Cuba Christian Church
Proverbs 31:10-31
Psalm 1
James 3:13-4:3, 7-8a
Mark 9:30-37
“The Paradox of Humility”
For years, servanthood ministry has been a term for the kind of service and ministry that we do for one another as Christians—and it’s a good term. But sometimes, servanthood and leadership combined makes servanthood showy or conceited. For example, a person I knew many years ago who was in leadership within our denomination borrowed the words and symbols that pointed to servanthood, but seemed to carry that servanthood as a mantle of glory. In other words, that person’s humility became a place and time for boasting.
Instead, perhaps we can practice a humility of friendship—egalitarian servanthood rather than hierarchical servanthood. People in relationship serve one another—not because one has more or less resources—or is respected more or less. We serve because we are all the same on the inside—created by God in God’s own image.
Mark’s gospel was written—and Jesus taught—within a society of incredibly strict social hierarchies. These power relationships were seen as permanent—unchangeable. Romans had more power than Jews, unless they were inside the temple itself. Men had more power than women, whose status was based on their husbands or fathers. Children and slaves had little to no power and could be killed without penalty in most cases. Each had very little real worth—though they were obviously loved within family relationships. An egalitarian relationship was rare because most people had differing status even within close relationships. When Jesus said his life would be forfeit and then brought a child to their attention as a model of personhood, he was striking at the very heart of their understanding of power.
Teachers and leaders like Jesus were supposed to wield power in an obvious way—holding authority like a sword or scepter of a king. Even though they recognized Jesus’ power, it was often difficult for the disciples to really understand what it was that he was doing with it. Yet Jesus was different—he used his power to uplift others rather than rule them. He had confidence in the power of God, so that he didn’t have to defend it or prove it, he simply relied upon it.
The gospel text today begins with Jesus’ second affirmation of his death and his resurrection. He stated it plainly, “Son of Man is to be betrayed into human hands, and they will kill him, and three days after being killed, he will rise again.” But such confidence in his own submission and God’s power was so outside of the normal way of doing things that Jesus’ disciples continued to be confused by it.
We look back at those disciples and wonder that they didn’t trust Jesus’ obedience even to death and submission to God’s purpose for him, but I don’t think we understand that kind of humility any better than they did. We may have a clearer idea of equality in our society, but humility has never been the way of the western world.
Humility, in my mind, is becoming so accustomed to serving others that we do it naturally, without thought. However, we have to realize that serving others takes time to become a habit in most cases. And we have to realize that that service is not to be coerced—it is not a matter of fear, but a matter of power given to another.
Humility comes from the choice to be humble—humility is not require of someone without the opportunity to choose. It’s a paradox. We are called to humility—and we are called to empower those without power so that each one can choose humility and service for oneself.
There are people all around us who have no voice—some of us feel that kind of powerlessness at times. And there are times when those who have no voice to speak need to be given the power and the voice so that we can hear about humility.
When the gospel of Mark was written, the Roman Empire was the cultural power of the world. The structure and government of the Romans was the tool by which most of the western world was ruled; the disciples and Jesus’ followers within the Roman world were powerless in the face of the Empire. The message of humility was given to people who may not have had power over their surroundings, but needed humility in the midst of day to day relationships. They needed to realize that with power came the responsibility not to destroy people using it. At times in Jesus’ teaching he reminds them of this, but it takes a long time to understand. Human beings often have to live that kind of humility and understanding a long time before they can really live it.
Jesus explained that people who had power were going to arrest and kill him—and that he would come out on the other side of death. That death was not the irreversible defeat it was assumed to be. He was trying to show them that God was still God of all, even death. Their conversation revealed their misunderstanding.
He first told them, “I will live this message of God, revealing my love for all creation to the point of inevitable death. I will show you that my love is not overcome by death.” And then they turn around and argue about who was the greatest among them. He said, “I will be your salvation because I will die and you fight and argue over status and power? I will live the mission that God gives me even though God and I both know it will be violently rejected and you wonder who has more status in the kingdom of God? Listen to me and watch what I do.
“I serve others. I heal their wounds and take away their illnesses. I absorb their brokenness and give them wholeness. I take what you have called impurity and uncleanness and give them a status within their relationships again. Every moment I choose to follow the mission I have been given. Yet you think that one of you will be great and rule over the others.
“If you have no more worth and status in society than this child, then you can count on greatness. . . if you follow God’s mission to you expecting no more than death, as I do, then you are one of the kingdom. If you realize that kingdom doesn’t mean ease of living or power over anyone, then you might be seeing it in small part.
Even today misunderstanding is often the case. We are told that unless we take power, wealth, status or praise, none will be given. Yet in scripture after scripture, God resists that kind of power—power over others instead of the humility of power shared among equals.
Honestly, I have watched this church reveal that kind of understanding over the years in many ways—we aren’t perfect, but it has been done in some amazing ways. That doesn’t mean that we are wealthy or powerful or have a guarantee of success, the reward for humility is knowing that humility is God’s will.
We have refused, at times, and maybe without conscious realization that the approval of the community is not a good way to make a decision. We have gone ahead with our choices for leadership at times when there were murmurs from other quarters about those who lead us. We don’t always speak clearly of our choices—we humbly continue on about the journey.
And we aren’t perfect about our humility—but I think that’s important, too, because it helps us understand what we need to stand up and say and when we need to simply stand and let our actions speak for us. Humility sometimes means being misunderstood—as I’m sure Jesus could have told us as he heard his disciples speak of power and greatness even as he contemplated the results of his own obedience to the mission that God had given him.
Whenever we bring people to the center of influence that we hadn’t formerly listened to: in church, in other times and places, like family conversations or in work situations, then we embrace humility. When we acknowledge that within our relationships as a mother or father, grandmother or grandfather, teacher, preacher, husband, wife, adult or grown child that we don’t know all the answers and can listen and act on others’ words or wisdom, we embrace humility. As adults, we can listen to children. As teachers, we can hear what students are saying in bits and pieces through action and conversation. As parents, we can hear what children of different ages say and do, truly taking it seriously, realizing our mutual humanity. As husbands and wives, we can look to one another with respectful recognition of one another’s actions—knowing we are equal partners, though not exactly the same. And as a pastor, I can recognize real humility and try to live up to the examples I see.
A faithful life, as Jesus lived it, meant embracing the paradox of God’s own wisdom as God released humanity to live in relationship with one another. God taught and spoke through many people, who were imperfect and sometimes not so humble. God walked in the life of Jesus in completion, showing us that humility wasn’t about being ashamed of who we are as woman or man, husband or wife, adult or child—but embracing what God has made us to be and living it within God’s will, not more or no less.
We are called to be humble—yet be all that God has created us to be. As the epistle to James teaches, we are called to live the kindness that comes from wisdom, not allowing abuse toward us or another, but healthy humility, not more than we are, but certainly not any less. We are called to be humble within the purpose and mission that God calls us to live—not to be humiliated because another wants power.
Jesus’ triumph over humiliation and abuse to the point of death reveals that that is not God’s will—that death is to be defeated by life given as a gift of God.
Let us take the voice of purpose that we are given—let us live the life of intentional kindness and gentleness that God gives—not because we are no better than slaves, but because we are called to take our places within the kingdom of God as servants because that is the high and humble place to which we have all been called as disciples of Jesus Christ.
In the name of God: Author of life, Redeemer from death, Sustainer of living. Amen.
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
Saturday, September 19, 2009
Sermon September 6 2009
Cuba Christian Church
Proverbs 22:1-2, 8-9, 22-23
Psalm 125
James 2:1-10, (11-13), 14-17
Mark 7:24-37
“Favoring Justice”
In most human cultures over most of human history, people have been taught that, as a general rule, there were kinds of people who were good or acceptable and kinds of people who were bad or unacceptable. Over time and in different places, those differences have been defined differently. In some places, good and evil seemed a factor of gender: men were stronger and more powerful in some ways, so it seemed that they had been blessed by God more than women. Or, in some places, women were deemed superior because they had the power and means to reproduce other human beings—the contribution of men was a mystery. Sometimes certain families were able to claim a special relationship to God through their ancestry. Egypt’s kings and queens were called the sons and daughters of God so that family had a lot of power over the rest of the people. And God spoke to Abraham and claimed him and his descendents as God’s very own people—they were a unique group of people who claimed God’s protection in a unique way.
And over time, traditions and beliefs were taught based on the stories of their experiences of God with their ancestors, tribes and families. Some of those traditions were based on God’s intention for them and others were based on observation of how life works. Some folks—if you read the first testament had the idea that God’s blessing would be evident in a person’s life through the existence of monetary abundance and the accumulation of wealth. There is a narrow stream of scripture and tradition that seems to support the idea that wealth meant God’s approval of one’s choices and lifestyle—even to the point that the best people lived the longest. But also within scriptural tradition—even within one type of scripture—is the idea that God plays favorites by choosing to side with the least powerful. The amazing breadth of the bible means that we can hear God’s guidance in powerful places as well as in the least powerful people and places.
We like to categorize people because it’s easier to understand most things if we divide them into clear categories. We get into trouble when we start designating worth according to those categories. A few years ago at the regional assembly, we were shown a survey/quiz that asked questions that were designed to hear how racial presumptions had changed over the decades. One question was about sports—it went something like, “Of the following groups of people, which is more likely to be involved in basketball? Answers: A. Jewish people; B. African American people; C. Chinese American people; D. East Indian American people.” Most of those at the assembly, no matter what their race, answered B. African American. Then the presenter began to explain that in the early part of the twentieth century, because basketball has always been a more urban sport, people would have been more likely to answer A. Jewish people. The presumptions we make about races change because cultural and societal situations shift. Both answers to the question were correct in different generations, and that’s the thing about categories of people; they shift with time and place—they are temporary truths, not eternal ones.
The scriptures today talk about partiality between the privileged and the unprivileged—or the rich and the poor—or the ones with power and the ones without. Though the groups that are in power and out of power tend to shift and change over time—the poor of whatever group are on the bottom and the rich tend to float to the top.
When Jesus was approached by the woman in the gospel text today, however, there was no indication that she was poor—only that she was in need. Her daughter was suffering in some way—an unclean spirit, it says—that prevented her from the life that she would have healthily led. And Jesus responds to her need in an unusual way, his response indicated that he was sent to minister to the Jewish people and that he wasn’t sure about the rest of the world—the Gentiles. He said that the dogs do not eat food the children need, referring to a common insult paid to Gentiles from their Jewish neighbors. But she insisted that dogs get leftovers—scraps—so she was due something, wasn’t she?
Jesus’ response wasn’t immediately compassionate and it may have sprung from a cultural limitation—what could he really do for someone not descended from the people God had chosen? Yet her answer reveals that Jesus’ message of love could be spread to all creation—not just the children who were seated at the table, but all who were able to receive a little scrap of it.
When she revealed the actual need—the despair, sorrow and loss— brought on by her daughter’s condition Jesus saw that his message and work of wholeness was valuable to Gentiles, too. One scholar writes that, “Because of her tenacity, her commitment to her daughter’s healing, and her ability to use the “power of the weak” in a positive and life-giving manner, she also becomes the catalyst for moving Jesus to acknowledge his ministry of the gentile people.”[1] By reframing the situation—it was not about Jew and Gentile in this place. In her words is the truth that Jesus’ ministry was about the weak and needy no matter who they were.
As I have said, our categories are important in helping us remember what goes on around us—they are how we are able to speak of people and events in our lives—but they cannot be the way that we decide who gets help and who does not. We can’t even use our own sense of like and dislike—we are called to move back away from common categories of inclusion and exclusion and instead try and understand that each person and all humans contain the image of God, no matter who they are or what they have done.
There are certainly aspects of racism that come up when we read this text from Mark’s gospel and they may be uncomfortable because they reveal that Jesus also learns from people in his life. And he learns in ways that reveal the limitations of his humanity rather than the eternal ways he is the Son of God. But instead of this making us uncomfortable, perhaps we can see it as the hope that all of us are growing into our humanity—and into the image of God within us.
That doesn’t mean that we can be complacent about who we are and what we do because Jesus’ humanity was like our own—I believe instead that it reveals the potential that we have, not only as individuals, but more certainly as the whole body of Christ. We cannot expect perfection in ourselves—but we can expect that we are ever moving toward God’s will for us in all arenas. We are never old enough to retire from Christianity and we are always expected to do the ministry of Christ in the lives of those around us.
One author defines racism “in terms of the denial of human feelings, aspirations to life, and depth of spirit. Racism assumes a “shallowness” in the other that expresses itself in elitist attitudes and inhuman, exclusivist behaviors.” [2] I believe that we all tend to make snap judgments at times about other races and we do it about other categories of people, too. Women and men talk about one another that way—husband jokes, blond jokes, sexist jokes in general are all about this judgment of shallowness and lack of real humanity in the other. Different ages tend to do this sometimes—ageism is also about pealing away the humanity of another person due to the limitations that come with age. We joke about this, too, but when the jokes turn to judgment and suspicion, we are turning away from God’s love for each another.
All of us feel pain and happiness, sorrow and joy, depth of emotions that tie us to one another in our humanity. Over the years, I believe that these depths of emotions and our understanding are what have made people of all kinds, categories, groups and types realize our relationships with one another. When we deny the feelings that we share, we will ignore the common need and forget Jesus’ ministry of caring. But when we hold onto that understanding of that depth of feeling, we are one long step on the way to making racism—and all the other “isms”—a thing of the past, at least in a systematic way.
Let us hear the pain in the voices of those who come to voice their need—for an ear to hear, a hand to hold, a sharing of resources, or even when we are asked to add our voices to their own so that others will hear their story. I believe the story in the gospel lesson is that kind of story in some ways—a story of a woman outside the people of the covenant who insisted that God’s promises were more inclusive that anyone had realized at that point.
God’s favoritism stands with those in need—whatever the need, according to the Proverbs, “22Do not rob the poor because they are poor, or crush the afflicted at the gate; 23for the Lord pleads their cause and despoils of life those who despoil them.”[3] According to the epistle of James, “Has not God chosen the poor in the world to be rich in faith and to be heirs of the kingdom that he has promised to those who love him? 6But you have dishonored the poor.”[4]
Let us in all things favor justice for all people—not just for ourselves or those like us, but to move our lives and society in ways that more readily reflect the justice that God calls us to live. Let us in our imperfect and flawed ways, move toward acting in ways that reveal the God in us who favors justice for all—not just for some or some like us.
To the glory of God—the God of justice and grace. Amen.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
[1] The Syrophoenician Woman: A South Asian Feminist Perspective from A Feminist Companion to Mark,ed. by Amy Jill Levine/ Ranjini Wickramaratne Rebera. Copyright © Pilgrim Press 2004, in Seasons of the Spirit, Pentecost 2 2009.
[2] Raimon Gaita, A Common Humanity: Thinking about Love and Truth and Justice, in Seasons of the Spirit, Pentecost 2.
[3] Proverbs 22:22-23
[4] James 2:5b-6a
Proverbs 22:1-2, 8-9, 22-23
Psalm 125
James 2:1-10, (11-13), 14-17
Mark 7:24-37
“Favoring Justice”
In most human cultures over most of human history, people have been taught that, as a general rule, there were kinds of people who were good or acceptable and kinds of people who were bad or unacceptable. Over time and in different places, those differences have been defined differently. In some places, good and evil seemed a factor of gender: men were stronger and more powerful in some ways, so it seemed that they had been blessed by God more than women. Or, in some places, women were deemed superior because they had the power and means to reproduce other human beings—the contribution of men was a mystery. Sometimes certain families were able to claim a special relationship to God through their ancestry. Egypt’s kings and queens were called the sons and daughters of God so that family had a lot of power over the rest of the people. And God spoke to Abraham and claimed him and his descendents as God’s very own people—they were a unique group of people who claimed God’s protection in a unique way.
And over time, traditions and beliefs were taught based on the stories of their experiences of God with their ancestors, tribes and families. Some of those traditions were based on God’s intention for them and others were based on observation of how life works. Some folks—if you read the first testament had the idea that God’s blessing would be evident in a person’s life through the existence of monetary abundance and the accumulation of wealth. There is a narrow stream of scripture and tradition that seems to support the idea that wealth meant God’s approval of one’s choices and lifestyle—even to the point that the best people lived the longest. But also within scriptural tradition—even within one type of scripture—is the idea that God plays favorites by choosing to side with the least powerful. The amazing breadth of the bible means that we can hear God’s guidance in powerful places as well as in the least powerful people and places.
We like to categorize people because it’s easier to understand most things if we divide them into clear categories. We get into trouble when we start designating worth according to those categories. A few years ago at the regional assembly, we were shown a survey/quiz that asked questions that were designed to hear how racial presumptions had changed over the decades. One question was about sports—it went something like, “Of the following groups of people, which is more likely to be involved in basketball? Answers: A. Jewish people; B. African American people; C. Chinese American people; D. East Indian American people.” Most of those at the assembly, no matter what their race, answered B. African American. Then the presenter began to explain that in the early part of the twentieth century, because basketball has always been a more urban sport, people would have been more likely to answer A. Jewish people. The presumptions we make about races change because cultural and societal situations shift. Both answers to the question were correct in different generations, and that’s the thing about categories of people; they shift with time and place—they are temporary truths, not eternal ones.
The scriptures today talk about partiality between the privileged and the unprivileged—or the rich and the poor—or the ones with power and the ones without. Though the groups that are in power and out of power tend to shift and change over time—the poor of whatever group are on the bottom and the rich tend to float to the top.
When Jesus was approached by the woman in the gospel text today, however, there was no indication that she was poor—only that she was in need. Her daughter was suffering in some way—an unclean spirit, it says—that prevented her from the life that she would have healthily led. And Jesus responds to her need in an unusual way, his response indicated that he was sent to minister to the Jewish people and that he wasn’t sure about the rest of the world—the Gentiles. He said that the dogs do not eat food the children need, referring to a common insult paid to Gentiles from their Jewish neighbors. But she insisted that dogs get leftovers—scraps—so she was due something, wasn’t she?
Jesus’ response wasn’t immediately compassionate and it may have sprung from a cultural limitation—what could he really do for someone not descended from the people God had chosen? Yet her answer reveals that Jesus’ message of love could be spread to all creation—not just the children who were seated at the table, but all who were able to receive a little scrap of it.
When she revealed the actual need—the despair, sorrow and loss— brought on by her daughter’s condition Jesus saw that his message and work of wholeness was valuable to Gentiles, too. One scholar writes that, “Because of her tenacity, her commitment to her daughter’s healing, and her ability to use the “power of the weak” in a positive and life-giving manner, she also becomes the catalyst for moving Jesus to acknowledge his ministry of the gentile people.”[1] By reframing the situation—it was not about Jew and Gentile in this place. In her words is the truth that Jesus’ ministry was about the weak and needy no matter who they were.
As I have said, our categories are important in helping us remember what goes on around us—they are how we are able to speak of people and events in our lives—but they cannot be the way that we decide who gets help and who does not. We can’t even use our own sense of like and dislike—we are called to move back away from common categories of inclusion and exclusion and instead try and understand that each person and all humans contain the image of God, no matter who they are or what they have done.
There are certainly aspects of racism that come up when we read this text from Mark’s gospel and they may be uncomfortable because they reveal that Jesus also learns from people in his life. And he learns in ways that reveal the limitations of his humanity rather than the eternal ways he is the Son of God. But instead of this making us uncomfortable, perhaps we can see it as the hope that all of us are growing into our humanity—and into the image of God within us.
That doesn’t mean that we can be complacent about who we are and what we do because Jesus’ humanity was like our own—I believe instead that it reveals the potential that we have, not only as individuals, but more certainly as the whole body of Christ. We cannot expect perfection in ourselves—but we can expect that we are ever moving toward God’s will for us in all arenas. We are never old enough to retire from Christianity and we are always expected to do the ministry of Christ in the lives of those around us.
One author defines racism “in terms of the denial of human feelings, aspirations to life, and depth of spirit. Racism assumes a “shallowness” in the other that expresses itself in elitist attitudes and inhuman, exclusivist behaviors.” [2] I believe that we all tend to make snap judgments at times about other races and we do it about other categories of people, too. Women and men talk about one another that way—husband jokes, blond jokes, sexist jokes in general are all about this judgment of shallowness and lack of real humanity in the other. Different ages tend to do this sometimes—ageism is also about pealing away the humanity of another person due to the limitations that come with age. We joke about this, too, but when the jokes turn to judgment and suspicion, we are turning away from God’s love for each another.
All of us feel pain and happiness, sorrow and joy, depth of emotions that tie us to one another in our humanity. Over the years, I believe that these depths of emotions and our understanding are what have made people of all kinds, categories, groups and types realize our relationships with one another. When we deny the feelings that we share, we will ignore the common need and forget Jesus’ ministry of caring. But when we hold onto that understanding of that depth of feeling, we are one long step on the way to making racism—and all the other “isms”—a thing of the past, at least in a systematic way.
Let us hear the pain in the voices of those who come to voice their need—for an ear to hear, a hand to hold, a sharing of resources, or even when we are asked to add our voices to their own so that others will hear their story. I believe the story in the gospel lesson is that kind of story in some ways—a story of a woman outside the people of the covenant who insisted that God’s promises were more inclusive that anyone had realized at that point.
God’s favoritism stands with those in need—whatever the need, according to the Proverbs, “22Do not rob the poor because they are poor, or crush the afflicted at the gate; 23for the Lord pleads their cause and despoils of life those who despoil them.”[3] According to the epistle of James, “Has not God chosen the poor in the world to be rich in faith and to be heirs of the kingdom that he has promised to those who love him? 6But you have dishonored the poor.”[4]
Let us in all things favor justice for all people—not just for ourselves or those like us, but to move our lives and society in ways that more readily reflect the justice that God calls us to live. Let us in our imperfect and flawed ways, move toward acting in ways that reveal the God in us who favors justice for all—not just for some or some like us.
To the glory of God—the God of justice and grace. Amen.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
[1] The Syrophoenician Woman: A South Asian Feminist Perspective from A Feminist Companion to Mark,ed. by Amy Jill Levine/ Ranjini Wickramaratne Rebera. Copyright © Pilgrim Press 2004, in Seasons of the Spirit, Pentecost 2 2009.
[2] Raimon Gaita, A Common Humanity: Thinking about Love and Truth and Justice, in Seasons of the Spirit, Pentecost 2.
[3] Proverbs 22:22-23
[4] James 2:5b-6a
Sunday, August 30, 2009
Sermon August 30 2009
Song of Solomon 2:8-13
Psalm 45:1-2, 6-9
James 1:17-27
Mark 7:1-8, 14-15, 21-23
“The Voice of Love”
Each one of us is known in particular ways by particular people. Those who love us, husband, wives, and lovers know us and reflect that identity to us—hopefully the most intimate relationship we have. Parents reveal the view of us that is probably one of the most long-term reflection we have—but I’ve noticed that it is sometimes limited in scope. For example, with my mother a favorite food could never change, once you loved spiced grapes in green Jello at 5 years of age, you always love spiced grapes in green Jello. We are sometimes known by friends whose knowledge of us might rival that of a spouse, and hopefully we are honest in those relationships, too. And we are known by friends who are mere acquaintances—those who see the barest reflection of our public selves. There are multitudes of combinations of those who know us—hopefully we know ourselves well enough that each person we meet knows an honest version, if not a completely intimate version of ourselves.
Those who can speak to us honestly and reflect what we say and do are those we can trust to love us honestly. We can be free in those relationships, free to be honest and still be loved.
Wendell Barry wrote a poem about that kind of reflection.
Look in
and see him looking out.
He is not always
quiet, but there have been times
when happiness has come
to him, unasked,
like the stillness on the water
that holds the evening clear
while it subsides
– and he let go
what he was not.
It seems to me that the reflection he writes about reveals the perfect law—the law of liberty that we hear in the epistle James 1:25 “those who look into the perfect law, the law of liberty, and persevere, being not hearers who forget but doers who act—they will be blessed in their doing.” In other words, those who hear and do are those whose inside and outside match. In Wendell Barry’s words, “he let go what he was not.” What do we see when we look in the mirror? Do what we feel and what we do and what we are match? Let us be willing to move toward that kind of congruity.
I’ve heard of an exercise that is suggested for those who don’t find much of worth in themselves. One is told to look into a mirror and, being as objective as possible praise one’s self for what one can see. “You have beautiful eyes; you have beautiful hair; your nose is perfect for your face, etc.” Rather than looking into the mirror and seeing what one doesn’t like, one is encouraged to see the gift that God has made—God obviously likes the eyes God gave and the nose God created. God likes the dimples in those cheeks and the twinkle in the eyes God made. In the reflection that we see and affirm, we are encouraged to live as that beautiful person—not falsely, but truly. In the freedom of a real reflection of who we are, we can really hear that God made us and actually live like we believe that we were not only made by God, but redeemed by God from the slavery of self-delusion and sin through Jesus Christ because we are loved. That is the reflection we are called to see—that reflection of liberty and freedom.
The law of liberty is freeing us to be the whole person God has called us to be rather than the law of limitations that tells us what cannot be. The law of limitations narrows who we are rather than broadens to include all that God made us to be. Instead of only taking a narrow view of who we are, why not broaden our view to include the best that God intends? Let us listen for the voice of love giving us the freedom to live as that love calls us to live.
The most apparent voice of love in the biblical witness is that of the Song of Songs or the Song of Solomon as it is also known. In it, most modern biblical scholars, hear a song of erotic or what we might rather call romantic love. The poetry of this book of the bible is written in the voice of a woman described only as the Shullamite woman in chapter 6. One scholar, Renita Weems, also describes her this way from the portrait described in all 8 chapters. “She is headstrong, passionate, gutsy, and willing to risk the approval of those around her to pursue her own happiness. The feisty, unnamed woman in Song of Solomon is every woman who prays to God for a soul satisfying life, only to turn around and find God forcing her into situations where she must come to grips with her role in making her prayers a reality.”
The woman who speaks throughout this book actively seeks out her shepherd lover and talks about sneaking away with him for rendezvous—she describes his, well, “romantic” words to her with sexual frankness. There have been those through the ages who have wondered why the bible includes such a book. There are also those who have decided that it is an allegorical story in which God is the lover and the church is the woman pursued, yet it is still frankly erotic poetry about physical and romantic love.
My understanding is that it helps the bible reveal the full spectrum of what it means to be a human being—the woman’s frank, open, talk of love, passion, desire and longing remind us that we aren’t just spiritual, rational creatures. We aren’t just high-minded Sunday morning people with proper pretensions. It reminds us, among other things, that sexuality is as old as creation itself—and that God created that part of us, too.
This short book contains the voice of a loved person from beginning to end—and it is unique, too, in that it speaks with the voice of a woman from beginning to end as she describes her love and the words and actions of her shepherd lover. We are reminded in this book that genuine love creates a freedom in us to be who we are—that, to me, is the theological basis for this book in the biblical canon.
While the love that is expressed is not the love that exists between all people—it is a particular kind of expression, it reminds us that love can be frank and honest with the beloved because love guides our words. We can learn, from this book, how important and wonderful it can be to be authentic with all the people we love, including spouses and lovers.
When we love someone or many “someones,” when we share love within a community of common belief and faith, we can honestly share our fears without exaggeration. And we can live accountable to one another without fearing that that accountability will be used as a weapon. I remember saying to someone once that I want to be accountable for my actions—and I was looked at like I was crazy, this person didn’t believe me. Now, I don’t want to be criticized just for the sake of criticism, but I do want to hear and see how it is that my actions are honestly perceived by people. For example, I rarely intentionally hurt people, but I don’t doubt that sometimes what I do is hurtful without me realizing it. I believe that’s true about almost everyone. With the voice and intention of love, can we express those hurts to all those we love and who love us?
The love that is expressed in the New Testament letter called James and the love of the Song of Solomon are different kinds of love—no doubt—yet love in all of its forms calls forth the best from the beloved. Each calls lover and beloved to treat one another well and with kindness, with honesty and hope, with passion and excitement—though with different goals in mind.
In each of these places, the voice of love expresses the desire for the fullest kind of life to be lived—not in activities that destroy, but in action and purposes that build and promote life. The rosy blushes of love and the decidedly less romantic words of righteousness and doers of God’s word still echo with the sound of loving relationship calling forth the delight that God enjoys in all things God has created.
The voice of love speaks from a place of enjoyment. When God calls to us as beloved and we call to one another in expression of that love—God can revel in the love we receive and bear toward one another because it is the most faithful reflection of God’s image in us. With love as the purpose of our choices and action, God knows—and we do, too—that we are more likely to be who God wants us to be. When we fear, which often leads to hate, or are motivated to act out of greed, envy, or obsessive desire we move away from the image that God has created in us. When fear, greed, envy or desire govern us, we don’t express love, but the twisted notion that our sincere and honest self is not what God wants.
The voice of love can be distorted by us because of past experiences like abuse or neglect, by disease or addiction that changes how we perceive or by choices we have made that have pushed those we love away from us. The voice of love from another human being is rarely expressed in exactly the way we need it to be. We can dwell on the limitations of those we love—or we can accept the love we are given by the imperfect spouses, lovers, friends and family members, even with their limitations. Love means saying you’re sorry and knowing that someone will forgive you—and it means hearing true remorse and forgiving.
The voice of love between human beings is never spoken or heard with perfect ears, yet with the love of God in our lives we can move and be flexible in those relationships because we know that we are love with a perfect love by one who knows us inside and out. We can hear the voice of love in the sound of rain falling softly on the field—even when we’re pretty sure we’ve had enough of it—because we are aware that God loves the world that God has created. We can hear the voice of love as we begin to understand the relationships within nature, those of birth, life and death—even in those times when we are forced to mourn the death of loved ones. Love means an honest willingness to face the cycles of birth and life and death with an eye to the everyday miracles instead of the denial of reality.
Let us find at least one way this week and each week to listen for the voice of love in our lives—whether the perfect love expressed by God or the somewhat more flawed love that another human being offers. Let us make an intentional attempt ourselves to reflect those we love in our words, inviting them to hear the love we have for them in whatever form it takes: as friend, acquaintance, husband, wife, father, mother, grandparent, child or grandchild. In other words, show others your love this week—if in no other way that in a very real belief and knowledge that you are truly loved.
In the name of our loving God: creating, redeeming, sustaining love. Amen.
Psalm 45:1-2, 6-9
James 1:17-27
Mark 7:1-8, 14-15, 21-23
“The Voice of Love”
Each one of us is known in particular ways by particular people. Those who love us, husband, wives, and lovers know us and reflect that identity to us—hopefully the most intimate relationship we have. Parents reveal the view of us that is probably one of the most long-term reflection we have—but I’ve noticed that it is sometimes limited in scope. For example, with my mother a favorite food could never change, once you loved spiced grapes in green Jello at 5 years of age, you always love spiced grapes in green Jello. We are sometimes known by friends whose knowledge of us might rival that of a spouse, and hopefully we are honest in those relationships, too. And we are known by friends who are mere acquaintances—those who see the barest reflection of our public selves. There are multitudes of combinations of those who know us—hopefully we know ourselves well enough that each person we meet knows an honest version, if not a completely intimate version of ourselves.
Those who can speak to us honestly and reflect what we say and do are those we can trust to love us honestly. We can be free in those relationships, free to be honest and still be loved.
Wendell Barry wrote a poem about that kind of reflection.
Look in
and see him looking out.
He is not always
quiet, but there have been times
when happiness has come
to him, unasked,
like the stillness on the water
that holds the evening clear
while it subsides
– and he let go
what he was not.
It seems to me that the reflection he writes about reveals the perfect law—the law of liberty that we hear in the epistle James 1:25 “those who look into the perfect law, the law of liberty, and persevere, being not hearers who forget but doers who act—they will be blessed in their doing.” In other words, those who hear and do are those whose inside and outside match. In Wendell Barry’s words, “he let go what he was not.” What do we see when we look in the mirror? Do what we feel and what we do and what we are match? Let us be willing to move toward that kind of congruity.
I’ve heard of an exercise that is suggested for those who don’t find much of worth in themselves. One is told to look into a mirror and, being as objective as possible praise one’s self for what one can see. “You have beautiful eyes; you have beautiful hair; your nose is perfect for your face, etc.” Rather than looking into the mirror and seeing what one doesn’t like, one is encouraged to see the gift that God has made—God obviously likes the eyes God gave and the nose God created. God likes the dimples in those cheeks and the twinkle in the eyes God made. In the reflection that we see and affirm, we are encouraged to live as that beautiful person—not falsely, but truly. In the freedom of a real reflection of who we are, we can really hear that God made us and actually live like we believe that we were not only made by God, but redeemed by God from the slavery of self-delusion and sin through Jesus Christ because we are loved. That is the reflection we are called to see—that reflection of liberty and freedom.
The law of liberty is freeing us to be the whole person God has called us to be rather than the law of limitations that tells us what cannot be. The law of limitations narrows who we are rather than broadens to include all that God made us to be. Instead of only taking a narrow view of who we are, why not broaden our view to include the best that God intends? Let us listen for the voice of love giving us the freedom to live as that love calls us to live.
The most apparent voice of love in the biblical witness is that of the Song of Songs or the Song of Solomon as it is also known. In it, most modern biblical scholars, hear a song of erotic or what we might rather call romantic love. The poetry of this book of the bible is written in the voice of a woman described only as the Shullamite woman in chapter 6. One scholar, Renita Weems, also describes her this way from the portrait described in all 8 chapters. “She is headstrong, passionate, gutsy, and willing to risk the approval of those around her to pursue her own happiness. The feisty, unnamed woman in Song of Solomon is every woman who prays to God for a soul satisfying life, only to turn around and find God forcing her into situations where she must come to grips with her role in making her prayers a reality.”
The woman who speaks throughout this book actively seeks out her shepherd lover and talks about sneaking away with him for rendezvous—she describes his, well, “romantic” words to her with sexual frankness. There have been those through the ages who have wondered why the bible includes such a book. There are also those who have decided that it is an allegorical story in which God is the lover and the church is the woman pursued, yet it is still frankly erotic poetry about physical and romantic love.
My understanding is that it helps the bible reveal the full spectrum of what it means to be a human being—the woman’s frank, open, talk of love, passion, desire and longing remind us that we aren’t just spiritual, rational creatures. We aren’t just high-minded Sunday morning people with proper pretensions. It reminds us, among other things, that sexuality is as old as creation itself—and that God created that part of us, too.
This short book contains the voice of a loved person from beginning to end—and it is unique, too, in that it speaks with the voice of a woman from beginning to end as she describes her love and the words and actions of her shepherd lover. We are reminded in this book that genuine love creates a freedom in us to be who we are—that, to me, is the theological basis for this book in the biblical canon.
While the love that is expressed is not the love that exists between all people—it is a particular kind of expression, it reminds us that love can be frank and honest with the beloved because love guides our words. We can learn, from this book, how important and wonderful it can be to be authentic with all the people we love, including spouses and lovers.
When we love someone or many “someones,” when we share love within a community of common belief and faith, we can honestly share our fears without exaggeration. And we can live accountable to one another without fearing that that accountability will be used as a weapon. I remember saying to someone once that I want to be accountable for my actions—and I was looked at like I was crazy, this person didn’t believe me. Now, I don’t want to be criticized just for the sake of criticism, but I do want to hear and see how it is that my actions are honestly perceived by people. For example, I rarely intentionally hurt people, but I don’t doubt that sometimes what I do is hurtful without me realizing it. I believe that’s true about almost everyone. With the voice and intention of love, can we express those hurts to all those we love and who love us?
The love that is expressed in the New Testament letter called James and the love of the Song of Solomon are different kinds of love—no doubt—yet love in all of its forms calls forth the best from the beloved. Each calls lover and beloved to treat one another well and with kindness, with honesty and hope, with passion and excitement—though with different goals in mind.
In each of these places, the voice of love expresses the desire for the fullest kind of life to be lived—not in activities that destroy, but in action and purposes that build and promote life. The rosy blushes of love and the decidedly less romantic words of righteousness and doers of God’s word still echo with the sound of loving relationship calling forth the delight that God enjoys in all things God has created.
The voice of love speaks from a place of enjoyment. When God calls to us as beloved and we call to one another in expression of that love—God can revel in the love we receive and bear toward one another because it is the most faithful reflection of God’s image in us. With love as the purpose of our choices and action, God knows—and we do, too—that we are more likely to be who God wants us to be. When we fear, which often leads to hate, or are motivated to act out of greed, envy, or obsessive desire we move away from the image that God has created in us. When fear, greed, envy or desire govern us, we don’t express love, but the twisted notion that our sincere and honest self is not what God wants.
The voice of love can be distorted by us because of past experiences like abuse or neglect, by disease or addiction that changes how we perceive or by choices we have made that have pushed those we love away from us. The voice of love from another human being is rarely expressed in exactly the way we need it to be. We can dwell on the limitations of those we love—or we can accept the love we are given by the imperfect spouses, lovers, friends and family members, even with their limitations. Love means saying you’re sorry and knowing that someone will forgive you—and it means hearing true remorse and forgiving.
The voice of love between human beings is never spoken or heard with perfect ears, yet with the love of God in our lives we can move and be flexible in those relationships because we know that we are love with a perfect love by one who knows us inside and out. We can hear the voice of love in the sound of rain falling softly on the field—even when we’re pretty sure we’ve had enough of it—because we are aware that God loves the world that God has created. We can hear the voice of love as we begin to understand the relationships within nature, those of birth, life and death—even in those times when we are forced to mourn the death of loved ones. Love means an honest willingness to face the cycles of birth and life and death with an eye to the everyday miracles instead of the denial of reality.
Let us find at least one way this week and each week to listen for the voice of love in our lives—whether the perfect love expressed by God or the somewhat more flawed love that another human being offers. Let us make an intentional attempt ourselves to reflect those we love in our words, inviting them to hear the love we have for them in whatever form it takes: as friend, acquaintance, husband, wife, father, mother, grandparent, child or grandchild. In other words, show others your love this week—if in no other way that in a very real belief and knowledge that you are truly loved.
In the name of our loving God: creating, redeeming, sustaining love. Amen.
Sermon August 23 2009
1 Kings 8:22-30, 41-43
Psalm 84
Ephesians 6:10-20
John 6:56-69
“Trusting in Uncertain Times”
In conversations with people over the years, I have realized that my experience of home and family is not universal. I was born to parents who wanted me from conception and welcomed into a family who had been excitedly awaiting my arrival. And most children are born to parents who want them—but sometimes those families are in situations where children feel less than welcome.
Sometimes parents feel pressure from their parents or other family members because of financial insecurity or relationship problems. So children may feel insecure because of personal relationships within families themselves. And sometimes children feel insecure within families because of issues beyond the control of individual families. Over certain periods of history some children have been born into cultures that were slowly disintegrating or actively being destroyed. For example, within recent Australian history, young Aboriginal children were forcibly removed from their parents, forever labeling them as the stolen or homeless generations. And this country has similar legacies attached to earlier times when Native American children were removed and “reeducated” in schools that sought to remove native languages and cultures. A home and shelter, it seems to me, are a basic right of every human being, yet in many places in the world and in history it still seems to be something that people have to earn or something to be worthy of.
All of this talk of home and security—of having a shelter and the means to maintain it—reinforces the reality of having a home in God. Having a secure home—or not—as a child can strengthen the desire of security as we grow into adulthood. One of the ways that God can be experienced is that assurance and knowledge of security. Even when we are stripped of security in all other ways, God’s promises of belonging, of security, of hope and of home can carry us through deeply desolate times and places of severe want.
Sometimes when we are panicked, that desire for security can compel us to seek shelter and safety in questionable places and practices. Western culture’s practice of taking native or aboriginal children was one of those practices. Because our ancestors were encountering so many new practices and peoples they didn’t understand, they set out to fix those practices and people to make the strange people more like themselves.
Yet when we really accept where home is and with whom we most belong, we know that God is our home and that God’s household is with whom we most belong. What often may confuse us is how God has invited all to live in and with the community and household that God is building. We may be confused out of a lack of worth for ourselves—if that “wonderful” person is beloved of God, then how can God love me? Or, we may be confused by God’s invitation because we feel that we belong with God and others are so different that they cannot—this isn’t necessarily out of arrogance, we just can’t understand how people so different could be loved by the same God.
But how can we trust God unless we do believe, truly believe, that God loves us unconditionally—despite our weakness, sin, addiction, conceit, or any other thing we are or do. And we can trust that God will do as God has promised—and that those promises are eternal.
Honestly, that’s what makes me feel most at home with God—more at home with God than when I am in the presence of almost anyone else. As I have told others before, I can trust that God understands why I do certain things and make certain choices, I’m not sure other people will understand or give me a chance to explain. Knowing that God loves me and that I can trust God with all the thoughts and feeling of my mind and my heart means that every thought and feeling is a prayer to God in some way. I want to be more intentional and systematic in my prayer life—for my own sense of discipline and structure—but I know that God hears me whether or not I take the time to do it. What conscientious and systematic prayer can do is build our awareness that God is listening to us throughout the day. It’s almost a paradox—we pray on a regular basis, not because God isn’t listening all the time, but because we need to be reminded that God is always listening.
Trusting God and feeling at home in God’s presence can be bolstered by building that relationship—I’ve said it before and I will say it again and again and again, “You can’t know someone you haven’t spent time with, communicating with, sharing your deepest feelings and thoughts—that’s why we pray. And we need to know God’s feelings and thoughts, too, that’s why we study scripture—to hear how others have experienced God’s word and presence in their lives. We need to know God to trust God—and we know God the same way we know others by talking to and listening to God.”
As we know God by staying in relationship with God, we hear Ephesians suggest that praying in the Spirit means being centered in the place and/or person where one belongs, “Finally, be strong in the Lord and in the strength of his power. . . Pray in the Spirit at all times in every prayer and supplication.” This is the opening and closing—the description of wearing the armor of God was Paul’s way of describing how it is that the church could within the strength and power of God. In other places Paul speaks of wearing a new person after baptism—here he continued that way of describing the life of faith in stronger language—speaking of armor and weapons. I read this and heard it this way.
Use what God has given you so that you will survive times of torment and weakness, inside and out. Stand tall so that you can wrap truth around you, holding you together. Live with thoughts and actions centered in Jesus to keep you distant from evil choices, if possible. Wear the comfort of hope and possibility—to reveal the serenity and peace that God gives. Shield yourself always with the faith that you bear—assuring you of God eternal presence, no matter what else may happen. Rely on salvation to protect your heart and grasp firmly the word, knowing it well.
If we pray in the Spirit out of sense of belonging to the body of Christ—the community of the faithful—Paul writes that will awaken compassion as we pray for a minister to all the saints, which are all of God’s people. I believe this means caring for everyone because I believe that everyone belongs to God whether or not they know it. And it requires being centered in a place and being where we belong because compassion takes risk—we risk rejection, loss and pain. When we have compassion, we are with another—from the “com” of the word—in the midst of their feelings of pain, sorrow or other feeling or “passio.”
To have compassion means having the courage to step out into the lives of other people and it means caring in ways that they need, not just in ways that we want to care. Courage means having the heart or “cour” to do something. Though we may think of courage in times of war and violence, courage is necessary in moments where we are called to love and care for as well. In the last few months, I’ve reconnected with several people from high school and have learned about some courageous acts from people I hadn’t heard about for years. One was the little brother of a woman who was in my high school graduating class. My school was smaller than Cuba High, there were only 13 in my class, so I knew most of the high school. Anyway, I saw that he was talking about traveling to Kenya in Africa and had adopted orphaned children there. At one point, he described how his young son had died after a long battle with diseases associated with AIDS. I would never have predicted that kind of courage of him only knowing him as a young kid. In my eyes, that kind of centered compassionate courage can come only from a deep and real relationship and sense of belonging to God. When I asked his sister if he was in ministry, she said, not officially, but yes, that’s how she saw it.
To live the kind of life to which God calls us takes trust in God. In my life the people I trust the most are the relationships where I cultivate conversation and connection, so to cultivate my trust in God, I feel that it is important to be in conversation with God and connect to God regularly. I continue to work on that conversation and connection, not only in prayer time, but in the other ways that I live. We need the courage in difficult and challenging times to reach out in connection rather than to isolate ourselves in survival mode. We have to trust that God has put us here for a reason—other than survival—and continue to educate, minister to and care for people we meet as those who live in the body of Christ have always done in different ways at different times.
When the body of Christ and the life of Jesus are internalized by each of us and by the community we accept our mission as the embodiment of Jesus in a particular time and place. Or as the gospel of John says, “Those who eat my flesh and drink my blood abide in me, and I in them. Just as the living Father sent me, and I live because of the Father, so whoever eats me will live because of me.” We abide in Jesus, not simply because our salvation depends upon our faith and connection, but because we are given life to share, life to give, life to extend toward others. We have a home through the life of Jesus so that God’s intentions for all of humanity can be carried out through us and through all who accept God’s life-giving intentions for creation.
How is it that your connection to Jesus has given you life that can be shared? It’s sometimes hard in the middle of heartache, desolation, loneliness, depression or loss to recognize, but as we look back we realize that our trust in God was affirmed, though it may not have been in the ways that we thought. When a loved one has died, the first desire is to have that person restored to us, to go back to a time before the loss; what God often does instead is weave within us a tapestry of memories that we can experience and learn from. Through the pain that we feel, we are strengthened to minister to others in the midst of their grief and loss if we have allowed ourselves to accept death as an integral part of mortal life. God can heal us; God gives us eternal life; yet God also makes us resilient when we do experience the deaths of loved ones, not only comforting us through the knowledge of resurrection, but revealing truths about ourselves in those losses and giving us strength to grow beyond them.
Our lives in Jesus Christ can be full of life if we allow the heart and hope of Christ to fill us, trusting in the promises that God made thousands of years before and trusting in the promises that we life in now. Let us recall that God’s statement of delight at the sight and sound and taste and touch of creation, “It is good.” And—the implication—it will stay that way with out stewardship. We recall God’s promises of survival to Noah, a promised land and a son to Abraham, a nation to Moses, a throne to David and his descendents and place of belonging for each of the faithful is affirmed throughout each covenant. We can trust in the promises of God—though we may not always receive what we think we want or ask for. But we can trust that God’s love for us is where we belong.
In the name and in the love of God: Life’s Source, Savior, and Sustainer. Amen.
Psalm 84
Ephesians 6:10-20
John 6:56-69
“Trusting in Uncertain Times”
In conversations with people over the years, I have realized that my experience of home and family is not universal. I was born to parents who wanted me from conception and welcomed into a family who had been excitedly awaiting my arrival. And most children are born to parents who want them—but sometimes those families are in situations where children feel less than welcome.
Sometimes parents feel pressure from their parents or other family members because of financial insecurity or relationship problems. So children may feel insecure because of personal relationships within families themselves. And sometimes children feel insecure within families because of issues beyond the control of individual families. Over certain periods of history some children have been born into cultures that were slowly disintegrating or actively being destroyed. For example, within recent Australian history, young Aboriginal children were forcibly removed from their parents, forever labeling them as the stolen or homeless generations. And this country has similar legacies attached to earlier times when Native American children were removed and “reeducated” in schools that sought to remove native languages and cultures. A home and shelter, it seems to me, are a basic right of every human being, yet in many places in the world and in history it still seems to be something that people have to earn or something to be worthy of.
All of this talk of home and security—of having a shelter and the means to maintain it—reinforces the reality of having a home in God. Having a secure home—or not—as a child can strengthen the desire of security as we grow into adulthood. One of the ways that God can be experienced is that assurance and knowledge of security. Even when we are stripped of security in all other ways, God’s promises of belonging, of security, of hope and of home can carry us through deeply desolate times and places of severe want.
Sometimes when we are panicked, that desire for security can compel us to seek shelter and safety in questionable places and practices. Western culture’s practice of taking native or aboriginal children was one of those practices. Because our ancestors were encountering so many new practices and peoples they didn’t understand, they set out to fix those practices and people to make the strange people more like themselves.
Yet when we really accept where home is and with whom we most belong, we know that God is our home and that God’s household is with whom we most belong. What often may confuse us is how God has invited all to live in and with the community and household that God is building. We may be confused out of a lack of worth for ourselves—if that “wonderful” person is beloved of God, then how can God love me? Or, we may be confused by God’s invitation because we feel that we belong with God and others are so different that they cannot—this isn’t necessarily out of arrogance, we just can’t understand how people so different could be loved by the same God.
But how can we trust God unless we do believe, truly believe, that God loves us unconditionally—despite our weakness, sin, addiction, conceit, or any other thing we are or do. And we can trust that God will do as God has promised—and that those promises are eternal.
Honestly, that’s what makes me feel most at home with God—more at home with God than when I am in the presence of almost anyone else. As I have told others before, I can trust that God understands why I do certain things and make certain choices, I’m not sure other people will understand or give me a chance to explain. Knowing that God loves me and that I can trust God with all the thoughts and feeling of my mind and my heart means that every thought and feeling is a prayer to God in some way. I want to be more intentional and systematic in my prayer life—for my own sense of discipline and structure—but I know that God hears me whether or not I take the time to do it. What conscientious and systematic prayer can do is build our awareness that God is listening to us throughout the day. It’s almost a paradox—we pray on a regular basis, not because God isn’t listening all the time, but because we need to be reminded that God is always listening.
Trusting God and feeling at home in God’s presence can be bolstered by building that relationship—I’ve said it before and I will say it again and again and again, “You can’t know someone you haven’t spent time with, communicating with, sharing your deepest feelings and thoughts—that’s why we pray. And we need to know God’s feelings and thoughts, too, that’s why we study scripture—to hear how others have experienced God’s word and presence in their lives. We need to know God to trust God—and we know God the same way we know others by talking to and listening to God.”
As we know God by staying in relationship with God, we hear Ephesians suggest that praying in the Spirit means being centered in the place and/or person where one belongs, “Finally, be strong in the Lord and in the strength of his power. . . Pray in the Spirit at all times in every prayer and supplication.” This is the opening and closing—the description of wearing the armor of God was Paul’s way of describing how it is that the church could within the strength and power of God. In other places Paul speaks of wearing a new person after baptism—here he continued that way of describing the life of faith in stronger language—speaking of armor and weapons. I read this and heard it this way.
Use what God has given you so that you will survive times of torment and weakness, inside and out. Stand tall so that you can wrap truth around you, holding you together. Live with thoughts and actions centered in Jesus to keep you distant from evil choices, if possible. Wear the comfort of hope and possibility—to reveal the serenity and peace that God gives. Shield yourself always with the faith that you bear—assuring you of God eternal presence, no matter what else may happen. Rely on salvation to protect your heart and grasp firmly the word, knowing it well.
If we pray in the Spirit out of sense of belonging to the body of Christ—the community of the faithful—Paul writes that will awaken compassion as we pray for a minister to all the saints, which are all of God’s people. I believe this means caring for everyone because I believe that everyone belongs to God whether or not they know it. And it requires being centered in a place and being where we belong because compassion takes risk—we risk rejection, loss and pain. When we have compassion, we are with another—from the “com” of the word—in the midst of their feelings of pain, sorrow or other feeling or “passio.”
To have compassion means having the courage to step out into the lives of other people and it means caring in ways that they need, not just in ways that we want to care. Courage means having the heart or “cour” to do something. Though we may think of courage in times of war and violence, courage is necessary in moments where we are called to love and care for as well. In the last few months, I’ve reconnected with several people from high school and have learned about some courageous acts from people I hadn’t heard about for years. One was the little brother of a woman who was in my high school graduating class. My school was smaller than Cuba High, there were only 13 in my class, so I knew most of the high school. Anyway, I saw that he was talking about traveling to Kenya in Africa and had adopted orphaned children there. At one point, he described how his young son had died after a long battle with diseases associated with AIDS. I would never have predicted that kind of courage of him only knowing him as a young kid. In my eyes, that kind of centered compassionate courage can come only from a deep and real relationship and sense of belonging to God. When I asked his sister if he was in ministry, she said, not officially, but yes, that’s how she saw it.
To live the kind of life to which God calls us takes trust in God. In my life the people I trust the most are the relationships where I cultivate conversation and connection, so to cultivate my trust in God, I feel that it is important to be in conversation with God and connect to God regularly. I continue to work on that conversation and connection, not only in prayer time, but in the other ways that I live. We need the courage in difficult and challenging times to reach out in connection rather than to isolate ourselves in survival mode. We have to trust that God has put us here for a reason—other than survival—and continue to educate, minister to and care for people we meet as those who live in the body of Christ have always done in different ways at different times.
When the body of Christ and the life of Jesus are internalized by each of us and by the community we accept our mission as the embodiment of Jesus in a particular time and place. Or as the gospel of John says, “Those who eat my flesh and drink my blood abide in me, and I in them. Just as the living Father sent me, and I live because of the Father, so whoever eats me will live because of me.” We abide in Jesus, not simply because our salvation depends upon our faith and connection, but because we are given life to share, life to give, life to extend toward others. We have a home through the life of Jesus so that God’s intentions for all of humanity can be carried out through us and through all who accept God’s life-giving intentions for creation.
How is it that your connection to Jesus has given you life that can be shared? It’s sometimes hard in the middle of heartache, desolation, loneliness, depression or loss to recognize, but as we look back we realize that our trust in God was affirmed, though it may not have been in the ways that we thought. When a loved one has died, the first desire is to have that person restored to us, to go back to a time before the loss; what God often does instead is weave within us a tapestry of memories that we can experience and learn from. Through the pain that we feel, we are strengthened to minister to others in the midst of their grief and loss if we have allowed ourselves to accept death as an integral part of mortal life. God can heal us; God gives us eternal life; yet God also makes us resilient when we do experience the deaths of loved ones, not only comforting us through the knowledge of resurrection, but revealing truths about ourselves in those losses and giving us strength to grow beyond them.
Our lives in Jesus Christ can be full of life if we allow the heart and hope of Christ to fill us, trusting in the promises that God made thousands of years before and trusting in the promises that we life in now. Let us recall that God’s statement of delight at the sight and sound and taste and touch of creation, “It is good.” And—the implication—it will stay that way with out stewardship. We recall God’s promises of survival to Noah, a promised land and a son to Abraham, a nation to Moses, a throne to David and his descendents and place of belonging for each of the faithful is affirmed throughout each covenant. We can trust in the promises of God—though we may not always receive what we think we want or ask for. But we can trust that God’s love for us is where we belong.
In the name and in the love of God: Life’s Source, Savior, and Sustainer. Amen.
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