Merry Christmas!

Christmas Day

(By now you’ve been to a Christmas Eve service (I hope!  I know some of you are sick or unable).  These are the readings for a Christmas morning Eucharist.) 

Isaiah 52:7-10; Psalm 98; Hebrews 1:1-4; John 1:1-14

“And the Word became flesh and lived among us”. 

The Word, God’s Wisdom, co-creator of all that is, became one of us.  Life and light, truth and glory and grace, shine out today.

All the hollowing, the emptying, the waiting of Advent, aims at being open to receive this glory today.  This glory so far exceeds our understanding and expectations that no words suffice.  Scriptures try, poets try, preachers try to our peril.  Musicians and artists try to find another language, and almost approach.  

But here, at the manger, we lay down our pens and brushes and instruments.  We offer them to the one who gave them to us, who now lies new and open and demanding.  We sit in silence.

Behold, I bring you tidings of great joy.  The Word becomes flesh.  O come, let us adore.

It has been a joy and a privilege to write for you this season.  I don’t know when I will resume, or how often; I’ll let you know.  Today, just accept my thanks for reading, for engaging, and for responding.  If this has been meaningful for you, I’d love to hear from you as I plan the future.  If it hasn’t, please accept my thanks for reading anyway.

If you'd like to see photos of our crèche, go to our facebook page: facebook.com/Companionsma.

Blessed, blessed Christmas to you all!

Christmas Eve Day

Christmas Eve Day

2 Samuel 7:1-16; Psalm 89:1-4, 19-29; Luke 1:67-79

“And you, child, shall be called the prophet of the Most High, for you will go before the Lord to prepare the way, to give God’s people knowledge of salvation by the forgiveness of their sins.” (Luke 1:76-77)

These words are attributed to Zechariah, blessing and commissioning his son John.  After nine months of life without sounds or speech, this is what he announces: A prophet to prepare the way, to give God’s people knowledge of salvation by forgiveness.

Isn’t this what we’re all called to be?

Here in our community we say this song every morning, as we sing Mary’s song every night.  Every day we are reminded, not only of what John would become, but of what we are to be.  Not the main event, but indispensable.  We are the ones through whom people will hear the message of salvation - or not.  We are the ones who will show the way by how we live - or not.  

But we aren’t just stand-ins for John.  Dream analysts would tell us that in any dream we dream, we are all the characters.  Just so in the Gospels.  We are John, and Elizabeth, and Zechariah.  We are Joseph and Mary and yes, we are Jesus.  We are Herod, and we are the wise ones.  We are the shepherds, and we are the angels.

We each carry the whole story of salvation within us.  In a given moment we may act out one part or another, for good or evil or simple entertainment.  But we carry the whole story.  That’s part of what it means to be human.

Today, as you prepare for the birth of Christ among and within us, welcome all these parts of you.  Comfort those that need comfort, challenge those that need a good talking-to, encourage those who doubt or fear, rejoice with those who who have found their Savior.  Gather all these parts, and come to the manger.  Gaze in, and see your heart.

O Virgin of Virgins

O Virgin of virgins, how shall this be?  For neither before you was there any seen like you, nor shall there be after.  Daughters of Jerusalem, why do you marvel at me?  The thing which you behold is a divine mystery.

Malachi 3:1-5; Psalm 25:1-14; Luke 1:57-66

Our last O differs from the others in several ways.  It began at a later date, perhaps only 500 years ago, and it does not refer to Isaiah’s promises.  It began and continues to honor Mary as her day approaches.

John, I love you and rejoice at your birth. Thank you for pointing the way, preparing the way.  I love the story of Elizabeth standing up to everyone to name you John.

But Mary has my heart today.  Her time approaches.

In the Western, Latin Church, Mary is mostly known as the Blessed Virgin.  We have emphasized her asexuality, her “purity,” even to the point of denying that she had sex with Joseph after Jesus was born (As Matthew tells us she did) or that she bore other children (implied in the fact that Jesus has brothers and sisters).  Mary’s role has been to erase the “blot,” the “curse of Eve,” by renouncing sex (and, following the story of Eden, perhaps renouncing knowledge of good and evil?).  She has been the innocent one.

In the Eastern Orthodox Church, however, she is the Theotokos, the God-bearer.  She is the Mother of God.  Icons capture her thoughtfulness, her awareness of the sadness in front of her and her son.  Some show her might and power, as if she’s singing her song.

She is the Virgin, the integral, intact self.

She is the Mother, the one who gives birth.

How can this be?  

It is a divine mystery.

Mary is not a virgin because God needs to erase a spot or deny sexuality.  Mary is a virgin because God creates in open spaces. 

It seems that new birth, new creativity, always comes from that space of emptiness.  Those of us who meditate or do centering prayer know that the emptiness is where new ideas and insights and encounters originate.  Perhaps we can only give birth by becoming virgin again, intact and centered.

I have a less-than-pure record sexually.  But after years of prayer and monastic life, a day came when I realized that I had become a virgin again - fresh, new, ready for beginnings.  That was an Advent moment for me.

Whoever you are, whatever has happened to you and whatever you have done, you can start over.  You can find your center again and claim it and let it be a place of new birth.  I will be praying for you today, for all those whose center has been wounded.  May we all, of all genders, become virgin/mothers today.

O Emmanuel

O Emmanuel, our Sovereign and lawgiver, the desire of all nations and their salvation: come and save us, O Christ our God.

1 Samuel 1:19-28; Psalm 113 or 122; Luke 1:46-56

“The LORD will give you a sign.  Look, the young woman is with child and shall bear a son, and shall name him Immanuel.” (Isaiah 7:14)

Come and save us.  Come and save all the people I left out yesterday.

Today’s Gospel reminds me that my picture of salvation may not be God’s.  I may be thinking that salvation will look comfortable, affirming, restful.  Mary’s song says that salvation is more likely to bring overturning, chaos, reversal.  And that is indeed my experience.  Every growth period in my life is also, necessarily, a time of struggle and surprise and challenge.  It’s beautiful, but it ain’t pretty.

It can be challenging to sing this song when you are - when I am - one of the rich, the mighty, the sated.  (And don’t give me that American “I’m just getting by” stuff.  If you have access to this blog, you’re in good shape.)  But we need it, we need to sing this.  We need to hear that God is challenging us.  We can be part of the dream of God, pushing and helping, or we can get in the way and be swept away.  Either way, God is coming and dreaming - and God is bigger than I am, even with all my money and education and connections.

One of the great gifts of my life in community is that six days a week I get to sing this song with other people.  We sing it to traditional plainchant tunes, but you can sing it to anything you like.  You can make up a tune, or sing it on one note.  You can yell if you don’t like to sing.  You can bang a drum or shake a tambourine.  You can dance.  This is not a gentle lullaby.  This is a song of triumph.  My gentle liberal soul doesn’t like to want to triumph, but my Gospel heart knows there’s plenty that needs vanquishing - including my gentle liberal soul!

I want to hear feet stomping and voices chanting, people!

Send me a note telling me how you participated in Mary’s song today.  Tell me who you invited to join you and what you did.  Then tell me how it felt.

If you think this is over the top, tasteless, too embarrassing - imagine how Mary felt. 

Do it for Mary.

O Ruler of Nations

O Ruler of nations, and their desire, the Cornerstone, uniting both in one: come and save humankind, whom you formed of clay.

Zephaniah 3:14-18a; Psalm 33:1-5,20-22; Luke 1:39-45

(Note: I'm following the daily readings rather than the Sunday readings, because the Sunday Gospel is the same as yesterday's.)

"He shall judge between the nations, and shall arbitrate for many peoples; they shall beat their swords into ploughshares, and their spears into pruning-hooks; nation shall not lift up sword against nation, neither shall they learn war anymore." Isaiah 2:4

Yes, that is my deep desire.  You are my deep desire, O Holy One.  I want to write about the meeting between Elizabeth and Mary told in today's Gospel - I want you all to read it - but today I have to write about the desire for peace.  

O, my heart!  I long for you, O God.  "My soul thirsts for you, my flesh faints for you, as in a barren and dry land where there is no water" (Ps. 63).  I long for your peace.  The clay of my body is dried up from crying, from water spent over your creation.  Come, Christ Jesus!  Come, Emmanuel!  Be with us now!  Bind us together, let us see you in one another.

Plow into my heart, furrow it with the seeds of peace.  Prune the growth of ego-fear, the demand for recognition and excess and domination.  Give us all the courage to lay down our arms.

Come and save us from ourselves. 

Come and save us from racial bigotry.  

Come and save the victims of human trafficking, and save their captors.  

Come and save the prisoners in solitary confinement and death row, and save their jailers and executioners.  

Come and save the predatory lenders and sweep down Wall Street, and save their victims.

Come and save the Taliban and ISIS and those they terrorize.  

Come and save the drunks and junkies and those who profit from their disease.  

Come and save the victims of Ebola and AIDS and malaria.  

Come and save those who overcharge for access to lifesaving drugs.  

Come and save those who work long hours and still can't pay their bills.  

Come and save us.

Please take from me the spirit of judgment and fear that becomes war.  Take from me disdain and contempt.  Make me a channel of your peace.  Yes, God, I want more.  I want you to touch all of us today, now.  But start with me.  Perhaps, if I can show the power of your love, others might want it and ask you too.

Come and save us.

O Dayspring

O Dayspring, Brightness of the light everlasting, and Sun of Righteousness: come and enlighten those who sit in darkness and the shadow of death.

Isaiah 7:10-14; Psalm 24; Luke 1:26-38

"The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light; those who lived in a land of deep darkness—on them light has shined." Isaiah 9:2

Today is the second Annunciation.  The first was to Zechariah, whose question caused him to be silenced.  Today Gabriel comes again, and again says, “Don’t be afraid.”  Again, he tells of the Holy Spirit doing something crazy and scandalous.  Again, the recipient asks, “What are you talking about?”  But this time is different.  Instead of being silenced, Mary will go on the road and sing the Magnificat.  So what’s different?

Zechariah asks, “How will I know this is so?”  Mary asks, “How can this be?”  What’s the difference?

Here’s my guess.  Zechariah’s question is one we call epistemological.  He has questions about how he will know something to be the case.  It’s actually a stupid question: he’ll know when Elizabeth stops having her period and starts being queasy.  But the center of his question is him.

Mary’s question is not about her and her knowledge.  It’s about God’s activity in the world.  We might call it metaphysical, or even physical: how can this be?  What is going on in the universe, in God, in my body, that this could happen?

Where is the center of your life?  Where do your questions come from, and what do they concern?  Zechariah’s question points to himself, to his need to know, rather than to what God is up to.  Mary’s question points to God and what God is capable of, and she is open to learning about it.  She looks to find her place in what God is doing: “Let it be with me according to your word.”

I’m aware every day that I am a work in progress, a pilgrim on the way.  I know that God is up to something all the time.  But sometimes I’m more like Zechariah, catching myself up in questions about how I will know that something is of God.  I have lots of companions to help me through those questions.  But the more powerful questions come from Mary’s place, where I trust that God is speaking, I trust the angels who whisper and those who shout, those who drop me a line or give me a call.  There I’m actively on the lookout for what God is up to and how I can participate.

How will I know that this is so?  On a philosophical, logical level, never.  It’s the wrong question on that level.  But I do know through experience, through the signs of life in myself and those around me.  I know when the Holy Spirit blows through, whether it’s painful or scary or joyful.  

The real question is not, how will I know?  The real question is, will I say yes?  Will I let myself be part of God’s creation, God’s dwelling in the world?

And will you?

O Key of David

O Key of David, and Scepter of the house of Israel, you open and no one can close, and you close and no one can open: come and bring the prisoners out of the prison, those who sit in darkness and the shadow of death.
Judges 13:2-7, 24-25; Psalm 71:1-8; Luke 1:5-25

Today's O comes from Isaiah 22:22: "I will place on his shoulder the key of the house of David; he shall open, and no one shall shut; he shall shut, and no one shall open."
But this is the week to really be with the Gospels.  I've spent this Advent with Elizabeth, the mother of John the Baptist.  She is for me the hidden connector between the characters in the Nativity, being of Aaron's lineage and related to Mary, who is engaged to Joseph.  She links also to the long line of "barren women" who suffered social ostracism and economic insecurity as a result of their childlessness.  Like John, Samson was born to a woman who had no children.  Like John he was promised to God, to "begin to deliver Israel" (Judges 13:5).  Like John he was a bit of a wild man, not part of the orderly hierarchy.
But the line of promise goes further back.  Sarah and Hannah share with Elizabeth the surprise of new life when it seems impossible.  As Gabriel will tell Mary, "nothing shall be impossible with God."
Zechariah can't take in the news.  He is silenced, barren of speech.  From here on out, Elizabeth will move from the margins to the center, proclaiming God's word.  Her barrenness is ended, whether she bears a child or not.
These are your choices today.  Will you let yourself be filled with promise?  Will you speak what you hear?  Or will you be silenced by your doubts and fears?  "Do not be afraid."
In the end, I guess this does connect to the antiphon.  What God opens, no one can shut.  Wombs are filled, and give birth to new life.  What God closes, no one can open.  Mouths with no good news to share stop speaking (even if sounds come out).
Pray for opening!

O Root of Jesse - December 18

O Root of Jesse, you stand for an ensign of the people; before you the rulers will shut their mouths; and for you the nations will seek: come and deliver us, and do not tarry.

Jeremiah 23:5-8; Psalm 72:11-18; Matthew 1:18-25

The tree of Jesse is a medieval depiction of the house of David, the son of Jesse.  Jesus is seen as fulfilling the promise of Jeremiah 23:5 - “The days are surely coming, say the LORD, when I will raise up for David a righteous Branch, and he shall reign as king and deal wisely, and shall execute justice and righteousness in the land” - and Isaiah 11:1 - “A shoot shall come out from the stump of Jesse, and a branch shall grow out of his roots.”  I’d suggest reading Isaiah 11:1-9 again this week, to see what the promise is.

We hear in both Matthew and Luke that Jesus is descended from David through Joseph.  In different ways, both Luke and Matthew make clear that Joseph is not Jesus’ biological father, but the Gospel passage for today shows me that Joseph was surely his spiritual father.  This man is engaged to a woman who is found to be pregnant by someone (something?) else.  He could disgrace her, but wants to avoid that.  He dreams that her child is holy and he should marry her - and he does.  He listens to his inner voice, he braves the gossip of the community, he cares for this child as his own.  Surely, when Jesus pronounced blessing on the poor in spirit, the meek, the righteous, the pure in heart, he had Joseph in mind.

Jesus’ genealogy, the reading for yesterday, is designed to remind us that this line of Israel is shot through with questionable characters and “the wrong sort of people.”  Redemption does not come from purity, but from faithful listening for the word of God.  Just as Jesus is grafted onto the line of David through Joseph, David was grafted on through Ruth, and Boaz through Rahab, and back through the whole seamy story.  Jesus is in the line of sinners and misfits called to holiness, to wholeness.

And so am I.  And so are you.

Look around today.  Where in your history or your present is God making salvation out of the muck of your life?

Come and deliver us, and do not tarry.

O Adonai

O Adonai, and leader of the house of Israel, you appeared in the bush to Moses in a flame of fire, and gave him the law on Sinai: come and redeem us with an outstretched arm.

One way to think of the O Antiphons is as the Christmas version of the Great Vigil of Easter.  There, we read of the history of God’s faithfulness to Israel, from creation to the promise of restoration, before we light the candles and hear the Easter story.  Here, we hear the same story, leading to the candlelight of the Incarnation.  With “O Wisdom” we began at creation again.  Today we remember God’s power in the desert before Moses as he was called to lead the people out of slavery.  

Today you might read Exodus 3:1-16, the story of the burning bush.  Adonai, which means “Lord,” is a way of referring to the Holy One who is beyond names.  In many Bibles it is capitalized, so we remember that this is not a proper name but a necessary reference.  God is a mystery, but a mystery in our midst.

Moses is told to trust his experience, to trust this voice with his life.  And he does.  He tells the people he’s been sent.  He tells Pharaoh.  He keeps going.  He leads them out, and he returns to the mountain to receive the Law.  And even with all that, with plagues and safe passage through the Red Sea, the people will forget and fall away.  As do we.

But God will keep trying.  Stay tuned.

WE NOW INTERRUPT OUR REGULARLY SCHEDULED MEDITATION TO BRING YOU THE FOLLOWING MESSAGE

O, Wisdom! You came out of the mouth of the Most High, and reach to the earth’s farthest bounds, mightily and sweetly ordering all things: come and teach us the way of prudence.

That’s right!  The great Os begin tonight.  In the Episcopal Church calendar they begin tomorrow, but some monastic communities begin tonight and include an O for Mary on December 23.  We will follow our St. Helena Breviary and begin tonight.

Each evening the Magnificat is sung with an antiphon before and after.  During these days, the antiphon is a “great O,” calling on God to come to us.   We hear the various names of the One we wait for.  In our churches these antiphons became the hymn “O Come, O Come Emmanuel”; each verse is one of the Os.

Tonight we call on Wisdom, described in the Wisdom of Solomon and the Book of Proverbs.  In Proverbs 8 we learn that God created her at the beginning of creation, and she worked with God “like a master worker,” “rejoicing in the inhabited world and delighting in the human race.”  Wisdom 8:1 we read that “she reaches mightily from one end of the earth to the other, and she orders all things well.”

This feminine figure is one of the faces by which we call on God to be with us.  Don’t let Jesus’ physical maleness fool you; he is complete, containing all genders and all divisions.  All of us are contained and live in the Wisdom of God.

Feel free to sing along each night.  Make up a tune, or chant on a single note.  Start tonight.  Go!

Third Tuesday in Advent

Third Tuesday in Advent
Zephaniah 3:1-2,9-13; Psalm 34:1-8; Matthew 21:28-32

Tomorrow we enter the final week of Advent, marked in monastic communities by the singing of the "Great Os" at Vespers.  More on that as they come.  What matters today is the preparation we make for that final approach.  How are we to enter this week, this growing intimacy between us and the vulnerable God?
Our readings remind us that this entrance requires humility above all else.  The promise is reserved for those who do not trust in their own strength, those who open to God's mercy and God's dream.  In Jesus' lifetime this was understood to be the Anawim, the little ones, those who are poor in spirit and often in material goods.  As Jesus' ministry grew his message included those whose poverty included social rejection and marginalization - the prostitutes, the tax collectors, those who took on the hard jobs that others despised.  These little ones knew that God was their only hope.
Today's Anawim are not always characterized by their jobs.  They might be transgendered, or lesbian or gay, or addicted.  They might be dark-skinned, or following another religion.  They might be homeless or hungry.  They might be mentally ill, or living with a physical disability that makes others uncomfortable.
Too often our churches, our church leaders and members, act like the Temple authorities.  In the name of following Christ they reject and trample on those who are most aware of their need for God.  In their parish halls and basements, people are gathering together to find the grace of God.  But they don't go up to the church sanctuary, because they know or fear they aren't welcome.
When we went to New Mexico this fall we worshipped with friends at a day shelter for people without housing.  This remarkable community gathers every Sunday for worship, and they band together during the week.  Many of them have deep faith, knowing how much they need God.  Their gratitude is genuine and heartfelt, because they know their need.  That day they fed me.  I tasted and saw that God is good.
Let yourself be emptied today.  Make room in your heart for this approaching one.  And if you find that you are one of these little ones, rejoice!  Happy are those who take refuge in God.

Third Monday in Advent

Third Monday in Advent

Numbers 24:2-7,15-17a; Psalm 25:3-8; Matthew 21:23-27

"We do not know."  In today's Gospel the elders of the Temple will not commit to what they believe.  They do know, they know what they think, but they want to play it safe.  They want to follow the polls, to appear to lead while listening for what is safe rather than what is true.  Today they would have a team of public opinion testers working for them.

"We do not know."  Sometimes people ask us questions about the future of the Companions, and our answer is "we don't know."  Will we be open only to Episcopalians?  Only to women as vowed members?  Where might we go in the future, and what sorts of ministries might develop?  We don't know.  And people find that refreshing, that we would venture into unknown territory and not force an answer.  We find it refreshing and invigorating ourselves.

There are different sorts of not knowing.  I love today's psalm, especially v. 4 in the BCP translation: "lead me in your truth and teach me."  Not knowing here leads me to trust in God, to open myself to guidance.  The other sort of not knowing is really not "not knowing" at all; it's a refusal to know, to say, to speak the truth.  As a result, it's a refusal to be led in the truth and taught.

The determination to stay vague in order to protect myself is always doomed to fail.  My ego may think it's protection, but that vagueness throws a fog between myself and God, and between me and others.  That vagueness is a lie.

In today's first reading, the prophet Balaam keeps blessing Israel in spite of the anger of Balak, the king who ordered him to curse them.  He cannot resist speaking the truth that God has given him.  It's worth going back to chapter 22 and reading the whole encounter.  Finally, unwillingly, Balaam lets God lead him in truth and teach him.  It takes a flaming angel and a talking donkey to get him to speak the truth.

Pray today to be led, to be taught, to know and speak the truth.  And look for talking donkeys!

Third Sunday in Advent

Third Sunday in Advent
Isaiah 61:1-4,8-11; Psalm 126; 1 Thessalonians 5:16-24; John 1:6-8,19-28
(We could be reading the Magnificat today, but I think it's too early - save it!)

I have a long history with John the Baptist.  I love his example of humility, a humility that gave him the freedom to speak the truth without concern for consequences.  That is prophetic humility.  But here John denies that he is a prophet, as though claiming that title is too much like appointing yourself to office.  He is merely a voice crying in the wilderness.  He says, "Don't look at me.  Listen to the message."  He has to cry out whether or not anyone hears or heeds.  He baptizes because that is what he is called to do.  He asks for no guarantees of success, no impact statements or strategic plans.  He speaks and he baptizes.
As I write this blog each day, I wonder if I'm making an impact.  I check the numbers reported on Facebook - how many people saw this post?  How does it compare to other days? Is that an indication of what concerns people?  Facebook can't tell me what matters - are hearts being stirred, lives examined, actions initiated?  And Facebook can't tell me whether God wants me to do this.  For that I have to spend time in prayer.
When I read John's words I'm encouraged.  I'm a voice crying in the cyber-wilderness, "prepare the way of the Lord."  Prepare your heart, and prepare the world around you.  I am not much in this wilderness, but this is my voice.  It's the voice I've been given.  The message in my heart may not be the whole message, or the most eloquent or insightful message, but it's the message I've been given.
You are God's beloved child.  Nothing can break that or change it.  You are loved.  All of you, all of us.  Cruelty, mistreatment, neglect or hatred of yourselves or one another are breaking God's heart.
That's the message I've been given.  Prepare the way.  Love one another.
I can't say whether the Spirit of the Lord is upon me.  That's for others to decide.  Mine is to speak the message.
What's your message?

Second Saturday in Advent

Second Saturday in Advent

Sirach (Ecclesiasticus) 48:1-11 (in the Apocrypha); Psalm 80:1-3,14-18; Matthew 17:9-13

Wait a minute.  Don't tell anyone until after the Human One has risen from the dead?

I know today is supposed to be about Elijah and John the Baptist, but hold on.

In Mark's version of the story of the Transfiguration, the disciples ask one another what this talk of resurrection might mean.  But Matthew cuts it out, as though he's in a hurry to get to John.  I like Mark's version better.  Jesus says he will rise from the dead, and no one blinks an eye?

The Incarnation is a scandal, a violation of the boundaries between humanity and divinity.  The Resurrection is another scandal, a violation of the boundaries between life and death.  If these don’t take your breath away, you aren’t paying attention.

Let's just honor that before we move on to John.

Let’s spend a little time off the track laid down for us by someone else’s agenda.

Every day we read some Scripture.  During the seasons of Epiphany and Pentecost, the readings pretty much flow in order, without trying to make a point.  But in Advent, in Christmas, in Lent, in Easter we are invited to walk down a definite line of thought.  That can lead to boredom, as we say, “I know the punchline to this story.”  It can lead to the tedium of knowing where we’re going when we set out.

Jesus’ time on earth was not like that.  Whether and when he knew the whole story, those walking with him had to pay attention every minute.  Every second, every day was new.  And you deserve that same newness in your encounter with Jesus in the Bible.

Spend some time today with these passages, and look for what surprises you.  Ignore the big punchline.  Where’s the little jab of insight or confusion or doubt?  Then follow that.  Don’t be afraid.  Jesus will go with you.

Second Friday in Advent

Second Friday in Advent

Isaiah 48:17-19; Psalm 1; Matthew 11:16-19

There are so many ways to avoid transformation, to forestall the challenges of growth.  The pain is so vivid and present, the new life so nebulous.  It’s tempting to ignore the messages rather than open to the possibility of more.  When Jesus says we have to lose our life to save it, he’s taking aim at our reluctance to undergo pain in the service of abundant life.  

Here, Jesus names two of the ways we resist the invitation.  We might find the path too narrow, too burdensome; or we might, on the other hand, deny that any growth could look like fun.  What these two have in common is the denial of possibility.  

Why would we deny possibility?  Simply because walking into it involves effort.  Learning new ways to be, even ones that bring joy, is hard work.  Letting go of my identity, of the stories I tell myself about my limits or those of others, is scary.  Better to give up before I start.

There are other ways we dismiss possibility.  “If you’re so smart, why ain’t you rich?”  “That may be alright for some folks, but not for us.”  “You can’t teach an old dog new tricks.”  All of these, and others, are strategies for avoiding the challenge of listening and following.

You might have some favorites of your own.

As Isaiah suggests, when we make choices we live with the consequences.  If we insist on not opening to transformation, our wish will be granted.  We will wither and blow away like chaff.  It’s not punishment; it’s simple consequence.

The good news is that God is persistent.  The door to new life is always open.  

Look inside that stable.  Look in the manger.  I dare you.  There you are, radiant and beloved.

Second Thursday in Advent

Second Thursday in Advent

Isaiah 41:13-20; Psalm 145:1-4,8-13; Matthew 11:7-15

Do not fear, you worm! 

Once again we see that all things are held together in God - anger and love, initiative and response, humility and glory.

Do not fear, you little glob of earth; God is holding your right hand.  With God's help you will overcome.  Even the natural world will open to you in response to your need.  The poor and needy will be satisfied.

When, God?  When?  So many people will die today for lack of safe drinking water.  3.4 million a year, actually.  Around the globe, 780 million people lack access to safe water.  

When?  I imagine God asking us, "When will you stop blocking my abundance?  When will you share with one another, and open to the poor and needy?  When will you stop making others needy to assuage your fears?  I made you stewards.  You tell me when."

Vaclav Havel once said, "Someone has to begin."  Someone has to start the change, reach out across divides, let go of their possessions or armaments or ideas to open what has been closed.  We can't be sure our initiatives will succeed, but we can be sure that opening beyond our fears is God's will for us.  We are not called to single-handed completion of the repair of the world, but we are called to begin.  Each day is a chance to begin again.

Where will you begin today?

Second Wednesday in Advent

Second Wednesday in Advent

Isaiah 40:25-31; Psalm 103:1-10; Matthew 11:28-30

Oh, I need to hear this today!  I need to hear that my strength will be renewed if I wait on God.  Or, as it actually says, that I will renew my strength.  Hmm.  That sounds different.  That sounds like my decision.  Who’s doing the renewing here?

I’m committed to doing yoga five mornings a week.  This weekend I was very busy and then very tired, so I missed two days in a row.  Then Monday came, and I had to do it.  I didn’t want to.  I wanted to stare out the window.  But I did it.  It wasn’t my best, strongest session, but I did it.  I asked God to give me the resolve to do it, and I did it.

Did I renew my strength, or did God renew me?

Does it matter?

Yes, I think it does.  I think I need both perspectives.

When I say God did it, I remember that I am not God, not sufficient unto myself.  I need to remember that.  I need to remember to ask for help.

But when I say I did it, I remember that I am an agent, not just a passive player.  I am a co-creator with God in my life.  God will not force me to do yoga, or pray, or write this blog, or do any of the things that nourish me and strengthen me for ministry.  God will not force me to read the paper or protest injustice or feed the hungry.  So I need to remember to give myself credit, and to hold myself accountable.  We care for and repair the world as stewards.  We aren't in charge, but we are essential.

Those who wait for the LORD shall renew their strength.  Those who watch, those who remember to look for signs of God’s presence, those who actively discern when to do yoga and when to sleep; they shall renew their strength.

What renewal do you need today?  What do you need to do to invite that renewal?  Ask God to help you choose it.

Second Tuesday in Advent

Second Tuesday in Advent

Year B: Amos 5:18-24; Psalm 50:7-15; Matthew 18:12-14

I’ve got a small case of whiplash here.  The Gospel reading sounds gentle and encouraging; if you’re a lost sheep, Jesus will go and find you.  (Of course, if you aren’t lost, you may be angry when Jesus goes off to find me.  That’s a different problem, another kind of lostness.)  

But this Gospel is paired with Micah’s warning about the day of the LORD, a day fraught with danger.  God warns the people that their liturgies and holy days will not save them unless and until the people live in justice and righteousness.  The day of the LORD is something to fear for those who do not repent and turn.

Perhaps the readings fit together after all.  Jesus may go and get that lost sheep, but he doesn’t say what that will be like for the sheep.  If you ever stayed out too late as a teenager, you know what I mean.  Your parents are relieved and rejoice that you made it home safely, but it’s likely they’ll show that relief by smacking you upside the head.  The sheep sees the shepherd and bleats with relief, but the shepherd picks up the sheep and says, “Just wait till we get home!”

Jesus, sometimes I’m so lost I don’t even know what to do.  In the darkness, I light candles and burn incense like smoke signals.  I sing songs to help you find me.  I know it’s not what you’re longing for, but it’s all I know sometimes.  Please, come and save me.  I don’t mind you yelling at me.  Send your prophets, help me repent.  Just don’t leave me out here alone.

Second Monday in Advent

Second Monday in Advent

Isaiah 35:1-10; Psalm 85:8-13; Luke 5:17-26

Where do I start with this story?  Some friends bring a friend to Jesus to be healed of his paralysis.  Jesus offers him healing, but not of the sort that any of them were expecting.  He heals his soul, forgiving his sins.  He does it because of the faith of the group of friends, who carried their friend in and found a way to get him to Jesus. Jesus later heals the man’s paralysis, but for Jesus that is secondary.  He’s trying to prove the harder point, that he can forgive sins.  Everyone who sees the healing is amazed and talks of it, saying “‘We have seen strange things today.”

Which strange things were they talking about?  Was the crowd filled with awe at the healing of body they witnessed, or at the forgiveness they heard?  Were they amazed that one person dared to forgive the sins of another?

Jesus asks, “Which is easier, to say, ‘Your sins are forgiven you,’ or to say, ‘Stand up and walk’?”  Good question.  For some of us, forgiveness seems as remote as the removal of paralysis.  In fact, forgiveness is the removal of paralysis.  it removes the load that holds us immobile, frozen in our scripts and parts.  It restores us to relationships.

I imagine this man, surrounded by a community of friends, paralyzed by his sins and regrets.  His friends have to carry him, to get him to Jesus, to help him find release.  Their faith gives them the strength to hang in with him until he can get on his feet again.

I’ve had friends like that.  How about you?  

I’d like to be a friend like that.  How about you?

At the risk of repeating myself: Forgive, and be forgiven!  We have miracles to witness!

Second Sunday in Advent

Second Sunday in Advent

Isaiah 40:1-11; Psalm 85:1-2,8-13; 2 Peter 3:8-15a; Mark 1:1-8

Today we hear of John the Baptist’s message of preparation.  John told everyone that he was not the main event, but the opening act.  Nonetheless, people streamed to him to be baptized and forgiven.  Did they even hear him telling them about the one who is to come?

And what, exactly, were they seeking in coming?  What do we seek when we confess our sins?  What exactly does forgiveness do for us?

We’ve been so conditioned to think of our relation to God in terms of life after death that it may be hard to see this as John’s contemporaries did.  But if we reflect on what happens when we forgive and are forgiven, we can see why they came.

Forgiveness means a new start.  It’s that simple.  It doesn’t mean the past didn't happen.  It doesn't mean my past actions didn't matter, didn't affect me or others.  It means that the past is no longer running my life.  I’m free again to choose, to create a new future.  I’m free to follow.

This is the beginning of the good news of Jesus Christ.

Jesus called a lot of people who did not follow.  Perhaps some of them were weighted down with the burdens of the past, burdens they would not lay down.  Perhaps some of them had quarreled with a disciple, and wouldn’t travel with that person.  Perhaps some of them had been disappointed by false Messiahs, and could no longer trust themselves to discern the truth of Jesus.  

Others were just daunted by the gaping abyss of freedom.  Like the Jews in Babylon who received Isaiah’s call, some turned away and chose to remain in exile.  They didn’t want to go through the wilderness.  Perhaps they hadn’t forgiven God for letting them be conquered.  

To all of those, and to us, John calls out: come, start afresh!  Yes, it will be hard work.  No, we don’t know what the future looks like, what the day of the Lord will bring.  But come!  Forgive, and be forgiven!  We have miracles to witness!  Come to the waters!

First Saturday in Advent

First Saturday in Advent

Isaiah 30:19-21,23-26; Psalm 147:1-12; Matthew 9:35-10:1,5-8

When I read this Gospel passage, I'm so grateful for the Canaanite woman (Mt 15:21-28)!  I hear Jesus at the beginning of his ministry telling the disciples not to talk to Gentiles or Samaritans, and I cringe.  I want to cry, "Jesus, I'm over here!  Don't ignore me!" But he's not ready.

This is one of the hard truths of the Incarnation.  Jesus became human - fully human.  Not just God in a suit, omniscient and omnipotent and invulnerable.  Jesus became human, not just embodied.  That means he appeared as a specific person in a specific time.  He grew up with specific beliefs and opinions and prejudices, like all humans.  And he had to grow in understanding, like all humans.

Some people need to defend Jesus against his humanity.  When we see places where he reflects the values and assumptions of his culture, especially values we don’t share, it’s tempting to believe that really he didn’t mean it - he was just testing others.  Or, we might insist that if he said it, it’s true and commanded for all time, for after all, he is the Son of God.

Those defenses deny the Incarnation.  If Jesus had a body like mine but not a mind and soul like mine, how does the Incarnation save me?  If he didn’t really suffer limitation all the way down, how does he redeem my limitations?

Jesus humbled himself and shared in our human condition.  He sent out the disciples on a mission that continues today, but it only continues because he learned to expand its scope.  By the end of the Gospel he will tell them to make all nations disciples.  His ability to hear another, to change his mind, is part of the divine spark in him and in us.

As you prepare for the Feast of the Incarnation this year, ask yourself whether you are prepared to let Jesus be fully human as well as fully divine.  As you reflect, remember: only that which Jesus took on has been redeemed.  Don’t, in your rush to protect Jesus, leave yourself (and the rest of us) out in the cold.

First Friday in Advent

First Friday in Advent

Isaiah 29:17-24; Psalm 27:1-6,17-18; Matthew 9:27-31

(Note that psalm verse numbers are from the Book of Common Prayer; NRSV has different numbers)

Short and sweet - and challenging. “Do you believe that I am able to do this?”  “According to your faith it will be done to you.”

The psalmist asks, “What if I had not believed that I should see the goodness of God in the land of the living?”  Jesus’ answer:  “According to your faith it will be done to you.”  

Fortunately for me, sometimes God’s grace exceeds my faith.  God entered my life when I had no faith.  All I had was desperation.  That turned out to be enough.  Then Jesus entered my life when I had no faith in him.  It was done to me beyond my faith, thank God.

Now my faith is deeper.  Experience has piled up examples of what God can do for me and for others.  Yet at each new place, each scary decision or situation, I have to ask again: “Do I believe that you are able to do this?”  

Sometimes, I admit, I have believed, but I’ve been so afraid of change that I would not ask.  I knew that if I asked, it would be done for me, and I knew I wasn’t ready to be done for.

Then something cracks.  Theologians call it “prevenient grace,” this grace that precedes our choices and opens us to make the requests that heal us.  The two blind men in the Gospel - what made them cry out and believe?  That’s prevenient grace.  What made me get on my knees when I didn’t believe in God?  What made me walk into a church years ago and not leave when the Mass started?  What carries me today beyond what I’m certain I’m ready for?  God’s amazing prevenient grace.

Do you believe that Jesus can heal you?  Do you believe you will see the goodness of God in the land of the living?

First Thursday in Advent

First Thursday in Advent

Isaiah 26:1-6; Psalm 118:19-24; Matthew 7:21-27

Is it just me, or does this Gospel passage make you nervous?  

I’m just not sure I’m walking the walk.  I can talk the talk, I can even talk it in ways that might entertain or enlighten you.  But am I walking?  Am I building on rock?

Today is the third day of our quarterly silent retreat.  For three days we try to put aside our work and our conversations in order to listen to God.  I spend time with Scripture, and out in nature.  I try to empty my mind of the daily in order to hear the voices I usually miss.  It’s actually quite new for me to be at the computer during those days, but i believe this writing is part of my retreat.  It’s time with Scripture, time for reflection.

But it can easily degenerate into looking out the window, doing a puzzle just because, or reading beyond the limits of digestion.  I can follow the rules and still miss the point.  

On the other hand, I can ignore some of the practices that do build my foundation because they don’t fit my picture of spiritual practice.  Every morning I write for 15 minutes about something I’m reading or a problem I’m working on.  I plan my meals for the day.  Then I do 30 minutes of yoga, then I wash.  Finally I sit down with Jesus.  Some days i think I’m slacking because I used to spend more time on Scripture.  I neglected to exercise, I didn’t reflect on my life too much, but by gum, I was with Jesus!

Now I see that my daily practices open me to God in ways just as real and profound as sitting and reading.  They are part of my foundation.  They aren’t as dramatic as ecstatic prayer, much less casting out demons; but they center me and make me useful.

In this season of the coming of the immanent God, Emmanuel, God with us, I can begin to see that my picture of “spiritual practice” can still be too focused on the transcendent God at the expense of the God who shows up in daily life.  Today I pray for strength to do my yoga, I begin my writing with gratitude, I read everything as I would Scripture.

What practices do you use to build a foundation?  Which ones no longer serve you?  Which ones do you need to adopt this year?

First Wednesday in Advent

First Wednesday in Advent

Isaiah 25:6-9; Matthew 15:29-39; Psalm 23

Food, glorious food!

Today is Advent banquet day.  Isaiah promises a feast, the psalmist declares that the table is spread, and Jesus feeds 4000 men, plus a multitude of women and children.  Come to the table, all you who hunger!

I can get a little nervous with all this food talk.  Left to my own devices, I will eat way too much.  Point me to a buffet, and I’m in trouble.  I need to plan my food each day to ensure I don’t eat more than I need.  

This is not a problem for most people.  Most people in the world, including many Americans, struggle just to get enough for the next day.  My overeating - and that of so many Americans - represents a real distortion of the earth’s resources, in a way that harms those with too much as well as those without enough.  Diabetes, heart disease, all sorts of troubles are diseases of too muchness.

But I am convinced that my trouble with food, our trouble with food, is not really about having too much.  It’s about the scarcity in my soul that keeps looking in all the wrong places to get fed.  For years I used food, or alcohol, or drugs, or sex (yes, my dears, I said sex) to feed the need in me.  As I encountered God, I could let go of a lot.  When I fell for Jesus, more of me got fed.  But there’s still a place in there that’s scared, a place that thinks I won't get enough.

Jesus comes to show us abundant life.  The miracles are signs of that abundance, but they are just the tip of the iceberg (lettuce).  The real abundance is when our hearts fill, when we open to the abundance of love within and around us.

These days, every meal at our house is a feast.  That’s not because of the rich foods or the wine.  It’s because of the gratitude we bring to the table.  It’s because we come with empty stomachs and open hearts.  We don’t take our food for granted.  Every meal is a miracle.

Who needs feeding today?  Look around.  As you feed others, you will be fed.  If you feel empty or lacking, ask God to fill you with joy and peace.  Thank you for all you do today!

First Tuesday in Advent

First Tuesday in Advent

Isaiah 11:1-10

Isaiah’s words of comfort continue.  Today he promises the Messiah, the descendant of David who will rule with justice and equity, bringing not only political peace, the absence of war, but cosmic peace - lions and lambs lying down together, little children safe and leading the animals.

The whole first week of Advent sounds like this - promises, promises.  Read as promises, they lack a certain punch for me.  I may like the sound of them, but can I believe them?  When, God, is this going to happen?  Is this just a rotten joke, or a missed opportunity, or what?

But then I think, it’s not exactly a promise.  It’s a possibility.  I don’t mean possibility like “it’s possible for the US to end gun violence,” or “it’s possible I’ll win the lottery.”  I don’t mean possibility as something in the future, something to work for or ward off.  Peace is a possibility right here, right now, when we stand for it.  When we become people of peace, peace enters the world.  

This is not a matter of advocating for peace in the political realm.  You may do that, and that’s good.  But the way I’m using possibility here, it’s not advocacy.  It’s standing for peace, being peace.  It’s how we go about everything we do, including our advocacy.  

***heresy alert****

What if you are the Messiah?  What if you are the answer to Isaiah’s dreams, as you make the possibility of peace and justice the place where you live?

Isaiah prophesied, not to tell people what was going to happen like a news report, but to get them to turn to God and change their ways.  He opened them to the possibility of being that peaceable realm.  Today he opens us again.

Don’t tell me you can’t.  We all stand for something, one way or another.  We all make the world.  

What world will you stand for today?

First Monday in Advent

Readings: Isaiah 2:1-5; Psalm 122

We need Isaiah's words all the time, but in this time I especially ache with the desire for reconciliation.  The dream of peace, of all people streaming to the Divine love, is in stark contrast to our contemporary world.  Can we dare to hope?  Can we break through the legacy of racial hatred and suspicion in the U.S.?  Can we end the ruthless killing and torture and enslavement that runs across the globe?  Can Jerusalem ever be a source of peace and respect?

In this season of anticipation, we must do more than wait for others to act.  We must be part of what Marcus Borg has called "participatory eschatology," in which we are part of the fulfillment of God's dream of shalom.  We must begin.

What can you do?  You can pray for real peace, for mutual understanding and forbearance.  You can tell others you're doing this, and invite them to join you.  You can donate to Episcopal Peace Fellowship or other groups devoted to peace, and give those donations as gifts to those you love.  You can form a peace and justice committee in your church.  You can volunteer at a domestic violence shelter.  You can let others have your parking space at the mall.  You can vote.  You can even buy gifts: http://www.fromwartopeace.com sells jewelry made from disarmed nuclear weapons.

Come, let us go up to Ferguson, to Baghdad, to Kabul, to Moscow, as to the house of our God, that we may learn God's ways and walk in her paths.  Let us go to Jerusalem, together, to live out God's dream.  Let us make our towns and cities a new Jerusalem, the city of peace.