BCP - Proper 20 C - 23 Sep 2007

Holy Cross Monastery, West Park, NY
Br. James Randall Greve, n/OHC
BCP - Proper 20 C - Sunday 23 September 2007

Amos 8:4-7(8-12)
1 Timothy 2:1-8
Luke 16:1-13

Morning mist on the Hudson as captured by Br. Randy

Is God deaf? Is God unwilling to pay attention to us? Unable to hear us? The psalmist asks that very question on several occasions in the Psalter, especially in the presence of thriving evil and violent oppression. Often the psalmist will wonder where God has run off to. We behave outwardly as if God can hear and can respond. In just a few moments, after I finish preaching and we say the Nicene Creed together, we will be led in prayer. Does this verbal ritual match what we believe inside? Do we believe what we ask for is even possible? Whenever our community gathers for the Eucharist, we pray for things specified for us to include in the Prayers of the People in our Book of Common Prayer: the Church, the world, the local community, the sick and suffering, the dead. It doesn’t work - or at least doesn’t seem to - at least not totally.

The old wars continue and new ones flare up. Church factions argue and divide. Politicians lie and cheat. People continue to be sick and in pain. A skeptic would observe our persistent praying for peace in our church and world, for justice among nations and peoples, for healing and wholeness for those we love, and ask a simple question: If God is so loving and merciful, if God is not deaf but listening and desires that we live rightly with God in the world and with each other, where’s the evidence that our praying makes any difference? How would we answer such a skeptic? In searching for a certain quote on Google I came across this review on Amazon.com for Thomas Merton’s book New Seeds of Contemplation:

This is supposed to be a great spiritual book. I found the author to be hopelessly lost in a bunch of words which mean nothing. This is one of those "spiritual" books that are really the result of the author bewitching himself with the trappings of language. I think that Merton actually believes that he is saying something when all he is doing is using vaguely defined words and terms which can mean anything-or absolutely nothing (the more likely possibility). If you think that sitting in complete silence and solitude for hours on end is the way to learn something, get this book. If you think that that is the way to delude yourself and possibly go mad as a hatter, skip this one. Read one "mystical" treatise, and you have read them all. If "contemplation" is such a great way to gain knowledge, why is it that all of these books say the same insipid things?

Are we not guilty of “bewitching ourselves with the trappings of language” at times? Is not so much of the valid criticism of the church that we say and proclaim great ideals and hopes when we’re in the spotlight, when it fits into the expectations of the group, but either dismiss them or forget them when we’re off the stage, alone in our own worlds of real fear and doubt? We assent to God as mystery, but what we really want is a predictable interventionist God who follows our plan.

The rationalist points out the absurdity of a God who could possibly reach down to cooperate and participate in our needs and longings when we ask. The critic has a point. The holy absurdity we call prayer pushes us to the edge of the cliff of rational and reasonable expectations and asks us to jump into the bottomless nothingness of faith. Prayer dares command that we move from the head to the heart, from the rational to the mystical, from words to silence, from what we can control and measure and evaluate, to the mystery of a God who exists beyond space and time. Prayer is most fully about relinquishing our own wills, shedding the selfish skins of our egos, and emptying ourselves of our agendas of what God must do. In our materialistic culture, such a practice seems absurd. And it is.

I’ve never met anyone who said “After carefully considering all the historical evidence and weighing the intellectual merits of various truth claims in the world’s religions, I have come to the conclusion that Christianity is the most verifiably accurate, therefore I will give my heart and my life to Jesus and follow him forever.” At some point we let go of figuring it out and just trust and leap.

The Epistle lesson from 1 Timothy is as fascinating and important for what it doesn’t say as for what it does. The Message Bible puts the first few verses this way:
1-3The first thing I want you to do is pray. Pray every way you know how, for everyone you know. Pray especially for rulers and their governments to rule well so we can be quietly about our business of living simply, in humble contemplation. This is the way our Savior God wants us to live.

It’s an injunction to prayer, but is not concerned with the how to’s or the results so much as about life itself. Prayer is the road to get to the simplicity and humility that God desires for us. “Pray every way you know how, for everyone you know.” Period. Leave the rest to God.

In our culture of addiction to efficiency, effectiveness, and success, praying for certain things to happen and then watching as it appears at least that nothing happens can be a frustrating experience. Rather than expect God to comply with our definitions of efficiency and effectiveness, we do well to listen to God’s better, although harder and more mysterious way of dealing with humankind. Prayer includes our intercessions but goes beyond asking. It’s about relationship, an encounter with our maker and redeemer that transcends request and answer. God wants us, not just our prayers. God listens to our whole lives, not just the words we say. If we limit God’s response to our prayer by what is visible and knowable, then we have missed the invitation not just to make requests, but to allow the very act of asking to come into God’s loving transformation. At a moment of epiphany in the movie “Shadowlands” C.S. Lewis, played by Anthony Hopkins, replies to an assurance of prayer from a friend that “I pray because I can’t help it.

I pray because I don’t know what else to do. Prayer doesn’t change God, it changes me.” It could be that we overlook the power of our praying to sharpen our consciousness and remind us that we are called to co-operate with God in working for the change we seek. The Epistle also reminds us that in a real way it is not me praying but Christ praying me. I am simply being open to what the Epistle calls the mediation of Christ in me and through me. Christ taking my wobbly attempt at reaching out and making it stand on two strong legs. The beauty and the wisdom of the monastic tradition, especially the Benedictine tradition, is its emphasis on an integrated, whole life. I catch myself from time to time imagining that I am stopping my work so that I can go and pray, when in fact Benedict would say that my work is my prayer and my prayer is my work. The focus is on God who is present, available, and all ears.

Prayer as described in the letter to Timothy is the free, spontaneous, and sincere opening of myself to God’s presence in the humble acceptance of reality, acknowledging the mystery of God’s response and purpose beyond my own understanding, in the hopeful expectation that God guides me toward becoming who I was made to be. In the realm of the spirit, the categories of efficiency and effectiveness have no meaning. To the skeptic whom I may not be able to convince with intellectual argument but to whom I can listen with gentleness and respect and invite him into a journey of the soul, leaving the rest to God.

Is God deaf? God is deaf to our hopelessness in the face is seemingly unchangeable problems. God is deaf to our pious faces which mask the doubt and anxiety which we think we can hide. God is deaf to our smug arrogance and dogmatic righteousness that judges the hearts of others and builds walls of suspicion. What does God hear? God hears the real self. God hears our burst of gratitude, our cry for mercy and help. God hears the sacrifice we make of our lives to serve our neighbor. God hears my “thanks” for all that has been and my “yes” to all that will be. Amen.

BCP - Proper 19 C - 16 Sep 2007

Holy Cross Monastery, West Park, NY
Mrs. Suzette Cayless, AHC
BCP - Proper 19 C - Sunday 16 September 2007

Exodus 32:1,7-14
1 Timothy 1:12-17
Luke 15:1-10

Lost Things

Today’s readings speak to us about being lost, in various different ways. It is a familiar experience, one that comes to each of us at some point in life.

My husband is very fond of the GPS system in his car! This “Global Positioning Satellite” enables him to know where he is and where to go next on journeys. It certainly is useful when we go to new places. But, sometimes, the voice in the computer says those dreaded words “Lost satellite communication.” This can happen in the middle of an unknown area where the roads are totally strange. Then one has to revert to the old ways - a road map if such happens to be in the car - guesswork if we didn’t bother to bring one!

The Israelites were in this kind of situation in the passage from Exodus that is today’s first reading. They had become used to relying on Moses for instructions as to what to do and where to go. But Moses had gone up the mountain. They had lost communication with him. They felt insecure and did not know what to do. So they reverted to the old ways. They called on Aaron to make them an idol, something they could see and pay homage to - and he obliged with the construction of a golden calf. The people had not yet learned the ways of God for themselves. While they were having the golden calf made, Moses was on the mountain receiving the “Ten Commandments,” the guidelines designed to shape the day to day conduct of the people he was leading The writer describes God’s anger at their unfaithfulness and how Moses is sent back down to reclaim the people, to “find” them and turn them again in the right direction. Moses bears with him the tablets of stone with the ten commandments graven on them. The next piece of the story tells how Moses was so mad when he reached the foot of the mountain that he threw the tablets down and smashed them, then had the golden calf ground to powder and thrown in the water for the people to drink.

We can be like the Israelites who lost their connection with Moses - they couldn’t see him and didn’t know what to do. Like the Israelites we make wrong choices instead of trusting and patiently looking for the new life that God has prepared for us. We get the feeling that God has deserted us, left us alone; we long for Him and for the awareness of his presence - but it doesn’t come. We long for God like the deer longing for the water-brooks. Our hearts are sad and we look for other things to sustain us. We return to things in our past and find it very difficult to let go of those experiences, desires, security blankets, that we have relied on for so long. Lest we feel self-righteous and critical of these faithless people in the wilderness, let us recall that we have our symbol - the Cross - and we also have tangible resources - the Sacraments - that empower us and enable us in our pilgrimage. Even with these we can make wrong choices.

There are other ways of being lost too. The Gospel today speaks of the lost sheep and the lost coin. In these two stories the lost items are lost inadvertently, accidentally - not a matter of deliberate choice on anyone’s part. This is what happened to my suitcase when I returned from a trip to North Carolina this past week. I left Raleigh/Durham Airport late because of bad weather in Philadelphia where I had to change planes. The connecting flight was also delayed and I just managed to get on board before it took off. But my suitcase did not make it! I checked at the baggage reclaim area in Albany, was given a claim form, and told that the suitcase would hopefully arrive on a later flight and that it would be delivered to me the following day. Thankfully it was - and I was very pleased to get it and find all my stuff intact! My son Hugh, on a journey to England, and Br. Daniel on his trip here from South Africa both had experiences of lost luggage - all in the same week!

In the Gospel stories today, the shepherd realizes a sheep is missing and sets out to find it. Likewise the woman notices a coin missing from her headdress, a valuable item - part of her dowry - and she searches the whole house until it is found and restored. The lost things are not just ignored; their owners take trouble to look for them and find them. These stories remind us that when we are lost in some way we cannot always find ourselves - we may need others to help us. When we are floundering in the mire of bad habits, besetting sins, grief, fear, depression, and other experiences of life, we may need to cry out and seek another’s wisdom to help us back on to the right path.

We may not be actually “lost” in the sense of the sheep or coin but all of us experience feelings of lostness. How can we deal with such times? The first step is being honest about our feelings. We need to take a good look at what it is that we desire. Is it really God that we want above all else? Or is it the good feelings that are sometimes given but cannot successfully be sought for. Are there events and actions that should have been forgiven, left behind? Do we refuse to move on and accept God’s gift of new life?

Then there are all the lost good things that we need to thank God for but which we forget and take for granted. There are lost opportunities to serve others or to say a kind word to someone who is down in spirits. Such lost things are like the fragments that remained after the feeding of the five thousand and which Jesus told his disciples to gather up.
Listen to this story. It is one of Arnold Lobel’s children’s stories from his book “Owl At Home.” The story is called “Tear-water Tea.”

Owl took the kettle out of the cupboard. “Tonight I will make tear-water tea,” he said. He put the kettle on his lap. “Now,” said Owl, “I will begin.”
Owl sat very still. He began to think of things that were sad.
“Chairs with broken legs,” said Owl. His eyes began to water.
“Songs that cannot be sung,” said Owl, “because the words have been forgotten.” Owl began to cry. A large tear rolled down and dropped into the kettle.
“Spoons that have fallen behind the stove and are never seen again,” said Owl. More tears dropped down into the kettle.
“Books that cannot be read,” said Owl, “because some of the pages have been torn out.”
“Clocks that have stopped,” said Owl, “with no one near to wind them up.”
Owl was crying. Many large tears dropped into the kettle.
“Mornings nobody saw because everybody was sleeping,” sobbed Owl.
“Mashed potatoes left on a plate,” he cried, “because no one wanted to eat them. And pencils that are too short to use.” Owl thought about many other sad things. He cried and cried. Soon the kettle was all filled up with tears.
“There,” said Owl. “That does it!” Owl stopped crying. He put the kettle on the stove to boil for tea. Owl felt happy as he filled his cup. “It tastes a little bit salty,” he said, “but tear-water tea is always very good.”

Things done and left undone. So many things that we never even think of. Lost fragments. And the need for deliberate recollection of the lost things in our lives. Not to brood over them - but to recognize them; regret them; and like Owl with his tear-water tea to absorb them, let them go, and move on.

In the Epistle today Paul writes to Timothy of his personal experience. Paul describes himself as “the foremost of sinners.” He had been righteous under the Law but had persecuted those under the new Covenant, under the law of Christ Jesus. But Paul had met the risen Lord and received forgiveness through the Grace of God made available to all through the death and resurrection of Jesus. Paul had been lost but had been found by the good shepherd who had searched for him.

As we think about lost things today, let us determine to hold fast to the Cross, our reminder of the cost of salvation; let us receive the Body and Blood of Jesus and the grace that can empower us to live according to God’s will. Let us allow ourselves to be found by the good shepherd, and then reach out in the name of Jesus to others we meet who need to be found. And let us thank God for all the good things around us. As Paul wrote: “To the King of ages, immortal, invisible, the only God, be honor and glory for ever and ever. Amen.

BCP - Holy Cross Day - 14 Sep 2007

Episcopal Church Center, New York, NY
Br. Adam D. McCoy, OHC
Holy Cross Day - Friday 14 September 2007

Philippians 2:5-11
John 12: 31-36a

I was in Istanbul this summer, and had made a vow to wear this cross into Hagia Sophia. I did. The greatest building in the history of the Church was the signature of Christian imperial triumph. With Constantine and his successors the symbol of execution, bloody sweat and tears, a humiliating death, and resurrection, became a sign of military and political victory and power. But that power fell, and the great church, meant to proclaim Christian victory and dominion, was a mosque for almost half a millennium. Now it is filled with tourists, mostly not Christian, in a city that is definitely not Christian. It felt odd to wear the Cross on the streets of a city that used to be the center of the Christian world but is no longer. What exactly was I proclaiming? What power and victory does the cross represent? Why should anyone not born into the family, as it were, find life and hope in the cross?

John’s Jesus (in John 12:31-36a) frames his prediction of his own death on the Cross with power and light. The cross will overthrow the power of this world. It will, so to speak, turn on the lights. The power of which Jesus speaks is one with Mary’s prophecy in the Magnificat: He will put down the mighty from their thrones, and exalt the humble and meek. The light is the kind that lets us walk through the darkness. It’s the light that shows us what’s really there.

Paul (in Phil. 2:5-11) unlocks this for us: Jesus “humbled himself, taking the form of a slave. And therefore, God highly exalted him.” The triumphal power of the Cross is not in building an empire of this world, but in showing what is true and finding in that truth the path forward. God’s love and power are present not only in winning, in wealth and good health and success, the good things we and our pagan forebears instinctively pursue, but also when we are not winners. There is no lack of temples built to solicit gain. But for Christians, God in Jesus Christ is also on the cross, also in the humility of the slave, also in bloody sweat and agony, in losses small and great sustained for the sake of love and for what is right.

I kept asking myself this question in Istanbul. I must confess, I did not always wear my cross in public. I am not always brave. But as the days wore on, I became at least more sure that I was not representing a failed imperium, or a crusading army, or a religious establishment which wants to dominate the world. I was representing the truth: Jesus Christ on the cross is re-establishing the priority of God’s love for all creation. Power is being reallocated. Riches and poverty, victory and humility, life and death, are equally taken into the heart of God.

“And I, when I am lifted up from the earth, will draw all to myself (John 12:32).” The Greek does not actually say “people”. It says “pantas” – everything. Not just people, but the whole of all that is. Christ’s death on the cross is God joining his creation in its contingency, loving it in its nature as only fleetingly flourishing, in which everything must eventually pass away, from the smallest amoeba to the greatest empire. The victory is in reconciling weakness to power, success and riches and honor to humility, death to life, the bottom to the top.

Have we tasted success? Think about this and learn compassion. Have we tasted failure? Take heart. The truth is God’s compassion, his sympathy. God literally suffers with us. Every created thing in the totality of its being is loved into the life of God in the cross of Jesus Christ. That is the proclamation. That is the power. That is the light.