O goody – it's the end of the world texts this
week! You know you’re going to get an REM link at some point…
Each fall, as if to match the gathering gloom of shortening days, our lectionary begins to drag the scary stories out of our ancestral closet. (There is a history here – once upon a time, Advent was much more focused on prophetic doom and gloom than it is now, and it started earlier…)
This conversation starts casually, as some of Jesus’ followers are admiring the temple and its adornments. Jesus is blunt: "As for these things that you see, the days will come when not one stone will be left upon another; all will be thrown down." Now, we the readers know that in 70 CE the Romans did in fact destroy the temple. But this would have been a shocking pronouncement to Jesus’ companions. And like most of us, when we hear that something horrible is likely to happen, we want to know when will it be, and how will we know it is here.
Jesus’ answer is cryptic: "Beware that you are not led astray; for many will come in my name and say, `I am he!' and, `The time is near!' Do not go after them.” He suggests that some will try to gain a following by issuing dire predictions about the end of the world – guess we’ve seen that in the past few years… Remember when the world was going to end on May 21 a few years ago?
Why do people fall for this? Maybe because it is fairly natural to fear what we cannot control, and it’s hard to get bigger in the “you cannot control this” department than the end of the world as we know it. The end of THE world becomes a stand-in for our anxiety about the end of our worlds – which actually comes with some frequency, with wars and famines and pandemics; with infidelities and job losses; with diagnoses and mega-storms and losses of all sorts. War veterans, whom we celebrate today, know better than most about the end of the world. And for the most part, we survive.
What are you most afraid of losing today? Can you name that fear, and sit with it, inviting Jesus to join you in your imagination. What might he do with it? How might you invite his perfect love to transform that fear into something you can use?
There is some truth to the notion that our worlds are always ending. But that’s not the whole story - new life is always being born as well, sometimes in the ashes of the old world. God is in the business of making all things new – can’t help himself. Our job is to be open to new life wherever we find it.
(I’m going to wait on REM, but here’s a link to a fun song by a new duo I’m enchanted with, Goodnight Moonshine. The song is “End of the World Blues,” and you can find it about 15.55 minutes into this concert on YouTube. And listen to the rest. They’re playing in Ridgefield this coming Sunday at 4… I'm going.)
11-8-13 - Does Heaven Matter?
Our reflections this week have been bouncing off a conversation recorded over 2,000 years ago, about heaven, resurrection, life after death. I explore such things as part of my ministry of preaching. But does anyone else care about these ancient debates – what kind of bodies, if any, will carry our souls; in what kind of community will we gather after death; when will the end times be? Are these just “first century problems,” or relevant now?
If thinking about these things leads to anxiety, it is of little value. If it leads to what Paul call’s God’s gift of “eternal comfort and good hope,” then it’s worth exploring. If dwelling on heaven can make us more peaceful and joyful and hopeful here and now, bring it on.
75 years ago tomorrow, the world witnessed Kristallnacht, that night in 1938 when the Nazis first unleashed across Germany and Austria the fury against Jews that would culminate in the horrors and devastations of the Holocaust. November 9-10, hundreds of synagogues were burned, shops looted, homes and people terrorized.
My father was a Jewish 13-year-old in Vienna at the time. He lived through it. I can’t even imagine the terror of a populace who knew the Nazi presence in Austria wasn’t a good thing, but still hoped their leaders would successfully avoid annexation by the German Reich. I can’t imagine the fear and rumors and degradations and deprivations my father and millions of others endured.
But then, I can’t imagine living in Syria or Iran or Lebanon or Congo or any number of other places where terror like that can and does strike at any moment, where everything that has been normal about life is torn away and survival becomes your only goal. What difference does heaven or resurrection make when you’re living in hell?
And I think: If I have the opportunity to reflect on that question, I am called to be part of the solution. I am called to look up from my “first world problems” and help intervene in situations before they turn deadly, or be present with survivors if the horror has already come. It means I can’t look away – I have to turn toward the frightful and the frightened. I don’t have to address every situation – only the ones the Spirit leads me to. But I do not have the leisure to look away.
Where in the world are you being called to intervene – through prayer, donation, advocacy, action?
Where in our cities are you being called to intervene? Where in your community are you called to intervene?
It might be with domestic violence organizations, or human rights groups – Amnesty International, The International Rescue Committee, United to End Genocide.
What will you do with the resurrection life running through you, in a world full of death?
A few weeks ago, I attended a statewide meeting on reducing violence, and was privileged to hear Emmanuel Jal speak. Jal is a young man from South Sudan, whose world was turned upside down by the savage conflict there. His mother was killed when he was seven, and he joined thousands of children fleeing to Ethiopia. He was conscripted into military service, inflicted and suffered atrocities. "I didn't have a life as a child,” he says. “In five years as a fighting boy, what was in my heart was to kill as many Muslims as possible.” Eventually he was rescued and taken to Kenya, began school and ultimately a hip-hop music career that has made him internationally known. He has launched the We Want Peace genocide-prevention campaign, among many other advocacy and aid projects.
He is an amazing young man, who has come through a living hell. He reminds me that resurrection life is real, very real.
If thinking about these things leads to anxiety, it is of little value. If it leads to what Paul call’s God’s gift of “eternal comfort and good hope,” then it’s worth exploring. If dwelling on heaven can make us more peaceful and joyful and hopeful here and now, bring it on.
75 years ago tomorrow, the world witnessed Kristallnacht, that night in 1938 when the Nazis first unleashed across Germany and Austria the fury against Jews that would culminate in the horrors and devastations of the Holocaust. November 9-10, hundreds of synagogues were burned, shops looted, homes and people terrorized.
My father was a Jewish 13-year-old in Vienna at the time. He lived through it. I can’t even imagine the terror of a populace who knew the Nazi presence in Austria wasn’t a good thing, but still hoped their leaders would successfully avoid annexation by the German Reich. I can’t imagine the fear and rumors and degradations and deprivations my father and millions of others endured.
But then, I can’t imagine living in Syria or Iran or Lebanon or Congo or any number of other places where terror like that can and does strike at any moment, where everything that has been normal about life is torn away and survival becomes your only goal. What difference does heaven or resurrection make when you’re living in hell?
And I think: If I have the opportunity to reflect on that question, I am called to be part of the solution. I am called to look up from my “first world problems” and help intervene in situations before they turn deadly, or be present with survivors if the horror has already come. It means I can’t look away – I have to turn toward the frightful and the frightened. I don’t have to address every situation – only the ones the Spirit leads me to. But I do not have the leisure to look away.
Where in the world are you being called to intervene – through prayer, donation, advocacy, action?
Where in our cities are you being called to intervene? Where in your community are you called to intervene?
It might be with domestic violence organizations, or human rights groups – Amnesty International, The International Rescue Committee, United to End Genocide.
What will you do with the resurrection life running through you, in a world full of death?
A few weeks ago, I attended a statewide meeting on reducing violence, and was privileged to hear Emmanuel Jal speak. Jal is a young man from South Sudan, whose world was turned upside down by the savage conflict there. His mother was killed when he was seven, and he joined thousands of children fleeing to Ethiopia. He was conscripted into military service, inflicted and suffered atrocities. "I didn't have a life as a child,” he says. “In five years as a fighting boy, what was in my heart was to kill as many Muslims as possible.” Eventually he was rescued and taken to Kenya, began school and ultimately a hip-hop music career that has made him internationally known. He has launched the We Want Peace genocide-prevention campaign, among many other advocacy and aid projects.
He is an amazing young man, who has come through a living hell. He reminds me that resurrection life is real, very real.
11-7-13 - God of the Living
“Now he is God not of the dead, but of the living; for to him all of them are alive.'"
That’s how Jesus ends his discourse with the Sadducees. More of a conversation starter for me. My first question is, “What do you mean, he’s not the God of the dead? What about the people we love, no longer in this life?” And I guess Jesus’ answer might be: “Read the whole thing. They’re alive. From the moment they accepted my life in them, they were alive with a life that physical death could not end.”
To say that God is God of the living, not of the dead, also makes me wonder about things, even people, that truly are dead in this world. I’ve written a lot this week about sending God’s life and power into the things and people that seem dead, hopeless, lifeless. But are there also things that we should not seek to revive, because they have no life in them? (Don't worry - I'm not going to start talking about zombies… even if everyone else is...)
Death is where life is no longer. But what about where there never was life? Situations of terror and profound injustice? Genocide, slavery, oppression, distortion, manipulation? Child abuse, sex trafficking, pornography? Such things were never God-intended; they were not good things that went astray. They simply should never have been. God is God of the people affected by those situations, but not of the situations themselves. God is the God of addicts, for instance - but God is not the God of addiction.
To say that God is God of the living is also to affirm the life in the weakest creatures and people. It is a way of affirming God’s action in those things or people. We can say, “God is God of that. Yeah!” or “God is God of her, of him, of you.” It is a way of articulating God’s choosing and claiming of us.
What can you think of that is utterly lacking in life, where life never was?
Are there things in your life or in the world that you believe God is not God of?
If they are things that have any hold on you, can you renounce them today? That can be a good discipline.
And are there things or people, or parts of yourself even, over which you want to proclaim, “God is God of that!” Make a list; do some proclaiming.
God is God of all that is alive in you and around you.
God is Life. And where there is life, God is.
That’s how Jesus ends his discourse with the Sadducees. More of a conversation starter for me. My first question is, “What do you mean, he’s not the God of the dead? What about the people we love, no longer in this life?” And I guess Jesus’ answer might be: “Read the whole thing. They’re alive. From the moment they accepted my life in them, they were alive with a life that physical death could not end.”
To say that God is God of the living, not of the dead, also makes me wonder about things, even people, that truly are dead in this world. I’ve written a lot this week about sending God’s life and power into the things and people that seem dead, hopeless, lifeless. But are there also things that we should not seek to revive, because they have no life in them? (Don't worry - I'm not going to start talking about zombies… even if everyone else is...)
Death is where life is no longer. But what about where there never was life? Situations of terror and profound injustice? Genocide, slavery, oppression, distortion, manipulation? Child abuse, sex trafficking, pornography? Such things were never God-intended; they were not good things that went astray. They simply should never have been. God is God of the people affected by those situations, but not of the situations themselves. God is the God of addicts, for instance - but God is not the God of addiction.
To say that God is God of the living is also to affirm the life in the weakest creatures and people. It is a way of affirming God’s action in those things or people. We can say, “God is God of that. Yeah!” or “God is God of her, of him, of you.” It is a way of articulating God’s choosing and claiming of us.
What can you think of that is utterly lacking in life, where life never was?
Are there things in your life or in the world that you believe God is not God of?
If they are things that have any hold on you, can you renounce them today? That can be a good discipline.
And are there things or people, or parts of yourself even, over which you want to proclaim, “God is God of that!” Make a list; do some proclaiming.
God is God of all that is alive in you and around you.
God is Life. And where there is life, God is.
11-6-13 - Miracle Plant
Once upon a time a man encountered a miracle plant in a desert place. It was on fire, but not burned up. His attention secured, God spoke to him from the bush and called him to service. Moses, who once killed a man, and lived for himself, became one of God’s great prophets. And Jesus uses this story to support his argument about resurrection: “And the fact that the dead are raised Moses himself showed, in the story about the bush, where he speaks of the Lord as the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob.”
“And the fact that the dead are raised.” We spoke yesterday about the resurrection life running through us. So why do so many people appear so deadened? Why is it so hard to hope? Why do we give death so much power to set our agendas?
Last Sunday morning my radio came on at 5:05. I hit the snooze button, and drifted in and out of sleep. I woke again to Mountain Stage, a live folk music show, and a singer* doing a long intro about a time he paid for a gorgeous plant in Mexico and was handed a shriveled, dried up ball. Too embarrassed to protest, he and his wife slunk away, as he whispered, “We just paid $5 for a dead plant!” Somehow, in their car, a cup of ice melted and in some random way the plant ended up in that cup. Later that day, they came back to the car to discover a completely vital and beautiful plant. “Wow!” he said. “We just paid $5 for a miracle plant!”
That miraculous desert plant, they learned, is called a Resurrection Plant, for obvious reasons; also known as Rose of Jericho. It is a lycopod that grows in desert regions in the Southwest and Latin America, usually surrounded by cacti and such. It shouldn’t be able to survive such dry conditions, but the Resurrection Plant has an adaptive trick:
When the soil is moist after infrequent rains, a Resurrection Plant absorbs water and grows rapidly, producing a flat rosette of scaly stems up to one foot across. As the soil dries, it cannot store water like its succulent neighbors, so it folds up its stems into a tight ball as it desiccates and goes into a state of dormancy. The folded plant has a limited surface area, and what little internal moisture is present is conserved. All metabolic functions are reduced to a bare minimum and it appears to be dead. The plant can remain in this dormant condition for years. When the rains return, the plant's cells rehydrate. The stems unfold, metabolism increases, and growth resumes. Even dead Resurrection plants will unfold if given water, since rehydrated cells expand even if there is no living protoplasm in them.
What if that were the case for all the people and things we think are walking dead? People and situations we’ve given up on because we see no life in them? What if that were true for parts of ourselves, our dead or dormant hopes, joys, dreams, gifts? What about the places we’ve been hurt and have allowed to close into a tight ball instead of heal?
Today in prayer I invite you to think about people or situations you think resemble that plant.
Read through the description above slowly and see where you connect with it. Does it inspire you to pray for anyone, or for yourself? Does it encourage you to believe? I sure feel I was led to hear that story this week.
We can wait a long time for water - and it's already been given to us, living, restoring water – signified in our baptisms, in the power of the Holy Spirit coursing through us. We can let that water reach the dead-seeming places in us. And we can consciously bear that water to the people and places around us. These plants look really, really dead! But death does not have the last word on them. Nor on us. Nor do disappointment, degradation, depression.
I call this writing “Water Daily.” I know daily is way too frequent for some plants, maybe some people. The Resurrection Plant reminds us that it’s never too late to pour on the water and watch someone come back to life.
*Extensive google research on the plant name and Mountain Stage schedule finally yielded the name of the folk singer… I’m pretty sure it was Drew Kennedy, and the song is “Rose of Jericho.” Iron and Wine also has a song called, “Resurrection Fern” – that plant is just too good a metaphor to pass up!
“And the fact that the dead are raised.” We spoke yesterday about the resurrection life running through us. So why do so many people appear so deadened? Why is it so hard to hope? Why do we give death so much power to set our agendas?
Last Sunday morning my radio came on at 5:05. I hit the snooze button, and drifted in and out of sleep. I woke again to Mountain Stage, a live folk music show, and a singer* doing a long intro about a time he paid for a gorgeous plant in Mexico and was handed a shriveled, dried up ball. Too embarrassed to protest, he and his wife slunk away, as he whispered, “We just paid $5 for a dead plant!” Somehow, in their car, a cup of ice melted and in some random way the plant ended up in that cup. Later that day, they came back to the car to discover a completely vital and beautiful plant. “Wow!” he said. “We just paid $5 for a miracle plant!”
That miraculous desert plant, they learned, is called a Resurrection Plant, for obvious reasons; also known as Rose of Jericho. It is a lycopod that grows in desert regions in the Southwest and Latin America, usually surrounded by cacti and such. It shouldn’t be able to survive such dry conditions, but the Resurrection Plant has an adaptive trick:
When the soil is moist after infrequent rains, a Resurrection Plant absorbs water and grows rapidly, producing a flat rosette of scaly stems up to one foot across. As the soil dries, it cannot store water like its succulent neighbors, so it folds up its stems into a tight ball as it desiccates and goes into a state of dormancy. The folded plant has a limited surface area, and what little internal moisture is present is conserved. All metabolic functions are reduced to a bare minimum and it appears to be dead. The plant can remain in this dormant condition for years. When the rains return, the plant's cells rehydrate. The stems unfold, metabolism increases, and growth resumes. Even dead Resurrection plants will unfold if given water, since rehydrated cells expand even if there is no living protoplasm in them.
What if that were the case for all the people and things we think are walking dead? People and situations we’ve given up on because we see no life in them? What if that were true for parts of ourselves, our dead or dormant hopes, joys, dreams, gifts? What about the places we’ve been hurt and have allowed to close into a tight ball instead of heal?
Today in prayer I invite you to think about people or situations you think resemble that plant.
Read through the description above slowly and see where you connect with it. Does it inspire you to pray for anyone, or for yourself? Does it encourage you to believe? I sure feel I was led to hear that story this week.
We can wait a long time for water - and it's already been given to us, living, restoring water – signified in our baptisms, in the power of the Holy Spirit coursing through us. We can let that water reach the dead-seeming places in us. And we can consciously bear that water to the people and places around us. These plants look really, really dead! But death does not have the last word on them. Nor on us. Nor do disappointment, degradation, depression.
I call this writing “Water Daily.” I know daily is way too frequent for some plants, maybe some people. The Resurrection Plant reminds us that it’s never too late to pour on the water and watch someone come back to life.
*Extensive google research on the plant name and Mountain Stage schedule finally yielded the name of the folk singer… I’m pretty sure it was Drew Kennedy, and the song is “Rose of Jericho.” Iron and Wine also has a song called, “Resurrection Fern” – that plant is just too good a metaphor to pass up!
11-5-13 - Borrowing from the Future
In the 1st century referendum on resurrection, Jesus votes firmly in the “yes” camp. Speaking of “…those who are considered worthy of a place in that age and in the resurrection from the dead,” he says, “Indeed they cannot die any more, because they are like angels and are children of God, being children of the resurrection.”
What does it mean to be “children of the resurrection?” How do we live, if we believe that our physical form will pass away, but somehow our essential self-ness will live on eternally? Does having an eternal destiny make any difference to the way we live here and how, how or if we vote today?
Many reject resurrection as fanciful wish-fulfillment, an inability to confront the finality of death. I can’t argue it – I’m just going on faith in a story (and man) whose power I have seen and felt. I am interested, though, in whether the eternal part of the equation makes a difference to my life now.
I think it does, if I am conscious of the power of resurrection at work in me now, already, not only at my physical death. Paul writes that those who believe receive the Spirit as a down payment on the inheritance that will one day be fully ours (Eph 1:13-14). When we call on the power of God’s Spirit in prayer, in healing, in bringing justice, in bearing truth, in lightening darkness – it is resurrection power we wield. When we invoke Christ, we are living into our resurrection selves here and now. “Same power that conquered the grave lives in me, lives in me,” goes one praise chorus I like to sing.
In more biblical language, here's Paul in Romans 8:1 - "And if the Spirit of him who raised Jesus from the dead is living in you, he who raised Christ from the dead will also give life to your mortal bodies because of his Spirit who lives in you.”
One of the best phrases I’ve heard for this is "borrowing from the future." We are baptized into a promise of resurrection life. That life is already ours by faith. Our challenge is to remember that that life runs through our veins as well as temporal life. Sickness and death don’t have the last word. Obstacles and character challenges don’t have the last word. That down payment is already in our account – and we've received the bank card and password. We can borrow from that future as much as we want – it'll never run out.
So what would you like to bring some resurrection power to bear on today? What personal or world problem? What personal challenge? Begin to see new life in it, or in you, or in another person. Begin to believe resurrection life into it.
Borrowing from the future doesn’t negate the present – it brings God's power to it. Today is election day. If we believe in forever, transforming the now matters very much. Go out and vote for the candidates you believe will best bring justice and peace to your community, and then work alongside them. They don’t have to know where your power comes from… unless you decide to tell.
What does it mean to be “children of the resurrection?” How do we live, if we believe that our physical form will pass away, but somehow our essential self-ness will live on eternally? Does having an eternal destiny make any difference to the way we live here and how, how or if we vote today?
Many reject resurrection as fanciful wish-fulfillment, an inability to confront the finality of death. I can’t argue it – I’m just going on faith in a story (and man) whose power I have seen and felt. I am interested, though, in whether the eternal part of the equation makes a difference to my life now.
I think it does, if I am conscious of the power of resurrection at work in me now, already, not only at my physical death. Paul writes that those who believe receive the Spirit as a down payment on the inheritance that will one day be fully ours (Eph 1:13-14). When we call on the power of God’s Spirit in prayer, in healing, in bringing justice, in bearing truth, in lightening darkness – it is resurrection power we wield. When we invoke Christ, we are living into our resurrection selves here and now. “Same power that conquered the grave lives in me, lives in me,” goes one praise chorus I like to sing.
In more biblical language, here's Paul in Romans 8:1 - "And if the Spirit of him who raised Jesus from the dead is living in you, he who raised Christ from the dead will also give life to your mortal bodies because of his Spirit who lives in you.”
One of the best phrases I’ve heard for this is "borrowing from the future." We are baptized into a promise of resurrection life. That life is already ours by faith. Our challenge is to remember that that life runs through our veins as well as temporal life. Sickness and death don’t have the last word. Obstacles and character challenges don’t have the last word. That down payment is already in our account – and we've received the bank card and password. We can borrow from that future as much as we want – it'll never run out.
So what would you like to bring some resurrection power to bear on today? What personal or world problem? What personal challenge? Begin to see new life in it, or in you, or in another person. Begin to believe resurrection life into it.
Borrowing from the future doesn’t negate the present – it brings God's power to it. Today is election day. If we believe in forever, transforming the now matters very much. Go out and vote for the candidates you believe will best bring justice and peace to your community, and then work alongside them. They don’t have to know where your power comes from… unless you decide to tell.
Mixing Marriage and Heaven?
Jesus has a new set of critics in this week’s Gospel reading. The Pharisees take a break, and the Sadducees, another group of Jewish religious leaders under Roman authority, are up. They don’t believe in resurrection, though from their question we presume they’re down with an afterlife:
“Teacher, Moses wrote for us that if a man’s brother dies, leaving a wife but no children, the man shall marry the widow and raise up children for his brother. Now there were seven brothers; the first married, and died childless; then the second and the third married her, and so in the same way all seven died childless. Finally the woman also died. In the resurrection, therefore, whose wife will the woman be?”
Painful as separation is, we might consider it good news that marriage vows are only “till death us do part.” If we had to spend eternity loving one person more than anyone else, I don’t think heaven would be such a lovely place. Nor would a place in which some are preferred and others rejected seem like paradise – more like high school.
Jesus suggests that marriage is for this life, not the next. Actually, what he says is a bit more perplexing than that – “..those who are considered worthy of a place in that age and in the resurrection from the dead neither marry nor are given in marriage.” Is he hinting that Christ followers should all be celibate? Were that the case, the Christian movement would have died out a long time ago (reference the Shaker movement, which held celibacy as a central tenet – they are now known chiefly for their beautiful furniture… )
We can look more deeply at what Jesus said later. Today, let’s explore why we feel a need to project onto eternity the needs and preoccupations of this life. One might think we’d like to be rid of them. Marriage is often as challenging and even painful as it is joyful and fruitful. We might love our jobs, but do we really want to be doing them for all time? We can adore our children, but a healthy love allows them to grow up and away from us.
Seeing heaven as a time and space in which we hit the re-set button on all our priorities might help us live with better spiritual balance in this life. Here, we seem to need filters and priorities, to value one thing more than another, one person better than another. But that can get in the way of allowing God to set our priorities, which is one way of describing spiritual growth. The early Christian desert fathers and mothers made a spiritual virtue of apatheia, a holy equanimity, letting go of our own agendas. Hard to do – but perhaps the way of true freedom in Christ?
When you think of resetting your priorities, what is the first thing that comes to mind?
Dwell on that in prayer for a few minutes - ask God what that's about. Why did that thing or person come up?
Is there any part of your agenda for your life that you sense it might be time to let go of? You might ask the Spirit for the gift of apatheia, or explore it.
I have a feeling God has agenda aplenty for us, once we can get ours out of the way.
“Teacher, Moses wrote for us that if a man’s brother dies, leaving a wife but no children, the man shall marry the widow and raise up children for his brother. Now there were seven brothers; the first married, and died childless; then the second and the third married her, and so in the same way all seven died childless. Finally the woman also died. In the resurrection, therefore, whose wife will the woman be?”
Painful as separation is, we might consider it good news that marriage vows are only “till death us do part.” If we had to spend eternity loving one person more than anyone else, I don’t think heaven would be such a lovely place. Nor would a place in which some are preferred and others rejected seem like paradise – more like high school.
Jesus suggests that marriage is for this life, not the next. Actually, what he says is a bit more perplexing than that – “..those who are considered worthy of a place in that age and in the resurrection from the dead neither marry nor are given in marriage.” Is he hinting that Christ followers should all be celibate? Were that the case, the Christian movement would have died out a long time ago (reference the Shaker movement, which held celibacy as a central tenet – they are now known chiefly for their beautiful furniture… )
We can look more deeply at what Jesus said later. Today, let’s explore why we feel a need to project onto eternity the needs and preoccupations of this life. One might think we’d like to be rid of them. Marriage is often as challenging and even painful as it is joyful and fruitful. We might love our jobs, but do we really want to be doing them for all time? We can adore our children, but a healthy love allows them to grow up and away from us.
Seeing heaven as a time and space in which we hit the re-set button on all our priorities might help us live with better spiritual balance in this life. Here, we seem to need filters and priorities, to value one thing more than another, one person better than another. But that can get in the way of allowing God to set our priorities, which is one way of describing spiritual growth. The early Christian desert fathers and mothers made a spiritual virtue of apatheia, a holy equanimity, letting go of our own agendas. Hard to do – but perhaps the way of true freedom in Christ?
When you think of resetting your priorities, what is the first thing that comes to mind?
Dwell on that in prayer for a few minutes - ask God what that's about. Why did that thing or person come up?
Is there any part of your agenda for your life that you sense it might be time to let go of? You might ask the Spirit for the gift of apatheia, or explore it.
I have a feeling God has agenda aplenty for us, once we can get ours out of the way.
11-1-13 - Saints All
The day Jesus came to his house was a good day for Zacchaeus. Not only did he free himself from a burden of guilt and debt that must have been heavy to bear – he received the best hospitality gift ever:
Then Jesus said to him, “Today salvation has come to this house, because he too is a son of Abraham. For the Son of Man came to seek out and to save the lost.”
Zacchaeus became a saint that day. Jesus declared that all his sins and crimes couldn’t wipe out his true status as a son of Abraham, an inheritor of the promises of God. Just as all our sins and self-orientation can’t wipe out our true status as baptized members of God’s household through Christ. However we may define “lost,” if someone as sinful and destructive as Zacchaeus could be restored to wholeness and integrity, so can we. So can anyone.
Today is All Saints Day – a major feast in the Christian calendar. It is a day that affirms your sainthood, and mine. The term “saint” is not conferred only on those who are “holy” or “a good person.” 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 Thessalonica.” We know from the contents of the letters those folks weren’t always “holy.” They were saints by virtue of their baptism into the holiness of Christ. You are too.
How would you like to celebrate your sainthood today? Maybe draw (“write”) an icon of yourself, emphasizing those gifts of God you particularly cherish in yourself. This is not an exercise in 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? Maybe you want to write a hagiography of one of them.
At minimum, let’s spend some time in thanksgiving today, thanking God for making holiness available to all of us, and through us to others.
Recognizing our sainthood does not mean we stop the processes of healing and becoming more God-centered which we engage as Christ followers. We’re not “done,” at least not in this lifetime. But we’re already saints. Yes, you are! Enjoy your feast day!
Then Jesus said to him, “Today salvation has come to this house, because he too is a son of Abraham. For the Son of Man came to seek out and to save the lost.”
Zacchaeus became a saint that day. Jesus declared that all his sins and crimes couldn’t wipe out his true status as a son of Abraham, an inheritor of the promises of God. Just as all our sins and self-orientation can’t wipe out our true status as baptized members of God’s household through Christ. However we may define “lost,” if someone as sinful and destructive as Zacchaeus could be restored to wholeness and integrity, so can we. So can anyone.
Today is All Saints Day – a major feast in the Christian calendar. It is a day that affirms your sainthood, and mine. The term “saint” is not conferred only on those who are “holy” or “a good person.” 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 Thessalonica.” We know from the contents of the letters those folks weren’t always “holy.” They were saints by virtue of their baptism into the holiness of Christ. You are too.
How would you like to celebrate your sainthood today? Maybe draw (“write”) an icon of yourself, emphasizing those gifts of God you particularly cherish in yourself. This is not an exercise in 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? Maybe you want to write a hagiography of one of them.
At minimum, let’s spend some time in thanksgiving today, thanking God for making holiness available to all of us, and through us to others.
Recognizing our sainthood does not mean we stop the processes of healing and becoming more God-centered which we engage as Christ followers. We’re not “done,” at least not in this lifetime. But we’re already saints. Yes, you are! Enjoy your feast day!
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