A board by any other name would be silly

“The works of (God’s) hands are faithfulness and justice; all his commandments are sure.” Psalm 111

What’s the deal with wood? I know that two-by-fours haven’t been two inches by four inches in decades, and maybe even in a century. That’s OK. I’m aware that when I buy two-by-fours for a project, they’ll be roughly 1 ½ by 3 ½ inches (thickness and width). I understand you can get more dimensional lumber from a tree that way and that the structural integrity of a house, barn, or shed isn’t diminished significantly by using anorexic lumber. I know those are rough measurements and good enough for supports that will be hidden by drywall or out of sight in attics or crawl spaces. I get that. But …

The other day I went to my local home center to buy a board from which I intended to build a rack for storing wireless microphones at church. I wasn’t buying “rough” lumber. I was buying a finer piece of wood intended for wood-working craftsmen, er, crafty-persons, er, artists. I figured people would like it because the label said it was poplar. No use buying something that would be unpoplar, right?

Naturally, the four inch wide board wasn’t, and the brackets were. The problem wasn’t with the lumber, though. You see, the problem is that I worked from my brain and common sense instead of a ruler and practical application. I got the plank home, sanded it down, softened the edges with my router, creating a piece of fine furniture, and finished it all off with a beautiful, hand-rubbed oil stain finish. THEN I brought out the brackets and discovered the dimensional discrepancy. Oops. Did I become despondent with my delusions of adequacy?

Good grief; No! I looked at what I’d done, threw my hands up, and said to myself, “Well, that’s one for the books!” 

One cannot undo what has been done. One cannot unring the bell or put the toothpaste back into the tube. I knew better than to start a project without taking proper measurements. If I worked with wood daily, I might be able to do things off the cuff and with a dollop of by-gosh and by-golly (as my Grand-Dad was wont to say), but I don’t. I am a tinkerer, but in this case I tink I blundered. It happens.

So, I went and bought a more properly sized bit of wood, did my duty to it, and when I was done, took it to the church, placed it where the priest asked me to, and that was that. I didn’t fix blame; I fixed the problem.

When one makes a mistake, there is no use fussing about it, feeling guilty, or dumb. A star has no brains, but it still shines, right? I’m no star, but I can still do my part to make life a little better, a little easier, a little less fractured.

Come to think of it, I think I make a better moon than a star. Stars create their own light, but the moon reflects what light it is given. We don’t make our own light. We simply reflect the light that is given us. 

Faithfulness and justice are something like that. When we strive to live by the commands to love one another, to treat one another right, to forgive those who harm us, and make restitution whenever doing so won’t do yet more harm, then we’re really just reflecting the light of grace that’s been poured upon us by Another, whether that “other” is God or the Universe. It doesn’t matter; what matters is we reflect what’s been shined upon us. 

There’s nothing to brag about there. We’re just doing the next thing on our list of things to do, and, with any luck, we will be producing something of value upon which others may reflect, smile, and give thanks. I believe it was the Dalai Lama who said, “Our prime purpose in this life is to help others. And if you can’t help them, at least don’t hurt them.”

That truly lies at the heart of faith and justice here in this, our valley. I may be thick as a brick at times, but at least now I am board certified.

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)

Fourth Sunday after the Epiphany

Almighty and everlasting God, you govern all things both in heaven and on earth: Mercifully hear the supplications of your people, and in our time grant us your peace; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen. [BCP p. 215]

The author in 1974 (Spokane) To Serve and to Protect

Does anyone like being told what to do? Probably not, but most of us buck up and do what needs to be done, regardless. It doesn’t matter who the teller is. As children, the primary teller was a parent. I am sure I was not a perfect child, although I don’t recall ever disobeying. I am sure I got reminded not to be sassy. We had a leather riding crop that sat upon the mantle while I was growing up. I knew it was for horses (although I don’t remember my parents ever riding any horses), but I also remember clearly being very afraid of that riding crop. I don’t recall ever having it used on me, or having my folks ever threaten to use it on me (or my brother), and yet I had an instinctive fear of what it COULD mean if I ever got out of line.

Doing what we’re told to do is nothing new. One can’t go driving anywhere without paying attention to signs and signals. I was preparing to cross a busy street near our house and began to hit escape velocity with our car when an automobile (I was timing my actions against) abruptly changed lanes, slowed down, and made a left turn. It threw off my timing, but fortunately I reacted swiftly enough to avoid a collision. The accident would have been my fault, if we’d collided, but the other driver was also partially to blame as they had failed to signal. I know. I looked for the turn signal. That’s what I do when I drive. I pay attention to what’s going on. I also take into account n’er-do-wells and rapscallions who don’t follow the rules or obey the laws. 

One of the things that happens as we age is developing the capacity to be self-led and self-taught. We follow the rules, not by reciting them in our heads, but by knowing them “by heart.” That comes from years and years of practice. We do the right thing because the habit has been formed in us to do the right thing. It is so much a habit, we don’t need to think about it.

“Almighty God, you govern all things …” What does it mean for God to “govern” all things, to govern “all” things?

As one who likes to dig deep into words and into language, I found myself checking up on the word “govern” and learned that it traces itself back through Middle English, to Old French (gouverner), to Latin (gubernare), to Greek (kybernan), meaning “to steer.” (Dictionary.com)

When thinking of God, it is probably natural to think of “governor” in the sense of leading or directing by fiat. Another Latin word for that is Imperium, as in imperial. This is the right to be obeyed. A police officer directing traffic must be obeyed, not because he or she carries a firearm, but because they’ve been empowered by the state to enforce the laws and keep the peace. One could think of God as the ultimate peace-keeper.

Another Latin word that describes the exercise of power is Auctoritas (from whence we derive our word Authority. This is the power of experience or study. The power of a professor is their expertise, their study. The power of a plumber is their experience working with water, pipes, tubes, gaskets, and such whatnot. 

What sort of Governor is God? Does God operate through Imperium or Auctoritas? Probably both, if we get right down to it. God gives us the Ten Commandments, not the Ten Suggestions. God is also the Creator of all that is or ever will be. God put us together, as individuals, but also put us together as a community. God has watched over the human race for hundreds of thousands of years and has a fair notion of what works and what doesn’t. When God says, “I wouldn’t do that, if I were you,” God is speaking as much from experience (Auctoritas) as fiat, eh?

In our collect, we acknowledge both the power and the authority of God in our lives, and pray God will listen to us, that God will hear our supplications – the fruit of which is peace. A supplication isn’t just a request. It is a form of begging. It means to get down on one’s knees and BEG God for help. It is a word for an ugly crying kind of prayer.

How many of us ugly cry for peace? For justice? For the homeless? For the sick? For Palestinians, Ukrainians, Ecuadorians? 

If we take this prayer at its face value, we have to admit that this is no safe, quaint prayer we offer to God. It’s not wishful thinking. It can’t end with a polite Amen at the end, and a quick little crossing of self when we’re done. No, if we look to God our Governor, we need to acknowledge that we are God’s Red Cross workers, God’s Thin Blue Line, God’s Soup Kitchen Orderlies.

“People are hungry,” we say. “Feed them,” God replies.

“People are homeless,” we cry. “House them,” God insists. 

“People are trampling the needy,” we tattle. “Smash-mouth the mothers,” declares the God of faithfulness and justice!

Now, this may seem a bit harsh. God is love, and to think God would have us engage in a certain kind of “tough love” may cut against the grain. It does for me. I think the Church (as an institution) has historically set way too much stock in flogging people with their sinfulness and guilt. I would say that has driven far more people out of the Church than drawn them into it. It has promoted all forms of hypocrisy over the years.

Nevertheless, we don’t toss the baby out with the bathwater, do we? The love of God does not eliminate the faithfulness of God or the call for justice or acts of righteousness. Our job isn’t to point out the sins of others, but to stand firm on how we understand what justice is, and invite people to stand with us. Police officers in our society “respond” to crimes, but a living wage, food and water security, accessible healthcare and public education “prevent” crime. Working for a just society promotes peace in ways the long hairy arm of the law never can.

“God, you steer all things in heaven, on earth, and (indeed) you steer the universe itself. Help us to see injustice; steer us away from committing injustices; give us strength and courage to confront injustices; and give us grace to overcome injustices at every turn. Help us find peace at the last.”

Amen

Intruder Alert

 

“Where can I go from your Spirit? Where can I flee from your presence?” Psalm 139

One of the unsettling facts of modern life is that there is no privacy. None. Everything we do is tracked, noted, and sold all willy-nilly to anyone and everyone willing to pay for it. Our cell phones listen in on our conversations so that the tech giants will know what our interests are so they can populate our “feeds” with anything remotely related to what we may be enticed to buy – not because we need those items, but because we may be interested in updating or upgrading what we have.

Such intrusions are so ubiquitous that we seldom know it’s even happening. Our grocery outlets have special membership cards so that they can fine-tune their coupons to our habits, or so they say. I often look at the coupons they print alongside the receipts and find that, not only do I never buy what they’re offering me a discount on, but they’re never for things I DO buy. In other words, keep paying full price for what you want, and start buying what you don’t want. Just because I like applesauce doesn’t mean I am interested in Huggies Diapers!

These things used to amuse me. I often joke that anyone listening in on my conversations must be in serious need of a sleep aid, but it’s getting ridiculous. 

My wife and I recently took a trip to get away from it all, enjoying a bit of Southwest Alaska. We’d been wanting to do that for ages. We had a nice time, and it was truly delightful being unplugged from the world. We did not avail ourselves of ship-board WI-FI. As you might have guessed, we are now inundated daily with two or three invitations to go cruising anywhere and everywhere, courtesy of every cruising outfit you can name.

My complaint isn’t really the lack of privacy as much as it is the faked interest in us. They’re not interested in us. They’re interested in our greenbacks. 

The other day a young man came up the driveway. I greeted him at the door, noting a clipboard in his hand. He introduced himself and before I could make a mental note of his name, he continued directly into his spiel, which started off with a compliment on our house and a question of just how old our windows are.

We have thermal pane windows; they work just fine; their seals are still intact and aside from needing a good cleaning (which will wait until spring, as it is 12 degrees at the moment), they are doing all I could hope or ask for. The young man stroked his chin in a most thoughtful manner and informed me that they were likely nearing the end of their useful lifespan, that they could easily fail soon, and if I were to let him in, he could make me a heck of a deal on new windows. 

I declined as politely as I could. I realized he was just doing a job. I can’t fault him for that. The point is, there is something wrong with a world that is so addicted to money. The appetite for cash is completely insatiable and unsustainable. Our appetites are driving us to our destruction.

I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to be the world’s cash cow. I don’t want the universe to see me as nothing more than a fool to be parted from his money. I strive to be a caring, compassionate person, but I find it harder to do when so many interactions are transactions. We are what we eat. What’s worse, we become what eats us!

I guess I buck against the crass commercialism of our world, not because I am against money or profits, but because I don’t want that stuff to interfere with my relationship with God or neighbor. I can’t stop technology from invading my space, but I can limit the time and attention I give it. 

By doing that, I find myself fleeing toward God, and not away. Why? Because God knows my every thought, and instead of sending ads, God sends her Spirit, who comes with hugs and without coupons. As for my windows, I’ll change them when the pane makes it worth my while 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)

Second Sunday after the Epiphany

Almighty God, whose Son our Savior Jesus Christ is the light of the world: Grant that your people, illumined by your Word and Sacraments, may shine with the radiance of Christ's glory, that he may be known, worshiped, and obeyed to the ends of the earth; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who with you and the Holy Spirit lives and reigns, one God, now and for ever. Amen. [BCP p. 215]

There’s a lot of light in the season of Epiphany. The season of Advent talks about the darkness, and Christmas talks about the light coming into the world. Epiphany shines forth with the light of a certain star. Today we take center stage, so to speak, and find the spotlight turned upon us in the day’s collect: “Grant that your people, illumined by your Word and Sacraments, may shine with the radiance of Christ’s glory …”

Who’s illumined? We are! Oh my. Were you ready for that?

When I was in school, I’ll confess I wasn’t the world’s greatest student. I found school boring. I found textbooks boring. I found homework boring. I wish I could say I was too brilliant to deal with all that stuff, but I wasn’t. I was probably dealing with an attention deficit (whatever that means – I had no deficit; my attention was simply elsewhere in the time/space continuum of life). 

I struggled to pay attention. As the teachers spoke, I found myself doing many things at my desk, but paying attention wasn’t one of those “things” that I was doing?

The last thing in the world I ever wanted was for the teacher to call on me. First of all, the odds I would hear my name was somewhere near zero. The odds of hearing and understanding the question were even less than that. Fortunately, I had good teachers. They were smart, and it didn’t take them long to figure out that it was better to call on someone else if they wanted their lessons to move forward in the allotted time.

In our prayer for today, there is an unspoken assumption that God’s people are brilliant. Grant us, we pray – we who are so illumined. But wait; there’s more! We are not the source of that light; we are a reflection of that light! 

Have you ever looked toward the moon when it is just a sliver in the sky? Have you ever looked closely and noticed how you can also make out the “dark” side of the moon? While the bright part of the moon is being illuminated by the sun (that much is clear), the so-called dark side is also being illuminated – enough so we can see it, even if not all that clearly. What is illuminating the dark side of the moon? The earth! The earth is reflecting sunlight to such a degree that it allows us to see the dark side, even though we will often say we haven’t seen the dark side of the moon (prior to moon shots); the fact is we DO see it.

Full Moon over Mount Vernon (2021)

The light of Christ shines on us, and in our prayer, we ask God to let enough of his light to bounce off of us so that those who continue to walk in darkness will have the light they need to continue safely in their own journeys. We are not the light, but we are reflections of the light. How marvelous! God illuminates us, not so the world can see us, but so that the world can see - period. 

Over the years I have had watches with pale green splotches on their faces. Sometimes those dots are on the 12, 3, 6, and 9 spots on the dial. Other times they mark all twelve hours. What’s most important, though, is that the green paint also lines the long and short hands of the timepieces. They absorb light by day so that they may store up and give off light in the dark, allowing the wearer to tell what time it is. When those green spots are dim, I often shine a flashlight on the watch face to make the green ever more brilliant, even if only for a little while.

“Word and Sacrament” is the Church’s flashlight. As we gather together, we receive the good news as it is delivered in the scriptures and in the sermon, and we receive the good news as it is delivered in the bread and in the wine; we are renewed, just like the phosphorescent materials on the watch are renewed by the light of the torch. We receive what we need to be of service to those around us.

I confess I am never as alive to the Lord (or IN the Lord) as when I am surrounded by fellow worshipers in Church. Yes, I can worship God under the stars and in the woods and while out to sea, but I find myself worshiping God best in the company of saints who may well be surprised that they are thought of as reflectors of God. But they are. I see God more clearly in them and through them.

When I am alone, don’t tell anyone, but God is far more likely to be a reflection of me. When alone, I find God thinks like me and approves my every thought, word, and deed. In the company of saints in light, though, I see God more clearly, as well as my need for God. Our collect today reminds us, too, that we serve God best when we reflect the light God shines upon us.

There’s a lot of light in the season of Epiphany. If I look closely, I’ll probably see my need for Lent, too, which isn’t that far off!

First Sunday after the Epiphany: The Baptism of our Lord

Father in heaven, who at the baptism of Jesus in the River Jordan proclaimed him your beloved Son and anointed him with the Holy Spirit: Grant that all who are baptized into his Name may keep the covenant they have made, and boldly confess him as Lord and Savior; who with you and the Holy Spirit lives and reigns, one God, in glory everlasting. Amen. [BCP p. 214]

I have a friend, a retiree like me, who insists he remembers his baptism. He would have been younger than two years of age. I say “insists” because people have told him that a child as young as that couldn’t possibly remember something like that. I believe him, though. Memories are strange things. I still remember (vaguely, I’ll admit) our phone ringing in a small basement apartment where we lived when I was about that same age. I remember telling my mother, “phone” and her reply: “That’s not our ring.” I think she explained we were on a party line. I didn’t understand what that meant, but I knew the call wasn’t for us. The point is, I remember that, so I do not doubt my friend’s story whatsoever.

I also remember my own baptism, although I was older. I was sixteen years of age. I grew up in an unchurched family, so I hadn’t been baptized as a child or infant. I was in high school, and it was a decision I had made for myself. Our family had become church-goers by then, but I didn’t do it for them. It wasn’t familial pressure or peer pressure. It was the culmination of a journey I had begun a few years earlier.

I could have been baptized sooner. Our family started attending church when I was in Junior High (now-a-days called Middle School). I was going through confirmation classes, preparing for baptism in a smallish neighborhood Methodist church. We had done some field trips to other churches (Roman Catholic, Lutheran, and Greek Orthodox), so I became aware that the Christian faith was far broader than what I had experienced in our little Methodist church. I wasn’t sure I wanted to be “baptized a Methodist.” It’s not that I was settled on that, but I took the idea of baptism very seriously, and didn’t want to make a commitment unless I was sure.

The Pastor was livid when I told him I wasn’t ready to take the plunge, so while my classmates were baptized on that appointed Sunday, I had been relegated to the furthest corner from the action, in the church’s organ loft. I was shocked; I thought the Pastor would admire a young lad taking the sacrament that seriously, but I had misjudged him and was devastated by his lack of grace.

Our family made a switch sometime after that and began attending St. Luke’s Episcopal Church, Ballard. The church was lively, the preaching was powerful and uplifting, and the people were engaged in a wide variety of activities that bore witness to their love for God and neighbor. I wanted what they had, and when I learned that we weren’t baptized as Episcopalians, but as Christians, as members of the Body of Christ, I knew I had found a faith I could embrace. When baptism was offered, I took the plunge (although to be transparent and honest, water was poured over my head – most church fonts are little larger than salad bowls).

Jesus went the full Monty, of course. He presented himself to John the Baptizer who insisted that Jesus had it backwards: “I should be baptized by YOU!” They discussed the matter amicably and John consented to baptize his cousin. As Jesus arose from the waters (he had gone full immersion), a dove descended and a voice from heaven thundered, “This is my beloved Son, in whom I am well-pleased.” I have always preferred the line in Italian: “Atsa my boy!”

God was pleased. God is pleased. God will be pleased. God repeats the line in a slightly altered form on the Mount of Transfiguration (we'll get to that story on the Last Sunday after the Epiphany). There’s a lot more we could unpack in this pericope, but one of the key points I see in our collect is, first of all, an acknowledgement that God the Father proclaims to the world the relationship the two of them have. This “proclamation” isn’t a line drawn, on one side of which Jesus was just Joe Blow from Nazareth, and on the other Jesus the Christ. No, God is declaring something which has been true from time immemorial.

Through baptism, we are joined, by God, with Jesus in his own baptism. What God says to (and about) Jesus God says to and about us, as well. God has made a covenant with us, and we pray for God to help us keep our side of the bargain; we know we can’t do it alone. At least we know it if we have any semblance of personal, self-awareness. So we ask God to help us, which God is delighted to do.

That takes a real load off my mind, knowing I don’t need to earn God’s love or salvation. God created us and God embraces us. That’s the Good News we believe, embrace, and share with the world. Our faith is a party line, and that call is for us. Thanks be to God!

Dee way forward for dee new year

“For my part I know nothing with any certainty, but the sight of the stars makes me dream.” Vincent Van Gogh

Where did Christmas go?

With the end of De-cember, it is time to de-clutter, isn’t it?

I know that Christmas isn’t technically over until January 6 (traditionally the day the Magi (Wise Men) arrive to honor the baby in the manger), but time marches on. The holy bric-a-brac have been returned to their proper totes and toted out to the shed for yet another year. The outdoor decorations will come down as soon as weather permits over the next few days.

I’m generally pretty good at taking care of the outdoor lighting. I am a well-known procrastinator (well, I would be well-known if I ever got around to sending out the announcement), but I’m really an amateur compared to my father. 

When I was growing up, we had one six-foot string of holiday lights that hung above the front door. It was not unusual for them to stay there far longer than necessary. One year my aunt and uncle came to visit on the Fourth of July;  as my Dad opened the door, Uncle George reached through and handed him that string of lights he’d taken down while Aunt Elizabeth rang the doorbell. It was funny and embarrassing at the same time.

I like the decluttering part of Christmas. I doubt my wife will believe it, but I really do. I enjoy the holidays, especially when they’re over. 

There is something nerve-wracking about all the to-do surrounding the holidays, like the expectations that things will be perfect while reality is often quite different. Mixed in with the lights, tinsel, and holiday cheer is grief, depression, and (this year) the continuing war in Ukraine, genocide in the Middle East, and (of course) the continuing drama of political life in these United States.

I wish world troubles could be put away as easily as all our holiday decorations, but if it hasn’t happened in two thousand years of angels singing “Peace on Earth, and Good Will towards all whom God favors,” it is unlikely to happen in our own lifetimes. 

But we can give it a shot, can’t we? As the old song goes, “Let there be peace on earth … and let it begin with me.”

With the start of a fresh year, we begin with a fresh slate. One of the major steps in the world of recovery is to let go of the past. We don’t forget it, obviously, and remembering it allows us to make course adjustments as we move forward, but just as we de-clutter in De-cember, so should we consider de-taching from things that hold us back. I’ve found that a lack of peace is often the result of hanging onto things that no longer serve us well, like resentments or other things we cannot change. Let go and let God, as they say.

While we’re at it, we may as well consider de-leting anything that de-values our health and well-being. There are a lot of old habits that simply don’t help us in life. Some habits are good, like eating right, brushing after meals, and cleaning up as we go. But a lot of habits are simply barriers to a better life, like living in the past or fretting over the future, or doing the same things over and over again, not because they’re good, but because change would require putting thought and effort into what changes we’d actually want to make.

The new year is upon us. I’ve no idea where Christmas went, but don’t worry; it’ll be back. It always returns (which is why people so often add “Many happy returns” to their cards, eh?). 

It’s a good time to de-clutter, de-tach, and de-lete. Perhaps that will help us find de-light here in this, our valley. Happy New Year to all de-wonderful folks of de-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)