Seek the Lord

This week, I wanted to share with you a few pieces of nature writing I read recently. Whenever the seasons change, I always find myself paying more attention to what’s going on in my environment. I check the weather constantly, secretly rooting for cooler days and turning leaves at the same time as I dread having to turn on the heat and face the oil bill.

 Fall is captivating to us, novelist Chris Bohjalian says, because it reminds us of our mortality.  

The whole of autumn is about transience. The entire natural world seems to be shutting down, moldering, growing still. The days are short, the nights are long, and everything looks a little bleak . . . except for those leaves. Those kaleidoscopically lovely maples and birches and oaks allow us to gaze for a moment at the wonder of nature and to accept the inevitable quiescence of our own souls. Like so much else around us, it's not the leaves' beauty that moves us: It's the fact their beauty won't last. (Boston Globe, Sept. 22)

 The leaves are dying, brilliantly and raucously, sparing nothing as they go.  Even though we speed up every fall with more activity, more work, there is still part of us that is preparing to hunker down for the long winter that is to come.  Our technologically focused 21^st Century life seems separate from nature, but fall reminds us of what we already know.  The cycles of creation, birth and death, are part of our life, too.

 The other piece I wanted to share with you is from Verlyn Klinkenborg, from Sunday’s New York Times.  Writing from a trip to northern Finland, he talks about the quiet,

deep in the forest north of the Arctic circle. Listening in the silence, at first he is disturbed by how little he hears—to fill the sound, he throws rocks, stamps his feet. A week later, things are different. Standing in the same spot he hears not deafening silence, but rushing water.  He writes,

Why had I not heard it that first night? The answer, I suppose, is that I was too busy not hearing the things I’m used to hearing, including the great roar that underlies the city’s quietest moments. It had taken a week to empty my ears, to expect to hear nothing and to find in that nothing something to hear after all. (NYT, 9/21/08)

 Nothing is something to hear--I think what both writers are pointing to is the way we do, or don’t, attend to our surroundings and our created nature. Our mortality is with us in every moment, but we forget.  We think technology can fix everything, and we try to engineer ourselves out our own mortal, fleshy selves. Accustomed to the sounds of ordinary city life, Klinkenborg is aware of how in their absence, they are still with him—he hears that they are not there, but doesn’t hear what is. Many of the blessings of our life are right in front of us, but we are quick to overlook them.

 The second song of Isaiah from the rite for Morning Prayer says, Seek the Lord while he wills to be found; call upon him when he draws near. The Lord always wills to be found, and is closer than we know.

  [My description of these articles is fine, but please look them up for yourself!  

Bohjalian: www.boston.com/bostonglobe/editorial_opinion/oped/articles/2008/09/22/death_and_the_lesson_of_the_leaves Klinkenborg:   www.nytimes.com/2008/09/21/opinion/21sun4.html

September 18: Election Season

Skimming through an editorial in the New York Times this afternoon, I noticed with a start that election day is in six weeks. Six weeks! It seemed like the primary season would never end, and so it seems like the election never will either—but it will end, and very soon.  I have to admit that I am completely drawn into the circus.  With simultaneous excitement and groaning, I can’t wait to hear the next outlandish thing—God’s will is for a gas pipeline?  Outrageous!— They spent  how much on that jacket?! And I get so upset at what seem to me to be clearly unfair attacks at “my” candidate. It is a little like being 14 years old: a roller coaster of emotion of high and low, with a pretty distant relationship to reality.

 The problem, of course, is that it trivializes the whole process. Talking about Michele Obama’s dress or Sarah Palin’s glasses distracts us from what’s going on, but like a moth to flame, here we all are. There is so much at stake in this election—our nation’s response to the climate crisis, the chaos in our economy, the future of American engagement in the world—this is not a little thing.

 This election, as all elections do, comes down to our values. Not the media stereotype of “values voters” that we heard about in 2004, some amorphous group supposedly motivated by their antipathy to same sex marriage, but the real values of our Christian faith. What kind of world do we want to live in?  What hard choices are we willing to make? Will we avoid easy answers to our problems if it means protecting the environment? Will we take the risk of dialogue over rushing to war?   Who will be on the Supreme Court, and what historic decisions will they make?  Do we phrase our hopes for our world in terms of fighting “them”  (whoever “they” happen to be at the moment) or do we believe that God’s dream of peace can actually be realized? That’s the will of God that I’m looking to serve. 

  I know that all of us in our parish community don’t agree on the issues.  We would not be much of a community if the world looked the same to each one of us.  In my sermon on Sunday, I shared a prayer for us to be able to hold our opinions as you might hold a bird in your hand. Hold on too tightly, and its fragile wings are crushed.  Hold on too loosely, and the bird flies away.  What’s hard is that we have to hold our opinions and fight for them, but not fight against our brothers and sisters who disagree with us. The troubling thing in this election is that that we seem to be doing exactly the opposite.  The campaigns fight each other on personality, not policy.  Rather than respecting each other and entering into a dialogue on what’s actually going on in our country, we are threatening each other and not talking at all about our situation—and time is short.  Let’s pray for campaigns that address our need for a just, peaceful, and secure society, not our desire for more gossip.

 Here’s the prayer for our Nation from the Book of Common Prayer—a little “traditional” sounding, but lovely.

Almighty God, who hast given us this good land for our heritage: We humbly beseech thee that we may always prove ourselves a people mindful of thy favor and glad to do thy will. Bless our land with honorable industry, sound learning, and pure manners. Save us from violence, discord, and confusion; from pride and arrogance, and from every evil way. Defend our liberties, and fashion into one united people the multitudes brought hither out of many kindreds and tongues. Endue with the spirit of wisdom those to whom in thy Name we entrust the authority of government, that there may be justice and peace at home, and that, through obedience to thy law, we may show forth thy praise among the nations of the earth. In the time of prosperity, fill our hearts with thankfulness, and in the day of trouble, suffer not our trust in thee to fail; all which we ask through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

September 11: Pray for Peace

This morning, as you did, I woke up not particularly aware of the date. As I drove into church, though, I noticed the flag at the Plympton School at half mast, and remembered—it’s September 11. Seven years ago, I was in my first week of school as a student at General Seminary in New York City, about a mile and a half from the World Trade Center. I was sitting in class when the chapel bells started to ring, summoning the community to come together. 

 And so began the last seven years of war. War in Afghanistan, war in Iraq, war “on terror.”  What was different on September 12, 2001, was not that the world was somehow more violent or that evil was somehow more triumphant after what had happened the day before; what was different was that it was happening to me.  On September 11, 2002, a year after the attacks in the US, I was standing at a border crossing on the Gaza Strip. I was nervous about being there, but I was also nervous that I wasn’t at home in New York; what if there were more attacks on the anniversary of the first one?  It also occurred to me, though, that the violence between Israelis and Palestinians was of once piece with the violence that had caused the events of the previous year.  Standing in Gaza, I was all too aware of how many people in the world lived with that sense of fear.  It was different now, though, because I had had a taste of it myself.  The world hadn’t changed, but I had. 

There is so much violence: the violence of seemingly endless war, of course, the violence of hatred, the violence of greed. It seems that there is no way out. But we are Christians.

 We are called to a hope not of military triumph, but the hope of God’s dream of justice and peace. We know that there is a way that does not draw lines of who is in or out. There is a way of peace that does not distinguish between Israeli, Palestinian, American, or Pakistani. It’s not an easy way of peace. It’s not just sitting down and drinking tea together. It’s not wishing that things were different. It’s an altogether transformed reality that is just beyond our imaginations. It’s not easy, but it is there.

 It’s the vision of Isaiah, of the lion laying down with the lamb. It’s the vision of Amos, who called for justice to roll down like waters, and righteousness like an everliving stream.  It’s the vision of Jesus Christ, who prayed forgiveness for those who attacked him. Today, let us pray for forgiveness, too. Pray for the grace to accept God’s forgiveness for our own sins, and the grace to forgive others their sins against us.  

Many Sundays, our service ends with this blessing: “the Peace of God which passes all our understanding, keep your hearts and minds in the knowledge and love of God, and of God’s Son Jesus Christ.” God’s peace may pass our understanding, but does not escape our grasp. Pray for the grace, and the guidance, to reach for it.

 

Salvation is near

This week, we return to our regular schedule of church in full swing, with services at 8 and 10. Since it’s the first Sunday of the month we’ll have all the kids in church with us.  Rather than the usual children’s sermon, though, we’ll get to see our Sunday School program, Godly Play, in action. Teacher Jonathan Duce will tell the Creation story in Godly Play style, so all the grownups will be able to see what it’s all about.  Christ Church has used the Godly Play curriculum for a number of years now. Based around Montessori techniques of education, it is a child-centered program that tries to respond to where the kids are, rather than transmitting some body of knowledge from “on high.”  Based around telling stories of the Bible, the children are invited to ask questions. I wonder why Noah built the ark? I wonder why there were two animals of each kind? The kids gather in a circle, hear the story, “wonder,” and then chose projects (like art or sandbox play) that help them to consider it.  After the service, we’re invited to go downstairs to the Godly Play room for an open house.

 Ideally, “wondering” is how we should all engage with our faith—the Bible is so much more a book of opening dialogue than it is a book of offering definitive commandments. Jesus taught in parables to engage his followers into his teaching, and we are called to engage, to “wonder,” too. We have to listen for the Spirit of the Scripture: what it means as a whole, not just to the letter of what any single text might say.   We are called to “wonder” about how it all applies to our lives and to the life of the world.

 We bring so much to our readings of the Bible. Individually, we bring our rich and varied life experiences. Intellectually, we bring the best of human knowledge—historical, theological, and even scientific research—to the Bible. Our experiences and our knowledge help us to frame our “wonderings” about the Scripture.  This Sunday, we’ll hear St Paul give a summary of the law—“summed up in this word, "Love your neighbor as yourself." Paul continues, “Love does no wrong to a neighbor; therefore, love is the fulfilling of the law.”  We all spend our entire lives figuring out how to love each other. Salvation is so near to us, Paul says, in this love.

Salvation is near to us.  In acts of love great and small—in writing out your pledge checks, in volunteering at your kids’ school, in working extra hours to support your family, in laughing with your neighbors, in working for peace, in praying for each other. Salvation is near as we all come back from our vacations and settle in at the altar together again.  Salvation is near as we learn new things and take on new projects this fall. Salvation is near.  Where are you nearing to your salvation?  Who are you called to love?