Ancient Wisdom: Modern Prophet—Fr. Henri Nouwen 9-14-14

            How often have you wanted to say to someone when they were talking about how wonderful their life is, “Oh, get real!”  Because sometimes, life is whole lot more real than we would ever want it to be.  We need an understanding of faith and God that takes into account those times when life is a little too real.  “Turn it over” or “Let it go” sounds good in the abstract, but it isn’t always easy to implement.  More than perhaps any other twentieth-century theologian, Fr. Henri Nouwen lived his Christian life for all to see.  His prolific writing laid bare almost everything about him, including great spiritual discoveries, immense struggle and despair, significant depression, and a longing to share his understanding of human beings as God’s children or “beloved”.  It is true that, mostly after his death, his friends and colleagues began to verify the suspicion of many that Nouwen was gay, but celibate.  He was never able to “come out” about his spirituality and it may be that his longing for a “particular friendship” and his inability to be in the open about it was one of his greatest struggles.  Although he could not name his sexuality publically, he was authentic.  None of those who knew him have ever even suggested that he was anything other than completely celibate. 

            If you don’t know of Fr. Nouwen’s works, you might want to start exploring them now.  His writings, still being compiled and published long after his death in 1996, would last you well into old age if you were to read and absorb them.  He was born in Holland in 1932 and felt the call to the priesthood very early in life.  After study, he was ordained a diocesan priest.  During this time he also studied psychology at a Dutch Catholic University.  In 1964, he moved to the United States to study at the Menninger Clinic.   He also taught there as well as the University of Notre Dame, Yale and Harvard.  He spent some time during the 70’s with Trappist monks in New York State and then in the early 80’s he spent some time working with the poor in Peru. 

            In 1985, he made the most significant move of his life and became affiliated with L’Arche communities founded by Jean Vanier where communities of people with developmental disabilities and their assistants lived side by side.  Nouwen came to make the L’Arche Daybreak Community near Toronto his home.  According to Sister Sue Mosteller, another religious pilgrim who found a home in L’Arche communites, “His passion was to teach pastoral theology, and his desire was to convince his listeners that pastoring meant walking in the footsteps of Jesus with the people close to those who suffer in body and spirit, unafraid of sharing the pain and vulnerability and being present as a brother or sister”.   Nouwen was never really at peace in the halls of academia; and, instead, preferred to live side by side with some of the neediest people on earth.

            One of Nouwen’s earliest books is called, The Wounded Healer.  It is the book that first introduces many seminarians to his belief that the only way we can serve others, whether as clergy or laity, is to allow God to utilize one’s own pain as a channel of healing for others.   He said, “In our own woundedness, we can become sources of life for others.”   Nouwen’s books share with us his profound suffering in his own humanity.  And when you read them, you feel a tremendous sensitivity at work.  His call to all Christians, clergy and lay alike is found in this statement:  “In a world so torn apart by rivalry, anger, and hatred, we have the privileged vocation to be living signs of a love that can bridge all divisions and heal all wounds.” 

            Henri Nouwen embodied the belief that walking in the footsteps of Jesus demanded that we be known in our own truth.  But, this did not mean wallowing in one’s pain or displaying it with flourishes and trumpets.  It meant, for Nouwen, simply understanding pain as part of the nature of being human.  More importantly, it meant becoming completely human, as Jesus was completely human. And for us, it means personifying the same compassion that flowed through Jesus in his earthly ministry.  “Compassion”, says Nouwen, “asks us to go where it hurts, to enter into the places of pain, to share in brokenness, fear, confusion, and anguish. Compassion challenges us to cry out with those in misery, to mourn with those who are lonely, to weep with those in tears. Compassion requires us to be weak with the weak, vulnerable with the vulnerable, and powerless with the powerless. Compassion means full immersion in the condition of being human.” 

            Nouwen, however, was not one to sit in an ivory tower and simply write books about lofty theological concepts.  His friend, Sister Sue, tells us, “He loved to be where the action was.  He joined the Civil Rights march at Selma, he went to Martin Luther King’s funeral, and he met with senators in Washington and elsewhere.”   He tied together the revolutionary and the mystic.  He calls us to understand.  “It is my growing conviction”, he says, “that in Jesus the mystical and revolutionary ways are not opposites, but two sides of the same human mode of experiential transcendence. I am increasingly convinced that conversion is the individual equivalent of revolution. Therefore every real revolutionary is challenged to be a mystic at heart, and he who walks the mystical way is called to unmask the illusory quality of human society. Mysticism and revolution are two aspects of the same attempt to bring about radical change. No mystic can prevent himself from becoming a social critic, since in self-reflection he will discover the roots of a sick society. Similarly, no revolutionary can avoid facing his own human condition, since in the midst of his struggle for a new world he will find that he is also fighting his own reactionary fears and false ambitions.”

            Some of us might have found Nouwen tough to be around.  He was so real, so thoroughly in touch with every aspect of the human condition that I imagine people experienced him as a little intense for everyday consumption.  And, yet, he was most at home with some of the simplest people on earth, those who had been completely marginalized from society.  His book, Adam, chronicled his caregiving relationship with one of the residents at the community who could not speak.  And, yet, the story so powerfully tells of the relationship between the two of them and the fulfillment that Nouwen experienced by meeting this young man’s daily needs that one is moved to understand at a profound level the interaction of compassion and love.  Nouwen calls us to explore our own woundedness so that we may be true spiritual companions to those we meet along this sometimes rough and bumpy road. 

            This embracing of our woundedness was thoroughly embedded in the experience of knowing oneself as ‘beloved’.  Perhaps his most popular book, The Return of the Prodigal Son, helps us understand that we are all God’s children who are coming home to the knowledge that we are loved by God.  He, himself, came to this understanding after a three year period of great depression and searching.  In the midst of this spiritual crisis, he was touched by a painting of that homecoming by Rembrandt.  By sharing his experience, he encouraged us to embrace our own ‘belovedness’.  This is no easy task.  Even today, if I asked you to pause for a moment and allow God’s spirit to speak to you of being beloved by God, it would be difficult for many—it is so hard for many of us to fully grasp that we, like Jesus, are completely loved by God.  We allow our woundedness to separate us from God’s completely restoring love.  Nouwen says, “One way to express the spiritual crisis of our time is to say that most of us have an address but cannot be found there.”  Our first reading is a song of praise by David after God saved him from his enemies and from Saul.  Although, this is not the first time God has saved him, David, nevertheless, is caught unaware.  He says, “I stood there saved—surprised to be loved!”  Ah, David, we’re right there with you.  How often do we find ourselves “surprised to be loved”.  We have an address—loved by God—but we are not found there.   In our Gospel lesson we hear from Jesus, “I am the Vine, you are the branches. When you’re joined with me and I with you, the relation intimate and organic…”  Joined with Jesus, our relationship is intimately engaged with all of who we are and organically growing as we encounter more and more of God.

            A long period of declining energy led to his death on September 21, 1996 from an unexpected heart attack.  But he left us with a very different notion of what it means to be a child of God in Christ.  He calls us to wrap our loving arms around our own hurts and scars and to allow God to do the same.  Why?  So that we may show the face of one who knows she or he is beloved to one who does not.  He challenges us, “One of the greatest tragedies of our life is that we keep forgetting who we are”.  Let us not forget who we are this morning.  May we allow the gentle presence of God’s spirit to remind us that we are loved.  May it be so.  98889Amen and amen and Namaste.

Ancient Wisdom: Modern Prophet—Mary Oliver 8-31-14

God, teach us the miracle of living each day as if it is our first and last at the same time.  Teach us gratitude and wonder.  Deliver us from refusing joy.  Amen

            Once upon a time there was a young child, full of wonder and amazement at just about everything.  We’ll call this child “Curiosity” and let her tell us of the journey of a young life.  Curiosity rose early every day so she could run into the fields while the dew was still on the grass.  She loved the way the wetness swept across her ankles and how the higher grass tickled her knees.  But most of all she loved the quiet because this was when she talked to God.  Now this God didn’t look like any God she learned about in Sunday School or Church.  No, this God looked more like the wind or rather the leaves in the trees when the wind was blowing on them.  And this God said very different things from anything her teachers told her.  This God didn’t tell her to “do the right thing” or to “work hard” in school.  No, this God told her all about the wonder of creation and how much God wanted her to treasure and love every created thing.

            One morning as she was running toward some trees, God stopped her and told her to sit awhile on the rock at the edge of the forest.  God sat down, too, and asked her if there was anything she really wanted to know.  She said to God, “I want to know why so many people in the world are so unhappy; and, why so few seem to see the beauty in the world like I do.”  God told Curiosity all about growing up and reminded her how much taller she was this year that she had been last.  God reminded her of all the things she had learned in school and how the books she could read this year were so much bigger and longer than the books she could read last year.  Curiosity, confused for the first time ever, said to God, “I don’t see what one thing has to do with the other.  Oops, God, didn’t mean to talk back, but can you explain what you mean?”  God chuckled and said, asking me a question is not being disrespectful and I wish a whole lot of people would talk back to me.  I’d a lot rather have questions than people just turning away.

            So God explained that when people’s heads got fuller and fuller of things they had to remember, that many times, there wasn’t any room left for seeing the awesomeness of life right in front of them.  Curiosity said, “well, I’m not going to let that happen to me.  There will always be room for you, God.  You and beauty, and joy and happiness.”  God smiled and said, “I hope so, Curiosity, I hope so.”

            Curiosity set out from that very day to work on ways not only to keep God fresh and alive in her life but also in the lives of others.  So, day after day, Curiosity wandered through the countryside making sure to stop and see all the amazing things that God put in her path each day.  Even though she was learning other things as well, like how to add and subtract, and how to write a real sentence, she made sure to visit God as often as she could.  Suddenly, one day, God has an extra surprise for her when she reached their special ‘talking rock’ at the edge of the forest.  God said, “It’s time for you to learn something very important.  It’s time for you to know that all those things that make you smile or maybe make you cry, are just ways that I interrupt your life and say, ‘I love you’”.  “But, I know you love me,” she said.  And God said, “but most people don’t, so I try very hard to show them in so many ways.”  Curiosity was very sad and thought it might break her heart that other people didn’t know what she knew about God. 

            Curiosity asked a lot of grown-ups she knew about God and did they know that God loved them.  Most of them said things like, “I guess so”, and even, “why, of course”.  A few actually told her they didn’t know or didn’t think so and so she took on the job of making sure that everyone would know.  Curiosity took it upon herself to tell as many people as she could about God and nature and that every flower, tree, and river was just God’s expression of love.  Curiosity wrote a poem why she likes to wake up early and it goes like this:

Hello, sun in my face.
Hello, you who made the morning
and spread it over the fields
and into the faces of the tulips
and the nodding morning glories,
and into the windows of, even, the
miserable and the crotchety – 

best preacher that ever was,
dear star, that just happens
to be where you are in the universe
to keep us from ever-darkness,
to ease us with warm touching,
to hold us in the great hands of light –
good morning, good morning, good morning.

Watch, now, how I start the day
in happiness, in kindness.” 

            Now she got to thinking about how different the world would be if everyone woke up, at least some of the time, like she does.  She remembered that Jesus told his disciples that faith was just like that pine nut.  Jesus said, “you plant that pine nut and eventually it grows so tall that big birds, maybe even eagles, can build their nests in it.”  And, she said, all of a sudden—I get it, I get that waking up and saying “good morning” to the world and to God is the same kind of faith that Jesus was describing.  And that if one person started to do it, just like a farmer planted one pine nut that the faith would grow.  Eventually, the tree would be so tall that birds of all kinds could build their nests right in the branches.  She determined to find enough people who would plant this faith with her that it would grow and grow and change the world. 

            People talked to Curiosity and told her they didn’t know how to do what she wanted them to do—that they didn’t even know how to pray, much less did they know how to have faith in God and in the wonder of creation.  This time she wrote another poem and the last part of it said:

I don't know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?

            Curiosity said to them—“this is it.  This is your one wild and precious life.  God wants to know what you will do with it.”  Some laughed, some cried, and most just turned way saying, “This is too hard.”  So, Curiosity went out to walk the fields that gave her strength.  These words came to her:

On a summer morning

I sat down

on a hillside

to think about God -

a worthy pastime.

Near me, I saw

a single cricket;

it was moving the grains of the hillside

this way and that way.

How great was its energy,

how humble its effort.

Let us hope

it will always be like this,

each of us going on

in our inexplicable ways

building the universe.

            Curiosity was now much older and thought in much more mature ways.  But she never forgot to visit the rock at the edge of the forest.  One day she and God talked about how to live a good life.  God asked Curiosity what she thought.  Pausing for a while as she soaked up the sunshine and gentle breeze on her face, she suddenly said, “Why it’s simple.  Here are the “Instructions for living a life.  1. Pay attention.  2.  Be astonished.   3. Tell about it.”   And, suddenly she knew that she had, in fact, made a very good start at living a good life.  She paid attention, even though it was tempting to give her energy to other things.  And, when she paid attention, every single day she was astonished by something.  And, as her astonishment spilled over into her day to day encounters with others, she told everyone who would listen. 

            Is this not the Gospel itself?—that God longs to fill us all with awe each time we look with intention.  Curiosity, who we now call poet and prophet, Mary Oliver, says this:  “And that is just the point... how the world, moist and beautiful, calls to each of us to make a new and serious response. That's the big question, the one the world throws at you every morning. "Here you are, alive. Would you like to make a comment?”   Amen and amen and Namaste.

Modern Prophet: Ancient Wisdom—John O’Donohue 8-24-14

God, bless us this day with a sense of wonder in our minds and in our hearts.  Show us the power of your blessing of us and our blessings of others.  Show us how to love.  Amen

                Here’s what I learned from reading Fr. John O’Donohue:  We don’t know anything about the power of blessing others or the radical nature of God’s blessing upon us.  Nevertheless, if I were to sneeze, I would instantly gather 40 or 50 blessings because saying “Bless you” is just something we do and we do it without thinking.  If we really understood the power to bless and if we really meant it when we said “Gesundheit”, why, we’d be sneezing all over the place just so we could gather blessings along the way.   

You’ve heard me quote from Fr. John O’Donohue before.  He died unexpectedly at age 52 and wrote several books about Celtic spirituality and did wonderful work on the nature and necessity of blessing.  He says:  “What is a blessing?  A blessing is a circle of light drawn around a person to protect, heal and strengthen.  Life is a constant flow of emergence.  The beauty of blessing is its belief that it can affect what unfolds.”   If you think about it at all it will give you pause—imagine believing that we can affect what unfolds in this constant flow of life.  He  then continues:  “Our longing for the eternal kindles our imagination to bless.  Regardless of how we configure (or think about) the eternal, the human heart continues to dream of a state of wholeness, a place where everything comes together, where loss will be made good, where blindness will transform into vision, where damage will be made whole, where the clenched question will open in the house of surprise, where the travails of a life’s journey will enjoy a homecoming, to invoke a blessing is to call some of that wholeness upon a person now.”                         

In his work, O’Donohue reminds us that Old Testament Jews believed that all blessings were owned by God and, therefore, dispensed by God.  The patriarchs such as, Adam, Noah, and Moses were all blessed by God.  For his part, Moses passed on a parting blessing to the Twelve Tribes of Israel in Deuteronomy.  In the Old Testament, the idea of "blessing" was also closely related to the question of inheritance, passing blessing from parent to child. Jacob blessed Joseph in Gen. 48:15, and Joseph's two sons. We must also remember that Old Testament Jews had a very sophisticated understanding of the sacred.  God was so sacred that you dare not speak the name aloud.  Places became sacred when God was encountered there.  Names were given to commemorate God’s visitation.  You may remember that Jacob names the place where he encounters the sacred “Bethel”.  This naming, the blessing of sacred space is consistent with our need to speak the blessing. 
                Earlier this week, I got to thinking about the story of Nicodemus from the perspective of blessing—seeing Jesus’ response to Nicodemus as the ultimate blessing.  Nicodemus had come to Jesus at night.  For the longest time, Nicodemus has gotten a bad rap for doing that.  Many think that he did it because he was afraid of getting caught.  He was, after all, a Pharisee and a member of the Sanhedrin, the high Jewish Court.  But, if he suspected or even believed that Jesus was the promised Jewish Messiah, it is also possible that he went at night so as not to draw extra attention to Jesus which would have put him in immediate danger.  Whatever the case, we see Nicodemus deep in conversation with Jesus.  He has asked Jesus how one gains eternal life.  Jesus tells him, cryptically, that a person must be “born again”.  Nicodemus jumps to the wrong conclusion about what Jesus is saying.  You can almost see him, after having been engrossed in the conversation, sitting back and saying.  “What are you talking about?  How can anyone who is already grown up go back into their mother’s womb to be born again?  This talk makes no sense.  What’s this ‘born-from-above’ talk?”

Jesus, with his usual compassion says, “You’re not listening. Let me say it again. Unless a person submits to this original creation—the ‘wind-hovering-over-the-water’ creation, the invisible moving the visible, a baptism into a new life—it’s not possible to enter God’s kingdom. When you look at a baby, it’s just that: a body you can look at and touch. But the person who takes shape within is formed by something you can’t see and touch—the Spirit—and becomes a living spirit.”  As the dawn begins to break, we see the light beginning to shine in Nicodemus’ heart as well.

Is this—this availability of God’s Spirit—not the ultimate blessing given to us by God and explained so beautifully by Jesus?  Most of us need a little more explanation than this, however.  I found one of O’Donohue’s poems, simply called “The Blessing”, that I think gives us a way to understand what happens to us inside when we allow God’s Spirit to form us into a living spirit.  O’Donohue would suggest that we are brought to the point of wanting and longing for something more and this leads us to welcome God’s Spirit.  His poem, his blessing upon us is this:

Blessed be the longing that brought you here and that quickens

your soul with wonder.

May you have the courage to befriend your eternal longing.

May you enjoy the critical and creative companionship of the

                question “who am I?” and may it brighten your longing.

May a secret Providence guide your thought and shelter your

feeling.

May your mind inhabit your life with the same sureness with

                which your body belongs to the world.

May the sense of something absent enlarge your life.

May you succumb to the danger of growth.

May you live in the neighborhood of wonder.

May you belong to love with the wildness of Dance.

May you know that you are ever embraced in the kind circle of

                God.

Furthermore, O’Donohue states this about blessings:  “The Bible is full of blessings.  They are seen as a communication of life from God.  Once the blessing is spoken, it cannot be annulled or recalled.” 

              Can we think of the impact on our lives if we begin to view God’s blessings as a “communication of life from God?”  If every time we meet and share the good news of God’s radical love and acceptance of us, we bless each other and ourselves, we begin to open up a floodgate of God’s gracious gifts that we best be ready to accept and pass on.  If every time we meet, we remember to bless the God who created and first blessed us, we begin to live into a place of constant communication of life from God and to God.  As we mature into a fuller understanding of the role of being blessed, accepting and living into God’s richest blessings, and desiring to reach out into the lives of others to bless them similarly, we will experience the grace of God to a depth, height, and breadth formerly unknown to us. 

                We also need to bless each other because when you bless another you make real O’Donohue’s belief that no life is alone or beyond the reach of all others.  When you offer a blessing, you make a potentially life-altering connection with that person—a connection that permeates all the fences we erect to keep others at a distance.  To offer that blessing and to have it received, is to connect with another at the deepest level.  

O’Donohue writes, ―a blessing is different from a greeting, a hug, a salute, or an affirmation . . . blessing is from soul to soul.”  I think we hunger for soul-to-soul connections.  And we hunger for them in everyday life—not just in church or in some special retreat or conference.  And so, we go about our daily lives.  How often do we stop ourselves to think about the innate sacredness of another person—that same person as the one who just bagged our groceries or cut our hair?

Think what might happened if we deliberately set out to infuse our lives and theirs with more and more blessings.  O’Donohue believed that “blessing” is a way of life and a means of transforming a broken world—a “huge force field that opens when intention focuses and directs itself toward transformation.”

I know that some of you have noticed that at some point in the last year, I added “Namaste” to the “amen and amen” at the end of my sermons. “Amen” feels like God’s blessing on us, but Namaste feels like our blessing upon each other.  Some churches now use “Namaste” when passing “The Peace” or greeting each other in the service.  The Namaste, is performed by slightly bowing and pressing hands together, palms touching and fingers pointed upwards in front of the chest.   Commonly performed in India, “Namaste” is a respectful greeting and means “The spirit in me respects the spirit in you,” or “the divinity in me bows to the divinity in you.” The gesture first appeared 4000 years ago on clay seals of the Indus Valley Civilization. The Namaste is a reverential salutation that could stand a bit of use in and out of church in our own country.  I’m not suggesting that Open Circle take up the Namaste as an official greeting, but I would never be offended if you offered it to me and I to you. 

And, so, in whatever form you use, I invite all of us to exercise our blessing ability just a bit more.  As O’Donohue says, “May we all receive blessing upon blessing. And may we realize our power to bless, heal, and renew one another.”  Amen and amen.  Namaste.

       

“Modern Prophet: Ancient Wisdom: Oriah” 8-17-14

God, over and over you invite us to enter the holiest of holy places—our hearts—complete when one with your spirit living within us.  Give us courage, God.  May we not back away from the truth of your invitation.  May we answer, ‘yes’ when you call.  Amen

          Now that I am older and finished with school and all those other things that determined what I needed to spend my time reading, one of the things I have noticed is that I am drawn to writers who are not afraid to ask us and themselves the hard questions.  As I read and meditate upon those difficult questions, I find, increasingly, that pondering upon these questions leads me back to the truths of Jesus’ teachings that I have carried with me since early childhood.  I am one of those persons who have no memory of not going to church.  From the country Disciples of Christ in Clear Creek, IN to the Methodist and then Baptist churches in Apopka, FL., in Sunday School and Wednesday night Bible Study, I learned a familiarity with the scriptures that surfaces more in my later years then it did in the middle ones.  But, it is not because I am spending more time necessarily studying the Bible.  It is because as I read these modern prophets, some explicitly Christian and some not, their questions continue to lead me to a new way of thinking of the life and teachings of Jesus.  And that is exciting!  So for the next several weeks, I plan to bring to you some of those modern prophets and speak to you of the questions those prophets bring to us.  From there we can springboard to a new and deeper understanding of the life and work of Jesus and go deeper in our journey to become more and more aligned from inside to out. 

          Oriah wrote the poem “The Invitation” one night after she returned home from a party.  She says on her webpage that the party reminded her of how superficial most of our relationships are and so she penned this poem in response. 

It doesn’t interest me what you do for a living.
I want to know what you ache for
and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart’s longing.

It doesn’t interest me how old you are.
I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool
for love, for your dream, for the adventure of being alive.

It doesn’t interest me what planets are 
squaring your moon...
I want to know if you have touched the centre of your own sorrow, if you have been opened by life’s betrayals
or have become shriveled and closed
from fear of further pain.

I want to know if you can sit with pain,
mine or your own, without moving to hide it
or fade it or fix it.

I want to know if you can be with joy, mine or your own,

if you can dance with wildness and let the ecstasy fill you 
to the tips of your fingers and toes without cautioning us
to be careful, to be realistic, to remember the limitations
of being human.

It doesn’t interest me if the story you are telling me is true.
I want to know if you can disappoint another
to be true to yourself.
If you can bear the accusation of betrayal
and not betray your own soul.
If you can be faithless and therefore trustworthy.

I want to know if you can see Beauty
even when it is not pretty every day.
And if you can source your own life from its presence.

I want to know if you can live with failure
yours and mine, and still stand at the edge of the lake
and shout to the silver of the full moon, “Yes.”

It doesn’t interest me to know where you live
or how much money you have.
I want to know if you can get up after the night of grief and despair weary and bruised to the bone and do what needs to be done to feed the children.

It doesn’t interest me who you know

or how you came to be here.
I want to know if you will stand in the centre of the fire
with me and not shrink back.

It doesn’t interest me where or what or with whom
you have studied.
I want to know what sustains you from the inside
when all else falls away.

I want to know if you can be alone with yourself and if you truly like the company you keep in the empty moments.

          As I have utilized this challenging poem in meditation, and have wondered what in Jesus’ words might be most similar, I am most drawn to Jesus’ surprise endings teaching which have come to be known as the Beatitudes.  If I dare myself to think in terms similar to Oriah’s, the Beatitudes might sound somewhat different, inviting us to look deeper into Jesus’ words.  Go with me, if you can, and picture a strong, kind, compassionate Jesus saying these words to the crowd:

          “Don’t tell me how God has forgotten you when you have nowhere to turn and no way to know the next step; I want to know how turning from self-reliance to reliance on God and the Divine Rule of Love has expanded your inner life.

          Don’t tell me how bereft you are when you think you have lost that which is more precious than anything else.  As you find your way back to God, tell me how you experience the embrace of the Divine in the realization of that which is truly the most treasured in your life—the Sacred itself.       

          Don’t tell me of all that you feel you need to have to be complete.  I want to know of the joy and pride when you find yourselves in complete contentment when you celebrate all that you are.

          It doesn’t really interest me that you are hungry for things outside of the Sacred.  Instead tell me of the banquet prepared for you when you place your reliance in God.

          Don’t tell me in your weariness how you cannot care anymore.  Tell me how being full of care for others brings you the most wonderful experience of being cared for ever.

          Don’t tell me how hard it is to see God at work in the world.  I want to know of your struggle to get your inside world—the world of spirit, heart, and mind—aligned with how you live your life.  Then tell me how you see God transforming the world.

          Don’t tell me how powerless you are to change things.  Instead, tell me how you work for peace.  When you devote your heart and time to peace, you’ll see exactly who God wants you to be.

          I don’t want to hear that you are feeling sorry for yourself when standing for justice makes people hate you.  That makes you rely on God even more.  Instead, tell me of the blessings that come when people lie about you.  Don’t you know that when you speak my truth, it is too threatening to them?  Be proud to join the long line of prophets and witnesses for truth who have always had to stand up to people’s mistrust of them.”      This brings a different look at very old wisdom.  Over and over again, we are invited to look on the positive side of each of these equations.  And, whether it is Oriah or Jesus saying the words, we know that it is the Sacred inside each of us who is whispering the invitation to become more. 

Now, I know a lot about invitations.  And I’m not talking about the kind where one of you generously invites me and Nan to lunch.  I’m talking about those end of service “Just As I Am” and “Have Thine Own Way, Lord” kind of invitations which sometimes seemed a little less than genuine.  If you did not come from a particular portion of the Protestant world who practiced this ritual, you have no idea of what I am speaking; but, if you did, you know that an invitation where no one was responding could add a good ten minutes onto any service just when you thought you were going to escape.  I am, of course, talking from a teenage perspective here; but, I often imagined that there were a good many adults also praying that someone, anyone, would just go forward. 

The invitation was, of course, to make Jesus your Lord and Savior and to enter a new life of forgiveness and relationship with God.  The only problem was, as many times as I went forward, I never could quite get clear about what that life was to look like; so, as I got older, I got braver about seeking and finding other ways to explore my relationship with the Divine—ways that affirmed my goodness as God’s creation and God’s child.  All of those other ways have been ways that have led me to refine my relationship with the Divine who does indeed live in me and is me.  This new way of thinking, therefore, has led me to rethinking and re-exploring much of what I learned as a teenager and young adult.

Few MCC Churches do those “Come forward and get saved” kinds of invitations—and, please, do not misunderstand, I am not suggesting that those invitations are not meaningful to many people.  Nevertheless, we know that an invitation exists which will call us far deeper, move us much farther forward in our search for wholeness, and stretch us to think, feel, and pray in different ways—calling us onto a path of courage and daring.  Won’t you accept this invitation this Sunday to commit yourselves to allow God and God working through this community to transform your life for good, and wholeness, and peace?  May it be so. Amen and Amen.  Namaste.

What Are You Packing? 8-10-14

Source of all that is holy and pure, show us our journey.  Prepare our hearts and open our spirit.  Let us travel inward to learn more and more of you.  Amen

          It’s late summer—time for all those last minute trips.  And we go all kinds of places—most of us are looking for someplace cooler right about now.  Sometimes our trips are special and sometimes they are just to get away.  Many of you know that after years of negative attitudes about camping, I have recently discovered that I love it.  There is one part I don’t like quite as much and that is the preparation.  But any trip requires just that and so today I want to talk about our spiritual journeys that we take throughout our lives. 

You may well know someone who has made a pilgrimage to somewhere.  Occasionally, we may say that we make a pilgrimage to our place of birth or the country of our ancestors; and, that is certainly one type of pilgrimage.  But, there is a second, more ancient kind of pilgrimage and that is a pilgrimage to a sacred or historically important religious site.  In the Christian tradition, Catholics have, up until recently, emphasized the importance of religious pilgrimages.  Now, however, a good many from the Protestant tradition have also begun to speak of making a specific pilgrimage.  Whatever your background, whether you come from either one of those, or another or none, it’s probably helpful to review the nature of pilgrimages before we talk about what we will pack for our pilgrimage. 

          First, a spiritual pilgrimage implies that you are taking a journey to a holy place.  This is more than a trip as a tourist to the Holy Land or to a famous cathedral.  When we are tourists, we go to see what we can see, take as many pictures as we can, post as many of those on Facebook as is possible, and return home to tell others of all that we have seen and heard.  We may, in fact, be significantly be touched and moved by things we saw along the way, but seeking out those holy places was not our primary motivation for going.  A pilgrim, on the other hand, is motivated almost solely, by the desire to meet God in a certain place.  A pilgrimage is usually planned as a time of self-discovery and is almost always carefully planned.

          Secondly, a spiritual pilgrimage implies a spiritual change or transformation in the heart and life of the pilgrim.  If you experience your spiritual life and have the same amount of self-awareness when you return as when you left, something went awry in your pilgrimage.  Because spiritual transformation is so often a part of spiritual pilgrimage, pilgrimage is considered a practice of spiritual formation.   However, since specific spiritual practices do not possess some sort of universal appeal, not everyone will feel called to undertake a spiritual pilgrimage.  Those who do, however, will experience great change in their lives.

          In the third place, spiritual pilgrimage is not supposed to be easy.  This does not always mean that the pilgrimage is physically difficult; but, it often is.  It may be psychologically difficult, pushing the pilgrim to explore things about themselves they would not ordinarily choose to explore.  Sometimes, pilgrimage requires great financial hardship.  It may, perhaps, be spiritually challenging, leading the pilgrim to explore new concepts about the Divine; or, perhaps, to be in silence on the pilgrimage.  Whatever the hardship, the pilgrim welcomes them as an integral part of the pilgrimage. 

          Finally, spiritual pilgrimage takes us away from our usual life.  Our routine is completely disrupted and we are thrown into an unknown schedule.  The composition of our days is radically altered.  Pilgrimages often take people to new countries with new languages and cultures.  We become more aware of our day to day surroundings because we need to in order to continue on the pilgrimage.  Paying attention to our surroundings increases the possibility that we will pay attention to God.   Pilgrims leave the usual behind and seek to experience God in the midst of a completely new environment. 

          A pilgrimage is, first and foremost, a journey—a very special journey, I’ll admit, but a journey, nonetheless.  Judaism is one of the first religions to talk about journeys.  Our brief scripture today from the Old Testament comes from the blessing that God gave Abraham as he left his home, his country and family.  But the reward was great.  God told Abraham that in return for his journey he would become a great nation, blessed, famous, and a blessing to many.  God gives Abraham authority and says that he will determine who God blesses and who God curses.  God tells Abraham that all of the families of the earth will be blessed through him—all because he took a very special trip.  We know that thus begins the travels of a great journeying religion, a religion whose people would journey for hundreds of years until the State of Israel was founded in the last Century. 

          The life of Jesus is, of course, filled with journey after journey.  He is even born while his parents are in the midst of their journey to Bethlehem and back to Nazareth.  We have the story of Mary and Joseph taking Jesus to the Temple where he is blessed by Anna and Simeon.  And then they go home.  We don’t hear about Jesus’ life until another journey brings his family to Jerusalem and he is left behind where he is found two days later amazing the rabbis in the Temple.  John the Baptizer wandered the country-side preaching and telling of the one to come.  Even the language about him is related to journey—‘prepare the way of the Lord’.  Finally, we see Jesus journey to John to be baptized and immediately he is led on a 40-day journey into the wilderness to be tested and proved.  Throughout his ministry, Jesus travelled.  His parables are full of the travelling theme and we come to know that it was through journeying that Jesus met and touched so many people.  Jesus called others to journey with him.  Of course, there were the Twelve; but, there were others like the ones in our Gospel reading today who missed their pilgrimage because of their many excuses. 

          But what of us?  Are we called to make a pilgrimage?  Perhaps, but I would like to briefly talk about another pilgrimage—an inner pilgrimage to the holy spark of the heart of God.  I want to return to our earlier four points about pilgrimage and see if they pertain to an inner pilgrimage.  First, the pilgrimage is to a holy place.  As we journey inside over time, in retreat, or during a crisis—the proverbial dark night of the soul—we seek the holiest of places—the place where we can experience the infusing of every part of ourselves with God’s spirit.  Yes, God and I are one, but I may not always be able to bring that to consciousness or feel the implication of such knowledge.  But, when I journey to where I am able to have it known in my heart of hearts, it usually requires many of the same steps as an outward journey.  This journey inside shares the planning and seeking of spiritual discovery with its sister pilgrimage—the physical, outer one.

          Secondly, an inner pilgrimage also implies that a transformation will take place in the heart and life of the pilgrim.  After the discovery of the understanding of the divine nature or our own spirits, we, simply will never be the same.  Even, if, somewhere down the road, we suppress the transformation of this pilgrimage, one can never alter the inner transformation of the soul when it has found and focused on its connection to the Divine.  The third characteristic is probably the easiest to understand.  The pilgrimage is not supposed to be easy.  The inner journey is, simply, not easy.  We must uncover and disempower all those things which tell us that this pilgrimage won’t be worth it; that it won’t make any difference in the way we feel about ourselves or our lives; and, that the cost is too great.  We must undertake it anyway if we value the deepening of our lives in and with God.  Finally, a spiritual pilgrimage breaks us out of our routine.  It simply can’t be done in the regular course of things.  It requires time and patience, willingness and courage, love for yourself and for other pilgrims.

          So, what are you packing?  What will you take along with you on this inner journey should you choose to undertake it?  Will you take your sense of unworthiness and trust that God will show you your worth along the way?  Will you take pictures of those you can’t or won’t forgive and trust that the inner light will shine so brightly that you will discover that nothing is more important than living in love with one another?  Or, perhaps, you will take all your memories of past failures—other times you sought God and got lost along the way.  It might be that you will take your feelings of powerlessness and allow God to fill you with power as you journey into your deepest self.  There is the chance that you will take your anger at God for the losses of your lives and allow the healing balm of inner peace surround your heart with the knowledge that God hurts as you hurt.  Questions, fear, doubts—all good things to pack; but, also pack hope, longing, and the willingness to go.  And, most of all, go in peace.  Amen and amen.  Namaste.    

          

Rivers of Life 7-20-14

God of Light and wonder, lead us to recognize your gifts in everything we see.  Your Light shines and we rise to meet its beauty.  Lead us to see the Source of Sacred Love of which Jesus spoke.  Lead us to see you.  Amen

          We hear the poetry in James’ description of God’s gifts to the world.  “The gifts are rivers of light cascading down from the Source of Light”.  Imagine yourselves—you might find it easier to close your eyes—at the bottom of a very beautiful medium-sized waterfall.  Don’t start with Niagara Falls—that would be so overwhelming that we wouldn’t be able to describe it or take it in.  I, for one, am going to Bish Bash Falls in Western Massachusetts, just across the border from New York.  The water comes from two, maybe three directions at the top and feeds into the stream that crashes down through the falls.  It’s one of those tall falls, so the water falls a long way, reaching the bottom pool of water with enough force that the spray rises up many feet into the air.  It is one of my sacred places—“thin places”, the Celts call them—where I have experienced God in a special way.  The Celtic designation makes sense as they talk about places where those things that separate us from God are thin; and, if you are paying attention, you can glimpse the special beauty of God as the barriers that keep us from feeling the fullness of God are thinned out. 

          So, you go to your waterfalls, or stream, if you don’t have one and gaze upon the water flowing either over the falls or down the stream.  The sun is so bright that little stars of light dance upon the surface of the water.  At times, the spray makes lopsided rainbows just above the mist.  Perhaps, the sun goes beyond some clouds, giving your eyes a chance to rest from the brightness and prepare you for the next ray of sunshine bringing you up to a new sense of the lightness and brightness of the scene before you.  And, now, listen to James’ poetic description of God in the world again.  “The gifts are rivers of light cascading down from the Source of Light”.  As you stand at the foot of your waterfall, begin to name the gifts of God that are cascading in front of you.  What is your response?  I find myself drawing closer and closer until I am close enough to feel the mist upon my skin.  And, as I allow myself to look through the thin place that separates me from God, I find my tears mixing with the mist on my face as I begin in a new and deeper way to let the gifts of God permeate my very being.  As the scene fades from my mind’s eye, I wrap my arms around this sense of closeness to God and return to this place with you.

          I hope that you were able to get into that visualization.  I won’t call it a fantasy, because it is so very real—available to us at any time, perhaps more so when we are in one of our thin or sacred places, but, available to us at other times as well.  As we mature in our ability to spend time with God and build up our tolerance to receiving the immensity of God’s grace, we can have these experiences as often as we choose to allow God—the Source of Love—to be present to us.

          What are these gifts that God gives to each of us?  God gives to each of us the gifts that we recognize, acknowledge and claim.  These gifts may be, and probably are different for each person.  In other words, I believe that all of God’s gifts are available to all of us at any time, but only those that have meaning for us materialize for us at any given time.   As a very simple example, if I am in such a low place as to be unable to appreciate the beauty of a particular garden, it does not mean that the garden is not beautiful, but it is not a gift to me at that time.   We are not in control of the gifts; we are only in control of whether or not we choose at any given moment to receive them.  I may stand at the foot of my waterfall where the rivers of light plunge over the rocks and see nothing but water and rocks.  My, oh my, what a loss that would be.

          Let’s talk just for a moment about what it is that blocks us from receiving those gifts that make up the rivers of life in James’ letter.  Those things which serve as ‘blockers’ in our lives fall into three categories:  fear, arrogance, and unbelief.

First, fear.  I think that most of us are terrified to fully immerse ourselves in those rivers of light.  We are frightened by the prospect that God, the Source of all light, has plans for us far beyond what we have yet to experience.  We are afraid to be more than we already are.  This is why James refers to it as light.  This is why Jesus says, “I am the light of the world!”  We are called to shine, not just in the darkness but in the already light of day.  Bear with me for a moment if you will.  We are comfortable or at least more comfortable showing the way out of darkness.  When it’s dark, the world needs the light to see its way out.  What about when it is already light and God is calling us to be more than just a light out of darkness?  This is when the real fear sets in—the fear that we are set to become more, do more, experience more, and feel more than we can currently comprehend.  Jesus alludes to this throughout the Gospels as he talks about being one with the Source of Light.  He and God are one.  As Jesus leads us further and further into uncharted territory, we become more and more one with God.  God, however, does not leave us to deal with our fear alone.  Love, perfect love, is the antidote for fear that tells us we are not worthy or capable.  When we allow ourselves to believe that God loves us unconditionally, we become risk-takers.  We risk being more to the world than we think we are.  When God’s love fills us and overflows onto the world, we risk not only failing in our work in the world but, also, succeeding. 

As for arrogance:  I thought about calling this category ‘pride’ but decided that pride didn’t quite cover it.  It is not just a matter of feeling proud, puffed up, that we are handling life on our own.  It’s more about the belief that not only do we not need any help from people or God, it also includes the notion that it is all right to be so self-focused, dare I say, self-centered, that we can reject whatever it is that God has for us that would enable us to be more of a blessing to the world than we currently assume ourselves to be—I’ll wait a moment for the humor to sink in.  Now, if we can get ourselves and our focus on ourselves out of the way, we can clear the way for God to use us for a greater good.  We arrogantly assume that we are all we want to be and fail to contemplate that God may have other plans or that the world needs for us to allow God to make us more.  The antidote for arrogance is undeniably gratitude.  As we allow our gratitude to literally push out our arrogance we come to see ourselves as both one with God and created by God.  Jesus tells the Pharisees that they cannot understand that when they have seen him they have, indeed, seen God.  Unlike the Pharisees, we know that Jesus and God were one; and, while we struggle to believe that we, too, are one with God, we are called into an interconnected relationship that cannot help but fill us with gratitude.  And, when we allow it to, that same gratitude sends arrogance, the belief that we are alone in all of this, packing.

Finally, there is unbelief.  That doesn’t take much explanation.  It does not imply that we do not believe in the waterfall; that would be kind of dumb.  What it implies is that we do not believe God telling us that there is more.  We do not believe that God is pouring out gifts of life at the speed of light and that we are meant to receive those gifts in order to live fuller, more whole, lives.  And that a gift is truly and that the spirit of God, the Source of light and life itself longs for us to rest in the belief that God has no greater desire than for us to accept the gifts beyond comprehension. For unbelief, God sends us courage.  Courage, one of God’s most precious gifts, enables us to allow God to fill our hearts to overflowing with comprehension that these gifts belong to us.  Courage says, “‘here I am, send me’, fill me, use me”. 

As we allow ourselves to be drawn more and more into those rivers of light our lives will reflect for all to see the myriad reflections of God’s great mystery and love.  This is my prayer for all of us.  We stand at the foot of the waterfall, lifting our hands to reach toward the water itself, feeling the mist of the spirit, the energy of the river and the love of God.  Amen and amen and Namaste.  

Jesus Wasn’t Finished 7-13-14

Jesus, open our eyes to see as you see and our hands to touch as you touch.  Call forth the very center of our hearts and let us feel your love surging from our being.  Made like you, show us how to act the same.  Amen

            I’ve done many sermons from the voice of someone involved in the story; and, this time there are many someone’s.  So I will speak on behalf of the crowd; and, just maybe, on behalf of all of us. 

We streamed on and on, miles of us it seemed, all waiting to see this man named Jesus.  We would have waited for days; and some of us did. It was more curiosity than respect at this point; and, desperation for many.   Among us were those paralyzed from birth, those blinded by accidents and those who could not hear.  Some could not speak, some chose not to—their stories too painful to utter aloud.  They said he could heal; let’s see it.  Before we were aware of what was happening, people were being changed—healed—just by the touch of his hand or a word from his mouth. 

All around a hush layered over us like fog on a lake; the awe rolled in; clouds before the storm of rejoicing.  Hour upon hour, he touched them into wholeness, awaking our spirits with each utterance of “I’m healed!”  How could it be that he loved each one enough to heal them?  We couldn’t explain it if we tried.   At least, it felt like love:  pure, unboundless love.  Surely, this must be the love of God, living and healing amongst us.  Surely this was what pure praise sounds like when one drops to their knees and says, “I’m healed.”  The hours went on with scores of people coming forward to be within his reach.  Finally, no more in need of healing could be found.

Thinking the day was done, we turned to go, hungry for food, Weary from standing all those hours.  We had no expectations of anything else and so we headed for our homes—new people with new minds, but old stomachs which rumbled with hunger as we gathered our things. Suddenly, someone said “Stop!”, he isn’t finished.  We sat as he commanded and waited.  Suddenly, baskets of bread and fish began to appear—we ate our fill, but we could not out eat all that was served.  Not that we didn’t try, oh, no, we tried all right.  Something happened to us as we ate that fish.  It wasn’t just fish and bread, it was a miracle. 

This Jesus, so different already, so open and caring, He hadn’t been finished with us.

He noticed we were hungry, why that didn’t take much sense, we’d been there for hours.  No one thought it would be that long, so we foolishly brought nothing, but He wasn’t finished with us. So noticing turned to caring and caring to doing.  We chatted among ourselves, now fully satisfied spiritually and physically, and wondered about this man Jesus.  The feeling of love still flowed strongly so, amazingly, we listened to each other without interrupting.  We let each other have their have their ‘say’ and, then we thought about it. 

            Old Zeke, he thought that Jesus did it to show us how much God loved us.  Rebe Josh said that it was more than that.  He believed that God sent Jesus to show us how important it is to love each other.  Yes, that’s right.  It was Rebe Josh, who snuck out when none of the other priests were looking, because he wanted to hear from this Jesus himself.  Sister Nora said, humbly, not wanting to offend the Rabbi, that she thought it was about a way of living—a way that called us to notice first, and, then act.  She had been near some of the disciples and she heard them admit that they hadn’t even thought about the crowd.  They knew they were hungry; and, that was their focus.  Jesus was the one who noticed the needs of the crowd.  Once they thought about it, they knew he was right; but, they didn’t figure they had any food, so it was every person for themselves.  Sister Nora said that Jesus didn’t really reprimand them; he just got them to figure out what to do.  You know how Sister Nora can go on, and she did…telling us about what it looked like up at the front of the crowd as the food just started to appear—all because Jesus noticed and cared. 

            Little Zeke, that was Old Zeke’s grandson, was about 15.  He was a man in the Jewish tradition; but he still had the curiosity of a child.  He said to the group of us, “I don’t get it.  How do you live a life where you always think about others?  Aren’t we too busy making sure that our own families are fed and have water and a roof over their heads.  Little Zeke was getting ready to be married; and, it seems he felt the need to be a “Man” who provides for his family the way God commanded.  Sister Nora thought a moment and said, “It looks to me that we need to think about the way Jesus lives to get that answer.  I think that you are right, Little Zeke, but it’s about seeing beyond what’s staring us in the face.”    About that time, a little old stooped over woman, Bubi Ruth said, “this conversation is all well and good’ but, in case you haven’t noticed, Jesus has left this place and most of the crowd is headed for home.  Can we talk and walk at the same time.  I’d like to be home before dark.”  Sister Nora, gathered up her things and motioned to everyone else to gather theirs and they started back.  But, they could not stop talking; the spirit was so full among them that they just kept throwing out ideas and asking each other questions. 

            Little Zeke wanted Sister Nora to continue what she started and asked her what she meant by how Jesus lives.  Sister Nora said, “You know, this is the third time I’ve seen him; and, I always want to get close enough to get just a glimpse of him.  There’s something about his face that shows me that he is more about me and all of the me’s in his sight, then he is about himself.  And he’s not some sort of public martyr play-acting his concern, he really cares.”  Rebe Josh says, I think the word you are looking for is compassion.  He has compassion. “  Bubi Ruth suddenly looked up and said, “Rebe, I’m an old woman and I might not have much time to figure this all out; so why don’t you tell me just what this compassion looks like.”

            Rebe Josh put his arm around her and took the blanket she was carrying and carried it himself.  “We are so used to looking at how things affect us that we fail to see the other person’s need.  I’m embarrassed that I let you carry that blanket even for a little while.  I know that it is hard for you to carry it and not very hard for me to add it to my load; but, I have to be taught to pay attention, to notice.  I think this man Jesus is showing us that we need to get to the place where we understand that if you are hurting, I am hurting, too.  I think that this is the hard part.  You know, back in the beginning of things, the Jewish people knew about creation and knew that they had a special relationship with God.  I don’t know what this man Jesus may say about that special relationship, but I’m sure that he would remind us our how we are connected together.  Just like everybody calls Bubi Ruth here, “Bubi” even though she isn’t everybody’s grandmother—not really, but we all love her as if she were.  We’re interconnected and what hurts one, hurts another.  I haven’t thought about these things since I was young and trying to figure things out.  Now, I am older and know that I better listen to this man Jesus if I want to grow into the life to which I feel him calling me.  This will require much thinking and praying. “

            A new voice was heard.  Sister Esther, who is rather quiet and contemplative said, “God has been showing me this during my prayers.  I know that I never share with any of you, but Jesus has given me courage.  God has been leading me to think about the way I have compassion for others.  You know, my ability to not just put myself in someone’s shoes in my head, but my willingness to actually, willingly be there beside them walking in their shoes.”  I really didn’t get it until I saw Jesus today.  That means that before I criticize someone, I walk in their shoes.  It means that if I love my neighbor, I will not sit and eat my fill while they are hungry.  It means I won’t spend time gossiping about the little things when the big things need me so badly to care about them, first.  Am I getting it, Rebi?” 

            Rebe Josh said, “Without a doubt you are getting it.  We are all getting it; or, at least we could if we let ourselves be healed from our self-interest and our refusal to look beyond how we understand things to hear from another.  That’s my goal this week—to hear from as many people as I can how they understand their lives and what they might need.  I want to pay attention to the shoulders that look tense, or the eyes that won’t meet mine.  I want to see if I can get a better idea of what Jesus is all about.   Thank you, each of you for sharing your insight with me. “  Sister Nora, too, said, “Yes, thanks, together we came a lot farther in making sense of the day then we could have alone.  Oops, there’s my house.  Love to you all.”  They hugged and she went inside.

One by one, they left the group; and, after seeing Bubi Ruth to her home the Rebe was all alone.  He sat down.  And he prayed, and he smiled.  Amen and amen and Namaste