January 15: Martin Luther King Day

Second Sunday in Epiphany

Isaiah 49:1-7; 1 Corinthians 1:1-9; John 1:29-42

We had a great discussion at Coffee Table Communion this Friday, centered around this passage from Isaiah.  I had never really noticed the image of the servant speaker as a polished arrow in God's quiver.  After our Advent retreat on darkness and light, I see the quiver as a sort of womb.  The servant is a precious instrument, saved for a special purpose.

But the servant doesn't see that.  The servant feels like a failure, sees all his effort going to nothing.  And I think of the many people who have struggled for years to bring social justice and climate awareness to our attention, who have labored to feed and equip and honor others, who fear that all their efforts have been in vain.  I think of feminists of my generation who see women still abused and underpaid and overworked, of advocates for racial justice who see us sliding into new pits of old evil, of those who depend on others for their very survival who are watching the social fabric fray under them.  And I hear the servant: "I have labored in vain."

And now God says, "I will give you as a light to the nations, that my salvation may reach to the ends of the earth."  The promise stands, and expands.  The servant can't see the fruit of her labor, but the prophet calls her - calls us - to be faithful and steadfast and stand in hope.

This doesn't mean that we are going to see better times, or times that look better.  It means that God's picture is painted in colors I can't see, on a scope I can't grasp.  But I can trust that I am beloved, and aimed at a purpose.  God called me before I was born, and called you.  Time in the quiver is designed, like a womb, for maturation and strengthening.  There will come a time for each of us to find our voice, to speak clearly and strongly on behalf of the reign of God.  Perhaps that time is now.

Blessed Martin Luther King Jr., pray for us.

January 13

I'm back; did you miss me?  I had a wonderful retreat, filled with peace and new insight.  It's a real blessing to take retreat at the turning of the year.  Each year I review the year past, and I ask God to lead me into the new year.  I make a declaration about what that year will be for me - it's a way of focusing my attention, sometimes at an unconscious level. 

A declaration is not a resolution.  I can make and break those at record speed, and be discouraged when I fail or falter.  A declaration is about who I am, who I show up as.  Intentions around actions follow from my declaration.  Last year my declaration was “I am the healing power of love.”  And all year that showed up for me: not only as me bringing more love to others, but also being healed by love.  Declarations don’t always work in a linear way.  Being, not doing.  

This year, 2017, I’m keeping that declaration; I’m still working on healing through love.  But I’ve named the Year of Availability.  I want to be more available to people I know and love, and to people who come into my life.  I tend to fill up my calendar to where I'm not available to those spontaneous moments where God shows up, so part of this intention is cutting back on calendar appointments.  Ironic, isn't it?  In order to say yes, to be more available, I have to say no to a lot of things my ego thinks is a good idea.  I can already feel myself relaxing.  I still have the same things to do, and they will get done, but in a less driven way.  

Availability isn't just about my calendar, of course.  The deeper issue is my emotional and spiritual availability.  My intention is to be more open, more available to what others are saying and feeling.  This is important to me personally, but I'm also feeling urgent about availability on behalf of CMA.  2017 looks to be the year when others start to consider residential vocations with us, and I dearly want to be available to them.  It is my deepest desire to see a residential community, vowed and covenanted, temporary and life-long, living this joyful journey together.  I don't want to miss people who might be part of this dream, nor can we afford for me to be so driven about it that I can't discern well with those who approach.  So this year I'm declaring myself available - to God speaking in me and through others, and to you.  Let's see what happens!

Is there a declaration you want to make, a stand you want to take this year?  Who will you be in 2017?

January 6: The Epiphany

Isaiah 60:1-6; Psalm 72:1-7, 10-14; Ephesians 3:1-12; Matthew 2:1-12

“Arise, shine, for your light has come, and the glory of the LORD has risen upon you.”

No matter what.  No matter that today you’re sick, and the power has gone out in a storm, and you're alone.  No matter that you fought with your best friend, your spouse, your lover.  No matter that the church you count on to radiate glory is fallen into disrepair and despair.  No matter that the bills are sitting in a pile.  No matter what, your light has come.  Arise, shine.  If you can’t arise, then sit and shine, lie down and shine; but shine.  The glory of the LORD has risen upon you, and no one can take it from you.  No government, no bank, no boss, no court; no priest or minister; no one.  It’s here, now, waiting for you.  It’s a treasure beyond gold, and incense, and myrrh, beyond a bulging bank account, beyond your health.  It’s a treasure beyond life as you know it.  And no one, no thing, can separate you from it.

Give thanks today for the gifts you have received, and those you have been able to give.  Give thanks for the glory, for the light, and for the darkness that lets you see your need.  Give thanks.

We will be in silence from tomorrow until January 12.  I will be switching off all devices.  I’ll be back on January 13.  This has become my own version of lectio divina, so I plan to continue (with occasional absences).  Thank you for walking through Advent and Christmas with me!  May you be blessed on your journey, not stopping until you reach the one your heart longs for.

January 5

1 John 3:11-18; Psalm 100; John 1:43-51

Ouch!  I feel challenged by John’s letter.  “We know that we have passed from death to life because we love one another.  Whoever does not love abides in death.”

I love to hear the promise of abundant life, and to call others to new and abundant life.  But it’s easy for me to overlook what is needed for that to happen.  It can sound like a consumer good - “get your abundant life here!”  It can be preached that way.  But John is right.  Any life that focuses only on me and my needs is not only not abundant; at some point it shades into death.  

John is prone to either/or thinking, so his only alternative to love is hate.  I’m not so binary.  I think there are shades between these.  Yet his point is taken.  The more we love, the more we live.  The more I withhold, the less I have.  Long before I get to active hatred, I have withdrawn my concern and goodwill and affection for others.  Then, when hatred pokes its head in the door, I mistake it for a friend.  I think, “Someone understands me.”  “Someone isn’t judging me for being angry or resentful.”  But that someone is death.  It grins at me and tells me I am fabulous, I don’t deserve to be frustrated or denied anything.  It tells me that my life would be great if only those others got out of my way or did my bidding.  It lies.

Abundant life means abundant love.  Jesus conquers death by smothering it with love.  He walked into it full of love, and transformed it by the alchemy of his love.  He invites me to do the same.

I admit it.  I’m afraid to lay down my life for another.  I’m afraid of the expense of buying fair trade products and food that doesn't kill the earth, I’m afraid of the emotional toil of living and caring for others who won’t always be who I want them to be, I’m afraid of reaching out to people I don’t know or who are radically different from me.  But I’m more afraid, in the end, of missing my chance for what Jesus knows.  I’m more afraid of losing my chance for life.

Come, let us pass from death to life.  Let us love, not in word or speech, but in truth and action.

January 4

1 John 3:7-10; Psalm 98:1-2, 8-10; John 1:35-42

“What do you want?”  

Peter Block stresses the importance of good questions for building community.  Good questions demand engagement: they need to be “ambiguous, personal, and stressful.”  They take us to accountability and commitment, to vulnerability and possibility.

Jesus asks, “What do you want?”  It’s a great question.  It calls for vulnerability, for sharing deep desire.  The disciples don’t do so well with it - they’re still protecting themselves.  They answer, “Where are you staying?”  That’s not what they want, or want to know.  They want abundance of life, meaning, community, hope.  That’s why they’re following John.  Now they want to know why John points at Jesus.  But they aren’t ready to ask.  If they ask, they will be accountable for what they do with the answer.  They will be forced to choose whether or not to follow, even if only down the street.

Block says that questions are more powerful than answers, because answers close doors rather than opening them.  So what is Jesus to do?  His answer is not an answer.  He continues to invite the disciples into choice and commitment: “Come and see.”

Here we are in a new year.  It’s a great time to wonder.  More than a plan, more than resolutions, the beginning of the year calls for good questions.  Soon we will take our winter retreat, and the wondering will gather steam.

What do you want?

January 3

1 John 3:1-6; Psalm 98:1-2, 4-7; John 1:29-34

“Even that which has been the means of our making progress - if we are too intent on holding on to it, possessing, and reifying it - can be transformed into an obstacle and a brake.  It can become an instrument of mediocrity that prevents us from advancing in our experience, both as Christians and as human beings.”  - Raimon Panikkar, The Experience of God

Part of John’s brilliance lies in his awareness of this truth.  He knows he’s been called, and that he’s been faithful, but he also knows that he is not the end of the road.  He knows that there’s more for his disciples than he can teach them.  He points them to Jesus for the next stage.

But then the stumbling block.  As John’s Gospel and letters make clear, for him - and for many other Christians since then - the last word has been spoken.  Jesus, as we understand him right now (or as we have translated him since King James, or the Council of Trent, or Jerome, or in the earliest Gospels) is the end that becomes a stumbling block.  The God that Jesus manifests is made into an object, a person with the qualities attributed to “Him” by people long ago, and our loyalty to that object and those qualities becomes the mark of our faithfulness.  Without meaning to, our desire to follow faithfully becomes a barrier.

This weekend I met a priest whose vision of God is expanding beyond what he understands, and he’s afraid.  I’ve been afraid of the same thing, and it was comforting to know that I’m not alone.  And when I hear him, and read these words from Panikkar, I know it’s a good sign to be at the end of the familiar road.  John knows that.  Jesus knows it.  I’m in good company.

Where are you opening to something new and unfamiliar in your life?  Pray for the courage to let it unfold.  You are not alone.  I’ll be praying with you.

January 2

1 John 2:22-29; Psalm 98:1-5; John 1:19-28

"Who are you?"  The people who came to John weren't asking his name, if by name we mean "John." They are asking, what are you?  What part do you play in the world?  And behind that they're asking, should we listen to you?  Are you a problem, or the answer to our prayers?  As they ask about baptism we hear, Who do you think you are, doing this?  What should we make of you?

John gives an answer like a Zen koan: "I am a voice crying in the wilderness: prepare the way of the LORD."  We are not to look for the source of the voice, but to listen to what it says.  But of course, usually when we hear a cryptic message we want to know about the messenger.  Why should I listen to this one?  What credentials or authority do they have for this message?  That's a reasonable request.  When we're listening for God, however, reason can be a stumbling block.    I'm waiting for credentials and missing God's call.  In fact, the demand for credentials can be a way of ignoring the call, delaying or looking for a loophole.

Some questions for you today:

Where have you heard a voice crying in the wilderness?  Did you listen?  What did it say?

Who are you?  If someone asked you for an account, what would you say?