Proper 27 2014

Proper 27 2014

Our Gospel Reading for today is comprised pretty much of this parable about ten bridesmaids who are waiting through the night for the bridegroom to arrive. It’s probably an image with which we’re all familiar—young women hanging around, keeping their lamps lighted so that they can greet the bridegroom when he finally arrives…or maybe not.

This really is a parable which has some cultural overtones to which we can’t really relate. After all, the image in this parable is quite different from what we understand of bridesmaids today—and the idea that a wedding feast would begin after midnight would probably throw the most stalwart of wedding planners into fits. (Something that might be really funny to see).

But all of this aside, I think the point of the story is pretty easily understood—especially because in context it follows a series of other parables and teachings about the End Times, and being prepared. This is, of course, money in the bank for television preachers; and the clincher for hardline, Evangelical crusades… However, judgment is only one dimension of this parable.

Now, just to be clear, it’s not that I don’t like to preach about judgment—in fact, I really like the idea, especially right after campaigns and a vote… The issue, for me, is that when it comes to judgment (especially Divine Judgment),I know exactly who I’d like to see on the receiving end—and I can imagine if all of you were as debased as myself, you would also have some opinions about this.

Of course, in this case, we’d be talking about retribution and revenge, not Justice…which for all of the scary images in Scripture, is really what Divine Judgment is supposed to be about.

Anyway, besides the parable being something about the End Times, it is also appropriately understood as a lesson about waiting—and waiting well.

As I mentioned, this is one parable in a string of teachings about the end of time, and being prepared for that end. So, to help us understand this lesson, we have one set of bridesmaids who have come to wait for the bridegroom with lamps, and extra oil, as well. On the other hand, some of the bridesmaids came to wait, but did not come with extra oil.

When night wore on, then, these ladies fell asleep—having taken off the uncomfortable, yet stylish shoes that went with their dresses. Finally, sometime after midnight, the bridegroom’s taxi arrived from the airport. Upon hearing the car horn honking, and the slamming of car doors, the bridesmaids scramble to greet the bridegroom—but alas, only some of them have extra oil…

Luckily for these other bridesmaids, the nearest oil dealer was a 7-11, so they could go get more oil, and a Slushee, besides. But when they returned with their oil, lighted lamps, and beef jerky for everyone—the doors to the banquet hall were already shut, and no one willing to let them in. In fact, whoever answered the door, even denied knowing them…talk about cold blooded . Obviously this person didn’t know how much their dresses cost, or how much time they had spent at the hairdresser that morning.

Now, again, we have to keep in mind that this is a parable—it’s exaggerated to make a point, and even though it’s not funny, necessarily, parables by nature are more like jokes than a concise exposition of culture and religious life. Jesus is pushing the limits of this story. But, how else could he express the importance of waiting and being prepared, than to tap into all of the cultural fears about failing at hospitality—especially at a wedding. After all, we might remember what happened to Jesus when he and his buddies went to a wedding in Cana. The host of the party ran out of wine, and Jesus’ Mom outted him as Messiah before he’d made it official.

So, if hospitality at a wedding is important enough to force the Savior’s agenda—especially when it’s about having enough wine—we can guess that this parable taps into some real fears for his audience.

I don’t know if there are any things today, in our culture, which would be quite the equivalent to this sensibility. However, I could imagine thoughts of a children’s birthday party, where there aren’t enough party favor bags, might be enough to send some of you into cold sweats.

Maybe for others, anxiety is the prospect of doing a team presentation, and you happen to show up without your thumb drive that has all of the necessary slides.

Or, for the rest of us, it might just be the fear that, the dream where you show up for some important event only in your underwear, isn’t a dream…

Whatever the case, Jesus is trying to underline the importance of being prepared—and he uses urgency and fear as a tactic to get us to understand how necessary it is to be ready, and wait well.

Now, when I say that we need to be prepared—especially in the context of the end times—I’m not talking about buying stock in non-perishables, and building a compound. However, there are any number of websites which have helpful checklists to prepare you…one even lists what size generator you’ll need to power a television, DVD player and computer (you know, only the essentials for the end of the world).

No; what I’m talking about is the need to live in such a way that this world—this life—isn’t our only sense of reality. In other words, our hearts can’t be consumed by getting ahead. Our minds can’t be occupied with selfishness and negativity. Because, as we know, this life is fleeting—and all of the status symbols, and “stuff” that our culture holds onto will inevitably pass away. Our lives are worth too much—the lives of others are worth too much to squander ourselves caught up in the world’s illusions.

Then again, it’s not like we need a spiritual awareness to understand this—the disparity in the world between rich and poor; cultures; religions; and even gender—are just a ‘click’ away. And if we allow our hearts to be moved by this—to be moved by the things that move the heart of God; I think we realize that this can’t be all that there is…there has to be more to what God dreams for this world than what we’re seeing and experiencing.

So, when I talk about being prepared, I think it begins with a state of mind; a condition of heart;  and a perspective about this life that understands that not only is this world not our home, but when begin to live compassionate lives, we find we most certainly don’t belong here. When our hearts are set upon being conformed to the loving heart of God, and our minds are transformed by the Holy Spirit; we find that we want to live more like Jesus. And, while it’s a difficult task, we know that it’s much needed in this world…

The point is, we’re called to live our lives anticipating Jesus’ return, and his Kingdom come—and in spite of what television preachers would like you to believe, this is a very good thing, and hopeful. But we have to take the long view in this, always preparing our hearts and doing those things which make the world ready for the truer life ahead. Within our waiting is the work of holding fast to the hope that, with Christ’s return, true justice will be done, and a Kingdom ruled by love is at hand. And far from buying generators, and stocking-up on canned goods—our preparation will be compassionate works, which give others a vision of that Kingdom, and invites them to join us in our waiting; and our longing for Christ, our friend and Beloved to return.

Proper 25 2014

Proper 25, 2014

Jesus said, "`You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind.' This is the greatest and first commandment. And a second is like it: `You shall love your neighbor as yourself.' On these two commandments hang all the law and the prophets."

Well, I think that’s probably enough for today—don’t you? I’ll just go have a seat again, shall I? After all, there’s really not much more that can be said, because this is the essence of Christian faith. The trouble is that it’s easier to remember than it is to live.

In fact, the one line from the Leviticus reading about being holy because God is holy, seems somehow a bit more attainable. We can pray, we can stare at our navels, and be all kinds of holy if we want to—it’s just people what make it difficult. Seriously.

Jesus probably could have had a much easier time of things without the Scribes and Pharisees always muckin’ about.

The Apostles might have even built their own cathedrals, if not for the people persecuting them.

And, I’d imagine if I didn’t have to drive anywhere, vote for anyone in government, or eat certain vegetables; I could even be an amazingly faithful Christian. But, again…people.

Of course, if not for the Scribes and Pharisees, Jesus wouldn’t have had the opportunities he did to teach about the core matters of faith.

If the religious authorities hadn’t persecuted the Apostles, it’s likely that the faith wouldn’t have spread beyond Judea.

And, it’s probably because of things like driving, politics (not so much vegetables, though) that make me have to see what my material really is…

Because for all the trouble that “people” cause for us, it’s other people who challenge us to live our faith like it makes a difference. Other people have the distinct ability to hold a mirror up to our attitudes, our biases, behaviors, insecurities, and most importantly our hearts. People remind us that we are also people (darn).

But, I suppose it’s because interacting with other people does all of this to us that we find ourselves talking about “people” in less than complimentary ways. And this is actually more reflective of our own hearts—because we’re them and they’re us.

Yet, I can’t help but get the impression that this was the whole point of God telling Israel to love their neighbors as themselves in Leviticus—and Jesus repeating the whole thing again when asked which commandment was the greatest. The point is that we can’t know how to love God with all of our heart, soul and mind, if we can’t figure out how to love our neighbors as ourselves…

Now, this isn’t to say that we’ll ever perfect that in this life—but even the act of trying to do it is essential to the work of trying to love God more fully. Besides, we cover all of this stuff in the confession, so (you know) if we sort don’t do it well, it’ll still be cool. We can still try again. (Week, after week, after week, after week…) You get my point.

Anyway, the reason that we need to learn to love others so that we can love God isn’t just about having our compassion stamina tested. But, it’s also because we learn love by people. Which is to say, all of our metaphors for God’s relationship with us are understood in terms of the love of a Mother; a doting Father—even a Lover in some places… And so, it seems to me that even if our experiences with parents weren’t healthy, or loving for some of us; or if the idea of God as a Lover reminds some people of bad relationships—whatever the case may be… I think that God invites us to learn to love and be loved—and even have our experiences of relationship healed through that love, so that we can better begin to understand how God loves us. Then…it seems to me, we begin to learn also to love better—both God and our neighbors.

A couple of weeks ago, I talked about this question that the Presiding Bishop asked us at our clergy conference. She asked us when the last time we understood God to be telling us that we were beloved children of God, in whom God took much delight… Like I said then, none of us could do much else than get fidgety, and try to perform impressive theological cartwheels around the question.

But this is to say that it’s hard to answer for any of us, because it’s really the only question for us, isn’t it? We really need to be able to tackle this understanding that we are in fact beloved children of God, and God is pretty delighted in us. Of course, we don’t always know why, because we know ourselves, and we have a hard enough time getting along with ourselves… So, if I don’t always love me...it’s hard to trust that God does. And if that’s the case—we shouldn’t be surprised when we can’t love our neighbors as ourselves…

One of my favorite Christian authors is a guy named Brennan Manning. This guy wrote a ton of books, and has been quoted by a number of different writers and preachers. I don’t know that he ever got wealthy from his work, but I know that there were a lot of people who thought he was dangerous and overly liberal in his theology. But for all of his lectures, books, quotes and all the rest; the only thing he ever wrote about was experiencing the love of God, and what that does to us when it happens.

Ironically, it isn’t all puppies, kittens and rainbows. The reality is that that heart of God is at the same time both a place of immense acceptance and peace; and yet a kind of crucible where we’re shown just what it is that that is being purified out of us… So maybe it isn’t Brennan Manning who is dangerous—but the love of God that is dangerous. Because the experience of God’s love is tremendously humbling and we find we can’t believe how all-consuming God’s love is, and how anemic our own…

But this isn’t to say that our love is futile, either. Because, as it turns out, in God’s economy; we are called to love God with our whole selves; which is the most important thing. But just as important is that we love others and love ourselves, right? We can’t love others as ourselves if we can’t love ourselves… So, in God’s economy, the only thing that we can sufficiently give back to God in the way of reciprocating so great a love, is by giving love to others as well as to God.    

Now, just so we don’t start thinking all of this is just some exercise in self-realization; we need to talk about what it means to love others as ourselves. It’s no secret that it’s more than committing to not pulling your sister’s pigtails on the playground; or doing your best not to flip people off when they cut you off on the interstate (even though these are both good things).

However, what loving others does ask of us is to first consider that our love and our lives have value. And, like anything of value, we ought to really think about the best way to make good use of it.

Quite literally, I’m saying that we need to be good stewards of our love, and find the places in which we can best invest ourselves so that the compassion that compels us to be better lovers of God; lovers of self and lovers of others can flourish and grow.

But, I’m not so sure that we think of it in these terms—our love as an asset. I also don’t think we ever really have the opportunity to discern the best ways in which we can be used in God’s greater economy…and I think this is why we’re sometimes a little flummoxed about using our gifts. This may be the reason we find ourselves trying to do things that really are good things, but find ourselves being burnt-out by them, all the same… I think it’s perhaps because we’re not finding the best places to invest. 

So, here’s where all of this becomes a little more concrete—in a week or so, you’ll be receiving your annual stewardship appeal letter. Enclosed with this letter is a short questionnaire that asks you, first, what you believe the Church, and St. John’s should be about. What do you believe we should be doing? And then, just so the vestry isn’t inundated with suggestions; we’re asking you to consider what little or big part you could play in making the vision you see for this church a reality…

What I think this does for us is not only ask us to consider an important question about who and what the Church ought to be—it also asks us to consider whether or not such a vision is important enough, even imperative enough, for us to do whatever it is that we can to make it realized.

Jesus bids us to love God and love our neighbors as ourselves. I’m glad that our neighbors happen to be people, just as we are, so that we can learn from one another how to love better. It’s also my hope that we’ll even learn to trust that we’re loved by God—loved even better than we know how to love God back. Somewhere, then, in this strange, but lovely economy of love; I hope we’ll learn to invest our love and our lives, so that others may also know and experience the full, and healing love of God. Because no matter what else we do as the Church or as individuals, loving God and loving our neighbors as ourselves—these two things are the most important commands.

Proper 24 2014

Proper 24, 2014

“Whose image is it on the coin, and whose title?”

It’s no secret that Jesus, by this time, was pretty sick of the Pharisees and their shenanigans. When they asked him about paying taxes (to a foreign superpower, who was occupying Israel no less); they’re hoping to either hear Jesus denounce Rome (which would have gotten him arrested); or, if he said nothing against it, they could have him stoned to death for blasphemy… A win-win, of sorts.

But, not missing a beat, Jesus called them out—“You hypocrites, show me the money used to pay the tax.” Of course, even though these were God-fearing, religiously observant men; all of them were able to produce coins; all of them marked with a graven image… You might recall, God mentioning graven images in the 10 Commandments…

Anyway, the big punchline comes when Jesus says to them give to the emperor what is the emperor’s, and give to God what is God’s. (Blam. Drops the mic, and walks off stage). As usual, the people are amazed—some of them probably even a little hacked-off, as well.

The funny thing about this reading (besides the fact that it’s a funny story) is that it happens to be scheduled in the Lectionary right around stewardship time for churches. Seriously.

So, I’m not sure what the drafters of the Lectionary had in mind here. I mean, was this reading chosen because it just happens to mention money? Or, is the strategy to get everyone to start thinking that money is somehow so icky that the best option any of us has is to give it all to the Church? If only that would work… The trouble is that we’ve already heard that Jesus recommends giving the stuff that belongs to the emperor to the emperor, and to God what is God’s. I suppose we might next go outside, and like the old joke says, throw all of our money into the air, and whatever God wants, God can keep… Probably not.

The point is, this already isn’t that great of a stewardship reading—and besides, when we begin looking too narrowly at Scripture, we end up in all sorts of ridiculous places.

On the other hand; Tertullian, the Early Church Father—you all remember Tertullian…North African guy, late First to early Second century, prolific defender of Trinitarian theology before he became a heretic? Right, that Tertullian (cool guy, nice beard).

Anyway, Tertullian, when commenting on this passage (I’m pretty sure it was him), wrote that just as the coins are understood to belong to the emperor because it bore the image of the emperor (give to the emperor what belongs to the emperor); we may presume that the same is true for us. If humanity bears the Image of God, then there should be no question to Whom we belong… So, we ought to give to God what belongs to God—ourselves.

Obviously this is a little more costly than simply pledging some amount of money for the year—but, I think it gives a much fuller understanding of stewardship. We probably remember the old saying that stewardship is about “Time, Talent, and Treasure…” It’s effective enough, I suppose—but I think it’s more about the alliteration.

The truth is that for many people Time is harder to give than Treasure, because our lives are completely mad. And as for Talent…well, I suppose a lot of people have either never had a chance to discern what their talents were—or, they’ve never thought that their particular talent could be used for the good of the Church. Whatever the case, it becomes an easier commitment to give of our Treasure than our Time and Talent.

However, I think, in this case, we find that it becomes harder to think of the Church as a priority—especially when it kind of becomes one more place where we send money…

But it’s a funny thing about currency—it doesn’t have any real value unless it is being shared, and distributed. In fact, we even know that currency can lose and gain value. So, unless money is moving throughout an economic system; it’s not really worth anything in and of itself.

Now, I’m not about to say that people don’t have any worth or value unless they’re being shared and distributed. However, I would say that humanity is enriched when we share ourselves. Our stories, our experiences, and even our very personhood are appreciated when they’re shared in community.

And so, just as Tertullian says (I’m almost certain it was Tertullian--anyway)—just as some really impressive Early Church Father has explained, we should give to God what belongs to God—and, all things considered, the only thing that we could reasonably give to God would be our selves.

The reality is, this isn’t a new concept—Tertullian aside. Giving ourselves to God; to God’s work and mission in the world—it’s what we’re called to regularly. In the Rite I Eucharistic prayers we say that we’re presenting ourselves, our souls and bodies to be a reasonable and living sacrifice. We’re reminded of St. Paul’s admonition to present ourselves as a living sacrifice. And in Baptism; we give ourselves to Christ’s death to somehow receive the promise of resurrection.

I don’t know if it’s because we think we’ve tamed God; cleaned-up Jesus; or made the Holy Spirit more respectable…but, I think we’ve forgotten how dangerous our faith is supposed to be. But, it is the danger—or more likely the full emersion into this faith journey that changes us; that kills that false self; that calls us to a truly renewed life. But that’s why it requires us to give ourselves wholly to it. That’s also what makes it so provocative.

So, the elevator pitch is simply this: Whatever the amount we pledge, or whatever the amount we hope to give will always be received, blessed, and sent back into the world through the life of the Church (in one way or another).

 But let’s just say that we were willing to put ourselves in the offering plate… (It’s kind of a funny mental image really) Imagine, though, what it would mean to be gathered together—received; then blessed; and sent back into the world through the life of the Church in one way or another.

Now, I know we more-or-less do this sort of thing in the liturgy. We come together, we receive the sacraments, and we’re sent back into the world. But, there would be a difference… If we did commit to giving ourselves—our time, talent and treasure, sure—but if we really gave our lives, our selves, our families, our hopes, our dreams—everything to God; I believe everything would be different.

Of course, I’m talking about a state of mind, a state of heart; but, when we resolve to make all that we do and all that we are belong to God—everything is set in a different kind of economy. It may not mean that we have any more time than we did before—but, it may just mean that we’re less anxious, and have a bit more clarity of mind to carry on. It may not mean we know what we could offer to the work of the Church—but we may find people who can help us discern our gifts and call to service. And, it may not mean that we have an abundance of treasure (sigh that’s the teaching from a completely different church than ours—and a different Gospel and Jesus, besides…). Anyway, we may not have more treasure—but we may find a wealth of other kinds of blessing.

But, then again, any one of these things could be changed by giving ourselves to God; because we don’t know how being in a faith community that knows us, cares for us, and wants to support us might help us…

Admittedly, though, I will say that this concept of giving our selves—and not just from ourselves seems easier than it really is. Because, as you might imagine, when we give ourselves, we also no longer belong to ourselves. So, this means we have to constantly be reminded that we don’t get to live our lives to selfish ends. However, it also means living as if our lives are a gift to us, and to others, as well.

Finally, I know that telling people that money isn’t important is a miserable way to preach a stewardship sermon…especially with a deficit budget. However, I will say that I know that money follows mission; and I believe even more, that when the people of God choose to give themselves to whatever mission it is that God is calling them to—it changes everything. Hearts are changed, lives are changed, and people are changed when we commit ourselves to belonging to God, and to God’s work in the world… And that kind of commitment inevitably draws other people, who also find themselves giving to God what has always belonged to God.

So, if we all give ourselves to God, and God sends us to do God’s work…money doesn’t seem quite as valuable compared to committed souls.

Besides, whose image is on the coin, and whose Image is on us?  

Proper 23 2014

Proper 23, 2014

Who’s gonna show up? Who’s in and who’s out when it comes to the Kingdom of God? Who will even inherit the Kingdom of God?

All of these are themes that we’ve seen over the past few weeks with Jesus’ parables. He’s offered some heavy stuff, but has been able to root his lessons in some pretty understandable contexts. His audience is grounded in families who work vineyards, probably—they get how tenets are supposed to work for landlords—all of that makes sense.

But today, Jesus is really working the parable pretty hard. This is what is known as an eschatological teaching—in other words, it talks about the end of time… So, he’s kind of taking us to where the sidewalk ends in this one—and tells this bonkers story of a king who is planning a wedding feast for his son. The important people he’s invited, when they’re called, all turn their noses up—and some even beat-up and kill the servants.

So, the king sends out some other servants (after burning down the cities of the original guests) and tells the servants to invite anyone they meet—and we’re told that all kinds of people come to the feast; good and bad alike.

This is nice…we like this kind of parable, right? Everybody gets in, everyone’s invited and included—this is the kind of vision we like for the Kingdom of God.

But then, we have this whack-a-doodle ending to the story where the king finds some cat at the party who isn’t wearing the right clothes. And when the guy has no answer for why he’s not dressed properly, the king has him bound hand and foot to be cast into the outer darkness where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth…

Well doesn’t that just suck… I mean, here’s this guy who’s been invited just like every other joker in town to this wedding feast for the king’s son—all of a sudden he’s getting singled-out by the king because he didn’t wear a wedding robe? And then…he gets bound hand and foot and thrown into the outer darkness where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth? Talk about some rain falling on your day…

But before we get our ‘undies of indignation’ all in a bunch—we should probably clarify the situation. First, this is a parable; so , Jesus is taking everything to the ‘nth degree.

Secondly, if the king invited everyone around, and expected them to be properly dressed—we could assume that he was providing the proper robes. So, basically, this guy who’s getting the boot really was a jerk. I mean, instead of accepting the king’s gracious hospitality and receiving all that was freely offered at the feast—he’s instead acting more like a thief who’s snuck in and wants to steal...(not very nice.)

But even if we don’t like this explanation, it still adds something interesting to this question: “Who’s gonna show up?” I mean, as I’ve said before; “If you preach a Gospel of open doors and open hearts—you don’t get to be scandalized by who shows up to receive it…”

All the same, what could happen when anyone (the ‘good and bad’) showed up?

I recently saw one possible answer to this, at clergy conference, last week. We had a speaker from Nashville, named Becca Stevens. She happens to be an Episcopal priest who works with Magdalene House and Thistlefarms.

Magdalene House is a sort of half-way house program that helps women who are coming out of prison, and are trying to recover from addiction—many of whom were also trafficked as prostitutes… This is who shows up at Magdalene House—women who need the open hearts and open doors, but also have the kind of record that keeps them from doing much more than falling back into old patterns.

But, this is where Thistlefarms comes in… Named for the thistle purposely because it can survive and grow anywhere; Thistlefarms works with these women and trains them to make bath soaps; lotions; and a whole line of items that use healing essential oils. And many of these oils they make are from plants grown by women in Rwanda who survived the genocide. Apparently, after digging-up and properly burying the remains of their loved ones, these Rwandan women sowed plants in the killing fields that would produce oils for healing.

So, there is this international cooperation, which works to help and heal women, as well as the world through love. Magdalene House clothes these women as honored guests, and Thistlefarms helps them to live into that identity.

Now, the Presiding Bishop also happened to be there, and what’s funny is that she later led us in a conversation where she talked about the baptism of Jesus. And she talked about how the heavens opened, and Jesus heard the voice of God say: “You are my beloved son (my beloved child) in whom I am well pleased…” Then she asked a room full of clergy when the last time we knew God was speaking that to us, as well…

Just take a second, and ask yourself that question… When was the last time you knew yourself to be the beloved child of God?

Well, if the question makes you feel a little squeamish, or self-deprecating; I assure you, there was a meeting room full of clergy who felt the same way—myself included. And, I’ll just say (for the record), a room full of clergy who are made to feel uncomfortable is pretty funny. We start trying to be very theological, and sort of behave like a one winged bird and fly in tiny circles…

Anyway, like my colleagues, I really wrestled with this question, and inevitably, I had to come to the conclusion that it isn’t up to me whether or not I’m considered beloved of God, or if God is well pleased with me. Because, in the end, it’s God who says it to us—and not what we say God says of us… So, whether we feel our beloved-ness; or whether we can accept our beloved-ness is NOT the point.

As the late Brennan Manning used to say, “We’re all ragamuffins begging at the door of God’s mercy.” So, if God decides to be pleased with me, or calls me beloved—well, that’s a gift. I know how raggedy I am—and God knows me even better; so, where do I get the moxie to tell God what’s what? And yet, if we have any question of whether God really thinks so much of us, we have to look to another story in Scripture—the story of Creation.

While I’m not a literalist about the Creation account, there’s no question for me that it has a deep meaning for all of us. So, we should take it seriously, even if not literally.

Anyway, there are two accounts of Creation in Genesis. One is the short version that briefly mentions each day of creation, and the other goes into some detail about the creation of humanity, and their relationship with God.

We’re told that Creation was called ‘good,’ by God, and humanity was called very good. Humanity, in the form of woman and man, had the privilege of walking with God—and everything was cool, until they wanted to have knowledge like God, and ate from the tree of the knowledge of good and evil.

Well, once they judged between good and evil—everything changed…

When God showed up, Adam and Eve, (God’s kids) were nowhere to be found. In the Hebrew text, God calls out “Ayeka,” “Where are you?” And the tone is one of abandonment—God feels as lost as he supposes his children were…

As any parent can attest, when your child is right beside you in a crowded place, and then they’re suddenly not there—it’s really scary.

I would imagine there was something like that for God in that moment.

Now, we might say that God is all-knowing, so how could he not know where Adam and Eve were hiding…but, since Adam and Eve knew what they knew—realized they were naked (whatever)—they felt shame and hid because they couldn’t ‘get over it.’ So, it’s as if God had trouble recognizing them as Children of God, because they couldn’t see it in themselves anymore. The Image of God had been diminished. “Where are you,” God says.

Well, when God does find them, it becomes clear what they had done, and these two humans—these two children, try to blame everyone else rather than trying to face their mistakes. And, because they’ve broken the one law God had set for them, they are exiled from the Garden.

But, what’s interesting, is that before they’re sent away, God clothes them. And as we know from the 66 books of the Bible, and every day that we happen to brush up against grace, mercy and love (all of which comes from God); we see that God has spent every day since that break-up trying to remind us that we are beloved, and that we are God’s children…

So, here is one possibility of what could happen when King Alpha, God, opens the door to God’s open heart… We could show-up. We could show up, along with every other ragamuffin who wasn’t originally invited to the party.

And if we still have a hard time feeling and accepting that we are God’s beloved children (even after showing up); we should at least do our best to realize that it is God who clothes us in acceptance and beloved-ness (even demonstrates this through Jesus Christ). But it’s up to us then to do our best to try to live into that gift. This doesn’t mean that we’ll become arrogant about that gift—because when we really wrestle with our being beloved and accepted, I think it makes us recognize how raggedy we really are… And somehow, in that strange dance of trying to live up to our beloved-ness, we will show up; we will do the work which bears fruit for the Kingdom; and we may even get a glimpse of that Kingdom, which through the grace of God has been given to us as an inheritance.

So, today, if you haven’t asked yourself the question, you need to do now; “When was the last time I felt God saying I was a beloved child in whom God was well pleased?” And if it makes you feel squeamish—that’s a really good start (raggedy is okay). But as soon as you begin getting caught up in how terrible, or awful you think you are—if you start playing the old tapes of past mistakes—well, I would ask you to hear God ask “Ayeka?,” “Where are you?” Because the one that God has clothed; the one whom Christ has redeemed, bears the indelible Image of God. And that really is something.

What’s more, when we can do this—wrestle with this identity of beloved-ness; it allows us to better love others, and invite others to do the same soul searching. So, beloved of God, where are you? Will you show up?

Proper 22 2014

Proper 22 2014

Our readings today seem to follow a kind of theme—certainly there is the vineyard theme (not so much in the Philippians reading)—but there is this more important theme of integrity, promise and entitlement.

See, in Isaiah’s reading, we have this allegory of God preparing Israel like a vineyard. God cultivates the ground, builds walls, sets up the press, and tends the growth of the grapes. Yet, for all that was done to make sure that the grapes were sweet seemed to be for nothing…because, somehow they all turned out sour.

Obviously, Isaiah is talking about the relationship between God and Israel. As we know from many of the books of the prophets, Israel had a habit of forgetting who they were as God’s people. They seemed to forget that God had brought them out of Egypt, and slavery, and given them their land. What’s more, Israel had made a covenant with God, that they would follow the Laws that God gave them, and not worship idols.

Well, as is evidenced in this particular reading, Israel has once again not lived up to that promise, and God—in the language of Isaiah—is like a vineyard owner who is surprised that all of the work that was done to grow sweet grapes didn’t turn out. In other words, God had given Israel everything they needed to be a successful, self-sufficient nation. But, for whatever reason, Israel couldn’t hack it, and got lured away by other things, and began to fail.

Our Gospel reading, interestingly enough, also takes up this vineyard theme—but with a bit of a twist. God is still the owner of the vineyard—but, now Israel is like tenets renting the vineyard. And when the owner (God) sends slaves to retrieve his produce; the tenets beat the slaves and refuse to give over the produce. Not only do they beat these slaves, but another set of slaves; and eventually they even kill the owner’s son when he is sent in behalf of the owner.

When Jesus asks his audience what they think the owner will do after the tenets had killed the son; we’re not terribly surprised when they say that the owner would have the tenets put to death, and would rent the vineyard to other tenets.

Jesus agrees that this would happen, but points out that this is what will happen with the kingdom of God. He says, the kingdom will be taken away from those who previously had it, and will be given to people who produce the fruits of the kingdom.

Effectively, Jesus is calling this group out—this religious elite. Effectively he says the same thing we heard him say in last week’s Gospel reading—cultural and religious heritage are no guarantee for receiving the kingdom of God… So, whether you’re a kippah-ed Hassidic Jew, a fish-eating Roman Catholic, or a Southern Baptist who is too frightened to do anything—none of it gets you any gold stars… What’s more, he indicates that because these Pharisees lean on their heritage rather than trying to live into the heart of God’s Law—the kingdom is going to be given to others whose lives do reflect the heart and Spirit of God…

This is good news for us, not necessarily good news for these Pharisees.

Finally, in his letter to the Philippians, Paul is laying out his religious credentials. He’s Hebrew through-and-through; he knows the Law, he was a Pharisee—and as a persecutor of the Church, he says he was zealous…

His point is that even though these claims meant something to the religious elite of Israel—they’re far from the most important thing—and that is being in love with Jesus Christ.

So, just as we see in the Isaiah reading, and the Gospel reading—Paul is telling the believers in Philippi that being believers—being people of faith is not about how good we are at ‘doing religion.’ It is, and always has been a matter of the heart.

We know this. We know it intuitively, and it’s why we don’t go to certain churches, and aren’t part of certain other traditions. It’s so simple, in fact, that our kids understand it (often better than adults), and is why they are quick to point out when they see a disconnect between what we say and what we do.

Anyway, for as simple as this idea that our faith is a matter of the heart is easy to understand, (effectively, loving God, and living like it mattered) it’s not quite so easy to live into, or incorporate. Because, as it turns out, maintaining a living and vital faith really isn’t such an easy task. Yet, because most of us have had, at least, some experience of God’s love and Presence in our lives; we still know that for as difficult as it might be, it’s worth it… We don’t need to be brought out of slavery in Egypt to know the importance of being children of God.

 When I was getting things together to write this sermon, I was reminded of one of the stories from Arthurian Legend. If the fact that all three of my sons are named after Knights of the Round Table weren’t a clue; I’m a fan of King Arthur Legends.

Well, I got to thinking about these connections between the readings, and I remembered this story about King Leodegrance—the father of Guinevere, and a kind of mentor early in Arthur’s reign. He also gave Arthur the Round Table, incidentally…

So, after years of warring with rebel kings who didn’t accept Arthur’s authority (apparently they didn’t think pulling a sword from a stone was a credible way to become king); Arthur was finally settling into a time of peace. Apparently, during one of their conversations, Arthur asked Leodegrance where all of his knights were since there wasn’t a war going on. The king said that he’d sent them out to quest. He explained that when warriors are idle, and not regularly tested, they lose their edge—but not just their fighting edge, he said, but they also lose heart and their attentiveness to virtue, and all of the the other things that really matter…

Some of you may already know that I’m a fan of martial arts, and have studied a few disciplines for about 12 years now. And (just a bit more self-disclosure) I also, almost, always have with me a paper with the 7 virtues of Bushido (the Warrior’s Code).

I don’t do this because I’m violent and like to fight, necessarily… I mean, the seven virtues are: Integrity; Respect; Courage; Honor; Compassion; Sincerity; and Loyalty—virtues that aren’t exclusive to samurai, at all. In fact, I carry them because they challenge me to always try to be better—that’s the way of the warrior, always be better. I know serious athletes understand this idea.

But the samurai code is meant to challenge a person to believe in virtue; to always live from the center of that belief; and to live as if that belief mattered and made a difference. So, it reminds me to take seriously the way I try to live out my faith…

But it’s only in having that faith tested in day to day life, with any number of challenges that come my way, that I find out if those virtues are really part of me…or, still just ideals on a piece of paper. I also think that because the bushido code comes from a different cultural and religious perspective, rather than a Western Christian one; I suppose it forces me to look at myself through a different lens. So, I don’t get to see if I’m just good at Christianity—I have to see if my faith, and all that it requires of me, is substantive enough to measure up—even outside of the Christian worldview…  

Interestingly enough, peaceful, lovely St. Francis actually wanted to be a knight before God called him. He was a fan of the stories of King Arthur, too, in fact.

 He was actually on his way to the crusades when God called him to religious life. Apparently, he often joked that the friars were his knights of the round table. (true story)

Okay…So, how do—questing knights, vineyards, and the inheritance of the kingdom of God not being about about entitlement—fit together? I have no idea…

No… Actually, I think they fit together quite effectively, and here’s how:

First, we need to realize that we’re very fortunate people—like, fortunate in the same way that Charlie Bucket was fortunate enough to find the golden ticket, and become the heir to Willy Wonka’s Chocolate factory. Like Charlie, we’ve become heirs to something wonderful that we have no entitlement to—the kingdom of God.

But, at the same time, we have to be really careful that we don’t take for granted this free gift, in the same way most of our culture takes for granted things that are free… Because, just as this gift was given to us because others weren’t considered worthy of it—who knows what it means for us if we take it for granted? I don’t know that it means loss of our salvation, but I would at least imagine that something in us would be lost. Perhaps, it would mean we would have a harder time recognizing God’s Presence in the world…who knows? But we shouldn’t take the gift of God’s kingdom for granted…

Secondly, along with gratitude for the gift of God’s kingdom, we need to understand that faith is a matter of the heart. Our faith is about love for God and for everyone else—but for as simple a statement as it seems, there has to be real substance for it to be anything more than just words.

So, our love of God and our love of people—literally our faith—has to be out there. Because as long as it stays in here, it never gets tested—and like knights without a quest, we lose our edge. What’s more, when we’re tested (even if we fail the test, sometimes); hopefully we take the opportunity to learn how we might be better next time.

The point is, if the Church is going to mean anything outside of itself—like, if we’re hoping that all of the stuff we hold onto as important is to be taken seriously in the world. Then it means that the true people of faith are going to have to step-up, and live Christian faith—not as something “precious” and mawkish—but as something that is transforming, deep, refreshing and lively. But this is an understanding and a perspective that begins with a choice: will this building contain all that St. John’s is—all that God has given us to offer in Christ’s name? (Love, acceptance, the kingdom) Or, will this be the sacred space where we come to give thanks to God for all of the abundance of gifts bestowed on each one of us; and then go through these doors and be love; be faith; be the Church, the children of God who are inheritors of a kingdom that we don’t deserve.

Whatever choice we make, it all starts (here) in our hearts; and really it’s a choice we have to make every day, maybe more often than that… But whatever our life will show for the choice we make; it’ll be incarnated outside of this building…out there, where we find out what we’re made of—and, where the world has the chance to meet Jesus in us. Maybe that sounds overwhelming…but, I’ll say this: even if we’re not sure we’re good at it—good at living out our faith; if we’re willing to at least be open to trying, I think, even that would be considered fruits worthy of the kingdom of God…

Proper 21 2014

Proper 21 2014

Guilt can be a powerful emotion. Guilt can keep people in unhealthy situations—even abusive ones. Guilt can be used to manipulate us emotionally—obviously this is the secret of the success of some faith traditions. But in these cases, guilt becomes something that can get us so muddled, and make us feel so overwhelmed that we can’t function—and we become stuck. Stuck in behaviors; stuck in unproductive cycles. Guilt can stifle us so that we can’t think clearly enough to even see a way forward, or even imagine resolution.

On the other hand, where guilt can be helpful is in those times when our conscience is somehow stirred, and guilt becomes the emotion of accountability that prompts us to find appropriate resolution to whatever it was that triggered us in the first place.

However, again, because guilt is a potent emotion; we have to be cautioned not to allow it to overwhelm us. As one of my mentors says, “if guilt doesn’t cause you to change in 15 minutes, it isn’t worth holding onto it.”

Of course, even if it takes us more than 15 minutes, the point is well taken that it isn’t productive to carry guilt around forever; because that’s when we get stunted and stuck.

Our Gospel reading today offers some examples of these two kinds of guilt. First, we have the Pharisees, who are passively challenging Jesus. They want to know by whose authority he’s been doing the things he’s been doing.

If the Gospels are any clue as to why they’re so out-of-sorts; we can gather that the people are mesmerized not only by the miraculous signs that Jesus is doing—but, they’re also amazed by the authority with which Jesus teaches…

In response to their challenges, then, Jesus responds with a counter-question: “By whose authority did John baptize?”

Well, the Pharisees knew that John was popular with the people. So, they weren’t about to say that John’s ministry wasn’t from God. However, because they knew John was somehow connected to Jesus; they weren’t willing to risk speaking potential heresy. So, they couldn’t say that John had authority from God, either.

In the end, they simply told Jesus that they just didn’t know…

Jesus, of course, knowing the conundrum he’d put them in, responds finally that if they don’t know about John, then he wasn’t about to tell them where his own authority came from…

Now, even though this conversation sounds more suited to a playground than Scripture—we have to understand that there was a lot at stake for the Pharisees. Again, they feel the burden of the religious responsibility to their people. To lose face in this situation—especially to Jesus—could mean losing face with their people, and that means loss of authority and integrity.

So, could we argue that the Pharisees were acting out because of guilt? Maybe…

 If so, it was probably more that kind of guilt that burdens people with an overwhelming sense of responsibility—of course, responsibility to impossible expectations. And, in the case of the Pharisees, they felt responsible not only for their people, but their culture, and the observance of the tenets of their faith. Unfortunately, (as we know) this led them not only to draw hard lines about certain religious issues (which isolated them); it also led them to impose wearying rules upon the very people they were supposed to be encouraging to more faithful life. So, even if they didn’t feel guilt, exactly, they were certainly stuck; and this interaction only demonstrates the fact.

Well, after putting the Pharisees in time-out, Jesus tells this parable of two sons. It’s this outlandish story of their father telling them to go out to work in the vineyard. The first son says that he won’t go out and work—but later on, goes out to work anyway. The father tells the other son to also go out and work in the vineyard. This son says he will, but then doesn’t. Jesus asks them which one did the will of his father…

Now, because this is a parable, it’s probably not fair to analyze the motivations of the sons. However, we can guess that this first son, who initially says he won’t work—eventually comes around because he feels some responsibility to his father.

Is it guilt that compels the son to finally get up and do what was asked of him? Perhaps. But the point is that rather than lingering in indecision and guilt, he checks his conscience and does the right thing, eventually. However, even though it was a delayed response, he’s commended for having done his father’s will.

In my time at St. John’s, some of the recurring themes in my sermons and newsletter articles have been things like taking our faith seriously; taking responsibility for our relationship with God; and the importance of integrating our faith with all of the other parts of our lives. What these themes were meant to lead to is the drive to live into our call to serve the world in Christ’s name.

In last month’s newsletter, then, I wrote about some of this—this idea that as a community of faith, we have a responsibility to live our faith and find ways to connect the Church to the world—and create opportunities for others to do the same. And more than just events for people to have fun together, or feel good—the ideal, of course, is that we do these things because we’re trying to live out of a deep spiritual place within ourselves. We’re trying to express a sense of passion about and connection to our faith.

What this does, of course, is it affirms the faith within us (as individuals), and our collective faith as well—because, suddenly, faith isn’t simply some abstract thing. Instead, faith becomes an action. It becomes an impetus for doing all of the little things that make the world better—and bit by bit, we even find that we’ve been part of the grander work of changing the world in Christ’s name. This is what it means to have an Incarnate faith, and what it means to be the Body of Christ

Well, suffice it to say, I didn’t get a lot of response from the article. Which is okay. It was a difficult message—both to read, and to write.

However, of the people who did respond, theirs was more a concern for me—they hoped that I wasn’t feeling discouraged. And while I wasn’t able to speak to it right then, I would say that I’m definitely not discouraged. But, maybe I was a little disappointed—because I can’t do all of the things that I would like to do here, and I certainly can’t do all of the things that need doing, besides. So, in my article, rather than a rallying cry, I was a little more frank—and it was my hope that it might rouse some support.

Yet, for all of those feelings, I think that what I have been saying is being heard. Perhaps I just needed to keep saying it until I realized it was being heard.

But, what I think has happened in the midst of trying to communicate this message, is that when it’s been heard—instead of provoking action and response… I think it caused guilt, instead. And guilt, as I said earlier, can cause people to become ‘stuck.’

I mean, of course there are people who want to be involved in ministries in this place. Of course, people want to find ways to serve the community; do good works; develop sustainable ministries…all of that. But I think that when we get caught up in guilt—specifically guilt because many of us already feel over-committed; guilt because we’re not sure how to even figure out our place in ministries—it’s when we get caught up in this sort of guilt that we find ourselves unable to even think and engage creatively how we can live into this call that the Church and Christ places before us.

But this is to say that this isn’t an impossible task, either. Even though we might drive ourselves crazy trying to manage impossibly demanding schedules, while at the same time trying to balance personal and family needs…

Yet, the life and work of the Church is still contingent on us all. And it’s my sense, that if we were to allow ourselves the mental space to dream a little bit—to put aside the guilt, or whatever else it might be that keeps us stuck—I really think we could find a way for people to be involved in all of the most vital areas of this church. I even think we could find ways to develop other, equally vital ministries and opportunities to live out our faith together. And we could do this in such a way that it wouldn’t have to over-burden individuals—in fact, there may be plenty of ways to incorporate things people are already doing that compliments the ministry of the church, and still supports the individual. Who knows if that makes sense to anyone else? But, I’ve seen it work, and it can work well.

So, am I discouraged? No…I don’t think I am. If anything, I could say that I feel a little stuck. I feel stuck because I’d begun to feel guilty about things not taking shape the way I’d imagined or hoped. But, then I don’t think I took my mentor’s advice, either—and instead of dropping the guilt when it didn’t change me, I held onto it; and perhaps began to narrow my perspective.

But, when I was in Massachusetts a couple of weeks ago, I was staying with one of my friends from seminary. I was telling him a little bit about St. John’s, and happened to mention that we would be 180 years old in December. To this, he responded—“180, that’s the number of new beginnings and turn-arounds…”

It was admittedly a pretty cheesy thing to say…yet, when I started to think about it—especially in light of today’s Gospel reading—I wondered if, rather than being provocative in my call to action if I’d instead set-up, even the illusion of an impossible task for the people of this church.

And, I think it might be possible. However, the answer to that particular question is up to your own personal discernment… But if it is true, I would first like to apologize, because that’s certainly not been my intent (not ever). I’d also like to add, if my seminary friend’s clever quip has any substance, and our 180^th year is a year of new beginnings; I would like us to be more open to discerning, and dreaming of how we can be the vital congregation that we know we can be… I’ve been told any number of times (and I believe it) that a congregation already has everything that it needs to be vital. So, it’s up to us to identify and tap into those resources. Finally, if it is guilt that is making us ‘stuck,’ if it hasn’t caused us to change after this long, it’s not worth holding onto it. So, I hope you’ll join me in this starting-over, and together we’ll begin to imagine some resolution, and even a way forward.    

Proper 20 2014

Proper 20, 2014

Jonah had a problem. Not only did he find himself out in the heat of the sun—but more than anything else, he had an attitude problem.

Now, to be fair, Jonah had been through quite a lot, and those of you who know his story will agree that he had some reason to be a little out of sorts… I mean, here we have a prophet, called to serve the kingdom of Israel. This would be the Northern Kingdom, after the united nation of Israel had split into two separate kingdoms: Israel and Judah.

Anyway, after this split, we know that one of the major political powers of the time, the Assyrians, had come and sacked Israel, taking people from the ruling class into Exile, and up-rooted them from the land that was promised to them as a sign of God’s Presence with them.

However, if this wasn’t enough of an insult, Jonah, a prophet called out of Israel, was called by God to preach repentance to the people of the city of Ninevah—the capital city of the Assyrians…the very people who had conquered Israel.

Well, as many of us know, it’s not an easy thing to run away from God—especially when we’re called to some difficult task. And things were no different for Jonah, either.

After chartering a ship, he made his way toward Tarshish—the opposite direction from Ninevah. Apparently, because of Jonah’s disobedience, a nasty storm came up, and threatened to sink the ship. Knowing that it was because of him, Jonah told the crew that the storm was because of him, and that they should throw him overboard.

After off-loading cargo, and all that they could, they finally came to the decision that they must do as Jonah suggested, and throw the prophet of God, overboard. If this wasn’t a slap in the face—again he was called to preach repentance to Ninevah, the capital city of the conquers of Israel—if the storm and being thrown overboard weren’t enough; Jonah, we’re told, was eaten by a giant fish…(at least it’s kosher).

Well, after three days and nights in the belly of the fish, Jonah had a miraculous change of heart, and went to Ninevah to preach repentance. Actually, the fish spit Jonah out to go preach repentance to Ninevah.

Jonah, then, fresh from the fishes tummy, went to Ninevah, and made the three-day walk from end to end in the city, and preached repentance. In the end, in spite of Jonah, perhaps hedging things a bit, the people of Ninevah repented, and God blessed them.

In our Old Testament reading today, then, we find Jonah moping after all of this had happened, and he’s understandably a little put-out. After all, he’d been called to be a prophet of God—to Israel, no less. He should have been calling the people of God back to a more holy, more connected life in God. However, instead, what he got was a mission trip to Ninevah, a nasty storm, eaten by a giant fish, and finally (perhaps for the worse) a positive response from the people of Ninevah… It seems Jonah couldn’t win, and in our reading we find him in an ill temper, trying to rest. Yet, even after all that’s happened, the bush that miraculously grew to give him shade gets eaten by a worm and withers away in the heat of the day.

Jonah says he’s angry enough about this to die, but we know that Jonah is probably only suffering from something like Irish Alzheimer’s. This is a condition, in which, a person can’t remember anything but the grudge. And although Jonah’s not Irish, we can see that he cannot let go of his anger toward Ninevah; toward the Assyrians; and the fact that God would allow such an obviously unholy and evil people to receive God’s love and forgiveness.

I suppose in its context, the story is easy to laugh at—Jonah comes across like Archie Bunker, while those of us reading the story just laugh and nod because we know that this is exactly how God works. God finds ways to draw the lost and wayward back. That’s the whole point and power of the Gospel, after all: God longs for reconciliation of all people.

However, this belief doesn’t become difficult until we put ourselves in the place of Jonah. In other words, when we begin to think of the difficult people that we know who might very well need the same grace and forgiveness extended to them, that we ourselves have found in the love of God…well, we might begin to understand Jonah’s reticence to go to Ninevah.

After all, it’s hard to think that someone who has done wrong to us might be given a free pass in God’s eyes, yet still remind us of all the wrong they’d done to us. However, as we know, this longing of God for reconciliation is far greater than any of us. In fact, it’s so great, that God even sent his own Son to teach us through his life, death and resurrection that God is serious about reconciliation.    

After apartheid had ended in South Africa, Archbishop Desmond Tutu says that the leadership of the country knew that reconciliation needed to happen. Somehow, the black majority, which had gained independence, had to confront the oppressive minority, which had made them second-class citizens of the country. Somehow, the oppressors needed to be held accountable, yet, somehow the people of South Africa (black and white) had to find a way forward to be a nation.

So, rather than throwing their oppressors out of the country, or putting them in prison, the South African government went through a long process of reconciliation, and they did this using a philosophy known as Ubuntu.

Ubuntu is effectively a philosophy that is understood as human-ness, and it considers that all of us are inter-connected. So, just as the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. said that “None of us are free until all of us are free,” Ubuntu understands that the plight of any of us affects the quality and value of all of us. In other words, it’s difficult to speak honestly about the sanctity and value of human life so long as we remain unmoved by the suffering and need of people throughout the world.

Archbishop Tutu has said, “A person with Ubuntu is open and available to others, affirming of others, does not feel threatened that others are able and good, based from a proper self-assurance that comes from knowing that he or she belongs in a greater whole and is diminished when others are humiliated or diminished, when others are tortured or oppressed (No Future Without Forgiveness).”

Now, understandably, when we hear these sorts of things, we probably think that these sound like wonderfully, impossible sentiments. But, then, if forgiveness and reconciliation were an easy thing, the world would be a much different place. And if we didn’t need forgiveness and reconciliation, I suppose we wouldn’t take three Sundays in the Lectionary to talk about it.

Besides, we also have to remember that this philosophy of Ubuntu was at the very heart of what made the transition from apartheid, to what South Africa is now, possible… So, maybe, reconciliation and forgiveness is possible—as much for individuals as it is for countries in transition.

The point is, when we’re unable to forgive and let go—or, even if we’re unable to accept that a particular person may have had a change of heart—we tangle ourselves up in all of the negativity that we perceive in that other person. We allow ourselves to be bound-up with the wrongs and hurt that defined the wrongs done to us, and, because we can’t let go, we allow them to define us… So, this idea of Ubuntu is correct when it says that we’re all inter-connected. The wrong that you have done to me will affect others so long as I am affected by it, because it will shape how I behave with others. And, if I allow such hurt to really get a deep hold on me, I will likely hurt others in turn, in an attempt to alleviate my own feelings of hurt.

But, just as the story of Jonah reminds us—for as silly, and like a situational comedy it may seem—forgiveness is important, necessary and divine work (sometimes in spite of us). Forgiveness is Godly work that all of us who bear Christ’s own name are called to in baptism, and through that call, we’re invited to continue in the work of reconciliation set forth by Jesus in his own ministry.

So, the work of forgiveness and reconciliation—even inviting others to experience forgiveness—is work that is much bigger than all of us; yet it begins with each of us, in our individual context. Because we understand that the grander work of God’s plan of salvation includes the work of all of our little moments—and is perhaps why this work is enough to drive a prophet of God into fits of rage.

It’s no secret that it can be difficult at times. However, when we really do the requisite soul searching that’s needed for the work of forgiveness and  reconciliation, I think we find that we can do it, because we, ourselves, need it as much as anyone else.