Category Archives: Uncategorized

Tell the Story

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Elie Wiesel tells the following story in his book, The Gates of the Forest:

When the great Rabbi Israel Baal Shem-Tov saw misfortune threatening the Jews it was his custom to go into a certain part of the forest to meditate. There he would light a fire, say a special prayer, and the miracle would be accomplished and the misfortune averted.

Later, when his disciple, the celebrated Magid of Mezricth, had occasion, for the same reason, to intercede with heaven, he would go to the same place in the forest and say: “Master of the Universe, listen! I do not know how to light the fire, but I am still able to say the prayer.” And again the miracle would be accomplished.

Still later, Rabbi Moshe-Lieb of Sasov, in order to save his people once more, would go into the forest and say: “I do not know how to light the fire, I do not know the prayer, but I know the place and that must be sufficient.” It was sufficient and the miracle was accomplished.

Then it fell to Rabbi Israel of Rizhyn to overcome misfortune. Sitting in his armchair, his head in his hands, he spoke to God: “I am unable to light the fire and I do not know the prayer; I cannot even find the place in the forest. All I can do is to tell the story, and that must be sufficient.” And it was sufficient.

Sometimes we know where to go, what to do, what to say. Other times we do not. The circumstances of life leave us feeling lost, incapable, and speechless. In those moments we can only tell and trust the story of those who have gone before us. Somehow, in telling the story we re-member those who have gone before and we make present their actions and prayers. The story transcends time and space. It unites them to us here and now. Their actions and prayers become ours through the faithful telling of the story; and it is sufficient.

Alma Redemptoris Mater

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With the First Sunday in Advent the Marian hymn following compline changed from the Salve Regina to the Alma Redemptoris Mater. This will be used until the  Feast of the Presentation. There are two concluding collects: one for the Season of Advent one that is used from Christmas Eve until the Presentation. The Commonweal blog has a thoughtful reflection on use of the Alma Redemptoris Mater.

Loving mother of our Redeemer, gate of heaven, star of the sea, assist your people who have fallen yet strive to rise again. To the wonderment of nature you bore your Creator, yet remained a virgin after as before. You who received Gabriel’s joyful greeting, have pity on us poor sinners.

(During Advent)
V: The Angel of the Lord declared to Mary
R: And she conceived by the Holy Spirit.

Let us pray.

Pour your grace into our hearts, O Lord, that we who have known the incarnation of your Son Jesus Christ, announced by an angel to the Virgin Mary, may by his cross and passion be brought to the glory of his resurrection; who lives and reigns with you, in the unity of the Holy Spirit, one God, now and for ever. Amen.

(From Christmas Eve until the Presentation)
V. After childbirth you remained a virgin.
R. Intercede for us, O Mother of God.

Let us pray

O God, by the child-bearing of the blessed Virgin Mary, you bestowed upon humankind the reward of eternal salvation: grant, we beseech you, that we may experience her intercession, through whom we have been made worthy to receive the author of life, our Lord Jesus Christ, your Son. Amen.

Infinite Forgiveness – A Sermon on Matthew 18:21-35, Proper 19A

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The collect and readings for today, the Thirteenth Sunday after Pentecost, Proper 19A, may be found here. The appointed gospel is Matthew 18:21-35.

Then Peter came and said to him, “Lord, if another member of the church sins against me, how often should I forgive? As many as seven times?” Jesus said to him, “Not seven times, but, I tell you, seventy-seven times. “For this reason the kingdom of heaven may be compared to a king who wished to settle accounts with his slaves. When he began the reckoning, one who owed him ten thousand talents was brought to him; and, as he could not pay, his lord ordered him to be sold, together with his wife and children and all his possessions, and payment to be made. So the slave fell on his knees before him, saying, ‘Have patience with me, and I will pay you everything.’ And out of pity for him, the lord of that slave released him and forgave him the debt. But that same slave, as he went out, came upon one of his fellow slaves who owed him a hundred denarii; and seizing him by the throat, he said, ‘Pay what you owe.’ Then his fellow slave fell down and pleaded with him, ‘Have patience with me, and I will pay you.’ But he refused; then he went and threw him into prison until he would pay the debt. When his fellow slaves saw what had happened, they were greatly distressed, and they went and reported to their lord all that had taken place. Then his lord summoned him and said to him, ‘You wicked slave! I forgave you all that debt because you pleaded with me. Should you not have had mercy on your fellow slave, as I had mercy on you?’ And in anger his lord handed him over to be tortured until he would pay his entire debt. So my heavenly Father will also do to every one of you, if you do not forgive your brother or sister from your heart.”

“How often should I forgive? As many as seven times?” Jesus answered Peter, “Not seven times, but, I tell you, seventy-seven times.”

Forgiveness, for Jesus, is not a quantifiable event. It is a quality; a way of being, a way of living, a way of loving, a way of relating, a way of thinking and seeing. It is nothing less than the way of Christ. If we are to follow Christ then it must become our way as well. “Not seven times, but, I tell you, seventy-seven times.

Does that mean the drunk driver? Yes. The cheating spouse? Yes. The lying businessman? Yes. The racist? Yes. The rapist? Yes. The bully? Yes. The abusive parent? Yes. The greedy corporation? Yes. Even the terrorists of 9/11? Yes.

Today we stand at a difficult, seemingly impossible, place. We stand at the intersection of the tenth anniversary of the September 11 tragedy and today’s gospel. The memories, the images, the anger, the fear, the pain and losses all intersect with Jesus’s teaching on forgiveness. Both are real. Both are true. The deeper truth, however, is that we would still be standing at the same intersection even if September 11 had never occurred. We stand at that place every day of our life. Look at the history of the world and you will see the Holocaust, the Killing Fields of Cambodia, the genocides in Bosnia and Rwanda, racial discrimination, economic oppression, wars and torture in Afghanistan and Iraq. Look at your own lives and you will find broken promises, hurt feelings, betrayals, harsh words, physical and emotional wounds. Every one of us could tell stories of being hurt or victimized by another. Beneath the pain, the wounds, the losses, and the memories lies the question of forgiveness.

Everyone, I suspect, is in favor of forgiveness, at least in principle. “Every one,” C.S. Lewis writes, “says forgiveness is a lovely idea, until there is something to forgive” (Mere Christianity, p.115). What do we do then? What do we do when there is something to forgive?

Some will strike back seeking revenge. Some will run away from life and relationships. Some will let the darkness paralyze them. I don’t say that out of criticism or judgment of someone else but out of my own experience. I’ve done them all. I know how hard forgiveness can be. Like you I too struggle with it and often avoid it. I also know that none of those answers are the way of Christ. All of them leave us stuck in the past, tied to the evil of another, and bereft of the future God wants to give us.

Forgiveness is the only way forward. That does not mean we forget, condone, or approve of what was done. It does not mean we ignore or excuse cruelty or injustice. It means we are released from them. We let go of the thoughts and fantasies of revenge. We look to the future rather than the past. We try to see and love as God sees and loves. Forgiveness is a way in which we align our life with God’s life. To withhold forgiveness is to put ourselves in the place of God, the ultimate judge to whom all are accountable (Ro. 14:10, 12).

God’s forgiveness and human forgiveness are integrally related. That is more than apparent in today’s parable. The king forgives his slave an extraordinary amount. Ten thousand talents is about 3000 years of work at the ordinary daily wage. It seems there is no debt too large to be forgiven. This man, this debtor, was forgiven. That’s what the kingdom of heaven is like. That’s how our God is. This slave, however, refused to forgive his fellow slave 100 denarii, about three months of work at the ordinary daily wage. Too often that’s what our world is like. Frequently, it is how we are. In that refusal the forgiven slave lost his own forgiveness.

This should not be news to us. We know it well. We acknowledge and pray it every Sunday and I’ll bet most of you pray it everyday. “Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us.” We pray those words with ease and familiarity but do we live our prayer? Do our actions support our request? “Not seven times, but, I tell you, seventy-seven times.”

That’s a lot of forgiveness but the pain of the world, our nation, and individuals is great. We need to forgive as much, maybe more, for ourselves as for the one we forgive. Forgiving those who trespass against us is the salve that begins to heal our wounds. It may not change the one who hurt you but I promise you this. Your life will be more alive, more grace-filled, more whole, more God-like for having forgiven another.

Forgiveness creates space for new life. Forgiveness is an act of hopefulness and resurrection for the one who forgives. It is the healing of our soul and life. Forgiveness takes us out of darkness into light, from death to life. It disentangles us from the evil of another. It is the refusal to let our future be determined by the past. It is the letting go of the thoughts, the hatred, the fear that fill us so that we might live and love again.

So how do we begin to forgive? There is no easy road to forgiveness. Don’t let anyone tell you, “Just give it up to God. Forgive and forget.” Simplistic trite answers only demean those who suffer and pick at the wound. Forgiving another takes time and work. It is something we must practice every day. It begins with recognition and thanksgiving that we have been forgiven. We are the beneficiaries of the crucified one. Hanging between two thieves he prayed, “Father, forgive them” (Lk. 23:34). That is the cry of infinite forgiveness, a cry we are to echo in our own lives, in our families, our work places, our parishes, our day to day life.

Forgiveness does not originate in us. It begins with God. That’s what the slave who refused to forgive didn’t understand. It was not about him. It’s about God. We do not choose to forgive. We only choose to share the forgiveness we have already received. Then we chose again, and then again, and then yet again. For most of us forgiveness is a process that we live into. Sometimes, however, we just can’t. The pain is too much, the wound too raw, the memories too real. On those days we chose to want to forgive. Somedays we chose to want to want to forgive. Then there are those days that all we can do is choose to want to want to want to forgive. But we choose because that’s the choice Christ made.

How many times must we choose to forgive? Tell me this. How many times have you been hurt and suffered by the actions or words of another? How many times has anger or fear controlled you? How many times has the thought of revenge filled you? How many times have you shuddered at the sight, the name, or the memory of another? How many times have you replayed in your head the argument with another? That’s how many times you choose. With each choosing we move a step closer to forgiveness. Then one day, God willing, we will meet, victims and perpetrators, as happy thieves in the Paradise of God, the Father of us all.

“Not seven times, but, I tell you, seventy-seven times.”

Crossing the Jabbok – A Sermon on Genesis 32:22-31 (Jacob Wrestling), Proper 13A

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The collect and readings for today, Proper 13A, the Seventh Sunday after Pentecost may be found here. The Old Testament reading, Genesis 32:22-31 , serves as the basis for the sermon below.

The same night Jacob got up and took his two wives, his two maids, and his eleven children, and crossed the ford of the Jabbok. He took them and sent them across the stream, and likewise everything that he had. Jacob was left alone; and a man wrestled with him until daybreak. When the man saw that he did not prevail against Jacob, he struck him on the hip socket; and Jacob’s hip was put out of joint as he wrestled with him. Then he said, “Let me go, for the day is breaking.” But Jacob said, “I will not let you go, unless you bless me.” So he said to him, “What is your name?” And he said, “Jacob.” Then the man said, “You shall no longer be called Jacob, but Israel, for you have striven with God and with humans, and have prevailed.” Then Jacob asked him, “Please tell me your name.” But he said, “Why is it that you ask my name?” And there he blessed him. So Jacob called the place Peniel, saying, “For I have seen God face to face, and yet my life is preserved.” The sun rose upon him as he passed Penuel, limping because of his hip.

Jacob wrestling by Marc Chagall

At some point we all leave home. In a sense we become homeless. We leave behind the way life was. We move out of the familiar ways and places that once housed our lives. Sometime this is a welcome move and other times, not so much. Some of this homelessness is a natural part of life. Growing up or growing old are both a process of leaving home. Other times the circumstances of life dictate a move; a hurricane, a death, a divorce, a job transfer, going off to school. Faithfulness led Abram and Sarai to leave their home for a new land. Sinfulness caused Adam and Eve to leave their garden place.

While leaving home often involves physical or geographical changes it is equally a spiritual condition.  It is a movement and change deep within our soul. Regardless of how or why it happens homelessness disrupts life and leaves us longing to return home. Everyone wants to go home. After all, Toto, there’s no place like home.

They say you can never go back home. I think that’s right. After our boys moved out I remember how excited Cyndy and I would get when one of our boys would come back to visit. We had a such a good time with them – for the first three days. It wasn’t bad it was just different. Once we leave home it won’t ever be like it was before. We can’t undo the past or turn back the clock. We cannot keep things or people the way they used to be. Yet, we are not destined to be homeless. That is not God’s intention.

In a paradoxical way we leave home so that we might return home. We never go back as the same person we were when we left. The journey home changes us. T.S. Elliott expressed it beautifully in his poem Little Gidding:

“We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time.”

Over and over throughout the Old Testament God promises to bring his people home, to a new land, the promised land. You and I are heirs to that promise. Jacob is an heir to that promise, a promise that was first made to his grandfather, Abram. Sometimes that promise may be all that sustains us in our homelessness.

The fulfillment of God’s promise is our journey home. This new home, however, the promised land, is more than a physical place or a geographical location. It is a spiritual home of wholeness, healing, and peace. It houses love and union with God, neighbor, and self. That does not mean that the journey home is necessarily easy or without struggle. To the contrary, the journey home always brings us to the River Jabbok.

That’s where Jacob is today. He ran away from home after buying his brother Esau’s inheritance and stealing the blessing that rightfully belonged to Esau as the firstborn son. He worked fourteen years for his uncle Laban to get two wives, one of whom he didn’t even really want. Now Jacob wants to go home. Now he stands at the Jabbok. The way home always brings us to the ford of the Jabbok. We each have our own Jabbok that we must cross.

Jacob sends his wives, his maids, and his sons on across the river. Jacob, however, stays behind. Always the schemer, he sends messengers with gifts to Esau to pave the way home; and with good reason. Esau was planning to kill Jacob when Jacob left home. The messengers return but the news is not good. Esau is on the to Jacob and he has four hundred men with him.

Jacob cannot buy his way out this time. He is stuck. In front of him is Esau. Behind him is his past; the lies, the deception, the stolen blessing; the home he left behind. It is nighttime and Jacob is alone on the banks of the Jabbok. The Jabbok is, however, more than just a river. It is a lonely place, a dark place, a place of struggle and wrestling.

All night long Jacob wrestled with a man. Who was that man? Was it God? Esau? Was it Jacob’s uncle, Laban? Was it Isaac, his father? Was Jacob wrestling with himself? Was he wrestling with his past? His future? His identity? His faith? Perhaps the best and maybe the only answer to those questions is, “Yes. Yes, that’s who it was.” Regardless, it was a face to face meeting with God.

In this nighttime wrestling Jacob is both wounded and blessed. The two always seem to go together, blessings and wounds. His old life and identity as Jacob, the heel grabber, however, served him well. He held on to this man of the night long enough to receive a real blessing, not a stolen blessing, but one through which the promises of God will be fulfilled and Jacob will be changed.

Daybreak comes and Jacob is no longer Jacob, the deceiver and the supplanter. He has been renamed and reborn. He is now Israel, the one who struggles with and prevails against God. Jacob does not defeat God. He prevails. He stays in the struggle until a new day dawns and he receives the blessing that was always his. That is faithfulness. That is the way home. That is our work at Jabbok.

Jabbok, however, is not a place unique to Jacob. It is a place most of us know well. Jabbok is the struggle with an addiction. It is getting up every morning to grief and loss that are unbearable. It is tossing and turning through the night trying to figure out what to do next. It is the slow work of rebuilding trust and putting back together a marriage or a friendship. It is sitting day after day at the bedside of a loved one who is dying. It is faithfulness in the routine ordinariness of life, work, family, and marriage. It’s a week, a year, a lifetime of prayer and doing what’s right but not ever seeing the result.

Jabbok is experienced in a thousand different ways. It is the nighttime of our lives and the way home. It is the place where we are wounded, renamed, blessed, and made a new person. It is a holy place. That’s why Jacob renames Jabbok. He now calls it Peniel, the place where we see God and our life is preserved.

We each have our own story of standing on the banks of the Jabbok. We can probably name pretty quickly the wounds we have received there and describe how we now limp through life. In the midst of the struggle and the pain of being wounded it’s hard to see or trust the presence of a blessing. It’s too dark to see. But whatever you do don’t let go. Hold on. Jabbok will soon give way to Peniel. A new day is dawning and there is a blessing for you. It doesn’t mean life is magically fixed or that we go back to the old family place. It means God is faithful. It means we can now move forward. We are blessed, renamed, and made a new person; free to cross over, and go home. And we all want to go home. After all, Toto, there’s no place like home. There’s no place like home.

“The Works of my Hands” – Thoughts on the Death of Osama Bin Laden

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I have watched the news, commentaries, and celebrations about the death of Osama Bin Laden. I am not sure what to think or feel. Relief? Justice? Celebration? American pride? Sadness? I keep coming back to the Exodus story.

Then Moses and the Israelites sang this song to the Lord: “I will sing to the Lord, for he has triumphed gloriously; horse and rider he has thrown into the sea. The Lord is my strength and my might, and he has become my salvation; this is my God, and I will praise him, my father’s God, and I will exalt him. The Lord is a warrior; the Lord is his name. “Pharaoh’s chariots and his army he cast into the sea; his picked officers were sunk in the Red Sea. The floods covered them; they went down into the depths like a stone. (Exodus 15:1-5)

Then the prophet Miriam, Aaron’s sister, took a tambourine in her hand; and all the women went out after her with tambourines and with dancing. And Miriam sang to them: “Sing to the Lord, for he has triumphed gloriously; horse and rider he has thrown into the sea.” (Exodus 15:20-21)

There is a story about this in the Talmud (Talmud Tractate Megillah 10b). The angels above began to sing and dance as well. God silences their celebration saying, “The works of my hands are drowning in the sea and you want to sing praises?”

Life is sacred. Christian or Muslim, guilty or innocent, we are all the works of God’s hands. An enemy is dead. It needed to happen. But this is not a time for singing, dancing, or celebration. It is a time for reflection. How did we get to this point? How and when will we learn to live with one another? Will we ever? It is a time for confession of things done and left undone, that we have not loved our neighbor as ourselves. It is a time for prayer for all who have died, for peace, and for our enemies.

O God, the Father of all, whose Son commanded us to love
our enemies: Lead them and us from prejudice to truth:
deliver them and us from hatred, cruelty, and revenge; and in
your good time enable us all to stand reconciled before you,
through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen. (Book of Common Prayer)