The Journey is Joyous

Isaiah 35:1-10

James 5:7-10

Matthew 11:2-11

-As the child who had never before been to a Christmas service said when asked what it was like, "I want some of that `umphant.'" "What's that?" the child was asked. "You know, it's what those people were singing about--`O Come all ye faithful, joyful and try umphant' I'd like to try some of that `umphant.'" John C. Morris

            Advent is a journey.  It is a walking towards.  It is a walking through the desert, through the darkness, through the wilderness.  We do not yet see this new thing that God has planned. We do not yet see where God is coming to us next.  But while we wait, we are invited to be in the waiting, to be present in the journey.  And today, while we celebrate and light the candle of “joy”, we can remember the words from Isaiah, that even the desert shall rejoice.  As we keep our eyes open, we will see that in our journeys, joy is being offered to us, even when our journeys are hard, even when they are challenging.

I remembered a childhood story I once checked out of the library for my kids when they were quite little.  The book was called Captain Underpants and the Revolting Revenge of the Radioactive Robo-Boxers, written by Dav Pilkey.  (New York: Scholastic Inc., 2013).  At one point he wrote about parents and teachers being hard on kids.  And he wrote,

“You have to wonder, why are most grown-ups like this?  Weren’t they ever kids themselves?  Didn’t they enjoy laughing and cheering and goofing around when they were young?  If so, when did they stop?  And why?

Now I certainly can’t speak for all adults, but I’m going to anyway. 

I think it’s a lot easier for adults to stomp out someone else’s fun than it is for them to reflect on their own lives and figure out where it all went so miserably wrong.  It’s just too depressing for grown-ups to ponder all the decades of compromises, failures, laziness, fear, and regrettable choices that slowly transformed them from running, jumping, laughing, fun-loving kids into grumpy, complaining, calorie-counting, easily offended, peace-and-quiet-demanding grouches.

In other words, it’s harder to look within yourself than it is to shout, “HEY YOU KIDS, CUT THAT OUT!”

            There is so much wisdom in this tiny piece of a silly book.  As we talked about last week, healing comes from that willingness to face ourselves.  But joy, and the ability to be in the moment, to be present and open to God’s movement within and around you – that comes from gratitude, and a willingness to see with the eyes of God’s love and grace.

            That is not to make light of any of the pain or struggles that you may be experiencing.  The desert is a dry place, and I know that some of you are experiencing hard times, difficult times.  We can feel like John must have felt in prison – trapped, unjustly waiting doom.  This may not be a happy time.  But again, the words of John, too, give us hope.  From prison, he finds the joy of looking for the Messiah.  In prison he is told that the blind are receiving their sight, the lame are walking, the lepers are being cleansed, the deaf are hearing, the dead are raised, and the poor have good news brought to them.

            As Frederick Buechner says in his book Wishful Thinking… “In the Gospel of John, Jesus sums up pretty much everything by saying, ‘These things I have spoken to you, that my joy may be in you, and that your joy may be full.’  He said it at the supper that he knew was the last one he’d have a mouth to eat.  Happiness turns up more or less where you’d expect it to – a good marriage, a rewarding job, a pleasant vacation.  Joy, on the other hand, is as notoriously unpredictable as the one who bequeaths it.”

            But the promise from Isaiah is right here – joy is to be found in the desert as well as in other unexpected places because Joy comes with God’s coming. Joy comes when we see with God’s eyes.  Joy comes when we glimpse God’s presence.  Joy comes when we have moments of gratitude, for whatever it is: for our very breath.  As Bernard Malamud (new Library of America edition coming out): "Life is a tragedy full of joy."

            So I’d like to ask you to invite you to share with one another some experiences of joy: some places where you have been touched by the holy and where you have seen God.  These are not “happy” things, but moments of joy that I am asking you to ponder and share.

            When our family was in deep crisis, my eldest daughter was particularly suffering.  She and I went for a walk at one point and she just lamented that she no longer understood the purpose of life.  She felt that life was working to live and living to work and in the middle was just hardship and pain and she felt despairing and depressed and sad.  I didn't know how to help her.  But as we walked suddenly this incredibly big, beautiful butterfly flew in front of us and landed right before us on the sidewalk.  Jasmyn's sad, despairing face suddenly burst into full blown joy as she exclaimed, "Mama, look!!  A butterfly!!"  That joy, that gift of presence and beauty, comes at the most unexpected times.

            A month ago I was at a clergy gathering for the Multi-Faith Action Coalition.  As we went around the room introducing ourselves, one of the priests said he had a story he had to tell us.  He has just begun his priesthood at one of the local parishes and he said that in the first week that he was there, there came an evening when he was alone, by himself in the parish office, when he heard an insistent pounding on the door.  At first he ignored it because the parish council had told him that many needy people were constantly coming to the door asking for help and that when the priest was there alone, it would not be safe for him to answer the door.  But the pounding on the door continued, and the priest, remembering the scriptures that said, “welcome the stranger because by doing so you often have entertained angels unawares” he finally decided to answer the door.  When he did, he found a youngish, very skinny, man on the doorstep who said he was extremely hungry and in need of food.  The priest went to their food collection barrel and gathered food to give to the young man.  Then suddenly he remembered Matthew 25 which says that whenever you feed someone who is hungry, you are doing it to Jesus himself.  On an impulse he called the young man who was leaving back and said, “I just have to ask you… are you by any chance Jesus?”  The young man gave him an intense but clear smile.  And he responded, “No, I’m not Jesus.  I’m Jesus.” (pronounced the Spanish way).  The priest continued by saying that his heart felt pierced by joy in that moment, touched as if an angel of God had indeed reached down and touched his heart, as if the Spirit had entered through the young man’s words. 

            For me, too, hearing the story, brought tears pouring down my face.  Are tears joy?  Of course.  They are the depth of our feelings: they touch our deepest places.  They are our most real prayers.  But again, you can also see in this story the difference between happiness and joy.  It is happy to face the reality of extreme poverty in our own communities?  To see those who are without homes, without food, without ways to care for themselves?  No.  But even in the midst of that pain of the reality of our communities and societies, we can find joy.  Joy is seeing one another with God’s eyes.  Joy is opening up with gratitude, and vulnerability to what life has to offer.  Joy is being in the moment and being grateful for each breath that you take.

            Father Gregory Boyle, in his book Tattoos on the Heart, described a time when his father was dying of a brain tumor.  He was in the hospital and he requested a pillow from home – but specifically a pillow from his wife’s side of the bed.  Father Boyle said, “you know, the hospital provides pillows...” but this was what his dying father had requested.  Father Boyle and his mother went into the hospital room, gave him the pillow and then his mother left to use the restroom.  He writes,

“I’m about to make small talk about the view… but I turn and see that my father has placed the flowery pillow over his face.  He breathes in so deeply and then exhales, as he places the pillow behind his head.  For the  rest of the morning, I catch him turning and savoring again the scent of the woman whose bed he’s shared for nearly half a century.  We breathe in the spirit that delights in our being – the fragrance of it.  And it works on us.  Then we exhale (for that breath has to go somewhere) – to breathe into the world this same spirit of delight, confident that this is God’s only agenda.” P151

God provides that joy all around us.  But it takes our choosing of gratitude, looking for the good, seeing with God’s eyes in order for us to receive that joy deep within. 

These are the places of joy.  These are times and places where we can live in the desert rejoicing, where we can celebrate the blind seeing, the lame leaping like deer, the speechless singing for joy.  Hear again these words from Isaiah.  And I invite you to be in a quiet place inside yourself, to close your eyes, if you are comfortable and to be in the joy of God in the desert, on the journey.  Here the Word of God:

“The wilderness and the dry land shall be glad, the desert shall rejoice and blossom; like the crocus, it shall blossom abundantly, and rejoice with joy and singing. The glory of Lebanon shall be given to it, the majesty of Carmel and Sharon. They shall see the glory of the Lord, the majesty of our God.  Strengthen the weak hands, and make firm the feeble knees.  Say to those who are of a fearful heart, “Be strong, do not fear! Here is your God. He will come with vengeance, with terrible recompense. He will come and save you.”

Then the eyes of the blind shall be opened, and the ears of the deaf unstopped; then the lame shall leap like a deer, and the tongue of the speechless sing for joy. For waters shall break forth in the wilderness, and streams in the desert; the burning sand shall become a pool, and the thirsty ground springs of water; the haunt of jackals shall become a swamp, the grass shall become reeds and rushes.  A highway shall be there, and it shall be called the Holy Way; the unclean shall not travel on it, but it shall be for God’s people; no traveler, not even fools, shall go astray. No lion shall be there, nor shall any ravenous beast come up on it; they shall not be found there, but the redeemed shall walk there.  And the ransomed of the Lord shall return, and come to Zion with singing; everlasting joy shall be upon their heads; they shall obtain joy and gladness, and sorrow and sighing shall flee away.”

This is the Word of the Lord.

Advent Repentence

Second Sunday of Advent

Rom.15:7-13

Matthew 3:1-12

What was the point of today’s passage from Romans?  Paul is making a point of God’s grace, God’s love, God’s presence being for the Gentiles as well as for the Jews.

How about the passage from Matthew?  What happens there?  In the passage from the gospel of Matthew John is criticizing the Pharisees and Sadducees.  As Jesus does later, here John is calling them hypocrites. Again, the Pharisees and Sadducees were the religious leaders of the day.  And John is telling them that their religiosity, their stance of faith means nothing because it is not backed up by acts of justice.  It is not supported by their behavior.  The root of their faith is about loving God, loving others, loving.  But they are not acting loving, not behaving with justice in any way.  And he is confronting that hypocrisy.  He then goes on to humble himself saying he is not worthy.  In some ways this is a showing to the Pharisees and Sadducees how they should be behaving themselves.  Because we all have some kind of hypocrisy, none of us get it all right all the time.  The willingness to self-reflect, to look at yourself and see your own hypocrisies, to name and own your own flaws: this is a huge part of being people on the way, people who are loving and caring, people who are growing.

So, the real question here is: What do these passages have in common with one another and more, what does any of it have to do with Advent? 

As we look at every Advent, the Advent call, the Advent promise, is that everything will be thrown on its head.  That those we exclude will be included, and that those who think they have it all together will have to face some very hard truths about who they really are and what God is really asking for them to be. Paul is making the point that the Gentiles as well as the Jews are acceptable to God.  It does not matter to God that they had a different religion, different belief system, and at that time, a different heritage, ethnic background and race. This would have been shocking at the time, it WAS shocking at the time.  But that is what Paul is saying. God has accepted, once again, those deemed unacceptable by the people.  John in today’s gospel reading is confronting the Pharisees and Sadducees’ hypocrisy and saying that their repentance is not genuine, their actions are not supporting their proclamation of being people on the way, people willing to change, people willing to do what God is asking them to do; their behavior is not “bearing the fruit” of love and compassion and grace.

What this has to do with Advent is that Advent, like lent, is a time when we are called to self-reflection, to repentance as a major part in our preparation for Christ’s coming.  We prepare the way for Christ’s coming into our hearts, into our lives, by looking closely at the places that are dark, hypocritical, hidden, “in error” and which need tuning, and sometimes, radical change.  We do this from a place of knowing that we are loved, “accepted” by God regardless of our past, present or anything else.  We are loved, but God is not satisfied to just love us - God calls us to respond to that love, from a place of gratitude, and to be willing to risk changing, and growing and becoming whole.  Because while God accepts us as we are, it is almost impossible for us to accept God into our hearts or really experience God at the deepest level from a place that is unloving, that lacks compassion or grace.  Therefore we must, not because God asks us to, but because there isn’t another way - we MUST repent - change, look at our lives, in order to accept God in in this new way in which God is coming this Christmas.  This isn’t easy.  I understand that.  Yet we are called to do this on a regular basis.  Especially during critical times in the church year.  Advent and lent, in particular, call us to this hard work of repentance.

I’ve talked a little about twelve step programs with you in the past but today I want to talk about them again for a few moments.  As most of you know, the twelve steps provide a way for people with addictions of any kind and even for those who are simply connected or related to those with addictions, to deal with those addictions.  How do they do this?  By asking people to follow the twelve steps as a way to healing.  And these are:

Twelve Steps

1. We admitted we were powerless over (alcohol, or whatever addiction you are dealing with)—that our lives had become unmanageable.

2. Came to believe that a Power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity.

3. Made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of God as we understood (God).

Admitting we have a problem God can fix.

4. Made a searching and fearless moral inventory of ourselves.

5. Admitted to God, to ourselves, and to another human being the exact nature of our wrongs.

6. Were entirely ready to have God remove all these defects of character.

Confession

7. Humbly asked (God) to remove our shortcomings.

8. Made a list of all persons we had harmed, and became willing to make amends to them all.

9. Made direct amends to such people wherever possible, except when to do so would injure them or others.

Repentance

10. Continued to take personal inventory and when we were wrong promptly admitted it. 

Continued, regularly scheduled confession and repentance.

11. Sought through prayer and meditation to improve our conscious contact with God as we understood (God), praying only for knowledge of (God’s) will for us and the power to carry that out.

As a result becoming closer with God.

12. Having had a spiritual awakening as the result of these steps, we tried to carry this message to others, and to practice these principles in all our affairs.

Hoping to share with others the joy of that increased closeness - evangelism!

Do you notice how much of this is focused again on “repentance?”  I know that’s a Christian word for a non-Christian program, but that’s basically what it is.  This is about repentance - admitting your wrongs to God, admitting your wrongs to another, being willing to change those wrong behaviors and to fix the mistakes that you have made.  Looking again and again at your behaviors and “when you are wrong, promptly admitting it.”  People in twelve step programs do this to become whole - they do it to free themselves from their addictions.  And they find that as a result, they are closer to God, closer to experiencing the Divine.  They have “spiritual awakenings” that bring them such joy, such wonder, such change that they cannot help but share it with others - which is what real evangelism is about.  It’s not about “converting” others, it is about sharing your joy and your blessings in a way that is contagious and miraculous and beyond words. 

Well, God calls us to do the same things and for the same reasons.  This hard work of self-reflection and correction which we do weekly in our prayers of confession, which we do seasonally during advent and lent, that is part of the very foundation of our faith.  God calls us to this action not because God wants us to suffer, or feel inferior or feel less whole.  Instead it is because God wants wholeness for us and wants health for us. We cannot be the best we can be without that self-reflection and without being willing to change some things. God also wants this for us because, as I said before, with every step towards wholeness we find new ways to invite God in to our lives, we meet God in new and deeper ways, we experience God in new and fuller ways.  This is the work of a Christian.  It is the work of growing.  It is the work of LIFE because without it we cannot be whole people.  As Richard Rohr says, “Henceforth, it is not "those who do it right go to heaven later," but "those who receive and reflect me are in heaven now." This is God's unimaginable restorative justice. God does not love you if and when you change. God loves you so that you can change. That is the true story line of the Gospel.”

Again, this is not to say that this is easy.  And sometimes it is hard to know where even to start.  So I want to give you a place to start this Advent season.  There are many ways to do this, and this suggestion is just one.  But if you are stuck with how to do this kind of self-reflection, how to do this kind of “repentance”, I suggest one place to start is by looking at your regrets.

Just after college I went as a Volunteer in Mission to a community in North Carolina.  Among other things this community was beginning the process of building a retreat center up in the mountains.  A couple weeks into my stay one of the pastors leading this community, Mike, took me to the site where they hoped to build.  There wasn’t yet a real road up to this site.  So in order to get there, we began the slow, windy trip driving up a very steep logging road that was bordered on one side by the rising wall of the mountain and on the other by a sheer drop off into a valley below.  Mike and I rode in a very old, beat up pick-up truck which was so fragile that the roof of it wasn’t really attached anymore, just kind of hung on by a little metal here and there.  Mostly it just sat with rusting, jagged edges, bobbling and squeaking on the top of the truck.  There were no seat-belts in this truck and the shock absorbers were shot.  It also had no emergency brakes, or at least no way to access them within the body of the truck.  As we bounced and jolted uncomfortably up this steep, cliff-edged trail, I clung to the handle on the door, just praying we would make it safely up to the top so I could announce my decision to never ride up or down this mountain again in this particular vehicle.  I would walk, if I had to, no matter how long it took.  As my head hit the roof and these grumpy unhappy thoughts raced through my head, suddenly the engine on the truck died.  “Stupid truck!”  I thought.  But quickly my annoyance turned into terror.  For along with the engine dying, the breaks went out.  Completely.  The truck paused for a half second and then began to roll back down this windy, steep, cliff-edged hill with amazingly fast acceleration.  As Mike frantically pumped the breaks and reached for the non-existent emergency brake, all the while turning the key and trying desperately to re-start the engine, I knew it was over.  That was it.  This was where my short life would end. 

After what seemed like eternity, but was only a few seconds, Mike, rather calmly, I thought, announced that he would be turning the truck into the side of the mountain to try to slow it down.  He did so with incredible skill, and as the truck backed into the side of the mountain, the truck perched for a minute in space, on the brink of rolling.  If it had tipped over, I would not be with you today, but at the bottom of that cliff.  Instead, after an unsure minute, the truck stopped.

That experience was profound for me.  During those moments when I thought my life was over, much of it did, as the proverbial stories say, flash before my eyes.  Much of what was included in that flash was a plethora of regret.  What things, you might ask, would a 22 year  young woman have to regret?  Well, not too much of my regret was for actions in my past.  Most of it instead was about the future.  I regretted not knowing what it was to be married, I regretted that I would never have children.  I regretted that I hadn’t yet gone to seminary.  I regretted that I had turned down another mission opportunity in favor of this one, I regretted that I was not spending my time in real service to other people, especially those people in the world whom I believe God aches for, hurts for, calls us to empower: the poor, the displaced, the underprivileged. 

Those regrets, while at first painful, became gifts to me in that they allowed me to get a real glimpse into what was really, ultimately important to me: having a family, living a life of service, loving God.  As I’ve gotten older, I’ve tried to keep hold of that self-reflective ability.  Many more of my regrets as a seasoned adult have to do with the past, with choices I’ve made or people I’ve hurt.  But they are still gifts to me: they still tell me about problems I need to address, dreams I need to pursue, behaviors that I need to change. 

Regrets, though painful, are a gift from God.  They show us what is really important to us, pointing out things we need to change, giving us opportunities to make amends, do some healing, and to work through mistakes.  There are things that we regret that we are unable to fix: opportunities that we didn’t take that we may never have again, or people we have hurt who are no longer living or whom it would be impossible or hurtful to find.  There are things we cannot change about the past.  But I deeply believe that God would not give us, or call our attention to, or even allow us to live with these regrets if there was not something to be done with or about them.  I think about how in the Harry Potter series, at the very end, the villain is told that the one way he can save himself is by being willing to look at what he has done and to feel remorse.  The wise characters in the book point out that this remorse is the most painful thing a person can feel.  And yet, that remorse, that willingness to face ourselves and to make changes, this is what brings us ultimate healing, growth and wisdom.  There are lessons to be learned from those regrets that will encourage us to make a different choice in the future: I will not fail in this way again, or I will not choose in this way again.  If amends can be made, they need to be.  If they can’t, maybe other ways can be found to offer good in the name of the thing we regret that we did before.  Regrets can be deep pullings in our lives, calling us to look at something.  We need to not push those uncomfortable feelings away, but stay with them, figure out what God is calling us to do with them, and “repent” in the sense of turning around, choosing a different path.

Advent, the time when we prepare our hearts for God to come to us in a new way, this time is an invitation to do this work.  This is the time to face our regrets.  This is the time to ponder how we are called, in what ways, and in what ways we are not living up to that call or following that call and how we need to do it differently.  This is the time to go deeper so that God may come to us anew, more deeply, more fully, more wholly.

Today’s passages tell the story: we are acceptable, because God loves us no matter what: Jew, Gentile, black, brown, red, yellow, green, purple, short, tall, squatty, whatever.  God loves you.  But because God loves you, God wants to be in real and full relationship with you.  God calls you, therefore, to prepare your hearts in a new way for God’s coming and God’s presence in your hearts, in your lives.

Watching our fledglings leave the nest

         I've been feeling very down lately.  Anxious, sad, stressed, depressed.
         Lonely.
         I couldn't figure out why.  Yes, we've experienced an important family death lately.  But I felt that didn't really account for the level of my anxiety and sadness.  It certainly didn't make sense to me that I'd be feeling lonely while surrounded by family, while reconnecting with family folk I haven't seen in forever, while anticipating my daughter coming home from school for winter break.
        But then I remembered that it was that time of year which is always hard for me, or has been for the past 9 years.  9 years ago my life changed radically and I went from being a partnered person caring for my three thriving kids into a solo mom dealing with tragedy and stress and loss and trying to help my kids through the same.  This time of year, every year, I feel this way.  I think that our bodies remember, our bodies house those memories associated with season and time, even when we don't consciously remember what is triggering our feelings.
        But this year is also different for me in another way.  My eldest daughter has "gotten it together," is leaving the nest, is spreading her wings, making friends at school, not calling as often and certainly not needing my help or support as much. She is learning well how to "adult," and she is stepping into doing what needs to be done on her own, she is living her awesome, beautiful life in ways I don't even begin to understand.  She is connecting deeply to others, to her peers.  She is doing it right.  She is doing what we all hope our kids will do - stepping into being her own person and taking flight.
       The truth is that I am struggling with it.  When I became a mother, even though I was working and still had friends and other family to occupy my time, I moved into a new identity.  My primary identity became that of being a mother.  I love being a mother.  I think about my children constantly, even when I am not with them, they are the lights of my life, my biggest joys, my greatest gifts and the raising of them has been my biggest accomplishment.  This became doubly so when I became a solo mom.  They were where my focus had to be.  Their concerns became my largest challenges.  Their needs and fears and sufferings took the largest part of my attention. Truthfully everything I did, and have done ever since, including working, has been to make sure they have what they need and are okay as they step into life.  I had to do this, or they would not have become the healthy, happy, well-adjusted kids (in the face of and despite great crisis) that they have become.  The fact that my eldest is thriving in school and in her life is in part a testimony to the depth of love and support I gave her that has enabled her to bloom, to work through her losses, and to grow into a beautiful young woman.  I know this.  I can't take full credit, and I won't.  We were surrounded and continue to be surrounded by a community of helpful, caring people and they have credit too.  Jasmyn herself also needs to take a lot of credit, for being willing to do the work, to grow, to learn, and to step forward.  But I can claim a piece of it.  They know they are loved beyond measure.  They know they are more important than anything to me, and that I would do anything to make sure they are healthy and happy.  That knowledge and that experience has made a difference in their ability to move and grow and live.
       Still, I find myself feeling a little bit like Shel Silverstein's Giving Tree.  When they were born I gave them my apples, fed them off of the sweat and tears of my work and my care.  But when we went through crisis I gave them not only the branches, but my very trunk so that they might survive and thrive.  Again, I made a choice to do what I believed was necessary for them to be okay.  And it has paid off for them.  But now I am the stump, especially where my eldest is concerned.  I am waiting for her to come home and rest for awhile on that stump that is me before she leaves again for other adventures.  And this is a sad and hard thing for me.  I won't change it.  I will not ever choose to hold her back from her dreams and adventures, from her living her life as fully as she can.  But I am lonely for my eldest daughter.  And, at some level, for my other two children as they become independent teen-agers.
       I think about the olive tree in our back yard.  We cut down this huge olive tree because it was blocking the window, causing problems on the roof, was creating great mess both in the yard and tracked into our house, and, most importantly, it was creating pollens which were making my son (with his allergies to olive pollen) very sick.  We cut it down to a stump, and yet it has not given up.  Hundreds of new branches continue to sprout from the sides of the stump each year.  Each year that tree makes it clear that it belongs there and has no intention of dying.  I know that I can choose to be a stump like the olive tree: to find new ways to grow and thrive once my kids are gone.  I can invest more in other relationships now and to find my purpose, meaning and identity in my work and other activities.  I can and I will.
       I also know, though, that this still involves grief. Every change is a loss at some level.  And grief is a natural part of watching our kids grow and leave the nest.
       Today I am grieving my daughter.  Even as I am proud of her and grateful for who she is becoming, I am grieving our closeness, her needing me, her dependence.  I am grieving being the person she was closest to whom she loved the most.  I am grieving the primary identity I had as Jasmyn's mom.  I will always be her mom, but it can't be who I am first and foremost anymore.  My life has to be more about other things now, and less focused on her.
        I know most parents go through this, and I know that I, too, will survive it.  Being a parent is about self-less love.  We don't do it to have people always around us who will love and care for us.  We give of ourselves and watch the blooms grow that are our children.  I am so grateful to be mother to my three wonderful kids.  The grief is just a small part of that.  But I am naming it today in the hopes that others who might be feeling similarly know they are not alone.  And to name for myself that the sadness I'm feeling is okay.  It's a testimony to the depth of the love I gave and give still.  And for that I am grateful.

Christ the King

Jeremiah 23:1-6

Luke 23:33-43

On Christ the King Sunday we celebrate and remember that Christ had many roles and functions, and that one of them is as King, King of us, King of creation, King of all.  But the underlying question is, Who is this Christ?  Who is this king? 

When we think of royalty, when we think about rulers of any kind, we have certain visions in our minds.  We have certain understandings of the kind of strength, power, and authority that it takes to lead a world, a country, a state, a city. 

But always, always, when it comes to God, when it comes to Christ, we are handed a vision and understanding that does not,  and frankly cannot, be anything like what we think.   In order to understand this king, I think it can be helpful to return to our original Biblical stories of what a ruler and king are. 

The Hebrew people were told, from the beginning, that God was their God.  They were told that because of who God is, God’s strong presence in their lives, God’s overarching leadership and most of all, God’s amazing and faithful love, that the Hebrew people needed no other ruler, no other guide.   But the Israelites were scared.  They were scared to be a nation without a clear leadership who could defend them, lead them into battle, show them as a united and strong people.  They insisted, they asked for a ruler.  God gave them judges, people who could help them make decisions and interpret right from wrong.  But again, these were not what the people wanted.  They were afraid.  They didn’t believe they could rely on God alone against other nations.  We hear the rest of this story in the book of 1^st Samuel, chapter 8.   “Now when Samuel got old, he appointed his sons to serve as Israel’s judges. ² The name of his oldest son was Joel; the name of the second was Abijah. They served as judges in Beer-sheba. ³ But Samuel’s sons didn’t follow in his footsteps. They tried to turn a profit, they accepted bribes, and they perverted justice. ⁴ So all the Israelite elders got together and went to Samuel at Ramah. ⁵ They said to him, “Listen. You are old now, and your sons don’t follow in your footsteps. So appoint us a king to judge us like all the other nations have.” ⁶ It seemed very bad to Samuel when they said, “Give us a king to judge us,” so he prayed to the Lord. ⁷ The Lord answered Samuel, “Comply with the people’s request—everything they ask of you—because they haven’t rejected you. No, they’ve rejected me as king over them. ⁸ They are doing to you only what they’ve been doing to me from the day I brought them out of Egypt to this very minute, abandoning me and worshipping other gods. ⁹ So comply with their request, but give them a clear warning, telling them how the king will rule over them.”  Then Samuel explained everything the Lord had said to the people who were asking for a king.  “This is how the king will rule over you,” Samuel said: “He will take your sons, and will use them for his chariots and his cavalry and as runners for his chariot.  He will use them as his commanders of troops of one thousand and troops of fifty, or to do his plowing and his harvesting, or to make his weapons or parts for his chariots.  He will take your daughters to be perfumers, cooks, or bakers.  He will take your best fields, vineyards, and olive groves and give them to his servants.  He will give one-tenth of your grain and your vineyards to his officials and servants. ¹⁶ He will take your male and female servants, along with the best of your cattle and donkeys, and make them do his work.  He will take one-tenth of your flocks, and then you yourselves will become his slaves!  When that day comes, you will cry out because of the king you chose for yourselves, but on that day the Lord won’t answer you.”   But the people refused to listen to Samuel and said, “No! There must be a king over us  so we can be like all the other nations. Our king will judge us and lead us and fight our battles.”   Samuel listened to everything the people said and repeated it directly to the Lord.  Then the Lord said to Samuel, “Comply with their request. Give them a king.”

So the people were given kings.  And we’ve had those kings as models for us ever since.  We have come to expect that rulers are people who provide us at least a modicum of stability or protection, but that do so at a very high price.  We expect this.  No matter where you stand politically, or who you support or what kind of government you value, we all know that there are costs we’d rather not pay to having human leadership, human rulers.  Still, we don’t feel “safe” without them.

And yet, God continues to show us another way.  God continues to show us God’s way.  And God’s way is different.  And when we could not see it from what the judges had to say, and when we could not accept it based on what the prophets had to say, and when we could not live it based on what God said to us through scriptures and stories and people and history, God finally sent God’s son to us.  God sent Jesus to show us this other way, this different way.  Jesus came, the real king, the ultimate king, who acts nothing like we expect or understand rulers or leaders to behave.  He doesn’t walk around with body guards protecting his every step.  He doesn’t insist on taking from us to increase his wealth or to pad the pockets of his friends.  He doesn’t take from the poor to give to the rich and he doesn’t take from any of us for his own need or his family’s need.  He doesn’t build a strong defense system or any kind of defense system at all.  Instead, instead he shows us something very, VERY different.  He feeds anyone who comes to him hungry.  He heals anyone who comes to him sick (and sometimes even the dead such as Talitha and Lazarus).  He listens and allows even the most rejected, the least “acceptable”, the least “worthy” to physically touch him.  He includes children, women, people of different nationalities and backgrounds such as the Serophoenician and the Samaritans.  He doesn’t reject them because they aren’t “the chosen ones” or part of his nation.  He includes tax collectors and prostitutes and doesn’t reject them because their behavior is wrong and isn’t what we deem acceptable.  He doesn’t take their wealth and live in a big mansion with servants or luxury items.  He lives poorly, simply, and asks for nothing in return.  He relies on the kindness of strangers and does not worry about his own survival or well-being.  He leads with truth rather than threats or fear or negotiations. 

And when THIS king, this king that we cannot understand, this king who acts completely differently from what we want or expect or demand from our human rulers, when this king is killed, as of course he would inevitably be, this king still, on the cross, in his dying moments, behaves completely differently from any king we can imagine.  He doesn’t send for his troops to rescue him.  He doesn’t call for a start of war or revenge.  He doesn’t threaten the end to those who did this to him.  He doesn’t shout out “you will be sorry”, and he doesn’t fight back in any way.

Instead, as he hangs there on the cross, as he dies, as he suffers the deepest pain, and he continues to think about others, others who are suffering.  And again, it isn’t the “good” people he worries about in that moment.  It is anyone, anyone at all who is suffering.  He is hanging on the cross next to two people who have done terrible wrongs, who are being killed as criminals for some atrocity or another.  Maybe they were both murderers.  Maybe they killed children.  We aren’t told.  What we are told is that in that moment Jesus doesn’t ask.  He doesn’t care what they have done.  What he cares about is that they are scared and suffering.  And in that moment, this king, who does not “rescue” them or himself, even when he is goaded on to do so, instead, in that moment, as he suffers, hanging on the cross – he offers to the criminal crucified next to him the promise of paradise.  He reaches out with the strength of knowledge and love that goes beyond any personal suffering, and he offers life, real life, to the scared and dying human, imperfect person next to him. 

This is the KING that we are given, the REAL king, the savior, our God.  He does not jump off the cross to save himself, despite the pain, and the inevitable death that he faces.  He does not “negotiate” or buy popularity or play politics.  He lives life following God to the fullest, and he pays for it with death, a death he accepts even while he loves and cares for those around him, even those whom, like this criminal next to him, we would probably not deem worthy of that love or care.

Walter Brueggermann said it this way – “Every (government) regime is frightened…..  It is the vocation of the prophet to keep alive the ministry of imagination, to keep on conjuring and proposing alternative futures to the single one the (earthly) king wants to urge as the only thinkable one.”  Well, again, the king that we see, the king that Jesus presents is not this kind of king.  This is the king who IS the prophet, who IS the artist…who takes all of our understandings of rulers and leadership and what it is to command people, and he turns them on their head. 

This week is Thanksgiving.  And then we begin Advent.  And all of them, Christ the King, Thanksgiving, and Advent connect… all are about seeing God in the unexpected places, being grateful because we have seen God, and expecting that God, Christ, King, Jesus as a baby – will not be what we expect. 

I struggled with the sermon this week.  I struggled to write it because I am saying the same thing that is being said across the country on this Christ the King Sunday.  That Christ the King is nothing at all like the kings and leaders we think we need.  That instead Christ the King is the King GOD wants us to have – a king of love, compassion, service, selflessness, faithfulness – God wants us to have nothing else but God for our king, our leader, our ruler.  What is new in that?  What new word can I bring that you have not heard every year on this Sunday?  What stories can I possibly tell you to illustrate this reality?  But then I thought, the thing is, we need to hear this every year.  Because we are still, STILL looking for that earthly king to lead us.  We still are.  And that is not the king God calls us to have lead us.

So how will we recognize this Christ?  How do we recognize this King?  As we enter Advent, as we come to God with thanksgiving in our hearts for all we have been given, how do we know our loyalty is to the right king?  How do we know we have found Christ again?  

We will know him, as we always do, by his love.  By his unfathomable, unimaginable, kind, caring, unconditional and all-encompassing love.   We will know him by the people he includes, which is everyone, and by the fact that he loves even those who offend us deeply.  We will know him by his unexpected appearance among those we don’t usually count, or see, or care for.  We will know him by his love. Amen

Two steps forward, one step back...

       I posted about a month ago in my article entitled "Value, Worth, Esteem" that I've been in a period of time where my own sense of self has felt more solid.  I've been in a time of greater confidence, less self-attack, less struggle with esteem.  I wrote in that essay that I thought the primary reason for this change within me had to do with the way I'm choosing to see other people, viewing others with less judgment and more compassion, and that I felt the decision to see others with eyes of love was affecting how I saw myself as well.  I also stated that a secondary cause of this change might be that I am more carefully choosing who I associate with: I am no longer seeking out people as companions who make me feel small, less worthy, less valuable.  I have been choosing my friends and companions better, and have surrounded myself with people who see me, value me, and treat me with respect rather than disdain.  They treat me as equals, not superiors or inferiors, and that has been both affirming and grounding.
         This grounding, this re-centering has also allowed me to make some choices.  I've thought more about who it is I want to be in the world, and I've been able to step into that with more courage, strength and compassion.  I choose to be a person of reconciliation.  I choose to be a person of courage.  I choose to be a person who is kind.  These decisions about who I want to be and who I choose to be have allowed me to step into some actions and behaviors with a strength that I have not previously had.  They have also allowed me to feel good about my actions and my choices, regardless of how those actions and choices have been met in the world.  One example: as a person who is choosing to be a reconciler, I have stepped out and reached out to several people with whom there had been a breach.  In one of those cases I was basically blown off.  But what is interesting to me was that it was okay with me.  I was clear that who I wanted to be in the world was someone who reached towards reconciliation.  This is who I choose to be.  The response of the other is up to the other, and is, frankly, about the other.  I feel very clear about that.  I understood that the other person would have to choose what was best for them.  And that I knew I would be fine regardless of their response, as indeed, I have been.
        But all of that is leading up to the place I am today.  Today has been a different week.  I have been thrown back into spending significant time with people who do not value me in the same way, who certainly don't see me.  I have been spending time with those who do not know me as well, but who have specific ideas of who I am in the world and who judge me as "other," and (more importantly) as "less".  And what has surprised me is how easily I, too, then stepped back into that place of being the person struggling to be grounded, struggling for esteem, struggling to be accepted and acceptable.
       I share this, but not from a place of wanting sympathy or pity or even compassion around this.  Because there is a difference this time.  This time I see it for what it is.  This time I am aware of it happening and I'm aware of the effect of it on my self-esteem.  I am watching it happen, and I'm choosing to stay with it for a short time, to see if I can reclaim who I am, even as I stand amidst those who do not see it and do not value it.  Next week is a different week and I will be in a different place again.  But for now, I am watching, observing, learning, and doing the things that I know help me to stay grounded in its midst.  I'm breathing.  I'm walking.  I'm contacting those who do know me and love me.  I'm taking care of me, even as I struggle to remember who that is at times.  All of this is a gift of learning, a gift of faith that what life hands me is an opportunity to grow, and an invitation to go deeper.
        Thank you for your "listening" ears as well.  I am grateful.

The Future: Good or Bad?

Isaiah 65: 17-25

Luke 21:5-19

Today we read two different passages talking about the future for the faithful.  What happened in the first passage from Isaiah?  The Isaiah passage describes a glorious future - creation of a new heaven and a new earth.

No more weeping.                               

No more infants dying after a few days.                                       

People living to be a hundred on a regular basis.

People living in the houses they build - (no foreclosures?)

People eating the fruit of their vineyards.

They will survive and enjoy their work.

Their children will do well.

Wolf and lamb will eat together - and the lion will eat straw now: no more stalking prey.

Serpent still cursed (eating dust) but no hurting or killing.

The Luke passage is also talking about the future but what does it say? 

The temple will not stand: those beautiful things built as an offering to God will be destroyed.

Wars, insurrections.

Nation rising against nation,

kingdom against kingdom,

earthquakes, famines, plagues

dreadful portents and great signs.

And before this...you will be arrested, persecuted,

handed over to synagogues and prisons, brought before kings and governors.

Betrayed even by parents, siblings, relatives and friends.

You will be hated.

But.... your soul will be saved.

Two very different versions of what the future looks like.  Why do you think these descriptions are so different?

They were written at different times to different groups of people and reflecting on different events. The passage from Isaiah was written to a group of people who were exiled and to whom Isaiah is declaring that once the injustices have been punished, once the pain they have reaped upon themselves is done, once Israel has repented, arrogance and hypocrisy confronted, and Israel has been cleansed and made new, THEN a new day will dawn, a day of life, a day of hope, a day in which the damaged relationship with God caused by the corruption of human hearts will be bridged by God God-self, made whole once again, made new, and made beautiful.  This is the promise of comfort after the fall, after all that we have done and failed to do, it is the promise of redemption, of grace, and new life, given to a displaced and suffering people.  God has not left them, they are still God’s people, and God will make everything right again.

The passage from Luke, was also written to a suffering people at a time of pain and persecution. But the strategy of Luke here, also wanting to offer comfort, is very different.  Luke has Jesus foreseeing their suffering and declaring that it is not meaningless.  Those Christians suffering persecution after Jesus’ death needed to know that their dedication and commitment to Christ in the face of pain, loss and even death was purposeful and powerful and important.  Their comfort then comes in a different form. Unlike Isaiah’s promise which is of a better life on earth for the faithful and their children, this is instead a promise that their current pain has deep and everlasting meaning, that God has not abandoned them but is with them to the end.  There is the promise of future relief here too, but it has more to do with the immortal soul and less to do with relief from the physical struggles of life.

While appearing to offer very different images of the future, both of these passages are seeking to offer the promise of God’s presence, God’s comfort, and new life.  Both passages are also offering a deep challenge....As commentator R. Alan Culpepper states “in every generation there are those whose religion is simply a form of escapism into the fantasy of futurism, every generation has also had its courageous and prophetic visionaries who devoted themselves completely to Jesus’ call to create community, oppose injustice, work for peace, and make a place for the excluded.  Every generation, therefore, is called back to the teachings of Jesus by the examples of those who have suffered persecution and hardship because they dared to strive to live

out Jesus’ call for a community that transcends social barriers, that cares for its least privileged, and that confronts abuses of power and wealth....(the Luke passage) calls for such a commitment in life that those who dare to embrace it will find themselves persecuted by authorities.”  We know this is true.  Who are the martyrs of our time?  Who are the people in our lifetimes who have really stood up to injustice, really made a stand for others to lead better, more full, more fair, equitable, humane lives?  Not all have been martyred, but many have.  Rosa Parks.  Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. 

Both of these passages are addressing the need to act for justice, despite all costs.  The entire book of Isaiah offers the challenge to the elite of Israel to stop using and abusing the less well off: to seek justice, knowing that if they don’t everything they have taken will be taken from them, and that if they do, if they repent, if they work for justice, then they will find new life far better than the one they are abusing others to get.  The challenge for those hearing the Luke passage is to walk firmly in the footsteps of Christ, again working to conquer injustice, working for a better world for all, knowing that the cost may be persecution, but that the gain is your very soul. 

Where are we in this?  As Culpepper said it, too many Christians come to church looking solely for the comfort - or as he said - the escape.  How many of you have heard people pray something along the lines of “as we come to this place, let us leave our troubles behind us, let us forget about our worries, let us be relieved of our burdens.”  I’ll own it, I’ve prayed similar things.  It’s present in some of our music, too.  There is a lovely song in our hymnals,  “you are my hiding place.”  But that very line is an example of this escape theology.  “You are my hiding place.”  Is God supposed to be a hiding place?  A place where we HIDE from the world and our problems?  Is our faith about escaping our difficulties?  Because we are called to exactly the opposite.  We are called to stand up to injustice - to be so much a part of making this world a better place for others that we risk persecution, even death.  Our faith if anything should throw us into danger, not pull us into a “safe” hiding place.

Instead of praying to be relieved of our burdens, we need to pray for strength, wisdom and courage to face them.  Instead of a hiding place, maybe we need to pray for places of peace where we can be renewed to face the battle of life again.  Instead of escaping into God, we need to ask God’s guidance for ways in which we can bring God’s kingdom to earth, making it a safe place for all people, making it a just place for all people, making it a good and Godly place for all people.

How do we do this?  By confronting whatever injustices and barriers come before us.  Sometimes this happens in large ways.  My study leave this year involved going to Alabama and learning more about the Civil Rights movement.  It was unbelievable to me how many people risked and lost their lives to stand up for African Americans to have the vote, to be allowed to sit anywhere on the bus, to be able to attend the same schools with the same quality of education that white children were given.  People who simply walked across a bridge who were beaten and killed.  People who simply stood near a school who had fire hoses and dogs set on them.  People who said, “no more” and stood up against injustice.  Again, during this season of voting, I think about the women who also stood up, demanding their right to vote.

As you know, Jack, for example, went down for many years to the US/Mexico border in AZ with a group of Christians who, despite differing political beliefs about immigration issues and laws none the less felt called as “neighbors” to help the large number of people - children, youth, adults of all ages, who die crossing the border because of dehydration.  They went to the border during the hottest weeks of the summer and simply set up a camp to provide water for those who otherwise would die in the heat.  They did nothing else.  They did not “aid” those trying to get into the country, nor did they turn them in.  But they saved lives by being present, being loving, providing water.  And while they were “persecuted” - harassed by the border patrol, threatened with arrest and worse, they stood in their faith and in their belief that we are called to love all people, to care for all people: in doing so they stood up for their faith. 

The ways in which we stand in our faith do not have to be so dramatic.  Serving food, providing shelter at the Winter’s Nights or Loaves and Fishes programs.  Recycling and composting so we are not contributing as much to the earth’s destruction.  Voting in ways that work to end homelessness and poverty in this country and others.  Being present at vigils, protests, assemblies: standing up for what we believe, but more, standing up for God’s people who do not have voices in the ways that we do....we are called to do that, to be part of that in every way that we can, with every opportunity that presents itself to us.

Is there comfort here?  Of course.  Both today’s passages were offering comfort though in different ways.  The Isaiah passage reminds us that God is by our side and that the other side to hard times is a life of renewal and refreshment - following the repentance and the work towards wholeness.  The Luke passage reminds us that when we do struggle for others, in the name of God, in the name of Jesus, in the name of love for neighbor and enemy alike, that we gain our very souls.  It is in this that our lives have meaning.  It is in this that we find real love.  It is in this that we meet God.  Amen.

Thin Places

         There is a phrase that the "religious" folk I know use to describe places where one encounters the Divine.  We refer to them as "thin" places: places where the barrier between this world and something more sacred, more spiritual, more mystical becomes thin.  These are places where you can feel God, whatever it is that God means to you, where you can touch something beyond this world, where the presence of the holy becomes almost tangible.  There are specific places around the world that are often described as these thin places, places where the Divine seems to hover, play, reach down to us, or simply to be more accessible.  Four of the thin places I have visited are Ghost Ranch in New Mexico, Zephyr Point in Lake Tahoe, Iona in Scotland, and Asilomar Beach near Monterey, though there are many other such places.  These are enchanting, almost magical areas where the beauty of nature seems to stretch out forever.  When you are in these places, you feel the ruach, or Spirit through every single breathe you take. There is a sense that time stops, or moves differently, while you are there: clocks have no meaning and the only thing that is important is being, is existing, is breathing.  In each of these places it feels that you not only see and breathe beauty, but you become part of it.  There is a thinness not just between the sacred and mundane, but between yourself and all creation.  It is easier to understand at these sites that everything really is just ONE and that you are a small part and yet an essential part of the rhythm and movement of life, of love, of existence, of being.
        Perhaps it is harder to feel this amidst the craziness of the cities and suburbs where many of us live.  When people are rude, angry or unkind and you have to watch with an incredibly alert eye driving around because of the craziness of those who are focused solely on their own needs, their own schedules, their own desires and worries in this life, it is harder to open yourself to connection with all things.  I shrink from taking down the wall between myself and those who cannot see me as anything but a barrier, an unfortunate obstacle on their path to rush to wherever they are going next.  Being open in those moments means being vulnerable to another's anger and angst and that is uncomfortable, to say the least.  It is harder to maintain a strong sense of the presence of God in the face of so much busyness that tends to have greedy and self-serving aspects to it.  
        But this weekend I found myself reflecting that "thin places" are not just physical places where we might go.  I attended a concert Saturday evening where a piece was performed that was so incredibly beautiful that I found tears running down my face before I was even aware of it.  I was moved beyond myself and into that place of "thinness" where I wanted to literally be part of the music, where I was enveloped in something beyond this world, where I was transported beyond the journey we walk and into the Presence in which we live.  Recently someone told me about a sunset she had seen that was so beautiful that she wept because she wanted to be in the sunset, to be enveloped in its beauty beyond just the visual experience of seeing it.  Each of our senses can bring us into that place of thinness: the song of a bird, the beauty of a forest, the smell of the mountains, an unexpected and wondrous taste, the ocean waves lapping against our feet: all of these can bring us into a sense of the eternal, into a deep connection with all that is awe-some and profoundly lovely, into a timeless place of pure being.  Experiencing or witnessing acts of kindness can also move us into those places of realizing there is good, that we are surrounded by something that encourages generosity, care, openness and love when we are open to it.
        As the piece of music that touched and deepened in me as a "thin place" came to a conclusion, I glanced around me at the other people attending the concert.  While many appreciated the music, not all had been moved in the same way.  Not everyone in that space had encountered the Divine, a transcendent moving, a connection to the beyond.  And I realized that thin places are not universally so.  When I was on Iona, those we travelled with did not experience it in the same way.  It was "very nice" but not transformational for everyone, as it had been for me.  When I am at Lake Tahoe, I have heard people snipping at their children or complaining about their lodgings: for them, too, that place may be a nice place to visit, but it does not always refresh, reform and renew in the way it does for me.
         The truth is that encountering a thin place is much more about how we stand in any particular moment.  We have met people who radiate "holiness," for lack of a better term.  These are people (like the Dalai Lama, Father Chacour, Maya Angelou, Ben Weir, Mr. Rogers) who, when you stand in their presence your breathing changes.  You slow yourself and are present despite whatever else is going on with you.  They call this out of us because of their stance in this life.  They see the holy that is there around them all the time.  They live in the wonder of the transcendent, and they are unafraid of the vulnerability of being open to the reality of our deep connection and unity to everything around us.  They create thin places around them for all of us who encounter them simply by standing in that thinness themselves.
        And the thing is, this is a stance that all of us can cultivate.  It takes intentionality, a willingness to be open to seeing, hearing, feeling, tasting, smelling and experiencing where God is in any one moment.  It requires breathing differently, moving with purpose rather than rushing around, taking time to not be human doings but to be human beings.  But, as we see with the people and places who are "thin" around us, when one is willing and able to do that, it is not just a gift to the persons being in that Divine presence, it is a gift to all around them too: one person's stance can cause others to also breathe differently, to move, hear, see, and experience our world differently.
       I am grateful for thin places, both physical places and the thin places that are created by art, by beauty, by kindness, and by courage.

Fear and Trust

Haggai 1:15b-2:9

2 Thessalonians 2:1-5, 13-17

Luke 20:27-38

               All of today’s lectionary passages speak to us about fear, and remind us that God is a God of life who tells us “be not afraid”. 

In the first passage, Haggai is speaking to the Israelites at a time following their return to Jerusalem after their exile.  The returning Israelites believed their well-being was intimately connected with the well-being of the temple, which their tradition told them was literally the house of God.  During the time of the exile, the temple had been destroyed, but now the Israelites have returned to Jerusalem, and the temple has been rebuilt.   For outsiders this would appear to be a time of great celebration and renewal.  But for the Israelites who knew the original temple, who remembered its former glory and believed that it and it alone was worthy of housing their God, this new temple in no way matched up with their images of what was due, it in no way matched up with the old temple.  For them, what should be a time of great joy and new beginnings had instead become a time of despair, and more, of fear of what this portended for their future.  What does it mean that the temple, the house of God is not what it should be?  Will God be angry?  Will their future be half what their past was, as the temple is half what the old one was?  It is within this context that Haggai is speaking to the Israelites and reminding them that they do not need to live in this new existence with this new temple in a state of anxiety.  He tells them that poor beginnings do not mean poor endings if you go forward holding onto and trusting in God.  God is a God of life.  God is all about bringing new life out of any death.  They can, therefore, go forward without fear because God is with them still.

               The passage from 2 Thessalonians gives a similar message.  The people in Thessalonica are also living in fear and anxiety about their future.  They are afraid that the day of the Lord has already come and that they have missed the boat, they have missed the second coming, they have missed out on ultimate life.  Paul, too, is telling them to not be anxious about what is to come, that God is the God of life and that their faith will keep them tightly in the loving arms of God.

               And finally the third passage from the book of Luke also shows a group of people in the midst of fear.  In this passage it is the Sadducees who are afraid.  They are afraid of Jesus, fearing the influence he is having on the people, fearing how Jesus’ radical messages of love might influence the people, their faith, and as a result, their actions.  Jesus is in no way a legalist.  And the Sadducees (and Pharisees) retain control of their world through the Jewish laws.  With Jesus teaching something broader but less containable, less structured, the Sadducees are terrified.  Their reaction is to try to trick Jesus, to trip him up, to catch him in an unacceptable position that will discredit and harm him  by asking him questions that it appears he cannot answer without alienating part of the crowd, part of his following.  Among and within the Jewish people were different groups with different beliefs about the resurrection, among other things.  If Jesus agreed with the Sadducees and said there is no resurrection, he would have alienated those Jews who did believe in the resurrection and visa versa.  So they confront him with a question designed to destroy the unity and size of Jesus’ following that they fear.  This question they pose to him is the third in a set of questions intended to trick Jesus, intended to get him into trouble either with the law or with his followers so that Jesus will be discredited, rejected, or worse, brought to trial.  All of their questions have been motivated by fear, and all three are intended to help them regain their power and control.

               To Jesus’ credit, and what gives us huge insight, once again, into the nature of God, is that Jesus  did not flee from or avoid any of these questions.  He also didn’t seek revenge or retribution.  Instead, Jesus chose to respond to these fearful people.  He engaged even those who were attacking him with their fear and trickery.  In answer to the trickery that we read about today, he basically stated that those who asked the questions didn’t understand what they are asking.  He backed this up by stating that they needed to look at their own scriptures to see where they were wrong in their own beliefs.  And while his answers, his lack of “falling into the trap” may have inspired even more fear in those who tried to trick him, still Jesus’ message, too, was one of letting go of fear, of trusting in God, of seeing that God is “the God of the living”, the “God of life” and not a God of death and destruction.

               We live in a fear based society, and I believe this is becoming more and more true.  We see this in every aspect of our lives.  The news is not just telling us bad things, but filling us with fear about what is to come.  They know that fear sells and they capitalize on that.  No matter what side of any issue you are on  you are told to be afraid, very afraid.  Each side fears different things, but still we are each told to vote out of our fear, rather than out of our hope.  Our fear culture includes more than this, though.  People are afraid to trust each other so we set up fences, walls, security cameras, alarm systems.  We have background checks for everything and we put into place outrageous airport security checks.  We surround ourselves with police and emergency call systems and the many, many other “things” and systems in our lives that are supposed to protect us and keep us safe.  Our business choices, who we give to, IF we give at all, how much we feel we can spare to share and care for the world – these too are usually reactive and fear-based responses.  We know the result of acting out this fear.  We no longer have any privacy in this country, for one thing.  We alienate and separate ourselves out from our brothers and sisters who are at all different from ourselves because we are afraid of them, afraid “they” will take what is “ours”.  In the extremes, we have all heard of people who won’t even leave their homes out of fear, or who are so germ-aphobic that they can’t engage life normally.  But even for those of us without that kind of extreme fear, we are governed in so many ways by our fears.

At some point we have to decide if we are going to live in the world or live of the world.  If we choose the values of this world, if we choose to trust our methods of security and if we choose to trust those things that we set up to protect ourselves in a scary world, we are not trusting God.  And what’s more, we are not really living.

How many of you have seen the movie “French Kiss?”  The movie begins with Meg Ryan’s character, Kate, acting as a typical middle class person, saving money, planning for the future, working hard to make the dreams of many a typical middle class person come true.  She is engaged to a Doctor, and living in a home away from home, which for her is Canada, hoping to become a Canadian citizen.  She has saved enough money to buy a wonderful house and she is dreaming and planning for the family and kids she hopes to have.  She seems happy and excited about her life and the only clue we are given that things are not all that they seem is that she is terrified of flying.  So when her fiancé invites her to go with him to France, she declines, despite all his urgings.  The crisis in the movie comes just a few minutes later when her fiancé calls from France to tell her that he has met another woman in France and that he will not be returning to her.  She feels the secure walls of her life begin to crumble and she pushes herself to fly to France, despite her terror, in a desperate attempt to “get him back!”   When she arrives in France, it seems she is met by a number of people who block her attempts to connect with her fiancé and finally, everything she has with her in France is stolen from her.  So now she is across the world from her home, without fiancé, without possessions, without security, without her passport or any other form of id, and on top of that because she left Canada to fly to France before her resident visa to live in Canada was approved, neither Canada nor the United States will give her a new visa.  She has, in the span of a day, gone from being a complete “has” to being a total “has not.” 

At first, she is devastated.  But as she later explains, “I thought, there is no way that everything I was building for could be destroyed (by some stranger... and so I bought a plane ticket, got on the plane, somehow made it over the big blue ocean,... and then the most extraordinary thing happened.  Everything went wrong.  I was wandering the streets of Paris, penniless, without a hope in the world.  And let me tell you, you can do a lot of soul searching in a time like that and I realized that I spent most of my adult life trying to protect myself from exactly this situation.  And you can’t do it.  There is no home safe enough, there is no country nice enough, there’s no relationship secure enough.  You’re just setting yourself up for an even bigger fall and having an incredibly boring time in the process.”

While it makes sense to be cautious and to not be stupid or fail to do what needs to be done in this life to take care of things, the reality is that choosing to live in fear prevents us from living at all.  God’s message again and again is “be not afraid for I am with you.”   Another consistent message is that we are freed by our faith in Christ.  And yet when we continue to live in fear, and when we continue to live in slavery to our fear of losing all the things we have, when we spend all our time working for things that will “protect” us from whatever it is that we fear so much, we fail to really live.  The very things that we set up to protect ourselves, keep us from living.  I think about this when I look at the way that we now protect our children.  I remember hearing one of our favorite comedians say that my generation was the last generation of children allowed to be children.  In my own childhood I wandered in the foothills of Mt. Diablo on my own.  At very young ages we were allowed to go out from homes to play with neighborhood children and we would be out and about most of the day before coming home.  We had play equipment at parks like those spinning merry-go-rounds and monkey bars.  This is no more.  All of this play equipment as been deemed “unsafe” but the reality is that most parks and cities are just now afraid of being sued.  We no longer let our children run around and explore and get scraped and banged up and hurt because we fear it.  But those bumps and scrapes and even breaks are what gave us the greatest lessons and frankly, the greatest experiences too.  More than that, they strengthened us for what life really is, the prepared us for adulthood in so many ways.  I am sad that my kids never got to try to build a fort out of wood they found laying around as I did, or face wildlife in the same way I did as a kid, running into huge spiders and even snakes on the hill and needing to make decisions about how to handle it.  Yes, our kids are protected.  But the result of this “protection” is that often when they are faced with the real problems of the world, they no longer know how to handle them, they no longer have the strength of having faced hardships as children to know how to handle hardships as young adults.

We can think of so many other examples of the damage that our fear has done in the world.  When we become afraid of our money being lost in the bank, a “run” on the bank is disastrous, as we know.  When we fail to take the risk of trusting in our relationships, our relationships can’t deepen.  When, out of fear, we set up protections against others, defining them as “enemies,” treating them as enemies, we make them into the very enemies we fear them to be.     

               The movie French Kiss ends when Meg Ryan’s character, Kate, learns to let go of her fear.  At the end she is still without country, she is still without her fiancé.  But even in this place, she makes the decision to help an outcast whom she has befriended.  She gives to a man who has also isolated himself from his family and friends, who has been acting out his own fear, who seems to be beyond hope and redemption – she makes the decision to give to him her “nest egg” of $45,000.  She does so in an anonymous way that he will never know she has given him this money, and she does it believing that she will never see him again.  She gives away all of her “security” and “protection”- out of love - just because. 

In freeing herself from her fear, Kate frees herself to really live.  And while at first there is some sorrow and grieving for her, in the end, letting go of her security and choosing to live in a sense of openness and trust allows her finally to really live the life she wants.

Fear leaves no room for anything else.  Like Truth.  Like Beauty.  Like Love.  It leaves no room for trying new things, making new friends, living with fullness.  It creates no space for seeing God or for hearing the words of the angels.  We have a choice to make.  Do we choose to live in fear?  Or do we instead trust in the God who loves us beyond anything, the God who came to be with us, who died because of us, who rose out of death into life: do we trust instead the God who says through the voices of the angels, “Do not be afraid.”