Thursday, March 22, 2018

Second cup: "Bread and Forgiveness"

3/4/18 FUMC
Third Sunday of Lent: “The Lord’s Prayer”
“Give us this day, our daily bread


I grew up in a rich and eclectic musical culture: classical, jazz, of course, the hymns and gospel songs of the church, popular—even country western; my born in England father loved country western music. One of the songs that has reverberated through my memories this week, is from my childhood called “That Lucky Old Sun,” written by Louis Armstrong, yes, that Louis Armstrong; it goes like this….

Up in the mornin'
Out on the job
Work like the devil for my pay
But that lucky old sun has nothin' to do
But roll around heaven all day
Fuss with my woman, toil for my kids
Sweat 'til I'm wrinkled and gray
While that lucky old sun has nothin' to do
But roll around Heaven all day
Good Lord up above, can't you know I'm pining, tears all in my eyes;
Send down that cloud with a silver lining, lift me to Paradise
Show me that river, take me across
And wash all my troubles away...

That resonates a little, doesn’t it?

One of my favorite memoirists, Madeleine L’Engle, said, as if commenting on this song, “The problem with life is that it is just so damn daily.” The reality of simply putting one foot in front of the other. There’s so much to do. Places to go. People to meet. Chores to be accomplished. Church to go to. Prayers to be prayed. Lists to be checked off; bank accounts to be balanced. Into this damn dailiness comes Jesus, bursting out of his tomb and into ours saying wake up! Breaking up routines and the dominant powers of his day, calling us to look at the people we bump into; inviting women into his work; working on the Sabbath; raising dead men; forgiving those who deserve to be stoned; even suggesting to at least one person that he should go sell everything, give it to the poor, and follow him; asking us to consider how we spend our money and our time—and telling us there is simpler way—not less demanding but simpler. He calls rewards and compensations into question, calls tax collectors away from their work and then has dinner with them; he overturns nearly everything. He says again and again, “You have heard it said of old, but I say unto you….”

I think we have to hear the words of this familiar prayer in this radical spirit. When you pray, Jesus says, pray like this: “The bread of us daily give to us today.” This day; not for the month, week, even for tomorrow; he says, our daily bread for this day. Where is this going? As I said last week, the world Jesus invites us to live in is a paradoxical world, an in-between world; it has come, Jesus ushered it in, yet it is to come; yet we are in it. Like all of this prayer, the part we consider today is about how we live in such a world as followers of Jesus.

Here’s where we eat and live and move, right? We are called to be kingdom people who have to live and work with other kingdom people and with people who are, by choice, not kingdom people, in the damn dailiness of our lives.

How do we deal with this reality? Perhaps reflecting on L’Engle’s statement, Joan D. Chittister says, “I begin to understand as never before that holiness is made of dailiness, of living life as it comes to me, not as I insist it be.” Daily, Jesus says. We pray for this day; in other places, he pushes the envelope, as we say; he says not to worry about what we eat or wear—the Parent to whom we pray will take care of us. Don’t lay up for yourselves treasures where they can be stolen or corrupted or rust away. Live daily; the kingdom, Jesus seems to say, is a one day at a time kingdom. So, we live in the now even as we understand that our now is a kingdom now—a Kairos now, an eternity now.
As if this isn’t enough, Jesus adds, also we should pray like this: “And forgive us our debts as we forgive our debtors…,” which seems to say forgive us in the present as we have forgiven in the past.

Forgive our trespasses as we have forgiven those who trespass against us: in other words, forgive us for refusing to go where we should go and forgive us for going where we shouldn’t. Where should we go: the way of forgiveness; where should we not go: the way of unforgiveness. To the extent that we forgive others who trespass we will be forgiven. So, how do we live in the kingdom? We live as forgivers. Now we tend to ask God for forgiveness for our trespasses, but many scholars agree that debt is probably closer to what Jesus had in mind. Not economic debt, but another kind of debt altogether.

St. Augustine calls this part of the Lord’s Prayer the “terrible petition.” Augustine says if you don’t forgive you are building a prison of debt. A self-constructed debtor’s prison. When we don’t forgive, we are praying to not be forgiven. We are to live in the kingdom in an active state of forgiveness. Jesus seems to take this forgiveness stuff really seriously. It seems to be a thing; the waiting father and the prodigal son; 7 x 70 times, which some commentators suggest is about forever forgiveness, not about keeping count. Immediately at the end of this prayer, Jesus says, “For if you forgive others their trespasses, your heavenly Father will also forgive you; but if you do not forgive others, neither will your Father forgive your trespasses.” Jesus, on the cross, prayed for the forgiveness of those who lied, connived, and colluded with Rome to bring about his death.

Ultimately, I think these words about dailiness and forgiveness are pleas for freedom. L’Engle says, “It’s hard to let go of anything we love. We live in a world which teaches us to clutch. But when we clutch we’re left with a fistful of ashes.” What we seek is freedom from ashes; freedom from bondage. Bondage to the largely self-inflicted demands of the day and bondage from the tyrannical prison of unforgiveness. We are bound to each other for good or ill. We are bound to the one we choose not to forgive; we are bound to the anger, resentment, and dis-ease that accompany the lack of forgiveness.

So, how does this prayer invite us to live in the in between kingdom? As persons free of the false demands of dailiness and as persons who are forgiven because we have forgiven—this is how the kingdom defines itself; this is how the kingdom comes. The world right side up kingdom. In Galatians 5:13, Paul reminds us that we “were called to freedom, brothers and sisters; only do not use your freedom as an opportunity for self-indulgence, but through love become slaves to one another. For the whole law is summed up in a single commandment, “You shall love your neighbor as yourself.”

Amen.

Wednesday, March 21, 2018

Second Cup: "Thy Kingdom Come"

The second in a series on the "Our Father" taught at
Fremont United Methodist Church:


2/25/18 FUMC
Second Sunday of Lent: “The Lord’s Prayer”
“Your kingdom come;
Your will be done,
On earth as it is in heaven”

I’ve titled this reflection “The Hope of Life.”


There is a scene at the end of The Return of the King that never fails to move me to tears. The wars are over; Mordor has fallen; the brave dead have been honored; and the true king sits on his throne surveying all who contributed to the victory of light over dark. Aragorn speaks: “Out of the Great Sea to Middle-earth I am come. In this place will I abide, and my heirs, unto the ending of the world.' And as the crown is placed on Aragorn’s head, Gandalf speaks these words: 'Now come the days of the King, and may they be blessed while the thrones of the Valar endure!'


Why does that move me so? I think because it is, first, a picture of something that I and most followers of Jesus look forward to--the second coming of Jesus when God’s rule will be made perfect and all will be set right; second, I think, it moves because it is a picture of hope fulfilled. It is the fulfillment of ancient messianic prophecy when, in the words of Dame Julian of Norwich, “All shall be well, and all shall be well and all manner of thing shall be well.”
We live with hope. We hope that all we believe is true; we hope that one day it will all make sense. We have a calligraphy hanging in our dining room that says “Hope is believing in God’s kingdom now; faith is dancing to it.” We hope for this kingdom every Sunday; some of us pray it more, even daily, when we pray:

“Your kingdom come;
Your will be done,
On earth as it is in heaven”

Have you ever wondered what you are praying for when alone or we together we pray, “Let it come the kingdom of thee”? Do I really want it? What dance might we dance? What if I don’t like the music or the words? What if I don’t know how to dance? Proud in our representative democracy, we Americans tend not to like kings—except for the ones we watch on the telly. But we don’t want one here; so in recent years we’ve changed the kingdom language to rule of God or reign of God—both of which amount to the same thing; perhaps it’s a little more generic and not so gendered.

Yet, to understand what we pray for, we have to think about kings and kingdoms. KING DOM—that is, the king’s dominion—it belongs to the king and reflects the king, the king’s character and values. Even though today monarchs are more symbol of power than real power, still they reflect a tradition, a world view, a way of life. But in the days of absolute monarchs, the kingdom was expressly what the king said it was—the place where the will of the king was paramount. And if you didn’t like it, well, in the words of the Red Queen from Alice in Wonderland, “Off with their heads!” In Jesus’ day, that reality of that ruthless power radiated from Rome and was in the hands of the Caesars and his minions which, sadly, included the puppet king of Israel and colluding religious leaders. Scholars tell us that Rome was remarkably tolerant of other religions so long as they included Caesar in their pantheon. Which, of course, is the sticking point for Jesus and his followers. While Rome and its minions chanted there is no king but Caesar; Christians said, there is no king except God and God’s son, Jesus.

But this prayer does more than ask for the kingdom, it defines it and explains how it happens: “Let it come the will of thee, as in heaven also on earth.” So, the simple and challenging answer to the original question is that the kingdom we pray for is the kingdom we bring into being when we do the will of the king: the kingdom comes when and where God’s will is done, in the places where we live.

In the gospel reading this morning, Jesus says to Peter: “You do not have in mind the concerns of God, but merely human concerns.” This kingdom is not geographical; it is not national; it is not material; while it is a political statement, it is not the property of political parties. The kingdom is where God’s will is done. Richard Rohr wrote, “Pax Romana creates a false peace by sacrificing others; Pax Christi…works for true peace by sacrificing power, prestige, and possessions.” Whatever governmental philosophy, political party or denominational affiliation we may belong to, God’s kingdom trumps them all.

Jesus announced the kingdom; ever since, followers of Jesus live and work in the kingdom now even as they seek the kingdom yet to come.

So, we must ask, I think, how do we know what we pray for; what do we look for? We affirm Jesus is God; we have been known to sing about King Jesus. The answer lies here; we look to Jesus to define the kingdom you and I live in and are to help bring in. Who was Jesus? How did he live in the world? How did he relate to others? Remember, he said that he and his father were one. What Jesus is God is; God’s kingdom, then, is the Jesus kingdom where followers of Jesus live out kingdom values as defined by King Jesus: Compassionate, healing, self-sacrificing, rule breaking, obediently disobedient, cross carrying, risk taking, death defying, friend of sinners, hanger out with prostitutes, the sick, and the other—the very, very human. If the kingdom reflects the king and if you and I are followers of the king, desiring to please the king, we have our orders.

There is also a threat somewhere in all of this. I remember, years ago a pastor saying to me, “Be careful what you pray for, you may receive it.” We pray Sunday after Sunday for the kingdom to come—it is a personal prayer (let the kingdom come in and through me) and a communal prayer (let the kingdom come in and through us). How does the kingdom come? It comes when we dance, however well or awkwardly, to the tune the Savior plays. It comes as we pray and as we live our prayers. I think we should pray, with St. Richard of Chichester and the cast of Godspell:

Thanks be to thee, my Lord Jesus Christ,
for all the benefits thou hast given me,
for all the pains and insults thou hast borne for me.
O most merciful redeemer, friend and brother,
may I know thee more clearly,
love thee more dearly,
and follow thee more nearly, day by day.
Amen.


Thursday, March 15, 2018

Third Cup: The Lord's Prayer in Lent

This is the first of a five Sunday series I offered at Fremont United Methodist Church, Portland, Oregon. It's been a while since I posted--over a year. I think this may be a good time to reenter the blogosphere.

2/18/18
First Sunday of Lent: “The Lord’s Prayer”
“Our Father who art in heaven,
Hallowed by Thy Name….”

I am often lost. I often live without a sense of clear direction. The times we live in are particularly confusing and decentering. But I have been truly lost only twice. One was in a village in the mountains above Ensenada, Mexico; the other was in Red Bluff, California. The first involved a work camp, high school students, and being left behind in the middle of the night because of an emergency that took all the staff away to the hospital, leaving me alone and responsible for the 30 students. I was in charge and alone. My high school Spanish was hardly useful, and I couldn’t even find the North Star.

The other involved the death of our second child just hours after he was born. I was completely alone again. Joel, our first born, was with grandparents. Judy still in the hospital; the phone calls were made. While this was undeniably harder for Judy than for me, I was home after a harrowing day and completely lost. Lost and alone.

In nearly every respect, these represent the human condition. We have all experienced what “lost and alone” means.

Such times are disorienting. The world shifts under our feet and nothing is as it seemed. In Mexico the sky was larger; the sounds louder; my heart could be heard for miles; and the distances vast; I felt very small. In Red Bluff, the world hadn’t just shifted; it had turned upside down, I was free falling, and God seemed a bit careless. We are thrown out of balance and confused because what we thought was true—suddenly, seems not so.

In these times, ritual matters; in these times, we can do little but put one foot in front of the other and pray that somehow sense and meaning will be restored.


Into such times, the prayer we call “The Lord’s” comes. A prayer that provides the ritual and the re-orientation we need—a North Star.

OUR FATHER WHO ART IN HEAVEN,
HALLOWED BE THY NAME


Jesus teaches us to pray to the "Our Father"—not just any father, but the one “the heaven.” The one whose name is holy; the one who assures and orients. The true north star. This invocation locates us; whenever and wherever we pray this that space becomes sacred. We begin all of our conversations with a greeting because greetings provide welcome and focus. As does this greeting; we open a door and invite God in—and God shows up.

Not just any God. This is not my God; this is our God—personal, yes, but not private. We don’t own God. This is a holy God—the God who is beyond what we may imagine. This God is to be revered and worshiped. This God has a name; in fact, this God has many names—Jesus teaches us—in his time and space—to call God father, but God is beyond gender, so we call may call God mother. God is “The Mother of us, the one in the heavens.” Our divine parent. Jesus, who knows this One best, called God “abba,” that is, daddy; as can we so long as we remember that this one is also Yahweh, meaning I Am; I am who I am; I will be whom I will be; I am becoming who I will become. But the meanings that flow from this are many: all Kairos; no chronos; no beginning and no end; so holy to the orthodox Jew that it must be substituted with Adonai, simply “Lord.” This is the ground of all being; the one on whom everything depends but who depends on nothing; yet desires our friendship.

We often say that Jesus came and turned the world upside down—which is how our world often feels; I think the truer statement is that God comes to turn the world right side up. So here’s what I think matters and what we must remember as we journey with this prayer through this season: you and I are invited to pray this prayer, which means you and I have access to God, personal, communal, and direct. This prayer and the One to whom it is addressed, transcendent and beyond, is available to us in the extremis of our lives when we feel more like praying, “O God, thy sea is so great and my boat is so small”; then, we pray

OUR FATHER WHO ART IN HEAVEN,
HALLOWED BE THY NAME


—it’s a door opener; not a closer; it’s not the end of a conversation but the beginning of one, a true north star even in the darkest of nights and the stormiest of seas—invoking the Source and sustainer of life, the One who does, after all, show up as God did for me in Mexico and Red Bluff.

THANKS BE TO GOD.