On Shifting Sands and Drishtis…

Tags

balance, control, family, focus, God, goodness, grace, imbalance, Jesus, love, pandemic, parenting, power, sand, weary, yoga

Photo credit: https://www.yogajournal.com/yoga-101/pillars-of-power-yoga-using-drishti-on-and-off-the-mat

When you are doing balancing postures during yoga, one of the skills you learn early on is developing a drishti, or a focal point.  The idea is the more you focus your gaze on one fixed object, the more your body steadies itself.  I am not entirely sure why or how finding a drishti works, but I know from experience that a very wobbly body in a balancing posture is quickly steadied once focused on a drishti.  It is a strange sensation, but when the drishti is engaged, the gaze of the eyes has complete power over the entire body, creating a sense of self-possession, control, and power.

I was talking to a fellow parent this past week and when we talked about parenting during a pandemic, I told her I felt like I was standing on shifting sand.  Just when I would start to figure out a rhythm or start to feel like I had some modicum of control over family life, things would change – whether the formal arrangement with hybrid learning, the changing of teachers mid-quarter, or even my own child’s changing ability to adapt and thrive.  Just when I feel like our family is finding our balance, something makes us wobbly all over again.  That kind of uncontrolled imbalance, of attempting to stand on shifting sand leaves the body weary and fatigued.

But as I have been thinking about pandemic parenting and my learning in yoga, I’ve begun to wonder if what this wobbly parent might need is a pandemic drishti.  For some parents that might mean focusing on the blessing of your children – so that no matter what tempter tantrum they are throwing today, what argument you are having as a family, or what door they have slammed, you focus not on the anger and frustration of the scene immediately in front of you, but on the love you have for your child (even if it’s only the love you see when they are fast asleep).  For me, my drishti is the love of God surrounding us on every side:  the one who loves me when I fail as a parent, the one who loves my child as they receive another setback in expectations, the one who loves each of us when all we can see is the heat of anger and frustration in one another.  Once I focus on God’s love of us, slowly my demeanor starts to shift, my balance starts to return, and my steadiness strengthens.

This week, I encourage you to claim your pandemic drishti.  Whether you focus on God’s lovingkindness, the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, or the ever-present blessing of the Holy Spirit, take whatever time you need to shift your gaze on God.  My guess is the more you practice steading your gaze on the goodness of God, the more your wobbling, weary body will feel grounded in goodness too.  We cannot control the shifting sand of these times.  But we can control our steady gaze in the face of a storm.

Sermon – Matthew 25.14-30, P28, YA, November 15, 2020

Tags

abundance, adaptive leadership, creativity, crisis, disciple, fear, gifts, God, Jesus, nimble, pandemic, Sermon, sin, talent, vocation, waste

This week your Vestry spent some time talking about adaptive leadership in the midst of a pandemic.  In our conversation, we were reminded of what Winston Churchill once said about World War II:  Never let a good crisis go to waste.  The phrase sounds a bit morbid, whether talking about World War II or this pandemic where over 245,000 people have died in the United States alone.  But what Churchill and our lecturer were trying to communicate were simple.  In a time of crisis, we see and do things differently.  A crisis produces clarity about what is important, what is not, and how we can creatively and boldly make changes for the good.  In a crisis, we are able to make changes and be nimble because fear is pushed aside for the sake of survival.  Basically, crisis strips away all the things that hold us back when life is “normal” and opens up new and fresh ways of being.  From Churchill’s point of view, wasting all that powerful insight and activity would be a waste of the crisis. 

That is what Jesus is getting at in our parable today.  We can easily get caught up in the emotional whiplash of this parable.  The master trusts his servants with inconceivable wealth – anywhere from 15 – 75 years’ worth of wages[i] – and gives them unprecedented freedom to manage the wealth.  Upon the master’s return, he is gracious, full of praise, even welcoming two of the servants into his bosom.  But when the final servant comes forward, the master becomes another person.  He is angry, scolding, and harsh.  He strips the servant of his talent and casts him into the outer darkness.  The discomfort we feel with the behavior of this stand-in for God is natural; but our discomfort can distract us from the master’s valid concern that we allow fear[ii] to stop us from realizing our vocation.

So why is the master so harsh about fear?  The problem is fear distorts every good thing about our nature.  Fear cuts off creativity.  When we are overcome with fear, we cannot be imaginative and playful, coming to new solutions and ways of being.  Fear also messes with our sense of trust.  When we are overcome with fear, we forget the goodness of others, our previous examples of how things have gone well, or even the bold support of our God.  Fear messes with our confidence.  When we are overcome with fear, all the good, powerful, and holy parts of us get riddled with self-doubt and inaction.  And fear messes with our willingness to take risks.  When we are overcome with fear, we cannot do the things that will lead to great payoff. 

Fear in the abstract is a normal reaction in life.  There are certainly ways in which fear fosters a sense of carefulness, one we have needed in this pandemic.  But we have to remember what Jesus is talking about in this parable to understand why the landowner is so harsh about fear.  You see, talents are not just metaphors for the thing things we are good at or even for the money we have in life.  Talents are metaphors for the vocations we each have.[iii]  Each person in this room has a calling.  Some of us are called to particular jobs or courses of study.  Some of us are called to particular roles within families or groups.  Some of us are called to use our gifts in particular ways.  We all have a call, a vocation in life.  And our vocation is affirmed by the skills or materials we are given to live out that call.  Even our parish has a vocation in our community – a call to use our unique mission to further the Gospel of Christ.  The problem with the third servant is he is given what he needs in abundance.  The landowner affirms him, trusts him, and gives him space and time to live out his vocation.  But the third servant allows himself to be so overcome with fear that he does not live out his vocation.  He shuts down creativity, trust, confidence, and risk-taking all because he is afraid.  And that is an ultimate sin for God. 

What this parable invites us to do today is not to see God as a mean, cruel, reactive God that punishes.  Quite the opposite, the parable today invites us to remember that our God is trusting, discerning about our gifts, confident in our abilities, and joyful in our obedience.  God gives each person in this room and our parish of Hickory Neck a vocation, a purpose, in this world, gives us the gifts and encouragement we need to fulfill that vocation, and, ultimately, expects us to go out into the world and boldly take the risk of doing what God has already enabled us to do.  God is telling us not to waste the crisis of this pandemic.  God sees us becoming nimbler, doing “church” differently in ways that reach more people in our community, and embracing the creativity and experimentation that has always made us great.  Letting fear overpower our beauty is not what God desires for us – because God knows we can open new paths previously unimagined.  God knows our willingness to live out our vocation means great things for the world.  As one scholar reminds us, this “…parable is the invitation to the adventure of faith:  the high-risk venture of being a disciple of Jesus Christ.”[iv]  Amen.

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[i] Lindsay P. Armstrong, “Homiletical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. A, Vol. 4 (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2011), 309, 311.

[ii] Mark Douglas, “Theological Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. A, Vol. 4 (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2011), 312.

[iii] Idea presented by Matthew Skinner in the podcast, “SB570 – Twenty-fourth Sunday after Pentecost (Ord. 33)” November 11, 2017, as found at http://www.workingpreacher.org/brainwave.aspx?podcast_id=948 on November 12, 2020.

[iv] John M. Buchanan, “Pastoral Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. A, Vol. 4 (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2011), 312.

On Rituals, Church, and Candy…

Tags

children, church, community, connection, creativity, grace, Halloween, incarnational, innocence, Jesus, joy, neighbor, normalcy, pandemic, ritual, safety, trick-or-treat

Photo Credit: https://www.hauntedwisconsin.com/things-to-do/kids-family/trick-or-treat/

Last weekend, I took my younger daughter trick-or-treating.  We spent a long time as parents debating whether we should take our children.  We read scientific articles, talked to other parents, and spent time in long conversations.  Ultimately, we decided to go ahead, making sure we donned our masks, only traveled as a family, and sanitized our hands frequently between houses.  We also talked to our child about how although she may want to greet friends with warm hugs, that night was a night for verbal greetings instead of physical.  Our child did not argue with the restrictions and was simply happy to be going at all.

We embarked at the designated time not knowing what to expect – whether other families with children would be out safely, whether homeowners would respect social distancing and mask wearing, or whether the entire evening would need to be abandoned.  Much to my surprise, the evening went better than I could have hoped.  The number of trick-or-treaters was cut in half, and people mostly respected safe distancing.  Homes distributing candy were also at about fifty percent, and many of those who distributed exhibited tons of creativity:  from baskets of candy lowered from outdoor balconies, to candy “kabobs” planted in yards, to zipline delivery mechanisms, to clotheslines of candy. Many homeowners bagged candy to reduce touching and many seemed to have read the best practices about how to hand out candy.  I was blown away by our neighbors’ thoughtfulness, creativity, and grace.

But what struck me the most was a truth emerging from the whole evening.  If you had asked me or any of my neighbors before Halloween why we were participating in the ritual of trick-or-treating, we probably all would have said we were doing it for the kids:  to give them some sort of normalcy in this crazy, abnormal time.  But as I tucked my child in that night, and thought about all our experiences, I realized a deeper truth.  I think all of us adults participated in the ritual not just because the children needed it; we participated because we needed it.  We needed just one thing to be semi-normal in this super stressful, topsy-turvy world.  And we took our precautions and stretched our creativity, but we participated in a ritual that reminded us of joy, innocence, and community.

In many ways, that is what we are trying to do every week in churches too.  The very essence of Church is incarnational – from how we gather (in large groups), how we worship (using our all our senses, including touch), how we participate in ritual (often kneeling shoulder to shoulder, receiving communion from common dishes, and laying on of hands), to how we interact (from children’s programming and play to Coffee Hours).  With this pandemic, our incarnational essence just is not possible in the same way.  And so, we are worshiping online, we are offering socially distant worship services, and we are gathering on Zoom for pretty much everything – from formation, to fellowship, to learning, and even play.  I know Church right now is not the same, but if Halloween offers any lessons, perhaps it is that participating in the ritual – even an amended and altered ritual – is important for our spiritual, emotional, and physical health.  If you have taken a break from the ritual of Church because it just is not the same (and you are right, it is not), please know that Hickory Neck is here to help you reclaim some of that ritual.  It may be awkward or push your technological abilities.  But I promise, even those unusual connections might just offer the ritual you need to stay healthy and whole!

Sermon – Matthew 5.1-12, ASD, YA, November 1, 2020

Tags

Beatitudes, breathe, God, heaven, importance, Jesus, persecution, renewed, reward, Sermon, ultimate

There are certain events in life that when we stop and pay attention, bring into laser-sharp focus the importance of ultimate things:  baptisms, weddings, and funerals probably being the most significant.  For baptisms, we do not just celebrate because babies are cute or because adult baptisms feel empowering.  We celebrate by making promises to journey with the individual in their faith, and by renewing our own baptisms.  Similarly, we make promises to couples getting married.  There is even a prayer for already married couples in our liturgy, asking God to renew their promises to one another.  Of course, funerals can do the same thing.  They are not just sobering in their reminder of our own mortality, but also, they refocus us on the ultimate significance promised in Jesus Christ – eternal life.  All of these events in the life of the church offer us a sobering reminder of the importance of ultimate things.

In some ways, that is what Jesus is doing in the Beatitudes – that portion of the Sermon on the Mount found in Matthew’s gospel today.  Prior to these verses, Jesus has been healing the sick, proclaiming the gospel, and managing swarms of crowds who are drawn to his message and healing.  But in these verses, Jesus stops.  He sits down, gathers the disciples, and invites them to listen.  Jesus then shares the importance of ultimate things.  The disciples are seeing what he sees – the suffering, the pain, the agony.  Into that overwhelming need, Jesus does not teach them how to heal.  He does not teach them how preach.  He does not set a schedule for where they will go next or how many more they will heal.  Instead he lays out a series of blessings that remind the disciples what is ultimately important.  “Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.  Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.  Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the earth.  Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be filled.  Blessed are the merciful, for they will receive mercy.  Blessed are the pure in heart, for they will see God.  Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God.  Blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness’ sake, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.  Blessed are you when people revile you and persecute you and utter all kinds of evil against you falsely on my account. Rejoice and be glad, for your reward is great in heaven, for in the same way they persecuted the prophets who were before you.”  Jesus is more than willing to heal and soothe suffering.  But Jesus is also saying that our pain and our suffering mean something; our pain and suffering can and will be transformed.

We do something similar in our liturgical actions today as well.  We honor not just the saints who have gone before – those who have performed miracles or lived notable lives.  We honor all the “saints” – the label Saint Paul used for all Christians – the mothers, fathers, siblings, children, friends, lovers, and mentors who taught us about the ultimate things.  Even though the practice looks a little different this year, every year we tie ribbons on our altar rail to remember the ultimate things of this life – the wisdom our loved ones taught us.  In our socially distant worship service today, a couple will renew the wedding vows they made forty years ago because they want to remember the ultimate things of married life.  Even in the midst of pandemic, protests, and political campaigns, the Church today pauses this morning and reminds us of ultimate things. 

On this All Saints Day, the faithful stop, take a deep breath, pulling in the anxiety, the pain, the anger, and the suffering, and breathe out the words of Jesus, “Blessed are the poor in spirit…blessed are those who mourn…blessed are those who hunger, who are merciful, who are pure in heart, who are persecuted…blessed are the peacemakers…blessed are you.”  Our invitation today is to breathe in with the all the saints who have gone before, so that when we breathe out, we are renewed with the breath of ultimate things.  Keep doing the work of our Savior in this crazy time because you are blessed and will continue to be blessed.  Rejoice today and be exceedingly glad – for great is your reward in heaven.  Amen.

Sermon – Leviticus 19.1-2, 15-18, Matthew 22.34-46, P25, YA, October 25, 2020

Tags

Bible, election, faith, generosity, giving, God, image of God, Jesus, Leviticus, love, neighbor, pandemic, relationship with God, Sermon

This summer when we were doing our 90-Day Bible Challenge, many of our readers dreaded reading Leviticus.  We read all the fun stories of Genesis and Exodus, and then for chapter after chapter of Leviticus we had to read about how to make sacrifices, what numerical formula to use for different kinds of worship of God, the differences between burnt offerings, grain offerings, fellowship offerings, sin offerings, guilt offerings.  All the momentum of reading came to a screeching halt.  In fact, a seminarian once said of Leviticus, “I never realized I could fall asleep on a treadmill until I did so while trying to read Leviticus.”[i]

For the most part, our wariness of Leviticus is warranted.  But the reading we get from Leviticus today is from the chapter that likely helps us understand why all the other monotony is so important.  You see Leviticus focuses on how to be in right relationship with God.  All those repetitive instructions are meant to do what our reading today finally gets to:  to tell us we can be holy because God is holy.  All those instructions about worship are meant to enrich our relationship with God – to help us see what being holy before the Holy One looks like.  But this particular chapter does not just focus on that vertical relationship with God.  Chapter nineteen of Leviticus introduces something new – our horizontal relationship with one another.  You shall love your neighbor as yourself.  This too is what holiness looks like.

Of course, this should sound familiar.  In our gospel lesson today, when Jesus is asked what commandment is the greatest, Jesus pulls from his Jewish roots and the lessons of Hebrew Scriptures.  “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind,” a text straight out of Deuteronomy, and, he says, “You shall love your neighbor as yourself,” a text straight out the Leviticus text we read today.  As people of faith, we balance the vertical and the horizontal – one cannot be true, full, or authentic to one without the other. 

That concept is so simple, our eyes can begin to glaze over like all readers of Leviticus.  Love God, and love neighbor – got it!  Simple enough.  But there is nothing simple about this summary of the law and prophets.  All we need to do is look around us and see how hard these commands are.  Seven months into a pandemic, with cases rising again, our nation in political upheaval around issues of racial injustice, and a national election that has us so divided we cannot even conceive of loving anyone who advocates for the “other” candidate – whichever the other one is for you.  With each passing month of this pandemic, coming to God in reverence and praise sometimes feels impossible because all we feel is anger, frustration, and fatigue towards God – not holiness.  And forget about loving our neighbors – unless, of course, we mean loving our neighbors who agree with us, who are willing to bash the other side with us, who have done enough discernment to know our political position is the holy one.  As each day gets us closer to this election, Leviticus’ words about not slandering others, not seeking vengeance or bearing grudges, makes loving all our neighbors seem impossible.

So what do we do?  With all these feelings of impossible holiness, do we give up or stop trying?  In facing these feelings, Barbara Brown Taylor says, “Made in the image of God, human beings share in God’s holiness.  God has placed within them what they need to do God’s will.  God has furthermore placed them in communities of support, giving them teachings to guide them in their life together.  Wherever sinfulness comes from and whatever drives [sinfulness], [sinfulness] is less fundamental to human nature than holiness.  People can be sinful, but the Lord their God is not sinful.  People can be holy, for the Lord their God is holy.”[ii]   All the things that feel impossible now – loving God fully (despite our misgivings) and loving our neighbors fully (the ones we actually love and the ones we love to hate) is possible because we are made in the image of God – we share in God’s holiness.

I think that is why I am so grateful we are in stewardship season right now.  As we gather financial commitment cards today, we are claiming something about the resources God has given us.  We are taking our resources and investing them in our vertical relationship with God and our horizontal relationship with one another and our neighbors beyond these walls.  We commit to giving not because we are capable of generosity alone – we give because our God and this community inspire faith-filled generosity.  We look at a world that seems impossibly flawed and messy and say, “Yes.  I am holy because the Lord my God is holy.  My giving is a sign of my sharing in God’s holiness.”  Giving may not feel easy in this time of upheaval, in this time of economic turmoil, but giving is our way of saying, “I cannot do this alone, but with this community I am committing to faith-filled generosity.  I trust Hickory Neck will walk with me as I claim my holiness.”  Even though we are scattered, even though some of us are visiting this campus today, either for a quick drive-thru or a full service, and some of us cannot be here until a vaccine is available, we celebrate the holiness of one another today, the holiness of our God, and the holiness of our neighbors – all our neighbors.  Only in seeing that holiness can we be liberated to live lives of faith-filled generosity.  Amen.

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[i] Kathryn M. Schifferdecker, “Commentary on Leviticus 19:1-2, 15-18,” October 25, 2020, as found at https://www.workingpreacher.org/preaching.aspx?commentary_id=4626 on October 22, 2020.

[ii] Barbara Brown Taylor, “Homiletical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Year A, Volume 4 (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2011), 195, 197.