The Spirit helps us in our weakness; for we do not know how to pray as we ought, but that very Spirit intercedes with sighs too deep for words. [Romans 8:26a]
This is the opening verse from this past Sunday’s Epistle. It wasn’t the text for the sermon I heard Sunday; I wish it had been. I’m not exactly sure what the point of Sunday’s sermon was, but that’s probably my problem and not the problem of the preacher. But I think I might have gotten something from being reminded of this passage. “We do not know how to pray as we ought.” This may not be a problem for you, but it is for me.
I have often described myself as “piety impaired,” and prayer is one of those areas where I’m definitely impaired. In the first place I don’t pray much. And in the second place, when I do, I sometimes wonder why bother. After all, God surely knows what’s going on with me—better than I do in fact. So I get confused about the necessity of letting God know what’s up. And, I don’t feel as if God is prepared to set aside the laws of the universe just for little ole me, so I’m always very hesitant to make requests.
The good news in all this is Paul’s certainty that it is no problem for God that I suck at prayer. God’s very Spirit is at work in my feeble prayers—both the formal ones and those I kind of toss off conversationally in passing. It is as if the Spirit is the great translator who not only can speak my words to God, but that the translation is better than I could have put it in my own words.
Comforting, no?
Peace,
Jerry+
Monday, July 28, 2008
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
Officially A Grump
Okay. I’m frustrated. Yesterday I dropped into the library and had a pleasant hour selecting this week’s clutch of books to read. As I walked up to the check out person, she was busy talking to the person at the computer next to her. She took my card. She scanned my books and the first word she spoke to me was to tell me when the books were due back, and then, quickly returning to her conversation with her fellow staff member.
Then I as I made my way out the door toward my car, a man and woman came from another door heading toward their car. Our paths had to intersect. She is talking to her husband and looking at me as she walks directly in front of me, causing me to have to stop in my tracks or crash into her.
Now I’m in my car and about to make a right turn with the light onto my street. Opposite me is someone in a car making a left turn. I have the right of way of course because of the right turn, plus I’ve actually already started my turn. She turned in front of me and looked at me as if I was a terrible inconvenience to her. I slammed on my breaks to avoid a possible collusion.
Now what do these three people have in common besides incidentally being women? Right. They were rude. I expect some rudeness in life. Not everyone is considerate—I get that. I’m sure now and then I’m rude too, though I’d like to believe it’s unintentionally. But, gosh, three episodes in the course of less than five minutes?
Now and then my family and I are downtown to see a Redbirds game—our fine Triple A baseball home team. Seven or Eight thousand people crowd into our still great little ball park. And like all sporting events, people are in and out of their seats and walking around the concourse on a quest for goodies. I know, because I’m sometimes on that quest too. Let me suggest that three cases of rudeness in less than five minutes is pretty normal there. And, of all places, AT A SPORTING EVENT, in which there are very clear rules of propriety in play on the field. But apparently none of this pastoral setting or game seems to rub off on those who watch it.
I wish these incidents were aberrations. I wish I could get through one public outing without at least one such encounter. And I suppose being pissed off by rudeness and writing about it officially makes me a curmudgeon. I don’t care. I’m fed up. I just don’t know what to do about it. Except grump a bit.
Peace to you, when peace is really hard to come by.
Jerry+
P.S. Most idiotic remark of the day category. The Anglican Archbishop of Sudan publically announced yesterday that "there are no homosexuals in the Sudan--at least none have come forward." Guess not.
Then I as I made my way out the door toward my car, a man and woman came from another door heading toward their car. Our paths had to intersect. She is talking to her husband and looking at me as she walks directly in front of me, causing me to have to stop in my tracks or crash into her.
Now I’m in my car and about to make a right turn with the light onto my street. Opposite me is someone in a car making a left turn. I have the right of way of course because of the right turn, plus I’ve actually already started my turn. She turned in front of me and looked at me as if I was a terrible inconvenience to her. I slammed on my breaks to avoid a possible collusion.
Now what do these three people have in common besides incidentally being women? Right. They were rude. I expect some rudeness in life. Not everyone is considerate—I get that. I’m sure now and then I’m rude too, though I’d like to believe it’s unintentionally. But, gosh, three episodes in the course of less than five minutes?
Now and then my family and I are downtown to see a Redbirds game—our fine Triple A baseball home team. Seven or Eight thousand people crowd into our still great little ball park. And like all sporting events, people are in and out of their seats and walking around the concourse on a quest for goodies. I know, because I’m sometimes on that quest too. Let me suggest that three cases of rudeness in less than five minutes is pretty normal there. And, of all places, AT A SPORTING EVENT, in which there are very clear rules of propriety in play on the field. But apparently none of this pastoral setting or game seems to rub off on those who watch it.
I wish these incidents were aberrations. I wish I could get through one public outing without at least one such encounter. And I suppose being pissed off by rudeness and writing about it officially makes me a curmudgeon. I don’t care. I’m fed up. I just don’t know what to do about it. Except grump a bit.
Peace to you, when peace is really hard to come by.
Jerry+
P.S. Most idiotic remark of the day category. The Anglican Archbishop of Sudan publically announced yesterday that "there are no homosexuals in the Sudan--at least none have come forward." Guess not.
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
The Sower
One of the most familiar parables was the Gospel for Sunday—the Sower. The problem is, the way Matthew treats it, it isn’t a parable, it’s an allegory. The difference is important. A parable is a wisdom teaching device that has one point. Really rich parables can have more than one point, but only one at a time. And remember, Jesus is said to only teach in parables. Yet in Matthew, Jesus is asked to explain his parable to his disciples and he allegorizes it. So what, you might ask?
Really nothing, except that parables are intended to produce struggles in the hearer. Aesop used parables and, as he did with the tortoise and the hare, it ended with a tag line: “the race doesn’t always go to the swift.” He didn’t take each twist and turn of the story and fill it with meaning. The alternative use of parables is to not even provide a tag line—the more conventional way of using them. Consequently, Matthew has Jesus doing all the heavy lifting for his disciples.
I’m guessing a lot of people prefer that. Just spell it out, don’t make us think. And, by the way, give us the one “true” meaning rather than confusing us with all the options. In short, we like to be told what to think.
Frankly, I doubt Jesus actually explained himself. I think his “editor” added it. And I think he did it because he didn’t trust his readers to figure it out on their own. There is a lot of that going around. But in all things, spiritual and temporal, I think we’re better off to struggle, to debate, to disagree, and to arrive at our own conclusions. After all, if we trust in the Spirit to guide us, why rely on someone else’s guidance to short-circuit our own search?
Just a thought.
Peace,
Jerry+
Really nothing, except that parables are intended to produce struggles in the hearer. Aesop used parables and, as he did with the tortoise and the hare, it ended with a tag line: “the race doesn’t always go to the swift.” He didn’t take each twist and turn of the story and fill it with meaning. The alternative use of parables is to not even provide a tag line—the more conventional way of using them. Consequently, Matthew has Jesus doing all the heavy lifting for his disciples.
I’m guessing a lot of people prefer that. Just spell it out, don’t make us think. And, by the way, give us the one “true” meaning rather than confusing us with all the options. In short, we like to be told what to think.
Frankly, I doubt Jesus actually explained himself. I think his “editor” added it. And I think he did it because he didn’t trust his readers to figure it out on their own. There is a lot of that going around. But in all things, spiritual and temporal, I think we’re better off to struggle, to debate, to disagree, and to arrive at our own conclusions. After all, if we trust in the Spirit to guide us, why rely on someone else’s guidance to short-circuit our own search?
Just a thought.
Peace,
Jerry+
Wednesday, July 9, 2008
July 4th
I enjoyed an all-American 4th of July this year. On the evening of the 3rd, my wife and I went with my son and his family to the Millington fireworks display at the naval base. Since Mike is the Executive Officer of the base, we were able to sit in the VIP section, quite near the launching pad for the fireworks. And we were treated to B-B-Q and the fixin’. The event isn’t sponsored by the Navy, but by the city with the Navy as honored guests. The fireworks were outstanding and the weather was perfect.
The next day, our neighborhood put on its annual parade of people, strollers, riding mowers, decorated dogs and bikes. It’s led by a firetruck up a nearby street to someone’s big yard where we have a pot luck lunch. The firetruck sprays water for the kids to play in and prizes are awarded for various categories of decorations. Then we stuff ourselves and go home.
Two years ago, Mike was then Executive Officer of Diego Garcia, a Naval base in the Indian Ocean. Diego is British Territory with the U.S. leasing the island as a base. But the Brits have a presence there. Mike said maybe his best ever 4th was on that base! The Brits were good sports about it all.
When Carol and I were on vacation some 23 or 24 years ago, we were in Williamsburg in August. They re-enacted the arrival and reading of the Declaration of Independence. Took that long for it to be printed up and travel the several hundred miles from Philly to Williamsburg. It was a grand day for the colonies—or rather the new republic—and we enjoyed being a part of it.
Great days and great memories, but more happened as well. On the afternoon of the 3rd of July this year, Mike and I went to the cemetery to visit my father’s grave on the anniversary of his birth. We looked at a government issued tombstone that reminded us he was a corporal in WWI. And I have two brothers who lie in military cemeteries with similar gravestones from WWII. All three fought to assure that the liberty won for us so long ago is kept safe.
It would be wonderful to have every neighborhood do what ours did. Or to have people stop and remember why we’re off from work and enjoying a long weekend. But I know such a celebration or such a reflection is an exception and not the rule. Most of us are too busy or too jaded to stop and be mindful. Most of us seem to take our liberty for granted, as if we’re entitled to it. And maybe we are entitled. But isn’t it just polite to be thankful even for those things for which we’re entitled?
Peace,
Jerry+
The next day, our neighborhood put on its annual parade of people, strollers, riding mowers, decorated dogs and bikes. It’s led by a firetruck up a nearby street to someone’s big yard where we have a pot luck lunch. The firetruck sprays water for the kids to play in and prizes are awarded for various categories of decorations. Then we stuff ourselves and go home.
Two years ago, Mike was then Executive Officer of Diego Garcia, a Naval base in the Indian Ocean. Diego is British Territory with the U.S. leasing the island as a base. But the Brits have a presence there. Mike said maybe his best ever 4th was on that base! The Brits were good sports about it all.
When Carol and I were on vacation some 23 or 24 years ago, we were in Williamsburg in August. They re-enacted the arrival and reading of the Declaration of Independence. Took that long for it to be printed up and travel the several hundred miles from Philly to Williamsburg. It was a grand day for the colonies—or rather the new republic—and we enjoyed being a part of it.
Great days and great memories, but more happened as well. On the afternoon of the 3rd of July this year, Mike and I went to the cemetery to visit my father’s grave on the anniversary of his birth. We looked at a government issued tombstone that reminded us he was a corporal in WWI. And I have two brothers who lie in military cemeteries with similar gravestones from WWII. All three fought to assure that the liberty won for us so long ago is kept safe.
It would be wonderful to have every neighborhood do what ours did. Or to have people stop and remember why we’re off from work and enjoying a long weekend. But I know such a celebration or such a reflection is an exception and not the rule. Most of us are too busy or too jaded to stop and be mindful. Most of us seem to take our liberty for granted, as if we’re entitled to it. And maybe we are entitled. But isn’t it just polite to be thankful even for those things for which we’re entitled?
Peace,
Jerry+
Friday, July 4, 2008
"Learn From Me"
“Come unto me, all who labor and are heavy-laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.”
These are Jesus’ words in Sunday Gospel. “Learn from me,” he says. If I learn from Jesus, what is it I learn? As I look at Jesus I see one who loves without condition. Matthew, a hated tax collector, is beckoned to with the words, “Follow me,” inducted into the inner circle. The woman at the well, whose checkered life made her a near outcast in her village, is engaged by Jesus without regard to her many marriages and her current living relationship outside of marriage. The woman caught in adultery is offered forgiveness and guidance without even asking for it: “Go and sin no more.” The man who lay beside the pool thirty years, longing for healing, is given that healing without a word of reproach or condition. Peter’s betrayal of Jesus is brushed aside with the gift of a new responsibility to carry on Jesus’ work of feeding the sheep.
Paul calls himself the “chief of sinners.” And in Sunday's Epistle, he is puzzled by his behavior. Like Paul, I do not understand my own actions, my reasons for not following Jesus as I wish to. I find myself uncondemned by any but myself. Forgiven and loved even when I don’t forgive myself or love myself. How can I not long to be like Jesus when I am transformed by him? His yoke doesn’t require that I follow impossible rules or that I meet impossible standards. His burden is that I accept his love for me, allow that to burn away the last vestiges of self, and become one who accepts others rather than tolerates others. Who heals others with a touch or a word or a smile, who is genuinely concerned with the welfare of others, not because it’s my job or a part of a deal I’ve struck, but because his Spirit lives within. Who loves others when they are hard to love, perhaps all the more because they are hard to love.
Shall we be this kind of person because we’re afraid not to be? Shall we be this kind of person because it’s a good thing to do? No. We will take up this yoke because Jesus has encountered us in our great need and dealt with us generously and we just can’t help ourselves. Therein is rest for the soul.
Peace,
Jerry+
These are Jesus’ words in Sunday Gospel. “Learn from me,” he says. If I learn from Jesus, what is it I learn? As I look at Jesus I see one who loves without condition. Matthew, a hated tax collector, is beckoned to with the words, “Follow me,” inducted into the inner circle. The woman at the well, whose checkered life made her a near outcast in her village, is engaged by Jesus without regard to her many marriages and her current living relationship outside of marriage. The woman caught in adultery is offered forgiveness and guidance without even asking for it: “Go and sin no more.” The man who lay beside the pool thirty years, longing for healing, is given that healing without a word of reproach or condition. Peter’s betrayal of Jesus is brushed aside with the gift of a new responsibility to carry on Jesus’ work of feeding the sheep.
Paul calls himself the “chief of sinners.” And in Sunday's Epistle, he is puzzled by his behavior. Like Paul, I do not understand my own actions, my reasons for not following Jesus as I wish to. I find myself uncondemned by any but myself. Forgiven and loved even when I don’t forgive myself or love myself. How can I not long to be like Jesus when I am transformed by him? His yoke doesn’t require that I follow impossible rules or that I meet impossible standards. His burden is that I accept his love for me, allow that to burn away the last vestiges of self, and become one who accepts others rather than tolerates others. Who heals others with a touch or a word or a smile, who is genuinely concerned with the welfare of others, not because it’s my job or a part of a deal I’ve struck, but because his Spirit lives within. Who loves others when they are hard to love, perhaps all the more because they are hard to love.
Shall we be this kind of person because we’re afraid not to be? Shall we be this kind of person because it’s a good thing to do? No. We will take up this yoke because Jesus has encountered us in our great need and dealt with us generously and we just can’t help ourselves. Therein is rest for the soul.
Peace,
Jerry+
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