A broken and contrite heart

A colleague posted on Facebook the following:"Lenten levity from the Shrove Tuesday program at St. Philip's":

An Irishman moves into a tiny hamlet in County Kerry, walks into the pub and promptly orders three beers. The bartender raises his eyebrows, but serves the man three beers, which he drinks quietly at a table, alone. An hour later, the man has finished the three beers and orders three more. This happens yet again.

The next evening the man again orders and drinks three beers at a time, several times. Soon the entire town is whispering about the Man Who Orders Three Beers.

Finally, a week later, the bartender broaches the subject on behalf of the town. "I don't mean to pry, but folks around here are wondering why you always order three beers?" 'Tis odd, isn't it?" the man replies, "You see, I have two brothers, and one went to America, and the other to Australia. We promised each other that we would always order an extra two beers whenever we drank as a way of keeping up the family bond."

The bartender and the whole town were pleased with this answer, and soon the Man Who Orders Three Beers became a local celebrity and source of pride to the hamlet, even to the extent that out-of-towners would come to watch him drink.

Then, one day, the man comes in and orders only two beers. The bartender pours them with a heavy heart. This continues for the rest of the evening - he orders only two beers. The word flies around town. Prayers are offered for the soul of one of the brothers.

The next day, the bartender says to the man, "Folks around here, me first of all, want to offer condolences to you for the death of your brother. You know-the two beers and all..." The man ponders this for a moment, then replies, "You'll be happy to hear that my two brothers are alive and well... It's just that I, myself, have decided to give up drinking for Lent."

In many ways I think this gets to the heart of many Lenten devotional practices; they are often misunderstood and misconstrued by those who observe but do not themselves part-take of this practice. And they inherently mean little to nothing to anyone else. I had a friend who used to give up peanut butter every year. He claimed a deep and abiding love for the stuff and to be without it for 40 long days was a true act of sacrifice to his mind. But, I wonder, does God care if we give up such things, chocolate, sweets, meat, peanut butter or even beer? I am not so sure God cares about such things, unless such acts of piety truly do what that for which they were intended, that is, to reconnect us to God. In Psalm 51, recited each year in the Ash Wednesday service, we recite: "Had you desired it, I would have offered sacrifice; but you take no delight in burnt-offerings. The sacrifice of God is a troubled spirit; a broken and contrite heart, O God, you will not despise." And then we give up... some little thing that is not even as much trouble as rustling up a burnt-offering - which is, by the way, not the equivalent of burning incense. A burnt offering means going out to the pasture and capturing our most prized goat or sheep, following the prescribed way of sacrificing it, burning its flesh and sharing the cooked meat with those present (being sure to save some for the priests, whose piety it was to depend on the generosity of others in order to eat). If going to that much trouble and enduring a substantial loss of our own food supply isn't preferred by God, then I'm thinking doing without chocolate for four weeks doesn't even show up on the radar. Just sayin' .....

I saw the movie, Pieces of April, earlier this week. (Highly recommendable, by the way.) April is a young women in her early 20's, estranged from her family, and just beginning to find herself. Her family is coming to her NY apt. for Thanksgiving. All is going well until her oven breaks. She goes door to door in her building searching for anyone who will help her with very little sympathy from her neighbors. At one door a middle-aged black women yells inside to her husband, "That little white girl from 2A is telling me she's got a problem. I can't wait to hear this. What kind of problem could your white, affluent self possibly have? This otta be good." And that's the problem with giving up some trivial thing like cake and candy, we mean well but in the scheme of things its like telling a beaten and tortured Libyan we're giving up our right to vote for Lent.

The purpose of Lent is not to throw stones of privilege and affluence into the face of God whose heart is burdened with the blood and tears of those who work for justice, weep for the dead and fear for their lives. Lent is a God-given time-out for acknowledging in some concrete way the One to whom we belong and to make some authentic effort toward repairing the very broken relationship between us and God. The forty days of Lent isn't intended to be a time made up of pious prayers and kind acts geared toward attaining salvation, rather it is a precious time to be spent living into the salvation already given. The dynamic abundance of divine love cannot be withheld; when fully known it tends to spill out with abandon onto every person we encounter. It takes on a life of its own, radiating from our being lighting a path for those whose way is darkness.

When dispensing the ashes to someone privately early this day the recipient said to me, "I love Easter. I know we hear every Sunday that God loves us, but Easter is the big 'I Love You.'" That being the case, then Lent is that time when we have an opportunity to say through acts of contrition, kindness, and self-sacrifice for the benefit of all who are our neighbor, I love you, O Lord, as you have loved me.

Teen Time

Our parish hall is currently the home of a small collection box for donations of children's clothing for a community service project of a local Girl Scout troop. With a sixteen year old daughter and a twelve year old son, it occurred to me today that I am nearing the end of the time of having on hand lots of kids clothing to pass along. Even without my contribution the box was nearly full the first Sunday it was there because there are lots of families at St. James for whom outgrown clothing is still a constant byproduct.

To not have piles of outgrown children's clothing seems an unexpected and strange milestone. I have had 16 years of always having items to pass on and suddenly my source is drying up. Yesterday I found a few Valentine cards on the kitchen table that fell out of my son's book bag. Until I saw them it had not occurred to me that this was the first year in a very long time that I didn't need to buy packages of Valentine cards for his classmates. Of course, the cards I found were from female classmates . . . some opportunities simply can't be passed up. Last fall there were no Halloween costumes to make or buy, no walking the cold, dark streets in late fall to trick or treat. And Santa's load was considerably lighter as well. Its part of the realization of a passing part of one's life for which a variety of mixed feelings seep through the mundaneness of things taken for granted. In two years I'll be sending my firstborn off to college. Next year the youngest begins high school.

I'm not altogether saddened by the passing of these things since I really love the current ages of my children. Quite honestly, I'm a better parent of teenagers. Outgrown friendships replace outgrown clothing. A broken heart replaces a broken toy. A lost friendship replaces a misplaced stuffy. The moaning of boredom replaces the whining of hungry and tired. My kids are discovering what it means to be rejected, betrayed, used, disliked - even hated, ignored and emotionally injured far sooner than I'd ever have imagined. There is no comparison of their youth with mine.

Some years ago a mother of teens that I respected very much told me: "You think your children need you when they're small, and they do. They depend on you for their every need. But when they really need you is when they're older." This woman felt so committed to this belief she quit her job to be home more often with her two teens (were it possible for all of us to be able to do this...). She stressed the best opportunities to connect with teens: the moment they walk in the door from school - while they're eating you out of house and home - as you're just sitting around gently inquiring and listening to what happened in their day. She said she was always amazed at what they'll tell you if you during this brief open window in teen time. Car rides were another favorite open opportunity for rich conversation. I've also added bedtime chats to that list. The hardest part is figuring out how to respond to the information I am given. Let's just say that these are not conversations I would have had with my mother, not even now. Like I said, comparisons to my teen years cannot be made, 'cause there are none.

So while I vaguely miss having hand-me-downs and filling out dozens of ittsy-bittsy Valentine's cards with various and odd spellings of the names of classmates, I mourn the day that my kids no longer come home from school and fill my life with opportunities to lovingly guide them into adulthood.

Homeletic Summary: Blessing as affirmation and promise

The weekly Gospel readings this February are from Matthew's "Sermon on the Mount" (which is not really a sermon at all but a rather lengthy rabbinic teaching typical of Jesus' time and place). This set of teachings, which begins with the well-known Beatitudes, come very early in Jesus' ministry against the backdrop of the beautiful, lush, Galilean countryside, and serves as the outline for the rest of the Matthew's Gospel.

To get the most out of this teaching, we must first put on our Jewish glasses in order to discern that which a 2000 year- removed, thoroughly Christianized reading simply will not yield. We must situate ourselves within the historical context of Matthew's world. We must first acknowledge that this is a Jewish text written by a very devout Jew, believed by many scholars to be a Pharisee himself, perhaps even a zealot, like Paul. This being the case we can then understand Matthew's opinions of "the Jews", as a self-criticism of the religious community which he himself is a part; not anti-semitism.

Additionally, if you are not doing the independent bible study which is currently looking at the book of Acts, then I recommend it as it greatly informs a reading of Matthew. (See St. James Facebook page, Discussions) For instance, the lesson on Acts, chapter 15 in which the Christ-followers have gathered in order to discern what it means to be a Gentile follower of the Messiah in a dominate Jewish context. Will the gentiles need to be circumcised? Do they need to follow the laws regarding food and the commandments? There is debate among scholars as to where Matthew falls in this debate - does he expect full or a comprised inclusion into this new Jewish sect which would come later to be known as Christianity. Either way, for Matthew, the followers of Christ, whether Jew or Gentile, are to live Torah - this is not debatable. And this was the conclusion reached by the Jerusalem leaders in Acts as well.

Jesus begins his teaching on the hillside to the crowds that have gathered with a series of blessing proclamations. For a visual on this just picture the faces of the people in Egypt's Liberation Square. These are people who have lived under oppression for decades and they are hoping and praying that God will send someone to them to set them free. The blessings of the Beatitudes are not to be confused with the sentiment: Don't Worry, Be Happy. Instead its an affirmation of the realities of the living conditions under Roman/Egyptian rule: poverty, persecution, lament, hopelessness. To speak of these things aloud is an act of liberation in itself. To speak, to tell the truth about the way things really are and to demand a better life is to seize freedom. This path to freedom is what they see in Jesus. They gather in large masses, ready and willing to stage a protest. They are simply waiting for a leader, a sign from God that the time had come.

But Jesus' message is not about marching into Jerusalem with sticks, spears and stones to take the city back. It is a message of patience and promise. The promise is situated in the pronouncement of blessing. To be blessed is to be given the sound assurance that God's reign will prevail. Jesus, as the agent of God, affirms their/our adversity and assures them/us that God is still working things out on their/our behalf but they/we must be patient and wait. To be blessed then is not simply about being in God's favor, it is much broader: it is the affirming reassurance of God's steadfast faithfulness to his people while they/we, wait in peaceful perseverance for God to act.

In this same way, at the end of Christian worship, when the priest or pastor gives God's blessing, it is not a noun, a thing, like a hymn, but a verb. Blessing indicates action, past, present and future all at the same time. Blessings are fluid, not statements of hope, but statements that capture God in action; a moving, living, involved and imaginative God - who both affirms the difficulty of human life while congruently assuring the coming of a different reality.

In Egypt the desire of the people is that their children will have a better life. They are aware that it will take years, perhaps decades for this to happen, but they see it as a viable possibility because there exists a foundational understanding of what it is to be blessed by God that transcends the religious boundaries of what divides Christians from Jews from Muslims. That is what the people, the Jews and the Gentiles, who came to hear Jesus wanted as well, a life of freedom and possibilities for their children. They came to hear him talk of the new reign of God in great numbers. They stayed with him for days, not even leaving to return to their jobs or to eat. Many in the crowd brought baskets of food and they shared it with their neighbors. When Jesus moved they moved. Though some miles from Jerusalem, such gatherings would have been noticed by the empire. Should there have been signs that the crowds were preparing to stage an uprising the Roman army would have put it down very quickly, as the historical records demonstrates clearly. But Jesus' message reaffirms Torah as the standard for living. The metaphors of salt and light have to do with being faithful to Torah; not the hypocritical life of Pharisees who espoused this life to the letter, but were not true to the spirit of it. Jesus' makes clear that not a single iota, the smallest character of the Hebrew alphabet, would fade away before the Law (Torah) was fulfilled. In other words, God's reign will come and it can stand against any threat; God was, is and will for ever be in charge.

Because this remains true,we can receive the full blessing of God and face anything that comes our way. Not because we are stronger, or better, or smarter, or even more willful, but because we are blessed; our hardships affirmed while being assured that the lives of our children and their children will be better than our own. And sometimes, on rare occasions, we are given a glimpse of what God's reign, the fulfillment of blessing, Torah, might look like. Amid the peaceful, turned violent, protests in Egypt, a group of Christians joined hands to create a human barricade to protect a group of Muslins at prayer from pro-regime protesters in Liberation Square. Herein lies the essence of Jesus' blessings from that Galilean hillside so many centuries ago. Herein lies a foretaste of that promised heavenly banquet. Blessed be the peacemakers, for they will be called the children of God.

New Car Blessing and Curse

We recently bought a new car which concluded on a surprisingly humorous note. The setting for this final moment was set up from the beginning of the process as we got to know our Toyota salesman, Dan. Dan was very nice young man, just out of school - having only worked at the dealership for about six months. As my husband and I sat at his desk, cordially working out our 'deal' (haha), the chit-chat somehow came around to Dan's need for a new pair of glasses. Now Dan had a really good thing going, I assured him; those little, oval rimmed glasses and his short brown hair gave him the perfect Rabbi look; very trustworthy (from a pastor's point of view). From that point on, Matt and I called him Rabbi Dan.

Well, the sale went through and we set a date to pick up our new chocolate brown, loaded Rav 4, which we love shamelessly, in as much as one can love a car, which is, I confess, just short of idolatry. When we got there Dan met us to warn us that all was good, except for one thing. He apologized profusely and said he thought it must have been a joke - what are the chances of 'this' happening? He walked us around to the back of the car and showed us the license plate, which ended in 6666. He was truly horrified that of all the numerical possibilities, this plate would end up on a pastor's car. I laughed and told him that it was really fitting for me actually and that those numbers were code for: Hell on wheels, which describes me perfectly and that I took no offense. I'm not sure which was more unsettling to him, the plate or the explanation.

At any rate, the car is great and has provided a good number of laughs to those with a keen eye to find the irony of this situation. My 16 year old daughter is now driving and spends a fair number of hours behind the wheel. She now shares the legacy of a 6666 driver - I sit in the passenger seat chanting the psalms, "my mouth is as dry as pot shards," "save me O God, save me."

We recently learned that Rabbi Dan had left his position at the dealership. And we're sorry we never had the chance to tell him how much we enjoyed have such a nice sales-guy. So where ever you are Rabbi Dan - thanks so much for the laughs - we wish you the best.

The lessons of waiting

Yesterday, my daughter, who is sixteen, expressed her frustration that it seemed that she seemed to be waiting for everything. Waiting to get the braces off her teeth, waiting to get her license, waiting to get her grade in geometry up, waiting for a particular boy she knows to grow up (ie., man up). I can remember being that age and feeling like everything seemed to take forever. But I also remember that in the back of my mind I thought this waiting phase was only temporary, part of being a teen and not a full-fledged adult yet. But I was wrong about that, all of life is about waiting for something. I explained: You wait to get accepted into college, wait to finally get out of your parents house, wait to graduate, wait to get into grad school, wait to start, wait to graduate, wait to get a job interview, wait to get hired, wait to meet the "right" guy, wait to get engaged, wait to get married, wait to get pregnant, wait for the birth, . . . . and the waiting goes on and on. Of course these are just some of the major milestones, at least the ones that reflected my own life experience - hers could be very different, but she got the picture.

This is not the end of the story I pointed out. After a while you realize two things. First, that the waiting part can be part of the fun of life as well as an exercise in practicing patience. There is something exciting about waiting - if what you're waiting for is something you really want, like those milestones. The patience part become useful when you're waiting for something you don't want - like certain diagnosis, or in other matters for which waiting is a form of torture. Learning to wait well is part of a life lived well. The second thing is that sometimes, when what you've been waiting for finally comes to fruition, you wonder, "So this is it?" Getting what you want can, on occasion, fall into the category of, "Be careful what you pray for." Just enjoy all of your life, the waiting and the milestones, the big things and all the little ones; enjoy it all and appreciate the richness of it all, I told her.

But there is one kind of waiting, that I did not tell her about; the kind of waiting people sometimes do in their later years. The kind of waiting I have felt or heard from some very old or very sick people I've known. One man I recall from many years ago, would tell me that at age 92 he had outlived all three of his children (which no one should ever have to do), his body was shot, and he was simply tired of living. He couldn't understand why he kept waking up every morning when each night he prayed he wouldn't. He was waiting to die. One morning though he didn't wake up. And I'm sure that in the end, what he found waiting for him, was worth the wait.

In the congregation I serve there are many of us who have parents who are now in their latter years; some of whom are experiencing this sense of profound waiting. I think of my father, who is so much like the one I mentioned above. He too, having outlived one of his kids, and is now in hospice, waits for death. There's no way to downplay this in order to make it more palatable. This is not part of the fun of living; nor should it be sentimentalized in any form as such. There is a reason there are no Hallmark cards for such occasions. But it is a time in which how well we learned to be patient can influence not only how we perceive this time-standing-still, but how it is experienced by those waiting with us.

So my hope for my children as they are starting out on their long journeys of waiting and experiencing, is that they learn to wait gracefully; that is, that they find ways for wisdom and peace to replace impatience. There's always time to get there, sometimes more or less than we would want, but ultimately we choose how to spend it, suffer it, or savor it.

The Languages of God-Speak

It has taken a lot of years for me to learn and appreciate the many languages of God-Speak as I was busy working out what I was going to do when I grew up. Early on I didn't spend a lot of time waiting for signs or asking for a divine opinion. I just made a plan for my future and moved ahead, even if there was a little hint of a feeling that perhaps I should rethink matters, or wait. Mysteriously one of three things occurred to whatever I had planned: it was blocked from moving ahead, or it went ahead with a regrettable outcome, or it went forward without a hitch and the outcome was far better than I could have ever imagined.

Communicating with God is ultimately more about validating our singular and unique God-experiences rather than trying to do something to invoke God to speak or act decisively, or worse, try to fit those experiences into whatever molds we have cast. God's job is to initiate the conversation. Our job is to learn the various languages of God-Speak.

Here are a few languages of God-Speak that I have learned. One is to read how God speaks into that which he has created, my physical being. Here I have found it easier to discern what God does not want me to do than what to do. Its that really awful feeling in my gut as I imagine a new path or idea that is totally wrong, no matter how good it seems in the light of day. Having gone against that feeling in my gut only later to have to work myself out of difficult situations has served educational, albeit unfortunate. Over time I've realized that this is not simple anxiety, but mysterious divine guidance away from what would surely be a mistake.

Other languages of God-Speak are visual images and visions. Some years ago, I went through a time when I saw colorful, non-nondescript images just before I went to sleep at night. In the dark, with my eyes closed, I suddenly began to see palates of illuminated colors. They came and went with no warning, unbidden. When they appeared they enveloped me; as if I had stepped into them. It was to know God's own happiness. These color palates were always moving; blending and changing like an abstract version of a kaleidescope. But these images of color and energy were short-lived and have not reappeared in over 15 years. I long for them still. And on two separate and unrelated occasions I experienced clear, unexpected visions that changed the course of my life in ways I could not have predicted nor the resulting joy of living in God's stead.

The final learned language of God-Speak is quite unoriginal. From time to time, over a span of a few years, I would awaken in the night after clearly hearing my name called. The voice was so loud and so real I just knew someone was standing in the room calling my name. I can't help but think of Samuel's call in the night when I think of it now. And in at least two instances that come to mind, I clearly heard the prophetic voice of God - both prophesies came to pass.

These are some of the languages of God-Speak; the mysterious, delicious, nearly intoxicating ways God speaks into our lives, unexpectedly in random moments, prosperous in possibility and promise.

Blunder Gracefully

You know you're tired when you take the dog medication with your own.  Note to self:  do not multi-task when you're tired, especially when rationing out medications. It wouldn't be so bad if this wasn't the second time in 6 months I've had to call poison control to advise me on an accidental ingestion.  The first time was during the summer when I took a double dose of Malaria prevention medication before returning to Brazil all because I mis-read the directions on the package.  Like then, the cheerful person at the poison control call desk assured me that my dog's anti-inflammatory medication would have no ill effect.

Speaking of accidential poisioning... My husband was up late last night paying some bills on-line when he came across our well water test results from last March.  Who knows what possessed him to read over them at 11pm, and not say, sometime closer to March 23, when we received them.  Well, the poor man came to bed completely shaken and guilt-ridden when he discovered that we apparently had a significantly high amount of arsenic in our well water. I too was horrified to learn we'd been all been ingesting poison for five years! But before turning in he'd spent a couple of hours researching water filters that remove arsenic.  Finding a suitable unit, he ordered it.  In the morning it occurred to me to take a look over the test results for myself.  I read the results as "not detectable."  But what do I know?  So I called the lab and had this result confirmed.  Sure enough, turns out we have really great drinking water - not a bit of arsenic to be found.  Perplexed I went through the paperwork once more and found a SAMPLE results form; arsenic was illustrated as very high.  Uuummm.... cancelled the filter order in the nick of time.  An arsenic  water filter was not on my Christmas wish list.  Another wild blunder at the Gibbon's house by two people clearly a bit distracted.

My mother always used to say, never try to sew or knit or work on any project actually at bedtime or you'll just end up doing it over or totally ruining it.  I got the sewing and knitting part (not by actually listening to her sage advice but the old fashioned way - by ignoring her advice.) Second note to self: add bill paying to the list of things that should not be left to the end of the day.  Funny how as the years pass, that list seems to grow and grow.  How many times have I thought how nifty it would be to get the bread machine filled and the timer set before bed so that the family could have fresh-baked bread in the morning only to discover that I'd forgotten to add the yeast.  A brown brick smelling deceptively like yummy hot, fresh bread is quite a disappointment.  Late-night laundry has been recently included on this list.  Waking up to a load of pinks in the morning that used to be whites the night before has its drawbacks.  (If only I had remembered that I put that red rug in the washer earlier in the day and planned to do a dark load next....)  Ah, the mind is a terrible thing to lose.

Laughing at oneself (and with one's spouse) is the only salve that will cool this irritant.  It would be easy to land an internal wincing blow with that critical eye under which no error goes undetected.  But there really is no end to the episodes of mischief I unwittingly unleash on a daily basis. It seems wiser to share my blunders and laugh a little, or sigh a lot, as the case may be. After all, it is impossible to age gracefully if there's no grace involved.