We Have a Wireless Connection With God

Bless the Lord, O my soul, and forget not all his benefits. Psalm 103 

I generally don’t leave home without my phone. The other day I got into the car to run to the store and, as is my custom, I gave myself a quick pat-down (once a cop, always a cop, I guess), and tapped my cell-phone pocket (the reason I wear cargo pants, besides their being so comfortable). The pocket was empty as I had apparently left my communicator in the house. I panicked, of course. I would have called 9-1-1 but didn’t have my phone. Uff da! 

Consequently, I knew I was on my own; my survival would be solely dependent on the skills of my hands and the cunning of my mind (or what’s left of it). With cat-like reflexes I leapt out of the car, dashed into the house, retrieved my phone, and was back in the saddle before the vehicle’s seat cushion had even sprung back from the depression I’d made when I had originally gotten into it. Yes friends, I AM that fast.

Anyway, I found myself thinking back to the days when phones were attached to one’s house with a cord. One of my earliest memories (true story) was hearing the phone ring when I was about two or three years of age. I told my mother the phone was ringing (as she was ignoring it) and she said, “That’s not our ring.” 

I had no idea what that meant. She explained we were on a party line and that each party had their own special ring. I don’t recall my response. I can only assume I was awestruck by the idea that we each had our own ring-tone, after which I no doubt spent the rest of the day contemplating the mysteries of the universe (or going down for a nap).

We have come a long way, haven’t we? Bless the Lord. Bless the Lord, indeed.

I suppose I miss the simpler days of being able to go anywhere without being conjoined with the cosmos through the miracles of technology and science. Our parents knew for the most part where we were because we told them in advance where we were going, with whom we’d be spending our time, and assuring them we’d be home in time for dinner (especially as I had a tummy more accurate than the Atomic Clock when it came to things like meals). 

Believe it or not, I actually have been known to take care of business without the accompaniment of my cell phone. While I feel more comfortable with it than without it, I am secure enough in my own being that I can run my errands au naturale. How could I not dare such things? God has engraved on my heart: “Yea though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, thou (God) art with me.” 

I’ve been creeping through that valley for over seven decades now; I don’t see God wandering off and getting lost just because I didn’t think to drag along my mobile-unit with its built-in GPS for the two of us!

The bottom line for me is and always has been God’s faithfulness. While it’s nice to have a computer in one’s pocket, it isn’t essential for our continued existence. All of life is dependent on God. All we need to do is do the next indicated thing. 

If we focus on the task at hand, we don’t need to fret over what we may have forgotten or neglected. Buying groceries required my wallet, not my phone, so there was really no need to panic. The good news (for me) was that the panic was extremely short-lived; retrieving the phone was a relief, but I could just as easily have gone to the store, done what I needed to, and come home to a device that would have been there awaiting my return.

Sometimes we put too much time and energy into the woulda-coulda-shouldas of life. It is enough to simply do what we need to, and leave the rest to God. When we leave the rest “to” God, we can enjoy the rest “of” God and forget not all his benefits here in this, our valley.

Keith Axberg writes on matters concerning life and faith. Author of: Who the Blazes is Jesus? Good News for a Vulgar World (available through Amazon in Print and e-book)

Reflecting on 9/11

The sad truth is that most evil is done by people who never make up their minds to be either good or evil. Hannah Arendt 

Some years ago – more than a century ago – there was a major outbreak of Yellow Fever in the city of Memphis. More than 5,100 people died of the mosquito-borne disease (somewhat akin to Ebola). The city lost its charter as people fled in a great exodus; but not everyone left town. 

We read in Wikipedia: “When the 1878 epidemic struck, a number of priests and nuns (both Protestant and Catholic), doctors—and even a bordello owner, Annie Cook—stayed behind to tend to the sick and dying, despite the high risk of contracting the disease, which often resulted in a painful death. The Episcopal nuns' superior, Sister Constance, three other Episcopal nuns, and two Episcopal priests are known throughout the Anglican Communion as "Constance and Her Companions" or, informally, the "Martyrs of Memphis". Added to the Episcopal Church's Lesser Feasts and Fasts in 1981, their feast day (September 9) commemorates their sacrifices.” 

As we reflect on the awful events of 9/11 (can you believe it has been 21 years?), it seems appropriate to remember that not all religious fanatics are created equal. 

After 9/11, it is hard not to be put off by religious fanatics, to think of them solely as being evil, and to live in fear of them – or in terror; but it doesn’t have to be that way. 

Fanatics are enthusiasts – people dedicated to a cause. That cause does NOT have to be a desire to kill, maim, or harm others. Some sports fans are certainly violent hooligans, but they are the exception to the rule; the vast majority of fans are folks who simply enjoy a particular sport to a great degree, and who bear witness to their enthusiasm by purchasing game tickets, sports memorabilia, team gear, and the like. 

If one wants to identify all religious fanatics with the likes of the Taliban or their ilk, one certainly may, but the truth is that the honest-to-goodness religious fanatics are people like you and me – folks who go through life striving to be good, decent, and productive members of society. 

We do not ask much of one another, except to be honest. We do not think of ourselves as heroes or religious superstars. We rise up in the morning, do what needs to be done, have a bit of fun if possible, unwind as best we can, and then get some rest so we can get up and do it all over again the next day. 

We don’t think of ourselves as fanatics because we aren’t overly invested in winning or losing. 

We don’t consider the things we do to be all that sacrificial. It’s no sacrifice to phone a friend to see how they’re doing. It’s not all that burdensome to take a meal to someone who’s sick. It’s not all that spectacular to politely share the road with both well-mannered and crazies alike. None of that looks fanatical – or fantastical – and yet it is. 

The very things we take for granted, like courtesy, paying our bills, yielding the right of way (even when we don’t legally have to) are the consequence of yielding to One to whom we will one day give account for the decisions we’ve made and the lives we’ve led. To “bear witness” is to be a martyr. One doesn’t have to die to bear witness; on the contrary, one has to live. Our lives bear witness to what we believe. 

The Martyrs of Memphis made it clear that they considered it supremely important to bring comfort to others despite the mortal danger it put them in. We live in a day and an age where suffering is more often than not a consequence of decisions made for the sake of greed and corruption. 

The worst thing we can do is run away in the hopes of finding a better, safer place to call home, or to sit silently on the sidelines hoping things will improve through magic. The world only improves when life’s fanatics roll up their sleeves to tackle life’s problems head on with love and courage. So let’s choose to be fanatics for good here in this, our valley.

Keith Axberg writes on matters concerning life and faith. Author of: Who the Blazes is Jesus? Good News for a Vulgar World (available through Amazon in Print and e-book)

RESTORING THE COMMUNITY

 RESTORING THE COMMUNITY

Proper 19, 09/11/2022

The Rev. Keith Axberg, for St. Paul’s (Mount Vernon, WA)

Exodus 32:7-14, Psalm 51:1-11, 1 Tim 1:12-17, Luke 15:1-10

Exodus: Moses & the Golden Calf, God’s fierce anger, God repents

Psalm: Have mercy on me, O God … create in me a clean heart

1 Tim: I was a sinner, God had mercy, Jesus came to “save” sinners

Luke: Grumblers meet a dedicated shepherd and a diligent housewife.

If there is any one thing that binds us together, as human beings, what might that be? 

I ask because it seems we’re so easily divided. We’re divided into Haves and Have Nots; Right Wing or Left Wing; Rich or Poor; Straight, Gay, or Transgender; Adult or child; man or woman; employee or employer; the list goes on. 

There’s no shortage of things we can fight over or fight about, but there’s one thing we all have in common, and that is LOSS. Each of us knows LOSS. Some losses are small, like dropping the doo-dad that keeps your earring from falling out, or the sock that loses its partner to some parallel universe when you’re doing laundry. Other losses are more significant: the loss of health, or job, or a parent, sibling, spouse, or child.

We all have our stories of loss. Some of them we share openly. Others we hide, kept away from prying eyes. Some losses fill us with grief; others fill us with shame.

Some years ago a group of  seminarians were playing badminton out on the lawn behind the Iona Building. Suddenly, One of the ladies shouted, “Hold it!” She had popped a contact lens there on the lawn. 

These weren’t the disposable kind. They were expensive and she didn’t have a replacement lens to fall back on. She knew about where she had been when she lost her contact, so we only had about 15-20 square feet of lawn to search – and search we did. For 30 minutes we combed every inch of lawn until there, at the base of one blade of grass, we found it.

Everyone clapped and cheered, and as she went to put it back in, her long silky eyelashes flicked the lens off her finger and back into the lawn. Once again we went into search mode and once again, we found the lens and she put it into its case and wore her glasses for the rest of the picnic.

We all have our lost and found stories, which ties in with our Gospel lesson – the stories of the lost sheep and the lost coin, but I’d like to warn you. That’s NOT what those stories are about. It’s part of those stories, but there’s a lot more to them.

One of the challenges we have when we’re familiar with the parables of Jesus is that when we hear the title, we go, “Oh, that one,” and we set aside our listening ears. But Jesus didn’t give his parables titles. He wants us to listen closely. It’s not our lostness he’s talking about.

Go back to the first line: All the tax collectors and sinners were coming near to listen to Jesus. Tax collectors. He’s not talking about IRS agents reviewing forms. He’s talking about people empowering Rome at YOUR expense. Tax collectors. That’s short-hand for enemies, traitors, turn-coats. Think of people you would apply those terms to (in your own life, your own experience, your own perspective) and let that sit on your belly for a moment or two.

Don’t worry about whether you’re thinking in terms of politics, religion, economic systems, history, or whatever. I just want you to imagine the worst people you can, and see them coming to listen to Jesus. Those are the tax collectors.

They aren’t alone, of course. In addition to traitors, you’ve got the rest of the world’s losers – those who don’t measure up; those who fall flat; those who bend the rules or act like the rules don’t apply to them; the narcissists, psychopaths, sociopaths, child abusers, thieves, card-cheats, and dirty dancers; the ones who toss litter out their car windows, who refuse to use their turn signals, who crowd your bumper when you’re in their lane.

Get an emotional picture of them in your mind. Don’t be shy. These are the losers. Traitors and losers. They’re coming to listen to Jesus, and instead of scolding them or tearing a “new one” into each of them, Jesus is having a wonderful time, eating, and drinking – and in so doing, he is showing to polite society that (in reality) he … is one … of … THEM! He’s a traitor to Israel. He’s a traitor to Torah. He is a traitor to holiness. He is a traitor to godliness. He is a traitor …  and a loser … and the worst of both kinds.

“Why do you hang with such losers?” That’s what the Pharisees (the good church people) want to know. That’s what the scribes (the scholars, the educators, the lawyers) want to know. Even in Jesus’ day they knew the old saying, “If you lie down with camels you’ll rise up with fleas.”

It’s a good question: Why does Jesus hang with losers? What’s worse: Why does he enjoy it?

They remind me of the old joke about the Puritans, whose greatest fear is that someone somewhere is somehow having fun!

What they’re doing, of course, is saying something about themselves. “We take God seriously. Why don’t you? We take our faith seriously. Why don’t you?”

They have an image of God that comes straight out of Torah, like the one in our first lesson, where God sees and hears the Children of Israel singing and dancing around a golden calf, and God says, “Moses, go tell those kids to KNOCK IT OFF!”

I resemble that remark! As a child, no matter how many times my Sunday school teacher told me how much God loves me, I always had the sight and smell of fire and brimstone wafting through the air of my imagination.  Yes, Jesus is love, but GOD has the final vote, and I see a charcoal pit in my future. I can’t help it. That’s the visceral image bubbling up in the pot of my soul. It’s always there.

Jesus knows that. He’s grown up with Pharisees and Sadducees and Zealots and Essenes, and separatists. And what they all have in common is this idea that WE’VE GOT IT, AND YOU DON’T; WE’RE IN, AND YOU’RE NOT!

Jesus doesn’t argue with them. That’s helpful because, believe it or not, I have a lot of opinions about a lot of things, and my instinct is to argue with all comers. But there’s a better way, and Jesus shares it with us. He doesn’t argue; he shares a story, because that’s how we communicate. We don’t communicate with words, but through stories. So Jesus shares three stories (the 2 we have today, and the 3rd one we generally hear in Lent – the story of the Prodigal).

Which of you, caring for a flock and losing one of your sheep, doesn’t leave the flock in the wilderness, and look for the one that was lost? You scan the fields, you climb to the top of the hills, you look in the wadis and behind boulders until you find the sheep that was lost. It’s too scared to move. It won’t come to the sound of your voice, even though you know her name and she knows your voice. She’s as good as dead. She is paralyzed with fear. So you pick her up, hoist her up onto your shoulders, and you carry her all the way home. And when you get there, you call together your friends and neighbors and you say, “Rejoice with me, because I FOUND THE SHEEP I HAD LOST.”

Did you hear that? “I found the sheep that I had lost.”

It’s not about the sheep getting lost. It’s not about blaming the sheep for being a sheep. It’s not about the sheep being found, either. It’s about a shepherd who looks, notices that BaaBaa is missing, and makes it his goal to go, look, search, and find that sheep – for 2 reasons. First, it’s to make  the flock whole again!  But secondly (and equally important), it is to restore the shepherd’s honor and reputation.

What kind of shepherd laughs off the loss of a sheep? If a shepherd cares for something as seemingly trivial as a sheep, HOW MUCH MORE does God care for US (as individuals), and for US (as a divine community)?

YOU see the insignificant sheep that was lost, but I see a flock that is incomplete (says Jesus). I see a flock that is not whole. You say these losers don’t belong, but I say GOD won’t rest until God’s flock is made whole! That’s the Gospel! That’s the Good News. Jesus doesn’t shame the sheep. Jesus doesn’t insult the shepherd.

You see winners and losers, those who belong and those who don’t, but God simply sees us. These people you put down see God at work, and this is giving them hope. Let me tell you another story – a little old lady story.

What woman discovering she has lost a coin – one of ten – doesn’t throw open the flap on her door, light a candle, and sweep around until she has found it? And finding it, what does she do? She yells out the window – “Hey Mable, hey Sally, hey Phyllis and Sylvia, Come here! Let’s have a party! The coin I lost has been found!”

It’s not about the coin. I mean, here’s the coin (the one pictured below is smaller than an American penny, quite tarnished, almost earth-colored in person): 

Can you see it? This is what she lost. It’s not as old; it isn’t a drachma, but it’s about the same size and shape of what she might have lost. You and I look at it and it’s so small, so insignificant, but here’s the point: To her, this is life. 

This is what she needs for her DAILY BREAD. You know that prayer we pray every now and then? Give us this day our daily bread? It’s not a coin, you see; it’s an answer to her prayer. And listen to her:

“Rejoice with me, for I found the Drachma that I had lost!”

Maybe you feel that God has dropped the ball on you. Sometimes we feel that way. Bad things happen to good people; it just doesn't seem fair; it just feels like we've been dropped, lost, and forgotten. That's an image Jesus wants to explore. 

I was watching the Cougars play football yesterday. Wisconsin was driving, and SUDDENLY, the ball was tipped and this big ol’ Cougar lineman caught the ball. He took a few steps and WHAM! He lost the ball as he was tackled and Wisconsin recovered.

“Oh no, there goes the game” went ‘round and ‘round this ol’ squirrel cage. But a play or two later, the Cougs came up with another interception and ate up the clock to win the game.

I’m not big into the Blame Game, but sometimes it just feels like God has dropped the ball on us. Now, we don’t want to get into trouble with the Big Guy, so we hold our tongues (which is kind of silly as God knows our hearts and minds anyway), but Jesus says, “Don’t worry. If this woman won’t rest until she has restored this coin to her purse, HOW MUCH MORE WILL GOD not rest until she has restored US to her treasury?"

"It is so easy to hate, like the Pharisees," says Jesus. "It is so easy to judge, like the Scribes." You don’t have to be much of a student of world history to see what hate produces. Twenty-one years ago today, we experienced 9/11. It unified the country, in a way. But as bad as the loss of 3,000 souls was, worse was the fear and paranoia that gripped the heart of our nation. Time has not healed those wounds; if anything, it has made them worse. 

Time cannot and will not heal those wounds – unless we use our time like Jesus. I cannot prove this, but I’ll bet Jesus built both tables and fences as a carpenter. Both have their place. It wasn’t either/or for him, but both/and. 

Healing and restoring the world means spending time with those who don’t look, think, speak, or act like us. Abraham Lincoln once said, “If we make our enemy our friend, have we not destroyed our enemy in the process?” 

You know, I have a wonderful knack for making enemies; making friends is harder. But if God is healing and restoring the world, then I really do want to be a recipient of, and participant in, that healing and restoration.

That means accepting God as my shepherd and my housekeeper – for God is both, whether I want it or not. 

For God, none of us is expendable. God has restored us. God is restoring us. God will restore us, and THAT is the greatest news of all --- for ALL of us --- isn’t it?

The Son Also Rises

The Universe is not in a hurry. You are. That’s why you are anxious … Author unknown

The sun is a lolly-gagger. Did you know that? I always thought there were twenty-four hours in a day. That’s what I was taught. I am sure I was even told it was a verifiable “fact.” But it turns out it isn’t. The earth makes one complete rotation in roughly twenty-three hours and fifty-six minutes. Where do the extra four minutes go (or come from)?

Ah ha! As the world turns on its axis, it is also working its way around the sun. The earth travels approximately one degree each day (365 days to make the 360 degree trip), so it takes those four extra minutes to get the face of the earth back to where it was relative to the sun. 

I won’t bore you with everything else I know about time and space (for I’m sure you have better things to do with the three minutes it would take me to dump all that information on you), but I just found that bit of trivia interesting. It’s not something I had ever thought of before and, to be honest, don’t think my life will change significantly in light of that new information. What will change, however, is how I view the word “fact.”

Instead of thinking of facts as things chiseled into stone, I find it more useful to think of them as how we describe things until better descriptions come along. The sun appears to rise in the east each morning, so we call that event sunrise. We talk about the time that happens as a “fact.” The sun will rise at a certain time each day. It is how we describe the event, even though we know the phenomenon is described differently in astronomical terms. 

Are facts important? A few years ago a group of firemen got together and built a large deck on the back of a house for a fellow firefighter. I suspect coffee, tea, and ice water were not the only beverages used to quench their thirst. They finished the job in under five hours. They did the job without permits, without inspections, and without using proper materials or building techniques. A couple bought the house a few years later and needed to completely dismantle the deck which had become unsafe, and rebuild it completely – using proper materials and techniques, meeting or exceeding minimum building standards.

The fact is the old deck was poorly constructed. The fact is the new deck is vastly better. The differences between the two decks could be seen and felt. Facts matter. The question is, what do we do with facts when we have them in hand?

The sun will rise and set when it is supposed to. That’s a fact. There’s nothing I can do to change it, so I don’t need to waste energy trying. I can decide what time I want to rise each morning and what time I wish to hit the sack. That’s also a fact; it’s a fact I can work with. Those two facts aren’t in competition with each other. One doesn’t cancel out the other. One isn’t better or worse than the other. One is a fact of nature (the universe), and the other is a fact of nature (me). Each operates on its own timeline.

One of the things that makes life chaotic is the idea that it is a competitive sport. It’s not. We tend to mush our facts altogether as if each one carries the same weight as the one next to it. If you believe the earth is flat and sits on the back of a turtle or across the shoulders of Atlas, that’s fine by me. Neither set of facts or fables will ultimately affect my life. Some facts rest in the hands of a higher power, and that’s the point.

Each of us rests in the hands of a higher power. I suspect the only facts God is interested in are how we treat one another, how we treat creation, and how we treat ourselves. That is a fact upon which I base my life’s decisions and actions. Now I think I’ll go out and watch the Son rise here in this, our valley.

Keith Axberg writes on matters concerning life and faith. Author of: Who the Blazes is Jesus? Good News for a Vulgar World (available through Amazon in Print and e-book)