...But...

I love to write. I don't think I'm particularly good at it, but I enjoy doing it, and now and again, something comes out that makes me stop and say to myself, "Now where in heaven's name did that come from?"  Most of the time, though, I have one of four reactions to the product of my labors: I'm satisfied with it, think it's blather, but maybe worth someone's time reading it, edit the heck out of it, or pitch the thing out entirely.

One day wrote something I felt good about. It doesn't happen often, and so I soaked every bit of joy out of it that I could. Then I took a risk; I showed it to my boss, not as my supervisor but as a co-worker from whom I wanted to get an opinion as to whether or not it was any good. His comment? "I don't believe in...," and proceeded to tell me why he disagreed with some of the content in the piece. This was not the reaction I wanted, much less expected. I had no problem with his statement about his belief in something; he was entitled to express his disagreement with that particular thing; still, it would have been lovely to hear just a word or two like, "Although I don't agree with your beliefs, your expression of your position was good."

An hour or so later, I decided to be honest with him. So I walked into his office and told him that I felt disappointed that he didn't say anything about the whole work, only about something he disagreed with. His response really floored me.  "I've been trying to think how to say this, but I'll just say it. I thought the writing was brilliant, but I couldn't help but think that I wished you were as good at your work here." I know it was his nature to be a perfectionist, but how I wish he had stopped at the first part of the sentence and just left out the part that began with "...but..."

I still think about that situation from time to time. I remember a technique of having difficult conversations and how it was advisable to do a kind of "sandwich," beginning and ending with something positive about another's performance with a "but" in the middle representing something that needed changing. It was supposed to separate the actions from the self, making a statement about the problem with the work, not about the person's being or selfhood. Somehow, it's supposed to cushion the bad news by first and last mentioning the value of something else, but that doesn't always work. I wonder if I'm getting conditioned to listen not to the prologue but for the "...but..."

I don't think Moses heard the burning bush announce, "I know you like the quiet life, Moses, but..."

I'm sure the angel wasn't apologizing when speaking to Mary, "I know this is asking a lot, but..." as he stood in the middle of her family patio. 

Jonah did hear a celestial "but…", though. "I asked you to preach repentance, and you did a great job, but..." Jonah was rather pissed at that "but." He was all set for a nice conflagration or at least a significant plague or something, but, no, God got a repentant people, and Jonah didn't get to watch the punishment he was hoping to see. 

I guess even Job's friends could have been guilty of "You're a good guy, but..." 

Martin Luther could have said, "I love this church, but..."  That little conjunction can mean a whole shift in the line of vision. 

 Today the church commemorates the Russian iconographer, Andrei Rublev, born in the 1360s. Of many icons that have been attributed to him, two, at least, have been authenticated as Rublev's. One of these two is the famous icon called "Trinity." It references the story of angels visiting Abraham and Sarah in Genesis 18. Rublev, however, left Abraham and Sarah out of the picture, so to speak, and instead focused on the three angels -- or perhaps it was God and two angels.  I wonder if Rublev started to put them in, but God intervened, perhaps with words like, "Nice idea, Andrei, but do you really need more people in there?" 

I wonder what would happen if before we did something, a little voice in our mind would pop up with "But what if...?"  We wish drunk drivers would ask themselves that before they put their key in the ignition, but we're likely to end up bruised and shaken even if we say something. Perhaps we could talk ourselves out of bad habits we had, or maybe suggest trading fruit and a salad for that gorgeous big double cheeseburger that would play merry heck with our triglycerides. 

What if Peter had said "but...," before he jumped over the side of the boat and tried to walk on water as Jesus was. When James and Andrew joined Jesus, their acceptance didn't include, "but give us time to go grab a sandwich" or "I need my good pair of sandals," did it?

Where does "but" come into our lives, and how do we use it?  We could buy a new car but we could also use that money to save toward the kids' college fund. We could watch another half hour of TV, but we could also spend that time in prayer, study, or meditation. We could choose the easy way of doing things, but we could also choose to do them the Jesus way. We could focus on the poor and less fortunate rather than how many possessions (even knitting yarn) we could accumulate, or perhaps how to support someone who exemplifies the teachings of Christ instead of making church numbers indicate how Christ-like the group was.

Where does "but" fit in?  How can it be used profitably, not necessarily financially? How can God insert that little word into our lives if we don't give God a chance?  This is something I will need to think about this week.  

 

Originally published at Speaking to the Soul on Episcopal Café, Saturday, January 27, 2022. 

Seeking Epiphanies

  It's odd. My favorite calendar season is Fall, but I'm all for winter when it comes to the church calendar.  My favorite is Advent with the expectations, introspection, burgeoning colored lights, and reflection. Then comes Christmas. I love Christmas Eve, but after that, blah. Maybe it is because I'm a 12-days-of-Christmas kind of Christian, who won't take the tree down until January 6, who misses the Christmas music that seems to disappear so quickly, and the massive undecorating of everything from houses to stores, quite often as soon as Christmas Day itself! It's too short for those of us who are still waiting for the Magi to appear.

Then there's Epiphany, my second favorite season. I love the idea of the Theophany, the revealing (theophany) of God incarnate in human form. The feast of the Epiphany marks the day that celebrates the Magi's arrival and presentation of their gifts to the Holy Family. But Epiphany is also a relatively long season, about three times (40-63 days, depending on the date of Ash Wednesday) as long as the Christmas season. But during the season, we think about everyday epiphanies we might encounter, "AHA!" moments that suddenly appear and cause us to rethink something and perhaps change direction entirely.

I've had some small epiphanies during my lifetime. Still, the ones I seem to remember are the ones that have come to me later in life, perhaps because I have more time to think about them. Some are mundane, like realizing I really don't need my truck and the expenses that come with it. I can get things delivered instead of going to the store, I can haul my garbage to the dumpster by pulling a small wagon along (getting exercise in the process), and I can save money I honestly don't have. I have friends I can call on for help if I need transport somewhere, but otherwise, I spend 98% of my time in the house, reading, knitting, and doing housework. So I donated my truck to the local classical music station, and so far, my epiphany has worked pretty well. 

Another epiphany happened several decades ago when I was working an evening shift job in a much more urban setting than I was used to. I went out one evening to take a break from work and enjoy the dark and the cooler air. Suddenly, I noticed a streetlight across the street, under which a man walked, pushing a grocery cart piled high with his possessions. I suddenly got an overwhelming sense of love for that man, a wish that I could make his life better, and knowing that this moment was passing too quickly. I remember it and the feelings as clearly and deeply as I did that night. The epiphany wasn't the rush of love but the idea that I'd never paid any real attention to the street people or even the ordinary people I passed on the sidewalks. It made me conscious that I needed to pay attention to others instead of keeping my eyes strictly on the ground and my thoughts on my personal thoughts and worries.

That time in my life was a fruitful one epiphany-wise, and I found things to write about, consider, and action to take. Years later, I would come to understand these epiphanies were a kind of theological reflection, a place where a person or group can consider an item or instance from four different perspectives: that of how our culture sees it; where similar things appear in our tradition (like hymns, scripture, liturgy, etc.); what each person's position is on the subject under consideration; and what implications or epiphanies we each had had that would be useful in our individual ministries inside and outside the church. 

I still encounter epiphanies and get such joy every time it happens. It can be sparked by something I read in a book, hear on radio, TV, or in class. Someone could have said something in passing or something that seems to come out of the clear blue (I think of those as God-sparks). The commonality is that it makes me take a different look at something I probably hadn't considered before. After reviewing it, I still have the freedom to choose to do something with the epiphany. Quite often, though, I find my thinking has changed on some subject or experience, and changed for the better.

The season of Epiphany reminds me that this process is available all year but that I'm probably going to be more attentive during this period. Still, I keep looking for my "Aha!" moments and being grateful when one shoots past me like a comet.

Be aware that epiphanies can come from anywhere. They’re too precious to miss.

Originally published at Speaking to the Soul on Episcopal Café, Saturday, January 22, 2022. 

Tattle-tales and Physicians

 

Jesus went out again beside the lake; the whole crowd gathered around him, and he taught them. As he was walking along, he saw Levi son of Alphaeus sitting at the tax booth, and he said to him, ‘Follow me.’ And he got up and followed him.

And as he sat at dinner in Levi’s house, many tax-collectors and sinners were also sitting with Jesus and his disciples—for there were many who followed him. When the scribes of the Pharisees saw that he was eating with sinners and tax-collectors, they said to his disciples, ‘Why does he eat with tax-collectors and sinners?’ When Jesus heard this, he said to them, ‘Those who are well have no need of a physician, but those who are sick; I have come to call not the righteous but sinners.’ – Mark 2:13-17

So many of the gospel stories of Jesus feature him talking to, interacting with, or helping people he wasn’t supposed to, according to law and custom. The hemorrhaging woman, his dead friend Lazarus, the Samaritan woman at the well, and even tax collectors. The last was a class of Jewish people who collected taxes for the Roman empire, adding extra onto the official amount to make money for themselves. It was a known fact, which didn’t make the collectors any more popular to the people than the Roman empire, to whom they had to pay the taxes. 

Not only did Jesus tell Levi, the tax collector, to follow him, but he also ended the evening having dinner at Levi’s house along with many other collectors and others considered to be on the edge of being outcast. Undoubtedly, Jesus spoke and taught in a way that captured Levi’s heart, for Levi did become a disciple. Others probably followed Jesus as well, being drawn in by Jesus’s words and the power behind them.

Inevitably, Jesus came in for criticism for behaving in this way, actually eating with a bunch of sinners who did not follow the law, or perhaps not entirely enough to suit the finger-pointers. It seemed there were always people around eager to cast aspersions on Jesus or try to get him in trouble. 

Tattle-tales and judgy people seem to have been around since sometime after Creation. Noah’s neighbors must have laughed at him as he built the ark in his back yard, a place large enough to hold a massive boat but without any water around to float it in. Joseph’s brothers sold him into slavery because Joseph had talents they didn’t; they let their jealousy get the better of them. Workers pointed fingers at co-workers who made the same amount even though the co-workers actually put in fewer hours. It hasn’t changed much. Neighbors still gossip and sometimes laugh, brothers (and sisters) attempt to gain a higher place in their parents’ esteem. Workers are often eager to figuratively back-stab their fellow laborers to climb the corporate ladder or gain some superiority.

Jesus had the Pharisees and Scribes as major tattle-tales and finger-pointers. They followed him around, making notes and sending back reports to their superiors in Jerusalem to add to the growing file on this Jesus of Nazareth.Jesus went out again beside the lake; the whole crowd gathered around him, and he taught them. As he was walking along, he saw Levi son of Alphaeus sitting at the tax booth, and he said to him, ‘Follow me.’ And he got up and followed him.

And as he sat at dinner in Levi’s house, many tax-collectors and sinners were also sitting with Jesus and his disciples—for there were many who followed him. When the scribes of the Pharisees saw that he was eating with sinners and tax-collectors, they said to his disciples, ‘Why does he eat with tax-collectors and sinners?’ When Jesus heard this, he said to them, ‘Those who are well have no need of a physician, but those who are sick; I have come to call not the righteous but sinners.’ – Mark 2:13-17

So many of the gospel stories of Jesus feature him talking to, interacting with, or helping people he wasn’t supposed to, according to law and custom. The hemorrhaging woman, his dead friend Lazarus, the Samaritan woman at the well, and even tax collectors. The last was a class of Jewish people who collected taxes for the Roman empire, adding extra onto the official amount to make money for themselves. It was a known fact, which didn’t make the collectors any more popular to the people than the Roman empire, to whom they had to pay the taxes. 

Not only did Jesus tell Levi, the tax collector, to follow him, but he also ended the evening having dinner at Levi’s house along with many other collectors and others considered to be on the edge of being outcast. Undoubtedly, Jesus spoke and taught in a way that captured Levi’s heart, for Levi did become a disciple. Others probably followed Jesus as well, being drawn in by Jesus’s words and the power behind them.

Inevitably, Jesus came in for criticism for behaving in this way, actually eating with a bunch of sinners who did not follow the law, or perhaps not entirely enough to suit the finger-pointers. It seemed there were always people around eager to cast aspersions on Jesus or try to get him in trouble. 

Tattle-tales and judgy people seem to have been around since sometime after Creation. Noah’s neighbors must have laughed at him as he built the ark in his back yard, a place large enough to hold a massive boat but without any water around to float it in. Joseph’s brothers sold him into slavery because Joseph had talents they didn’t; they let their jealousy get the better of them. Workers pointed fingers at co-workers who made the same amount even though the co-workers actually put in fewer hours. It hasn’t changed much. Neighbors still gossip and sometimes laugh, brothers (and sisters) attempt to gain a higher place in their parents’ esteem. Workers are often eager to figuratively back-stab their fellow laborers to climb the corporate ladder or gain some superiority.

Jesus had the Pharisees and Scribes as major tattle-tales and finger-pointers. They followed him around, making notes and sending back reports to their superiors in Jerusalem to add to the growing file on this Jesus of Nazareth.

Jesus just continued to do what he knew his job to be – preaching, teaching, and modeling a life God wanted for all the people. His parables were teaching tools where people considered outsiders were the heroes and the ultra-observant the protagonists. People were always glad to listen to stories, especially ones set in familiar settings with people like themselves as characters and work they understood very well. The stories lured them closer to Jesus, and his miracles and care for others showed them a better way of life. It still works today.

The statement, “‘Those who are well have no need of a physician, but those who are sick,” certainly rings with us in this age of pandemic and seemingly endless variants. So many deny that there is anything wrong, that they can get sick or even die, or that they can make others ill and risk death because they take no precautions for themselves or others. We know so much more about epidemiology and health care than the people in Jesus’s day. Yet, we ignore warnings and possible aid because Jesus didn’t get vaccinated or wear masks. They assert God will protect them, something like what Noah’s neighbors said when Noah explained about the upcoming flood. To have faith in God is extremely important, yet God expects us to help ourselves and, even more critical, our neighbors, whether we know them or not.

Rather than point fingers or judge, it might be good for us to try and be humble, working harder on curing our own faults and far less on those of others. Yes, there are times when we have to be judges to prevent harm and protect the less fortunate. But those times should be few, far between, and to the benefit of the community, not the judge. Jesus would want it that way.

Jesus just continued to do what he knew his job to be – preaching, teaching, and modeling a life God wanted for all the people. His parables were teaching tools where people considered outsiders were the heroes and the ultra-observant the protagonists. People were always glad to listen to stories, especially ones set in familiar settings with people like themselves as characters and work they understood very well. The stories lured them closer to Jesus, and his miracles and care for others showed them a better way of life. It still works today.

The statement, “‘Those who are well have no need of a physician, but those who are sick,” certainly rings with us in this age of pandemic and seemingly endless variants. So many deny that there is anything wrong, that they can get sick or even die, or that they can make others ill and risk death because they take no precautions for themselves or others. We know so much more about epidemiology and health care than the people in Jesus’s day. Yet, we ignore warnings and possible aid because Jesus didn’t get vaccinated or wear masks. They assert God will protect them, something like what Noah’s neighbors said when Noah explained about the upcoming flood. To have faith in God is extremely important, yet God expects us to help ourselves and, even more critical, our neighbors, whether we know them or not.

Rather than point fingers or judge, it might be good for us to try and be humble, working harder on curing our own faults and far less on those of others. Yes, there are times when we have to be judges to prevent harm and protect the less fortunate. But those times should be few, far between, and to the benefit of the community, not the judge. Jesus would want it that way.

Originally published at Speaking to the Soul on Episcopal Café, Saturday, January 15, 2022

Look to the Star

According to the Ambrosian (Liturgical) calendar and the Roman one we use daily, it's a new year. So far, it doesn't seem too different than last year, except that the politics are a bit different (not much, but also noticeably). There are still threats of increasing pandemic cases and deaths, just when people were starting to feel safe again. The weather has been atrocious all over the country, with people stuck on blocked freeways and roads for hours and more. Store shelves are starting to look a bit bare in spots because of transportation difficulties and labor shortages. We've just finished the Christmas season, and the decorations are stripped away so that the world is once again back to ordinary day and night without artificial trimmings. For the most part, life goes on with its normal rhythms and patterns.

The one thing that I have been thinking of today is the fact that with all the chaos, confusion, upset, enthusiasm, and just about every other emotional response that we experience, we, as Christians and as Episcopalians, are in the season of Epiphany, a season of the liturgical year that encourages us to seek out new insights, new ideas, new ways of doing things. It enables us all to work together to bring about the kingdom of God. It's an ambitious thing. It's more exuberant than Advent, which is a reflective season. It's not as celebratory as Christmas, nor does it seem to plod along like the season after Pentecost. Epiphany provides a bridge between the joy of Christmas and the solemnity of Lent. Epiphany gives us time to think, process where we are, where we need to go, and how we need to get there. This year, more than ever, I need Epiphany.

It's been hard over the last year to focus on anything other than what's going to happen. Okay, it's happened, and now we have to fix our minds on what's next? That is always a rather complicated question. Many are confused and worried, afraid that somebody will eliminate the very programs they depend on in favor of programs that benefit the people who make up the 1% of our country. How are we going to respond? How do we go on from here? We can always ask the question, what would Jesus do? It seems like many people who ask the question seldom want to know the answer, though. That's why we need Epiphany.

Jesus has given us instructions, echoing passages like Micah 6:8, "What does the Lord require of you but to do justice, love mercy, and walk humbly before your God." It sounds easy, but then we have to worry about whose definition of justice, love, mercy, and walking with God we're going to follow. Unfortunately, all those words are highly subjective; we can't nail them down to the floor as much as we'd like to. What Jesus intended to teach was what God had planned all along: that people get along together, work to help each other, take care of their neighbors, work to make the stranger feel welcome, feed the hungry, clothe those who are lacking, visit those who are in prison, and any one of many ministries that make the world better. So, perhaps a beneficial resolution would be to pick up our feet, put away our Kleenexes and handkerchiefs, lift our heads, and start moving. God depends on all of us, and we should look to help those looking to us for help.

Epiphany celebrates three strangers, three magi, who saw a star in the east and followed it to find out what it meant and where it was going. It brought them to Bethlehem, where the baby Jesus was born. It also brought them into collision with Herod, who wanted to know all about this miracle child, and not for the best of motives. It doesn't do to be a ruler if you have to worry about even a tiny baby usurping your power position and even your crown. The wise men received a warning to go home via a way other than their original one to avoid returning to Herod and possibly setting him on the track of the one person he probably feared more than any other.

The magi followed the star. They didn't get where they were going by simply watching the ground to make sure that they weren't stepping into any holes or falling over rocks or damaging their animals, who might possibly do any of those things as well. Yes, it's okay to check the ground now and then simply to make sure we can be aware of pitfalls, potholes, and speed bumps. Still, we don't really participate in the world by simply looking down. Now and again, we have to look up, look for guidance, for a star to keep us on course, and keep reminding ourselves that the ground beneath us isn't the only thing that will keep us going unharmed.

This Epiphany, let's practice looking up, looking for a star, and not just hanging our heads and hiding our eyes from what's in front of us for fear of what's going to happen in the next step or two that we take. Follow the star, keep the faith, and plunge ahead. Jesus didn't change the world by sitting and wringing his hands. Had he done so, he wouldn't have been God's son. 

Look up. Look to the star.

Looking Back, Looking Forward

 Goodbye, 2021. It's been quite a year, somewhat different from its predecessor, but relatively similar. COVID was still with us, and politics were just as mixed. Churches and businesses closed, replaced by online services, and masks became political statements while people queued up for vaccines. Many still died, just as street violence took its toll. We lost friends and family members, celebrities, and people we needed to help us cope with everything we were and still are facing. As Charles Dickens put it in the opening to his classic A Tale of Two Cities, "It was the best of times, it was the worst of times." Somehow it always seems to apply to each year we go through.

Today we begin 2022, a new year offering better things and better times. We start every year with hope, and sometimes we manage to keep that hope going until, like resolutions, we find it is too hard to maintain. As John Bunyan spoke of in Pilgrim's Progress, we find ourselves again in a slough of despond.  

We make resolutions, intents to improve our lives, health, financial standing, and children's futures. We join a gym and make time to go regularly for a few weeks or months. But sooner or later, life gets in the way, and we don't have the time to exercise. A morning's jog becomes a dash from the front door to the car door. We vow to attend church but, quite often, weekends seem to get shorter, the yard still needs mowing, the kids have sports or enrichment activities to go to, and we just have to get in a game of golf to "relax." 

One thing about Jesus was that he didn't make resolutions. He set himself to live a course of life and kept to it. He had a job to do, and he was determined to do it the way God wanted him to. He had to teach this course of life to others and encourage them to attempt to live it. He knew that they wouldn't always succeed, but they needed to try. They would fall down from time to time, but they needed to get up and try again. 

This year, we need to start again to try to live more healthily, do more good, love our neighbors, speak more truth, be more honest and transparent. Most of all, maybe we can try to listen to God more, pray more, and find time to help others.  

God, Jesus, and the Spirit are waiting for us to do the work we were told to do. The world needs help to heal the wounds people have inflicted upon her for generations. People need help to live more safely and securely, and they need food and decent living conditions. Children need safe places to learn and to play. So many need medical care and social care as well. We need to do less "Me first!" and more "How can I help?"

May God bless all of us with a year that brings us peace, joy, and love. And may we do our parts to be God's hands on earth to help bring that about.

Originally published at Speaking to the Soul on Episcopal Café, Friday, December 31, 2021.