's expectations of me but God form a toxic brew that if drank is the root of all kinds of evil. And, the lie we believe is that we have little control over the situation. We must be honest about our responsibility in this bombardment; we invite most of this noise because it drowns out any need to deal with the real, eternal issues of life.
Our lust for urgency has created animosity toward silence. And, this makes since. Silence requires time. Silence requires patience. Silence requires stillness, bravery, and initiative because it puts us ear to mouth with the voice that matters: God. Not only does it require us to listen in a culture that can barely hear, it often exposes those parts of ourselves toward which we are the most critical and uncomfortable. Living in a culture of pandaemonium confuses the mind into believing in "I'm okay" That, silence refuses to allow. Silence is like the friend who knows saying what needs to be heard is more important than the anger provoked by its exposure.
Discipleship requires honesty, occasionally that honesty must be brutal. The fruit born through silence is of such paramount importance that we must be brutally honest about its reality. Silence is not an escape from life's problems, it is the solution to them. It forces us into ourselves, into our minds, into the depths of our soul where the Holy Spirit resides within us. To not confront ourselves in the silence is to refuse not only our own humanity but the Creative nature of God. God bequeathed us the ability to analyze, plan, and create change in ourselves so that we may create change in the world. Choosing a life filled with mindless chatter must be like spiting in God's face when placed in comparison to all that has been given to us. And, the grip of grace is so much greater than our cultural mindlessness.
For my own spiritual survival, I must return to the place where temporary discomfort leads to lifelong spiritual gains. I have so much to learn from God about myself, about God's gifts within me, about how I fit into God's greater calling to humanity. Silence is the place where God says, meet me anytime. And, yet I am more afraid of that place than within the cacophony of our culture that is the sum total nothing important. I am more comfortable without than with my Creator. And, that is incredibly disappointing to me. This life is no dress rehearsal. If I am uncomfortable being with God now, how is an eternity with God heaven? Silence is compulsory discipleship activity. In knowing God and hearing the voice of God, we know ourselves. After all, without the breath of God, were were just lumps of clay lying cold on a shore. And, through Christ, the breath of God was restored to humanity. Nothing from the current cultural clatter will bring me closer to God until I have learned discernment from the silence.
I must be still and know. I must hear the still small voice that is only heard within a burning passion, only exposed after the mighty wind and earthquake have ended. I am choosing to end them today. The voice of God must be more present in my life. And, at this point more present is anything more than absent. I accept God's invitation to commune in the silence this day. Will you accept that invitation with me? I am committing to 30 minutes of silence each morning. Four mornings a week the silence will be while walking. Three mornings a week, the silence will be alone and still.
Grace and peace to you as we learn anew the Shepherd's voice; let me know about the table prepared before you in the silence.
24 April 2010
Simple Beginnings
Friends, welcome to my blog. This is an exercise in the discipline of both writing and contemplation. I have entitled the blog "that they might be with him..." as an allusion to the appointing of the Apostles in the second Gospel (i.e. Mark).
This one statement, so eloquently and briefly tucked into the pericope, is easy to miss in the author's lightning-paced literary style--especially given the sexiness of the surrounding stories: healing the masses, casting out daemons, and of course the best part...the Easter egg hunt at the end of the Gospel. Jesus' thirty-three years are boiled down to a short story and somehow we think there are "important" parts. This seems about as ludicrous as searching for important parts of the Cliff's Notes on War and Peace! Where did the church derail in not savoring each and every word of the Gospels as precious information, not only about the life of Jesus, but our story.
Perhaps most of the mainstream Christian churches with "a voice" in this world (or at least within the political landscape of this country) have found it so much a part of the Markan literary landscape that they have never thought to take pause over this basic call of Christ. But, perhaps not taking pause in this sound-bite culture is the root of all evil. The problem in skimming over this seemingly innocuous little phrase lies in the profundity of its plain-clothed calling; out of this calling all things Christian stem, grow, blossom, and thrive. We change implicitly when we spend vast amounts of time with anyone. With anything else, all things Christian become as malicious as the Crusades, Westboro Baptist Church, and the Holocaust. For, how can someone be with Jesus and not be changed? Perhaps we have been spending time with an illusory Jesus who live only in the minds of those that want Jesus on their terms.
It has been said that our character is the sum total of the five closest people in our lives. What if Jesus were one of them? I am not suggesting to get all Jesus Freak on people. But what if this kind of gospel brought us to a more complete humanity over time. Is it not good news that God extends his hand to us and asks us for a walk in the right direction? What if the changes were subtle but profound? Would people around us be inspired? What if the Christ-story moved through us like oxygen, animating us from the very fibers of our being? What if Christianity was not about a laundry list of things that "CHRISTIANS DON'T DO! AMEN!"? What if it was not about all the things we are not? But, what if it was about all the things we are: child of God, created-in-God's-image, disciple, friend of God, a little less than the angels, and the list goes on.
I like that list. That list means something. That list is essential in its quality. In other words, it brands the church, the Christian, by what we are. For too long, we have been courted by the non-essentialist philosophy that tells us that a Christian is a Christian because they are not: pro-choice, gay, and well, that is just about all it boils down to these days. What a pitiful faith that is. And suddenly Paul's introduction to Romans makes sense: "Since they didn't bother to acknowledge God, God quit bothering them and let them run loose. And then all hell broke loose: rampant evil, grabbing and grasping, vicious backstabbing. They made life hell on earth with their envy, wanton killing, bickering, and cheating" (Romans 1.28-29a, The Message). Paul meant to be talking about the "world" but this unfortunately seems to be a poignant picture of the American Church landscape.
The Christ-story is the literary, theological, political, and artistic landscape upon which Western Civilization has been built for nearly 2000 years now. To think that the Christ-story, regardless of how raped by human understanding, does not bleed into each and every one of our stories is both ignorant and dangerous. How different would the church be if we had made this "be with Jesus" concept the focus of discipleship? How different would I be? How different would history and the world's perception of the Church and Jesus be? These are tough questions with even tougher and less attainable answers. Of some comfort is the concept that the past is the past. As Paul puts it, "now is the day of salvation." Our search for the sexy things of faith has created enough discord to fill the annuls of any library...this is already reality, pick up any book on the history of Western Civilization.
The phrase "to be with him" might not be dressed up in its Sunday-best, but it is of paramount importance not to frisk the Gospels for the "good stuff." This is the good stuff! God, incarnate, extending his reach to us, asking us in all we do wherever we are to focus on the simple task of being with God. We must not be fooled, though the calling to be "with God" is simple, it is far from easy. Grace would not be necessary if this "with God" life was easy. It has always dumbfounded me how far I often am from the initial call of Christ upon entering into a covenant relationship with him, but it has dumbfounded me further the extent of God's grace and love.
With respect to those characteristics of God, this blog will be an attempt of groping in the dark for a sort of Christianity that animates the mundane. I want to know what a life "with Jesus" is. I have spent too long focusing on what it is not. And, consequentially, I have lost sight of the essence of God. We are more than our bodies, our minds, our current situation. We are formed in the image of God by the hands of God for the glory of God. And, that is an amazing thing. Only after the creation of humans did God put "very" in front of good when he commented on the handiwork of Creation. This blog will attempt to scratch the surface at how weaving the Christ-story with our own through a simple commitment to "being with him" might bring us back to a kind of humanity that makes God step back and say..."This is very good, indeed." Will you join me on this journey with Jesus?
And he appointed twelve, whom he also named apostles, to be with him...(Mark 3.12a, NRSV)
This one statement, so eloquently and briefly tucked into the pericope, is easy to miss in the author's lightning-paced literary style--especially given the sexiness of the surrounding stories: healing the masses, casting out daemons, and of course the best part...the Easter egg hunt at the end of the Gospel. Jesus' thirty-three years are boiled down to a short story and somehow we think there are "important" parts. This seems about as ludicrous as searching for important parts of the Cliff's Notes on War and Peace! Where did the church derail in not savoring each and every word of the Gospels as precious information, not only about the life of Jesus, but our story.
Perhaps most of the mainstream Christian churches with "a voice" in this world (or at least within the political landscape of this country) have found it so much a part of the Markan literary landscape that they have never thought to take pause over this basic call of Christ. But, perhaps not taking pause in this sound-bite culture is the root of all evil. The problem in skimming over this seemingly innocuous little phrase lies in the profundity of its plain-clothed calling; out of this calling all things Christian stem, grow, blossom, and thrive. We change implicitly when we spend vast amounts of time with anyone. With anything else, all things Christian become as malicious as the Crusades, Westboro Baptist Church, and the Holocaust. For, how can someone be with Jesus and not be changed? Perhaps we have been spending time with an illusory Jesus who live only in the minds of those that want Jesus on their terms.
It has been said that our character is the sum total of the five closest people in our lives. What if Jesus were one of them? I am not suggesting to get all Jesus Freak on people. But what if this kind of gospel brought us to a more complete humanity over time. Is it not good news that God extends his hand to us and asks us for a walk in the right direction? What if the changes were subtle but profound? Would people around us be inspired? What if the Christ-story moved through us like oxygen, animating us from the very fibers of our being? What if Christianity was not about a laundry list of things that "CHRISTIANS DON'T DO! AMEN!"? What if it was not about all the things we are not? But, what if it was about all the things we are: child of God, created-in-God's-image, disciple, friend of God, a little less than the angels, and the list goes on.
I like that list. That list means something. That list is essential in its quality. In other words, it brands the church, the Christian, by what we are. For too long, we have been courted by the non-essentialist philosophy that tells us that a Christian is a Christian because they are not: pro-choice, gay, and well, that is just about all it boils down to these days. What a pitiful faith that is. And suddenly Paul's introduction to Romans makes sense: "Since they didn't bother to acknowledge God, God quit bothering them and let them run loose. And then all hell broke loose: rampant evil, grabbing and grasping, vicious backstabbing. They made life hell on earth with their envy, wanton killing, bickering, and cheating" (Romans 1.28-29a, The Message). Paul meant to be talking about the "world" but this unfortunately seems to be a poignant picture of the American Church landscape.
The Christ-story is the literary, theological, political, and artistic landscape upon which Western Civilization has been built for nearly 2000 years now. To think that the Christ-story, regardless of how raped by human understanding, does not bleed into each and every one of our stories is both ignorant and dangerous. How different would the church be if we had made this "be with Jesus" concept the focus of discipleship? How different would I be? How different would history and the world's perception of the Church and Jesus be? These are tough questions with even tougher and less attainable answers. Of some comfort is the concept that the past is the past. As Paul puts it, "now is the day of salvation." Our search for the sexy things of faith has created enough discord to fill the annuls of any library...this is already reality, pick up any book on the history of Western Civilization.
The phrase "to be with him" might not be dressed up in its Sunday-best, but it is of paramount importance not to frisk the Gospels for the "good stuff." This is the good stuff! God, incarnate, extending his reach to us, asking us in all we do wherever we are to focus on the simple task of being with God. We must not be fooled, though the calling to be "with God" is simple, it is far from easy. Grace would not be necessary if this "with God" life was easy. It has always dumbfounded me how far I often am from the initial call of Christ upon entering into a covenant relationship with him, but it has dumbfounded me further the extent of God's grace and love.
With respect to those characteristics of God, this blog will be an attempt of groping in the dark for a sort of Christianity that animates the mundane. I want to know what a life "with Jesus" is. I have spent too long focusing on what it is not. And, consequentially, I have lost sight of the essence of God. We are more than our bodies, our minds, our current situation. We are formed in the image of God by the hands of God for the glory of God. And, that is an amazing thing. Only after the creation of humans did God put "very" in front of good when he commented on the handiwork of Creation. This blog will attempt to scratch the surface at how weaving the Christ-story with our own through a simple commitment to "being with him" might bring us back to a kind of humanity that makes God step back and say..."This is very good, indeed." Will you join me on this journey with Jesus?
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)