RELEASING ENERGY FOR JUSTICE
Preached at St. Benedict’s Episcopal Church
September 14, 2014

What would you do?

Picture this: Growing up, you were your father’s favorite child. But your brothers came to hate you, and finally they threw you into a pit, and sold you into slavery. They told your father you were dead. But you survived slavery – and used your wits to be a wise leader of a great nation. Now, after all these years, you meet your brothers again. What would you do?

Joseph said, “Even though you intended to do harm to me, God intended it for good.” (Genesis 50:30)

Or picture this: You were born into a family of strong, intelligent and hard-working people, but they belonged to the despised underclass in your nation. You grew up to become a passionate advocate for the rights of your people – and the leaders of your nation threw you into a harsh prison for a quarter of a century. Now, after all these years, you are out of prison and you meet your tormenters again. What would you do?

Nelson Mandela said, “Resentment is like drinking poison and then hoping it will kill your enemies….  As I walked out the door toward my freedom, I knew that if I did not leave all the anger, hatred and bitterness behind, I would still be in prison.”

Forgiveness opens the door to transformation

In today’s Gospel (Matthew 18:21f), Jesus tells us forgive others no matter how many times they sin against us.

This is not a math lesson (it would be highly improbable for someone to sin against you that many times in one day). This is a spiritual lesson: every time we realize we are still clinging to old hurts, we must forgive – let go – again. Someone may have actually hurt me one time, but I may be offended every time I remember the event, and each time I do, I have a new occasion to practice forgiveness.

Forgiveness shuts the door on yesterday’s wounds. If we cannot forgive, we are in bondage to the past – and when our past becomes our present, we are robbed not only of the present, but of the future.

Forgiveness is not forgetting

Some people think that they will never be able to forgive because they cannot forget what has happened. And there are some things so awful, so traumatic that we will never forget them. But we can always choose to forgive – that is, let go of the ‘re-sentment’, the ‘re-feeling’ of a memory over and over again. If we cannot forget, memories can actually aid us if we learn to use them as reminders to forgive once again.

And when we let go of resentment, we have freed energy for love. Embracing forgiveness – like Jesus, like Joseph, like Nelson – can eventually turn painful memories into redemptive events.

No matter what negative events the world throws at us, we can, with God’s help, find a way to benefit others from what has happened to us. Consider Joseph again, who was able to see that – despite the injustice – being thrown into a pit led him to a place of leadership where he could save his people (and others) from famine. Consider Nelson Mandela again, who because of his forgiveness towards his oppressors, was able to lead his country into a process of healing.

When we decide to walk in forgiveness, we allow God to work through us in powerful ways.

Forgiveness is not getting justice

Forgiveness is difficult not just because of the depth of our feelings, but because of our desire for justice. When we are wronged, we want things to be made ‘right.’ In fact, it often feels like by forgiving, we are removing the offender’s obligation to make things ‘right.’

There is a spiritual debt created by sin, which is why Jesus spoke of debts and debtors in the Lord’s prayer: “Forgive us our debts, as we also forgive our debtors.” (Matthew 6:9f) Every time we sin against others, we become indebted to them to ‘make things right.’ The debtor, the wrongdoer, always has a moral and spiritual obligation to restore the damage done to another person.

But forgiveness is not accepting life without justice; it is simply releasing our right to collect the debt from the offender. While it is true that we may deserve justice, by exercising forgiveness we are releasing those who hurt us to God, knowing that it is ultimately God’s responsibility to make sure that justice is done.

Jesus tells us forgiveness allows us to participate in the divine nature of God – who not only forgives us our sins, but gives us power to forgive those who hurt us.

Divine love: the energy that enables us to love

God is love, and only God can give us the grace and power to love and forgive others. This is the Gospel, the message Jesus gave Christians to take to the world. And yet today much of the world thinks of religion – including the Christian Church – as judging and judgmental. Could this be because people identified as Christians are often far more interested in being right and righteous than in being compassionate and loving?

Individual Christians, like everyone else on earth, find it hard to forgive – to let go of our desire for justice when we have been hurt.

But let’s be honest: the Church as a whole is also known for judging the beliefs of others as wrong, as heresy, even dangerous. For centuries, much of the Church has said, “If you don’t believe correctly, you won’t get into heaven.” Even today, the judgmental churches may be making the most noise.

And parts of today’s church are known for judging the actions of everyone, inside and outside the church. You can still be cast out of many churches, or refused communion, or denied a leadership position, if you don’t act according to the church’s norms. All churches don’t do this, but the judgmental ones are often most in the news.

The personal practice of forgiveness
– letting go of the desire for justice when we have been hurt –
may be a first step toward becoming less judgmental in many other ways.

Jesus calls us to be his disciples; but following him is hard. He calls every Christian to let go – to let go of our old ways of thinking; to let go of our old ways of living; to let go of our carefully crafted self images; to let go of our plans and dreams for the future. Jesus also calls us to let go of our old hurts and resentments, and to let go of judging others.

And – once more – why is forgiveness so important? Nelson Mandela had the answer; he said, “Forgiveness liberates the soul; it removes fear… That is why it is such a powerful weapon.”

Mandela continued, “I have walked that long road to freedom. I have tried not to falter; I have made missteps along the way. But I have discovered the secret that after climbing a great hill, one only finds that there are many more hills to climb. I have taken a moment here to rest, to steal a view of the glorious vista that surrounds me, to look back on the distance I have come. But I can only rest for a moment, for with freedom come responsibilities, and I dare not linger, for my long walk is not ended….For to be free is not merely to cast off one’s chains, but to live in a way that respects and enhances the freedom of others.”

To live in a way that respects and enhances the freedom of others:  If we as individuals – following Jesus’ example, following all those inspired by Jesus’ example – learned how to let go of our grudges and resentments, would we be freed from our desire for personal justice, and then freed for discipleship? With God’s help, could we then use more of our personal energy to promote justice in the world around us?

All around us in our society, there are quiet churches just like St. Benedict’s, where Christians are trying daily to practice what we say here, ‘Whoever you are and wherever you are in your faith journey, there is a warm welcome for you here at St. Benedict’s!”

Could we say this a little louder?   As St. Francis of Assisi – another man who understood Jesus’ teaching on forgiveness – said to his own disciples:

“Always preach the Gospel; when necessary, use words.”

As we practice forgiveness, as we practice letting go, as we practice welcoming in the Name of Jesus, we are offering the world a church of disciples, a church that truly tries to follow Jesus Christ, the Lord of compassion, the Lord of forgiveness, and the Lord of love.

Choir Anthem:  “Help Us Accept Each Other”
St. Benedict’s Singers

Help us accept each other as Christ accepted us;
teach us, as sister, brother, each person to embrace.
Be present, Lord, among us and bring us to believe
we are ourselves accepted and meant to love and live.

Teach us, O Lord, your lessons, as in our daily life
we struggle to be human and search for hope and faith.
Teach us to care for people, for all – not just for some,
to love them as we find them or as they may become.

Lord, for today’s encounters with all who are in need,
who hunger for acceptance, for righteousness and bread,
we need new eyes for seeing, new hands for holding on:
renew us with your Spirit; Lord, free us, make us one!

Lyrics by Fred Kaan, music by John Ness Beck

UNTYING THE KNOTS
Preached at St. Benedict’s Episcopal Church
September 7, 2014

‘Forgive our sins as we forgive’, you taught us, Lord, to pray;
but you alone can grant us grace to live the words we say.
How can your pardon reach and bless the unforgiving heart
that broods on wrongs and will not let old bitterness depart?
Hymnal #674

Finding forgiveness

In the Lord’s Prayer, Jesus makes a connection between receiving and giving forgiveness. He taught us to pray, “Forgive us our sins, as we also forgive those who sin against us.”

Jesus followed the prayer with more teaching about forgiveness: “If you forgive others when they sin against you, your heavenly Father will also forgive you. But if you do not forgive others their sins, your Father will not forgive your sins.” (Matt 6:9-15)

So you and I must decide to forgive, and – because forgiveness is hard – we must learn the discipline of forgiveness.  Then we have to practice, and practice and practice again, until forgiveness becomes a spiritual and emotional habit.

This is not just a challenge for individual Christians, it’s a challenge to the whole Church:
A Church that proclaims that its God is a God of love and forgiveness must show its own people how to be loving and forgiving.

So what is forgiveness?

As Richard Rohr says, Forgiveness is simply the religious word for letting go.

Last week, I gave a few illustrations of our common need to let go – but my examples were of those petty things we all tend to hold onto.  This morning, I think I can best illustrate what forgiveness is by telling you a very painful story.

Years ago a woman came to me and, over many weeks, poured out her heart. She was burdened, even haunted, by painful memories and of unremitting anger, sorrow, and guilt. The weight of those memories, the burden of these feelings, had now grown too great to bear.

In her younger years she had been married, and she had two children. Now she was divorced, her children had grown up and were living their own lives, and her former husband had moved far away.

Every divorce causes pain, and stirs deep anger, sorrow and guilt. Yet this woman’s feelings and her guilt went much deeper than most – because after the divorce her children had told her that, when they were in their early teens, they had been sexually abused by their father.

She felt overwhelming anger at her former husband – when she first heard her children’s story, and still more years later. What could she do with the rage she experienced?

She felt deep sorrow for her children – when she first heard what had happened, and still carried this sorrow years later. What could she do to repair the damage done to them?

And most of all, she felt guilty – when she first heard what happened, and ever more deeply through the years that followed.

Surely, she should have seen something? Surely, surely, she should have known what was happening?

Finally, because of her pain and especially because of her guilt, I suggested we turn to the Rite of Reconciliation in the Book of Common Prayer, thinking that the words of Scripture, and the Prayer Book liturgy itself, would bring her comfort and peace.

Confession – the Rite of Reconciliation – was new to our current Prayer Book in those years. We say the General Confession almost every Sunday, but the personal rite of Confession is still an unfamiliar part of the Prayer Book to most Episcopalians. (It would not be stretching the truth too much to say that Episcopalians may be more familiar with Confession from the movies – Roman Catholics going to Confession – than we are from our own lives.)

So let’s look at the Rite of Reconciliation together.

(If you have the BCP, turn to page 450-451)

———————————————————————————————————————————-
The Reconciliation of a Penitent
Book of Common Prayer, p. 450-451

The Penitent says

Holy God, heavenly father, you formed me from the dust in your image and likeness, and redeemed me from sin and death by the cross of your Son Jesus Christ. Through the water of baptism you clothed me with the shining garment of his righteousness, and established me among your children in your kingdom. But I have squandered the inheritance of your saints, and have wandered far in a land that is waste.

Especially, I confess to you and to the Church….

Here the penitent confesses particular sins.

Therefore, O Lord, from these and all other sins I cannot now remember, I turn to you in sorrow and repentance. Receive me again into the arms of your mercy, and restore me to the blessed company of your faithful people; through him in whom you have redeemed the world, your Son our Savior Jesus Christ. Amen.

The Priest may then offer words of comfort and counsel.

We talked quietly together until she indicated she was ready to move on.

Priest          Will you turn again to Christ as your Lord?

Penitent      I will.

Priest          Do you, then, forgive those who have sinned against you?

———————————————————————————————————————————-

She put down her prayer book and cried out, “No!”

“No,” she said again, “No! Maybe now I can finally forgive myself, but I still can’t forgive him!”

How do we forgive the unforgivable?

As the weeks went on, we continued to talk. We read Scripture together: Jesus’ words on forgiveness to his disciples; Jesus’ words of forgiveness from the cross. We prayed together: the Prayer of St. Francis, the Lord’s Prayer. And then one week she finally was able to say to me, “I think I’m ready. I can finish the Confession now.” She said,

I’ve realized that I have to let go of him. I have to stop thinking of him all the time.  I have to get him out of my mind, out of my heart, out of my gut.  He’s tied to me like the heaviest rock in the world. I need to be free. 

When I first tried to forgive him, all I could do was to mouth the words, “I’m letting him go…. I’m letting him go….” Then when he came back into my mind, I said it again and again.   I know I will always feel pain over this, but now I can decide to let go all over again when old thoughts come back.

Forgiveness is letting him go, and forgiveness is letting myself go. Forgiveness is not a feeling, it is a decision, and I can make it a habit. Every time I feel tempted to hold onto my anger, my own guilt, my desire for revenge, I can decide to let go.

I am so thankful that this amazing woman came into my life.  In the years after I first knew her, I watched her go from strength to strength – personally and professionally.

In the years since that powerful Confession, I’ve  also learned that there are connections between justice and forgiveness, but they’re not the ones we’re looking for:

Forgiveness is not pretending that nothing is wrong.  It is not accepting injustice.
Forgiveness is simply cutting the ties of resentment and bitterness that hold us down.
Once we are freed from those painful ties, then perhaps we can find energy for justice.

Next week: forgiveness and justice

THE TIES THAT BIND
Preached at St. Benedict’s Episcopal Church
August 31, 2014

What wondrous love is this, O my soul, O my soul?
What wondrous love is this
that caused the Lord of bliss
to lay aside his crown for my soul?
Hymnal # 439

God’s wondrous love

The central message of Christianity is that God loves the world, and an essential element of that love is God’s forgiveness – that is, that God keeps on loving us even when we have grieved God’s heart.

To understand the depth of God’s love and forgiveness is difficult for us, because we know there are limits to our own love, and we know our ability to forgive is also limited. But we also know that if we want to follow Christ, we must learn how to be loving and forgiving.

So from the very start our spiritual journey involves two immense challenges:

understanding and receiving God’s wondrous love for us,
and learning how to love others as God loves us;

understanding and receiving God’s wondrous forgiveness,
and learning to forgive others as God forgives us.

This is not just a challenge for individual Christians, it’s a challenge to the whole Church:
A Church that proclaims that its God is a God of love and forgiveness must teach its own people how to be loving and forgiving.

Wisdom from the Scriptures

Many people today think of ‘the God of the Old Testament’ as a God of judgment and anger. But along with the stories of God’s wrath and judgment, stories of God’s love and mercy are woven through the books of the Old Testament. Just consider today’s reading from Exodus, where God meets Moses at the burning bush, and tells Moses he hears the cries of a suffering people. Because of the depth of God’s love, Moses is sent to set his people free. (Exodus 3:1-15)

The theme of forgiveness is also woven through the Old Testament. The first book, Genesis, ends with the story of Joseph – whose brothers were so jealous of him that they threw him into a pit and sold him into slavery. Joseph was carried away to Egypt, where he ended up interpreting Pharaoh’s dreams, and became a leader of the Egyptians. At the end of the story (we’ll hear it two Sundays from now), Joseph was able to forgive his brothers in spite of the magnitude of their sins against him. (Genesis 50)

In the New Testament, God’s forgiveness is a central theme of Jesus’ message. In the parable of the prodigal son, Jesus teaches us that we, too, will always be welcomed home; but in the parable of the unforgiving steward, Jesus calls us to forgive as we have been forgiven. Jesus is telling us that our ability to receive forgiveness is linked to our ability to forgive others.

In the Lord’s Prayer, Jesus emphasized the connection between receiving and giving forgiveness. He taught us to pray, “Forgive us our sins, as we also forgive those who sin against us.” Jesus followed the prayer with additional teaching about forgiveness: “For if you forgive others when they sin against you, your heavenly Father will also forgive you. But if you do not forgive others their sins, your Father will not forgive your sins. (Matt 6:9-15)

The first disciples of Jesus knew well his teaching on forgiveness. This morning we’ve heard a portion of Paul’s letter to the Christians in Rome: “Let love be genuine… Do not repay anyone evil for evil, but take thought for what is noble in the sight of all…. Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good.” (Romans 12:9-21)

When we hear Jesus say, “Take up your cross and follow me” (Matthew 16:21-28) , we imagine ourselves being called to do great and difficult things for God. But what if our cross is not anything great, but the small, daily decision to love others when they are unlovable, the infinitely painful practice of forgiving others when they have hurt us? For those of us who find it hard to forgive – that would be almost every human on this earth – Jesus’ example of forgiveness may be the most difficult discipline of all.

Wisdom from modern medicine

Whenever we are hurt, we can quickly react with hurt, anger, or denial – and if we don’t stop and think, we can act out of those feelings. In addition, if we hold on to those feelings, they can fester into deep resentments and bitterness.

Researchers have found that unforgiveness has many physiological effects. These include increased heart rate and respiration, a narrowing of the blood vessels, and the release of powerful hormones such as adrenaline. All of the body’s systems are affected in a variety of ways. When this stress continues over a prolonged period of time, severe damage and illness can occur.

Mental health professionals also recognize that people struggling with unforgiveness often appear “stuck.” It is as if a part of their personality is fixed at a certain incomplete point. Think of someone you know – perhaps even you, yourself – who, in spite of being an accomplished adult, can sometimes be very childlike in relationships with others. Although there are many causes for this, unresolved bitterness is often at the core of the problem.

Forgiveness is necessary for our mental and emotional well-being. Indeed, forgiveness is a medicine that stops the infection of resentment that develops into the rotten disease of bitterness. Forgiveness interrupts this downward spiral and helps to set us on a path towards mental, emotional, physical, and spiritual wholeness.

But how can we learn to forgive?

This summer Rob and I drove to Washington State and back, seeing family along the way. I had the joy of spending time with my brother and both sisters. Each visit had the same pattern; we retold stories of our childhood, things we did and said to each other, things our parents did and said to each other and to us. These were powerful memories – they must be, to last into a person’s seventies! And while there were many happy memories, there were also painful ones – remembering things said and done that hurt us, that angered us, things that have never been forgotten.

We are all bound to the past, with remembered joys and lasting pain – and each of us has learned, over many years, the importance of forgiving.

But why do these old memories have so much power? Sometimes I think a painful memory, especially a memory of deep hurt, is like a rope that binds us to the person who once hurt us. It is as if, in our minds, every time we see that person – every time we think of that person – that rope tugs at us again, the memory rises, and we are back at the original hurt, the original injustice, all over again.

I know our family isn’t the only family that has these lasting memories. Perhaps we all tie emotional cords around the people who hurt us – thinking that we have caught them, that we will never forget what they did or said.

And yet – when I’ve tied someone to me, I’ve also tied myself to them…. And until I untie that old cord, until I let go of them, I will be bound to them forever.

Some contemporary Christian wisdom

Richard Rohr writes,

Forgiveness is simply the religious word for letting go.

To forgive reality is to let go of the negative story line, the painful story line that you’ve created for it. If that story line has become your identity, if you are choosing to live in a victim state, an abused consciousness, it gives you a false kind of power and makes you feel morally superior to others.

But let me tell you, it will also destroy you. It will make you smaller and smaller as you get older. You will find that you have fewer and fewer people you can trust, fewer and fewer people, if any, that you can love. Life itself becomes a threat. Your comfort zone becomes tinier and tinier.

Thankfully, God has given us a way to not let the disappointments, hurts, betrayals, and rejections of life destroy us. It is the art of letting go. If we can forgive and let go, if we don’t hold our hurts against history and against one another, we will indeed be following Jesus. After the crucifixion, there’s no record of Jesus wanting to blame anybody or accuse anybody. In fact, his last words are breathing forgiveness: “Father, forgive them; they do not know what they are doing.” (Luke 23:34).

Next week: practicing forgiveness

Tonight we have gathered around a sacred fire,
telling the ancient stories that point beyond our own lives
to the mystery of life itself.

WE’VE HEARD THE STORY OF CREATION:
In Genesis (1:1-2:2) the priestly writers imagined that…
In the beginning… a wind from God swept over the face of the waters… And God said, ‘To every beast of the earth, and to every bird of the air, and to everything that creeps on the earth, everything that has the breath of life, I have given every green plant for food.’ And it was so. God saw everything that was made, and indeed, it was very good.

There is a mysterious energy that fills the world with life.
And we ourselves have known this energy of life –
from the wind in the trees and the waves on the shore
to the cry of a newborn child
to the mysterious strength we find in the words and wisdom
of the dying.

WE’VE HEARD THE STORY OF ISRAEL’S ESCAPE FROM EGYPT:
In Exodus (14:10-15:1) the Torah writers remembered that…
The angel of God who was going before the Israelites moved and went behind them… And so the cloud was there in the darkness, and it lit up the night. Then Moses stretched out his hand over the sea, as God had commanded him, and the Lord drove the sea back by a strong east wind all night, and turned the sea into dry land; and the waters were divided. And the Israelites went into the sea on dry ground…

There is an energy for justice,
a mysterious force that works for freedom and equality.
And we ourselves know the longing for freedom,
we ourselves have known this energy for justice;
we see it in others, we know it in ourselves.

WE’VE HEARD GOD’S PROMISE OF SALVATION:
In the prophets (Isaiah 55:1-11) we hear echoes of God’s word…
I will make with you an everlasting covenant, my steadfast, sure love for you…  For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts.  For as the rain and the snow come down from heaven,
and do not return there until they have watered the earth, making it bring forth and sprout,
giving seed to the sower and bread to the eater, so shall my word be that goes out from my mouth; it shall not return to me empty, but it shall accomplish what I purpose, and succeed in the thing for which I sent it.

There is an energy for love, a mysterious love that will not let go.
And we ourselves have known this love, 
a love that forgives, a love that keeps its promises,
a love that is the steadfast, sure foundation of our lives.
Sometimes we have received this love from others,
sometimes we feel it for others –
a child, a parent, a friend, a stranger –
all signs of the deep Love that forgives,
the all-embracing Love that keeps its promises,
the Love that is the steadfast, sure foundation of our lives.

WE’VE HEARD THE STORY OF THE DRY BONES:
Another prophet (Ezekiel 37:1-14) spoke to those in exile…
Thus says the Lord God to these bones: I will cause breath to enter you, and you shall live. I will lay sinews on you, and will cause flesh to come upon you, and cover you with skin, and put breath in you, and you shall live; and you shall know that I am the Lord.’  So Ezekiel prophesied as he had been commanded; and as he prophesied, the bones came together..bone to its bone. He looked, and there were sinews on them, and flesh had come upon them, and skin had covered them; but there was no breath in them. Then God said to Ezekiel, ‘Prophesy to the breath, prophesy, mortal, and say to the breath: Thus says the Lord God: Come from the four winds, O breath, and breathe upon these slain, that they may live.’   … and the breath came into them, and they lived, and stood on their feet, a vast multitude.

There is a mysterious energy that brings life out of death
And we ourselves have glimpses of that energy,
an energy of life that is contagious,
an energy for life and love and justice,
an energy, a power, a wind, a Spirit of life,
that even death cannot destroy.

How do we open ourselves to this energy of life?
this love that forgives,
this love that pushes for justice,
this love that is the steadfast, sure foundation of our lives,
this love that will not die?

St. Augustine taught we must “die daily” to our small and separate sense of self.
And so tonight we have come to sit together, to explore what lies beyond ourselves.

And we breathe in the silence.

We breathe in –
not just the air around us,
but we breathe in the Spirit that fills the world….

The Spirit that breathed over the waters…
that filled the world with living things…
that freed a people from slavery…
that spoke hope through the prophets…
that still fills our souls with life.

We can let that Spirit free us from the egos
that dominate our everyday lives.
We can release all our false identities,
just accepting the selves we were made to be.
We can release all our addictions and attachments,
just attending to the life and love that is already within us.

Like Jesus, we can surrender, entering an awareness
that is silent but spacious and solid.

We can just breathe in the sacred silence.
We can completely let go.

And ‘then the silence reveals itself as refuge,
an awareness that can be trusted,
tenderly loving and filled with the majesty and the mystery
of the sacred.’ *

This majesty, this mystery,
this refuge that can be trusted,
this is the God of the Risen Christ.

THE EASTER STORY
The Evangelist (Matthew 28:1-10) recorded these words…
As the first day of the week was dawning, Mary Magdalene and the other Mary went to the tomb…. Suddenly Jesus met them and said, ‘Greetings!’  And they came to him, took hold of his feet, and worshiped him.  Then Jesus said to them, ‘Do not be afraid; go and tell my brothers to go to Galilee; there they will see me.’

The stories we hear tonight have prepared us
for the last story of the Easter Vigil,
the story of the Risen Christ –
risen again into the world,
and risen again in us.

*  See  “Living in the Light of Death” by Kathleen Dowling Singh.
In Oneing, “Ripening,” Vol. 1 No. 2, pp. 42-44

Questions for the Journey (1)

Sunday, March 9: First Sunday in Lent
Women of Insight

Matthew 4:1-11
Genesis 2:15-17, 3:1-7

For at least 18 centuries now, men have interpreted these lessons for their congregations.  Almost all of these men were taught by (and with) other men; and when they were ordained and moved on to parishes and dioceses,  almost all of them lived apart from women.

The more isolated these male preachers were from women and family life, the less they could draw from the insights of women.   But the life experiences, reflections and insights of women, if heard, can give the whole congregation a fuller understanding of the Scriptures.

For an example of how a woman’s insights can contribute to fuller understanding of the text, listen to what Julian of Norwich (14th century) wrote and taught:

Julian’s exploration of God’s motherhood is rooted in key aspects of her theology.  The persons of the Trinity are for her a dynamic relationship not just with each other, but with us.  We are created, restored, and brought to fulfillment in interrelationship with God as Father, Mother, and Lord. 

Her identification of the Second Person with Wisdom reclaims the feminine aspect of this biblical symbol.  She also uses the traditional symbols of Baptism and Eucharist to see Christ as the one in whom we are reborn and fed, as a mother brings a child forth from her womb and feeds it from her own body. 

But central to her view of God as Mother as well as Father is her understanding of divine love as incapable of real anger or rejection of God’s children, no more than a mother could reject her child, even though she might need to appear stern at times to discipline it.  But behind even this discipline is a love that can never cease.  Julian sees this kind of divine love as mother-like, or rather divine Motherhood as its fullest reality, which we see palely revealed in human mothers.

While this sense of God’s motherhood reflects something of Julian’s experience of women as mothers (or at least her view of what a mother’s love should be), her understanding of sin also reflects a significant shift in perspective that perhaps also reflects her experience as a woman.  In sharp contrast to the Augustinian view of sin as overweening pride and concupiscence, Julian views our bondage to sin primarily as our entrapment in an overwhelming sense of fear and worthlessness and as manifest in pain, not pleasure.  But once we glimpse God’s continuing love and our own worth in God’s eyes, we can become secure in our trust in God.  (from Rosemary Radford Ruether, Visionary Women *)

Matthew 4:1-11 –   How do Julian’s insights about the nature of God’s love contribute to your own understanding of Jesus’ temptations in the desert?

Genesis 2:15-17, 3:1-7     The way this text has been used in preaching and teaching over the centuries can be instructive:  the story of the temptation and fall  has frequently been used to identify Eve as the weaker human being, the cause of Adam’s fall, and the source of original sin.   How does that interpretation skew our understanding of Matthew 4:1-11?
Jewish tradition has not interpreted Genesis 2-3 in the same way.  What do you think the story meant to the original tellers?

*  Visionary Women: Three Medieval Mystics, by Rosemary Radford Ruether.
Fortress Press: 2002.

Questions for the Journey (2)

Sunday, March 16: Second Sunday in Lent
Answers vs. Questions

Sunday, March 23: Third Sunday in Lent
The Woman Who Was Thirsty

John 4:5-42

Jesus came to a Samaritan city called Sychar, near the plot of ground that Jacob had given to his son Joseph.  Jacob’s well was there, and Jesus, tired out by his journey, was sitting by the well. It was about noon.    A Samaritan woman came to draw water, and Jesus said to her, “Give me a drink.” (His disciples had gone to the city to buy food.)    The Samaritan woman said to him, “How is it that you, a Jew, ask a drink of me, a woman of Samaria?” (Jews do not share things in common with Samaritans.)

Jesus answered her, “If you knew the gift of God, and who it is that is saying to you, `Give me a drink,’ you would have asked him, and he would have given you living water.”   The woman said to him, “Sir, you have no bucket, and the well is deep. Where do you get that living water? Are you greater than our ancestor Jacob, who gave us the well, and with his sons and his flocks drank from it?”    Jesus said to her, “Everyone who drinks of this water will be thirsty again, but those who drink of the water that I will give them will never be thirsty. The water that I will give will become in them a spring of water gushing up to eternal life.”   The woman said to him, “Sir, give me this water, so that I may never be thirsty or have to keep coming here to draw water.”

Why didn’t the Jews ‘share things in common’ with Samaritans?

In Jesus’ time there were strict rules that separated Jews from Samaritans; so in going through Samaria, Jesus is ‘breaking the rules’ of first-century travel.  Samaria is in the hill country between Galilee and Judea, and the straightest route for Galileans on their way to Jerusalem. But Galileans usually went around Samaria, rather than through it, because of the tense relationship between Jews and Samaritans.

Both Jews and Samaritans traced their tense relationship back to the Assyrian conquest (722 BC), when the Jews were deported to Babylon.  When the Jews returned half a century later, they found those who remained had intermarried with the Canaanites and Assyrians, and despised them for their lack of purity.  Both Jews and Samaritans looked for the coming Messiah, but after their exile the Jews rebuilt their temple on Mount Zion, while the Samaritans had a rival temple on Mount Gerizim.

Who is ‘the Samaritan woman’? 

In Jesus’ time there were strict rules that separated men from women; so in speaking to this woman, Jesus is ‘breaking the rules’ of first-century gender relationships.  Note also that this woman comes to the well in the middle of the day, rather than in early morning with all the other women.  (Is she avoiding the other women?  Are the village women ostracizing her?)  Whatever her status, this woman speaks directly to Jesus, and she questions him without timidity.  After talking with Jesus, she leaves her water jar (the reason she came to the well in the first place!) to run back to the villagers (whom she was avoiding) to tell them about him: “Could this be the Messiah?”

Who is this Jesus? 

Jesus tells the Samaritan woman, “Those who drink of the water that I will give them will never be thirsty. The water that I will give will become in them a spring of water gushing up to eternal life.”   The woman said to him, “Sir, give me this water, so that I may never be thirsty or have to keep coming here to draw water.”   Jesus is saying that he has access to the source of living water, the life of the Spirit of God; and the woman, even while giving her sarcastic reply, longs for this living water – because she leaves her jar at the well, and runs back to the village to tell people about Jesus.

 What does ‘the bucket’ mean to you?

Last Thursday, as various people commented on this reading, our conversation began to focus on the bucket, which the village women used to draw the water.

Without the bucket, no one could reach the water at the bottom of the well.  But while necessary, the bucket is also a symbol of the rules and restrictions we human beings always put around the Holy.

Can the bucket symbolize the boundaries that separate people – the boundaries that divide one people from another (Jews from Samaritans, Russians from Ukrainians, blacks from whites, poor from rich, gay from straight….)?

Can the bucket symbolize the boundaries that separate genders – the social rules that prescribe one way of life for men, another way of life for women?   (Note: in my always-reliable Dictionary of the Bible, ‘the Good Samaritan’ (one of Jesus’ stories in Luke’s Gospel) is listed, but there is no entry at all for ‘the Samaritan Woman’ (one of Jesus’ most important encounters in John’s Gospel.  Why is this?)

Can the bucket symbolize the boundaries that separate ‘true’ from ‘false’ faiths – the creeds that separate the orthodox from heretics, Jews from Samaritans, Christians from Jews, Catholics from Protestants?

Can the bucket – even as holy a bucket as the church – ever contain all the ‘living water’?

Questions for the Journey (4)

Sunday, March 30: Fourth Sunday in Lent
Seeing through the Eyes of a Woman Preacher

John 9:1-41

What follows is an excerpt from Barbara Brown Taylor’s new book, LEARNING TO WALK IN THE DARK. Barbara Brown Taylor is an Episcopal priest, a renowned preacher, a former parish pastor, and now a seminary professor.  I include this excerpt here not only because it is a profound meditation on John 9:1-41, but because it helps us to understand what we are missing when we can’t hear the voices of women preachers.  

The Return of the Prodigal Son
Rembrandt, 1642

What do you see in Rembrandt’s sketch of the prodigal son?   What I see is a father – a father who is falling to his own knees under the heavy weight of his son.

Becoming a parent is one of the life experiences that can teach you about the deep love of God. 

As a parent, you feel such deep love for your child, and as their life goes on you keep on loving – it’s not possible to stop.  But you don’t have to be a physical parent to feel this kind of this love.  Perhaps you’ve adopted a child, helped raise a niece or nephew or a grandchild…. Perhaps you’ve grown very close to the child of a friend…  Or maybe you feel the beginnings of this kind of spontaneous love, right now, as you see one of these little ones here at St. Benedict’s.

Most of us, in our different vocations, have experienced this kind of love.  We’ve been teachers or mentors for younger people; we became attached to them, we even came to love them at a deep level – and we still love them years later, even when they have disappeared into their own lives.

Life gives every one of us opportunities to love:  To watch someone grow up – physically or professionally; to protect them when they’re in danger – real or imagined; to cheer them on when they’re successful, comfort them when they are crushed; to pray for them when they’re hurting, counsel them when they need help – and to step aside when they go their own way.

Rembrandt has to have understood this love – among other tragedies in his own life, four of his five children died as infants. In this painting, the weight of the father’s love for his son is heavy, almost too heavy to bear.

Andrew’s story

We also have a son who went away.  Like the son in Jesus’ parable, our son Andrew has plunged, over and over again, into the depths of homelessness and despair.

At 18, Andrew left home to begin his new life in California.   First he lived in his car, then moved in with his grandparents, then helped take care of his dying grandfather…  After his grandfather died, he had his first psychotic break, but when his grandmother insisted he go for psychiatric help, he went back onto the streets instead.

At 23, he joined the Navy, ending up in the Persian Gulf during the first Iraq War.   The night before the war started, he called us.  At the urging of the commanding officer, all the men on the ship called their parents, or their wives or sweethearts for a last conversation… But although all on his ship survived, we didn’t hear from Andrew again for three years.

At 27, he did come home again, bruised from life on the streets and clearly mentally ill.  While in the Navy, he had other psychotic breaks – and a few months before he came home, the Navy had given him a medical discharge. Like so many veterans with mental illness, Andrew was back on the streets again.

In the 20 years that have passed since then, Andrew has never had a home.  He has gone from his own apartments to living on the streets, he has gone on and off medication, back and forth to hospitals and VA group homes…  He still dreams of living independently, of being in charge of his own life – and the last time we talked with him he told us that he doesn’t want to talk to his family – not until he’s back in charge of his own life..

And so we have to love him from a great distance. As parents, we not only feel love, but we know we’re called to keep on loving even when it hurts.  As a family – parents, a brother, a sister – we know our family was not only created in love, we are called to keep on loving.

As a faith community, created by Christ’s love, we are called to be a people who keep on loving. 

Henri Nouwen’s story  

Rembrandt painted The Return of the Prodigal Son in the middle of the 17th century.   Three centuries later another Dutchman, Henri Nouwen, wrote a book with the same title – a meditation both on Jesus’ parable and on Rembrandt’s painting.*  Nouwen was a Catholic priest who influenced Christians from many denominations; Rembrandt probably leaned towards Protestantism, although he never joined a church.  But Rembrandt’s painting and Nouwen’s writing, created more than 300 years apart, both show us how Jesus’ parable illustrates God’s love.

In his meditation, Nouwen first identifies with the prodigal son.  In The Return of the Prodigal Son, Nouwen writes,  [The world has] “many voices, voices that are loud, full of promises and very seductive.  These voices say, ‘Go out and prove that you are worth something.’  These voices suggest that I am not going to be loved without my having earned it… They want me to prove – to myself and others – that I am worth being loved…. They deny loudly that love is a totally free gift…  (p. 36)

“I am the prodigal son every time I search for unconditional love where it cannot be found. …‘Addiction’ might be the best word to explain the lostness that so deeply permeates contemporary society.  Our addictions make us cling to what the world proclaims as the keys to self-fulfillment: accumulation of wealth and power; attainment of status and admiration; lavish consumption of food and drink, and sexual gratification without distinguishing between lust and love…. (p. 38-39)  Whatever the son had lost, be it his money, his friends, his reputation, his self-respect, his inner joy and peace – one or all – he still remained his father’s child.  And so he finally says to himself: ‘I will leave this place and go to my father.’  With these words in his heart, he was able to turn, to leave the foreign country, and go home.  (p. 44)   But leaving the foreign country is only the beginning.  The way home is long and arduous…  While I walk home, I keep entertaining doubts about whether I will be truly welcome when I get there…  I still think about God’s love as conditional – and about home as a place I am not yet fully sure of.”  (p. 47)

As his meditation continues, Nouwen also identifies with the loving, yearning Father.  He writes, “Looking at the way Rembrandt portrays the father, there came to me a whole new understanding of tenderness, mercy, and forgiveness.  Every detail of the father’s figure – his facial expression, his posture, the colors of his dress, and, most of all, the still gesture of his hands – speaks of the divine love for humanity that existed from the beginning and ever will be.  The near-blind father sees far and wide.  His seeing is an eternal seeing, a seeing that reaches out to all of humanity.  It is a seeing that understands the lostness of women and men of all times and places, that knows with immense compassion the suffering of those who have chosen to leave home… The heart of the father burns with an immense desire to bring his children home.  Oh, how much would he have liked to talk to them, to warn them against the many dangers they were facing. How he would have liked to pull them back with his fatherly authority and hold them close to himself so that they would not get hurt. But his love is too great to do any of that.  It cannot force, constrain, push, or pull.  It offers the freedom to reject that love, or to love in return.  (p. 88) 

“It is precisely the immensity of the divine love that is the source of the divine suffering.  As Father, he wants his children to be free, free to love.  That freedom includes the possibility of their leaving home, going to a ‘distant country,’ and losing everything.  The Father’s heart knows all the pain that will come from that choice, but his love makes him powerless to prevent it… As Father, the only authority he claims for himself is the authority of compassion… (p. 89)

And so, Nouwen concludes:  “Here is the God I want to believe in: a Father who, from the beginning of creation, has stretched out his arms in merciful blessing, never forcing himself on anyone, but always waiting; never letting his arms drop down in despair, but always hoping that his children will return so that he can speak words of love to them and let his tired arms rest on their shoulders.  His only desire is to bless.”  (p. 90)

From Rembrandt’s painting, Nouwen learned about the deep joy and unbearable pain of loving – and through Rembrandt’s brush Nouwen heard the call to keep loving when it’s hard, just as God continues to love us.

As children of God, can we keep showing each other how much God loves us?   We can learn from each other, as Nouwen learned from Rembrandt; and we can support each other, as we all struggle with the pain of loving.

Because – above all, because – because we are loved, we are called to be people who keep on loving.

*  Henri Nouwen, The Return of the Prodigal Son:
A Meditation on Fathers, Brothers, and Sons.  Doubleday, 1992. 

This sermon was preached at St. Benedict’s Episcopal Church, in March, 2013.
To protect our son’s privacy, it was not posted at the time.

Robert Andrew Ross died in his sleep on February 18, 2014.

Last fall, he called us for the first time in six years, and we had a long and wonderful conversation with him.  He asked all about his family and told us about his passions – his computer, I-Pad, television, and his beloved Ohio State teams.  He sounded like the ‘REAL’ Andy we’ve all known –
the Andy who loved everything and everybody.   

Throughout his adult life, Andy struggled to believe in a loving God.
Like many people with severe mental illness, he felt God judged him very harshly.

In faith, we believe that Andrew is at peace, and that he now knows
that he has always been held in the arms of his heavenly Father.

The Parable of the Prodigal Son

All the tax collectors and sinners were coming near to listen to Jesus. And the Pharisees and the scribes were grumbling and saying, “This fellow welcomes sinners and eats with them.”  So Jesus told them this parable:

There was a man who had two sons. The younger of them said to his father, “Father, give me the share of the property that will belong to me.” So he divided his property between them.

A few days later the younger son gathered all he had and traveled to a distant country, and there he squandered his property in dissolute living. When he had spent everything, a severe famine took place throughout that country, and he began to be in need. So he went and hired himself out to one of the citizens of that country, who sent him to his fields to feed the pigs. He would gladly have filled himself with the pods that the pigs were eating; and no one gave him anything. But when he came to himself he said, “How many of my father’s hired hands have bread enough and to spare, but here I am dying of hunger! I will get up and go to my father, and I will say to him, ‘Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you;   I am no longer worthy to be called your son; treat me like one of your hired hands.’

So he set off and went to his father. But while he was still far off, his father saw him and was filled with compassion; he ran and put his arms around him and kissed him.  Then the son said to him, “Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you; I am no longer worthy to be called your son.”   But the father said to his slaves, “Quickly, bring out a robe – the best one –and put it on him; put a ring on his finger and sandals on his feet. And get the fatted calf and kill it, and let us eat and celebrate; for this son of mine was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found!”  And they began to celebrate.

Now his elder son was in the field; and when he came and approached the house, he heard music and dancing. He called one of the slaves and asked what was going on.  He replied, “Your brother has come, and your father has killed the fatted calf, because  he has got him back safe and sound.”  Then he became angry and refused to go in.

His father came out and began to plead with him. But he answered his father,  “Listen! For all these years I have been working like a slave for you, and I have never disobeyed your command; yet you have never given me even a young goat so that I might celebrate with my friends. But when this son of yours came back, who has devoured your property with prostitutes, you killed the fatted calf for him!”

Then the father said to him, “Son, you are always with me, and all that is mine is yours. But we had to celebrate and rejoice, because this brother of yours was dead and has come to life; he was lost and has been found.”

from the Gospel of Luke (15:3, 11b-32)

Sometimes Jesus seems to speak in riddles.

When he says (Matthew 5:13-20),  “You are the light of the world…  If you light a lamp, put it on a lampstand, so it can give light to the whole house…”    We get it.   Light is meant to be seen.  Jesus is telling us that when we let God’s light into our lives, then it can shine out into the world around us.

(But how do we let God’s light into our lives?  And how do we become so radiant that God’s light shines through us into the world around us? )

Jesus goes on to say,  “Do not think that I have come to abolish the law or the prophets; I have come to fulfill the law.  So I tell you, unless you are more righteous than the scribes and Pharisees, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.”   Is he saying we need to keep the law in every particular?  Is he saying we need to be perfect to enter the kingdom of heaven?  And if he really means that, how can we do it?

(Every time I try to be perfect, it only takes a minute or two before I’ve goofed up again.)

How can we live perfectly?  We can’t. 

Since no one is perfect, every religion offers a way back home when people stray from their spiritual guidelines.    For Jews, Yom Kippur – Day of Atonement – is the holiest day of the year, a day to fast and atone for the sins of the past year.   For Muslims, Ramadan is a month of fasting, along with prayer, holy reading, and almsgiving.  For Christians, Lent is six weeks of prayer, fasting, and other ways of self-denial.

There seems to be a human need for repentance and atonement: Jewish tradition calls for 25 hours of fasting and intensive prayer on Yom Kippur, and much of this time is spent in synagogue services. Even secular Jews, who not observe any other Jewish custom will refrain from work, fast and attend synagogue services on Yom Kippur. Rabbis report around the world that attendance soars on Yom Kippur!   And in Christian churches, Lent is still the time of year when clergy can get more people to come to worship, take on special disciplines, and even turn up for extra study.

In our first reading (Isaiah 58:1-12), the people are gathering for their days of fasting and repentance.

The reading begins with God speaking to the prophet. God tells Isaiah to be a trumpet, a shofar, to call people to repentance: Shout out, do not hold back! Lift up your voice like a trumpet!  Announce to my people their rebellion, to the house of Jacob their sins. 

But the people end their day of prayer and fasting with frustration, asking God,   “Why do we fast, but you do not see? Why humble ourselves, but you do not notice?” So, God says to the people:

Look, you serve your own interest on your fast day.
Isn’t this the fast that I want: for you to loose the bonds of injustice,
to let the oppressed go free, to share your bread with the hungry,
and bring the homeless poor into your house?
Then your light shall break forth like the dawn,
and your healing shall spring up quickly…

If  you offer your food to the hungry and satisfy the needs of the afflicted,
then your light shall rise in the darkness and your gloom be like the noonday.

Both Isaiah and Jesus are telling us that the purpose of fasting, prayer and self-denial is not to help us feel better about ourselves.  And even the most rigorous spiritual disciplines will not give us a ‘get out of jail free card’ so we can keep doing the same old thing. The goal of any spiritual discipline is to let God’s love rule, let God’s light shine – in us and in the world around us.

But we get so used to our old ways of doing things – our patterns of worship, our practices of self-denial, even our charities – that we get stuck in them.  All of us –   Christians, Muslims, Jews, Buddhists, everyone.  We are like players in an endless Monopoly game, thinking that if we go around the board again, we will be rewarded with more money, more possessions, more happiness.  That will show that God accepts us and blesses us with good things!

Even when Isaiah and Jesus, in their wisdom, tell us that’s not how the world works… we still keep trying to play the same old game.

I think this is the reason why Jesus seems to speak in riddles.  Riddles and parables put things together that don’t belong together, even things that are impossible together.  Things like our flawed, imperfect selves, and a kingdom that only admits the perfect.

(If you and I have to be perfect to enter the kingdom of heaven, but you and I can’t ever quite achieve perfection, what are we to do?   Maybe our problem isn’t that we’re not perfect – maybe our problem is that we don’t understand what ‘perfect’ is.)

The word we translate ‘perfect’ in the gospels does not mean flawless – it means complete.  And to be complete is to be fulfilled – and for human beings to be fulfilled they must turn outwards to others, rather than turning inward to themselves.

Jesus wants to shock us into a new reality – of what it really means to be fulfilled as human beings.  Isaiah also wanted to shock people into a new reality.  But when Isaiah used his voice like a shofar – trying to blast people awake with the trumpet – could it be that the people were people were used to the shofar blowing (always an integral part of Yom Kippur).

How can people hear something new?

For our English ancestors, the call to prayer came not with the blowing of the shofar but with the sound of church bells.

When I first came to St. Paul’s Church in Cambria, Loren was the chief usher.  Loren was a former PG&E lineman, used commanding large groups of men installing electric lines across Southern California.  Loren ran his ushers’ crew like he ran the PG&E crews, and he rang the bells with the same precision: first he rang the bell 10 times, then waited several minutes…. Then he rang it 10 again, followed by another wait……….At the precise moment worship was to start, he rang the bell 3 last times! 

After I had been at St. Paul’s for a while, I got up my nerve to ask Loren how he  knew when to start ringing the bells.  I was sure there was a precise formula that he followed, but I couldn’t see him checking the clock…  And I was right – no clocks were involved.  Loren began to ring them when he heard the bells of the Baptist Church several blocks away – and he instructed the other ushers to always ring the Episcopal bells louder!

But whenever  Loren saw someone approaching the church who needed help with the steps – even in the middle of his precise bell-ringing – he stopped what he was doing and went to help.  Yes, the routine of the bells was important to Loren, but the needs of people always came first. 

Late in the 19th century, Percy Dearmer – an English priest and poet deeply concerned with social justice – asked himself whether people could change their habits and hear their old church bells in a new way.   To villagers hearing the bells day after day, Sunday after Sunday, the bells were saying:

Do your duty, come to church…
Repent, try again….
Fast on Ash Wednesday, deny yourself desserts,
Sit through longer church services and meditate on your sins even more –
and then God will like you better.

But what if the church bells could sound not a call to duty but a call to joy? What if church bells could become, not a reminder of looming punishment but a reminder of God’s  overflowing love?  And what if praying together under those bells could bring people gladness, taking them away from their own imperfections and into the great love that God has for them? Most important, what if their bells could turn people from worrying about their own sins to worrying about the needs of others?

And so Percy Dearmer wrote a hymn based on Isaiah, a parable set to music, a riddle complete with bells.*

Now quit your care and anxious fear and worry;
for schemes are vain and fretting brings no gain.
Lent calls to prayer, to trust and dedication; God brings new beauty nigh;
Reply, reply, reply with love to love most high.
Reply, reply, reply with love to love most high.

To bow the head in sackcloth and in ashes,
or rend the soul, such grief is not Lent’s goal;
but to be led to where God’s glory flashes, God’s beauty to come near.
Make clear, make clear, make clear where truth and light appear.
Make clear, make clear, make clear where truth and light appear;

 For is not this the fast that I have chosen?
(The prophet spoke) To shatter every yoke,
of wickedness the grievous bands to loosen, oppression put to flight,
To fight, to fight, to fight ‘til every wrong’s set right. 
To fight, to fight, to fight ‘til every wrong’s set right.

For righteousness and peace will show their faces
to those who feed the hungry in their need,
and wrongs redress, who build the old waste places, and in the darkness shine.
Divine, divine, divine it is when all combine! 
Divine, divine, divine it is when all combine!

Then shall your light break forth as doth the morning;
your health shall spring, the friends you make shall bring
God’s glory bright, your way through life adorning; and love shall be the prize.
Arise, arise, arise! and make a paradise! 
Arise, arise, arise! and make a paradise!

* To hear the music, go to  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fxLJV7NmoQw 
(Although I must admit that Diana Hammerlund, John Cribb and St. Benedict’s congregation sung a more rousing version this morning!)

Preached at St. Benedict’s Episcopal Church, Los Osos on February 9, 2014

John exclaimed, “Look, here is the Lamb of God!”
When they heard John say this, they followed Jesus.
John 1:29-42

In her sermon last Sunday, Caroline Hall reflected on this reading from John’s Gospel.  She reminded us that – just like Andrew and Peter – we begin to be disciples when we begin to spend time with Jesus, building a relationship with his Spirit, a relationship which leads us to the living God.

There are so many ways to build a relationship with God, but one way is the time we spend together in worship.

In a practice that goes back in time at least 2,500 years, people seeking God have come together to sit in silence to hear the words of Torah/Bible, and then respond to the Word through songs and prayers that also come from Scripture.

And so the Jews of Jesus’ time gathered weekly in their synagogues to hear, sing and reflect on the sacred scriptures.   Imagine Jesus as a little boy, sitting with his family in the synagogue, listening to the words of the prophet Isaiah:  The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light; those who lived in a land of deep darkness – on them light has shined. What could those words of Scripture have meant to Jesus?

Like Jesus, like his family, like their ancestors and descendants, we are surrounded by Scriptures every week when we gather for worship.  And if we listen, the Holy Spirit will speak to us through the Scriptures we hear.

So – what do you hear in this passage from Isaiah?

There will be no gloom for those who were in anguish. In the former time he brought into contempt the land of Zebulun and the land of Naphtali, but in the latter time he will make glorious the way of the sea, the land beyond the Jordan, Galilee of the nations.   

The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light; those who lived in a land of deep darkness – on them light has shined.  You have multiplied the nation, you have increased its joy; they rejoice before you as with joy at the harvest, as people exult when dividing plunder. For the yoke of their burden, and the bar across their shoulders, the rod of their oppressor, you have broken as on the day of Midian.  Isaiah 9:1-4  

And – what do you imagine when you hear Isaiah’s words set to music?

(To hear a version Handel’s ‘The People That Walked in Darkness’ go to  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gKjsWLyZens)

In this passage from Isaiah, the prophet gives us a picture of how God imagines life for the people who live on our planet:  God imagines a place of justice, a place of hope, a place of light and life.

Whenever the Scriptures are read, we need to open our ears and our hearts to what God imagines for us.

Yesterday I spent some time with a friend who has gone through one back surgery after another as rheumatoid arthritis has attacked her spine.  The latest surgery – two weeks ago now – left a scar from just below her neck to the base of her spine.  She is in so much pain, she is so tired, she is so hoping that this will be her last surgery.

This morning another friend is with her, and they are saying Morning  Prayer together.  They’re saying the same psalm we have just chanted (Psalm 27).

What do you feel when you say this psalm?

God is the strength of my life; of whom shall I be afraid?  

God is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear?
God is the strength of my life; of whom shall I be afraid?
One thing have I asked of God; one thing I seek;
that I may dwell in the house of God all the days of my life;

God is the strength of my life; of whom shall I be afraid?

To behold the fair beauty of God and to seek God in the temple.
For God shall keep me safe in shelter in the day of trouble,
hide me in the secrecy of a dwelling, and set me high upon a rock.
Even now God lifts my head up above my enemies round about me.
Therefore I will sacrifice in God’s tent with sounds of joy
I will sing and make music to God. 

God is the strength of my life; of whom shall I be afraid?  

Hearken to my voice, O God, when I call;
have mercy on me and answer me.
You speak in my heart and say, “Seek my face.”
Your face, God, will I seek.
Hide not your face from me, nor turn away your servant in displeasure.
You have been my helper. Cast me not away;
do not forsake me, O God of my salvation.

God is the strength of my life; of whom shall I be afraid?

What are your deepest fears, your greatest hopes?  What does the Spirit tell you God wants for you and your life?  What is your prayer for those you love, who are in pain and afraid, yet still hope for God’s comfort and healing?

And what do you hear in today’s Gospel?

 When Jesus heard that John had been arrested, he withdrew to Galilee. He left Nazareth and made his home in Capernaum by the sea, in the territory of Zebulun and Naphtali, so that what had been spoken through the prophet Isaiah might be fulfilled: “Land of Zebulun, land of Naphtali, on the road by the sea, across the Jordan, Galilee of the Gentiles–the people who sat in darkness have seen a great light, and for those who sat  in the region and shadow of death light has dawned.”

 From that time Jesus began to proclaim, “Repent, for the kingdom of heaven has come near.” As he walked by the Sea of Galilee, he saw two brothers, Simon, who is called Peter, and Andrew his brother, casting a net into the sea – for they were fishermen.  And he said to them, “Follow me, and I will make you fish for people.” Immediately they left their nets and followed him. As he went from there, he saw two other brothers, James son of Zebedee and his brother John, in the boat with their father Zebedee, mending their nets, and he called them.   Immediately they left the boat and their father, and followed him. Jesus went throughout Galilee, teaching in their synagogues and proclaiming the good news of the kingdom and curing every disease and every sickness among the people.  Matthew 4:12-23

At the moment we begin to listen, we begin to become disciples.

If we love someone dearly, we want to listen to them.  And yet I’m discovering, after all these years of knowing and loving my husband, that sometimes I don’t listen to him.  Maybe his voice is so familiar it seems part of the background of my life; or, I’m so sure I know what he’s going to say that I don’t listen. I’m learning to stop and ask him, “Would you say that again from the beginning? I wasn’t listening…”   And if I really listen, sometimes I hear something new.

After all these years of hearing the Scriptures on Sunday mornings, sometimes I don’t listen.  Maybe they’re so familiar they’ve become part of the background of my life; or, I’m so sure I know what they mean that I don’t think I need to listen.  And if I really listen, I often hear something new.

If we really listened to the Scriptures, what would we hear?

What would we feel?

What would we imagine? 

And what would we do?

“Follow me, and I will make you fish for people!”
Immediately they left their nets and followed Jesus.
Matthew 4:12-23

St. John the Baptist in Prison, by Fahmy Eshak (Palestinian)

Seventy years ago this morning, the great pastor and theologian Dietrich Bonhoeffer had already been sitting in Hitler’s prison for eight long months.   Bonhoeffer was a founding member of the Confessing Church in Germany, which emerged when the Nazis took control of the German Protestant Church.

Neatly dressed, elegantly literate, warmly pastoral, Bonhoeffer would seem to have been the opposite of John the Baptist, but Bonhoeffer also stood firmly against a vicious regime and its religious collaborators.

Even in prison, Bonhoeffer was still a pastor to the other prisoners, and connected to the outside world as well.  Over the two years he spent in prison before his execution, sympathetic guards helped to smuggle his letters to the world outside.  In one letter Bonhoeffer wrote,

A prison cell, in which one waits, hopes – and is completely dependent on the fact that the door of freedom has to be opened from the outside – is not a bad picture of Advent. * 

How can our Advent become a door to freedom?

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Luke 23:33-43

Jesus is not alone on the cross.  There are three men and three crosses – all surrounded by armed soldiers and a milling crowd.  Some in the crowd watch in silence; but others shout like fans at a football game, inspired by their cheerleaders. In the uproar one of the dying men joins the crowd in shouting at Jesus, but the other man defends him and says, ‘Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.’

What does it mean, to ‘remember’?  There’s a difference between what the word meant to the people of the Scriptures, and what it means to us today.  We think of a ‘memory’ as a thought we carry around in our own heads; and we think of ‘remembering’ as the process of searching our brains for things said and done yesterday or long ago.   But for the Hebrews, memory was communal (shared by everyone through story-telling); and concrete (it was not a mere mental exercise, but restored a living relationship with the original people and activities).

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