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| "Bird with snow" by mimmyg, on Flickr |
White-eyes
by Mary Oliver
In winter
all the singing is in
the tops of the trees
where the wind-bird
with its white eyes
shoves and pushes
among the branches.
Like any of us
he wants to go to sleep,
but he's restless -
he has an idea,
and slowly it unfolds
from under his beating wings
as long as he stays awake.
But his big, round music, after all,
is too breathy to last.
So, it's over.
In the pine-crown
he makes his nest,
he's done all he can.
I don't know the name of this bird,
I only imagine his glittering beak
tucked in a white wing
while the clouds -
which he has summoned
from the north -
which he has taught,
to be mild, and silent -
thicken, and begin to fall
into the world below
like stars, or the feathers
of some unimaginable bird
that loves us,
that is asleep now, and silent -
that has turned itself
into snow.
in Why I Wake Early
Three beautiful thoughts from Dietrich Bonhoeffer about the ways that God loves us and comes to us in Advent and Christmas:
-from God Is In the Manger: Reflections on Advent and Christmas
Just when everything is bearing down on us to such an extent that we can scarcely withstand it, the Christmas message comes to tell us that all our ideas are wrong, and that what we take to be evil and dark is really good and light because it comes from God. Our eyes are at fault, that is all. God is in the manger, wealth in poverty, light in darkness, succor in abandonment. No evil can befall us; whatever men may do to us, they cannot but serve the God who is secretly revealed as love and rules the world and our lives...
God is so free and so marvelous that he does wonders where people despair, that he takes what is little and lowly and makes it marvelous. And that is the wonder of all wonders, that God loves the lowly… God is not ashamed of the lowliness of human beings. God marches right in. He chooses people as his instruments and performs his wonders where one would least expect them. God is near to lowliness; he loves the lost, the neglected, the unseemly, the excluded, the weak and broken...
Jesus stands at the door knocking (Rev. 3:20). In total reality, he comes in the form of the beggar, of the dissolute human child in ragged clothes, asking for help. He confronts you in every person that you meet. As long as there are people, Christ will walk the earth as your neighbor, as the one through whom God calls you, speaks to you, makes demands on you. That is the great seriousness and great blessedness of the Advent message. Christ is standing at the door; he lives in the form of a human being among us.
-from God Is In the Manger: Reflections on Advent and Christmas
This is, in some ways, a complete antithesis to "For All the Saints" or other grand hymns remembering the saints. I learned it back in seminary, and it's been stuck in my head all day. Instead of lauding the saints that have gone before us, it reminds us that we are all saints, and that there are saints walking this earth, living out God's love in their ordinary lives. Simple and charming, and draws us close to the face of God in our neighbor.
I sing a song of the saints of God
by Lesbia Scott
I sing a song of the saints of God,
Patient and brave and true,
Who toiled and fought and lived and died
For the Lord they loved and knew.
And one was a doctor, and one was a queen,
And one was a shepherdess on the green;
They were all of them saints of God, and I mean,
God helping, to be one too.
They loved their Lord so dear, so dear,
And his love made them strong;
And they followed the right for Jesus' sake
The whole of their good lives long.
And one was a soldier, and one was a priest,
And one was slain by a fierce wild beast;
And there's not any reason, no, not the least,
Why I shouldn't be one too.
They lived not only in ages past,
There are hundreds of thousands still.
The world is bright with the joyous saints
Who love to do Jesus' will.
You can meet them in school, or in lanes, or at sea,
In church, or in trains, or in shops, or at tea;
For the saints of God are just folk like me,
And I mean to be one too.
I sing a song of the saints of God
by Lesbia Scott
I sing a song of the saints of God,
Patient and brave and true,
Who toiled and fought and lived and died
For the Lord they loved and knew.
And one was a doctor, and one was a queen,
And one was a shepherdess on the green;
They were all of them saints of God, and I mean,
God helping, to be one too.
They loved their Lord so dear, so dear,
And his love made them strong;
And they followed the right for Jesus' sake
The whole of their good lives long.
And one was a soldier, and one was a priest,
And one was slain by a fierce wild beast;
And there's not any reason, no, not the least,
Why I shouldn't be one too.
They lived not only in ages past,
There are hundreds of thousands still.
The world is bright with the joyous saints
Who love to do Jesus' will.
You can meet them in school, or in lanes, or at sea,
In church, or in trains, or in shops, or at tea;
For the saints of God are just folk like me,
And I mean to be one too.
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| "Generosity on the sidewalks." by Pure Charity, on Flickr |
Hear this, you that trample on the needy,
and bring to ruin the poor of the land,
saying, "When will the new moon be over
so that we may sell grain;
and the sabbath,
so that we may offer wheat for sale?
We will make the ephah small and the shekel great,
and practice deceit with false balances,
buying the poor for silver
and the needy for a pair of sandals,
and selling the sweepings of the wheat."
The LORD has sworn by the pride of Jacob:
Surely I will never forget any of their deeds.
Luke 16:1-13
Then Jesus said to the disciples, "There was a rich man who had a manager, and charges were brought to him that this man was squandering his property. So he summoned him and said to him, 'What is this that I hear about you? Give me an accounting of your management, because you cannot be my manager any longer.' Then the manager said to himself, 'What will I do, now that my master is taking the position away from me? I am not strong enough to dig, and I am ashamed to beg. I have decided what to do so that, when I am dismissed as manager, people may welcome me into their homes.' So, summoning his master's debtors one by one, he asked the first, 'How much do you owe my master?' He answered, 'A hundred jugs of olive oil.' He said to him, 'Take your bill, sit down quickly, and make it fifty.' Then he asked another, 'And how much do you owe?' He replied, 'A hundred containers of wheat.' He said to him, 'Take your bill and make it eighty.' And his master commended the dishonest manager because he had acted shrewdly; for the children of this age are more shrewd in dealing with their own generation than are the children of light. And I tell you, make friends for yourselves by means of dishonest wealth so that when it is gone, they may welcome you into the eternal homes.
Whoever is faithful in a very little is faithful also in much; and whoever is dishonest in a very little is dishonest also in much. If then you have not been faithful with the dishonest wealth, who will entrust to you the true riches? And if you have not been faithful with what belongs to another, who will give you what is your own? No slave can serve two masters; for a slave will either hate the one and love the other, or be devoted to the one and despise the other. You cannot serve God and wealth."
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Our nation's lawmakers are currently stuck in another series of heated budget debates. With an October 1 deadline looming over their heads, Congress struggles with how to make ends meet, and where to place the burden of budget cuts. Already on the chopping block are cuts to the food stamps program and threatened cuts to healthcare.
It is easy to get cynical about the state of our government and the workings of our economy when these sorts of decisions hang in the balance. Our faith calls us to pursue God’s justice and to build up a kingdom of God where special care is given to the poor, the hungry, the outcast, and the powerless, that peace and justice might always prevail. But our economic and government systems call us to seek efficiency, prosperity, and measured justice.
Which means that when Jesus, in today’s gospel, encourages us to be faithful with our wealth, whether in little or in much, we struggle to understand what that might mean for us in our world.
Today’s gospel reading doesn’t, on the surface, seem to give us a satisfactory answer to the question.
Jesus tells the story of a man who has been hired to manage his master’s wealth. This manager is dishonest and corrupt, and squanders away the wealth that he has been charged to care for. Knowing that he’s about to get fired, he decides to continue his shady dealings, that he might make a few friends on the way out who might take care of him one he’s kicked to the curb. So he goes behind his master’s back and reduces the debts of the master’s clients, once again costing his master money. But instead of getting angry, the master folds his arms, gives a chuckle, and commends the manager rather than reprimanding him.
Friends, if you are looking to this parable for an example of how to be faithful stewards of the gifts God has given us...well...I don’t think this story gives us much to go off of, at least on the surface.
I mean, it certainly describes the sort of economic climate that we find ourselves in. A gap between rich and poor that isn’t close to closing, people falling prey to cheating and corruption and shady dealings in order to get ahead, or to make ends meet, shrewd business dealings valued more highly than charity or generosity...
This is the exact sort of economic situation that the prophet Amos was addressing in our first reading today. The rich were getting richer at the expense of the poor, and God sent Amos to speak truth to power, chastising the wealthy for abusing their power, criticizing the businessmen who wanted to rush through the sabbath day and through religious festivals so that they could get back to selling stuff and, even worse, cheating the poorest of their customers.
It’s so easy for us to feel like our hands our tied when we stare down issues of economic justice. Because no matter what our best intentions, we realize very quickly that there is sin and corruption built into the very systems that pay us our wages and give us the means both to live and to give generously.
Julie Clawson is a writer who is especially concerned with issues of faith and justice. A few years back, she went on a mission. A mission to see whether she could buy fundamental, everyday items fair trade. It’s easy enough and popular to buy fair trade coffee and fair trade chocolate, and fair trade gifts. But, she wondered, what would happen if she wanted to buy something as basic as, well, fair trade underwear. It proved difficult and eye-opening. The companies who paid a just wage to their workers had purchased cotton from manufacturers who didn’t pay their field workers justly. The companies who ensured that their materials were produced in an ecologically sensitive way outsourced the assembly of their products to low-wage factories across the world. Julie was shocked to see that, despite her good intentions, it was nearly impossible to make even a fundamental, boring purchase that was just from start to finish.
So if the fingerprints of injustice and dishonesty are all over our money, all over our wealth, all over our commerce, what on earth does it mean for us to follow Jesus’ instruction to be faithful in little and in much? When we feel powerless to change unjust systems, and when our human propensity toward greed or self-interest get mixed up with our desire to do good, what do we do?
This is where today's parable helps us out. A lot.
Yes, there’s a lot of shady stuff happening. The manager takes advantage of his master, squanders his wealth, gets himself fired for doing so, and immediately worries about how to save his own skin. But despite some pretty dishonest motivations, this manager unwittingly does two very, very good things.
First, he reduces the debts of his master’s clients. This means that he eases the financial burden of those who can’t pay their bills. Despite his self-serving motivation, the manager lifts a great weight off of those who are themselves struggling to make ends meet.
Second, he reduces these debts in his master's name. This means that the manager ends up representing his master as gracious and kind, generous and compassionate. Despite his self-serving motivation, the manager reflects the best qualities of the one whom he represents.
These are two lessons that we can all run with.
We are called to do our best to lift burdens off of the shoulders of those who are weighed down. And we are called to do our best to reflect the grace, generosity, and compassion of God our master.
Because, okay. As long as we're still waiting for the full redemption of all things, we are all a jumbled-up mess of sinner and saint. Our good intentions and shady shrewdness get mixed up all the time. But maybe what Jesus is trying to tell us in this parable is that there is yet always good to be done. There are always yet opportunities to be good stewards of everything God has given us, even if some of our screwed-up motives and priorities try to get in the way.
I mean, if we wait for our economic systems to clean up, if we wait for our government to get its act together, if we wait until our financial and spiritual wealth are all purely attained before we turn our focus to those in need, then we'll never get off the ground. If we wait for welfare systems and affordable health insurance systems to run perfectly and efficiently before we are willing to be generous to those in the gaps, we'll never get around to it. If we wait until people are responsible or deserving before we help them, then we’ll never actually offer any assistance.
I was talking to two leaders of our food pantry earlier this week, and they told me that there is this one regular visitor who always, always, rips them off. They know that he’s taking advantage of them. And so they could manage the pantry differently, and impose more checks and balances on clients, and do more rigorous registrations, which would mean taking more time and turning more people away. But they choose to keep things open and free, even if they take small losses along the way, so that more people can be helped more quickly.
There is the urgency in today's gospel reading. Whether in little or much, whether purely attained or ill-gotten, Jesus calls each of us to be faithful with what we have been given. We do not have to be perfect to be faithful.
We simply need to do those two things: Ease the burden of those who are oppressed. Reflect the generosity and compassion of God our master.
This is the heart not only of charity but of stewardship. For everything we have, at the very root, comes from God the creator. Every gift that we share gives glory back to God, and reminds us of the gifts of forgiveness, grace, and life that God in Christ gives to us with each new day.
May God empower us to be generous, to lift up the oppressed, and to live each day ready to share the gifts of his bounty with all creation.
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| "Alone among the clouds" by K Faith K, on Flickr |
Minimum
by Cara Bertron
My brother makes lists of what he needs to live.
He is down to a towel, a small rucksack,
good socks, rice and beans and clementines, and flip-flops
for strange showers. He wants to be a saint
and the holiest travel light. Easier to press close
to God wearing only a thin shirt and holding
a short list of other loves. He worries, sharp-nosed
and sweet, how much to treasure a sturdy hat
or a stack of warm tortillas; he digs his fingers
into the rocky, well-loved home soil. He’ll have to shake it off,
so’s not to be weighed down on his way to heaven.
In this late night during a visit home, our parents
snore tenderly in a distant room. We do not speak of loving
God more than one’s family, though we both know
the rules; we do not speak of knees scarred by prayer.
Loss and revelation both come in whispers: we do not speak.
(printed in the August 7, 2013 edition of The Christian Century)
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| "The Rich Fool" by James B. Janknegt |
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| "Listen, I am Shabby" by Camilla Engman, on Flickr |
"When Israel was a child, I loved him,
and out of Egypt I called my son.
The more I called them,
the more they went from me;
they kept sacrificing to the Baals,
and offering incense to idols.
Yet it was I who taught Ephraim to walk,
I took them up in my arms;
but they did not know that I healed them.
I led them with cords of human kindness,
with bands of love.
I was to them like those
who lift infants to their cheeks.
I bent down to them and fed them."
Colossians 3:1-3
So if you have been raised with Christ, seek the things that are above, where Christ is, seated at the right hand of God. Set your minds on things that are above, not on things that are on earth, for you have died, and your life is hidden with Christ in God. When Christ who is your life is revealed, then you also will be revealed with him in glory.
Luke 12:13-21
Someone in the crowd said to [Jesus], "Teacher, tell my brother to divide the family inheritance with me." But he said to him, "Friend, who set me to be a judge or arbitrator over you?" And he said to them, "Take care! Be on your guard against all kinds of greed; for one's life does not consist in the abundance of possessions." Then he told them a parable: "The land of a rich man produced abundantly. And he thought to himself, 'What should I do, for I have no place to store my crops?' Then he said, 'I will do this: I will pull down my barns and build larger ones, and there I will store all my grain and my goods. And I will say to my soul, Soul, you have ample goods laid up for many years; relax, eat, drink, be merry.' But God said to him, 'You fool! This very night your life is being demanded of you. And the things you have prepared, whose will they be?' So it is with those who store up treasures for themselves but are not rich toward God."
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A friend of mine in high school, feeling all wise after taking a semester of psychology, told his mom that she wasn't crazy if she talked out loud to the dog...she was only crazy if she expected a response! (There’s high school hubris for you...)
I wonder, then, what this friend would have said about talking, out loud, to yourself. Do the same rules apply? Is it better to talk in your own head or to talk out loud to yourself? And does it make a difference if you expect a response? I mean...just how much of a conversation can you have with yourself before you ought to go find somebody else to talk to instead?
In today’s gospel, Jesus tells a parable of a rich guy who amongst other problems, has a bad habit of talking to himself.
Did you notice that when this rich man was faced with a conundrum of abundance, his first recourse was to start talking to himself? First, he talks to himself about barns. And then - then! - he starts talking to himself about a future conversation that he plans to have with himself once these barns are completed. He says, “I will (later) say to my soul, ‘Soul, you have ample goods laid up for many years; relax, eat, drink, be merry.’”
While there are plenty of lessons to be learned from today’s parable about wealth and greed and generosity, maybe one of the more important ones for us is a lesson about the danger of staying stuck in your own head.
It turns out that we humans can convince ourselves all sorts of crazy and misguided things when we only talk to ourselves. From the very start of creation, God intended us to be in relationship with other human beings and with God himself. Because it wasn’t good for us to be alone. We need companionship and we really really need God and others to help us see reality. And so things get a little messed up when we ignore those relationships and listen only to the voices in our heads instead.
Because without a reality check from the outside, the voices in our heads can turn dark. At our worst, they can convince us that we are something other than we actually are: beautiful, beloved children of God. It’s the voices in our heads that tell us that we’re weak or undeserving, or too fat or too thin, or unforgivable or unloveable. The voices in our heads are really good at convincing us that it’s okay to take that one more drink, or that it’s okay to treat someone who has hurt us with resentment instead of forgiveness.
And the more we listen to the voices in our heads more than we listen to God and others, we start to believe two big, crazy lies that the rich man in today’s parable came to believe.
First, we start to believe that we don’t actually need anybody else. We start to think that we are totally self-sufficient, and that we can control our own destinies, and that our happiness depends on nothing else but our own efforts. This rich guy had plenty of wealth, plenty of crops, plenty of security for his future. And so his grand plan is to settle down, eat, drink, be merry, and believe that he, of his own accord, had secured a blissful future for himself.
And when we believe that we can do it on our own, we do the same thing. We keep buying stuff that we don’t need, because it makes us happy for a while, and then we buy more stuff when that first round of happiness wears off. We constantly chase wealth and success, and we store up extra toothpaste and canned vegetables and clothes that don’t fit, not because we are so worried about scarcity, but because the more stuff we collect around us, the more we can keep up the illusion that we don’t need anybody or anything outside of our own selves.
If we keep listening to those voices in our heads, unchecked, we start to believe a second big, crazy lie. We start to believe that nobody else needs us. The rich guy had way way way more than he needed to keep himself alive and well. But he never got around to thinking or caring that somebody else out there might need him to share his abundance.
We’re really good at convincing ourselves that nobody needs us. In our worst moments, we convince ourselves of this in despair. When we aren’t feeling so confident or appreciated or valued, we can talk ourselves into a really dark “nobody likes me, everybody hates me, guess I’ll go eat worms” sort of place.
But those voices in our head can also try to convince us that nobody needs us as a defense mechanism against the brokenness around us that is simply too much for us to handle. If we let ourselves believe that nobody needs us, then we don’t need to turn on the news at night and hear about war and scandal. If we believe that nobody needs us, then we can postpone that visit to the neighbor who might just unload all of her loneliness and pain on us. If we are convinced that nobody needs us, then we don’t need to bring food or money to the pantry and risk running into the face of poverty in our midst.
To sum up: Believing the voices that tell us we don’t need anybody puts us in the position of having lots of stuff, with nothing left to need. Believing the voices that tell us nobody needs us puts us in the position of having lots of stuff, with nothing to give.
And these two lies are at the heart of the rich man’s problem. Because thinking of ourselves as an island is a really quick path to greed.
This is where God steps in with a couple of harsh reminders. He nudges us into recognizing our foolishness, and reminds us that we are mortal, and that wealth is fleeing, and that there are plenty of people who have need for our extra stuff and our love and our forgiveness.
God steps in with the voice of Hosea to remind us that we are bound to him and to one another with cords of human kindness and bands of love, and that even if we listen to voices that try to separate us from God and others, God has this compassionate and relentless heart that won’t ever let us go.
God steps in with the voice of Jesus to tell us that our lives do not consist in the abundance of possessions. He shatters the illusion that abundant life is something that we can make for ourselves, or something that we can find within us. He gives us Jesus, the living bread from heaven, who says “I am the way, the truth, and the life,” who says, “I came that they might have life and have it abundantly.” Jesus reminds us that abundant life comes from God, the source, the giver, the merciful, and not from inside our own heads.
God steps in with the voice of Paul to remind us that we have been liberated from ourselves through Christ, and that our old worries and lies and misgivings were trampled by the cross, and that we aren’t captive to the voices in our heads anymore. Paul tells us that we have been raised up, and that our true lives and futures have been revealed in Christ, and that we are children of light and glory and generosity. And so we are no longer bound by voices of greed or anger or abuse or dishonesty.
The good news, friends, is that God has a really big voice. And so no matter how often we fall prey to the conversations we have inside our own heads, God’s voice is always bigger. And he is bent on getting our attention, whether by priests or prophets or judges or disciples or apostles or the words of Jesus, or the loud sound of hammer to cross, or the sound of a rock sliding away from an empty tomb, or the rush of the Spirit across our ears.
And the voice of God is always a voice of freedom. It tells you that you are free to love others and let them love you. It tells you that you are free to give yourself away because God will always come back to you with an abundance of love, mercy, and compassion. The voice of God tells you that you are loved and beloved, that you are not alone, that you are very much needed and valued, and that you have good to offer this broken world.
So come to this table today, and hear the voice of Christ that says, “This is my body and my blood, given for you.” Hear these words and feast on the bread of life. There is plenty for all. At this table, we eat, and we drink, and we can be joyful, because we know that our lives belong to God, and not to ourselves. There is no need to worry. There is no need to fear. Life is here, waiting for you. It is abundant. It is free. It is enduring. It is the sweet taste of grace. It is the sweet voice of love.
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| "Barn Building" by Mangrove Mike, on Flickr |
Someone in the crowd said to Jesus, "Teacher, tell my brother to divide the family inheritance with me." But he said to him, "Friend, who set me to be a judge or arbitrator over you?" And he said to them, "Take care! Be on your guard against all kinds of greed; for one's life does not consist in the abundance of possessions." Then he told them a parable: "The land of a rich man produced abundantly. And he thought to himself, 'What should I do, for I have no place to store my crops?' Then he said, 'I will do this: I will pull down my barns and build larger ones, and there I will store all my grain and my goods. And I will say to my soul, Soul, you have ample goods laid up for many years; relax, eat, drink, be merry.' But God said to him, 'You fool! This very night your life is being demanded of you. And the things you have prepared, whose will they be?' So it is with those who store up treasures for themselves but are not rich toward God." (Luke 12:13-21)
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| "Prayer" by J-Fish, on Flickr |
[Jesus] was praying in a certain place, and after he had finished, one of his disciples said to him, "Lord, teach us to pray, as John taught his disciples." He said to them, "When you pray, say:
Father, hallowed be your name.
Your kingdom come.
Give us each day our daily bread.
And forgive us our sins, for we ourselves forgive everyone indebted to us.
And do not bring us to the time of trial."
And he said to them, "Suppose one of you has a friend, and you go to him at midnight and say to him, 'Friend, lend me three loaves of bread; for a friend of mine has arrived, and I have nothing to set before him.' And he answers from within, 'Do not bother me; the door has already been locked, and my children are with me in bed; I cannot get up and give you anything.' I tell you, even though he will not get up and give him anything because he is his friend, at least because of his persistence he will get up and give him whatever he needs.
So I say to you, Ask, and it will be given you; search, and you will find; knock, and the door will be opened for you. For everyone who asks receives, and everyone who searches finds, and for everyone who knocks, the door will be opened. Is there anyone among you who, if your child asks for a fish, will give a snake instead of a fish? Or if the child asks for an egg, will give a scorpion? If you then, who are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will the heavenly Father give the Holy Spirit to those who ask him!" (Luke 11:1-13)
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| "what i usually pack" by pinay traveller, on Flickr |
Naaman, commander of the army of the king of Aram, was a great man and in high favor with his master, because by him the LORD had given victory to Aram. The man, though a mighty warrior, suffered from leprosy. Now the Arameans on one of their raids had taken a young girl captive from the land of Israel, and she served Naaman's wife. She said to her mistress, "If only my lord were with the prophet who is in Samaria! He would cure him of his leprosy." So Naaman went in and told his lord just what the girl from the land of Israel had said. And the king of Aram said, "Go then, and I will send along a letter to the king of Israel."
So Naaman came with his horses and chariots, and halted at the entrance of Elisha's house. Elisha sent a messenger to him, saying, "Go, wash in the Jordan seven times, and your flesh shall be restored and you shall be clean." But Naaman became angry and went away, saying, "I thought that for me he would surely come out, and stand and call on the name of the LORD his God, and would wave his hand over the spot, and cure the leprosy! Are not Abana and Pharpar, the rivers of Damascus, better than all the waters of Israel? Could I not wash in them, and be clean?" He turned and went away in a rage. But his servants approached and said to him, "Father, if the prophet had commanded you to do something difficult, would you not have done it? How much more, when all he said to you was, 'Wash, and be clean'?" So he went down and immersed himself seven times in the Jordan, according to the word of the man of God; his flesh was restored like the flesh of a young boy, and he was clean.
Luke 10:1-11, 16-20
After this the Lord appointed seventy others and sent them on ahead of him in pairs to every town and place where he himself intended to go. He said to them, "The harvest is plentiful, but the laborers are few; therefore ask the Lord of the harvest to send out laborers into his harvest. Go on your way. See, I am sending you out like lambs into the midst of wolves. Carry no purse, no bag, no sandals; and greet no one on the road. Whatever house you enter, first say, 'Peace to this house!' And if anyone is there who shares in peace, your peace will rest on that person; but if not, it will return to you. Remain in the same house, eating and drinking whatever they provide, for the laborer deserves to be paid. Do not move about from house to house. Whenever you enter a town and its people welcome you, eat what is set before you; cure the sick who are there, and say to them, 'The kingdom of God has come near to you.' But whenever you enter a town and they do not welcome you, go out into its streets and say, 'Even the dust of your town that clings to our feet, we wipe off in protest against you. Yet know this: the kingdom of God has come near.' Whoever listens to you listens to me, and whoever rejects you rejects me, and whoever rejects me rejects the one who sent me.
The seventy returned with joy, saying, "Lord, in your name even the demons submit to us!" He said to them, "I watched Satan fall from heaven like a flash of lightning. See, I have given you authority to tread on snakes and scorpions, and over all the power of the enemy; and nothing will hurt you. Nevertheless, do not rejoice at this, that the spirits submit to you, but rejoice that your names are written in heaven."
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We waited until the last pre-trip meeting to give out the packing list for the high school group summer trip. The group was heading up to the Wilderness Canoe Base in northern Minnesota, to spend a week helping the staff at base camp clean up after a stretch of devastating forest fires.
The problem with the packing list wasn't what it said to bring.
The problem with the packing list is what was what it said not to bring. No cell phones or iPods or electronics to distract us from the tasks ahead of us. No flip flops or open-toed shoes, in order to keep us safe on the uneven terrain. No food or candy in the cabins so that we didn't attract critters to our cabins. But the worst thing? No shampoo or soap, because there were no showers, because showers waste water, and soap and shampoo pollute the delicate wilderness ecosystem.
As expected, the high schoolers reacted to this packing list with wide eyes. No cell phones or flip flops? No soap or shampoo? It was as if we had asked them to leave their very selves behind.
Something very similar happens in today’s gospel reading.
Jesus is preparing disciples for a great wave of ministry. Not just the twelve famous disciples, but nearly sixty others as well. They are all about to be commissioned to go into towns and villages to cure diseases, cast out demons, and call people to repentance in Jesus name. As they prepare to set out, Jesus gives them a few last-minute instructions. First, go in pairs. Second, don’t take anything with you, no purse or bag or sandals. Third, freely receive and reward the hospitality of strangers.
Yes, Jesus sends the disciples out with his own what-not-to-pack list. It’s not just luxuries and comfort items that he asks them to leave behind. He asks them to leave behind things essential to their survival. No money means no resources to buy food or lodging. No bag means no means of carrying extra supplies. No sandals means a slow, dusty journey, and means extra-dirty feet for the hosts of households to wash when taking them in.
There is nothing glamorous about the disciples’ mission. Jesus sends them out as plain, vulnerable souls who will be forced to let go of their pride and to trust both God and strangers to provide for them along their journey. When Jesus tells the disciples to leave everything behind, I imagine that they stared back at him with wide eyes. I imagine that it felt as if Jesus had asked them to leave their very selves behind.
Because being empty-handed is a hard calling. We humans don’t like to be left unprepared. It’s why we collect so much of stuff around us, stuff that we hold onto “just in case,” like junk drawers filled with old receipts and cords, or boxes of clothes packed away in the basement, or the secret stash of chocolate we hide in the freezer. We overeat or overwork or overcompensate to create a buffer between ourselves and our fears of failure. We don’t want to find ourselves lacking anything.
Whether we know it or not, we collect all of this stuff as a way of minimizing our vulnerability and resisting reliance on God and one another. We use abundance and self-reliance as both buffer and crutch. Because it’s the message we ear all the time: More is better. You can have it all if you just want it enough. You can do it yourself. Thick skin is a sign of strength. Abundance is a sign of success.
And all the stuff we collect up around us becomes the stuff that defines us. We become our clothes and our homes and our cars and our jobs and our ambitions and our hobbies. And to leave any of this behind means leaving behind our very selves. And that makes us vulnerable. And vulnerable is uncomfortable.
And...I think this is exactly the point of today's gospel. Letting go, leaving behind, is vulnerable work. It is vulnerable to think about leaving ourselves behind to become the unequipped disciples that Jesus sends out. It is vulnerable work to let go of belongings, certainty, and self-reliance for the sake of Christ's mission. It is vulnerable to clear away the clutter to regain a clear view of God in the world. It is vulnerable business to leave ourselves behind so that God can take center stage.
But it is precisely in our vulnerability that we see God's strength. It is precisely in the vulnerable gap between what we have and what we need that God steps in to do his deepest work.
In the uncomfortable gap between what the disciples carried and what they actually needed, God filled the space with acts of power and radical hospitality from strangers. In the uncomfortable gap between Naaman's prideful expectation of being healed by an amazing act of power and Elisha's simple instructions to bathe in the river, God filled the space with healing, wholeness, and refreshment. In the uncomfortable gap between the luxuries the high schoolers wanted and the stripped down bags they actually packed, God filled the space with changed hearts and new eyes to see the splendor of God in his creation.
Did you notice what happened when the disciples returned to Jesus after their mission? They fell all over themselves to share with Jesus the exciting things that they had seen and done. They told about their adventures, and rejoiced over the work that they had done, and shared stories of hospitality...and never once talked about what they lacked or left behind.
The same thing happened with that group of high schoolers. They returned home from their trip telling stories about pulling up brush and debris around camp to protect the land from future forest fires, and they talked about picking wild blueberries and playing in the lake, and they rejoiced in new friendships and told of being moved by God during campfire devotions...and never once talked about what they lacked or left behind.
Isn't this all very good news for us? We have the assurance that God steps in to fill the gaps. We have hope that God works deeply through our vulnerability. We have security in a God who comes to define us when we leave all else behind.
Because we have a God who, through the vulnerability of the cross and the emptiness of the tomb, brings us strength from weakness, life form death, power from insecurity, and hope from chaos. And we have a community of faith right here, where we can splash in the water of our baptisms, and to eat the bread and wine that draw us into the communion of Christ's body, so that we can find the strength to get over the idea that we can or should do it all ourselves, and instead go out to pursue lives of getting the heck out of the way, so that God's spirit can have the freedom and space to blow through our lives.
So what is it in your own life that you need to get rid of so that God can move freely in your life? What items in your schedule need paring down or what ambitions do you need to rethink? What patterns of spending your time or money do you need to change? What emotions, biases or hardness of heart do you need to acknowledge and clear away?
What is God just itching to do in and through you once you become willing to leave yourself behind for his sake?
My friends, it is time to leave yourself behind. To commend your spirit into God's hands. To put away every "just in case" bag that you've packed in your life and to take nothing else with you on your life's journey besides God's mercy. It is time to feel the wind of the spirit blowing through your empty fingers, leading you to new people and new places. For once we leave ourselves behind, we have the joy of feeling the stirrings of our unhindered God moving in us and through us, animating our souls. Don't you want to be free to see where he leads?
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| The peace of wild things photo by Melissa bills, 2011. en rout to Kitumbeine, Tanzania |
In northern Tanzania, there are (at least) three types of wilderness.
Head out to the the dusty land below Mount Kitumbeine, and you will see flatness and dirt, and only spindly, spiky acacia trees and bushes, sparse, with only the smallest leaves. Everything is brown and cracked. You scuff along in the dirt, and dust fills your mouth and throat. It is quiet, the sky is open, and as far as you can see, it is empty and still.
Travel out to the savannah, and you'll find tall, brown grass, and patches of green grass sprouting up near water sources, and the land is filled with wild things. Zebras and birds of all sorts, giraffes and antelopes. It is wilderness because it is overflowing with wild wind and wild beings.
Head to the foothills of Mount Kilimanjaro, and you will find yourself in wet, wild, jungle wilderness. It is wilderness because it is wild, overgrown, unruly. Giant banana tree leaves, thickets of coffee bushes, slick clay underfoot, hens and roosters and mysterious misty skies full of humidity and surprise rainstorms.
This first full week in Lent is all about wilderness. We start the week with a story of Jesus in the desert, thrust by the Holy Spirit into the wilderness after his baptism, left to his weakest, most vulnerable self, contending with tempter and temptation.
Lent is a time for each of us to let the Holy Spirit cast us into the wilderness. A time for reflection, for facing our own weakest, most vulnerable selves, to see our selfish or uncharitable bits, to seek out the places where our hearts have strayed from loving God and loving neighbor, to face down even our own mortality. Lent is the time to leave ourselves behind in seek of God's love, and to head out into a wilderness where we get rid of all of the comforts that keep us from being our real, beloved-by-God selves.
Sometimes this wilderness feels dry and barren - and there we find God waiting to offer us living water. Sometimes this wilderness is full of unfamiliar creatures - and there we find our familiar friend, Jesus, with his arms open to take us in. Sometimes this wilderness feels overgrown and tangled and out of control - and there the Holy Spirit breathes peace into our hearts.
And the joy of the wilderness is the joy of stepping away from ourselves and fully into God's presence. In the wilderness, nature is at peace with itself, and in our wilderness, God helps us to be at peace with our own selves. This wild peace is what Wendell Berry describes in his poem, "The Peace of Wild Things:"
When despair for the world grows in meSo my friends, in this wilderness space of Lent, rest in the grace of God, in the grace of the world, in the grace of divine love, and be free.
and I wake in the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children's lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting with their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.
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| "Word: John (Water to Wine)" by Jim LePage, on Flickr |
Now there are varieties of gifts, but the same Spirit; and there are varieties of services, but the same Lord; and there are varieties of activities, but it is the same God who activates all of them in everyone. To each is given the manifestation of the Spirit for the common good. To one is given through the Spirit the utterance of wisdom, and to another the utterance of knowledge according to the same Spirit, to another faith by the same Spirit, to another gifts of healing by the one Spirit, to another the working of miracles, to another prophecy, to another the discernment of spirits, to another various kinds of tongues, to another the interpretation of tongues. All these are activated by one and the same Spirit, who allots to each one individually just as the Spirit chooses. (1 Corinthians 12:4-11)
On the third day there was a wedding in Cana of Galilee, and the mother of Jesus was there. Jesus and his disciples had also been invited to the wedding. When the wine gave out, the mother of Jesus said to him, "They have no wine." And Jesus said to her, "Woman, what concern is that to you and to me? My hour has not yet come." His mother said to the servants, "Do whatever he tells you." Now standing there were six stone water jars for the Jewish rites of purification, each holding twenty or thirty gallons. Jesus said to them, "Fill the jars with water." And they filled them up to the brim. He said to them, "Now draw some out, and take it to the chief steward." So they took it. When the steward tasted the water that had become wine, and did not know where it came from (though the servants who had drawn the water knew), the steward called the bridegroom and said to him, "Everyone serves the good wine first, and then the inferior wine after the guests have become drunk. But you have kept the good wine until now." Jesus did this, the first of his signs, in Cana of Galilee, and revealed his glory; and his disciples believed in him. (John 2:1-11)
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Matt and I are in the process of buying our very first house. We spent Friday morning looking at four houses, weighing the merits of beautiful, old wood floors versus the size of the backyard, the size of the kitchen versus the size of the garage, the number of bedrooms versus the number of bathrooms. At the end of the day, we had two contenders – the biggest and most expensive house we looked at, and the smallest house that we looked at. An exercise in weighing scarcity and abundance.
Going forward, when we pack up all of our stuff to move, I can guarantee you that I will, at various points, exclaim, “we have too much stuff!” and decide that I need to ditch half my clothes, half my shoes, half of our extra towels, and all of the half-used bottles of shampoo and lotion that live under the sink. And I’ll cringe at how many boxes we fill up with books alone! And then, we’ll move into our new place, and we’ll put all of our stuff where it goes, and we’ll realize that we don’t have nearly enough furniture or artwork, and I’ll feel in a rush, once again, to go out and find things to fill the empty space. An exercise, once again, in scarcity and abundance.
It’s a hard balance, trying to find the sweet spot of “just enough” in life. And truth be told, most of us, when given the option, would rather find ourselves with “too much” than with “not enough.” Unlike the host at today’s wedding feast in Cana, we would rather have too much wine than ever let the wine run out.
Wedding feasts in Jesus time were a very big deal. They were all about abundance. You wanted a lot of people to come to the feast – remember the parable of the wedding feast that Jesus tells where the host invites a lot of friends and family who all give him excuses why they can’t come, and so he ends up going out and collecting whomever he can find from the street to fill his table with guests? Wedding feasts were days-long affairs, full of people and food and drink and celebration. As the host, you were responsible for keeping your guests entertained, and filled with food and drink.
So at this feast, when the wine runs out, it is a problem. A serious one.
Word spreads through the crowd, and I suspect that people took the news as a sign that the festivities were drawing to a close, and they started to pack themselves up and say their goodbyes. Word reaches Mary, and she does what any good, proud, overreaching mother would do: she say, “Hold on! My son can fix this!” And she finds Jesus, and even though he isn’t terribly enthused at granting the request, he nevertheless instructs the servants to fill jars with water, which he then transforms into wine, in what must be the best party trick ever recorded.
But this miracle is far more than a party trick. It is the first of many signs that Jesus performs in John’s gospel, leading all the way up to him raising Lazarus from the dead. It is a sign to the crowds, the disciples, and to us that Jesus is the son of God, the word-made-flesh, the one who brings life and light.
The true miracle is not that Jesus turned water into wine, but rather that he turned a lot of water into a lot of very good wine.
The stone jars of water that Jesus changed to wine were huge barrels of water used for the Jewish rite of purification. Jesus didn’t just come up with a few bottles of wine or even just a barrel’s worth. Jesus turned one hundred fifty gallons of water into one hundred fifty gallons of wine. It is an absurd quantity. An obscene quantity. Probably way more than Mary had bargained for.
And as to the quality of this wine? When the steward tastes the wine, he rushes to the groom and wonders out loud why he saved the best wine for last, when the custom was to start with the good wine and pull out the cheap stuff after people were too drunk to notice.
The miracle in today’s gospel is not that Jesus was able to provide when the wine ran out, but that Jesus chose to respond to scarcity with extraordinary abundance, beyond anything that we could provide for ourselves, beyond anything we could expect. The Jesus who meets us when our wine has run out is the Jesus who (later in John) says “I came that [you] may have life, and have it abundantly.”
Now I think that when we hear Jesus say this we automatically assume that his offer of abundant life looks like our own ideas of abundance: more stuff, more education, more money, more opportunity, more independence.
After a very full day of house-shopping, I sat in our motel room Friday afternoon, decompressing and mindlessly flipping channels. As I flipped, I found two different channels that were airing afternoon marathons of shows about hoarders.
On one of those episodes, a woman nestled into the center of a bedroom filled floor-to-ceiling with papers, food containers, clothes, pictures, and shopping bags, saying into the camera that she found all of the extreme clutter to be comforting, because she was surrounded by things that were important to her, padded in by stuff, protected from the world outside by mountains of clutter.
Is this the abundance that Jesus is talking about? Is this a picture of abundant life? We know that it isn’t. And we know that, on a lesser scale, we do the very same thing. We mistake abundance of stuff or wealth or opportunity for abundant life, because we find comfort in all of these things that pad us in and protect us from the world. We say that we are just trying to be prepared, with our extra bedrooms and extra calories and extra clothes and shoes and even that money we have set aside “for a rainy day.”
But in truth, I think that we collect all of this stuff because we are scared. We are scared about what we’ll find if all of this other stuff gets stripped away. We are scared about what will happen if the wine, someday, runs out.
We are scared to take down the front that we put up when we smile and say “everything’s fine,” even if we know that everything is NOT fine, because we are scared to let our emotions out.
We are scared to cut things out of our crazy busy schedules because we are scared that these are the only things that bind us together as couples or families, or we are scared that saying “no” to a good opportunity will hurt us or our children down the road.
We are scared to live with less stuff, because advertising keeps telling us that we are woefully unprepared for the twists and turns of life, unless we buy more stuff, and there is a little part of us that actually believes that manipulative message, and so we are scared of being unprepared or left out.
We are scared to let the wine run out, because when we clear away all the clutter that comforts us, we have to then look at ourselves for who we are, and let others see us for who we are, and we don’t always like who we are, so it’s much much easier to face a superabundance of stuff and opportunity instead of facing the truth about ourselves.
But we do not have to be scared. God has given us a new name and delights in us, and this is the only truth about ourselves that actually matters. God gives us the promise of life and life abundant. God promises us gallons and gallons of his best wine, precisely when our own decanters have run dry. The life-abundant that Christ gives is a life showered with gifts of the spirit – gifts of knowledge and faith and comfort and healing, gifts given to us for our own good and for the common good. The abundance of Christ is hope even in hardship, joy even in trouble, love even in brokenness, live even in death.
We do not need to be scared. We do not need to be stingy with our wine in fear that it might run out. We can go forward to share our gifts and to pull down the walls of our cluttered lives. God loves us for who we are, even in times of scarcity, even when we are vulnerable. For God’s greatest picture of love for us is that God himself became human, vulnerable, weak even to the point of death, so that we might have life.
So I don’t know about you, but my heart clings to the God of today’s gospel: the God of water and wine, the God of overflowing abundance, the God who is everlasting and generous and who promises not to abandon us when we run out of the wine of hope or joy or strength or patience or faith.
And when we come up to this table, and celebrate our own feast with bread and wine, I can cling to the promise that even just a taste of this heavenly food will sustain me in a way that no other food can. Christ’s table is an everlasting banquet, one where the wine will never run out, where the wedding feast will never end, where there is no limit to the guest list and no expectation that we bring along any expensive gifts.
We simply come to this table with our empty hands. We come empty and leave filled with the grace of God. This is what the wedding feast at Cana is all about – God’s abundance of grace for our lives.
Trusting in that grace is a leap of faith, certainly. But hear God’s word of promise for you and for me: He says, “ I am enough. I am more. Be free from your fear. Trust me, and celebrate. For I give you life and life abundant. I am the good wine, and I have saved for you the best for last.”
Click the play button to hear Stanford Scriven's arrangement of Jesus Christ the Apple Tree, performed by the St. Olaf Choir.
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| "Wild Apples" by Thomas ♫, on Flickr |
Jesus Christ the Apple Tree
The tree of life my soul hath seen,
Laden with fruit, and always green:
The trees of nature fruitless be
Compared with Christ the appletree.
His beauty doth all things excel:
By faith I know, but ne'er can tell,
The glory which I now can see
In Jesus Christ the appletree.
For happiness I long have sought,
And pleasure dearly I have bought:
I missed of all; but now I see
'Tis found in Christ the appletree.
This fruit doth make my soul to thrive,
It keeps my dying faith alive;
Which makes my soul in haste to be
With Jesus Christ the appletree.
I'm weary with my former toil,
Here I will sit and rest awhile.
Under the shadow I will be,
Of Jesus Christ the appletree.
Music: Stanford Scriven (b. 1988)
Words: Anonymous; from Divine Hymns or Spiritual Songs
Compiled by Joshua Smith, New Hampshire, 1784
The tree of life my soul hath seen,
Laden with fruit, and always green:
The trees of nature fruitless be
Compared with Christ the appletree.
His beauty doth all things excel:
By faith I know, but ne'er can tell,
The glory which I now can see
In Jesus Christ the appletree.
For happiness I long have sought,
And pleasure dearly I have bought:
I missed of all; but now I see
'Tis found in Christ the appletree.
This fruit doth make my soul to thrive,
It keeps my dying faith alive;
Which makes my soul in haste to be
With Jesus Christ the appletree.
I'm weary with my former toil,
Here I will sit and rest awhile.
Under the shadow I will be,
Of Jesus Christ the appletree.
Music: Stanford Scriven (b. 1988)
Words: Anonymous; from Divine Hymns or Spiritual Songs
Compiled by Joshua Smith, New Hampshire, 1784
Our gospel from Sunday assures us that even as the earth shakes and the nations tremble, we lift our heads high as we wait for our redemption, which comes near to us in the birth of Christ for whom we wait in this season of Advent. We do not know when God's kingdom will break in, but we know that our waiting is not in vain. Here are some further thoughts on the meaningfulness of waiting:
Even on this side of Good Friday and the resurrection of Jesus, there is brokenness in our world that no cart full of Black Friday bargains can fix; there is hunger in our souls that no plateful of pumpkin custard can fill; there is twistedness in our hearts that no terrestrial hand can touch. “The whole creation,” St. Paul declared, “has been groaning together for redemption.” In Advent, Christians embrace this groaning and recognize it not as hopeless whimpering over the paucity of the present moment but as expectant yearning for a divine banquet that is already being prepared. In Advent, believers proclaim that the infant who drew his first ragged breath between a virgin’s knees has yet to speak his final word. In Advent, the church admits, as poet R.S. Thomas has put it, that “the meaning is in the waiting.” And what we await is a final Advent that is yet to come.(Bobby Gilles, "Celebrating the Waiting: Why Advent Still Matters," Sojourn Community Church blog)
I know that I need this yearly reminder of the meaningfulness of waiting—and I do not believe that I am alone. Just as the ancient Israelites waited for the coming of the Messiah in flesh, we await the consummation of the good news of God through his return in glory. Left to myself, I turn too quickly from the God of the Gospel and bow to the gods of efficiency—false gods that proclaim waiting a waste, a “killing of time.” Advent reminds me that time is far too precious to be killed, even when that time is spent waiting. Advent is a proclamation of the Gospel through the discipline of waiting.
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| "poverty" by openDemocracy, on Flickr |
Some have lost what they never had
And yet gave all.
All that they had, though it was nothing.
God saw, and it pleased him.
He read their hearts aright.
He didn’t take their offering at face value.
Why do we – why do I?
I thought I gave all and yet it was nothing.
Now I want all and have nothing to give.
I give my nothing.
Help me to open my heart and
my hands to receive your all
– or your nothing.
from Community of the Sisters of the Church
Here is an extended excerpt from a sermon on Sunday's gospel (the widow's offering) entitled "Eye Drops," by Pastor Tim Brown of Luther Memorial Church in Chicago (definitely worth following the link to read the whole thing!):
[The scribes] act and behave as if the economy of the world is the economy of God. They work with the scriptures; they translate them and interpret them. Yet, as Jesus points out, it is clear they do not see them. They do not see the Scriptures because if they did, they would not mistake the economy of the world for the economy of God.
The economy of the world says that you are more when you wear the better thing, when you have more people who report to you, when you act publicly.
Knowing the cost of everything, that is the economy of the world.
But how does God see?
While others are counting coins, Jesus is looking at something different. This woman is different because she is giving “out of her poverty,” as the Gospel notes.
That’s a harsh phrase for most of us. It’s harsh to think that someone might be asked to give when they have little.
But there is the difference. There is the change.
You know, I’ve sat with many people on my couch who tell me that their church, or their faith, or religious structures just aren’t meeting their needs. Sometimes they’ve even said that I’m not meeting their needs.
To that sort of thinking, all I can do is shrug. The economy of the world is one where we seek out places to have our needs met.
But the economy of God…
In God’s economy, we seek to have our needs changed.
In this place, where we worship the creating God who gives so that we might know what giving means, we have our needs changed.
This woman in the treasury has had her needs changed. She doesn’t see her self-worth in what she owes, owns, or has. She knows that what little she has doesn’t define her.
God defines her.
She sees herself through the eyes of God, and therefore can see the world through those eyes.
Richard Rohr, Franciscan priest and contemporary mystic states, “When we see the image of God where we don’t want to see the image of God, then we see with eyes not our own.”
That, I think, might be what it means to have our needs changed.
As [Jesus] taught, he said, "Beware of the scribes, who like to walk around in long robes, and to be greeted with respect in the marketplaces, and to have the best seats in the synagogues and places of honor at banquets! They devour widows' houses and for the sake of appearance say long prayers. They will receive the greater condemnation."
He sat down opposite the treasury, and watched the crowd putting money into the treasury. Many rich people put in large sums. A poor widow came and put in two small copper coins, which are worth a penny. Then he called his disciples and said to them, "Truly I tell you, this poor widow has put in more than all those who are contributing to the treasury. For all of them have contributed out of their abundance; but she out of her poverty has put in everything she had, all she had to live on."
--Mark 12:38-44
He sat down opposite the treasury, and watched the crowd putting money into the treasury. Many rich people put in large sums. A poor widow came and put in two small copper coins, which are worth a penny. Then he called his disciples and said to them, "Truly I tell you, this poor widow has put in more than all those who are contributing to the treasury. For all of them have contributed out of their abundance; but she out of her poverty has put in everything she had, all she had to live on."
--Mark 12:38-44
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| "The widow's mite" by Nick in exsilio, on Flickr |
James and John, the sons of Zebedee, came forward to [Jesus] and said to him, "Teacher, we want you to do for us whatever we ask of you." And he said to them, "What is it you want me to do for you?" And they said to him, "Grant us to sit, one at your right hand and one at your left, in your glory." But Jesus said to them, "You do not know what you are asking. Are you able to drink the cup that I drink, or be baptized with the baptism that I am baptized with?" They replied, "We are able." Then Jesus said to them, "The cup that I drink you will drink; and with the baptism with which I am baptized, you will be baptized; but to sit at my right hand or at my left is not mine to grant, but it is for those for whom it has been prepared."
When the ten heard this, they began to be angry with James and John. So Jesus called them and said to them, "You know that among the Gentiles those whom they recognize as their rulers lord it over them, and their great ones are tyrants over them. But it is not so among you; but whoever wishes to become great among you must be your servant, and whoever wishes to be first among you must be slave of all. For the Son of Man came not to be served but to serve, and to give his life a ransom for many."
--Mark 10:35-45
When the ten heard this, they began to be angry with James and John. So Jesus called them and said to them, "You know that among the Gentiles those whom they recognize as their rulers lord it over them, and their great ones are tyrants over them. But it is not so among you; but whoever wishes to become great among you must be your servant, and whoever wishes to be first among you must be slave of all. For the Son of Man came not to be served but to serve, and to give his life a ransom for many."
--Mark 10:35-45
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| "Soba time" by TruShu, on Flickr |
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| "Sanctus Franciscus 1" by Matias Colombres, on flickr |
He is also the reason that the hymn "All Creatures of Our God and King exists," which is a paraphrase of St. Francis's "Canticle of the Sun," in which he praises the Lord for all creation, referencing Brother Sun, Sister Moon, Brothers Wind and Air, Sister Water, Brother Fire, Mother Earth, and even Sister Death.
As I write this, it is a warm autumn day, and out my window, the grass is green, the leaves of the tree fade from deep crimson to bright gold, the sky is blue and cloudless, and the sun is bright. A beautiful day to appreciate God's creation. I thank St. Francis for reminding us of the goodness and blessedness of creation.
In honor of the day, I leave you with a song and a piece of video artwork. The song is "Brother Moon" by the band Gungor. The video is a collaborative art project curated by Stephen Proctor. Enjoy the video, and find a moment today to get outside and enjoy creation as well!