8-31-23 - Life-Savers

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

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

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

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

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

When Jesus asks us to “lose our life for his sake,” he invites us to let go of the things we cling to, what my friend Linda used to call our “self-saving strategies” that we think will save us or get us affirmation. Clinging to things that are passing away doesn’t make us very secure. If you're at risk of drowning, struggling to stay alive only imperils you further. Calming down and yielding is key to survival. As we lay back in trust and let Jesus lead us into the Life he came to proclaim and demonstrate, we will find the Life he promises.

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

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

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6-14-23 - Packing Light

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

It is packing season – summer vacations, weekend getaways; many of us will be taking down our suitcases and tote bags and deciding what to bring along and what to leave behind. What we pack depends largely on where we’re going – a weekend at the beach may call for shorts and t-shirts, while packing for a wedding can require five pairs of shoes.

And what if we’re packing for a mission trip? Jesus says, “Don’t. Just go.” His instructions to his disciples are perplexing: “Take no gold, or silver, or copper in your belts, no bag for your journey, or two tunics, or sandals, or a staff; for laborers deserve their food.”

He wants them to go out without any resources or safety net, to rely completely on the hospitality of those to whom they are sent. “Wait a minute,” they may have thought – “I thought we were bringing the gift. Now you want us to ask them to take us in and feed us, so we can preach the gospel to them? What’s that about?”

Maybe it’s about vulnerability. Maybe it’s about mutuality, not going to people with the resources or answers we think they need, but inviting them into relationship in which they can meet Jesus. Maybe it’s about allowing people to give to us, so that that we’re sharing on level ground, not from a place of power or control.

And for the ones who carry the Gospel to others, it is also an invitation to build the kind of trust muscles we need in the service of God. Having no money or change of clothes, no toothbrush or even a staff to lean on is an invitation to lean totally on God’s provision and love. “Do you put your whole trust in his grace and love?” we ask baptismal candidates. It is very hard to put our whole trust in anything, let alone a force we can know but not see or feel. But that’s the kind of faith Jesus invites us to grow.

When have you been in a situation where you had to rely totally on God? Where you couldn’t see what good was going to come, and could only trust that it would? These are trust-building opportunities.

It is not easy, but the testimony of those who live this way is that God comes through, again and again, often in completely unforeseen ways, often through the very people they thought they were there to help. When we break down the "us" and "them" and become "us," all kinds of mutual giving becomes possible.

This story was about being sent on mission. Perhaps it is also an invitation to live more lightly always, less encumbered with stuff and space and security. Every day we have an invitation, right in our own lives, to simplify, to free up.

And every day we have opportunities to go to someone in the name of Christ, seeing what meals are provided to us when we don’t try to get them for ourselves. We don’t get to set the menu, but we will be fed. That’s the life of faith.

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12-15-22 - Trust and Obey

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

“When Joseph awoke from sleep, he did as the angel of the Lord commanded him…”

Joseph was a paragon of virtue, it would appear, a man who did what God commanded even though it exposed him to shame and ridicule – and ultimately danger, once the implications of being step-father to God’s son became apparent. Yet Joseph excelled at obeying.

I’m not fond of the word “obedience.” There is a hymn I've never liked, for I believe it captures all the legalistic religiosity I spend much energy countering:
“Trust and obey, for there’s no other way / to be happy in Jesus, but to trust and obey.”

“Yes, there is!” I want to shout. “There is the way of grace and acceptance and doing good on the power of the Spirit, not on our own!” As one whose faith came alive under a steady stream of preaching about the grace of God, and who is keenly aware of the limits of willpower, I prefer to stress the unconditional love of God that we receive despite our frequent failure to obey. Obedience is so closely linked in my mind to legalism, I react negatively, despite my general compliance.

And yet, here is Joseph, reminding me of the power that can be unleashed when we simply obey. Joseph’s obedience may have been a product of a self-disciplined nature. Or maybe it resulted from the very clear and powerful, supernatural encounter he had in his dream with an angel of the Lord – reinforced, no doubt, by Mary’s tale of her own angelic encounter. We might find ourselves more inclined toward obeying and following God's guidance as we get more in touch with our own divine encounters. They may not be as dramatic as Joseph’s, but they are real.

So... when did you last sense the Spirit of God nudging you or instructing you in some way? When did you last sense the presence of God around you or see evidence of God’s handiwork in your life or in the world?

If you can’t think of anything… there might be a prayer in that, asking God to help you become more aware, or to open your own heart a little wider to what is happening in the unseen realm of spirit.

It is hard to trust, let alone obey, a total stranger. If we keep God at arm’s length or at a polite distance, it's harder to discern the leaps of faith we are invited to take. God may never ask us to take a leap like Joseph did… Then again, God does invite us, like Joseph, to nurture the Christ-life in ourselves and in others, every day of the year.

We don’t have to escort a pregnant woman to Bethlehem… we just have to get ourselves there, and trust God to walk with us no matter what comes.

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12-13-22 - Field of Dreams

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

One of my favorite “faith movies” of all time is Field of Dreams. I saw it 11 times in a year – in theatres. It tells the story of an Iowa farmer named Ray Kinsella who hears a whispered voice telling him to plow under a fruitful field of corn and build a ball park. This is economic and agricultural madness, and yet he becomes convinced of the voice’s reality. Equally nutty instructions follow, leading to the impossible reality that Shoeless Joe Jackson and other now dead baseball greats of yore start coming through the corn to play on the field and interact with Ray and his family.

Ray’s wife supports him following these instructions – but it’s hard. Is he losing his mind? At a crucial point, when she’s ready to give up, they both have the same dream one night, giving them the confirmation they need to stay on this seemingly insane course and follow where it leads.

Joseph of Nazareth had a LOT of dreams. Like his namesake, the Joseph of the woven cloak and jealous brothers, the New Testament Joseph received regular angelic communications through his dreams. Unlike the Joseph of Torah, however, whose dreams were symbolic and required interpretation, Joseph of Nazareth gets clear instructions, “Do this,” “Go there,” “Don’t go there,” “Okay, it’s safe now…”

In Luke’s account of Jesus’ birth, the angels just show up directly to people like Zechariah, Mary, the shepherds, unmediated by REM sleep and human processes. They’re just there – “Look out! Be not afraid!” The writer of Matthew either heard different stories, or maybe thought Luke was embellishing things, for in his telling the angels speak only through dreams. And in Matthew, it is Joseph who receives the divine message that in Luke is delivered to Mary.

After Joseph learns of Mary’s premature pregnancy, and resolves to divorce her quietly,
“…an angel of the Lord appeared to him in a dream and said, “Joseph, son of David, do not be afraid to take Mary as your wife, for the child conceived in her is from the Holy Spirit. She will bear a son, and you are to name him Jesus, for he will save his people from their sins.” God gave Joseph the information he needed to walk in faith.

Have you ever had a “God dream?”What message did you discern? Did you act on it?
In what ways do you sense the Holy Spirit communicates with you? In prayer directly? Through events and coincidences? By a strong sense or urge to do or say something that bears good fruit? Through meditating on the Word of God? I have a friend who gets pop song lyrics in her head – always with a message that suggests answers or guidance.

I believe the Holy One is often messaging us. As we tune our receivers, we begin to discern those messages more often. And when we do, we check that our interpretation is consistent with what we read in Scripture, not contrary. We can also seek confirmation from others in our community of faith. If the Spirit suggests you do something radical, the Spirit will give someone else confirmation for you.

In Field of Dreams, as in our nativity story, the instructions in dreams leads, ultimately, to love, to reunion and reconciliation and restoration. Which is where all God dreams ultimately lead… Joseph’s, and mine, and yours.

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11-8-22- ...And I Feel Fine

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

It’s going to be great, or it’s going to be horrendous. The promise of a hopeful future or the demise of all we hold dear. Nearly everyone in this country will feel one of these things by the end of this day (at the very least, let us hope for a conclusive conclusion to most if not all elections today…) Maybe now’s a good time for that REM song: It’s the end of the world as we know It… and I feel fine.

Truly? Can we ever feel fine about worlds ending, whether it’s The World, or pieces of ours? I don’t know about fine, but we can attain a spiritual quality of trust and disentanglement that allows us to meet all kinds of circumstances with serenity. We could use more serenity right about now.

Some of the shock in what Jesus said about the temple being destroyed as a sign of the end (he doesn’t actually say the end of the world…), is that the temple was so solid and so central to his followers' identity. How can something so vital and real become as nothing? Even our grandest buildings, even the institutions they represent, even the hopes and dreams of those who are invested in those institutions, are among the things of this world which are passing away.

And – shock of shocks – so are we. We believe we have a future beyond this world, but our time here is finite. (Here are some photographic reminders of how small we really are in the grand scheme.) When we truly integrate that knowledge into our being, when we truly see each day as a gift to be received in full, not only as a step along the way to another gift tomorrow, we begin to attain that serenity that allows us to meet the darkest times. This is that spiritual quality of apatheia that the desert monastics of the second and third centuries CE spoke about, that holy equanimity that we cultivate as we learn to let go of our agendas and receive God’s life and dreams for us.

Are there things or people or situations about which you find it impossible to feel peaceful? What a day to ask that question! Could you invite God to give you peace even around these matters? What would that look like or feel like? Try to imagine it…

St. Ambrose of Milan, a wonderful fourth century bishop, had a beautiful image for this in one of his sermons on baptism. He says the newly baptized are to be like fish: “Imitate the fish,” he says. “It is in the sea and above the waves. It is in the sea and swims on the waters. On the sea the tempest rages, violent winds blow; but the fish swims on. It does not drown because it is used to swimming. In the same way, this world is the sea for you. It has various currents, huge waves, fierce storms. You too must be a fish, so that the waves of this world do not drown you.”

Even in the face of devastation and loss of all we hold dear, our faith invites us to proclaim the love of a God who weeps with those who weep, who strengthens those who work for recovery, who invites us to look beyond what we can see to a reality of love and restoration we can only dimly glimpse. In Christ, we truly are fine. No matter what. No matter when.

Swim today, my friends. Swim into God’s peace, into God’s purpose, into God’s future for us - which will be, whatever today's outcomes. And click that song link – that’ll give you some moments of joy!

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8-2-22 - Believing

You can listen to this reflection here.

Few texts from the Old Testament are cited as much in the New as this story of God’s promise to Abram. Paul refers to it in at least two letters, and it comes up in this week's passage from Hebrews. In the face of God's promise to protect and bless him, Abram replies that none of that means much to him, since he and Sarai will die childless. He could predict that with confidence – they had been unable to conceive in their long marriage, and Sarai was now past childbearing. But God knew more than Abram could conceive:

But the word of the Lord came to him, “This man shall not be your heir; no one but your very own issue shall be your heir.” He brought him outside and said, “Look towards heaven and count the stars, if you are able to count them." Then he said to him, "So shall your descendants be.” And he believed the Lord; and the Lord reckoned it to him as righteousness.

It is this “reckoning to him as righteousness” that Paul refers to when building his case that we are saved solely through faith in Christ, not through our own righteous deeds. He makes the point that all Abram did was believe God’s promise that he would have descendants, despite all evidence to the contrary. It wasn’t good works, or “being a good person” that made him righteous in God’s eyes; it was only believing. Sola fide, as Martin Luther proclaimed.

It can be hard for us achievement-oriented producers to fathom just how little activity God desires from us. It seems that what God wants most is that we believe him, that we put our trust in God's promises, even when we cannot see how they could possibly pan out. First, of course, we must discern what promises God has made to us. Sometimes a person will receive a personal word of promise about something in their life; such words should align with scripture and be confirmed with others. We all can rely on the promises we receive in Scripture – the promise of God’s enduring presence (“I will never leave you or forsake you…”), God’s abiding peace (“The peace of Christ will guard your hearts and thoughts in Christ Jesus.”), God’s transforming power (“How much more with God give the Holy Spirit to those who ask!”), and of course, eternal life. There are more, but those are the hit parade.

Has there been a time when you were able to rely on God’s promise of restoration or peace in turbulent times? Are you able to simply believe in the face of what looks like impossibility? Believe that God desires blessing for us, even when we don’t know what the blessing will look like? I find the more I do it, the easier it comes.

That’s really the goal of the Christian life, not “working our way to heaven,” but trusting in the absolute truth that Jesus has already paved that way for us. We have been “worded,” deemed righteous through the pure holiness of Christ, whatever we bring to the table. All that is left for us is to say thank you and believe that this gift is real and enduring. Whatever “work” we do with God flows from there.

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7-28-22 - All That We Can't Leave Behind

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

And love is not the easy thing
The only baggage you can bring
Is all that you can't leave behind.  – U2,Walk On (All That You Can’t Leave Behind)

This song comes to mind as I reflect on Jesus’ parable of the rich man who is so focused on acquiring and storing his many assets. This fictional fellow thought he’d guaranteed his security – but think again!

“Then he said, ‘I will do this: I will pull down my barns and build larger ones, and there I will store all my grain and my goods. And I will say to my soul, Soul, you have ample goods laid up for many years; relax, eat, drink, be merry.’ But God said to him, ‘You fool! This very night your life is being demanded of you. And the things you have prepared, whose will they be?’"

Whose will they be? What will be left of our legacy after we’ve gone – whether it’s changing jobs, moving from a beloved community or leaving the planet for good? What good will all the things we invest in, material and otherwise, do us when we’re dead? Perhaps a rich person's children will inherit, and sometimes carry on the good – and often they’ll turn out lazy and self-indulgent, expecting hand-outs. Can we secure our future and that of our descendants?

The invitation here, as always, is to put our trust in God, not in our financial security, and to live our lives on a daily basis, not in five-year increments. All the things we put our trust in can fail us – people, machinery, the very earth sometimes. We go through life assuming elevators will not snap their cables, or roads collapse, or partners become unfaithful (or Supreme Court decisions be upended…). We’re pretty sure banks won’t fail – but every recession or precipitous drop in the markets reminds us that financial “security” isn’t always so secure. What will it take for us to truly put our weight on the provision and power and love of God?

Here’s a thought exercise: is there any possession or amount of money you would fail to offer if it would save the person you love the most in the whole world? If you needed to be emptied in order to receive the greatest gift, on what might you loosen your grip? That time will come when our grip is loosened for us, and then we will all part with our riches. What if we started to live in that kind of freedom while we’re still alive in this world?

Leave it behind
You've got to leave it behind
All that you fashion
All that you make
All that you build
All that you break
All that you measure
All that you feel
All this you can leave behind

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5-31-22 - God Speed

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

In his last words to his disciples, Jesus told them to expect a gift from his Father: the Holy Spirit, who is the spirit of God. Jesus spoke about the Spirit as having a definable personality, characteristics, traits, functions. That’s one reason Christians arrived at the notion of God as three distinct yet united persons.

“I have said these things to you while I am still with you. But the Advocate, the Holy Spirit, whom the Father will send in my name, will teach you everything, and remind you of all that I have said to you. Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled, and do not let them be afraid.”

Jesus suggests his teaching and training have been partial, limited. The Holy Spirit will teach everything, reinforcing all that Jesus spoke to them. He promises to leave his peace with them, a gift he would give again when he first saw them – perhaps in this very same room? – after he rose from the dead. He invites them to let go of the sorrow and anxiety that has gripped them, to let go of fear.

How might we do that? We need to receive this gift of peace in the spiritual part of our being and let it transform our natural selves. We cannot attain it with worldly strategies; it is not a gift to be taken, but received. Perhaps that is what Jesus meant by “I do not give to you as the world gives.”

How does the world give? Capriciously, inconsistently, often conditionally. The world rewards achievement and productivity, privilege and connections. God rewards humility and faithfulness, weakness as well as strength. Above all, God seems to give as a function of relationship, to honor a relationship that already exists, not to win us over.

We pretty much know how to play by the world’s rules, some of us more successfully than others. Lasting peace, peace that stays with us even in unpeaceful circumstances, is a fruit of running our lives on God’s operating system, learning to live by radical trust rather than by self-saving strategies. Is there a concern in your life right now that you might try to approach in God’s way rather than the world’s?

When my nephew was little, he heard someone say “God speed” to someone departing, and thought it meant moving at the speed of God. I like that. Learning to live on God-speed is a transition. We choose to put that relationship above all the others that claim our hearts, to offer everything we have – and receive far more in return.

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4-26-22 - God On the Sidelines

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

Simon Peter was a professional fisherman before Jesus called him from his nets. He knew his way around a boat, a net, a lake, a school of fish. He knew how to do this – except that night, nothing. All night, no fish. And then some yahoo on the shore tries to tell him how do to it.

Just after daybreak, Jesus stood on the beach; but the disciples did not know that it was Jesus. Jesus said to them, “Children, you have no fish, have you?” They answered him, “No.” He said to them, “Cast the net to the right side of the boat, and you will find some.” So they cast it, and now they were not able to haul it in because there were so many fish.

I can imagine the language in that boat at this suggestion. “We’ve cast the nets on every *&@#%* side of the boat! Who is this guy?” And then perhaps more colorful language yet as their nets inexplicably become so full they could hardly move the boat.

Many of us have areas of our lives in which we don’t think we need God’s assistance. I often hear people say, “I don’t need to bother God with that!” or “We’re not at the point of needing prayer yet…” as though we're to deploy the “big guns” only as a last resort.

But God doesn’t want to be on the sidelines of our lives – God wants to be right smack dab in the middle of our work, rest, relationships, joys, frustrations, questions, convictions. Indeed, God wants to be working with us and through us. And could it be that the One who made all universes knows a thing or two about teaching, medicine, tax preparation, fundraising, marketing, finance, law, or whatever it is we do for a living? What if we invited God’s presence at regular intervals into our work days? Someone I know was facing a tense work meeting – and remembered to invite Jesus. The meeting went better than she could have imagined, and the relationship with that co-worker is prospering.

The Holy Spirit can help us in all our relationships, our stresses, our habits. And – surprise! – God can help us in our churches and ministries. We don’t have to put prayer and worship on one side and the “work of the church” on the other. It’s all of a piece. It’s all holy work, as we allow the Holy Spirit into it.

What is most frustrating to you in your life right now? Where do you feel stuck, jammed, not moving, not growing, in the dark, out to sea? Could it be that Jesus is nearby? Might he have a word to you? Have you asked his guidance? That can be scary – what if he doesn’t answer? Then we ask again.

Jesus said something about wanting us to be fruitful, so I’m guessing he will have a word to guide us. Maybe he’s already speaking it through someone we don’t want to listen to – and that might include our own deepest selves.

What if he’s already given us the answer? What “expertise” do we need to let go of in order to hear it?

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1-26-22 - Unpredictable God

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

If prayer were never answered in ways we can discern, chances are we’d be okay with it, though we might stop praying. What is challenging, often maddening and sometimes heart-breaking, is that sometimes we seem to see answers in ways we want, and sometimes it seems we do not. It’s the unpredictability more than the disappointments that inhibit our faith, I think.

The people of Nazareth, having heard reports of the wonders Jesus was doing, expected that he would do the same and more in his hometown. But he says it’s not that predictable: "And you will say, ‘Do here also in your hometown the things that we have heard you did at Capernaum.’” And he said, “Truly I tell you, no prophet is accepted in the prophet’s hometown. But the truth is, there were many widows in Israel in the time of Elijah, when the heaven was shut up three years and six months, and there was a severe famine over all the land; yet Elijah was sent to none of them except to a widow at Zarephath in Sidon. There were also many lepers in Israel in the time of the prophet Elisha, and none of them was cleansed except Naaman the Syrian.”

This sent them into a murderous rage. Was Jesus saying God is capricious? That God cares more for Gentiles than for the chosen people? Why was only one widow helped during the three-and-a-half year famine? Why only one foreign leper healed? Does God only intervene when there’s a larger purpose? Why does God interact at all with God’s creation?

If I knew the answers to that, I’d be much holier (and maybe richer…) than I am now. Why we discern responses in some cases and not in others continues to perplex us. And none of us has a very full data set from which to draw conclusions. We have some stories in the Bible, some experiences of our own or other people, but no one knows what God’s record is. We only know that when we pray, sometimes remarkable things happen, and sometimes they do not.

When remarkable things result, and we feel they’re connected to our prayer, we should give thanks and tell people about it. It helps increase our faith and builds that of others. And when it seems we have no response, or not the one we want, we should also talk about that – talk to God about it, and other people, because that’s one definition of faith: to believe despite evidence to the contrary.

The purpose of prayer is not to ask for things and see what we get. The purpose of prayer is to communicate openly with the God who made us and loves us and knows us better than we can know ourselves, and through that communicating to come to know God more fully. And God has invited us to allow God’s Spirit to pray through us; then we're praying for what God already intends to accomplish.

God’s prayers have a 100% response rate. Let’s figure out how to join ours to God’s. It's as simple as "Come, Holy Spirit..."

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1-25-22 - Connections

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

I always feel a little more powerful when I know someone who can help hook me up to things I need or people I should know. (Actually, I like best being that person for others…) Connections are how we get ahead. So imagine how excited Jesus’ neighbors in Nazareth were when their "homie" became a religious sensation, known not only for his wisdom but for his amazing miracles and works of power. This was the ultimate connection, someone who channeled the power of God! And he was one of them!

Then imagine their disappointment when he indicated he was unlikely to exercise much power in his own town: He said to them, “Doubtless you will quote to me this proverb, ‘Doctor, cure yourself!’ And you will say, ‘Do here also in your hometown the things that we have heard you did at Capernaum.’” And he said, “Truly I tell you, no prophet is accepted in the prophet’s hometown.”

He cited a few examples of prophets of old who were unable to address the needs of their own communities, only helping outsiders. And man, did they not want to hear that. In fact, their response was violent, probably more intense than if a stranger had said he couldn’t help them. No one expects too much from a stranger. But one of your own? You should be his first priority. How dare Jesus say he was not accepted there, that his powers would be somehow inhibited?

I find in their angry response an invitation for us to examine our own hearts when it comes to Jesus. I dare say anyone who has ever prayed fervently for something has experienced some disappointment in the outcome. If that disappointment is acute, or experienced too often, we can find ourselves angry. And since the church does not offer many outlets for expressing negative emotions about God, that anger can become pushed down and calcify into a polite estrangement. We don’t try to push Jesus off a cliff, but we may push him out of our lives, stop trusting or asking or hanging out with him.

If this has been your experience, it’s good to recognize that, and begin to process it in prayer and maybe in pastoral conversation. Not for nothing is the rite of repentance in our tradition called “Reconciliation.” The greatest damage done when we turn away from God is to that relationship itself.

God is always, like the father in Jesus’ story about the prodigal son, out there in the road waiting for us to return. Can we walk back to that place, walk back through the hurt we encountered, the anger we experienced, the loss we suffered? Is our relationship with God worth it to us?

We don’t need to seek out connections; we are already hooked into the most powerful network in the universe, the power and love that flow from the throne of God. If that connection needs strengthening, let’s put our time and energy into repairing that breach. The arms of love await us.

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1-18-22 - Starting Strong

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

I remember those early days of ordained ministry, when looking at the readings for next week's sermon felt like unwrapping a gift; when people loved all my crazy ideas; when they wanted to nurture the “baby priest,” when I often felt filled with the power of the Spirit. Sigh! Was it like that for Jesus? Luke tells us that, after Jesus’ baptism and 40-day testing in the desert, Jesus was doing great:

Then Jesus, filled with the power of the Spirit, returned to Galilee, and a report about him spread through all the surrounding country. He began to teach in their synagogues and was praised by everyone.

Jesus started his formal ministry in his home region. And what he taught and the works of power he performed – healings, exorcisms, that water-into-wine trick – garnered him lots of attention and approval. But he knew better than to get hooked by all that affirmation. Had he been vulnerable to that, the devil would have bested him in the wilderness. Jesus was able to receive the adulation without counting on it. In his heart he must have known that his mission would prove controversial once people really understood his message: come close to God and follow His ways, putting all your trust in Him – no matter what it costs you in human terms.

Sometimes our early days of faith can feel bracing, exciting, fulfilling. But as our sense of connection to God is weakened through distraction or stress, and disappointments pile up, we can become spiritually complacent or stuck in routines. I suspect beneath most complacency is anger; anger that God has left us where we are, not blessed us in certain ways we deeply desired to be blessed. Our focus turns inward and we can lose sight of the blessing that is all around us, coming at us through other people, through the beauty of this earth and its creatures, through our own God-inspired creativity.

You may not feel this way; if you don’t, hallelujah. Chances are you may have at some point and worked and prayed your way out of it. That’s the path we’re given – to be honest with God about what we’re feeling, and what we’re not, and ask the Spirit to help open our spirits again.

It is easy it was to get hooked on the three “As” – Attention, Approval and Affirmation, but being praised by everyone isn’t all it’s cracked up to be; sometimes it ends in crucifixion. Being adored by God is a gift that will never end.

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6-30-21 - Packing Light

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

My luggage volume varies greatly according to mode of transportation, potential range of temperature and likelihood of a social life. If I’m flying to our cottage in Michigan, I pack pretty light, since I’ll have to carry my luggage and need little in the way of dress-up attire. Going somewhere by car, where there’s likely to be parties? I can take as many outfits and pairs of shoes as I like.

I would have flunked Jesus' Packing 101. As he headed out on another teaching tour, he sent his disciples out too: He called the twelve and began to send them out two by two, and gave them authority over the unclean spirits. He ordered them to take nothing for their journey except a staff; no bread, no bag, no money in their belts; but to wear sandals and not to put on two tunics.

I guess he didn’t mean sandals in seven colors, did he? They were to carry nothing, no luggage, no change of clothes, no money. As we will see when we look at his instructions about where they were to stay, he insisted they rely completely on the resources they could find in the villages to which they went. They had to live by faith and the Spirit's guidance.

Could do this for even one day? Some do; others have tried it. I know of a bishop who lived homeless in New York City for a month, and there is Barbara Ehrenreich’s experience detailed in her book “Nickel and Dimed,” in which she attempted to live in America on minimum wage jobs, which would be even more challenging today. I don’t think many of us would get very far.

Why would Jesus insist on such stringent conditions for his disciples on their first trip out? To go with nothing, no money, no safety net? Perhaps it’s because he didn’t send them out with nothing. For one thing, he sent them in twos; nobody went alone. And He sent them with the Spirit’s power and authority over unclean spirits. They had ammunition against the strongest danger they faced, spiritual temptation and interference from the minions of the Evil One. Physical challenges they could handle, if they could learn to trust.

Absolute faith would be required for those who were to carry forward the mission of God revealed in Christ. Absolute faith is still required. And all our safety nets and insurance policies and savings accounts hold us back from putting “our whole trust in his grace and love,” as Episcopalians promise in baptism. And no, I’m not ready to part with my retirement account. I am ready to look at and pray about how my resources compromise my faith.

St. Francis of Assisi, when he renounced his family’s wealth and severed his relationship with his father, even took off his clothes so as to carry nothing from that life with him. One requirement of those who would join him, at least in the early days when he was still in charge of his order, was that brothers sell all they had and give the proceeds to the poor, owning no property at all.

What Christians are to do with wealth is one of the most vexing questions that face us. Giving a lot away makes us feel better about having it – and for those who are content to be on the outer edges of Christ’s life, that is just fine. Jesus did commend generosity.

But for those who would be his closest followers? I suspect our baggage is weighing us down more than we’d like to contemplate. What can we part with today?

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8-25-20 - Safety Second

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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11-12-13 - And I Feel Fine...

11-12-13…. An auspicious date on which to talk about the end of the world. Or do to almost anything… And let’s get that REM song in here now: It’s the end of the world as we know It… and I feel fine.

Truly? Is there a way we can feel fine about worlds ending, whether it’s The World, or pieces of ours? I don’t know about fine, but I do believe we can attain a spiritual quality of trust and disentanglement that allows us to meet all kinds of circumstances with serenity.

Part of the shock in what Jesus said about the temple being destroyed as a sign of the end (of something… he doesn’t actually say the end of the world…), is that the temple was so solid and so central to his followers' identity. How can something so vital and real become as nothing?

Even our grandest buildings, even the institutions they represent, even the hopes and dreams of those who are invested in those institutions, are among the things of this world which are passing away. And – shock of shocks – so are we. We believe we have a future beyond this world, but our time here is finite. (Here is a video reminder of how small we really are in the grand scheme of things.)

When we truly integrate that knowledge into our being, when we truly see each day as a gift to be received in full, not only as a step along the way to another gift tomorrow, we begin to attain that serenity that allows us to meet the darkest times. This is that spiritual quality of apatheia we talked about a few weeks ago, that holy equanimity that we cultivate as we learn to let go of our agendas and receive God’s life and dreams for us.

Are there things or people or situations about which you find it impossible to feel peaceful? Would you like to invite God to give you peace even around these matters? 
What would that look like or feel like? Try to imagine it…

St. Ambrose of Milan, a wonderful 4th century bishop, had a beautiful image for this in one of his mystagogical sermons on baptism (mystagogy is preaching and teaching on the holy mysteries of the church). In one of my favorite parts, he talks about how the newly baptized are to be like fish:

“Imitate the fish,” he says. “It is in the sea and above the waves. It is in the sea and swims on the waters. On the sea the tempest rages, violent winds blow; but the fish swims on. It does not drown because it is used to swimming. In the same way, this world is the sea for you. It has various currents, huge waves, fierce storms. You too must be a fish, so that the waves of this world do not drown you.”

Perhaps the week after a great many people met horrible deaths due to a fierce storm with violent winds and huge waves is not the time to hear this quote, which we’d all rather remained a lovely metaphor. Or maybe this is just the day to recall God’s fierce promise of peace that defies understanding.

Even in the face of devastation, our faith invites us to proclaim the love of a God who weeps with those who weep, who strengthens those who work for recovery, who invites us to look beyond what we can see to a reality of love and restoration we can only dimly glimpse. In Christ, we truly are fine. No matter what. No matter when.