"He's a Nut"

I will be out of town for a few days addressing the Catholic Church's recognition of the 500th anniversary of the Reformation in Slidell, LA. I will not be able to blog as freely, so I will share with you some of what I will be speaking about.

I can't help but to say, with a sly sense of humor, that when I think about Martin Luther I hear Barney Fife's voice in my head saying "he's a nut!"

I'm sure the Roman Catholic authorities, princes and Pope also felt Luther was a nut. And, as a Lutheran (for just a few more weeks), I still have some claim to poke fun. Luther was a brilliant, highly anxious, nervous, passionate, and cantankerous personality.

I wanted to share with you some of what I will share the next few days of the centrality of Luther's theology which sparked a re-formation of the Church and which has influenced all those who have sought re-formations since then. Though I will become an Episcopalian soon, I will retain my conviction that ecclesia semper reformanda est: the church must always be reformed.

As we are all prone to do when we are young and idealistic, Luther joined the Augustinian monastery and thought he was set. He thought surely if he did this and that according to the rules and prescription, he would feel holy, justified, and surely saved. Only, he didn't. 

In fact Luther was tormented with his feeling of failure, with his feeling of the weight of his own sin. He would beg his confessor, "what must I do to be saved?" His confessor, a gentle and wise man, knew that Luther was suffering from an overdose of scrupulosity and compulsion. So he sent him on a pilgrimage to Rome; after all, some fresh air and a long walk would probably do him some good.

Unfortunately Luther came away more disillusioned and very discouraged by the immorality and corruption he witnessed there. Upon his return to Germany, he enrolled in the University of Wittenberg in an attempt to suppress his spiritual turmoil. He excelled in his studies and received a doctorate becoming a professor of theology at the university.

Through his studies of scripture, through lots of sleepless nights and a lot of anxiety, Martin Luther finally stumbled upon some religious enlightenment. While preparing a lecture on Paul’s Epistle to the Romans, he read, “The just will live by faith.” He dwelled on this statement for some time. Finally, he realized the key to spiritual salvation was not to fear God or be enslaved by religious dogma but to believe that faith alone would bring salvation. This marked a major change in his life and set in motion the flames of Reformation. 

Luther became known for reducing weighty theological discussions of salvation down to three Solas: scripture over tradition, faith over works, and grace over merit.  Grace alone, faith alone, scripture alone.

Meanwhile, Pope Leo X announced a new round of indulgences to help build St. Peter’s Basilica. On October 31, 1517, an angry Martin Luther nailed a sheet of paper with 95 theses on the university’s chapel door. Though he intended these to be discussion points, the Ninety-Five Theses laid out a harsh critique of the indulgences as corrupting people’s faith as well as expounding on other items that Luther felt needed to be addressed. 

At its best I think the core of Luther's theology and his passionate convictions remind us that sin is bigger than simple immorality. Sin, according to Luther, is being curved in on self without a thought for God or the neighbor. In any case, sin is missing the mark and it is all the ways we put ourselves in the place of God. 

Sin can be the hateful things we think but never say; or it can be that feeling of superiority when we are helping others.  Sin is the fact that my ideals and values are never enough to make me always do what I should, feel what I should, think what I should.  And anything that reveals those “shoulds” to me is what Luther called The Law, the Law being the very thing Paul in his letter to the Romans said reveals sin.  

As Pr. Nadia Bolz-Weber explains eloquently: the “shoulds” in our lives are the things that make us see how far off the mark we are. No matter what we think the “shoulds” are – personal morality, family values, niceness, recycling or eating local …there is always, no matter how hard we try, a gap between our ideal self and our actual self.

Martin Luther knew what it felt like for the Law to convict him, to accuse him, and to leave him with nowhere to rest.  And if you want to know what really sparked the Protestant Reformation, it was Luther feeling as if he was near despair and convicted to his core, without hope, and then he read this passage from Romans and saw it in a whole new light: since all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God, all are justified freely by his grace through the redemption that came by Christ Jesus. Grace as a gift!

When Luther finally heard this, not just in his head, but in his heart, he finally came to see that God’s grace is a gift and to realize the beautiful relationship between Law and Gospel. The medieval church had confused all too often Law as Gospel and Luther dared to challenge that: he decided to become a preacher of grace.

But here’s the caveat: confusing Law as Gospel isn’t just a medieval thing and it’s not a Catholic thing. It’s a human thing and we do it all the time. The church does it, we do it, society does it.  It’s like a disease.

As I often tell my students in Reformation classes, Luther offers us a way to spot the difference between Law and Gospel: You can tell the Law because it is almost always an if-then proposition – If you follow all the rules in the Bible then God will love you and you will be happy. If you lose 20 pounds then you will be worthy to be loved. If you live a perfectly righteous Green eco lifestyle then you will be worthy of taking up space in the planet. If you never have a racist or sexist thought then you will be worthy of calling other people out on their racism and sexism.  

The Law is always conditional and it is never anything anyone can do perfectly. When we treat Law as Gospel there can never be a sense of life abundant. Under the Law there are only two options: pride and despair. When fulfilling the “shoulds” is the only thing that determines our worthiness we are either prideful about our ability to follow the rules or we despair at our inability to perfectly do anything.  Either way, it is still a kind of bondage.

And that’s why the Gospel is different.  The Gospel is not an if-then proposition. It is mysterious and freeing; it is pure gift. The Gospel is a because because because because proposition.
  

• Because God is our creator and because we rebel against this idea and insist on trying to be God for ourselves;

• Because in the fullness of time when God had enough of all our wandering in the wilderness, He became human in Jesus Christ to show us who He really is; 

• Because when God came to us and we received him not; and 

• Because He would not be deterred, God went so far as to hang from the cross we built and did not even lift a finger to condemn but said forgive them they know not what they are doing; and 

• Because Jesus Christ defeated death and the grave and rose on the 3rd day and 

• Because we all sin and fall short and are forever turned in on ourselves and forget that we belong to God, and 

• Because none of our successes guarantee salvation and none of our failures exclude it; 

• And Because God loves us so very much, He refuses to let our sin and brokenness to be the last word...

THEREFORE you are saved by grace as a gift and not by the works of the law and this truth will set you free like no self-help plan or healthy living could ever do.

This radical grace is the heart of Luther’s theology and at the same time it is why we typically have a confession and absolution in the liturgy. It’s Law that puts us in the position of hearing Gospel.  It is a moment when truth is spoken, without apology and without hesitation and perhaps for the only time all week, and it will take you apart and then put you back together.  It re-forms us.  

And this is the true essence of what good Reformation (and Lent) is all about. May we all consent to the re-forming wonders of the Holy Spirit today and every day.

Abiding in Trust

As we read in the chapter on "Church," we are taken to the centrality of the creeds. We read: When we remember that the word 'believe' in the Nicene Creed also means 'trust,' it is right to be astonished by the affirmation in the creed: we trust in this one, holy, catholic and apostolic church. Each of us has had experiences of church that hurt and disappoint us and leave us a long way from shalom and hesed.

It is hard to wrangle with this reality. Yes, even as we have been hurt in church and beyond it, we are called to abide in this church which offers a sign of the reign of God's Kingdom. We continue to place our trust in the church because at the core of its life is a practice that offers us a glimpse of this kingdom and directs us in the ways of shalom and hesed.

All of this reminds me of the NT verb: to abide.  If we abide in Him and He in us, then we know real peace and joy. That has been the goal of my journey through Lent: to spend more time in quiet contemplation, to rely less on friends, food, or any other entity to fulfill my needs. 

Balance comes in knowing the Beloved, God, and putting that relationship first. Abiding happens when I embrace the fullness of what the church is and what it can be with trust. Sometimes it is an awkward lean; sometimes it is a full embrace; sometimes it is a straining reach. If I lose balance or trust, I become like Thomas: I doubt, I revel in anxiety, I wallow in my sense of self and all of its shortcomings.  But, if I abide in His love, my balance is restored, my vision made clear, the light which seemed to allude me suddenly appears over the hills.

We are blessed beyond measure. It is sometimes hard to feel that and sometimes hard to trust if we have been hurt by church or loved ones or when we are in the midst of suffering. I like what Barbara Brown Taylor has to say about this hurt and trust:

Not to accept suffering as a normal, inevitable part of being alive seems like a big mistake, and finding ways to cover it up seems like choosing anesthesia. There is a sense in which if I will trust that what comes to me is for me (now that’s the grandest faith statement I can make to you), if I will trust that what comes to me in my life is for me and not against me… what I find is that it breaks my idols, that it breaks my isolation, that it challenges my sense of independence, it does all kinds of things for me that I would not willingly do, that are for me, that are for my health.

Can we make this choice to abide, to trust? It is my hope that we continue to seek that which propelled us into the desert at the start of Lent: may our vision be made finer, our senses made more alive, our souls attuned to the new creation of His Kingdom.  

A Ministry of Reconciliation and Healing

As we enter into the chapter on "Church" I am amazed at how quickly a discussion of reconciliation, forgiveness, and divisions in the Christian community are discussed. How often, as we read the gospels, do we come across those who are disgruntled with Jesus, even mad at Jesus for upsetting the status-quo? 

Jesus spoke with authority regarding forgiveness and healing and he was accused of blasphemy as a result. I have to wonder why we like to revel in bondage of any kind: whether it be sin, punishment, disease, or consequences?  The word that leaps to mind is control. We enjoy any sense of mastery or control; it is so much easier to hold resentment, fear, and punishment than it is to release and let go, to grant freedom to another person.

I am often reminded that a primary charge for disciples is to be reconcilers: that is, we have been given the ministry of reconciliation. Yet, how often in church do we do just the opposite? We bind people with heavy burdens while we ourselves enjoy the lighter yoke. We withhold forgiveness and block reconciliation with our resentment and anger. We forgo the ministry of reconciliation for a dogmatic ministry aimed at stunting/controlling growth rather than cultivating growth and freedom.

I wonder: is it easier to heal or forgive? Do the two go hand and hand? I don't know that either of these paths is easy. Forgiveness takes work and so does healing. The two are inextricably intertwined. We may want to separate them, but that is not really feasible. I think Jesus continually points us toward this realization. 

I think of the story in Mark of the man healed and forgiven by Jesus: Mark 2: 3-5--Then a paralytic was brought to Him, carried by four men. Since they were unable to get to Jesus through the crowd, they uncovered the roof above Him, made an opening, and lowered the paralytic on his mat. When Jesus saw their faith, He said to the paralytic, “Son, your sins are forgiven.”…

It obviously took quite a bit of boldness and effort to heave the sick man onto the roof and lower him inside.  When I consider what character might fit me in this story, I have to confess that I would likely be standing in the back of the crowd, peeking over and watching.  Boldness does not come naturally to me. I can get there, especially when convictions run high. But I am not sure honestly I would have had it in this situation.

I don't want to just stand by and be an onlooker at all times. I need forgiveness and healing of my reluctance, my fears, my want to observe and stick a toe in the water before jumping in. Maybe there are many of us that need to die to our reticence, our fear of asking for forgiveness or healing?

How might we glorify God if we are forgiven and healed? The answer for me lies in being free, being balanced, being able to meet the challenges of discipleship with a level of calm understanding and hope. This is vital to the ministry of reconciliation.  We say at funerals that "He comforts us in all of our sorrows so that we can comfort others in their sorrows with the consolation we ourselves have received from God."  

I see this as a cornerstone of our call to wholeness and forgiveness. Are we willing to be a part of the liberating reign of God's Kingdom? Or do we prefer to stay stuck, heaping burdens on ourselves and others so that we can bemoan our existence and revel in a false sense of control?  

I think the answer lies in this beautiful picture. I hope that freedom, healing, and forgiveness are gifts we can all find and cultivate in this Lenten season.

Passover

In theology we talk about typology at times, that is events that took place in the Hebrew scriptures that can prefigure an event or happening in the New Testament.

For the Jewish people, the event of the Passover is a central and defining element of their identity. And it can be thought of as prefiguring the role of Baptism for Christians. This is not to usurp or deny the importance of Passover today for the Jewish people or to blur the distinctions. In fact, I have been honored to spend Passover with dear friends and to join in their Seder supper in a Jewish home. It is a powerful meal that celebrates freedom, perseverance, and God's faithfulness.

A friend of mine posted this poem a while back and I saved it because I wanted to share it in regard to the link between Passover and Baptism. I think it gives us something to ponder as we make our way through the wilderness of Lent to the Last supper (celebrated in a Passover context) where Jesus washes our feet and bids us to "do this in remembrance of me."

Pack nothing.

Bring only 

your determination to serve 

and your willingness to be free.

Don't wait for the bread to rise.

Take nourishment for the journey,

but eat standing, be ready

to move at a moment's notice.

Do not hesitate to leave

your old ways behind --

fear, silence, submission.

Only surrender to the need

of the time — to love

justice and walk humbly

with your God.

Do not take time

to explain to the neighbors.

Tell only a few trusted

friends and family members.

Then begin quickly,

before you have time

to sink back into

the old slavery.

Set out in the dark.

I will send fire

to warm and encourage you.

I will be with you in the fire

and I will be with you in the cloud.

You will learn to eat new food

and find refuge in new places.

I will give you dreams in the desert

to guide you safely to that place

you have not yet seen.

The stories you tell

one another around the fires

in the dark will make you

strong and wise.

Outsiders will attack you,

and some follow you,

and at times you will get weary

and turn on each other

from fear and fatigue and

blind forgetfulness.

You have been preparing

for this for hundreds of years.

I am sending you into the wilderness

to make a new way and to learn my ways

more deeply.

Some of you will be so changed

by weathers and wanderings

that even your closest friends

will have to learn your features

as though for the first time.

Some of you will not change at all.

Some will be abandoned

by your dearest loves

and misunderstood by those

who have known you since birth

and feel abandoned by you.

Some will find new friendships

in unlikely faces, and old friends

as faithful and true

as the pillar of God's flame.

Sing songs as you go,

and hold close together.

You may at times grow confused

and lose your way.

Continue to call each other

by the names I've given you,

to help remember who you are.

You will get where you are going

by remembering who you are.

Touch each other and keep telling the stories. 

Make maps as you go

remembering the way back

from before you were born.

So you will be only the first

of many waves of deliverance on these desert seas.

It is the first of many beginnings --

your Paschaltide.

Remain true to this mystery.

Pass on the whole story.

Do not go back.

I am with you now

and I am waiting for you.

--"Passover Remembered..." by Alla Bozarth-Campbell

Sirach 2

As we come to and from the Baptismal font, we are invited headlong into a covenant that we sometimes barely understand. As our book reminds: "The covenant is a tall order. As we make these vows, we know we will continue to fall short. But we make the promises just the same, because they are an expression of the direction we want to see our lives and the lives around us move. We want to see the lives marked by--and this will come as no surprise--full and steadfast relationships, both between ourselves and God and between ourselves and all other people and all of creation."

Sirach is a a book in scripture that the Anglican tradition does not read as "canonical" but sufficient for "example of life and instruction of manners." I find the piece below to help give us some "manners" about our covenant in Baptism and a good example for living in that covenant. Indeed, let us fall into the hands of the Lord.

Sirach 2

My child, when you come to serve the Lord,

prepare yourself for trials.

2Be sincere of heart and steadfast,

and do not be impetuous in time of adversity.

3Cling to him, do not leave him,

that you may prosper in your last days.

4Accept whatever happens to you;

in periods of humiliation be patient.

5For in fire gold is tested,

and the chosen, in the crucible of humiliation.

6Trust in God, and he will help you;

make your ways straight and hope in him.

7You that fear the Lord, wait for his mercy,

do not stray lest you fall.

8You that fear the Lord, trust in him,

and your reward will not be lost.

9You that fear the LORD, hope for good things,

for lasting joy and mercy.

10Consider the generations long past and see:

has anyone trusted in the Lord and been disappointed?

Has anyone persevered in his fear and been forsaken?

has anyone called upon him and been ignored?

11For the Lord is compassionate and merciful;

forgives sins and saves in time of trouble.

12Woe to timid hearts and drooping hands,

to the sinner who walks a double path!

13Woe to the faint of heart! For they do not trust,

and therefore have no shelter!

14Woe to you that have lost hope!

what will you do at the Lord’s visitation?

15Those who fear the Lord do not disobey his words;

those who love him keep his ways.

16Those who fear the Lord seek to please him;

those who love him are filled with his law.

17Those who fear the Lord prepare their hearts

and humble themselves before him.

18Let us fall into the hands of the Lord

and not into the hands of mortals,

For equal to his majesty is his mercy;
and equal to his name are his works.

Sharing our Story

Looking at the multi-faceted disciple, Peter, and Baptism reminds me that our stories, spiritually, are like that of birth and growth of children. We come to new life in Jesus Christ and taste of the goodness of God. 

Hopefully we continue to long for that spiritual food that God gives so freely so that we might continue to grow spiritually. We are never fully grown spiritually. We never reach our potential in experiencing what God is willing to give us. We never really reach a place where we are "done."

God chose us as God's people, Peter says, so "we may proclaim the mighty acts of him who called us out of darkness into his marvelous light." 

This reminds me of an old Jewish question and answer, "Why did God create people?" "Because God loves stories." It is not simply that God needs someone to talk to. It is because God needs someone to recall, relate and proclaim the wonders of what God has done in the creation and is willing to do in the lives of people. 

Peter is convinced that the people of God can show forth the goodness of God under the most trying circumstances. We have to keep reminding ourselves of that reality especially in Lent. 

Our church is called to be a safe haven, a refuge, a place of dignity and identity for those who seek a church home, with beliefs, stories, sufferings, and joys sunk deep into the foundations of our shared experience. We have it backwards if our desire to welcome people is in order to increase our membership. 

Welcoming is who we are and have always been. Yes, we may be a community capable of risking hospitality, but will we be a community where it is safe for people to share their story, a community in which we continually share our own story of joys, trials, and everything in between?

The story of Jesus and Stephen, the first martyr, have a common thread in this regard: success does not look like converting other people to our way of thinking; success is not having the oldest or biggest church in town; success is marked by a people who tell the truth so clearly, so abundantly in word and deed, that some want may want to silence their voices.

Today we will hear the "story" of one in our midst who is in the process of discerning a call from God. Like Sarah and Abraham, we often here the call as "Go" without specific directions as to where and how. May we honor each other's stories without the need to edit, to redirect; may we listen deeply with compassion and hear God's own call to share our story and to "go" in to the world with the light of Christ.

Rest in Peace, Rise in Glory

As we continue our journey through the chapter on Baptism, I found myself thinking about what many say when a friend or loved one has died: may they rest in peace and rise in glory.

In the Gospel of John we hear these words: Did I not tell you that you will SEE the glory of God?

This question reminds me of the Simon and Garfunkel song (The Boxer) lyrics: still a man hears what he wants to hear and disregards the rest. I think the same holds true for our vision. We see what we want to see. Again this is tied to our interpretations and the prominence that we give to ourselves in this universe. 

I am continually amazed by those who interpret things, people, so negatively. Many string together imagined slights, deliberate offenses where in actuality human frailty is at play for both parties. If I speak to someone and they don't speak back could it be that their ears may be stopped up or they were lost in their own thoughts?

I like the devotional story of Bach's signature on his great musical pieces: Soli Deo Gloria=Glory to God alone. I am reminded of a conversation that a Bishop asked on a Clergy Facebook page:  "in your opinion, what gods do we worship most in American culture?" Answers included: the gods of our own making=my way, my body, my, my, my; money, food, individualism, sports, heroes, violence, television, pride, numbers, entertainment, success, happiness, comfort, sex, intellect, Prada, Coach, Disney and HDTV. As you might imagine, the list was quite long.  

Do we have the patience to trust in mystery, to trust in God? I very much agree with this transforming thought: I would rather live in a world of mystery than in a world so small my mind could comprehend it.

I have always liked St. Irenaeus' wisdom and find it a worthwhile principle to live by. What does it mean for me to be fully alive, living the abundant life that Jesus spoke of so often? 

The beauty of life is that God has shared glory lavishly.  I see it in others, in the dappled wonder of nature, even in crevices and rough-hewn surfaces. If I attune my heart properly, my eyes and ears perceive the glory of God in surprising places. 

I am no longer limited to what I want to hear or see; there is manifestation, awe, wonder, shock, and surprise. 

Where, today, can we live in peace and SEE the glory of God at work? 

New life, New Creativity

We read in Chapter Six, Baptism, that "Baptism sets an orientation for our life...Baptism recognizes the new life that is possible in the risen Christ...a life that is about staying aware of both the death and new life in our daily journeys and moving more fully towards the latter.

As I ponder this "new life" I am reminded of the link between creativity and spiritual growth. As one that dabbles with photography, I have realized how picking up a camera makes me see the whole world through a new set of eyes. Suddenly, textures are more dazzling, architecture more fascinating, and the world around me pulses with brazen colors that I usually skim over.

In the Lenten season, we spend time in the wilderness. Some think of this wilderness as the desert while others perhaps link it to an untamed forest. Either way, the wilderness challenges us to a feeling of being lost, without context, without a locus of surety for which to fix our gaze.

When I find myself captivated in wonder, when I let go and lose myself in the moment, I remember that it is God who first instills that nascent sense of marvel and delight within us. The world has been described as a stage, a canvas upon which we project our roles, our masks, our very selves, but it is also the place of God's revelation and its unfolding.  

In Lent, we are challenged to relinquish the formalities of our everydayness and to risk letting God cultivate and carve out our desires and impulses, to revamp and make us new.

In our society it seems that depression and the constant onslaught of bad news robs us of the joy of waiting for the good news, living the good news, seeking the good news.  It is so easy to find our hearts slumbering, devoid of any notion of beauty or truth. I suspect this is the hardened heart of which scripture warns, the gradual seduction of the world and unworthy wiles in our daily purview.  What would it mean for our hearts to be rent asunder and broken by God?  How would new creativity teem forth from us?                                                                                  

                

I never thought of myself as creative until after my son was born. No, it was not the act of bringing forth life, it was actually the time spent marveling in his beauty that led me to pick up a camera and look at the world differently. I had never before "indulged" that side of my brain: the playful, whimsical side that notices the smallest of details in the world around me.

I like what an actor said of creativity: “The creative is the place where no one else has ever been. You have to leave the city of your comfort and go into the wilderness of your intuition. What you’ll discover will be wonderful. What you’ll discover is yourself.”  

What are you discovering about yourself this Lent?  What is there in the wilderness of your intuition that calls you forth to a new place?  Where and when do you let God become the subject of the verbs in your life?

Baptism

Lent begins with an invitation to join Jesus in the wilderness. There, as scripture tells us, we encounter the barrenness of solitude and even the wild beasts of our fears and anxieties. In many ways, this reminds me of the ancient catechumenate, the practice of preparing candidates for Baptism.

These candidates spent a good portion of the year in study of Christianity, confession and spiritual introspection. I regret that we do not have this sort of process in place, and yet as I baptized two children recently, I could feel the spark of understanding and desire within them and see the seriousness of the moment on their precious faces.

  

To some extent we all wrestle with our liturgical times of listening, waiting, watching, and hoping. As one person exclaimed at our Lenten soup suppers last night "is Lent almost over?" 

We see Spring dawning into full glory and we long to see in everyone an increased creativity blossoming, a strengthened capacity to love emerging, and a greater openness to surprise being yielded. As reluctant as some people are about talking about their spiritual lives, this is precisely where our Lenten journey takes us: to the Cross, to the death and resurrection of the baptismal font, and to the barest essence of who we are and what we are called to be.

Spiritual growth often means learning to expect and even nourish a surprise of any kind. I don’t know about you, but I have never been especially fond of surprises. The hard part of this growth process comes in accepting that we are not in control. During our Lenten journey, as we clear space and watch for new growth, new growth can blossom in ways that we do not plan or even believe can happen.  

Because our growth is from God, we must be ready to embrace this new growth in faith and with the courage in knowing that whatever gifts of new growth we are given they are given by a God who loves us and desires our well being and growth. As our newly baptized members hold a candle bearing a new light, we all marvel in what God has done and will do in their lives and ours...let your light shine.

As we journey closer to the Cross this season, we do well to remember Brennan Manning’s injunction about spiritual steadfastness: Hope knows that if great trials are avoided great deeds remain undone and the possibility of growth into greatness of soul is aborted.  

We stand here in the open space, holy ground, around the Baptismal font and we know that suffering may lie ahead.  It takes courage and faith in God’s purpose to continue our work, to devote ourselves honestly to God’s guidance, and to remember the promise: we will find our lives by first losing them.

What does your wilderness look like this Lent? Where do you see signs of new growth, death and resurrection? Are there any buds of creativity germinating in you? Have you found your heart stretched to a deeper capacity? Where has God surprised you with grace and joy?