Michael Seiler

Tag: Self-Examination

  • Alignment

    Just the other day, I went shopping at IKEA, and in the self-serve area, I managed to grab a shopping cart that had one of those wheels that seemed to have a mind of its own. Every time I hit a little seam in the concrete, the cart would dramatically swerve off in the direction of the rut. It ended up being more of a workout than a shopping experience. 

    Now, I suppose that I could have kicked that wheel repeatedly until it fell off, since it was causing my cart to stumble, but in the end, I just kept pulling the cart back into alignment. It was more work, but I was able to keep the cart in one piece that way.

    In the Gospel passage today, we see that John has seen someone casting out a demon in the name of Jesus, and tried to stop him because he did not belong to their little band of disciples. But Jesus tells him that if the person is doing good in the name of Jesus, that he should not stop them, because, “If they are not against us, then they are for us.” In other words, “It doesn’t matter if they are a part of us. If they are not actively opposing us, then they are basically on our team.”

    If the four wheels on my shopping cart were all different people, then I would have said that the only one actively opposed to our mission was the one that kept flopping around, trying to get us to smash into a shelf of glass bowls. But, it’s true that any of the other four wheels could not have cared about where I was trying to go. They weren’t deliberately trying to yank us off course, and so I would never have known where their true allegiances lay, because as far as I was concerned, they were all in alignment.

    What’s interesting in this passage is that Jesus goes from talking about alignment to talking about sin. He goes from talking about the alignment of people to the greater mission of Jesus in this world, to talking about our own alignment with Jesus. If our hand, your foot, your eye, causes you to stumble – that is, to sin – then cut them off and throw them away, because it’s better for you to go about maimed in life, than to set yourself on a course of destruction. Or, to put it into my shopping cart analogy, it is better to pull off the wonky wheel of the shopping cart that is your life, and run around with three wheels than it is to smash your shopping cart into a shelf full of glass. 

    Now, in order to understand that our actions are causing us to stumble, we need a few things. Namely, we need to know what sin is. And to know what sin is, we need knowledge, which comes from reading scripture, and from spending time with others who might teach us. But more than knowledge, what we need is to acknowledge that what we are doing is causing damage to us or to others. That’s called self-awareness. And it might seem like that is an easy thing, but we only ever get self-awareness in two ways: from the Holy Spirit, or from others in community. We might know what sin is, but lack self-awareness that we are embracing it. Remember that saying about a sliver in someone else’s eye, while we ignore the log in our own eye? How are people going to know about the sliver in their eye, unless we tell them? And how are we going to know about the log that is resting in our own eye? Unless we also have the humility to allow others to tell us that, and unless we have the trust built up with others that we give them the permission to point these things out in our lives, then we are just a person with enormous knowledge of the bible, but without the ability to affect much change in our lives, or the lives of others, because we are effectively isolated from each other.

    Well, this is where Jesus’ admonition to acknowledge our sin and take action to change it comes squarely into play with the passage in James today. James was part of the early church in Jerusalem, and here we see how that early community was attempting to live with the reality that each of us can, at times, be a wonky wheel on the shopping cart of life. We cause others to veer off course, to cause themselves and the community damage, and we may not even realize what we are doing.

    “Are any among you suffering? They should pray.” 

    “Are any cheerful? They should sing songs of praise.”

    “Are any among you sick? They should call for the elders of the church and have them pray over them anointing them with oil in the name of the Lord.”

    “Confess your sins to one another, and pray for one another, so that you may be healed.”

    If you look at these things, you see that the consistent thread is prayer. And the second consistency is community. That is, James and his merry band of believers were attempting to break down the isolation that comes from sin and pride. You see, even when we are aware of the sins in our lives, and acknowledge that they are there, we often do not want to share that with people. And so we live in isolation, and we suffer silently and alone. We are ashamed, and we live with guilt, and yet, we still do not want to confess those things to others, out of fear of rejection.

    And it is here, in this space, this type of thinking that we can become that wonky wheel that throws the whole cart out of whack, that causes damage to ourselves and others, and causes us and the whole community to veer off course. Because we carry too much pride, and too much fear to allow others to care for our souls.

    The prayer, the confession, the sharing and singing for joy that James brings up in this passage are all intended to first and foremost bring the community of believers into alignment. They are intended, not to make sure that everyone conforms to a particular set of beliefs, but that we all at least come to the realization that we are moving toward a larger goal. These calls to prayer and confession in James are intended, at the very least, to get us to quit being actively against our own good, and against the greater good of the community of believers. They are intended to at least make sure that we are not against one another – and therefore, for one another: aligned. Aligned with a common goal, which is to point ourselves, and our community toward God. Because it is in God alone that we are truly aligned, and can find our rest and comfort.

    [This sermon was delivered at St. Alban’s Episcopal Church in Wickenburg, AZ on September 29, 2024.]

  • A Child’s Reflection

    “Stop acting like such a child!” 

    “Grow up!”

    “You’re so immature!”

    I’m sure we’ve all heard those phrases before, either because we said them to someone else, or they said them to us. And we all know exactly what those words mean when we hear them. We want people to behave more rationally, to be more responsible, to quit being so emotionally reactive to events that do not go their way. 

    There’s a story about an old man giving advice to a younger man about the battle of good and evil within him. I’m sure you’ve seen it either on social media, or had someone tell it to you at some point in your life. The story is about two wolves, and the one that wins the battle, the story says, is the one that a person feeds the most. I’d like you to take the general idea of this story, but instead of two wolves doing battle for your soul, I want you to think of two children. Because within each of us are two children that are battling for our souls.

    The first is the angry toddler. The one with tiny hands, grabbing everything he can get his hands on, and greedily yells, “Mine!” He thinks of everything as a transaction; if you scratch his back, he’ll scratch yours; right up until he doesn’t like your backscratching anymore, and at which point he will run off and find someone else to take your place. He blows up when things don’t go his way, or he doesn’t get what he wants. He blames others for all of his problems, because nothing is ever his fault. When you finally catch him or confront him, he lies, he cheats, or accuses you of blowing things out of proportion. A royal pain, a child that is spoiled rotten to the core. 

    It’s this kind of behavior that we see in the letter from James today. It might be more grown up, and hidden better from the eyes of those watching, but the same attitudes and vices that the young toddler never learned to control are now running rampant in the grown adult, coming out as envy and selfish ambition. And that leads to disorder, and wickedness of every kind. And James makes it clear that these conflicts come from the “cravings that are at war within you.” And worst of all, he ends the thought with the command that people should purify their hearts, because they are double-minded. That is, James recognizes that we have the choice to make decisions between the good, and the bad, and that the battle rages between the selfish, angry toddler within us, and another child.

    There’s another meme that’s been making the rounds on social media recently, which says this: “Silence is golden. Unless you have kids. Then, it’s just suspicious.”

    And this we see in the disciples today in our Gospel passage. People we now call saints, but at that moment were still behaving like spoiled little toddlers who wanted what they wanted, and were willing to argue about it.

    Jesus and his disciples were passing through Galilee, and as they were walking, the disciples were arguing about who among them was the greatest. That is, they were displaying the old “King of the Hill” mentality, wanting to be better than the others, propping themselves up at the expense of the other disciples, so that they could claim the title as “greatest.”

    And when Jesus asks them what they were talking about, they suddenly get really quiet. I’m sure they suddenly got real interested in shuffling dirt with their toes, or the pretty birds that were flying, or even, “Look, a squirrel!”

    So Jesus has them sit down with him, and says to them, “Whoever wants to be first must be last of all and servant of all.” Then he took a little child and put it among them; and taking it in his arms, he said to them, “Whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes not me but the one who sent me.”

    Now, we like to make this passage about welcoming children, because it’s cute. Who doesn’t like children? And besides, we really do need to welcome children as though we are welcoming God into our midst, but this passage was more directed at the attitudes and desires of the disciples, because they were portraying the general tendency of the toddler within us.

    You see, when they were arguing about being the greatest, what they were arguing about was the trappings of fame, namely the adulation, the freebies, the positions of power at the feasts and banquets, the ability to get people to do things for them, or to sway people with their words. They were arguing about vanity and petty pleasures. They wanted all those trappings of greatness, but they didn’t actually want to do the work of truly being great. 

    Moreover, by arguing which one of the disciples was greater than the others, they were willing to get that fame and greatness at the expense of others. That is, they just wanted to be considered greater than the other disciples. Again, they wanted the status, but not the work of being actually great. 

    And that’s why Jesus tells them that to be truly great, they must be a servant of all, and welcome even a child.

    Now, there’s a bit of cultural and linguistic explanation we need to go over here right quick, because Jesus has made a play on words here – a dad joke, if you will – as well as made a reference to the social standing of the people in this dialogue.

    First, the words in Greek for child and servant or slave are very similar. So Jesus telling the disciples that they need to be servants of all, and then pulling a child into their midst is making the connection between those two words. The second bit of information we need to know is that children, until they could truly be put to work, were considered an economic drain, just another mouth to feed, so they were often treated as servants; as gophers, runners, people to do the menial tasks, to help out in minor ways. Once they grew up enough to be of assistance, they were put to work, and given the rights and privileges you would expect of a member of society.

    People generally didn’t think of kids as a way of getting ahead in society. They paid no attention to those kids, because what you needed in order to be great in society was people who would agree to the transactional terms of your need for greatness. They could offer you political clout, financial support, or protection in exchange for whatever you gave them. Children, especially little children, were of no political value whatsoever. They could do nothing to help you become great in the eyes of the world.

    And so when Jesus has made the play on words with the servant and the child, and tells them that they need to welcome a child, he is basically asking, “Are you willing to serve the servant?” “Will this child become just as important to you as the Kings and presidents, governors and minor nobility?” And more than just this child, the question really drives down to the heart of the matter, which is the dignity of every human being. “Will you welcome anyone, that is, everyone, in my name? Will you welcome even those who are of no benefit to you politically, socially, or financially? Because if you welcome this child, or people like this child who can offer you nothing on your path to greatness, you may very well be welcoming God.”

    For those of you who have been anxiously thinking that I’ve only mentioned one child that is at war within us, you can rest easy.

    We all can recite the story of creation, and we know that we have all been created in the image of God. Which makes you, me, and everyone, a child of God. And so when we look at those people who cannot support our mission, or help us toward our goals, or move us closer to the greatness we desire, we must stop and reflect on the fact that they, too, are a child of God. What we see before us is a reflection of Christ – the same Christ that is within us. We should see them as a reflection of ourselves.

    This child of God, this servant spirit, this child that sees Christ within every person, regardless of their social standing, their current status, their health or financial stability, is at war with the angry toddler that just wants his own way.

    Now, to be ambitious is not a bad thing. To want to be great is not a bad thing in itself. The question is how are we willing to get there, and what is our final goal? Is it about elevating ourselves, or about elevating others? Is it about placing ourselves above others, or about bringing others to an equal level? Is it about our own status, or is it about serving the Christ that we see in others?

    When we are able to humble ourselves to serve the servants, to serve the children, to serve those who cannot help us in any way to meet our own selfish desires, then we will have found the path to true greatness, because it is in those moments, with those people, that we often find ourselves standing in the presence of God.

    [This sermon was delivered at St. Alban’s Episcopal Church in Wickenburg, AZ on September 22, 2024.]

  • Can You Hear Me Now?

    The dictionary defines “social status” as “a person’s standing or importance in relation to other people within a society.” That is, a person’s social standing – my standing, your standing – is based on how important other people think we are. And the flip-side is also true. In fact, humans have an incredible capacity to stratify and categorize people in society; that is, we like to fit people within a hierarchy, based on the perceived importance we place upon them. And we use existing words and give them new meaning. 

    Words like colors: “yellow,” or “red.” Words like plants: “pansy,” or “buttercup.” Words like food: “fruit,” “nut,” “vegetable,” or “kraut.”  Words like insects and crawling things: “cockroach,” “butterfly,” “slug,” or “leech.” But the worst words seem to come when we give new meaning to animals: “pig,” “cow,” “donkey,” “rat,” or “snake.”

    All of this is intended to place people into a social hierarchy, to define their status. Psychologists tell us that we do this, not because we feel superior, but because we are afraid. Afraid, most often, of what could happen – that is, our fears that come to life in our own imaginations.

    The American horror writer, H.P. Lovecraft, said this: “The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear, and the oldest and strongest kind of fear, is the fear of the unknown.”  

    This fear of the unknown is why our strongest words are often reserved for those who are the least like us, and our enemies, those that wish to do us harm.

    Here’s a bit of the background for today’s reading. Tyre and Sidon were Gentile territories. And in fact, they weren’t just territories that belonged to people who didn’t believe in the Jewish God, but they were considered “enemy territory.” The listeners of Mark’s Gospel would have understood this. The city of Tyre is considered a World Heritage Site, because so much of the world’s history stemmed from this area. In fact, it is connected to the construction of the Temple of Solomon. It wasn’t just a small, out of the way, gentile town. It was a big deal.

    The people there, the Syrophoenicians, were the landowners, and business owners, they were those that would have provided the jobs to others because they were wealthy, and well connected. 

    And the Gospel goes out of the way to make sure that we know that the person who came to talk to Jesus is a woman, a Gentile, and not only any Gentile, but a Syrophoenician. This is a woman of standing, in what Jesus and his disciples could call “enemy territory.” 

    Over the years, we have all probably used some slurs when speaking of others. But also, over the years, we have matured, and we have come to understand others better, and more importantly, we understand ourselves and our own insecurities and fears better, so that we no longer use these slurs. 

    Which makes Jesus using this term “dog” to describe not only the Syrophoenician woman, but all her countryfolk sound like fingernails on a chalkboard to us when we hear it. And it demands that we figure out an answer to what is happening. We certainly don’t want to think of Jesus as a bigot, nor do we want to see Jesus as a jerk, or worse, afraid of the unknown. 

    What is going on?

    The most common explanation given is that Jesus was just testing the woman’s faith, to see how strong it was, so that he could then heal her child and bless her. But if you think about this, you realize that this is just as mean as calling the woman and her countryfolk “dogs.” Here is a woman that has a demon possessed daughter, and she is afraid for her daughter’s life. She is coming to a foreigner, and, as a woman, going against this foreigner’s culture and religious laws, asking to speak with him and beg him for mercy to heal her daughter. And Jesus says, “Sure, but first, let me test your faith to see how strong it is. And if you pass this test, then I will show you mercy.” Not exactly a kind gesture toward a woman suffering from the fear of the loss of her child.

    What we need to realize is that all we have here are the written words. We do not have the tone of Jesus’ voice, nor do we have the look on his face when he said these words. But, given the context of these passages within the Gospel of Mark, we can make some assumptions about what was really happening here.

    Last week, we had Jesus telling the Pharisees and the leaders of the people that they are teaching people to follow their rules, rather than the commandments of God. He calls them hypocrites. And then, he leaves the comfort of his own region, and goes into enemy territory. It is unlikely that Jesus went in and with malicious intent called these people “dogs.”

    For those that were following the adventures of Jesus in Mark’s Gospel, they would have had no issue with Jesus calling this woman a “dog.” In fact, they would have expected it; they would have expected the name calling and the dehumanizing, because these people were “enemies of the Jews,” and not to be trusted. Even the gentiles listening to this Gospel would have expected the people of Israel to behave like this.

    And then Mark’s Gospel turns their expectations back on them, because Jesus grants the woman what she asks. He has essentially said, “Look, my children are the children of Israel. You are a mother, so you understand that I cannot feed you until my children have been fed.” And her response shows that she gets it, and she says, “Yes, but while we’re waiting for that, show me a scrap of mercy, since your children have an abundance.” The conversation is less of one intended to insult the woman or test her faith, but more of one intended to help the listeners understand.

    The people listening to this would have been more shocked by Jesus’ response to this gentile woman than they would have been by Jesus calling her a dog. 

    Over the course of Jesus’ ministry we have seen that when he heals people, he doesn’t just heal their physical ailments, but he restores them to their community, meaning that he restores their social status. A young girl who was demon possessed would have been a social outcast. This Gospel has gone out of its way to tell us that the mother is a woman, a gentile, and an enemy. Any one of those elements of this woman’s identity could have made Jesus ritually unclean, and yet, he speaks to the mother, and not only does he speak to her, but he answers her request, and her daughter is healed. In effect, Jesus has told the people that she has been granted the same love and mercy that his own children have received, and that the salvation of Israel is open to the Gentiles. That is, he had changed this woman, this mother’s social status, from one deserving hatred to one who deserves respect. She had gone from a “dog,” to a “child of God.”

    As if to underscore this, the very next story takes us to the region of the Decapolis, which, itself, is still in Gentile territory. And Jesus encounters a man who is deaf, and who has a speech impediment. This man would also have been lower on the social hierarchy because of his ailment, and Jesus says – to the man’s ears – “Be opened.” 

    Some of you may remember a commercial a few years ago for a major cell-phone provider. The spokesperson pops up in various locations around the country and in places that are remote and out of the way. And in each place, he holds a phone to his ear, and he says, “Can you hear me now?”

    This is where context is important. After this story of the interaction between Jesus and this Gentile woman – and Jesus and the deaf/mute Gentile man – the Gospel of Mark shows that Jesus’ ministry is expanded to include the Gentiles. That is, before this story, the Gospel focuses on the Children of Israel, and after this interaction between Jesus and the Syrophoenician woman with a demon possessed daughter, the Gospel focuses on all the Children of God.

    A quick recap. Mark’s Gospel calls those who would focus on the teachings of men rather than the teaching of God “hypocrites.” Then, Jesus enters enemy territory, and heals a demon possessed girl because her mother was willing to push forward and speak with Jesus against all cultural boundaries. Then Jesus heals a man who cannot hear, essentially saying, “Can you hear me now?”. And then, finally, the Gospel of Mark takes a turn to include not just the Children of Israel, but all of God’s Children, including the Gentiles, those very people that would have been called “dogs.”

    And that is the question for the listener’s of Mark’s Gospel, just as much as it is a question for us today: What do we hear Jesus saying? And can we hear him now?

    This interaction between Jesus and this Syrophoenician Gentile woman often brings up two types of reactions. For the first one, we get hung up on the idea that Jesus was a jerk, that Jesus used a derogatory slur, and that Jesus is a hypocrite himself. The Second is that we want to make this all about the woman herself, and her strong faith, so that we can feel good about Jesus and how he responded to this woman. 

    And both of those responses show us that we would rather not internalize the teachings of Jesus, but externalize them. We want to see Jesus as a bigot, or the woman as a woman of strong faith. Both of them allow us to step back from the shocking nature of the stories, and focus our minds on anything but our own relationship to Jesus, because to do so would require us to change our ways.

    The fact is, just as this story was intended to hit the listener’s of Mark’s Gospel with the truth of their own biases regarding social status and hierarchy, it is intended to hit us the same way. After all, unless you have Jewish ancestry, we are the “dogs” that this passage speaks about. You and I are only here because Jesus’ ministry turned from the Children of Israel, and opened his arms to all the Children of God.

    Jesus has come to save the pigs, the cows and the slugs. He has come to save the fruits, the vegetables, the butterflies and the snakes. And more importantly, he has come to save even those demon dogs, our enemies.

    Each time we find a way to denigrate others, to place them in a hierarchy, to define their Social Status based on the importance we give them, we need to remember that Jesus is looking at us, holding those same people in his arms and whispering:

    “Can you hear me now?”

    [This sermon was delivered at St. Alban’s Episcopal Church in Wickenburg, AZ on September 8, 2024.]

  • Teddy Bears and Wildflowers

    As I was preparing for the service today, I thought, “Wouldn’t it be nice to have a sermon that was the equivalent of Teddy Bears skipping through alpine meadows picking wildflowers and making bouquets to give to people?”

    “I wonder what the Gospel for this week says…”

    Hypocrites! You honor me with your lips, but your hearts are far from me!

    “Well gee…. That’s not terribly uplifting. Let’s see what the Epistle reading has to say today…”

    Do not be hearers of the word only, and not doers. Don’t be like people who look in the mirror and forget what they look like. Act according to what you claim to believe.

    “Okay. Guess it’s time for another sermon on introspection and self-examination.”

    Now, you might be wondering why the summer months have such an abundance of lectionary items that speak to wrestling with our faith. You see, the season of the Church year starts in Advent, with the anticipation of the Messiah. We hear the story of the bouncing baby Jesus at Christmas, his naming on January 1st, the epiphany to wise men from the East, his baptism, his ministry, his suffering, his death, and ultimately his resurrection on Easter. Then we see how the disciples and the early church responded to this dramatic event at Pentecost, and how their response to what had happened helped to shape the future of the world.

    And then…?

    Then we get into the season after Pentecost, often called “Ordinary Time.” In agricultural communities in the northern hemisphere, this season often coincides with the growing season, and especially with the harvest. And so you will find all sorts of references to spiritual growth, to planning for the future, to dealing with difficult situations, you name it. 

    If the first half of the church year is all about Jesus and his identity, his mission, his sacrifice, and ultimately our redemption, then the second half of the year is all about our response to the knowledge of who Jesus is and what he accomplished. And also how that knowledge should inform every aspect of our lives, from how to respond to someone who wrongs us, to how to understand our finances in the light of God’s provision and grace, to planting seeds for a harvest – both physical seeds, as well as spiritual seeds.

    That’s the church year, in a nutshell.

    Those of you who grew up in small towns may remember that one kid – or maybe a few more than one – that everyone referred to as a “bad seed.” That is to say, everyone knew that there was something terrible inside this kid that made him a terror around town, and someone people wanted to avoid at all costs. Let’s call him Timmy.

    And then this kid grows up, and the young man Tim becomes what law enforcement like to call a “repeat offender.” When something bad happens in town, his house is the first place they go. They figure that if anything bad happened, it had to come from this one, because, “There’s something wrong with him on the inside. Ain’t nothing good going to come out of that one.”

    We all probably know of someone who fits that description, and we all know how to spot people who come close to that description. Because we are generally halfway decent judges of character, and can see when people have merely made an error in judgment or had a momentary lapse in their moral compass versus those who seem to be filled with scum and villainy at their core. We recognize that it was what was inside of them that defiled them and the world around them. They may use pretty words, and make promises to be better, but ultimately, their words and actions are always on opposite ends of the spectrum.

    That’s what the Gospel and the Epistle are getting at today

    Only the central figure in the passages today is not Timmy or people like him.

    It’s me. It’s you. It’s all of us.

    We are all halfway decent judges of character, and can see when people like Timmy have just made an honest mistake, or if they are rotten deep within their core. But we are much less capable of judging ourselves with such clarity and focus.

    We say one thing, but do another. We know the truth of the Gospel, but ignore it when we’d rather do something else. We look in the mirror and we see the beautiful image of Christ within us. We see that we are Children of God and made in God’s image.

    And then we turn away from the mirror, and instantly forget who we are. And we act according to our own desires and wishes.

    In the book of Galatians, we hear that the Fruits of the Spirit are Love, joy, Peace, Kindness, Goodness, Faithfulness, Gentleness and Self-Control. These fruits grow from seeds, and those seeds come from the truth of the Gospel message about the identity, mission, death and resurrection of Christ. 

    And they will only grow if the soil gets tilled and aerated, if the weeds get pulled, and if the soil gets watered. 

    This part of the church year fits into the real world cycle of agricultural harvest, but the lectionary focuses us on the spiritual harvest. It asks us to till the soil of our souls and minds, pulling up the weeds of our own self-interest, tossing out the rocks that stand in the way of growth, so that the Fruit of the Spirit can take root and grow within us. We don’t want people to see dry and rocky soil full of weeds. What we want is a garden of abundance so that people are blessed by the sweet fragrance of Christ that grows out of us.

    Or, to put it another way.

    When people see our lives in action, do they see a “bad seed,” a “repeat offender,” a person who says one thing and does another? 

    Or do they see us like a teddy bear, frolicking in an alpine field, filled with the fruits of the spirit, gathering wildflowers to give to them as a gift?

    [This sermon was delivered at St. Alban’s Episcopal Church in Wickenburg, AZ on September 1, 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.]

  • While We Were Still Sinners

    If Lent is the time of year when we try to put ourselves into Jesus’ shoes, in an attempt to understand his suffering, then Holy Week – the week of the Passion – is that week when we realize just how much Jesus suffered – and that no amount of giving up chocolate will ever help us realize the extent of Jesus’ sacrifice.

    But Holy Week is more than just an attempt at understanding Jesus’ suffering.

    Holy Week is the week during which we realize that we are not only the recipients of all the benefits of Christ’s death on the cross, but we are also the accusers, the bystanders who did nothing, the soldiers who revelled in the violence, and the crowd that yelled “Crucify him!”

    It’s easy for us to look past our own sinfulness and blame those who were there at the time calling for his death, and to see ourselves as innocent.

    It’s easy for us to look past our own sinfulness and focus on the resurrection and see only the benefits that Jesus’ death on the cross brings to us.

    It’s easy to look past our own sinfulness and see this week of Jesus’ passion as merely an intellectual exercise in theology and the cycles of the church year.

    It is much less easy for us to admit that the reason Jesus was on the cross in the first place was because we are the ones who yell, “Crucify him!”

    The reason for Holy Week is for us to learn to grapple with the fact that Christ died for me – a sinner – and that each time I seek my own will instead of the will of God, each time I distort my relationship with God, other people, and all creation,1 that I am the one who yells, “Crucify Him!”

    Or worse, I am the soldier who condemns him, who beats him, who holds him down and drives the nail into his hands and into his feet.

    Palm Sunday especially helps us to understand the wild fluctuations of our human nature. One moment we are joyous and proclaiming Jesus as the Messiah, celebrating him as a king, waving palms and laying them down in his path – and the next we are the angry crowd, the betrayers, the accusers, yelling, “Crucify Him!” 

    We see the beauty in what Christ has done, and can do, but we also recognize that what Christ wants of us is not entirely what we want to do. We see the joy of our salvation in the person of Jesus, but we don’t want to hand over the reins to our life just yet, Or maybe not entirely. We see the good that a life of discipleship brings, but still grasp firmly to our own desires, dipping our toes in the river without ever jumping in completely and letting the flow of God’s love take us where we ought to be.

    It is when we come to this understanding of the depth of our ability as humans to focus on our own desires over and against the will of God that we realize just how powerful Jesus’ death on the cross really is. It is when we recognize the depth of our sin and understand just how much our sin can keep us from the loving arms of God that we begin to feel the truth of the meaning of this death on the cross:

    God loves me because while I was still a sinner, Christ died for me.

    The centurion in today’s gospel reading, a soldier who commanded his men to crucify Jesus, who stood by and watched as what was supposed to be just another convicted criminal being put to death for their crimes, this centurion had a moment of true understanding when he saw all that was going on around him, realized that he had a part in it all, and looked up at the broken body of Jesus and said: 

    “Truly, this man was the Son of God!”

    How much our savior loves us. That while we are still sinners, he dies for us.

    1. Book of Common Prayer, Catechism: Sin and Redemption, p. 848
    2. “But God proves his love for us in that while we still were sinners Christ died for us.” Romans 5:8, NRSV

    [This sermon was delivered at St. Alban’s Episcopal Church in Wickenburg, AZ on March 24, 2024.]

  • Points of View

    Epiphany began with the birth of a child in Bethlehem, and Epiphany always ends with the Transfiguration of Christ. There is a reason for this. Epiphanies are moments where the nature of God is revealed to us in the person of Jesus Christ. The birth of Christ is easier to unpack, because it is “Immanuel,” or “Christ with us.” It identifies Christ with us – as one of us. Human, just as we are.

    So what are we to do with the transfiguration? In the presence of the disciples, Jesus is joined by Moses and Elijah, and his clothes begin to shine a dazzling white, so white that no bleach could ever get them so clean. What does this transformation tell us about Jesus, and more importantly, about ourselves? 

    To begin with, we learn about Jesus’ identity. If we read the passages that precede the transfiguration – and we really do need to read the passages immediately preceding this one to truly understand the importance of the transfiguration for Jesus’ disciples – we see that Jesus has been healing people and casting out demons; he healed Jairus’ daughter, and cured a woman’s years-long hemorrhage; he fed a group of five thousand people, and then a group of four thousand people; he calmed a storm with just his words, and he walked on water. 

    He did miracles. Great things.

    So it’s no wonder, just before going up the mountain, that when Jesus asked his disciples “Who do you say that I am?” Peter quickly answered, “You are the Christ.”

    We have the luxury of looking at historical events, but Peter and the other disciples had to see things for themselves for the first time, and make up their minds about Jesus. Was he just another charismatic teacher, or was he truly the Christ?

    When Jesus was joined by Moses – the giver of the law and the liberator of the people of Israel – and also joined by Elijah – the first of the great prophets, and one whose appearance had long been connected with the coming of the messiah – that is when his identity was confirmed to Peter, James and John. … Jesus truly was the Messiah.

    This is the epiphany, the nature and mission of Christ is revealed to those three disciples in this transfiguration on the mountaintop. And it is revealed to those of us hearing the story after the fact. Jesus is the messiah, the chosen one of Israel, the salvation of all humanity. 

    But what does the identity of Jesus of Nazareth as the messiah reveal to us about ourselves? We most definitely are not the messiah, so we are unlikely to be joined by Moses and Elijah and be transfigured on the top of a mountain.  

    As with many of the stories we encounter in the Gospels, Peter’s responses tend to be the example that so many of us can relate to.

    Peter had seen so many miracles and acts of mighty power, that he was able to very easily slip into believing that Jesus was what most people hoped for in the Messiah. He was to be a mighty warrior, a king even. One who would crush the oppressive forces of Rome and others, and liberate Israel once and for all. But, again, in a passage just before the transfiguration, when Jesus begins to talk about how the Son of Man must suffer and die and be raised again on the third day, Peter tells him off. That can’t be! This is not how it’s supposed to happen!

    And Jesus says, “Get behind me satan!” You’re not thinking of the things of God, instead you’re focused on things that humanity wants. You want power and control. You want wealth and prestige. You don’t want what God wants, Peter. 

    How often can we find ourselves thinking the same things? We seek power, control, wealth and prestige. And we value them more than the things of heaven, more than the things of God.

    The second thing that Peter does that we might see in ourselves is that when Jesus is transfigured before them, and is standing in the dazzling light with Moses and Elijah, Peter says, “Rabbi, it is good for us to be here: let us make three dwellings, one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah.” Mark tells us: He did not know what to say, for they were terrified (Mark 9:5-6).

    Talk about a head scratcher. Why would Peter want to build something?

    Because it’s practical. It’s something he knows how to do. It’s something that would allow him to feel in control of the situation, and focus his mind on something that doesn’t terrify him. It provides a certain level of comfort in a situation that is beyond any perspective he has ever encountered.

    Have we ever done the same? When confronted with things that terrify us, that dig at our hearts and claw their way into those dark recesses of our mind where our little child sits huddled in a corner, have we then reverted to trying to do things ourselves? To take control of the situation in any way that we know how? Have we sought ways to regain power and control in circumstances that call for changing our viewpoint, rather than changing our situation through our own means?

    The voice from heaven that says, “This is my beloved son! Hear him!” is that reminder for Peter that all of those things that Jesus said about the Son of Man needing to suffer, to die, and to be raised again are true and it is meant to reveal both the nature of Jesus, and the mission of Christ in the world. It is meant to let them all know that God will accomplish what God wants, despite our desires and preferences, and that Jesus is showing them a new perspective on the work of the Messiah in this world.

    You really need to admire the beauty of how Mark put these stories together that lead up to the transfiguration. It poses all of these questions of Jesus’ identity in just a few passages; questions that people both then and now still have; questions that even Jesus’ own disciples had to begin with; it poses all these questions in a few small stories just before the nature and mission of Christ are revealed. It starts off with, Who am I? You are the christ. What am I here to do? To destroy the world with mighty power and bring about the salvation of Israel. Wrong! Get behind me satan! The messiah will suffer, die, and be raised again three days later. And if you want to follow me, you will need to lose your life – your identity – because if you give up your life for the sake of the Gospel, you will find your life and who God has truly made you to be! And then … Jesus goes off and gets transfigured, and the disciples freak out.

    And here’s the beauty of what that means to us, and to all the hearers of this gospel that came before us. Those who hear it know about the transformation that took place among Peter and the other disciples – from scared fishermen, to bold, courageous fishers of men, men who changed the world preaching the Good News of Jesus Christ – and then they think: this too can happen to me.

    We too will transform. That is what this passage, the entirety of this Gospel, of all the Gospels, really, the Good News of Jesus the Christ is all about – we will transform, and ever more change into the likeness of God, if we allow God to change our perspective, and see the world as God sees it – one where power, control, wealth and prestige are things to be lost, to be surrendered, for the sake of the Gospel. 

    The words from the collect today, “Grant us that we … be changed into his likeness from glory to glory” come from the Apostle Paul’s second letter to the Coritnthians. And what Paul means by that word “glory” is that we will be transformed each time more of the identity of God is revealed to us. That is, each time we have an epiphany and experience a change in our perspective of who God is, and understand just how that perspective of God relates to our own identity, that is when we are transformed more into the likeness of Christ. That is when our lives will take the shape that God has intended for us from before the world began, and when people will see the outward manifestation of our inward change of view.

    This is why the story of the transfiguration comes before Lent. Lent is about detaching ourselves from those things we love more than God. It is about changing our perspective on what we must give up for the sake of the Gospel, for the sake of loving God more dearly. Because when we do give these things up, not only is the nature of God revealed to us more clearly, but we begin the journey of our own transformation from Glory to Glory.

    [This sermon was delivered at St. Alban’s Episcopal Church in Wickenburg, AZ on February 11, 2024.]

  • I am a Rock? I am an Island?

    I had the sudden realization, some time past, that every life choice that I have come to regret, or to later see as unhealthy or unwise, was somehow fueled by loneliness, or my perceived lack of social connection.

    Some were clearly decisions born out of a lonely state of being, while others were more subtle, and I had to track them down, by investigating the motivations behind each and every choice that I had made, questioning my motivations behind these choices.

    We are social beings, and we want to connect with others, we want to be a part of something, and we want to know how we fit into the grand scheme of things – what our role is. Every adult has probably had a conversation with a younger human about wanting to fit in, and about the need to make wise choices about friends. And every adult has probably watched as that younger human has seemingly ignored that advice, because despite the good intentions of those who have traveled that path before, they need to find their own identity in order to know what they do and do not agree with.

    And while this example of kids finding their own way is an obvious one, as adults we often don’t realize just how many of our decisions are based on similar attempts at fitting in, at defining our identity, at finding our role within our social context. Did I come to this church because it provides the best theological teaching, or because it offers the best programs, or the best adult groups? Did I take this job because I love doing it, or because this type of job pays more money than one that I love to do – and by extrapolation, more money will allow me to get what I really crave? Did I buy this object because it serves a practical purpose, or because it is an object that shows my relevance and role within this social infrastructure?

    If we are bold enough, and honest enough with ourselves, we can usually trace every purchase beyond the necessities, every life choice beyond survival, every job choice beyond meeting our needs down to a simple motivation. These decisions are not inherently healthy or unhealthy, but more often than not, we will find that we pick these friends, do these jobs, buy these objects because they are fueling a need to place ourselves within our social context. And while we might make healthy choices – which is, after all, why we tell kids to sped time with good friends – we most often recognize our motivations when things have turned out poorly. These choices don’t necessarily fill an immediate practical need, but they offer a hope of what we really crave, which is meaning and true and authentic connections.

    Dr. Vivek Murthy, the Surgeon General, put out an advisory titled, “Our Epidemic of Loneliness and Isolation,” partly in response to the isolation that people felt during the pandemic, but also to show how the perception of loneliness has increased over the years, despite living in a society that has ever more technology to promote communication.1 The problem doesn’t lie in our communication options, but rather in the collective lack of knowledge on how to communicate.

    Social isolation is a physical state of being, though that physical isolation can lead to loneliness, which is “the painful subjective experience of feeling isolated or feeling that one’s relationships are in some ways unsatisfying or deficient (either in quality or quantity).”2 And this painful, subjective feeling of deficiency leads to an ever increasing state of fear/anxiety, despair, and rage.

    If rage is an outgrowth of loneliness, then it is clear why the surgeon general believes that social isolation and loneliness are an epidemic that must find a solution in our communities, because that rage has fueled too much division within this country, and threatens to widen the gap between those who have entrenched themselves in various political or social ideological camps. 

    It is in this division along ideological lines where people often find connection. Loneliness is related to our social identity, because not a single one of us defines ourselves merely by who we are, but by which groups we belong to.3 As adults, as hard as we might try to warn those younger people about the need to carefully choose their friends, we do the same thing, and align ourselves with those with whom we agree. And only with those we agree.

    Arthur C. Brooks, who teaches Happiness at the Harvard Business School, said in a 2022 talk, that one of the necessities for happiness is to get rid of our attachments. Quoting Thich Nhat Hanh, he says that some of our strongest attachments are to our opinions. What Brooks realized is that he was holding on to some very strong political opinions, and that he would only talk with those who agreed with him. “I was stepping over $100 bills, for the sake of a nickel,” he says, and that when he disengaged from his opinions, when he detached from tying his identity to those opinions, then it opened up his connections, because it was no longer about trying to convince people to join his camp, but instead became, “Tell me why you think this.” The conversation became interesting, rather than divisive.

    The church is just a microcosm of this same cultural phenomena. Our people are socially isolated, sometimes physically, and other times emotionally. Some people feel lonely because they are unwilling to detach from their strong opinions, and others feel lonely because they are not able to find a common ground with those around them. We might be tempted to say that people simply need to do more church shopping to find the right fit, but what we are really saying with that is, find the right tribe, so that you can align yourself with those who think like you. This is why researchers list over 45,000 separate church denominations worldwide. It is because we often look to forge spiritual connection based on cultural and social identity, rather than kingdom identity.

    There’s been a lot of talk over the years about how to make the Gospel relevant, which is to say, how to make the Gospel meaningful to people in a world that craves real and authentic connection. The way to make the Gospel relevant is the same way that we build a community that unites, rather than a community that divides: we detach ourselves from our strongly held opinions and beliefs, and focus instead on inclusion and compassion; we focus on understanding what motivates others, rather than telling them what motivates us; we educate people on how to love their neighbor as they love themselves, rather than educating them on scriptures that will score points and convince others to their way of thinking; we build up communities that prove that God loves and welcomes everyone, and not just those who think like us. If we do this, we may quit stepping over $100 bills for the sake of a nickel, and find that those who are already a part of our communities come to life in a way that gives them wings, and those who do not yet belong find themselves drawn to us because of the love and acceptance we show each other.

    1. Our Epidemic of Loneliness, pp. 19-21 ↩︎
    2. Psychology Today, New Research Identifies Two Major Causes of Loneliness. ↩︎
    3. Ibid.

      Simon and Garfunkel – I am a Rock ↩︎

  • The Way Home

    One of the phrases that’s popped up in conversation for me over the last several years is people referring to themselves as “spiritual, but not religious.” This phrase has always caused me to scratch my chin and ask, “What do you mean by that?” 

    The reason for my confusion is that by our very nature as humans, we are spiritual beings. Every person has an inherent spirituality. Spirituality is merely our attempts at making sense of the nonsensical, or of taking the mystery out of the mystical; it is our attempt at bringing order to the chaos that is our existence. Sometimes we take the random things that happen in our lives and we ascribe meaning to them, and other times we assign meaning to the coincidences and near misses in our lives. It’s been going on for centuries. Look at the goddess Fortuna, or the Fates, or the Norse god Freyr. Making sense of the nonsensical is what we do as humans.

    So, to me, for someone to say that they are “spiritual, but not religious,” means that they are saying something to the effect of “I’m a human being.” 

    Of course, I’m being deliberately obtuse with my own question, because what people generally want to convey with that statement is that they simply do not subscribe to any form of organized religion, and prefer to find their own method of making sense of the world; that they do not find any meaning in the structures others have created, but prefer to create their own order within the chaos.

    John O’Donohue says that spirituality is “the art of homecoming,” by which he means that we are all trying to find a place within our own lives where we find peace, comfort, and serenity, if even for a moment. A place where we are comfortable to be ourselves; a place where we are not pushed around by the hurts, the mistrust, the urgent requirements, the oughts, and shoulds, our past regrets, or future worries. Spirituality is a way of finding in us the beauty that is ourselves. When we enter into that place, then we have come home, and from that place of peace we are able to gather the energy needed to find the love, the patience, and the joy to make positive changes in our lives. This has nothing to do with religion, though O’Donohue himself was a practicing Christian, and former Catholic priest.

    Thich Nhat Hanh, Buddhist monk and teacher, says something very similar. The task of meditation and mindfulness is to bring us to the present moment, where all of our past regrets, future worries, the mistrust, the hurt, the anger is put aside; it is, in a sense, coming home to the body, to ourselves. Then, when we have attained that moment of presence within ourselves, we can bring those things to mind that need further examination, and can deal with them out of a sense of tranquility, so that when we leave that space within ourselves and enter into the world outside, we can engage with others with more peace, with more confidence, and with more tranquility. Though he was a practicing Buddhist, this too had not much to do with organized religion, and focused more on finding that space within that gave us the energy to confront the space without.

    And this, of course, is what most people wish to convey with the phrase, “Spiritual but not religious.” They hope to convey that they have found that space within themselves that affords them this sense of peace and tranquility.

    I had a conversation with someone this past year, in which the person told me that they are in a state of constant anxiety. They blamed their upbringing, they blamed their parents, their job, their relationships. They even blamed people like me – religious types who have “gone all in” for our religion, flawed though that religion might be in their judgment. When I said that I had found a measure of peace and tranquility in my religion, and that they should give it a shot, I was told that they had already tried my religion, and that it didn’t work. 

    In fact, this person had tried almost every major religion; they had tried various retreats and philosophies; they had tried meditation practices, treatments based on the latest scientific studies, and even therapy. Nothing had worked. To which I mentioned that in my time of knowing them, I had seen them dabble in many things, but never pick one and follow through with commitment and determination. I said that each religion and philosophical practice (including therapy), offers at least the hope of enlightenment, and so they ought to pick one, follow it with determination and commitment until they reach the end, and see if enlightenment is waiting for them there.

    Then came an odd sort of confession. Apparently, they had been told the same thing by a monk at a retreat center almost thirty years ago. And, they claimed, they had done just that in the years since. My response was brief: if I’m saying the same thing to you now, thirty years later, then it’s obvious that you have not followed a path to its conclusion; instead, you’ve continued in your path of dabbling.  

    We dabble in what can bring healing and wholeness, by choosing only what feels good, avoiding those things that don’t feel good, and spending time in this space until we determine that the promise of a more complete wholeness has not materialized – generally when that promise of wholeness involves dealing with things we find unpleasant. We dabble in spiritual niceties, and avoid stepping over the threshold of the difficult and painful. 

    In an interview with Krista Tippett, John O’Donohue speaks very deliberately about thresholds in our lives, places where we begin to look at ourselves more critically, where we begin to understand ourselves more deeply, and where we enter into the beauty of wholeness. But it takes a willingness to allow ourselves to be “threshed,” to be separated from our past patterns and behaviors in such a way that a new wholeness and beauty emerges from the depths of our being. In other words, it is not an easy choice, and it needs to be a deliberate one.

    And this is where those who practice Christianity can be dabblers as well. We can be so focused on living up to the standards that those in our communities have set, that we focus on the “looking good,” rather than on the “becoming.” Because “becoming” involves “threshing” and becoming involves pain and suffering; becoming involves looking into the void, the depth of our regrets and the lengths of our errors, and finding meaning where there appears to be none. We dabble when we try to live up to the things our religion seems to demand but avoid the prompting of the Holy Spirit to transform our lives.

    There are those who are religious and not spiritual, just like there are those who are spiritual but not religious.

    And there are those, both practitioners of a particular religion, as well as those who are spiritual but not religious, that examine their lives, sit with these painful, embarrassing, or unhappy memories, and allow those moments to sprout forth new meaning and joy.

    Our tendency as humans is to avoid suffering, and that means that we even avoid thinking about painful things, about embarrassing things, about things that cause inner turmoil. But our nature as humans is also to make errors, to say things that are hurtful to others, to do things that are not beneficial to ourselves, and, in general, to just foul up good things.

    We should not cover up the pain. We take care of it. To ignore or suppress the pain would be doing violence to ourselves. Mindfulness is us, but the painful feeling is also us. There’s no fighting. This is the view of nonduality.

    When we avoid going home to ourselves, we allow our pain to grow.

    Thich Nhat Hanh1

    To truly find peace, we must accept that we are flawed, we must consider ourselves as “whole” and acceptable, just as we are, warts and all; we are not merely good, or just plain bad; we are a muddy whole. And when we have accepted that we are not the super heroes we make ourselves out to be, then we must allow those painful memories, those regrets and failures to “thresh” us, we must allow them to enter into our minds and into our lives where we can examine them, and allow them to till the soil of our being so that they produce that promised wholeness. 

    When we do, that is when our lives begin to double, and failure and defeat produce peace and joy, rather than pain and anxiety.

    1. Reconciliation: Healing the Inner Child, Thich Nhat Hanh, p. 148 (Kindle Edition), Parallax Press, 2006 (The link to this book is an Amazon Associates link. I receive a few pennies from Amazon if you purchase this book.)

  • 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.]