Waves of Gratitude

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abundance, blessed, covet, dissatisfied, God, gratitude, greed, humble, stewardship

I don’t really know how it happens.  I am sure we could blame consumerism, capitalism, or competition.  Maybe we could even blame sin.  But somehow, in the midst of our abundance, we find ways to be dissatisfied.  We want more – more stuff, more security, more freedom.  There is something deep inside of us that sees what others have and covets.  Our maybe it is more subtle and quiet.  We look at our current situation, and think, “If I just had that, I would be happy.”  And whatever “that” is, it does not seem like too much to ask in our minds.

The other day, my family and I were driving in the city.  We turned the corner, and right before us loomed an enormous billboard.  But instead of trying to sell something (or convince me that I needed “that”), it simply said, “Gratitude.”  I was stunned.  I do not know who put up the sign or why, but what I can tell you is that it stopped me in my tracks.  Whether I am bustling around with my family or busy at work, I am rarely meditating on gratitude.  I am just not very good at holding gratitude at the center of everything.  For me, that sign was a beckoning back:  a beckoning back to a spirit of gratitude.  So instead of having my mind on wherever we were going that day, suddenly, I looked around the car.  There was my beautiful, loving, precious family.  We were sitting in a car that works, enjoying leisure time.  I was not sick or worried about my housing security.  A wave of gratitude swept through that car that left me stunned.

This week St. Margaret’s kicked off our Stewardship season.  Most of us think about Stewardship season, and we immediately start worrying about what we are going to be able to pledge this year.  But before you start crunching numbers, I invite you to take a moment to be stunned by the prayerful practice of gratitude.  Start at home.  Prayerfully consider your friends and community.  Think about St. Margaret’s and why you pull yourself out of bed every Sunday to be there.  Give thanks for the God that creates us, sustains us, and gives us all that we need.  The further out we move from ourselves, the bigger our gratitude gets.  By the time we get to God, that unfathomable One who is infinitely bigger and more gracious than we can imagine, our longings for anything else disappear.  All we are left with is humble sense of gratitude.

This week, I invite you to meditate not on your checkbook, but on this blessed life God has given you.  If you have to start with something as basic as being able to breathe – being on this side of the ground, then start there.  I imagine no matter how rough or dissatisfying life may feel, you will slowly begin to realize the enormity of abundance surrounding you.  Let that wave of gratitude sweep you into a stunned silence – and join our God who waits there for you.

On humanity…

Tags

Bathsheba, community, David, dignity, healthy, honest, human, humanity, humble, king, Nathan, power, sin

This summer I have loved the unfolding of the David story in our lectionary.  I have preached on his story several times because I love how very complicated his story is.  When most of us think of David, we think of the revered king.  He was favored and anointed by God, is celebrated by the people of faith as an exemplary king, and for Christians, he is honored in the lineage that produces Jesus, the Messiah.  Our selective memory of David is not unfounded.  He has very humble beginnings.  As the youngest son of his family, relegated to working in the fields as a shepherd, he is anointed as the favored one.  As a boy, when whole armies feared Goliath, David is considered brave, fighting off the giant Goliath with only a bag of stones.  As a young man he is the beloved friend of Jonathan and Michal.  He survives multiple murder attempts by Saul – even being presented with the opportunity to kill Saul himself, David refrains.  He dances boldly before God when he becomes king, showing proper adoration of the Lord.  He and his son, Solomon, will be the last of the noble kings, before a strain of evil kings runs the people of Israel to the ground.

At least that is what our selective memory holds.  When we proudly proclaim Jesus is descended from the house of David, we sometimes gloss over the other “stuff” about David.  We gloss over the way he cuts off Michal in her grief.  We gloss over the way he rapes Bathsheba, and then has her husband killed when he cannot hide his indiscretion.  Of course, the text does not say David raped her – just that he “lay with her.”  But when a king (who has infinitely more power than a common woman) sends men to your home when your husband is away, and they take you (not asking if you are interested in going) to the king, and the king has sex with you, I am guessing the sex was not consensual.  Later, we gloss over the fact that despite this horrid beginning of a relationship with Bathsheba, Bathsheba is the one who later bares him the son, Solomon.  The list of things we gloss over about David is indeed long.

I think that is why I love the unfolding story of David.  He is beloved and horribly flawed.  He is a revered leader with deep sinfulness.  He is noble king and he is human.  I have great affection for David and I am deeply disappointed by him.  But isn’t that the way with all great people?  I remember when I first learned of how The Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. was complicit with the sexism of his time, I finally began to see him as human too.  And of course, David’s humanity forces me to reconcile with my own humanity.

Photo credit: http://www.artforhumanity.org/

But all of that reflection on David overshadows the humanity of Bathsheba.  Like so many characters in the Bible, especially women, we are left with little of her perspective.  And because we have so little information, many of us are hesitant to preach about her story.  And yet, we are a community that has Bathshebas too – women stripped of power and dignity.  I do not know what that means for Sunday’s preaching (when we will get Nathan’s judgment of David for his actions with Bathsheba), especially since I try to be careful about sensitive subjects in the pulpit.  But this week, as we continue to journey with David, I am lingering with Bathsheba.  I am lingering on what it means to be a community of Davids, Bathshebas, and Nathans – and how we do that in a healthy, honest, and humble way.  Stay tuned!

On being dust…

Tags

Ash Wednesday, community, death, dust, God, humble, journey, priest

One of the gifts of being a clergy person is the moments of insight, intimacy, and holiness.  That gift is probably one of the primary things that keep me going, especially in the midst of weeks when the vocation feels more full of challenge than full of blessing.  The cool thing about the gift is that it often catches me unawares – I am busy just doing my job when all of sudden, wham!, God brings me to my knees with the enormity and privilege that this vocation is.

Courtesy of http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ash_Wednesday

It happened yesterday as our church celebrated Ash Wednesday.  As my mind was distracted with my sermon, the choreography of the liturgy, and the elements of the altar, I suddenly found myself at the part of the liturgy where I spread ashes on each person’s forehead.  I had forgotten how incredible that moment is.  There I am, rubbing dirty, gritty ash on person’s forehead, reminding them of their mortality.  The experience is a visceral, fleshy one.  Some foreheads are covered with hair, some are oily after a day of work or activity, and some are polished and made up.  Some foreheads are smooth and non-anxious and others are lined with the wrinkles of age or stress.

But even more profound than the tangible piece is the emotional piece of the experience.  There is the woman who just celebrated 91 years of life.  I find myself wondering how many more years we will share moments like this.  There is the parishioner with whom I have shared laughs and tears, who is the prime of their lives, and whose death I cannot fathom.  And of course there are the children.  There is something profound about reminding a five-year old that they will someday die, whether they fully understand what is happening in the liturgy or not.

After everyone had received ashes, I turned to our acolyte and asked her to give me ashes as well.  In this time of growing life inside of me – as I have frequently fretted about the viability of my child outside the womb – I was reminded that neither my coming child nor I are spared from returning to dust someday.  Though that sounds like a grim thought, where it ultimately left me was convinced that no matter what happens, God is the firm foundation that I stand firmly upon, grounding me, keeping me humble, and reminding me of what really matters.

That is the other beauty of being a clergy person.  As much as I hope liturgies are meaningful to others, I find them equally meaningful to me.  Sometimes it is harder than others to worship while leading worship.  But this Ash Wednesday, the power and wonder of the liturgy and our God did not escape me.  I am grateful today for the powerful reminder of my humanity, the collective recognition of the fragility and preciousness of this life, and the blessing of a community who always gives me a healthy dose of perspective.