This passage we heard from Ephesians can be a difficult one for us to unpack. It talks about things we don’t like to think about, or that we have strong feelings about and that have often been used to shame or silence us: namely anger and forgiveness. In Christianity as well as in life, I think these two things have been vastly misused and turned into weapons at times. How often have you been told to forgive someone? And how often do you push your anger down because you have labeled it as a bad emotion? Let alone your bitterness, wrath, wrangling and slander!
As I read the passage this week a poem by the Sufi poet Rumi, kept coming into my mind. It’s called The Guest House.
This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.
A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.
Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they’re a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still, treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out
for some new delight.
The dark thought, the shame, the malice,
meet them at the door laughing,
and invite them in.
Be grateful for whoever comes,
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.
For I think often we, as Christians, maybe especially as Minnesotan Christians, have a strange relationship with our emotions, especially ones we label as wrong. Yet emotions are just that. Emotions. They are neither good or bad. They just are. The thing we need to watch for is what we do with them, like the passage says, be angry but do not sin.
And I think this may be part of what makes it hard.
As a child I was often the recipient of others anger….. mostly not in relation to anything I had done but just because I was there. If my mum was having a hard day, I was there to beat. If my brother had struggled at school, I was there to punch. If nothing had happened, but I was there, I was there to punish. Sometimes there would be words about what I had done, sometimes not. But it could be as twisted as the time I remember my mum saying to me, “Stop turning the pages of your book so loudly.” There I was, just trying to read a book and get lost in someone else’s story and I was hit. It made me believe that pretty much anything I did was wrong. Or maybe my mere existence was wrong. And it led me to suppress my anger and pretend everything was ok, for anger was explosive and unhealthy and painful.
For the longest time I denied any feelings of anger that might arise. I would push them deep down so no one would get hurt. I got scared around other people’s anger and could feel myself retreating into those deep recesses of my being just waiting for the punches that came with it.
Eventually, after a lot of work, I decided that enough was enough. For the next month I was going to allow myself to feel and express my anger. So I got 30 canvases and a bunch of paint and set aside 15 minutes in my schedule each day. I would sit, inviting my anger to come forth and then paint…. Mostly just splashing paint on the canvas rather than actual painting. Some days I would write. Some days I would paint and then destroy the canvas, slashing it or punching a hole in it. Some days I would sit and look and see the beauty in the painting that had emerged. For thirty days I did this. And it changed my relationship to anger. It made me realize that anger did not have to be destructive. That If I expressed it in a creative way rather than bottling it up then it would pass quickly and without harming anything. And, eventually, it freed my voice so I could speak my anger too…. Again, in loving and creative ways rather than ways that would tear someone else up.
This for me is the difference. Be angry but do not sin. Do not allow your anger to be an explosive mess in the world, affecting others who may have done no wrong. Be angry, but do not let the sun go down on it. Don’t bottle it up, don’t hold on to it. Express is well and with love, and then it will dissipate. And then new and delightful things can come in its place.
Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they’re a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still, treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out
for some new delight.
And then we have forgiveness. Forgive one another, as God in Christ has forgiven you. Forgive us our trespasses. Forgive 7 times 70 times. Forgive. How often has this been twisted and used against you as a ‘should' or expected of you before you were ready.
I work with a number of directees who struggle with this thought of forgiveness. Some have forgiven unacceptable behavior just to have it repeated. Others have been told to forgive and forget. Some long for forgiveness from others. And to all, it is a painful thing to contemplate, especially with the outside pressure that comes with it.
I read an article recently called Nine Big Myths about Forgiveness. It was written by Pastor Scott Savage. He lists some myths that most of us hold as truth, including
Forgiveness is about the other person.
If you forgive someone you should forget.
Forgiveness and reconciliation are the same thing.
And, I need to tell the person I forgave them.
These, for me, are the most sticky points my directees talk about.
I remember Jesus on the cross as he was being crucified, saying, “Father, forgive them for they know not what they do.” In this he was not forgiving them. He needed God to do that. He did not turn to those who were killing him and say “I forgive you.” He did not say, “I forgive you and I’ll forget what you are doing to me.” No. He simply said, “Father, forgive them.”
When we are told to forgive as God in Christ has forgiven us, we would do well to remember this. We can cry out to God and ask for God to forgive someone…. We don’t have to be alone in this. As our psalmist said Out of the depths I cry to you, O God, hear my voice.
And forgiveness is an act for ourselves more than for the other person. I see forgiveness as a way to loosen the chain of the hurt that was done, until that chain can fall away. To think of the other person without the memory of the pain overtaking us again. To not wish harm upon the other for what they did. To be able to remind ourselves that we are worthy of safety and kindness and love, and to not let what happened to us diminish that. Scott Savage says, ““We believe that forgiveness is about what they did and whether they’ve done anything to rectify their actions. Truthfully, forgiveness is about you (the wounded person) moving on from the offense and living in freedom. Forgiveness is about your freedom, not theirs.” And this is what forgiveness truly is…. A gift to yourself. And it can take time and working through the hurt before we are ready to forgive, it is not a thing to be rushed. Again, from our psalm: I wait for my God, my soul waits,
and in God’s word I hope;
my soul waits for my God
more than those who watch for the morning,
more than those who watch for the morning.
Of course, in relationships the perfect forgiveness would include everyone involved. There would be a conversation about the harm that was experienced by each person and a way to move forward without that harm repeating itself. And in healthy relationships this can happen. But so often, especially with people who have been harmed by those in power, when power structures are uneven, this does not happen. The person with more power is scared of loosing their power and so may apologize, but the behavior does not change. Or they may continue to justify their behavior or blame the one with less power. The harm continues. I think of people in abusive relationships where there is sometimes a true, heart felt apology of a harm done, although often it’s accompanied by blame of the one hurt, a promise to never hit or hurt again, only to be followed up with increased violence, another apology, another repeat of the cycle. So forgiveness does not need to include reconciliation to be real. And sometimes it is best to cut the ties of the relationship so forgiveness can be found.
So often my directees are told, ‘forgive and forget. Just move on with your life.’ And sure, this can sound really nice, for who among us wouldn’t want to forget some great hurt that was done to us. But even if we forgive, the memory will still be there…. Fading like a scar fades, but permanently leaving a mark. So forgiveness does not mean you have forgotten…. And, again, may not include reconciliation. Again, this is a gift for you, not the other person.
Nadia Bolz-Weber wrote,
“I am going to need to know how to forgive all the people I blame for s*** [stuff] – not because they aren’t as bad as all that, but because I want my heart to busy itself with work other than having to oxygenate toxicity I won’t let go of, and because there are no mornings in which it is not possible to wake up to the news of love and new babies.
Life is hard and beautiful and too uncertain to not love ourselves.”
Life is hard and beautiful and too uncertain to not love ourselves.
How true is that! And how freeing is it when we allow some hurt or toxicity to move further away from our consciousness because we have been able to do the work of forgiveness to free ourselves. Not to let the other off the hook. Not to put ourselves in harms way again. But because we have said, “Father…. Forgive them.” And God has freed us from holding so tightly to the chain of harm so we have more room for the beauty of life to pour in. Because we have done the hard work of looking at the harm done and found our healing in that. Because we have learnt to value ourselves and know forgiveness is what we need to move forward.
Which leads me to one more point about forgiveness that Savage did not address…. It’s not quick or easy to forgive! Sometimes it can take years. Sometimes it does not happen until the other is dead. Sometimes it needs to be repeated, over and over until it takes hold in us. And all this is normal and true and ok. Forgiveness is a journey. It’s sometimes like we are carrying a backpack full of rocks and we take a rock out with each act of forgiving until, finally, our backpack is empty…. Or until we realize we can simply set it down as we don’t need to carry it any longer.
Our psalm reminds us that with God there is steadfast love. So be angry, but do not sin. Forgive as Christ in God has forgiven. Be a guest house where all emotions are welcomed.
The dark thought, the shame, the malice,
meet them at the door laughing,
and invite them in.
Be grateful for whoever comes,
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.
God’s love is steadfast. And our anger and forgiveness done right, welcome and processed in love, moved through in a way that causes no harm, is a guide God has sent so we may become better imitators of Christ.
As a child we did not celebrate Thanksgiving. Instead, we had harvest festivals, times where we would share from the bounty we had, gathering food to give away. I loved getting the old shoe box each year and covering it with brown paper, decorating the box, one year ever writing a little poem on that brown paper, a tricky task as I had already covered the box and was writing at a strange angle! The then careful choosing apples from our trees that looked least likely to contain a maggot or two, digging up potatoes from my grandfathers patch and brushing the dirt from them, and setting everything with great care in the shoebox. I would get a green sprig from the bush, heavy with red berries, and use it as decoration. The tricky part was carrying it on the bus to church, trying to keep everything safe, and then each child would parade up the aisle carrying their offering, all the shoe boxes creating a great display of abundance! As a child, I never knew what happened to these baskets, but when I was a teen I was invited to help deliver them, and we set off to the homebound members of the congregation, tea and biscuits served at each stop as we delivered a little piece of love. While there were no gathering or meals involved, it felt like a fine way to give thanks for what we had grown, and I remember the gratitude I felt as I hand picked those apples and polished them with a cloth before placing them in the basket, that was felt even more abundantly when I visited those people who I did not know, bringing them joy and love. It was an easy, generous gratitude that flowed forward.
This story of the ten lepers is one that is familiar to us, and reminds us how easy it can be to miss this feeling of generous gratitude! . As I read it this time, I noticed things that I had not before. First, the lepers called out from a distance and yelled at Jesus to heal them. They asked for his help. They knew who he was. They believed he could help them. And so, keeping their distance, they called out to Jesus to heal them. As their belief led them to ask, it was perhaps this same belief that kept them from expressing gratitude. They knew Jesus had the capacity to heal them, so it can’t have been a big deal to him, right? it can’t have really taken any effort on his part. So why turn around in surprise that he did what they asked and thank him. The one person who did offer thanks was the Samaritan, the outsider, the probable non believer in the group. His surprise and awe at the healing he saw and felt happening in him was so great that he fell at Jesus’ feet to thank him. A full bodied expression of gratitude…. A body now free from the excruciating pain that leprosy brings with it, a body now free to express fully the relief. While the nine others who had been healed used this freedom from pain to get the next thing done… the priestly blessing that would declare them members of society again…., the outsider used it to bless the one who had healed him, the source of the miracle he was experiencing.
This leads me to ponder about showing gratitude, or giving thanks. Do I only give gratitude for those things that are unexpected? Or do I swing the other way and give gratitude for only the expected things? And how can I become more generous with my gratitude like that young girl polishing the maggot free apples to give away?
A friend of mine was the church organist at a church in Texas before she retired. She became friends with the maintenance man there, and describes him as one of those all around great people… and a man of generous gratitude…. Roger not only kept the church clean, but fixed things before others knew they needed fixing. He would set up the sound system and take care of the church and congregation in many ways that others did not see. And he was always smiling, generous, kindhearted. Bev, my friend, also offered private piano lessons to children, and every six months or so, she would hold a piano recital at the church for her students to perform. Roger would set up for the recital, make sure the sound was good, and even asked if he could record the recital, making cd’s for all her students in his own time and at his own cost. Yet Roger’s life wasn’t an easy one. He has a wife with a degenerative illness who is close to being confined to a wheelchair, a son with cerebral palsy, and two other young teenagers, one of who is on the autism spectrum. But he always appeared to be happy and kind, that smile never far from his eyes.
Roger and his family were struck by CoVid recently, and he was soon hospitalized. He was on a ventilator, and seemed to be doing a little better. But then, like Covid often does, he took a turn for the worse, and his life last week. All through this, the church and other friends have been reaching out to offer help…. Meals, gifts for the kids at Christmas, even offers of cash to help them out. And his wife, also recovering from CoVid, has been blown away by the offers. But this week she made a statement. Roger was a veteran, and his family knew how hard it is for families to be apart during the holidays, so she asked for people to donate to a local charity that gets gifts for the families of someone serving in the military. She wrote, “thank you all for your kind words and generous spirits. At this time we have all we need, we know God is blessing us and walking with us through our pain. I know that this is where Roger’s heart would be… to take care of those families and children separated from their loved ones who are serving our country. We have one another, and we know God is with us… but some of these families don’t and are really struggling. So thank you for helping them know God’s love for them through your gifts.”
That in the midst of her grief, in the midst of her new life, Debbie was able to turn around to thank Jesus for his presence and ask for his love to be made visible to the world, is a miracle and a testament to Roger. It’s also a testament to the generous gratitude Roger practiced in every day life, and a value that his family continues to live out in the world, even after he is no longer in it, and even with all the struggles they continue to live with on top of their grief.
I think this is a question pertinent to us all…. How do we practice generous gratitude in these times that are not what we thought they would be. In the weeks ahead when the family we maybe thought we were going to spend holidays with are not sitting at our table, when ones we love are sick, when our favorite restaurants have shut their dining rooms, when even this church building is shut. In these days when the number off folks we know personally who have CoVid are rising, when we are wisely reluctant to enter stores to do our Christmas shopping, when masks cover smiles and singing in public is frowned upon. In the midst of this, how can we be like Debbie and practice generous gratitude?
I think the answer to this is to become more and more aware of the Divine showing up in our lives. To notice the small things that show God’s presence in the midst of our days…. Even when that day is a struggle. To be like David, the Psalmist, who wrote, in the midst of struggling with the injustices of the world,
I will thank God with all my heart
In the meeting of the just and their assembly
Great are the works of God
To be pondered by all who love them.
Majestic and glorious God’s works
God’s justice stands firm forever
God makes us remember the wonders
And is full of compassion and love.
Indeed, God stands firm forever. In these times that are shaky, when our foundations seem to quiver beneath us, when the things we have taken for granted, like gathering with family or friends for holidays, or that church doors will be open on a Sunday morning, are no longer givens… we need to remember that God’s justice stands firm forever. That God is full of compassion and love, even when things look different. That wonders are all around us when we open our hearts to ponder them.
One of the things that Christ left for us to experience these words, this reality in the midst of the reality we are surrounded by, is this feast. For at the time he most needed to remember God’s compassion and love, at the time when he and his disciples were gathered together celebrating the Seder meal, a large meal with elaborate preparation and a long liturgy to remember how the people had been freed from slavery, in the midst of a gathering that was tinged with forbearing of what was about to take place, Jesus knew that he had to be generous with his gratitude. To be generous with this gift that he could leave behind. Be generous with the most simple of the things on the table, the ones people would have easy assess to, the things that would most likely be something that would stand firm as a symbol of God’s great works through the ages. And so, in the midst of a table covered with elaborate dishes that symbolized tears and sweat and sweetness and bitterness…. In the midst of the table where people were together with him for the last time, in the midst of all the feelings that were swirling around… his own included, Jesus took the most simple, basic, everyday elements and gave thanks. For for the bread, and then for the cup. With all there was on that table to choose from, he chose the two most common. A loaf of bread. A cup of wine.
He was making the statement that these simple things are generous. These everyday things are how we can share gratitude. These things we take for example are the foundation of sharing love and hope and gratitude and thanksgiving with the world. It doesn’t take much. It takes the least. It takes the simple. It takes what’s available. And it turns it into a great feast of thanksgiving, filled with generous inclusive expansive welcome, filled with deep, heart centered love, filled with thanksgiving that surpasses our understanding.
So, if you find yourself struggling to be thankful, struggling to feel gratitude, struggling to find hope, turn back to God, rest in God’s presence, seek out God’s wonders and the majestic and glorious works of God… both in creation, in the small things you notice, in ways of healing and connection that may surprise you. Try to be generous with your gratitude, looking beyond just your needs and seeing how you can bless others with simple, everyday things. And know that we are in this together, even if we cannot be physically together with one another. That God’s love continues to bind us and connect us.
And, as we prepare to be apart for a season, we connect with God and one another through this feast, this this simple meal where we remember God in our midst and give thanks from the depths of our hearts!
I waiver between being perplexed by this passage from Matthew and annoyed by it for two main reasons. First, this is Jesus speaking, and those with do not share with those who have run out of oil for their lamps. When does Jesus not advocate for us to share? In every other story he tells where there are those who do not have enough, he commands us to share. In fact at the end of this very chapter is the When I was hungry passage that we all know and respect. So this different element upsets me. Then, these 10 women who are waiting for their one bridegroom to show up is a sign of the times they were living in where women needed to be taken care of, and were the unimportant ones in this story, the ones waiting to be rescued. And even when we see this as the parable it was meant to be, with the bridegroom being God, it still raises my hackles a little. For my theology says that God does not reject anyone, but would take all who were waiting, would lead them and love them and honor them until they changed enough to be ready. God doesn’t leave half the folk knocking at the door, refusing to recognize them.
In his younger days, John Wesley was of the belief that you had to be one of the chosen ones to get into heaven. He had a huge fear of death and dying and thought that you had to work hard, to be good, to lead a life of holiness to be in that limited number. But through an experience of nearly dying while aboard a ship in a storm, he saw something different. The ship was filled with Moravians, and while others were panicking in as the boat was being tossed about, the Moravians were sitting quietly praying. John began to have long conversations with these faith filled men and woman, and started to understand a different reality. Later he had his Aldersgate experience where his heart was strangely warmed during a bible study, again at a time when he was really struggling with faith… a storm in its own way…and from these stormy times where he began to feel his faith rather than intellectualize it, he formed his theology of grace that we, in the United Methodist Church, still hold as truth today.
Wesley put forth that there are three stages of grace: The first prevenient grace. Prevenient grace is the grace of God that surrounds all, and is at work in all, even before we know or care about it. It is a grace which is always there, inviting us to move deeper into our faith journey. It is present before we choose to be people of faith, and, in fact, enables and empowers us to make this choice. There is no limit to this grace, all are included.
Next comes justifying grace. Justifying grace is the assurance of forgiveness and a turning toward God's gracious gift of new life. So it is a grace where we are active in choosing God and allowing forgiveness to flood our beings. Again, it is available to all who choose it, and can be offered over and over again as we learn to live as people of God, preparing us, in a way, for the work of Sanctifying grace.
Sanctifying grace is the place where we practice what it is to live as Christians, where we work toward perfection in love…. A state that none reach, but all should strive for daily. The Book of Discipline states: "We hold that the wonder of God's acceptance and pardon do not end God's saving work, which continues to nurture our growth in grace. Sanctifying grace continuously forms us in the likeness of Christ and sheds the love of God abroad in our hearts, our actions and our relationships.
I believe that, when we stand in these tenets of grace where are all included, where the bridegroom would not leave anyone behind no matter how little light they had, then the question this story asks is not about being wise or being foolish, but rather how do we keep our lights shining…. Not so we are chosen but BECUASE we are chosen.
And I think this is where the Matthew reading comes in to focus for me. The 10 bridesmaids were waiting, but only 5 were ready when the time came. The others had run out of steam, out of power, out of hope. The ‘oil’ the five who were ready had been prepared in advance, so that when the time came they still had enough.
This ‘oil’ for us, I believe, is prayer. Prayer gives us the energy and strength to keep going, to be ready when the time is right, to step up to the task when it is asked of us. I know many people who do good work that don’t have any kind of ongoing spiritual practice, and most of them work hard for a while and are then totally burn out. There is nothing left for them to draw on. I know others who put prayer at the forefront of their work who can continue for years, sometimes against seemingly impossible odds.
I found this out the hard way when I was in seminary. In the summer between my first and second year I went to Angola for 7 weeks with the United Methodist Volunteers in Mission. It was a life changing experience, filled with grace and hope and prayer as we worked in a small village. As we traveled home I saw a tv for the first time in nearly two months at the airport, and there were scenes from New Orleans. Hurricane Katrina had just struck. I decided there and then that I should try to figure out how to do part of my internship in New Orleans, and did a week long trip down to the devastated area about 6 weeks later. I began to set up a semester long internship, with two other short trips, and the next fall I headed down for 3 1/2 months. I was based in a United Methodist community center on the edge of the French Quarter, both setting up the community center to accommodate teams coming down for a week, and working with community leaders to find people whose homes needed work done on them. I was also mentoring with a teen girls program that served African American young women in the community center, the only community program that taking place. The days were long, the stories were heart breaking, the trauma that people had and still were experiencing was intense…. And remember this was over a year after the hurricane had come. Many of those we served had been living in homes that had been flooded, mold on the walls, or families of 7 or more in small one bedroom mobile homes that had hastily been set up. A lot of people I met were determined to try to stay in the city as that’s were their jobs were, where they community and churches were, where their family were, and were living in terrible conditions. Each day, it seemed, I heard new stories of horror… teens that had waded through hip deep water carrying younger siblings as high as they could and trying to distract them from the dead bodies floating in the water; stories of schools without resources trying to to stay open; stories of tensions running high as families were living so cramped together. And for the first few weeks I was running without pause, putting on the kind of super hero cape that thought I could save everyone. Pretty soon, the oil had run out. I was exhausted, but had trouble sleeping, my body ached from the tension I was carrying in it and I didn’t know how I was going to keep going until the semester was over.
A group from my church and the seminary from California had arranged to come down as the first volunteer group we were hosting at the center, and it included two wise women I knew. That week felt like a breath of fresh air to me as I hosted and worked along side them, gutting houses, trying to save little things we found in the possessions that were left, listening to stories. And as I spoke to these women, it was like a lightbulb went off in my head. I wondered what was different about that week, and noticed that I had more of a balance. I would get up and prepare and eat breakfast with the team, then we had a time of devotionals before we went out, which included a lectio practice. We worked hard, broke for lunch, and then carried on. The afternoon was more physical work, and then we would pray for and with the homeowners before coming back and cleaning up. After dinner we had another time of prayer, a debrief and returned to the lectio from the morning. Then we had evening prayers before bed. These times of prayer, along with the company of friends was what had been missing. I had been in the mind and body set of go, go, go. But I saw and felt the need to balance this out. The lectio practices, in particular, had been restoring and deep, reminding me of what God was telling me was MY part to do…. Not to save the whole world, but to do the thing in front of me that day. I began to incorporate this practice of lectio into my life, and the rest of the semester, while tiring, was not that deep spirit exhaustion that it had been before.
We are in times right now that feel traumatic, that are tossing us about like a storm. Many of us have stories to tell of friends or loved ones who have lost their lives to CoVid, or become part of the long haulers… those who have been sick for weeks or months. We know people who have lost their jobs and small business owners who are struggling to make it. All of us have been impacted in some way as we try to keep one another as safe as possible. And we have felt the tensions around the elections and wonder what is going to happen as we live into the next four years. And this is not even counting the multitude of other issues we face. And we need ways to fill our lamps so we can shine brightly into the world around us.
So I want to offer you the practice of lectio divina: Divine Reading as one way you can pray as we work our way through these times. There will also be a link to an audio recording of the practice posted on the website each week that you can use at home. This will be a shorter version of the prayer practice, so know at home you can do a short version or spend as long as you need with the last portion of the process.
This is a slow reading of scripture, one where the same short passage is read several times. The first time it’s read in its’ entirety just so you can hear it; the second time you listen for a word or phrase that sticks out for you, that captures your attention, that glimmers for you. Then, using this word or phrase to listen with, it’s read a third time. As you sit with it, see what feeling or image or memory arises within you. You sit with this for a few minutes before the final reading. After this final reading, you listen for how God is speaking to you through the passage, how God is inviting you to act or be or do something, if God is asking you to think about things in a new way. The silence after the last reading can be as long as you like, and you may want to journal, do something artistic, go for a walk as you listen, or just sit and with God in the silence.
Right now we will just do the first part, to give you an idea of this prayer practice, but I encourage you to try it later at home to see if it feels like a good way to replenish your oil!
'Lord, lord, open to us.'
But he replied, 'Truly I tell you, I do not know you.'
Keep awake therefore, for you know neither the day nor the hour.
Listen to the passage.
Listen for a word or phrase that captures you in some way.
See what feeling image memory thought arises
As you go about your day, bring all this to mind and see how God may be inviting you into a new awareness, into an action, into a closer relationship.
This week, find those things that fill you. Try the practice of lectio divine at home and incorporate it into your prayer life. If lectio is not the prayer practice for you, find a way to pray that does work. For when God calls us, our task is to be ready so we can respond with a hearty yes! Then the banquet will be ours to enjoy!
The three scripture readings we heard today seem to ring out justice in their very words, in similar yet different ways. First, Moses, who had led his people for 40 years through the desert, finally brought them to the Promised Land, the land where they would settle and finally be still and at rest, laying down roots for the generations to come. Yet Moses died right as they reached the overlook, never to step foot in it himself. His task was done and he had led God’s people to this place where their life could begin anew, even as his ended. Then, in Thessalonians, it speaks of the suffering of the disciples, and warns against this suffering being passed on to future generations, reminding them that their suffering must not prevent them from sharing the gospel, the good news, in a way that does not spring from deceit, impure motive or trickery. And then we come to the Pharisees, and a lawyer among them asking Jesus which is the greatest commandment, to which Jesus replies, “Love God with all your heart, love your neighbor as yourself.”
I feel like our world has forgotten this in recent times. There was a minor example that a friend told me about recently where a large department store was promoting a give away they had where, for every winter coat that was purchased, they would donate a new winter coat to someone in need. An angry potential customer said, “You want me to buy a winter coat, paying full price for it plus the taxes. Then you are going to give one away to some loser? I don’t think so.” While this may be something we smile at in our disgust at the response, it feels like a micro example of what is happening in the world at large.
One thing that has broken my heart this week is seeing the report that the parents of 545 children who were removed from their families who had come to our country seeking asylum, have been lost in the system. The children taken, the parents deported, leaving little hope of reuniting the families. When we care for our neighbors, we must care for those who come to us, legally, seeking help. Instead we have torn families apart, causing long lasting trauma for these families who were just trying to get help. And the children, many of whom will likely have no memory of their parents, will have to live with this trauma for the rest of their lives.
So as I prayed with these three passages this week, I kept remembering the Native American philosophy of the seventh generation. It has been found written from the Iroquois people who lived on the land we know as Northeast America, and is thought to have been passed down from as early as the 12th century, a philosophy that is echoed throughout the Native peoples from many tribes. The Constitution of the Iroquois Nation (The Great Binding Law) explains “seventh generation” philosophy as follows: “The thickness of your skin shall be seven spans — which is to say that you shall be proof against anger, offensive actions and criticism. Your heart shall be filled with peace and good will and your mind filled with a yearning for the welfare of the people. With endless patience you shall carry out your duty and your firmness shall be tempered with tenderness for your people. In all of your deliberations, in your efforts at law making, in all your official acts, self interest shall be cast into oblivion. Look and listen for the welfare of the whole people and have always in view not only the present but also the coming generations, even those whose faces are yet beneath the surface of the ground — the unborn of the future Nation.” In our every deliberation, we must consider the impact of our decisions on the next seven generations.”
In all of your deliberations, in your efforts at law making, in all your official acts, self interest shall be cast into oblivion. Think of others, even those who have yet to be born. Think ahead to your great, great, great, great, great grandchildren! That is what Jesus is preaching as he says Love your God and your neighbor as yourself. Cast self into oblivion, cast thinking only for what is good and right for you as an individual into oblivion and think of your neighbors, think of your family seven generations in the future, think of your neighbors family seven generations into the future. This is what Moses did in his faithful act for forty years leading the people through the wilderness, knowing he would never live in the promised land. An act of selflessness, leading others to the place they will be able to call home. Casting self into oblivion for the sake of others, for the sake of the future. And for the disciples in Thessalonians, even though you, personally, have suffered, do all that you can to prevent that suffering from reaching future generations, instead tell the good news, tell the hope, work with gentleness and caring so greatly for others that they see the Love of God shine through us.
In all of this we are reminded that the justice work we do today is not nearsighted, but it reaches into many future generations, shaping their lives in ways we can’t even imagine.
As this election season continues to stir up name calling, self interest, division, as it uses the tactic of fear to entice people to vote for this person or that, as leaders steer away from speaking words of encouragement and hope in gentle ways and instead rile people up to anger, how different would it be if this were not so. If those campaigning spoke of loving neighbor, of the generations of those not yet born, if they spoke with hope and gentleness in their words, if they showed a willingness to lead us out of this desert time in our nation to a place where all truly were able to settle and find home, able to live free from fear and violence, were able to lead us to the place where all could live in harmony, loving God and one another, casting self interest into oblivion and truly living in a world that reflects God’s kin-dom thriving here on earth.
There is a quote floating around on social media that speaks to this. It says, “You can’t love your neighbor if you vote for people who will pass laws against them.” When I think of this I think of my literal neighbors. I live between a fiercely independent 92 year old widow surviving on a small fixed income who worries about rising medical costs and what she will do when she is no longer able to look after herself, and a young gay couple who both work in health care who are concerned about CoVid and the ways it is impacting the residents in the places they work with, as well as the judgement they face in some places if they are seen holding hands in public. They hope to start a family some days, and this also weighs heavily on their hearts. At the back of me there is a group home for disabled adults who face a high turn over of caregivers struggling to survive on minimum wages. Across the street is a single mom with two young teenagers, one of whom has special needs that means he cannot be left home alone, again working a minimum wage job as she tries to keep food on the table while helping her kids with hybrid distance learning and struggling to find child care for her son. And next to them is a mixed race couple with a young son, juggling work and daycare and studies while dealing with prejudice about the color oof their skin and their relationship. So when I pray about care for my neighbor, all these diverse needs and beauty and issues and dreams come into play, and when I think about the next seven generations, just from these immediate physical neighbors, then how do I act, what words do I choose, how do I vote, how do I work for a more just world for all of us?
And it breaks my heart that even asking this question is seen as a controversial stance. That we are in such a place of deep division in the world, that loving neighbor, near and far, is often viewed as taking sides on a political spectrum. That remembering the words of the Iroquois: “Your heart shall be filled with peace and good will and your mind filled with a yearning for the welfare of the people,” can be heard as a challenge to an other’s core values.
John Wesley, the founder of Methodism, knew this well. While he was a student at Oxford University, at that time a university with strong ties to the Church of England, and which claimed to be a Christian university, John began to gather daily with a small group of other students to read the Bible and hold one another accountable. As they prayed with scripture this thought of loving God and neighbor really took hold of these young men, and they looked for ways they could love their neighbors. Rather than looking at other students, they looked at the city at large, and they saw the places where people were most in need…. The prisons, the hospitals, the orphanages. They began to visit the prisoners, teach the orphans how to read, took food to those in hospital. All good acts of loving neighbor. But their fellow students, most of whom would claim to be Christian, mocked them for doing this. They jeered at them and made fun, even while reading the Bible for themselves. This small group, called the Holy Club, who fasted, prayed together three or four times a week, and spent Sundays loving neighbor, became controversial in this university setting where students were often self serving, worried about their future standing in the world of business and politics, wanting to party and social network with their peers rather than seeing the needs of their neighbors right outside their dorm rooms.
But even while they heard the mocking and name calling from their fellow students, John, his brother Charles, and the others in their club, carried on following the greatest commandment, to love God and love neighbor. They balanced their studies with prayer and service, and shut their ears to the world that told them they were stupid, that called them fools, that mocked them with the name Methodists.
In this elite institution, these men cared less about their status and more for their neighbor. They spent any spare money they had on care for the other, for the future generations…. For think what a difference they made teaching the orphans, giving them a way to rise from poverty just by knowing how to read and write; and what a change they made in the attitude of the prisoners they visited, helping them break generational violence and lives of crime by having someone care about their souls, by having someone bring them the good news with gentleness and love.
As John Wesley continued his path of becoming a pastor and preacher, he continued to seek out his neighbors that others refused to welcome: the coal miners who would not be allowed through a church door with their filth and stench, the pub goers and drunkards who only heard words telling them about their sins, not that God loved them; the farm workers, the prostitutes, the poor. All those who were his neighbors, so often ignored by people like him. And he not only changed the lives of these people, but the lives of the seven generations that would follow them. For when someone steps aside from all that others think they can do, from the position in society they have been assigned, and learns something new, breaks a pattern of poverty, changes a history of abuse, repents from a life of crime,… then the generations that follow are all blessed by this. All it took was for John Wesley and his followers to recognize their position of power as white, educated men in the 18th century and to set aside self. In the words of the Iroquois, With endless patience they carried out their duty and their firmness was tempered with tenderness for the people. And they not only served the people directly, but used their positions of power to change laws, to better the life of large groups of people by creating policies that made change on national levels that ensured neighbors were loved just a little bit more than before.
So in the next weeks and months, let us strive to love and neighbor just a little bit more, to cast self interest aside and, “In our every deliberation, consider the impact of our decisions on the next seven generations.” May we not worry so much about our future, but lead others through the wilderness of this time, knowing we may never see the changes we are working for to make the world a better place, but work for them anyway. May we take our suffering and turn it to good, not looking to enact an eye for an eye philosophy, but rather using our pain and the pain of the world to help others grow in love. May we follow the greatest commandment in each decision we make, running our discernment through those three tests of loving God, loving neighbor, loving self, each in balance without putting self at the number one position. May we work for peace and hope and justice in our nation and in our world by spreading love with abandon. May we remember the great grandchildren of our great grandchildren, to the 7th generations, and work for justice and love for them.
In the Gospel of Luke, the story we heard from Matthew is told in a slightly different way: Jesus replied: “A certain man was preparing a great banquet and invited many guests. At the time of the banquet he sent his servant to tell those who had been invited, ‘Come, for everything is now ready.’
“But they all alike began to make excuses. The first said, ‘I have just bought a field, and I must go and see it. Please excuse me.’
“Another said, ‘I have just bought five yoke of oxen, and I’m on my way to try them out. Please excuse me.’
“Still another said, ‘I just got married, so I can’t come.’
“The servant came back and reported this to his master. Then the owner of the house became angry and ordered his servant, ‘Go out quickly into the streets and alleys of the town and bring in the poor, the crippled, the blind and the lame.’
“‘Sir,’ the servant said, ‘what you ordered has been done, but there is still room.’
“Then the master told his servant, ‘Go out to the roads and country lanes and compel them to come in, so that my house will be full.’”
This less violent version still holds the same central theme, and the parable can be looked at in multiple ways… The rich person throwing the banquet believes his wealth and table of plenty should only be there in service of other rich folk perhaps. Or that poor rich man who put all this work in to prepare a feast for his friends was under appreciated and his gift was not received by those he invited. Or the rich man, scorned by those who looked like him and were in his social class, listened to who he was supposed to serve and had a change of heart. But then, in Matthew, we have this mysterious person who was not wearing the wedding garment who gets thrown into the outer darkness. Many aspects of this parable make us uncomfortable, and don’t match my theology where all are welcome, no matter what we are wearing. But it comes as a warning to the people of these times…. Those with wealth and riches are not the ones to fawn over. See those on the margins of life, bring in those from the streets, bring in the crippled and the poor and the lame. But be careful, for not everyone you invite comes with good in their hearts….. and I wonder if he was referring to the Last Supper where those gathered with him were from different walks of life… and Judas was also there among them, welcomed to some extent, but wearing evil in his heart.
For us, today though, I think this parable speaks to each of us individually, playing multiple roles in the story. If we place God in the role of the party giver, we are probably most likely to be the ones who are too busy to come, too uninterested, unwilling to set aside the time to come to God’s feast of abundance…. We turn our backs on the invitation, claiming that we have other, far more important things to tend to, and we miss the chance to come and sit with God multiple times throughout our days and weeks.
Recently my fellow monks and I did a prayerful reading on this passage, and one, Merri Lynn, wrote these words in response:
Come, for everything is now ready.
I can't come. My father-in-law has died.
I can't come. I'm too tired in my bones.
I can't come. I'm too sad.
I can't come. My grandchildren need me.
I can't come. My mom needs support and laundry and groceries.
I can’t come, I’m not worthy.
Come, for everything is now ready.
Come out of the alleyways of your mind, your experience, your loss, your confusion.
Come bewildered, blind, begging.
Come forgiving and forgiven.
Come. Keep coming. Keep bringing all that you are. There is room.
Come again, and again, and again.
Come, for everything is now ready.
I can’t come. I can’t come. We all have many excuses to say no to God’s invitation to come and feast, to come and celebrate, to come and sit, to come and visit, to come and pray. Yet, unlike the parable, this invitation to come never ends, we are invited over and over and over. The table is always ready, and all we have to do is show up. And how hard this is… right!
Earlier this week I went to walk a labyrinth. A labyrinth is a path of prayer that leads to a center, and, unlike a maze, it’s a path that, even with all the twists and turns, does not lead you astray. It leads to the center and then it leads out again. No dead ends, no false trails. Just a simple path. This particular labyrinth is out on a prairie and I was walking it on one of the windy days this week, and as I walked I was praying with this scripture. I got to the middle and listened, the wind at my back blowing hard. It felt like it was compelling me to move, to step forward, to go, go, go. But that didn’t feel like what God was asking of me. So I listened. “Turn,” I heard whispered in my heart, “Turn.” So I turned and faced into the wind. All of sudden, everything slowed down. I leaned into the wind, the fast air blowing in my face, and I felt totally at peace, held by the wind, not compelled to move but just to be, supported as I leaned forward, the wind holding me in place. I could lean far into it and feel secure, knowing it was strong enough to hold all of me, constant enough to keep me safe. As tears came to my eyes I thought that this is what life is like. We are driven by the outer world to keep moving, pushed to go, go go. But if we turn, if we allow ourselves to lean into God’s presence, then we can feel held and supported, and our ‘going’ has a very different feel to it, moving from this place. One that, when we are ready to move we may be going into the wind, is surrounded by the Spirit, it’s a being led rather than being pushed, it’s more stable than running with the wind behind us, pushing us out of control. And so I faced into the wind, and allowed the God to move me, to hold me, to stabilize me, to support me. Lean into me, the invitation I heard, the one I listened to. Lean into me.
Another of my fellow monks, Sue, drew a picture as part of her prayerful response to the passage. In the center, in large red letters, was the word BUT. And surrounding this was a litany of excuses… I’m too busy, tomorrow maybe, later, when I have more time, how about after the kids grow up? And these were just a few. I think we ALL tend to do this: place God down our list of important things to pay attention to, especially when the wind is at our backs. But when turn, when we lean in, when we feel the love and support that comes from the power of God holding us, the excuses soften and fly away.
So, for a few minutes, I invite you to write down some of your excuses on the card you have in your pew. What keeps you from saying Yes to God’s invitation to come and spend time in that Divine presence, what are the things that feel like the wind is pushing you forward in an out of control way, rather than turning to lean into the Spirit? Write them down now.
As you sit with your list of excuses, I invite you to ask God to show you just one way you can change one of these from an excuse into a leaning. One way you can bring one of these things into your awareness and turn it into something different when you feel that old way of being rising within you. Circle it, maybe write some words of encouragement you are hearing next to it, and bring this into your prayers this week.
The good news is that the invitation is always there for us. God, like in the parable from Luke, continues to tell us to come, until the house is full…. Until we are full of God’s love and grace. Until our souls and spirits are full of God’s peace and hope. This is a time to turn, a time for leaning. When the world around us spins out of control… turn and lean into the One who stays constant, who never changes, who is our center and our outer universe. Lean in to God. For the door does not shut on us, rather the invitation is to return again and again, to find time and space to turn in to God, to lean into God’s presence. When we do this, perhaps those parts of us not wearing the right robe, those parts that we think are ugly, mean or unready, those parts that have not taken this invitation seriously, the parts that show the world a false side will be thrown out, will move aside, will be healed, leaving the parts that are eager and ready to receive God’s love more space to do so.
So come, lean into God’s presence. Chose one excuse of busy-ness and allow it to fade away. Take your seat at the table. Say yes to the invitation to be with God. Be fully there and rejoice in the abundance of life you will find there! Lean in.
As we listen to Kitty play Leaning on the Everlasting Arms, begin to practice this leaning, take that one thing you have chosen to focus on and feel God’s presence supporting you, offering you a leaning post, lean in, lean in.
Today, we celebrate World Communion Sunday, a day where we remember the millions of Christians around the world who gather in churches and homes and under trees to celebrate Holy Communion. These days the gathering may look different, some in person, some outside, some in their homes, most socially distanced, yet for all of us, the celebration of Holy Communion is a central sacrament in our faith. As United Methodists we believe that all are invited to this feast, that all are welcome to come and partake in this gift from God’s table, this gift of bread and juice symbolizing the body and blood of our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. A table that is big enough for any who wish to come, not a table with limitations and tests of worthiness to pass, but one where anyone who longs to be in relationship with Christ can come and partake and be welcomed fully, no matter what.
This, in itself is a miracle!
When I was a child, I attended church with my grandparents. The rest of my family rarely went, but I liked going, and I liked singing in the children’s choir. Communion Sunday was always a little stressful though. My grandmother would always put the Sunday roast in the oven before they left for church, with the hope that it would be ready when they got home. But on Communion Sunday’s she was always anxious as the service would run 10 or 15 minutes longer, and she sat there, concerned that her roast might be dried out or burnt. And my grandfather was anxious for other reasons, although I didn’t know this until much later. When I was an adult I visited and went to church with them. I hadn’t known as a child that Communion was for members only…. We didn’t get to receive it as kids. But this happened to be a Communion Sunday, and when the bread and juice were passed along the pews, my grandfather leaned over to me and said with a look on his face that was like a kid who had gotten away with something cheeky, “It’s ok if you take it…. They don’t know this, but I’m not a member and I take it every month!” For the last 55 years, since he had been married to my grandmother, he had been receiving Communion when, according to the church, he should have been denied it…. And he was tickled pink that he had managed to get away with it for so long.
In this denomination and in this church, we celebrate an open table. As United Methodists, when we declare this is God’s table and ALL are invited, it truly is a gift, maybe even a miracle!
But, more than this, I believe the real miracle is in the words Jesus used as he broke bread for the last time that night long ago. The night when he knew he was about to be betrayed, to be denied, to be killed. The night when he left this gift from the Seder dinner where he broke the bread in a way that we now know as the Last Supper, the Holy Communion, the Eucharist. For on that night he invited all those at the table with him to eat and drink… listen again to these words from the Gospel of Matthew:
While they were eating, Jesus took a loaf of bread, and after blessing it he broke it, gave it to the disciples, and said, “Take, eat; this is my body.” Then he took a cup, and after giving thanks he gave it to them, saying, “Drink from it, all of you; for this is my blood of the new covenant, which is poured out for many for the forgiveness of sins.”
Do you hear it? Do you hear that miraculous invitation? Drink from it…. ALL OF YOU.
Jesus knew that Judas, the one who would betray him with a kiss was part of this ‘all’. Jesus knew that Peter, the one who would deny he was one of Jesus’ followers was part of this ‘all’. Jesus knew that the other disciples who would huddle and hide, scared for their own lives were part of this ‘all’. Jesus knew that all those gathered in their many vast and deep ways of being broken were part of this ‘all’. And still, he said, ALL OF YOU.
As I sat with these words in prayer again this week, I was reminded of a poem by Warsan Shire, a poet who is a Somali refugee living in England. She wrote:
they set my aunts house on fire
i cried the way women on tv do
folding at the middle
like a five pound note.
i called the boy who use to love me
tried to ‘okay’ my voice
i said hello
he said warsan, what’s wrong, what’s happened?
i’ve been praying,
and these are what my prayers look like;
i come from two countries
one is thirsty
the other is on fire
both need water.
later that night
i held an atlas in my lap
ran my fingers across the whole world
where does it hurt?
Where does it hurt? Jesus might have asked that very same question that last supper. Where does it hurt? For those disciples were hurting as Jesus shared the bread and cup with them. Jesus, himself, was hurting, as we see when he heads to the Garden of Gethsemane later that evening. His mother was hurting as she imagined the next few hours for her son. Where does it hurt? And in response, Jesus looks at those gathered and says, Yes… it hurts. Here is my body broken for you. I’m not going to deny the hurt, the brokenness, the pain. It hurts….. it hurts everywhere. AND, here is my body, broken for you. It hurts everywhere, and here is the cup of the new covenant, poured out for you and for many for the forgiveness of their sins.
There is a real beauty in this acknowledgement of the hurting of individuals, of the pain of the world. The way that Jesus is able to look at the hurt, the pain, the brokenness with compassion and know it’s not the end of the story. The way he sees the hurt and still offers up himself to all… even the ones who will later hurt him directly. It’s a promise for both the nowness of the pain, the ways he promises to see, to acknowledge and not turn away, to walk with us, to stay with us in the midst of all the horror that is taking place. And it’s a promise for the future. Take this bread, all of you, take this cup, all of you. A new covenant is being worked out, even as we sit in this present time of destruction, abuses of power, fear and hate… something new is being prepared. So eat, drink. I see what is happening. I see what the future holds. Don’t loose hope. All of us are hurting somewhere. Don’t loose hope.
There was another poem that came to mind when I sat with the beauty of this, the beauty that, even in our brokenness, our humanness, our hurt, we are welcome to the table. This one is by Andrew King:
THE TABLE WITH NO EDGES
We will sit down where feet tire from the journey.
We will sit down where grief bends the back.
We will sit down under roofs wrecked by artillery.
We will sit down where cries sound from cracked walls.
We will sit down where heat beats like hammers.
We will sit down where flesh shivers in cold.
We will sit down where bread bakes on thin charcoal.
We will sit down where there is no grain in baked fields.
We will sit down with those who dwell in ashes.
We will sit down in shadow and in light.
We will sit down, making friends out of strangers.
We will sit down, our cup filled with new wine.
We will sit down and let love flow like language.
We will sit down where speech needs no words.
We will sit together at the table with no edges.
We will sit to share one loaf, in Christ’s name, in one world.
We will sit down…. It doesn’t matter where we have come from, what shame fills our lives, what brokenness or grief we carry, what we may have done or left undone, what hurts we have inflicted or absorbed. We will sit down…. However we are dressed, whatever language we speak, whatever color our skin, whatever preferences we have for love, whatever our income is, wherever we live. We will sit down…. It doesn’t matter what we did on the way to get here…. In many ways it doesn’t matter what we do 30 minutes from now, for remember Judas. When we sit down, when we come hungry for a relationship with the Divine, when we show up at the table ready to be seen by God, ready to be welcomed into this place of grace and mercy. When we sit down at this table with no edges it receives all of our rough and broken edges. When we sit down, then Jesus will say to us, Take this bread, all of you, take this cup, all of you. All of you. Each one AND all of you…. The hurting and grieving parts, the shame-filled parts, the parts that you may think are beyond repair, the parts that are shiny and that you want the world the see, the parts that you hide from everyone you meet… and even from yourself. Take this bread, all of you, take this cup, all of you. ALL of you.
For when we show up at the table we are welcome, when we come to God’s table, all of us is rejoiced! The mere act of showing up is all that is required of us, God will take care of everything else. And the beautiful thing is that when we show up, time after time, the grace and mercy and love that drips into us through this bread and cup, through this act of welcome, through our willingness to come and be met by God’s love, through all of this God’s love and healing and grace begins to change us, to smooth out the rough places, to heal the broken places, to comfort the grieving places, to open our hearts to receiving even more of the love and grace that flow so freely. It’s like a gentle mother kissing an owie of a small child… the pain is lessened and the child is reassured that the parent is there for them. Each time we come, we are kissed by God’s love. And reassured once more… no matter what we have done in between the times of sitting at the table. We show back up. We are received each and every time with Love.
So come, ALL of you.
Today we pick up on the story of Moses again. Since we last visited this story, Moses has grown up, asked the Pharaoh to deliver the Israelites, the Pharaoh refused, the plagues came to the Egyptians, the Pharaoh reluctantly freed the Israelite slaves, then changed his mind and sent the armies after them. As they were being chased they came to the Red Sea, trapped between this body of water and those chasing them, the seas parted and the Israelites crossed to the other side while the Egyptian army was caught in the waters. A pillar of cloud leads the Israelites by day and fire by night and food is provided for them to eat. So, by all accounts, you would think the Israelites would be grateful for their freedom and feeling blessed by the food they are receiving. But, no. In todays’ scripture we hear that the Israelites are complaining again. This time they are thirsty. So they go to Moses and say, “Why did you free us from Egypt? Did you just bring us here to die of thirst? We were better off before. Why did you free us?”
Now, remember, the Israelites had been slaves in Egypt. They had been worked hard by their masters, given food and shelter, but not much… just enough to keep them healthy enough to do the manual labor they were forced to do. They had no freedom, and were used to harsh conditions. Now they are on an extended wilderness trip, walking through the desert, their needs being met by God, but still they complain. Why didn’t you leave us there to die? Why did you bring us into freedom? This isn’t what we signed up for!
I do wonder how many years this was into their journey. We are told they are wandering through the wilderness for forty years before reaching the promised land, so if they had been walking around for years already, this complaint may make sense. The new lives that would have been born in the wilderness having known no slavery, the memories of harshness faded to a fairy tale re-telling of their lives in Egypt, the many lives that would have been lost with no place to be laid to rest. All impacting the people. And the fading memory of how bad it had been replaced with the day to day reality of surviving while following this guy who was making promises about a land that was full of milk and honey…. Empty promises of plenty for all that were beginning to sound like lies when all they had to eat was manna in the mornings and quail in the evenings…. And, presumably, they would get meat from the flocks they had with them too. But this would get boring after a while. Where was the sweetness of the honey? Where was the creaminess of the milk? Where was this place where enough turned to plenty and roots could be laid down, crops grown, lives rebuilt with a sense of stability? And who was this Moses who kept talking about this land that felt far away? Who had put him in charge? And who was this God he claimed to keep talking to?
As they complained once more, Moses listened and turned once more to God. What shall I do God? I want to take care of the people, but they are testing you once more. They are ready to stone me. They are thirsty for more. And once more God answered, told Moses where to go and what to do, and in his faithfulness, Moses listened and followed the instructions, hit a rock with his staff, and water flowed, enough water for all the people and all the animals alike.
And we know this is far from the end of their complaining. As the story continues to unfold, they complain about the ten commandments, they complain about the idols they are told not to worship, they complain about the leadership, it seems that all they do is complain as they travel for these forty years through the wilderness.
All this leaves me to wonder how much better their lives would have been if they had expressed gratitude instead of complaining. If, when they had arrived at the camp where they were thirsty they simply said, Hi God. Thank you for all you have given us. We are grateful for the food, the freedom you afforded us, the ways you are guiding us and are never far from us during this time. We know there must be water in this place.. can you show us where it is please?… Thank you God!
For when our hearts are filled with gratitude our whole attitude is different and we begin to notice the blessings of life, rather than what is absent. And this is counter cultural, for the world loves to tell us what is missing from our lives. Consumerism tells us all the time that we don’t have enough. That if only we had this or that product, our lives would be better and we would be happy. If we buy this cereal, we will be filled for the whole day. If we buy this make up we will be beautiful. If we buy this car our lives will be filled with adventure and romance and new things. Even the right toilet paper will make your life better! Every time we turn on the radio or tv or open a newspaper, we are told what we are lacking, what we need to buy to be and feel better. And this can make us complain about what we are missing, rather than seeing the abundance of what we have.
I have a friend who began to take this seriously over a decade ago. It was spurred by an unfortunate Thanksgiving, where she had invited some people to come and eat with her family. She had a middle school daughter at the time, and life was chaotic and hard, with the two of them butting heads often. And when their friends cancelled coming for Thanksgiving, she felt let down and angry and upset… Surely it must be her own fault that the friends had cancelled after she had spent time and energy into planning a great feast. And I think there was much complaining in the house that week! She says, “I was a wreck. My daughter was a wreck. And my husband couldn’t ‘fix’ anything that was happening. Clearly, we lost sight of what Thanksgiving and the upcoming Advent season were supposed to mean so I decided, in that moment, that we would not sit down to dinner until we each stated 1 thing we were grateful for.
It wasn’t a moment of glory.
They had no idea where I was coming from. It was a challenge that none of us were really ready to be open to and it came off as more of a punishment than an opportunity for spiritual growth.”
But, it was the start of a conversation between her and God, one that planted seeds over several years, seeds that began to grow as she listened to what God was cultivating in her heart.
She says, After a few years, I realized I needed more. This is the point that I began to understand that: 1. gratitude is different from thankfulness, and 2. it’s personal – it has to grow from within.
I knew I was missing something – that still, small voice whispered, “Why be grateful on “that one day”
And instead of just demanding one thing that her family was thankful for on Thanksgiving Day itself, she began to name things she was thankful for in the week leading up to Thanksgiving Day. Soon she was giving thanks each day of November, journalling what these were so she could look back upon them. And soon the nudge from God was why limit your gratitude to Thanksgiving. What about the other days? Why wait? And so, since then, she has practiced gratitude each day, journalling through the good days and the hard days, the ones where joy is easy to find and the ones where grief and chaos and doubt swirl. What is there to be grateful for in the midst of all of life! And it has been a transformational practice for her.
This practice has led her to some deep lessons, including her saying:
there is a difference between thankfulness and gratitude. Thankfulness is a social act, an outward response, to honor and appreciate the efforts of another.
Gratitude, while expressing appreciation, is more importantly an emotional state of being. Gratitude grows from within and then needs an outward expression.
Gratitude is not the same thing as Joy. Gratitude may be the spark for Joy, but in real life we are asked to find gratitude in order to find balance in the worst of moments where joy is the last feeling that would be reasonable. Grief and gratitude go hand in hand just as naturally as it partners with peace and joy.
Gratitude is understanding that while the world seems so crazy, I have an anchor that holds me in balance.
Gratitude allows us to glimpse the Eternal in the Everyday and we begin to respond to the Divine rather than the tunnel vision that narrows our focus onto the single moment that is causing our distress. The more we rely on gratitude we begin to replace negative responses and begin to feel at peace.”
These deep lessons have continued to be transformative for her life as she moves through the difficult times and the times where peace and joy are more easily seen. It now comes more naturally to her, the gratitude rises from deep within, and sometimes finds an outward expression, but sometimes really is just an inner attitude that brings strength and a different way of looking at and feeling into the world, and brings about more glimpses of God at work in every day life.
These days it may seem like we have a lot to complain about…. Our nation is unsettled, we don’t know what November will bring, we have lost a great advocate for women with the death of Ruth Bader Ginsberg, justice feels far from being served, people are taking to the streets to make their voices heard and some are using the protests as an excuse for violence, many have lost income during CoVid, and some say complain freedoms are being taken away. But what we if can change our attitude and see what we have to be grateful for?
So, right now, I invite you to feel a sense of gratitude. Find that sense of gratitude that resides deep within you. If you are struggling to find it, return to the things that caught your attention as Kitty played Surely The Presence of the Lord is in this place. Find that place of gratitude within you. You need not have a specific thing that you are grateful for, but just the feeling of gratitude. Picture it like a light, a small flicker of candle light. And as you sit with this, picture the light getting stronger, glowing brighter, allowing that sense of gratitude to grow and spread with the light’s brightness. See if you can allow it to fill your whole body, your whole being, allowing the gratitude to flow, to spread, to build, to glow and warm your whole self. Sit with this sense of gratitude, just letting it be. If a feeling of fear or doubt or anxiety tries to come in, set it aside for now and just let the light fill you, the gratitude to become you.
As we go through these tumultuous times, let us turn complaints into gratitude. It may start with naming what you are thankful for, but it may be sitting with that feeling of gratitude and allowing it to build and spread. Watch how it transforms you, gives you strength, allows the grief and pain to be held in a different way. Allow gratitude to become your anchor, and give you glimpses of the Eternal everywhere you are and in all you meet, and pay attention to how it transforms you over time.