In our readings from I Corinthians, this week and next, Paul talks about death, about the reality of death for the followers of Jesus. That is what I want to talk about this morning -- about death, about our dying and about our dyings. I want to talk, first, about what happens when we die and what Scripture says. And then I want to talk about our dying and our dyings in a broader context.
So, first, what happens when we die? What can we expect when we die? From all the research and from most of the recounting of near-death experiences, we can expect calm, serenity, light and, perhaps, a welcoming presence to guild us across the threshold into our new life.
A friend of mine, Jim, who had a temporary death, or near-death experience, told me that it was all light and peace. He said, "Tom, I may be afraid of a lot of things, but there is one thing I am not afraid of anymore -- and that's death." And Jim was a rough character: in fact, if anyone I've ever known had reason to fear what death might bring. . . it was Jim. What we can expect is calm. Serenity, light, and a welcoming presence to guide us.
What the Scripture says is this: in our Baptism, we are joined with the risen Christ. That is where our reality (our being) is rooted -- in the resurrected Christ. After Baptism, we don't belong to this order any more. As St. Paul writes, we are in, but not of the world. That is the basis of almost everything about the Christian faith. We are in. but not of the world. So our identity, our home is not changed by physical death. We remain Christ's. We continue in another dimension. We belong to Christ in life and we belong to him in death, though in another dimension of life.
Second, there will be a resurrection of the Body. There is nothing in the Christian Scriptures about "immortality of the soul." It is resurrection of the body. We will be persons, recognizable persons -- just as the Risen Christ was recognized and known by his friends. We will not be amorphous souls, all kind of blended in with one another. We will be embodied persons.
What will we be like? This is what John writes: "Beloved we are now God's children, but it is not yet clear what we shall become. We know that when Christ appears, we shall be like him, because we shall see him as he really is." (I John 3:1-2)
The healing, the compassion, the commitment, the beauty and power and love of life and living that we know in Jesus -- that is what we grow into, that is what life will be like. "If you want to know what our new life will be like," says the Bible, "look at the Lord telling the stories, holding the children, eating and drinking and trading stories with his friends, that bursting in of life upon life -- that is what, that is who it will be like." Serenity? Identity? Joy. How can we face our dying? The first emotion most of us feel as we face our dying is fear. To fear. . . for us to fear the process of dying is natural, just as it was natural for Jesus. We speak of the Agony in the Garden and that was true. There was deep, deep agony in the heart of Jesus as he faced his death. But that was not all . . .and that is not all of it.
There comes a time for many people in their dying when they decide to let go . . .to let go of life and begin that process of transformation into resurrection. It's like allowing yourself to be carried, simply, in the arms of God. It is such a blessing to come to that point where we simply let go . .and allow ourselves to be borne by the loving hands of God.
For others, dying is dominated by a struggle to stay alive, a determination to fight death as though death were really an enemy. So there is a holding on at any and all expense.
There is, as the writer of Ecclesiastes says, "A time to live and a time to die." And it is important for us to know which time it is. My father knew: I have told many of you about the time when my father, living in Wickenburg, Arizona, was very sick. He had been living in near constant pain for several years and was very weak. He and I were out walking in the desert when we spotted a large group of buzzards circling overhead. My father looked up at them, raised his by then emaciated fist at them and shook it, shouting, "Not yet, you sons of bitches! Not yet!!!"
He was not ready to die. He was not ready to let go of anything.
There is a time to live and a time to die and, for us, the necessity to know which time it is.
And there are other kinds of dying, just as important. . . maybe more important than our physical dying. Life is, in reality, a series of dyings. When we go off to school for the first time, life is changed. . . and we have died to something. When we do off to school for the first time, when we begin middle school, high school, college -- if the transition is to be a healthy one, life is changed and there is a dying. . .as well as a rebirthing.
The same is true with a change in jobs, a change in the size of our families, changing in housing, living, change in anything. There are deaths to experience, to live through. When we marry, we promise to forsake all others. That does not mean just the old boy friends and girl friends, but anything and everything that might threaten the life and the intimacy of the marriage.
Life is not a continuum, but a series of deaths. The heart of our belief, as Christians, is that we can let go and entrust our lives to God. The basic creed of the world is backwards. The world's creed is, "First you live and then you die." The Christian faith reverses that: "First you die, then you live." That is the rhythm of our lives.
I see it so often in those of you who, through one thing or another, have come face to face with your own dying, physical death, or the death of a part your life. There is, so often, then, a commitment to life on a whole other level, a whole other level of life and intimacy and grace. What that involves is a letting go and entrusting ourselves to God and to the process of resurrection. . .in this life. . . or in the life to come.
We were so fortunate to celebrate just that at our Annual Meeting as we stood to applaud Charles Schriver for his courage in living a resurrected life. . .among the living. And Charles is not alone: he is a visible symbol of what God is doing in all of our lives.
We do not belong to the expectations or the limitations of this world. We do not belong to beatitudes or the precepts of this world. We have been, we are being born into another order. First, you die . . . then you live. That process of moving into the light. Always there is that opportunity, always we have that choice. Bless us, dear God, in all our living and in our dyings.
Saturday, March 18, 2006
Recent Entries in God's Diaries I
Written: August 2001
Friday, August 3
The worst thing about being the one who neither slumbers nor sleeps is late night television. I made a big mistake last night and watched three hours of Pat Robertson re-runs. I must not do that again. I think there is a real possibility of contracting spiritual diabetes from the show if I spend more than twenty minutes more with that man's smile.
Saturday, August 4
Sabbath. At last! My day off. This could not have come at a better time, given how hard Monday will be for me. Off to the hot tubs.
Sunday, August 5
This morning, Francis Assisi stopped by the gym, just as I was in the middle of my stretching exercises. He said he wanted to know my favorite day of the week. I told him that Sunday was my favorite day of the week. He nodded and then asked, "So what is your worst day of the week?"
"That's easy," I said. "Sunday is my worst day of the week." Francis looked puzzled. then he asked, sarcastically if I had been studying Buddhism on the side. Francis can sometimes be a jerk. I closed my eyes, counted to ten and then went on.
"Look, " I said. "I probably hear more prayers on Sunday than any other day. That's good and that's bad. The good part is that so many of the prayers come from people's hearts. It's like they are lifting up their pain and asking me to care about it. And that is one of the things I do best . . caring about their pain and their hopes." Actually, I love the way Jesus put it, that not a bird falls from the sky without my noticing . . . and grieving.
"So what is the bad part?" Francis asked. I told him I didn't want to talk about it. The truth is I was still mad about his Buddha remark. Anyway, Francis left graciously, saying that he knew I wanted to get back to my exercising. He remembers about tomorrow.
So why is this the worst day of the week for me? I know the answer and I'm glad I didn't share it with Francis. He would have been very disappointed and he probably would have thought less well of me.
So why is this the worst day of the week for me? I think because in praying their own pain, most people don't seem very interested in mine. My heart breaks for those who don't have people to pray for them -- young kids, old people, those millions of men and women in Africa who are dying with AIDS. When people pray to me for their own concerns, don't they realize, don't they know how much I hurt deep down inside? I know it's not their place to comfort and console me, but it's terrible to feel so alone. They pray to me because they feel powerless and because they trust my love: I know I would like to have more of a reciprocal relationship and to trust their love a little more. I know what Buddha would say. He's talked to me about this more than once.
Monday, August 6: The Feast of the Transfiguration
The Feast of the Transfiguration. This used to be my favorite day of the year -- better than Christmas and Easter and St. Francis Day all lumped together. It really is the point of it all, the transfiguration of people and places and relationships and troubles and. . .and then on this day, of all days, Hiroshima. Those arrogant Americans have stolen my feast and replaced it with The Feast of the Disfiguration. And outrage of outrages, those bastards named the project "Trinity," after me. Tomorrow can't come fast enough for me.
Tuesday, August 7
At breakfast this morning, Jesus called me grumpy. Actually he said I had been grumpy all day. I told him I was entitled to my own feelings. He said I was a romantic. He said my feelings had compromised what I knew had always been true. He said he wanted to remind me that his own life was lived not amongst the lilies of the field, but in constant struggle with the darkness.
He said that, in Psalm 23, it was "though" (inevitable), not "if" (maybe). It was "though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil." He said he wanted to remind me that the light shines in the darkness (not just in Church School).
I tried to remind him that those were the Psalmist's words and John's words, not his. Jesus waited a long time, then reached across the table to put his hand on my arm and said, "I'm sorry you hurt so much."
Wednesday, August 8
I hope I didn't look bad at breakfast yesterday. It wouldn't have the first time. In retrospect, I know Jesus was right -- but I was right, too. Anyway, I should not have sent him to his room.
I think I will take the day off to listen to stories, but stories of heroism, not of goodness. I've heard too many, way too many goodness stories. Give me adventure stories, stories of bravery and heroism -- stories about goodness put me to sleep.
Friday, August 3
The worst thing about being the one who neither slumbers nor sleeps is late night television. I made a big mistake last night and watched three hours of Pat Robertson re-runs. I must not do that again. I think there is a real possibility of contracting spiritual diabetes from the show if I spend more than twenty minutes more with that man's smile.
Saturday, August 4
Sabbath. At last! My day off. This could not have come at a better time, given how hard Monday will be for me. Off to the hot tubs.
Sunday, August 5
This morning, Francis Assisi stopped by the gym, just as I was in the middle of my stretching exercises. He said he wanted to know my favorite day of the week. I told him that Sunday was my favorite day of the week. He nodded and then asked, "So what is your worst day of the week?"
"That's easy," I said. "Sunday is my worst day of the week." Francis looked puzzled. then he asked, sarcastically if I had been studying Buddhism on the side. Francis can sometimes be a jerk. I closed my eyes, counted to ten and then went on.
"Look, " I said. "I probably hear more prayers on Sunday than any other day. That's good and that's bad. The good part is that so many of the prayers come from people's hearts. It's like they are lifting up their pain and asking me to care about it. And that is one of the things I do best . . caring about their pain and their hopes." Actually, I love the way Jesus put it, that not a bird falls from the sky without my noticing . . . and grieving.
"So what is the bad part?" Francis asked. I told him I didn't want to talk about it. The truth is I was still mad about his Buddha remark. Anyway, Francis left graciously, saying that he knew I wanted to get back to my exercising. He remembers about tomorrow.
So why is this the worst day of the week for me? I know the answer and I'm glad I didn't share it with Francis. He would have been very disappointed and he probably would have thought less well of me.
So why is this the worst day of the week for me? I think because in praying their own pain, most people don't seem very interested in mine. My heart breaks for those who don't have people to pray for them -- young kids, old people, those millions of men and women in Africa who are dying with AIDS. When people pray to me for their own concerns, don't they realize, don't they know how much I hurt deep down inside? I know it's not their place to comfort and console me, but it's terrible to feel so alone. They pray to me because they feel powerless and because they trust my love: I know I would like to have more of a reciprocal relationship and to trust their love a little more. I know what Buddha would say. He's talked to me about this more than once.
Monday, August 6: The Feast of the Transfiguration
The Feast of the Transfiguration. This used to be my favorite day of the year -- better than Christmas and Easter and St. Francis Day all lumped together. It really is the point of it all, the transfiguration of people and places and relationships and troubles and. . .and then on this day, of all days, Hiroshima. Those arrogant Americans have stolen my feast and replaced it with The Feast of the Disfiguration. And outrage of outrages, those bastards named the project "Trinity," after me. Tomorrow can't come fast enough for me.
Tuesday, August 7
At breakfast this morning, Jesus called me grumpy. Actually he said I had been grumpy all day. I told him I was entitled to my own feelings. He said I was a romantic. He said my feelings had compromised what I knew had always been true. He said he wanted to remind me that his own life was lived not amongst the lilies of the field, but in constant struggle with the darkness.
He said that, in Psalm 23, it was "though" (inevitable), not "if" (maybe). It was "though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil." He said he wanted to remind me that the light shines in the darkness (not just in Church School).
I tried to remind him that those were the Psalmist's words and John's words, not his. Jesus waited a long time, then reached across the table to put his hand on my arm and said, "I'm sorry you hurt so much."
Wednesday, August 8
I hope I didn't look bad at breakfast yesterday. It wouldn't have the first time. In retrospect, I know Jesus was right -- but I was right, too. Anyway, I should not have sent him to his room.
I think I will take the day off to listen to stories, but stories of heroism, not of goodness. I've heard too many, way too many goodness stories. Give me adventure stories, stories of bravery and heroism -- stories about goodness put me to sleep.
The Mystery of Sex
When I was thinking about what to preach about this morning, I had three thoughts. The first, was why don't you preach about something which is really wonderful? The second thought was, try for something different. Why don't you preach about something that is really confusing and difficult?
My third thought was this, Why don't you preach about something that people struggle with, fight about? Then I thought, why don't you put all together in one sermon? Why not preach about something really wonderful, pretty confusing, and that people struggle with --all at the same time? In other words, why not say something about sex?
One of my favorite writers, Frederick Buechner, writes, "Sex, contrary to the prude, Mrs. Grundy, sex is not sin and contrary to the publisher of Playboy, Hugh Heffner, it is not salvation, either. It is more like nitroglycerin: it can be used to blow up bridges or to heal hearts."
I think the first and most obvious thing to say about the religious meaning of sex is that sex is --or should be, personal. But to tell you the truth, that is not a very obvious thing about sex: in our culture, most of what passes as sex is not about persons. It is about body parts.
The problem with Playboy magazine, Baywatch, pornographic materials and male hunks is not that they are too sexual. It is that they are really anti-sexual. They have little, if anything, to do with two people in relationship. I think most of the people involved in those things are the real Puritans, because they are frightened to death of a sexual relationship between two people.
When we learn to relate to one another as body parts, when we learn to objectify others, turning them into objects for our gratification, we kill them -- spiritually, we kill them. Or we kill ourselves by taking away the human, the personal dimension of sex.
In the Episcopal Church, we talk of sex as sacramental. It is an outward and visible sign of an inward and spiritual grace. In a kiss, four lips in closest proximity, a kiss is sacramental. The outward and visible and pleasureful sign...communicates an inward and spiritual grace -- or something else quite different.
A kiss can be an act of love and affirmation or it can be a lie -- it can be an inward and spiritual lie, an inward and spiritual manipulation, an inward and spiritual homicide. When we touch one another, we are sacramentally involved with that person, whether that is a touch on the arm, an embrace, a kiss, or an act of sexual intercourse.
It is no wonder that so much of our healing comes through touch, because God works sacramentally, incarnationally. God works through our touching, through our embracing. I think one of the reasons the church takes sex so seriously is that the sexual act mirrors the relationship between God and the Church. God becomes incarnate in who we are, in what we do -- there is that interpenetration of being with absolute commitment. We offer ourselves to God: God becomes one with us through the Holy Spirit. There is nothing casual about it, though its purpose is joy and rejoicing and communion. Sex is meant to be personal: it is sacramental.
And, third, sex is only one of hundreds of ways one human can love another.One of the terrible things drilled in the minds of so many men is that there is only one way to love, really love a woman -- and that is sexually. There are hundreds, thousands of ways to love a woman or a man that don't involve sex. I think that's part of the problem for our young people. There is such pressure to go from A to Z in one fell swoop -- too many miss the rest of the alphabet of loving and learning to love a partner. And it's all those letters between A and Z which provide the context for sex. It's all the myriad ways of learning to love another person that give the depth and the sacramental quality to the sexual expression of love.
So what do we say to our children? What do we say to ourselves? Most importantly, I think, is that we need to think about the context for sex -- all the ways we can love another person or be loved by that person. I think most of us find it difficult to ask for what we want or need -- sometimes even to know what we want or need. Some of that has to do with our level of self-esteem. I think of a teen-age girl who wants nothing more than to be heard and to be told she is special and to be honored for who she is and for how she is trying to deal with all that's been handed her; but what she settles for is sex -- because she doesn't know she's worth asking for and receiving what she really needs.
I think of middle-aged and older men who need above all else personal support and encouragement and a way of dealing with all that middle-age and the later years bring, who judge their lives or their marriages or themselves by the amount or quality or quantity of sex in their relationship.
Here are some questions and concerns for any of us, maybe especially for teen-agers, but probably for us all. For that teen-age girl: What do you want -- what do you really want with him? How can the two of you work toward that? What would it feel like to be honored. . .really honored by someone you adored, by someone you are drawn to? Don't skip over the letters of the alphabet.
And a second thing: there is a difference between having a feeling, an urge and acting on that feeling, that urge. We know that about our anger; but we have trouble with our sexual urges. I can be so angry with someone that I want to kill him. . .but I don't. I know the difference between having the feeling, the urge and acting on it. But with our sexual urges we have such trouble -- like there is no choice. It is like that urge is inextricably bound up with action.
There is a ctitical difference between having a feeling, an urge and acting on that feeling, that urge. The more deeply we know that, the more control we have in our lives, the happier our lives -- and the more we can enjoy and appreciate our urges without being dominated or victimized by them.
In the context of struggle and deeply shared lives, sex really is like nitroglycerin: it can heal hearts and make them strong. In the context of fear and insecurity and the absence of shared trust, sex can blow up bridges, leaving things and people in shambles.
In the Episcopal Church, sex has always been seen, at least officially, as a gift for pleasure, for procreation, and for the celebration of loving relationship. And that gift has been given to us by God.
Three last things, briefly. First, I am very much aware that in talking about sex, I have talked about sexual intercourse, while there is an enormous range of ways we can be sexual with one another -- holding hands, flirtatious looks, embracing, kissing. Our being sexual covers a lot of territory -- and it shortchanges our whole sexuality to talk about it only in terms of sexual intercourse.
Second, I wish we had better ways to reassure people that masturbation is not sinful. It can be misused, but on the whole it can be a matter of self-affirmation and self-care. When I try to tote up the amount of guilt, shame, and furtiveness that surrounds the whole matter of masturbation, I am appalled. Masturbation is nothing to feel guilty about, ashamed about. . .it's part of our sexuality.
And third, our sexuality is tied up with our spirituality. There is a built-in sense of incompleteness in each one of us -- that wanting to be known, that wanting to give ourselves completely, that wanting to be held, to be reassured that we are completely safe and secure. All the way through the Bible -- not just in the Song of Songs, but running all the way through the Bible -- there are sexual images of our relationship to God. There is Christ the Bridegroom, the Church the Bride; the notion of incarnation, of giving ourselves over to the loving arms of God. But. . . now we see dimly.
Each of us is on a journey. Some parts of the journey are easy. Some are so very, very difficult. How we deal with ourselves, and with others, as sexual beings is one of the most puzzling and difficult things there is in life. . .for everyone. And no wonder our young people are so confused. Sex, again, is not sin, but neither is it our salvation. Again, much more, so much more, it is like nitroglycerin: capable of blowing up bridges or healing hearts.
Let us pray:Our hearts are restless, dear God, and our hearts will be restless until they find their home in you. Help us as we live our lives, to be wise, to be thoughtful and loving, help us to rejoice in all the gifts you give us, help us to honor ourselves and all those you have given us. Forgive our confusion, guide us into the paths of joy, all for the sake of your kingdom. Amen.
My third thought was this, Why don't you preach about something that people struggle with, fight about? Then I thought, why don't you put all together in one sermon? Why not preach about something really wonderful, pretty confusing, and that people struggle with --all at the same time? In other words, why not say something about sex?
One of my favorite writers, Frederick Buechner, writes, "Sex, contrary to the prude, Mrs. Grundy, sex is not sin and contrary to the publisher of Playboy, Hugh Heffner, it is not salvation, either. It is more like nitroglycerin: it can be used to blow up bridges or to heal hearts."
I think the first and most obvious thing to say about the religious meaning of sex is that sex is --or should be, personal. But to tell you the truth, that is not a very obvious thing about sex: in our culture, most of what passes as sex is not about persons. It is about body parts.
The problem with Playboy magazine, Baywatch, pornographic materials and male hunks is not that they are too sexual. It is that they are really anti-sexual. They have little, if anything, to do with two people in relationship. I think most of the people involved in those things are the real Puritans, because they are frightened to death of a sexual relationship between two people.
When we learn to relate to one another as body parts, when we learn to objectify others, turning them into objects for our gratification, we kill them -- spiritually, we kill them. Or we kill ourselves by taking away the human, the personal dimension of sex.
In the Episcopal Church, we talk of sex as sacramental. It is an outward and visible sign of an inward and spiritual grace. In a kiss, four lips in closest proximity, a kiss is sacramental. The outward and visible and pleasureful sign...communicates an inward and spiritual grace -- or something else quite different.
A kiss can be an act of love and affirmation or it can be a lie -- it can be an inward and spiritual lie, an inward and spiritual manipulation, an inward and spiritual homicide. When we touch one another, we are sacramentally involved with that person, whether that is a touch on the arm, an embrace, a kiss, or an act of sexual intercourse.
It is no wonder that so much of our healing comes through touch, because God works sacramentally, incarnationally. God works through our touching, through our embracing. I think one of the reasons the church takes sex so seriously is that the sexual act mirrors the relationship between God and the Church. God becomes incarnate in who we are, in what we do -- there is that interpenetration of being with absolute commitment. We offer ourselves to God: God becomes one with us through the Holy Spirit. There is nothing casual about it, though its purpose is joy and rejoicing and communion. Sex is meant to be personal: it is sacramental.
And, third, sex is only one of hundreds of ways one human can love another.One of the terrible things drilled in the minds of so many men is that there is only one way to love, really love a woman -- and that is sexually. There are hundreds, thousands of ways to love a woman or a man that don't involve sex. I think that's part of the problem for our young people. There is such pressure to go from A to Z in one fell swoop -- too many miss the rest of the alphabet of loving and learning to love a partner. And it's all those letters between A and Z which provide the context for sex. It's all the myriad ways of learning to love another person that give the depth and the sacramental quality to the sexual expression of love.
So what do we say to our children? What do we say to ourselves? Most importantly, I think, is that we need to think about the context for sex -- all the ways we can love another person or be loved by that person. I think most of us find it difficult to ask for what we want or need -- sometimes even to know what we want or need. Some of that has to do with our level of self-esteem. I think of a teen-age girl who wants nothing more than to be heard and to be told she is special and to be honored for who she is and for how she is trying to deal with all that's been handed her; but what she settles for is sex -- because she doesn't know she's worth asking for and receiving what she really needs.
I think of middle-aged and older men who need above all else personal support and encouragement and a way of dealing with all that middle-age and the later years bring, who judge their lives or their marriages or themselves by the amount or quality or quantity of sex in their relationship.
Here are some questions and concerns for any of us, maybe especially for teen-agers, but probably for us all. For that teen-age girl: What do you want -- what do you really want with him? How can the two of you work toward that? What would it feel like to be honored. . .really honored by someone you adored, by someone you are drawn to? Don't skip over the letters of the alphabet.
And a second thing: there is a difference between having a feeling, an urge and acting on that feeling, that urge. We know that about our anger; but we have trouble with our sexual urges. I can be so angry with someone that I want to kill him. . .but I don't. I know the difference between having the feeling, the urge and acting on it. But with our sexual urges we have such trouble -- like there is no choice. It is like that urge is inextricably bound up with action.
There is a ctitical difference between having a feeling, an urge and acting on that feeling, that urge. The more deeply we know that, the more control we have in our lives, the happier our lives -- and the more we can enjoy and appreciate our urges without being dominated or victimized by them.
In the context of struggle and deeply shared lives, sex really is like nitroglycerin: it can heal hearts and make them strong. In the context of fear and insecurity and the absence of shared trust, sex can blow up bridges, leaving things and people in shambles.
In the Episcopal Church, sex has always been seen, at least officially, as a gift for pleasure, for procreation, and for the celebration of loving relationship. And that gift has been given to us by God.
Three last things, briefly. First, I am very much aware that in talking about sex, I have talked about sexual intercourse, while there is an enormous range of ways we can be sexual with one another -- holding hands, flirtatious looks, embracing, kissing. Our being sexual covers a lot of territory -- and it shortchanges our whole sexuality to talk about it only in terms of sexual intercourse.
Second, I wish we had better ways to reassure people that masturbation is not sinful. It can be misused, but on the whole it can be a matter of self-affirmation and self-care. When I try to tote up the amount of guilt, shame, and furtiveness that surrounds the whole matter of masturbation, I am appalled. Masturbation is nothing to feel guilty about, ashamed about. . .it's part of our sexuality.
And third, our sexuality is tied up with our spirituality. There is a built-in sense of incompleteness in each one of us -- that wanting to be known, that wanting to give ourselves completely, that wanting to be held, to be reassured that we are completely safe and secure. All the way through the Bible -- not just in the Song of Songs, but running all the way through the Bible -- there are sexual images of our relationship to God. There is Christ the Bridegroom, the Church the Bride; the notion of incarnation, of giving ourselves over to the loving arms of God. But. . . now we see dimly.
Each of us is on a journey. Some parts of the journey are easy. Some are so very, very difficult. How we deal with ourselves, and with others, as sexual beings is one of the most puzzling and difficult things there is in life. . .for everyone. And no wonder our young people are so confused. Sex, again, is not sin, but neither is it our salvation. Again, much more, so much more, it is like nitroglycerin: capable of blowing up bridges or healing hearts.
Let us pray:Our hearts are restless, dear God, and our hearts will be restless until they find their home in you. Help us as we live our lives, to be wise, to be thoughtful and loving, help us to rejoice in all the gifts you give us, help us to honor ourselves and all those you have given us. Forgive our confusion, guide us into the paths of joy, all for the sake of your kingdom. Amen.
Tuesday, February 21, 2006
Recent Entries in God's Diaries - V
Recent Excerpts from God’s Diaries - V
Thomas B. Woodward
Day One
Dear Diary,
Everyone here knows my policy of refusing to exclude groups just because they irritate me; but I am close to reconsidering on the matter of statisticians. Now there is a profession for people with time on their hands!
Someone had contracted with a group of these people to do a survey on new arrivals – and the preliminary report took up a whole staff meeting. The big question was “Who or what is the first thing you want to know when you arrive?” The winner, with 37.5%, was “Will my husband/wife be here?” The second, with 22.5%, was “Will I see my pet, ___, again?” The third (and most disturbing) with 12.5% was wanting to know the results of a recent sports event (men) or soap opera crisis (women) -- and in sixth place was “I want to know what God is really like.” Sixth place! Give me a break!!
Matthew said I was just upset that I was not the first person the newly arrived wanted to see. I disagreed with him, of course, but that is what it is all about, isn’t it? I put on a good face for the old timers, but I feel a major depression coming on. Jesus all but ensured that the depression would be deep and long lasting with his cheap shot: “I can’t imagine how anyone so infinite can be so small.”
Day Two
Dear Diary,
I stayed in my room all day today.
Dear Three
Dear Diary,
I stayed in my room all day for the second day in a row. A new record.
Day Four
Dear Diary,
I did it. I made it to lunch and I did the right thing. I asked for help in dealing with the depression. I don’t remember much of the discussion and very, very little about the advice – except for John. John took my hand in his, looked me straight in the eye and said, “God, get over it. You created all these creatures for your pleasure and joy; so why shouldn’t they feel towards one another the same kind of affection you have for each of them? If anything, you are a victim of your own success in creating such a lovable creation.”
In better spirits I ate two desserts, drank a rare cappuccino and smiled for the first time in four days. I think if I ever had the opportunity to take a sabbatical, the guy I would have in charge during the interim would be John.
Day Five
Dear Diary,
With much trepidation I went to Jesus to ask him how he saw Monday’s report by the statisticians. Jesus saw right past my disappointment and hurt. He asked me what it was that the new arrivals most wanted to know about me. I told him I didn’t hear that part of the report – I was too upset about being sixth on the list.
Jesus said that two things stood out. The first, he said, “was that they wanted to see your face, especially the lines on your face. They wanted to see what the accumulation of thousands of years of compassion and hurt and love look like.” I told him I thought that was really lovely – and that I could not have asked for a deeper appreciation. I am a great believer in the lines on people’s faces. It’s the first thing I look for in the elderly, the lines on their faces. There are sad lines and there are compassionate lines. There are also lines of anger and bitterness. The lines on our faces tell our stories. In a way, we work hard for the lines on our faces (I remember reading somewhere that we earn the peculiar lines on our faces). How touching that others want to see mine.
What a great image that is – the lines on my face. I know I’m often worried about the way I’m perceived. The worst is that old dichotomy between “the God of the Old Testament” and “the God of the New Testament.” Whoever dreamed that up should be grateful not to have divulged that disgraceful thought anywhere near my hearing!
Glee in creating . . .passion for justice . . . generosity of the holiness code . . . the compassion for the widows and the victims . . . the rescue of the oppressed . . . having to work with (to be honest with myself) pretty substandard leadership – I think I’ve been pretty consistent all the way through eternity.
Day Six,
Dear Diary,
After yesterday, this would have been a wonderful day for quiet meditation and reflection, but when Jesus sensed that I was more myself and (I hate the jargon) that my boundaries were once more intact, he sought me out to tell me the second thing the newly arrivals wanted to know. He said, “They want to know if you really are male.” I should have guessed, known.
Then, Martin Luther said he wanted to challenge Buddha to a debate. The Buddha said that he would be honored to share a platform with the great pastor; but, he said, he would probably not be doing much of the debating, himself. He was hoping, he said, that Herr Martin would allow others to share that burden on the Buddhist side. I am looking forward to seeing who Martin will choose.
Day Seven
Dear Diary
How many times have I written this: thank Me for Sabbath time. I will use the day fantasizing about “The Great Debate,” as Martin is advertising it.
Day Eight
Dear Diary
The great night finally came. The place was full. And Brother Martin, bless his heart, had recruited several friends to join him at the Christian table – Peter, representing first century Christianity, himself representing Reformation theology, and St. Augustine as the “closer.” Martin and Augustine started the debate off to much applause and enthusiasm from the crowd. Augustine outlined the case for Christianity and detailed some of the more important Scriptural references. Then Martin took over. Martin had obviously been working with some of the more effective Black American preachers in preparation for the debates, because he was constantly interrupted with “Preach it, Brother Martin,” and “You lay it down and we’ll pick it up” as well as more “Amens” than most Lutherans have heard in a lifetime.
When Martin finally sat down, Gautama slowly approached the front of the stage, sat down, closed his eyes for several minutes and then, simply, stared at those sitting in front of him with such love and compassion and caring. That was it: no words, no gestures, no explanations. Sitting at the back, I could feel the tension for the first half hour. Then it melted away and it was like all the doubt, all the confusion, every bit of the need for explanation or information was sucked right out of the auditorium. We were all just there.
When the timer waved the yellow card, Buddha rose, bowed to the crowd, bowed to the Christian table . . . . and returned to his seat. Not a single person clapped or whistled. There was just respectful silence. It seemed clear to me that, at that point, the debates were over.
Peter did his best. He really did. If anybody can preach the resurrection, Peter can. And he did. It was clear to me, though, that Brother Martin had made a mistake by calling on Peter, not John. John would have shared his reverence for the great Buddha and then, quite humbly, would have spoken about the quiet and powerful presence of the Risen Christ as companion to the great Buddha, not his competitor or superior. Peter did his best, though; it just was not sufficient for the evening.
The final part of the program was the best. One of Buddha’s staff asked the crowd’s indulgence to accept, as the Buddhists’ final offering, a presentation by an adult and a children’s’ Buddhist choir. Then out came a mixed adult choir, followed by a large children’s choir, all dressed in lovely saffron robes. None of us was prepared for what was to follow.
“Rather than more words or silence,” the young choral director said, “we have prepared a short program – not for your edification, but for your entertainment.” The adult choir then sang a haunting, a capella version of Gershwin’s “I’ve Got Plenty of Nothing (and nothing’s plenty for me),” and then a knock-your-socks off Gershwin parody, “Porgy and Less,” with saffron robed baritone and soprano pouring their hearts out to one another. If that was not enough, the children’s’ choir (introduced as “Gautama’s Guys and Girls Junior Choir”) ended the program, and any remote semblance of dignity to the evening, singing, to a familiar tune:
Buddha loves me, this I know;
for the Buddha-book tells me so.
When I hear that great big gong,
I know I’ve been gosh-darn wrong.
Yes, Buddha loves me!
Yes, Buddha loves me.
Yes, Buddha loves me:
The Buddha-Book tells me so.
.
The Buddhists were right: the only path to humility is through silence or the ministry of the fool. They had given the gift through both. After many hugs and embraces, we all left in a spirit of reconciliation and joy. Peter and Augustine seemed crushed. I will speak with them tomorrow. Brother Martin was the only one that evening who laughed louder than me.
There can be no debates between us, only rejoicing in one another’s truth and laughter at our common folly. Like a fool, I jumped up and shouted, “I’ll drink to that!”
Thomas B. Woodward
Day One
Dear Diary,
Everyone here knows my policy of refusing to exclude groups just because they irritate me; but I am close to reconsidering on the matter of statisticians. Now there is a profession for people with time on their hands!
Someone had contracted with a group of these people to do a survey on new arrivals – and the preliminary report took up a whole staff meeting. The big question was “Who or what is the first thing you want to know when you arrive?” The winner, with 37.5%, was “Will my husband/wife be here?” The second, with 22.5%, was “Will I see my pet, ___, again?” The third (and most disturbing) with 12.5% was wanting to know the results of a recent sports event (men) or soap opera crisis (women) -- and in sixth place was “I want to know what God is really like.” Sixth place! Give me a break!!
Matthew said I was just upset that I was not the first person the newly arrived wanted to see. I disagreed with him, of course, but that is what it is all about, isn’t it? I put on a good face for the old timers, but I feel a major depression coming on. Jesus all but ensured that the depression would be deep and long lasting with his cheap shot: “I can’t imagine how anyone so infinite can be so small.”
Day Two
Dear Diary,
I stayed in my room all day today.
Dear Three
Dear Diary,
I stayed in my room all day for the second day in a row. A new record.
Day Four
Dear Diary,
I did it. I made it to lunch and I did the right thing. I asked for help in dealing with the depression. I don’t remember much of the discussion and very, very little about the advice – except for John. John took my hand in his, looked me straight in the eye and said, “God, get over it. You created all these creatures for your pleasure and joy; so why shouldn’t they feel towards one another the same kind of affection you have for each of them? If anything, you are a victim of your own success in creating such a lovable creation.”
In better spirits I ate two desserts, drank a rare cappuccino and smiled for the first time in four days. I think if I ever had the opportunity to take a sabbatical, the guy I would have in charge during the interim would be John.
Day Five
Dear Diary,
With much trepidation I went to Jesus to ask him how he saw Monday’s report by the statisticians. Jesus saw right past my disappointment and hurt. He asked me what it was that the new arrivals most wanted to know about me. I told him I didn’t hear that part of the report – I was too upset about being sixth on the list.
Jesus said that two things stood out. The first, he said, “was that they wanted to see your face, especially the lines on your face. They wanted to see what the accumulation of thousands of years of compassion and hurt and love look like.” I told him I thought that was really lovely – and that I could not have asked for a deeper appreciation. I am a great believer in the lines on people’s faces. It’s the first thing I look for in the elderly, the lines on their faces. There are sad lines and there are compassionate lines. There are also lines of anger and bitterness. The lines on our faces tell our stories. In a way, we work hard for the lines on our faces (I remember reading somewhere that we earn the peculiar lines on our faces). How touching that others want to see mine.
What a great image that is – the lines on my face. I know I’m often worried about the way I’m perceived. The worst is that old dichotomy between “the God of the Old Testament” and “the God of the New Testament.” Whoever dreamed that up should be grateful not to have divulged that disgraceful thought anywhere near my hearing!
Glee in creating . . .passion for justice . . . generosity of the holiness code . . . the compassion for the widows and the victims . . . the rescue of the oppressed . . . having to work with (to be honest with myself) pretty substandard leadership – I think I’ve been pretty consistent all the way through eternity.
Day Six,
Dear Diary,
After yesterday, this would have been a wonderful day for quiet meditation and reflection, but when Jesus sensed that I was more myself and (I hate the jargon) that my boundaries were once more intact, he sought me out to tell me the second thing the newly arrivals wanted to know. He said, “They want to know if you really are male.” I should have guessed, known.
Then, Martin Luther said he wanted to challenge Buddha to a debate. The Buddha said that he would be honored to share a platform with the great pastor; but, he said, he would probably not be doing much of the debating, himself. He was hoping, he said, that Herr Martin would allow others to share that burden on the Buddhist side. I am looking forward to seeing who Martin will choose.
Day Seven
Dear Diary
How many times have I written this: thank Me for Sabbath time. I will use the day fantasizing about “The Great Debate,” as Martin is advertising it.
Day Eight
Dear Diary
The great night finally came. The place was full. And Brother Martin, bless his heart, had recruited several friends to join him at the Christian table – Peter, representing first century Christianity, himself representing Reformation theology, and St. Augustine as the “closer.” Martin and Augustine started the debate off to much applause and enthusiasm from the crowd. Augustine outlined the case for Christianity and detailed some of the more important Scriptural references. Then Martin took over. Martin had obviously been working with some of the more effective Black American preachers in preparation for the debates, because he was constantly interrupted with “Preach it, Brother Martin,” and “You lay it down and we’ll pick it up” as well as more “Amens” than most Lutherans have heard in a lifetime.
When Martin finally sat down, Gautama slowly approached the front of the stage, sat down, closed his eyes for several minutes and then, simply, stared at those sitting in front of him with such love and compassion and caring. That was it: no words, no gestures, no explanations. Sitting at the back, I could feel the tension for the first half hour. Then it melted away and it was like all the doubt, all the confusion, every bit of the need for explanation or information was sucked right out of the auditorium. We were all just there.
When the timer waved the yellow card, Buddha rose, bowed to the crowd, bowed to the Christian table . . . . and returned to his seat. Not a single person clapped or whistled. There was just respectful silence. It seemed clear to me that, at that point, the debates were over.
Peter did his best. He really did. If anybody can preach the resurrection, Peter can. And he did. It was clear to me, though, that Brother Martin had made a mistake by calling on Peter, not John. John would have shared his reverence for the great Buddha and then, quite humbly, would have spoken about the quiet and powerful presence of the Risen Christ as companion to the great Buddha, not his competitor or superior. Peter did his best, though; it just was not sufficient for the evening.
The final part of the program was the best. One of Buddha’s staff asked the crowd’s indulgence to accept, as the Buddhists’ final offering, a presentation by an adult and a children’s’ Buddhist choir. Then out came a mixed adult choir, followed by a large children’s choir, all dressed in lovely saffron robes. None of us was prepared for what was to follow.
“Rather than more words or silence,” the young choral director said, “we have prepared a short program – not for your edification, but for your entertainment.” The adult choir then sang a haunting, a capella version of Gershwin’s “I’ve Got Plenty of Nothing (and nothing’s plenty for me),” and then a knock-your-socks off Gershwin parody, “Porgy and Less,” with saffron robed baritone and soprano pouring their hearts out to one another. If that was not enough, the children’s’ choir (introduced as “Gautama’s Guys and Girls Junior Choir”) ended the program, and any remote semblance of dignity to the evening, singing, to a familiar tune:
Buddha loves me, this I know;
for the Buddha-book tells me so.
When I hear that great big gong,
I know I’ve been gosh-darn wrong.
Yes, Buddha loves me!
Yes, Buddha loves me.
Yes, Buddha loves me:
The Buddha-Book tells me so.
.
The Buddhists were right: the only path to humility is through silence or the ministry of the fool. They had given the gift through both. After many hugs and embraces, we all left in a spirit of reconciliation and joy. Peter and Augustine seemed crushed. I will speak with them tomorrow. Brother Martin was the only one that evening who laughed louder than me.
There can be no debates between us, only rejoicing in one another’s truth and laughter at our common folly. Like a fool, I jumped up and shouted, “I’ll drink to that!”
The Parables of Jesus from the Inside - Introduction
There has been a major shift in the interpretation of the parables of Jesus in recent years. In simplest terms, several Biblical scholars believe that it is no longer helpful to interpret the parables at all. Why could this be so? While earlier New Testament scholars believed that each parable had a point or a lesson to apply, others have found it more helpful and more true to the force and place of the parable in Jesus’ teaching and presence to concentrate on the experience of the parable, itself. In other words, our task is not to apply the parables to our lives, but to experience the world revealed in the parable, itself.
Discovering the generosity of the owner of the vineyard in the Parable of the Laborers in the Vineyard may move us to emulate that generosity, but our worlds are untouched. We know from our life in the world that good advice and good examples, while salutary, do not change our basic orientation in the world. One of the things that we do know about the parables of Jesus is that they represent a basic shift in our orientation to the world. In this parable (Matthew 20:1-15) it is when we are involved emotionally and spiritually in the struggle between the workers who were first recruited and worked all day and those who were hired last and worked only an hour for the same wage that we begin to understand the shift in orientation. It is, I believe, when we also become involved in the conflict with others in the parable, with members of Jesus’ party, and with casual on-lookers that we move even deeper into what Bernard Brandon Scott refers to as the re-imagined world of Jesus.[i]
This shift from interpretation to re-experiencing is crucial. To conclude that God intends to treat all people with generosity and in ways that do not necessarily reflect our own cultural notions of fairness and justice is one thing. To live, even in one’s imagination, within this world of shifted priorities and ethics is quite another.
I began to understand this shift when working several years ago with a clown group composed of people with various disabilities. One of the middle-aged clowns was a woman named Maureen, who had been paralyzed for decades by a phobia about being close to men. She had been given reassurance upon reassurance and had been told in counseling that she could find men with whom she could trust herself. No amount of good advice or insight seemed to help at all. However, when Maureen donned her clown suit and went into the community to clown, she found it easy to joke with men, to chuck them under the chin in fun and even to sit in their laps flirting with them in the safety of her clown character. She was in another world, or in what for her must have felt like a parallel universe.
It took less than two years for her let go of the phobia and have relatively intimate relationships with men outside her clowning, because she had experienced another world. She made the switch from one world to another, from one kingdom to another. And so is the hope God holds out for us, in our attachments and orientation to the world the parables opposed. What is important to know is that the parables cannot be reduced to lessons about life or exhortations to live with different values. Gabriel Marcel wrote that life is not a problem to be solved, but a mystery to be lived: so it is with the world disclosed in and through the parables of Jesus.
Two illustrations of this come to mind. The first is the notion of Jesus as the “Word.” Jesus cannot be reduced to words or images or descriptions: it is his life, his story, his presence which are the “word.” It is all of that which God meant to say. The earthly Jesus and the response of the faithful to him and the experience of the church of the risen Christ is “what God meant to say.” That is the word. Any work with the words and world of the parables ought to take place within the context of the Word.
The second illustration comes from the arts. The great dancer, Pavlova, was once asked what she meant by one of her dances. She replied, simply, “If I could have said it, I certainly would not have danced it.” So, too, with the parables of Jesus. Were the message of the parables possible to list in a series of aphorisms or guides to successful, fruitful or spiritually enhanced lives, Jesus might well have provided such a list. But this is about living in a whole other world or environment altogether – one you cannot understand from the outside. In that way it is like falling in love, living in the circus or even learning how to ride a bike! You know what it’s like when you get there, but you can’t get there without just being there.
I have introduced each of the parables with an “Outline of the Parable,” in which I have described the parable’s setting, its probable use by Jesus, and an overview of its meanings. Following the introduction, I have provided suggestions for staging or exploring the parable and a sample script for introducing the parable verbally to those in attendance. I have also included “Closing Lines” for use after the performance of the parable, as a way of bringing some closure to the experience. The “Reflections” are further thoughts about the parable and represent my experience within the life of the parable.
[i] Scott, Bernard Brandon, Re-Imagine the World: An Introduction to the Parables of Jesus, Polebridge Press, Santa Rosa, California 2001.
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