From "Fight" to "Friend"

     Today in my good news e-mag I saw an article about a new cancer breakthrough where cancer cells are "re-taught" to be normal cells rather than cancerous cells.  This is a huge breakthrough for many reasons but it also caused me, once again, to reflect on the deeper lessons being learned.  

    As humans, we appear to tend towards violence in all areas of our life.  When someone is nasty to us, we often will fight back, at least verbally, or up the ante, returning evil for evil.  When there are problems in the world, rather than negotiating or talking, we often jump into war, into fighting.  When we have problems within ourselves, we talk about fighting - fighting the demons within or fighting the addiction, or fighting with our own anger.  As I've written about many times, when someone does something wrong in our society, we "fight" or seek to harm them in return with retributive justice prison sentences, too.  And with our diseases: we fight disease by trying to "kill" it.  

    Does it work?  Not so well, in any of these situations.  Might does not equal right, so our wars don't always favor the right.  Those who go to a punishing prison usually end up entrenched in their lives of crime.  The addictions and inner problems we fight with tend to just fight back.  And even the diseases we fight by killing what is within usually do more damage to us in the end.  The things we use to kill diseases kill us as well.  

    I actually believe that this is a metaphor for all of life: in trying to kill what we deem to be the "other", whether it is a disease or issue within us or an "enemy" without, we end up destroying or damaging ourselves as well.  

    There are alternatives and we are just beginning to really figure those out.  Restorative justice is a much better approach in terms of our legal system, for example: bringing healing to all those involved in a situation where a crime has happened, rather than an escalating revenge/punishment.  This is true in our raising of children as well: when we yell at our kids, they aren't as able to hear, to learn.  But when we work with them, seeing the mistakes as invitations for learning, invitations for growth, not only is the growth more permanent and effective, but it builds their self esteem as well.  If we were to learn to talk to each other rather than going to war, relationships and lives would not be torn apart or ended in the name of justice.  

    I loved the children's book series, "The Secrets of Droon" by Tony Abbott.  One of the things I loved most about this series, was that the children were not encouraged or taught to kill the "bad guys."  Instead, they were encouraged to understand them, and to grow with them so that those "bad guys" might be met with enough compassion that they would change.  We have the same opportunites throughout our lives in all areas.

    I've seen a person screeming at someone else about something who was met with patience and an open heart, and as a result they calmed down, were able to be rational and to have real conversations, moving from stances of enemies across a line to friends, working together to solve a problem. I saw my own son, as a kindergartener, make the decision to befriend a kid who bullied everyone.  My son was able to change the stance of the other child by doing so, and as a result, the "bully" was finally able to ask for the help he needed, learning to trust that not everyone was against him, that some were truly there who would love and care for him, even when he told the truth about what had been happening in his home life.

    I've also experienced people trying to fight off the grief and pain within their own hearts who, when encouraged instead to befriend that pain and grief, were able to truly work it through and therefore to let it move through them and out. It is a different way to approach our inner struggles and pain, but an effective way to really work through and come out the other side.  When we fight our inner problems, the best we can hope for is to suppress them.  But when we befriend our shadow side, we can learn and grow together until we are changed for the better.

    This new way of approaching cancer is incredibly hopeful to me.  It recognizes that change, rather than destruction, is a better way to deal with cancers of all kinds, within our bodies and within our lives.

    

Some days…

     Sunday we continued our England travels by exploring the national parks of Exmoor and Dartmoor.  We stopped in Lynton, where most of our group spent their time shopping.  Of course, we took off, walking out to the Valley of the Rocks… incredible views!  

    We also saw a number of truly beautiful gardens on our way out of the city… all in people’s yards.  Afterwards we took the Lynton and Lynmouth Cliff Railway (which is “the highest and the steepest totally water powered railway in the world”) down to Lynmouth, a little village at the bottom of those cliffs.  We learned about the flood that came and destroyed the city, killing many and taking many homes into the ocean.  David and I continued to be a bit rebellious and while others were exploring cafes and grabbing lunch, we walked along the river to beautiful views of falls, flowers and small gardens.  We then headed to Porlock for lunch, but it being Sunday, everything was closed. So we went on and had a short stop in Minehead, which is a little larger community.  While the rest of our group again ate and shopped, we went on a search for gardens and found some lovely flower gardens. 

    Afterwards we spent the night at Bovey Castle.  We arrived there fairly late with just enough time to eat and go to bed and we left early yesterday morning for our Monday adventures.  It was a disappointment to all of us that we were there for just a few short hours.  For me, I’ve never stayed in a place so nice before and honestly felt a bit intimidated.  It was beautiful!

    Monday, yesterday, we only had one real stop: we went to Dorset for the things I was most looking forward to about this tour: we went to Athelhampton Manor and Gardens where we had high tea and then explored the manor and Elizabethan gardens.  We were given a tour of the manor by a highly educated historian.  He was interesting, but I started to panic when what was supposed to be an hour tour approached the second hour mark.  I didn’t want to listen anymore, as interesting as it was: I was worried there would not be enough time for the gardens, so I snuck out and went for a marvelous stroll in the gardens by myself, to be joined a half hour later by David who had stayed for the end of the house tour. Truly lovely.  

    Last night as well as this evening we stay in Evershot, a small village of 230 residents!!  But the grounds where we are staying are once again INCREDIBLE!

     The last two days were very good days for us!  

    But one of those two days was not such a good day for our bus driver.  Our driver has worked for tours for six years, and according to him, has never had problems.  But many of the roads he was driving on were TIGHT in their turns and extremely narrow, which meant that when we were faced with a car coming the other direction, sometimes there were real issues about which car would back up, how far, and how turns would be made at all by such a big coach.  Up until now, our driver has done fine. But yesterday as he moved way over towards the hedge wall to give enough room for a fast on-coming car to pass, there was an ominous crunching sound.  Sure enough, the hedge wall was hiding a brick wall which significantly scraped the bus. Then, as he went around one very steep curve, the back of the bus hit the ground and knocked loose a part of the rear fender.  Finally as we were on the M5, suddenly those of us near the front saw the blur of wings and heard a loud BAM as a pigeon flew into the windshield.  Our driver was beside himself.  But his day did not completely end there… The tour guide told him what room he was supposedly staying in at the hotel and told him to ask the front desk for the key.  He did so, was given the key, and when he opened the door to the room, he was greeted by a completely naked elderly woman just stepping out of the shower. He apologized in response to her screams, hastily shut the door, and went back to reception to find he was actually supposed to be in a different room.  Our driver could not figure out why everything in his day seemed pear-shaped. 

    What was a glorious day for us was a BAD day for him.  People can be in very close proximity to one another and yet have completely divergent experiences.  Those experiences tend to effect how we see and ultimately understand the world. Even when we are in the same space each person’s experience is vastly different and therefore effects our feelings and thoughts.  Is it any wonder that we have a hard time understanding one another?  Objectivity, while important, can be elusive for any of us.  For me, this so obvious example of people in the same situation experiencing the day in such opposing ways was a reminder to be more grace-filled towards those around me.  Much of the time we just don’t know what others are going through.

Waters Shall Break Forth in the Wilderness

 

Isaiah 35:4-7a

Mark 7:24-37

 

Over and over, people were told not to bother Jesus.  The children were told to go away, Jairus was told not to bother the teacher, women were scorned for talking to him and despised for trying, others who were “less desirable” were told to go away. 

At some level I think we understand this.  Jesus was seen as very important.  And his time was understood to be, therefore, very valuable.  The disciples understood that he had a mission and they didn’t’ want Jesus to be bothered with those who were “beneath” him.  They didn’t want him distracted or his precious time used up by people whom they didn’t see as valuable or important to Jesus’ work or mission.  It’s like people keeping homeless folk from talking to the President.  The same idea: he is important, they are seen as “less so”.

In this case, the woman we only know as a “Greek” woman, “Syrophoenician by birth” approaches Jesus and even Jesus seems to want to send her away.  And he doesn’t just tell her that he only came to serve the Jews, which is what he was intending to communicate, he also insults her in one of the worse possible ways.  Today being called a dog or being called a female dog is highly insulting.  It was not any less so in Jesus’ time.  To tell her that he is there to feed the children, the Jews, and it isn’t right to throw the food to the dogs, is highly insulting.  Even Jesus, it would seem from this comment, had moments where he couldn’t seem to escape the pervasive humanness of ranking people. 

               We all rank people.  All of us do.  Years ago now, I remember going to visit a parishioner who was in an extended care facility and when I walked into the room, I saw an older person in a wheel chair sitting next to the parishioner.  I had no problem joining them in conversation, interrupting their time together because I made assumptions – she was either a family member, or maybe another patient who had wandered in to talk.  I felt okay entering their group for a few minutes as long as I could “rank” them in this way.  But when it turned out that she was actually the physical therapist, then I felt that I had imposed on her time.  And I excused myself.  She “ranked higher” as one of the staff at the hospital, and my time with the patient took a back seat.  But as I left, it caused me to think for a few minutes about how I rank people. 

I experienced this from the other side when my last congregation housed families for a couple weeks at a time in a program very similar to our “Winter’s Nights” program.  I learned to avoid telling our guests that I was the pastor because my experience had been that once they knew that, they would often treat me differently.  And while that different treatment tended to be greater respect, I still didn’t want it.  Life sometimes separates us into the haves and have-nots, but I’m all too aware that that line can be all too easily crossed.  My being the pastor there, and someone with a home and income did not and does not make me “better” or more worthy of respect, attention, or care than any of the guests or helpers who were here.  And that singling out, that difference in treatment made me uneasy.  We are all children of God.  I am not more deserving of respect because of my status here. 

Another pastor friend of mine told me of a time when he was mopping the floor in the church kitchen when several of the church deacons came in.  “Oh no, pastor!  That is not for YOU to do!” they exclaimed, again with the same “You are too good for this work!” attitude, one he worked actively to eradicate, but one that was extremely hard to stamp out. 

When I lived in Ohio, I was part of a small ecumenical pastors’ group that met once a month (this is a different group from my weekly lectionary group).  Our churches were all within the same small town in the Cleveland suburbs and we worked on mission projects in the community together: feeding, summer children’s camps, etc..  One time when we met I remembered talking about what an amazing group of pastors we had in this area, who worked so very well together and were really and truly colleagues and friends to one another.  One of the other pastors commented that yes, in other ministerial groups of which he had been a part, there had often been a lot of “posturing” between the pastors, with some trying to claim an upper hand, or more prominence based on things like the size of their congregations, the work their churches did, or how long they had been in ministry.  I frankly do not understand that choice.  We should all have the humility to see that we are all children of God.  That posturing is an arrogance that is unbefitting to those who would serve God. 

Our own Anti-Racism group recently finished reading the book, Caste, in which the author, Isabel Wilkerson talks about the cultural ranking of people that we have in this society.  We know these ranks because we are taught them in extremely covert ways throughout our lives by our communities: These are not innate rankings, but socially prescribed and socially created rankings that have become entrenched in our society.  Women are ranked under men, children are ranked under adults, people with money are ranked higher than those without, people who have white collar jobs tend to be ranked above blue collar jobs, the homeless are ranked extremely low.  And people of color are often on the very bottom of our ranking systems.

But Jesus shows us a different way.  Jesus stepped in time and time again when the disciples would push someone away, send someone away, and tell them to leave Jesus alone.  Again and again Jesus had to stop that action on the part of his disciples, “let the little children come to me” he said, and “leave her alone.  She is doing a good thing for me.”  Those who were outcast, considered unclean because of illness and infirmity were given his special attention.  Those who were ranked on the bottom of the culture at the time, those assumed to be damaged because they deserved to be damaged were not beneath his notice but were the targets of his notice.  The second story in the gospel today, about the deaf man is one such story.  He, too would have been seen as “less than” and would have been pushed away: it would have been assumed that his infirmity was a sign that he was less worthy.  But Jesus took the time to heal him, not only restoring his physical disability, but also restoring him to right relationship within his community.  He specifically and intentionally chose to give attention and care to those everyone else in the culture ranked lower.  Also notice that he confronted a basic idea of what it meant to be “deserving”.  Jairus and his daughter and the women with the hemorrhage may not have been “deserving” of Jesus’ healing according to the codes of the time, or by any other ranking.  But we are told very little about them.  We don’t know if they were “deserving” or not.  What we do know is that Jesus didn’t ask.  He offered the gifts he had, of healing, of time, of attention and care, to all of them despite knowing or not knowing whether or not they deserved it. 

I love this story of the Syrophoenician woman, even though it was a hard conversation, a painful conversation that he had with this woman.  I love it because it is through that conversation that we hear clearly that Jesus’ mission was now to everyone,  not just the Jews, and that the last “rank” -in this case the differences in religion, geography and even ethnicity, were destroyed.  They no longer applied.  “Rank” or “Caste” were thrown out.

In today’s passage from Isaiah we hear another passage of reversals.  “The eyes of the blind will be opened, the ears of the deaf will be cleared.  The lame will leap like the deer, and the tongue of the speechless will sing.  Waters will spring up in the desert and streams in the wilderness.  The burning sand will become a pool, and the thirsty ground, fountains of water.”  Those things that are harmed or damaged will be healed.  And that expands beyond the physical.  Those who have been held down will be raised up, and those who have been ranked lower will be found to be equally respected and valued children of God. 

We are called to be part of this new ordering of our world.  We, too, are called to bring healing, reconciliation, and to do away with the rankings that separate us and which leave some better off than others.  So what does that look like for us? 

Well, what are your gifts?  What are your resources?  And to whom do you offer them?  If you have the gift of music, do you play for those who can’t afford the cost of a ticket to come see you perform?  If you have the gift of resources, do you share them, with those who are ranked as less, on the bottom according to society?  If you have the gift of healing, do you offer to heal even those who can’t pay the usual doctor’s fee?  The list goes on.  The confrontation to our own choices and behaviors goes on as well.

I have shared with you before that at another church where I served, our congregation had become very close to an unhoused man who at one point fell and was put in the hospital with serious damage.  We found that because he could not pay, most of the hospital staff ignored him unless church members were there to push for his care. 

In one of the congregations where I served I also remember a person who was very socially awkward being treated very subtly but consistently as a second class citizen.  He was ranked as “less than” and he was treated as “less than” by the other members of the congregation.

We are called to confront that kind of treatment and to remind the world that we are all loved children of God, none valued more than another despite the way we would treat and value people differently.

I am so grateful for this community of people who treat each other, despite our differences, as people deserving of respect and care.  I am so deeply appreciative of your kindness to one another, the respect you show one another.  We are called to continue that in every place that we go with everyone that we encounter.  Thanks be to God.  Amen.

              

Judgments are so easy

        I participated in a small 24-hour clergy spiritual retreat over the last day (through zoom).  The woman leading the retreat was talking this morning about judgment.  Her point was that judgment is easy, but that it is not where we will find God.  She began by asking us to look at her as she described herself as a cis-woman, white, heterosexual, upper middle-class,  never divorced, never poor, never dealt with law enforcement in a negative way, never been in trouble legally, a dog-owner, mother, pastor of the same church for 18 years ... you get the idea.  She was telling us that because of her location and situation, there were many things that she could never claim to truly understand, but that she has a call, as we all do, to be open and compassionate towards ourselves and especially towards others who have different life experiences.  

    What was interesting for me is that I was having a hard time not judging her.  I felt that she was bragging about the facts, for example, that she had never been poor, never had a negative encounter with the law, and never been divorced.  And I kept thinking of a line from the movie Leap of Faith in which the main character said, "Would you want a virgin priest telling you how to fix your marriage?  No!  Would you want some teetotaler who had never had a problem with the bottle telling you how to give up your addictions? NO!"  And I kept thinking, how could I ever trust a person who had never struggled and who assumed they had their blessings because they'd earned them to be able to support me when I had struggled through hard and difficult times.  And then I felt angry.  There is such a strong inclination in all of us to assume that we have the good things that we have because we have earned them, because we have done something to obtain those blessings.  From that place of assuming our good things are because we deserve them, it is not a big leap to assuming that others are lacking those same good things because they don't deserve them.  We forget all the help, all the things we've been given since birth (since before birth, actually) that put us where we are and strongly affect where we can go with our lives, what paths our lives follow and what resources we have at any one time.  We forget this and it becomes very, very easy to judge others' situations.  And so I found myself really put off by this woman doing what I felt was boasting in order to teach we-who-have-suffered how to not judge others, and how to re-center and re-claim our lives in a healthier way.  

    But I quickly realized that, as she was talking about not judging, that I was judging her, this woman I really didn't know.  I realized that I had just assumed a whole host of feelings and emotions (hearing "bragging" behind her words, which may or may not have actually been there), as well as a whole life situation (that she had never really suffered, for example).  And I remembered, as I prayed and meditated, listening for God's words for me this morning, that our call whenever we are judging is to look deeper into ourselves.  So I dove into my own feelings to look at why I was making these assumptions about her.  And I realized that these thoughts and feelings I was assigning to this woman were feelings that I had, at one time, held myself.  I admit, with great shame, that there was a point in time when I, too, judged people who had been divorced, feeling that somehow I "did relationships" better.  There was a time, too, when I had assumed that people who struggled financially probably just weren't as intelligent and didn't have as much common sense and that this was at least a part of their poverty.  There was a time in my own life when I judged people who bought fast food for their children as unintelligent, uncaring, or even lazy parents.  I prided myself on my UC Berkeley education, on my doctorate, on my ability to save money, not go into debt, and own a house without depending on others for help.  I prided myself on buying only organic foods for my children, leaving the television off in favor of playing with the kids outside and reading books.  The kids had lessons: music, dance, and I thought there was no other way to raise them.  I felt good about my choices to work hard to take care of the environment, not using resources that I knew were damaging to the larger world, even if that meant buying more expensive items, bringing my own bags everywhere, not using "one-use" items, while still being generous to my community and to others.  I thought people who didn't make these choices were lacking in genuine compassion for the world, for others.  They were cold hearted and greedy, in my opinion, and their vision was very short-sighted.

    And then my own world had fallen apart.  I had to deal with abusive law officers, and a business-legal system that is mercenary and is not really about justice.  I became a divorced parent with sole custody of my three young children, working two jobs in order to support my kids, running through the McDonald's drive through at times because there just wasn't time to make dinner, there wasn't energy to get to the organic store; buying the cheapest foods, not the healthiest foods, because I had to stretch my lone salary to feed my family, sometimes using the "electronic babysitter" television for the kids when I just needed a nap and had been worn to the limit by my responsibilities, my jobs, and the deep grief of loss. The lessons I had insisted they take were mostly cut because I had neither the resources nor the ability to get them to those lessons or to make sure they practiced; and I even had to rely on financial help from extended family to be able to relocate and start again back home in the ultra-expensive Bay Area.  All of this forced me to reevaluate so many of my judgments, so many of my assumptions, so much of my mistaken "pride".  I got it now that sometimes divorce is the necessary choice for so many reasons.  Sometimes it's the brave choice, sometimes it's the most loving choice for our children.  This doesn't mean we chose badly in the first place and it doesn't mean we weren't deeply committed when we got married, or that we hadn't worked hard on our marriage.  Things change, situations change and sometimes our choices and decisions must change accordingly.  I got it now that sometimes people just do what they have to do to survive and that this doesn't always include an ability to buy more expensive but healthier foods, or consistent home-prepared meals.  I understood now that the pressures of one's life sometimes mean that we make less than ideal choices for our kids, including things like screen time instead of reading and playing with them outside all the time, or being able to buy them and take them to further education opportunities in the form of lessons.  I got it that life happens to people.  And the best we can do may not look the same as it does for people with more or different resources, but it is still the best we can do and we should celebrate and honor that rather than judging it. 

    I have often said that one of the challenges, but also one of the very deepest gifts of my life is that whatever I judge, I later am called on to face in my own life.  And that time of terrible hardship taught me so much, not only about myself, but also about other people who have not had easy lives.  

    I thought about all of this as I sat there in judgment of this person I did not know.  And I realized, once again, that if I chose to pay attention, to be "curious" about my own judgments (rather than heaping more judgment into the situation by judging myself for my judgments) that those feelings and assumptions had much to teach me, once again.  They called me to remember, to look deeper, and to let go.  They called me once again to release any shame I felt both for the judgments I had previously made, but also for the choices I later had to make to survive, to help my kids, and to walk through each day of that nightmare time.  

    I am grateful for all the challenges I have dealt with in my life because I do think each one of those hardships has given me more compassion, understanding and grace towards others who are struggling.  But I can also strive for compassion towards those who have not had these same experiences.  Until they have walked in the shoes of deep struggle, they may not see in the same way.  That is not their fault, that is simply the reality of the deep gifts of struggle.  

    It is so easy to judge.  But those judgments are voices calling us to look deeper at our own lives, to have compassion for ourselves as well as others, and to choose grace instead.  Be curious.  Look deep.  Let go of judgment.  Choose compassion instead.

Epiphany: Gifts and Giving

Luke 2:41-52

Matthew 2:1-12

       Gold, Frankincense and Myrrh were gifts we are told were given by the Magi because they were some of the most valuable things that people could have at that time.  It was a statement that Jesus was valuable beyond anything.  And, as you also know, it was more than that:

       Frankincense – was (and is) often made into incense and used in worship.  So it represents who Jesus was as “God with us” - It represents life.

      Myrrh was used to embalm mummies, especially those of rich, important people.  So it symbolized the suffering and death that Jesus would experience when he was grown up and the honoring of what was to come.

      There is more in this story than even that.  The magi or wise men also travelled a very long way with their gifts.  They gave to Jesus a huge gift, then, of their time and their energy as well as their material gifts.

            We understand their value, we understand that they had deep meaning, that these gifts were the most important and valuable things they could give, materially but also in terms of their energy and time. 

            If Jesus were born among us today, and you knew about it, knew who he was and why he was coming.  If you were invited to go to the birth of Jesus, what would you give, what would you bring?  I invite you to think about that for a minute.

            In the Advent Devotionals that went out, Lisa and Lynn Justice mentioned the story in the blog, Hyperbole and a Half called, “The Year Kenny Loggins Ruined Christmas.”  We have enjoyed Hyperbole and a Half for a long time, but I did not remember this story, so we looked it up and I read it out loud to the whole family.  It is hilarious and I laughed so hard I was crying by the end.  In the story, the author describes a childhood event in which she was trying to get her family to act out the Christmas story and she assigned parts to her family members to play in the story.  Her aunt and grandmother were to be the Magi and the writer insisted that they bring gifts for the baby Jesus.  Apparently her aunt and grandma were a bit tipsy at this point in the story and so they grabbed whatever they could find to give as gifts.  This included a pack of cigarettes, the remote control and a Kenny Loggins tape.  My kids were not nearly as impressed with the story as I was.  They didn’t find it nearly as hilarious, in part because they sympathized with the author as a little girl whose needs were not being attended to in the story.  But it did kick off a conversation for us about what presents would be appropriate and what presents we might bring to Jesus today.  The first suggestion was diapers.  After all, that’s a really useful, needed thing for babies, and we all know that if a person is poor, diapers, even if you use cloth and just need to be constantly cleaning them, they amount to a cost that is not insignificant.  “But,” I challenged, “diapers is really a gift more for the parents than for the baby.” 

            “Also,” I reminded them, “the gifts brought to Jesus signified the best that people had, the most valuable things and gifts and resources that the Magi, or anyone at that time, had.”

            That led into a discussion of two of my favorite Christmas stories – the Littlest Angel, and the Little Drummer Boy.  If you recall the story of the Littlest Angel, the one thing that made this little boy angel happy was a box of his favorite collected stuff – depending on the version of the story it’s a small box of things that would make a young boy happy, like string and a stick, the box itself, the collar of his pet dog, a stuffed bear.  Before getting this box he was very unhappy in heaven and it was the one thing that brought him consolation and joy.  But when he hears about Jesus’ birth, he wants to give him the best that he has, the thing he values most, so he adds this box of everything that gave him joy into the pile of gifts.  He is running away in shame, feeling that the gifts he has are not worth anything when God chooses that gift to be the Star over Bethlehem.  Now while I realize there could be a lot of critique about the story (if it becomes the Star, for example, it’s still not a gift that the baby can actually play with…), none the less, the gift he gave was one a small boy would appreciate and would love, and it was also the thing that was most valued by the Littlest Angel in the story.

            I like the Little Drummer Boy even better because what he gave was his talent, was his ability.  He gave the gift of his music to the baby: the best he had, all he had.  I like it because it was a gift that babies really do value – music, especially drumming, perhaps.  And I like it because it also was the best that the Drummer Boy had.

            So for me, giving our best involves two things: giving what is needed, will be appreciated, will be valued by the recipient; and giving what we value, what is the best we have to give.

            And as I thought about this, I realized that this is the same answer to the question, “what is call” – it is when your greatest gifts, your greatest joy, and the world’s greatest needs meet.  That is our call: that which brings us joy, that which we are gifted in, and that which is most needed by the world. 

            Those are the gifts that we should be bringing to the Christ child, those are the gifts that we bring to God.

            But I was thinking that perhaps we should take this a step further.  When we give gifts to anyone, they should also be given with these same intentions.  We want to give our best to those around us because they are God’s children and we are called to love them as we would love ourselves.  We would want the best – so we should give the best.  Not only to God, but to our neighbors, to those around us.  We give our best time – perhaps that is Sunday mornings when you could be out golfing or sleeping in, but we give our best time every day as well: maybe at dinner with a prayer and with attention to those with whom we are eating. We also give our best energy to serving those around us, to loving those around us, to caring for those around us.  And we are called to give our best material gifts as well: things that we value, things the other will value.

            I’m reminded of a praise song, “My Own Little World” by Matthew West.  These are the lyrics:

In my own little world it hardly ever rains

I've never gone hungry, I’ve always felt safe

I got some money in my pocket and shoes on my feet

In my own little world, population -- me

I try to stay awake through Sunday morning church

I throw a twenty in the plate but I never give 'til it hurts

And I turn off the news when I don't like what I see

It's easy to do when it's population - me

What if there's a bigger picture, What if I'm missing out

What if there's a greater purpose, I could be living right now

Outside my own little world

Stopped at a red light, looked out my window

I saw a carboard sign, said 'Help this homeless widow'

Just above this sign was the face of a human

I thought to myself, 'God, what have I been doing?'

So I rolled down my window and I looked her in the eye

Oh how many times have I just passed her by?

I gave her some money then I drove on through

And my own little world reached population two

(Creator,) break my heart for what breaks Yours, Give me open hands and open doors

Put Your light in my eyes and let me see, That my own little world is not about me

What if there's a bigger picture, What if I'm missing out

What if there's a greater purpose, That I could be living right now

I don't wanna miss what matters, I wanna be reaching out

Show me the greater purpose, So I can start living right now

Outside my own little world,

             We started today’s scripture lessons with another scripture, and in that passage from Luke we are given the sole glimpse into Jesus’ childhood years.  He was sitting in the temple listening to the teachers, learning, growing.  But it caused his parents, who didn’t know where he was, to worry at his absence and to be very upset when they couldn’t find him.  His response was that he needed to be in his Father’s house.  And perhaps we might find this response to be snippy and less than giving.  But this is another time when perhaps our ideas of what is loving, what is giving need to be challenged.  Being loving and giving does not always look like “being nice”.  Sometimes the most loving thing to do is to speak truth to the other, sometimes the most valuable thing we can give is a different way of looking at or understanding something.

            I found myself reflecting on this during this week after looking at our church’s YouTube channel.  As you may know, we have several interviews with Roger Woolsey from his time here, posted on our YouTube channel.  He is well known, and because of his non-fundamentalist ideas about Christianity, he also has quite a few people who really hate what he has to say.  Those who believe in a very judgmental, very angry, very hierarchical God are not going to like what Roger has to say.  As a result, because he is so well known, most of the comments we receive on our YouTube channel are comments left in response to Roger’s interviews and most are proclaiming that Roger is going to hell because of his beliefs in a loving, accepting, compassionate God.  Roger knows his scriptures very well and quotes them often in his arguments for that God.  But those who respond are mostly just angry, attacking, and even threatening.  But as I thought about what giving from our hearts, giving what is most valuable to us looks like, I found myself thinking of Roger.  Despite the commenter’s anger, despite the fact that he is challenging their thinking, their very world view, their rigidity and judgments, he is giving to them a different world view, from his heart, from his sense of call and purpose.  He is giving to God by speaking words of adoration and praise for a God of love, grace, and compassion. 

            We are to follow Jesus and Jesus gave everything – even his life for us.  We, too, are called to be givers, like Jesus, but also like the Magi, of that which is most valuable to us, that which uses the best of who we are, that which is most needed and wanted by those in our world, and that which is a giving back of what has been given to us – our talents, our resources and our time. 

Cycling through Forgiveness as we Cycle through Grief

        I don't believe forgiveness is a linear thing, anymore than grief is.  And today I was struck by the fact that it is, undoubtedly, because the two are so closely related.  

    Anger, we are told, is a secondary emotion, and it usually is a cover for sadness, or grief (or fear).  Forgiveness is a way to let go, to release that anger from our bodies, from our minds, from our beings.  Grief is not linear, so forgiveness won't be either.  As we cycle through the pain of loss, and especially the anger of loss (one of the stages of grief), we will probably need to forgive again.  Also, just as new losses can push us into reliving old losses and can bring up that old grief all over again, new things that anger us can cause us to remember at a cellular, emotionally based level old injuries and present us with new opportunities to work towards forgiveness again, hopefully at a deeper level, for what has happened in the past.

    This came up for me this morning as a scripture I read threw me back into an injury from almost two years ago, and the realization that while I had forgiven it at the time, I would now need to work to forgive it again.  That while I had grieved the loss and the pain of that injury at that time, that it hurt again, that it cut again, and that I would need to grieve it, going through the denial, negotiation, anger, and depression again to come to a place of acceptance and then forgiveness once more.  Ugh.  

    Grieving is hard work.  Forgiveness is, perhaps, even harder work.  It requires us to remember the humanity of the other, and to have compassion for their challenges and their histories that have impacted who they are today.  It means letting go of the anger by walking through it to the other side.  It means experiencing the pain of loss once more.  And then, deep forgiveness requires self-reflection as well, and asks of us a commitment to look with intention and integrity at our own part in a situation.  If a person cannot be self-reflective, forgiveness is unattainable.  The more self-reflective a person can be, the more quickly a person will be able to pass through to forgiveness.  But it seems that self-reflection is not really something we value too much in our current culture.  It is a difficult calling to look at our own failings, to own them, to admit (or confess) them and to attempt to make amends for them.  I deeply believe it is the only way we can truly heal, but it is a challenge many simply cannot face.

    I am reminded of Dumbledore's conversation with Harry in J.K. Rowling's Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallow's about Voldemort.   He said that even this evil man could heal all the horrible, awful things he had done.  There was hope for him, but it was only to be found in a decision on his part to look, to see what he had done and to feel remorse.  Dumbledore also admitted that the pain of that remorse would be worse than he could imagine.  And, unfortunately,  it was a pain Voldemort was simply unwilling to experience.  

    Even with small things, people can be scared or afraid to self-reflect.  And that fear of the pain of self-reflection keeps us from forgiveness.  One might ask then if we are able to do that work and are able to forgive, why do we then have to forgive again?

     Just as each time that grief resurfaces we have an opportunity to dive a little deeper into healing that grief, each time anger rises at another person, we have the call to dig deeper into compassion, self-reflection, and ultimately forgiveness.  

      Again, none of this is easy.  As I sat with my own grief, pain and anger this morning I realized how much easier it would be for me to just remain hurt and angry and not do the work of self-reflection or the work of remembering that the others have histories and pain, too, that I need to approach with compassion and grace.  It would be simpler to stay mad.  To be holier than thou.  To allow the anger and judgement to build safe but isolating walls between myself and those who hurt me.  It would be so much less work.  It would also be "safer".  I would then no longer have to be vulnerable to their actions, to their ability to injure me.  I could walk away and self-righteously declare that I did not need that kind of "friendship," and that this loss of relationship was THEIR loss for not treating me right in the first place.  I could do that.  But I would be lying to myself if I did.  And I would miss an opportunity for deeper healing for myself.  

    So today I once again choose the harder path.  I will take the time I need to journal and reflect, to grieve again, and to own my part in the problem.  I will do what must be done to heal at the next level, and more, to forgive again.  Their intentions and their choices ultimately are immaterial in this.  The forgiveness must be given for the sake of my own soul, my own peace of mind, and my own walk towards wholeness.  I would wish for all of you to find that peace as well.  Blessings on your day.

True Love

          I realize that title may be misleading.  I'm not talking about romantic love, but the love we are called to exhibit for one another.  I'm talking about the kind of love that is truly about working for the others' best and wants nothing in return.  That is genuine love.  That is true love.
        Some of you may say that doesn't exist, but it does.  (Spoiler alert for those who haven't seen or read all the Harry Potter stories) I've written before about the kind of love that Snape demonstrates for Lilly.  She didn't love him back.  She didn't return his feelings.  And yet he chooses to watch out for her child, a child he can't stand, because he loved and loves Lilly still.  He knows he will get nothing from her, indeed she is no longer living at the time he chooses these behaviors.  He seeks nothing in return.  He gives fully and completely out of his love for her.
       We see this similarly in the movie, "Love Actually" (again, another spoiler alert).  There is a man in the movie who is in love with his best friend's wife.  But he chooses out of deep love for both of them to simply distance a bit.  He does not seek to win her over, but he does little things (like making sure that his best friend does not "cheat" on her at his bachelor party, and hiring a surprise wonderful group of musicians for their wedding) that are deep expressions of his love for both of them.  He guises it under his care for his best friend, but as the movie progresses, it becomes clear that in fact, he has done all of this for her.  Again, he seeks nothing back.  He asks for nothing back.  His love is genuine, true, pure, in the deepest sense of the word.  It is not a "trade", it does not need something back in order to be real, it is not seeking anything.  His love is a gift, freely given.  It is true love in the deepest sense of the word.
        I could go on with examples from movies and books, because our stories are rife with examples of this kind of deep, selfless, true love.  Romantic love, love for siblings, love for children, love for friend - so many amazing stories of the kind of love that asks for nothing in return.
       And in real life?  I think most people have that kind of love for their children.  Of course there are exceptions- parents who reject their kids when their kids become people they don't like obviously did not give their love freely.  Instead, they give it conditionally upon the child behaving in a certain way or believing certain things or being a specific kind of person.  But I would hope that most parents love their kids unconditionally and fully.  But beyond that?
      I think there is a reason we put this kind of true love into our stories so often.  We all want it.  We all want to be loved in this kind of completely selfless, unconditional, true way.  Many of us want to be able to love like this too - to know that we are capable of unconditional loving.  But the reason these stories are so moving and profound and important to us is that unconditional, true love is rare.  It isn't the norm.  We expect something back in our love.  I love you so you love me.  I give out of my love to you, so I expect you to give it back to me.  I will care for you, and in return I expect you to agree with me, to support me in my deeply held convictions, to adjust to what I want to do.  It is rare that people have tolerance for the mistakes that others make, or true compassion in the face of perceived hurts, or grace towards others' best efforts if they aren't what we think is best, right and in our best interests.  I keep thinking about a blog post I wrote here in April of 2013 after I had just heard a woman on the radio talking about forgiveness.  She said that her fiancé had cheated on her and that she had responded by finding one of his friends and cheating in return. She said that as a result of that, she was now happily married.  She said, "My motto is, 'a lady's best revenge is forgiveness...after she's gotten even.'" Again, this was in 2013.  I would be utterly astonished if I were to discover that they are still married.  That isn't love.  It isn't forgiveness.  And it really sets a poor stage for any future trust.  But I fear this behavior is more normative than the true love we all seek, hope for, or want to embody in ourselves.  And that is especially true during times of deep stress like we are all experiencing right now.  It is far too easy to take things out on those around us, and it is far too common to think of one's own comfort and forget that others are equally stressed and struggling to be their best right now as well.
      We are called to embody those things that we believe to be true, good and right.  So perhaps we need to start by working a little bit harder at loving one another.  Try to offer more grace and compassion, even to those with whom you disagree.  Seek to be kind, even when it is hard.  Practice generous living and thinking.

Consolation

2 Corinthians 1:1-11,

Matthew 13:1-9, 18-23

               Last week we finished our study of the book of Job and this week we begin a study of 2^nd Corinthians.  So today I want to give you a bit of background on this book in the Bible and then focus specifically on today’s passage from 2^nd Corinthians as well as the passage from Matthew.

To give you a little background on this book, 1^st and 2^nd Corinthians are actually made of fragments of a number of letters to the Corinthians.  And these are an interesting couple of books because Paul is writing to a community that is unhappy with him, a community with whom he is in conflict.  They are upset with him for a number of reasons: some involving money – he wouldn’t take money in the form of a collection for his work from them, but he had taken money from the Macedonians, which some saw as a slight; apparently he made some statement about refusing money for his labor which had shamed some of the other leaders in Corinth who have taken up a collection; some felt his working with his hands was inconsistent with the life of an apostle; and some didn’t like that he used frankness as a means of asking for affection.  Also, he had promised a visit which apparently never took place.  And finally some in the Corinthian community came to a place of wanting to “test” his apostleship which deeply offended Paul.

Today’s passage comes from a fragment that is believed to be from his fourth letter to the Corinthians and includes all of 2^nd Corinthians 1-9.  As we hear, he is taking several steps to get into a better relationship with the Corinthians.  He pairs himself with Timothy because Timothy has a good relationship with the Corinthians, and he extends the letter to “all the saints throughout Achaia,” because the Achaians, too, were in a good relationship with Paul.  Paul’s wish of peace for them is a naming of his wish for reconciliation.  He emphasizes that Christians are not isolated from each other, that they are all partners in suffering and in receiving God’s comfort, and he tries to drum up some pity in his description of his suffering in Asia to try to soften their hearts towards him.

I think all of this behavior is familiar to us.  We’ve all done or seen others do similar things in attempts to heal or reconcile relationships, and Paul is very human in this way.  We will look at this in more depth in the upcoming weeks.  But for today, that should give you a solid background for proceeding through the book of 2^nd Corinthians.

Where I want to go in terms of today’s scriptures, both from 2^nd Corinthians and from Matthew is to take some time to look at human efforts and work, and the results of those efforts. In many ways, Paul comes from the exact opposite place from Job.  While Job and his friends came to their experiences with the belief that those who did good would have good lives and those who did bad would have bad lives; that the sign of being a good person was none other than having riches and comforts in this life (an idea that was overthrown by the rest of the book), Paul starts from the exact opposite place.  Paul is very clear that people of faith WILL suffer.  For Paul, association with the gospel guarantees being at cross purposes with the world, and experiencing affliction, distress and opposition.   If you choose to follow Christ, you WILL suffer, according to Paul.  We know Jesus did – he died because of his standing up for the oppressed and poor, for preaching love in the face of a society that valued law more.  And Paul, also experienced persecution for preaching Jesus’ message and gospel.  The ways of Christ are exactly opposite to the values of the world: they do not encourage riches, comforts and ease for oneself but instead ask us to give all we have and follow.  This will bring suffering, it will bring conflict, it will bring anger, opposition, persecution and affliction.  As a quote by Charles Bowen sent to me this week says it, “The rain, it raineth on the just, and also on the unjust fellow, but mainly on the just because the unjust steals the just's umbrella."  Paul is clear about that, just as Jesus was. 

The story from Matthew today similarly pointed out that no matter what you do in terms of doing the work of God, abuse will follow.  If you are truly doing the work of God, the work of Jesus, you will be in conflict with the world.  And that means that you will feel at times that you are getting nowhere in the work that you do.  But still, you are being called to be a sower, like God.  And if you are truly doing God’s work, you will experience some of it falling on land that is rocky, some that falls on shallow soil, some roots that look like they have planted will be torn out by the winds of concern over wealth, power, politics, and worldly comforts.

Being a person of faith, really looking at these scriptures and trusting in them is not for the faint of heart.  And trying to do the work of God in a world that focuses and values and uplifts those with money, power and fame - it is hard.  It is frustrating beyond measure.  I will tell you honestly that there are times when I despair.  What am I doing?  Have my words made one iota of difference in the way people live their lives?  Are people more faithful, more generous, more committed to caring for the poor and oppressed in any way because of things that I have said or done? Has my work made any kind of positive difference in this place or in the world?  Or am I just throwing seed on concrete?  This is especially true when sometimes I will preach a heartfelt sermon and have someone say to me, “that is exactly what I needed to hear today.” And then they will say something that is exactly opposite of what I tried to communicate. 

I remember doing a bible study in which the pastor was discussing the fact that his sermons made little difference and how he then decided to do everything differently and now his congregation lives in intentional poverty, giving almost all they have to the poor in some truly amazing ways.  And I hear stuff like that and know I don’t have the power, authority or charisma to make anything like that happen.  So it’s easy to start feeling that the seed I’ve tried to scatter is no good, that I have no chance of doing the work God wants me to do. 

I know I’m not alone in this.  Whole faith communities can start to feel like they are not really succeeding.  Congregations yearn for younger families and when they don’t come they can feel that they are failing at planting any kind of seed.  They aren’t succeeding.  Within our own families it can feel this way.  Talking to our teenagers, talking to family members with whom we disagree can feel like beating our heads against the wall. 

I want to share a story with you that I found in a commentary: Theodore J. Wardlaw wrote:

I once caught a glimpse of God and God's mercy in such a place. I was with a group of civic leaders—lawyers, politicians, foundation representatives, journalists—touring various outposts of our city's criminal justice system. It was near the end of the day, and we were visiting the juvenile court and detention center. That place was so depressing, its landscape marked by wire-mesh gates with large padlocks and razor wire wrapped around electrified fences. When the doors clanged shut behind us, I imagined how final they must always sound when adolescents—children!—are escorted there. We were led, floor by floor, through this facility by an amazing young judge who worked there. She showed us the holding cells where the new inmates are processed. She showed us the classrooms where an ongoing education is at least attempted. She showed us the courtrooms where cases are prosecuted.

Near the end of our tour, she led us down one bleak hall to give us a sense of the cells where young offenders lived. Each cell had a steel door with narrow slots about two-thirds of the way up, through which various pairs of eyes were watching us as we walked down the hall. Some of these children were accused of major crimes; some of them were repeat offenders. Most of them, we learned, had had little or no nurture across their brief lives—not from a primary adult who cared about them, not from family, not from neighborhood, not from church. It was hard to notice those eyes staring through narrow slots without doing something. So I lingered at one door and whispered to one pair of eyes: "God loves you." The eyes did not appear to register much, and sometimes I wonder what, if anything, happened next. Did that news fall on the path to get eaten by birds? Did it fall among thorns to get choked out? I will never know.

As the tour went on, the cumulative effect of all this brokenness got to one member of our group, who finally just stopped in the hallway and began to cry. When the judge noticed this, she paused in her narration, walked back and put her arms around that person, and, with tears in her own eyes, said, "I know. I understand."

I thought to myself, "If I am ever to be judged, I want a judge like that." Then it dawned on me—like a seed thrown onto my path—that indeed I do have a judge like that! …

Ultimately, though, with all due respect to the well-meaning allegorist, this parable is not so much about good soil as it is about a good sower. This sower is not so cautious and strategic as to throw the seed in only those places where the chances for growth are best. No, this sower is a high-risk sower, relentless in indiscriminately throwing seed on all soil—as if it were all potentially good soil. On the rocks, amid the thorns, on the well-worn path, maybe even in a jail!

Which leaves us to wonder if there is any place or circumstance in which God's seed cannot sprout and take root.

(Feasting on the Word: Preaching the Revised Common Lectionary - Feasting on the Word – Year A, Volume 3: Pentecost and Season After Pentecost 1 (Propers 3-16).

Stories like today’s passage from Matthew are encouraging.  And this parable in particular is extremely comforting.  We all know that soil can surprise us.  We can plant things in the best possible way and have the plants die.  We can avoid planting things where we know they can’t possibly grow and discover something gorgeous growing there on its own.  Different soils lead to the growth of different plants, but beautiful, fruitful plants seem to grow in all kinds of different types of soil.  And things happen that can give us pause to think.  A friend of mine told me that she had a beautiful planter and she took great care to prepare the soil, to make sure everything was right and she planted petunias in it.  But they wouldn’t grow.  In a weird fluke, however, she noticed one day that apparently some of the petunia seeds had fallen out of the planter and had planted themselves in the crevice in the concrete near the planter box.  And out of this crevice she found that there was a beautiful petunia plant growing! 

The surprise of today’s parable story is not the frustration of years of planting work that ends up with most of the plants failing for one reason or another.  Instead, the miracle here is that despite persecution, lure of wealth, hardened hearts and “evil” that there are still disciples: that despite all the values of the world and the lure of wealth and fame, and the greed and “me, me, me” thinking, that there are still people who learn to love those who are different from them, those who are “other”, those who don’t have the same color, or background or social or economic class.  And that is an amazing, miraculous gift from God.  We are called to speak God’s truth of love.  We are called to work for justice and empowerment of all people.  We are called to feed and to serve and to offer grace in unexpected places.  We don’t know who will take what we do and run with it, grow from it, learn from it, deepen in their faith and their trust in God and in love.  We don’t know, but we are called to have faith in God’s abundance, to follow God’s model for sowing in abundance and trusting in abundant results.  Note that God, here, is not a “good business person”.  God doesn’t care about that, doesn’t measure value around that at all.  God, as the sower, throws the seed EVERYWHERE.  On the hard rock, on the weedy patches, on the shallow soil; trusting that there will be growth somewhere and that even one seed that sprouts is worth the effort of the sowing. 

Note also, that in part the success of all of this seed is not just on the sower, but on the community.  Do we help to till the soil?  Do we feed, water, and care for the seed that God has scattered?  And so, too, when we scatter seed: when we speak words of hope and truth and love.  It is not just up to us to do the work.  We have a community that then must take those seeds and nurture them, plant them deeper, do the work of caring for the plants that have begun to grow. 

There is a story of a man who moved to a new community that had incredibly rocky, inhospitable soil.  He tilled the ground, he mixed the soil with good soil, he nurtured and cared for the area and after years and years of hard work, he had an incredibly beautiful garden.  One day a visitor to the area came by and said to the man, “wow, God has created an amazing garden here!” To which the man replied, “well, when it was just up to God it was a mess!”  The point is that God includes us in the work of sowing and caring for the earth.  And that is NOT just about other people, and this applies on the small scale as well. 

What I mean is that we all have places within each of us, every single one of us, that are rocky, that are weedy, and that are shallow.  And we need to be intentional, not only about learning, and listening, but about beating those rough rocky places within into a softer soil, adding nurturing soil to the most inhospitable places inside of us, making sure we water and feed the soil of our lives so that we have fertile places where words, wisdom, love, compassion and grace can grow, being available for opportunities to get to know and hear new people and new things. 

What does any of this have to do with God?  Well, as Paul said, God’s consolation comes in measure to the suffering.  And it is always in great abundance.  When Jesus here in the parable of Matthew describes the yield – one hundred to one in some cases, or even the thirty to one in another case, he is talking about enormous abundance.  For a farmer, a 30 to one yield is enough to feed a village for a year.  A hundredfold would allow the farmer to “retire to a villa by the Sea of Galilee”.  That is the abundance of God.

But in the end we have to remember that ultimately we are not in charge of the outcome.  Our job is simply to do that which is in front of us to do.  We then have to let go of the results.  It reminds me of a scene from the movie “28 days”.  In the movie, everyone is at a rehab center dealing with their various addictions.  The main character, Gwen is talking with a professional baseball player.  She picks up a ball throws it at the mat that he has set up to practice his pitching and ball goes wild.  “Great” she says, “just one more thing I’m terrible at.”

“What were you thinking about?  When you threw the ball?”

“… I don’t know… the mattress.  You’re thinking about hitting the mattress”

“Well, that might sound funny to you but that’s all wrong.  You get all locked in on the strike zone and the next thing you know it’s looking about the size of a peanut. And you’re thinking, ‘wow!  I got to get that little ball in there?’  And you’ve psyched yourself right out of the game.  The strike zone, the call, the count, the batter… forget all that!  You got to think about the little things.  The things you can control.  You can control your stance, your balance, your release, your follow through.  Try to think about those little things and only those little things.  Cause you know, when you let go of the ball, it’s over.  You don’t have any say over what happens down there.  That’s somebody else’s job.”

I think about the Amy Grant song, “All I ever have to be”

“… And all I ever have to be is what you made me.  Any more or less would be a step out of your plan.  As you daily recreate me, help me always keep in mind, that I only have to do what I can find.  And all I ever have to be is what you made me.”

All we have to do is what is in front of us to do, and to trust that God will take care of the rest.  Our job therefore is not just to sow the seed, but to celebrate the abundant harvest when it comes, to celebrate when seed grows and people experience life in new ways.  Thanks be to God.  Amen.