2-28-19 - In a Cloud

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

Have you ever found yourself in a cloud (not counting in airplanes)? A fog rolls in and you are completely enveloped in white, your visibility of anything beyond your own form completely obscured. It is a deeply disorienting experience. And what if that cloud began to speak?

…a cloud came and overshadowed them; and they were terrified as they entered the cloud. Then from the cloud came a voice that said, “This is my Son, my Chosen; listen to him!”

Of course, on the mount of Transfiguration, it was not the cloud speaking, it was God. But why a cloud? Maybe the blocking of other senses allowed the disciples to focus more on the aural experience, the voice of God, and its message. And what a message, so similar to what some heard at Jesus’ baptism, "This is my Son," but with the added command, “Listen to him.” Their ears confirmed what they had seen with their eyes. when Jesus was transfigured before them. Later, if tempted to doubt, they had another form of authority on which to rest. And when they were ready to talk – perhaps after Jesus’ resurrection? – they had quite a story to tell, supported by three witnesses.

How does God get our attention? We are often so enveloped in activities and media and dashing here and there, responding to so many messages, it can be hard for the voice of God to get through. Perhaps we should put ourselves in a cloud periodically, dramatically reduce the stimuli. One might say that is what the practice of centering prayer achieves – we enter a cloud of soft quiet, where we see little and hear only silence.

That is also what happens on retreat, whether for a few hours or a few days: we slip into a simpler rhythm of meals, rest, walks, study, prayer, with fewer choices to make. As we give ourselves to the simplicity and the silence, eventually God’s voice begins to get through.

One of the great classics of Christian spirituality is a 14th century book called The Cloud of Unknowing (the link is to an edition I like), whose author suggests that God is to be found not in knowledge and evidence so much as in absence and mystery. It’s not the way we might think of seeking God in our take-charge, work-for-what-you-want culture. But that medieval mystic was on to something.

Perhaps that’s what God does when we are in the clouds, reminds us that the deepest knowledge is not found in what we can see or figure out for ourselves. The deepest Truth can only come from God, who speaks in a sound of sheer silence.

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2-27-19 - Company You Keep

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

Confession: I am a name-dropper. If I have a connection with someone considered important or influential in some realm or other, and I can work it into the conversation at all naturally, it’s in. I’m not unique; Facebook shows that many people bask in the reflected glow of the company they keep.

Well, Jesus one-ups all the name-droppers in the world. His important friends – about as influential as they come in the history of Israel – simply materialize up on that mountain, to the astonishment of his three followers:

Suddenly they saw two men, Moses and Elijah, talking to him. They appeared in glory and were speaking of his departure, which he was about to accomplish at Jerusalem.

Not only can Peter, James and John see these men with Jesus, they can hear their conversation. Moses and Elijah and Jesus are speaking outside of time as we know it. They are discussing future events, Jesus' upcoming passion, death, resurrection and ascension, as fully as if they had already occurred. In God-time, eternal time, they already had.

Why would Moses and Elijah show up in this transcendent experience? Maybe because they represent the Law and the Prophets, the foundation of Israel’s religious tradition. Maybe because they were among the few who are recorded as having seen God, or had close encounters with God. And maybe they were there as a confirming sign to Jesus’ followers that the claims he made about himself and his mission in this world were true. At times when they might doubt him, they had this memory to keep them on track.

When we’re beginning to get close to someone, we soon find ourselves curious about their friends and connections. People can rise and fall in our esteem based on who they surround themselves with, who admires and respects them, or not. So these disciples, already drawn close into a relationship with Jesus, aware of the lowliness of many of his companions, are given this glimpse into how exalted his connections could be. "Imagine, he even hangs out with Moses!"

As we try to get to know this Jesus better ourselves, without the benefit of his incarnate form, we too can explore who his friends and connections are. And as we seek to make him known, we can “out” ourselves as his friends, so others might learn more about him through knowing us. What kind of representatives are we? How well do our churches at large convey the grace and love for which Jesus is known?

It’s a big responsibility. Thankfully, it gets easier the more comfortable we get knowing Jesus. There is no higher name to drop - and he told us to drop his name liberally. Indeed, heaven and earth are waiting for us to do so.

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2-26-19 - Dazzling

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

The word “dazzling” doesn’t appear enough in the Bible, in my opinion. Nor do “marvelous,” “enchanting,” “super” or other movie poster adjectives. No wonder some people think it’s a dull book, full of platitudes and proscriptions. But we do get dazzled in this week’s story – blindingly so.

Now about eight days after these sayings Jesus took with him Peter and John and James, and went up on the mountain to pray. And while he was praying, the appearance of his face changed, and his clothes became dazzling white.

It’s funny how you can read a story a hundred times, and on the 101st reading see it in a new way. I’ve always thought Jesus was glowing, radiating light from within, as though the veil of his human body became translucent and revealed his form as pure energy. Maybe. But then why would his clothes become dazzling white? How would light from within do that?

Now it occurs to me that maybe he was reflecting the light of God, suddenly revealed up there on that mountain, that God was both within Jesus and without, all around. The Exodus story (our Hebrew Bible reading Sunday) tells us “Moses did not know that the skin of his face shone because he had been talking with God.” Maybe Jesus was reflecting light, not generating it; enough light to make Jesus’ face look different, to make his whole being to dazzle.

What difference does it make, you may ask, whether the light came from within or without? Not a lot. What interests me is whether and how we might reflect the light of God, and what it might do to our faces. I don’t mean that our faces will light up like Christmas trees in the presence of God – though that would surely get some attention. But what if others could see that we are reflecting a holiness, a power from outside us? I’ve been told that sometimes when I sing or lead worship, my face glows, and sometimes when I pray for healing, I feel an exhilaration that must show on my face. Is that a tiny, tiny bit of what Jesus manifest that day?

Perhaps you’ve known someone’s facial expressions to change when they’ve begun to center their lives on Christ. Our “default expressions,” which we sometimes catch in store windows or mirrors, often reflect care, anxiety, weariness, or bitterness. What if they always reflected the love and grace and assurance of God?

How might that happen? By catching the God-reflection off holy people and holy places. By spending more time intentionally in God’s presence, and letting that relationship shape us. It always seems to come back to that. Shedding our human nature and taking on God-Life doesn't come from a book or a building; it comes from relationship with Jesus.

I don’t know that we will see Jesus lit up this side of glory, but I do believe that his light reflected on us can be dazzling. So dare to dazzle!

2-25-19 - Up the Mountain Again

(You can listen to this reflection here.)

We have had a long Epiphany this year, augmented by the invitation to go deeper in faith in the Way of Love. No matter what stories we visit or people we meet during this season, though, we always end up on the mountaintop with Jesus and three of his closest followers, with what I think of Jesus’ big “reveal” – the Son et Lumiere show of transfiguration.

Now about eight days after these sayings Jesus took with him Peter and John and James, and went up on the mountain to pray.

In the Bible, mountains are places where people encounter God. On Mount Moriah, Abraham offers to sacrifice his son and is spared by God. On Mount Sinai, Moses meets with God, and when he descends, his face shines so brightly people are blinded. On Mount Horeb, Elijah catches a glimpse of God. People meet God in deserts and towns and watery places too, but the height and majesty of mountains seem to make them particularly conducive to theophanies.

Maybe it's because mountain tops are “away places.” They generally take some effort to reach. We need to plan our expeditions, bring lunch and water - or, if it’s a really big mountain, weeks’ worth of supplies. We have to make sure we’re fit enough to make the climb, and maybe surround ourselves with people we want to hike with.

And we have expectations – of beauty and grandeur, of great vistas and intimate moments with the natural world. We expect hard climbing but also some flat ground and downward slopes. And we hope to see something at the top that we can see from nowhere else on earth, the big picture that puts our lives into perspective.

The life of faith can be like that, with hills and valleys on its route. We know God is present in the lowlands (as Jesus’ followers discover at the base of the mountain in our gospel reading this week). But we think maybe we’ll have a close encounter with God in on the heights, one that will help us through the more challenging parts of our life's journey.

I don’t know what Peter, James and John expected when Jesus invited them along on his hike – certainly not what they experienced. They probably anticipated some rich time of conversation and contemplation with their master and friend. And so should we. Let’s make this climb with Jesus this week as a training run for the deeper excursion into God we might make during Lent.

What are your expectations of time with God? What do you dread?
What provisions do you want to carry for going deeper in the Spirit? Who else do you want along?

This story is very familiar to lifelong churchgoers, but I pray we will have a new encounter with it this week. After all, we can hike up the same hills time and again, and never experience them quite the same way. May it be like that with this strange and extraordinary tale of Encounter.

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2-22-19 - The Way of Love: Rest

You can listen to this reflection here. 

This season my congregations are exploring the Way of Love, with different gospel readings. Each Friday, Water Daily looks at this week's practice – this is the last: Rest.

The seventh spiritual practice in the Way of Love shares an attribute with the seventh day of Creation: rest. Genesis speaks of God creating the world and all its life in six “days” (epochs…),  and says, “And.. God rested on the seventh day from all the work that God had done.” Does God need rest? Isn't God unlimited in vigor and resilience? (Just like us...?)

We can only guess at nature of God, but could it be that a regular period of inactivity, a time to digest and process events, to refresh and recharge, is necessary even for this God in whose image we are made? Keeping the Sabbath holy – set apart from the ordinary – is an invitation and a command, the only commandment many Christians blithely ignore. This is like being given the deed to a beautiful house and not moving in. Do we really prefer to stay in our shacks of fatigue and stress, while God offers us the gift of time, even a whole day each week, in which to be unproductive?

That is my definition of Sabbath – a day (any day of the week) to just be, to unplug, enjoy, be creative if desired, but do nothing that would be on a to-do list. In seasons when I have managed to keep sabbath on my day off, I have woken up the next day so ready to work. But when I keep asking my brain and body to generate and respond to work without a break, I become less productive, and certainly less peaceful. Just as our bodies need time to digest meals, and our brains need sleep time to process all the data and experiences we’ve encountered all day, so our spirits need times to refresh. Jesus regularly sought times apart, to pray, to listen, to be still. Why is it so hard for us?

A host of obstacles work against the practice of Rest – not only does our culture not support rest, it promotes the lie that our progress is defined by our productivity, that we are only as valuable as our latest accomplishment. Many of us also carry an inner demand for achievement, borne of a deep insecurity about our identity. When we work, we know who we are. But hear this: when we rest, we know whose we are. God says, “You are my beloved. With you I am well pleased.” I once received this word in prayer, “I am delighted with you. There is nothing you can or need to do to make me more delighted with you, because I already love you the most. You could stop working right now and have all my love.” The practice of Rest says “Yes!” to God’s love and grace.

The “tyranny of the urgent” also inhibits our ability to live into God’s gift of Rest. And with our technology, where the urgent thrums constantly through our devices, it’s even easier to get caught up in what seems most pressing. It takes maturity and discipline to step out – ideally at least once a day – and say, “Hmmm – that felt like the most urgent task. But was it the most important thing I could have done with that hour/day/week/year?” Rest gives us that space.

Another disincentive to living into the gift of Rest is our discomfort with feelings that might emerge when we stop. Busyness is an effective anesthetic, distracting us from fear, anger, grief or anxiety that might be stirring in us. When we stop, we often become aware of our feelings. And feelings, like 2-year-olds, can kick up some tantrums if ignored. Acknowledge them, attend to them, and they often subside. Rest helps us do that.

To commit to the spiritual practice of Rest requires some decisions and some discipline. Beyond the imperative of getting enough sleep, it is best to set aside time(s) to rest within each day, and longer times within each week. Going for a walk, taking a few minutes to pray, napping, a cup of tea with a friend – these are all ways we can Rest. If you cannot fathom the idea of a 24-hour sabbath, try a half day. (Though it is actually easier to do a whole day than partial.) The practice of Rest also invites us to step out of the rhythms and pressures of our lives one or more times a year, to take a day or several of retreat. (My Christ Churches will have an opportunity for a Lenten Retreat Day on March 23.)

Like most of the practices, this one gets easier as we make it habitual. Rest is where all the other practices in the Way of Love become integrated. They are all designed to help us center our lives on Jesus. And Jesus said, “Come unto me, all who are weary, and I will give you rest.”

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2-21-19 - What Goes Around...

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

Many “New Age” teachings assert that we make our own reality, form our own destiny, are fully in charge of our lives. While this is not the Christian understanding (I am relieved to know there is a loving God who has authority over my life, even as s/he allows me the freedom to make choices for good or ill), Jesus does suggest there is a connection between what we put out and what we receive:

‘Do not judge, and you will not be judged; do not condemn, and you will not be condemned. Forgive, and you will be forgiven; give, and it will be given to you. A good measure, pressed down, shaken together, running over, will be put into your lap; for the measure you give will be the measure you get back.’

I have experienced this truth. In areas of my life where I am trusting and generous, I experience plenty. Where I am grudging, tight-fisted and judgmental, I see only paltry blessings. But I don't think Jesus is teaching karma, or suggesting that God punishes or withholds according to our attitudes. He is making a profound observation: only freedom can beget freedom, just as only love can beget love.

When we regard others with compassion rather than judgment or condemnation, we seek the best in them; such an outlook leads to more freedom. In fact, when I catch myself judging, I pray for the ability to see where that other person hurts. Compassion can break that cycle. (We need to practice this on ourselves too…). 

When we are able to forgive people who have hurt us, and really release that debt, costly as it may be, we are set free and so are they. And when we give, our hands are open to receive. Not only our hands – our hearts, for giving makes us joyful, and joyful people are attractive. As we cultivate an attitude of giving, things get unjammed, and gifts flow to us as well as from us.

This teaching, “the measure you give will be the measure you get back,” is another way of saying, “Do unto others as you would have them do to you.” Go through life pinched and puckered, that will likely be the way you experience the world. Go out in joy, sharing your gifts and your compassion, and just see how much blessing surrounds you.

Jesus uses such an exuberant image to describe the abundance God wants to pour on us – good measure, pressed down, shaken, running over into our laps. We need to affirm and forgive and give our hearts out just to make room for all the blessing God desires for us to have. Are you ready?

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2-20-19 - Nothing in Return

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

Like most people, I’ve had my share of unrequited love, yearning for the regard and affection of someone either unavailable or uninterested. But it never occurred to me to see this as a spiritual virtue! Jesus said,

‘If you love those who love you, what credit is that to you? For even sinners love those who love them. If you do good to those who do good to you, what credit is that to you? For even sinners do the same. If you lend to those from whom you hope to receive, what credit is that to you? Even sinners lend to sinners, to receive as much again. But love your enemies, do good, and lend, expecting nothing in return. Your reward will be great, and you will be children of the Most High; for he is kind to the ungrateful and the wicked. Be merciful, just as your Father is merciful.'

Of course, Jesus is not talking about romantic fixations, but friendship and favor. To merely return the love or generosity of someone is a low bar indeed. To love as God loves requires us to love when it’s challenging, when we do not get back in kind or volume what we've given, when we don’t even know we’re loved back. If this seems impossible, we need only flip the perspective and see ourselves as the often ungrateful, neglectful and grudging recipients of God’s unconditional love and grace. Jesus’ message starts to make more sense.

Every time we make the choice to love another person, especially in intimate relationships, we are in a sense making a loan. And if, as Jesus commands, we could extend those loans without expectation of repayment, we’d be a lot happier and love with more freedom. I’ve made more than a few loans that I’ve forgotten about. If the money is repaid, it’s a delightful surprise, but I’m not counting on it, or disappointed if it is not. It has never occurred to me to see my offers of love or friendship in the same light.

To give this open-handedly risks allowing people to take advantage of us. To love this open-heartedly leaves us vulnerable to pain, for it is human nature to desire love in return for love given, and to hurt when we don’t receive that. And if we’ve ever known the joy of mutual love, that can become the standard by which we judge our interactions. But if we judge that way, we might miss the gifts that are being offered by friends and lovers; they might seem like lesser gifts but they could be something we need to help us grow.

Can you think of a relationship in which you feel you give more than you get? How does it change your perspective if you focus on your generosity more than on deprivation?

Just as our physical hearts have muscles to be exercised, so do our metaphorical hearts – the more we love without expectation, the stronger our capacity for love grows. Unconditional love is a spiritual practice, as is giving without expectation of return. We need to practice it. And since our expectations are so often the root of our unhappiness, it wouldn’t hurt to take a few off the table, and be set free to love without measure, as we have been loved.

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