O Lord, you are my Lord and my God, and I have never seen you. You have made and remade me and bestowed on me all the good that I possess. (St. Anselm, Proslogion)
…Listening In…
Now the Lord came and stood there, calling as before, ‘Samuel! Samuel!’ And Samuel said, ‘Speak, for your servant is listening.’ Then the Lord said to Samuel, ‘See, I am about to do something in Israel that will make both ears of anyone who hears of it tingle. (1 Samuel 3:10-11; context)
…Filling Up…
This Lent, we are exploring our faith by running through the alphabet. Today, “O” is for Obedience. You might think that obedience is simply doing what you’re told. You obey your parents when you pick up your shoes or take out the trash. The recruit obeys his drill sergeant when he drops and gives him twenty. The dog obeys its master when it sits and stays. But this understanding of obedience comprehends only the second half of what the concept is all about. In fact, the act of doing the command isn’t even part of the word.
The word “obedience” comes from the Latin word audire. Look familiar? Drop the –re at the end and add an –o and you’ve got the word “audio.” That’s right. The word obedience comes from the Latin for “to hear.” So, in order to practice obedience, you first have to learn how to listen. If you turn on any cable news show with political pundits jabbing at each other, you’ll soon discover why they are often nicknamed “talking heads.” They talk, but rarely do they listen. Indeed, in our world today, those who talk gain far more exposure than those who listen.
So how do you listen? You get quiet (more on this in a few days) and you turn off your own interior monologue. Don’t evaluate or critique what the other is saying. Just hear and ingest the words. There will be time to reflect later.
In the case of your relationship with God, practice listening. When you hear how the Lord is moving in your life, you can then take on the second half of obedience. The first two letters of the word – ob – means something to the effect of “go in the direction of.” Therefore, when you obey, you move towards that which you hear, you move with God’s voice as you serve.
…Praying For…
Dear God, your voice is always speaking in my life. Help me listen for that voice, and help me to practice obedience when I hear your movement. In Jesus Christ’s name I pray. Amen.
…Sending Out…
I leave this moment with you, God, grateful for the word that you speak daily into my soul, the word that continues to create me and helps me to grow.
O Lord, you are my Lord and my God, and I have never seen you. You have made and remade me and bestowed on me all the good that I possess. (St. Anselm, Proslogion)
…Listening In…
The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness doesn’t extinguish the light. (John 1:5; context)
…Filling Up…
This Lent, we are exploring our faith by running through the alphabet. Today, “N” is for Nothing. Think of “nothing” as two words: no-thing and you’re close to the understanding of evil that I’ll go into in a moment. First, the Gospel according to John uses the imagery of darkness and light to delineate between the creative force of God (the light) and the nebulous other that in some sense contests with God (darkness).
God’s creative force is the light that shines in the darkness. The darkness cannot comprehend or overcome or extinguish the light because the darkness has never been a part of creation. The darkness is just the absence of any created thing. This is a tricky concept, so let’s get back to our word for today: no-thing.
But first a side note: the darkness that cannot overcome the light is wholly different from the darkness of night. (Remember that God created darkness and light and separated them.) However, “night” and “darkness” are useful metaphors for speaking about that which is outside creation.
And we’re back. Okay, so the great German theologian Karl Barth posited that all this stuff outside of creation is where evil comes from. He said that Evil is everything that God didn’t create, and all that uncreatedness is pushing on or sucking on creation. When I sin (seek my own will rather than God’s will), I distort my relationship with God. This distortion is the pull that non-creation has on me. If you ever define a word as “the absence of” something else, then you are close to this idea. For example, despair is the absence of hope. Remember “The Nothing” in the movie The NeverEnding Story? That villain is as close to a visual example as I can come up with.
I know this is a zany understanding of evil, and we would need a whole lot more space to really talk about it, but I think it’s worth a bit of thought. If you ever felt like something you were doing was “un-making you,” then you were feeling the pull of non-creation, non-being, annihilation. The good news is this: while the “Nothing” of evil tries jealously to unmake created things, it will ultimately fail to triumph because God never stops creating or calling creation to God.
…Praying For…
Dear God, you are the creative force that calls all people to your light. Help me to orient myself towards you, and away from the forces of darkness that pull me from you. In Jesus Christ’s name I pray. Amen.
…Sending Out…
I leave this moment with you, God, grateful for the word that you speak daily into my soul, the word that continues to create me and helps me to grow.
Yesterday, you understood a little; today, you understand better; tomorrow, you will understand better still: the light of God is growing in you. (St. Augustine of Hippo)
…Listening In…
Almighty and everliving God, we thank you for feeding us with the spiritual food of the most precious Body and Blood of your Son our Savior Jesus Christ; and for assuring us in these holy mysteries that we are living members of the Body of your Son, and heirs of your eternal kingdom. (Book of Common Prayer (1979), p. 366)
…Filling Up…
This Lent, we are exploring our faith by running through the alphabet. Today, “M” is for Mystery. There’s a phrase in one of the prayers found in the Episcopal liturgy that states, Thank you [Lord]…for assuring us in these holy mysteries that we are living members of the Body of your Son…”
Assuring us in these holy mysteries. You might ask: “How can a mystery by assuring? Aren’t mysteries purposefully suspenseful and bewildering?” And here’s where we have to define “mystery” in two ways. First, there’s the mysteries on the back wall of the book store. In these books, a mystery is set forth: say, how did the killer manage to murder someone in a room locked from the inside? The plot revolves around the detective attempting to solve the puzzle. In the end, the detective figures out that the bell rope used to call for the maid was replaced with a poisonous snake, which somehow slithered unnoticed out of the room in the ensuing hubbub of discovering the body. Mystery solved. No more mystery.
The mysteries of God are mysteries of a different order from the bookstore “Whodunnits.” The mysteries of God cannot be solved, cannot be explained away. When I encounter the Divine, I feel the enormity of the mystery of God surrounding me. And I rejoice that this mystery discloses itself in light and life and love. If I could explain the mystery, I would be in danger of explaining it away, of shelving it like the “Whodunnits” in the bookstore. The mystery of God transcends explanation. It is elusive, and at the same time intimate; it cannot be grasped, but it can be embraced. The intimacy and the embrace happen when the mystery touches the spark of creativity within us, spurring us to proclaim the Word made flesh, Jesus Christ. The assurance in the mystery happens when we realize that an embrace takes two.
…Praying For…
Dear God, thank you for revealing enough of yourself so that I know that I stand forever in your presence. Help me to embrace your mystery, proclaim your love, and serve in the ways that you call me to serve. In Jesus Christ’s name I pray. Amen.
…Sending Out…
I leave this moment with you, God, thankful that you continue to shine your light in my heart and mind, that I may continue to know you better through every way that you choose to reveal yourself.
Yesterday, you understood a little; today, you understand better; tomorrow, you will understand better still: the light of God is growing in you. (St. Augustine of Hippo)
…Listening In…
Then Jesus said to his disciples, “ All who want to come after me must say no to themselves, take up their cross, and follow me. All who want to save their lives will lose them. But all who lose their lives because of me will find them. (Matthew 16:24-25; context)
…Filling Up…
This Lent, we are exploring our faith by running through the alphabet. Today, “L” is for Losing. Losing is not fun. Think about those guys from the losing team in the Super Bowl. They don’t get a new hat or shirt and they don’t get to stand under confetti showers shouting, “I’m going to Disney World!” Losing Oscar hopefuls have to grit their teeth and tell the press that it was just an honor to be nominated. Losing candidates drift into obscurity or pundit-hood on cable news.
Society tells us that, if we want success, we must surround ourselves with winners, not losers. And yet, the Christian faith consciously and without reservation came together around a guy who purposefully lost. Jesus Christ could have run away from his fate. He could have fought the Empire with a small but heroic band of diehards. But he didn’t. He walked into the lion’s den. He walked up the hill with the cross on his shoulder. He walked to his death. He lost his life. He’s the world’s most famous loser.
Of course, that’s only the middle of the story. The triumph of the Resurrection cannot occur without the defeat, without the loss, of the Crucifixion. The author of our faith lost willingly. When we suffer losses, when we feel defeated, we can take comfort in knowing that our stories will never end there. Because of the triumph that followed on the heels of Christ’s defeat, we have the opportunity to participate in the triumphant final chapters of our own stories.
…Praying For…
Dear God, you are with me in triumph and defeat. Help me to pick myself up after a loss, know that you are with me in that time, and give me patience for the triumphs that will come. In Jesus Christ’s name I pray. Amen.
…Sending Out…
I leave this moment with you, God, thankful that you continue to shine your light in my heart and mind, that I may continue to know you better through every way that you choose to reveal yourself.
Yesterday, you understood a little; today, you understand better; tomorrow, you will understand better still: the light of God is growing in you. (St. Augustine of Hippo)
…Listening In…
Our Father who is in heaven, uphold the holiness of your name. Bring in your kingdom so that your will is done on earth as it’s done in heaven. (Matthew 6:9-10; context)
…Filling Up…
This Lent, we are exploring our faith by running through the alphabet. Today, “K” is for Kingdom. A kingdom is, essentially, a place where a king or queen lives. The legitimacy of the government of the ruler of the kingdom comes from the monarch himself or herself and not from the people governed. This political definition of “kingdom” leads to another, less gender specific word that has to do with kings and queens: sovereignty. A “sovereign” is a person who has complete authority over other people. If the sovereign asks you to jump, you say “How high.” Countries of the world don’t like it very much when other countries influence their affairs because it is a breach of national “sovereignty,” that is “self-determination.”
So what does this have to do with God? I’m glad you asked. As the Creator of all that is, God has always been the sovereign of Creation, but God ceded us our own personal sovereignty when God granted us free will. When we pray, “Thy kingdom come, thy will be done,” we are actively praying for the ability to give ourselves back to God, to cede our sovereignty back to its rightful home. When we ask God to annex our personal territory back into God’s kingdom, we set up pockets of resistance against the forces of evil that are attempting to pull Creation into non-being (more about this in a few days). And when we join together into communities of faith, those pockets of territory become larger, more organized forces that participate in the in-breaking of God’s kingdom here on Earth.
…Praying For…
Dear God, you are the sovereign of all Creation; help me to recognize how I may work with you to make your kingdom come on earth as it is in heaven. In Jesus Christ’s name I pray. Amen.
…Sending Out…
I leave this moment with you, God, thankful that you continue to shine your light in my heart and mind, that I may continue to know you better through every way that you choose to reveal yourself.
Yesterday, you understood a little; today, you understand better; tomorrow, you will understand better still: the light of God is growing in you. (St. Augustine of Hippo)
…Listening In…
As the Father loved me, I too have loved you. Remain in my love. If you keep my commandments, you will remain in my love, just as I kept my Father’s commandments and remain in his love. I have said these things to you so that my joy will be in you and your joy will be complete. (John 15:9-11; context)
…Filling Up…
This Lent, we are exploring our faith by running through the alphabet. Today, “J” is for Joy. Thanks to the thesaurus, “joy” is a misunderstood concept. If you go to Roget’s searching for synonyms, you’ll get “pleasure, gladness, glee, happiness,” and so on. While joy definitely encompasses these positive emotions, joy itself is much more expansive than any of these other words.
Rather than being simple pleasure or happiness, joy is the pervading sense of well-being that comes when the Creator and the creature delight in one another. The Creator is forever emanating this delight, and only the limited vision or attention of the creature keeps him or her from reciprocating. When we find joy, we access the sense of delight that God has in creation. But joy doesn’t stop there.
As Thomas Merton writes, “God does not give His joy to us for ourselves alone, and if we could possess Himself for ourselves alone, we would not possess Him at all. Any joy that does not overflow from our souls and help other people to rejoice in God does not come to us from God.”
Accessing the joy of God in our lives finds completion only when we share that joy with others. This is true delight: to be a source of God’s joy emanating throughout creation.
…Praying For…
Dear God, you take delight in your creation and call it “good.” Help me to overcome the distractions in my life that keep me from fully basking in your joy so that I may be a beacon of joy to others. In Jesus Christ’s name I pray. Amen.
…Sending Out…
I leave this moment with you, God, thankful that you continue to shine your light in my heart and mind, that I may continue to know you better through every way that you choose to reveal yourself.
Yesterday, you understood a little; today, you understand better; tomorrow, you will understand better still: the light of God is growing in you. (St. Augustine of Hippo)
…Listening In…
The Word became flesh and made his home among us. We have seen his glory, glory like that of a father’s only son, full of grace and truth. (John 1:14; context)
…Filling Up…
This Lent, we are exploring our faith by running through the alphabet. Today, “I” is for Incarnate. I was struggling to come up with “I” words (all I could come up with was “Idolatry,” but I used that last year) so I am grateful for the suggestion of wonderful woman at my church. I daresay the word “incarnate” is not one you use on a daily basis. It assuredly falls into the camp of “church” word. This is a problem for we followers of Jesus who seek to take our spiritual lives out of the confines of the church and into the world. So how can we liberate the word “incarnate” from its Sunday internment.
First, I should probably remind you where you hear the word most often. If you’ve ever recited the Nicene Creed, then you’ve said the word “incarnate.” The Creed states: “[B]y the power of the Holy Spirit [Jesus] became incarnate from the Virgin Mary, and was made man.” This line in the Creed is where 99% of all uses of the word “incarnate” come. (Yes, I just made up that statistic.)
So how do we liberate the word for our use during the rest of the week? In fact, it’s easier than you might think; indeed, it is vital to remember the lesson of the Incarnation as we go about our daily lives. Do you see the “carn” in the middle of the word. Yes? Excellent. This is the same root that appears in the word “carn-ivore.” That’s right — “carn” means “flesh,” or more descriptively “meat.”
When we profess that the Son of God became incarnate, we are using polite language for something a little more down and dirty — the Son of God put on flesh and bones, muscle, sinew, blood, skin, hair. And with those he got all the stuff that goes with them: body odor, sunburn, stubbed toes, sprained ankles, sore neck, thirst, exhaustion. (Not to mention the ability to embrace and shake hands and look you in the eye…and die on a cross.)
But if this incarnate thing stopped with Jesus we wouldn’t be telling the whole story. Paul reminds us that we are the Body of Christ and each individually members of it. Thus, when we leave the church on Sunday morning (filled once again with the Eucharistic Body and Blood of Jesus Christ) we have the opportunity to embody Christ in the lives of other people, to be the flesh and bones which Jesus uses to fulfill his continuing work today.
…Praying For…
Dear God, thank you for sending your Son to take on the full human life as one of us. Help me to be an incarnation of your love and peace in this world. In Jesus Christ’s name I pray. Amen.
…Sending Out…
I leave this moment with you, God, thankful that you continue to shine your light in my heart and mind, that I may continue to know you better through every way that you choose to reveal yourself.
(Sermon for Sunday, February 24, 2013 || Lent 2C || Luke 13:31-35)
(Most sermons are better if you listen to them rather than read them. This one is especially so.)
Imagine with me a letter written by Simon the Pharisee some years after the events described in this morning’s Gospel reading.
Simon, a servant of the Lord God, to Judith, my dearest sister and confidant: Peace to you and your house.
I know it’s an inside joke between us that I only write to you when I am vexed or need to process something, but in this case, I write with a more urgent need. Yesterday in the marketplace something happened that has shaken me to my bones. Not only that, but after all these years, this event has caused me to let go of a secret I had been holding onto so very tightly. I need to tell you the truth about myself before you hear others slander me. I hope after you read these words you do not think less of me; rather, I hope you might consider joining me in my new-found freedom. But I get ahead of myself.
Here’s what happened. I was walking with my colleagues, Eli and Reuben, when we witnessed a strange scene. A small boy, no bigger than your grandson, snatched a loaf of bread off a baker’s cart. The boy must have been on his last legs because as soon he turned to run away, he dropped to his knees, nearly fainting. The baker had the boy by the arm when a woman picked up the loaf of bread and handed it back to the hungry child, saying, “Go and eat your fill, young one, and may the blessing of the Lord Jesus Christ be upon you.”
Then she reached into her purse to pay the baker for the bread. But before she could pull out a coin, Eli and Reuben rounded on her. I’ve never known them to be the most zealous persecutors of the followers of the Way, but something about this exchange riled them up. They dragged the woman to the ground, hollering the whole time about her blasphemy. Her trial, conviction, and sentence were the work of a moment, and before I knew what was happening, Eli had a chunk of rock in his hand ready to throw.
I didn’t plan to do it. I didn’t mean to do it. But in the instant after I realized what Eli was about to do, I found myself standing between him and the woman, arms wide, protecting her with my body. It was too late for Eli to stop, and I took the impact of the stone on my left shoulder. “If you’re going to stone her,” I yelled at them, “then you’ll have to stone me, too.”
What I’m trying to tell you, dear sister, is that, for these long years, I have been a follower of the Way of Jesus Christ. But until yesterday, my fear of being disowned by everyone I know convinced me to hold tightly to the secret. Now that my true devotion lies unmasked, I feel suddenly free to share my story with you – and not just free, but full of joy.
You see, you never know on what day your life will change. If you did, then you might be more prepared. You might wear a clean shirt or wash your face beforehand. The day my life started to change was a day similar to yesterday. I was out in the marketplace with a couple of colleagues. Jesus and his disciples were making a scene: throngs of people were clamoring for his attention, and talk of miraculous healing was in the air. You might recall I had met Jesus previously when he came to dinner at my house. That first meeting troubled me because he was so different than the country bumpkin I expected. This second meeting replaced my uneasiness with the seeds of new conviction.
At the time, we Pharisees were tired of Jesus upsetting the apple cart. He had been in our region quite long enough, and we wanted him gone. So we concocted a story about Herod wanting to kill him. The tale seemed plausible enough; after all, Herod had beheaded Jesus’ cousin John and then just continued on eating his dinner. Perhaps Herod did want Jesus dead. Either way, that’s what we told him. And I was completely unprepared for his response. Maybe he was calling our bluff. Or maybe he had no fear for his own life. He told us his plans – and they did not involve fleeing – and then told us to go tell Herod.
But his bravery wasn’t what enthralled me. It was what he said next. A haunted look played across his face as he lamented Jerusalem. I’ll never forget what he said: “How often have I desired to gather your children together as a hen gathers her brood under her wings, and you were not willing.”
Before I could arrange my face into the shocked expression appropriate for a Pharisee, my heart commandeered my body. It was the strangest sensation. Something deep inside me fluttered at his words, like one of the chicks in the hen’s brood. The fluttering stirred up three words that echoed in my depths. “I am willing.”
From that day on, I kept track of Jesus. My three words – “I am willing” – played over and over again in my mind. But I didn’t make the leap yet because I couldn’t chase his image of the hen and her brood out of my mind. What an odd animal to identify with. Why not something bigger? Something with teeth and claws. Something worthy of his fearlessness. Why a defenseless hen? A chicken, for God’s sake?
Later that year, I got my answer. I watched as he was crucified. I heard the dull thud of the hammer striking the nails. He was raised up on the cross, chest bared, arms wide. And as I watched and wept, all I could see was that mother hen, defenseless, spreading her wings wide to protect her brood, giving her life for theirs.
I was his from that moment on. I believe that he rose again and that his Spirit is with us to help us live a life full of God his Father. It feels good to write that down. Dear sister, it has taken me all these years to say it, but the words are there on the page now, never to be erased.
I might have said “I am willing” on that day of our second meeting, but as they say, the spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak. So what made me abandon my well-worn lie yesterday? I had gotten comfortable living as his secret follower, even though I knew that meant I was cutting myself off from so much of what being his follower means. Something about the events yesterday brought to my mind the image that so haunted me.
Eli raised the rock, ready to strike the woman who had helped the little boy, and I found myself getting in the way. If I had had time for rational thought, I doubt I would have done it. Perhaps my long years as Jesus’ secret follower finally spurred me to action. My brain didn’t have time to get in the way, so my heart interceded. And since my heart belongs to Jesus Christ, he propelled me to take a risk, to take a chance, secure in the knowledge that I am always and forever standing under the shadow of his wing. In that moment, I knew Christ was alive in me. He used me as the mother hen, defenseless, chest bared, arms wide, ready to absorb the blow. If I hadn’t known I was secure under his wing, I wouldn’t have had the strength to protect someone under mine.
And so this is my prayer for all my days hence: Lord Jesus Christ, sustain my faith so I can be vulnerable. Be my sheltering wing so I can take risks. Help me spread my arms wide as you did on the cross so I can fully and truly embrace others with your love.
My sister, I bare my heart to you in this letter not to convince you to become a follower of the Way like I am, nor to make you worry for my safety. I have written these words simply because I am not afraid anymore. Jesus Christ is alive in me. Therefore, I am resolved to live my life under the shadow of his wings, with my arms spread wide.
—
* Special thanks to Barbara Brown Taylor for her words about this passage found here. They unlocked this sermon for me.
We come this morning –
Like empty pitchers to a full fountain,
With no merits of our own.
O Lord – open up a window of heaven,
And lean out far over the battlements of glory,
And listen this morning. (James Weldon Johnson)
…Listening In…
God is faithful; by him you were called into the fellowship of his Son, Jesus Christ our Lord. (1 Corinthians 1:9; context)
…Filling Up…
This Lent, we are exploring our faith by running through the alphabet. Today, “H” is for Harmony. Yesterday, we talked about joining God’s dance and finding God’s rhythm. Now we are going to talk about our participation in God’s music. This music plays in each one of our hearts. Sometimes the music is soft: a half-whispered lullaby, barely discernible over the din of the world. Sometimes the notes crescendo to a deafening fortissimo that knocks us, weeping, to our knees. Most often, the music sounds as the percussive TUB-thp of our hearts — a rhythm that, if you listen closely, beats in time with the rest of the performing forces of creation (the “grace” we mentioned yesterday).
Each one of us has the music of God resounding within, but the symphony is incomplete until we have found each other, until we have joined together in fellowship as the orchestra of God. In Greek, this fellowship is called koinonia, but I’ve always thought that “fellowship” is a rather limp translation. For the sake of our metaphor, let’s translate koinonia as “harmony,” which lands much closer to the descriptive intent of the Greek word. Musical harmony is the collection of notes that adds structure, color, tone, depth, and meaning to the main tune. This tune, called the “melody” is the music of God within us. The combination of our own unique passions, trials, joys, griefs, and loves creates the harmony of the music of God.
As followers of God, we play together the koinonia, the harmony, of the music of God to a world so accustomed only to noise and clatter. The movements of our symphony resonate with the movement of God in this world. God provides the melody, and we harmonize with it together.
…Praying For…
Dear God, your creation sings out your praise. Help me to provide my voice to that song in such a way that I add a pleasing harmony to the life of your creation. In Jesus Christ’s name I pray. Amen.
…Sending Out…
I leave this moment with you, God, taking hope in the overarching reality that you are the Alpha and the Omega, the beginning and the end.
We come this morning –
Like empty pitchers to a full fountain,
With no merits of our own.
O Lord – open up a window of heaven,
And lean out far over the battlements of glory,
And listen this morning. (James Weldon Johnson)
…Listening In…
What once was hurt
What once was friction
What left a mark
No longer stings
Because Grace makes beauty
Out of ugly things (“Grace” U2, from All That You Can’t Leave Behind)
…Filling Up…
This Lent, we are exploring our faith by running through the alphabet. Today, “G” is for Grace. When you look at the word “grace,” what is the first thing that comes to mind? You might think of the prayer you say before a meal. You might think of an adjective used to describe ballerinas and figure skaters. You might think of a special gift of God that we can’t earn and that we can’t really explain.
All of these things are bound up in the word “grace.” We say dancers are graceful because they have developed the skill of beautifully keeping themselves from falling over. Each time dancers step or leap or spin, they are actively falling until their feet touch the floor again. We call these motions graceful because the dancers have cultivated the balance and coordination that keep them on their feet no matter the difficulty of the movement.
In the same way, “grace,” as a theological reality, is the thing that keeps us from falling without the prospect of being caught, the thing that gives us the opportunity to find balance in our lives. This wonderful gift from God allows us to join God’s dance, to learn God’s steps, to follow God’s music. One of the reasons we say “grace” at meals is that meals are a regularly occurring point in our day (hopefully – though for so many of God’s people this isn’t so). The regularity of the prayer of grace keeps us in tune with God’s rhythm so that we can be graceful servants of God.
…Praying For…
Dear God, you fill the world with the rhythm of your love. Help me to find that rhythm in my heartbeat, help me be a person that exhibits the fullness of your grace. In Jesus Christ’s name I pray. Amen.
…Sending Out…
I leave this moment with you, God, taking hope in the overarching reality that you are the Alpha and the Omega, the beginning and the end.
…Opening To…
Where the Wind... 