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Discovering Home…

21 Wednesday Sep 2016

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Photo credit:  John Rothnie, http://www.hickoryneck.org

When my husband and I were engaged, we relocated to Delaware.  One of the first things on our priority list was finding a church home – partly because we missed church back in North Carolina, but also because we were hoping to make some new friends in our new town.  “Church shopping” was hard – nothing felt quite right, and our old standbys were not working.  I was born and raised in the United Methodist Church, and my husband had nominally been raised in the Presbyterian Church.  After months of frustration, and the recommendation of a friend, we tentatively tried out the Cathedral in Delaware.  My husband was sold on the first Sunday; I took some time to come around.  For a long time, I thought that we were just United Methodists who happened to worship in an Episcopal Church.  But what I did not realize was that a transformation was taking place – I was discovering the Church home I didn’t know I was missing.

Every person who walks in the door of a church has a similar story.  Sometimes a person is what we call a “cradle Episcopalian” – born, raised, and stayed in the Episcopal Church.  Sometimes a couple or family is looking for a compromise in faith traditions.  Sometimes people leave their denomination out of frustration and are looking for something that feels closer to the Gospel as they experience it.  And sometimes a person has never before stepped a foot in a church.  That’s part of the beauty of the Episcopal Church – our members come from a diverse set of experiences, all of which feed our mutual ministry.

That is why we are kicking off a class called “Discovery Class” this week at Hickory Neck.  Whether you are new to Hickory Neck, the Episcopal Church, or you have been around forever, I find it is always helpful to review our roots.  No matter how many times I teach this class, I find that people learn something new, feel inspired to deepen their faith, or find themselves reenergized about their Episcopal identity.  The class also gives us a chance to reflect on and celebrate the unique way that our Episcopal identity is incarnate at Hickory Neck.

I hope you will take some time this week to reflect on your own spiritual journey.  Think back to the times when you felt inspired, fed, and reinvigorated in your faith.  Recall the way you felt when you knew, or suspected, that your current faith community began to feel like a spiritual home.  And if you cannot join us at Hickory Neck, share some of those stories with your neighbors – and invite them into the wonderful work Jesus is doing in your church home!

Sermon – Luke 12.49-56, P15, YC, August 14, 2016

17 Wednesday Aug 2016

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I grew up in a house without conflict.  No one ever fought, no one ever yelled, and certainly, no one ever hit.  There may have been disagreements, but they were quickly resolved and our house was restored to peace.  Given that was my experience growing up, I assumed all family handled conflict in hushed, quiet ways.  But then I visited a friend who taught me differently.  I was staying with her family for a few days, and on a car ride to dinner, her mother and father started arguing and were quickly yelling at each other in the front seat.  My eyes bulged and my whole body tensed up.  I immediately thought, “This is the most horrible thing I have ever seen!”  I surreptitiously glanced at my friend to see if she was equally horrified, but she just sat there like it was an everyday occurrence.  But even more strange than the fight was how the family acted later.  There was a bit of quiet after the yelling, but by the time we stopped for dinner, everyone was back to normal.  I, however, could not manage to release the tension in my body, and my mind was racing.  Are they okay?  Is this normal?  Will it happen again?  How do I act now?

I remember after that visit feeling relieved and almost proud.  Clearly my family had the better conflict management system.  Clearly we were more in control of our emotions and cared for each other with tenderness and love.  I let myself believe that lie until my parent’s divorce.  My entire world view about conflict and family and love came apart.  Suddenly my quiet house was not simply quiet.  My quiet house was a conflict avoidant house.  The lack of yelling in my house was not simply a lack of yelling, but was a stuffing of hurt and pain for the sake of pretend peace.  Now, do not get me wrong.  I am not suggested that you all go home and yell at your loved ones.  What I am saying is that no matter what your experience of conflict has been – avoidance, dramatic confrontation, reasoned discussion through disagreement – we have all experienced conflict in our family.

All that is to say that nothing Jesus says about families should be shocking today.  Most of us like the loving, caring, gentle Jesus the best.  We like Jesus being hailed as the Prince of Peace, not hearing Jesus say, “Do you think that I have come to bring peace to the earth? No, I tell you, but rather division!”[i]  That is not the version of Jesus we come to hear about on Sundays.  That is not the version of Jesus we want to read about when our best friend is mad at us, our brother won’t talk to us, or our spouse is thinking about leaving.  That is not the version of Jesus we want the preacher talking about on the Sunday we decided to bring our friend to church.

And normally, I would be right there with you in protest.  I like the Prince of Peace who cares for the poor and downtrodden.  I love the Jesus who tells me not to be afraid and not to worry, especially when the lilies of the field are so well tended by God.  I adore the Jesus who forgives and unites all kinds of people into one.  But all of my protest comes from being someone who used to be pretty conflict avoidant.  That is, until I learned another way.  I will always say that one of the greatest gifts of my time on Long Island was learning how to not only handle conflict, but to really appreciate conflict for all that conflict can do.

For those of you not familiar with the cultural dynamic of Long Island, several things are at play.  First, Long Islanders have a different way of communicating.  They are direct, incisive, and honest.  For a Southerner, their style of communication can feel rude, but over time, said Southerner realizes that all that directness and ability to dive into conflict means you get everything out on the table.  There is no listening for innuendo or passive aggressiveness.  There are no cute phrases that sound nice, but really mean something entirely different.  Instead, you know where people stand, and you go home quite clear about the varying viewpoints.  Of course, that style of communication does not always feel good.  If you have sensitive feelings about criticism, your feelings can and will get hurt.  If you get uncomfortable with heated arguments, you will be challenged to stay calm.  If you prefer niceness over brutal honesty – well, you probably should not live on Long Island.

But here is what I learned and came to love about the beautiful people of Long Island.  They taught me how to listen, even if all I wanted to do was flee the room.  They taught me how to sit through criticism instead of getting defensive.  They taught me how to see conflict not as the ultimate evil, but instead as a critical key to transformation, reconciliation, and restoration.

That is at the heart of Jesus’ message today.  Of course Jesus says that he is going to divide fathers and sons, mothers and daughters, and in-laws against one another.  What Jesus is teaching about is a radical reordering of the world.[ii]  We heard that proclamation from his mother’s mouth as she sang out the words of the Magnificat earlier in Luke’s gospel, “He has shown strength with his arm; he has scattered the proud in the thoughts of their hearts.  He has brought down the powerful from their thrones, and lifted up the lowly; he has filled the hungry with good things, and sent the rich away empty.”[iii]  Mary was not just talking about the enemy Rome.  Many of the Israelites themselves were proud, powerful, and rich.  We in the modern world are the proud, powerful, and rich.  And to us, Jesus shouts, “Do you think that I have come to bring peace to the earth? No, I tell you, but rather division!”

The good news is that Jesus is not telling us he wants us to fight.  He is not encouraging violence or abuse, or even neglect or pain.  Jesus is simply telling us that his message is going to upset the status quo.  And as people who benefit from the status quo, we are going to have to face our demons and look at our brothers and sisters who are in need and take real stock of ourselves and our lives.  And when we start upsetting the status quo – when we start making women equal to men, when we start treating minorities with dignity and respect, when we start empowering the poor thrive and turn their lives around, we will have friends and family who push back.  We will have people who try to convince us to protect our power rather than share our power.  We will have family who walk away because they cannot face the truth.  All we have to do is look at the church – look at the hundreds of denominations who could not agree on whom could be baptized, what Eucharist means, and whom can be ordained or married.  We are a family divided because Jesus’ love is so revolutionary that we will be divided about how to define his love, how to share his love, and how receive his love.  Jesus does not want us to fight.  But he knows that if we are going to authentically live into the Gospel life, we are going to deal with conflict and we are going to be divided.[iv]

But that is also why Jesus went all the way to the cross.  His death was an effort to transform and redeem our conflict and to help us live fully into the people of peace and love we are invited to be in him.  Jesus knows that we will have to fight.  But he also knows that if we are willing to enter into conflict with an open mind, with listening ears, and a discerning heart, we will become a people who do not avoid conflict, but understand conflict as the purifying fire that burns away the mess of life and leaves behind the fertile ground for creating something new and holy.[v]  So yes, Jesus is still the Prince of Peace, who brings peace upon earth.  But the path there is not a smooth, straight, simple path.  The path there will take us through conflict, tension, and pain.  But the peace that awaits on the other side is more glorious than any community that will sit through passive aggressive avoidance just to maintain a false sense of security.

And just in case you are already feeling weary, wondering where you can muster the strength to survive such a rocky path, our letter to the Hebrews today gives us a clue, “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 our faith…”[vi]  That group of people you are going to be in conflict with – whether your biological family, or the crazy family you selected as your church home – is the same group of people who have left us an example of how to work our way through conflict.  They have shown us how to survive the race toward peace and reconciliation, reminding us that Jesus is the pioneer and perfecter who gets us there.  We will not get there avoiding conflict.  But we will get there together, holding hands when we disagree, loving each other when we say helpful but painful truths, and rejoicing when we push through to the side of reconciliation, renewal, and rebirth.  Amen.

[i] Luke 12.51.

[ii] Richard P. Carlson, “Exegetical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, Vol. 3 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010), 361.

[iii] Luke 1.51-53.

[iv] Audrey West, “Theological Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, Vol. 3 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010), 360, 362.

[v] Elizabeth Palmer, “Living By The Word:  August 14, 20th Sunday in Ordinary Time,” Christian Century, July 26, 2016, as found at http://www.christiancentury.org/article/2016-07/august-14-20th-sunday-ordinary-time on August 11, 2016.

[vi] Hebrews 12.1-2a.

So Let Your Light Shine…

03 Wednesday Aug 2016

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Photo credit:  embracingbeauty.com/2013/04/20/letting-our-light-shine-by-donating-w-champions-for-kids-mobilizingmillions-cbias/

These last few weeks, I have been visiting outreach ministries that our parish supports.  The ministries have varied widely – from a free health clinic, to a ministry aimed at keeping seniors independent as long as possible, to a multi-service agency that works in a particularly impoverished area of our community.  Visiting the agencies has given me a great deal of perspective on the larger Williamsburg community – the various ways that poverty can impact the lives of our neighbors.  Whether the challenge is housing, health care, food, clothing, transportation, or education, the needs vary wide.  Luckily, there are people who are passionate about each need, and are working hard to make life a little better for our neighbors.

Equally helpful to learning the statistics and needs of each agency has been watching the passion of our parishioners who are involved in the ministries.  At each agency, a parishioner has shared with me why they volunteer, what inspires them, and how important the ministry is to our community.  With each parishioner, I see a certain tenderness toward the clients and a passion about the issue.   The parishioner’s entire demeanor changes when they talk about the ministry – making the case even more compelling than the executive director of the agency can make it.

As I have watched the physical transformation of our parishioners as they tell me about their passion for outreach ministries, I realized that is the same transformation I hope to see when they tell their friends about Hickory Neck.  You see, just like outreach ministries give us a sense of purpose outside of ourselves, church should similarly give us a sense of purpose outside of ourselves.  At church, we find ourselves inspired by worshiping our God.  At church, we find ourselves renewed as we learn and grow in our faith journey.  At church, we find ourselves made whole as we laugh and rejoice together.  At church, we are changed, we change others, and we change our community beyond the church walls.

I saw that same transformation as I interviewed with the Search Committee and Vestry over six months ago.  I saw that transformation in our parishioners this summer when I asked each of you what brings you joy about Hickory Neck.  And today, I imagine each of you might feel that inner transformation, that deep sense of joy, if you were to think about why you love Hickory Neck.  My invitation for all of us in the coming weeks is to take ourselves to that deep, inner sense of meaning, purpose, and joy, and to start inviting your friends and neighbors into that same experience.  If you speak from the heart, letting your light and passion shine through you, I promise you will inspire others more than you know.  Just like I saw the bodily transformation when you talked about your passions for outreach, your neighbors will be equally drawn in by your passion for church.  As we look to kick off the program year, I look forward to hearing how our newcomers were inspired by the Christ light shining in you, and wanted to find out how to capture that same light.

Sermon – Luke 10.1-11, 16-20, 2 Kings 5.1-14, P9, YC, July 3, 2016

07 Thursday Jul 2016

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I remember when I was on maternity leave I ended up watching a fair amount of daytime television – mostly because that was the extent of intellectual stimulation that my sleep-deprived brain could handle.  Not being someone who watches a lot of television, I was fascinated by one phenomenon in general:  pharmaceutical commercials.  There are tons of them and they are all filled with very convincing actors and stories.  The story is always the same:  the patient was sad, scared, or in pain, struggling with no cure; they or their doctor find a little-known drug; and, bam, they are returned to health and wholeness.  Sometimes the actor or narrator will mention a few possible side effects.  But in tiny print below the glowingly happy patient is a longer list of side effects that, quite frankly, sound terrifying – maybe even more terrifying than the disease or symptom they are trying to heal.  If you are not careful, you can miss the messy stuff altogether because everyone looks so happy:  from hair loss, to abdominal pain, partial paralysis, or in rare cases, even death.

That same sort of list of side effects is what our gospel lesson today glosses over too.  The severity of the situation is clearly grim when Jesus commissions the seventy to go ahead of him, proclaiming the kingdom and healing people.  Jesus is unambiguous.  He tells the seventy that they will be like sheep among wolves.  He takes away any forms of security:  no purse, no bag, no sandals.  He warns them that some people will not receive them well, and they will have to dust off their bruised egos and keep going.  He advises them to be gracious guests, eating whatever is put before them (even if it is Brussel sprouts).  Truly, this has to be the worst ad for a mission ever.

But here is the funny part.  The text jumps over the mission of the seventy and simply says, “The seventy returned with joy.”  We do not get details of all the side effects they experience.  We do not get to hear how hard eating what is put before them is.  We do not get to hear how scary traveling with no money or shoes is.  We do not even get to hear how many times they have to dust of their feet in protest from ill treatment.  No, the commercial just glosses straight to the end, “The seventy returned with joy.”  The reading today feels like all the bad stuff is just shoved into fine print so that we do not get a sense of what going out into the mission field really feels like – because, based on what Jesus says, the mission field sounds terrifying.

Feeling frustrated by the lack of detail this week, I found myself wondering how we might get a glimpse into the real experience of following Jesus and sharing the good news.  Then I stumbled back into the Naaman story and realized perhaps he is the key.  Naaman seems like an unlikely candidate at first blush.  He is a foreign national in the time of Elisha.  Jesus does not come onto the scene until hundreds of years later.  But Naaman has much more in common with the followers of Jesus – in fact, more in common with us – than we might imagine.

You see, Naaman is a mighty army commander.  Because of the Lord’s favor, Naaman has led the king’s troops to victory.  Naaman is not one of the Israelites, but he is someone with great power – a prowess we are familiar with as modern Americans.  In that way, he, us, and the seventy commissioned by Jesus are similar – we are insiders with power.  But despite his power, Naaman suffers from leprosy.  He has longed for healing and would use his power, influence, and money if he could.  But so far that has not led to success.  Instead, Naaman has to go another way.  As it turns out, Naaman has to go on a journey that is very similar in conditions to what the seventy must do.

In order to find healing and wholeness, Naaman must give up his power, sense of control, and must rely on others – especially those most marginalized in society.[i]  Basically, like the seventy, Naaman must give up his purse, his bag, his sandals, and must rely on the hospitality of others.  His story starts with a tip from a slave girl from Israel.  She learns of the commander’s leprosy and suggests he seek out the Israeli prophet, Elisha for healing.  So, Naaman gets a blessing from his king and heads off to the king of Israel.  Only, the king of Israel misunderstands Naaman and thinks he is being setup for failure.  Elisha, who is clearly not in the king’s court, saves the day, and sends word that he will help.  So, Naaman takes his bountiful gifts to this non-ranking prophet seeking help again.  But instead of greeting Naaman, Elisha sends out one of his messengers to Naaman with instructions for healing.  Instead of dusting his feet off at the apparent insult, Naaman gets angry.  But some of Naaman’s unnamed servants gently appeal to him to try the remedy anyway.  Naaman eats humble pie again, and is healed.

Naaman gives us a glimpse into the fine print of Jesus’ commissioning of the seventy.  Going without a purse, sandals, and relying on the hospitality of others takes a lot of humility.  Facing rejection, which Jesus guarantees will come, will take a lot of anger management.  Going in Christ’s name will mean accepting help from anyone and everyone – not the easiest of tasks for us, who as Americans prefer to be self-sufficient, independent, strong survivors.  We prefer to be people who help instead of people who need help.

I have been on a variety of mission trips over the years:  medical missions, missions building homes, missions building schools or community centers, and missions meant to build relationships.  On almost every mission trip I have joined, the team members came back feeling like they gained more than they gave.  This conclusion invariably leads to a discussion about whether money is best spent in direct aid than expensive overseas trips that seem to benefit us more than the people we serve.  While that conversation always needs to happen, what that argument fails to see is the power of Christian witness – that even if we do not turn communities around socio-economically, part of what we leave behind is the love and fellowship of Christ – the message that you are not alone in your suffering.  In part, being able to host us and show us hospitality gives those we serve more of a sense of worth and honor than being recipients of aid.

But in order for any of that to happen, we have to make ourselves vulnerable.[ii]  We have to put ourselves in the position of Naaman to receive aid and healing from the least likely persons.  True mission is not about the powerful and wealthy bringing their resources to the poor and downtrodden.  True mission is about the powerful and wealthy realizing their own spiritual poverty and creating an environment where rich and poor, healthy and sick can share healing, wholeness, and health in a way that recognizes we all have needs before God – and that God uses us all of us when we work collaboratively for healing and building up the kingdom of God.[iii]

Jesus was right to warn us with the possible side effects of sharing the good news:  vulnerability, insecurity, bodily danger, hurt egos, and long days.  Though the seventy do not show us what that looks like, Naaman certainly does.  He reminds us of the fine print:  that the side effects may lead to anger, feelings of abandonment, a loss of self-worth and importance.  But the benefits are still the same:  healing and wholeness for the whole community, redefining who is in and who is out of the community, and new purpose in the larger world.  The good news is that part of our prescription involves partners for the journey:  Jesus sends the seventy out two-by-two.[iv]  Even Naaman does not go alone, but takes others with him – others who keep him in check and support him in his sense of loss.  And the result is the same:  healing, transformation, and joy.  Those kind of results make the side effects worth it!  Amen.

 

[i] Stephen Reid, “Commentary on 2 Kings 5:1-14,” July 3, 2016, as found at http://www.workingpreacher.org/preaching.aspx?commentary_id=2904 on June 29, 2016.

[ii] David J. Lose, “Homiletical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, Vol. 3 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010), 219.

[iii] Adriene Thorne, “Moral Leprocy,” July 3, 2016, as found at http://www.onscripture.com/moral-leprosy on June 29, 2016.

[iv] Karoline Lewis, “The Security of Seventy,” June 26, 2016, as found at http://www.workingpreacher.org/craft.aspx?post=4683 on June 29, 2016.

Always go to the baptism…

01 Wednesday Jul 2015

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At St. Margaret’s we are in the middle of two big weeks.  This past Sunday we baptized twin girls and this coming Sunday we are baptizing another baby girl.  It is fairly rare for our parish to have back-to-back baptisms.  For the Altar Guild, that has meant that the same paraments can stay on the altar, the Pascal Candle can stay in the sanctuary, and flowers will be equally festive.  For the liturgical leaders it means that the occasionally used service is much more familiar as we head into this weekend – we should not need as much preparation and should be primed for who is holding what and when (it turns out there is a lot of choreography when it comes to liturgy!).  And for the parish, the liturgy will be very familiar and they will be ready for their big line, “We will!” when it is their turn to affirm that they will do all in their power to support these persons in their life in Christ.

But just because this coming Sunday feels familiar or even repetitive, nothing about it is rote.  That is the thing about baptisms:  although everything surrounding the day is the same, the experience is totally unique.  In the Episcopal Church, we only baptize once.  A baptism is a once-in-a-lifetime experience, something that is tremendously significant and special.  Nothing can invalidate our baptism.  Once we are welcomed into the household of God, nothing the person does can take away that status.  Baptism is a big deal.

I have often heard it said that you should never miss a funeral.  A funeral only happens once, and is something you can never recreate.  Though many of us fear what to say or do or how to approach the family, just being there becomes a blessing to the bereaved and to you.  It is a practice many have come to value:  always go to the funeral.  In fact, I began to embrace that mantra fully after seeing this story.

I think the same can be said of a baptism.  Though the liturgy is always the same, the liturgy says and does something very important.  It is not about the pretty dresses or handsome outfits.  It is about a sacred thing that happens.  It is about committing to a way of life – declaring the importance of faith in one’s life and agreeing to live in a certain way.  It is about renewing our own commitment to our baptismal covenant – something that, if done regularly, could probably help us change the world.  And it is about standing tall as a community, and taking ownership for the ways in which we form one another.  When we jubilantly say, “We will!”, our commitment is to being a community that lives life in a radically different way – in seeking Jesus, in serving Jesus, and in sharing Jesus.  When we stand at the font as a community we are claiming a radical identity that changes everything in our lives.  Something bold, invigorating, and life-giving happens at baptism.  You may think that if you have seen one baptism, you have seen them all.  On the contrary, I suggest that each one has a unique way of transforming us in Christ.  For the health of ourselves, the community, and the newly baptized, we need to be at the baptism as much as the family wants us to be there.  Always go to the baptism.  It will change your life.

Sermon – Matthew 15.10-28, P15, YA, August 17, 2014

27 Wednesday Aug 2014

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We have all either heard or said the words ourselves, “Do as I say, not as I do.”  Maybe your dad said the words when you overheard him using an inappropriate word.  Maybe your mom said the words when you caught her being impatient with someone.  Maybe you said the words when your own child caught you having a late night treat that you said was off limits to everyone.  Do as I say, not as I do.  The phrase is our universal way of admitting that even though we know the right things to do, we do not always do them.  In essence, we are failures.  In this simple phrase we hear echoes of Paul’s words to the Romans, “For I do not do the good I want, but the evil I do not want is what I do.”[i]  But the phrase, “Do as I say, not as I do,” is a little bit more than simply admitting failure.  The simple phrase is also a phrase full of frustration, exasperation, and impatience – a rueful admitting of defeat, a hint of embarrassment at one’s failure and hypocrisy, and a petulant insistence that your words be heeded anyway.

What is harder than hearing a parent utter these words is hearing Jesus utter words like this today.  The beginning of our gospel lesson is a long passage in which Jesus explains how misguided the Pharisees have become.  They are so caught up in worrying about rituals that the Pharisees have not noticed that what is coming out of their mouths is much more offensive than what is going in their mouths.  Instead of worrying about the legalities of cleaning rituals, Jesus is instead insisting that they need to worry about how their words are defiling them more than their unclean hands are defiling them.

So after this long diatribe about how the Pharisees are essentially being hypocrites what does Jesus do?  He gets caught being a hypocrite himself.  He has just given the disciples a lecture about worrying about the words coming out of their mouths when Jesus turns around and basically does the exact same thing.  A poor Canaanite woman comes to Jesus, shouting for mercy for her demon-possessed daughter.  Normally the gracious healer, Jesus totally ignores the woman.  Then, when the disciples beg Jesus to send her away, Jesus makes some snide remark about how he is only here on earth to help the Israelites, not some lowly Canaanite.  When the woman throws herself at Jesus feet, Jesus then says the unthinkable – something so awful that even we are embarrassed.  Jesus says to the woman, “It is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs.”  Even to modern ears, Jesus’ words sting.  We like the kind, generous, caring version of Jesus – not this version of Jesus who calls people dogs and refuses to help them.  But even worse is what happens next.  The Canaanite woman calls Jesus to task.  “Yet even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their masters’ table.”

We have all been there.  We have all been mid-stream in doing what we thought was the right thing, living our lives the best way we know how when someone – a child, a friend, or even a stranger – has called us out and made us see the ugliness in our words and actions.  I have been caught several times by my daughter.  We have a practice of praying before our meals at home, trying to teach our daughter some easy prayers.  One night we were out with friends who I knew were not church-goers.  When the meal came, we all began to eat.  But my daughter, rather loudly asked, “Why aren’t we saying the blessing, Mommy?”  I tried to quickly and quietly shush her, but I am sure whatever stammering I did only made things worse – both for my daughter and our friends.

Most of us are pretty hesitant to talk to people about church, especially why they do not go to church.  We are hesitant because at some point in our lives we have had pointed out to us how the church is full of a bunch of hypocrites.  And, honestly, few of us have a response to that accusation because we know we do not live the lives we aspire to live.  Even Mahatma Gandhi is rumored to have said, “I like your Christ.  I do not like your Christians.  Your Christians are so unlike your Christ.”[ii]  The sting of that quote or conversations that involve similar accusations usually make us steer clear of even bringing up church with our non-church friends.  Or when we try to address their valid concerns, we end up stammering into some explanation that basically ends up sounding like, “Do as I say, not as I do.”

The problem with these encounters is that none of us likes to admit is that though we go to church, and though we pray to God, and though we raise our children in the faith, we still do not really have this whole faith thing all figured out.  We are still unsure about some things, we do not always understand why we do what we do, and most of us are not confident enough in Holy Scripture to feel like we could hold our own in a debate.  Though many of us have had powerful experiences with God, most of us still feel like failures in being good Christians.  In fact, if you ask most adults in church, the two things they dislike the most are teaching Sunday School and evangelizing.  The reason we dislike those two things is because we are afraid – afraid of being asked a question we cannot answer or afraid of being exposed as the hypocrites we fear that we really are.

The good news is that we are not alone.  Even Jesus, the same Jesus that Gandhi praises, has been in our shoes.  When the Canaanite woman comes back at Jesus with her sharp accusation about even dogs getting crumbs, Jesus has a choice.  He can pull the classic parental line, “Do as I say, not as I do.”  Surely he is exasperated by the Canaanite woman and all the disciples constantly pushing him and asking questions.  A simple, “Do as I say, not as I do,” and then a stomping away in the other direction would not be unforgiveable.  Or Jesus can take a moment, check his pride at the door, and admit he is wrong.  And that is exactly what Jesus does.  “Woman, great is your faith!” Jesus says, and heals her daughter.  Jesus finally hears the Canaanite woman and admits he is wrong.  He could have easily stood his ground, stuck to his mission to the Israelites, and followed tradition.  But instead, Jesus chooses mercy over pride.  Jesus chooses to admit he is wrong over saving his reputation.  Jesus chooses change over tradition.  As ugly, embarrassing, and unappealing as Jesus seems earlier in this story, Jesus’ willingness to change his mind, change his behavior, and change his entire mission makes him much more appealing, inviting, and energizing.[iii]

Though hard to listen to, Jesus’ transformation in this story is an invitation to us to be open to such transformation in our own lives.  There is something wonderfully freeing about Jesus’ simple transformation.  All Jesus basically does is say, “You know what, I was wrong.”  Instead of stammering through some awkward response to my daughter about why we were not praying with the non-church-going friends, I could have just said, “You know what, you’re right.  Let’s say a prayer.”  That simple giving of thanks probably would have been way less awkward, hypocritical, and confusing than just thanking God out loud.  Or when someone accuses us or our church of being hypocrites, we could just say, “You know what, you’re right.”  Once we confess our sinful natures and then explain why church still holds some meaning for us, maybe we could open the door to a more honest, vulnerable conversation about the good stuff of our church.

The invitation today from Jesus is simple.  Be open to the fact that we are all going to mess up this whole faith thing.  We are all going to preach one thing and do another.  And instead of saying a hurried, “Do as I say, not as I do,” we can all start a different conversation.  Instead we can all try to say, “You know what, you are right.  I am sorry.  Thank you for giving me the opportunity to make a change.”  My guess is that the freedom your confession brings will not only liberate you, but liberate others as well.  Amen.

[i] Romans 7.19.

[ii] I say that this quote is rumored to be from Gandhi because I could not find a source for the quote.  There seems to be debate about whether Gandhi actually said these words, this quote is legend, or this is a combination of comments he made.

[iii] David Lose, “Pentecost 10A: What the Canaanite Woman Teaches,” as found at http://www.davidlose.net/2014/ 08/ pentecost-10a/ on August 14, 2014.

Sermon – Genesis 32.22-31, P13, YA, August 3, 2014

06 Wednesday Aug 2014

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One of the things we often talk about in church is our relationship with God.  We talk about God as a companion on our journey – one who walks with us as we grow and develop and change in our faith life.  Some of us enjoy that image because the image recognizes the ways that our relationship with God evolves over time.  We talk about God as one who is in dialogue with us – one who needs us to listen as much as we talk.  Many of you have talked to me about how often you forget the listening part of your relationship with God, not realizing how your prayer life has become more of a monologue than a dialogue.  We talk about God as one who requires vulnerability – one who wants not just the glossy versions of ourselves that we present to the public, but also the messy, angry, and sometimes ugly versions of ourselves that we rarely let anyone see.  Some of us have felt a sense of comfort and freedom in vulnerability, while others of us have found vulnerability too challenging.  But rarely do we talk about God as sparring partner – a prize fighter, capable of leaving real physical scars, leaving us marked visibly for others to see.

That is the image we get from our Old Testament lesson today.  In order to understand how Jacob comes to wrestle with God at the Jabbok, we need to go back in Jacob’s story.  Jacob is a twin, the brother of Esau and son of Isaac and Rebekah.  Jacob receives his name because the name Jacob means, “the one who takes the heel.”[i]  Because he grabs on to the heel of his brother as he follows Esau out of the womb, he is named Jacob.  The name turns out to be quite appropriate.  Jacob will be grabbing and grasping for much of his life.

Jacob’s life unfolds like a soap opera.  When Jacob is older, we are told that Jacob manipulates Esau out of his birthright.  Then, Jacob tricks his blind father Isaac into believing that he is Esau so that he can cheat Esau out of the blessing due to him as the firstborn male.  Jacob flees for his life from his angered brother Esau, returning to his family’s homeland.  There he meets Rachel and falls in love.  Unfortunately Rachel is the younger of two unmarried sisters, and the tradition is the eldest is married first.  In a twist of fate, Jacob is on the receiving end of deception when he is tricked into marrying the older sister Leah.  He has to continue working for Laban to get Rachel too.  But not to be outdone, Jacob manipulates Laban, and manages to trick Laban into giving Jacob most of the family’s livestock before Jacob flees yet again with his large family and wealth.  But Jacob can only run so long before fate finally catches up with him.  Some twenty years since leaving home, Esau is in hot pursuit of Jacob.  Scared, Jacob sends some gifts as an attempted bribe for Esau.  But he hears that Esau is approaching with 400 men, and so Jacob splits up his family and sends them ahead of him, leaving Jacob alone at the Jabbok in the dark of night.

This is where our story picks up today.  The story is a bit confusing, but basically Jacob wrestles with God all night long.[ii]  We are told that the two seem to fight as equals, but at the end of the scuffle, God strikes Jacob in the hip, leaving Jacob with a limp.  Jacob asks for a blessing from God, once again grabbing in life.  God asks Jacob his name, and instead of lying to God like Jacob lied to his father, Jacob comes clean.  “Jacob,” he says.  Now this part may sound simple enough, but God is not simply asking for and getting Jacob’s name.  Jacob is confessing.  “I am Jacob – grasper of a heel.  I have grabbed my whole way through life:  cheating, conning, scheming, plotting, and taking what does not belong to me.  I am thoroughly psychologically broken, and now you have broken me physically.  So please, give me, cheater that I am, a blessing.”  And what happens next is a total transformation.  God gives Jacob a new name, “Israel.”  God names Jacob, “Israel,” because Jacob is one who struggled with God – yisrael.  No longer will Jacob be known as the grasper.  Instead Jacob will be known as one who struggled with God – and though marked by a limp, is one who came out a new person – Israel.  With his new name, “Jacob enters into a new future, and passes his name, faith, and future on to his descendants, who bear that name even unto this day.”[iii]

The reason why I tell you the whole of Jacob’s story today is because we cannot fully understand the metaphor of wrestling with God until we understand Jacob as a person.  Jacob, father of the people of God, is by no means a shiny example of faithful living.  From birth, Jacob seemed destined for a life of manipulation, attempts at control, a willingness to deceive for personal gain, and constant scheming.  And though we would like to wag our fingers at Jacob, the truth is, there is a little bit of Jacob in each of us.  The reason we disapprove of Jacob is because at some point in our lives we have been a grasper of heels.  Perhaps we have not deceived on such a grand scale as Jacob, but we have certainly tried to manipulate situations toward our own personal gain.

I am reminded of the movie Mean Girls.  The movie chronicles the ways that high school girls manipulate, lie, and maneuver to become and stay popular.  At the center of the movie is a character called Regina George, the most popular girl in school, who is simultaneously loved and hated by her peers.  Most of the characters despise her, but oddly also find themselves drawn to her and want to be like her.  By the end of the movie the entire charade collapses, and all the girls come to an unspoken agreement to stop pretending, manipulating, and scheming, and simply be themselves.  Regina manages to redirect her aggressive ways into sports, and the satisfaction mellows her in the rest of her life.

Though Regina’s transformation was not a spiritual one, her change is as dramatic as Jacob’s – a total change in the way she operates, but not without the scars of the past.  I would imagine if we asked either Jacob or Regina if they would give up a limp caused by God or scars from high school, both would say, “no.”  The battles were necessary for the complete transformation of both – and the lingering injuries help remind them to never go back.  The reason they would say no is because the wrestling, the battle, the sparring has transformed them into something new and wonderful.  No amount of limping could detract from the new blessed lives each of them can now live.

The same is true for us.  There are parts of our lives that cannot simply be healed or gently be brought to God in prayer.  There are parts of our lives that we are going to need to enter into battle with God for in order to transform them.  The wrestling is necessary because the wrestling forces us to push through whatever is separating us from God and who God calls us to be.  And for those of us who are particularly stubborn or prone to grasping, the wrestling is required to break down our wills enough to get us to the place of being able to confess – confess who we really are to God.  Then, and only then, will we find our transformation – a renaming of who we are so that we can be fully who God invites us to be.  But be forewarned – no one leaves the ring from a match with God without a few scars.  Amen.

[i] Denise Dombkowski Hopkins, “Exegetical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2011), 6.

[ii] Amy Merrill Willis, “Commentary on Genesis 32.22-31” as found at https://www.workingpreacher.org/ preaching.aspx? commentary_id=2132 on July 30, 2014

[iii] David Lose, “Tell Me Your Name,” July 24, 2011 as found at http://www.workingpreacher.org/craft.aspx?post= 1597 on July 30, 2014.

Sermon – Matthew 4.38-48, E7, YA, February 23, 2014

26 Wednesday Feb 2014

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Julio Diaz has a daily routine.  Every night, he ends his hour-long subway commute to the Bronx one stop early so he can eat at his favorite diner.  One night, as Diaz stepped off the Number 6 train and onto a nearly empty platform, his evening took an unexpected turn.  He was walking toward the stairs when a teenage boy approached and pulled out a knife.  The boy demanded his money, and Diaz gave him his wallet, simply saying, “Here you go.”  As the teen began to walk away, Diaz shouted out, “Hey, wait a minute.  You forgot something.  If you’re going to be robbing people for the rest of the night, you might as well take my coat to keep you warm.”  The robber gave Diaz a confused look and asked, “Why are you doing this?”  Diaz simply said, “If you’re willing to risk your freedom for a few dollars, then I guess you must really need the money.  I mean, all I wanted to do was get dinner.  If you want to join me … hey, you’re more than welcome.”

The teen tentatively followed Diaz to the diner and they sat in a booth together.  As they sat there, the manager, the dishwashers, and the waiters came by to say hi.  The teen then said, “You know everybody here.  Do you own this place?”  “No, I just eat here a lot,” Diaz replied.  “But you’re even nice to the dishwasher,” the teen said incredulously.  Diaz replied, “Well, haven’t you been taught that you should be nice to everybody?”  “Yea,” responded the teen, “But I didn’t think people actually behaved that way.”

Toward the end of dinner, Diaz asked the teen what he wanted out of life.  The teen reacted with a sad look on his face, but did not respond.  Either he couldn’t answer – or he didn’t want to.  When the bill arrived, Diaz told the teen, “Look, I guess you’re going to have to pay for this bill because you have my money and I can’t pay for this.  So if you give me my wallet back, I’ll gladly treat you.”  Without hesitation, the teen returned the wallet.  Diaz opened his wallet and gave the teen twenty dollars, figuring the money might help him somehow.  However, in return, Diaz asked for the teen’s knife.  The teen gave the knife to him.[i]

Today’s gospel lesson is often taken in a couple of ways.  The words from Jesus about turning the other cheek and loving our enemies either sound so passive that we dismiss them immediately or they sound admirable, but totally impossible.  All we need is the last verse, which says, “Be perfect, therefore, as your heavenly Father is perfect,” before we throw our hands into the air, defeated before we have even begun.  In fact, if we are really listening, we can almost become angry with Jesus’ words.  All we have to think about is a victim of abuse and we bristle at Jesus’ instructions to simply turn the other cheek or go a second mile.  Or maybe we think of a lifetime of pressure to be perfect and all we want to do is angrily add Jesus to the list of people who are perpetually disappointed in us – including ourselves.  Of course we would never say those things aloud because this is supposed to be a beautiful text about loving your neighbor as yourself.  But really, who among us wants to love our enemies or pray for those who persecute us?

We are really good at hating our enemies.  As a country we demonize those with whom we go to war.  And depending on which news outlet you prefer, the Democrats, the Republicans, or the Tea Party are enemies of any progress we want to see in our country.  I am pretty sure the Republicans and Democrats in Congress have not been praying for each other over this past year.  And that does not even compare to the more personal enemies we have.  All we have to think about is that bully at school or work, that family member who is always trying to put you down, let alone that teen who looks like he might be ready to pull a knife on you and demand your wallet.  We are schooled to be empowered people who do not allow ourselves to be doormats.  We are not to turn the other check but to protect ourselves.  We are not to offer more of our stuff to someone threatening to take our stuff.  And we certainly are not schooled to give to every single person asking for a handout.  Surely, in turning the other cheek, we become a victim; in offering our cloak, we are enabling bad behavior; and in giving to beggars, we are simply perpetuating social problems.  We build strong, fortified walls around ourselves in the name of safety, protection, or wisdom.

The challenge for us is seeing what Jesus is really trying to do.  Our way of being demonizes others and simplifies quite complicated relationships.  Jesus way of being invites us to see with God’s loving eyes.  That is what Jesus means when he says to be perfect as God is perfect.  He does not mean for us to achieve some sort of moral or even everyday perfection; Jesus means for us to love as God loves.[ii]  God’s love does not allow us to use labels like “us” and “them.”  God’s love means looking at that enemy who hurts us, threatens us, or even scares us, and seeing the humanity lying beneath those ugly layers.  God’s love means transformation through the simple act of praying for our enemies.  Perhaps your prayer begins without words – just the mental image of the person.  But you may find that as you continue to pray for that individual, slowly you begin to see with God’s eyes.  What should you pray for?  What is redeeming in them?  What could God do to soften them and our relationship with them?

I think of Julio Diaz on that fateful night in the Bronx.  When Diaz told his mom what had happened that night, she said, “Well, you’re the type of kid that if someone asked you for the time, you gave them your watch.”  Clearly Diaz had this “loving your enemies” thing down.  In fact, maybe Diaz saw what Jesus could see – that in God, there are no enemies.  There are just people for us to love.  Diaz does not use Christian language to describe his philosophy.  He simply explains about his story, “I figure if you treat people right, you can only hope that they treat you right.  It’s as simple as it gets in this complicated world.”  Of course we would say, love your neighbor as yourself or do unto others as you would have them do unto you.  Today, Jesus says, “love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you.”

What is not obvious in either Diaz or Jesus’ stories is the subtext of what is happening.  In neither story is passivity the theme.  Instead, both are advocating for active transformation.  What Jesus is talking about is quietly resisting evil.  When he says to turn the other cheek, he is saying startle the person into the decision of whether to hit again.  When someone sues you for your coat, you giving them your cloak actually embarrasses them instead of you.  Though the person suing may have had a right to the coat, your offering your cloak too, being stripped down in front of everyone, humiliates the one suing more than being stripped down humiliates you.  And by walking that second mile, you claim ownership of your own being.  The one forcing you to walk a mile loses her power when you walk the second mile.[iii]  Diaz understood this.  By offering his coat and by inviting the teen to a meal, he shifted the power in the encounter.  By engaging that teen in conversation, and by probing further with him, he began to unravel the mystique of the thief, and found a vulnerable, desperate young man underneath.

The work that Jesus invites us into this week is not easy.  Shouting after a thief on an empty platform, trying to give him your coat and a meal is probably not that instinctive for most of us.  Quiet resistance is a lot harder than passive acceptance or violent retaliation.  Loving your enemies will not feel natural.  So maybe you start with prayer this week.  Maybe you simply start by praying for an enemy and see where the spiritual practice leads you.  That first step will begin the journey to seeing as God sees:  with eyes of love – difficult, radical, transforming love.  Amen.

[i] Story, slightly edited, as told in “A Victim Treats His Mugger Right,” March 28, 2008.  Found at http://www.npr.org/2008/03/28/89164759/a-victim-treats-his-mugger-right on February 21, 2014.

[ii] Barbara J. Essex, “Pastoral Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. A., Vol. 1 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010), 384.

[iii] Walter Wink, “How Turning the Other Cheek Defies Oppression,” May 4, 2009, as found at http://www.ekklesia.co.uk/node/9385 on February 20, 2014.

Sermon – Luke 18.1-8, P24, YC, October 20, 2013

06 Wednesday Nov 2013

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“Then Jesus told them a parable about their need to pray always and not to lose heart.”  From the very beginning of our gospel lesson, Luke tells us what this funny little parable is all about:  persistent prayer.  That message sounds simple enough, but once we hear the actual parable, the realities of persistent prayer sound like a lot more work than most of us care to think about, let alone do.  The parable today is about an unjust judge, who has no fear of God or respect for people, who is constantly harassed by a widow demanding justice.  The translation we hear today says that the judge finally decides to give the widow her way because he does not want the widow to wear him out by continually coming.  But the literal translation of the original Greek is a little stronger.  One translation reads that the judge gives the widow her way for fear that the widow will “slap me in the face.”[i]  Another translation reads that the judge gives the widow her way because he does not want to “end up beaten black and blue by her pounding.”[ii]  There is something about these more figurative translations that help us see that when Jesus says the disciples’ prayers need to be persistent, he means knock-down-drag-out, stubborn-headed, unrelenting, radically-vigilant persistence.

I don’t know about you, but most people I know do not approach their prayer life with this kind of rigor.  Many people who keep up this type of persistence for any amount of time eventually lose heart, finally concluding that prayer just does not work – or they are not praying the right way.  For those who have prayed without ceasing for months and years only to watch a child, a spouse, a friend, or a mother die, may have begun to question whether prayer is not just what people do to fill the time – not an effective means of healing.  And for those who have faced horrible atrocities, who can find no sense in a world that abuses, oppresses, and starves its people, may have given up not only on prayer, but on God too.

I remember the first time Scott and I tried to get pregnant.  We had been trying for almost a year, when I finally brought the subject up with my spiritual director.  I had not wanted to talk about the issue, but I think my distance from God was too obvious for the spiritual director to ignore.  When she pushed me on the issue, asking whether I had been giving my pain and suffering to God, I admitted to her that God felt dead to me.  I had nothing more to say to God because, quite frankly, God felt absent from my life at the time.  When I shared that sense of absence in my life, my spiritual director suggested another way.  She suggested I start praying through Mary instead.  My first reaction to her suggestion was rage and indignation.  How insensitive could this woman be to suggest that I, unable to conceive, try praying through a woman who was able to conceive without even trying?!  Though I left my session angry with my spiritual director, a few days later, I gave her suggestion a try.  Two things stuck with me about that experience.  One, Mary now holds a very special place for me in my faith and prayer life.  Two, what I realized was that my spiritual director never suggested I stopped being persistent in prayer.  She simply suggested prayer in a different way.

In some ways, I think we lose this understanding of persistence when we hear Jesus telling us to be like a woman who will physically fight her way through prayer.  We imagine Jesus telling us to keep doing the same thing over and over again until that thing works.  But I do not think that is exactly what Jesus means.  Staying persistently in the prayer relationship is essential, yes.  But that does not mean that relationship does not evolve and change over time.  I think about that widow in our parable today.  I am guessing that her approach with the judge was not the same everyday.  I imagine her starting with the traditional way of begging for justice as anyone would.  But when she is refused, I imagine her trying everything else possible.  From just being a constant presence as the judge was judging other cases; to interrupting the judge’s walk to work in the morning; to following behind him on the way home, pleading her case; even situating herself at a nearby table at his favorite lunch spot – maybe even loudly pleading her case in front of other people, so as to embarrass the judge in front of his friends and colleagues.  Perhaps this is what the judge means when he says the widow is wearing him out.

If we think about the widow’s persistent actions, they are not all that different from the actions of God with God’s people.  As our Thursday morning Bible Study group works its way through Genesis, I have been thinking about the persistent pursuit of God toward God’s people.  Adam and Eve sin, and yet God stays in relationship with them.  The whole earth falls into abominable sin, and even after flooding the earth, God forms a new covenant with humanity.  God’s people break covenant after covenant, and God continues to pursue them.  God’s people disrespect, dishonor, and disparage God, and yet God tries again and again to redeem God’s people.  God is so persistent in God’s relationship with us that God even sends a Son to redeem us from our sinful ways – allowing Jesus to die on a cross for us.  If the widow is the consummate example of persistence in prayer, she learned this persistence from the God is ever pursuing us.

So how do God and the woman do it?  How do they manage this kind of vigilant persistence?  I think what both of them experience is that they are changed in the process.  We have heard many times in scripture how God changes God’s mind – how the flood leads God to vow to never destroy the earth again, or how the argument of Abraham makes God tone down God’s judgment, or how the repentance of the people of Nineveh changes God’s mind about punishment.  I imagine the widow is changed too.  With each attempt at convincing the judge she must have become more and more bold.  In the story, she is transformed from a woman who is likely powerless about her own future and the future of her orphaned children to a woman who is almost feared by a powerful judge.  She is transformed through her persistence.

That transformation is what happens in the life of persistent prayer.  “Repeated, habitual prayer gradually tests and sifts what you believe is really important and what is of ephemeral value.”[iii]  I think about the many times I have prayed and prayed over a particular issue, fully aware of how, when, and why I wanted God to intervene.  But slowly, over time, my prayer about the same issue changes.  I may go from wanting a particular outcome, to being willing to accept a positive outcome, to accepting the defeat and being open to God’s will, to simply wanting God to be present in the midst of it all.  That is why persistent prayer is so important.  Our one-time prayers or our perfunctory prayers do not really open us up to God.  Those rote prayers are just our lips moving without our hearts being equally moved.  But when we are persistent in our prayers, constantly evolving our conversation with God, constantly amending our approach toward God, constantly leaning on others to inform our prayer life, slowly our prayers become transformed, leading us to that God who responds to the deepest, most vulnerable versions of ourselves.

I remember a story of a seminarian who studied at General Theological Seminary.  Desmond Tutu was on campus and the seminarian was excited to watch Tutu in action.  He was happy to see Tutu join the students and faculty at Morning Prayer.  Later, on his way to class, he noticed Tutu in the chapel again, praying on his own.  That afternoon, he saw Tutu in the chapel once more praying.  He watched this pattern again and again over three days.  Finally, at evening prayer one day, the seminarian got up the nerve to approach Tutu and ask Tutu how he ever got any work done when he spent so much time praying in the chapel.  Tutu’s response was simple, “Oh I could never do any of my work if my work were not first rooted in prayer throughout the day.”  This is the kind of persistence in prayer Jesus invites us into today:  prayer that takes us out of ourselves, transforms our desires and actions, and reshapes our relationship with God.  Jesus’ instruction to the disciples is the same for us:  pray always and do not lose heart.  Amen.

[i] New Jerusalem Bible.

[ii] The Message.

[iii] Maggi Dawn, “Prayer Acts,” Christian Century, vol. 124, no. 2, October 2, 2007.

On compassion…

05 Saturday Oct 2013

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As our Vestry has been exploring the spiritual practice of evangelism, we have been doing some self-work.  This week we focused on the work of compassion.  David Gortner, in Transforming Evangelism, says, “Compassion is not pity, but the recognition of another person’s full humanity, warts and all.”  Our Vestry talked about our experiences of seeing others show compassion, but also how hard compassion can be to express – especially when people hurt us.

Our conversation reminded me of this blog entry I saw recently.  As a Long Island Driver, I totally get this story.  I have been yelled at many a time since moving here – and to be fair, I have expressed my own impatience at times, but hopefully never in such an extreme way.  What I love about this blog post though is that this is the ultimate example of seeing with compassion.  In that moment, that mom was able to see the other driver’s full humanity – in a way that probably Christ sees us every day, but in a way that we rarely take the time to see.  This kind of compassion does not come naturally – especially when someone is yelling expletives in our face.  But when that compassion was shown, both drivers were transformed – transformed by God’s love.

I have been thinking we could all use a little more compassion lately.  As our Congress has derailed an entire section of our economy and as we have been raging about whatever side is not “our side,” I think compassion has been long gone.  I include myself in that omission.  I found myself this week literally yelling at the radio as I heard one of the Representatives explaining why her party is doing the right thing.  And the whole situation makes me so angry that I am not sure I could even sit in the same room with these Representatives as they attempt to find a solution.  But thinking about that driver at Starbucks and thinking about our Vestry’s conversation about compassion, I have been wondering how Christ sees this whole debate.  I have my own sense of what position Jesus would take on all this (though I won’t share that here), but I also know that Jesus is fully capable of loving both sides and seeing the humanity in all the people involved.  Of course, that does not make the situation any easier or my frustration any lessened, but it does take the edge off my raging anger a bit.

Perhaps that small bit is all I can ask for now.  Perhaps that small glimpse into compassion is enough to shift my way of being and interacting with others.  Perhaps that first step is all that Jesus needs to begin the slow conversion of each of us toward a life of compassion.