Believing is a verb

In the old days, people didn’t really choose their religion. When I was growing up you were born Roman Catholic or Presbyterian or Methodist or Lutheran. You only changed because of marriage or some sort of scandal. The church I grew up in was established about 10 years before I was born, and the founders of the church were, for the most part converts, They hadn’t been raised as Episcopalians. I know many of you weren’t raised as Episcopalians, but something changed and you found yourself, one day, an Episcopalian—or at least regularly attending an Episcopal church. You choose to be here. Something attracted you and here you are.

In Jesus’ culture people didn’t choose a religion, you were born a Jew or you were born a Gentile. There wasn’t any crossover. And there wasn’t any such thing as conversion. You were either in or you were out.

Within Judaism there wasn’t much crossover either. The Pharisees ruled the temple and all other Jews were subject to their decisions. That’s just the way it was. The Pharisees, as we all know, were threatened by Jesus . At first, they considered his message harmless, just another crazy man, making noise out on the fringes of civilized society. But the closer he got to Jerusalem, the more serious he was taken and the bigger threat he became.

So when Nicodemus arrives, under the dark of night to visit Jesus, it would have been easy to assume, if you were Jesus, that this was the beginning of the end. That Nicodemus was a threat, a force to be reckoned with, a danger from which he should run and hide. But instead, Jesus assumes that Nicodemus has come of his own free will, attracted by Jesus’ message. And there is nothing in our reading to suggest that this wasn’t the case. As a matter of fact, this encounter is the first of three encounters between the men, the final being when Nicodemus openly assists Joseph of Arimaethea in readying Jesus’ body for burial. From a stealth visit under the shroud of darkness, to an open defiance of Temple politics, Nicodemus evolves from curious questioner, to bereaved believer. But unaware (or unconcerned with what will happen in the future) Jesus, never one to shy away from a teachable moment, commences with Nicodemus’ lesson, telling him that all he knows, all he believes, means nothing until he is born again—born from above.

I don’t know about you, but the whole notion of being born again, startles me. Extremist Fundamentalist groups who employ reactionary, exclusionary and myopic theologies of hate use being born again as a litmus test for whether one is with them or against them. For them it’s a one-time event of conversion, which makes one Saved or Not. But that’s NOT what Jesus is telling Nicodemus. He doesn’t say, “Turn your back on all you know and follow me.” He says, “turn your heart over to God and let the spirit of God guide you into a new way of living.” For Jesus, being born from above isn’t a one-time event which stamps your “get into heaven free” card. To be born again, according to Jesus, is to work with our Creator God, opening ourselves up to the wind of spirit and truth, a wind that will carry us to places we never imagined.

We are born again when we choose to live as God’s instruments in the world, working with creation instead of against. We are born again when we treat one another and the earth we share, with respect and compassion and honor. We spiritually live when we work with God, we spiritually die when we resist the ebb and flow of God’s creation, when we deny the presence of grace in our lives.

To be born again is to accept that life changes all the time, that we are part of that great unfolding, which began at the creation of first light and will end on the last day.

For the evangelist John, the author of today’s gospel, faith isn’t a noun, it’s a verb . In his Gospel, one’s belief in Christ isn’t something we are born into once and for all, it is something we are born into through our own decisive action, day in and day out. Belief and Faith are not destinations, they are vehicles.

In John’s Gospel faith moves, belief grows and choices are made. In John’s view, the fundamental component of faith is living it. Just like the world wasn’t created in 7 days but is, instead, in a continual process of creating, our faith unfolds each and every day, growing in different ways, changing, enhancing, renewing.

Jesus tells Nicodemus that the only way we can become one with God is to act in tandem with God, to move with God; for God is never stagnant, God is never regulated, God cannot be codified, God cannot be catalogued.

Nicodemus, by approaching Jesus in the first place, is being born again. Because, as a Pharisee, Nicodemus had nothing to gain by visiting Jesus. He could have gone along with the others, assuming that any teaching which was outside the strict code of Pharisaic law, was wrong and that anyone professing such a school of thought should be silenced. But instead Nicodemus in approaching Jesus, in choosing to hear what Jesus had to say, to listening to his words decided for himself. Nicodemus’ faith wasn’t stagnant, his belief wasn’t static. Nicodemus’ faith was dynamic, his belief active.

The fundamental message of John’s Gospel is that God is Love and that God’s Love is poured out upon creation without discrimination and without reserve. That God will pour out this spirit of love, whether we think we deserve it or not and---more importantly---whether we think anyone else deserves it or not.

Our decision isn’t whether or not to believe that God is love. Our decision is whether or not we will accept that this love is moving through all of us, right now. And whether or not we have the energy, the stamina and the resolve to keep up with it. You see, God’s love moves like the wind, blowing where it chooses—our choice is whether we’ll allow ourselves to be taken up by it, for if we do, we’ll travel to places unreachable to those who refuse to move. By choosing to live faithfully and to let our belief unfold we are indeed born again, and again and again. +

Lent 1 Yr A: I can Do It Myself!

+“I can do it.” “Well, let me help you”---“NO, I CAN DO IT MYSELF!”

Child Development expert Erik Erikson posits eight stages of psychosocial development -- stages of identity formation that have been a cornerstone of child development theory since the mid 20th century. Generally, pre-schoolers are in the stage of initiative vs. guilt-- their core job being exploring and then trying to assert control and power over their environment. Success in this stage gives children a sense of purpose, failure results in a child exerting too much power, bringing on adult disapproval and leaving the child with a latent sense of guilt.

In other words, according to Erikson, children between the ages of 3 and 5 are testing the limits of their own power. And the job of the parental figures in the lives of these children is to patiently listen to the tantrum and then soothe the child saying, “I know you don’t like this now, but one day you’ll understand.”

Our reading from the third chapter of Genesis, commonly referred to as the story of the Fall, relates a similar experience between the first humans and God. From the beginning, we have rejected assistance, insisting that we can DO IT OURSELVES. As Dennis Olson, a professor of Hebrew Scripture at Princeton puts it: “[This reading] is less about explaining the origin of sin and more about describing the reality of what it is to be human and our mysterious human tendencies to rebel against God, to resist the gracious boundaries and limitations God places around us for our own good, and to desire to be like God.”

The story of the first humans falling away from God is the foundational story of how we, like pre-schoolers, want to do everything on our own, without assistance, without limits. When we fail to let our eternal parent, God set some limits on us, we get into trouble, We forget that we are the children and God is the wise and loving parent who says, “I know you don’t understand now, but one day you will.”

All three of our readings this morning deal with the down n’ dirty reality of what it is to be human.

Adam and Eve are wooed by the serpent’s tempting words, and as a result they unleash a desire for more power. In our reading from Romans, Paul describes Adam as the carrier and unleasher of the disease called sin and Jesus, who both Paul and Matthew refer to as the Second Adam, as the vaccine against it. The conflict between our desire to be all that God created us to be and our desire to be fully independent and self-reliant with no need for help, be it from our loving parent, or God is nicely summarized later in Romans when Paul states, “I do not understand my own actions .For I do not do what I want, but I do the very thing I hate.” (Romans 7:15). Turning away from God, engaging in things that carry us farther away from God, isn’t what we want to do, but it ends up being what we do.

In our gospel reading the devil tries his darndest to tempt Jesus into sinning, but our fully human and fully divine savior doesn’t succomb. Now it’s easy to brush this off as Jesus’ divinity, outweighing His humanity. That he saw the devil’s tricks and didn’t fall for them. But to assume this is, I think, insulting to Jesus the man. Jesus didn’t give into temptation not because he didn’t feel it---he felt it as powerfully as all of us would, but because he was strong enough, open enough, trusting enough, to not give in. Giving in would be to deny God’s love and Jesus --both in his humanity and his divinity--just wouldn’t do it.

Jesus was human in every way, except he did not sin. He didn’t sin, because he didn’t have too. Jesus had no need to exert dominance over his environment because he had spent time in conversation with God. He prayed. A lot. When we pray we engage God in conversation. When we don’t pray, we don’t give God time to talk to us. We don’t hear God. Jesus heard God. Jesus listened, He respected that God’s will was to be done. When we forget that God is really in charge, when we fail to listen, we open a hole deep within us, a hole of uncertainty and anxiety. A hole we try to fill through our desire for more and more---more stuff, more prestige, more power. In an effort to fill this hole of uncertainty and anxiety we behave in unhealthy and unproductive ways.

This hole deepens and widens each time we step away from God, each time we yell I CAN DO IT. Each time we forget that not only are we not alone….we weren’t created to be alone, go it alone or do it all by our self! God has, throughout all time, attempted to place loving, grace-filled limits on us—not to confine us, but to secure us to live a life of trust and discovery instead of a life of testing and consequences. But we break away, trying to fill this emptiness with noise, busy-ness, STUFF.

This is why Lenten Fasts are so important—you see the goal of the fast isn’t to make us miserable, the goal of the fast is to help us realize that there’s nothing wrong with being dependent. By removing all the distractions we come face to face with the uncertainty and anxiety of that hole. When we quiet ourselves we gaze into that hole and call out, praying, “God, I can’t do it, please don’t leave me alone, please help me.”

When we get to that place—that place of utter helplessness—we’ll discover something truly amazing: that hole, that empty space deep within us, the one we strive so hard to fill with stuff? The one we try to ignore through the distraction of doing, the distraction of needing, the distraction of wanting? That space is filled to the brim by a God who, long ago, learned that although we’ll test the limits and try to do it ourselves, we will, when we get quiet enough and hungry enough, run back into the arms of our loving and eternal parent—who knew that one day, we’d understand. +

Ash Wednesday Year A

My hope for all of us, on this first day of Lent, this first day of the journey which takes us to the garden of Maundy Thursday, the cross of Good Friday, the seeming finality of death on Holy Saturday and, finally, to the empty tomb of Easter morning, is that the journey be full of surprise, hope and joy. For Lent is not about feeling awful, it’s about feeling more alive than ever before. Lent is about being reborn, reborn into the wondrous Love of a God who has made us our unique selves, formed out of nothing but dust.

Yes I think----actually I know—that Lent can be full of surprise and joy.

It doesn’t have the same type of quietness as Advent nor does it have the unbridled giddiness of Christmas. It isn’t like Epiphany when we focus on the early ministry of Jesus. . It certainly isn’t the awe-inspiring events of Easter and Pentecost. Nor is it the steady passage of time we measure through the days following Pentecost through the summer and fall.

Lent is none of those things. Lent is a pause button in the relentless passage of time, nestled in the middle of our church year. A time when we reflect on the fact that we are wholly and totally dependent upon our relationship with God and one another. We are, without the divine intervention of God, dust. And we are, without the love and respect of each other [to paraphrase St. Paul] destitute; a noisy gong, a loud, yet insignificant, pile of dust. We were formed out of the dust and we will return to the dust.

And that’s fine…because the dusty part of us---our corporal being---is just an instrument, it isn’t the whole orchestra.

An orchestra is made up of many instruments each being played by a musician. The sound that the orchestra produces is dependent on the relationship between the instruments and the player of the instrument. If the player isn’t handling her or his instrument well, there’s a problem. Likewise, if each player and his or her instrument don’t relate well with the other instruments and players in the orchestra, there’s yet another problem ----the sound, in a word, will be awful. You could even say it was wretched. You could even say it was a sin to botch such a symphony.

Sin and wretchedness. Besides dust, we hear a lot about sin and wretchedness on Ash Wednesday. But sin and wretchedness isn’t a value judgment as much as a state of being. We can be wretched and we can be sinful. But being sinful doesn’t mean we’re being intentionally evil. It just means, as I have said many times, missing the mark. Not behaving as we really wish we would. Wretchedness is an inside job—we cannot be names wretched, we must define ourselves as such. To be wretched is to be deeply afflicted, dejected or distressed in body mind or spirit.

How many of us have been, are and will be again, afflicted, dejected or distressed in body mind or spirit? Oh let me count the ways!!

Lent is all about turning this wretchedness, this dis-ease, into wonder. It’s all about stripping ourselves clean of our afflictions, freeing ourselves of our distress and turning our attention from dejection to delight…clearing away the chaff of our lives by opening ourselves up to one another and to God. To right our relationships so we can accept the wondrous Love, which pours out of the empty tomb on Easter morning.

On this Ash Wednesday we need to remember that without God we are but dust. On this Ash Wednesday we need to remember that we can only experience the astonishment of that empty tomb by working on ourselves, clearing out space within us where the harmony of Love of God and love of neighbor unite in a symphony of joyful resurrection noise.

Last Epiphany, March 6 2011 Yr. A

Have you ever been transfigured-- been so effected by an experience that your actual appearance—how you look, and your countenance, how you carry yourself, changes? It can be negative—when something horrible happens and the wind is taken out of your sails, or positive, you’re in love, you’ve gotten your life back on track after some rough spots. Something about how you appear, how you present yourself to world changes.

But sometimes the causes of these transformations, these transfigurations aren’t as easily explained. They’re more mysterious, less concrete.

I had such an experience when my dad died. It’s too long to get into now, but I speak of it often. It was a tremendous moment when I was, albeit briefly, fully aware of being in the presence of the Divine, of being present for a very holy and sacred moment. Although it didn’t—it doesn’t—ease the sting of my father’s death, it did transform and transfigure me. It started a decade plus long return to my long-held heart’s desire to go to seminary, to pursue the priesthood. When it happened, I had no idea where it would lead; but I now realize how much it fuels me, how much it enhances my comprehension of who I am and what I am to do.

These experiences of the Divine, these experiences of the sacred are described, in Celtic literature, as Thin Places.

Thin Places are those times, those moments, those experiences when one feels especially close to the Divine. When one feels, simultaneously, incredibly small, miniscule in the whole of the universe and yet larger than life, one with God, one with all of Creation. Maybe it occurs when witnessing a gorgeous sunset, or maybe after the birth of a child. Or in the midst of an ordinary day—driving the car, washing the dishes, balancing the checkbook. Thin Places are available to us all, at any time and in any place. Thin places occur when we let the guard of our humanity down long enough for the fullness of the divine to breakthrough.

I think that the Transfiguration was a Thin Place experience for James John and Peter. I don’t know what exactly happened on the top of Mt Tabor that day but I do know that something happened.

In other words---who knows what the actual facts are, but I believe that what happened was transfigurative for Jesus, transformative for his friends and sacred for us all.

It helps to set the stage a bit: After weeks of hearing from the Sermon on the Mount, today we skip ahead in Matthew’s Gospel, to the 17th Chapter….Peter identifies Jesus as the Messiah and Jesus has just made the first of his predictions regarding his death and resurrection. He’s trying to get the apostles ready, to stop focusing on a long-term ministry with Jesus at the lead and to prepare for carrying his message out into the world. Peter may identify Jesus as the Messiah but Jesus knows Peter doesn’t have a clue what this entails. They need to end their Galilean travels and turn toward Jerusalem, where Jesus knows trouble awaits. He needs his friends with him for this journey. Jesus needs them to get it. He needs them to prepare. He needs them ready for the increased scrutiny, for the arrest, for the torture, for the death, for Jesus being gone. They need to feel all of this, for only in feeling it---really feeling it---will they be open to the ultimate Thin Place: the glory wonder and awe of the Resurrection.

And they aren’t getting it. Maybe they don’t want to, maybe they simply can’t. And so they go up the mountain. Jesus needed to get away and in his wisdom Jesus knew they—James John and Peter needed to get away too. Because when we don’t want to hear something, when we just can’t get something it’s usually because we just don’t, or won’t shut all the extraneous noise off…we don’t get quiet enough to let God break through. By going up the mountain, they get away, they retreat, they quiet all the noise of the world.

It’s only then, when they shut off all the other noise, that this thing happens. Jesus’ appearance, his countenance changes. “The indwelling Deity darted out its rays through the veil of Jesus’ flesh; His face shone with Divine majesty, like the sun in its strength” (citation lost). At that transfiguring moment, God’s glory could no longer be contained within Jesus…it burst forth.

Sometimes, God’s glory just can’t be contained. Sometimes it just over flows, overwhelming our senses.

That’s what happens in Thin places: we’re overwhelmed by God’s Glory. In Thin Places, God’s Glory can no longer be contained.

Gabriel’s annunciation to Mary was a Thin Place, as was Christmas morning, Jesus’ baptism, and the Presentation of Jesus in the temple. Each of these moments were times when, in the course of a routine action---Mary going about the household duties of a young Galilean woman, the birth of a baby to a poor traveling couple, the baptism of a follower of John, the fulfilling of Jewish purity laws by a devout Jewish couple, and the quick trip up a mountain for some retreat time with friends----in the course of these ordinary events, God’s radiance bursts through, our efforts to shut the Divine out of our lives, the noise of daily life which tries to outshine the radiance of God, fails, and we are overwhelmed with what is pure and holy and sacred.

Our humanity can’t manage a steady diet of this radiance. We spend a lot of time and energy layering “life” upon the in-breaking of the Holy—the radiance of God. Therefore, moments of the Holy, Thin Place experiences are usually fleeting—not because God retreats, but, being overwhelmed, we reach back into the familiar—the noise of daily life--to ground ourselves in the routine, the ordinary, the familiar and unchallenging ebb and flow of our days.

This is why we read the story of the Transfiguration right before Lent. We’re embarking on a stripping down, a quieting, a simplifying of our daily life. We’re preparing ourselves for an encounter with the Divine and this story, this account of a Thin Place experience, plants something deep within us. Something transformative, that, as we settle into the barrenness of Lent, marinates, stirs, grows. So that, like James, John and Peter, when we walk that walk to Calvary, when we weep with Mary at the foot of the cross, when we linger in the seeming finality of death on Holy Saturday we are strengthened. Strengthened to feel that loss, to realize what life is like without the Divine Radiance of God through Christ. So that, just when the rigors of Lent, the nakedness of the desert, and the restriction of discipline becomes too much, when our senses long for stimulation, we stumble upon the empty tomb….overwhelmed –not by the sights and sounds of our daily world, but by the radiance of the Divine which, this time, will burst forth from our own skin, crying out Alleluia, God is alive, Alleluia, we are alive.

Amen.

Let's Be Enemies Epiphany 7 Yr A

From the Book: Let’s Be Enemies (by Janice May Udry with illustrations by Maurice Sendak, Harper and Row NY, NY, 1961)

James used to be my friend. But today he is my enemy. James always wants to be the boss. James carries the flag. James takes all the crayons. He grabs the best digging spoon. And he throws sand. So now James is my enemy. Now he hasn’t got me for a friend. When James was my friend I invited him to my birthday party. I always shared my pretzels and my umbrella with him. I showed him where the horny toad lived. We were such good friends we had the chicken pox together. But I wouldn’t have the chicken pox with James now. He is my enemy. James always wants to be the boss. I’m going over to poke James. I think I’ll put his crayons in the soup. I’m going to tell them not to let James go to school. Because he always wants to be the boss. James will think he’s the boss of the whole school. I’m going right over to James’ house and tell him. I’m going to tell him that from now on he is my enemy and he’ll have no one to play with. “Hullo James.”

Hullo. John.”

“I came to tell you that I’m not your friend anymore.”

“Well then, I’m not your friend either.”

We’re enemies.”

“All right.”

“GOOD-BYE!”

“GOOD-BYE!”

“Hey James?”

What?”

“Let’s roller skate.”

“OK. Have a pretzel, John.”

“Thank you, James.”

You can’t be enemies without having been friends.

Oh I know we use the term enemy to refer to more removed general things---terrorists are our enemies, the Taliban.

Back during the Cold War, the Russians, the communists.

Earlier during WW2 it was the Nazi’s, before that the Kaiser and his policies, before that the English and their tax.

Even earlier, during the time of Christ, the Jews had a lot of enemies: the Romans, the Greeks…..Besides a few iconic evil people—Hitler, Osama Bin Laden---

we use the term enemy to describe whole peoples, whole nations, whole movements.

But the enemy Jesus refers to in today’s Gospel is much more personal. The enemy in today’s Gospel is more in line with the actual meaning of the word. Enemy is derived from the Latin inimicus, which can be loosely translated as “In, meaning Not” and “amicus” meaning friend. An enemy is someone who is, decidedly NOT A FRIEND.

In the story I just read, Let’s Be Enemies, John, the narrator, is really ticked off at his former friend and current “notafriend,” his enemy, James.

He spends most of the story talking about what he isn’t going to let James do (retaliation)-and what he, John is going to do to James (revenge).

James engages in what Jesus is telling us to avoid---James is engaging in the old Levitic Law of the Hebrew Scripture which invites retaliation and revenge as an appropriate response to being betrayed, violated, cheated or in some way disgraced.

In the days of Jesus, this code of conduct as outlined in the Book of Leviticus and interpreted by the Temple authorities, was the law of the land.

In The Message translation of today’s Gospel, the last verse, “Be perfect as your heavenly father is perfect” is translated to read: "In a word, what I'm saying is, Grow up. You're kingdom subjects. Now live like it. Live out your God-created identity. Live generously and graciously toward others, the way God lives toward you."

James is, appropriately, acting like a child. Jesus, in today’s Gospel is telling us, “stop acting like children, grow up, move through the old ways and into a new way. The old way of revenge and retaliation is no longer needed, for we’ve been given, as members of God’s kingdom, an abundance of extravagant, unending, never ceasing, always available and never disappointing LOVE. The Love of God. That love and peace which surpasses all understanding but is given to us, without question, without reserve, by God, through Christ.

Today’s Gospel isn’t telling us that we should be some type of doormat for abusive behavior. Nor is our Gospel telling us that we must passively accept the misfortunes of life. Today’s Gospel is telling us that when we are treated badly, when our feelings are hurt, when our trust is broken and when our faith in another is betrayed, we needn’t “beat them at their own game” or give them a taste of their own medicine.” For such behavior is the behavior of the playground, of children, of immaturity. The behavior of the grown up, the behavior of one mature in the faith of God through Christ, is to infuse the experience of betrayal, of lies, of hurt feelings, with Love. To realize that the one who is behaving badly is the one who is hurting, the one who is lost, the one who is stuck on the playground of retaliation and revenge, on the playground of temper tantruming children needs the understanding of an understanding parent. We are to treat them, like God treats us, with love and patience, in generosity and graciousness. [Now hear me loud and clear, I am not saying that we are to stay in dangerous situations. People in situations of physical, sexual, economic or emotional abuse need to first treat themselves with love, and get into a safe place surrounded by safe people. God does not want us to be martyrs, God wants us safe, and once safe we can begin to work on understanding that the abuser hates him or herself and is taking this hatred out on others.]

You see when we feel hurt, when we feel betrayed, when we feel lied to, and when we feel lousy we want to, just like a child, lash out.

And that’s ok, it’s ok to have temper tantrums, to have melt downs…..as long as no one gets hurt, as long as we have these melt downs, these temper tantrums, in the arms of our eternal parent. Because, and here’s the truth, we are children—children of God. And, as children of God. as grown up mature children of God, —we have a responsibility, a responsibility to rise above pettiness, to rise above reacting out of anger, to rise above retaliation. We are Children of a God who will give us all the love we need, who will soothe our wounds with a love which is beyond all understanding. And, just like the child who finds solace being wrapped in the arms of a loving trusted parental figure, we too find solace in the loving arms of our God, who will—who does-- make everything better. So better that, once the sting of our anger , our hurt and our betrayal is washed away by that Love, we can, like John, turn to the James’ in our life and say, “want to go roller skating, want a pretzel” Because through the grace of our loving God, I am able to forgive you, to forgive me and to move on.

So Let’s be Enemies, Let’s Be Friends, remembering that we are the children of a God who gives us the grace to turn the other cheek, to love the unlovable and to leave the playground of revenge and retaliation behind.

Dotting the i's and crossing the t's of freedom. Epiphany 6

Back home in Chicago, when I worked in community mental health, I’d, fairly regularly, get subpoenaed to testify in cases of child neglect and abuse. The routine went as follows: I’d be served and immediately take the subpoena to the DA’s office, who’d then direct me as to the next steps. But, regardless of how routine, I’d be nervous, wondering if my documentation was up to snuff. Fearful that a case would get thrown out because I failed to adhere to the letter of the law. The DA assured me, each and every time, that it was my job to show that I’d always acted in my best professional judgment and that, as long as I could show an adherence to best practice, that even if I hadn’t followed the letter of the law, I had followed the spirit of the law and I would be ok. According the DA this was a valid defense. It must have been, because even though I am sure there were times I hadn’t followed the letter of the law, none of my cases were dismissed because of my mistake. Now, I wasn’t out to break the law, but in all the chaos of working with drug addicted families, sometimes i’s didn’t get dotted and t’s didn’t get crossed. But, and here is where the spirit of the law comes into play, I was using my best judgment to treat these families with the respect my professional standards and the law, demanded.

Laws are good things. Laws help us harmoniously co-exist.

But blind adherence to the letter of the law, failing to consider the spirit around the law, often leads to problems. This is why the wording of laws, and the actions of our judges, who interpret them, are so vitally important.

The Ten Commandments are a set of laws, guidelines for the Judea-Christian faith traditions. Maybe some of you needed to memorize them as part of Sunday School. I had to memorize them before I was confirmed. Perhaps some of you actively use them as a guideline for behavior to this day; still others of you may only know them as part of the iconic Cecil B. deMille, Charlton Heston movie of 1956.

Regardless, when we read them this morning, I bet it was the first time, in a long time, many of you had read them aloud.

These Commandments are directives, laws, designed to give the recently freed Israelites a foundation from which their national life would be based. The ten commandments provided them with a template for a free and civilized society--how to live together without letting the lesser part of their human nature take over. To this day, what we consider acceptable human behavior is outlined in the Ten Commandments. We’re quick to point out when others have violated some of the more famous of the ten using their violation as a litmus test for acceptable conduct---murder? Unacceptable. Stealing? Wrong. Adultery? Shame on you….

It can be easy to follow most of the commandments. After all, how many of us have even come close to murdering someone?

But, in today’s Gospel, Jesus interprets the commandments, expanding them, making them more universal; and by doing this he toughens them. He moves beyond the letter and into the spirit of the laws. We may not have murdered, we may not have stolen we may not have overtly dishonored another. But how many of us have wished ill toward someone? How many of us, when difficulties beset our neighbor, thank God it is them and not us? Or how many of us have looked upon the good fortune of another and thought, why them and not me?

Amy Oden, a Lutheran theologian and professor states: “It’s one thing to behave rightly. It’s another thing entirely for one’s heart to be oriented toward love. Just as it’s easier to make a sacrifice at the temple than it is to do justice (Micah 6) so it is easier to keep the commandment against murder than it is to avoid anger in one’s heart.”

We may not have overtly dishonored our parents, but how do we treat the elderly in this country? Do we check in on that older frail couple down the street? We haven’t robbed banks, but what role did we play in the financial crisis?Are we montioring the bail outs? Are we holding those who did the bailing and those who got bailed out accountable? We don’t murder people, but what about all the killing done in our name---both through overt and covert government sanctioned operations?

We could go around, patting ourselves on the back for following the letter of the law brought down from Sinai, but if we only do that then we’re missing the spirit of the law, the spirit of faith, the spirit of community. The letter of civil law keeps us from anarchy, but the spirit of civil law will leads us toward democracy. Following only the letter of our faith law puts us in danger of reducing the work of God to a ritual formula, a rote memorization of statutes and directives, where we live in accordance with a law without ever giving our hearts and lives over to God and to the welfare of our neighbor . That’s a life of crossed t’s dotted i’s full of doing the right things not because we know that doing right is good, but because doing right is commanded. This creates a passionless life, a life of order growing out of fear, instead of a life of compassion growing out of love. This isn’t the life Jesus wants us to live, nor is it the life God created us for and longs for us to live---a life of joy and happiness where we love our neighbor and in turn, our neighbor does the same for us.

Much like the ten commandments gave the Israelites guidance for living in their newly formed, free society, Jesus’ expansion of the ten commandments teaches us to internalize the law, adhering not only to its letter, but to its spirit. When we do this, we’re living a life which, not only obeys laws, but takes the welfare and concerns of others close to our hearts, not because we’ve been told we must, but because we’ve learned we want to.

The people of Egypt today are no different than the Israelites. They , like Moses’ people, have been freed from the tyranny of a pharaoh, they, like the Israelites, are scared, and may, like the Israelites, have times when they question whether freedom is an improvement. Our commandments, our faith, our spirit of love as learned through Jesus Christ teaches us that living together in a community where the welfare of our neighbor is our concern, commands us, implores us, that we hold the people of Egypt in our hearts as we learn from their bravery and perseverance and support them in their transition into the ways of freedom and peace.

May God bless them, guide them and keep them free. +

Salting God's Soup: Epiphany 5 Yr A

+Thursday afternoon my niece, a senior in college, texted me to ask, “Is God perfect?” Apparently they’d been discussing this in class that day and she was still struggling with the question. I quickly responded that the notion of perfection was a human construct and that I don’t think we can apply such a value judgment to our Creator, because what God is, ultimately, is all that is Good in the world. God is Good. Good cannot be without God. God is Good and Good is God.

I think she was satisfied with that answer. I answered quickly because lately I’ve been thinking a lot about God. Actually I’ve spent a lot of time defending God. God’s motives, God’s character.

You see, when something the world considers bad happens to you, people are quick to bring God’s character, God’s motives, into play.

Cancer, the disease, is a bad thing. The killings in Tucson, the destruction of hurricanes, and the horror of oppression are all bad things. But bad things are not God. The world is not perfect. God created the world, but God doesn’t rule the world. That’s our job. And we aren’t perfect. But we all can be good. Because we are all creatures of God and God made us out of goodness.

God didn’t give me cancer, but the good I have found in cancer? That’s all God. All the good things which have happened as a result of this cancer---the world-class treatment I receive at Roswell, the love and support of family and friends, the strength offered through your prayers---all of that is Good. And all of that is God. Each and every person who’s a part of my treatment team, each person who prays for me, serves as an instrument of God’s grace—God’s goodness---in this world. And that goodness, that grace, fills me with an exuberant gratitude.

An exuberance which makes me want to, as God told the prophet Isaiah in today’s first reading: Shout out do not hold back! Lift up your voice like trumpet!

Each week when I stand in front of you—I want to shout out, “God is so Good. God is so wonderful, We’re so incredibly blessed.”

But you know what? Such excitement, such exuberance, can get boring after awhile. How many different ways can I say:

“God loves us more than our human brains can comprehend? And in response to this Love we must go out and do as Jesus has commanded us to do—we must go out into the world with that Love—that incredible Goodness which is God---and spread it around!”

Even Good News can lose it’s punch after awhile.

But then I read Eugene Peterson’s modern translation of our Gospel reading for today and in it was a wonderful metaphor for this message. A terrific new way of looking at just how our response to God can help spread the Good News, a new way of describing our role as the instruments of God’s Goodness on this earth.

The opening verse of the Gospel, in the translation we have in front of us this morning, reads: “You are the salt of the earth; but if salt has lost its taste, how can its saltiness be restored?” But in Peterson’s translation the same verse reads: “Let me tell you why you are here. You’re here to be the salt-seasoning that brings out the God-flavors of this earth.” (The Message Matthew 5: 13).

We are to be seasoning---we are to, like a pinch of salt, bring out the fullness of God’s flavor in the world. We are to make God’s Goodness palatable, noticeable, enjoyable—tasty!

Our actions, like the chemical reaction of salt in food, brings out the God flavor of this world.

Have you ever eaten something without enough salt? Take a pot of soup- even though if it’s loaded with vegetables and a rich beef stock, without seasoning, like salt, it will taste really bland. But add some salt and let it simmer awhile longer.

What a difference. The salt really brings out the blend of flavors that had been trapped within each of the ingredients. The salt sets the trapped flavors free.

In today’s Gospel, in this portion of the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus says that, as God’s instruments on earth, we are to set the full flavor of God free.

We are here to bring out the God flavor of the world.

The people at Roswell, all the people who are praying for me, helping me along the way, each one of them—of you---is salting God in my life.

Through our good deeds, through our behavior as decent people in the world, we bring the fullness of God out. We shine a light on God’s grace when we do God’s work in the world. By doing good things, we let the world know that God—perfect or not---is always, always good.

That’s the unifying message throughout today’s readings .

God is in, and of, all the good in this world, but the only way people will notice it, the only way people can taste and see that the Lord is, indeed Good, is for us to season the world with that Goodness. To free the flavor of God so that the entire world can be seasoned with the Love of God we all cherish so much.

I think we take salt for granted---when it’s used well, we don’t notice it---but when there’s not enough (or, for that much too much) we notice!

So my challenge for all of us, is to notice the saltiness of others and to be salty ourselves. To take Jesus’ challenge to be --and to notice others—being God’s instruments in the world. Being the Good which is God. Being the salt that lets the full flavor of God out in the world.

Help others, notice when others help…be aware of how a mundane day can suddenly be full of life---can become so full of God’s flavor, through a simple act of kindness, of common human decency. Notice all the little things that we do, or have done to us, or see people do for others which lets them, lets us, lets everyone fully know the love of God, in all it’s robust, intricate and wonderful flavor.

If we want to keep God trapped in the blandness of human language, we can proclaim God as perfect. But if we want to take the challenge Jesus lays out for us [the challenge Eugene Peterson translates for us] then we can free God from the limits of our human constructs by seasoning God’s goodness through our own acts of kindness toward others. For when we do that, we let the full flavor of God’s grace free to season the world. +