Saint Anger No More

And there's always a place for the angry young man 

With his fist in the air and his head in the sand 

He's never been able to learn from mistakes 

He can't understand why his heart always breaks 

His honor is pure, and his courage as well 

He's fair and he's true, and he's boring as hell 

And he'll go to his grave as an angry old man.

~Billy Joel “Angry Young Man”

"Rage Face"

I meet quite of few of these people. People who will go their graves angry. Truth be told, they break my heart and they motivate me to be more forgiving.  

I want to be more forgiving because I don’t want to go to my grave as an angry old man. I screw up a lot: I’m still learning my vocation, and I’m still learning how to be a good husband, and I’m still learning how to be a good father, and I’m still learning how to be a good son and brother. And in the midst of this learning, I am able to recognize my own need for grace and forgiveness.  And in recognizing my own need I cannot help but recognizing the that the other has the same need.

We must develop and maintain the capacity to forgive. He who is devoid of the power to forgive is devoid of the power to love. There is some good in the worst of us and some evil in the best of us. When we discover this, we are less prone to hate our enemies.-Martin Luther King, Jr.

But more than simply recognizing that the other has the same need for grace as I do, I want to be more forgiving because it has the ability to free me from being angry. 

I’m still learning this.  Just want to say that up front.

If I forgive the other (whether the other is a person or an institution or a situation), the other no longer has control of me on an emotional level, or on a spiritual level.  

I remember facilitating a study called Companions in Christ, The Way of Forgiveness.  The author of the study said something along the lines of this, “Forgiveness frees us from the power of another person’s nightmare.” As I scoured the Internet looking for this quote I came across this one:

"Not to forgive is to be imprisoned by the past, by old grievances that do not permit life to proceed with new business. Not to forgive is to yield oneself to another's control...to be locked into a sequence of act and response, of outrage and revenge, tit for tat, escalating always. The present is endlessly overwhelmed and devoured by the past. Forgiveness frees the forgiver. It extracts the forgiver from someone else's nightmare.”-Lance Morrow

I have told this to many people in words less eloquent than Marjorie Thompson (the author of The Way of Forgiveness) or Lance Morrow. So maybe I’m just putting this up here as a reminder to myself of these quotes; to save them for future reference, perhaps?

But to be honest there’s a part of me that hopes that someone reading this needs to read those quotes and can begin the process of forgiving the other.

It really is a process, too. I can’t say how much I wish that I could just flip a switch and the work of forgiving was done. But I find that the more I live, the more I am faced with reality that forgiving the other is a long, ofttimes painful, process. And the prayer that accompanies us along the way are the words “I believe, Lord; help my unbelief.” (Mark 9:24)  These words help me accept that I cannot do this work alone, but that I have the desire to step out onto the path that may lead me to forgiving. And to be on the path to forgiving means I’m on the path to not being angry about that event any more.

I wish that we were able to get through life without encountering people and situations that cause us pain. But since that’s not going to happen, it’s helpful for us to learn the capacity to forgive.  Otherwise, we just end up being angry. And the more angry we are at the other, the less we want to trust the other.  And we won’t just distrust the other that has done us harm; we will begin to distrust all the potential others who may bless us and we end up being angry and alone.

Some of you may be thinking that I’m just being naive, that forgiving others just makes it easier for others to take advantage of us. Maybe you’re right, but that’s a risk I’m willing to take.

(I’m stewing a post about how naivety is probably more of a virtue than a vice, so look for more on that topic later.)

Jan 11, 2014 -- Baptism of the Lord

Photo at The Yellow Spring in Glen Helen Reserve in Yellow Springs, Ohio;
photo credit: Jennifer Dawson

Grace, peace, and mercy are yours in the name of the Triune God…

I always enjoy the opportunity to preach on this particular day in the cycle of the Church year.  For the traditions of the Church that follow the lectionary calendar, the first Sunday after the feast of the Epiphany is called the Baptism of the Lord.  In the Eastern Orthodox Church, the Baptism of the Lord is called Theophany—which means a manifestation within creation of God’s uncreated glory.

I enjoy preaching on this particular Sunday in the cycle of the Church calendar because it is the anniversary of my Baptism.  I was baptized on Theophany at Saint Innocent Orthodox Church in Eureka, California.  It was a typical North Coast of California day for January.  Cool mist hung in the air, the sky was gray.  The community had brought the font into the Nave of the Church and filled it with a water hose connected to the outside spigot.  There was a lot of ritual, which I don’t specifically recall; what I do recall is the triple dunking in the cold water—the water from the hose connected to the spigot outside— and how that on the third dunk I didn’t have the chance to take a good breath, so when I came up and gasped for air it was like my first breath all over again.  I also remember that as I stepped out of the font the clouds parted briefly and the sun shone through the church windows.

Then there were the words I spoke to my friend a few months later, “I think it would be kind of cool to be a priest someday.”  (But that conversation, and that part of my story, is for another time.)

I love preaching for Baptism of the Lord because it’s my re-birth day.  But this isn’t about my story.  This is about the narrative of Jesus’ Baptism by John in the river Jordan and the text we just heard and what that text might say to us today.

Mark’s Gospel is a fast paced read.  Many commentators speak of immediacy as a theme of Mark’s Gospel.  In the first chapter the word “immediately” occurs eight times, depending on the translation and throughout the gospel “immediately” occurs almost 40 times.  Mark wants to communicate to his listeners who Jesus is and what Jesus did.  

So…who is Jesus?  Mark 1:1 says this: “The beginning of the good news of Jesus Christ, the Son of God.”  This is how Mark begins his gospel.  There is no birth narrative in Mark’s Gospel.  Coming out of the Christmas season where we are surrounded by the word pictures of Matthew and Luke telling us about how the birth of Jesus came to be and shepherds and angels and magi, we now get Mark’s gospel which begins at a sprint by saying, “the beginning of the good news of Jesus Christ, the Son of God.”  And since there are no angels appearing to Mary or Joseph—since Mary and Joseph don’t have roles in the opening of Mark’s gospel—we have the Baptism of Jesus.  This moment, where the heavens are opened and the dovelike Spirit descends and the voice from heaven declares, this is the moment where Mark establishes that in the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus God is breaking into the world—and the uncreated glory of God is manifest in creation—the Kingdom of God is here.

Pretty cool, but what’s the Baptism of Jesus have to do with the Church today?

One pastor wrote, “The glory of our Lord is not just a spectacle. He comes to save us and make us new people. God forgives us, heals us and sends us. God will give us missions and challenges beyond anything we can imagine.” (Robert B. Slocum, Forward Day By Day, 10 Dec 14)

This is precisely what we are confronted with the baptism of Jesus.  If we hold that Jesus’ Baptism was a moment of Theophany, a manifestation of God’s glory, then we have a choice of letting it be a spectacle trapped in a single moment in time or letting it be alive and real in the world today.

God appeared to Abram and blessed him to be a blessing, Abram and Sarai became Abraham and Sarah; Jacob wrestled with God through the night, refusing to let go until God has blessed him; Jacob’s name became Israel and he never walked the same after meeting with God; God appeared to Moses in a burning bush and Moses became the liberator of slaves, leading them to the promised land.  Isaiah has a vision of God in the heavenly throne room, cries out in fear and then says, “Here am I; send me!”

The glory of our Lord is not just a spectacle.  To be a witness to these moments is an invitation to transformation.  To be a witness to these moments is to hear God’s call to be a blessing, to have our walk changed for the rest our lives, to liberate those who are enslaved and lead them to freedom.

What does the Baptism of the Lord have to do with the Church today?  Everything.

I know a church that reminds the congregation of these words every week: “God loves you exactly where you are; but God isn’t content to leave you that way.”  We are baptized with the Baptism of Jesus, not the baptism of John (Acts 19 talks about this distinction) and with the Baptism of Jesus we, like Jesus, have the Spirit of God take up residence within us, and, again like Jesus, have the voice of God call us the Beloved.  We are marked with the Cross of Christ and sealed by the Holy Spirit forever.

Baptism is identity and purpose.  Our identity is that of beloved.  Our purpose is to live as beloved.  To recognize we are blessed to be a blessing.  We called to speak the name of beloved over others, to call forth that identity from within them.

Henri Nouwen says it like this: “Claiming your own blessedness always leads to a deep desire to bless others…the blessed one always blesses. And people want to be blessed! …we can have no illusions about the darkness. The loneliness, the homelessness, the addictedness of people are all too visible. Yet all of these people yearn for a blessing. That blessing can only be given by those who have heard it themselves.”

Make no mistake, the loving purposes of God are found in the waters of Baptism.  The desire of God is for us to awaken to our identity as Beloved, as blessed ones! But with the acceptance of that identity comes the acceptance of purpose.  Of loving as we have been loved.  

Let me give you something to take into your devotional and prayer time this week—if you’ll have it—I need to contemplate these things as much as anyone else does.  First, spend time receiving the gift of being Beloved.  Sit with that knowledge, regardless of whatever voices you may have lurking around the edges; voices telling you that you need to “prove that you are worth something… so that you will earn the love you desire,” sit with the gift of being Beloved. Let this voice be the core of your identity: “You are my Beloved, with you I am well pleased.”  Second, ask God how you might live as the Beloved, and look for those who would cross your path this week who need to hear that.  Frustrated spouses, cranky or sad children, people who are looking to the world as a source of life and find only frustration and sadness.

Like I said, I need to contemplate these things as much as anyone, so I hope you’ll hear my offering with love.

New Year's Eve

A New Year's Eve tradition.

"I am no longer my own, but thine.

Put me to what thou wilt, rank me with whom thou wilt.

Put me to doing, put me to suffering.

Let me be employed by thee or laid aside for thee,

exalted for thee or brought low for thee.

Let me be full, let me be empty.

Let me have all things, let me have nothing.

I freely and heartily yield all things

to thy pleasure and disposal.

And now, O glorious and blessed God,

Father, Son, and Holy Spirit,

thou art mine, and I am thine. So be it.

And the covenant which I have made on earth,

let it be ratified in heaven. Amen."

("A Covenant Prayer in the Wesleyan Tradition," #607 in The United Methodist Hymnal)

Advent 1 - Pop Goes the Weasel

Advent is my favorite season of the church year.  Advent is a time of year where I try hardest to slow down and look and listen.  It is also a time of year where there seems to be so many things going on that slowing down is close to impossible and when the season closes out I find the “If only…” thoughts rolling through my head.

As I looked through the various readings in this week’s lectionary I was struck by the prophet Isaiah’s cry for the heavens to be torn open and for God to be revealed. I was especially intrigued by this bit: “When you did awesome deeds that we did not expect, you came down, the mountains quaked at your presence.” (Isa 64:4)

There is so much more going on in this text, but I couldn’t help but stop and think about how many times I wait for God do again, in a startling way, what God has done before.  Most of us are looking for God to do something remarkable in our lives, in our communities, in our churches, in our world.  We’re looking for God, waiting for God, but we’re waiting for the pattern that shows us that God is working.  Our expectation of awesome deeds isn’t an expectation of surprise, but an expectation of routine, of tradition (or traditions).

A little over 16 years ago, my family and I drove across country to visit with extended family for Christmas and New Years. I was still in my “spiritual but not religious” frame of mind, but we went to Christmas Eve services with my family because that’s what you do when you visit family.  One of the most vivid memories I have comes from this visit.  It was the end of the service and the lights were off and the candles were lit and the congregation was singing “Silent Night.”  My Dad was holding my six-month old daughter up in front of him and singing to her and my vision clouded and somewhere deep inside of me the constricting bands around my heart broke to let God in.

Maybe this is why Advent is so precious to me.

But this is also why I slow down and look for God because at a time in my life when I wasn’t looking, God snuck in.  I am a creature of habit, I love my routines and my patterns, and if I’m not careful I will only look for God to sneak in during sentimental moments.

On the other side of the prophet Isaiah is the Mark’s Gospel which has Jesus telling his listeners to keep awake because you do not know when the Master will return. (Mark 13:35-37)  Readers and scholars and pastors all talk about this being a Second Coming text—and it is—but I can’t help but take it paralleled with Isaiah and hear that refrain of “don’t look for God to keep doing the same old thing; don’t think you know how or when God will arrive.”  Have a willingness to be surprised by God’s arrival.

I was born in the early 70s and one of the toys I remember (or found so frightening that I can’t forget) was the old school Jack-in-the-Box.  You turned the handle while a little music box played “Pop Goes the Weasel” and at the end the lid popped open and a spring loaded clown jumped out.  It was frightening, exhilarating, fun and then you got old enough to see the pattern and it quickly lost any appeal.

Advent is too precious to me to get locked in to the same old patterns of looking for God to erupt into our world.  I should be expecting a surprise.  I should be looking for awesome deeds I don’t expect.  

Maybe you’ll join me on the journey.

Sheep, Goats, Baptism and Archeology

I listened to a sermon recently that spoke of the Imago Dei--that part of God's self woven into our very person (see Genesis 1:26-28 to get the full story) and on Christ the King Sunday (or Reign of Christ Sunday), a large potion of the Church will hear the parable of the sheep and the goats from Matthew's Gospel (which won't unsettle half as many people as it should…myself included…but that is a rant into the void for a different occasion).

This particular celebration of Christ the King Sunday I also have the honor of Baptizing a baby boy who is less than a month old.  I have the privilege of gathering with the community of faith and entering into a covenant to call forth the Imago Dei in the life of this child as he grows from infancy to adulthood.

I also recognize the challenges of being faithful to that covenant in an inherently transient community that is the military.  I most likely won't even see this baby boy's childhood much less his adolescence or adulthood because I will move, and his family will move, and even the face of this community where we entered into this covenant will change as people move.

But we join in the covenant anyway because covenant isn't about tangible results, it is about faith.  Having faith that the parents will be true to the covenant to keep this baby boy in a community of faith that will call forth the Imago Dei from within him and that God will continue to water that image with his own Spirit.  And having faith that someday, this baby boy will recognize that within everyone is the same Image of God that we called forth from within him.  

Calling forth the Imago Dei and reminding the community to do that is what I see in Matthew's parable this particular go around.  In Matthew's parable Jesus reminds us that when we serve the "least of these" we are serving Him. With this parable, Jesus is stomping his foot, tapping the proverbial podium, so that the Church will get it.  "This is testable material."  And to know that is to remember that within each human is the Image of God; but it's also to remember that to bear the Imago Dei is to carry the responsibility of acting as God would act--to participate in creation as God would participate in creation--and to use our acts of mercy as a way of calling forth the Image within from those who may look like anything but God.

I remember being in Italy for a mission trip/transcultural trip and stopping with our host on the street as he engaged a homeless man who was wrestling a discarded and obviously broken suitcase out of a dumpster.  Our host spoke to the man in his own language, even though they weren't from the same country, and as he spoke to the Image of God within this frustrated and broken human being, something changed as this unearthed image came forth. And the man wept, and I wept as I witnessed this thing happening.  

When I think of Jesus saying that the ones who do not care for the least of these have also not cared for him, I think of it as Jesus trying to scare the Hell out of us so that we work the Hell out of our world.  Because when the homeless are ignored, when the strangers go without welcome and hospitality, or when the thirsty go without anything to drink--well the world is kind of a Hellish place.  And if we are comfortable living in Hell now, well then maybe we won't really notice any difference later.

But God doesn't want that, and as I looked at this tiny little baby we washed with water and the Spirit, I knew that I didn't want that; I don't want that.

In third grade I wanted to be an archeologist; in college I was preparing to be an art history professor.  When I ponder what it is to get at the Image of God, I can't help but think of people who are dedicated to the original beauty of something--archeologists gently working the dust off of ancient finds, art historians carefully restoring a work of art to its original glory.  It's time consuming and perhaps a little tedious.  But so very worth the investment.

Risky Business?

Treasure Map…because what's most valuable gets hidden, right?

Stories about people in authority leaving subordinates in charge of property usually do not end very well.  Think of the movie Risky Business.  The young man portrayed by Tom Cruise begins celebrating his freedom by dancing in his underwear, sock feet, and sunglasses, singing “Old Time Rock n Roll” by Bob Seger.  Pretty innocuous, right?  But by the end of the movie he’s running a prostitution ring out of his parents’ house to make up the money needed for ruining his father’s Porsche.  

It seems that when stories are set up with parents, land owners, whomever, leaving someone in charge who is not normally left in charge, who would not normally receive massive amounts of responsibility, the outcome is bad news.

There is a parable that begins with the words, “A man going on a journey, summoned his slaves and entrusted his property to them.”  And between three slaves he splits eight talents—one slave gets five, the second gets two, and the third gets one talent.

Maybe we should get on the same page about this word talent.  A talent is a monetary unit worth more than fifteen years’ wages.  So slave one gets 75 years’ wages, slave two gets 30 years’ wages, and slave three gets 15 years’ wages.  Approximately.

But before we get stuck in the rabbit hole of wage comparison—and financial understanding of what that kind of money looks like today—we need to stop.  We need to stop because this parable isn’t about the money.

No, this isn’t a Jerry Maguire parable that’s all about “Show me the money!” (TWO Tom Cruise references so far…I’m not trying, really I’m not…)

It’s not about the money.

It’s about fear.

The slave who was entrusted with 15 years’ wages dug a hole in his back yard and buried it.  All of it.  Why?  Because that’s a lot of money to be trusted with and he knows—just like most of us would—that if that money got stolen—or if he wrecked his master’s Porsche in the Lake—that he would be up a creek with nary a paddle.  A slave can’t generate that kind of money.

But it’s not about money.  It’s about fear.

This slave is afraid of his master.  He’s afraid of what will happen if he does something with the money and he loses it, or if someone steals it.  He’s afraid.  He doesn’t trust his master to be merciful or forgiving.

So what does this have to do with us?  Because it’s not about money. 

I’ve talked in churches past about spiritual gifts because that is such an easy thing to bash people over the heart and head with…

“Look at what God has given you, can’t you see God wants a return on investment?”

No matter which way you do this, it all ends in fear.  Because the one who doesn’t give a return on investment gets tossed into outer darkness…and knows weeping and gnashing of teeth…and all that happiness…

But when you start with the slave’s fear, when you start with his lack of trust in his master, and when you understand that parables are usually about how God wants to relate with the world and wants the world to relate to one another and with God, then maybe I shouldn’t end in a place that says, “Use what God has given you…or else!” 

Maybe we start with “Don’t be afraid to risk the most precious thing God has given you.”  Because the ones who weren’t afraid of risking these super-duper valuable things entered into joy.

And truth be told, I can’t think of a more valuable trust than the ministry of reconciliation.  I can’t think of a greater treasure we can receive than that.

And truth be told, there are times I bury that thing in my backyard; not because I’m afraid it will be stolen…but because I’m afraid of what it means to risk forgiving someone.  I mean really forgiving them.  And so I miss out on entering into the joy of a full and grace-filled relationship.  And sometimes--especially when we bury that gift--those relationships wither in a place like death.

Sad isn’t it?  But maybe you relate.

I want to enter into joy. I want to know the depths of grace.  I want to risk sharing it with everyone.  I want to feast at the banquet where all of us can gather in joy and know the freedom that comes with not being afraid.

Shabbat and Sea Glass

A tiny bit of sea glass mixed in with shells and coral on Okuma Beach.

I spent a few days this past weekend on retreat with the Jewish community my wife belongs to.  On Saturday morning we walked the beach looking for sea glass.  It took me a while to slow down and appreciate the contemplative nature of searching for sea glass.

(I guess it's been a while since I've let myself slow down…)

In case you don't know what sea glass is, when broken glass bottles are tossed into the sea, the waves beat it against the bottom of the ocean, breaking the glass even more, and the coral, the sand, and the waves take broken jagged glass and offer up polished glass stones of a variety of colors: blue, green, white/clear, green, etc.

You have to be slow and observant when looking for sea glass.   Not every piece of glass is ready to be picked up.  Not every piece  of glass has been smoothed and polished by the crushing waves, sand and coral.  Some of it has still has jagged edges, and if you aren't careful will cut you as you try to pick it up.  Others are smooth and polished.

I have no idea how long it takes for sea glass to become smooth, or how much time must pass between the "not-yet" and the "ready."  I don't know if it depends on the glass, or on the environment, maybe it's a mixture of both.  

What I did notice is that the smooth and polished sea glass, isn't shiny glass any more, the sand and the coral and the waves have made the glass more opaque, a little hazy.  What makes it polished is that you can run your fingers around the edges and not get hurt.  You can handle "ready" sea glass and it does no harm to you.  

I couldn't help but think about humans as I looked for sea glass.  We all get broken from time to time and some of us, sometimes, take longer to heal than others.  It's a process.  We go from jagged to a little less jagged to polished and smooth. 

I don't know how much time it takes.  Maybe, like the glass, we each need the right environment to take the edges off.  But my hope is that we're each on the way to becoming something beautiful.  

And maybe, just maybe, if we take the time to slow down and look, we'll see that in each other.