Learning Wisdom

 

Matthew 13:54-58

When I was in college, I remember what a big deal it was to go home, even for a few days or a couple of weeks.  It was good to be back in familiar surroundings, with family members who remembered me from my earliest days and friends I'd grown up with.  I ate things I loved and which were appropriate to the date of my homecoming: turkey and Waldorf salad at Thanksgiving, Smithfield ham, greens, and sugar cookies at Christmas and Easter, and whatever was cooked during spring break. I never went to Florida or Cancun or even Virginia Beach during spring break; we didn't do that in those days, at least, unless our families took us on some trip to visit relatives who lived away from our home. 

During the breaks at home (Except spring break), we were expected to study, write some papers, or practice our instruments or vocal exercises and jury selections. I can't speak for others, but there were too many things going on and too many people and places to visit to do much of any of those. Still, people asked me about what I was learning at school and how I was doing. It was amazing how many inquired about dining hall cuisine. Still, most had never been to college themselves and were curious what they might have missed. 

In Jesus' day, only boys were educated at all, and then it was primarily religious education. It was vital for them to learn scripture and the history of the Jewish people. Practical education was usually done within the family, like learning to mind a store, craft wine, pottery, bricks, fabric, and farm or raise livestock. Girls learned household crafts and how to live frugally. I'm not sure whether girls were taught to read and write. However, if they did, they would have been members of the upper classes. These people would need someone to run a large household or perhaps marry a rich man with many servants she would need to oversee. 

Imagine Jesus coming home from his wanderings for a break. He started teaching in the synagogue, and people were amazed by what he knew and what miracles (deeds of power) he could do. They muttered about Jesus' social standing and his family. While they may have accepted that Joseph was his father, calendar counters would undoubtedly have been whispering behind their hands. The people knew how much Jesus had learned while living at home, so where did he learn all these things? Surely it was not somewhere that taught him to speak of things priests and prophets did not.  Even trained as physicians could not instantaneously heal many of the injuries and conditions Jesus could. 

Jesus, as usual, had the perfect answer. "Prophets are not without honor except in their own country and in their own house." Prophets often had to make hasty exits from various locations because they said things the people wouldn't accept. Sometimes they did things people felt were the works of evil spirits or devils and rejected the message and the messenger to the point of death. Perhaps Jesus had had that kind of education while he was away, just as folks at home sometimes questioned some of the lessons I had learned at college. Lord knows, I wasn't a prophet or a doer of deeds of power, but because of my studies, my views and beliefs changed, sometimes radically. It was easy to identify with Jesus when I remembered that passage. 

Sometimes we find ourselves changing how we think or act based on new information or new experiences. The verse, "And Jesus increased in wisdom and stature, and in favour with God and man" (Luke 2:52), came after Jesus had been found in the Temple by Mary and Joseph, where he was talking to the high officials. Already he had the knowledge to astonish them, so perhaps he was born knowing. Perhaps spending time with John the Baptist taught him new thoughts and perspectives. Maybe God used Jesus's experiences to suggest new wisdom and experiences. 

At any rate, we continue learning throughout our lives. Our minds change a thousand times on things both great and small. Sometimes they are drastic changes, more often small ones. Still, we know so much more than we did when we were six, or sixteen, or even thirty-six. We'll be wiser still when we become the elders for those younger than ourselves. 

Where would you wish your wisdom would come from? What kind of wisdom would you hope to have gained? How would you use that wisdom, and to what purpose? How can we increase our knowledge now on subjects that will be very important in the future?  What wisdom would you ask God to provide you?

God bless us all on our quests for wisdom.

Original format.  Edited copy originally published at Speaking to the Soul on Episcopal Café Saturday, October 23, 2021.

Promises, Laws, and Faith

For the promise that he would inherit the world did not come to Abraham or to his descendants through the law but through the righteousness of faith. If it is the adherents of the law who are to be the heirs, faith is null and the promise is void. For the law brings wrath; but where there is no law, neither is there violation.

For this reason it depends on faith, in order that the promise may rest on grace and be guaranteed to all his descendants, not only to the adherents of the law but also to those who share the faith of Abraham (for he is the father of all of us, as it is written, ‘I have made you the father of many nations’)—in the presence of the God in whom he believed, who gives life to the dead and calls into existence the things that do not exist. Hoping against hope, he believed that he would become ‘the father of many nations’, according to what was said, ‘So numerous shall your descendants be.’  - Romans 4:13-18

Abraham is one of the most notable figures in the Hebrew Bible for many reasons. He was shown as an obedient follower of God from the time of his young manhood in Ur of the Chaldees until the day of his death. He was a prosperous man who took in his orphaned nephew, Lot and provided him not only goods but land in the new place God had shown Abraham. He exemplified the desert hospitality by receiving and feeding three strangers who happened upon his camp, not knowing the celestial origin of those visitors.

The visitors gave him a bit of news he could scarcely believe, namely, that he and his elderly wife Sarah would indeed have a son, something that would be unbelievable given their ages. Abraham already had a son, Ishmael, by Sarah's handmaid Hagar. God told Hagar that her son would be the father of multitudes. God later made the same promise to Ismael, which Muslims believe is the founding of Islam.  Jews hold to the second blessing, where God specified that the promise of descendants more numerous than the stars would come through Abraham and Sarah's child. God had promised this, and now was the time for it to become more than just an oral promise.

Paul's letter to the Romans stated that the promise made to Abraham did not come through the law but through faith. Yes, some laws came from God, but the law considered most binding did not really come about until Moses brought the commandments down from the mountain. It was generations later before the entire body of law was set forth. Abraham obeyed God through faith and not just because the law said he had to. For this reason, God appointed him as the foundation of a people who would be dedicated to God and obedient to Him.

We have lots of laws supposedly designed for the protection and well-being of all. Too often, we choose to ignore laws because they are inconvenient or because we feel we have a pressing need to disobey them. The speed limit sign says 45, but we're pretty sure we can get by driving 54 unless we have an emergency when we try to speed up to 60.

There were eventually 613 commandments that descendants of Abraham were supposed to follow. Some were reserved for certain people, namely the priestly clans. Some were positive, like "thou shalt do this…" Others were more negative, such as the injunctions against eating certain foods like shrimp, which probably most of us ignore today. We also wear blended fabrics, and we grow more than one crop in a plot in our backyard gardens. We feel these laws don't apply to us, and they may not for the most part. It isn't so much that God wants us to be slavishly obedient to the law as we are to be obedient by faith instead.

Faith is a tricky word; it means different things to different people. Some have faith that nothing bad will ever happen because they believe in God and/or have made a proper profession of faith using specific words and phrases. Some are more cautious and believe that bad things happen to good people because somehow they have transgressed badly. They must have broken a law, took some action they shouldn’t have or used words that went against what God wanted them to do. Some, though, simply go on faith that God is with them and that God will continue to be with them no matter what happens.

God never told Abraham that if he didn't do this or that he would be punished forever. God never said what would happen if Abraham had not obeyed and taken Isaac to the mountain to be sacrificed; God said to do it, and Abraham obeyed. That obedience was faith and a very tough test of that faith. Faith can mean doing what is right whether we understand the consequences were not. Jonathan Myrick Daniels moved in front of an African American woman as a shotgun blast rang out, and he died in her place. There was no demand from the law that said he had to do what he did. Daniels didn’t think about his action. He simply put his faith in that it was the right thing to do, the belief it was something God would want him to do. He paid for that with his life.

Faith is like just about anything else; it needs to be practiced regularly. We need to review the law periodically as we do in church from time to time by hearing the law and the prophets. It's a way of taking stock, reviewing where we are vs. where we need to be, and readjusting our paths to put us in alignment with what God wants. But we need to practice faith, taking action where necessary but in all things trusting God to be with us. That doesn't mean bad things won't happen to good people; it simply means that God won't make us go through anything alone if we merely look and trust that God is there.

The number of Abraham's descendants may never have reached the number of stars in the sky. He never saw that many people, but he had faith that it would happen if God said it would. That was practicing faith, and it offers us a lesson in it.

I don't think God would tell me to play the lottery if I didn't have enough money to pay the electric bill. No matter how much faith I had, I don’t believe God would choose the winning numbers for me 0r supply the extra cash. I may seem to lack faith in divine protection when I try to cross the street against the light, and cars are coming at me. It's not that I lack faith that God is with me, but I seriously doubt that God would have given me common sense and a sense of consequence if I were not to use it.

I do have faith that God is present and as close as my next breath. That's the best reason I can think of for continuing to breathe.  I don't obey civil law because it suits me; it's more about making things safer for others and myself. I try to obey God's laws, particularly the ones Jesus emphasized, for the same reason. It's a way of loving my neighbor as myself and caring about others more than myself. I wear a mask for that reason, just as I try to drive carefully or treat others with respect and compassion. My faith informs me of what I should do -- and how I should treat others. I may fail often, but God always gives me another chance. 

That's my basic statement of faith -- God gives second chances. For everybody. Always.

God bless.

Originally published at Speaking to the Soul on Episcopal Café, Saturday, October 16, 2021.

　

Books, Willow Trees, and Heaven

 

I remember the night a hurricane blew close enough to our town to do considerable damage to vegetation around town. Leaves, small branches, and occasional blowing debris cluttered yards, roofs got their share of wind damage and loose shingles. My beautiful willow lay on its side, with roots exposed to the air and its trunk crushing the fence and completely blocking the lower end of our street. I was inconsolable. Today, I can still remember seeing those exposed roots as much as I can the tree as it stood properly, shading that part of the yard. Had it blown down in the opposite direction, it would have fallen on my bedroom and very probably hurt me very badly, physically as well as emotionally.

It occurred to me today that I felt some of the grief I had when I awoke that morning and saw my friend dying and waiting to be cut up by the cleanup crew and hauled away they could open the road. It was a feeling of disruption, loss of something precious, and a signal of change that was strange and unsettling in the eyes of a child. Mostly I remembered how beautiful it was and how much I would miss it. The world would never be quite the same again.

I had grown up in a large extended family of older folks, so I was no stranger to an aunt or uncle “going to be with Jesus” every year. It was an opportunity to see all my favorite relatives at one event instead of visiting them individually every few Sundays in rotation. I would miss the one who was being buried, but there were so many living ones to enjoy, even if I were only four or five or six. I knew death meant I wouldn’t see them again until I died and went to be with Jesus myself and had a large group of relatives waiting for me at the Golden Gate. Still, I never learned that favorite things, like pets or trees, would be with those relatives. 

I could never have articulated the difference between Christian souls and those without them. I knew people who weren’t “Christian” in the same way my church taught, the ones who would go to hell because they didn’t “Know” Jesus.  But the idea of dogs, cats, trees, rocks, or rivers and creeks going to be familiar again in Heaven never occurred to me. It seems they didn’t have souls, and besides, Heaven would be so much more glorious than anything earth could produce. We’d be so busy praising God that we wouldn’t think about things we’d left behind – or that had left us.

Maybe it is fanciful, but I wonder from time to time what Heaven would be like. Oh, I know the Bible talks about many mansions, streets paved with gold, and such, but I don’t want a mansion. Am I sacrilegious to ask for a room large enough for some books, cats, plants, and not far from woods with familiar trees and maybe a willow tree outside my window?  It would be a place where our dog during my childhood, Bitsy, would lay down comfortably with all the cats I’ve had and loved, the windows would have prisms that scattered rainbows all over, and comfortable chairs to sit and entertain (and be entertained by) friends I’ve missed for so long? I’ll happily sing God’s praises in chant, Baroque polyphony, and familiar hymns. Still, I’d also hope there would be a saltwater river nearby with waves lapping on the sand to walk in and think or pray or both.  

God, if wishes count, could my willow tree be there too? And maybe the pine tree overlooking my river where You and I met so often when I was an adolescent? Oh, and could there be a village like Three Pines with warm and friendly people, a sense of history, and a little Anglican church, for meditation and occasional concerts? By the way, I’d love to have about half the town I grew up in as neighbors as well? I hope that what I believe is really true, that hell will be empty, and all that I loved would be in Heaven. I don’t think it would genuinely be Heaven without them, human, animal, deciduous, evergreen, and all.

Thank you for listening, God. 

 

* Penny, Louise, How the Light Gets In, (2013), St. Martin’s Press, New York. Kindle Edition.

 Originally published at Speaking to the Soul on Episcopal Café, Saturday, October 9, 2021.

  

 

Prayer Conscious and Subconsious

 

I was shopping in the grocery store not long ago, and something occurred to me. I suddenly noticed that I slowed down when approaching an intersection with another aisle. Then I looked both ways to make sure nobody turned toward my cart or crossed my aisle to another. I found I do the same thing in buildings with hallways. While I cross the intersection, I check out what's happening in the walkways to my right and left. I guess it comes from driving, where constantly watching for other drivers is not only necessary but a safety precaution.  Looking both ways is imperative while driving but pretty much an automatic response in different situations.

I've been thinking about other things I do automatically. Walking to the refrigerator to get a pitcher of iced tea may be a conscious thing, but I don't have to direct my hand to grasp the handle and lift it. I don't have to tell my lungs to work harder and faster when walking and getting out of breath. They do it as a response to my heart pushing blood and my brain keeping track of how much oxygen that blood is moving to the rest of the body. I stumble, and my inner ears tell the labyrinth to respond to attempt to keep me upright – at least, most of the time.

What else may I do subconsciously?  I trip over something and subconsciously reach out for something to grab onto to keep me upright. The cat knocks something off the desk, and I unconsciously reach to catch it (the cat usually wins). I put toothpaste on my brush and begin brushing my teeth. I don't have to consciously direct my hand to move around my mouth, getting my gums, my teeth, and all the crevices between.  I do many things without thinking a lot about it, things I do every day or many times a day. Is it a habit? Subconscious thought? Or something else?

Some years ago, I had an automobile accident where a ladder run over by an 18-wheeler in front of me on the freeway hit the side of my car. I found myself in a sliding skid, foot on the brake pedal (where it shouldn't have been) and saying, "Jesus, help me!" It worked; I wasn't hurt except for a bit of whiplash and a very slight concussion. At that time, it wasn't a conscious prayer, although I remember saying it and meaning every word. There have been other times when I have consciously prayed, such as when I heard the news of disasters, illnesses, deaths, or dangerous situations. Sometimes it was an arrow prayer to St. Anthony to help me find things like my glasses, keys, or something else I had lost. Usually, my conscious prayers are directed to Jesus, although I often write prayers to God when reflecting on something. I wonder, why don't I pray to the Holy Spirit? 

Then I have to wonder, do I ever pray subconsciously, without verbalizing or even thinking of prayer?  I know I have considered things I do as a wordless prayer, such as knitting a prayer shawl or scarf for someone in particular, but what about those I knit without anyone special in mind? My mind can wander once I have a pattern in my fingers and don't have to pay close attention to it. Does it still count as a prayer shawl if I'm not actively praying at the time? 

I know that I have subconsciously prayed as I walked in particularly familiar or breathtaking places. I have also prayed when hearing or even participated in making music, particularly religious music. I never wanted to be a soloist, but small or large groups seem to magnify my prayers' strength and sincerity. 

But my mind goes back to subconscious prayer.  I think of places like monasteries and convents where people deliberately enter to devote themselves to lives of prayer and service, a form of prayer in action. People go into churches at all hours to pray and seek comfort, and very possibly some go in just to sit in a quiet, dry, warm place. But who can say that as they sit, they aren't in some kind of prayer, even if they aren't really familiar with what prayer is?

Come to think of it, how familiar are any of us with prayer? Is it a habit reserved for Thanksgiving dinner or "Now I lay me down to sleep"?  Is it like an arrow being shot toward heaven to get us out of trouble or ask for something we need urgently? Is "Our Father, who art in heaven" the only prayer we can say when we feel we need to pray? Do we have particular Psalms or verses that we use when we are in distress? Do we consider those prayers, whether conscious or unconscious? Do objects like rosaries or strings of beads help focus our prayers or become almost subconscious as the beads slip through our fingers like water over rocks in a stream?

Do we feel we have to kneel to pray?  Can we do it sitting or even lying down? Can we do it when we're moving around, or must we stand still? Must we do it aloud, or can it simply come from the voice of our hearts and minds? Can we sing it? Can we even dance to it as David danced before the altar? 

How do you pray? What do you get from it? How do you feel when you pray? Does just sitting and meditating feel prayerful? When you do or make something for another person, do you also offer it to God as a prayer? 

Think about it. 

God bless.

Originally published at Speaking to the Soul at Episcopal Café  Wednesday, October 6, 2021.

Agnus Dei

 

Agnus Dei, qui tollis peccata mundi, miserere nobis.

Agnus Dei, qui tollis peccata mundi, miserere nobis.

Agnus Dei, qui tollis peccata mundi, dona nobis pacem. 

Lamb of God, who takest away the sins of the world, have mercy upon us.

Lamb of God, who takest away the sins of the world, have mercy upon us.

Lamb of God, who takest away the sins of the world, grant us thy peace.

Now that I’m retired, I watch a lot of TV. Well, let’s put it this way – I use TV as background a lot of the time.  I love my British mysteries, thrillers, cop shows, reality emergency stuff, and documentaries. Some of them I have watched so often I can practically recite them from memory. But I’m frequently doing something else as I watch, things like washing dishes, knitting, reading a cozy mystery (usually British in origin), or whatever housework I can’t avoid any longer. 

Last night I felt I needed a break, and lo, I found the Last Night of the Proms for 2021 from Royal Albert Hall on one of my British subscriptions. The place was packed! Everybody seemed glad and more than ready to celebrate the end of the isolation and return to a more normal life.  I was knitting during the first couple of selections when suddenly the announcer gave a familiar title. So I listened a bit more carefully while continuing to make my needles move. That didn’t last long, though.

The BBC Orchestra and Choir began playing “Agnus Dei,” written and arranged by composer Samuel Barber. He had written the original theme as a movement in a string quartet in 1936 but added the vocal score in 1967. It quickly became one of the most identifiable and loved scores. Usually performed as a very somber piece in movies, TV programs, concerts, occasions of mourning like memorials for 9/11, funerals of famous people, and as a change of pace in concerts, it is an intensely contemplative piece, as it was at the Proms. 

The words Barber chose for the vocal parts were an ancient part of the Latin mass.  The Agnus Dei was a supplication that has been applicable through the many centuries since it was added to the Latin mass by Pope Sergius (687-701), who imported it from the Orthodox. It is used in every Eucharist, coming between the Lord’s Prayer and the Eucharistic prayer that precedes the consecration of the Eucharistic Elements. It can also be used as a prayer of meditation, much like the repetition of the Hail, Mary when saying a rosary. 

I think I knitted through the first few bars of the presentation as it was played and sung so softly it was almost like an extended silence. Then it became a little louder, and my needles stopped. The music drew me into itself, leaving no room for stray thoughts or distraction. The whole piece took about eight minutes but was so intense that for perhaps 30 seconds after the music died quietly away, the audience was silent before erupting into thunderous applause. 

Perhaps many were praying the supplication along with the music. I saw several mouths moving as the camera scanned the large audience, possibly fellow singers familiar with the piece itself and its power of drawing people in. Perhaps some there had never heard it before or didn’t know what the lyrics meant since it was sung in Latin. I think the silence in the seconds after the piece concluded was a respect and a willingness to let go of the emotion that the music brought forth. I know I sat there as mesmerized as the audience. I know it has been a part of the Last Night at the Proms for some years, and I have a feeling it will continue to cast its web of beauty, reflection, and grace over many audiences to come.

The piece never fails to move me, even though I have never had the privilege of being part of a choir that sang it. Still, it is as familiar to me as any music I have rehearsed and performed multiple times. I sometimes hear it in my head when I’m sad or needing some comfort. I often play it on my portable music device. It provides soothing and calming when I am stuck in traffic, late for an appointment, or frustrated over something. It’s one of my go-to pieces. I am grateful that Barber wrote it and arranged it to maintain its integrity as a concert piece and as a prayerful one.

What music has that kind of effect on you? Do you ever find hymns or other pieces popping up in your head? I know many like more contemporary and livelier, often more dissonant things. If you are one of them, do these pieces connect you to God in any way? What is your favorite work? Do you hum or sing it as you work or walk? Do you find peace in it?

Think about the role of music in your life, both ordinarily and spiritually. Is there room for music in your prayer life or meditations? Would you share it with others, hoping that it might bring them the same emotions you find in it? 

Lamb of God, who takest away the sins of the world, have mercy upon us.

Lamb of God, who takest away the sins of the world, have mercy upon us.

Lamb of God, who takest away the sins of the world, grant us thy peace.

Originally published at Speaking to the Soul on Episcopal Café, Saturday October 2, 2021.