tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-41490492933164517952024-03-22T03:10:45.053-05:00Only a SojournerI am a sojourner on a life-long journey, moving both inward and outward, exploring both my own inner landscape and the terrain in which others live. While still moving into the center, I'm also stretching toward the edges. These reflections trace some of my exploration.JWebbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10864904944341369598noreply@blogger.comBlogger293125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4149049293316451795.post-9012602160544508372020-02-25T13:45:00.001-06:002020-02-25T13:46:42.682-06:00Learn to Bear the Beams of Love<b>Fat Tuesday – February 25, 2020</b><br />
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The season of Lent suggests starkness, struggle, and difficulty. Typical Lenten images include desert and dust, pilgrimage and preparation. Words like repentance and redemption show up often. Some folks image Lent as a time for a spiritual house-cleaning.<br />
Those images are appropriate and good, with a long history in the Church. They help us realize that we don’t appear on Easter morning to celebrate the Resurrection of Christ without some context, without making a journey toward that celebration. I affirm those understandings of Lent and their corresponding images, but I want to suggest another image for Lent.<br />
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Lent is also the time to dig deeper into the heart of God, to find ourselves immersed more completely in the mercy, compassion, and generosity that are at the center of life. This may not be a typical Lenten theme, but I believe it carries significance for us. The journey with Jesus toward Holy Week, the cross and Resurrection is a pilgrimage of love. His deep love for his Abba and for each of us animated each step toward the Passion. He embodied the love of God. His movements toward his final week were permeated in a generous and compassionate love. Mercy is who he was.<br />
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So I think about my life, our lives, as they are shaped by love. I’m drawn to one of William Blake’s poems in his “Songs of Innocence,” where he writes:<br />
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<i>And we are put on earth a little space,<br />
That we may learn to bear the beams of love.</i><br />
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Beams of love illumine our world in every place and at every moment. Creation is full of love-beams. We are surrounded by them. In a sense, the beams of love are God’s work, God’s initiative, God’s gift to the world. The human responsibility, though, is to “bear” those beams.<br />
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The dual meaning of “bearing” is important. We are here to bear the beams of love, that is, to stand up underneath them. To bear the beams of love is to receive their weight and significance into ourselves, to welcome them into our being. <br />
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But the word “bear” also has another meaning. To bear is to carry or to deliver to another. We can bear good news. We bear something when we take it to someone else.<br />
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This is our Lenten journey, both to bear the beams of love by receiving them into ourselves, and to bear the beams of love by carrying them to others in the world. It is the twofold movement of the Christian spiritual life: First, the soul’s movement inward where we are connected ever-more deeply to God and to transforming love. Then the second, outward movement to carry love into society in a way that transforms the world. <br />
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Persons throughout history have borne the beams of love. Across the generations, they have given themselves to a more intentional spiritual path, affirming both inward and outward dimensions of life with God. We are invited to join them in this holy journey.<br />
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I'll post daily reflections throughout Lent on my sister site: https://dailylent.blogspot.com/<br />
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Welcome to Lent! <br />
JWebbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10864904944341369598noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4149049293316451795.post-61950943052452468962019-12-25T22:10:00.001-06:002019-12-25T22:10:03.899-06:00Christmas Day with Thomas MertonToday on Christmas, I’ll share with you Thomas Merton’s words. In <i>Seasons of Celebration</i>, he writes about the birth of Christ. Merton is particularly moved by Christ as light, and our human need not only to receive the light <i>within</i> us, but more, to allow the light to shine <i>through</i> us. This is what Merton says:<br />
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Christ is born. He is born <i>to us</i>. And, he is born <i>today</i>. For Christmas is not merely a day like every other day. It is a day made holy and special by a sacred mystery. It is not merely another day in the weary round of time. Today, eternity enters into time and time, sanctified, is caught up into eternity. Today, Christ, the Eternal Word of the Father, who was in the beginning with the Father, in whom all things were made, by whom all things consist, enters into the world which he created in order to reclaim souls who have lost their identity. Therefore, the Church exults as the angels come down to announce not merely an old thing that happened long ago, but a new thing that happens today. For, today, God the Father makes all things new, in his Divine Son, our Redeemer, according to his words: <i>Ecce nova facio omnia</i>. . . .<br />
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At Christmas, more than ever, it is fitting to remember that we have no other light but Christ, who is born to us today. Let us reflect that he came down from heaven to be our light, and our life. He came, as he himself assures us, to be our way, by which we may return to the Father. Christ gives us light today to know him, in the Father and ourselves in him, so that thus knowing and possessing Christ, we may have life everlasting with him in the Father. . . .<br />
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Having realized, once again, who it is that comes to us, and having remembered that he alone is our light, let us open our eyes to the rising Sun, let us hasten to receive him and let us come together to celebrate the great mystery of charity which is the sacrament of our salvation and of our union in Christ. Let us receive Christ that we may in all truth be “light in the Lord” and that Christ may shine not only <i>to</i> us, but <i>through</i> us, and that we may all burn together in the sweet light of his presence in the world: I mean his presence in us, for we are his Body and his Holy Church. . . .<br />
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Christ, light of light, is born today, and since he is born to us, he is born in us as light and therefore we who believe are born today to new light. That is to say, our souls are born to new life and new grace by receiving him who is the Truth. For Christ, invisible in his own nature, has become visible in our nature. What else can this mean, except that first he has become visible as a man and second he has become visible in his Church? He wills to be visible in us, to live in us, and save us through his secret action in our own hearts and the hearts of our neighbors. So, we must receive the light of the newborn Savior by faith, in order to manifest it by our witness in common praise and by the works of our charity towards one another.<br />
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[Thomas Merton, <i>Seasons of Celebration</i>, pp. 102-105.] <br />
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JWebbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10864904944341369598noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4149049293316451795.post-8963183319937885802019-12-11T11:40:00.000-06:002019-12-11T11:40:12.151-06:00Ballets, Spotlights, and GodEvery day this month I'm listening to Advent texts, mostly drawn from Isaiah's vision of who God is and what God is doing in the world. Isaiah tends to be lyrical, using vivid images to illumine honestly the situation of the world and God's place at the center of history -- not only in ancient times, but today as well. <br />
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Isaiah' prophecy covers a wide swath of time, from a season when Israel was threatened by foreign powers, to the time when those foreign powers devastated the people and the land, to the days when God began to restore what had been demolished. There are a lot of moving pieces in Isaiah, and it's not easy to follow the action. Only God and God's desire for healing and justice holds together the far-reaching prophecy.<br />
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I recently attended The Nutcracker again, performed by a troupe whose artistic director had a different vision of the story than that to which I was accustomed. His approach was quite nontraditional. At times the action on stage seemed disjointed. I tried to follow the story line as part of the troupe danced on one part of the stage, while children huddled in mock-conversation in another part of the stage, while other characters were coming and going, stage right and stage left. My eyesight -- and attention -- wandered from corner to corner in the busy scene as I tried to figure out how this scene was carrying the plot forward. <br />
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Then I noticed help. A spotlight from above and behind me was following around the stage one pair of dancers. These were the leads, the principal dancers. The spotlight was telling me, "Follow this action. At this moment, these dancers are the most important thing happening on stage." I realized that the production crew was helping novices like me to understand the story, to catch the important movements that were key to the unfolding narrative, by use of a highlighter. For the rest of the ballet, I followed the spotlight.<br />
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In a sense, Isaiah provides us a spotlight by continually calling us back to God. In his day, there was plenty going on in the world that asked for the attention of Isaiah's community. Pieces were moving everywhere.<br />
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And in our day, there are all sorts of noisy voices calling out, "Look at me! Look at me!" Our attention is prone to wander . . . to chase an act of brutality here . . . a new political reality there . . . spending our days chasing Facebook posts, angry tweets, and news-feeds. The relentless pace can drive you nuts.<br />
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But like that ballet spotlight, Isaiah shines a light upon God. In our day, we would do well to take our cue from the prophet.<br />
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In effect, Isaiah says, "All the commotion in the world is trying to call your attention to it. Be alert. Don't divert your gaze. Don't do that. Pay attention to what God is doing in the world. Keep the eyes of your heart focused on God's work, God's promise, God's nature. Don't be distracted. Don't let your vision wander."<br />
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This isn't easy to do. I'm as distracted -- and distractable -- as the next person. But I want to ask different questions about life, the world, and the commotion around us.<br />
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What are God's hopes for the world? What is God's design for the world?<br />
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What is God doing in the world? <br />
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How is God at work today, even in the midst of much hatred, division, and alienation? How do I notice God's presence today in concrete ways?<br />
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How am I invited to join God in what God is doing in the world? When I follow the spotlight, how might God invite me to respond?<br />
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JWebbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10864904944341369598noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4149049293316451795.post-215624016996840752019-12-03T07:32:00.003-06:002019-12-03T07:32:58.106-06:00Learning a Different Wisdom<i>There must be a time of day when the man who makes plans forgets his plans, and acts as if he had no plans at all. There must be a time of day when the man who has to speak falls very silent. And his mind forms no more propositions, and he asks himself: Did they have any meaning? There must be a time when a man of prayer goes to pray as if it were the first time in his life he had ever prayed; when the man of resolutions puts his resolutions aside as if they had all been broken, and he learns a different wisdom: distinguishing the sun from the moon, the stars from the darkness, the sea from the dry land, and the night sky from the shoulder of a hill.</i> [Thomas Merton, <i>No Man Is an Island</i>, p. 260.]<br />
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Black Friday . . . Small-Business Saturday . . . Cyber Monday . . . Giving Tuesday . . .<br />
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Who comes up with this stuff, anyway? Well, I think I know the answer,especially when I hear the many reports of how "successful" or "unsuccessful" these days are . . . when the impact of the days is measured in $$$ and %. <br />
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Advent arrives as a blanket warming the cold, market-driven days, urging me to "forget my plans" . . . "fall very silent" . . . "pray as if for the first time" . . . "learn a different wisdom." <br />
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Advent does not speak the language of market growth or GNP or China trade deals or even "what will I get the grandchildren for Christmas?" <br />
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The season offers a quieter, gentler invitation . . . to reevaluate and recalibrate . . . to stay rooted in that which is life- and light-giving, rather than getting carried away by the distractive pulls of the moment . . . to join a more universal design that transcends my little social gatherings and travel plans and musical specials.<br />
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Merton was not writing about Advent per se, but he might as well have been describing the season. <br />
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I am tempted, this early morning in Advent, to state my goals for the season: “forget my plans” . . . “fall very silent” . . . “pray as if for the first time” . . . “learn a different wisdom.” But I think I would regret placing my own agenda on the days, forcing this grand, unfathomable season into my own little gift box, so that by the end I could measure it - maybe in % - to see how successful or unsuccessful I was. <br />
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No, I think instead I'll just be alert what shows up . . . I'll stay open to the grace and mercy hiding in whatever is . . . I'll allow the warm blanket of Advent to cover all the coldness within me and in the world.<br />
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JWebbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10864904944341369598noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4149049293316451795.post-84425054942784048682019-06-18T11:17:00.000-05:002019-06-18T11:17:36.640-05:00A More Expansive DanceFr Thomas Keating told an apocryphal story about an elder monk on his hands and knees, combing through the grass in front of the hut that was his living quarters. A younger monk walking by asked, "Father, what are you doing?"<br />
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"Looking for my keys," replied the elder.<br />
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The young monk immediately got down on his hands and knees and began to comb through the grass. <br />
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Other monks passed by. Each stopped to ask what was going on and each received the same answer: "We're looking for Father's keys." Before long the expansive yard was full of monks crawling through the grass, looking for lost keys.<br />
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Finally, one of the monks who had joined the search gathered the courage to ask the obvious question which no one to that point had the nerve to ask: "Father, are you sure you lost your keys out here in the grass?"<br />
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"Oh no, my son," the older monk answered. "I lost my keys in the house. But since there is no light in the house, I thought I'd look out here in the sunshine." <br />
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When Fr Keating told the story, he would summarize the imaginary scene this way: "And that is the human condition. We are all looking for the keys to happiness where happiness cannot be found." <br />
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This is the perennial challenge of the spiritual life . . . to shift our center of orbit from all the ways, places, and things to which we look for fulfillment . . . to shift our orbit to the One who is the Center of all life. The shift is so difficult because we receive almost no cultural validation for making this shift. In fact, culturally we are encouraged to chase after all sorts of other things that promise happiness, but in the end cannot hold the weight of our being.<br />
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Contrary to conventional wisdom, the center of life is not measured by your bank account . . . by the number of friends you have . . . by what others think of your work . . . by how mannerly -- or petulant -- you are . . . by the success you achieve. <br />
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For many of us, at issue is the way life itself, by its very nature, tends to sweep us up and carry us along, so that we feel carried along by a train whose destination was determined by someone else, and from which we cannot seem to get off. <br />
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In the daily run of life, it is so easy to believe that the thing right here before us is the <b><i>only</i></b> thing.<br />
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I remember in 1998 when my dad died . . . his death was the big thing squarely in front of me, demanding all the attention I could muster. Trying to be present for my mom, for my own children, for the funeral preparations which needed to be made, and still attend to my own grief, my orbit became very small, very focused on that which was right in front of me. <br />
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But I also had a couple of experiences that week around his funeral which said to me, "While my world has stopped at this place . . . while all I can see is this loss and the shape of life now in the aftermath . . . there are many others in the world who are completely unaffected by his death. For them, life is moving on."<br />
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It was a moment of revelation for me. My world had stopped. But the world did not stop for others. Life continued. At first, I railed inwardly about it: "My FATHER has died!! Can't you have some respect?!?! Can't you stop for a moment as I have stopped?!" When I realized what I was thinking, the lesson for me became clear: My life and existence so easily becomes the center of the entire universe, and actually I'm not the center at all.<br />
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Usually it takes the created world to remind me that life is happening always and everywhere, sustained by God, whether I am present to it or not . . . regardless of what concerns fill my life . . . no matter the deadlines I'm facing that feel as if they are pinching or the "pressing work" that calls for all my attention. <br />
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The waves of the surf will continue to roll in and out, no matter what my life is like today.<br />
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The river which slices through these mountains will continue to sing whether I am sitting there to listen or not.<br />
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These deer grazing by the roadside will go on finding their own "daily bread" whether I meet my deadline or not.<br />
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The lush green woods will lose their leaves, but then produce them again, far apart from whatever I think is important in my life.<br />
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Thomas Merton described what he called the General Dance or the Cosmic Dance . . . the dance of the world which humans often miss, as we are consumed with the far smaller dances of our own creation . . . shuffling papers . . . tinkering with websites . . . posting for "likes" on social media . . . building the life we imagine we are supposed to have . . . crippled by anxiety over political and denominational realities.<br />
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The things that mostly consume us are too small . . . they are not substantial enough to hold the weight of your being. They are dances we have learned from culture, from those who tell us what we should dance around. Most of them are completely disconnected from the Cosmic Dance.<br />
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Read Merton's words as he describes this larger dance, then spend some time meditating on them over several days.<br />
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<i>What is serious to men is often very trivial in the sight of God. What in God might appear to us as “play” is perhaps what He Himself takes most seriously. At any rate the Lord plays and diverts Himself in the garden of His creation, and if we could let go of our own obsession with what we think is the meaning of it all, we might be able to hear His call and follow Him in His mysterious, cosmic dance. We do not have to go very far to catch echoes of that game, and of that dancing. When we are alone on a starlit night; when by chance we see the migrating birds in autumn descending on a grove of junipers to rest and eat; when we see children in a moment when they are really children; when we know love in our own hearts; or when, like the Japanese poet Basho we hear an old frog land in a quiet pond with a solitary splash – at such times the awakening, the turning inside out of all values, the “newness,” the emptiness and the purity of vision that make themselves evident, provide a glimpse of the cosmic dance.<br />
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For the world and time are the dance of the Lord in emptiness. The silence of the spheres is the music of a wedding feast. The more we persist in misunderstanding the phenomena of life, the more we analyze them out into strange finalities and complex purposes of our own, the more we involve ourselves in sadness, absurdity and despair. But it does not matter much, because no despair of ours can alter the reality of things, or stain the joy of the cosmic dance which is always there. Indeed, we are in the midst of it, and it is in the midst of us, for it beats in our very blood, whether we want it to or not.<br />
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Yet the fact remains that we are invited to forget ourselves on purpose, cast our awful solemnity to the winds and join in the general dance.</i><br />
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[Thomas Merton, <i>New Seeds of Contemplation</i> (New York: New Directions, 1961), pp. 296-297]<br />
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JWebbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10864904944341369598noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4149049293316451795.post-34799300214839816822019-04-20T18:00:00.000-05:002019-04-20T18:00:00.352-05:00Resurrection Sunday: Let Him Easter in Us<br />
For a week or so I’ve been drawn to the Gerard Manley Hopkins line, “<i>Let him easter in us, be a dayspring to the dimness in us.</i>” I’m reconsidering its meaning this year. <br />
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I first saw the line in a Catholic bookstore at an Iowa retreat center 20 years ago. Hopkins’ words were incorporated into the mission statement of a female religious order in the Midwest, and one of the Sisters of the order had painted the line in watercolor, beautifully depicting the phrase in a way that caught my eye. I’ve kept the framed work in a place where I can see it almost daily since that time.<br />
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All these years, I’ve been moved by the novelty of Hopkins’ use of “easter” as a verb, an action word. Again this Holy Week, I’ve played around with what “<i>let him easter in us</i>” might mean. At the moment, I only have hints and guesses. For now, I’m exploring.<br />
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A couple of days ago, I randomly connected Hopkins’ line with a familiar verse from Mary Oliver. Surely to “<i>let him easter in us</i>” has something to do with life and vibrancy. <br />
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The Mary Oliver question which came to mind in my pondering simply asks: “<i>Listen, are you breathing just a little, and calling it a life?</i>”<br />
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The line comes squarely in the center of her lengthy, “Have You Ever Tried to Enter the Long Black Branches,” a poem which invites us to a more vibrant, <i>alive</i> existence by getting out of our self-focus and into the lives of things around us: The long branches of young locust trees in early summer, or the sea, or the grass.<br />
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She writes: <br />
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<i>And who will care, who will chide you if you wander away<br />
from wherever you are, to look for your soul?<br />
Quickly, then, get up, put on your coat, leave your desk!</i><br />
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And then:<br />
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<i>For how long will you continue to listen to those dark shouters,<br />
caution and prudence?<br />
Fall in! Fall in!</i><br />
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It has occurred to me this week that “breathing just a little and calling it a life” is <b>not</b> the same as letting him easter in us. <br />
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Further, this week I am holding the tension of reconciliation as I ponder “<i>let him easter in us</i>.” Paul wrote in 2 Cor. 5 that this was Christ’s work in the world, reconciling the world. I assume this work continues in an even greater way post-Resurrection. Christ eastering in us and in the world surely has something to do with reconciliation, making right the divisions and factions that exist within us, among us, and in the world. <br />
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Reconciliation is making right, making peace. The dictionary definition says “to restore to friendship or harmony,” so it includes a work of restoration. <br />
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Many times I am like the political leaders who urge oneness and harmony among partisans, but who really mean, “There will only be oneness and harmony if you come to my position on this issue, if you see things my way, if you adopt my value system.” This is a sham of harmony and has nothing to do with reconciliation.<br />
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Authentic reconciliation stands in the center and holds all the sides, all the partisans, all the variances together. Again, Paul said that in Christ, there is no Jew or Greek, no male or female, no rich or poor, no slave or free, but all are one in Christ. So it sounds like, when I take one position or another – and believe me, I definitely have my firmly-held positions!! – I’m in no place to reconcile. If I am in one position or another, dug in, I’m no longer able to reconcile, to bring together. I may be entrenched, but not in a place of restoring friendship and harmony. <br />
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From that place, people in the “opposing camp” become “elites” or “snowflakes,” or they become “a basket of deplorables.” Reconciliation cannot happen there.<br />
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It seems to me that reconciliation somehow holds both (or all) the extremes together, in order to work toward healing and oneness. This is strenuous work, and requires that we get outside of ourselves, that we take on a new mind, that our lives are oriented as “the mind of Christ.”<br />
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It is a bogus oneness to say that we all need to come together as one nation or one denomination or one whatever, while advocating that everyone needs to agree with me . . . that only if others come to my position can there be oneness. This is a pseudo-oneness, a sham of reconciliation.<br />
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To reconcile is to make peace, to live into a wholeness which transcends one position or another position. To make peace – <i>shalom</i> – brings completeness . . . making peace and restoring friendship with God . . . making peace among the scattered parts of ourselves, befriending our own lives again . . . making peace with others, especially those with whom we disagree.<br />
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Are some causes unjust? Certainly!<br />
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Are other causes worth fighting for? Definitely!<br />
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But in every case, we are invited to follow Christ, whose work was reconciling the world to God . . . to be reconcilers, to make peace, to listen to the other, to treat the other with respect and friendship, to work toward <i>shalom<i></i></i> . . . the invitation stands for those who are post-Resurrection disciples.<br />
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<i>Let him easter in us</i>. At some level, at least in my thinking today, Christ eastering in us means we join him in his work of reconciling the world. <br />
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JWebbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10864904944341369598noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4149049293316451795.post-72710452997206282552019-04-19T18:00:00.000-05:002019-04-19T18:00:00.221-05:00Holy Saturday: On Tombs, Prisoners, and Antelopes in the Grass<br />
On Christmas Day 2018, I opened a gift from my son, the junior high principal, the poet. It was a hardback edition of a William Stafford book of poetry (the softcover edition having been on my bookshelf for many years). <br />
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But this one different, and not just that its cover was hard. On the title page was Stafford’s signature, a luminous find in the mammoth Powell’s Bookstore of Downtown Portland – likely landing there after Stafford’s teaching career at local Lewis and Clark College. <br />
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Tears filled my eyes, because I have a son who thinks about these things, who loves poetry and literature. <br />
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And tears filled my eyes as I randomly opened the pages and read whatever my eyes fell upon, moved again by Stafford’s utter simplicity and by his way of jumping into the stream and letting the current take him wherever it would. He had no sense of building to a great crescendo in his poems, just tracking along to see where the poem led, as if each line were some golden thread which the reader could hold onto and trace to something else that might arise in his or her imagination. <br />
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I sat among grandchildren -- busily devouring gifts amidst loud laughter and chatter -- quietly reading along in Stafford, choking back the Christmas tears. <br />
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This is one of the poems that had my address on it, and still does . . . maybe because it explores themes I’ve often pondered for myself . . . and maybe because it is sufficiently unresolved to remind me of my life.<br />
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On this Holy Saturday, I give William Stafford’s poem about tight spaces, prisoners, and antelopes in the grass to you.<br />
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<b>A Message from the Wanderer<br />
William Stafford</b><br />
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<i>Today outside your prison I stand<br />
and rattle my walking stick: Prisoners, listen;<br />
you have relatives outside. And there are<br />
thousands of ways to escape.<br />
<br />
Years ago I bent my skill to keep my<br />
cell locked, had chains smuggled to me in pies,<br />
and shouted my plans to jailers;<br />
but always new plans occurred to me,<br />
or the new heavy locks bent hinges off,<br />
or some stupid jailer would forget<br />
and leave the keys.<br />
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Inside, I dreamed of constellations – <br />
those feeding creatures outlined by stars,<br />
their skeletons a darkness between jewels,<br />
heroes that exist only where they are not.<br />
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Thus freedom always came nibbling my thought,<br />
just as – often, in light, on the open hills – <br />
you can pass an antelope and not know<br />
and look back, and then – even before you see – <br />
there is something wrong about the grass.<br />
And then you see.<br />
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That’s the way everything in the world is waiting.<br />
<br />
Now – these few more words, and then I’m <br />
gone: Tell everyone just to remember<br />
their names, and remind others, later, when we<br />
find each other. Tell the little ones<br />
to cry and then go to sleep, curled up<br />
where they can. And if any of us get lost,<br />
if any of us cannot come all the way – <br />
remember: there will come a time when <br />
all we have said and all we have hoped<br />
will be all right.<br />
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There will be that form in the grass.</i><br />
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[William Stafford, <i>Stories That Could Be True</i> (New York: Harper & Row, 1977), p. 9.]<br />
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JWebbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10864904944341369598noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4149049293316451795.post-34273144150101372992019-04-18T18:00:00.000-05:002019-04-18T18:00:04.864-05:00Good Friday: Praying with Psalm 14<br />
Here is a psalm for prayer as you move into Good Friday.<br />
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Norman Fischer's book of psalms, <i>Opening to You</i>, combines beautiful poetry with a gentle spirit which renders the prayers in striking images. His work is my <i>go-to</i> when I want to see the psalms differently and pray them honestly. I highly recommend <i>Opening to You</i>. <br />
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<b>Psalm 14<br />
Norman Fischer</b><br />
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<i>The useless fool says in his heart<br />
“God is nothing”<br />
People are corrupt, do only harm<br />
Not one does good unselfishly, not one<br />
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You gaze down from the highest<br />
Upon humankind in the middle<br />
To see if there is one person with eyes<br />
One with understanding<br />
One capable of seeing your seeing<br />
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But they are all gone bad<br />
All turned sour and blind<br />
There is none who knows good<br />
Not one<br />
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Is there not even a speck of understanding<br />
In all the world of blind heedlessness<br />
Among those who eat up others as if they were bread<br />
And do not even know their own hearts<br />
Or a single true word?<br />
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But they become terrified even within their terror<br />
When they see you burning in the circle of goodness<br />
Shining out of the eyes of the lowly and the poor<br />
Showing your holiness in their defeat<br />
Your invincible power at the center of their weakness<br />
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O that someone might come out of Zion<br />
To bring freedom to the strugglers!<br />
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When you capture the people again<br />
The sojourners will be glad<br />
And the strugglers will rejoice with strong singing</i><br />
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[Norman Fischer, “Psalm 14,” <i>Opening to You</i> (New York: Penguin Compass, 2002), p. 17.]<br />
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JWebbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10864904944341369598noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4149049293316451795.post-17755368406593715422019-04-02T16:14:00.000-05:002019-04-02T16:14:12.370-05:00In the Living Years<b>The Rich Man and Lazarus</b><br />
<b>Luke 16:19-31</b><br />
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<i>19 Jesus said, “There was a certain rich man who was splendidly clothed in purple and fine linen and who lived each day in luxury. 20 At his gate lay a poor man named Lazarus who was covered with sores. 21 As Lazarus lay there longing for scraps from the rich man’s table, the dogs would come and lick his open sores.<br />
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22 “Finally, the poor man died and was carried by the angels to Abraham’s bosom. The rich man also died and was buried, 23 and he went to Hades, the place of the dead. There, in torment, he saw Abraham in the far distance with Lazarus at his side.<br />
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24 “The rich man shouted, ‘Father Abraham, have some pity! Send Lazarus over here to dip the tip of his finger in water and cool my tongue. I am in anguish in these flames.’<br />
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25 “But Abraham said to him, ‘Son, remember that during your lifetime you had everything you wanted, and Lazarus had nothing. So now he is here being comforted, and you are in anguish. 26 And besides, there is a great chasm separating us. No one can cross over to you from here, and no one can cross over to us from there.’<br />
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27 “Then the rich man said, ‘Please, Father Abraham, at least send him to my father’s home. 28 For I have five brothers, and I want him to warn them so they don’t end up in this place of torment.’<br />
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29 “But Abraham said, ‘Moses and the prophets have warned them. Your brothers can read what they wrote.’<br />
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30 “The rich man replied, ‘No, Father Abraham! But if someone is sent to them from the dead, then they will repent of their sins and turn to God.’<br />
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31 “But Abraham said, ‘If they won’t listen to Moses and the prophets, they won’t be persuaded even if someone rises from the dead.’”</i><br />
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Jesus often teaches in parables. He tells stories which serve to illumine something about the way life is ordered when we are connected to God in life-giving ways. Sometimes the images are all positive, speaking in affirming ways about our God-connection. Other parables include examples of persons who sleep through invitations to a life of meaning and fullness. The story of the Rich Man and Lazarus falls into the latter category.<br />
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As stories which impart spiritual wisdom, parables are not to be taken at face value. Most often, these spiritual stories are layered, nuanced, and invite a different kind of seeing. To read and understand them at a surface level may allow the hearer to have some understanding of what the parable is trying to say; however, a surface reading will also miss many of the undercurrents flowing beneath the story’s surface. <br />
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These undercurrents are suggested by symbols and images which show up in parabolic language. Much as you would do in dream-work, it is helpful to notice the symbols, to trace their meanings, to track where they lead, and to explore the multiple meanings held within a single symbol or image. This kind of investigative work will allow you to find the place where your own soul resonates with some idea or some invitation in the parable. <br />
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(Your soul’s language is most often not a verbal language, but a language of images and symbols. You will recognize in your own dreams that what you most remember are not the words spoken in your dream, but the wild symbols and images which point beyond themselves to deeper realities within yourself and in the world.)<br />
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So given all this background, I’ll say that the parable of the Rich Man and Lazarus is not first of all a commentary on the afterlife. The story is not trying to give a description of heaven, or the place of the dead, or any aspect of life after death. Thus, the story does not make a statement about whether there are different levels to which people go after death, nor is it about whether people can communicate across “chasms” after death. The story is basically about our living years. In the landscape of this parable, the “after death” aspect simply sets up a teaching about the way to live life with God in a way which gives life to the world.<br />
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Second, when looking at the parable, you do well to notice the many symbols in the story as Jesus tells it. Rich images appear everywhere. In working with the story, I made nearly a page-long list of the images contained in it. I spent some time following the trail of some images that seemed most crucial to the wisdom of this teaching story.<br />
• rich<br />
• poor<br />
• Abraham <br />
• Abraham’s bosom<br />
• far distance <br />
• great chasm<br />
• death<br />
• Hades (place of the dead)<br />
• clothed in purple and fine linen<br />
• lived luxury<br />
• dogs<br />
• sores<br />
• gate<br />
• scraps<br />
• rich man’s table<br />
• dip finger in water<br />
• cool my tongue<br />
• agony<br />
• fire<br />
• good things<br />
• bad things<br />
• send Lazarus<br />
• five brothers<br />
• Moses and the prophets<br />
• rises from the dead<br />
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These images enliven the story and allow the reader to explore it for himself or herself.<br />
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The point of the parable seems to be about how we live now, in our living years, in light of death and the afterlife. How do we use our goods and our riches? How do we see our “resources”? Are we generous, miserly, hospitable, protective? <br />
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The Bible does not throw blanket condemnations on wealth and riches. Neither does it subscribe to the prosperity theory that God wants everyone to have an abundance of worldly riches . . and it certainly doesn’t teach that faithfulness to God = material blessings, which is a distortion of the Gospel. <br />
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In fact, while the Church has been obsessed with matters of sexuality – it seems like forever – the scriptures are much more concerned with the dangers of money and possessions. I sense that many of us are more comfortable demonizing certain elements of sexuality because we can objectify them or pretend we are not interested. But acquiring a lot of money not only is socially acceptable, it is encouraged, seen as a sign of ambition, drive, and creativity. But I digress . . .<br />
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In the parable, the Rich Man hides behind gates and doors, without interacting with the world’s need, which is personified by Lazarus. If not a picture of miserliness, at least the Rich Man is a symbol of self-protection, of luxury, of an “eat, drink, and be merry” lifestyle that lives oblivious to others or their needs. In the Rich Man’s world, <i>the other</i> does not even exist.<br />
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As I pointed out above, this story has a treasure trove of rich images . . . doors and gates . . . purple, fine linens versus body-sores and dog’s saliva . . . finest foods versus hunger . . . Father Abraham . . . life and death . . . chasms, separation, and alienation . . . the place of the dead . . . fire and water . . . luxurious excess or scraps from the table . . . on and on it goes. Any and all of the symbols are worth exploring.<br />
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The story portrays two rich persons . . . or even three, if you consider some of the alternative ways Lazarus was rich other than in possessions. (Each of us is rich in some way . . . just not always financially. In fact, sometimes financial wealth is the most impoverished state of all. Many persons are impoverished in compassion, or peace, or contentment, or generosity, or hospitality . . . you see how it goes.)<br />
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One man in the story is labeled “Rich Man” and he is portrayed in a negative light. But Abraham is also a wealthy man – the Hebrew scriptures describe his vast holdings of livestock . . . he was a wealthy man in his time – and it is Abraham who makes a place for Lazarus in his heart. He is a wealthy person who is generous, who opens himself to the other. He stands in contrast to the Rich Man who feasts solo behind closed doors and locked gates. <br />
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The parable turns on the Rich Man’s insistence that had he known better, his life would have been different . . . and at the very least, that his family should be warned so their fate will not be the same as his. There is no repentance, no real change of heart, just the thought – occurring too often among the privileged – that someone else should do something in order to alleviate their suffering.<br />
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But the moral of the parable is that everything you need to live a life of compassion and generosity has already been given. In the frame of the story, Moses and the prophets – especially the 8th century prophets – advocated compassion and kindness for the poor, the widows, and the orphans. If you don’t heed their call, you will not heed even someone who rises from the dead (see what Jesus did in that twist?).<br />
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There are many ways to slice the parable. I’ll leave most of them for you to explore. But I’ll suggest this basic question, which the story seems to ask in a most pronounced way: “Are you are child of Abraham (gracious, welcoming, generous) or are you a child of the world (gate-making, door-locking, door-not-opening, shielding, guarding, protecting, indulging)?”<br />
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JWebbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10864904944341369598noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4149049293316451795.post-7878096001532805412019-03-11T15:21:00.000-05:002019-03-11T15:21:15.373-05:00Fasting, Pacifiers, and the Voices in Your Head<br />
While I came late to the seasons of the Church calendar, still I’ve followed their rhythm for over 35 years. Especially as a minister, preacher, and worship leader, I’m challenged year after year to find new ways to think about Advent . . . or to envision Lent . . . or to celebrate Resurrection. There are only so many ways to twist the prism, only so many times I can lean into my reliable, stand-by descriptions of the seasons.<br />
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So I’ve been enlivened in recent days by Barbara Brown Taylor’s short essay on Lenten disciplines. I’ve followed her writing and preaching for several years. She is compelling and stretching, writing with honesty about the spiritual journey by offering fresh images for envisioning life connected deeply to God. I’ve read a number of her books . . . both <i>Leaving Church</i> and <i>An Altar in the World</i> have impacted me in huge ways. But for some reason, I had missed her essay on Lent until recently. Today, she is my teacher.<br />
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She writes with Luke 4:1-13 in the background, the account of Jesus fasting in the wilderness for 40 days before being tempted. Then she likens Lenten practices to being left in the wilderness by yourself for 24 hours, a common practice among men’s rite-of-passage groups and some wilderness adventure expeditions. The aim in that kind of boundary experience is to place you at the edges of what you know, to push you to see your own life differently, and to come to some deeper sense of what is beneath all the machinations and projections that are part of our daily life. <br />
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The Lenten name we would give to this kind of stripped-down experience is fasting. As Brown Taylor says, <br />
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<i>That is when you find out who you are. That is when you find out what you really miss and what you really fear. Some people dream about their favorite food. Some long for a safe room with a door to lock and others just wish they had a pillow; but they all find out what their pacifiers are – the habits, substances, or surroundings they use to comfort themselves, to block out the pain and fear that are normal parts of being human.</i><br />
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I’ve long recognized that each of us have personalized patterns for dealing with life when we feel things are out of control. We are aware that when Hungry, Angry, Lonely, or Tired, we are especially vulnerable. Usually in those states, we’ll reach for something that brings comfort – that’s why we call some foods “comfort foods” – in order to escape the more difficult realities that rise up from within us. We’ll do most anything to not face our own selves.<br />
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I have my default habits, behaviors, and addictions, just as you do. Brown Taylor says she is convinced that 99% of us are addicted to something. I think the percentage is even higher . . . taking the form of eating, drinking, shopping, blaming, substances, entertainment, busyness. <br />
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Brown Taylor calls these things pacifiers. I think it’s a marvelous image. <br />
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<i>That hollowness we sometimes feel is not a sign of something gone wrong. It is the holy of holies inside of us, the uncluttered throne room of the Lord our God. Nothing on earth can fill it, but that does not stop us from trying. Whenever we start feeling too empty inside, we stick pacifiers into our mouths and suck for all we are worth. They do not nourish us, but at least they plug the hole.</i> <br />
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When you are dropped by the adventure group into the middle of the wilderness, you have left all these pacifiers behind. No more mac and cheese to soothe your anxiety . . . no glass of wine after work to take off the edge . . . no comfortable bed for an escaping nap . . . no strip-center down the street to look for the blouse that would take away your blues . . . no movie theater in which to lose your life in someone else’s story. It’s just you in that place, stripped down and vulnerable, the real self hungry-angry-lonely-tired.<br />
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This is Lent, forty days of this stripping down, forty days of saying “No!” to that one thing which pretends to make everything better . . . but which actually just pushes all the ugly inner stuff beneath the surface yet again.<br />
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<i>Nothing is too small to give up. Even a chocolate bar will do. For forty days, simply pay attention to how often your mind travels in that direction. Ask yourself why it happens when it happens. What is going on when you start craving a Mars bar? Are you hungry? Well, what is wrong with being hungry? Are you lonely? What is so bad about being alone? Try sitting with the feeling instead of fixing it and see what you find out.</i><br />
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There is nothing magical about Lenten practices. Giving up chocolate for Lent is a worthwhile gesture for several reasons, but a.) if chocolate is not a pacifier for you, and b.) if you are not reflective about what it feels like to resist reaching for the candy bar when you feel stressed, then you might as well spend your time in some other productive pursuits for Lent. <br />
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On the other hand, if chocolate (or whatever happens to be your addiction of choice) IS your pacifier, and if you ARE reflective about what it feels like to go without that thing, then asking yourself the questions Barbara Brown Taylor suggests above is a good place to begin. <br />
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Of course, our inner voices chatter away, counseling moderation, urging us to back off such asceticism, reminding us of our commitment to never look as if we’re holier-than-thou. This is how she ends her Lenten essay.<br />
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<i>Chances are you will hear a voice in your head that keeps warning you what will happen if you give up your pacifier. “You’ll starve. You’ll go nuts. You won’t be you anymore.” If that does not work, the voice will move to level two: “That’s not a pacifier. That’s a power tool. Can’t you tell the difference?” If you do not fall for that one, there is always level three: “If God really loves you, you can do whatever you want. Why waste your time on this dumb exercise?”<br />
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If you do not know who that voice belongs to, read Luke’s story again. Then tell the devil to get lost and decide what you will do for Lent. Better yet, decide whose you will be. Worship the Lord your God and serve no one else. Expect great things, from God and from yourself. Believe that everything is possible. Why should any of us settle for less?</i><br />
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[All quotes from Barbara Brown Taylor, “Lenten Discipline,” <i>Home by Another Way</i> (Lanham, Maryland: Cowley Publications, 1999), pp. 65-68.]<br />
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JWebbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10864904944341369598noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4149049293316451795.post-57768254138201547822019-03-05T20:22:00.000-06:002019-03-05T20:22:54.309-06:00Beginning Lent in Humanity<b>Shrove Tuesday</b><br />
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Tomorrow, Ash Wednesday, marks the beginning of Lent. Many of us will attend a church service in which ashes are marked upon our foreheads. We will hear the traditional Ash Wednesday litany that reminds us, “Remember, from dust you have come, and to dust you shall return.” <br />
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I will be with the Senior Pastor of First United Methodist Church of Rogers, wearing a ministerial robe and clerical stole, standing in 36 degree temperatures, waiting in a parking lot in Downtown Rogers, Arkansas, to impose ashes on the foreheads of those who drive by.<br />
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The car pulls up. “What is your name?”<br />
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“Maria.”<br />
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“Maria, remember your creation in God . . . from dust God created you . . . and remember your humanity . . . to dust you shall return.” The car drives away.<br />
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It seems a bit mundane, imposing ashes as people pull up in their cars, rather than in the formality of an Ash Wednesday service in a beautiful Chapel somewhere.<br />
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Yet, what better way to remember our humanity, to be reminded of our clay feet, than in the run of everyday life?<br />
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“Honey, I’m running to the grocery store and the post office. And oh, between, I’m stopping to get marked with ashes.”<br />
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It’s a powerful symbol of one central aspect of our humanity, the “dust” that will always be part of who we are.<br />
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“Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return,” is simply a formal way to say, “You’re human and always will be, so don’t forget it!”<br />
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Too much perverted spirituality claims you can rise above your humanity . . . that spiritual practices can root out your human nature permanently . . . that you can overcome your humanity and rise to some exalted spiritual sphere where you don’t have to deal with everyday life any more. <br />
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In fact, that very illusion is carried by many who embark on an intentional spiritual path. They want to eradicate their impulses to control and envy and greed. They want a check on their egocentric longings and manipulations. They want to be better. They want to move beyond “sin.” The motive may be sound, but no matter how hard we try, we will never escape our humanness.<br />
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Lent begins with this reminder of our humanity. We are human. Dust. Clay. Too often weak and conflicted.<br />
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But we are also created in God’s image, created with God’s own DNA woven into our being, created for union with God, created to live in the fullness of our God-connection.<br />
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It is important that Lent begins this way . . . with this reminder of our humanity. Many of us take up some special practice for Lent, or we step into Lent intending to fast something . . . food or drink or a compulsive habit.<br />
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Some of us, for example, will vow to give up sweets, or more specifically chocolates, for Lent. Or we give up some kind of drink, perhaps alcohol. Or, if our own anger or envy is a particular issue for us, we will give up an afflictive emotion for Lent.<br />
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I realize that often I give up something for Lent that seems rather inconsequential. I can easily give up sweets, including chocolate, for Lent and will it come as no great sacrifice for me. Even something which comes nearer to addiction – my morning cup of coffee or evening glass of wine – still seems to be skimming the surface of Lent’s intention. <br />
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While there is something to be said for any form of fasting in which we say, “No!” to ourselves, there are some practices that seem to touch us more deeply than others.<br />
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Honestly, sometimes I wonder if we undertake practices for Lent that are more inconvenience than actual fasts because we want to do something for Lent at which we can succeed. Afraid that we might bale out three days into fasting some weightier afflictive emotion or addictive obsession, we opt for the thing we can accomplish, the fast at which we can succeed. <br />
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“How could I possibly tame my ego or lay aside my pride for seven weeks?” <br />
“What would life be like if I didn’t have to worry all the time?” <br />
“It is not possible for me to go a day without judging someone else.”<br />
“I could not possibly spend 40 days without being critical, so why begin . . . why even try?”<br />
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We miss the point. Lent begins with this simple, earthy affirmation of our humanity: “You are dust” . . . loved dust, cherished dust, beyond-all-worth dust . . . but still, dust. <br />
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The point is not that you will mess up, that you will fall short. That is assumed already. The point is that you acknowledge when you do stumble . . . that you learn something about yourself, and about yourself in God, and about yourself in relation to others . . . that you get back “on the bicycle” after you fall and then keep going . . . that you find yourself loved and beheld, even as you fall . . . and that through it all, you come to experience that no amount of human failure can disqualify you from love.<br />
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If you begin Lent truly hearing and believing that you are dust, beloved dust, then you can go ahead and take on the improbable or the impossible in your life . . . you can endeavor to address the thing that most holds you in its grasp, knowing that no matter each Lenten day’s outcome, you are never disqualified from the journey and never outside the reach of love.<br />
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The visitor asked the monk, “What do you do here at the monastery all day long?”<br />
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The elder monk replied, “We fall down and get up . . . fall down and get up . . . fall down and get up.” <br />
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JWebbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10864904944341369598noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4149049293316451795.post-27076353668624370522019-02-14T01:00:00.000-06:002019-02-14T01:00:05.188-06:00Traditions and Transcendence<i><b>Mark 7:1-13</b><br />
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The Pharisees and some of the teachers of the law who had come from Jerusalem gathered around Jesus 2 and saw some of his disciples eating food with hands that were defiled, that is, unwashed. 3 (The Pharisees and all the Jews do not eat unless they give their hands a ceremonial washing, holding to the tradition of the elders. 4 When they come from the marketplace they do not eat unless they wash. And they observe many other traditions, such as the washing of cups, pitchers and kettles.)<br />
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5 So the Pharisees and teachers of the law asked Jesus, “Why don’t your disciples live according to the tradition of the elders instead of eating their food with defiled hands?”<br />
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6 He replied, “Isaiah was right when he prophesied about you hypocrites; as it is written:<br />
<br />
“‘These people honor me with their lips,<br />
but their hearts are far from me.<br />
7 <br />
They worship me in vain;<br />
their teachings are merely human rules.’<br />
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8 You have let go of the commands of God and are holding on to human traditions.”<br />
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9 And he continued, “You have a fine way of setting aside the commands of God in order to observe your own traditions! 10 For Moses said, ‘Honor your father and mother,’ and, ‘Anyone who curses their father or mother is to be put to death.’[e] 11 But you say that if anyone declares that what might have been used to help their father or mother is Corban (that is, devoted to God)— 12 then you no longer let them do anything for their father or mother. 13 Thus you nullify the word of God by your tradition that you have handed down. And you do many things like that.”</i><br />
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The word "tradition" appears frequently in the Mark 7 passage. <br />
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If you are of a certain generation, think Tevye belting out "Tradition!!" in <i>Fiddler on the Roof</i>.<br />
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If you are of another generation, think Emmett and the construction workers singing, "Everything is awesome!!" as they blithely go about the same, endless routine, day after day assembling the pieces of the city in the <i>Lego Movie</i>. [Those of you who right now are rolling your eyes and dismissing this blog-post over a <i>Lego Movie</i> reference have missed a jewel if you've not seen it . . . smart, funny, symbolic, and with several brilliant messages, one of which plays on the song, "Everything Is Awesome!"]<br />
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Routines and practices easily become overly familiar, so deeply woven into the pattern of daily life that we no longer ask, "Why do I do this?" or "What fruit does this regimen bear in my life?" No need to ask the questions when you're convinced, "Everything is awesome!!"<br />
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Rarely do we think of a daily ritual, a religious practice, or an habitual routine as <i>inauthentic</i>. Mostly, they simply lose their energy over time. Sometimes we persist in the practice simply as a lucky charm, never mind that the ritual itself has become empty for us, devoid of any deeper meaning or significance.<br />
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I like the word <i>transcendence</i>. It suggests "beyond" . . . beyond comprehension, beyond explanation, beyond the usual, beyond ordinary experience. For several months now, I've sought to bounce things (including practices, rituals, routines, vocations) off this notion of transcendence. Assuming that God is somehow connected to all <i>beyond</i> us, I ask, "Does this thing . . . or practice . . . or belief . . . or connection . . . or vocation . . . have some sense of transcendence about it?" (Of course, all things are full of transcendence if we see them as so. But rarely do we have those eyes to see. As Elizabeth Barrett Browning pointedly wrote, most of us sit round the flaming bush and pluck blackberries.)<br />
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So it was, in Jesus' time, with these "traditions of the elders" and the "human traditions" to which the religious crowd was attached. It wasn't that the traditions were bad . . . and it wasn't that those who engaged in them were purposely deceitful or evil people; rather, the rituals and traditions themselves no longer held transcendent weight. They no longer pointed the persons who practiced them to <i>The One Who is Beyond</i>. Deeper realities were lost. The practices were no longer shaping lives, deepening connections with God, or helping the practitioners open themselves more deeply and receptively to the Spirit.<br />
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No longer did anyone ask, "Why do we do these things?" or "What is this practice trying to accomplish in my life?"<br />
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New wine was bursting the old wineskins of the traditional religious system.<br />
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Who among us has not been here, perhaps accumulating religious practices in hopes that the mere practice, rotely performed, would commend us to God?<br />
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Who among us has not clung to some method of prayer or formula for experiencing God which was effective in the past, trying to recapture some elusive emotional impulse which reminds us of God's presence?<br />
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Who among us has not piled up a storehouse of lucky charms in hopes that they will shield us from difficulty and lead us to a gilded life?<br />
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We have all been there, done that. So how do we engage in life, in practices, in rituals that deepen our connection with God? . . . that allow us to participate with God in what God is doing in the world?<br />
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What practices connect me with that which is transcendent? What routines have the <i>gravitas</i> to hold the weight of who I am? . . . to shape me? . . . to open me? . . . to help me see more clearly what is real (in myself and in the world)?<br />
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These are not the religious rituals that make me feel better, that confirm who I am, or that are done for the sake of a season. Rather, transformative spiritual practices connect me with something more substantial, something solid, something that can ground me or anchor me. (Hence, Meister Eckhart's phrase for God was "The Ground of Being.") Thus, they are transcendent.<br />
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How will I know if some "tradition" to which I hold is transcendent or leads me to transcendence? There are probably several ways to answer. Most simply and straightforwardly, hold your spiritual practice up to the transcendent values of love, compassion, and mercy. Do my daily routines or spiritual practices make me more compassionate? Do they open up space inside me to respond to the world with mercy rather than judgment? Do they allow love to flow through me into the world? Am I better able to forgive, include, accept, and be open to the other? <br />
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At the very least, God's project for the world starts with love, compassion, and mercy. Thus, that seems to be the place you and I can start, as well.<br />
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JWebbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10864904944341369598noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4149049293316451795.post-9976500745760637282019-02-12T10:17:00.001-06:002019-02-12T10:17:44.885-06:00You're Not in Control<i><b>Luke 5:1-11</b><br />
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One day as Jesus was standing by the Lake of Gennesaret, the people were crowding around him and listening to the word of God. 2 He saw at the water’s edge two boats, left there by the fishermen, who were washing their nets. 3 He got into one of the boats, the one belonging to Simon, and asked him to put out a little from shore. Then he sat down and taught the people from the boat.<br />
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4 When he had finished speaking, he said to Simon, “Put out into deep water, and let down the nets for a catch.”<br />
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5 Simon answered, “Master, we’ve worked hard all night and haven’t caught anything. But because you say so, I will let down the nets.”<br />
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6 When they had done so, they caught such a large number of fish that their nets began to break. 7 So they signaled their partners in the other boat to come and help them, and they came and filled both boats so full that they began to sink.<br />
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8 When Simon Peter saw this, he fell at Jesus’ knees and said, “Go away from me, Lord; I am a sinful man!” 9 For he and all his companions were astonished at the catch of fish they had taken, 10 and so were James and John, the sons of Zebedee, Simon’s partners.<br />
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Then Jesus said to Simon, “Don’t be afraid; from now on you will fish for people.” 11 So they pulled their boats up on shore, left everything and followed him.</i><br />
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"Go away from me, Lord; I am a sinful man." Peter was right, of course. He was a "sinful man," in whatever way you choose to measure human sinfulness. In that sense, he was no different from me or you.<br />
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But coming as it does in this part of the narrative, I don't sense that Peter was sharing new information with Jesus about the level of his morality. Nor was Peter reminding Jesus of something he felt Jesus already knew.<br />
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Peter's objection is rooted in a much deeper sense of self and in his own theological assumptions about himself and God. His statement gives us a hint about how he sees himself, and how he perceives God working in the world.<br />
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[Foreshadowing: The way Peter believes God works in a human life is also the default system many of us carry within ourselves.]<br />
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While there are several significant angles within this story of the great catch of fish, I'm drawn to one in particular today. In the narrative, God is depicted as generous, even extravagant. After a full night of fishing in which these professional fishers caught nothing, Jesus instructed them to try again. What changed? Was there a shift in the wind? A change in the barometric pressure? What happened?<br />
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[My grandfather had a sixth-grade education, but was the best fisher I ever knew. He could barely read a book, but from a boat on the lake or with a rod and reel in hand on the shore, he could read the weather -- and thus the fish -- with uncanny accuracy. If we were sitting in his living room and said, "Let's go fishing, Granddad!" he would walk out to the porch, stand there for a couple of minutes watching the skies, feeling the air on his skin, and either say, "Okay, it's a good day for fishing," or "They're not biting today . . . we'll go another day."]<br />
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What changed that day on Gennesaret Lake? What did Jesus know that these professional fishers did not know?<br />
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"Put down your nets again," Jesus instructed, and what came up in the nets were so many fish the nets began to tear. Abundance . . . extravagance . . . taking the little and making it more than enough . . . these are familiar themes echoed throughout God's story in scripture, especially as embodied in Jesus.<br />
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But Peter is accustomed to a finite world . . . a world in which we have been taught that we get what we deserve. Thus, as "sinners," we deserve very little. To Peter, the scene doesn't add up. He had done nothing to earn or deserve this massive catch of fish. And he has not been sufficiently versed in God's generosity. So he objects. He has lived inside a pattern that has created dichotomies all his life: deserving/undeserving . . . worthy/unworthy . . . one or the other. By the tone of the narrative, Peter is not ready for Jesus to break open the <i>worthiness pattern</i> under which he has ordered his life.<br />
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"Go away from me," he says. I"m not ready for a shift like this. I'm accustomed to being the center of my world. When things, good things, come my way, it's because I've worked for them, earned them, shown myself worthy of them. I'm a sinful man. I will not accept unearned gifts!<br />
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[Have you ever received some good gift, something you did not deserve, or some accolade for which you felt unworthy, and then countered that good gift by engaging in some kind of self-destructive behavior? I have, and you probably have, too. It is one subconscious way we say with our lives, "I'm a sinful person! I'm not deserving!" Perhaps we pick a fight with a spouse . . . or engage in some addictive behavior . . . or intentionally create a stir at work . . . all the dynamic equivalent of Peter's pushback, "Get away from me! I am unworthy!"] <br />
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How impoverished Peter is! How impoverished we are! Ordering life as if everything depends on me -- my skill, my intellect, my ingenuity, my creativity, my work ethic -- I shut out the possibility of gift, generosity, grace. In that sense, I am not only impoverished, but stunted in my capacity to receive from God and others anything that comes apart from my own making.<br />
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We live in God's world, thankfully, in which we do NOT always get what we deserve -- either for good or for bad -- and in which we are not in charge -- despite our feverish efforts at controlling the world.<br />
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The worthiness game is a true dead-end, despite how deeply ingrained it is within us and within culture. Ultimately, it shuts you off from God and others, making life all about yourself, your efforts, your own will. There is little future in that, either for me, for you, or for the human community.<br />
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So here you go . . . here's your huge catch of fish!!<br />
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JWebbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10864904944341369598noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4149049293316451795.post-62391760602831876782019-01-23T11:19:00.000-06:002019-01-23T11:19:40.000-06:00Loving the OtherThrough Advent I took a break from <i>Only a Sojourner</i> in order to post reflections on the daily Advent readings at https://adailyadvent.blogspot.com/<br />
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Now, well into the season of Epiphany, I'll offer a few words related to my two previous posts before moving on. <br />
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What does it mean to love another? It may be easy enough to "love" someone we are drawn to, someone with whom we share a close connection . . . family members, friends, those with whom we share common interests and concerns. But what does it mean to love the narcissist, the bully, the abuser, the cruel one?<br />
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The previous post of Thomas Merton's thoughts in <i>No Man Is an Island</i> provided some clues.<br />
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<i>Love seeks one thing only: the good of the one loved</i>. . . . [<i>No Man Is an Island</i>, p. 5]<br />
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To love another person, we seek not our own good, not even the pleasant feeling of having done something good. Rather, we will what is truly good for the other. <br />
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I realize that sounds like a subjective standard. I can look at another person and think I know what is good for them, what is best for them, but I have to confess that like you, I never see all the way through another person. I never know what is hidden within the deepest caverns of their being. I never truly know what they need simply by observing them on the outside.<br />
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What I <b><i>do</i></b> know -- or at least what I <i>believe</i> I know -- is that God's design for every human being is wholeness, that we live fully human lives. (In the 2nd century, St. Irenaeus famously said, "The glory of God is the human person fully alive"). God desires that we each live as fully as possible into the unique personhood for which God created us.<br />
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Thus, to truly love another person means that we seek the other's wholeness . . . we act on their behalf that they might become more and more the person God created them to be . . . we act in their lives in ways that are healing, in ways that call forth from them the image of God that is written into their soul's DNA. For as Merton suggests, not only is this person's destiny to be considered, but also the destiny of God's entire kingdom (p. 8). God's work of moving persons toward wholeness is part of God's wider project, what Jesus called the "kingdom of God," to bring all people to this healing wholeness; therefore, to love another person truly is also to love what God is doing in the world.<br />
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So given this notion of love, which acts for the benefit of the other in his or her becoming . . . and given that there is a sense of the common good, the kingdom which is coming . . . here are some examples of what love is not:<br />
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* Love does not stroke a narcissist and feed his or her narcissism.<br />
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* Love does not bow before a bully and enable his or her bullying.<br />
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* Love does not have a blind eye toward abusive behavior, excusing it as "he/she cannot help themselves."<br />
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* Love does not reward attention-seekers just because their ego wants to be continually in the spotlight.<br />
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Perhaps one obvious example will help. No one who truly loves an alcoholic would think of handing him/her a drink when they are trying to get sober. What family members and friends must learn on the road to sobriety is what some call "tough love," the strength to say "no" in order to keep the addict's health, wholeness, and best interest first and foremost. <br />
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In loving another, we don't act in ways that keep them imprisoned in the small egocentric self. We want to love them in ways that somehow release them or encourage them to their more expansive, truer, authentic self.<br />
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Then how shall we know how best to love another person? Good question. You see by now, don't you, that love is hard work. And because we don't see the inside of the other fully, our love for them is not always clear-cut. Here again, Merton helps. <br />
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<i>One who really loves another is not merely moved by the desire to see him contented and healthy and prosperous in this world. Love cannot be satisfied with anything so incomplete. If I am to love my brother, I must somehow enter deep into the mystery of God's love for him. . . . The truth I must love in my brother is God Himself, living in him. . . .<br />
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In order to love others with perfect charity I must be true to them, to myself, and to God. . . . <br />
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If we love one another truly, our love will be graced with a clear-sighted prudence which sees and respects the designs of God upon each separate soul. Our love for one another must be rooted in a deep devotion to Divine Providence, a devotion that abandons our own limited plans into the hands of God and seeks only to enter into the invisible work that builds His Kingdom.</i> (pp. 7-9)<br />
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In Merton's vision of love, the one who desires to love another must engage in his/her own strenuous inner work, deepening in God, knowing ourselves more fully, seeing our own light and darkness with more clarity. We engage in this work of spiritual becoming ourselves so that we see more clearly, slowly and over time, praying that we increasingly take on the heart and eyes of God within ourselves.<br />
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This attention to our own inner landscape is what Merton calls being "rooted in a deep devotion to Divine Providence, a devotion that abandons our own limited plans into the hands of God and seeks only to enter into the invisible work that builds His Kingdom."<br />
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Merton says I must somehow enter deep into the mystery of <i>God's love</i> for the other. <br />
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This is difficult work and no one gets it perfectly. The temptation for me -- your temptation may be different -- is to withhold love until I'm "doing it right." When that is the case, I will never love. <br />
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So the invitation for me is to begin where I am . . . to give attention to my own interior . . . to see more and more of my own truth . . . and to look on others with compassion, asking, "What does he/she truly need to be whole? How does God see them? Is there some way I can help love them to wholeness?" <br />
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Sometimes the answer is tangible food or clothing or cash for a utility payment. <br />
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Sometimes the answer is an affirming word, a listening ear, or quiet presence. <br />
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Sometimes the answer is a well-timed, well-placed question which allows the other to explore more deeply the implications of what they are considering. <br />
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And sometimes the answer is a firm, solid, "No, not now!" <br />
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JWebbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10864904944341369598noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4149049293316451795.post-70663968407656341612018-12-04T09:43:00.000-06:002018-12-04T09:43:40.841-06:00Love Loves . . . Merton's ThoughtsBefore posting my own reflection on, "What does it mean to love another?" as a follow-up to the previous post, "Love loves what is . . . as it is," I want to post some of Thomas Merton's words about love and charity. <br />
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These thoughts come from the first section of Merton's, <i>No Man Is an Island</i>. The chapter is called, "Love Can Be Kept Only by Being Given Away." (I have retained Merton's original language, which uses masculine pronouns throughout. Merton was not only a product of his times, he was also the product of an all-male monastic community.)<br />
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<i>There is a false and momentary happiness in self-satisfaction, but it always leads to sorrow because it narrows and deadens our spirit. True happiness is found in unselfish love, a love which increases in proportion as it is shared. There is no end to the sharing of love, and, therefore, the potential happiness of such love is without limit. Infinite sharing is the law of God's inner life. He has made the sharing of ourselves the law of our own being, so that it is in loving others that we best love ourselves. In disinterested activity we best fulfill our own capacities to act and to be. <br />
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Yet there can never be happiness in compulsion. It is not enough for love to be shared: it must be shared freely. That is to say it must be given, not merely taken.</i><br />
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<i>Love not only prefers the good of another to my own, but it does not even compare the two. . . . Love seeks one thing only: the good of the one loved. . . .<br />
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To love another is to will what is really good for him. Such love must be based on truth. A love that sees no distinction between good and evil, but loves blindly merely for the sake of loving, is hatred, rather than love. To love blindly is to love selfishly, because the goal of such love is not the real advantage of the beloved but only the exercise of love in our own souls. . . .<br />
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Charity is neither weak nor blind. It is essentially prudent, just, temperate, and strong. Unless all the other virtues blend together in charity, our love is not genuine. No one who really wants to love another will consent to love him falsely. If we are going to love others at all, we must make up our minds to love them well. Otherwise our love is a delusion. . . .<br />
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One who really loves another is not merely moved by the desire to see him contented and healthy and prosperous in this world. Love cannot be satisfied with anything so incomplete. If I am to love my brother, I must somehow enter deep into the mystery of God's love for him. . . . The truth I must love in my brother is God Himself, living in him.</i><br />
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************<br />
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<i>In order to love others with perfect charity I must be true to them, to myself, and to God.<br />
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The true interests of a person are at once perfectly his own and common to the whole Kingdom of God. That is because these interests are all centered in God's designs for his soul. The destiny of each one of us is intended, by the Lord, to enter into the destiny of His entire Kingdom. . . .<br />
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If we love one another truly, our love will be graced with a clear-sighted prudence which sees and respects the designs of God upon each separate soul. Our love for one another must be rooted in a deep devotion to Divine Providence, a devotion that abandons our own limited plans into the hands of God and seeks only to enter into the invisible work that builds His Kingdom.</i><br />
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JWebbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10864904944341369598noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4149049293316451795.post-31010507353712273822018-11-28T12:15:00.000-06:002018-11-28T12:15:03.029-06:00Love Loves What Is As It Is<b><i>Love loves what is as it is</i>.</b><br />
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I have been saying this for years, mostly because it represents a life-stance to which I aspire, not a stance I have attained. Alas, I discover over and over again how far I have yet to travel in order to make this truth my very own.<br />
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I wish "Love loves what is as it is" was a comforting insight. Truly, it doesn't offer comfort to me as much as it disturbs me, challenges me, and presses me to a more God-centered stance toward people and situations.<br />
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Authentic love is not aligned with certain favorable conditions that are conducive to love and goodwill. Real love is not based on another person changing their ways, and thus becoming more lovable. Transforming love does not withhold itself in protest or make half-baked promises which are conditioned on certain outcomes.<br />
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Love loves what is . . . as it is. It does not wait for change. It does not demand the other become lovable -- though for the health of the other and the world, it may be in everyone's best interest for the other to become more lovable! -- before it loves.<br />
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Most days I lose touch with this Love early in the morning. I become angry at persons who use power to diminish others or who lord it over those who have no power. I withhold kindness to punish others for the wounds I perceive they have inflicted on me. I wait for wrongs to be righted as a kind of penance before I dare to invest my love and life in a person or situation.<br />
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I am frequently called back to Love, however. I am reminded often of my intention to live from an anchored Center, to approach the world from a core of mercy and compassion, rather than judgment and division. I am welcomed back to my foundational belief that those who live from this Center (what Jesus called "the kingdom of God") make a difference in the world simply by their presence.<br />
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A few months ago Deepak Chopra was on a late-night talk show. In the midst of talk about the healing power of meditation, the conversation turned to the anxiety, tension, and conflict in the world right now, and Chopra's belief that the turbulence is a sign of society going through a time of transition. <br />
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Then the host asked Chopra about inviting the President for a week of meditation, saying, "Do you think you could break him down?" Chopra responded, "You don't need to break him down. Go beyond his wounds to what is really troubling him. He needs love." <br />
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I could feel the jolt within myself . . . the air sucked out of my lungs. I was aghast! The loudest part of my being shouted, "Love a narcissist, a bully? Never!" <br />
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And the still, small voice within me said, "You KNOW it's true. You <i>must</i> love! This is the path you've chosen. Now walk in it." <br />
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JWebbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10864904944341369598noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4149049293316451795.post-18079203474875941502018-11-23T13:04:00.000-06:002018-11-23T13:04:20.651-06:00The Kingdoms of This World<b>Luke 4:1-13</b><br />
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<i>Jesus, full of the Holy Spirit, returned from the Jordan and was led by the Spirit in the wilderness, 2 where for forty days he was tempted by the devil. He ate nothing at all during those days, and when they were over, he was famished. 3 The devil said to him, “If you are the Son of God, command this stone to become a loaf of bread.” 4 Jesus answered him, “It is written, ‘One does not live by bread alone.’”<br />
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5 Then the devil led him up and showed him in an instant all the kingdoms of the world. 6 And the devil said to him, “To you I will give their glory and all this authority; for it has been given over to me, and I give it to anyone I please. 7 If you, then, will worship me, it will all be yours.” 8 Jesus answered him, “It is written,<br />
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‘Worship the Lord your God,<br />
and serve only him.’”<br />
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9 Then the devil took him to Jerusalem, and placed him on the pinnacle of the temple, saying to him, “If you are the Son of God, throw yourself down from here, 10 for it is written,<br />
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‘He will command his angels concerning you,<br />
to protect you,’<br />
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11 and<br />
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‘On their hands they will bear you up,<br />
so that you will not dash your foot against a stone.’”<br />
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12 Jesus answered him, “It is said, ‘Do not put the Lord your God to the test.’” 13 When the devil had finished every test, he departed from him until an opportune time.</i><br />
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I most often read this temptation and testing story from the perspective of Matthew's Gospel. Recently, in moving through Luke's Gospel, I heard the story differently, with a nuance which had not caught my eye previously.<br />
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Specifically, I paid attention to vv. 5-8 more intentionally than simply giving the text a cursory reading. Perhaps I was influenced by the current state of affairs in the world. Whatever the reason, I felt a nudge to linger and consider those verses more deeply. <br />
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First, in the entire sequence Jesus is "led by the Holy Spirit" (4:1), which comes on the back-end of Jesus' baptism. <br />
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<i>21 Now when all the people were baptized, and when Jesus also had been baptized and was praying, the heaven was opened, 22 and the Holy Spirit descended upon him in bodily form like a dove. And a voice came from heaven, “You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.”</i> (Luke 3:21-22)<br />
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At his baptism, Jesus' identity is confirmed. He hears down to his bones that he is the Son of God, he is pleasing to the Father, and his identity cannot be shaken nor severed. In a larger context, the three testings of Luke 4 are attempts to shake Jesus' understanding of himself, to cause him to doubt his core identity. And they come after a period of fasting alone in a wilderness where there are few external resources. In other words, at a time of weakness (H.A.L.T. = hungry, angry, lonely tired) Jesus was tempted to forsake his basic identity in God. <br />
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In the second wilderness test (4:5-8), the devil led Jesus up to where Jesus could see "in an instant" all the kingdoms of the world. By seeing in an instant, Jesus had a moment of illumination and enlightenment when he saw all the way through the kingdoms of the world. He saw how they operate, what makes them tick, how they do their business. In a moment of insight, Jesus sees into them, he sees how they work, and he sees what they are built upon.<br />
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Then Luke writes, as if to confirm what Jesus has seen in this enlightened vision, about the devil's offer to Jesus: <i>"I will give you their power and authority, for they have all been given to me and I can give them to anyone as I please. Therefore, if you worship me, they will be yours."</i> (This is the piece of the testing scene that I had previously overlooked.)<br />
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This is astounding . . . the kingdoms of the world, according to Luke's Gospel, have been given to the devil. They belong to this adversary, this one who stands opposed to God. <br />
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For whatever you think about the literal idea of "the devil," it is worth considering the words used in the New Testament for this being or spirit. <br />
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In Greek, <i>satanas</i> and <i>satan</i> are the words for accuser or adversary. The one called <i>satan</i>, then, is the one who operates by accusation, whose methodology is to accuse, accuse, accuse in an adversarial way. Pointing fingers, loudly accusing, belittling, sowing seeds of doubt, stoking the flames of fear . . . this is the work of the adversary. <br />
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In Greek, the word <i>diabolos</i> (from which we get "diabolical") is often translated "devil" and literally means "the one who divides or separates, the one who tears apart, the one who pits people against each other." Thus, the spirit of <i>diabolos</i> is to separate, to compete, to create conflict, to reduce everything in life down to winners versus losers. <br />
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So Luke 4:5-8 gives us a snapshot into how the kingdoms of this world operate, belonging as they do to the spirit of accusation and division (<i>satanas</i>). They accuse and belittle, they attack with barbs, they diminish the humanity of the other, they toss word-bombs from their places of power onto those who have little power.<br />
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And these kingdoms operate by dividing people out of fear (<i>diabolos</i>). They separate "us" from "them" They create conflict. They make enemies -- because creating enemies provides the energy of fear, which mobilizes people to act in self-protective ways.<br />
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Who are the contemporary "kingdoms of this world"? [This seems like picking low-hanging fruit, doesn't it?]<br />
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You can start with anyone or any group who has some kind of power in the world . . . whoever has built any kind of kingdom and then leans into accusation and division to solidity their power . . . <br />
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** big businesses who thrive on the competition and conflict inherent in a free-market economy . . . who create subtle and not-so-subtle trends that create a sense of "need" or "want" which competes with the needs and wants of others . . . the very notion of "haves" and "have-nots" is built on this conflict. <br />
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** politicians, for whom winning the next election no matter the cost nor the loss of integrity, is the sole objective. We hardly bat an eyelash anymore at politicians who, "Accuse! Accuse!! Accuse!!!" . . . who stoke fear . . . who belittle political opponents . . . who divide and create enemies . . . who separate persons based on religion, race, sexual orientation, nationality, political stance, and so on.<br />
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** government systems certainly are kingdoms of the world, only marginally built around compassion and mercy, and increasingly self-serving. <br />
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** religious institutions often look more like "kingdoms of the world" than the "kingdom of God" . . . fraught with competition, fomenting conflict, acting in self-interest, fearful of losing power, authority, or control . . . becoming places of judgment and exclusion rather than love, forgiveness, and reconciliation. (And this is not a recent trend, but rather, is a centuries-old hardening.)<br />
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The list could go on. The point is that if you are going to be a "successful" kingdom of this world, then you have to play by the rules and according to the spirit of the one to whom these kingdoms belong. <br />
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And this is the catch for Jesus. Jesus realizes, in his "instant" of insight, that if he is given the kingdoms of this world, he must also agree to manage or control the kingdoms by the methodology of the one giving them. To bow down and worship the devil means to take on the devil's means for operating the kingdoms of this world . . . the way of accusation and conflict, the way of division and enemy-creating. <br />
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To have the kingdoms of the world, you have to play by the rules of the accuser and the divider . . . you have to play by the rules of the kingdoms of the world . . . you have to hold power as they hold power . . . you have to deal with people as pawns the way they do . . . you have to think of soldiers as expendable commodities in order to further your purposes . . . you have to win -- or at least strive for winning -- so there is competition and fighting, wars and killing . . . you have to manipulate people to do your bidding, so you speak to the basic fears and insecurities of people, encouraging ill-will toward others . . . you demonize those whose way of life or life-orientation is different from yours. <br />
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And Jesus refuses! This is a trade he will not make! He is grounded in God. His long season of fasting in the wilderness has not weakened his connection with God, but rather has confirmed it. His resolve is stronger than ever . . . he is rooted in his identity in God, which is not founded on fear and insecurity, power and control, accusation and division. He will not accomplish his life-work using the methodology of the devil, or the kingdoms of the world.<br />
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He will not accuse; rather, he will love and he will forgive, even those who kill him for his subversive approach to life.<br />
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He will not divide and separate; rather, his life is about mercy, about union (with God, self, others, the world), about reconciliation (with God and others), and about making one that which the world has torn apart.<br />
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JWebbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10864904944341369598noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4149049293316451795.post-88420641566715984162018-11-20T15:00:00.000-06:002018-11-20T15:00:07.041-06:00Stepping across the Divide<b>Luke 19:1-10</b><br />
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<i>Jesus was going through Jericho, 2 where a man named Zacchaeus lived. He was in charge of collecting taxes and was very rich. 3-4 Jesus was heading his way, and Zacchaeus wanted to see what he was like. But Zacchaeus was a short man and could not see over the crowd. So he ran ahead and climbed up into a sycamore tree.<br />
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5 When Jesus got there, he looked up and said, “Zacchaeus, hurry down! I want to stay with you today.” 6 Zacchaeus hurried down and gladly welcomed Jesus.<br />
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7 Everyone who saw this started grumbling, “This man Zacchaeus is a sinner! And Jesus is going home to eat with him.”<br />
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8 Later that day Zacchaeus stood up and said to the Lord, “I will give half of my property to the poor. And I will now pay back four times as much to everyone I have ever cheated.”<br />
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9 Jesus said to Zacchaeus, “Today you and your family have been saved, because you are a true son of Abraham. 10 The Son of Man came to look for and to save people who are lost.”</i><br />
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In the previous post, I wrote about the expectations John the Baptizer had of Jesus . . . that Jesus would replicate John's motivational methodology of fear and shame, while further dividing and separating people (the good from the bad). Jesus, the Messiah John anticipated, rejected those means of calling people to deeper life in God. Instead, Jesus' methodology was grounded in his own identity in God. By living in mercy, compassion, love, and reconciliation, he continually sought to uncover the core identity of others as sons and daughters of God.<br />
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The Gospel reading for today strikes me as an example of how Jesus refused the divisions commonly enforced by others, and instead offered compassionate generosity to persons, no matter who they were. <br />
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Zacchaeus was a wealthy man, even if his wealth came at the expense of others.<br />
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Even though rich, he was categorized as a "sinner" by virtue of his occupation. He was also a "sinner" by virtue of his relationship with the Roman Empire. He was in the employ of a foreign government, yet he got wealthy from collecting taxes from "his own people" (do you see the <i>insider-outsider</i> language which separates?). As a tax-collector, he served the occupying government, but his livelihood came at the expense of his home tribe. <br />
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To the Romans he was a lackey. To his own people he was a traitor.<br />
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In terms of the religious culture of the day, Zacchaeus was a "sinner." The word denotes a social class of people who engaged in work deemed corrupt or disreputable by the religious hierarchy. The category of "sinner" was used by conventional religion to indicate who was <i>in</i> and who was <i>out</i>, thus dividing or separating in order to keep "good" people at a distance from corrupt or unholy people. <br />
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Zacchaeus belonged to this social class of people designated by cultural standards to be corrupt or unclean.<br />
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Today, this same kind of divide is made wider by religious entities, denominations, and church leaders . . . by governments, policies, and partisan politicians . . . by corporations and marketing campaigns. Some people are <i>in</i> and some are <i>out</i>. Some are justified in their "righteousness" and others are deemed "godless."<br />
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Jesus continually crosses this line, walking back and forth across the divide, meeting people from both sides where they are. His mercy and efforts at reconciliation anger those who want to maintain separation, those who are invested in the divisions, those whose worldview depends on competition and creating real or imagined "enemies." After all, making those who have a different worldview your enemy always provides a reason to get up in the morning, always gives energy for a fight, always gives you someone to oppose, always offers you someone at whom to aim your vitriol.<br />
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Jesus' anger is never directed at those "on the other side" of the divide, those who have been excluded. If anything, his harshest words are aimed at those who try to maintain the divide, those who keep people separated -- from others and from God -- by categorizing and demonizing.<br />
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Zacchaeus is not a "tax-collector" . . . that's only what he does for a living. <br />
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Zacchaeus is not a "sinner" . . . that's what religion has labeled him for his lifestyle and his associations. <br />
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Jesus sees Zacchaeus as a son of God who has been broken by life, who may have made some questionable choices, who may have done some harmful things, but who is not ultimately to be defined by anything other than his interior connection to God (a "son of Abraham"). <br />
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So Jesus steps compassionately across the divide toward this alienated man to uncover his truest self, in an effort to help Zacchaeus <i>find</i> this sense of himself which he had <i>lost</i>. <br />
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Those who want to maintain the divide hurl accusation: "He's making friendly with a sinner!" But Jesus doesn't see Zacchaeus - or anyone -- as "sinner." He only sees children who have become lost and who need to find their way home. So he says to Zacchaeus, "Come down from the tree. I'm going <i>home</i> with you today!" <br />
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The way of Jesus has <b>never</b> been, "Love your neighbor and those like you . . . hate your enemy and those you don't like." (Matt. 5:43)<br />
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The way of Jesus has <b>always</b> been, "Love your enemies and those you oppose . . . and then pray for those who refuse your love." (Matt. 5:44)<br />
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In that way, Jesus stepped across the divide toward Zacchaeus. And in that same way he continues to step across the divide in our own day.<br />
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JWebbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10864904944341369598noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4149049293316451795.post-74112385581400183102018-11-19T15:45:00.000-06:002018-11-19T15:45:03.942-06:00In a World of Separation and Shame, Bringing Mercy and Reconciliation<b>Luke 3:1-20</b><br />
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<i>In the fifteenth year of the reign of Emperor Tiberius, when Pontius Pilate was governor of Judea, and Herod was ruler of Galilee, and his brother Philip ruler of the region of Ituraea and Trachonitis, and Lysanias ruler of Abilene, 2 during the high priesthood of Annas and Caiaphas, the word of God came to John son of Zechariah in the wilderness. 3 He went into all the region around the Jordan, proclaiming a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins, 4 as it is written in the book of the words of the prophet Isaiah,<br />
<br />
“The voice of one crying out in the wilderness:<br />
‘Prepare the way of the Lord,<br />
make his paths straight.<br />
5 <br />
Every valley shall be filled,<br />
and every mountain and hill shall be made low,<br />
and the crooked shall be made straight,<br />
and the rough ways made smooth;<br />
6 <br />
and all flesh shall see the salvation of God.’”<br />
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7 John said to the crowds that came out to be baptized by him, “You brood of vipers! Who warned you to flee from the wrath to come? 8 Bear fruits worthy of repentance. Do not begin to say to yourselves, ‘We have Abraham as our ancestor’; for I tell you, God is able from these stones to raise up children to Abraham. 9 Even now the ax is lying at the root of the trees; every tree therefore that does not bear good fruit is cut down and thrown into the fire.”<br />
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10 And the crowds asked him, “What then should we do?” 11 In reply he said to them, “Whoever has two coats must share with anyone who has none; and whoever has food must do likewise.” 12 Even tax collectors came to be baptized, and they asked him, “Teacher, what should we do?” 13 He said to them, “Collect no more than the amount prescribed for you.” 14 Soldiers also asked him, “And we, what should we do?” He said to them, “Do not extort money from anyone by threats or false accusation, and be satisfied with your wages.”<br />
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15 As the people were filled with expectation, and all were questioning in their hearts concerning John, whether he might be the Messiah, 16 John answered all of them by saying, “I baptize you with water; but one who is more powerful than I is coming; I am not worthy to untie the thong of his sandals. He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and fire. 17 His winnowing fork is in his hand, to clear his threshing floor and to gather the wheat into his granary; but the chaff he will burn with unquenchable fire.”<br />
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18 So, with many other exhortations, he proclaimed the good news to the people. 19 But Herod the ruler, who had been rebuked by him because of Herodias, his brother’s wife, and because of all the evil things that Herod had done, 20 added to them all by shutting up John in prison.</i><br />
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The Gospel of Luke records the entrance of John the Baptizer onto the scene as a forerunner to Jesus' public ministry (Luke 3:1-20). John's role is to prepare the people for "the One who is to come." John's aim is to bring moral change among his listeners, so that "paths would be straight, roads would be leveled, and rough ways be made smooth." <br />
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This road-work, so to speak, provides an entryway for the coming Messiah to enter the lives of the people (Lk. 3:3-6). <br />
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What are the paths, roads, and rough ways which needed to be given attention? They are within you and me, the ways we are crooked, too high or too low, and rough. We make ready the pathways within ourselves in order to make a way for the coming of the Messiah into our lives.<br />
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John knew that to receive something big, something that can change your life, you have to get ready. You have to make some space. You have to prepare yourself. For John, that space is created by moral change, by living a moral life. <br />
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John is right in some ways, you know. A growing, deepening spirituality does not drop upon us like pixie dust when we utter a few rehearsed words or respond to a religious salesperson's pitch. To give ourselves fully in living as God's people in the world, we have to make ourselves ready through practice and intention. We have to open ourselves to new ways of seeing and being in the world with God, self, others, and the world. We have to see ourselves honestly and ruthlessly name what we have seen of our interior. <br />
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But John's methodology for this preparation, for getting his listeners to moral living, is all guilt and fear. He calls the people who gathered around him, "a brood of vipers" (3:7) as if to shame the crowd into life-change. Then he warns of future punishments for those who don't get their acts together: "the ax is already laid at the root of the tree" (3:9). <br />
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He even says the Messiah will come to continue this work of division and separation (3:17), naming some good and worthy (the wheat), while others would be separated as bad and unworthy (the chaff). <br />
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Perhaps John leans too much into the Old Testament idea that to be holy means to be set apart from anything unclean or evil. Holiness separates you from that which is corrupt, the thinking went. <br />
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At any rate, John projects his own ascetic notions of morality onto the Messiah. <br />
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Moral living is a fine goal, but John seems to miss that persons almost never get to morality through shame and fear. Shame and fear act mostly as external motivators. They have no grounding center. They motivate through anxiety about some promised punishment . . . or through some imagined sense that I am a no-good human being. Both shame and fear may produce different behavior for a short-term, but almost never produce long-term, inner transformation. They simply do not have that power. <br />
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Jesus, the Messiah who was to come, refused to motivate by fear or shame. In fact, Jesus' path was just the opposite. He affirms in even the lowest of the low that they, too, are beloved sons and daughters of God. He encourages persons not to identify with their sinfulness, but to identify with the God-connection at the heart of who they are. Jesus continually invites persons to stop giving so much attention to the externals of religion, but to deal with the "inside of the cup."<br />
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Further, Jesus does not fulfill John's notion that the Messiah divides and separates. In fact, Jesus comes to do the opposite. He reconciles divisions, heals brokenness, mends separations, and brings back together that which has been torn apart. All of Jesus' life-work is about putting together people and relationships who have been broken apart.<br />
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The words that best describe Jesus are mercy . . . compassion . . . love . . . reconciling . . . liberating. He seems intent on bringing together, while rejecting separation and division both in the world and within the family of God's people.<br />
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John seems to have projected his own path onto Jesus. John made his understanding God's understanding, rather than making God's understanding his understanding.<br />
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It is a common mistake, a human mistake we all make, and sometimes find writ large in contemporary culture. <br />
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You don't have to look far to see how modern politics, religious life, and the entire social order are bent toward division and separation, pooling together the "alike" while shunning, ostracizing, and demonizing the "unlike." It happens in Christian denominations. It happens in political campaigns. It happens in government affairs at every level. We divide and separate, making enemies of those with other views, all while trying to rally support for our perspective.<br />
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This, my friends, is not the way of Jesus. And it is not the way those who truly want to follow Jesus.<br />
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Jesus does not endorse John's methodology of guilt and shame. He does not endorse life-change through fear of punishment or anxiety about the future. And he has no intention of separating or dividing, splitting nations, races, religious factions, and groups into the haves and the have-nots.<br />
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To broken humans who have been torn up by the world, Jesus brings mercy and compassion, helping all persons come back to a sense of who they are in God. <br />
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John got this fundamentally wrong about Jesus. Such basic, foundational spiritual work never happens by guilt and shame . . . nor by division and separation.<br />
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This work happens through love . . . mercy . . . compassion . . . reconciliation. And this is how Jesus still goes about his work in our world . . . denominational power plays, political rhetoric, and social divisions notwithstanding.<br />
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JWebbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10864904944341369598noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4149049293316451795.post-68233126059270044662018-11-12T10:07:00.000-06:002018-11-12T10:07:09.806-06:00A Check on Your OpinionsThe world contains a huge amount of anxious, angry energy at present. Maybe it always has done so . . . this anxious and destructive energy likely has always existed just beneath the surface. But somehow it feels more toxic now that it had made a home in plain sight.<br />
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Colliding worldviews and divisions give us pause even to engage in conversations that once would have been considered normal and everyday. [Am I the only one with an wary eye on Thanksgiving week and the family gatherings that include emboldened, combative voices from across ideological spectrums?]<br />
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As one of my favorite sports talk-show hosts used to say, "Opinions are like noses: Everybody has one." Indeed, everybody has an opinion.<br />
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But not all opinions are created equal, and simply holding an opinion strongly or loudly or stubbornly does not make that opinion life-giving or healthy or whole-making.<br />
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In fact, maybe we would do well to hold up those phrases to the ideologies or worldviews to which we cling:<br />
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** Is it life-giving? Is it life-giving for you? Is it life-giving for others? Does it lead to fullness of life for everyone concerned? Or does it diminish life?<br />
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** Is it healthy? That is, does it come from a place of healing and reconciliation? Does it lead to health (spiritual, emotional, physical) in you and others?<br />
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** Does it make the world whole? Does it help persons become complete? Does it help you and others live in the world as people who follow in the steps of Jesus? Is it something Jesus would support or advocate for? Does it hold together divisions? Or does it create more splits and deepen chasms? <br />
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I fully realize that not everyone will want to ask questions like these of themselves. But I also realize that for those who call themselves followers of Jesus, these are basic, fundamental stances for Christian disciples. JWebbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10864904944341369598noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4149049293316451795.post-49651953751946760432018-11-06T13:22:00.000-06:002018-11-06T13:22:53.227-06:00Spiritual Life and the Social Order<br />
The inward spiritual journey always impacts life in the outer world. <br />
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A deepening connection with God (the inner work) always makes a difference in who we are with (and how we see) God, self, others, and the world (the outer work). <br />
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The spiritual dimension of life should always impact the social order in which we live.<br />
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In fact, the spiritual life gives you and me a different way of being in the world, a way of swimming upstream against the prevailing current of the social order, without having to adopt the means by which society plays the game. <br />
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To “play the game” by the rules of society is merely a way of granting legitimacy to those rules and to the social order that created them. <br />
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“The ‘team’ with the most votes wins . . . or the side that has the strongest argument is right . . . or this election is a referendum on _________.” <br />
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The social order acts – and throughout history, always has – as if it holds all the cards, as if it is the most powerful order in the world. The prevailing social “wisdom” assumes that because it creates the rules, passes the legislation, and determines what is important and unimportant, that it must be the most powerful aspect of life, whether that social wisdom represents “the Left” or “the Right”. <br />
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On the other hand, those given to the spiritual world and the spiritual realm of life bet their lives that there is a Spiritual Presence that undergirds all of life, a Divine Source present always and everywhere to which the prevailing social order is largely oblivious. Further, underlying the spiritual life is the conviction that the real authority and power in life is this Spiritual Presence, that all social claims to power and authority are mere pretenders. <br />
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So I’m pondering what it means to be a contemplative presence in the kind of world in which we live (and in which we have always lived). What is my life about as I seek to live in the world from the Center, tethered to the Source of all things?<br />
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I recognize that for centuries, when the Church was complicit in society’s corruption, those who carried forward the way of Jesus had to do so underground, in ways and in places that were quiet, unseen, and out of the mainstream. In fact, in those centuries, the mainstream expressions of religious faith were just as corrupt as society at large, filled more with the messages of the social order than with the Gospel. So it was up to mystics, monks, and holy women to carry – and live into – a way of being in the world that was healing and regenerative, rather than divisive, hostile, and hysteric.<br />
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In the Middle Ages, Popes, Cardinals, and Bishops were a part of royal courts, in the service of monarchs, and a part of the corruption that comes with power. In those settings, the religious authorities offered widespread blessing of the very corruption that served some well, but oppressed most. In those days, it was up to mystics to speak of an authentic connection with God that ran deeper than political influence. Monasteries became places where simplicity and poverty of spirit symbolized a stance against the power structures of the day. But that kind of resistance flowed mostly underground.<br />
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In the 1930’s, the Church in Germany so totally adopted the platform of the Nazis that Christians could no longer see what was real. Persons who carried forward an authentically Gospel message – like Dietrich Bonhoeffer – had to do so through an underground Church, so totally had the mainstream Church and clergy adopted the prevailing social order.<br />
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So today, the calling of those who would be awake, who would seek a deepening connection with God that makes a difference in the world, may take an underground, almost subversive form. That is not to say contemplatives or those who lean into the spiritual dimension of life should not be active in the social order, in political systems, government, business, and so on. Always, part of the Divine invitation is to work and pray for a more just, more merciful and compassionate world (“on earth as it is in heaven”). So we do not “sit this one out.” However, we also acknowledge that trusting in elections, legislation, capitalism, and policies to change hearts is misplaced trust. <br />
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Your spiritual journey makes a difference in the world. <br />
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Your practice of prayer impacts the circumference of your realm of influence. <br />
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Your openness to a deepening connection with God creates healing space within you and around you that touches the world with wholeness and generosity. <br />
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Your soul’s tether to the Source of Life is stronger and more real than all the power, control, and legislations of the social order. <br />
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And in your intention to live from a life-giving Center, you carry on an underground tradition that no power of the world can curb.<br />
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JWebbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10864904944341369598noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4149049293316451795.post-59559726148483181512018-11-02T08:57:00.000-05:002018-11-02T08:57:06.552-05:00Crossroads Voices: Giving Thanks at All Saints and All SoulsGOD’s Message yet again:<br />
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“Go stand at the crossroads and look around.<br />
Ask for directions to the old road,<br />
The tried-and-true road. Then take it.<br />
Discover the right route for your souls.<br />
But they said, ‘Nothing doing.<br />
We aren’t going that way.’”<br />
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(Jeremiah 6:16, <i>The Message</i>)<br />
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At times, I stand at a crossroads and look around for direction on the path to take onward . . . and hear nothing, see nothing.<br />
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At other times, I stand at the crossroads and look around for wisdom . . . and what I hear or see or sense seems too difficult, too unreasonable. I’m not yet ready to go in the way I’m being led.<br />
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And at other times, I stand at the crossroads, noticing the several ways that branch out from that intersection, and I find myself ready to hear and follow the wisdom that I sense in that moment. Very often for me, that wisdom comes in the form of a person, a voice, another life who shows up at just the moment I’m needing wisdom at the crossroads. <br />
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Sometimes the voice that shows up is someone speaking across the ages . . . the voice of someone in days past who has lived wisely and courageously shared their wisdom . . . in order to help guide other travelers . . . a poet like Rilke or an otherwise unsuspect woman who lived underneath the notice of her times like Mother Julian. <br />
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I am aware of how indebted I am to these other voices, these other lives. I stand on the shoulders of so many others, as do you. There is no such thing as a “self-made man” or a “self-made woman.” All of us are products of those who have guided us when we were seeking direction at the crossroads, open to wisdom that has guided others before us in ways that are healing and life-giving, in ways that enable us to live with fullness of soul.<br />
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Yesterday was the Feast of All Saints and today is the Feast of All Souls. These days on the calendar give opportunity to pause and remember those who have gone before us, those who have shared their wisdom when we were at crossroads, lost and searching. I have given more time than usual this year to reflecting on the importance of these two days because of three deaths last week of persons who shared their wisdom with me in different ways, yet all when I was at various crossroads.<br />
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Eugene Peterson died last week. In a story I’ve told often, I first encountered Peterson through a friend who sent me a copy of <i>Working the Angles</i> in the early 1990’s. I had recently completed four years of rigorous doctoral work that had occupied every spare moment that didn’t include family or church responsibilities. I was in a dry spot, facing my own internal emptiness. I didn’t know I was standing at a crossroads looking for wisdom, but in hindsight I very clear was doing just that. As I read Peterson’s words in <i>Working the Angles</i>, I knew he was talking right to my heart and soul. The moment was pivotal and the course I took in reading his words had huge repercussions on everything that has unfolded in my life in the 25 years since. <br />
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Peterson gave me a language for my soul’s yearning, and some basic practices that began to feed my soul. I quickly bought as many of his books as I could find. In the summer of 1995 I took a sabbatical for study and refreshment. I took several weeks to study under Peterson at Regent College in Vancouver. The time was transforming, feasting on Peterson’s talks in the mornings, then spending the rest of the long British Columbia days exploring mountains, hiking in forests, discovering waterfalls, dipping my feet into glacial lakes. I ended up going back to Vancouver for his classes four or five times.<br />
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In recent years, I have found myself pushing back more and more on some of his assumptions, but isn’t that the way it is with our mentors? He and I grew in different ways, ways unique to each of us. Even so, I have never stopped being grateful for how he gave me an early language for what was happening in my soul. <br />
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<i>Kyrie eleison</i>. <br />
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Fr Thomas Keating died last week. I don’t remember my first encounter with Fr Keating. I practiced Centering Prayer – thanks to another saint, Sr Adeline O’Donoghue – before I knew who Keating was. Sr Adeline probably introduced me to him, as well, in the mid-1990’s. At any rate, the first book by Keating I read was not his introduction to Centering Prayer, <i>Open Mind, Open Heart</i>, but his book which explained the interior workings of contemplative prayer, <i>Invitation to Love</i>. Keating had a deep, experiential grasp of contemplative prayer and how it operates in a person’s soul. He was smart and knew a lot of psychology, but most of what he shared was borne of personal experience. He did not simply repeat someone else’s theory. <br />
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I ended up meeting Keating a handful of times and hearing him speak in person. He was a large man, commanding a room in his white monk’s habit, but gentle and funny. And in either conversation or teaching, his words always seemed to arise from a deep place within him. There was weight in his speech, gravitas, something that seemed to come from a deep interior well. He knew who he was and was comfortable with who he was, so he was not demonstrative or persuasive or motivational. He did not need to be someone other than the person he was. My time with him helped shape my own notion of what it means to be wise . . . that wisdom comes from spiritual reflection and integrating life experiences, from considering life deeply. <br />
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I grieve that the world will be without Fr Keating’s physical presence. But I celebrate that wisely, Keating and others years ago formed Contemplative Outreach as a structure that would carry on the work of contemplative prayer and serve as a vehicle for transformation through this unassuming prayer practice.<br />
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<i>Christe eleison</i>.<br />
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Robert Winn died last week. In my home church in Tulsa, I served on the staff for four years during college and for a year after college before leaving for seminary . . . and I served alongside Robert. I was fairly new to the “Christian-thing” and brand new to the “church staff thing.” Robert was the older, wiser presence – in my late teens, I thought he was an old man . . . turns out Robert was only 14 years older than I am, so he was in his early 30’s . . . still, he was an “old man” to me as a teenager.<br />
<br />
Robert was the one person on that staff I could go to for advice and wisdom, the person whose door was always open to me. Any other staff person, I would have needed an appointment to see. I could seek him out with questions about how to do things, how to approach certain aspects of ministry. He was funny, relaxed, and the afternoons we spent in ping-pong battles in the church’s game room produced some epic matches. He was a friend and an early mentor. For many years, I carried with me Robert’s notions about what it means to serve well on a church staff. As much as anyone, especially early in ministry, he taught me about survival in a local church.<br />
<br />
<i>Kyrie eleison</i>.<br />
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Who have been your “crossroads” voices?<br />
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For whom do you give thanks at All Saints and All Souls?<br />
<br />
<i>Kyrie eleison<br />
Christe eleison<br />
Kyrie eleison</i><br />
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JWebbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10864904944341369598noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4149049293316451795.post-78458088294999079052018-10-17T11:08:00.001-05:002018-10-17T11:08:33.238-05:00Expanding the WallsEvery human draws circles around himself or herself in order to determine how large his/her world will be. <br />
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Most of us prefer to live in a world made up of people who look like us, think like us, believe like us, and talk like us. So we wall in those who are "like us" and we wall out those who are unlike us. "Good fences make good neighbors," says the man on the other side of Robert Frost's wall (the previous blog post).<br />
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You don't have to look far in contemporary culture to know this truth. In fact, you likely see it in the world before you notice it in yourself. Examples abound, and are easy enough to see . . . men or women are all stereotyped because of the actions of a few . . . entire ethnic groups are stigmatized because of the behavior of a small portion of that population . . . all persons within any identity sub-set of life are all characterized in the same way. <br />
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I tend to "profile" all persons who drive a particular brand of automobile (these persons also tend to drive the same color of that make and model!) as "entitled" and "arrogant" . . . even as they cut me off and speed on down the freeway. <br />
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Most all of us do this kind of thing in one way or another, creating insiders and outsiders . . . whether we label those outside our circle as "liberal elites" or as "a basket of deplorables." We have one set of labels for those inside the circle with us, and another set of labels -- usually much more pejorative -- for those outside the circle.<br />
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Jesus spent little time cozying up to those who would have been inside his wall or circle . . . those who looked like him, talked like him, or shared a common background. Using the vocabulary I've suggested, Jesus was mostly focused on those on the outside of culture's norms, not those inside. As I've said before in this space, while Jesus gave most of his attention to those who were on the outside of society's wall, it is doubtful Jesus ever met anyone who he considered to be an outsider. He was spacious enough, generous enough, that he had no walls, no need to create divisions. <br />
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That kind of spaciousness and generosity -- perhaps we could call it "mercy" or "compassion" -- is fundamental to the nature of God. <br />
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Expanding your walls -- or eventually letting them crumble -- is not as easy as just wishing it so. It takes an ongoing, daily intention to see the actual truth of our lives . . . to be deliberate in our self-reflection . . . to be honest with ourselves about who we are and how we are in the world. We have to be willing to see ourselves as we are, not merely as we wish to be . . . to acknowledge the truth about the walls we live within (who is included, who is excluded) . . . and to take small steps which make wider the circles in which we live.<br />
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Engage someone who is "outside" your circle in conversation, not intending to change their mind, but simply to listen to them.<br />
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Be in settings made up of people who are not "like you" (whatever you take "not like you" to mean). Be there as an observer, as a compassionate presence.<br />
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Seek to understand as honestly as possible how someone who sees life differently could be the way they are. For example, try to see life from the perspective of that family member whose politics are 180 degrees different from yours. Or try to imagine life from the perspective of that neighbor who is from a different culture, a different part of the world. Your perspective, after all, is NOT the only perspective.<br />
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Small steps . . .<br />
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I do know this . . . it takes a lot of energy to go about this more expansive inner work. It is not easy.<br />
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But as Frost's poem, "Mending Wall" suggests (in the previous post), it also takes a lot of work to keep mending the same old walls, leaving them right where they have always been.<br />
JWebbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10864904944341369598noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4149049293316451795.post-38252716285409836262018-10-02T21:44:00.001-05:002018-10-02T21:44:44.322-05:00Something There Is That Doesn't Love a WallAs you can see from my post last week, I'm considering the size and shape of our personal world, and the many ways we draw circles around ourselves to create a world that is as large or small as we can stand to live in. In that spirit, I offer you this well-known poem by Robert Frost, "Mending Wall."<br />
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I'll not comment on the poem . . . but would love to commend it to you for your consideration and meditation. I'll provide some suggestions for reflection at the bottom of the post that might prompt you to work with Frost's poem a bit. To hear the poem, read it two or three times through, perhaps once or twice out loud. If you print the poem, highlight the lines that stand out for you, or the phrases that intrigue you. Jot down your own questions about the poem. <br />
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<b>Mending Wall</b><br />
<b>by Robert Frost</b><br />
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<i>Something there is that doesn't love a wall,<br />
That sends the frozen-ground-swell under it,<br />
And spills the upper boulders in the sun;<br />
And makes gaps even two can pass abreast.<br />
The work of hunters is another thing:<br />
I have come after them and made repair<br />
Where they have left not one stone on a stone,<br />
But they would have the rabbit out of hiding,<br />
To please the yelping dogs. The gaps I mean,<br />
No one has seen them made or heard them made,<br />
But at spring mending-time we find them there.<br />
I let my neighbour know beyond the hill;<br />
And on a day we meet to walk the line<br />
And set the wall between us once again.<br />
We keep the wall between us as we go.<br />
To each the boulders that have fallen to each.<br />
And some are loaves and some so nearly balls<br />
We have to use a spell to make them balance:<br />
"Stay where you are until our backs are turned!"<br />
We wear our fingers rough with handling them.<br />
Oh, just another kind of out-door game,<br />
One on a side. It comes to little more:<br />
There where it is we do not need the wall:<br />
He is all pine and I am apple orchard.<br />
My apple trees will never get across<br />
And eat the cones under his pines, I tell him.<br />
He only says, "Good fences make good neighbours."<br />
Spring is the mischief in me, and I wonder<br />
If I could put a notion in his head:<br />
"<b>Why</b> do they make good neighbours? Isn't it<br />
Where there are cows? But here there are no cows.<br />
Before I built a wall I'd ask to know<br />
What I was walling in or walling out,<br />
And to whom I was like to give offence.<br />
Something there is that doesn't love a wall,<br />
That wants it down." I could say "Elves" to him,<br />
But it's not elves exactly, and I'd rather<br />
He said it for himself. I see him there<br />
Bringing a stone grasped firmly by the top<br />
In each hand, like an old-stone savage armed.<br />
He moves in darkness as it seems to me,<br />
Not of woods only and the shade of trees.<br />
He will not go behind his father's saying,<br />
And he likes having thought of it so well<br />
He says again, "Good fences make good neighbours."</i><br />
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** What might be the "something" that doesn't love a wall . . . the "something ... that wants it down"? I have a couple of ideas for myself. What do you think? <br />
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** "<i>And on a day we meet to walk the line<br />
And set the wall between us once again.<br />
We keep the wall between us as we go.</i>"<br />
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These three lines seem to be a statement that mocks civility, as if the work of keeping the wall in place -- and between the men -- was the most normal work in the world. How do you understand these lines, especially in light of the "something" that doesn't love a wall?<br />
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** There are several places where the poem implies, "This is how it has always been, and this is the way it will be into the days ahead." Note the passages which suggest a clinging to the past. How do you react to them?<br />
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**Hold these two lines in your hands -- perhaps one in each hand -- and consider them together. Then, see where you come down.<br />
"<i>Good fences make good neighbours</i>."<br />
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"<i><b>Why</b> do good fences make good neighbours?</i>"<br />
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**Frost writes, <br />
"<i>Before I built a wall I'd ask to know <br />
What I was walling in or walling out,<br />
And to whom I was like to give offence</i>."<br />
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Think of walls you have encountered . . . either literal walls that separated you from others and impeded your travel . . . or metaphorical walls that have kept you apart or separated from a job, a vocation, a relationship, etc. As you consider specific encounters with a wall, what was walled out? What was walled in? (Walls always function both to wall out and to wall in, though that is seldom acknowledged.)<br />
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** What would you say to Robert Frost about his poem? Do you have questions to ask him? What would you like to know that you can't readily assume from the actual poem?<br />
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JWebbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10864904944341369598noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4149049293316451795.post-39062105155644570682018-09-26T17:28:00.000-05:002018-09-26T17:28:24.513-05:00Slow-Growing into GodGrowth always comes with a cost. I'm not talking about growth as the day-in, day-out growing older that is part of being human. I'm talking about spiritual growth, emotional health, the ongoing development of the inner person.<br />
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Growth in any aspect of life always means leaving the previous season of life and stretching into something new and unknown. Maybe for that reason, a great many of us often feel stuck where we are. On the one hand, we grow comfortable and have a sense of ease and familiarity with where we are, even if that place is not particularly pleasant. Pleasant is good, and we much prefer the smooth ride to the bumpy, unpredictable journey. <br />
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Most of us, though, have to be jettisoned out of that kind of comfort in order to grow, in order to move toward the completeness for which we were created. Thrown into uncertainty or hardship, we are forced to find within ourselves the resources that have lain dormant within us, as well as calling on resources outside ourselves that we have not accessed previously. For most of us, difficulty provides a sharp-edged catalyst for growth that most of us would not undertake otherwise.<br />
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I've noticed that most all of us, no matter who we are and where we are in life, tend to think that we are fully formed right where we are in the current moment . . . that if we just tweak a few things and make some minor adjustments, we'll be the full expression of "me." Such is our conceit. Such is our illusion.<br />
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Most every discovery we make in our own growth or becoming feels like the one, missing puzzle piece. Each step we make feels like the final step over into the promised land, the final move into our long-sought-after destiny. I've met few people in life who did not think that where they were at that given moment was not their final landing place . . . which is why I've called it our "conceit" and "illusion." Every awakening feels like the ultimate awakening . . . but it is not.<br />
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In the Gospels, Jesus consistently invites us to grow up. He returns to it as a core message. Jesus does not have judgment for those who are stuck in particular places of development in the spiritual life. He knows that we can only get to the next place in life from where we are, so he doesn't belittle a person for being where they are. <br />
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He does, however, have harsh words for those who are stuck in life, but who pretend they are more advanced than anyone else. Note here that the harshest words of Jesus in the Gospels are aimed at those who, by outward appearance, are religious and flaunt their supposed "righteousness" for others to see. He has no condemnation for those who are "sinners" and who know they are "sinners" . . . only for those who pretend, by their religiosity, to be other than "sinners." <br />
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In a sense, those who are most openly religious in the Gospels don't feel the need to "grow up" or to make any kind of spiritual journey. They have arrived. They are completely all they need to be. They have all the answers, they've settled all the issues, they've worked out all the theology. Hence, they love to be seen by others as holy, applauded by the masses as righteous, honored by outsiders as having special access to the Holy.<br />
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Wisely, St. Benedict of Nursia said, "Do not wish to be called holy before you are."<br />
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But in the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus says all of the above is merely early-stage religion. Not that it is unimportant -- Jesus is careful not to abolish anything in the Law (Matt. 5:17) -- but Jesus takes it in a different direction (Matt. 5:17-44). While some might have anticipated that Jesus would rachet up the Law to a more rigorous degree, instead he takes the Law inward. He begins with the Law as a kind of Religion 101, as a place to begin basic life with God in the world. "Do this" and "Don't do that." "Here's how you need to behave," the Law says in countless codes of behavior. It is important early stage religion.<br />
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Jesus, though, doesn't not notch up the Law a degree or two. Rather, he says, go inward. You've been concerned about behavior, about morality. Now go to the source of that behavior. Go to the root of morality. Because Jesus knew that any religious system that merely offered regulations for moderating behavior could not produce lasting life-change or transformation. In Jesus' estimation, the Law regulated behavior but did almost nothing to touch the interior of a person.<br />
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So he said things like, "You have heard it said, 'Don't kill.' I'm saying to you, don't be angry and don't hate." Jesus went, not just to the behavior itself, but to the inner source of the behavior. He said the same kind of thing not just about killing, but about adultery and taking oaths. <br />
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In other words, Jesus affirms and acknowledges the importance of a religious system that advocates for civil behavior; however, he does not wish us to remain at that place forever. He builds on that stage of development. He invites us to grow, to develop, to resist being locked into a particular way of being that becomes so settled we can never move from it.<br />
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We all need Religion 101, the basic initiation into religious life. And some of us need that training longer than others. We need to be fully grounded in explicit instructions that govern our behavior in order to function as God's people in the world. But Jesus is warning against the trap of thinking Religion 101 is the fullness or extent of religious devotion. It is not. There is more.<br />
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There is always more beyond where you are . . . wherever you are. The more beyond does not negate nor diminish where you are currently. You <i>have</i> to be where you are in order to get to where you are going . . . just don't take any place in life as the final destination. There is always more, always something larger still in front of you. Don't build a house where you are and settle there for a lifetime. Keep traveling. Keep growing. Keep becoming. No place is the final place.<br />
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How do I know where I am? Consider where you were 5 years ago . . . or 3 years ago . . . or 1 year ago. Are you the same person now? Do you have the same beliefs? the same practices? the same image of God, yourself, and other persons or groups? If yes, then you may have built a house where you are.<br />
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In the spiritual life we are always moving into a larger world, a more expansive vision, an increasing grace. At any given time, we are living into only a small part of who God is. We never live into <i>all</i> of God <i>all</i> at once. <br />
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We slowly live more deeply into God; that is the nature of God. What we see, experience, and apprehend at any juncture is incomplete, only a part of the whole. So we keep moving, keep traveling, keep becoming. This is the nature of our life's journey, our life in God. <br />
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JWebbhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10864904944341369598noreply@blogger.com0