Let me go a little deeper with a reflection that I began yesterday about a spirituality that is radically incarnational. I continue to be awed when great artists help me both see and experience the truth of real life more deeply. I am mostly attuned to this in music but also find it happening with dance, the visual arts, poetry, deep thinking, gardens, forests, children, acts of compassion, lives lived simply for justice and on and on...
This photomontage by Scott Mutter is one example of such integration of head with heart - and both have to be present for me if I'm going to engage a work of art - because one without the other is only half a truth which some say is a lie. (I think of listening to most of John Coltrane's later recordings; intellectually I am fascinated and appreciative of what this master is doing with time and sound but... these anti-melodic songs fail to grab my heart. Likewise with most fun pop music - "I give it an 85 Dick cuz its got a good beat and easy to dance to" - for they usually fade away fast even when the tune has been a quick blast of fun. Contrast that with "Like a Rolling Stone" by Bob Dylan which I am still listening to 40 years later - same with early Miles - for they integrate head and heart.)
I have the same visceral and intellectual reaction to this sculpture by Mary Temple who has taken an ordinary American room, watched the way shadows move across the walls and then painted these shadows upon a manufactured wall in such a precise way as to evoke a reactions that is simultaneously beautiful and disconcerting.
"Isn't this REALLY a picture?" I kept asking myself as I encountered this creation - trying to find where the projector was hidden - when, in reality it is truly a sculpture and painting of profound beauty and skill.
Both creations take me deeper: Mutter into the assault of that lonely little business man fighting his way across a dangerous sea only to have to go up the escalator of his work place that overwhelms him in every way; Temple in how the ordinary can be extraordinary if there is time and perspective to see what is always right beyond the obvious.
Now one of the biblical stories that people wrestling with a spirituality of the arts point to when considering the importance of beauty and creativity comes from Exodus 31: Bezalel and Oholiab. The One Who is Holy tells Moses that both these men have been filled with the divine spirit in order to create beauty.
I've filled Bezalel with the Spirit of God, giving him skill and know-how and expertise in every kind of craft to create designs and work in gold, silver, and bronze; to cut and set gemstones; to carve wood—he's an all-around craftsman. Not only that, but I've given Oholiab... an aptitude for crafts and the skills to make all the things I've commanded you: the Tent of Meeting, the Chest of The Testimony and its Atonement-Cover, all the implements for the Tent, the Table and its implements, the pure Lamp stand and all its implements, the Altar of Incense, the Altar of Whole-Burnt-Offering and all its implements, the Washbasin and its base, the official vestments, the holy vestments for Aaron the priest and his sons in their priestly duties, the anointing oil, and the aromatic incense for the Holy Place—they'll make everything just the way I've commanded you.(Peterson, The Message, Exodus 31)
Preacher Maren Tirabassi has noted that "God asked Moses to set aside and consecrate Joshua's nephew Bezalel and his friend Oholiabbecause of their gifts of stone-cutting, woodwork, metallurgy, and fabric arts... and then five chapters of Exodus are devoted to the details of their crafts." Two insights come into focus from this for me:
+ The connection between beauty, creativity and the Holy Spirit.
+ The use of ordinary things - rock, wood, wool and time - to fashion lasting beauty.
I am also struck by the observation that five chapters of Exodus are given over to this creative process: it takes time, yes? Time to create and explore, time to ripen and mature, time to notice and want to notice. Henri Nouwen once spent time with Mother Teresa: he was frought with anxieties and confusion and spilled out his chaos to her one night during a conversation. "What am I to do" he pleaded to which the old sage said, "Spend an hour each day adoring God, never do anything that you know is wrong... and you will be fine!" Take time to be centered in God's love and beauty - pay attention and share compassion - and everything else will work out.
The Cowboy Junkies understand this connection between time, beauty and cultivating a non-anxious presence in life and they share it clearly in their music. Their remake of Lou Reed's "Sweet Jane" is just incredible. Now, don't get me wrong, I LOVED this song the first time I heard it with my girlfriend back when WNEW-NY was cutting edge. But I find I listen to the Junkies version over and over because it is nuanced and true. It is for me a moment of meditation amidst the waters of the flood and the threat of the escalator.
For years I have loved this image but never knew who created it... Scott Mutter is the artist and he writes: "This translocation of imagery emphasizes the extreme degree to which we are operating in a geometric, linear, rectangular pattern of existence in the systems and environment we've built around us. What else is there or could there be?"
Well, to my mind there is a much deeper theological truth that all Christianity is still wrestling with: radical incarnation. We affirm that "the Word became flesh and dwelt among us full of truth and grace," but most of the time - and in most of the churches I have been in and served - too many of us are profoundly uncomfortable with the idea that our flesh and blood could be infused with God. So we keep things abstract and heady - lots and lots of ideas and thoughts - but not a lot of embodied prayer.
For to really live as if the depth and breadth of God is within and among us means that we have to love these bodies - honor and cherish them as well as all those other bodies all around us - and that sounds a lot like justice and compassion. Back in the old days, my high school band used to sing that great song by the Chambers Brothers: "Time has come TODAY..." but it still hasn't! (We also once sang Frank Zappa's GREAT incarnational anthem, "Take Your Clothes Off When You Dance" as a way of amplifying John 1.)
This mixture of the city IN the cathedral speaks of unity to me: it takes the reality of our everyday lives and brings it right into the core of the worship experience. In other words, it is incarnational by embracing the God within and among reality - even a sometimes harsh urban reality. C.G. Jung once said that in addition to being compelled to love the wounded, naked, broken and alone bodies out in the world that are in need of justice and tenderness, we also have to love what is wounded, naked, broken, alone and afraid within ourselves. (Matthew 25: 31-46) Without this, the incarnation is a cruel, cruel joke.
So, more than many images I see in churches, Mutter's photomontage gets it right.
(NOTE:The following are my notes for this week's reflection on loving a still speaking God. If you are in town on Sunday, October 19th, please stop in at 10:30 am.)
Sometimes we have heard a familiar song – or seen a favorite movie – or listened to a part of the Bible so often that we fail to hear what is really being said. In fact, sometimes we not only miss what is really going on, but create something else entirely different.
I once heard the country singer, John Prine, tell a story about playing in a club one night when a woman shouted out, “Hey play that song about the happy enchilada.” He paused – totally perplexed – and said, “I don’t know any songs about a happy enchilada, ma’m.” To which the woman replied, “Of course you do, you’ve been singing it for years, it’s my favorite song.” So he thought a little harder only to say, “I really wish I could help you but for the life of me I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
But she wouldn’t quit and shouted, “Come on, man, quit messin’ with me, the chorus goes like this: That’s the way the world goes round, one day you’re up, the next you’re down, a happy enchilada and you think you’re going to drown, that’s the way the world goes round. Remember?” Which finally jogged the singer’s memory into recalling one of his most famous songs which contains these lyrics in the chorus: That’s the way the world goes round, one day you’re up, the next you’re down, a half an inch a water and you think you’re going to drown…
He sang – a half an inch of water – but she heard – a happy enchilada – so when this all became clear, Prine quickly said to his fan, “Oh… that song about a happy enchilada” and proceeded to sing the real words. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve listened to song – sometimes for years – only to find that the words I’ve held near and dear are… wrong! Ever happened to you?
(Take a listen John Prine with Lyle Lovett - so sweet!)
The poet, Robert Bly, once wrote that this type of confusion can sometimes bring to birth new insights – like when you misread a person’s bad handwriting and discover a new twist on truth. But when it comes to the Bible, it’s better to start off with as much precision as you can muster and then let your imagination go wild.
And that’s particularly important with such a familiar text as this morning’s gospel lesson from St. Matthew. Those of us who grew up in church have heard this story about rendering unto Cesar what is Cesar’s and unto God what is God’s for so long that we may not even really hear what is happening. For example, I discovered three new truths about this story last week while preparing for worship. And I think they are valuable because they give us clues about what it means to love God.
First, recall the setting of this story: it is in the courtyards of the Temple in Jerusalem – and why would this be important to know? Preacher Sarah Dylan suggests that it has something to do with the money changers tables that Jesus overthrew just a few verses before in Matthew’s gospel. Do you remember that story? Can somebody review it for those of us who don’t know it yet? (See Matthew 21: 12)
So the money changers were in the Temple courtyard to take Roman coins – with the image of the emperor who called himself lord inscribed on the front – and convert them into Temple coins that could be used for a proper donation or offering, ok? And let’s be clear about this set up:
+ You may recall that in the days of Jesus, Israel was an occupied country under the boot heel of Rome: there were Roman troops all over the country, there were taxes to be paid to the conquering emperor, there was anger and humiliation in the air which gave birth to a movement to overthrow the Roman oppressors and there was collaboration between some of the chief priests and leaders of Israel and the hated Romans.
+ In fact, this whole business of collaboration is what makes the money changers so important: those who followed the way of Torah were required to bring offerings to the Lord in God’s Temple at different times throughout the year. There were burnt offerings to show submission to God, peace offerings that expressed thanksgiving and gratitude and sin offerings to evoke repentance and atonement.
Sometimes these offerings involved animals, sometimes the first fruits of the harvest and sometimes a tithe of your wages: whatever the nature of the gift, however, it had to be pure – unblemished and undefiled – because your sacrifice was being offered to the Lord. Now, coins that carried the image of Cesar were by definition unholy, right? Scholars tell us that Roman coins had an image of Cesar on the front with the words, “Tiberius Caesar, august son of the divine Augustus, high priest" inscribed upon them. So these could not be used to pay your tithe and had to be exchanged for holy Temple money that was acceptable and unblemished.
Same with burnt offerings like doves – or pigeons if you were dirt poor – or unblemished lambs and goat. Anybody could bring their own unblemished animal offerings from home to the Temple, but before they could be used they first had to be examined to see if they were truly free from defect. And, as is so often the case throughout history with people of every stripe and religion, if a scam can happen, it will. Because of the collaboration between the High Priest of the Temple in Jerusalem, Caiaphas, and the Roman occupation troops in Israel, guess who the people were who were hired for the routine examination of sacrificial animals and the exchange of unholy money? Right, they were all the relatives of the high priest, Caiaphas.
+ And they were instructed to discover blemishes and impurities on the sacrificial animals brought to the Temple from outside the gates. Because when this happened – when an impure sacrifice was discovered – they were rendered unacceptable and unfit for an offering.
+ So a person of faith had two choices: you could either leave without making an offering, or, you buy a pure sacrificial animal from those inside the Temple gates at an inflated price from a relative of the high priest. And with your purchase, the Romans got a kick back, as did the priests and the merchants inside the courtyard of the Temple made a nasty little profit, too.
Do you see why Jesus exploded with righteous indignation, took off his belt, whipped those greedy SOBs and committed civil disobedience by turning over their tables and chasing them away in fear? This is the background to Palm Sunday and our first insight for today: Jesus was surrounded by those who claimed to be holy, but who were actually collaborators with oppression and greed hiding under the cover of their religion. Some things never change, do they? Hence the expression, “Not everyone who cries, ‘Lord, Lord,’ ...”
The second insight builds on the first and shows us something of Christ’s true nature. Those who have gathered around Jesus have come speaking words of honor when they really want to knife him in the back. They are duplicitous: “Rabbi, rabbi,” they say, “you are sincere and a teacher of the truth who shows no deference to anyone, tell us what you think.”
But make no mistake: Jesus did show deference to people. He healed the wounded, cast out demons, welcomed the outcasts, embraced the lepers and proclaimed good news to the poor while scolding and exposing mean- spirited hypocrites. And what I think is going on here is that Jesus is showing us by example that sometimes people of faith have to take on corruption – face it down and name it – speak hard truth to power if the words of God are going to become flesh within and among the people of God.
Old William Sloane Coffin used to say back in the days of his preaching at the Riverside Church in New York City: “Public good doesn’t automatically flow from private virtue. A person’s moral character, sterling though it may be, is insufficient to serve the cause of justice… because not to take sides is effectively to weigh in on the side of the stronger.”
St. William then went on to add this: the reason Martin Luther King continues to have legs and relevance even all these years after his death is because he showed America – and the world – what it could mean to “assert your individuality in order to affirm community on the widest possible scale. He understood better than any other public figure that compassion does not exclude confrontation… noting that it was not enough to suffer with the poor, we must confront the systems that cause poverty.” In fact, Bill often said, “Martin’s message was not so much ‘I have a dream’ as you cannot set the captives free if you are not willing to confront those who hold the keys. Without confrontation, compassion becomes merely commiseration, fruitless and sentimental.”
So look at how Jesus plays this out: he isn’t snowed or distracted by those who tell him, “Oh, I think you are sincere – or nice – or well intentioned.” Rather, he asks for a coin – and we’ve heard this so often we may miss its importance – but please notice that without missing a beat one of the priests pulls a coin out of his pocket:
+ Now does that strike anybody else as problematic? Isn’t that coin supposed to be unclean – unacceptable inside the Temple of the Lord – and forbidden to a servant priest of the God?
+ Are you with me? How come this priest has one of those forbidden coins?
These were the people who were going to teach Jesus a lesson about devotion and commitment to God and they were willing to betray the heart of their faith tradition in return for a kick back. What’s more, they were so arrogant that they didn’t think anyone would notice: that’s the great moral jujitsu of the coin. With humor and clarity Jesus confronts the ugly hypocrisy of the status quo and models what it means to live into true faith.
“Whose image is on that coin?” he asks: Gotcha – busted – shame on you – thanks for playing but you are now disqualified because you only use God to advance your own selfish gain. Can’t you just imagine the sermon that came next – it isn’t included here – but more than likely it would have referenced:
+ Micah 6:8: What does the Lord require? To do what is fair and just to your neighbor, to be compassionate and loyal in your love and don't take yourself too seriously— take God seriously
+ Hosea 6:6: I desire mercy not sacrifice – love that lasts not more religion.
+ And let’s not forget the prophet Isaiah who was so clear in his poetry and challenging in his religion in Isaiah 61: The Spirit of God, the Master, is on me because God anointed me. God has sent me to preach good news to the poor, heal the heart-broken,announce freedom to all captives and pardon all prisoners. God has sent me to announce the year of true grace— a celebration of God's victory over oppression— a time of comfort for all who mourn, to care for the needs of all who mourn in Zion and give them bouquets of roses instead of ashes, messages of joy instead of news of doom, a praising heart instead of a languid spirit. We will rename them "Oaks of Compassion and Justice" planted by God to display his glory. They’ll rebuild the old ruins, raise a new city out of the wreckage. They’ll start over on the ruined cities, take the rubble left behind and make it new.
And that leads me to the third insight: for after exposing the greed and corruption all around him, after teaching and clarifying what it means to advance the cause of God rather than exploit the Lord, Jesus offers everyone – saint as well as sinner – a way to get back on the right track.
+ Render unto Cesar what is Cesar’s and unto God what is God’s – which isn’t a trick question – but a way of bringing clarity. Our tradition, grounded in the Psalms of Israel, tell us: “The earth is the Lord’s and all that is in it, the world and all who dwell here.” (Psalm 24)
+ At the start of our scripture we are told, “We were created in the image of the Creator – male and female we were created – in the very image of the Lord God we were created.” (Genesis 1) And the gospel of John deepens that for us, too, saying: “In the beginning was the Word – the idea of Christ – and the idea was with God and was God… and in the fullness of time that word became flesh and dwelt among us full of truth and grace.” (John 1)
What bears the image of the Lord God our Creator? The earth, our lives, all of creation, you and me and the rest of humanity – and here is the truly revolutionary and radical part – if we believe and live like the earth and the fullness thereof belongs to the Lord – then what belongs to Cesar?
Nothing – not a denarius or a dollar or a petro dollar or all the volatile stocks and bonds of this house of cards – nothing: “Give to Cesar what is his and give to God what is God’s,” he told us. And the Pharisees were speechless and collaborators left shaking their heads.
Two little miracles happened to me today. First I spent time with the humble servants of the Christian Center - a local ministry of presence and compassion in Pittsfield - that has been standing with the poor for 150 years. Like many others - Catholic Workers or L'Arche - this group doesn't stop the steady stream of broken souls who become poor and forgotten... but it does catch them with loving arms and feeds, loves and clothes them with great dignity and tenderness.
As we ate lunch with about 100 people, I was introduced to an old Black woman who told me she has been HIV+ for the past 15 years. "I'm going to one of the schools tomorrow to tell my story and let them kids know that HIV doesn't have to be a death sentence." As I left the center with two of my church mates, it was clear that our hearts had been touched and we knew that we have to stay connected to this place - for our own souls!
Yes, we have some resources to share - and will - and yes we might find others ways to be helpful, too. But we need to be stay connected so that the face of Jesus is always close by and real. It made me think of this scene from Zeffirelli's "Brother Sun, Sister Moon."
If you know the story, Francis has given up his very affluent life for a ministry dedicated to literally rebuilding a church ruin in San Damiano. He experienced a vision from Jesus during worship to "rebuild my church." So he did - stone by stone - and as he did others joined him. Mostly the poor and discarded at first, but some of his rich friends, too. And little by little, they created a community of hope and sharing that attracted others. This clip happens at the dedication of the new chapel.
Yeah, I know it is filled with 1970s romantic hippie images - give me a break - but it also speaks a deep truth: without staying intimately connected to the most wounded, the church Jesus gave birth to with his life will die and lose its soul in the bullshit of business as usual.
Which brings me to the second little miracle: a potential partnership with one of the major arts organizations in town. We have a lot to work out - and learn about one another - but today we set in motion a process that could create a relationship with their youth theatre and help us both advocate for teens in a unique way. We both celebrate the importance of beauty and creativity, we both want to contribute to the rebuilding of this wounded town and we both understand that sharing and partnership is complicated - churches and theaters have not always worked well together - but we could. And I think there are signs that we will, too.
So I rejoice because if we can make it happen, we will have to change. Become more open and fun and connected to a whole new community. And they will have to change and learn to work with an established congregation in a new way. But we could learn to share space and expertise and do some projects together so that the whole area benefits... which is a small blessing amidst all the darkness. Eugene Peterson says it so well:
It is regularly shocking to me - even though I know better after years of being a pastor - when somebody SOconfuses your words with their wounds- or projections - or sometimes just their own bad hearing to come up with a complaint! But it happened again this morning and it was totally bizarre.
I was retelling one of the wedding banquet parables (Matthew 22) and used the Peterson paraphrase. When I got to the part where the king's messengers are killed which prompts him to destroy the violent thugs, I offered an aside that this really did not sound much like the words of the Prince of Peace. Maybe it was a plot device - or an addition of the early church - or who knows...? Whatever it was, it didn't ring true to me with the deeper message of the parable, so I was suspicious.
The heart of the message today had precious little to do with this aside. It was an assurance that God's grace is not only present but active in the world - especially during times of fear. The challenge, I concluded, is that we who have tasted this grace before in our experience are now being summoned to action: living as evidence of God's grace can bring hope and solace to others who know only fear, pain or darkness.
You see, it was an emotional day in worship: one of my staff - our Minister of Music retired today after 50 years of making beautiful music (can you imagine!?!), another is wrestling with the side effects of a cancer treatment and a beloved elderly couple were headed South to bury their youngest son who had just died unexpectedly from a heart attack. Add to this the growing economic insecurity, political tensions, marital conflicts, health issues and so much more and it was clear that our emotions were tender, raw and complicated - and I was keenly aware of the need for a little light in all this darkness. (And just to make it all more fun, we all had a WEDDING later today, too!)
So that's what I shared - or thought I shared - only to be confronted by a person who rarely joins us for Sunday mornings, a soul who came in late and has never spoken to me before who so misheard my words that she took me to task after worship for "gratuitously slamming soldiers in my sermon's aside." (NOTE: apparently my mentioning that Jesus probably didn't tell many stories about violent thugs set her off.)
Now, it is one thing to be challenged theologically - and that has its place. It is another to be taken on politically - and if you're going to go there in a sermon, you'd better be ready for to hold your ground. But this was stone cold crazy! This person heard things I never said. This soul drew some twisted conclusions based in some parallel universe. And then had the belligerent chutzpah to tell them to me like I understood what she was yelling about! That's when the old adage, "No good deed goes unpunished" floated through my consciousness. So I looked her square in the eyes as I shook her hand and said, "I am so sorry that you were hurt by my words today... but for the life of me I truly can't find any resemblance between what I preached and what you are talking about."
An old, old mentor in urban ministry once said: "I hope you aren't in this work for appreciation, kid. Don't get me wrong: there are wonderful blessings and great people, but don't ever do this work if you need to be liked. In fact, go and learn the lesson of the story about Jesus and the lepers." It was good advice for in Luke 17 ten lepers approach Christ and cry out for healing. And when they are made whole, Jesus tells them to go and show themselves to the priests which they do: but only 1 turned around and returned thanks to Jesus. Ten had been healed, but only 1 returned thanks. That's how it goes in ministry and some Sundays are just like that... So when I am totally blindsided like today and need a little perspective this little tune by Jorma always puts life back into perspective...
"When we stop trying to fix and control other people," writes Cathleen Falsani, "or to try to love them into behaving the way we want them to... then all sorts of things start to happen... When we give up fixing, controlling and thinking our ideas are good ones, then the plates of the earth start to shift." (Sin Boldly, p. 109)
Friday is our Sabbath, so I practiced trying to stop fixing and controlling other people for a bit: instead, we turned under our vegetable garden for the winter. I got one tiny pumpkin out of a morass of vines, we weeded and raked up countless wheelbarrows of debris and added a year's worth of compost to the soil. We dug up more garden space, too, so that next year we might harvest twice as many tomatoes and eggplants to say nothing of some cayenne peppers, squash, peas and who knows what!
It was a joyous day of digging and resting, taking in the autumn sunlight while it lasts and trusting - like Rabbi Heschel teaches - that God can get along without us for 24 hours because... God is God!
After showers and iced tea, I came across an old pamphlet on "a spirituality of sabbath" I wrote for an urban church I served in Cleveland, Ohio about a hundred years ago. "The prophet Isaiah once told the people of God," it begins, "that the Holy One was not interested in empty ritual or ancient words: rather the Sacred yearns for heart, soul and an active faith that is alive." It ends with this poem by Antonio Machado:
The wind, one brilliant day,
called to my soul with an
odor of jasmine.
"In return for the odor of my
jasmine, I'd like all the odor
of your roses."
"I have no roses; all the flowers
in my garden are dead."
"Well then, I'll take the
withered petals and the yellow
leaves and the waters of the
fountain."
The wind left. And I wept.
And I said to myself:
"What have you done with the
garden that was entrusted to
you?"
What a humble reminder: I still find resting easier to think about than experience - and even as I get better and embrace Sabbath more fully - it so quickly eludes me, too. Buechner wrote:
We try so hard as Christians. We think such long thoughts, manipulate such long words and both listen to and preach such long sermons. Each one of us somewhere, somehow, has known, if only for a moment or so, something of what it is to feel the shattering love of God, and once that has happened, we can never rest easy again for trying somehow to set that love forth not only in words, myriads of words, but in our lives themselves. And when, as must always happen, we sometimes give up this trying either because for a moment it seems unreal or because we are tired or bored or because we forget or choose to forget, we cannot even enjoy our moment's release for the sense of failure that chokes us... And yet we have scarcely any choice but to go on trying no matter what, and there is much that is beautiful and brave and true about it all. Yet we must remember this other word, too: "Unless you turn and become like children..."
Thank God there's more gardening and dirt to play in tomorrow!
I spoke with my father tonight (thank God for cell phones.) And as we spoke about my children (and his) - about my work (and his) - about his hopes and health (and mine) I found myself going back in time to this poem by Dick Lourie that I first heard in the movie, "Smoke Signals."
The text warrants copy, too: How do we forgive our fathers? Maybe in a dream? Do we forgive our fathers for leaving us too often? Or forever, when we were little? Maybe for scaring us with unexpected rage, or making us nervous because there never seemed to be any rage there at all? Do we forgive our fathers for marrying or not marrying our mothers? or for divorcing or not divorcing our mothers? And shall we forgive them for their excesses of warmth or coldness? Shall we forgive them for pushing or leaning, or shutting doors? for speaking thru walls, or never speaking, or never being silent? Do we forgive our fathers in our age, or in theirs? Or in their deaths, saying it to them, or not saying it. If we forgive our fathers, what is left?
When I was a child I used to ride with my father in the car during the summer as he traveled from town to town as a salesman for Mobil Oil. We would chew Wrigley's gum, talk about his mother, listen to the Red Sox and ramble on about what his work meant to him. We would sing cowboy songs and listen to radio shows from the 1940s on the radio in the dark on our way back home to my sisters and brother and mother. I loved those summer trips.
Years later, when his spirit was polluted by other spirits - and the 60s divided generations from their roots - we would argue about hair and politics and race relations and music. For a long, long time we didn't speak - it was safer for us both - but then my sister's son died (and I buried him at five years old) and my sister died (and I buried her two years later) and my grandmother died (just a few months later and I couldn't even speak). And when my mother died and all my father could do was weep - after all those deaths and all those years and all that silence - I discovered that we had a lot to say to one another, so we talked. In small doses, to be sure, because that's how men talk (mostly) but, talk we did.
As I told him good-bye and "I love you" tonight, I thought of my own children - grown and married - and how much we each loved the movie, "A River Runs Through It" when they were children - each in our own way because it was about children and their father - all imperfect.
The film closes with a father offering a wonderfully melancholy sermon about the mystery of loving those closest to us - and never quite getting it right - in words that were offered mostly to himself:
Each one here today will at one time in our lives look upon a loved one who is in need and ask the same question: We are willing help, Lord, but what, if anything, is needed? For it is true we can seldom help those closest to us. Either we don't know what part of ourselves to give or, more often than not, the part we have to give is not wanted. And so it those we live with and should know who elude us. But we can still love them - we can love completely without complete understanding.
Made me think of this wonderful tune by my boys, U2, about Bono's pop whom he always fought with until the old guy came down with cancer and needed to share the pain and loneliness with his kid...
And so it goes... and the ancient words of the Psalmist come to mind as I pray over my family - and so many other families - that are filled with love and wounds both at the same time: God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble. Therefore we will not fear, though the earth be moved, and though the mountains be toppled into the depths of the sea; though its waters rage and foam and though the mountains tremble at its tumult. For the Lord of hosts is with us... Be still, then, and know that I am God; I will be exalted among the nations; I will be exalted in all the earth.(Psalm 46)
Last week I heard a number of members of this congregation speaking to one another about how much personal wealth they have lost in the recent Stock Market crisis – nearly $2 trillion dollars for all Americans - and they were afraid.
+ Last week I listened to the political debates – and watched the television commentaries – as the Presidential campaigns entered their final month and amidst the mudslinging, attempted character assassinations, factual distortions and periodic forays into veiled race hatred mostly what I heard was fear.
+ And, last week our church secretary told me that there hasn’t been one day in the last two weeks when we didn’t receive calls from a variety of people requesting either emergency food or heating assistance. To be sure, there is fear in the air we breathe and it is palpable.
Jim Antal, the Conference Minister for churches in our area, recently sent a pastoral letter to all the clergy in Massachusetts in which he asked us to take stock of this fear – own it and name it and pray over it – because it is profound. He writes:
Every pastor knows – whether or not they’ve read Karl Barth — that in times like these, it’s especially good to preach with the Bible in one hand and the newspaper in the other.(NOTE: I understand that is essentially an outdated image; as one young blogger put it, "Nobody reads newspapers any more. What we should be talking about is the Bible in one hand and your IPOD in the other!")And the reason for this is that there is a dialog between the events of the day and the wisdom of the ages – and we as preachers are called to articulate that dialog from our pulpits…. Are we not approaching a point where the cacophonic chaos of the financial crisis is drowning out the still small voice of our still speaking God? So ask yourself – what would give people in your church confidence that the word they would hear from the pulpit would address their condition with the good news of Christ and send them home with a hope in their heart that would guide and sustain them throughout the week?
He goes on to say that the fear and doubt that is rampant today will touch those who gather in church in a host of ways:
Some will come to the pews with heavy hearts and narrowed horizons. Some will be dragging the weight of this crisis like a millstone around their neck. A few might be desperate, not knowing how they will pay their mortgage, or their child’s college tuition, or their November heating bill. While others will be angry at the corporate executives – or at our government leaders – who will likely “smell like roses” long after this crisis passes. In our quiet prayers, many will say to God, “what was I thinking?” as they regret a recent, personal decision. Some will be focused on the most vulnerable – for whom any possibility of coping has been extinguished.
As with September 11th – the Tsunami – or any other community tragedy of great consequence – like the suicide of a teenager – many – perhaps most – will come to church in the hope that you will help them understand something of the cause as well as something of the consequences of these cataclysmic events. Some clergy will be tempted to head for the op-ed pages of the past week or two and suggest political solutions or even blame.... but I would urge you to turn to the book that’s in your other hand…It will offer an interpretation that will appear neither on the front page (of any newspaper) nor on the op-ed page either. And it will ask us to acknowledge a truth that each of us has experienced at one time or another in a small or large place within our own heart.
I believe that Jim is right – and faithful – in his admonition to scour God’s truth and wisdom in scripture during this time of crisis. Because if we do – if we are attentive to the bold alternative to the sea of greed that has cast us into this chaos and become normative for Americans – we will see both a new way of living and a deeper way of being Christ’s church that will give shape and form to truth, hope and healing amidst this pain and fear. Take, for example, the alternative – even counter-cultural – vision that Jesus offers in today’s gospel story in Matthew 22:
+ First, Christ speaks of God’s presence in our lives as a wedding feast – not a test, not a judgment hall or even an encounter with the most recent episode of “Law and Order” – but a wedding feast. A banquet – a sacred meal of hospitality built on abundance and hope rather than scarcity and fear – where everyone is welcome. To be sure, some will always say they are too busy – that is what happens at the start of this story – those who are too self-absorbed for whatever reasons tell the king that they will not come because they have made a choice to stay in their small, self-centered world.
One scholar puts it like this: Those who do not go to the feast “want to do what they want to do when they want to do it. One goes to his field and another to his business. These aren't excuses, but personal concerns that they think are more important than the king's invitation to this most important celebration for his son.” Some will get it and some will not but God’s invitation to the feast remains.
What’s more, rather that stop the joy, God expands the invitation. Yes, there is that nasty part about destroying the uncooperative thugs and burning down their city after they killed the messengers of the Lord – and that’s pretty harsh and ugly. But I think that detail is more about good story telling than the true nature of God. Dare I go so far as to call it a plot device to make sure we stay tuned?
At any rate,the second real insight here is that the King expands his invitation and welcomes into the banquet hall everyone– even those who look like they don’t belong – because he understands that everyone has a place at this table: the good, the bad and the ugly – the young, the old and those in-between – those who have glimpsed something of God’s alternative vision for life in community and those who are clueless. Bible scholar, Robert Smith, puts it like this:
The new community in Matthew's view is a mixed body, both wheat and tares (13:24-30), good fish and bad (13:48), obedient and disobedient sons (21:28-32), sheep and goats (25:31-46). In this new community, he saw the grace of God in its odd assortment of people. God has acted with a marvelous disdain for all the old rules, all the old definitions of worthiness or acceptability and has filled the banquet all to the rafters. (So) Matthew celebrated the surpassing depth and splendor of that grace while at the same time being painfully aware of the sad tendencies among both the good and the bad to abuse this grace: (1) "Good" people in the community are (sometimes) tempted to embark on programs of purification to weed out the tares or to cast out the (bad) fish. (2) And the "bad" people are (often) tempted to count on God's foolishness and misconstrue grace as divine indifferences to morality or behavior. So Matthew is tireless in warning that judging others is no business of the community, and equally ardent and insistent that history will end with God's judgment. Ever and again in Matthew's Gospel, Jesus spells out the terms of judgment, its criteria and standards, summoning us to self-criticism, to self-examination, and to the timely yielding of obedience to God.
That’s what the wedding garment is all about: putting on a new life of gratitude rather than self-righteous obligation that welcomes the wounded and heals the broken with love and compassion. It is an alternative way of responding to God’s grace with our lives so that Christ’s words become flesh within and among us. St. Paul tells us:
Let’s not squander these precious daylight hours in frivolity and indulgence, in sleeping around and dissipation, in bickering and grabbing everything in sight. Get out of bed and get dressed! Don't loiter and linger, waiting until the very last minute. Dress yourselves in Christ, and be up and about… remember: your baptism in Christ was not just washing you up for a fresh start. It also involved dressing you in an adult faith wardrobe—Christ's life, the fulfillment of God's original promise – so now you're done with that old life. It's like a filthy set of ill-fitting clothes you've stripped off and put in the fire. Now you're dressed in a new wardrobe and every item of your new way of life is custom-made by the Creator, with God’s label on it. All the old fashions are now obsolete. Words like Jewish and non-Jewish, religious and irreligious, insider and outsider, uncivilized and uncouth, slave and free, mean nothing. From now on everyone is defined by Christ and everyone is included in Christ.
And Paul, of course, is drawing insight not only from his encounters with God’s amazing grace, but also from his knowledge of the Hebrew prophet Isaiah who wrote:
Here on this mountain, our God-of-the-Angel-Armies will throw a feast for all the people of the world, a feast of the finest foods, a feast with vintage wines, a feast of seven courses, a feast lavish with gourmet desserts. And here on this mountain, God will banish the pall of doom hanging over all peoples, the shadow of doom darkening all nations. Yes, God will banish death forever. And God will wipe the tears from every face. The Lord will remove every sign of disgrace from the people, wherever they are… so I will greatly rejoice in the LORD, and my whole being shall exult in my God; for in this blessing God has clothed me with the garments of salvation, covered me with the robe of justice and compassion, as a bridegroom decks himself with a garland, and as a bride adorns herself with her jewels.
Gratitude is our response to God’s grace – it is the wedding garment we put on to reply to the Lord – and it is visible to all. And the wedding garment of gratitude is really needed at this moment in time both because it keeps us grounded in God and shows the world that there is an alternative to greed and fear. Putting on the wedding garment is about trust despite our fears – putting on the wedding garment says that we’re going to a feast even as we walk through the valley of the shadow of death and scarcity – putting on the wedding garment encourages and empowers us to share with others rather than horde and become stained with selfishness.
Now I don’t have any illusion that the hard times we are entering will not be painful for the wedding garment of trust and gratitude is not about fantasy or escapism – that would be cruel and mean spirited – and would do nothing to help us prepare for the challenges yet to come. Rather what I am encouraging us to do – and what this moment in history is pleading with us to do – has to do with a feast not a famine – the wedding banquet not a bankruptcy court – God’s abundant promises rather than our limited vision of scarcity and fear.
You see, I believe that the wedding garment of gratitude is both prophetic and redemptive. It reminds us that we do not serve or worship a God who is trapped or limited by our lack of trust and at the same time it shows those who are wounded and afraid that there is an alternative to the darkness of this hour:
+When the world shouted “crucify, crucify that man” as if death could extinguish the light of grace…
+ When those who had been bound together in trust and compassion gave in to fear and greed, betraying and denying the one they loved the most…
+ When doubt and darkness defined the days between Good Friday and Easter Sunday and all the women could do is go to the tomb with tears and the garments of mourning while the men hid away in darkness and despair…
God waited – waited in trust and love – waited and grieved our anger and fear – sharing the consequences of our emptiness and confusion fully and helping us endure what it means to live by self-indulgence and idolatry. And then, in the fullness of time – at exactly the right time – God came to us again in Jesus – wounded by our fears but raised from the dead by the power of God – to show us that whenever the world says there is no way, God will make a way.
God will make a way that transforms fear into trust – greed into gratitude – despair into hope – and death into new life. God’s promise is clear: when all we can see is our way, God will show us a new way – a way out of the tomb, out of the darkness and out of isolation into community … And that is one of the fascinating truths that is being exposed by this horrible financial collapse: we really are all in this together. America needs Europe - Asia needs Russia - China needs South America - for when one stumbles, everyone falls. (Think of U2's brilliant, "One" which reminds us that we're: "One love, one blood, one life, you got to do what you should. One life with each other, sisters, brothers. One life, but were not the same,we get to carry each other, carry each other.")
But… and here’s where it all comes together – but… we will miss the potential of this tragedy unless we can put on the wedding garment of trust and gratitude even while we doubt; for then the connections become visible. Then we can see that sharing by all will mean scarcity for none. Then this collection of weird and wonderful characters – the sinners and saints in this faith community – can be a center for healing and hope amdist the pain and fear. A place where grace truly is rising now at last.
Because then, you see, when the king wanders in among us looking for those clothed in compassion and commitment, he'll see those committed enough to put on the wedding garment of gratitude even in hard times... and the feast will be blessed.
I love the expression, "tourist preaching," Frederick Buechner's term for shouting at people in a sermon rather than really speaking their language. He uses it in much the same way American tourists often shout at those who don't speak English in the arrogant and rude expectation that their volume will equal another's comprehension. "Unfortunately, the only language people really understand is their own language, and unless preachers are prepared to translate the ancient verities into it, they might as well save their breath."
This came to mind while reading Peter Rollins' book: The Fidelity of Betrayal. In exploring the role and place of doubt in true faith he suggests that modern debates about God's presence and/or intervention into our lives is essentially a dead end because they posit absolutes: either "Hobbes is right... and most of life is nasty, brutish and short" and filled with darkness, or, "God probably does exist but... not in any way that gets involved in what happens in real life." These two options - Nietzsche or Newton - are not the only alternatives.
There is another way in which doubt concerning (God's presence in our real lives) can raise its head... namely, the idea that we doubt the existence of God but we retain the belief in intervention. Here the beliefin God is not primary but the movementof God is. One says, "I have been touched by God in a manner that is undeniable to me. However, I am still open and free to wonder, at times, whether this God of which I speak can be explained in natural terms."
Rollins' point, of course, is that God is beyond rational thought - essentially an encounter and experience rather than a collection of ideas and doctrine :For Christians, God is a happening, an event, that we affirm and respond to, regardless of the ebbs and flows of our abstract theological reflections concerning the source and nature of this happen... for doubt comes in the aftermath of a happening that is itself indubitable... (for) doubt is given its proper place, not as that which strikes up against the truth of faith but as the natural outworking of faith.
More soon cuz I think Peter is really onto something for me...
NOTE:This Sunday our worship will be a deeper encounter with the mystery of Eucharist as we use song and silence, scripture and our senses to reclaim Holy Communion as something greater than a memorial meal. Too often we work to limit the Sacred to our rational and linear minds when there is truth and hope - grace - beyond the obvious. What follows is my introduction to a collection of readings, commentary and songs geared towards broadening our experience of God's grace in the sacred feast.
For many in our tradition, the sacrament of Holy Communion is confusing: some have taken the bread and cup all of their lives but aren’t really sure what it means, others have been denied access to the table for a variety of reasons and are equally confused – and sometimes hurt – and still others know that it is very powerful and spiritual moment but don’t really know what to do with the words “this is my body” or “this is my blood.” To not understand Eucharist, my friends, is nothing to be ashamed about nor is it something to deny; in fact, for most Christians – Catholic or Reformed – there is more darkness than light when it comes to this sacred meal.
My colleague in ministry, Martin Copenhaver, has written: while some people of faith may recall that the first supper was Christ’s last supper – set within the context of the Jewish Passover – authentic understanding breaks down beyond this. For example, we always say that we “celebrate” Holy Communion. “And while we do perform this sacrament with a keen sense of ceremony, which is part of all celebrations, even the most raucous… the similarity between this celebration and other celebrations – in most churches of our tradition – seems to end. In contrast to other festivities, what we tend to do with this feast ranges from muted to grim.”
I think Martin is right – traditionally we have been focused on the Last Supper – which was a somber and ultimately sad event. And if our only understanding of communion stops in the Upper Room, it makes sense to keep things sad. But like the evangelist Billy Sunday used to say, “Most Christians have just enough religion to make themselves miserable” and that is what our limited appreciation for the breadth and depth of truth and grace in Eucharist does: keeps us locked in one moment in time when the truth of Holy Communion tells us that the Last Supper was not the last word of God.
+ Think of the supper on the road to Emmaus – a joyful and deep time of fellowship and teaching – where the resurrected Christ opened the sad eyes of his former disciplines’ and showed them the hope for new life.
+ Think of the meal of fish and bread the resurrected one shared with Peter on the beach after the disciple’s betrayal: this was a feast of forgiveness and renewal.
+ This is how the book of Acts speaks of the disciples gathering in one another’s homes for prayer, teaching and the breaking of bread: this was the start of real Christian community where everyday people came to see themselves as part of Christ’s body as they cared for one another and opened their hearts together to God.
So there is joy and fellowship, forgiveness and grace, community and hope within this bread and wine, too. There is equality and justice as well: remember how St. Paul told us that in Christ there is neither Jew nor Gentile, male nor female, slave nor free…? What’s more, Holy Communion is one of the ways we get to see the mystery of incarnation in action for we take what is ordinary – common bread and the fruit of the vine – and with prayer and faith trust that it becomes for us part of God’s blessing.
And one more truth is revealed at the table: like the bread which is taken, blessed, broken and shared, so, too, our very lives. That is, you see how we are invited to live after experiencing the blessing. We come to understand that God has taken us – called us, that is – given us a blessing, broken us from any sense that we can be our best selves all by ourselves – broken our hearts so that there is room for compassion, broken our will so that we might get over our smug and self-righteous illusions – and then sends us – dare I say, shares us – with a world aching for signs of healing and hope.
We proclaim that this is the radically open table of Jesus Christ - a place for winners and losers, young and old, gay and straight, hopefilled and afraid, guests and old timers - because God's grace if available for us all right here no matter what our condition. This morning – using scripture and prose, song and silence – I invite you to consider something of God’s depth and breadth in this sweet sacrament. May the Eucharist become for you more than a memorial meal but a true thanksgiving feast.
The late Henri Nouwen used to say that in order for a person to go deep into God's spirit we must "look within the heart, look to God in the book and look to others in community." One without the others, it would seem, keeps us from getting honest with the truth our real lives ache to share and thus we miss a connection with the living God. Over the years I have found that in order for me to look within my heart, I have to play my way through a number of songs in order to get beyond the business and distractions to what is really happening.
Last night I started singing a slow and almost bluesy version of Mary Chapin Carpenter's "I'll Take My Chances" which led me into a similar rendition of Lucinda Williams' "Passionate Kisses." I screwed around a little be with James Taylor's "Steamroller Blues" only to find myself singing his "Close Your Eyes." The blues are songs of lament I have come to understand - Bono speaks of the Psalms as some of the original blues - and as I played this song over and over I slowly became aware of a deep sadness.
Now I should confess that "Close Your Eyes" is the song my sister, Linda, asked me to play at the funeral of her 5 year old son, Mikey, whose death pushed her into her own untimely death two years later. It has been more than 15 years since she died but she asked me to sing this song at her funeral, too, so... it has some baggage. It is a lovely and tender love song that has now become a bluesy lullaby for me about crossing over from this life into life everlasting. But why so blue...? Following Nouwen's advice I simply kept looking into my heart - and playing songs - and tonight took me into Steve Earle's "Christmas in Washington" - another lament about politics with the chorus, "Come back Woody Guthrie, come back to us now, tear your eyes from paradise and rise again somehow; if you run into Jesus, maybe he can help you out, come back Woody Guthrie to us now" - which morphed into Springsteen's "Empty Sky" and "You're Missing."
Now these two songs are heart breakers for me - September 11th laments of such deep sorrow and anguish that I can never sing them without weeping - so I just let the tears flow.
By why...? Life is good - I am doing the work I love with people I cherish and admire - I have a deep and loving connection with my beloved, Dianne and so much more. And then it hit me: it will soon be winter in North country - and I mean WINTER - with precious little sun and LOTS of cold.
And like those earth-centered people of faith long before my Scots-Irish ancestors came to these shores - and like my Celtic family so long ago back in their own homeland, too - as the days become shorter and less sun fills the sky, there is a profound sorrow that wells up in my heart - the blues - and it cannot be denied. Some turn to drink, some get mean or depressed or busy themselves with distractions but even as the leaves grow beautiful, there is death is in the air.
Add to that what happens when I look to others in community - and this community is reeling from economic insecurity and pain to say nothing of fear as this political season in the United States heats up - and the blues make some sense. So rather than fight it these days, I just go with the flow and feel what is there...
Which led me to own the fact that it is time to try to find some balance a la Nouwen by looking for God in the book, too (which I admit has often seemed boring to me of late...) And what Psalm should grab my attention...? Psalm 84 which includes these words: How lovely is thy dwelling place, O Lord of hosts to me... the sparrow has found her a house and the swallow a nest where she may lay her young... Happy are the people whose strength is in you, whose hearts are set on the pilgrims' way... For the Lord shall be their sun and shield, God will give grace and glory, and no good thing will the Lord withhold from whose who walk in God's way. Happy are they who put their trust in you, O Lord of Hosts.
sterday about a spirituality that is radically incarnational. I continue to be awed when great artists help me both see and experience the truth of real life more deeply. I am mostly attuned to this in music but also find it happening with dance, the visual arts, poetry, deep thinking, gardens, forests, children, acts of compassion, lives lived simply for justice and on and on...
oss the walls and then painted these shadows upon a manufactured wall in such a precise way as to evoke a reactions that is simultaneously beautiful and disconcerting. 
as frought with anxieties and confusion and spilled out his chaos to her one night during a conversation. "What am I to do" he pleaded to which the old sage said, "Spend an hour each day adoring God, never do anything that you know is wrong... and you will be fine!" Take time to be centered in God's love and beauty - pay attention and share compassion - and everything else will work out.
as frought with anxieties and confusion and spilled out his chaos to her one night during a conversation. "What am I to do" he pleaded to which the old sage said, "Spend an hour each day adoring God, never do anything that you know is wrong... and you will be fine!" Take time to be centered in God's love and beauty - pay attention and share compassion - and everything else will work out.
