Sermon for September 24, 2017

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Progress, Not Perfection

The Holy Spirit produces this kind of fruit in our lives: love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control. There is no law against these things! Those who belong to Christ Jesus have nailed the passions and desires of their sinful nature to his cross and crucified them there. Galatians 5:22-24

If we were totally honest, most of us would admit that we have a desire to look good to others. We want people to think we’ve got our lives together, that we’re successful, that our kids are the best and brightest, and our relationships are ideal. We want others to think that we’re on top of our game; that we would never make an error in judgment. If we were totally honest, many of us would have to admit that we have a driving desire to be perfect.

Perfection means having no flaws or shortcomings; complete excellence. A perfectionist sees life as if it’s a succession of flaws that need to be fixed once and for all.  Do you ever look at the feature towards the back of Saturday’s Washington Post Magazine that says “What’s wrong with this picture?” If you look at the picture carefully you will see that the table only had three legs or the front door has no door knob. Perfectionists experience some delight in finding what’s wrong – only looking for what is missing, or broken instead of what is working. When we find what’s wrong, then we can fix it. Then it will be right, and all will be well.

Why do we find such satisfaction in seeing only what is missing, in what is wrong, or in what is broken?

Perfection is one of the most important characteristics of our culture. Some have said the pursuit of perfection has become a major addiction of our time. While we strive to make our lives look flawless, we also fall short of some sort of imaginary and unattainable standard. As hard as we might try to convince other people that we have the perfect life, something usually trips us up. Even so, many of us keep at it. We strive for a flawless life. I think we do it because we’re searching for something. We want approval and love and we are afraid that we won’t be worthy as we are right now.  We start to believe that the only way we can earn love is by never making a mistake or falling short.


In her book Kitchen Table Wisdom, Rachel Remen admits she is a recovering perfectionist. Remen is a physician who was trained by her father in the art of being perfect long before she entered medical school. She wrote, “As a child, when I brought home a 98 on an exam, he invariably responded, ‘What happened to the other two points?’” Remen goes on to say, “I adored my Dad and my whole childhood was focused on the pursuit of the other two points. By the time I was in my twenties, I had become as much a perfectionist as he. It was no longer necessary for him to ask me about those two points. I had taken that over for myself. It was many years before I found out that those points don’t matter. That they are not the secret to living a life worth remembering. That they don’t make you loveable. Or whole.”

The idea of a perfect standard was taught to me by the church. I was told God is perfect. One of the most influential writings in our Tradition is called the Westminster Confession. Written in 1646, part of it says, “There is but one only living and true God, who is infinite in being and perfection, a most pure spirit, invisible, without body, parts, or passions, immutable, immense, eternal, incomprehensible, almighty, most wise, most holy, most free, most absolute…”

I was taught God is flawless. God sees all. God knows all. God plans and orders all according to God’s perfect will. We humans are not perfect. Because of sin, our lives are stained. A perfect God cannot be in perfect union with imperfect creatures, so there has to be a way for us to become perfect like God. We will never get there on our own, so God sends the Son to take away our sin, which puts us in a right relationships with God and starts us along the path to perfection.

To me, that version of God felt like Rachel Remen’s dad. I adored God, but felt like God was always disappointed in me. I always fell short of God’s standard, and felt horrible about it. As I grew older, I began to doubt this perfect God, and I felt guilty for asking questions:
• If God is perfect, then why would God need to create humans? If something was missing in the beginning, then God was incomplete.
• If God is perfect, all-powerful, and all knowing, then why is the world God created filled with so much pain? It’s a big problem to have a perfect God create a world that can only be saved and redeemed through the death of an innocent victim who will be the target of God’s wrath on our behalf. How is this supposed to fill me with gratitude?
• I am supposed to be perfect, but I will never get there. Why would God set a goal I can never reach?

Early Christian theologians had these questions too. Some of them came up with complicated solutions, based on ideas of Greek philosophers like Plato. Some said God is the Unmoved Mover. They said a perfect Being is not affected one bit by humans. A perfect God has no favorites; takes no sides; has no need for wealth and power; has no emotions; and feels no desires to punish, reward or please. God is love, but God’s love only goes one way. It is not reciprocal.

Silence in the face of evil … being unmoved by suffering when you can say something or doing something … to me that seems like an imperfection.

Lately I’ve been wondering … maybe God is not perfect. Maybe Christianity got this one wrong. Is it really necessary to insist God is a perfect being?

When reading the New Testament, one of the words translated as “perfect” is the Greek word telios. It does not mean “perfect,” even though it’s translated that way in some of our Bibles. Telios actually means “mature, whole, or complete.” A person is “perfect” when he or she realizes the purpose for which we are created and sent into the world. “Perfection” does not mean to set an impossible goal. To be perfect, in this sense, is to make room for growth, to allow for the changes that help us fulfill the purpose of our lives.

And what is that purpose?

I can tell you what it’s not. We were not created for superiority over others.  Our purpose in life is not flawlessness. It’s not a moral self-righteousness that cares little for those around us or props up one’s ego by putting others down. Perfection is found in mutual, radical love. Perfection is found in relationship with those who seek to help us and those seek to hurt us.

Perfection, as our culture defines it, is simply not intended to be part of the human condition. Being human, by its very nature, means that we are imperfect flawed creatures. Which means, in some strange way, we are more whole when we are incomplete – more beautiful for being broken. Master psychologist Carl Rogers put it this way: “I let myself know that I am enough. Not perfect. Perfect wouldn’t be enough. But that I am human, that is enough.” I hear God saying the very same thing God would say to us. No masks, no pretenses needed. To be ourselves, to be human—that is enough.

It all brings to mind the image of the fruit of the spirit. In the book of Galatians, Paul hits us with this big, ripe list of virtues. Actually first, he shames us with a VERY big list of flaws and behaviors to avoid. Then Paul hits us with a big, ripe list of virtues: love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, goodness, and self-control. If we want to experience what a perfect Christian is like – a mature, whole believer – then this is a place to start. The image of fruit reminds me that growth is a process. Think of the beautiful fruit in your favorite organic supermarket. From soil to shelf, the fruit needs water and sun, seasons of growth and dormancy. A peach tree doesn’t bear good fruit until 3-4 years after it’s been planted. Apple and cherry trees take 2-3, even up to five years, to bear good fruit. Almonds can take up to 12 years.

Think about the fruit of the spirit in your life. Think about the times you have experienced love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, gentleness, faithfulness, and self-control. These godlike qualities grow, over time, with encouragement, and nurture. We don’t become spiritual masters in one meditation session. It takes time and practice. It takes failure. Then more time and practice. Small gains. More failure. More time and practice. We are present for the journey, the slow steady progress.

And even if that fruit looks overripe, even if it’s all bruised up and getting mushy, it’s still good. It still has value. It still has nourishment. Some of you are part of a food delivery program in which workers glean produce from grocery stores that’s about to be thrown away. The produce is on its way out. No one’s going to buy it. But it’s still good. Yes, the bananas and pears have brown spots and the tomatoes are soft. They produce is not glamorous and put together. But in these starved times, to be a bruised pear that can nourish a hungry stomach, it is fulfilling its purpose. And that is enough.

In these starved times, when you can find a little more space to love yourself, to love your neighbor, and to love your enemies, you fulfill the purpose of love. And that is enough.

In these times of isolation, when you can hold on to joy, and even let some squeak out into the world around you, you fulfill joy’s purpose. And that is enough.

In these times of war, when even a little non-violent, passive resistance can make a big change, you can fulfill the purpose of peace. And that is enough.

When you are tired, or in pain, and can find a way to not lash out at others, you fulfill the purpose of patience. And that is enough.

When you can find a way to pay it forward, to show small acts of compassion, when offer civility in the midst of debates meant to polarize us, when we can be open-hearted, when we consume the earth’s resources with care, we fulfill the purpose of kindness, goodness, gentleness, and self-control. And that is enough. That is enough.

To be ourselves, to be human—that is enough. And that is just … perfect.

Sermon for September 17, 2017

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It’s Only a Thought

And so, dear brothers and sisters, I plead with you to give your bodies to God because of all he has done for you. Let them be a living and holy sacrifice—the kind he will find acceptable. This is truly the way to worship him. Don’t copy the behavior and customs of this world, but let God transform you into a new person by changing the way you think. Then you will learn to know God’s will for you, which is good and pleasing and perfect. ~ Romans 12:1-2

I am going to ask us to take a couple minutes and ask you to do something you try hard not to ever do at church. I have provided scraps of paper. I want you to take one and write down, stream of consciousness, everything that is weighing on your mind. Make a list. Big or small. What are your distractions and anxieties? Take a minute or two and just brainstorm. And don’t worry, you won’t have to share.

I find when I allow myself to do an exercise like this, I identify worries I didn’t even know I was worried about. It’s amazing how much stuff we carry around with us all the time, isn’t it? I entered a Triathlon yesterday. A few days before the race, I woke up in the middle of the night afraid I was going to drown on the swim course in Deep Creek Lake. My fear began to take on a life of its own. To make it worse, I also had an old ad jingle for Easy Off oven cleaner stuck in my head on repeat. It drove me to prayer: “Please God, when it’s my time to die, please let me last thought be on you, and not Easy Off oven cleaner!”

It’s Amazing we get anything done at all! The great Danish philosopher Soren Kierkegaard called worry “the next day”, meaning that we do not know what is going to happen “the next day” and so…we worry! We often try to anticipate all that can go wrong and we make plans to get everything right. Winston Churchhill once said, “When I look back on all these worries, I remember the story of the old man who said on his deathbed that he had had a lot of trouble in his life, most of which had never happened.”

Our tendency toward negative thoughts about the past and future leads to a few difficulties, including:

• We discover emotional pain with negative memories or fears

• We get distracted from the present moment

• Our problem-solving abilities weaken when we over-focus on things outside of our control 

Maybe you’ve experienced the difference between healthy and unhealthy worry. Healthy worry is a response to danger. It’s meant to protect us – it makes us run from unsafe situations. Unhealthy worry can’t tell the difference between a real and a perceived threat. Our brains can trick us into F.E.A.R.

Fantasized

Event

Appearing

Real

On a spiritual level, our tendency to worry ourselves through the past and fantasize about a terrible future creates distance between ourselves and God. When we don’t show up for the moment, we are unlikely to notice God with us, right here, right now. In my experience, God tends to speak in the quiet of the heart.  A cacophony of mental noise about an unpleasant past or a frightening future dilute God’s still small voice.

Just because we feel fear doesn’t mean there is danger. Just because we think something doesn’t mean it’s true. The alternative to the aimless wandering worry is what Romans 12 calls, “the renewing of our minds.” We can be transformed. The Greek word Paul uses here is related to the words metamorphosis and transfiguration. It means to change form -- a complete change from the inside out. It’s the verb the author of 2 Corinthians uses when he says, “we all ... are being transformed into the same image ... as from the Lord, the Spirit” (3:18) It is not a one-time change, but a process in which our lives resemble God’s divine spirit.

In Romans 12:2, Paul’s grammar seems to imply we cannot just transform ourselves. Our minds, our worries, our anxieties, our regrets, our actions – they are all made new with new input. In other words, we don’t get new results by doing the same old stuff.

The process begins with mindfulness. It’s another way of saying deep awareness of the present moment. Instead of worrying about our worries, mindfulness creates curiosity and acceptance about our anxious or wandering thoughts.  

My typical pattern goes like this. A negative thought enters my consciousness, and I begin to worry about it. The thought often comes with some negative voices from the past with messages that want to lock me into my current pattern of responses. I might indulge in some self-soothing behavior to ease the pain. One of my coping mechanisms is binge eating. eating. I indulge the unhealthy worry with unhealthy action. I might feel bad and try to un-think the painful thought– just make it go away. Then what happens? Try it. Try to not think about a purple llama doing cartwheels in front of the sanctuary. 

It does not have to be this way. What happens when a negative thought enters my mind and without judging or suppressing it I can say, “Hey, it’s only a thought. I wonder what that’s all about?” I can become curious. I can become present. I can become aware. I might ask: What physical sensations do I notice in my body as I think this—is there muscle tension, a shift in the breath pattern, quickening of the heartbeat, clenching in the gut?  Where do I feel this? How do I want to respond right now? Cry? Eat and drink? Judge? Isolate? Talk it out?

Notice, I did not ask any “why” questions. “Why am I feeling this way? Why did this happen to me?” I did not ask, “What’s wrong with me?” We don’t always know why a thought pops into our heads. Don’t go there.

Remember, I said our minds are made new with new input? Brain research shows that physical neurological changes occur in the brain when we practice mindfulness on a regular basis.  Mindfulness meditation quiets parts of the brain that react to pain and lights up parts of the brain that support happiness.  The brain is constantly rewiring itself. All the negative self-talk that has uniquely wired your brain and guided your worries and your actions for months or even years can change over time.  So, don’t believe everything you think. It might not be true. Be patient with yourself, Be curious. Be kind to yourself and the people around you. Open-hearted waiting and gentle speech may enable our minds to re-wire old patterns and use our lives to inspire and uplift others.

Let us end as we began, with a time of silence. As you are willing and comfortable, with eyes closed and in the quiet of this moment, observe whatever arises to take your attention. Just watch it. Let it be. Don’t try to change it or fix it. If you have the urge to change or fix it, observe that desire. The object of your observation can be anything at all. A thought. An idea. A sensation -- something your body feels, something you hear. It can be an urge, a desire, a sense of needing to do something. Just watch the urge. Experience it with loving, non-judgmental, caring attention. Be a quiet presence, like a friend who stays close in silence with a loving attitude, toward your own inner experience …

There is an old, Medieval Christian prayer guide called The Cloud of Unknowing. The anonymous author offers this advice:

“If you want to gather all your desire into one simple word that the mind can retain, choose a short word rather than a long one. A one-syllable word such as ‘God’ or ‘love’ is best. But choose one that is meaningful for you. Then fix it in your mind so that it will remain there come what may. This word will be your defense in conflict and in peace … Should some thought go on annoying you, demanding to know what you are doing, answer with this one word alone. If your mind begins to intellectualize over the meaning and connotations of this little word, remind yourself that its value lies in its simplicity. Do this and I assure you these thoughts will vanish. Why? Because you have refused to develop them with arguing.”

I love that last sentence. Watch your thoughts and feelings, but gently refuse to “develop them with arguing.” They are just thoughts. Without engagement or resistance, these thoughts and urges and feelings will change over time and return into the atmosphere from which they issued forth as you are transformed by the renewing of your mind.

Sources:

http://www.themindfulchristian.net/renewal-of-the-mind--neuroplasticity.html

Worry Rejoice! God Has a Plan For You! A sermon by: Matt Fitzgerald January 6, 2013 St. Paul’s United Church of Christ

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/jim-burklo/mindful-christianity_b_6071700.html

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/dr-cynthia-thaik/stop-judging_b_3447020.html

http://greekwordstudies.blogspot.com/2007/03/transform.html

 

Sermon for April 16, 2017 | Easter Sunday

Why Do You Weep?

Early in the morning on the first day of the week, while it was still dark, Mary Magdalene came to the tomb and saw that the stone was moved away from the entrance. She ran at once to Simon Peter and the other disciple, the one Jesus loved, breathlessly panting, “They took the Master from the tomb. We don’t know where they’ve put him.” Peter and the other disciple left immediately for the tomb. They ran, neck and neck. The other disciple got to the tomb first, outrunning Peter. Stooping to look in, he saw the pieces of linen cloth lying there, but he didn’t go in. Simon Peter arrived after him, entered the tomb, observed the linen cloths lying there, and the kerchief used to cover his head not lying with the linen cloths but separate, neatly folded by itself. Then the other disciple, the one who had gotten there first, went into the tomb, took one look at the evidence, and believed. No one yet knew from the Scripture that he had to rise from the dead. The disciples then went back home. But Mary stood outside the tomb weeping. As she wept, she knelt to look into the tomb and saw two angels sitting there, dressed in white, one at the head, the other at the foot of where Jesus’ body had been laid. They said to her, “Woman, why do you weep?”

“They took my Master,” she said, “and I don’t know where they put him.” After she said this, she turned away and saw Jesus standing there. But she didn’t recognize him. Jesus spoke to her, “Woman, why do you weep? Who are you looking for?”She, thinking that he was the gardener, said, “Mister, if you took him, tell me where you put him so I can care for him.”

Jesus said, “Mary.” Turning to face him, she said in Hebrew, “Rabboni!” meaning “Teacher!” Jesus said, “Don’t cling to me, for I have not yet ascended to the Father. Go to my brothers and tell them, ‘I ascend to my Father and your Father, my God and your God.’” Mary Magdalene went, telling the news to the disciples: “I saw the Master!” And she told them everything he said to her. John 20:1-1

So, have you ever had someone ask you a question you didn’t want to answer? I’ve found there are a lot of great ways to dodge the question. For instance, when asked a question, a common social custom is that you should answer, yet in reality what’s the worst that will happen if you just don’t respond? The simplest approach to dodging the question is avoidance -- just to refuse to answer. Or you can ignore the question -- just act as if no question was asked and continuing the conversation by talking about something else.

Or try this: next time someone asks you a questions you don’t want to answer, become quiet and stare back at the questioner. This is an advanced practice, but when you become comfortable with it, then it is only the other person who feels the discomfort of your icy stare.

A straightforward refusal is simply to say that you are not going to answer the question. “I'm not going to answer that.” If you parents raised you to be polite, then you can soften the blow by apologizing first. “I'm sorry, I'm not going to answer that.”

Another strategy is called turning the tables, which means exchanging roles so you take control of the situation and act as if you are in charge, with higher authority than the other person. If you want to be advanced in this strategy, act like you are offended that someone asked you the question in the first place. Tell the person they have no right to ask that particular question.

And there is the famous move called, “answer a question with another question.” Parents do this all the time when we don’t know the answer, or don’t want to answer. Teachers do it, too. “That’s a good question. So what do you think?” It’s kind of annoying, but I do it all the time.

It turns out, Jesus also had that annoying practice of speaking in questions. He rarely gave a straight answer when anyone questioned him. Instead he asked a question back. Or remained silent, like when he was questioned before Herod and Pilate on Good Friday. Or he did something weird like draw in the sand with his finger, while someone’s life hung in the balance. Or he told offbeat stories that raised more questions than they answered. It’s no wonder the disciples seemed confused all the time. Sometimes we might think, “Oh come ON, Peter! Come ON disciples! How can you possibly not get it when you’ve got Jesus there in front of you? How on earth are we meant to manage?’ But on that first Easter morning, even the least charitable of us could reasonably expect Mary and the other disciples might need some sort of explanation of what’s going on.

We don’t get a lot of details about how a man, who dies on a cross as a criminal and is buried in a sealed garden tomb, rises from the dead, rolls away the stone, and lives again. Even the angels, Gods messengers, the ones who are supposed to spell God’s messages out, even THEY join Jesus in answering questions with questions. And not even sensible questions.

“Woman, why are you weeping? Who are you looking for?” Jesus asks.

Isn’t it obvious why Mary is weeping? Isn’t it a no-brainer who she is looking for? Why doesn’t Jesus just come right out and comfort her, and tell what has happened? Why can’t he say, “Mary! No worries. It’s me! This is what I was trying to get at the other night. I had to go through death so that I could conquer the fear of death forever. God’s love has always been completely free. There are no conditions. I went through the violence, punishment, and torture from human hands to show that God is never violent, punishing, torturing, or vindictive. I have shown you to way to salvation. God is love. God is compassion. God is mercy”?

But no. First the angels, then Jesus, start by asking a question – ‘Woman, why are you weeping?’ We don’t know, of course, what tone of voice Jesus asked this question in, how we should read it. Was it perhaps sympathetic? “Woman, why are you weeping?”  Or maybe it was said with affectionate exasperation? “Woman! Why (on earth) are you weeping? Here I am standing in front of you!” Sometimes I feel that is the tone of voice that God uses with me when I’m praying: “Oh for goodness sake, Matt! I do love you, but puh-lease … you can be slow to catch on sometimes!”

Or perhaps the emphasis is on the why. It seems obvious to us, that Mary is weeping because she is upset at the death of Jesus, and now she feels lost and helpless because his body is gone and so she can’t even do the simple but important things for his body that she came for.

Woman, why do you weep? We could ask the same question today. “Women, why do you weep?” Let’s not ignore two millennia-worth of women who have been weeping: Weeping over children dying in infancy; weeping because they are unable to feed their families; weeping with sheer, mind-numbing exhaustion and hopelessness at the end of a 16 or 18 hour working day, at the end of which they are as poor, as enslaved, as indebted as they were at the beginning; weeping over war, over injustice, over death, over persecution; weeping with fear; weeping with shame; weeping with loneliness. Women, why are you weeping?  Maybe it’s a cue for us to remember how God takes all humanity’s grief seriously. God does not rush in to fix or answer the question of why bad things happen. God doesn’t tell Mary that she’s wrong to feel the pain of sorrow. He doesn’t say “There, there, it will all be OK.” God comes alongside us in our grief and asks us to talk about it.

Only then does Jesus say something that isn’t a question. It’s not really an explanation either. Jesus simply says her name. “Mary.” That’s when she recognizes him. That’s when he sends her out to tell the disciples things she is hardly sure of herself -- to announce things she must feel very unprepared for. Maybe Mary thinks she might have to dodge some questions herself. How does one explain something so unexplainable, after all?

How about you? Why are you weeping? What are you sorrows? God hears, and listens. God takes our worries and our pains seriously.

And then, if we are aware and awake, you will hear God speak your name. And says: “Go. Go to my friends, to my sisters and brothers, and tell them that you have seen the Christ.

My prayer for all of is that, with Mary leaving the tomb, we can affirm a word of hope: “I have seen the Christ.”
I have seen the Christ and I refuse to be controlled by fear.
I have seen the Christ, and I refuse to dehumanize another.
I have seen the Christ and I will tear down the walls of gender, race, class, and sexual identity.
I have seen the Christ and will I love my enemies.
I have seen the Christ and I will stand with the poor.
I have seen the Christ and I will forgive those who've wronged me.
I have seen the Christ so I will resist the violence of the nations by acting for peace.
I have seen the Christ and so I will demonstrate the power of resurrection in our world!

Sources:
http://changingminds.org/techniques/questioning/dodging_question.htm
http://mirandathrelfallholmes.blogspot.in/2015/04/easter-sermon-woman-why-are-you-weeping.html?m=1

Sermon for April 9, 2017 | Palm Sunday

“Who Is This Man?”


When they had come near Jerusalem and had reached Bethphage, at the Mount of Olives, Jesus sent two disciples, saying to them, “Go into the village ahead of you, and immediately you will find a donkey tied, and a colt with her; untie them and bring them to me. If anyone says anything to you, just say this, ‘The Lord needs them.’ And he will send them immediately.” This took place to fulfill what had been spoken through the prophet, saying, “Tell the daughter of Zion, Look, your king is coming to you, humble, and mounted on a donkey, and on a colt, the foal of a donkey.” The disciples went and did as Jesus had directed them; they brought the donkey and the colt, and put their cloaks on them, and he sat on them. A very large crowd spread their cloaks on the road, and others cut branches from the trees and spread them on the road. The crowds that went ahead of him and that followed were shouting, “Hosanna to the Son of David! Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord! Hosanna in the highest heaven!” When he entered Jerusalem, the whole city was in turmoil, asking, “Who is this?” The crowds were saying, “This is the prophet Jesus from Nazareth in Galilee.” ~ Matthew 21:1-11

Where is the most troubled place in the world? According to the Global Peace Index, Syria tops the list. After the news of the past week, it’s not hard to see why as the country continues to be ravaged by a civil war considered to be the deadliest in the 21st century. It is a place of conflict and confrontation. Syria is also a place of deep significance to Christianity. Jesus gave his greatest and most memorable sermon, the Sermon on the Mount in Syria. Jesus was transfigured on a mountaintop before the eyes of his disciples during a meet-up with Moses and Elijah in Syria. Syria is the home of prophets and the cradle of civilizations. It is now in a serious storm of killing and violence, a place begging for peace even as it is destroyed from within by its own government and from the outside by the tussling empires of the world.

Some think that Jesus is not done with Syria. In the sayings of the Prophet Mohammad, there are writings called, “The Book Pertaining to the Turmoil and Portents of the Last Hour” which say, “... Allah would send Christ, son of Mary, and he will descend at the white minaret in the eastern side of Damascus wearing two garments lightly dyed with saffron and placing his hands on the wings of two Angels.”  In other words, Islamic prophecy predicts the return of Jesus in Syria. While some Muslims understand prophecies like this as literal, many other Muslims have never taken prophetic predictions as fact. With regards to the return of Christ, one Imam commented, “… to me the second coming of Jesus represents a coming peace between Muslims and Christians to establish a kingdom of peace and justice on the earth.”

As I prayed for Syria this week, I imagined that tide of peace. I imagined Jesus the anti-warrior in a Palm Sunday parade, not to Jerusalem but to the most troubled place in the world. I imagined Jesus returning to Damascus to the cries of Hosanna! Save us! I imagined people waving palm branches, the symbol of victory, the symbol of triumph, the symbol of peace, the symbol of life. When weapons often become the final arbiter of a fight, when violence seems to have the last word, I imagined Jesus riding to Syria and speaking the ironic words inscribed on the hilt of Mohammad’s sword, “Forgive him who wrongs you; join him who cuts you off; do good to him who does evil to you, and speak the truth although it be against yourself.”

As I prayed, my imagination took me to a place where Jesus, as the Christ of cosmic, universal love, entered Syria from all directions at once: north south east and west simultaneously —  a multi-directional protest. Sounds crazy, no? Then I read a similar idea by Ken Sehested of the Baptist Peace Fellowship. He proposed this idea years ago: Find a group of faith leaders from around the world—Jewish, Christian and Muslim faith traditions, and any and every religious tradition. Gather those so moved by the horror unfolding in Syria that they’re willing to take serious risks in response. Divided this unlikely entourage of faith leaders so that one group goes to Turkey, on Syria’s northern boundary; another group to Iraq, to the west; another to Jordan in the south; and the fourth split between Lebanon and Israel in the East. At a predetermined time, each of the four groups pushes past border checkpoints into Syria, banners flying and songs chanting, demanding that all conflicting parties — both within Syria and international backers — come to Damascus, be locked in a room and not allowed out until the framework of a negotiated process were reached. What if these leaders pledged to complete this mission even if it meant dying in the process?

Ten years ago an interfaith group of Christian and Muslim women in Liberia did just this sort of action and extracted from those warring political leaders a political framework to end the civil war. Is it crazy to think about hundreds, maybe thousands of national and international religious leaders converging on Syria from every point on the map? Is it too unrealistic to even imagine? Maybe. Is it any less far-fetched to think that cruise missile strikes against Syrian government forces will lead to a pause in the conflict and negotiations for a permanent settlement?

What if Palm Sunday emboldened a legion of those who, with the same courage and character of Christ, followed a wild and untamed God into the jaws of destruction for the healing of the nations, and for the children of Syria?

The very thought of it terrifies me … so now I’m ready to accept the message of Palm Sunday.

Look at the history of the world — the wars, fighting, and the protests throughout the Middle East — and you will recognize the turmoil that fills the heart of humanity.  Look at the turmoil in our own lives, and realize that we don’t have to march into the war-torn areas of the world to find cruelty. We can experience it in the fear and uncertainty of our future, the loss of financial security, a broken marriage, estrangement between parent and child, a disease that interrupts life’s plans. Each of us could name and describe our personal chaos. Think about a time when the foundations of your world were shaken; when your beliefs where challenged by turmoil; when the way you always did things did not work anymore and it made the way forward unclear. When our lives get turned upside-down, we mostly want life, people, God back to the way it was before. Some will pray to God to fix the problem and end the mayhem. Others will come to church seeking answers or an escape from the turmoil of our world.

Here is something I’ve been wondering. What if Jesus rides into our lives to create turmoil instead of soothing it? What if Jesus has been creating turmoil since the day he was born? I’m uncomfortable even saying it. If given a choice, I want the tame Jesus who brings comfort and security and makes life easy and happy. Read the Gospels closely, and we realize that comfort and security are not what Jesus is about. His life, his teaching, his behavior all caused turmoil. Palm Sunday is no exception. Jesus knew how to create chaos to find peace.

When people talk about peace, it is often about making our inner life at ease. Instead of being in a disturbed state, we wish to be calm. But the very process of trying to make our egos comfortable means navigating the process of discomfort. If we try to force ourselves to have inner peace, we lose our peace. A person who is trying to be peaceful will never actually be peaceful. Why? Because the peace that she achieves is only about making herself comfortable, and that comfort is temporary. Maybe you go to the shore to find some peace, because that is a place where you can relax. For a while, it works. You are peaceful. Suddenly lifeguards warn you to get out of the water because of sharks.  What happens next? All your peace disappears. Life is in turmoil again. It’s actually better to be disturbed at that moment. If you are in turmoil, you will respond to the warning. If you remain in a meditative trance in the face of chaos, you become complacent in the face of danger. Turmoil is not the problem. Complacency is the problem, and ego-worn paths to peace lead to complacency.

Waving palms and shouting “Hosanna, Save us!” will neither hide nor relieve the turmoil if those who praise peace are not also willing to confront the powers that create chaos. Those palms in our hands are the artillery of peace. They help us shake and agitate, disturb and disrupt. The palms branches in our hands point us to contradiction of Jesus’ identity and leave us asking, “Who is this?”

Jesus is not sweet baby-in-a-manger of Christmas card fame. Jesus is not our buddy and our pal. Jesus is not our copilot. Jesus is a life-giving, God-revealing, peace-creating man of turmoil. “Who is this?” How is he going to save us?  Doesn’t he know that if we follow him, we will all get into trouble? Does he really know that cost of choosing to bring human life into alignment with God’s life. Who is this? He is the one who teaches us the intimacy of washing feet and sharing a cup of wine. Who is this? He is the one who breaks open our lives, as if breaking bread at table with friends. Who is this? He is the one who shows us that to be powerful we must become powerless. Who is this? He is the one who says the only way to genuine hope and success of humankind is love and humility, not oppression and force.  Who is this? He is the one who calls us to die before death comes. The turmoil Jesus brings is the chaos out of which the hope of peace will be born on Easter Day.

Who is this and what has he done to us? He is the blessed one who comes in the name of the Lord. Today Jesus is entering the most troubled place in the world.

Sources:

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2013/08/29/syria-jesus-secondcoming_n_3830214.html
https://sufism.org/origins/hadith/peacehadith-2
https://www.arabicbible.com/for-christians/162-syria/1827-the-significance-of-syria-in-the-bible-history-and-civilizations.html
http://isha.sadhguru.org/blog/sadhguru/masters-words/sadhguru-on-peace/
http://www.bpfna.org/about-us/news/2013/09/09/noli-temere-dont-be-afraid.678935

Sermon for April 2, 2017

Wells of Compassion 

Some Greeks who had come to Jerusalem for the Passover celebration paid a visit to Philip, who was from Bethsaida in Galilee. They said, “Sir, we want to meet Jesus.” Philip told Andrew about it, and they went together to ask Jesus. 

Jesus replied, “Now the time has come for the Son of Man to enter into his glory. I tell you the truth, unless a kernel of wheat is planted in the soil and dies, it remains alone. But its death will produce many new kernels—a plentiful harvest of new lives. Those who love their life in this world will lose it. Those who care nothing for their life in this world will keep it for eternity. Anyone who wants to serve me must follow me, because my servants must be where I am. And the Father will honor anyone who serves me.

“Now my soul is deeply troubled. Should I pray, ‘Father, save me from this hour’? But this is the very reason I came! Father, bring glory to your name.” 

Then a voice spoke from heaven, saying, “I have already brought glory to my name, and I will do so again.” When the crowd heard the voice, some thought it was thunder, while others declared an angel had spoken to him. 

Then Jesus told them, “The voice was for your benefit, not mine. The time for judging this world has come, when Satan, the ruler of this world, will be cast out. And when I am lifted up from the earth, I will draw everyone to myself.” He said this to indicate how he was going to die. John 12:20-33 

Parts of us are dying all the time. You probably just lost half a million or so cells just listening to this sentence. Each of our bodies lose about 100,000 cells per second. Fortunately, just as many cells reproduce in a healthy body. Our bodies have this constant cycle of dying cells and rebirth of new ones. Some scientists say that we are regenerated every seven years. What an enormous relief to me. It’s those cells that refuse to die off that pose the real problem, because they cause diseases like cancer. Most pre-cancerous cells die before they can cause cancer. The ones that don’t die continue to mutate. They get in the way and block healthy development of the body.

So, when it comes to our bodies, I am always dying. It’s a great thing. With each breath that enters and leaves my body, with each second, hundreds of thousands of cells die off to allow the possibility for more. I keep dying so life may abound. 

The healthy rhythm of existence goes like this: Life leads to death. Death brings new life. Might this hold true in our spiritual and emotional lives as well.  Can new life come without death? We know all about death-dealing ways. The failure to forgive leads to death of relationship while anger and bitterness ravage the spirit. Holding on to regret strangles hope. Trying to control events and other people lead to frustration, excessive stress, and exhaustion. What happens when we learn to forgive, to let go, to love enemies and work for compassionate justice? Might we find new life? Let’s look to today’s Gospel passage and see how John’s gospel answers the questions.

In the passage for today, Jesus tells a story about death and life, the rhythm of decay and new growth.  It’s Passover time, and hundreds of thousands of people are gathered in Jerusalem. In this wild mass of humanity, some Greek travelers listen in on a conversation between Jesus and his disciples. As they listen, they notice that one of the disciples has a Greek accent.  And so they approach this disciple, Philip, and they ask him in Greek, “Can we see Jesus?”

Realize this: Jesus has six days left on the earth. He knows how he is going to die. He knows when he is going to die. Only six days left. Any other time, Jesus might answer their request directly. But Jesus is distracted.  He’s preoccupied. If you knew you only had six days of life left, where would your mind be? Here’s where Jesus’ mind is. He says, “Unless a kernel of wheat is planted in the soil and dies, it remains alone. But its death will produce many new kernels—a plentiful harvest of new lives. Those who love their life in this world will lose it. Those who care nothing for their life in this world will keep it for eternity.”

That’s a weird answer.  The Greeks just want to meet Jesus and instead he talks about dead wheat. Maybe there is a connection: If you really want to see Jesus, then you start by recognizing the importance of dying in order to live.

I know, I know, we don’t like to think about death.  As W. Somerset Maugham once wrote, “Dying is a very dull, dreary affair. My advice to you is to have nothing whatever to do with it.” But, let’s get real for a moment. How would you feel if you knew for sure you were going to die six days from now? In the few days that you had left, would the thought consume the rest of your life? Would you become philosophical about death? Would you make any amends? Would you have any regrets? Most of us don't know when we are going to die. Oh, it will happen. We just don't know the details. So, with the time I have left, whether it's a few days or many decades, I have an intense desire to make my time on this planet count for something. I want the world to be better because I lived here and loved here. I want to know that my spirit goes on to nourish others – that my body will return to dust and feed this weary earth. As the environmentalist Edward Abbey said, "If my decomposing carcass helps nourish the roots of a juniper tree or the wings of a vulture -- that is immortality enough for me."

In olden days, as in some places and cultures today, communities dug wells where there was deep, abundant, clean water. When the community needed access to water, people didn’t move the well to the city. The city went to the well. The well did not change to accommodate the people. People changed their lives to go to the well. Change was a matter of survival. Spiritually nourishing relationships work the same way. Political structures change over time. So do nations and languages. So do morals and ethics. So do customs, habits, and ways of life. But human need remains the same.

As generations come and go, people still require the inexhaustible abundance of a well. Spiritually speaking . . .
What are the good wells in the lives of our communities?
Where are the deep wells from which you draw waters of life?
Which relationships provide refreshment in your life?
To where do you keep returning when you need some drink in these parched and arid times?

Some wells are no good. They are dry and empty, or the water is stale and polluted.
Do our communities draw from wells that harm us?
Do you keep trying to draw water from dry wells, hoping that it will be different each time you return there?
Is it time to stop drinking from unhealthy waters or some toxic relationships?
Is it time to abandon a poisoned pit in order to find refreshment and abundance at another well?
These questions have to do with the rhythms of death and life, decay and growth. Accepting that change happens. Change is dangerous. And it hurts. And it’s part of the script of life. The world must perish so that beings can bounce back, deal with the new, and live again.

A comic I read online, called Saturday Morning Breakfast Cereal puts it this way:

Here is something true: one day you will be dead.
Here is something false: you only live once.
It takes about seven years to master something.
If you live to be 88, after age 11, you have 11 opportunities to be great at something.
These are your lifetimes.
Most people never let themselves die.
Some are afraid of death.
Some think they are already ghosts.
But you have many lives.
Spend a life writing poems.
Spend another building things.
Spend a life looking for facts.
And another looking for truths.
These are your lifetimes.
Use them.

Jesus puts it another way: “Unless a grain of wheat falls into the ground and dies, it will remain a single seed. But if it dies, it will produce many grains of wheat.  For whoever will find life will lose it, but whoever loses life will find it.  If anyone would serve me, they must follow me.  They must follow me in death.”


Sources:
Science Watch, March/April 2000 http://www.sciencewatch.com/march-april2000/sw_march-april2000_page3.htm
http://bloomingcactus.typepad.com/bloomingcactus/2006/03/john_122033_lea.html
http://www.sermonsfromseattle.com/series_b_if_a_seed_dies.htm
http://www.c3center.org/archive/life-and-death-in-perspective/
http://www.uuca.org/making-peace-with-death
http://deoxy.org/pkd_how2build.htm
http://www.smbc-comics.com/index.php?db=comics&id=2722

Sermon for March 26, 2017

Who do you say I am?

When Jesus came to the region of Caesarea Philippi, he asked his disciples, “Who do people say that the Son of Man is?”

“Well,” they replied, “some say John the Baptist, some say Elijah, and others say Jeremiah or one of the other prophets.”

Then he asked them, “But who do you say I am?”

Simon Peter answered, “You are the Messiah, the Son of the living God.”

Jesus replied, “You are blessed, Simon son of John, because my Father in heaven has revealed this to you. You did not learn this from any human being. Now I say to you that you are Peter (which means ‘rock’), and upon this rock I will build my church, and all the powers of hell will not conquer it. And I will give you the keys of the Kingdom of Heaven. Whatever you forbid on earth will be forbidden in heaven, and whatever you permit on earth will be permitted in heaven.” Then he sternly warned the disciples not to tell anyone that he was the Messiah. Matthew 16:1-20

A man was looking for a job and he noticed that there was an opening at the local zoo. He asked about the job and found that the zoo had a very unusual position to fill. Apparently, their gorilla had died, and until they could get a new one, they needed someone to dress up in a gorilla suit and act like a gorilla for a few days. The man was to just sit, eat, and sleep. His identity would be kept a secret, of course. Thanks to a very fine gorilla suit, no one would know the difference. The man tried on the suit and sure enough, he looked just like a gorilla. They led him to the cage; he took a position at the back of the cage and pretended to sleep. But after a while he got tired of sitting, so he walked around a bit, jumped up and down, and tried a few gorilla noises. The people who were watching him seemed to really like that. When he would move or jump around, they would clap, and cheer. So he jumped around some more and tried climbing a tree. That seemed to really get the crowd excited. They cheered some more. Playing to the crowd, he grabbed a vine and swung from one end of the cage to the other. The people loved it. Wow, this is great, he thought. He swung higher and the crowd grew bigger. He continued to swing on the vine, and all of the sudden the vine broke. He swung up and out of the cage, landing in the lion’s cage that was next door. The man panicked. There was a huge lion twenty feet away, and it looked very hungry. So, the man in the gorilla suit started to jump up and down, screaming and yelling, “Help! Help! Get me out of here! I’m not really a gorilla. I’m a man in a gorilla suit. Heeelllp!” The lion quickly pounced on the man, held him down and said, “Will you shut up! You’re going to get us both fired.”

Sooner or later we all get found out. It’s only a matter of time before who we are becomes obvious to everyone. Why is it that we find it difficult to be who we really are? Sometimes I wonder if we are ashamed. Shame is an experience of the eyes. If I were to trip and fall flat on my face in the privacy of my home I would not feel ashamed. If I fell flat on my face in front of you all, I would be embarrassed. Shame is a dreaded, deep-seated, long-held terror come true; what we have feared has actually happened. We’ve been found out. We are frauds in a gorilla suit. The dark secrets of our lives have been exposed: compulsive behaviors, hidden struggles the humiliation of being abused, of being taken advantage of in a way that takes the light out of our humanity. Who we are and what we do comes into the light and makes us vulnerable to others’ opinions.

We tend to blame wounds to our self-image for most of the pain in our lives. We were called lazy when we forgot to make our beds, ugly when we failed to get a date, stupid when we did not excel in school. Each comment attacked our worth. We felt exposed and undesirable, and then we began to hate whatever part of us caused the pain. If it’s our nose, then we will hate our face; if it’s our voice then we will whisper; if it is our past then we will hide it away and run the opposite direction.

Many of us have a fear that if our undesirable secret is revealed, we will never be enjoyed. No one will want us. There's a scene in David Foster Wallace's Infinite Jest where he's telling the story of how the people in his book move from making telephone calls to video calls. A strange self-awareness develops as the people go from listening to one another, to seeing one another, especially seeing their own face reflected in the video calls. They don't like the way they look. So they begin creating masks for themselves. David Foster Wallace writes:

“… most consumers were now using masks so undeniably better looking on videophones than their real faces were in person, transmitting to one another such horrendously skewed and enhanced masked images of themselves that enormous psychosocial stress began to result, large numbers...suddenly reluctant to leave home and interface personally with people who they feared would seeing them in person suffer...the same illusion shattering aesthetic disappointment that women who always wear makeup give people the first time they ever see them without makeup.

Why is it that we're drawn to share only the beautiful, successful parts of our lives online? Because we don't trust that anyone can handle the reality of our lives, with all its struggles and imperfections.

Does shame have to govern our lives? Today we heard a scripture in which Jesus asks an identity question. Who do you say I am? I listened to that question, and began to wonder, do we take time to really know one another, or do we hide, ashamed what will happen if someone gets to know the REAL you? Look around you today. Each person here has a story – heartaches, wounds, summits of great success and valleys of defeat. There are stories of victory, stories of rejection, and stories of trying to make it through each day, one day at a time. Everyone here has done something that he or she has regretted – each of us has times when we wish we could turn back the clock and get a do over.

Imagine yourself in the scene from today’s Gospel reading. You are on the road between Jerusalem and Galilee with Jesus and the disciples. Peter is leading the way, as usual. You are bunched together with the followers of Jesus. Jesus is a little way behind the group, walking by himself. You decide to drop back and walk with him for a while. You slow your pace, and soon you and Jesus are walking side by side. Take time to notice what Jesus looks like to you. What do you think his voice might sound like? What color are his eyes? What does he wear? What does he smell like? What would you want to say to him?

As you walk along, Jesus speaks. He calls you by name and asks what’s on your mind. You remember a prior conversation between Jesus and the disciples when Jesus asked them, “Who do you say I am?” You decide to ask the same question of Jesus. Even though it sounds strange, you ask it anyway. “Jesus, who do you say I am?”

Imagine what Jesus looks like when he smiles at you. He says, “That’s an excellent question. Listen very carefully to my answer. All that I am about to say is true. I want you to pay special attention to the words I use to describe you – the ones you really like as well as those you have trouble believing. Remember, every word I say is true of you. Now listen with your heart, as well as with your mind and ears.

You are chosen and dearly loved by God.
You are the salt of the earth.
You are the light of the world.
You are God’s own, prized and treasured by God.
You are my friend.
You are forgiven – past, present, and future.
You are and always will be held in God’s love.
You are a temple of God – God dwells within you.
You are a new creation – a new person.
You are God’s coworker.
You are God’s masterpiece, unique in the entire world.
You are flawless.
You are the chosen one of God.
You belong to God and God belongs to you.
You are a source of delight to God.

I did not make these affirmations up. They are not my inventions. They are the words of the Bible. In all my studies of the Bible, I have never seen Christ say, “You are fat and ugly and people hate you.” I have never heard Jesus say, “God thinks your lazy, and stupid and you have a big nose,” or, “You will never amount to anything.” You may have heard those things, but never from the mouth of Jesus. What do you think? Is it difficult to believe that the breathtaking things Jesus said are true about you?

You may have been taught that you have to meet certain standards in order to feel good about yourself. Jesus says something different. You are completely forgiven and fully pleasing to God, and you no longer have to fear failure.

You may have been taught that you must have the approval of others to feel good about yourself. Jesus says something different. You are totally accepted by God. You no longer have to fear rejection.

You may have been taught that those who fail are unworthy of love and deserve to be punished. Jesus says something different. You are deeply loved by God. You no longer have to fear punishment, and you do not need to punish others.

You may have been taught that you are what you are – you cannot change – you are hopeless. Jesus says something different. You have been made brand new and complete in Christ. You no longer need to experience the pain of shame.

Remember. Remember. You are a source of delight to God, and God counts it a blessing to have you around.

Sources:
Jeannie Oestreicher & Larry Warner, Imaginative Prayer for Youth Ministry (El Cajon: Youth Specialties, 2006).
Robert McGee, The Search for Significance (Houston: Rapha, 1990).
Rick Marshall: Life Connections (Claremont: P&F Publications, 2004).

http://www.reformation21.org/articles/the-cure-for-shame.php#sthash.IYD6vjOG.dpuf

Sermon for March 19, 2017

Orienteering 100: Mitzvah

Hillel said: The more flesh, the more worms; the more possessions, the more worry; the more servants, the more thievery. The more Torah, the more life; the more study, the more wisdom; the more charity, the more peace. Pirke Avot 2:8
Jesus traveled through all the towns and villages of that area, teaching in the synagogues and announcing the Good News about the Kingdom. And he healed every kind of disease and illness. When he saw the crowds, he had compassion on them because they were confused and helpless, like sheep without a shepherd. He said to his disciples, “The harvest is great, but the workers are few. So pray to the Lord who is in charge of the harvest; ask him to send more workers into his fields.” Matthew 9:35-38

 Let’s do a little compassion exercise together. Participate as fully as you feel you are able to. I invite you to become aware of yourself: Be aware of your own body and how you feel at this moment, aware of the people that sit near you, aware of this building, its particular smells and sounds, and if it helps you to become more aware I invite you to close your eyes.

I’m going to give to you a series of people and situations that I want you to feel in your body. I’ll invite you to say a phrase in the quietness of your own mind, after each of these situations:

Think about Aleppo, Syria. An article in the New Yorker told the story of Omar Dawood who was sleeping in a second-floor bedroom in eastern Aleppo with his wife and three children when a rocket hit their building. Dawood and his family remained trapped until friends climbed up the rubble and helped them out of a window. No one from the apartment above Dawood’s survived.  “It was a smog of dust. If we had stayed inside for five more minutes, we would have suffocated,” Dawood said. “I have been close to death so many times,” he said. “I have outlived my own life. I should have died six years ago, when the regime was shooting us with bullets, and we were bare-chested in front of them, just shouting for our freedom, six years more than we were meant to live—not just me but all other Syrians who live around here. Say to yourself, “Like me, people in Aleppo also know deep sadness and fear.”

Imagine another situation: Maria is a 15 year old who lives in Honduras where she works 12 hour days without any overtime pay. She is paid 50 cents an hour to make jeans, unprotected from exposure to dangerous chemicals. Say to yourself, “Just like me, Maria is trying to avoid suffering in her life.”

Think about a politician with whom you have very different views. Say, “Just like me, he or she is human and learning about life.”

Think about a friend, a family member, or a colleague with whom you find yourself in conflict. It could be a recent conflict or a past argument. With that person in mind say, “Just like me, he or she is seeking joy and meaning in life.”

Think about the person next to you, either left or right, front or back, and with your focus on that person say, “Just like me, he or she is seeking happiness in life.”

I wonder for whom is it easier to feel compassion -- those farther away from us or those closest to us? Even within our own church family, so many people are suffering. It seems that there’s not enough room in the world to hold all the pain we experience. Each of us holds the pain of the world in our bodies, just as Jesus held the suffering of the world in his body.

As we think about compassion, there’s is a word from the Jewish Tradition that I’d like to explore today. The word is mitzvah. Mitzvah is a Hebrew word, usually defined as a commandment, a good deed or religious act. A mitzvah is an act of goodness or religious observance. However, mitzvah is much more than that. Mitzvah means human capacity. Mitzvah is how you feel when your sick kid wakes up in the middle of the night and you have to get up the next morning to go to work. You take care of your child, no matter how tired you are. We all need mitzvah in our lives, or life becomes shallow. We want to be there for the people we love. We hold the needs of the world in our bodies. Instead of offering pity or charity, we offer a mitzvah. We say, “I am present, I am fully here, how can I use my life and gifts to help you be whole?”

I remember when I began to learn about the difference between compassion as charity and compassion as empowerment. It was right before my 28th birthday. I worked in a small rural church. I’d been there for about a year when I met Jennifer, a 17-year old mom with a baby girl. When Jen was 17, she was romanced by a 30-year-old man who got her pregnant. They lived together, trying to raise their new daughter. Rumors around town said the boyfriend was abusive. Chris, my wife, invited Jen to a mother’s group to get her out of the house and meet some people in the community. That afternoon, when I came home from work, Jen was sitting at our kitchen table with Chris. Jen decided to leave her boyfriend who was verbally and emotionally brutal. She was like a prisoner in her own house and she wanted out. Since she was still 17 and a minor, her decision posed some unique challenges. Jen quickly learned how to navigate “the system”: social services, WIC, welfare, and family court. We gave her grocery money to help her get by. Chris watched her baby for free. The church deacons bought Christmas gifts for Jen and her baby. Family Court eventually awarded her full custody. When she wasn’t living with a family member, she and her baby stayed at a meager motel room, funded by Social Services.

After a few months, Jen moved back in with her boyfriend. She would have rather lived with the abuse than have tolerated the alternative. She also got used to our charity, still expecting us to give gifts, watch the baby, and fund what we considered a reckless path. When we heard she moved back in with her boyfriend, I felt so naive. It felt like all of our compassion was for nothing. My compassion moved me to give charity, but was it a mitzvah? Was Jen ever empowered to be a better person, a better mother, a healthier member of our community? Did we do the right thing?

Pity or empowerment? I also learned the difference from Bart. One Sunday morning, right before the beginning of worship, a mom pulled me aside and told me that her stepson Bart had tried to kill himself again by jumping off a three story building. Two weeks later I visited Bart at a hospital in Buffalo, right after the last of his extensive reconstructive surgeries. Bart was a handsome, 22-year old whose eyes told the whole story. He was broken. His body was crushed. His emotions were tormented by depression and loneliness. His spiritual life was non-existent. As it turned out, Bart had not tried to kill himself. He was running away from a drug deal gone bad, and tried to leap off the roof to get away. In these situations, there is really nothing to say. I can’t lecture the guy on his bad decisions. He has family for that. No need to heap guilt or to be manipulative. I wanted him to know that God wants him to know a sense of belonging, total love, and full acceptance. What do we do when we’re moved with compassion but we don’t know how to show it? What do we do when we get one chance to say the right thing, and we end up just sitting silently listening, trying to be a friend, trying to how some understanding? Could Bart be empowered to change his life? To be a better person? A healthier member of our community?

Jesus knew about mitzvah. He could hold the needs of the world in his body, and say, “Here I am. I am present, I am fully here. How can I use my life and gifts to help you be whole?” He had a way of seeing potential in people: Street women, tax collectors, lepers, and those marginalized by society. Jesus saw value in each of them. There is an important phrase in today’s Gospel reading. Jesus, “had compassion on them.” We hear it again and again. Jesus offered life with new possibilities. Can I do that? Can I show compassion without condition or restraint? Even if it means being taken advantage of? Even if it means giving some of that which I value?

I’ve learned something important through those two situations. I had not gone on my own inner journey. I had not worked out why I wanted to help. I had not been honest about my own needs and motives before I offered to fix someone else’s mess. So the compassion I offered was more like pity. Whether it helps the other or not, offering pity makes me feel better, but it only addresses symptoms, not causes. Compassion is much more profound if we can offer a mitzvah out of a deep inner mindfulness. “Here I am. I am present, I am fully here. How can I use my life and gifts to help you be whole?”

Consider what your faces of compassion are. Compassion can be soft and nurturing, and at the same time it can be tough love. Compassion can be receptive and listening, or it can be active and practical, or anywhere on that spectrum. Compassion can be deeply patient, or recklessly impatient. Compassion can be sitting with someone, or to taking someone’s hand and leading. Compassion can be neat and clear. Compassion can be messy and clumsy. Above all else, compassion is about presence. How do you show it?

Truth be told, this is really my stewardship sermon. As we take time to consider our financial giving to CCC, I hope our giving can be a mitzvah. I hope we can give out of compassion. Sometimes the biggest stumbling block for people is that the church, in its hour of prosperity, does so little to alleviate the suffering of the world. We are trying to change that here. I hope you know that as you give your time, talents, and treasure to this church, as you learn about your gifts and how to practice spiritual activism, you empower us to do great things. Yes, we pay staff, operate and upkeep our buildings, pay utilities, mow the grass and pay for air conditioning. We also educate our children in values like love, social justice, faith, and service. We feed the hungry and clothe the naked. We serve our community and extend our hospitality. We try to make the world a healthier place, a more loving place, a more equitable place. Your gifts, given with compassion, empower CCC to give back to you – to help you to be a healthier parent, a better partner, a compassionate member of the community, a good friend, a healing child of God. Our giving is a mitzvah. It helps us realize that in Christ there are no insiders and outsiders. We are one nature, one flesh one grief, one hope. We are here, with each other, using our lives and our gifts to empower one another.

I know, we worry about money. We think of all the things we can’t do. Ancient Rabbis taught that many of the things we spend much of our lives attempting to acquire come with a price tag. We hear it in our reading from Pirke Avot: the more possessions, the more worry. We often assume that money, status and pleasure will provide us with happiness. These blessings will not last beyond the grave — and may very well take us there much sooner.

The more compassion, the more peace. Peace comes when we are fully engaged in our community and world.  Peace comes when we share what we have with others who are in need.  Peace comes when we know who we are – one of God’s children who knows sadness and fear; one of God’s children who wants to avoid suffering and find happiness; one of God’s children who is learning about life and trying to find joy and meaning. We do not have to worry about compassion. It exists in abundance. Wake up to it. Reach out and share it. Live it. Become it. Hold it in your body. When we can, we will be part of the transformation of the world through service, justice and compassion.