Water Daily: October 2021

11-1-21 - Viral Saints

You can listen to this reflection here.

Today is All Saints Day – a major feast day in the Christian calendar. It is a day that affirms your sainthood, and mine. The term “saint” is conferred not only on those who are “holy” or “a good person.” In the New Testament it is simply a label assigned to those who follow Christ, however straight or wobbly our path may be. Paul’s letters are often addressed to “the saints who are at Ephesus,” or “the saints in Thessalonika.” We know from the contents of those letters those folks weren’t always “holy.” They were saints by virtue of their baptism into the holiness of Christ. You are too.

We are made saints at baptism. We grow into our sainthood as we increase our capacity to love, to hold God’s power and grace, and learn to carry that contagious love into the world. No one wants to think about contagion as we slowly emerge from a global pandemic that has claimed millions of lives – but I want to go there. What if we think of saints as viral cells that strengthen rather than weaken the bodies with whom they come into contact? Who help people become whole? At our best, as saints of God we can spread viral love, clustering to infect people with hope and dignity, scattering to carry this love far and wide.

How would you like to celebrate your sainthood today? Maybe draw (“write”) an icon of yourself, emphasizing those gifts you particularly cherish in yourself. This is not self-promotion – it is a way of celebrating the great thing God did when God created you; the wonderful work Jesus has done in making possible your wholeness; the transformation the Holy Spirit brings in and through you every day.

Or maybe you’d like to write a brief hagiography of yourself – how you came to be the saint you are. Who are the saints in your life who led you closer to God, or who have helped you stay in relationship with God?

And who might you want to “infect” with hope, compassion, dignity, love? How can you, working with the other saints with whom you worship and work, carry God’s contagious love into your community?

Recognizing our sainthood does not mean we stop the processes of healing and becoming more Christ-centered. We’re not “done,” at least not in this lifetime. But we are already saints. Yes, you! Enjoy your feast day!

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10-29-21 - God's Priorities

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

Phew! Jesus passed the test set him by the scribe who asked, “Which commandment is first of all?” Though Jesus’ answer may have been both predictable (“Love your one God”) and surprising, “And love your neighbor as yourself”), his insight seems to have led his questioner to an “Aha!” moment.

Then the scribe said to him, “You are right, Teacher; you have truly said that ‘he is one, and besides him there is no other’; and ‘to love him with all the heart, and with all the understanding, and with all the strength,’ and ‘to love one’s neighbor as oneself,’—this is much more important than all whole burnt-offerings and sacrifices.” When Jesus saw that he answered wisely, he said to him, “You are not far from the kingdom of God.” After that no one dared to ask him any question.

The scribe’s understanding that God wants us focused on love, not on religiosity and ritual, echoes many passages in the writings of Israel’s prophets and psalms. “For you have no delight in sacrifice; if I were to give a burnt-offering, you would not be pleased,” says the Psalmist. “The sacrifice acceptable to God is a broken spirit; a broken and contrite heart, O God, you will not despise."“I hate, I despise your festivals, and I take no delight in your solemn assemblies,” God thunders through the prophet Amos. “Even though you offer me your burnt-offerings and grain-offerings, I will not accept them...But let justice roll down like waters, and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream."

If Jesus was promoting a reform movement, it was aimed at rooting out religious leaders’ distorted emphasis on rules and rituals, on a bloody – and remunerative – system of sacrificing animals to appease an angry God. Religious systems have often learned to prosper financially by sowing spiritual insecurity. Jesus’ message was, and is, “No! God is love. God has drawn near to you, with power and forgiveness and healing and restoration. The realm of God is now! The realm of God is here.” So he says to the scribe, “You are not far from the kingdom of God.” He is so close to grasping the breathtaking reality of God With Us, Emmanu-el. He is so close to learning to dwell in that realm, and not in the death-dealing precincts of legalism and distorted sacrifice.

How about us? Are we “close to the Kingdom of God?” Have we ingested the Good News that God is love, that God cannot but love, even the most unlovable and unworthy?
Are we ready to take on Jesus’ Love Challenge – to truly love God with all our hearts and minds, soul and strength? Are we ready to turn to our neighbors in love, and love ourselves with compassion and clarity?

Jesus’ answer finally put a stop to the incessant challenges from religious leaders. It opened the way for much more fruitful exploration into the nature of God and love. It opens the way for us to approach the throne of grace and be soaked in love.

10-28-21 - Loving Our Neighbors - and Ourselves

You can listen to this reflection here.

In this week’s gospel reading, we overhear a conversation between Jesus and a scribe who has asked him, “Which commandment is first of all?” His first reply is unsurprising; he quotes the Shema Yisrael and adds, “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind, and with all your strength.” Got it. Religious people know about loving God.

But then he adds half an obscure verse from the book of Leviticus, and raises it to the same status as the Shema: “The second is this, ‘You shall love your neighbor as yourself.’ There is no other commandment greater than these.” That was a game-changer.

This verse comes from Leviticus 19:18: You shall not take vengeance or bear a grudge against any of your people, but you shall love your neighbor as yourself: I am the Lord. Chapter 19 of Leviticus details a series of laws governing all sorts of human relationships, commercial, sexual, familial, occult – you name it. These six words barely stand out, yet Jesus elevates them to core commandment. “On these two commandments hang all the Law and the Prophets,” he says in another gospel version of this story.

Jesus’ piercing intellect and knowledge of Scripture allowed him to strip away the thicket of words and hone in on the one commandment that enables us to keep all the others. If we could only love God with our whole being, and truly love our neighbors and ourselves, we would need no other commandments.

Why is it so hard to love our neighbors? For starters, there are too many of them. We’re overwhelmed, and so we rank and sort them by all kinds of categories – how like us or not they are; how needy or resourced they are; how much or little we approve of how they conduct themselves. As soon as we start to rank and pick and choose, love is compromised. When Jesus was asked by another scribe, “Then who is my neighbor?” he answered by telling a story in which the neighbor who cared for a person in need turned out to be someone his questioner had defined out of his neighbor list.

And we cannot control what our neighbors do – that can make them hard to love. In the fraught and fractured times in which we live, it is even harder to name someone as “neighbor” (let alone fellow Christian) who holds views and takes actions that we consider hateful and destructive to human life. But, as the sign that has appeared on many lawns reads, “Jesus said, “Love your neighbor. No exceptions.” We may have to find God’s love for some neighbors and borrow that until we can find our own. There’s a place to start. Everything gets easier when we love our neighbors.

But the verse includes another challenge: “Love your neighbor as yourself.” Ah – there’s a deeper reason we can find it hard to love our neighbors. It’s hard to love ourselves, especially if the world or family or an inner sense of shame or unworthiness tell us that’s ridiculous. But God says, “I love you, I made you, I delight in you.” Are we not to love what God loves? We may have to find God’s love for ourselves and borrow that until we can find our own. And when we love ourselves, with compassion and clarity about all that’s lovable in us and all that is not, we are better able to love our neighbors the same way.

Sigh! As my friend Peter says, “If it were easy, everyone would be doing it.” Maybe we make it harder than it has to be. Anything God calls us to, God equips us for. Maybe we can stop trying to do this loving on our own, and let God’s love flow through us - to ourselves, to our neighbors and back to God.

10-27-21 - The One-Ness of God

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

When Jesus is asked, “Which commandment is first of all?,” he doesn’t have to reach far for an answer. The Shema Yisrael would have been on his lips and in his heart from his earliest youth. The Shema is considered the most important part of a Jewish prayer service, and observant Jews recite it at least twice each day as a mitzvah, or commandment.

The heart of this prayer, drawn from Deuteronomy 6:4-9, 11:13-21 and Numbers 15:37-41 (thank you, Wikipedia…) is “Hear, O Israel: the LORD is our God, the LORD is one.” “Lord” is rendered as the tetragrammaton, the four-character symbol that spells what we transliterate as “Jahweh.” This emphasis on God’s nature as one Almighty God, not many lesser gods, will cause some trouble for early Christian theologians when they are driven, in reckoning with other things Jesus says, to affirm God’s three-ness as well as God’s one-ness.

But Jesus doesn’t stop with affirming who God is. He commands us to love this Lord our God with every fiber of our being, breaking it down:

“You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind, and with all your strength.” I don’t know if we’re capable of doing anything with a whole heart and mind, let alone soul and strength. How might we go about living into this seemingly impossible command?

Let’s start with love. Do we love God? How can we love someone we can’t see or touch, who has ultimate power over life and death, whose ways are utter mystery, who blesses us yet allows us so much pain and suffering? So much of our interaction with God is rooted in asking for provision or protection, healing or forgiveness – the relationship feels too one-sided, too contractual, to be truly loving. Yet I have known moments when my heart was so filled with blessing – on a gorgeous day, in a wonderful encounter, when a ministry is firing on all cylinders – that I could say to God, to Jesus, to the Spirit, “I love you.”

If love is a choice, not a feeling, we can cultivate that awareness of loving God at moments when it hasn’t hit us in a blinding rush. We can learn it, as we learn to fully love a spouse once the flush of in-love-ness has abated. We can make some time and space in prayer and say with intention:

“God, I love you with my whole heart.” And pause; reflect on that. What else does our heart love?
Then, “God I love you with my whole soul.” Pause, reflect – can we control our soul?
Then, “God, I love you with my whole mind.” Pause, reflect – what does that mean? How might we bring our whole mind into the act of loving God?
Then, God, I love you with my whole strength.” Pause, reflect: Our whole strength is a lot of strength.

God is one, and God is love. When we love God we are simply responding to love that surrounds and supports us like water. Learning to live into this commandment will make us better at loving everyone. And ourselves.

10-26-21 - Focusing on God

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

On the face of it, this question a scribe asks Jesus seems silly: “Which commandment is the first of all?” All the commandments are important; is one more so than another? But if you’ve devoted your life to God’s law, and keeping the commandments is the measure of pleasing God, maybe knowing you can keep the most important ensures your fidelity to the rest. Or something.

And the fact is, not everyone would give the same answer that Jesus did. Many would say, “Oh, the most important is ‘thou shalt not kill,’” or “Thou shalt not steal.” Certainly the preoccupation with sexual sin among many American Christians would move “thou shalt not commit adultery” into the top spot. But Jesus says the Number One commandment has to do not with how we regard other people, but how we regard God. “The first is, ‘Hear, O Israel: the Lord our God, the Lord is one; you shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind, and with all your strength.’”

This is the Shema Yisrael, “Hear, O Israel: the LORD is our God, the LORD is one.” This is how we are to live a life of righteousness and holiness, not by focusing on our behavior, but by making God our focus, acknowledging who God is, and loving God with our whole selves.

How easy it is to take our focus off of God and let the life around us, this world and its people, consume our attention. As soon as we do that, we start to focus on behavior, not devotion. When we make God our focus and cultivate our love for God, godly behavior flows from us. When we start with moral behavior, we become more distant from God, trying to please God or walking away from what we feel are impossible demands.

To focus on God, on loving God, puts us in a place of Grace. To focus on moral behavior puts us in the space of Law. That is not a life-giving place to dwell, as Paul articulated so powerfully in Galatians and Romans.

What spiritual practices might we put into place to help us cultivate a God-focused life? Certainly a pattern of daily prayer, or frequent stops throughout the day to return our gaze God-ward is one strategy. Another is to become mindful when we’re in the grip of a negative emotion – anxiety or anger, despair or envy. Chances are our focus has become consumed by something or someone not-God. Awareness of our emotional state can remind us to pray about the issue troubling us and invite God’s grace to cover it, and us.

One day we will live fully in the presence of God, of love beyond our comprehension. All will be love. We prepare ourselves for that day by cultivating our awareness of God’s presence here and now, and learning to love God with all our heart, soul, mind and strength.

10-25-21 - For the Sake of Argument

You can listen to this reflection here.

Next Sunday’s gospel story opens right in the middle of an argument. Jesus has just successfully fielded a bunch of ground balls and pop flies (getting in my baseball metaphors right in time for the Fall Classic…) from Pharisees, Herodians and Sadducees about taxes, marriage and the afterlife. That seems to have emboldened a scribe loitering nearby to test Jesus with his own quiz:

One of the scribes came near and heard them disputing with one another, and seeing that he answered them well, he asked him, "Which commandment is the first of all?"

Lest we think this merely a contentious culture, let’s remember that argument and disputation were how ancient Jewish leaders sought to mine the truth, the Torah. Scripture was not blindly authoritative in the way some today see it; it was full of nuggets to be pored over, looked at this way and that, approached from different angles, chewed over and digested. That process involved arguments and counter-arguments, comparison to other scriptures, imaginative retellings (midrash) that teased out other possible interpretations, and arguments and counter-arguments to those interpretations. Interpretations by known and respected rabbis might outweigh those of lesser lights, and the ones that came to dominate were those agreed with by the most people. Those with the most "shares" stood out.

All these questions lobbed at Jesus that we might see at as entrapment and interrogation – which they may also have been – were a sign of grudging respect, as leaders evaluated his wisdom and how it stacked up to others. And Jesus played by different rules – often, instead of giving an interpretation directly, he’d turn the question back on the interrogators. At other times he gave a definitive answer with an authority uncommon in this system of constant questioning and reinterpretation. In the passage we examine this week he will answer straight out, but combine a foundational passage of scripture with one that was little known and give them equal weight. Jesus made his own rules.

What questions do you have for Jesus? In imaginative prayer today, pretend you are that scribe, overhearing his conversations and daring to approach him with a really good question yourself. Where are you? What does he look like in this scene?
What do you ask him? What does he answer?

Sometimes we get answers to our hard questions, and sometimes we have to wait, maybe a really long time. But Jesus never seemed to mind the questions, and as one who invites us into the kind of relationship in which no topic is off limits, he welcomes our coming near with our own. That’s the most important thing that scribe did – he came near and asked. We can too.

10-22-21 - The New, New Story

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

Stories function in interesting ways for many people. While we generally love a new story, something we haven’t encountered before, we are also very attached to the stories we already know. “I love to tell the story,” goes the old-time gospel hymn, “The old, old story of Jesus and his love.”

And yet that “old, old story” is ever becoming new in our lives. In order to really accept healing and freedom and renewal, we need to be able to believe a different narrative than the one that has defined our lives so far, a different story than the one the world or our parents or our society has told us. We are often bound by what we have experienced as “normal.” Jesus’ gift is to show us the new normal, to show us what we can be.

Bartimaeus believed this story he had heard about Jesus, and it gave him power to walk out of his old story into the new. The blind man said to him, "My teacher, let me see again.’" Jesus said to him, "Go; your faith has made you well." Immediately he regained his sight and followed him on the way.

That meant giving up a certain kind of identity, a certain degree of security. Walking into our new stories always does. That’s why we often stay stuck in situations that are less than what God might have for us.

What old stories have defined you for too long?
One way to get at that question is with this one: What are you pretending not to know?

What new story is calling you? Maybe it’s a vocation stirring in you, to use your time and gifts in some way other than how you have been doing. Maybe it’s a different place, a new person to love, a rediscovery of yourself. What is trying to be born in you?

Bartimaeus left his roadside and followed Jesus – right into Jerusalem, where Jesus was at first lauded and soon after condemned to a brutal death. That new story might not have been at all what Bartimaeus hoped for – and maybe it was more. For he got to witness firsthand the greatest love story the world has ever known. And he got to be around when that perfect man who had poured himself out for us, even to death, rose from the grave to usher all of us into the New, New Story God is writing. And that story, like God’s mercies, is new every morning, as we allow it to claim us.

10-21-21 - What Do You Want?

You can listen to this reflection here.

What a beautiful question: “What do you want me to do for you?” How often does someone ask us that? Take a moment and think about it. What would you answer if someone stood before you and said, “What do you want me to do for you?”

I can think of a billion things, mostly having to do with stress. Give me some time off. Inspire my congregations. Increase my metabolism. Send me an IT person.

What if the person standing before you asking that could move heaven and earth? That’s what Bartimaeus experienced in this week’s story: And they called the blind man, saying to him, “Take heart; get up, he is calling you.” So throwing off his cloak, he sprang up and came to Jesus. Then Jesus said to him, “What do you want me to do for you?” The blind man said to him, ‘My teacher, let me see again."

On one level, it seems ridiculous for Jesus to ask – isn’t it obvious a blind man wants to see? Yet Jesus did Bartimaeus the honor of asking him to speak his desire. He didn’t assume, he didn’t impose. He asked, inviting relationship.

Jesus gives us the same honor, and the same freedom. Yes, God knows what we need, better than we do. And God wants us to ask, just as we want our children to ask for what they desire. Prayer is not about getting what we want; prayer is about drawing closer in relationship to the God who loves us. As we can ask in freedom, God responds in freedom.

It’s not like a genie granting three wishes; we don’t always understand the response. Just as we don’t give our children things that would harm them, we sometimes seem to experience a “no” from God. Presumably, had Bartimaeus said, “I want you to smite those who harass me,” Jesus would not have complied. We can be sure, though, that we worship a God who desires wholeness for us in body, mind and spirit.

I have preached on this story in nursing homes, to people in wheelchairs. That tested my faith: “What do you want me to do for you?” Still I went about praying for God’s healing love to be released in each one as I shared communion. I don’t know why I didn't see quickened limbs and straightened spines; I believe Jesus’ power is undiminished and his presence real.

It's not always instant. Yet I will proclaim God’s goodness and love, and keep telling her what I would like him to do for me, and for this hurting, beautiful world.

10-20-21 - Throwing Off Our Cloaks

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

They tried to hush him, this blind man sitting by the side of a road shouting out for Jesus.
Many sternly ordered him to be quiet, but he cried out even more loudly, “Son of David, have mercy on me!”

But it was too late – Jesus had heard the commotion and had stopped: Jesus stood still and said, “Call him here.” And they called the blind man, saying to him, 'Take heart; get up, he is calling you.' So throwing off his cloak, he sprang up and came to Jesus.

What wonderful energy is conveyed in that sentence, in Bartimaeus’ actions. He throws off his cloak. He springs up. He comes to Jesus.

Wait a minute, springing up and going to Jesus I get. But why did he throw off his cloak? What did that cloak signify? Perhaps it represented his identity as a beggar. It may have been more than protection against the elements – it might have been his sleeping bag as well, if he lived by that road, which some beggars did. It may have been his most prized possession, as well as a symbol of his degradation.

Whatever that cloak represents, his throwing it away speaks volumes: Bartimaeus knew that he wasn’t going to need it anymore. Even before he got to Jesus’ side, he was so sure about Jesus’ power to heal, that he cast it aside and came to Jesus exposed and vulnerable. Bartimaeus was ready to cast off the story that had defined him and enter a new story. Bartimaeus was ready for healing.

What “cloaks” do we cling to that inhibit our faith? What cloaks define our status in this world? For some, the cloak might be signs of security, like safe homes and bank accounts. For some, patterns of addiction that are safe and familiar, no matter how deadly. For some, it’s carrying too much weight, or being busy all the time.

Do we continue to benefit from habits and patterns and wounds that may tell a truth about our lives, but not the whole truth, not God’s truth? Bartimaeus had a certain safety in his life as a beggar; little was asked of him; he was cared for, more or less. But he was ready to toss that away and move into a new life.

Is there a time when you have tossed away your cloak in faith, confident that God was up to something in your life – or at least ready to stand before God vulnerable and expectant? Did you ever take it back again (it can be distressingly easy to find the cloaks we throw aside…).

Is there anything you cling to now, that may hold you back from putting your full trust in God? What if you talked with Jesus about it? What if, in imaginative prayer, you asked Bartimaeus what it felt like to throw away a garment that both protected and falsely defined him?

Bartimaeus was ready. He believed, and he sprang. Jesus is calling you and me to his side too. What need we throw away so we are free to spring up and go to him?

10-19-21 - Lord, Have Mercy

You can listen to this reflection here.

In this week’s story, we find Jesus leaving Jericho with a large crowd, on his way to Jerusalem. At the side of the road sits a blind beggar named Bartimaeus, who is anything but shy. When he heard that it was Jesus of Nazareth, he began to shout out and say, “Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!” Many sternly ordered him to be quiet, but he cried out even more loudly, “Son of David, have mercy on me!”

This shouted prayer has come through the ages from the lips of Bartimaeus into the lives of millions of Christ-followers. It forms the heart the “Jesus prayer,” which many pilgrims and mystics have taken as a mantra to help them cultivate the practice of praying without ceasing. This spiritual practice, called “hesychasm,” flourished in Russia and some of the Eastern Orthodox churches, and has popped up in other unexpected places, most notably in J.D. Salinger’s great novella of spirituality and neurosis, Franny and Zooey. Also called “the prayer of the heart,” the words vary somewhat, but are most often rendered, “Jesus, Son of God, have mercy on me,” with the words “…a sinner” added in some formulations.

What is it about these words that so many have found so compelling? Need we beg for mercy from a God of love? In a perfect world, we wouldn’t. In the world we yet live in, awaiting the perfection of God’s plan of redemption, many of us find ourselves aware of the need for God’s mercy and love on a regular basis, whether from a place of pain or poverty or as a cry of repentance. No matter how well we know God’s grace, our awareness of being less than we were made to be compels us to that prayer.

But let us not mistake this for a prayer of degradation or forced humility. Bartimaeus uttered these words with vigor and volume; this was not a meek plea, but a cry of faith and recognition both of who Jesus was and who he himself was. God is God, and we are not. God is all in all; we are ever becoming whole. This side of glory, we will always be in need of the mercy of the One who made us, knows us, loves us, and never lets us go.

What would you utter such a cry about? What are you in need of deliverance from or blessing with? One night a friend, whose family was going through great travail, was putting his very church-experienced little girls to bed. As he turned out the light, he sighed and said under his breath, "Lord, have mercy!" And from the darkness came the whispered response, "Christ, have mercy."

Whatever drives us to pray it, let us like Bartimaeus, pray it with pride, “Lord Jesus! Son of David! Have mercy on me.”

10-18-21 - Son of...

You can listen to this reflection here.

This Sunday’s Gospel reading finds us at the cusp of the final act in Jesus’ earthly life and mission. He and his entourage come to Jericho and, the text suggests, leave it soon after. Jericho is his last stop on his way to Jerusalem for the last time; there he will enter into his passion and death. On the outskirts of Jericho, the ancient site of Joshua’s miraculous victory, the new Joshua – Yeshu’a – encounters a blind man, a blind man who can see better than anyone else around.

They came to Jericho. As he and his disciples and a large crowd were leaving Jericho, Bartimaeus son of Timaeus, a blind beggar, was sitting by the roadside. When he heard that it was Jesus of Nazareth, he began to shout out and say, ‘Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!’

Why does Mark make such a point about Bartimaeus’ sonship? “Bar” means “son” in Aramaic, so Bartimaeus already means “Son of Timaeus.” Thus Mark identifies him as “Son of Timeaeus, Son of Timaeus.” Now, maybe it’s just that his father was named Timaeus, but that’s not a Hebrew name. And this isn’t Mark’s usual pattern. Some scholars think Mark is trying to make a point with this name – “Timaeus” is also the name of one of the more influential Dialogs of Plato, and contains a discourse on the eye and vision. Is Mark signaling his readers with this name that we are talking about a new way of seeing the universe? Or is he suggesting that all the intellectual and philosophical insight in the world won’t allow you to see what can only be perceived by faith?

This blind man already sees by faith what no one else in the story seems to: who Jesus really is. Mark’s gospel is the one that makes the most of the “Messianic secret” – and here a blind man “outs” him as the Son of David – code for the Messiah, whom prophets said would come from David's line.

What do these two sons, the son of Timaeus and the son of David have to do with each other? And what do they have to do with us? One might say we are all sons and daughters of both Timaeus and God, heirs to both worldly reason and spiritual sight. As Jesus lived with two identities at once, human and divine, so we in some measure live in these two realities simultaneously, even as they exist in tension.

This rich story invites us to explore our dual citizenship in the realm of this world and the realm of God. It bids us question how our gift of physical sight and intellectual insight can help or hinder our faith vision.

How does your capacity for thought about God lead you closer to God?
What “evidence” does the world present that holds you back from believing the impossible power of God? Do we fall prey to the mixed messages of too much data?

As we will see, Bartimaeus was unhindered by physical sight, even as he longed to see. But his faith vision was highly developed. The invitation for we who are blessed with physical vision is to be as sure as this blind man was about the God-Life that is all around us, unseen but very, very real.

10-15-21 - Ransomed

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

Many Christians these days challenge traditional doctrines of the Atonement, those various ways of articulating how Christ’s death on the cross effected salvation for humankind. Some reject the idea that humanity needed saving; others are put off by the notion that our God of love could be so wrathful as to require an atoning sacrifice to meet the demands of his justice, let alone the sacrifice of his own son. Ideas that Christians have prayed, confessed, preached and sung about for centuries are suddenly in the recycle bin.

This is more than I could address in a short spiritual reflection, even if I were equipped. I raise it simply because of the last thing Jesus said in his discourse to his disciples about service and humble leadership: “For the Son of Man came not to be served but to serve, and to give his life a ransom for many.”

If we wonder why theories of atonement developed at all, that line about giving his life as a ransom is one reason. That tells us something about how Jesus saw his mission and impending passion. It suggests that “many” are indeed in need of being rescued, saved, liberated, redeemed like an item sitting on a pawn shop shelf.

Whatever you think about sin and sinfulness, however you view your need to be forgiven and saved or not, each of us can relate to the notion of being held hostage to something. Whether we are hostage to our own schedules, to cycles of disease or addiction in family members, the materialism of our culture, the demands of social media, or our own broken patterns of relating to ourselves, to others and to God – each of us can, I believe, appreciate the notion of being ransomed from that bound condition into freedom.

Even if we accept Jesus’ gift only in that light, it is enough to make us profoundly grateful to be ransomed – meaning, someone has paid the ransom so that we can walk out of captivity into the bright sunlight of liberation.

What in your life have you been ransomed from? What do you need freeing from now? Might you ask Jesus in prayer today how his offering of himself unto death and back into new life has provided you a key for the door?

Do you owe a debt to another person you can never repay, perhaps a hurt you caused or joy you stole? Can you accept that Jesus may even have paid that debt for you?

In what ways might we still be sitting in our captivity, even though the door has been opened – because it’s scarier to move out of our patterns of unhealth into the responsibility of freedom?

There’s a beautiful song called Be Ye Glad, with this refrain:
Be ye glad, O be ye glad; every debt that you ever had;
Has been paid up in full by the grace of the Lord; Be ye glad, be ye glad, be ye glad.

We are ransomed. Open the door and step into the Light!

10-14-21 - Are You Being Served?

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

Didn’t Jesus want to get breakfast in bed every now and then? Oh wait, “The Son of Man has nowhere to lay his head.” Okay, then how about dinner? We know he was not averse to attending dinner parties, and at least twice he allowed women to anoint his feet, be it with ointment or tears. So he was willing to be served on occasion.

Yet here he says, “…whoever wishes to become great among you must be your servant, and whoever wishes to be first among you must be slave of all. For the Son of Man came not to be served but to serve.”

Okay, I’m being overly literal. Of course, Jesus received service as well as gave it. But overall, he was a net giver. (It’s hard to top giving your life...). And he wanted his followers to get it through their heads and hearts that their priority was to serve others, often without reward, possibly at the cost of their lives. He even washed their feet to teach them kinetically what perhaps they couldn’t fully grasp from his words – that love needs to be embodied in order to be received. Afterward, he told them, “So if I, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also ought to wash one another’s feet.”

Serving others, especially those who cannot repay you, is embedded in the Christian life. As followers of Christ, we are called to be net givers, even if some people to whom we give are net takers. At the same time, serving and being served need to be in some kind of balance. If we are never willing to receive service, we can find ourselves giving from a place of pride rather than humility. As most people will tell you on Maundy Thursday, it’s a lot harder to accept someone else washing your feet than it is to wash someone else’s.

What does a community look like in which everyone believes they have come not to be served but to serve? At its best, it looks like a community of mutual caring and love, in which people are always looking around to see who needs to be served. Then everyone is at some point the recipient of another’s care, and everyone is a giver of service.

We have to offer service without thought to whether or not someone will care for us – but if we are never on the receiving end, that can be a sign that we are operating too much in isolation. Do a little assessment today – are you a net giver or net receiver in your life right now? How might Jesus invite you to address any imbalance?

One way is to ask Him to lead us each day in the service we offer. The Son of Man is still in the business of serving, but now we are his hands, feet, voice and love. As we offer service with his Spirit in us, we’ll find we are not drained, but actually served ourselves.

10-13-21 - Servant of All

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

Pulling a power play rarely endears one to one’s colleagues, whether in an office, a kitchen, a classroom or a family. James and John’s attempt to secure places of honor by Jesus in the glorious future soon got back to their fellow disciples. They were not pleased.

When the ten heard this, they began to be angry with James and John. So Jesus called them and said to them, "You know that among the Gentiles those whom they recognize as their rulers lord it over them, and their great ones are tyrants over them. But it is not so among you; but whoever wishes to become great among you must be your servant, and whoever wishes to be first among you must be slave of all.”

This brouhaha gave Jesus a teachable moment, a chance to convey to his thick-headed disciples yet again the nature of the leadership to which they were called. This was not to be the leadership of corner offices and grand titles, of setting broad visions or managing underlings. This was to be the leadership of humble service. They were to excel in serving each other and the people around them. They were to be first in serving as slaves.

The language of slavery pervades the New Testament, reflecting a time when people, even godly folk, accepted it as a way of the world. (Enslavement is probably no less pervasive in our day; we just use words like trafficking and condemn it even as we tolerate it.) Here, and elsewhere, Jesus uses that imagery, commending the status of those who have no status.

This message is counter-cultural in any age. We don’t all want to be leaders, but few people actually want to be servants, doing the scut work. Those who excel at giving humbly and sacrificially, working in the least desirable places, like Mother Teresa of Calcutta, often draw attention and respect but few imitators. Yet she did it, she said, because she encountered Christ in the lost and the least. And he said that’s where he was to be found, in the hungry, naked and sick, the prisoner and the refugee.

What forms of “lowly” service are part of your life and ministry? It might be caring for an aging relative; it might be volunteering among people who live on the streets, or in a nursing home. Where do you find God in that offering?

If we truly want to be close to Christ, we may want to spend less time on our knees in prayer, and more on our knees cleaning floors and tending the ragged. Of course, that’s a false dichotomy – we are called to do both, and are blessed in both. The common denominator is the kneeling.

10-12-21 - What's the Payoff?

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

It’s natural to want to see a return on investment, to see a pay-off when we’ve worked hard at something. Non-profits have learned to communicate the often intangible benefits their work provides donors, volunteers and even taxpayers, and churches have been forced onto that bandwagon too. I spend a lot of my time preparing marketing materials in numerous media, spreading the message that being a part of life at Christ Church will help people feel better or more connected to God, others and themselves.

I even find myself “marketing” the benefits of following Jesus, reminding people how much joy and peace and love there is to be found in Christ in this life, not only the next. I have a sermon series on the promises of God – Peace, Power, Presence, Purpose (not Prosperity). Lots of pay-off!

James and John wanted to know there was a pay-off, too. But were they listening to Jesus? He has just spoken again about the adversity he was soon to face in Jerusalem – arrest, trial, condemnation, crucifixion, and rising again. Focused on their status when Jesus was in “his glory,” they seem to have forgotten his reminders of persecution. To their request that they have “dibs” on the seats next to him,

Jesus said to them, "You do not know what you are asking. Are you able to drink the cup that I drink, or be baptized with the baptism that I am baptized with?"

They replied “We are able.” Did they know what they were saying? For that matter, do we? This expression Jesus used meant, “Can you share my lot?” Jesus was soon to hold a cup of wine and say to his disciples, “This is my blood. Each time you drink this cup, remember me.” And what did he mean by baptism? A ritual of cleansing, of complete transformation? Early on, the church saw in the ritual of baptism a symbolic joining with Christ in his death as well as in resurrection. Were James and John up for all that?

Are we up for all that? Or do we turn away when life gets hard and the rewards of ministry seem hard to discern, when church attendance and giving don’t seem to go up, and the homeless numbers don’t seem to decline, and it seems harder and harder to connect people to the life we find in the Gospels. How do we live into the joy of the Lord when we don’t see it? Ah, that’s why it’s called faith!

The Life of God, as Jesus revealed it, is not the realm of the big pay-off. It is the life of sacrificial, other-directed, giving without limits that Jesus lived and taught, and millions have done after him. When we fail to communicate it that way, we don’t help people to cultivate that spirit of giving. We don’t foster maturity in the Spirit. The Gospel was, and is, counter-cultural.

Yes, and God does not expect us to give out of an empty vessel. The cup we drink every Sunday is called the cup of salvation; it is the water of life, turned to wine through the power of Jesus’ love. Our invitation is to take in that life, again and again, and pour it out completely, again and again, for the sake of the world. The world may not appreciate the gift, but as we see good fruit of changed lives and hearts turned God-ward, we can give thanks. That’s the only pay-off we need.

10-11-21 - Best Seats In the House

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

I often worry about where I’m going to sit. Back when I actually went to the movies, I’d be anxious about getting a seat that was not behind a tall person. At concerts, I want a seat with an unobstructed view and close enough to catch the band’s energy. If I’m going to a wedding or gala, I hope I’ll be seated with people I know and not in the “outer darkness” at the edges of the room. But it never occurred to me to worry about where I’ll be sitting in the afterlife.

Not so James and John, disciples of Jesus of Nazareth:

James and John, the sons of Zebedee, came forward to him and said to him, “Teacher, we want you to do for us whatever we ask of you.” And he said to them, “What is it you want me to do for you?” And they said to him, “Grant us to sit, one at your right hand and one at your left, in your glory.”

Now, their request may not have been about seating so much as jockeying for leadership positions, and they might not have been talking about heaven. They regarded Jesus as the Messiah who would liberate the people from oppression. By “In your glory” they may have meant after Jesus had accomplished his mission, as they understood it – which was not very well. Whatever they meant, it is clear they had their sights set on the future.

Jesus had more than a few things to say about people who try to get the best seats, whether at dinner parties or in glory. He usually reiterated the “those who want to be first will be last” principle of God’s kingdom and recommended that they select the least desirable seats, with the least desirable company. If we want to sit with him, that’s where we will find him.

We all want to know we’re going to be okay, secure, set. It’s human nature to want that. Yet Jesus invites us beyond our human nature to live into the divine life we have already received as his brothers and sisters. So what if, instead of seeking the better seats, we searched out the least desirable ones? I’ve been seated on daises and it’s really dull. What if I were to embrace meeting strangers on the edges of the room, or let others have the closer seats in the concert hall? Once upon a time, the back of the bus was where the marginalized were forced to sit – how about joining them?

Wherever we sit, whether humble or exalted, we can be sure that we are sitting next to Jesus, on one side or another of the one who promised he would always be with us. There ain’t a bad seat in his house.

10-8-21 - Inheritance

You can listen to this reflection here.

Reading the gospel story set for this Sunday, I’m struck by a verb the man uses in his question to Jesus. He asks, “What must I do to inherit eternal life?” Inheritances, by definition, are received, not earned. One can work at being disinherited, but usually we inherit by virtue of being in relationship to one who leaves a legacy, not by what we do.

Jesus offers the man a relationship. He tells him how to disencumber himself of resources that he’s relying on and truly free himself, and then to come and enter into the relationship and receive the gifts of discipleship. The man is unable to accept, and goes away grieving.

Those folks who have already taken Jesus up on that offer are flabbergasted at the conclusion Jesus draws from this encounter, “How hard it will be for those who have wealth to enter the kingdom of God!” “Then who can be saved?,” they ask, suddenly anxious about their own positions. Peter reminds Jesus of all they have left behind to be with him – and how does Jesus respond? By telling them about the blessings they will receive now and the inheritance to come:

Jesus said, “Truly I tell you, there is no one who has left house or brothers or sisters or mother or father or children or fields, for my sake and for the sake of the good news, who will not receive a hundredfold now in this age—houses, brothers and sisters, mothers and children, and fields, with persecutions—and in the age to come eternal life. But many who are first will be last, and the last will be first.”

Taking on God-Life has pay-offs as well as challenges in this life – and in the fullness of eternity we reap further blessings.

Jesus tells us that the way to come into that fullness is to let go of our temporal sources of security and follow him. And if this seems impossible, as impossible as a camel squeezing through the eye of a needle (and no, there was no narrow gate in Jerusalem – Jesus is being hyperbolic to make a point, as this article suggests…), Jesus reminds us that it is indeed impossible for us, though not for God. This God who desires to spend eternity with us will draw us in as we allow ourselves to be tethered. We're the camels in this scenario!

Can we part with our fortunes more readily if we really trust the inheritance that will be ours when none of our things and bank accounts matter anymore? Paul tells us in Ephesians that legacy is already ours, present in the power of the Spirit working through us. The Spirit is the down-payment, and we can start spending right now.

And the thing about spending that capital? It makes us less attached to the kind in our bank accounts. The more Spirit-power we spend, the freer we get. That’s the legacy of relationship with Jesus, and it never ends.

10-7-21 - No Easy Way In

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

Very little shocks us these days. Sex, violence, prejudice, outrageous discourse are all commonplace. But talk about money and how wealth is distributed? The temperature rises quickly.

It wasn’t so different in Jesus’ day. When Jesus told a man who came to him seeking eternal life that he should sell everything he owned, give the proceeds to the poor, and then become his disciple, he went away shocked. And so did Jesus’ followers who watched this encounter unfold.

Then Jesus looked around and said to his disciples, “How hard it will be for those who have wealth to enter the kingdom of God!” And the disciples were perplexed at these words. But Jesus said to them again, “Children, how hard it is to enter the kingdom of God! It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for someone who is rich to enter the kingdom of God.”

Were they shocked that he let such a promising recruit get away? Or that he would say such a thing about the wealthy? In that culture (as in ours…) prosperity was seen as a sign of God’s blessing and favor. How could it impede full participation in the life of God?

This gives us pause as well. Have we examined the ways in which our wealth and worldly security stands in the way of our putting all our trust in Christ’s grace and love (which Episcopalians promise to do in our baptismal vows…)? Often we respond to the discomfort we feel encountering these words of Jesus by trying to give our way to feeling okay. "Yeah, but, look at how much I give away..." That ain’t a bad thing… but it’s not what Jesus is talking about. I suspect his concern is what the accumulation does for and to us.

Thankfully, this greatly challenging passage ends with a reminder of grace: They were greatly astounded and said to one another, “Then who can be saved?” Jesus looked at them and said, “For mortals it is impossible, but not for God; for God all things are possible.”

For God all things are possible. We experience that as we let go and trust God and the power of the Spirit working in, around and through us. Let’s start there, and see how Love might loosen our grip on our wealth.

10-6-21 - Give It All Away

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

Very few people find their name taken into use as a verb, but Marie Kondo achieved that distinction after publishing her bestseller, The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up. I have yet to read the book, but know that one aspect of “Marie Kondo-ing” or “Kondo-izing” is to go through the piles of stuff you have accumulated – clothes, books, files, games, CDs, electronics, exercise equipment, what have you – and ask, “Does this bring me joy?” If the answer is no, gracefully toss it or help it find a new home. Asking, “Might I ever use this?” (my usual approach...) too often elicits a yes, and leaves us mired in our clutter.

I wonder if this is remotely what Jesus had in mind when he said to the man who came asking how he might inherit eternal life, “You lack one thing; go, sell what you own, and give the money to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; then come, follow me.”

Certainly Jesus's suggestion was not moderate. He instructed this man to render himself completely free of possessions – not just shedding but actually selling them and giving the money to the poor. Jesus invited him to become completely unencumbered, totally available to the winds of the Spirit to bless and work through him. And lest we think this insane, remember that others have done it – St. Francis of Assisi, whose feast day we celebrated Monday, was among the most notable, but many who belong to religious orders, or to denominations like the Mennonites, have done the same thing. Is there something about possessions that blocks the flow of God’s life in us?

Does Jesus ask the same of us? Or is this word given only to those who have great wealth and many possessions? Oh, that’s a dangerous tack to take; few of us self-describe as wealthy or think we have enough. But when we compare our standing to that of others, particularly most of the rest of the world (by a rough estimate, the poorest American is wealthier than 85% of the world’s population…), we start to see clearly just how much we have, and how much it may be standing in our way spiritually. It's not the wealth, it's where we put our security that saps our faith.

How do we start to divest ourselves? Can we do it incrementally, or must we tear off this bandaid all at once, as Jesus told the man in our story to do?
He was unable to meet that challenge: When he heard this, he was shocked and went away grieving, for he had many possessions.

I fear I might have gone with him. I’m not ready to tear off the bandaid. But I’m willing to reposition myself relative to my goods and wealth, and move myself to greater readiness. I can start with the things I have too much of, and ask not, “Does this bring me joy?” but “Does God have a use for this?”

I wonder where that will lead me. I don’t know. I'm not sure how much progress I've made in the six years since I first declared that intention. But I am pretty sure God has a use for me, and he needs me free. You too!

10-5-21 - The Look of Love

You can listen to this reflection here.

I admit it. When I read this familiar passage, that Dionne Warwick song often starts up in my head. It’s the thing about “Jesus looked at him with love” that does it. (Irreverent, these internal soundtracks…) Here we have a man who’s come to Jesus asking “What must I do to inherit eternal life?” After establishing that he knows and keeps the commandments perfectly, Jesus does this:

Jesus, looking at him, loved him and said, "You lack one thing; go, sell what you own, and give the money to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; then come, follow me."

The man is shocked and dismayed by this message, as I suspect most of us would be. But it’s not given in a vacuum. It is a message grounded in great love, delivered to this man who is so close to God. If only the love had rung louder for him than the severity of the demand. But all the love in the world cannot redirect us if we cannot let it in, and for whatever reason, that man’s allegiance to his wealth and goods, and maybe the security they afforded him, blocked out the love Jesus directed to him.

What keeps God’s great love from getting in and transforming our interior landscapes? Sometimes it is blocked by alternate messages we’ve received from the world, family, school, careers, or by a self-sufficiency which comes hardwired in members of deeply individualistic cultures. The lure of worldly success and short-term gain can also impede the flow of that love to us.

And what can help us to lower our barriers and let it in when we do? Sometimes it isn’t until we see how short that short-term gain really is that we’re ready to open ourselves up to something deeper, less immediately accessible. And sometimes it is because someone comes along and insists on loving us despite our barriers. I think Jesus invited that man to part from all his wealth and success and follow him so he could offer him transformative love in relationship. That’s the offer he makes all of us, too – the invitation to follow and draw near, love and be loved in a way that changes us.

It’s hard when we don’t have Jesus standing right in front of us, right? Or would that make any difference? Maybe Jesus has sent representatives to bear his love to us, and we’re missing the offer.

The gospels never tell us what became of this man. Did he reconsider Jesus’ offer and take him up on it at a later time? Did it change his relationship to his wealth and power? I imagine that could only happen if he were able to take in the love Jesus offered him in that look. Only that love can change our hearts. Only that love can change the world.

It already has.

10-4-21 - A Good Person

You can listen to this reflection here.

When I was in elementary school, the SRA reading mastery system was in vogue (I googled… seems to still be around). This is a set of reading materials which children can move through at their own pace. You read a selection, answer questions about it, and if you are correct, move on to the next story. It is a perfect system for over-achievers – a clear path to success and an almost unlimited number of steps to complete.

That’s what the man in this week’s gospel story reminds me of – someone doing the spiritual equivalent of SRA. This fellow who ran up to Jesus was a good and serious man. Meticulous in following God’s commandments, humble and faithful, even so he is unsure of his ultimate future. So he comes to find Jesus:

As Jesus was setting out on a journey, a man ran up and knelt before him, and asked him, “Good Teacher, what must I do to inherit eternal life?”

Jesus asks why he calls him “good teacher,” saying that only God is truly good. He reminds him of the Commandments – living according to God’s law is the way to express your goodness. The man assures Jesus he has kept these all his life.

Wait - he has kept all the commandments his whole life? That’s amazing! What kind of person is this? A person who can say, “I’m a good person,” is both admirable and deeply saddening. Saddening, because those who locate their righteousness in their own ability to follow the rules often have more trouble acknowledging their need for God.

There are two approaches to holiness. One is the “SRA,” rung-climbing, rule-following, sometimes teeth-gritting way of “Give me the directions; I can do it myself.” The other is to be clear-eyed about our weaknesses as well as strengths, willing to be repentant and vulnerable, compassionate toward self and others. I would argue that the first approach leaves little room to grow, while the second allows infinite space for maturing in faith and love. There is nothing wrong with “good people.” It’s just that so often those who say “I’m a good person” say it defensively, explaining why they don’t have anything to do with God or religious life.

Do you know anyone in that category? I don't wish to sound judgmental – I just don’t think it works. It’s like saying, “I’ve arrived. There is nothing more I need.” Now, this man talking to Jesus wasn’t quite that way – he figured there must be something more he needed to do. And that’s the trap for the “good person,” thinking we can “do” our way into the Kingdom of heaven, when Jesus said it is a gift we need to receive. The last thing this man needed was another spiritual task to complete (though Jesus gave him a whopper...). He needed to submit himself to Love.

“I’m a good person,” is a conversation stopper. What do you say to that? “Good for you?” “No, you’re not?” The next time someone says that to me, I will smile and say, “Great. Do you know you are a loved person?” That’s what counts.