Between the resurrection and Pentecost a couple things happened. Short version: Jesus walked among his followers much has he had before the resurrection. He ascended into heaven ten days before Pentecost. During this time between, his disciples waited. They knew Christ well. They knew, spoke and had lived with the complete Truth. And at their master's command, they waited.
Similarly, we hear Christ's call. We respond. And often, our time is spent in waiting. However, when our Pentecost comes, we lurch, often violently in the direction of who Christ spoke us to be in the time before sin.
I've written about Eric before. Eric was a priest and then a programmer and then a priest again. He gathered a wonderful family and many friends along the way. He eventually succumbed to ALS in February of 2011. The following brief homily was published in his church's bulletin on Feb 13th 2011. It is the last offering to us in this life, from Eric of what he had learned and at last embraced fully, unconditionally and even wildly. When Eric wrote this, he was almost completely paralyzed, in pain, could not hope to feed himself and could barely breathe. Please hold that in your mind as you read this.
Eric passed on Feb 14th.
(Eric references bible passages here that are not given. I think the context is nonetheless clear.)
The Old Testament lesson is from Deuteronomy and the words of Moses present the classic Old Testament idea that God will love you if you are good and will punish you if you are not. It is not that we would disagree with with it means to be good or bad, but the idea of God turning against us and we will perish if we did not do what is right seems quite a bit different from the God we see in Jesus. We have the benefit of a developing idea of God as seen in Jesus, whereas Moses only had the misty concept of Messiah.
In Psalm 119, we get the idea of being whole-heartedly committed to God. And if we are committed and do what is right we will be happy. Even though it seems to say that perfection is the only true way to true happiness, one gets the feeling that the writer thought that perfection is possible. It also implies that following God's ways, is the way to understand God's love. It does raise the question of what about those who are not perfect and who do not whole-heartedly follow God's ways? Can they experience God's love? One has to look hard in the Old Testament to find an expression of God's whole-hearted love for us all. It becomes a matter of faith as to what we believe about God's love for us.
Paul's letter to the church at Corinth is so rich. Paul seems to be saying that each of us, regardless of divisions and differences, is called to see our lives as God's work. God's initiative pulls us to grow in our lives as working with and for God. God's call and pull is not so that some will fail and some succeed but that God is calling each of us because God loves each of us. Our task, though seemingly simple, is life-changing. It is to put our trust in a God that loves us. Our brothers and sisters, just like the Corinthians, though not necessarily spiritiual people, are called to surrender their hearts to God. God will feed them, and us, in spiritual growth.
For me, it means living each day conscious of God's love. There were times in my life when God seemed far away. I felt unworthy and that any spiritual work was for my own benefit. I needed help and thought that I could make my life different. From that perspective, my prayer life seemed dry and infertile. Then, God spoke to me through Jesus. When I began to see that God was active in my life, my life did change. It is so different when you start from a belief that God loves you and is with you, just as you are. God does love us as we are. We need not become something else for God to love us. God gives me my worth and that is all that matters. Jesus redeemed me.
I found God in my life in a new way. I found God through Ruth, my wife. Her love and caring for me makes it clear to me that God's presence is in my life. In the Gospel, Jesus seems to be saying the way we love each other is much more important than just coming to the altar. Ruth and Robin, my daughter, and Mike, her husband, have changed their lives to bring God's love directly to me and make me aware that I am lovable and God is with me just as I am.
And with this new awareness of God's presence, my hospital bed became a gift of love, my speaking device became a give of love, my breathing assist became a gift of love. I am redeemed to see God in very concrete ways. Jesus, on the cross, means to me that God did come among us and took on our daily concrete lives, our sufferings and our joys, because God loves us.
Amen Eric.
Saturday, April 30, 2011
Saturday, April 23, 2011
Notes from Pascal on the Day Before - Fire!
As an aside before the main body of what follows, I'd just like to put out there that these last couple days I'm just loving what I see about the person and work of Christ on FaceBook. Apparently there's a good use for social networking after all!
Blaise Pascal (June 19, 1623 – August 19, 1662) is generally and I think rightly considered to be among the most brilliant people to ever walk the earth. He accomplished more deep work in extremely diverse fields of study than maybe anyone ever.
If you google "Pascal," you'll find his name either preceding or following any number of laws and principles in mathematics, physics, theology and others. (He's credited by some with inventing modern public transit in Paris in the 1600's.)
His life mimicked that of a few other great men. Short version: 1) Early years were those of an extreme playboy (think "Dangerous Liasons") and then beginning in his mid 20's 2) the life of a passionate and even dogged follower of Christ. T.S. Eliot would much later describe his life at this point as "a man of the world among ascetics, and an ascetic among men of the world."
In his 31st year he had an encounter with God. It was staggering in beauty and magnitude. Interestingly, it was known to no one until after Pascal died. At that time, his servant happened to find a folded up piece of paper in a coat that Pascal wore constantly. Eventually, another copy in Pascal's hand was found elsewhere. There were minor differences between the two but they were identical in character.
Following is one transcription of what Pascal wrote. I can never read more than a few lines of any translation of this anymore without breaking down. Blaise and I and hopefully you have this in common: we know the same God. Following is an ebeneezer of Pascal's life and love of Christ translated into English:
Blaise Pascal (June 19, 1623 – August 19, 1662) is generally and I think rightly considered to be among the most brilliant people to ever walk the earth. He accomplished more deep work in extremely diverse fields of study than maybe anyone ever.
If you google "Pascal," you'll find his name either preceding or following any number of laws and principles in mathematics, physics, theology and others. (He's credited by some with inventing modern public transit in Paris in the 1600's.)
His life mimicked that of a few other great men. Short version: 1) Early years were those of an extreme playboy (think "Dangerous Liasons") and then beginning in his mid 20's 2) the life of a passionate and even dogged follower of Christ. T.S. Eliot would much later describe his life at this point as "a man of the world among ascetics, and an ascetic among men of the world."
In his 31st year he had an encounter with God. It was staggering in beauty and magnitude. Interestingly, it was known to no one until after Pascal died. At that time, his servant happened to find a folded up piece of paper in a coat that Pascal wore constantly. Eventually, another copy in Pascal's hand was found elsewhere. There were minor differences between the two but they were identical in character.
Following is one transcription of what Pascal wrote. I can never read more than a few lines of any translation of this anymore without breaking down. Blaise and I and hopefully you have this in common: we know the same God. Following is an ebeneezer of Pascal's life and love of Christ translated into English:
Memorial
In the year of grace, 1654, On Monday, 23rd of November, Feast of St Clement, Pope and Martyr, and others in the Martyrology, Vigil of St Chrysogonus, Martyr, and others, From about half past ten in the evening until about half past twelve,
Fire!
God of Abraham, God of Isaac, God of Jacob, (Ex 3:6; Mt 22:32) not of the philosophers and scholars.
Certitude. Certitude. Feeling. Joy.
Peace. God of Jesus Christ.
“Thy God and my God.” (Jn 20:17)
Forgetfulness of the world and of everything, except God.
He is to be found only in the ways taught in the Gospel.
Greatness of the Human Soul.
“Righteous Father, the world hath not known Thee, but I have known Thee.” (Jn 17:25)
Joy, joy, joy, tears of joy.
I have separated myself from Him. “They have forsaken Me, the fountain of living waters.” (Jr 2:13) “My God, wilt Thou leave me?” (Mt 27:46)
Let me not be separated from Him eternally. “This is the eternal life, that they might know Thee, the only true God, and the one whom Thou hast sent, Jesus Christ.” (Jn 17:3) Jesus Christ.
Peace. God of Jesus Christ.
“Thy God and my God.” (Jn 20:17)
Forgetfulness of the world and of everything, except God.
He is to be found only in the ways taught in the Gospel.
Greatness of the Human Soul.
“Righteous Father, the world hath not known Thee, but I have known Thee.” (Jn 17:25)
Joy, joy, joy, tears of joy.
I have separated myself from Him. “They have forsaken Me, the fountain of living waters.” (Jr 2:13) “My God, wilt Thou leave me?” (Mt 27:46)
Let me not be separated from Him eternally. “This is the eternal life, that they might know Thee, the only true God, and the one whom Thou hast sent, Jesus Christ.” (Jn 17:3) Jesus Christ.
Jesus Christ
I have separated myself from Him:
I have fled from Him,
denied Him,
crucified Him.
Let me never be separated from Him.
We keep hold of Him only by the ways taught in the Gospel.
Renunciation, total and sweet.
Total submission to Jesus Christ and to my director.
Eternally in joy for a day’s training on earth.
“I will not forget thy words.” (Ps 119:16) Amen.
I have fled from Him,
denied Him,
crucified Him.
Let me never be separated from Him.
We keep hold of Him only by the ways taught in the Gospel.
Renunciation, total and sweet.
Total submission to Jesus Christ and to my director.
Eternally in joy for a day’s training on earth.
“I will not forget thy words.” (Ps 119:16) Amen.
Monday, April 18, 2011
A Man After God's own Heart
I really like the person of David, the way God describes him (as in the title here), his Psalms and his history. It's a great read by any standard. You don't even have to appeal to phrases like, "As ancient literature goes..."
The thing I like most about these stories along with the Psalms is that David comes across as a very complicated character. If you're looking for easily digested morality, better look somewhere else.
Just to give away the plot, David is not perfect. From where he passed his days on earth, he couldn't even see the gateway to perfect.
I heard someone on the radio say the other day, "...but David finished well." I'm not sure why people who say things like that don't get slapped immediately or possibly even struck by lightning. The universe's failure in this regard is an indication I think of the fallen nature of creation.
Let me point out that on his death bed, David gave instructions to Solomon as to who Solomon should kill after David died. As described in the text, this was one part consolidating the kingdom and one part settling scores. There are absolutely no discernible components of love or grace or holiness in these instructions, just a lot of broken humanity, pragmatism and gore. I don't think current normative, societal morality would allow that ordering the assassination of your enemies on your death bed would be consistent with seeking to finish well, let alone with the idea of living a life as "a man after God's own heart."
David's Psalms on the other hand, are all about a soul and heart living with and through God. I heard Dallas Willard say something once the effect that, "To fully digest the Psalms is the beginning of understanding of the heart of God." From having read the Psalms, I'd have to say that I find that statement to be exactly on point. I'd also have to say that God's heart covers an awful lot of ground, more perhaps than we're used to. Of course, when read unblinkingly, the Psalms cover even greater spans of moral geography that did David's life. Did you know that in one Psalm David cries out to God to throw his enemies into hell alive so that they can experience a more complete dimension of excruciating pain and torment? That one, along with a number of others, generally get glossed over in Sunday School. Still though, David's emotional nakedness and unflinching, unedited confession of self before his creator is beautiful and astonishing to see.
I think the resolution to this conundrum lies in a few basic facts.
David followed hard after God. He lost the trail quite often and sometimes profoundly so. But his heart was always in the hunt. Light years past his theology, his deeds or even his best intentions, his pursuit of his creator and his relationship with Him broken as it sometimes was, is the life, lesson and legacy of a man after God's own heart.
The thing I like most about these stories along with the Psalms is that David comes across as a very complicated character. If you're looking for easily digested morality, better look somewhere else.
Just to give away the plot, David is not perfect. From where he passed his days on earth, he couldn't even see the gateway to perfect.
I heard someone on the radio say the other day, "...but David finished well." I'm not sure why people who say things like that don't get slapped immediately or possibly even struck by lightning. The universe's failure in this regard is an indication I think of the fallen nature of creation.
Let me point out that on his death bed, David gave instructions to Solomon as to who Solomon should kill after David died. As described in the text, this was one part consolidating the kingdom and one part settling scores. There are absolutely no discernible components of love or grace or holiness in these instructions, just a lot of broken humanity, pragmatism and gore. I don't think current normative, societal morality would allow that ordering the assassination of your enemies on your death bed would be consistent with seeking to finish well, let alone with the idea of living a life as "a man after God's own heart."
David's Psalms on the other hand, are all about a soul and heart living with and through God. I heard Dallas Willard say something once the effect that, "To fully digest the Psalms is the beginning of understanding of the heart of God." From having read the Psalms, I'd have to say that I find that statement to be exactly on point. I'd also have to say that God's heart covers an awful lot of ground, more perhaps than we're used to. Of course, when read unblinkingly, the Psalms cover even greater spans of moral geography that did David's life. Did you know that in one Psalm David cries out to God to throw his enemies into hell alive so that they can experience a more complete dimension of excruciating pain and torment? That one, along with a number of others, generally get glossed over in Sunday School. Still though, David's emotional nakedness and unflinching, unedited confession of self before his creator is beautiful and astonishing to see.
I think the resolution to this conundrum lies in a few basic facts.
- God is who he says he is.
- David was and is who God spoke him to be.
- Creation is the broken version (with us doing the breaking) of what God spoke it to be.
David followed hard after God. He lost the trail quite often and sometimes profoundly so. But his heart was always in the hunt. Light years past his theology, his deeds or even his best intentions, his pursuit of his creator and his relationship with Him broken as it sometimes was, is the life, lesson and legacy of a man after God's own heart.
Sunday, April 10, 2011
Requiem for Eric
Valentine's day of this year, a friend of mine passed. Over the course of his life he was a child, a Catholic priest, a software engineer, a husband, a father and an Anglican priest.
I attend a memorial for him yesterday that is a bit of a traveling road show. His life touched so many that his family had a memorial in the town where he "completed his residence" (I will not use "live" in the past tense - to do so is always a lie), also here in San Jose and with another to follow in Los Angeles.
It's kind of a long story but all 66 years of it are about Eric (my friend) seeking Christ. I'm not talking at all about a constant walking with Jesus, or mode of behavior, or doing things, or any of the things we usually associate with the phrase "a life seeking Chirst." This life was written by someone who over the course of his passage here walked in many different directions but never the less was able to hear the voice of God in important moments.
I will only tell a small bit of this story today. Eric entered the priesthood as a young man. In his late 30's he gradually became convinced that he'd given up large portions of his life to the false pretenses of organized religion. For him, this was occasionally but never completely confused with God.
When three years ago he was first diagnosed with ALS, Eric was afraid and depressed. He and his wife Ruth (a wonderful woman), began going to church again. Soon after they started visiting churches, Eric received communion after being absent from the table for a quarter of century. If you take the heart of communion seriously, this is a big deal.
To be absolutely clear, Eric's response to a death sentence was to cry out to a God he'd ignored and even been at odds with for 25 years. God answered immediately and enthusiastically, "Kill the fatted calf. My son has come home." For the next 3 years Eric ministered to others out of his own infirmities. I will copy some of his message to this space in the coming days.
His life will remain forever a living monument to the beauty, patience and loving faithfulness of our redemptive God. He is the kind of life the organization of church desperately wants to point to.
God bless you my friend. I will see you again. I plan to find you by looking toward the middle of a laughing crowd of loving people.
I attend a memorial for him yesterday that is a bit of a traveling road show. His life touched so many that his family had a memorial in the town where he "completed his residence" (I will not use "live" in the past tense - to do so is always a lie), also here in San Jose and with another to follow in Los Angeles.
It's kind of a long story but all 66 years of it are about Eric (my friend) seeking Christ. I'm not talking at all about a constant walking with Jesus, or mode of behavior, or doing things, or any of the things we usually associate with the phrase "a life seeking Chirst." This life was written by someone who over the course of his passage here walked in many different directions but never the less was able to hear the voice of God in important moments.
I will only tell a small bit of this story today. Eric entered the priesthood as a young man. In his late 30's he gradually became convinced that he'd given up large portions of his life to the false pretenses of organized religion. For him, this was occasionally but never completely confused with God.
When three years ago he was first diagnosed with ALS, Eric was afraid and depressed. He and his wife Ruth (a wonderful woman), began going to church again. Soon after they started visiting churches, Eric received communion after being absent from the table for a quarter of century. If you take the heart of communion seriously, this is a big deal.
To be absolutely clear, Eric's response to a death sentence was to cry out to a God he'd ignored and even been at odds with for 25 years. God answered immediately and enthusiastically, "Kill the fatted calf. My son has come home." For the next 3 years Eric ministered to others out of his own infirmities. I will copy some of his message to this space in the coming days.
His life will remain forever a living monument to the beauty, patience and loving faithfulness of our redemptive God. He is the kind of life the organization of church desperately wants to point to.
God bless you my friend. I will see you again. I plan to find you by looking toward the middle of a laughing crowd of loving people.
Sunday, April 3, 2011
The Meaning of Life, WWI and Everything
I apologize in advance for the length of this post. My excuse is in the title...I did say "...Everything" and I don't want to make myself a liar.
I've been going to write a short story about life in the trenches in WWI for a long time now. I've started probably 1/2 a dozen times over the years and each time either gotten myself lost in the tall grass of my imagination or wound up with a hollow, tinny echo of what I'd meant to say. I'm going to do what all writers do when faced with this kind of block. I'm going to talk about it rather than actually do something about it.
So here's the talking:
The story opens with a kid in the front line trenches kind of coming back into himself after a particularly heavy barrage and attack by the enemy. He has an odd thought, "I'm not surprised to be here anymore. None of this shocks me." The idea of that is that he has come to grips with the reality of where he is. This isn't the place the recruiter described. This isn't anything to do with the parades, the parties, the good wishes of family or the farewell kiss. This is what it is. And he is nowhere else but here.
And "here" is a place where good people die suddenly or horribly for no immediately clear reason. Some are horribly maimed; others have broken minds. The only ways out are death or to be relieved by someone and something completely out of his control.
And "here" is a place with a large community trying to kill him. These are people who's only real knowledge of our hero (he gets another name every time I restart writing) is born out of their hatred of everything he stands for, and his part in standing for it. Our hero, being literally blasted into clarity, realizes that it's a sort of hate that, based on his experience, that he really can't ever hope to understand.
Most of the versions of this I've done so far have been 3rd person. So now, we float inside of Hero's head a bit. He latches on to a couple of "beautiful" things, things that are beautiful given the context of "here." Suddenly he's overcome by what that beauty in this place means and he needs to share that revelation with everyone. As he starts running up and down the trench, telling people about the beauty he's found, everyone "realizes" that he's cracked and he's sent to a hospital and eventually back to convalescence in the States.
Okay, so it's a long short story or maybe novella. The next chapter is the clean, white, warm, dry, safe convalescent hospital. In the hospital, he's taught repeatedly what reality "really" is. He learns that most of the professionals he's working with don't get the point of the beauty he's seen and is still experiencing. They confuse the whiteness of the hospital with beauty, the kind of beauty defined by a desperately out of place flower petal or a stale piece of candy that is sweet that seems unending even though the taste fades.
Even so, in the hospital he is finally able to frame fully the truth he's learned. That is, the purposefulness of those elements in the trenches along with him being there to participate with them, to celebrate them, had to have purpose. How much had to be suffered to reveal that purpose?
The last, very short chapter, ends with our hero heading out down a country road on an early summer day. Turns out there was a nurse at the hospital who started to doubt her own reality. At once, she saw both the horror and the redemptive beauty her patient described. As she is standing at his bedside one night, thinking all this through, an old African American janitor (remember the time frame) comes up and said, "That's a special young man. He's seen it." And a conversation ensues.
She buys the hero the clothes to leave and shortly thereafter, leaves herself. At the end, two journeys begin. Note that the old guy remains at the hospital waiting both for and with patients; pun fully intended.
Here's the idea underneath: We live and in fact are born into the trenches. We get confused about this part of reality because we have it better and softer than virtually any generation in history. If tragedy and sadness hasn't found you yet, than you're still waiting...or waiting for healing that will let you see what's already happened. The barrage will come. The agnostic writer Kurt Vonnegut summarized this point well when he responded to the old saw that goes, "The great human tragedy is war." Vonnegut replied, "No it isn't. The great human tragedy is death."
The hospital represents the institutionalized response to the wonder of recognizing salvation right in the middle of horror. The churchianity response is to scrub it, clean it, make it our version of white and then try assign everyone a bed. We have a mission here too, just as at the WWI front. Our response is to reach out to the nurses. "Let me tell you about a rose petal I found in a trench once and what it means."
Because in the end, the revelation is only the beginning of a journey we take with Christ. Salvation and even healing are not the hospital's to supply, even though they try to do so with usually good intentions. These are the province of Christ that we meet on the road and the one he sends to represent him...like the janitor. Through the person and work of Christ and from the fire of the spirit at Pentecost, the one true church of Immanuel, God with us.
Salvation is the beginning of the journey. It will include both early summer promise and the agony of the trenches. But either way, we are not the same and as a result, none of "here" is the same anymore either.
I've been going to write a short story about life in the trenches in WWI for a long time now. I've started probably 1/2 a dozen times over the years and each time either gotten myself lost in the tall grass of my imagination or wound up with a hollow, tinny echo of what I'd meant to say. I'm going to do what all writers do when faced with this kind of block. I'm going to talk about it rather than actually do something about it.
So here's the talking:
The story opens with a kid in the front line trenches kind of coming back into himself after a particularly heavy barrage and attack by the enemy. He has an odd thought, "I'm not surprised to be here anymore. None of this shocks me." The idea of that is that he has come to grips with the reality of where he is. This isn't the place the recruiter described. This isn't anything to do with the parades, the parties, the good wishes of family or the farewell kiss. This is what it is. And he is nowhere else but here.
And "here" is a place where good people die suddenly or horribly for no immediately clear reason. Some are horribly maimed; others have broken minds. The only ways out are death or to be relieved by someone and something completely out of his control.
And "here" is a place with a large community trying to kill him. These are people who's only real knowledge of our hero (he gets another name every time I restart writing) is born out of their hatred of everything he stands for, and his part in standing for it. Our hero, being literally blasted into clarity, realizes that it's a sort of hate that, based on his experience, that he really can't ever hope to understand.
Most of the versions of this I've done so far have been 3rd person. So now, we float inside of Hero's head a bit. He latches on to a couple of "beautiful" things, things that are beautiful given the context of "here." Suddenly he's overcome by what that beauty in this place means and he needs to share that revelation with everyone. As he starts running up and down the trench, telling people about the beauty he's found, everyone "realizes" that he's cracked and he's sent to a hospital and eventually back to convalescence in the States.
Okay, so it's a long short story or maybe novella. The next chapter is the clean, white, warm, dry, safe convalescent hospital. In the hospital, he's taught repeatedly what reality "really" is. He learns that most of the professionals he's working with don't get the point of the beauty he's seen and is still experiencing. They confuse the whiteness of the hospital with beauty, the kind of beauty defined by a desperately out of place flower petal or a stale piece of candy that is sweet that seems unending even though the taste fades.
Even so, in the hospital he is finally able to frame fully the truth he's learned. That is, the purposefulness of those elements in the trenches along with him being there to participate with them, to celebrate them, had to have purpose. How much had to be suffered to reveal that purpose?
The last, very short chapter, ends with our hero heading out down a country road on an early summer day. Turns out there was a nurse at the hospital who started to doubt her own reality. At once, she saw both the horror and the redemptive beauty her patient described. As she is standing at his bedside one night, thinking all this through, an old African American janitor (remember the time frame) comes up and said, "That's a special young man. He's seen it." And a conversation ensues.
She buys the hero the clothes to leave and shortly thereafter, leaves herself. At the end, two journeys begin. Note that the old guy remains at the hospital waiting both for and with patients; pun fully intended.
Here's the idea underneath: We live and in fact are born into the trenches. We get confused about this part of reality because we have it better and softer than virtually any generation in history. If tragedy and sadness hasn't found you yet, than you're still waiting...or waiting for healing that will let you see what's already happened. The barrage will come. The agnostic writer Kurt Vonnegut summarized this point well when he responded to the old saw that goes, "The great human tragedy is war." Vonnegut replied, "No it isn't. The great human tragedy is death."
The hospital represents the institutionalized response to the wonder of recognizing salvation right in the middle of horror. The churchianity response is to scrub it, clean it, make it our version of white and then try assign everyone a bed. We have a mission here too, just as at the WWI front. Our response is to reach out to the nurses. "Let me tell you about a rose petal I found in a trench once and what it means."
Because in the end, the revelation is only the beginning of a journey we take with Christ. Salvation and even healing are not the hospital's to supply, even though they try to do so with usually good intentions. These are the province of Christ that we meet on the road and the one he sends to represent him...like the janitor. Through the person and work of Christ and from the fire of the spirit at Pentecost, the one true church of Immanuel, God with us.
Salvation is the beginning of the journey. It will include both early summer promise and the agony of the trenches. But either way, we are not the same and as a result, none of "here" is the same anymore either.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)