In followup to yesterday’s post, 7 Thoughts on Prayer, I offer the following from Dionysius the Areopagite, Divine Names, III, 1 (PG 3,680):

It may be true that the divine principle is present in every being, but not every being is present in him. We ourselves will come to dwell with him if we call on him with very holy prayers and a tranquil mind. For his indwelling is not local, as if he could change position…. If we were on a ship, and to rescue us ropes attached to a rock were thrown to us, obviously we should not draw the rock any nearer to ourselves, but we would pull ourselves and our ship nearer to the rock…. And that is why … in prayer we need to begin, not by drawing to ourselves that Power that is everywhere and nowhere, but by putting ourselves in his hands and uniting ourselves to him.

Quoted by Olivier Clément in The Roots of Christian Mysticism, 182.

Source: Wikimedia Commons

Rainer Maria Rilke (source)

“When a truly great and unique spirit speaks, the lesser ones must be silent,” Franz Xaver Kappus wrote about Rainer Marie Rilke. Over a period of about six years Kappus and Rilke exchanged letters. Kappus began the correspondence seeking Rilke’s judgment and critique of his poetry. Rilke offered wisdom rather than answers, a way rather than a destination. Rilke’s letters were published posthumously as Letters to a Young Poet. Despite the title, Rilke’s words are not limited to the young or would-be poets. Rilke’s words touch the human soul and invite change.

(The subtitles are my own and the numbers refer to the pages in the hyperlinked book.)

1. On Looking Inward (from The First Letter, 10, 12)

You ask whether your poems are good. You send them to publishers; you compare them with other poems; you are disturbed when certain publishers reject your attempts. Well now, since you have given me permission to advise you, I suggest that you give all that up. You’re looking outward and, above all else, that you must not do now. No one can advise and help you, no one.

There is only one way: Go within….

Therefore, my dear friend, I know of no other advice than this: Go within and scale the depths of your being from which your very life springs forth. At its source you will find the answer to the question….

2. On Living One’s Art (from the Third Letter, 26)

All things consist of carrying to term and then giving birth. To allow the completion of every impression, every germ of a feeling deep within, in darkness, beyond words, in the realm of instinct unattainable by logic, to await humbly and patiently the hour of the descent of a new clarity: that alone is to live one’s art, in the realm of understanding as in that of creativity.

3. On Loving and Living the Questions (from The Fourth Letter, 35)

I would like to beg of you, dear friend, as well as I can, to have patience with everything that remains unsolved in your heart. Try to love the questions themselves, like locked rooms and like books written in a foreign language. Do not now look for the answers. They cannot now be given to you because you could not live them. It is a question of experiencing everything. At present you need to live the question. Perhaps you will gradually, without even noticing it, find yourself experiencing the answer, some distant day. Perhaps you are indeed carrying within yourself the potential to visualize, to design, and to create for yourself an utterly satisfying, joyful, and pure lifestyle. Discipline yourself to attain it, but accept that which comes to you with deep trust, and as long as it comes from your own will, from your own inner need, accept it, and do not hate anything.

4. On the World Within (from The Sixth Letter, 52-53)

Think, dear friend, reflect on the world that you carry within yourself. And name this thinking what you wish. It might be recollections of your childhood or yearning for your own future. Just be sure that you observe carefully what wells up within you and place that above everything that you notice around you. Your innermost happening is worth all your love. You must somehow work on that.

5. On Struggle (from The Seventh Letter, 62-63)

People have, with the help of so many conventions, resolved everything the easy way, on the easiest side of easy. But it is clear that we must embrace struggle. Every living thing conforms to it. Everything in nature grows and struggles in its own way, establishing its own identity, insisting on it at all costs, against all resistance. We can be sure of very little, but the need to court struggle is a surety that will not leave us.

6. On Love (from The Seventh Letter, 63)

To love is also good, for love is difficult. For one human being to love another is perhaps the most difficult task of all, the epitome, the ultimate test. It is that striving for which all other striving is merely preparation.

7. On Doubt (from the Ninth Letter, 88-89)

It is always my wish that you might find enough patience within yourself to endure, and enough innocence to have faith. It is my wish that you might gain more and more trust in whatever is difficult for you…. Allow life to happen to you. Believe me, life is right in all cases.

…

Your doubt can become a good attribute if you discipline it. It must become a knowing; it must become the critic. Ask it, as often as it wishes to spoil something, why something is ugly. Demand proof of it, test it, and you will find it perhaps perplexed and confused, perhaps also in protest. Don’t give in; demand arguments. Act with alertness and responsibility, each and every time, and the day will come when doubt will change from the destroyer to become one of your best fellow-workers, perhaps the wisest of all that have a part in building your life.

These and many other words from Rilke’s Letters challenge and resonate within me. They are words of spiritual guidance, nurture, and encouragement. In many ways it seems as if he is writing to me. Perhaps it feels that way for you too. What does he teach you? What have you learned? I suspect he is also writing to himself.

Kappus’ struggles, my struggles, your struggles, are not only individual struggles but the human struggles. Rilke surely knew this as he closes his eighth letter with this: “Do not believe that the one who seeks to comfort you lives without difficulty the simple and humble words that sometimes help you. His life contains much grief and sadness and he remains far behind you. Were it not so, he would not have found those words.” (83)

“There has never been a renewal of church life in western Christianity without a renewal of prayer and Religious Communities, in some form or another, often different.”
- Justin, Archbishop of Canterbury, 7/5/13

In some ways the monastic has always stood as a counter-cultural symbol, a subversive immersed in what St. Benedict, in the Prologue to the Rule, called “a school for the Lord’s service.” The monastic’s way is not one of escape from the world but a deeper engagement with the world, an engagement that arises not from institutional structures but from one’s inner life.

Archbishop Justin’s words echo the life of St. Benedict, considered to be the father of western monasticism and whose feast day we celebrate today. Before St. Benedict there were St. Antony and the desert fathers and mothers. Before them came Jesus and his disciples.

Prayer and intentional and committed relationships have always been the context for the Christian life. Those two dimensions lie not only in the monastic tradition but also at the heart of our liturgies of baptism, marriage, and ordination. In that respect all are called to be monks and nuns, to live an interiorized monasticism.

A few, however, are called to a more visible and exterior manifestation of monasticism. One of those communities is the Order of St. Helena in Augusta, Georgia (on Facebook). It is a monastic community within The Episcopal Church. Below is an introductory video to the community.

How might we take to heart our Archbishop’s words? What practices will sustain and nourish a renewal of our prayer and relationships? How might the sisters of the Order of St. Helena be our guides, teachers, and encouragers? Are you called to a life in a religious community? In what ways might the monastic tradition inform your relationships at home, work, or school?

You have united, O Lord,
your divinity with our humanity
and our humanity with your divinity;
your life with our mortality
and our mortality with your life.
You have assumed what is ours,
and you have given us what is yours,
for the life and salvation of our souls.
To you, O Lord, be glory forever.

 - From the Maronite Eucharistic liturgy

“There is need of only one thing. Mary has chosen the better part.” (From Luke 10:38-42, Proper 11C and the Feast of Mary and Martha.)

Choices
Source: Wikimedia Commons

There have been times when I made a choice and I knew deep within it was the only choice to be made. It was absolutely the right choice. If I could do it all again I would make the same choice and do so with thanksgiving and gratitude. There have also been times when I made what I thought was the right choice but can now see there was a better choice to have been made. I would do things differently if I had the chance to choose again. I suspect most of us could say the same thing.

Too often we equate the choice we make, and its subsequent approval or rejection, with our goodness, our worthiness, our acceptableness, our faithfulness, our lovableness. That’s what most of history has done with Mary and Martha. Mary made the better choice, Jesus says, and we quickly conclude that we should be like Mary, not Martha. We are to sit and listen rather than be active and busy. Mary is equated with the contemplative life and Martha with the active life and much of Christian history has seen the contemplative life as the more perfect life. That’s one reading of this text but is it the only reading, the definitive reading? Is Mary necessarily better, more holy, more loved, more acceptable to Jesus?

If Jesus is saying that Mary, to the exclusion of Martha, is the way we are to be then the next time my wife asks me to run some errands or help with the house cleaning I’ll just tell her, “No babe, you go ahead. I’m going to choose the better part and sit here with Jesus.” I don’t think that is what Jesus is saying and I know my wife doesn’t. Jesus is making an observation, not a judgment.

I don’t think this text is really even about Mary and Martha but about us and the choices we make. That does not mean we are to copy cat Mary. If Jesus wanted us to do that why didn’t he tell us clearly what that “one thing” is? He could have at least given us the five easy steps to choosing the better part, but he didn’t.

Jesus is saying that choices matter. We are always making choices. I wonder how many choices we make each day? Sometimes we choose unconsciously, sometimes quickly and easily, other times with great deliberation and struggle. Some choices are insignificant. They are forgotten the next day. Other choices have great meaning and significance and the consequences are long lasting. Our choices can shape who we are. They can establish in us patterns and habits of how we see and act, the words we speak, and the ways we relate to each other. Our choices can set a trajectory for our life. Our choices make a difference.

In this particular context Mary made the better choice but it was a choice for that time, that place, and those circumstances. Change the setting and Martha’s choice might have been the better part. We can see that in Jesus’ own life. Sometimes Jesus went off by himself to be alone, silent, still, to pray, to sit and listen, to be present to his Father. At those times he was like Mary. Other times Jesus was active, on the move, in the midst of people, and busy teaching, healing, feeding 5000. On those days he was more like Martha.

While we might distinguish between Mary and Martha there is a common theme, presence. Mary and Martha are two ways of being present. Both ways are necessary, faithful, and holy. There is not simply one choice that is to be made for ever and always. We are always to be discerning the one thing needed in this time, this place, these circumstances. What is the better part given our particular situation? How do we be present, show up, to the divine presence that is already and always before us? That’s the question. Some days Mary will be our guide and other days Martha will be our guide. Either way we must choose.

Some days that choice may mean sitting quietly and listening to the heartbeat of God within us, reading and studying, watching a sunset with our spouse, or praying for the world. Other days it may mean speaking words of hope and encouragement, offering actions of compassion and hospitality, seeking forgiveness and making amends, or climbing a tree with our child.

What is the one thing needed right now, in this moment? Not forever or what you think will fix all your problems and let you live happy ever after. Just for now. What is the one thing needed that will keep you awake, aware, open, receptive, and present to Christ? Choose that. That is the better part but hold your choice lightly because there will be another choice to be made after that, and another after that one. We choose our way into life, love, relationships, faith, and even salvation, and the choices matter.

“One of his disciples said to him, ‘Lord, teach us to pray.’” (From Luke 11:1-13, Proper 12C.)

As I recall my own life of prayer, prayers I have heard, and conversations I have had about prayer I can’t help but wonder if the coke machine isn’t our primary teacher of prayer. Think about it. We put in the correct change, make our selection, and get what we want. “For everyone who asks receives, and everyone who searches finds, and for everyone who knocks, the door will be opened.” So we offer the coins of our wants and needs, our beliefs, and our good behavior. We tell God what we want and expect to get what we asked for.

All that works fine until it doesn’t. Coke machines are great until they take your money but give you nothing or give you a Big Red when you selected a Diet Coke. Look how we respond when that happens. We get mad. We push the button again and again. We hit or kick the machine. We tip it side to side. We did our part and expect it to do its. It’s not so different with prayer. Some will get angry. Some will feel hurt or betrayed, lose faith, even leave the church.

I don’t have a lot of people coming to ask me, “Why was my prayer answered? Why did I receive exactly what I asked for?” I know prayer is answered. Sometimes we ask and receive, search and find, knock and the door opens, but that is not their concern. They want to know why they asked but did not receive, why they searched but did not find, why they knocked but the door never opened. We all do.

I prayed hard that Thursday night as we drove. I prayed with words, silence, and tears. With each phone call and update my prayer became more desperate. More coins. Push the button again. “Please, please, please Father.” When we got there they told us Brandon had died. “Ask and it will be given you. Search and you will find. Knock and the door will be opened for you.” That’s not just my story. It’s your story too. It’s the story of everyone who has ever prayed. We’ve all lost our money at least once.

I don’t know why some prayers seem to be answered and others seem to go unanswered. I don’t have any good answers or explanations but I have heard some really bad ones. “You didn’t pray hard enough.” “You didn’t have enough faith.” “You were asking for the wrong thing.” “It’s all a mystery and someday we’ll understand.” “Everything happens for a reason.” “Something better is coming.” I can neither believe nor accept any of that. That is nothing but an attempt to bolster a coke machine understanding of prayer. We’ve got to let that go. It’s wrong. It hurts people and it perverts who and how God is.

When I hear those kind of answers and explanations I can’t help but remember another man praying on a Thursday night. He prayed with words, sweat, and blood. “Please, please, please Father.” They crucified him the following afternoon. Ask. Search. Knock.

I don’t understand how prayer works but I know this. It is not about the coins. It is not a mechanical process. It is not a transaction. It is not the transmission of information to God.

In the midst of not knowing or understanding maybe the most and the best we can do is to echo that disciple’s request, “Lord, teach us to pray.” We are always beginners, always learning to pray. Jesus’ response is not an explanation of prayer or how it works. He does not offer a formula or magic words. He does not give us the correct change for the coke machine. Instead Jesus teaches about who and how God is. “When you pray, say:

Father, hallowed be your name.
Your kingdom come.
Give us each day our daily bread.
And forgive us our sins,
for we ourselves forgive everyone indebted to us.
And do not bring us to the time of trial.”

God is holy and we are his divine children, holy sons and daughters. That’s a given, a reality, before we even open our mouths and before we ever offer our coins or make a selection. The relationship already exists. That’s how Jesus begins his teaching. Prayer is about relationship and presence. We’re not telling God something that God does not know. We are reminding ourselves of what already is, always has been, and always will be.

That relationship means that our life, our existence, our very being, comes from our Father. Jesus speaks of that as daily bread. We are too often convinced that we are or must be independent and self-sufficient. Prayer reminds us that we are “unselfsufficient.” We ask each day for our daily bread. That does not mean we are deficient but that our sufficiency comes not from ourselves but from God. It means that God sustains and nourishes our life. That’s another way of talking about relationship and presence. Those lines about forgiveness, ours and others? Again, that’s about relationship and presence, with God and each other.

If prayer, as Jesus teaches it, really is all about relationship and presence then there is only one answer to every prayer. God. I don’t just mean God answers our prayer but that God is the answer; God’s presence, life, love, beauty, generosity, compassion, forgiveness, wisdom, justice, mercy. God gives God’s self as the answer to our every prayer. Jesus tells us that. If you, he says, know how to give your kids good things “how much more will the heavenly Father give the Holy Spirit.”

Perhaps the greatest difficulty of prayer is that sometimes we just want to offer our coins and push the button. We don’t want God. We want something from God. We want God to change our circumstances.

While God can and sometimes does change circumstances, I am increasingly convinced that God, more often than not, changes us. God’s self-giving sustains, nourishes, strengthens, empowers, emboldens, and enables us to face the circumstances of life. We do so, sometimes with joy and gratitude, other times with pain and loss, but always with God. On my better days I know this and that’s enough. On those other days? It’s “Lord, teach me to pray.”

The Feast of the Transfiguration of Jesus is August 6. The account of Jesus’ transfiguration is found in Matthew 17:1-9; Mark 9:2-10; and Luke 9:28-36. What about the gospel according to John? Why does John not record the event? There is a sense in which St. John presents Jesus as transfigured throughout the entire gospel account.

In the Episcopal Church the Feast of the Transfiguration is one of the principal feasts. In fact we hear the transfiguration story twice each liturgical year, on the Last Sunday of Epiphany and on the its feast day.

The following list is a collection of sermons and reflections on this blog that focus on the transfiguration of Jesus:

• Feast of the Transfiguration – Listen;
• Thin Places, Veils, and Transfiguration;
• The Contradiction of Life Veiled and Unveiled;
• Behold What you are Become What you See;
• When Pictures Become Windows;
• The Feast of the Transfiguration;
• Face to Face Moments.

Icon of the Transfiguration of Jesus (source)

“Today doth the whole of human nature glitter in the divine Transfiguration,
in a divine manner, shouting with joy, Christ is transfigured, Savior of all.”
(Divine Prayers and Services, 569)

You are God: we praise you;
You are the Lord; we acclaim you;
You are the eternal Father:
All creation worships you.
To you all angels, all the powers of heaven,
Cherubim and Seraphim, sing in endless praise:
Holy, holy, holy Lord, God of power and might,
heaven and earth are full of your glory.
The glorious company of apostles praise you.
The noble fellowship of prophets praise you.
The white-robed army of martyrs praise you.
Throughout the world the holy Church acclaims you;
Father, of majesty unbounded,
your true and only Son, worthy of all worship,
and the Holy Spirit, advocate and guide.
You, Christ, are the king of glory,
the eternal Son of the Father.
When you became man to set us free
you did not shun the Virgin’s womb.
You overcame the sting of death
and opened the kingdom of heaven to all believers.
You are seated at God’s right hand in glory.
We believe that you will come and be our judge.
Come then, Lord, and help your people,
bought with the price of your own blood,
and bring us with your saints
to glory everlasting.

“Where are you?” I looked at my wife and said, “I’m right here.” “No, you’re not,” she said. “You’re a million miles away.” She was right. I was there but I was not present. Most of us, I suspect, have been on both sides of that conversation. We have closed off another and been closed out by another. There is no presence. Presence lies at the heart of life, prayer, and relationships.

Some Thoughts on Presence

1. Presence is more than entering into a physical space. Simultaneously occupying a space with another is not necessarily presence. We’ve probably all had the experience of going to a meeting but never really showing up, being present.
2. Presence is primarily about an interior state, a condition, a way of being, and secondarily about location and proximity.
3. Presence is the way in which we create space and place for another. We open ourselves and invite the other in. We make ourselves available. Is it an act of self-giving and love.
4. When we are not present we offer the other no space or place and it is, paradoxically, the other who becomes absent, invisible.
5. We are all present to someone or something. The only question is to whom or what.
6. Presence is difficult work. It is a choice, a discipline, a practice.

Sometimes, as this video shows, we must disconnect to connect. That’s what Jesus meant when he told Martha that Mary had “chosen the better part.” That is the practice of presence. Presence can too easily be lost. It’s often lost to our toys and technology but it’s not only about technology. It’s about our busyness, our fears, our thoughts, our work, our worries, our addictions, our distractions, our possessions and stuff. It’s about all the different ways in which we close off space and place to life, God, and each other.

Where are we? Are we simply there or are we present? To whom or what are we truly present? What might we need to disconnect from to connect or reconnect?

Sunset in Kihei, Maui, Hawaii

O Gracious Light      Phos hilaron

O gracious Light,
pure brightness of the everliving Father in heaven,
O Jesus Christ, holy and blessed!

Now as we come to the setting of the sun,
and our eyes behold the vesper light,
we sing your praises, O God: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.

You are worthy at all times to be praised by happy voices,
O Son of God, O Giver of life,
and to be glorified through all the worlds.

(Evening Prayer in The Book of Common Prayer, p. 118 )

So who wants to be a disciple of Jesus? He certainly doesn’t pull any punches about what it takes. First, “Hate your father and mother, wife and children, brothers and sisters, yes, and even life itself.” Second, “Carry the cross and follow [him].” Lastly, “Give up all your possessions.” (See Luke 14:25-33, Proper 18C)

It’s that simple and it’s that difficult. Jesus’ words don’t just sound black and white. They are black and white. It is all or nothing. We are either in or we are out. His words are likely not the first thing that comes to mind when we consider our faithfulness or what the Christian life looks like. We don’t often talk about the demands and sacrifices required by the Christian path. Too often we turn Christianity into a set of beliefs divorced from a way of being and acting.

I’m not talking about salvation, the future, heaven or hell. This is about who we are and how we live right now, here, today. So what do we do with today’s gospel, this so called “good news?” I suspect the first temptation is to soften the text, to explain it away, to reinterpret it to fit our lives. That temptation, however, is just another symptom of the consumerism that infects much of our society, church, and faith.

Source: Wikimedia Commons

Too often church and faith are treated like a big buffet. We take as much of what we like and want but leave behind what we do not like, what’s too hard to swallow, what we disagree with, or what does not fit our personal opinions and beliefs. That’s not how the gospels portray Jesus or the life of discipleship. To the degree we have done that we have deceived ourselves and each other.

Sometimes we need to have demands and expectations placed upon us. Good parents know this. “You need to eat it because its good for you.” “You need to do this or that because it’s the right thing to do.” “I expect you to study hard and do your homework, make good friends, do your chores.” They demand and expect out of love so that their child might grow and thrive. That’s what Jesus is doing in today’s gospel. His demands and expectations call us to be different, to be fully alive, to be like him. It is the same choice Moses set before the Israelites, the choice between life and prospretity, and death and adversity (Deuteronomy 30:15-20). It is a choice we make multiple times a day, every day of our lives. That’s the choice with which Jesus confronts the crowds in today’s gospel.

The crowds have been gathering around Jesus since early in his ministry. Jesus was the new buffet for them. He offered healing, exorcisms, teaching, hope, life, good news, bread, freedom, and a new vision. He had what they wanted and they gathered around, surrounded, and pressed in on him. It was as if they could not get enough. The crowds grew in numbers, increasing by the thousands. Something changes, however, with today’s gospel. They are no longer just gathering when Jesus is around; they are now traveling with him.

There is more to discipleship, however, than simply traveling with Jesus. Discipleship is more than grazing at the buffet of divine life. That life cannot be bought but it will cost us everything we have. Hate your family and your own life. Carry the cross. Give up your possessions.

Those three things, the cost of discipleship, shaped Jesus’ own life and ministry. They are to shape ours as well. Jesus is not asking us to do anything he did not do. To the contrary he makes it possible for us to do what he did.

So how did Jesus hate his parents? Remember the twelve year old Jesus at the temple in Jerusalem? Mary and Joseph are frantic looking for him. They think he is lost. When they find him Mary asks, “‘Child, why have you treated us like this? Look, your father and I have been searching for you in great anxiety.’ He said to them, ‘Why were you searching for me? Did you not know that I must be in my Father’s house’” (Luke 3:41-50)? In that moment Jesus hates Mary and Joseph. He set his relationship with them below his relationship with God the Father. This is not the emotional, feeling based way we tend to think of hate today. For Jesus, hating another is about reordering relationships and loyalty. Jesus is not rejecting Mary and Joseph or their love and presence in his life. This is not about rejection but establishing new priorities. For the disciple no one and no relationship can take precedence over the relationship with Jesus; not father and mother, wife and children, brothers and sisters, or life itself.

In that sense Jesus hated his own life. He carried his cross and gave precedence to his Father’s will and our salvation. Again it is about priorities. He set aside his will and preferences in favor of love for and obedience to God.

What about Jesus’ possessions? The birds and animals of this world have more possessions than Jesus. “Foxes have holes, and birds of the air have nests; but the Son of Man has nowhere to lay his head,” Jesus says (Luke 9:58). Again, Jesus is give primacy to his relationship with God not his relationship with things. It’s a question of priorities.

Jesus is asking us to do and be what he did and who he was. That’s what a disciple is. A disciple is a learner, one who learns to live, act, speak, and think like the teacher. The disciple integrates the teacher’s life and teachings into his or her own life.

No one, no cost, no thing is to take precedence over or interfere with our relationship with Jesus. Nothing is more important because it is our relationship with Jesus that shapes, defines, determines, and characterizes all our other relationships, all other aspects of our lives, who we are, what we say, and what we do.

Discipleship, learning to be and live like Jesus, is ultimately what unifies our life. So often we live fragmented and compartmentalized lives. We have a work life, school life, family and home life, internet life, recreational life, political and civic life, church life. This fragmentation allows us to place each of those different aspects of our life as the priority depending on where we are, who we are with, and what we are doing. That fragmentation is one more symptom of a consumer oriented, buffet driven world.

Jesus’ demands and expectations change all that. There can be only one priority and it is to inform and shape the whole of who we are and what we do. Think about some of the implications.

• It means we are to be the same person with the same values, principles, and beliefs regardless of where we are, who we are with, or what we are doing.
• It means politics is no longer governed by party agendas or loyalty but by commitment to Jesus and gospel agendas.
• It means personal opinions and preferences give way to love of neighbor and one’s enemies. Imagine how that one thing would change some of the postings and comments on Facebook and other social, and our private as well as public conversations.
• It means business is not a capitalist venture to gain money, power, or leverage over another but a resource to care for, support, and satisfy human needs.
• It means the environment is not a commodity to be used, polluted, and stripped, but a sacred gift entrusted to our care, a gift that manifests and reveals God’s own beauty and holiness.
• It means everything we say, do, choose, and are arises from and reveals our life in and love of Christ.

If we choose to live like that there are costs to be paid and sacrifices to be made. We shouldn’t be surprised. We know that’s true for other parts of our lives. We sacrifice years of study for an education. We sacrifice long hours and weekends for a successful career. We sacrifice time, money, and other opportunities to make sure our kids get to camp, activities, and sports games. We sacrifice dessert for a healthy diet and sleeping in for time to work out. We know how to make sacrifices and pay the cost. We do it because these things are important to us. They are priorities for us. There’s nothing wrong with any of those things. They are good and important aspects of our lives but we cannot avoid the obvious question to which this leads. What costs are we willing to pay and what sacrifices are we willing to make to be disciples of Jesus?

I don’t know what your answer is. The answer will be different for each of us but I am sure each answer will involve reordering our priorities. Our learning to be like Jesus is not just another priority, one among many; it is to be the priority and it has consequences for our relationships, time, money, work, energy, and effort. No part of our life is left untouched. If we want to know what our priority is, what orients, drives, and directs our life, we need only look at the choices we make, what we choose to say and do, and the ways in which we spend our time, money, and energy. What do those choices say about us? Do they reflect discipleship, learning to be like Jesus? What new choices might more closely align our life with Jesus’?

There’s a reason biblical scholars call today’s gospel one of Jesus’ “hard sayings.” It offers challenging words and raises difficult questions. They are, however, words and questions that offer life. Isn’t that why we showed up here today? We want life. We want to be fully alive. We want to be real and authentic. We want to be like Jesus. Don’t let the text scare you away. We can do this. Christ has made that possible. Let’s not lose the power and gift of his words. Let’s not lose this moment. Let’s not leave here the same person we were when we came in. What is one thing, just one thing, large or small, that you could do or give up that changes your priorities, that reorders your relationships, that gives precedence to Christ? Choose that and you leave here today a different person. Choose life. Choose life. Choose life.  

O God the Father, Creator of heaven and earth,
Have mercy upon us.

O God the Son, Redeemer of the world,
Have mercy upon us.

O God the Holy Spirit, Sanctifier of the faithful,
Have mercy upon us.

O holy, blessed, and glorious Trinity, one God,
Have mercy upon us.

Holy Mary, Mother of God,
Pray for us.

O Christ, our God, hear our prayers for the people and situation in Syria:
O Christ, hear us.

To all who have died as a result of the fighting and conflict:
Rest eternal grant to them, O Lord; let light perpetual shine upon them. May their souls, through your mercy, rest in peace.

For all who grieve the death of family, friends, and fellow citizens:
Remember them in your mercy, nourish them with patience, comfort them with a sense of your goodness, lift up your countenance upon them, and give them peace.

To all who suffer in body, mind, or spirit:
Give comfort, healing, courage, and hope.

For the hungry, the homeless, the sick, the persecuted, the fearful, and all who suffer; for refugees, prisoners, and all who are in danger:
Fill them with good things. Relieve and protect them. Grant them your mercy.

For citizens, families, and religions that see each other as enemies:
Deliver them from prejudice, hatred, cruelty, and revenge. Fill them with love and grant them the will to forgive and reconcile.

To those bringing humanitarian aid or providing medical assistance:
Give your strength and protection, Lord Christ. 

To the leaders of the nations and the President and Congress of the United States:
Give them humility and guide them in the ways of peace and justice.

To all who work for unity, peace, concord, and the freedom of all people:
Give wisdom, creativity, and perseverance.

To those who look on from afar with the safety and security of distance:
Give tears of compassion and generosity in giving.

For our actions, failures, or indifferences that have contributed to the Syrian situation:
Lord have mercy and forgive us. 

For all that is gracious in the lives of men and women everywhere, revealing your image and likeness:
We thank you, Good Lord.

Lord, hear our prayer:
Let our cry come to you.

O God, you made us in your own image and redeemed us through Jesus your Son: Look with compassion on the whole human family; take away the arrogance and hatred which infect our hearts; break down the walls that separate us; unite us in bonds of love; and work through our struggle and confusion to accomplish your purposes on earth; that, in your good time, all nations and races may serve you in harmony around your heavenly throne; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

“This fellow welcomes sinners and eats with them” (from Luke 15:1-10; Proper 19, Year C). That’s what the Pharisees and scribes said about Jesus. So how does that strike you? What do you hear in those words? Are they words of complaint and disagreement or ones of hope and invitation?

At one level the words of the Pharisees and scribes are simply a statement of fact. That’s what Jesus did. He ate with tax collectors and sinners. Not only does Luke tell us this but so do Matthew and Mark. At another level they are an accusation, an indictment, and a judgment. In the eyes and words of the Pharisees and scribes Jesus is guilty of violating the law and social norms of the day. At the deepest level, however, their words are, ironically enough, a statement of the gospel. They have just spoken the good news. Jesus not only welcomes the sinners, he eats with them. Eating with them means there is relationship and acceptance. Jesus has aligned himself with them. He is on their side.

Throughout the gospel stories Jesus chooses to hang out with the wrong kind of people. That’s why in today’s gospel the tax collectors and sinners were coming near to listen to Jesus. He offered them something no one else could or would. That’s also why the Pharisees and scribes were grumbling. Jesus was breaking the law, crossing lines, and making God just a little too easily available.

I wonder if the fact that Jesus chooses to hang out with the wrong kind of people is why we might not hear these words of the Pharisees and scribes, “This fellow welcomes sinners and eats with them,” as good news. The difficulty for most of us is that we don’t see ourselves as the wrong kind of people. To the contrary we try really hard to be the right kind of people. Sure there are times when we do and say the wrong things. Sometimes we are guilty. Generally, however, we behave and do what’s right, or at least we try to. We look, speak, and act the part expected of us. We love our spouse and children. We are honest in our business dealings. We are kind and friendly to each other. We work hard, provide for our families, and help our friends. We support our troops and pledge our allegiance to the flag. We go to church and say our prayers. We care about the poor. We donate time, money, food, and clothes to those in need.

I’m not suggesting we need to make ourselves into the wrong kind of people, whatever that might be. I’m suggesting that we need a different starting point, not only for ourselves but also for each other.

The starting point for Jesus is grace: searching not blaming, finding not punishing, rejoicing not condemning. The first question for Jesus is not one of sin, who’s in and who’s out, or who gets a dinner invitation. For Jesus, everyone is already in. Everyone is invited. The first question and primary concern is one of presence. Have we shown up or are we lost and missing?

It seems that for many, maybe most, sin is a legal category that is primarily restricted to and declarative of physical behaviors rather than descriptive of conditions and relationships. It’s seen as a judgment rather than a diagnosis. That’s why it’s often hard for us to hear this good news and to rejoice at the meals Christ offers and shares with the sinners and tax collectors. We often don’t think sin is about us. Compared to “those kind of people” we think we look pretty good. So did the Pharisees and scribes. For Jesus, however, the defining characteristic of sin is not misbehavior but being lost.

Notice the parables Jesus offers. They’re not about being wrong. They are about being lost. A sheep is lost. A coin is lost. There is nothing about culpability, blame, or finding fault. That doesn’t seem to be Jesus’ concern. His concern is for the one that is lost, missing, absent. Jesus doesn’t explain how the lost one become lost. He doesn’t blame or judge. That’s not the issue. The issue for Jesus is recovering and reclaiming the lost.

No doubt we can be lost in the darkness of evil. We can and have throughout human history done terrible things to one another. But here’s the deal. We can also be really good and really lost at the same time. Think about it. We can be good, hard working, and successful in our career and still feel lost, without a true sense of direction or meaning. We can be holding it all together and still be lost in the depths of grief or despair. We can be a good spouse, doing all the right things, giving all the right appearances, and still be lost in a loveless marriage. We can have a good reputation and be lost in questions of our own identity and purpose. We can be so busy and productive that we are lost to the wonder, beauty, and mystery of life. We can be financially secure and still be lost in fear. We can say and do all the right things and be lost in a secret life that is self-destructive and hurts others.

Jesus has enlarged the definition of sin. He has expanded the purview of grace. The Pharisees and scribes want to make it about the character of sinners and tax collectors. That happens whenever sin is defined as only a legal category of failed or aberrant behavior. Jesus, however, makes it about God’s character. That’s the point of these two parable. They reveal God’s character, God’s grace, God’s way of being toward us revealed in and through Jesus.

That grace and character are revealed in Jesus’ searching, finding, and rejoicing. Those are not three different things, three separate actions or moments in time, but three manifestations of God’s one grace. They are the ongoing presence of God in Christ in each one of our lives. Depending on the circumstances of our lives we experience that grace differently, as searching, finding, or rejoicing. Ultimately, it means there is a place set for each one of at the table.  We matter. We are desired by and important to God. This fellow who welcomes sinners and eats with them is constantly searching for us, finding us, and rejoicing over our presence at his table.

Most commentaries or sermons about today’s gospel, the parable of the unjust steward (Luke 16:1-13; Proper 20, Year C), either begin with or quickly make the point that is it just a strange and difficult text; and it is. It doesn’t make sense. A dishonest employee is commended by his boss? That’s not how we want the world to be. That’s not what we teach our kids. That’s not what we expect Jesus to say or encourage. So I want to begin somewhere else. I want to begin with something that, while not necessarily easier, is a bit more understandable and familiar.

“Give me an accounting of your management,” the master said to his manager. We’ve all heard those words. It may not have been those exact words but at some time in our life, probably many times, an accounting has been demanded.

• The IRS invites us to bring our papers and account for the numbers on our tax return.
• Did you ever get called to the principal’s office?
• You sit down with a therapist or spiritual director and he or she says, “So tell me about your life. What’s going on?”
• The boss says she wants to see you in her office.
• You come home and your spouse speaks those four dreaded words, “We need to talk.”
• Each Sunday we come to the place in the liturgy when the priest says, “Let us confess our sins against God and our neighbor.”

In all of those situations, an accounting of our management is being demanded. It’s not easy. Giving an accounting can be an uncomfortable and even a fearful time. We review our words and actions wondering, “What have I done? What have I left undone? What will happen to me? What will I do?”

No one likes to have to give an accounting. We’re pretty private about our books. Not only do we not want others to see the balance, sometimes we do not want to see the balance. We do not want to face and deal with that reality. But that’s what this accounting asks of us.

You see the accounting demanded of this manager, just like the ones demanded of us, is really an accounting of his life. It asks us to open the books of our life and examine, audit, what we are doing with our life and who we are serving. It raises important questions. What are we doing with the resources, assets, and gifts entrusted to us? Think about all we have. Time. Money. Ideas, dreams, and hopes. Passions and concerns. People and relationships. Love, compassion, forgiveness, mercy. Talents and abilities. Questions and curiosities. What if we were to give an accounting of our management of these? What would our books look like? What do they reveal about us? Where, how, in what ways, on whom are we spending and investing these assets?

These aren’t just questions to be answered individually. There is also a communal or corporate accounting of our management to be given. What would it look like for America to account for its management? Would do the books and balances say about our national life? What about globally and internationally? What do the world’s books say about humanity? At every level people are trying to serve two masters. And it just doesn’t work. Look at the last couple of weeks: Egypt, Syria, murders in the U.S. Navy Yard, bombing an Anglican church in Pakistan, hostages and executions in Nairobi. We can’t go on like this. Something has to change.

Today’s gospel calls us to account for our management of all that we are and all that we have. The demand for an accounting often sounds like someone is in trouble. That’s how today’s parable begins. The manager has been charged with squandering his master’s property. He going to be fired. He will lose his job, income, reputation, and status. A part of him is dying. At some level he will lose his life as he now knows it.

Whether we’ve lived it, heard it from a friend or colleague, or read it in the news, it’s a familiar story. Somebody has been bad. They’ve been caught. Now they’re going to get what they deserve. That’s how the world works. That’s what we expect. But that’s not how the kingdom of God works and parables rarely give us what we expect. So we ought not be too quick to come to a final or definitive interpretation of this parable. We cannot with ease or confidence declare who, if any one in particular, each character represents: God, Jesus, or us. The parable offers ambiguity and tension not a neat resolution and that feels a lot like real life.

Maybe this story in general and the manager in particular is simply a picture of that ambiguity and tension. It is a picture that probably looks very familiar to most of us, a picture of the tension and ambiguity in our own lives, struggles, and decisions. There is even some ambiguity in labeling this man as the “dishonest manager.” What does that mean, the “dishonest manager?”

Maybe the label of dishonest isn’t what we think it is. Maybe it is less a declaration about the manager and more a description of his relationship to his master. First, we have no details of what this man did or did not do to be charged with squandering and to be fired or whether the charges are even valid. Second, while the word that is translated as “dishonest” can refer to a particular action or wrongdoing it can also mean the quality of unrighteousness. In that sense the manager’s relationship with his master is not right. It’s broken, impaired, out of sync. Perhaps the manager has chosen self-interest, self-loyalty, and self-serving over interest in, loyalty to, and service of his master. That can happen quickly and easily to any of us. This manager then is the face and image for Jesus’s words, “You cannot serve two masters”

Since we don’t know a lot about this guy or what he did maybe we can shift our focus a bit. Instead of trying to audit his books maybe we ought to examine our own books. Instead of being shocked that this “dishonest manager” is commended maybe we can see precedent, hope, and possibilities for our own commendation. The accounting that should have been the manager’s ruin became the starting point for a new life, new relationships, and a new home. Grace was hiding in the demand for an accounting, waiting to be discovered and claimed. The accounting demanded of this manager was both an ending and a new beginning, a death and a resurrection.

While the master may have wanted an audit of past numbers and transactions the manager saw that his old life was empty, bankrupt. New life would be seen only by looking forward. New life would be found only by being and doing differently. The manager claimed for himself the grace hidden in his master’s demand for an accounting, and he was commended. If the “dishonest manager” can be commended, why not me? Why not you?

Here’s a crazy idea. What if the accounting asked of us is never complete, the books are never closed and the bottom line is never tallied, until there is new life, until there is a commendation? What if the accounting is not about finding wrongdoing but new life? What if its about grace rather than punishment? That certainly changes our usual understanding of an accounting but isn’t that what parables are supposed to do? They change the way we see and understand. If a parable makes sense we’ve probably missed the point.

The accounting of our management isn’t about numbers, wrongdoing, or punishment but about helping us see and orient our lives in a new direction. It opens us to new possibilities. It points us to our eternal home.

“Give me an accounting of your management.” What are you doing with your life? Who are you serving?

“Sukkah of the Signs” by Mat McDermott

Yesterday I went to the gas station at the HEB grocery store. As I pulled in there was a man under a tree in the corner of the parking lot sitting on a rolled up sleeping bag. He held a sign. It said, “Vet. Homeless and hungry. Will you help? God bless you.” Cars and trucks drove right past him without stopping. So did I. After all, I don’t know him. I don’t know what he needs or if his needs are legitimate. I don’t know why he is in the situation he claims or if it’s even true. Besides all that, I was in a hurry to go eat lunch and finish my errands.

You know how sometimes a thought sort of just comes to you? You didn’t think it on purpose. You don’t want to keep thinking it but it won’t go away. Well, as I was filling the truck with gas I started thinking about today’s gospel (the Parable of the Rich Man and Lazarus, Luke 16:19-31, Proper 21C). Then I began to wonder and even worry just a bit. Is that Lazarus? Am I the rich man? Will he one day be comforted in the bosom of Abraham while I am in torment? I don’t really think that’s what this parable is saying but, just in case, I stopped and gave him a ten dollar HEB gift card and said, “Here, you can go buy something to eat.”

So does that reserve me a place on Abraham’s lap next to this guy or will I see him from afar, separated by a chasm neither one of us can cross? Was ten dollars enough or should it have been twenty? Should I have invited him to lunch? Paid for a night in a hotel? Offered him a room in my house?

Those are the kind of questions that arise when we interpret parables literally, turning them into a story of historical fact. When we do that the questions are usually endless and unanswerable. Neither can we, however, treat parables as merely metaphor or symbolism that have no real life implications for how we live. So what about today’s parable? What is it saying to us and what is it not saying to us?

First, God is concerned about the poor and expects us to also be concerned. That is clear throughout scripture in both the Old Testament and the New Testament. We reveal God’s presence in our lives by sharing God’s concerns and by acting as God acts. That does not mean, however, that the poor are our ticket into heaven. We do not buy our way to heaven. We help the poor, feed the hungry, house the homeless, care for the sick, visit prisoners, and work for justice because that’s simply who and how God’s people are to be. The question isn’t what’s in it for me but what’s in it for them. What does our Christianity, our faith, our experience of Jesus Christ offer them?

Second, there is a relationship between this life and the next life. The choices we make, the words we speak, and the actions we take in this life have consequences in the next life. Now don’t push that too far with this story. Today’s gospel is not a systematic explanation or theological analysis of heaven and hell. The story is not a judgment that rich people go to hell and poor people go to heaven. This story isn’t so much about our future but about our present lives. It’s about how we live here and now. It’s a reminder that that our lives are connected and intertwined in this world and in the next world. In the words of St. Antony the Great, “Our life and our death is with our neighbor.”

Finally, maybe I was just a bit too quick, even arrogant, to judge myself as the rich man and him as Lazarus. Given what I saw those may be accurate labels or descriptions for today. What about six months ago? What about tomorrow? They may not have been accurate labels one, five, or fifteen years ago. They may not be accurate next week or three years from now. Circumstances and situations change. Stuff happens. At some point in our lives we have probably all been both the rich man and Lazarus. We can all name times when life has been good, full, and easy. Likewise we can name times when it has simply left us destitute, broken, and in sorrow and suffering. I don’t think this parable is asking us to make judgments about who is the rich man and who is Lazarus. Instead, it is asking us to acknowledge and deal with the gates and chasms that separate us from each other.

Throughout this parable chasms are the one constant. From beginning to end the parable is full of divisions and separations. Remember the gate at the beginning? On one side of the gate lies Lazarus, dressed in sores and dog spit, hungry, and unable to get up and walk. On the other side the rich man, dressed in fine linen and purple, sits at his table and feasts every day. Remember the chasm at the end? On one side of the chasm Lazarus sits comforted in the bosom of Abraham. On the other side the rich man stands tormented in the flames of Hades.

The gate and the chasm are the same thing. The chasm that separates Lazarus and the rich man in the next world is simply a manifestation of the gate that separated them in this world. The rich man carried it with him into the next world. It was a part of him. The gate that separates and divides us in this world is not a condition of circumstances or categories: rich or poor, black or white, gay or straight, Muslim or Christian, or any other category you might add to this list. That gate is a condition of the human heart. The gate that becomes a chasm always exists within us before it exists between us.

That means we must each examine our own heart to find the gates that separate us from ourselves, our neighbors, our enemies, those we love, and ultimately God. What are those gates for you? For me? For this parish? For the United States of America? What gates do we live with? Fear, anger, greed, pride, prejudice, loneliness, sorrow, addiction, busyness, indifference, apathy, hurt, resentment, envy, cynicism. You get the idea. There’s a lot of possibilities for the gates within us. We all have them. That’s not how we are intended to live. That’s certainly not how Jesus lived. Gates destroy relationships. They unmake God’s creation.

I don’t know what gates you carry within you but I know this. Every time we love our neighbor as ourselves, every time we love our enemies, every time we see and treat one another as created in the image and likeness of God, gates are opened and chasms are filled. I can’t give you detailed instructions on how to do those things. It is something we must each live our way into. It’s a choice set before us every day. It can happen in our marriages and families, at work and school, on the corner of parking lots, and in our prayers for the world. It can happen in the most intimate of relationships, or with strangers, and even with our enemies. It is not easy work but it possible. Jesus demonstrated that in his life, death, and resurrection. Gates were opened and chasms were filled. Christ’s love, mercy, grace, and presence make it possible for us to open our gates and insure they do not become chasms.

Let your gates be opened and your chasms filled. This is our work and the salvation of the world. Its what the kingdom of God looks like. We already have everything we need. That was Abraham’s point in not sending Lazarus to the rich man’s brothers. Abraham was not denying them anything. Nothing was lacking. They already had everything they needed. The word of God that opens gates and fills chasms is the same word of God proclaimed by Moses and the prophets, the very same word embodied in the person of Jesus Christ. He is the image of our opened gates and our filled chasms, the image of who we most truly are and who we are to become.

Icon of the Theotokos by Theophanes the Greek, 14th century      (source)

O most Holy Virgin,
he who gives you venerable and glorious titles
does not fail to tell the truth;
on the contrary, it falls short of your worthiness.
Look on us benevolently from heaven!
Govern us with peace;
guide us, without intimidating us
before the judge’s throne;
and make us worthy to be seated on his right,
to be transported to heaven
and to become, with the angels,
the cantors of the eternal Trinity,
known and glorified, in the Father, in the Son,
and in the Holy Spirit,
now and always
and for ever and ever. Amen.

- Basil of Seleucia (died 459) in Sing the Joys of Mary, p. 56

“Sticks and stones may break my bones but names will never hurt me.” Do you remember that one? Or how about this one? “I’m rubber you’re glue whatever you say bounces off me and sticks to you.”

Maybe you said those things to yourself growing up. Maybe you shouted them back at someone else. Maybe you taught them to your child as you looked at the pain on his face or the tears in her eyes. Here’s the irony. The fact that we know these sayings, use them, and teach them to our kids doesn’t negate but only highlights and points to the power of names and name calling.

Think about the many names you carry, whether good or bad, desired or unwanted, accurate or not. For some I am Fr. Marsh, Fr. Mike, or just plain Mike. I am Dad. I am Son. A dear friend calls me Brother and another, Mikey. And for one particular lady I am Baby Doll! Those aren’t, however, my only names. There are others. Sometimes I am Loser or Idiot. Other times I am known by names that should not be said here (or anywhere else for that matter).

Names are more than just a label. They have the power to create and the power to destroy. That’s why names and name changes are so significant. They can describe relationships, one’s qualities or characteristics, a destiny, or a change in direction.

We see that today when a woman and sometimes a man take the name of the one they are marrying. It signifies a change in status and relationship. Monks and nuns receive a new name when they take vows. Adopted children often take the last name of the parents, showing that they now belong and have a place in the family. All those signify becoming a different person and entering a new life.

Name changes are found throughout scripture and they are always significant. Abram is changed to Abraham. Sarai is changed to Sarah. These changes represent a new relationship with God and a calling to be the parents through whom the nations will be blessed. Simon became Peter, the rock on whom Christ will build his church. Saul, the persecutor of the church, became Paul, the apostle to the gentiles.

Jacob Wrestling by Alexander Louis Leloir, 1865 (source)

Despite all the names we carry and live with there is for each one of us another name. It is a secret name given and known only by God (Is. 62:2; Rev. 2:17). We discover and learn that name in the night of wrestling with all our other names. That’s what Jacob is doing (Genesis 32:22-31; Proper 24C). He is wrestling with himself, his demons, and ultimately with God.

The name “Jacob” means the supplanter, the usurper, heel grabber, trickster, or the deceiver. He has certainly lived up to his name. He came out of his mother’s womb grabbing at his twin brother’s heel. He finagled his brother Esau’s birthright for a bowl of soup. He deceived his blind father and stole the blessing that rightfully belonged to Esau as the firstborn. Now he is a man on the run. He is running from an angry brother who wants to kill him. He is running from his past. Mostly though he is running from himself.

Maybe you know what that’s like. Maybe you’ve been there. Maybe that’s where you are today. At some time or another we all spend the night wrestling with our past, our words and actions, our identity, and the names that have shaped and defined us. Jacob’s name fits him well but God knows that is not his true name.

The man with whom Jacob is wrestling asks, “What is your name?” The man is not asking for information but for a confession. Jacob will never know who he can become until he first acknowledges who he is. In confessing his name Jacob offers himself into the hands of God. He cannot finagle, deceive, or steal his way this time. His confessing becomes his prevailing.

The Lord gives Jacob a new name, a new identity, and a new life. He is now Israel, the one who has striven with God and with humans and has prevailed. He is a new person. He is more authentically himself, the one God has always known him to be.

We all live with multiple names. Some names have been given us by others. Other names we have given ourselves. Some are life giving and nurturing. Others cut deep, leaving us wounded or dying. Names define us in the eyes of others and ourselves. But what about that other name? What about the name that defines us in the eyes of God? That is our truest name. It is the name we long to hear and to be called. It is the name God longs to tell us and to call us. It is the name that comes in the night wrestling.

Who are you? What is your name? What names do others call you? What names do you call yourself? What names do you cringe at hearing or can barely say? Unfaithful, unworthy, unloveable? Fraud, hypocrite, cheater? Alcoholic or addict? Divorced, widow, orphan, unwanted? Failure, lazy, stupid? Coward, weakling? Crazy, worthless, ugly? Abused or abuser? Defective, deficient, disappointing? Every one us could add to that list. We know our names well, too well, and we have trusted them for too long.

In the nighttime of wrestling God asks each one of us, “What is your name?” He does so with the promise to change our name, to make us a new person, and give us a new life. It’s a hard question we might rather avoid. It can leave us feeling scared, ashamed, and vulnerable. Dare to answer his question. Don’t keep quiet. Don’t back down. Don’t walk away. Hold on for the blessing. Speak the names you carry. Confess them. Shout them. Whisper them. Then listen and prevail. Listen for God to say, “You shall no longer be called that. That’s not who you are. You are Beloved Son. You are Beloved Daughter. You are Forgiven and Redeemed. You are Beautiful, Holy, Precious.” Then God speaks that one name that is known only to him, the name that is for your ears only, and says, “This is who you are. Become what you have heard.”

Nothing has power to change us, confront us with reality, open our ears to a new truth, or turn our life in a different direction like a reversal of fortune can; a time when our world is turned upside down or the day we realize we are going backward not forward. That’s exactly what Jesus is doing in today’s gospel. It’s what he is always doing. The gospel of Christ reverses business as usual: preaching good news to the poor, proclaiming release to prisoners, offering sight to the blind, and setting the oppressed free. Look at Jesus’ life and you will see one reversal after another. The Christian life and faith are based on reversals. Reversals are at the heart of the four beatitudes and the four woes we just heard read.

Those who are poor, hungry, or weeping; those who are hated, excluded, and slandered can expect things to get better. Their situation will be reversed and they will be blessed. They will be given the opposite of what they have now. Likewise, those who are rich, those who are full, those who laugh, those who are popular and respected can expect to lose what they now have. Their situation will also be reversed. Woe to them. (Luke 6:20-31; The Feast of All Saints).

What are we to make of all that? Is it simply a redistribution of wealth and resources? Is Jesus making poor people rich and rich people poor? So what happens then? Do the newly rich then become poor and the newly poor rich? Does Jesus love malnourished people more than those who have enough to eat? Does he prefer our lives burdened and broken by loss and sorrow? Is there no place for joy or laughter? A good meal? None of that makes sense. It just doesn’t. So if that’s not what Jesus is saying, then what is he saying? What do you hear in his words?

We cannot hear Jesus’ words as only materialistic. This world and our lives are more than just the things we can touch, own, use, or eat. Neither, however, can we soften his words to the point they no longer challenge and empower us to see and live differently. That’s just more blah, blah, blah, and we’ve got more than enough of that already.

Jesus really is not distinguishing between spiritual and material lack or spiritual and material abundance. It must be both. It’s got to be both. How could it not be? Jesus is human just like you and me. He’s got needs just as we do. Some are physical, some emotional, and some spiritual. He is both body and soul; so are you, so am I. He is both material and spiritual; so are we. That means our lives are a mixture of needs too, some met, some unmet. Within each one of us there are parts of our life that are rich, full, abundant and other parts that are empty, broken, grieving. It’s not one or the other but both at the same time.

That’s why the blessings and woes of today’s gospel should not and cannot be seen as a final judgment or a system of reward and punishment. They’re just not. They are not even at odds with one another. They are most emphatically God’s way of saying yes or no to where and how we find meaning in our lives. Isn’t that what we want? Isn’t that why you and I showed up here today? That longing for meaning is in the priorities we set and the choices we make. It drives our life. Every blessing and every woe, every yes and every no, is Jesus’ response to our search for a life of meaning, significance, and value. As every good parent knows, sometimes we tell our children yes and sometimes we tell them no. Both responses are grounded in love and both for the well being of our child. So it is with God, our Father.

When we’re too comfortable, too satisfied, or too secure, whether spiritually, emotionally, or materially, Jesus says, “No, that’s not the way,” not because we are rich, full, or happy but because we can too easily become self-satisfied. We think we’ve got it all. We’ve arrived. The problem is that our life then becomes small and self-contained. There is no openness and receptivity to a new meaning for our life, a new way of living, or a new way of relating to those around us. We have no need to see beyond ourselves, to love the person next door, or to work for change that makes a difference in the lives of others. Woe to us when we are convinced that we have no needs beyond the things of this world. Woe to us when we are convinced that we have no need to grow and change.

Jesus promises blessings when we are empty, weak, or grieving, whether spiritually, emotionally, or materially, not because there is any inherent value or goodness in poverty or misery but because our heart is softened, our eyes are open, and we desire something more. In those times we know there has to be something other than the values and objects of this world to rule our lives, provide meaning, and establish identity. And we’re right. In those moments Jesus says, “Yes, blessed are you.”

There is a gift in the reversals of both the blessings and the woes, in both yes and no. They are a means by which God calls and guides us into the life we want, a life of authenticity, meaning, and goodness. That’s what all the saints understand, those of the past and those here today. They know this. They believe this. They trust and live in the tension of the reversals God brings to their lives. For it is in those reversals that we discover life in the midst of death, darkness illumined, and our own humanity to be the place God invests his life, his love, his concern, and his actions.

Saints embody in this world the reversals of God. You and I embody those reversals. We strive to love our enemies, to do good to those who hate us, to bless those who curse us, and to pray for those who abuse us. We may not always get there but the desire to love, do good, bless, and pray is always within us. So remember this. We do not become saints because we successfully loved, did good, blessed, and prayed. It’s just the reverse. We strive to love, do good, bless, and pray because we’re already saints.

That means we stand as prophets of reversal to the world’s fortunes and as witnesses to the life-giving reversals of Christ. This day is not only about the saints we name and remember. This day means nothing if it is not also about you and me. Yes, this is their day, the great saints of the Church, but it is also your day and my day. This is our day. This is the Feast of All Saints not some saints. So as we look at, rejoice over, and give thanks for the lives of the saints there is one more reversal to see and celebrate. It’s the reversal that happens in our baptism.

Synaxis of the Saints (source)

Do you remember that day? Has anyone told you what happened? What was it all about? What does it mean that you are baptized? Why do you care that your child or grandchild be baptized? What’s the significance of our baptism? It means that you and I are included in the gathering of saints. You belong. Your child belongs. Your grandchild belongs. I belong. You are one of them and I am one of them. We are the saints of God: rich and poor, full and hungry, laughing and weeping, respected and ridiculed. That’s why we renew our baptismal vows on this day; to remind ourselves of who we are. The difference is not that some people are saints and others are not. The difference is that some already know and rejoice at knowing themselves to be a saint.

All those saints of the Church, the ones we named in the litany, the ones we asked to pray for us? All those saints that are particular and unique to our lives, the ones whose names we will read with love and gratitude and for whom we will stand? They are our teachers and guides, our companions along the way. They encourage and cheer us on. They pray for us. They nurture, support, and love us. They are here with us not just today but everyday. The Church holds them before us this day as a mirror showing us who we are and who we are to become. They are the aperture through which we see our own divinity, the beauty of our life, and the holiness of our being. They stand beside us and we beside them as God’s holy people. That, my fellow saints, is a reversal of fortune we all need and long for. That is the reversal of fortune we celebrate this day, this holy day of All Saints.

Dismas, the good thief.
(image source)

“Jesus, remember me” (From Luke 23:33-43, Proper 29C, The Feast of Christ the King). Those words from the thief on the cross echo a cry that arises deep within each one of us.

We all know what it is like to be remembered and we know what it is like to be forgotten. Think of a time you were remembered, what happened, how it felt. Maybe it was a phone call, a letter, a visit, a gift, a simple word. Maybe it was a surprise or maybe it was what you were hoping for. Maybe it was as seemingly simple as someone recognizing you, looking you in the eyes, and calling you by name. Regardless of what it was or how it came about it brought you some sense of life, healing, and wholeness. We all want to be remembered. It means that we matter, we belong, we exist, and our life is real. When we are remembered someone else bears witness to all those things.

There is life, presence, and relationship in being remembered. We know how important remembering is. That’s why a couple of weeks ago on the Feast of All Saints we remembered by name those we love and who love us, those who are forever a part of us and our lives, those who have nurtured, cared for, and taught us. When we are remembered it is as if our life is being put back together, because it is. That is exactly what is happening. We are being made whole. Despite the scattered pieces of our lives, things done and left undone, in the moment of being remembered we are seen, recognized, and known by name. We are alive. We are remembered.

Compare that with a time when you were forgotten. What did that feel like? Have you ever sat in a restaurant waiting for someone who did not show up? How about that person that looks at you, begins to speak, and you realize they have no idea who you are or what your name is? Maybe someone forgot your birthday, or the anniversary of your wedding or the death of a loved one. In those moments we feel alone, abandoned, uncertain, afraid, wounded, maybe even angry. There is a sense of helplessness. Questions and doubts arise within us. We are no longer sure of our place and whether we even belong. Regardless of why or how it comes about there is hurt, separation and isolation, a dismembering of the relationship and our life.

No one wants to be forgotten or asks to be forgotten. Whether we speak it aloud or not our cry is to be remembered. Everyday we stand on the threshold between being remembered and being forgotten. We also stand on the threshold of remembering and forgetting another.

I am not talking about the usual understanding of remembering and forgetting as a mental activity. This is more than recalling a past event or failing to stop at the grocery store on the way home to pick up the milk. I’m speaking of re-membering in the sense of joining the pieces together, putting the parts back again as one. The opposite of re-membering is dis-membeirng; separation, pulling apart, tearing limb from limb.

The thief on the cross wants to be re-membered, put back together again. He is not asking to simply be thought about. What good does that do him? He cries out, “Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.” Jesus responds, “I’ll think about you when I am in paradise. I’ll think about this day. I’ll think how tragic and sad your life is but I won’t do anything about it.” That’s neither what the thief is asking for nor what he needs. That’s not what we need nor what we ask for.

Just like the thief we want to be re-membered, to have the many pieces of our life put back together. Our cry to be re-membered is also a recognition and confession of our dis-memberment. We have been dis-membered. Pieces have been scattered and lost. Sometimes it happens through the circumstances of life; loss and grief, shattered dreams, disappointment, regret, failures, the death of a loved one. Other times it comes about through our actions, our words, even our thoughts. Our life becomes fragmented and broken. When that happens we can easily become thieves. We take what is not ours. We dis-member others’ lives in an attempt to put our own back together.

It happens in all sorts of ordinary ways: anger and resentment, criticism, judgment, envy, comparison and competition, gossip, bad mouthing another, perfectionism, the need to be right or in control, busyness, excessive productivity and efficiency. Look at your relationships. Wherever there is strain, hurt, brokenness, chances are that you or another are being dis-membered, forgotten, torn apart.

That is not the life God gave us. That is not God’s dream or hope for us. That’s not what it was like in the very beginning, on the day of our creation, when God looked at all of creation, us included, and declared, “It is very good.”

Sometimes, however, we don’t even recognize our own dis-membering. Listen to what the leaders, the soldiers, and the other thief in today’s gospel say. “Save yourself. Prove who you are. Save us.” They want a magic show. They want to escape their lives rather than have them put back together in a way they could never imagine. So they mock. They deride Jesus. They demand proof. Those are all signs of their own dis-memberment. They even divide, dis-member, Jesus’ clothes. In the midst of all that, however, there is an ironic truth. It is an inscription hanging above Jesus, a sign of re-membering: “This is the King of the Jews.” It declares a re-membering between the Jews and their king, between God and God’s people, between Jesus and us. The cross is the ultimate act of re-membering; God in Christ joining and aligning himself with us in the pain and suffering of this life. Re-membering is always act of love.

Every time we participate in the life of Christ by living with mercy, compassion, forgiveness; every time we speak a word of hope and encouragement; every time we love without condition, expectation, or payment; every time we share our bread and live in communion with one another we participate in Christ’s re-membering of our own lives, the lives of each other, and the life of the world. We “do this in remembrance of [Jesus].” In those moments we hear the promise of Jesus, “Today you will be with me in paradise.”

Paradise is the state of being re-membered. It is what Jesus offers us and what we, in our re-membering and living like Jesus, offer each other. Re-membering is neither about the past nor the future; it is about today. It is Jesus’ presence with us, and ours with him and each other, here, now, in whatever our life circumstances might be.

“Today you will be with me in paradise.” Why is that the promise given us on this Sunday, the last Sunday of the Church’s year? Why this gospel on this day? That promise is the hinge between the ending of this liturgical year and the beginning of the next. It stands between the crucifixion and the nativity, the falling of the temple from last week’s gospel and the return of Christ in next week’s gospel. Ultimately, though it is the promise that joins the many different endings in our lives with a new beginning. In Christ’s eyes we are never forgotten and dis-membered. We are forever and always re-membered. “Today you will be with me in paradise” is Jesus’ promise to each one of us, this day and every day.

St. John the Baptist
by Meister von Gracanica, circa 1235 (source)

“Repent for the kingdom of heaven has come near” (From Matthew 3:1-12, Advent 2A). Those words drew the people to John the Baptist. The people of Jerusalem, all Judea, and all the region along the Jordan went to him. I wonder what they expected? Were they really ready for St. John?

Did they expect to hear a truth teller, one who would tell the truth about God and their lives? Did they expect to see a man dressed in camel’s hair eating locust and honey? Did they expect a wild man who was willing to say whatever it took to save their lives? He held nothing back. He told them how it was. He even called some of them names. He spoke honest, if not harsh, words and told the truth even if it hurt.

For some it may have come as a relief. The truth was out, named, and they were free from the work of keeping secrets. They could finally face their lives. They could see a way forward. For others it may have seemed an intrusion, an annoyance, a preacher gone to meddling who needs to mind his own business. Regardless all were confronted with the reality and truth of their lives.

So what if I preached like John the Baptist? What if I spoke the truth in a way John did? “What brought you slithering in here today? You sons of … snakes. Why are you here? To get out of the cold? To see your friends? To make yourself feel better about how faithful and good you are? Are you here to give God that wish list you call prayer? Don’t even start with me about who you are or how long your family has been in this parish. I don’t care what you’ve done for this place or how much money you’ve given. I want to know what you are doing with your life? Where are you headed? Don’t give me some polite banal answer. This is not dress up or pretend time. This is serious and there are consequences to the way we live and the choices we make. So if you are here to change your ways, to live a different life, to open yourself to God, then show it. Live it. Let that be seen by the choices you make, the priorities you establish, the actions you take, and the words you speak. If that’s not why you are here then get out. Go on. Crawl back to the hole you came from.”

What if I preached like John the Baptist? What would you think about that? How would your respond? What would you feel? I suspect there would be several different responses. Some would sit quietly, smile, nod appropriately, and let it all go in one ear and out the other. There would probably be a few parking lot meetings to discuss, “What got in to him and what are we going to do about it?” Bishop Lillibridge might get a few calls and the senior warden a couple of visits. I’m sure e-mails would be flying and phones ringing. There might even be a few pledges withheld.

That kind of preaching, those words, are not what we expect when we come to church. We don’t come expecting to be criticized, judged, made to feel uncomfortable. Sometimes it’s even too much to be challenged or held responsible and accountable for our selves. Maybe “What if I preached like John the Baptist?” is the wrong question. The better question is why don’t I preach like that? Why don’t you demand and expect that of me or any other preacher?

I am sure there are lots of answers to those questions. Some of our reasons are legitimate, others are not. I wonder though if the real reason we don’t, and what St. John is really getting at, is that we are content with life as it is, maybe even indifferent. I don’t mean we are content in the sense that everything is perfect but that we have settled. We have found a way to manage our lives that at least on the surface is working. We know how to “play the game” and sometimes even win. We’ve become comfortable and we don’t want anyone messing with our life, our plans, our system. We go along to get along. I think that’s often true for many of us whether preacher or parishioner.

So we show up hoping, wanting, and expecting to receive some affirmation and approval, to be told how much God loves us. We want to be told that we’re fine just as we are and we shouldn’t change a thing

After a while, however, that message starts to wear thin. Deep down if we are really honest we know better. We know ourselves and we know our world. We know the deep woulds that still hurt. We know the relationships that are struggling and broken. We can recall our words and actions that have hurt another and imprisoned us with guilt. We see hunger, poverty, and injustice but offer explanations, excuses, and blame rather than our time, our money, and our efforts. We see how anxiety sometimes drives us to busyness and other times to isolation. We know how fear can control our lives. We medicate ourselves with that which can never heal us. We’ve been convinced that death is the end. We search for meaning and identity, something to fill the void. Content? Really?

We don’t need that kind of affirmation and approval. That message only keeps us stuck. It maintains the status quo and its business as usual. It denies us a way forward and leaves us hopeless. We need someone to speak the truth about our life, to awaken us, to challenge us. To be hurt with the truth is better than to killed by our contentment and indifference. We need a truth that says life does not have to stay like this, a truth that offers hope and a way forward. We need to be reminded that we can change and that God is always coming to us. St. John speaks that truth. His words call us to a life of holy discontent.

Contentedness can blind us to the life God wants us to have. It distracts us from that which is most important. It deceives us into believing this is all there is. This is as good as it gets. The real issue for most of us is not that we are bad people but that we are too content. That’s why every year at this time, the beginning of a new year, we hear from St. John the Baptist. We see him before we see Jesus. We hear his words before we hear Jesus’ words. St. John is the gateway to Christmas. We cannot go around him. We must face up to him, to our selves, and to the One who is coming. This facing up is at the heart of John’s message, “Repent for the kingdom of heaven has come near.”

Be careful here. Far too often we have been told or led to believe that we must repent (understood as be good, straighten up, fly right) in order for the kingdom to come. That’s just not true. It’s the exact opposite. Listen to what St. John says, “Repent for the kingdom of heaven has come near.” The kingdom has already come near. St. John is the pointing finger and the announcing voice that the kingdom has come near. Repentance is not what makes the kingdom arrive. It’s how we show up to the kingdom that is already here. Repentance is our response to, not a precondition of, the coming of the kingdom. Repentance is our acknowledgement of, entry into, and cooperation with the kingdom. Through repentance we turn our gaze to meet the gaze of Christ. We say yes to the coming of the One who is more powerful than us. That means we must we examine our lives and make the appropriate changes. We change the direction and purpose of our life to take our share in the kingdom of heaven and the life of Christ.

What do you find when you examine your life? What truth does St. John hold before you? What patterns of behavior destroy your life and relationships? Which voices distract and call you away from your most authentic way of being and living? What things do you do or say that hurt others or yourself? How do you deny or ignore your own holiness, the original beauty of you creation? Where in your life have jut gotten tired and lazy, unwilling to ask, seek, or knock? Do the examination, make the changes, and live a different life. Repent, change, not because you are bad, defective, or deficient but because you are worth it; because you have been created in the image and likeness of God, because God loves you, and God is coming.

To miss the truth and good news in St. John’s message is to miss the kingdom and our own life. Let’s not let this happen. Find the holy discontent in your life. Repent. Turn around. Look again. The kingdom is right here.

So what if I preached like John the Baptist? What if you expected and demanded that every preacher preach that way? What would our lives and this world be like?