The Sixteenth Sunday after Pentecost - September 28

Don't Be a Spiritual Hypochondriac!
Exodus 17:1-7

Guess what. The Israelites are complaining. Again.

They are thirsty. Again.

In today’s Exodus reading, the Israelites are still whining and complaining. As incessant as their complaining is, I wonder if we can’t identify with them just a bit. They are struggling in the wilderness… They find themselves in a place they hoped would be fabulous, but it has some significant drawbacks. They got what they wished for in life—freedom. So why don’t their lives feel perfect?

In today’s story they rail against Moses. Again.

But they also ask: "Is the Lord among us or not?" They question and doubt the presence of God with them.

Evidently, the Archbishop of Canterbury is not the first person to experience doubt about the presence of God with him!

The Archbishop has been in the news the last few weeks. At an event at Bristol Cathedral he said that there were times in his prayers when he wondered if God was really present. The story hasn’t made the evening news around here. But in some places there have been ripples. Ripples and reaction.

This week there was an op-ed piece in the New York Times by Australian journalist Julia Baird.

I haven’t read any of the reaction to the Archbishop’s comments first hand, so I’ll share Baird’s summary:

When the Most Rev. Justin Welby, the archbishop of Canterbury, said recently that at times he questioned if God was really there, much of the reaction was predictably juvenile: Even God’s earthly emissary isn’t sure if the whole thing is made up!

The International Business Times called it “the doubt of the century.” Archbishop Welby’s admission had not just “raised a few eyebrows,” it declared, but “sparked concerns if the leader of the Church of England would one day renounce Christianity or spirituality as a whole.” Another journalist wrote excitedly, “Atheism is on the rise and it appears as though even those at the top of the church are beginning to have doubts.”

The London-based Muslim scholar Mufti Abdur-Rahman went straight to Twitter: “I cannot believe this.” The Australian atheist columnist Peter FitzSimons tweeted, “VICTORY!” 

It’s too bad that Archbishop Welby’s comments have become ammunition in perceived—or created—battles between atheists and people of faith. It’s too bad that his words are being used as ammunition in perceived or created battles within the faith community between the pro-doubt people and the anti-doubt pro-certainty people.

His words are worth more thoughtful reflection. For me, they are a very helpful reminder that doubt is common. Within the individual, even a faithful individual, doubt is common. Often, as the Archbishop suggests, doubt arises when God isn’t fixing what we think God should fix. When God isn’t living up to our expectations. Doubt is common. And it’s not the end of the world… It’s not the end of the world. It’s not the end of Christendom. It’s not even anywhere near the end of an individual’s life of faith.

The Holy Scriptures are full of stories of people who doubted. There are, of course, God’s chosen people, the Israelites. Not only in the passage we heard today, but virtually every time things were difficult. Is the Lord among us, or not?

Archbishop Welby cites the psalmist’s words in Psalm 88: “Why, Lord, do you reject me and hide your face from me?” Not an uncommon sentiment in the psalms. Maybe that’s one reason they are so popular.

Then there’s Psalm 22: Which Jesus quotes from the cross. Jesus’ own words… “My God, my God why have you forsaken me?”

There are others in Scripture. Thomas, of course. Doubting Thomas. The man who, standing right before Jesus, cried out: O Lord, I believe. Help thou my unbelief. And Jesus’ own disciples. Sometimes it’s hard to know if they were doubting or just dimwitted, but it comes to the same thing. They shared their lives with him, but did not know who he was.

Beyond Scripture others who are known as absolute pillars of faith have expressed their doubts: John Calvin, C. S. Lewis, Flannery O’Connor, Paul Tillich, Mother Theresa. Yes, Mother Theresa. Remember when her diaries were made public? The Archbishop is in some pretty good company.

In the context of this discussion several people have noted that doubt can actually be very helpful to faith. Doubt is not the enemy of faith. The questions that doubt asks can deepen our faith, lead us to understand God in new ways. Doubt’s yearning can urge us to look for God in new places beyond where we expect God to be or have found God in the past. Doubt encourages humility before God’s transcendence. I do not know all there is to know about God. I cannot fully understand God’s ways. Yearning, a deepening of faith, humility… are all fruits of doubt.

Ultimately, there are two things I want to say about doubt.

1) It’s common! Don’t worry too much about your doubts. If and when you have doubts about God’s existence or presence with you, don’t worry about it. You’re not the first to doubt! And God is a whole lot bigger than your personal doubts! Lots of faithful people have doubts. Some doubts are big, some small, some are fleeting, some never go away. Lots of faithful people have doubts. So don’t be a spiritual hypochondriac. Don’t be a hypochondriac about your faith! Don’t make more of your doubts than they are worth. Don’t imagine that your doubt disproves the existence of God! And, more importantly, and this is my second point, do not let your doubts keep you from the life of faith.

2) Persist in the life of faith.

Julia Baird shares words and ideas that others have also articulated. Faith is not only about belief. That’s where we get muddled. Faith is not maybe even primarily about belief. Faith is a commitment, a practice, an act of will to live a certain way. Faith is the decision to make these practices a part of your life: Personal prayer and corporate worship, Christian fellowship and outreach to those in need. These are the practices of faith.

Expanding upon what Baird writes: Just as courage is not the absence of fear, but persisting in the face of fear, so faith is not the absence of doubt but persisting in the presence of doubt.

But why bother persisting in the practices of a faithful life in times of doubt? I can think of three reasons.

1. It’s a pretty good ethical structure for living. I suppose this is the least compelling reason for me, but it’s still a good one. Whether or not you believe in Jesus’ authority as God’s Son, the instruction to love your neighbor as yourself, and all of the guidance of our baptismal covenant, are pretty much the best ethical construct for living out there. 
2. It just might all be true. It just might all be true. Even in times of uncertainty and doubt, there is the possibility, the plausibility, that it just might all be true. The peace which passes all human understanding, the wonder and holiness beyond human creating that fills the world of God’s creation, the fullness of life that spills over even beyond the grave. It just might all be true. And the practices of the faithful life are the road to that truth. 
3. The journey itself is transforming. If we live faithfully, God transforms us in spite of ourselves. In spite of our doubts. That is my experience. And it is the experience of faithful people from the early Israelites to the current Archbishop of Canterbury. 

In spite of ourselves. In spite of our doubts and uncertainties if we commit ourselves to the practices of faith, God will transform us. Prayer and participation in corporate worship. Christian fellowship. Compassion and outreach for those in need. The journey, these actions of faithful living, are transformative. Whether we are doubting or not. God works in us in spite of ourselves.

Like the early Israelites, we may find ourselves in the wilderness. Facing challenges, especially to our faith. But God was with them. Looking back, they knew that without a doubt. Even in the midst of their complaining, their challenging, their doubt, God was with them and working in them. Their faithful journey in the wilderness transformed them into the People of God and led them to the Promised Land.

The Fifteenth Sunday after Pentecost - September 21

Bring Your Complaints to God
Exodus 16:2-15
Matthew 20:1-16

In the Exodus reading for today, the Israelites are complaining. Again. Complaining and whining. Our feet hurt. We’re hungry. Why did we leave Egypt? We’d rather be dead. Back in Egypt we got to sit around the fleshpots. We had an all-you-can-eat nonstop buffet of meat and bread.

Really!!?? They never got to sit and rest. They were slaves, treated very harshly. They definitely did not have an abundance of meat or bread. But in their whining, they proclaim that anything would be better than the current state they find themselves in. Their complaining and whining sounds childish. Somebody needs to shake them by the shoulders and tell them to grow up! They have been saved from slavery, for heaven’s sake!

Despite the childishness of their whining, this passage, and others in Exodus, highlight the importance of complaint in the story of the people of Israel. This incident is the third of its kind in Exodus.

All of these complaints follow the same pattern (Callie Plunket Brewton HERE): (1) the people encounter a potentially devastating threat to their well-being -- the pursuit of the pharaoh and his chariots, deadly dehydration, starvation; (2) they complain (literally “murmur”) against their leadership; (3) their human leaders bring the complaint before God; and (4) God saves them by various means -- the miraculous crossing of the sea, providing drinkable water, and, in this narrative, providing bread from heaven.

They encounter a real threat or hardship; they complain to Moses and Aaron; Moses and Aaron bring the complaints to God; and God responds.

As a personal aside I do like the third stage of the pattern. I like Moses’ model of leadership. When the people complain to Moses, Moses takes it to God. So every time someone complains about something in the church… their feet hurt; their knees hurt; it’s too hot or too cold, or things were so much better back whenever… Like Moses, I promise I’ll faithfully pass those complaints along to God and let God respond..

And the thing is… God does respond. As childish and annoying as the peoples’ complaining may be, God seems to see this as an opportunity for relationship. For God, it is an opportunity to be present in the peoples’ lives. God responds to their complaints.

He does not give them exactly what they say they want, but God responds. They want comfort. They want abundance. They want to go back, not forward. They get food and water and a revelation of the glory of God with them.

The Gospel reading for today, too, is about complaining. It’s about the laborers who complain because other people who worked less than they did got the same pay. They worked all day and others just a few hours and they all got the same pay. It’s easy to sympathize with that complaint. They want life to be fair! They want people to get what they deserve, what they have fairly earned. God is active in that story, too. The complainers don’t get what they want. But they get their daily wage, the sustenance they need for the day. And a place in the Kingdom of God.

I think I have quoted the august theological Mick Jagger before: You can’t always get what you want, but if you try sometime you just might find you get what you need.

If you try. If you bring yourself and your complaints before God, at least in this story you will get: A visible manifestation of the presence of God. In case you had forgotten. God tells Moses to tell the people. You will know that I am the Lord your God. Second, the people are given their daily bread. The sustenance that they need. And finally they are given a structure of activity that helps form them as God’s people. Every morning and every evening—in the midst of all of the trials and anxieties and uncertainties of the wilderness—they go out to gather what God has given them. And in that structure they are reminded and reassured of God’s care and presence. They are given the Daily Office! A daily routine that brings comfort and stability in the midst of uncertainty and connects them over and over again to God’s goodness. Another part of that structure is Sabbath rest.

Hang on to those gifts. They are given to us, too. Especially hang on to that idea of structure in the face of life’s challenges and times of complaint. Daily prayer, weekly Eucharist ground us in God and connect us to God’s goodness.

But go ahead and complain. I think this is an important implication of these readings. Go ahead and complain to God. Don’t feel like your words to God always have to be “only be pious and grateful.” Don’t feel like you need to censor your words and prayers to God. Don’t feel like you have to only say what you think God wants to hear. Don’t censor your words and feelings with God.

I’m reminded of a couple in my first parish who were celebrating their 50th wedding anniversary. Part of the celebration was a church service with renewal of vows. The wife wanted to write a prayer for the occasion. I don’t remember the content of the prayer, just that she struggled to write it in Elizabethan English. The Rite 1, King James English, is majestic and glorious, but she didn’t know how to conjugate verbs in Elizabethan English. But she felt that was the only appropriate language in which to address God. A light example of how we censor what we say to God. Don’t.

Complain. Whine. God’s people always have. It’s an ancient and longstanding relationship builder with God. And God listens and responds. Complaint provides a place to see God’s work in our lives.

The Fourteenth Sunday after Pentecost - September 14

The Parable of the How-in-the-world-could-he-have-forgotten-what-it-meant-to-be-forgiven Servant
Matthew 18:21-35

People talk about this morning’s Gospel reading as a difficult parable. Difficult to digest, maybe; it is not difficult to understand. But it seems difficult because people fall into the trap of making the parable an allegory. In an allegory everything is a direct stand in or representation for something else. One for one. When we treat parables as allegories, we inevitably treat all father or king figures as stand ins for God.

It’s very hard figure out the king in this parable. And definitely difficult to digest some of what he does if you are imagining the king represents God. But parables are not allegories, they are worlds that we enter into. Once in the world of the parable, Jesus means to challenge or to reorient perceptions. In the world of this parable, the king is part of the scenery. He is someone who stimulates the real action of this parable which revolves around the slave. For whatever reason, maybe just because he was human, the slave was indebted 10 thousand talents to his master.

Evidently one talent was about 130 lbs. of silver and was the equivalent to about fifteen years of a laborer’s wages. Which means that the servant owed his master about 150,000 years of labor. In other words, he owed a debt that he would never be able to pay back… in his lifetime, in his children’s lifetime, in his children’s children’s lifetimes.

That’s what he was forgiven! That is the debt that was wiped away.

How could he forget what that meant to him? How could be forget what that felt like? To be freed of such a monumental debt?

I think that’s what this parable is about. It’s about knowing and remembering that we have been forgiven. It is a jarring reminder of the immeasurable magnitude of what we have been forgiven. And a reminder to remember. To not forget what we have been forgiven.

As the parable continues, a fellow slave owed the first slave 100 denarii. A denarius, by comparison to a talent, was worth about one day’s wage, which meant that the second servant owed the forgiven one about a hundred days of labor – not a trivial debt, but a totally different world from the first.

This parable is often called the parable of the unforgiving servant. Remember, Jesus did not name his parables. I’d rather call it the parable of the ungrateful servant. Or the parable of the how-in-the-world-could-he-have-forgotten-what-it-meant-to-be-forgiven servant? How could he have forgotten what it meant to have his own debt relieved?

Jesus tells this parable in response to Peter’s question. Peter asks Jesus: How often should we forgive? Probably trying to please Jesus, Peter suggests what probably seems to him an extravagant amount. Seven times? Should we forgive one another seven times? Aren’t I a good disciple, Jesus? But Jesus responds to Peter: You’re looking at it all wrong. Not seven times, but seventy times. Or some translations say seven times seventy times.

Jesus seems to be implying to Peter and to us that we’re keeping the wrong ledger. Peter, and the first slave (and often us) are focused on the ledger of who is indebted to us. Who has wronged us. Who has sinned against us. Those are the accounts we keep. And in the parable first slave was so intent on that ledger he found himself living a life of eternal torture. Self-inflicted torture. Because his focus was only what he was owed.

I expect Jesus would like us to throw away the ledger book all together. God has. But if we can’t quite do that, can we try to keep it differently? Can we keep track of how many times God has forgiven us? How many times and how much we have been forgiven? Remember that. Be mindful of that.

How often should we forgive one another? As often as God has forgiven us…

We are often encouraged to count our blessings. That’s a good thing to do, but what about also counting our forgivenesses?

I know I’ve said this before, and I’m preaching to myself as well… But I wonder if we’d do better at remembering and being mindful of being forgiven if we were more intentional about asking for forgiveness from God. Rather than bringing that vague, but easily summoned, feeling of general unworthiness to God… over and over again in our own prayers or at the time of the general confession… Try to keep track of specific sins, negligences and offenses. And confess to God our specific sins that need forgiving. Not to make ourselves feel miserable, but to increase our awareness of the immense magnitude of God’s forgiveness.

In the Lord’s Prayer we pray: Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us. Or, in the contemporary form: Forgive us our sins as we forgive those who sin against us. It’s good that the prayer links the two—our seeking forgiveness and offering forgiveness.

But the Lord’s Prayer almost makes it sound like God forgiving us is conditional upon us forgiving others. As we have forgiven others, God will you please forgive us. But this parable reminds us that it is clearly the other way around! We have been forgiven immeasurable amounts of sin and debt.

God has already forgiven us immeasurable offenses. Remembering that, starting from there, can we not graciously forgive the lesser hurts against us?

The Twelfth Sunday after Pentecost - August 31

Holy Ground
Exodus 3:1-15

Do you know what holy ground feels like? What it really feels like to the touch? Between your toes? Do you know what holy ground feels like?

To find out, you have to take your shoes off.

The Old Testament reading for today is the familiar story of Moses and the burning bush. Moses is tending sheep near Mount Sinai when he hears the voice of his God speak to him. Moses turns aside and says, “Here I am.” As he draws close to the presence of God he removes his sandals because he is standing on holy ground.

Moses’ act of removing his sandals is often described as an act of reverence. It can also be interpreted as an act of receptivity or openness before God. Moses removes even just the barrier of his soles between himself and God’s holiness. Reverence or receptivity? That seems to be sort of a chicken and egg question. Both are reactions to the near presence of God. I want to focus on the idea of reception… of being open to God.

One commentator (Anathea Portier-Young) has written: "When Moses removes his sandals he will find himself at journey’s end, at the true goal of every journey. He will find his true ground and he will know where he stands."

He will know where he stands. In the presence of God. As he removes his sandals he knows he is in the presence of God.

It’s the knowing that’s really important. Moses KNOWS himself in the presence of God. Right there in that particular place. At that specific bush near the base of Mount Sinai.

Last week I talked about was to describe what it really means that Jesus is the Son of God. What does it mean that the man Jesus was and is the Son of the Living God. This poem is one answer to that question. It’s a Christmas poem. For that time of year when we think about God incarnate.

I shall seek no longer for the burning bush,
All bushes are ablaze
And I will not hasten to depart
From daily grief and gladness
To climb a holy mountain;
Every mountain now is sacred,
Each marketplace, and every home,
All, all are blessed
Since God has pitched a tent among us.

Now on our earth are to be found
The footprints of the Word made flesh
Who walked with us in wind and rain
And under sun and stars,
In joy and sorrow,
Born of Mary, watched over by Joseph,
Eating and drinking, living and loving.

Dying yet living, the Word is made flesh
And all the earth,
And each of us,
Is holy ground
Where we must slip our sandals off
And walk softly, filled with wonder.
(Veronica Koperski) 

All bushes burn now. That’s what Jesus means. All mountains are sacred. All ground is holy. God is with us everywhere now.

So what gets in the way of our KNOWING that God is with us? What blocks our knowledge of God’s presence? How do we increase our openness or receptivity to God’s presence?

Over the centuries many people have found that adopting a spiritual practice helps open them to an awareness of God’s presence. All sorts of things can be spiritual practices. In last year’s adult education class, we used a curriculum called “Confirm, not Conform.” It encouraged us all to take on a spiritual practice. They said that a personal, spiritual practice should be realistic, but also a stretch. It has to be physically doable for you and realistic within the parameters of your life. But it should also be a stretch. Not something you’re already doing. Not something that “comes naturally,” but something that stretches you a bit. I would add one more component. It needs to be regular. Daily, or at least frequently. On a regular or recurring basis.

I’ve been rereading Barbara Brown Taylor’s book, “An Altar in the World.” I quoted a portion in this week’s e-vangelist. Here’s another excerpt from the same chapter.

While I am sure someone else has already thought of it, I would like to introduce the spiritual practice of going barefoot. This practice requires no props. You do not even have to be religious to do it, but if you are, then here is the scriptural warrant for it: “Remove the sandals from your feet, for the place on which you are standing is holy ground.” That is what the Almighty said to Moses after Moses turned aside from tending sheep to investigate a blazing bush that was not burned up. 

If you have visited Saint Catherine’s monastery in the Sinai, then you have likely paid a visit to the legendary descendant of that bush. When I went, I was asked to remove my sandals before I entered the Chapel of the Burning Bush…. 

But you do not need to go to the Sinai desert to engage the practice of going barefoot. Just choose a place outdoors that you are willing encounter in the flesh without your customary cushion and protection—a mossy knoll, if you are a beginner, or a rocky streambed, if you are not. Take off your shoes and feel the earth under your feet, as if the ground on which you are standing really is holy ground. Let it please you. Let it hurt you a little. Feel how the world really feels when you do not strap little tanks on your feet to shield you from the way things really are. 

[She is speaking metaphorically, of course, but also very literally. She really is suggesting going barefoot as a spiritual practice.]

It will help if you do not expect God to speak to you. Just give your full attention to where you are, for once. Walk as if your life depended on it, placing your heel before your toes and getting a sense of just how much pressure you put on the grass, the clover—watch out for the honeybee!—the slick rive stones, the silted streambed, the red clay, the pine bark on the woodland path, the black earth of the vegetable garden. As you press down on these things, can you feel them pressing back? They have been around so much longer than you have, most of them. You are the new kid on the block…. 

You may have to handle your anxiety about being seen walking… with no shoes on, but even that can be revelatory. Why are you so afraid of what people may think about you? Since when did looking good become your god? If you like, you may take your mind off this by giving a thought to people who go barefoot because they have no shoes….

Done property, the spiritual practice of going barefoot can take you halfway around the world and wake you up to your own place in the world all at the same time. It can lead you to love God with your whole self, and your neighbor as yourself, without leaving your backyard. Jut do it, and the doing will teach you what you need to live. 

If you were in the adult class last year you may remember that one of my spiritual practices is to buy one extra item every time I go to the grocery store. At least one thing that is not on my list to contribute to the food pantry. And as I focus on that simple practice of compassion, God is with me. The Jewell becomes holy ground where I am aware that I am in the presence of God.

If you are a walker, walking itself can be a practice of prayer or mindfulness. But here’s another suggestion. Pray for the people in each house you walk past. Pray for the people who cannot afford a new roof. Pray for the people in the house where you often hear voices raised. Pray for the people in the house that looks absolutely perfect on the outside, but seems so lifeless. As you pray, the sidewalks of your neighborhood will become holy ground, where God walks beside you.

The curriculum suggested a possible practice. Give up one premium coffee a week. Or one single-malt scotch a week. And give the money you save to some charity. I’d suggest a variation. Whether or not you decide to give anything up, figure out how much you spend throughout the week on Starbucks or scotch and give an equivalent amount away. Match the luxury you give yourself with money you give to others. For a while I wrote a check to various charities each month equivalent to the amount of my cable bill. That bill irks me every month, yet I can’t quite seem to give it up. I got on too many mailing lists doing that, so I’ve changed my approach, but I think the idea is a good one.

Barbara Brown Taylor talks about other spiritual practices. She has a chapter called, “The Practice of Saying No.” It’s about keeping Sabbath. Another one is called “The Practice of Pronouncing Blessing.” Church folks tend to think that only the paid professionals are qualified to pronounce blessings. But that is not the Biblical tradition. Try pronouncing blessings, maybe just one a day for starters. Actually pronouncing a blessing. And see if the ground on which you stand doesn’t feel holy.

All times and place are holy, full of the presence of God. We just need to practice being open and receptive. So that we will know the ground on which we walk is holy ground.