Sweet SOUL music...

I am a bit slow on the uptake this year - who knows why - but it is time to announce, recruit, proclaim and celebrate:

 8th Annual Festival of American Music 

Wednesday, November 26th 2014

 7 pm

(Leonid Afremov - Guitar and Soul)

FIRST CHURCH ON PARK SQUARE
27 East Street, Pittsfield, MA
A benefit for emergency fuel assistance in the Berkshires
27 East Street, Pittsfield, MA 

Mysterious ways...

Affirmations come to those who wait - and I'm not so good with waiting. That said, this weekend has been a bit of a test and I've found myself wrestling with demons that I thought were long dead and buried. Or at least on extended vacation. The details of what triggered this inner debacle are less significant than the inner fears and doubts they exposed. Imagine my surprise this morning to read this from Fr. Richard Rohr:

Before a unitive encounter with God or creation, almost all people will substitute the part for the whole and take their little part far too seriously—both in its greatness and in its badness. But after any true God experience, you know that you are a part of a much bigger whole. Life is not about you; you are about life. You are an instance of a universal and even eternal pattern. Life is living itself in you. It is an earthquake in the brain, a hurricane in the heart, a Copernican revolution of the mind, and a monumental shift in consciousness. Frankly, most do not seem interested.

Understanding that your life is not about you is the connection point with everything else. It lowers the mountains and fills in the valleys that we have created, as we gradually recognize that the myriad forms of life in the universe, including ourselves, are operative parts of the One Life that most of us call God. After such a discovery, I am grateful to be a part—and only a part! I do not have to figure it all out, straighten it all out, or even do it perfectly by myself. I do not have to be God. It is an enormous weight off my back. All I have to do is participate! My holiness is first of all and really only God’s, and that’s why it is certain and secure—and always holy. It is a participation, a mutual indwelling, not an achievement or performance on my part.

After this epiphany, things like praise, gratitude, and compassion come naturally—like breath and air. True spirituality is not taught; it is caught once our sails have been unfurled to the Spirit. Henceforth, our very motivation and momentum for the journey toward holiness and wholeness is just immense gratitude—for already having it!

And just to make sure I was listening, later in the day I received a hand-written letter of compassion and gratitude from one of my dearest friends. It, too, helped soothe my angst by reminding me that when I rest and trust, I am connected to life - a living part of life - but not the whole of it because life is NOT about me. Later, when we walked in the quiet woods, I had the chance to listen to my favorite sound in all creation: a soft flowing forest stream. Di tells me that's one of the differences between us:  she chooses to walk beside the lake and I opt for the quiet woods with the stream.

In an odd way I am grateful for being so rattled these past few days: it put a few things into perspective and gave me some clues about more prayers for healing. God works in mysterious ways...

Prayers of healing...

Sometimes we are hurt: every now and again it is intentional, but more often than not these wounds are unintentional. One of the blessings of Celtic spirituality is the way it links the truths of the earth to our encounters with the soul. One prayer, Lord of the Morning, puts it like this:

Bless to us, O God, this day, fresh made.
In the chorus of birds, bless us.
In the scent of blossom, bless us.
In the wet grass and the spring of flowers, bless us.
Bless us and heal us,
for we come to you in love and in trust.
We come to you in expectant hope.

O God, give us a well of tears
to wash away the hurts of our lives.
O God, give us a well of tears
to cleanse the wounds,
to bathe the battered face of our world.
O God, give us a well of tears
or we are left like arid earth
unsanctified.

Heal us and your grieving world
of all that harms us.
By the power of your resurrection
restore us to new life,
set us on new paths,
bring us from darkness to light,
help us to choose hope.

Jesus says, "Pick up your bed and walk."
Pick up the bed of your sorrows and fears,
pick up the bed of your grief and your sin,
pick up your life and come, come follow him.

I claim two truths from this prayer - probably more.  First, the blessings of God's healing forgiveness are greater and more abundant that our wounds. I must trust that at times when I don't "feel" it.  And second, the evidence of these abundant blessings are heralded by the rise of the sun each day. There is nothing I can do to prevent God's grace except ignore/refuse it. It is there for me and free for the taking.

One of the truths of our wounds is that they give us a chance to do better - to make amends - to learn from our mistakes. Lord, let me pick up my bed and follow the one of blessings.

The sensuality and celebration of all that is created...

When I was ordained into Christian ministry 32 years ago, my mentor - Ray

Swartzback - preached a message entitled, "Trapped in the Trappings." Brother Ray was a genius and a giant when preaching. And at the heart of his message was this gem: don't allow your wounds, your ego or your congregation trap you in the trappings of ministry. Rather, let the love of God made flesh in Christ shine in everything you do; anything less will burn you out and diminish the light of of Christ. 

He was right. As long as I stayed grounded in love - love of God, love of others and love of self - the absurdity of ministry made sense and I was saturated with joy. Whenever I thought too highly of myself, however, or when I let the pressures to be successful run the show, ministry became a drag and I ached to get out. I recall reading a slim volume by George MacLeod, the Church of Scotland minister who reclaimed and rebuilt the ministry of Iona during the Great Depression, shortly before my ordination. I knew then that his Celtic spirituality rang more true to me than the Calvinism of my youth. MacLeod's insistence that the whole earth cried glory - and was filled with the living presence of the Lord - resonated with my heart and my head in ways that my Reformed tradition's teaching concerning the total depravity of humanity did not. 

But none of the existing texts celebrating Celtic spirituality offered a clearly articulated alternative to the status quo: most resources were either pseudo-Druidic ramblings or New Age romantic paeans to a time long gone. MacLeod spoke with a passion that was attractive, but at the time I was unable to learn about the intellectual and spiritual practices that strengthened his Celtic faith. So, I stumbled about on my own while exploring two streams of what I now know as embodied Celtic practices: the conviction that all of creation is good rather than fallen, and, the hunch that nourishing all our senses in truth, beauty and goodness is a living prayer. 

My first spiritual discipline for discerning the goodness of all creation was music. I kept finding non-religious songs that spoke more honestly about my experience in the world than almost any of the traditional hymns. Not that I didn't find solace and insight in hymns, too. But the music of the streets and airwaves carried a whole lot more love and prophetic challenge to me than what I heard in church. Take Bruce Springsteen's confessional "Living Proof." He must have been reading my emails when he wrote this - especially the part where he almost weeps, "you do a lot sad and hurtful things when it's you you're trying to lose... you do some sad and hurtful things and I've seen living proof."

In time I found the Irish poet, Patrick Kavanagh, who gave me another way to express this quest for the goodness within all creation in his poem: "I Saw Christ Today."

I saw Christ today
At a street corner stand
In the rags of a beggar he stood
He held ballads in his hand

He was crying out "Two a penny
Will anyone buy
The finest ballads ever made
From the stuff of joy"
But the blind and deaf went past
Knowing only there
An uncouth ballad seller
With tail-matted hair

And IO whom men call fool
His ballads bought
Found him who the pieties
Have vainly sought.

Today I better grasp why I find the buzz of the holy in the sounds of improvised jazz as well as U2, Sarah McLachlan and Leonard Cohen: God is not only still speaking, but God is fully present within the totality of creation. When I was finally able to visit Iona, during the 20th anniversary of ordination, I was able to get my hands on the prayers of MacLeod and other interpretive writings and my grasp of Celtic spirituality deepened. (Just a take a listen to U2's newest offering: pure bliss!)

Invisible we see You, Christ above us.
With earthy eyes we see above us, clouds or sunshine, grey or bright.
But with the eye of faith we know you reign:
instinct in the sun ray
speaking in the storm,
warming and moving all creation, Christ above us.

We do not see all things subject unto You.
But we know that man is made to rise.
Already exalted, already honoured, even now our
citizenship is in heaven
Christ above us, invisible we see You.

Invisible we see You, Christ beneath us.
With earthly eyes we see beneath us stones and dust and dross,
fit subjects for the analyst’s table.
But with the eye of faith, we know You uphold.
In You all things consist and hang together:
the very atom is light energy
the grass is vibrant,
the rock pulsate.

All is in flux, turn but a stone and an angel moves.
Underneath are the everlasting arms.
Unknowable we know you, Christ beneath us.

The other practice that I stumbled upon intuitively - and later intentionally - involves feasting wherein all the senses celebrate the God of glory and love. Before I became a person of faith, I used to bake bread - and it was a living time of prayer for me. Mixing the earthy ingredients connected me to the grittiness of life, kneading the dough invited me to get physical and intimate with my food, waiting gave me time to read and sit quietly - and then eating freshly baked bread! It was a taste of heaven on earth. Only later did I learn that part of Celtic spirituality has to do with the way our senses invite us into communion with the Lord.

Most of my Reformed heritage worked to denigrate and diminish the sensual; I didn't now why, but it was clear that being "spiritual" was more about giving things up than embracing them fully. But how could I deny the sensual goodness of freshly baked bread? It seemed sinful to pretend it wasn't an ecstatic experience. Same with feasting with friends - or welcoming strangers - or smelling lilacs - or being consumed by a lover. It was all good - very, very good as God said in the beginning - so I trusted the goodness and sought a way to understand it.

A book by Joy Mead, published by Iona, One Loaf: an Everyday Celebration, gave me some of the words and tools to affirm the blessings of all that is truly sensual and holy.  One poem in particular, Bread-time, cuts to the chase:

Because bread won't be hurried
we have to learn to let it be,
to do nothing, to be patient,
to wait for the proving.
Because bread won't be hurried
and is a life and death process,
we find out in its making
that time is not a line
but a cycle of ends and beginnings
rhythms and seasons,
growth and death,
celebrations and mourning,
work and rest,
eating and fasting,
because bread won't be hurried.

Here is the very essence of Celtic spiritual disciplines, yes? She puts it like this in another poem:

Paul, it seems, thought
truth and sincerity to be in the history
and purity of unleavened bread.
But wasn't it more
the haste of a people
anxious to leave captivity
and so with no time
to wait for a rising.

I wonder.
Didn't Jesus show us
truth and hope
in the light and lovely
pleasure-making, wholly joy-filled,
god-given, fully-leavened loaf
enjoyed while watching
the flowers of the fields.

Do this, he said
take wine and bread
together
fruit and grain
old customs
old ways.
I make them now
in the irreversible power 
of community.

Today, as the grayness of a New England autumn takes hold of the Berkshires; today, as the cool air awakens and refreshes my skin; today, as I walk about the yard and notice not only the brown dead leaves but the vibrant gold and red ones, too: I am aware of a new season.  It is a time of preparation and a time of anticipation. Winter is coming, but it has not yet arrived. So there are pumpkins to be picked and bread to be baked. There is insulation to be readied and clothes to be put away as sweaters replace sandals and shorts. The wisdom tradition of Israel, long embraced by Celtic Christianity, tells us to acknowledge with our sense that to everything there is a season... a time to dance under the moon, a time to bake some more bread and hoist a pint for all that is good and gracious.

The wisdom and promise of Celtic mysticism...

Many people attuned to the song of the soul sense that we are standing on the

precipice of something new: a new spiritual awakening, a new commitment to the common good, a new way of integrating the spirit with the flesh, a new unity between the personal and the political. As I listen more carefully to their insights and longings, my hunch is that this emerging newness is more apt to be a 21st century incarnation of our ancient mystical traditions than a totally new creation. As the worldly-wise preacher of Israel wrote 300 years before Christ: 

 What do people gain from all the toil

   at which they toil under the sun? 
A generation goes, and a generation comes,
   but the earth remains for ever…

What has been is what will be,
   and what has been done is what will be done;
   there is nothing new under the sun. 

Still, it is evident that there is a vigorous, post-modern quest for a new/old spirituality taking place throughout the churches of the US. And the good news is that Celtic mysticism offers some time-tested alternatives to both the vapid sentimentalism that so often informs popular piety, as well as the arid formality of the once religious mainstream. Like the wise Roman Catholic theologian, Karl Rahner, quipped at the end of the 20th century: "The devout Christian of the future will either be a ‘mystic’ . . . or will cease to be anything at all.”

J. Philip Newell, Warden of Spirituality for the Anglican diocese of Portsmouth, makes a strong case that in our quest for a new/old mystical revival, the first Celtic theologian, Pelagius, offers invaluable alternatives to the status quo. Three broad areas of his theology are illustrative of his unique mystical wisdom that has resonance with this moment in time.

+ First, this ancient Celtic saint/heretic not only celebrated the  inherit goodness of creation, he sensed God's presence deep within it. God neither created the world only to step back into benign observation nor did the Lord fashion creation as a mere parable of the holy. God is infused in all of nature because in the beginning, "when God pronounced that his creation was good, it was not only that his hand had fashioned every creature; it was that his breath had brought every creature to life.

Look too at the great trees of the forest; look at the wild flowers and the grass in the fields; look even at your crops. God's spirit is present within all plants as well. The presence of God's spirit in all living things is what makes them beautiful; and if we look with God's eyes, nothing on earth is ugly.

Newell goes on to note that because "Pelagius saw God as present within all that had life, he understood Jesus' command to love our neighbor as ourself to mean loving not only our human neighbor but all of life forms that surround us. So that when our love is directed towards an animal or even a tree, we are participating in the fullness of God's love." With the mobilization of the Climate March in NYC only one week away - an event calling for a new and compassionate relationship to all of creation - the Celtic mysticism of this ancient theologian rings out with surprising relevance. Indeed, in this liturgical season of "creation," I am discovering long forgotten insights about where I am embraced by God's grace in my ordinary life.

+ Second, the Celtic mystical theologian, Pelagius, was grounded in the Wisdom tradition of the Old Testament. He taught that Jesus was the fulfillment of the Wisdom tradition - the embodiment of Sophia - as he lived his common life with insight and humility. In this, Celtic mysticism is more concerned with right living - compassionate, honest and real - than right thinking. This is, of course, a challenge to the institutional Church of all traditions that too often insists that they - and they alone - posses the key to both correct wisdom and right living for people of faith. Small wonder that over the past 50 years so many tender and thinking people of all Christian denominations have voted with their feet and simply left. They continue to love Jesus, but can no longer abide with a bureaucratic and judgmental institution knowing full well that Jesus taught: God desires mercy not judgment!

This morning's NY Times noted that some religious traditions are starting to grasp what real people having been saying for decades: we need a church that is long on compassion and short on judgment. We desire mercy not sacrifice. We want our worship to resonate with our ordinary lives and speak to us in ways that help us mature in faith, hope and love. (for more see: http://www.nytimes.com/2014/09/12/upshot/church-is-becoming-more-informal-just-like-the-rest-of-society.html?ref=todayspaper& _r=0&abt=0002&abg=1

+ And third, the Celtic mysticism of Pelagius is bathed in a celebration of God's image in a newborn child. He does not insist on the primacy of sin at the start of life as both the Reformed and Roman Catholic world do. He opposes the binary theology of Augustine who insists that all sin is physically and spiritually a reality of heredity - passed on through the mother's womb - so that we begin life broken and depraved. Pelagius does not deny or diminish the reality of sin, but questions the wisdom and truth of such a harsh assessment. It simply does not square with the God of steadfast love and mercy, especially as embodied in Christ. Newell writes that the challenge of Pelagius:

...stood in stark contrast to Augustine's thinking and the developing spirituality of the Church in the Roman world, which accentuated the evil in humanity and our essential unrighteousness. Augustine, with his sharp awareness of the pervasiveness of wrong-doing in the world, stated that the human child is born depraved and humanity's sinful nature has been sexually transmitted from one generation to the next, stretching from Adam to the present. Augustine believed that from conception and birth we lack the image of God until it is restored in the sacrament of baptism, and that conception involves us in the sinfulness of nature, sexual intercourse being associated with lustful desire. 

The perspective... of Pelagius, on the other hand, is that to look into the face of a newborn is to look at the image of God; he maintained that creation is essentially good and that the sexual dimension of procreation is God-given. The emphasis that would increasingly be developed in the Celtic tradition was that in the birth of a child God is giving birth to his image on earth. 

As I enter this day of Sabbath rest and reflection, as I look upon the beauty just outside my window this morning - or embrace some of the mystery of being in my strange puppy's eyes as she looks at me and evokes only love - I find that I am more and more certain that the path of Celtic mysticism is my spiritual home. It takes practice, however, to grow into this alternative way of living and seeing. Fr. Richard Rohr makes clear that simply knowing is not enough: if we are to live into the promise of mystical love, we must practice - and we must especially practice some type of quiet contemplation.

Contemplation is the key to unlocking the attachments and addictions of the mind so that we can see clearly. I think some form of contemplative practice is necessary to be able to detach from your own agenda, your own anger, your own ego, and your own fear.

I find most people operate not out of “consciousness,” but out of their level of practiced brain function, which relies on early-life conditioning and has little to do with God encounter or grace or mercy or freedom or love. We primarily operate from habituated patterns based on what Mom told me, what went wrong when I was young, and the defense mechanisms I learned that helped me to be right and good, to be first and famous, or whatever I may want to be. These are not all bad but they are not all good either.

All of that old and practiced thinking has to be recognized and

accounted for, which is the work of contemplation. Without contemplation, you don’t see clearly. Everything is all about you, and you just keep seeing everything through your own agenda, anger, and wounds. Isn’t that most people you know?  Few ever achieve much inner freedom. Contemplation, sadly, helps you see your woundedness! That’s why most people do not stay long with contemplative prayer, because it’s not very glorious. It’s a continual humiliation, realizing, “Oh my God, I did it again. I still don’t know how to love!”

We need some form of contemplative practice that touches our unconscious conditioning, where all our wounds lie, where all our defense mechanisms are operative secretly. Once these are not taken so seriously, there is finally room for the inrushing of God and grace!

The way of humility and compassion, informed by this new/old mysticism, is a treasure to be practiced, explored, celebrated and shared. Lord, may it be so for me today.

Thirteen years later...

My friend, the poet/musician/author Pam, turned me on to this poem today -

and this Pastor, too - another musical mystic from Massachusetts - and the words spoke to my soul. They evoked my own grief and sorrow concerning this day. They touched on the grief I hold in my heart for the many innocents who have been killed because of my country's fear and anger. And they also connected me to a few dear sisters and brothers around the world who are hurting deeper than words can ever articulate. In so many, many ways I was blessed by this poem. Maybe you will be, too...

You've been wronged:
hurt, betrayed, accused,
robbed of something, someone.
The wound still bleeds,
smoke still rises in twin columns.
You can pretend, 
and your ruse will imprison you.
You can rage, 
and your rage will enslave you.
You can believe your deserving,
and your shame will bury you.

Or you can walk to the sea,
the sea at the end of the world,
the dark, chaotic waters of Creation,
the Red Sea bounding your Egypt,
the ocean of forgiveness.
A bitter Pharaoh will follow you,
but don't turn back.
You will walk into the pain, up to your ankles,
the grief, up to your waist,
the powerlessness, up to your chest
before the waters part

and you walk free.

Steve Garnaas-Homes

Sculpture: Meredith Bergmann

Celtic spirituality, gathering books and... rick james?

I just started to read J. Philip Newell's Listening for the Heartbeat of God: A Celtic Spirituality born of Gaelic mysticism, an abiding love of the sacred presence in the ordinary and the belief that because St. John the Evangelist lay against Jesus during the last supper he "heard the heartbeat of God." Funny how one book can set off a search for others, yes?

At first this called me to gather up all my Iona books - I have a ton - so that they might all be on the same two shelves in my study. That led to collecting the works of Buechner, Nouwen and Chittister - I have a ton of them, too - and all three have been essential in my spiritual maturation. What's more, I want to revisit them this fall. But why stop at this odd Trinity? So I searched for the other books that have shaped and guided me over the years and brought them all together in a pastor's study embrace:

+ Finding God at Home: Family Life as a Spiritual Discipline by Ernest Boyer (a look at how family life is its own unique spiritual discipline not unlike monasticism.)

+ Dakota by Kathleen Norris (a spiritual autobiography where one poet searches for a sacramental way of living in a secular age)

+ The Pastor as Minor Poet by M. Craig Barnes (time-tested words by a life-tested pastor (now dean of Princeton Theological Seminary) re: listening to the words of our congregation and helping us all hear the poetry of hope and lament)

+ The Feast of Fools by Harvey Cox (the counter-culture as one of God's charism's to a soul sick America in the 60's)

+ Crossing the Soul's River by William Roberts (men's spiritual journies)

+ Feasting with God by Holly Whitcomb (an incarnational way of celebrating God's presence through food and friends)

+ The Substance of Faith by Clarence Jordan (a radical incarnational theology that demands social)

+ The Book of Job by Stephen Mitchell (mystery, suffering and God's love)

+ Opening to God by Carolyn Stahl (guided meditations)

+ The Mystery of Christ by Thomas Keating (the sacramental theology of the liturgical year)

+ Get Up Off Your Knees ed. Whitely/Maynard (essays about U2 and prayer)

+ One Step Closer by Christian Scharen (the theology of U2's music)

+ Pilgrim at Tinker Creek by Annie Dillard (God in the ordinary)

+ Working the Angle's by Eugene Peterson (observing and maintaining Sabbath as a pastor)

+ To Dance with God by Gertrud Mueller Nelson (a parish guide to family and community celebrations grounded in the liturgical year)

+ Prayers for the Domestic Church by Ed Hays (blessing prayers for the whole of life)

+ Rediscovering Reverence by Ralph Heintzman (the meaning of faith and awe in a secular world)

Each of these books has touched both my head and my heart and guided me when I was confused or in need. One clear theme emerges - my quest for the wisdom and insights of sacramental and incarnational theology - which was not something I learned about in either my home church or seminary. Another has to do with prayer - meditation, contemplation and embodied - which was yet another gap in my early formation. And then there is my on-going interface with the Bible, the arts and justice.

Today I was FULLY back at church - midday Eucharist, administrative work, pastoral meetings, hospital calls and the start of a men's book conversation about "a spirituality of imperfection" - and it felt right. But now it is time to chill, hang with my honey and share some supper and red wine. (All the more so because Rick James' "Super Freak" just came on and I need to shake it up!)

A time for contemplation and balance...

A new season of programming, mission and ministry has started: it is autumn and things are popping in New England. This coming Sunday our children and youth will process to the communion table with signs and symbols of the Earth. Our choir and band resumes sharing music in worship after a summer recess. And church council kicks into high gear as we consider both a year of sabbatical preparation and new ways to use our resources to the glory of God. As often happens, there are always a few in the body who consider the Sanctuary and our tradition to be more of a "burial society" (for themselves) than an outpost for mission, grace and compassion.

Three readings from this morning's time of prayer warrant sharing as I prepare for tonight's ministry teams.  The first comes from Fr. Richard Rohr who clarifies that the purpose of contemplation is to help us take a long, loving look at what is real in a way free from judgment and emotions.  He writes:

Paul beautifully speaks of prayer in Philippians (4:6-7): “Pray with gratitude, and the peace of Christ, which is beyond knowledge or understanding [the making of distinctions], will guard both your mind and your heart in Christ Jesus.” It is all right there in very concise form! Teachers of contemplation teach you how to stand guard with both your thoughts and your emotions, both of which tend to be self-referential. Only a deliberately chosen “gratitude,” love, or positivity can stand against this barrage of fear and negativity.

Emotions are given to us by God, so that we can fully experience our experiences. The only problem with emotions is that we get addicted or attached to them. We take them as final or substantive. Emotions do have the ability to open you to consciousness, but then they tend to become the whole show. Most human thought is just obsessive, compulsive commentary. It’s “repetitive and useless,” as Eckart Tolle says. I would say the same of emotions.

Contemplation allows you to see (contemplata means “to see”) this happening in yourself. An oft quoted aphorism describes this well: “Watch your thoughts; they become words. Watch your words; they become actions. Watch your actions; they become habits. Watch your habits; they become your character. Watch your character; it becomes your destiny.” Contemplation and silence nip the ego and its negatives in the bud by teaching you how to watch and guard your very thoughts and feelings—but from a place of love and not judgment.

One of my deepest hopes for this year is that I can practice more contemplation and less wasting time with the "repetitive and useless commentary of obsession and compulsion." It is too easy for me to be sidetracked by soul vampires and they rob ministry of joy. The other quote comes from a bible study prepared by those organizing this year's "season of creation" liturgies. (Check them out @ http://seasonofcreation.com/worship-resources/bible-studies-for-the-season-of-creation/bible-studies-land-sunday/) 

In this morning's reflection on Adam/Eve and the "sin" of the garden, I read the the following. I'll be thinking about it a great deal for the next week:

The tree (Adam and Eve are forbidden to eat from) is specifically called the tree of the knowledge of good and evil. The Hebrew expression'good and evil’ seems to mean something like ‘everything’. It does not refer to the capacity to discern between right and wrong. To ‘know good and evil’ about something means to know everything about that subject. This meaning seems to be confirmed when the snake promises that if Adam and Eve eat from this tree their eyes will be opened and they will be like God, knowing everything. 

The temptation is to equal God in wisdom and knowledge and so have the power that comes with that knowledge. The sin was not the desire for knowledge, but the act of disobeying God and lusting after total knowledge, the dream of total control and domination. By eating from the tree our first parents did learn many things about reality, but they did not gain total power over their world. Instead something else happened.

Another way to speak of this arrogance and hubris is idolatry. The third reading, from Christian Century blogger Joann Lee, helps me balance both my quest for a more contemplative spirit with the understanding that each of us is often addicted to idolatry in ways we can't even name. She writes: 

Oftentimes when we encounter two differing viewpoints, we research, debate, and discuss the merits of each. Then, either as a church or as individuals, we choose one side over the other. Paul, however, does not discuss why one side is right and the other is wrong. He doesn't weigh the merits. Instead, he instructs the church to stop judging and despising one another. And he lifts up two central tenets of the faith that should guide their life together: that in life and in death we belong to God, and that God has welcomed even those with whom we disagree.

The church should be a place where those with differing opinions are welcomed and encouraged to live out their faith. The church should be a place where dialogue and discussion lead to respect and mutual forbearance. Too often, the church instead becomes a haven for the like-minded. Paul affirms that even those who we believe are wrong can be “fully convinced in their own minds,” and that when they stand before God they will be upheld. This is similar to Anne Lamott's observation: “You can safely assume you've created God in your own image when it turns out that God hates all the same people you do.”

There is room for difference and diversity in God’s church. We just have to be willing to make space for it.

Onward now to church council...

The whole earth cries glory...

As you know, I listen carefully to my tears. Both Fr. Ed Hays and Frederick

Buechner were my masters in learning the wisdom of my wounds - and they are both clear that our tears are prayers too great for human words. Beuchner puts it like this:

You never know what may cause them. The sight of the Atlantic Ocean can do it, or a piece of music, or a face you've never seen before. A pair of somebody's old shoes can do it. Almost any move made before the great sadness that came over the world after the Second World War, a horse cantering across a meadow, the high school basketball team running onto the gym floor at the start of a game. You can never be sure. But of this you can be sure. Whenever you find tears in your eyes, especially unexpected tears, it is well to pay the closest attention. They are not only telling you something about the secret of who you are, bu6t more often than not God is speak to you through them of the mystery of where you have come from and is summoning you to where, if your soul is to be saved, you should go next.

This morning I was twice surprised by unexpected tears: playing an extended jazz improvisation on "Shalom Chaverim" with Carlton filled me with such a sense of delight I shed a quiet tear; and later, at our surprise baby shower for Ashely and James, I was moved when John brought in the carved out water melon in the shape of a newborn child. The sweetness and care, the compassion and commitment to loving one another as Christ loved us, was palpable - and I was full to overflowing. I don't pretend to understand the mysterious message of today's tears except to say I was grateful they visited.

A new year of programming and ministry started today - the beginning of my 8th year in this place - one filled with anticipation and awe as well as some anxiety. Clearly babies, new life, generosity and jazz are to be part of the mix, but what else is on the horizon? I suspect a necessary winnowing is starting to take place - one that will extend well into my sabbatical - as those who are not committed to the radical path of God revealed in Christ (those whom I call the people who believe they are smarter than Jesus) discover that their opinions are and distractions are not what the community needs right now. Rather, we need those willing to give of themselves in sacrificial and playful ways so that the joy of Jesus is palpable within and among us. Maybe I truly have become a cranky old man but while I want to give everyone space to discern their own spiritual journey in life, I don't have much juice left for those who want to waste my time with idle cynicism.

No, I really am a fool for Christ and sense that for me and our faith community, his upside down kingdom and the absurdity of the Cross is where I want to spend my time, energy and resources. Years ago, Sir George MacLeod who founded the ecumenical monastery that is now the Iona Community, wrote:

Invisible we see You, Christ beneath us. 
With earthly eyes we see beneath us stones and dust 
and dross, fit subjects for the analyst’s table. 
But with the eye of faith, we know You uphold. 
In You all things consist and hang together: 
The very atom is light energy, 
the grass is vibrant, 
the rocks pulsate. 
All is in flux; turn but a stone and an angel moves.

Roy Ferguson, once community leader at Iona, put it like this:

For George MacLeod the material is the vehicle of the spiritual and is therefore holy: if Christ is in all things, everything is every blessed  thing, and the political as well as the personal comes under his sovereignty. The whole earth shall cry glory! It is a theology of incarnation and a theology of transfiguration, with a high view of the church. George’'s radicalism is therefore a matter of roots: and the roots are to be found in personal and public worship of a holy yet accessible God, who is in and through all things. 

The young family with a new child just weeks away from being born is speaking to my heart with tears of joy - and prayers of deep concern and promise. The jazz we played this morning evoked tears of gratitude for creativity as well as hope for the broken world we live in. Early in my ordained ministry I was captivated by MacLeod's work and words. In midcourse, we visited Iona and I experienced renewal and new directions. Now, in my later years in anticipation of sabbatical and who knows what more, I hear the new/old invitation from Iona to celebrate the holy in the human, the extraordinary in the ordinary and the song of the Lord as the whole earth cries glory.

As the "season of creation" unfolds over the next month - and the earth shifts from warm to cool and summer to autumn -I feel at one with the old prophet of Israel who sang: Holy, holy, holy! The Earth is filled with the glory of God! MacLeod's prayer holds resonance in my heart as this day comes to a close:

The Whole Earth shall cry “Glory!”
Almighty God, Creator:
The morning is Yours, rising into fullness.
The summer is Yours, dipping into autumn.
Eternity is Yours, dipping into time.
The vibrant grasses, the scent of flowers,
the lichen on the rocks, the tang of seaweed,
All are yours.
Gladly we live in this garden of Your creating.

But creation is not enough.
Always in the beauty, the foreshadowing of decay.
The lambs frolicking careless:
so soon to be led off to slaughter.
Nature red and scarred as well as lush and green.
In the garden also: Always the thorn.
Creation is not enough.

Almighty God, Redeemer:
The sap of life in our bones and being is Yours, lifting us to ecstasy.
But always in the beauty:
the tang of sin, in our consciences.
The dry lichen of sins long dead,
but seared upon our minds.
In the garden that is each of us, always the thorn.

Yet all are Yours as we yield them again to You.
Not only our lives that You have given are Yours:
but also our sins that You have taken.
Even our livid rebellions and putrid sins:
You have taken them all away
and nailed them to the Cross!
Our redemption is enough: and we are free.

Holy Spirit, Enlivener:
Breathe on us, fill us with life anew.
In Your new creation, already upon us,
breaking through, groaning and travailing,
but already breaking through, breathe on us.

Till that day when night and autumn vanish:
and lambs grown sheep are no more slaughtered: and even the
thorn shall fade
and the whole earth shall cry “Glory!” at the marriage feast of the
Lamb.

In this new creation, already upon us,
fill us with life anew.
You are admitting us now
into a wonderful communion,
The foretaste of that final feast.
Help us to put on the wedding garment of rejoicing
which is none of our fashioning
but Your gift to us alone.
By the glories of Your creation,
which we did not devise:
by the assurance of Your freeing us,
which we could not accomplish:
by the wind of Your Spirit, eddying down the centuries through
these walls renewed:
whispering through our recaptured oneness, fanning our faith to
flame,
help us to put on the wedding garment.
So shall we go out into the world, new created, new redeemed,
and new enchained together:
to fight for Your Kingdom in our fallen world.