Rededication on New Year's Eve

Tonight, as I have for over 20 years, I will gather with a small group of friends for prayer, communion and a celebratory meal for New Year’s Eve.  It’s a church service that is open to the public, but most people do not want to come.  Either they want to stay home to avoid the drunks or they want to party.  I don’t blame either of them; there are good reasons for doing each of those things.  But I would feel entirely out of place at a party tonight and I do not want to stay home, especially if staying home means watching other people’s parties on television.  Ugh!

For me, the essence of ushering in a New Year invites, even requires of me, a personal act of rededication.  Tonight I want to stand with my extended family in Christ, small though they be, and adore the Christ who has claimed me for His own.  I want to stand with my small family of faith and pray for the world in which we live.  Tonight I want to be reminded of who I really am and who owns the upcoming year.  I want to say “yes” again to who I truly am- a follower of Christ who has committed his life to mission.

I am facing a year of being bombarded by the siren call of my culture to be something other than who I am.  My “inclusive” culture will release and exert powerful forces both within and upon me to fit in- to keep my religious convictions to myself, and get on with the business of making a living, spending my money on myself, and, if I have the time and inclination, contribute in some humanitarian way to the public good.  That is the working definition these days of being a good citizenship.    

Added to the influence of these powerful forces is the anguish and uncertainty many feel about life.  We are fearfully adrift and do not know where we are going.  There is little, if any, inspiring leadership in politics.  The economy fluctuates with no clear direction.  Human relationships are transitory at best.   Many of us feel like we are grappling with forces that are bigger than we are, and we do not know what to do.  

I feel those same forces.  They tempt me to self-indulgence and an indifference to the world.  So, on the eve of 2012, I want to get my bearings.  I want to be able to live into this present world’s uncertainties armed with the certainty given to us in Christ.  I want to be reminded of joy.   I want to be refreshed in the river of God’s presence so that I can wash the feet of those who are fearful. I want to draw on God’s confidence to live a life of purpose and clear direction.  I want to avail myself of the power of prayer- prayers filled with compassion, prayers that both ask and receive in a way that changes the course of human life.  

On the eve of 2012, I want to give thanks that I am not alone, and that I belong to the God who controls all of history, On the eve of 2012, I want to say “yes” again to God’s purpose, and affirm that I am a servant of Christ’s. 

Christmas Meditation: my eyes need adjusting to the Light

“The people who have walked in darkness have seen a great light”

My eyes need adjusting.  The light here is quantitatively different that what I have seen all day.  Certainly I have seen glimmers-  the smile on the face of the woman selling ornaments at the craft market on Union Square.  My family’s laughter as they tell stories on each other as we’ve gathered around the dinner table this week.   The twinkle in the eyes of a boy, no more than six, the youngest member of an 8 piece band of trumpeters playing “Hark the Herald” for the Salvation Army in front of the Food Emporium on 14th St.  

But here- the luminous presence of God- is not different from what I have seen, but certainly more intense, weightier and- more surprising.   I am being invited into something more than the kiss of God’s light on ordinary, but still wonderful, human events.  I am being invited into God’s intimate grandeur:  not the grandeur that would strike me dead with its blinding, white hot holiness, but with a grandeur that draws me in, sinner that I am, into a holy light clothed in humanity:  angels singing in the sky, the rush of the shepherds- to what?

Certainly not a myth- a flight of fancy- not an allegory on the goodness within all of us, not a metaphor for humanity’s search for divinity:  but a real stable filled with the smell and warm of animals warding off the desert cold of a winter night- not in a land far, far away, but in an historic verifiable time in Israel- living under the brutal occupation of Caesar Augustus who claimed, blasphemously to be divinity incarnate.  

God in my world.

In an illuminating book written by Marilynne Robinson entitled “What Literature Owes the Bible” written up in this weekend’s NY Times Review of Books,  the author writes that the Bible’s gift to the world’s literature is, in part,  a “literary realism” because   “ordinary lives are invested with a kind of significance.” Instead of writing about “demigods, kings and heroes,” the Bible Is “looking as directly as it can at people as they are.”   This is precisely the author's intent in writing this story.  A the beginning of the Gospel, the author writes that he has “undertaken to set down an orderly account of the events that have been fulfilled among us, just as they were handed on to us by those who from the beginning were eyewitnesses.”  

SO- what we are invited to see, according to the author, is a series of real events where extraordinary, even supernatural things happen under the direction of a Deity that is personally involved in the course of human history.

Here philosophical speculations about the nature of humanity and divinity are both invited to yield to a Baby in a Manger.  

Majesty in a feeding trough.  

God with us:  the relationship between humanity and divinity completely redefined.  

Evelyn Underhill writes, “we have got to begin not by an arrogant other-worldliness, but by a humble recognition that human things can be holy, very full of God”- meaning you, ordinary you, can be made very full of God.  

Divinity in Poverty.  Only Light willing to dwell in the lowliest of states can deign to twinkle in the eyes of a boy trumpeter or grace the smile of shopkeeper at the craft market in Union Square.

Only Divinity who has dwelt poverty can feed our starving hearts, only light shining into our darkness can dispel that very personal darkness dwelling in our hearts and minds

. 

The question is:  will you yield?  

Are you starved enough to ask for this feeding?  Have you dwelt in your own darkness long enough so that you now are longing for God’s light?  

Have you noticed the glimmers of His presence- calling you to be “made very full of God?”

Again Evelyn Underhill writes, “ The unlimited life who is Love right through- so loved the world as to desire to give the deepest secrets of His heart to this small, fugitive, imperfect creation- to us.  THAT SEEMS IMMENSE!”

She writes, “human nature is like a stable inhabited by the ox of passion and the ass of prejudice; animals which take up a lot of room and make quite a lot of noise. And sometimes Christians seem far nearer to those animals than to Christ.”

But it is precisely here, between these two animals where Jesus Christ is laid in a manger.  

God knows our hearts.  God is not far off.  God is here in our world.   Will you draw near to the stable? Will you kneel before the manger?   

If you ask, God will adjust your eyes to to the beauty and the majesty of His light.

FORMING RELATIONSHIPS OR BUILDING ALLIANCES?

Looking through  online tweets  recently I saw, “the measure of your character is how you treat people who can do nothing for you.”  Something inside of me intuitively nodded in agreement.   Christians believe that all people matter.  No one is expendable.  Each of us is created with a divine purpose and calling.  There is a reason we were born.  We all have a destiny to fulfill.  God, who knew each one of us before the foundation of the earth, planned in love for us to come into this world with a mission.  No one is an accident, regardless of the circumstances of one’s birth.    So, even if you were an “unplanned pregnancy” there is still a divine purpose for your life.  

That is why the Scriptures warn us about “showing partiality.”   Proverbs offers a telling comment:  “To show partiality is not good- yet a man will do wrong for a piece of bread” (28:21).   Is that not our motive:  we want something?  We use people who will help us get our piece of bread.  We think more highly of people who can help us and less of those who cannot.  We network.  We connect.  We flatter so as to endear ourselves to those who can give us some sort of advantage.  We surround ourselves with people who enhance our image. In conversation we drop the names of those who, by our association with them, put us in a better light.   We aspire!

By contrast, we take little notice of those who cannot help us achieve our ends.   These unhelpful people are those we marginalize.   In our hearts we are indifferent to them even if we are outwardly courteous.  If people oppose us they become our enemies.  When others get in the way of what we want our job is to out maneuver them or thwart them. At our worst, our relationships become politicized and the gamesmanship, which entertains us on shows like “Survivor” becomes (only in more muted terms) the way we live our lives.  We swallow the lie that the ends justify the means.

Does such Machiavellian behavior happen in church?  Silly question!  I once served on a committee whose responsibility was to offer to a nonprofit board our recommendations for officers who would stand for election.  During that meeting I marveled at one of our committee members slander (in the nicest way, of course) people that he did not want to serve.  I knew each of the people mentioned and I knew that what was being said was inaccurate.  The comments were not lies exactly, just subtle innuendos that would present a candidate in a less than favorable light.   What was his ”piece of bread?”  He wanted officers who would support his plans for the future and did not want those who would oppose him.  If challenged, he would never admit to outright dishonesty, and would justify his actions as “just the price of doing business.” His goal was getting his piece of bread.   This is atheistic behavior regardless of the motivation.

 I know that one of the temptations I face as a leader (but not the only one!)  Is to spend more time building alliances and less time building relationships.   There will be much to do and many tasks to perform.  I will want to find people who will help me accomplish those tasks.  I will need colleagues and coworkers who understand the vision and help me get there.  

None of that is bad in and of it self.  We all need colleagues and coworkers who both understand us and support us.  We all need people who will help us achieve our goals.   But I sin if I see people only as ends to my means, even if I give the outward appearance of caring.  It could be very easy for me to use the excuse of  “advancing the Kingdom” or “growing the Diocese” to justify very unChristlike behavior.  Piety justifies a multitude of sins.  

Am I capable of such sinful behavior?  Well, aren’t you?  It was Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn who famously said, “the line dividing good and evil cuts through the heart of every human being.”  But I can say that my desire is to be a pastor and not a manipulator. How that godly desire begins to take root is when each of us to ask God to teach us how to “value others more than we value ourselves,” and to make room in our hearts for “the interests of others" (quoting Philppians 2:3-4).  

I want to be one who leads because he loves God, knows he is called to serve, cares deeply for people, and is learning how to make room in his life for the compassion of Christ- a compassion that extends to all people, everywhere.

Is the Parable of the Talents a Horror Movie?

When I heard the parable of the talents as a child it scared me to death.  It was a horror movie that I did not want to see.  Like all good horror movies, that parable pushed me into a corner and forced me to face my fears.  Like all the teachings of Jesus, the parable showed me the truth about my heart.  The truth was that I did not want to serve God.  I had my own aspirations and I did not want responsibility to God to get in the way.  Sure, I did not want to end up in that place where there was “weeping and gnashing of teeth,” but if the price of a get out of hell card was Christian service, then I would ignore the parable’s warning and take my chances. Lots of things could happen between my childhood and death.  I’ll repent later if that’s what it takes.  For now, I want to live for me.  

Quite frankly, and why I thought this I do not know, I did not believe that God was trustable.  If I actually gave my life to God what would God do with it, anyway?  Send me as a missionary to some poverty stricken place on the planet only to die of disease, or worse?  Would I be stuck in some ghetto?  Would God pay any attention at all to my own aspirations?  Probably not, I thought.   

I actually knew, although I did not want to admit it, that there was something corrupting and corrosive about my own desires.  I had heard enough about the needs of the world, even at that young age, to know that a life of self-centered acquisition was destructive.  But I was too young to know anything about the “I’m worth it!”  justification some have for their greed; nor did I know anything about charity work as a therapeutic tool for personal affirmation.  

My fear of God controlled how I related to God and how I related to much of life. Sometimes fear is an appropriate warning about an imminent danger.  But if fear is the primary driver, it will lead us down the wrong path.  Fear causes us to try to take control of our uncertain future, destroying trust in anything but ourselves.  Fear is restrictive, not expansive.  Fear challenges the very idea of God being good. 

It was only much later that I discovered that my understanding of God was all wrong.  I don’t know what church had done to me to teach me that God was a fearful miser who enjoyed using up His servants for His own purposes.  But when I cam face to face with the lavish Love of God revealed in the life of Jesus my defenses against Him melted away.  

The parable of the talents is not a horror movie- it is an amazing invitation to see God for who He actually is- more generous than we could ever imagine.  It also poses a choice:  do I believe my own fears, or am I willing to believe what I see in Jesus? Fear offers terrible counsel- not primarily because it is wrong, but because it is incomplete.  Fear only counsels us to play defense, not offence; and if all we play is defense we miss the generosity of God entirely

 Now I only wish I could give away more.   Sure I still have my own aspirations; and little by little God is refining those aspirations and purging away the dross.  To my amazement, I am learning that God’s will is far better than my own, and I would not have it any other way.  

I Am Terrified that No One Is Really Looking

I am conscience that I do not always see well.  I’m not talking about the state of my physical vision.  I’m talking about my ability to observe, take in detail, emotionally interact with what I am observing.   Some times I assume before I actually see.   I want to see a particular thing in a certain way and my wanting pre- determines my what I actually take in.  It takes work to get past my on visual filters, and I do not do it very well.  Recently I was reading David McCullough’s fine book “The Greater Journey,” a chronicle of what happened when 19th century Americans (some famous and some not) travelled to Paris and how that city enlarged that field of vision.  I was particularly struck by a journal entry quoted in the book from Harriet Beecher Stowe (author of “Uncle Tom’s Cabin”).  She went to the Louvre first time and sat in front of Gericault’s   huge painting “The Raft of the Medusa” for over an hour.   The picture depicts the few survivors alone on a raft after a terrible and tragic shipwreck.  She wrote, “I gazed until all surrounding objects disappeared, and I was alone in the wide Atlantic.”   The painting “seized and controlled” her.  

Have I ever seen as deeply as she described?  Have I ever been moved by what I have seen so completely as that?  No.  I have been trained by television to be a cynical observer needing to be entertained, hungry for a progressive succession of images all flattened by the pixels of a large blue screen.  Yes, I am occasionally moved, but such movements of my heart are only temporary as my restless mind scurries ahead for something else to catch my attention.   

But even as my attention deficit 21st century mind continues to look for something else to take in, I long to be seen!   I may be occasionally intoxicated by visual stimulation, but I am terrified that no one is really looking.  

And yet I am always standing before the timeless Spirit of God before whom “all hearts are open, all desires known and from whom no secrets are hid.”  In a world were few see, I am so grateful that someone is looking- looking at us in love.  Someone is listening.  Someone is acting with power and compassion.  God with us.  We are seen, heard and known.

I Hate You God!

"I hate you, God!"  The words poured out of his mouth.  Bill and I were sitting across from each other, but I had stepped aside.  I said, "Bill, let your heart speak.  Don't try to think about what you're going to say.  Just let it out."  And as Bill looked out into the empty space of my office that anger at God that was inside of him rose to the surface like a volcano.  

His words shocked him, but they were also a relief.  He had become increasingly uncomfortable in his own skin.  Daily life was a chore.  Prayer was a fruitless exercise.  He did not know what was the matter. Bill was moving closer and closer to despair.

I wasn't surprised.  Bill is a pastor who is perennially funny.  He would have been a terrific stand up comedian.  He always has a punchline ready.  He makes you laugh.  I love being around him, but the more I got to know him the less comfortable I became with his humor.  I knew something else was lurking beneath the surface. 

It's not a new revelation.  Many of us manage our anger by making a joke.  It was Richard Pryor who famously said, "I had to stop drinking because I was tired of waking up in my car driving ninety miles an hour!' This is Bill.  His  humor is both hilarious and heartbreaking. 

There can be something quite valiant about humor in the face of tragedy.  It is more than merely looking on the bright side (cue Monty Ponty, please).  It is quite courageous,  and a sign of an indomitable spirit- laughing in the face of the seemingly absurd. We admire the tenacity and the toughness of it.  This kind of humor is the fuel of perseverance.  

But, as is sometimes the case,  Bill's humor was a cover for despair and quite the opposite of faith.   There was no joy.

So Bill and I made some time to talk together.  For too long Bill had lived under the tyranny of what he "should" do.  My prayer was for God to give Bill a safe space where his heart could speak.  Once Bill faced his profound anger at God- the God whom he served, Bill could begin to think about a different kind of life and discover a different kind of relaitonship with God- a life based more on love instead of mere obligations.  

A life of joy, instead of bitter humor, is a life filled with love- ravishing, soul satisfying love.  That is the kind of love God desires to pour into our hearts.  This is the kind of love we see in Jesus. 

This soul satisfying love is the fruit of a life lived out with Jesus rather than the stale bread of religious obligations.  A life filled with this kind of love can still laugh in the face of absurdity, but it is a laugh of joyful triumph and not despair.  For this kind of love tells us that tragedies of this life do not have the last word- God does. 

 

Nuns with Guns

Yea, I know.  As a title for a blog post it's a cheap shot.  Bu there really was this picture of nuns holding rifles right beside an article entitled, "Why I Hate Religion!  47 Reasons that will Send me to Hell!"  The article was the usual rant about Christianity- the Roman Catholic Church in particular, with small comments about Hinduism, Judaism and Scientology to justify the article's title.  The list of complaints revealed nothing new:  mean nuns (hence the satirical picture), eternal damnation as a scare tactic to get you to behave, anti-gay attitudes, humiliating confessions, and lots of guilt.  There were a few well written lines like, "the virgin birth set an impossibly high standard for the rest of us," that brought a smile to my face.

Then the tone of the article shifted.  The author wrote almost wistfully about the beauty of church architecture and songs, and then he wrote, "but the thing I hate the most is that I have met some religious people who are not petty or bigoted at all, and that gets in the way of a lot of my theories."

Institutional anger can only get us so far, even when it is cultivated through remembering some painful, personal encounters, and anger at an institution doesn't answer our longing for God.  There is a longing to touch the eternal inside us that is deeper than our anger.  Anger can bury that longing but not eradicate it.  If we take the time to listen to our hearts, that longing is there, in spite if our being mistreated by the church, or some Christian we know.  We intuitively get that God is so much bigger than any one's unjust or miscreant behavior.  We know (if we're willing to admit it) that the failures of a religious institution cannot contain or even define a God who still whispers to us in those uncynical moments when we see something beautiful and our hearts soften- just a little, even if only for a moment.

Those whispers register.  They are like an old catalog we keep around even though we haven't ordered anything.  These whispers don't go away; and no matter how much we fill our lives with accumulation, experiences, activities and relationships they are still there.  "We were made for more," they tell us; and deep inside we know it.

Can you listen to those whispers?  Start a dialog with the Infinite?  Ask God to reveal God to you?  Jesus says, "Come to me all you who are weary and carry heavy burdens."  It's an invitation.  The whispers don't have to be one way.

Walking on a Tightrope

Today I was reminded of a life changing conversation I had years ago. At the time  I was 23 and in grad school- rethinking my relationship with God.  I was talking with a Christian friend, more wise that me and he listened intently as I was describing my struggles.  Then he made this observation,  "When I listen to you I get this picture:  I see you walking on a tightrope.  You're in a high wire act at the circus.  That tightrope is your life.  Your job as a Christian is to summon the courage and skill to walk safely across that tightrope from one end to the other.  Sure, God put a safety net under you, but it will still hurt if you fall, even though it won't kill you.  You're way up in the air and everything is up to you."

Sure, I could quote Scriptures that said differently, I had been a Christian for a while.  But what my friend observed was actually what my heart believed.  So- his vision was accurate.  I believed that striving to be good as a Christian was hard.  I was way up in the air and it was scary.  I didn't want to fail and failing was painful- I had done it too many times.  So I learned from my failures that God was not around to help, only forgive.  In the end,   it was all up to me.  I had no sense that God was my companion, just an observer who watched my struggles from beyond earth's horizon.   Yes, I believed that God forgave me, but I still paid a high price for each and every failure.  Being a Christian might be the right way to go, but it was no fun!

When I actually looked at what this meant, I was shocked. I realized that I didn't know the God of the Bible at all. I believed in a different god- one who was demanding, perfectionist, distant and unrelenting.

Immediately I confessed to God that I knew almost nothing of what the Bible teaches about God:  his infinite creativity, his wondrous joy, his tender companionship and his life changing mercy.  Sure I had sat in the lap of the church all my life, but what I learned from the church was not, at all, what the Scriptures taught.  I wanted to know the real God- not the God I had created in my head, not the God that I had been taught to believe.  I asked God to removed this false god from my life, heal my heart and lead me to the "truth that will set you free."  I wanted to know the God who is infinitely creative, imaginative and full of joy.  I want to know the God who stands with me, no matter my faults and whose companionship is eternal.  I want to know the God I see in Jesus.

Since that conversation happened years ago, all of this has happened.  Not that I know all that there is to know about an infinite God.  The more I know, the more I realize I don't know.  I'm standing in a precipice that has no bottom.  I'm staring up into space that is without boundaries.  But I am also coming to experience God's wild embrace that answers the longings of my heart.

I kept noticing the pain in his eyes

Mike and I were sitting across from each other at a table in a busy restaurant.  I wanted the conversation to go at the pace that Mike wanted.  It was his time and he was setting the agenda.  I reached out to Mike because, in a relatively causal conversation, I kept hearing something else in his voice- a testing of the waters;  "Can I trust you?" And I kept noticing the pain in his eyes.  When I suggested lunch,  he eagerly eargerly agreed.

We chatted amicably about easy topics- mostly about food since both of us like cooking for other people.  Our lunch arrived at the table.  He exhaled deeply and gave me this look like, "OK.  I'm ready."  So I asked, "How can I help, Mike?" Then he started with his story.  As I listened, I kept feeling like it was not particularly out of the ordinary- you know, a young guy struggling with porn. So what?  What young man  hasn't?  He saw himself as an occasional addict- every three months or so. "Not too bad," I thought to myself.  He had gone the "accountability" route with very little impact.

Even though he said he knew he was forgiven that didn't seem to matter.  He still felt  condemned and that he felt "seperated from God" when he indulged.  So he tried to push the guilt away and act like it never happened.

The fear in his eyes told me that he was expecting me to get up from the table and walk away.  Instead, I looked straight into his eyes and said, "It doesn't have to be this way."  For me, the real issue was not his occasional indugence in porn, but his incomplete view of God.   He doesn't know that when God forgives the slate is washed clean.  He doesn't know that no how many times he comes to God for forgiveness, God never tires of hearing his cry for help.  He doesn't know that  God accepts him as he is.  He doesn't know that through healing prayer God can heal him of the pain of condemnation.  He doesn't know that God wants to speak truth into his life and help him look at why he needs porn in the first place.  

The church has failed Mike.  Mike grew up in the church but has never really received anything like acceptance and mercy.

I"m no addiction specialist.  I'm just a listening friend.  But maybe this conversation (and those that will follow) might be a starting point.  I doesn't have to be this way, not for Mike or anyone else.