FIRST READING— Acts 16: 4-10
As they traveled from town to town, they presented the simple guidelines the Jerusalem apostles and leaders had come up with. That turned out to be most helpful. Day after day the congregations became stronger in faith and larger in size. They went to Phrygia, and then on through the region of Galatia. Their plan was to turn west into Asia province, but the Holy Spirit blocked that route. So they went to Mysia and tried to go north to Bithynia, but the Spirit of Jesus wouldn't let them go there either. Proceeding on through Mysia, they went down to the seaport Troas.
That night Paul had a dream: A Macedonian stood on the far shore and called across the sea, "Come over to Macedonia and help us!" The dream gave Paul his map. We went to work at once getting things ready to cross over to Macedonia. All the pieces had come together. We knew now for sure that God had called us to preach the good news to the Europeans.
SECOND READING—Matthew 10: 5-8, 40-42
Jesus sent his twelve harvest hands out with this charge:
"Don't begin by traveling to some far-off place to convert unbelievers. And don't try to be dramatic by tackling some public enemy. Go to the lost, confused people right here in the neighborhood. Tell them that the kingdom is here. Bring health to the sick. Raise the dead. Touch the untouchables. Kick out the demons. You have been treated generously, so live generously.
"We are intimately linked in this harvest work. Anyone who accepts what you do, accepts me, the One who sent you. Anyone who accepts what I do accepts my Father, who sent me. Accepting a messenger of God is as good as being God's messenger. Accepting someone's help is as good as giving someone help. This is a large work I've called you into, but don't be overwhelmed by it. It's best to start small. Give a cool cup of water to someone who is thirsty, for instance. The smallest act of giving or receiving makes you a true apprentice. You won't lose out on a thing."
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Great God, we seek Your word today. I pray that You will quiet our distractions and focus our hearts. May the words of my mouth and the reflections and responses of all our hearts bring glory to You. Amen
This is the last in our series of sermons based on traditional hymns of the Christian church. And I have saved the one closest to my heart for last. The words to “Be Thou My Vision” were written in Ireland in the 8th Century by an unknown Irish poet. The words were never translated from Gaelic to English until the very beginning of the Twentieth Century. It was set to the music of an old Irish folk song. Ireland was evangelized in the Fourth Century by St. Patrick—yes, that St. Patrick. His story is similar to the Apostle Paul’s about which we heard in our first reading. Patrick, at age 16, was initially taken from Scotland to Ireland as a slave after pirates descended on his little town. He states that it was during this time that he “gave his life to Jesus” and promised to follow Him. Patrick eventually escaped and returned home. His family begged him never to leave their little town again. One night, Patrick had a dream. In it, an Irishman was pleading with him to come evangelize Ireland. And, like St. Paul, Patrick answered the call.
Although his family was broken-hearted, he returned to Ireland with only a Bible in his hands. As he traveled around the countryside, multitudes came to listen. Although there were those who sought to kill him, his preaching was powerful and he is credited with planting over 200 churches and baptizing 100,000 converts. Centuries later, the Church of Ireland was still producing hymns, poems, and worship songs. It is from this rich tradition that our unknown poet penned “Be Thou My Vision”.
A pastor in any church has several roles—preacher, teacher, caregiver, nurturer, planner, and prophet. Many of us focus on the first five and hope that someone else will be the prophet. Prophets are not, by usual standards, very popular. There are times, however, when God gives us no choice, and this is one of those times for your pastor, this day. The songs and scriptures that God laid on my heart for this service are all closely related to asking God for a vision, or more appropriately put, stepping up and moving into the vision to which we are clearly called. Let me be perfectly clear, this is not a sermon about buying a church building. I will say that several more times today, because I want you all to really hear it. It is a sermon about doing the hard work of becoming a church.
But first, I return to Paul. Paul and others were traveling from town to town. The Jerusalem apostles and leaders had developed simple guidelines and Paul used those guidelines to plant new churches—they worked; the congregations became “stronger in faith and larger in size”. We will come back to these two elements of growth in a moment. Paul and the others had a plan for where to go next, but God blocked two of their plans. They finally ended up in Troas. There Paul had his famous dream—a person from Macedonia called to him, “Come over to Macedonia and help us”. Paul responded and the early church continued to grow. We focus on the dream, on the success and miss the earlier part of the story, where Paul had his own plan and God blocked it. What does this say to us? It says that when we listen, God will show us clearly the way to go. The way may seem hard and confusing—even with dead ends, but God has our best interest at heart and is preparing us for a larger ministry—of that I am sure.
Let’s return to the two criteria of growth of these early churches—larger in size AND stronger in faith. We’re getting the larger in size for sure, but I am convinced that we have a ways to go in the ‘stronger in faith’ department. And with one must come the other. So, we are left with the question—“what does it mean to be church?” What does it mean to grow both in size and faith? We don’t have to look hard to find God’s answer to the question. Our gospel reading which tells us the story of Jesus’ first charge to the “harvest hands” lays it out pretty clearly. Let’s look at it in detail:
First—the where—“Don’t begin by traveling to some far-off place to convert unbelievers. Second, the who—“And don't try to be dramatic by tackling some public enemy. Go to the lost, confused people right here in the neighborhood. Third—the what—“Tell them that the kingdom is here. Bring health to the sick. Raise the dead. Touch the untouchables. Kick out the demons. And, finally, the why—“You have been treated generously, so live generously.’
And then, the best news of all, Jesus gives us a promise that will uphold our faith work for all time—“We (Jesus and us) are intimately linked in this harvest work” says Jesus. “Anyone who accepts what you do, accepts me, the One who sent you.” Knowing that we will fail and feel frustrated, Jesus comforts us—“This is a large work I've called you into, but don't be overwhelmed by it. It's best to start small. Give a cool cup of water to someone who is thirsty, for instance. The smallest act of giving or receiving makes you a true apprentice. You won't lose out on a thing."
I have often heard Deacon Jean say this about Open Circle—“it’s a cup of cool water to my thirsty soul!” And, suddenly, I get it—we get it—that we are to be just that—cups of cool water to those who are thirsty. Aha, here is where we are challenged—challenged to know what people are thirsty for and what is the “cool water” for which they seek. Here is where we are challenged to be more than the wonderful worshipping community that we are. Here is where we are challenged to be “church”. Let me say that again: It is at this point that we are challenged by God to be more than mere worshippers of God. Here is where we are called, as Jesus sent the twelve, as God sent Paul to Macedonia and Patrick to Ireland—here is where we are called to be “church”.
Now, let me be honest. Would it be easier to be ‘church’—to offer the ministries that we are called to do in order to tell them that the kingdom is here and that they are loved, bring health to the sick, peace to the addicted, to raise those who are dead because of grief and loss, to touch the untouchables and bring them the love of God and all God’s children, and to kick out the demons of self-hate and doubt if we had a church building?. Yes, it would be easier and having a church MAY be in God’s plans for us sooner rather than later. But we have much discernment and searching to know God’s answer to that question. So, I say to you again: this is not a sermon about buying a church building. This sermon is about being ‘church’ which is far more important than a building in which to stand.
God is calling us to decide here and now if we have what it takes to move beyond worship into the world—from singing to serving and from hearing to doing. God is calling us to step up and make this “growing in faith” a priority in our lives and in the life of this church. God is calling us to BE the church—to step up and out, for each of us to meditate on the possibility of providing the sustenance of time, talent and treasure that this church needs to grow in faith—to spend time in prayer for this church and in discernment regarding what God would have you to do. It will take the involvement of every single person sitting here today and every single person who later reads or hears this sermon to answer God’s call for Open Circle. We are, I admit, in the proverbial “rock and a hard place”. But, is that not where God and we, the people of God, do God’s finest work? I believe that we have what we need to become church to our neighbors and to each other. I believe that God did not call us this far and bless us with all of you who have walked through these doors to say “ok, that’s enough!” There are hundreds who still need to hear what Open Circle has to share about God’s loving and radical welcome. And there are hundreds more who need a place such as this to serve and to grow into all that God calls them—calls YOU—to be. And so today, I challenge each and every one of us to ask ourselves seriously if we are ready to be ‘church’, if we are ready to move beyond a community who loves to gather in worship to a community who gathers to worship and grows in faith—a community who says ‘yes’ to the call to be God’s church in the world. May it be so. Amen and amen.
Welcome!
Tuesday, September 27, 2011
Sunday, September 18, 2011
A Gospel for Us Simple Folk 9-18-11
First Reading—1 Corinthians 2: 1-5—The Message
You'll remember, friends, that when I first came to you to let you in on God's great plan, I didn't try to impress you with polished speeches and the latest philosophy. I deliberately kept it plain and simple: first Jesus and who he is; then Jesus and what he did—Jesus crucified.
I was unsure of how to go about this, and felt totally inadequate—I was scared to death, if you want the truth of it—and so nothing I said could have impressed you or anyone else. But the Message came through anyway. God's Spirit and God's power did it, which made it clear that your life of faith is a response to God's power, not to some fancy mental or emotional footwork by me or anyone else.
The Gospel Reading—Mark 10: 13-16
The people brought children to Jesus, hoping he might touch them. The disciples shooed them off. But Jesus was irate and let them know it: "Don't push these children away. Don't ever get between them and me. These children are at the very center of life in the kingdom. Mark this: Unless you accept God's kingdom in the simplicity of a child, you'll never get in." Then, gathering the children up in his arms, he laid his hands of blessing on them.
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God of all, you speak to us in ways we can understand no matter where our paths have taken us. We ask you to pour your Spirit on my words and in our hearts this day. Amen
It’s a great story. You can see Jesus, perhaps sitting on a tree stump, taking a rest from speaking. Mothers and fathers come from everywhere, bringing their children. The kids are running around like crazy, trying to get to Jesus. The oh so serious disciples do what they think disciples are supposed to do. They shoo the children away. “Don’t bother Jesus, he’s a very busy man.” Jesus became very angry at the disciples and he let them know it. “Don’t ever do that again. Let the children come. They are at the heart of everything I say, the very center of the kingdom. They will show you the way to getting in the kingdom yourselves. If you can’t be as simple as these children in your understanding of God’s love, you’ll never get in.” Then Jesus laid his hands on each child and blessed them.
As simple as a child…just like that Jesus puts it all in perspective. That would come as a shock for some of the theologians throughout time who write in words so big and long that it’s hard to believe anyone really understands them. Might also come as a shock to those megachurches who have all the audio-visual equipment of a major motion picture studio so that those in attendance can “feel” the Spirit of God at work in the church. Paul’s words state the nature of the message as clearly as any I can imagine. And it all fits together—we don’t need to impress each other with fancy words or emotional footwork. The message comes through God’s Spirit and God’s power in words so simple and feelings so basic that little children get it faster than the smartest adults present.
You may wonder why I chose these scripture verses to go with our hymn for today “Just As I Am.” The author of this poem later set to music, was Charlotte Elliott of Brighton, England. The story goes that she was a bitter, broken woman. She was soured on the world and all the blows that life had dealt her. She began to believe that a loving God could not have treated her so badly as to make her feel the way she was feeling. One night a Swiss minister visited the home to see if he could help this desperately unhappy soul. She threw a fit right at the dinner table. Her horrified family rushed from the room, but the minister stayed. He said to her, “you’re tired of being who you are, aren’t you?” Admitting nothing (you gotta like this woman’s resolve to be miserable), she asked “what is your cure?” she asked. The minister answered, “the very faith you say you despise.” As they talked, Charlotte began to soften. “If I wanted to begin to believe and find some of what you seem to have, what would I do?” she asked. The minster answered, “you would give yourself to God’s Spirit, just as you are right now, with your fightings and fears, hates and loves, pride and shame.” “Just as I am—nothing to change, just as I am?” asked the skeptical Charlotte. “Just as you are” answered the minister. The fact that her poem, first written as a fundraiser for a school for children of poor clergy families, later became the most famous of all invitational hymns shows what can happen when we stop trying to understand, or earn, or rationalize our way to life in the Spirit of God.
Some of you may have mixed memories of singing Just As I Am at the end of revival services. Many of you never heard the song before as you do not come from a tradition where hymns of invitation were ever sung. Briefly put, the hymn of invitation was sung at the end of the service and the folks in the congregation were invited to physically respond to the minister’s invitation to enter into a life with God by coming forward and doing so publically. So for many, this song immediately takes you back to a little Baptist or Pentecostal church where you may have first begun to think about your walk with God. Whatever the case, the song leads us to look at one very simple message—a message that works for us simple folk. God loves us, just as we are—no need to change—no need to pretend to be something we are not.
Now here is where I think we may have gone astray. Too often, those of us who are GLBT have taken that to mean that we do not have to deny our sexuality and we stop there. It’s true, we do not have to deny our sexuality or deny who we are in order to run to God like the children who were running to Jesus in our Gospel story. And we seem to get that part. It’s all the other stuff we try to ‘fix’ before we feel worthy to be loved by God. It just always kind of amazes me that we get the sexuality thing, and then fail to get the rest of it. We still stop ourselves short of approaching God just as we are and look for what else is wrong with us. This is the message of our song and scriptures—come as you are. That’s all, just as you are.
Now this doesn’t mean that we don’t need to right the relationships in our lives as we prepare our hearts to come to God either in prayer or to the table. But we do this, not because there is anything fundamentally wrong with us, but because God calls us to see that our less than right relationships keep us from experiencing and enjoying our life in God. And here is where the Christian community comes in. Fr. Henri Nouwen reminds us: “The Christian community is a community of people who remind each other who they truly are—the beloved of God. And everything around us is trying to tell me that it is not true. That is a big, big, battle. That’s what we call the spiritual battle. This in not just sweet things, it’s the fight for your identity.”
Many of you have asked me what I think the definition of sin is. And I have told you that I believe that sin is when we begin to believe that we don’t need God or that we are equal to God. When we believe that we don’t need God, we kill by deed or by word. When we believe we are equal to God, we waste the glory of creation on unnecessary opulence. When we believe we don’t need God, we fail to love thoroughly and completely. We place our own needs above the needs of the rest of God’s creation. And, when we believe we don’t need God, we convince ourselves that we are less than what God declared us to be—beloved children of God. Yes, this is what I mean to say. I am saying that I believe that sin enters our hearts when we feel that we are not worthy to be loved by God. When we decide that we know better than God whether we are good enough, rich enough, bright enough, talented enough to be loved by God, we are engaging in sinful reasoning. Today, we are called back to the clear, true, simple beliefs of children.
Unfortunately, life does not allow us stay children in any area except faith. And, in faith, we are called by Jesus, himself, to have faith exactly like a child. This is a great dilemma for us because the forces of life slowly tear away at our child’s heart until as adults we have come to believe the lies we have been told by all those who seek to have us be something we are not created to be. And, more often than not, we are left with no idea of our true identity—our identity as children of God—perfectly created in the image of God, perfectly loved by God, and perfectly sustained in our daily lives through the Spirit of God. And perfectly called to God’s kingdom by Jesus, this man who loved children; this incarnational God who lived and walked and loved among all the other children of God.
One last thing—before you dismiss this Gospel for children and other simple folk, ask yourself where you got the idea that believing in God was complicated and tiresome. I am not afraid to suggest that you got the idea from sometimes well-meaning and sometimes not well-meaning people who thought they knew better than you about who God wants you to be. But this is not so. Jesus, our perfect guide, calls us to look again, to look simply, to believe with a child’s faith; and to know, that just as you are, you are the beloved of God. Amen and amen.
You'll remember, friends, that when I first came to you to let you in on God's great plan, I didn't try to impress you with polished speeches and the latest philosophy. I deliberately kept it plain and simple: first Jesus and who he is; then Jesus and what he did—Jesus crucified.
I was unsure of how to go about this, and felt totally inadequate—I was scared to death, if you want the truth of it—and so nothing I said could have impressed you or anyone else. But the Message came through anyway. God's Spirit and God's power did it, which made it clear that your life of faith is a response to God's power, not to some fancy mental or emotional footwork by me or anyone else.
The Gospel Reading—Mark 10: 13-16
The people brought children to Jesus, hoping he might touch them. The disciples shooed them off. But Jesus was irate and let them know it: "Don't push these children away. Don't ever get between them and me. These children are at the very center of life in the kingdom. Mark this: Unless you accept God's kingdom in the simplicity of a child, you'll never get in." Then, gathering the children up in his arms, he laid his hands of blessing on them.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
God of all, you speak to us in ways we can understand no matter where our paths have taken us. We ask you to pour your Spirit on my words and in our hearts this day. Amen
It’s a great story. You can see Jesus, perhaps sitting on a tree stump, taking a rest from speaking. Mothers and fathers come from everywhere, bringing their children. The kids are running around like crazy, trying to get to Jesus. The oh so serious disciples do what they think disciples are supposed to do. They shoo the children away. “Don’t bother Jesus, he’s a very busy man.” Jesus became very angry at the disciples and he let them know it. “Don’t ever do that again. Let the children come. They are at the heart of everything I say, the very center of the kingdom. They will show you the way to getting in the kingdom yourselves. If you can’t be as simple as these children in your understanding of God’s love, you’ll never get in.” Then Jesus laid his hands on each child and blessed them.
As simple as a child…just like that Jesus puts it all in perspective. That would come as a shock for some of the theologians throughout time who write in words so big and long that it’s hard to believe anyone really understands them. Might also come as a shock to those megachurches who have all the audio-visual equipment of a major motion picture studio so that those in attendance can “feel” the Spirit of God at work in the church. Paul’s words state the nature of the message as clearly as any I can imagine. And it all fits together—we don’t need to impress each other with fancy words or emotional footwork. The message comes through God’s Spirit and God’s power in words so simple and feelings so basic that little children get it faster than the smartest adults present.
You may wonder why I chose these scripture verses to go with our hymn for today “Just As I Am.” The author of this poem later set to music, was Charlotte Elliott of Brighton, England. The story goes that she was a bitter, broken woman. She was soured on the world and all the blows that life had dealt her. She began to believe that a loving God could not have treated her so badly as to make her feel the way she was feeling. One night a Swiss minister visited the home to see if he could help this desperately unhappy soul. She threw a fit right at the dinner table. Her horrified family rushed from the room, but the minister stayed. He said to her, “you’re tired of being who you are, aren’t you?” Admitting nothing (you gotta like this woman’s resolve to be miserable), she asked “what is your cure?” she asked. The minister answered, “the very faith you say you despise.” As they talked, Charlotte began to soften. “If I wanted to begin to believe and find some of what you seem to have, what would I do?” she asked. The minster answered, “you would give yourself to God’s Spirit, just as you are right now, with your fightings and fears, hates and loves, pride and shame.” “Just as I am—nothing to change, just as I am?” asked the skeptical Charlotte. “Just as you are” answered the minister. The fact that her poem, first written as a fundraiser for a school for children of poor clergy families, later became the most famous of all invitational hymns shows what can happen when we stop trying to understand, or earn, or rationalize our way to life in the Spirit of God.
Some of you may have mixed memories of singing Just As I Am at the end of revival services. Many of you never heard the song before as you do not come from a tradition where hymns of invitation were ever sung. Briefly put, the hymn of invitation was sung at the end of the service and the folks in the congregation were invited to physically respond to the minister’s invitation to enter into a life with God by coming forward and doing so publically. So for many, this song immediately takes you back to a little Baptist or Pentecostal church where you may have first begun to think about your walk with God. Whatever the case, the song leads us to look at one very simple message—a message that works for us simple folk. God loves us, just as we are—no need to change—no need to pretend to be something we are not.
Now here is where I think we may have gone astray. Too often, those of us who are GLBT have taken that to mean that we do not have to deny our sexuality and we stop there. It’s true, we do not have to deny our sexuality or deny who we are in order to run to God like the children who were running to Jesus in our Gospel story. And we seem to get that part. It’s all the other stuff we try to ‘fix’ before we feel worthy to be loved by God. It just always kind of amazes me that we get the sexuality thing, and then fail to get the rest of it. We still stop ourselves short of approaching God just as we are and look for what else is wrong with us. This is the message of our song and scriptures—come as you are. That’s all, just as you are.
Now this doesn’t mean that we don’t need to right the relationships in our lives as we prepare our hearts to come to God either in prayer or to the table. But we do this, not because there is anything fundamentally wrong with us, but because God calls us to see that our less than right relationships keep us from experiencing and enjoying our life in God. And here is where the Christian community comes in. Fr. Henri Nouwen reminds us: “The Christian community is a community of people who remind each other who they truly are—the beloved of God. And everything around us is trying to tell me that it is not true. That is a big, big, battle. That’s what we call the spiritual battle. This in not just sweet things, it’s the fight for your identity.”
Many of you have asked me what I think the definition of sin is. And I have told you that I believe that sin is when we begin to believe that we don’t need God or that we are equal to God. When we believe that we don’t need God, we kill by deed or by word. When we believe we are equal to God, we waste the glory of creation on unnecessary opulence. When we believe we don’t need God, we fail to love thoroughly and completely. We place our own needs above the needs of the rest of God’s creation. And, when we believe we don’t need God, we convince ourselves that we are less than what God declared us to be—beloved children of God. Yes, this is what I mean to say. I am saying that I believe that sin enters our hearts when we feel that we are not worthy to be loved by God. When we decide that we know better than God whether we are good enough, rich enough, bright enough, talented enough to be loved by God, we are engaging in sinful reasoning. Today, we are called back to the clear, true, simple beliefs of children.
Unfortunately, life does not allow us stay children in any area except faith. And, in faith, we are called by Jesus, himself, to have faith exactly like a child. This is a great dilemma for us because the forces of life slowly tear away at our child’s heart until as adults we have come to believe the lies we have been told by all those who seek to have us be something we are not created to be. And, more often than not, we are left with no idea of our true identity—our identity as children of God—perfectly created in the image of God, perfectly loved by God, and perfectly sustained in our daily lives through the Spirit of God. And perfectly called to God’s kingdom by Jesus, this man who loved children; this incarnational God who lived and walked and loved among all the other children of God.
One last thing—before you dismiss this Gospel for children and other simple folk, ask yourself where you got the idea that believing in God was complicated and tiresome. I am not afraid to suggest that you got the idea from sometimes well-meaning and sometimes not well-meaning people who thought they knew better than you about who God wants you to be. But this is not so. Jesus, our perfect guide, calls us to look again, to look simply, to believe with a child’s faith; and to know, that just as you are, you are the beloved of God. Amen and amen.
Monday, September 12, 2011
To Make the Wounded Whole 9-11-11
THE READINGS (NIV)
First Reading: Philippians 4: 6-7
Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.
Second Reading: Luke 12: 22-31
Then Jesus said to his disciples: “Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat; or about your body, what you will wear. For life is more than food, and the body more than clothes. Consider the ravens: They do not sow or reap, they have no storeroom or barn; yet God feeds them. And how much more valuable you are than birds! Who of you by worrying can add a single hour to your life? Since you cannot do this very little thing, why do you worry about the rest? “Consider how the wild flowers grow. They do not labor or spin. Yet I tell you, not even Solomon in all his splendor was dressed like one of these. If that is how God clothes the grass of the field, which is here today, and tomorrow is thrown into the fire, how much more will he clothe you—you of little faith! And do not set your heart on what you will eat or drink; do not worry about it. For the pagan world runs after all such things, and your [Creator] knows that you need them. But seek [God’s] kingdom, and these things will be given to you as well.
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God, you are ever present with us. You call us from memory to hope and from hope to action. Bless all those today who mourn, may your grace set their feet to dancing. May the words of my mouth and the reflections of all our hearts bring you glory. Amen
The hymn I chose for today’s inspiration is “There Is a Balm in Gilead.” There are times when I wish that it were as simple as the words of this comforting hymn. And while I want to affirm that the wholeness of which this song speaks is available to all, we do not always take the same paths. Today is the 10th anniversary of the attacks on the World Trade Center. We were different people ten years ago, and in the intervening 10 years we have all travelled diverse paths. But, here we are on this day, together as a people who came to worship and praise the living God of all of us. First, I know that we may have among us some who were among the many workers who spent countless hours and days in the months just after the attacks. If you are here, would you stand, the rest of us would like to say “thank you”. If you are among those who lost loved ones and friends at any of the three locations, please know that we care and pray for God’s continued peace.
For the rest of us, we all have different tales to tell. I lived in New York State, close enough that many friends lived and worked in the City. I sat with hundreds of thousands of others that night, in churches, and waited through the night for word. The days that followed were hard to describe—churches scrambled to do what they could. Traffic slowed to a crawl as hundreds of firefighters collected money in the streets to fund the relief efforts. Flags flew from every car and house window, while still some waited for word. I heard the stories of tragedy and the stories of miracle—the toothache that led one to be at the dentist rather than at work that day. Life nearly came to a standstill as all folks thought about was how they could help. I want to tell you my own story of my journey to Ground Zero, not because it is particularly unique, I assure you, it is not, but because it taught me so much about being wounded and being whole.
On the Sunday after 9/11, my church had collected another truckload of food and supplies for the relief workers. But we had no one to drive the truck to the Seaman’s Institute many blocks north of the Towers. I, having driven a U-Haul truck on one cross-country trip, decided I knew enough about driving a truck to get behind the wheel and take off for Manhattan. A good friend went with me. Let me acknowledge to you right now that God drove that truck to Ground Zero. The pedals were so far away that I had to sit on the edge of the seat the entire time I was driving. The two-hour trip took close to eight hours. New York City police greeted us—they had been informed of our arrival and told me they needed to escort us directly to Ground Zero as all supplies were needed there. I had two police cars ahead of me and one behind. Several more check points later, the police cars stopped and I learned my first lesson about being wounded and whole at the same time. A big, burly NY officer got out of his car and came back to my window. He said, “we’re stopping here, because you will want to take a few moments to prepare yourself for what’s ahead. At the next turn, we will be at the Towers.” I assured him that I would be ok and he nodded with a sad wisdom. “Just take a few breaths while you are here, you may not be able to breathe very well once we get there.” I looked at my friend, shook my head at the officer and started praying for strength. Mostly I was amazed that, in the midst of all they had seen, they were lovingly concerned about the impact the scene would surely have on me and my friend. It seemed to me a beautiful thing then, and even more so now. As I restarted the truck and inched forward I began to notice the ashes hanging from every surface of every building as we got closer. Suddenly we turned a corner, the police cars disappeared and we were in front of the mass of twisted steel. As I got out of the truck to find the exact door where the food was needed, I learned that just minutes before our arrival, word had come from the City that the mission was changing from rescue to recovery. That meant, of course, that it had been determined that no one could still be alive. The sadness that moved through the hundreds of people at the site was so real that you could feel the weight of it mixed in with the fatigue and sorrow. But not one ounce of hopelessness was there—not in the faces of the rescue workers or in the sad eyes of the search and rescue dogs who longed to be back “in the pit” doing their job. It was as if, the earth moved, but not the people standing on it. I watched in amazement as workers who had been on mandatory breaks, picked up their gear and said, “then we will find their bodies.”
This, my friends, is the story of wholeness coming in the midst of woundedness—I remember saying “God bless you” to one young firefighter. There wasn’t much else to say. He looked at me and said “thank you”. In that simple exchange, this young man changed my life as I came to understand, in a completely new way, how important it is to care. I came to understand in ways new to me, in that brief encounter, that, my fear and pain, as real as it was, was a tiny little part of the greater woundedness of humanity. I realized as I stood in the shadow of the twisted remains of buildings and lives, that God still triumphed in the resolve of those workers and rescue dogs not to leave anyone behind. I had two degrees in religion and most of a third one, and not one time had I learned as much about God’s love in a single moment as in the moment when this young firefighter showed me with his eyes how much my love and care meant to him.
The work went on for months. The healing continues to this day. On the front of your bulletin is Fr. Mychal Judge, chaplain to the NYC Fire Department. He was the first recorded casualty of the attack and he was one of us. Not just because he was gay, although he was, but because his faith in God led him to care so deeply he is like us—well, like us when we listen and believe. Friends say that Judge was fiercely committed to the conviction that all would be well—that God was in control and that there was a divine plan at work in his life and in the lives of those around him. He once said, “"It's fantastic how I can sometimes begin a day and go through a day," he said, "but not realize that everything that happens — every single thing that happens — is somehow within the divine plan." In his last homily on Sept. 10th, Mychal preached to the firefighters to remember that in the midst of danger, God is near. Judge was famous for reaching out to those in the streets, AIDS sufferers, addicts, and any who needed a helping hand. Many in the NY Fire Department believe that Judge died first to lead all the others who were dying to heaven. What a beautiful vision, and not so different from what our Lord did when he walked on this earth, died and rose again, to show us the way in the love of God, our Creator. …to make the wounded whole, indeed.
Today, I will close with a prayer written by our Moderator, Rev. Dr. Nancy Wilson. She calls us to remember how close we are on this day to every other human being who knows the way of sorrow. Will you pray her prayer with me: "God of our hearts, whose heart was broken again on September 11, 2001, help us to be your faithful partners and witnesses in a broken world. Jesus, may your Light shine through us! Spirit, may you hover over every helpless, desperate place and be the bearer of change and hope. Help us to see our destiny in the destinies of others, to see a future where bridges of love and compassion and justice unite us and overcome every division. Bless our MCC churches around the world today, every outpost of hope, and every place of faith and goodness that proclaims your truth. Connect us to your vulnerable heart today, God of peace. Amen." And Amen.
First Reading: Philippians 4: 6-7
Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.
Second Reading: Luke 12: 22-31
Then Jesus said to his disciples: “Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat; or about your body, what you will wear. For life is more than food, and the body more than clothes. Consider the ravens: They do not sow or reap, they have no storeroom or barn; yet God feeds them. And how much more valuable you are than birds! Who of you by worrying can add a single hour to your life? Since you cannot do this very little thing, why do you worry about the rest? “Consider how the wild flowers grow. They do not labor or spin. Yet I tell you, not even Solomon in all his splendor was dressed like one of these. If that is how God clothes the grass of the field, which is here today, and tomorrow is thrown into the fire, how much more will he clothe you—you of little faith! And do not set your heart on what you will eat or drink; do not worry about it. For the pagan world runs after all such things, and your [Creator] knows that you need them. But seek [God’s] kingdom, and these things will be given to you as well.
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God, you are ever present with us. You call us from memory to hope and from hope to action. Bless all those today who mourn, may your grace set their feet to dancing. May the words of my mouth and the reflections of all our hearts bring you glory. Amen
The hymn I chose for today’s inspiration is “There Is a Balm in Gilead.” There are times when I wish that it were as simple as the words of this comforting hymn. And while I want to affirm that the wholeness of which this song speaks is available to all, we do not always take the same paths. Today is the 10th anniversary of the attacks on the World Trade Center. We were different people ten years ago, and in the intervening 10 years we have all travelled diverse paths. But, here we are on this day, together as a people who came to worship and praise the living God of all of us. First, I know that we may have among us some who were among the many workers who spent countless hours and days in the months just after the attacks. If you are here, would you stand, the rest of us would like to say “thank you”. If you are among those who lost loved ones and friends at any of the three locations, please know that we care and pray for God’s continued peace.
For the rest of us, we all have different tales to tell. I lived in New York State, close enough that many friends lived and worked in the City. I sat with hundreds of thousands of others that night, in churches, and waited through the night for word. The days that followed were hard to describe—churches scrambled to do what they could. Traffic slowed to a crawl as hundreds of firefighters collected money in the streets to fund the relief efforts. Flags flew from every car and house window, while still some waited for word. I heard the stories of tragedy and the stories of miracle—the toothache that led one to be at the dentist rather than at work that day. Life nearly came to a standstill as all folks thought about was how they could help. I want to tell you my own story of my journey to Ground Zero, not because it is particularly unique, I assure you, it is not, but because it taught me so much about being wounded and being whole.
On the Sunday after 9/11, my church had collected another truckload of food and supplies for the relief workers. But we had no one to drive the truck to the Seaman’s Institute many blocks north of the Towers. I, having driven a U-Haul truck on one cross-country trip, decided I knew enough about driving a truck to get behind the wheel and take off for Manhattan. A good friend went with me. Let me acknowledge to you right now that God drove that truck to Ground Zero. The pedals were so far away that I had to sit on the edge of the seat the entire time I was driving. The two-hour trip took close to eight hours. New York City police greeted us—they had been informed of our arrival and told me they needed to escort us directly to Ground Zero as all supplies were needed there. I had two police cars ahead of me and one behind. Several more check points later, the police cars stopped and I learned my first lesson about being wounded and whole at the same time. A big, burly NY officer got out of his car and came back to my window. He said, “we’re stopping here, because you will want to take a few moments to prepare yourself for what’s ahead. At the next turn, we will be at the Towers.” I assured him that I would be ok and he nodded with a sad wisdom. “Just take a few breaths while you are here, you may not be able to breathe very well once we get there.” I looked at my friend, shook my head at the officer and started praying for strength. Mostly I was amazed that, in the midst of all they had seen, they were lovingly concerned about the impact the scene would surely have on me and my friend. It seemed to me a beautiful thing then, and even more so now. As I restarted the truck and inched forward I began to notice the ashes hanging from every surface of every building as we got closer. Suddenly we turned a corner, the police cars disappeared and we were in front of the mass of twisted steel. As I got out of the truck to find the exact door where the food was needed, I learned that just minutes before our arrival, word had come from the City that the mission was changing from rescue to recovery. That meant, of course, that it had been determined that no one could still be alive. The sadness that moved through the hundreds of people at the site was so real that you could feel the weight of it mixed in with the fatigue and sorrow. But not one ounce of hopelessness was there—not in the faces of the rescue workers or in the sad eyes of the search and rescue dogs who longed to be back “in the pit” doing their job. It was as if, the earth moved, but not the people standing on it. I watched in amazement as workers who had been on mandatory breaks, picked up their gear and said, “then we will find their bodies.”
This, my friends, is the story of wholeness coming in the midst of woundedness—I remember saying “God bless you” to one young firefighter. There wasn’t much else to say. He looked at me and said “thank you”. In that simple exchange, this young man changed my life as I came to understand, in a completely new way, how important it is to care. I came to understand in ways new to me, in that brief encounter, that, my fear and pain, as real as it was, was a tiny little part of the greater woundedness of humanity. I realized as I stood in the shadow of the twisted remains of buildings and lives, that God still triumphed in the resolve of those workers and rescue dogs not to leave anyone behind. I had two degrees in religion and most of a third one, and not one time had I learned as much about God’s love in a single moment as in the moment when this young firefighter showed me with his eyes how much my love and care meant to him.
The work went on for months. The healing continues to this day. On the front of your bulletin is Fr. Mychal Judge, chaplain to the NYC Fire Department. He was the first recorded casualty of the attack and he was one of us. Not just because he was gay, although he was, but because his faith in God led him to care so deeply he is like us—well, like us when we listen and believe. Friends say that Judge was fiercely committed to the conviction that all would be well—that God was in control and that there was a divine plan at work in his life and in the lives of those around him. He once said, “"It's fantastic how I can sometimes begin a day and go through a day," he said, "but not realize that everything that happens — every single thing that happens — is somehow within the divine plan." In his last homily on Sept. 10th, Mychal preached to the firefighters to remember that in the midst of danger, God is near. Judge was famous for reaching out to those in the streets, AIDS sufferers, addicts, and any who needed a helping hand. Many in the NY Fire Department believe that Judge died first to lead all the others who were dying to heaven. What a beautiful vision, and not so different from what our Lord did when he walked on this earth, died and rose again, to show us the way in the love of God, our Creator. …to make the wounded whole, indeed.
Today, I will close with a prayer written by our Moderator, Rev. Dr. Nancy Wilson. She calls us to remember how close we are on this day to every other human being who knows the way of sorrow. Will you pray her prayer with me: "God of our hearts, whose heart was broken again on September 11, 2001, help us to be your faithful partners and witnesses in a broken world. Jesus, may your Light shine through us! Spirit, may you hover over every helpless, desperate place and be the bearer of change and hope. Help us to see our destiny in the destinies of others, to see a future where bridges of love and compassion and justice unite us and overcome every division. Bless our MCC churches around the world today, every outpost of hope, and every place of faith and goodness that proclaims your truth. Connect us to your vulnerable heart today, God of peace. Amen." And Amen.
Tuesday, September 6, 2011
Walking the Garden Walk 9-4-11
THE READINGS (The Message)
First Reading: 1 John 4: 17-22
God is love. When we take up permanent residence in a life of love, we live in God and God lives in us. This way, love has the run of the house, becomes at home and mature in us, so that we're free of worry on Judgment Day—our standing in the world is identical with Christ's. There is no room in love for fear. Well-formed love banishes fear. Since fear is crippling, a fearful life—fear of death, fear of judgment—is one not yet fully formed in love. We, though, are going to love—love and be loved. First we were loved, now we love. [God] loved us first. If anyone boasts, "I love God," and goes right on hating [their] brother or sister, thinking nothing of it, [they are] liars. If [we] won't love the person [we] can see, how can [we] love the God [we] can't see? The command we have from Christ is blunt: Loving God includes loving people. You've got to love both.
Gospel Reading: John 20: 1-2, 10-16
Early in the morning on the first day of the week, while it was still dark, Mary Magdalene came to the tomb and saw that the stone was moved away from the entrance. She ran at once to Simon Peter and the other disciple, the one Jesus loved, breathlessly panting, "They took the Master from the tomb. We don't know where they've put him." …..No one yet knew from the Scripture that he had to rise from the dead. The disciples then went back home.
But Mary stood outside the tomb weeping. As she wept, she knelt to look into the tomb and saw two angels sitting there, dressed in white, one at the head, the other at the foot of where Jesus' body had been laid. They said to her, "Woman, why do you weep?" "They took my Master," she said, "and I don't know where they put him." After she said this, she turned away and saw Jesus standing there. But she didn't recognize him. Jesus spoke to her, "Woman, why do you weep? Who are you looking for?" She, thinking that he was the gardener, said, "Mister, if you took him, tell me where you put him so I can care for him." Jesus said, "Mary." Turning to face him, she said in Hebrew, "Rabboni!" meaning "Teacher!"
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God, we ask for the blessing of Your presence to be made known in the speaking and hearing of these words. May all that we do bring glory to You. Amen
Today, we begin what I think will be an interesting and spiritually beneficial look at four of the most popular hymns in the Christian tradition. “In the Garden”, our first hymn which we sang together at the beginning of our time together is a well-loved hymn which brings us face to face with looking at our personal relationship with the Divine. And it does so in very personal and embodied way. Some of you, when singing this song, may have remembered the many funerals at which you heard or sang this song. Indeed, many in the praisechoir, when first presented with the music, told me: “That’s a funeral song.” Let me tell you what I told them. There is nothing funereal about this song at all. The fact that you hear it at so many funerals reflects the popularity of this song particularly in the generation of many of our parents and their friends. That got me to thinking about the “why” of its popularity and what we can learn today in this setting which is very much not like a funeral at all.
We are spiritual creatures who embody real live human forms—we walk and we talk. We live on a physical plane but we have very real spiritual needs that require us to know the joy of inviting and recognizing the presence of the Divine into our very real physical world. This hymn is the epitome of what we do each and every time we commune with our God, whatever we call this God and however we envision this God to be. I think what I like most about this hymn is not its melody—in reality, I’m not particularly fond of it and certainly do not treasure the many quite horrible renditions of In the Garden I have encountered along the way. What speaks to my heart most of all, is the radical closeness of the relationship between myself and the Divine—in this case, Jesus—that is portrayed in the words of this sweet hymn. Our Gospel passage retold the biblical story that served as the inspiration for this song. C. Austin Miles, who was a pharmacist by trade, wrote this hymn after his own encounter with that same story. He writes this:
“One day in April 1912, I was seated in the dark room, where I kept my photographic equipment…I drew my Bible toward me; it opened at my favorite chapter, John 20—whether by chance or inspiration let each reader decide. That meeting of Jesus and Mary had lost none of it power and charm…My hands were resting on the Bible while I stared at the light blue wall. As the light faded, I seemed to be standing at the entrance of a garden, looking down a gently winding path, shaded by olive branches. A woman in white, with head bowed, hand clasping her throat, as if to choke back her sobs, walked slowly into the shadows. It was Mary…She saw Jesus standing. So did I. I knew it was He. She knelt before Him, with arms outstretched and looking in His face, cried, “Rabboni!” I awakened in sunlight, gripping the Bible, with muscles tense and nerves vibrating. Under the inspiration of this vision I wrote as quickly as the words could be formed the poem exactly as it has since appeared. That same evening I wrote the music.”
And so, this hymn, so popular at funerals, is not a funeral hymn at all. In fact, it is very much the opposite—it is an Easter hymn that celebrates Mary’s gratitude and worship at the sight of a risen Jesus. It celebrates her joy and ecstasy when she is once again in the physical presence of Jesus. And we have much to learn.
For most of us, our formal religious training, I use the words loosely in most cases, has rarely encouraged us to look at faith as an embodied act—as an act that requires us to use heart, and mind, and body. In fact, most of us learned to stay as far away from our bodies as we could when thinking or talking about our religious faith. And, as a result, we may well have a well-practiced art of keeping mind and heart or spirit, and body separate. This hymn and the story it tells, calls us to a different place—a place where we are not split into two beings—a spiritual being and a physical being—no, it calls us to a place where we are whole—where our worship invades our bodies and celebrates our ability to walk and talk and be physically present to the Divine. This mind/heart-body split is what makes it possible for people to hate us and anyone who looks or acts differently that what mainstream religion requires us to be. If we truly understood—and I mean all of us, truly understood the wonderful truth of this quaint hymn several things would happen. We would be physically as well as spiritually present in our experiences of the Divine, and it would become impossible to look at physical or biological differences to separate us. And we would be at ease with who we are. And, I would like to think, that we would be much more comfortable using our entire bodies in our acts of worship. We might let God’s presence, at least in private, invade our very bodies as we begin to feel and sense in new ways God’s presence in our lives. Now, I am not suggesting that we start dancing or swaying, although I certainly see nothing wrong if we were to do so; but I am more interested in our healing our mind/spirit/body divisions and by doing so enlarge our healing to the created world itself.
For that, I take us to our first reading. The writer of First John is eloquent in the description of the spiritual life and very physical words are used indeed. First the proclamation upon which all else is based—“God is love!” Living a life of love means that God lives in us as we live in God. And this love permeates every aspect of our life. The author says, in our translation today, that love has “the run of the house”. And where there is love, there is no room for fear or for hatred. And less, we quibble over the intricacies of loving a God we cannot see, John is clear—we love and experience God by loving God and loving very real, physical people. We cannot love one without loving the other. And so our experience of the Divine moves effortlessly back and forth between the spiritual and physical—loving God—loving each other. And, dare I say, loving the creation.
I have for many years, claimed with pride, my Celtic ancestry, as some of you do as well. The Celts, living in ancient Ireland, Scotland and Wales, have, perhaps more than any other tradition resisted and mended, when necessary, the mind/spirit/body division. Nature is one with spirituality. The world and all her people are one with God, the creator and sustainer. We are redeemed on an everyday basis by our love in and of God and in creation itself. The Celts knew full well that we cannot limit God. In the early writings of the Celts, centuries before feminists called us to inclusive and expansive language, God is referred to as both Father and Mother—both creator and sustainer. The nurturing power of creation—the very physical realm of experience—is celebrated and treasured.
Though it is not the least bit a Celtic hymn, I think that the Celts would appreciate In the Garden as it acknowledges the beauty of the world that is at work in the larger experience of the Divine. The birds, themselves, stop their singing as they understand they are in the presence of the Divine. And the melody that comes from this walking and talking in the garden calls us to deeper and deeper relationship with the one who redeems and sustains us.
You may be familiar with knots that are used as symbols in the Celtic traditions. These knots of the Celts call us to understand how profoundly all of the aspects of our lives are intertwined with the Spiritual, the world, and with all other beings. Dame Julian of Norwich, writes of this intertwining when she says, “God is in everything. God is nature’s substance. So she speaks of smelling God, of swallowing God in waters, and of feeling God in “the human body and the body of creation.” Just as the knot is completely intertwined, we are completely intertwined with God and nature and God’s grace. Just as the writer of First John says, you can’t love God without loving people, Dame Julian calls us to a complete understanding of the intertwining of grace, nature, and God. Julian expands this intertwining and tells us that our deepest longing—our love longing—is the sacred longing for union. As we experience more and more of God, our longing for God increases.
This, then is the nature of the garden walk—this intertwined longing that is both nourished and encouraged by spending time in the presence of God. And lest you think this is somehow impossible, or unreachable for those of us still struggling with our God-walks, our simple hymn leads us to the truth. As we walk and talk and spend time feeling treasured in our spiritual and natural gardens with God, we will long for more of the same. Our hearts will open to more that God has to show us, and we will grow in grace and love. Amen and amen.
First Reading: 1 John 4: 17-22
God is love. When we take up permanent residence in a life of love, we live in God and God lives in us. This way, love has the run of the house, becomes at home and mature in us, so that we're free of worry on Judgment Day—our standing in the world is identical with Christ's. There is no room in love for fear. Well-formed love banishes fear. Since fear is crippling, a fearful life—fear of death, fear of judgment—is one not yet fully formed in love. We, though, are going to love—love and be loved. First we were loved, now we love. [God] loved us first. If anyone boasts, "I love God," and goes right on hating [their] brother or sister, thinking nothing of it, [they are] liars. If [we] won't love the person [we] can see, how can [we] love the God [we] can't see? The command we have from Christ is blunt: Loving God includes loving people. You've got to love both.
Gospel Reading: John 20: 1-2, 10-16
Early in the morning on the first day of the week, while it was still dark, Mary Magdalene came to the tomb and saw that the stone was moved away from the entrance. She ran at once to Simon Peter and the other disciple, the one Jesus loved, breathlessly panting, "They took the Master from the tomb. We don't know where they've put him." …..No one yet knew from the Scripture that he had to rise from the dead. The disciples then went back home.
But Mary stood outside the tomb weeping. As she wept, she knelt to look into the tomb and saw two angels sitting there, dressed in white, one at the head, the other at the foot of where Jesus' body had been laid. They said to her, "Woman, why do you weep?" "They took my Master," she said, "and I don't know where they put him." After she said this, she turned away and saw Jesus standing there. But she didn't recognize him. Jesus spoke to her, "Woman, why do you weep? Who are you looking for?" She, thinking that he was the gardener, said, "Mister, if you took him, tell me where you put him so I can care for him." Jesus said, "Mary." Turning to face him, she said in Hebrew, "Rabboni!" meaning "Teacher!"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
God, we ask for the blessing of Your presence to be made known in the speaking and hearing of these words. May all that we do bring glory to You. Amen
Today, we begin what I think will be an interesting and spiritually beneficial look at four of the most popular hymns in the Christian tradition. “In the Garden”, our first hymn which we sang together at the beginning of our time together is a well-loved hymn which brings us face to face with looking at our personal relationship with the Divine. And it does so in very personal and embodied way. Some of you, when singing this song, may have remembered the many funerals at which you heard or sang this song. Indeed, many in the praisechoir, when first presented with the music, told me: “That’s a funeral song.” Let me tell you what I told them. There is nothing funereal about this song at all. The fact that you hear it at so many funerals reflects the popularity of this song particularly in the generation of many of our parents and their friends. That got me to thinking about the “why” of its popularity and what we can learn today in this setting which is very much not like a funeral at all.
We are spiritual creatures who embody real live human forms—we walk and we talk. We live on a physical plane but we have very real spiritual needs that require us to know the joy of inviting and recognizing the presence of the Divine into our very real physical world. This hymn is the epitome of what we do each and every time we commune with our God, whatever we call this God and however we envision this God to be. I think what I like most about this hymn is not its melody—in reality, I’m not particularly fond of it and certainly do not treasure the many quite horrible renditions of In the Garden I have encountered along the way. What speaks to my heart most of all, is the radical closeness of the relationship between myself and the Divine—in this case, Jesus—that is portrayed in the words of this sweet hymn. Our Gospel passage retold the biblical story that served as the inspiration for this song. C. Austin Miles, who was a pharmacist by trade, wrote this hymn after his own encounter with that same story. He writes this:
“One day in April 1912, I was seated in the dark room, where I kept my photographic equipment…I drew my Bible toward me; it opened at my favorite chapter, John 20—whether by chance or inspiration let each reader decide. That meeting of Jesus and Mary had lost none of it power and charm…My hands were resting on the Bible while I stared at the light blue wall. As the light faded, I seemed to be standing at the entrance of a garden, looking down a gently winding path, shaded by olive branches. A woman in white, with head bowed, hand clasping her throat, as if to choke back her sobs, walked slowly into the shadows. It was Mary…She saw Jesus standing. So did I. I knew it was He. She knelt before Him, with arms outstretched and looking in His face, cried, “Rabboni!” I awakened in sunlight, gripping the Bible, with muscles tense and nerves vibrating. Under the inspiration of this vision I wrote as quickly as the words could be formed the poem exactly as it has since appeared. That same evening I wrote the music.”
And so, this hymn, so popular at funerals, is not a funeral hymn at all. In fact, it is very much the opposite—it is an Easter hymn that celebrates Mary’s gratitude and worship at the sight of a risen Jesus. It celebrates her joy and ecstasy when she is once again in the physical presence of Jesus. And we have much to learn.
For most of us, our formal religious training, I use the words loosely in most cases, has rarely encouraged us to look at faith as an embodied act—as an act that requires us to use heart, and mind, and body. In fact, most of us learned to stay as far away from our bodies as we could when thinking or talking about our religious faith. And, as a result, we may well have a well-practiced art of keeping mind and heart or spirit, and body separate. This hymn and the story it tells, calls us to a different place—a place where we are not split into two beings—a spiritual being and a physical being—no, it calls us to a place where we are whole—where our worship invades our bodies and celebrates our ability to walk and talk and be physically present to the Divine. This mind/heart-body split is what makes it possible for people to hate us and anyone who looks or acts differently that what mainstream religion requires us to be. If we truly understood—and I mean all of us, truly understood the wonderful truth of this quaint hymn several things would happen. We would be physically as well as spiritually present in our experiences of the Divine, and it would become impossible to look at physical or biological differences to separate us. And we would be at ease with who we are. And, I would like to think, that we would be much more comfortable using our entire bodies in our acts of worship. We might let God’s presence, at least in private, invade our very bodies as we begin to feel and sense in new ways God’s presence in our lives. Now, I am not suggesting that we start dancing or swaying, although I certainly see nothing wrong if we were to do so; but I am more interested in our healing our mind/spirit/body divisions and by doing so enlarge our healing to the created world itself.
For that, I take us to our first reading. The writer of First John is eloquent in the description of the spiritual life and very physical words are used indeed. First the proclamation upon which all else is based—“God is love!” Living a life of love means that God lives in us as we live in God. And this love permeates every aspect of our life. The author says, in our translation today, that love has “the run of the house”. And where there is love, there is no room for fear or for hatred. And less, we quibble over the intricacies of loving a God we cannot see, John is clear—we love and experience God by loving God and loving very real, physical people. We cannot love one without loving the other. And so our experience of the Divine moves effortlessly back and forth between the spiritual and physical—loving God—loving each other. And, dare I say, loving the creation.
I have for many years, claimed with pride, my Celtic ancestry, as some of you do as well. The Celts, living in ancient Ireland, Scotland and Wales, have, perhaps more than any other tradition resisted and mended, when necessary, the mind/spirit/body division. Nature is one with spirituality. The world and all her people are one with God, the creator and sustainer. We are redeemed on an everyday basis by our love in and of God and in creation itself. The Celts knew full well that we cannot limit God. In the early writings of the Celts, centuries before feminists called us to inclusive and expansive language, God is referred to as both Father and Mother—both creator and sustainer. The nurturing power of creation—the very physical realm of experience—is celebrated and treasured.
Though it is not the least bit a Celtic hymn, I think that the Celts would appreciate In the Garden as it acknowledges the beauty of the world that is at work in the larger experience of the Divine. The birds, themselves, stop their singing as they understand they are in the presence of the Divine. And the melody that comes from this walking and talking in the garden calls us to deeper and deeper relationship with the one who redeems and sustains us.
You may be familiar with knots that are used as symbols in the Celtic traditions. These knots of the Celts call us to understand how profoundly all of the aspects of our lives are intertwined with the Spiritual, the world, and with all other beings. Dame Julian of Norwich, writes of this intertwining when she says, “God is in everything. God is nature’s substance. So she speaks of smelling God, of swallowing God in waters, and of feeling God in “the human body and the body of creation.” Just as the knot is completely intertwined, we are completely intertwined with God and nature and God’s grace. Just as the writer of First John says, you can’t love God without loving people, Dame Julian calls us to a complete understanding of the intertwining of grace, nature, and God. Julian expands this intertwining and tells us that our deepest longing—our love longing—is the sacred longing for union. As we experience more and more of God, our longing for God increases.
This, then is the nature of the garden walk—this intertwined longing that is both nourished and encouraged by spending time in the presence of God. And lest you think this is somehow impossible, or unreachable for those of us still struggling with our God-walks, our simple hymn leads us to the truth. As we walk and talk and spend time feeling treasured in our spiritual and natural gardens with God, we will long for more of the same. Our hearts will open to more that God has to show us, and we will grow in grace and love. Amen and amen.
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