Introduction
I am not a Buddhist – although I love the Buddha and
have learned a great deal about watching and waiting from the path of Zen. I am not a Jew – even though my spirituality is
saturated in the edgy Hebraic notion that the best way into intimacy with the
Lord has something to do with sharing compassion, doing justice and embracing
humility rather than hubris. I am not a
Muslim either despite the fact that I sometimes pray using the passionate and
incomprehensible name Allah. No, I am a
Christian – one who seeks to be faithful by loving others the way Jesus has
loved me – plain and simple.
· I’m not a
particularly good Christian, mind you, because after all these years I still wake
up in the middle of the night fretting about things I can’t control. Jesus told us “let your hearts not be
troubled… believe in me” – that is, trust and rest in me – because the Father
and I are one and I will bring you peace.
· But I still fight him on this one over and
over – small wonder my favorite quote from the Bible is “come unto me all ye
who are tired and heavy laden and I shall give thee… rest,” right?
What’s more, like Philip in the gospel text for today,
after spending all this time with Jesus both personally and professionally – in
worship and prayer, on retreat, in seminary, in study or in long and meditative
walks through the woods – I still forget to trust that Jesus will not leave me
alone no matter where my wandering takes me.
He said to Philip – and by implication to you and me, too – what is at
the heart of Pentecost:
Have I been with you all this time and
you still do not know me? Whoever has seen me has seen the Father. How can you
say, “Show us the Father”? Do
you not believe that I am in the Father and the Father is in me? The words that
I say to you I do not speak on my own; but the Father who dwells in me does his
works. Believe
me that I am in the Father and the Father is in me; and if you do not, then
start to believe because of the works themselves.
Apparently proximity does not
automatically confer spiritual wisdom or intimacy any more than sitting all
night in your garage makes you a car or howling all night makes you a coyote,
right? Something more is involved, something
Jesus called belief – trust – surrender to the love that is greater than
ourselves.
Believe in me… and I will
do whatever you ask in my name, so that the Father may be glorified in the Son. If in my name you ask me for anything, I will do it. If you trust and love me, you will start
keeping my commandments. And to help you
I will ask the Father and God will give you another Advocate who will be with
you forever. I’m talking about the very Spirit of truth,
whom the world cannot receive, because it neither sees him nor knows him. You
know him, because he abides with you, and he will be in you.
This is how Christians grow closer to the Lord: we learn to trust. It isn’t a better way into the presence of
God than that offered in Islam or Judaism or even the path of the Buddha – it
is just our way – trust and believe and you will come to see that I am in the
Father and the Father is in me. And for
most of us it takes a life time to put this into practice in a deep and honest
way. Trusting God is NOT something we
can purchase or create – it is not automatic – it takes time and lots and lots
of reflection.
Insights
That’s what we are calling part three of doing worship
in our tradition – reflection – a time to explore
and consider the new/old wisdom of tradition for a new generation. For the past two weeks we’ve been
talking about how to incorporate the wisdom of our worship into our ordinary
lives. So we started with gathering and being centered, moved on
to what it means to engage God and
one another in part two and now we’re ready to consider what it means to reflect on the new/old wisdom of Christ
for our time and culture.
Now notice two
things: our reflection begins with the
wisdom of the Christian tradition before
we think about ourselves. That isn’t
accidental, ok? To practice reflection
in our tradition means that we’re willing to trust – at least for about 20
minutes one day of every week – that we
are not the center of the universe. And
that’s a radical and counter-cultural insight.
It suggests that we don’t know everything – that our lives and problems
and obsessions and sins are not the totality of creation – that the way of the
Lord is greater and bigger than we could ever imagine.
I am a big fan
of the way the mystical poet of Islam, brother Rumi, put it in this small poem:
Who makes these changes?
I shoot an arrow right.
It lands left.
I ride after a deer and find myself
Chased by a hog.
I plot to get what I want
And end up in prison.
I dig pits to trap others
And fall in.
I should be suspicious Of what I want.
I shoot an arrow right.
It lands left.
I ride after a deer and find myself
Chased by a hog.
I plot to get what I want
And end up in prison.
I dig pits to trap others
And fall in.
I should be suspicious Of what I want.
In authentic Christian reflection, therefore, we are
suspicious of what we want and so turn to the distilled wisdom of the past in
something we call scripture. G.K.
Chesterton put it like this: Tradition means giving votes to the most
obscure of all classes, our ancestors. It is the democracy of the dead.
Tradition refuses to submit to the small and arrogant oligarchy of those who
merely happen to be walking about.
And specifically in our Sunday morning reflections we consider the
spiritual wisdom of our parents in faith – Judaism – as well as the tradition
of their children in the New Testament.
· Is that first
insight clear? That doing reflection in
our realm begins by looking at what others who have gone before us have learned
about faith, hope and love? That we
consciously choose to listen to something deeper than the current buzz or spin
of the moment? That we are willing to
learn how to become suspicious of what we want?
· How do you react
to that?
Reflection begins
with what others have learned and experienced in their pursuit of intimacy with
God – and always the heart of that
reflection is God rather than we ourselves, ok?
That’s part one of how we do reflection – and part two is what we’re
doing right now – sharing stories, insights, the result of study and our
personal reactions to the scriptures.
Judaism speaks of this as Midrash:
a contemporary and creative wrestling with the word of God in search of
practical and theological truths for our generation. Some scholars have said that the whole of the
New Testament is midrash upon the Word of the Lord revealed in the Law and the
Prophets.
That implies that in this second part of reflection –
our seeking contemporary insights and reactions to tradition – that involves both
a studied and educated articulation of that tradition as well as our personal response. We are not, you see, just reacting like
children to something new and strange, ok?
There is both some educated leadership required in reflection as well as
space and time for our personal reaction.
· Is that clear –
that authentic reflection is not simply whatever pops into our heads or hearts
– but part of a process that includes study, preparation and prayer as well as
immediate existential feedback?
· Let me ask you
this: after the reading of scripture,
what are the ways that this time is most helpful to you? What helps you go deeper into the tradition
and wisdom of God in a sermon or conversation in faith? Any thoughts?
Well, here’s what I’ve been thinking about as I’ve
considered the gospel text for today and how it might make a difference for us
in light of Pentecost: it gives us permission to take as much time as we need
to honestly trust and believe in God’s love.
Even our whole lives, ok? Many
times in our celebration of Pentecost we emphasize the power and energy of the
Holy Spirit falling upon the heads of the disciples – how it transformed them
from people of fear and confusion into bold and public servants of Christ’s
love – it is a story filled with dramatic energy and authority.
But most days I don’t feel like that, do you? Most days I’m more like Philip in the gospel
lesson who misunderstands and worries more than he trusts. “Come on, Jesus,” he says, “just show me the
Father, for God’s sake, quit all this mystery and cut to the chase.” He seems restless and agitated to me – not
grounded in the promise of grace and peace – and that restlessness feels pretty
honest. And here’s what I’ve discovered
by reflecting on and studying the scriptures and the commentaries on these
texts: there are a whole bunch of other
worriers in the Bible, too who don’t grasp or claim the peace and grace of the
Lord all at once. Like me, they needed a
lot of time before this tradition started to take root deep within them.
I particularly found the reflections of Alyce
McKenzie, Professor of Preaching at
There is
Philip who asks Jesus to show him the Father, while Jesus, in whom the Father
dwells and through whom the Father works is standing right next to him.
"Whoever has seen me has seen the Father" (14:9). There is Nicodemus
who doesn't get how he is supposed to climb back into the womb when he is a
grown man. "How can one be born after having grown old?"(3:4) There
is the woman at the well who doesn't understand how she's supposed to get
living water when the well is too deep. "Sir, you have no bucket and the
well is deep. Where do you get that living water?" (4:11) There is the man
by the pool of Bethzatha who thinks healing can come from bubbling water while
the Healer stands right next to him. "Sir, I have no one to put me into
the pool when the water is stirred up; and while I am making my way, some-one
else steps down ahead of me" (5:7). There is Thomas, who in chapter 14 has
just revealed a literal understanding of "the Way" (14:5).
"Lord, we do not know where you are going. How can we know the way?"
Jesus then tells him "I am the Way, the truth and the life." (http://
www.patheos.com/Progressive-Christian/Intimate-Pentecost-Alyce-McKenzie-05-10-2013?
offset=1&max=1)
· Now I don’t
know about you, but I find this catalogue of questioners very reassuring, don’t
you? They didn’t have to comprehend the
fullness of Christ’s blessing all at once.
·
In fact,
Jesus keeps coming back to them – with a personal interest and concern for
their unique fears and doubts – until they are able to welcome and receive his
peace.
Conclusion
For some of
us, learning to rest and not fret is how we come to trust God’s love. Believing, it would seem, take time – so we
need not be in a rush. How did the poet
of Israel, Isaiah, put it?
They
who wait for the Lord shall renew their strength, they
shall mount up with wings like eagles, they shall run and not be weary, they
shall walk and not faint: teach me,
Lord, teach me, Lord, to wait.
credit:
1) Barbara Punch @ http://oursaviorsprineville.org/category/confirmation/
2) Matthew Nelson, "Sacred Spaces: Sunset" @http://www. working preacher.org/preaching.aspx?commentary_id=1698
3) Network of Biblical Story Tellers @ http://www.nbsint.org/john148-17
4) Mark Lawrence, "I Give to You: John 14: 27" @ http://www. greatbig canvas.com/view/i-give-to-you-john-1427,ml0180029/
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