Messages we deliver without meaning to.

         I've been thinking, recently, about a number of situations in which people communicate much more, or at least a different message, than they perhaps intend to deliver.
     A man I often see at Presbytery usually does not acknowledge me.  When we pass each other, when we are in the same groups, when we are at the same table, he doesn't talk to me or smile or nod his head in recognition, although I usually try to make eye contact, smile and say hello.  I assumed that was because he simply didn't know who I was and, in a conversation with a mutual acquaintance I must have made the comment that we really didn't know each other: that I knew who he was, but I didn't think the reverse was true.  About a month after I had made that comment, this man actually approached me and said, "I DO know who you are!  See, I'm telling you that I do know and have known who you are for a long time!"  Okay... except that I had actually been giving him the benefit of the doubt by assuming that he didn't acknowledge me because he didn't know who I was.  Frankly, it hadn't occurred to me that he was actually being intentionally rude or dismissive.  I just really didn't know how to respond to his acknowledging that he knew me.  Perhaps I should have named what I heard from him directly, "So, what I am hearing is that you haven't acknowledged me before, not because you don't know who I am but because you didn't feel it necessary to acknowledge me.  Perhaps it wasn't worth your effort to respond to me.  Or...?  Help me to understand this."  But I didn't.  Which leaves me wondering what he was really trying to communicate with all of this.
        Another situation:  A good friend of mine invited some folk over for dinner.  Since she (like many of my friends) is a vegetarian and doesn't cook with meat, she made what I felt was a hearty meal of a vegetable stew that was packed with beans, tofu, pasta and tons of vegetables and cheese, along with homemade bread, salad, hors d'oeuvres (including fruit, cheese, dips, vegies) and a home baked-fancy dessert.  A couple days later one of the people who attended the dinner said to her (within my hearing), "Well, I never before thought it was okay to just serve people soup, but now I know I can and I won't work so hard on meals I make for others."  I was shocked.  Um... how about "Thank you for the meal and the company"?  But what was interesting was that I don't actually think she meant to be hurtful.
        A person I know has been very fond of sharing the fact that when her daughter was very little (2 and 3 years old) the little girl would beg anyone passing by to come play with her.  The mother has no realization at all that telling this story always makes the hearers wonder why SHE didn't make the effort to play with her daughter herself.
        Another person I know has a husband who was trying to quit smoking after having some related health problems.  As we know, the first 30 days of trying to conquer any addiction can be trying.  This person bragged though that after 15 days of her husband acting grouchy, she went out and bought him a pack of cigarettes which she then insisted he smoke because, "Well, I didn't like his grumpy attitude."  So, half way through the hardest part, his grumpiness was more important to her than his health?
        One time I was standing with a group of people discussing plans for an event and the director of the project asked if someone on the committee could do a specific task.  One of the other members of the committee said, "Say 'Please'!" much to the embarrassment of all of us.  I was struck with wonder that someone could be trying to correct another person's social skills in such a completely socially unskilled way.
        On Facebook a while ago a friend of mine posted "happy birthday to three of my favorite people!" and she proceeded to name three close friends.  A person who is also a friend to all three of those people responded in the comments, "I'm tagging on here.  Happy birthday to..." and then named two of the three folk, even though the third was also his friend on Facebook and a close acquaintance, at least, in the real world.
        What do we communicate with our slights?  What are we really saying when we are rude to other people, or when we share times we've been unkind or inattentive or lacking compassion for others?  Why would we act this way?  Are we unaware that our own behaviors (as well as our words) reflect so much more on ourselves than on anyone else we might be trying to confront, make fun of, or judge?
          I know we all make mistakes.  And we all can do things or say things that affect other people in ways we don't see, don't expect or don't understand.  I am grateful to those people who actually tell me when I've communicated or done something that hurts others or hasn't been received well. But these other incidents end up also being gifts because they call me to pay more attention to what I'm communicating that I might not even be aware of.
         I think that during this stressful time we have choices to make about what we will contribute to the world in each day.  Do we give support and kindness, or do we act out with anger, harm or unkind actions?  Do we offer grace and compassion, or are we unforgiving and unkind?  We have a choice. Do you want your time on this earth to have contributed in a positive way to the lives of others, or did you want it to have negatively impacted the world?
         As I said, we all make mistakes.  And we are not always aware of what messages we actually send out, good or bad; the long term affects of our behaviors, for better or worse.  I hope you will tell me when I have done harm so that I can work on doing better.  For this day, I am working to hear more deeply what others are communicating and what I may be intentionally communicating as well.

A Sense of Entitlement

Jer. 32:1-3a, 6-15

Luke 16:19-31

               Today’s parable has hard words for those of us who are the “haves” in our world.  There isn’t a lot of grace for the rich man.  And it isn’t that he was a horrible person.  The rich man in Jesus’ parable is not purposely trying to hurt Lazarus.  The parable does not paint him to be cold-hearted or angry or mean.  He just doesn’t see Lazarus.  He doesn’t see his need, his humanity, his worth - Lazarus doesn’t enter the rich man’s consciousness.  The same is true later in the parable…after they’ve died, the rich man still does not see Lazarus except as someone to be used to help him.  He doesn’t even talk to Lazarus, but instead, he speaks to Abraham.  The rich man asks Abraham to send Lazarus down, still seeing himself as someone who has the privilege and right to talk to Abraham but who would probably never consider talking directly to an underling such as Lazarus.  Lazarus remains invisible to him, someone he might be able to use to help himself and his family, but not someone seen.  His need was not seen, his personhood was not seen.

               Who is it that we don’t see who needs our help?  Who is it whose suffering we increase or contribute to, or fail to ease, without ever knowing it?  Around whom are we the privileged, counting on and expecting rights that others don’t have?  Where does our sense of entitlement over others tend to creep in?  Who is it that is invisible to us?   Of course, because they are invisible to us, it is hard for us to become aware of those we fail to see.  But I invite you to really think for a minute about who fails to enter your consciousness, or who you fail to understand, that has needs, real needs.

               Whoever it is, we have to remember that that person is Jesus.  We have to remember what we are told in Matthew, that whenever we do it to the least of these, we are doing it to Jesus.  He is the one hungry, thirsty, sick and imprisoned.  He is the one we don’t see, don’t feed – again either literally or in other ways, don’t care for when we do things, even unintentionally, that lead to another’s suffering.  Jesus is the invisible one, without the rights or privileges that we take for granted. 

As the commentary, Feasting on the Word puts is, “Perhaps the boundaries and walls we have drawn are not so much between us and others as between us and God. With a mixture of invitation and warning, in the book of Revelation, the angel says to the church in Laodicea, "Listen! I am standing at the door, knocking; if you hear my voice and open the door, I will come in to you and eat with you, and you with me" (Rev. 3:20).  When someone knocks on our door (figuratively or literally), who is needy or hurting, we need to remember that that person is Jesus.  The person we find it easy to dismiss, or to not see, or to condemn, or to judge – that is Christ.  “That is God's Christ who stands at our wall, knocking. When we answer, we may not find someone who looks like us, but we may very well find someone who looks like our God, if we are paying attention.”

Based on today’s parable, then, what hope is there for most of the privileged?  The Rich man is told, when he begs for help saving his brothers, those still living, who are still not seeing those in need, not seeing how they contribute to their suffering, not seeing how they might help, that “they will not be convinced, even if someone were to rise from the dead.”  Luke was writing this about Jesus to an audience who knew that someone had risen from the dead.  Jesus had risen from the dead.  So, in your experience, are people who believe in the resurrection, convinced, then, that they must care for the poor and suffering?

We do a lot in this church for those who are poor.  We do tend to see certain people – those who come to Winter’s NIghts we see, we feed, we talk to, we care for.  Those children who we tutor or who are in our music camp in Pittsburg, those in the CCIH programs, we see them.  Those who go to the meals through Loaves and Fishes we see, feed, care for and talk to.  So for us, this story encourages us to think a little wider.  Who is it that we don’t see who needs our attention and care?

The unfortunate truth is that Luke’s Jesus does not have a lot of good news for those who are privileged and who do not care for those who are not.  Jesus says, “It is harder for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich person to enter the kingdom of God.”  Jesus says “woe to those who are rich because they have already received their comfort”.  And today Jesus says through this parable, that if we do not cross the gaping chasm between the rich and the poor in this life, we surely will not be able to do it in the next. At least for those who have more than their share on this earth, we are told, there won’t be a way to cross the chasm in the life to come.  The basic bottom line message?  For the Rich man in our story, he still thinks he has the right to ask for help and receive it, to have Lazarus ordered around.  He still cannot see him as an equal child of God.  He can’t do it.  The greater message then is that “Stepping out of one's privilege is perhaps one of the most difficult journeys of transformation.”   But again, while Luke focuses mostly on the privilege given to those who are economically sound and do not help others, I think we do a pretty good job of trying to serve those who have less here in this place.  But we still have privilege and there are still blind spots in that.

As I reflected on this passage this week, I found myself thinking about all of the ways in which we are privileged.  All of the MANY ways in which I am privileged.  Economically, certainly.  That is the primary way that Luke addresses our inequalities as well.  And I want to share with you that I understand how easy it is to move from a place of just using what we need, to thinking that all the luxuries we have are actually needs.  I know this because most of my adult life I have had to live very simply because we simply did not make enough money to live any other way.  For the majority of my adult life, housing costs were more than half of what I brought home each month and the rest of my pay went for food, medical necessities, and the children’s needs.  For most of my adult life, a vacation looked like camping because that was what we could afford.  But now I am married to David and my income for our small family is twice what it has been.  We took a vacation to Scotland this summer, the first expensive vacation that I’ve ever been on, the first vacation I’ve been.  And while much of the time I felt guilt about going, at the same time, I could see how very easy it would be to start seeing these vacations as “necessities”, as “normal parts of life”, as “part of the kids’ education”.  For the first time in my life, we’ve been able to fix things in the house without begging for help: paying someone to come in and replace the shattered living room glass door, for example; and the washer that went out this week, and even the bathtub with it’s hole in the bottom.  And again, how easy it is to start seeing these as necessities and forgetting that these resources we have are for the people of God, all the people of God, so that all might eat, and have a place to sleep, and have health care.  They are not “mine” to use on my own luxuries.

But, putting aside economics, there are other ways, too, in which we are privileged.  One of the more subtle ways we exercise our privilege is by wearing name tags when we are volunteers or helpers.  We separate ourselves from those needing the help, we make a wall through a simple name tag, between “them” and “us”.  I want to share with you a few stories that I hope will not make you uneasy or uncomfortable.  I am sharing these because they are stories which point out to me my own privilege, my own sense of entitlement.  These are lessons I learned doing prison visitations in Ohio.  And I share them in the hopes that they will encourage you to think more about areas of your own privilege which you may not see, may not name, and may not usually reflect on.

First of all, there was a real difference between myself and most of the other people visiting the prison.  There were racial differences – I was one of the few white women visiting one of the few white men in the prison.  There were language differences – I speak an academic or educated American English, while many of those visiting had not finished high school and their language reflected that.  There were clothing differences. While we were required to dress in a very specific way to visit the inmates –  we could not wear sleeveless shirts or shirts that were “low cut”, we could not “reveal” any body parts between neck and just below the knee, and a full set of undergarments were to be worn at all times (don’t exactly know how they checked this, but I had heard of women turned away for not wearing a slip under a dress or skirt, for example).  None the less, there was a difference in dress between myself and most of the other visitors.  I dress rather conservatively.  Many of the other women found ways to get around the “no provocative clothing” rules. Their pants were too tight.  When they bent over, body parts showed which they were quick to hide from the inspecting guards.  Every time I went, someone was turned away and not allowed to see the inmate they’d come to see because of the way they had dressed that day. 

That being said, the power in the prison, the privilege if you will, was with the guards.  And if they liked someone, or, unfortunately as I saw happen regularly, if some cute young thing offered something back to the guards in exchange for being let in, then dress restrictions were over-looked.  I wouldn’t flirt or offer anything to the guards though.  But they enjoyed wielding that power, over everyone. And so on one of my visits to the prison, I was refused entrance for wearing this shirt, which I was told was too low cut.  I was furious.  I was outraged.  But as I left, I realized that a lot of my anger was simply my own sense of entitlement.  Why should I be treated any differently than any of the other visitors?  Because I’m educated?  Because I’m a pastor?  The guards had as much power over me as anyone else, and that reality was hard for me to face. 

There are many other examples I could give you.  I used to believe that prisons provide for the inmates.  As a matter of fact, this week I saw a Facebook post about how much better prisons are than nursing homes.  All I could think was that the idiot who posted that had never actually been to a prison.  There is no medical care in the prisons I visited – except in extreme situations, and even then, the medical care was very minimal.  One of the inmates I spoke to was legally blind, so blind that he could not find the bathroom without his glasses.  However, when his glasses broke, they would not provide a new pair.  That particular inmate had to have an outside family member order a new pair for him with an old prescription and then jump through a series of hoops to get the prison to actually give him the glasses – a process that took well over a month.  Prison is supposed to pay for the food and lodging of the inmates, but at one prison I visited, inmates weren’t given breakfasts on the weekends, for example.  None of their basic toiletries are paid for, jackets for the winter time, underwear, socks, hair cuts, tootpaste, toilet paper, etc., while necessary, were not paid for. 

Talking with families who have incarcerated loved ones taught me that most families must spend about $500 a month for their inmates to simply survive there.  This is not on luxuries, there aren’t luxuries that can be bought inside the prison: the money goes for basic survival.  Things like razors, toothpaste, soap, toilet paper, coats for winter, shoes for winter.  The inmates who didn’t have people to pay for these things?  Well, they stole stuff from other inmates.  They threatened violence if not given what they ask for (and they follow through with it).  I realize that in contrast the rest of us are extremely privileged. 

Another woman who visited told me that she was propositioned by one of the guards and when she did not give the guard what he asked for, the loved one (her husband!) whom she was visiting was beaten to a pulp and almost died.

So where is the good news in all of this?  Where is the good news for those of us who are privileged?  The words of comfort in these stories are spoken to the poor, to those who suffer now, to those without rights and privileges.  They are reassured that their lack of privilege will change, that they will have the rights they may not have now.  That they will have a place at the table.  But where is the good news in this for us, who are privileged NOW?

First, I believe we can learn to see those who are displaced.  We can learn to give to and share with those who have less.  We can learn to see our privilege and we can learn to not abuse it.  It isn’t easy, but what is impossible for humans is possible for God.  In that is good news.  The good news is also that God is a God of grace and mercy.  The rich man in the story appealed to Abraham, and Abraham said “no”.  But we appeal to God.  And as we do, as we ask for God’s love, care and mercy, God will answer us, give us help to grow, understand, see, and love more fully, to not use or abuse our privileges.  God is the God of abundance, grace, love and there is enough for everyone in God’s realm.  We are called to see the invisible, to care for the poor, to offer mercy and compassion.  But we are also given the strength, grace and love to be able to do that, to respond to this call, with God’s help.   Let us pray for the eyes to see and the grace to love even the loveless.  Amen.

Sunday's Sermon - Listening

Proverbs 19:2-27

James 1:19-25

 Proverbs 18:13:  “Wisdom requires a humble, earnest effort to hear what the others say and a willingness to see our world in the other’s terms.”  Other translations:

New Living Translation: Spouting off before listening to the facts is both shameful and foolish.

English Standard Version: If one gives an answer before he hears, it is his folly and shame.

We are told in today’s scriptures that listening , really listening – not answering before listening and not responding or thinking before hearing – that this is what leads to wisdom. 

But listening to one another, really listening to one another, is hard. 

In many ways we tend to avoid really listening, and instead, when someone else is talking, we spend our time thinking about how we are going to respond.  Sometimes we fail to listen in a more obvious way: we can be trying to multi task, playing on our phone while listening, checking email, or frankly doing anything other than being fully present with the person who is speaking and with whatever they are speaking about. 

I had a week which really brought all of this home for me.  It began when I had to take my daughter to an audition at the Lesher Center.  The auditions are 15 minutes, but when I arrived at the Lesher parking garage, it was clear that they were having a large event in the Center.  When there are such events, the parking in the garage goes from being a very low set fee (free for the first hour, followed by 50 cents for each hour following), to a set $3 charge.  That’s fine, except that I was only going to be there for 15 minutes.  I pulled up to the attendant and said, “I’m not here for the event.  I’m here for an audition for my daughter.”  The attendant was not listening.  She was looking straight at me, but she was not listening in any way.  She responded, “Great!  The event is $3 and it’s on the 2nd floor!”  I paid the $3 and went ahead and parked, but found myself annoyed.  I was not annoyed because I had to pay $3.  I was annoyed because she did not listen or even try to listen to what I had said.  I felt dismissed, unvalued as a human being, invisible.

At church during that week we were being harassed by a woman who wanted to argue with me about theology.  She is not a member of the church, does not come here for any reason, does not live in the housing next door, is just a random person who was demanding my attention.  I asked Sandy to tell her that during lent, meeting with her was not going to be possible.  There was simply too much going on between extra services, mission activities, and people in our congregation needing pastoral care.  But she did not listen and would call the office 3 or 4 times a day insisting that I meet with her so she could set me straight.  Again, so busy talking that she could not hear what any one else had to say.

That same week I had a meeting with a small group of folk at a restaurant.  When I arrived (the first one there), I told the waiter that I needed a table for three of us.  He tried to sit me at a table for two.  I held up three fingers and said again we needed a table for three of us.  He moved me but then said, “Will this then be just for one?” as he handed me a single menu. I was flabbergasted.

When the other two people arrived, I was feeling frustrated and unhappy about all of this, so when they asked me why I was upset, I shared with them my struggles with how little we actually listen to one another.  At that point, one of the other two folk I was with took out his phone and began reading his email and checking Facebook.  He was doing this AS I was complaining that people don’t really listen to one another! 

I’m reminded of the story I have told before of the little girl who was talking to her mother while she was washing dishes.  The little girl insisted that the mother stop and listen to her.  The mom said, “But honey, I AM listening to you!” To which the little girl replied, “I need you to listen with your EYES.”  Really listening to one another requires giving others our full attention, with all of who we are.

As you know, many of us in the congregation have been reading the book Being Mortal, by Atul Gawande (New York: Picador, 2014).  At one point Gawande is describing the two neurosurgeons that his father visited when he had a fatal brain tumor.  One of the doctors was short with Gawande’s father.  He didn’t want to answer his questions and he basically said he was the best person for the job and Gawande’s father could take it or leave it.  But the doctor at the Cleveland Clinic behaved differently.  Gawande wrote this:

The Cleveland Clinic neurosurgeon, Edward Benzel, exuded no less confidence.  But he recognized that my father’s questions came from fear.  So he took the time to answer them, even the annoying ones.  Along the way, he probed my father, too.  He said that it sounded like he was more worried about what the operation might do to him than what the tumor would. … The surgeon said that he might feel the same way himself in my father’s shoes.  Benzel had a way of looking at people that let them know he was really looking at them.  He was several inches taller than my parents, but he made sure to sit at eye level.  He turned his seat away from the computer and planted himself directly in front of them.  He did not twitch or fidget or even react when my father talked.  He had that midwesterner’s habit of waiting a beat after people have spoken before speaking himself, in order to see if they are really done….Benzel had made the effort to understand what my father cared about most, and to my father that counted for a lot. (p198-199)

As I read this, I was struck by a couple of things.  First, what Gawande said about the doctor really looking at his parents was actually about really listening to his parents.  The doctor took the time to fully listen and care about what the other, in this case Gawande’s parents, were saying. It also resonated with me what he said about the “midwesterner’s habit of waiting a beat after people have spoken to speak themselves.”  I experienced this when I lived in Ohio.  However,  my experience of this pause was not so much that people were waiting to see if you were done talking as it was that people there listen to what you are saying and then take a minute to formulate their response.  They are not spending the time when they should be listening in planning or forming what they will say next.    

Sometimes those differences in the way we listen and hear cause problems.  One of the challenges that David and I have been working through is this very different way of listening.  I grew up here, I have spent the large majority of my life here.  I am used to the way people here “listen” which is to say, I’m used to people NOT listening, but using the time that others are speaking to decide what they are going to say.  We tend to talk then in a very quick succession in conversations.  There are no pauses between speakers.  The result is that often in a group it can be very difficult for everyone to be able to have their say.  If you can’t manage to be the first one to squeak out your words in following someone else’s speech, you won’t be heard at all.  People often talk over each other. 

When I was back in Cleveland, I tried to adjust to their different way of speaking.  I tried hard to honor the pause between speakers.  I have to say it wasn’t easy and many people made the comment that I was very “high energy” by which they meant I spoke quickly and jumped from one thing to another rapidly.  But coming back to the Bay Area, the rhythm, while very hurried and rushed, is more comfortable, or natural for me.  It’s what I’m used to.

David, on the other hand, is mostly a Clevelander.  That means that he actually listens while a person is talking, and then pauses while he is taking time to consider what he wants to say in response.  Unfortunately for him, this has caused problems as I have taken the silence to mean that he has nothing to say.  I’ll jump in again into the silence, “not giving him a chance to speak” he says.  In reality, I’m not giving him a chance to LISTEN because we just don’t listen here.

Who is the loser in this game?  Well, we all are.  But I think the people who lose the most in this are we who fail to take the time to really hear one another.  As today’s scriptures say, “Wisdom requires a humble, earnest effort to hear what others say and a willingness to see our world in the other’s terms.”   We lose the chance to grow in wisdom, in understanding when we fail to take the time to listen.

I think about what we did last Sunday afternoon with our “Crossing our Differences” conversations.  For those of you who came, how hard was it to just give a 30 second pause between speakers?  Did that feel like wasted time?  Did that feel like we didn’t need the time because we already knew what we thought, having spent the time while the speaker spoke to listen to our own thoughts rather than their words? 

This is especially hard when we disagree with one another.  We don’t WANT to hear what the other has to say.  We don’t want our thoughts to be challenged.  We don’t want to have to listen deeply enough to care about another point of view.  BUT I find again and again that when people think they disagree, when they actually choose to really listen to one another, they can find a whole lot more common ground than what they might believe they share.  Maybe we don’t want to see that.  Maybe we don’t really want to know that we have more in common than we would think.  But the dangerous truth is that when we start listening with our ears, we may find that we are also learning to listen with our hearts.  And while that may not be comfortable, it is important to try to do.  It helps us build bridges, it helps us grow, it helps us learn.

So how do we begin this journey towards listening?

The first thing is to be intentional about listening to people with all of our being.  In other words put down our phones and our chores and our activities when someone else is talking and really be present with them. 

The second thing is to intentionally take a minute after a person speaks to think about your answer.  If you know that you will give yourself that time when they are finished talking to formulate your response, you can just be listening when the other person is talking and wait to think through your answer after they are done.

The third is to take time to ask clarifying questions, or to repeat back what you think you are hearing so you are sure you are hearing correctly.

Fourth, just remind yourself that it is in listening that we grow and learn, not in talking.  Choosing to listen means choosing to take the better part.

One of the other things we are told in this passage from Proverbs is that Wisdom is gained in community.  In other words, when it is hard to hear one another, the community can help us.  When we are not growing, not gaining the knowledge that can lead to wisdom, the community is there to aid in that process.  And also, one of the true gifts of a faith community that talks together, prays together, and studies together is wisdom, when we choose to really hear one another.

The same is true with God.  I think most of us spend our prayer time talking at God.  And that’s important.  It’s really important to share with God our thoughts and feelings and what is going on with us.  But what I would suggest to you today is that it is MORE important for us to listen.  And then to check in with God about what we think we are hearing.  “Am I hearing you right, God?  Are you really telling me to love that person over THERE??!!  Are you really telling me to speak out about x, y or z?”  Whatever it is, reflect back to God.  Ask God if you are hearing correctly and then listen some more.  God does speak to us in many, many ways: through our experiences, through other people, through nature, through art; through scripture and stories and songs.  But all of it requires taking the time to listen.  Learning to hear God requires intentionally taking time out, daily, to listen.

The good news is that God is there both to listen to us, and to share with us when we are ready to hear wisdom.  That is the good news.  Today and every day. 

Listening and Communicating

         I have been in a number of situations recently in which it was clear the other person was not listening, or at least not hearing me.  An example: after being away from home for a few days I was asked how I was doing.  I responded, "I’m doing well.  However, I am an introvert and because of that I think it takes me longer to form the deep and fulfilling relationships that maybe others form quickly.  As a result, after five days of being away from home, I'm feeling a bit lonely for those people with whom I do have those deeper connections."  His response, "Oh, yeah, My wife is an introvert too, so I'm sure you must be wanting your alone time."  Huh?
        Another example:  I was looking at a map in order to find a place to hike.  A man was showing me a path by tracing his finger along a road and describing it as a hiking path, "The hiking trail you are talking about; does it run parallel to the road, or is it the road itself?  Is it an actual walking path you are describing, or is it the road itself?"  His response, "No, if you walk on the road, you could get hit by a car."  "So there is a walking path near the road?"  "No. It's a lovely walk.  Just follow the road." "So it is the road?"  "If you walk on the road, you'll get hit by a car." What?
        I wish I could say these are isolated events, but actually they aren't for me.  I run into this problem of being mis-heard, mis-understood, or having my words responded to in a way that shows they were taken to mean something other than what I meant to communicate on a fairly regular basis.  This happens often enough that I have found myself wondering  lately if it is ME that is the issue.  Do I communicate in a way that is less than clear?  Am I somehow communicating things other than what I am saying in ways I'm not even aware of?
       When I ask my friends, or those who read my blog, or those who listen to my sermons if this is the case, they all assure me it isn't.  But even if the fault is at least partly mine (and I'm sure I need to claim some fault here), I also observe that as a people, as a country, we are having a harder and harder time actually LISTENING to one another.  We impose on the speaker our own world views, our own agendas, our own expectations of what we think they will say or mean.  We transfer onto the speaker our own worries, thoughts and cares.  We don't listen.
         Of course there are exceptions.  We can learn how to listen with more honesty and truth.  We can learn how to listen without spending that hearing time trying to think of how we will respond when the other person is done talking.  We can ask questions that try to clarify what we are hearing to be sure we are truly understanding the other.  We can try to stop thinking about how what they are saying relates to ourselves, and instead listen to it for the other person's sake.  We can learn this.  Circles that focus on spiritual direction, counseling, emotional and spiritual care all focus on this intentional and deep listening to the other.  But we seem to have lost this skill in normal, every day living.  And the result is a country torn apart by misunderstandings, by an inability to hear, love, have compassion for and insight into beautifully human and wondrous beings that "others" are.  It is a problem of epidemic proportions.  One which I believe can only be answered first and foremost by a commitment to listening, deeply, and truly, without agenda or ego to one another.
        In the mean time, I am striving hard to remember that every response another person gives to words I have spoken reflects much more on that other person than it does on me anyway.  Our responses are about ourselves.  Therefore when someone does respond to something I've said, it is an opportunity for ME to practice listening as well, regardless of what it was I was trying to communicate.  That's not always easy: if I'm saying something, it usually means I'm wanting it to be heard.  But sometimes the lack of understanding on their part is an invitation, an opportunity, a plea for me to hear them.  So I will start by listening.  And perhaps, once they have felt heard, there will be more space for them to hear me as well.

More on Forgiveness

Matthew 18:21-35

Last week we talked about the call to love and how hard that is.  As you may remember, I spent some of the time focusing specifically on the very difficult call to forgive.  And today I want to talk a little more about this. 

In todays’ gospel lesson we are told to forgive and forgive and forgive.  And we are told, what’s more, that in the same way that we fail to forgive, so God will fail to forgive us.  The way that I see this is more that our ability to accept forgiveness and our ability to offer forgiveness are one and the same.  That it is in learning to forgive others that we are also able to release shame and guilt for our own misdeeds and accept the forgiveness that God offers us.

               As I thought about forgiveness, several stories came strongly to mind.  In the Judy Blume book, Tales of a Fourth Grade Nothing, Fudge ruins the class project left in his brother Peter’s room, he swallows his brother, Peter’s turtle.  And to make matters worse, everyone is concerned about fudge when he swallows the turtle and not about Peter’s turtle or Peter.  You can imagine that these would be hard to forgive.  Especially if, when you finally get to a place of letting it go, the other person does something else to hurt you.  Eventually Peter does come to understand how young and not quite bright his brother is and he does forgive him, but it is a tough path for Peter to get there.

 The movie, Spitfire Grill, is about a very young woman who has just come out of prison for manslaughter and is looking to start a new life.  She finds a small town where she is hired to work at the Spitfire Grill.  And while at first there is a lot of fear and judgment towards Percy, as people get to know her they come to see her and love her for who she is.  There is one exception in the movie, however.  Nahum is extremely protective of his aunt, for whom Percy works, his family and his town.  He sees Percy as a stranger, and as a threat.  He doesn’t want to know her story, doesn’t care to actually look at the real person that she is, he only wants her gone.  He cannot take the risk of getting to know Percy or, as he fears, getting hoodwinked by her charm.  In the end, his failure to risk seeing her ends up in a terrible tragedy for the town.  I won’t give away what that is for those who haven’t seen the movie, but I will say that it is only after this irreversible tragedy that he can see his own failure to forgive, to step into love, to risk seeing this other person as a human being.  That failure to risk a new vision leads to a terrible ending, a deep loss for everyone in the town. 

               In the movie “Philomena”, the part that gets to me every single time is when Philomena who has had truly terrible treatment by the nuns in a convent in Ireland goes back to the Convent to find out the truth, to confront those who have taken away from her that which she valued the most in her life, namely her son.  She goes with a reporter who has helped her discover the truth of what happened to her, and to him, so long ago.  And when they arrive, the reporter is outraged and begins to yell at the nuns.  Philomena apologizes to the nuns for his behavior and says to the reporter, “it happened to ME, not to you!”  He in his rage responds, “So, what are you going to do about it?  Are you just going to stand there?!”  And Philomena says.  “No.”  She takes a huge breath, turns to the nun who pretty much headed the atrocities and says, “Sister, I want you to know that I forgive you.” 

The reporter is incensed at this and yells at Philomena, “What?  Just like that?” 

               Philomena responds, “No, not ‘just like that’.  That’s HARD.  That’s HARD for me.  But I don’t want to hate people.  I don’t want to be like you!  Look at you!”

               “I’m angry!”

               “It must be exhausting!”

               While Philomena was based on a true story, it is a movie.  But still, there are other stories of outrageous forgiveness, stories that we know to be true:

               On CBS, for example, there was a story from MI about a man named Jamel who was arrested for dealing drugs.  The officer made it up.  The former officer admitted on this CBS news clip that he had decided he had to have another drug arrest that day, so he had just grabbed someone off the street and falsely arrested this man, “planting” evidence and falsifying reports as he did so.  Jamel went to prison for four years as a result.  Eventually the cop was caught and brought up on charges for falsifying MANY reports, arresting many innocent people, and for stealing.  He was incarcerated for one year and Jamel, as well as other men the former officer had falsely imprisoned, were exonerated.  Still, after four years in prison, Jamel had lost everything.  After they both were released from prsion, the officer and the falsely imprisoned man ended up working in the same café together.  The former officer said that he had a faith experience in which he felt convicted in such a way that making amends became a necessity for him.  But in the case of Jamel, he didn’t know what he could do to make amends except to simply apologize to Jamel, and that is what he did.  The officer apologized, and, surprisingly, Jamel accepted that apology, and forgave him.  Jamel said he had been extremely angry, but the apology was really all he needed and all he wanted.  They have since become friends; such good friends that they have become public speakers together on the subject of forgiveness, the power of it, the healing that comes to all parties because of it.  When the CBS reporter asked Jamel for whom he had done the forgiving, Jamel’s response was , “for our sakes”.  This confused the reporter who said, “you mean for yourself?”  “No,” Jamel responded, “For the sake of all of us: myself, the former officer, and everyone else we encounter.  For our sakes I forgive so that the world might see what kind of healing can be done through the act of forgiveness.” 

               As I’ve said before, the deep truth is that everything God calls us to do, everything Jesus insists that we do, everything… these are for US.  I will say this again and again to you.  You are not called to do the hard things for God’s sake.  God doesn’t actually need our help.  We also aren’t called to do these things solely for the person we are helping or, in this case, forgiving.  The person who benefits the most from our forgiveness is always going to be ourselves.

How does it feel to be angry to someone?  How does it feel to hate someone?  Does that feel good?  Not only does it not feel good, but it takes up a whole lot of space in our psyches.  Space that could instead be filled with good thoughts.  Space that could be filled with love and joy and peace. Space that could be used to be loving and creative and world-changing.  Forgiveness frees up that space in our hearts, in our minds, in our lives.

 I’m not saying that it’s easy.  I’m also not saying that we don’t learn from the ways we’ve been hurt.  I don’t really believe in the saying “forgive and forget”.  I don’t hear in scripture that we are called to forget.  We are called to erase the anger, release the hatred.  But forgetting is a whole other ball game.  And I think the things that hurt us are lessons to us.

Let me give you an example.  If your dog constantly hits things off of the coffee table onto the floor, if that dog breaks precious things that you leave where her tail can hit it and break it, you can forgive the dog, but you can also learn not to leave your things in a place where the dog or dog’s tail might hit those objects and knock them to the floor. 

This applies to people too.  If we see repeating patters in the way a person hurts us, it is appropriate to change our way of interacting with them so we are not doormats to be stepped on again.  If a person shows up late every single time we are to meet with them, we might choose to come to them, rather than having them come to us – or we might choose not to try to meet with them if it is too much of a strain.  If every time we share a valuable part of ourselves with someone only to learn that it gets passed on to other people, we learn not to share in that way with that person.  Forgiveness does not mean forgetting, and it certainly does not mean setting yourself up to be abused repeatedly.  But it does mean letting go of the hurt and anger, and if possible, finding different ways to be in relationship with those who have hurt us.  It means not seeking revenge or vengeance. 

Again, I realize this is not easy.  I found myself reflecting recently on a situation that happened years ago when we tried to sell our very first home in San Leandro.  We were in process with someone buying the house when at the 11^th hour they pulled out.  According to the contract they signed, that meant they lost their $5000 deposit for breach of contract.  But they sued us to get it back and then in court they lied about what we had been willing to do to fix up the house.  I was so stunned by the audacity of the lies that I didn’t even know how to counteract them.  I froze up, my “fight or flight” mode went completely into flight, and I literally said nothing in response to this.  I was so angry afterwards at the lies… not the loss of the money, though it took another 4 months to sell the house, and since we had been in contract on buying a home that meant we were paying two mortgages in the Bay Area for about six months.  But the bold faced lies on their part, and their belief that this was an acceptable way of behaving, their willingness to do whatever it took to get what they wanted, their willingness to hurt others through immoral means – I had a very hard time forgiving that. It took time for the revenge fantasies left my head.  It’s been years since all of that took place.  It took time, but I long ago forgave this behavior.  I now feel saddened for them for what I imagine to be a pretty regular behavior on their part, which can only harm them.  Still, I haven’t forgotten.  I am more aware that, especially in court situations and where money is involved, there are people who will do whatever they want to do in order to get what they want.  I am more prepared to speak my own truth, even in the face of lies, than I used to be.  I am no longer angry.  I don’t carry that with me anymore.  But I have also taken from it lessons in human behavior and how I choose to live in the face of that.

Presbyterians do not just pray for forgiveness, we do not just celebrate the forgiveness that has been given, we are also asked and expected to pass that along.  I have mentioned this before, but the passing of the peace is supposed to be a response to having been forgiven.  In this church we have put it at the end of worship as a way to great one another.  But that isn’t actually what we are supposed to do. 

Our Presbyterian Book of Order says this about the passing of the peace is:  “It is important in worship that we take the opportunity to seek and to offer forgiveness for hurts, misunderstandings and broken relationships among ourselves and that we respond to God’s act of reconciliation by exchanging signs and words of reconciliation and of Christ’s peace through the passing of the peace.”  (2.6001b)  So what does this mean?  The passing of the peace is a mending–of-hurts time, an act of forgiveness time, a reconciliation time.  In other words, the people we might approach during this time should include those with whom we feel the need for reconciliation, or for offering or seeking forgiveness.  You can pass the peace on to others as well, but it is as a sign that God forgives and reconciles everyone, and is not a “greeting time”.    It is supposed to follow the prayer of confession and acceptance of God’s grace because it is a sign that we have taken to heart God’s grace and now want to pass that on to each other.  And for this it is a wonderful gift to one another that we can touch and recognize the grace that is physically given to us.

I want to finish with a version of the Lord’s Prayer written by Rev. Dewane Zimmerman

Lord’s prayer (as it might be prayed by God to us):

My children who are on earth:

You reverence my name

But you do not celebrate my will for you.

You pray my kingdom come,

But how can it

When you ARE what I mean by my kingdom?

You pray for your daily bread,

But you have enough-and to spare.

You pray for forgiveness of your sins,

But how often you will not forgive each other.

You ask me not to lead you into temptation,

But what can I do for you

That I am not already doing?

Use the gifts I am giving you

And you will know my power and glory

Forever and ever.

Amen.

My prayer for all of us is a heart of deepening forgiveness, for others, and for ourselves as well.  Amen.

The Bread of LIfe

2 Samuel 18:5-9, 15, 31-33

Ephesians 4:25 - 5:2

John 6:35-51

         As we look at the passage from John for today I am struck with a basic difference between the people that Jesus was speaking to and us.  We, in this congregation, are a people who do not worry about where our next meal is coming from.  We know that we will eat, often; and enough, sometimes more than enough.  So those words that we hear today, “I am the bread of life…(followed by words referencing the manna that fed the Israelites when they were truly struggling to find food in the desert, and then continuing): I am the living bread that came down from heaven. Whoever eats of this bread will live forever; and the bread that I will give for the life of the world is my flesh.”  These words promising bread that will enable Jesus’ hearers to eat, to not go hungry, to live – these words don’t have nearly as much impact on people who are comfortable and who have enough to eat, as they did for those who were not always assured of where their next meal was coming from. 

For people who were hungry, these words were promising another day of living; but more, they were promising a life freed from the anxiety of worrying about their next meal, or the next or the next.  It promises that with Jesus’ sacrifice, life is abundant, everlasting, eternal – and again, without hunger, without craving, without emptiness and without fear.  We understand these words to be about something much bigger than fulfilling hunger. We understand that the life Jesus was promising was not the daily life that we live. He spoke in parables, in metaphors and here he is not talking about physical hunger. Still, in a place, within an experience, where life is so fragile, so precarious, so short, and so full of the fear and reality of hunger, a promise of everlasting bread spoke to Jesus’ hearers so much more than it possibly could for any who have not suffered shortage of food.

Sarah Miles, in her book Take this Bread, said, “it’s the really hungry who can smell fresh bread a mile away.  For those who know their need, God is immediate – not an idea, not a theory, but life, food, air for the stifled spirit and the beaten, despised, exploited body.”  That is what is offered in communion, in this last supper, in the sacrament of that meal.  We are offered food, yes, but more we are offered life, we are offered God’s presence here in this meal.  Sarah Miles continued, “What Jesus offered was a radical…love that accompanied people in the most ordinary actions – eating, drinking, walking, and stayed with them, through fear, even past death.”  She connects all of this with Jesus’ call and command to Peter…She said, “I couldn’t stop thinking about another (Biblical) story: Jesus instructing his beloved, fallible disciple Peter exactly how to love him:  ‘Feed my sheep.’  Jesus asked, “Do you love me?”  Peter fussed, “Of course I love you.’  “Feed my sheep.”  Peter fussed some more.  “Do you love me?” asked Jesus again.  “Then feed my sheep.”  It seemed pretty clear.  If I wanted to see God, I could feed people.”  We talked about this last week: somehow that act of feeding others, and allowing others to feed us, connects us to God in a way that is hard to explain, but deeply profound.  God IS the bread of life.  Jesus exemplifies that for us, but also calls us to share that bread of life with one another.  This is both metaphoric and literal.  Feeding others, making sure others have enough to eat, to live: both at a physical level and at a spiritual level: that is what we are called, most deeply to do.  What do others need that we have?  And what are the ways in which we are called to share that, every single day?  This is what stewardship is about.  We are entrusted with God’s resources in order to share them, to make sure that all have what they need.  And again, this extends far beyond food: education, well-being, health care, companionship, the right to live free of fear from violence or persecution.  These are not things we have earned: these are graces, lent to us by God so that we might share them with others.  Nothing we have is ours.  All of it is God’s.  And our call, always, is to share our bread, share our resources, share God’s gifts with those most in need of them.

Those who are fed by God, not by daily food, necessarily, but by God, those people, no matter how poor they are themselves, those people find within them the strength and gift of feeding others. Greg Mortensen begins his book, The Three Cups of Tea by recounting his story of finding himself in an impoverished Pakistan village after a failed attempt to climb K2.  He was exhausted, he was sick, and yet these poor strangers fed him, cared for him.  The story continues, “(Mortensen) took a bite of warm chapatti dunked in lassi, wolfed all that he’d been served, and washed it down with sugary tea.  Sakina laughed appreciatively and brought him more.  If  Mortensen had known how scarce and precious sugar was to the Balti, how rarely they used it themselves, he would have refused the second cup of tea.”  The story goes on to explain how he had also been given by them their best blankets, their best food, their best everything, things they had so little of, things they did not use for themselves.  They found in the midst of their physical poverty, but their spiritual wealth, that they had this to share.  And they began it all with “communion” – with sharing the food of life with this stranger.  Those who find their fulfillment from God always find that they have something to share, no matter what they lack.

There is a story about a young student who had to be away from his fiancée for a few months as she travelled overseas to do peace work.  This was agony for him, to be so separated from his love.  He was sad and depressed.  He was on a bus traveling back to school, and the bus stopped at the Greyhound station, a rather dreary place.  He sat down on an unraveling, revolving seat at a dirty counter.  The counter was U-shaped, so he found himself sitting across from an old woman.  She saw him and said, “Honey, you sure do look depressed.”  He said, “I am, and before he knew it, he was crying.  The woman reached across the counter to pat his cheek with a dirt-under-the-fingernail hand and he pulled back when he saw it.  She simply asked, “What’s wrong, honey?” and he told her about his fiancée, and how much he loved her, and how much he missed her.  He showed the woman her picture.  The woman said, “Oh, I’ve never seen such a beautiful young woman.”  Then she began to tell him that she had been married to a traveling salesman who had since passed away.  And she related how they used to weep, both of them, each time he had to go away, but how happy they were when he returned.  She said, “You’re going to have a wonderful marriage.  Everything’s going to be fine.”  Then she suggested that he might feel better if he had something to eat, so she ordered a donut from under the scratchy plastic.  And the woman took the donut, broke it, and she gave it to him.  As she did, an announcement came over the loudspeaker and she said, “O my goodness!  My bus is here.”  And she disappeared.  Only then were his eyes opened and he recognized the visitation, God’s presence, in the breaking of the donut.

Again, in that need, and in the feeding, the fulfilling, the answering of that hunger, both physical and emotional, God was recognized.  In food, in the fulfilling of hunger God fulfills deeper needs.  God is present in this food, in this meal and God fills us. 

A Facebook acquaintance posted this story: "When I go through a drive-thru the person taking my order says something like, "does that complete your order?" I always respond by saying, "unless you would like me to buy you something." Usually they will giggle and say they appreciate it, but decline. The young lady today asked, "are you serious?" I told her to add her meal to my order. When I got to the window, there was this young lady with tears streaming down her face. She thanked me profusely and began to tell me her story. Folks, you never know what others are going through. The people taking your order at the fast food place are often working 2-3 jobs just to get by. This young lady was working 3 jobs, pregnant, and was evicted from her apartment yesterday. She now lives in her car. All this info because I bought her a salad ... yes, she ordered herself a salad. When we take time to be kind to one another, we open up the possibility of connecting with people. I'm not sharing this story to hear accolades. I'm sharing it in hopes you will step out of your comfort zone and dare to be the kind, connectional person God created you to be. Who knows ... you may just be the image of God that person needs at that moment. That's worth the $6 and 45 minutes I spent with her... yes, I had lunch with her and gave her lots of community resources to connect with." 

As I read that story, I found myself thinking that it was not just the young woman who was fed by this exchange.  The person who posted the story was fed too: God is in those meals, God is with us whenever we offer our gifts to share with others.

There is a poem I’d like to share with you called the “enough” poem.  It reads:

I wish you enough sun to keep your attitude bright no matter how gray the day may appear.

I wish you enough rain to appreciate the sun even more.

I wish you enough happiness to keep your spirit alive and everlasting.

I wish you enough pain so that even the smallest of joys in life may appear bigger. 

I wish you enough gain to satisfy your wanting.

I wish you enough loss to appreciate all that you possess.

I wish you enough hellos to get you through the final good- bye. (Credited to Bob Perks)

In our wants, in our needs, in our pain, in the hungers that fill our lives – hunger for bread, for connection, for comfort, for ease of pain or grief or sorrow – in those hungers Jesus comes to us and offers himself – his very being to fill this our hunger, to feed our needs, to fill our desires, to fill our hopes and dreams and deepest yearnings to connect to LOVE.  As we eat our meals today, with one another or separately, may our eyes be opened to seeing God with us in this meeting of our basic needs, to tasting the goodness of everlasting life and love.  May we be fed in the breaking of the bread, and may we meet Jesus anew in the fulfillments of the hungers of ourselves and those around us.  Amen.

A Failure to Listen

Exodus 33:12-23

Matthew 22:15-22

               “Just listen”.  These are words we hear said, they are words we do say, often when we are simply in disagreement with another person.  And there is truth in them.  Sometimes when we are sure our opinion is right, we simply cannot hear any other view point.  When we know what we believe, we don’t bother to put ourselves in another’s position to hear how they see things or view things.  When we are certain we are right, why would be take the time to try to understand an opposing view?  Why would we even bother to listen?   I know I am guilty of failing to listen or seriously consider a differing view point at times, even when I try to be open-minded.  There are certain ideas that simply won’t get a hearing when run by me.  We simply fail to listen at times. 

In the children’s movie, “Brave” there is a wonderful scene about a mother and her teenage daughter.  They have just had a terrible argument, and the scene moves back and forth between each of them as they discuss the argument, separately, each with someone else.  It is a wonderful scene as each practices or envisions a conversation with the other.  But what is most relevant to today is that each one is certain that the other is simply failing to listen.  And as they practice what they will say to each other when they are next together, the scene moves back and forth between each saying repeatedly to the other, “if you would just listen!”  “I think you would understand if you could just listen!” 

               This is a familiar conversation, I think, that parents and teens experience.  Each has their own view point, and they either truly don’t listen to one another, or they are accused of not listening because they continue in their own opinions even when they do.  But as with the movie, Brave, in which the entire plot is centered around both the mother and daughter’s failures to listen, to respect or to even try to understand the opposing views, similarly, when we fail to listen, fail to hear, we tear rips in our relationships with others, we block true intimacy by blocking our ability to truly understand one another.  We can learn to disagree while still listening and helping others know that we hear and understand them, but this takes work, it takes effort.  And most of the time I think we simply choose not to really listen.

               So then when we look at the scriptures lessons for today, we can relate to the conversations that we hear, first between Moses and God, and second between Jesus and the Pharisees.  In the Exodus passage, God promises Moses that he will go with him to help him lead the people.  But Moses either doesn’t listen or doesn’t trust what God is saying.  Because right after God has promised, “I’ll go myself and I’ll help you,” Moses jumps in with “If you won’t go ….”  .  And even after God promises to do exactly what Moses has asked again, Moses pushes, “Well, show me your presence.”  He pushes and pushes, not hearing what God is agreeing to do, and failing to trust what God is saying.

               Then we come to the conversation between Jesus and the Pharisees.  The Pharisees’ question to Jesus about taxes is one in a long line of questions that they have asked him with the purpose of entrapping Jesus.  They know that if Jesus answers that they shouldn’t pay this tax, he will be accused of sedition.  They also know that if he says that they should pay the taxes, he will enrage many of his followers on religious grounds because he will be going against the religious laws of the time.  They ask him a question that they believe he can’t win as they try to undermine him in any way they can.  They continually ask him questions, this one just being the last in a series, whose sole purpose is to discredit him with the people.  But the point here is that they are so focused on trying to knock him down, that they, too, are unable to listen, unable to hear what he is telling them again and again, with every sentence, with every statement, with everything that he does.  They have an agenda, and nothing will dissuade them from that.  Their ears are simply closed to any new information, to any new vision, to anything that might challenge or change the mission they have set for themselves to discredit Jesus.

               It would seem every effort God made to get Moses to listen was met with resistance.  And it seems that nothing Jesus did could help the Pharisees to hear.  What helps us to hear?  When we are entrenched in our opinions and our beliefs to the point that we are unable to listen, to be open even to God’s movement or message among us, what moves us from that place to one of hearing? 

Sometimes, someone says something that can catch us in a way that nothing else has.  I’ve shared with you before about the movie, “The Color of Fear” which is a documentary about a weekend retreat for men on the subject of racism.  I shared it in the context of opening our eyes, of seeing.  Hearing is the same: it is hard, and we are called to do it, so I’m choosing to share the story again.  Men of all backgrounds and ethnicities came to participate in this conversation about racial prejudice.  They made a commitment to be open in their conversations, to trust one another, to explore the topic of racism.  But there was one white man who quickly became the center of the conversation.  He kept insisting that there was no longer any racism in this country and that the men who were sharing their experiences of racial prejudice, were in fact, just blaming others for their problems.  Some of the men of color, having heard these accusations, left the conversation saying that it was not their job to change this man, that his ignorance made him not worth their time.  But most of the men stayed with the white man, sharing stories, telling of their own experiences.  They stayed steadfast in their commitment to justice, and their commitment to care for this one man, even in the face of his anger, his denial, his rudeness, his accusations and his blame.  They calmly and consistently shared their stories with him while he continued to say that they were hurt, ignored, passed over, and much, much worse because of their flaws, not because of racism.  But despite their care, despite their calm and simply presence, despite the stories they told again and again, this man simply could not hear them.  And nothing they did was impacting that block to listening.  Finally, towards the end of the weekend, the leader of the retreat turned to this white man and said, “What would it mean for you if the stories you are hearing are true?  What would it mean for you if we really have experienced the racial prejudice, hatred and discrimination that we are sharing with you?”

This question caught the man off guard.  He became very quiet, for the first time all weekend as he reflected on these words.  Finally, he said, very slowly, very quietly, “It would mean that the world is not as beautiful as I need to believe that it is.”  He began to cry as he continued, “and it would mean that I was part of the problem.” For this man, a question helped him to listen.  He was caught by a moment that surprised him.

But we know that it can take even more for people to learn how to listen.  Sometimes it takes “hitting bottom” for us to be able to hear, to listen and to change.   It takes experience to change.  We know that this is true with people with addictions.  Often people cannot make the choice to hear what others are telling him or her about having an addiction and needing to do something about it until they hit some kind of bottom – become so ill they have to change, or lose their jobs, or lose a relationship.  The same is true for all of us who are stuck in a place where we are unwilling to listen, even when what we might learn could make our lives better, more full.  In the movie, “Brave” which I shared about at the beginning, it took a trauma that threatened to destroy their family for both mother and daughter to finally listen and hear one another.  It literally would have been the end of life for the mother if she had not listened, and the daughter would have lost her mom if she had not listened.  While it is a story, a movie, it reflects the truth that listening is hard.  And sometimes we just would rather not do it.  For many people, prejudice of any kind – against people of different cultural backgrounds, races, ethnicities, LGBTQ folk, people of different religions – the prejudice is not overcome until we really know someone in the category of those we would dismiss: a son or a daughter or a family member is often the most able to help us change because they are people we love already.  But we also know the experience of changing our opinions, of growing, is hard; and sometimes very painful.

A rabbi lived in a rural area with his son. As the boy grew, he began to take walks each day in the woods around their home. The rabbi thought it was good for him to explore on his own in order to build his self-confidence. He noticed, though, that the boy was gone longer and longer each day. The rabbi began to worry that his son was straying too far and might get lost or encounter danger. The next morning, he talked to him about his concern. "I've noticed how much time you are spending in the woods," the rabbi said. "What do you do there?"

"Oh," said the lad, "I go into the woods to listen for the voice of God."

"Ah," smiled the Rabbi, "that is a good thing, but don't you know that God is the same everywhere?"

The boy pondered a moment and then replied, "Yes, Father, but I am not the same everywhere."

There is life in the listening.  There is healing in listening.  Finding the best way for each of us to listen is vital. There is depth in being willing to strive for understanding of another view point.  For Moses, listening to God would have created in him a sense of peace, comfort, dimmed the anxiety, given him a strength in continuing even when the people turned against him at times.  Eventually Moses did listen, despite the challenges that posed for him, and so he was able to fulfill his call to the people, to do the work God gave him to do and to exit in peace.  But it took time, time that could have brought him peace sooner.  For the Pharisees, their failure to listen meant they missed out on God right there with them.  The Pharisees were the legal faith authorities of the day, the legal leaders, the church authorities.  And yet these men, these people who had dedicated their lives to God’s law missed out on God’s presence right there with them.  I can’t think of a greater tragedy for these people than to miss out on the very thing they were striving to be part of their whole lives.  We know that for some, even hitting bottom won’t be enough to help them to change, to grow, to move.

I also want to state the obvious here, that listening does not mean agreeing.  We can listen and still come out with very different opinions and very different understandings.  However, taking the time to listen, to say to someone, “This is what I am hearing you say…”, taking time to repeat in your own words what the other is saying and only then stating your own opinion – these are choices to listen, to be in relationship, to build bridges, and deepen communication. These are choices that state that the relationship is more important than the disagreements, and it can be a huge step towards reconciliation and healing.

Where, then is the Good News in that?  We see in both of these Biblical stories that God continued to be loving and faithful, even when the people wouldn’t listen.  God remained faithful to Moses, responded to Moses, gave Moses what he wanted, even when Moses was challenging God, even when Moses was unwilling to listen.  God remained steadfast.  The tender compassion that God has for God’s children continued no matter what.   Jesus similarly does not refuse to talk to the Pharisees.  He does not ignore their question even.  He stays engaged with them, even in his anger, even as he realizes that he is being set up.  He continues to be present and he continues to try to show them a better way.  He speaks to them in a manner they don’t expect, turning the question around  in a way that might, just might, jar them into actually hearing him.  He says, give to God what is God and to Caesar what is Caesars.  And he leaves it to them to figure out what that means.  He tries to engage their higher thinking and their higher listening for a deeper answer.  What does it mean?  Caesar’s face is on the coin, but ultimately doesn’t everything, including Caesar, belong to God?  Jesus throws it back as a question, as a challenge for the Pharisees.  What really belongs to God?  What really belongs to Caesar?  Who is ultimately the one in charge of everything? 

This passage is not meant to answer the question of taxes for us.  Instead, it is a story about Jesus, and therefore about God.  It tells us that even in those hard questions, those things we struggle to understand, God chooses to be present with us.  It tells us that we are called to think through things by listening with open ears.  It calls us to be present and to engage further with our questions, our thoughts, our hopes, our doubts, and ultimately all that we are.  To listen.  And when we can’t listen, to rest in the love of a very patient and very present God who will wait for us to be able to listen, and will still be talking when we are able to open our ears.