Michael Seiler

Tag: Presence of God

  • Cannibal Christians?

    This week’s Gospel reading begins with the last verse in last week’s reading. Namely, that Jesus tells the people that the “bread that [he] will give for the life of the world is [his] flesh.” Now, this is already a statement that makes an outrageous claim, and we see it when the people begin arguing amongst themselves. But more importantly, the Jewish people would have been under strict purity laws that would have even made it taboo for them to eat the flesh or drink the blood of certain animals. To then add in the idea of eating human flesh would have been disgusting. But how would they have felt about this?

    From 1978 to 1991, there was an active serial killer in the United States who would eat the body parts of his victims after he had murdered them. Most of you are old enough to remember this being plastered across the news because one of his intended victims escaped, and then the police began to investigate. When the police entered this man’s home, they found human body parts, wrapped up in butcher paper, and neatly stacked in the refrigerator and the freezer, awaiting a future meal. 

    When asked why he had killed so many people, the man said that he was incredibly lonely. And by killing these people and consuming their flesh, he felt that they would become a part of him. And if they became a part of him, then they would be with him forever.

    Now, I can tell by some of your faces that you find this scenario pretty disgusting, and outrageous. Incomprehensible even. For those of us of sane mind and sound body.

    I want you to remember this feeling.

    The people listening to Jesus would have wanted the gift of eternal life, and the hope that they would never thirst or hunger again. They could see a glimmer of the beauty that Christ offered, but they would have been confused at this outrageous claim that they must eat his body and drink his blood in order to be a part of him. 

    How can this be? How can we eat Jesus’ flesh? But this is unusual. It is gruesome. It is shocking. It is taboo. What does Jesus mean?

    Now, we have the luxury of looking back on Jesus’ words, and we know that Jesus is shifting their minds from the physical and literal into the spiritual and eternal. We know that when we “eat his flesh,” we are partaking in spiritual realities, even though they may also have real world substance.

    But this still begs the question: How do we eat Jesus’ flesh? How do we eat, partake, and consume Jesus?

    Well, there are several ways, all of which are in our corporate worship.

    The first is what we call the Liturgy of the Word, which is just a fancy way of saying that we read the Bible and talk about it. Our lector comes up, and reads scripture from the assigned readings for the day: the Lectionary. It is through the reading of this scripture that we consume the Word of God. And we know, according to John’s Gospel, that “in the beginning was the Word. And the Word was with God, and the Word was God.” This, of course, is referring to Jesus, God’s Word. And Jesus came down so that his spoken words and the example of his life would be a guidepost to us. The more we hear the Word of God read aloud, the more we begin to assimilate these words into our life and attempt to live by them. 

    The sermon interprets those scriptures for us, and helps us to apply them to our daily lives. If you look closely at the words in the liturgy, you will also see how much of the liturgy has been pulled directly from Scriptures, and the inclusion of the Nicene Creed explains in detail what we believe about Jesus, the Son of God. By listening to the reading of Scripture, by listening to the sermon, and by engaging in the liturgy, we are consuming Christ through spoken word. We can also consume Christ in the spoken and written word by reading the bible on our own, or taking part in group bible studies, book studies, and group theological discussions. These ways are pretty straightforward, and they certainly don’t bring up any awkward feelings of cannibalism, but they are, in fact, a way of consuming Christ in our lives.

    The Eucharist is the second way in which we can consume the body of Christ. In the Episcopal church, we believe that the presence of Christ is truly in the elements of bread and wine. And this passage in John is part of where we get this understanding. 

    In the second chapter of John, Jesus told the people that if they destroyed the temple, he would raise it up again in three days. The people thought he was talking about the temple in Jerusalem that took 46 years to build, but Jesus was talking about his body. John’s Gospel then records that after his death and resurrection, his disciples remembered his words, and understood that he had been talking about himself when he said he would raise the temple in three days.

    Like the disciples, we also have the luxury of understanding events after they have transpired. In this passage today, Jesus says that the bread that he will give people for eternal life is his own flesh. And that if people do not eat of this flesh and drink of this blood, they will have no life in him.

    In the other Gospels, at the Last Supper, Jesus uses what we call the Words of Institution when he breaks the bread and prepares the wine – words that we hear every Sunday in the liturgy: “This is my body .. this is my blood … do this in remembrance of me.” 

    At the crucifixion, at the moment that Jesus died, there was a loud sound, as of thunder, and the temple veil that separated the holy of holies from the rest of the temple was ripped in half, symbolizing that God’s presence was available to the world through the body of Christ that hung on a cross as a forgiveness for our sins. And when he rebuilt the temple – his body – again in three days, he conquered death and brought us eternal life, and it is through this temple, Christ’s Body, that we stand in the presence of God. 

    We do not claim to understand how exactly that works. We instead allow God to maintain that mystery for us, and we accept it on faith that in some manner, these elements of bread and wine become for us the Body and Blood of Jesus Christ. And we consume them and thank God that we have been fed with Spiritual Food, as we enter into the eternal promise and wait for Christ’s coming in glory.

    Of course, using words like Flesh and Blood when talking about the Eucharist brings up those awkward feelings of cannibalism. And our ancestors in the faith had to deal with the gossip and persecution that ensued from speaking about eating Christ’s body and blood, because those outside the faith would have been as disgusted at the thought of eating flesh as we were at the thought of human body parts in a freezer.

    A third way that we can consume Christ is through the community of believers.

    When telling kids about the Eucharist, we talk about the presence of God in the bread and wine, and we mention that if they have eaten of this bread and wine, then Christ is inside them. And, through the way that our bodies process food, the body and blood of Jesus becomes a part of them too.

    Then, we ask, what happens if your friend eats of this bread and wine? The kids usually understand very quickly that Jesus becomes a part of their friend too, and that now, after the Eucharist, Christ has become a part of both of them. And, if Jesus is now a part of both of them, then they are both a part of Jesus.

    Last week we read Paul’s letter to the Ephesians, in which Paul said that “we are all members of one another,” and that we are to put away all bitterness and wrath and to be kind to one another. Paul also said that we should let no evil talk come out of our mouths, but rather, only what is useful for building each other up, so that our words might be grace for those that hear. 

    And this week, Paul continues with that theme. Paul exhorts the people of Ephesus to be wise, for the days are evil. We must be wise, Paul writes, so that we can know the Will of the Father. Together we sing songs, and together we share our gratefulness and thankfulness not only with God, but with each other.

    Both of these passages from Paul’s letter to the Ephesians basically tell us that our words, our actions, our attitudes, are food that help to grow – to build up – one another in Christ. What Paul is saying is that our words are spiritual food for each other. Our words, our actions, and our attitudes toward one another are also The Bread of Life, because they are fueled by the Holy Spirit, by the Presence of God within us.

    It is when we seek God’s wisdom, and when we seek God’s will that we become food for life to one another and that we feed on the Christ that is in each of us. That is, I consume the Christ that is in you, and you consume the Christ that is in me. Because our words come from the place of wisdom that seeks to know God’s will, and to speak kindness, love, gentleness and forgiveness into each other. 

    It is for this reason that Paul tells us to be wise. Our words, our actions, our attitudes – when they stem from the wisdom of knowing the will of God, will build each other up, will build up the community, the body of Christ, because our words will be like food for the soul. 

    But when we seek our own will, and when we fall into the temptation to behave according to what the world holds dear, rather than what God holds dear, then we run the risk of eating each other in order to build up ourselves.

    We become Spiritual Cannibals.

    That feeling of disgust that we had at the idea of body parts wrapped in butcher paper and stored for a future meal in a freezer is the same disgust that we should feel when we watch people gossip about others, when they slander people for their own personal gain, when they call people names and question the other person’s character for political capital. We should be as disgusted at those who belittle others and denigrate them, denying the dignity of their humanity, as we are at those who would eat the flesh of another human, because in the end, it amounts to the same thing: the destruction of another human being. This sort of behavior is not spiritual food that builds up the community of Christ, and it certainly isn’t spiritual food that feeds a hurting world.

    Jesus said, “the bread that I will give for the life of the world is my flesh.”

    Christ wants us to consume him so utterly and completely, so that we do not consume each other.

    Christ, the bread of heaven is eternal and infinite, and when we consume Christ so completely in Word, Sacrament, and the life-giving words of a Community, we find that we have an infinite ability to feed others with the Christ that is within us.

    As the phrase goes: We are what we eat. 

    We can choose to eat what the world offers us, or we can choose to consume Christ.

    If we eat of the Word of God, and if we partake of the Eucharist, and if we live together in Community, building each other up in love and sacrifice, then what we will find is that we become ever more like Christ. We become united with him, and each other, and we become Christ’s body.

    Let us eat of this bread, so that the Christ that dwells in us might be the bread of life for others.

    [This sermon was delivered at St. Alban’s Episcopal Church in Wickenburg, AZ on August 18, 2024.]

  • The Food That Endures

    If we were to look at today’s Gospel as one episode of a miniseries, we would start out with a tableau of Jesus feeding the five thousand people. We would see the people laughing and patting their bellies because they were so full, more full than they had ever been. … Fade to black … then we come back in, and the people are talking to themselves, “We should make him king!” And then a scene of a horde of people chasing down Jesus, whom we see running off, and hiding. .. Another Fade to Black scene … and then the opening credits for today’s episode.

    And despite this being a new day. The only difference is that instead of running from the crowd of people, Jesus stands up and confronts them.

    You see, when the crowd figured out that Jesus had disappeared, they too got into boats and went searching for Jesus. When they found him, he was in Capernaum. They were still looking to make him their earthly king, and they were still in search of provision, of food, and of securing their future. They had seen the miracles of healing and glories unimaginable – and they were swayed instead, by Jesus feeding them with an abundance of food beyond their capacity to eat it all.

    And Jesus calls them out for this behavior, telling them that they are not looking for him because of the signs – or miracles – that they saw, but because they had eaten their fill of food.

    It’s important to note that in John’s Gospel, the word “signs” is used where other gospels talk about “miracles,” because in John’s Gospel, all the miracles that Jesus does are actually “signs” that are pointing to Jesus’ true nature as the Messiah, the chosen of God, the beginning and the end of God’s purpose and provision.

    So, what Jesus is saying to them here is basically, you are not looking for me because you saw the signs and recognized that I am the Messiah. You are only looking for me because of what I did for you, and what you think I can do for you in the future. You’re not concerned about me as God’s Chosen, you’re concerned about me as your meal ticket, your provider of the miraculous, your servant who does what you want.

    And then Jesus shifts their thinking, from the old way of looking at God’s provision as physical safety and comfort to faith in the Son of Man. He says:

    “Do not work for the food that perishes, but for the food that endures for eternal life, which the Son of Man will give you. For it is on him that God the Father has set his seal.”

    And so they ask, “What must we do to perform the works of God?”

    And Jesus says, “This is the work of God: that you believe in him whom God has sent.” In other words, Jesus is saying, I am God’s provision for you; believe in me and what I am and will teach you, and God will provide for you in eternity, because I am the one whom God has sent for your salvation. Or, more bluntly put, I am the Messiah.

    And the people respond: “Well, that obviously can’t be you. If it was you, then you would show us a sign – a miracle – to prove it. Our ancestors gave us manna in the wilderness, Our ancestors gave them bread from heaven to eat. Sure, Jesus, you fed us beyond our capacity, but that’s just not a good enough sign to show us that you’re the Messiah.”

    Have you heard of the concept of a paradigm shift? The idea is that we have lived with one paradigm – one way of looking at the world – for so long, that when another viewpoint comes along we initially throw up our hands and remain skeptical. Skeptical even, to the point of resistance, because the claim seems to be so cataclysmically different than what they have known that the shift simply seems too grandiose and outrageous. 

    One such moment in history came when Nicholas Copernicus published his book arguing that the earth revolves around the sun, and not the other way around. “Heresy!” said the members of the church – both protestant and catholic alike. God created humankind, and because we were God’s chosen, the concept that we were not the center of the universe simply could not be. Oddly enough, the views expressed by Copernicus were not immediately refuted, because Copernicus was actually well known in the Catholic church, and respected. It was when other scientists, less involved with the church, began to build upon the knowledge that Copernicus provided with new ideas that threatened the status quo, that Copernicus’ books were banned, and his ideas placed under quarantine. Change was coming, and it was coming too fast for some people to bear, and so they responded with skepticism and resistance.

    This is essentially what is going on for the people here. They had been looking for a Messiah, and had been looking for signs that would show him to be God’s Chosen, but they were expecting a Messiah of their own making, and not the Messiah that God had actually sent. They were looking for Jesus in the old paradigm, and signs to fit that viewpoint.

    This is the start of their skepticism and resistance, and while they are expressing their disbelief, Jesus confirms exactly what they are thinking:

    It wasn’t your ancestors who fed you with bread from heaven, it was God. God sent that provision, and God also gives you the true bread from heaven. And that bread, that bread alone gives life to the world.

    “Sir,” the people responded, ”give us that bread. And not just now, but always.”

    And Jesus responds: “I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never be hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty.”

    If you thought people were skeptical before, imagine their skepticism now. If there was ever a grandiose claim to be made, this is a paradigm shift of epic grandeur:

    I am God’s provision for you. 
    I am the one whom God has sent to save you and to care for you.
    I am the one who will provide for you for all eternity. 
    I am life, and life abundant.
    Believe in me and you will never hunger, and you will never thirst.

    People wanted a messiah who would work for them according to their desires, who would provide for them as a king would with physical provision and safety. And instead they got a messiah that God sent them, a messiah who would be best for them. They got a messiah that said that for all eternity, they could live a life without hunger or thirst, as long as they believed in what the Son of Man would give them.

    One of the questions that the people listening to Jesus, and therefore the people listening to John’s Gospel would have wondered is this: “How can this man, this Jesus be the bread from heaven? How can he be manna from above? And more to the point, how can he be our provision so that we never again hunger and thirst?”

    Over the centuries, during wartime and famine, Christians have obviously confronted hunger and thirst, and have even died from that hunger or that thirst. So what did Jesus mean when he said, “I am the bread of life?” What did he mean when he said that those who came to him would never hunger and thirst? Well, he meant that he would be God’s provision for them in all situations, but that the provision he spoke of would transcend life and death, time and space. It shifted the paradigm from one in which Jesus would be the salvation of Israel in their lifetime only, to one in which Jesus would be the salvation of the world, for all eternity.

    While Jesus calls himself the bread of life, and is compared to manna from heaven, the fact that Jesus is the bread of life has nothing to do with eating or drinking, and instead, has to do with the identity of Christ himself, and who we consider Jesus to be.

    Years ago, I was struggling with something, and couldn’t keep myself from turning to a particular vice to cope with my frustrations and anger. In a conversation with one of my mentors, he said: “When you are confronted with this issue, ask yourself this question: ‘Why isn’t Jesus enough?’” My initial reaction was confusion, and then anger. The answer to that question is often simply this: “Because Jesus isn’t around right now, and I need an immediate result.” Or, “Because Jesus isn’t here in the flesh, and I cannot ask him for answers directly.” Or, in reality, any number of responses that showed that I wanted Jesus to act according to my own desires and my own paradigm.

    This question, “Why isn’t Jesus enough?” can be applied to any situation in our lives, even though it seems like one that might be applied to matters of the heart more than matters of the body.

    I’m struggling to buy groceries. Why isn’t Jesus enough? Because I’m broke and need immediate help, and I fear I might starve.

    I’ve just lost my job, and am facing eviction from my apartment. Why isn’t Jesus enough? Because I’m running out of money and am frightened for my family’s safety and my own.

    I’ve just been diagnosed with a chronic illness that will eventually leave me broken and bedridden. Why isn’t Jesus enough? Because there is no medical cure, and it’s been a while since I’ve seen a miracle of that sort of magnitude, and I fear the future.

    If you’re paying attention, you’ll notice that all the answers to the question of why Jesus is not enough have to do with our fears and our desires. They still have to do with what Jesus can do for us, rather than the presence of God as the provision of our lives. They have to do with Jesus feeding us physically, rather than the food that endures for eternal life. These answers show us that our needs are still at the center of our own universe.

    But the Son of Man does not revolve around us. 

    Rather, it is each of us that revolves around the Son of God, working together to bring about the work of God. In the letter to the Romans, Paul writes that “all things work together for good, for those who are called according to God’s purpose.” It doesn’t say that all things work together for our good. It says that all things work together for good. And the good that is discussed here is God’s work in this world. The work that Christ called each of us to take part in, which is to reconcile the world to God.

    It is a hard pill to swallow to realize that this does not mean that all things will work out well for us, but rather, that all things will work out for the good of God’s purpose in this world. And that means that sometimes, our pain, our suffering, or even our misfortune can be used by God, for God’s greater purpose.

    This is a huge shift in our thinking, for sure. But this is the reason that we commemorate the lives of the saints, especially those who were martyred for their faith. They faced death, and yet their lives inspired multitudes of Christians to go and serve God with all that they had, and despite the hardships they might face.

    Mother Theresa, who worked with the poorest of the poor in the slums of Calcutta, had a moment early in her life in which she felt the presence of Christ incredibly deeply. But after this, she struggled with spiritual darkness and the feeling of God’s absence for the vast majority of her ministry. Rather than lamenting the loss of God’s presence, she embraced it, and continued her work, remembering that foretaste of eternity that she had felt so many years before. Christ had become for her, even in the midst of her own suffering, the bread of life that sustained her in her work and ministry, until the day she entered the heavenly banquet of God’s presence at her death.

    And so it is for us. It is when we can shift our thinking to see the good even in our own suffering that we can begin to understand how Jesus can be God’s provision beyond our earthly needs, how Jesus can be God’s Bread of Life, how Jesus can be the food that endures for eternal life.

    [This sermon was delivered at St. Alban’s Episcopal Church in Wickenburg, AZ on August 4, 2024.]

  • Do Be Do

    This summer, as part of my requirements for ordination, I spent time as a chaplain in a hospital. One of the things that all of the staff, from doctors, nurses, social workers, and even our team of chaplains, hoped to determine, for all the patients, regardless of their diagnosis, was their Advanced Directives. That is, if their health took a sudden turn, we wanted the doctors and nurses to know the patient’s will regarding how much effort to put into life-saving tactics. With these documents, the hospital is able to put to rest any discussion by the family, especially those who claim to know what the patient would have wanted. With these Advanced Directives, the doctors can make decisions about patient care under the authority of the patient themselves.

    There’s a reason that the scribes and Pharisees asked Jesus under whose authority he was teaching. Just like the idea of Advanced Directives, there is a certain authority that comes from knowing which voice has the last say. And so, a question about authority is really a battle of wills. Is Jesus doing what the scribes and Pharisees want? No. So under whose authority – whose will – is he doing what he does? This is the reason why Jesus responded with a question about John the Baptist’s authority, and with the story of the two sons who had different reactions to their father’s requests. The question about John the Baptist’s authority was intended to confront the scribes and Pharisees with their own motivations and claims to authority. And, the story of the two sons was intended to hit that idea home. Because it too, is intended to make all the listeners rethink their own claims to righteousness. 

    I say, “claims to righteousness,” but what I really mean is that this story, on the surface, seems to be a simple judgment about which son did the will of the father. We are able to make this judgment because Jesus gives us a glimpse into the minds of each of the sons, and explains their actions and motivations to us. By extension, this story demands that we look into our own minds and review our motivations, so that we might judge ourselves by asking the questions, “Am I doing the will of God?” “How do I know?” and “By whose authority do I do what I do?”

    When an Advanced Directive is not available, we sometimes find that families begin to argue about who knows the will of the patient best. And often, these arguments about the patient’s choices are guided less by the patient’s will, and more by the desires of the family member making the claim. It’s human nature. We all have desires that can cloud our judgments.

    We can do the same with God. We can lay claim to knowing God’s will so well, that we begin to judge others, and question them about where their authority comes from, simply because we do not like what they are doing.. Sound familiar? And from that moment of laying claim to knowing God’s will, it becomes easy to justify ourselves and our actions, whether they are truly God’s will – or not.

    Justification can only come from God, but self-justification comes from a place of pride.

    This is why Paul, in his letter to the church in Philippi, exhorted the people there to be of the same mind, to have the same love, and to do nothing from selfish ambition or conceit, but that they should regard others as better than themselves, in all humility, and look to the interests of others.

    In humility. 

    Just like Christ humbled himself and obediently did the will of the Father who sent him. 

    Paul wants the believers in Philippi to live in that same humility, and to do the will of the Father who sent Christ Jesus as the model of our faith.

    Do the will of the Father. …  Do. 

    Recently I had an incident in which I discovered that someone had been deliberately lying to me, withholding information about what they had done and were continuing to do. And they asked me, “Who knows about this? I need to know how much damage control I need to do.” To which I responded, “No one knows, but the fact that you are more concerned about looking good than about apologizing for or changing your behavior tells me a lot about you.” 

    Paul Tillich, former professor at Union Theological Seminary, had this to say about the will of God:

    People who call themselves Christian – parents, teachers, preachers – tell us that we should be “good” and obey the will of God. For many of them the will of God is not very different from the will of those socially correct people whose conventions they ask us to accept. If we only willed such goodness, they say, we could achieve it, and would be rewarded in time and eternity – but first of all, in time.

    It is entirely possible to do the will of the Father without being moved by what we are doing. We can follow all the requirements of a good and just society, without caring about the interests of others. We can do all of these things, but care only about looking good, which is precisely the opposite of what Paul was asking of the believers in Philippi.

    If we merely do the things that we have been told is God’s will, but do it only so that we might look good in a society that values looking good, then what we have done is bent God, and God’s will, to serve our own needs.

    This is not at all a new phenomenon in human history. The French writer Voltaire made the statement: “If God has made man in his own image, we have returned him the favor.”

    It is this tendency in ourselves to use God as a means to an end, to use God as a tool for our own purposes, or at its worst, to weaponize the name of God, that Paul is confronting in his letter to the people at Philippi. 

    Do nothing out of selfish ambition, but in humility, look to the interests of others.

    It is humility that changed the heart of the first son, who at first told his father that he would not do what he was asked, but then looked to his father’s interests. And it is humility that will change our own hearts, and look to the interests of God and God’s kingdom, rather than our own. 

    Any of us who have been in a relationship know that the only way to truly know the heart and mind of another is to spend time with them, and to be vulnerable, honest, and humble. 

    And so it is with God.

    The more time we spend with God in humility, in vulnerability, and in honesty, the more the image of God that we have created in our minds begins to fade away and disintegrate. And the more that our image of God disintegrates, the more it is replaced by who God is. 

    That is, the more time we spend with God, the more God becomes less and less of what we say God is, and we come face to face with the reality of a boundless, infinite presence, unfathomable in its greatness and depth.

    And when we do, we are overcome with awe and wonder – fear and trembling – and we wish to do the will of God, not because we are afraid, but because we see the majesty and might of an endless being who, in great mercy and love, has chosen to spend time… with us.

    Humility allows God to shape us, to move in us, and mold us, to make changes in our hearts and minds. Humility brings us to the point of awe and wonder in the presence of the boundless love that is our God.

    And it is in this space of fear and trembling, this space of awe and wonder, this space of humility, that God is able to transform us, enabling us to will and to work for God’s own pleasure, so that just like the first son, we may find that what we formerly ignored, or thought of as unimportant suddenly takes on new meaning.It is less about doing the will of God, and more about drawing so close to God that God’s will becomes our will, and that God’s work becomes our work. And we do this by spending our time in this space of humility, in this space of awe and wonder, resting in the presence of the unfathomable beauty and love that has chosen to spend time with us.

    1.  Paul Tillich, The Good That I Will, I Do Not, in The Eternal Now, 1963, Scribner, New York. pp 49
    2. Voltaire, “Si Dieu nous a faits à son image, nous le lui avons bien rendu.” Notebooks, c.1735-1750

    Note: Normally there would be a video of today’s service right here. Unfortunately, the internet was not working today, so we were unable to upload the service to YouTube and I am not able to offer a video of the sermon.

    [This sermon was delivered at The Episcopal Church of St. Matthew in Tucson, AZ on October 1, 2023.]

  • When God Becomes Routine

    Just recently, I had the opportunity to get away. To get outside of my normal location, my normal responsibilities, my normal routine. I could ignore my phone, and never powered up my laptop. I was able to get up when I wanted, and go to bed when I was tired. I tweaked my hot sauce recipes, I ate foods I don’t normally do. And, in the mornings, I sat on a patio with a large cup of coffee watching nature until I felt like doing something else.

    It was wonderful. It was refreshing. It recharged me, both physically and especially spiritually.

    When I got home I had energy to go on a cleaning spree. Energy to do maintenance on both my bicycles. And when I went on my bike ride, I felt compelled to stop and enjoy the flowers on the bike path, rather than pushing myself to improve my health or lose some of the extra pounds that have sneakily added themselves to my frame over the years.

    But as things often go, my routine, normal, every day was disrupted in a very different way come Monday morning. Something went wrong with our business partner’s technology, and we were suddenly inundated with calls. When normally we handle about three phone calls from our clients each day, we were suddenly handling almost forty calls, all while trying to do our normal work. It was the sort of break in routine that was the complete opposite of what I had just experienced on my little getaway. It was a far cry from relaxing, and I had the patience and presence of mind to deal with it more appropriately only because of my mini-getaway. And yet, despite the extra presence of mind, I felt those moments from the retreat already slipping away, and the jagged edges of reality starting to find their way into my normal again.

    Last year, during the pandemic, I started a Morning Prayer service over Zoom with some of the people at my church. We’ve been meeting regularly online now for almost a year, and yet, just the other day, I noticed that the antiphons for the canticles, regardless of the season of the year, all end with “Come let us adore him” (BCP, pg 81). 

    What struck me is that during the routine morning prayer meetings, and our consistent routine of praying the office, I had never noticed that before. Perhaps it came to me that day because the Psalm appointed for the day was Psalm 136, which ends each verse with “For his mercy endures forever.” The repetition of the Psalm may have primed me to see the repetition of the antiphon endings in the Morning Prayer office. 

    But what I found interesting that day was that the repetition of Psalm 136 describes God’s movement toward us, and the repetition in the antiphons shows us our movement of response toward God. God’s mercy endures forever, and therefore, “Come let us adore him.” 

    What struck me even on that day was the likelihood that we might not come and adore God, because while God’s mercy and love never fail, our love for God can, and does.

    And this is why we take retreats, and seek to get away, and look for ways to refresh and renew our mind, our body, and our spirit.

    The stark contrast between my beautiful weekend and the reality of Monday morning made me aware of how easy it is to lose the peaceful nature of those moments away from routine, and I wondered how beautiful it would be to experience those moments I experienced on the retreat in the normal routine of my life. I wondered if it would be possible to live in the mindset of the retreat in every moment.

    I had gotten away because my normal everyday had turned into routine, and I wanted a change. 

    I had also failed to see things about adoring God in the Morning Prayer office because my prayer life had become a bit routine.

    And yet, I only saw those things in the Morning Prayer office because my prayer life had become routine.

    And I only failed to see the beauty in my everyday because I was focused on the routine, my dislike of it, and my desire for a change, rather than on those moments of joy that pop up in each of our lives.

    The issue is the object of my focus. 

    Is the object of my routine God, or is the object of my routine me?

    Late last night, after looking at the stressful first two days of this week, and contemplating this contrast between the joys of a getaway and the stress of my day to day, I decided now would be a great time to read “The Practice of the Presence of God,” by Brother Lawrence1, who’s simple prayer was this:

    Lord of all pots and pans and things…

    Make me a saint by getting meals

    And washing up the plates!

    And through which he managed to make even the most boring and mundane of tasks a song of Joy to his Creator.

    1. This is an Amazon Associates Link; I will receive a penny or two if you purchase this title.