Below is the text of a sermon I gave last evening, on Christmas Eve:
In the local tradition of many places in Mexico, every December area communities gather for a series of special events culminating in the celebration of Christmas. Know as Las Posadas (or, “the inns”), these gatherings are a kind of commemoration and re-creation of the sacred events we celebrate tonight on Christmas Eve. At the Posadas—each of which can take up to several hours—large numbers of people from the community gather at a central location and begin to walk together in a kind of collective procession. Going from door to door within one neighborhood or among several, the faithful sing carols and re-trace the steps of Mary and Joseph in their search for hospitality in the moments leading up to the birth of Christ.
As in the original story, it’s customary in Las Posadas for the pilgrims to encounter repeated rejection in their initial attempts to find shelter. The owners of these first several homes simply cannot or will not accommodate the people’s need. The journey then continues to the next house, and then the next, where a similar story unfolds, until finally, after many tries, the group at last arrives to a more inviting and welcoming place. The proprietors at this “inn” do in fact have room and they welcome the hungry, tired pilgrims in for rest, company, and merriment. At this family’s home there is always abundant pozole (a thick, hearty corn-based stew), tamales, and champurrado (a delicious hot chocolate drink). Festive songs and company are shared and both pilgrims and hosts find joy and warmth amid the festive, communal celebration.
Simple but moving, commonplace yet extraordinary… the genius of Las Posadas comes not so much from any complex theological language or concepts associated with it but from the childlike simplicity of a meal shared together with friends in hospitality and companionship. It’s there in the breaking of the bread – or, in this case, in the unwrapping of a tamal from its cornhusk or the sharing of a warm cup of chocolate – it’s there in the outpouring of care, comfort, and community that the pilgrims of Las Posadas discover Jesus present again in their midst. Here, amid the affection and care of sisters and brothers, each companion on the journey encounters the living Christ present among them.
Las Posadas are a lively and heartfelt example of this Christmas miracle of Christ’s presence, but there are many others like it. Whether meals shared with loved ones or carols sung among friends; whether compassion and outreach shared with those in need or moments of quiet reflection and prayer shared in silence with others; whatever our own traditions, whatever the observances that speak most profoundly to each of us, at their core their essence is the same. No matter how we do it, at Christmas, when we’ve really touched the heart of what the season is all about, in truth we’ve arrived at the very same destination as the pilgrims of Las Posadas – a place of community and prayer, of solidarity and hope, of hospitality and transformation. Like the pilgrims, we too find love and mercy rekindled as we witness the birth of the Christ child among us once more.
This sacred place, this moment and space into which Christ is born is one and the same with the experience of Las Posadas and the many others like it in this season, and even too with the very passage from Scripture that we read together tonight. Christ’s birth took place amid the humblest of circumstances, and yet scripture scholars tell us that for the early Christians that was in fact the point.
In more recent centuries we’ve grown accustomed to associating our modern understanding of commercial inns or hotels with the content of Luke’s nativity story. But in truth the original story wasn’t about a proprietor with no vacancy but an extended family-group or community which, having already extended hospitality to many other travelers, nonetheless did not hesitate to welcome in and make room for still more weary folk. The contrast, then, isn’t so much with the innkeepers as it is with the larger surrounding context that we hear about at the beginning—when Luke talks about the latest arbitrary decree-from-on-high issued by the Roman imperial authorities.
It’s the empire and its entrenched system of domination that contrasts so clearly with the story of the gospel. Whereas the regime and its henchman conceive of themselves as gods at the center of the known universe, an ordinary child’s birth seems at best insignificant by comparison. Whereas an all-powerful empire can order its subjects around arbitrarily and at will, a poor immigrant family has nothing save for the care and compassion of its kinsfolk and companions.
And yet it’s here precisely, not within the imperial palaces of Rome but amid the humble sharing and solidarity of a family in need, that the true miracle occurs. Here it is, where family gathers, where warmth is shared, where affection is felt all around, that the Christ child is born—not just in the manger, but in the hearts of all those transformed by the outpouring of love they witnessed that night.
Though ours is a different time and place, we too have arrived once more tonight at the threshold of this same blest moment. We too are among the pilgrims who have been traveling long and from afar. We too have encountered rejection at various “inns” in our lives and likely a good deal of adversity along our roads. We too have dealt with the effects of the numerous systems of domination that reign in our own time. We too have grown weary at times from the rigors and perils of the journey…
And yet here we are once more, at the doorstep of a place and of a moment that at last offers us posada – rest, renewal, rebirth. Like the pilgrims of Las Posadas who at last find delicious food, welcome shelter, and gracious warmth, we too have come to a moment of rest and renewal for our journeys. Coming together as community—as brothers, sisters, and friends—we stand at a point of sacred encounter in which we join together, the many as one, united and transformed by a love that knows no bounds and therefore overflows and is born around us, within us, among us. Here we are once more at the moment when heaven touches earth, when angels sing, when hearts are opened and when Christ, the light of the world, is born.
“Come on in,” he tells us. “The tamales are warm.”
Sunday, December 25, 2011
Thursday, December 15, 2011
Embracing Change
One final comment observation from the MacCulloch book:
"[O]rdinary Christians experienced their God through the Church's liturgy and in a devotional intensity which seized them in holy places. Once they had experienced the divine in such particular settings, having absorbed one set of explanations about what the divine was, anything from outside which disrupted those explanations threatened their access to divine power. That would provide ample reason for the stirring of rage and fear" (222).
This comment about some of the frequent dynamics of Christian (and other religious) belief offers a helpful reminder that none of us--however genuine, sincere, and heartfelt our religious experiences may be--has a corner on absolute truth. Rather than feeling threatened by or resentful toward different explanations or approaches to the sacred, perhaps what we're called to do is to stay open. Both as individuals and institutions, it seems to me that religious folk would do well to keep some perspective on our beliefs and a degree of openness to change and growth. We might not always agree with others' perspectives but remaining open keeps us alive and allows the Spirit to continue to move and work in our lives and hearts.
"[O]rdinary Christians experienced their God through the Church's liturgy and in a devotional intensity which seized them in holy places. Once they had experienced the divine in such particular settings, having absorbed one set of explanations about what the divine was, anything from outside which disrupted those explanations threatened their access to divine power. That would provide ample reason for the stirring of rage and fear" (222).
This comment about some of the frequent dynamics of Christian (and other religious) belief offers a helpful reminder that none of us--however genuine, sincere, and heartfelt our religious experiences may be--has a corner on absolute truth. Rather than feeling threatened by or resentful toward different explanations or approaches to the sacred, perhaps what we're called to do is to stay open. Both as individuals and institutions, it seems to me that religious folk would do well to keep some perspective on our beliefs and a degree of openness to change and growth. We might not always agree with others' perspectives but remaining open keeps us alive and allows the Spirit to continue to move and work in our lives and hearts.
Monday, November 28, 2011
The Historical Jesus
One compelling point that MacCulloch brings up is recent research into what scholars refer to as "the historical Jesus" - in other words, what Jesus was really like and what he actually said. For the most part it's impossible to know with absolute certainty which of the sayings attributed to Jesus in the Gospels were actually spoken by him (though some have greater or lesser degrees of probability) but what we can say with confidence is things like this:
"There is much punishing fire flickering round the preacher's [Jesus'] words. There is nothing gentle, meek or mild about the driving force behind these stabbing inversions of normal expectations [the Beatitudes]. They form a code of life which is a chorus of love directed to the loveless or unlovable, of painful honesty expressing itself with embarrassing directness, of joyful rejection of any counsel suggesting careful self-regard or prudence. That, apparently, is what the Kingdom of God is like" (88).
This rings true. Above all else, Jesus' message must have been deeply arresting in its directness and urgency. God's reign - the vision of a world in which things on earth would be as they are in heaven - was startling in the radicalness of its inclusivity and the challenge it directed to the assumptions and priorities of the age. This was a message that would prove a stumbling block and an obstacle for many - especially the religious and political authorities of the time - but would also open up the possibility of a kind of love that can transform lives irrevocably.
Jesus' message, this robust "chorus of love," remains compelling and fresh in its immediacy and vehemence. The challenge, in his time as in our own, is to allow ourselves to move past the comforting dominance of institutions and practices that can obscure that central message. Then as now our task is to step with trust and confidence into the unknown, ostensibly foolhardy territory of a life lived with the kind of love Jesus knew and embodied so extraordinarily.
"There is much punishing fire flickering round the preacher's [Jesus'] words. There is nothing gentle, meek or mild about the driving force behind these stabbing inversions of normal expectations [the Beatitudes]. They form a code of life which is a chorus of love directed to the loveless or unlovable, of painful honesty expressing itself with embarrassing directness, of joyful rejection of any counsel suggesting careful self-regard or prudence. That, apparently, is what the Kingdom of God is like" (88).
This rings true. Above all else, Jesus' message must have been deeply arresting in its directness and urgency. God's reign - the vision of a world in which things on earth would be as they are in heaven - was startling in the radicalness of its inclusivity and the challenge it directed to the assumptions and priorities of the age. This was a message that would prove a stumbling block and an obstacle for many - especially the religious and political authorities of the time - but would also open up the possibility of a kind of love that can transform lives irrevocably.
Jesus' message, this robust "chorus of love," remains compelling and fresh in its immediacy and vehemence. The challenge, in his time as in our own, is to allow ourselves to move past the comforting dominance of institutions and practices that can obscure that central message. Then as now our task is to step with trust and confidence into the unknown, ostensibly foolhardy territory of a life lived with the kind of love Jesus knew and embodied so extraordinarily.
Thursday, November 17, 2011
Christianity and History
For my next few posts I'll be sharing some insights from an excellent (albeit very long!) new history of Christianity (A History of Christianity: The First Three Thousand Years. New York: Penguin, 2010) by the British historian Diarmaid MacCulloch. Continuing with the theme of the last post (on Matthew Fox's book), MacCulloch too has some important insights to share about the dynamic nature of religion. Here's a good example:
"All the world faiths which have known long-term success have shown a remarkable capacity to mutate, and Christianity is no exception, which is why one underlying message of this history is its sheer variety. Many Christians do not like being reminded of Christianity's capacity to develop, particularly those who are in charge of the various religious institutions which call themselves Churches, but that is the reality and has been from the beginning" (9).
Here again we have a valuable reminder not to treat any one church or other religious tradition so seriously that we lose sight of what we all share in common. There's a value to tradition and structure but only insofar as it fosters a vibrant and liberating faith, not solely as an end in itself. When traditions and institutions grow so rigid that they start to value their own survival more than the message they exist to serve, then we know it's time for that tradition to change and/or for us to discover authentic spirituality in different, perhaps new places.
Among others, a contemporary example that comes to mind in this regard are some recent comments made by Archbishop Timothy Dolan, the Roman Catholic archbishop of New York and head of the United States Conference of Catholic Bishops. Rather than considering the possibility that the Spirit may be calling the church to broaden its understanding of marriage, Dolan and other prelates appear set on precipitating what the archbishop calls a "national conflict between church and state of enormous proportions." Dolan and his fellow bishops can seek out their conflict but the real work of God remains to be done among those with eyes to see and ears to hear, beyond the limits of institutional barriers and blinders, the unfolding of the kingdom in our midst.
"All the world faiths which have known long-term success have shown a remarkable capacity to mutate, and Christianity is no exception, which is why one underlying message of this history is its sheer variety. Many Christians do not like being reminded of Christianity's capacity to develop, particularly those who are in charge of the various religious institutions which call themselves Churches, but that is the reality and has been from the beginning" (9).
Here again we have a valuable reminder not to treat any one church or other religious tradition so seriously that we lose sight of what we all share in common. There's a value to tradition and structure but only insofar as it fosters a vibrant and liberating faith, not solely as an end in itself. When traditions and institutions grow so rigid that they start to value their own survival more than the message they exist to serve, then we know it's time for that tradition to change and/or for us to discover authentic spirituality in different, perhaps new places.
Among others, a contemporary example that comes to mind in this regard are some recent comments made by Archbishop Timothy Dolan, the Roman Catholic archbishop of New York and head of the United States Conference of Catholic Bishops. Rather than considering the possibility that the Spirit may be calling the church to broaden its understanding of marriage, Dolan and other prelates appear set on precipitating what the archbishop calls a "national conflict between church and state of enormous proportions." Dolan and his fellow bishops can seek out their conflict but the real work of God remains to be done among those with eyes to see and ears to hear, beyond the limits of institutional barriers and blinders, the unfolding of the kingdom in our midst.
Sunday, November 13, 2011
Beyond the Museum Church
One more brief comment on Matthew Fox's book... I found that I resonated most strongly with Fox's call for a kind of Christianity that transcends the fixed boundaries which hierarchical officials tend to construct and enforce. While some degree of structure is necessary and it's up to all of us to discern where and how the Spirit is leading us to worship, I do think prophetic calls like those Fox and others articulate are compelling. For example, here's what Fox has to say relative to the Roman hierarchy:
"Pope Benedict and his 112 cardinals, whom he helped to appoint and who elected him pope, and all the bishops of the Roman Catholic Church, whom he also appointed (contrary to centuries of tradition dictating that bishops are chosen more or less locally) should be left to deal with their crisis of priestly pedophilia and the financial demands ensuing from their mismanagement of the Church...Let the museum church be unto itself and let spirituality replace religion. Let Catholics no longer hide in the pews, hoping not to be seen. Let them find a conscience and stand up and act" (21).
These are not easy words to hear but I do believe they are prophetic ones. Again, this kind of challenging call may inspire some ultimately to find their spiritual home outside the bounds of the Roman church, even while others may feel called to "stand up and act" in their own ways from within. Whatever our responses look like, though, to me the most essential point to realize is that the kind of mentality that would have us believe (whether explicitly or implicitly) that "outside the church there is no salvation" is, quite simply, false. Salvation or ultimate, authentic, integral happiness and fulfillment come not from "towing the line" and courting the approval of external authority, however apparently benevolent. Rather, true peace comes from uncovering the kind of spirituality within us that inspires what we all know to be the most noble, meaningful sentiments and inspirations in life - love, altruism, courage, kindness, forgiveness, compassion, fortitude, mercy, and others like them. All of these qualities can be encountered and cultivated in any number of religious and spiritual traditions, but the key is not to confuse the vehicle for the message. Instead, spiritual freedom and growth come as we discover that we're in fact not bound to any one tradition - in other words, when we awaken to the fundamental freedom, openness and compassion at the deepest part of our being, where our hearts touch God.
"Pope Benedict and his 112 cardinals, whom he helped to appoint and who elected him pope, and all the bishops of the Roman Catholic Church, whom he also appointed (contrary to centuries of tradition dictating that bishops are chosen more or less locally) should be left to deal with their crisis of priestly pedophilia and the financial demands ensuing from their mismanagement of the Church...Let the museum church be unto itself and let spirituality replace religion. Let Catholics no longer hide in the pews, hoping not to be seen. Let them find a conscience and stand up and act" (21).
These are not easy words to hear but I do believe they are prophetic ones. Again, this kind of challenging call may inspire some ultimately to find their spiritual home outside the bounds of the Roman church, even while others may feel called to "stand up and act" in their own ways from within. Whatever our responses look like, though, to me the most essential point to realize is that the kind of mentality that would have us believe (whether explicitly or implicitly) that "outside the church there is no salvation" is, quite simply, false. Salvation or ultimate, authentic, integral happiness and fulfillment come not from "towing the line" and courting the approval of external authority, however apparently benevolent. Rather, true peace comes from uncovering the kind of spirituality within us that inspires what we all know to be the most noble, meaningful sentiments and inspirations in life - love, altruism, courage, kindness, forgiveness, compassion, fortitude, mercy, and others like them. All of these qualities can be encountered and cultivated in any number of religious and spiritual traditions, but the key is not to confuse the vehicle for the message. Instead, spiritual freedom and growth come as we discover that we're in fact not bound to any one tradition - in other words, when we awaken to the fundamental freedom, openness and compassion at the deepest part of our being, where our hearts touch God.
Wednesday, November 2, 2011
A New Reformation
I've been busy working and teaching but wanted to share a few thoughts about some more books that I've read recently. The first is by the former Dominican priest and current Episcopalian theologian Matthew Fox (A New Reformation: Creation Spirituality and the Transformation of Christianity. Rochester, VT: Inner Traditions, 2006).
Fox has a number of interesting insights, including his central idea that the church (in the broad sense of Christianity as a whole) is in need of a new reformation akin to the spiritual movements for renewal in 16th-century Europe. In contrast to some elements of traditional Christianity, including emphasis on punishment, patriarchal control, and the marginalization of women, the earth, other species, science, and LGBT folk, Fox suggests a new model which "recognizes the Original Blessing from which all being derives" (19). This model "recognizes awe, rather than sin and guilt, as the starting point of true religion...It prefers trust over fear and an understanding of a divinity who is [the] source of all things, as much mother as father, as much female as male...and tries to consider the whole earth as a holy temple..." (19-20).
Perhaps there are elements of Fox's ideas that we might agree or disagree with, or perhaps we might each place our own emphases slightly differently. In any case, however, I do think that Fox is onto something in the sense that it is long past due for Christianity to move beyond the elements of its tradition that are hindering it from effectively witnessing to and genuinely fostering care for the integral well being of humanity and of all creation.
Fox has a number of interesting insights, including his central idea that the church (in the broad sense of Christianity as a whole) is in need of a new reformation akin to the spiritual movements for renewal in 16th-century Europe. In contrast to some elements of traditional Christianity, including emphasis on punishment, patriarchal control, and the marginalization of women, the earth, other species, science, and LGBT folk, Fox suggests a new model which "recognizes the Original Blessing from which all being derives" (19). This model "recognizes awe, rather than sin and guilt, as the starting point of true religion...It prefers trust over fear and an understanding of a divinity who is [the] source of all things, as much mother as father, as much female as male...and tries to consider the whole earth as a holy temple..." (19-20).
Perhaps there are elements of Fox's ideas that we might agree or disagree with, or perhaps we might each place our own emphases slightly differently. In any case, however, I do think that Fox is onto something in the sense that it is long past due for Christianity to move beyond the elements of its tradition that are hindering it from effectively witnessing to and genuinely fostering care for the integral well being of humanity and of all creation.
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
Higher Ground
Wanted to recommend an excellent new film, "Higher Ground," by actress and first-time director Vera Farmiga. There's an insightful review that I found which gives the general idea, but on a personal level I found the film to be a refreshingly honest and respectful take on the subject of religion. It's a bit irreverent at times but the overall message is one that helps bring home the message that, paradoxically, doubt is an essential part of authentic faith.
Tuesday, September 20, 2011
An Emerging New Model?
As a follow-up to the previous post, here is another news story, which shows how movements for reform are underway within the Roman church itself. As someone who worships now in the Lutheran tradition, I do find it a touch ironic that these reformers are essentially repeating the prophetic stance Martin Luther took almost 500 years ago in the early 16th century. Nevertheless, however long it takes, whatever the tradition one feels most comfortable participating in, the most essential point is the same: to understand that the church doesn't rise and fall on the dictates (whether benign or injurious) of any one figure or leader but that at its core it remains the work of God's Spirit - surprising, challenging, liberating, and integrally transformative for all.
Sunday, September 18, 2011
Time for a New Model
I ran across this compelling news story today and thought I would comment on it briefly. As the article notes, in the wake of the very serious clerical sexual abuse scandal currently rocking Ireland, the country's prime minister recently spoke in a critical way of the Roman Catholic Church's institutional culture. I think quite insightfully, the prime minister pointed to the institution's general tendency to protect its own image over the good of those under its care and its internal culture of bureaucratic obfuscation and arrogance. These are truths that may be difficult to hear but which are borne out by the facts, both contemporary and historical.
Reporting sad news like this should never be the end of the story, however. For that reason, to end on a more positive note, I would propose that, as has happened in many other parts of the world over the past several centuries, Ireland now too is in the midst of a process that will allow it eventually to develop a healthier separation of church and state. This will be much better in the long run both for the nation and for the institutional church, whatever the current Vatican protestations.
I think a more difficult but equally necessary long-term task also remains for the Roman Catholic Church itself. Fundamentally, the institution remains an absolute monarchy on the model of long-discredited historical political regimes. It is very long past due for the Roman church to relinquish some degree of its desire to control so deeply and to acknowledge that the diversity of Christianity and of world religions that we find around us is not a problem but in fact a blessing and a gift. What this means practically for the Roman church and for Christianity in general and how both are currently structured is still something to be worked out with time. However, what is profoundly clear is that the current way in which the Roman church functions quite simply does not function, at least not in a way that promotes the overarching goal that, unless I'm mistaken, both it and all other religious traditions of good will seek - namely, the freedom and flourishing of humanity and all creation.
Peace,
Pastor/Padre Chuck
Reporting sad news like this should never be the end of the story, however. For that reason, to end on a more positive note, I would propose that, as has happened in many other parts of the world over the past several centuries, Ireland now too is in the midst of a process that will allow it eventually to develop a healthier separation of church and state. This will be much better in the long run both for the nation and for the institutional church, whatever the current Vatican protestations.
I think a more difficult but equally necessary long-term task also remains for the Roman Catholic Church itself. Fundamentally, the institution remains an absolute monarchy on the model of long-discredited historical political regimes. It is very long past due for the Roman church to relinquish some degree of its desire to control so deeply and to acknowledge that the diversity of Christianity and of world religions that we find around us is not a problem but in fact a blessing and a gift. What this means practically for the Roman church and for Christianity in general and how both are currently structured is still something to be worked out with time. However, what is profoundly clear is that the current way in which the Roman church functions quite simply does not function, at least not in a way that promotes the overarching goal that, unless I'm mistaken, both it and all other religious traditions of good will seek - namely, the freedom and flourishing of humanity and all creation.
Peace,
Pastor/Padre Chuck
Sunday, August 21, 2011
Sermon on Forgiveness
My sermon from today's liturgy...
Seventeen years ago, in the spring of 1994, a brutal civil war broke out in the East African nation of Rwanda. Pitting the ethnic tribes of the Tutsis and Hutus against one another, the brutal, devastating conflict led to over one million deaths in the space of just three months. In the wake of the disaster there was much recrimination and countless calls for revenge and getting even from both sides. However, in the midst of it all, powerful, transformative stories of forgiveness also started to emerge and served as an opening for healing and hope.
One such story is that of a Tutsi woman named Imaculée Ilibagiza. Just a young woman at the time of the outbreak of the violence, Imaculée was awakened by her brother one morning and told she had to flea immediately in fear of her life. The mass killings were already beginning and her only hope lay with a Hutu pastor who offered to hide her and a few companions in the shower stall of his bathroom. Trusting that he would not betray them, Imaculée and the other women huddled together in the bathroom for several hours as a band of Hutus passed by and searched the house.
Surviving that initial brush with death, Imaculée endured another 91 days of waiting and praying – reciting the words of the Lords’ Prayer over and over but always stumbling over the words “forgive us our trespasses…” These were words she could not yet bring herself to speak, and yet while she was still in the bathroom Imaculée had an epiphany. As she put it, “You being mad at them, you getting angry, wanting to do what they’re doing—doesn’t change a thing…Something was so clear in that moment, that told me…everyone has a chance…there is a chance that this person can see the truth. That allowed me to let go of that anger.”
Through the gift she received of being able to let go of her anger and desire for revenge, Imaculée reached out in friendship and reconciliation to members of the Hutu tribe, including one woman interviewed for the program I saw who spoke of what it meant to her to hear Imaculée’s words… “At the beginning I didn’t believe her, that she was really sincere…but after a few days I saw her love for God…and her faith in forgiveness touched my heart…and I believed she really wanted to be a friend.”
Hutus and Tutsis, death and genocide, revenge and animosity. These were some of the realities facing the people of Rwanda in the aftermath of unspeakable brutality and yet stories like those of Imaculée and her friend were there too – as a light shining in the darkness of a terrible tragedy – as a balm for the deep spiritual wounds that both peoples suffered. In a word, stories like Imaculée’s were and are seeds of the gospel…points of light and hope rooted in compassion, reconciliation, and forgiveness.
Jesus himself speaks today to the transformative power of forgiveness. In our gospel he tells Peter and the other disciples that what they bind, what they refuse to let go of, will remain so…and that what they loose, what they release and let go of, will be set free. This power, this remarkable force, as Jesus tells us, is nothing less than the key to the kingdom. The key to open up the kingdom of God and to allow God’s reign of justice and abundant peace to break forth is fundamentally tied to nothing less than our ability as human beings to forgive—to let go of our resentments, bitterness, and anger and to let God heal us and those who have harmed or wronged us.
This is certainly not an easy process and sometimes seeking justice and speaking the truth of what happened is a necessary part of it. But above all I think the heart of the matter comes in learning, as Imaculée did in her own story, that vengeance accomplishes nothing and that there is always a chance that others will see the truth and that healing, forgiveness, and even friendship can come as a result.
In the end, the remarkable thing is that keys of the kingdom don’t belong especially to any church leader or spiritual figure or religious authority. In truth, they belong to all of us and they work not by any superhuman strength or effort on our part. No, the way to turn the key and to unlock the kingdom of God’s goodness, mercy and peace is right inside all of us. All we have to do is let go and let God – let go of our desire to mete out justice on our own terms and let God move through us, bringing healing, hope and transformation to ourselves and to our world.
Seventeen years ago, in the spring of 1994, a brutal civil war broke out in the East African nation of Rwanda. Pitting the ethnic tribes of the Tutsis and Hutus against one another, the brutal, devastating conflict led to over one million deaths in the space of just three months. In the wake of the disaster there was much recrimination and countless calls for revenge and getting even from both sides. However, in the midst of it all, powerful, transformative stories of forgiveness also started to emerge and served as an opening for healing and hope.
One such story is that of a Tutsi woman named Imaculée Ilibagiza. Just a young woman at the time of the outbreak of the violence, Imaculée was awakened by her brother one morning and told she had to flea immediately in fear of her life. The mass killings were already beginning and her only hope lay with a Hutu pastor who offered to hide her and a few companions in the shower stall of his bathroom. Trusting that he would not betray them, Imaculée and the other women huddled together in the bathroom for several hours as a band of Hutus passed by and searched the house.
Surviving that initial brush with death, Imaculée endured another 91 days of waiting and praying – reciting the words of the Lords’ Prayer over and over but always stumbling over the words “forgive us our trespasses…” These were words she could not yet bring herself to speak, and yet while she was still in the bathroom Imaculée had an epiphany. As she put it, “You being mad at them, you getting angry, wanting to do what they’re doing—doesn’t change a thing…Something was so clear in that moment, that told me…everyone has a chance…there is a chance that this person can see the truth. That allowed me to let go of that anger.”
Through the gift she received of being able to let go of her anger and desire for revenge, Imaculée reached out in friendship and reconciliation to members of the Hutu tribe, including one woman interviewed for the program I saw who spoke of what it meant to her to hear Imaculée’s words… “At the beginning I didn’t believe her, that she was really sincere…but after a few days I saw her love for God…and her faith in forgiveness touched my heart…and I believed she really wanted to be a friend.”
Hutus and Tutsis, death and genocide, revenge and animosity. These were some of the realities facing the people of Rwanda in the aftermath of unspeakable brutality and yet stories like those of Imaculée and her friend were there too – as a light shining in the darkness of a terrible tragedy – as a balm for the deep spiritual wounds that both peoples suffered. In a word, stories like Imaculée’s were and are seeds of the gospel…points of light and hope rooted in compassion, reconciliation, and forgiveness.
Jesus himself speaks today to the transformative power of forgiveness. In our gospel he tells Peter and the other disciples that what they bind, what they refuse to let go of, will remain so…and that what they loose, what they release and let go of, will be set free. This power, this remarkable force, as Jesus tells us, is nothing less than the key to the kingdom. The key to open up the kingdom of God and to allow God’s reign of justice and abundant peace to break forth is fundamentally tied to nothing less than our ability as human beings to forgive—to let go of our resentments, bitterness, and anger and to let God heal us and those who have harmed or wronged us.
This is certainly not an easy process and sometimes seeking justice and speaking the truth of what happened is a necessary part of it. But above all I think the heart of the matter comes in learning, as Imaculée did in her own story, that vengeance accomplishes nothing and that there is always a chance that others will see the truth and that healing, forgiveness, and even friendship can come as a result.
In the end, the remarkable thing is that keys of the kingdom don’t belong especially to any church leader or spiritual figure or religious authority. In truth, they belong to all of us and they work not by any superhuman strength or effort on our part. No, the way to turn the key and to unlock the kingdom of God’s goodness, mercy and peace is right inside all of us. All we have to do is let go and let God – let go of our desire to mete out justice on our own terms and let God move through us, bringing healing, hope and transformation to ourselves and to our world.
Sunday, August 14, 2011
Sermon on Guadalupe
Below is the text of a sermon I had the opportunity to give this weekend at our Lutheran parish. I was especially grateful to be able to make some connections in it to a place that means a great deal to me and my personal journey...
Sermon – 8/14/11
Recently, during the time I spent doing my doctoral research, I had the chance to live in one of the world’s largest and most dynamic population centers – Mexico City. Every day I would make my way to the archives amid the din of subway cars and countless taxi cabs, trying to adjust to the smog and air pollution and not be overwhelmed by the sheer enormity of it all.
Amidst the chaos, though, there was one place where I would go from time to time to escape and find tranquility and peace. I, along with many others, would periodically make my way to the shrine of the Virgin of Guadalupe – formerly a small hill located on the far outskirts of the city and now completely engulfed by the metropolis. Although it’s surrounded by the hustle and bustle of the activity around it, there’s something special about visiting la Guadalupana, as the place and its namesake are known. For me, whatever the stresses of the day or of the journey that took me there, a sense of peace and renewal was always to be found in visiting the church and witnessing the beauty of the grounds – which include a long, ascending walkway surrounded by flowers, a gentle waterfall, wayside chapels with beautiful artwork, and even an image of a rainbow – a moving reminder of God’s radically inclusive love.
And, in a way, visiting the church of Guadalupe, walking its grounds, and taking in its vistas and scenery was indeed a reminder of the nature and the presence of God – gracious and merciful, compassionate and steadfast, abiding and renewing. To visit a shrine ostensibly dedicated to a very special saint was in fact much more about the beauty and the wonder of the One to whom she pointed – the God of whom her spirit had become a reflection.
Of course, in speaking of the Virgin of Guadalupe and referring to a remarkable saint I’m making reference to the mother of Jesus – Mary, or Miriam as she might have been called in her own tongue. In the tradition of the Reformation, Mary and other saints have sometimes been regarded with a good deal of skepticism – and often rightly so, insofar as devotion to them can sometimes deflect attention from the centrality of Jesus Christ at the heart of our belief and of our lives as Christians. Still, among contemporary Lutheran theologians and representatives of other traditions there is intriguing work being done on ways in which reflection on Mary or other saints could actually prove beneficial to our lives of faith.
As we’ve done here at CGS today in choosing to observe the feast of Mary, the Mother of Our Lord, it’s evident that in honoring Mary by no means must we abandon Christ. On the contrary, if we look at the mother of Jesus from a biblical perspective, as Martin Luther and other spiritual masters would remind us to do, we see that in fact the central message—really the only message—that Mary might wish to give us is one that points to the goodness and graciousness of God—of course, precisely the reality of God has revealed to us through our faith in Christ.
As Luke tells us in his gospel, Mary’s first action upon learning of her pregnancy with Jesus was to venture out in service to her kinswoman and then to break out into song, praising God. This “Magnificat,” as it’s become known, is the essence of Mary’s presence in the Bible and at its heart it’s a very simple yet strikingly profound message. In truth, as Mary reminds us, the heart of the matter is this: to know the greatness of God, to perceive our own lowliness, and having made that crucial connection, to proclaim and live boldly and decisively God’s kingdom of mercy, justice, and peace – which humbles the proud and exalts the lowly; which casts down the mighty and raises up the poor; which sends away the rich and fills the hungry; which brings the deep and abiding peace that comes when justice is done and lived.
This message, this poem to the majesty and the mercy of God is what Mary is all about and for that reason, if we stick close to what scripture itself tells us, remembering and honoring Mary can’t help but instruct us profoundly on what it means to be a follower of Christ. As Max Johnson, a contemporary Lutheran theologian, puts it, honoring Christ’s mother is “a vehicle for the doctrine of justification through grace.” Remembering Mary and the lessons of the Magnificat can help us to recall our own imperfections and need for God’s grace and in doing so can embolden and empower us to reach out both joyfully and decisively to work for justice and peace in our community, our nation, and the world.
In a way, it all comes back to the experience that I and countless others have shared in visiting la Guadalupana. When we visit the Guadalupe shrine or, for that matter, when we read and pray the words of the Magnificat, it isn’t so much about Jesus’ mother as it is about encountering a fellow Christian – someone who’s learned to let God be magnified in her soul rather than keeping all the glory and honor for herself. Someone whose example, if we learn to follow it, can teach us to do that very same thing – to serve as instruments of God’s steadfast love and abiding peace, allowing our creator and our savior to be magnified through us and, in the process, for the kingdom to come just a little bit more in all of our hearts and in our world.
Sermon – 8/14/11
Recently, during the time I spent doing my doctoral research, I had the chance to live in one of the world’s largest and most dynamic population centers – Mexico City. Every day I would make my way to the archives amid the din of subway cars and countless taxi cabs, trying to adjust to the smog and air pollution and not be overwhelmed by the sheer enormity of it all.
Amidst the chaos, though, there was one place where I would go from time to time to escape and find tranquility and peace. I, along with many others, would periodically make my way to the shrine of the Virgin of Guadalupe – formerly a small hill located on the far outskirts of the city and now completely engulfed by the metropolis. Although it’s surrounded by the hustle and bustle of the activity around it, there’s something special about visiting la Guadalupana, as the place and its namesake are known. For me, whatever the stresses of the day or of the journey that took me there, a sense of peace and renewal was always to be found in visiting the church and witnessing the beauty of the grounds – which include a long, ascending walkway surrounded by flowers, a gentle waterfall, wayside chapels with beautiful artwork, and even an image of a rainbow – a moving reminder of God’s radically inclusive love.
And, in a way, visiting the church of Guadalupe, walking its grounds, and taking in its vistas and scenery was indeed a reminder of the nature and the presence of God – gracious and merciful, compassionate and steadfast, abiding and renewing. To visit a shrine ostensibly dedicated to a very special saint was in fact much more about the beauty and the wonder of the One to whom she pointed – the God of whom her spirit had become a reflection.
Of course, in speaking of the Virgin of Guadalupe and referring to a remarkable saint I’m making reference to the mother of Jesus – Mary, or Miriam as she might have been called in her own tongue. In the tradition of the Reformation, Mary and other saints have sometimes been regarded with a good deal of skepticism – and often rightly so, insofar as devotion to them can sometimes deflect attention from the centrality of Jesus Christ at the heart of our belief and of our lives as Christians. Still, among contemporary Lutheran theologians and representatives of other traditions there is intriguing work being done on ways in which reflection on Mary or other saints could actually prove beneficial to our lives of faith.
As we’ve done here at CGS today in choosing to observe the feast of Mary, the Mother of Our Lord, it’s evident that in honoring Mary by no means must we abandon Christ. On the contrary, if we look at the mother of Jesus from a biblical perspective, as Martin Luther and other spiritual masters would remind us to do, we see that in fact the central message—really the only message—that Mary might wish to give us is one that points to the goodness and graciousness of God—of course, precisely the reality of God has revealed to us through our faith in Christ.
As Luke tells us in his gospel, Mary’s first action upon learning of her pregnancy with Jesus was to venture out in service to her kinswoman and then to break out into song, praising God. This “Magnificat,” as it’s become known, is the essence of Mary’s presence in the Bible and at its heart it’s a very simple yet strikingly profound message. In truth, as Mary reminds us, the heart of the matter is this: to know the greatness of God, to perceive our own lowliness, and having made that crucial connection, to proclaim and live boldly and decisively God’s kingdom of mercy, justice, and peace – which humbles the proud and exalts the lowly; which casts down the mighty and raises up the poor; which sends away the rich and fills the hungry; which brings the deep and abiding peace that comes when justice is done and lived.
This message, this poem to the majesty and the mercy of God is what Mary is all about and for that reason, if we stick close to what scripture itself tells us, remembering and honoring Mary can’t help but instruct us profoundly on what it means to be a follower of Christ. As Max Johnson, a contemporary Lutheran theologian, puts it, honoring Christ’s mother is “a vehicle for the doctrine of justification through grace.” Remembering Mary and the lessons of the Magnificat can help us to recall our own imperfections and need for God’s grace and in doing so can embolden and empower us to reach out both joyfully and decisively to work for justice and peace in our community, our nation, and the world.
In a way, it all comes back to the experience that I and countless others have shared in visiting la Guadalupana. When we visit the Guadalupe shrine or, for that matter, when we read and pray the words of the Magnificat, it isn’t so much about Jesus’ mother as it is about encountering a fellow Christian – someone who’s learned to let God be magnified in her soul rather than keeping all the glory and honor for herself. Someone whose example, if we learn to follow it, can teach us to do that very same thing – to serve as instruments of God’s steadfast love and abiding peace, allowing our creator and our savior to be magnified through us and, in the process, for the kingdom to come just a little bit more in all of our hearts and in our world.
Saturday, July 16, 2011
Born to Run
I just finished an excellent book - Christopher McDougall, Born to Run: A Hidden Tribe, Superathletes, and the Greatest Race the World has Never Seen (New York: Vintage Books, 2009) - which I'd like to share a few reflections from (thanks to my brother for sharing it with me!)...
The book is an account by a contemporary sports writer and running enthusiast about an Indian tribe, the Tarahumara, in a remote area of Mexico who have managed to conserve their ancient tradition of running long distances in the mountains even to this day. The author is intrigued by the group's continued existence in spite of untold adversities and weaves a fascinating account of personal growth and transformation over the course of his journey. It's a wonderful read and I won't spoil its many surprises. However, I did want to share just a couple of excerpts:
'We say the [race] is the game of life...You never know how hard it will be. You never know when it will end. You can't control it. You can only adjust'...And...no one gets through it on their own. Even a superstar...couldn't win without a village behind him" (41).
It may sound cliché but in many ways it really does "take a village." Whether in actual running or in the game of life itself we don't and can't get through it all on our own. We need support, friendship, and solidarity with others in order to reach our highest potential.
"You can't hate the Beast and expect to beat it; the only way to truly conquer something, as every great philosopher and geneticist will tell you, is to love it" (124-125).
Here the author is referring to the extreme fatigue and adversity ("the Beast") that can set in for runners at various points in their races. As experience shows, trying to defeat such forces directly usually only emboldens them all the more. Rather, what is needed is the sort of love for them that accepts them for what they are even as it also refuses to be defined by them.
In a way, perhaps dealing with prejudices and misguided individuals and institutions in our own lives is a bit analogous. We might not be able to defeat the opposition we sometimes face outright or immediately but, in continuing to exist, in living with the pain and yet knowing that we're greater than it, we gradually start showing the truth for what it is. Just maybe, little by little, step by (sometimes challenging) step, we allow a little more light to shine, a little more of what is real and what is good to be known among us.
Peace,
Padre Chuck
The book is an account by a contemporary sports writer and running enthusiast about an Indian tribe, the Tarahumara, in a remote area of Mexico who have managed to conserve their ancient tradition of running long distances in the mountains even to this day. The author is intrigued by the group's continued existence in spite of untold adversities and weaves a fascinating account of personal growth and transformation over the course of his journey. It's a wonderful read and I won't spoil its many surprises. However, I did want to share just a couple of excerpts:
'We say the [race] is the game of life...You never know how hard it will be. You never know when it will end. You can't control it. You can only adjust'...And...no one gets through it on their own. Even a superstar...couldn't win without a village behind him" (41).
It may sound cliché but in many ways it really does "take a village." Whether in actual running or in the game of life itself we don't and can't get through it all on our own. We need support, friendship, and solidarity with others in order to reach our highest potential.
"You can't hate the Beast and expect to beat it; the only way to truly conquer something, as every great philosopher and geneticist will tell you, is to love it" (124-125).
Here the author is referring to the extreme fatigue and adversity ("the Beast") that can set in for runners at various points in their races. As experience shows, trying to defeat such forces directly usually only emboldens them all the more. Rather, what is needed is the sort of love for them that accepts them for what they are even as it also refuses to be defined by them.
In a way, perhaps dealing with prejudices and misguided individuals and institutions in our own lives is a bit analogous. We might not be able to defeat the opposition we sometimes face outright or immediately but, in continuing to exist, in living with the pain and yet knowing that we're greater than it, we gradually start showing the truth for what it is. Just maybe, little by little, step by (sometimes challenging) step, we allow a little more light to shine, a little more of what is real and what is good to be known among us.
Peace,
Padre Chuck
Tuesday, July 5, 2011
Beyond Superstition
As a follow up to the previous post, I'm sharing an example of a recent statement (just one among various others offered by some religious leaders) from a Roman Catholic bishop, Bishop Thomas Tobin of Rhode Island, on the topic of same-sex marriage and civil unions. Here's an excerpt (the complete text can be found at: http://thericatholic.com/detail.html?sub_id=4183):
"Can there be any doubt that Almighty God will, in His own time and way, pass judgment upon our state, its leaders and citizens, for abandoning His commands and embracing public immorality? I encourage Catholics to pray for God’s patience, mercy and forgiveness in these distressing times.”
Sadly, in contrast to the point made by Frank Schaeffer mentioned in the previous post, here we have a clear example of a purported spiritual leader who has lost sight of the authentic mercy, compassion, and ineffability of God and replaced them with his own limited prejudices. In effect, according to this statement, we have a god sealed off and boxed up into neat and tidy ecclesiastical language rather than the sacred mystery who is both beyond us and always with us - and, for Christians, revealed to us in Christ. What's more, we're also treated to a superstitious image of the divine - a picture of a vindictive god seemingly always at the ready to unleash divine retribution upon sinful humanity. Such theology was discredited ages ago and only confirms all the more decisively the moral bankruptcy of its author and others like him whose fear blinds them, binds them, and then, tragically, wreaks spiritual and emotional havoc among those who look to the supposed inerrancy of their spiritual authority for guidance - for example, by emboldening prejudices and even violence against LGBT people and encouraging others, as it were, to hide in the closet rather than accept and love themselves and others as they really are.
One recommendation that the bishop makes, however, I can indeed affirm: as a Catholic (albeit not a Roman one, but one nonetheless) I do sincerely pray for God's patience, mercy, and forgiveness - not to stay the ire of a vengeful deity but in hope that voices of true compassion and goodness will touch the hearts and minds of all God's children and bring healing and renewal to the church and to the world.
Peace,
Padre Chuck
"Can there be any doubt that Almighty God will, in His own time and way, pass judgment upon our state, its leaders and citizens, for abandoning His commands and embracing public immorality? I encourage Catholics to pray for God’s patience, mercy and forgiveness in these distressing times.”
Sadly, in contrast to the point made by Frank Schaeffer mentioned in the previous post, here we have a clear example of a purported spiritual leader who has lost sight of the authentic mercy, compassion, and ineffability of God and replaced them with his own limited prejudices. In effect, according to this statement, we have a god sealed off and boxed up into neat and tidy ecclesiastical language rather than the sacred mystery who is both beyond us and always with us - and, for Christians, revealed to us in Christ. What's more, we're also treated to a superstitious image of the divine - a picture of a vindictive god seemingly always at the ready to unleash divine retribution upon sinful humanity. Such theology was discredited ages ago and only confirms all the more decisively the moral bankruptcy of its author and others like him whose fear blinds them, binds them, and then, tragically, wreaks spiritual and emotional havoc among those who look to the supposed inerrancy of their spiritual authority for guidance - for example, by emboldening prejudices and even violence against LGBT people and encouraging others, as it were, to hide in the closet rather than accept and love themselves and others as they really are.
One recommendation that the bishop makes, however, I can indeed affirm: as a Catholic (albeit not a Roman one, but one nonetheless) I do sincerely pray for God's patience, mercy, and forgiveness - not to stay the ire of a vengeful deity but in hope that voices of true compassion and goodness will touch the hearts and minds of all God's children and bring healing and renewal to the church and to the world.
Peace,
Padre Chuck
Thursday, June 30, 2011
Patience With God
Another excellent book I've finished recently is Frank Schaeffer's Patience With God. As a former fundamentalist, Schaeffer brings a unique perspective to questions about religion, the Bible, and the church and has some important insights to offer. I'll be sharing a few that I found particularly helpful in coming posts.
Here's an opening excerpt:
"[F]or people who think that Christianity was strict, literalistic and fundamentalist...the writings of some of the most important early Christian figures are a startling wake-up call. For instance, one fourth-century ascetic--Evagrius Ponticus--was a revered spiritual leader. He led by example rather than by official standing because he was not a bishop...[In his writings,] he made this anti-fundamentalist statement: 'Do not define the Deity: for it is only of things which are made or are composite that there can be definitions'" (xvii).
This point is an especially important one when we consider the tendency in many churches to define or fully grasp God or the divine through air-tight systems of dogma, fundamentalism, or rules and regulations. While there's a place for some norms to guide us, if we lose sight of the larger truth that the sacred is necessarily something that transcends us and can never fully be understood, we risk domesticating God and turning our worship toward gods of our own making - usually fashioned in our own image and a reflection of our own fears and narrow-mindedness. We all do this, of course, but the good news is that we can always come back to the authentic presence of God in our lives when we learn to let go a little of our need to fully control.
Peace,
Padre Chuck
Here's an opening excerpt:
"[F]or people who think that Christianity was strict, literalistic and fundamentalist...the writings of some of the most important early Christian figures are a startling wake-up call. For instance, one fourth-century ascetic--Evagrius Ponticus--was a revered spiritual leader. He led by example rather than by official standing because he was not a bishop...[In his writings,] he made this anti-fundamentalist statement: 'Do not define the Deity: for it is only of things which are made or are composite that there can be definitions'" (xvii).
This point is an especially important one when we consider the tendency in many churches to define or fully grasp God or the divine through air-tight systems of dogma, fundamentalism, or rules and regulations. While there's a place for some norms to guide us, if we lose sight of the larger truth that the sacred is necessarily something that transcends us and can never fully be understood, we risk domesticating God and turning our worship toward gods of our own making - usually fashioned in our own image and a reflection of our own fears and narrow-mindedness. We all do this, of course, but the good news is that we can always come back to the authentic presence of God in our lives when we learn to let go a little of our need to fully control.
Peace,
Padre Chuck
Sunday, June 19, 2011
Resisting Anger
One final thought from Pastor Chellew-Hodge's book:
"Instead of regarding our attackers as enemies to be defeated, those of us with a bulletproof faith see an attack as an opportunity to improve ourselves and grow stronger and more resilient. Remember, when we have issues with other people's stuff, it's really our stuff. Our enemies, then, are there to remind us of our stuff and to help us transform ourselves into better, more loving, more faithful people" (88).
Personally I find this insight very important as I too have had and continue to have moments of anger and/or frustration from time to time over ways in which religious authorities continue to oppress members of the LGBT community. However, as Pastor Chellew-Hodge notes, getting angry or resentful usually only makes things worse. Instead, the challenge and the opportunity, it seems to me, is something akin to the Serenity Prayer - learning to accept what can't be changed for now, working on changing what can be, and maintaining active awareness so as to be able to distinguish and discern how God is calling each of us to act.
Peace,
Padre Chuck
"Instead of regarding our attackers as enemies to be defeated, those of us with a bulletproof faith see an attack as an opportunity to improve ourselves and grow stronger and more resilient. Remember, when we have issues with other people's stuff, it's really our stuff. Our enemies, then, are there to remind us of our stuff and to help us transform ourselves into better, more loving, more faithful people" (88).
Personally I find this insight very important as I too have had and continue to have moments of anger and/or frustration from time to time over ways in which religious authorities continue to oppress members of the LGBT community. However, as Pastor Chellew-Hodge notes, getting angry or resentful usually only makes things worse. Instead, the challenge and the opportunity, it seems to me, is something akin to the Serenity Prayer - learning to accept what can't be changed for now, working on changing what can be, and maintaining active awareness so as to be able to distinguish and discern how God is calling each of us to act.
Peace,
Padre Chuck
Tuesday, June 7, 2011
Living in the Questions
Pastor Chellew-Hodge makes another great point in her book about the importance of learning to live with ambiguity and a lack of total certainty in life and with our faith. As she puts it,
"It's been said that the opposite of faith is not doubt but certainty. Those who have certainty have no need for faith. Their questions are all answered, and they know they're right. Those of us who love to live in the questions, however, need faith, lots and lots of it, to make it through each new question and to continue to exist in the old ones" (35).
I think this statement applies to many contexts in life - for instance, in the church(es)' approaches to welcoming LGBT in their midst. I believe that the more we as both individuals and communities are comfortable "living in the questions" rather than seeking absolute certainty the more we'll be prepared to accept the Spirit's ongoing invitation to think beyond the limits we tend to impose on God's love and, in doing so, encounter grace in new and unexpected ways.
Peace,
Padre Chuck
"It's been said that the opposite of faith is not doubt but certainty. Those who have certainty have no need for faith. Their questions are all answered, and they know they're right. Those of us who love to live in the questions, however, need faith, lots and lots of it, to make it through each new question and to continue to exist in the old ones" (35).
I think this statement applies to many contexts in life - for instance, in the church(es)' approaches to welcoming LGBT in their midst. I believe that the more we as both individuals and communities are comfortable "living in the questions" rather than seeking absolute certainty the more we'll be prepared to accept the Spirit's ongoing invitation to think beyond the limits we tend to impose on God's love and, in doing so, encounter grace in new and unexpected ways.
Peace,
Padre Chuck
Wednesday, May 25, 2011
Love is What Counts
I'll continue to share some more insights from Pastor Chellew-Hodge's excellent book Bulletproof Faith:
"[W]hen the Bible speaks of relationships on all levels, the most blessed relationship is one of love...Love is the measure of all relationships...Not one word in the Bible condemns loving, committed relationships. God calls us all, not just heterosexuals, to be moral in our sexuality - keeping our covenants and refusing to use or abuse anyone sexually. This is the only role religion plays in sexuality. It is a guide to responsible sexuality regardless of orientation" (xii).
I really think this says it all right here. The Bible's vision of sexual relationships and morality is founded on love - which, in turn, is modeled on the revelation of the covenant of God's love. In other words, we are to love as God first loved us - remaining true to our partners or spouses, in the case of those in committed relationships, as God has been with us. As Chellew-Hodge puts it, this is the heart of the Bible's message and one which transcends limits of gender or sexual orientation.
Peace,
Padre Chuck
"[W]hen the Bible speaks of relationships on all levels, the most blessed relationship is one of love...Love is the measure of all relationships...Not one word in the Bible condemns loving, committed relationships. God calls us all, not just heterosexuals, to be moral in our sexuality - keeping our covenants and refusing to use or abuse anyone sexually. This is the only role religion plays in sexuality. It is a guide to responsible sexuality regardless of orientation" (xii).
I really think this says it all right here. The Bible's vision of sexual relationships and morality is founded on love - which, in turn, is modeled on the revelation of the covenant of God's love. In other words, we are to love as God first loved us - remaining true to our partners or spouses, in the case of those in committed relationships, as God has been with us. As Chellew-Hodge puts it, this is the heart of the Bible's message and one which transcends limits of gender or sexual orientation.
Peace,
Padre Chuck
Sunday, May 15, 2011
Bulletproof Faith
An excellent book that I recently finished is by United Church of Christ pastor and LGBT activist Candace Chellew-Hodge (Bulletproof Faith: A Spiritual Survival Guide for Gay and Lesbian Christians, San Francisco: Jossey-Bass, 2008). I'll post a few reflections on the book but in this first one I'd like to first include an important point that the author makes about the "debate" about LGBT rights:
"For years, the media have attempted to 'balance' the 'homosexual issue' with voices from the 'other side.' That 'other side' has traditionally been voices from religion, specifically the Christian religion...[However,] [r]eligion is not the 'other side' of the 'homosexual issue' any more than people who believe in a flat earth are the 'other side' of the global warming issue or any more than the Ku Klux Klan is the 'other side' of the black civil rights movement. Despite the media's relentless search for the 'other side,' for some issues, there simply isn't a viable 'other side.' This issue is one of them" (x).
I think this is an especially important point as sometimes the media's coverage of LGBT issues makes it seem like both "sides" of the issue are equally sincere and have just as much potential truth on their respective sides. However, as in other struggles for justice such as the civil rights movement and others, eventually there comes a time where the other "side" simply has to be abandoned as incorrect. As in the 1960s when Americans finally drew toward a consensus that discriminatory laws were simply no longer acceptable I believe that we're moving toward a time when it will just no longer be tenable to keep standing in the way of full civil equality for LGBT people
Peace,
Padre Chuck
"For years, the media have attempted to 'balance' the 'homosexual issue' with voices from the 'other side.' That 'other side' has traditionally been voices from religion, specifically the Christian religion...[However,] [r]eligion is not the 'other side' of the 'homosexual issue' any more than people who believe in a flat earth are the 'other side' of the global warming issue or any more than the Ku Klux Klan is the 'other side' of the black civil rights movement. Despite the media's relentless search for the 'other side,' for some issues, there simply isn't a viable 'other side.' This issue is one of them" (x).
I think this is an especially important point as sometimes the media's coverage of LGBT issues makes it seem like both "sides" of the issue are equally sincere and have just as much potential truth on their respective sides. However, as in other struggles for justice such as the civil rights movement and others, eventually there comes a time where the other "side" simply has to be abandoned as incorrect. As in the 1960s when Americans finally drew toward a consensus that discriminatory laws were simply no longer acceptable I believe that we're moving toward a time when it will just no longer be tenable to keep standing in the way of full civil equality for LGBT people
Peace,
Padre Chuck
Thursday, May 5, 2011
Learning to Love Our Neighbors
Returning to Barbara Brown Taylor's book, another insight that has stayed with me involves the centrality of learning to love others as ourselves - really loving them as they are and not as someone we might seek to change or even help. Here's how she puts it:
"The wisdom of the Desert Fathers includes the wisdom that the hardest spiritual work in the world is to love the neighbor as the self - to encounter another human being not as someone you can use, change, fix, help, save, enroll, convince or control, but simply as someone who can spring you from the prison of yourself, if you will allow it...[This] may be the only real spiritual discipline there is" (93).
I think there's some profound truth to be found in these words. It can be so easy to get caught up in our own agendas, priorities or worries that learning to love our neighbor as ourselves means engaging in the challenging work of loving other people as they are and perhaps also learning to love ourselves that way, too. Maybe, in a way, it means gaining an ever so faint experience of what God's love is really like.
Peace,
Padre Chuck
"The wisdom of the Desert Fathers includes the wisdom that the hardest spiritual work in the world is to love the neighbor as the self - to encounter another human being not as someone you can use, change, fix, help, save, enroll, convince or control, but simply as someone who can spring you from the prison of yourself, if you will allow it...[This] may be the only real spiritual discipline there is" (93).
I think there's some profound truth to be found in these words. It can be so easy to get caught up in our own agendas, priorities or worries that learning to love our neighbor as ourselves means engaging in the challenging work of loving other people as they are and perhaps also learning to love ourselves that way, too. Maybe, in a way, it means gaining an ever so faint experience of what God's love is really like.
Peace,
Padre Chuck
Monday, May 2, 2011
What Love in Action Looks Like
This is a trailer for a new documentary which exposes the fear and prejudice underlying "ministries" that seek to change individuals' sexual orientations. The testimonies of Zach Stark and others like him give the lie to the idea that such change is possible and, indeed, that it's in any way necessary. In truth, ultimately what God asks of us is not that we "change" in order to pretend to be something or someone we're not but simply that we be who we really are, letting God's light shine through us as we do so.
Peace,
Padre Chuck
Thursday, April 21, 2011
Taking a Chance on God
This is the trailer for an important new film to be released this year on the life and ministry of Fr. John McNeill, the former Jesuit priest who was expelled from his order for ministering to LGBT faithful. Personally, I'm deeply grateful to Fr. McNeill for the courage and inspiration he gives to so many to keep working for what is right no matter how difficult the journey may be. May his example continue to awaken the church(es) to the reality of a God in whom we can really trust - on whom we can take a chance as we step beyond the bounds and bonds that keep us from experiencing the true and "glorious freedom of the children of God" (Rom 8:21).
Peace,
Padre Chuck
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
Practice of Incarnation
Barbara Brown Taylor also talks in her book about the need we have to not only now things *about* God but to actually experience God's love in our bodies and souls through spiritual practices. Here's how she puts it:
"In an age of information overload...the last thing any of us needs is more information about God. We need the practice of incarnation, by which God saves the lives of those whose intellectual assent has turned as dry as dust, who have run frighteningly low on the bread of life, who are dying to know more God in their bodies. Not more *about* God. *More God*" (45).
I think this practice is particularly important for religious people and institutions, who can sometimes get caught up in and become overly rigid about doctrinal formulations about God. While these can be important, they also need to be balanced with the kind of prayerful, spiritual practices that ground us and remind us that anything we say about God is only, by necessity, a dim, remote approximation of a reality that's at once far beyond us and at the same time closer to us than we are to ourselves.
Peace,
Padre Chuck
"In an age of information overload...the last thing any of us needs is more information about God. We need the practice of incarnation, by which God saves the lives of those whose intellectual assent has turned as dry as dust, who have run frighteningly low on the bread of life, who are dying to know more God in their bodies. Not more *about* God. *More God*" (45).
I think this practice is particularly important for religious people and institutions, who can sometimes get caught up in and become overly rigid about doctrinal formulations about God. While these can be important, they also need to be balanced with the kind of prayerful, spiritual practices that ground us and remind us that anything we say about God is only, by necessity, a dim, remote approximation of a reality that's at once far beyond us and at the same time closer to us than we are to ourselves.
Peace,
Padre Chuck
Saturday, April 16, 2011
Practicing Reverence
Another helpful book that I've read recently is the Episcopal priest Barbara Brown Taylor's An Altar in the World: A Geography of Faith. This book is wide and diverse in the topics it addresses but one thing that stood out for me was the author's emphasis on reverence - for God, for others and creation. Here's a helpful summation of what she says:
"Reverence stands in awe of something -- something that dwarfs the self, that allows human beings to sense the full extent of our limits - so that we can begin to see one another more reverently as well. An irreverent soul who is unable to feel awe in the presence of things higher than the self is also unable to feel respect in the presence of things it sees as lower than the self...This raises real questions about leaders, especially religious leaders, who cite reverence for what is good as their warrant for proclaiming whole populations of people evil" (21).
As is implied in this passage, I think a major problem in a lot of churches and religious organizations is a lack of genuine spirituality that transcends the often very human agendas religious leaders tend to promote. In other words, if we read about supposed spiritual leaders who often make sweeping, condemnatory statements about whole populations of people (e.g., various religious organizations' statements on LGBT people), it's probably a good idea to question the degree to which those "leaders" are in fact people who have had authentic experiences of the sacred in their lives. Often, I'm afraid that what passes for spiritual leadership is really nothing more than naked fear and the defense of entrenched power masquerading as sincere spirituality. In any case, it's good to interrogate sweeping authoritative statements before assenting to them, whether in the realm of faith or any other aspect of our lives.
Peace,
Padre Chuck
"Reverence stands in awe of something -- something that dwarfs the self, that allows human beings to sense the full extent of our limits - so that we can begin to see one another more reverently as well. An irreverent soul who is unable to feel awe in the presence of things higher than the self is also unable to feel respect in the presence of things it sees as lower than the self...This raises real questions about leaders, especially religious leaders, who cite reverence for what is good as their warrant for proclaiming whole populations of people evil" (21).
As is implied in this passage, I think a major problem in a lot of churches and religious organizations is a lack of genuine spirituality that transcends the often very human agendas religious leaders tend to promote. In other words, if we read about supposed spiritual leaders who often make sweeping, condemnatory statements about whole populations of people (e.g., various religious organizations' statements on LGBT people), it's probably a good idea to question the degree to which those "leaders" are in fact people who have had authentic experiences of the sacred in their lives. Often, I'm afraid that what passes for spiritual leadership is really nothing more than naked fear and the defense of entrenched power masquerading as sincere spirituality. In any case, it's good to interrogate sweeping authoritative statements before assenting to them, whether in the realm of faith or any other aspect of our lives.
Peace,
Padre Chuck
Thursday, April 14, 2011
Authentic Religious Pluralism
One other important idea Borg brings up has to do with religious diversity. As the world grows smaller and smaller and we all become more and more connected, increasingly it becomes apparent that there is a great deal of truth and goodness to be found in all religions. Although traditional formulations within Christianity and most other world religions have made claims to have the "exclusive" or "complete" truth on their side, a healthier, less rigid approach seems to ring truer. As Borg puts it:
"Religion's purpose is to mediate the sacred and, by so doing, to inform, engender, and nourish a transforming relationship to 'the More.' The enduring religions share these characteristics in common. Each is a massive and magnificent sacrament of the sacred, a finite means of mediating the sacred, a 'treasure in earthen vessels'" (215).
As Borg also points out, however, this doesn't mean that "anything goes" or that differences don't matter. Rather, a healthy approach to religious diversity recognizes the differences among traditions and respects the need for each of us to have a "path" or tradition that we participate in - not so much because it or any other is "right," to the exclusion of other paths, but rather because the discipline of following one path or way ultimately changes us and shapes us into people of compassion and mercy who seek justice for the least among us and who grow in our awareness of the depth and reality of God's love and goodness.
Peace,
Padre Chuck
"Religion's purpose is to mediate the sacred and, by so doing, to inform, engender, and nourish a transforming relationship to 'the More.' The enduring religions share these characteristics in common. Each is a massive and magnificent sacrament of the sacred, a finite means of mediating the sacred, a 'treasure in earthen vessels'" (215).
As Borg also points out, however, this doesn't mean that "anything goes" or that differences don't matter. Rather, a healthy approach to religious diversity recognizes the differences among traditions and respects the need for each of us to have a "path" or tradition that we participate in - not so much because it or any other is "right," to the exclusion of other paths, but rather because the discipline of following one path or way ultimately changes us and shapes us into people of compassion and mercy who seek justice for the least among us and who grow in our awareness of the depth and reality of God's love and goodness.
Peace,
Padre Chuck
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
Salvation and Healing
Another important point made by Borg concerns the nature of salvation or "being saved," as some Christians tend to put it. While there is nothing wrong with this language it can also obscure the original meaning - which referred more to integral healing and renewal of people and of creation. Here's how Borg puts it:
"[S]alvation in the Bible is primarily a this-worldly phenomenon. It happens here. But what is it? The root of the English word is helpful. It comes from a Latin word that means 'wholeness' or 'healing' (the same root from which we get the word 'salve,' a healing agent). In its broadest sense, salvation thus means becoming whole and being healed" (175).
So what exactly is salvation? Much more than a one-time, guaranteed ticket to the afterlife, salvation in Jesus' time and ours is about coming into contact with God's grace and love and learning to share and pass it on in a world often focused on other priorities. In a word, it's about healing our tendency to care only about ourselves and learning to see our connectedness with others. In this way our lives are gradually transformed as we become instruments who help proclaim and make concrete God's desire that everyone be healed and be whole - that is, that they be saved.
Peace,
Padre Chuck
"[S]alvation in the Bible is primarily a this-worldly phenomenon. It happens here. But what is it? The root of the English word is helpful. It comes from a Latin word that means 'wholeness' or 'healing' (the same root from which we get the word 'salve,' a healing agent). In its broadest sense, salvation thus means becoming whole and being healed" (175).
So what exactly is salvation? Much more than a one-time, guaranteed ticket to the afterlife, salvation in Jesus' time and ours is about coming into contact with God's grace and love and learning to share and pass it on in a world often focused on other priorities. In a word, it's about healing our tendency to care only about ourselves and learning to see our connectedness with others. In this way our lives are gradually transformed as we become instruments who help proclaim and make concrete God's desire that everyone be healed and be whole - that is, that they be saved.
Peace,
Padre Chuck
Saturday, April 9, 2011
Thin Places
Another helpful concept Marcus Borg talks about is the idea of "thin places." By this he means either actual physical places or other types of practices or experiences in which we're awakened to the deeper reality of God or the sacred. In other words, thin places are those practices we enter into or places we travel to that help remind us that there's more to life than meets the physical eye. If God is both present among us and yet always beyond our ability to fully grasp, then we need places or practices like these to keep our hearts open and prevent them from getting stuck or closed in the mistaken belief that we can fully hold onto or control God. Here's a helpful quote from the author to conclude:
"The Christian life is about the 'hatching of the heart,' the opening of the self to the Spirit of God by spending time in 'thin places'--those places and practices through which we become open to and nourished by the Mystery in whom we live and move and have our being" (161).
Peace,
Padre Chuck
"The Christian life is about the 'hatching of the heart,' the opening of the self to the Spirit of God by spending time in 'thin places'--those places and practices through which we become open to and nourished by the Mystery in whom we live and move and have our being" (161).
Peace,
Padre Chuck
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
God and Justice
I'll keep posting for awhile about Marcus Borg's book The Heart of Christianity as I believe he has a number of important insights to share. Here's something he says about the political message of the Kingdom of God:
"So what is the political meaning of the Kingdom of God? In a sentence: it is what life would be like on earth if God were king and the rulers of this world were not. The Kingdom of God is about God's justice in contrast to the systemic injustice of the kingdoms and domination systems of this world" (132-133).
I think this is an especially important point as often we tend to get caught up in thinking of religion as mostly being about believing certain things and then getting "saved" as a result. However, when we look at Christ's message more closely and understand the historical context in which he lived and ministered, it's clear that his message above all was about God's reign here and now - in other words, about how each of us encounters the living God in our lives and begins to live that reality out in concrete ways. Belief is very important but it's not just about giving mental assent to a set of propositions. Rather, it's about really living in our bodies and souls the message of the kingdom - that is, God's justice and God's peace - each day.
Padre Chuck
"So what is the political meaning of the Kingdom of God? In a sentence: it is what life would be like on earth if God were king and the rulers of this world were not. The Kingdom of God is about God's justice in contrast to the systemic injustice of the kingdoms and domination systems of this world" (132-133).
I think this is an especially important point as often we tend to get caught up in thinking of religion as mostly being about believing certain things and then getting "saved" as a result. However, when we look at Christ's message more closely and understand the historical context in which he lived and ministered, it's clear that his message above all was about God's reign here and now - in other words, about how each of us encounters the living God in our lives and begins to live that reality out in concrete ways. Belief is very important but it's not just about giving mental assent to a set of propositions. Rather, it's about really living in our bodies and souls the message of the kingdom - that is, God's justice and God's peace - each day.
Padre Chuck
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
The Heart of Christianity
Just wanted to mention briefly a helpful book I finished recently called The Heart of Christianity (Marcus Borg, HarperOne, 2004). Written in a learned yet accessible way by the scripture scholar Marcus Borg, this book proposes a new way for Christians to understand their faith. In contrast to what Borg describes as an older paradigm that understands belief in stricter terms, he has the following to say about this new way forward:
"The emerging paradigm sees the Christian life as a life of relationship and transformation. Being Christian is not about meeting requirements for a future reward in an afterlife, and not very much about believing. Rather, the Christian life is about a relationship with God that transforms life in the present" (14).
I find this very helpful personally as I agree that for too long Christians have been focused on the "rewards" of the afterlife at the expense of the present moment. The message for many centuries has been that if only we believe the right things in a certain way then we're guaranteed a spot "up there" and we can pretty much coast till then. This, of course, is a simplification but I think there's a good deal of truth to it. Professor Borg puts it much more elegantly in his book but I would agree that the most important value for Christians is not doing any certain thing or another but rather awakening again and again to the reality of God's love for us and living in it through the ways in which we interact with others and seek to live with justice, compassion, and mercy in our daily lives.
Peace,
Padre Chuck
"The emerging paradigm sees the Christian life as a life of relationship and transformation. Being Christian is not about meeting requirements for a future reward in an afterlife, and not very much about believing. Rather, the Christian life is about a relationship with God that transforms life in the present" (14).
I find this very helpful personally as I agree that for too long Christians have been focused on the "rewards" of the afterlife at the expense of the present moment. The message for many centuries has been that if only we believe the right things in a certain way then we're guaranteed a spot "up there" and we can pretty much coast till then. This, of course, is a simplification but I think there's a good deal of truth to it. Professor Borg puts it much more elegantly in his book but I would agree that the most important value for Christians is not doing any certain thing or another but rather awakening again and again to the reality of God's love for us and living in it through the ways in which we interact with others and seek to live with justice, compassion, and mercy in our daily lives.
Peace,
Padre Chuck
Friday, March 25, 2011
Welcome to the 13th Century
I was amused to see this news story the other day about the man known as "the American Pope" - Archbishop Timothy Dolan of New York. Although Dolan's argument against same-sex marriage and others like it (e.g., Pope Benedict XVI's many comments on the subject) might seem convincing on the surface, the problem is that they're based in a theology that's essentially stuck in the middle ages.
At the time, in the first part of the second millennium, ancient Greek philosophy had just been rediscovered among Christian scholars and they were eager to apply its ideas to their own thought about God and faith. From the Greeks, such as Aristotle, theologians like Thomas Aquinas and others got the idea that all things in creation have "natures" - that is, that they're "ordered" toward certain ends or goals that can be discerned in the way they're structured. From this it followed, for instance, that only males and females should express love sexually since, so to speak, "God made them that way." Both in the realm of sexual ethics and for all sorts of other questions related to human life, the message was that all one had to do was look to nature and find there a code for how things were supposed to be - "natural law," as it was called.
For its time and place in the middle ages this theory worked fine but the problem is that its ideas have long since been discredited by various scientific advances. For example, it is no longer believed that the world was created literally in seven days or that somehow God "wrote" natures into human beings or other creatures. Instead, the theory of evolution and other advances tell us that things are the way they are because they evolved that way after a long, complex process.
Now this doesn't mean that we need to give up our belief in God. On the contrary, our faith can be strengthened and sharpened in light of advances in the various realms of knowledge. But what's harmful is when, as in the case of Archbishop Dolan and others, we cling to outmoded ways of understanding reality and lose sight of more important values in the process. For example, although it's no longer viable to think about things having "natures," what if we thought about God or the divine or the sacred - however you want to label it - as something at harmony with nature but also greater than it? What if we saw God as the love that goes beyond mere biology and that transforms reality through the power of compassion and mercy?
As historian Mark Jordan has remarked (Mark D. Jordan, The Invention of Sodomy in Christian Theology, U. of Chicago Press, 1997, p. 174), the reason medieval theology eventually needed updating was that it got stuck in the game of reading a strict sense of order into creation when in reality the order and meaning need to come not externally but internally - that is, not from the supposed "laws" of what we know now to be, at least on the surface, an essentially random system but from the order we ourselves construct together when we discover realities greater than and beyond ourselves and nature - things like love, mercy, compassion and the transformation they can produce. Otherwise, as Jordan writes, Christianity devolves into nothing more than a pagan fertility cult, where the only values are those based on physical reproduction.
From Christ himself, we know that there's more to the story than this. Rather than being wed to arbitrary readings of nature's "laws," Christ teaches us higher, deeper values that set us free to live lives that transform both our own existence and that of creation, too. As the apostle Paul once put it, "Faith, hope, and love remain...but the greatest of these is love."
Peace,
Padre Chuck
At the time, in the first part of the second millennium, ancient Greek philosophy had just been rediscovered among Christian scholars and they were eager to apply its ideas to their own thought about God and faith. From the Greeks, such as Aristotle, theologians like Thomas Aquinas and others got the idea that all things in creation have "natures" - that is, that they're "ordered" toward certain ends or goals that can be discerned in the way they're structured. From this it followed, for instance, that only males and females should express love sexually since, so to speak, "God made them that way." Both in the realm of sexual ethics and for all sorts of other questions related to human life, the message was that all one had to do was look to nature and find there a code for how things were supposed to be - "natural law," as it was called.
For its time and place in the middle ages this theory worked fine but the problem is that its ideas have long since been discredited by various scientific advances. For example, it is no longer believed that the world was created literally in seven days or that somehow God "wrote" natures into human beings or other creatures. Instead, the theory of evolution and other advances tell us that things are the way they are because they evolved that way after a long, complex process.
Now this doesn't mean that we need to give up our belief in God. On the contrary, our faith can be strengthened and sharpened in light of advances in the various realms of knowledge. But what's harmful is when, as in the case of Archbishop Dolan and others, we cling to outmoded ways of understanding reality and lose sight of more important values in the process. For example, although it's no longer viable to think about things having "natures," what if we thought about God or the divine or the sacred - however you want to label it - as something at harmony with nature but also greater than it? What if we saw God as the love that goes beyond mere biology and that transforms reality through the power of compassion and mercy?
As historian Mark Jordan has remarked (Mark D. Jordan, The Invention of Sodomy in Christian Theology, U. of Chicago Press, 1997, p. 174), the reason medieval theology eventually needed updating was that it got stuck in the game of reading a strict sense of order into creation when in reality the order and meaning need to come not externally but internally - that is, not from the supposed "laws" of what we know now to be, at least on the surface, an essentially random system but from the order we ourselves construct together when we discover realities greater than and beyond ourselves and nature - things like love, mercy, compassion and the transformation they can produce. Otherwise, as Jordan writes, Christianity devolves into nothing more than a pagan fertility cult, where the only values are those based on physical reproduction.
From Christ himself, we know that there's more to the story than this. Rather than being wed to arbitrary readings of nature's "laws," Christ teaches us higher, deeper values that set us free to live lives that transform both our own existence and that of creation, too. As the apostle Paul once put it, "Faith, hope, and love remain...but the greatest of these is love."
Peace,
Padre Chuck
Saturday, March 19, 2011
Recent Sermon
It's been some time now since my last post as I've been working hard on completing my dissertation. However, I would like to keep posting in this forum from time to time and in that spirit I'd like to share a sermon that I prepared for this past Sunday (1st Sunday in Lent) as part of the ministry I'm now doing in my husband's and my local parish. I'm indebted to David Lose, a scholar who contributes to the site WorkingPreacher.org, for his insights on Pascal.
It's been a gift to be able to stay involved in ministry in this way and I'm very happy to share that in this forum as well.
Blessings,
Padre Chuck
Sermon – 1st Sunday of Lent, 2011
Today’s readings talk a lot about evil. In the Book of Genesis we have the iconic story of Adam & Eve and temptation – in which the serpent exploits their insecurity and plants doubts about God’s trustworthiness, resulting in what’s come to be known forever since as “the fall.”
In the Gospel of Matthew, Jesus himself is tempted with offers of power, prestige, and the temptation to prove that he is indeed the Son of God.
And so, there’s lots of talk of evil – of sin, the devil, Satan, and temptation. In other words, things we don’t tend to talk about much anymore.
On the one hand, I think that’s probably very appropriate. The gospel isn’t supposed to be about scaring us or filling us with a lot of guilt. It’s rather a message about God and God’s love – how we are God’s children and that Jesus came to set us free to be precisely that – to be who we really are as God’s children.
Still, on the other hand maybe there is some wisdom in the tradition that comes down to us through today’s readings. Perhaps there’s an importance to remembering that there’s something in human nature that can lead us away from God – that tempts us to believe in the illusions that we can completely control every aspect of our lives and that we can achieve total happiness if only we grab hold of some or other particular thing. As the tradition tells us, so to speak, we’ve seen this movie before and we know how it ends – usually in a great deal of suffering and misery, both for us and for our neighbors.
So just maybe there is some wisdom in returning to this more challenging strain of our tradition from time to time, especially in seasons like Lent – in returning to the Lord and taking stock of how we’ve failed in our vocation to love God and neighbor, how we can come back to God, and how we can be renewed.
I think that an important part of this work – this coming back to God – is in reimagining the tradition and updating it, with both fidelity and creativity, for our own time and place. For example, I think we often rightly recoil at references to “Satan,” “the devil,” or “evil spirits” when this language is disconnected from our everyday experience of the world, when it doesn’t resonate with how we experience good and evil. In other words, maybe there are some other ways to talk about it that might make more sense for us in our own day and age – ways that describe this reality that we know exists but which can actually be obscured by some of the older language.
Specifically, I’m thinking of two images. The first comes from a recent ceremony that took place in New York City. Just last week, a group of local pastors gathered outside the front doors of a major investment bank to perform an exorcism – yes, an exorcism. For these pastors, as for so many people, the bank was a symbol of the stunning greed of individuals and institutions who have received huge bailouts and yet often continue to exploit the poorest and most vulnerable through their lending and financial policies.
The goal of these pastors – to use some of the older language that comes to us through the tradition – was, indeed, to exorcise the demons that seem to have possessed so many. In other words, we might say that some of the older language of “Satan,” “evil,” and “exorcising demons” – if we take it too literally – might in fact now be distracting us from a deeper truth: namely, that there is a side of us that can easily give into the illusion of achieving absolute security and total, permanent control. As we know, it can happen easily. But, as we also know all too well, the consequences – the misery and injustice these attitudes produce – can literally result in situations we might liken to hell.
The second image I’d like to use comes to us from the Christian mystical tradition. Blaise Pascal, a 17th century French philosopher and mystic tells us that we each have a “God-shaped hole inside us” – a space that can only be filled by God. St. Augustine, the early church father, also says that “our hearts are restless until they rest in God.”
In other words, there’s a deep part of us that longs for transcendence, meaning, and fulfillment. But, often we try to fill that space with all sorts of things – for example, wealth, power, gadgets, fashions, popularity, approval, or whatever they may be. But, if we’re awake enough to reality, inevitably we discover that none of these things really fill us, often instead leaving us more unsatisfied and less at peace than ever.
Why exactly is this? Why doesn’t this work, despite all of our ongoing attempts? If we think about it, it’s actually kind of silly. We’ve got this part of us that opens out into the transcendent and the eternal – and yet we try over and over to fill it up with things we think will fill it and finally give us the sense of permanence, stability and security we’ve been seeking.
But of course we know that that never really happens. Instead, hopefully with time and with returning to God, over and over, we come to realize that having a transcendent, eternal part of us means, well…having a transcendent and eternal part of us - in other words, a part of us and of our lives that’s that not fully in our control and that perhaps we’re really not supposed to be able to fully wrap our minds around.
Maybe the key, then, is learning to live with this ambiguity, with the inevitability of change, with the presence of uncertainty in our lives. Maybe it’s learning that having a God-shaped space inside us means having a part of us that’s at once both a little beyond our control and yet filled superabundantly with love and grace and goodness. And seeing that when we recognize this truth and let go a little bit it’s precisely then that we can best access that love and goodness and grace – realizing that when we “let go and let God,” we’re not so tied to making everything go our way and, because of that, we’re set free simply to love and be loved, both by God and neighbor.
And so, though we might not think anymore in terms of serpents and exorcisms and temptations, in Lent we’re called to take stock of a deeper truth from the tradition – our chronic but treatable negative tendencies, that we all fall into in our own lives.
To do so, we might ask ourselves, What are some of the ways that I’ve lost sight of God’s love for me? What are the things I try to use to fill the space inside me that I know God alone can fill? How can I challenge myself to let go of my attempts to control too much and let God be God in my life? In other words, how can we all learn this Lent to express our hope for renewal and rebirth in this journey we’re on together from the repentance of these forty days to the joy and celebration of Easter?
It's been a gift to be able to stay involved in ministry in this way and I'm very happy to share that in this forum as well.
Blessings,
Padre Chuck
Sermon – 1st Sunday of Lent, 2011
Today’s readings talk a lot about evil. In the Book of Genesis we have the iconic story of Adam & Eve and temptation – in which the serpent exploits their insecurity and plants doubts about God’s trustworthiness, resulting in what’s come to be known forever since as “the fall.”
In the Gospel of Matthew, Jesus himself is tempted with offers of power, prestige, and the temptation to prove that he is indeed the Son of God.
And so, there’s lots of talk of evil – of sin, the devil, Satan, and temptation. In other words, things we don’t tend to talk about much anymore.
On the one hand, I think that’s probably very appropriate. The gospel isn’t supposed to be about scaring us or filling us with a lot of guilt. It’s rather a message about God and God’s love – how we are God’s children and that Jesus came to set us free to be precisely that – to be who we really are as God’s children.
Still, on the other hand maybe there is some wisdom in the tradition that comes down to us through today’s readings. Perhaps there’s an importance to remembering that there’s something in human nature that can lead us away from God – that tempts us to believe in the illusions that we can completely control every aspect of our lives and that we can achieve total happiness if only we grab hold of some or other particular thing. As the tradition tells us, so to speak, we’ve seen this movie before and we know how it ends – usually in a great deal of suffering and misery, both for us and for our neighbors.
So just maybe there is some wisdom in returning to this more challenging strain of our tradition from time to time, especially in seasons like Lent – in returning to the Lord and taking stock of how we’ve failed in our vocation to love God and neighbor, how we can come back to God, and how we can be renewed.
I think that an important part of this work – this coming back to God – is in reimagining the tradition and updating it, with both fidelity and creativity, for our own time and place. For example, I think we often rightly recoil at references to “Satan,” “the devil,” or “evil spirits” when this language is disconnected from our everyday experience of the world, when it doesn’t resonate with how we experience good and evil. In other words, maybe there are some other ways to talk about it that might make more sense for us in our own day and age – ways that describe this reality that we know exists but which can actually be obscured by some of the older language.
Specifically, I’m thinking of two images. The first comes from a recent ceremony that took place in New York City. Just last week, a group of local pastors gathered outside the front doors of a major investment bank to perform an exorcism – yes, an exorcism. For these pastors, as for so many people, the bank was a symbol of the stunning greed of individuals and institutions who have received huge bailouts and yet often continue to exploit the poorest and most vulnerable through their lending and financial policies.
The goal of these pastors – to use some of the older language that comes to us through the tradition – was, indeed, to exorcise the demons that seem to have possessed so many. In other words, we might say that some of the older language of “Satan,” “evil,” and “exorcising demons” – if we take it too literally – might in fact now be distracting us from a deeper truth: namely, that there is a side of us that can easily give into the illusion of achieving absolute security and total, permanent control. As we know, it can happen easily. But, as we also know all too well, the consequences – the misery and injustice these attitudes produce – can literally result in situations we might liken to hell.
The second image I’d like to use comes to us from the Christian mystical tradition. Blaise Pascal, a 17th century French philosopher and mystic tells us that we each have a “God-shaped hole inside us” – a space that can only be filled by God. St. Augustine, the early church father, also says that “our hearts are restless until they rest in God.”
In other words, there’s a deep part of us that longs for transcendence, meaning, and fulfillment. But, often we try to fill that space with all sorts of things – for example, wealth, power, gadgets, fashions, popularity, approval, or whatever they may be. But, if we’re awake enough to reality, inevitably we discover that none of these things really fill us, often instead leaving us more unsatisfied and less at peace than ever.
Why exactly is this? Why doesn’t this work, despite all of our ongoing attempts? If we think about it, it’s actually kind of silly. We’ve got this part of us that opens out into the transcendent and the eternal – and yet we try over and over to fill it up with things we think will fill it and finally give us the sense of permanence, stability and security we’ve been seeking.
But of course we know that that never really happens. Instead, hopefully with time and with returning to God, over and over, we come to realize that having a transcendent, eternal part of us means, well…having a transcendent and eternal part of us - in other words, a part of us and of our lives that’s that not fully in our control and that perhaps we’re really not supposed to be able to fully wrap our minds around.
Maybe the key, then, is learning to live with this ambiguity, with the inevitability of change, with the presence of uncertainty in our lives. Maybe it’s learning that having a God-shaped space inside us means having a part of us that’s at once both a little beyond our control and yet filled superabundantly with love and grace and goodness. And seeing that when we recognize this truth and let go a little bit it’s precisely then that we can best access that love and goodness and grace – realizing that when we “let go and let God,” we’re not so tied to making everything go our way and, because of that, we’re set free simply to love and be loved, both by God and neighbor.
And so, though we might not think anymore in terms of serpents and exorcisms and temptations, in Lent we’re called to take stock of a deeper truth from the tradition – our chronic but treatable negative tendencies, that we all fall into in our own lives.
To do so, we might ask ourselves, What are some of the ways that I’ve lost sight of God’s love for me? What are the things I try to use to fill the space inside me that I know God alone can fill? How can I challenge myself to let go of my attempts to control too much and let God be God in my life? In other words, how can we all learn this Lent to express our hope for renewal and rebirth in this journey we’re on together from the repentance of these forty days to the joy and celebration of Easter?
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