THE ONE AND THE NINETY NINE

8 15 10

MATTHEW 18:1-14

ANTHONY E.ACHESON, M.DIV.

You and I live in a society in which great deal of attention and resources tend to get focused on those who are considered to be the best and the brightest among us. The dominant mindset of our culture says that everyone ought to be able to keep up; and if someone falls behind, it is probably because they have failed to take proper responsibility in some way for themselves. Yes, there may have been adverse cultural conditions at work, but there is a strong line of thinking in our culture that holds the belief that those left behind should have tried more strenuously, studied more diligently, worked more consistently, and perhaps even lived more righteously. Our culture tends pretty heavily toward saying that the present and the future belong to those who were born with talent and worked hard to develop it.

In today’s story from Matthew 18, however, Jesus is clearly focusing on those whose life has not been so smooth.  First he turns to a child who, according to the social norms of the day, did not have equal standing or significance to an adult. Jesus is referring symbolically here to any individual who is considered to be less than the standard set by the status quo. Jesus says to the dominant majority take care or be careful that you do not despise one of these little ones even if you think of them as being the least among you.

Then, to emphasize this priority for Jesus concerning the value of the least among us, Jesus gives this powerful illustration: If a shepherd has 100 sheep and one of them has gone astray, does he not leave the 99 on the mountain and go in search of the one that went astray; and if he finds it, truly, I tell you, he rejoices over it more than over the ninety-nine that never went astray. This illustration teaches us at least three things about Christian life and the life of the Christian community.

First, the illustration lifts up the need for every serious follower of Christ to take close and constant inventory of what is happening in his or her life, both on an interior level and also with respect to what is going on around us. In the illustration, how would the shepherd have known that one of his sheep had gone astray if he had not been taking constant inventory of his flock? Notice that the shepherd does not assume that all of the sheep are safely in the flock. Ninety-nine sheep could and would easily look like 100 sheep from a distance. The only way to detect the deficiency was for the shepherd to conduct a careful inventory. At a general cursory glance, our lives may look to be in order and may look to be OK, but take a closer look at the details of our daily lives. Take a closer look at our work performance and our behind-the-scenes behavior. Take a closer look at what really motivates and moves us to do the things that we do and say. Take a closer look at our chronic attitudes. We all know how to make a good presentation from a distance. But closer inspection and constant inventory helps to avoid the pitfalls of self-deception. And we shouldn’t always have to depend upon someone else to tell us where we are weak and wanting. We should be candid enough with ourselves that we can admit and address our own fallacies and flaws without getting defensive, making excuses, and always trying to lay blame elsewhere for our shortcomings on someone else. The best evaluation is a self-evaluation. Shakespeare has one of his characters say, “To thine own self be true and it follows as the night follows day that thout canst not then be false to any man.” The shepherd in this illustration of Jesus does not need anyone to tell him that something is missing. This shepherd conducts his own inventory, inspects his own work, and determines for himself that he is deficient by one sheep.

Then secondly, the illustration teaches us that everyone has equal value. The majority may rule, and whenever we talk about a majority we are talking about large numbers. But according to Jesus, in the kingdom of God, value is not defined by great numbers. If Jesus defined values by the greater numbers, the shepherd in the illustration never would have left 99 sheep to go after just one. The value system of heaven defies our mathematical assumptions. Why would the shepherd risk the security of the greater number to attend to the needs of just one? Most of us would not have done that because we are impressed and moved by large numbers. But in the eyes of heaven each and every individual is precious.

Legend has it that in a rural region of Kentucky during the early 1800s, a young school teacher showed up at a wooden-framed school house one Autumn morning ready to teach her class of students. At the beginning there were a handful of students, but after the first few days of school, she was disappointed that only one student showed up for class consistently. That one student, though, did come every day. After a while, the teacher got over her disappointment, and the teacher determined to just make the best of her one student. So she prepared to teach that one student like she was preparing to teach 50. She poured into that one student all of the knowledge and wisdom she had. She gave that one student the best that she could give. When the school year was complete and it was time for her one consistent pupil to move on, she was proud of her work but every now and then the thought crept in, ‘O, but I have only really helped one student. And that was the true. But something else was also true. That that one student’s name was Abraham Lincoln. There is a message right there in that one. Never underestimate the power of one. Don’t overlook any single one. Don’t take anyone for granted. Don’t ever assume that God cannot use and God cannot bless anyone.

Finally, this illustration teaches us that we should never give up on anybody or anything God has given us without a valiant effort. When the shepherd discovered that he was missing one sheep, in spite of all the negative odds against that one sheep’s survival, the shepherd made his trek back out into the wilderness searching for his one lost sheep. We could see him walking through the valley of the shadow of death, but he would not give up on that one lost sheep. We could see him climbing up some steep mountains, but he would not give up on that one lost sheep. We could see him wading through some rough waters, but he would not give up on that one lost sheep. We could see him looking over some steep cliffs, but would he give up on that one lost sheep? We could see the sun fading fast behind the boulders of the western horizon, but still the shepherd would not give up on that one lost sheep. He kept on searching until, finally, he sees something moving through the dark shadows of the night. Then, just before danger can strike, just before the wild predators can pounce, the shepherd takes his sheep up into his arms, hugs it gently, and carries it back to the safety of the fold with joy in his heart and praises on his lips.

In this life which we all have to make our way through, we can lose some precious things. Marriages can turn sour. Relationships get rocky. Our career plans can go belly-up. Our money can run out. Our friends can disappear. Our families can suffer heavy blows. But before we call it all up as a loss and completely give up on our loved ones, or on ourselves, or on our dreams and hopes, we should make sure we DON’T give up on whatever is precious, and we should make sure we don’t give up on our spiritual resources as a source of strength; we should make sure we do keep on searching and keep on reaching and keep on trying. We should never easily give up on any relationship without giving it all we’ve got. We should never let go of anything good, anything of value, without doing everything we can to hold on. We may have to go out of our own way in order to retrieve it. We may have to leave our comfort zones in order to get back that which the hand of heaven has given us. We may have to go sometimes the extra mile to accomplish our mission, but we will never know what the Divine hand has in store for us unless we keep on searching.

The different disciplines of the spiritual life exist for us to provide real access to the one who never gave up on us. May we also never give up on that Divine Spirit or on ourselves, or on life itself, so long as it is ours to live and breathe. And we pray and ask all this in the name of the living Christ. Amen.

WHAT IS THE CHURCH

8 22 10

John 17:1-11

ANTHONY ACHESON, M.DIV

Today’s reading from John 17 invites us to reflect on a core question: ‘What is the church, and what does it most need to keep itself healthy and strong?’

There are a variety of ways we customarily think about the church, aren’t there? We often refer to the church as a building, as when we may say, ‘I’m going over to the church,’ by which we mean we are going to physically enter a building like the one we’re in now. We also often conceptualize the church is as an organization , as when we may say, ‘I’m active in this church;’ or, ‘I’m a member of that church’s governing board.’ A third way we frequently refer to the church is as a sustained, historic tradition that is a carrier of specific teachings and doctrines across the centuries. So, if we ask, ‘What is the church?’ all of those concepts might provide elements of an answer. But none of them is sufficient or satisfying as an answer that is complete or definitive.

What is the church? Each of us, of course, brings our own thoughts and associations to that question. For me, I would point to three elements as the qualities closest to mf core of sense of what ‘church’ is. First, in its heart of hearts the church is a community. Second, and more specifically, the church is a community of people who are seeking spiritual reality and spiritual consciousness. And thirdly, the church is a community that is seeking to translate this spiritual reality and consciousness into forms of behavior, into patterns of right action that help to serve and heal the world. In traditional Christian language we might say that the defining marks of the church are Holy Spirit, fellowship and mission.  If we were to use Buddhist language we might say that spiritual community manifests when people commit themselves to the Buddha, sangha [community] and dharma [law or teaching.] What is the church? In its heart of hearts the church is a community of people doing the sacred work of seeking out the spirit, and activating and exercising the powers of that spiritual reality in the lives they lead in the world.

In John chapter 17 we heard the prayer for his movement that Jesus offers near the end of his life. Jesus prays for two main things on behalf of his followers–which also means potentially for you and for me.

The first and by far the most important is that we who are involved in the church be people who are growing in our consciousness and knowledge of spiritual reality and spiritual truth. In verses 1 through 3 Jesus says, “Father, the hour has now come. Glorify thy son as thy son has glorified thee….thou hast given him power to give eternal life over all flesh. (And what is eternal life?) This is eternal life–that they know Thee, the only true god.” What is eternal life? This is eternal life, that you be a person who is growing , and that I be a person who is growing in the knowledge and consciousness of God and of the spiritual dimension which stands behind life and permeates life and is our life. First and foremost, then, the church is the community of people seeking and finding spiritual consciousness and spiritual awareness.

Let’s talk for a moment about spiritual reality. The world of the spirit has a paradoxical element to it in that at one and the same time it is something that is completely invisible while at the same time also being radically real. One of the greatest gifts to humankind in recent centuries has been the astonishing growth in our awareness of unseen realities. Think, for example, of the lessons of Copernicus and Galileo at the dawn of the scientific age. These great scientists were able to “see” that the earth goes around the sun even though the opposite was what seemed obvious. Think of the pioneers of medicine who learned to “see” germs and microbes for the first time, even though they were seemingly nowhere to be seen. In their time many such scientists were ridiculed, reviled and even persecuted.  But they were right. Think also, more recently, of Einstein. Can anyone “see” relativity? Can anyone ’see,’ the interchangeability of energy and matter? No one can see any  of those things; certainly not with the immediate perceptions of our five senses. But all of those non-visible things are nonetheless acutely real.

Consider the fact that at this very moment, to use just one more example, this beautiful room that we are worshiping in is filled with many things that we can’t see. At this very moment this beautiful room that we are worshiping in is filled with oxygen and carbon dioxide and other gases that we depend on for life. But can’t see them. This room is also filled with completely invisible television waves, radio waves, and microwaves. This very room, yes, even this room at this moment filled with electromagnetic waves of energy that constitute a whole host of Tweets and texts, emails and family photos. Yesterday afternoon Emma and Nancy and I went on a hike up the mountain on the west side of Lake Willoughby, and when we got to the top, one of our friends pulled out his Blackberry, saw that he was in range for reception and proceeded to check his messages. Whether you would actually want to do that at the top of a magnificent mountain with such a breathtaking view is another question. But even there, out in the wilds of nature, some of those very same electronic pulses I mentioned earlier, though quite invisible to our senses, are nonetheless quite real and quite present. But although none of us can see or hear that level of reality with our five senses, if we do happen to have our Blackberry handy, or a radio or tv or computer, those tools to plug us right in so that we can tune in and translate the reality of those unseen telecommunications, which are all literally right here, down into a form that you and I could see and hear. In our contemporary world, science is often seen as being an enemy or opponent of spirituality. I hold a very different view. I see science and spirituality as being complementary partners. The technological examples I just gave you reflect one arena where that partnership is potentially evident, because one very important thing that both science and spirituality have in common is that they both point us in the direction of recognizing the reality of unseen and invisible things. Both science and spirituality, each in their own way, are signposts and reminders to us of one crucially important fact about life: namely, that many things that are real are invisible; and that there are many invisible things that are highly real. Science and spirituality both remind us of what I like to call the reality of invisibility.

Just as those omnipresent electro-magnetic waves that carry our emails and tweets and text messages as  I mentioned a moment ago are all very real and are all right here, so is the spiritual world also right here and very real. And this brings us back to our original question: what is the church? The purpose of the church as I understand it is also to give us the spiritual tools–analogous to those electronic tools of our Blackberry’s and iPhones sand computers we spoke of a moment ago–to translate the patterns–or, if you will, the signals–of spiritual reality and power and truth down into human consciousness. The purpose of the church is to help us develop the spiritual tools to translate those invisible spiritual realities into forms and feelings, insights and experiences, and patterns of behavior, that you and I can know and make use of in our day to day personal lives.

And how does that happen? Well-there are  many sides to that, of course, and   clearly more than we can cover comprehensively here today. But one thing that is clear….and this is one thing I can and do want to focus on today…..and that one thing that is emphasized in our scripture reading from John 17 this morning. And this is that the spiritual search we are all engaged upon is a journey we take together and not alone. All of which is another way of saying that our spiritual search is a journey we take in community. In John 17 Jesus starts by praying that we all might know our Source, which is the Divine power behind life. But then Jesus goes on to pray  that we might all be one. And he doesn’t simply pray that we might be one. More specifically, he prays, as we hear it in verse 21, “May they all be one in order that the world may believe.” We need to be one because it is precisely through our oneness; it is precisely through our community, and indeed it is precisely through our loving of one another, that we are enabled to find that knowledge of God and of spirit that Jesus so fervently prays for and for which we so fervently thirst.

I want to close this morning with a story that has a lot to say about searching for spiritual life together. It’s called the Rabbi’s Gift. It has been told, among others, by Dr. M. Scott Peck in his book, “A Different Drum.”  This story tells us that once upon a time there was a monastery that had fallen on hard times such that there were only five old monks left.

One day the monastery’s abbot went to visit a rabbi on a retreat nearby. The abbot was agonizing over the imminent death of his order, and he asked the rabbi if by some possible chance he could offer some advice that might save his order. The rabbi shook his head, and said, “No, my friend, I cannot. But I know how it is. The spirit has gone out of the people. It is the same with us.”

Just before leaving, the abbot pressed him again, “Is there nothing you can tell me, dear rabbi, no piece of advice that can save my order?”

” No,” said the rabbi, “I have no advice. The only small thing I can tell you is that the Messiah is one of you.  But otherwise I have no help.”

When the abbot came home, he told his fellow monks that the rabbi could not help. “The only thing he mentioned,” he said, “Was something very cryptic just as I was leaving. he said that the Messiah was one of us. But I have no idea what he meant.”

In the days and months that followed, the old monks pondered whether there was any possible significance to the rabbi’s words. The Messiah is one of us? Did he mean the abbot? Yes. If he meant anyone here, he must have meant Father abbot. He’s led us, and very well, for many years. But then again, he might have meant Brother Thomas. Everyone knows that Thomas is a man of great light.

Certainly he could mot have meant Eldred. Eldred gets crotchety at times. But–come to think of it, even though he is a thorn in people’s sides, when you look back on it, Eldred is virtually always right. Often very right!  Maybe the rabbi did mean Eldred.

But surely, not Brother Phillip. Phillip is so passive. A real nobody. But then again–even with Phillip–almost mysteriously, he somehow has a gift for always being there when you need him. He just magically appears by your side. Maybe Phillip is the  Messiah.

Of course, the rabbi did not mean me. I’m just an average person. But–supposing he did? Suppose I was the Messiah. It couldn’t be me, Lord, could it?

As they contemplated in this manner, the old monks began to treat each other with great respect on the off chance that one among them might be the Messiah. And on the off, off chance that each monk himself might be the messiah, they began to treat their own selves with extraordinary respect.

The forest in which they lived was exquisite. And it happened that people often came to visit the monastery to picnic on its lawn, to wander through its paths and even now and then enter the old chapel to pray. As they did so, without even being conscious of it, they sensed this aura of extraordinary respect that now began to surround the five old monks, and seemed to radiate out from them and permeate the atmosphere of the place. There was something strangely attractive, even compelling, about it. Hardly knowing why, they began to come back to the monastery more and more frequently to picnic, play, and pray. They began to bring their friends, and their friends brought their friends.

And then it happened that some of the younger men started to talk more and more with the old monks. After a while one asked if he could join them. Then another.  And another. And so it was that within a few years the monastery had once again become a thriving order and, thanks to the rabbi’s gift, a vibrant center of light and spirituality in the realm.

And my prayer and desire is that as it was for them, and as it was for the forebears of our faith so might it be for all of us for many rich years to come. Amen.

KEEPING FAITH

8 8 10

2 TIMOTHY 4: 1-2,6-8,16-18

ANTHONY ACHESON, M.DIV

This past Tuesday I was having lunch with our local clergy group and we welcomed for the first time a new colleague in this area, The Rev Laura Cadmus who is the new UCC pastor in Cabot. During that conversation there was some talk about where Laura had come from and how she had gotten here, conversation which included talk about her interview process with the folks from Cabot. That conversation reminded me of the story of the clergyperson who was reported to have written a letter to a prospective search committee. The letter read:  “Dear Friends, I understand your church is looking for a pastor and I want to apply. I am generally considered to be a good preacher. I have pretty good leadership skills. I have also found time to do some writing on the side. I am now in my mid-fifties. And even though my health has had one or two ups and downs, I still do have quite a bit of energy, and have managed to get enough work done to please my congregations, or at least, most of the time anyway. As for references– Well, it’s true that recently I haven’t served in any one place more than three years, and the churches where I have preached have generally been small. There HAVE been a couple of places where there’s been some controversy, I will acknowledge. But despite all this, I feel confident I can bring vitality to your church. And I respectfully ask that you consider my application.”

When the search committee received this letter they had mixed feelings about whether or not they should interview someone with this kind of background. He obviously had some ability but was now, as he himself admitted, well into his fifties and had a history of stirring things up and taking some clearly controversial positions. “So, what was that man’s name, again?” one member of the committee was heard to ask?  “I’m not completely sure,” said the chairman of the committee, looking at the application. “He only used one name when he signed it. At the bottom of the letter it simply says, ‘Paul’.”

A few moments ago we heard some words traditionally attributed to the Apostle Paul. When you think about the ministry, it is interesting to wonder how well some of the early church’s leaders would make it through the ministerial interview process people go through today. Theirs was a rough and dangerous world, which tended to produce people who themselves were rough and somewhat hard-edged. It was a dangerous terrain that the Apostle Paul faced as he traveled for 20 years and thousands of miles all over the Roman world.

In this New Testament reading from Timothy for today, we hear about this same traveling Paul, and we hear specifically about how his end appeared to be drawing near. He was under house arrest in Rome. He was under no illusion about his fate. So it was that he took pen in hand and wrote a parting letter to his friend and close associate, Timothy of Ephesus. He writes in words that have become timeless and immortal: “I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith.” He is telling us that, in his own eyes at least, he looks back on a life that has been basically well lived. And this morning I want to invite us to reflect on what these words may have to tell us about at least some aspects of a well lived life.

The first thing Paul says about his own well-lived life is that he has fought the good fight. That phrase has become a common part of our language. As we hear Paul say that he has fought the good fight we might also think about the things that he did not say. He didn’t say, for example, I’ve achieved the American dream–or in those days it might have been the Roman dream. He didn’t say, I’ve always lived the good life, and let the good times roll. He didn’t say, I’ve achieved great wealth, respect and reputation in my community. He didn’t say, I did it my way. By contrast, Paul points to the fact that his life has been constant hard work. Who of us in this room doesn’t understand that life involves a whole lot of hard work? A child has to work to learn. The teenager has to work to deal with peer pressure. College aged students have to be very proactive in finding their identity. Young adults have to work harder than ever these days to even find a job, let alone to create and manage a career, keep their marriages together, and raise children. No one has to struggle more than older adults who fight with frequent health problems; and in these times unexpected financial issues. Even newborns have to work to come into this world and take birth. From the beginning of life to the end, we are all involved in necessary labors. Paul was right on target when he saw life through the prism of fighting a good fight. And of all the battles that we must inescapably face and deal with, the most difficult one is always the inner battle. It is the work that needs to be done within us. It is the inner work for self-mastery and against self-seeking.

The first secret, then, of the life well lived is to fight that good fight and to do the inner work that life requires of us. And then secondly, Paul says that even if people around us let us down, we can’t let that bring us down. When Paul was brought before the Roman Emperor to defend the charges brought against him, as we hear in book of Second Timothy, the clear implication is that when it came to Paul’s closest associates most of them deserted him. Barnabas, Paul’s constant traveling companion for more than 10 years is nowhere mentioned in this letter. Mark, another of Paul’s close friends and by tradition the writer of the second Gospel, had fled in fear. Luke, the great physician, writer of the third Gospel, and traveling companion had apparently deserted his friend. Titus and Silas were all gone. We are left to assume they all hid in the shadows during Paul’s darkest hour. As Paul writes here in verse 16 of Chapter 4, “At my trial, no one came to my support, everyone deserted me.” What Paul went through before the Emperor was not so different, was it, from the desertions Jesus went through in Gethsemane. The author Thomas Wolfe once wrote, “The whole conviction of my life now rests upon the belief that loneliness, far from being a rare and curious phenomenon, peculiar to myself and a few other solitary men, is the central and inevitable fact of human existence.” Those are words that Paul could have well understood.

So, if the first secret of a life well lived is fighting the good fight, and the second secret is that being deserted does not mean being defeated; then finally there is a third secret of a life well-lived, which lies in the fact that we need to focus over and over again on relying on and maintaining and rebuilding our faith. Paul says, “I have kept the faith.” That is really a remarkable declaration when you look back on all the occasions Paul could easily have let his faith slip away and given it all up.  Consider all the things Paul tells us he endured during his ministry: Hunger, thirst, nakedness, cold, sleeplessness, homelessness and persecution; being cast down, afflicted, beaten, imprisoned and slandered; poverty, floggings, five times given 39 lashes, being beaten with rods, stoned, shipwrecked, drifted in the open sea for 24 hours, in danger from rivers, bandits, and his own country-men. Paul says he has been in danger in the city, in the country, at sea, and around all people both Jew and Gentile. But despite all this, he still viewed his life as a success. Why? Surely one of the keys, one of the secrets, is that he had kept faith alive within him.

In the Broadway play “The Miracle Worker,” we see the story of Ann Sullivan, the woman who taught Helen Keller how to communicate. It was during the 1890’s, in the hills of northern Alabama, that she struggled with Helen and her seemingly insurmountable handicaps-being deaf, blind, and mute. Helen Keller may have been the miracle that history seems to present to us, but Ann Sullivan was clearly every bit as much a worker of miracles in that story as was Helen Keller. What were the qualities that marked the lives of those two women? Was it that they fought a good fight? Clearly they did that. It is hard for us to even imagine not only the primitive care and the prejudices of that day, but also the fact that Helen’s own parents saw her as a hopeless case. Was it the fact that they finished the race? Clearly they both did that as well. Ann Sullivan and Helen Keller went on when most everyone else would have given in and given up. Both the teacher and the student in their remarkable drama saw Helen Keller go on to receive a PhD from Temple University in Philadelphia and become a world renowned author and speaker and an inspiration to millions. The thing that most distinguished the lives of both those women, however, is that they kept the faith. Throughout it all both of these women kept believing, and refused to stop believing, that Helen could surmount her monstrously large handicaps, that she could surmount her blindness and her deafness and profound isolation, not to mention desperation; and go on to become a woman who could not only communicate with other human beings, but far beyond that become a major force in her community, and indeed even become a major force in history. The story of Helen Keller and Anne Sullivan is a story of two women who not only fought a good fight and ran a good race; it as also a story of two human beings who refused to lose their faith.

And so it can be for each of us. In 2 Timothy 4 Paul writes, “The time of my departure is at hand.” “But that is alright,” he seems to be saying, ” because I have fought the good fight. I have finished the race. I have kept the faith.” May we also echo these words in the midst of all the seasons of our lives, when things are high and good, when things are low and bad, whether we are coming to the end of our life’s journey or when we feel as if we are at wit’s end; may we also do the essentially spiritual work of keeping our faith strong through our own spiritual work and commitment, as well as through the gift of the unearned grace and power of the living God.

And this we ask in the name of the living Christ. Amen.

THE POWER OF THIN PLACES

8 1 10

PSALM 27

ANTHONY ACHESON, M.DIV

I have a musician friend who comes here to northern Vermont to play in a concert series each year. He told me this week how much he treasures spending time amid the splendor and beauty of this unspoiled land. Despite the modest pay for performing, he keeps returning because of the profound restoration and renewal he draws from the lush aliveness we are privileged to have draped around us. The colors of the plants and sky, the peace of the lake, the friendliness of the morning mists all work in concert to usher in a calm and healing that is unavailable in the urban bustle where he has also pursued his career. City and country, of course, each have their roles. But there is something about huddling close to the original God-made version of things that provides a form of food for our souls that is necessary and required for spiritual health.

Throughout history there have been specific places - such as the one we enjoy here - to which people have repaired as unique access points to the spiritual world. The ancient Celtic peoples used to refer to such sites as ‘thin places.’ These Celtic thin places were special spots scattered throughout the British Isles - though they exist anywhere in the world —  where people sensed that there was only a narrow dividing line between this physical world and the spiritual realms that lay close at hand. These were places where people were empowered to experience deeper spiritual dimensions than may be found in the immediacy of their daily locations and preoccupations.

When Christianity became predominant, at least some of the Celtic Christians had the wisdom to keep alive these pre-Christian insights about thin places. They expanded the understanding to include not only ‘thin’ physical locations, but also what we might call ‘thin instants:’ instances when the spiritual dimension of things could be accessed and felt within the stream of human stories and events. Thankfully, the concept of thin places eventually became included in at least some segments of the vocabulary of the Christian religion.

Alongside these special physical locations, there are also certain passages of the world’s great wisdom traditions, including our own Christian writings, that can play a unique role in leading us into encounters with numinous powers.  In her book, ‘Acedia and Me,’ Kathleen Norris has described the importance to her spiritual practice of reading, and re-reading, the psalms. Those ancient Hebrew poems and songs are resources through which she can consistently reconnect with Spirit, and rediscover the movings of God.

A few moments ago we heard one of those psalms. The words and images of Psalm 27 can be to us a kind of verbal thin place where human and divine meet in a beautiful closeness, as they say:

“The Lord is my light and my salvation;
whom shall I fear?
The Lord is the stronghold of my life,
of whom shall I be afraid?
Come, my heart says, ’seek God’s face.’
Your face O Lord do I seek.
Do not hide your face from me.
I believe that I shall see the goodness of the Lord right here
in the land of the living.”

This psalm is a statement of spiritual serenity based on an ongoing and regular approach to God, and to the things of the Spirit. Psalm 27 happens to be only place in the Hebrew Scriptures [what Christians often call the Old Testament] where God is referred to as ‘the light.’ This is interesting and significant because the image of God as light is one that Jesus, and the New Testament generally, put a major focus on. We are told in the gospels that, ‘God IS Light.’  Jesus says of himself, ‘I am the light of the world.’ He also speaks to those around him and tells them, ‘You are the light of the world.’ When he taught he cautioned people to safeguard, ‘the light that is in you,’ and urged people to become, ’sons [and daughters] of light.’ The fact that this 27^th Psalm is the only place where the metaphor of God as light is used in the Hebrew scriptures; and the fact that Jesus made considerable use of this metaphor himself, would suggest that Psalm 27 was likely one that Jesus knew well, and one that may well have had a formative influence on his spiritual education, and on the development of his thinking and teaching. Psalm 27 may well have been one of Jesus’ scriptural ‘thin places.’

The theologian Dorothy Bass has drawn attention to one set of question we sometimes ask each other, such as: ‘How was your day?’  To ask, ‘How was your day?’ is a different question than, ‘How are you?’, which is highly routine and usually calls for a formulaic  response, such as, ‘I’m fine;’ or, ‘I’m OK.’ But the question, ‘How was your day?’ is one that invites a more considered response. It invites an actual description of something that happened during the day, as well as how that affected us, or how we responded.
Dorothy Bass goes on to tell the story of a mother she knows who has quite a different way of approaching that question. As she puts her kids to bed each night, their teeth brushed and their hair still damp from the bathtub or shower, she asks them this question: “Where did you meet God today?” And they tell her, one by one: ‘a teacher helped me;’ ‘there was a homeless person I saw in the park;’ ‘I saw a big bush with lots of flowers in it.’ And then mother shares with them an example of where she may have met God that day. As those youngsters drift off to dreamland, the mundane events of their lives become woven into the weave of their evening prayers. When they are given the encouragement to interpret their daily doings through the lens of looking for God in its events, they enter a potential thin place.

There is an underlying implication in this mother’s evening routine with her kids: our access to the Divine in day to day life is greatly enhanced if we cultivate proactive practices and disciplines. It requires repetitive, life-affirming behaviors. Being able to see and sense God’s presence flows out of  creative, sustained choices by which we actively seek out the spiritual presence that is always around us, but often goes  unnoticed. An awareness of thin places reminds us that God and the spiritual world are inherently close. This is an important truth to remind ourselves of often, given the widespread belief that many of us have been trained into, that God is a being who is removed and far off.

Today’s words from Psalm 27 invites us to seek out an increasing closeness with the Divine spirit, and to re-discover in our own personal experience what it means to sense and feel and rely on the Divine Light. These familiar words of scripture describe one writer’s description from nearly 3 thousand years ago of a thin place, a place where God’s spirit is especially close, and specially to be found.

May the gifts of this table and today’s receiving of this sacrament of communion be the same to us today:  a thin place, a transparent opportunity through which the presence of God and the love of the living Christ is known to us in richness and in reality. This we pray in the name of the spirit of God. Amen.

GRATITUDE

7 25 10

LUKE 17:11-19

ANTHONY ACHESON, M.DIV

There is a preacher I heard about who was known for long-ish sermons. One Sunday he was preaching one of his longer sermons. 15, 20 minutes went by and then 30, and then 40 minutes, with no sign of winding down. When he reached the 45 minute mark, he noticed one of his top deacons get up and leave. This bothered the minister, but not enough to bring on the magic words, “And so, in conclusion.” So on and on he went, and after a while the minister saw that the member of the deacons actually came back into the church and returned to his seat.  After the service was FINALLY over, the now curious minister asked the man why he left. And the guy said, “I went to get a hair cut.” “A hair cut?” said the minister. Couldn’t you have gotten your hair cut before you came to church?” To which the man replied, “Reverend, before I came to church, I didn’t need a hair cut.”

I share that with you this morning because today’s reading from Luke is one of those passages that is so full of rich imagery and multiple themes, that a preacher could easily get carried away. But hopefully that won’t be the case today.

This parable of the ten lepers is one that wants to have a conversation with us about gratitude and the role of gratitude in the spiritual life. For any of us who have had children, we all know that one of our early tasks as parents is to teach kids to learn to express thanks. When someone gives gifts to our children we are all well primed to remind them: “What do you say?” And from an early age they are prompted to reply, “Thank you.” And as adults, not only do we teach our kids to give thanks, we also appreciate BEING thanked for things we give or do.

The central characters in today’s story were ordinary human beings who breathed and ate, had hopes and dreams, feelings and fears just like us. But they had all been struck with the tragedy of leprosy which was one of the most dreaded of ancient diseases, leaving its victim maimed and disfigured. There was no known cure. And since leprosy was then falsely thought to be contagious, people who were lepers were, as we might say today, dead men walking when it came to maintain their hopes for normal family life, a useful occupation, or plans for the future.

But despite their seeming hopelessness, these lepers nonetheless approached Jesus, if at a far distance. Jewish law categorized lepers as “ritually unclean.” They were not allowed to come within fifty yards of a person who was “clean.” These people had to live in a hell of social loneliness. That in itself can do more to drain a person’s energy for living than the most horrible of diseases.

But even in the midst of this dire status these lepers had at least something to be thankful for. In their common misery they had found each other and joined together. It is highly significant that one of these ten lepers was a Samaritan. That’s one of the most important sub-themes of this story. A good Jew in that day and time would have no dealings at all with a Samaritan. They looked upon Samaritans as low-lifes or half-breeds. Yet, in the common misery that they shared together, in the common misery of their leprosy these ten seem to have been empowered to forget their social separation as Jew and Samaritan. Beyond those differences, they appear ho have bonded into a new community of their own creation in which the Jews and Samaritans were no longer in opposing groups but were now members of the same group. Under the harsh conditions of their suffering and misfortune had come into contact with their common humanness.  They had come to see that the vulnerability that they had in common was much more important than the religious or group distinctions under which they had once seemed very different. There is great power in that kind of consciousness of common vulnerability. Even for lepers. Especially for lepers.

But then something happened. At some point, some instant–quite by surprise—those ten outcast lepers were changed. Every diseased cell in their bodies was changed. Every cell suddenly sprang into full health signaled by an unseen force. It was a force of events which began in the twinkle of an eye, in a flash of excitement as one of the ten noticed his body becoming healthy, and then another, and then a third.

Can you picture them bounding down the road to the priest, now running, now leaping, now dancing, wondering how the priest would react, anticipating the glee, the excitement of their families as they would return home–healthy, alive, with a legal, official health certificate proclaiming to all what had happened. All ten men caught up in the joy, the excitement of the moment.

But then just one of them does something that the other 9 do not. He stops, he smiles, he turns, now walking, now running, back to the Master, back to this healer, back to this one who touched him with the mysterious force. He comes back, “shouting, laughing, proclaiming glory to God with a joyful and thankful heart.” He runs back and offers up the thanks of that bountiful heart to the great man for his great act. All ten of these men no doubt were appreciative. I have no doubt that all ten of them were thankful in the attitude of their hearts. But only one of them came and engaged in the proactive and intentional act of love that comes through saying, “Thank you; thank you so very much,” to a person who has given so very much in this act of love, of bestowing healing.

“Were not ten cleansed?” Jesus says. “Where are the nine?” We should take note of the fact that he does not take the healings back for those nine. Neither does he imply that the other nine did not FEEL grateful. The other nine may indeed have had that feeling. But the real winner in this story is the man who not only was healed in the flesh, and who not only FELT  happy in his heart, but who was also expanded in his heart and spirit enough to offer his own gift back in return, namely the gift of letting the giver know how much his gift truly meant.

Jesus loved all ten of the lepers. He loved all ten of them before he healed them, and he loved all ten after he healed them. But in that moment, at least, although ten of them may have had their bodies healed, only one of the ten had been able to take the next step and not only receive the love of Christ, but return the gift of love back to Christ, in the form of expressing his own love and gratitude.

There is an ancient story that has several different versions to it, but one of the most famous is called The Lion and the Mouse. This story tells us that once upon a time, as a lion lay sleeping in his den, a naughty little mouse ran up his tail, and onto his back and up his mane and danced and jumped on his head. But that woke the lion up. The lion grabbed the mouse and, holding him in his large claws, roared in anger. ‘How dare you wake me up!  Don’t you know that I am King of the Beasts? Anyone who disturbs my rest deserves to die! I shall kill you and eat you!’

The terrified mouse, shaking and trembling, begged the lion to let him go. ‘Please don’t eat me Your Majesty! I did not mean to wake you, it was a mistake. I was only playing. Please let me go. And if you do, I promise I will be your friend forever. Who knows, maybe one day I could save your life?’

The lion looked at the tiny mouse and laughed. ‘You save my life? What an absurd idea!’ he said scornfully. ‘But you have made me laugh, and put me into a good mood again, so I shall let you go.’ And the lion opened his claws and let the mouse go free. ‘Oh thank you, your majesty,’ squeaked the mouse, and scurried away as fast as he could.

Within a few short days, however, the lion’s fortunes had changed, and he himself had become ensnared in the nets of a hunter, just as the mouse had been ensnared in the lion’s clutch just recently. Struggle as he might, he couldn’t break free, and as he struggled, he became even more entangled in the net of ropes. He let out a roar of anger that shook the forest. Every animal heard it, including the tiny mouse.

‘My friend the lion is in trouble,’ cried the mouse. He ran as fast as he could in the direction of the lion’s roar, and soon found the lion trapped in the hunter’s snare. ‘Hold still, Your Majesty,’ squeaked the mouse. ‘I’ll have you out of there in a jiffy!’ And without further delay, the mouse began nibbling through the ropes with his sharp little teeth. Very soon the lion was free. The lion was profusely grateful. He said to the mouse over and over, ‘Little mouse, my thanks are with you. My thanks are with you forever. I did not believe that you could be of use to me, little mouse, but today you saved my life,’ said the lion humbly.

‘It was my turn to help you, Sire,’ answered the mouse. For even the weak and small may be of help to those much mightier than themselves. For little friends may prove great friends. And no act of kindness, no matter how small, is ever wasted.”

In Luke’s story of the ten lepers, all ten, no doubt were happy to receive the kindness of Christ. But only one appears to have known the importance of expressing that gratitude. That call to gratitude is not something that comes naturally to us. As children we have to be taught to do it. And thankfulness is often not easy in times such as ours amid our fears that things might spiral out of control in an unsettled world around us. But this call to gratefulness is a call that is based on an ultimately spiritual affirmation that behind and within all the events of our lives, and all the doings of history, in the end, there is a Divine presence and purpose and process that lie at the center, even though, and even when, it is far from apparent.

The first book in English ever written by a woman was penned by the Christian nun and scholastic, Julian of Norwich. In this book she wrote, “Let us pray all together with God’s working; let us be people who are thanking, trusting, rejoicing, for thus will our good lord be prayed to, by the understanding that I took of God’s meaning. In my praying I was answered in spiritual understanding, “Do you want to know your lord’s meaning in this thing?  Know it well, love was his meaning. Who reveals it to you? Love does. What did he reveal to you?  He revealed Love.  Why does he reveal it to you?  Because of love.  Remain in this, and you shall know more of the same.  And you shall never know different in this, without end.’  Thus was I taught, says Julian, that love is our lord’s meaning.”

And thus are we taught today in this story of these ten lepers of one of the many faces of love, the giving of thanks, the expression of gratitude as the recognition of un underlying Divine goodness in all that we have and in all that happens. May God give us the grace and wisdom during the days of this week to see the God’s heavenly hand in all we have and in all our blessings, and indeed in all the events of our lives. This we affirm and offer, with thanks, to the living, ever-present God. Amen.

FLESH AND BLOOD

7 4 10

JOHN 6:51-58

ANTHONY E.ACHESON, M.DIV.

If someone were to hear this reading from John chapter 6 for the first time, in today’s modern, or post-modern, world it would, I think, sound very strange. It still may sound strange to us too, although I think for us the strangeness is mitigated by the fact that most of us have heard these words many times, and we have become a bit inured to them because of that familiarity, and because they are ‘Scripture.’

In order to have a better understanding of this passage I’d like to begin by placing John’s gospel in some historical perspective. It is believed by most scholars that John was the last of the 4 gospels in the Bible to be written, somewhere around the year 100 at the very end of John’s life, or perhaps even after John’s life by members of his school who were representing what he may have passed on orally to them of Jesus’ teachings. This Gospel of John is also the one which clearly contains the most interpretation of the doings and teachings of Jesus, by contrast, say, with the Gospel of Mark, which was almost certainly written first and appears to have the most detail and the most historical accuracy.

One of the most commonly used commentaries on the Bible is by a Methodist minister named William Barclay. He points out that during the days of Jesus’ physical life, when pagans sacrificed an animal to their gods, they did not burn the entire animal. A portion was given to the priests, and another part was kept by the worshiper who had offered the sacrifice to make a feast for himself, or herself, and their friends within the temple precincts. At that feast the god in question was itself considered to be a guest. Once the flesh was offered to the god, they believed that the god itself had come and entered into it; and therefore, when the worshipers ate of it, they were literally eating the god. When the guests rose from the table, they went out feeling that they were indeed filled with god or, ‘god-filled’ because they had eaten the very flesh of their god.

In addition to those pagan beliefs, other prominent expressions of religion in the Mediterranean world of Jesus’ time were those that we now refer to as Mystery Religions. The worship of these Mystery Religions revolved heavily around passion plays, stories acted out dramatically, about a god who had lived and suffered terribly, and who had died and rose again. This same pattern of the dying and rising god was a major factor, for example, in the Greek worship of the god Dionysus. We get one of our main depictions of these rituals in the Greek playwright Euripides’ drama called the Bacchae which some of us might remember reading from our college days. New believers in these Greek Mystery Religions were carefully prepared to watch the play, and as they did, the idea was that under the inspiration of the play they would be elevated into a mental state in which they felt they had became one with the god. They shared the sorrows and the griefs, the death and the resurrection. They and the god became one forever, and they believed that they were then safe in life and in death.

Thus, these ancient people knew all about the striving, the longing, the dreaming for mystical unity with their god and for the bliss of taking that god into themselves. Phrases, therefore, like eating Christ’s body and drinking his blood which sound so bizarre to 21st century westerners, would not sound particularly shocking to the people of Jesus’ world and time. Those people would already have a sense of something of that ineffable experience of union, closer than any earthly union, of which these words speak. And so it was that the early Christians–most especially John, as we’ve heard it today, were adopting and adapting the thought-forms of their day and era to clothe the message of the risen Christ that was such a real and redeeming part of their life-experience.

As I mentioned earlier, John’s gospel was the last one written. John had been reflecting on Jesus’ life for almost seventy years. So in his gospel, he is not so much providing us with a literal account of the actual words of Jesus, but rather, an interpretation of their inner significance. So, from John’s perspective, what does Christ mean when he tells us to eat his body and drink his blood? In being invited to symbolically eat his body we are invited to enter into Christ’s complete humanity.

In being invited to symbolically drink his blood, we must remember that in Jewish thought, the blood represents life itself, for without blood, we are dead, and blood belonged to God. That is why to this day a true Jewish believer will not eat any meat which has not been completely drained of any blood, hence the meaning of kosher. When Jesus says that we must drink his blood, he means that we must take the essence of what was unique and special and powerful about his life into the very core of our life.  Like any life experience, whether a trip to a part of the world we have never seen before, or perhaps a favorite book, something must be internalized before we can experience its wonder and excitement. As an example, there are many people who have a favorite book, who read that book several times–read it over and over. And when you do that you are drawing whatever it is that speaks to you in that book into yourself. It becomes part of you and you of it.

So it is with Christ. He is merely a name in a book unless we feed on his life and let him into our hearts. This is at least part of what is meant by eating his flesh and drinking his blood. Through reading, through worship, through prayer, through meditation, through communion, through spiritual discussion, or emotionally honest conversation and study, through acts of service, through the expression of our commitment in the larger world; through all of these things we feed our hearts and minds and souls on the real presence of the sacred, and we revitalize our lives with his life until, like the pagans, we are filled with the life and the Reality of the Divine Presence.

During the Second World War, Dietrich Bonhoeffer was a courageous Lutheran Pastor whose resistance to the Nazis led to his death. In 1945, just before his execution by the Nazis, Bonhoeffer celebrated the Eucharist for one final time.  In their confinement, he and his cell-mates had no bread.  And they certainly didn’t have any wine. In that final communion, when Bonhoeffer came to the consecration of the elements, he prayed: “This is the bread we do not have. This is the wine we do not have.  But this is the Christ we will always have which can never be taken from us.”

That sums up succinctly what John is telling us in these towering words form chapter 6 of his gospel. John is telling us that in drawing near to Christ and in allowing the Christic energy and Presence to enter in us, we are letting in a profoundly real and profoundly powerful spiritual presence, that has the ability and the potential to nourish us and feed us and empower us far beyond any physical food or material possession.

I pray that all of us will truly take these truths, and the nourishment of this table, to heart in the hours and days ahead, and in each and every time we come to worship and approach the living Christ. In whose name we pray it. Amen.

MENTAL HEADLINES

6 27 10

MARK 6:30-34

ANTHONY E.ACHESON, M.DIV.

Criticizing contemporary culture and modern life is a favorite preoccupation of many preachers, sometimes including the one you are listening to right now. Even though I can be a frequent critic of contemporary culture, there are certainly times when I am drawn into its fascinations. Like millions of other Americans, I do my share of celebrity watching, buy my share of copies of People magazine; or sneak a furtive glance at the Globe when I’m in line at the Grand Union. (And, no, I’m not referring to the Boston Globe).

We all get fascinated sometimes by the buzz that comes up in contemporary culture. The buzz of what is new and fashionable in the world of highly visible and glamorous people. We may stay up late and watch award shows and then turn around and be the first to criticize the stars the next day. We may wonder aloud - I wonder why such and so has had so bad of a drug problem, and why so and such has filed for bankruptcy, and the star of this or that show once tried to commit suicide, and she over there was convicted of drunken driving last summer but had an expensive lawyer and didn’t serve any time for it.

In their efforts to create a large market for films, books, and recorded music, publicists routinely spend thousands - even millions of dollars - to acquire what we, today, refer to as having this kind of buzz around them. As long as people are talking about the celebrities of today, and participating in this phenomenon of creating ‘buzz,’ they remain prominent in the headlines, in order that they may have a place in our consciousness, in our minds and awareness in the arena of what might be called our own inner mental headlines.

When I refer to our own inner mental headlines, I’m referring to the way we give prominent attention to things within our own minds, to whatever it may be that we consider to be immediately important, which often is a way of being drawn in or sucked in to what our culture considers to be immediately important. At movie theaters, or for Broadway shows, they frequently have a big marquis to headline what movie is playing or what show is being performed. Our own inner mental headlines are whatever it is that we lift up in our own psychological marquis, whenever we give prominent attention to what we hold to be important to us, which often is based on what we have heard or envisioned or experienced, as I mentioned a moment ago, in the culture around us. This is the psychological phenomenon that is being manipulated by those who are trying to create buzz around themselves or around their clients. This is the ultimate source of such buzz: whatever it is that we allow to occupy our own minds; whatever it is that we allow to become our own preoccupations.

One of the most important issues that all of us face is what do we allow to be influences as to what we really think about? What do we allow to be influences as to what we allow to be primary, or what we allow to be predominant in our consciousness. In the story we heard a couple minutes ago from Mark 6, Jesus and his disciples in that story -and clearly throughout Jesus’ public life - they clearly were the focus of the equivalent of lots of intense public speculation. You might say it was a form of ‘buzz’ going on in their day, in their culture. It sure sounds like they had made their way into many people’s inner mental headlines when we read in Mark 6:33 “Now many saw them going and recognized them, and they hurried there on foot from all the towns and arrived ahead of them.” It could be similar to what a lot of paparazzi and culture followers do in our time.

The events described in Mark 6 are all happening at a time when Jesus and his disciples are looking for a lonely place separate from the demands of the crowds; a place where they can rest; where they can come back to center, and deal with the fatigue of the recent trip the disciples had taken two by two.

Jesus had only recently sent them out on this initial voyage. We are told in Verse 13 they had been successful in their healings, which must have meant that they themselves had begun to attain a certain kind of celebrity, even distinct from Jesus.’  I can’t help but wonder about the inner mental headlines displayed in their own heads. How did they feel about their accomplishments; what was their view of Jesus and His great power now that they had entered into a phase of their careers, where they were exercising that kind of power themselves?  When they came back from their road trip, they were exhausted, which is why they were going away - to get some rest - and of course the people came and followed them, as we saw a moment ago, with great enthusiasm.

Now if this talk were to end here, we would only have taken note of the parallels between modern and  ancient forms of celebrity. What is far more intriguing, though, is the revelation of Jesus’ wise perspective as he responds to all that frenetic attention that was going on around him. Verse 34 it tells us with powerful simplicity: ‘He saw the great crowd, and he had compassion on them, because they were like sheep without a shepherd.’

Jesus did not allow himself to be drawn in to the superficial ego inflation - as we might say in today’s language - of celebrity. Many of the celebrities in our time would see a crowd when they were on vacation and react either with hostility, or with avoidance. At the other end of the spectrum, perhaps some might have acted with self-promotion. But Jesus reacted not with irritation, or avoidance, or self-promotion, but with compassion. Not with closing himself down, but by keeping his heart in the open position when people in need were in his presence, even though on the level of personal preference he would just as likely liked to have pulled back into the solitude and the quiet. And indeed, that one fact, that Jesus did keep himself in the open position - that Jesus did keep his compassionate heart in the open position - that very fact clearly was one of the main reasons people in the story were so interested. They weren’t interested in someone who was merely good looking. We have no idea whatsoever what Jesus looked like, but even if he was an impressive physical man, that’s not what they were interested in. They weren’t interested in someone who could merely act the role well - as we might be impressed by in the presence of a famous actor. They certainly weren’t interested in one who has succeeded in becoming materially wealthy.

The good news in this story is that these people were interested in something deeper, something more significant than mere appearance. They were looking for something less superficial than the mere ability to manipulate appearance (which is what acting is). They were interested in something that could not just fascinate - or titillate - them, but rather in something that could move them; something that could really feed and nourish them; something that could really change them. They were interested in an energy source that could really heal them. When I think of all the libraries of books written about Jesus, I am aware of the vast array of ways of thinking about him and evaluating him. But beneath all the theories, what he was,. was a powerfully energetic human being . He was a human being who not only manifested and radiated powerful energy, he was a man who was deeply and uninterruptedly connected with the very foundational energy in the universe itself.  Jesus was deeply and uninterruptedly connected to the power of life, the power of creation. The choice of words we choose to describe this reality is ultimately irrelevant. What is important is the fact is that this ultimate, divine power is there. It is here. It exists. And we have the possibility of being connected with that energy source, of being connected in an uninterrupted way with that fundamental, foundational life force; with the energy force, which is the Divine creational force behind the universe.

The reason we are still talking about Jesus 2,000 years after his physical life, is precisely because he was so uninterruptedly connected to that foundational energy source, that foundational life power, that foundational creative power. This is the same force that has created us, and indeed has created all things. So those people who were fascinated by him, they weren’t just taken in by good looks; they weren’t just fascinated by someone who could play a role well; they weren’t just fascinated by a man who happens to have been able to gather in a large material store. What they were interested in was the appearance of somebody who was profoundly alive; and they were also interested in somebody whose profound aliveness manifested in the form of authentic caring, authentic compassion, authentic concern, someone who could really make a difference in their lives, not because of his status, but because he had the power to demonstrate to them true life, and true compassion, and he had the power to free them from the mental patterns that were keeping them disconnected from that true power of life.

Jesus clearly had no interest in celebrity or in the attention others gave him. He wasn’t seeking to have his likeness painted; he didn’t appear to have any interest in being interviewed; he wasn’t reading polls, talking in sound bites, pitching any products; he wasn’t seeking to outdo any competitors. He was there to do what he believed that his inner voice called him to do. That meant consistently to keep loving people, consistently to keep his heart open, consistently to keep himself listening for that inner guidance. To live life in this way, is not just something to be praised, it is also something to be emulated. That to me is a profoundly important concept. It’s a concept we’ll be talking about in our study in July. Christianity has put a lot of its energy into adulation of this man who lived 2,000 years ago. I would suggest to you what is really important about Jesus is not that we give him our adulation, but that we give him our emulation. To hold Jesus in high regard is understandable, and can be beautiful. But what’s really important is to follow the example we see in him. We see him as a template for modeling our life and our own approach to life.

So may our personal walk with the ultimate, with our higher power - the divine - with God - be increasingly based on more and more openness to the aliveness, the power, the creative power of the Divine, including the important ways we see it in the luminous, radiant power of Jesus, we call Christ. We ask and offer all these things today trusting in his power and truth and goodness, and trusting in the eternal availability of God’s presence and spirit. In his name we pray it. Amen.

A RADICAL AND UNPRECEDENTED SURPRISE

JOHN 3:1-17

ANTHONY E.ACHESON, M.DIV.

Today’s passage raises some significant questions are. All of us go through periods when there are questions in our minds that don’t seem to have legitimate answers. There are times when the knowledge we thought we had acquired, and the faith we thought we had accrued, runs through our fingers like water.

In today’s story Nicodemus is at a juncture like this. He clearly has a lot of questions that are puzzling him and questions racing through his mind that he doesn’t understand. The context of John 3 implies that Nicodemus feels under some form of threat. On the one hand, Nicodemus clearly holds a sincere admiration for Jesus. He refers to him as a ‘teacher who has come from God.’ He says, ‘No one can do the signs that you do apart from the presence of God.’ There are several places in the Gospels where Nicodemus expresses fondness for Christ. His fondness appears sincere.

But at the beginning of this passage, we also hear that Nicodemus was a Pharisee. Other sections of the Gospels show us that the Pharisees were mostly antagonistic toward Jesus and vice-versa. So Nicodemus on the one hand likes and admires Jesus, and on the other hand he belongs to a group that is in opposition to Jesus. This puts Nicodemus in a difficult situation. Because his own personal sentiments are the opposite of the sentiments of his official group, he is reluctant to admit and show his feelings publicly. So what is he to do? On the one hand he honors his appreciation for Jesus by making him a personal visit. But when he does come to visit, he does so by night. Why does he come at night? Presumably because he is choosing a time when he is least likely be seen. In effect he sneaks off to see Jesus so he can pursue the honest questions he has. But he is also minimizing danger to himself by trying to keep the visit quiet.

When Nicodemus does get to Jesus, he doesn’t begin with a question, but instead starts with a statement. He says I know you are a teacher and you clearly are from God. That’s how he starts. You sense there is a question underneath all that, and it’s not clear whether he is unable to get himself to actually ask it, or whether Jesus cuts him off before he gets to the question.

When Jesus does speak, he completely changes the subject. He shows no interest in being praised, but instead turns the focus back on Nicodemus himself. When he says, ‘No-one can get to the Kingdom of God without being born anew from above,’ that topic his is unrelated to  what Nicodemus asked about. The Pharisee didn’t ask about being born again; he didn’t even ask about the Kingdom of God. But that is the subject Jesus begins to talk to him about.

This place in today’s passage is one where we all would be better off if we spoke a little New Testament Greek. The statement Jesus makes back to Nicodemus is one of quite a few in the New Testament that does not translate at all well from Greek into English. In Greek, Jesus has told Nicodemus that in order to enter the Kingdom of God, you have to be born, then the word that occurs in Greek is A-NO-THEN. That little word there - A-NO-THEN - is a word according to New Testament Greek scholars holds two distinct meanings at the same time. This word A-NO-THEN means born from above (as today’s translation, the New Revised Standard, has it). But it also means ‘born again’ or ‘born anew’ as many other translations have it, including The King James version. And that is the translation that many of us are most familiar with.

This translation I just read from doesn’t serve as well, I think. It says ‘Truly, truly I tell you, no one can see the Kingdom of God without being born from above.’ And then this translation says, ‘Nicodemus said back to Jesus ‘How can anyone be born after having grown old? Can one enter a second time into a mother’s womb?’ So that translation doesn’t work very well, because Nicodemus’ answer seems to imply that he heard the statement from Jesus  as being more on the side of being born again, even though the word in the text - A-NO-THEN - can also mean being born from above.

In most of our Bibles, whichever translation you have, the version we have relegates the

Meaning it has not used - what it considers to be the secondary meaning - to a little footnote at the bottom of the page. The problem with this approach to translation is that it makes one or the other meanings seem secondary. The problem is that the word in Greek implies both meanings at the same time. The writer of John, on the other hand, has given us a word that hold the two distinct levels of meaning. That is why I think it would be better translated that Jesus is saying that we need to be born anew from above, and in so doing include both shades of meaning.

In what comes next it is evident that Nicodemus allows himself to fall into a mental trap. It’s a very common mental trap - one that’s easy to fall into. In trying to make sense of what Jesus is telling him, Nicodemus attempts to flatten out what he thinks he’s hearing from Jesus, and compress it down into the simplest possible sense his mind can understand. He does this in two ways. First, he focuses only on the ‘born again’ side of Jesus’ statement, excluding the ‘born from above’ side of the meaning. Secondly, and very importantly, he tries to understand what Jesus is saying by interpreting it in the most obvious and the most literal possible way. ‘How can anyone be born physically’ is implied all over again, having grown old … can a person enter a second time into the womb and be born?’

We can easily catch ourselves chuckling at how literal minded Nicodemus is being. But we may want to be careful in our judgments, because you and I don’t necessarily comprehend this teaching about being born again from above any better than Nicodemus does. The concept of being ‘born again’ is frequently discussed in our culture. In some circles it’s used as a religious litmus test. But to use the phrase either way is to miss out on something profoundly important.  To use it in a literal way, or as a dogmatic litmus test, flattens out the meaning just as much as Nicodemus did. The real point, the main point that Jesus is making is that re-birth, or new birth, or birth from above, is something that transforms the totality of our lives. It turns everything upside down. It is a larger process that has the potential to make our previous perceptions about ourselves and reality; and our previous perceptions about what God is - seem wrong or at best incomplete. When this new thing happens in us, whatever it is, we recognize how limited our previous understanding was, because of the change that has occurred in our minds and perceptions.

When we speak of this larger process of spiritual re-birth, it is important to remember that it is in fact much larger than our sphere of either understanding or influence.  We can’t fully understand it, and we certainly can’t fully control it, precisely because it is so much larger than any aspect of our own individual experience or being. It is profoundly larger than what our cognitive minds can comprehend. It is certainly profoundly larger than what our rules can bend reality to. This larger birth process is in the realm of mystery, like the wind blowing, as Jesus says later in this passage.

That is true of physical birth, as several of us can attest, and it’s true most assuredly of spiritual birth. Sometimes forms of spiritual rebirth happen with small warning and only a little labor before the birth is complete. Other times, the birth is on its way for a long time, and seems to be taking forever to get there. When the process gets started, it may take a very long time and a great deal of energy; it may be a long labor or a hard labor, because birth is always a mystery. It is always something that comes from the inside out, always something that comes as a gift, but often is a difficult gift. We simply have to keep ourselves in an ongoing state of readiness and willingness to wait, as any mom in her ninth month will tell you.

The process of new life being born into our lives is a project we never have full control over on our own. Nicodemus wants the process to fit categories he already knows, one of which is the category of physical birth. But Jesus attempts to tell him, by implication and by extension to tell us also, that the kind of birth - or the kind of re-birth, the kind of birth from above, that is available in the divinity, is broader and  longer and deeper and wider and richer than anything our human mind can conceive or concoct. It’s also greater than anything our wills can create or coerce. Jesus also makes it clear that He will come to us where we are.

It’s interesting to me in this exchange with Nicodemus, that Jesus is emphatic in the way he cuts across what Nicodemus already thinks. He does so very clearly and there’s an edge of confrontation to it, but it’s a very nonjudgmental edge. It’s direct, but it’s love. It’s forceful, but it has a certain gentleness to it at the very same time. Jesus comes to Nicodemus where he is. The spirit of God I believe wants to come to us where we are, where we are already living, limited understandings and all.

We noted earlier that Nicodemus shows up at night, partly because he was presumably under threat. But then, I believe there’s also one more layer of meaning with that imagery of coming at night. For the writer of the Gospel of John, night and darkness are symbols for lack of awareness and consciousness, and consequently they are symbols from separation from God. John is using it as a symbol of what it is like to be in the dark about important things. He is in the dark about important things he doesn’t understand. He is not sure who Jesus really is. He is not sure what difference the remarkable quality he senses in Jesus should really mean. Jesus lets him come just as he is. He doesn’t say sorry, come back in the morning. He doesn’t say come back when the light has already dawned. He doesn’t say come back when you understand. He accepts him where he is. He accepts the darkness that he comes with. God doesn’t ask that we figure everything out and then come. The spirit doesn’t say that we get enlightened and then engage with the teaching. Nicodemus comes when it is dark. He comes when he is in the dark. Jesus welcomes him in that condition.

Are there any dark places in your life today? God knows  there are dark places in my life all the time. Yes, there are some times when everything seems light and bright. Some of those times can even last for an entire day. Then we get misled into thinking that we’re in the clear. We think, ‘Blue skies, blue skies, nothing but blue skies from now on.’ But it never actually works that way. The dark times always come back: difficult, painful times, times of confusion. We all know them. Are there any dark places in any of our lives today? Jesus welcomes our knock on his door. He welcomes our visit. He welcomes our approaching him, even in the dark of night, or when we are in completely in the dark.  For the mysterious, gracious gift of birth, begins in darkness. Every baby ever born into this world has come from utter darkness out into this world. And every time a human baby has experienced daylight, it has been, each time, it has been a radical and unprecedented surprise.

This process of experiencing new birth from above begins where all birth begins: in the dark, in a place where all is not clear, where questions chaotically reside and certainties are few. It begins in a form of night, even as it moves toward an increasing show of light. So take a chance, this passage seems to be saying, as Nicodemus did. Show up at the door, and knock, even when it’s dark. Move ahead, even in your darkness. Jesus is there; God is there; the Spirit is there; answers are there. But they are only known if and as we knock, and truly ask the questions and open ourselves to the answers.

We ask, gracious spirit, that the advent and the pouring out of those answers and new understandings and new forms of birth might be ours today, perhaps this very hour, and in the days ahead. We pray this in the name of the living Christ. Amen.

A CENTRAL PARK CHURCH

6 13 10

LUKE 7:36-8:3

ANTHONY E.ACHESON, M.DIV.

Over the past couple of years Nancy and I have had occasion to go to New York City a few times, to visit our daughter and son-in-law. This included a visit with them near the beginning of last month when I was taking my vacation time. Whenever I am in New York, one thing that impresses me is the enormous diversity present in that city. And the one place within the city where that diversity is most evident is in Central Park. You can see a multitude of both sights to see, not to mention many kinds of people and of activities there. You can see it in the varieties of trees and plants and landscape in the park. You can see it in activities that take place each day. You can see people playing tennis, softball, soccer, hockey, rollerblading, bicycling, jogging and, of course, walking dogs, and throwing Frisbees. Those diverse activities spring from an enormous diversity in the cast of characters you see in that park. There are infants in strollers or backpacks; young and old, blacks, whites, Latinos and Asians; straights and gays; tall and short; people who are in good shape and people who are less so. Of all the ways we might think about a place like Central Park, one thing is for sure: it is a place that welcomes and has a place for them all.

Central Park in New York, is a place that offers one possible image, one possible analogy, of what the church can look like when it is at its best:  a community where all people are welcome; and where everyone who enters its boors has the opportunity for healing and renewal, for growing and self-betterment, not to mention the simple enjoyment of good company and fellowship. That is a goal that our own denomination, the United Church of Christ, strives for proactively. In both the UCC as a whole, and in our congregation here in Greensboro, we seek faithfully to foster a form of community that is genuinely welcoming and non-exclusionary. And I believe that, at least to some meaningful degree, we have been able to achieve something of that loving and welcoming quality both in our denomination and here in our local congregation.

In today’s text from Luke 7, it is precisely that kind of accepting, welcoming community that is missing in the house of Simon the Pharisee. He has invited Jesus to dinner. There is no implication in the text that he is trying to trap Jesus into anything hurtful as we see in some other passages. Biblical scholarship tells us that many Pharisees were deeply devout people who were working diligently to bring holiness and righteousness into the smallest details of their lives and conduct, and it would appear that Simon was just such a man.  Jesus has accepted his dinner invitation. The meal begins. But while they are around Simon’s table an unnamed woman comes in to visit Jesus. Everyone present, including the woman, appears knows that this woman is what the text calls, ‘a sinner,’ she is clearly a person of low-reputation. Even in the midst of that self-awareness, however, she is drawn to Jesus. She is drawn to him as one who offers welcome and acceptance even in the face of whatever compromising choices she may have made in her life. Her actions towards Jesus show her joy at what he clearly considers to still be possible for her life.  Jesus has the ability to see her not in terms of her weaknesses, and not in terms of the bad choices she may have made in her life. He is able to continue to see her, as it were, in her original version, and as her original self, namely, as a radiant child of God, with inbuilt inherent goodness and possibility. And their encounter is an occasion for restoration in her life, the restoration of new hope and healing and self-appreciation.

But all of this good news for the woman, she of the low-reputation, was apparently not-so-good news for Simon the Pharisee. When he looks at this woman, what he sees is not a child of God but a threat to his own definition of goodness. She is someone to avoid. Simon does not appear to be a bad man. He appears to be anxious to do right, and to be right. But this is one of those instances in which we see the profound ambiguity that accrues to religious goodness. This is one of those instances in which we see a person’s diligent attempt at religious goodness as something that ends up getting in the way of the more authentic, spiritual goodness that is based more simply on goodness of heart; that is based more simply on having an open and tender spirit toward our fellow imperfect human beings. Simon is blind to the fact that he too is a sinner forgiven. He is blind to the fact that he too has weaknesses; that he too has made compromised choices in his own life, even though they may not be as visible, or as disgraceful in the eyes of society. Simon the Pharisee is blind to the fact that he too stands in need of grace, and that he too is blind; blind to how he and this woman are connected at the deepest levels, both in their fundamental human goodness and, yes, also in their sinfulness. When Simon sees that this supposedly second-rate human being enters his righteous and respectable house, he suddenly pulls back the warmth of his hospitality to Jesus, and he refuses completely to extend hospitality to the woman. And indeed it is precisely in his tendency to have an almost compulsive fixation on goodness that he ends up shutting himself off not only from the woman, but also from Jesus and ultimately from God.

There have been times in history when Simon’s story has been the church’s story, or at least has been the story of some parts of the church. But, thankfully and importantly, there have been and are many, many times when the church’s story has been very much true to Jesus’ example of welcoming compassion and love. In the several churches I personally have served over these last 33 years, I have found a great deal of that welcoming compassion right here in this church, and I very much thank God for that witness and example that so many of you set both for our community and for me.

Toward the end of today’s story, Jesus concludes the interaction by telling the woman that she is free to go in peace. One of the most renowned preachers of our generation, the Rev. Dr. Fred Craddock, has commented on this passage and in doing so asks the question, ‘Where does one go when told to go in peace as Jesus instructs this woman to do at the end of our story. Fred Craddock goes on to say, “It is all to the good that she is offered the gift of peacefulness within her own soul, which she no doubt needs; but what she also needs,” Craddock says, “is a community to go into; a community of forgiven and forgiving sinners. The story,” he says, “screams out the need for a church, for a real church, one that proclaims loudly, you are welcome here.” She had such a welcome from Jesus. She might find something of that welcome  out on the streets of a large city. She might find something of that welcome in Central Park in New York.

But, says Fred Craddock, for the work of redemption and healing to go forward long-term and in a sustained and sustaining way, there must be communities of redemption and healing for people such as her, and people such as we are, to come into, and to be held in and sustained spiritually by.

The late children’s writer, Madeleine L’Engle, once told a story about the apostle, Judas, he who betrayed Jesus. The legend is that after his death Judas found himself at the bottom of a deep and slimy pit. For thousands of years he wept his repentance, and when the tears were finally spent, he looked up and saw way, way up a tiny glimmer of light. After he had contemplated it for, O, a thousand years or so, he began to try to climb up towards the light. The walls of the pit were dark and slimy, and he kept slipping back down. Finally, after great effort, he neared the top and then he slipped and fell all the way back down again. It took him many years to recover, all the time weeping bitter tears of grief and repentance, and then he started to climb up again. After many more falls, and efforts and failures, he reached the top and dragged himself into a building, and then into an upper room in which he found, of all things, twelve people seated around the table. “We’ve been waiting for you, Judas,” Jesus said kindly. “We couldn’t begin till you made it back.”

There are a lot of people out there……and in here……who are looking for a community of welcome and acceptance, a community of forgiven and forgiving sinners. They might find some traces of such a community hinted at in the bowels of a large city, or on the lawns of a great urban park. Places like that are all to the well and good. But at the end of the day, what places like that can give, is not much more than sketched out hints and traces. At the end of the day, what the men and women and children of the world need …..including you and me…. are ongoing, trustworthy communities, that can hold us, and that we can be held by, and that we can do our share of the holding in, as ongoing containers for expressing and sustaining the divine love of welcome and acceptance and forgiveness and compassion.

I thank God for the degree to which that is already a reality right here within this room, and within our own ways and forms of being church, and I ask and pray that the power of God’s amazing and sustaining grace might grow within and amongst us in the days and months, and years ahead. In the name of the living Christ we ask it. Amen.

THE GOOD AND BAD SAMARITANS

LUKE 9:51-56

6 6 10

REV ANTHONY E ACHESON

In today’s reading from Luke’s Gospel, we hear that, “When the days drew near for Jesus to be taken up, he set his face like a flint to go to Jerusalem. And he sent messengers ahead of him. On their way they entered a village of Samaritans to make ready for him; but they did not receive him, because his face was set toward Jerusalem. When his disciples, James and John saw it, they said, “Lord, do you want us to command fire to come down from heaven and consume them? But he turned and rebuked them. Then they went on to another village.”

We are all familiar with the parable of the Good Samaritan that appears in Luke 10.It’s interesting and significant that today’s story from Luke 9 -appearing just one chapter earlier in Luke - also involves Samaritans.  Today’s example of Samaritans, however, is not at all an example of good Samaritans. We might even be tempted to call them a group of bad Samaritans.

Today’s story occurs at the time when Jesus is beginning his final journey into Jerusalem. In verse 52 we hear that Jesus’ disciples entered a village of some Samaritans to make advance preparations for the travel of Jesus and his group. But the Samaritans there would not receive him.

The backdrop here, as for the more famous ‘Good Samaritan’ story in Luke Chapter 10, is the fact that Samaritans and Jews were highly antagonistic, each believing the others’ religion to be wrong; each disliking the other as an ethnic group. Because Jesus was a Jew; because he was travelling to observe the Jewish Passover in Jerusalem; and because Samaritans were at odds with Jews and Jews with Samaritans, these Samaritans were unwilling to extend hospitality to this Jewish man or his group.’

The disciples reacted to this refusal with their desire to call fire down from heaven on these inhospitable Samaritans. Jesus, of course, immediately and unambiguously rejected their approach. His willingness to rebuke people close to him and in his own group; was a hard thing to do. Our human tendency is to smooth over potential disagreements and conflicts in our closest in circles. But as most of us have learned, it is impossible to successfully do that in the long run.

It is easy to hear about the disciples hostile and conflictual response and think to ourselves, ‘We aren’t like those people.’ In the first place, we know we can’t call actual fire down from heaven on those we don’t like. But we may and do think unloving thoughts about those who are ‘other’ to us, or are different from us. We may and do become people who want to raise the ante in conflict and disagreement against those who oppose us.  We may very definitely be or become people who want to use violent and destructive means to try to solve problems. That’s basically what those disciples were doing. There was a problem between Jews and Samaritans. That was a real problem. But their method of trying to solve it was to use violence and to call down harshness against those they opposed, and who opposed them.

You and I, like them, may indeed entertain patterns of thought that lead us to think we can solve significant problems in our world by raining down fires from above. Consider, for example, the planes and jets and automated drones that this very day and week and month are raining fire down on Muslim towns and villages half way around the world. In the process of doing that they are killing substantial numbers of women and children, as happens again and again and again. Suchh accidents are not at all rare, but are tragically frequent.

So before we dismiss these disciples as holding ancient superstitions about miraculous interventions; or before we dismiss them as people who might have been having a particularly curmudgeonly day; you and I may want to ask ourselves if we too, like those early disciples, allow ourselves to be drawn into collective ways of thinking that also glorify the raining of fire down from heaven on those whom we today may oppose. And you and I may want to ask ourselves the question, ‘Is that really the most effective way to solve real problems.’

I said a moment ago that there were real problems between Jews and Samaritans. Today there are also real problems between the Western world and the Muslim world. There are real problems today between America and certain violent groups in the world. Is raining fire down from Heaven the best way to solve those problems? This gospel reading at the very least asks us and encourages us to ask that question. For those of us who look to Jesus as our primary model, teacher and guide, and for those of us who look to Jesus as our most foundational window into God, this passage calls us clearly to take note of the fact that Jesus has no interest whatsoever in raining any fire from Heaven down on anyone.

In just a moment we come to our monthly table of communion, in which the fundamental metaphor of that table is the metaphor of being broken. It is important to note the main metaphor of this table is not an encouragement to go out and inflict brokenness on any other. The main metaphor of this table is one of having the courage - the spiritual courage, and also the psychological courage - to allow brokenness within ourselves when life brings brokenness to us or requires brokenness of us.

Every time we take communion the bread is broken before our eyes. That symbolizes the brokenness that Jesus allowed in his own being, rather than inflicting brokenness on His enemies. Every time we come to this table and receive the juice, that always involves brokenness. Every grape that resulted in the contents in that cup had to be mashed down and broken. It used to be done by human feet. The symbology of this table has to do with the fact that Jesus had a choice between either using the strategy and methodology of inflicting brokenness on his enemies, or of using a higher and ultimately more effective power of allowing brokenness to come into His own being in such a way that would release the power of God from within his own being to find a better, higher, more effective way to solve human problems.

He allowed Himself to be broken, rather than inflicting brokenness on someone else or on some group of others. He did so in order to do right and in order to bring the kind of healing that comes from God, and that’s what we see also in Jesus in His relation to these Samaritans. When it came to their hostility to him, the disciples’ attitude was, ‘Let’s crush them.’ Jesus’ approach, however, was very different.  Jesus’ alternate approach was to go find another solution that was non-violent and non-destructive.

As we come to this table today, I invite us to reflect on the importance of placing our major focus in our spiritual lives on dealing with our own imperfectness rather than thinking of how we can deal with the imperfectness of others. Remember that this chapter in Luke 9 comes before the one in Luke 10, which is the Good Samaritan story. In the Good Samaritan story, it’s the Samaritan who is good, and the Jews who are bad. In this story in Luke 9, it’s the Samaritans who are bad, and the Jew, Jesus, who is depicted as being good. If you look at Chapter 9 and Chapter 10 together in Luke as a unit - which I think is very helpful to do - you see that what Jesus is doing is making the same point in both stories except in chapter 9 it’s the Samaritans who get ensnared in unlove against their enemy, the Jews, and in Chapter 10 it’s the Jews who get ensnared in unlove against their enemy the Samaritans. Jesus makes it clear that regardless of which group you belong to, there is for any person in any group an equal danger to use your primary group membership as a way to engage in and even use as an outlet for human sinfulness.

One of the primary ways that sin works in human life is through groups. I want to repeat that because I think that’s one of the most important things we can hear: one of the primary ways that sin works in human life is through groups. The most serious incidents of destructive and damaging sin that we human beings engage in most of the time, are the sins we engage in by allowing the collective entities we belong to engage in the attitudes and actions that we might not do as individuals; but that we will offer consent to our larger collective affiliations to engage in.

Some of these most serious incidences of destructive and damaging sin are specifically the sins committed by racial and ethnic groups, which are what these Samaritan-Jew stories in Luke 9 and Luke 10 are about.  The most serious instances of destructive and damaging sins that we humans engage in are the kinds of sins that are committed by nation states, by military organizations, by religious organizations, by corporations. Think of the sin that the BP corporation has committed against the human race. That’s a major, major sin that has been committed against the world in our time. Think of the sin that the Roman Catholic church has inflicted on the human race by allowing pedophilia to go on year after year; that is a major, major sin. I could give you many more examples, but I believe it’s important we understand that we often allow our larger groups - our religions, our nations, our military, our racial groups, gender groups - to do the kinds destructive dealings on our behalf that we as individuals would never commit personally.  A very important part of the spiritual life is to be aware of, and to be willing to acknowledge, which of the collective sins we say ‘yes’ to, by supporting those large collective patterns.

So as we approach this table, I invite us to include in our reflections how it is that we may support the larger doings of hurt and harm in the racial, the ethnic, the national, the military, the religious, the gender, the corporate systems that we’re involved in, that we might reflect on ways we give support to those ways of dealing hurt and harm, and to the ways in which we can call and challenge those larger collective entities to be instruments of grace and love and creativity and building something better for the future we all look forward to.

I ask and offer all these things in the name of the living Christ who calls us to live out those highest and best possibilities both as individuals and in larger groupings. In His name we pray it. Amen.