St. Michael’s Episcopal Church, Gainesville FL
The Chapel of the Incarnation, Gainesville FL
October 31, 2010
Year C, Proper 26: The Twenty-Third Sunday after Pentecost
Habakkuk 1:1-4; 2:1-4
Psalm 119: 137-144
2 Thessalonians 1:1-4, 11-12
Luke 19:1-10
Paying Attention to Jesus
Today’s gospel passage begins with the simple sentence, “Jesus entered Jericho and was passing through it.”
What Luke doesn’t mention here is that Jesus is entering and passing through Jericho on his way to Jerusalem, where he will face betrayal, arrest, torture and execution. So, although they probably didn’t realize it, time was running out to see Jesus. If they didn’t pay attention to Jesus now they might not get another chance.
We’re told that in Jericho a crowd had gathered around Jesus. And at least one member of the crowd ran ahead and climbed a sycamore tree in order to see Jesus.
The man in the sycamore tree who paid attention to Jesus was named Zacchaeus. Luke tells us that “he was a chief tax collector and he was rich.”
Before we go any further we need to stop and talk about what it meant in the First Century Mediterranean world to be rich and to be a tax collector.
According to the scholar John J. Pilch, people in the First Century believed in a zero-sum economy. In other words, all the world’s wealth already existed and had been divided among people. So, if someone gained wealth that had to come at the expense of another. And if someone lost wealth, it was because someone else had stolen it. As Pilch writes, in this world “There was no honorable way to increase one’s goods.”
That’s a very different way of thinking about the economy!
In this society, Pilch continues, the poor were a wide range of people who had temporarily lost their status and were trying to get their status back as quickly as possible. So, for example, a widow would be classified as poor, but could regain her status by remarrying. An orphan could regain his or her status simply by growing up.
Luke tells us that Zacchaeus was a chief tax collector and he was rich. Pilch writes that Zacchaeus would have been considered rich simply because he didn’t have to work. As chief tax collector he relied on other lower tax collectors to do the dirty work of actually collecting the taxes. But, Zacchaeus would be on the hook for paying the total amount to Rome. Pilch claims that very few of these tax collectors were able to make a profit.
Here’s how Pilch sums it up, “Zacchaeus was rich in that others, hired agents, did his work for him.”
That’s a different way of thinking about what it means to be rich!
Zacchaeus is often presented as a crook who is transformed by his encounter with Jesus. But, it seems that Luke is making a subtler point in telling us this story.
Zacchaeus is just another lost person living in a broken world – a world where it seemed that Caesar was in charge and not the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob. Zacchaeus was just another person doing his best trying to get by in a corrupt system in which it seemed there was no new wealth to be created; a system in which people believed that if I win that means you lose.
In this harsh and cutthroat world Zacchaeus shouldn’t be wasting any time. He should be out on the streets keeping a very close eye on his agents. He should be back at the office adding up his sums. He should be trying to squeeze out every last coin so that Rome would be satisfied and he would have something left over for his household.
Yet, in this harsh and cutthroat world, Zacchaeaus goes to great lengths to pay attention to Jesus. Zacchaeus – whose name comes from the Hebrew word for “clean, pure, innocent” – pays attention to Jesus.
And this attention, this mindfulness, gives Jesus all the room he needs. Jesus immediately invites himself into Zacchaeus’s life. Jesus says to the short man in the sycamore tree, “Zacchaeus, hurry and come down; for I must stay at your house today.”
Because he has already paid attention to Jesus, Zacchaeus responds joyfully to Jesus. Right on cue, others begin to grumble that Jesus “has gone to be the guest of one who is a sinner.” Then as now, the “crowd” is never willing to admit its own sinfulness but always quick to point the finger at another.
I’m sure the crowd was happy to judge Zacchaeus on the worst parts of his character – or their own distorted perceptions of his character. As always, the crowd was quick to judge Zacchaeus on the worst things he has ever done.
But, then Zacchaeus stops everyone in their tracks and says, “Look, half of my possessions, Lord, I will give to the poor.” Scholars are divided about whether this generosity is something new for Zacchaeus because of his encounter with Jesus or if this has been his ongoing practice. It seems like the majority tilt toward the idea that the “sinner” Zacchaeus has been practicing this kind of generosity for some time.
Then Zacchaeus says, “and IF I have defrauded anyone of anything, I will pay back four times as much.” Zacchaeus admits no fraud. Instead, he pledges to repay what he has accidentally stolen by 400 percent – far exceeding what was required by Jewish Law. Essentially Zacchaeus challenges the grumblers in the crowd to prove their accusations.
Of course, Jesus knows Zacchaeus far better than his whispering and grumbling neighbors. Luke gives Jesus the last word, “Today salvation has come to this house, because he too is a son of Abraham. For the Son of Man came to seek out and to save the lost.”
So, what does this story have to do with us?
Most of all, the story of Zacchaeus is a reminder to pay attention to Jesus.
This past Spring I read an interesting little book called Rapt: Attention and the Focused Life, written by a behavioral scientist named Winifred Gallagher. In her book Gallagher makes a seemingly obvious but frequently forgotten point. She writes,
“Your life is the creation of what you focus on – and what you don’t.”
But, focus is hard, isn’t it? We may have different ideas about economics and what it means to be rich and poor, but we live in a world not so different from the First Century world of Zacchaeus. Many of us often feel lost in a broken world in a which it seems Caesar’s successors are in charge and not the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob. Like Zacchaeus, you and I are just trying to do our best to survive in a corrupt system in which it often feels like the deck is stacked against us.
There are so many tasks and things that demand our attention – paying our bills, studying for exams, trying to eat right and to exercise, keeping up with family and friends, following current events, making sense of a complicated ballot, the list goes on and on. Plus, unlike Zacchaeus, we have all sorts of noisy and tempting technology - the TV, the radio, the Internet, our cell phones, - all of which help us to lose focus.
And then there are all our internal distractions – our worries about the future and our regrets about the past, our anxiety about our kids and grandkids, our anger, our resentments, our hurts… All those and much more help us to lose focus.
Yet, as Gallagher writes in her book, “Your life is the creation of what you focus on – and what you don’t.”
So, do we want our life to be a fragmented creation made up of thousands of tasks, of innumerable worries, regrets and irritations?
Or do we want our life to be a beautiful creation formed by paying attention to Jesus – Jesus who has come to seek out and save the lost – Jesus who shows us what God is really like and who shows us what we are really like – Jesus who is always ready to invite himself into our lives, if, like Zacchaeus, we focus on him.
Unlike Zacchaeus, we can’t climb up into a sycamore tree to see Jesus. Instead, for us, focusing on Jesus means being right here as much as possible – to hear the old stories, to pray and sing together, and most of all, to take Christ into our hearts and bodies by receiving the Bread of Heaven and the Cup of Salvation.
For us, whether we’re really busy or have lots of time to kill, paying attention to Jesus means finding ways during the week to remind ourselves of who we are – that in baptism we are marked as Christ’s own forever. Maybe we pay attention to Jesus during the week by setting aside even just a few minutes a day for quiet prayer, or some spiritual reading, or to offer service to those in need.
Paying attention to Jesus means doing our best to live out the words of the Prophet Micah that we sang at the start of today’s service: “Do justly, love mercy, walk humbly with God.”
Unlike Zacchaeus, we can’t climb up into a sycamore tree to see Jesus. But, like Zacchaeus, we can make our lives a beautiful creation by paying attention to Jesus – Jesus who has come to seek out and to save the lost.
Amen.
Sunday, October 31, 2010
Sunday, October 24, 2010
Emptiness and Mercy
St. Michael’s Episcopal Church, Gainesville FL
The Chapel of the Incarnation, Gainesville FL
October 24, 2010
Year C, Proper 25: The Twenty-Second Sunday after Pentecost
Joel 2:23-32
Psalm 65
2 Timothy 4:6-8, 16-18
Luke 18:9-14
Emptiness and Mercy
In our Old Testament lesson today we heard a passage from the Prophet Joel. We don’t know much about him. The best guess is he lived around the year 400 BC. His book is broken into two parts.
The first part is about a plague of locusts that descended on Israel, devastating the land and leaving emptiness behind. Joel interprets this disaster as a sign of God’s judgment and through Joel God calls the people to return. Joel prophesies that the Day of the Lord is coming – a day of both judgment and blessing.
The second part of the Book of Joel is about God’s overflowing mercy. It’s interesting that Joel never describes God’s people as actually changing their ways. Instead, God’s mercy overflows no matter what. Since it is God’s nature to love and be merciful, that’s what God is and that’s what God does.
All we really need to do is be open enough to accept and receive God’s love and mercy, and allow God’s grace to fill up the emptiness that exists in all of our hearts.
Of course, like Joel, we also can see spiritual significance in the natural world. On Monday and Tuesday I was up at Camp Weed for my first clergy conference here in the Diocese of Florida. It was my first visit to our diocesan camp and conference center. I was impressed by the staff’s hospitality and also by the natural beauty of the place itself.
But, Camp Weed’s most impressive feature is emptiness – the emptiness where there was not so long ago a large lake. Because of drought and our overconsumption of water, the aquifer has dropped and a few years ago the lake dried up.
In its place there is emptiness – a kind of depression in the land where wild grasses and trees have started sprouting up. As many of you know, a major project is in the works to restore the lake – but it will take lots of money, effort and time.
It was depressing to look out at that emptiness. And as I stood there I began to see the spiritual significance of that emptiness. Obviously it’s a powerful sign of how we have abused the earth. But more than that, for me this emptiness also became a sign of the emptiness that exists in our society.
And it became a sign of the sense of emptiness that exists in many of our hearts.
Certainly the economic downturn has contributed to our sense of emptiness along with wars that grind on no matter how many times presidents declare our mission accomplished.
After years of economic decline and the loss of our most precious blood, there is a sense of emptiness in the land and in our hearts.
The ugliness that we see each time we turn on the TV – from inane reality shows to what passes for rational discussion on current events has added to our sense of emptiness. The tragic stories of gay young people driven to suicide by bullying have added to our sense of emptiness.
This depressing election season contributes to our sense of emptiness – commercial after commercial of candidates and their surrogates accusing each other of crimes, lies, and bad intentions, with few offering any realistic solutions to our many very real problems. The general anxiety and anger that has been set loose over the past year is both a symptom and a cause of our society’s sense of emptiness.
There is emptiness in our society. And for many of us there is emptiness in our own hearts.
How many of us feel great anxiety about the future? How many of us worry about what life will be like for us, for our children, for our grandchildren in a country that seems to be getting poorer and meaner by the day?
How many of us feel regret about the past, about our own sins against God and our neighbor; about things done and things left undone? How many of us catch ourselves thinking about the road not taken, wondering about what might have been?
There is emptiness in our society. And for many of us there is emptiness in our own hearts.
And how many of us try to fill our emptiness with what never really satisfies? How many of us try to fill up our homes with stuff? How many of us are not as generous as we really could be? How many of us blame other people for our problems? How many of us are willing to scapegoat the other – the Republicans or the Democrats, the gays, the undocumented immigrant, NPR or FOX News?
How many of us can’t even admit our emptiness to God?
Which brings us to the parable of Jesus we heard today from the Gospel of Luke.
It’s the second of two parables on prayer that are back to back in the Gospel of Luke. Last week we heard the first one, the parable of the persistent widow and the unjust judge. It was a parable meant to encourage us to be persistent in our faith and in our prayer – to ask God for all the good blessings that only God can give.
Today’s parable digs a little deeper. Once again, we have two characters, seemingly from “central casting” - a Pharisee and a tax collector.
They are both familiar characters from the New Testament. The Pharisees nearly always get bad press and are depicted as major opponents of Jesus – and as hypocrites who are obsessed with religious ritual. We don’t know that much about them, but it seems that they were one of many Jewish groups calling people to holiness in their daily lives. They also believed in resurrection and were expecting the Messiah.
Tax collectors were of course among the most despised people in society – and yet they responded to Jesus’ message.
The Pharisee and the tax collector would seem to be very different. But, actually, like many of us, they both suffered from emptiness in their own hearts.
It’s how they deal with their emptiness that sets them apart. The Pharisee isn’t really even praying. He’s there, probably up front where everyone can see how holy he is. Instead of looking to God, he’s busy looking at the poor, far-off tax collector, and congratulating himself on his superiority and piety. In his own mind and so-called prayer he tries to glorify himself, or maybe fool himself. Instead of admitting the emptiness inside his own heart, the Pharisee focuses on his appearance and the weaknesses of others.
Meanwhile, standing far off, the tax collector is so acutely aware of his emptiness that he can’t even look up to heaven. We’re told he’s beating his breast, which among men in the Middle East is a sign of extreme anguish. All he can say is, “God have mercy on me. I am a sinner.”
Jesus tells us that it was the tax collector who was justified, not the Pharisee.
I’d love to have a sequel to this parable. What happened next to these characters?
But, actually, in a way we already know what happens next because we’ve all been the Pharisee.
When we refuse to admit our own emptiness and sinfulness, when we pretend to have it all together, then we stay stuck. When we try to fool ourselves, and other people and even God, then our hearts remain empty.
We know what happens next because we’ve all been the tax collector.
When we admit our emptiness and sinfulness, when we admit that we don’t have it all together, then we make room in our hearts for God’s grace. We make room in our hearts for God’s forgiveness and open ourselves to the fullness of joy.
Last week I saw the emptiness at Camp Weed – emptiness that in time and with a lot of effort will soon be filled with new water.
And if we look around at our messed up society and if look honestly into our own hearts, very often we also find emptiness.
The Good News is that God is always ready offer overflowing mercy, to fill our hearts with forgiveness, grace and joy.
In a few minutes we will say the familiar words of the confession. This time let’s join with the tax collector, let’s admit our emptiness, and in our hearts let’s say, “God, be merciful to me a sinner!”
Amen.
The Chapel of the Incarnation, Gainesville FL
October 24, 2010
Year C, Proper 25: The Twenty-Second Sunday after Pentecost
Joel 2:23-32
Psalm 65
2 Timothy 4:6-8, 16-18
Luke 18:9-14
Emptiness and Mercy
In our Old Testament lesson today we heard a passage from the Prophet Joel. We don’t know much about him. The best guess is he lived around the year 400 BC. His book is broken into two parts.
The first part is about a plague of locusts that descended on Israel, devastating the land and leaving emptiness behind. Joel interprets this disaster as a sign of God’s judgment and through Joel God calls the people to return. Joel prophesies that the Day of the Lord is coming – a day of both judgment and blessing.
The second part of the Book of Joel is about God’s overflowing mercy. It’s interesting that Joel never describes God’s people as actually changing their ways. Instead, God’s mercy overflows no matter what. Since it is God’s nature to love and be merciful, that’s what God is and that’s what God does.
All we really need to do is be open enough to accept and receive God’s love and mercy, and allow God’s grace to fill up the emptiness that exists in all of our hearts.
Of course, like Joel, we also can see spiritual significance in the natural world. On Monday and Tuesday I was up at Camp Weed for my first clergy conference here in the Diocese of Florida. It was my first visit to our diocesan camp and conference center. I was impressed by the staff’s hospitality and also by the natural beauty of the place itself.
But, Camp Weed’s most impressive feature is emptiness – the emptiness where there was not so long ago a large lake. Because of drought and our overconsumption of water, the aquifer has dropped and a few years ago the lake dried up.
In its place there is emptiness – a kind of depression in the land where wild grasses and trees have started sprouting up. As many of you know, a major project is in the works to restore the lake – but it will take lots of money, effort and time.
It was depressing to look out at that emptiness. And as I stood there I began to see the spiritual significance of that emptiness. Obviously it’s a powerful sign of how we have abused the earth. But more than that, for me this emptiness also became a sign of the emptiness that exists in our society.
And it became a sign of the sense of emptiness that exists in many of our hearts.
Certainly the economic downturn has contributed to our sense of emptiness along with wars that grind on no matter how many times presidents declare our mission accomplished.
After years of economic decline and the loss of our most precious blood, there is a sense of emptiness in the land and in our hearts.
The ugliness that we see each time we turn on the TV – from inane reality shows to what passes for rational discussion on current events has added to our sense of emptiness. The tragic stories of gay young people driven to suicide by bullying have added to our sense of emptiness.
This depressing election season contributes to our sense of emptiness – commercial after commercial of candidates and their surrogates accusing each other of crimes, lies, and bad intentions, with few offering any realistic solutions to our many very real problems. The general anxiety and anger that has been set loose over the past year is both a symptom and a cause of our society’s sense of emptiness.
There is emptiness in our society. And for many of us there is emptiness in our own hearts.
How many of us feel great anxiety about the future? How many of us worry about what life will be like for us, for our children, for our grandchildren in a country that seems to be getting poorer and meaner by the day?
How many of us feel regret about the past, about our own sins against God and our neighbor; about things done and things left undone? How many of us catch ourselves thinking about the road not taken, wondering about what might have been?
There is emptiness in our society. And for many of us there is emptiness in our own hearts.
And how many of us try to fill our emptiness with what never really satisfies? How many of us try to fill up our homes with stuff? How many of us are not as generous as we really could be? How many of us blame other people for our problems? How many of us are willing to scapegoat the other – the Republicans or the Democrats, the gays, the undocumented immigrant, NPR or FOX News?
How many of us can’t even admit our emptiness to God?
Which brings us to the parable of Jesus we heard today from the Gospel of Luke.
It’s the second of two parables on prayer that are back to back in the Gospel of Luke. Last week we heard the first one, the parable of the persistent widow and the unjust judge. It was a parable meant to encourage us to be persistent in our faith and in our prayer – to ask God for all the good blessings that only God can give.
Today’s parable digs a little deeper. Once again, we have two characters, seemingly from “central casting” - a Pharisee and a tax collector.
They are both familiar characters from the New Testament. The Pharisees nearly always get bad press and are depicted as major opponents of Jesus – and as hypocrites who are obsessed with religious ritual. We don’t know that much about them, but it seems that they were one of many Jewish groups calling people to holiness in their daily lives. They also believed in resurrection and were expecting the Messiah.
Tax collectors were of course among the most despised people in society – and yet they responded to Jesus’ message.
The Pharisee and the tax collector would seem to be very different. But, actually, like many of us, they both suffered from emptiness in their own hearts.
It’s how they deal with their emptiness that sets them apart. The Pharisee isn’t really even praying. He’s there, probably up front where everyone can see how holy he is. Instead of looking to God, he’s busy looking at the poor, far-off tax collector, and congratulating himself on his superiority and piety. In his own mind and so-called prayer he tries to glorify himself, or maybe fool himself. Instead of admitting the emptiness inside his own heart, the Pharisee focuses on his appearance and the weaknesses of others.
Meanwhile, standing far off, the tax collector is so acutely aware of his emptiness that he can’t even look up to heaven. We’re told he’s beating his breast, which among men in the Middle East is a sign of extreme anguish. All he can say is, “God have mercy on me. I am a sinner.”
Jesus tells us that it was the tax collector who was justified, not the Pharisee.
I’d love to have a sequel to this parable. What happened next to these characters?
But, actually, in a way we already know what happens next because we’ve all been the Pharisee.
When we refuse to admit our own emptiness and sinfulness, when we pretend to have it all together, then we stay stuck. When we try to fool ourselves, and other people and even God, then our hearts remain empty.
We know what happens next because we’ve all been the tax collector.
When we admit our emptiness and sinfulness, when we admit that we don’t have it all together, then we make room in our hearts for God’s grace. We make room in our hearts for God’s forgiveness and open ourselves to the fullness of joy.
Last week I saw the emptiness at Camp Weed – emptiness that in time and with a lot of effort will soon be filled with new water.
And if we look around at our messed up society and if look honestly into our own hearts, very often we also find emptiness.
The Good News is that God is always ready offer overflowing mercy, to fill our hearts with forgiveness, grace and joy.
In a few minutes we will say the familiar words of the confession. This time let’s join with the tax collector, let’s admit our emptiness, and in our hearts let’s say, “God, be merciful to me a sinner!”
Amen.
Sunday, October 17, 2010
Faith and Prayer
St. Michael’s Episcopal Church, Gainesville FL
The Chapel of the Incarnation, Gainesville FL
October 17, 2010
Year C: Proper 24, The Twenty-First Sunday after Pentecost
Jeremiah 31:27-34
Psalm 119:97-104
2 Timothy 3:14-4:5
Luke 18:1-8
Faith and Prayer
I know I’m a little disoriented because the seasons are different here, but it feels like time is passing very quickly. It’s hard to believe that in just six weeks we will begin the season of Advent – the season in which we both prepare for Christmas and also look ahead to the second coming of Jesus Christ.
It’s during Advent that we are most aware that we live in an in-between time. Jesus has lived, died and risen, changing everything for all time. Yet, when we look at the world around us nothing much seems to have changed at all. Most people, including most of us, just go about our business as usual. But Christians have always understood that we live in an in-between time – the time between Jesus’ resurrection and his return. We live between the twilight of an old world and the dawn of a new world.
For the early followers of Jesus, this in-between time was a very difficult time and place.
It was difficult for a lot of reasons. First, the earliest followers of Jesus had expected that Jesus would return very soon, perhaps today, maybe this week.
Since that didn’t happen, by the last decades of the First Century when the gospels are written, there was understandable anxiety. When Lord? How much longer, Lord? Where are you, Lord?
On top of that, the first followers of Jesus had to deal with their neighbors, who were at best suspicious and at worst openly hostile to the Jesus movement. It was very hard to remain faithful to an apparently tardy Jesus when one’s safety was constantly in danger. The longer Jesus took to return, the easier it was to lose heart.
Today’s parable of the widow and unjust judge from the Gospel of Luke clearly addresses these very real concerns of Jesus’ first followers living in this in-between time. Luke spells out parable’s meaning right from the start:
“Then Jesus told them a parable about their need to pray always and not lose heart.”
There are only two characters in this parable. There’s a judge who lacks both religion and scruples and one very determined widow. In Hebrew Scripture there is a very heavy emphasis placed on taking care of widows – an emphasis that this judge at first chooses to ignore.
Since, as a woman the widow had no standing before the judge, she should have gotten a son or a brother or some other male relative to plead her case. Since she goes to the judge, we can assume that not only was she a widow, but she was utterly alone and very vulnerable.
Yet, despite her aloneness and vulnerability, she persists. She really persists, and she finally gets what she wants. In our translation the judge says, “I will grant her justice, so that she may not wear me out by continually coming.” Other translations are a bit more vivid: “I must give this widow her just rights since she keeps pestering me, or she will come and slap me in the face.”
So, maybe literally to save face, the judge gives the persistent widow what she wants.
We’re meant to conclude that if the unjust judge gives this woman what she wants, then certainly God who is infinitely more just and loving will surely answer the pleas of us, God’s people.
Luke quotes Jesus as asking, “And will not God grant justice to his chosen ones who cry to him day and night? Will he delay long in helping them?”
And then Jesus concludes with one last question, “And yet, when the Son of Man comes, will he find faith on earth?”
So, what does all this mean for us?
At first this seems like a pretty straightforward parable – if we are persistent in prayer – if we cry to God day and night - if we keep the faith - then God will quickly give justice to us.
But, we all know that doesn’t mean that God is like a pushover parent or grandparent. God giving justice to us doesn’t mean that we can get whatever we want from God if we’re just persistent, if we pester God, if we nag God, if we just pray hard enough.
And even if God does grant us what we want, we don’t necessarily get it as quickly as we’d like. There are surely many praying people who wait a long time for justice.
So, I really struggled with this passage over the past few days. And, as I grappled with this parable, I kept circling back to the basics: faith and prayer.
Faith and prayer.
Jesus asks, “And yet, when the Son of Man comes, will he find faith on earth?”
But, what is faith? I think when most of us think about faith we think of a list of propositions that we either believe in – or not. In a few minutes we’ll all stand and say the Nicene Creed. In a way, the creed is a checklist, and we can check off items depending on how much faith we have.
But, I don’t think the checklist is the type of faith that Jesus hopes to find on earth when he returns.
During this in-between time the most important kind of faith is trust. The great challenge for us as Christians past and present is to put our trust in a God who operates on a timetable that is not the same as ours. Our great challenge is to have faith – to put our trust in God – even though in this in-between time we can’t always see how God is at work in our lives. Our great challenge is to persist in faith – to persist in placing our trust in God.
And that’s why we’re here today. Since persisting in faith can be so hard, we gather here each week to tell the old stories, to sing the hymns, to encourage each other, and to receive the bread of heaven and the cup of salvation.
And since persisting in faith can be so hard, we also look for inspiration to the lives of Christians who’ve gone before us. We remember the holy women and men who have also faced challenges and persisted in putting their faith in – placing their trust in - God.
On Friday the Church remembered Teresa of Avila (and today here at St. Michael’s we are honoring our Teresa of Avila chapter of the Daughters of the King.) Teresa is a great example of a woman who faced many challenges and obstacles and yet persisted in putting her trust in God.
Teresa was born in 1515 to a wealthy Spanish merchant family. Against her family’s wishes she became Carmelite nun. A couple of years later she suffered a devastating illness, which gave her fainting fits, heart problems and even paralysis. At one point she seemed so close to death that a grave was dug in preparation for her burial.
But, she recovered and devoted the rest of her life to reforming the Carmelite order, opening new convents, writing, and, most of all, prayer.
When we look at the lives of Teresa and all the holy women and men who have persisted in faith we find that the best way for us in this in-between time to persist in faith is through prayer.
The persistent widow is a role model of one kind of prayer – petition – asking God for what we want – sometimes over and over and over! And there’s certainly nothing wrong with petition. We do it all the time – here in church and in our own lives. And God certainly wants us to ask for good gifts for others and ourselves.
But petition is just one kind of prayer – and not the most important.
Teresa of Avila understood this. She was a great mystic who wrote profoundly about prayer. Here’s her beautiful description of what she called mental prayer - simply spending time with God:
“For mental prayer in my opinion is nothing else than an intimate sharing between friends; it means taking time frequently to be alone with Him who we know loves us.”
Teresa described the Christian spiritual life as an “interior castle.” Through our own prayer we enter the first few rooms of the castle but then when we are quiet and simply spend time with God, when we make time for God, when we are open to God, God draws us ever closer. As we move deeper into the “interior castle,” our faith – our trust in God – becomes more and more complete.
And isn’t that the kind of faith, the kind of trust and closeness, that God predicts and dreams of in today’s lesson from Jeremiah? God says,
“I will put my law within them, and I will write it on their hearts; and I will be their God, and they shall be my people.”
It’s six weeks to Advent - time is passing quickly, but you and I are still in this in-between time. Jesus has lived, died and risen again, but we’re still here trying to remain persistently faithful.
The great challenge of our lives is to put our faith – our trust – in God. And it’s through prayer – here together in church, at home and in the quiet of our own hearts – that our trust deepens, our faith grows, and we come to know the God whose nature and name is Love.
It’s through prayer that when the Son of Man comes he will find faith on earth.
The basics: faith and prayer.
Amen.
The Chapel of the Incarnation, Gainesville FL
October 17, 2010
Year C: Proper 24, The Twenty-First Sunday after Pentecost
Jeremiah 31:27-34
Psalm 119:97-104
2 Timothy 3:14-4:5
Luke 18:1-8
Faith and Prayer
I know I’m a little disoriented because the seasons are different here, but it feels like time is passing very quickly. It’s hard to believe that in just six weeks we will begin the season of Advent – the season in which we both prepare for Christmas and also look ahead to the second coming of Jesus Christ.
It’s during Advent that we are most aware that we live in an in-between time. Jesus has lived, died and risen, changing everything for all time. Yet, when we look at the world around us nothing much seems to have changed at all. Most people, including most of us, just go about our business as usual. But Christians have always understood that we live in an in-between time – the time between Jesus’ resurrection and his return. We live between the twilight of an old world and the dawn of a new world.
For the early followers of Jesus, this in-between time was a very difficult time and place.
It was difficult for a lot of reasons. First, the earliest followers of Jesus had expected that Jesus would return very soon, perhaps today, maybe this week.
Since that didn’t happen, by the last decades of the First Century when the gospels are written, there was understandable anxiety. When Lord? How much longer, Lord? Where are you, Lord?
On top of that, the first followers of Jesus had to deal with their neighbors, who were at best suspicious and at worst openly hostile to the Jesus movement. It was very hard to remain faithful to an apparently tardy Jesus when one’s safety was constantly in danger. The longer Jesus took to return, the easier it was to lose heart.
Today’s parable of the widow and unjust judge from the Gospel of Luke clearly addresses these very real concerns of Jesus’ first followers living in this in-between time. Luke spells out parable’s meaning right from the start:
“Then Jesus told them a parable about their need to pray always and not lose heart.”
There are only two characters in this parable. There’s a judge who lacks both religion and scruples and one very determined widow. In Hebrew Scripture there is a very heavy emphasis placed on taking care of widows – an emphasis that this judge at first chooses to ignore.
Since, as a woman the widow had no standing before the judge, she should have gotten a son or a brother or some other male relative to plead her case. Since she goes to the judge, we can assume that not only was she a widow, but she was utterly alone and very vulnerable.
Yet, despite her aloneness and vulnerability, she persists. She really persists, and she finally gets what she wants. In our translation the judge says, “I will grant her justice, so that she may not wear me out by continually coming.” Other translations are a bit more vivid: “I must give this widow her just rights since she keeps pestering me, or she will come and slap me in the face.”
So, maybe literally to save face, the judge gives the persistent widow what she wants.
We’re meant to conclude that if the unjust judge gives this woman what she wants, then certainly God who is infinitely more just and loving will surely answer the pleas of us, God’s people.
Luke quotes Jesus as asking, “And will not God grant justice to his chosen ones who cry to him day and night? Will he delay long in helping them?”
And then Jesus concludes with one last question, “And yet, when the Son of Man comes, will he find faith on earth?”
So, what does all this mean for us?
At first this seems like a pretty straightforward parable – if we are persistent in prayer – if we cry to God day and night - if we keep the faith - then God will quickly give justice to us.
But, we all know that doesn’t mean that God is like a pushover parent or grandparent. God giving justice to us doesn’t mean that we can get whatever we want from God if we’re just persistent, if we pester God, if we nag God, if we just pray hard enough.
And even if God does grant us what we want, we don’t necessarily get it as quickly as we’d like. There are surely many praying people who wait a long time for justice.
So, I really struggled with this passage over the past few days. And, as I grappled with this parable, I kept circling back to the basics: faith and prayer.
Faith and prayer.
Jesus asks, “And yet, when the Son of Man comes, will he find faith on earth?”
But, what is faith? I think when most of us think about faith we think of a list of propositions that we either believe in – or not. In a few minutes we’ll all stand and say the Nicene Creed. In a way, the creed is a checklist, and we can check off items depending on how much faith we have.
But, I don’t think the checklist is the type of faith that Jesus hopes to find on earth when he returns.
During this in-between time the most important kind of faith is trust. The great challenge for us as Christians past and present is to put our trust in a God who operates on a timetable that is not the same as ours. Our great challenge is to have faith – to put our trust in God – even though in this in-between time we can’t always see how God is at work in our lives. Our great challenge is to persist in faith – to persist in placing our trust in God.
And that’s why we’re here today. Since persisting in faith can be so hard, we gather here each week to tell the old stories, to sing the hymns, to encourage each other, and to receive the bread of heaven and the cup of salvation.
And since persisting in faith can be so hard, we also look for inspiration to the lives of Christians who’ve gone before us. We remember the holy women and men who have also faced challenges and persisted in putting their faith in – placing their trust in - God.
On Friday the Church remembered Teresa of Avila (and today here at St. Michael’s we are honoring our Teresa of Avila chapter of the Daughters of the King.) Teresa is a great example of a woman who faced many challenges and obstacles and yet persisted in putting her trust in God.
Teresa was born in 1515 to a wealthy Spanish merchant family. Against her family’s wishes she became Carmelite nun. A couple of years later she suffered a devastating illness, which gave her fainting fits, heart problems and even paralysis. At one point she seemed so close to death that a grave was dug in preparation for her burial.
But, she recovered and devoted the rest of her life to reforming the Carmelite order, opening new convents, writing, and, most of all, prayer.
When we look at the lives of Teresa and all the holy women and men who have persisted in faith we find that the best way for us in this in-between time to persist in faith is through prayer.
The persistent widow is a role model of one kind of prayer – petition – asking God for what we want – sometimes over and over and over! And there’s certainly nothing wrong with petition. We do it all the time – here in church and in our own lives. And God certainly wants us to ask for good gifts for others and ourselves.
But petition is just one kind of prayer – and not the most important.
Teresa of Avila understood this. She was a great mystic who wrote profoundly about prayer. Here’s her beautiful description of what she called mental prayer - simply spending time with God:
“For mental prayer in my opinion is nothing else than an intimate sharing between friends; it means taking time frequently to be alone with Him who we know loves us.”
Teresa described the Christian spiritual life as an “interior castle.” Through our own prayer we enter the first few rooms of the castle but then when we are quiet and simply spend time with God, when we make time for God, when we are open to God, God draws us ever closer. As we move deeper into the “interior castle,” our faith – our trust in God – becomes more and more complete.
And isn’t that the kind of faith, the kind of trust and closeness, that God predicts and dreams of in today’s lesson from Jeremiah? God says,
“I will put my law within them, and I will write it on their hearts; and I will be their God, and they shall be my people.”
It’s six weeks to Advent - time is passing quickly, but you and I are still in this in-between time. Jesus has lived, died and risen again, but we’re still here trying to remain persistently faithful.
The great challenge of our lives is to put our faith – our trust – in God. And it’s through prayer – here together in church, at home and in the quiet of our own hearts – that our trust deepens, our faith grows, and we come to know the God whose nature and name is Love.
It’s through prayer that when the Son of Man comes he will find faith on earth.
The basics: faith and prayer.
Amen.
Sunday, October 10, 2010
We Are Here (At the Chapel)
The Chapel of the Incarnation, Gainesville FL
October 10, 2010
Year C: Proper 23 – The Twentieth Sunday after Pentecost
Jeremiah 29:1, 4-7
Psalm 66:1-11
2 Timothy 2:8-15
Luke 17:11-19
We are Here
Anyone ever have trouble paying attention? Like, say, when you’re trying to study and yet it’s so tempting to check facebook or to text a friend or to just daydream about the weekend.
It’s not always easy to pay attention, yet, most, if not all, religious traditions emphasize the importance of paying attention, the importance of being mindful of how God might be at work right here and now in this present moment.
In the gospels, at the end of a parable or a teaching, Jesus is often quoted as saying, “Let anyone with ears to hear listen!”
In other words, pay attention! Be mindful!
Mindfulness is especially valued in Buddhism. The great Buddhist spiritual teacher Thich Nhat Hanh has written:
“The miracle of mindfulness is, first of all, you are here. Being truly here is very important – being here for yourself, and for the one you love. How can you love if you are not here? A fundamental condition for love is your own presence. In order to love, you must be here. That is certain. Fortunately, being here is not a difficult thing to accomplish.”
I’m not so sure about that last line. At least for me, it’s not so easy to pay attention, to be mindful. It’s easy to take people, places and things for granted. It’s easy to forget how miraculous it is that we are right here, right now.
How many of us really paid attention when we walked, or biked, or drove to the chapel this evening?
How many of us really pay attention to our friends and families? How many of us have had the experience of having a phone conversation in which we half – or even less than half – listen to what the other person is saying. And sometimes we get caught, right?
“Tom? I just asked you a question! Were you even listening to me?”
Even worse, sometimes we do the same thing when we’re with people in person. And if we get caught then – man, that’s even more embarrassing! You know how it happens, the other person notices our eyes glaze over or notices that we are looking off in the distance and not paying any attention to the here and now.
It’s not easy to pay attention to what’s going on around us.
It’s easy for us to forget, “we are here.”
As we get older, sometimes we forget “we are here” because we are so focused on the past. The glow of the glory days or the anguish of an old pain, can distract us from being mindful of the present. The past can get in the way of us remembering, “we are here.”
I bet many of you are more likely to forget “we are here” because you’re so busy looking ahead to the future. People say these are the best years of your life. But how much of that time is spent thinking about – or worrying about – the future?
A change in scenery can sometimes be very helpful to mindfulness. These days I have to pay close attention when I’m driving because usually I’m not really sure where I’m going.
Over the past month and a half or so there have been quite a few times that Sue and I have thought, “Isn’t it amazing that we are here?”
Sometimes we’ll be walking down West University Avenue or driving around Gainesville and one of us will turn to the other and ask something like, “Can you believe that we live here?”
To be honest, these are ambiguous thoughts and questions.
I’m mindful of living in Gainesville – this Gator-crazy, football-mad town where an RV was already parked on the chapel lawn when I unlocked the gates at 7:30 on Friday morning – in position for last night’s game.
I’m mindful of living in Gainesville, driving on its confusing streets as helmet-free students whiz by on scooters as they talk on cell phones or even text. It’s amazing to be living in Gainesville with its threats of Koran-burning and senseless murders.
I’m mindful of living in Gainesville, so far from our family and friends. Last week was my father’s birthday and the best I could do was give him a call in the evening. I am sad that we won’t be seeing each other anytime soon.
We are here.
Sometimes my homesickness and my focus on the past can blind me to all the blessings that are being poured out, that are all around me, right here and now.
We are here.
It’s amazing to be living in Gainesville – this interesting and cool town, filled with great restaurants and unusual shops, humming with the energy of so many young people and the intellectual and artistic firepower of a first-class faculty.
It’s amazing to be living in Gainesville, so beautiful with its towering palm trees and gently hanging moss, so beautiful with its lush gardens and surrounded by vast stretches of wild nature.
It’s amazing to be in Gainesville, to live “above the store” to come downstairs and sit in our beautiful garden, to hang out with many of you, to pray together, to support one another in tough times and to celebrate in good times.
We are here.
Now, don’t get me wrong, I don’t think of myself as an exile. But, I guess because Sue and I do find ourselves living in a new and unfamiliar place, today’s reading from the Prophet Jeremiah really spoke to me.
A little background: Jeremiah is writing during the Babylonian exile in the 6th Century BC when the Jewish kingdoms had been defeated and a sizable portion of the Jewish people were living in exile in Babylon.
For the exiles, this was kind of an ambiguous situation because Jerusalem had not been destroyed and many Jews were still living back in the homeland, although under foreign rule.
For the exiles, this ambiguous situation left them unsettled. They looked to the past and yearned for home. They looked to the future with anxiety. How long would their exile last? How long would they be under Babylonian rule?
The prophets weren’t much help. The prophets were not in agreement about the exile and so gave a mixed message. Some said with confidence that the exile would be ending soon – that God was about to take action to liberate his people. Those prophecies led to Jewish revolts both in Jerusalem and in Babylon.
But, Jeremiah offered a very different prophecy. Jeremiah believed that God was at work here and now. Jeremiah believed that God was making use of Nebuchadnezzar, the Babylonian king. Jeremiah believed that God was making use of the exile itself.
And so through the Prophet Jeremiah, essentially God says to the people of Israel: “You are there.” God says to the people of Israel, “And I am right there with you.”
Through Jeremiah, God says: “Build houses and live in them; plant gardens and eat what they produce. Take wives and have sons and daughters; take wives for your sons, and give your daughters in marriage, that they may bear sons and daughters; multiply there, and do not decrease.”
In other words, “You are there. And I am right there with you.”
You and I, we’re not exiles. But, we face the same challenge of being really present in the here and now. We face the same challenge of focusing on – and being open to – the blessings that are being poured out all around us.
We face the same challenge of keeping our eyes and ears open to God at work all around us. We face the same challenge of remembering how good it is just to breathe. How good it is just to feel the warmth of the sun. How good it is just to hang out with friends. How good it is to have the opportunity to study and learn. How good it is to laugh. How good it is to eat and drink.
And here in our beautiful chapel, how good it is to eat and drink the Body and Blood of Christ. How good it is to unite with Christ and with one another, to be the Body of Christ here in the beautiful place, right here and now.
And when we’re paying attention to all that we receive, right here and now, then we’re likely to feel deep love. As Thich Nhat Hanh says, “In order to love you must be here.”
And when we’re mindful of all that we receive right here and now, then we’re likely to also feel profound gratitude. We’re likely to be like that one healed leper who paid attention, who returned to Jesus and said thank you.
We are here.
Amen.
October 10, 2010
Year C: Proper 23 – The Twentieth Sunday after Pentecost
Jeremiah 29:1, 4-7
Psalm 66:1-11
2 Timothy 2:8-15
Luke 17:11-19
We are Here
Anyone ever have trouble paying attention? Like, say, when you’re trying to study and yet it’s so tempting to check facebook or to text a friend or to just daydream about the weekend.
It’s not always easy to pay attention, yet, most, if not all, religious traditions emphasize the importance of paying attention, the importance of being mindful of how God might be at work right here and now in this present moment.
In the gospels, at the end of a parable or a teaching, Jesus is often quoted as saying, “Let anyone with ears to hear listen!”
In other words, pay attention! Be mindful!
Mindfulness is especially valued in Buddhism. The great Buddhist spiritual teacher Thich Nhat Hanh has written:
“The miracle of mindfulness is, first of all, you are here. Being truly here is very important – being here for yourself, and for the one you love. How can you love if you are not here? A fundamental condition for love is your own presence. In order to love, you must be here. That is certain. Fortunately, being here is not a difficult thing to accomplish.”
I’m not so sure about that last line. At least for me, it’s not so easy to pay attention, to be mindful. It’s easy to take people, places and things for granted. It’s easy to forget how miraculous it is that we are right here, right now.
How many of us really paid attention when we walked, or biked, or drove to the chapel this evening?
How many of us really pay attention to our friends and families? How many of us have had the experience of having a phone conversation in which we half – or even less than half – listen to what the other person is saying. And sometimes we get caught, right?
“Tom? I just asked you a question! Were you even listening to me?”
Even worse, sometimes we do the same thing when we’re with people in person. And if we get caught then – man, that’s even more embarrassing! You know how it happens, the other person notices our eyes glaze over or notices that we are looking off in the distance and not paying any attention to the here and now.
It’s not easy to pay attention to what’s going on around us.
It’s easy for us to forget, “we are here.”
As we get older, sometimes we forget “we are here” because we are so focused on the past. The glow of the glory days or the anguish of an old pain, can distract us from being mindful of the present. The past can get in the way of us remembering, “we are here.”
I bet many of you are more likely to forget “we are here” because you’re so busy looking ahead to the future. People say these are the best years of your life. But how much of that time is spent thinking about – or worrying about – the future?
A change in scenery can sometimes be very helpful to mindfulness. These days I have to pay close attention when I’m driving because usually I’m not really sure where I’m going.
Over the past month and a half or so there have been quite a few times that Sue and I have thought, “Isn’t it amazing that we are here?”
Sometimes we’ll be walking down West University Avenue or driving around Gainesville and one of us will turn to the other and ask something like, “Can you believe that we live here?”
To be honest, these are ambiguous thoughts and questions.
I’m mindful of living in Gainesville – this Gator-crazy, football-mad town where an RV was already parked on the chapel lawn when I unlocked the gates at 7:30 on Friday morning – in position for last night’s game.
I’m mindful of living in Gainesville, driving on its confusing streets as helmet-free students whiz by on scooters as they talk on cell phones or even text. It’s amazing to be living in Gainesville with its threats of Koran-burning and senseless murders.
I’m mindful of living in Gainesville, so far from our family and friends. Last week was my father’s birthday and the best I could do was give him a call in the evening. I am sad that we won’t be seeing each other anytime soon.
We are here.
Sometimes my homesickness and my focus on the past can blind me to all the blessings that are being poured out, that are all around me, right here and now.
We are here.
It’s amazing to be living in Gainesville – this interesting and cool town, filled with great restaurants and unusual shops, humming with the energy of so many young people and the intellectual and artistic firepower of a first-class faculty.
It’s amazing to be living in Gainesville, so beautiful with its towering palm trees and gently hanging moss, so beautiful with its lush gardens and surrounded by vast stretches of wild nature.
It’s amazing to be in Gainesville, to live “above the store” to come downstairs and sit in our beautiful garden, to hang out with many of you, to pray together, to support one another in tough times and to celebrate in good times.
We are here.
Now, don’t get me wrong, I don’t think of myself as an exile. But, I guess because Sue and I do find ourselves living in a new and unfamiliar place, today’s reading from the Prophet Jeremiah really spoke to me.
A little background: Jeremiah is writing during the Babylonian exile in the 6th Century BC when the Jewish kingdoms had been defeated and a sizable portion of the Jewish people were living in exile in Babylon.
For the exiles, this was kind of an ambiguous situation because Jerusalem had not been destroyed and many Jews were still living back in the homeland, although under foreign rule.
For the exiles, this ambiguous situation left them unsettled. They looked to the past and yearned for home. They looked to the future with anxiety. How long would their exile last? How long would they be under Babylonian rule?
The prophets weren’t much help. The prophets were not in agreement about the exile and so gave a mixed message. Some said with confidence that the exile would be ending soon – that God was about to take action to liberate his people. Those prophecies led to Jewish revolts both in Jerusalem and in Babylon.
But, Jeremiah offered a very different prophecy. Jeremiah believed that God was at work here and now. Jeremiah believed that God was making use of Nebuchadnezzar, the Babylonian king. Jeremiah believed that God was making use of the exile itself.
And so through the Prophet Jeremiah, essentially God says to the people of Israel: “You are there.” God says to the people of Israel, “And I am right there with you.”
Through Jeremiah, God says: “Build houses and live in them; plant gardens and eat what they produce. Take wives and have sons and daughters; take wives for your sons, and give your daughters in marriage, that they may bear sons and daughters; multiply there, and do not decrease.”
In other words, “You are there. And I am right there with you.”
You and I, we’re not exiles. But, we face the same challenge of being really present in the here and now. We face the same challenge of focusing on – and being open to – the blessings that are being poured out all around us.
We face the same challenge of keeping our eyes and ears open to God at work all around us. We face the same challenge of remembering how good it is just to breathe. How good it is just to feel the warmth of the sun. How good it is just to hang out with friends. How good it is to have the opportunity to study and learn. How good it is to laugh. How good it is to eat and drink.
And here in our beautiful chapel, how good it is to eat and drink the Body and Blood of Christ. How good it is to unite with Christ and with one another, to be the Body of Christ here in the beautiful place, right here and now.
And when we’re paying attention to all that we receive, right here and now, then we’re likely to feel deep love. As Thich Nhat Hanh says, “In order to love you must be here.”
And when we’re mindful of all that we receive right here and now, then we’re likely to also feel profound gratitude. We’re likely to be like that one healed leper who paid attention, who returned to Jesus and said thank you.
We are here.
Amen.
We Are Here (At St. Michael's)
St. Michael’s Episcopal Church, Gainesville FL
October 10, 2010
Year C: Proper 23 – The Twentieth Sunday after Pentecost
Jeremiah 29:1, 4-7
Psalm 66:1-11
2 Timothy 2:8-15
Luke 17:11-19
We are Here
Anyone ever have trouble paying attention?
It’s not always easy to pay attention, yet, most, if not all, religious traditions emphasize the importance of paying attention, the importance of being mindful of how God might be at work right here and now in this present moment.
In the gospels, at the end of a parable or a teaching, Jesus is often quoted as saying, “Let anyone with ears to hear listen!”
In other words, pay attention! Be mindful!
Mindfulness is especially valued in Buddhism. The great Buddhist spiritual teacher Thich Nhat Hanh has written:
“The miracle of mindfulness is, first of all, you are here. Being truly here is very important – being here for yourself, and for the one you love. How can you love if you are not here? A fundamental condition for love is your own presence. In order to love, you must be here. That is certain. Fortunately, being here is not a difficult thing to accomplish.”
I’m not so sure about that last line. At least for me, it’s not so easy to pay attention, to be mindful. It’s easy to take people, places and things for granted. It’s easy to forget how miraculous it is that we are here.
How many of us really pay attention to the world around us when we drive the familiar route between home and church or home and work?
How many of us really pay attention to the people with whom we share our lives – to the people who are most important to us? How many of us have had the experience of having a phone conversation in which we half – or even less than half – listen to what the other person is saying. And sometimes we get caught, right?
“Tom, I just asked you a question! Were you even listening to me?”
Even worse, sometimes we do the same thing when we’re with people in person. And if we get caught then – that’s even more embarrassing! You know how it happens, the other person notices our eyes glaze over or notices that we are looking off in the distance and not paying any attention to the here and now.
It’s not easy to pay attention to what’s going on around us.
It’s easy for us to forget, “we are here.”
Sometimes we forget “we are here” because we are so focused on the past. The glow of the glory days or the anguish of an old pain, can distract us from being mindful of the present. The past can get in the way of us remembering, “we are here.”
Sometimes we forget “we are here” because we’re so busy looking ahead to the future. I remember when I was coming through the ordination process how hard it was to stay mindful of the present. Instead I was consumed by so many questions about the future. Would I be accepted into the process? Would I do well in seminary? Would the bishop ordain me? Would I get a job? Would I be any good at it?
Looking back, I know I missed out on many good people, places and things that God brought into my life during those years.
A change in scenery can sometimes be very helpful to mindfulness. These days I have to pay close attention when I’m driving because usually I’m not really sure where I’m going.
Over the past month and a half or so there have been quite a few times that Sue and I have thought, “Isn’t it amazing that we are here?”
Sometimes Sue and I will be walking down West University Avenue or driving around Gainesville and one of us will turn to the other and ask something like, “Can you believe that we live here?”
To be honest, these are ambiguous thoughts and questions.
I’m mindful of living in Gainesville – this Gator-crazy, football-mad town where an RV was already parked on the chapel lawn when I unlocked the gates at 7:30 on Friday morning – in position for last night’s LSU game.
I’m mindful of living in Gainesville, driving on its confusing streets as helmet-free young people whiz by on scooters as they talk on cell phones or even text, convinced they are invincible. It’s amazing to be living in Gainesville with its threats of Koran-burning and senseless murders.
I’m mindful of living in Gainesville, so far from our family and friends. Last week was my father’s birthday and the best I could do was give him a call in the evening. I am sad that we won’t be seeing each other anytime soon. I still get emails from my former church and I get little nostalgic when I read about what’s going on up there and all that I’m missing. I worry about the future – will we fit in here? Will St. Michael’s grow? Will the chapel still be an attractive place for students and others?
“We are here.”
Sometimes my homesickness and my focus on the past and worries about the future can blind me to all the blessings that are being poured out, that are all around me, right here and now.
“We are here.”
It’s amazing to be living in Gainesville – this interesting and cool town, filled with great restaurants and unusual shops, humming with the energy of so many young people and the intellectual and artistic firepower of a first-class faculty.
It’s amazing to be living in Gainesville, so beautiful with its towering palm trees and gently hanging moss, so beautiful with its lush gardens and surrounded by vast stretches of wild nature.
It’s amazing to be in Gainesville, to be responsible for nurturing the spiritual lives of young people during the crucial college years. It’s amazing to be in Gainesville, getting to know all of you and working together to build our future together here at St. Michael’s.
“We are here.”
Now, don’t get me wrong, I don’t think of myself as an exile. But, I guess because Sue and I do find ourselves living in a new and unfamiliar place, today’s reading from the Prophet Jeremiah really spoke to me.
A little background: Jeremiah is writing during the Babylonian exile in the 6th Century BC when the Jewish kingdoms had been defeated and a sizable portion of the Jewish people were living in exile in Babylon.
For the exiles, this was kind of an ambiguous situation because Jerusalem had not been destroyed and many Jews were still living back in the homeland, although under foreign rule.
For the exiles, this ambiguous situation left them unsettled. They looked to the past and yearned for home. They looked to the future with anxiety. How long would their exile last? How long would they be under Babylonian rule?
The prophets weren’t much help. The prophets were not in agreement about the exile and so gave a mixed message. Some said with confidence that the exile would be ending soon – that God was about to take action to liberate his people. Those prophecies led to Jewish revolts both in Jerusalem and in Babylon.
But, Jeremiah offered a very different prophecy. Jeremiah believed that God was at work here and now. Jeremiah believed that God was making use of Nebuchadnezzar, the Babylonian king. Jeremiah believed that God was making use of the exile itself.
And so through the Prophet Jeremiah, essentially God says to the people of Israel: “You are there.” God says to the people of Israel, “And I am right there with you.”
Through Jeremiah, God says: “Build houses and live in them; plant gardens and eat what they produce. Take wives and have sons and daughters; take wives for your sons, and give your daughters in marriage, that they may bear sons and daughters; multiply there, and do not decrease.”
In other words, “You are there. And I am right there with you.”
You and I, we’re not exiles exactly. But, we face the same challenge of being really present in the here and now. We face the same challenge of accepting the past, hoping for the future, but mostly focusing on – and being open to – the blessings that are being poured out all around us.
We face the same challenge of keeping our eyes and ears open to God at work all around us. How good it is just to breathe, to hold the hand of a person we love. How good it is to hear beautiful music – and, for some of us, how good it is to make beautiful music. How good it is to greet another. How good it is to laugh. How good it is to eat and drink.
And this morning, how good it is to eat and drink the Body and Blood of Christ. How good it is to unite with Christ and with one another, to be the Boy of Christ here in the beautiful place, right here and now.
And when we’re paying attention to all that we receive, right here and now, then we’re likely to feel deep love. As Thich Nhat Hanh says, “In order to love you must be here.”
And when we’re mindful of all that we receive right here and now, then we’re likely to also feel profound gratitude. We’re likely to be like that one healed leper who paid attention, who returned to Jesus and said thank you.
We are here.
Amen.
October 10, 2010
Year C: Proper 23 – The Twentieth Sunday after Pentecost
Jeremiah 29:1, 4-7
Psalm 66:1-11
2 Timothy 2:8-15
Luke 17:11-19
We are Here
Anyone ever have trouble paying attention?
It’s not always easy to pay attention, yet, most, if not all, religious traditions emphasize the importance of paying attention, the importance of being mindful of how God might be at work right here and now in this present moment.
In the gospels, at the end of a parable or a teaching, Jesus is often quoted as saying, “Let anyone with ears to hear listen!”
In other words, pay attention! Be mindful!
Mindfulness is especially valued in Buddhism. The great Buddhist spiritual teacher Thich Nhat Hanh has written:
“The miracle of mindfulness is, first of all, you are here. Being truly here is very important – being here for yourself, and for the one you love. How can you love if you are not here? A fundamental condition for love is your own presence. In order to love, you must be here. That is certain. Fortunately, being here is not a difficult thing to accomplish.”
I’m not so sure about that last line. At least for me, it’s not so easy to pay attention, to be mindful. It’s easy to take people, places and things for granted. It’s easy to forget how miraculous it is that we are here.
How many of us really pay attention to the world around us when we drive the familiar route between home and church or home and work?
How many of us really pay attention to the people with whom we share our lives – to the people who are most important to us? How many of us have had the experience of having a phone conversation in which we half – or even less than half – listen to what the other person is saying. And sometimes we get caught, right?
“Tom, I just asked you a question! Were you even listening to me?”
Even worse, sometimes we do the same thing when we’re with people in person. And if we get caught then – that’s even more embarrassing! You know how it happens, the other person notices our eyes glaze over or notices that we are looking off in the distance and not paying any attention to the here and now.
It’s not easy to pay attention to what’s going on around us.
It’s easy for us to forget, “we are here.”
Sometimes we forget “we are here” because we are so focused on the past. The glow of the glory days or the anguish of an old pain, can distract us from being mindful of the present. The past can get in the way of us remembering, “we are here.”
Sometimes we forget “we are here” because we’re so busy looking ahead to the future. I remember when I was coming through the ordination process how hard it was to stay mindful of the present. Instead I was consumed by so many questions about the future. Would I be accepted into the process? Would I do well in seminary? Would the bishop ordain me? Would I get a job? Would I be any good at it?
Looking back, I know I missed out on many good people, places and things that God brought into my life during those years.
A change in scenery can sometimes be very helpful to mindfulness. These days I have to pay close attention when I’m driving because usually I’m not really sure where I’m going.
Over the past month and a half or so there have been quite a few times that Sue and I have thought, “Isn’t it amazing that we are here?”
Sometimes Sue and I will be walking down West University Avenue or driving around Gainesville and one of us will turn to the other and ask something like, “Can you believe that we live here?”
To be honest, these are ambiguous thoughts and questions.
I’m mindful of living in Gainesville – this Gator-crazy, football-mad town where an RV was already parked on the chapel lawn when I unlocked the gates at 7:30 on Friday morning – in position for last night’s LSU game.
I’m mindful of living in Gainesville, driving on its confusing streets as helmet-free young people whiz by on scooters as they talk on cell phones or even text, convinced they are invincible. It’s amazing to be living in Gainesville with its threats of Koran-burning and senseless murders.
I’m mindful of living in Gainesville, so far from our family and friends. Last week was my father’s birthday and the best I could do was give him a call in the evening. I am sad that we won’t be seeing each other anytime soon. I still get emails from my former church and I get little nostalgic when I read about what’s going on up there and all that I’m missing. I worry about the future – will we fit in here? Will St. Michael’s grow? Will the chapel still be an attractive place for students and others?
“We are here.”
Sometimes my homesickness and my focus on the past and worries about the future can blind me to all the blessings that are being poured out, that are all around me, right here and now.
“We are here.”
It’s amazing to be living in Gainesville – this interesting and cool town, filled with great restaurants and unusual shops, humming with the energy of so many young people and the intellectual and artistic firepower of a first-class faculty.
It’s amazing to be living in Gainesville, so beautiful with its towering palm trees and gently hanging moss, so beautiful with its lush gardens and surrounded by vast stretches of wild nature.
It’s amazing to be in Gainesville, to be responsible for nurturing the spiritual lives of young people during the crucial college years. It’s amazing to be in Gainesville, getting to know all of you and working together to build our future together here at St. Michael’s.
“We are here.”
Now, don’t get me wrong, I don’t think of myself as an exile. But, I guess because Sue and I do find ourselves living in a new and unfamiliar place, today’s reading from the Prophet Jeremiah really spoke to me.
A little background: Jeremiah is writing during the Babylonian exile in the 6th Century BC when the Jewish kingdoms had been defeated and a sizable portion of the Jewish people were living in exile in Babylon.
For the exiles, this was kind of an ambiguous situation because Jerusalem had not been destroyed and many Jews were still living back in the homeland, although under foreign rule.
For the exiles, this ambiguous situation left them unsettled. They looked to the past and yearned for home. They looked to the future with anxiety. How long would their exile last? How long would they be under Babylonian rule?
The prophets weren’t much help. The prophets were not in agreement about the exile and so gave a mixed message. Some said with confidence that the exile would be ending soon – that God was about to take action to liberate his people. Those prophecies led to Jewish revolts both in Jerusalem and in Babylon.
But, Jeremiah offered a very different prophecy. Jeremiah believed that God was at work here and now. Jeremiah believed that God was making use of Nebuchadnezzar, the Babylonian king. Jeremiah believed that God was making use of the exile itself.
And so through the Prophet Jeremiah, essentially God says to the people of Israel: “You are there.” God says to the people of Israel, “And I am right there with you.”
Through Jeremiah, God says: “Build houses and live in them; plant gardens and eat what they produce. Take wives and have sons and daughters; take wives for your sons, and give your daughters in marriage, that they may bear sons and daughters; multiply there, and do not decrease.”
In other words, “You are there. And I am right there with you.”
You and I, we’re not exiles exactly. But, we face the same challenge of being really present in the here and now. We face the same challenge of accepting the past, hoping for the future, but mostly focusing on – and being open to – the blessings that are being poured out all around us.
We face the same challenge of keeping our eyes and ears open to God at work all around us. How good it is just to breathe, to hold the hand of a person we love. How good it is to hear beautiful music – and, for some of us, how good it is to make beautiful music. How good it is to greet another. How good it is to laugh. How good it is to eat and drink.
And this morning, how good it is to eat and drink the Body and Blood of Christ. How good it is to unite with Christ and with one another, to be the Boy of Christ here in the beautiful place, right here and now.
And when we’re paying attention to all that we receive, right here and now, then we’re likely to feel deep love. As Thich Nhat Hanh says, “In order to love you must be here.”
And when we’re mindful of all that we receive right here and now, then we’re likely to also feel profound gratitude. We’re likely to be like that one healed leper who paid attention, who returned to Jesus and said thank you.
We are here.
Amen.
Sunday, October 03, 2010
Francis on Sunday
St. Michael’s Episcopal Church, Gainesville FL
The Chapel of the Incarnation, Gainesville FL
October 3, 2010
The Blessing of the Animals in Honor of St. Francis of Assisi
Matthew 11:25-30
Francis on Sunday
We go to church on Sunday because the Church considers every Sunday to be a feast dedicated to Jesus – to be, in fact, a “little Easter.” Every Sunday we remember and celebrate the life, death and resurrection of Jesus Christ.
And as we hear the Word of God, sing our hymns, pray together, exchange the peace and most of all when we receive the Body and Blood of Christ we deepen our commitment to be a follower of Jesus, to be part of the Body of Christ.
So, every Sunday is dedicated to Jesus. On many of the other days of the week the church remembers some extraordinary people who have lived lives devoted to Jesus; who have lived lives that pointed to Jesus. Some of those people are not very well known. For example, on Friday we remembered St. Remigius. Extra credit to anyone who can tell me one fact about his life!
Others are very famous and much-beloved – like St. Francis, whose feast day is tomorrow. So, we’re bending the rules a bit by honoring Francis today, but I think it’s worth it, because Francis lived a life totally devoted to Christ. And so, by honoring him, we honor the One to whom he devoted his life. And we’re reminded that our faith calls for us to have that same kind of radical devotion to our crucified and risen Lord.
Francis was born in 1181 or 1182 into a wealthy merchant family northern Italy. No surprise, when he was young he had some money so he really liked having a good time, but a year as a prisoner of war and a vision directing him back to Assisi sent his life in a different direction.
In 1207, while praying in a ruined chapel Francis heard Jesus call to him, saying, “Francis, Francis, go and rebuild my house.” Naturally enough, Francis began to rebuild the crumbling chapel stone by stone and then he went on to repair other churches. His radical change of direction led to a break with his father and his old friends.
Gradually, though, Francis came to understand that Jesus was calling him to something much bigger and more radical than repairing falling-down church buildings. Instead, Jesus was calling Francis to rebuild the Church that in his day had largely lost its way, had grown corrupt, whose leaders had forgotten that Jesus called them - and calls all of us - to lives of service and simplicity.
Jesus calls all of us to take on his yoke – to obey Jesus, to follow Jesus, to put our trust in Jesus.
Francis devoted his life to obeying Jesus’ command to give up everything and proclaim the Good News – sometime through words but mostly through his actions. You’d think that kind of life would be hard and miserable, yet by all reports, Francis was a remarkably joyful person.
Francis discovered that Jesus’ yoke really is easy and his burden really is light.
That kind of devotion and integrity and joy is attractive, and soon other men began to join Francis’ movement and women began to gather around his friend Clare. And the Franciscan religious orders for men and women were born and continue to echo the life and work and faith of Francis.
It was important to Francis that we not separate our work and our prayer. He believed our whole life should be a prayer. And since that means we’re doing a lot of praying out in the world, then we are going to encounter God in nature. So, Francis is associated with deep devotion to Christ and also a deep appreciation for God’s creation, a deep love for nature.
Francis knew that if we’re open and paying attention, we’re going to encounter God in Brother Sun and Sister Moon, through Brother Wind and Sister Water, through Brother Fire and Sister Mother Earth. If we’re open and paying attention, we can encounter God in all of the earth’s creatures – even alligators.
For Sue and me this is a difficult day, because our own cat, Noelle, is each day struggling a little more with cancer of the jaw. Over the ten years she’s been with us, she has poured out a lot of love for us – even after we put her in a cat carrier and drove her to Florida! And over the ten years she’s been with us, loving her has made Sue and me more loving people – more aware of what God’s love is like.
And so today we ask God’s blessing on Noelle and all our pets. We ask God’s blessing on Brother Dog and Sister Cat, because through their love and companionship we experience God’s love. Today we bless Brother Fish and Sister Bird, because our care for them reminds us of how we are to treat all our brothers and sisters, and how we are to treat every living thing.
Because of his love of nature, we have a tendency to sentimentalize Francis. But, make no mistake, Francis was a radical who gave away his life in obedience to and in imitation of Jesus Christ.
And near the end of his life, Francis’ desire to imitate Christ was rewarded with the gift of the stigmata – Francis suffered the same wounds suffered by the crucified Christ. His imitation of Christ was complete.
Inspired by the example of Francis, may we all follow Jesus with great joy and devotion, taking on Jesus’ easy yoke and his light burden, transforming our lives into prayer, and building the Kingdom of God right here on earth.
Amen.
The Chapel of the Incarnation, Gainesville FL
October 3, 2010
The Blessing of the Animals in Honor of St. Francis of Assisi
Matthew 11:25-30
Francis on Sunday
We go to church on Sunday because the Church considers every Sunday to be a feast dedicated to Jesus – to be, in fact, a “little Easter.” Every Sunday we remember and celebrate the life, death and resurrection of Jesus Christ.
And as we hear the Word of God, sing our hymns, pray together, exchange the peace and most of all when we receive the Body and Blood of Christ we deepen our commitment to be a follower of Jesus, to be part of the Body of Christ.
So, every Sunday is dedicated to Jesus. On many of the other days of the week the church remembers some extraordinary people who have lived lives devoted to Jesus; who have lived lives that pointed to Jesus. Some of those people are not very well known. For example, on Friday we remembered St. Remigius. Extra credit to anyone who can tell me one fact about his life!
Others are very famous and much-beloved – like St. Francis, whose feast day is tomorrow. So, we’re bending the rules a bit by honoring Francis today, but I think it’s worth it, because Francis lived a life totally devoted to Christ. And so, by honoring him, we honor the One to whom he devoted his life. And we’re reminded that our faith calls for us to have that same kind of radical devotion to our crucified and risen Lord.
Francis was born in 1181 or 1182 into a wealthy merchant family northern Italy. No surprise, when he was young he had some money so he really liked having a good time, but a year as a prisoner of war and a vision directing him back to Assisi sent his life in a different direction.
In 1207, while praying in a ruined chapel Francis heard Jesus call to him, saying, “Francis, Francis, go and rebuild my house.” Naturally enough, Francis began to rebuild the crumbling chapel stone by stone and then he went on to repair other churches. His radical change of direction led to a break with his father and his old friends.
Gradually, though, Francis came to understand that Jesus was calling him to something much bigger and more radical than repairing falling-down church buildings. Instead, Jesus was calling Francis to rebuild the Church that in his day had largely lost its way, had grown corrupt, whose leaders had forgotten that Jesus called them - and calls all of us - to lives of service and simplicity.
Jesus calls all of us to take on his yoke – to obey Jesus, to follow Jesus, to put our trust in Jesus.
Francis devoted his life to obeying Jesus’ command to give up everything and proclaim the Good News – sometime through words but mostly through his actions. You’d think that kind of life would be hard and miserable, yet by all reports, Francis was a remarkably joyful person.
Francis discovered that Jesus’ yoke really is easy and his burden really is light.
That kind of devotion and integrity and joy is attractive, and soon other men began to join Francis’ movement and women began to gather around his friend Clare. And the Franciscan religious orders for men and women were born and continue to echo the life and work and faith of Francis.
It was important to Francis that we not separate our work and our prayer. He believed our whole life should be a prayer. And since that means we’re doing a lot of praying out in the world, then we are going to encounter God in nature. So, Francis is associated with deep devotion to Christ and also a deep appreciation for God’s creation, a deep love for nature.
Francis knew that if we’re open and paying attention, we’re going to encounter God in Brother Sun and Sister Moon, through Brother Wind and Sister Water, through Brother Fire and Sister Mother Earth. If we’re open and paying attention, we can encounter God in all of the earth’s creatures – even alligators.
For Sue and me this is a difficult day, because our own cat, Noelle, is each day struggling a little more with cancer of the jaw. Over the ten years she’s been with us, she has poured out a lot of love for us – even after we put her in a cat carrier and drove her to Florida! And over the ten years she’s been with us, loving her has made Sue and me more loving people – more aware of what God’s love is like.
And so today we ask God’s blessing on Noelle and all our pets. We ask God’s blessing on Brother Dog and Sister Cat, because through their love and companionship we experience God’s love. Today we bless Brother Fish and Sister Bird, because our care for them reminds us of how we are to treat all our brothers and sisters, and how we are to treat every living thing.
Because of his love of nature, we have a tendency to sentimentalize Francis. But, make no mistake, Francis was a radical who gave away his life in obedience to and in imitation of Jesus Christ.
And near the end of his life, Francis’ desire to imitate Christ was rewarded with the gift of the stigmata – Francis suffered the same wounds suffered by the crucified Christ. His imitation of Christ was complete.
Inspired by the example of Francis, may we all follow Jesus with great joy and devotion, taking on Jesus’ easy yoke and his light burden, transforming our lives into prayer, and building the Kingdom of God right here on earth.
Amen.
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