Br. David Vryhof

Matthew 23:1-12

Preachers love to repeat the gentle words of Jesus that assure us of God’s love and faithfulness.  It’s not as easy to listen to his critical words, especially when they are directed at religious leaders.

In our gospel reading tonight, Jesus denounces the Scribes and Pharisees, the religious leaders of his day.  The criticism can be understood on three levels.  First, the gospels reflect the real conflicts that Jesus had with religious leaders in his own day, many of whom were not Pharisees.  Second, they also reflect the real conflict that the early Church had with Jewish authorities.  When Matthew wrote his gospel towards the end of the first century and following the destruction of the Temple in Jerusalem in 70 C.E., the Pharisees had risen in power and often were in conflict with early Christians.  Third, this portion of Matthew’s Gospel is also aimed at early Church leaders, lest they fall into the same traps the Scribes and Pharisees did.[i]

What is it that Jesus is criticizing here?

First, it is that these religious leaders do not practice what they teach.  Jesus is not faulting them for thinking carefully about how to keep the law or for passing along their tradition to others.  “Do whatever they teach you and follow it,” Jesus says, “but do not do as they do, for they do not practice what they teach” (v. 3).  The words coming out of their mouths are right, but their code of conduct runs contrary to what they teach, and their bad example negatively impacts the lives of those they lead.  Having witnessed the unfaithfulness of Church leaders in our own day, we know that nothing undermines the gospel more quickly than the scandalous behavior of religious leaders.

Second, they have made the law burdensome and use their authority to find fault with others rather than showing sympathy and support.  In doing this, they contradict the very purpose for which the law was given.  God’s laws are intended for our good, as individuals and as a community.  They are not arbitrary or superfluous but are meant to build up the community and its people by safeguarding health and wholeness for everyone.  Instead, these leaders have made them to be burdens that weigh people down.  They have become exacting and harsh towards the people over whom they have authority, and their teachings no longer give life.

Third, these religious leaders are hypocrites who seek the adulation of others rather than the glory of God. Their focus is on looking good. They strut around in ways that draw attention to themselves; they hunger for honor and prestige. The attention and praise they receive leads them to expect preferential treatment.  Maintaining their image becomes a way of life. “They do all their deeds to be seen by others,” Jesus says (v 5).  “They love to have the place of honor at banquets and the best seats in the synagogues, and to be greeted with respect in the marketplaces, and to have people call them rabbi” (v. 6-7).

But it shall not be so among you, Jesus says.  Leadership in the community of love that Jesus is bringing about is characterized by humility rather than pride, by the service of others rather than by the cultivation of praise and adulation.  The community of love is based on mutual encouragement and support and its leaders are servants of its members.  Its focus is on God and its leaders point others towards God, assuring them of God’s love and goodness, and supporting them on their journey to God.

All of us are susceptible to these faults that Jesus names in regard to the Scribes and Pharisees.  We can, at times, become enamored of our own selves, puffed up with our own importance, tempted to think more highly of ourselves than we ought.  Jesus calls us to live out our call with humility, love, kindness, truthfulness and authenticity.  We are to imitate Christ, who “came not to be served, but to serve, and to give his life a ransom for many” (Matt. 20:28).

[i] Hare, Douglas R.A., Matthew (Interpretation Commentary); (Louisville KY: John Knox Press, 1993), p. 264-5.

Br. Luke Ditewig

Genesis 15:1-12, 17-18

God had promised Abram a son. But years passed and no son. God comes again in a vision and says: “Don’t be afraid.” Abram replies: “What? You haven’t given me a son! So my heir will have to be Eliezer, a slave born in my house.” Maybe Abram blows up more than that and shakes his fist. Maybe he slumps, dejected. Perhaps both. We don’t know the tone. Abram thinks he will have to make do with his own alternative.

God replies with gentleness and grace: No, it won’t be Eliezer. You will have your own son. Look at the stars and count them.  Your descendants will be that numerous. Every night, look up, and you’ll see a reminder of me and my promise. Wait for me.

Beyond Abram’s comprehension, amid confusion, grief, anger, and questions, God kept coming. Later in old age, Sarah bore their son Isaac.

Jesus laments that Jerusalem kills the prophets, God’s messengers, and resists him. Jesus says he is like a mother hen. He longs to gather and shelter us. A mother hen will also confront an enemy with claws to protect her young. Preparing for bed at Compline, we pray: “Hide us under the shadow of your wings.”[i] Even as we run, push, ignore, and fight, God comes to protect, gather, hold, and embrace. As heavenly parent to wayward, confused, and frustrated children, God keeps desiring and gently calling.

Is this your image of God during Lent, one who keeps coming and calling with fortitude and gentleness? Many of us have received an image of God who is a harsh and stern authority          with a pointing finger demanding an apology. Kneeling on marble and fasting might trigger that image.

Remember how we began. “Blessed be the God of our salvation: who bears our burdens and forgives our sins.” “Let us come to the Lord who is full of compassion” Lent does not begin with confession. Lent begins with love. Lent is like a retreat with the purpose to reclaim, renew, and refresh our identity as children whom God loves.

Last Sunday’s gospel recounted Jesus’ long retreat and his temptations in the desert. Jesus went out there from his baptism, where God said: “You are my son, my beloved, with you I am well pleased.” Retreat, Lenten fasting and discipline, and our different order for Lenten worship is all rooted in the love of God who calls us beloved.

From the experience of being loved, we kneel and confess sin. In response to love, we give something up or take something on. In response to love, we let God touch and heal our wounds. Even then, we may still run or fight the risk. Watch what happens. God desires us and keeps coming.

We Brothers say in our Rule of Life: “we shall often have to struggle with our reluctance to be so loved so deeply by God. Christ himself will strive with us … .”[ii] Jesus offers a variety of images to grasp and through them touches us. Try praying with a loving image.

Perhaps a hen as she gathers her young. Imagine God as a hen who gathers us under strong wings in safety. Imagine yourself as a lost lamb with a divine shepherd who calls you by name, searches, finds, and carries you home. Gaze at the stars. Remember other places and seasons gazing at the expanse. Recalling grace in those places and times, trusting God’s grace here and now.

If not chickens or sheep or stars, what image evokes feeling loved for you? Spend time with it trusting, imagining, and asking for a revelation of God’s love.

Hold that imagine in mind in the silence before worship and as you kneel to confess. If giving up something this Lent, remember that loving image as you fast or refrain. If taking on something new, hold that loving image as you do it. Letting go and taking on, kneeling and confessing, are all in response to Love, response to One creatively comes, gently calls, and invites.

Lent begins with love. Soak in it, resting under the wings of hen or climbing on a sturdy rock, being held by a shepherd or embraced by family or friends.            Responding to Love, dare to listen, kneel and confess, pray with images and trust for more. God loves you. God desires you and keeps coming.

[i] Psalm 17:8

[ii] SSJE Rule of Life, Chapter 21: The Mystery of Prayer

Br. Jamie Nelson, SSJE

Matthew 6:7-15

What comes to mind when you hear the word acme?

For people who’ve spent time watching American cartoons, one image that may come to mind is the fictional ACME Corporation found in the story lines of Wile E. Coyote and the Road Runner.[1] You may recall that the ACME Corporation’s product line included a jet-propelled pogo stick, rocket-powered roller skates, and other specialized devices.

The cartoon’s use of the word ACME meant “the best in its class,” but the original Greek word referred to the highest point of a mountain, the pinnacle of the peak.

In Matthew’s retelling of the story of Jesus, the gospel passage we just heard recounts Jesus teaching the Lord’s Prayer to a large crowd of people during the long discourse known as the Sermon on the Mount – Mount as in mountain, because it took place on top of a hill. Since the passage occurs in the very middle of the Sermon on the Mount, you might say that the Lord’s Prayer serves as the acme of the story.

So – prayer is at the core of Jesus’s teaching, as prayer is at the core of our spiritual lives.

Prayer is where our relationship with God grows into something real, where it moves from separation and distance into connection and community.

Jesus displays that sense of closeness, scholar & theologian Eugene Peterson writes (Peterson 2008, 168–69), by beginning the prayer with the pronoun “our.”[2] Instead of saying “THE God who is far away,” he says, “Our Father,” thereby personalizing the relationship. He locates God in relationship with us.

And beginning with the word “our” reminds us that we are not alone in our prayer. “Our” means we pray as part of the community centered around Jesus and his teaching. We pray with Jesus and with each other when we pray the Lord’s Prayer.

The body of the prayer consists of six petitions. The first three, which go like this:

“Hallowed be your name,

Your kingdom come,

Your will be done, on earth as it is in heaven”

place God first. The words orient us to direct our thinking upwards towards God in heaven, recognizing God’s power and holiness, and asking that God’s kingdom may come to earth.

The next petition, “give us this day our daily bread,” requests that we may receive the sustenance that we need in the present moment, just as we will when the kingdom of God Jesus taught about is present in our midst.

In the final two petitions of the prayer, we pray that we may live out that kingdom vision in our lives by forgiving others just as we are forgiven by God and by experiencing protection from the forces and trials that test our reliance on God.

In this story, Jesus teaches us to start our prayer by pausing to remember who God is to us. And once fed out of that relationship of inexhaustible love, we then ask for the strength to live out that love in relationship with others.

In just a few short moments, we will pray the Lord’s Prayer together. As we pray, listen for the invitation – what words or phrases stand out to you tonight?

And here are several suggestions for how to pray the Lord’s Prayer in the future:

First, if reciting this prayer is so familiar to you that it’s easy to overlook the meaning behind it, consider writing it out.

If you speak multiple languages, try praying it aloud in a language different that the language you normally pray it in.

And if this prayer is new to you or still unfamiliar, what a gift you are holding as you explore the words for the first time! Jesus is teaching you about himself through these words that he prayed with us and for us.

Any way you pray it, reciting the Lord’s Prayer shapes us, re-forming us to be part of bringing God’s kingdom to earth.

At the acme of the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus teaches us the Lord’s Prayer. May the prayer be for you like the unforgettable view from a mountaintop summit, a relivable memory that guides our lives as followers of Jesus.

Amen.

[1] https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wile_E._Coyote_and_the_Road_Runner

[2] Peterson, Eugene H. 2008. Tell It Slant: A Conversation on the Language of Jesus in His Stories and Prayers. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans.

Luke 4:1-13

It feels to me as if a great unraveling is underway in our world – and especially in our own nation.

Perhaps it began years ago, but the recent stripping away of structures and protections that safeguard basic features of our democracy is a sign of its acceleration in recent weeks.

Knowing just how to respond – skillfully, lovingly, and faithfully – is no easy task. There are many temptations to wander down paths that don’t lead to larger life. On the one hand, there is the temptation to “doom scroll”: in the quest for genuine information and analysis, we may end up marinating our hearts in a froth of anger, fear, despair, and cynicism. On the other hand, the temptation may be to tune out entirely, insulating ourselves from the endless, terrible news so that we can simply face the day ahead of us in relative peace.

For most people I know, the predominant feeling is helplessness: a feeling of utter impotence to effect change or stem the tide of so much that is being lost. “What can we actually do?,” is the question I hear the most. It is a question at the center of my own prayerful discernment, and in our discernment as a community.

Part of what we can do – the central part, for us, as followers of Jesus – we are already doing. We are here. You came here this morning with some measure of hope in your heart and a need for God’s mercy and truth. Every warm body and heart counts, and every scrap of hope and ounce of need builds up the Body of Christ.

What does our gospel give us in the midst of this helplessness – here at the beginning of Lent? And how can it reconnect us with our inherent and inalienable power?

From one perspective, we see a Jesus full of strength, conviction, and purpose: filled with the Spirit and driven into his solitary sojourn in the wilderness. After the divine affirmation Jesus has received in his baptism at the river Jordan – complete with a voice from heaven (“You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.”) – Jesus seems destined to go from strength to strength, upheld by God’s favor. If this were a retreat before making a Life Profession, we Brothers might say that the primary purpose would be simply confirmation of the call: to settle and deepen into the rightness and confidence of God’s will as it is revealed more and more clearly.

But then there’s Satan. Although Jesus is empowered with a deep and clear intention, he is brought in these forty days to the lowest point of his own human limits and faced with his own barrage of temptations. Being “God’s beloved Son” does not shield him from this foe. To the contrary, it seems to ignite a deeper resentment on the part of the Enemy. Satan levels all his diabolical ingenuity at Jesus, who represents the one true threat to his dominion over the hearts of humankind.

Save for his utter reliance on God, Jesus is quite helpless.

But Jesus chooses to abide in that place. For forty days, he makes his home there – with all who have ever known helplessness, hunger, loneliness, and the temptation to succumb to impulses that would disfigure the divine image within. Rather than exercise divine power in accordance with the insinuated purposes of the Enemy, Jesus abides, resists, and emerges true to God’s plan for him.

The earliest monastics who made their home in the deserts of Egypt, Syria, and Palestine would draw much inspiration from Jesus’ call to abide and resist. They did not simply believe in demons, the way nearly all ancient peoples did. Rather, they knew demons by direct experience: those minions of Satan who manipulate our innermost thoughts and feelings to lead us down paths that do not lead to life. They also knew the power of speaking aloud words that correctly named the offending demon, and the words of Scripture to weave a net of protection and blessing in response to each habitual thought that might ensnare, distract, or even persecute them.

 This may seem like inaccessible or advanced spiritual technology. For some, the desert fathers and mothers are so far removed in space and time that they might as well be Jedi.

Here are a few practices that are imminently possible, and practical:

Cultivate spiritual friendships.

Do you know one other disciple of Jesus whose faith you admire; whose values and way of living reflect the gospel; and to whom you can speak freely and in confidence? Ask that person for help when you are in the midst of trial and temptation. Take the risk of expressing freely the thoughts and feelings that tie you down and leave you less free to fulfill God’s will. Make it clear that the help you are seeking is primarily a listening ear, an open heart, and a companion in prayer – rather than someone to offer well-meaning solutions or commiserate with your worst impulses. You may find the idea terrifying, humiliating, or exposing. Ask yourself why. Is this a protective impulse of your ego? Is Satan deploying the demon of pride to convince you to keep those thoughts and feelings to yourself – where they can consume your spirit under cover of darkness? When they are named for what they are, externalized in the presence of another Christian, these habitual thoughts shrink back to their actual size – much smaller and far less powerful than the soul who clings to Jesus.

Spiritual direction or sacramental confession are more formal versions of this kind of trustworthy encounter, with a person who has been trained and authorized within the church to provide such listening as a ministry. Your primary need may be to know God’s forgiveness, but you can’t seem to find that broad, open place of Resurrection without help. Receiving it in the private and confidential rite of reconciliation– mediated through the words of another humble sinner like yourself—can lift untold burdens from our souls.

One practice in which I have participated and been trained to lead is a Truth Mandala, or Truth-Telling Circle. The Truth Mandala’s purpose is to create a safe and well-contained space to ritually express challenging and heavy emotions around the state of our living earth. In the center of the circle are four objects: a heavy stick, a stone, a pile of dead leaves, and an empty bowl. The stick signifies our anger; the stone, our fear; the pile of dead leaves, our sorrow; and the empty bowl, our need and emptiness. A piece of fabric signifies any other feeling they are in touch with. One by one, each participant comes forward, grasps whichever object they choose, and voices these feelings aloud, while the circle bears silent witness. In the Truth Mandala, polite elderly women raise their voices and stomp their feet. Stoic-looking men accept permission to open the floodgates of their tears. Young people voice profound fear of an earth their unborn children will not be able to inhabit.

Guiding this exercise with a church group yesterday, one young woman simply grasped the dead leaves with both hands and wept for several moments in silence. We wept with her. Participants learn that they are not crazy for feeling as they do; that there are many, many others; that speaking truth unlocks hidden power; and that in speaking these truths, they speak for all life. The other face of our anger is our passion for justice. The other face of our fear is the courage it takes to speak it. The other face of our sorrow is our love – we only grieve what we are losing if we have come to love it. And the other face of our emptiness is open space for new possibility to emerge.

The desert monastic Evagrius of Pontus wrote: “The monk is one who is separated from all and united to all.” We read in our Rule of Life, “The pioneers of monasticism believed that the monk was called to the margin of society in order to hear within himself the deepest cries of humanity, and to discover a profound unity with all living beings in their struggle to attain ‘the freedom of the glory of the children of God.’

In whatever form you are called to abide and resist, the contemplative life of spiritual struggle with Satan is always politically subversive. Self-awareness, sharpened and refined by patient hours of self-offering to God, produces people who cannot be coerced by the powers of this world. They are rooted in a much higher Power and breathe the air of the Spirit.

Far from a self-absorbed withdrawal from the pain of the world, to accept the call to follow Jesus into the desert asks that we open ourselves wider than we thought possible to the suffering of all.

In this season of Lent, join Jesus in his helpless, desert fast. Join your helplessness to his. And in doing so, watch and wait for the tide of your spirit to turn, as you realize: You are not helpless. You are endowed with power that is not your own, but it flows through you. God empowers you to use it. We all need your power now.

I conclude with a poem by the German poet Rainer Maria Rilke:

God speaks to each of us as he makes us,

then walks with us silently out of the night.

These are the words we dimly hear:

You, sent out beyond your recall,

Go to the limits of your longing.

Embody me.

Flare up like flame

and make big shadows I can move in.

Let everything happen to you: beauty and terror.

Just keep going. No feeling is final.

Don’t let yourself lose me.

Nearby is a country they call life.

You will know it by its seriousness.

Give me your hand.

Br. Curtis Almquist

Isaiah 58:9b-14

During Lent, the Hebrew scriptures continually remind us of the words of the prophets. In ancient Israel, the prophets were tolerated, sometimes. The great rabbi, Abraham Joshua Heschel, said: “To the patriots, [the prophets] seem pernicious; to the pious multitude, [the prophets seem] blasphemous; to those in authority, [the prophets seem] seditious.”[i]

The prophets, such as Isaiah, hear God’s voice and look at the world from God’s perspective. The prophets speak of God’s personal and intimate relationship to the world, how God is deeply affected by humankind. God is full of compassion, tenderness, and sorrow for what has gone awry in our world.[ii]

Secondly, the prophets remind us that God is never neutral. God is always partial to justice.[iii] So we hear from Isaiah’s prophecy a qualifier whether God is with us, whether we will know God’s presence. Isaiah prophesies, “You shall call, and the Lord will answer; you shall cry for help, and God will say, Here I am… if.  “If you cease to speak evil, if you offer your food to the hungry, and if you satisfy the needs of the afflicted…”  Then. Then…!  Then we will experience God Emmanuel, God with us. God is always partial to justice for the poor and afflicted, for the homeless and hopeless.

Of course Jesus was formed by the prophetic witness. The very words Jesus speaks to begin his public ministry he quotes from this prophecy of Isaiah.[iv] Jesus’ attention is galvanized around the needs of the least, and the last, and the lost.

To quote again Rabbi Heschel: God is “the most moved mover,” who is deeply affected by human life. God is emotionally engaged with us. God suffers when human beings are hurt, so that when I hurt another person, I injure God.[v] Injury – whether we injure or whether we are injured – informs or deforms our relationship with God. Isaiah and the other prophets consistently speak to this.

In our baptism we explicitly recognize that God has come to live within us. We are God’s temple.[vi] And our values must be God’s values.

Meanwhile, there are spiritual forces in this world that rebel against God, and evil powers which corrupt and destroy the creatures of God.[vii] Look at what’s happening all around us! We today must look; we must pray for protection, our own and others’; and we must act with the presence and power of God within us. How are we to act? Each of us has a different reach. But we must reach.

[i] The Prophets (1962), by Abraham Joshua Heschel, p. 23. As a young man, Rabbi Heschel (1907-1972) was arrested by the Gestapo and deported to Poland, where much of his family died in concentration camps. Heschel escaped, eventually arriving in the United States. Heschel believed that the teachings of the Hebrew prophets were a clarion call for social action. He worked in civil rights, marching in Selma alongside Martin Luther King, Jr.  As an academic he was a prolific author. He emphasized the mutually dependent relationship between God, humankind, and all the rest of creation.

[ii] Heschel called this the divine pathos, i.e., sympathy or pity.

[iii] Heschel, p. 298.

[iv] The Gospel according to Luke 4:16-21remembers Jesus’ saying that he fulfills the prophecy of Isaiah (61:1-9ff).

[v] Heschel, p. 375.

[vi] 1 Corinthians 6:19-20.

[vii] The Book of Common Prayer (1979), p. 302.

Hebrews 10:32-39

“We are not among those who shrink back and so are lost, but among those who have faith and so are saved” (Heb 10:39).

This line from the letter to the Hebrews strikes me today as we commemorate the martyrdom of Perpetua and Felicity. Young mothers and catechumens, the one a noblewoman, the other a slave, Perpetua and Felicity were arrested, imprisoned, and executed, along with three others, at games held in Carthage in the early third century.

Their death in the arena is lurid, but it is the account of their last days in prison that makes the line from Hebrews jump out at me. Perpetua leaves an account in her own words of that time, and visions that she received there. At the end, following her final vision, she writes, “I understood that I should fight, not with beasts but against the devil; but I knew that mine was the victory.”[1] Felicity herself was also eager for martyrdom, inducing an early pregnancy so she would be eligible to suffer and die for her faith.[2]

Both Perpetua and Felicity saw in their suffering and death a witnessing to the truth of their faith, and a revelation of their authentic selves. Look at this pitcher, Perpetua said to her father. Could you call it anything other than a pitcher? Neither could I call myself anything other than a Christian.[3]

“We are not among those who shrink back and so are lost.”

What is the lesson for us here today, at the beginning of Lent?

One way is to pray for courage of Perpetua and Felicity; the courage and faith, in the words of the collect we pray at Compline each Friday, “to die daily to our sin and pride, that even as this flesh and blood decays, our lives still may grow in you.”

We may not fight beasts in the amphitheater, but we each face subtler enemies that entice us to trust our own strength, encourage us to resist God’s grace, and draw us away from trust and faith in God. Enemies that convince us to live a half-life rather than face the daunting challenge of dying daily to self.

But we can face this challenge, we can cooperate with God in this dying to self, by recognizing all the ways in which death is at work in advance in our lives, in “hardships, renunciations, losses, bereavements, frustrations, and risks,” as the chapter in our Rule on “Holy Death” states.[4] Each of these is an invitation to let go, to surrender, to trust in God and not ourselves.

Where have you noticed these invitations, in your life? How have you responded?

The season of Lent calls us to self-examination, to honesty about our own hearts. Part of that is the invitation to die each day—to die to all that holds us back from a full acceptance of what it means to live as followers of Jesus. To pray that we might not shrink back and be lost. To pray that we might have the courage and faith to be brought from bondage and death into freedom and life eternal.

Amen.

[1] St. Perpetua, The Passion of Saints Perpetua and Felicity, 10, available online at the Internet Medieval Source Book, Paul Halsall, Fordham University, 1996, https://sourcebooks.web.fordham.edu/source/perpetua.asp.

[2] Ibid., 15

[3] Paraphrase of ibid., 3.

[4] The Rule of the Society of Saint John the Evangelist (Lanham, MD, 1997), 97.

Br. Luke Ditewig

Luke 9:18-25

What would you do if you fell in icy water? When we Brothers visited Scotland in 2017, I saw a billboard with the image of a man looking distressed, arms and legs extended, lying in water fully clothed. The caption: “Float for your life. If you fall into water, fight your instinct to swim until the cold water shock passes. Float to live.”[i]

My instinct would be to try to swim, to fight for my life. The Royal Navy teaches that doing so, I would likely choke and drown. Our bodies adjust to shock if we first give them time to adjust. In freezing water, float to live. Then swim to safety or call for help.

“Deny yourself, take up your cross, and follow me,” Jesus says. Resist instinctively taking control, grasping like you’ve got it all together, and fighting to save your own life. Surrender, let go, and die to yourself. Jesus is our savior. Receiving Jesus’ repeated invitation, we often fear, flee, or fight. I certainly do. It may be habitual, instinctive. From what are you fleeing or fighting? For what are you thrashing or struggling?

Many are struggling with waves of shock and sadness at our new president’s behavior. While resistance is vital, so is praying the pain. Acknowledge and pray the hard. God listens. In whatever form your prayer takes, whether in the silence of your heart, in speaking to a trusted person, in journaling, gazing, drawing, or moving, risk stark honesty about your experience. Name the cold freeze. Pray your life as it is. Be still holding the hard, and God will meet you.

Poet Denise Levertov wrote: “freefall, and float / into Creator Spirit’s deep embrace, / knowing that no effort earns / that all surrounding grace.”[ii] In the pain and shock of life like freezing water, float first to live, surrendering to our Savior.

[i] Float to Live – Respect The Water

[ii] The Avowal by Denise Levertov – Famous poems, famous poets. – All Poetry

Br. Geoffrey Tristram

Psalm 90:4-5

Today is Shrove Tuesday. In the Christian tradition, this day has always been seen as a day of preparation; a day to prepare our bodies and souls for a great journey; the holy season of Lent, which begins tomorrow on Ash Wednesday.  The word ‘shrove’, from the word shrive, means receiving forgiveness and absolution for our sins, being ‘shriven’, before the start of Lent. And that will happen tomorrow.

We are about to begin a six-week journey, and we need to prepare. Like before any journey, there are bags to be packed, decisions to be made about what to take, and what should be left behind. Seasoned travelers strongly advise us to ‘travel light’. Today, this Shrove Tuesday is the time to ask, ‘What should I leave behind, what can I do without, or sacrifice, so that I can travel light and be available to God on the journey? Then to ask, ‘Where do I want to go? What is the direction I want to take in my Lenten journey? In other words, what is my intention for this Lent? Where have I wandered off the road and how might I need to amend my life, to get back onto the road that God has set before me? What areas of spiritual growth do I need to ask God’s help in dealing with? Lent is a great gift for us if we use it aright.

So, the six-week journey is about to begin. Don’t forget to empty the fridge! Eat up all the food before you go. In French, this day is known as ‘Mardi Gras’, ‘Fat Tuesday’. Traditionally today is the time to clear the fridge, eat up the meat and dairy produce – no more pancakes, donuts, desserts. We need to travel light.

In some places, the preparation for the journey is nearly as long as the journey itself! In New Orleans, the preparation begins on January 6, the day of the Epiphany. Those weeks of preparation for Lent are known as ‘carnival’, which literally means, ‘farewell to meat’. During these weeks there are numerous celebrations: parades, street parties, circuses, music, eating, dancing and singing.  That all reaches a climax today, ‘Mardi Gras’. I have never been to the Mardi Gras celebrations, but a friend of mine was there once, and he gave me an amazing description of what it was like. People everywhere, partying, the streets strewn with decorations, singing, dancing, pretty chaotic. But, he said, the most incredible moment was what happened at exactly 12 am, the first minute of Ash Wednesday. The preparation was over. The journey now begins. At exactly 12 am, the music stops, police, mounted on horseback clear the revelers and partyers from the streets. They are then followed by huge trucks, sweeping away all the trash and debris of the carnival, suddenly there is silence, and the streets are swept clean. Lent has begun.

That is a powerful spiritual image. Our psalm this evening is psalm 90. It talks about how human life is fleeting, and passes away quickly like a dream. In verses 4 and 5, we hear, ‘For a thousand years in your sight are like yesterday when it is past, and like a watch in the night. You sweep us away like a dream.’  I love that. ‘You sweep us away like a dream.’ Just as those great trucks sweep the streets of New Orleans, so our mortal lives will one day be swept away like a dream, which disappears upon waking up. It reminds us that our time on earth is short, so we need to seize the day. This is also an image of judgment. A sober recognition that our lives also need sweeping clean. So, as we prepare for the Lenten journey, we take stock, we acknowledge our sins. ‘Create in me a clean heart O God, and renew a right spirit within me.’ So, are you ready for the journey? Are your bags packed? Which direction do you need to take?  Have you made some wrong turns during the past year? Get back on the road which leads to life and to God.

In New Orleans, the Lenten journey begins exactly at 12 am on Ash Wednesday. There is a precise moment for the journey to begin. We need to get on with it. I like that, because we so often say to ourselves, ‘Yes, I need to make some changes in my life. I need to get my prayer life in order, my relationship with God. But then we just don’t get round to it. What’s great about tomorrow, Ash Wednesday, is that there is a precise moment, when ash is marked on our foreheads. That is the moment. Lent has begun.  We are sent out to begin this great spiritual adventure. No more putting it off. We’ve packed our bags, as light as possible. We know where we are headed.  We have closed the front door, and the journey begins. Bon voyage!

Luke 9:28-43a

Good morning and welcome to the Sunday of the Transfiguration. Today marks the final Sunday before Lent begins. Our great journey through the desert is nearly here.

This morning we celebrate one of the most glorious events in the life of Jesus. The Transfiguration. The Transfiguration of Jesus is hard to oversell. It was an astounding miracle.

Reading and praying with the Transfiguration can leave us feeling like Peter, James, and John did that day on the mountain. We know something great happened on that mountain, but we don’t quite know what or why or how it happened. The mystery of the Transfiguration is just as awesome as its glory.

Peter, James, and John went up that mountain with Jesus to pray. I love imagining what they thought was going to happen. I always wonder if they had any idea that a miracle was about to occur or if they thought it was going to be an ordinary day hike.

We are told that at some point on their journey on the mountain, suddenly, Jesus was transfigured. His face changed in appearance and his clothes became dazzlingly white. Not only that, the prophets Moses and Elijah appeared and spoke with Jesus.

One of my favorite parts of this story is Peter’s reaction. Peter sees this glorious transfiguration and the presence of the two prophets and says to Jesus that they should build three dwelling places for them right then and there. I love this reaction from Peter. It is as if something awesome happened and he said hey let’s just stay here forever.

Now personally I know that feeling, and I think you do too. That feeling when it is as if heaven and earth have kissed. Everything feels perfect and you just want to stay there. We want to hold on to these dazzling moments because they are just so beautiful. In those moments say things like I could just die right here and I’d be happy.

Who could blame us for wanting to hold on to God’s glory? We spend our lives relentlessly pursuing God and in those moments when we finally feel closest to God, of course we just want to stay there. We don’t want to leave that moment, we don’t want to go back to life, we want to stay high on that mountain forever.

I felt that way one time during my first Holy Week at SSJE. I was a postulant and was given a very important task – I had to carry a platter of brownies and a platter of stuffed mushrooms to the guesthouse. Now this was Good Friday, so we Brothers were fasting, but we wanted to serve food to our guests in the guesthouse.

As I made my way from the kitchen to the guesthouse, I passed through the Holy Spirit chapel. As I walked in the door, the sight of the sunlight hitting an icon made me stop. Maybe it was the angle of the sun, maybe it was Holy Week, or maybe I was just really hungry, but there was something about the beauty of that icon shining that just killed me. I stopped and stared, mushrooms and brownies in hand, and just couldn’t pull myself away. I don’t know how long I stood there, but I remember eventually someone called my name from another room, probably wondering where I was, and I snapped back to reality.

The beauty and glory of the Transfiguration is hard to oversell, but that’s not the whole story. Our Gospel this morning had two halves. One half on the mountain, and one half back down the mountain.

One of the best and worst parts of life is that it keeps going. The worst parts of life don’t last forever and the best parts of life don’t last forever. No matter how high we climb that mountain, at some point we are going to have to come back down.

We cannot stay on our mountaintops just as much as I can’t stay stopped staring at icons during Holy Week.  It’s that walk back down the mountain that makes us who we are. It’s that walk back down the mountain where we take what we have seen and enter back into the world. It’s that walk back down the mountain where the glory of God meets the reality of humanity.

When Jesus walked back down that mountain after his transfiguration, he was immediately met by a crowd. Jesus was met by a crowd and a father with a sick child. This child, a boy foaming at the mouth and shrieking, needed healing and the disciples had been unsuccessful in helping the child. This is another image I just love. Jesus, fresh from the glory of his transfiguration, met by this messy situation.

Jesus then says to the crowd “you faithless and perverse generation, how much longer must I be with you and bear with you?” Have you ever said anything like that before? On your walk back down the mountain and back into the real world, only to see the fear and the frustration all around you, and you just want to say oh God.

Fear and frustration are realities of the human condition. We may look at ourselves, our neighbors, our coworkers, our country, our world and be full of fear and frustration. One of the greatest challenges of our life is to experience the glory of God while simultaneously experiencing the harsh realities we live in. It can feel impossible to rectify.

So what do we do? How do we maintain our relationship with God in this era of fear and frustration?

Start by focusing on your own experiences with God in your own life. When in the past have you felt the closest to God, the most intimately connected to the glory of God? Remember all those times you gave great thanks God and praised God for all God’s glory. Remind yourself that all of those experiences were real, they were true, they had meaning.

Remember, also, the times of immense suffering in your own life. The times so dark, that the glory of God felt impossible. Perhaps you felt forsaken by God and forgotten by the world. Be on speaking terms with that darkness, that fear and frustration, that anger and desperation, and remember it was all real, it was your lived experience.

Finally, remember here you are today, breathing and alive, and remember God was equally present at your greatest moments, your darkest moments, and right now. This is a mystery beyond our understanding, yet we know it to be true through our own experiences. This is just as true for you as it is for all human beings throughout time.

The transfiguration of Jesus is astounding. We will never fully understand it. What we do understanding is somehow, someway the glory of God sneaks through our lives and transfigures us. On the mountaintop, in the valley, at home, at work, from the cradle to the hospice, God’s glory is present, real, and true. Seek God with everything you have. Amen.

Br. Jamie Nelson, SSJE

Mark 4:26-29

“The seed would sprout and grow, though the sower does not know how.”[1]

To the disciples listening to Jesus, watching seeds sprout and grow must have seemed a rather mysterious process despite being a commonplace sight in first-century Galilee. Sure, each year they would have seen farmers scattering seed over wheat and barley fields in late autumn once the first winter rains had arrived. They would have observed tiny green seedlings emerging from the soil 1-2 weeks after sowing. But what exactly was going on in that invisible underground process?

Twenty centuries after Jesus first shared this parable, plant physiologists can tell us much more about the workings of seed germination, that temperature, moisture, air, and light all interact to provide the precise conditions that signal to seeds that it’s time to grow, to break out of their protective coats and lengthen up towards the light.

Different types of seeds need different conditions to spark growth. In forests, grasslands, and deserts, a soil seed bank builds up over time. Seeds from different plant species accumulate and lie dormant, waiting for their moment. Some seeds need the two-step sequence first of winter’s freezing cold and then of spring’s warming thaw as the green light to go. Other kinds of seeds may rest in the soil seed bank for years, even decades, until mechanical, chemical, or thermal processes spark growth.[2]

In the Rocky Mountains, Lodgepole pine trees have integrated wildfire into their reproductive cycle.[3] Mature trees retain some of their cones on their branches for decades. It’s not until those cones are exposed to the intense heat of a wildfire that the resin that seals up the cone melts away, allowing the seeds to be released for distribution across the newly barren ground. The Lodgepole pine then become one of the early colonizers of fire-devastated landscapes, eventually growing to a stately height of 60 feet or more.

We carry within ourselves our own soil seed bank, a reservoir of sparks of faith that when planted, grow us closer to God and to making the Kingdom of God present in our midst. Over time, we accumulate a variety of those seeds of faith. They are the fruit of life events and experiences both small and large, mundane and sublime: conversations over cups of coffee, deeply heartfelt yet unanswered prayers, the beauty of a sunset, the birth of a child, the devastation of losing a job – joys and sorrows and more, all those moments and memories that you carry in your soul.

Some of those seeds of faith germinate quickly because the right conditions are present. Other seeds of faith lie dormant for years, germinating unexpectedly after the devastation of a spiritual wildfire which brings the searing heat needed to free those seeds.

So, what can we do to work towards growing the Kingdom of God in our midst? Cultivate the right conditions for germination and trust the process. The timing and invisible work of spiritual growth may seem mysterious. When favorable conditions for germination aren’t present, have faith that God our marvelous creator is building up our soil seed banks, which will one day blossom into the Kingdom of God.

Though we may not know how, the seed will sprout and grow.

Amen.

[1] Mark 4:27b

[2] These processes are known as seed stratification and scarification.

[3] This adaptation is known as serotiny.