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Psalm 84 1 How dear to me is your dwelling, O Lord of hosts! 2 The sparrow has found her a house 3 Happy are they who dwell in your house! 4 Happy are the people whose strength is in you! 5 Those who go through the desolate valley will find it a place of springs, 6 They will climb from height to height, 7 Lord God of hosts, hear my prayer; 8 Behold our defender, O God; 9 For one day in your courts is better than a thousand in my own room, 10 For the Lord God is both sun and shield; 11 No good thing will the Lord withhold 12 O Lord of hosts, happy are they who put their trust in you! This year, Monday Matters will focus on wisdom conveyed in the treasures of the book of Psalms. We'll look at the psalms read in church before Monday Matters comes to your screen. |
Calling All Pilgrims
In reading Psalm 84 (heard in church yesterday and printed above) I was struck with the mention of pilgrims (v. 8). As far as I can tell, it’s the only place in scripture where the word is used. It got me thinking about what it means to be a pilgrim. Suspending immediate associations with Thanksgiving plays, perhaps we can hear the word in another way, and see how it applies this Monday morning.
For starters, it suggests movement. If there’s a desire to be a pilgrim, you can’t stay put. In my work with RenewalWorks, it was a bit of a revelation to me how much resistance there can be to movement when it comes to church folk and the spiritual life. I get that. In a world of rapid change, increased anxiety, uncertain future, our souls hanker for something solid and steady, reliable and predictable. Nothing new about that. The Psalms are filled with images of God as a rock, stronghold, and refuge.
In RenewalWorks, part of our work has been to identify archetypes of churches. About 25% of the churches were identified as “Complacent.” There was no expectation or desire for transformation in those communities. One rector whose church was assessed as complacent called me to tell me (tongue in cheek) that in light of the assessment, the church was changing its tagline: St. Swithen’s: We’re spiritually shallow and fine with that. In the spiritual life, it’s tempting to say: “Can’t we just keep it the way it’s always been? We’ve never done it that way. We’ve always done it this way.” (Just so you know, these are some of the words clergy dread most.)
So for starters, we have to ask ourselves, quite honestly, whether we’re interested in movement, in being a pilgrim. For better or for worse, that movement seems to be part of the spiritual experience. Note that Abraham was described as a wandering Aramean. Note the centrality of exodus or return from exile in the Hebrew Scriptures. Note how Jesus told disciples: Follow me. Note how the first Christians were called people of the way, a name which suggests movement, as opposed to the later developing name, Christian, which frankly has an institutional ring, and hints at arrival. Note the more recent wisdom of Pope Francis who said: “There is no such thing as a stationary Christian. A stationary Christian is sick in his (or her) identity. A Christian is meant to walk. To move.”
Given all that, if we decide to go for it, we may need to get clear about what it is to be a pilgrim. It’s different from being a tourist, as wonderful as that can be. They can be awesome experiences of discovery, and tons of fun, but they don't always help us know God better. It’s different from going on a mission trip, as wonderful as that can be. They can be awesome expressions of generosity, but it can also have an air of superiority.
So what’s a pilgrim? Here are insights from an anonymous author on a website called seetheholyland.net: “A pilgrim is not a pious tourist. A pilgrim and a tourist may follow the same itinerary, but the pilgrim is on a sacred journey in which God is encountered through places, people, and situations….The pilgrim travels with the expectation that the one who returns will not be the same person as the one who set out.” The article goes on to detail some markers: A pilgrim will leave behind business concerns. A pilgrim will have an open mind. A pilgrim does not travel alone. A pilgrim respects the host country.
Here’s the deal. Whether we cross oceans or borders, or never cross the street or our home’s threshold, we are pilgrims. We are each and all on journeys to encounter the Holy One. In so doing, there is the prospect of being transformed, wonderfully, amazingly, into the likeness of Christ.
Imagine such a journey! Are you ready for that as you make your pilgrimage through this first week of February?
-Jay Sidebotham
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Psalm 19 1 The heavens declare the glory of God, 2 One day tells its tale to another, 3 Although they have no words or language, 4 Their sound has gone out into all lands, 5 In the deep has he set a pavilion for the sun; 6 It goes forth from the uttermost edge of the heavens 7 The law of the Lord is perfect and revives the soul; 8 The statutes of the Lord are just and rejoice the heart; 9 The fear of the Lord is clean and endures for ever; 10 More to be desired are they than gold, 11 By them also is your servant enlightened, 12 Who can tell how often he offends? 13 Above all, keep your servant from presumptuous sins; 14 Let the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be acceptable in your sight, This year, Monday Matters will focus on wisdom conveyed in the treasures of the book of Psalms. We'll look at the psalms read in church before Monday Matters comes to your screen. |
Einstein was onto something.
“We are in the position of a little child, entering a huge library whose walls are covered to the ceiling with books in many different tongues. The child knows that someone must have written those books. It does not know who or how. It does not understand the languages in which they are written. The child notes a definite plan in the arrangement of the books, a mysterious order, which it does not comprehend, but only dimly suspects. That, it seems to me, is the attitude of the human mind, even the greatest and most cultured, toward God. We see a universe marvelously arranged, obeying certain laws, but we understand the laws only dimly. Our limited minds cannot grasp the mysterious force that sways the constellations.”
-Albert Einstein
I find myself wondering if Albert Einstein was tapping into the wisdom of the author of Psalm 19. (We heard the psalm in church yesterday, and it's included above.) The psalm seems to have two parts. At first, I thought they were non-sequiturs, the first part speaking of the marvel of creation, the second part speaking of the marvel of God’s law, the perfection of commandments.
The quote from Einstein made a connection. Adopting the vision of a child (Jesus said that was a good idea), Einstein notes the insight that creation conveys a definite plan, a mysterious order, a universe marvelously made. In light of that, the human mind perceives certain laws, even if only understood dimly, even if our “limited minds cannot grasp the mysterious force that sways the constellation.”
So what’s the so-what factor this Monday morning? We can start by recognizing that our call is to live in radical amazement, a phrase attributed to Abraham Heschel. Any attentiveness to the beauty and miracle of creation, always surrounding us, can help us live that way. Recognizing all of that, we are to respond by living according to certain laws.
The psalmist speaks of those laws in verses 7 and 8: The law of the Lord is perfect and revives the soul; the testimony of the Lord is sure and gives wisdom to the innocent. The statutes of the Lord are just and rejoice the heart; the commandment of the Lord is clear and gives light to the eyes.
And what might we know of those commandments? More to the point, given that we’re talking about the so-what factor, how are we meant to live?
The Jewish tradition calls the faithful to repeat the Shema daily: "You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart soul and mind." The prophet Micah said that this is what the Lord requires: To do justice, love mercy, to walk humbly with your God. (Thanks for reminding us, Bishop Budde. Thank the Lord for Bishop Budde.) When Jesus was asked for the greatest commandment, he said it was simple, if not easy. It was not one thing, but two. It involved a complete love of God with all that we are and have. And it involved loving neighbor as self. Like my initial reading of Psalm 19, we might see these as non sequiturs, as separate pursuits. Jesus didn’t seem to think so. And while I don’t think any of us will fully live in obedience to Jesus’ commandment, we are each called to take steps in that direction. How might we take those steps this week?
One more insight from Albert Einstein, here paraphrased. He said that we have a choice in life. We can see nothing as miracle or we can see everything as miracle. Like that child entering that library, sensing marvelous intention, may we walk through this coming week with radical amazement. May that point of view, that way of being, help us step into a life marked by deeper love, which is what our Lord commands.
-Jay Sidebotham
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Psalm 36:5-10 5 Your love, O Lord, reaches to the heavens, 6 Your righteousness is like the strong mountains, 7 How priceless is your love, O God! 8 They feast upon the abundance of your house; 9 For with you is the well of life, and in your light we see light. 10 Continue your loving-kindness to those who know you, This year, Monday Matters will focus on wisdom conveyed in the treasures of the book of Psalms. We'll look at the psalms read in church before Monday Matters comes to your screen. |
Wellness
How does one go deeper in the spiritual life? The question is prompted by the psalm heard in church yesterday and included above. The psalmist speaks to the Holy One: With you is the well of life and in your light we see light.
I’ve been reflecting on the image of the well of life, pondering ways we might tap into resources God makes available to us to go deeper. Are we open to that? Are we looking for that? Do we ever sense that the well has gone dry?
In my work with Episcopalians through the ministry of RenewalWorks, we sometimes identified archetypes of congregations. Some churches were extroverted, singularly focused on outreach and mission. Some were troubled, not in a sense of having a church fight, but restless or hungry, looking for more than they were currently receiving. Some were complacent, fine with the way things were, not looking for anything more, not expecting transformation. In fact, resisting such.
A friend leading a complacent parish called me to say that in light of that assessment, his church was changing its tagline. Underneath the name of the church, the tagline would read: “We’re spiritually shallow and fine with that.” A tongue in cheek response, but one with meaning, as we think about whether we actually would like to go deeper.
For some folks the desire for a deeper life is there, but they are not quite sure how to tap into it. Sometimes, instead of digging down and going deeper where they are, they try to find another well somewhere else. If that doesn’t do the trick, they move again. People try different churches. Different jobs. Different programs. Different relationships. Some people contend with burnout. The well has gone dry. Jobs can do that. Family dynamics can do that. Political engagement can do that. Church involvement can do that. Exhaustion sets in.
So what is it that helps people dig deeper? I ran across a bit of wisdom attributed to either George Herbert or Dolly Parton. Pick one. Here’s the quote: Storms make the oak grow deeper roots. As George and/or Dolly indicate, sometimes the challenges of life give us no choice but to go deeper. When I’ve asked Episcopalians what it was that contributed to their own spiritual growth, the most common answer I get is crisis.
I believe, indeed I hope, that it doesn’t always necessitate suffering to go deeper. But it may involve some spiritual practice, an attentiveness to where we might see God in our lives. That can be commitment to a rhythm of prayer. It can involve reflection on scripture and engagement with the wisdom of people who seem to know something about the deeper life of God. It can involve silence. It can involve service. As I send out this email, I’m wondering what has been helpful to you in terms of going deeper in the spiritual life. I’d love to hear.
Last week, I quoted from Henri Nouwen’s book Life of the Beloved, with an excerpt that pertains to spiritual depth. He reassures his reader who is on a spiritual quest: “Every time you listen with great attentiveness to the voice that calls you the Beloved, you will discover within yourself a desire to hear that voice longer and more deeply. It is like discovering a well in the desert. Once you have touched wet ground, you want to dig deeper.”
What might it take for you to dig a little deeper in the spiritual life this week? May we all receive the grace to draw strength from the well of life. Apparently, it is there waiting for us.
-Jay Sidebotham
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Psalm 29 1 Ascribe to the Lord, you gods, 2 Ascribe to the Lord the glory due his Name; 3 The voice of the Lord is upon the waters; 4 The voice of the Lord is a powerful voice; 5 The voice of the Lord breaks the cedar trees; 6 He makes Lebanon skip like a calf, 7 The voice of the Lord splits the flames of fire; 8 The voice of the Lord makes the oak trees writhe 9 And in the temple of the Lord all are crying, "Glory!" 10 The Lord sits enthroned above the flood; 11 The Lord shall give strength to his people; This year, Monday Matters will focus on wisdom conveyed in the treasures of the book of Psalms. We'll look at the psalms read in church before Monday Matters comes to your screen. |
Have you heard the voice of the Lord?
When people tell me that they heard God talk to them, I have a variety of reactions. I can be skeptical. Are you sure? Have you been working too hard? Need some sleep? I might consider psychiatric referrals. I can be jealous that I’ve never heard the voice they describe. The cynic in me can assume they’re trying to ratify a personal agenda by claiming God told them to do something. Our politics seems to be full of that these days. As Anne Lamott has noted, we can safely assume we've created God in our own image when it turns out that God hates all the same people we do.
And sometimes I think: “That is simply amazing that this holy event happened to you.”
Maybe you can tell that all this talk about hearing the voice of God is a spiritual growth opportunity for me. I got to thinking about the voice of the Lord when I reflected on the psalm heard in church yesterday (included above). The psalm speaks about the power of that voice, how it can break cedar trees, split flames of fire, shake the wilderness, make oak trees writhe, strip the forests bare. Yikes. Where do we experience that kind of power in the voice of God? And if it is there for us to experience, is it always as dramatic as this psalm makes it out to be?
I commend to you a column written by David Brooks, printed in the N Y Times on December 19 entitled: The Shock of Faith: It’s nothing like I thought it would be. His evolving relationship with the Holy One was not conveyed with wilderness shattering, tree stripping force. Rather, he describes a gradual, unfolding process, with quiet and unsuspecting moments of epiphany. A subway ride where he looked at fellow passengers, recognizing each had a soul and deducing that there was a higher source of all that soul-ness. He describes revelation that came to him on a mountain hike, when the voice of the Lord was heard through the glory of nature. Not the hurricane force voice of Psalm 29. More like the still small voice, the sound of sheer silence which Elijah heard in his encounter with God on the holy mountain. (Read the story in I Kings 19.)
I was thinking of where the voice of the Lord came in the life of Jesus. On occasion, we read that God’s voice sounded to bystanders like indecipherable thunder, though Jesus got the message. Since yesterday we observed the baptism of Jesus, we begin the season of Epiphany by hearing the voice that came from heaven at the Jordan River, a voice that said: You are my beloved. It’s quite similar to the heavenly voice heard on the last Sunday of this season, when Jesus is transfigured in Stephen Spielberg special effects mountaintop glory. The heavenly voice speaks of Jesus’ belovedness.
Henri Nouwen zoomed in on that voice from heaven when he wrote his beautiful book called Life of the Beloved. It’s written for a secular friend to explain Nouwen’s faith. The book is centered on the voice Jesus heard in baptism. Nouwen claims we can hear that voice as well. He wrote to his friend: “All I want to say to you is “You are the Beloved,” and all I hope is that you can hear these words as spoken to you with all the tenderness and force that love can hold. My only desire is to make these words reverberate in every corner of your being – “You are the Beloved”.
Nouwen recognizes that we are surrounded by competing voices: “It certainly is not easy to hear that voice in a world filled with voices that shout: You are no good, you are ugly; you are worthless; you are despicable, you are nobody—unless you can demonstrate the opposite.”
He reassures his reader: “Every time you listen with great attentiveness to the voice that calls you the Beloved, you will discover within yourself a desire to hear that voice longer and more deeply. It is like discovering a well in the desert. Once you have touched wet ground, you want to dig deeper.”
We may not hear God speaking to us in the voice of James Earl Jones, as much as I would like that. But God’s voice is there for us, as David Brooks found out. We can hear it in the most ordinary places, like a subway car. We can hear it in nature, maybe a morning walk on the beach or in the woods.
Paradoxically, we can hear that voice as we address the suffering of the world. For those of us who swim in the Christian stream, we hear that voice in scripture, in worship, in community, in sacrament. In Epiphany, we are reminded that we find that voice in Jesus himself, the word made flesh, God speaking to us of a love from which we cannot be separated. That voice has power, the power to change our hearts.
Listen this week. Can you hear that voice speaking directly to you, speaking of your belovedness?
-Jay Sidebotham
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Psalm 147 1 Hallelujah! How good it is to sing praises to our God! 2 The Lord rebuilds Jerusalem; 3 He heals the brokenhearted 4 He counts the number of the stars 5 Great is our Lord and mighty in power; 6 The Lord lifts up the lowly, 7 Sing to the Lord with thanksgiving; 8 He covers the heavens with clouds 9 He makes grass to grow upon the mountains 10 He provides food for flocks and herds 11 He is not impressed by the might of a horse; 12 But the Lord has pleasure in those who fear him, 13 Worship the Lord, O Jerusalem; praise your God, O Zion; 14 For he has strengthened the bars of your gates; 15 He has established peace on your borders; 16 He sends out his command to the earth, 17 He gives snow like wool; 18 He scatters his hail like bread crumbs; 19 He sends forth his word and melts them; 20 He declares his word to Jacob, 21 He has not done so to any other nation; |
Praise
More than a week before Christmas, I drove past a billboard telling folks where to recycle Christmas trees. It reminded me how hard it is for us to live in the present moment. We’re always thinking about what’s next. After breakfast, I wonder what I’ll have for lunch. Before I finish a project, I wonder what I’ll work on next. As new year approaches, I wonder how I’ll navigate 2025.
Being present to the moment is a spiritual growth opportunity for me. I can spend a lot of time revisiting the past, especially those things I would have done differently. I can fret about the future. That may be the reason that the liturgical seasons are important.
Specifically, that’s why it’s helpful to speak of Christmas as more than one day. It's a season to savor, without rushing to figure out how to recycle the tree. The psalm heard in church yesterday (reprinted in this email) can help. Like many of the psalms that come at the end of that collection in the Bible, it’s a call to offer praise, to let that be our focus in these twelve days of Christmas.
I encourage you to read over that psalm and reflect on why praise is the order of the day, a theme for this Christmas season. The psalm speaks of a transcendent God, source and sustainer of all creation. At the same time, the psalm speaks of a God who is very much down to earth. We meet that God in Jesus. Like shepherds and magi, we are invited to let our focus be gratitude and worship, awe and praise.
With two Sundays in the season of Christmas, we’ve had the chance to sing about all this in worship: O come let us adore him. Glories stream from heaven above. Heavenly hosts sing Alleluia. Come adore on bended knee. Let heaven and nature sing. Gloria in excelsis deo.
And carols aren’t only for Christmas Eve. I know a rector who would schedule “Joy to the World” in the middle of August, just a reminder of good news. Another friend worked with me, planning her mother’s funeral. She requested “Joy to the World,” even though Christmas was months away. A posture of praise need not be limited to the end of December.
There’s no need for the spirit of those carols to be limited to song. In our actions, not only with our lips but with our lives, we can offer praise of the God who, according to the psalm, gathers the exiles, heals the broken-hearted, binds up their wounds, lifts the lowly. What better act of worship of the God who does such things than for us to find ways to do the same. Those opportunities surround us.
My 5-year-old grandson asked me last week if I would be celebrating my birthday in heaven. I confessed that I hadn’t thought about that. I said it was a good question. It caused me to imagine a wondrous timelessness in heaven, when we eternally live in the moment. Christmas may well be that time when we glimpse such wonder here on earth. Maybe it’s what Christina Rossetti had in mind when she wrote the poem: Love came down at Christmas. The theologian Hans Urs von Balthasar said that Christmas was more than an event. It was invasion of time by eternity.
Such wisdom might tell us to pause the plans for recycling the tree. That day will come. Such wisdom might tell us to experience the invasion of time by eternity, reflected in the story of Christmas. Such wisdom might lead us to live in the moment by responding with a posture of praise. Such wisdom might invite us to think this Monday morning about what causes us to lift our hearts in praise of God from whom all blessings flow.
For many folks, this Christmas season has its own timelessness. School's out of session. Work schedule is different and for some, quite light. Some might ask: What day is it? This time can be a gift to be present with a focus on praise. How might you do that in the remaining days of this Christmas season, as we hear heaven and nature sing? What blessings have flowed your way? What leads you to praise in this moment?
-Jay Sidebotham
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Canticle 15 The Song of Mary The Magnificat (Luke 1:46-55) My soul proclaims the greatness of the Lord, my spirit rejoices in God my Savior; From this day all generations will call me blessed: He has mercy on those who fear him in every generation. He has shown the strength of his arm, He has cast down the mighty from their thrones, He has filled the hungry with good things, He has come to the help of his servant Israel, The promise he made to our fathers, Glory to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Spirit: |
To-do list
By way of refresher, tomorrow is Christmas Eve. I’m guessing there’s still a lot that has not been crossed off your list, even if you’ve been checking it twice. So it may be time to take a deep breath and prioritize. Hit the pause button and consider the reason for the season. I know. None of us have time to do that. Which is precisely why we need to do that.
Here's one way to do that. Turn to the song Mary sang when she began to wrap her mind around the miraculous prospect of being the God-bearer. In the version of the song we heard in church yesterday (reprinted in this email), Mary proclaims the greatness of the Lord. In older (perhaps more familiar) translations, she magnifies the Lord. I want to suggest that such magnification is what we’re called to do as we enter into the celebrations of the next few days.
What might it mean to magnify the Lord? It is not about making God greater, as if that was our job or skill set. Rather it is widening our vision, enlarging our hearts, coming to recognize a bit more of the transcendent greatness which has been there for eternity and is actually beyond human comprehension.
That’s probably why the first way we magnify the Lord is by coming together for worship, as we claim that worship is at the heart of all we do. Maybe you come to church every week. Maybe you come to church only on Christmas and Easter. Whatever your pattern, use upcoming church gatherings over the next few days to focus on the mystery of a power greater than ourselves, a loving presence that chose to take on the form of a child. Marvel at the mystery of Immanuel, God with us.
Getting back to to-do list: Getting to church on Christmas can be rugged. Everyone needs to be dressed. Presents have not all been wrapped or even purchased. Children’s toys have not been assembled. What if someone drops by with a present and you have nothing to give in return? Family members squawk at each other. Somebody with whom you disagree insists on talking politics. Parking is a nightmare. People you’ve never seen in church commandeer the best pews, saving rows of seats. Recent experiences of loss and navigation of grief can make it feel hollow to sing “Joy to the World.”
But what would it mean to let all of that go and to sing with all our hearts: “O come let us adore him”?
Then what would it mean to let that worship experience spill over into all of life, to magnify the Lord not only with our lips but with our lives. Thank God that Christmas is more than just one day. It’s a season in which we might find opportunity to be of service, to continue the spirit of gift giving. Maybe there’s a chance to cheer someone in your orbit who battles loneliness or sadness. Maybe you and members of your household can help prepare a meal for people in need. Maybe you can go through the closet and find stuff you no longer use, delivering it to a place where it can find usefulness. Maybe there’s a way to strive for justice and peace.
Magnify the Lord this Christmas. Proclaim God’s greatness. Let every heart prepare him room, as heaven and nature sing. Merry Christmas, friends.
-Jay Sidebotham
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Canticle 9 The First Song of Isaiah (Isaiah 12:2-6) Surely, it is God who saves me; For the Lord is my stronghold and my sure defense, Therefore you shall draw water with rejoicing And on that day you shall say, Make his deeds known among the peoples; Sing the praises of the Lord, for he has done great things, Cry aloud, inhabitants of Zion, ring out your joy, Glory to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Spirit: |
You shall draw water from the springs of salvation.
Um, excuse me, where might I find those springs?
I’m wondering where in your life, when in your experience you have run across springs of salvation. Maybe we can begin by talking about salvation. How do we understand that word? The way that Christian theology has evolved among certain circles, salvation is about a ticket to heaven. Depending on which group you’re talking about, it can be a very small number of folks who make the cut.
When I was a kid, I would often walk each day with my neighborhood best friend. As we passed by a couple churches, we would often have profound 7 year old conversations about religion. He was Roman Catholic and was concerned I was not going to make it to heaven. I was Protestant Evangelical and I was concerned he was not going to heaven. That mindset can come early. Salvation was about the heavenly price of admission.
There are other ways to think about salvation. I’ve been told that it really means wholeness, that it suggests healing, a process of restoration and reparation and renewal. Among other things, that means that salvation begins right now. See St. Paul: Now is the day of salvation. (II Corinthians 6.2 ) As I thought about this, it seemed like a good idea to go to wiser sources, so I considered what Frederick Buechner had to say about salvation.
In his book Wishful Thinking (a great Christmas gift by the way), he speaks of salvation as an experience first and a doctrine second. He says it is a process, not an event. For him, it is the paradoxical experience of losing oneself and then finding that one is more fully oneself than usual. Perhaps not surprisingly, he says that the closest analogy is love. He says that when you love somebody, it is no longer yourself who is the center of your own universe. It is the one you love. He suggests that is what Jesus had in mind when he said: He who loses his life for my sake will find it. (Matthew 10:39). In that way, we do not love God so that, tit for tat God will save us. Rather to love God is to be saved. Get this: “You do not love God and live for him so you will go to Heaven. Whichever side of the grave you happen to be talking about, to love God and to live for him is Heaven.”
And he has a word for those who have had this experience. “How about the person you know who as far as you can possibly tell has never had such a moment – the soreheads and slobs of the world, the ones the world has hopelessly cripple? Maybe for that person the moment that has to happen is you.” In other words, best I can tell what Buechner is getting at is that we can point others to springs of salvation.
The psalm begins: “As a deer longs for flowing streams, so my soul longs for you, O God. My soul thirsts for God, for the living God.” (Psalm 42:1,2) Hear what Jesus told the woman at the well: “Those who drink of the water that I will give them will never be thirsty. The water that I will give will become in them a spring of water gushing up to eternal life.” (John 4.15) The woman said to Jesus: “Give me this water.” Which is to say that the springs of salvation are accessible right here. Right now.
Hey, maybe that’s what the good news of Christmas, God with us, is all about.
-Jay Sidebotham
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Canticle 16: Luke 1: 68-79 Blessed be the Lord, the God of Israel; He has raised up for us a mighty savior, Through his holy prophets he promised of old, He promised to show mercy to our fathers This was the oath he swore to our father Abraham, Free to worship him without fear, You, my child, shall be called the prophet of the Most High, To give his people knowledge of salvation In the tender compassion of our God the dawn To shine on those who dwell in darkness and the shadow of death, Glory to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Spirit: |
You shall know the truth, and the truth will make you odd.
- Flannery O’Connor
Case in point: John the Baptist. We hear a lot about him these days. If Academy Awards were given for liturgical seasons, John the Baptist would get an Oscar for Best Actor in Advent. Our church lets us know he is a big deal, with attention not only on several Sundays in Advent but also on a few feast days throughout the year. That is probably a reflection of what Jesus said about John the Baptist, which is that there was no one greater born of woman than John (Matthew 11:11).
The most generous adjective I can come up with to describe the guy is eccentric. He wore strange clothes. Ate strange food. Set up a public ministry in the wilderness where there were no people. When people finally found him out in the desert, he called them a brood of vipers. No Dale Carnegie course graduate here.
We heard about him in church yesterday, and in lieu of a psalm which usually appears in the line up, the lectionary invited us to read a canticle which is really a passage from Luke’s gospel (see column on the left). Zechariah, John’s father, holds forth with prediction of his son’s greatness. So what does John have to teach us this Advent?
We get clues from a tradition in Christian art that has John the Baptist depicted again and again with outstretched hand, index finger pointing away from himself to Jesus, usually to Jesus on the cross. It’s an illustration of what John said when asked about his relationship to Jesus. John said: He must increase and I must decrease (John 3:30).
Let’s be clear. There was no shortage of ego strength with the Baptist. But he knew who he was and he knew who Jesus was, and he knew the difference, so his ministry was one of preparation for the advent of a greater presence, a higher power. It was a ministry of humility. Cue in Godspell: Prepare ye the way of the Lord.
How does that apply to us? First, channeling Flannery O’Connor, we might embrace the weirdness, the oddity, the eccentricity that comes with the truth of our faith. What might that look like? Maybe like St. Paul said, it’s being a fool for Christ (II Corinthians 4:10). Maybe it’s letting someone ahead of us in traffic or in line at the store. Maybe it’s giving an absurdly generous tip to a server the next time you go out to eat. Maybe it’s extending forgiveness to someone who by all accounts doesn’t deserve it. Maybe it’s listening to someone else’s point of view when you have felt that their point of view is wrong or stupid. Maybe it’s advocating for justice and peace (in word and action), in a season when the most vulnerable are threatened, for example, those threatened with deportation (See Leviticus 19:34). Maybe it’s resisting a racist joke or comment or policy. In a time when church attendance may be an oddity, maybe it’s inviting someone to an Advent or Christmas gathering in your church, or telling someone why the place means something to you. Maybe none of these make sense in the economy of our common life, but the truth will make you odd.
Second, it’s about getting clear eyed about who we are and who Jesus is. The slowed pace and quiet time recommended for Advent might give us space to reflect on Jesus’ question to his disciples: Who do you say that I am? That kind of clarity is bound to make our experience of the joy of Christmas more intense.
Finally, it’s about finding a way to point beyond ourselves to Christ. John had his own distinctive way. We are called to find our own way. How will your life this week point beyond yourself to Jesus? How will you prepare the way of the Lord?
-Jay Sidebotham
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Psalm 25:1-9 1 To you, O Lord, I lift up my soul; my God, I put my trust in you; 2 Let none who look to you be put to shame; 3 Show me your ways, O Lord, and teach me your paths. 4 Lead me in your truth and teach me, for you are the God of my salvation; 5 Remember, O Lord, your compassion and love, 6 Remember not the sins of my youth and my transgressions; 7 Gracious and upright is the Lord; 8 He guides the humble in doing right 9 All the paths of the Lord are love and faithfulness |
How would you like to be remembered?
A friend attended a retreat where participants were invited to write a brief autobiography, viewed through three different lenses. They were to write their story as hero, as victim, and as learner. The suggestion is that the ways we tell our own story, the ways we wish to be remembered, indeed our sense of identity depend on our point of view. The point of view we choose shapes the ways we think and behave. To those three categories, I might add a fourth. I haven’t settled on the word to capture this category. Perhaps mistake-maker (the most generous option) or screw-up, transgressor or sinner.
The psalm printed above, read on the first Sunday of Advent, talks about how God might remember us. The author of the psalm makes the following request to the Holy One: Remember me not according to the sins of my youth (and we all have those). Rather remember me according to your love.
Implicit in that psalm is the idea that while it matters how we regard ourselves, a bit of that has to do with the way we believe God regards us. For many people raised in religious contexts, the assumption is that God is scorekeeper, a slightly grouchy one at that. It’s most vividly brought to mind by a Gary Larson cartoon. God sits at the computer. On the screen, a grand piano plummets towards unsuspecting pedestrian. God at the keyboard is about to hit the “Smite” button.
When we imagine God regarding us in that way, it makes for an anxious approach to life. Ironically, it means we begin to regard other people in that same way, keeping score, all the while treasuring resentments and infringements as if they were trophies.
But if we can believe that God’s overriding regard for us is one of compassion, we find a different way forward, marked by freedom and joy. The good news of our faith is that while the Holy One knows our stories, knows us each as hero, victim, learner and sinner, the overriding way the Holy One regards us is as beloved child. Maybe that should be the fifth option. The challenge of our faith is to ask whether we can really believe that we are the beloved child in such a way that it shapes the way we live.
Savanna Guthrie, of TODAY show fame, recently wrote a book entitled Mostly What God Does. She is not only an accomplished television presence but also a person of faith. In her book, she makes this simple point: Mostly what God does is love you. In the intro, she writes:
If we could believe this, really believe this, how different would we be? How different would our lives be? How different would our world be? If you ever struggle with your connection to God (or whether you even feel connected to a faith at all!), you're not alone. Especially in our modern world, with its relentless, never-ending news cycle, we can all grapple with such questions. Do we do that alone, with despair and resignation? Or do we make sense of it with God, and with hope? In these uncertain times, could believing in the power of divine love make the most sense?
If we can embrace the idea that God knows all the ways we’ve messed up and still looks on us graciously, then we may well find ourselves a bit more compassionate and forgiving to people around us. St. Paul captured that idea in his letter to the Romans. He wrote: Welcome one another as Christ has welcomed you.
As we begin a new year, take stock of the ways you imagine you are regarded by God.
Join with the psalmist who prays to be remembered with compassion. Join with the thief on the cross who asks Jesus: Remember me when you come into your kingdom. Offer the prayer of commendation from the Burial Office which speaks of how we might each and all be remembered: Into your hands, O merciful Savior, we commend your servant. Acknowledge, we humbly beseech you, a sheep of your own fold, a lamb of your own flock, a sinner of your own redeeming.
-Jay Sidebotham
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RenewalWorks: Helping churches focus on spiritual growth
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Psalm 132:1-13 1 Lord, remember David, 2 How he swore an oath to the Lord 3 "I will not come under the roof of my house," 4 I will not allow my eyes to sleep, 5 Until I find a place for the Lord, 6 "The ark! We heard it was in Ephratah; 7 Let us go to God's dwelling place; 8 Arise, O Lord, into your resting-place, 9 Let your priests be clothed with righteousness; 10 For your servant David's sake, 11 The Lord has sworn an oath to David; 12 "A son, the fruit of your body will I set upon your throne. 13 If your children keep my covenant |
Persistence
The route of the triathlon went right by our house. I sat on the front porch to cheer people on. The first runners came through, lean and fast. After swimming more than I could ever swim, cycling further than I could ever pedal, they were sprinting for the finish line and made it look easy. Breezy. I thought to myself: Definitely another species. It is not now, nor could ever have been my experience.
That was midmorning, and the participants went by throughout the day. By late afternoon, there were just a few. It was a group I could identify with. Some older than you might imagine would wisely enlist for such a race. Others may have made a few too many visits to Dunkin Donuts. Some shuffling. Some walking. Some nursing pain. But they were intent on finishing. I was as impressed with their persistence as I was with the strength of those at the head of the pack.
For most of us, life is more like marathon than sprint. Furthermore, it’s not a race we can choose to enter on a lovely fall weekend. No opting out. It’s a long haul. It requires taking the long view. It requires persistence. It requires endurance. That doesn’t just happen. It takes training. It’s true of the spiritual journey. The language we use for training in the church is that it takes spiritual practice.
So what spiritual practices are good for us if we want to train for the marathon? These come to mind: A steady, honest prayer life. Time spent in quiet contemplation. Engagement with scripture in some habitual way. Regular participation in the eucharist. Gathering with other people of faith (those also running the race so you can talk about how tough it is). Service to others. All of these foster spiritual persistence and build spiritual endurance.
The psalm printed above, one you may have heard in church on Sunday, talks about the spiritual gift of persistence. David will not rest until he feels his spiritual mission is fulfilled. David may come across as spiritual superheroes, like those at the head of the triathlon pack. Yet the Bible is careful to indicate he was by no means perfect. Nevertheless, he persisted. That’s good news for all of us.
Persistence is not one of the fruits of the spirit listed by St. Paul in his letter to the Galatians (although patience is related). But it seems to be one of the qualities exhibited by saints, especially saints who dealt with adversity (which means most of them). It’s related to endurance which is a key theme found in the letter to the Hebrews, a sermon to a congregation under fire.
Speaking of marathons, the author of Hebrews writes the following in chapter 12: Therefore, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us also lay aside every weight and the sin that clings so closely, and let us run with perseverance the race that is set before us, looking to Jesus, the pioneer and perfecter of faith, who for the sake of the joy that was set before him endured the cross, disregarding its shame, and has taken his seat at the right hand of the throne of God. Consider him who endured such hostility against himself from sinners, so that you may not grow weary in your souls or lose heart.
I have no clue where the need for persistence, for endurance surfaces in your life this morning. It may be a need you sense in your household, in your work place, in your faith community, in this divided nation, in this broken world. But as we move into Advent, with expectation of the coming of the Christ child, perhaps we can prepare by finding our own way to look to Jesus, the pioneer and perfecter, the author and finisher of our faith. Maybe when we do that, we can run with perseverance the race that is set before us.
-Jay Sidebotham
