I don’t know much about clams, but I’m told that the only way to get them to open their shells - other than violently, with a knife - is to place them in warm water. After awhile they’ll open of their own accord. That's always seemed a good metaphor for the way God loves us into opening our spirits, and a way we can love really shut-down people into transformation. The hardest heart can be melted by acceptance and mercy, just as the softest heart can be hardened by rejection and judgment.
I think that’s what Jesus did for Zacchaeus. His acceptance, signaled by coming to his house; his willingness to stand with him when no one else would, elicits not only repentance but an astonishing offer of restitution: “Zacchaeus stood there and said to the Lord, ‘Look, half of my possessions, Lord, I will give to the poor; and if I have defrauded anyone of anything, I will pay back four times as much.’”
It’s easy to say “I’m sorry.” As people in recovery will tell you, it’s a lot harder to make amends, go back to people you’ve hurt and offer them restitution, when possible, for what you’ve taken from them. Restitution is the visible fruit of true repentance. And here, Zacchaeus is a champion.
Those who disapproved of Jesus going to Zacchaeus’ house probably argued, “By going to a ‘sinner’s’ house, Jesus is dignifying all tax collectors. His presence is tacit approval of the guy’s wickedness. Better to isolate him than to suggest approval.” We hear voices like that in all sorts of issues. But if we isolate those who are destructive, where is the hope for transformation?
I'm reminded of the heat Jodie Foster took for hiring Mel Gibson after the many revelations about his anti-Semitic remarks and actions. She did not condone his views, but made a choice to stand with a friend – and so helped foster (sorry...) the possibility of transformation in him. The hardest heart can be melted by acceptance and mercy, as the softest heart can be hardened by rejection and judgment.
Jesus went to Zach’s house, not knowing that he would repent – perhaps inferring some openness from his tree-climbing. And his risk was rewarded, his grace met with not only sorrow but amendment of life and reversal of justice. Where Zach had taken money from the poor to appease the Romans, he was now giving half his fortune to the poor. And if there was fraud, he offered to make a four-fold restitution. Now that’s an “I’m sorry” with teeth.
How do you respond to this story? Do you want to follow Zach or to Jesus today? (Or both…?) If it's Zacchaeus, you might ask whether you feel any debt related to wrongdoing on your part? Is there anyone, the thought of whom makes you wince with guilt? What would restitution look like?
If you were to emulate Jesus, ask: Who do you know who is isolated because of their destructive words or actions? We don’t need to affirm the behavior, just provide an environment where hearts can open, and see what happens.
If you’ve ever been a clam shut tight and found yourself in a bath of warm, accepting love, you know what it meant to you. Is God inviting you to give that gift to someone?
10-30-13 - Bad Company
Zacchaeus may have been happy to hear Jesus’ announcement that he was coming to his house – but it was not otherwise a popular move. Luke tells us, “All who saw it began to grumble and said, ‘He has gone to be the guest of one who is a sinner.’”
One who is a sinner. It’s all very well and good to talk about the Kingdom of God and loving your neighbor as yourself, not to mention your enemies – but to actually go to the home of one of the worst of the tax collectors? That’s a “political third-rail” move, guaranteed to get you in trouble with your followers. In our time, it might be working with sex offenders or drug lords to stop cycles of addiction and violence. Many people can see no humanity in people who abuse others, even if many abusers are also victims. If you can categorize someone as an abuser, you can stop thinking of her as a person. He’s a [ ] – fill in the blank.
I believe Jesus would stand with the persons victimized, condemn the action and the damage caused – and also reach out to the perpetrator. Jesus wasn’t interested in popularity – he was interested in the mission of God to reclaim and restore all humanity to wholeness. All humanity – even those who do their worst.
Jesus had a way of seeing past a person’s outward characteristics – illness, possession, greed, even violence. He did not confuse a person with her disease or his disorder. Rather, he aligned himself with the core self within that person, and brought the power that made the universe to a person’s inner self, weak as it may have been. He saw who Zacchaeus was, apart from all the wickedness he perpetrated. He saw a broken child of God, not just an “extortioner” or a “sinner.”
He invites us to do no less. Sometimes that inner self is hard to find. When someone is far gone on the path of addiction, for instance, the core self may be very, very faint. Yet we can trust that it is there, because this person is a child of God. And we are called to offer our strength and our will and our love to that core self – not the outer behavior, but the inner self. In Christ, no one is beyond repair, not Zacchaeus, not anyone, unless they absolutely choose to be.
Can you think of someone who seems beyond redemption, who is so destructive to herself or others, it’s hard to see any humanity? Might be someone you know of; might be a category you’ve lumped a whole lot of people into. In prayer today, can you hold that person or group in God’s light for a few moments, asking God to rescue them from who they are becoming? To restore them to who they truly are?
Is God calling you to take any kind of action to reach out to such a person? It can be like reaching out to an angry dog – you might get nipped at. Is Jesus inviting you to join him in reaching out anyway?
The baptismal covenant Episcopalians affirm asks, “Will you strive for justice and peace among all people, and respect the dignity of every human being?” We can’t respect someone’s dignity if we lump them into a group of others – saints or sinners. We need the courage to see each person on their own terms. The answer to that question is, “I will, with God’s help.” God’s help is there for us when we’re at our worst, and God’s help is here for us to help others become their best.
One who is a sinner. It’s all very well and good to talk about the Kingdom of God and loving your neighbor as yourself, not to mention your enemies – but to actually go to the home of one of the worst of the tax collectors? That’s a “political third-rail” move, guaranteed to get you in trouble with your followers. In our time, it might be working with sex offenders or drug lords to stop cycles of addiction and violence. Many people can see no humanity in people who abuse others, even if many abusers are also victims. If you can categorize someone as an abuser, you can stop thinking of her as a person. He’s a [ ] – fill in the blank.
I believe Jesus would stand with the persons victimized, condemn the action and the damage caused – and also reach out to the perpetrator. Jesus wasn’t interested in popularity – he was interested in the mission of God to reclaim and restore all humanity to wholeness. All humanity – even those who do their worst.
Jesus had a way of seeing past a person’s outward characteristics – illness, possession, greed, even violence. He did not confuse a person with her disease or his disorder. Rather, he aligned himself with the core self within that person, and brought the power that made the universe to a person’s inner self, weak as it may have been. He saw who Zacchaeus was, apart from all the wickedness he perpetrated. He saw a broken child of God, not just an “extortioner” or a “sinner.”
He invites us to do no less. Sometimes that inner self is hard to find. When someone is far gone on the path of addiction, for instance, the core self may be very, very faint. Yet we can trust that it is there, because this person is a child of God. And we are called to offer our strength and our will and our love to that core self – not the outer behavior, but the inner self. In Christ, no one is beyond repair, not Zacchaeus, not anyone, unless they absolutely choose to be.
Can you think of someone who seems beyond redemption, who is so destructive to herself or others, it’s hard to see any humanity? Might be someone you know of; might be a category you’ve lumped a whole lot of people into. In prayer today, can you hold that person or group in God’s light for a few moments, asking God to rescue them from who they are becoming? To restore them to who they truly are?
Is God calling you to take any kind of action to reach out to such a person? It can be like reaching out to an angry dog – you might get nipped at. Is Jesus inviting you to join him in reaching out anyway?
The baptismal covenant Episcopalians affirm asks, “Will you strive for justice and peace among all people, and respect the dignity of every human being?” We can’t respect someone’s dignity if we lump them into a group of others – saints or sinners. We need the courage to see each person on their own terms. The answer to that question is, “I will, with God’s help.” God’s help is there for us when we’re at our worst, and God’s help is here for us to help others become their best.
10-29-13 - Guess Who's Coming to Dinner?
“Jane, can we bring the bishop to your house for lunch?” It was a Sunday, the day after a freak March windstorm had rendered much of Stamford without power, and our bishop was making an annual Visitation. We held dimly lit worship at church, and shivered through a coffee-less coffee hour, but the only place with electricity where the Vestry might have lunch with the Bishop was Jane’s house. Jane is of the generation that views a bishop’s visit as a Big Deal worthy of weeks of cleaning and polishing – but she said yes, and tidied as best she could, and got out the fine china, and hosted us. Ready or not.
Must have been a shock for Zacchaeus, sitting in that tree. “When Jesus came to the place, he looked up and said to him, Zacchaeus, hurry and come down; for I must stay at your house today.’” A shock, and a challenge – Jesus, a celebrity so big he gathers crowds as he moves through town, is coming to Zach’s house. It would be like being told the President or a Nobel laureate was coming over. It’s exciting, and a social coup – and ratchets up the pressure. What am I going to cook? When did I last clean the bathroom? What will we talk about?
Besides, Zach was safely hidden away up that tree. Now he’s going to have to meet this guy he wanted so badly to see. He responds with grace: “So he hurried down and was happy to welcome him.”
How would you respond, if you got an email from Jesus today: “I’m coming to your house this evening.” Would you want to see him? Would you try to put if off?
Would you invite anyone else, or just enjoy the chance to talk to him by yourself?
Let’s try another imagination prayer today – imagine that scenario: the email, the preparation, your response, the greeting at the door… What happens? What do you talk about? See how fully you can place yourself into that scene and see where it goes. It’s another way of talking to Jesus in our imaginations, placing him in our daily lives. (Write it down afterward!)
I’m pretty sure Jesus does send us that message, every day, something like this:
“I want to come to your house. I want to spend some time with you. I want you to get off the sidelines, out of the bleachers, off the fence and into relationship with me. I’m not just some guy in a book or a stained glass window. I’m the one who made you, who became like you so you could become like me. I love you more than you can ever imagine, and I can transform your life if you let me in. I can transform the world through you if you let me. Can I come to your house, to your heart, today?”
Maybe you always say “yes.” Maybe you say “later,” or “maybe.”
We don’t have to clean the house or cook a fancy dinner. Jesus knows how messy our lives are, how full, and how beautiful. What he wants is our time and attention (just ask Martha of Bethany...) It’s the most life-changing dinner we could ever imagine. Every time.
Must have been a shock for Zacchaeus, sitting in that tree. “When Jesus came to the place, he looked up and said to him, Zacchaeus, hurry and come down; for I must stay at your house today.’” A shock, and a challenge – Jesus, a celebrity so big he gathers crowds as he moves through town, is coming to Zach’s house. It would be like being told the President or a Nobel laureate was coming over. It’s exciting, and a social coup – and ratchets up the pressure. What am I going to cook? When did I last clean the bathroom? What will we talk about?
Besides, Zach was safely hidden away up that tree. Now he’s going to have to meet this guy he wanted so badly to see. He responds with grace: “So he hurried down and was happy to welcome him.”
How would you respond, if you got an email from Jesus today: “I’m coming to your house this evening.” Would you want to see him? Would you try to put if off?
Would you invite anyone else, or just enjoy the chance to talk to him by yourself?
Let’s try another imagination prayer today – imagine that scenario: the email, the preparation, your response, the greeting at the door… What happens? What do you talk about? See how fully you can place yourself into that scene and see where it goes. It’s another way of talking to Jesus in our imaginations, placing him in our daily lives. (Write it down afterward!)
I’m pretty sure Jesus does send us that message, every day, something like this:
“I want to come to your house. I want to spend some time with you. I want you to get off the sidelines, out of the bleachers, off the fence and into relationship with me. I’m not just some guy in a book or a stained glass window. I’m the one who made you, who became like you so you could become like me. I love you more than you can ever imagine, and I can transform your life if you let me in. I can transform the world through you if you let me. Can I come to your house, to your heart, today?”
Maybe you always say “yes.” Maybe you say “later,” or “maybe.”
We don’t have to clean the house or cook a fancy dinner. Jesus knows how messy our lives are, how full, and how beautiful. What he wants is our time and attention (just ask Martha of Bethany...) It’s the most life-changing dinner we could ever imagine. Every time.
10-28-13 - Up a Tree
Last week Jesus told us a parable about a fictitious tax collector, a prototype. This week he meets the real thing, and we get to watch. Here’s how Luke begins the story: “Jesus entered Jericho and was passing through. A man was there by the name of Zacchaeus; he was a chief tax collector and was wealthy. He wanted to see who Jesus was, but because he was short he could not see over the crowd. So he ran ahead and climbed a sycamore-fig tree to see him, since Jesus was coming that way.”
I’ve talked about why tax collectors were considered the lowest form of life by their fellow Jews, hated collaborators in the oppressive Roman tax system. In order to enforce collection of taxes – and extract enough over the required amount to make a living themselves – a tax collector had to be powerful and mean. Think Mafia “protection” goons, and we start to get the picture. And here’s Zacchaeus – a chief tax collector in the big town of Jericho! And wealthy. He must be very, very good at his despicable job.
Then Luke tells us something sort of endearing – that this wealthy, powerful, notorious man is so short, and so anxious to see Jesus as he passes through town, he climbs up a tree to get a glimpse. How sweet. It doesn’t help that generations of children have learned his story through a Sunday School ditty, "Zacchaeus was a wee little man, and a wee little man was he/He climbed up in a sycamore tree for the Lord he wanted to see.” Hard to think of a “wee little man” as scary and villainous.
So which is he? All of the above, and more? We will explore the nuances of this story this week, for it does not lend itself to either/or thinking. Today, let’s focus on the tree-climbing. I don’t know too many adults who climb trees for any reason (though my sister did so on in her wedding day… and didn’t ruin the dress!). How badly did this guy want to see Jesus to run up a tree? What did he want from Jesus? Is his ascent an indication of repentance, or curiosity – or did he want to observe without having to engage Jesus?
What or who might you climb a tree to see?
If you heard that person were passing through your town – would you try to get close?
If you had a chance to get close to Jesus in a crowd – what would you say?
Would you ask for healing? Explanations? Forgiveness?
Today, in prayer, try to imagine the scene, with Jesus coming through your area, and place yourself in the crowd. What unfolds in your imagination? Stay with it...
This is one way to pray, to imagine an encounter with Jesus in some of the places the Gospels tell us he was – then it’s more like talking to a person and less like sending thoughts into the ether.
Like Zacchaeus, sometimes we need to change our perspective to see Jesus more clearly. I hope you will join me up a tree this week, and see what we can see.
I’ve talked about why tax collectors were considered the lowest form of life by their fellow Jews, hated collaborators in the oppressive Roman tax system. In order to enforce collection of taxes – and extract enough over the required amount to make a living themselves – a tax collector had to be powerful and mean. Think Mafia “protection” goons, and we start to get the picture. And here’s Zacchaeus – a chief tax collector in the big town of Jericho! And wealthy. He must be very, very good at his despicable job.
Then Luke tells us something sort of endearing – that this wealthy, powerful, notorious man is so short, and so anxious to see Jesus as he passes through town, he climbs up a tree to get a glimpse. How sweet. It doesn’t help that generations of children have learned his story through a Sunday School ditty, "Zacchaeus was a wee little man, and a wee little man was he/He climbed up in a sycamore tree for the Lord he wanted to see.” Hard to think of a “wee little man” as scary and villainous.
So which is he? All of the above, and more? We will explore the nuances of this story this week, for it does not lend itself to either/or thinking. Today, let’s focus on the tree-climbing. I don’t know too many adults who climb trees for any reason (though my sister did so on in her wedding day… and didn’t ruin the dress!). How badly did this guy want to see Jesus to run up a tree? What did he want from Jesus? Is his ascent an indication of repentance, or curiosity – or did he want to observe without having to engage Jesus?
What or who might you climb a tree to see?
If you heard that person were passing through your town – would you try to get close?
If you had a chance to get close to Jesus in a crowd – what would you say?
Would you ask for healing? Explanations? Forgiveness?
Today, in prayer, try to imagine the scene, with Jesus coming through your area, and place yourself in the crowd. What unfolds in your imagination? Stay with it...
This is one way to pray, to imagine an encounter with Jesus in some of the places the Gospels tell us he was – then it’s more like talking to a person and less like sending thoughts into the ether.
Like Zacchaeus, sometimes we need to change our perspective to see Jesus more clearly. I hope you will join me up a tree this week, and see what we can see.
10-25-13 - Losing Our Religion
As we have dug down into Jesus’ parable about the two men praying in the temple, I have not been very tolerant of the self-righteous Pharisee. Neither was Jesus. But let’s give him a little regard. He was motivated to please God in the way he knew best – by following the rules and upholding the whole system that made the rules important. Perhaps the rules, the Law, had become his object of worship, obscuring the offer of relationship God gave along with the Law – “You shall be my people, and I will be your God.”
We might say that the Pharisee represents Religion – capitalization intended, as befits an abstraction. And the tax-collector represents faith. Religion can be a wonderful vehicle for faith – but we should never mistake it for the God it purports to worship.
For us, too, uncompromising allegiance to words of Scripture or church tradition can blind us to the movements of our Living God. These are God-given gifts – but when we focus on the gifts rather than the Giver, we miss the next new thing God is doing. And our God is always doing a new thing.
I don’t think human beings can get away from religion, hard as we might try to just be “spiritual.” It is human nature to create structures that allow us to feel good and to repeat a profound experience, and to stay in community with others who have shared that profound experience. Before you know it, we’re worshiping at the same time every week, using the same words or songs or rituals that “worked” last week to mediate an encounter with God. If they don’t work as well this week – maybe we double down and get even more rigid.
Meanwhile, God is saying, “Over here, guys – I’m here now.” God is rarely in the last place we saw Him. She’s almost always on the move, doing a new thing, singing a new song, revealing a new facet of her identity.
Today, in prayer, let’s do another set of lists. Name one list “Religion” and the other “Relationship.” What activities of yours would classify “religion?” Which ones are life-giving? Which ones are stale, or like trying to wear someone else’s clothes? They don’t fit, or feed your faith?
Now, what activities would you name as “relationship building,” that enhance your relationship with God? How would you characterize your relationship with God, on a spectrum from distant (1) to intimate (5)? Are there any on the first list that get in the way of the second?
The other day the great REM song, Losing My Religion*, ran through my head. Doesn’t have much to do with religion (according to Wikipedia, band members said "losing my religion" is a southern US expression that means losing one's temper or composure), but it’s catchy as all get out, and a great theme song for us as we seek to unfetter ourselves from all that is human-made about our interaction with God, and open ourselves to the new winds of the Spirit.
The greatest gift we can give ourselves, and each other, is to lose our “religion” and open our arms wide to the relationship with God that Christ made possible for us through the Holy Spirit. All religion will pass away – but that relationship is ours for eternity.
*not the official video, which I feel distracts too much from the song…
We might say that the Pharisee represents Religion – capitalization intended, as befits an abstraction. And the tax-collector represents faith. Religion can be a wonderful vehicle for faith – but we should never mistake it for the God it purports to worship.
For us, too, uncompromising allegiance to words of Scripture or church tradition can blind us to the movements of our Living God. These are God-given gifts – but when we focus on the gifts rather than the Giver, we miss the next new thing God is doing. And our God is always doing a new thing.
I don’t think human beings can get away from religion, hard as we might try to just be “spiritual.” It is human nature to create structures that allow us to feel good and to repeat a profound experience, and to stay in community with others who have shared that profound experience. Before you know it, we’re worshiping at the same time every week, using the same words or songs or rituals that “worked” last week to mediate an encounter with God. If they don’t work as well this week – maybe we double down and get even more rigid.
Meanwhile, God is saying, “Over here, guys – I’m here now.” God is rarely in the last place we saw Him. She’s almost always on the move, doing a new thing, singing a new song, revealing a new facet of her identity.
Today, in prayer, let’s do another set of lists. Name one list “Religion” and the other “Relationship.” What activities of yours would classify “religion?” Which ones are life-giving? Which ones are stale, or like trying to wear someone else’s clothes? They don’t fit, or feed your faith?
Now, what activities would you name as “relationship building,” that enhance your relationship with God? How would you characterize your relationship with God, on a spectrum from distant (1) to intimate (5)? Are there any on the first list that get in the way of the second?
The other day the great REM song, Losing My Religion*, ran through my head. Doesn’t have much to do with religion (according to Wikipedia, band members said "losing my religion" is a southern US expression that means losing one's temper or composure), but it’s catchy as all get out, and a great theme song for us as we seek to unfetter ourselves from all that is human-made about our interaction with God, and open ourselves to the new winds of the Spirit.
The greatest gift we can give ourselves, and each other, is to lose our “religion” and open our arms wide to the relationship with God that Christ made possible for us through the Holy Spirit. All religion will pass away – but that relationship is ours for eternity.
*not the official video, which I feel distracts too much from the song…
10-24-13 - Justified
“I tell you, this man went down to his home justified rather than the other…”
That's how Jesus ends his story. What does he mean by “justified?” What does it mean that the more “sinful” tax collector is justified and the self-righteous Pharisee is not?
Justification is a key term for understanding what it means to be saved by God’s grace. Justification has to do with being “set right.” We can get a clue from how we format our documents – left, right- or center-justified. We often use the word as a defense – “Well, I was justified in saying that…” The law even has a category called “justifiable homicide.”
As a theological term, though, it goes even deeper– it means to be made righteous, aligned. It is not something we can do for ourselves – it is God’s work. And it is Christ’s righteousness that is conferred upon us, not our own. That’s why the “sinful” man was justified – in his humility he was able to receive, where the contemptuous "righteous" man could not.
Martin Luther had a wonderful image for this – he called it the “The Glorious Exchange,” in which Christ, the King and Lord of all, left his glory and took on our beggars’ clothes, our sin and self-orientation. But in this Exchange Christ does more than take on our lowly status – he gives us his. He takes our rags and dresses us instead in his royal robes of silk and velvet, his perfect righteousness. We get clothed in his holiness; it covers us, redefines us. That’s how God sees us, through Christ, as already holy.
How does it feel to put on a royal robe – or the finest clothing you can think of? Imagine it, in prayer.
How might you walk differently today, knowing you are secretly royalty? How might you talk differently?
What do you pray about, knowing you have handed off everything that mars your inner beauty and received a cosmic make-over? What would it take to believe we have received such a gift?
We are not recipients of a hand-out, but beloved children of God, reclaimed and redeemed at great cost. God didn’t send a check for us – He sent a Son, whom we know as Jesus the Christ; who came so that we might know Life. As we receive the gift, we get to be Christ, his Body, his hands and feet and eyes and voice bearing light to a world that needs it.
We can’t earn this gift, or repay it – we can only receive it. Rumi, the 13th century Persian poet, theologian and Sufi mystic, wrote: “God accepts counterfeit money.”
And God exchanges it for gold: You. Me. Infinitely precious, forever justified.
That's how Jesus ends his story. What does he mean by “justified?” What does it mean that the more “sinful” tax collector is justified and the self-righteous Pharisee is not?
Justification is a key term for understanding what it means to be saved by God’s grace. Justification has to do with being “set right.” We can get a clue from how we format our documents – left, right- or center-justified. We often use the word as a defense – “Well, I was justified in saying that…” The law even has a category called “justifiable homicide.”
As a theological term, though, it goes even deeper– it means to be made righteous, aligned. It is not something we can do for ourselves – it is God’s work. And it is Christ’s righteousness that is conferred upon us, not our own. That’s why the “sinful” man was justified – in his humility he was able to receive, where the contemptuous "righteous" man could not.
Martin Luther had a wonderful image for this – he called it the “The Glorious Exchange,” in which Christ, the King and Lord of all, left his glory and took on our beggars’ clothes, our sin and self-orientation. But in this Exchange Christ does more than take on our lowly status – he gives us his. He takes our rags and dresses us instead in his royal robes of silk and velvet, his perfect righteousness. We get clothed in his holiness; it covers us, redefines us. That’s how God sees us, through Christ, as already holy.
How does it feel to put on a royal robe – or the finest clothing you can think of? Imagine it, in prayer.
How might you walk differently today, knowing you are secretly royalty? How might you talk differently?
What do you pray about, knowing you have handed off everything that mars your inner beauty and received a cosmic make-over? What would it take to believe we have received such a gift?
We are not recipients of a hand-out, but beloved children of God, reclaimed and redeemed at great cost. God didn’t send a check for us – He sent a Son, whom we know as Jesus the Christ; who came so that we might know Life. As we receive the gift, we get to be Christ, his Body, his hands and feet and eyes and voice bearing light to a world that needs it.
We can’t earn this gift, or repay it – we can only receive it. Rumi, the 13th century Persian poet, theologian and Sufi mystic, wrote: “God accepts counterfeit money.”
And God exchanges it for gold: You. Me. Infinitely precious, forever justified.
10-23-13 - Sin and Self-Esteem
“God, be merciful to me, a sinner.” This is what the tax-collector in Jesus’ parable prays. It forms the heart of what has become known as the Jesus Prayer, practiced by hesychasts striving to pray without ceasing. (Should I make you look it up? Naah – I’ll tell you: hesychasm is the “prayer of the heart,” a spiritual discipline that seeks to make prayer constant, internalized on the breath and beneath daily activity. It is what Franny was attempting in J.D. Salinger’s classic Franny and Zooey, a favorite of mine.)
The fuller Jesus Prayer is “Lord Jesus Christ, have mercy on me, a [miserable] sinner.” It is short and clearly evokes the differential between us and Christ. To our ears, though, it can smack of low self-esteem and guilt and shame and all those icky feelings that have made Christianity so unappealing to so many. What happened to “You are so precious?” Is Jesus really commending self-degradation?
I think Jesus commends self-appraisal. This is a prayer from the gut at a moment of self-realization. It represents one stage of repentance, well-described by another theological term: compunction. Compunction is so often accompanied by its buddy, “dread,” that I think of them in tandem, a sort of cabaret act of the soul – “And now, let’s welcome to our spotlight, ‘Compunction and Dread!’”
Compunction is that sick feeling in our gut when we realize we’ve hurt someone, or something we’ve done or said has been exposed, or we feel inwardly convicted. It is not fun – which is why dread comes swimming up close behind it, bringing the fear of consequences to the surface. At such moments we are most keenly aware of our need for mercy.
That’s the heart of repentance, or – look out, here comes another theological term – “metanoia, ” literally, turning. We turn from patterns and behaviors and thinking that lead to pain and separation from God, ourselves, and others. We turn toward the source of mercy, grace and truth. In some ancient baptismal liturgies, the candidates actually faced west while renouncing their past and turned toward the east in affirming Christ as Lord, to embody this turning toward the light.
Repentance does not mean labeling ourselves unworthy or usurping God’s role as judge. It is truth-telling, house-cleaning, pointing out places of pain or self-reliance, inviting the Holy Physician to heal what is diseased in our spirits. Because we are able to call ourselves sinners, we can also call ourselves beloved, saints of God. There’s another great nightclub duo, “Sinners and Saints.” Simul justus et peccator, Luther said, “At once justified (or, righteous) and sinner.”
In prayer today, ask the Spirit to show you where you feel shameful, guilty or scared. Sometimes these are irrational, not tied to any real areas of sin in us; sometimes they’re legit and we need to own them. There is something bracing and energizing about facing ourselves and inviting God into the shadow places. If that sense of compunction comes up – ask God to lift it, to fill you with love and grace.
“Sinner” is not the last word on who we are. It’s just a step along the way to transparency.
God has the last word, and it is “beloved.”
The fuller Jesus Prayer is “Lord Jesus Christ, have mercy on me, a [miserable] sinner.” It is short and clearly evokes the differential between us and Christ. To our ears, though, it can smack of low self-esteem and guilt and shame and all those icky feelings that have made Christianity so unappealing to so many. What happened to “You are so precious?” Is Jesus really commending self-degradation?
I think Jesus commends self-appraisal. This is a prayer from the gut at a moment of self-realization. It represents one stage of repentance, well-described by another theological term: compunction. Compunction is so often accompanied by its buddy, “dread,” that I think of them in tandem, a sort of cabaret act of the soul – “And now, let’s welcome to our spotlight, ‘Compunction and Dread!’”
Compunction is that sick feeling in our gut when we realize we’ve hurt someone, or something we’ve done or said has been exposed, or we feel inwardly convicted. It is not fun – which is why dread comes swimming up close behind it, bringing the fear of consequences to the surface. At such moments we are most keenly aware of our need for mercy.
That’s the heart of repentance, or – look out, here comes another theological term – “metanoia, ” literally, turning. We turn from patterns and behaviors and thinking that lead to pain and separation from God, ourselves, and others. We turn toward the source of mercy, grace and truth. In some ancient baptismal liturgies, the candidates actually faced west while renouncing their past and turned toward the east in affirming Christ as Lord, to embody this turning toward the light.
Repentance does not mean labeling ourselves unworthy or usurping God’s role as judge. It is truth-telling, house-cleaning, pointing out places of pain or self-reliance, inviting the Holy Physician to heal what is diseased in our spirits. Because we are able to call ourselves sinners, we can also call ourselves beloved, saints of God. There’s another great nightclub duo, “Sinners and Saints.” Simul justus et peccator, Luther said, “At once justified (or, righteous) and sinner.”
In prayer today, ask the Spirit to show you where you feel shameful, guilty or scared. Sometimes these are irrational, not tied to any real areas of sin in us; sometimes they’re legit and we need to own them. There is something bracing and energizing about facing ourselves and inviting God into the shadow places. If that sense of compunction comes up – ask God to lift it, to fill you with love and grace.
“Sinner” is not the last word on who we are. It’s just a step along the way to transparency.
God has the last word, and it is “beloved.”
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