autumn's call to let go and trust...

NOTE: Each Sunday evening at 4 pm, Small is Holy - my online gathering for prayer, song, silence, spiritual reflection and online Eucharist - meets. This is yesterday's message.

Tonight, I want to playfully consider the appointed Scripture from the gospel of St.
Mark and tease out some of its wisdom about learning to let go like Jesus and Mother Nature. In times past, I’ve heard this text used in a variety of ways – all of which have left me wanting:

+ Liberals tend to use it to encourage greater financial generosity within their congregations, radicals often shame the rich with it for accumulating wealth while others endure excruciating poverty, and conservatives and Biblical literalists do their best to hide these words from any consideration because Jesus is explicit when he says that it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than someone who is rich to enter the kingdom of God.

+ I’ve even heard preachers from so-called fundamentalist congregations refer to a fabricated and fallacious medieval legend that claims one of the gates leading into the city of Jerusalem was named the “eye of the needle” that was so narrow NO camel could pass through it. Well, that’s an ingenious but untrue manipulation that calls to mind a quip made by Southern preacher and civil rights activist, Will Campbell, who said: “Religion has always been with us - without it there would have been no reason for the coming of a Messiah to put a stop to it.”

And that’s really what I sense Jesus is getting at here: offering a way to end childish and selfish reli-gion that equates blessings with wealth and scrupulosity for spirituality. In the newly published First Nations Version of this New Testament, Jesus – called Creator Sets Free – tells the young man: “The instructions from the lawgiver drawn from water – Moses – are clear. Do not take the life of another, do not be unfaithful in marriage, do not take what is not yours. Never lie or cheat a fellow human being and always give honor to your father and mother.” These are the second half of the 10 Commandments, the relational ones that build loving and just connections between people and are the building blocks for ethical behavior that strengthens the common good.

“Wisdom keeper,” the man replies, “I have followed all of these from my youth.” To which Jesus asks: has doing so helped you live consistently with compassion, joy, and integrity because that’s what eternal life is all about. It’s not a quest to get into heaven when our race is over but a way of being saturated with love in this life. So, don’t confuse your material well-being with spiritual blessings from God, ok?” That was one of the ancient perspectives codified in Deuteronomy – that God blesses the just with abundance and punishes the wicked with poverty - and became standard operating theology in ancient Israel for a time. To identify the well-off with God’s beloved was in the spiritual water of that era. It helped maintain the status quo and has regularly found new life in other cultures, too. During the Protestant Reformation, John Calvin named wealth as one of the signs of God’s eternally elect and Joel Osteen says much the same thing today. But Jesus doesn’t.

+ Immersed in his tradition’s prophetic school, Jesus called out any notion that wealth was God’s reward for anything; same, too, for a rigorous or literal adherence to the commandments. Such is shallow spirituality, childish and self-centered, that leads to nothing except creating God in our own image.

+ It was popular among the Sadducees of Christ’s time who had no grasp of life beyond life: that’s likely why the young man thought he was all set. His religion had trained him to see his status as authentication of God’s blessing. To which Jesus replied: it’s great that you have money and know the Law. What you need to do now, however, is quit trying to get God to be on your side. “With tenderness and love, Jesus said: take all your possessions, invite the poor of your village to a give-away, then let it all go and come walk the good road with me.” This part of the story ends with the young man’s heart falling to the ground and walking empty away because he had great wealth.

"Let it go" is the universal insight Jesus offers: if you grasp, clutch, or brace over anything, it will shrink your heart and compromise your soul. If, however, as Cynthia Bourgeault so persuasively teaches, you release – relinquish, yield, or surrender – you align yourself with the heart of creation and will dwell in the house of eternal love forever. In her little book, Wisdom Way of Knowing, Bourgeault writes:

There are any number of spiritual practices both ancient and universal to bring a person into a state of inner relinquishment, but the most direct and effective one is simply this: in any situation in life, confronted by an outer threat or opportunity notice if you are responding in one of two ways. Either you will brace, harden, and resist, or you will soften, open, and yield. With the for-mer you will be catapulted immediately into your smaller self with its animal instincts and sur-vival responses. If you stay with the later regardless of the outer conditions, you will remain in alignment with the heart of creation and our truest self where the divine can reach and love you. This is spirituality at its no-frills simplest: a moment-by-moment learning NOT to do anything in a state of bracing.

In the particularity of this gospel story, where Jesus is talking with a unique individual, he brings specificity to the universal by advising the wealthy one to let go of his bounty and follow him as a disciple. Intuitively, not ideologically, Jesus offers this soul a way of being that is aligned with his individual situation. It is NOT a blanket solution to poverty, but a personal invitation to surrender everything that might get in the way of living with an open heart. That’s what I missed back in my radical and doctrinaire days: the fact that Jesus NEVER offers a one-size fits all solution to our spiritual journeys. Think back to the young man possessed by demons living in a graveyard infested with swine just outside of Israel. Jesus casts out the demons and tells his disciples to give up some of their clothing to cover the boy’s nakedness.

But, when the one who has been healed asks Jesus in awe and gratitude, if he might join the band of women and men wandering through Palestine, do you recall master’s answers? “No, my child, you need to go home and make peace with your family.” One of my spiritual mentors, the late Clarence Jordan of Koinonia Farms who was the father of Habitat for Humanity, suggests that the healing experience of this person is at the heart of the parable of the Prodigal Son. Interesting, yes? For those you don’t know the tale it’s about a young man who fritters away his inheritance and winds up living among the pigs someplace in Gentile country. When he comes to his senses as a young Jew living among the ritually unclean swine, he thinks he should return to his family and live as a servant. But when his broken-hearted father sees his long absent child walking back all broken and vulnerable, he throws a feast of thanksgiving announcing that once you were lost but now your found. It’s a beautiful and consistently relevant story for all ages.

I guess what I’m trying to say here is that Jesus was no ideologue: sometimes he encouraged people to join him, other times he offered then another path. I think of Zacchaeus, the despised and wealthy tax collector, whom Jesus embraced and feasted with: he wasn’t asked to leave it all behind – just make right relations with those he’d harmed – so Zacchaeus to let go of half his sav-ings but continued to live in his home community. And let’s not forget Mary Magdalene whom Jesus let make her own choice – he was grateful that she did sign on with the tour and used her resources to help feed the group – but she did so without any pressure and without obligation. Do you hear what I’m saying?

The universal practice of Christ’s spirituality is yielding: pick up your Cross, let distractions go, and trust the path of relinquishment. The way this happens, however, is always personal and unique. That’s one reason why the spirituality of Jesus was first called: the way. It was a way of living, a way of being, a way of the Cross. And St. Mark underscores this throughout his storytelling by using a precise word: hodos. It is the word the early faith community used to define itself: People of the Way (hodos.) Our English translations make it hard to see how St. Mark repeatedly uses this same Greek word, hodos, throughout his story. He wants us to know that trusting God is a journey – hodos – a way of being not a religious institution defined by creed or cult. In the first chapter of his gospel, St. Mark speaks about preparing the way of the Lord: hodos. Later, Jesus is described as the one who teaches us the truth of God’s way: hodos.

+ When Jesus asks his friends, “who do the people say I am?” chapter 8 tells us that he was on the way – hodos – same too when the disciples argue about who is the greatest among them – the story says that they were on the way to Jerusalem – hodos.

+ Tonight’s passage starts by saying that “Jesus was setting out on a journey” – hodos. It is a journey to the Cross, a journey to Jerusalem, a journey of faith – and ALL of these journeys – hodos – have something to do with letting go as the way of Jesus.

Some commentators suggest that St. Mark places tonight’s story directly after Jesus receives and welcomes the little wounded children with healing to contrast the hodos of letting go and sharing love – even at the cost of his life – with the hodos of one so caught up in his possessions that they have become a prison. We spoke of this last week where Jesus proclaims that whoever receives one of these little ones – children who most likely were sick and vulnerable – receives me. Then, speaking from his heart, Jesus adds: for such emptiness and vulnerability is the way – the hodos – that leads to the kingdom of God. Two other texts rooted in prophetic Judaism come to mind about the hodos of Jesus as well: First, the song of Mary, the Magnificat, which she sings in celebration of Christ’s unique birth: My soul magnifies the Lord, and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior, for he has looked with favor on the lowliness of his servant.

Surely, from now on all generations will call me blessed; for the Mighty One has done great things for me and holy is his name. God’s mercy is for those who live with awe from generation to generation. God has shown strength with his arm; he has scattered the proud in the thoughts of their hearts. He has brought down the powerful from their thrones and lifted up the lowly; he has filled the hungry with good things and sent the rich empty away.

Second are the words of Jesus used in Matthew, Mark, and Luke: What does it profit a person to gain the whole world and forfeit their soul? Do hear the connection between letting go and being blessed by God along the way? The way of Jesus lets go of the habits and practices of the status quo in order to trust God with all our heart, soul, strength, and mind. In this, the way of Jesus is antithetical to institutional religion. So, let’s play with this for a moment and consider how the way of Jesus, one incarnation of God’s word, is linked with God’s first incarnation in creation and nature itself. Right now, in the Northern hemisphere we’re entering the sacramental season of autumn which holds carries a unique spiritual message for us if we have eyes to see. Fr. Richard Rohr recently wrote:

The earth that is) finite manifests the infinite where the physical becomes the doorway to the spiritual. If we can accept this principle called “incarnation,” (where God’s word becomes flesh) then we might see that all we need (in life) is right here and right now—in this world.This is the way to that! Heaven includes earth and earth includes heaven. (For nature shows us that) there are not sacred and profane things, places, and moments, there are only sacred and desecrated things, places, and moments—and it is we alone who desecrate them by our lack of awareness and reverence. (God has given us) one sacred universe, and we are all a part of it. Rohr then adds: The first act of divine revelation is creation itself. The first Bible is the Bible of nature. It was written at least 13.8 billion years ago, at the moment that we call the Big Bang, long before the Bible of words.

St. Paul celebrates this truth in the opening words of his letter to the Romans: “Ever since God created the world, God’s everlasting power and divinity—however invisible—are there for the mind to see in the things that God has made” (Romans 1:20). One really wonders how we missed that. Words gave us something to argue about, I guess, while nature can only be respected, enjoyed, and looked at with admiration and awe. Don’t dare put the second Bible in the hands of people who have not sat lovingly at the feet of the first Bible. They will invariably manipulate, mangle, and murder the written text.

On the equinox this year I came across a pre-Christian aphorism from ancient
Wales that celebrates the spirituality of autumn like this: “Light and darkness, in equal balance, remind us that hope balances despair, and that all that falls into the dark will one day rise again into the light.” St. Mary Oliver’s poem, “Autumn Song,” posits much the same thing:

In the deep fall don’t you imagine the leaves think how

comfortable it will be to touch the earth 

instead of the nothingness of air

and the endless freshets of wind? And don’t you think

the trees themselves, especially those with mossy, warm caves,

begin to think of the birds that will come — 

six, a dozen — to sleep inside their bodies?

And don’t you hear the goldenrod whispering goodbye, 

the everlasting being crowned with the first tuffets of snow? 

The pond vanishes, and the white field over which the fox 

runs so quickly brings out its blue shadows. And the wind pumps 

its bellows. And at evening especially, the piled firewood shifts a little, longing to be on its way.

This is how hope has been rekindled in my heart: by witnessing every day the way of God reveals all that is sacred through the FIRST word of the Lord. God’s witness in nature tells me that faith is about balance, letting go, and trusting that every day starts with a sunrise and ends with a sunset. That each season begins softly, ripens in due course, and then slowly fades into completion before yet another renewal; that spring follows winter and fall follows summer. That each life – and each day – has ups and downs, blessings and troubles, celebrations and sorrows. That the well-ordered unfolding of time is a silent reminder that I can trust God’s steadfast love to endure forever. David Cole, a master of reclaiming ancient Celtic insights for our day, notes that the old calendar had:

… Eight high points each year set six weeks apart with four changing seasons, two solstices as well as two equinoxes… The order and rhythm was obvious – like the seasons where we watch the trees and flowers change in dramatic ways in front of our eyes – and subtle – like the stars shifting in the sky each night and how the sunrise and sunset moves backwards and forwards along the horizon throughout the year. Much of our modern western world has become com-pletely detached from the turnings of the earth, the cycle of the seasons… and in this we have lost the intrinsic relationship the natural world holds for sustaining both physical and spiritual life.

To be sure, there is still suffering and darkness, chaos and even destruction in God’s first word. There is mystery, too, like how the hell DOES a virus like the Delta Variant of COVID flow and ebb in real life. But, as the Jewish wisdom tradition affirms, there is also a sacred balance to rest within:

To everything there is a season. A time to be born and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to harvest… a time to break down, and a time to build up; a time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance; a time to throw away stones, and a time to gather stones together; a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing; a time to seek, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to throw away; a time to tear, and a time to sew; a time to keep silence, and a time to speak; a time to love, and a time to hate; a time for war, and a time for peace.

Now I didn’t grow up noticing Mother Nature, the cycle of the seasons, or the ebb and flow of light and dark. It wasn’t part of my spiritual tradition to look for the holy in ordinary things either. So, like many working- and middle-class kids, I took creation for granted. It’s only been in the past 20 years, as outward events have shaken my faith and weakened my former sources of assurance, that I’ve started to witness and experience the presence of the holy revealed in nature – and a tree in the wetlands behind our home has become my favorite teacher. The insights of some First Nations people have helped. So, too the ancient Celts and some poets. But my tutor has been a big, flaming tree in the wetlands.

+Right now, she’s saturated with shimmering yellows and oranges. But soon, her leaves will fall, and she’ll be naked. Over the course of the winter, there will be times when she’ll look strong and other times that she’ll look dead although I’ve learned that even in this state a lot will be happening under the ground with her root connections.

+ And then, when spring sneaks up on us in these parts, I’ll see the soil around her trunk has melted the snow – a clear sign that nutrition is flowing upwards again and her season of rest will be over – and almost overnight a sudden crop of little red buds will pop out only to be-come green leaves and then white flowers as her sacred cycle starts all over again.

I’ve been watching this wise old friend for almost 15 years now, and she consistently proves to me that God’s steadfast love endures forever. Grace, she tells me, never quits. Holy love can be trusted even when other events cause me to fret or fear. “Light and darkness,” those old wisdom keepers of ancient Wales knew, “remind us that hope balances despair, and that all that falls into the dark will one day rise again into the light.” Another wandering mystic within nature, Herman Hesse, wrote: For me, trees have always been the most penetrating preachers. I revere them when they live in tribes and families, in forests and groves…

Whoever knows how to speak to them, whoever knows how to listen to them, can learn the truth; for they do not preach learning or precepts, they preach, undeterred by particulars, the ancient law of life. A tree says: A kernel is hidden within me, a spark, a thought, I am life from eternal life… A tree says: Be still! Be still! Look at me! Life is not easy; life is not difficult. Those are childish thoughts. Let God speak within you, and your restless thoughts will grow silent.

My mentoring tree tells me what the Psalmist assured us all: be still – and know. Know the way, know the truth, know the life. It’s all connected – and if we listen, we can hear hope in this silence. I like the way Pope Francis put it: “Nothing in nature lives for itself. Rivers don’t drink their own water. Trees don’t eat their own fruit. The Sun doesn’t shine for itself nor is a flower’s fragrance for its own enjoyment. Living for each other is the rule of nature.” This is the first word incarnated by God – and it is as true for each and all of us as for all creation

This season feels like home to me. Beginning back with the autumnal equinox and running through the numinous darkness of All Hollow’s Eve, All Saints Day, the day of the Dead and Advent, I’m awash in the colors, sounds, sights, and spirituality of autumn. They’re a resting place of beauty and solitude that calls me to step back from the exciting, extroverted, and public ways of the summer and take stock of what must be relinquished. Outwardly, the bold greens and harvest bounty incrementally give way to subdued browns and countless shades of nuanced grey that are easy on my eyes. Right now, the wetlands are bursting with bold reds, yellows, browns, greens, and oranges, one last show of outward beauty that will soon let go in a soothing emptiness. And the pumpkins – oh, Lord, let me NEVER forget the blessings of all these pumpkins. The spirituality of this season marks the close of one year on route to the opening of another A prayer from an old Scots-man is a good place to quit: As the trees are stripped of foliage, Lord, may we be stripped of clutter. As the leaves fall to the ground, Sacred Heart, may we fall into your quiet rest. And as the crops ready for harvest are gathered, may the wisdom of our days be garnered.

see video @ https://fb.watch/8Ab75fJpKn/