Books: a novel way to learn

 

“Libraries store the energy that fuels the imagination. They open up windows to the world and inspire us to explore and achieve, and contribute to improving our quality of life.” Sidney Sheldon

I read an article the other day that estimated a trip to another planet one single light-year away, using current technology, would take about 4,000 years. While there were road trips in my childhood that might have felt like forty centuries, that’s an unbelievably long time between pit stops. How many times would a child have to ask, “Are we there, yet?” before the Captain of the starship would jettison them into the deep, dark voids of space?

Fortunately, I have been to the far corners of the universe and beyond many times in my few decades on earth, courtesy of those rectangular blocks of wood commonly called books.

I was never a great reader in school, and often struggled to keep pace with reading assignments. I don’t suffer from dyslexia or other reading disorders. I’m simply a slow reader; I always have been. Admittedly, school textbooks are seldom written in a riveting style of prose. The calculus of algebra was unfathomable and incalculable to my gray matter. Social Studies stunted my capacity to socialize the way I’d hoped to, and science textbooks managed to do the impossible in that they made time, itself, stand still.

Nevertheless, there were some books that restored a sense of life and vitality that the vampiric codices required by the school system sucked out. They were located in a special section of the library; they were called novels. 

For me, Science Fiction latched onto a few of those brain cells that still had the cellular equivalence of pulse and respiration. I came, I looked, and I found titles that grabbed my attention; suddenly, a mad scientist somewhere cried out, “He’s alive. He’s alive!”

Sometimes people denigrate fiction as being unreal or fake. And sure, fiction may be untrue in the sense of it relaying events that haven’t happened. But fiction can still be true and brutally honest, like To Kill a Mockingbird. 

A novel is a story told through the imagination of its author. Now, I’ll admit that romance novels are a genre that almost gives the lie to what I just said. They may be great escapist fare for some folks and trash to me, and yet one person’s trash is another person’s treasure. 

Who am I to judge the story of a lady who falls in love with some dude with washboard abs, chiseled jawline, soft eyes and a long-flowing mane, while my protagonists explore strange new worlds and wrestle with extra-terrestrial baddies? 

The point is that stories invite us to see the world through the eyes of those who are not us, whose life experiences are different from our own. Good writers pour themselves into those stories; we experience their struggles, their questions, their dilemmas. As we read, we find our perspectives affirmed or challenged, and sometimes changed or even broken. 

Book clubs often help us find books we’d avoid if left to our own devices. 

Right now I am walking in the shoes of a black man who is writing a letter to his son (Between the World and Me, Ta-Nehisi Coates). I am walking alongside Detective Inspector Konrad Sejer, investigating the murder of a mother and her toddler in a dumpy trailer in a small town in Norway (Hell Fire, Karin Fossum). I’m sitting beside a historian, leafing my way through ancient scrolls, deciphering inscriptions on tiny shards of pottery (Why the Bible Began, Jacob Wright). 

I have discovered that books, even those considered “escapist fare,” are a way to burst the bubbles into which we often wrap ourselves. Books allow us to stop and ponder what we’re reading. Unlike movies that whip along, or pundits that natter on endlessly on the telly, books allow us time to think, to process, and to discover a world that lies beyond our own line of sight. 

I find that critically important, especially in these days where so few are able to think beyond the depth of a meme about anything. Libraries are where the brains of the universe are stored. I commend reading to all of you 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)

Easter 3: The Kingdom of Heaven is like a Nurturing Momma

“See what love the Father has given us, that we should be called Children of God.” 1 John 3:1

How many of you know that today? How many of you know that God loves you, and that you are children of God, and that no matter what: no “one” and no “thing” can take that away from you now – or ever?

You and I are children of the most amazing God. We worship a God from whom it is impossible to escape his loving embrace.

With enough power, we can leave the earth. We proved that with the Mercury, Gemini, and Apollo space missions. We can leave the earth; we can escape earth orbit. But we have NO power to escape God’s great love for us.

What does that mean?

In ACTS 3 we see the story of John and Peter. They went to the temple, as was their custom; they healed a man crippled from birth (Note: he was looking for a handout – as was HIS custom – what he received from the apostles was FAR greater); people are upset – Why? It seems to them that their world is being turned upside down. In their world-view, the man is crippled because of his sin or the sins of his parents. Peter: It doesn’t matter. The fact is, it was God who did this – not us.

It was by FAITH IN HIS NAME – the name JESUS – that made him whole.

The name “Jesus” means “Yah Saves, Yah Heals”.

It is the FAITH that is THROUGH Jesus that has restored him

And here is the kicker:

What we do is sometimes evil – whether out of ignorance or malice – but that doesn’t matter. The Bible tells us – the Gospel tells us: Turn to God, and God will restore you too; God will heal you, too; God will save you, too.

That’s what God does; that’s what God wants – more than anything.

What is your image of God? Is your god Vengeful? Angry? Demanding? 

I try to stay away from people who act like that.

I try to stay away from people who are dangerous to my well-being, who are toxic to be around.

But what if the God we worship isn’t mad, angry, vengeful, or just waiting for us to goof up so he can toss us into the fire?

What if God actually delights in us? What then?

When I have people who nurture me, who care for me, who take care of me, who embrace me when I need it, and give me space when I need space, and who energize me when I am feeling drained – do you think I run from those kind of people, or run towards them?

John says: “See what love the Father has given us, that we should be called Children of God.”

As children, we have our DNA from our parents. 

As Christians, God replaces our DNA with God’s own spiritual DNA. God is converting/transforming our junky old DNA – the kind that leads to war, strife, greed, gluttony, etc. – to godly, holy DNA – the kind that leads to love, joy, peace, and grace: that produces the fruits of the Spirit.

In his Epistle, the Apostle John says, “we don’t look like God yet, but we’re getting there.” We are the evidence the world is looking for that there is a God who loves them THIS MUCH.

So, how do we do that? How do we make that “love” more visible?

First of all, we become a nurturing community – we become a people who are known as people who don’t just nurture one another – even the heathens do that – but who nurture the world.

It sounds like a big job, but God has faith in us. How do I know?

Jesus says: I am not a ghost. Feed me.

In Matthew (25) Jesus says: As you feed, clothe, visit others, you do so to me.

We take care of Jesus – even the risen Jesus – one person at a time. 

We don’t have the resources to take care of 7 billion people, but we do have resources to provide friendship to those who are lonely – here. 

We provide food to those who are hungry – here. 

We provide shelter to those who are cold – here. 

We visit those who are ill – here. 

We do what no one else in the world will do because that is what God has called us to do; that’s who God has called us to be: people who look and act like Jesus, because that’s what it means to be a child of God – and God knows we can do it through FAITH IN HIS NAME. 

“See what love the Father has given us, that we should be called Children of God.” 1 John 3:1

Secondly, we open our eyes and see what love God has given us; how God comes running to us when we are hurt, lonely, or afraid.

We pray, “Our Father …” That is a term of endearment. We pray “Our Father …” because we know that everything is his – and he lavishes us with good gifts. I remember that old tune we sometimes sang at the offertory in some of my early churches: 

“All things are thine, no gift have we, Lord of all gifts, to offer thee, and hence with grateful hearts today, Thine own before thy feet we lay.”

We pray “Our Father” because we have a God who cares for us every bit as deeply, every bit as lavishly, every bit as passionately as Mother, Father, Brother, or Sister ever has – and more. We just have to look up, like the man at the gate.

That’s both a challenge and a promise, and it’s ours for good. AMEN

When Your Pants Ride High

“Those who guard their mouth and tongue Guard themselves from trouble.” Proverbs 21:23

I am usually a mild-mannered sort of dude. There’s not a lot that ruffles my feathers. I don’t mind when traffic is heavy and slow; I know I’ll get to where I’m going. I don’t mind when there is a wait to get a seat at a restaurant on a Friday night; I know they’ll seat me as soon as they can. I don’t mind when people bump into me when they pass me by down the bread aisle at the grocer’s; I know I tend to loaf. 

I’m a patient guy. But I’ll confess that every now and then I find my dander getting up for one reason or another, and when that happens, I put on grumpy pants. I inherited them from my father. On those rare occasions when he would get angry, he needed trousers that would stretch and cling at the same time, as he was wont to jump right out of those britches if he got all truly riled up over something.

One day, for instance, our toilet took to overflowing, but not always. It was unpredictable. It would flush fine one time, and the next it wouldn’t, causing the water to pour out onto the floor. He checked but couldn’t find a blockage, so finally, exasperated, he removed the toilet, took it out back, snaked it from the bottom with the garden hose and, voila, out popped my sister’s china toy tea cup. Dad became a human jackhammer, stomping on that cup until it was reduced to atomic bits. 

This past week found me needing to put on my own grumpy pants. It wasn’t anything major, just a lot of little things that were getting my proverbial goat. Becoming something of an old goat, it struck me more personally than it probably needed to.

First, there was a delivery scheduled to arrive the day before Easter. I had ordered the item ten days earlier, and it was coming by way of an express delivery service, but without a need to rush. I was excited; it was a gift for the missus and was to be a surprise for Easter dinner. On delivery-date Saturday, the Express truck pulled up in front of the house and sat there for about five minutes, then drove off. Apparently the driver had forgotten to load the package onto the truck that morning; the tracker system reset delivery to Monday. I absolutely positively will NOT trust that outfit for my shipping needs. Thus, I donned my grumpy pants.

Then early this week I needed to conduct some financial business online. I logged on, went to the page created for that purpose, and was directed to call a toll-free number. I called it and followed the automatic messages down the rabbit hole until finally the phone system sent me a link back to the web page from which I had embarked. The cell and web systems put me into an infinite loop. Not only was I wearing my grumpy pants; I’d pulled them up above my belly button!

Last night I wanted to visit one of our streaming services. I directed my voice activated remote to send us to the service which, for some reason, had forgotten who I am or was. It asked me to sign up or sign in. Actually, it didn't ask. It told me to. Unsurprisingly, that pushed one of my buttons. Televisions and cable boxes apparently have never heard of memorizing information, so I had to manually scroll across the fake keyboard punching in my email address and a password that contains a complex mix of numbers, letters alternating between upper and lower cases, and symbols (none of which was a gesture I really wanted to use). By the time I was readmitted to my streaming service, I was both steaming mad, and had pulled my grouchy pants up to my armpits.

Today, I have taken deep breaths; I have recited the Serenity Prayer; I have traded my grumpy pants, once again, for comfort clothes. If things happen in threes, I should be fine for a while. Meanwhile, my grumpy pants are available whenever I need them here in this, our valley. They still fit.

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)

Easter Vigil Homily

 

GREAT VIGIL OF EASTER

Sermon delivered by the Rev. Keith Axberg to the people of St. Paul’s (Mount Vernon

and La Gente de La Iglesia Episcopal de la Resurrección

March 30, 2024

Mark 16:1-8

When the sabbath was over, Mary Magdalene, and Mary the mother of James, and Salome bought spices, so that they might go and anoint Jesus. And very early on the first day of the week, when the sun had risen, they went to the tomb. They had been saying to one another, "Who will roll away the stone for us from the entrance to the tomb?" When they looked up, they saw that the stone, which was very large, had already been rolled back. As they entered the tomb, they saw a young man, dressed in a white robe, sitting on the right side; and they were alarmed. But he said to them, "Do not be alarmed; you are looking for Jesus of Nazareth, who was crucified. He has been raised; he is not here. Look, there is the place they laid him. But go, tell his disciples and Peter that he is going ahead of you to Galilee; there you will see him, just as he told you." So they went out and fled from the tomb, for terror and amazement had seized them; and they said nothing to anyone, for they were afraid.

https://www.lectionarypage.net/YearB_RCL/Easter/BEasVigil_RCL.html#Gospel

Give ear O heavens, and I will speak; Let the earth hear the words of my mouth; for I will proclaim the name of the Lord, and ascribe greatness to our God! Dt. 32:1-4 (abbreviated and distilled)

The Homily

After forty days of fasting, today is a Feast Day! It is OUR feast day: “Pascua es la fiesta de la resurrección”

It is a feast day for all of us. We gather this night to usher in a new day, a new season, a new life for all of us.

And not just for all of us, but for the whole world. By the grace of God, we are sisters and brothers in Christ Jesus our Lord. 

In our very first lesson tonight, we learn that God created the heavens and the earth, and everything that is in them. God created the sun, the moon, and the stars. God created the land, the seas, the rivers and lakes. God created plants and trees, birds, animals, and all the great & little fishies. Every step of the way, at the end of each day, God stops, turns around, examines every square inch of creation and says, “That’s good, that’s good; WOW! That is oh so very good!”

At the end of this first lesson, before God goes to take a nap on the seventh day, the Sabbath, God stops one last time, and like television Detective Lieutenant Columbo, God rubs his chin and says, “Oh, there’s just one more thing …”

And with a twinkle in the Divine Eye, “God created the human race IN God’s image. In the image of God – Imago Dei – God created them; male and female, God created them …”

We are the cherry on top. 

If you have ever had a banana split – they are quite heavenly – you know what a delightful dessert it is. You take a bowl or a boat and layer it with scoops of ice cream, covered with chocolate sauce, and juicy strawberries, and tangy crushed pineapple; you take the split banana and surround that mountain of goodness with those bananas to help keep all that goodness contained, and when it is done, you add a layer of sweet, thick whipped cream; and after all of that, finally, you top it off with a bright red maraschino cherry. 

It is the outward and visible sign that the creation of the banana split is finished. It’s done. All that’s left now is to enjoy that creation the way it was designed to be enjoyed.

We are the outward and visible sign God places atop God’s own creation. We are not placed here to subordinate the created order, or to dominate it, or to abuse it, but to take care of it the way God would take care of it. 

We were created Imago Dei (in the image of God), so that we might live in Imitatio Dei (in the imitation of God) in the way we live and relate to God, to our neighbor, and “to this Earth, our Island home.”

As you know, the human race did very well, but only for a short chapter or two.

We decided that creation, like the banana split, was ours to devour, and we have had a rough go of it ever since:

From the primal elements you brought forth the human race,

and blessed us with memory, reason, and skill. You made us

the rulers of creation. But we turned against you, and betrayed

your trust; and we turned against one another. (BCP, p. 370)

The stories we hear at the Great Vigil of Easter  – La Gran Vigilia Pascua –take us on a journey. Time and time again, we hear the promises of God to save us and to forgive us. 

When the world was full of evil, God tried to wash away the evil in a great flood. But God protected Noah and his family. God saved them from the flood. God saw death and destruction. God was sorry for making war. God hung the warrior’s bow in the sky and said, “Never again. I will find another way.”

Time and time again, God tries to find another way forward:

God provided a Ram to save Isaac. God provided a Lamb to save us. Right?

God helped free the Israelites from slavery in Egypt. God made a way for them to cross the Red Sea. 

The Bible tells us we are slaves to sin. We know the right things to do, but we don’t do them. We know the things we shouldn’t do, but we do them anyway. God has provided freedom for us too. Through baptism, we cross the sea that is red from the blood of Jesus. We are made free in and through Jesus.

In Ezekiel, the Spirit of God hovered over the Valley of Dry Bones. God asks: Can these bones live? Like Ezekiel, we shake our heads and we answer, “O Adonai, only you know (if these bones can live).” God says, “Then talk to them, and I will give them life!”

“Talk to them, and I will give them life.”

Throughout this past week, from Palm Sunday until this day, before the sun set, we have been walking alongside Jesus. We have walked with Jesus through his Passion. We ate supper with him in the upper room. He washed our feet on Thursday night. We prayed with him in the Garden of Gethsemane. On Good Friday, we watched him when he was arrested. We watched with Peter as he stood trial, as he was tortured and, finally, nailed to a tree – for you, and for me. “He died, and was buried.” (Nicene Creed). That should have been the end of the story.

NOW! We come to the end of this day. The Sabbath has ended. The sun has set, but the light has not gone out. Today … today, my friends, is a new day.

It is tempting to burst out in song. I know the feeling. As I was writing my sermon, it was right here I wanted to sing out:

Alleluia, alleluia, alleluia! The strife is o’er, the battle done, the victory of life is won; the song of triumph has begun. Alleluia! Hymnal 1982, #208

Now it is Easter. It’s the feast of the resurrection – resurrección. 

We should be happy. We should be glad. God has raised Jesus from the dead. The tomb is empty. For 2000 years we have proclaimed this good news to the world. For 2000 years we have celebrated the resurrection of Jesus, not just on Easter Sunday, but every time we gather.

Jesus once said, “Whenever two or three of you get together, I will be there.” Not “in spirit.” Not as “a metaphor.” 

Jesus said, “I will be there,” because God gave Jesus new life. When the women came to the tomb, it was empty, except for a young man. 

He said to them: "Do not be alarmed; you are looking for Jesus of Nazareth, who was crucified. He has been raised; he is not here. Look, there is the place they laid him. But go, tell his disciples and Peter that he is going ahead of you to Galilee; there you will see him, just as he told you."

We gather here tonight before the empty tomb, and what that young man dressed in white said to the women there, this old man dressed in white says to you, too:

Jesus is going on ahead of us. Go, and you will see him, just as he told you. You and I are his Body. We are his blood. So don’t be afraid to live as Jesus lived, and continues to live, in you.

We have a command: Go home. Share the good news. Talk to the old bones. Talk to them; I will give you life: For Christ is risen; the Lord is risen, indeed! Alleluia! Alleluia, Alleluia. Amen

Collect for Holy Saturday

 

O God, Creator of heaven and earth: Grant that, as the crucified body of your dear Son was laid in the tomb and rested on this holy Sabbath, so we may await with him the coming of the third day, and rise with him to newness of life; who now lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.

I do not believe there is any service more neglected than Holy Saturday. It is a very brief service, concluding the three day liturgy we call the Triduum (literally, three days). Neither Maundy Thursday nor Good Friday include a dismissal. The same is true of Holy Saturday, which brings the Triduum to a close.

The service (found on page 283 of the Book of Common Prayer, 1979) opens with this collect, four lessons, a brief homily or meditation, an anthem, the Lord’s Prayer, and concludes with “the Grace.” There is no celebration of the Eucharist shared or offered on this day.

It is sad the service is seldom offered (in my experience). Altar Guilds are normally very busy preparing the sanctuary for the Great Vigil of Easter or Easter Sunday morning services. While the body of Jesus lies in repose in the cave or niche carved out for burials, we are invited to pause, to rest with him. 

I say “invited” because I’m not fond of “shoulds.” The busyness of the church is actually a sample of what we experience in real life. Saturday is the Sabbath. It is the day of rest, and while the command for it to be a day of rest for all of creation stands, the women folk cannot help but be busy with preparations for Easter, can they? We know the end of the story, so we gather our lilies and bulletins and song-sheets, prepared to restore the “A-word” to the liturgy and make our churches as joyous as humanly possible.

Tomorrow (or tonight) we will hear of the women gathering their spices and ointments and heading out to the tomb “early in the morning” to give Jesus a proper burial, one they couldn’t provide in the rush Friday as the sun was preparing to set. But today, I invite you to set apart some time to ponder Jesus’ very real death. Pause. Rest. Put on the robes of any of the disciples (including Judas Iscariot, if you wish or dare) or of the women and consider what would be going through your heart and mind that very first Holy Saturday – the day before you would have any notion of what Jesus meant when he spoke of resurrection and the life to come.

Amen

Collect for Good Friday

 

Almighty God, we pray you graciously to behold this your family, for whom our Lord Jesus Christ was willing to be betrayed, and given into the hands of sinners, and to suffer death upon the cross; who now lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.

It is interesting that the Collect for Good Friday shifts focus for a moment. We do not ask God to look upon Jesus, but upon “this your family.” Which family, though? Jesus’ disciples – the ones who ran away in the dead of night when he was arrested? Jesus’ mother (and other assorted women who chose NOT to run away)? We who gather here on the second day of the Triduum? Or is it something much more entirely unexpected?

Are we asking God “graciously to behold this your family …” the human race that came into being there in the Garden of Eden o so many generations ago? That “family” which was dredged up out of the mud, molded, and into which the very breath of God was imparted? That family which crowned the creation, reflecting the very image of God in the fulness of their humanity – and which fell shortly thereafter?

St. Paul tells us it is unusual for someone to sacrifice themselves for a loved one, but Jesus did so, not just for those he loved, but for the whole human race. The healing and restoration of the world began here, on Good Friday. Not the healing and restoration of me, or even us, but of the whole world. I suspect that healing and restoration is not limited to we human beings, either, but for the entire creation. It started here, nailed to a tree.

Jesus was “willing to be betrayed” and given into the hands of “sinners” (by which we mean those who fall short. We are all part of that package. Either Jesus died for all of us, best and worst alike, or he died for none of us. How scandalous!), and to “suffer death upon the cross.”

 We humans have never lived up to our potential as the people of God. The cows offered us corn, the squirrels offered us nuts, but the serpent offered us a fig, and we’ve figged up royally ever since. But this is God, “whose property is always to have mercy.” We’ve not earned God’s mercy, but we’ve got it, whether we want it or not. We pray for God to look at us, and not at what we’ve done. The miracle of God Friday is that God hears our prayer. Thank God.

Amen

Collect for Maundy Thursday

 

Almighty Father, whose dear Son, on the night before he suffered, instituted the Sacrament of his Body and Blood: Mercifully grant that we may receive it thankfully in remembrance of Jesus Christ our Lord, who in these holy mysteries gives us a pledge of eternal life; and who now lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.

Why did Jesus “institute” the “Sacrament of his Body and Blood”? I have a friend who always hated the word institution. It brought to his mind images of sterile hospitals and asylums, schools and prisons. He didn’t want institutions. He wanted the flesh and blood reality of relationships.

While I may not have his distaste for the word, I appreciate and value his thoughts on the matter. Body and Blood. That’s real life, isn’t it? Can anyone here not relate to what those are? If you have stubbed your toe, do you not recognize the reality of the body? If you prick your thumb on a rose or nettle, do you not bleed?

Jesus took the night of what would become his final supper (his Last Supper) and broke bread with those with whom he had walked, talked, argued, debated, challenged, and worked for the past number of months or years. Tearing a small loaf of (probably) unleavened bread he said, “Here. This is my body ripped, torn, broken for you. Whenever you eat it, know that my life is linked with yours, and your life is linked with me, and together we will be my Body; new life.”

Jesus took the night of what become his final supper (his Last Supper) and looking into the cup he held in his hands, he saw the wine, dark, red (at least we assume it was red) and remembered the blood placed over the homes of Jewish slaves in Egypt (to protect them from the angel of death that would Pass Over) and said, “This is MY blood. It is a new covenant. It is poured out for you and for many, protecting you from the wrath of God. Whenever you drink it, know that my life is linked with yours, and your life is linked with mine, and together we will be my Lifeline to the world.”

Meals are life-giving and life-affirming events. They are, obviously, a necessary part of living. I enjoy the routine of three-squares a day. When we say grace, we are continuing this act of remembering, aren’t we? It may not be the liturgical sacrament of Holy Communion we share in church, but it is still an acknowledgement that “all things come of thee, O Lord, and of thine own have we given thee.” The keyword here is Thanksgiving. Gratitude is at the heart of Holy week, and at the heart of Jesus’ command to “do this in remembrance of me.”

Amen

Collect for Wednesday in Holy Week

Lord God, whose blessed Son our Savior gave his body to be whipped and his face to be spit upon: Give us grace to accept joyfully the sufferings of the present time, confident of the glory that shall be revealed; through Jesus Christ your Son our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.

No, I am not going to “joyfully” accept the sufferings of this present time. I will endure suffering. I will accept suffering. I will acknowledge suffering. I will appreciate that not all suffering is bad. Hard work may be painful, but if it gets us to where we’re going, or produces what we are striving to produce, then fine; I’ll joyfully accept such suffering. But I find no nobility in suffering as such.

The thought of Jesus passively giving his body to be whipped and face to be spat upon is surreal. Yes, his body was whipped. Yes, his face was spit upon. Yes, his beard was likely ripped out by the handful, and other tortures and indignities endured. He no doubt knew resistance would be futile. The one who taught us to go the extra mile and to pray for those who abuse us no doubt walked the walk. I’ll confess, I would not have been so passive, but that’s why God called Jesus to this peculiar ministry, and not me.

I already fail at life, let alone in imitating Jesus in any significant way. Yet, knowing how far short I fall, helps me understand just how tall Jesus stood. 

The point is, I don’t need to fear facing the trials Jesus faced. There is somewhere near zero percent chance of me being arrested for my preaching. There will be the occasional troll I may have to face when posting on social (or anti-social) media, but those will mostly just be words. The pain is only felt by the poor spelling and worse grammar skills of those trolls. I may find a bit of proverbial egg on my face, but no spittle.

Jesus faced far worse than I ever will, and set his face toward Jerusalem when the time came, rather than traipsing around the relatively safe environs of the Galilean hills. That’s the point. He could have played it safe. He could have avoided going to Jerusalem, but then he would have had no impact on the world at large. He’d have just been another nice man saying nice things. Instead, he chose to make an impact for God’s sake, even though it was the life-threatening way.

“(C)onfident of the glory that shall be revealed …” 

It isn’t our glory that will be revealed, but the glory of God. Doing the right thing may have its downside, but God is always the upside of those decisions. What a person or group of people may do is nothing compared to joining with Christ in his suffering, that we may rise with him in his resurrection. His glory will be revealed in the "sign of Jonah" in the days to come. Amen

Blowing out the Candle

 

“Everyone has inside of him a piece of good news.” Anne Frank

I am surrounded by crosses. There’s a pyrographic cross I burned a few years ago that hangs above my retirement clock (it tells me what day of the week it is). I have several Cursillo crosses beside me, as well as some I crafted using twigs I secured from the grounds of my church in Ennis a few years back; they broke when the wind blew – they remind me of our fallen nature. 

A Cursillo Cross

“Take up your cross,” says Jesus. Beside the office door at home is yet another rather large cross I inherited from my parents’ estate when they passed away a few years ago. It hung in their living room for decades, making that room truly sacred space for family gatherings during holidays and various celebrations of life.

The Family Cross

Crosses are an iconic image for many who identify as Christian. How people identify is up to them; it’s not up to me. I think some folks worry too much about how others identify, whether it is in matters of religion, politics, economic status, gender, or any  of a zillion other things one can think of.

I’ll confess I don’t worry about whether or not someone is or is not a Christian. I just want to know: are they kind? Decent? Honest? Compassionate? Dependable?  Those are things that matter. Not the color of their skin, their place of origin, or the language they speak at home or amongst themselves (let alone whether they carry a cross, a star of David, a crescent moon, or any other identifying mark or symbol).

If one believes themselves to be a member of a particular faith community or not, by whatever means they make that determination, that’s OK by me. It’s not my job or prerogative to identify or define the other person or group. I believe God’s light can be found in every person of every stripe. It’s not my job to go around blowing out someone else’s candle!

Getting back to crosses, though, they are so commonplace we seldom give them much thought, but many of us can share stories behind the crosses we own. For many, a cross is simply something found on jewelry, such as ear rings or necklaces; for Christians, though, it is a sign – perhaps the supreme sign – of our faith.

As you read this, Christians around the world are in the midst of what they call Holy Week. They are commemorating the events that took place in Jerusalem during the last week of Jesus’ life on earth. The climactic event of the week is Jesus’ arrest, trial, torture and, finally, execution on Good Friday. It was a bloody, shocking, horrible day. The cross reminds us of just how absolutely horrible we humans are (or can be). 

If Jesus had been gunned down, perhaps the symbol of our faith would be little gold AK-47s or AR-15s or silver Saturday night specials. Wouldn’t that be shocking? Wouldn’t that be horrible? Perhaps, if we understand that every man, woman, and child who is killed by violence is as much a victim today as Jesus was in his day, we might carry these symbols as reminders that we kill Jesus, and continue to kill him in so many different ways with our own thoughts, words, and deeds.

There has never been a shortage of martyrs in our world. Martyrdom hasn’t ceased. We continue to kill those who are different, those we don’t understand. Some we kill with indifference.

The world sees violence as inevitable, and the use of violence as justifiable. We, as Christians, know better, or at least we ought to know better. It’s not enough to just hang our crosses, wear them, or carry them. The cross is scandalous, and foolish. We wear them and display them as a reminder that there IS another way. We don’t carry on as victims; like Jesus, we carry on with a purpose: to bring life to all who hurt, and light to those who dwell in darkness.

The cross reminds us, not of how horrible the other person can be, but of how horrible each of us can be. We cannot control the other, but we can strive to see the light that burns within the heart of the other, and give thanks for that light. Better than snuffing it out 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)

Palm Sunday - Sunday of the Passion

Almighty and everliving God, in your tender love for the human race you sent your Son our Savior Jesus Christ to take upon him our nature, and to suffer death upon the cross, giving us the example of his great humility: Mercifully grant that we may walk in the way of his suffering, and also share in his resurrection; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.

Life has many heart-stopping moments. I suspect it is true for most people, and perhaps doubly so for parents. We teach our children to look both ways before crossing the street, and when we send them out to play, we trust our instructions and advice will be put to good use, but one never knows. We send them out, but we don’t just hope for the best. We devote our time teaching them the ropes needed for survival, so there’s an expectation that all will be well.

We no longer have to fear lions and tigers and bears (Oh my), but there is still plenty to worry about. There’s gun violence, bullies, global warming, and all that stuff. We want to protect our children and grandchildren, but the task just seems so overwhelming. 

It is in thinking along those lines we find our Collect for Palm Sunday so jarring. We find God intentionally sending their Son into harm’s way, to “take upon himself our nature …” 

It’s hard to wrap our minds around Holy Week. 

You know, I understand acts and consequences. I understand that when one commits a crime, there is a consequence to that act. One may or may not be caught, but the act is an act of violence that falls upon both the victim(s) and the perpetrator. We cannot do violence to another without it affecting us, too. Even if one is a sociopath or psychopath, damage is done. One may end up in jail, or shot and killed, or something in between. Whatever it is, we are responsible for our own actions and the consequences of those deeds.

In a world of metaphors and similes, however, something is lost in translation in Holy Week. It is one thing for each of us to endure the consequences of our own thoughts, words, and deeds … but Jesus? The idea of God the Son becoming human (coming down from heaven, as we express it) and “to (intentionally) suffer death upon the cross …” seems to be a bridge too far.

It is easy to gloss over the horrors of Holy Week – we know how the story ends. Many people will skip the Holy Week services (having endured Palm Sunday and the reading of the Passion Narrative) and go directly to Easter, with its lilies, bunnies, and bonnets. We know how the story ends, so why should we drag ourselves out during the week for the Office of Shadows on Wednesday (Tenebrae), and Maundy Thursday with that strange foot-washing ritual and the stripping of the altar, and Good Friday with its emphasis on the arrest, trial, torture, sentencing, and (finally) the execution of our Lord? I mean, didn’t we already do that on Palm Sunday? Who wants reruns? Raise your hands.

Jesus dying for us just doesn’t make sense, does it? Has anyone reading this committed a capital offense? So while, yes, I can see the need for Jesus to die for some others, I (and perhaps many of us) struggle to see and/or accept his need to die for them. We are good, for the most part. We do not inflict harm on self or others, for the most part. The things we do in life really don’t add up to requiring the death penalty (beyond our dying of old age or disease). So why did Jesus “have” to die?

I don’t believe Jesus “had” to die to make up for all the bad stuff we and the rest of humanity have said, thought, or done in all of history. The Cross is not a check God wrote out to God’s self to cover the cost of all we’ve done. Forget the “how it works” of the cross. The fact of the cross is THAT it works. God restores us to God and to one another. 

The question our Collect calls us to consider is how much we add to the weight of the cross by the things we say and do. It is the cumulative weight of the sins of the whole world that hang upon the cross. Jesus did not die for us, as we often put it. Jesus lived for us. We are called to imitate Christ in our lives. Yes, it may cost us our lives, but for the most part, we gain life by imitating Christ – walking where and how he walked, with eyes pointed toward justice, mercy, grace, and healing.

That works for me, and I thank God for the example Jesus gave us. By his stripes we are healed. By his death, we are made whole.

Amen

The Fifth Sunday in Lent

Almighty God, you alone can bring into order the unruly wills and affections of sinners: Grant your people grace to love what you command and desire what you promise; that, among the swift and varied changes of the world, our hearts may surely there be fixed where true joys are to be found; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and for ever. Amen. [BCP, p. 219]

This collect brings to mind my childhood. In particular, I’m reminded of a time my brother and I were taken to my aunt’s house with our older cousins Georgia and Margaret providing baby-sitting services so my parents, aunt, and uncle could enjoy a nice evening out. I don’t recall much from that evening except that my brother and I had a ton of fun and the next morning were told our cousins would NEVER (never, spelled out letter by letter) babysit us again. I think the word they used to describe us was “little hellions.” I know that’s two words, but for them, it meant “never.”

I have never, in all my life, ever thought of my brother and myself as hellions, rascals, or rapscallions, but maybe we were. The problem, if one were to have asked me, isn’t that we were rambunctious, but that our cousins had probably hoped we would have been quieter, more sedate, and (key-word alert), obedient. Yes, we ran through the house, up and down the stairs, and were noisy as all git-out. Yes, we made little Kevin McAllister (Home Alone) look serene and sedate in comparison, but we’d really done nothing dangerous, illegal, or immoral. We just burned the energy God had given us to burn. Is that a crime?

“Almighty God, you alone can bring into order the unruly wills and affections of sinners …”

I have no doubt our cousins thought my brother and I had “unruly wills.” Looking back, I suspect they may have even been somewhat correct in their assessment. We were boys. We were kids (probably 9-11 years old at the time). We were in a house that was new to us. Instead of the 600 square foot hovel we grew up in, we had this wonderful, glorious, two story (plus basement, in all its creepiness) Victorian mansion to explore, so we did. We did what came naturally to us. Now that we’re older by a half-dozen decades, I guarantee we would approach that (or any) home more calmly. After all, that’s what mature folks do.

I wonder if God looks at the human race and sees a world full of hellions, rascals, and rapscallions. I wonder if God sits upon the throne, letting out a great sigh of fatigue and frustration at the end of each day, watching over us with our “unruly wills and affections.” Quite a rambunctious lot, we are.

If so, it is good for us to acknowledge that sometimes we’re not quite as angelic as we may think we are, while also being careful to acknowledge that we’re certainly not as bad as we may sometimes think we are, either. Rambunctious? OK. Thoughtless? Sure. Careless? From time to time. Wicked? Well, maybe once in a while we may stumble into the cowpies of wickedness. Who am I to judge (as the Pope once famously asked)?

So, yes, we approach God acknowledging the fact the light of our faith burns a little dim from time to time. We no doubt aggravate our God, and our neighbors, and possibly even ourselves. Our wills and affections do sometimes run counter to the love God expects from us, and yet, such shortcomings do NOT diminish God’s love for us, and hopes that we can and will do better. God throws a light on our path precisely so that we CAN do better, we CAN see better.

What draws us from the love of God? What tears our hearts from going where we know God wants us to go? It could be that there are a lot of shiny, flashy things that distract us. I don’t think it is evil, per se, as much as simple distractions as we make our way through life each day.

I’m not much of a fisherman, but I know that back in the day I would go fishing down along the Snake River (when I was in college), I seldom if ever used live bait. I didn’t care for the looks, taste, smell, or feel of live bait, to be honest. I preferred to fish with lures. Shiny, flashy bits of gold and silver that would catch a fish’s attention. I caught one fish that had several other lures in its mouth that had broken off from their lines from past fisherfolks. “You didn’t learn your lesson, did you, fishie?” I removed the lures and tossed it back into the river: a moment of grace.

“Grant your people grace to love what you command and desire what you promise …” 

The world tosses shiny flashy goodies our way all the time. I have cable television and seemingly thousands of entertainment choices, yet I stare as slack-jawed at that multitude of options as the average muscovite stands staring at empty shelves at their local Russo-Marts. Our world is “All hat and no cowboy” as folks in cattle country might tell it. 

What we crave is substance, not promise – or at least not the empty promises of all the world’s flashiest finery. So we pray: grant your people GRACE (this is a gift from God, not something we can manufacture) to LOVE what you command (and what does God command? To love God whole-heartedly, love neighbor sacrificially, and to love self tenderly). 

If you prefer a little Old Testament grumpy God theology, what God desires is that we do justice, love mercy, and walk humbly with our Creator. Why?

“(so) that, among the swift and varied changes of the world, our hearts may surely there be fixed where true joys are to be found …”

In some ways, I think our lives are so empty, not because we don’t have anything, but because we have so many choices, so many options, so many opportunities that our hearts and minds get lost in that jumble. We can never set anchor, as we’re always being beckoned to chase something else, to go somewhere else, with promises that we’ll find what we’re looking for. We want a way out of the fun house room of mirrors, and all the world does is toss in more mirrors.

So we pray for God to help stop the madness. We’re not praying for better vision. If anything, I think we’re asking God to throw a hood over our heads, but unlike the mobster who intends to give us concrete galoshes (or cement overshoes), God will allow the darkness and quiet to help reset our senses and sensibilities. I think of Lent as a holy hood we don so that we can regain the peace of God that passes all understanding.

I know a therapist who uses a light treatment with her patients. Sometimes their life-story is stuck on an event or situation that plays over and over. The light therapy helps bump the record player, so to speak, so the needle jumps over whatever it is stuck on and allows the patient to get back to living and experiencing other, more helpful memories. 

That’s what we’re doing here. We’re asking God to bump the record player of our lives so that when the hood is removed, we’ll once again be able to see straight and fix our eyes where true joy is to be found, in lives of service, acts of kindness, and walking humbly with God.

Amen.

Behind the Curve With Cursive

“I want to emphasize in the bold scrawls of my personal handwriting the immense importance of what I have written to you.” Galatians 6:11 (Peterson’s “The Message”)

There was a meme that came across one of my social media feeds inviting the viewer to “Share if you think schools should teach children to write in cursive.” The meme, as you might suspect, was written in cursive. I suspect most of us learned how to make block letters at an early age (it was first grade for me), and once we became proficient with that, we began to learn how to write those same letters in cursive (third grade for me).

I honestly don’t know if schools still teach kids how to write in cursive. Maybe they do and maybe they don’t. They don’t teach mechanical drawing anymore, either, do they? Technology has moved on and, to be honest, I suspect there are plenty of subjects schools are required and expected to teach that micromanaging our educational industry from the luxury of the peanut gallery known as social media is probably not the best place from which to promote change.

Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate being able to read and write both the printed word and the swirly words of cursive. My mother-in-law had beautiful handwriting. Her cursive was a work of art. Mine, on the other hand, is an explosion of scratches that are, today, indecipherable, even by me, the author. I feel quite biblical that way.

I used to hand-write my sermons. When computers (AKA, Word Processors) first came out, I tried writing my sermons with them, but I found that the part of the brain that controls typing only knew how to type term papers. Word processed sermons sounded like college papers, not the living, breathing proclamation of the Good News. My fingers could write the way I spoke, but they could only type in the manner I thought. It was weird.

I came to a point, though, where I was struggling to read my own writing, my own notes. My handwriting had never been all that great, but it was deteriorating. Not from lack of practice or loss of fine motor skills. It’s simply that I am a slob. I have horrible penmanship, and it couldn’t keep up with the pace at which I thought (or think). Now THAT is a scary realization when one perceives how slowly the balloon that carries captions above my head fills!

So I began to learn to use the computer differently. Yes, I still did the typing, but I slowed the process down and learned to review my work as I went along, transforming the mundane into something with more heart and soul. It took work, takes practice, and still takes a lot more work, but over time, I was able to breathe some life into those manuscripts. The problem wasn’t the technology, but the brain attached to the fingers utilizing the technology.

I honestly don’t know what is taught in schools these days. My kids are grown and gone and my mother, who taught fourth grade up until she passed away, always enjoyed being on the cutting edge of new projects, new subjects, and new processes for teaching. She liked finding what worked, tossing what didn’t, and maintained good relations with the front office so was never second-guessed for what she was doing.

While writing in cursive may or may not be important, I’m more concerned with history that has been white-washed than in erasing cursive as a subject. I’m more concerned with the banning of reading materials than with the banning of an antiquated writing system. I’m more concerned with kids missing hot meals than with missing curly writing. I’m more concerned with the loss of voting rights than cursive writes [sic]. I’m more concerned with diminished access to healthcare and healthcare decisions than in how a doctor’s order or prescription for patient care gets written up or processed.

So, yeah, I can see the value of learning to read and write in cursive, but on the list of things to teach, I believe teaching kids to engage in critical thinking is far more important now than knowing how to scroll ink from pen to paper 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)

The Fourth Sunday in Lent

Gracious Father, whose blessed Son Jesus Christ came down from heaven to be the true bread which gives life to the world: Evermore give us this bread, that he may live in us, and we in him; who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and for ever. Amen. [BCP p. 219]

Who doesn’t get hungry? I am always hungry. As I approach the end of breakfast, it isn’t unusual for me to ask my life-partner, “What’s for dinner?” I do that after every meal. I wonder what I’m eating next. Half the time, I’ll do my wondering while nibbling on a small handful of cashews to hold me between meals, or chocolate covered raisins. Hey, sometimes I need something sweet; other times, I want something savory. I like to keep my options open.

Jesus says, of course, “One does not live by bread alone.” We heard that at the beginning of Lent.

Who doesn’t get hungry? My problems are first-world problems. Where ninety percent of the world is food-insecure, I ramble around the house wondering what to snack on next. Seldom are celery or carrots on the list of things to consider. Most of the time, I’m not really hungry when I nibble or eat, but am bored, instead. How sad!

Yes, a decadent Devil's Food cake with chocolate frosting - during Lent? Only on Sundays :-)

Did Jesus nibble between meals? If he was human like us (as the Bible affirms), I’m sure he did; he was a guy. I’m sorry, but I believe snacking and nibbling are guy things. One of my favorite stories in the Gospels is the story of Jesus getting razzed by local do-gooders for allowing his disciples to snack on grains while walking past or through a field. It wasn’t their snacking that irritated the holy molies. It was that they did so on the Sabbath.

Rules may seem silly to most of us. Oh, we don’t mind the big ones, like the rules against murder, stealing, and lying. A day of rest is important, too, although most of us aren’t sticklers about it. I grew up when Blue Laws were still on the books in the 50s and 60s, but one by one they dropped away like day old smelt. I admit it doesn’t bother me to run into the store on a Saturday or Sunday when I need something. Life that’s off and running 24/7 is the norm, and that’s sad. Being retired, I find one day merges into the next so easily I’m barely aware the weekend is arriving and, before you know it, it has swooshed off and become just another day.

Who doesn’t get hungry? Our collect acknowledges the reality that we DO get hungry. We hunger for things more substantial than bread or meat. We hunger for company and companionship. We hunger for friends and friendships. We hunger and thirst for righteousness and justice. As we begin our prayer, we find ourselves acknowledging that Jesus has come, not just to feed us, but to BE true bread for us who hunger, and to BE our life-giver – and not for us only (lest we be selfish) but for the whole world. 

“... life to the world.” That’s what it says. That’s what we pray. That is our intention, if we’re paying attention.

We pray this because we know we get hungry, and nothing we do lasts forever; nothing we do truly satisfies; nothing we do keeps us energized and empowered like Jesus does. And really, isn’t that what we want for the world, too? An opportunity to know this Bread that truly satisfies?

Every now and then I look at old sermons, meditations, and columns I have written over the years, and although I enjoy perusing them, they are a time-capsule of sorts. They fit a variety of needs at the time (and I strove to keep them entertaining and find they are still readable, for the most part), but if I were to recycle them, they would be a bit more stale, a bit less enlightening, a bit less entertaining. That’s OK. I don’t mind. That is the way of all flesh.

But when I read the scriptures, and especially the Gospels, I never tire of reading them, marking them, learning what they are saying today (for they never seem to age), and inwardly digesting them (as another collect in another place phrases it). Jesus continues to feed me (and us) in both word and sacrament.

That moves us to our petition, asking God to “Evermore give us this bread, that he may live in us, and we in him.” 

What does that look like? Well, just as bread enters the body and is broken down with nutrients going where they need to go, so Jesus enters into us continually. We receive Jesus sacramentally, of course, when we gather for Holy Communion, Holy Eucharist, the Mass, or the Lord’s Supper. We also receive Jesus as we read scripture. We receive Jesus when we gather with fellow travelers and discover how our hearts burn within us as we speak, listen, care, and share with one another. We receive Jesus when we see him with our eyes, hear him with our ears, smell his fragrance in the world around us. We receive Jesus when he touches us through the loving care of another person, or within a community of the beloved, which includes people far beyond our own circles of faith.

I think Lent invites us to be more intentional about this part of our journey. As a friend recently said, the first half of Lent focuses on turning away from those habits or practices that remove us from the love of God, neighbor, and self, while the second half of Lent shifts eyes forward to seeing the ultimate sacrifice of love made on our behalf, and inviting us to join Jesus as he makes his way to Jerusalem, the Cross, and beyond to the day of Resurrection.

A life broken for us; blood shed for us; healing and life given to us. He is Bread for this purpose. May we be, too.

Amen

The Third Sunday in Lent

Almighty God, you know that we have no power in ourselves to help ourselves: Keep us both outwardly in our bodies and inwardly in our souls, that we may be defended from all adversities which may happen to the body, and from all evil thoughts which may assault and hurt the soul; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen. [BCP 218]

Some years ago I served a congregation in a remote part of the land. It was my habit to schedule and celebrate the Mass on Christmas mornings. The services were always sparsely attended, especially in such a remote and rural environment, but someone always showed up. Some would ask if it was worth it, from the turnout, or lack thereof. I’d answer “Yes.” I wasn’t responsible for the turnout. I was responsible for providing the service.

Years earlier I was between parishes and Christmas fell on a Sunday. The priest in charge announced he was giving the church that Sunday morning off (since there would be a Christmas eve service the night before). I spoke to him after service and said I would be happy to celebrate mass on Christmas morning for those who might come because it WAS a Sunday morning, or because they couldn’t attend the Christmas Eve service. He gave it a nano-second of thought and said, “No, I made my decision. The church will be closed as my present to them.” I said, “My service would be my gift to the parish. I’d love to do it.” He turned his back and said, No.” I was greatly disappointed; my countenance fell in a manner of biblical proportions.

Getting back to my rural parish, I arrived one Christmas morning and was joined by a couple who were active in and members of a church that does not share communion with Episcopalians. They have a closed altar, and members are not allowed to receive communion outside their own parish, even within their own denomination. Still, it was Christmas morning, and they wanted to worship, and I was offering what their own church wasn’t. We celebrated the birth of Jesus together, and when it was time for communion, I invited them to come forward, for that is our custom. They declined, so I received communion by myself. When I was finished, I offered the same blessing that I have offered for decades (The peace of God which passes all understanding keep your hearts and minds in the knowledge of love God and of His Son, Jesus Christ, and the blessing of God Almighty, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit be upon you, and remain with you always). I thanked them earnestly for joining me for the service and shared a little-known factoid with them.

“I appreciate your being here. In our tradition, a priest cannot receive communion alone. We need a community to gather, just as Jesus said, ‘Where two or three are gathered, I am there.’ Your being here was a gift that allowed me to more fully enjoy Christmas. You are, and have been, a real blessing!”

 “Almighty God, you know that we have no power in ourselves to help ourselves …” 

It would be silly to say we have NO power .. if we meant it literally. We do have some power, each of us. I can read, write, and do sums (with the help of a calculator these days). Most of my decisions are morally upright and are done without either carrot or stick, so I’d be hard pressed to say I have no power to help myself or others. That isn’t the point here, of course.

The point here is that we are who we are, and while we may have some volitional power to do many things, we require the help of God to get us over the hump at times. It is God who provides insight into what must be done. My temptation – my GREAT temptation – is to take shortcuts and do things the easy, convenient way. I have never been one to make waves, and prefer the life of a chameleon – out of sight and out of mind.

The point of our prayer is to engage in self-reflection, as persons, and as a community. We sometimes forget that the Collects are our prayers as a community. It’s not enough to pray for ourselves alone, but for the whole Body. We, as a people, often do not have the power or strength to help ourselves, for many reasons. I know what I think, but I can’t know what you think (unless we talk). 

“A convoy moves only as fast as the slowest ship,” said my father when I was growing up. “A chain is only as strong as its weakest link,” he added from his repertoire of folk wisdom. 

The Church is often paralyzed into inaction because we’re not sure what God is asking of us. I was in a diocese where we were always in discernment, and our bishop absolutely loved the discernment process, but we never implemented any changes; we never made any forward progress. It was always planning, planning, and more planning, but never any doing. It felt like too much do-do!

“Almighty God, you know that we have no power in ourselves to help ourselves …” 

I suspect God, if God is God at all, is well aware of our tendency to hesitate, to pause, reflect, and worry about getting everyone onboard before doing anything different, anything new, or anything brave for God’s sake. So on this third Sunday in Lent, we confess our powerlessness, because we really are powerless. “We are weak, but God is strong,” we sing.

It’s not enough to confess our weakness, though. God: what are you going to do about it? So our prayer continues:

“Keep us both outwardly in our bodies and inwardly in our souls …”

“Keep.” I like that word. It reminds me of the inner fortress in The Lord of the Rings. The castle keep was the inner bulwark to which the people fled when they became overwhelmed in their outer defenses. 

God, we pray, give us a safe haven when we are being overwhelmed. So often we rely on our own power, our own strength, our own wiles to survive. Certainly they are part of what we bring to the table. But it is easier to make wise decisions if we can do so from a safe place. The safest place to be is alongside God – looking to God for comfort, strength, and courage. So we pray, first of all, for God to gather us in. When scared, is there anyplace more comforting than being snuggled up in the lap of Mom or Dad? “God,” we pray, “let us snuggle with thee.”

My mother, reading to her grandkids

“that we may be defended from all adversities which may happen to the body, and from all evil thoughts which may assault and hurt the soul …”

Stuff happens. The earth quakes, the winds blow, the storms come and go, diseases plague us. I confess I don’t ask God to protect me from death or pain. I am disturbed by a theology where a survivor thanks God for protecting them, when a thousand around them were killed by the crashing airplane or sudden tsunami. I just want God to keep on holding on to us when catastrophes befall us, so that we need have no fear that we’ve lost God’s loving care.

The same is true for the Church – the Body of Christ. It has faced adversity from time immemorial, from schisms, heresies, martyrdom, gross abuses from within, really bad attitudes towards those not like us, financial stresses (always), etc. God, we need your help from these things, especially!

As for evil thoughts, God also knows how we feel about people and situations that offend us. “Turn the other cheek?” I think not. Go the extra mile? Heck no. Bless those who curse us? I prefer the heaping, burning coals on their head approach! “So God, when it comes to the sickness of my ‘tude, I’m a gonna need your help!”

Our temptation is to hang onto those thoughts and ask God’s forgiveness. But our prayer isn’t to put our evil thoughts into Pandora’s Tupperware. No, we ask God to heal us to where those thoughts become further and fewer between. For that, I AM helpless; we ARE helpless. And so we ask God at this mid-point in Lent to help us. Help us REALIZE we really need God’s help to be more Christ-like in our walk with thee.

Amen.

Charge of the Light Brigade

“There is always Light, if only we are brave enough to see it. There is always Light, if only we are brave enough to be it.” Amanda Gorman, Poet, “The Hill We Climb”

For quite some time now, we have had problems at home with flickering lights. It’s the kind of flickering you get when there’s a loose connection. When we moved in seven years ago, there was only one outlet that would hold a plug, so I set about replacing every outlet with good quality receptacles. I’ve replaced a ton of outlets and light switches over the years, so it is a task with which I am experienced and “at home” (so to speak). 

The problem we were facing with our flickering light fixtures, however, was different. The lamps were plugged in securely; connections on our built-in lighting fixtures were likewise well-secured. The issue presented itself in several rooms, so it wasn’t a lone flakey lightbulb having conniptions. So we brought in a professional electrical contractor to diagnose the problem and help us plot a solution.

The problem turned out to be a faulty breaker panel. It was failing, and the inconsistent supply of electricity to the house was causing the flickering and, if left alone, could result in something worse than flickering lights, so we bit the bullet and contracted for an upgrade to our electrical service. We didn’t just upgrade the panel; we added fresh lighting for the two guest bedrooms, as well as a light and outlet to the house’s crawl space. 

While the light and outlet in the crawl certainly aren’t needed, it will be helpful having light in the event someone ever has to visit the creep space in order to turn off the home’s water supply or replace the hot water tank. Illuminating the darkness: how biblical!

We are in the season of Lent (for those that follow church seasons – not all do, and that’s OK; there’s more than one way to “be” Church). There was a time when the focus of Lent was to wear sack-cloth and ashes and bewail our manifold sins and wickedness. There’s still a little bit of introspection that goes on these days, but I think there has been a major shift from a sin-focus to a healthier form of spirituality – one that keys in on identifying ways we can be better human beings.

Shifting one’s focus is important. I am not a craftsman, so when I do projects around the house, I’ll confess I see all the blemishes and mistakes I’ve made. When folks try to admire my handiwork, more often than not I’ll point out what I did poorly, even though most people admire that, first off, I tackled a project, and secondly, that they wouldn’t have noticed the errors of my ways if I hadn’t pointed them out. It’s one thing to be humble; it’s quite another to abuse the self.

Anyway, since we have been created in the image of God, and since we believe the glory of God is God’s mercy, it seems counterproductive to look for fault in the work of our hands, minds, or spirits. Lent is a season, not for withdrawing from God’s presence because of our weaknesses or misdoings, but to draw closer to God, to bask in the light of God’s glory, and to see what, if anything, we might do better on God’s behalf.

Our breaker panel was not evil for going bad. It didn’t decide, one day, to become ineffective or dangerous. In fact, it was a blessing that we saw the signs it was failing. It gave us an opportunity to make changes before it failed catastrophically. It gave us an opportunity to upgrade and improve the lighting in spaces that needed improving, and over time it may well save us energy costs and reduce our carbon footprint.

Many people wait until they are in too much pain not to change. Life is more joyous when one identifies what’s working or not working for them, and making the change ahead of the catastrophe. We won’t always succeed, of course. The famous Light Brigade went into the wrong valley. Oops. But if we choose our valley wisely, and with eyes wide open, perhaps we can stop the flickering in our lives, and add warmth to our light 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)

The Second Sunday in Lent

 

O God, whose glory it is always to have mercy: Be gracious to all who have gone astray from your ways, and bring them again with penitent hearts and steadfast faith to embrace and hold fast the unchangeable truth of your Word, Jesus Christ your Son; who with you and the Holy Spirit lives and reigns, one God, for ever and ever. Amen. [BCP 218]

Life can be quite amusing at times. For years, I have identified one of God’s greatest attributes with this line: The glory of God is his mercy. That’s been my default marker for proclaiming the gospel for as long as I can remember. So many people have come to me over the years asking if they will be saved, or if they will have a chance of going to heaven, and I have assured and reassured each one, every time: The glory of God is God’s mercy. Of course you’re saved; of course you’re going to heaven; of course God will welcome you with open arms and a loving embrace.

I always thought I was quoting scripture, even though I could never find that passage in the Psalms, Proverbs, Isaiah, or any of the other prophets. I’ve tried to find the passage using concordances and Bible reference materials. I’ve even tried online Bible references and a variety of search engines. I could never find it and just chalked it up to my lousy research skills. Some things just lie beyond my grasp.

Then, as I began working my way through this series of meditations based upon the Sunday Collects, I found the source of what I’d been saying all along. It’s right here in the Collect for the Second Sunday in Lent (and not a direct quote from the Bible): “O God, whose glory it is always to have mercy …”

People often ask what Episcopalians believe, and while we aren’t a “confessional” church, as such, one can find our theology as we define and express it throughout the Book of Common Prayer (the BCP). Our beliefs are contained within our prayers. They are rich, deep, and sometimes contradictory. But so is life. God, who told the first couple, “The day you eat of it (the “forbidden” fruit), you shall die,” changed their divine mind. 

Our relationship with God is complex. It’s also quite simple. A number of well-known and respected theologians have admitted that their faith can be best summed up in the words of that children’s hymn, “Jesus loves me, this I know, for the Bible tells me so. Little ones to God belong, we are weak, but God is strong. Yes! Jesus loves me!!!”

I worry the church has historically done such a good job of identifying every sin imaginable, that many have simply given up trying to come to any understanding of what it means to be a Christian. Are you lazy? Sloth!!! That’s a cardinal sin. Do your eyes go looking where they shouldn’t? Lust!!! That’s a cardinal sin. Do you get mad? Wroth (Anger)!!! That’s a cardinal sin. Do you sometimes feel superior to others (politically, socially, economically – come on, now; let’s be truthful)? Pride!!! That’s a cardinal sin. Shall I go on? We still have Envy, Gluttony, and Greed to top off the list of cardinal sins. Don’t let me get started on the venial sins – oy vey!

I heard a lot about sin, growing up, and while I can rattle off the cardinal sins from memory (I use a mnemonic tool: SLAPEGG (Sloth, Lust, Anger, Pride, Envy, Gluttony, Greed), but I have no idea what the cardinal virtues are. I presume there are some, but I haven’t got a list. I presume love and humility are in there somewhere, and maybe patience, but I haven’t got time to go looking for them right now.

So we know how bad people are. We can point out their faults with gusto. What I don’t know is why we focus more on sin and less on grace. The glory of God is God’s mercy. That line has struck me and stayed with me since forever. It’s one of those things I need to hear over and over to believe it. I believe it is true; to the core of my soul I believe it. It’s the curmudgeon who dances the Tarantella between my ears, who points out all those things that prick my conscience that I need to learn to put into Time Out.

“You’re not good enough,” he says. OK. I can live with that. Why? Because the glory of God is God’s mercy.

The season of Lent is a struggle for many people because they (or we) are being told we are sinners, as if we don’t already know that. “You are dust, and to dust you shall return” is Lent’s battle cry. OK, sure. I can live with that. Why? Because the glory of God is God’s mercy!

That is why our prayer continues: “Be gracious to all who have gone astray from your ways …” God knows what we’re like. It’s not like God flings open a door and goes, “Whoops! Sorry, I didn’t know you were in there.” 

God knows, for the most part, that we are doing the best we can. Love God? OK, I do and will do the best I can. Sometimes I’ll have some doubts; other times I’ll have lots of doubts. But for the most part, I love God as best I can. I worship. I pray. I say grace at meals. I bring my offerings to church. I sing the hymns (including those I don’t really like). I devote as much time to loving God as best I can. Why? Because the glory of God is God’s mercy.

Love one’s neighbor? OK, I do the best I can. I don’t go out of my way to irritate or antagonize people around me, but I suppose I could do more to love them. It’s hard, though. Lord, you KNOW some of my neighbors. Yet, not my will but (sigh) your will be done. Why? Because the glory of God is God’s mercy.

Love myself? OK, that’s a bit tougher. Sometimes my ego gets in the way. Sometimes it's my history. Other times it’s my future (or lack) that draws my attention from full-on loving myself. I mean, I know me. How can I love me, knowing all that? I know what goes on in my mind. Still, if you, Great God of all that is, seen and unseen, can have mercy on me, and love me, and want me to sit at table with you in the great banquet that follows my romping through the valley of the shadow of death, who am I to question your command? So I try. Why? Because the glory of God is God’s mercy.

That’s why we continue our prayer: “bring them (us) again with penitent hearts and steadfast faith to embrace and hold fast the unchangeable truth of your Word …” We don’t ask God to let us wallow in our guilt. We conduct a fearless and moral inventory of our lives (which inventories both the good and the bad, the sick and the sad) and we turn our will and our lives (with everything in them) over to the care of God, and trust that God knows what to do with those self-same lives. God will root through our attics, crawl spaces, dungeons and play rooms, toss out all the trash, and hold fast (embrace, hug) what’s left: You. Me. God’s very own treasure!

I guess that’s why I love Lent. These prayers remind us that the glory of God is God’s mercy. We don’t stand before God quivering in our boots, fearing the fiery torments of hell. No, we stand before God, fresh from our baths, dressed as knights in white satin, children of God’s kingdom and reign, jewels in God’s very own crown.

Merciful heavens: the glory of God IS God’s mercy!

Amen

First Sunday in Lent

 

Almighty God, whose blessed Son was led by the Spirit to be tempted by Satan: Come quickly to help us who are assaulted by many temptations; and, as you know the weaknesses of each of us, let each one find you mighty to save; through Jesus Christ your Son our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and for ever. Amen. [BCP 218]

Jesus was “led by the Spirit to be tempted by Satan.” Isn’t that strange? Don’t we pray, asking God to “lead us not into temptation”? So here we find Jesus being “led” by God’s Spirit “to be tempted.”

I suppose in many ways the Spirit was leading Jesus into the wilderness in his day just as that same Spirit led Israel from bondage in Egypt, through the Sea, and into the wilderness, not so much to “be” tempted, but where they were tempted. Tempted to do what, though? I suppose individuals were tempted to misbehave the way people are in every community, in every generation, in every way. I have no doubt there were the barroom brawls, accusations of theft, lusting after whatever lustables they could see. 

They saw the glory of God demonstrated in a bunch of disasters that befell the Egyptians (plagues of frog, flies, locusts, bloody waters, and the deaths of first-borns); they saw the sea opened up so they could cross over on dry land from one side to another; they saw the mighty Egyptian army (with all their horses and chariots) destroyed when the sea returned to normal (slamming the door on the pursuers); they saw the pillar of fire by night and pillar of smoke by day leading them on and on. But when asked to believe, when asked to trust, when asked to move forward, when asked to enter the land of promise, the people dug in their heels and said, “Heck no, we won’t go!”

That had to be discouraging for God. They cried for food, God gave them Manna, and they complained. They begged for meat, God sent quail, and they complained. They got thirsty, God gave them water from a rock, and they complained. We can’t really blame them, of course. If there is one thing people are good at, it’s complaining. Endless complaining.

Moses goes into the mountain, talks with God, brings back God’s great gift: Torah (the Law), and how do the people respond? “Eh, we missed you; figured you’d died, so Aaron made a wonderful golden calf for us to worship. He gave us Gold; you brought us a memo. Thanks, but no thanks!”

We could go on and on, but it is obvious that even if the people weren’t “tempted” as such, the wilderness was a place of pain and suffering. We can’t blame them. These weren’t leaders; these were slaves. These weren’t the elite; these were the bottom of the barrel. These weren’t the high and mighty, but low and stinky. For centuries, they and their ancestors took their orders and knew their place in the world. The wilderness was all new for them. The only temptation they faced was to go back – to go back to the lives they knew so well. At least in Egypt they knew they had food. Sure, it was scraps and leftovers, but still, it was food.

Jesus was baptized in the river. As he got back onto his feet, he saw the Spirit descend, like a dove, and heard a voice cry out, “You are my beloved son; in you I am well pleased.”

With his baptism, Jesus was freed from slavery. What? Jesus wasn’t a slave. He was the son of a carpenter or a village handyman. Yet, might he not have been a slave anyway? There are many kinds of slavery. One can be a slave to their past. I know people who can’t get past hurts that took place decades ago. They embrace those painful memories like golden calves. They find their life’s meaning in those memories, so they hang onto them, and worship them, for those things give them their value.

One can be a slave to what others think. They worry they will be thought less of if they tell people what they think. They find their value defined by what others think, as if a person who has a moment’s insight into your life could possibly know you better than yourself. But they haven’t the courage to leave those opinions behind. They are trapped in a desert, surrounded by the fiery serpents that corrupt them.

We don’t know to what Jesus may have been a slave. Perhaps he was tempted to ignore God’s call and continue fixing tables, chairs, and cribs. Perhaps he was tempted to stay home and take care of his family once his father had died – cultural expectations; honor your father and mother; all that guff. 

Whatever the temptation, Jesus broke free. He went through the waters of baptism on his way to a new life. A pillar of fire drew him down to the Jordan, to John, and from there, into the wilderness. He was led, by some accounts. He was driven into the wilderness, by other accounts. Interesting. Sometimes I go where I’m led. Other times I need to be driven. Don’t believe me? Ask my wife!

Jesus was led by the Spirit to be tempted by Satan. Satan. The Adversary. Not the red suit, pitchfork, and horn-sprouting-head devil of our collective imaginations. No, Satan is simply the Prosecuting Attorney of the State of Bliss whose job is to bring cases to court for trial. I often think the temptation stories in Matthew, Luke, and (initially) Mark aren’t temptations for Jesus to do magic with rocks, rule the world, or spend time with a new and improved deity. I think the temptation is to accept a plea deal. Despite being innocent, “Just plead guilty and life will go better for you and everyone.”

That’s a temptation we all face. To take a short-cut. To cut corners, to cheat just a little. Those temptations didn’t stop after Jesus’ forty days in the wilderness. Do our temptations end after our forty days of Lent? Ha! I wish!

“Lord, come quickly,” we pray. You know our weaknesses. You know our soft spots, our sore spots, our excuses, and our ability to rationalize all our misdoings and lay the blame on others. “If only they … if only this … if only that …”

“Let each one find YOU mighty to save …” That’s the point, of course. It is God who calls. It is God who rescues. It is God who restores people and relationships. It is God who heals our souls, salves our wounds, and saves us (leading us out of our own personal and/or corporate Egypts). 

This First Sunday IN Lent is our base camp. As the Spirit led Jesus, so the Spirit leads us now. The temptation may be to see this as another Sunday, another week, another Season of Lent. We pray the Spirit will break the shackles of such thinking and drive us (if we won’t be led) into a wilderness that will impel us to depend ever more closely on the God who calls, the God who provides, the God who ministers to each as they have need.

Amen.

Ashes for Saint Valentine!

“Is this not the fast that I choose: to loose the bonds of injustice, to undo the thongs of the yoke …” Isaiah 58

Valentine’s Day marks a day of love for many of us. It is an artificial holiday built upon the sales of sweets and greeting cards, but really, what holiday isn’t? There’s nothing wrong with love, cards, sweets, or flowers, so I won’t knock it.

It is somewhat ironic that Valentine’s Day this year coincides with Ash Wednesday which, for many Christians, marks the start of a forty day period of penitence and fasting. “Giving up chocolate” is often the go-to-token for lenten fasting or abstinence.

Not all Christians observe Lent, of course. In fact, one doesn’t even have to be a Christian to participate in Lent. Days and seasons are not copyrighted. Holidays and holy days are not licensed or trademarked. Days and seasons are simply part of life. 

To paraphrase Jesus, the sun rises and sets for both flat-earthers and astrophysicists. The rains fall on climate-change believers and deniers alike. It doesn’t matter who’s more likely to be right, or who’s more likely to be wrong. What matters is looking and listening to the world around us and asking, is there something I need to do?

Many years ago our tub began to drain quite slowly. I called in a plumber who snaked the drain and pulled out globs of hair. I looked in the mirror and knew I had not contributed to that problem – not in the least did I have any responsibility for that clog. Did I refuse to pay the plumber? No, of course not. It was a family issue, a family problem, and so I paid the plumber and thanked him for his time and expertise. 

Now, I knew in my heart of hearts that I was truly “holier than thou” in the situation, but the problem wasn’t just the hair. It was also the soap, shampoo, and conditioners that went down the drain and that mixed with the hairs. As a person who’s involved in matters of cleanliness and personal hygiene, I’d contributed to the clog, even if I hadn’t added much building material to the project. I had a part to play, so the plumber I did pay!

The world is in a heck of a mess. I’m worn out praying for an end to the fighting in Ukraine, Gaza, Somalia, the sea lanes off Yemen, etc. I’m worn out praying for an end to gun violence in America, child hunger, and the masses of second class citizens growing in this country. I’m worn out praying for congress to learn their job is not to get re-elected but solve the many problems they’ve been elected to solve. Getting re-elected is NOT the problem in need of a solution. 

I’m worn out, but I don’t stop praying. Praying isn’t about asking God to magically fix things, but asking how God might use us to fix the injustices and evils about which we pray.

I don’t really care which holy book one reads, studies, or honors as the basis of their faith. The one I embrace says (Isaiah 58), “If you remove the yoke from among you, the pointing of the finger, the speaking of evil, if you offer your food to the hungry and satisfy the needs of the afflicted, then your light shall rise in the darkness and your gloom be like the noonday.” Other religions and philosophies say much the same thing: Take care of one another.

Valentine’s day promotes love. Sure, we think primarily of romantic love on that day of chocolates and flowers. But since it coincides with Ash Wednesday, might we consider laying aside our grievances and seeking better ways to love one another? 

If you’re worn out by violence, death, animosity, vengeance, and all the acidic rhetoric floating about the airwaves and such, maybe one can choose to abstain from those things (more than from chocolates). Each of us can examine our lives and find where we fall short (and clean out attitudes that clog our relationships). 

Perhaps Saint Valentine’s Day is as good a day as any to focus our lives on loving Creation, our Neighbors, and Ourselves. If your love lasts more than forty days, so much the better! May you enjoy both a sweet Valentine’s Day and a more loving Lent 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)