9-1-20 - Cast Out

You can listen to this reflection here.

In our gospel passage for this week, Jesus lays out a three- step process for dealing with conflict in the community of faith, by which someone who has inflicted hurt is invited to participate in repentance and reconciliation. He provides a contingency for those occasions when the offending party is unable or unwilling to be reconciled: “If the member refuses to listen to them, tell it to the church; and if the offender refuses to listen even to the church, let such a one be to you as a Gentile and a tax collector.”

On the face of it, this approach seems realistic, if harsh. If trust has been breached in the community and attempts at repair have failed, one might conclude that wholeness can only be gained by isolating the offender. No doubt this is the teaching that gave rise to the practice of shunning and excommunicationin some Christian traditions. Separating an offender from the community at large can be an act of punishment or protection, or both. It is also itself an act of aggression, even when warranted as in the case, say, of an abusive spouse or parent whose presence in the community would make it impossible for a survivor to feel safe.

I wonder, though, if Jesus meant something different by these words. My friend Aldon once noted that the way Jesus treated Gentiles and tax collectors was to eat with them and heal them, invite them to repent and to join his community. The people he showed no desire to be in relationship with were the "holy men," the religious leaders. Is Jesus inviting us to go deeper into reconciliation than seems comfortable? Is he suggesting we open ourselves to the Other who has hurt us, see his wounds and distorted perceptions, reach across the divide with love that has the power to transform?

That is an intriguing reading of this passage. As a strategy, it leaves room for growth, where distancing and isolating offenders does not. Granted, each situation demands its own discernment; reaching out must be accompanied by true honesty, within safe boundaries for those hurt. I think of the Truth Commissions set up in South Africa during the dismantling of apartheid. Reconciliation was forged not by burying grievances, but by bringing them into the light, speaking them in truth and clarity, with the perpetrators there to hear the effects of their actions, and invited to repent. Healing for victims can happen without the repentance of perpetrators, but when you have both, you have seeds for deeper engagement, deeper community.

I knew a church in which a new member was found to have been viewing internet pornography involving minors. He did not hide from law enforcement when discovered, but entered willingly into the justice process and into therapy, hoping to find deliverance from this compulsive behavior. But people in the church were unwilling to have him around, except under very stringent guidelines – rules which ensured he could never become part of that otherwise loving community in which he might have found healing and transformation. I believe safety for all could have been ensured without this degree of exclusion – but we’ll never know. He did not stay long under these strictures, and neither he nor his wife continued their exploration of Christian life. And some members of that church missed an opportunity to expand their capacity to love the sinner – and so to experience God’s love more fully.

Think of someone who you have shut out of your life or community because of harm they have caused. Can you imagine reconciliation on any level? If so, pray for a vision of how. 

If not, can you pray for that person to be healed and even blessed? When someone is blessed, she is much less able to hurt.

None of this is easy, nor simple. But it is the Good News in which God has called us to live.

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8-31-20 - Conflict

You can listen to this reflection here. Sunday's gospel reading is here.

Conflict is a fact of life – or at least a given of human nature. Wherever two or three are gathered, there are likely to be four or five competing desires (sometimes within one person.) We don’t all see things the same way; each has her own lens borne of her own history and circumstances and brain chemistry. We don’t all want or feel we need the same things. Inevitably what one person wants gets in the way of some other good, as, say, a desire for untrammeled speed will compromise the safety of others.

Christian communities are not immune to conflict. They are often conflict incubators, since people come to them hoping for the idyllic family they never had, dragging along their thwarted, dysfunctional baggage. Conflict within a church family is a given. It’s what we do with it that makes the difference. As my friend Peter likes to say, “Conflict doesn’t kill churches. Suppressed conflict kills churches.”

Jesus knew that the community of his followers would include hurt and conflict – witness the infighting among his disciples while he was yet with them. So he provided a process for dealing with it: “If another member of the church sins against you, go and point out the fault when the two of you are alone. If the member listens to you, you have regained that one. But if you are not listened to, take one or two others along with you, so that every word may be confirmed by the evidence of two or three witnesses. If the member refuses to listen to them, tell it to the church.”

Jesus’ teaching makes so much psychological sense. First we are to have the courage and respect to speak privately to the person who’s hurt us. Don’t triangulate conflicts by talking to a third person before sharing your feelings honestly with the first. How many conflicts could be quickly deflated by this simple step – and yet, many of us have been conditioned not to confront people, so we let it escalate.

If that conversation goes nowhere because the other person isn’t open to hearing how you feel, Jesus says to bring in that third or fourth person – but in the presence of the one who’s hurt you, not behind his back. Now it becomes a community issue, and out in the light. And if that doesn’t work, he says to bring your grievance before the whole community.

What happens when we do that? We model openness and vulnerability and transparency. We’ve invited prayer for ourselves and the person who’s hurt us. We’ve offered a wound for healing and opened ourselves to the transforming power of love. Can this get messy? Sure it can. But not nearly as toxic as a conflict that is allowed to fester.

Can you think of a time when you were hurt by someone in your community of faith? Were you able to speak it? Did you speak of it to others before you spoke to that person? I’m guilty of that. Did you distance yourself from that person or the community? Have you forgiven?

If the memory is still painful, that means it’s not healed – that’s something to invite the Holy Spirit into. It’s never too late to forgive and be set free, even if that person is no longer in your life.

Of course, this teaching assumes relationship and intimacy within the Body of Christ. Many of our congregations are far from that. Maybe that’s where we start – by getting close enough that hurts can happen. And loving enough to forgive and heal.

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8-28-20 - No Santa Claus Theology

You can listen to this reflection here. Sunday's gospel reading is here.

I lean toward the “grace and love” attributes of God as the Scriptures and Jesus describe God’s Realm. Give me eight “parables of the prodigal” for any one “be warned, judgment is coming” passage. Yet, as much as Jesus described God’s Kingdom as a place of unexpected mercy and reordered rankings, he did not shy away from the judgment to come. So he ends this teaching about taking up your cross with the reminder that there will be a reckoning:

“For the Son of Man is to come with his angels in the glory of his Father, and then he will repay everyone for what has been done."

“Repay everyone for what has been done” sounds ominous to me. I often assume, for neurotic reasons, that the Judgment will go badly for me. Maybe you share that instinct; it is what I call “original shame.” It drives Santa Claus theology –
“He’s makin’ a list, checkin’ it twice, gonna find out who’s naughty or nice…”

Only it’s not Santa who’s coming to town, but the Son of Man with his angels in the glory of his Father. Who of us can stand before such an entourage? Saint Paul didn’t think he could. “Wretched man that I am,” he wrote in Romans, “Who will deliver me from this body of death?” And then he answered his own question: “Thanks be to God, who delivers me through Jesus Christ our Lord!"

The great, audacious claim of Christian faith is that the One who comes to judge is the same One who has delivered us from the power of sin and shame. United with Christ, we need fear no reckoning. As Paul goes on to say, “There is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus.”

Wow. No condemnation. As we breathe that in, and allow this union with Christ to be realized in us, we find ourselves making God-ward choices, moving with the power and love of the Holy Spirit. And then we’re better able to see where Christ is in the world around us.

Our passage ends on a cryptic note. Jesus says, “Truly I tell you, there are some standing here who will not taste death before they see the Son of Man coming in his kingdom.” No one quite knows what that means – the next event in Matthew’s Gospel is the Transfiguration, where Peter, James and John see Jesus in his divine glory for a moment. Is that what he meant? Or did he mean the spiritual vision that allows us to see the Son of Man coming all the time?

How does that sentence, “He will repay everyone for what has been done” sit with you?
Do you assume blessing? Then you are already blessed. Do you assume condemnation or trial? Then spend some time today with Paul’s promise of grace and love, let it work in.

Let’s pray to be so filled with the Holy Spirit that we have the spiritual vision to see what the world does not: the Son of Man coming in his glorious reign, once upon a time, for all time - and right now.

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8-27-20 - Life Savers

You can listen to this reflection here. Sunday's gospel reading is here.

“For those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake will find it.” - Jesus

The first image that the word “life saver” brings to my mind is that little round candy you suck on as it releases its flavor. It’s there until it’s gone. Of course, those candies are so named because they resemble life-savers, the large, inflated rings affixed to the sides of boats, meant to keep you buoyant should you find yourself in the water. Their saving utility is limited by the circumstances in which they are employed – they might save you from drowning in the short-term, but not from, say, storms, sharks or starvation. A more complete rescue is still needed.

On the face of it, Jesus’ remark that those who want to save their life will lose it, and vice versa, seems scrambled. When we set out to save our life, don’t we usually succeed? How could the very effort to do that guarantee defeat? It depends, I suppose, on what we call life.

If we consider “life” to be mere existence, Jesus’ words seem nonsensical. If we see life in a larger sense as the sum of our interactions in time and space; our bodies, minds and spirits in relationship and in giftedness – then Jesus’ counter-intuitive words begin to harmonize. Putting our energy into preserving our existence might result in our losing flavor and shape, like those little candies. Sure, we might be alive, but are we living? A fixation on preservation, on security, can deliver us from the waves, but not from the more serious spiritual adversities that challenge us. As Jesus went on to say, “For what will it profit them if they gain the whole world but forfeit their life? Or what will they give in return for their life?”

When Jesus asks us to “lose our life for his sake,” he invites us to let go of the things to which we cling, the “self-saving strategies” we think will preserve us or get us affirmation. Clinging to things that are passing away doesn’t make us very secure. If you're at risk of drowning, struggling only imperils you further. Calming down is key to survival in the deeps. When we invite Jesus to lead us into the Life he came to proclaim and demonstrate, we will find the Life he promises.

What do you grab onto when you feel threatened? Do you feel called to let go of something or someone you’ve relied upon, that holds you back from giving yourself more fully to God? Ask the Holy Spirit to show you what, and how.

Jesus kept circling back to this “dying to self” thing because he needed his followers free to be led by the Spirit. Our invitation is to stop trying to gain the whole world, and open ourselves to the One who made it. After all, we symbolically drown initiates at the beginning of their life in Christ. Ultimately, the life-saver we need is the One who walked on water and is always here to give us a hand up.

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8-26-20 - Following

You can listen to this reflection here. Sunday's gospel reading is here.

Western culture in is not high on self-denial, unless it’s in the service of health or beauty. Once upon a time in America, self-sacrifice and sharing one’s resources for the common good were high values. These days generosity is often sporadic, a reaction to emergencies and based on our perception of whether we have enough to share.

“Do we have enough?” stands in a stark contrast to Jesus’ core teachings – and one of his most hardcore teachings was this: “If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me.”

Did Jesus mean “cross” in a general, “your-calling-from-God” way? Or did he mean a specific willingness to endure martyrdom? The executioner's cross was a literal eventuality for him, but not for every follower. Since I hope never to be in a position of having to choose my faith in Jesus over my physical life, I look at this teaching more figuratively. Our “cross” might be anything that represents the way we are called to participate in the mission of God to make all things whole. It may or may not involve suffering; often it will include inconvenience and even discomfort.

Maybe before we contend with the call to self-denial and taking up of crosses, we should look at the first part of Jesus’ sentence: “If any want to become my followers.” Why would anyone today who did not know about Jesus want to follow him? Where is he going that we want to be?

I have to ask myself, “Why am I a follower of Christ?” Partly, it’s habit and custom and a lifetime of choices. But why today? Because I believe he is Life and Truth as well as Way. Because following him gives meaning to what might otherwise appear a meandering path through life. Because I believe his power to heal is still real and still with us. And because he says he loves me. I don’t know what that means, fully, but I know I want to find out.

How do you answer that question? Why are you a follower of Christ? If you're not, do you want to be? However you answer those questions, you can talk to Jesus about it. If that feels impossible, talk to a person whose spiritual life you trust.

When we decide that we want to be Christ’s followers, we’re more ready to lay down our privileges and prerogatives and take up our crosses. And, as we allow ourselves to be transformed in that relationship, we may also discover a stronger desire to introduce others to this way of Jesus, cross, self-denial and all.

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8-25-20 - Safety Second

You can listen to this reflection here. Sunday's gospel reading is here.

Teacher’s pet one minute, Satan’s mouthpiece the next?
And Peter took him aside and began to rebuke him, saying, “God forbid it, Lord! This must never happen to you.” But he turned and said to Peter, “Get behind me, Satan! You are a stumbling-block to me; for you are setting your mind not on divine things but on human things.”

Peter may have thought, “What just happened? Look, Master, I left my family and business to follow you. I jumped out of a boat and walked on water for you. I see the truth about who you are. One minute I'm your Rock and the next I’m your stumbling block? I don’t want anything bad to happen to you. How can you call me Satan? Why are you being so mean?”

How could Jesus be so harsh to such a devoted and beloved disciple and friend? For one thing, that’s how close a relationship he had with Peter – he didn’t have to be polite. And he really wanted his followers to find a new, more God-like way of thinking. “For my ways are not your ways, nor my thoughts your thoughts, says the Lord,” we hear from Isaiah, echoed in Jesus: “You do not have in mind the things of God but the things of men.”

Maybe Jesus speaks so fiercely because that’s how crucial it is that Peter get this right. If Peter is the “rock” on which Jesus hopes to build his community of Kingdom believers, then Peter of all people has to understand. He has to stop thinking in the world’s terms and start thinking in Kingdom terms. And in Kingdom terms, safety does not come first – faithfulness does.

I am wired toward safety and security. That can get in the way of faithfulness to God’s call, impede discerning God’s invitations. There’s nothing wrong with safety – God does not ask us to take risks for the heck of it. Sometimes, though, God wants to work through us in circumstances that are less than safe - after all, much of our world is less than safe.

When we know it’s God’s call, we might step into some risk; that is a matter of discernment and testing the call with others. Many people who feel called to mission or relief work are drawn inevitably to places of conflict and violence and trauma. But they feel God calling them to go, to be a witness to love; they surround themselves with prayer; and they go. Usually they came back in one piece.

But not always. The mission to which Jesus was called was not compatible with staying out of harm. Today in prayer we might ask the Spirit if she is inviting us to participate in her transforming work in some way that involves risk. Risk doesn’t have to mean bodily harm – it could mean risking relationships or financial security, or working with difficult people or in areas that aren’t so safe. Where are you being nudged to open yourself to God’s Spirit in ministry? How does that feel? Talk to Jesus about it.

In the end, our criterion need not be, “Will I be safe,” but “Is this God’s work that I’m being invited to participate in?” If it is, and we are, then we walk in faith, trusting in the God we cannot see, trusting in the future on which we have staked our lives. God’s thoughts… how can we go wrong with those?

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8-24-20 - Foreboding

You can listen to this reflection here.

If Jesus were around in our day, saying the things attributed to him in next Sunday's gospel, would someone have gotten him a prescription for Wellbutrin? Suggested he take a little time off, see somebody for that paranoid streak?

From that time on, Jesus began to show his disciples that he must go to Jerusalem and undergo great suffering at the hands of the elders and chief priests and scribes, and be killed, and on the third day be raised.

Peter certainly thought ill of this dark turn: And Peter took him aside and began to rebuke him, saying, "God forbid it, Lord! This must never happen to you."

When things seem to be on a roll – which they did for Jesus’ disciples – it’s hard to envision it all going wrong. Jesus is drawing huge crowds, performing amazing miracles, and Peter has just correctly ID’d him as the long-awaited Messiah. What’s with all the talk of suffering and death?

The hindsight of faith tells us that Jesus was not being neurotically morose – he was telling truth to the people to whom he was closest in this world, truth he was going to have to tell them more than once and finally live through before they actually perceived it. But those listening to him that day didn’t know that – how could they tell a mood swing from a prediction? How can we, when our news alerts and social media feeds serve up fresh horrors by the hour?

We can’t know the future. We are called to live in hopeful balance, no matter what the circumstances. That means using the benefit of hindsight, which invites us to trust in the God who brings Life out of death, while we look forward to the gifts of God coming to us from our future. Jesus’ dire predictions came to pass – as did the hopeful one about his resurrection. We live because of all those events. Can that perspective help us with the feelings of foreboding that world events and our own lives can generate?

Are you anxious today about painful things that might be ahead? Nothing like a global pandemic and a worldwide recession in an election year, in which the stakes seem higher than ever, to surface the anxiety running like a current through our psyches. I find it rises at night, when I turn out the light and there is nothing left to distract me.

Can you invite God into conversation about your concerns, seeking holy perspective? Where do you see blessing? Might you reflect on what happened through Jesus’ suffering and rehearse God’s faithfulness to you in your life thus far? Does that help?

When driving, I recognize the need to keep my eyes on the road ahead while frequently checking the rear view mirror. Somehow, that's the balance we are invited to live in faith.

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8-21-20 - Shhhh....

You can listen to this reflection here. Sunday's gospel reading is here.

I hate secrets. I don’t mind knowing them; it's always a rush, to know something everyone else does not. But that feeling is quickly replaced by the desire that everyone be on the same page, committed to the same level of transparency. In families and in communities, secrets are toxic.

And if it’s good news, I especially hate having to keep it in! Only the awareness that everyone should get to tell their own good news holds me back and keeps me mum. Unless it’s my own good news, and then I can “spill” with abandon.

So I wonder how Jesus’ disciples felt when, after Peter has stated that Jesus is the Messiah, Jesus followed up with this: Then he sternly ordered the disciples not to tell anyone that he was the Messiah. Was Jesus concerned that the coming clash with the religious authorities would develop too quickly if everyone began using that kind of language about him? Did he want people to work it out for themselves? Were there other reasons at which I cannot guess? No doubt.

How could they keep quiet? If your whole community is waiting and yearning for the Anointed One of God who will bring deliverance and you’ve discovered that person, you pretty much want everyone to know. It’s not only Good News, it’s news!

Most of us, on the other hand, have known this too well and for far too long to think of it as news; the gospel is ho-hum. Few of us are oppressed by others; maybe by feelings or addictions, but we do not live in occupied lands. What is it that keeps us quiet? Do we keep our faith a secret from people around us? Do we feel too unsure about our faith to go around discussing it openly?

I don’t think Jesus wants us to keep quiet about who he is. I believe he wants us to rediscover his love and feel the amazement that God would love us so much as to send his son into the world to rescue us for eternal life, to show us what that God’s love feels like. This leads us back to the heart of Christian faith: relationship with God in Christ. There’s nothing all that new or all that good about our religious life, for the most part. But we are invited into a relationship that delivers new gifts, new promises, new hopes every morning. That’s pretty amazing.

When we truly engage that relationship with Jesus in prayer, we find ourselves talking about it, as we talk about other relationships in our lives, as we say, “You know what my sister is doing this summer? You know what my co-worker was saying the other day?”

If you’re connected, talk about it. If you feel disconnected, tell Jesus you’re open to a deeper connection with him. If you feel funny talking to him, go talk to someone who you think knows him and hang out with that person. Sooner or later, the Good News will dawn for us – and then we'll never stop sharing it.

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8-20-20 - Keys of the Kingdom

You can listen to this reflection here. Sunday's gospel reading is here.

“I will give you the keys of the kingdom of heaven, and whatever you bind on earth will be bound in heaven, and whatever you loose on earth will be loosed in heaven.”

That’s what Jesus says to Simon Peter, after calling him the “rock on which I will build my church.” The keys of the Kingdom. I’ve always thought of this sort of like giving someone an honorary Key to the City. I don’t think that’s what Jesus had in mind.

We can only guess at what he did mean; this is how theologians and biblical scholars make a living, after all. But we might get a hint of what he intended when we think about what keys do. They lock things, and they open them. They make them inaccessible and accessible.

The Kingdom of God is a reality that Jesus described through story and metaphor, and demonstrated through healing, teaching, and transformative actions that look to us like miracles. The “kingdom” is the realm of God, the reality of God, the Life of God as it unfolds in our own plane of reality. It is power and energy and boundless grace. To be given the “keys” to this reality is to be given power to unlock, release the energy of heaven – or to withhold it. Hence, “…whatever you bind on earth will be bound in heaven, and whatever you loose on earth will be loosed in heaven."

We, apostles in Peter's line, are heirs to this gift, this promise, this frightening spiritual authority. We can keep the realm of God, with all its power and promise and peace, locked up simply by not talking about it, or not exercising the power we’ve been given. Or we can use these keys to open it to everyone who is thirsty for God. We can keep people bound by withholding forgiveness, and loosed by exercising grace. Jesus gave us these gifts not to be locked away in a safe deposit box, but to be spent, drawn down, exhausted… only so does the store get replenished.

In prayer today, you might imagine sitting with Jesus and having him hand you a set of keys. What do they look like? What do they open? What do you want to ask him about them? What does he answer?

There are some things that need to remain bound, I suppose. And so many more that need to be released, set free. I want us to be in the “loosing” business, one lock at a time. That's what the keys of the kingdom are for.

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8-19-20 - The Rock

You can listen to this reflection here. Sunday's gospel reading is here.

This is not the time Jesus gives Simon his nickname “Petros,” meaning “rock.” He does that when they first meet, possibly teasing him about his hard-headedness. In this scene, commending him for the spiritual insight he has just offered, he uses his given name, “Simon bar Jonah,” perhaps underscoring the gravity of this moment.

And Jesus answered Peter, “Blessed are you, Simon son of Jonah! For flesh and blood has not revealed this to you, but my Father in heaven. And I tell you, you are Peter, and on this rock I will build my church, and the gates of Hades will not prevail against it.”

Then he brings in the nickname and alludes to other qualities of rock: as a sure foundation for building. Jesus once told a story about a person who built a house on sand and another who built on rock; the house built on sand washed away, while the one on rock stood firm. Now he takes that image to describe a spiritual edifice, the community of those who call him Lord, a community that will endure in the face of all that Hell can throw its way.

Does it change our view of “church” when we look at it as a mystical institution ordained by Jesus himself, meant to last for all time, not just our little communities struggling to sustain themselves?

Might we alter our critiques of church shortcomings when we remember that this community represents a threat against the forces of evil, and is the object of spiritual opposition? Might that remind us to be more faithful in praying for the church, that it be protected and true to its mission to make the transforming love of God known in the world?

How might it strengthen our commitment to mission when we remember that we are meant to be a threat to the forces of evil – we should be stirring up trouble!

Calling Peter the rock on which the church will be built reminds us that we stand on the foundation of the apostles, those who walked and worked with Jesus in his earthly life, and witnessed to his resurrection life. That’s why we read and study the teachings and stories and letters they left behind, and give these more weight than later ideas.

Today let's pray for the church in specific ways.

• Pray for your own community/ies of faith – pray for its ministry and its clarity about where it fits into the larger scheme of God’s mission.
• Pray for the churches in your community, especially how they might work together more effectively.
• Pray for the church in the world, where it is persecuted, and where it is lukewarm and complacent (in many ways a far greater danger).
• And pray for Christians who perpetrate violence against other religions; unfortunately there are many of those instances in our world too.

And pray for yourself as a part of the worldwide body of Christ. Don’t hold yourself apart, no matter how corrupt or irrelevant the church may seem at times. When we opt out, we withhold gifts that the church needs to be the agent of transformation and healing Jesus intends it to be. Let's join God in being all in.

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8-18-20 - Messiah

You can listen to this reflection here. Sunday's gospel reading is here.

Jesus asks his closest followers, “Who do you say that I am?” And Peter gets the gold star: Simon Peter answered, “You are the Messiah, the Son of the living God.”

It would take more time and space than we have here to unpack the layers of meanings and interpretations in these two titles Peter uses. Messiah was, and is, a mystical figure anticipated by the Jewish people, one who would save them from oppression and persecution. Many prophetic writings held that the Messiah would be of King David's line, whose kingdom was never to end. Not all strands of thought equate the Messiah with a divine person, and many assumed the Messiah would be a military savior, not a spiritual one.

And what does “son of the living God” mean? It could mean a divine person, which is what Christians understand the incarnate Jesus to have been. It could indicate a person anointed by God to carry forth his redemptive plan. It reveals God as not a dead deity but a living entity interacting with her creation. The phrase clearly indicates Jesus as one specially chosen as God’s instrument.

Peter seems to have hit the nail on the head:
And Jesus answered him, “Blessed are you, Simon son of Jonah! For flesh and blood has not revealed this to you, but my Father in heaven.”

Jesus suggests this awareness is not one that Peter could have arrived at through reason, only through revelation. That might help us to be less concerned when we perceive that faith and reason clash. Reason is a God-given gift for us to use; it is also a human faculty and can only take us so far. It is our spiritual intelligence, if you will, that we are to cultivate – and we can’t do that by working harder or thinking harder. We do that by learning to receive the Holy Spirit, who brings all the gifts and understanding we need.

What does “Son of the Living God?” mean to you?
Is God alive for you? In what ways?
How would you assess your “spiritual intelligence quotient?”

If we want to expand our “spiritual intelligence,” we don’t need to study harder, though study is an important part of a full spiritual life. We will do it by cultivating an attitude of praise of the Living God, and inviting that God to fill us with his life through the presence of the Holy Spirit. Then we will find our perceptions sharpened to see what God is up to around us. We will find our faith emboldened to believe in the power of God poured out in blessing. We will grow in peace and joy and love, and all those gifts promised to Christ-followers.

And we will grow better at articulating the hope we have within us, what – or who – we wait for with eager anticipation. Now, we live; in the fullness of time we will live in fullness.

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8-17-20 - Who Do You Say?

You can listen to this reflection here. Sunday's gospel reading is here.

It’s a mid-course check-in. Jesus had collected a community of followers. He had healed hundreds, fed thousands, taught, forgiven, blessed and released. But did anyone know who he really was?

Now when Jesus came into the district of Caesarea Philippi, he asked his disciples, “Who do people say that the Son of Man is?” And they said, “Some say John the Baptist, but others Elijah, and still others Jeremiah or one of the prophets.” He said to them, “But who do you say that I am?”

He used this enigmatic title “Son of Man” to refer to himself, giving biblical scholars plenty to chew on. It is a title that appears often in the Hebrew Bible, mostly in the book of the prophet Ezekiel, where it does not suggest divine identity. It can convey humility, and assert humanity. In effect he was asking his closest associates, “Who do people say that I am?”

Their answers reflected the recent or distant past. Jesus was regarded as a prophet in the mold, or even as a personification of the great Elijah or Jeremiah or another. Some thought he had taken on the mantle of John the Baptist. Then Jesus probes a bit deeper. “Never mind what other people think – who do you say that I am, you who have lived with me and walked with me, trained with me and prayed with me. Do you recognize the fullness of who I am?”

Peter gives an answer that pleases Jesus. We’ll leave that for tomorrow. Today let’s take the question as directed at us: Who do you say that Jesus is? A role model? A great teacher? A healer? Savior? Prophet? God incarnate? Try to separate your answer from what you’ve been taught all your life.

Let's go deeper, asking the question another way:

How have you experienced Jesus? Who is he to you?

If he’s just a character in a book, a figure from a painting or stained glass window with a bubble around his head, I invite you to explore his “living-ness.” It’s a big claim we make as Christians, that our Lord who died over 2000 years ago rose again and is accessible to us through his Spirit. We can know him in prayer and in action, in worship and in sacraments., even in other people. How do you know him? How would you like to?

Talk to him. What does he say?

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8-14-20 - A Turn of Mind?

You can listen to this reflection here. Sunday's gospel reading is here.

One of the words I learned in my first year of divinity school was “Immutable,” one attribute in the traditional Christian understanding of God's nature. It means “unchangeable” or “cannot be acted upon.” I found it puzzling, because there are stories in both Old and New Testaments in which God seems to be swayed from an announced course of action by human input. (Abraham’s dickering with God over the fate of Sodom is a prime example.)

In this week’s story about the Gentile woman who implored Jesus to heal her daughter, Jesus seems to change his mind. Let’s review the conversation: She came and knelt before him, saying, “Lord, help me.” He answered, “It is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs.” She said, “Yes, Lord, yet even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their masters’ table.” Then Jesus answered her, “Woman, great is your faith! Let it be done for you as you wish.” And her daughter was healed instantly.

The notion that Jesus – God – could change his mind is troublesome for those on the “predestination/everything-is-preordained” end of the theological spectrum. In that view, Jesus must have planned all along to accede to the woman’s pleas, and was somehow testing his followers or setting up a miracle. That scenario does not work for me. Not only does it clash with the story as both Matthew and Mark present it, it makes Jesus look manipulative and cruel in addition to rude and uncaring.

I go for the plainer sense of the words as we have them – which appear to show Jesus making a transition. While we don't know why he at first rebuffed this woman, after she likens herself to a dog eating crumbs under a table, he is moved by her faith and pronounces the healing of her daughter. Perhaps he recalled his own teaching that even a mustard seed of true faith Is sufficient to move mountains. Perhaps he was moved by her calling him “Lord.” Perhaps he truly looked at her for the first time. We only know he arrived at a different place than he started from.

Perhaps this should not surprise us. Exercising free will is intrinsic to what it means to be a human being made in the image of God. That, according to our Genesis story, is what got us into trouble in the first place. But it is our also our will which allows us to accept God’s grace and forgiveness. If it is both human and divine to exercise free will, then we should rejoice that Jesus displayed this quality from time to time. It gives us yet another point of connection with him, and enlivens our relationship with him.

Though it is comforting to know that Jesus was capable of a turn of mind, I dare say it is more often our minds that will be changed as we seek God’s wisdom. The invitation to life in Christ is to come to share the mind of Christ. (“Let this mind be in you, which was also in Christ Jesus.” – Phil 2:5), to align our wills with the will of God. Are there issues in your life in which you feel you and Jesus want different things? Have you brought that up in prayer? Are you willing to be shown God’s view on that matter? Can you tell God yours? No time like the present...

If nothing else, I hope this story has given us a renewed awareness of how lively our relationship with God in Christ can be. It’s not a stiff, stale historical drama – it’s up-to-the-minute eyewitness news. So let’s keep our eyes open, and our minds as well, and bear witness to the healing love of God, which is never too late.

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8-13-20 - Even the Dogs

You can listen to this reflection here. Sunday's gospel reading is here. 

Is there a greater example of humility in our scriptures than this unnamed woman, persistently asking Jesus to heal her daughter? In the face of his rejection, in the face of his insinuation that giving her the gifts of God’s kingdom would be like throwing food to dogs, she does not flinch, she does not protest, she does not argue. She simply comes back with a statement that shows she is not about to put her pride before getting what she needs from Jesus:  But she came and knelt before him, saying, “Lord, help me.” He answered, “It is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs.” She said, “Yes, Lord, yet even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their masters’ table.”

“Even the dogs get fed. If you’re going to compare me to dogs, fine – let me tell you about dogs. They eat too, maybe on crumbs and scraps, but they get fed. Surely your power is so great that even a crumb of it can heal my poor little girl?” Is there a greater example of faith in our scriptures than this? Clearly Jesus was impressed, for with this comment she finally got his attention. Then Jesus answered her, “Woman, great is your faith! Let it be done for you as you wish.”

In her gentle refusal to be thwarted, this woman models faith for us. How often do we think Jesus isn’t paying attention to our prayers? How quickly do we turn away – and sometimes walk away – because we don’t sense a response? How frequently do we conclude that “God must not really care about me," when we don’t perceive an answer?

This mother held nothing back. She was willing to beg, to cross religious and ethnic lines, to compare herself to a dog cadging crumbs under a table, to get the help her daughter needed. And how did she know Jesus had the power to help? Without knowing him, she believed whole-heartedly in what was said of him – that he was the Holy One, the Messiah, the Son of David. She knew no one else could help. She gave it her all, not only her best shot, but every shot she had.

I don’t want us to respond to this story by thinking, “Oh, I didn’t beg enough, I didn’t pray hard enough.” We don’t always receive what we pray for; there is still mystery. I do want us to know that we can approach Jesus the way she did, no holds barred, and to keep arguing our case until we are satisfied we have been heard, or we have received the grace to release it into God. I want us to go back and forth with Jesus in prayer, not walk away empty-handed and disheartened. As Wayne Gretzky famously said, "You miss 100% of the shots you never take."

What do you want Jesus to do for you? Don’t dredge up all the things you’ve wanted before; what do you want now? Tell him – in as personal way as you can. Either imagine talking with him, or speak aloud in a private space, or write him – but listen to what he says. Talk back if you need to. Jesus never issued a “no talk-back” rule.

It is a delicate balance – to pray boldly, because we know God is generous and powerful beyond our imagining, and yet to pray humbly, without feeling entitled. Let’s try to match the Canaanite woman in both the passion of her asking and the depth of her willingness to humble herself before God. Maybe we should think of ourselves as many dogs we know – loved and pampered, and willing to feast under the table as well as at it.

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8-12-20 - Mean Jesus?

You can listen to this reflection here. Sunday's gospel reading is here.

A read-through of the Gospels makes it plain that Jesus held the full range of human emotions; he was not above sorrow or sarcasm, anguish or anger. In the event we explore this week, though, he appears rude, even mean. His dismissive response to this woman and her plea is unlike any other recorded encounter. Where usually he went out of his way to connect with the needy, lepers, blind people, tax collectors and prostitutes, here he seems to push someone away.

Just then a Canaanite woman from that region came out and started shouting, “Have mercy on me, Lord, Son of David; my daughter is tormented by a demon.” But he did not answer her at all. And his disciples came and urged him, saying, “Send her away, for she keeps shouting after us.” He answered, “I was sent only to the lost sheep of the house of Israel.”

Is this Jesus “staying on mission,” as we might say nowadays, wary of getting off schedule again? Was he having a mood swing? Why would he define his boundaries so narrowly here, when he engaged with and offered healing to Gentiles elsewhere? When the woman presses the issue, he gets even more tactless: 

But she came and knelt before him, saying, “Lord, help me.” He answered, “It is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs.’’

Whoa. This goes beyond, “I’m tired, I’m busy, leave me alone.” Is Jesus saying that this women and her demon-enslaved daughter are unworthy of his Father’s love, power, healing? That promise written into our Baptismal Covenant in the 1979 Book of Common Prayer– “Will you respect the dignity of every human being?” - is not explicitly biblical, but it is consonant with the overall arc of God’s redemptive action, declaring the likes of you and me, the poor, unclean, and lame, leaders as well as the dregs of society worthy of extravagant, sacrificial love. Why not this poor mother, so desperate and full of faith?

Is Jesus frustrated at the lack of response to his ministry among so many of his own people? Is giving these gifts outside his community a reminder that they are not more fully received by his own? Whatever his motivation, the resulting words and attitude seem to clash with the Jesus we see at work elsewhere.

The way Mark tells the story, Jesus’ reply is a little more nuanced: “Let the children be fed first, for it is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs.” Feeding the “children” first at least allows for getting around to the “dogs.” Matthew’s version makes it a matter of fairness, not sequence. Whatever else it offers, this troubling vignette draws a more fully rounded, layered and shaded, flesh and blood picture of Jesus. It is oddly comforting to know that Jesus shared our humanity so fully that he too could be stressed and snappish. (Yet, without sin!)

Today we might sit quietly in prayer for a time, reflecting on the last time we said or did something inconsiderate or unkind, found ourselves acting out of a bad mood instead of our best self. Might we call that moment up in our mind, and rather than beating ourselves up for it, invite Jesus to sit with us in it? Might we draw near to him in that moment and so make space for him to draw near to us?

The rest of the story makes it clear that the seeming put-down was not the last word, that the fullness of Jesus included an ability to let another person in and adjust his settings according to new input. And at every moment, God loved him – as it is for us. As we accept that love, we’ll find our “snappish” moments become fewer and our moments of regarding the Other with love increase.

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8-11-20 - The Outlier

You can listen to this reflection here. Sunday's gospel reading is here.

She had no business bothering Jesus. She was a Gentile, and a woman. She was loud – and pushy: Jesus left that place and went away to the district of Tyre and Sidon. Just then a Canaanite woman from that region came out and started shouting, “Have mercy on me, Lord, Son of David; my daughter is tormented by a demon.”

As Mark tells this story, he names the woman as Syro-Phoenician – from the nearby coastal region called Phoenicia, part of the province of Syria. But Matthew uses an archaic term, “Canaanite.” There was no Canaan in Jesus’ time, and hadn’t been for centuries. Canaan was the name of the Promised Land that God promised to give the Israelites, the Promised Land Moses led them toward and Joshua led them into - amid much slaughter of local populations and suppression of their religions and customs, as our Bible tells the tale. Some Canaanites may have gone north into Phoenicia when the Hebrews came into their territory. This is the history Matthew stirs up, linking her with those long-ago enemies of Israel. She has no status with the Jews, no connection. So what is she doing calling Jesus by the Messianic title, “Son of David,” and asking for his help?

Once again we find an outlier naming Jesus’ true identity as the Messiah, while the people around him don’t seem to get it. This unnamed mother stands with the Roman centurion and the Samaritan woman at the well and blind Bartimaeus. She gets who Jesus is, and knows he can help her little girl.

But Jesus does not seem to “get” her. He dismisses her brusquely, refusing to hear her request (more on that tomorrow...). Though in this story he is the foreigner – he is in her territory, after all – he notes the ethnic and religious difference and seems disinclined to cross that line. Given that he has just declared that we should be judged by what comes from within us, not the external, he seems quick to categorize her and her daughter as “not his problem.”

We live in a world full of children who are not our problem – unless we open our eyes and claim them. Anti-immigration protesters, even some wearing crosses, carry signs saying, “Not our children. Not our problem.” Some people condemn “those Muslim terrorists” or “that bully Israel” or “those corrupt African politicians,” as though they are then free to wash their hands of the world’s problems. Some say, “We have hunger right here. We should feed our own.”

But some go out to where the Other lives and bring food, education, medical care and friendship. My friend Tom Furrer, an Episcopal priest in Connecticut, travels every year to northern Nigeria, where several churches and other partners have built a clinic. One year they saw nearly 7,000 patients in two weeks – including many Muslims in a region where Christian-Muslim violence is severe (this is the area where Boko Haran operates.) Tom says that one of their goals is to show love and respect to Muslims “and so to demonstrate an alternative narrative to the one of the terrorists now plaguing this country.” More than one Muslim treated at the FaithCare mission said, “I had heard that Christians hate us. Now I see that is not true.”

Do you hear someone calling your name, asking for help? Maybe someone you don’t want to see? What if you engage?

This outlier woman had something to give Jesus – and eventually he came to be open to what she offered. The most amazing things can happen when we turn and see what loud, pushy people want.

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8-10-20 - Inside Out

You can listen to this reflection here.

This coming Sunday’s gospel reading has two sections. Most of this week’s Water Daily will focus on the second section. But today let’s look at the first part. It presents as a technical discussion of religious law, but in it we see Jesus radically reinterpret the religious understanding of his people, and dismiss the leadership of the teachers and leaders. No wonder they wanted him gone.

The story begins with a seemingly harmless statement: 

Then he called the crowd to him and said to them, “Listen and understand: it is not what goes into the mouth that defiles a person, but it is what comes out of the mouth that defiles.” What’s the trouble with that?

Well, his disciples tell him, the Pharisees, chief upholders of the Law, took offense at that, presumably because it undermined rules about food and ritual cleansing. Jesus responds by further insulting them: He answered, “Every plant that my heavenly Father has not planted will be uprooted. Let them alone; they are blind guides of the blind. And if one blind person guides another, both will fall into a pit.”

Now he’s in deep, suggesting that these leaders are not authorized by God, and further, that they are blind guides for blind followers. To his puzzled disciples, Jesus explains that the impurity that should concern us is not whether our food is kosher or our hands ritually clean. Rather, it is the negative and destructive thoughts, words and actions that come from inside our hearts that defile us. He is not dispensing with the Law of Moses; he is reinterpreting it and, if you will, spiritualizing it.

This is central to the Good News, that the realm of God is less about rules and rituals than an invitation to dwell in the reality of God, in relationship with our heavenly Father. The human heart is a complicated place – capable of great love and generosity and grace, as well as pain and mean-spirited behavior toward ourselves and others. It’s our hearts that matter in the long run, more than bodies or behavior – and Jesus teaches that if we align our hearts with God, our behavior and bodies will reflect that alignment at our core. The movement is inside out, not outside in.

What does this ancient debate have to do with us? Perhaps it’s not so ancient, as our ongoing “morality wars” remind us. It is human nature to privilege rules and rituals that make us feel ordered, when what God asks is a reformed heart and a renewed spirit.

This passage tells me to look at my own heart to discern my motivations before adopting “behavior modification” techniques to help me better regulate my life. It invites me to connect with God early in the day so that what I do flows out of that renewed relationship. It reminds me to notice when I seek external “fixes” instead of internal renewal.

This teaching also reminds us as a society to treat the whole person with honor and dignity, even if he presents a problem, rather than treating symptoms and trying to impose regulation from without. Then each one can function out of her wholeness and we get a more whole community.

It’s not what we eat that’ll hurt us – it’s the distaste we harbor for our neighbor and the disrespect with which we sometimes treat ourselves. And Jesus can help us with that.

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8-7-20 - Sink or Swim

You can listen to this reflection here. Sunday's gospel reading is here.

Peter got out of the boat. He took a few steps, actually walking on water. He was doing fine, focused on Jesus… until he felt the wind and remembered he couldn’t actually do this. Then he started to sink.

So Peter got out of the boat, started walking on the water, and came towards Jesus. But when he noticed the strong wind, he became frightened, and beginning to sink, he cried out, “Lord, save me!” Jesus immediately reached out his hand and caught him, saying to him, “You of little faith, why did you doubt?”

“Why did you doubt?” I told a story yesterday about an indigenous community that took Jesus’ stories at face value and did what he did in the gospels, not considering it miraculous. I have no idea whether or not that story is true. But I do remember reading in Madeleine L’Engle’s autobiography that, as a small child at her family’s country house, she made a game of going down the stairs without touching them. She clearly remembered doing that, and she did it until she learned that was impossible.

What makes us doubt, aside from “knowing better,” is the strong winds. It’s adversity, and the times we’ve been wrong before, and the voices of people who say you’re crazy to believe you can do this or say that, that it’s nuts to be a person of faith. This does not mean that we should do everything we think of – but we should respond to the Spirit’s promptings. Peter stepped out onto the water at Jesus’ command, and because Jesus was out there waiting for him. 

The risks we should consider are ones we take as steps of faith, in relationship with the One who has told us all things are possible. That One is also at hand to save us when we start to sink. Most activities of faith involve some stepping out and some sinking… at those times, like Peter, we cry out for Jesus’ hand, and he is there. The crying out and trusting that God will be with us are also acts of faith. Our whole faith life “out of the boat” is one we live in relationship to God, not as solo operators. Remember, Peter walked toward Jesus.

Name a time in your life when you really stepped out, felt called to something, and went forward, not sure if you would be supported. Did you ever falter? What was it that caused you to doubt? Did you start to sink? What was your response? What was the activity of God in you at that time? We need these memories to strengthen us for action now.

What faith activity do you feel called to walk into at this time in your life? What would you need to feel or know in order to take that first step onto the water? Do you need a stronger sense that Jesus is with you, waiting for you, ready to help you if you falter? That's a good prayer for today...

The message our culture often gives is “You’re on your own, sink or swim.” Jesus’ message is, “Walk or sink… and even if you feel yourself sinking, I will be with you.” Whatever risks of faith we feel called to take, we can step out, keeping our eyes fixed on Jesus, even as the winds and the waves try to claim our attention. One step after another, fixed on his power and love, we can cross oceans.

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8-6-20 - Out Of the Boat

You can listen to this reflection here. Sunday's gospel reading is here.

I was told once of an indigenous people who were evangelized by missionaries. These visitors told them key stories about Jesus, but then took sick and died. The people of the tribe were open to the power of God as the missionaries had described it, and took the stories at face value. For years, they routinely crossed rivers and streams by walking on the water – until other missionaries came years later, and explained that it was just a story. Then they couldn’t do it anymore. I have no idea if this account is true.

Three of our four gospels record Jesus’ walking on the water. Whatever we make of the tale, it was clearly foundational for the earliest Christians, one of many stories that reveal the Kingdom life of God displayed in Jesus the Christ. Okay, sure, but he was Jesus. If you buy Jesus being the Christ, it’s not so surprising that he walked on water.

Matthew, however, adds a detail that brings the story closer to where we live. When the disciples see Jesus walking on the sea and are terrified, he says, “Take heart, it is I; do not be afraid.” And Peter responds in a fearless way: Peter answered him, “Lord, if it is you, command me to come to you on the water.” He said, “Come.” So Peter got out of the boat, started walking on the water, and came towards Jesus.

Now the pressure is on. If Peter can walk on the water at Jesus’ invitation, what is to prevent the rest of us? Why don’t we try it? Is it because we “know” we cannot, and that knowledge provided by our physical senses so overrides any spiritual conviction we might have? If we didn't know that this is "just a story," would our faith be less inhibited?

Just a story? This is quite a story, and one of those that we can run with, whether we take it as reported fact or spiritual metaphor. Even as metaphor, it can bear our weight. Because stepping out in faith, taking risks we believe we’ve been called by God to take, these are actions intrinsic to the Christian life. I don’t believe any follower of Christ is called to just stay in her boat, come hell or high water. There are times when we’re all called to get out of our boat and take a step on the water toward Jesus. And then another.

Yesterday we explored what some of the challenges facing our “boats” are. Those challenges may or may not be related to the areas in which we sense a nudge to take a risk in faith. So today let's ask: What seas do you feel called to step out onto? A different job? Retirement? New relationship? Greater ministry responsibility? Living on less? Living healthier? Less dependence on someone or something? More dependence?

This is also a question that churches must constantly ask: where is Jesus calling us to step out of the boat of our comfort or complacency and walk with him on the water? Might that mean giving up some ministries? Taking on new ones? Worshipping differently? Joining in community with people who are different from us? What invitations do we discern in this time of enforced “doing church differently?”

The answers will vary depending on the person and the community. The one constant is this: No one is asked to step out of the boat onto a stormy sea by himself.
So Peter got out of the boat, started walking on the water, and came towards Jesus.

And Jesus stayed right there with him. If we step out, we step out with Jesus. What more do we need, than courage, our shaky faith, and all the power in the universe?
Jesus said, “Come.”

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8-5-20 - Take Heart

You can listen to this reflection here. Sunday's gospel reading is here.

I am not particularly “open” to the world of spirits; I prefer the company of the living. But once I experienced what seemed to me to be the strong presence of God in a room where I was praying, and I confess I was terrified. Intrusions of the spiritual Other, even when holy, often inspire fear. Most angelic encounters recorded in the bible start with the angel saying, “Do not be afraid…”

So it is here: 

And early in the morning he came walking towards them on the lake. But when the disciples saw him walking on the lake, they were terrified, saying, “It is a ghost!” And they cried out in fear. But immediately Jesus spoke to them and said, “Take heart, it is I; do not be afraid."

What was more frightening, I wonder – the sight of Jesus strolling on the surface of the water, or the thought he might be a ghost? Neither notion is comforting. Apparitions from the beyond are no more unsettling than seeing the seemingly immutable laws of nature overturned. We expect reality to behave in the ways we have observed; the supernatural messes with our filing system.

Yet, an intrusion of the Other into our neatly categorized world is exactly what we celebrate as Christians: the cataclysmic intrusion of God into human form and life in Christ, and in these days after Pentecost, the constant intrusion of the Holy Spirit in our lives and selves. Sometimes those encounters are powerful enough to inspire awe in us – and occasionally even fear. And so these words of Jesus are for us, too: “Take heart. Take heart, I am here.”

In our story, the disciples have also been coping with high waves and a nasty headwind pushing them further and further from shore. “Take heart” was Jesus’ invitation to trust and allow his peace to flow into them, even as he spoke these words standing on the stormy sea.

Beyond the storms of pandemic and racial injustice, we have just endured a literal storm; where I live the winds and waves were wild. What winds are you sailing into in your life at present, keeping you from getting to shore, to any kind of stability and peace? Any waves threatening to swamp your boat? Today in prayer imagine yourself in a storm-tossed boat, bringing to mind specifically those things that are causing the wind and the waves. And then see Jesus outside the boat, walking on the water toward you, peaceful, calm, in control. Does knowing he’s right there change how you feel about these challenges? Invite him into each one.

I pray that we will enjoy a holy intrusion into our quotidian routines. I hope the Holy Spirit shows up, bidden or not, and lets us know she’s there. I hope he still the storms in us, and gives the assurance we need that God does not stay out of our lives, but comes as close as we will allow, unbound by the limits we live with. As we allow God to come closer still, we will find ourselves less bound by those limits too.

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8-4-20 - Missing the Boat

You can listen to this reflection here. Sunday's gospel reading is here.

Yesterday I confessed my allegiance to my to-do list; it might be considered a source of abundance in my life, since it truly never runs out. It also provides my best excuses for not taking time away from the workload to relax, refresh, and simply “be.” What if I don’t get the next thing done, or I miss a deadline or an appointment?

In this week’s gospel story, we see Jesus make that choice, to miss the boat, sending the disciples on without him. Yet somehow he arrives when needed:
When evening came, he was there alone, but by this time the boat, battered by the waves, was far from the land, for the wind was against them. And early in the morning he came walking towards them on the lake.

Oh, is that how it’s done? Sure, if we could teleport through space, or skip across bodies of water, we’d make up for lost time too, wouldn’t we? And it seems we can’t do either of those things, being more bound by limits of space and time and elements than Jesus appeared to have been.

Yet I’ve often found the principle works just the same. When I take the time I need for prayer and self-care, somehow deadlines get met, or they shift due to other, unforeseen factors (global pandemic taking a bunch of things off the calendar, anyone?) Or I miss them and find out it’s okay. At my best, when I feel the wind of the Spirit in my sails, I feel that God has the timing under control and I just have to walk in the “good works God has prepared beforehand for me.” Things that I thought I should have done ages ago work out in a way that they could not possibly have before this moment, or they prove not to have been as necessary as I thought.

But we only know that after the fact, don’t we? Somehow we have to keep navigating the fine line between our agency as servants of God, and the power of God to accomplish what God wills. Some say “Work as though it’s all up to you; pray as though it’s all up to God.” That’s too separate for me. I prefer, “Pray, because it’s all up to God, and work as the Spirit guides you.” And if you don’t feel any guidance, go forward as you want – if we are faithful, God will make sure the pieces line up in the end. Somehow.

When have you have taken time for yourself, and not done something you were supposed to do, or missed being somewhere you were supposed to be? Did the thing get done anyway? Did you connect with the right people later? Was there any “coincidence” in it coming out right?

Does your spirit yearn for some restorative time now? Are your obligations proving to be obstacles to slaking that thirst? What would it look like if you just took the time and then watched to see how the Spirit of God gets you across the water to that boat?

I flunk vacation-taking, and last week traded “work” work for cooking, cleaning and hostessing work. I crave some down-time, to laze around, watch the birds and pet the cats and admire the growing tomatoes and squashes. I don’t know what boats I might miss if I take that time, but I’ll trust that it will all work out. Certainly I’ll be less stressed.

One of my favorite cartoons shows a person sitting contentedly at a desk, over the caption, “I love deadlines. I love to watch them fly by.” Can I get an amen?

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8-3-20 - Time Apart

You can listen to this reflection here. Sunday's gospel reading is here.

Sooner or later, Jesus was going to get that “alone time” he’d been wanting. It came a day later than planned, a full day of healing, teaching and miraculously feeding thousands of people – but then he took his retreat. Once the leftovers were collected, "Immediately he made the disciples get into the boat and go on ahead to the other side, while he dismissed the crowds. And after he had dismissed the crowds, he went up the mountain by himself to pray."

Being a conduit of the power of God takes energy out of one, even Jesus. The need to rest, recharge, reconnect with the Spirit of God is as important as the visible ministry we do, maybe more so. We can do a kind of recharging in community, especially over a meal and a celebration, but for most people, our deep spirit is best renewed in solitude.

Solitude is hard to find in our multiply-connected, always “on” world. And maybe there is a deeper malaise that makes it hard for many to seek it. Our constant input, 24-7 connectivity provides ample cover to avoid darker feelings, disappointments, mistakes, hurts we have inflicted or received, emptiness and pain.

We know about the dangers of distracted driving and the damage it causes. It is a symptom of the deeper problem of distracted living, moving too fast to notice what and who is around us, rushing to the next thing that will make us feel connected, filling every moment and part of our lives so we don’t have to face the emptiness and loss inside.

What happens when you get time alone? Are you able to sit quietly with yourself, or do you read, work, download, check texts, emails, social media feeds, google questions and watch funny pet videos? I’m afraid I too often do the latter; sitting quietly with myself or with Jesus can be challenging. I run back to my to-do list at the drop of a hat. The to-do list makes me feel filled and fulfilled, recognized, connected. Who wants to sit in silence before the vastness that is God?

Well, Jesus did, and he knew he needed that if he was to live fully into his identity. As God, he needed to tend to his relationship with his heavenly Father. As man, he was as vulnerable as we are to the games of ego and gratification and regard. One way to live out of his true identity and not the false ones the world tried lure him into was to break away on his own for prayer and solitude. Same goes for us.

Do you do that every week? Every day? Might we covenant together to spend about ten minutes off the grid each day this week, sitting with the silence and stillness, uncomfortable as it might be? The only way to reset our priorities is to sit before God, still and waiting and expectant. Man, that’s hard for me! If it’s easy for you, you are blessed indeed. Share your secret with someone.

Here’s a prayer we can try: “Come, Holy Spirit, and quiet my mind, stir up my soul. Breathe your Spirit into me and let me come into stillness. Let me hear what I need to hear, discern what I need to let go of. Renew my spirit, refresh my mind, and re-center me so that, like a record centered on a turntable, your song plays through me true, without distortion, for those around me to hear.”

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