Faith: Moving from Head to Heart

Proper 14 – Year C
(Eleventh Sunday After Pentecost)
Gen 15:1-6; Ps 33:12-15, 18-22; Heb 11:1-3, 8-16; Lk 12:32-40
Sunday, August 12, 2007 – St. Alban’s, Westwood

I grew up listening to folk music. Even today, those old folk songs are among my favorites. Their simple, often whimsical lyrics convey some of the most profound truths about life. A week and a half ago, I set out on vacation, heading to New Mexico. As I drove across the desert, somewhere in eastern California or Arizona, I put on a CD of music by the Kingston Trio, a folk group popular during the late 1950s and early 1960s. Quite appropriate to the surroundings, as well as to the subject for this sermon that was bubbling in my subconscious, I was treated to an old favorite entitled “Desert Pete.” Based on a true story, the song tells of a man traveling on a very long and seldom-used trail across Nevada’s Amargosa Desert. The song goes like this:

I was travelin’ west of Buckskin on my way to a cattle run, ‘cross a little cactus desert under a hard blisterin’ sun. I was thirsty down to my toenails, stopped to rest me on a stump, but I tell you I just couldn't believe it when I saw that water pump. I took it to be a mirage at first. It'll fool a thirsty man. Then I saw a note stuck in a bakin' powder can. “This pump is old,” the note began, “but she works, so give 'er a try. I put a new sucker washer in ‘er. You may find the leather dry.”

“Yeah, you’ll have to prime the pump, work that handle like there’s a fire. Under that rock you’ll find some water I left in a bitters jar. Now there’s just enough to prime it with, so don’t you go drinkin’ first. Ya’ just pour it in and pump like mad and, buddy, you’ll quench your thirst.”

Well, I found that jar, and I tell you, nothin’ was ever prettier to my eye and I was tempted strong to drink it because that pump looked mighty dry. But the note went on, “Have faith, my friend, there’s water down below. You’ve got to give until you get. I’m the one who ought to know.”

So I poured in the jar and I started pumpin’ and I heard a beautiful sound of water bubblin’ ‘n splashin’ up out of that hole in the ground. Then I took off my shoes and drunk my fill of that cool refreshin’ treat. Then I thanked the Lord, and I thanked the pump, and I thanked old Desert Pete.

The chorus, interspersed through the song, goes:

You’ve got to prime the pump. You must have faith and believe. You’ve got to give of yourself ‘fore you’re worthy to receive. Drink all the water you can hold. Wash your face, cool your feet. But leave the bottle full for others. Thank ya’ kindly, Desert Pete.

Like the chorus says, this is a song of faith and of hope – “You must have faith and believe.” In the song, the cowboy is asked to have faith in some unknown person called Desert Pete. And he is asked to have faith in the presence of abundant, live-giving water below the desert – water that this mysterious Desert Pete claims will be delivered through an old, dry pump. Now why should the cowboy believe this note? Why should he put his faith in such unlikely odds?

Our Scripture readings today all deal with the nature of faith. The reading from the Letter to the Hebrews begins “Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen” (Heb 11:1). While this is one of the most familiar pieces of Scripture, it is also one of the most obscure to the modern reader (Boyce, 24). In some ways, this statement about the nature of faith defies logic. It just doesn’t seem to make sense to our rational minds. According to The New Oxford American Dictionary, faith is “complete trust or confidence in someone or something.” How then, if we are to believe the writer of Hebrews, can faith, by its very definition, be an “assurance of things hoped for,” or a “conviction of things not seen?” This dilemma is particularly difficult when you consider that the word in this Scripture passage translated as “conviction” (elenkos) more accurately means proof or demonstration. Therefore, according to Hebrews, faith is proof of the unseen (Craddock, 131). How can faith be proof?

Biblical scholar James Boyce offers some insight into this apparent incongruity between our understanding of faith and our understandings of assurance, conviction, and proof. He notes that the “common translation [of faith] in terms of personal ‘assurance’ and ‘conviction’ masks an underlying worldview that assumes what is ‘not seen’ and only ‘hoped for’ is for that reason more real than this world of experience” (Boyce, 24). He goes on to explain that in the worldview of the writer, the assurance to be had is that the reality of God and all that God promises us “stands contrasted with the corruptible, shadowy, and merely prototypical character of this present world” (Boyce, 25). As a result of the Enlightenment, we tend to think of what is real as that which we can observe or measure through our senses or through scientific method. God cannot be directly observed through our senses or measured using scientific methodologies. Therefore, from a purely scientific perspective, we cannot be certain whether or not God exists. For those of us who do believe in God, the matter gets relegated to the area of faith. God is someone we believe in, whom we trust exists and operates in the world, even though we cannot prove it using science. Hence, to put it very simply and to purposefully create a dichotomy where one need not necessarily exist, existence in our worldview is divided into the real – that which can be observed scientifically – and the realm of faith – that which is beyond (quote) “reality.”

To the ancients, to the founders of our religious traditions, to those who wrote our Scriptures, the world looked very different. To them, the world that they could observe around them was not the ultimate reality. The world to be observed was a merely a shadowy, incomplete, imperfect reflection of reality. To them, reality was God and the kingdom of heaven. Hence, their writing reflected this worldview and their understanding. They firmly believed in the reality of God and the kingdom of heaven, and their definition of faith reflected that reality. What we are given in the passage from Hebrews was, for them, a working definition of faith – not theoretical or philosophical, but the truth about faith drawn from Israel’s own experience (O’Day, 19).

So how do we deal with the fact that we are dealing with two, diametrically opposed, worldviews? This is a struggle with which I am all too familiar. Coming out of an engineering background, I tend to operate in the realm of the observable, to operate on an analytical level, to operate in my head. This is the prevailing view of most of our contemporary society. But what the Scriptures challenges us to do is to move from our heads to our hearts – to see reality not as our post-Enlightenment society says it is, but to see it as the ancients saw it – to see that reality, our ultimate reality, is not in that which we can observe or measure through scientific method, but that which we know by faith – that the kingdom of God is our true reality. As biblical scholar Gail O’Day notes, “Faith is the conviction that the course of our lives is neither to be limited nor determined by what we are able to see. The way into God’s future is to live the present in the conviction and assurance of faith” (O’Day, 19). “To live ‘by faith’ is to live in readiness for the unpredictable arrival of God’s grace” (O’Day, 22). To live in this way, according to Fred Craddock, “strongly involves the quality of human embrace and trust and tenacity” (Craddock, 131) – to tenaciously embrace God and trust that what God promises is the ultimate reality to which we are called.

How we make the move from head to heart is going to be different for each of us. For me, one of the best ways I have found to make that transition is to get away to some place where I can just be alone with God. That’s part of what my recent vacation in New Mexico was about – just making time to be with God. I find that when I’m in the city, I tend to feel bombarded by the extensive visual and auditory stimuli that seem to constantly surround us in a place like Los Angeles. I find that with so much stimuli that needs processing, I spend an awful lot of time in my head, taking in what I’m seeing and hearing, and then analyzing and critiquing what I observe. I find that getting away from all of this, particularly to quiet places like the desert allows me to move out of my head and into my heart. I’m able to reduce the amount of thinking, analyzing, and critiquing that I do, and be more in touch with what I’m feeling and with my spirit. And that’s where I feel more connected with God – when I’m in my heart, more so than when I’m in my head. I feel a lightness in my spirit that allows it to touch God and be in communion with him. My spirit soars on the winds and sings a song of praise to God.

I felt this most profoundly while visiting Santuario de Chimayó, a church in a small village about half an hour north of Santa Fe. This place, referred to as “Lourdes of the Southwest,” is visited by numerous pilgrims drawn by the alleged healing powers of the “miraculous dirt” found in a side chapel. As I sat in the church, praying for healing, for myself and for various parishioners here at St. Alban’s, I was very much aware of God’s presence in that place. I could not explain it with my head, but I certainly felt it in my heart and in my spirit. I was amazed at how easily I seemed to be able to connect with God while I was there. On the drive back to Santa Fe, I reflected on the experience and realized that when I’m home, I almost have to fight myself to connect with God. There is so much “stuff” running through my mind that when I pray, I have to fight through all that stuff to make room for God, to get through to God, to allow God to get through to me. But when I just allowed myself to be in the presence of God, resting in my heart, I found that God was already there waiting for me. By going into my heart, by seeing in faith, I was able to see beyond the alleged reality of this world and to see the ultimate reality which is to be had in communion with God.

In his commentary, Fred Craddock discusses how the remainder of the reading from Hebrews, which talks about the faith of Abraham as he and his family traveled to the Promised Land, is a “reflection on the life of faith as that of an alien sojourner.” We are traveling in a foreign land, not permanent residents, but sojourners, residing in tents, always on the move, always looking ahead to the permanent home promised by God, to that home where God is the foundation. He notes that “It becomes more apparent in this narrative that faith is forward looking, oriented toward the future, trusting that God will keep promises made to those who believe. In other words, faith and hope are one, and life is pilgrimage” (Craddock, 135).

According to the writer of Hebrews, we are on a pilgrimage, traveling through this shadowy, imperfect world, destined for the real world promised by God. That was a challenging enough venture when Hebrews was written nearly 2,000 years ago. But in this post-Enlightenment age, we have the added challenge of shifting our perspective, of moving from trying to see the journey and its destination in our heads, to seeing with our hearts, to seeing in faith that which the world cannot see but that which is our ultimate reality. Only then will we truly know that faith is indeed “the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen.”

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.


References

Boyce, James L. Proclamation 6: Aids for Interpreting the Lessons of the Church Year: Series C Pentecost 2. Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1997.

Craddock, Fred B. “The Letter to the Hebrews: Introduction, Commentary, and Reflection.” In Vol. XI of The New Interpreter’s Bible. Edited by Leander E. Keck, et al. Nashville: Abingdon Press, 2000.

O’Day, Gail. Proclamation 4: Aids for Interpreting the Lessons of the Church Year: Series C Pentecost 2. Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1989.

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Mary and Martha (and Michael)

Today’s Gospel lesson was the familiar story of Mary and Martha:

As Jesus and his disciples went on their way, Jesus entered a certain village, where a woman named Martha welcomed him into her home. She had a sister named Mary, who sat at the Lord's feet and listened to what he was saying. But Martha was distracted by her many tasks; so she came to him and asked, "Lord, do you not care that my sister has left me to do all the work by myself? Tell her then to help me." But the Lord answered her, "Martha, Martha, you are worried and distracted by many things; there is need of only one thing. Mary has chosen the better part, which will not be taken away from her." (Luke 10:38-42)

While Susan was preaching, I found myself thinking about whether I identify more with Mary or Martha – not an uncommon question for most of us. What occurred to me startled me a little. While I have always thought that I associate more with Mary, I found that in actuality, that is not necessarily the case. In fact, I found that if I am honest with myself, I relate to both Mary and Martha. I relate to Mary because she is where I want to be – sitting at Jesus’ feet. But I often find myself in the role of Martha, that Type A, Super J on the Myers-Briggs scale. Like Martha, I am always busy, always finding something “productive” to do. But what really startled me as I pondered this passage as it relates to my own life is that I allow the Martha side of me to take over because it is a far more comfortable place to be than sitting in silence at the feet of our Lord, listening to what he has to say to my soul. Sitting at Jesus’ feet, silent, open to what he has to say, can be a pretty scary place. Jesus might say something that I don’t want to hear, ask me to do something that I don’t want to do, ask me to go someplace I don’t want to go. More often than not, I become Martha so that I don’t have to be Mary, so I don’t have to really hear what Jesus’ is calling me to do or be.

Yet, Jesus tells us that “Mary has chosen the better part.” Jesus calls us to step out of the safety and comfort of our frenetic activity and to come, sit at his feet, and to be open to the joys if we would only open ourselves up to him. And only then, energized, renewed and informed by him, can we allow Martha to do her thing.

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Peace Camp

Sunday, July 15 through Thursday, July 22, I served as a chaplain for the first-ever Peace Camp at Camp Stevens, near Julian, California. The camp was designed for middle school students (seventh, eighth, and ninth graders) and explored various dimensions of peace. We had 17 campers (18 counting the nine-year old daughter of the Peace Camp Director) from varied ethnic and socioeconomic backgrounds, four counselors, three chaplains, a program director, and a camp director. In addition, two of Camp Stevens’ counseling staff assisted with a number of the activities, and other Camp Stevens staff took time off from their regular duties just to participate in some of our sessions. During the four days, we discussed such topics as conflict, violence, escalation and de-escalation, and what it means to be a peacemaker. The central structure for the camp was the Baptismal Covenant from the Book of Common Prayer, and various Bible passages regarding peace.

In the course of examining peace, we looked at racism, heterosexism (the kids brought it up, not us), economic justice, and environmental justice. We used a variety of teaching tools, including Bible study, making origami peace cranes, Dr. Seuss books (some, like The Butter Battle Book and Horton Hears a Who have wonderful moral messages), videos, the Millennium Development Goals, and various community-building and team-building exercises.

One of the most exciting team-building exercises was an afternoon at the ropes course, where teams of two had to (if they wanted) climb up a pole to cables suspended 25 feet above the ground. The team members had to support each other as they inched their way across the diverging cables. It was amazing to see several young people who were initially terrified of the idea go through a transformation thanks to the loving support of the other participants. Several of these got up the courage to go through with the exercise and did fantastic. They looked like pros and even wanted to do it again. Alas, this chaplain and his partner did not do so well. We were a little too enthusiastic and not as patient as we should have been. In the course of trying to place our hands on each others’ shoulders, we lost our balance on our respective cables and went tumbling to the ground. In the process, I attempted to stabilize my partner and ended up scraping my arm against her cable, getting a nasty burn.

The campers also enjoyed some arts and crafts projects (including making a peace pole), hiking, and swimming (which was a big hit). The Camp Stevens staff also provided us with a tour of their organic garden and a hiking experience intended to raise awareness regarding the environment. Every evening we had community time, where we sat around and sang lots of great songs. We ended the camp with a closing Eucharist, in which the campers provided various parts of the liturgy (e.g. music, prayers, homily, etc.) After communion, we commissioned everyone as peacemakers. Their first acts was to then lay hands on and bless the peace pole they had made. We then presented the peace pole to the Camp Stevens.

I think this was a transformative week for many of the campers (as well as for the Peace Camp staff). They are still a bunch of unruly middle school students, but I saw glimmers of hope that they were getting some of the concepts, and trust that throughout their lives, what they learned at Peace Camp will inform how they live and function in the world.

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The Rainbow Bridge

Just this side of heaven is a place called Rainbow Bridge.

When an animal dies that has been close to someone here, that pet goes to Rainbow Bridge. There are meadows and hills for all of our special friends so they can run and play together. There is plenty of food, water and sunshine, and our friends are warm and comfortable.

All the animals who had been ill and old are restored to health and vigor. Those who were hurt or maimed are made whole and strong again, just as we remember them in our dreams of days and times gone by. Animals are happy and content, except for one small thing: they each miss someone very special to them, who had to be left behind.

They all run and play together, but the day comes when one suddenly stops and looks into the distance. His bright eyes are intent. His eager body quivers. Suddenly he begins to run from the group, flying over the green grass, his legs are carrying him faster and faster.

You have been spotted and when you and your special friend finally meet, you cling together in joyous union, never to be parted again. The happy kisses run upon your face; your hands again caress the beloved head, and you look once more into the trusting eyes of your pet, so long gone from your life but never absent from your heart.

Then you cross Rainbow Bridge together....

(Author Unknown)

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Ministering to the Minister

Yesterday while I was at the vet’s spending my last few minutes with Lestat, Maggie, one of my UCLA students, called. I did not take the call at the time, and forgot to call her back later in the day. This morning I called her and left a voice mail message saying (among other things) that I had not been able to take her call because I was having a personal crisis. She stopped by my office a little while later to make sure I was okay. I told her what had happened with Lestat. She really ministered to me as we talked about it. Then she took her cello and played a piece by Bach, dedicating it to Lestat. It was lovely – both the music and the fact that she wanted to do that for me. I felt really blessed to have her come by and be with me in a time of personal pain, to minister to me both with her gift of presence and her gift of music.

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RequiesCat

Lestat in San Simeon, California
December 2006


Today was without a doubt one of the most difficult of my life. Today Lestat, one of my feline companions for the last 15 years, was committed to God’s loving care following a brief illness.

Monday I took Lestat to get dematted and have a bath. When I got him home, he did not have hardly any energy and was not even able to jump up on the couch. Monday evening and all day Tuesday, he did not eat anything and hardly had any water to drink. He just laid around and when he did get up, he moved very slowly, appearing to be uncomfortable, if not in pain. I initially thought he was just traumatized by the dematting and bath. I figured he would be back to his old self in a day or so. Tuesday afternoon, I called a vet our parish administrator recommended and described his condition. They said it was probably just trauma, but if he didn't return to normal by Thursday, to bring him in. Wednesday morning, I stopped at a vet just down Sunset Boulevard from my apartment and asked for their advice. They said to bring him in for a check-up and happened to have an open appointment time for later that morning.

When I took him in, the vet looked at him and said he was very dehydrated. His body temp was low for a cat. He weighed only a little over 7 pounds, compared to 12 pounds the last time I had him weighed. All the symptoms were pointing to kidney failure. The doctor said that the stress of the dematting and cooler water temperatures of the bath probably resulted in his rapid deterioration. But he did say that without all that, he still may well have hit this point in a few weeks. He has undoubtedly been failing for some time, but cats are very good at masking their pain, so there was no indication that anything was wrong. The fact that he was getting so matted also indicates that he had low energy and was not taking care of himself, another possible indication of kidney failure.

They kept him overnight to run some blood tests and urinalysis to get a definitive diagnosis. They also put him on an IV to rehydrate him and to give him some nutrition, and put him on a heating pad to raise his body temperature. They said they would have the lab results back the following (this) morning and would let me know what my options are. When the doctor started talking about kidney failure, I started crying. After the initial exam, I was able to spend some time with Lestat, just petting him and crying the whole time.

The vet called me at 9:00 this morning to give me Lestat’s lab results. He was experiencing kidney failure, liver failure, thyroid failure, and diabetes. We arranged for me to go into the office at 10:00 to discuss options. I decided at that point there probably was really only one option. When I got to the vet’s, the doctor told me that there really was not much that could be done. If there were just one problem, there might be hope, but with four major systems failing, there was little possibility of recovery. He said if it was one his cats (he has four), he would let him go, because he is obviously suffering. I told him that I agreed that that was the only compassionate thing to do.

While I was talking to the doctor, one of his assistants brought Lestat into the room. After the doctor left, I spent 30 to 40 minutes with Lestat. I mainly just stroked him and talked to him, telling him what a good cat he was, how he had been a great companion, and that because I love him so much, the best gift that I could give him right now was to let him go, to end his suffering. I also told him that it was okay to give up. When I first started talking to him, he actually purred a little – the first time I had heard him purr since Monday morning. It was good to hear, and I felt like he appreciated me being there. But most of the time, he was pretty quiet, using most of his energy just to breathe and stay alive. Several times, he groaned a little, and one time meowed, apparently in pain. He just laid there letting me touch him. At one point, he got up and shifted his body so that he could be nearer to me and lay his head on my arm.

When I felt I had said all I had to say, I told the assistant that I was ready whenever the doctor was. Dr. Kumar came in a couple minutes later. He said that it would only take about two minutes. Before he gave Lestat the injection, he gently touched Lestat and softly said to him, “I’m sorry.” Within about 30 seconds of receiving the injection, Lestat was gone. He died at about 10:45. Dr. Kumar then spent a few minutes talking with me, ministering to me in my pain. I spent another five or ten minutes with him, petting him and telling him how much I loved him and what a great companion he had been. I also prayed that God receive his soul (of course, some say that animals don’t have souls, but I’m not so sure about that). He died peacefully and is now out of pain. I will miss him terribly, but am comforted (at least a little) in knowing that I gave him a blessing and a great gift by releasing him from his suffering and letting him go.

Lestat had a good life. He was born on May 2, 1992 in Grand Terrace, California. During his life, he got to travel and visit various parts of California, Illinois, and points in between -- more than many cats ever see. And he met some great people along the way. He even completed three years of seminary. All in all, he was a great and loving companion. He will be sorely missed. Lestat is survived by his sister and litter mate, Akasha.

I don't know how much Akasha understands of what's going on. But I think she is beginning to realize that things are different. She has been spending a lot of time in my lap, which is somewhat unusual for her. This will be a big adjustment for both of us.

This afternoon one of my parishioners called to see how I was doing. Last night after our book study group I was telling some people about Lestat’s medical problems. I told her what had transpired today. I said that it is sort of strange being here without him. I am usually aware of the location of the cats, even when they are in another room. Her response was that it is a “very present absence.” I thought that was a perfect way to describe it. After having been with me for a full third of my life, his loss will most certainly be a very present absence.

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Solo Flight

Today was my first solo flight as a priest. With multiple clergy, none of us generally has to do it all – we split up the responsibilities, with one presiding and the other preaching. But today, with Susan on vacation, I presided and preached at both the 8:00 and the 10:00 services. I was a little nervous about running the whole show, but did fine. And it felt really good. It gave me a foretaste of what things will be like when I someday have a parish of my own and have to do it all by myself.

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Crucified to the World

Proper 9 – Year C (Sixth Sunday After Pentecost)
Isaiah 66:10-16; Psalm 66:1-8; Galatians 6:(1-10)14-18; Luke 10:1-12,16-20
Sunday, July 8, 2007 – St. Alban’s, Westwood

Have you ever heard a story that grabbed your attention, that you couldn’t stop thinking about – a story that claimed your soul? I heard just such a story a little over a week ago on NPR. It was the story of Michael Sparling from Port Huron, Michigan. Michael has a son, Joshua, who is an Army Ranger. Nearly two years ago, Joshua was stationed in Iraq. His tour of duty was about to end. He only had one more foot patrol to complete before being shipped back to the States. While on his last patrol, he came across an IED, an Improvised Explosive Device, or roadside bomb. The bomb went off, seriously damaging Joshua’s leg. Joshua was shipped back to the States, but not to Port Huron. Rather, he was sent to Walter Reed Army Medical Center in Washington, DC. He had been in touch with his father, and by the time Joshua arrived at Walter Reed, Michael was there to meet him. He wanted to be there to take care of his son as he underwent the numerous surgeries that would be needed to save Joshua’s leg, and during the months of physical therapy that would be required before Joshua could resume a normal life.

Two years ago, Michael quit his job in Michigan so he could be with his son. During that time, Joshua has undergone nearly 40 surgeries on his leg. About a year ago, a year after the explosion, surgeons had to amputate the damaged leg. Since then, he has undergone additional surgeries, and had to begin the long and painful process of adjusting to life as an amputee. Throughout this time, Michael has been there to help get his son to his medical appointments and the help him with his daily routine. Michael admits that it has been a financial hardship, that his savings are nearly depleted. But he quickly adds that his motto has always been that family came first, God came second, and country came third. Despite the personal hardships he has endured, Michael says that if he had to do it over again, he would not do anything different.

While giving up his job, his livelihood, to be with and to help his injured son is a noble act, that was not what really moved me about Michael’s story. Michael continues to spend his days helping his son, as well as a couple of other amputees in Joshua’s ward. But when the day is over, and there is nothing else that can be done to help his son, Michael turns his attention to the families of other soldiers being treated at Walter Reed. He spends time with these families, listening to their concerns and fears, providing encouragement, giving them information on how to obtain Social Security and other medical benefits for their injured loved ones. He runs errands for these families, making trips to the airport, getting groceries, and making himself available to do whatever else they might need to make their life a little easier as they attempt to cope with the fact that their spouses, children, or parents are seriously injured. All of his free time is devoted to helping other soldiers and their families cope with and adjust to the tragedies that have befallen them.

In his actions, Michael Sparling can stand with Paul, who in today’s lesson from Galatians says “May I never boast of anything except the cross of our Lord Jesus Christ, by which the world has been crucified to me, and I to the world” (Gal. 6:14). Biblical scholar Richard Hayes notes that in this statement, Paul recognizes that “his previous identity has disappeared altogether, and his new identity is given him only through his participation in Christ, who animates the life he now lives” (Hays, 344).

The cross was the transformative event in human history. On the cross, Jesus took on the sinfulness of humanity. On the cross, he died for our sins, so that we would be forgiven and made whole. On the cross, he turned the world upside down and made it something entirely new – a new creation in which we, his followers, are called to take part, to be co-creators. To boast in the cross means that we recognize that we cannot go it alone, that we must rely on God’s grace, of which the cross is sign and symbol. To boast in the cross is to recognize that we have a new identity and new way of being in the world. To boast in the cross is to recognize that the world is made new, and that “we live in the presence and hope of the new creation” (Hays, 345).

As followers of Christ, living in the presence and hope of new creation means that we do our part to bring about the new creation. It means taking seriously what Paul said about the world being crucified to us, and us to the world. In his crucifixion, Christ demonstrated that the ways of the world, the ways of selfishness, self-centeredness, of looking out for number one, are no longer valid. Those ways of the world have been crucified to us, they are dead to us, they no longer have meaning for us. And because of this, we are in turn crucified to the world. The world that still believes in this way of living and being doesn’t know what to do with us. That world doesn’t understand how we can live the way we do, concerned with the other, particularly the other who is a stranger. One Presbyterian minister explains that because of this, Paul’s statement illustrates the “perennial struggle between those who view the world through rose-colored glasses and those who recognize the reality of the human predicament” (Norwood, 51). We see the reality of the pain and hurt that is in the world. But because of Christ, we see the other part of reality, as well. We see that “God has entered the human situation and redeemed it by the cross of Jesus Christ” (Norwood, 52). We see that by virtue of being crucified to the world ourselves, we also have a part to play in redeeming the world.

Whether he knows it or not, for Michael Sparling, the world has been crucified to him, and him to the world. Michael has put aside his own concerns to take care of the needs, to help diminish the pain and hurt, of his son and the numerous other soldiers and their families he has encountered in the last two years at Walter Reed. Wanting to take care of your son is one thing. That’s understandable. But to do so at the cost of his income, his savings, his financial well-being is quite another. That is a big sacrifice. But, in the time when he does not need to be helping his son, he could have gotten a job to at least help with the finances. But that is not what Michael chose to do. He chose to forego any thoughts of his own concerns, of his own well-being, to help others in need. That is not what the world says we should do. Acting in such a manner is asking for crucifixion – to have the world crucified to oneself, and to be crucified to the world. That is what it means to follow Jesus to the cross, or at least, to live in it’s shadow.

Living in the shadow of the cross of our Lord Jesus Christ, by which the world has been crucified to us, and us to the world, does not mean that we necessarily have to engage in such monumental actions and sacrifices as those undertaken by Michael Sparling. When we understand what it means to live in the shadow of the cross and to share in Jesus’ crucifixion, our actions are naturally informed by that deep understanding, one which we do not even have to consciously think about. And it happens in all sorts of ways, both large and small – most often small – in ways that we would not think extraordinary.

One such example occurred in this very parish last Sunday. Several of us were sitting in the Upper Lounge between services doing Bible study. From the hallway, I heard a woman, slightly panicked, exclaim “I need help.” I got up to see what the problem was. I found the woman, Laurie, our temporary nursery worker, in the sacristy. Her right hand and forearm were cut up and she was bleeding. She had been opening windows in the nursery, and when she pushed on one of them, it shattered, cutting her in the process. When I arrived on the scene, Vivian was already tending to the woman. When I found out what happened, I went into the Upper Lounge and summoned Helen, figuring a nurse might be needed. Vivian and Helen cleaned and bandaged the woman’s wounds and helped calm her down. And while all this was going on, Barbara got out the broom and vacuum and went down to the nursery to clean-up the broken glass.

After the 10:00 service, I saw Laurie and inquired how she was doing. She assured me that she was feeling better and appreciated everyone’s help. The next morning, I received an e-mail from Vivian giving me an update on Laurie’s situation and telling me that both she and Helen had advised her to go to a doctor for a more thorough examination, as there may have still been a piece of glass in one of her wounds. Later that morning, when I arrived at the church, I discovered that Nancy, our parish administrator, had been apprised of the situation and had already called Laurie to see how she was doing, to assure her that we would pay for her medical examination, and to suggest that she get a follow-up exam in a week or two, just to make sure that everything is okay.

I’m sure that none of these women, Vivian, Helen, Barbara, or Nancy, stopped to think, “should I help this woman?” or “what is my Christian duty or obligation in this situation?” They just knew. As Christians, they were living into the baptismal covenant and helping another of God’s children who was in need. As people who live in the shadow of the cross, they recognize, maybe not consciously, but certainly on a deeper level, that when one of God’s beloved children is hurting, all creation is hurting. As our Presiding Bishop, Katharine Jefferts Schori writes, “Traditionally, we’ve often understood ministry or service as putting another’s needs ahead of our own, but the truth is actually bigger and more comprehensive than that, for ministry has to do with healing the world. Our own healing is bound up in the healing of all.” She then goes on to explain, “The work we do every day, our daily baptismal ministry, is about healing the world . . . Much of the time, our work focuses on the nearby and close at hand—our families, fellow citizens, co-workers, and parishioners, but we are part of a much larger whole. After all, when one is in pain, all suffer, and when one is healed, the whole world breathes a bit easier” (Jefferts Schori, 47-8).

This is what it means that the world has been crucified to us, and us to the world. We don’t stop to think about our own needs, our own concerns, our own well-being, our own schedules and agendas. We see as Christ sees. We see the pain in others and, just as Christ took our pain and suffering onto himself through his crucifixion, we take on the pain of the other, doing what we are able to relieve it, or at least, to reduce it. The world may be crucified to us and us to the world, but that does not mean the world has the last word. Freed from the constraints and expectations imposed by the world, freed through the cross of Jesus, in which we choose to share, we are freed to live in the presence and hope of new creation that God has promised us; we are freed to help make it a reality for others.

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.


References

Hays, Richard B. “The Letter to the Galatians: Introduction, Commentary, and Reflection.” In Vol. XI of The New Interpreter’s Bible. Edited by Leander E. Keck, et al. Nashville: Abingdon Press, 2000.

Jefferts Schori, Katharine. A Wing and a Prayer: A Message of Faith and Hope. Harrisburg, PA: Morehouse Publishing, 2007.

Norwood, M. Thomas. Proclamation 4: Aids for Interpreting the Lessons of the Church Year: Series B Pentecost 1. Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1989.

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Expressions of Gratitude

Proper 6 – Year C (Third Sunday After Pentecost)
2 Samuel 11:26-12:10,13-15; Psalm 32:1-8; Galatians 2:11-21; Luke 7:36-50
Sunday, June 17, 2007 – St. Alban’s, Westwood

In today’s Gospel lesson, I’m particularly fascinated by the woman – as Luke characterizes her, “a woman in the city, who was a sinner.” In other words, she was probably a prostitute. But despite her profession, this woman is a symbol, an example, of absolute, unapologetic gratitude. She comes into the house of Simon the Pharisee uninvited and interrupts the dinner party in progress, because she wants to see and be in the presence of Jesus. Luke does not give us any clear-cut clue as to her specific motive. It could be that she had heard of Jesus’ healing power, of his unconditional love, of his willingness and ability to forgive the sins of others. Or it could be that she has had a previous interaction with Jesus –one in which Jesus forgave her sins. Based on Jesus’ comment that “her sins, which were many, have been forgiven; hence she has shown great love,” leads me to conclude that he had previously forgiven the woman’s sins and that she sought him out to express her love, to express her profound gratitude for what he had done for her – he had not only forgiven her sins, but given her the opportunity for new life.

That being the case, the woman goes to Jesus, completely overwhelmed with her sense of gratitude for what he has done for her. It is as if she is oblivious to the presence of anyone else in the room other than Jesus. In her torrent of emotion, she completely debases herself, humiliates herself by clinging to Jesus, crying tears of joy for what he has done for her, crying tears of shame for her unworthiness for such a blessing. She lies at his feet and washes them with her tears, drying them with her hair, anointing them with precious ointment, in an act of complete humility, an act that would be perceived by others as humiliating herself. But she does not care what others think about her. In some ways, the Pharisee and his other guests could not think any worse of her than she has thought about herself. They speculate about what kind of woman she is. She knows what kind of woman she is, or rather, what kind of woman she was prior to her encounter with Jesus. And most importantly, Jesus knows what kind of woman she is and loves her anyway, forgives her anyway. In spite of her unworthiness, he is willing to forgive her anyway. This sense of unworthiness would have undoubtedly increased her sense of gratitude exponentially. In her gratitude, she is able to focus totally on Christ, knowing that regardless of what others may think of her, that his are the only thoughts that matter. And his thoughts are of pure love, pure forgiveness, pure grace.

In the midst of all this, Simon and his guests begin to question what kind of person Jesus is. “If this man were a prophet, he would have known who and what kind of woman this is who is touching him—that she is a sinner.” The unspoken implication is that Jesus must not be a prophet, a holy man. No self-respecting holy man would allow a sinful woman to touch him, to kiss him, to defile him. But this does not matter to Jesus. Nor does it matter to the woman. She knows what kind of man Jesus is. Despite what Simon and his guests are thinking, she knows in the inner depths of her being that this is a special man. He had proclaimed forgiveness of her sins. But this proclamation was not mere words. In his proclamation, her sins had truly been forgiven; her sins had been taken away. She could feel Jesus love, his unconditional love, as he bestowed not merely the words of absolution, but as he actually took her sins from her, took them upon and into himself. He was willing to take on the debt that she herself was unable to pay. In return, she was made clean, she was made whole, she was made holy and blessed – the beloved daughter of God that she was created to be.

The irony of this scene is indicated by Jesus’ riddle to Simon regarding the creditor who forgave the debts of one who owed 500 denarii and one who owed 50 denarii, and by the subsequent chastising he gives to Simon – “Do you see this woman? I entered your house; you gave me no water for my feet, but she has bathed my feet with her tears and dried them with her hair. You gave me no kiss, but from the time I came in she has not stopped kissing my feet. You did not anoint my head with oil, but she has anointed my feet with ointment.” Simon, a Pharisee, a man well-versed in Jewish custom and law, could not be bothered to even show Jesus the basic forms of hospitality generally shown an honored guest. He had not acted out of common courtesy. And then he has the gall to criticize when this woman acts not out of courtesy or social responsibility, but purely out of her desire to show her gratitude.

Simon just doesn’t get it. He does not recognize his own sinfulness – not merely the “sin” of neglecting his responsibilities as a host – but the very sinfulness that we all carry as human beings – the sins we intentionally commit and those we unintentionally commit. Simon does not recognize his own sinfulness, and because of this, does not, or cannot, recognize his own need for forgiveness. And he certainly could not see that Jesus was the one who had the power and the authority to grant forgiveness – “Who is this who even forgives sins?” I like to think that this exchange with Jesus, this scene with the sinful woman, stuck with him for the rest of his life, and that following Jesus’ death and resurrection, he was able to look back and truly learn from what had happened at his dinner party – that he was indeed a sinful person, as much in need of forgiveness as his uninvited guest – and that through his death and resurrection, Jesus was just the one to bestow such a blessing, just as he did to the woman.

Even though these events took place nearly 2,000 years ago, these events are still being played out in our own day. Yesterday, I met a phenomenal woman, Ruth, who is the founder of Come As You Are, or CAYA, a program that helps the homeless in my hometown of Riverside. Ruth told the group I was with a story that touched my heart, not only because it demonstrated God’s grace and mercy, but also because it further illustrates, in a contemporary situation, today’s Gospel lesson. Ruth told us about one of the people she has been working with, Herb. Ruth first met Herb about a year ago. Herb has been homeless for over 30 years, ever since his return from Viet Nam. He makes his home in a little hooch he constructed along the Santa Ana River bottom. When Ruth first met Herb, he looked like a wild man, almost inhuman. His hair was long, tangled, matted, and filthy. His beard was long, dirty, and infested with all sorts of bugs. All he wore was a pair of crusty, tattered shorts. Tortured by his experiences in Viet Nam, what he had witnessed and what he himself had done, he turned to heroine for solace. Herb had hit rock bottom. In most people’s eyes, he was one of the dregs of society. But not in Ruth’s eyes.

One day last summer, Herb was at St. Michael’s Episcopal Church, the headquarters for CAYA. He was talking to Ruth. A little boy came up to Herb and asked, “Are you from God?” Ruth was shocked at Herb’s response. He said, “Yes.” And after a moment, he stood up straight and proud and boldly proclaimed, “Yes, I am from God.” With a new found confidence in his status as a beloved child of God, Herb proceeded to point to the crucifix he was wearing and told the boy about Jesus. A few weeks letter, Herb showed up at St. Michael’s and went to the parish Bible study. They were talking about baptism and Herb said he had been baptized a long time ago, but he was still tortured by what had happened to him in Viet Nam and that he thought he needed to be baptized again. Ruth told him that you can only be baptized once, but what he did need to do was ask Christ for forgiveness.

Some time later, a man showed up at St. Michael’s. Ruth did not recognize him by sight, but recognized his voice. It was Herb. He had shaved his head and his beard, and was dressed in respectable clothing. He told Ruth that he had asked Jesus for forgiveness and when he did, he knew he was indeed forgiven. He cleaned himself up, got off heroine, and even managed to find a job. Since then, nearly a year ago, he has been clean. While still homeless, he helps out at CAYA, around the neighborhood, and has even used street justice to get rid of the drug dealers that used to hang out near one of the local high schools, so teenagers will not fall prey to the demons that plagued his life for so many years. Herb experienced Christ’s forgiveness and the gift of new life. He has been made clean and whole. And he has been working ever since, in any way he can, to express his gratitude. He may not be washing Jesus feet with his tears and drying them with his hair, but he is working to improve the lives of his fellow brothers and sisters, which is the contemporary equivalent.

We are fortunate that we live on this side of the resurrection. We do not have to live in the ignorance that beset Simon the Pharisee. We know that we are sinful creatures, doing things that are displeasing to God, that may be hurtful to ourselves and to others, either intentionally or unintentionally. While it is certainly not pleasant to be confronted with our imperfection, with our sinfulness – after all, don’t we all have a little bit of Simon in us, as well? – the good news is that our knowledge of our sinfulness is actually a blessing to us. It is a blessing because through this self-awareness, we also understand that we are sorely in need of forgiveness, just like Ruth told Herb. And the good news is that forgiveness is freely given to us by our Lord Jesus Christ if we only ask. Just ask Herb.

Because of this gift, freely given to us, I think it is only right that in being forgiven, we remember and honor the sinful woman who cried at Jesus’ feet, wiped them with her hair, and anointed them with ointment. She is an example par excellence of the type of gratitude we owe the one who bestows on us the blessing of forgiveness and the gift of new life. She is a model of what it means to truly love Jesus – passionately, sensually, extravagantly. That is gratitude. That is faith. That is faith expressed.

As Jesus told the woman, and I’m sure, as he told Herb, he also says to us, “Your faith has saved you; go in peace.”

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

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Supermarket Coupon Insanity

I’m normally a very easy-going guy when it comes to shopping. Not much ruffles my feathers and I’m generally willing to go with the flow, even if it doesn’t seem to make sense to me. But today I went to Ralph’s to do some shopping and completely lost it over four dollars. The last time I was at Ralph’s, I received a coupon that said “$4 off your next grocery purchase when you purchase 2 bottles of Alice White wine” (or something very similar to that). There was no other fine print or explanation. Well, today I decided to buy 2 bottles of Alice White wine, among other things. At the check-out counter, I presented my coupon. The checker looked at it for about a minute or two and then said that a coupon for $4 off my next purchase would print out when we were finished, but the printer is broken. I said, “but the coupon says I should get $4 off this purchase if I buy the wine. I bought the wine.” She looked confused, so took it to another checker to see what to do. I heard the other checker say that I would get a coupon for $4 off my next purchase.

At this point, I was aware that a number of people were waiting in line and that I was holding them up. I don’t like to do anything to hold up lines, because I get incredibly annoyed when someone in front of me makes silly demands which bring the whole check-out process to a screeching halt. But, at the same time, thoughts were running through my mind that at this rate, I would never get the $4 off, because the next coupon would say that I had to wait until the next purchase, or something like that, and so on, and so on. So, I went over to the other checker and said “this is my next purchase. I got that coupon the last time I was here.” She asked if I purchased the wine last time I was here. I said “no, I’m buying them now, like the coupon says.” She replied that I had to buy the wine before I can get a coupon for the $4. At that point I lost it and said in a very loud voice, “This is insane! The coupon says that I should get $4 off when I buy 2 bottles of wine. I’m buying the wine. The way I read it, I should get $4 off this purchase today.” At that point he manager came up and I explained my position to him. He said “that’s not the way it works. You have to buy the wine and then you get a coupon off your next purchase.” I responded, “that’s not what the coupon says, but fine!”

All the while I was thinking about the last time I was in when the printer spit out all sorts of coupons for money off my next purchase. The checker went ahead and used them on that order. As she put it, so many people get coupons and then forget to use them, so she tries to help them out by applying them right then, even though she really isn’t supposed to. I remember thinking, what difference does it really make to the store? Their costumers are getting the savings due them without hassle. The bottom line for the store is they either take the money off now or later, with the net result being the same. Anyway, I went back to my check-out stand and the checker told me the total. I asked about the $4 off, since she was not able to give me the alleged coupon that would presumably insure $4 off at some undetermined point in the future (I didn’t put it that way, but that was what was running through my mind). She said “I can’t give you a coupon for it because the printer won’t work.” I then asked how I get my $4 off if I can’t get a coupon for it. The manager came over and agreed to give me the $4 off since the printer could not print the needed coupon. With that, I paid my bill (which included the $4 reduction), thanked them (although not as cheerfully as I normally would have), and left – feeling incredibly annoyed with the insanity of the situation, a little upset at myself that I allowed myself to blow up over it, yet feeling satisfied that I had prevailed and got my lousy $4. I have never had Alice White wine, but it better be worth the trouble.

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