SUNDAY, JULY 12, 2020 REFLECTION: Unless you change and become like a child…
One of the hardest things about living fully into this moment of uncertainty shaped by sheltering in place, social distancing, the ever-changing descriptions of how the coronavirus is transmitted to say nothing of the angst and turmoil it has created is: trusting God to be God. Our culture is so shaped by a rush to activity rather than balanced embodied reflection that we feel we must fix everything. We are a go-get-‘em people who thrive on the pulse of productivity, groove to the vibe of bodies in motion, and ache for activity of almost any variety. We always want to get the job done, close the deal, and grab all the gusto we can with precious little consideration of the consequences.
The so-called “reopening of America” is a case in point. Our nearly manic naivete asserts the triumph of desire and will over intellect and evidence yet again. Currently we are challenging all constraints on time and science to hastily pump up our short-term economic bottom line. This hubris has caused both the needless infection of innocent people – nearly 80% of the three million confirmed cases of coronavirus in America could have been avoided – as well as demoralizing and destabilizing the economic business needs of businesses in California, Arizona, Colorado, Georgia and Florida that are having to pause or shut down a second time. We’re even talking about sacrificing our children and their educators in an imprudent rush to open schools in the fall.
In 1990 I was moved to read Sr. Joan Chittister’s words that, “the sacred in life is what holds our world together and the lack of awareness and sacred care is what is tearing it apart.” 30 years later her words have become prophetic:
One of the hardest things about living fully into this moment of uncertainty shaped by sheltering in place, social distancing, the ever-changing descriptions of how the coronavirus is transmitted to say nothing of the angst and turmoil it has created is: trusting God to be God. Our culture is so shaped by a rush to activity rather than balanced embodied reflection that we feel we must fix everything. We are a go-get-‘em people who thrive on the pulse of productivity, groove to the vibe of bodies in motion, and ache for activity of almost any variety. We always want to get the job done, close the deal, and grab all the gusto we can with precious little consideration of the consequences.
The so-called “reopening of America” is a case in point. Our nearly manic naivete asserts the triumph of desire and will over intellect and evidence yet again. Currently we are challenging all constraints on time and science to hastily pump up our short-term economic bottom line. This hubris has caused both the needless infection of innocent people – nearly 80% of the three million confirmed cases of coronavirus in America could have been avoided – as well as demoralizing and destabilizing the economic business needs of businesses in California, Arizona, Colorado, Georgia and Florida that are having to pause or shut down a second time. We’re even talking about sacrificing our children and their educators in an imprudent rush to open schools in the fall.
In 1990 I was moved to read Sr. Joan Chittister’s words that, “the sacred in life is what holds our world together and the lack of awareness and sacred care is what is tearing it apart.” 30 years later her words have become prophetic:
We have covered the earth with concrete and wonder why children have little respect for the land. We spill refuse into our rivers and wonder why boaters drop their paper plates, plastic bags, old rubber shoes and beer cans overboard. We pump pollution into our skies and question the rising incidence of lung cancer. We produce items that do not decay and package things in containers that cannot be recycled. We fill our foods with preservatives that poison the human body and wonder why we’re not as well as we used to be. We make earth and heaven one large garbage dump and wonder why whole species of animals are becoming extinct and forests have disappeared, and the ozone shield is shriveling. We are a people who lack awareness.
Spirituality, you see, is supposed to offer alternatives to our obsession with naïve activity by giving us time-tested, embodied tools to practice; these tools train us to behave differently and then incrementally alter the way we think. North American theologian, Douglas John Hall of McGill University in Montreal, was clear that: “In the Jesus society there is a new way for people to live.”
We show wisdom by trusting others; we handle leadership by serving; we handle offenders by forgiving; we handle money by sharing; we handle enemies by loving; and we handle violence by suffering. In fact, we have a new attitude toward everything and everybody. Toward nature, toward gender, toward the vulnerable and wounded, toward all and every single thing. Because in the Jesus society we practice repenting not by feeling bad, but by thinking different.
Well, that’s what was supposed to happen. Our Western religious tradition, however, has historic-ally been so abstractly disembodied – and recently so polluted with get-holy-and-rich quick schemes that mirror the mania of our marketplace – that most people have tossed religion into the dustbin of history. In his day, Jesus offered clear albeit challenging spiritual practices to help us open our hearts to the love of God. Sadly, the West chose to intellectualize the way of the heart with doctrines designed to explain and then control spirituality. This fixation on intellectual assent and conformity, what theologians call ortho-doxy – right doctrine and belief – rather than ortho-praxis – right action – defiles the way of Jesus who invited us to incarnate the upside-down, radical reversals of the Beloved Community in our everyday routines. He asked some of his friends who were first in their world to choose to become last on purpose so that those who have always been forgotten might taste the joy of being cherished as the privileged learn to taste the bitter fruit of oppression.
He asked all of us to intentionally listen to the wisdom of our children rather than always giving-in to the experts. And, over and over Jesus asked us to rest into the blessings of the Sabbath so that we might practice trusting that God is God and we are not. The Hebrew Bible reading for today is clear in the prophetic poetry of Isaiah: “My thoughts are not your thoughts, nor are your ways my ways, says the Lord. For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts. For as the rain and the snow come down from heaven, and do not return there until they have watered the earth, making it bring forth and sprout, giving seed to the sower and bread to the eater, so shall my word be that goes out from my mouth; it shall not return to me empty.” Apparently only the poets grasp that we can never adequately describe the essence of the Lord. Our words are too puny to capture God’s enormity.
Spirituality, you see, is supposed to offer alternatives to our obsession with naïve activity by giving us time-tested, embodied tools to practice; these tools train us to behave differently and then incrementally alter the way we think. North American theologian, Douglas John Hall of McGill University in Montreal, was clear that: “In the Jesus society there is a new way for people to live.”
We show wisdom by trusting others; we handle leadership by serving; we handle offenders by forgiving; we handle money by sharing; we handle enemies by loving; and we handle violence by suffering. In fact, we have a new attitude toward everything and everybody. Toward nature, toward gender, toward the vulnerable and wounded, toward all and every single thing. Because in the Jesus society we practice repenting not by feeling bad, but by thinking different.
Well, that’s what was supposed to happen. Our Western religious tradition, however, has historic-ally been so abstractly disembodied – and recently so polluted with get-holy-and-rich quick schemes that mirror the mania of our marketplace – that most people have tossed religion into the dustbin of history. In his day, Jesus offered clear albeit challenging spiritual practices to help us open our hearts to the love of God. Sadly, the West chose to intellectualize the way of the heart with doctrines designed to explain and then control spirituality. This fixation on intellectual assent and conformity, what theologians call ortho-doxy – right doctrine and belief – rather than ortho-praxis – right action – defiles the way of Jesus who invited us to incarnate the upside-down, radical reversals of the Beloved Community in our everyday routines. He asked some of his friends who were first in their world to choose to become last on purpose so that those who have always been forgotten might taste the joy of being cherished as the privileged learn to taste the bitter fruit of oppression.
He asked all of us to intentionally listen to the wisdom of our children rather than always giving-in to the experts. And, over and over Jesus asked us to rest into the blessings of the Sabbath so that we might practice trusting that God is God and we are not. The Hebrew Bible reading for today is clear in the prophetic poetry of Isaiah: “My thoughts are not your thoughts, nor are your ways my ways, says the Lord. For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts. For as the rain and the snow come down from heaven, and do not return there until they have watered the earth, making it bring forth and sprout, giving seed to the sower and bread to the eater, so shall my word be that goes out from my mouth; it shall not return to me empty.” Apparently only the poets grasp that we can never adequately describe the essence of the Lord. Our words are too puny to capture God’s enormity.
· That’s the problem with our sacred catechisms and credos. They try to explain the mystical. When I was young, I had to learn the Apostle’s Creed: I believe in God the Father Almighty, Creator of heaven and earth, and in Jesus Christ, his only Son and our Lord; who was conceived by the Holy Spirit, born of the Virgin Mary, suffered under Pontius Piltate, was crucified, died and buried, descended into Hell and on the third day rose again from the dead.
· I have to confess that these while I understand our obsession with explanations, these days I prefer to ponder the love of God by looking at an icon – a visual prayer without words – or singing Carrie Newcomer’s poem, “I Believe,” that says: I believe in socks and gloves knit out of soft grey wool, and that there's a special place in heaven for those who teach in public school. And I know I get some things right, but mostly I'm a fool… I believe in a good strong cup of ginger tea, and that all these shoots and roots will someday become a tree. All I know is I can't help but see that all of this is so very holy. So, I believe in jars of jelly put up by careful hands, and I believe most folks are doing about the best they can; and I know there are some things that I will never understand…
My heart tells me that the time has come to reclaim the sacramental way of Jesus and practice trusting the presence of the holy already within and among us. St. Paul was so wise in telling the early church that if you want to ready your hearts for an encounter with God’s blessings, here’s what you to do:
With God as your guide, take your everyday, ordinary life—your sleeping, eating, going-to-work, and walking-around life—and place it before God as an offering. Embracing what God does for you is the best thing you can do for the Lord. Don’t become so well-adjusted to your culture that you fit into it without even thinking. Instead, fix your attention on God. You’ll be changed from the inside out. Readily recognize what he wants from you, and quickly respond to it. Unlike the culture around you, always dragging you down to its level of immaturity, God brings the best out of you, develops well-formed maturity in you.
Paul wanted us to look for the sacred in the secular, to notice the presence of the holy in our humanity and honor the countless small blessings of the Lord that happen throughout our ordinary, everyday walking around lives. Jesus called this having eyes to see and ears to hear – and today’s reading from St. Matthew finds him giving his friends three ways to practice this: “When asked who is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven, Jesus called a child from the crowd, placed her on his lap and said: ‘Unless you change and become more child-like you will never live into the blessings of the kingdom.’” (Matthew 18: 1-5)
This is the practice of humility: choosing to honor and then love the lower status of a child. You see, in first century Palestine, children did not have many choices. Not only did most little ones die of disease or hunger before age five; if they lived, they were at the bottom of the pecking order. To celebrate a child as a model of the greatest in God’s kingdom was a provocative and upsetting reversal. It advised believers to practice joyfully “yielding their social precedence to another, gladly ceding their inherited status too, and patiently bearing with whatever inappropriate or undeserving treatment might follow because of this reversal.” (Malina and Rohrbaugh, p. 92) Great reversals were a core spiritual practice for those embracing the way of Jesus.
And the New Testament is filled with wonderful examples: take up your Cross and follow, if you are struck on the right cheek turn and offer your left as well, if you are at a feast don’t go to the head table but grab a plate and share some stories with the kitchen help, whatsoever you do unto the least of my sisters and brothers you do unto me, here is my new commandment: love one another by serving them. The practice of humility gratefully engages in private acts of quiet com-passion with those most in need. It is not about recognition but rather healing one another’s hearts in love.
St. Benedict of Nursia used to say that, “humility is also about learning to bear bad things, even evil things, well.” That small child in a crowd of status conscious adults personified the clear difference between God’s way and the ways of our culture. So many of our goals involve getting credit for fixing every pain, “ordering every inefficiency, toppling all obstacles, ending stress and waiting for nothing…. We easily become people without patience who can stomach no delay and are unable to persist. Persevere. And endure.” Jesus made it clear that before we can think differently about life – before we can see with the eyes of our heart – we must practice becoming like a child.
You see, cultivating a child-like humility helps us bear bad things well and find our place in the world with modesty. It also shows us how to greet each day with awe. I’m not talking about being childish, but child-like: trusting, open, ready to be stunned by the beauty all around you. It is a way of being that quits trying to climb any social ladder and learns to “love life where we are, in what we have,” so that our souls have room to ripen and experience the holy from the inside out. The American poet, Billy Collins, captured part of what it means to consciously live into this child-like humility and awe in a poem he dedicated to his mother called, “The Lanyard.”
The other day I was ricocheting slowly off the blue walls of this room,
moving as if underwater from typewriter to piano,
from bookshelf to an envelope lying on the floor,
when I found myself in the L section of the dictionary
where my eyes fell upon the word lanyard.
No cookie nibbled by a French novelist could send one into the past more suddenly—
a past where I sat at a workbench at a camp by a deep Adirondack lake
learning how to braid long thin plastic strips into a lanyard, a gift for my mother.
I had never seen anyone use a lanyard or wear one, if that’s what you did with them,
but that did not keep me from crossing strand over strand again and again
until I had made a boxy red and white lanyard for my mother.
She gave me life and milk from her breasts, and I gave her a lanyard.
She nursed me in many a sick room, lifted spoons of medicine to my lips,
laid cold face-cloths on my forehead, and then led me out into the airy light
and taught me to walk and swim, and I, in turn, presented her with a lanyard.
Here are thousands of meals, she said, and here is clothing and a good education.
And here is your lanyard, I replied, which I made with a little help from a counselor.
Here is a breathing body and a beating heart, strong legs, bones and teeth,
and two clear eyes to read the world, she whispered,
and here, I said, is the lanyard I made at camp.
And here, I wish to say to her now, is a smaller gift—not the worn truth
that you can never repay your mother, but the rueful admission that when she took
the two-tone lanyard from my hand, I was as sure as any boy could be
that this useless, worthless thing I wove out of boredom would be enough to make us even.
The practice of living into the humility of a child is about patience and awe in a small life filled with modest acts of tenderness. Rabbi Heschel used to say:
And the New Testament is filled with wonderful examples: take up your Cross and follow, if you are struck on the right cheek turn and offer your left as well, if you are at a feast don’t go to the head table but grab a plate and share some stories with the kitchen help, whatsoever you do unto the least of my sisters and brothers you do unto me, here is my new commandment: love one another by serving them. The practice of humility gratefully engages in private acts of quiet com-passion with those most in need. It is not about recognition but rather healing one another’s hearts in love.
St. Benedict of Nursia used to say that, “humility is also about learning to bear bad things, even evil things, well.” That small child in a crowd of status conscious adults personified the clear difference between God’s way and the ways of our culture. So many of our goals involve getting credit for fixing every pain, “ordering every inefficiency, toppling all obstacles, ending stress and waiting for nothing…. We easily become people without patience who can stomach no delay and are unable to persist. Persevere. And endure.” Jesus made it clear that before we can think differently about life – before we can see with the eyes of our heart – we must practice becoming like a child.
You see, cultivating a child-like humility helps us bear bad things well and find our place in the world with modesty. It also shows us how to greet each day with awe. I’m not talking about being childish, but child-like: trusting, open, ready to be stunned by the beauty all around you. It is a way of being that quits trying to climb any social ladder and learns to “love life where we are, in what we have,” so that our souls have room to ripen and experience the holy from the inside out. The American poet, Billy Collins, captured part of what it means to consciously live into this child-like humility and awe in a poem he dedicated to his mother called, “The Lanyard.”
The other day I was ricocheting slowly off the blue walls of this room,
moving as if underwater from typewriter to piano,
from bookshelf to an envelope lying on the floor,
when I found myself in the L section of the dictionary
where my eyes fell upon the word lanyard.
No cookie nibbled by a French novelist could send one into the past more suddenly—
a past where I sat at a workbench at a camp by a deep Adirondack lake
learning how to braid long thin plastic strips into a lanyard, a gift for my mother.
I had never seen anyone use a lanyard or wear one, if that’s what you did with them,
but that did not keep me from crossing strand over strand again and again
until I had made a boxy red and white lanyard for my mother.
She gave me life and milk from her breasts, and I gave her a lanyard.
She nursed me in many a sick room, lifted spoons of medicine to my lips,
laid cold face-cloths on my forehead, and then led me out into the airy light
and taught me to walk and swim, and I, in turn, presented her with a lanyard.
Here are thousands of meals, she said, and here is clothing and a good education.
And here is your lanyard, I replied, which I made with a little help from a counselor.
Here is a breathing body and a beating heart, strong legs, bones and teeth,
and two clear eyes to read the world, she whispered,
and here, I said, is the lanyard I made at camp.
And here, I wish to say to her now, is a smaller gift—not the worn truth
that you can never repay your mother, but the rueful admission that when she took
the two-tone lanyard from my hand, I was as sure as any boy could be
that this useless, worthless thing I wove out of boredom would be enough to make us even.
The practice of living into the humility of a child is about patience and awe in a small life filled with modest acts of tenderness. Rabbi Heschel used to say:
That’s the first practice. The second has to do with finding our own voices and 
learning to trust it – even in conflict. Jesus puts it like this later in chapter 18:
If another member of the community sins against you – hurts you or troubles you – go and point out the problem when the two of you are alone. If this doesn’t help, bring another trusted elder with you and talk some more. And keep talking until some agreement is achieved… For I tell you if even two within the community agree then there within and among you I will be with you as two or three gather in my name. (Matthew 18: 15-20)
The context of these words is important: Jesus was teaching his friends how to handle conflict in community when one member harms another. And the first thing he says is: go to the hurtful soul by yourself and talk it through in private. Be respectful. Be humble. Be childlike not childish: don’t get all huffy, pull in others to take your side and concentrate on blaming. Just go and talk about the problem together. No tweets. No cancel culture. No public shaming. Just keep talking together over time. Don’t bury the problem. Don’t be afraid of it. And don’t deny it. And if, after some time passes, you can’t seem to resolve it by yourselves, then let the community try to help you find agreement. This carries the conflict into the open and invites a shared decision – not a judgment handed down by one person, or a compromise cooked up by key leaders or even, God forbid, the anonymous pronouncements of some faceless HR department – but a choice made by the whole community. This is how spirituality mature practices become prophetic: by carefully, prayerfully, and intentionally taking the time to seek reconciliation, not winning, humiliating, or punishing. Like the hymn says: I will weep when you are weeping, when you laugh, I’ll laugh with you; I will share your joys and sorrows til we’ve seen this journey through?
Now I want you to notice a few important details in this little passage. If you are going to go and talk through a hard thing with someone in conflict, the implication is that you already know your own voice. You know what is important to you. You know from the inside out that you are God’s beloved, so you don’t have to try and manipulate the conversation. If you want to repair the broken relationship, you can’t be either a doormat or a bully. Knowing what is important and why empowers you to move in humility and love rather than self-righteous retribution. Knowing your voice, your story, and your soul is crucial.
So is choosing to operate according to God’s time rather than some artificially imposed market-driven calendar. And here’s why: sometimes our best efforts don’t work, right? That’s just life. Mary Chapin Carpenter used to sing: “Sometimes you’re the windshield, sometimes you’re the bug!” When you run into a wall, Jesus urges us to check-in with some trusted elders because elders are supposed to have perspective and see the bigger picture. Age isn’t a guarantee for wisdom – we all know some old people who are just cranky, worn-out fools – but time-tested and humble elders can bring a lot to the table. If they choose to sign-on to help you then you can be reasonably sure you have spoken with your true voice.
Time-tested wisdom keepers are those who have mother-wit or know how to use “the smell test.” If something stinks, they’ll tell you and ask you to go back to the drawing board and clean it up. Such mentors can help us discern whether you just have to learn to live with a problem or if the time to act is right. The Serenity Prayer, crafted by one such time-tested elderly wisdom keeper, teaches us to pray: Grant me, O God, the serenity to accept the things I cannot change; the courage to change the things I can; and the wisdom to know the difference.
Now, after you’ve done your work, clarified your own voice, sought the input of trusted elders and the conflict persists, then you need to involve the whole community. As I was trying to grasp what this really meant, I did some word study and discovered that one little word holds a big meaning here: agree.
In the Greek New Testament, the word translated as agree is sumphóneó meaning to use our voices to call out to another in harmony. Isn’t that fascinating? To agree in community with the spirit of Jesus is to harmonize together – and this takes practice, listening, and time. If you’ve ever sung in a choir or a band you know you must pay careful attention to the song and the other musicians before you can make harmony. And just think of all the various types of harmonies we can make: one size does not fit all. I love singing Celtic harmonies – they’re big and open and edgy sounding – but as an instrumentalist I like playing guitar or bass with jazz harmonies because musically they don’t always go where you think they should. Jazz is surprising and playful. I like church chorale harmonies. I love singing simple harmony with my grandchildren’s folk songs. And I have come to appreciate those harmonies that sound jarring or dissonant to my ear because the composer wanted to create an impression of busyness or city life or even conflict and war.
Using our true voices to harmonize with one another in community like a symphony is a creative image and goal for seeking agreement. But let’s be clear playing in a symphony is never simple, automatic, or obvious. It takes practice - and patience. It takes knowing, trusting, and training your own voice before you can share it well with other voices. And sometimes harmonizing in community involves taking risks so that you discover together what is beautiful, true and real. All that from one little word: agree.
Now, I don’t know if this is true for you, but there have been times in my life when I have been in community and something hard or tense has happened: a conflict, a fight, an abuse, or some dis-agreement. I’ve learned that I don’t like conflict. And I really don’t like people getting angry or upset with me. So, sometimes, if I feel shaky or unsafe, I’ve kept my mouth shut. I haven’t shared my true voice or gifts because it feels like I should just go along to get along. Do you know what I mean?
What I’ve discovered over the years, however, is that while it makes sense to keep still for a little while – to gather information, to take my concerns to the Lord in prayer, and not rush into a hasty judgment call by shooting my mouth off (and God knows I’ve learned this the hard way) – if something still does not feel right, as hard as it is for me to do this, I have to speak up and speak out. That’s part of what harmonizing in the way of God’s agreement means. Hiding my voice doesn’t help me or the community. Denying the truth or looking the other way doesn’t make it go away either. Like the song says: “Hide it under a bushel? NO! I’m going to let it shine.” Because, and this is important, if I don’t harmonize by speaking up, the hurt and pain keeps growing. By staying silent, I contribute to the pain. For me to harmonize and agree in the spirit of the holy in com-munity, I need to feel safe and respected and trusted and valued before I will take the risk to add my true voice to the community choir – but I have to do it. In this instance, silence becomes unholy.
Finding common ground – harmonizing in community – is hard work. But all love is hard work and takes practice. Taking care of my baby daughters was hard work in love. Stepping back and loving them as autonomous adults is hard work, too. Caring for a loved one who often gets sick a lot is hard work in love. Staying present when a cherished person is dying is hard work in love. And loving a country like the United States right now that is so cruel and confused and uncertain about how to move forward is hard work in love, too. We could say the same for the broken and wounded body of Christ we call the church. It is ALL hard work in love and there are no short cuts. What’s more, there are no guarantees that we’ll always get it right. That’s why Jesus encourages us at the end of this passage to forgive one another at least 70 times 7.
We will get it wrong at least as often as we get it right – probably more. But when we consciously choose to repair what is broken, honoring our truest voice and nourishing our most beautiful, tender, honest and respected selves; when we do the hard work of love it creates the chance for harmony, and then Jesus says: there am I in the midst of you. In the harmony – In the hard work – in the love. You don’t have to do this hard thing all by yourself – I will be with you – always – he tells us: my Spirit will come to you in your weakness and intercede for you with sighs too deep for human words. That’s the second practice: finding our true voice to share in love even in times of conflict.
And third there is the upside-down reversal of engaging with those who have hurt
us as Gentiles and tax collectors. Often this has been used to justify shunning or excluding those who offend us. And God knows the Church has done it since the beginning of time. Bu that not how Jesus treated Gentiles and tax collectors. He’s the real gold standard for authentic Christian spirituality. So, if we’re honest, we know that:
· Jesus healed the daughter of the Gentile Syrophoenician woman from Canaan. He healed the boy servant of the Roman centurion, too. He gave us the parable of the Good Samaritan as well as the unclean mustard seed to show that we often experience the kingdom of God through unexpected people in the most unexpected places. His own witness to Gentiles is NOT to exclude, but to embrace and learn, to love, listen and offer tender compassion.
· And tax-collectors? Do you know the story of Zacchaeus? A crooked revenue man for the hated occupation troops of Rome who cheated his own people? Jesus recognized in this traitor a hungry heart and broke bread with him on his own turf. Jesus listened to him. And loved him so authentically that Zack had a change of heart. And to make certain that this conversion was not simply abstract fluff, Jesus encouraged Zacchaeus to his money where his mouth was: to honor God’s inward generosity by restoring the money he had swindled by four-fold and giving away another half of his wealth to the hungry poor. Jesus partied with tax-collectors and sinners which got him into trouble with the holy rollers and even called a tax collector to become one of the original disciples: St. Matthew was a tax collector.
What I see Jesus doing throughout the Scriptures is bringing very different groups of people together, teaching them to find their own true voice in humility, pushing them to eat together regularly so that they can listen to one another’s stories of joys and sorrows, heartaches, worries and blessings. I am sure that on more than one occasion he broke up the inevitable fights between Matthew the tax collector and Simon the zealot (who was a sworn enemy of tax collectors and whose political party often assassinated their opponents). That happens when you’re learning to harmonize in community. It was slow going – and some have said that the Jesus community did not really accomplish a lot when Christ was alive. Apparently, Jesus refused to measure progress by bottom lines and business metrics.
· But carefully – and patiently – being together in the small and ordinary things of life, learning how to harmonize even through their conflicts, God’s love unlocked their hearts – and made a way for peace in an otherwise hate-filled culture.
· That’s what I sense we are being called to do, too: live quietly as women and men who know from the inside out something of God’s healing love so that we can embody the alternative of childlike humility, harmony and hope in this crazy culture.
The way I see it the core of the first practice is to live as a child awed by the world who is ready, willing, and able to share. The second practice, finding our true voice, might be called learning to sing in harmony. And the third, going the extra mile with those who have been discarded and abandoned, is to know when to be silent. To listen with the heart of love. How might you explore sharing? Singing? Or silence in your world this week? Trusting that God IS God and we are not gives us permission to move according to God's time not artificial deadlines. Pierre
If another member of the community sins against you – hurts you or troubles you – go and point out the problem when the two of you are alone. If this doesn’t help, bring another trusted elder with you and talk some more. And keep talking until some agreement is achieved… For I tell you if even two within the community agree then there within and among you I will be with you as two or three gather in my name. (Matthew 18: 15-20)
The context of these words is important: Jesus was teaching his friends how to handle conflict in community when one member harms another. And the first thing he says is: go to the hurtful soul by yourself and talk it through in private. Be respectful. Be humble. Be childlike not childish: don’t get all huffy, pull in others to take your side and concentrate on blaming. Just go and talk about the problem together. No tweets. No cancel culture. No public shaming. Just keep talking together over time. Don’t bury the problem. Don’t be afraid of it. And don’t deny it. And if, after some time passes, you can’t seem to resolve it by yourselves, then let the community try to help you find agreement. This carries the conflict into the open and invites a shared decision – not a judgment handed down by one person, or a compromise cooked up by key leaders or even, God forbid, the anonymous pronouncements of some faceless HR department – but a choice made by the whole community. This is how spirituality mature practices become prophetic: by carefully, prayerfully, and intentionally taking the time to seek reconciliation, not winning, humiliating, or punishing. Like the hymn says: I will weep when you are weeping, when you laugh, I’ll laugh with you; I will share your joys and sorrows til we’ve seen this journey through?
Now I want you to notice a few important details in this little passage. If you are going to go and talk through a hard thing with someone in conflict, the implication is that you already know your own voice. You know what is important to you. You know from the inside out that you are God’s beloved, so you don’t have to try and manipulate the conversation. If you want to repair the broken relationship, you can’t be either a doormat or a bully. Knowing what is important and why empowers you to move in humility and love rather than self-righteous retribution. Knowing your voice, your story, and your soul is crucial.
So is choosing to operate according to God’s time rather than some artificially imposed market-driven calendar. And here’s why: sometimes our best efforts don’t work, right? That’s just life. Mary Chapin Carpenter used to sing: “Sometimes you’re the windshield, sometimes you’re the bug!” When you run into a wall, Jesus urges us to check-in with some trusted elders because elders are supposed to have perspective and see the bigger picture. Age isn’t a guarantee for wisdom – we all know some old people who are just cranky, worn-out fools – but time-tested and humble elders can bring a lot to the table. If they choose to sign-on to help you then you can be reasonably sure you have spoken with your true voice.
Now, after you’ve done your work, clarified your own voice, sought the input of trusted elders and the conflict persists, then you need to involve the whole community. As I was trying to grasp what this really meant, I did some word study and discovered that one little word holds a big meaning here: agree.
In the Greek New Testament, the word translated as agree is sumphóneó meaning to use our voices to call out to another in harmony. Isn’t that fascinating? To agree in community with the spirit of Jesus is to harmonize together – and this takes practice, listening, and time. If you’ve ever sung in a choir or a band you know you must pay careful attention to the song and the other musicians before you can make harmony. And just think of all the various types of harmonies we can make: one size does not fit all. I love singing Celtic harmonies – they’re big and open and edgy sounding – but as an instrumentalist I like playing guitar or bass with jazz harmonies because musically they don’t always go where you think they should. Jazz is surprising and playful. I like church chorale harmonies. I love singing simple harmony with my grandchildren’s folk songs. And I have come to appreciate those harmonies that sound jarring or dissonant to my ear because the composer wanted to create an impression of busyness or city life or even conflict and war.
Using our true voices to harmonize with one another in community like a symphony is a creative image and goal for seeking agreement. But let’s be clear playing in a symphony is never simple, automatic, or obvious. It takes practice - and patience. It takes knowing, trusting, and training your own voice before you can share it well with other voices. And sometimes harmonizing in community involves taking risks so that you discover together what is beautiful, true and real. All that from one little word: agree.
Now, I don’t know if this is true for you, but there have been times in my life when I have been in community and something hard or tense has happened: a conflict, a fight, an abuse, or some dis-agreement. I’ve learned that I don’t like conflict. And I really don’t like people getting angry or upset with me. So, sometimes, if I feel shaky or unsafe, I’ve kept my mouth shut. I haven’t shared my true voice or gifts because it feels like I should just go along to get along. Do you know what I mean?
What I’ve discovered over the years, however, is that while it makes sense to keep still for a little while – to gather information, to take my concerns to the Lord in prayer, and not rush into a hasty judgment call by shooting my mouth off (and God knows I’ve learned this the hard way) – if something still does not feel right, as hard as it is for me to do this, I have to speak up and speak out. That’s part of what harmonizing in the way of God’s agreement means. Hiding my voice doesn’t help me or the community. Denying the truth or looking the other way doesn’t make it go away either. Like the song says: “Hide it under a bushel? NO! I’m going to let it shine.” Because, and this is important, if I don’t harmonize by speaking up, the hurt and pain keeps growing. By staying silent, I contribute to the pain. For me to harmonize and agree in the spirit of the holy in com-munity, I need to feel safe and respected and trusted and valued before I will take the risk to add my true voice to the community choir – but I have to do it. In this instance, silence becomes unholy.
Finding common ground – harmonizing in community – is hard work. But all love is hard work and takes practice. Taking care of my baby daughters was hard work in love. Stepping back and loving them as autonomous adults is hard work, too. Caring for a loved one who often gets sick a lot is hard work in love. Staying present when a cherished person is dying is hard work in love. And loving a country like the United States right now that is so cruel and confused and uncertain about how to move forward is hard work in love, too. We could say the same for the broken and wounded body of Christ we call the church. It is ALL hard work in love and there are no short cuts. What’s more, there are no guarantees that we’ll always get it right. That’s why Jesus encourages us at the end of this passage to forgive one another at least 70 times 7.
We will get it wrong at least as often as we get it right – probably more. But when we consciously choose to repair what is broken, honoring our truest voice and nourishing our most beautiful, tender, honest and respected selves; when we do the hard work of love it creates the chance for harmony, and then Jesus says: there am I in the midst of you. In the harmony – In the hard work – in the love. You don’t have to do this hard thing all by yourself – I will be with you – always – he tells us: my Spirit will come to you in your weakness and intercede for you with sighs too deep for human words. That’s the second practice: finding our true voice to share in love even in times of conflict.
And third there is the upside-down reversal of engaging with those who have hurt
· Jesus healed the daughter of the Gentile Syrophoenician woman from Canaan. He healed the boy servant of the Roman centurion, too. He gave us the parable of the Good Samaritan as well as the unclean mustard seed to show that we often experience the kingdom of God through unexpected people in the most unexpected places. His own witness to Gentiles is NOT to exclude, but to embrace and learn, to love, listen and offer tender compassion.
· And tax-collectors? Do you know the story of Zacchaeus? A crooked revenue man for the hated occupation troops of Rome who cheated his own people? Jesus recognized in this traitor a hungry heart and broke bread with him on his own turf. Jesus listened to him. And loved him so authentically that Zack had a change of heart. And to make certain that this conversion was not simply abstract fluff, Jesus encouraged Zacchaeus to his money where his mouth was: to honor God’s inward generosity by restoring the money he had swindled by four-fold and giving away another half of his wealth to the hungry poor. Jesus partied with tax-collectors and sinners which got him into trouble with the holy rollers and even called a tax collector to become one of the original disciples: St. Matthew was a tax collector.
What I see Jesus doing throughout the Scriptures is bringing very different groups of people together, teaching them to find their own true voice in humility, pushing them to eat together regularly so that they can listen to one another’s stories of joys and sorrows, heartaches, worries and blessings. I am sure that on more than one occasion he broke up the inevitable fights between Matthew the tax collector and Simon the zealot (who was a sworn enemy of tax collectors and whose political party often assassinated their opponents). That happens when you’re learning to harmonize in community. It was slow going – and some have said that the Jesus community did not really accomplish a lot when Christ was alive. Apparently, Jesus refused to measure progress by bottom lines and business metrics.
· But carefully – and patiently – being together in the small and ordinary things of life, learning how to harmonize even through their conflicts, God’s love unlocked their hearts – and made a way for peace in an otherwise hate-filled culture.
· That’s what I sense we are being called to do, too: live quietly as women and men who know from the inside out something of God’s healing love so that we can embody the alternative of childlike humility, harmony and hope in this crazy culture.
The way I see it the core of the first practice is to live as a child awed by the world who is ready, willing, and able to share. The second practice, finding our true voice, might be called learning to sing in harmony. And the third, going the extra mile with those who have been discarded and abandoned, is to know when to be silent. To listen with the heart of love. How might you explore sharing? Singing? Or silence in your world this week? Trusting that God IS God and we are not gives us permission to move according to God's time not artificial deadlines. Pierre
Teilhard de Chardin put it like this:
Above all, trust in the slow work of God. We are quite naturally impatient in everything to reach the end without delay. We should like to skip the intermediate stages. We are impatient of being on the way to something unknown, something new. And yet it is the law of all progress that it is made by passing through some stages of instability and that it may take a very long time. And so I think it is with you. Your ideas mature gradually – let them grow, let them shape themselves, without undue haste. Don't try to force them on, as though you could be today what time (that is to say, grace and circumstances acting on your own good will) will make of you tomorrow. Only God could say what this new spirit gradually forming within you will be. Give Our Lord the benefit of believing that his hand is leading you, and accept the anxiety of feeling yourself in suspense and incomplete.
I invite you to try – and we’ll talk about it together when we meet here next Sunday – same time, same place. Let’s be still and then be in prayer together…
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