“Not everyone who says to me, ‘Lord, Lord,’ will enter the kingdom of heaven, but only the one who does the will of my Father in heaven.” In the Lucan parallel, it’s, “Why do you call me ‘Lord, Lord,’ and do not do what I tell you?” Jarring at least. Terrifying at worst.
There are a couple of absolutes in what Jesus is saying and they are terribly. The first is also seen in a similar saying in Luke. In a parable, Jesus reports the Lord of the house as saying to those who knock to enter, “I do not know you.” To which those outside say, “but we ate and drank with you and you taught in our streets.” And the Lord replies, in a phrase repeated in today’s reading, “Go away you evildoers.” Imagine the shock of those who thought they had a companionable relationship with the Master because they associated with him at the table and heard him teach. To their enormous surprise, he sends them away—and worse—calls them evildoers.
Evildoers!? That can’t be us can it? Well, an evildoer as Matthew understands it is one who rejects or perverts righteous living. And righteous living is understood as living, from the heart, the teaching of Jesus on the primacy of love. So we must ask if we reject or pervert righteous living.
To put it another way, the point Jesus seems to be making is this: religious behavior is not going to create that union with God. Going to church, taking the sacraments, giving funds and time, reading the Bible, praying carefully—as good as these things are, they do not comprise “doing the will of the Father.” All these things can be done and done well, without the spirit of love as the motivation or the outcome. We can be in church on any given Sunday because that is what we do on Sunday. We can even listen carefully and be moved by a powerful worship service in music and the spoken word. But if when we climb in our cars, we are as surly as we were when we fussed at the children to hurry and get ready or we’d tear up their little behinds, we have received no benefit. If we were out of sorts with our spouses when we entered church, we can’t be out of sorts when we leave. We can receive the blessed bread and wine daily, but if this means of grace doesn’t impel us to treat others with grace in our dealing with them, we’ve simply been selfish.
Oh listen, it gets worse! Jesus says, they will say, “Lord, Lord, did we not prophesy in your name and cast our demons in your name and do many deeds of power in your name? Then I will declare to them,” Jesus says, “‘I never knew you; go away from me you evil doers.’” So if the first point Jesus makes is that simple association with him or with holy things will not be sufficient, then the second point is: even doing acts in his name will not be enough. The ultimate point Jesus is making is that the deeds must represent the inner nature of the person doing them or they are hypocritical and empty. Association with him and holy things isn’t enough. Good deeds aren’t enough. Only true conversion from a selfish nature to a loving nature can create union with God.
As I re-read the Sermon on the Mount, often thought of as the summary of the Christian life, I for one, feel pretty inadequate as a Christian. I have to wonder if love is my intention and my motivation as I move through life. And if it is, am I consistent in letting love be my guide? Can I even, in my wildest dreams do what Jesus said and “be perfect even as my Father in heaven is perfect?” Surely, if we are brutally honest with ourselves, the net effect of thinking about all this is to make each of us, me included, feel almost like total failures as Christians. We probably should be feeling guilt and even shame at the recognition of ourselves as evildoers. Worse, we should feel devastated to think the Lord might say to us, “I never knew you.”
The peace of the Lord be with you.
Jerry+
Friday, May 30, 2008
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
Family Memories
What a great few days! Mike arrived home from Iraq on time last Thursday and the family and three senior officers from Navy Support Activity Millington where he is Executive Officer were there to meet him!
Friday night, the family all gathered for a birthday dinner for my step-son Lynn. Saturday Mike’s family and my wife and I headed out to a baseball game (Triple A Redbirds). Sunday, Carol and I took the two smallest grandkids to our world class zoo. Monday, Mike’s family and my wife and I attended a Memorial Day cookout.
I mention all this because it seems to me in our world, there is a decreasing emphasis on family time. Meals are hardly ever taken together. Mom’s in one car and Dad’s in other taking kids to some kind of practice. Evenings are often spent with everybody “in their corner” as it were, studying, catching up on work from the office or finishing chores around the house. So much seems to conspire to keep us moving and not necessarily moving together, just at the same time.
Our family has certainly been guilty of this kind of life. But looking back, some of our best times, the times we often tell and retell stories about, are those times when we were together—at a dinner table, trapped in a car heading to a vacation spot, strolling the zoo, or sharing a movie.
Perhaps that’s why I wanted to be there at the airport. One more time we’ll have together and one more time we’ll be able to say, “Remember that time when…” If you’re not doing much of this, you might want to rethink how you set your priorities.
The picture was taken by the chaplain who came to the airport. The face belongs to Mike, the gray hair to me.
The peace of the Lord be with you.
Jerry+
Thursday, May 22, 2008
Worry
In Sunday's Gospel from Matthew, Jesus tells his followers "Don't worry."
It’s easy enough to say, “Don’t worry.” We’ve probably all said this to people at one time or another as they shared some problem with us. And “Don’t worry,” is usually followed by, “It’ll be OK.” But have you ever noticed when people say that to you, it’s not much comfort?
That being true, why did Jesus tell us not to worry? Don’t worry about what you’ll eat or drink or wear he says. Can worrying accomplish anything, he asks—can it make you live longer? And in another passage, he says, “Take no thought for tomorrow, for tomorrow’s troubles are sufficient for the day.” In other words, take one day at a time. And since worry is always about the future, he again is telling us: Don’t worry. Why? The why is simple—worrying about the future does not impact the future in any way, except to make you less physically and emotionally able to handle it. The “how” is the hard part isn’t it? I know it is for me. And that is actually what Jesus is trying to help us with.
I read a anecdote recently that fits here really well. Most of us are generally familiar with downhill skiing. There are various kinds of downhill skiing and the one thing they all have in common is they are done on an open course. Some have snow humps called moguls to deal with, others have sets of flags called gates that people ski through, but there are no real impediments. But there is another kind of skiing called “tree skiing.” This takes place on a downhill run—in a forest! Trees everywhere. If you hit one of the gates in downhill skiing, it flexes and you just keep going. But if you hit a tree—not so much!
One of the tree skiers was interviewed about this dangerous sport. Here’s what he said: “Look at the spaces between the trees—the exits you hope [emphasis added]to be traveling. Don’t stare at what you don’t want to hit.” I think this is basically what Jesus was getting at. Our loving God will protect us from the “trees” or else help us recover if we hit one. This being true, focus on hope.
Today my older son returned from his tour in Iraq. I can’t say I never worried while he was there, but it was episodic, not continuous. We both kept our eyes focused on the “space between the trees.” And he reached the bottom of the hill.
The Lord’s peace be with you,
Jerry+
It’s easy enough to say, “Don’t worry.” We’ve probably all said this to people at one time or another as they shared some problem with us. And “Don’t worry,” is usually followed by, “It’ll be OK.” But have you ever noticed when people say that to you, it’s not much comfort?
That being true, why did Jesus tell us not to worry? Don’t worry about what you’ll eat or drink or wear he says. Can worrying accomplish anything, he asks—can it make you live longer? And in another passage, he says, “Take no thought for tomorrow, for tomorrow’s troubles are sufficient for the day.” In other words, take one day at a time. And since worry is always about the future, he again is telling us: Don’t worry. Why? The why is simple—worrying about the future does not impact the future in any way, except to make you less physically and emotionally able to handle it. The “how” is the hard part isn’t it? I know it is for me. And that is actually what Jesus is trying to help us with.
I read a anecdote recently that fits here really well. Most of us are generally familiar with downhill skiing. There are various kinds of downhill skiing and the one thing they all have in common is they are done on an open course. Some have snow humps called moguls to deal with, others have sets of flags called gates that people ski through, but there are no real impediments. But there is another kind of skiing called “tree skiing.” This takes place on a downhill run—in a forest! Trees everywhere. If you hit one of the gates in downhill skiing, it flexes and you just keep going. But if you hit a tree—not so much!
One of the tree skiers was interviewed about this dangerous sport. Here’s what he said: “Look at the spaces between the trees—the exits you hope [emphasis added]to be traveling. Don’t stare at what you don’t want to hit.” I think this is basically what Jesus was getting at. Our loving God will protect us from the “trees” or else help us recover if we hit one. This being true, focus on hope.
Today my older son returned from his tour in Iraq. I can’t say I never worried while he was there, but it was episodic, not continuous. We both kept our eyes focused on the “space between the trees.” And he reached the bottom of the hill.
The Lord’s peace be with you,
Jerry+
Sunday, May 18, 2008
Mysterious God
The Lord, they say, works in mysterious ways.
Sunday, with my Episcopalian wife working, I went to worship at a nearby United Methodist parish. The senior pastor, someone I know, was out, but the pulpit was ably filled by a woman cleric who was once my ecclesiastical superior. She spoke with me warmly prior to the service and then , during the service, introduced me to the congregation, mentioning that I was a UMC cleric, recently retired and one of her former teachers. I was asked to stand to be greeted and I did. Though my plan was to be invisible, suddenly I was spray painted day-glo orange.
The service proceeded, and though I found the order of worship a bit odd, the warmth of the singing and the genuineness of the sermon was comforting. I knew and enjoyed the hymns, and on this Trinity Sunday was offered a sermon on prayer—much to be preferred to a sermon on the Trinity.
The service ended as they typically do in a UM Church, with a called to discipleship. Following the benediction, as I began to move from my seat, a woman at the end of the pew engaged me in a brief conversation, greeting me cordially and inviting me to return. As we chatted, a man in his mid to late forties joined us. Speaking to her while looking at me, he said, “I heard Jerry Harber was here today, and I wanted to see for myself,” smiling as he spoke. He then introduced himself and reminded me that he too had been one of my students back in 1982 when I was teaching pastoral care and counseling at one of the local seminaries. Sadly, I remembered only vaguely his name and not at all his face.
By now the woman had left and he began our conversation by telling me that every Wednesday night he spoke my name and told a story about me. I always shudder at moments anything like this one. He told me how he came to class one day, and as part of the class experience, I put a chair for him and for me in the center of the room and had the other students circle us. I told them that I was going to demonstrate what I had been teaching them about therapeutic or empathic listening. The experience changed his life, he said. He told me how he had told the class that he had never felt so understood and how I said to the class, “If you want to be able to do, you must go home and practice.” That very day, he went home, and as well as he could began, to listen to his Mom and Dad, neither of whom were ever very open, certainly not with their feelings. It was a remarkable experience for him.
He then went on to say, “The whole seminary thing didn’t work out for me, but I went to school and became a social worker. Now every Wednesday night I lead a group of people who are trying to single parent under difficult conditions. Every week I tell them the story of your listening to me and my listening to my parents and how it changed my life.” He thanked me effusively, shaking my hand several times as we talked. I admit, I felt goose bumps as he told the story and again when he finished.
My last post was about always wanting to make a difference. I’m reminded today of a seminary professor of mind who said, “When we clergy leave a place, we leave never knowing how much good we did.” He was certainly right. I had no idea that a class exercise left such a profound impact on a single human being and how many times he’d shared that with others.
See, the Lord works in mysterious ways.
The Lord’s peace be with you.
Jerry+
Sunday, with my Episcopalian wife working, I went to worship at a nearby United Methodist parish. The senior pastor, someone I know, was out, but the pulpit was ably filled by a woman cleric who was once my ecclesiastical superior. She spoke with me warmly prior to the service and then , during the service, introduced me to the congregation, mentioning that I was a UMC cleric, recently retired and one of her former teachers. I was asked to stand to be greeted and I did. Though my plan was to be invisible, suddenly I was spray painted day-glo orange.
The service proceeded, and though I found the order of worship a bit odd, the warmth of the singing and the genuineness of the sermon was comforting. I knew and enjoyed the hymns, and on this Trinity Sunday was offered a sermon on prayer—much to be preferred to a sermon on the Trinity.
The service ended as they typically do in a UM Church, with a called to discipleship. Following the benediction, as I began to move from my seat, a woman at the end of the pew engaged me in a brief conversation, greeting me cordially and inviting me to return. As we chatted, a man in his mid to late forties joined us. Speaking to her while looking at me, he said, “I heard Jerry Harber was here today, and I wanted to see for myself,” smiling as he spoke. He then introduced himself and reminded me that he too had been one of my students back in 1982 when I was teaching pastoral care and counseling at one of the local seminaries. Sadly, I remembered only vaguely his name and not at all his face.
By now the woman had left and he began our conversation by telling me that every Wednesday night he spoke my name and told a story about me. I always shudder at moments anything like this one. He told me how he came to class one day, and as part of the class experience, I put a chair for him and for me in the center of the room and had the other students circle us. I told them that I was going to demonstrate what I had been teaching them about therapeutic or empathic listening. The experience changed his life, he said. He told me how he had told the class that he had never felt so understood and how I said to the class, “If you want to be able to do, you must go home and practice.” That very day, he went home, and as well as he could began, to listen to his Mom and Dad, neither of whom were ever very open, certainly not with their feelings. It was a remarkable experience for him.
He then went on to say, “The whole seminary thing didn’t work out for me, but I went to school and became a social worker. Now every Wednesday night I lead a group of people who are trying to single parent under difficult conditions. Every week I tell them the story of your listening to me and my listening to my parents and how it changed my life.” He thanked me effusively, shaking my hand several times as we talked. I admit, I felt goose bumps as he told the story and again when he finished.
My last post was about always wanting to make a difference. I’m reminded today of a seminary professor of mind who said, “When we clergy leave a place, we leave never knowing how much good we did.” He was certainly right. I had no idea that a class exercise left such a profound impact on a single human being and how many times he’d shared that with others.
See, the Lord works in mysterious ways.
The Lord’s peace be with you.
Jerry+
Friday, May 16, 2008
A Remarkable Discovery
I noticed today that I’m happy. As I write that sentence, it seems strange even to me. Not strange that I would write it, but strange that it is true.
I left the parish with considerable reservation and regret. I believed it was a vocation and that, as imperfect an instrument as I might be, I could still produce meaningful music, as it were. Certainly in the last weeks and days of my time there, the affirmations I received from so many people seemed to confirm that my life there had made a difference in others’ lives. That’s really all I ever wanted was to make a difference. Knowing that I would leave that arena seemed to take away the opportunity to continue to make that difference.
I’m pretty sure I was wrong about that. Today, after working a few hours in my study on an outline for a presentation I have to do, I mulched the flower beds that Carol and I planted yesterday. I worked until my back and the mulch gave out. I showered, had lunch, and took a little nap. On rising, I went to the local library book sale and added several volumes to my history library and selected several novels to read. I received emails from family and friends and responded to them. I spoke to my wife on the phone and read from my newly purchased novel (written in 1981!).
Soon I’ll make myself a little supper and then return to my study to work a bit more on my outline and to read a bit more of my book. Tomorrow I’ll finish the mulch job, maybe mow the lawn or prune some shrubs, work a bit on lecture notes for a seminary course I’m teaching in the fall and, then with Carol, my daughter-in-law and grandkids, go to the triple A Redbirds baseball game in a grand stadium.
While not so remarkable for a weekend, it is my life every day. What is missing is the stress of organizational confusion and ineptitude, of petty bickering, and someone else setting my schedule. I’m making a difference in my own life and through the work I’m doing now and then, continue to make life more bearable for others as I seek to humanize the workplace for the workshop participants. And of course, I hope to make a difference in the fall as I teach clergy wantabees about the history of their tradition. But if no one registers for the course, I will still have enjoyed writing the lectures and writing them at my pace.
I’m happy. I approached retirement with fear and uncertainty. But now I enjoy it without fear and with no more uncertainty than anybody else has about their tomorrows—maybe less. I haven’t slowed down as so many people have encouraged me to do or as I thought I would. But the meaning and value of what I do as I’m busy has shifted. Perhaps I have found a new vocation. And being happy and at peace is a consequence of that find.
The peace of the Lord be with you.
Jerry+
I left the parish with considerable reservation and regret. I believed it was a vocation and that, as imperfect an instrument as I might be, I could still produce meaningful music, as it were. Certainly in the last weeks and days of my time there, the affirmations I received from so many people seemed to confirm that my life there had made a difference in others’ lives. That’s really all I ever wanted was to make a difference. Knowing that I would leave that arena seemed to take away the opportunity to continue to make that difference.
I’m pretty sure I was wrong about that. Today, after working a few hours in my study on an outline for a presentation I have to do, I mulched the flower beds that Carol and I planted yesterday. I worked until my back and the mulch gave out. I showered, had lunch, and took a little nap. On rising, I went to the local library book sale and added several volumes to my history library and selected several novels to read. I received emails from family and friends and responded to them. I spoke to my wife on the phone and read from my newly purchased novel (written in 1981!).
Soon I’ll make myself a little supper and then return to my study to work a bit more on my outline and to read a bit more of my book. Tomorrow I’ll finish the mulch job, maybe mow the lawn or prune some shrubs, work a bit on lecture notes for a seminary course I’m teaching in the fall and, then with Carol, my daughter-in-law and grandkids, go to the triple A Redbirds baseball game in a grand stadium.
While not so remarkable for a weekend, it is my life every day. What is missing is the stress of organizational confusion and ineptitude, of petty bickering, and someone else setting my schedule. I’m making a difference in my own life and through the work I’m doing now and then, continue to make life more bearable for others as I seek to humanize the workplace for the workshop participants. And of course, I hope to make a difference in the fall as I teach clergy wantabees about the history of their tradition. But if no one registers for the course, I will still have enjoyed writing the lectures and writing them at my pace.
I’m happy. I approached retirement with fear and uncertainty. But now I enjoy it without fear and with no more uncertainty than anybody else has about their tomorrows—maybe less. I haven’t slowed down as so many people have encouraged me to do or as I thought I would. But the meaning and value of what I do as I’m busy has shifted. Perhaps I have found a new vocation. And being happy and at peace is a consequence of that find.
The peace of the Lord be with you.
Jerry+
Thursday, May 15, 2008
Paul's Wisdom
Paul wrote four letters to the Christians at Corinth. We probably have parts of all four gathered together in the New Testament canon in the two letters we know as 1 and 2 Corinthians. Sunday’s Epistle is taken from the very end of 2 Corinthians [13:11-13]. Because it’s short, I’ll include it:
Finally, brothers and sisters, farewell. Put things in order, listen to my appeal, agree with one another, live in peace; and the God of love and peace will be with you. Greet one another with a holy kiss. All the saints greet you.
Very good advice for all of us. “Put things in order…agree with one another, live in peace…” Not easy to do. After all, Paul is writing this to a community that has been, and at the time of the writing still may be, divided. They are having doctrinal disagreements as well as disagreements about how to do things.
I haven’t posted recently because I’ve been preparing lecture notes for a seminary course I’ll be teaching on the Early Church. I have been reminded of all the controversies and tensions of the first 400 years of our Church as I scan text books in preparation. Of course, anyone with the most rudimentary knowledge of the rest of the history of the Church knows the next 1600 years weren’t materially different. Topics changed, but arguments and controversies remained—or should I say “remain.” After all, the present age is not a lot different in that regard.
Most mainstream denominations are quarreling among themselves about how best to allocate their shrinking resources—when they aren’t quarreling about sex. More evangelical denominations continue their historic practice of splintering off into new congregations or denominations when they quarrel. Why don’t we learn to, as a secretary I had one time loved to say, “keep the main thing the main thing?”
I certainly don’t have the answer, but I do have a theory. We don’t learn because we remain self-centered, and thus, fundamentally unconverted. “Agree with one another?” Hardly. That might mean I have to give up my cherished agenda to support yours and since you’re clearly wrong, I can’t do that. Ditto from your point of view. “Live in peace?” Naw. So as we continue to keep Christ away from the center of our discussions and ignore Paul’s admonitions, we get to watch the shrinking of our churches as people see it (in record numbers) as hopelessly irrelevant. Maybe they're right.
Peace,
Jerry+
Finally, brothers and sisters, farewell. Put things in order, listen to my appeal, agree with one another, live in peace; and the God of love and peace will be with you. Greet one another with a holy kiss. All the saints greet you.
Very good advice for all of us. “Put things in order…agree with one another, live in peace…” Not easy to do. After all, Paul is writing this to a community that has been, and at the time of the writing still may be, divided. They are having doctrinal disagreements as well as disagreements about how to do things.
I haven’t posted recently because I’ve been preparing lecture notes for a seminary course I’ll be teaching on the Early Church. I have been reminded of all the controversies and tensions of the first 400 years of our Church as I scan text books in preparation. Of course, anyone with the most rudimentary knowledge of the rest of the history of the Church knows the next 1600 years weren’t materially different. Topics changed, but arguments and controversies remained—or should I say “remain.” After all, the present age is not a lot different in that regard.
Most mainstream denominations are quarreling among themselves about how best to allocate their shrinking resources—when they aren’t quarreling about sex. More evangelical denominations continue their historic practice of splintering off into new congregations or denominations when they quarrel. Why don’t we learn to, as a secretary I had one time loved to say, “keep the main thing the main thing?”
I certainly don’t have the answer, but I do have a theory. We don’t learn because we remain self-centered, and thus, fundamentally unconverted. “Agree with one another?” Hardly. That might mean I have to give up my cherished agenda to support yours and since you’re clearly wrong, I can’t do that. Ditto from your point of view. “Live in peace?” Naw. So as we continue to keep Christ away from the center of our discussions and ignore Paul’s admonitions, we get to watch the shrinking of our churches as people see it (in record numbers) as hopelessly irrelevant. Maybe they're right.
Peace,
Jerry+
Saturday, May 10, 2008
Drunk?
Sunday is the day we celebrate the disciples of Jesus being accused of being drunk at 9:00 in the morning. That’s not exactly what we celebrate, but it does come up in the story reported in Acts.
The disciples are together again in someone’s home. The whole place is filled with the sound of a “violent wind” and apparently in response to this wind, they rush out into the city. As they rush around, they are talking and each is able to speak a language different from his own so they are understood by people from all over the region. And that means there will be a lot of people who can’t understand what is being said—it will sound like gibberish. Therefore, those speaking must be drunk.
In the parish where I spent the last 22 years, it was the practice to try to replicate this by having the lesson from Acts where this is reported, read by people in a variety of languages all at the same time. To call it distracting doesn’t begin to describe it, and frankly, I never found it more than that. It was jarring and, for me, off-putting. The practice manages to draw attention away from the Acts story itself and to a gimmick. While I’m not alone in thinking this, many each year are taken with the experience. Whatever floats your boat.
But, I choose to write about Pentecost not to complain about a practice in a parish I no longer am involved with, but to focus on the disciples’ reaction to the coming of the Spirit. Once touched by the Spirit, these men—and perhaps and probably women too—can’t contain themselves. They not only rush out into the community that day to share exciting news with others [as indicated by Peter’s “sermon”]but they don’t stop rushing. From that beginning, the good news of God’s saving love spreads all over the known world during their life time!
Years later when Paul enters the story, he is writing to churches he founded, but he is also writing to communities of Christians in cities to which he never went. The excitement of this new revelation of God’s love was such that many began to tell others immediately. And more than that, left home and hearth to tell others in strange cities and strange countries. Like people who’ve drunk too much wine, they lost their inhibitions and began doing a “foolish” thing.
So, here’s what I’ve been thinking about. What happened? Where’s that same enthusiasm today? As attendance at Christian worship is falling all over the world (with a very few exceptions), where is the drive to share the good news?
Peace,
Jerry+
The disciples are together again in someone’s home. The whole place is filled with the sound of a “violent wind” and apparently in response to this wind, they rush out into the city. As they rush around, they are talking and each is able to speak a language different from his own so they are understood by people from all over the region. And that means there will be a lot of people who can’t understand what is being said—it will sound like gibberish. Therefore, those speaking must be drunk.
In the parish where I spent the last 22 years, it was the practice to try to replicate this by having the lesson from Acts where this is reported, read by people in a variety of languages all at the same time. To call it distracting doesn’t begin to describe it, and frankly, I never found it more than that. It was jarring and, for me, off-putting. The practice manages to draw attention away from the Acts story itself and to a gimmick. While I’m not alone in thinking this, many each year are taken with the experience. Whatever floats your boat.
But, I choose to write about Pentecost not to complain about a practice in a parish I no longer am involved with, but to focus on the disciples’ reaction to the coming of the Spirit. Once touched by the Spirit, these men—and perhaps and probably women too—can’t contain themselves. They not only rush out into the community that day to share exciting news with others [as indicated by Peter’s “sermon”]but they don’t stop rushing. From that beginning, the good news of God’s saving love spreads all over the known world during their life time!
Years later when Paul enters the story, he is writing to churches he founded, but he is also writing to communities of Christians in cities to which he never went. The excitement of this new revelation of God’s love was such that many began to tell others immediately. And more than that, left home and hearth to tell others in strange cities and strange countries. Like people who’ve drunk too much wine, they lost their inhibitions and began doing a “foolish” thing.
So, here’s what I’ve been thinking about. What happened? Where’s that same enthusiasm today? As attendance at Christian worship is falling all over the world (with a very few exceptions), where is the drive to share the good news?
Peace,
Jerry+
Wednesday, May 7, 2008
Faith
“Faith is believing what you know ain’t so.” You’ve heard this and so have I. Most people with any level of understanding know intuitively this is a bad definition. But then what is faith?
By now you must be tired of hearing about the birds and you must surely wonder if I have nothing better to do that reflect on this ordinary event that happened just outside my door. [For new readers, go back a few entries to start at the beginning.] But the bird saga just keeps coming up.
Imagine your whole world consisting of an area about nine or ten inches in diameter. You’re sharing this space with three other beings, crammed together with hardly any room to move. When you’re hungry, someone appears from the sky and you’re fed. When the wind and rain threaten, someone covers you with warmth and shelter. Then one day something changes. You have an urge to leave the nest and the someone who has been meeting your every need is encouraging you.
You can see where this is going, right? We receive dozens of catalogs each week, sometimes each day. Most get put immediately in the recycle bin. But one always catches my eye. It’s called Femail Creations. [www.femailcreations.com.] While pretty clearly not written for me, I find many of its products profound. One I bought was a plaque which said, “Love as if you’ve never been hurt before.” I like that a lot. But to the point. This issue reminded me of my birds. Here’s what a little framed print had to say.
“When you come to the edge of all the light you have known and are about to step out into the darkness, FAITH is knowing one of two things will happen. There will be something to stand on or you will be taught to fly.”
As I find new and wonderful life in retirement, I know how true this is, and how true it has been multiple times in my life. Darkness was never the end. The ground never did come up to smash me--as low as I might have swooped. I always found myself flying as surely as the little birds did in my side yard. I give thanks to God for the wings and the updraft, especially the updraft created by friends and well-wishers in turbulent times.
Peace,
Jerry+
By now you must be tired of hearing about the birds and you must surely wonder if I have nothing better to do that reflect on this ordinary event that happened just outside my door. [For new readers, go back a few entries to start at the beginning.] But the bird saga just keeps coming up.
Imagine your whole world consisting of an area about nine or ten inches in diameter. You’re sharing this space with three other beings, crammed together with hardly any room to move. When you’re hungry, someone appears from the sky and you’re fed. When the wind and rain threaten, someone covers you with warmth and shelter. Then one day something changes. You have an urge to leave the nest and the someone who has been meeting your every need is encouraging you.
You can see where this is going, right? We receive dozens of catalogs each week, sometimes each day. Most get put immediately in the recycle bin. But one always catches my eye. It’s called Femail Creations. [www.femailcreations.com.] While pretty clearly not written for me, I find many of its products profound. One I bought was a plaque which said, “Love as if you’ve never been hurt before.” I like that a lot. But to the point. This issue reminded me of my birds. Here’s what a little framed print had to say.
“When you come to the edge of all the light you have known and are about to step out into the darkness, FAITH is knowing one of two things will happen. There will be something to stand on or you will be taught to fly.”
As I find new and wonderful life in retirement, I know how true this is, and how true it has been multiple times in my life. Darkness was never the end. The ground never did come up to smash me--as low as I might have swooped. I always found myself flying as surely as the little birds did in my side yard. I give thanks to God for the wings and the updraft, especially the updraft created by friends and well-wishers in turbulent times.
Peace,
Jerry+
Sunday, May 4, 2008
Ascension
You would think Jesus’ ascension would warrant more “press” than it got in the Gospels. Matthew and John don’t even mention it. Mark says “he was received up into heaven, and sat down at the right hand of God.” Period. Luke reports a discourse from Jesus that culminates in his ascension and an admonition for them to return to Jerusalem to await the Holy Spirit. Luke also begins Acts with a brief reference to the ascension. Since both the Apostles’ Creed and the Nicene Creed make mention of it, you might think more would have been made of it.
But on the other hand, maybe not. Luke ends his account of it, and in fact his Gospel, with the response of the followers of Jesus. The are filled with joy and immediately get to the Temple to bless God. Luke thought this was so important that he wrote Acts as a follow on to show what that witnessing was about and what it accomplished. He adds a detail in Acts that he omits in the Gospel. Instead of heading off to Jerusalem immediately, they stand watching him ascend. Two heavenly figures appear and speak. As Clarence Jordan puts it in his The Cotton Patch Version of Luke and Acts, “As he went away, and while they were still staring into the sky, two men in blue jeans joined them and asked, ‘Citizens of America, why stand there looking at the sky?” Finally they move out. Mark, on the other hand, with his usual emphasis on the immediate puts it a bit differently, “and they went forth, and preached everywhere…”
Which, in the final analysis, is the response expected from all of us. Jordan sets his version of "Jesus' Doings and the Happenings" as the book is subtitled, in Atlanta and the surrounding area. His point is, of course, we don’t live in Israel, but the U.S. and as “Citizens of America,” are to be about going forth and preaching everywhere right where you are.
I know this is so painfully obvious that you’re wondering why I bothered to write about it. This morning I worshipped in a small parish that I happened to have visited for a summer eight years ago. It’s changed. There’s a different rector. There’s a smaller congregation (on this Sunday about 30% fewer than were there eight years ago). But, the make up of that small group of Christians more nearly reflected the changing neighborhood in which it’s located. And if the manner in which I was made welcome is any indication, I suspect that’s why. The Gospel was preached by the people of that parish as they extended me the Peace of the Lord and welcomed me warmly. And I suspect not because they're looking to bolster the rolls, but because of the spirit of the place and the Spirit of the place.
Perahps we'd do well to spend less time looking up and more time reaching out.
Peace,
Jerry+
But on the other hand, maybe not. Luke ends his account of it, and in fact his Gospel, with the response of the followers of Jesus. The are filled with joy and immediately get to the Temple to bless God. Luke thought this was so important that he wrote Acts as a follow on to show what that witnessing was about and what it accomplished. He adds a detail in Acts that he omits in the Gospel. Instead of heading off to Jerusalem immediately, they stand watching him ascend. Two heavenly figures appear and speak. As Clarence Jordan puts it in his The Cotton Patch Version of Luke and Acts, “As he went away, and while they were still staring into the sky, two men in blue jeans joined them and asked, ‘Citizens of America, why stand there looking at the sky?” Finally they move out. Mark, on the other hand, with his usual emphasis on the immediate puts it a bit differently, “and they went forth, and preached everywhere…”
Which, in the final analysis, is the response expected from all of us. Jordan sets his version of "Jesus' Doings and the Happenings" as the book is subtitled, in Atlanta and the surrounding area. His point is, of course, we don’t live in Israel, but the U.S. and as “Citizens of America,” are to be about going forth and preaching everywhere right where you are.
I know this is so painfully obvious that you’re wondering why I bothered to write about it. This morning I worshipped in a small parish that I happened to have visited for a summer eight years ago. It’s changed. There’s a different rector. There’s a smaller congregation (on this Sunday about 30% fewer than were there eight years ago). But, the make up of that small group of Christians more nearly reflected the changing neighborhood in which it’s located. And if the manner in which I was made welcome is any indication, I suspect that’s why. The Gospel was preached by the people of that parish as they extended me the Peace of the Lord and welcomed me warmly. And I suspect not because they're looking to bolster the rolls, but because of the spirit of the place and the Spirit of the place.
Perahps we'd do well to spend less time looking up and more time reaching out.
Peace,
Jerry+
Thursday, May 1, 2008
Out of the Nest
The birds have flown the coop—well, actually the nest.
This afternoon as I was walking out the door near their nest, I heard a flutter of multiple wings. It only took a second to realize that three of the babies weren’t babies anymore. They swooped past my head, one heading for the flower bed across the drive, the other two for the tree next door. Mama bird was beside herself and apparently so was the male. Both were chirping madly and flying way too near me.
When I returned to the door a minute or so later, I noticed it wasn’t quite empty. One of the birds, the one whom we thought of as the “runt” was still in the nest. He/she was having nothing to do with the flying business. Periodically for the next hour or so, I’d check the status. The siblings were always nearby, sometimes perched together on a wire near the nest. At one point, one of them came back near the nest with a worm! And mama bird was sitting on the wire, chirping almost continually, I imagined her trying to coax the runt out of the nest. A few hours later I had to go out and as I drove off past the nest, the bird was still there. But a couple of hours later when I returned, there was no bird anywhere. And just to be sure, I checked again and the nest is empty.
I feel an odd mix of feelings. Relief that no bird met with a bad end in the driveway while trying to launch. And that the cats that roam around didn’t have a little extra something to eat. Happy to have watched a part of God’s redeemed world carry out its natural cycle before my very eyes. Amazed at the endurance of the parent birds. Finally, they have only their own mouths to feed. But mostly, mostly I feel strangely lost knowing there will be nothing in the nest to check on tomorrow.
But, this is, after all, the way the world works. I launched two sons and was relieved that neither of them crashed and burned, either literally or figuratively. And I remember feeling the same sense of loss when they drove away as adults, leaving our home for the last time, going to make their own homes somewhere else. Unlike the robins, we do stay in touch, but the empty nest reminded me of the little hole that each son left as they flew the coop.
Life does seem to be a series of leavings. But as I’ve told hundreds of people with whom I counseled, “What matters is what you do next.”
Peace,
Jerry+
This afternoon as I was walking out the door near their nest, I heard a flutter of multiple wings. It only took a second to realize that three of the babies weren’t babies anymore. They swooped past my head, one heading for the flower bed across the drive, the other two for the tree next door. Mama bird was beside herself and apparently so was the male. Both were chirping madly and flying way too near me.
When I returned to the door a minute or so later, I noticed it wasn’t quite empty. One of the birds, the one whom we thought of as the “runt” was still in the nest. He/she was having nothing to do with the flying business. Periodically for the next hour or so, I’d check the status. The siblings were always nearby, sometimes perched together on a wire near the nest. At one point, one of them came back near the nest with a worm! And mama bird was sitting on the wire, chirping almost continually, I imagined her trying to coax the runt out of the nest. A few hours later I had to go out and as I drove off past the nest, the bird was still there. But a couple of hours later when I returned, there was no bird anywhere. And just to be sure, I checked again and the nest is empty.
I feel an odd mix of feelings. Relief that no bird met with a bad end in the driveway while trying to launch. And that the cats that roam around didn’t have a little extra something to eat. Happy to have watched a part of God’s redeemed world carry out its natural cycle before my very eyes. Amazed at the endurance of the parent birds. Finally, they have only their own mouths to feed. But mostly, mostly I feel strangely lost knowing there will be nothing in the nest to check on tomorrow.
But, this is, after all, the way the world works. I launched two sons and was relieved that neither of them crashed and burned, either literally or figuratively. And I remember feeling the same sense of loss when they drove away as adults, leaving our home for the last time, going to make their own homes somewhere else. Unlike the robins, we do stay in touch, but the empty nest reminded me of the little hole that each son left as they flew the coop.
Life does seem to be a series of leavings. But as I’ve told hundreds of people with whom I counseled, “What matters is what you do next.”
Peace,
Jerry+
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