In the Boat

 I keep thinking about last Sunday's Gospel (Matthew 14:22-33).  There's just so much in this story.  It's easy to make it into a simple point:  Get out of the boat!  Trust Jesus!  But going to "the point" cuts out so much that's worth pondering.

Why does Jesus send the disciples on ahead?  There's no one answer.  Today I'm going with: the whole thing is an experiment, for them to see what life is like without him.  They set off, and things get hard: the wind blows against them.  They row harder.  It's not working.  At this point they're not afraid; they're just tired and stressed.

Then Jesus comes strolling along.  He's not struggling.  He's cruising.  Now they're afraid: this makes no sense.  Is that a ghost?  He says no, it's me.  Peter isn't sure, but he's willing to be convinced: if it's you, command me to do what you're doing.

Now, I love this moment.  It sounds like a test, and in a way it is, but if Peter didn't already believe somehow he wouldn't risk meeting the challenge.  A demon could command him to get out of the boat, and he'd be fish food.  But when Jesus says "Come," he does.  He already believes that this is Jesus, albeit doing things he's never seen him do.  He doesn't follow perfectly, but he does follow.  He gets to experience walking on water.  I bet he remembers this after Jesus has left.

The other disciples don't even try to get out of the boat.  They, not Peter, are the ones of "little faith."  They'd rather stay in their boat than risk following Jesus in this crazy way.  Row, row, row.  Keep trying.  Do what makes sense.

The other night I dreamed I was driving a truck.  It was older, beaten up, but functional.  I turned onto a road that got really bad quite quickly, but I trusted the truck, and I trusted my ability to drive the truck through this bad spot.  But suddenly the road ended, washed out.  Before me was a pool, almost a pond. There was no way forward for the truck, or for me, unless I swam.  I tried to back out, and the front of the truck - the drive mechanism, the engine - came off and stayed stuck in the mud.  I knew I'd have to walk back out.  That's where the dream ended.

Truck.  Boat.  It's the same thing.  I think I can drive this puppy, I can handle the rough road on my own with my old familiar tools.  But I'm ignoring the signs telling me this road is a mess.  I pass two people who watch me go by.  For all I know they could have helped me, but I'm certain I can do this.  I'm in my boat/truck: I've got this!  Until I don't.

For me this week, Matthew is talking about the contrast between rowing on my own and walking with Jesus.  Jesus knows the easier, softer way.  It involves a lot of prayer, a close connection to God.  Both ways involve effort, but in the end Jesus' way works when mine doesn't.

Now I'm walking back out to a more open, stable place, and asking God to direct me.  Show me where to go, and how.  I will do my best to listen and follow.  How about you?

Come, Let us Sing to our God!

 

Holy Currents

I'm reading Eric Law's book, Holy Currencies, while attending the Kaleidoscope Institute annual conference (via Zoom, of course).  When I read the daily office reading from Acts yesterday (3:-1-11), I was reminded of what he says about currencies.

Law explains that the idea of money as "currency" originated about 400 years ago.  The word derives from  "current," and the reason for the name is that, like water, money only helps when it flows.  Money is not to be hoarded, but to be passed along.  If it doesn't flow, it begins to stagnate and rot.

Seen in this way, Law argues that money is only one of many "currencies" that enrich and sustain people.  Just as important are things like relationships, truth, wellness.  These flow like money; they too are currencies.  We may lack some of them, but we can build on those we do have.

In the reading, Peter and John are walking toward the temple when they meet a lame man who asks them for alms.  Peter and John "looked intently at him" and Peter said, "I have no silver or gold, but what I have I give you; in the name of Jesus Christ of Nazareth, stand up and walk."  And the man stands up and walks, and leaps, and praises God.

In his condition, the only thing the lame man can imagine that might help him is money.  He has people who lay him at the gate so he can beg, but apparently no one who can or will support him so he need not.  He asks for the only currency he can expect.  Peter and John, however, have received the Holy Spirit.  And, like money, it cries out to be shared.  It manifests here as the capacity for wellness, for healing.  Rather than turning away and saying, "I can't help," they give what they have - which turns out to be so much more than any money they might have given!

So I'm thinking about the Holy Spirit, and all the ways she flows for the health of the body of Christ.  I'm wondering about what currencies I have, and what I can share and give away.  I think language is one of mine, so I'm trying to share with you.  That's bound up with relationships - even with those of you I don't know, don't correspond with.  I'm offering what I have received.  But where else can I enter the circuit of gift?  Where do you, can you, will you?

Go, be a blessing.  You will receive more than you can imagine.

Mary Mag Day Continued

Last night we met via Zoom for our annual celebration.  I gave a brief reflection on our texts, Colossians 3:12-18 and John 20:1-18.  Here it is.

If we were gathered in person, we wouldn’t have this sort of reflection offered by one person.  We’d have a simple liturgy with lots of conversations around it.  But this year is unusual, to say the least.  So, although we may still have conversations with one another, I get to say a few words.

We have two readings to frame our life together, readings we share every year.  The Gospel tells the story of Mary Magdalene encountering Jesus and receiving her commission to tell others what she has seen.  She becomes the apostle to the apostles.  Now, Mary doesn’t have a lot of dialogue in the Gospels, so we need to pay attention when she speaks.

When she recognizes Jesus, she says, “Rabbouni!”  Teacher!  Jesus is her teacher, her rabbi.  She follows him and learns from him, and, when she is commissioned, she shares what he has taught her.  I believe that her words to the other apostles were only the first of many times she taught and testified.  

As we walk with Mary, we follow Jesus.  We learn from him.  And much of what we learn is summarized in the Colossians passage.  Colossians tells us how to treat one another in the community, but Jesus taught the disciples to proclaim the reign of God everywhere.  How we treat one another here in this community is simply a training ground for being with everyone.  The point is not to have a lovely oasis safe from the world, but to have a base for moving into the world and calling forth the awareness of the reign of God that is already present.

Mary’s other line is the key to her proclamation.  “I have seen the Lord!”

She doesn’t expound doctrine.

She doesn’t explain.

She says what has happened to her, and in so doing she invites us into mystery.

Mystery is our deepest fuel for the journey.  It is the destination, but it’s also the source.  When we touch mystery we are moved to explore, to journey.

As we journey with Mary Magdalene, we follow into the mystery, hoping to see what she saw and to be addressed as she was.  We pray to be given a word to share with others as she was.

So right now, what is your word?  

As you sit, can you hear a whisper from that garden?

Your name, spoken like a breeze.  A breath.

A presence, real but impossible to box in or reproduce or cling to.

A message.  A word, a phrase.

Let the whisper sink into your soul.  Carry it as Mary did, in her heart.  

I have seen the Lord.  Alleluia.

Oh Happy Day!

(Icon of Mary Magdalene written by a Companion.)

Today, of course, is our "patronal festival" - Mary Magdalene's feast day.  There's too much to say for one post. 

I'll start by asking your prayers for those who will be making new commitments tonight.

Diane, Ernesto, and Lauren are making their first annual commitment as Covenant Companions, after being Candidates for over a year.

Shelby is making her Candidacy commitment, exploring what it means to be a Covenant Companion.

The rest of us will be renewing our vows and promises - Annie and Dario, Elizabeth and myself.

All of this, this year, on Zoom, with our covenant group, Board members, and friends in attendance.  It will be joyous, and yet poignant - as perhaps befits Mary Magdalene.  Joy, but not simple triumph.

She sees Jesus risen from the dead, but she doesn't get to cling to him.  There's new life, but it's not about going back to what was.  The past is past, except as it lives in memory.  That normal is gone forever.  

But the end of that normal is not the end.  No:  "even though we once knew Christ from a human point of view, we know him no longer in that way.  So if anyone is in Christ, there is a new creation: everything old has passed away; see, everything has become new!" (2 Cor. 5:16-17).

We need to hear this today.  A lot is passing away, and what is emerging is not all pretty.  A lot of it stinks of death.  But amid the stench there are new blossoms, new frontiers of creativity and caring and leadership.  Rather than sighing for the loss of our annual in-person gathering, we are planning a "semester" of events that will deepen our practice of the covenant and our dwelling in the charism.  And tonight, because of the technology we are "forced" to use, we can include others in what is usually a private moment.  We may never be the same.  

I pray we will never be the same: we the Companions, we our country, we our world, we this blessed creation in which we are privileged to dwell.  I pray for the new creation in Christ.

In this new creation, "the love of Christ urges us on" (2 Cor. 5:14).  What I love about this is the ambiguity of the phrase.  "The love of Christ": is that Christ's love for us, or our love of Christ?  I don't really want to have to choose, whatever Paul meant.   I like to see it as a circuit - Christ's love urging me to more love, my love of Christ urging me to live no longer for myself, but to share the good news of this love.

So today, my friends and companions, let the love of Christ urge you on, encourage you, dwell in you richly.  I give thanks for all of you who have blessed us with your support and participation over the years, too many to name.  May we all know and share this new creation.

One Person's Wheat . . .

Today's Gospel is Matthew 13:24-30, 36-43.  It's the parable of the wheat and the weeds.  It got me thinking.

First, let me say that I need to leave behind Matthew's explanation of the parable (vv. 36-43).  Just like last week, when he has Jesus explain his parable to the disciples, it seems that Matthew wants to head off the very work of wondering that Jesus' parables invite us into.  By telling us what the parables mean, he makes them less parabolic, and therefore less fruitful.  So, let's leave behind his little summary and just enjoy the parable.

In the parable, there is wheat and there are weeds.  And, of course, no farmer wants weeds mixed in with their wheat.  Jesus' audience would get an image of what he means.  Let them grow together and sort it out later, lest pulling up the weeds also uproots the wheat.  At the end, we will sort them out.  OK, got that.

But here's where I've been wondering this week.

For the last month or two, we've been gathering the various grasses and wildflowers that grow on our lane and the pathway to the monastery and using them in place of flowers.  We have lovely arrangements of  - weeds. 

In past years I would have just walked by those grasses.  I might have appreciated them where they are, but I wouldn't bring them inside - I'd buy flowers, or cut flowers we had grown.  I would not be making bouquets out of weeds.  But this year, the beauty of the grasses overtook me.  I haven't been settling for weeds - I've been appreciating what they bring, the "wheatness" of them.  

So now, when I read this parable, I wonder: How can I be sure what is wheat and what is weeds?  See, it's not just a matter of not uprooting the sprouts I know to be good and nourishing - it's also a question of knowing which is which.  For all I know these weeds are wholesome in their own right!  In uprooting them, I may be depriving myself and others of potential nourishment.

Of course, there is a place for discernment.  Some things are clearly toxic - some plants, and some qualities of the soul.  But some things are less clear.  Is my impatience a weed, or is it a wild unruly flower?  Is my obnoxious neighbor (pick your version of why they are intolerable) a weed to be thrown into the fire, or wheat that can teach me something or bring a gift if properly cultivated with patience and understanding?  You get my drift.

This is not a prescription for paralysis.  In fact, Matthew's explanation leaves us both judging and impotent:  I know who is a weed, and I can trust that God will burn them.  Yuck.  No, this is an opening toward discernment, toward a more careful contemplative approach to myself and others.  Knowing that I don't always know what God finds to be useful leads me to pray as the recovery programs teach us:  I pray for God to remove every defect of character which stands in the way of my usefulness to God and to others.  That may include some things I like (my "wheat") and leave some things I don't.  Then I watch and notice, and make the best choices I can.

What's growing in your garden today?

Not as I would have it . . .

Each morning I read several daily meditations from recovery programs.  This morning one of them included these sentences:

"With my life in God's care, fear, uncertainty, and anger are no longer my response to those portions of life that I would rather not have happen to me.  The pain of living through these times will be healed by the knowledge that I have received the spiritual strength to survive."

Well, for sure these days have a lot of portions that I would rather not have happen.  From the global, to the national, to the local, to the personal, there's a lot of disruption and interruption of my plans and desires.  And some days - some minutes of each day - fear, uncertainty, and anger do indeed crop up.  At those moments it can be hard to hear or believe that my life is in God's care.   If this is care, I want to say, what is neglect like?  If my life is in God's care, what of those whose lives are immeasurably harder than mine?  Words like the ones I quoted can sound facile.

I do believe, however, that I have been given the strength to survive.  My life is a miracle.  It was a miracle that I survived my youth, my drinking and drugging days.  It has been a miracle to be held during the times that I got lazy in my own recovery work.  I have been given the strength to survive, even before I reached out to God, but since then I have learned to thrive.  Death, loss, disorientation, financial insecurity, fallout from my history and my addictions - none of them have severed the connection to God.  God initiated that connection; I just responded.  I still respond, as well as I can.

These times are hard.  But God is strong, and fierce.  We can reach out for the strength to survive, and to thrive.  And beyond that, we find the strength to reach out to others who need to see God in the flesh, in another person.  Even behind our masks, our eyes can smile.  We can still talk.  We can share what we have.  When we do, we actually get stronger.  Abundance grows as it's shared.

So today, I will stand in the knowledge that I, that we, can weather all the storms confronting us.  Together we get through.

And today's Gospel at the Eucharist:  Matthew 11:28-30.  Go get it!