Everything belongs... again

NOTE: This week's message takes me deeper into the Learning the Unforced Rhythms of Grace series with a two part look at what it means to embrace a spirituality where everything belongs. (Richard Rohr's title but an idea I've been wrestling with for 10 years.) It is a logical - if minority report - for those who affirm a radical sense of the incarnation. Next week I will use a variety of contemporary songs to show why they are crucial for a healthy and balanced spirituality. Not that tradition is abandoned; but tradition alone tends towards the transcendent not the earthy dimensions of grace. So... if you are around, stop in at 10:30 am.


At this moment in time, filled as it is with both promise and pain simultaneously, churches all over creation are once again experiencing the agonizing but amazing birth pangs of creativity and compassion made flesh. For some, this cyclical movement of the Spirit is terrifying and sad while for others it has become a season for celebration and rejoicing.

As the author Phyllis Tickle has noted in her latest book, The Great Emergence, there seems to be “a pattern of upheaval every 500 years in which the church cleans out what is old and ill-fitting so it can be relevant to the culture at large. These upheavals—the last was the Protestant Reformation—can be thought of as “rummage sales,” where the very structures and institutions of the church are shaken out and re-examined. The result is a “Great Emergence” – a shattering of the old structures of institutionalized Christianity – and the birth of new and vital forms” of faith that are concurrently a time to mourn and a time to dance, a time of love and a time of hate, a time to lament and a time to rejoice. (www.faithforum.ca/GE/greatemergence.html)

• You see this in the recent schism our Episcopalian cousins have endured as the conservatives storm out of communion while the progressives affirm equal rights for all of God’s children: gay and straight, rich and poor, male and female.

• It has taken place throughout our tradition in New England – the very birthplace of the Congregational Way – where now mega-churches and evangelical gatherings make-up the super majority of Christians rather than the once dominant First Churches throughout the land.

• And let’s not forget that this same dynamic has been alive within the Roman Catholic realm to say nothng of the once mighty Southern Baptists and Mormons.

To paraphrase the secular prophet, Bob Dylan, “something is going on all around you and you don’t know what it is, do you, Mr. Jones?” I sense that Tickle and others are right: it is the Great Emergence, the sacred rummage sale, where structures are being shaken out and re-examined.

And one of the essential insights of this new era is that everything belongs: No longer is there a false dichotomy between the sacred and the secular – insiders and outsiders – matters germane to in the church and concerns best left for the captains of industry, education and science. In this era, everything belongs.

• Christ’s table is about hospitality and gratitude rather than judgment and church membership.

• Our check books – and the stories they tell – are just as important to our growth as disciples as the stories we learn from the scriptures.

• Even our humor and laughter can advance or inhibit our intimacy with God as I have been discussing with you over the last few weeks.

So this morning I want to outline for you the two key biblical insights that undergird this perspective; because next week – in a very different and highly musical liturgy – I want to explore with you some of the ways that the music and art of popular culture can enrich our commitment to Christ. Ok? Are you with me? Now, let’s be clear from the outset that this notion that everything now belongs to our experience as people of faith is not necessarily a new insight. I would argue that a spirituality that is boldly inclusive and embraces the totality of creation has been embedded within Judeo-Christian wisdom for millennia. How does the ancient psalm put it?

• With the Lord as my shepherd I can wander from the ecstasy of the mountain top through the angst of the valley of the shadow of death for… thou art with me in both locales!

• Thou revive me and bring me rest, thou nourish and encourage me so that even in the presence of my enemies… my cup runneth over. Surely goodness and mercy shall be with me while I am alive and when I die I shall experience you even more intimately.

This isn’t a new idea, friends, but it is a new emphasis. Like that colleague of Emerson and Thoreau, James Russell Lowell, said back in 1845: New occasions teach new duties, time makes ancient good uncouth, they must upward still and onward, who would keep abreast of truth. And this is the first insight for our great emergence:

• In sorting out the will of God during the sacred rummage sale, wisdom is most often found on the periphery of our traditions.

• The wise old Walter Breuggemann said that when the center starts to give way, God’s still speaking voice is most often to be heard on the borders of life – among the forgotten and discarded – amidst those who have traditionally been locked out of our understanding of the holy – and within those sacred texts that we have not explored carefully in our recent history.

Look at today’s gospel: as a sacred teacher, Jesus first did what everyone expected him to do with his disciples; he led them away from the hustle and bustle for a time of quiet reflection and retreat. That is the norm – this is what we tend to expect when we consider spiritual or religious matters – solitude, silence and serenity. “Come with me by yourself,” Jesus tells them so that we might find a place for quiet and rest.

And that is a piece of the puzzle – quiet, rest and careful spiritual reflection have their place – but it is not the whole challenge, right? Because as the story unfolds we are told that out of nowhere a crowd emerges in the middle of the disciples’ prayer retreat. And rather than send the folk away – and listen carefully – the text says: When Jesus landed and saw this large crowd, he had compassion on them, because they were like sheep without a shepherd. So he began teaching them many things.

• Conventional wisdom and practice likes to separate the sacred from the secular – the spiritual from the physical – but the new emphasis of Jesus embraces both: he teaches the weary people with compassion – that is, he includes those who aren’t among the select chosen of his band of disciples – and then what?

• He makes sure that the people are fed: do you see the unity between the holy and the human in this story?

This is Breuggemann’s point in spades. His disciples, representing the status quo, argue with him: “For the love of God, master, there are too many people here for us to worry about – after all they are interlopers who crashed our party – besides it would take almost eight months of wages to feed this rabble. So come on, give us a break and send them away!” But Jesus is resolute – you might even call him stubborn – insisting that there be no division between insiders and outsiders – members and guests – those with privilege and those with need.

• Again this wasn’t new – how does psalm 85 put it? Mercy and truth shall embrace, compassion and justice have kissed; integrity is breaking out of the soil and right relations on earth are flowing from heaven?

• This is an ancient psalm – not a 21st century New Age concoction – that clearly tells us that acts of compassion express the essence of God in the world; that tenderness and right relations - the holy and the human – are always intertwined in authentic religion. For this is how God gives shape and form to the divine amidst the ordinary realities of our working and struggling lives.

This wasn’t new – but it was a new emphasis – born by paying attention to what had been forgotten, overlooked and misplaced. In these periodic seasons of the sacred rummage sales, you see, first we are asked to pay attention to what people and words have been pushed to the periphery. It is one way to get our bearings.

The other is to recall that when Jesus was crucified the veil in the Temple was torn. That doesn’t sound all that interesting, does it? I can’t tell you how many times I have read those words over the past 50 years and not given them another thought. But Richard Rohr, one of this era’s most interesting spiritual teachers, notes that:

When the crucifixion of Jesus is dramatized in the Gospels, we have this very interesting image of the tearing of the temple veil from top to bottom. Now the word for temple is fanum. Everything outside the temple was pro fanum. (Hence we get our word “profane.”) There was “the holy” and it was distinguished from “the unholy.” The tearing of the temple veil from top to bottom is saying that the divisions of life are over. Everything is now potentially the fanum, the holy, the temple. There is nothing now that is not spiritual. Richard Rohr from the Cosmic Christ

Which means, “there is nothing now to which God is not available and given.” There is no longer a sacred and secular – one set of perspectives for church and another for business – that’s part of how Madoff and Wall Street got us into this economic mess in the first place with their phony and destructive separation of private and public ethics.

• Since the veil was torn: everything belongs. Religion isn’t about getting away for rest and solitude – as valuable as they are – it also includes feeding the hungry and noticing who has been locked out and embracing what is wounded within and around us.

• Rohr concludes: this integration of God’s word becoming flesh is the core of the Incarnation where matter and spirit are forever united. As Thomas Merton said, “now the gate of heaven is everywhere!”

And that is what the sacred rummage sale of our current great emergence is trying to come to terms with: now the gate of heaven is everywhere. “For nearly 2,000 years most of Christianity hasn’t paid attention to the torn veil… for we still want to live with purity codes, debt codes, worthiness systems and exclusionary policies to protect ourselves from the “profane.” To divide the world into them and us – insiders and outsiders – those worthy of God’s grace and those who aren’t.

The conflict and confusion we see all around us – and let’s not forget the very real pain and loss – are not, however, signs of death. They may look harsh but in truth they are more like the birth pangs of our still speaking God taking new shape and form amidst the compassion and radical hospitality of those willing to move beyond the veil.

What new shapes will finally take root are still to be revealed. All we can say for certain today is that during the rummage sale only compassion and justice are certainties. Everything else requires a light touch, a keen sense of humor and creativity. I think our cousins in Judaism got it right when they told the story about Rabbi Yitzhak of Berdichev. Once there was a very, very wealthy man who had great resources that could be used for good. So the rabbi invited him once for tea.

When he arrived, the rabbi implored him, "There is a poor family who needs our assistance. I have asked all the others to give to a fund but a substantial sum is still needed. I have no one else to ask but you." "Rabbi, it pains me to refuse you. I obey every commandment, every mitzvah. You know that. But I will not give to any of these special causes. In fact, I wish you wouldn't even ask me in the future. That way, I won't be forced to dishonor you by turning you down."

Well, time passed and Rabbi Yitzhak was visited by the brother of that wealthy man. The brother was very poor, had many children and now needed money for the marriage of one of his daughters. Naturally, he had asked his wealthy brother for assistance – and had been turned down. The Rabbi looked at the man for a long while and then said, "Do not worry. I believe I know what to do." And the next day, Yitzhak appeared at the wealthy brother's door.

When the surprised man escorted the rabbi inside, Yitzhak walked to a chair and sat down saying nothing. Respectfully, the wealthy man stood in front of him, waiting for the rabbi to speak. But the rabbi just smiled and said nothing. After a long time, the wealthy man sat down. Even so, Yitzhak remained silent. An hour later, still smiling, he got up and left. The next day, Rabbi Yitzhak appeared again at the wealthy man's door. Again, the wealthy man sat in silence for an entire hour, waiting for the smiling rabbi to speak. And a third day, he appeared once more sitting silently for another hour, then got up to leave.

As he rose, the wealthy man said, "I can't bear this, rabbi. Why do you come here and say nothing? And why do you smile the whole time?" Settling back into his chair, the rabbi said: "Our sages say it is a mitzvah, a commandment, to give a rebuke when it will be heeded. And they also say we are commanded not to chastise when it will not have a positive effect.

“All these years, my friend, I have fulfilled the first of those commandments many times. But the second one? The people in this town have been eager to hear what I want and to do what I ask. And as a result, I have never had the opportunity to fulfill the commandment not to offer a rebuke. So I smile in pleasure at fulfilling a commandment for the first time!" With that the wealthy man turned red with embarrassment… and finally asked: "What is it you wish me to do?"

When Rabbi Yitzhak told him, he gave a large sum of money for his brother – and the Rabbi left with an even bigger smile on his face. The Rabbi’s Smile,www.hasidicstories.com/index.html

Beloved, let us go and do likewise...

(CREDITS: Adeli's Music Blog: www.adeli.wordpress.com/2009/04 ; Salvationist, "Sacred or Secular: http://www.http//salvationist.ca/2009/03/sacred-or-secular; Jonothan August Swanson, Psalm 85 : www.johnaugustswanson.com/default.cfm/PID=1.2.14; "13th Station of the Cross" at Wellspring, http://wellspring1.wordpress.com/tag/darkness-over-the-land; Peter Irons at http://blogs.usatoday.com/oped/2007/07/does-the-religi.html; Yitzchok Mully, http://www.forward.com/articles/12739/

Everything belongs...

There is NO sacred and secular - clean and unclean - insiders and outsiders in my understanding of radical Christian hospitality. Yes, this is a minority report in Christianity - what continues to pass for orthodoxy clearly embraces a worldview of those who have "entered by the narrow gate" and those who are still in bondage to sin - and I suspect this is true for most of our spiritual traditions. But I sense that this is a false and destructive spiritual dichotomy that has wounded many in the name of love and locked countless hearts out of God's grace.

Richard Rohr once wrote: When the crucifixion of Jesus is dramatized in the Gospels, we have this very interesting image of the tearing of the temple veil from top to bottom. Now the word for temple is fanum. Everything outside the temple was pro fanum. (Hence we get our word “profane.”) There was “the holy” and it was distinguished from “the unholy.”

The tearing of the temple veil from top to bottom is saying that division of life is over. Everything is now potentially the fanum, the holy, the temple. There is nothing that is not spiritual. There is nothing to which God is not available and given, which is the core meaning of the Incarnation. Matter and Spirit are forever shown to be united in Jesus.

Which doesn't mean that everything is equal: there is still wrong and right - healthy and destructive - right? What's more, there are polarities and paradox and creative syntheses that help us move from one level of compassion and awareness to a much deeper way of living and uniting with the holy. I think Rohr is right when he concludes:

As Thomas Merton said, “the gate of heaven is everywhere!" After 2,000 years of Christianity, most of Christianity still hasn’t gotten that point. We still live with purity codes, debt codes, worthiness systems, and exclusionary policies to protect ourselves from the “profane.” The bottom line meaning of the “forgiveness of sin” is that God even uses evil, failure, and sin to bring us to God.

Bob Franke puts it like this in one of the most sacred songs I know: "For Real." I will be using it in worship in two weeks as we consider how the "fleshy grace" of Christ is often revealed better in the so-called secular songs of our age. Not that the great hymnody of tradition has no place, but it is incomplete. Time, it seems, for those who trust that the Word has become flesh to... get real.

(CREDITS: "Living to Give" @ www.theocentric.com - "Time Heals Everything" Gato - www.redbubble.com/people/gato/art/3135412-2-t...)

Gratitude...

Today was simply perfect in the Berkshires: sunny, breezy, no humidity and a lush crop of flowers and vegetables everywhere. Yesterday I shared a beer with my daughter and her husband after a two year journey through limbo. One day, it seems, the anger and hurt was over so we met in a little pub and got caught up on all we had missed. It was so sweet to see her smile and hear their stories of life and growing in love. And it was healing for my soul - a balm in Gilead - the blessing I was aching for but didn't know I needed.

Worship built on these blessings: there was openness rather than fear, welcome and hospitality (incomplete to be sure) rather than "tradition" and a pick-up gospel choir that sang the pants off "Down to the River to Pray." And my guest organist rocked the house with a version of "Every Time I Feel the Spirit" that literally shook the rafters! More healing balm for what ails us.

Then a 50th birthday party with a new friend, the first wedding anniversary of daughter #1 and watching "The Kite Runner" with my precious wife. Tears flowed as the story unfolded about how fear and redemption are so intricately woven. Mary Oliver's new poem, "Another Summer Begins" came to mind:

Summer begins again.

How many

do I still have?

Not a worthy question,

I imagine.

Hope is one thing,

gratitude another

and sufficient

unto itself.

The white blossoms of the shad

have opened

because it is their time

to open,

the mockingbird

is raving

in the thornbush.

How did it come to be

that I am no longer young

and the world

that keeps time

in its own way

has just been born?

I don't have the answers

and anyway I have become suspicious

of such questions,

and as for hope,

that tender advisement,

even that

I'm going to leave behind.

I'm just going to put on

my jacket, my boots,

I'm just going to go out

to sleep

all this night

in some unnamed, flowered corner

of the pasture.

Mary Oliver, "Another Summer Begins," Evidence, Beacon Press: Boston, 2009.

So another Sabbath comes to a close and I am filled with gratitude...

And he played reall good for free...

One of the sweetest and "bluest" tunes I have ever heard is Joni Mitchell's masterpiece, "For Free." It appeared on her 1970 album, "Ladies of the Canyon," her third recording that is a nuanced and tender transition from her earlier folk music song cycles to the more sophisticated and jazz influenced tunes of her mature career. In four minutes it both evokes a sense of urban isolation while telling the story of a brilliant but overlooked street musician.

I have a deep affinity for street performers - buskers - who bring something of beauty and joy into otherwise drab or utilitarian places like subways, desserted street corners or outdoor markets. As a rule I ALWAYS stop to listen - it could be classical guitarists in the London Tube, jazz sax players in Montreal, steel drummers in Manhattan or folk singers in San Francisco (or even Northhampton, MA) - and share a token of my appreciation. It is a shared blessing to hear lovely music in unexpected places and it makes sense to me to reward such exceptional behavior.

Apparently similar thoughts have been in the heart and soul of Luke Jerram, an artist in Bristol, UK, who recently hatched a scheme to install 30 pianos for public use throughout London. (Check out:http://lukejerram.com/projects/play_me_im_yours for pictures and more!) Musician and pop culture TV front man, Jools Holland, kicked Jerram's project off and for the past month people have been flocking to these instruments. "It's a blank canvass for everyone's creativity," Jerram said. The BBC wrote:

Each instrument has been painted to suit its location, for instance the piano near the Royal Exchange Buildings has money printed on it. The project, which runs until 14 July, has been produced by a non-profit organisation Sing London and City of London Festival. The project wants people to have impromptu recitals Mr Jerram said: "Questioning the ownership and rules of public space, Play Me I'm Yours is a provocation, inviting the public to engage with, activate and take ownership of their urban environment.

"The pianos now belong to the people of London." Sing London director Colette Hiller said: "Our projects are about increasing a sense of public spirit in a city which often feels cold. "We trust Londoners to share and we trust them to take care of them, to look after the songbooks and cover the piano when it rains."

Here is an example of the presence of our still speaking God touching the lives of real people well beyond the scope of the church. Artists - broken as we are - are still acutely attuned to the heartbeat of the sacred within and among us. And because they are willing to take risks, they often help us discover the blessings amidst our wounds.

Two poems for my sabbath...

Last night, my wife helped me find a book we had bought years ago: Poetic Medicine by John Fox. "You want to write poetry?" she said carefully, "this might help." And I do want to write poetry - but I've always been better at interpreting than creating - so we shall see. Still, this is a good place to start.

For the last year, I've been wandering back into the world of the poets more and more. Who knows why but I find myself leafing through their thin volumes at home and in bookshops with such regularity that I need to pay attention. (Like back in the old days when I was involved in the rough and tumble world of Cleveland politics as a novice school board member where it was a regular thing to have the shit kicked out of me by political professionals. So I started bringing home Clint Eastwood movies from the video store: "Do you feel lucky TODAY, punk? Well do ya?" And after a few months of this - along with Sigourney Weaver's ALIEN series - it hit me: I need to see the good guys win at least sometimes - even if it is only in the movies.) So this poetry is calling to me in a way that warrants my attention.

This morning I read a new poem by Marie Howe: "Hurry."

We stop at the dry cleaners and the grocery store
and the gas station and the green market and
Hurry up honey, I say, hurry, hurry,
as she runs along two or three steps behind me
her blue jacket unzipped and her socks rolled down.

Where do I want her to hurry to? To her grave?
To mine? Where one day she might stand all grown?

Today, when all the errands are finally done, I say to her,
Honey I'm sorry I keep saying Hurry -
you walk ahead of me. You be the mother.

And, Hurry up, she says, over her shoulder, looking
back at me, laughing. Hurry up now darling, she says,
hurry, hurry, taking the house keys from my hands.
(Marie Howe, The Kingdom of Ordinary Time, "Hurry," W.W. Norton: New York, 2008)

And now my wife is playing "Heaven Can Wait" on the piano we brought back from her mother's house after she died... after which we're going for a slow walk together. Blessed sabbath.

New thoughts on male spirituality...

From time to time I have shared some thoughts and reflections on what a healthy male spirituality might embrace - including the understanding of the "tender warrior." (One who knows how to use his strength and passion for healing and protection rather than destruction and rage.) Today as I am getting ready to enter my sabbath time - as a pastor I celebrate a sabbath on Friday because I am almost always at work on Sunday - I was struck by something Richard Rohr recently posted on his daily spiritual guidance website.

Jesus would never have broken through as a genuinely new revelation if he had acted nonviolently inside of a feminine body. It would not have been revolutionary or a challenge—because we expect and demand that women be patient, nurturing, forgiving, healing, self-effacing, and self-sacrificing. Women are expected to be nonviolent in a violent male society. But we are still not prepared for males or institutions or nations to act nonviolently, even in the church. That is why God had to become incarnate for us in the body of a man. Jesus had a male body but a very feminine soul, which was genuinely new. Unfortunately, we basically rejected most of Jesus’ teachings and style as impractical and unreasonable in the pyramidal “real world” of church and state. (from Simplicity or: http://mail.live.com/default.aspx?wa=wsignin1.0)

Sometimes this truth is diminished - sometimes it is celebrated - and sometimes a little of both as in Christine Lavin's very funny song, "Sensitive New Age Guys.

But Rohr is clearly on to something that warrants our deeper consideration. Sam Keen has played with this truth in Fire in the Belly. Robert Moor and Douglas Gillette have done other mytho-poetic work, too, in their King, Warrior, Magician and Lover series. But only Jim Nelson and James Dittes have done serious reflection on both a pathological and redemptive male spirituality (see Body Theology by Nelson and both Men at Work and Driven by Hope by Dittes.)

Interestingly, Rohr has amplified his work in this realm recently by revising and improving his old work with the release of From Wild Man to Wise Man. This reflection grows out of Rohr's commitment to training healthy male mentors through authentic rites of passage. At the core of this work, Rohr and others have articulated some important commitments:

+ Every man is a Beloved Son of God.

+ Men are capable of serious spiritual journeys.

+ Our message is grounded in the Christian Paschal Mystery while integrating the symbols and rituals from other religions and cultures.

+ Men must seek to improve their conscious contact with God through prayer and meditation.

+ Men must have the affirmation and guidance of wise mentors.

+ Men have a need and responsibility to mentor future generations.

+ In a universal message of love and faith that transcends the boundaries of race, nation, culture, gender, economics/class, politics, sexual orientation and religious differences.

+ Men must seek honest mutuality in their relationships with women in thought, word and deed.

+ Men must recognize and critique their own power with regard to women, minorities and the poor, and use their power for justice in the world.

+ There is a need for collaborating with like-minded groups and other faith traditions.

One of my hopes and dreams in my next year of ministry it to find a way to bring together a group of men for study and support - and - have them interact with the young boys and men in our congregation. Tender warriors are part of the redemption we confess. Dig the way the brilliant Chris Smithers puts it in "Crocodile Man."

For those who need the lyrics to get it all (like me...)

Momma raised me on riddles and trances,
fat-back, channel cat, lily-white lies,
all wrapped up in a jim-crack fancy.
I never met Poppa,
I never asked why

People said Poppa wasn't no-account anyway,
people said Poppa was a rollin' stone.
I turned twenty on the Wakama thruway,
headed upriver in the dark alone.

I been sleepin' with a stranger in a no-name town,
Thanksgiving dinner at the Top Hat Lounge,
Christmas Eve at the Fantasy Tan,
Lord have mercy on the Crocodile Man

I hooked up with a carnie, a little out of Memphis,
slavin' in a side-show,
pennies in a jar,
beetle-eyed jokers,
hick-town princes,
rhinestone rubies and rubber cigars.

I wrassled me a gator up in Omaha city,
done me another down in New Orleans,
tangled with the barker,
ran off with the kitty,
crawled the Mississippi and I got away clean

Underneath the levee in a cattail thicket,
down in the shadows of a shady grove,
there's a thatch roof risin' from a poke-fence picket,
white smoke billows from a coal-black stove.

Inside the house is the hall of mirrors,
inside the mirror is the temple of sin,
inside the temple is the face of Momma,
and Momma, she knows where I been.

My Momma knows exactly where this bad boy been.

(CREDITS: Sr. Nancy Earle, "The Great Chain of Being." Patricia O'Keefe Hutton, "Heaven Speak." Carey Crockett, "Blues Man.")

Humility, imagination and laughter as prayer...

NOTE: More notes from my on-going summer series: Learning the Unforced Rhythms of Grace. And more connections between humility, imagination and become the childlike spiritually open adults of the Jesus life. Please join us if you are in town on Sunday, July 12th at 10:30 am.

There is an intimate connection between authentic humility and a lively imagination – and you can take that to bank! You see, living and breathing humility is alert to the moment – the pain, the pleasure and the promise – it notices and celebrates the potential in everything and every being. And it is part of what Jesus was telling us when he said:

I'm telling you, once and for all, that unless you return to square one and start over like children, you're not even going to get a look at the kingdom, let alone get in. Whoever becomes simple and elemental again – humble like this child – will rank high in God's kingdom. What's more, when you receive others who are childlike on my account, it's the same as receiving me.

No wonder Joan Chittister says to those interested in a mature and adult Christian life that, “The goals and values of the spiritual life… are just plain different from the goals and values we’ve been taught by the world around us. Winning, owning, having, consuming and controlling are just not the high posts of true spiritual maturity.”

• Rather, if you want to be filled, you must live into your emptiness; if you want to be helpful, you must learn how to be served. If you want to be mature, you must become as a child again.

• And, if you hunger to know God intimately, you have to nourish your imagination with the spirit of humility. Otherwise, you’ll stay puffed up and blind to the blessings all around you.

That’s what Jesus is getting at when he speaks paradoxically – the upside down kingdom – where: If your hand or your foot gets in the way of God, chop it off and throw it away. And if your eye distracts you from God, pull it out and throw it away, too. You're better off one-eyed and alive than exercising your twenty-twenty vision from inside the fire of hell.

This is humility talk, my friends, spiritual counsel in one of the ways we might learn the unforced rhythms of God’s grace. For at the heart of this truth is the assurance that if humility and imagination are woven together like a tapestry, they will bring God’s comfort, warmth and childlike delight into the ordinary moments of our existence. The poet, Mary Oliver, put it like this in something she calls, “Mysteries, Yes.”

Truly, we live with mysteries too marvelous
to be understood.
How grass can be nourishing in the mouths of lambs.
How rivers and stones are forever
in allegiance with gravity
while we ourselves dream of rising. (Isn’t that perfect?)
How two hands touch and the bonds will
never be broken.
How people come, from delight or the
scars of damage,
to the comfort of a poem.
Let me keep my distance, always, from those
who think they have the answers.
Let me keep company always with those who say
“Look!” and laugh in astonishment,
and bow their heads.
(Mary Oliver, "Mysteries, Yes" in Evidence, Beacon Press: Boston, 2009)

Are you with me? Do you grasp the intimate connection between authentic humility and a lively imagination; or the way becoming childlike can nourish our astonishment and joy? Our awareness of “mysteries too marvelous to understand?”

• That’s why I have been asking you to send me some of your favorite jokes and stories: it is an unforced way – a back door approach – to cultivating a childlike humility.

• There are other paths and other insights – there are the 12 Steps to Humility as taught by St. Benedict or the spiritual exercises of St. Ignatius of Loyal – and they all have value and merit.

But most of us don’t have the time or resources to spend a month in a monastery polishing our souls. I know that I don’t: I have a family to love, bills to pay, friendship to strengthen and gardens to weed. What’s more, I am not really sure that you can cultivate a childlike humility by being so profoundly serious.

That’s why I asked you last week if you knew any funny Jesus songs: not that I want to diminish or trivialize the way of Christ – not at all – but it is just backasswards to try too hard to become like a child. Children, after all, learn many of life’s essential truths when they are at play. Listen to how Robert Fulghum puts it in his poem, “All I Really Needed to Know I Learned in Kindergarten.”

Most of what I really need
To know about how to live
And what to do and how to be
I learned in kindergarten.
Wisdom was not at the top
Of the graduate school mountain,
But there in the sand pile at Sunday school.
These are the things I learned:
Share everything.
Play fair.
Don't hit people.
Put things back where you found them.
Clean up your own mess.
Don't take things that aren't yours.
Say you're sorry when you hurt somebody.
Wash your hands before you eat.
Flush.
Warm cookies and cold milk are good for you.
Live a balanced life -
Learn some and think some
And draw and paint and sing and dance
And play and work everyday some.
Take a nap every afternoon.
When you go out into the world,
Watch out for traffic,
Hold hands and stick together.
Be aware of wonder.

So I’ve been encouraging you to laugh – be playful – treat laughter and funny songs as a prayer that opens you up to God’s grace. Because, you see, and let me get serious for just a moment, like Marshall McLuhan, student of how the medium is also the message, told us: “In a commercial society (like ours) whose members are essentially ascetic and indifferent… concerned primarily with the bottom line… social rituals have to be provided with blueprints and specifications for evoking the right tone for every occasion.”

We don’t really know how to be humble, spiritual children in a world like ours: we know how to win and spend money; we know how to be obsessed with our own needs; and we know how to feel guilty.

• But live as humble and spontaneous spiritual children…? That’s going to take some practice.

• So why not enjoy the path towards spiritual maturity – why not nourish the playful as Jesus encouraged – why not let our laughter become one of the ways we pray?

St. Peter put it like this: Whoever wants to embrace life and see the day fill up with good, here's what you do: Say nothing evil or hurtful; Snub evil and cultivate good; run after peace for all you're worth knowing that God looks on all this with approval, listening and responding well to what he's asked. Be agreeable, be sympathetic, be loving, be compassionate, and be humble. That goes for all of you, no exceptions. No retaliation. No sharp-tongued sarcasm. Instead, bless—that's your job, to bless. Then you'll be a blessing and also get a blessing.

Jesus Christ put it like this: I'm telling you, once and for all, that unless you return to square one and start over like children, you're not even going to get a look at the kingdom, let alone get in. Whoever becomes simple and elemental again, like this child, will rank high in God's kingdom.

And RJ put it like this: if you want to become a healthy, loving, spiritually mature adult… you have to nourish your sense of humor – your path into humility – for then even your laughter becomes a prayer. Do this and your imagination will be unlocked and just like a child you will see God’s presence everywhere.

The spiritual masters are clear: humility is how we learn to bear bad things well. Once again Chittister hits it out of the park when she writes: The goal of our generation is to cure all diseases, order all inefficiencies, topple all obstacles, end all stress and prescribe immediate panaceas. We wait for nothing and put up with little and abide less and react with fury at irritations. We have become a people without patience. We do not tolerate process and we cannot stomach delay. But God does not come to us on hoof beats of mercury through streets of gold. God is in the dregs of our lives – and it takes a humble soul to find God where God is not expected to be.
(Joan Chittister, The Rule of Benedict, Crossroads Publishing: New York, 1992)

It is so hard for us to become like children; so let me leave you with this… invitation to prayer. It comes from our mystical friends in Islam about the day Mullah Nasrudin bought a rooster. Now, it seems that Nasrudin was poor and have saved all his earnings for nearly a year to purchase this rooster. His neighbor assured him that it was truly a prize winning rooster and would do his new master proud. So, Nasrudin paid the man the highest price imaginable and brought the bird back to his home.

At first, he was very pleased and all went well: the chickens looked tired but also very happy so Nasrudin returned thanks to God. But within hours he discovered that there was no controlling this rooster’s romantic tendencies. Not only was he mounting the hens, but the ducks and the swans and the geese not to mention a few stray nanny goats and sows.

“What are you doing you crazy bird?” Nasrudin shouted. “Get it together. Look, I paid good money for you and if you keep this up you’re going to kill yourself.” But… there was no stopping him – this was a rooster with a mission – and before you knew it he was out of the barnyard heading for the stable. Well, Nasrudin became unglued and captured the rooster and locked him in the barn before heading into bed for the night. “Finally, I think I’ve solved my problem,” he said to himself before falling asleep.

But when he woke up and headed outside the next day, there was the rooster flat on his back: his eyes were glazed, his legs were sticking straight up in the air and there were a few buzzards flying ominously over head. “What did I tell you, you moron,” shouted Nasrudin. “I knew the life you were leading was going to be the death of you.” But then, to his total amazement, the supposedly expired rooster opened one eye and whispered hoarsely, "Pipe down and listen will you? When you are trying to romance a buzzard, you have got to play it their way!"

Keep laughing, beloved and before you know mystery and awe will be a part of your everyday blessings.

(CREDITS: 1) Digital Image - www.toddpowelson.com; 2) exeic.worldpress.com; 3) artwicks.com; 4) Imagination - www.archam.net; 5) Open Your Imagination, Ben Heine, - www.toonpool.com; 6) Isaiah 40:26 - MarkLawrenceGallery.com)

Don't forget her...

As I pray and think and live my everyday life, I continue to try to hold on to the memory and witness of Neda and so many like her all over creation. Armen Chakmakian has written a moving song/tribute to Neda that I encourage you to consider at: http://armen.tv/blog/2009/06/new-music-free-mp3-download-nedas.html

Tonight our little Berkshire band, Between the Banks, got back together after a long (too long) hiatus. We haven't played together since Easter because of family deaths and illness and unemployment and so much more. It was soooo sweet to be back together. Our task, besides enjoying playing music with one another, was to select music for our July 26th worship. The theme: incarnation - how contemporary music fills in the gaps in traditional hymnody. It doesn't replace it, it just takes it deeper and makes it more real given the unique experiences of contemporary life.

And what a set list for worship we came up with: Joan Osborne's "One of Us" is a theme song so we'll start with that... then on to the Eels, "Hey Man Now You're Really Living," along with Bob Franke's "For Real," Mindy Smith's "Hard to Know" and Springsteen's "My City of Ruins." OMG.. it is so much better planning and thinking about all of this with loved sisters and brothers than trying to come up with it all by yourself. This is so much richer than I could have ever conceived.

So, after a LONG ass day, I am REALLY thankful for those who keep the faith and help us all live into our best selves. Thank you, Neda... and thank you Dianne, Jenna an Brian, too.

Hallelujah...

Yesterday I found myself in an unknown bookshop (alright, actually three different bookshops) leafing through this new volume of poems by Mary Oliver: Evidence. It is a sweet collection of reflections on the mystery of discovering blessings amidst ordinary existence. One poem, "Hallelujah," compelled me to purchase the whole book.

Everyone should be born into this world happy
and loving everything.
But in truth it rarely works that way.
For myself, I have spent my life clamoring toward it.
Hallelujah, anyway I'm not where I started!

And have you been trudging like that, sometimes
almost forgetting how wondrous the world is
and how miraculously kind some people can be?
And have you too decided that probably nothing important
is ever easy?
Not, say, for the first sixty years?

Hallelujah, I'm sixty now, and even a little more,
and some days I feel I have wings.
(Mary Oliver, "Hallelujah," Evidence, Beacon Press: Boston, 2009, p. 19)

This morning, when I opened my email, a man who has been my friend for the longest time - 43 years - forwarded me this music video clip that essentially exclaims the same awe as Mary Oliver. It comes from the "Playing for Change: Songs Around the World" collection.

This is the blessing of my morning prayer: being connected with people I love, searching for a sign of blessing amidst the wounds and being open to God's surprise in the most unlikely places. Lord, make me an instrument of your peace...

Mondays in ministry...

I know a lot of clergy take Mondays off: it is great to take a breather after a full Sunday but I have found over the years that Mondays are better for catching up than taking off (at least for me.) My mentor in ministry, Ray Swartzback, taught me that Monday is the best time to follow up on the pastoral concerns people tell you after worship; it is a good time to return phone calls and make hospital visits, too.

So, that is what this Monday has been: returning phone calls and emails, setting up visits and getting a jump on pastoral concerns. Nothing earth shattering or even life-changing, just a great time to build relationships within the faith community. Like someone once told me, "In this high tech era, we need high touch congregations." Places that take individuals seriously, like the old TV pub "Cheers," where everyone does know your name and are glad that you came!

Which reminds me that one of the truly counter-cultural challenges facing our small, side-lined congregations has to do with cultivating a healthy sense of community - and I think there are two parts to this challenge. First, so many declining churches are insular and parochial - cliques - that no longer know how to be open to guests and folks outside the fold. God knows everyone in these cliques want to welcome folk into their embrace, but they've been meeting together for so long and doing the same old things with the same old people for so long that they are unable to see what a closed society has been erected. We are joiners - not people who start NEW small groups, as a rule - and one consequence is that we lock people out of our community before they even show up.

The second challenge is built on the first: creating new small groups instead of grafting new people onto the old. On average we have between 70-85 people in worship every Sunday; that means that we must be starting 4-7 new small groups each year so that new friends and guests will feel welcomed. Without this effort, people will fall away and sense that we are not a place of hospitality - something the old timers don't get but which has to be done nevertheless.

I was struck by this again on Sunday morning when I pulled together a small ad hoc singing group to work on "Down to the River to Pray" a la "O Brother Where Art Thou?" Twelve people showed up - two very new women to the congregation - and another 7 people have told me that they would like to be a part of the music. It was a blast: good music, lots of laughter and a time for people to build new connections with one another. Not rocket science, just a gentle way of being together. We'll keep doing this throughout the summer - no midweek practice times, no all or nothing commitments - just come when you can and sing as feels right.

It seems that our members have created a few other very interesting small groups for new community this year, too: an acoustic guitar and singing group for people interested in learning to start the guitar, a knitting group for folks wanting to create prayer shawls for babies and parents and home-bound members, a film and culture movie group that has met to discuss where a sense of God's presence might be found in a host of contemporary films and a small group bringing refreshments to the local peace activists during the worst days of a bitter winter.

It is good to take time on Mondays to reflect on this work. It is good to have the space to work on building connections. "How good and pleasant it is," said the Psalmist, "when brothers and sisters dwell together in... unity." As Dorothy Bass has shown over and over, healthy small churches - and vibrant large congregations - are built on renewing the core practices of our faith - practices of hospitality and singing, honoring our bodies and deepening Sabbath. I give thanks this day for: Monday, Monday...

Fourth of July in the Berkshires...

The fireworks and cookouts are over, many are headed for bed and I give thanks for the blessings and challenges of this era. The NY Times is reporting that there is a crack in the Iranian dictatorship "as the most important group of religious leaders in Iran called the disputed presidential election... illegitimate."

(http://www.nytimes.com/2009/07/05/world/middleeast/05iran.html?partner=rss&emc=rsspartner=rss&emc=rss)

Aretha Franklin sang at the Capitol in Washington, DC and Arlo and the Wailin' Jennys played with Garrison Keilor at Tanglewood to mark Independence Day in the USA. These are crucial times: we have the chance to make authentic advances in health care for Americans that is affordable, begin to change our consumption of bio-fuels and move towards a greener economy and maybe get a little closer to our highest ideals.

Or we could piss it all away, too.

This poem by Julia Kasdorf says so much to me about this moment and our potential response...

I learned from my mother how to love
the living, to have plenty of vases on hand
in case you have to rush to the hospital
with peonies cut from the lawn, black ants
still stuck to the buds. I learned to save jars
large enough to hold fruit salad for a whole
grieving household, to cube home-canned pears
and peaches, to slice through maroon grape skins
and flick out the sexual seeds with a knife point.
I learned to attend viewing even if I didn’t know
the deceased, to press the moist hands
of the living, to look in their eyes and offer
sympathy, as though I understood loss even then.
I learned that whatever we say means nothing,
what anyone will remember is that we came.
I learned to believe I had the power to ease
awful pains materially like an angel.
Like a doctor, I learned to create
from another’s suffering my own usefulness, and once
you know how to do this, you can never refuse.
To every house you enter, you must offer
healing: a chocolate cake you baked yourself,
the blessing of your voice, your chaste touch.

So does this tune as reinterpreted by Canada's sweet Wailin' Jennys that my wife, Dianne, sings with such tender vulnerability that it always revives my sense of hope. Happy Fourth of July...