Sermon: Faith for what?

 I have not written in some time, having "reported" on daily life with Tal and me via photographs on flickr rather than writing regular blog entries.  With a growing urge to begin writing again and having worked hard on a sermon for yesterday, I'm signed back in at least for today.  Making no promises ...

The folks of the Episcopal Church of the Resurrection sent me home with the flowers, which had added some wecome fall color to our not-often used dining room.

 

Sermon for 6 October 2013

Episcopal Church of the Resurrection, Greenwood SC (@ Wesley Commons)
Twentieth Sunday after Pentecost, Proper 22, Luke 17:5-10

            Six weeks ago today I turned 60.  The actual event wasn’t near the trauma I had anticipated as the day made its relentless approach all summer.  In fact, it turned out to be something of a non-event.  Lots of well wishes; but no official celebration.  No cake, no ice cream; no champagne, no toasts.  I turned 60.  And, the day it happened was a lovely enough late summer’s Sunday.

The days since then, however, have made up for it.  While the significance of the milestone didn’t reveal itself on “the day,” its magnitude wormed its way in in short order.  Here’s the gist of it:  During Lent several years ago I heard a talk by Tony Campolo, a popular Christian speaker.[1]  He relayed a pithy anecdote.  Telling someone he was middle aged while within earshot of his wife, resulted in this instant and irreverent response from her:  “Middle-aged!?  Dear, how many 120-year-olds do you know?”  Thank you, Mrs Campolo.

I know in my head all the stuff about life on this earth being a fleeting thing.  I thought I’d faced my own mortality long ago.  So, I hate to admit to a visceral, deep down psychic fear and how completely it took me by surprise.  The clock is ticking; I have lived more days than I will live.  And, I still don’t know what I want to be when I grow up.  All of us wonder if we’ll leave a lasting mark on this world, if our lives will have mattered after they’re over and done.  I’ve been forced by a birthday to face – like I’ve never faced before – one of those elemental parts of being human: the question of meaning.  I wish there were an easy answer.  That’s another elemental part of being human, isn’t it?  The simple solution.  “Make it clear – and make it now.”

Enter the disciples in today’s gospel reading.[2]  “Increase our faith.”  An urgent plea?  A defiant demand?  A little of both, probably.  But, make it clear and make it now.  We don’t know the precise context of this passage from Luke.  It’s part of a collection of sayings, coming right after Jesus has criticized the Pharisees for their choices, for their behavior, for their commitments:  failing to welcome children, denying compassion to the poor, striving for recognition and position.  Jesus’ message to the disciples is something along the lines of “Don’t be like the Pharisees.”  That Jesus has to warn the disciples in this way suggests that they are in need of further formation.  They weren’t getting it.  That Jesus has to tell them not to be like the Pharisees lets us know that they were – like the Pharisees.

The disciples aren’t malicious, of course, in their behavior or in the request we’ve heard this morning.  I think they’re just having trouble understanding what it is Jesus is talking about.  Remember, they’d never encountered anyone like him before.  They can’t seem to get a handle on what Jesus expects of them.  Their situation is much like my angst over the meaning of life – who and how I’m supposed to be.

And, they’re probably thinking matter of factly:  more faith is better than less faith, right?  While they’re genuine in wanting to follow Jesus more faithfully, they’re human, they’re confused, they’re frustrated.  “Enough of this formation stuff.  Just increase our faith and be done with it.”  I have to wonder, though, just what they thought they would get with more faith.  Where did they think they would they be with more faith?

A couple weeks ago I stumbled on an article entitled “Confessions of a Late Bloomer” – an entry in one of those online daily posts intended to inspire.[3]  Confessions of a Late Bloomer.  I perked right up at the title.  Originally published in Psychology Today, it was fine, an interesting piece of writing.  It didn’t give me any pat answers (as much as I wanted them), but it did offer insight. 

·         The author, Scott Kaufman, cited the usual late bloomers, the ones we all know about:  Grandma Moses, Charles Darwin, Sir Alex Fleming.

·         He questioned our society’s time course for success, those defining benchmarks that started for lots of us with an IQ test.

·         Most helpful to me was his suggestion that the apparent over-night success is rare.  Unseen sacrifice and dedicated hard work generally lead to that sort of achievement – which can “happen” in any decade.  Our lives are cumulative, our past experiences informing all that follows.  We cannot know how and when our lives will come together (or if they will).  Living life is the point.  Worrying about the legacy can be a waste.

Mr Kaufman did, however, surprise me.  With a three-word question, he set me on a new course.  “Especially in light of our extended life span, it's worth confronting the very notion of late blooming to ask: late for what?”  It’s worth confronting the very notion of late blooming to ask: late for what?  Late bloomer that I am, what is it I’m late for at 60?  Who defines late? 

Jesus could have asked his disciples, “Faith for what?” couldn’t he?  Who defines faith? 

“Faith.  For what?”  Not to be like the Pharisees?  To have the courage to follow Jesus?  To get, to grasp what he’s talking about?  To be no longer working class, but part of the ruling elite?  To find approval in Jesus’ eyes?  For what were they asking?  “Increase our faith.”  Did they know?

Jesus sees that.  He knows the disciples are not at all certain what they’re asking him to grant them – with their plea, with their demand.  So, he talks about mustard seeds again.  “If you have the faith of a mustard seed, you could say to this mulberry tree, ‘Be uprooted and planted in the sea,’ and it would obey you.”  (I wonder how much that helped.)  From our vantage point perhaps it’s more clear.  It doesn’t take more faith; it takes a better understanding of the seed of faith we already have.  Just the littlest of  bits …  In response to the disciples’ request to increase their faith, Jesus tells them they already have enough.  They’re not using what they do have to its fullest potential.  They are confusing having faith with being faithful.

There are two guys in a rowboat who somehow run into a muddy bank along a stream.  Instead of reversing course, trying to back up and ease their way out of their predicament, the one in the back keeps encouraging his partner in the front by yelling, “Row harder.”  And, of course they get deeper and deeper into the muck. [4]  At some point all of us, the disciples included, get headed in the wrong direction with our faith, in our lives, but continue plunging ahead.  “Row harder!”  “Increase our faith!” 

Jesus is suggesting, I think, that rowing harder, that clamoring for more faith – or for meaning, for that matter – is the wrong approach.   It keeps us in constant motion, ever looking for more – searching, grasping, worrying, fretting.  It’s one thing to demand more faith, and another thing to give ourselves over to being faithful.  Faith isn’t something we don’t have one day and do have the next.  It’s not a commodity, not a possession.  Faith is something we demonstrate – encounter by encounter, conversation by conservation, decision by decision, even mistake by mistake.  Living a life of faith is a cumulative proposition.  And no matter how late you start, it takes a lifetime. 

---

[1][1] “Wrestling with Angels” (video series), Zondervan, 1993.

[2] Thoughts about the disciples drawn from a sermon by The Rev’d Timothy E Schenck, 3 Oct 04.  Seen online in “Sermons that Work.”

[3] “Daily Good” for 24 Sep 13.

[4] Story from Schenick.

What we leave behind

New Orleans beckons, our date to board the Grande Caribe Wednesday, May 1^st.  Our departure has been calculated to give us an extra night on the road for a visit with friends near Mobile, a visit we’ve been talking about and promising – them and ourselves – for some eight years.

The water to the washing machine is off; the thermostats, switched to cool, are set at 82 degrees; the irrigation should run each Saturday we’re away; the refrigerator’s nearly empty; Tal took Belle to the vet yesterday (sweet girl who did NOT want to be left).  Should we not get home, we won’t be embarrassed.

How ludicrous is that?!?  An amazing thought ... How could we be – embarrassed, if we don’t get home?  If we don’t ever return, would we even know what people (our family and friends, no less) would be saying about us?  And, who in the world cares?  “Tisk, tisk.  Cluck, cluck.  How could they?”  Should the end come to pass, I won’t be there to hear it.

I do obsess over leaving the place in “dying order.”  While it might not be true for anyone else, it’s a learned behavior for me.  And, mind you, it’s not without its benefits.  Beyond the not dying part, there is a wonderful pleasure that comes out of the compulsion: a clean, orderly reentry.  That’s a pretty decent tradeoff for all the work, I’d say.

And, besides the not dying thing, I also struggle with the potential problem of not packing some vital item.  Admittedly, almost anything we might forget can be procured along the way or done without.  But, the angst of having to scramble at the last minute for hair goop or a prescription is such a confrontational pain.  It represents that most ultimate humiliation: having to admit a mistake.  Oh, perish that particular thought.

So far, so good.  We left home smoothly and I’ve not had any of those semi-sickening moments, like fearing the iron being left on or having forgotten a boarding pass.  The wonderful truth?  I enjoyed preparing our home for a long absence.  Everything I cleaned or put away was something I took a moment to appreciate; everything I placed in the suitcase was something I looked forward to using.

I am concluding that it’s ALL about attitude.  I can live in fear of being judged, of what someone might think.  Or I can revel in the life I am living.  I can dread the moment of uncertainty or I can embrace every moment as it comes.  A pretty simple either-or.

If I leave anything behind on this trip, I so want it to be the weight of that anticipatory judgment.  It’s simply not necessary to life; it's a terrible waste of time.  It limits who I am and everything I can become.  Even at the age of nearly 60 it stunts who and what I can become.  I am envisioning it – that big, mean-spirited not good enough view -- left behind on this trip and maybe, just maybe,  on the remainder of the journey that my life is. 

Joy versus judgment.  I’ll end up doing precisely the same thing no matter which attitude I choose.  I'll aways try to leave the house clean and not to forget anything not matter what.   But, one way will be so much more pleasant than the other.  

Leave it behind, girl.  Let it go.
 

Although we travelled from home to Valley AL in fair weather, the skies did darken rather dramatically once we were settled in for the late afternoon and evening.  I stood in the parking lot and waited for the entire disk to reveal itself.

Sorrowing, sighing

One of the advantages of making photographs over a long period of time and the discipline of maintaining a simple catalog is having -- and being able to find -- images to draw on to illustrate stories, concepts, thoughts.  This one, a bas-relief in old Montreal commemorating the first school in that city, isn't perfect for today, but nothing could be.

Likewise, one of the advantages of remembering phrases of songs and bits of poetry is that one doesn't have to come up with original words to express the inexpressable.  So, I offer two words put together by John Henry Hopkins (1820-1891) which he likely drew from biblical the prophet Isaiah or Jeremiah.  They appear together in the Christmas carol, "We Three Kings," in the fourth stanza about myrrh's significance in the Jesus story.   

Sorrowing and sighing is about all we can do in the face of this morning's events at Sandy Hook Elementary School in Newtown CT.  The fabric of life has been torn top-to-bottom with "beautiful little kids" and adults who loved and nurtured them dead, and we know not why.  Sorrow and sigh we must.

Happiness: a definition

After yesterday this single sentence was a welcome find this morning, both provocative and sweetly settling.

Happiness is not a station you arrive at, but a manner of travelling.

-- Margaret Lee Runbeck

 



 

I know nothing about Ms Runbeck aside from her being a US author born in Des Moines, whose life span was 1905-1956.  But, I like the quote.  It's enough for now.



A new view

This image doesn't have anything to do with today being overcast or our region's longing for rain.  It is grey outside and precipitation would be welcome.  There's no need to illustrate or to elaborate on that.

The reason I'm showing off these dark clouds is that they're descriptive of how I am feeling.  I know ... yikes for poor Tal.  Realizing I was somewhat less than cheery, I did manage not to act out.  Fortunately.  And, I was able to ascertain the reason for my interior storminess.  Turns out my normal Sunday evening list-making for the coming week, rather than helping me feel organized and ready, sent me into a state. 

I know I've written about it before, the dotting of "i's" and the crossing of "t's."  I neither have to defend that tendency nor to be dismissive of it.  Attention to detail is a good thing.  But, maybe not always. 

From my years of list-making I know I don't sort very well and have a way of giving pretty equal weight to every task on the list.  And, I seem to put everything on the list that I might ever want to do no matter how long-term, along with the everyday things that keep our household running.  Prioritizing?  I know what it means, but I'm not good at its practice. 

Beyond those bad habits, however, there's another problem, a much more critical one, I think.  I really like getting things done.  Yes.  But, the truth is I dot "i's" and cross "t's" mostly out of fear.  I am afraid that if I don't take care of all the details someone somewhere's going to say something to me about it.  Or, worse yet, they'll say something to someone else about it.  So, I work myself into a dither.  Talk about ludicrous and a waste of precious time. 

How different it would be to act out of love.  There's a commercial being run this season that has charmed me.  I can tell it's a good one because I don't remember what its an ad for ...  The main character seems to be obsessing over everything from how far the coffee table is from the most comfortable chair to the height of the flowers for the center of the dinner table.  She's a bright whirling bundle of activity.

The twist comes when her event gets started.  Come to find out she's not running scared or sorry she's having people in.  An elderly man sits down in that comfortable chair and wearily lifts his feet to the coffee table that's just in the right place.  At dinner time our hostess looks across the table and receives a beatific smile from a tiny little lady who can actually see over the flower arrangement.

Yes, the main character wanted everything to be just right.  But, she wasn't put out or scared or inconvenienced.  Every task in advance of that event was an act of love.

Maybe I need to rethink my list.  While some of the tasks can go and never be missed, most of them can probably stay right there.  What really needs some serious "surgerizing," though, is my outlook, my attitude. 

Why do I do what I do?  Because I have to?  Because I'm afraid of what someone else is going to think or say?  Or, can I make what I do  -- even the most mundane task on the list -- an expression of love? 

If I dare say yes to that impossible question, I'm going to have to be intentional about changing my ways.  Not an easy prospect by any stretch. 

When a lesson is presented

Those who know me and my husband are aware that sports has become part of my life over the past 22 years.  For someone raised pretty much to denigrate all sports -- neither participating nor observing, I am surprised and sometimes even delighted at my interest.

Take this weekend, for example.  We watched the Army/Navy game yesterday afternoon.  It was an engagement of epic proportions.  This was a game unlike any other, largely because of the two teams playing.  One of the announcers made the distinction clear when he observed that for the men on both teams playing football was the easiest thing any of them did.  They were not essentially hired to play ball the way is seems some college players are; they are, in fact, students first -- good students, students who happen to play football. 

I didn't want either team to lose.  But, I rooted for Navy since a former parishioner is a student at Annapolis.  It was a heart-breaker for Army.  At the end, despite the dejection on one side of the field and the jubilation on the other, all the players stayed on the field for both schools' alma maters.  The Navy coach sought out the Army quarterback.  Opposing players spoke to each other.  There was dignity both in winning and in losing.

Although Tal doesn't follow professional football with the same energy he does at the collegiate level, we did watch the New Orleans Saints go up against the New York Giants this afternoon.  In the fourth quarter with the game out of reach Saints #8, Drew Brees, was sacked -- make that flattened -- by Giants #72, Osi Umeyiora.  I think it was the only sack Brees took, but that's not what made me take note.  No, it was #72 stopping and helping #8 up.  No posturing.  No gloating.  No celebration.  Two men on the field of play.

I know not all games go the way of these two and I know collegiate and professional athletes can be crude, vindictive and childish.  What I witnessed during these two games gave me a vision of how people can be with each other. 

I am left wondering why it is nowadays that seems required an opponent be an enemy, to be belittled and disparaged.  Why is it we seem to have to cast as evil people with whom we do not agree, people we simply dislike, people we don't understand?  Is is possible to disagree, not to like, not to understand and still to stay in relationship?

While our government and our churches say an emphatic "no" to that question, football this weekend has hinted at a quiet but hopeful "yes."

At the end of the day, I am grateful for this quiet lesson.

One block at a time

I'm making slow progress.  The second unit from the New York Institute of Photography (NYIP) arrived yesterday.  This afternoon I pressed on with Lesson Five, bent over the lesson book with the CD playing in the background.

It so happens I am familiar with much of what has been presented in the first four lessons, but I appreciate the methodical and disciplined curriculum thus far.  My hope is that I will be forced, not only into learning new things, but into seeing in new ways and into trying new types of photography that don't come as naturally -- as the closeup of lichen or the veins of a leaf.

Building blocks.  The review will be over shortly.  Reinforcing the foundation's just what I need.