Words and Promises

In the Gospel, Jesus tells the parable of two sons who were asked by the father to do something. We don’t know the task. We don’t know if it was trivial or important. But we have a fairly common problem: A father, two sons, and a job to do. Like painting the side of a house or getting dinner or picking up mom.

One says “of course” and then promptly forgets, either willfully or not. We don’t know. The other refuses: “nope, dad, got something better to do.” But then does. Who did the will of the Father? The one who agreed to act but didn’t? Or the one who refused, and did? The answer is easy. The one who did as his father asked.

Everyone gets the answer right.

The easy lesson of the parable is “do” rather than “say.” We’re already familiar with how that our actions speak louder than words, that leading by example makes a deeper impression than a casual command, and that talk is cheap. We see these things all the time. After all, we’re in the middle of a political campaign.

When I was in Korea, a Korean parliamentarian reflected upon the use of Western law in Korea. She said, “one problem is that we Koreans believe that words lie.” In oppressive contexts, where tyrants rule, and power is located not in the law but in the person enforcing it, words mean nothing. You have to guess the hidden meaning within the layers of language that make law, and hope you won’t get killed. The language of empire – one that can include law – can be one of cruelty and fear.

Granted, we need words. Words, themselves, are almost like magic in what they telegraph. Words are at the heart of the law and judgment. Some say that words themselves are where God lives.

Words also communicate judgment. Yet sometimes when we say something about others, we probably could say the same things about ourselves.

Still, if consistency and action were the criteria for saying anything, I think we probably wouldn’t say very much at all, or be reduced to making bland comments about the weather and the Mets and what the heck happened to them this year.

Sometimes we use words to lead us into a future – like promises: “Yes, I’m going to be held accountable for this future action even though I might be easily distracted.” Words help us establish trust. Words can also help us reframe our thinking so that we can act more confidently.

I can imagine that one of the problems in our current economic crisis is that people don’t trust what others say. “You say you have money, but I don’t believe you. So I’m keeping what money I have.” And perhaps we’ve seen a lot of misplaced words and promises in our current situation.

Perhaps we are invited to consider that words themselves are actions. The problem with the first son is that he was careless, and flippantly went on his way thinking that what he said did not matter. His words weren’t actions to him. They were just words. They were breaths of air, babbling sounds to ease a conversation. Alternately, the second son valued his own words, and then changed his mind. And perhaps it is also useful to remember that it is alright, in our faith, to change our minds. We can say what we think, recognizing that yes, the world changes, and so can we.

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All the Credit We Need

Remember when the market crashed in 2008?

You saw the images of traders. Some were about to cry. Others rubbing their forehead, trying to figure out their next step: the frustrated frown; the blank incredulous stare; the head on the desk, the graph of the market plunging downward, probably weeping, billions under his care suddenly vanished.

Where did it go? Did they ever even exist? All that light over the internet, symbols of great wealth and power, going dark, as the numbers rapidly decrease.

What to do? Governments are cutting rates; others are taking over banks. They are busycajoling people to share and stop hoarding, to get the big monetary institutions to trust each other again. But even governments themselves are having a hard time. Iceland, after 10 years of buying up parts of Europe, is back to fishing.

Mark Taylor, the theologian, uses the metaphor of poker to describe the desire to keep the markets trading. But the poker game has ended. We’re sitting around the table, deciding its time to go and cash in our chips, when the banker of the house says, I’ve got no money. Your chips are worthless. Perhaps we were just playing for fun (add wan smile and shrug).

The banker himself had invested a fair amount. He’d thought that when others bought into the game, they’d use real cash themselves. But some of us asked for credit as well when we anted up and we all agreed. Why not? We were doing it ourselves.

Most of us.

But now all the players are left stranded.

Nobody thought they’d want to end the game. They thought it would continue forever, until the end of time, or the King Returned. People would add money and our pots would just get bigger. Everyone could keep buying in.

Until just one person, or two, or three, decided they wanted to cash in.

Some will suggest that we have to continue playing: Give everyone a half-credit; redistribute the chips; Get some real money in the system. But everyone’s tired and nobody trusts the banker. Or each other.

Nobody realized that nobody had actually given the house any money.

I’m not an economist. I don’t have a crystal ball about the future. And I don’t think it’s all that helpful to offer a Panglossian veneer on the subject. People are hurting and scared and poorer. Bless them. Bless the investor, bless the banker, bless the retiree, the businessman, bless the homeowner.

At the very least, the light that was the virtual pool of wealth in cyberspace, has also revealed itself to connect every person in our commercial reality. So what are we to do with each other? Judgment? Of course. Mutual Aid? A few wishful chants of “never again?” Why not, if it makes us feel better.

I had begun writing this essay before seeing the Dow, exploring this idea of being the “master of the universe.” It’s what lots of traders thought of themselves as they were busy exchanging vast sums of money. Perhaps now comes the hard truth that we are not masters, even the most die-hard self-actualizing Rand worshipping libertarian. Once a master, now a servant.

I don’t have many suggestions. Buy low? If you’ve got money, then go ahead. Sell? Well, that’s what everyone else is doing. Invest in green infrastructure? It is tangible, but it won’t help the church endowment right now and that will have to wait until after the election that to have any impact. When you come to church, I’m not going to give you any stock tips. Except Berkshire Hathaway, and you’ve probably already figured that one out yourself.

But I do know this:

I hope that at the end of the day, if you’ve lost gobs of money trading, you have a sweetheart you can go home to who just doesn’t give a damn about the millions you’ve lost.

I also hope that your number isn’t published.

I hope that your children will run up to you and give you a big kiss on the cheek just because you exist and ask you to play catch or read them a story.

I hope to Jesus that when your best friend calls you, it won’t just be to ask you about the thousands of his you lost investing in Lehman brothers, but about how your holding up. I hope he forgives you and will accept your buying him an extra round a drinks.

(By the way, what in God’s name were you thinking? You could have done a little research on credit swaps. They were toxic.)

And for those of us who don’t have much invested, we’re going to have some people to help along the way. Our soup kitchen is going to get a bit more crowded, our thrift shop will get a bit more busy (although these last two quarters we’ve had record breaking receipts. Ka-Ching!), and there will be a few people selling their businesses, or being terminated from their jobs.

I hope that here, our treasure was never in the stock market to begin with.

It was right here. Our confidence was somewhere else.

In our small tendernesses; in our sharing of scripture and stories. It was right here when ten of us drank three bottles of wine celebrating the new altar we built ourselves.

It was right here when the thrift shop ladies, myself and Debbie had soup and salmon right in the middle of the sanctuary.

Let everyone else hoard their stashes of money. Here we share a little of our mutual gratitude. Let it be enough.

Its enough for us to love each other and pick up the shards of that remain from the broken spirits and hearts around us. Its enough to be the presence of God for those who’ve been only in the presence of mammon. It is enough to just be the jar that contains the spirit of hope and courage.

It’s not much. But it’s enough.

And in a world that always wants more perhaps that’s what’s we’re saying. We know what our treasure is. And it is enough. And we can still share it and spread it around a bit.

We’ve got a little love, and we’ve got a little faith, and that’s enough.

It’s all the credit we need.

Praise Him!

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On Being Separated From Humanity

Over the last three week’s we’ve been exposed to some fairly severe tragedies: the murder of three women by an angry, lonely, depraved man; the drunk mother who drove the wrong way on the Taconic, killing eight.

For most of us, these are clear examples of right and wrong, concrete representations of injustice and horror. I’ve heard the word “evil” spoken even by individuals who believe that everyone is, in their hearts, good. “How could she do such a thing?” I’ve heard over and over; “That man will burn in hell.”

Anger, surprise, frustration – all rational responses. The rage and selfishness of these two individuals seem beyond our comprehension. How did the man get to that stage of anger? How could that woman have been so selfish?

And our moral outrage is justified. It is our way of honoring the humanity of those whose lives were cut mercilessly short.

Last week the scriptures stated that Jesus is the “bread of life.” This poetic description of Christ is an alteration: instead of Jesus being violently sacrificed for the sake of peace, we’re invited into a different way of gathering people into a community.

What happened in the community of hearers was a complete change in their relationship with one another. As Jesus was inviting them, through love, into a relationship with a different, non-violent, non-judgmental, loving spirit, they were invited into gracious, encouraging, joyful and hopeful relationships with each other. The bread of life was the glue that helped them endure each other’s quirks, frailties and challenges: because being in relationship with other people is hard work. Jesus is saying – stay connected. And you don’t need to kill people to do it.

George Sodini and Diane Schuler were both extremely isolated. To some extent, they were free to make the decisions they made; although theologically, Augustine would argue they were “slaves to sin.” Sodini was enslaved by his anger; Schuler was enslaved by drink.

The church’s perspective is not much different than the popular view, in some ways. We mourn the dead. We hate what is evil. We pray for justice. We trust that witnessing tragedy evokes some transformation toward what is beautiful and good in others.

These two individuals, who were closed from society and their own deep own emotional needs, stand in stark contrast to the fundamental task of the church. We exist to keep people connected; to remind people that they can learn to hold their anger, rage and sorrow without violence, while trusting in a community of faithful believers, if they so choose. A friend of mine, sober for 22 months said to me, that by giving up the hooch, she gained close new friends. Although not everyone needs to be abstinent, the truth is that it is often our connections that save us, and we find many ways to cut people off.

We say there is no justice sacrificing others at the altar of our own self-righteousness, frustration or hatred. There is no eternal redemption or peace at the bottom of a bottle. They are temporary, ephemeral satisfactions at best. And at worst they destroy lives, and break our hearts.

As the innocent die, the cross again represents. As well as we must confront the implicit, if paradoxical, challenge to those of us witnessing: it didn’t need to be that way.

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Jesus Encounters the Woman

Based on Proper 19

In this week’s Gospel reading, Jesus has his encounter with the Syro-phonecian woman. She asks for her daughter to be healed. Jesus initially refuses and insults her. But the woman entreats him. Jesus, then moved by her directness, heals her daughter. In a short passage we see our Lord move from being provincial to magnanimity.

It’s not easy to be magnanimous. It requires regular reflection and spiritual discipline. Even those who love us can utter words that can seem cruel and contemptuous. We offer ultimatums, we misunderstand intentions, we have suspicions. In the midst of a fight, magnanimity in these cases seems delusional.

But magnanimity is one of the virtues Christ embodies. It means, sometimes, managing our own anger; interpreting the best (or misinterpreting the best) in other people. We let people make mistakes, and we create an opening of trust that can become an anchor for the future. It means we reject revenge and manage the internal life that would render other people small and inconsequential.

It takes practice. Sometimes it hurts as much as a hard workout – because our natural response to being rejected or hurt is to respond with the same. It requires some bravery. And as one Greek philosopher said, it requires we endure tactlessness with mildness.

As Christ was, let us have the inner strength to be generous to the defeated and broken. The only expense is our own pusillanimity. Perhaps it is the secret of our spiritual healing. It is worth the price.

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Who will pay the bills?

Sometimes you can hear the desperation of the church crying out into the wilderness.

Where are all the people?

How will we pay the bills?

Why is our roof leaking?

It’s not a pretty sight. I’ve seen churches where parishioners trounce upon new members like vampires, sucking out life from these unsuspecting innocents.

“Will you serve on this committee? Will you do the work? Will you give us money? Blood or your first child is also OK.”

It is discouraging for vampires. I mean, discouraging for us in the church who truly want to serve, and require resources to do this.

We are caught pleading and begging. It’s the season for us not-for-profits to beg and plead. Blah blah blah. I need your hard earned cash. Now.

Many visitors know that they will be seen as prey and have the sense that they will be valued mainly for their financial contribution. I know because sometimes I, myself, have felt like a predator, wanting desperately to be liked, begging for people to come again. And then making newcomers do the work other congregants burnt themselves out on.

It’s the way many churches work.

I want us to do something different. I’ve noticed that the energy of new members has reinvigorated long term members. We’re at an important time in our history.

But before getting on this treadwheel, let me offer a new way of thinking about what we are about to do.

I believe that if the only thing the church cares about is its own institutional survival, then just let it die. In fact, let’s kill it. People don’t need clergy as personal chaplains. They should develop better friendships (although I’ll always be a friendly sounding board). They don’t need to fund a building that’s falling apart, when they’ve got more pressing needs of their own. People are not here to serve the church. Visitors don’t exist for the sake of the church’s survival.

As long as the institutional church thinks of the outside community as potential recruits into their cult, it will either become a cult that revolves around a charismatic personality, or die.

What we need is a completely different model. We’re beginning to try out here.

A few people, of course, are skeptical. In the old days, the priest was the caregiver. The congregation got served. The priest becomes the one who is responsible for explaining the faith, making the rules, and calling the shots. I do long for those days, but people don’t buy it much anymore. Nor should they.

In a new model, the role of the priest is to communicate the gospel, help people collaborate to live out their ministry, and create entrepreneurial programs that build the community.

In the new model, the church exists for the sake of building up other people – that is what Jesus Christ did. Not just Episcopalians. Not just Christians or Catholics. But everyone who needs support. Skeptics and Jews and Muslims.

Just not Methodists. And Red Sox fans. I draw the line there.

Just kidding aobut that, actually. Of course Methodists. Shintoists must go to the outer darkness. Although I have nothing but respect for those who practice the cult of Amaterasu Omakami.

I digress.

The shift means that we live into the idea of the priesthood of all believers. Instead of being priest centered – or even church centered – each one of us has the responsibility of encouraging, challenging and participating in our communities. In this time of chaos and distress, we are called to discern our community’s needs. Every individual in the parish has a calling, a purpose, a potentiality that they can live out and share.

We may have to think hard about how we connect with people. Do we even know our neighbors? Can we discover their passions, their needs, their hopes and fears, their motivations? Then, when we gather, we can share these hopes and find ways to advocate and enact them.

These friends and connections may never darken our door. But we would be there.

This requires a long term view. It’s hard to change our perspective because we’re here looking at the roof, wondering how its going to be fixed, frustrated that our kids don’t value the faith that we have. Perhaps we should ask them about what they need.

I think we’ve been telling people what we need so often we’ve simply forgotten how to listen. In many churches we’ve told them who they should be, what they should do, and what they should do better. Some people want those churches and need them badly.

Our call, however, may simply be – at this time – to listen carefully to what the culture is saying, and where it is hearing the gospel. For the gospel isn’t just holed up in church.

Maybe once we have heard, we’ll become the gathering that was intended for us all along.

And yes, pledge cards will be in the mail. Yes, we’re desperate. We want to suck your blood.

Metaphorically.

Please note that last sentence “we want to suck your blood” was meant as humor.

Complaints please forward straight to God.

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On Repentance and Raising Money

A friend of St. Barts once came in to the church to discuss raising money. He suggested an ambitious plan, and we began talking about what people seek and need in their congregations.

He grew up in the parish (mid 40’s), but wandered before finding his own path. He said that he wished that the church had given stronger instruction about how to live and be transformed in a way to find peace and wholeness in the light of God’s presence. His comments were provocative and intriguing. He was talking about repentance.

He was not talking about repentance in the fashion of a street-corner preacher yelling in the public square. You jerk. Don’t you know that God despises your carnal thoughts and contemptible fashion sense? Most of us think that when we are asked to “repent” we’re asked first to feel bad and then obey what someone else, who is more perfect and uptight, tells us is good for us. And for a lot of Christians this means mainly rules about sex, tax cuts, and swearing.

This sort of repentance may be useful for some people. It can be exactly what they need to hear: stop drugging yourself, holding others accountable for your own actions, and get on the straight and narrow. Repentance in this sense means making verbal proclamations about what one believes and then changing what one does. You agree to what I, your priest and spiritual father, tell you and you are magically altered into a different, more holy, better person.

I wish I had that sort of magic wand some days, although I’d probably have to use it on myself.

But there is another way of understanding “repentance.” In fact, my friend used the word “transfiguration.” They fit neatly together. Repentance in the Greek is “metanoia” which is derived from the word for mind, thought and understanding. In some places scripture repentance is a conversion, and in others it suggests remorse.

I think that Episcopalians are wary of the part that emphasizes the total depravity of human consciousness that a few medieval theologians suggested. Rather, we rightly acknowledge that our conversion to the spirit is about joy and empowerment. It means sometimes saying “stop” or “no” so that we can better understand what the divine “Yes” means. It’s hard news sometimes.

I wonder if repentance means understanding two things that are very difficult in this day. The first is that we do have limits, and that limits are good. I encounter this fact when I get a bottle of wine at a local store: too many and I become disempowered. The human mind can often only handle a limited number of choices. It makes us more free when we do this to ourselves.

The second is that the good life is a committed life. It may be running, it may be music, it may be self-discipline, and it may be supporting a community of friends, but without commitment, life doesn’t happen. It just floats on by. It passes quickly. As the wisdom writer puts it, we become unmoored, like vapors.

And to be committed to each other often means a “changing of the mind” – a repentance. Especially in a day when it is the thoughtless God of convenience, inattention and immediate gratification that commands our lives so utterly. To make that conversion is hard work, and most of us will make it in fits and starts. It does require tenacity, self-examination, and vigilance (it sounds, perhaps, like dieting), but in a community of loving souls, all things are possible.

There are rewards. Saying no to some things means saying yes to others. I have spilled miso soup on my computer, which means that when I come home I am computerless, and yes generally it is a drag.

But for that reason, the other evening I had the unexpected opportunity to spend an evening in quiet meditation on my porch, with a cigar, just considering God, the world, and its utter beauty. I was given the opportunity to say “no” to the allures of the internet, and to say yes to the world.

Not that I will always be so wise to make that choice. But I slept better that night.

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On Politics

A lot of parishioners don’t like politics. Especially in church.

I understand. People joining the Episcopal church are often those fleeing churches where pastors are busy telling people how to think. Episcopalians are often tired of those Christians who are obsessed about homosexuality and abortion.

Further, since we also believe in the separation of church and state, we don’t want the rector telling us how to vote, or his crazy views about Distributivism and Henry George and Peak Oil.

So I promise won’t tell you if I think we should subsidize organic farms, expand our health care system, or get out of Iraq, although after much prayer and consideration, they all seem like wise ideas that I would support if someone else suggested them.

So when someone says to me, we should keep politics out of churches, I’m sympathetic. Politics makes some people into losers; it’s participants are mealy-mouthed opportunists and imprudent utopians.

Politics seems false, it seems inauthentic, it seems dirty.

But we can’t avoid politics. Not in our government, our businesses, in church, our weddings or even in our extended families. Children themselves learn to make alliances with the parent of choice or with other children. They negotiate and barter and cajole. They compete with their siblings for scarce resources, like Legos or Fish Sticks. Politics is how things get done. Or don’t get done.

Paul and Jesus knew this.

Paul however, introduced a new way of engaging in politics. Each of the communities he writes to are having political problems. Factions of people one-upping each other, competing to be closer to God, trying to be more holy. Or, in the case of Corinth, they were taking the notion of “Christian liberty” a bit too far (it gets graphic, so I won’t share the details here).

Paul attempts to mitigate the tensions created by human envy, resentment and excess. So he has a few ideas about the role of the spirit in the community. I’ll offer two.

First he often says, “Judge not.” Just because someone is wrong doesn’t mean you won’t someday be wrong yourself. Yes – state what you think, but be ready to be corrected. I recognize that some of you might be confused because if there is one thing Christians seem to do, its judge others. Although we should not be silent, we state what we know with humility and the acknowledgement we can be wrong. The most important thing is for us to regulate ourselves first.

The second is “love your enemies.” Now let’s clarify this.

In the imperial, pagan world, the meaning of life – especially in political communities – is vindication. For a good part of human history, those vindicated had the power of life and death over the losers. The victors got the women and money; the losers get killed. Vindication, if it were true vindication, is total.

Now if this seems a bit strange to you, think about the last time you were proven right at someone else’s expense. It is so very sweet to be right about something. If you’ve ever gotten into an argument with your partner or parent and been able to tell them they are absolutely wrong, with evidence, you know the feeling. It’s delicious. At least for a moment.

But Paul challenges the young Christian communities to work differently.

When Paul and Jesus say love your enemies, he’s not saying, there are no enemies. Instead, they are saying, your enemies are never permanent. In fact, you are probably a lot like your enemies.

While in the world of the Roman empire, vindication meant death to the loser. With Christ, that changed. Jesus, free of resentment, forgave the vindicated. It’s a reminder: vindication is never total, it is always temporary. And losing, failing, stumbling, does not separate us from the love of God.

When the Romans excecuted Jesus, they didn’t expect that his followers would see him alive again. The power of empire had been broken forever. Their vindication was revealed to be temporary, to be broken, to be fragile.

And we don’t need to be resentful or defensive when we lose. Its enough to get back up again, and stay connected. Our enemies are always temporary; and there is never a reason to hold a grudge. Jesus seems to say, we win some, we lose some, so lets all open a bottle of champagne whatever happens.

So there is no reason for Christians to be afraid of politics. We do politics a bit differently. In victory we do not banish the loser; in losing we do not resent the victor. That’s tough in elections, for example, where the stakes are high.

In the conversations that are the work of politics, the theologian David Tracy reminds us: “Conversation is a game with some hard rules: say only what you mean; say it as accurately as you can; listen to and respect what the other says, however different or other; be willing to correct or defend your opinions if challenged by the conversation partner; be willing to argue if necessary, to confront if demanded, to endure necessary conflict, to change your mind if the evidence suggests it.”

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One perspective on faith

Paul says in Romans: “The faith that you have, have as your own conviction before God. Blessed are those who have no reason to condemn themselves because of what they approve.”

In this passage he is making faith subjective. Faith is located in the individual. He’s almost saying, “if it feels good, do it!” He tempers this a little later in the letter, but he is also insinuating: don’t judge other people’s faith. Your conviction is your own. It’s a blessing in its own right. But it also means we can’t go around dismantling the hope of others, or judging them on their lack of confidence.

Have you ever been suspicious of the way people use the word “faith?” I have. Sometimes it seems like a short-cut for thinking, or a synonym for foolishness. “Faith-based” can also be a codeword for institutions like churches that want to have some say in the political sphere.

I believe, however, that “faith” is not merely about believing in things that simply won’t happen or in the supernatural. “Faith” is a description of what we trust. It provides a lens with which to see the world. It may be sometimes grainy, but it helps us understand what we see. In this thin sense, human beings are imbued with a faith as deep as the alphabet we use to speak.

It may also be the location where we find our strength: such as the love we have for our kids; the support we get from our loved ones; our commitment for a changed world order; in the belief that our parish can become a place to experience creativity in our communities.

“Faith” also describes those rituals, practices and thoughts that are so ingrained we don’t even reflect upon them. We aren’t even aware they are there. That we wake up, have breakfast, go to work, take care of the dog, and come home requires a habit of action that assumes the presence of millions of other actors and actions that may change at any moment. So to some extent, to say “I have faith” is to be redundant. Perhaps the best way to say we have “faith” is to say nothing at all, but merely to live confidently in the world, believing, however foolishly, that what we do matters.

Even more so, faith allows us to say that we can reflect upon our rituals, and have some choice about who we are and what we can be. It might be a faith that allows our awareness, our sensitivity, or our creativity to be harnessed to enchant the world and reveal the loveliness of the world that has been made and we continue to make. Blessed be!

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Pentecost Notes

Pentecost is one of those events that a good preacher is always wondering about. There are lots of opportunities in the readings.

The first reading, for many Christians, prefigures the resurrection. I’m not interested if this is a correct interpretation of the prophet, but it may allow for an interesting shape of what it means to be raised. A few questions come to mind: First, where are the bones from? How did they die? What made them perish? I may discuss how institutions die, stay stable, or thrive.

The passage from acts makes me consider language: how do we learn to understand each other? It reminds me of a book I read on the language of cats and dogs: that they have exact opposite signals when it comes to hunting or being friendly. Yet, some get along. I might discuss the problem of translation – that good translation requires charity. It is enough to understand to get the work done: not to get the sentences perfect. The apostles are given the gift of understanding – not just speaking. Perhaps the holy spirit is not really about being able to speak – but being able to LISTEN. Once we listen then we can practice the words we say.

The gospel. Here are the sentences that hit me: “And when he comes, he will prove the world wrong about sin and righteousness and judgment.” What does the world believe about sin and righteousness and judgment? It believes that people deserve the evil they get.

I admit, I find Jesus cryptic here when he says everything that is the Father’s is His and that it will come to us, or the hearers of the gospel. What is the father’s? What is it that will come to us? A feeling of peace? There is a sense that what comes from the father is the divine affection, a sense of wholeness, of being liberated, of not being afraid. How do we find ourselves in this place?

I might also use this time to preach about the nature of being a baptismal community: what does it mean to us? How does it feel? I might have them remember the last time they felt complete joy. The other day I was thanked and appreciated; I heard an inspiring song; one’s wedding. It might be a completely altering experience, like diving into freezing water. A baptized community encourages people to live their passions and share them with one another. I may extend the “song” metaphor: we’re baptized into God’s song….

Another way to look at language: people build language when they work together: sometimes it is more important not to talk, but to make things happen. As people work together, they create a new language.

God happens, the church happens: it is not just an institution – institutionalization may signal the death of the energy in a parish. The church, perhaps, is a catalyst for people making their lives happen.

Now time to go feed people.

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Easter 7 Year B

Acts 1:15-17, 21-26
Psalm 1
1 John 5:9-13
John 17:6-19

I might use the first reading from acts to discuss how the church selects leaders. I’d probably diminish using a lottery system (is this a proof text for gambling?), and look for a metaphor that describes how people get selected by God for leadership. The lottery dimension might open up other metaphors using games that require luck, but I’d probably allude to the Hegelian world-spirit idea. I would also emphasize that sometimes we just get chosen. Might be useful to find modern Matthias stories. I imagine Matthias being on the bench, and then being asked to pinch hit. Does he hit a homerun? Who knows? He’s in the lineup.

The Psalmist says “1:3 They are like trees planted by streams of water, which yield their fruit in its season, and their leaves do not wither. In all that they do, they prosper. The wicked are not so, but are like chaff that the wind drives away.”

Using the idea of leadership, this is one way of describing who leaders are supposed to be. Granted trees do sway; but the continue to grow and bear fruit. What is wicked will not last.

The Letter this week is a useful proof-text for those who believe that only a verbal, intellectual agreement with the proposition that Jesus is the Son of God is the way to eternal life. “5:11-12 And this is the testimony: God gave us eternal life, and this life is in his Son. Whoever has the Son has life; whoever does not have the Son of God does not have life.” I think that “God gave us eternal life and this life is in his son” is a very important phrase that is worth memorizing. It does encapsulate the Gospel precisely.

It is also a truism. It doesn’t give us wisdom in itself. It feels much more like a chant. The hard work for the preacher is defining what eternal life is, and what it means that eternal life is in the Son. I usually interpret “eternal” as “fullness,” so we are looking for a fullness, a completion of our task. We have a life, and we are asked to do work. God will give us what we need to do the work, if we know his Son. But what did the son offer us? Peace. For those who find the language of “life in his son” opaque, I would begin with the promise of peace and wholeness. Once we know our mission in life and have the space to fulfill that mission, we are promised a life worth living: an “eternal life.” Jesus Christ, by offering his faith that destroyed the embarrassment of a failed God, actually returns the power to us. To have faith in his Son, is to accept the gift that our work matters, and that we can do the work. Jesus did not take the power back into himself. He gave it to us.

The sermon in John continues. As I said last week, it has the feel of a hymn, a chant, a series of words designed to be etched into the hearts of the cult. They are like glue, or stitches, to heal a broken people. They tend to speak for themselves liturgically.

However, I might use this as an opportunity to explore “sanctification.” Is it something that happens when we bless? What happens to us when we are sanctified? Is it like washing our hands? Or are we set aside? How so, when Jesus then sends us back into the world. Sanctification is about setting some boundaries, at the very least, so that we can learn to see and discern more clarity. Sanctification, perhaps, allows us to understand the “truth.”

Now “truth” is pretty complex, so I am dissatisfied with leaving such a thick, powerful word become simply a song for the community. Obviously, as a philosopher, such a word requires some exploration. I’m always tempted to move quickly to Augustine’s sentence “all truth is one” (I believe he said this in his commentary on Genesis, but it might also be in On the Trinity, but I forget), and defend how science has examined truth. But I might explore how wrong platitudes are sometimes, and that truth tends to dismantle the convenient beliefs we have. I might explore how truth in Christ destabilizes other “truths” especially those that revolve around social stability, wealth and violence.

Last week my core metaphor was sky-diving and rock climbing. If I go the sanctification route, I might use metaphors that have to do with containers, clutter, and organization – for sanctification is, in some sense, a description of how we organize the soul.

Gawain de LeeuwLeave a comment