God on the Job

Here’s the question for the week: do you take your faith to work? Do the values you profess on Sunday, have a bearing upon what you do on Monday – and the rest of the week?

It may be true that we’ve got to muster the courage to go out to John’s desert and visit the bug-eating wild man, to hear the Word for our lives (last week's sermon theme, based on Luke 3:1-6). But in this part of the scene (Luke 3:7-18), John’s advice to the folks coming out to him is not, ‘join me in the revolution.’ Nor is he exhorting people to partake in the wilderness lifestyle with him (and the extreme cuisine that goes with it, for you foodies).

Surprisingly, he’s exhorting people to live the life befitting repentance – the Kingdom life of the transformed mind – right where you are. Don’t quit your job, even if you’re a despised tax collector working for “the man” (Caesar). Even if you’re a soldier in the goy army who is occupying you – John’s surprising answer to the people’s guilty question (“what shall we do?”) is this: for the time being, serve God right where you are.

I find that most interesting, and surprising – especially given the diatribe that John levels at those folk coming out to him, looking for a seat on the lifeboat (C’mon, read the text).

So – email me (which seems to be the most frequent way of responding, I’m finding). Or, gosh darn, use the Blogger system to weigh in here: What bearing does your faith have for the rest of your week?

To add a bit of nuance: I recently heard a friend talk about someone he was close with, who said, “the place I work is truly evil.” Are there folks out there in similar situations? And so, can one do “good” in such a place? Can one bloom where one’s planted with the goodness of one’s convictions, even in an evil environment?

And, who says you need a job, to serve God? It's interesting that I've encountered a good number of folk in - and outside - the congregation who've used the occasion of a layoff to put more time into ministering to others, which I sense many feel is in a way their real calling and vocation.

Love to hear from ya.

Jeff

PS – I mentioned the movie Into the Wild in my sermon last week - someone made a very interesting comment on that, and I posted it here as a response to last week's entry....

The Biggest Loser?

One of the comments in last Sunday’s sermon that garnered the most conversation (well, among folk I had a chance to talk with) was my reference to the popular television show The Biggest Loser. I made the point that our nation’s waistline is a sign of a spiritual (not just a physical) malady, and that Loser is an indication of our communal/cultural desire for something different than eating high fat food and hanging around on the couch.

Some described to me the very positive, gracious spirit of the show – how it helps people see that somehow, there is a way. One can change, especially with a lot of help and support. Grace indeed.

Is it true that Loser (whose name I can’t help but associate with the cross…and the thought of Jesus as the ultimate victorious loser…) represents a desire among us to “get in shape” – spiritually? And how does this metaphor of the physical embodiment of that quality (“in shape”) help or hurt our effort and desire to become spiritually (and not just physically) whole?

All who spoke with me about the sermon found that to be a helpful comment; some even indicated that they are now going to make a step toward physical fitness (yes!). And (but?) I am also aware of people in the congregation – and among my friends – who struggle so mightily with issues of weight, food, body image. To what degree is our desire to get “in shape” also a caving in to a body ideal that’s really a pagan idol?

If God loves us as we are, what does it say if our motivation to get “in shape” is to conform to that cultural body ideal that says to us, thin is beautiful? When every billboard supermodel peers down at us, shouting under her breath (and breasts): This is beautiful. What then of our Christian understanding that it is God’s imprint that has already made us all so. Thin fat, tall, short: all are imprinted with the stamp that bespeaks ultimate beauty - however badly we may smudge it.

But all this to emphasize the main point: how do we get in shape, as a community – spiritually? And what does that mean? And how do we get there together?

That’s what Advent’s about. Training for something. A worthy goal, which has to do with what’s ahead. And we need to train for it together.

And so, the conversation about “do you pray?” and “how do you pray?” continues, especially as the final note in the sermon was a challenge – as we begin our “Seven Minutes a Day” campaign – the encouragement to begin – or continue and deepen – a spiritual practice.

Love your comments on any of that above. How are you approaching the notion of getting “in shape”? How is this a spiritual issue for you? Are there folk out there yearning to get in shape “spiritually” and physically? How are you making a first step?

I realize I haven’t said much about this Sunday. That’s because I’m on the road (a trip to Louisville for church biz), and am, frankly, behind.

The text I’ll focus on is the Luke text (Luke 3:1-6), and I am going to focus on the wilderness as an important symbol in the spiritual journey.

Why does the Word of God come to John…in the wilderness? After Luke names all these muckety mucks in high places: a lowland voice of a crazy preacher is the one that bears God's Word.

How has the wilderness played a part in your spiritual journey? Has it enabled you...hindered you from hearing the divine Word?

Look forward to seeing you on Sunday.

Peace,

Jeff

Do You Pray, part 2...

I am yielding blog space today to my colleague in ministry, Brent Ferguson. Brent had trouble (like many of you , I'm hearing) posting a response - so I'm taking the liberty of making him my first ever "Guest Blogger".

(And...looking into why it's so tough to respond here).

A little background: Brent is a member here at Lawrenceville, and a graduate of that fine institution up the road, Princeton Theological Seminary.

I really want to keep the conversation going: what does it mean to do spiritual practice for us? How do we encourage each other in that?

Here's Brent:

Holy gloom-and-doom, Batman! That Luke text is anything but cheerful...

Jeff, this is my first-ever post to anyone's blog, so kudos to you for getting me engaged in the process. There are a few first thoughts that came to mind when I read your prompt:

---Mother Teresa's oft-referenced interview which purportedly went something like this:

Q: So, you're a prayerful woman. What do you say to God when you pray?

A: I don't say much; mostly I listen.

Q: (awed silence, inspired by the depth of her answer, then...) Well, what does God say?

A: God doesn't say much; mostly God listens.

Q: (sustained silence).

---One of my seminary professors, Pat Miller, once made a comment in a study of the Psalms -- not in class, but during an adult education class he was leading at his home church. He suggested that if we only had one prayer to pray our entire lives, it would be the refrain of Psalm 136 (and in many other psalms and other places in scripture): "Give thanks, for the Lord is good; God's steadfast love endures forever." Kind of a desert-island psalm...our dominant posture toward God might realistically be, all things taken into consideration, one of gratitude. That strikes me as not only poignant given this week's Thanksgiving celebrations, but also given our increasing sense both individually and corporately (if we're listening at all to our lives and to our world), that we are not "the masters of our own fate."

And perhaps this last fact is a very good thing, given our tendency to foul things up so much. Understanding it fully keeps us from taking too much credit that isn't ours to take and also keeps us from taking on too much blame that is likewise unhealthy for us psychologically and spiritually.

---I pray way too infrequently. By that I mean the intentional act of orientation toward God (w.r.t. Ellen's comment) in thought, feeling, listening, speaking, etc. If prayer primarily is me trying to deliberately engage in giving or receiving some kind of communication with God, then I frame out way too little time for that, and would like to grow in my capacity for reserving time for that on a regular basis.

---Reading scripture is another important spiritual practice. Talking about it with a small group of commited fellow Christian sojourners would help...but (as you allude) that is difficult to manage in our hustle-bustle lives.

---That I take time to help orient my daughters toward God with prayer and Bible reading smacks of hypocrisy. I do it with them not because "it's good for kids," but because "it's good for humans," and humans are creatures of habit for whom those things well practiced are those things easiest to manage. If I'm recommending something to my kids at a kid-appropriate level, then a modicum of integrity suggests that perhaps I should be doing it at an adult-appropriate level, eh?

---"Practice like you race; race like you practice," I always tell my athletes...the same should go for us. If our ultimate spiritual performance/race day were known, then what would our practice and preparation look like that would help us rehearse for it? Cognitive scientists speak of 10,000 hours of 'deliberate practice' required to develop what we typically call 'expertise' in a given field. That's about 5-10 year's worth of work-weeks at either part- or full-time engagement. But if we're not practicing deliberately at all -- or perhaps more like 1 hour a week, at best -- then it takes a whole lot more time than 10 years to get to 10,000 hours of 'development of expertise.' (More like 2-3 lifetimes' worth!)

Ok, this is way too long. I've overshot this first blog moment in a big way. For now, know that I have already been praying for you in your sermon preparation, and that I'm eager, as always, to see where God leads this conversation in the pulpit. Thanks for your willingness to engage the community in the theological reflections that inform your preaching, Jeff.

Peace,

Brent

Do you pray?

I really want to know.

One of the edges that we seem to be treading right now - our staff, our leaders, our congregation - has to do with this question: how do modern people do spiritual practice? Is modern life compatible with it? And how do we support each other as a community of faith to "prepare room" for the God-who-comes?

As Advent begins on Sunday (gee whiz, feel like I'm still cleaning sand out of my ears), we once again contemplate the question: how do we prepare ourselves to meet the God-who-comes, in the least likely clothing: flesh. The flesh of a most vulnerable child, born in the backwoods of the Roman empire. How do we attune our hearing to discern that cry, to see the trace of the divine, in the traces of our daily lives?

I will likely be focusing this Sunday on the text from First Thessalonians, but this cheery text from Luke may also make an appearance in this week's brief (promise) Communion homily.

But the focus of the reflection this Sunday is this: how can we together prepare room for God - especially when our lives are so often seem stuffed full of...stuff? How can we encourage each other to practice...spiritually? If Christianity were a marathon you ran tomorrow, how would you fare?

So...do you pray? And if so, how?

Do you pray on the road? Doing the dishes? In your prayer closet? With the scripture? With your breath? Looking for ideas, folks....

(By the way, I find I do a lot more conversation by email than I do here - but I wish folk would bite the bullet and do sign on to the blogger system...).

Have a blessed Thanksgiving, all!

Jeff

Cage match: Pilate vs. Jesus

What has power over you?

This week, I’m back from a weeklong clergy renewal retreat in Arizona called CREDO. Although I had joked with our interns and staff that I was going to “Clergy Spa” (my fantasy), in reality it was more like a cross between that, and Clergy Boot Camp. A chance to look at one’s well being, via a drill-down look at one’s health, spiritual life, finances, and vocation. Well worth it. For me, the best part was just a general time to reflect on life, and what God’s up to in it.

But enough about that: to the sermon this Sunday. And the scriptures.

This Sunday is Christ the King Sunday. I’ll be honest: not one of my faves. A tough Sunday for preachers, at least this one. So easy to trot out abstractions about King Jesus.

The text is John 18:33-37. Actually, this is one of my favorite little scenes in the gospels. Jesus vs. Pilate. The classic Johannine cage match between “world” (Kosmos) and “spirit” (Paracletos). (OK, Cage Match - not John's word here...). Between the power of earthly rule, whose ultimate authority derives from the point of a sword; and the power of spiritual rule, whose ultimate authority derives from a crucified God, the power of one pierced.

The text involves the question: who’s really in charge? I think Jesus is “playing” Pilate. Not with swords, with words. Just listen:

“My kingdom is not of this world.”

“So you are a King?”

Jesus riposte: “You yourself have said.” King is an inadequate locution for the kind of power that the divine wields in human life; a power that is a much slipperier, subtler, harder-to-detect kind.

Our Buddhist brothers and sisters refer to water as the most powerful substance on earth. It’s so because water, headed to its source, cannot be stopped; it will always get past anything in its path, even rocks – and eventually, will take them with it. Anyone who’s been to the Grand Canyon can testify to the power of H20.

That’s the kind of power that Christ wields. Power that eventually conquered the Empire that paid Pilate’s salary. Power that was seen through martyrs dying for the truth, folk unafraid to be cowed by Pilate's (or Caesar's) sword.

So, here’s where I’m going on this one. What kicks around in my head for Sunday, which may make things a bit less abstract. A question:

Who has power over you? What has power over you? Pilate is under the illusion that he has power over the person who faces him, Jesus of Nazareth, whose fate (to live or to die) he must decide. But we all know that there’s another power at work, to which we owe our highest allegiance, and which has ultimate authority. Pilate may think he owns us. We know better.

But what else pretends in our life to that kind of ownership? That kind of power?

I realize there are those out there who feel this quite deeply – folk who have had experience with the power of addiction, of alcoholism, or drug addiction. Many of us have had our date with depression, and its soul-deadening power.

On my motorcycle trip this summer, for example, there was this sign posted outside a drug rehab place: “He who angers you, controls you.” Interesting.

But, the question is: do we believe in a power that claims us, to which we “belong” – a power that exists quite separately from us and our choices, but if we allow it can renovate our entire lives?

Thoughts and reflections welcome.

See you Sunday.

Jeff

Teach us to pray...

An early entry this week - for those tuning in. I am off this week, starting Monday, at a CREDO retreat in Arizona. From what I can tell, it's sort of "clergy spa" - a week-long makeover dealing with financial, spiritual, emotional and physical well-being. What grace! It is a program for which clergy age 40-55 get selected by lottery, and it's provided by the Board of Pensions. Thanks guys! And gratitude to Jill Cifelli for covering for me.

Taking the pulpit this week is our Pastoral Care Intern, Kellen Smith. He will be preaching about The Lord's Prayer, as it is found in Matthew 6:9-13 (part of the Sermon on the Mount).

I have worked with Kellen on the sermon (Title is: "The Way of Prayer"), and I know that he is interested in how that prayer has functioned in peoples' spiritual life. Here are some questions that perhaps might be helpful to him - if there are folk out there willing to chime in.

How often do you use the Lord's Prayer?

How has the Lord's Prayer shaped the way you pray?

Whether you respond here or not - good questions to consider in preparation for the sermon on Sunday.

Blessings!

Jeff

The Myth of Sisyphus

This week, we explore the world of Ruth – one of the most refreshing, astonishing and pleasant books found in the scriptures, in my humble opinion. I suggest you read the whole book – just 4 chapters, and by any standard, a delightful, engaging story. (If you clicked that last link - keep clicking ahead to the end).

It’s odd that after all the ugly, xenophobic and internecine warfare of Joshua and Judges (especially the incredible brutality that immediately precedes Ruth - go ahead…read it) – comes this book, almost a pastoral idyll, a most pleasant happily-ending “comedy”.

Interesting that in Joshua and Judges, the Israelites often seem to hear the voice of God inciting them to ethnic cleansing: to purify the towns they conquer of any foreign man, woman, child – even animal. But in this story, we encounter a story whose heroine (Ruth) is both a woman, and a foreigner – who turns out to be the ancestor of David, the prototypical King of Israel. Such a fact would have been a shock to the ethnic purists we see in Joshua-Judges!

Moreover – it seems to be saying that one is a Jew – a child of the covenant – not just by birth; but through the choices one makes. Righteousness is not a genetic trait unique to Jews; it’s a quality of God bestowed by human choice-making, no matter your tribe.

Ruth is the archetype of faithfulness: believing in a concept of familial love and trust that goes beyond her own race, and even self-interest. Yet it is this very faithfulness – her choices – by which she, and Naomi, and the future King David, secure the blessing of God.

Here’s what is rattling around my head in preparation for the sermon. Ruth does not take her world as a given – when her husband dies, and it looks bleak. You might say that Ruth “constructs a world” for herself, out of the choices she makes. She could have gone off on her own to fend for herself – but she chooses to be faithful to her mother-in-law Naomi and, like Abraham, to follow her toward an unknown destiny: “whither thou goest, I will go.”

The other story that churns in my mind…bear with me here. Sisyphus. He of rock-rolling fame. There’s an essay I read years ago, by Camus, called “The Myth of Sisyphus”. The essay – check it out – has to do with the question: does Sisyphus have a choice? Sure, the gods have fated him with an absurd (Camus' word) existence. But…does he have a choice about his relationship to that task, to that rock, to that fate?

And…most important. How does this story (these stories) hit us in the gut and heart, as we encounter the often-seeming absurd destiny that is our life? To what degree do we have choices in relation to what seems “fated”? Like Ruth and Sisyphus?

I myself have seen people…people who made choices that landed them in horrible circumstances; and people who through no fault of their own, found themselves in circumstances that are awful...but people who through their own faithfulness and trust in God’s grace and power, found a way to “make a heaven of hell,” to quote Milton’s great poem.

What do you think of the invitation to do that? Not just “always look on the bright side of life” (the song of Jesus and his compatriots at the end of Life of Brian), but to realize that God calls us to trust that, through the power of grace, good can come even from the cursed rock that we're given...when we realize that in "each atom of that stone, each mineral flake of that night filled mountain, in itself forms a world."

Comments?