God’s Economic Plan

I am no economist. Most of the time I get my wise business practices from Marketplace Morning Report on N.P.R. In my new life as part of a married couple our household is working on having a better grasp of finances through taking Dave Ramsey’s Financial Peace University. Still I am no economic expert; however, if you asked me about how God’s economy might work, I have more than my fair share to say.

God’s economy does not run the same way that our worldly systems do. We often believe an undergirding assumption that there is a thing called scarcity in which not enough resources exist for everyone to get his or her share. This is what creates the demand for products in our world. In God’s world there is no such thing as scarcity, but rather everything exists in abundance. When everyone wants some collector item or is ogling over a new gadget or gizmo God is beckoning us to see what truly matters, what is of deeper value. Some of us get this more easily than others.

Today we remember Saint Aidan who was Bishop of Lindisfarne in England. For much of his life Aidan served God in a monastery; however, when King Oswald ascended the throne in Northumbria restoring Christianity to the realm he called for a new bishop. Most at the time would have looked to Canterbury for a bishop, but not Oswald. He had been exiled in Iona, so he called there for a new missionary. Aidan was sent from Iona and he not only restored Christianity to that area of the island, but south through the Midlands almost to London. More than his gentle spirit, Aidan was known for his love of the poor.

The Venerable Bede, the great historian, remembered Aidan in such a positive light. He wrote, “He neither sought nor loved anything of this world, but delighted in distributing immediately to the poor whatever was given him by kings or rich men of the world” (Holy Women, Holy Men, 552). Aidan knew the abundance of God’s economy. He understood that in giving away he still always had more than enough. At times though this reality can be hard to comprehend. We all may struggle with the concept of giving away all that we have.

Bishop Aidan understood this struggle, and so he often invited any person he saw, rich or poor, pagan or Christian, “to embrace the mystery of the faith” (Holy Women, Holy Men, 552). This overwhelming belief in something he could not fully comprehend emphasized how he could do what he did. If he trusted and embraced the mystery of God. If he was able to hold fast to a God who would take care of him, even when Aidan knew he would give away all things, then he could go deeper into the mystery of the faith and more fully embrace the overwhelming love of God.

This is the difficulty and the gift of our faith. We must have open arms to embrace God’s mystery. We must have open hands both to receive what we are given by God and to give to others from the abundance given unto us. This is the flow of God’s economy. It is not in hoarding and hiding away that we become rich, but it is in being like Aidan a good steward of God’s gifts who so freely shared of the abundance of this Creation!

No Fence Sitting

When the North American Consultation of Common Texts and the International English Language Liturgical Consultation publicly released the Revised Common Lectionary in 1994, I wonder if they even knew what they had set into motion that will become a reality this Sunday morning. When these groups of representatives and scholars from various denominations put together what text would be read on what day did they look ahead to September 4, 2016 and scoff? Did these people think, “Well, we know that will be Labor Day weekend, and we know that College Football typically kicks off that weekend, and we can see that the teams in Alabama are pretty good, but we do not care. Even after being so faithful as to wake up early enough to go to church on that holiday weekend the people present are going to have to hear a passage filled with a fiery, challenging charge towards Jerusalem from Jesus of Nazareth.” As I continue to reflect on our gospel passage for Sunday morning, I keep having to swallow hard to abate the ball of nerves jumping up to my throat!

As Evan Garner and I discussed this passage yesterday, he said a preacher could stand up and say, “Would you rather me tell you that Jesus is wrong or would you prefer that I tell you to give up all your possessions?” This question raised from the Good News leaves very little room to sit on the fence. And, as much as I want to find some place to hide within Jesus’ challenging words, I am finding that “there’s no shade in the shadow of the Cross” to quote Sufjan Stevens. So what do we do both as preachers and as ones who want to follow Jesus?

When I first moved to Decatur, I joined the crossfit gym. The very focused, high-energy, and countercultural atmosphere made it appealing to me. I had to take beginner classes before I could officially come to regular classes. When I finished learning how to do Olympic lifts, how to recover through eating well, and some of the crossfit jargon I felt ready to begin my life as a cross-fitter. For weeks I was sore. I was tired. I felt like I did not have clue what I was doing. Eventually though I got the hang of what I was doing and even improved my weight lifting, speed, and overall fitness level. A few months later though I realized I was not really recovering. I kept being tired and sore. Then, I heard first hand stories from others at the gym about their injuries, and after some consideration I stopped going to the gym. I could not cut it as a crossfit disciple.

I have no shame in my decision to quite that program. I love running. I love exercising in other ways and would suggest I am as healthy now as I have been since graduating from college, but what the crossfit experience taught me is that sometimes disciplines are too difficult for us to follow. Even my journey with Jesus sometimes causes me to wonder, “Am I really cut out to be a disciple?”

Jesus puts out there three different criteria in this passage that are criteria for becoming his followers:
1. You must put discipleship above all other things, even to the point of hating father and mother, wife and children, brothers and sisters, even life itself.
2. You must be willing through your discipleship to even take on great suffering by picking up your cross.
3. You must give away all your possessions if you are to be a follower of Jesus.

God’s love invariably extends to all of us. Jesus’ loving sacrifice brought all of Creation to God, and we have no say in whether we opt in or out of this love. However, being a disciple seems like a very different thing than being the subject of God’s love. All of us get included in the unconditional love of Christ. All of us though may not be willing to take on the disciplines of following Jesus. Through this passage we are forced into weighing the costs of becoming a disciple. We are challenged by Jesus to either keep walking or go home. We cannot sit on the fence.

But unlike going to a crossfit gym in which we are weighed down by the choice to keep going, I would say there is freedom in choosing to follow Jesus as his follower. When we prioritize the Kingdom's values we do not automatically hate our families. However, following the Kingdom's goals of love, forgiveness, inclusion, justice, and faith will simplify our lives, even when our families may complicate it. Self-sacrifice and even knowingly taking on suffering for the sake of the Kingdom of God gives us a purpose that extends far beyond our own selfish ambitions. Finally, giving away things that we own will allow us not to be owned or weighed down by earthly obsessions.

Being a disciple is not a fence-sitting vocation. Rather, we are challenged to do something hard, but more worthwhile than anything else imaginable. We may not accomplish it overnight and we certainly cannot do it alone, but God calls each of us to walk more closely to Jesus in the way of Christ!

Hate Is Such a Strong Word

Hate is such a strong word at least that is how the saying goes. I would imagine that parents, teachers, coaches, mentors, and religious leaders have uttered warnings about refraining from saying, “I hate ________” for centuries. But why? Why all the hatred towards hate?

Perhaps people want to avoid the feeling of hatred itself. Maybe human beings fear that hatred will overcome them entirely (see Anakin Skywalker’s transformation into Darth Vader). And yet, when we attempt to ignore or avoid something by quietly sweeping it under the rug, rather than dealing with it, we tend to veer straight towards that object. If we do not want to get angry ignoring our anger is a perfect way to get angrier. The same may apply to hatred. Rarely can we control such strong, existential phenomena as angry, hate, or love. However, what if this is not what is really meant by the word hate?

In this coming Sunday’s Gospel lesson (Luke 14:25-33) Jesus says to large crowds traveling with him, “Whoever comes to me and does not hate father and mother, wife and children, brothers and sisters, yes and even life itself, cannot be my disciple.” Hate may be a strong word, but Jesus does not shy away from using it when addressing a mass of humanity following him. Jesus, I believe, was not calling his disciples to some strange practices with harsh rhetoric, but rather was using hate in a much different way than we use the word today.

When Jesus said to hate life itself he was not blithely tossing around a power-packed word, nor was he carelessly dropping the h-bomb (hate-bomb in case you are wondering) to gather attention like an angsty teen. No, Jesus’ use of hate was a morally sophisticated challenge for all those who listened to him speak and even to us today. Hate was not a feeling of dissatisfaction, distaste, or repulsion, but rather the verb Jesus used implied making a decision about one’s life and choices.

The word μισέω (miseó) is the Greek verb meaning to hate (who doesn’t love looking at a Greek word for hate on a Monday morning?), and it is a translation of what we believe Jesus said to the crowds. This word calls one into making a moral choice, as it implies not so much a negative feeling as a preferred value. In other words, Jesus was not asking us to be brats towards our family or to carelessly throw away our lives, but rather he was saying to be a follower of Jesus means elevating that way of existing above everything else—even really good other choices like our spouse. Hate in this regard then is a very strong word and it requires us to examine how we are ordering our lives.

What must you be willing to give up, so that you may more fully be in relationship with God? What must you value more, so that you may deepen your relationship with the Divine? How must you live and move and have your being, such that you instinctively exude the love, peace, forgiveness, and joy of Christ? Hate is a strong word, but it is a word that requires you to make a choice. What do you choose?  

You’re Invited…To Invite!

My friend’s mother recently told me about an etiquette podcast featuring the grandchildren of Emily Post, the famed manners guru. I am unsure if I had done something to offend my friend’s mom, or if she was merely making conversation. For good reason I imagine that it was the former rather than the latter. I am woefully untrained when it comes to decorum.

I never attended Cotillion class. My mother and grandmother attempted to pass along good graces to me, but I could never quite grasp the finer aspects of how to behave at a dinner party. I still put my elbows on the table, which I will point out is not as big a faux pas throughout the rest of the world, like in France, as it is here. With an elaborate table setting I always wait to discover what utensil I am required to use with what course. Perhaps most embarrassingly I often forget to pause for all the ladies to be seated before I myself sit down, leaving me looking like anything but a gentleman. However, despite all my unruly manners I have learned one paramount rule of etiquette: never sit in a place of honor without the host inviting me to do so first.

Today’s Gospel lesson begins with what Jesus says is a parable. This seems far more like some sound dinner party advice rather than a challenging story in which one must re-imagine existence in light of the Kingdom of God, like the story of the Prodigal Son or the Good Samaritan. Instead Jesus paints a picture of a wedding banquet. We can recall a scenario in which we have attended such a gather at which we cautiously had to discern our place at one table or another. Who would possibly dare sit next to the Father-of-the-Bride if one were not his best friend, child, or spouse? Instead of assembling at the head table we would do well to find a place near the back of the room and have the host come tell us to move up closer. What happens though when we think about this advice in other settings?

While it was not a meal, I can distinctly recall a time when I felt like I was sitting in the worst seat imaginable. A couple friends and I decided to attend a Coldplay concert in Nashville a few years ago. As we were not making a lot of extra cash we had to scrape together money just to get seats near the back of Bridgestone Arena. We were almost as far away from the stage as one could be while still being in the venue.

In the middle of the show the band took a short set break. I thought they were going to change outfits or instruments, but all of a sudden the band appeared about 50 feet away from where we were sitting. They said that at some point they had been the boys in the nosebleed seats, but that those way in the back are no less fans. Then, they proceeded to play an acoustic set dedicated to the fans in the back of the coliseum. This was the first time I had seen a band show such a heartwarming gesture, but as I reflect upon it what they did is like the host of a party coming to raise up a lowly guest.

If Jesus truly is telling us a parable and not just giving us good advice about being exalted through staying humble, then this story must lead us somewhere more than just something that Emily Post might have written. The band coming and performing at the back of the auditorium is like the host raising up a lowly guest, and this is like what God does with us. God, in the person of Jesus, stooped down to come and dwell among us. Becoming incarnate in Jesus God came to lead us to the biggest feast, the most extravagant banquet imaginable.

If this is a parable, then we must move a little bit from where we started to see how the Kingdom of God looks, so what does it look like? Well, in the Kingdom of God the Table looks a little different than the Sabbath feast at the table of the leader of the Pharisees. Instead of only those who had the means to pay the leader back, Jesus recommended inviting “the poor, the crippled, the lame, and the blind.” In other words, Our Lord challenged the host to invite everyone to the meal because that is what will happen at the banquet in the Kingdom of God. While this appears uplifting, is it even pragmatic or possible?

In the Episcopal Church, we are fantastic at hosting events. I am so impressed when we have potluck occasions. So many people bring delicious food. So many hands help to prepare and clean up the parish hall or other venue. So much time and energy goes into these feasts, but inevitably someone will say, “Well, I can’t believe we do not have more visitors,” or “I wish we had more diversity here.” Me too. I want this so much, but so often I hear it and express it myself as an afterthought. So what?

In the wake of these statements I have a hard time discerning what to say. Instead of relying on the little wisdom I have we would do well to observe not the practical advice Jesus offered in today’s Good News, but rather how to reveal the Kingdom of God right now. If we want this community to grow as God dreams it can, we have two tasks that Jesus lays out for us. First, we must invite people who cannot pay us back, who may not have the same manners, who come from different backgrounds, and who look different than we do. This is not always easy. We sometimes fall into the trap of saying we are bad at Evangelism in the Episcopal Church. I think this is baloney! How do we invite people? We tell them of the ways that God is working here at St. John’s Church at Banks-Caddell, in our community garden, in our altar, flower, and bread guilds, in our children’s ministries, in our youth group, and in our Christian formation! This is actually the easy step.

The second step stands out as more challenging. We must also must be willing to give those who may not be able to give back the seats that we so often occupy. The most difficult thing for a new family or visitor to see when they walk into a church is no empty pew. If there is no spot for them they won’t come back. And, this extends not just to our Sunday worship, but to ministry in general. If there is no open spot for someone to join a ministry, then it is very hard for someone to feel welcome.

At this altar all people have a place, but we must extend this Table out into this community, into this city, and into this world. Jesus came to be with us and to show us the way back to the greatest feast. We are all invited to join in the festivities. God charges us to invite others into this feast and not just in insignificant ways, but God calls us to give up our places of honor, so that we might all share in a rich feast! In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Graft in Our Hearts

One of my best childhood buddies at Camp Winnataska exhibited some odd behavior. Now, I’m not one to talk, as I once caused quite a fuss when I got splashed in a canoe because I was supposed to be in the dry boat (I know, I know I was am a dork!). My friend, Stephen, was odd in some other ways though. He moved from Tennessee to Arizona, but kept coming back to camp every summer, and so he had a different accent than everyone else. He was not used to the humidity, so he took way too many showers for camp. Plus, there was something else.

During a trip up to Gatlinburg, TN Stephen had gotten his ankle caught in one of the ski lift chairs. As a result of the emergency accident he had to have immediate surgery. The doctors had to take a section of his skin from his buttocks to cover his torn up ankle. Not only would my friend readily show the gruesome ankle injury, he was known to show from whence that flesh had initially come (at least in the boys’ cabin)! This was the first time I had ever heard of a skin graft and to this day this type of procedure fascinates me.

I am struck by the fact that doctors can take skin from one part of our body and use it to patch another part of us. I am amazed that surgeons acting quickly can harvest the organs from a deceased person to give life to another human. I am uplifted by the enormous number of people that show up to give blood to help others when disasters strike. While I do not understand all of the nuances of the science behind these life-giving events, I can (and we all can) marvel at the gift that comes from someone making a sacrificial gift and life-saving action for someone else. I wonder if this works on a spiritual level as well.

This coming Sunday’s Collect (opening prayer) has some real beauty within it:
Lord of all power and might, the author and giver of all good things: Graft in our hearts the love of your Name; increase in us true religion; nourish us with all goodness; and bring forth in us the fruit of good works; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God for ever and ever. Amen. (Book of Common Prayer, 233, Italics added for emphasis.)

In particular the italicized part halts me. The word graft calls to mind those life-giving efforts that require skill, speed, and care. When we pray that God graft in our hearts the love of God’s Name we are undergoing a spiritual procedure that may manifest itself in multitudinous ways! The love that God plants in our hearts will hopefully “increase in us true religion; nourish us with all goodness; and bring forth in us the fruit of good works.” However, what I take away from this is not these potentially fantastic results, but a realization about the One who places this love in the first place.

God loves us so much and so freely that God was willing not just to take our own flesh to graft in our hearts, but to place God’s own flesh within us! God came to dwell here among us to show us the way back to home to God, to make all things holy, and to show us the fullest extent of love. The procedure that all of Creation underwent when Jesus exhibited a love that was and is stronger than sin, separation, and even death was and is an eternal grafting of this type of love on our hearts and into the very fabric of the universe. May we all be so bold as to remember that our hearts, our souls, our bodies, and our entire selves are not merely our own, but are our God’s and possess within their being the imprint of God's love. Within us God grafted the love that exists eternally may we allow it to grow and transform us!

Best Seats In The House

Recently my wife Kim and I were flying home from Mexico where we went on our honeymoon trip. After several days in paradise the voyage home felt bittersweet. We boarded the plane, feeling a bit like human cattle, and found our reserved spots—we were sadly not flying Southwest Airlines. Once in our seats we waited. Who would it be coming down the aisle to sit next to us?

Eventually a middle-aged woman approached the position right next to Kim. She looked disheveled and at first appeared to be talking to herself. Later we found out she was traveling with someone sitting across the row from her. On top of this, for the entire flight--from wheels up to wheels down-- this person did not stop eating. She brought an entire backpack full of pretzels, trail mix, and even some Funyons. I had never seen anything quite like it, except maybe at a hotdog eating contest. Much to my wife’s credit she casually kept her cool even when the crumbs were raining down upon her. I came off the plane thinking about our next flight, “How much would it cost to get into first class?”

We are not always so graphically filed into socioeconomic classes as when we fly on airplanes. To afford a plane ticket in the first place means that one has some means. And yet, is there a more stratified situation among those with resources than loading onto an airplane? What are we then to do?

This coming Sunday’s Gospel lesson from Luke tells the story of Jesus in an analogous situation. At a Sabbath meal in the home of a leader of the Pharisees Jesus observes how people seek out the places of honor. Using the setting of a wedding banquet the teacher warns of choosing the seats of privilege, as the host may come and move you to a lower spot to make room for someone with more prestige. It is better, Jesus tells us, to sit in the lowest spot so the host will say, “Friend, move up higher.” If only the pilot might say that to some lucky passenger sitting in row 99!

So that’s it right? Jesus is righteously angry at those who exalt themselves and praises those who humble themselves, including the poor folk who are sitting back in coach. Not exactly! While an airplane is not a universal symbol, a banquet table might be. And, what comes after Jesus’ advice (let's face it, it's not really a parable) about the wedding banquet sheds light on the importance of where we sit not just at dinner parties, but in our lives.

Humans yearn for gratification. We long to be told we are worthy. The truth is that all of us are both unworthy (compared to the Almighty One) and completely worth (because of the Almighty One) at the same time. The trouble is that some of us tend to forget this paradox and side only with the misunderstanding that me and my folk are worthy while others are unworthy. When Jesus challenged the leader of the Pharisees to give a banquet for “the poor, the crippled, the lame, and the blind” he was trying to remind the self-aggrandizing, religious elite of this Truth apparent in the Torah commandments to take care of the widow, the orphaned, and those on the margins. Still, there is more.

Jesus in this imaginary banquet for the fringe-dwellers pulled the curtain back to reveal the feast that awaits all guests who are invited into the Kingdom of God. By all invited guests I mean everyone! Sill, we must realize that some have a hard time understanding that they have been sent a personalized invitation! The first bit of this Gospel lesson serves as practical advice, but it also put into the heart of the listeners that feeling of being disgraced by being told that one is in the wrong place. And, those who are traditionally disgraced in the eyes of society (the poor, the crippled, the lame, and the blind) do not get told they do not belong at the banquet in the kingdom. Instead, the host tells them to come and sit in the seats of honor.

How would our churches change if we did not feel that we had to have our spot at the expense of the visiting family? How would airlines change if they did away with classes or privilege members? How would we change if we went beyond our human nature of trying to categorize and put down others so that we feel worthy of some contrived spot of honor? God calls ALL OF US to the Kingdom of God banquet. Even if we are simultaneously worthy and unworthy God calls us. Invite others to join around the table at which we all have seats of honor, even if it means giving up your own place of privilege in this life to do it.

Magnificent Magnification

How does your soul magnify the Lord's presence in it?

I hardly remember anything from high school biology class. Perhaps this is due to the horror of dissecting frogs and the smell of formaldehyde that stuck with me for weeks, but I do recall enjoying using microscopes. On several occasions we had the task of identifying different parts of simple cells that had been placed on glass slides that we would put underneath the lens of the basic scope. With great pleasure I would shift the splices around until I could see the membrane walls, nucleus, cytoplasm, mitochondria, and of course the Golgi apparatus. Do not ask me what any of these parts are, as I really could not tell you, but I loved searching for them in ninth grade.

Oftentimes though as I was attempting to identify these particular parts of a basic cell I would move the slide such that it went beyond the sight of the microscope. Starring through the lenses I felt some disappointment as my eyes strained to see nothing there. A microscope serves no purpose at all if there is nothing to magnify.

A few years ago I was given a t-shirt that belonged to my grandfather. On one of his birthdays his family gave him this shirt, which features a picture of him on the front of it. In the picture he is holding up a magnifying glass to his teeth so that his smile appears much larger than usual. I can recall playing with that magnifying glass and doing the same trick he was doing in that picture. I also remember that if there was nothing at which to look the magnifying glass was pointless. Mary said, “My soul magnifies the Lord.” However, without God the story of Mary’s life and her soul appears blurry and without purpose, just like our own lives.

Most of the time I cannot begin to comprehend the Virgin Birth. It makes absolutely no sense from a reasoned, logical point of view. From the little I remember in biology class this is simply not how the birthing process happens. Part of me wants to say, “Other religions did this fantastic birth narrative thing, so Christians just wanted to do something similar.” And yet, if Mary’s ministry as the God-bearer happened without God, then her soul’s magnification would have been out of focus. We would not even remember her witness if it did not produce abundantly.

Mary’s life though was not just about the nine months in which she was the Theotokos (that is God bearer in Greek, and it is how the Greek Church refers to Mary). The earthly caretaker of Jesus the Christ walked alongside her son every step of his life. She cared for him when a child, she raised him up within her Faith Tradition, she pushed him to strive for greatness performing his first miracle at Cana, she did not rebuke him when Jesus said his disciples were his true family, and even when her own magnifying soul was pierced at Jesus’ death she remained faithful. I look at all of this and marvel. I also feel a little deflated, as though there is nothing in my own soul to be magnified. This is precisely the point though.

Our lives are not about what we accomplish. They are not about what we do or do not do on our own. They are not about the greatness that exists within our hearts (as all the Olympic commercials want to tell us), but rather as followers of Jesus our existence is about something else entirely. We, like Mary, are given the gift of magnification. What we magnify though is not something of our own creation alone, but instead what God creates with us within our souls.

There are countless ways to be microscopes and magnifying glasses for what God is doing within us. And, Mary shows us with her witness that it is not just about a fantastic moment when God comes to speak with us. Rather, to magnify we must do what Mary did “Ponder all these things in [our] hearts” (Luke 2:19). To amplify how God exists in our souls we must first be present enough within our own beings that we meet God in the home that is our hearts.

The Transfiguration: A Guide to Our Spiritual Life

Today we celebrate the Feast of the Transfiguration, which means we get to hear the story of John, James, and of course, Peter. Oh Peter! We’ll get to him in a moment, for now though, can you imagine being those disciples hiking along with Jesus on this mountaintop journey? First, they hiked up to the top of Mount Hermon, which stands at about 9,200 feet. Next, they watched as Jesus in the midst of prayer began glowing brighter than anything on earth. Then, out of nowhere Moses and Elijah the paragons of the Jewish Faith appeared. And finally, a cloud obscured their vision such that they could not see and a voice spoke from the fog saying, “This is my Son, my chosen; listen to him!” This had to be an intensely overwhelming experience.

We are probably not accustomed to having such spiritual moments. When was the last time that you saw your spiritual leader transfigured by God or joined by some pillars of the Faith? Still, we like the disciples do have peak spiritual moments. We are not immune to both the valleys and the mountains on our journey. In the midst of Peter’s experience of Jesus’ Transfiguration he said something so trivial and out of place that I have a hard time not belittling the disciple. Peter spoke, “Master, it is good for us to be here; let us make three dwellings, one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah,” and Luke even adds the editorial comment, “Not knowing what he said.” This sentiment by Peter stands out though as one of the most human responses to an encounter with the Divine.

More people now believe that they have had an encounter with the Divine than in previous generations over the last 100 years, says the Pew Research Center. Maybe it is not quite like what Peter, John, and James saw on top of the mountain, but something is happening in our desire for and our belief in connections with God. Our response to these encounters though seems woefully undisciplined. I can hardly recall a time growing up when I learned what to do when or if I felt like I had some sort of epiphany or spiritual experience. Often then we respond like Peter, not knowing what we do or say.

The typical human response to Divinity is to encase God somehow. From primitive societies up to this very moment we have been trying to make a home for God, just like Peter did during the Transfiguration. This is not a bad thing, this is just what we do. We want to be able to come back to the overwhelming moment with God. We yearn to hold onto God. We desire some reliable way of getting spiritually high. And yet, this story of the Transfiguration actually provides us with a blueprint to how we might respond to feeling the overabundant presence of the Almighty.

After Peter said his comment, after God came and spoke, and after things went back to normal (if that was even possible for the disciples) everything went silent, stark, and quiet. The disciples, probably in shock from being some of the only people to come into the direct presence of the Almighty without dying, could not say anything. And so they did not. They remained silent as they descended down the mountain. They would not even speak of this experience for weeks, not until after Jesus died and was raised. This might be a good guide to the divine life.

All of us live in immediate proximity of the Divine. In our hearts, minds, bodies, and souls, in our relationships, in Creation around us is God’s omnipresent nature. We may not always recognize it, but God is always here with us. Sometimes those moments when everything seems right make us want to hold onto the moment like Peter did. Instead maybe we could just enjoy the contact with God. Perhaps we can allow that moment to permeate our beings. I can sometimes want to talk so much about what I have experienced—I know it’s an occupational hazard of being a priest. And yet, when we meet God the most fitting response might just be to be… to be quiet, to be silent, and to be reverent, as we allow this experience to shape us and form us. Let us look to the Transfiguration as an example of how we might be transformed by God, quietly taking in Divine Communion as God permeates our entire existence.

Keeping Watch

The night before brave souls would be knighted by King Arthur they had to fulfill one last requirement. In the chapel, all through the small hours of the morning, they had to keep watch. I remember hearing the stories of the knights of the Round Table as a child when I went to Camp Winnataska. These legends remain an important strand in the weave of the camp's ethos. Today though, I wonder how readily available are opportunities for night watches or watches of any kind.

This coming Sunday's Gospel lesson from Luke challenges us to "be like those who are waiting for their master to return from the wedding banquet, so that [we] may open the door for him as soon as he comes and knocks" (12:36). As I admitted in yesterday's blog I am quite impatient, so how do I (and how do we) learn to wait in a society devoid of rituals that bid us to practice the art of waiting on the Lord? We must take a page from King Arthur's book and bring back the vigil, but perhaps in a different way.

Every Maundy Thursday growing up at St. Andrew's Church in Birmingham I found myself with family members and strangers alike sitting in St. Mary's Chapel waiting. Many churches have this practice on remembering Jesus' call to stay awake with him praying, like he did in the Garden of Gethsemane. So, for an entire hour I was compelled to sit in silence. This was awfully challenging when I was a rambunctious tween. I could read or draw very politely, but that was it. "What a bore!" I thought. My mom did wisely provide the proverbial carrot of pizza at the end of that hour vigil, but this was my only real world link to what I had heard in the stories of King Arthur's knights, and I did not much like it.

Fast forward to college when Chaplain Tom Ward invited some friends and me to take part in a type of Christian meditation. I felt a little pressured by them to come along, but quickly I discovered through Tom's excitement about this type of prayer that this was not just some strange new theological fad. No, this was and very much still is a way of vigilantly waiting for Christ's knocking at our hearts. For most of my sophomore year I tried out this type of prayer, and I still recall that being the most grounded year of college. Then, I lost touch with Centering Prayer, which calls for one to focus on a word that centers one's entire being on resting in God's presence. That was until I met my wife.

About four years ago I met Kim at a meeting for our seminary's flag football team (I know right?). Immediately I felt a connection with her, and one of the ways that we immediately bonded was through Centering Prayer. I was in serious need of some spiritual depth as I entered my final year of MDiv. studies. I felt like God was pounding on the door of my heart, but how could I get down to unlock it and let Christ inside? Kim invited me to practice this type of patient prayer, which I struggled with this time around. However, the more I practice it the more it fills me up and allows me to realize that it is not about the practice of prayer, but how our lives become a life of waiting and watching.

Cursillo Reunion groups ask the question, "What was your closest moment to Christ this week?" I feel like what Jesus attempts to say to us through this week's reading is wait and watch for my coming. Centering Prayer wakes me up to a contemplative life in which I am constantly wondering where will I see God's handiwork next. This Cursillo question does likewise. So, how will you wait for God? Through prayer? Through a Cursillo Reunion or other small group? Through serving others? Through looking for Christ in the Holy Eucharist? We all are charged with the task of keeping watch. How do you wait for God?

You Ready?

Cpt. John Parker depicted in the Lexington Minuteman monument.
How were minutemen ready so quickly?

While I am not much of one any more, there was a time when I felt like quite the history buff. I loved learning the little details about periods of history and the movements civilizations have made throughout time. The American Revolutionary War stood out as a particular era of interest, especially the overthrowing of an oppressive govern, the founding of modern democracy, and so many wise minds coming together to build more than just a nation but a more advanced way of living. However, one detail of this time always threw me for a loop. How was it possible for the minutemen to be ready to go off to battle at a moment’s notice? HOW?

I know this seems like a tiny detail to question, but I just do not get it. I am a planner. I take weeks to get ready to go out of town for a night. I have packing lists stored on my computer for every occasion, and still I cannot get ready in an hour or two much less a minute. How was it possible for these men to be ready to go off to battle that quickly? I still am not sure the answer, but this same type of precarious question haunts me when I read over this coming Sunday’s Gospel lesson from Luke 12:32-40.

Jesus tells his disciples, “Be dressed for action and have your lamps lit; be like those who are waiting for their master to return from the wedding banquet, so that they may open the door for him as soon as he comes and knocks.” And he also says, “But know this: if the owner of the house had known at what hour the thief was coming, he would not have let his house be broken into. You also must be ready, for the Son of Man is coming at an unexpected hour.” How Jesus are we to be ready for the master to return all the time? I can easily detect in these two sentences the vast difference between those who are ready and waiting and those who fall asleep while on watch. And yet, like the minutemen’s quick preparations, the dutiful servant’s steadfast patience leaves me feeling lacking.

Somehow through the real life experiences of when we must wait are teaching me how to be ready and waiting spiritually. When I was a child I often felt like I would die of boredom waiting until it was time to go to a friend’s house to spend the night or play. Later in college I can remember the same feeling creeping into my heart when I was having to be patient until a buddy was finished with a paper, so that we could go grab dinner or a beer. Even now I am learning to wait with friends, family, colleagues, and my beloved wife. All my neurosis when it comes to getting ready weeks in advance does mean that I end up waiting a fair share for others to get to that same point. And yet, in all of this I have slowly been realizing that these moments of practicing patient are not a waste (as much as I want to say that they are). No, God's presence persists just as palpably when I am having to wait, as it does when I am enjoying the thing for which I waited. The key seems to be remembering that every moment, even the ones I deem boring, are not just a gift from God but even something more.

We wait, we practice patience, and we dress ourselves for action with lamps lit, so that we may realize that the Son of Man comes to us. Some will say that moment will happen solely at the End of Days. I am more of the belief that Christ perpetually comes to us knocking at the door of our hearts. Sure, we may more fully realize his Advent on the Last Day or on our last day. Still, our call is not to neurotically prepare with anxiety, so that we might be ready for a trip once in a while, but rather to learn to always be prepared like those minutemen were ready to march out at a moment’s notice. Being ready though requires our diligence (our paying attention). We need a community to form us and teach us. To be prepared calls for us to stumble and mess up, so that we might wake up. Then, late one night or early one morning we might just be ready to recognize that God’s grace is bidding us to see what is always happening... Christ perpetually coming to be with us! You ready?