Ash Wednesday

Joel 2:1-2,12-17; Psalm 103; 2 Corinthians 5:20b-6:10; Matthew 6:1-6,16-21

Bless the LORD, O my soul!

What a good way to begin the season of Lent.  Psalm 103 reminds us of our mortality, but only to compare our limits to God’s unfailing goodness and love.  Episcopalians and many others will recite Psalm 51 at church, and will confess their sins, but even there the deeper message is God’s faithfulness and compassion.  God desires our return, and breathes a sigh of relief when we bless God in our turn.

Bless the LORD, O my soul, and forget not all God’s benefits (103:2): forgiveness, healing, redemption, satisfaction.  Sometimes those may be absent, or delayed.  We can get mad at God then and turn away, and do our best to either get these things by our own power or do without them.  Neither of those strategies will work for long.  By ourselves, we are not enough.

Walter Wink reminds us that between our prayer and God’s response we also encounter the powers that would thwart that loving will, and it may take a long time to overcome them.  We need to keep knocking, and praying, and blessing.

I recently read of a woman who was trying to learn to pray.  She asked God, “How should I pray?”  Immediately she heard the response: “Pray thanking, not asking.”  She gave thanks, then wondered about the people and situations that needed help so badly.  Could she not pray for them?  Again came the answer: “Pray thanking, not asking.”  So she thanked God for caring for those people, for giving her the will to care, for all the little actions and interventions that serve as signs of love in hard times.

The world is hurting.  We ourselves arrive at prayer with hurts and wounds, and with the weight of the hurts and wounds we inflict on others.  Today, we can release them into the loving arms of God.  And give thanks.  And bless.

Bless the LORD, O my soul!

February 28: The End of Epiphany

Tonight we take down the lights that have brightened the living room and chapel since Christmas.  I welcome the increasing natural light, but I know that it is a clearer and sometimes harsher light than the twinkling lights I’ve enjoyed.  Some days the light of reality is almost blinding, and other days it seems to hide entirely and leave me in darkness and gloom.  With the coming of Lent, we let go of some artificial security and turn toward life in all its stark beauty.

Tomorrow we begin the journey toward the greatest epiphany, the fullest manifestation of God among us.  We will see the deeper transfiguration of human mortality and sin into glory and reconciliation.  But we won’t see it all at once.  Tomorrow we start on the road, not knowing - no matter how many Lents we have lived - what lies further down the road.  We only know that we are called to leave our safe lights, the little lights of our own devising, and follow the Light that cannot be overcome.

If you’re headed to a Mardi Gras party or a pancake supper, enjoy!  We will have our own little version here.  And as you enjoy the comforts of this night, give thanks for the deeper delight that awaits you in April.  

I’m excited that Elizabeth will be joining me for the occasional blog post this Lent, along with who knows who else?  Perhaps you too will find your voice in prayer and thanksgiving this spring.

Companions' February Newsletter link

Check it out!

http://conta.cc/2mvTvVi

February 23

I’m preparing for our Lenten Quiet Day by reading Walter Wink’s The Powers That Be, on ending the cycle of violence in our theology and our cultures.  Wink writes from a position of practical theology, as one who practiced everything he’s writing: he marched in Selma and spent the rest of his life teaching and practicing peaceful resistance to “the powers.”  Unfortunately, these days we need his words more than ever; fortunately, we have them.  If you are looking for a Lenten book to read, I recommend it.

Our Quiet Day is organized around the theme of “putting on the armor of God,” an image from Ephesians 6.  It can be off-putting for those of us who want to disavow violence, but it’s an important image for Wink and for all who hope to “withstand on that evil day.”  As we go through the list of elements of that armor, it becomes clear that the only offensive “weapon” we have is “the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God” (Eph. 6:17).  The concrete practice he recommends is prayer.

One of the greatest lies of the “powers” is what Wink called “the myth of redemptive violence,” the belief that only violence can overcome injustice, and that somehow my violence will end the cycle of oppression.  Through that lie the powers stay in power, changing their faces and names but remaining the same.  Wink urges us to see the powers themselves as both good and fallen, and as open to redemption.  In short: like us.  Just as we see the powers at work in individuals and in groups, we need to look for God’s creation in the face of evil.

As we move toward Lent, we are reminded of the glory that we have in “clay jars” (2 Cor. 4:7), our fragile and vulnerable human body/souls.  I pray that we will see the glory and the fragility, and honor both in one another and ourselves.  I pray that these times will see the renewal of a community of hope and justice.  I invite you to join me in seeding that community.  

May you know yourself, and others, to be blessed and a blessing.

Sermon: Seventh Sunday in Epiphany

Leviticus 19:1-2,9-18; Psalm 119:33-140; 1 Corinthians 3:10-11,16-23; Matthew 5:38-48

The Sermon on the Mount is one of the key texts in Christian tradition.  We’ve all heard it, and we know we’re supposed to like it and live by it, but I don’t know many people who feel inspired and energized by it.  It’s bookended in our reading by this passage from Leviticus.  The two passages together challenge us to examine our lives and our society, and to question what we think we know about power and holiness, and about God.

Many of us were raised with this Gospel thrown at us: “Be perfect.”  “Turn the other cheek.”  “Love your enemies.”  We weren’t taught how to understand these, or why Jesus says them, so they became burdens rather than the empowering message he intended.  My hope today is that we might come away seeing this as the path of life, the path of union with God.

Leviticus gives us a code for living among our neighbors, and many of its provisions make sense.  If we steal and lie and slander one another, social chaos results.  If I’m not trustworthy, I won’t trust you, and we can’t make any plans together or build anything.  It’s just common sense, even though it can be hard sometimes not to take vengeance.  For some of us, it’s hard to confront another, but the Scripture says we have a responsibility to  point out where another is going wrong.  The social fabric is endangered when wrongdoers are tolerated.

But some of these provisions provoke resistance in our society.  Leaving your gleanings for the poor does not fit with an economy or a society that insists that everyone is responsible only to himself or to her family.  Here too, though, there’s common sense as well as compassion.  If people are starving, they are likely to be angry and violent.  Crime follows extreme poverty.  So sharing is actually the prudent course as well as the compassionate one.

It’s important to note, however, that Leviticus isn’t just about common sense.  Each provision we hear is backed by the reminder: “I am the LORD.”  We’re reminded that our call is not just to be safe and sane, but to be holy, as God is holy.  We are to live this way whether we feel like it or not; in fact, if we could be counted on to feel like it, we wouldn’t need the reminder!  No, as Paul tells us, we are God’s temple, and that temple is holy.  What we do, how we live together, either builds up the temple or destroys it.  And when we destroy the temple, we destroy ourselves.  

Jesus’ command to be perfect also grows out of the place where practical reality meets God’s desire for us.  Leviticus was written for a people with tight borders and ethnic and religious homogeneity.  The same law that taught them how to treat one another taught them to exclude others.  But the world of Jesus’ time didn’t allow for that kind of boundary.  Every day Jews had to confront non-Jews: Jerusalem was a melting pot, if not the New York City of its day at least its Boston.  The Jews were faced with an occupying army of non-Jews, as well as pilgrims who honored their God but weren't Jews by birth, and merchants and traders of all races and religions.  Hating your enemies could become a full-time occupation in such a place.

Jesus knew what it was like to be subject to a foreign power, as well as the rich and powerful of his own people.  

He is answering the question of how to be fully human, fully empowered, in a context not of our choosing.  How, when others treat you as an object, do you continue to be a human?  And how, in a culture where everyone thinks that violence is the solution to problems, do you stop the cycle of violence?

Jesus tells us to act like children of God no matter what.  

Act like children of the one who loves you.  

Claim your humanity.  

Disarm your opponent by refusing to resist force with force.  

Obey when you have to, but do it in such a way that it becomes your free choice.  Walk another mile, by choice.  Give everything, by choice.  

Shame the oppressor by acting like a free human being.  

And do good.  Pray for your enemies and persecutors, not because God will strike them down in answer to your prayers but because that is what children of God do.

Jesus does not seek to turn the power structure upside down, to put new oppressors in place of the old.  He seeks a transformation of the whole society, and an end to the cycle of violence and oppression.  He knows that we cannot wait for the other person to go first, and we cannot wait for it to be safe.  For the sake of our humanity, for our souls, we have to go first.

Throughout the twentieth century we witnessed the power of non-violent resistance.  It is not a tool for cowards: Gandhi once said that, “Where there is only a choice between cowardice and violence, I would advise violence.”  Non-violence takes courage.  Humility takes courage.  Listening takes courage.

In our current society, we see the fruit of the myth of redemptive violence: assassination, terrorism, mass shootings.   And before we reach the level of killing, we learn that anger brings power, that violent speech is a sign of strength.  We learn that turning the other cheek and loving your enemies is for chumps.  But that is not the wisdom of Jesus.   It is the “wisdom” of the world that Paul exposes as foolishness.  

The wisdom of Jesus takes us to the cross.  It looks like failure and weakness.  But the cross is the sign of Jesus’ humanity and his power.  The oppressor could kill his body, but they could not erase his humanity.  No one else can take that from us.

We are currently living in a sea of anger.  Families are at odds, friends are cutting off friends, fear and anger are everywhere.  And it looks to be that way for a while.

These are the days when we need to listen to Jesus’ words.  Non-violence and love for our enemies are not luxury goods.  They are basic necessities if we are to go forward together.  We cannot wait for others to go first.  We are the ones called to follow Jesus.  We are the ones called to walk to the cross, with the promise of new life beyond it.  We, each of us, is called to be fully human.  May we be open to that call and that promise, and may we find the way of the cross to be the way of life and peace.  Amen.

February 19: Seventh Sunday in Epiphany

I’m preaching and presiding tomorrow at a church I haven’t been to before.  My sermon will be posted tomorrow.  But I want to write now about the current atmosphere in which preaching happens.  Our society is so charged with anger and fear that it can be paralyzing.  Even in milder times clergy can get nervous about bringing a message to the people: someone might get offended, and cut their pledge or walk out entirely.  Better to not rock the boat.  Some people are blessed with congregations that want to be challenged, but we can’t assume it.

How much more, now?  And how much more, when I don’t know this congregation?  I’m filling in while they’re between priests, but I hope that this will be the beginning of a relationship with those who want a deeper encounter with God in the way the Companions can bring.  We’re scheduled to preach and preside for them through Holy Week into Easter.  What if my message is not welcome there?

Now, I think my message is pretty tame.  I’m walking a line, trying to talk to everyone.  But you just never know anymore who is going to think you’re blaming them or pointing the finger.  There’s poison in the air, and we have to face into it.  We need to put on the armor of God (blatant plug for our upcoming Quiet Day), and continue to be faithful.

I don’t even know if i should be sharing this on this page, but I want those of you who sit and listen to know what’s up for a lot of preachers these days.  I know I’m not alone; I hear it.  Please pray for me, and for all preachers, during these days of division and pain.  Pray that we may be faithful, and that our congregations may hear God’s word through our clumsy phrases.

February 12: Sixth Sunday in Epiphany

Deuteronomy 30:15-20; Psalm 119:1-8; 1 Corinthians 3:1-9; Matthew 5:21-37

“Happy are they whose way is blameless, who walk in the law of the LORD!” (119:1).

At Coffee Table Communion this week we talked about the way of life that Moses sets before the people.  When he tells them to “choose life,” he means for them to keep the many commandments he has just given them.  Pages and pages of rules, of restrictions and mandates.  It can sound exhausting.  But he says to the people, “Surely, this commandment that I am commanding you today is not too hard for you” (Dt. 30:11).  It is meant to be not a burden but a blessing.  As we say in 12-Step rooms, it is the “easier, softer way” once we understand it.

In the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus continues to deepen this way.  And once again, it looks like more burden.  Not only are we not to murder; we are not even to rest in our anger and rancor.  We are to be faithful in our relationships (OK, the whole passage on divorce deserves another post, I know, but we are called to be faithful).  We are to be honest and trustworthy without a lot of fuss.  He’s setting a high bar here.  But later he says his yoke is easy, and his burden in light (Mt. 11:30).  What does he mean?

You know, in your heart.  The way of Jesus is demanding, but the rewards are enormous.  The way of anger and rampant desire is the way to death.  If you aren’t convinced, look at our current political situation.  Do the principal actors in that drama look to you like they’re happy and free?  They sure don’t to me. 

In Jesus’ upside-down world, the meek do inherit what matters.  The peacemakers are blessed.  The pure of heart see God.  The merciful receive mercy.  Those who forgive, who reconcile with their companions, are set free.  It looks like a lot of work, and it is.  But it is the path of life, and hope, and freedom.

We don't choose this way or walk this road alone.  We are propelled and supported by God and our companions.  If you think this work is all up to you, think again.  You are surrounded by a great cloud of witnesses who are praying for you and with you, walking the road alongside you.  And you, as you walk, become part of that cloud for others.

May you be blessed today and every day on the path of life.  

February 9

Mark 7:24-30

This is the Gospel appointed for the daily Eucharist, and it’s a wonderful passage to spend time with.  

Go here to look it up:  http://bible.oremus.org/?ql=353583380 

For you cheaters, this is the story of the Syro-Phoenician woman who talked back to Jesus and taught him about mercy and inclusion: lessons that our world sorely needs right now.  Her daughter is in dire need, and Jesus refuses to heal her because she’s not “our kind.”  He’s not concerned for her.  He builds a wall around his heart, around Judea and Galilee.  He wants to make America - oh, sorry, Israel - great again.  Even though he’s a guest in a foreign country, he disdains the local people.  He sounds like an American tourist!

But the woman isn’t taking no for an answer.  She doesn’t insist that he recognize her humanity; she just asks for the crumbs under the table.  She knows that Jesus has more healing in him than he seems to be aware of.  Jesus is living in an economy of scarcity, but she sees abundance.  There’s enough for the “children” and the “dogs” together.  

It’s extraordinary that Jesus responds to her.  He has just been extremely rude and dismissive, but her simple response changes everything for him.  What does he see?

Years ago I went to a lecture given by a famous French philosopher.  Like many people, I had brought one of his books and I got in line for him to sign it.  He was known for his sympathy for men over women, and I was the only woman in line.  He signed all the men’s books, but when he got to me he demurred.  He pleaded weariness and said, “If I sign this for you, I have to sign for everyone.”  I said, “No, you don’t.”  He looked at me, smiled a little, and signed the book.  I think I was the last one to get a book signed; I can’t be certain.

I always thought that he signed because I was audacious enough to say, “You don’t have to be fair or universal.  Just sign my book.  I’m in your face.”  I don’t know why he signed it; I just like to think that I got through his prepared excuse.  

I think that’s what happened with Jesus and this woman.  He had his excuse prepared, his wall built, and she just got under it and surprised him.  In his surprise he could see her humanity, and respond.

Is there someplace you’ve been building walls or fences?  Has there been a time when you bypassed someone else’s security system to become a child of God for another?  Go, be bold today.  Ask Jesus for what you need.  It’s not too much to claim the crumbs; there really is enough for us all, if we share.

February 7: Climb Every Mountain!

We’ve been praying for the people and places to further God’s purpose, and it’s starting to gain momentum.  People are coming: we have our first serious aspirants to vowed community life, as well as a group of solid, devoted friends and collaborators who share our dream.  The places are starting to emerge:  we put down an offer on a big old worn-out house, a place with the potential to really welcome a lot of people in a variety of ways.  We won’t hear for a while whether our offer is accepted, but even getting that far is a stunning step.  We could only do it because we deepened in clarity about the third part of that prayer: furthering God’s purpose.

Elizabeth and I took vows of conversion of life through poverty, chastity, and obedience.  We understand poverty to be simplicity of life, mindful of the difference between needs and wants, trying to repair some of the gross inequality and pain of our economy.  And we do live more simply than many people we know; fewer clothes, less meat, less entertainment.  But we still live very comfortably.  And it’s been grating.  

When we saw this place, we weren’t impressed.  It needs a lot of work, and we were intimidated.  But it has the potential to house us much more simply, and to share what we have more readily.  And we don’t want to hoard, building up a big bank account while there’s ministry to be done and people in need.  

Years ago I realized that my greatest fear was not that I would “fail” or be poor; my greatest fear was that I would die without ever really following Jesus.  This house has the potential to help me really follow Jesus, to risk a lot for something big.  I am daunted, even terrified, at the thought of finding the money to pay it off; but this is a dream worth being terrified for.  And under the fear, the ego layer of fear, is deep peace and gratitude.  We are leaping, further each time, toward the loving arms of Jesus.

This is what we all need and deserve: As the Mother Superior sang in The Sound of Music, “A dream that will need all the love you can give, every day of your life for as long as you live.”  I pray that you may have a dream as big as this, and the courage to live it out.  And please pray for us, and for God’s will to be done.

February 5: Fifth Sunday in Epiphany

Isaiah 58:1-12; Psalm 112; 1 Corinthians 2:1-16; Matthew 5:13-20

Do you remember last Sunday?  No matter; the message remains the same.

“Is not this the fast that I choose: to loose the bonds of injustice, to undo the thongs of the yoke, to let the oppressed go free, and to break every yoke?  Is it not to share your bread with the hungry, and bring the homeless poor into your house; when you see the naked, to cover them, and not to hide yourself from your own kin? . . . If you remove the yoke from among you, the pointing of the finger, the speaking of evil, if you offer your food to the hungry and satisfy the needs of the afflicted, then your light shall rise in the darkness and your gloom be like the noonday.” 

Here’s a dilemma: how to name what others do without “pointing the finger”?  Our Covenant Companions spent the last two months on a theological reflection on judgment.  Are we to judge, or not?  How are we to judge?  What’s the difference between being judgmental and being discerning?  It was a powerful conversation.

For me, part of the answer is humility.  If I point at you without acknowledging where I share those faults and sins, I’m contributing to the chaos.  That is when I “speak evil.”  I need to be clear that I share the temptations of others; I need to call myself to repent as well as you.

But if I fail to name what is in front of me for fear of being “found to be a sinner,” I’m also lacking in humility.  I’m trying to hide my faults by hiding my judgment, and in doing so I hide my light (Matthew 5:14).  Letting my light shine means letting all of me be seen, good and bad, in the service of the true Light.  Hiding my light means getting in the way of God’s plan and choosing the darkness.  And we can’t afford that.  I can’t afford that.

Jesus came not to abolish the law, but to fulfill it through love of God and neighbor.  In these days of finger pointing, evil speaking, and oppression and injustice, we need to be able to name what we see without letting ourselves off the hook.  Current events in the US have deep roots in our national history, and they are not new in the history of humans.  We are all in this.  Those of us who are looking for the light have our agenda before us.  

Remove the yoke where you find it.  

Offer food, and satisfy the needs of the afflicted.

Stop pointing and speaking evil - but do name injustice and oppression, as our common inheritance.

Donald Trump wants to make America great again.  I want it to be great for the first time, more deeply than ever before.  I don’t believe his path leads to greatness; as Paul says, the wisdom of God is foolishness to the rulers of this age.  So I will stand in God’s wisdom, with the crucified Lord of glory.  

Where will you stand?

February 2: The Presentation of Our Lord

Malachi 3:1-4; Psalm 24; Hebrews 2:14-18; Luke 2:22-40

“Since, therefore, the children share flesh and blood, he himself likewise shared the same things, so that through death he might destroy the one who has the power of death, that is, the devil, and free those who all their lives were held in slavery by the fear of death. For it is clear that he did not come to help angels, but the descendants of Abraham. Therefore he had to become like his brothers and sisters in every respect, so that he might be a merciful and faithful high priest in the service of God, to make a sacrifice of atonement for the sins of the people. Because he himself was tested by what he suffered, he is able to help those who are being tested.”

In every respect.  Like us in every respect.  He was not exempt from suffering, and his suffering was like ours.  That means not only that he suffered oppression and hardship; to be like us in every respect he must have battled with envy and anger and gluttony and self-doubt and . . .  

We don’t like to think of Jesus this way.  I was raised to think that Jesus never felt this stuff; he was “like us, but without sin.”  But this way is more comforting, and more powerful.  He did feel all that I feel, and he moved through it and beyond it to become Jesus the Messiah.  I suspect that he still feels some of what I feel, those emotions that the Gospels tell us he felt: compassion, but also anger at oppression and distortion of human life; love, and anguish for victims; desire, holy and perhaps not so much.  He was like us in every respect, and so he can help us.

How, exactly, can he help?  The author of Hebrews say he’s a faithful and merciful high priest, making atonement for us.  This is not my favorite concept, as it’s been distorted over the years to reinforce the image of a God who keeps accounts and demands payment.  But Jesus does make us at one with God by showing us how, as humans rather than angels, we can be restored to the image of God.  By dying to self, by letting go of the fear that drives so much of our sin, he shows us the way home to God.  

The path opens up.  It leads through sacrifice, making holy, atoning for what I have done wrong and turning again to God.  It passes through all the hardships of life, through the many small deaths as well as the big gate.  It leads to life free of fear, free in the face of death.

Today Jesus is presented at the Temple, and recognized as the one we are waiting for.  Present yourself today, as you are, and ask Jesus to help you become what God intends for you.  And rejoice!  Your eyes are seeing the Savior, if you look with an open heart.

February 1: Happy St. Brigid's Day!

A prayer for every day.

This morning, as I kindle the fire of my hearth, I pray that the flame of God's love may burn in my heart, and the hearts of all I meet today.

I pray that no envy and malice, no hatred or fear, may smother the flame.

I pray that indifference and apathy, contempt and pride, may not pour like cold water on the fire.

Instead, may the spark of God's love light the love in my heart, that it may burn brightly through the day.

And may I warm those that are lonely, whose hearts are cold and lifeless, so that all may know the comfort of God's love.

- traditional Celtic prayer