11 September 2012

The First Step


Genesis 12: 1-9 & Matthew 4: 18-22

15th Sunday after Pentecost/ 9th September 2012

One of the deep metaphors, images, archetypes of the Christian life is journey.  A follower of Jesus Christ is a traveler.  She is on the road.  He is on the path. The Christian is an explorer of the human spirit, an adventurer in the Holy Spirit, a pilgrim on the way with the One who is the Way toward the place of resurrection.  Life in the Spirit implies movement, not stagnation.  It’s a movement forward, not backward.  It suggests going somewhere. 

            Some Christians have described the journey as ascent, of climbing the mystical ladder toward God.  Others have described the journey as descent, of going down into the depths to discover God there.  These are metaphors, ways to capture dynamics of the journey. If you were here last week, you probably picked up on the one that resonates with me, descent.  It doesn’t matter which you prefer; either way is the correct way providing that you’re on the way, on the go, moving toward God.  George Macleod (1895-1991), the progressive visionary minister and founder of the Iona Community in Scotland, said it best (in one of my favorite quotes): “For Christ is a person to be trusted, not a principal to be tested. The Church is a movement, not a meeting house. The faith is an experience, not an exposition. [And] Christians are explorers, not mapmakers.”[1]  Explorers, not mapmakers. 

The Chinese philosopher Lao-tzu (604-531 BC) once said, “A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step.”  An alternate translation could be, “A journey of a thousand miles begins beneath one’s feet.”  As Neil Armstrong (1930-2012) knew, we have to step out. [2]  We have to take risks.  We have to move off the mark from dead center or stillness or paralysis and move, act, lean forward, or, as Abraham and the first disciples knew, one has to go, you have to take the first step.

            I paired the calling of Abraham with the calling of the first disciples as a way to demonstrate that in humanity’s encounter with Yahweh, the Living God, we know that God is a God of action (actually all we know about God is through God’s actions), we know that God summons people, that God calls and calls and calls us.  We know that God meets us in one place in order to take us to another place.  We know that God calls in order to enlist ordinary human beings in God’s unfolding mission in the universe.  We know that God has a job for us to do.  We know the calling is often difficult, that it demands something of us, and that it’s sometimes scary, but if we follow and follow through we know there’s plenty of grace there, we come to see that we’ve been invited to go, to travel to where our souls might come alive.

            And taking the first step on that journey is probably the most difficult.[3]  If you look closely at each of these call stories and others like them, it appears that God offers the call and the people immediately respond, without a thought.  God says to Abraham, “Go!” – and he goes.  Jesus invites Simon Peter and the others to follow – and they leave everything and go.  Unfortunately, the text doesn’t say how much time lapses between the call and the response.  That’s what many of us want to know, especially with Abraham.  It’s easy to think, I’m not like Abraham or the first disciples, I can’t just drop everything and go, I guess I just don’t have it in me. I guess I’m not really called.  Thoughts like these preempt or eclipse the call extended to each of us and cause us to miss the point.

            And the point is this – this is the point – and not to be missed:  You’ve been invited.  You’ve been called.  You and me – a personal invitation has been extended to each of us to go on an adventure, the journey of a lifetime (literally) to discover the depths of God’s grace. The question is whether or not we will accept it.  Are we going to be open to all that it entails or will we shut down and come up with all kinds of excuses and rationalizations why this would not be a good time.  Are we going to respond with Yes or No? Are we going to accept and enter on the journey with a spirit of openness?  Or will we reject it and play the skeptic or the cynic? 

            Before you answer these questions, there’s something for you to consider.  The Franciscan writer Richard Rohr makes a helpful distinction between ego and soul, which is relevant here in our text.  The ego, our individual ego, is usually directed by fear.  As a result, the ego wants to be at the center of things – egocentric – and it resists and fights against anything or anyone that tries to de-center it.  Now, it’s important to hear me clearly here, our egos are not bad – we all need to have healthy ego-strength.  Our egos help us survive, protect us, and motivate us.  However, there’s a problem here, because the ego, directed by fear, isn’t always wise and it’s not as strong as we think it is and it can’t be relied upon to take us where we need go.  A deeper problem arises – a deep, spiritual problem – when we equate the ego with who we really are.  Who we really are is under the ego, below the ego, deeper than the ego.  Richard Rohr notes that “the ego is always strengthened by constriction, opposition, and reaction – NO – and that when religion starts with no rather than yes, it always ends up obsessed with purity codes and does not lead to compassion, justice, and a truly transformed heart and mind.”[4]  The ego constricts around a problem.  In fear, the ego clamps down around a problem or crisis or threat.  On the one hand, this is natural; it’s what allows us to survive.  But that’s not necessarily how the soul operates.  “The ego wishes comfort, security, satiety; the soul demands meaning, struggle, becoming.”[5]  The ego has certain goals in mind; the soul has an altogether different agenda.

            I believe that when God called Abraham and Jesus called his disciples and when the Spirit speaks to our hearts the invitation is not directed to our egos, but to our souls.  The response of our ego is usually – NO, resistance, excuses, opposition, and reaction, a shutting down.  If we listen to the depths of our soul, however, the soul says, YESsign me up, how soon do we leave?  For the soul demands meaning, struggle, becoming.  We were made this way; we were created this way.  This is the part of us that responds to God’s presence, this is the part of us that connects with God:  soul to soul.   

            The soul says YES to the call; wants to say YES; longs to say YES.  Saying YES is remaining open and fighting against everything and every time our ego wants to shut down and says, “Come on, be realistic.” 

            When Abraham went with God and the disciples followed, they were saying YES.  And saying YES has the potential to transform us.  Dag Hammarskjöld (1905-1961), the Swedish diplomat and former general-secretary of the UN and a committed Christian, described the way his life changed when he finally opened himself up to the call.  This is how he described becoming a person of faith.  It happened this way:  “I don’t know Who – Who – or what – put the question, I don’t know when it was put.  I don’t even remember answering. But at some moment I did answer ‘yes’ to someone or something.  And from that hour I was certain that existence is meaningful and that, there, my life, in self-surrender, had a goal.”[6]

            Saying, Yes.  Remaining open.  Acceptance.  This is what the soul longs for.  This is what scripture means by faith and even prayer – remaining open.

            The call is given – it’s there, now already, every moment – the road, the way is there for you to travel, the journey requires consent.[7]  And with your consent, the Spirit will begin to move you down along the way, calling you to leave one place in order to venture toward another, inviting you to leave familiar lands, familiar territory, familiar beliefs and experiences, and venture out to some place new.  The call is an adventure that summons us to leave constricting, confining places – life as usual – to leave the known and venture beyond the borders of the familiar to a new land, to leave the safe, small places the ego has created for itself in order to venture out into the vast, broad, expansive places that the soul requires, places that allow our souls to come alive!  All this we can discover and more when we say, Yes, when we consent, when, by God’s grace we listen to our souls and take the first step.

            Journey.  Travel.  Pilgrimage. Way.  These images have been swimming around my head this week as we approach Kick-Off Sunday and begin a new program year together.  They’re never far away from my experience.  Our children in church school, especially those just starting, are embarking on a journey today – God only knows where it will all lead.  We are teaching Bible stories, sharing what we believe as Christians, helping our children know right from wrong, to develop an ethic that is based on love and mercy and grace.  We are modeling for them something of the Christian life, the centrality of worship, and fellowship, and service.  All this is good, very good.

            But what I’m talking about here is different, it’s the journey of faith that can only really begin in adulthood, after one has grown and developed a sense of one’s self and lived a little.  You see, we can encourage our children to attend church school and know about the faith, but it is incumbent upon us as adults, whether we are parents or not, to embody the faith and live it.  As adults we are called to go on this journey of faith and to stay on it and not be seduced into thinking that we have arrived, even if we’re 95. 

            There are far too many who equate belief in God with actually following where Christ leads.  There are far too many adults who might be chronologically age 55, who have developed in all other aspects of their lives, but still have the faith of a 5 or 15 year-old.   It’s easy to stagnate, to get stuck along the way.  There are far too many who equate attending worship with following the way of Jesus Christ.  There are far too many who equate living a good, decent, moral life with following the way of Jesus Christ – as if Jesus suffered on a cross for us to be well-behaved.  The cross certainly means more than that.  The call was not extended to Abraham and to the disciples because of their beliefs or their piety or their morality.  Yet, how many people think this is the sum of religion:  belief, piety, ethics. 

            Increasingly, I feel it’s important to stress that God doesn’t want our beliefs and God doesn’t want our piety and God doesn’t want our middle-class, socially sanctioned morality. God doesn’t want your belief and God doesn’t want your piety and God doesn’t want your ethics – God wants you, God wants your life, God wants the totality of who you are – all of you (and not just the perceived “good” or nice parts) – in order that your life in and with God can reveal its true purpose and experience the abundance of God’s grace!  God wants our hearts, our souls, our feelings, our gifts, our resources, our experiences.  God wants us to open up, to open it all up, to open our arms and yield to the One whom alone knows what our souls are looking for and hoping for.  To say, Yes, to God. To go with God and allow God to open up our lives and expand our lives and transform our lives in ways that we cannot even begin to imagine, in ways that our egos are reluctant acknowledge and too fearful to embrace. 

            Where are you on the journey?  Have you taken the first step as an adult?  Have you taken many first steps, but have lost your way?  Are you well along the road?  As we begin a new program year, I really want to challenge us to step out and take some risks together.  Parents with children in church school need to take responsibility for their own continuing growth and development.  You can’t pass on to your children what you don’t possess.  You can’t “catch” the depth and joy of the Christian life unless you’re contagious.  This is also true for all of us, whether we have children or not – it’s one of the ways we fulfill the promises made at their baptism. 

            One of the best expressions of the Christian journey is the labyrinth. 

The nave of Chartres Cathedral, France.
Labyrinths are powerful “tools” used by the Church to help us consider the journey. It’s a movement from the outside to the inside, to God, and then a movement to the outside.  It’s not in a straight line, you twist and turn and meander around toward the center, but you can’t get lost – which is why a labyrinth is not a maze.  There’s nothing tricky about it.  Perhaps the best-known labyrinth is the one carved into the floor of the nave of Chartres Cathedral, in northern France.  We have a small one in the back of the church house.  There is a good-sized one at Bon Secours Retreat Center in Marriotsville that’s open to the public.  Brown Park Avenue Presbyterian Church in Bolton Hill has a large labyrinth in their sanctuary.  




The labyrinth offered here for you to use is finger-sized – just follow your finger slowly along the way.  Some people offer a prayer before they begin the walk or they ask a question and then begin.  Some stay in the center for a while and then move back out.  There’s nothing magical about this, but there is something mysterious about it.  Years ago we rented a large one and had it on the floor in the gym during Holy Week.  Several members left the labyrinth in tears, surprised by their response.  Many people meet God along the way or feel something give within them as they go. The back and forth helps to dislodge the ego from feeling in control and makes way for the soul to speak or feel.  It’s a traveling aid for the journey. I invite you to use and reuse it.

            What is God calling you toward?  Where are the constricting, narrow places in your life, and where is that larger expansive life God desires for you? What steps can you take to deepen your connection with God?  Are you driven by your ego or are you listening to your soul?  How do you listen to your soul?  What’s your prayer life like?  Is there enough stillness in your life to listen for the voice of the Spirit?  Perhaps you need to go deeper into scripture, begin a study of the Bible, or join a Bible study group.  Maybe you need to become more involved in the life of the church – you can join a committee. However, let me say something about committees – we always need help on committees, but Jesus never said, “Follow me and join a committee.”  Sometimes we equate committee work with discipleship – they overlap, but they’re not the same.  Sometimes committee work (especially our Presbyterian obsession with committees) can lead us away from being attentive to what God is trying to achieve through us, beyond our agendas.  Maybe you need to get involved in a service project, volunteer at The Samaritan Women or spend a day helping out at the IMA World Health center in New Windsor or get involved with the Catonsville Emergency Food Ministries.  Maybe it’s joining the choir or teaching church school, whatever it is, try doing something that will make you just a little uncomfortable.    

The call is there for you.  You know it’s there.  Are you saying, No? or Yes?  Are you staying open or shutting down?  Are you playing it safe or are you willing to risk something for Jesus?  How’s the journey going for you?   Do you desire to follow God in a new way?  If so, then consent. Take a step, the first step – step out.  Say, Yes.



[1] From a sermon given in 1955, cited in Daily Readings with George MacLeod, Ron Ferguson, ed. (London:  Fount, 1991), 115.
[2] “That’s one small step for (a) man, one giant leap for mankind.”
[3] Cf. the quotation from the worship bulletin:  “What saves a man is to take a step.  Then another step.”  C. S. Lewis (1898-1963).
[4] This is a theme found in many of Rohr’s writings, such as The Naked Now: Learning to See As the Mystics See (Crossroads, 2009) and Falling Upward: A Spirituality for the Two Halves of Life (Jossey-Bass, 2012).  The summary of Rohr’s insight I use here can be found in David G. Benner, Spirituality and the Awakening Self:  The Sacred Journey of Transformation (Brazos Press, 2012), 65. Rohr’s ego/soul differentiation here is essentially a reworking of the analytical theories of C. G. Jung (1875-1961).
[5] James Hollis, Finding Meaning in the Second Half of Life:  How to Finally, Really Grow Up (Gotham, 2006).
[6] Cited in Benner, 65.
[7] I’m grateful for Benner’s emphasis upon individual consent in the Spirit’s ongoing work of transformation.  “…when we respond to life and the continuous invitations of the Spirit to become more than we presently are, with consent and openness of heart and mind, it can be our experience….” (xii).

05 September 2012

Holy Work


Luke 5:1-11

Fourteenth Sunday after Pentecost/ 2nd September 2012

Jesus has a job for you to do.  That’s it.  That’s the main idea of this meditation.  It’s the main theme of this text.  Jesus has a job for you do.  No matter whom you are or where you come from, no matter your education or skill level, whether you’re rich or poor, young or old, whether you have faith or none – they don’t matter.  Jesus has a job for you.  There’s work to be done. There’s a God to be served. There’s a world to be loved.  And you’re exactly the right person to do it.  Why?  How? Because Jesus has called you and needs you, equips and sends you, and he’s counting on you.

            On this Labor Day weekend it seems fitting to talk about work, to consider the unique work Jesus calls us toward.   And call is the key word here because this is a call story – the Bible is full of them, full of call stories, narratives of God appearing from out of no where and summoning assuming women and men to change the direction of their lives, to take on a new responsibility, to face an enormous challenge, to confront injustice and slavery, to move toward a new vision, a new horizon, a new day, a new way of being human.  Upon the acceptance of the call hinges the advancement of God’s kingdom and the Spirit’s unfolding mission in history.

            Jesus has a job for you to do.  God has a job for you to do.  To be a follower of Jesus means that Jesus has called you and is calling you to do something unique that only you can do; to be someone unique that only you can be.  We call this vocation, from the Latin vocatus, to call.  And the one doing the calling is God.  When we say that Jesus has a job for us to do we’re saying that everyone has a vocation.  A vocation or calling is not reserved only for religious professionals; it isn’t reserved for the special few whose jobs reflect their passions and interests.  The Reformed theological tradition has always insisted upon the centrality of vocation in the Christian life.  Everyone is called by virtue of one’s baptism.  If you’re baptized then you have a calling.  Jesus has a job for you to do.

            Now, I know, we know, there are some people who are just thankful to have a job – any job – to have enough money to pay the rent and put food on the table.  I know, we know, that not every job is viewed as a calling.  Some jobs are just jobs, there’s nothing special about them.  Some jobs are killing us.  Some people go to work just to pay the bills so that when they come home they can focus on the things that really give them life. The great poet T. S. Eliot (1888-1965), early in his career, worked as a bank teller in London during the day and then went home in the evening to do what he loved to do more than anything else, write poetry.   For some, for many, work is drudgery, something you get through in order to get beyond it, to get to retirement.  Some, many, when they chose their careers early in life followed the money or listened to the expectations of their parents or peers instead of following their hearts.  For some, for many, following one’s heart seems like a luxury, something that rich people say, people who have options, choices.  For some, for many, work has no meaning, no purpose. However, just imagine what this does to the human spirit over time, year after year of meaningless work, work without purpose, work that contributes nothing to one’s well-being, which does little to advance the kingdom, which has little to do with the Spirit’s unfolding work in history. How can we afford not to listen to the heart?

            So how do you figure out what Jesus wants you to do?  “Put out into the deep water and let down your nets for a catch.”  Now we know how this story ends up, the nets are overwhelmed with fish, Peter pulls away in fear, and Jesus says, “Do not be afraid, from now on you will be catching people.” And so we think this is the point of the story – Jesus’ followers catch people.  We assume the only call worth having is to be “fishers of men.”  We think the only call is to be an evangelist.  And to some extent, yes, all of this is quite true.  But this is not the summation of God’s call, this is not the only kind of calling Jesus has in mind.  It’s not the only work for us do. 

I want to pull back from the story a little.   I want us to see the major metaphor at work here and then allow the metaphor to push us forward to where we are today, especially for those of us who aren’t professional fisher folk.

            “Put out into the deep water and let down your nets for a catch.”  I can remember the exact time and place as a college student when I first heard the power of this metaphor.  Where is the “deep water”? What is this “deep water”?  For me, the metaphor of “deep water” means everything that’s under the surface.  In many cultures and myths the ocean or sea are symbols of the unconscious; they represent the deep inner world of the psyche: dark, mysterious, frightening, and holy – not unlike the ocean itself. Jesus called them to go away from the shoreline to “put out into the deep water,” don’t be afraid to go there and when you get there don’t be afraid to let down your nets for a catch.  What they’re looking for is found in the depths.  It can’t be found along the shallow shoreline. 

Jesus is calling them – calling us – to a life that risks going into the deep water and then going into the depths in order to “catch” the hidden wisdom of God within us, to find the life of the Spirit hidden in the depths of our being, to go down and in and find our soul, our heart, our heart’s “first love,” the heart of all things that knows the truth.  It’s there, I believe, that we discover what Jesus calls us to do.  It’s there, I believe, that we come to have a sense of who we are and whose we are and all that’s available to us to fulfill our respective callings.

            One thing is clear there: we’re not called to cast our nets in shallow places, places that aren’t deep enough to yield what we’re looking for.  The real answers to our questions won’t be found there.  My sense is that far too many of us prefer the shallow end, near the safety of the shoreline, and would rather cast our nets in the kiddie pool of life.  We’re afraid to go deep – and we should be!  But that doesn’t mean we don’t belong there.  And, to be honest, there aren’t many voices in our age challenging us enough or expecting us to go deep – so much of our culture prefers shallowness (and I include the Church in this indictment), a society that prefers the easy way, the simple, the practical, the functional and efficient way. 

            Why is this so?  There are many responses to this question.  But maybe, just maybe, it’s because there’s a part of us that really doesn’t want a net full of fish.  I suspect that we’re afraid of what we will find in the depths, that what we find will be more than we can bear, that what we discover there will overwhelm us.  For, what if there’s more within us than we could ever begin to imagine?  What if we’re full of fish?  What if there are all these gifts, resources, abilities, emotions, and experiences, and treasures hiding within our depths, more than we could ever envision? 

            What the disciples discover in the depths overwhelms them – as it should!  That’s what I think is behind Simon Peter’s odd response to the catch, falling down at Jesus’ knees, pleading with him, “Go away from me, Lord, for I am a sinful man.”  In other words, “Go away from me, Lord, for I am not worthy of such generosity.”—Oh, but you are, Simon PeterYes you areYou are more worthy than you think.  Such generosity, yes, such grace overwhelms, because that’s what grace does.  The fact that it overwhelms and frightens you – as you try to push it away and deny it isn’t there – is natural, but do not be afraid.  What you discover there is your calling.  For a calling that does not overwhelm you is not worthy of you.  A calling that does not place greater demands and burdens on you is not worthy of you.  So don’t allow the feeling of being overwhelmed or frightened by the abundance in your depths define you.  That would be the sin, the sin is not acknowledging that there’s so much available to you in the depth of your heart; the sin is not accepting it; the sin is not taking on the burden of responsibility that comes with the gift; the sin is not living one’s life – one’s calling – from what God has given you within.

            That’s our vocation, that’s our holy work – venturing out into the depths, letting down our nets for a catch – and then living faithfully, joyfully, passionately in response to what we discover of God’s abundance.  "Our vocation," as Thomas Merton (1915-1968) said, "is not simply to be, but to work together with God in the creation of our own life, our own identity, our own destiny" (New Seeds of Contemplation).  It’s precisely the realization of God’s abundance, the depth of God love and grace available to us that in the end “hooks us,” that “catches” us in the nets of God’s goodness; it’s the catch that “catches” people and turns lives around and changes the universe. 

That’s what “catches” people.  For when we encounter this kind of overwhelming abundance in God and sense it within ourselves and within the world, nothing is quite ever the same again.  It makes perfect sense then that, as the text clearly says, “When they had brought their boats to the shore, they left everything and followed him.” Of course they did. Of course they did.

29 August 2012

Singing God's Praise


Psalm 84

Thirteenth Sunday after Pentecost/ 26th August 2012

There’s an old phrase that’s been swimming around my head in conjunction with this text.  “He who sings well prays twice.”  Maybe Sue Krehbiel’s article about the new Presbyterian hymnal, found on the front page of the Messenger, triggered the quote.  She alludes to it in the title, “Praying Twice: Singing in Worship.”

St. Augustine (354-430) usually gets credit for this.  However, the Latin for this saying, Qui bene cantat bis orat, isn’t found in anything that has come down to us from the venerable doctor of the church.  Augustine did say, however, “cantare amantis est.”  “Singing belongs to the one who loves.”  We find this saying in one of his commentaries on the psalms where he discusses what’s involved in the singing in the psalms.  Listen to his words:  “For he who sings praise, does not only praise, but also praises joyfully; he who sings praise, not only sings, but also loves Him whom he is singing about/to/for.  There is a praise-filled public proclamation in the praise of someone who is confessing/acknowledging (God), in the song of the lover (there is) love.”[1]

            “…in the song of the lover (there is) love.”  What Augustine is getting at here – the thing that is relevant to us here this morning, that helps us dive deeper into a song of praise like Psalm 84 – is that Augustine knew, like Israel before him, that when the object of our song is God, something happens to the song, and something happens to us.  When God is the focus of our singing, then something happens to our hymns and psalms, and then something happens to us.  When we offer songs of praise to God, it’s as if they’re transfigured in our singing, and God comes close to us.  “…in the song of the lover (there is) love.”  As one scholar put it, “Something happens so that the song itself becomes Love in its manifestation of love of the one who truly is Love itself.”  Sounds like a scholar, doesn’t it?  In other words, the lover is contained in the love song.  God is found in songs of praise to God.  When we sing “psalms, hymns, and spiritual songs” (Ephesians 5:19) to God, Sunday after Sunday, we are changed and are being changed.  They shape us and form us and reform us. So that the one who sings – and sings in love to God – prays twice.  In other words, our singing can become a more intense, concentrated, focused prayer, which causes our souls to rejoice.

            This is an amazing psalm or song of praise, 84.  It lifts up for us a profound understanding of what worship, of what praise is really all about.  To praise God is, in some way, to encounter God. To praise God is, to some extent, to meet God. And it’s the experience of meeting, of encountering of God, of dwelling with the presence of God that we find here.  This is, ultimately, what every human soul hungers for.  This is the deepest hunger of the human heart:  to rest, to be at home, to be united with and be in the presence of God.  Listen to the psalm again from the perspective of human desire:  “How lovely is your dwelling place, O LORD of hosts!  My soul longs, indeed it faints for the courts of the LORD; my heart and my flesh sing for joy to the living God.” 

            Can you hear it? Can you feel it?  That longing, that desire?  That feeling, that desire is the source of worship in the human experience.  Heart, soul, and body together yearn for the presence of God.  That’s the origin of worship. 

            When we’re in the courts of the LORD, the dwelling place of God – the temple, the church, the community of God’s people – there’s something about it that brings joy to our hearts.  The sparrow knows what home feels like.  The swallow knows where her nest is.  Human beings are created for the altars of God, to find our “home” there, to nest, to rest where God lives.  “Happy are those who live in your house, ever singing your praise.”

            Happy.  Happiness, the psalmist tells us can be found here.  In worship.  When our songs are focused upon God, we get a glimpse of God. When our worship is focused upon God, we get a glimpse of God.  When our souls yearn for the presence of God, something of God meets us in our souls.  That’s why worship is so critically important – it’s more than just “going to church.”  Theologically speaking, we don’t go to church; we are the church and when the church gathers it worships.  Perhaps we should stop using this language.  We don’t go to church; we are the church and when we gather we worship.  It’s the most essential thing that we do as a church.

            This psalm, like the others, also assumes that we worship in community, together, not alone.  The people of ancient Israel, as well as in Jesus’ age, had very different understandings of the self than we do today, we who are notoriously individualistic.  Yes, there would have been private prayers and worship in homes, but religious expression was primarily a communal experience.  Something profound and holy occurs when God’s people show up together to sing together, to pray together, share a meal together, listen for God’s Word together.   When the object, the focus of our worship is God, then something of God is reflected back upon the people, on all of us, and we’re all blessed for it.   We all share in it together. “Happy are those who live in your house, ever singing your praise.”  In the house of God....  “For a day in your courts is better than a thousand elsewhere.  I would rather be a doorkeeper in the house of my God than live in the tents of wickedness.”

            Unfortunately, so many these days are finding their happiness elsewhere.  They are doorkeepers at other temples.  There is a deep cleavage between human desire and the object of that desire.  Religion, religious expression is alive and well in our age (even among the so-called atheists), because we human beings are religious creatures.  That’s why I believe religion will never die.  We were made to worship, we love to worship things, people, ideas, institutions, nations, sports teams.  We think that fulfilling these obsessions, “having” them will make us happy.  As we know, they won’t.  They become idols, false gods.  As John Calvin (1509-1564) said, human beings are idol factories.  We’re very good at it.  Knowing this is also why idolatry was considered such a threat for Israel, because they knew – as we need to always remember – we become what we worship.  So you better be aware of the idols or the false-gods in your life, because you will become to look and be like them. 

            The deepest hunger of the human heart can only be fed in God.  With worship attendance on the decline in American society and even more so in Europe, we have to ask ourselves what’s really going on?  Are we doing something wrong? Or, maybe we’re doing something right that leaves the masses, the majority at odds with who we are and what matters most to us.  Either way, the problem won’t be “fixed” by changing the styles of worship (contemporary vs. traditional, etc.) or coming up with other gimmicks and tricks to get people to worship.

            Perhaps a solution is found in verse 2 of the psalm.  It pretty much sums up what worship is all about.  I’m going to read it very slowly, as I read it, listen to the words, hang on the words, image the words, and be conscious of what you're feeling:

            My soul longs, indeed it faints for the courts of the LORD:
                        My heart and my flesh sing for joy to the living God.

A lot hinges here upon the meaning of joy.  Without joy, worship becomes empty, hollow.  Without joy, our songs remain just songs instead of conduits of the Spirit.  It’s joy that calls us to worship.  It’s joy that rouses our hearts and souls and bodies to praise.  One of the Hebrew words for joy, Simhah, is not a feeling.  It’s more than a feeling.  As one scholar put it, "It is the reality, experience and manifestations of overwhelming gladness." When C. S. Lewis (1898-1963) tells us that when he moved from atheism to Christianity that he was “surprised by joy.”[2]  Joy is at the core of the faith and yet it’s difficult to articulate theologically.  You can’t teach joy.  It’s not a law; you can’t say, “Thou Shalt be Joyful!”  It has to come from the heart.  Either you are or you aren’t.  It’s not just an internal, emotional state; it also has an external component.  It causes us to act.  Singing, dancing, shouting, offering praises, prayer, feasting, celebration, service.  Joy flows from worship and leads us to service to worship to service to worship.  Joy is like grace yielding gratitude yielding grace.  And the Sabbath is made for joy.

            It’s joy that leads the psalmist to the courts of the Lord.  It’s joy that causes the psalmist to sing.  It’s joy for the Beloved that causes his soul to long and faint with desire.  That’s what calls us to worship. 

            But what if all of this leaves you empty and hollow?  Maybe something of the joy is missing in your life. Maybe joy seems far away.  No one is joyful 24/7.  Joy is more than a feeling; feelings come and go.  Sometimes we don’t feel like getting to the gym, but we know we’ll feel better after having gone.  Sometimes we don’t feel like worship, but once we get there we’re usually happier for it. Feelings have little to do with it all. 

            While I was away on vacation in New Mexico I took some time to go back to the Monastery of Christ in the Desert, a Benedictine community that dwells deep in the Chama River canyon near Ghost Ranch (about an hour north of Santa Fe).  The days are marked by a lot of silence, but also a lot of song and praise.  They follow the Divine Office or Liturgy of the Hours, established by Benedict (c.480-543) in the sixth century, consisting of eight daily services beginning with Vigils at 4:00 a.m. (yes, 4:00 a.m.) and concluding with Compline around 7:30 p.m.  Although I’m generally not a morning person, I attended Vigils twice, which meant that I got up around around 3:40 a.m. to leave enough time to walk, in the dark, to the chapel.  The monks follow a strict liturgy and sing the psalms using Gregorian chant. Guests are invited to join them in singing antiphonally, one choir responding to the other.  Every week they chant the 150 psalms of the psalter.  Now, when I got up on those mornings, I have to say, honestly, that I didn’t feel like it.  I’m sure – I know – that the brothers don’t feel like being there every morning.  From the looks of some of them at 4 a.m., you can tell.  None of us looked good at that hour!  But they went.  I came up with all kinds of reasons for hitting the snooze button or ignoring the alarm altogether or excuses such as, “I’ll skip Vigils, but I’ll be there bright and early for Lauds,” which is at 6:00 a.m.  But I went.  I didn’t attend all eight services, but most on a given day.  I was there for three nights and almost four days. As I was slowly driving down the road toward Ghost Ranch, I could feel a difference.  The chant, the psalm, the praise, the prayer, the worship worked me over.  And there was joy – not ecstatic joy, but a deep gladness and profound gratitude to have that time to dwell in that holy place, to listen to the voice of my soul, and to connect with God.

            It’s the singing and the praising doing their work on us over time, week in and week out, that in time reveals the joy of our souls, that allow our joy to bubble up from within, and allows us to discover the object of our love, “…for in the song of the lover (there is) love.” In our worship we find God and find ourselves surprised by joy, again and again.



[1] Augustine, Enarratio in Psalmum 72, 1: CCL 39, 986 (PL 36, 914), cited on Fr. John Zuhlsdorf’s website: http://wdtprs.com/blog/2006/02/st-augustine-he-who-sings-prays-twice/
[2] This is also the title given to his autobiography, Surprised by Joy: The Shape of My Early Life (1955).  The title is an allusion to William Wordsworth’s (1770-1850) poem, "Surprised By Joy — Impatient As The Wind."

06 August 2012

Feeding Hungry Souls


John 6: 24-35

Tenth Sunday after Pentecost/ 5th August 2012

Let’s set the scene here.  Put the text in context. What we have here is Jesus’ well-known affirmation, “I am the bread of life.”  The occasion for this lesson is Jesus’ sign or miracle of feeding the five thousand, which we find earlier in the chapter. So impressed with this miracle, with his authority and power, the crowd presses in on him, ready to seize and “make him king,” (John 6:15), but Jesus withdrew to the mountains by himself.  The disciples took to the water, got into a boat, and sailed for Capernaum.  A strong windstorm appeared out of nowhere. They were terrified.  And if they weren’t terrified enough, they see Jesus walking on water toward them.  Jesus says, “It is I; do not be afraid” (John 6:20). By the time they offer to take Jesus into the boat, they approach the shoreline.  The crowd well fed back in Tiberias soon realizes that the disciples and Jesus had left and that Jesus did not sail with the twelve because one of their boats behind. So they sail to Capernaum to find Jesus and say, “Rabbi, when did you come here?”  In other words, how did you get here?  Jesus replies, “Very truly, I tell you – honestly – I’ll tell you what you’re looking for.”

            Now, listen to the way Eugene Peterson captures the rest of the scene in his translation, picking up with verse 24: 

            Jesus answered, “You’ve come looking for me not because you saw God in my actions but because I fed you, filled your stomachs – and for free.
“Don’t waste your energy striving for perishable food like that.  Work for the food that sticks with you, food that nourishes your lasting life, food the Son of Man provides.  He and what he does are guaranteed by God the Father to last.”
            To that they said, “Well, what do we do then to get in on God’s works?”
            Jesus said, “Throw your lot in with the One that God has sent.  That kind of a commitment gets you in on God’s works.”
            They waffled:  “Why don’t you give us a clue about who you are, just a hint of what’s going on? When we see what’s up, we’ll commit ourselves. Show us what you can do. Moses fed our ancestors with bread in the desert. It says so in the Scriptures:  ‘he gave them bread from heaven to eat.’”
            Jesus responded, “The real significance of that Scripture is not that Moses gave you bread from heaven but that my Father is right now offering you bread from heaven, the real bread.  The Bread of God came down out of heaven and is giving life to the world.”
            They jumped at that:  “Master, give us this bread, now and forever!”
Jesus said, “I am the Bread of life.  The person who aligns with me hungers no more and thirsts no more, ever.”[1]

            I share Peterson’s translation here from The Message because he helps us get to the heart of this text: human hunger.  The chapter begins with our hunger for food and ends with our hunger for God.  One leads to the other.  Jesus, the wise teacher, takes advantage of this teachable moment, of hungry, starving people, to help people realize there is a deeper hunger that we crave.  That Jesus has to use this occasion to make this point, because it’s not immediately evident, tells us something about the human condition that generally functions with a surface level of meaning and fails to go into the depths. 

            When Jesus plays with this metaphor, referring to himself as the “bread of life” you would think the hearers would make that shift, that they would realize he’s not talking literally about loaves and fish. But they don’t get it.  They see Jesus and hear Jesus, but do they really see Jesus and hear Jesus?  Then the religious leaders begin to complain when he says, “I am the bread that came down from heaven.”  John tells us that they muttered amongst themselves, “is not this Jesus, the son of Joseph, whose father and mother we know? How can he now say” these things?" (John 6:42).  They don’t get it.

            So Jesus continues to teach them.  “Very truly, I tell you, whoever believes has eternal life.  I am the bread of life.  Your ancestors ate the manna in the wilderness, and they died. This is the bread that comes down from heaven, so that one may eat of it and not die.  I am the living bread that came down from heaven.  Whoever eats of this bread will live forever; and the bread that I will give for this life of the world is my flesh” (John 6: 47-5).  John tells us, “The Jews then disputed among themselves, saying, ‘How can this man give us his flesh to eat?’” (John 6:52). And so the conversation goes…. 

            Jesus is comfortable in the world of metaphor, symbol, analogy; they’re stuck in a concrete, literal, material world that can’t hear or even see the spiritual dimension of what Jesus is trying to get them to “see,” metaphorically speaking.  Later on, his disciples say, “This teaching is difficult; who can accept it?” (John 6:60).  And so it goes and so it goes.

            There are many directions we can go with this text, but it’s this exploration of human hunger that resonates so profoundly in our age.  The multitudes are fed, their bellies full, do they crave for more?  Is that why they’re following Jesus?  Because he fills their bellies – for free?  Is that why they listen to his teaching, because in the end they know they’re going to get fed?  Having something to eat, of course, is essential, especially if you’re among the peasant class and you worry where the next meal is going to come from.  Still, are they only interested in Jesus for what they will get out of him?  Because he’s “useful” to them, because he satisfies a want?  Are they really interested in who he is and what he’s trying to give them? Give us?

            And what about us?  In Dorothy Boulton’s sermon last week she explored the larger question of when is enough, enough?  How much is enough?  While it’s true that the vast majority of people in American society do not have to worry about when the next meal will come, it is not true that we have resolved the hunger problem, because it seems at times that our cravings are insatiable.[2]  We want more and more.  Have you ever considered just how large supermarkets have become – Wegmans, Whole Foods, Giant, Safeway – with aisles and aisles of food, of options, of choices. 

            Last year, my good friend, Lee Hinson-Hasty, who works in the Presbyterian Center in Louisville, lived in Debrecen, Hungary for a semester.  His wife, a theologian, received a Fulbright Fellowship to study and teach there.  Their entire family lived in Debrecen for the semester. Soon after he returned he posted a photograph on facebook. He went shopping at his local Target and was a little stunned by the experience.  He took a photo of just one aisle at theTarget, with shelves and shelves selling deodorant.  Really?  He was overwhelmed by it all.

            We don’t realize the extent of our excess as a nation.  And the level of our greed. We’re reluctant to talk about it.  At the General Assembly last month in Pittsburgh there was even reluctance for the church to name greed as a moral sin.  Our needs are dissociated from our wants.  As Dorothy said last week, “We are residents of a society that encourages us to consume more and more, we are victims of the insatiability that advertisers gleefully know and exploit.” 

            We want and want and want because we’re taught at a very young age to be consumers – it drives me nuts (to be personal here) to see supermarkets with child-sized push carts with little flags on them that say, “Consumers in Training.”  It’s cute, I know, but consider what that’s saying. We want more and more and more.  We want to make more and more so that we can have more and more.  And this hunger, this ravenous desire is driving us more than we like to admit.  To the point that it looks like as a society, looking at our society from the outside, that that’s all we were created to do and to be, to shop ‘til we drop.  For some, sadly, that’s all there is in their lives.  Even religion and faith can get caught up in this web of misplaced desire, when faith and belief are something you “have” or “want” because it will make one’s life better, or because you think God wants you to have all that bling and God wants you to be happy.  The prosperity gospel – which is not gospel (!) – is not far away.

            The way out of this mess—and it is a mess—is not to condemn materialism or try to become more spiritual or make one feel guilty for all our desires and wants and wishes or vow never to walk into a Target or Wegmans again.  Jesus doesn’t do this.  Desire isn’t bad, per se.  If you notice, Jesus doesn’t judge them for their desire. Desire is good.  A lot of good comes from desire.  We are all the offspring of desire!  Olympic medals are won by desire, hunger, and passion.  We saw this all week long at the Olympics in London.  You can see it on the faces of Nathan Adrian or Gabby Douglas and Michael Phelps (although some say Michael’s desire to win was not as strong as it was four years ago in Beijing).

            What Jesus warns against is misplaced desire.  Jesus doesn’t condemn hunger. Our insatiable hunger for food, our insatiable hunger for anything, you can fill in the blank – you know what they are – are really misplaced hungers for something deeper.  They are poor substitutes for what we really crave.  They are desires in need of redemption. The object of our unhealthy desires and cravings – things, people, substances, ideas – are all signs, symbols, expressions of our inability to connect, to have, to feed on what our souls are really looking for and that is God.  Our other hungers are misplaced hunger for God.  They are substitutes for what our souls really crave.  But when you’re lost in the world of materialism and consumerism, lost in the world of false hungers and poor substitutes, it’s difficult for us to remember or even know what our souls crave and what real food tastes, real bread tastes like.

            One of the most famous and insightful sentences in Christian history comes on the first page of St. Augustine’s (354-430) classic work, Confessions. Augustine’s memoir describes his journey of faith, of eventually coming to faith in Christ.  But before he gets there he described experience after experience of unfulfilled desire, including sexual desire. And his conclusion, found on the first page, was this:  “Thou has made us for Thyself, O God, and our hearts are restless until they find their rest in Thee.” 

            If he’s right – and I believe he is – then his insight can go a long way toward bringing us back to the heart of Christianity, the heart of the Christian life, to what matters most:  our relationship, our union with God.  It can help to correct the distorted and ultimately damaging assumption that the faith is all about laws and rules and God’s judgment.  What if we moved away from thinking about sin in terms of disobedience? Too many think of sin as doing something wrong, they of the Law, the Ten Commandments, of breaking a commandment, an act of disobedience to be judged by God as judge. What if, instead, we thought of sin not as disobedience, but sin as ceasing the hunger for God, of sin as not having a hunger for God.[3] It seems to me, so much hinges on that hunger.  We are hungry creatures.  Jesus says, hunger for God and we’ll never hunger again.  If our hunger for God isn’t satisfied by God, then we’ll be fed by false gods.

            Jesus comes and offers himself as the object of our soul’s desire.  Coming from God, reflecting the glory of God, embodying the image of God, Jesus says, feed on me, hunger for me, desire me and what you’ll find in me is a source of life that continues to give and give and give and can never be depleted.  He’s the bread of life, or better, he is the bread that gives life.  And the word for “life” here means more than just breathing or functioning, but being alive, with meaning, with purpose, with creativity, with generosity, all that ways that God is alive and the source of life. 

            Jesus comes and says hunger after me, not because he’s narcissistic or full of himself, he’s full of the life of God and knows that’s what we really need.  It’s in love that he says, feed on me.  Feeding on God is the diet our hungry souls crave.  We were made this way Jesus tells us; so don’t be surprised if everything else in the end will only disappoint us. 

            What if we had an Olympic-sized hunger for God?  Just imagine how different our lives would be, how different the world would be. What if we took some of the hunger and desire and cravings we have in other parts of our lives and directed them toward what our souls are really looking for?  Just imagine the difference it would make in the way we viewed the meaning and purpose of the Church, just imagine how it would shape all that we do in this congregation.  Just imagine the difference the church could make in the world.  Just imagine how this could shape our lives.  The deepest cravings of our souls can only be satisfied in God.


Image: I am the Bread of Life by Kennedy A. Paizs
[1] Eugene Peterson, The Message (Colorado Springs: Navpress, 1993).
[2] See Robert Skidelsky and Edward Skidelsky, How Much is Enough? Money and the Good Life (Other Press, 2012).
[3] Angel F. Méndez-Montoya, The Theology of Food: Eating and the Eucharist  (John Wiley & Sons, 2012), 88.