The Hurrier I Go, the Behinder I Get 3-17-13

The Hurrier I Go, the Behinder I Get   3-17-13

God, we are always in a hurry.  Teach us to slow down, if only for a day at a time, to listen to your small voice in the tiniest of flowers and the smallest of butterflies.  Teach us to be faithful with our lives—living every moment in the fullness of your presence.  Amen

            Now here’s a blast from the past:  (sing) “Slow down, you move too fast, you’ve got to make the morning last, just kickin “ down the cobble-stones, lookin’ for fun and feelin’ groovy (Feeling groovy)”.  I’ve renamed that song—living in God’s presence a day at a time.  While you may think I’ve lost my mind (and it’s possible) I believe that our two passages today, both from Paul’s letter to the Philippians and Jesus’ comments to Judas regarding Mary’s costly worship are telling us that life in God is lived one day at a time as we are fully open to the divine presence in our lives. 

            Jesus’ message is the most clear.  Mary, you remember Mary—Martha’s sister who was always able to remember to focus on the important things leaving Martha to scurry around the kitchen, tasting the soup, re-arranging the appetizers on the tray; and, in general be consumed with the busyness of preparations.  Mary has done it again.  Jesus has gone to visit Lazarus, Mary and Martha.  Lazarus is freshly raised from the dead and the people are beginning to get out of hand.  Jesus knows that his time on earth is drawing to a close; so he visits his good friends one more time.  While he is sitting at the table waiting for Martha to serve the food, Mary slips away.  She quietly returns and suddenly breaks open a costly jar of perfumed oil.  Some say it might have been left over from the burial preparations for  Lazarus just a few days earlier.  Wherever it came from, John makes sure that we know it was expensive.

            Mary, having broken open the oil, begins to bathe Jesus’ feet with it.  Jesus allows this—it would have been a pleasure for him—those feet had walked hundreds of miles in the past 3 years.  We know that the disciples or at least some of them are present, too.  Judas—that same Judas who will a few days later be used to bring Jesus to his death—rebukes both Mary and Jesus, “why wasn’t this costly perfume sold and the proceeds given to the poor?”  Now John, the writer of this Gospel, wants you to be sure and know that Judas has very ulterior motives for this rebuke—it seems he has been helping himself to part of the operating funds along the way.  Jesus says, “Leave her alone.  The poor will always be here for you to help.  I will soon be gone—she is doing a good thing—let her be.” 

            Jesus, in his somewhat strange response, is doing exactly what he calls us to do—slow down, be present for today.  Be grateful for that which is in front of you.  Now, our passage from Paul is convoluted even for him.  So, I went mining for the gems in his sermon to these young Christians.   After he relates his rather impressive credentials he moves on to the main point.  He says, “I want to know Christ and the power of his resurrection by becoming just like him—even becoming like him in his death.  And then the “if” statement:  “If somehow I will be raised from the dead.”  And here is where it gets complicated, so let’s take it apart—diagram it, for all of you who remember the fine art of diagraming sentences.  First, Paul tells his listeners not to get confused—he is not saying that he has already attained the high prize, but, in the present, he is “pressing on” to reach the goal.  He does not consider himself to already be there.  Rather, putting the past in the past and letting the future guide him, he presses on in the moment because Christ has welcomed him into the holy family.  Let’s look at that one more time—with the past firmly in the past and the future goal guiding his present actions, he presses on—stays faithful, ever growing in his daily struggles toward the prize.

            Both passages, calling us to remain in the moment and to be present to it, move us to a deeper place in our spiritual lives.  My grandmother had a little plaque on her kitchen wall; later that plaque came to hang in my mother’s kitchen.  “The hurrier I go, the behinder I get” it read.  I did a little research into that little saying.  It appears  to be originally a saying of the Pennsylvania Dutch, those sturdy pioneers who settled a good deal of Pennsylvania, bringing their culture with them from the Netherlands.  The saying is also attributed to the White Rabbit in Alice in Wonderland.  You remember him, “I’m late, I’m late for a very important date”.  He couldn’t slow down not even to talk to Alice and he never seemed to get anywhere.  Instead of stopping in his tracks, planting himself and enjoying and acknowledging that which lie in front of his eyes, he hurried on to an unknown destination. 

            Now our middle reading may have struck some of you as strange.  Mary Oliver is one of my favorite poets.  Her themes are often about living in the present.  The otter, in some sort of otter gratitude list thinks of all there is to know about the lake—that it is inviting and wonders nothing more other than why she does not enter the delightful water playground he calls home.  Are we not the same?  Scurrying around, whether in a rush to get somewhere or to deepen our spiritual lives, we fail to enjoy the day fully and simply get wet.

            Did you know that there is an actual name for this scurrying around?  It is called “Hurry Sickness”.  There, now you have a diagnosis, so what’s the cure?  When we hurry from place to place, whether physically or mentally, we get sloppy and careless.  We get speeding tickets either real ones from real police officers, or ones more subtle—a headache, sleeping through your alarm, a cold that seemed to come out of nowhere.  We miss hearing our Truth speak to us.  Statesman Winston Churchill said, "Men stumble over the truth from time to time, but most pick themselves up and hurry off as if nothing happened."  The cure is not to pick ourselves up and hurry off, but to stop and savor the Truth and welcome it into our lives. 

            Stopping our hurrying around takes practice, long years of practice—one day at a time.  When we stop to listen, we rest.  And when we rest—taking a few moments off from the outside things that call us to rush, we re-connect with ourselves.  We sense a God-ness inside and find a wisdom yearning to be released.  And we learn to care about ourselves by listening to what our bodies are telling us before the ambulance is called or the doctor visit is a crisis waiting to unfold.  And when we stop, quiet our minds and open ourselves to the call of God’s spirit, the answers to the questions we were trying to find will appear—almost from nowhere; although, we know their origin lies deep within us as we allow ourselves to remember that we are created for sacred wholeness and peace.  And it is only in the place of patience and readiness that we can sing, “Life I love you, all is groovy”.

            Finally, being present in this moment, fully awake and aware of your self—your body, your mind, spirit and heart—is the only way to remain in those right relationships I speak so much about.  It gives us the opportunity to be fully open to whatever God has in store for us.  It gives us the ability to embrace what is going on in the present as a part of a sacred plan, a way to be right with our creator by being right with ourselves, each other, and the creation.  And so, we press on, not that we have already attained the goal of the high calling, but rather—living in the present—we remain open and willing vessels full of the Holy Spirit, that Divine presence which calls us to the God within us. It’s Lent—in this the last full week of Lent, give yourself the gift of a pause from whatever keeps you from going within.    

The Right Rev. Robert C. Wright, Bishop of the Episcopal Diocese of Atlanta, says this:  “Pressing on with Jesus is the only way to be right with God. That's the whole point. Pressing on with a God that is beyond our asking or imagining. A God who came among us gently, lived wonderfully, taught truthfully, died violently, was risen triumphantly, empowers generously and remains our companion steadfastly. No words can contain it. No effort can attain it. Shame on us if we constrain it. The best thing is to proclaim it. That's the whole point.”  Amen and amen.