What Prayer Isn't

I'm going to take up the advice of some of you and, invoking Janus (the Roman god of new beginnings, who was able both to look back and look forward), I'm taking a new approach here. From now on, I will make this blog about looking back at the previous sermon, while also looking forward to the coming week.

So...last week. (If I can remember - I'm a bit behind this week!) I spoke of Abraham's encounter with God in Genesis 15. The intent of the sermon was to be a meditation on an essential aspect of prayer: trust. Trust implies a relationship. Relationship requires communication. How do we do that? We might be good at talking to (at?) God; but how do we understand this as a conversation that bespeaks a relationship - even one as intimate as that on display in Genesis 15 between God and Abraham?

Of course, seeking to stay in stable Reformed waters, I spoke of the Bible as that great prayer wheel that is the means by which God speaks. I've had that experience. God speaking to me through that book - in ways that are both freaky and ordinary.

But one of the questions I raised also at the beginning (and this is where I want to spend some time here) was this: how is prayer helpful when you find yourself in the wilderness? When you find yourself in the dark night of the soul?

One of the images I lifted up was that of my father, who was bi-polar, hearing the voice of my uncle praying for him while he was the depth of darkness during one of his hospitalizations. God came to him, God communicated to him, using the words of scripture spoken through the human voice of my uncle. But, what if God does not do that for you when you are there? That's one question I received in response to the sermon - and here's where I'd like to spend a few words.

I spoke of an image - which has always been so very helpful to me in my own prayer life - from the movie Wings of Desire, by Wim Wender. A movie about two angels who want to become human again, and who spend eternity patrolling the earth. In one scene, a man atop a building in Berlin, where the movie takes place, is about to commit suicide. One of the angels embraces him from behind, lays his head on his shoulder, unbeknownst to the man.

This has always seemed to me to be such a poignant image that invokes God's desire to be in relationship to us, especially in such moments of darkness. But what do we make of our inability to perceive it, when we are in our own darkness? And further, what if speaking of God in such moments, is indeed unhelpful? Even painful or cruel?

One thought that occurs to me is this: how do we speak of, and to, God when we are either ourselves in the wilderness, or when we are with someone who is in that place?

Seems to me that sometimes, speaking of prayer this way - that God is with you even when you aren't aware of it; just pray and it'll be all right - to someone who is in the darkness of despair can also be less than helpful. Like Job's so-called friends, even invoking hope itself, giving a neat and tidy explanation for God's place in an ordered universe can be less than helpful to one who is suffering in the chaos of despair.

This is so often a challenge for me or anyone seeking to minister to others in the name of the gospel; how do you impart hope to people when they are in a place where hope makes no sense? How do we proclaim the gospel in such a context?

Sometimes I wonder if the best way to proclaim the gospel to folk in that situation is...not to.

We often want to say, "all will be well; and all manner of thing shall be well," because another person's chaos can threaten the sense of order on the part of the onlooker. This is indeed what happens with Job's friends, in their attempt to comfort Job. Their so-called comfort seems at times, ironically, an aspect of God's torture of Job. Their attempt to "fix" Job, purportedly out of kindness, is in reality utterly cruel.

Is it possible to be a prayer for others by your presence, even if that other does not recognize it as such? Is it possible that a trusting relationship with God, which develops through intimacy, communication - can take the form of simply being with. Like the angel in that movie. Simply being there. When someone cannot feel God, ours is simply to be present, to hear, to listen, to weep and gnash teeth if necessary with them. But not to justify a hope that is unseen. That can only be seen in the light; when one is in the darkness, such light can seem illusory or even cruel.

As I read the scriptures, I hear Jesus over and over batting away elaborate human systems that are supposedly built on good, religious ideas - knocking them down in favor of getting involved in the muck and complexity of human compassion. Over and over Jesus religious system is built on the insistence to be with people in a spirit of transformative compassion. But how do we practice that?

Perhaps that's a good segue into this sermon's topic: the title of the sermon (not as yet written): "What Prayer Isn't". Based on the lectionary texts for this Sunday, we might call it "bad theology Sunday." The assumption in Luke 13:1-9 is that people suffer for a reason. There's a reason folk got hammered by Pilate: they were bad. The reason people died in the terrible tower incident: sinners. All a neat, convenient moral physics, in whose faith we can feel good about our lack of compassion. To this, Jesus says: No.

But prayer is not moral physics. It is closer to Heisenberg's quantum uncertainty than the Newtonian universe of cause and effect. We cannot say exactly how it works; even the concept that "it works" is a one borrowed from a human construct, like trying to look at Andromeda with binoculars. But it's the only thing we have. We get glimpses of its glory through that feeble instrument of vision we've been given, in order that we can use the greater instrument of imagination and faith to see it.

But moreover, when we use this instrument (prayer) to glimpse its glory, its mystery, there's something that matters in doing it; something that changes something - and not least of all...us.

Please pray for each other, especially those in the wilderness; perhaps pray for the Spirit as we seek God's mystery to change us this Sunday.

Blessings,

Jeff

PS - not too late join those wandering with Dante this Lent.

Does God Speak? And, Questions from the Grab Bag

This week, I am doing a rather hasty blog entry...mostly to put out some questions. For myself, mostly - and for anyone who might like to chime in. (By email, in person, or...here). About the sermon topic this (and coming weeks). And on a few other items from the bag of miscellany.

But first, a quick little advertisement.... One reason this is a rather hasty entry is that I finally decided on my spiritual discipline for Lent, and it's been taking some of my blogging bandwidth. This year, I'm adding something rather than subracting - rather than fasting from. So I'm reading Dante. Inferno. And I decided it'd be fun to blog about it with my lit friends. Check it out if you'd like to journey with us. A canto a day (keeps the demons away) - a daily investment of about 15 minutes to read the canto, and read the daily blog reflection. I and four other friends are sharing in this enterprise.

And...about the sermon topic this Sunday: Prayer. What is it? How does it work? Is it just for our sake, or does the one to whom we address it "listen", and "speak"? And if it is indeed communication, how does that work?

This Sunday I will be dealing with a rather odd text, Abraham and this rather strange (to us) ceremony with dead animals in Genesis 15. And Jake, our Poet in Residence (he's just been promoted), will also weigh in with a poem.

The idea here is that prayer really is at heart communication. We should remember that this word is also where we get the word communion. It is a thing that enables two beings, two "thous" to interact. And in interacting, to know change, growth, love. Connection. Communion.

But how? This week's sermon will be a meditation on the question: if God speaks, how do we listen?

I'd love your insights: what is prayer for you? And more precisely, Does God speak to you? How?

And, finally - each of the sermons I'll be doing in Lent - three of them prior to Palm Sunday - will deal with the theme of prayer: what is it? Why is it? How do we do it? I'll be using the lectionary texts as the lens through which to look at those questions - and the final one in the series will be a dialogue sermon with my colleague Louise. Stay tuned!

Blog format. OK, apropos of nothing, here's another question. I really like doing the discipline of a weekly blog. And love when people read and actually respond. But I've gotten a lot more responses in person and by email, than I do here. The Dante blog I started this week is with another service called Wordpress. I like it a LOT more than this service. Main thing is that it's easier for people to respond - you don't have to sign in and use a password and whatnot. Thinking of moving this blog there (which, lo and behold, is possible). Anyone out there care to comment?

Blog format, part 2. Last question. Someone suggested to me that I might try - and that it might be better - changing the approach to the sermon blog. Namely, the suggestion was to make this blog about the weekly sermon after (instead of before) it is delivered - as a means for people to comment, seek clarification; and a way for me to backtrack, nuance, and weasel (kidding). In many ways, I really like that idea. May be trying it sometime soon.

Blessed days, anyone reading this. May Lent be a time of spiritual fruitfulness, as you spend some time in the wilderness.

Jeff

Lenten Disciplines

I see I've broken my weekly discipline of getting a blog entry in by my usual deadline. A very bad discipline to begin the Lenten season.

So...that's my very brief topic for a very brief blog entry this week. Discipline.

As you may know, it is related to the word "disciple." At the heart of that word is the question: to what are you devoted? To what have you given your heart? This is a good question for Lent.

Here are some ideas for developing a Lenten spiritual discipline - but I'd mostly be interested in your own - if there are any out there so inclined.

A few ideas:

1) I really really like this online devotional; try it out: www.d365.org

2) Or, why not create your own daily devotional time. Find a Bible. Start with just seven minutes a day. Read for a minute. Note what comes to you. Pray (and some find it useful to pray with a question). Offer your day up to God.

3) Some find meditation to be a good Lenten discipline. Perhaps you could try taking 10 minutes to do centering prayer. Centering prayer is taking time to follow your breath while praying a word or phrase, like "Love", or "Peace", or "Jesus, Son of God, have mercy". If your mind wanders, gently call it back to the phrase you have been praying. Sit in a comfortable, straight-backed chair, with your back as erect as possible.

4) Why not try a "screen fast" - take one day without any screens: TV, iPhone, Blackberry, computer. An electron free day. See what it's like. (and if you have a family - make it a family affair). If it goes well - make it a tradition.

5) I've also done the very traditional way of fasting - for example, giving up sweets, or television, or my nightly glass of wine. Sometimes such disciplines give you a very different sense of yourself and what's around you: how you use food, how you use time.

6) Instead of fasting from, fasting can also mean adding something that clears a path to God. Do service once a week at a local soup kitchen; take an hour a week to clean up a park; clean a neighbor's yard. Or, you can also combine approaches here - fast one meal a day and give the savings to your favorite charity.

7) (Got to end on a Biblical number) Here's a radical idea: commit to worshipping each Sunday in Lent. Can't hurt!

Lastly - I am not preaching this week - one of our four interns, Caroline Wood, will be proclaiming, on the traditional text for the First Sunday in Lent, the story of Jesus temptations in the wilderness. (Note the plural). Study up!

Again - love to hear any responses from you about what you do for Lenten disciplines.

Peace,

Jeff

Why Love?

I am thinking about a question that Will, my now-nine year old, asked to me when he was about, oh, four or so: “Dad, where does love come from?”

Perhaps that’s a good start for my sermonizing on Sunday – keeping it on the simple, four-year-old level. Because it can get so complex, philosophical, abstract when talking about love, no?

When it boils down to this: love comes from somewhere. Where?

Maybe it’s cheating to bring in scripture here, but gosh darn, it is the Word of God. So, here goes. The text for Sunday is 1 John 4:7-21. Study up on it, if you’re so inclined. Absolutely one of my favorite bits of scripture (especially if we can overlook the polemical context in the rest of 1 John). It’s my go-to text for all wedding services I do – that is, if the couple doesn’t prefer the standard 1 Corinthians 13 (wonderful text, but been done). Alas, I digress.

1 John 4 gives a very simple answer about where love comes from. So simple, it’s perhaps obvious. God. The one who is the progenitor of love, and indeed whose very essence is love. That’s where love comes from. (OK, grammar police: from where love comes...).

Here’s the very simple answer about why we love: because we’ve known love from somewhere, namely God. “We love, because God first loved us.”

But, though simple, that too can be rather abstract. How do we know this love? We can’t touch, smell, see God. Surely, we can know that we are loved on a sort of numinous, existential level – somewhere in my soma, my guts, my spirit, I know I’m loved. (One of my favorite quotes, by the way: Victor Hugo: - “The greatest happiness in life is the conviction you are loved.”)

The only way we can know the love of God is through human love. “No one has ever seen God…but if we love…God abides in us.” Perhaps that’s the theme of this whole series about the nature of love. You want to have fulfilling human relationships – mature erotic/romantic ones? Deeply fulfilling friendships? Then, we have to know this primary kind of love, whose source is none other than the divine.

It also works in reverse. You want a taste of divine love? Love another person. That’s the mystery and the paradox.

So, this Sunday’s sermon is on a particular variety of love – a very different kind than the ones we’ve been speaking about, because this kind of love – Agape – does not depend on the desirability of the object. Eros, Philia – though certainly desiring the well-being of the other, still depend on the other somehow being desireable.

Agape on the other hand loves no matter what, no matter how desirable, or schlocky, sinful, ugly the "object" - the person being loved. (Better click on that 1 Corinthians 13 text now for the full definition). This is how God loves. And this is why humans are able to love – because we know somehow this mysterious source from which love comes.

So here’s a question to end on: how have you felt loved? Who imparted that to you? How?

See you Sunday.

I Love You, Man

Have you ever said, “I love you” to a friend? Someone not a spouse, girlfriend or boyfriend; not someone within Cupid’s target zone for you?

I myself can’t recall doing that – perhaps partly because I live in fear, professionally, of blurring boundaries, of someone misinterpreting my words – though have heard them spoken a time or two. And, let’s face it: our stinginess in using those words with friends is due to the fact that we live in such a highly sexualized, amorized society. (Amortized society?)

In our culture, the meaning of “love” in that three-word phrase “I love you” is almost exclusively limited to that of Eros. One heterosexual guy telling another, “I love you.” Whoa. You must be gay.

Perhaps it’s an obvious point then: that our culture has in many ways lost the art of friendship. And here I also need to make a distinction based on gender. It’s my observation (and thus certainly open to critique) that men often find it much more difficult to find friendship with other men, than is the case among females in their search for friendship.

Why is that? It’s striking that in the ancient world – the world of the Bible, and especially the ancient Greek-speaking world – the opposite was really the case. In the ancient world, love, the highest and most beautiful form, was that shared between men.

On Sunday, we will reflect on the kind of love denoted by the word Philia, or friendship-love. Philia is a love between equals, love that seeks the well-being of the other, love that seeks the excellence in the other, brings out the best in the other.

Have you ever been with someone in whose presence you feel all those qualities in yourself you think to be most valuable? When I’m with, let’s say, Jim, or Sally – I feel smart, and funny, and at ease; I feel most myself. This is the experience of Philia. And we clearly know its opposite too – those in whose presence you feel inadequate, dumb, cut to size and worse-than.

Philia is valuable to knowing who we are; toward becoming who we are meant to be. The ancient Greeks especially knew the value of this kind of friendship love. On Sunday, I’ll speak a bit about Aristotle, and his book the Nicomachean Ethics, in which he writes about how friendship is a means toward attaining virtue.

And of course, Sunday’s sermon will be a scriptural exploration about the topic: how do we see our need for friendship in light of the friendship of Christ: the God-man, come down to us, who doesn’t demand to be called master, but wants us to call him friend.

Are we hungry for this kind of friendship? Is there a gender difference? Has anyone ever said “I love you” to you – not as a lover, but a friend? Love to hear your reflections on this. And would love some good material for the sermon.

Jeff

PS – Some other stuff to check out if you are interested in the subject – in particular, movies. Judd Apatow has now created his own genre of movies, and a new “term” for them: “bromance.” Check out Superbad, or his more recent I Love You Man. (I’ve seen the former but not the latter). Also, the previously-featured Big Kahuna is really about Philia. You must see it if you have not….

What Are You Looking For?

First, I want to say that I have not “moved on” from what is still preoccupying my mind – and I imagine the mental space of so many of us: Haiti. As I said on Sunday, we should not, we cannot forget. It would be moral cowardice to do so. In the strange workings of the spirit, we realize that the life and work of our church is now even more intertwined with their life, their pain, their rebirth.

But so much of life consists of holding things in tension; the paradox of suffering in Haiti. The paradox of the infinite God become human, to suffer on a cross.

And so we hold life in such tension. And we move on to other subjects…for now.

This Sunday I begin a new sermon series on the theme of love, called “Love by Any Other Name.” I will be reflecting on the three words in ancient Greek for love: Eros (romantic love); Philia (friendship love); and Agape (self-giving love).

Having an understanding of love helps us to practice it. And learning to love is like learning to play the violin: you need to understand the dynamics and theory of music to play that – or any – instrument.

In this case, your life is the instrument. Love is the music to express that song that has been placed inside of you – and in every human – whose expression represents our highest desire and purpose. And as the writer of 1 John says, when we love, "God abides in us." God takes expression in and through us.

This Sunday we begin by exploring a certain kind of love: Eros. Too often maligned, we will begin to appreciate that Eros is a gift of God to humans—a God who has created us to desire each other. And desire, even erotic desire, is the beginning of all love, whose true object, whether we realize it or not, is God.

So, this Sunday we will explore the question: what does it mean to “fall in love”? And what does this experience have to do with Christian life?

Our text is John 1:35-39. Please read it, and think about the question Jesus asks in verse 38 (“…What are you looking for?”). Note: The Greek word Zeteo can be understood as “seek” or “desire”. How would you answer this question?

And finally – you can help me out by responding to this question here: If you have fallen in love at least once in your life - how would you describe your experience? Did it make you behave in a way you would not otherwise? I know some will email - but post here if you can....

Thanks – and see you Sunday.

Jeff

Why? Or What Next?

This week's blog entry - I'm double dipping. I offer here what I am writing in our church newsletter for next month. Been another kooky week, but for us, dust is settling, even as we continue to pray for the people of Haiti.

Why? Or…What Next?

As I sit here to write this reflection, I can’t help but to think about what I know so many of you have been thinking of these past days: Haiti.

My mind is filled with images that both bespeak hope, and despair. I remember this past Sunday (January 17), seeing the Easter-sized crowd gathered in the Meetinghouse for worship, after our group of returnees got back (rather late) from a spirit-filled service at Shiloh Baptist. What hope I felt from the spirit’s tender care in that service—the spirit that helped us rejoice in the amazing providence represented by the safe return of every one our people. I will savor that worship service; I will never forget it.

And I think of the stories I’ve heard of the Haitian people, many of whom are still living in fields, filling their evenings with hymn-singing, waking to the glow of the sun and beginning another desperate day with worship.

And yet, my mind is still filled—as I’m sure is yours—with disturbing images, troubling thoughts. I cannot forget the images I’ve seen on the television of a country that was already in a state of disaster when the earthquake struck…images of dead bodies on the streets, mangled limbs, desperate survivors. I think about how members of our group themselves saw such things; heard the moans of dying people, carried the bodies of the dead.

And I think of how unfair it is that, in the words of Brian Williams, “some children are born into poverty and struggle only to die young and in great pain—while my children lead such fortunate lives.” Why? Why so much suffering for a people already so desperate?

I think of all of that, and it makes me want to break something. (I know, I’m letting down my pastoral mask just a bit). But I contend that it is something we do well to be angry about. Because, anger—if it doesn’t ossify into resentment, grievance or despair—can motivate us. Did you know that anger is an aspect of how we understand God’s love? Anger at what’s wrong with us and the world?

What echoes in my mind too is the wonderful sound bite that Louise Johnson offered in her words on Sunday: “It may be that right now the most important question to ask is not ‘Why’…but ‘What next?’” And what’s next is to “do the work of the one who sent” us, while it is day (John 9:4)—while there is urgent work to be done.

What is so heartening to me is to hear so many of the members of our now-returned Haiti delegation say, “I want to go back.” To hear in their voices a passion not to forget what they experienced, and to make meaning of it by redoubling our effort to help rebuild Haiti. We are in a unique position to do that, through our twenty-plus years of partnership with Pastor Luc and his ministry. That work is more important now than ever.

In the weeks ahead, we will be working with Pastor Luc to do just that. This week—right after they returned—Bruce McGraw and Joan Semenuk are busy at work organizing the consortium of churches who have been supporting Pastor Luc, so we can coordinate our funding and our help for Pastor Luc. The work is already beginning—and we all will need to step up to the proverbial plate, by generously offering what we have to give, so that people who have so little can survive.

Now it is day. And the work begins, through the one who is our hope, our help, and our Redeemer.

Jeff Vamos