Gratitude that gushes: June 12, 2016

Year C, Pentecost 4                                                               
Luke 7:36-8:3                                                                         

            Most of you are aware that my husband and I have a new addition to our family.  We have been in the adoption process for over 2 years.  However, a few months ago we got a call that there was an emergency placement and we had 1 day to get to the hospital where this baby was born (which was about day’s journey).  There was not a lot of time to prepare of even to think through things. The birth mother had chosen us that day.  We knew very little about her or the baby who awaited us.  In truth, the birth mother was just a name on a sheet of paper.  While we certainly felt a level of gratitude to her, it was nothing particularly overwhelming.  Then we met Joshua.  We saw this tiny and perfect baby and we were both overwhelmed with gratitude, not just to God, but to this woman who carried him in her body for 9 months.

            One of the small pieces of information we had about her was why she decided to choose adoption.  She wrote that she could not raise him and she wanted to “bless another family.”  Those were the words that she wrote on the form we read.  That was why she chose adoption.  At first she did not want to meet us.  Then at the very last minute she changed her mind.  It was probably good that it was the last minute or I imagine I would have gone crazy worrying about what to say and what to do.  Instead, we had about two minutes to consider our words.  We walked in and she smiled this huge smile and hugged us.  We thanked her profusely, but we were very aware of how inadequate those thank yous were.  She said that it was a blessed day because we were the people who were meant to raise this baby and she felt joy because of it.  We promised her he would be beloved by many and that we would spend the rest of our lives loving him.  Then with tears in our eyes we said good bye. 

            I thought of that moment when I read the Gospel for today.  The story is about a woman who was overcome with emotion.  We know that she was a sinner because Jesus refers to her many sins.  Some people believe that Jesus forgave her because she showered him with her tears and anointed him with oil.  She honored him in ways that displayed her love.  However, many people (myself included) believe that her outpouring of love was a result of the forgiveness she had already received.  In other words, she had already met Jesus.  She had already been forgiven and this was her way of showing gratitude for this forgiveness. 

            If she went in weighed down by sins, begging for forgiveness, I think things would have happened differently.  She would have been tentative and unsure of herself.  She might have washed his feet, but not with her tears. She had oil with her and that was not an uncommon way to honor people, but it was usually placed on the head, not the feet.  But her actions, washing his feet with her tears, drying them with her hair—these seem unplanned, unchoreographed.  I am sure there are some people who can cry on demand, but I doubt that’s what happened.  She was simply overwhelmed with gratitude.  For years she had been weighed down with sin. 

Given the critical reaction of the Pharisee, people knew that she was a sinner. However, because of Jesus, she was free.  Obviously most people did not realize she had been forgiven.  They did not accept that Jesus could free her of these sins.  But for her, it was not about what other people thought. She knew that she had been forgiven and she knew the person who had changed her life forever.  Perhaps she had a little speech prepared. She was going to go in this house full of respectable people and carry her head high.  With respect and decorum, she would thank Jesus, anoint his head and then quietly slip out.  Then she saw him and she was so overcome, she dropped to her knees and wept. There were no words that were adequate for the grace and love that she experienced.  Her tears were so numerous that they washed his feet. When she realized that she was soaking the feet of the man who had saved her, she dried them with her hair because she didn’t have a towel.   Every part of her mind, body and soul was dedicated to this display of love and gratitude.  Jesus was so moved that he pronounced forgiveness again so that everyone would hear.  Then he commended her on her faith in front of the pillars of the faith.

            For a long time, I thought I deserved to have a baby. I thought this is the natural order of things. You get married, you have kids.  This is what you do.  Everyone around me was getting pregnant.  I was praying--my whole family was praying.  Despite the fact that I had competent doctors and a supportive husband, my prayers were not answered in the way that I thought they should have been answered.  While my priest mind knew that nothing is really fair in life—that we should be grateful for what we have—that I already had more than I deserved, I could not get past this feeling that life was unfair, that I was being deprived of something that I deserved.  Yet in that hospital, looking at the mother who placed her child in my arms because she wanted to bless me, I realized that this was more than I deserved.  This was love and there was nothing I could say, nothing I could do to properly express the gratitude that she deserved and that God deserved. 

For the first time in my life, I understand what this woman felt.  I even understand what Simon the Pharisee felt to some degree.  He went through life expecting things. He didn’t think he needed forgiveness. He had been good his whole like. He was the one who showed other people how to pray and how to worship. Because of that he could not appreciate this woman’s dramatic display of love. 

I have been the Pharisee in that I have not fully appreciated the grace and love that I have been given. I thought I had earned things fair and square.  I am sure that I will continue experiencing elements of the Pharisee’s entitlement and the woman’s gratitude. I wish that I could have learned this lesson without receiving this amazing miracle.  But I guess that’s not the point.  The point is that when we do find ourselves receiving these expected and unexpected miracles, we remember who deserves our thanks and praise, and we remember that every day. 

Most of us see our lives through a lens of scarcity.  We see what we do not have and what we deserve to have.  Instead, perhaps we could consider those little miracles and gifts that we receive every day---those things we barely notice.  Then when we identify those things or those people, we allow ourselves to gush a little. I pray that we can all find that raw place in our lives that gushes with gratitude---the kind of gratitude that leaves polite people uncomfortable.  

 

Being Good Enough: May 29th, 2016

Year C, Pentecost 2                                                                   
Luke 7:1-10                                                                         

            Before I begin, I am going to provide a little explanation, because I am about to unload some Episcopal jargon on you.  You will note in our Prayer Book that we have two rites.  We essentially have two different versions of the words that we use in the service (our liturgy).  Rite 1 is similar to the 1928 prayer book. Some of you will remember the 1928 prayer book with great fondness, some of you do not know that our prayer book has a date.  The Rite 1 language sounds a little more old fashioned.  It is more penitential, meaning it talks about sin and our need to be forgiven.  We use that rite during Lent and Advent.  Rite 2 is what we use the rest of the time.  I did not grow up with the 1928 prayer book. I became an Episcopalian long after the 1979 prayer book became standard.  Nor did I grow up using the Rite 1 liturgy.  I grew up with the Roman Catholic liturgy, which is pretty similar to our liturgy. 

While I did not grow up with the Rite 1 language, I find myself longing for it at times, especially one prayer in particular that was left out of Rite 2.  It is called the Prayer of Humble Access.  We say it right before we receive the Eucharist.  It starts like this, “We do not presume to come to this thy Table, O merciful Lord, trusting in our own righteousness, but in thy manifold and great mercies.  We are not worthy so much as to gather the crumbs under thy table.”  I think one of the things that appeals to me about this prayer is that it reminds me of one of my favorite prayers in the Catholic Church.  “Lord we are not worthy to receive you, but only say the word and we shall be healed.” [1]

            Both of these prayers reference parts of today’s Gospel story.  In today’s Gospel, we hear a story of a centurion who asks for Jesus’ help with his sick servant.  A centurion is a Roman soldier.  This meant that he was not Jewish.  He was a Gentile.  The Jews and the Gentiles did not get along most of the time.  A Jew could not enter the home of a Gentile nor could a Jew welcome a Gentile into his home. Not only was this man a Gentile, he was a Roman soldier.  He was a member of the army that was oppressing the Jewish people.  It was odd that he was even requesting the assistance of a Jew.  What is even stranger is that he was appealing to his Jewish acquaintances to petition this other Jew.  He was a high ranking official.  He could have just sent some soldiers and had Jesus brought to him.   That is not what he did.

            Already we know that the centurion was unique.  The Jews proclaimed that he was “worthy of having you do this for him.”  According to the Jewish elders, he was worthy not only of Jesus’ presence, but his assistance.   He had been a friend to the Jewish people.  He had even built them a synagogue.  For those reasons, the Jewish elders proclaimed him worthy.  We do not know whether it was the recommendation of the Jewish elders or simply the request of the centurion, but Jesus did not hesitate.  He immediately went to this man’s home.  However,  before Jesus arrived at his home, the centurion sent a message saying, “Lord do not trouble yourself, for I am not worthy to have you come under my roof; therefore I did not presume to come to you. But only speak the word and my servant will be healed.”  This statement left Jesus amazed.  Jesus was amazed. 

Often times we hear about people being amazed in the Bible.  However, it is usually people being amazed by Jesus…not the other way around. The centurion’s words by themselves don’t seem that amazing.  They were respectful.  They were humble.  But come on- that seems appropriate given that he was speaking to the Son of God and asking for a miracle. 

            I have often heard people express that they are uncomfortable with some of the language of our Rite 1 liturgy, particularly the Prayer of Humble Access.  The statement, “We are not worthy….” brings up all kinds of negative feelings.  It might remind us of our own insecurities.  It might remind us of a Christian somewhere sometime who made us feel bad about ourselves.  Surely, God loves us all unconditionally.  If so why are we using this kind of language?  Why do we have to feel bad about ourselves in order to receive the Eucharist? 

            Here’s the thing.  We aren’t worthy.  By ourselves, without the grace of God, we aren’t worthy.   No one likes to hear that. You are all probably regretting telling me that you missed me the last couple of months if this is what I am going to tell you.  But it’s not about feeling bad about ourselves.  Much like the centurion- it’s about approaching God with humility.  It’s about asking for things instead of expecting them. 

            One of the others words for worthy is sufficient, or enough.  The centurion was admitting to Jesus that he wasn’t quite sufficient to receive Jesus into his home.  This is something that really resonates with me, the idea of not being enough.  I struggle with that often and I don’t think I am the only person who does.   That notion of feeling as though we are not good enough can have a devastating effect on our soul. We are constantly trying to please others and please ourselves.  We have to be better than others.  We have to be better than we were the day before. As a result we are constantly disappointed that we aren’t good enough.  We could be so much more content and at peace if we stopped trying to be enough.       

            Now you might be thinking, hey you just told us we are not worthy, what’s the deal?  Here it is. What if we could accept the fact that we are not quite good enough, but that recognizing our unworthiness amazes God?  Let me say that again. What if we could accept the fact that we are not quite good enough, but that recognizing our unworthiness not only pleases God, but amazes God?  We can amaze God not by being good enough, not by being worthy, but simply by displaying humility and admitting that we need God.  Like the centurion we can admit that God has the power to make up for whatever we lack. We are not sufficient without Jesus.  But with Jesus, we are more than enough. 

            Here’s the other amazing thing.  We pray the Prayer of Humble Access right before we receive the body and blood of Christ.  Immediately after we admit that we are not worthy, we kneel at the rail and receive the body and blood of Jesus.  We never say that prayer and skip communion.  Because when we approach Christ with humility, when we ask for his presence in our lives…he always says yes.  Saying that we are not worthy is not about beating ourselves up.  It’s about freeing ourselves so that we can truly appreciate the gift that God has for us.  It creates space in our heart and our souls to receive Jesus.   

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[1] The Roman Catholic Church has changed this portion to better reflect the text.  I use this text as that was what I grew up with.

I have seen the Lord: March 27, 2016

Easter, Year C                                                
John 20: 1-18                                                 

            In our Gospel reading for today, we have four characters:  Mary Magdalene, the unnamed beloved disciple, Peter and Jesus.  Mary is the first who we encounter.  She was the first to go to the tomb, presumably to anoint the body. When she arrived she found that the stone (which was more like a boulder) was rolled away.  She didn’t investigate further.  She did not look inside the tomb. She immediately ran in panic and told Peter and the beloved disciple what she had seen.  She assumed that the body has been stolen or moved.

            The beloved disciple was the next to approach the tomb.  He and Peter raced there.  He got there first and peered in.   Peter was close behind and rushed in past him.  It was only after Peter went in that the beloved disciple entered the tomb.  Once in the tomb he saw the linen wrapping, the clothes that Jesus had been wrapped in before he was buried—that was when he saw and believed.  The text also said that he did not understand the scripture that Jesus must rise from the dead.  This is a little confusing, but I will come back to that. 

            The last person to arrive at the tomb was Peter.  While he was the last to arrive, he was the first to go in. He was always impulsive—act first and think later.  The Gospel of John does not tell us what Peter thought.  However, the Gospel of Luke tells us that Peter was amazed.  Both the beloved disciple and Peter left as soon as they had seen the tomb.  Mary stayed and wept. 

            Each one of these disciples of Jesus had very different reactions to the empty tomb.  Peter was amazed, which means he was in a state of awe and wonderment.  The response of the beloved disciple is somewhat mysterious. It says that he saw and believed but it also says that he did not yet understand the scriptures about Jesus rising from the dead.  We know what he saw.  What did he believe?  I am not sure it matters.  The point is that he believed in something.  The empty tomb gave him just enough faith to believe in something.

            Then there was Mary.  We have the most information about her reaction.  The first time she saw the empty tomb, she ran away scared.  But she came back and this time she stayed.  She stayed and she wept.  One can only imagine how much she had already wept.  She had stood at the foot of Jesus’ cross while he was slowly dying.  I imagine that on this day she might have been hoping for some closure to her grief.  What she found was a gaping hole---not closure.  

Out of nowhere appeared two angels. Mary did not recognize them as angels.  Had she realized who they were, she might have figured things out a little more quickly.  Instead she told them that they had taken away her Lord and she did not know where to find him.  Jesus then appeared and asked why she was weeping.  She didn’t recognize him either.  Only when he said her name did she finally realize that not only was her Lord alive, he was standing right next to her. 

            Each of these disciples reacted to the empty tomb in different ways, but it would be a stretch to say that this empty tomb allowed them to believe in the resurrection.  At worst it made them even more scared, and at best it gave them something to think about.  It was only when they saw Jesus in the flesh did they truly believe.  

Yet today, I stand before you asking you to believe something based on a story that someone told 2000 years ago.  I don’t even have an empty tomb.  This story goes against everything that we know and believe about how the world works, how the human body works.

            Each disciple’s faith journey was different.  They met Jesus in different places.  Jesus approached them in different ways. The beloved disciple believed in something, but could not fully comprehend what it all meant.  Mary only believed when she heard the risen Jesus say her name.   It would seem that the beloved disciple and Peter only truly understood the resurrection when Jesus made a dramatic entrance into the room where they were hiding.

            Much like the earliest disciples we all experience faith in different ways. Some of us don’t need a lot of convincing.  We have heard the stories since we were small and it just stuck.  Some of us don’t fully understand it all, but we still believe—we are not sure what we believe, but we believe in something and that thing leaves us wanting more.  Some of us are content with the mystery and wonder of it all.  Then there are many of us who look at that empty tomb and think, “What happened to Jesus?  Where did my Lord and Savior go when I needed him most?” 

            There is something that Mary can teach us.  She teaches us to rest in our doubt, and our fear and our grief.  The other disciples left.  They figured, well there is nothing else to see here.  Mary stayed and she wept…until Jesus called her by name.  I cannot help but wonder why Jesus came to Mary first. Why not the beloved disciple or Peter, the rock on whom he would build his church?  Why did he appear to the person who seemed the most confused, the slowest to understand?  Because she stayed.  She stayed at the foot of the cross when he was crucified.  She stayed at the empty tomb when she was afraid, confused, and probably a little angry.  She stayed.

            Sometimes we confuse faith with magic.  We think it should be effortless and immediate.   We imagine it coming in visions and transcendent experiences.  For some people, that might be true.  But for most of the people I have talked to, including clergy, faith is a struggle.  It’s a long walk full of confusion and confidence, doubt and assurance, grief and joy.  That might not be what you want to hear on Easter.  Easter should be about joy and candy.  While it is more complicated than that, there is joy and love and even transcendence on Easter. Because at the end of Mary’s journey, her trips back and forth to the cross and to the grave, she was able to proclaim to the other disciples, “I have seen the Lord.”  That is the most any of us can ask for, a moment where we can say with assurance, that we have encountered the living God.   

Consider the times in your life when you have encountered God.  It doesn’t have to be majestic.  It might be very simple.   When have you have felt close to God: the birth of a child, (the baptism of a child) the first time you felt love as an adult, the holy moment when you held the hand of a loved one as they slipped into the next world, a harvest moon that took you by surprise, the rainbow you saw because you were stuck in traffic on the HRBT.   I will give you a moment.   Those moments are precious and holy. 

What makes these moments faith sustaining is the ability to put them in the context of Jesus’ life, death, and resurrection. That is why we meet in church to talk about these things.  Sure you can experience God outside of church.  Here is where we make the connections (between the ordinary and the extraordinary and to one another.) Sometimes it’s not all about joy and candy.  Sometimes it’s cold and rainy.  So we come together to remind ourselves and one another of these holy moments, to help one another see them more clearly. That way we can say together, “I have seen the Lord.”

             

God's Messy Love: March 13, 2016

Year C, Lent 5                
John 12:1-8                                                                            

           At one time I served with a priest who was fairly fastidious (in a good way).  Everything was always neat.  His desk was organized. He taught me how to officiate- how to lead a service. He was very good at it. He was elegant, but real, polished but faithful.  However, almost immediately, I knew that I would not be able to pull that off. When he taught me how to administer ashes on people’s foreheads on Ash Wednesday he would explain in a fairly elaborate way, “First you dip your thumb in the oil soaked cloth, then you dab the ash on the forehead and make the cross. You don’t want too much ash because then it will run down people’s faces and get on their clothes.”  This made good sense and I still use this technique today. 

            Serving with him shaped me in many ways.  Despite the fact that I didn’t do things exactly like him, I appreciated the orderliness of it all.  I like things to be efficient and organized.  I dislike waste.  While I love using homemade bread for communion, it always stresses me out a little because the pieces are all different sizes and people get overwhelmed when you give them too big a piece—which means they are chewing for the next 5 minutes.  What do you do with the left overs?

            I am not proud of my weird little idiosyncrasies.   My husband tells me that I am slightly preoccupied with efficiency.  So you can imagine that this passage from John rubs me the wrong way.  The Gospel begins with: “Six days before the Passover Jesus came to Bethany, the home of Lazarus, whom he had raised.” The timing is important because according to John, Jesus died on the Passover.  This event occurred six days before his death.  Now I suppose having dinner with some friends was a good thing to do in your final days.  Yet it seems a little odd to me that he’s just hanging out when he knows that he will die in a few days. Then the really weird thing happens, Mary takes a pound of expensive perfume, anoints Jesus’ feet, and wipes them with her hair.

            This was not the generic stuff you get at the drugstore.  This was extremely expensive oil.  It was worth a year’s wages for your average day laborer.    Normally people would anoint someone’s head, but she anointed his feet…with the insanely expensive oil.  She poured so much on him that the whole room was filled with the scent.  And then, she wiped his feet off with her hair.  I realize that this is a lovely image and clearly a sign of deep love and affection, but now she has oil all over her hair.  She has wasted even more than she would have had she just used a towel.

            It is no wonder why Judas questioned the lavish use of this oil.  It’s true that Judas was a thief and his intentions were anything but noble. I imagine there were many people there who also perceived this as a waste.  Wouldn’t you?  Jesus responded to this accusation with a statement that has been misinterpreted for millennia.  “You always have the poor with you, but you do not always have me.”  People often hear that as justification for not giving to the poor and spending money on things that make us feel good.  After all, we can’t help all of the poor people.  Jesus was actually quoting Deuteronomy: ¹¹ There will always be some in the land who are poor. That is why I am commanding you to share freely with the poor and with other Israelites in need.

            Jesus was not telling them to give up trying to help the poor as they would never fix the problem.  He was telling them to continue to care for the poor, because there will always be people in need.  He was also reminding them that his time on earth was limited.  Never again would someone be able to touch him and anoint him. 

            While I know all that, it still seems extreme. I just can’t get past the waste and the mess…oil everywhere.  That room would have smelled for days. She could have use an appropriate amount of oil, maybe a little dollop on his forehead.  She would still have been anointing him.  She would still be having this intimate interaction. The rest of the money could have been saved for future ministry or feeding the poor in their midst.  That would be a sensible compromise.  That was not the way she did it.

            A couple of years ago we had a healing service as part of our Lenten program.  We decided to use the oils that are blessed by the bishop.  We also use them for baptism and blessing the sick.  I did not have enough experience with these oils, so I made a bit of a mess.  It was dripping down people’s foreheads.  I worried that I upset people with all of this oil.  The smell filled the space.  It was a good smell.  I could smell it on my hands for days.  Still now, when I smell that oil, I think of the holiness and sacred messiness of that night. 

            Mary was one of Jesus’ most beloved disciples.  Her love knew no limit.  When she anointed him, she wasn’t thinking about what was proper or efficient, or liturgically appropriate.  She shared that oil much like she shared her love, much like she experienced God’s love. It was abundant and overpowering.  Everyone in the room experienced that too and I bet they never forgot that moment when they could see and smell God’s love. 

Days later as Mary sat at the foot of the cross, I imagine she could smell that oil on her hair.  She remembered that overpowering love.  Then when she went back to her home, there it was again, the smell of abundant and reckless love.  In her grief and sorrow it gave her strength to be one of the first people who went back to the tomb.  It helped her faith.

            I love the traditions of the Episcopal Church.  Sometimes I worry that they confine us too much.  We start to believe that God’s love comes in little hosts and tiny sips of wine.  God’s love is gloriously messy and overpowering.  We should find ways to return his love in the same way.  I am not exactly sure what that looks like.  For now it might just look like an open mind.  Had I lived in Jesus time and been in the room when Mary spilled all of that perfume, I definitely would have judged her.  I would have been so annoyed that I would have missed the majesty of the moment. Let us try not worry about what other people are doing, especially in how they express their faith and their love. 

More importantly, try not to censure yourself. If you hear a hymn that makes you want to dance a little, go for it.  If you need to sit in your pew and cry the whole service, that is ok too.  God speaks to us in different ways and we speak to God in different ways.  Try some different things out.  Mary took advantage of a moment.  Had she not, she would never have been able to show Jesus her love while he was still with her.  Think of the times when you lost someone before you had a chance to share your love. Don’t let a moment pass. Don’t let a moment pass to share God’s love and return God’s love.

A Thorny Encounter: February 28 2016

Year C, Lent 3             Exodus 3:1-15                                                                        

 

            I have often heard people say something to the effect of, “If only God would speak to me from a burning bush, then things would be so much clearer.”  I too have considered that at times.  In this day and age, God seems to communicate in much more subtle ways than he did in the Old Testament.   Yet when I find myself yearning for the clarity of a burning bush, I remind myself of what that burning bush did for Moses.  It changed his life forever.  It really complicated his life, and the life of his family.  It turned a shepherd into a leader of an oppressed people, a man who would challenge the Pharaoh of Egypt.  I am sure there were times when Moses wished God would have been a little more subtle as that would have made it easier to ignore him.

            But Moses did not ignore the bush.  It was curiously that drew him to the bush.  He was beyond the wilderness tending a flock.  He was alone.  I imagine he was a little bored, probably lonely.   From a distance he saw what appeared to be a bush that was on fire.  The fact that there was a bush on fire was not what interested him.  What interested him was that the bush was not consumed by the fire.  He was intrigued and decided that he needed to investigate this a little further.  It was only when he drew near to the miraculous sight that God called to him from the bush.  God called his name…he said it twice.  He then identified himself as the God of his father, the God of Abraham and Isaac and Jacob.  There could be no doubt of who this was or who he was calling. 

            If only God spoke to us all this way! God could create something shiny that would grab our attention.  God would then call our name and then in no uncertain terms identify himself.  That is the way that I want God to communicate with me.  It seems so straightforward.  It was this clarity that led Moses to hide his face.  It was common knowledge at this time that if you looked at God directly it would be the last thing you would do.  Seeing the face of God would end in your death.  Moses did the safe and smart thing.  He had responded to God by saying, “Here I am”, he followed God’s directions by removing his shoes and now he was shielding his face out of deference to the power of God.  So far, things are going about as well as can be expected when a burning bush is involved. 

 God has never been one for small talk and immediately got to the point. He knew what was going on in Egypt.  He knew that the Hebrew people were suffering at the hands of the Egyptians. He went as far as to say, “I know their sufferings…”  That meant that not only was he aware of what was going on, but he had experienced the suffering with the people.  He felt the pain and the desperation.  I imagine that this understanding was comforting to Moses.  Finally someone was on their side, someone with power and authority.  If this God could create a bush that would burn but never turn to ash, surely God could free his people.

But then God explained how this was all going to happen.  He was going to send Moses to the Pharaoh and he would lead the Israelites out of Egypt.  Suddenly Moses was wishing he had gone about his business tending his flock and not investigated this dangerous bush.  There is a little detail in this story that is usually left out.  The Hebrew word that is translated to bush is actually translated to thorn bush.  This wasn’t just any old bush.  This was a thorn bush and those bushes can be dangerous.  It was a dangerous bush and an even more dangerous message.  Moses argued with God for a little bit and was eventually worn down.  God did not promise Moses that it would be easy or that it would be safe and sacrifice free. He only promised that he would be with him through it all. 

Whenever I am asked to pray, I almost always ask for God’s presence and that God’s presence be known.  That’s because I believe that God’s presence is a comfort and reassurance in difficult times as well as good times. Yet as I consider this rather thorny text, I wonder if that is the right prayer when seeking solace and comfort. If God wanted to comfort Moses, he could have sent a rainbow like he did for Noah.  But that’s not what God did.  God lit a thorn bush on fire, a fire that could not be quenched.

God should be a comfort to us all. But God should also challenge us, challenge us to change.  When you have a personal encounter with God, you will always be changed.  You might even leave with a limp or a scar.  It’s like when you start exercising after not working out for a while, it hurts.  But you know that that the pain will lead to a positive change.  You know that you will endure.  It is the same with our encounters with God.  When we open ourselves to God, we will be changed and it won’t be an easy change.  I am reminded of a quote that I have seen and probably mentioned before.  “God loves you just the way you are, but God loves you too much to let you stay that way.” 

That to me is what the season of Lent is about.  It’s not about beating ourselves up for our deficiencies or our sins.  It is about opening ourselves up to new encounters with God, even if those encounters shake us up a little…even if God tells us the exact opposite of what we want to hear. 

Now you might be thinking, ok, I am ready for this new thorny encounter.  Where’s my burning bush? 

While the burning bush will probably not be your sign, there are some things we can learn from Moses’ experience. The only reason that he saw the bush was because he was looking at the world around him.  If we are perpetually gazing at a screen…we will probably not see the bush.  Our world is suffering from sensory overload.  It is suffocating.  Therefore we need to be deliberate about creating that space to encounter God.  It might just mean turning off the music or podcast.  It might even mean silencing the phone.  I realize these things sounds drastic, but we have to give God something to work with.  God did not call out to Moses until Moses turned from his task and went to investigate the bush.  My prayer for all of us is that God will be present with us and that we will know that presence.  I pray that presence will not only bring us the peace of God-- but will also disturb our complacency and light a fire that cannot be quenched. 

Failing more: Feb. 14, 2015

Year C, Lent 1              Luke 4:1-13                                                                            

           When I was in my early 20’s one of my brothers thought it would be fun to go sky diving together.   It sounded like an adventure, so I said yes.  The first time you go sky diving, you are required to go tandem.  This means there is someone on your back who has some sky diving expertise.  They can help steer you to the correct landing and also pull the cord if you forget.  I was really glad I had this person with me, because I did not have the presence of mind to pull the cord.  I am not sure I would have jumped had he not been with me.  All in all it was a good experience.  I am glad I did it, but will probably never be tempted to do it again. 

            We all know the story of Jesus’ temptation.  It is in the gospels of Matthew, Mark and Luke.  We begin every Lent with a temptation story.  Today, I am not going to talk about temptation in general, but specifically one of the tests that the devil gave to Jesus.   There were three tests. In the first, the devil asked a very hungry Jesus to change stones into bread.  Jesus quoted scripture and refused.  The second was an offer to provide Jesus ultimate power if he would only worship the devil.  Jesus refused and again provided scripture.   The third is the one I would like to focus on.  The devil asked Jesus to throw himself from the pinnacle of the temple.  This time the devil quoted scripture to support his request.   He quoted Psalm 91, which we just chanted together.  If Jesus really was the Son of God, then surely the angels would catch him.

            We all know that Jesus could have easily turned the stone into bread.  Later in his ministry he fed thousands with only five loaves of bread.  As far as the second test, he didn’t need to worship the devil to have power.  He already had the authority that the devil was offering.  He simply chose to wield it in a different way. Finally, he could have called on an army of angels to catch him, but he decided that instead he would fall as any human falls.  He would live as any human lives.  He would die as any human dies.

            What the devil was offering was a risk free life and ministry, one that would not involve potential failure….a path that would be much easier than the one that Jesus chose.  Assuming that Jesus knew he would be crucified in three years, I would imagine this would be the greatest temptation.  Who would not want a risk free life?  It reminds me of a quote that I occasionally see: “What would you attempt if you knew you could not fail?”  I find that question both inspiring and ridiculous.  It’s wonderful to consider the possibilities—of what we could do.  However if all we do is consider what could be done if success was guaranteed, then we would not learn how to fail. 

            One of my favorite poets is: Rainer Rilke. One of his poems reads:

This is what life can teach us:

to fall,
patiently to trust our heaviness.
Even a bird has to do that
before he can fly.

            That is less likely to end up on a motivational poster, but it seems more appropriate to me.  Nobody wants to fail. Nobody starts the New Year by making a resolution that they will fail more this year.  There were a lot of moments when it seemed to many that Jesus had failed.   He didn’t free the Jewish people from their Roman oppressors.  He did not endear himself to most of the religious leaders. He was betrayed, denied and deserted by the 12 people he chose to be his followers.   When he was put on trial, the people chose a common criminal (Barabbas) to free instead of him.  In the end he was killed in a humiliating way.  He was resurrected, but he didn’t do it in a very public way.  Most people didn’t even know it happened. To this day many people consider him a failure if they can even admit that he existed at all.  That isn’t a very impressive track record for someone we consider to be God in the flesh. 

            Jesus chose to live as a human.  He refused to take the easy way out; the method that the devil offered.  He did that so he could be an example for all of us mere humans.  We cannot call on angels to catch us--but we make a choice every day whether we will take the easy way or the hard way; whether we will risk our own comfort and happiness so we can be Disciples of Christ or whether we play it safe and be disciples of the path of least resistance. 

            I read that when a bird learns to fly, they sometimes fall to the ground.  Yet their mother will always be close by protecting the baby bird from predators, doing its best to keep the bird safe.  Yet the mother can’t keep the baby from falling.  It has to fall in order to fly. 

When I participated in tandem skydiving, I knew that if something really bad happened, the guy on my back would not be able to save me.  He probably wouldn’t even break the fall.  Yet I also knew that he was going to do everything in his power to keep me safe.  We were in this together.  God is like the mother bird, always watching and doing all he can to protect us.  In some ways life as a disciple of Christ is like tandem sky diving.  It is full of risk and the only way to experience life is to take those risks and be willing to fall.  However, God is with us the whole way sharing in the agony of defeat and the joy of success. 

            I challenge you this Lent to consider taking some risks and being open to failure.  Like the poet said, “Trust your own heaviness.”  If you take a leap of faith, you are going to fall at some point.  It’s inevitable.  But it’s not the end.  The heart of the Christian message is resurrection.  Even crucifixion only kept Jesus down for 3 days.   Perhaps instead of asking, “What would you attempt if you knew you could not fail?”---we would ask, “What would you attempt if you knew that failure was temporary and every failure provided a new beginning?”

What God Sees: Ash Wednesday

Matthew 6: 1-6, 16-21                      February 10, 2016

            Every year when I come to this service, I wonder what people must think when we read this text from Matthew and then do the exact opposite.  Over the years I have come up with several theories which I have shared and sometimes I have just avoided the topic all together because I am sick of talking about it.  But this year I decided to come back to the drawing board and look at it with fresh eyes.  I was trained in seminary to look at texts critically always considering the context not only within the Bible, but the time and place it was written.  I was also trained to look at my own innate biases in regards to the text.  For instance, I will almost always look for strength in women of the Bible. 

 I also realized at one point in seminary that I was extra sensitive about hypocrisy in the Bible…anytime the Bible seemed to contradict itself or anytime we as Christians flagrantly contradicted our core beliefs.  This year, it occurred to me that I was overly preoccupied with our practice of putting ashes on our forehead after reading a Gospel which clearly states that you should not disfigure your face and to be sure to wash your face.  I was worried about how it looked, how people might judge Christians as hypocrites. 

            Then I read a commentary that opened my eyes.  The commentator reminded me that this was not meant to be taken literally.  Jesus was using a tool that he often employed- that of hyperbole. He was talking about extremes.  When talking about giving alms he used two examples.  One was the person who blew a horn before giving money to charity.  The other was the person who was so sneaky about giving, one hand did not know what the other was doing.  We all know that would be impossible.  Jesus was simply trying to illustrate the point that we are not to do things just for the sake of being seen by other people.

            However these examples that he used (like putting oil on your head while fasting) were not meant to be new commandments or rules; they were simply examples.  What Jesus was trying to emphasize was the motivation behind these actions, not the actions themselves.  There is one word that comes up over and over again in these 12 verses: See or be seen. Each time Jesus uses the word, he juxtaposes two ways of being seen.  The first is doing things in such a way that will ensure you are seen and recognized by other people.  The other is that your Father in heaven will see you in secret.  In saying that God will see you in secret, Jesus isn’t just talking about you praying in your closet to make sure no one can see you.  He is pointing out that God can see your intentions.

            It makes you wonder why being seen matters so much.  Today it seems as though people are constantly aware of what other people are doing.  You don’t need a street corner or a horn anymore if you have youtube, twitter and facebook.  The point of social media is being seen.  You can look at your video or post and the statistics will tell you how many people saw your post or video.  And for some reason, that matters.  It matters because it gives us affirmation.  The more people who are seeing us, the more people who like us, the more we matter as individuals. 

            Why is it that we need this kind of validation and affirmation from other people when we already have that from God?  Why do we seek from other people what God already gives us unconditionally and selflessly?

            It goes back to the word see.  We can see other people’s reactions and affirmations.  We can see if they approve or disapprove and if we are so inclined, we can change our actions to get the right response.  Many years ago I said something in a sermon and I got a gasp of horror in response.  I made it through while maintaining my point, but I never made that point again.  In not making that point again, I knew I would please the people in my congregation.  I have no idea what God thought of the point because there was no audible or visual reaction from God.  And that’s why it is so difficult to depend on God’s perception alone.  I can tell you a million times that God loves you the way you are but it would be a lot more effective if God told you himself.

            That is why we have the Bible and this community of believers (the church).  We help one another understand what God wants from us.  We try to emulate God’s loving kindness and we try to avoid the kind of judgment that we see so frequently in the world around us.  I am going to stop worrying if the act of putting ashes on our head makes us look like hypocrites.  I know why I do it, partly because of what our liturgy says.  In putting on ashes, we are reminding ourselves of our mortality and our vulnerability.  We are remembering that Jesus died and was resurrected for us so that we too could one day defeat death.  We wear these ashes not to show everyone how holy we are, but to show people that we know that death is not the end.  These ashes are temporary.

When I put the ash on your forehead, I will tell you: “Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.” But we know in our hearts that we are far more than dust.  Remember, it is what is in your heart that counts, not what you wear on your face.  You are dust and to dust you shall return.  But that is not the end of our story because God has promised us eternal life. The ash will one day come off and we will be reborn.