Water Daily

3-4-22 - Round One

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

In Mel Gibson’s The Passion of the Christ, the devil is depicted as a grey, slithery, humanoid creature with malevolent eyes, lurking at the edges of the scenes of Christ’s passion and death. He is there in the Garden of Gethsemane, as Jesus confronts the agony he is about to endure and even dares to wish he might be spared before once more laying down his will before his heavenly Father. He is there as Jesus is paraded down the streets of Jerusalem, and on the hillside where Judas commits suicide. Was Jesus constantly having to do battle with him?

At the end of his trial in the wilderness, Jesus seems to have bested his foe. But Luke writes these fateful words, “When the devil had finished every test, he departed from him until an opportune time.” You can just about hear the opening bars of Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony.

We don’t know if the devil was constantly seeking to trip up Jesus – we do know that Jesus saw much of his work of healing, forgiveness and deliverance as setting people free from the power of Satan. So one can imagine his enemy would have been riled up.

But what about us? Do we need to worry about the devil – in whom many modern Christians profess not even to believe? I am ever challenged by the disjuncture between our doctrinal assertion that Jesus has vanquished the devil, and evil’s seemingly unfettered destructive power so widespread in the world. The devil may not be behind our temptation to eat more ice cream than is good for us, but wherever evil is done, violence perpetrated, terror wrought and destruction unleashed, we can be quite sure that some person has lost a battle with temptation. (Another reason to pray for our enemies!) If God has given human beings the free will to choose, that must mean that God will not protect us from making choices. And much of the pain we suffer and inflict comes from choosing the wrong instead of the right.

So yes, the enemy of human nature continues to snap at the heels of God’s beloved, and often to dominate those who say they believe in nothing. We should be aware of the choices beneath the choices of our actions. But we need not fear. As Martin Luther wrote so memorably in his hymn, A Mighty Fortress, “His craft and power are great…” but “One little word shall fell him.”

That word is simply the name of our Lord Jesus Christ. He is the only protection we need. When we feel tempted to despair or to try to control a situation or to impose our will upon another, or find ourselves beset by negative emotions, or up against evil in a more clear and threatening way, we need only remember whose we are and say, “Thank you, Jesus, for being my shield and protector.” As St. Peter wrote, “Rebuke the devil, and he will flee from you.”

Jesus did win the war. And the more people know and believe that, the less foothold the devil has in this world. There’s another reason to share our faith.

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3-3-22 - Security

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

I have always placed the devil’s third temptation of Jesus in the category of security, God’s protection. But, other than Psalm 91, which the devil quotes at Jesus, the Bible contains no promise of physical protection for God’s people. And a quick look at the sufferings of saints throughout history, not to mention the passion of Christ himself, should quickly disabuse us of the notion that God made any such deal with us. What the devil is doing here is tempting Jesus to test his value to God as an asset. “Surely, he’s not going to let you die? Before your time, that is...?”

Then the devil took him to Jerusalem, and placed him on the pinnacle of the temple, saying to him, “If you are the Son of God, throw yourself down from here, for it is written, ‘He will command his angels concerning you, to protect you,’ and ‘On their hands they will bear you up, so that you will not dash your foot against a stone.’” Jesus answered him, “It is said, ‘Do not put the Lord your God to the test.’”

If God has not promised to protect us, why do we continue to pray for protection? And why do we so often court damage to our bodies, minds and spirits by living in ways that we know can hurt us? While not quite in the category of risk as throwing oneself off the pinnacle of the temple, we don’t always treat ourselves as the precious assets we are. “Do not put the Lord your God to the test.”

Where in your life do you push the boundaries of good sense and healthy self-maintenance? What do you consume too much of, or too little? What is your relationship with exercise, and rest, and play? Mine could use some improvement.

Lent is a great time to examine where in our lives we put the Lord God to the test, expecting God to save us from ourselves, as well as from other people. I don’t mean to make light of the dangers in the world – they are real, and I will continue to pray for physical protection for me and those I love, and even total strangers like the Ukrainian people. But I also intend to become more aware of the ways I contribute to my own destruction, and invite the Spirit of God to help me live into the promises God has made: if not protection, then presence always, power, and peace that defies understanding. Those we can count on.

3-2-22 - Worship

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

They say in advertising it’s important to know your audience, especially their vulnerabilities. You’d think the Tempter would have done better market research on Jesus before he tried to sway him by offering him adulation and authority. Jesus showed very little interest in such things.

Then the devil led him up and showed him in an instant all the kingdoms of the world. And the devil said to him, “To you I will give their glory and all this authority; for it has been given over to me, and I give it to anyone I please. If you, then, will worship me, it will all be yours.”

This is like trying to sell somebody a priceless work of art they had donated in the first place. Did the devil did not know that Jesus had had all authority in heaven and earth, that he had voluntarily given it up in order to enter into human nature and submit himself to our condition? He wasn’t interested in that kind of glory, especially not at the price of worshipping the enemy of human nature. Jesus answered him, “It is written, ‘Worship the Lord your God, and serve only him.’”

Does this suggest that when we stray from the presence of God, when we go against God’s will and choose our own gratification, that we are worshiping the devil? No – but it does mean we have turned our worship away from the Living God. Whatever it is that tempts us away from the Lord – whether a behavior, or a commodity, or letting a feeling run riot in us – in that moment that becomes the object of our worship. We don’t think of it as worship, but that’s what it is. We have placed that thing or person or condition at the center of our life and oriented ourselves around it. If it’s a big temptation, it becomes all we can see.

Thanks be to God, it’s not difficult to turn back. We need only become aware that we’ve redirected our attention to an unworthy object, and turn our gaze back toward the God who loves us. The Greek word for repentance is metanoia, which suggests turning, turning away from what is less than life-giving and turning back to the Source of our life. Worship means worth-ship – ascribing worth to someone or something. When we turn back to God, we once again ascribe all worth to God.

If you go to church today for the Liturgy for Ash Wednesday, you will be invited into a lengthy and thorough confession of sin and repentance. There is no one who can avoid being snagged by at least one part of that litany. So let’s go through it aware of how we have turned toward some of these things we confess, and see how they've become central. And let’s enact this repentance with joyful hearts, for God delights in seeing us turn back toward him, which we do, over, and over, and over again, until at last we are Home and there is no more turning to be done, for we are in God. A blessed Ash Wednesday to you.

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3-1-22 - Hunger

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

I’m not big on fasting. I don’t like deprivation, even when it is self-induced. I never knew anyone who fasted regularly until I got to know more Muslims. I am astonished at how many of my Muslim friends fast during Ramadan, even those who aren’t particularly observant or active the rest of the year. For thirty days, from sun-up to sundown, they refrain from eating, drinking, even water, having sex, gossiping. They are more attentive to prayer and hospitality and charity and the needs of people around them. It’s extraordinary how normative it is for many Muslims.

The fast Jesus took on during his forty days in the wilderness was even more stringent. We’re told he his fast was total, 24/7, as he prayed and did spiritual battle with the devil: He ate nothing at all during those days, and when they were over, he was famished. The devil said to him, “If you are the Son of God, command this stone to become a loaf of bread.” Jesus answered him, “It is written, ‘One does not live by bread alone.’”

Why did Jesus refrain from eating? People who fast regularly find it focuses them spiritually. Yes, the hunger can be distracting, but after a while it fades and one becomes more aware of what’s happening around and inside. Those who fast for spiritual reasons find they become more attuned to what God is saying or doing as their focus on feeding their appetites recedes to the background.

After forty days, though, Jesus is ravenous, and this is when the devil tries to tempt him to misuse his spiritual power to create food for himself. He approaches when he thinks Jesus is vulnerable, and starts by tempting Jesus to doubt his identity as Son of God. “If you are…”

It should not surprise us that the Tempter hasn’t changed his tactics. He still approaches us in those areas where we feel depleted or deprived, where we’re vulnerable to scarcity-thinking, where we can be more easily convinced that we deserve to be full. After all, isn't God the source of abundance and blessing?

Yes - and that is exactly what we need to remember in those times when we’re tempted to take what has not been given us, or more than is good for us, or manipulate others to give us what we want. It is God who gives in abundance, and we need not look elsewhere.

We don’t have to stay hungry, but we thrive best when we look to God for blessing. Sometimes being hungry is the best way to remind ourselves that God is God and we are not.

2-28-22 - From River To Desert

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

On the first Sunday in Lent, we skip back to where we were the first Sunday in Epiphany, back to that Jordan River where Jesus is baptized, anointed by the Holy Spirit and affirmed by the voice of God proclaiming, “This is my Son, my beloved, in whom I am well pleased.” Jesus is filled with the Holy Spirit in that moment, but he doesn’t get to dwell in the water or the delight of his heavenly father for long. No, the Spirit who fills him immediately hurries him on to the next step in his mission: a period of trial.

Jesus, full of the Holy Spirit, returned from the Jordan and was led by the Spirit in the wilderness, where for forty days he was tempted by the devil.

It so often seems that really fruitful, beautiful times in our lives are followed by dry periods, times of trial and testing. Is this a pattern of God’s design? Are there things we can only learn in the wilderness times? Certainly the dry times aren’t as joy-filled as those seasons when we feel ourselves to be in the flow of the Living Water cascading from the throne of God. But maybe they’re as important.

Later this week we will enter the season of Lent, a season when we often voluntarily choose desert over river, seeking to strip away some of the clutter and chatter that fill our lives and can keep us from learning to depend wholly on God. Sometimes we give things up in order to listen better or focus more; sometimes we take things on. Ask God, “Holy Spirit, where are you leading me this Lent? What comfort zones or avoidance activities are you leading me away from? What practices and patterns are you leading me into?”

I’m urging my congregants to add a weekly small group to their Lenten practice – growing in intimacy with others who are walking Christ’s Way of Love can be both comforting and challenging, and will lead us deeper into God’s heart.

(If you would like to be a part of such a group (some will meet online), click here.)

Of course, the Spirit led Jesus into the wilderness for a specific purpose, to be tested and tried and tempted and strengthened for the mission ahead. I can’t be sure where the Spirit would have us go, but I do believe s/he wants us ready for action. So let’s be open to how the Spirit will prepare us for our part in God’s great mission of wholeness and reconciliation.

The river is lovely, and we'll get to come back. Now maybe it's wilderness time.

2-25-22 - Down the Mountain

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

After a rich and nurturing spiritual experience, it’s nice to coast on that high for awhile. I once enjoyed a retreat whose “glow” and sense of focus lasted several months. Not so for Jesus, James, John and Peter… their spiritual high on the mountain was quickly obliterated as they descended into a scene of trauma, anxiety, failure and discord.

On the next day, when they had come down from the mountain, a great crowd met him. Just then a man from the crowd shouted, “Teacher, I beg you to look at my son; he is my only child. Suddenly a spirit seizes him, and all at once he shrieks. It convulses him until he foams at the mouth; it mauls him and will scarcely leave him. I begged your disciples to cast it out, but they could not.” Jesus answered, “You faithless and perverse generation, how much longer must I be with you and bear with you? Bring your son here.” While he was coming, the demon dashed him to the ground in convulsions. But Jesus rebuked the unclean spirit, healed the boy, and gave him back to his father.

The plight of the man and his son seems to have made Jesus cranky. Perhaps he was ticked off by the failure of his followers to act on the training they’d received and exercise the faith necessary to exorcise evil. Maybe that time on the mountain in the blessing of his Father, the sojourn with Moses and Elijah, made him anxious to be done with the messy business of saving humanity from itself.

It’s comforting to know that Jesus himself experienced the kind of let-down we so often do when “regular” life intrudes upon any spiritual serenity we’ve managed to find. But regular life is where we live, not up the mountain but at its base. Jesus did not lift himself above the mess, but plunged into it, to experience it and to redeem it. In bringing his spirit into it, he restored peace.

How can we find the balance between expecting blessing, expecting to dwell in the experience of God even in the midst of ordinary days, and not base our expectations upon our spiritual high points? How might we learn to cultivate the awareness of the Spirit in with and through the human mess in which we live, both for our own wellbeing and so we can bring Christ’s restoring peace into all situations?

That, one might say, is the task of the spiritual life. It is why we develop and strengthen spiritual practices that keep our faith strong and our peace pervasive, even in the most challenging and unpeaceful circumstances. We celebrate the mountaintop experiences as tremendous gifts, the memories of which sustain us in difficult times. Yet the most amazing gift is learning how to live in God when it seems like our prayers are not effective and no one is listening.

As Mark tells this story, the father says to Jesus, “Lord, I believe; help my unbelief.” Learning to live, even thrive in that tension - that’s how saints are made.

Scroll down for information about an online Lenten retreat day March 12.

You can register here - information and Zoom link will be sent.

2-24-22 - In a Cloud

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

Have you ever found yourself inside a cloud? 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 in a cloud? Maybe the blocking of other senses allowed the disciples to hear more acutely 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, when 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 stimuli, it can be hard for the voice of God to get through. Perhaps we should put ourselves in a cloud periodically, dramatically reduce the input. One might say that is what the practice of centering prayer or meditation 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. Waiting, not chasing, may be more in line with God's ways.

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, and invites us into relationship.