On my trip to California this summer, I spent part of a day walking up and down Redondo Beach. As I walked past the Lifeguard Tower, topped with a beautiful little clay-tile roof, I noticed the peninsula that stretched out between the tower and the ocean. It was made of stones, piled together organically, strewn into a path that just disappeared at the water's edge. When I took the photo, I just loved the way the stones led the eye out toward the water. As I have looked at it over and over again, though, I love it for what it teaches me about the creative tension between our plans and life's mystery.
We spend much of our time designing the architechture of our lives, planning for our safety, security, and adventure. We want to do the best we can to build a life that can weather the storms, stand out, and is expansive enough to hold the things that are important to us. We would all love to have a room with a view--one with windows that look out over rolling hills, crashing waves, or a sea of flowers. From atop the beautiful Spanish-style lifeguard tower on Redondo Beach, you can catch a glimpse of that kind of beautiful view. If we leave the tower and follow the stones to the water's edge, the path becomes less clear. Behind us stand the constructs of our best-laid plans. Before us lie forces we cannot control, a depth we can only plumb with great caution, and a sense of infinity that no man-made construct could ever provide. Mystery. The stones draw our eye out to the water's edge, reminding us to pause in our planning; suspend our striving; gaze out into wide-open space, and face forces beyond our control. Sometimes it's unsettling, but we need to be unsettled. Listen to the waves crashing around you. Feel the salty mist rise from each wave and reach your face. Breathe. Suspended there, between plans and mystery, just breathe. We must return to our tower, to our plans, to our lives...but the stones remind us to always return to the water's edge and remember to let go.
Monday, August 22, 2011
Tuesday, July 5, 2011
The Poetry Of Place: A SLO Journey
I heard a segment on NPR not long ago about the increasing homogeneity of cities and towns in the U.S. Where cities and towns once had personalities characterized by particular cultural, linguistic, culinary, and architechtural elements, now there is an ever-increasing trend toward suburban developments, strip malls, and franchise food. Toward the end of the segment the author made a remark I'll paraphrase, rather than quote. He said, in essence, that a place isn't really a place until it has a poet. He clarified saying that he doesn't just mean this in the literal sense, but also in the larger sense; that it posesses regional particularity--qualities that you can't find in quite that same form someplace else.
I had the amazing gift, these last 7 days, of being able to visit San Luis Obispo, California, the town where I lived the first 22 years of my life. I had not been back for 13 years. Since I flew in to Los Angeles and drove up the coast and back, I had hours to just let the landscape wash over me. This landscape that I had taken for granted as a younger person now held me in an overwhelming sense of captivated awe. I couldn't stop noticing the subtle golden hues and varied textures of the hills, the gentle way the waves turned to white foam as they met the shore, unfolding themselves at the foot of the jagged cliffs that rose in front of them. I found myself taking huge deep breaths, hoping to be utterly present with all of my senses so that the landscape, and the memory, would not only be a memory, but a transfusion...a permanent part of the fabric of my being.
I spent the first two days in SLO just walking all over downtown with no itinerary or particular expectations. Just my camera and my flip flops. What started as a visual journey, quickly became an olfactory one. Everywhere I walked I smelled the Jasmyne. I don't remember ever noticing it before. But as soon as it's sweet, rich aroma caught my attention, memories I had stored away in some dormant part of my consciousness just flooded my mind. I remembered every side street, and recalled every storefront's former incarnation. As I walked on rocks accross San Luis Creek, I could picture myself with childhood friends, laughing as we tried not to fall in. As I passed the little Sidewalk Market I could picture my ten-year old self in there buying a Snickers and a Dr. Pepper before youth group. As I walked through the crowds on Higuera St. for Farmer's Market, the smell of BBQ and garlic bread was a time machine. I remembered many fun nights sitting on a curb, eating my ribs and laughing with my friends. Studying literature, one of the profound truths I learned is that time is not linear. The fabric of our memory gets knit together and rewoven again and again. In an instant, a taste, a smell, or a particular place can transport us back in time. Sometimes that journey can be painful. Other times, like this week for me, can be nothing less than healing and transformative. The particular cultural personality of SLO just wrapped it's arms around my soul and held me tight. It spoke the kind of welcome home to my spirit like that of a doating grandmother who cooks up a feast of familiar favorites and scoops up her grandchild saying, "My precious! Oh how I have missed you!"
Each of these moments are poems to me. My childhood home is forever part of me and I am forever part of it because of the poems it has inscribed on my heart, and the way those poems have directed me to live my life. As I reflect on my trip, though, I have decided that there is not only a poetry of place, so to speak. There is a poetry of friendship. Even beyond the geography of place is the transcendent geography of friendship. I spent time with several people, all of whom were very close friends, and each of whom I had not seen for over a decade. I hoped ahead of time that it wouldn't be awkward or forced. Every single encounter was transcendent. We talked, shared stories, laughed, and caught up about our families and lives as if no time at all had passed. And yet the time that had passed made it that much deeper--a kind of full-circle encounter where the past merged with the present, making all of it more meaningful.
San Luis Obispo is definately a place with a poet. William Wordsworth said that poetry is "the spontaneous overflow of powerful emotions recollected in tranquility." This week my cup has been running over with the "spontaneous overflow of powerful emotions". From the authentic, generous, and thoughtful encounters with wonderful friends who remind me of who I am at my best, to a landscape that cherishes and nurtures beauty and a relaxed, open sensibility, I have been given a precious gift--a gift that has nothing to do with material things, and everything to do with love. I love my hometown, and I love the people in my life who have written, and continue to write beautiful poems on my heart.
I had the amazing gift, these last 7 days, of being able to visit San Luis Obispo, California, the town where I lived the first 22 years of my life. I had not been back for 13 years. Since I flew in to Los Angeles and drove up the coast and back, I had hours to just let the landscape wash over me. This landscape that I had taken for granted as a younger person now held me in an overwhelming sense of captivated awe. I couldn't stop noticing the subtle golden hues and varied textures of the hills, the gentle way the waves turned to white foam as they met the shore, unfolding themselves at the foot of the jagged cliffs that rose in front of them. I found myself taking huge deep breaths, hoping to be utterly present with all of my senses so that the landscape, and the memory, would not only be a memory, but a transfusion...a permanent part of the fabric of my being.
I spent the first two days in SLO just walking all over downtown with no itinerary or particular expectations. Just my camera and my flip flops. What started as a visual journey, quickly became an olfactory one. Everywhere I walked I smelled the Jasmyne. I don't remember ever noticing it before. But as soon as it's sweet, rich aroma caught my attention, memories I had stored away in some dormant part of my consciousness just flooded my mind. I remembered every side street, and recalled every storefront's former incarnation. As I walked on rocks accross San Luis Creek, I could picture myself with childhood friends, laughing as we tried not to fall in. As I passed the little Sidewalk Market I could picture my ten-year old self in there buying a Snickers and a Dr. Pepper before youth group. As I walked through the crowds on Higuera St. for Farmer's Market, the smell of BBQ and garlic bread was a time machine. I remembered many fun nights sitting on a curb, eating my ribs and laughing with my friends. Studying literature, one of the profound truths I learned is that time is not linear. The fabric of our memory gets knit together and rewoven again and again. In an instant, a taste, a smell, or a particular place can transport us back in time. Sometimes that journey can be painful. Other times, like this week for me, can be nothing less than healing and transformative. The particular cultural personality of SLO just wrapped it's arms around my soul and held me tight. It spoke the kind of welcome home to my spirit like that of a doating grandmother who cooks up a feast of familiar favorites and scoops up her grandchild saying, "My precious! Oh how I have missed you!"
Each of these moments are poems to me. My childhood home is forever part of me and I am forever part of it because of the poems it has inscribed on my heart, and the way those poems have directed me to live my life. As I reflect on my trip, though, I have decided that there is not only a poetry of place, so to speak. There is a poetry of friendship. Even beyond the geography of place is the transcendent geography of friendship. I spent time with several people, all of whom were very close friends, and each of whom I had not seen for over a decade. I hoped ahead of time that it wouldn't be awkward or forced. Every single encounter was transcendent. We talked, shared stories, laughed, and caught up about our families and lives as if no time at all had passed. And yet the time that had passed made it that much deeper--a kind of full-circle encounter where the past merged with the present, making all of it more meaningful.
San Luis Obispo is definately a place with a poet. William Wordsworth said that poetry is "the spontaneous overflow of powerful emotions recollected in tranquility." This week my cup has been running over with the "spontaneous overflow of powerful emotions". From the authentic, generous, and thoughtful encounters with wonderful friends who remind me of who I am at my best, to a landscape that cherishes and nurtures beauty and a relaxed, open sensibility, I have been given a precious gift--a gift that has nothing to do with material things, and everything to do with love. I love my hometown, and I love the people in my life who have written, and continue to write beautiful poems on my heart.
Friday, April 8, 2011
Leaving the Greenhouse
My son's preschool had their field trip to Moore's Greenhouse today. Mrs. Rhoades asked them all questions about what they think plants need in order to grow. As all the fabulous little people weaved in and out of the greenhouse ailes, their noses at perfect flower level, they reminded me of those wooden chinese snake toys that are really just lots of little wooden vertebrae connected with a barely-visible flexible wire. As you pull it along, the pieces don't seem connected, but when you look closely you can see that they are. When we walked into the tropical plant greenhouse one little boy next to me said, "ooooo, this is like a jungle. It looks just like the jungle in Avatar. I wonder if there are snakes in here?" One parent assured him that of course there aren't any snakes...just before Mrs. Rhoades announced that "sometimes we get some snakes in here". Being in the greehouses was like stepping into another world. The growing plants were mostly insulated and protected from the changing weather conditions and all of the outside forces that they couldn't withstand on their own just yet.
As I watched my son and all of his little soon-to-be kindergartener friends snake themselves in and out of aisles of baby plants, I couldn't help but reflect on the gift that the last almost-five years has been as I have greenhoused him, so to speak. As he has moved from my body, to my hip, and down onto his own two feet, our play, our conversations, our cuddle time, and even our "time outs" have been his emotional and psychological greehouses--places for him to expand himself and move into new space with all of the protection and nourishment he needs.
At the end of the tour Mrs. Rhoades told the children to look up at the roof of the glass greenhouse. She explained that when it hails, or when the snows get too heavy, pieces of the glass roof break. So then they have to go up there and fix it, replacing the broken pieces with new, strong pieces. It hit me hard in that moment that that's just what parenting is all about. We can protect our children and shield them for a time, giving them all of the love and tools they will need to thrive. But there will inevitably be times when the outside world breaks in, exposing them to risk and danger. But just as Mrs. Rhoades explained, in her matter-of-fact, reassuring way, we get up there and fix it. When things break into pieces, we can climb back up, use all the resources and support we can find, and do our best to make things whole. Just as Leonard Cohen says, "There is a crack in everything. That's how the light gets in." With God's grace and our children's creativity, intelligence, and enthusiasm, we can leave the greenhouse and plant our flowers in the garden.
As I watched my son and all of his little soon-to-be kindergartener friends snake themselves in and out of aisles of baby plants, I couldn't help but reflect on the gift that the last almost-five years has been as I have greenhoused him, so to speak. As he has moved from my body, to my hip, and down onto his own two feet, our play, our conversations, our cuddle time, and even our "time outs" have been his emotional and psychological greehouses--places for him to expand himself and move into new space with all of the protection and nourishment he needs.
At the end of the tour Mrs. Rhoades told the children to look up at the roof of the glass greenhouse. She explained that when it hails, or when the snows get too heavy, pieces of the glass roof break. So then they have to go up there and fix it, replacing the broken pieces with new, strong pieces. It hit me hard in that moment that that's just what parenting is all about. We can protect our children and shield them for a time, giving them all of the love and tools they will need to thrive. But there will inevitably be times when the outside world breaks in, exposing them to risk and danger. But just as Mrs. Rhoades explained, in her matter-of-fact, reassuring way, we get up there and fix it. When things break into pieces, we can climb back up, use all the resources and support we can find, and do our best to make things whole. Just as Leonard Cohen says, "There is a crack in everything. That's how the light gets in." With God's grace and our children's creativity, intelligence, and enthusiasm, we can leave the greenhouse and plant our flowers in the garden.
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
To Life!
So the Missouri Winter is finally over (I think...). The supple butter-yellow daffodils surround light posts, mailboxes, and roadsides. The redbud trees' branches are pregnant with purple bumps ready to burst into the Spring air. The leaves of the coneflowers have fanned out like wide open arms excited to welcome the faces of bright color they contain. This year, though, the clematis vine I planted last year seems the most miraculous. Its once vibrant stem and soft purple petals turned brown and brittle over the Winter. To the untrained eye it looked completely dead. It even felt dead. Then, about a week ago, I saw new green leaves pushing their way through the dead brown nubs on the vine. When I stepped outside to mulch my front flower beds this weekend I noticed the whole clematis vine surging with life. The leaves had pushed all the way through, the vine had greened up and grown supple, and all of the signs of death had completely disappeared. It felt like a miracle. All I had to do was wait and trust in the cycle of life and the awe-inspiring power that sustains it.
Our lives are like the Clematis vine. Sometimes the damaging, painfully bitter winds and storms batter us and wear us out. We retreat into ourselves, and grow more rigid, brittle, less supple, and closed off. For a season it can be important to protect ourselves like this--to stop striving and allow ourselves some time for dormant introspection and self-protection. But when the bitter cold and relentless storms have passed we need to open up again, growing softer and more supple. After our time to retreat we need to push back out into the symphony of life's ryhthms, the perfume of its varied scents, the textures of its complexion--even the thorny, surprising ones we can't always prepare for. Sometimes we may not realize how much is new in us to be discovered. But the lilies don't hold themselves back, the branches don't conceal their buds, and the clematis vine is audacious enough to rise up out of what looks like death, by all outer appearances. We were made to be renewed, to burst with unique beauty, texture, shape, and color. We were made to share ourselves, to inhabit our own space, and to brighten and change the world with our presence. To life!
Our lives are like the Clematis vine. Sometimes the damaging, painfully bitter winds and storms batter us and wear us out. We retreat into ourselves, and grow more rigid, brittle, less supple, and closed off. For a season it can be important to protect ourselves like this--to stop striving and allow ourselves some time for dormant introspection and self-protection. But when the bitter cold and relentless storms have passed we need to open up again, growing softer and more supple. After our time to retreat we need to push back out into the symphony of life's ryhthms, the perfume of its varied scents, the textures of its complexion--even the thorny, surprising ones we can't always prepare for. Sometimes we may not realize how much is new in us to be discovered. But the lilies don't hold themselves back, the branches don't conceal their buds, and the clematis vine is audacious enough to rise up out of what looks like death, by all outer appearances. We were made to be renewed, to burst with unique beauty, texture, shape, and color. We were made to share ourselves, to inhabit our own space, and to brighten and change the world with our presence. To life!
Sunday, February 27, 2011
Jog n' Blog: We're All Worth Fighting For!
I started this jog n'blog back last summer and got away from it for a while. I haven't stopped running, but I stopped writing. Recently I have started training for a half-marathon. I would love to say I started running because I love running. But that wouldn't be true. To be totally honest, I started running for a couple of reasons. First, I had hit a plateau with my weight loss and I wanted to push through that. Second, and most importantly, I started running because it has helped me feel better, more upbeat, and more emotionally stable in general. When we moved to Missouri we found a wonderful environment for our children, a fantastic family-friendly neighborhood where they could play outside and run around a lot, and some of the best neighbors you could ask for. That is such a huge blessing. Unfortunately, I haven't found as much of the support system I once had. There are just some things you can't force. So I'm trying to "control the things I can", as the serenity prayer so wisely advises. Exercise in general has been so life-giving for me, but running in particular is the best metaphor for life that I can think of.
When I started training, I asked some veteran marathon runners for their advice on everything from running shoes, to training advice. They told me that to find the right shoes, you have to go to a running shoe store and have them watch you run, determine where you put the most stress on your feet, and find a shoe that fits your particular foot and its needs. In running, as in life, the right tools are crucial, and one size or type does not fit all. We're all different. We all put our stress in different places, and we need others to help us see ourselves clearly so that we can figure out what works best for us. The other priceless warning I received was to only increase my mileage by 10% each week to avoid injury and prepare my body gradually for the long haul. Baby steps! In our culture today we are so fixated on quick and easy one-size-fits-all solutions to our life challenges. But if we want to take good care of ourselves and be able to enjoy the long haul, gradual is better.
At this point in my training I am only up to 4.8 miles three times per week. And I'm not a speed racer at all. I am learning, though, to be kind to myself, to listen to my own body, to forgive myself when I don't meet my own expectations, and to just keep moving. The other day I was on about mile 3.5 and, for some reason, it was just a lot harder that day than a couple of days earlier. I wanted to stop. So I told myself to just try to keep going to 4 miles and see how I was. When I got to 4 miles I felt better, so I turned my ipod to a more up tempo song and tried to just get to 4.2. Once I got there I figured it wasn't far to the finish, so I might as well just suck it up and finish. I was disappointed in myself somewhat for having such a hard time. When I finished, though, a lady on a treadmill behind me (who runs marathons regularly) said, "Wow, good job! You made that look easy and motivated me!" I thanked her and I meant it. It felt so good to get to the other side of my fatigue and to have encouragement at the end of it.
We all have unique stresses, challenges, and crosses to bear. What I need to believe is that each one of us is worth fighting for. Life is full of forces that discourage us, make us cynical, weigh us down, and occasionally make us feel like giving up. But when we feel that way we have to fight for ourselves, ask for help, and keep moving forward. In running, as in life, we don't need to compare ourselves to others--they aren't running our race for us. We don't need to be the fastest, strongest, most impressive person on the scene. Sometimes the most noble and powerful testimony we can offer is showing up as ourselves and not giving up. We are all worth fighting for!
When I started training, I asked some veteran marathon runners for their advice on everything from running shoes, to training advice. They told me that to find the right shoes, you have to go to a running shoe store and have them watch you run, determine where you put the most stress on your feet, and find a shoe that fits your particular foot and its needs. In running, as in life, the right tools are crucial, and one size or type does not fit all. We're all different. We all put our stress in different places, and we need others to help us see ourselves clearly so that we can figure out what works best for us. The other priceless warning I received was to only increase my mileage by 10% each week to avoid injury and prepare my body gradually for the long haul. Baby steps! In our culture today we are so fixated on quick and easy one-size-fits-all solutions to our life challenges. But if we want to take good care of ourselves and be able to enjoy the long haul, gradual is better.
At this point in my training I am only up to 4.8 miles three times per week. And I'm not a speed racer at all. I am learning, though, to be kind to myself, to listen to my own body, to forgive myself when I don't meet my own expectations, and to just keep moving. The other day I was on about mile 3.5 and, for some reason, it was just a lot harder that day than a couple of days earlier. I wanted to stop. So I told myself to just try to keep going to 4 miles and see how I was. When I got to 4 miles I felt better, so I turned my ipod to a more up tempo song and tried to just get to 4.2. Once I got there I figured it wasn't far to the finish, so I might as well just suck it up and finish. I was disappointed in myself somewhat for having such a hard time. When I finished, though, a lady on a treadmill behind me (who runs marathons regularly) said, "Wow, good job! You made that look easy and motivated me!" I thanked her and I meant it. It felt so good to get to the other side of my fatigue and to have encouragement at the end of it.
We all have unique stresses, challenges, and crosses to bear. What I need to believe is that each one of us is worth fighting for. Life is full of forces that discourage us, make us cynical, weigh us down, and occasionally make us feel like giving up. But when we feel that way we have to fight for ourselves, ask for help, and keep moving forward. In running, as in life, we don't need to compare ourselves to others--they aren't running our race for us. We don't need to be the fastest, strongest, most impressive person on the scene. Sometimes the most noble and powerful testimony we can offer is showing up as ourselves and not giving up. We are all worth fighting for!
Sunday, January 30, 2011
The Beatitudes- A New Lens
There is a commercial that used to run all the time for an online headhunter-type company called "theladders.com". The scene opens with very well put together man, wearing designer sports clothes, standing on a tennis court preparing for the ball to come to him. Just as the ball comes over the net hundreds of other people rush out onto the court with him. These "others" look disheveled, frazzled, and inappropriately dressed, but are nevertheless so determined to go after the ball that the man can't even see the ball, much less take a shot at it. Finally the man just shrugs, throws up his arms in confusion and frustration. Then the voiceover comes in with the company's tag line: "The Ladders. Only 100k plus jobs for 100K plus people." Using what is clearly a caricature and grand oversimplification they draw a clear distinction between two groups of people: VIPs and "little people".
The company is trying to sell their VIP demographic a promise: that if they entrust their job search to them, they will find the job they are entitled to more quickly than if they had to compete in a job pool alongside hoards of unqualified masses.
They are also selling something else, though. They're selling a particular lens. This lens magnifies the world's values. The lens through which each of us views ourselves and the rest of the word is a prescription lens. Our values prescribe how we see ourselves and therefore how we live in the world. Our lens brings into perfect focus everything set before us, interpreting and clarifying the way or path in front of us, so that we can move ahead. Advertising does a great job of understanding the way that people tend to see things so that they can create on-demand, sound-bite-sized lenses that bring into sharp focus the relationship between what people think they need or value and the particular product the company wants to sell. The Ladders knows that their demographic values a particular version what it is to be a VIP (a very important person) in the world's eyes. If I had a easel up here with some newsprint, I could ask you all to offer up some qualities you think accurately describe those who get ahead in the world--those the world "blesses".
We would likely end up with a list something like this: wealthy; have it all together; no need unmet; being cool, in control; powerful; dominant; exerting an influence of force; legalistic; and most of all staunchly self-reliant.
If we go back to scripture, back to the world into which Jesus came, it becomes clear very quickly that the world hasn't changed all that much in the last 2000 or so years. People longed for a Messiah who, like Judas Maccabeus defeating the Greeks, would liberate them from oppression and once again win independence for them. This was their prescription lens through which they looked for the Messiah. So when an eccentric prophet like John the Baptist prophesied in the wilderness about the coming Messiah saying "Repent, for the Kingdom of Heaven has come near!" it's not surprising that many who came to be baptized came out of fear. They knew that to repent meant "to turn around". But they believed in a God of wrath who came to destroy those who hadn't turned around.
They were, as John the Baptist put it, "fleeing from the wrath to come".
They didn't even recognize that the Messiah of whom John spoke was Jesus of Nazareth. For he was the one who ate with sinners and tax collectors, took children on his lap, wept with grieving families, blessed widows and healed people on the Sabbath. He had nowhere to lay his head, and if asked if he was the Messiah, always responded with "who do you say that I am?" This was no powerful, forceful figure. So it's no wonder they didn't see him for what he was. Their prescription lenses just seemed blurry when they looked at Jesus, much like the disciples lenses, and much like ours today. This Messiah, this King, was crowned with authority by a voice from heaven that descended like a dove saying, "This is my beloved, my son, with whom I am well pleased.
They expected wrath, and God offered them a gentle man who identified with the poor, and ate his meals and made his home among those often untouchable and forgotten by society. In Jesus God was writing a new law on the hearts of His people.
Reminiscent of Moses on Mt. Sinai bringing God's commandments to a people waiting to reorder their lives, here in today's reading from the gospel of Matthew, Jesus takes his disciples, Simon and Andrew, up a mountain on the Western shore of the Sea of Galilee, just out of reach of the surrounding crowds, but within earshot. Here he is about to give them a new prescription lens. With this lens they will begin to see themselves and the world the way God sees them.
Through God's lens they will not only see the way things already are in a new light, but they will glimpse a vision of the "not yet" --God's vision of a new world. This new vision is not one that can only be found at the end of the world. This new Kingdom vision, embodied by the person and ministry of Jesus, breaks in to the world as we know it wherever people see through God's lens and follow God's path, brought into focus by that lens.
What we have come to know as The Beatitudes is that Kingdom lens. At the top of the mountain on the Western shore of the sea of Galilee, Jesus and a couple of fisherman sit with their sandaled feet in the dirt and sand (not exactly the kind of place where people of power and influence typically gather). Here Jesus lays out a vision of God's VIPs...the very important people in His Kingdom.
At a typical seminar where we might learn the 7 steps to success, we would be about to get our laptops ready for the power point presentation of the list of key "action steps" we must take if we want to become valuable and indispensable. But the disciples, the surrounding crowds, and we, Matthew's audience, quickly learn we have signed up for no such seminar. As Jesus begins teaching saying "Blessed are the poor in Spirit" they realize this is no lecture. In Greek, the verb for "blessed are" is an active verb that suggests that, with his words, he is declaring a blessing on the poor in spirit right then and there. It's likely that he stood with his hands raised, as though offering a benediction.
"Blessed are the poor in Spirit": In other words: God's blessings on those who feel their poverty and have the courage to cry out! Those who hold their babies in their arms as they wait in line outside in 15 degree weather in front of Open Door ministries, hoping to get enough food to feed their family, and dreaming of a day when they no longer have to wait in line. Theirs is the kingdom of heaven. They are God's very important people...the indispensable ones. And their dream is also God's dream. To them God says, "You are my beloved, my child, with whom I am well pleased." God already stands with them, and begs us to stand with them as well so that the "not yet" of their dream may become a reality.
"Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.":
In other words: Blessings on those who know the deepest sadness, because they attend to the whole world, not just their individual self.
Those who sit with sick and dying mothers, fathers, grandfathers, aunts, uncles, brothers and sisters at Bothwell Hospital, at the hospital in Tucson, Arizona, and at hospitals in Haiti, holding the hands of those losing the people they love, letting go of the hopes and dreams they had for their lives and relationships-- Weeping with them as Jesus wept with the family of Lazarus. Blessings on those servicemen and women who shield us from danger with their own lives, and whose physical wounds are nothing compared to the emotional ones. These are God's very important people...the indispensable ones. Their suffering is God's suffering. To them God says, "You are my beloved, my child, with whom I am well pleased." God already sits with them, and begs us to sit with them so that the "not yet" of an end to isolation and loneliness becomes a reality.
"Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the earth.": In other words: Blessings on those who have been silenced and made invisible by oppression. Those who feel isolated and trapped. Those whose mental anguish others are too uncomfortable to handle--who smile and say they're "just fine" even though they're not, so that they may keep the community and connections they have. Blessings on those who work in bathrooms, kitchens, and excruciatingly hot fields until their hands hurt, for long hours for a painfully low wage, day after day--who remain silent so that they may keep their job and provide for their families.
These are God's very important people...the indispensable ones. Their oppression is God's oppression. To them God says, "You are my beloved, my child, with you I am well pleased." God already advocates for them, and begs us to advocate for them so that the "not yet" of societal justice becomes a reality.
"Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be filled." In other words: Blessings on those whose humility and empathy won't allow them to be self-satisfied. Those who know that God's love can't ever be earned and cannot be fenced in and reserved for a special few. Those who risk losing their jobs and their year-end bonuses by standing up and speaking truth to power...those who know, as Princeton Ethics professor Cornel West says, that "justice is what love looks like in public."
These are God's very important people...the indispensable ones. Their courage is God's courage. To them God says, "You are my beloved, my child, with whom I am well pleased." God already gives them the strength to speak out and begs us to speak out with them so that the "not yet" of systematic integrity becomes a reality.
Sometimes it takes a bit of time to adjust to a new prescription lens. The stronger the prescription, the more disorienting it can be at first. Not only is Christ asking us to take off that lens sold to us by The ladders...that vision of who is valuable as the world sees it. Christ is begging us, with his blessing, to throw that lens away for good. He wants us to understand that there is nothing we can DO to be valuable people. We cannot earn our value with success, control, or self-reliance.
He knows will be disoriented for a while, and that's okay, he assures us, because we won't go through it alone. In our baptism we receive our new lens from God. There we are cleansed of all those worldly illusions that show us the ladder we must climb to become valuable and indispensable.
In our baptism, our new lens is a free gift of grace that no one, whether a "100K plus earner" or a "little person" in the world's estimation, can earn. In our baptism God gives us the most valuable gift there is, abounding grace. But God doesn't stop there. In God's kingdom, there are no individuals, just children of God. Through God's lens we are always in community. We are never left alone. God's gift of grace liberates us from the crippling weight of the world's expectations and values.
In the community that Jesus created around him, and continues to create in our midst through us, we have a new identity. We no longer have to piece together a perfect picture of who we are with our accomplishments. Our new identity is given to us by God. In our baptism, God tells us, "You are my beloved, my child, with whom I am well pleased."
God accepts us as we are, and blesses us as we are. But for those of you who love some "action steps" don't get out your laptop, but do put on your walking shoes. Here comes Christ's commissioning:
"Now go be my beloved in this world. Keep those kingdom lenses on and follow the path that has been made clear in front of you." What does this new identity look like? In the last four beatitudes, he tells us.
"Blessed are the merciful, for they will receive mercy." In other words: extend compassion, forgiveness, support, and empathy to others, just as I have extended it to you. Take on others' troubles. Mercy exists to be passed on, not stored up.
"Blessed are the pure in heart, for they will see God." In other words: "be "clear at center" Do not be divided at your core. Blessings on those who are centered on God...for whom the way of Christ's ministry has become their way. On this path they will come to know God.
"Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God." The Hebrew word for peace is "Shalom". Shalom doesn't refer to an individual's peace of mind or inner tranquility.
Shalom is a vision of communal well being in every direction and in every relation. Shalom is a circle. In other words, Extend the circle of acceptance, love, and justice from within YOUR faith community out into the world, so that ALL people may be encircled in acceptance. ALL may know love. ALL may experience justice.
Jesus' beatitudes end with a final blessing, "Blessed are you when people revile you and persecute you...on my account...Rejoice and be glad, for your reward is great in heaven". This may not sound like much of a blessing. And if we were still wearing that worldly lens, we wouldn't be able to see it as a blessing at all. For the world's lens gives us a vision of a path that leads to success and approval according to the world's values. But we now know that the world's VIPs are not God's VIPs.
It's true that in seeking reconciliation we may sometimes be called cowards. In working toward more non-violent solutions we may be called weaklings. And in loving our enemies we may be called naive or even unpatriotic.
The cynicism of the world can sometimes pull us toward despair. But to quote Cornel West one more time, "Anyone who has not despaired has not lived. But despair is not the last word. Justice is what love looks like in public.
I want to leave you with a story reported by Ann Curry of the Today Show earlier this month. A veterinarian volunteer named Bruce Langlois teamed up with a volunteer crew that included 5 physicians, 6 nurses, and 1 dentist to build an airstrip in a remote area of Haiti where the roads had fallen into such disrepair that planes could not land there.
They wanted to allow air service for ambulance operations and clinic services to treat and prevent cholera. Skydivers jumped onto the future runway site and, with the help of local workers, cleared a space and leveled ground for a 1400 foot sloping airstrip, which was completed during the expedition. On that day I think they cleared the way for a lot more than an airstrip. With no reward of their own anywhere in sight they cleared a path for healing with their compassion.
They stood with those isolated, trapped, and voiceless and literally brought mercy from the heavens with the work of their hands. This is God's vision. These are God's very important people. We are ALL God's very important people. God's beloved, His children, with whom he is well pleased.
The company is trying to sell their VIP demographic a promise: that if they entrust their job search to them, they will find the job they are entitled to more quickly than if they had to compete in a job pool alongside hoards of unqualified masses.
They are also selling something else, though. They're selling a particular lens. This lens magnifies the world's values. The lens through which each of us views ourselves and the rest of the word is a prescription lens. Our values prescribe how we see ourselves and therefore how we live in the world. Our lens brings into perfect focus everything set before us, interpreting and clarifying the way or path in front of us, so that we can move ahead. Advertising does a great job of understanding the way that people tend to see things so that they can create on-demand, sound-bite-sized lenses that bring into sharp focus the relationship between what people think they need or value and the particular product the company wants to sell. The Ladders knows that their demographic values a particular version what it is to be a VIP (a very important person) in the world's eyes. If I had a easel up here with some newsprint, I could ask you all to offer up some qualities you think accurately describe those who get ahead in the world--those the world "blesses".
We would likely end up with a list something like this: wealthy; have it all together; no need unmet; being cool, in control; powerful; dominant; exerting an influence of force; legalistic; and most of all staunchly self-reliant.
If we go back to scripture, back to the world into which Jesus came, it becomes clear very quickly that the world hasn't changed all that much in the last 2000 or so years. People longed for a Messiah who, like Judas Maccabeus defeating the Greeks, would liberate them from oppression and once again win independence for them. This was their prescription lens through which they looked for the Messiah. So when an eccentric prophet like John the Baptist prophesied in the wilderness about the coming Messiah saying "Repent, for the Kingdom of Heaven has come near!" it's not surprising that many who came to be baptized came out of fear. They knew that to repent meant "to turn around". But they believed in a God of wrath who came to destroy those who hadn't turned around.
They were, as John the Baptist put it, "fleeing from the wrath to come".
They didn't even recognize that the Messiah of whom John spoke was Jesus of Nazareth. For he was the one who ate with sinners and tax collectors, took children on his lap, wept with grieving families, blessed widows and healed people on the Sabbath. He had nowhere to lay his head, and if asked if he was the Messiah, always responded with "who do you say that I am?" This was no powerful, forceful figure. So it's no wonder they didn't see him for what he was. Their prescription lenses just seemed blurry when they looked at Jesus, much like the disciples lenses, and much like ours today. This Messiah, this King, was crowned with authority by a voice from heaven that descended like a dove saying, "This is my beloved, my son, with whom I am well pleased.
They expected wrath, and God offered them a gentle man who identified with the poor, and ate his meals and made his home among those often untouchable and forgotten by society. In Jesus God was writing a new law on the hearts of His people.
Reminiscent of Moses on Mt. Sinai bringing God's commandments to a people waiting to reorder their lives, here in today's reading from the gospel of Matthew, Jesus takes his disciples, Simon and Andrew, up a mountain on the Western shore of the Sea of Galilee, just out of reach of the surrounding crowds, but within earshot. Here he is about to give them a new prescription lens. With this lens they will begin to see themselves and the world the way God sees them.
Through God's lens they will not only see the way things already are in a new light, but they will glimpse a vision of the "not yet" --God's vision of a new world. This new vision is not one that can only be found at the end of the world. This new Kingdom vision, embodied by the person and ministry of Jesus, breaks in to the world as we know it wherever people see through God's lens and follow God's path, brought into focus by that lens.
What we have come to know as The Beatitudes is that Kingdom lens. At the top of the mountain on the Western shore of the sea of Galilee, Jesus and a couple of fisherman sit with their sandaled feet in the dirt and sand (not exactly the kind of place where people of power and influence typically gather). Here Jesus lays out a vision of God's VIPs...the very important people in His Kingdom.
At a typical seminar where we might learn the 7 steps to success, we would be about to get our laptops ready for the power point presentation of the list of key "action steps" we must take if we want to become valuable and indispensable. But the disciples, the surrounding crowds, and we, Matthew's audience, quickly learn we have signed up for no such seminar. As Jesus begins teaching saying "Blessed are the poor in Spirit" they realize this is no lecture. In Greek, the verb for "blessed are" is an active verb that suggests that, with his words, he is declaring a blessing on the poor in spirit right then and there. It's likely that he stood with his hands raised, as though offering a benediction.
"Blessed are the poor in Spirit": In other words: God's blessings on those who feel their poverty and have the courage to cry out! Those who hold their babies in their arms as they wait in line outside in 15 degree weather in front of Open Door ministries, hoping to get enough food to feed their family, and dreaming of a day when they no longer have to wait in line. Theirs is the kingdom of heaven. They are God's very important people...the indispensable ones. And their dream is also God's dream. To them God says, "You are my beloved, my child, with whom I am well pleased." God already stands with them, and begs us to stand with them as well so that the "not yet" of their dream may become a reality.
"Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.":
In other words: Blessings on those who know the deepest sadness, because they attend to the whole world, not just their individual self.
Those who sit with sick and dying mothers, fathers, grandfathers, aunts, uncles, brothers and sisters at Bothwell Hospital, at the hospital in Tucson, Arizona, and at hospitals in Haiti, holding the hands of those losing the people they love, letting go of the hopes and dreams they had for their lives and relationships-- Weeping with them as Jesus wept with the family of Lazarus. Blessings on those servicemen and women who shield us from danger with their own lives, and whose physical wounds are nothing compared to the emotional ones. These are God's very important people...the indispensable ones. Their suffering is God's suffering. To them God says, "You are my beloved, my child, with whom I am well pleased." God already sits with them, and begs us to sit with them so that the "not yet" of an end to isolation and loneliness becomes a reality.
"Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the earth.": In other words: Blessings on those who have been silenced and made invisible by oppression. Those who feel isolated and trapped. Those whose mental anguish others are too uncomfortable to handle--who smile and say they're "just fine" even though they're not, so that they may keep the community and connections they have. Blessings on those who work in bathrooms, kitchens, and excruciatingly hot fields until their hands hurt, for long hours for a painfully low wage, day after day--who remain silent so that they may keep their job and provide for their families.
These are God's very important people...the indispensable ones. Their oppression is God's oppression. To them God says, "You are my beloved, my child, with you I am well pleased." God already advocates for them, and begs us to advocate for them so that the "not yet" of societal justice becomes a reality.
"Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be filled." In other words: Blessings on those whose humility and empathy won't allow them to be self-satisfied. Those who know that God's love can't ever be earned and cannot be fenced in and reserved for a special few. Those who risk losing their jobs and their year-end bonuses by standing up and speaking truth to power...those who know, as Princeton Ethics professor Cornel West says, that "justice is what love looks like in public."
These are God's very important people...the indispensable ones. Their courage is God's courage. To them God says, "You are my beloved, my child, with whom I am well pleased." God already gives them the strength to speak out and begs us to speak out with them so that the "not yet" of systematic integrity becomes a reality.
Sometimes it takes a bit of time to adjust to a new prescription lens. The stronger the prescription, the more disorienting it can be at first. Not only is Christ asking us to take off that lens sold to us by The ladders...that vision of who is valuable as the world sees it. Christ is begging us, with his blessing, to throw that lens away for good. He wants us to understand that there is nothing we can DO to be valuable people. We cannot earn our value with success, control, or self-reliance.
He knows will be disoriented for a while, and that's okay, he assures us, because we won't go through it alone. In our baptism we receive our new lens from God. There we are cleansed of all those worldly illusions that show us the ladder we must climb to become valuable and indispensable.
In our baptism, our new lens is a free gift of grace that no one, whether a "100K plus earner" or a "little person" in the world's estimation, can earn. In our baptism God gives us the most valuable gift there is, abounding grace. But God doesn't stop there. In God's kingdom, there are no individuals, just children of God. Through God's lens we are always in community. We are never left alone. God's gift of grace liberates us from the crippling weight of the world's expectations and values.
In the community that Jesus created around him, and continues to create in our midst through us, we have a new identity. We no longer have to piece together a perfect picture of who we are with our accomplishments. Our new identity is given to us by God. In our baptism, God tells us, "You are my beloved, my child, with whom I am well pleased."
God accepts us as we are, and blesses us as we are. But for those of you who love some "action steps" don't get out your laptop, but do put on your walking shoes. Here comes Christ's commissioning:
"Now go be my beloved in this world. Keep those kingdom lenses on and follow the path that has been made clear in front of you." What does this new identity look like? In the last four beatitudes, he tells us.
"Blessed are the merciful, for they will receive mercy." In other words: extend compassion, forgiveness, support, and empathy to others, just as I have extended it to you. Take on others' troubles. Mercy exists to be passed on, not stored up.
"Blessed are the pure in heart, for they will see God." In other words: "be "clear at center" Do not be divided at your core. Blessings on those who are centered on God...for whom the way of Christ's ministry has become their way. On this path they will come to know God.
"Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God." The Hebrew word for peace is "Shalom". Shalom doesn't refer to an individual's peace of mind or inner tranquility.
Shalom is a vision of communal well being in every direction and in every relation. Shalom is a circle. In other words, Extend the circle of acceptance, love, and justice from within YOUR faith community out into the world, so that ALL people may be encircled in acceptance. ALL may know love. ALL may experience justice.
Jesus' beatitudes end with a final blessing, "Blessed are you when people revile you and persecute you...on my account...Rejoice and be glad, for your reward is great in heaven". This may not sound like much of a blessing. And if we were still wearing that worldly lens, we wouldn't be able to see it as a blessing at all. For the world's lens gives us a vision of a path that leads to success and approval according to the world's values. But we now know that the world's VIPs are not God's VIPs.
It's true that in seeking reconciliation we may sometimes be called cowards. In working toward more non-violent solutions we may be called weaklings. And in loving our enemies we may be called naive or even unpatriotic.
The cynicism of the world can sometimes pull us toward despair. But to quote Cornel West one more time, "Anyone who has not despaired has not lived. But despair is not the last word. Justice is what love looks like in public.
I want to leave you with a story reported by Ann Curry of the Today Show earlier this month. A veterinarian volunteer named Bruce Langlois teamed up with a volunteer crew that included 5 physicians, 6 nurses, and 1 dentist to build an airstrip in a remote area of Haiti where the roads had fallen into such disrepair that planes could not land there.
They wanted to allow air service for ambulance operations and clinic services to treat and prevent cholera. Skydivers jumped onto the future runway site and, with the help of local workers, cleared a space and leveled ground for a 1400 foot sloping airstrip, which was completed during the expedition. On that day I think they cleared the way for a lot more than an airstrip. With no reward of their own anywhere in sight they cleared a path for healing with their compassion.
They stood with those isolated, trapped, and voiceless and literally brought mercy from the heavens with the work of their hands. This is God's vision. These are God's very important people. We are ALL God's very important people. God's beloved, His children, with whom he is well pleased.
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