Waking Up to Right Use of Resources

 

Doom to the one making evil gain for his own house, for putting his own nest up high, for delivering himself from the grasp of calamity.

                                                                                                     Habakkuk 2:9

 Habakkuk was one of the texts for our weekly morning prayer service this week. While not a book I read often, this particular verse stood out to me that morning, and convicted me. How often am I concerned about making myself safe, putting my own nest up high, and not doing enough to make things safe for others? I expect that most of us able to read this post do what we can to keep ourselves secure—physically and financially. There is nothing wrong with that except when we stop at our own safety and security and fail to work to make the same provision for others in our world.

 The Common English translation of Habakkuk 2:13 says this: Peoples grow weary from making just enough fire. That seems to reinforce verse 9. We make just enough “fire” for ourselves, and fail to make a fire big enough to provide warmth to others. That we do so without any compunction or guilt says that we’ve forgotten that we are all interconnected. This is something I continue to struggle with in my life—how much provision do I need for myself, and what of my resources should I share with others?

 I don’t recall when I first read this quote by St. Basil the Great, who lived from 329-379, but I do know that when I read it, I was convicted, and I continue to be convicted by it:

When someone steals another’s clothes, we call them a thief. Should we not give the same name to one who could clothe the naked and does not? The bread in your cupboard belongs to the hungry; the coat unused in your closet belongs to the one who needs it; the shoes rotting in your closet belong to the one who has no shoes; the money which you hoard up belongs to the poor.

 Reading this quote for the first time was an awakening moment for me. It was another of the experiences that reshaped my notion of what faithful discipleship looks like. It’s pretty amazing that Basil lived in the 300’s, not in the materialistic culture of the United States! In the same way, Habakkuk speaks out against those who take care of themselves while others suffer. Throughout time, we show ourselves to be selfish, self-absorbed residents of the planet.

 I could just shrug my shoulders and say, “That’s just the way it is.” But doing that would not be faithful to the one who gave his life because of limitless love.

 I believe that when we make Christianity a morality show, we often do so in order to not face our own greed and selfishness. In the well-known story Jesus tells in Matthew 25, the question that separates sheep from goats has nothing to do with personal morality. Rather it is about caring for others. To fail to share what we have with others, according to Basil, makes us a thief. May we struggle with how to make right use of our resources, and may we not numb ourselves to the needs of others that we can meet.

 

Ahimsa

Though many people think that yoga is predominately about physical poses, the actual postures of a yoga practice are only one limb of the eight limbs of yoga. Yoga is a way of being in the world. The first limb of yoga consists of ethical principles to guide how we live in the world among others, and the first of these is ahimsa, which means nonharming. 

 For those of my readers who are familiar with the founder of the Methodist movement, John Wesley, you may know about his three simple rules, the first of which is Do no harm. Nonharming is a universal ethical principle. 

 I have thought much about the importance of practicing ahimsa as we continue to be in the midst of the Covid-19 pandemic. The opportunity to practice nonharming is always before us, but it is hard to deny the importance of not doing harm to another right now. Harm is front and center, not only because of our unwillingness to take simple steps to slow the spread of Covid-19 but also in the continuing inequities toward people of color in society, especially when it manifests in being killed because of skin color. 

We do harm when we fail to be sensitive to the life experience of people whose experience differs from ours, when we choose not to listen, when we do not seek to understand. We do harm when we stereotype—whether by race, gender, age, nationality, religion, or any other way we box people into categories. 

 What if, for one day, we could practice ahimsa all day long, in mundane, invisible small ways that no one sees? If we could choose to not say the unkind word, share the inflammatory social media post, wear a mask in public, or learn what life is like for someone different from ourselves—by the end of the day we might discover a gentleness within ourselves that had been obscured from view. 

 For you see, when we practice not harming another, we reap the reward by a greater sense of well-being and inner peace. When we are practicing ahimsa toward the world, we experience ahimsa toward ourselves. Imagine how much better you can feel just by choosing to not do harm to another.

Upheaval

Mary said,

“With all my heart I glorify the Lord!
     In the depths of who I am I rejoice in God my savior.
 He has looked with favor on the low status of his servant.
    Look! From now on, everyone will consider me highly favored
         because the mighty one has done great things for me.
Holy is his name.
     He shows mercy to everyone,
        from one generation to the next,
        who honors him as God.
 He has shown strength with his arm.
    He has scattered those with arrogant thoughts and proud inclinations.
     He has pulled the powerful down from their thrones
        and lifted up the lowly.
 He has filled the hungry with good things
    and sent the rich away empty-handed.
 He has come to the aid of his servant Israel,
        remembering his mercy,
     just as he promised to our ancestors,
        to Abraham and to Abraham’s descendants forever.”

                                                                Luke 1:46-55

Mary’s song of praise, the Magnificat, does more than hint at the upheaval that her son’s coming brings. Her prophetic word is clear. The coming of God in human form will reverse the usual order of things. The hungry will be fed. The lowly will be lifted. The powerful are stripped of their influence. The rich are sent away empty.

If you only read this text once a year during Advent, you might simply enjoy its poetic quality and miss the power of the words themselves. Mary’s song is regularly recited as part of Vespers, the evening prayer service of the daily office. This daily reading of this text allows the words to sink into us, and, in our affluent culture, may cause us to wonder if we truly welcome this change of affairs.

Mary has much to teach us beyond her prophecy. Mary shows us that our power and influence are less important than our availability. Loretta Ross-Gotta says: God asks us to give away everything of ourselves. The gift of greatest efficacy and power that we can offer God and creation is not our skills, gifts, abilities, and possessions. The wise men had their gold, frankincense, and myrrh, Paul and Peter had their preaching. Mary offered only space, love, belief. What is it that delivers Christ into the world—preaching, art, writing, scholarship, social justice? Those are all gifts well worth sharing. But preachers lose their charisma, scholarship grows pedantic, social justice alone cannot save us. In the end, when all other human gifts have met their inevitable limitation, it is . . . the bold virgin with a heart in love with God who makes a sanctuary of her life, who delivers Christ who then delivers us.

Mary’s prophecy is an invitation to us who are rich and powerful in comparison to the rest of the world. Mary encourages us to no longer rely on our influence or wealth, but to empty ourselves, give ourselves away, die to ourselves, and instead offer space and love to Christ who becomes our food, our wealth, our strength.

We cannot deliver ourselves. Our possessions, our influence, even the good works we do—none of these can deliver us. When we truly believe that God, who made us and loves us, will deliver us, we can sing with Mary, “With all my heart I glorify the Lord! In the depths of who I am I rejoice in God my savior.”

Scarcity vs Contentment

The man who thinks nothing of goods has freed himself from quarrels and disputes. But the lover of possessions will fight to the death for a needle.  –John Climacus

John Climacus was born in 570 and lived as a monk on Mount Sinai in Egypt. Yet his wisdom is timeless. For it is not the amount of one’s possessions that makes one possessive, it is the inner disposition of heart.

Possessiveness is rooted in a disposition of scarcity, a fear of there not being enough. It isn’t limited only to possessions. I have known people who are possessive of spouses or friends. They see love as a scarce resource. Possessiveness can extend to experiences, where a fear of missing out keeps one always focused on the next vacation, the next concert, the next big event.

Scarcity tells us that we are not enough just as we are and that having more, doing more, or receiving more attention will assuage our insecurity. But this is fear’s way of blinding us from trusting God, who loves us as we are and whose love and provision are abundant and limitless.

When our inner disposition is fear, there is always something to protect and defend. Fear builds walls. When I live in fear, I see situations and people as a threat to my well-being. This happens in obvious ways, but also in ways so subtle and insidious that we may not recognize fear as the driving force. When we are jealous of another because they get more attention than we do, when we worry about what others think of us, when we are obsessed with holding and increasing our possessions, fear is controlling how we see the world and how we see ourselves.

When our inner disposition is contentment, we can share our time and possessions freely with others. We don’t build walls when we live from a place of abundance. We don’t have to quarrel with others when we have nothing to protect or defend. When we can be content with however others think of us, when we act out of desire for the well-being of another and don’t need to be appreciated or recognized, we can come to know the inner peace that passes understanding.

All around us is a culture of fear and scarcity. But we don’t have to buy into that way of seeing the world. That way is a way of bondage. The way of abundance is the way of freedom.

Selfishness and Rights

I don’t know the answer. But what I do know from reading just a few of the Facebook posts that have come out since the latest mass shooting is that selfishness is alive and well in our nation. This isn’t really new news, but fear and greed have taken the defense of our “rights” as Americans to a place where our first interest is MY rights, not your rights.

Contrast that with the instruction of Paul in Philippians and the way of Jesus, which Paul describes:

Don’t do anything for selfish purposes, but with humility think of others as better than yourselves. Instead of each person watching out for their own good, watch out for what is better for others. Adopt the attitude that was in Christ Jesus:

Though he was in the form of God,
        he did not consider being equal with God something to exploit.
But he emptied himself
        by taking the form of a slave
        and by becoming like human beings.
When he found himself in the form of a human,
        he humbled himself by becoming obedient to the point of death,
        even death on a cross.
Therefore, God highly honored him
        and gave him a name above all names,
     so that at the name of Jesus everyone
        in heaven, on earth, and under the earth might bow
        and every tongue confess that
            Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father.

Especially in this season of Lent, which is time we set aside for contemplating how we need to conform ourselves to the image of Christ, should we not be watching out for what is better for others? Should we not be willing to empty ourselves of self-interest as Jesus did?

Is there no longer a place in our country for self-denial, compassion and willingness to listen to one another? At the very least, is there a place among Christians for such behavior?

What might be different in our nation if Christians “adopted the attitude that was in Christ Jesus”?

Yes!

2 Corinthians 1:19-20

Christ is risen and so am I:

   my first thought on waking today.

What great surprise—

   the powers that rule are overthrown

   not by force but by love.

Greed, jealousy, hate, fear outwitted.

Peace, joy, grace, abundance flow

drowning the armies of small-mindedness.

Sing, dance, praise the God of life,

the God of love,

the God of YES!

Wounds

They treat the wound of my people

   as if it were nothing:

   “All is well, all is well” they insist,

   when in fact nothing is well.   – Jeremiah 6:14

One verse given today.

One verse.

Yet it speaks truth with force,

for all is not well. Humanity is wounded.

People fleeing their homes looking for hope,

people hungry, longing for food,

people sick, praying for medicine and treatment—these

are the wounded we see. But there are others.

People who close borders,

people who blame the poor,

people more concerned about dollars than neighbors—wounds

of privilege fester unseen. Heartlessness causes wounds to

stagnate and stink, like the Dead Sea.

Wounded people everywhere.

God, give us hearts that hurt for others,

heal our wound of uncaring.

Disturb us, shake us awake until we see your face

at our borders, in the clinics, on the streets,

in struggling schools, at the grocery store.

Give us eyes to see you with love, not contempt.

May we not rest until all is well

and all are well.

Questions and Faith

Habakkuk 2:1-3

Compassionate One,

I remember a book title I once read: Swift, Lord, You are Not.

I hear your call to wait, to trust,

yet as I watch a nation’s heart turn to stone

I wonder when the tide will turn.

How many more children will come home to find their parents taken away?

How many creatures have to die before we realize our dependence on clean air and water?

How many people will be attacked and killed before we realize that killing others doesn’t allay our fear?

As the fist of power squeezes tighter,

how many more will be crushed by its greed, its hate, its oppression?

God of the ages, help me to take the long view—

to remember that empires fall when power corrupts,

to see that plants grow from the decay and rot of what has died,

to look at you on a cross and to see the empty tomb beyond.

Evil may seem strong, but you are stronger,

though your way is not the way of the world.

You who are the way, the truth and the life,

may we know that your way is power in powerlessness,

your way is strength in weakness,

your way is nonretaliation to violence,

your way is resurrection through death.

So I will trust;

I will do what is mine to do;

I will not let my heart turn to stone.

I know you will take small acts of faithfulness

and multiply it many times over.

Doing Good vs Being Good

For the next few weeks, I’m facilitating a study at my church on the book Jesus for President, by Shane Claiborne and Chris Haw. As I’ve been reading their description of the Biblical prophets, I’ve thought about the difference in doing good and being good.

As Claiborne and Haw note, “The prophets are weird. They set themselves apart from the normalcy of civilization and its pattern of destruction and war. Their vocation is to interrupt the status quo.” When you think of some of the things the prophets did, you realize they were less concerned with appearances than many of us who call ourselves “church folk” are.

Hosea married a prostitute. Isaiah walked around naked for three years. Ezekiel cooked over human dung, which violated Israel’s purity codes. They would not have been called “good” by the culture in which they lived. But they lived lives of obedience to God, in contrast to the “good people” who fit in by following “the rules.”

The prophets focused on doing good. They were in close communion with God, and they trusted God even when God called them to do what put them at odds with those in positions of power. Claiborne and Haw say, “It can embarrass us to read of their antics, but what they do is not nearly as embarrassing as the things we do, which their actions expose so we can see that another future is possible.”

We become desensitized to evil when evil promotes our “good” agenda. Rabbi Abraham Heschel says: “To us a single act of injustice—cheating in business, exploitation of the poor—is slight; to the prophets it is a deathblow to existence; to us, an episode, to them, a catastrophe, a threat to the world.” We rationalize all sorts of things when it serves our purposes to do so. Cheating in business can be excused as needed to take care of our family. Slandering another may be our way to preserve our reputation so we can continue to use our influence “for good.”

The prophets, ancient and contemporary, remind us that when pride, power and self-preservation become our gods, being good becomes more important than doing good, and whatever good we actually accomplish is not pleasing to God, who honors the powerless, not the prideful.

Spiritual Blindness

. . . it is possible for some Christians to live and work in a shockingly unjust society, closing their eyes to all kinds of evil and indeed perhaps participating in that evil at least by default, concerned only with their own compartmentalized life of piety . . .

                                                                                --Thomas Merton, in Life and Holiness

We who are financially secure first world Christians can easily fall into the delusion that we are “good people” because we avoid what we think of as big sins, such as murder or theft. We can fail to see that we are part of systematized injustice because we are often so far removed from the injustice as to be unaware of our economic contribution to unjust practices.

We purchase food and consumer items made or harvested by people who are not paid a living wage. We support businesses that exploit the environment. We overspend on ourselves and balk at providing assistance to others, arguing that they “deserve” their difficulty and that we “deserve” our luxury.

We can become desensitized to the ways we mistreat others while priding ourselves on our service to the church, our work in the community, on our morality, or on the compliments we receive for the work that we do.

I’ve been reading through Paul’s letter to the Galatians. Paul admonishes the Galatian Christians for losing sight of the grace they have received and relying instead on their own morality as measured by obedience to the Jewish law. Paul says “You who want to be justified by the law have cut yourselves off from Christ; you have fallen away from grace.” (Galatians 5:4) He points out how they “bite and devour one another.”

When we are more concerned with image than substance we can easily become blind to the ways we participate in evil. Paul’s list of the fruits of the Spirit in Galatians 5 is preceded by what we might call the fruits of human nature. Here’s what Paul says: What human nature does is quite plain. It shows itself in immoral, filthy, and indecent actions; in worship of idols and witchcraft. People become enemies and they fight; they become jealous, angry, and ambitious. They separate into parties and groups; they are envious, get drunk, have orgies, and do other things like these.

The temptation is to look at this list and say, “I don’t practice witchcraft. I don’t have orgies or participate in indecent actions.” But read the list again and consider some of the other items like ambition, anger, jealousy and separating into groups that exclude others. When we combine prideful morality with acting according to human nature, we blind ourselves to our need for grace.

We grow spiritually as we are able to receive the gift of grace and respond in gratitude by choosing to live in love. Grace invites us to see ourselves as we really are, and to know that God loves us as we really are. Grace is the cure for spiritual blindness.

Sharing

As children most of us have to be taught the importance of sharing. A sense of possessiveness seems ingrained in our human nature. I remember reading, when my children were small, of a parent who claimed her child’s first words were “dat mine.” Sometimes we force our children to share by prying their tiny hands open to extract the object they won’t willing share with their friend.

Even as adults, me, my and mine are often used words in our vocabulary. We may still find it hard to share possessions. Many I know operate out of a fearful sense of scarcity, feeling that if their grip on something they value is loosened, it will be gone forever. They exhaust themselves protecting, defending and justifying not only their possessions but also their image and actions.

Freedom, however, is not found in possessiveness but in generosity. Those who are happiest are not those who cling tightly but those who live with an attitude of openness and abundance. They have learned that sharing is life-giving, not only for those with whom they share but also for themselves.

I read a quote recently from Andre’ Louf about prayer that teaches me something new about sharing:

Prayer is a heart that overflows with joy, thanksgiving, gratitude and praise. It is the abundance of a heart that is truly awake.

When we share, we pray. When we live from a stance of abundance, we are truly awake. And when we are truly awake, we are able to share not only our possessions, but love, life and presence with others. To be present with others we have to be awake, aware and open. We let go of the need to be right, the need to protect ourselves, the need to maintain a certain image and even the need to be understood. A posture of abundance frees us to joyfully offer ourselves to others, to receive joyfully from others, and to live prayer as we share life with each other. 

Falling Down and Getting Up

At SoulFeast a couple of years ago, I remember hearing Trevor Hudson, a South African pastor say, “We fall down; we get up.” He was making the point that our lives are a journey, and that even when we think we have progressed, we still fall down. Our whole lives will be a process of falling down.

The key is the getting up part of this phrase. Falling down is part of our human condition, but getting up is what transforms us from the realm of miserable failure to that of hopeful saints. In getting up, we affirm God’s mercy toward us, and we live in grace, confident of our forgiveness.

I am being reminded of this because I had a recent, and still tender, fall. Not a physical fall, but an experience of selfishness where I hurt another. It is tempting to wallow in my wretchedness, and yet, if I choose that course, I turn away from God into my own self-centered guilt.

As much as I regret my behavior, I more regret the hurt I caused. My asking the person for forgiveness does not guarantee that they forgive me, and they are under no obligation to do so. Like Peter, when he denied Jesus three times, I’ve wept bitterly. But also like Peter, I get up and keep moving ahead.

We don’t like to see the ugly parts of ourselves. We would always rather think that we are “good” people, comparing ourselves to ax murderers and other folks who do heinous deeds. The reality is, though, that there is much junk within, and every now and then, it comes out and we fall. It’s why we need forgiveness. It’s why we need a Savior. It’s why grace is so transformative. Our ability to admit and not excuse our falling helps us to recognize that we are not so different than the ax murderer, and grace is available for us both.

Peter and Judas both betrayed Jesus, but while Judas could not get up from his falling, Peter did. Christ’s grace and forgiveness got him up and going. May it do so for me, and for us all when we fall down.

Becoming What We Do

Cynicism, criticism and negativity—it seems to me that these are the predominant attitudes I’ve encountered in groups of adults recently. Even when these are not directed toward me, the aura of these can feel like a heavy coat on a hot day. The sad part of these attitudes is that they are contagious—one cynic in a group suddenly becomes a handful. One critical voice can suddenly be a dam breaking forth, causing every other voice in the group to take up the banner of criticalness.

When did it get to be so popular to be a naysayer? Do folks think it is a sign of maturity to point out every possible flaw in people, plans or organizations? This morning I was reading in the book of Numbers, about how the Israelites complained that the only food they had to eat was the manna that God gave them daily. All they had to do was go outside and gather it up off the ground. It was pure gift to them, a miraculous food supply! And yet, they whined and complained to Moses because it wasn’t what they wanted to eat.

It seems to me that gratitude, encouragement and hope are absent when cynicism, criticism and negativity are present. It’s hard to be grateful for the opportunities and people around us when we are making fun of them or criticizing them.

As we increasingly focus on the negative, it gets harder and harder to see the positive. Douglas V. Steere, Quaker author and professor, says we become what we do. So we can’t make a habit of cynicism without becoming cynics. We can’t regularly criticize without become critical people. Consistent negativity makes us into bitter people.

As a frazzled young mother, trying hard to meet the insurmountable expectations I felt I had to meet, I remember three older women in my church who embodied for me what I wanted to be as I aged. They were positive, encouraging and magnanimous. They smiled a lot. They never had the attitude that they had “done their time” but continued to show up, cheering our children on, and interacting with younger folks at church. To me, they were ageless. And did I mention they smiled a lot?

Now that I am the one with the gray hair and grown children, I realize that I have a choice to make. I can choose to be grateful, cheerful and hopeful or I can criticize, nitpick and complain. I can encourage others or I can tear down what others are trying to build. Knowing that my individual choices in every circumstance become who I am, I pray that I will choose what is hopeful and life-giving.

Divided Devotion

“Our friends there were too worldly and too clever at mixing the pleasures of the world with the service of God.”   (Story of a Soul, The Autobiography of Saint Therese of Lisieux)

Recently I read the autobiography of Saint Therese of Lisieux, who lived from 1873 to 1897.  What was most remarkable to me about Therese was her singular devotion to Christ from a very early age. Her observation about family friends was made when she was a child.

As I read her statement, I wonder if she might say the same of me? Am I too clever at mixing the pleasures of the world with the service of God? Is such “cleverness” what I desire?

Peter instructs his readers about such cleverness in 1 Peter 4:1-3:

Therefore, since Christ suffered as a human, you should also arm yourselves with his way of thinking. This is because whoever suffers is finished with sin. As a result, they don’t live the rest of their human lives in ways determined by human desires but in ways determined by God’s will. You have wasted enough time doing what unbelievers desire—living in their unrestrained immorality and lust, their drunkenness and excessive feasting and wild parties, and their forbidden worship of idols.

Human desires of unrestraint in food, entertainment, material wants, and physical pleasure—these sound a lot like the standard operating mode of our culture. Peter says that pursuing such things is a waste of time. Yet many of us who call ourselves Christians are right there, living in the unrestrained consumer mindset of our society. Maybe we are too clever for our own good, trying to live with such divided devotion. After all, Jesus observed: No one can serve two masters. Either you will hate the one and love the other, or you will be loyal to the one and have contempt for the other. You cannot serve God and wealth. (Matthew 6:24)

Do I really believe Jesus? Does my life show that I am singularly devoted or am I trying to live with divided devotion, serving two masters, which Jesus says cannot be done? I don’t want to waste time trying to do the impossible! 

Wealth and Worth

But how terrible for you who are rich, because you have already received your comfort. How terrible for you who have plenty now, because you will be hungry.  

                                                                                                                Luke 6:24-25a

Recently I was part of a group studying Luke 6:17-31. When we got to the verses above, the discussion grew tense, pointed and critical. Like a hot spotlight, the group quickly moved the conversation from the recognition that we are the ones who have plenty and that Jesus’ comments might therefore be directed toward us. Instead the spotlight’s heat was focused on a more comfortable target—the poor—as some questioned who deserves our charity and how much charity is adequate.

When we equate wealth to worth, we pervert the message and example of Jesus. When we make ourselves the judges of who is worthy to receive our help, our arrogance is apparent. And when we believe that material wealth is a sign of God’s blessing, we make a mockery of the life of Jesus, who had no place to lay his head. (Luke 9:58).

It is a hard task to hold wealth with detachment, humility and faith. We cling to it, putting our trust in it to save us and we look to it to gauge our self-worth. The difficulty of having wealth and giving oneself in devotion to Christ is why Jesus said “No one can serve two masters. Either you will hate the one and love the other or you will be loyal to the one and have contempt for the other. You cannot serve God and wealth.” (Matthew 6:24)

You cannot serve God and wealth. But we don’t really believe that, as evidenced from the way many of us live, anxious about our assets and questioning whether and how much to give to others. That is why when passages such as the one from Luke are studied, people get tense and critical. We want to justify our lifestyle choices and try to make them fit with Jesus’ teachings, much in the way we might try to fit into clothing too small for us. Instead of justifying ourselves, it is better to acknowledge our need to be changed and to pray for a heart that desires to be changed. A glad and generous heart gives out of love for Christ, recognizing that all are made worthy by Jesus’ death on the cross, not by the balance in one’s bank account.  Holding wealth with detachment means we give without expectation, we give because love compels us to give, and we trust God with the outcome of our giving.

Locked Doors

The evening we arrived home from our mission trip to El Salvador, I unlocked our house and was convicted by that simple act that I routinely perform. Unlocking the door was a profound demonstration of our culture of ownership and individualism. The reason unlocking the door seemed suddenly so odd was because we had spent a week in a village where houses and hearts were open and unpossessive.

We took a Frisbee, some rubber balls and a soccer ball for the children of the village to play with. Our entire group observed a different spirit among the children than we are used to seeing among children at home. Often, what we see with children here is a desire to possess something entirely. It is not easy to have a community ball because someone wants to claim ownership, or wants to monopolize the use of the ball. However, we saw none of that among the children of the village where we spent the week. It was so amazing to us that we regularly commented on it. We would hear lots of noise as children played with the items we had brought, but never any angry words, and never any tears.

One child took the Frisbee home one evening and I wondered if we would see it again the next morning. But when we arrived, there was Kevin with the Frisbee, ready to play with the other children and with us. He knew it belonged to the community and had only taken it home for safekeeping until it could be stored at the village school.

Why the difference between our children and the children we encountered in the village? I wonder if our locked doors teach our children more about title law than we realize. Our notions about possessions and ownership filter down into the minds of our children even if we have not directly taught them anything directly about these concepts. We used to hear our own boys say “Dat mine” when playing with each other or with other children. Even as we try to teach our children to share with others, our own locked doors proclaim “Dat mine” to the world outside our homes. Our keys and alarm codes speak louder to our children than our lessons about generosity and sharing.

Thomas Merton said this: “God, Who owns all things, leaves them all to themselves. He never takes them for His own, the way we take them for our own and destroy them. . . His love is not like ours. His love is unpossessive. His love is pure because it needs nothing.”

When I think of the way we saw the children share the few simple toys we brought, I believe we caught a glimpse of pure, unpossessive love. Their love and their lives reflected purity because there was nothing that they held back from us or from each other.

I wonder what I miss by living behind my locked doors. Jesus’ words in Luke 9:25 give me a clue: What advantage do people have if they gain the whole world for themselves yet perish or lose their lives?

Life doesn’t happen when doors are locked, either physical doors or the doors of my heart. Purity is not compatible with possessiveness. I pray for life, for release from locked doors.

Extravagant Living or Extravagant Giving?

The gospel reading for Sunday a week ago was the story of the prodigal son. Luke 15:13 says of the son who took his inheritance while his father was still living: Soon afterward, the younger son gathered everything together and took a trip to a land far away. There, he wasted his wealth through extravagant living.

This past Sunday’s gospel was the story of Mary pouring perfume on the feet of Jesus in John 12:1-8. She gives a gift that costs “a year’s wages” and pours it out on the feet of Jesus, wiping his feet dry with her hair. The perfume was an extravagant gift, given out of her love for Jesus. Watchman Nee, in The Normal Christian Life, says that Mary “wastes” herself for Jesus. Judas does not understand such wastefulness. Do we understand it any better than Judas?

In one case, a young man takes his resources and spends it on himself, living an extravagant life—traveling, partying, seeking his own pleasure and comfort. On the other hand, Mary takes her resources and spends it on Jesus. And not even on something that will last, like a house or even a robe. She spends it on something that, once poured out, cannot be recovered. In one fell swoop, Mary does an extravagant thing. Instead of extravagant living, Mary shows us extravagant giving.

Both the prodigal son and Mary are wasteful, but their motives and the objects of their wastefulness are completely different. The prodigal wants what is “rightfully his” for himself. He indulges his desires, wasting what his father gave him to make himself comfortable. Mary wastes what is hers on Jesus, life and love poured out in that perfume, an unrecoverable gift for the one she loves more than herself. In that act, she binds her life to Jesus. Her desire is to pour herself out for him, a sacrifice that sets up his own sacrifice a few days later.

I cannot look at these two stories without considering my own life. Do I waste my resources on myself, on treasure that doesn’t last, or do I waste my resources on Christ? When I consider that all I have comes from God, why should I not want to pour out all I have on the feet of Jesus? I want to give extravagantly, rather than live extravagantly. 

The Inconvenience of Lent

Near our house is a church with a lighted marquee sign. It announces their sermon series and activities. I usually read it as I’m walking in the mornings.

Lately, the sign has been announcing Easter weekend activities. Nothing too surprising about that. What did catch my eye is that the church is having an Easter service on Saturday evening. In the midst of the Easter Vigil, there will be a celebration of Jesus’ resurrection, one day early. I wonder what it says about our inability to wait, and our worship of convenience.

This Lent has been especially difficult for me. More than I can remember, I’ve kept count of the days. I’ve found it hard not to grumble about what I’ve given up. I am too easily relating to the Israelites who complained all through their forty-year journey in the wilderness. I am having trouble with forty days. I can’t imagine how I’d do with forty years.

But as much as I want to celebrate on Easter, as much as I look forward to the joyous worship of the risen Christ, I know that the waiting of Lent is good for me, and I don’t want to shorten that by even a day. I know that the pain of the Easter Triduum is what makes Easter Sunday such a celebration. I need to have that time to ponder the betrayal, crucifixion and death of Jesus. I need to spend that Saturday reflecting on what the disciples must have felt as they thought that hope was buried when Jesus was put in the tomb.

Lent reminds me that life isn’t all about being secure, safe and comfortable. It is about laying aside what is convenient for me and taking practices that help me to be more compassionate. Our culture worships the gods of convenience and comfort. To step back and deliberately live differently for the forty days of Lent helps me to recognize how much I’ve bought into those gods. Otherwise, I deceive myself and think that I am not a slave to them.

In the book I am studying this Lent, A Place at the Table, author Chris Seay says, “We have allowed our love of freedom to become an excuse to live a life marked by self-absorbed consumerism.” We think it’s our right for life to be about convenience and comfort, that somehow we “deserve” it. In this season of Lent, difficult as it has been for me, I am reminded that I don’t have it hard at all. What I have given up has been my choice. For others, they have no choice.

Gracious and loving God, turn my eyes toward you. May I see you in the eyes of others. May I not run from the discomfort of Lent but live into it. Break my self-absorbed spirit and fill me with compassion for others. May I reject the false gods of convenience and comfort and instead choose to walk in the way of the cross, living for God’s Kingdom. Amen. 

Shrine-Builder or Disciple?

This past Sunday we celebrated Transfiguration Sunday, where Jesus was transformed on the mountain. Here is the passage from Luke’s Gospel: About eight days after Jesus said these things, he took Peter, John, and James, and went up on a mountain to pray. As he was praying, the appearance of his face changed and his clothes flashed white like lightning. Two men, Moses and Elijah, were talking with him. They were clothed with heavenly splendor and spoke about Jesus’ departure, which he would achieve in Jerusalem. Peter and those with him were almost overcome by sleep, but they managed to stay awake and saw his glory as well as the two men with him.

As the two men were about to leave Jesus, Peter said to him, “Master, it’s good that we’re here. We should construct three shrines: one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah”—but he didn’t know what he was saying. Peter was still speaking when a cloud overshadowed them. As they entered the cloud, they were overcome with awe.

Then a voice from the cloud said, “This is my Son, my chosen one. Listen to him!” Even as the voice spoke, Jesus was found alone. They were speechless and at the time told no one what they had seen.  Luke 9:28-36

Peter wants to build shrines to commemorate the event. We would rather construct something to signify our relationship with Jesus than to listen to him. Listening compels us to choose to follow and obey or to turn away and ignore. We don’t really want to do either, for the first requires that we remove ourselves from the throne and put Christ there, and the second makes us feel like bad people, and we don’t want to acknowledge that about ourselves.

So, left with two unappealing choices, we, like Peter, opt for a third choice—let’s build something. As we build a shrine, others will know that we’ve been with Jesus, that we are insiders. We can avoid either obedience or outright rejection of Christ by doing something, by building a shrine. Some of us build a shrine by charitable service—feeding and clothing those less fortunate than ourselves. Some build a shrine by serving on church committees, giving long hours to administrative acts for the church. There are many way we build shrines, shrines that keep us from having to listen to Jesus or reject him.

Certainly it’s not a bad thing to help others. Jesus helped others, but his first priority was obedience to God. He listened to God, and then acted out of the intimacy of his relationship with God. We build shrines when we act without listening, when we act to make ourselves look and feel good, when we avoid committing ourselves to developing an intimate relationship with Christ.

I build a shrine when I am resentful of how my service is received by others, or when I demand my own way in the church or when I withhold resources from the Kingdom because I don’t like that the church is not doing things my way. Shrine building occurs whenever we grumble and back-bite and undermine another, whenever we slay another by our words, forgetting that the target of our displeasure and venom is a child of God and loved by God.

When our service doesn’t flow from first listening to and obeying Christ, we are simply building shrines. And, ironically, the shrine isn’t built to glorify God, but ourselves. The shrine tells others that we were here and we did something special “for God.”

God isn’t into shrine-building. What God wants is for us to listen to Jesus, and then, obey. Love the enemy, give without reservation, love God and love neighbor. Die to self. Die to self-interest. Die to self-preservation. Die to self-promotion. For either we die, or we suppress the life of Christ in us. There is not room for both me and Christ. I must die so Christ can live in me. That then is my transfiguration.

Good Food

“Don’t work for the food that doesn’t last but for the food that endures for eternal life, which the Human One will give you.”   John 6:27a

In A Place at the Table, Chris Seay says that he spends a lot of time thinking about what he will eat each day. I can make the same observation about myself. I give a lot of time and attention to what I will eat, from planning menus to clipping coupons to shopping and cooking and looking for new recipes. I don’t know how much time I spend pursuing food that doesn’t last (and I’m not just talking about what I eat, but all the impermanent stuff I do), compared to the time than I spend eating the Word of God, praying the Word and living the Word. How much of what consumes my time, energy and resources is superfluous?

So much of what commands our time and attention is the equivalent of “empty calories.” It is living a life that is driven by desire instead of intention. Living according to desire or craving leaves me hungry and unsatisfied, looking for more and rewiring my brain to think that I need and deserve more to be happy. We want something so we “sacrifice” and work to get it, or we go into debt to get it. But do we sacrifice and work for greater intimacy with Christ or do we expect we’ll get all we need from God by our weekly attendance at worship, occasional almsgiving and some service to others when it is convenient with our schedule?

When Cain and Abel brought gifts to God, the reason Abel’s gift was accepted was that it was the best of what he had. Cain’s gift was what he had available. Does God get my first and best time, attention and resources, or do I fit God into my already crowded schedule and checkbook, and then, only after I’ve committed my time and resources to what I want to do or purchase?

There is a certain automobile ad that has been running lately that uses the slogan, “Someday your life will flash before your eyes. Make it worth watching.” It shows a couple traveling to exotic destinations, eating at fine restaurants, walking on a red carpet, and other similar activities. Such is a life lived for desire, pursuing food that doesn’t last. A life lived with the intention to grow more intimate with God will not have the patience or interest for such desire-driven pastimes. When you’ve tasted the joy and peace that comes from growing intimacy with Christ, you cannot be satisfied with the empty calories of desire-based living.

Saint Augustine speaks of food that lasts in this quote: You called, you cried, you shattered my deafness. You sparkled, you blazed, you drove away my blindness. You shed your fragrance, and I drew in my breath, and I pant for you. I tasted and now I hunger and thirst. You touched me, and now I burn with longing for your peace.

Burning, panting, hungering for God, an all-consuming longing that makes one ache out of love and desire for God—that is not something you fit into your schedule. It is what you build your whole life around. It is the food that endures for eternal life.