as my breaking heart joins with millions of others...

Given the once unimaginable – but now all too predictable – horror that took

place in Las Vegas over the weekend, to say nothing of the anguish being felt in Puerto Rico, Houston and parts of Florida, many of us are experiencing despair. There are no words for such grief. Nor are there any quick solutions for America’s maniacal obsession with rage. So if we are faithful to the one we know as Christ, let this be for us a time of silence and lament. Not a mere 60 second symbolic homage to Las Vegas; but a soul rattling examination of our nation’s addiction to violence.

It is in our communal DNA: from the genocide of First Nations people and lynching “uppity” citizens of color, to a culture that celebrates sexual violence against women and the buying and selling of our civic leaders by the NRA (a once righteous group helping America practice gun safety), we must come face to face with the fact that we are a people baptized in innocent blood. New gun laws are not the only solution – even if they might help. Neither is more aggressive policing a balm for our collective soul. No, now is a time to grieve and lament what we have become – and wait upon the Lord.

Americans are not well practiced in waiting upon God. We’re not very good at waiting period, but we are inept when it comes to feeling hard emotions and listening for the still small voice of the holy within the whirlwind. God knows there have been more than enough times in our history for us to become experts in such patience, but we have chosen to distract ourselves time and again. Our favorite diversion is blaming a scapegoat. This not only feeds our blood revenge but keeps us from being still. We want to be productive. We want to fix things and move on. So time after time we fall into the time-tested trap of scape-goating another so that we never take stock of our own sin. We busy ourselves with illusions so that we don’t have to grieve and listen for the word of the Lord. Sadly, without silence and grief, there can be no repentance. And without authentic repentance, we will keep doing the same violent things over and over while expecting different results.

Our tradition gives us a clue about what this moment requires. After Israel had been taken into captivity by Babylon, its best led away in chains and the first temple in Jerusalem destroyed, the once proud people of God had to learn how to lament. “By the waters of Babylon, there we wept when we remembered Zion.” In time, Babylon itself fell – and Israel returned to the land of promise. As they were rebuilding and reimagining themselves after generations of pain and shame, the prophet Isaiah warned Israel not to get caught up in ceremonies that were self-serving nor activities that were self-righteous.

Is such the fast that I choose, a day to humble oneself? Is it to bow down the head like a bulrush, and to lie in sackcloth and ashes? Will you call this a fast, a day acceptable to the Lord? Is not this the fast that I choose: to loose the bonds of injustice, to undo the thongs of the yoke, to let the oppressed go free, and to break every yoke? Is it not to share your bread with the hungry and bring the homeless poor into your house; when you see the naked, to cover them, and not to hide yourself from your own kin? Then your light shall break forth like the dawn and your healing shall spring up quickly; your vindicator[a] shall go before you, the glory of the Lord shall be your rear guard. Then you shall call, and the Lord will answer; you shall cry for help, and he will say, Here I am. If you remove the yoke from among you, the pointing of the finger, the speaking of evil, if you offer your food to the hungry and satisfy the needs of the afflicted, then your light shall rise in the darkness and your gloom be like the noonday.

And what was true then, is true today: the events, the blood, the fear, the suffering, the shame and the impotence we all feel is the One who is Holy calling us to repentance. We know it. But first we must sit in sorrow and silence and take stock of the magnitude of devastation. Silence and lament awaken us to the truth and train us in humility. Grieving empties us of hubris and creates an opening for God’s grace to take up residence within in ways we can’t even imagine. St. Paul testified to this blessing after the death and resurrection of Jesus when he wrote: Now we boast in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope… and hope is God’s love being poured into our hearts by the inspiration of the Holy Spirit. (Romans 5) 

So, let us not grieve as those who have no hope. Rather let us grieve in anticipation of God’s grace that will be granted when God is ready to heal and cleanse us – and we are finally ready to wait upon the Lord. This does not mean standing idle. We will learn to wait upon the Lord by standing in solidarity with the NAACP this Thursday on Park Square in support of Puerto Rico. Or joining those in Williamstown tomorrow (Tuesday at 5 pm) calling out gun violence. We must learn to own and then repent of our privilege by casting our lot visibly with those who are not powerful. Consider it penance. Or public confession. Just know that waiting upon the Lord has a personal as well as a public component and BOTH are required at this moment in time. 

my soul is like a child...

At the close of worship this morning, one person said to me, "A little ray of light in the midst of so much darkness." That was my deepest hope for this day, so I breathed an inward prayer of quiet gratitude. The liturgy was simple - an abundance of river hymns and Eucharist - and my reflection was an invitation to live as "rainbow people." This is our time to tenderly embody and share the love of Jesus with the most vulnerable without concern for the cost. The words of Jean Vanier in his August letter to L'Arche came to mind: 

Many people are working so that our planet can remain a place of peace and not a place of destruction, a place where the life of different species can continue to flourish. They want to work for peace, non-violence and unity. Perhaps this quest for peace is only a trickle of water in front of the boiling waters of violence and fear but that trickle is truly there. It shows itself in the desire of many people to find a new way of living together. Maybe the time of frenzied individualism is beginning to diminish and make space for the desire for a life where people commit themselves together.

After Holy Communion, a few of us prayed with a brother who is hurting. Then we prepared for today's CROP Walk - an ecumenical event dedicated to raising funds and consciousness about world hunger - to close the day. Our small circle of interfaith peace-makers will like raise about $10K for Church World Service once all the individual contributions come in; our "bucket brigade" alone has gathered nearly $6,000 from their weekend collections standing out on Park Square. Like our worship, this offering is a drop in the bucket when compared to the magnitude of need. It is also a little ray of light in the midst of so much darkness. 

While speaking this morning, I knew some were yearning for more - more intellectual depth, more poetic prose, more sophistication - but I could only utter a little ray of light in the darkness. It was all that I had. And honestly, it is all that is there. Biblical theologian Walter Brueggemann has noted that we in the USA, "the richest nation on earth," are the most idolatrous of all contemporary people. 

We never feel that we have enough; we have to have more and more, and this insatiable desire destroys us. Whether we are liberal or conservative Christians, we must confess that the central problem of our lives is that we are torn apart by the conflict between our attraction to the good news of God's abundance and the power of our belief in scarcity - a belief that makes us greedy, mean, an unneighborly. We spend our lives trying to sort out that ambiguity.

After all was said and done - the offering for CROP counted, the communion table cleared, the songs sung and prayers shared - another person smiled at me and whispered, "Thanks be to God." My heart was filled to overflowing.

O Lord, my heart is not lifted up,
my eyes are not raised too high;
I do not occupy myself with things
too great and too marvelous for me.
For I have calmed and quieted my soul,
like a weaned child with its mother;
my soul is like the weaned child that is with me.

(Psalm 131)

down by the riverside: honoring the holy on river sunday...

On Sunday, October 1, 2017 we'll focus our attention on River Sunday.

It is the close of the new/old liturgical "Season of Creation" cycle. My thoughts start with this poem by Maren Tirabassi from September 27, 2017.

I am tired to tears of tweets.

I want a long story
full of narrative twists
and wondering what the motivation
of some character is.

I want a persuasive argument
that weighs opposing sides
without instant
condemnation or approval,
and recognizes values that inform
different points of view.

I want a subtle sermon
that only jolts me awake
hours later when I am walking the dog.

I want a conversation
that could never be called a chat –
one where people
who respect one another
can let some silences settle
and consider
the words to come next.

I want a symphony,
rather than a jingle,
a photograph of the Grand Canyon
that is not a selfie,

a long community mural
on a city wall,
a commitment to therapy
in an imperfect relationship,
the beginnings of negotiation
that will not garner political perks
for maybe years,

the accompaniment
of those who have faced
natural disasters beyond photo op
and into life.

Increased character limit
was not what I had in mind.

Next, there are three biblical insights from the story of Noah to consider:

+ What are the metaphorical and theological connections between the creation story that opens Genesis 1 and the flood of Genesis 8?

+ What does it mean for us to know that throughout the early mythology of our Hebrew cousins in faith, the Earth accepts the consequences of sin and violence much as Christ does?

+ Why was the rainbow chosen to be a sign of God's covenant for both creation and the Creator?

My closing includes "Down By the Riverside" and these words from poet Maya Angelou:

You, created only a little lower than
The angels, have crouched too long in
The bruising darkness,
Have lain too long
Face down in ignorance.

Your mouths spelling words
Armed for slaughter.

The rock cries out today, you may stand on me,
But do not hide your face.

Across the wall of the world,
A river sings a beautiful song,
Come rest here by my side.

Your armed struggles for profit
Have left collars of waste upon
My shore, currents of debris upon my breast.

Yet, today I call you to my riverside,
If you will study war no more.
Come, clad in peace and I will sing the songs
The Creator gave to me when I
And the tree and stone were one.

Before cynicism was a bloody sear across your brow
And when you yet knew you still knew nothing.

The river sings and sings on.
There is a true yearning to respond to
The singing river and the wise rock.

what do you want to do before you leave...

One of my dear friends and colleagues, Lee from Chicago, recently said to me: if there is anything you have always wanted to do in ministry but haven't yet accomplished it, make sure you give it a shot before you depart. Wise and even sobering words for me as I consider what would honor the heart of Jesus over the next 120 days. (Who is counting?) I've done most of the big projects over the past 35 years. Consequently, I don't feel a compelling drive to do anything more except... lead a closing worship series based upon Jean Vanier's writings on the mystical blessings found in St. John's gospel.

The light of God... was hidden and yet revealed in all creation... the light of the world, God, is hidden in the conscience of each person, so that we can all become children of God.

If I have learned anything during my days in ministry, it is this: unless we experience from the inside that we are truly God's beloved, we won't live like Jesus' brother or sister on the outside. We will remain trapped in the values and goals of a consumer culture. We will concentrate on ourselves - our anxiety, grief, achievements and status - rather than let love guide us in every moment. We will treat God as an add-on to our busy and even frantic existence rather than our core. We will build lives where we act like we are the crown of creation.  Jesus offers an alternative. It is quiet, hidden, rarely discerned at first because the way of Jesus is not flashy.  Vanier writes:

Why did the Word-made-flesh (the essence and totality of God's wisdom) need someone (like John the Baptizer) to prepare the way for him? Wasn't it because he did not want to be seen first of all as a powerful person, creating fear and awe in others? Jesus did not come in power and majesty, but as a lamb, in humility and littleness. John the Baptizer was a spectacular person. He attracted people because he lived like a prophet, austerely in the desert... He cried out and challenged people as other prophets did. But Jesus was not spectacular. He dressed simply. He did not live in the desert but in an obscure village with ordinary people like us. He loved to be with people who were poor or sic, people who felt rejected and excluded from society. He became their friend... It is Jesus who will lead us in and through the dailiness of life into something new: a simple, loving friendship with God where we will be free from fear, hatred and violence. Free to love people, particularly those who are weak and suffering.

My mentor, Ray Swartzback, used to say that if we couldn't make the gospel real in our broken urban centers, where human pain was obvious, there was no way in hell it could take root in our suburbs. In our affluent and bourgeois
communities. anguish is kept well hidden. Human suffering is masked beneath distractions, addictions, pretty clothes, fast cars, nice home, manicured lawns and a super abundance of activities. I knew that "Swartzy's" wisdom was true 40 years ago when I served as his pastoral intern. And after 35+ years of ordained ministry as a pastor to the middle class, I have experienced this truth in my bones.

So, I think my swan song will likely be a midwinter series using Drawn into the Mystery of Jesus as my guide. Vanier writes in the introduction:

The life of God which Jesus came to give us through a new birth and growth in the Holy Spirit.. is a life of friendship with Jesus that brings us out of self-centeredness to a centeredness in God and others - into a new (experience) of God. (It is worth noting that) the author of John's gospel refers to himself as "the beloved disciple." He never calls himself by his name and this is significant; he speaks of himself only in relationship to Jesus, as if his real value and identity flow from this relationship... By signing the gospel as the "beloved disciple," perhaps the author wants to reveal that each one of us can identify with him and become a "beloved of Jesus."

That's is my deepest hope as I prepare to close this chapter of a blessed life.

or you could just be silent...

One of the many reasons I find myself drawn to the people, spirituality and practice of tenderness at L'Arche has just become clear to me: at the core of this community is the radical acceptance of one another in love. Jean Vanier has observed that meeting another without trying to change him/her is essential for living in the heart of God. As an intellectual, I often think of this in relationship to others. But what is beginning to dawn on me is that I, too ache to be cherished just for who I am. Not what I can do for another, not as a commodity to be used and discarded, and not as a resource. Simply for who I am. In other context Vanier notes that each of us long to belong.

There are many layers to this longing in me including age, vitality, commitment to Christ, retirement, white male privilege and so much more.  Let me simply say that while all of my layers are real and have value, what I have rarely owned is my profound inner loneliness. I know there are times when I have been useful. I know that I have often been helpful and necessary, too. But there have not nearly been as many times when I was valued just for being. As I enter into the retirement groove, it does my heart good to know that L'Arche is ready to welcome me as me. Of course, there are things I can bring to the community - music, prayer, presence, the wisdom of experience and the ability to write with clarity - but mostly we recognize a mutual attraction that cuts deeper than words. How does St. Paul put it, "The Spirit groans for us with sighs too deep for human words."

An example of this took place recently when I freaked out about my limited
ability to converse in French.  I was reassured that there would often be some bilingual folk around to assist me so I need not worry. "Or" wrote the director, "you could just be silent." Isn't that perfect? For a preacher? Shut up and just BE there? Don't try to think it through, control it or beat yourself up for what you don't have. There will ALWAYS be things beyond my control. Why not just be present and be still?  Again I think of the invitation to "be still and know that I am God."

As I read, pray and wait my way into this next phase of faith, I am discerning that I clearly have a place in this small L'Arche community. I don't know why. And I don't really have to know why. I just know it is so.

let it go...

One of the realities I am beginning to experience since choosing to move into full retirement (and not part-time ministry which is a misnomer if ever there was one) is an odd mixture of grief and relief. My grief has multiple levels: I regret the things left incomplete, the sorrow over the times I failed to deliver, the sadness in leaving cherished members without trusted pastoral care and so much more. At the same time, I know in my soul that this is the right time to let go - and my heart feels one hundred pounds lighter. As I've realized before, there truly IS a time for all things under heaven.

One aspect of feeling liberated has to do with letting go of fretting. Oh, I am certain I will find replacements, but a lifelong pastoral dilemma has been worrying about stupid administrative decisions. I've made more than my fair share over 35 years. I have learned how rushing towards unreflective efficiency can become trouble, too. Especially when I sense that theological consideration and waiting upon the Lord has been abrogated. Such is the human condition, yes? But now I am starting to practice letting it go. it has been - and will continue to be - the challenge of my existence.

Yesterday, however, while driving into a late afternoon blazing sun, I listened to Jennifer Warnes' exquisite take on Leonard Cohen's "Joan of Arc." It is operatic in ways that I've missed before. It is cathartic, too. So as unexpected tears ran down my face, I sang along from some place long buried deep within, from the safety of my rental car.

Now the flames they followed Joan of Arc
As she came riding through the dark;
No moon to keep her armor bright,
No man to get her through this very smoky night.
She said, I'm tired of the war,
I want the kind of work I had before,
A wedding dress or something white
To wear upon my swollen appetite



It really IS time to let it go.

a time for quiet...

Taking a wee break from writing over the next week. After meeting meeting our blessed granddaughter, Antonia, and spending lots of time with her wonderful brother, Louie, this week, it is time for some inward reflection.  I made the decision two weeks ago to finally leave pastoral ministry. It has been two years + in the making and I feel a deep, deep peace (My departure letter is below.)

So now it is time to listen carefully for new directions. I have a few clues and will follow up on them as the new week unfolds. But mostly this will be a time of solitude and Sabbath trusting that the One who is Holy not only knows better than I do, but that she will help me gain clarity as it becomes necessary. Last week, as I prepared my worship notes for this morning, I was struck by the fact that after his call into public ministry, Jesus went into the desert.

Traditionally this has been interpreted as a time of testing - and that is true. But based on the insights of Vanier and Rohr I have started to believe that it was also a deepening of his commitment to becoming little. Open and alert like the small child Jesus often says is the one most receptive to the presence of the kingdom of God.  Jesus waits upon the Lord in silence. He becomes less so that God can become greater. Vanier writes: when we, like Jesus, recognize our own weaknesses, we can ask for help. We can work together. We can become the Body as we realize we need each other.

Fr. Richard Rohr recently wrote something similar: The root of violence is the illusion of separation - from God, from Being itself, from being one with everyone and everything. When you don't know you are connected and one, you will invariably resort to some form of violence to get the dignity and power you lack. Contemplation gradually trains you not to make so much of the differences, but to return to who you are (your true self in God)( which is always beyond nationality, religion, skin color, gender and sexuality... (For) when you can become little enough, naked enough and honest enough, then you will ironically find that you are more than enough. At this place of poverty and freedom, you have nothing to prove and nothing to protect. You can connect with everything and everyone. Everything belongs.

I trust this is true at my core. I am stepping out in faith and

bringing one ministry to a close so that another might unfold. And I am going to listen quietly for a spell as a child to see what might be shared. (NOTE:  the following is my letter of retirement.)

September 15, 2017

Dear Colleagues and Friends at First Church:

It has become clear that the time for me to move fully into my retirement is upon us. While away in Quebec recently I wrestled vigorously with this decision. I thought there might be creative alternatives to explore. I was mistaken. There are three fundamental reasons why I believe now is the right time for me to fully retire from pastoral ministry at First Church:

• Many of you know the agonizing health crises my family faced this past year. When I prayerfully look at whatever years remain for me, I sense God’s insistence that I claim a new way of living with these precious people now.

• The work our community is doing re: financial responsibility – using our facility as a resource rather than an albatross – continues, albeit in slow and complicated ways. This effort will bear fruit in the long run, but I do not have the stamina necessary to see this project to completion.

• Two years ago I discerned that just as God once called me into pastoral ministry, God has now called me out. For 35+ years I have served the Body of Christ with joy; that joy is now concluded. I trust that the Lord has something new in store for me even if I am not fully clear what that means. So, listening with my heart, I will begin another leg of my journey in faith beyond parish ministry.

I am working out the details with Personnel to include a public celebration of our ministry together sometime early in the New Year. During this transition I want to be intentional in saying our farewells carefully in the spirit of Christ. I cherish the people of First Church and Pittsfield and seek to use this time to faithfully bring our shared ministry to a respectful close. This has added significance for me as I am not moving on to a new congregation, but a whole new way of living as I enter full retirement.

I am grateful for the hard work and sacrificial love many of us have shared in Christ’s name. I am touched by the kind words the Moderator has offered in support of my retirement. I give thanks to God for the fulfillment of my season at First Church even as the Spirit leads me towards new vistas.

Grace and peace to you,
James Lumsden

reflections on vanier at 89 (part three)

In part three of this series of reflections on the work and wisdom of Jean Vanier at 89, please consider this insight by Hans S. Reinders, Bernard Lievegoed Professor of Ethics and Mental Disability at the Free University of Amsterdam. Vanier has learned, Reinders, writes that "community is not about trying to live a shared idea."

Rather, it is about learning the truth about oneself and others. Contrary to a frequent misreading of its experience, L'Arche has nothing to do with an ideal community that is shaped my morally exceptional people. Instead it has everything to do with people learning to be with each other and be accepted as who and what they are. Thus understood, learning to live in L'Arche is not about following a pattern or a plan according to which the moral self must be shaped. Its gestures of community are about accepting brokenness and limitation in order to create the freedom of celebrating difference.
                                      (The Paradox of Disability, ed. Hans S. Reinders, p. 6)

For idealists, romantics or those of us driven by a disembodied notion of doing "God's will" with our lives, living into this truth can be simultaneously frightening and disorienting. We hunger and thirst after righteousness (justice and authentic compassion.) We are striving, however, to participate in a healing in the world that we have not yet encountered within our hearts. With zeal, we fight against the social forces that wound the vulnerable. We earnestly challenge oppression and passionately critique the status quo. In solidarity, we whole-heartedly link our identities with various movements for collective transformation. Only to discover one day that we have burned out. Or become disillusioned with leaders who are imperfect, women or men with feet of clay, who break our hearts.  

In such moments, it is incomprehensible that our despair also holds the key to our happiness. All we know is darkness, not light; anger, not joy; confusion, not clarity. Consequently, some become cynical and quit trying. Others self-medicate their pain and try to push it away with externals. And a few seek the counsel of those wiser than themselves and practice going into their suffering so that they might be embraced by vulnerability and spiritual resurrection. "As Vanier has explained many times, there is no way of doing something for other people if you do not first learn how to receive whatever gift they have to offer, which presupposes your willingness to accept that you also are a person in need. The L'Arche community is about learning to receive other people as God's gift." (ibid, p. 4)

Speaking from within my own experience of activism for peace and justice in the 1960s and 70s - including organizing with Cesar Chavez's farm workers union - my early motivation had to do with building the kingdom of God on earth. My go to Biblical texts were: "Seek ye first the kingdom of God" (Mt. 6: 33) and "No one who puts a hand to the plow and looks back is fit for the kingdom of God." (Luke 9: 62) In pursuit of becoming a conscientious objector to the Vietnam War, I became a vegetarian. "How can I be a person against death," I asked, "if I eat death to live?" In fact, those type of questions dominated my quest to eradicate contradiction from my being. I genuinely believed that with enough effort and education, I could train myself to become a true man of peace. Like other young people of good will and idealism, I was certain that if I failed at something, I just needed to try a little harder and I could make it work. 

So, when things went south with Cesar, the bottom of my world dropped out. I couldn't fix things so I became despondent over his frailties and disappointed with his cynical and faulty leadership. I couldn't make it better and became angry, too. How could a once revered icon of nonviolence turn out to also be a small minded demagogue with cultist tendencies? I was vicious with my critique and ran into the embrace of the Church seeking yet another external expression of healing. In time, it was inevitable that I would discover that it too was more the broken body of Christ than a community of the committed. Often, it was petty. Or fearful. And it's vision was shaped more by its wounds than the grace of God. Again, I was hurt and angry. Same was true for my work in traditional electoral politics. And when that turned out to be less than I hoped for, I still didn't look within - or own that my quest for outward healing was driven by my own inner suffering - until my divorce. That is when I had to face my own fears and failures.  In the 12 Step movement this is called: hitting bottom. 

Now, the thing about hitting bottom is that it can be a blessing and a curse at the same time. It is humiliating - the curse - but can nourish humility - the blessing. It is a total failure and hurts even as it holds the possibility of new life. Vanier put it like this in The Heart of L'Arche describing how he came to accept the presence of the Lord in people with intellectual or physical challenges at a time when he was at wits end:

If, at times, some people with disabilities awakened a new tenderness in me, and it was a joy to be with them, at different moments others awakened my anger and defensiveness. I was frightened that they might touch my own vulnerability. At times I felt agitated and ill at ease with them, just the opposite of the peace and openness I needed to be present to them. It is hard to admit the darkness, fears, anguish, confusion and psychological hatred in our own hearts, all of which hid our past hurts and reveal our inability to love. If we love only those who love and affirm us, is it really love? It it not simply self-love? 

For those who like me, have always been able to do what they like and have always succeeded, it is difficult (to learn to love); at the same time it can be a real source of salvation and growth to discover our poverty and our powerlessness, and to be confronted by failure. I had to accept my own difficulties and poverty, and look for help. Faced with my anger and inability to love, I came into contact with my own humanity - and become humbler. I discovered that I was frightened of my own dark places, always wanting to succeed, to be admired and ready with the right answers. I was hiding my poverty... (what I came to realize) is that to become a friend to people in need, I needed to pray and work on myself, with the help of the Holy Spirit, and with good human and spiritual accompaniment... I had to learn to accept myself without any illusions. I had to discover how to forgive and discover my own need for forgiveness. Little by little, the weak and the powerlessness helped me to accept my own poverty, to become more full human and grow in inner wholeness. (pp. 34-35)

He discovered that if he let the wounded lead him into those places he dreaded, in time there was blessing. There was peace. There was love. By going into the darkness with others saturated in patience, he came to experience - and then trust - a love greater than his fears. Jesus promised as much to Peter in St. John's retelling of the resurrection: after Peter's betrayal and anguish - after the disciple's alienation and awareness of his own conflicted nature - not only would there be Christ's forgiveness, but also a life beyond dread and panic. "Very truly, I tell you, when you were younger, you used to fasten your own belt and to go wherever you wished. But when you grow old, you will stretch out your hands, and someone else will fasten a belt around you and take you where you do not wish to go." (John 21: 18)

The charism of Vanier's work in L'Arche is "to reveal to an age obsessed with

achievements that the essential value of each person lies not in the intelligence, but in the wisdom of the heart." (The Heart of L'Arche, p. 12) It is a small gift. A mustard seed in a field of confusion. And it points towards the peace that passes all understanding that we ourselves cannot obtain alone.  Effort, education, wealth and status cannot bring us to the place of peace: striving does not work. T.S. Eliot brilliantly summarizes human folly like this:

O world of spring and autumn, birth and dying!
The endless cycle of idea and action,
Endless invention, endless experiment,
Brings knowledge of motion, but not of stillness;
Knowledge of speech, but not of silence;
Knowledge of words, and ignorance of the Word.
All our knowledge brings us nearer to death,
But nearness to death no nearer to God.
Where is the Life we have lost in living?
Where is the wisdom we have lost in knowledge?
Where is the knowledge we have lost in information?
The cycles of heaven in twenty centuries
Brings us farther from God and nearer to the Dust.

("The Rock," T.S. Eliot)

Vanier's alternative to human arrogance is nourishing the love of God: letting others see my poverty gives them space to love me.

becoming smaller...

Once upon a time, o so long ago, I asked a wise believer for some clues about "how to discern the will of God" in your life? The reply has been pure gold: 1) Is it possible? 2) Is there support and encouragement from three other wise, time-tested people you trust? 3) Is it resonant with the heart of Jesus? 4) Is it lasting - or just the ebb and flow of emotions? Over the past three days - in four separate conversations, in my study for Sunday's message, and in my on-going reading of Vanier and Rohr - one theme kept crashing upon the shore of my consciousness:  now is a season of becoming less so that God can become more. Fr. Richard Rohr put it like this yesterday:

When you can become little enough, naked enough, and honest enough, then you will ironically find that you are more than enough. At this place of poverty and freedom, you have nothing to prove and nothing to protect. Here you can connect with everything and everyone. Everything belongs. This cuts violence at its very roots before there is even a basis for fear or greed—the things that usually cause us to be angry, suspicious, and violent.

Vanier puts a slightly different emphasis on this truth, but the heart is the same:

The poor person is one who is in need, who recognizes this need and who cries out for help. Weakness is frequently considered a defect. Yet are we not all weak and needy in some way? We all have our vulnerabilities, our limits and our disabilities. When we recognize our weakness, we can ask for help; we can work together. We need each other. It is obvious that the weak need the strong, but, as we are discovering in L'Arche, the strong also need the weak.

Later in his extended essay, "The Heart of L'Arche," Vanier continues:

(The weak) awakened a part of my being that had been underdeveloped and dormant. Through them, a new world began to open up for me, not the world of efficiency, competition, outward success and power, but the world of the heart, of vulnerability, communion and celebration. They were leading me on a path towards healing an wholeness.

There may have been inward (and a few external) conflicts in moving into retirement. But the deeper blessing is that it liberates me to take another step on the road of becoming smaller. More vulnerable. In solidarity so that I may go deeper into tenderness. Later this week, we will have a chance to meet our new granddaughter in Brooklyn. Talk about tiny. Next week I will spend a few days with the L'Arche community in Ottawa sharing supper, sipping tea, participating in a time of formation. I have completed my paperwork to become a volunteer because shame on me if I don't honor the confluence of these events, words, prayers and writing, yes? Tonight I give thanks to God.

credit: Pinterest236 × 354

love these pictures....

While waiting to celebrate the second Sunday in the Season of Creation - Land Sunday - I took this shot from the unique vantage point of the preacher's seat.

Here's another taken from the Nave of the Sanctuary showing the recently added birch trees. The Choir sang "Make Me an Instrument of Your Peace." Jon and I played Cat Stevens' "Where Do the Children Play?" And I reflected on the arc of the Hebrew creation stories as a critique against living as if we knew better than the Creator. The whole movement of Genesis 1-11 highlights that when we move out of balance with nature, we begin to manipulate and abuse the soil. The more accustomed we get to abuse, the wider it expands until the land, God's creatures and even our sisters and brothers are destroyed by violence.

a deep thank you...

Let me pause today from my Vanier reflections to simply note here what some in Pittsfield have already learned: I am moving into full retirement mode after the New Year. How did David Crosby put it back in the day when he could still get along with some people? "It's been a long time comin... gonna be a long time, long time gone."



Already my friends, clergy and lay, have been sending notes of gratitude, sorrow, encouragement and counsel - and I am deeply moved by their tender wisdom. I am particularly touched by the insights my clergy friends have chosen to share with me. One noted that after decades of holding the secrets of others, we wear out. True in spades for me. Another said it is a sacred privilege to carry so many truths that cannot be spoken out loud to another in our hearts and flesh; and, there comes a time when we are all full up and must let it go. Some have noted how our older bodies (and ears or knees or backs) don't quite hold up the way the used to. Others have confessed they lost the ability to smile and be silent when they wanted to cry "Bull shit!" And a few articulated that the Body of Christ is always broken. Jesus knew this and not much has changed since his death, resurrection and ascension. Besides, they wryly smile, even Jesus only hung around for 40 more days! In other words, to every thing there is a season.

Shortly after arriving here one of my doctoral profs called and asked if I would speak to a class about to graduate from the Masters of Divinity program about "what I wished I'd learned in seminary." It was an honor and I gladly participated. During that hour I underscored things like:

+ Ministry is a public relationship - so make sure you have friends outside the congregation, too. In fact, MOST of your friends should be beyond the parish.

+ Understand from the get go that congregational leadership really doesn't believe that Jesus was the Word made Flesh. if they did, they would have to pay you a living wage. In fact, as most Conference Guidelines suggest, they would have to pay you so that you and your family could live like they do. (Check it out if you think I exaggerate whatever your denomination.) Rest assured, friends, I told them, it almost NEVER happens - and if you don't know this going in, it will make you bitter and drive you out fast.

+ Two thirds of those who gather on Sunday morning treat church as an add-on. They're NOT bad people for doing this. They are not adversaries. They simply have a minimalist commitment to discipleship. Most are too busy. Some have never learned the wisdom of the Cross. And a few have consciously chosen to cede their children's ethical development to popular culture. Now I have given 25 years to celebrating a still speaking God who uses popular culture to nourish compassion, awe and justice. But you have to have ears to hear, otherwise you treat beauty like garbage and fail to claim the sound of the angels in the midst of the chaos.

+ Never ever do ministry expecting gratitude. Your blessings come from becoming smaller - a servant - not one of the celebrated guests. 21st century culture doesn't honor clergy the way it did 50 years ago. But even if it did, besides the cloying and patronizing displays culture offers in public, the way of Jesus is not about getting thanks or respect from society or even the congregation. That means you need a spiritual director so you don't put whipped cream on bullshit or give in to despair. And you need an inner life so you aren't addicted to outward praise.

+ And last but not least: never give up your call as theologian in residence. You are the one trained theologically. You are the one who consciously thinks about Jesus in building a budget. Or hiring a staff person. Or using the building as a resource rather than an albatross. And all the rest. This is where St. Paul's analogy of the body is essential:  lay leaders have their gift and YOU have yours. When they are blended - when business insights are bathed in theological depth - holy decisions can be made. Jesus taught his disciples to "make friends with unrighteous mammon... to live as wise as serpents and gentle as doves." When one or the other of these elements is missing... let's just say in 40 years I have seen it go south real fast.

So a profound thank you sister and brother clergy for being in touch with me over the past 24 hours. I love you more than ever. Nobody knows who you are but my heart rejoices today in ways it hasn't for some time...