Breaking In, Making Way

Isaiah 40:1-11 | 2 Peter 3:8-15a | Mark 1:1-8 | Psalm 85:1-2, 8-13

There’s part of me that wants a rally cry from the church to come down from above, stop us in our tracks, and realign everything so that we’re all fixed in God’s will. So when I hear the words of Isaiah to “make straight in the desert a highway for our God,” I get excited. Yes! This is it. Finally, “every valley shall be lifted up, and every mountain and hill be made low.” We’ll get the level playing field for equality and justice to be manifest so the Glory of God can be revealed, for all to see it together. That’s the beloved community I long for. And the Gospel of Mark repeats this, basically. Only, it’s not so much a rally cry as it is an introduction . . . for John the Baptist, a man of the wilderness, humble and unworthy, yet baptizing many.

This is why we can’t solely proof-text the Bible, why we can’t just pick and choose verses of Scripture to hold onto. Well, we can certainly hold onto verses of Scripture for the strength and assurance we need; I have one stuck to my laptop screen (Jn 15:11). But we also need to know the context of the greater picture.

As much as I want Isaiah to be a rally cry for social justice–and it very well can be–it’s also part of an image of the way the world is when God’s will is manifest. The Israelites have suffered under oppression and are at that time returning to their land, something they didn’t think could or would happen. What’s happening is that what they least expected is actually happening, what they don’t deserve is being granted because God is faithful in God’s covenant with them. Their journey this time won’t be forty years’ wandering in the wilderness, but the path will be straight for them. In that moment, this is an observation of the mercy of God, even as we also get a picture of the fickleness of the people with whom God is in relationship and know their struggles are not over.

We get an even richer image of God’s manifestation in Psalm 85. God is speaking peace (shalom) to the faithful: peace, the fruit of forgiveness. What does it look like? Like mercy and truth meeting together, like righteousness and peace kissing each other, like truth springing up from the earth and righteousness looking down from heaven, like abundance for all and peace as the pathway. Just thinking this fills my imagination and heart with goodness, but it’s highly conceptual. I read a story about a group who created a physical “Road to Shalom” so youth groups could actually walk a way of peace. They had signs that said “Steadfast Love,” “Faithfulness,” “Righteousness,” and “Peace.” Using Ps. 85, vs. 10, they had youth hold the signs and act out the verse. Steadfast Love and Faithfulness met one another (our “Mercy” and “Truth” in the NRSV translation; NIV has “love” and “faithfulness”), and Righteousness and Peace exchanged a kiss (among much giggling). This was a very physical, tangible experience, a way to embody the path of peace so that our finite minds can try to fathom the greatness of God’s glory.

Whereas the Word of God does stand forever, we are more like the grass and flowers that wither and fade. Our Epistle reading reminds us that with God “one day is like a thousand years, and a thousand years are like one day.” We know with God there’s that timelessness and all time, the kairos time I’ve referred to before. With that perspective of all time, I cannot even imagine the kind of enduring patience that waits for us to turn our hearts toward the way of peace. That kind of steadfast love that waits for us to acknowledge the truth of our condition of suffering. That kind of goodness that accepts us wholly and unconditionally.

I want a rally cry, and I’m offered a way of Peace. I’m reminded of the patience of God who is waiting on me, when I think I’m waiting on God.

I’m waiting for God to intervene in the Middle East crisis and the poverty crisis and the refugee crisis and every single one of our life crises. And I think surely this Christmas we’ll remember that Christ has come and been made manifest and that we have all the power of the Holy Spirit to make all things new, . . . but I’m told to wait. To be still. To listen. To be alert and awake. And to heed the messengers who have gone before me. And to repent for my sins. So that I can be ready to meet Christ at his Birth and at his Second Coming. That’s a lot to do for one “just” waiting.

I want a rally cry to make the world a better place, and I’m so outwardly focused that I miss that God is waiting on me. And on you.

Wait. Be still. Prepare yourself. Listen. A rally cry will come…has already come…and broken into our world. God has prepared a way of peace, determined a pathway long ago. Who’s to say it’s not already written on our hearts? We might stumble upon the path of peace, but what happens when we prepare ourselves for it? What happens if we help reveal it to others?

What does it mean for us to “make straight in the desert a highway for our God”? Would it be like parting the Red Sea or the Jordan River? Or making way through the crowds clamoring for healing or throwing down palm fronds on the way into Jerusalem? Is it really the people doing the “making way”? Or are the people the ones noticing enough to direct attention at what is breaking into the world, right into the midst of all the messiness and struggle, settling into our heart and spreading to our minds and lives.

And this in-breaking presence of God speaks peace to the faithful, to those who have their hearts turned toward God.

So we don’t have to go to someplace that tells us it’s trying to create a visual of the path of peace. We live it. Frederick Buechner said, “The birth of the child into the darkness of the world made possible not just a new way of understanding life but a new way of living it.” People the world over don’t have to wonder what it’s like to live outside of God’s love because God’s love already broke into our world and prepared for us the Way to salvation. But we forget that we’re in this eternal covenant of God’s steadfast love and grace and mercy. And we have to be reminded that when we greet one another with peace, whether we’re in church or in our cars or on the phone or in the restaurant or the grocery store, we are walking along the path of peace, one that was and is and yet will be.

Steadfast love/mercy and faithfulness/truth meet not just like teenagers on a youth trip, shaking hands and exchanging names. Mercy and truth meeting looks like legislators listening to the constituents showing up at their offices in D.C., outlining the affect health care has on their lives, how grateful they’ve been for the dialysis they’ve received or for every effort made by the medical team to heal the child and provide a refuge for the parents as they watched their child die. In this coming together of mercy and truth, righteousness and peace kiss, coming together in a communion of intimacy and love that bears fruit of something good for all, in legislation that benefits the most, especially the least recognized, the most invisible.

I want a rally cry, and I’m invited to be still. Be alert. Notice the pathway of peace that signals where the feet of God have trod–to the altar, to the food bank doors, to the waiting rooms of health centers, to the kitchen table, to the artist’s canvas, to the inventor’s studio, the programmer’s desk, to the child’s imagination, and to the student’s mind–to everywhere Holy Spirit gives us a taste of the grace and mercy, righteousness and peace that creates what is Good for each of us and all of us. In our haste, chances are we’ve paved over the holy with our good intentions and self-interest, creating a different kind of highway that helps us navigate the mountains and valleys without thinking too much about it. And we have the soundtrack of our lives playing so loudly that there’s no way we’ll hear the voice of a weird-looking guy in the wilderness or even a still, small voice within, nudging us to stop a minute and notice the glimmer of light out of the corner of our eye.

There’s a way that’s been prepared for us. There’s a light that’s broken in in the most unlikely of ways. God’s waiting for us to notice and follow the path.

Continue Reading

Our Fertile Ground

 

Genesis 25:19-34 | Ps. 119:105-112 | Romans 8:1-11 | Matthew 13:1-9, 19-23

Hopefully you’re all familiar with the Sunday School curriculum we use with our children: Godly Play. In this curriculum, which is heavily based on story-telling, there are special lessons in golden boxes, golden because they hold something to be treasured and opened like a precious gift. These are the parables, holy mysteries in our tradition. And we tell the story in Jesus’ words and ponder at the mystery of it, wondering–because that’s what we do together in Godly Play, we wonder–what it is that Jesus is really trying to tell us, if we have the eyes to see and ears to hear.

Thanks to our gospel lesson, we impatient adults don’t have to wonder too much today because Matthew shares with us Jesus’ explanation to the disciples. The parable of the sower is focused on the good soil, the fertile ground, that will bear fruit of the kingdom once it’s given the seed of the Word.

Whereas Jesus gave a very quick riddle of sorts to the great crowds that surrounded him (so much so that he makes an auditorium out of the sea side), he explains the parable to the disciples in clearer terms.

  • The word of the kingdom = seed
  • The path = heart
  • The various conditions = world/what’s between the world and the heart
    • Evil one
    • Lack of depth/roots
    • Too much of the secular world

It seems clear-cut, but what does it mean for the “word of the kingdom” to be sown into our “heart”? The seed is not just the words that come from Jesus’s mouth but his very words and deeds, actually himself that is the Word made flesh. Jesus is the seed, sowing himself into the hearts of those who surround him . . . or at least trying to.

What of the various conditions of the soil, of the hearts of the people in whom Jesus Christ is trying to germinate?

In the midst of the pericope we have today, in the verses we jump over, Jesus quotes Isaiah. Isaiah was prophesying what would go wrong with the people of Israel, what would come between them and the LORD their God and set them up for judgment, and we realize that this is also true of the people in Jesus’ time because he says the prophecy is fulfilled in them. They can’t understand or perceive because

“… this people’s heart has grown dull,

And their ears are hard of hearing,

And they have shut their eyes;

So that they might not look with their eyes,

And listen with their ears,

And understand with their heart and turn–

And I would heal them.”

The great crowds are flocking to Jesus for healing, whether they knew it or not. Their hearts drawn to him like a magnet.

Contemporary Christian mystic Cynthia Bourgeault says that the heart–our path, our soil–is an “organ of spiritual perception,” the “perfect holograph” of the divine. Created as we are, perfectly and in God’s image, our heart is the “homing beacon” that ever yearns for its source, its pure identity. Can you imagine the magnetism of Jesus, perfection incarnate? Bourgeault and others point out, however, that our hearts are overrun with interference, which drown out its connection to its source, dulling it so that we neither see nor hear the kingdom at hand, even when it’s within our midst. Our hearts are dull, indeed, our ears hard of hearing, our eyes unable to see.

This might sound very esoteric, but practically speaking, we realize how true this is. If you were to answer on a scale of 1-10 how fertile you think your heart is to receive the Word, to let the Spirit fertilize and nurture the Word in the midst of your life and others so that you bear fruit of the Kingdom, are you super-rich soil at a 10, or nearly depleted and rock-hard at 1? Chances are that we span the spectrum on any given day, really.

During morning prayer, I’m fertile ground, and journaling feels like a dance with Spirit, pouring out my heart and soul, nearly writing poetry in praise and thanksgiving. Then the weeds and thorns start to crowd in with all the stuff of life that has to be done. What if I’ve just gotten back from a conference or a really good gathering that has given me one of those mountain-top experiences? I’m high on life lived in the Spirit, but then I can be devastated by tragic news, someone’s terminal diagnosis, or a challenge I don’t see a way through. Then put me in 5:00 traffic on I-49 in a construction zone, and my heart can become rock-solid. Morning prayer is long-gone, and by the end of the day, I’m too exhausted even for compline.

It would be easier for me to tell you the ingredients we could buy to amend the soil of our hearts, where we could go to find the best soil and keep it ever-fertile and rich, but the truth is, as faithful disciples of Christ, we don’t buy anything or go anywhere. We can’t, actually. We have to be who we are, where we are. We realize that the very heart we have, whatever state of health it is in, it is our path to God. We might get benefit out of a retreat or vacation, to let some of the interference fall away, but we open our hearts right where we are; there’s no escaping them, no place we can go where our heart isn’t with us (at least in the same room, in cases of surgery!) just as there’s nowhere we are that God isn’t also present.

The Word that we see or hear may be out loud or beneath the surface, kind of like a parable, but we only find what we seek, we only see what we’re looking for. We only grow that which we nurture. Any gardener will tell you that a garden requires work and tender loving care to produce the best fruits. Now, Spirit is generous and sometimes gives us abundant volunteers (I used to think the compost pile was an intentional cherry tomato factory), but the best fruits come from loving intention.

Between our God-given heart, the Spirit that dwells within us, and Jesus Christ, the Word that is, as our Psalm suggests, “a lantern to my feet and a light unto my path,” if we focus our attention and intention on God’s will, what is there that we cannot do? It might sound like we have to align the stars just right–and in a way, we do–but it’s not impossible. When we acknowledge and comprehend that God is very much at work in our lives, the stakes change.

Like I’ve said before, life can get harder. The evil one that plucks the Word out of our heart before it’s had a chance to sink in gets even more stealthy as our faithfulness grows. But so do we. We learn what practices keep us nurtured. When and how do we pray. With whom do we surround ourselves? What are we listening to? What are we reading? What kind of community are we nurturing locally and globally in the decisions that we are making? Am I doing this all on my own, or am I letting the Trinity work through me? Am I giving my best effort to tend to my gifts and skills so that when people meet me, they know that I’m doing something important, even if they don’t know what it is. It could be that Jesus is healing them through us.

This has mostly been framed with a mind toward the individual, but it works at the corporate level, the group level, as well. What is the state of the heart of All Saints’? We’ve been planted well, the Word settling deep in our heart. We’re still young as a congregation. Seedlings have to be tended to carefully, often supported by something more stable, as we have been by surrounding parishes and are by the diocese. We’re often repotted when we’ve outgrown our current pot, eventually settling in a place where we can let our roots grow even deeper.

But all the while we are living and growing, participating in the cycles of our lives and the liturgical year, always beginning again with the purpose first and foremost to give glory and praise to God. At the Tri-faith book club, we realized that our traditions all have as our focus to worship God. Worshipping God is part of our mission in the Christian Church, which is to restore all people to unity with God and each other in Christ, in Love. We work toward this restoration through prayer and worship, through proclamation of the Gospel, and by promoting justice, peace, and love. (I’m not just making this up; it’s in the Catechism, BCP p. 855.) These are good practices to keep the heart of All Saints’ nurtured and aerated and nourished so that the Word of the Kingdom will fall onto our rich soil, our ready heart and bring forth the Kingdom of Heaven in ways we have yet to imagine.

And that’s why we hold the parables in their golden boxes. The mysteries they hold are full of divine imagination we will receive differently at various times in our lives. Sometimes we’re ready to understand, and sometimes we can’t quite yet. We have to make sure our path, our heart, is tended to so that when the gifts come our way, we’ll know how valuable they really are.

Continue Reading

Day 21 . . .

Right.  I know.  There are not enough posts between my last and current to count to 21, but I do have several prayers penned in my moleskine.  When I get more than 10 minutes, I’ll enter them on my blog.  For now, tonight was too momentous not to mention right away.  So let this count for Day 21.

Dear God,

Keep teaching me.  Keep infusing me with your Spirit.  Keep surrounding me with those who share wisdom, just enough so that they don’t even know they’re doing it.  This life is amazing, and I give my humblest thanks.

I am trying to walk the path to best serve your will.  I am trying, discerning, and I know I could not do it alone.  My path has converged with so many wonderful people; I have been blessed with a tremendous family and unimaginably compassionate friends.  Of course, each of us has a flaw or two, and from them we learn the most about ourselves.  I can’t imagine it any other way.

As I’m continuing along, help me to be mindful.  Help me not waste a dozen or more waffles because I forgot about them keeping warm in the oven.  I have enough, but there are so many without.  Help me be present to recognize the needs of others and to pay attention to what is at the heart of the matter.  Help me to hear the truth in my own heart.

And always, dear God, help me be grateful – for your love, for the gifts you’ve given me, for my friends, and for the gifts of others.  Help me remember how sweet these tender moments are with the children and how wonderfully supportive my husband is.  May they know my love for them is unconditional and greater than I will ever show.  Help me at least try to embody unconditional love.  I think I’d like to try.

Grant me the strength to do the work set before me, and may all the glory be yours.

Amen.

Continue Reading

Shortcuts and Canopy Roads

Darting between errands in a relatively small city, one learns the cut-throughs; there’s more than one way to get from point A to point B.  At five o’clock I’m certainly prone to taking such a route, especially when on my way to a mega-store.

The light was fading, my tummy wasn’t feeling good, and a long weekend was coming to a close.  I didn’t really want to do the shopping that HAD to be done.  I wasn’t particularly happy about being one of the motorists out at rush hour.  I should have been home making dinner, not buying the goods so I could do so.

Just as I was about to reach the straight stretch on the back road, just pass the interstate intersection, I spied a police car sitting in a drive, facing outward, waiting to catch someone like me — someone who thought they might get somewhere a little faster by out-smarting the rest of the drivers and possibly by disobeying some speed limit laws.  I see you, Mr. Officer.  Thanks for reminding me to take it easy; it is the law, after all.  I’ll get to where I’m going safely if I pay attention and slow down no matter which road I take.

So I make sure I’m going 35mph or less and enjoy this little road.  Thinking back to it, I can’t even recall if it has a center line, though I’m sure it does.  There are old farmhouses and pastures.  Barbed-wire fences with trees and bushes.  The trees grow up and over the road, forming what the kids and I call a “canopy road,” our favorite kind.

And there were deer.  Two of them.  Stopped and staring at me.  One was on the road to the right, in my lane, and the other was beside it, just off the road.  I’m sure it’s looking at the van and not me, this mama-looking deer who was out with a fellow doe.  Going slowly as I was, I slowed almost to a stop and mosied by even slower, making sure they didn’t bolt across the way I was going.  “Excuse me,” I said politely, humbly.  After all, this is their woods.  Without our intrusion and given time, our pavement and concrete and feeble structures would crumble aside.  The fauna would continue to grow and the animals to roam.  I am but a guest here.  Please pardon my arrogant intrusion.  Please bless my path.

I realize that in this small stretch of road on which for a few moments I was the only traveller, I went from seeing it as my right to take a shortcut on my all-important mission of saving time and frustration to seeing it as an opportunity and gift to slow down, enjoying what nature offers.

Then, of course, I returned to a busier road, six cars passing before I could turn into the stream.  I made it to the fluorescent-lit mega warehouse for the grocery shopping necessary for a family of six.  I went home to make dinner and then stay up much of the night with four of us working our way through a stomach virus.  The next day, we slept and rested.  One of us didn’t get sick (the older son).  You just never know.

I am pretty certain about a couple of things, though.  There’s a time for everything.  There are blessings everywhere.

Continue Reading