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.

Our Inherent Interconnectedness

Sometimes life lessons come from the simplest items. Recently for me, it was an apple core. Let me explain.

On Wednesdays, I bring my lunch to work. The schedule for that day makes it difficult to go out for lunch and we have a wonderful courtyard with tables and chairs, flowers, and abundant shade. I enjoy being outside anyway, so it’s always a pleasant break in the day.

Last Wednesday, I noticed an apple core in the chair next to mine. I bring apples most weeks, and place the core at the base of a plant, since I know the core will compost. A squirrel knew it had found a treat, carried it to the table and sat in a chair like a person to dine! While I didn’t get to see the actual event, I enjoyed the mental image it brought forth.

On Tuesday mornings, we have a service of morning prayer in our prayer center. Many mornings I enjoy sipping my coffee prior to prayer while looking out the windows of the prayer center. A fence of brick lattice is visible outside the windows, and the windows also overlook the courtyard. I often see squirrels and birds, and when the season and weather cooperate, I get to see the sun hit the side of our sanctuary building. There is a particular spot on the brick fence that is often littered with acorn shells, evidence that a squirrel has had a meal there.

When I looked out the window yesterday, there was an apple core in that spot! I laughed out loud, thinking about how much my lunch leftovers are being appreciated by our church’s nearest neighbors. It was a reminder, a lesson for me about how all creation is connected, that every act we take affects others, whether we are aware of it or not. We know it if we remember our science lessons—the trees produce oxygen we need to breathe, and we produce carbon dioxide that the trees need to breathe. Yet we don’t always live like we know this, or else we would be more careful about our environment.

This is only one example of how our lives depends on the lives of everything and everyone else. We are dependent on one another far more than many of us realize. People you will never meet made your clothes, tended and harvested your food and assembled most of the products you use every day. When we act as if some people don’t matter, as if they are disposable, we harm ourselves, not only our way of life but also our souls.

All we do, for good, for ill, or simply unknowingly, has a ripple effect, just as we are affected by the actions, beliefs and choices of others. An apple-eating squirrel reminded me of that. May we all be more aware of our interconnectedness and live every day with care, remembering that our neighbors include all of creation.

Lament

Psalm 22

My God, my God

have you left us all alone?

have you turned away from our anguish?

Do you not see what is happening?

Snarling dogs pounce on the weak—

besting the aged for food,

tearing families apart,

trampling the gentle,

attacking the poor.

When they lose a crumb from their enormous loaf

the rich blame the hungry for their “loss.”

They trust might and weapons, feeding on these

until they are glutted,

while compassion and mercy fade into oblivion.

But the new day reminds me that you are constant.

You have not abandoned us. It is we

who have abandoned you, trusting in wealth and weapons,

in power and possessions, and not in your ways,

which work like yeast, steady, unseen.

Expand our hope, grow our compassion,

crowd out our fear, fill us with love

until we sing praise,

until our lives ring true,

until we resist evil.

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.

Confession

Isaiah 40

God, whose way leads through

wilderness, whose desert path

uproots us out of ordinary time,

forgive us when we choose

complacency over change,

ease over transformation,

numbness over attentiveness.

We prefer the false security of

easy answers, blame and prejudice

rather than the disciplines of

understanding, patience and

accountability.

Hold us in the desert long enough

to clear our vision, change our hearts,

gentle our judgments.

Hold us accountable even as you

hold us in your hand.

Flatten our mountains of pride.

Raise the ones we have despised.

Make our desert sojourn fruitful—

harsh enough to soften us, to turn

us to you in utter dependency,

so we will know that you show

your power in gentleness,

your strength in compassion,

your greatness in proximity.

Advent Musings with Mary's Magnificat - Week 3

This past Sunday in worship, we sang an Advent hymn that I recognized, by about the end of the second verse, as a rendering of Mary’s Magnificat. The hymn, entitled My Soul Gives Glory to My God, includes this verse:

Love casts the mighty from their thrones,

promotes the insecure,

leaves hungry spirits satisfied,

the rich seem suddenly poor.

Like many hymns, I wonder how much we really tuned in to the words as we sang. We might do fine with the first three lines, but as those who by the world’s standards are rich, do we really want to seem suddenly poor?

When you get into Mary’s song of praise, you suddenly realize that she has gone from praising God for honoring her to praising God for upending the entire social order:

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.

Reading these verses (Luke 1:51-53) gives us an insight into Mary as much more than a docile, delicate teenager. These are the words of a prophet, and like all good prophets, her words are neither gentle nor subtle. They tell of a new way, a way that turns power and possessions toward those who do not have them and away from the ones who perennially hold the world’s purse-strings and power.

These prophetic words remind us that God’s way is not the way our world operates. The wealthy and powerful, the proud and intimidating, are not the ones God honors. It’s the poor, the powerless, the meek and the hungry that God favors. Just read the Beatitudes (Matthew 5:1-12) if you aren’t convinced, or better yet, look at the life and death of Jesus. He had no place to lay his head; he was killed by the powers that be and instead of retaliating, he chose the humble way of suffering, crucified as a criminal. 

Advent Musings with Mary's Magnificat-Week 1

And 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.

                                                Luke 1:46-49

For this season of Advent, I want to spend time reflecting on Mary’s song of praise, that spontaneous utterance she gave upon being greeted and blessed by her cousin Elizabeth as she arrived at Elizabeth’s home.

While her song is appropriate material for reflection at any time, I am especially aware of its significance currently, as hateful words and actions seem to be more prevalent, accepted and even encouraged in our country than I can remember in my lifetime.

Today, I reflect on Mary’s chosenness, on her worth as a woman, her status as the mother of Jesus. Mary is a strong prophetic voice, a person of strong faith. Her song of praise echoes that of Hannah, the mother of Samuel, and the voices of prophets all through Israel’s history, who knew that the weak, the poor and the least are those whom God lifts up and holds in high esteem.

It disturbs and angers me when women are treated as objects rather than as children of God and worthy of respect and equality of opportunity. I have heard first hand disparaging remarks about the capability of women. Being told “you’re pretty smart for a girl” is not a compliment. Calling women bossy for being in leadership roles, criticizing their appearance, and labelling them as “shrill” when they recognize and speak against discrimination does not recognize the worth and dignity of women.  Strong women have changed the course of history but have seldom been highly regarded in their own time. Contemporaries did not esteem their gifts because they came in a female package.

Mary, as well as her cousin Elizabeth, and a host of other women, remind me that we would not have Christianity and the Church today if not for women. And yet, the Church has had a checkered history in its treatment of women that, sadly, continues even now. Isn’t it appropriate as we prepare for the coming of Christ, to remember that God chose a strong young woman to be the one who would not only give birth to Jesus but who could be trusted with his life until adulthood? A woman whose trust in God enabled her to risk ostracism and judgment to become who God called her to become?

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.

What Matters

Today’s liturgy for Morning Prayer in Common Prayer: A Liturgy for Ordinary Radicals described the life of Franz Jagerstatter, of Austria, who was the sole conscientious objector in his village to the annexation of Austria to Germany under Hitler. Jagerstatter was not part of any resistance movement, just an individual whose Christian faith could not be reconciled with fighting for Hitler’s army. Religious leaders in his village encouraged him to conform and serve, but Jagerstatter maintained his faith, and was imprisoned and beheaded for it.

Jagerstatter was simply a person who loved God and chose to live (and die) guided by that love. That we know of him at all, because he was a peasant laborer, is surprising. Through the centuries, there are those who choose the unpopular way of Jesus, choosing to live lives motivated by love, by powerlessness, by foregoing the values of the culture and instead surrendering to the downward mobility of the gospel message. Because they understand that real power comes through weakness and that strength comes through surrender to the way of Jesus, they are the unseen, unspectacular yeast that works its way through the dough and rises, despite efforts to suppress them by those who put their faith in power, influence and riches.

People who know what matters do not have to shout or threaten others to be heard. A friend once told me that silence speaks louder than criticism, name-calling and moralistic diatribes. What matters is to live outwardly congruent with what is in one’s heart. True authenticity is not motivated by what others think about you; it is living an undivided, singly-focused life. The courage to be faithful and authentic, even when authenticity and faithfulness is unpopular and misunderstood, will stand the test of time, long after power, influence and riches fall away.

Oscar Romero and Lives that Become the Gospel

How do we live lives that become the gospel? Today is the 35^th anniversary of the death of Archbishop Oscar Romero of El Salvador, martyred while celebrating Eucharist in a hospital chapel. Martyred because he spoke out against an oppressive and brutal government.

We don’t live lives that become the gospel by complaining that we are “oppressed” when, financially able to have health care, we seek to deny such coverage for those unable to afford it.

We don’t live lives that become the gospel by the name-calling of those with whom we disagree or by supporting media figures who engage in such behavior.

We don’t live lives that become the gospel by consuming more resources than we need and supporting with our purchasing power the oppression of others who are trapped in unsafe, exploitative jobs.

During Lent, I’ve been part of a study of the book Inhabiting the Cruciform God, by Michael Gorman. The book asserts that Paul’s theology is shaped by the pattern of Jesus’ death on the cross, and that such a pattern not only tells us about Jesus, but also God. Philippians 2:5-11 offers us a picture of Jesus’ faithfulness and a picture of God’s sacrificial love for us.

Think of yourselves the way Christ Jesus thought of himself. He had equal status with God but didn’t think so much of himself that he had to cling to the advantages of that status no matter what. Not at all. When the time came, he set aside the privileges of deity and took on the status of a slave, became human! Having become human, he stayed human. It was an incredibly humbling process. He didn’t claim special privileges. Instead, he lived a selfless, obedient life and then died a selfless, obedient death—and the worst kind of death at that—a crucifixion.

Because of that obedience, God lifted him high and honored him far beyond anyone or anything, ever, so that all created beings in heaven and on earth—even those long ago dead and buried—will bow in worship before this Jesus Christ, and call out in praise that he is the Master of all, to the glorious honor of God the Father. (MSG)

What would happen if we thought of ourselves in this self-emptying, self-sacrificial way? How would we treat others, even those who inflict violence on us? If we follow the pattern of Jesus, we would not repay violence with violence. Instead we would absorb the violence of others. As Gorman asserts, the power of God in Christ is power in weakness. It is a nonretaliatory, nonviolent power. It is not the way of name-calling, overconsumption or self-preservation.

We have to be careful in our culture of individualism to not be blinded by cultural values that do not follow the pattern given us in the crucifixion and death of Jesus. We have to exercise caution that we do not rationalize our affluence by saying we can do good for others, while surrounding ourselves with things we don’t need and throwing our crumbs to those who have real needs.

The gospel is good news for all. For that to happen we have to empty ourselves for the sake of others. We are called to pour ourselves out, not cautiously cling to our privilege. Archbishop Romero realized that his outspokenness might result in his death. He spoke out anyway. May his faith and courage inspire us to do likewise, and truly live lives that become the gospel.

Invisible Growth

The Academy for Spiritual Formation taught me many things, but fundamental to all of it was the definition of spiritual formation itself: the process of being conformed to the image of Christ for the sake of others. It was emphasized to us that “for the sake of others” could not happen without “the process of being conformed to the image of Christ.” There is an interior process that must be attended to in order for the outward work to be effective.

The focus on interior work was not one that had been obvious to me in my experience as a lifelong church member. I wonder sometimes if our religious communities do an adequate job of emphasizing the importance of interior work. I’m afraid our criteria for measuring one’s faithfulness is overly focused on external acts of service.

I’m not implying that outward acts are not important. We live in a world where people are hungry, homeless and hurting. But outward acts done without inward growth can lead to frustration and burnout. Thomas Merton puts it this way: The mere fact of becoming a well working cog in an efficient religious machine will never make anyone into a saint if he does not seek God interiorly in the sanctuary of his own soul.

I know that in the past I did quite a bit of “church work” that I hesitate to call “service” because I did not perform it with a servant’s spirit. Maybe I thought I did starting out, but over time I wore down and the “work” became drudgery. I believe it is because I focused more on being a “cog” in the “religious machine” rather than on growing in intimacy with God.

Indicators of being a cog might include criticalness of the ones you serve. For example, several months ago I was part of a discussion about the Sermon on the Plain, found in Luke 6. The specific verse that seemed to trigger the harshest discussion was Luke 6:30: Give to everyone who asks and don’t demand your things back from those who take them. A couple of folks were outspoken about who was “worthy” of their generosity and who was not worthy. We would all do well to pay attention to the attitudes that surround our service. It may be that we need to step back from our outward service to focus on inward growth so that our service is done with love and generosity.

In a culture that believes “what you can measure you can manage” a focus on inward growth seems to hold little value. Merton observes: One has very little evidence of progress or perfection in this interior sphere—while in the exterior, progress can be more easily measured and results can be seen. They can also be shown to others for their approval and admiration. The most important, the most real, and lasting work of the Christian is accomplished in the depths of his own soul. It cannot be seen by anyone, even by himself. It is known only to God.”

It is this uncertainty of our “progress” that leads us away from the pride of outward accomplishment to humble trust that our desire for intimacy with God is actually leading us closer to the heart of God. It is an invisible, unheralded journey, yet it is the journey that really matters.

The Distortion of Being on Top

I’m reading a book called Celtic Christian Spirituality: Essential Writings – Annotated and Explained. Rev. Mary Earle has written the annotations. The book covers a variety of themes prevalent in Celtic Christian spirituality, and includes both poetry and prose.

Recently I read this quote from Pelagius: “No one is more ready to pity the exile or the stranger than someone who knows the effects of exile. No one offers lodging to a homeless guest so much as someone who has themselves been dependent on the generosity of others. No one is more likely to feed the hungry or to give a drink to the thirsty than someone who has themselves suffered hunger and thirst. No one is so ready to cover the naked with their own clothes than someone who knows the pain of nakedness and cold. No one is more likely to come to the aid of people who face troubles, misery, and hardship than those who have themselves experienced the misfortune of troubles, misery, and hardship.” Earle’s annotation on this passage includes this observation: “The danger of wealth is not the wealth itself, but the isolating effect it may have on the one who holds the riches. It is easy to forget what it is like to be hungry, homeless, thirsty, or naked when we never have to worry about the next meal, our child’s health, or having adequate housing.”

Most everyone I know well fits into the category of ones holding the riches, myself included. I am convicted by the remarks of Pelagius and Rev. Earle. When I read them, my first thought was of the young people at our southern border and the families that are struggling to escape the violence of gang activity, if not for themselves, at least for their children. How can I make a sweeping statement of judgment when my own children grew up in safety and security?

My viewpoint is that of one holding possessions and power. It’s a distorted view of reality, and it endangers me because the temptation is strong toward self-preservation rather than self-sacrifice. God must surely be crying—for the families who believe the risk of staying home is greater than the risk of leaving, and for those who believe the risk of compassion is greater than the risk of comfort.

I pray that I will move from the safety that endangers me to the sacrifice that leads to wholeness. Jesus said “I am the Way.” May I be part of the Way for others by following the Way down.

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.

                                                                                (Philippians 2:5-8)

Morality As An Obstacle to Holiness

I’m reading Life and Holiness by Thomas Merton, so over the next few weeks you will likely find my blog posts exploring some of the ideas from that book.

Merton says that moral goodness is an infantile conception of holiness. He observes that we don’t appreciate the meaning and greatness of our vocation to Christian holiness because we don’t know how to value the divine redemption and infinite mercy of God, so we content ourselves with exterior signs of respectability.

An article I read recently in Weavings magazine referenced three phases of discipleship described by Father Ron Rolheiser. The most basic phase, Essential Discipleship, is defined as the struggle to get our lives together. Moral goodness would seem to fit into this lowest level of discipleship. If being good in the sight of God and others is my goal, I remain in the shallow end of the pool of discipleship.

The second and third phases of discipleship are Generative Discipleship, defined as the struggle to give our lives away and Radical Discipleship, the struggle to give our deaths away. Jesus gives us the ultimate picture of what giving one’s life and one’s death away looks like. Jesus’ path of downward mobility, giving up one’s rights and privilege for the sake of others, is the way of holiness. This is not an easy way, especially when we are the ones who have rights and privilege. Merton notes that the way of Christian holiness means embracing hardship and sacrifice for the love of Christ and in order to improve the condition of people on earth. He says, “We may not merely enjoy the good things of life ourselves, occasionally ‘purifying our intention’ to make sure that we are doing it all ‘for God.’. . . Our love of God and of man cannot be merely symbolic, it has to be completely real.”

Such a love means we cannot close our eyes to the injustice that surrounds us in our own communities and across the globe. We cannot excuse our indifference or inaction by saying someone “deserves” their lot in life, or that exploitation is okay because it’s the cultural norm or that the problem is too big for me to make a difference.

The amazing thing about the path of holiness is that in giving ourselves away we discover freedom that is not possible when we content ourselves with being morally good and respectable. When all we have is available to others, life becomes joyful.

Understanding and Indifference

Come, let’s go down and mix up their language there so they won’t understand each other’s language.”  Genesis 11:7

Our church is doing a summer sermon series on Genesis. This past Sunday, the message was about the building of the Tower of Babel (Genesis 11:1-10). It has been good to revisit a familiar story that I probably haven’t read closely in quite a while.

This account explains why we have different languages. Yet even when we speak the same language, we don’t understand each other. It’s more than dialectical differences that separate us. It’s the differences of culture and family history and economics (to name a few) that keep us from understanding one another. Frankly, I’m not sure that we always want to understand each other, because that puts us in the uncomfortable position of recognizing that we need to change—our beliefs, our habits, our ways of seeing others and the world.

We can choose not to change, but when we make that choice, we grow a calloused layer of indifference around our hearts. This is an evil indifference for it arises out of knowing and not caring. Once you know something, you cannot un-know it.

Understanding is risky business. It is deep and disturbing and that is why we are much happier in our ignorance. When we don’t understand, we can spew our shallow knowledge at each other, using our limited understanding as a weapon to defend our position rather than letting knowledge grow into something that draws us to those who are different from us.

In the Garden of Eden, Adam and Eve ate of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil. If knowledge is a tree, we too often choose to cut it down for spears to hurl at each other rather than nurture its growth and welcome its gift of shade for us, inviting others to join us in its shade. When I see the way we treat each other, I wonder if any of our ancestors really did eat any fruit of the tree of knowledge. Our unwillingness to understand each other seems evidence to the contrary!

Extending Compassion

I’ve been prayerfully reading through Isaiah for several months now. Recently I read these verses:

The land mourned; it wasted away;

   Lebanon was ashamed; it withered.

Sharon became like the desert,

   and Bashan and Carmel were dropping their leaves.   

                                                                                                Isaiah 33:9

The lack of care for humanity extends to the land as well, according to Isaiah’s prophecy. That makes sense, for how can true compassion be compartmentalized? How can you love one and not another? How can you care for people and not for animals or vice versa? Psalm 36:6 says: Your righteousness is like the strongest mountains; your justice is like the deepest sea. Lord, you save both humans and animals. How can you value the earth and not its residents? How do you love God and mutilate God’s creation?

Purposely and accidentally we have shielded ourselves from the consequences of our choices. We don’t always know the effects of our lifestyle and when we do know, we sometimes objectify the suffering we cause, as if that somehow makes it okay. When we label people as different from us (by sex, race, religion, age, lifestyle, etc.) we can justify our actions against them. When we objectify a person with a label, then we no longer see him or her as a child of God. When we commoditize flora and fauna, we lose sight of the care God took to create it and of the delicate balance of interconnectedness that we were charged to preserve. Our careless, self-important attitude leaves no quarter for true compassion or for the fullness of God’s love to flow through us for the benefit of a hurting world.

Who of us is not guilty? When we use electricity, someone’s nature is destroyed. Our mindless food choices means people and animals and land are often exploited and abused. When we push for cheaper products, the poor person in another country suffers for our benefit. The recent garment factory fire in Bangladesh should cause us to require accountability for the clothing we purchase. Our unwillingness to consider the consequences of our actions causes others to suffer and breaks God’s heart.

We may hide behind the notion that we are “good people,” but the suffering of lives that intersect with ours, if we stop to think about the reach of our choices, tells a different story. We are sinful people, and to glibly claim forgiveness continues to keep us skating on the surface of compassion, avoiding the deep woundedness that our lifestyle choices perpetuate. Ezekiel’s prophecy against the leaders of his day could be spoken to us in first world America: Doom to Israel’s shepherds who tended themselves! Shouldn’t shepherds tend the flock? You drink the milk, you wear the wool, and you slaughter the fat animals, but you don’t tend the flock. You don’t strengthen the weak, heal the sick, bind up the injured, bring back the strays, or seek out the lost; but instead you use force to rule them with injustice. (Ezekiel 34:2b-4).

Until we cut through the calloused layer created by our limited vision, we cannot deeply know our forgiveness, for true forgiveness has to result in a changed life, a changed heart, a heart that knows that God lives in every person, every animal, every natural resource, every created thing. When we truly know that, we cannot help living differently. Until we know that, we crucify God time and time again by not honoring what God created and loves.

Lord God, creator of all that is, seen and unseen, help me to see you in every part of creation—people, animals, plants, and all else you created. Help me to live mindfully, making whatever choices I can to preserve your life in the world. Where I continue to crucify you by the lifestyle choices I cannot easily overcome, give me wisdom and prudence to lessen my dependence on these choices, a voice to speak out for changes, and courage and faith when such changes seem insurmountable. Give me a compassionate heart, even though I know that by asking for this, I am also asking for the ability to shoulder the pain and suffering of your creation, which is your pain and suffering. Give me the courage to carry your cross, which is carried daily by the poor and the exploited of all creation. Amen.

Challenge Questions for the New Year

I have been reading Colossians 3:12-17 daily since December 31st. I don’t know how long I will stay with it. There is just so much there to ponder and absorb. In an earlier post, I reflected on the first part of Colossians 3:12. Today I want to focus on the last part of the verse.

Therefore, as God’s choice, holy and loved, put on compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness, and patience.

Imagine what kind of impression we who claim to be Christian would make in the world if we consistently put on these five traits: compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness or patience. I must be accountable for how well I demonstrate these in my life.

So here is a list of these traits with some challenge questions for each. The questions are not exhaustive (although I may be exhausted trying to live so that I can answer them as a faithful disciple). Over the next few months I intend to focus on one of these each week in my own life, to be challenged and hopefully changed for the better.

Compassion

• Can I put myself in the place of another so that I don’t just pity them, but seek to understand them?

• Will I allow myself to fully experience the pain and heartbreak of another, especially one whose lifestyle, views, or beliefs are different than mine?

• Can I experience not only the pain of the victim but also the pain of the perpetrator?

• Can I learn to see as God sees, to love as God loves, unconditionally, generously and mercifully?

• When I read news accounts, will I refuse to see numbers or enemies and instead see people—people who are mothers, fathers, daughters or sons?

• Will I consider who is benefitted or exploited by the consumer choices I make for goods, services and utilities?

Kindness

• Will I be kind to others—all others? All the time?

• Can I not only act kindly but also think kindly?

• Can I extend kindness to those who have not been kind to me?

• Can I be kind to those with whom I disagree?

Humility

• Will I prefer others over myself?

• Will I be honest in my self-assessments, neither overstating my strengths nor playing down the abilities God has given me?

• Can I acknowledge that I am capable of good but also capable of evil, yet always loved by God?

• Can I be content with the talents God has given me?

Gentleness

• Can I be careful with the feelings of others, especially those closest to me?

• Will I consider the inadvertent ways I hurt others, by ignoring or forgetting or failing to be compassionate?

• Can I be gentle toward others in the words I say, post, or tweet? 

• Can I disagree with another without attacking the person, remembering that God loves them as much as God loves me?

Patience

• Will I be patient with God, patient with others, and patient with myself?

• Can I enjoy and appreciate times of inactivity and waiting?

• Will I move slower, so I can be more aware of God, more aware of others and more aware of myself?

• Can I learn when to work and when to wait?

Love and the Law

I’ve been reading through the gospel of Luke for the past couple of months. Reading through the whole of Luke has allowed me to come to new ways of seeing familiar passages as I read them in the context of what comes before and after them. In January, I heard Brian McLaren teach on how scripture’s meaning can change for us when we read it in context. That has helped me look at what I am reading more from a panoramic viewpoint rather than in isolation.

Luke 14 begins with Jesus healing on the Sabbath. Jesus then teaches us that discipleship demands that we be completely committed to him, willing even to give up all our possessions (note that this is said to all, not simply to the rich young ruler). Luke 15 gives stories about hospitality and welcoming, and in the first part of chapter 16 Jesus teaches about faithfulness with money. What follows are these five verses:

¹⁴ The Pharisees, who were money-lovers, heard all this and sneered at Jesus. ¹⁵ He said to them,“You are the ones who justify yourselves before other people, but God knows your hearts. What is highly valued by people is deeply offensive to God. ¹⁶ Until John, there was only the Law and the Prophets. Since then, the good news of God’s kingdom is preached, and everyone is urged to enter it.¹⁷ It’s easier for heaven and earth to pass away than for the smallest stroke of a pen in the Law to drop out. ¹⁸ Any man who divorces his wife and marries another commits adultery, and a man who marries a woman divorced from her husband commits adultery. (CEB)

What follows is the story of the rich man and Lazarus, teachings about faithful service, and then Jesus heals ten lepers, and the only one who returns to thank him is a Samaritan. Through the passages before and after these verses, Jesus has done what is offensive to the Pharisees. Healing on the Sabbath violated the Law, giving up all ones possessions went way farther than the tithe prescribed by the Law, as did Jesus’ teachings about divorce. But Jesus also taught grace and forgiveness in the parable of the prodigal son and the manager who changed the accounts of his master’s debtors. Jesus also reached out to those whom society used the Law to avoid when he healed the ten lepers.

So in reading the familiar verse about how it’s easier for heaven and earth to pass away than for the smallest part of the Law to drop out, I wonder if Jesus is speaking more to the rigidity of the Pharisees than he is praising the Law. The Pharisees highly valued the Law and often seemed to revere it over people. They seemed more concerned about preserving the Law than they did about extending love and grace and healing to others. Reading this verse in the context of this whole section of Luke causes me to wonder if Jesus was saying that the Pharisees were so unmovable in their adoration of the Law that even if they were shown a higher and better way, they would not let go of the Law.

Jesus says that what is highly valued by people is deeply offensive to God. I wonder what it is that I might value highly that God finds offensive. What “values” blind me from being a bearer of good news to others? The Pharisees did not get singled out because they valued the Law, but because they put the Law ahead of compassion. I wonder if God is more offended by those who claim to be Christian but spew forth hatred and name-calling than God is by those who do evil without any claim of being a follower of God.

I don’t presume to know the “right” answer, but I believe with all my heart that because Jesus loved me enough to give himself for me and for all people—all races, all religious faiths, all nonreligious, all sexual orientations, all evildoers-repentant or not, and even those who offend me—my only response is to fall to my knees, exclaim, “God have mercy on me, a sinner” and then to love others without exclusion in humility and gratitude for the grace given to me. Jesus did not withhold his love from anyone and I am called to go and do likewise. I cannot take in the magnitude of God’s love for all creatures, but I will humbly try to share God’s love with others.

Loving Self and Neighbor

Hearing that Jesus had silenced the Sadducees, the Pharisees got together. One of them, an expert in the law, tested him with this question: “Teacher, which is the greatest commandment in the Law?”

Jesus replied: “‘Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind.’ This is the first and greatest commandment. And the second is like it: ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’ All the Law and the Prophets hang on these two commandments.”

                                                              Matthew 22:34-40 (NIV)

Is self-sacrifice necessary for a life of discipleship? I recently heard someone argue that Jesus’ quotation of Leviticus 19:18, “Love your neighbor as yourself” refutes the necessity of self-sacrifice. This person felt that self-sacrifice equated to not loving yourself.

While I know there are those with self-esteem problems, it seems to me that our culture encourages us to love self more than we love others, not less. We live in a self-focused, self-absorbed society. We want what we want and we want it now. We may like to talk about the needs of others, and we may even do something about them, but the idea of giving up something to help another is a different matter. Even in our giving, the motivation can be to make us feel better about ourselves, not to improve the life of another.

How many of my decisions are the fruit of loving myself more than I love others? Do I consider the impact that my purchasing decisions have on others? Do my dollars support child labor, sweatshop conditions, environmental destruction or planned obsolescence? Does my lifestyle revolve around overindulgence?

I wonder how much of our self-love has made us our own idols, replacing God as the focus of our attention and desire. If I really love God with all my heart and all my soul and all my mind, can I simultaneously overindulge myself? It seems to me that loving God with all my energy and focus will open my eyes to what God loves and to what breaks God’s heart. And when what breaks God’s heart breaks my heart as well, love of self and love of neighbor then get into right relationship with each other.

When I love God with every fiber of my being, I will desire what God desires. That will include taking care of myself, but it will not stop there. I will also focus on meeting the needs of others because God loves them and I should love what God loves and as God loves. My wants may not be fulfilled but I contend that if I am that focused on God, my wants are then what God wants, which is life and love for each person—no one excluded. When I want what God wants, what I do does not feel like self-sacrifice. Instead it feels like joy!

How Long?

How long O Lord
   will we be content with ourselves
      while children are hungry,
      while teenagers are dying,
      while hatred causes violence,
      while others are oppressed to satisfy our materialism?


How long O Lord
   will we buy luxuries for ourselves
      when our neighbors have no heat,
      when children have no coats,
      when the elderly cannot afford medicine,
      when others die from lack of clean water?


How long O Lord
   we are waiting for you to act,
      while we purchase our groceries,
      while we water our lawns,
      while we work on our golf game,
      while we play with our iPads.