Why Worry?

'So do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will bring worries of its own. Today's trouble is enough for today. – Matt. 6:34

 

There are times when I do the daily reading where I try as hard as I can to make whatever I have read relevant to whatever is going on in my life. I may read something about leprosy in the reading, but I cannot make leprosy fit into my thinking. Granted, I can come up with half a dozen things, but leprosy? Not really.

I do not remember Jesus talking about contamination running across the lawn and into the street for a month or so, but he did talk about people not following God's law, which was to love God and one's neighbor. I thought of that, but since the other four trailers on my side of the street contributed abundantly to my problem, it was not easy to love them, at least then.

Life lately has been a bit like the joke about what the beaver once said. "It's just one dam thing after another." I have heard that one at least a hundred times over the last fifty years, and it still makes me giggle. It is still as true for me as it was the first time someone brought it into conversation. It seems as if problems have come along in an almost predictable procession, usually involving something not working, being turned off sporadically (like water), financial issues, and similar difficulties. Things are all right now, but I tend to have my fingers crossed or raise a few prayers for a break in the almost steady flow of problems.

I had to smile when I ran across this part of the reading for today, "Do not worry…." I must have read that bit of scripture a hundred or more times over the course of my life, but this time it is as if I was being told not to worry about what is next; it will come in due time. It is true that today's problems are enough without borrowing trouble from tomorrow, next week, or even next year.

Jesus was undoubtedly familiar with worried people. The Samaritan woman at the well was probably as concerned as she could be that Jesus would reject her because of her ethnicity, her irregular marital status, and the fact that she was a single woman out without a male escort. She had plenty to worry about. Her neighbors probably reminded her of her almost outcast status daily, and a Jewish man was at the well closest to her home. Jesus surprised her. He spoke of her life and lifestyle without condemnation. He told her not to worry and gave her a message for her neighbors. He set her up as his first evangelist, giving her a message of hope for herself and others with worries, anxieties, and concerns.

I often pray the Serenity Prayer in troublesome times: "God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference." Over the years that I have been repeating that prayer, it has helped me not to worry nearly as much as I used to, and I certainly do not deliberately worry about what might happen somewhere or when. Life has been much more tranquil since I have made that prayer like a mantra, but now and again, life throws me a curve ball to remind me that life is not all beer and Skittles or that it is even a series of metaphors to be tossed around.

So, I thank God today for the reminder that worry is useless because it does not change anything. What will happen will happen, whether or not I fret about it. I should remember the part from Psalm 55, "Cast thy burden upon the Lord, and he shall sustain thee" (v. 22a). Whether I place it in a more modern version of English or the King James Version, I learned as a child, it is a reminder to let God take care of it. I do not know if Bobby McFerrin had God in mind, but he seemed to be channeling a message from God when he wrote the song that made him famous, "Don't worry, be happy." 

Sounds like good advice to me. There. I feel better already. 

The Power of Memories

 

Grief and memory go together. After someone dies, that's what you're left with. And the memories are so slippery yet so rich. – Mike Mills, American musician

Yesterday I had to write a letter. I used to write lots of them back in the days before computers, text messaging, and the like. Some of my notes could fit on a postcard’s back, but most were two or more pages. I remember writing one letter that was sixteen pages, written on notebook paper, both sides. I do not remember what I said, but I am sure I wrote so much for a reason. It was probably just drivel, unimportant and trivial things I had done, heard, thought, or learned, but that stuff was important to me then. The lady I wrote to was a good friend and never complained. She also never failed to respond. That is one memory that I cherish.

I wrote the letter yesterday to another friend, older than me, who has known me all my life. We have shared many years and memories, but now I live three-quarters of the way across this country from her. Sure, I could telephone, but this time I had to write, or rather type, an actual letter. I was sending her a prayer shawl in the mail, and I wanted to explain the purpose of it, what the colors meant to me, the different stitches I had put into it, and mention that many prayers had gone into it. It was meant to be something soft, light, and comforting, like a gentle hug from far away. While writing, though, it brought back memories of things like her wedding, her family treating me like one of them, and her introducing me to Chinese food in my teens. There were days at the beach, shopping trips, lunch at various places around town, and afternoons spent organizing her jewelry box. It was all fun.

I think the letter was more than a page and a half, but I could have written a volume. I have many memories of her mother, in a way, taking the place of mine, who died when I was fourteen. Her mother helped me sew clothes for college, tried to teach me to cook some of my favorite dishes, and generally listened to my babble as I sat at her kitchen table, drinking iced tea and feeling like I was at home.

I wanted to remind my friend of all those memories, including the times I have tried to make her mother’s spoon bread but never could get it past the “If it looks like hog swill, you’ve got it right” stage. It was a dish she made often, frequently to be taken to a family in grief over the loss of a loved one. She reminded me that the spoon bread, full of butter, would slide down a throat clogged with tears when nothing else would. I mentioned the spoon bread in the letter since, if I lived closer and could get the dish to turn out like her mother’s, I would have taken it to my friend’s house. It would have been understood and welcomed since my friend was indeed in a state of grief. The shawl would have to replace the spoon bread, but hopefully would last much longer and demonstrate the sympathy and love that went into both.

I thought about my friend a great deal yesterday, running through memories like a child running through a meadow full of dandelions, buttercups, and daisies. Then I had what was indeed an insight: my friend and her family had demonstrated what God’s love was like -- accepting, protecting, sharing, feeding, listening, and a hundred other things. They were not church-goers, but they still illustrated what Jesus tried to teach about loving one’s neighbor. They were not rich, but they always had an extra potato to put in the pot so I could have dinner with them. They gave me good advice and taught me things I needed to know outside of school books. They shared their time with me. If those things were not examples of what Jesus taught, I would have missed the point of that lesson altogether. 

Rosa Parks once said, “Memories of our lives, of our works and our deeds will continue in others.” That quote sums up God’s will and is a guideline to recognize God’s work in others who give without thinking or stinting. I am sure I won’t forget this insight quickly because it has lodged in my heart when I think of my neighbors who were more than neighbors. They were teachers of an exceptional kind, the kind Jesus would have approved. They put words into action without quoting.  

Look around you. Who teaches love and kindness to neighbors without saying a word about it? Have you done that in your own life and ministry? Have you investigated memories to see where you might find a lesson or insight?  I did, and I am glad. I would have missed a great life lesson. 

An Episcopal Testimony

 

The TV is turned off. The sky is clouding up as twilight approaches. The wind is picking up, and there is a possibility of rain, which we could use around here. My mind is going round and round like a hamster in a cage about what I must write about tonight. I have thought of untangling some thoughts about the humanity of God, but I found Barth had written a series of lectures on the topic, so I canceled my musings until I had had time to read it and hopefully digest it.

Then I could discuss a quiz I found on Facebook (don’t quit reading yet, these are passing thoughts). It asked, “What kind of Anglican are you?” The questions were more thoughtful than the usual Facebook drivel. The first one was about what vestments you prefer with your litany.  There were about ten choices, starting with “Alb/surplice, cincture, stole, and chasuble” and went on to give responses such as all the liturgical garments worn in the English church, a response as to why we spend so much time discussing vestments when we should be talking about justice, an entry containing preaching bands, none at all, and some other choices.  The quiz continued, throwing in questions about theological issues (including tossing in some theological big-wigs) and the like. It kept me occupied with ten questions for at least half an hour.

I had to laugh at my results. My son’s godmother, with whom I had been friends since her younger son and I were in elementary school together, once gave me a pithy but memorable response to what kind of Episcopalian I was.  Was I “High and crazy, low and lazy, or broad and hazy?” I was delighted that my initial guess about my place in the Anglican/Episcopal church fit Granny’s categories. The result was Broad church. My self-diagnosis was dead on.

It brought me to consider Granny’s trio of categories of Episcopalian. She was a cradle-palian, so I felt that that qualified her to know which type was which. I do not necessarily agree with “crazy” or “lazy.” I do not think it is crazy to have incense flying left and right at the slightest inspiration (“Smoky Mary’s” comes to mind) or churches that were more like Baptist ones with no crucifixes, altar, communion at the rail with a chalice and paten, etc. I would not say those folks to like that kind of worship are not lazy, just people who respond to a bare minimum of action and distraction.

I knew from the moment I walked into All Souls’ Church in Washington DC, Granny’s home parish, that I felt at home. The music was sublime (no Victorian heart-rending poetry or melody), the language was that of the King James version, and one stood for worship, knelt for prayer, and sat for instruction. Kneeling was a new but welcome and very fitting position, especially when confessing my sins or other prayers. I did not take communion, but seeing people go to the altar and drink from a common cup and receive a host (taking the Body and Blood of Christ under both species, as the church puts it), brought the idea of true communion, not only with God, Jesus, and the Spirit, but with those who shared in the ritual. While I knew everybody in my Baptist church, I only knew Granny at this one, yet I felt closer to them than during a worship service back home.

I waited until my first year of college to be formally accepted into the Episcopal Church. I knew my family would be shocked, but Daddy did not seem to mind and gave me his permission and blessing. I would not have done it otherwise. Like a true Episcopalian,  after I was confirmed, I took a long sabbatical from church, finally returning to it on a Christmas Eve some two decades later. It was again like coming home, although I only knew a few people in the overflowing nave. I have left the church several times after that, but on my return, it felt like God was saying very firmly, “SIT! STAY!”

I am still an Episcopalian even though I do not attend church with any regularity. I used to be able to walk across the street to my parish church, but now I live further away and without transportation. I still believe in it and believe in God and the things the church taught me. I found myself to be more “Broad and hazy” than I did years ago because I learned I did not have to have hard and fast answers to everything. Ambiguity was fine with me, and I could say things like “Born of the Virgin Mary” and “Rose from the Dead” without crossing my fingers behind me. Did they happen as the Bible says? I do not have a clue, but it does not matter. I believe it anyway.

I love my Episcopal church even if I really wish they would not be so slow or wishy-washy about some things people feel strongly about. I believe if Jesus invites someone to the altar rail, even without baptism or formal reception into the church, they should be able to take the sacrament and let Jesus work within them. I believe that LGBTQ+ people, people of other races, nationalities, and cultures, mentally and physically handicapped or ill folks, and all people, from infants to older people, should be treated with respect and love. Jesus taught us to love our neighbors, including a much larger number than possibly Jesus could have imagined, having come from a small town.

I guess I have fallen into doing what the Baptists call a “testimony,” but I do not regret what I said here. Maybe it will spur someone to look at their life similarly. An examination is always a good thing.

God bless.

Fireflies and God's Presence

 

Our Education for Ministry (EfM) group had an interesting theological reflection the other night. The presenter brought a picture of a Raggedy Ann doll to share and begin the discussion. What emotion did the image bring to our minds?

Her emotions were about collecting Raggedy Ann dolls and also spending summer vacations with relatives in North Carolina. She began describing things she remembered with fondness. She mentioned things like cheese biscuits, ham, cornbread, and various regional foods. It made some of us with similar experiences suddenly feel very hungry. She had another memory of seeing her first fireflies, little black-and-red winged bugs whose abdomens flashed a greenish glow to signal with other fireflies. I immediately thought of the willow tree in my childhood front yard with fireflies (which we called lightnin’ bugs) blinking under the trailing whips and leaves. I needed the joy that memory brought me that night, and I continue to think of it with pleasure and fondness.

I needed the pleasure my own memories brought me. Two days earlier, I had gotten up to find the last of my “boys,” my little girl Phoebe, had crossed the rainbow bridge overnight. She was buried next to the shed with Dominic and Gandhi. I had said good morning to them since Gandhi passed just before Thanksgiving, so I added Phoebe to the morning greeting. Going back into a house devoid of cats yet with the toys, litter boxes, dishes, and the like wasn’t easy. It’s the first time my house has been empty of furry companions since before I moved here fifteen years ago.

I am slowly getting rid of the things I may never use again, but I might. Making those decisions is hard, and my heart aches for my furry bundles of joy. Now and again, though, I get little flashes of joy that pop up. One is my afternoon rainbows. They result from light in my western-facing window shining through many prisms that catch the light and project it in little bits of a rainbow on the opposing wall and ceiling. I do love those; they bring me peace and thoughts of God’s closeness.

Today, as I was washing dishes, the breeze caused three blossoms off my bougainvillea to chase each other over the black asphalt of my driveway. It only lasted a minute before they blew onto my neighbor’s lawn and just sat there. It was like watching three children playing – or three kittens. Maybe they were being batted around by three kittens I could not see, three tuxedo kittens that lay just a few feet away from the dancing blossoms.

There have been other moments of joy, like the memory of the lightning bugs, that help take the pain of my loss away, even if it is just for a few brief moments. It is not surprising that others pop up. For instance, a dear friend’s mother is having medical issues and is anxious about it. She is involved in a Bible study that seems to occupy her mind most of the time, but still, when someone thinks or mentions the C word, it tends to wipe other things away for a while. I had knitted a white prayer shawl with triangles (the number three again), so I sent it to her via my friend. It seems it was a very welcome gift, precisely the right color, and was very comforting. I got a lot of joy out of knowing that. Having gone through a bout of cancer myself more than a decade ago, I know how much things like that can help.

I know God was with me when I found Phoebe’s little body that morning, just as I remember God being present in the lightning bugs, the cancer diagnosis, and even with the dancing bluish-red flowers chasing each other for a brief time. It is easier to see God’s hand in the little joys, but perhaps when I need to feel God’s presence the most, I cannot feel it through the pain I or someone I care about is going through.  

I feel guilty when I forget God’s presence when sad, harmful, or awful things come along. I do have a feeling, though, that God understands I am only human. After all, even God let God’s grief show when Jesus, the beloved son, died on the cross. Hundreds of thousands, if not millions, have died both before and after that Friday afternoon, but God had never before acted from grief rather than anger. I guess I should consider that God made us in God’s own image, complete with the ability to feel joy, anger, despair, and even grief.

Meanwhile, I still have the three outside boy cats I feed daily. I love them, but in a slightly different way than I did Phoebe and the indoor boys. It’s my way of caring for a little bit of nature and God’s creation. The purrs I get from at least two of them (the third is too new and skittish to approach yet) are my thanks and another bit of joy. I am glad I have that reminder too.

Rule #39, Spiritually Speaking

 

There is one glory of the sun, and another glory of the moon, and another glory of the stars; indeed, star differs from star in glory.

So it is with the resurrection of the dead. What is sown is perishable, what is raised is imperishable. It is sown in dishonour, it is raised in glory. It is sown in weakness, it is raised in power. It is sown a physical body, it is raised a spiritual body. If there is a physical body, there is also a spiritual body. Thus it is written, ‘The first man, Adam, became a living being’; the last Adam became a life-giving spirit. But it is not the spiritual that is first, but the physical, and then the spiritual. The first man was from the earth, a man of dust; the second man is from heaven. As was the man of dust, so are those who are of the dust; and as is the man of heaven, so are those who are of heaven. Just as we have borne the image of the man of dust, we will also bear the image of the man of heaven.

What I am saying, brothers and sisters, is this: flesh and blood cannot inherit the kingdom of God, nor does the perishable inherit the imperishable.  – 1 Corinthians 15:41-50

 

Those who watch the TV program NCIS are familiar with Leroy Jethro Gibbs’ numerous rules. They are words of wisdom that often help the agents (and Gibbs – and, incidentally, fans of the show) see a situation in a different way. One of the often-quoted ones is Rule #39, “There is no such thing as a coincidence.” Really? Reading the lesson from 1 Corinthians today would seem to refute that, given that today I will attend the funeral of a lovely woman. I was pleased and honored to call her  “friend” for some time, although not nearly long enough, to my way of thinking. Granted, it was often hard for Gibbs’ agents not to see coincidences given their line of work. Still, Rule #39 showed up frequently in their episodes.  

One thing I can be sure of is that L will undoubtedly rise in glory, spiritually, if not physically. She lived a good life, practiced love for her fellow human beings and four-footed friends, worked hard, and comforted those who needed a shoulder to lean on. She used her gift for crafting to delight those who received those items made with love and beauty. Watching her decline rapidly due to cancer was heart-wrenching for those who knew and loved her. Still, I know most of them feel relief that her excruciating suffering is over. As St. Paul noted, the first human was made of dust, a physical body covering a spirit like all of us. Jesus, the second man, was a spiritual man in a physical body. He rose from the dead, having shed that physical body and in full custody of his spiritual (and visible) person.

We have been taught that we may have been born of dust but bear the spiritual image of Christ once we shed that shell of dust and clay. We hope to rise from the dead on Resurrection Day, just as Jesus rose on Easter. We also hope to be reunited with those who have preceded us into the kingdom of heaven (which I devoutly hope includes four-footed loved ones).

I cannot entirely agree with (or understand) Paul’s words sometimes, but I have no problem in this case. It is a hope that I cling to. I have lost so many friends and family members that I hope to see again. More certainly is that I will probably lose more before I, too, join those who have, to quote Shakespeare’s Hamlet,”…[S]huffled off this mortal coil.” I believe in the resurrection of the dead, as the Prayer Book assures us, and I have faith that God will be generous.

I may not agree with Gibbs’s rules one hundred percent of the time, just as I do not agree with Paul. Today, though, I cannot totally call this a coincidence, but it is closer to one than not. Maybe there needs to be Rule #39A – “Occasionally, two things happen together that make you wonder.” I think I can subscribe to that one. Meanwhile, I will just keep believing.

A Story from a Wood Carving.

 

When will I ever learn? I scroll through Facebook daily, sometimes several times a day, and often leave a comment or a rating on posts I see, like, or dislike. Today, I saw a picture of a most striking and masterful wood carving of a warrior-type man beside a cliff. His foot was placed on a rather evil-looking creature with bat-shaped ears and an evil face, lying almost prone on the ground but with its head raised from the dirt. It occurred to me that it could be a modern St. George, but instead of a slain dragon, it was an unearthly creature that was defeated but not dead. I clicked on one of the choices but did not remember which one. The vote was based on the skill and detail of the carving rather than the story it was conveying. I wish now I had copied the image and the attribution.

It was not until I got into bed that I started really thinking more about that carving. I still saw St. George in it, but then I thought it should be Jesus defeating the foes of hell. That was when my mind started telling me a story.

I saw Jesus walking down a road alone, with only a staff. His path left the main road and wound through the hills and scrub of the surrounding desert. He sat down beside a huge boulder to rest briefly in its shade when suddenly he found he was not alone. A man stood in front of him.

"I have looked for you, brother, and here I find you," the stranger said. "I serve a great and powerful person who has heard of you and your skill with words and deeds of power. My master has sent me to find you and bring you to him. He has a great task for you, and you will be rewarded richly."

"I know who your master is, and I have all the worldly goods I need. I do not need rich rewards. I serve the One my heart, body, and soul loves and honors. I need no other master," Jesus told him.

"Ah, but my master can give you the whole world and all that is in it if you simply come with me and yield to him," the man cajoled. He knew that failure in his task would mean severe consequences when he returned to his master.

Jesus retorted, "I serve One for whom the whole world is His Kingdom. He created it in love and oversees it with that same love and care. Your master can only offer a crumbling shell."

"Ah," the man replied, "But my master can make you his sole heir. He can give you charge over the multitudes that look to him already and promise you success in recruiting more to his side. The earth's treasures will be yours, and all the people of this world will look to you as their god. They will sing your praises and bow to your name. They will offer you sacrifices and bring great gifts to your temples. They will fear your wrath and worship you with great adoration. You will want for nothing, and nothing will be denied you."

Jesus stood up. "I know who you are and who you serve. I can and will serve only the God of Heaven and Earth, Creator and Ruler of the Universe, God of love and trust. He is my Father, and I owe all that I am and have to Him. I need nothing you can offer."

Bending over, Jesus picked up a small handful of dust. Opening his hand, he blew on the dust and dispersed it. "This represents the promises of your master. My Father offers living water and fertile fields. His children are as numerous as the stars in the sky, and the very Sun and Moon obey His commands. What does your master have that can compare?

"I cannot kill you, but I can defeat you with the Word and Power of my Father. Turn your ways toward the true God and away from the evil you and your kind wreak on the children of God. Only by doing that is your life ensured."

The man began to collapse on the ground. His countenance changed from the human form he had assumed and became more like the skin and ears of a bat. As he writhed on the ground, he raised his head as Jesus set his foot on his back. "You are correct, you cannot kill me, and I cannot change my allegiance to my master even though he can destroy me easily. One day we will meet again in a final battle. You have defeated me this time. I  look forward to our next meeting, Jesus of Nazareth."

At this point, the story stopped. The image of the carving began to fade, bit by bit. Still, I clung to the account my mind had created from it. Only by loving and following Jesus and obeying the commandments of God would I gain eternal life, a life that I was promised as a Child of God.

As I, and all other Christians, approach Holy Week and the days leading up to the joyous celebration of Easter at the end, the lesson is clear. We must believe, but we also must act. It is not enough to think of eternal salvation as an individual pursuit. We have to consider all the words of God that tell us to treasure and care for the earth but also to do the same for all the people of this earth. Easter seems a good time to rededicate ourselves to our Baptismal Covenant and acknowledge that God has given us work to do. Belief is empty without it fostering action. Only then can we genuinely claim all God has promised us through Jesus.

Originally published on Episcopal Café as part of Episcopal Journal, Tuesday, April 3, 2023.

God and Jeremiah's Underwear

 

Thus said the Lord to me, ‘Go and buy yourself a linen loincloth, and put it on your loins, but do not dip it in water.’ So I bought a loincloth according to the word of the Lord, and put it on my loins. And the word of the Lord came to me a second time, saying, ‘Take the loincloth that you bought and are wearing, and go now to the Euphrates, and hide it there in a cleft of the rock.’ So I went, and hid it by the Euphrates, as the Lord commanded me. And after many days the Lord said to me, ‘Go now to the Euphrates, and take from there the loincloth that I commanded you to hide there.’ Then I went to the Euphrates, and dug, and I took the loincloth from the place where I had hidden it. But now the loincloth was ruined; it was good for nothing.

Then the word of the Lord came to me: Thus says the Lord: Just so I will ruin the pride of Judah and the great pride of Jerusalem. This evil people, who refuse to hear my words, who stubbornly follow their own will and have gone after other gods to serve them and worship them, shall be like this loincloth, which is good for nothing. For as the loincloth clings to one’s loins, so I made the whole house of Israel and the whole house of Judah cling to me, says the Lord, in order that they might be for me a people, a name, a praise, and a glory. But they would not listen. – Jeremiah 13:1-11

Jeremiah was a prophet; as such, he listened to God and did what he was told, no matter what it was. Sometimes God told the prophets to do strange or weird things, like taking a journey they did not want to take or preaching to very sinful people who turned around toward God when the prophet definitely wanted them to be severely punished (the prophet was downright angry). God told one of them to run around the center of town stark naked for a period of time, nakedness being forbidden to any other than utter madmen. Still, that prophet did what he was told. The story of Jeremiah’s underwear is another story about doing God’s will, no matter how weird it sounded.

Loincloths very possibly were among the first articles of clothing worn by humankind since Adam had to lay aside the purported fig leaf. Ancient Egyptian hieroglyphs show men wearing them, from pharaohs to enslaved people. Primitive tribes often used soft bark or tanned leather instead of cotton. Mahatma Gandhi wove his own from linen and even sent one to Queen Elizabeth II on the occasion of her coronation. Loincloths are still worn today, especially in hot and humid countries. They are even available from multiple sources on the internet.

But back to Jeremiah. God told him to go and buy a new linen loincloth and put it on, being careful not to dip it in water. I can understand buying something new and putting it on, but why not dip it in water or even wash it before wearing it, like we are so often told to do with new things? At any rate, Jeremiah was obedient and did it. But God had more for him to do: take the loincloth that he had on, go to the river, and hide it between two rocks. I wonder – did he take his old one with him to wear back home? At any rate, Jeremiah was told several days later to retrieve the newer piece of material from the rocks. The formerly new and briefly worn linen was ruined, stained by organic matter in the water, bits of dead plants and fish (and other things, no doubt), and abraded by the motion of the water and the rocks.

The point of the story is that things can quickly become unusable. God used that as a metaphor for the people of Judah and Jerusalem. God had created them to be as close to Godself as a piece of linen against the skin. Still, they had gone off, turned away, and become as useless as a piece of soggy, filthy cloth of no use to anyone, especially God. They were supposed to be God’s glory, his chosen people, and obedient to God’s every command. In internet terms, they would be considered as a FAIL.

Of course, God would forgive them and take them back if they would only see the larger picture, that of sin, repentance, and redemption, three of the big lessons of Lent. We should be doing this on a daily, if not weekly, basis. But punishment would be meted out if we needed a harsh lesson like the Judaeans and the Jeruselemites. God would prefer us to understand and make the necessary changes to prevent our becoming like ruined clothes. Punishment will come if we don’t listen to Jeremiah and the other prophets, both Biblical and contemporary.

We all sin, but we can all repent and be redeemed. It is simply a matter of listening, paying attention, and doing the right thing. It is much more important than giving up chocolate, coffee, pastry, or anything else we might think would be sufficient.

Originally published on Episcopal Café as part of Episcopal Journal, Saturday, March 18, 2023.

Finding Joy in Lent

 

I have no idea why it feels so strange to be in Lent already. It seems like it was Christmas just a few days ago, but now I find myself in March with Lent already a week or so old. Time seems to go so quickly.

I remember not knowing what Lent was. Growing up Southern Baptist, we did not observe it; it was never mentioned. As I grew up, I felt drawn to the Episcopal Church, and among the many things I learned that were different from what I had been taught before, I learned about Lent. It was a time of penance, to be more conscious of what sin was, try to avoid it, and give up something I was particularly fond of or enjoyed. I was not totally successful in giving up chocolate or Peeps, nor was I constantly looking for ways to avoid sinning. Every year I tried, and finally, I gave up observing Lent almost altogether. I avoided eating fish on Friday, but I’ve always liked fish, especially cod. It did not feel like a penance because I liked fish so much. I guess it was my first earnest attempt to observe Lent correctly.

I have since been a bit more conscientious, but I still cannot wholly observe Lent the way I think I should. Just today, I found a series of books on Kindle that I have not read in decades but have never stopped looking for. I am grateful that I found them at an affordable price, and I cannot wait to begin rereading them. It was a joyful discovery, which made me think about whether or not it was really something I should indulge in since it brought me joy in a season I was supposed to observe as a penitent.

I like the change in focus that has come into the church over the past few decades. Yes, we are still encouraged to be more spiritually focused, pray and meditate more, and try to avoid sinful thoughts and behaviors. I do try to do that, but it occurred to me that God created joy before evil crept in, so why not look for it more frequently than usual? Ok, I could probably ignore or put off some kinds of joy until Lent is over (like buying books). Still, one lesson I have learned over the years is that if I see something irresistible, get it because if I wait, it might be gone, and I will never find it again. This time I gave in and gave thanks that I had finally reencountered them and could read them at my leisure.

While my church still urges us to be less sinful and more repentant when we sin, we are now encouraged to take on things that help others and the world. We are encouraged to help our neighbor much more actively, helping with food banks and soup kitchens, finding ways to support the homeless, and caring for the poor, the children, and the elderly. We are urged to really look at our world and find ways to repair the damages we have done to it. In short, we need to learn to discover and enjoy what we do for others rather than simply the joy we find for ourselves.

I can find joy in Lent by knitting a prayer shawl for someone who could use the reminder that they are loved, not forgotten. There are some theological books I can enjoy and learn something from. Learning is a joy too. I can listen to someone who needs a pair of ears to really hear what they are saying, and I can lend my support to those I know who are sick, grieving, or suffering in some way. There is joy and enjoyment in those activities while also being opportunities to be helpful. 

Lent may not always have the joy of the pre-lenten parties and celebrations, but it can have a quiet joy that is good for the soul as well as the world. Let us find the joy and spread it – in Lent and beyond.

Giving to the Needy

 

He sat down opposite the treasury, and watched the crowd putting money into the treasury. Many rich people put in large sums. A poor widow came and put in two small copper coins, which are worth a penny. Then he called his disciples and said to them, 'Truly I tell you, this poor widow has put in more than all those who are contributing to the treasury. For all of them have contributed out of their abundance; but she out of her poverty has put in everything she had, all she had to live on.' -- Mark 12:41-44

 

Once upon a time, there was an old couple who lived in a small cottage in a small town. They were not rich, did not have a lot of possessions, and did n0t seem to require a lot of goods they could not purchase for themselves or perhaps trade with neighbors for what they needed. They were content, and for them, they had enough.

One day, though, all that came crashing down, it seemed. The old man died, leaving his widow to think of the life that now seemed impossible to sustain. How could she manage without him? She did not feel she could maintain the garden full of vegetables they used for their meals and traded for other goods they did not grow. Without the income from the humble farm stand by the village street, how could she pay the taxes and upkeep the small cottage needed from time to time? How could she contribute their usual sum to the church whose income depended on those who lived lives similar to the old couple?

She went to the local church and sat in the spot where she and her spouse had sat for years. She sat alone, missing her spouse but still in a familiar place. She had a small amount of money in her purse for the offering. It was not as much as they used to contribute, but it was all she had. When the sidesman came around with the alms basin, she slipped her contribution in, hoping that no one would notice the slight clink of coins she put in. She asked God to accept it, as small as it was.

Like the widow in the Gospel story, this widow had contributed all she could, knowing that others would make much larger offerings. In the Gospel, Jesus noted her gift's size, noting to his disciples that although it was a pittance, it was still a gift from the heart. The part of the offering was more important than the size, and it was the difference between giving part of a more significant amount and giving all she had.

Even though the tithing season is past and church budgets have probably been set and approved, maybe I can look at the Gospel story differently. The main character is a woman, a widow with no man to protect and provide for her. When she came to the synagogue or temple to give her offering, she might have been the only woman in a crowd of men. She could have stayed at home, but she chose to do her duty and give what she could to God.

In a tradition that preached and encouraged practicing care for the less fortunate, it could be that every other person in the town or village would think it was someone else's responsibility. Jesus called the disciples to remember the gift. Still, I wish he had given us a little more about how the story was received and what difference it made in those who heard his teaching.

I want to think that the story of our first widow ended with people noticing her struggle and gathering around to comfort and support her. They would drop off "extra" casseroles or soups for her nourishment, occasionally help in the garden in exchange for some produce, or even run errands for her. They would keep an eye on her and sometimes drop in for tea or coffee. The church would help with spiritual support, noticing if she missed church and calling on her to see how she was doing. In short, she would be cared for by a community of people who, consciously or not, did what Jesus taught about loving their neighbor and helping those in need.

Widows and orphans and all sorts of people with needs surround us. The man on the street corner with a sign stating he needed money might be a scammer. Still, he also might be a man who was down on his luck and needed a sandwich, a cup of coffee, or a bottle of water. We are surrounded by developments with houses that cost hundreds of thousands of dollars. However, we can still run into someone begging on the side of the road with all their possessions piled in a pilfered grocery cart. Those are just the ones we see; there are dozens more we do not see.

Before we say that it is someone else's responsibility or that we do not want to have to pay for someone too lazy to work, perhaps we should remember that Jesus said that we should care for all who suffer from misfortunes of various kinds. Even those who try to hide their troubles may sometimes need a shoulder to lean on, a hug, or a listening ear. Those do not cost a cent, but they can mean the world to someone who really needs it.

Originally published on Episcopal Café as part of Episcopal Journal, Saturday,  February 18  2023.

Jealousy

 

I have been a fan of the British Royal Family and, in fact, of the UK in general since I got hooked on a copy of National Geographic about Queen Elizabeth II’s coronation and jewels. Oh, the beauty of those gems! I loved their colors, sparkle, and sheer quantity of them. And to think, she had even more of them in storage to be picked out and worn for various reasons and occasions! I have never worn a tiara, much less a crown, and I have never been jealous of those who can and do wear them. I am satisfied to look and enjoy, without really minding who is wearing them.

I thought the tiara Meghan Markle wore on her wedding day was quite lovely. Compared to those of other royal brides, it was not my favorite or even one of them, but it complimented her style and dress quite handsomely. To find out that there possibly was what amounted to a spat over whether she could wear the tiara she wanted or not was disappointing. Suppose someone offers me a selection of very expensive jewels to wear on a significant occasion. But if the one I wanted was not in the collection on offer, I think it would only be polite to say, “Thank you, I would really like to wear this one.” But, as someone with no chance of that ever happening to me, maybe I could be a bit more gracious about accepting a second or even fourth choice.

I will admit I have been jealous of a lot of people over a lot of things. It was hard not to be jealous of girls whose mothers were alive and close to them for many years, while my adopted mother was sick when I was about nine until she died in my early teens. It was hard to wear ballerina shoes with holes in the sole when other girls wore Weejuns with intact soles. In college, I was still wearing clothes from when I was in eighth grade, while others got new dresses or outfits just about every time they went home for the weekend. Diamonds and tiaras were as far from my vocabulary as most commonly used curse words today. Still, things couldn’t be changed, so I learned to accept what I couldn’t change – most of the time.

One thing I was never jealous of was my adoptive brother, who was twelve years older. We had a pretty good relationship, although we did have a lot of fraternal spats like all kids do. I never had to worry about who had priority. He was the son, I the daughter, and we each had our roles.

There have been a lot of brotherly spats in the Bible, from the Hebrew scriptures to the New Testament. Early in Genesis, there was the story of Cain and Abel, where Cain murdered his younger brother because Abel’s sacrifice to God was more acceptable than Cain’s own. Esau and Jacob were fraternal twins, with Esau being the elder. He was due to take precedence when it came to the inheritance of everything left by his father’s death. Jacob was unhappy with this, and when the opportunity presented itself, he tricked Esau into trading everything for a bowl of stew. This act separated them for years, but they eventually rebuilt their relationship.

Then there was the story of the prodigal son, who would be the ancient equivalent of the “spare” son. His brother would inherit everything necessary, so what would there be for his younger brother? There would be a pittance instead of plenty, so the younger took his mite and ran away to seek his fortune elsewhere. Instead, he found that living at home would have been much better with guaranteed food and shelter. He discovered his jealousy had taken him away from his father’s love and his brother’s company. He returned home, expecting to be rejected. Instead, he received a warm welcome. Then it was his elder brother’s turn to be jealous of that welcome. Sometimes things like jealousy simply pass from person to person, brother to brother, or even stranger to stranger.

Lately, there have been so many stories about Princes William and Harry, one accusing, one trying to remain above retaliation. Neither brother could change their birth order, and one resented being born second, jealous of the attention given his brother. Nearly every day, we hear about one side and the response (or lack of response) from the other. We keep hearing about the same things repeatedly, often revealing and amounting to airing dirty laundry in public.

We learn from these examples of families in trouble due to jealousy that even if we get our way in such a struggle, it is not always the best thing. People are hurt, families have ripped apart, and reputations have been ruined on both sides of the conflict. It is never a pretty thing or even a good or fair one. It is merely one person’s wanting something that someone else already has, and someone or even both sides get hurt.

So the lesson seems to be that when faced with jealousy, we must be cautious of how we react to it. Can something be done about it? Can the situation be changed, short of a capital crime or constitutional upheaval? God gave us a direction in the Ten Commandments, “Thou shalt not covet…” (Ex. 20:17). It amounts to not wanting what someone has. Most of the time, it is hard to do, but God would not tell us to do something completely impossible. It might require us to work hard to achieve it, but is it impossible? Never. Someone, please suggest this to some of the Royals.