We MUST worship in person??

        We had someone come to the house to measure our disaster of a kitchen because the horrible particle-board cabinets that don't open properly, never close and are missing their handles are starting to fall off the walls onto the horrible, broken, scratched Formica counters.  That's a story for another time.  We didn't want people in our house during this time, but there it is.  While he was measuring the counters and walls we started talking and it became clear very quickly that he was, well, a very different Christian than we are.  That's fine.  We can all learn and grow from one another.  But at the point at which he told me that his church had reopened despite "regulations" and were worshiping, without masks, without distancing, in numbers approaching 700 folk at a time, I found myself starting to panic and I just wanted him to leave.  He must have seen the look of panic on my face (even through my mask) because he proceeded to lecture me on trusting God to keep them all safe and how meeting in person for church was essential.  At that point I just shut up, mostly because I was really needing this probable walking virus-ball-of-faith to leave my house. 

        But that night I couldn't sleep.  I couldn't sleep because this kind of thinking is completely incomprehensible to me at so many levels.

        In the first place, do we really think that worship must take place with everyone in the same space?  And if so, why?  Why is worshiping through Zoom, or YouTube, or any of the other social media platforms somehow less legitimate?  After all, the televangelists have huge numbers of followers.  Does that not count as worship for those watching at home?  Why is praying at home, praying with one's family or even praying alone not acceptable as a form of worship?  As Patricia McHale Apy wrote, "Jesus’ (presented a) revolutionary rejection of any theology that suggests that the PLACE we worship is more important than worshipping in Spirit and in Truth. There may be hard truths that will interfere with our ability to physically gather, and will silence our choirs and singing for a season.... but locked doors couldn’t stop the impartation of the Holy Spirit. Worship has been sweet and sacrificial ... and thou good and faithful servants ... it has produced some of the most amazing sermons you’ve ever preached... and we’ve ever heard... So be not weary in well doing and Be not afraid.... show us what you know about worshipping the living God...."  The Spirit is active wherever we listen for Her.  The Spirit is active wherever and whenever and however we gather.  We can't be stopped from worshiping by simply being apart during this time.  And we have so many gifts that enable us to "gather" through electronic means.  We are not separate, though we may be apart.  And it is foolishness to think otherwise.

        And secondly, do we really think that God will protect us from this virus?  If you believe that, how do you understand the increasing deaths of so many people, including many people of faith?  People die all the time for all kinds of reasons.  This is not less true for people of faith.  We ALL die.  And sometimes that happens because people have made bad choices.  God can't protect us from our own foolishness.  I found myself remembering the joke about the man who lived in a house where a flood was rising.  A police car came by and told the man he had to evacuate before the flood overcame him.  He said, "No.  I trust my God will save me!  I will not perish in this flood!"  The waters rose higher and the man had to go up to the second story of his house.  At that point someone in a boat came by and insisted that he leave with them through the window to escape the flood.  "NO," the man insisted, "My God will not allow me to die in this flood!  I will survive!"  The waters rose higher until finally the man was on his roof when a helicopter came by and tried to get the man to climb the ladder.  At this, too, he yelled, "NO!  I have absolute faith in my God to save me!"  The man drowned and when he approached God in heaven he demanded, "Why didn't you save me when I called on you?!" to which God responded, "I sent you a car, a boat and a helicopter.  What more did you want?"

        God has sent us scientists, doctors, and wise people to tell us what we need to do in this time and in this place to keep safe.  God has sent us people who've invented all kinds of amazing ways to meet, worship, and congregate electronically that do not involve putting ourselves at risk.  But we have become so impatient to be together, and so fearful of not gathering in our houses of worship (something else I just don't understand) that we are taking unnecessary risks and testing God, all using the mistaken phrase "trust".  That is not trust, that is foolish failure to listen to those people God is sending us to help us.  We can wait a little longer to meet together.

    And I can wait a little longer for a new kitchen.

Angry, forgiving, thriving

    I have written often about the choice to be a thriver rather than either a victim or a survivor.  I have also written often that part of choosing to be a thriver is about forgiving, both ourselves and those who have hurt us, for whatever we have lived through.  We are all humans, none of us is perfect, and when we can have compassion, even for those who have done hard and terrible things to us, we are the ones released from that pain.  Our own anger often prevents us from healing, from moving forward, from thriving.  

    I believe all of this, deeply.  And yet, it does not prevent me from having those nights when I can't sleep because of something that happened years ago, some cruelty I lived through, something that perhaps I should have handled differently.  And I'll tell you honestly that when that does happen, my thoughts do not usually tend towards compassion or forgiveness, for myself or for the other.  Usually I envision things I "should" have done differently that would either have been a better fit for who I choose to be, or would have felt more like "justice" towards whomever hurt me.  

    Last night was no exception.  I woke up in the middle of the night thinking of the person who had uninvited me to a party she was having at her house based on misinformation that she, none the less, chose not to ask me about directly.  At the time, like the man in "An American President", I felt that I should not have to defend myself or seek to clarify something to someone who was simply choosing to believe the one side she had heard without checking it out with me.  So my response at the time was just to be polite and accept the dis-invitation without expressing any feelings about it whatsoever.  But last night I woke up thinking about this, which meant that at 2am this morning I woke up angry: angry at this woman for never asking my side, never checking things out, angry that she chose not to give me the benefit of the doubt, angry that she chose the friendship of the one badmouthing me over her friendship with me who chose to keep a private altercation private, angry that charming charismatic males are so often accepted at their word just because people want to be around them, and socially-awkward women are easily discarded in the face of those men, angry that she felt it was okay to just uninvite me.  I was also angry at myself for not naming it for what it was, "So, you are uninviting me?  And can you tell me more about why that is the choice you are making?"  I was angry at myself for not defending myself.  I was angry at myself for not speaking my truth at the time.  To be honest, I'm angry still.  I miss that friendship.  And yet, it ended that afternoon despite the fact that at the time I simply said, "I understand" and continued to smile and be polite and engaged.

    Last night I was not able to get back to sleep.  So I'm writing this from a place of half-conscious thoughts.  But still, as the daylight slowly dawned this morning I found myself thinking about who I want to be in the face of these past hurts and slights.  I've been reading about compassionate communication, as well as how to talk to people about racism/race issues.  I've been thinking about the growing divide in our country along political and ideological lines.  We've been studying together (many of us in the congregation) the importance of not limiting our connections to those we agree with, those we connect well with.  The divides and struggles will continue if we cannot hear one another, cannot learn to be with others who are different.  And all of that has to begin with re-learning compassion, with hearing below the words that are said for the feelings of the other, the commonalities in experience and values, the deeper stories that connect us all.  

    So today, I'm trying to apply that as I seek both to forgive the other and to forgive myself.  I cannot check this out with the person who dis-invited me: we have no connection at this point and I would not know how to find one since we live in different parts of the world.  But I can still listen, listen to the past, listen beneath her words of the time, listen for where she was and what she was feeling and needing at the time.  I hear her desire to have this other friendship, to maintain those connections, at whatever cost.  I hear her trust that I am strong enough to handle the dis-invitation, and, frankly, that I will not reject her simply because she has rejected me.  I hear her desire to believe her other friend and to not have anything that would confront that trust placed in him.  I hear her anger at me for a story (not much of which I know since I don't actually know what she was told) that she has heard that places me in the role of "bad guy".  I hear her need for things to be clear, for there to be a clear "bad guy" and clear "good guy" in the situation.  I choose, then, to have compassion for those needs and concerns that she had, and to forgive her for living out those feelings in a way that hurt me and my family.  I choose it, which doesn't mean that I feel forgiveness or even that deep compassion at the moment, but that I'm working towards that.

    Similarly, I am listening beneath my own choices in the moment.  I did not want to be confrontive or angry at the moment because I did not know how that would play out or if I would be able to heal any breech that caused in the moment.  I did not want to share my own experiences and have them doubted or disbelieved.  I did not know how to speak my truth in the moment and I was afraid of speaking in a way that would have deeper consequences. I was going through huge changes at the time and I could not bear one more.   I also did not want to harm her friendship with this other person and have to carry that on my conscience.  For all these reasons I responded with an acceptance, which did show a strength in myself to withstand cruelty and to even have compassion for it.  And maybe that was a gift that I gave back at that moment.  I choose, therefore, to have compassion for my own decisions at that moment.  I also choose to explore with myself, in the future, whether there is something more I need to do with this situation to heal it for myself.  And I choose to forgive the choice that I made then, learning from it that I need to find compassionate and kind ways to ask more questions, to seek more information, and to step forward into my own truth more often in situations such as this.  Again, I may not be feeling this way right now, but these are the choices I make and that I will work hard to step into.  

    Finally, I am not unaware that there are reasons this scenario was the one that woke me this morning in the wee hours.  I am experiencing something similar with another person right now who is choosing to disconnect rather than to seek out information or healing.  I do not want this, too, to become a situation I wake up from in the middle of the night in three or five or ten years, unhealed, unaddressed.  So I hear in my morning musings a call to look at this situation square in the face as well.

    We "act as if" and then we become what we take on.  Therefore I choose who I will be in this moment.  And who I choose to be is a person listening, a person trying to hear more deeply and more fully, a person seeking for connection rather than broken hearts and broken relationships.

    You, too, get to choose who you will be.  Choose well, dear friends.

The gifts of the dark

        I haven't been sleeping well at night.  The reasons aren't important, or at least, that can be saved for another post at another time.  Suffice it to say that I'm up at lot during the night.  I have found that my relationship to those dark and lonely hours in the night has been different at different times and now it has changed once more.

       As for many children, night time was terrifying for me when I was little.  As a teenager there were times when I had trouble sleeping and so night-time became something to fear: a time of frustrated attempts to get enough sleep that I could make it through the next day without falling asleep in class or being too sluggish to comprehend what I was being taught.  As a young adult, studying in college and seminary, nighttime was often a time of cramming through assignments that would be due the next day.  They were times I wasn't alert enough to do my best, but times I could rob, imperfectly, in order to complete work.  They were frustrating times when my own need for sleep competed with the need to cram through books and essays.  The dark felt like an oppressive blanket, trying to rob me of my ability to think and "get through" assignments.  Deeply lonely, unforgiveably dark, and infinitely oppressive. When I had babies, night-time was often interrupted by my sleepless children who needed attention in one form or another.  I hated those middle of the night feedings or times of trying to comfort restless or sleepless children.  They, too, were infinitely lonely times, times when I felt the burden of parenting without people I could call or talk to for reassurance, advice, help or support.  Later, sleepless nights usually were associated with times of trouble, deep worry, or even terror for what life held, what tomorrow would bring, what we were dealing with as a family, a community, or just as me, myself.  The bottom line?  In the past, as far as I can remember, sleepless nights, really any nights at all, were things to be dreaded, things to be feared, times and places where the ghosts of things undone and unsaid, of things misdone and missaid, of questions without answers, and long stretches of loneliness or frustration with demanding work that robbed me of needed sleep reigned and ruled and stretched out endlessly.  

         But now, while sleepless nights are still often accompanied by worries, by fears, by concerns, for the first time ever, the overall feeling of those sleepless nights is different for me now.  At a time when everyday is spent in a small house with the same four other people, when time "alone" is non-existent, and is either spent with all of us working or with us agreeing to do, as a family, the activities chosen primarily by the children, I've found a comfort in those sleepless nights that is new to me.  It is, for the first time, an "alone" time that is welcome.  It has become a space where I can listen to the music that I choose (through earphones that don't wake others), where I can sit in the silence and darkness and pay attention, finally, to my own thoughts, where I can read books on my kindle app that are of my own desire and choosing.  They have become, even in my inability to sleep, a place of rest, a break from the normal worries of the day, a time that I've been able, amidst all the work and care of normal days, to claim time for myself.

    While sleep is important, I've found a peace and comfort in the reality that sleep is currently elusive.  I'm reminded so much of Barbara Brown Taylor's comments in her book, Learning to Walk in the Dark, about the gifts of embracing the darkness, exploring the night times, learning from the darkness.  This gift for me, though, has not been intentional.  It has come to me without my seeking, without my even knowing to look for it.  This gift of sleepless nights has snuck up on my unawares, as true grace often does.  So this Thanksgiving I find myself giving thanks for a time that I used to meet as an enemy, with dread and fear.  The nights have become a friend.  And in that friendship I am finding, each day, new gifts from which I can learn and grow and for which I give great thanks.

    My wish for all of you is to find new gifts during this season as well: to have the unexpected break through in new ways that open your eyes to new visions and different understandings.  May you find grace, and may gratitude fill your hearts.

Immortality - All it's cracked up to be?

         One of my family's favorite movies is Stardust.  At one point in the film one of the characters says, "King!  For eternity!"  He is obviously very excited about this prospect, and will do whatever it takes to make that happen.  But while we were watching it the other day for the umpteenth time, one of my kids said, "well, that's horrible!"  To which I said, "Yeah.  The idea of being king forever is not at all something I would want." My child responded, "Oh!  That's not what I meant.  What I meant was that it would hurt everyone else if this person was king, and especially king forever."  Hm.  There are so many stories of people searching for immortality.  But it seems that most of these were written by people who are fairly young, who haven't lived through the many, many changes and challenges and tragedies of life.    

       But my own experience is that life gets harder as we get older in many ways.  There is grief that compounds grief as we lose those we love.  Our bodies present more and more physical challenges and limitations as we age.  The number of changes in society and in the world that we have witnessed and experienced grows, and the challenges to our worldview and thinking become more numerous even as our ability to adjust our thinking and change our ways of interacting with others in the world seems to diminish.  

    I've lived through a lot of hard stuff.  And I've lived through so many changes in our world and in our thinking and in our society.  I know it is only a piece of what I will live through.  I don't believe I am resilient enough that I could continue to handle an infinite number of losses and challenges and changes.  And more, each one is difficult, painful, and tends to reawaken the other crises that I've experienced, compounding them as it will.  

    Additionally, the idea of doing ONE job (being king for example) for all eternity is also an unbelievably unpleasant idea to me.  To do the same things each day, whatever that may be, because your job requires it, your life requires it, forever? A working life of 45-50 years seems plenty to me to spend doing one job.  Additionally, to always have people see you in one way, one role, to always treat you as a person in that one role: no thank you.  Not for me.  

    We think we want to live forever when we are young.  We also tend to think we are indestructible, that we will not die, or certainly not anytime soon.  And this is appropriate.  We have so much to look forward to in life.  But as we get older, there are growing pains, challenges and restrictions.  Yes, there is still much to look forward to.  At the same time, it is far too common in my experience that the people I visit in the elder years of their life just want to know why they are still alive and proclaim regularly that they are ready to go, that it is time.  We spend so much energy focusing on how to live longer, and we forget to focus on how to live more fully, more deeply with the time we have now.

    Immortality is not all it's cracked up to be.  And frankly, a long life that is lived past the time of understanding the world, past the time of enjoying one's body, past the time of really being able to LIVE in whatever way is meaningful to each of us, is not something I would ever wish for myself or for any of my loved ones.  

     I am grateful that medical professionals are now exploring this reality more.  Books such as Atul Gwandi's book Being Mortal are helpful steps towards people really making decisions about what is important to them during life so that they can choose what they are willing to suffer at the end of life as well as the point at which it is time to stop accepting medical interventions and to let go of life.  But I think these steps away from simply postponing death, and instead choosing to live a life that is full and meaningful only for as long as it really is full and meaningful for the one living it - these steps are small and will take time.

     One step towards that may be to stop glorifying the idea of immortality and stop telling fairy tales that idolize the idea of immortality.  It just isn't all that it's cracked up to be.  

To Those Who Have, More will be Given and to those who Have not...

 

Isaiah 6:1-8, Matthew 25:14-30

            This passage from Matthew is the second of three which contain very hard sayings.  All three talk about a coming judgment time in which some are chosen, and others are rejected.  The passage before this talks about the young maidens who weren’t ready for the bridegroom who were then rejected.  Today’s passage seems to say that those who do not take risks, who do not use the money and talents which God has given them to further God’s kingdom, they will be kicked out.  The passage that follows this in Matthew is the very familiar passage that was preached on last week and it will continue to tell us ways in which if we are not prepared, if we do not risk what we have to the furtherance of God’s kingdom by giving to the less fortunate, visiting the sick and imprisoned, feeding the poor, clothing the naked, that we will not be accepted on that fateful judgement day.  Instead we will be “thrown into the outer darkness where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth.”  Matthew’s gospel says in so many ways that if the works we perform don’t measure up, we can say goodbye to God’s kindom, and hello to the fiery pits of hell.  Uncomfortable?  You bet.  These sayings of judgment are hard. 

            It’s not that it’s a totally unreasonable story.  To those to whom God has given much, much will be expected.  Those who have skills in building, organizing, healing, teaching; those who have resources such as time, money, energy: God will ask more from them than from those who have less skills or talents, money or time: those who are poor.  And we can live with this.  This shows compassion and understanding – how can those who have little be expected to give much?  But then we hear in this parable “from those who have little, even what they have will be taken away.”  And that is a lot harder to swallow.  The man with the one talent didn’t misuse the money.  He didn’t throw it away.  He didn’t spend it.  He held on to it and returned it in full to his master.  And yet it was taken from him and he was punished.  It feels completely unfair. 

            I will say, though, it seems to me that this story does give a generally accurate description of life here and now.  Another way of saying this might be, “Those who are most in need are the least likely to get what they need.”  Those who are most in need are the least likely to get what they need.

            For example, as we’ve been studying in our anti-racism group, people who have just been released from prison need most work and housing to turn their lives around.  But as you know, one of the questions in many states, on any job application or housing application is “have you ever been arrested for a crime?”  And if you have, chances are you will never see a decent job from the inside.  We understand this, we understand the fear of those doing the hiring.  But it is an example of the reality that those most in need are least likely to get what it is that they need. 

            We know that poor people looking for jobs struggle to find places to live, places to bathe – both of which, again, make it very difficult to get work.  Struggling to obtain food can be a full time job all in itself, and so they also lack the time and often the resources needed to even FIND the jobs.  Often they live far away from a center of town where work might be more available.  How do they get to where the jobs are without money to travel, places to type up applications, etc.?

           Closer to home, I have a very good friend who struggles with clinical depression.  There are times when she is so down that she cannot get out of bed.  It is during those hard times that she is least likely to get the support she needs from her friends.  When she is depressed, her friends sometimes have a hard time being around her because she brings everyone around her down too.  It is hard to want to support her when nothing they do seems to help, and when she is unable to return any energy herself.  It’s understandable.  But it adds to her depression as she feels useless and unwanted by those closest to her.  She is least able to get her needs met when she is most in need.

            Similarly, I cannot tell you how many times I have bought lunch for friends, had church people over for dinner, fed those who do not need me to do that.  But if a really poor person, someone who is really hungry, asks for food, how much harder is it to feed that person a really nice meal?

           Another example: we generally respect our friends and colleagues.  We respect their ability to do what is best for themselves.  They don’t actually NEED our respect, but they have it.  A street person, on the other hand, a person most in need of being treated with humanity, is least likely to receive common courtesy, let alone respect.  We often don’t even pay them the respect of acknowledging them with a hello or a smile.  Let alone answering their request for money, with a simple response of one kind of another.  When we do acknowledge them, we tend to fail to treat them as the full adult human beings they are.  We say we’d like to help, but we don’t trust them with OUR money.  They need our respect, need us to trust that they are capable of deciding what they need most to make it through each cold and lonely night.  They need our caring, but more often they get our judgement.  The poor also need the dignity that comes from being able to work and support themselves.  But while most people would be willing to hire a neighbor teenager to do some chores for us like mow the lawn, if a person who looks poor asks for work, we don’t trust them to do it!  In part I think we don’t trust them BECAUSE they are so needy.  Those who need are the least likely to get what they need.  “To those who have, more is given.  To those who have not, even what they have is taken away.”

            The examples go on and on.  The man in Matthew’s story with the one talent needed courage, he needed faith and reassurance.  He did not have these resources, and so he hid.  When the master returned, instead of being given what he needed, he was thrown out and whon he had reason to fear and mistrust the master.  Hard.  Especially if it means the unfairness of this world will just be increased in the next.

            But you know, I cannot accept this face-value reading of the master in Matthew’s story being God.  The God that I know in the New Testament especially is not greedy and angry with those who don’t make God richer.  The God I see in those around me and who was with us in Jesus is not a reverse Robin Hood who takes from the poor and gives to the rich.  The God I know does not go away without instructions and then return a long time later to punish those who did not read God’s mind about what they were being asked to do.

         Instead the God that I know is the God of love.  The God I meet in Jesus is one who gives and gives, especially to those who lack and are poor.  The God Jesus talks about never leaves, but is with us always, guiding, holding, comforting us along our paths.  And the God of the Gospels is selfless, even to the point of knowing that the cost for his love for us, the cost of his speaking up and stepping up will be his own death.  And even then that same God’s love does not stop but grows and grows to the point at which it overcomes even death and returns again and again with open arms still full of love, hope and grace.  The God we worship and trust is the God who invites us to become a part of creating God’s kindom of family here on earth – invites us, calls us, wants us to work with God to bring a heaven to earth.

        And this to me is where we come back to Matthew’s story.  Because in order to be a part of bringing heaven to earth, we do have to risk all that we have been “lent” by God.  And remember, that is everything we have – all that we have is God’s -entrusted to us for us to be good stewards over.  Like those in the story, we are lent the resources, the talents – all that we have – to use for the betterment of all God’s people.  And in order to be a piece of God’s kingdom, we have to trust God, depend on God, use what we have been lent to serve in gratitude the God who “gave” us everything!  God’s kingdom is here and now.  Do you see it? 

      Like the man offered the one talent, we limit our ability to be part of that kingdom.  I believe the master in Matthew’s story, then, is about how we sometimes envision God, how we try to make God a reflection of who we are, making God in our image, an image of a fearful, greedy, angry populace.  And when that is our image, we exclude ourselves from the life God offers by being fearful, not risking what we have been offered in order to help and serve and care for others.  We are fearful that in risking we will lose all, that in sharing there will not be enough for us.  We imprison ourselves when we choose not to see God’s light, God’s miracles, God’s beauteous renewing of creating each and every day.

            The slave with the two talents and the slave with the five talents saw and believed in a master who was loving and good.  They risked because they trusted.  And in return, they found the love they expected, they were met by a grateful, affirming, generous and loving master, and they shared in God’s kingdom.  The slave with the one talent didn’t just have less.  He chose to see and believe in a harsh master, a master who took what was not his.  As the slave with the one talent said, “I knew you were a harsh master, gathering where you did not plant, and reaping where you did not sow.”  The slave with the one talent put himself out of God’s kingdom by believing that he was out; stuck, helpless, and living under a cruel master.  He ran, out of his fear, into a place of weeping and gnashing of teeth which he created himself through his own beliefs.

         As loving and merciful as God is, this is a choice we make.  Do we choose to hide and protect what we have, believing in a God of wrath who is jealous, angry, greedy, and who just takes and takes from us?  Do we see a God whom we cannot possibly please, and therefore do we stop trying?  Do we see a God who leaves us powerless in a world of crooks and con artists?  Do we choose to live in our own hell of fear, distrust, emptiness and loss?

        Or do we see the God of love?  Do we see a God who has given us everything that we have?  Out of gratitude and joy do we then help to build the kingdom of God for ourselves and others here on earth?  Do we offer those in need the things that they need?  Giving more to those who have not, than to those who have?  In God’s kingdom, here and now, we can offer an unhoused person food or even a couple dollars without fear or loss.  From that place of trust and faith, we can risk inviting someone who needs work to come and trim our bushes or paint our garage.  We can stop and say a kind word to someone who is alone.  We can even take a few minutes to listen to someone’s story.  And through it all, we can choose to see God’s miracles working in those situations.  We see God’s love holding us and each other.  We can live day by day on God’s grace and witness to the living fact that God does provide and care for God’s children.  Out of our abundance, we can be part of creating abundance for others as well, taking what is in front of us and multiplying it.  We are invited and we can be God’s ling and loving kingdom on earth today.

           That’s not to say it’s easy.  From those who have, much is expected.  It will seem to take us more, perhaps, than those who “have not” to feel God’s kingdom around us.  We will need to give more fully in order to be part of God’s kingdom.  But it is there for us, waiting, calling, wanting.

            A young boy and his grandmother were walking along the sea shore when a huge wave appeared out of nowhere sweeping the child out to sea.  The horrified woman fell to her knees, raising her eyes to the heavens and begged God to return her beloved grandson.  And amazingly, another wave reared up and deposited the stunned child on the sand before her.  The grandmother looked the boy over carefully.  He was fine.  But still she stared up angrily toward the heavens.  “When we came,” she snapped indignantly, “he had a hat!”

            Which God do we see?  The God who saved  the child?  Or the God who did not rescue the boy’s hat?  Which world do we choose to be a part of?  A world in which everyone else is out to get us and we just have to hold on and take care of our own by burying what God has given us, keeping it away from the eyes and concerns of the world?  Or a world in which, when we share and give and love, God gives back ten-fold?  God invites us to be part of God’s new and glorious creation.  God wants us to be part of the kingdom here and now.  God hopes for us to trust, and love and live and be joyful.  God calls us to be God’s heaven on earth and to share it with others.

            We pray, God, that a little at a time, you would lead us to risk and enter the kindom which you have prepared for us and which is, by your great grace and love, all around us, all the time.  Amen.

It's Not About You

         I've written before that I agree with Scott Peck that most of the evil in the world starts with a refusal to look at parts of ourselves that we can't accept.  It moves from there into a projection out onto others and becomes evil then when those it is projected onto are attacked.  It is especially so when the originator of the failure to self-reflect tries to destroy their own shadow in the "other".  I've also said before that when people are upset about something, it usually says much more about them than it does about the person they are complaining about.  For example, the person I know who says "everything is about power" really means that everything for HER comes down to an issue of power.  The person who says that other people don't listen is one who struggles to hear other people correctly, fully, and honestly.  It's not that either of them are incorrect - there are many people who struggle with power issues.  The ability to really listen to one another is rare, especially now, especially here.  But the fact that the woman who was accusing others of being power-hungry is herself so focused on claiming and using power, and the fact that the woman who complains about others failure to listen in particular mishears and fails to hear, is clear to everyone except these individuals.  I could go on and give other examples: the woman who was obsessed with others' manners and so corrected a colleague publicly and loudly, shouting that she should "say please"; the woman who was deeply concerned about the integrity and honesty of others who lied on a regular basis.  These are some examples of how a failure to self-reflect and really work on our own stuff often plays out.

    The point of all of this is, as I have said before, that what people express, share, and struggle with "out there" says so much more about themselves than it ever does about anyone else.

    But this week I found myself thinking about this at another level.  As you know, I write sermons.  Weekly I write them.  I almost always base my sermons on lectionary - so the passages that come up, that are presented to me, that I preach on, are rarely ones that I have chosen myself.  When I do go off lectionary, it is because I have chosen to do a sermon series on something specific.  The large majority of the time, pastors all over the world are preaching on these passages at the same time that I do.  Additionally, there have only been a couple times, early on in my 24 years in ministry, that I have ever found myself picturing an individual in my congregation when I've written or preached a sermon.  And both those times the person did not actually show up when I preached the sermon.  I learned from that.  I felt God had stepped in both times and basically said, "No.  That's not your job.  Preach what the passage calls from you to preach, but do not preach AT individuals.  You never know the fullness of someone's story.  And it is not your job to try to correct individuals in this way.  You also risk alienating or hurting someone.  That, too, is not your job."  So, whenever I have been tempted to do that, to preach AT an individual, I will admit to you that I now will dig up an old sermon and use that specifically to avoid the temptation.  Our lectionary is on a three year schedule.  So topics come up every three years.  After 24 years, then, I have several sermons on each topic, and it is not hard to find an old sermon on any topic. This is not to say there aren't times when I've preached something I thought the community needed to hear.  There are times when I have felt that as a community we need to be looking at specific problems or issues.  But again, my sermons are never aimed at specific individuals, with one major exception.  This is my last and most important point.  I often write my sermons AT MYSELF.  I pray, I sit with the topic, and I write what I need to work on, what I need to correct in myself.  Frankly, I am deeply grateful for my job because it forces me weekly to do inner work, to self-reflect, to look honestly at the areas in which I need to grow.  I'm never going to be perfect, I'm never going to get there, but I want to keep growing, to keep seeing the areas that need my attention, to keep being committed to learning and being better.  If you want to know my faults better, listen to my sermons; they are not about YOU, but often about the areas of my own growth that I need to be addressing.  I hope that these areas resonate with you and help you as well, but they are not about you.

    I write all this because, on a regular basis, I have people ask me if (or tell me that) I have written the sermon AT that individual, I am correcting them, or (occasionally) someone else.  And every time they do that I have found myself surprised, stunned, and bewildered.  "Why on earth did they think that?"  I have wondered.  "Why did they think this was aimed at them, individually, personally, specifically?"  But this week all of these reflections conjoined and I realized that once again, this concern that I was writing about them was not about me.  It was, once again, a window into the other person.  Why did they think I was writing about them?  Why did they think I was preaching at them?  The fact that they thought this says much about them.  Sometimes when there has been fear that I was preaching at someone, it has been accompanied by denial, "I know you were preaching this at me, but I didn't do it..." kind of a response.  Other times it's just been a question - "was that aimed at me?"  And two times of which I am aware, someone has become so angry that they thought I was preaching at them that they have stepped away all together.  All three responses have always been a surprise to me.  But today I have more insight around it.  It still saddens me when people become upset and think that I am preaching at them.  It is especially sad when they think that "everyone knows you were preaching at me!" and so they distance themselves.  It would be better if they asked and could see for themselves the look of surprise on my face when they do.  But I finally got it today.   Just as the sermons I write are not about YOU, your concern that they are about you is not about ME.  

    Whew.  What a relief that is!  I am not responsible for how you take what I say.  I am not responsible for your actions, or how you respond to me.  I am not responsible for your decisions, for who you choose to be in relationship to me, or how you react to what I say or do.  That is all, all of it, every single piece of it, about YOU.  None of it is about me.  And by the same token, my writings, my sermons, my choices that are never going to be perfect, never going to be all that someone else could want, never going to be absolutely right every time, those are always about me - none of those are about YOU.  And in that, my friends, in that, there is both freedom and relief, and hope, and grace.  We are both freed, then, to work on our own stuff; to work on ourselves and offer grace and love to the other; to correct ourselves, and offer forgiveness and compassion to the other.  

    I am grateful today for this insight.  And while I may not always be able to apply it, for today it is a gift.

All Saint's Humility

 

1 Kings 17:1-24

Matthew 23: 1-12

On Wednesday morning of last week I attended an on-line respite through the PCUSA Board of Pensions.  Basically what that means is that I attended a three hour webinar for clergy that was focused on how we take care of ourselves so we can continue our ministry during this time.  We began with a short worship service and then we had a panel of five speakers who were going to lead us in reflection and education for the next couple of hours.  As we began the panel led part of the respite, the host began by spending 10 minutes “introducing” the panelists.  But “introducing” what I mean is that she spent ten minutes explaining to us the credentials of each of the speakers.  Half-way through this list of credentials, I admit I tuned out.  It didn’t really matter to me, but I am certain that had she failed to explain each person’s resume fully, each of those panelists might have felt they were not given the introduction that was their due.  Then the first panelist began to speak, and, even with the introduction given by the host, he still felt it was necessary to give us another full 10 minute self-introduction, telling us where he’d worked, for how long, what he accomplished at each job, etc. 

This was the day after I had begun working on today’s sermon.  The passage from Matthew is really about humility.  As we read from the gospel of Matthew today, Jesus said, “But you shouldn’t be called Rabbi, because you have one teacher, and all of you are brothers and sisters.  Don’t call anybody on earth your father, because you have one Father, who is heavenly.  Don’t be called teacher, because Christ is your one teacher.” 

And so, as I listened to these long introductions outlining the credentials of each of these speakers, I found myself thinking two things.  First, is it any wonder that humility is so difficult?  Here we are the church that follows Jesus, the Jesus who told us clearly that our credentials don’t matter – that the first will, in fact, be last, so that our credentials are a hindrance if anything, and should never be a source of pride.  But it is in this church, as the body of Christ that we still begin our work, our meetings, our presentations with introducing (ie bragging, proud-fully announcing) all the credentials of each person, as if that is what matters, and is what gives each of the speakers the right to lead, that is what gives them value as speakers.  Given that this is the model we have in our churches, how are we supposed to practice humility?  Really and truly?  Second, I wondered what it would be like if we had skipped this part all together.  What if instead of giving the credentials and the “reason why we should listen to you” at the beginning, we instead gave those at the end or didn’t give them at all?  Would people be less willing to listen without those introductions?  Would people give less credence to what they were hearing if they didn’t know the amazing credentials of those speaking? 

In the Presbyterian church we say that we believe that every person is called, EVERY person.  We emphasize that no call is “better” or higher or more important than another.  Pastors are not more holy than other people.  We are not more “called” or more “chosen” by God.  We simply have a different call, a specific call to ministry.  Paul goes into great detail in the book of Corinthians about the fact that we all have gifts and that it is often those gifts we value the least that are the most important.  As 1^st Corinthians 12 says, “Christ is just like the human body—a body is a unit and has many parts; and all the parts of the body are one body, even though there are many.  We were all baptized by one Spirit into one body, whether Jew or Greek, or slave or free, and we all were given one Spirit to drink.  Certainly the body isn’t one part but many.  If the foot says, “I’m not part of the body because I’m not a hand,” does that mean it’s not part of the body?  If the ear says, “I’m not part of the body because I’m not an eye,” does that mean it’s not part of the body?  If the whole body were an eye, what would happen to the hearing? And if the whole body were an ear, what would happen to the sense of smell?  But as it is, God has placed each one of the parts in the body just like he wanted.  If all were one and the same body part, what would happen to the body?  But as it is, there are many parts but one body.  So the eye can’t say to the hand, “I don’t need you,” or in turn, the head can’t say to the feet, “I don’t need you.”  Instead, the parts of the body that people think are the weakest are the most necessary.  The parts of the body that we think are less honorable are the ones we honor the most. The private parts of our body that aren’t presentable are the ones that are given the most dignity.  The parts of our body that are presentable don’t need this. But God has put the body together, giving greater honor to the part with less honor so that there won’t be division in the body and so the parts might have mutual concern for each other.”  But we certainly don’t treat people that way, do we?  We want to know if someone is a foot or a head.  And if they are a foot, we don’t think they have the right qualifications to talk to us about their experience or how it might relate to our lives, our experiences, our situations.

By the way, this is a cultural phenomenon.  I remember being in Central America and being at a gathering where an 11 year old boy was orating, lecturing all of those around him about the situation they were experiencing in Nicaragua.  Those around him were listening, all of them, enraptured.  It didn’t matter that he was a kid, that he probably did not have a great education, living in a very rural and remote area.  They listened because he spoke truth, not because of any qualifications.

Again, today’s passage in Matthew is about humility.  “The greatest among you will be your servant.  All who lift themselves up will be brought low.”  This is about recognizing that our pride is greatly misplaced as far as God is concerned.   As Micah 6:8 says it, “What does the Lord require of you?  But to do justice, to love kindness and to walk humbly with God.”  In many ways all three of these are the same thing, and we will talk about that more. 

But what is humility, really?   There is a general belief that humility means saying things like, “well, I’m not really good at that.” Or “I’m not really THAT good at x”.  This is a deep misunderstanding about humility.  Humility is not about denying your gifts.  It recognizes, instead, that all gifts are exactly that – gifts.  We are not “better” people because we’ve been born into a family that raised us with education and health care.  We are not innately “better” because we had the means to grow our talents, to learn skills, to put them into practice.  We are not “better” because God gave us talents or gifts.  God didn’t sit up there somewhere in judgment and say, “Well, this person deserves this talent” before we are even born.  God didn’t sit somewhere and decide, on the other hand, “this person deserves to be born to a mother who could not get health care and who was on crack while she was pregnant.”  Humility recognizes that we cannot take credit for the talents, the situation, the demographics, the culture into which we were born and raised.  Instead, we are given these, as we are given everything, in order for us to be good stewards of what we have.  We are to be stewards of our resources, caring for everyone around us with the money and time that we have.  But we are also to be good stewards of our talents: using them for the good of others. 

Humility also recognizes that not everything is about YOU.  For those who attended with me the training on responding in love to those who are suffering from psychosis, in particular, you may remember that I asked the question about what we should do when a person in our lives alternates, because of their mental illness, between being sweet and kind and receptive to care and even seeking out help – and then in the matter of a week can flip into an abusive attacking truly mean behavior.  I asked how to deal with that.  Her response was, “well, you set limits when they are being attacking, and you stick to them.”  I responded with something along the lines of “well, how long should you put up with the attacks?”  And she again responded with, “you set limits around that – not responding to nasty emails, for example, and making it clear that you won’t be responding to nasty emails.  But being loving and present when they are kind.”  And I realized that what she was reminding me was that their behavior in those times is not about me.  So I don’t have to take it personally, I shouldn’t take it personally at all.  I don’t need to accept it, but I also should have the humility to recognize that that person is more than their abusive behavior and that I can still choose to be in relationship with them when they are not acting out in an unkind way.  She reminded me that I should be able to separate myself from the attacks enough to remember that this behavior isn’t about me.  I should have the humility to put myself aside, to not have “ego” investment in those interactions.  It is still loving to set and keep a boundary – it does not help them to be allowed to act in this way.  But that doesn’t mean total rejection of them based on this “acting out” behavior.  This takes a great deal of humility: to remember that not everything, even when it seems that it is aimed at you, is about you.

Third, humility involves being willing to be self-reflective and to acknowledge that you could be wrong, that we could be wrong, that I could be wrong – about anything and everything.  That is hard for us to do, isn’t it?  Each of us thinks that we are right, especially about the things that matter most to us.  But it is a call and an act of humility to step back and consider the possibility that you could be wrong even about things you feel absolutely certain about.  In our actions, in our thinking, in our interaction – all of us could be wrong.  And that acknowledgement is an important part of humility.

In the Old Testament story we heard today, the widow was certain that she and her son were going to die and that they only had enough flour for one last meal before they would die.  She had the humility, though, to listen to Elijah and do what he told her to do when he asked her to give the last of the food she had to him instead of to her son.  She had the humility to consider that even though she felt certain that death was at her door, that maybe there was another possibility for her.  What strength of humility!

Finally, then, humility is remembering that no matter what we’ve earned, no matter what credentials we have, what talents we have, what resources we have, in the big picture it probably doesn’t ultimately matter.  Taking this a step further, no matter what we do, no matter what humanity does – even if we destroy ourselves and for all intents and purposes the earth, life will probably go on.  It may look different than before, but the changing seasons remind us that ultimately not one of us is in control, and not one of us has as much power as it sometimes feels that we do.  I think this realization can be both humbling and freeing.   It is humbling to remember that everything we are stressed or struggling or upset about ultimately probably is not that important.  But it is also freeing because then we can just do what is before us to be done without carrying the weight of the world on our own two shoulders.  I realize this is a dangerous thing to say.  We are still called to be careful, mindful, and loving in all things.  But the point I’m trying to make is that God will be God no matter what we do. 

The thing is, who we are is much more about our choices than it is about what talents or gifts or resources we have.  What do we do with what we are given?  How do we use our talents and resources?  Jesus told Peter that if he loved Jesus he was to feed Jesus’ sheep.  That is how we show our love of God, by giving back, not by “being successful” in the world’s eyes.  Humility is recognizing this: that our greatest, most successful gifts, do not make us better than other people.  It is our choices for love, choices to put ourselves and our egos aside, choices to serve and care for one another out of love for the other that matter the most.  If anything does make a difference, it is our actions for good, it is our kindnesses.  And we can’t ultimately take credit for that.  Again, our gifts come from God.  Humility calls us to act as if everything depends on us, with the recognition and prayers that know that really everything depends on God.  And no matter what we do, God will continue to be God.

On this, All Saints Day we think about those who have gone before.  We think about those we have loved, those who have made us who we are.  And as we think about those people, my guess is that you will find, as I find, that the people whose memories are dearest to me are those who were the most kind, gentle, giving and humble during their lives, who gave from their poverty, rather than from their riches.  We celebrate the saints today and so I invite you to think of those who are humbly doing the work of God.  I found myself thinking this week about the helpers, the saints that I have become aware of.  For example, there is a man in India who has set himself the goal of planting a million trees because he believes that the suffering in India is caused by the climate change that is wiping out the food and water sources for the people.  He is doing it not for the recognition, he is doing it because it is the right thing to do.  The people choosing to wear masks who are doing so knowing they protect those around themselves by doing so, much more than they ever protect ourselves. Those making masks who jumped in to help in whatever way they could.  The college students who figured out a way to save both farms and hungry people by connecting the farms that had been selling to organizations that were no longer in service among COVID crisis, to food pantries that were seeing a huge surging in need.  Jill who gives rides on a regular basis to those who live next door because they need them.  Period.  We don’t share these stories in our news nearly often enough.  But these are stories of humility: of people choosing to use their gifts for others, rather than for themselves, of people putting aside their egos to be helpers. 

           As I said before, doing justice, loving kindness and walking humbly with God – they are all connected.  When we can put aside our “credentials”, when we can put aside our egos, when we can choose to not lift up some people over others but to see all as the equally loved and valued children of God that we all are, when we can then do the work of loving and serving, especially those most in need, we are being the servants God calls us to be, we are walking with humility with our God.  That’s the very best we can do.  For the sakes of all people.  Thanks be to God.  Amen.