Eight centuries before Jesus walked into the house of the Pharisee on the Sabbath, God had already made God’s expectations of those who profess to be faithful people abundantly clear: As the prophet Micah declared, “He has told you, O mortal, what is good; and what does the Lord require of you but to do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God?”
“Walk humbly with your God.” Avram was confused. All the Pharisees in his region looked up to him. He was learned in the ways of the law, and he and his household observed all the law’s demands scrupulously. Even so, he was eager to meet this Galilean rabbi whose miraculous healings and startling teachings were arousing the countryside. When Avram went out to meet him at the gate, Jesus took Avram’s hands in his own. As if he knew that Avram wanted to follow him, Jesus looked into Avram’s eyes and greeted him warmly. Avram’s heart stirred. However, once inside the house, the mood shifted. Jesus’ face darkened as he watched the other men jockeying for position, showing off their fine clothes, and shouting at the servants. Going against all norms of etiquette, Jesus clanked a knife against a cup. Quoting some verses from Scripture – Proverbs as it turned out – he warned the status-seekers to remember who they were in God’s eyes: specks of dust, blades of grass blown away by a gust of wind. Was he trying for a little humor when he said, “Those who walk around with their noses in the air will fall flat on their faces?” Perhaps, but his message was clear. In God’s eyes none of us is any better than anyone else: we are all needy and dependent on God’s mercy. As Jesus was speaking, Avram began to wonder, “What do I do? Do I see myself as better than others? Richer, better educated, more influential? Do I myself head for the best seat in the synagogue or at dinner tables?”
Before Avram could answer these questions, Jesus spun around and addressed him. “Why did you invite only your friends, Avram? God has gifted you with a large and wealthy household, plenty of time, and a good heart. Where are the people who really need your help – and I’m not talking just about your checkbook? When are you going to embrace God’s other children, the ones who look, and smell, and talk differently from you? Do you think you’re better than they are? If you’re truly humble, you know that you’re no different from them, and that you and they are all God’s beloved children. You think you want to follow me? See who my friends are and make them your friends too!” Avram was stunned. Then he looked at Jesus’ face. He saw such love in Jesus’ eyes that, before he could lose his nerve, he whispered, “O.K., Jesus, I’m in.”
“Love kindness.” Fast forward twenty centuries. For thirty years, nine women in west Tennessee kept a deep, dark secret.1 Four of them women were sisters raised by generous grandparents and the other five were friends of the family. The nine women often played bridge together. Thirty-five years ago, they decided it was time to put their faith into action and begin helping those in need. Although they wished they’d had $1 million, they managed to scrape together $400 by washing their husbands’ shirts themselves. Then they hatched a plan: without anyone knowing who they were or what they were doing, in their own kitchens, they began baking cakes and other sweet treats for those in need. Then they began to eavesdrop – with good intentions -- at the beauty shop or the grocery store. If they heard about a widow or a single mom who needed a little help, they’d step in and anonymously pay a utility bill or buy some new clothes for the children.
They called themselves the Nine Nanas. The more people they helped, the bolder they became. “We gave new meaning to the term drive-by,” one said delightedly. “We’d drive through low-income neighborhoods and look for homes that had fans in the window. That told us that the people who lived there didn’t have air-conditioning. Or we’d see that there were no lights on at night, which meant there was a good chance their utilities had been turned off. Then we’d return before the sun came up, like cat burglars, and drop off a little care package.” And anonymously pay the utility bill.
The Nanas kept their secret for thirty years, until one of the husbands decided to take a closer look at bank statements and odometers. They fessed up. “They were amazed that we were doing this, “another said, “and even more amazed that they never knew. We can keep a good secret! All but three of the husbands are retired now, so sometimes they come with us on our drive-bys. In our area, all you need is an address to pay someone’s utility bill, so we keep the men busy jotting down numbers.” Then the grown children got involved, urging the Nanas to sell their sweet treats on line to support their charitable work. The orders began pouring in. When the orders reached 100 a day, a restaurant allowed them use its kitchen in the early morning hours, and they hired a full-time coordinator – whose identity is secret so that she can continue eavesdropping. Their online success now allows the Nanas to take on even bigger projects. Recently they donated more than $5,000 worth of pillows, linens and toiletries to a shelter for survivors of domestic violence. The million dollars they once wished for? They’re almost there. In the last 35 years, the Nanas have contributed nearly $900,000 to their local community.
“Do justice.” Tomorrow is Labor Day in the U.S. Many in this community struggle because they are unemployed. But Labor Day Sunday is also a day to recognize that some of the people who come to Loaves and Fishes, the Lutheran Social Services Mobile Food Pantry, or the Outreach Center, or who access government services, have a job but cannot earn enough to support a family. Perhaps their wages are too low. More than a quarter of all jobs pay such low wages that even someone working full time cannot support a family. More than likely, they don’t get enough hours anyway. More than a third of all Walmart employees, for example, work fewer than 28 hours a week and therefore do not qualify for benefits. Over 80% of low-wage workers have no sick leave and lose wages every time they or a family member is sick. Over a quarter of low-wage workers have no health insurance, either through their job or a family member – not to mention dental or vision care insurance. And many low-wage workers have unpredictable work schedules, making it difficult to take a second job, go to school, or find child care. To make matters worse, more than likely they have fallen into debt because of loans taken – at high interest rates – for car repairs or medical expenses. We do a great job of meeting people’s immediate needs for food, but what else can we do to help others escape poverty?
What is our role as a church to help those in need come to the point where our handouts are no longer necessary? This weekend workers at McDonald’s and other fast-food restaurants in many cities are onstrike, demanding livable wages. Addressing one such gathering in Atlanta, Congressman John Lewis alluded to the March on Washington fifty years ago this week. Then he offered his support to those gathered in Atlanta saying, "We're still marching for jobs. We need more than a minimum wage, we need a livable wage. I don't understand how people survive when they are being paid starvation wages. In a country like ours, we could do much better."2 Echoing Lewis in their Labor Day statement, Roman Catholic bishops reminded the faithful that, “The pain of the poor and those becoming poor in the rising economic inequality of our society is mounting. Therefore, on this Labor Day 2013, let us renew our commitment to promote the dignity of the human person through work that is honorable, pays just wages, and recognizes the God-given dignity of the working person.” What can we do? We can support policies that begin to decrease the gap between rich and poor in this country. We can pray for the wisdom to create a system where all who work are also able to support themselves and their families. We can press our elected representatives to think about extreme poverty and economic justice when they craft federal or state budgets. We can educate ourselves through books like Barbara Ehrenreich’s Nickel and Dimed or Jim Wallis’s On God’s Side. Jesus showed us that God’s Reign includes all of God’s children, and that God has a special preference for the poor. Have we invited the poor to the table?
“He has told you, O mortal, what is good; and what does the Lord require of you but to do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God?” God grant us the will and wisdom to follow Jesus in living up to God’s requirements.
1. The following is based on http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2012/06/20/it-aint-over-the-business-secret_n_1607385.html , accessed 8-29-13.
2. http://clatl.com/freshloaf/archives/2013/08/30/video-us-rep-john-lewis-calls-for-livable-wages-five-points-fast-food-workers-strike accessed 8-31-13.
Showing posts with label Pentecost 15. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Pentecost 15. Show all posts
Thursday, September 5, 2013
Sunday, September 25, 2011
Clearing Out the Junk Drawers of our Lives
Do you have a junk drawer in your house? A bursting closet, storeroom, basement, or attic? Don’t we all? Depending on how long you’ve lived in your present house, over the months and years, you’ve probably been tossing all kinds of things into your junk drawers, or closets, or storerooms, or basements, or attics. Maybe you’ve finally convinced yourself that you absolutely have to do some clearing out. These days magazines like Woman’s Day, the AARP magazine, and USA Weekend, to mention just a few, harp on our need to declutter – perhaps to make room for what we’ll acquire during the holiday shopping season! These articles also acknowledge that decluttering is difficult. Psychologists tell us that we should begin the clearing out process by asking ourselves what keeps us from getting started. Do we feel overwhelmed by all our stuff, is it difficult to find the time to begin, or do we fear the negative emotions we might dredge up? More pragmatic organization experts suggest a sorting approach, i.e., taking our kitchen implements, clothes, books, mementoes, pictures, whatever, and sorting them into at least three piles: 1) love it, use it, look at it, or wear it all the time; 2) use it, look at it, or wear it occasionally; and 3) haven’t used it, looked at it, or worn it for at least a year. The things in category 1 go back to their places to continue to be used or treasured. The still-usable items in category 3 go into a donate-to-charity box, and the useless items get tossed. The items in category 2 are carefully examined again, and finally are either kept or discarded. Such sorting is not easy, but for most of us it is a needed and ultimately freeing exercise.
How about the rest of your life? Do you have a spiritual junk drawer, or closet? Our Scripture lessons today, especially our Gospel lesson, bid us also to take an honest look at our spiritual lives and consider whether and where spiritual sorting may be called for. In our Gospel lesson, Jesus has triumphantly entered into Jerusalem – an event that we remember on Palm Sunday. Filled with zeal and anger, Jesus then charged into the temple and made all the money changers and animal sellers get out. No wonder the religious leaders wondered where Jesus had gotten the authority to do what he did. Wouldn’t you have, in their shoes? Jesus flung their question back at them with a question of his own about the role of John the Baptist. Of course, Jesus was alluding to John’s identification of him as the Messiah, thus implicitly answering their question. But Jesus also reminded the religious leaders that John had called for all people to repent, to change their way of thinking and the way they lived their lives.
Then Jesus told a little story about two sons. After initially refusing, the first son did what his father had asked. After initially agreeing, the second son did not do what his father had asked. Jesus forced his listeners to choose between the sons. Of course, they gave the right answer: ultimately what matters is what we do in response to God’s call, not the beliefs we profess or the long prayers we intone. Yet I wonder. Isn’t it a little too easy to think that people can be identified and grouped this way? Perhaps Matthew’s community saw the first members of the Kingdom of God as those, both Jews and Gentiles, who had followed Christ, and saw the Jewish religious leadership as lesser members. But again, I wonder. It’s so easy to be judgmental. It’s so easy to see one group as redeemed and another group as unworthy, so easy to think that we are among the redeemed – because we’re of the right gender or ethnicity, or because we have a beautiful liturgy, or we profess the right beliefs, or we give generously to the poor – and to think that others who don’t share our identity, practices, and views are cast out.
Brothers and sisters, the truth is that today’s readings, and especially the story of the two sons, invite us to take a both/and approach. Aren’t we all sometimes and in some ways like both sons? Aren’t there times when we promise what we can’t or won’t, or don’t have the will to deliver? Conversely, aren’t there aspects of our lives that we deeply regret, that we are striving to bring more closely into line with God’s expectations? Our Gospel story suggests that both sons actually need to repent, to change their lives. And the good news is that we can repent. In the words of the prophet Ezekiel, God assured the Israelite exiles that repentance was always open to them: “I have no pleasure in the death of anyone, says the Lord God. Turn, then, and live.” In Jesus’ little story we are reminded and reassured that we are not bound by the past. We are not saved by our past promises, but neither are we determined or condemned by our past deeds. We can all repent, we can all turn around, and we can all change, with God’s help.
And yet we know that repentance is difficult. Just like decluttering, repentance requires of us a deep, self-examination, a true clearing out of spiritual junk drawers and closets. What keeps us from engaging in this kind of honest appraisal of our lives? What keeps us from following through on our best intentions and responding to God’s call to a more honest life? Do we think that our drawers and closets are already spotless? Are we like those who are sure of their own righteousness, certain that they have nothing of which to repent? Or conversely, are our lives, like our overflowing closets, such a mess that we feel overwhelmed by the prospect of even beginning? Are we afraid of the time such self-examination might take? Or are we afraid of what we might find if we do begin the process of self-examination?
Perhaps we need to follow the organization gurus. Perhaps we need to begin by taking baby steps, or breaking the task down into small manageable parts. Perhaps we can look first at our beliefs and prejudices. Perhaps we can engage in a kind of sorting process. What do our social or political beliefs look like? Where did or do we get them? What should we keep, what discard? Do we have positions on issues of which we are still absolutely certain? Are there positions which we’ve inherited perhaps but don’t agree with anymore? Do our views on some issues, capital punishment, abortion, immigration, health insurance, global poverty, or peace need rethinking? What about our spiritual beliefs? When was the last time we truly examined what we believe about God, Jesus, the Holy Spirit, evil, salvation, prayer, the sacraments, other religions? Of which of our long-held convictions are we still absolutely certain? Are some of our convictions out of date? Do they need to be discarded? Which beliefs bear closer examination? Should we perhaps engage with others in examining what we think we believe?
Perhaps our practices also need the same kind of sorting approach, both for us as individuals and for us as a parish. Can you take a hard look at your traditions as a family? Are some to be cherished, and others to be changed, now that your life circumstances have changed? Don’t we often find that holiday traditions need to be examined closely as our circumstances change? What about our personal spiritual practices? Can you take a hard look at them? What should be kept, what discarded, what rethought? What about our worship life here? What should we keep, what might we stop doing, what do we need to examine more closely?
Taking a hard look at our spiritual lives is often difficult. We know that, which is why we are often so reluctant to engage seriously with spiritual issues. And yet, God through the prophet Ezekiel and through Jesus in today’s Gospel asks us to think, to ponder, and to reflect. Today’s readings offer us hope that honest self-examination, repentance, and change of life will bring us closer to one another and nearer to God’s kingdom. They also remind us that we must continue to look at our lives carefully, regularly, perhaps even daily. Even ten minutes a day, as we say our last prayers, will help us to begin the process of self-examination. As we let go of unneeded aspects of our lives, as we declutter our spiritual lives, God, who is “slow to guide and swift to bless,” will move in to graciously direct more and more of our lives. As our paths become clearer and freer of unneeded burdens, we become more and more the person that God created us to be, and our feet are ever more firmly fixed on the path that leads us into the Kingdom of God. May Jesus ever give you a clearer vision of the way into the Kingdom.
How about the rest of your life? Do you have a spiritual junk drawer, or closet? Our Scripture lessons today, especially our Gospel lesson, bid us also to take an honest look at our spiritual lives and consider whether and where spiritual sorting may be called for. In our Gospel lesson, Jesus has triumphantly entered into Jerusalem – an event that we remember on Palm Sunday. Filled with zeal and anger, Jesus then charged into the temple and made all the money changers and animal sellers get out. No wonder the religious leaders wondered where Jesus had gotten the authority to do what he did. Wouldn’t you have, in their shoes? Jesus flung their question back at them with a question of his own about the role of John the Baptist. Of course, Jesus was alluding to John’s identification of him as the Messiah, thus implicitly answering their question. But Jesus also reminded the religious leaders that John had called for all people to repent, to change their way of thinking and the way they lived their lives.
Then Jesus told a little story about two sons. After initially refusing, the first son did what his father had asked. After initially agreeing, the second son did not do what his father had asked. Jesus forced his listeners to choose between the sons. Of course, they gave the right answer: ultimately what matters is what we do in response to God’s call, not the beliefs we profess or the long prayers we intone. Yet I wonder. Isn’t it a little too easy to think that people can be identified and grouped this way? Perhaps Matthew’s community saw the first members of the Kingdom of God as those, both Jews and Gentiles, who had followed Christ, and saw the Jewish religious leadership as lesser members. But again, I wonder. It’s so easy to be judgmental. It’s so easy to see one group as redeemed and another group as unworthy, so easy to think that we are among the redeemed – because we’re of the right gender or ethnicity, or because we have a beautiful liturgy, or we profess the right beliefs, or we give generously to the poor – and to think that others who don’t share our identity, practices, and views are cast out.
Brothers and sisters, the truth is that today’s readings, and especially the story of the two sons, invite us to take a both/and approach. Aren’t we all sometimes and in some ways like both sons? Aren’t there times when we promise what we can’t or won’t, or don’t have the will to deliver? Conversely, aren’t there aspects of our lives that we deeply regret, that we are striving to bring more closely into line with God’s expectations? Our Gospel story suggests that both sons actually need to repent, to change their lives. And the good news is that we can repent. In the words of the prophet Ezekiel, God assured the Israelite exiles that repentance was always open to them: “I have no pleasure in the death of anyone, says the Lord God. Turn, then, and live.” In Jesus’ little story we are reminded and reassured that we are not bound by the past. We are not saved by our past promises, but neither are we determined or condemned by our past deeds. We can all repent, we can all turn around, and we can all change, with God’s help.
And yet we know that repentance is difficult. Just like decluttering, repentance requires of us a deep, self-examination, a true clearing out of spiritual junk drawers and closets. What keeps us from engaging in this kind of honest appraisal of our lives? What keeps us from following through on our best intentions and responding to God’s call to a more honest life? Do we think that our drawers and closets are already spotless? Are we like those who are sure of their own righteousness, certain that they have nothing of which to repent? Or conversely, are our lives, like our overflowing closets, such a mess that we feel overwhelmed by the prospect of even beginning? Are we afraid of the time such self-examination might take? Or are we afraid of what we might find if we do begin the process of self-examination?
Perhaps we need to follow the organization gurus. Perhaps we need to begin by taking baby steps, or breaking the task down into small manageable parts. Perhaps we can look first at our beliefs and prejudices. Perhaps we can engage in a kind of sorting process. What do our social or political beliefs look like? Where did or do we get them? What should we keep, what discard? Do we have positions on issues of which we are still absolutely certain? Are there positions which we’ve inherited perhaps but don’t agree with anymore? Do our views on some issues, capital punishment, abortion, immigration, health insurance, global poverty, or peace need rethinking? What about our spiritual beliefs? When was the last time we truly examined what we believe about God, Jesus, the Holy Spirit, evil, salvation, prayer, the sacraments, other religions? Of which of our long-held convictions are we still absolutely certain? Are some of our convictions out of date? Do they need to be discarded? Which beliefs bear closer examination? Should we perhaps engage with others in examining what we think we believe?
Perhaps our practices also need the same kind of sorting approach, both for us as individuals and for us as a parish. Can you take a hard look at your traditions as a family? Are some to be cherished, and others to be changed, now that your life circumstances have changed? Don’t we often find that holiday traditions need to be examined closely as our circumstances change? What about our personal spiritual practices? Can you take a hard look at them? What should be kept, what discarded, what rethought? What about our worship life here? What should we keep, what might we stop doing, what do we need to examine more closely?
Taking a hard look at our spiritual lives is often difficult. We know that, which is why we are often so reluctant to engage seriously with spiritual issues. And yet, God through the prophet Ezekiel and through Jesus in today’s Gospel asks us to think, to ponder, and to reflect. Today’s readings offer us hope that honest self-examination, repentance, and change of life will bring us closer to one another and nearer to God’s kingdom. They also remind us that we must continue to look at our lives carefully, regularly, perhaps even daily. Even ten minutes a day, as we say our last prayers, will help us to begin the process of self-examination. As we let go of unneeded aspects of our lives, as we declutter our spiritual lives, God, who is “slow to guide and swift to bless,” will move in to graciously direct more and more of our lives. As our paths become clearer and freer of unneeded burdens, we become more and more the person that God created us to be, and our feet are ever more firmly fixed on the path that leads us into the Kingdom of God. May Jesus ever give you a clearer vision of the way into the Kingdom.
Sunday, September 5, 2010
You Have Searched Me Out and Known Me
Oh, You better watch out,
You better not cry,
You better not pout,
I'm telling you why:
Santa Claus is coming to town.
He's making a list,
He's checking it twice,
He's gonna find out
who's naughty or nice.
Santa Claus is coming to town.
No, I haven’t taken leave of my senses. Nor have I forgotten the date. Of course Santa Claus is coming to town, and a lot sooner to our stores than most of us would like. But I’ve often wondered about that song. When our children were small, I wondered what they made of it. The song was written in 1934. The later, less familiar verses assure us that “the kids in Girl and Boy Land will have a jubilee” as they discover all the toys that Santa has brought. But it’s those middle verses that give me pause:
He sees you when you're sleeping,
He knows when you're awake.
He knows when you've been bad or good,
So be good for goodness sake.
So...You better watch out,
You better not cry
You better not pout,
I'm telling you why.
Santa Claus is coming to town.
He sees you when you’re sleeping? He knows when you’re awake? He knows when you’ve been bad or good? He knows if you cry or pout? Surely that doesn’t describe Nicholas, the 4th century bishop of Myra in Asia Minor, from whom Santa Claus has descended? How could Santa see me and know me so well? Can anyone know me that well? Does even my spouse of 41 years know me that well? I doubt it.
Our psalm for today, Psalm 139, beloved of both Jews and Christians, suggests that there is someone who knows us that well, knows us even more fully than Santa. God knows us knows us through and through, God knows us even more deeply than the songwriters could ever have imagined. When we include verses 6-12, left out of our reading this morning, we are reminded that God knew us at our conception, perhaps even before that. God perhaps even marked us out for some special work. God knows us through and through now: “You have searched me out and known me, you know my sitting down and my rising up. You discern my thoughts from afar.” Moreover, and what is more important, there is nowhere we can escape God’s presence, for there is no realm where God isn’t present: “Where can I go from your Spirit? Where can I flee from your presence?” At the limits of east or west, God’s hand still guides the psalmist. Even in the depths of darkness, “Darkness is not dark to you; the night is as bright as the day; darkness and light to you are both alike.” God is with us everywhere, and there is neither place nor thing that can separate us from God. Echoing Psalm 139, Paul even assured the Christians in Rome that “neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.” God is with us, in us, behind us, and before us, at all times, and in all places.
Like children who get caught up in the holiday rush, most of us are scarcely aware of God’s presence in our lives. Perhaps we’re oblivious to God’s presence, or perhaps we choose to ignore God’s presence. We’re “just too busy” to take the time for God. Yet God constantly takes the initiative to come more deeply into our world, and especially to those who earnestly seek God. As the psalmist reminds us, “You have searched me out….” We can experience God’s presence in our lives if we open the door to God even just a little. Rest assured, God will get through that crack! Certainly, we experience God’s presence in worship. Our experience of God is mediated or filtered through hymns, written prayers, and actions, but God is most definitely present to us here. And certainly we Episcopalians believe that Christ is especially present to us in the bread and wine that become his Body and Blood.
But is it possible for us to have an even more direct experience of God’s presence, what some have called a “mystical” experience? Many shy away from that word. I once heard an Episcopal priest say in a sermon that he had never, in forty years of being a Christian, ever had a “mystical” experience. Personally, I would doubt that, since he was a man of prayer. And there is nothing about the word “mystical” that should frighten or upset us. A mystical experience is simply a deep sense of God’s presence, a sense perhaps of direct communion with God (or Christ) that takes us to deeper levels of awareness of God’s presence. For some, mystical experiences may even include visions of Jesus or Mary or the Trinity. For almost all of us, such experiences are ineffable and indescribable. We might say with the psalmist, “Such knowledge is too wonderful for me.” Yet such experiences are real, and they can transform our lives in unimaginable ways.
Some of you good Protestant folk may again be wondering if I’ve taken leave of my senses. For many good historical reasons, and with some exceptions, Protestants have largely abandoned the pursuit of direct experiences of God’s presence. Yet the mystical experience has a long and honorable tradition in the church. In the 3rd and 4th century desert Fathers and Mothers, who lived in the deserts of Egypt as an act of devotion and commitment to God, in the medieval mystics, Hildegard of Bingen, Julian of Norwich, whom we heard about two weeks ago, the author of The Cloud of Unknowing, John of the Cross, Teresa of Avila, in the 20th century English mystic Evelyn Underhill, and in the members of the World Community for Christian Meditation, just to name a few, we have a “great cloud of witnesses” of those who have sought and been granted more direct experience of God’s presence.
We don’t have to be monks or nuns. We don’t have to be spiritually adept or steeped in the faith. This is the good news: if we just leave the door slightly ajar, God will take the initiative and make Godself more deeply present to us. There are any number of ways, any number of “thin places” in which we may seek a deeper sense God’s presence. For some people, God seems especially present in nature, in a sunset or on a mountain top or watching animals or birds by a river or a lake, or at night contemplating the vastness of the stars. Sometimes we experience God’s presence in service to others, when we look deeply into another’s eyes or listen intently to another’s story. Many of us have a deeper awareness of God’s presence in sacred and blessed places, especially churches and monasteries where prayer has been offered for centuries. For some, praying with an icon can deepen our sense of God’s presence, as we let the picture be a window through which we can glimpse a bit of divine reality. For some, our own quiet places, wherever they are, can be places where, when we truly open ourselves to God, God graces us with a deeper sense of God’s presence. And for many of us, the various practices of contemplative prayer, and the various forms of prayer preserved in the Celtic tradition, help lead us into that deeper place. All of these ways of experiencing God’s presence more deeply are potentially open to all of us, if we would but take a deep breath and slow down long enough for God to get a word in edgewise. And indeed these paths to experiencing God’s presence more deeply are available to those of other faith communities too. Judaism, Islam, Hinduism, and Buddhism all have rich mystical traditions. To our surprise and perhaps delight, when we seek God contemplatively, when we seek to experience God’s presence more deeply and more directly, we often find that we are on common ground with those of other faith communities who are also genuinely seeking God’s deeper presence.
Come and experience what I’m talking about for yourself. Every Wednesday that I am here, from 12:00 to 12:30 here in the church, I will be praying contemplatively. If someone else joins me I will take the first 10 minutes of that time to teach a particular approach to contemplative prayer. We will also return to a contemplative approach in the Eucharist on the 4th Tuesday evening of the month. I plan some Quiet Saturday mornings later in the fall and winter, and I hope soon to begin offering a contemplative Eucharist later on Sunday afternoons. But don’t think of any of this as another task to be undertaken in order to be right with God. God is not commanding or demanding that you undertake any spiritual discipline. God is inviting us all into God’s presence. Anything that we may do, any way in which God makes Godself more deeply known to us, is God’s gift to us, a gift that helps us deepen our love for God and our gratitude for God’s great love for us.
I mentioned the Celtic spiritual tradition. I want to close by giving you just a little taste of what that tradition has to offer by sharing with you a prayer for Sunday morning.
I watch this morning
for the light that the darkness has not overcome.
I watch for the fire that was in the beginning
and that burns still in the brilliance of the rising sun.
I watch for the glow of life that gleams in the growing earth
and glistens in sea and sky.
I watch for your light, O God,
in the eyes of every living creature
and in the ever-living flame of my own soul.
If the grace of seeing were mine this day
I would glimpse you in all that lives.
Grant me the grace of seeing this day.
Grant me the grace of seeing.1
1. J. Philip Newell, Celtic Benediction (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2000), p 2.
You better not cry,
You better not pout,
I'm telling you why:
Santa Claus is coming to town.
He's making a list,
He's checking it twice,
He's gonna find out
who's naughty or nice.
Santa Claus is coming to town.
No, I haven’t taken leave of my senses. Nor have I forgotten the date. Of course Santa Claus is coming to town, and a lot sooner to our stores than most of us would like. But I’ve often wondered about that song. When our children were small, I wondered what they made of it. The song was written in 1934. The later, less familiar verses assure us that “the kids in Girl and Boy Land will have a jubilee” as they discover all the toys that Santa has brought. But it’s those middle verses that give me pause:
He sees you when you're sleeping,
He knows when you're awake.
He knows when you've been bad or good,
So be good for goodness sake.
So...You better watch out,
You better not cry
You better not pout,
I'm telling you why.
Santa Claus is coming to town.
He sees you when you’re sleeping? He knows when you’re awake? He knows when you’ve been bad or good? He knows if you cry or pout? Surely that doesn’t describe Nicholas, the 4th century bishop of Myra in Asia Minor, from whom Santa Claus has descended? How could Santa see me and know me so well? Can anyone know me that well? Does even my spouse of 41 years know me that well? I doubt it.
Our psalm for today, Psalm 139, beloved of both Jews and Christians, suggests that there is someone who knows us that well, knows us even more fully than Santa. God knows us knows us through and through, God knows us even more deeply than the songwriters could ever have imagined. When we include verses 6-12, left out of our reading this morning, we are reminded that God knew us at our conception, perhaps even before that. God perhaps even marked us out for some special work. God knows us through and through now: “You have searched me out and known me, you know my sitting down and my rising up. You discern my thoughts from afar.” Moreover, and what is more important, there is nowhere we can escape God’s presence, for there is no realm where God isn’t present: “Where can I go from your Spirit? Where can I flee from your presence?” At the limits of east or west, God’s hand still guides the psalmist. Even in the depths of darkness, “Darkness is not dark to you; the night is as bright as the day; darkness and light to you are both alike.” God is with us everywhere, and there is neither place nor thing that can separate us from God. Echoing Psalm 139, Paul even assured the Christians in Rome that “neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.” God is with us, in us, behind us, and before us, at all times, and in all places.
Like children who get caught up in the holiday rush, most of us are scarcely aware of God’s presence in our lives. Perhaps we’re oblivious to God’s presence, or perhaps we choose to ignore God’s presence. We’re “just too busy” to take the time for God. Yet God constantly takes the initiative to come more deeply into our world, and especially to those who earnestly seek God. As the psalmist reminds us, “You have searched me out….” We can experience God’s presence in our lives if we open the door to God even just a little. Rest assured, God will get through that crack! Certainly, we experience God’s presence in worship. Our experience of God is mediated or filtered through hymns, written prayers, and actions, but God is most definitely present to us here. And certainly we Episcopalians believe that Christ is especially present to us in the bread and wine that become his Body and Blood.
But is it possible for us to have an even more direct experience of God’s presence, what some have called a “mystical” experience? Many shy away from that word. I once heard an Episcopal priest say in a sermon that he had never, in forty years of being a Christian, ever had a “mystical” experience. Personally, I would doubt that, since he was a man of prayer. And there is nothing about the word “mystical” that should frighten or upset us. A mystical experience is simply a deep sense of God’s presence, a sense perhaps of direct communion with God (or Christ) that takes us to deeper levels of awareness of God’s presence. For some, mystical experiences may even include visions of Jesus or Mary or the Trinity. For almost all of us, such experiences are ineffable and indescribable. We might say with the psalmist, “Such knowledge is too wonderful for me.” Yet such experiences are real, and they can transform our lives in unimaginable ways.
Some of you good Protestant folk may again be wondering if I’ve taken leave of my senses. For many good historical reasons, and with some exceptions, Protestants have largely abandoned the pursuit of direct experiences of God’s presence. Yet the mystical experience has a long and honorable tradition in the church. In the 3rd and 4th century desert Fathers and Mothers, who lived in the deserts of Egypt as an act of devotion and commitment to God, in the medieval mystics, Hildegard of Bingen, Julian of Norwich, whom we heard about two weeks ago, the author of The Cloud of Unknowing, John of the Cross, Teresa of Avila, in the 20th century English mystic Evelyn Underhill, and in the members of the World Community for Christian Meditation, just to name a few, we have a “great cloud of witnesses” of those who have sought and been granted more direct experience of God’s presence.
We don’t have to be monks or nuns. We don’t have to be spiritually adept or steeped in the faith. This is the good news: if we just leave the door slightly ajar, God will take the initiative and make Godself more deeply present to us. There are any number of ways, any number of “thin places” in which we may seek a deeper sense God’s presence. For some people, God seems especially present in nature, in a sunset or on a mountain top or watching animals or birds by a river or a lake, or at night contemplating the vastness of the stars. Sometimes we experience God’s presence in service to others, when we look deeply into another’s eyes or listen intently to another’s story. Many of us have a deeper awareness of God’s presence in sacred and blessed places, especially churches and monasteries where prayer has been offered for centuries. For some, praying with an icon can deepen our sense of God’s presence, as we let the picture be a window through which we can glimpse a bit of divine reality. For some, our own quiet places, wherever they are, can be places where, when we truly open ourselves to God, God graces us with a deeper sense of God’s presence. And for many of us, the various practices of contemplative prayer, and the various forms of prayer preserved in the Celtic tradition, help lead us into that deeper place. All of these ways of experiencing God’s presence more deeply are potentially open to all of us, if we would but take a deep breath and slow down long enough for God to get a word in edgewise. And indeed these paths to experiencing God’s presence more deeply are available to those of other faith communities too. Judaism, Islam, Hinduism, and Buddhism all have rich mystical traditions. To our surprise and perhaps delight, when we seek God contemplatively, when we seek to experience God’s presence more deeply and more directly, we often find that we are on common ground with those of other faith communities who are also genuinely seeking God’s deeper presence.
Come and experience what I’m talking about for yourself. Every Wednesday that I am here, from 12:00 to 12:30 here in the church, I will be praying contemplatively. If someone else joins me I will take the first 10 minutes of that time to teach a particular approach to contemplative prayer. We will also return to a contemplative approach in the Eucharist on the 4th Tuesday evening of the month. I plan some Quiet Saturday mornings later in the fall and winter, and I hope soon to begin offering a contemplative Eucharist later on Sunday afternoons. But don’t think of any of this as another task to be undertaken in order to be right with God. God is not commanding or demanding that you undertake any spiritual discipline. God is inviting us all into God’s presence. Anything that we may do, any way in which God makes Godself more deeply known to us, is God’s gift to us, a gift that helps us deepen our love for God and our gratitude for God’s great love for us.
I mentioned the Celtic spiritual tradition. I want to close by giving you just a little taste of what that tradition has to offer by sharing with you a prayer for Sunday morning.
I watch this morning
for the light that the darkness has not overcome.
I watch for the fire that was in the beginning
and that burns still in the brilliance of the rising sun.
I watch for the glow of life that gleams in the growing earth
and glistens in sea and sky.
I watch for your light, O God,
in the eyes of every living creature
and in the ever-living flame of my own soul.
If the grace of seeing were mine this day
I would glimpse you in all that lives.
Grant me the grace of seeing this day.
Grant me the grace of seeing.1
1. J. Philip Newell, Celtic Benediction (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2000), p 2.
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