“The Secret to Living Life Fully”
Colossians 3: 1-15
February 7, 1999
Just before dawn on a cold winter morning, a group of Russian prisoners was led out to face a firing squad. One of them was a young man named Fyodor Dostoevsky. All of them were condemned revolutionaries.
The first three were handed white gowns and shapeless caps, and were ordered to put them on. Then they were tied to three posts. Drums rolling, the firing squad raised their guns, took aim, and then they lowered their rifles. For, at that moment, a horseman galloped into the scene announcing the prisoners had been reprieved.
Although the condemned men didn’t know it, all this had been staged to show the mercy of the Czar. As a result of this experience, one of the men, who had put on the gown and faced the firing squad, went mad. Another went on to become one of the world’s greatest writers.
Dostoevsky’s life was forever changed from this experience.
Facing the absolute certainty of death shattered all of the assumptions on which he had built his life. It brought him back to the faith of his childhood. He began to see people in a new way and was able to recognize and write about the holiness of God found in the most humble of relationships.
But what about yourselves? Have you faced your own death? Have you contemplated your own mortality? Last week, Bob Raines, in the conference on aging, had us all do an exercise that was most beneficial. He asked each of us to sit quietly and calculate how many years we had left on this earth. The doing of this exercise was a wake-up call for many of us. We were made aware that we had a limited time. The dock was ticking. We had a finite amount of time to perform acts of love and kindness and forgiveness. There were only so many opportunities to rectify injustices, to reach out to people, and to finish what we had started. This exercise of thinking about a termination point pushed me into unfamiliar paths. It got me off the treadmill. Thinking about death reminded me of “what a lovely, awesome, Godly thing it is to be alive and to be aware.” Aware that life was just not an endless round.
Thinking about death might also be an occasion to gather up some of the fragments of our faith. The Christian faith has always bid us to contemplate death so that we might leave behind a life that is a gift to those who survive us. As Christians, we must always surround ourselves with the reality of death. Jeremy Taylor, an Anglican divine of the 17th century, in his book, Holy Living and Holy Dying, wrote that the contemplation of death, of a holy death, changes the way we view our very existence. The task of the church, Taylor claimed, was to prepare us for a “good death.”
“Don’t be morbid, Douglas,” some of you are thinking. “On a beautiful day, lift our spirits, speak to us of pleasant things.” We’ve probably been saying to ourselves, “I came to learn to face life, not to talk about death.” But I would interrupt your musings and say, “If you want to understand life with all its complexities, you must first understand death, and then see yourselves in a collision course between death and life.”
St Paul in the Epistle this morning said, “You are dead.” This “you” you worry about. This “you” is anxious. This “you” is fearful about the future. “You are dead and your life is hid with Christ in God.” That is what baptism is all about. That is what the Christian faith is about. Not that everything will turn out all right, but that your life through baptism is hid with Christ in God. And because of that, you have been raised, incorporated into this Resurrection community. This community faces death squarely. This is the Gospel. This is the good news. You’ve already died and have been raised to newness of life, and therefore your task is to be aware of this new life, in others, as well as in yourselves.
Why is it that we seem to spend so much time and energy denying death? Why is it we keep trying to look younger? If you have already faced your death, do you have to cling to something so transitory as youth? If you are able to face your death, can you not look at life in a different way?
Dostoevsky found that after living through the utter certainty that his life was over, everything looked fresh and clear, and different. With his own anxious agenda off his hands, he could see the beauty of the people around him. He could sense his connections to the end of the earth and appreciate his aging process. Death was a great teacher. It taught him about living and living life to the fullest.
We have great funerals here. Some have said this is one of the best things we do. I’m not sure about that, but I am sure that funerals are great times to proclaim that death is not the enemy. Death teaches us about life. At every funeral homily, I try to say how we must celebrate life, and see death as an opportunity to appreciate what we have had, and where we are headed.
So accept that you’re going to die. And let it free you to live fully in the moment. And let the contemplation of death make you appreciate each person around you, and each day that you are given.
“What do you make of it all?” I asked a friend recently who was going through a battle with cancer. “Every day is a pure, unimaginable gift,” she said. “And you know, without the knowledge of cancer, I probably would not have appreciated all my friends. Each day, I see people in a different light. Each wonderful day, I see myself in a different way.”
So today, I would take the risk of asking you to think, “How long do you have until you are dead?” But don’t stop there. I want you to go beyond that and really begin to think about how precious each day is that we are given. And finally, go beyond even that and and about how important each relationship, each person is to you. Remember, remember, “You have died and your life is been with Christ.”
Mary Oliver has a poem I’ve used at some funerals. It’s really about life and what it could mean to us. It’s called When Death Comes. And it ends this way,
When it’s over I want to say
I have been a bride married to amazement
I have been a bridegroom taking the whole world in my arms
when it’s over I don’t want to wonder
If I have made of my life something particular and real
I don’t want to find myself
sighing and frightened and full of argument
I don’t want to end up simply having visited this world
Nor do I. Nor do you. We do not want to simply visit this world. For it is a lovely, awesome, Godly thing to be alive and to be aware
Amen
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The Difficulty of Words
Corinthians
February 9, 1986
As a Christian preacher, I stand in perpetual admiration of Buddhist teachers. They are able, by the simplest of stories, to make the most telling points. One story that I heard recently tells of a meeting between the Buddha and an odd little creature known as the monkey God. I am not sure who this monkey God was exactly, but the story tells you clearly enough all you need to know about him.
After the fashion of monkeys, apparently he was impudent and, above all, he was very vain and boastful. These qualities became apparent as soon as he and the Buddha came face to face. The very first thing the monkey God tries to do is to prove that he is just as great as the Buddha. To establish this, he sets about performing a number of tricks. The kind of magical acts that are designed to astonish.
The Buddha sits there pondering and inscrutable. Giving no particular sign of being impressed. Finally, out of desperation, the monkey plays his trump card. He takes an enormous leap into the air and completely disappears from sight. Eventually, he comes back and then just stands around for a while, obviously worked too as Buddha says nothing right through the monkey God has just come back from the outermost limits of the universe and implies that this is a journey that even the Buddha might find difficult to take.
Then the monkey God stands around a while longer, hoping that the Buddha will ask him how it was done. But again, there is no question forthcoming. So again, the monkey God replies to a question that has not been asked. he explains that at the outermost limit of the universe, he saw five huge granite pillars extending into the clouds. And what does the Buddha think of that?
This time the Buddha does answer, but not in words; instead of saying anything he simply raised his hands up before the monkey’s eyes. As the murky God watches, his attention is drawn to the Buddha’s fingers, which seemed to become not 5 fingers but 5 huge granite pillars. These pillars extend up infinitely, and the tops are lost beyond sight.
I envy the ability of the priest. The Buddhists tell that kind of story when faced with religious questions. It tells us that even at silence or a simple action, you can teach profound truths. When you come right down to it, the kinds of things we talk about in religion are always difficult, often almost impossible to put into words. In this information culture, we must rediscover silence. Speaking about the unspoken as our task. Poetry is what we are about. If I as a preacher, were an unusually brave man, I would keep my friend’s advice. I would stop speaking, perform some action in silence, or maybe slip into poetry.
In the 13th chapter of acts that is what Saint Paul shows in describing love. He slips into poetry as this passage is called, the great hymn to love. First Paul describes the characteristics of love. It is silent, kind, not jealous or boastful. Not arrogant or rude, does not insist on its own way it is not irritable or resentful does not rejoice that wrongs. It bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.
But after all this description Paul ends by saying that you cannot fully understand or articulate love. To use Paul’s own words now we see in a mirror darkly now we know in part. Words fail, concepts fail, it is at this point that we become shepherds of silence rather than servants of the word. It is not that words about love are useless. Paul’s words are beautiful, worth repeating, but the fact is that words are not enough. Suppose a man comes to a friend who has fallen in love and asks him to describe the experience, there would appear to be two courses open
First he might define the symptoms, analyze the feelings, and give some characteristics. The result would be a fairly comprehensive account, but probably little understanding. The second course would be to tell his friend nothing, but either recount a story of love or point him in the direction in which he may experience love
A person said to me I can be a Christian on my own. I don’t need the church. I can learn about ethics by reading some good philosophy. I laughed. I have heard it before so many times
This is like learning about love from a marriage manual, or being married and living alone. How I wanted to say don’t you understand the Christians are lovers and one cannot be a lover alone? The lower needs the beloved, or, as the poet said our hearts are restless until we find our home with thee. But I held my tongue and remained silent, but what could I say except that he had forgotten his nature
Let me conclude with this story that reinforces this notion, ohh more because it comes from the eastern tradition. Mohammed sat down in the shade of an ancient banyan tree, its roots stretching far into a swamp. As he sat there he noticed a scorpion that had become hopelessly entangled in the tree roots. The old man reached down to extricate the scorpion, but each time he touched it, it lashed his hand with its tail, stinging him painfully. Finally his hand was so swollen he could no longer close his fingers so he withdrew to wait for the swelling to go down
As he sat down he noticed the young man who had been watching from far off. The young man laughed and said you are wasting your time trying to help a scorpion that can only do you harm. The old man replied, simply because it is in the nature of the scorpion, testing. But my nature which is to love.
Now we see in the mirror darkly, but every so often by a gesture, a word, a story, a sacrament we may begin to understand we are like the monkey God. We are outrageous, ludicrous, vain, and boastful we talked too much, posture too much, communicate too much. But in answer to all our words God holds before us not answering but a person who says
This is my body, this is my blood. Come and join yourself to me.,
Amen -
“The Courage to Change”
Genesis 5: 14; Hebrews 11: 1-3, 8-12; Mark 1: 9-13
February 25, 1996
With everything and everyone that belonged to him, Abraham set out to seek a new home. At the time, he was 75 years old, settled in, respected, well-known, and ready to enjoy the golden years in Haran. And then, suddenly, we read of this call. “Leave Haran, leave what you know, leave the comfortable life, and go on a journey. Go out into the wilderness.”
Can’t you just hear the neighbors? “Abraham, what’s gotten into you? Where in the world do you think you’re going?”
‘I don’t know. All I know is that I’m going on a journey.” ‘What do you mean, you don’t know? What is this – some
wild dream? Some postponed mid-life crisis? Have you thought of Sarah? And what about that promising nephew of yours – Lot? He’s just starting in business. And furthermore, it’s dangerous out there. It’s a wilderness, and you might encounter all sorts of harmful things.”
“But, but I’ve been called.” And so we read that Abraham leaves Iran and goes out to the wilderness without knowing where his final destination will be. For Paul, as well as for countless Christians throughout the ages, this journey that Abraham undertakes is the great symbol of faith.
This is the second in a series on Abraham, our spiritual forebear. And it’s the second in the series on our “senior years,” – the second half of life, where conventional wisdom suggests that we play it safe, sit back, and enjoy the good times. But for Abraham, the second half of life meant something else. It meant responding to a call, taking a risk, and leaving the known for the unknown.
But first, we might ask what the nature of a call really is. What is it that Abraham heard? Was it a resonant voice that sounded sort of like Charlton Heston and identified itself as coming from God? Was it something that looked and sounded like the voice of an angel, or the appearance of a dove? I think not. This is where we often become confused. We await a call as if it were coming to us from central casting. And thus, we either miss or ignore the call because it comes in many different voices and forms.
Last week, Peter began this dialogue with us by defining a call. Let me try my definition. Fundamentally, I believe, a call is anything that we might label as new information that appears to us. Any information that asks us to make a basic change, to do life differently. You can get a call when you learn that your company is moving to a different part of the country. You can get a call when you learn of a bad diagnosis. You can get a call when you’ve finished one Chapter of life and are about to start a new one. You can get a call when you begin to read the want adds and hear about downsizing. You can get a call when you are baptized. All of these are or can be calls. A call is some new information that summons us to make a decision. For me, a call is anything that elicits a change and would cause you to go on some kind of a journey, either an inward journey that changes the shape of your life, or an outward journey to some far-off country. My point here is that we need not get hung up on the nature of the call. The real question is: What do you do about it? How do you respond? That’s the real dilemma. Abraham left Haran to take on a new role and journeyed into the wilderness. But what about yourselves? What has your response to calls been? Do you or do you not go out into the far country? Do you or do you not take the risk of journeying into the wilderness?
The one factor that I believe will determine your response is how you view the story of your life. I’m told there is a new type of therapy being practiced today. It’s ca11ai “narrative therapy.” The central belief of this new method of psychology is that each of us is involved in creating our own life stories, which we repeat endlessly to ourselves and others. Each of us, the practitioners of this therapy believe, is constantly writing and interpreting different aspects of their story, but the basic storyline is constant. The stories can be either tragedies or comedies, epics or .love stories – and you, the writer of your story, are either in a , role as a victim or a hero. But whatever role you play, you are the principal actor in your narrative. You are the one who dictates what the storyline will sound like.
The purpose of narrative therapy is to refine and enlarge one’s understanding of his or her story.
There’s a sad tale told about a young man who went to one of these narrative therapists. He’d been going to doctors for years and thought of himself as “psychologically incurable.” This was of comfort to him because at least it made him something – “incurable.” The new therapist annoyed him by saying: ‘Well, I don’t believe you are as sick as you believe you are.”
She asked him to imagine he was perfectly normal and that all his past experiences were simply ways in which he could and new meanings. The patient never came back for the next appointment. He didn’t want to be on a journey called wholeness and health. His version of himself as an incurable fit into his life story in a much better way. This new information was just not acceptable.
Now it’s easy to dismiss that young man as sick or misguided. But let me suggest that it’s not easy for any of us to rewrite our basic stories. It’s much easier to ignore or dismiss any new information.
Returning once again to Abraham, we read that he heard the call, let in the new information, opened himself up to Change, took on a new role, and re-worked his story. Perhaps there were others in Haran who received the same call, the same information. “God wants you to leave and go out into the wilderness. and become a father of a new people.” But that information didn’t fit other people’s stories. They knew how their story was to be played out, and it didn’t include a journey, nor did it include a new role. And so they chose not to respond. They chose to stay with the known.
This process of a call, of a response, of a journey is repeated throughout Scripture. The Gospel for this morning is another example of the same thing. Jesus goes to be baptized, he hears a call, and leaves on a journey into the wilderness. Jesus descends into the water of the Jordan as a carpenter, and he comes out as a spiritual leader, one who goes out into the wilderness on a journey.
Traditionally, the church has read this story at the beginning of Lent. It holds this up as a picture of faith. Faith has never been about believing a set of doctrines or a bunch of teachings. Faith has always been about journeying – going into the wilderness – wrestling with the devil – and taking the risk of changing your narrative.
Good people, Lent has begun. The response is up to you.
Are you willing to take a journey? Remember, remember – you may be starting this journey as a citizen of Tucson. You may end a citizen of Heaven. AMEN. -
On Not Being Able to Say You’re Sorry
Luke 18: 10-14
February 24, 1985
In a recent biography of Lyndon B. Johnson, there was a particularly insightful section on the Vietnam War. As LBJ began to reminisce on that disastrous period in our national history, the question was asked: Why did he keep committing more and more resources to that conflagration when he knew we couldn’t win?
With a burst of candor, Mr. Johnson replied:. “We were unable to admit that we were wrong. ” What a devastating commentary on history! “We were unable to admit that we were wrong. ” That was the Pharisee’s problem in our Gospel lesson this morning. Let’s look closely at this parable as we enter into Lent,
Two men went up to the Temple to pray -one a Pharisee, which these days can be translated as a churchgoer, or, if you prefer, the rector of a large metropolitan church, the other a tax collector. The Pharisee stood and prayed thus with himself: “God, I thank thee that I am not like other people, ”
The Pharisee further typifies us by listing the vices from which he abstains, “I am not like other people– extortioners, unjust, adulterers, or even like that tax collector”
Without a doubt the easiest way to feel virtuous is to concentrate on the wrongs you don’t commit, and avoid at all costs examining your motives for abstention. Contrary to popular belief, most good behavior is due to the weakness of our passions rather than the strength of our character. The older you get, the less beguiling are the temptations.
But wait, you say; the Pharisee went further. He began to list what he does do, proving that he is a candidate, if not for canonization, at least for Man of the Year. He fasts not once a year but twice a week. And he tithes — dare I say it? -far more than most of us . He does a lot of religious things , which only goes to prove what Luther said: “Good works don’t make a person good. ”
The Pharisee had one tragic flaw; there was something askew in his makeup. When you are so caught up with being right that you can it admit to being wrong, when you have to blind yourself to your own sins , you are in trouble. The evil that you so vigorously reject has a way of infiltrating your security system.
Reinhold Niebuhr was on target when he wrote: “Ultimately considered, evil is done not so much by evil men but by good men– men who do not know themselves and are concentrating on the evil outside of themselves ” God, I thank thee that I am not like other people.
The point of the parable is that our secure presumption of righteousness is in itself our greatest sin. This is one of those paradoxes in life: The more we pursue good behavior, the less likely we are to be aware of our own failings.
If you stop to think about this, it is not as crazy as it sounds. Anyone seeking to be virtuous is probably no longer seeking God or his neighbor. The enterprise is too self-absorbing, too engrossing -it will not allow time for much else.
True, the Pharisee goes into the Temple, but only as so many Christians do — to make their last stand against God. True, the Pharisee does good works, but only to gain points toward some goal of a heavenly kingdom.
As someone once said: To pharisaical Christians, the Kingdom appears as a corporation in which they have acquired sufficient stock to warrant the expectation that someday soon they will be asked to join the board of directors,
But what about yourselves? Can you see the Pharisee within you? Can you identify with that need to be virtuous? Can you dimly discern that part of you that wants to say, “God, I have been good. I have done my very best to keep the law, at least I have done a better job than some I could mention.” ?
Can you see yourself starting on that road to sainthood? if so, you had better watch out, for this can so easily turn into the road to self-destruction. Pascal was right: “The world divides itself between sinners who imagine themselves to be saints, and saints who know themselves to be sinners. ”
The tax collector was on the road to sainthood, not because of what he did but because of what he sought. He was seeking God’s mercy, and this he could do because first he acknowledged his sense of sin,
There is a wonderful expression in the confession of the old Prayer Book that reads: “There is no health in us “It may have been somewhat in the extreme, but it certainly didn’t leave any doubt as to why we were seeking God’s mercy. The tax collector basically was saying these words: “Lord, there is no health in me, ”
Friday night we were with some friends talking about old movies. Someone brought up that best seller and popular picture “Love Story” Do you remember that oft-quoted line, “Love means never having to say you’re sorry” ? Nonsense! Love means the acknowledgment of your need for forgiveness,
The only way we can love is by first acknowledging that there is no health in us , no rightness,, that we need the other person, This is why there is such difficulty in so many marriages; everybody sees himself as right, This is why the counseling of people with marriage predicaments is so hard; both people are ready to forgive That that is easy – but neither party is ready to be forgiven that is hard.
We don’t know why the tax collector came into the Temple. It is difficult to know people’s motivations. He might not have been able to see any light at the end of the tunnel. We have all been there – some of us too many times-when you feel completely helpless and are caught in that victim posture. And all you can do is cry out in despair,
We don’t really know whether the tax collector found himself there, particularly since there is no sequel to the parable But if we simply take the tax collector at face value, and if we can assume that he had heard the Good News — the Good News that declares there is more mercy in God than sin in us — if we can assume that, then we can also assume that the tax collector became as zealous as the Pharisee,
Only it was a different kind of zealousness. The tax collector’s zeal lay in expressing his gratitude for the love of God, which came to him when he was still a sinner. The zeal of the Pharisee was based on his effort to prove himself. In any event, the point is crystal clear: Mercy and forgiveness can come only to those who seek them.
The Pharisee and the tax collector is a story as old as the Bible and as fresh as your next look in the mirror. Can you see the relevance of the descriptions? More than that, can you feel the two pulls in your own life?
The Pharisee and the tax collector story is our own story. I doubt that Jesus told the story simply to point out two kinds of people. Instead, I believe it is a parable about each one of us.
Each of us contains within himself or herself both parts: We are quick to cover over our mistakes, and we often find ourselves on our knees, in each of us dwells a bit of the Pharisee and a bit of the tax collector, just as in each us there dwells a little of the saint and a lot of the sinner.
Good people, in this time of Lent, when we seek to look into our hearts, in this time of rugged honesty, when the Church asks us to take a journey of self–examination, and as we take the first step along the way, hand in hand with the Pharisee and the tax collector — we might think together of St, Augustine’s words recalling the two thieves who hung on either side of Christ. He wrote:
“One was saved, do not despair. One was not; do not presume,”
Amen -
“It Ain’t Necessarily So”
Mark 8: 27-38
February 23, 1997
We live in exciting and unnerving times. New living arrangements are emerging throughout the world. New paradigms are being fashioned. Old truths are being discarded, and new virtues are replacing ancient idols. Partially because we’ve learned more about ourselves, and partially because the world is shrinking. What seemed like certainty fifty years ago is being replaced by a belief in the changing capriciousness of history.
When I was growing up, I was taught that the shortest distance between two points was a straight line. But now I know differently. We all were taught that the time-honored ways were the best ways. But much of what we’ve seen in the last century has made us question those assumptions. Truths that were imprinted upon our psyches at an early age have been found to be seriously flawed.
One of the most enduring songs of the past fifty years comes from the show Porgy and Bess. The title is “It Ain’t Necessarily So./’ That song title serves as a symbol for many of our learnings in the last twenty years. It ain’t necessarily so what we’ve been taught, what we’ve been scripted, what the world has held out to us as truth. “It ain’t necessarily so.”
And that/s also our theme for Lent: “It ain’t necessarily so.” Lent is a time in the Christian year when we are asked to dig deep into the truths that we hold. We are asked during these forty days to plumb the depths of what we hold dear, to go into the abyss. We are asked to go against the grain and question long-held assumptions about God, ourselves, and our relationships
For Christians, the symbol of Lent is forty days in the wilderness. Forty days in the desert. Forty days of digging into the depths of what we hold as truth.
Let me warn you ahead of time. Lent is not a time of comfort for those who take seriously the call to enter into the spirit of this season. We are being asked to destabilize our beliefs, to look at our world, our culture, our common wisdom, and say, “It ain’t necessarily so.”
There are many ways that we might describe the Jesus we meet in the Gospels. One of the most current ones is to see him as a teacher of subversive wisdom. Much of his teaching seaously questions the conventional wisdom of the ages. Jesus often does this by delivering one-liners that challenge and invite us to transform our perceptions of what is truth.
Take the one-liner in our Gospel today (I’m using the New English Bible translation): “For what does a person gain by winning the whole world at the cost of his true self?”
The wisdom of the world says: be successful, make something of yourself, accomplish some goals. And then Jesus comes along and says: “It ain’t necessarily so.” As a matter of fact, in following the path of conventional wisdom, you are in danger of losing your soul.
Two illustrations that come from contemporary writers might serve to point out what Jesus meant by this one-liner. The first is from Peter Drucker, the management guru. In one of his books, he points out how business people can get seduced into the “accomplishment game.” The person trying to justify their existence, striving for success, and climbing to the top of the ladder is often in trouble. And sometimes, in the dark of the night, he or she begins to dig deep and raise the question, “Is it worth is?” Many people, Drucker points out, “as they climb up the ladder . . . the ladder is leaning against the wrong building.’/ Or to put it in more crude terms, winning in the rat race often only shows that you’re a rat.
The second illustration comes from Sherwood Anderson. In one of his essays, he presents us with a theory which he calls “The Grotesque.” it runs something like this. All around us in the world are many truths to live by, and they all have merit. The truth of thrift, the truth of self-reliance, the truth of patriotism. But as people go through life, they often snatch at one of these truths and make it a priority, which can turn them into a “grotesque.”
Thrift, for example, is a good think. It can be a commendable goal. But if we place too much emphasis upon this virtue, we often degenerate into hoarding. And hoarders can become misers. And then they become grotesque. Conventional wisdom also tells us that self-reliance is a good thing. And to be successful, you must first learn to be independent. The problem is that self-reliance easily degenerates into indifference, and indifference can become a lack of compassion towards those who are not able to make it in our society. This hardening toward others often turns us into “a grotesque.”
The theory of the grotesque in Gospel terms is that you can gain all the virtues that you were taught as a youngster. You can survive, be successful, achieve all that you set out to accomplish, and still end up being grotesque, losing your soul.
Good people, it’s not accidental that the most notable symbol of our faith is a broken, ruined, and abandoned human being. The image revolutionized our way of thinking and questions our very priorities. The Jesus we meet in scriptures keeps exploding our boundaries and inviting us to dig deeper than the conventional wisdom of our society.
Lent is a time for questions, for digging, for looking closely at what we have been taught. The crucified one reminds us that we can achieve all sorts of things and still become grotesque, lose ourselves, and our souls.
Let me leave you with some words from Nikos Katzantzakis, as we move into the desert of Lent. Katzantzakis commands us to listen to our depths and dig. Don’t simply accept what is, but dig deeper.
“A command rings out within me: Dig!
What do you see?
Men and birds, water and stones_
Dig deeper! What do you see?
Ideas and dreams, fantasies and lightning flashes!
Dig deeper! What do you see?
I see Nothing! A night as thick as death. It must be the wilderness.
Dig deeper!
Ah! I cannot penetrate the dark. But as I enter into it,
I proceed, trembling. One foot grips the secure soil, the other gropes in the darkness above the abyss.”
This Lent, I invite you to dig, to walk into the dark, to put aside the wisdom of the world, to gain your own soul. For what will it gain you – if you win the rat race and lose your own self?
Amen -
The Art of Caring
Leviticus 19 1-2, 9-18
Cor. 3: 10-11, 16-2
Matthew 5: 36-48
February 22, 1981
One of the fascinating features of the English language is the way it constantly changes. As someone once said, our words, like children, never stand still; they are always developing and constantly being transformed.
For example, back in 1675, some nine years after the terrible London Fire. Sir Christopher Wren laid the first foundation stone for what was to be his greatest enterprise. St. Paul’s Cathedral. It took him 35 long years to complete. When it was done, he waited breathlessly for the reaction of us and Her Majesty the Queen. After being carefully shone through the structure, Queen Anne summed up her feelings for the architecture in three words:
Awful, Amusing and Artificial
Imagine how you would feel if words like those were used to describe the great work of your life. Sir Christopher wren’s biographer tells us that upon hearing those words he rehearsed a sigh of relief and bowed greatly before his sovereign. Are you surprised? The explanation is simple.
In 1710 the word awful meant awe inspiring, the word amusing meant amazing and the word artificial meant artistic. What to our ears sound like devastating criticisms were in those days words of high praise.
That sort of thing happens all the time for words have a life of their own and are forever undergoing changes. That is particularly so of the four letter words in our language. Every generation seems to adapt them to their own ways. I know that it’s so of the four letter word that is at the heart of this. The word is care. It is one of the primary words of the Christian religion yet it has changed so much through the ages that I sometimes hesitate to use it.
Henri Nouwen, the Dutch Jesuit theologian from Yale, points out one of his many books how very ambiguous the word care has become. When someone says I will take care of him it is more likely an announcement of an impending attack then of tender compassion. Or when someone says, I don’t have a care in the world, caring is similar to worries and anxieties. And isn’t this a goal for many people today? To care less to become carefree? If not a goal, it certainly is an objective of modern society. As a style of life, living without cares is more attractive than being careful.
And then in Matthew we have the teaching of Jesus to care, not as others do but to go further, for we are sons and daughters of our heavenly father. Here is one of the central realities of the Christian faith. God has depicted again and again as one who cares for all his creation. And since we are human beings, made in his image, caring, real caring is essential to our makeup.
I seem to remember from freshman philosophy that it was Descartes who said cogito ergo sum. I think, therefore I am. How wrong he was. We are not simply detached brains, nor do we establish who we are by thinking alone. Nor does it make any more sense to say, with the romantics, I feel therefore I am. Deeper than thinking, deeper than feeling, a greater part of her essence is the sense of caring. I care, therefore I think I care, therefore I feel I care, therefore I love. I care, therefore I am
the problem is as Henri Nouwen Put it, that caring is an ambiguous word. He suggests that we ought to go back to the original meaning of the word. In this way we can all start again and come to terms with what is involved in authentic caring. The old gothic root of the word to care is the word Cara and Cara means lament. The basic meaning of caring is to grieve, to experience sorrow, to stand with those who are crying. Much different that is from common usage. The word care for most of us, brings to mind care packages, a sick person cared for by a healer, a weak person lifted by a strong person, I have reaching out toward a have not. Yet caring doesn’t necessarily mean helping, it doesn’t necessarily mean fixing things up. It means standing with a person in his misery. It means sharing the pain, touching the wounds, walking in another shoes. It means recognizing the essential nature lies at the core of us all. Think for a moment with me about the people in your life who have cared. Are they necessarily the ones who have healed our wounds, given us advice, added to our solutions? Aren’t they rather ones who have sat with us in our silences, stood with us in moments of despair, loved us in our most unlovable times? We pass out of death into life because we care period the call of God is simply a call to care and those who have answered that call are those who have really brought us from death to life.
You know it, I know it, we all know it, because we have seen and been touched by those who care.
I want to make a confession this morning, period of all the teachings of Jesus, this passage in Matthew has been by far the most difficult period to love your enemies, to pray for those who persecute you, is probably the most foreign, difficult, hard to understand demand imaginable. It goes completely contrary to everything I have been taught. It seems the worst kind of folly, completely lacking reality. Yet there it is, the heart of Jesus’ teaching. And so, if we are going to be honest when we hear the demand, we look up and say how, how can we do this Lord? Ohh Lord, how long would you have us do this foolishness? And God looks down and says how long old man how long will you not understand my nature? All it takes is caring, walking with that person, being present to friends and enemies. Remember, if love is the game then caring is the precondition. Inland I’ve discovered that nothing human is foreign to us. The stranger no longer is different, the enemy no longer is to be feared. Where we discover that through caring we and they participate in the nature of God to the God who came not to be different but to be the same as we are, the God who came not to take pain away but to share it, the God who came not to convert us but to love us sinners if love is the game, then caring is the precondition
I would like to end this week with another story from Nouwen. Two weeks ago I was in San Francisco with him, and he shared this tale to help us understand this deep secret of caring.
The story comes from ancient India and tells of an old man who sat by his dream one day meditating on the love of God. One day, he spied a scorpion going into a hole and becoming entangled by a tree root. The more the scorpions struggled, the more it became entangled. The old man went over and stuck his hand down the hole to free the scorpion, but every time he did this the scorpion reached up and stung him. This continued for a while, and the man was getting redder and redder, sicker and sicker, weaker and weaker, yet he kept it up.
Finally another man approached and watched this little drama until he could stand it no longer You foolish old man he said you silly person, you can’t realize that the scorpion perceives you instinctively to be an enemy? The old man looked up and said, but don’t you see, don’t you understand, that it belongs to the nature of this scorpion to sting but it belongs to my nature to care.
Dare to care period for caring is from God and we are made in his image, Amen -
“Lent: What You Can Learn in the Process”
Exodus 16: 1-15, Mark 1: 9-13
February 20, 1999
When I was in junior high, I received a great shock. Our math teacher informed us that it was no longer good enough to produce the right answers. We also had to tell how we got the answer. At the time, I didn’t appreciate this direction. It seemed grossly unfair. As long as you arrived at the right answer, whether you got it with a little help from your friends, or made a lucky guess, or worked it out in your own system, it all seemed equally valid.
I seem to recall arguing that if I were asked what 2 plus 2 was, and I gave the answer 4, what difference did it make how I had gotten there? What does the process have to do with anything, as long as you arrive at where you should be?
Well, I’m a little older and maybe a little wiser. And now I
know that I was being taught one of “the rules of life.” How you get there is everything. Or to put it another way, the process is every bit as important as the destination.
I am reminded of that learning, as we think about Lent. Lent is a time, a process, and a period of preparation that leads us to Easter. Most of us would prefer to move rapidly from the ashes of this past Wednesday to the lilies of Easter, and skip the process in between. We see little to be gained going through the agony of forty days.
Why wait when the question raised on Ash Wednesday about our mortality is answered by the Resurrection on Easter Sunday? But, as my old math teacher used to say, “The process is every bit as important as the answer.
In biblical language, the process is usually symbolized by a story of some kind of wandering in the wilderness or in the desert. And so it is in the Gospel. Jesus wanders in the wilderness for forty days before taking up his ministry. In Mark’s Gospel, which is probably the most accurate, the writer doesn’t go into any detail. All we really know is that it was forty days, and during this difficult period, the angels of God ministered to Jesus.
In the Hebrew Scriptures (which we read as our first lesson), the people of Israel wander for forty years in the wilderness before reaching their destination, and we read that God ministers to them in the desert. Forty years, forty days, it seems to be a magic number. The problem is that we Americans who have grown up on instant foods, instant credit, instant gratification, would rather make it twenty days, or ten days, and certainly forty years is way beyond our imagination. Be that as it may, we know a great deal more about the forty years, and therefore, I want to concentrate our attention on the Hebrew Scriptures. I hope this story will tell us about our own wanderings, our own process during Lent.
We begin with our first lesson. The sixteenth chapter of Exodus really is in the middle of the journey. You will remember the Hebrew people had been freed from slavery, escaped the Egyptian army, crossed the Red Sea, and are on their way to the “Promised Land.”
Are they a grateful, contented, happy lot? Not at all. Like many church people, they are looking for all their needs to be met, and met instantly. We might describe them as acting like unhappy customers whose primary concern is their own comfort. The writer of Exodus puts it in a more polite way. He tells us, “They murmured as they wandered in the desert.”
Can’t you just hear the murmuring? The discontent, the whispering. It begins with nostalgia, a longing for the good old days, which always look better than they actually were.
And then, like most church groups, they quickly lose confidence in the leadership. So they send some representatives to Moses and say, “Would that we had died by the hand of the Lord in the land of Egypt; when we sat by the fleshpots and ate bread to the full, for you have brought us out into this wilderness to kill this whole assembly with hunger.” (Exodus 16: 3)
If I were Moses, I would have left them there, resigned, quit, or retired to write my memoirs. Who needs that kind of aggravation? Who needs those ingrates? And if I were God, I would have sent them straight back to Egypt and into the arms of the Pharaoh. They would rather the fleshpots of Egypt; I would give them the fleshpots of Egypt, and the slavery that went with it.
But fortunately, I’m me, and God is God, for God is a lot more tolerant than I seem to be. God responds in the twelfth verse, “I have heard the murmuring of the people of Israel. At twilight, you shall eat, and in the morning, you shall be filled with bread. Then you shall know that I am your God.”
And thus we then read that daily there rained down upon them from heaven a sticky sweet substance that kept them alive throughout the wilderness journey.
One further note: this bread was called Manna, and while I was ill, I did some research on what Manna is. In Hebrew, Manna simply means, “What is it?” From this extensive research, I’ve learned that if you ask the wrong question, you’ll end up with an unsatisfactory answer. If you want the actual, real, scientific meaning of Manna, here it is. It is aphid dung. That’s it. Manna is the excrement of certain birds that feed on the secretions of the Tamarack tree. Manna is a four-letter word not usually heard from the pulpit. Now, aren’t you glad you asked?
The question, of course, is not what for but what does it mean? How does aphid dung become the bread of Heaven? And the answer is simple and clear. When you’re wandering in the wilderness, God does not leave your side. God provides even in the desert. And what God provides becomes the gift of Angels. Heavenly bread
Well, what does this story have to do with us as we go through the forty-day process? Let me leave you with three things to ponder as we think about Lent.
First, the fashioners of this lovely red altar frontal felt that this sentiment should be prominently displayed for everyone coming forward for the bread of Communion. In several places on the frontal is written the Latin Ditat Deus. Ditat Deus, translates is God provides.
Second, remember when you are feeling most lost in the wilderness, most ready to murmur, throw in the sponge, God has a way of providing bread from Heaven. All you have to do is be open to discovering Manna.
Third, remember that God is found in the process. Remember, when it’s over, it is not over. There is still a journey to go, and God will be with you.
I recall when I was in the Seminary being taught that a sermon ought to conclude with some action that the congregation could do. This morning, I am inviting you to go literally into the desert with me and meet with the Yaqui people of Old Pascua Village. This is a community that, like the Hebrew people, has wandered for many years. And I ask you to come with me and pray that the people of St. Philip’s might be Manna, bread from heaven, for these people and they for us – for we are all on a journey. Amen. -
Belonging Without Believing
Mark 1: 9-13
February 20, 1994
The young man stood at the bank of the river. He was in his early 30s and wearing a clean white robe. It was a beautiful morning. The sun shone brightly. And there in the middle of the river, surrounded by members of the community, was his cousin. He beckoned the young man to come forward. And as the choir softly sang, the young man was plunged into the cold water with the words of repentance and new life said over him. It seemed as if the very heavens opened, and he thought he heard a voice saying: “This is my son with whom I am well pleased.”
Following this experience, the young man began going to all his friends and acquaintances announcing: “I am saved – I am saved! I’ve been baptized! Alleluia! I’m saved!” (Needless to say, this young man was not an Episcopalian.) In the ensuing weeks, he continued to tell whomever would listen that he was saved and belonged to the church, but little else seemed to change in his lifestyle. Finally, an old friend, a veteran of the faith, took the young man aside and said: “Saved from what? Saved for what? Until you can answer those questions, you’ve got the name, but not the game. You’re on the road, but you’re not going anywhere.”
Last Sunday, I began teaching a course on the Episcopal Church. I usually start by asking the group what they have heard about the Episcopal Church. Several years ago, someone replied: “The Episcopal Church is the only church you can join and still remain a practicing Atheist.”
Is it true? Can we belong without believing? Can we be baptized, go to Sunday School, be confirmed, and still be a non-believer?
As we begin our 40-day Lenten journey, let’s be honest – radically honest – painfully honest. You who are members of the church, have you ever felt that belonging and believing had much of a correlation? We in the church place great emphasis on belonging, but when it comes to believing, we usually say that’s a private concern too personal to share with others. Or maybe we’re modern Christians and say: “It doesn’t really matter at all – as long as you believe in something.”
One of the wisest men in our time, a sociologist from the University of Michigan by the name of Kenneth boulding, once wrote that many people have gone through three stages of what they believe in their religion.It colors time and life and their belief in believing. And finally, they simply belong without believing much in anything.
Many of us are in Stage 2 or 3. To use a Jewish term I just read last week, we are in a ‘bat kol existence. It’s a new term for me – it’s Hebrew. Now, in Jewish parlance, “Bat KoI” means an echo. Translates literally, it means “daughter of a voice.” You don’t hear the voice itself, you hear only the child of the voice – the echo of belief. And therefore, the echo doesn’t take hold in your life, change you, or make you a different person. We’ve got the name, but we don’t have a clue about the game. We’re Bat koI” people, and the crying shame is that we don’t think it matters to US or to God. But it does. The problem is that a belief cannot be second.-hand – cannot be an echo of your parent’s faith – cannot be a vague tolerance for everybody. A’ belief only comes about as we wrestle with God and the devil – as we struggle to find who we are and why we are here, as we turn our face down the road Jesus took.
Jesus went into the wilderness for 40 days. And he came out a new person. A different person. He came out knowing what he was made for. He came out heading down that lonesome road toward crucifixion.
Good people – we have been given 40 days to search, to wrestle, to probe into our beliefs. Some of you might recall I issued a challenge to bring an unbeliever to church. Now, this wasn’t to add another name to our roster. My hidden agenda is to place you in a position to wrestle with yours and someone else’s beliefs – to share with another your faith. Are you really buried with Christ in his death – or are you simply a mild echo of someone else’s belief? is what happens here on a Sunday morning simply collecting scalps, or does it speak to a living faith? Shaped lives – changed lives? A people prepared to walk hand in hand with their Lord?
I really wish there were an easy way to be a Christian. If the truth be known, I wish we could avoid going into the wilderness. It isn’t comfortable to wrestle with your beliefs, for it may lead you down difficult roads. It isn’t comfortable to spend 40 days reflecting on where you are and where God wants you to go. It’s not part of my comfort zone to dwell in the wilderness. The are no Holiday Inns or McDonald’s arches where Jesus goes after his Baptism. And so it is for us.
Lent – is a time of examination – a time of reflection, a time of wrestling – a time that we choose the road leading to crucifixion or to a more comfortable place. It isn’t good enough to belong to the church. It isn’t good enough to do a number of charitable acts, good deeds, acts of mercy. On the surface, you may look the part, but underneath, what you believe is as important as where you belong. Where you’re headed is as important as where you’ve been
Let me end this meditation by sharing a short passage that has haunted me for years. I offer it to you as you prepare to go into the 40-day wilderness. It comes from early Christian writings – from the monks who went out to live in the desert. Listen to it – meditate upon it – see if the story doesn’t stick with you throughout these 40 days.
“And when the darkness came over the earth, the old man, Joseph of Arimathaeus, passed down from the hill, into the Valley of Desolation. And there he saw a young man weeping. And he said to the young man: 1 do not wonder that your sorrow is so great, for surely he was a just man.”‘
“And the young man answered: it is not for him that I am weeping, but for myself. I, too, have been baptized by John; I have changed water into wine; and I have healed the leper and given sight to the blind. I have walked upon the waters, and have fed the hungry. All things that this man has done, I have done also. And yet – they have not crucified me.”‘ AMEN -
Homosexuality
Acts 10:1-20, 28-29
Luke 10:1-12
February 17, 1991
I have often thought the Bible should he divided into segments and rated the way we do movies. Some parts of Scripture should have a ” PG” rating – generally acceptable to everyone, full of inoffensive stories on good living that could be used for Sunday school lessons. Other parts ought to be labeled ” R” for more mature readers. At times, these sections could be used in sermons. They are thought-provoking enough to illustrate challenging concepts.
And then there are still other parts of the Bible that should be labeled with an ” R, ” definitely restricted to those who are not upset by the truth. These parts are extremely threatening to those who want their religion to be comforting, safe, and secure. The ” R” sections contain shocking notions and ought to be read only by those who can handle explosive thoughts. “I dare you to preach on these passages, I once heard a clergy person say, ” you had better have an outside source of income and a job offer in some other town.”
The passage we just read, from the Book of Acts, is definitely such a section. It ought to be labeled ” R” – not for everyone, adults only – for it is disturbing in its direction and shocking in its implications.
In this passage, we see Simon Peter on a rooftop, and he is hungry, not having eaten all day. The body has certain fundamental needs, and it’s not helpful to forget those – so far we’re on safe “PG” ground.
But then, we read, Peter had a dream, a vision, an encounter with God. And in that encounter, God sends him every manner of animal, telling him to kill and to eat. Three times this happened – it seems God doesn’t want Peter to forget this lesson. Each time the Lord commanded him to eat birds, reptiles and pigs but Peter steadfastly resisted,
It’s not surprising that Peter is hesitant. All his life, he had lived with the moral law that every swarming thing that swarms upon the earth is an abomination and it shall not be eaten. Whatever goes on its belly, and whatever goes on all fours, or whatever has many feet, all the swarming things that swarm upon the earth, you shall not eat, for they are an abomination. ” That is the Levitical code, which Peter knew by heart and could easily quote. Peter was a good Jew. He had gone to the equivalent of Sunday school, and he knew his Bible. Now, God was suggesting a course of action completely opposite to the Biblical teaching. ” Kill and eat.
” What God has created, you must not call bad or dirty. ” Here is the very basis of our faith: ” The goodness, the rightness of all of God’s creation. ” And here, God reminds Peter that to be new person in Christ means to accept, to welcome, to affirm all parts of God’s creation.
This is really a shocking story. It says very slightly and clearly that we must be inclusive rather than exclusive. The questions all role customs, our old morality that leads to excluding and judging people. What we thought was an abomination may not be. The ways we thought we ought to act may not be God’s ways period what is morally wrong, or bad, or dirty, ain’t necessarily so.
this sounds like Jesus doesn’t it? There was one of those Levitical laws about working on the Sabbath, and one day Jesus’s disciples picked some grain on the Sabbath. The Pharisees, who were experts at playing the game, declared they were an abomination. But Jesus said laws change with different circumstances. To make them immutable or unchangeable, even a moral law, was to make the law an idol. Only God and God’s love were unchangeable.
For Peter, and I suspect for many of us, rigidity is more of a problem than we may think. We hold on to the old way as if it came straight from God. At least we know who the good and bad guys are but God finally nudges Peter to eat something he thought was bad period ritually impure. Maybe, maybe, this passage is inviting us to look at question and search out our old assumptions. Conventional wisdom is not something that is fixed particularly when it leads to exclusivity remember, what God has created, you must not call common or dirty, remember, old ideas are not necessarily fixed forever.
Turning once again to the passage from axe, we find Cornelius, a gentile, sending some friends requests that Peter come and share the good news with them. Peter not only is now willing, but first he bids the friends of Cornelius to come into his home. Under the old law, under Jewish morality, it is an abomination to invite gentiles to visit, but that was what Peter did. As scripture says, he called them to be his guests.
Incidentally, the word abomination in Hebrew tovah, is also used in Leviticus and reference to eating pork, misuse of incense, homosexual acts, and eating sliced fish. Generally, the word doesn’t signify anything evil, but rather refers to ritual and purity. So Peter is being challenged to commit an abomination, to become ritually unclean for the sake of Christ. He demonstrates that the old morality must be replaced with the law of inclusion, of love.
Jesus understood this and emphasized that, more often than anything else, inhospitality, exclusion, was one of the worst things a person could do as far as Jesus was concerned. This, as you can tell from our gospel, is the terrible sin of sodom, and not anything to do this as we often think, the act of homosexuality.
Recently, I read a great story about Sodom and Gomorrah. A political scientist who was also a good lady of theologian, open the speech he was giving in Washington DC in this manner Washington is full of sodomites. The Congress of the United states is full of sodomites. Then he said let me tell you what sodom means. I will read from the book of Ezekiel, the 16th chapter some of the 49th verse. This was the sin of your sister sodom she and her daughters had deprived and go with food and plenty, comfort and ease, and she never helped the poor in their need and he went on to say the sin of Sodom and Gomorrah has been the sin of inhospitable ality followed the sin of hardness of heart in the presence of human need the sin of neglecting the poor that is what the sodomy is all about.
I’m sure he captured his audience’s attention the same way the story of Peter and the friends of Cornelius must have captured there attention. Looking once again at our store, we find Peter journeying to the centurions house and sharing the good news with him. You might overlook this incident, or simply say it’s only justice that everyone has the good news preached, this is a PG statement, good, but suppose the good news contained these Now listen closely to Peter’s speech. Truly, I perceive that God shows no partiality, but in every nation, anyone who fears him and does what is right is acceptable to him.
Could it be that the Holy Spirit, in our time, is speaking to each of us, telling us to put aside our moral hypocrisy and to begin to accept people as they are. Certainly this is what Jesus urged upon all his hearers. Possibly Peter’s struggle might be ours. Possibly we are being let’s declare with Peter the same statement of faith. Only today we might make it more explicit, for the gentiles in our midst, the so-called unclean, are not those who are uncircumcised or who are foreigners. The gentiles are those who have a different sexual orientation, period the gays, the lesbians, the homosexuals, or whatever term we want to use.
I would dare to suggest to you that Peter’s confession of faith could and should be said this way. Truly, I perceive that God shows me partiality, all of his creation is good, but in every sexual orientation, anyone who fears him, who knows him, and does what is right is acceptable to him.
This passage is shocking, disturbing, and destabilizing because the questions are fixed certainties. The shock of Christ is that many of our conventional explanations in our middle-class standards may not be God’s standards. This passage should be rated R for its shakes us out of our drowsy mediocrity. If we take this passage seriously, we will have to adjust the old morality and base a new understanding not on laws and customs but solely on love, the love of Christ.
Good people, it may be a shock to learn that Jesus never really spoke about sex. There were only three issues he felt to cut us off from God’s love: idolatry, that is, thinking things are fixed, immutable, unchangeable. The property, which declares one thing and acting in another way, and inhospitality, which excludes certain people and neglects the outcast.
The sermon today, was to be on the ordination of people with homosexual orientation, and the blessing of monogamous same sex relationships I was going to speak at length about justice for all people I was going to point out that homosexual relationships are not a choice for most people but rather a discovery, often painful, of the way the son of God’s children are created and finally, I was going to urge us all to consider this blessing all the same sex millions that are monogamous Internet coming growing, loving life giving relationships. I was going to do all of that, but in this one sense, these are single issues which each of us has to puzzle out, not as people lacking in guidance and direction from scripture. Not as people lacking in ethics based on love rather than custom. The mind of Christ has been made known to us if we are willing to wrestle with those difficult passages rated R. And, Peter story can speak to each one of us; for truly I perceive that God shows me partiality but in every sexual orientation anyone who fears him and does what is right is acceptable to him.
Amen
– -
“Choosing The High Road at Reconciliation”
Matthew 5:21-24, 27-30, 33-37
February 14, 1993
It has been said of Christianity that it has been tried and found wanting. But the more I talked to people inside and outside of the church, I think it would be more accurate to say that many have tried Christianity and found it to be difficult.
Take the words of our gospel this morning, you have heard that it was said you shall not kill. But I say to you, whoever is angry with his brother or sister shall be liable to judgment. And whoever says you shall be liable to Hellfire. And then Jesus says, if you’re coming to church and then remember that your brother or sister has something against you, leave your offering, leave your pledge, and go and 1st be reconciled
The Christian faith, we’ve tried it, it’s not been wanting, it’s just been too damn hard
This past week, we clergy have been on a retreat with our new Bishop. Incidentally, I am terribly impressed with Bob Shahan. His vision, his understanding, and his beginning plans are first-rate. But anyway, we were challenged by the Bishop to give up our anger at the diocese and enter into a new relationship. What kept going through my head was that he was asking us to love our enemies. And I keep thinking, it’s tough enough to love your friends. I believe it was Shakespeare who said Who am I without my enemies?
The Christian faith, it hasn’t been wanting; it’s just too hard. If you’re going to be part of the diocese and you remember that your brother or sister has something against you, go and be reconciled; that’s quite a challenge.
My learning from the retreat was that for 15 years in the Diocese of Arizona, we all received a great deal of psychic energy from being against somebody or something in Phoenix. A wish to show them up, or put them down, or leave them alone is what motivated many of us.
Several years ago, I read with fascination of a Japanese Sergeant who was on trial for crimes against American prisoners of war. His defense rested on three conditions. He had killed no one. He had little control over the miserable conditions in the camp. And, given the conditions, many prisoners would have died had he not sustained them by the hatred for which his words and actions engendered. It was a powerful argument. Hatred and defiance can motivate human beings do great things, even to staying alive. We can also point to the faults of the bad guys and not have to look at our own involvement. Who am I without my enemies?
Let me become even more personal, for you see, it takes one to know one. So here are some words from an expert. Is emotionally satisfying to reveal in one’s enemies stupidity, or to be filled with righteous indignation at the mess made by others. God knows it’s emotionally satisfying, but I’ve come to believe it’s also spiritually devastating you have to put your Christianity on the back burner if you wish to hate properly. You have to think of Jesus’ words that are a nice ideal, but it’s too much to ask to put aside our enemy lists. who am I without my enemies?
But the real question is who am I as a member of Christ’s body? Who am I without my enemies gala or who am I as a member of Christ’s body? Those are two different questions and they suggest two different roads, two different choices. Bishop Shahan asked members of the diocese to Foursquare the low road and to choose the High Road, the difficult Rd. the road of love and reconciliation.
Since we’re in Black History Month let me remind you of the words of Martin Luther King, Returning to hate or hate multiplies hate, adding deeper darkness to a night already devoid of stars. Darkness cannot drive out darkness. Only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate, only love can do that.
Taking the High Road and the diocese means to become widely inclusive as opposed to being exclusive and separate, choosing light over darkness. It means working for unity instead of emphasizing those things that make us separate and distinct from other parts of the diocese. It means sacrificing our dreams for the benefit of the whole period it means a new and radical call to love and frankly it scares the Dickens out of me. Jesus said, if when you are bringing your gift to the altar, you suddenly remember that your brother or sister has a grievance against you leave your gift where it is. First go and make peace, and then come back. Does this mean that every Sunday on awake to Saint Phillips we should swing by Ed Moores house? Or the Iranian consulate, or go up to phoenix, or even stop by our neighbor’s place? Possibly that may be a step but I think the beginning of being able to love ones enemies is to learn to love ourselves. The more we see ourselves as lovable the more we are able to love another. Jesus said love your neighbors as yourself. It’s only thought of as a loving your neighbor, but the beginning of the process is a healthy self love. You can only love your enemies if you see yourself as lovable. So give yourself a Valentine on this Sunday. A great big Valentine that says you are lovable, you are loved. And then see if you can reach out to your enemies. The next step is to see your enemies as lovable. One of the great learnings that has come to us from Alcoholics Anonymous is that in order to be whole, one has to learn to love others. But the only way to do this whose to see them as worthy of love. The only way to trust someone is to see them as trustworthy. The only way to forgive someone is to see them as forgiven. And the only way to love is to see others as lovers.
You will find that the world becomes largely what you choose to see it as. If it is seen through enemies eyes, it will become diminished and it will look like a battlefield. If the world is seen through otherwise, it would look like a magnificent Valentine feast. The choice is yours, the low road or the High Road. The road that we walk beside our Lord.
Have I convinced you that you need to put aside your grievances? Have I convinced you that Christianity is not too difficult for a Sinner like you or me? Probably not. But maybe in the coming months, together we can take the first faltering steps along the highway. Maybe we can awaken our hearts to the fact that each of us is God’s lovable child. Doctor Gerald may in his book The Awakened Heart, writes just be gently open to your own confusion and love’s invitation. Don’t worry whether you believe in God or whether Christianity is true and don’t worry about whether you are good enough to be acceptable in God’s eyes. Try to be honest as you can and as gentle as possible with yourself.
And then he says you are capable of having enemies and being mean. We know that. But here is the good news. There is no meanness in your humanness. There is no vengeance in your true heart as a child of God. Love your enemies. Be reconciled to your brothers and sisters. Become a child of God. Amen
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