"Peace. Be Still."

Thirty-one years ago, thieves broke into the Isabella Stuart Gardner Museum in Boston and stole several paintings.  One was a painting by Rembrandt that depicted the scene in this coming Sunday’s gospel (Mark 4:35-41).  In the painting, the disciples in the boat are going ballistic.  Their little boat, hit by a huge wave, is almost standing on end.  Lightning and thunder and waves are crashing over their heads.  Jesus however – and Rembrandt illumines his face powerfully – is sound asleep.

Now, you don’t need to be a graduate of the Maritime Academy to know that if the problem is having so much water in your boat that you’re in danger of being swamped, then the solution is fairly clear.  Bail.  Bail like crazy.  All hands on deck to start bailing.  

So how come that one guy is sound asleep?  Come on Jesus – wake up!  And what happens?  Jesus does wake up.  But instead of lending a hand with bailing, he has a different solution.  He turns toward the water.  Quietly, he says, “Peace.  Be still.”  And the Sea of Galilee becomes as smooth as glass.  

The Good News is that when we’re frantically bailing, God offers a different solution.  He offered a perspective of love that goes to the heart of the problem.

I have a friend named Pat.  Some years ago, Pat and his wife bought a large house in a rough and tumble neighborhood, opened its doors to other people, and began to have a Christian presence and ministry in the city.

With this new ministry, Pat felt that he needed some spiritual guidance.  So he began to meet every couple of weeks with an Episcopal priest named Taylor.

At their first meeting, Taylor said to Pat, “Who is God calling you to be?”  And Pat said that God was calling him to do this and that ministry.  At their next meeting two weeks later, Taylor said to Pat, “Who is God calling you to be?”  And Pat reminded Taylor that he had already told him some of the things that God was calling him to do.

This went on at every session, and Pat got frustrated.  Taylor ended every session by asking Pat, “Who is God calling you to be?”

It got to be Christmas.  Pat’s children, who had grown up and left home years ago, were all back and together for the first time.  They were having a good time getting caught up.  Then, in a quiet moment, his daughter said, “Dad, not to change the subject, but I have something to tell you.  I’m pregnant.”

Every eye turned toward Pat.  His daughter was not married, and her relationship with her boyfriend was rocky.  Everyone in that room braced themselves for Pat’s solution to that problem - a solution of disappointment and judgment.

In that moment, Taylor’s voice went off in Pat’s head.  And Pat suddenly knew who God was calling him to be.  God was calling him to be a father.  He said to his daughter,

So, what shall we name the baby? 


Later that afternoon, Pat was downstairs folding laundry.  His son came into the room with tears in his eyes.  He said, “Way to go, Dad,” and embraced him.

In what ways might God be calling you to stop bailing, and to turn instead to the power of God’s forgiving and redeeming love?

I can’t wait to see you on Sunday.

Love,

Jim

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It's Just Ordinary

“O God, from whom all good proceeds: Grant that by your inspiration we may think those things that are right, and by your merciful guiding may do them; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.”

-Collect of the Day, Proper 5

Dear Friends,

Trinity Sunday is behind us and it’s officially Ordinary Time! A lot of good work has been written to recapture the extraordinariness of Ordinary Time. Eugene Peterson, Julie Canlis, and Frederick Buechner are just a few who’ve written books with titles ranging from The Great Ordinary to The Remarkable Ordinary. Ordinary, it would seem, is all the rage. But I think it’s also okay—and healthy—to allow Ordinary Time to also be just what it sounds like. 

The Collect of the Day for this Sunday captures the ordinary ordinariness of the Christian life. We pray for the “inspiration to think those things that are right,” and that by God’s “merciful guiding may do them.” The basic belief is that ideas matter—that belief informs decision. What’s more ordinary than that?

That said, this emphasis happens to be a bit counter-cultural in our age. We tend to think that habit informs belief, and for good reason. Many of us who are trying to be happier have been advised by our therapist to keep a thanksgiving journal. Having jotted down little things we’re thankful for every day for a month, we found ourselves more grateful. 

I’m not trying to come down against this—and I don’t think the authors of our Collect were either—but in this prayer, there is a correction to an emphasis on “deeds over creeds” that was so popular in the Late Medieval period and is so today. 

Those who originally wrote this Collect believed that ideas aren’t neutral. They knew that ideas have consequences. That’s why in this prayer they doubled down on the fact that belief shapes behavior. 

In his great book The Cruelty of Heresy, Bishop Fitzsimons Allison wrote that bad ideas about God and humanity are not only not neutral, they’re cruel, and lead to all kinds of trauma. And I don’t know about you, but this sounds a whole lot like what the same shrink who told me to keep a thanksgiving journal said about toxic beliefs I had about myself.

So what do we make of the disparity of emphasis regarding belief and practice? We hold ideas and praxis together. Each informs the other. But what was needed in the late Medieval Age (and what I think is needed today) was an emphasis on the fact that ideas matter. That belief informs behavior. That good ideas about humanity and God help lead to flourishing. That the good news of the gospel births goodness.

At the end of the day, it’s not rocket science. It’s actually all pretty ordinary.

Grace and Peace,

Ben

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Duckeys and Horseys

In one “Peanuts” comic strip, Lucy and Linus and Charlie Brown are standing outside, looking up at the sky.  Lucy says, “You can see lots of things in the clouds.”  Then she turns to Linus.  “What do you see?”

“Well,” says Linus, “those clouds over there look to me like a map of Belize, the little nation in the Caribbean.  That cloud looks a little like the profile of Thomas Eakins, the famous painter and sculptor.  And that cloud formation over there gives me the impression of the stoning of Stephen.”

Lucy says, “What do you see, Charlie Brown?”  Charlie Brown says, “Well, I was going to say a ducky and a horsey, but forget it.”

That is a pre-Pentecost comic strip.  Charlie Brown is a picture of what it’s like to not see the promise that Jesus sets before us.  On the eve of that first Pentecost, the disciples know what happened thirty-three years earlier in Bethlehem.  They know the teachings and miracles of the past three years.  They know about the crucifixion fifty days ago.  Best of all, they’ve seen the risen Jesus Christ with their own eyes.  They’ve heard those very last instructions of Jesus, “Go and make disciples of all the nations.”

How could they possibly be more ready?  But instead of making disciples, they’ve locked themselves in a little room.  Jesus said he was going to send someone, or something, to be with them.  And it hasn’t happened.  All they see are duckeys and horseys. 

And what happens in this despairing moment?  The Day of Pentecost arrives with wind and fire.  The Holy Spirit, the power of God, breaks in on these frightened followers of Christ and transforms them.

Peter preaches a sermon, and three thousand people are converted.  He prays for a woman who has died, and she is restored to life.  The disciples start sharing everything in common.  They give to the poor with extravagant generosity.  Some even die for their faith.  They go out to convert the entire Roman Empire.

These are not pictures of duckeys and horseys.

So what’s the key to releasing the power of the Holy Spirit?  The answer is found in these words of St. Paul - “When I am weak, then I am strong.  I will boast of my weakness, so that the power of Christ may rest on me.”

This coming Sunday is the Feast of the Pentecost.  We’re going to give thanks for the power of Christ - the power of the Holy Spirit - by looking to our weakness being encountered by the unconditional love of Jesus…

…which means that you get to come to church just as you are. 

I can’t wait to see you

Jim

PS - Wear red.

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"I See No God Up Here."

These were the alleged words of Yuri Gargarin—the first man in space. Does this observation mean that we should no longer celebrate Jesus being “taken up into heaven?”

I hope you’re rolling your eyes. This Soviet propaganda, like much of the work of the contemporary New Atheists, tears down a straw man. The disciples did not think that God is a spaceman and that Jesus went to join him there. What they were saying is that sometime after the resurrection Jesus left space-time to be with God. 

This Thursday is Ascension Day—the least well-known of the seven major feast days in the Anglican tradition (e.g. Christmas, Good Friday, Easter Sunday, etc.) It’s when we hold fast to Jesus’ promise that in leaving us he would actually be more present to us.

While with us in the flesh he was limited. Constrained in that he could only be present with those in his purview. But now, having been “seated at the right hand of the Father,” he is all-present. He is supremely personal. In a word, the ascension of Jesus is the end of Christ’s self-limitation. 

The promise of the ascension is that Jesus is more present to you and me today than he ever was to the disciples while on earth! So there’s no need to invent the flux capacitor to experience him, or worse, enlist Elon Musk to shoot you into space to find him. He, like his Father, is omnipresent, which means he’s omni-available: always listening, always speaking through his Word and sacraments, and always interceding to God on our behalf.

In the words of Ja Rule, he’s “always there when you call, and always on time.” So, enough talking about him, let’s talk to him!

Grace and Peace,

Ben

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Losers...

This past week, a friend shared with me this photo of a church van:

church van.jpeg

Now, I get what the sign is saying.  St. Paul puts it this way - “Thanks be to God, who gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ” (I Corinthians 15:57).

But when I saw this photo, I went right up to our rector and said, “Jake, we need to buy a church van with a sign on the side that says - ‘Church for Losers.’ ”  Fr. Smith said he’d take it under advisement…Now, I get what the sign is saying.  St. Paul puts it this way - “Thanks be to God, who gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ” (I Corinthians 15:57).

Here’s a scene that took place a few years ago at Disney World that encourages my version of a church van sign.  A man and his family were inside Cinderella’s Castle.  It was packed with kids.  All of a sudden, Cinderella appeared.  Instantly, all those kids surrounded her.  The man said that she was just stunning, with lovely hair and flawless skin and a beaming smile.

For some reason, the man turned and looked toward the other side of the castle.  It was completely empty, except for one boy.  The man said that the boy was perhaps eight or nine years old, but it was hard to tell because the boy was disfigured.  His face was deformed - and he just stood there watching, quietly and wistfully.

You and I know very well what that boy wanted.  It’s the same yearning that you and I feel, deep down inside, all the time.  But can’t you also feel this little boy’s fear - his fear of being fully known, his fear of yet another rejection, his fear of allowing himself to hope?

The young woman playing Cinderella looked over and saw the little boy.  Instantly, she headed straight for him.  She had to wade through that crowd of children, but she finally made it.  As she reached the boy, the other children grew quiet and stepped back a bit.  Cinderella knelt down right at eye level and kissed the boy on the cheek.  And as he started to cry, she wrapped her arms around him.

The names are different, but the story is the same - except that rather than a Princess of Disney, you and I have the Prince of Peace.  And rather than someone with perfect hair and flawless skin, you and I have someone who was dead and buried, who is now alive, and who wraps his arms around us losers with hands that have nail holes.

So bring your loser selves to church this Sunday.  The One who has won the victory, the One who is the Winner, will be proclaimed, sung about, prayed to - and experienced.

Love from one of your clergy losers

- Jim

PS - Remember when Johnny Damon referred to himself and his teammates on the Boston Red Sox as “a bunch of losers”  with a grin on his face during the 2004 World Series?  That’s what I’m talking about.

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