Come Eat Supper

Easter 7 - Year B

Readings:  Acts 1:15-17, 21-26   Psalm 1   1 John 5:9-13   John 17:6-19

Lord Jesus, thank you for reuniting us with God, our Father. Amen

There’s a podcast I subscribe to called “This American Life” from NPR in Chicago. Each broadcast, they have a theme, and they tell three or four different kinds of stories based around the theme. The last one I listened to, the theme was “Reunited, and it feels so good…”

Jesus is reuniting God, the Father, with his children. The first step was when he became one of us, when he was born as a baby and became our brother, growing up in a family and seeing from the inside what our lives are like. Then, he started talking to us about God, his Father – our Father - what he’s like, what he wants to say to us and how he wants to relate to us.

Finally, he started telling us he was going to leave, but that we wouldn’t be alone – we wouldn’t be left comfortless, as we prayed in the collect – because we would be able to talk to God, to Our Father, directly now.

Earlier on, people had become afraid to talk to God. When Moses went up on Mt. Sinai to receive the law, there was fire and thunder, and the mountain smoked, and everyone was terrified. They told Moses, “You speak to us, and we will listen, but do not let God speak to us or we will die.” (Ex 20:1819)

After that, God communicated to his people through the law and then through the words of the prophets, priests and kings, but it was not a perfect system because a good many of those folks were not dependable and garbled up the message or ignored it or said whatever they felt like. So, finally, God sent his own Son to bring the message – to communicate with us, and the way he chose to do that was by becoming one of us.

While that is hard to comprehend in itself: that God’s Son would become a human being – the even more astonishing thing – which is also the more important thing about Jesus coming to live with us, is that in doing so, he brought us back into a relationship with God – and a closer relationship than we had before.

The Exsultet – the hymn at the beginning of the Great Vigil of Easter, says “How blessed is this night/ when earth and heaven are joined/ and man is reconciled to God”

Being reunited to God was a difficult process, certainly not without pain. First, there was the pain of the initial separation – and then a prolonged period of estrangement that was also painful for both us and God. Then, God had to be separated from his Son in order for his Son to enter our lives. That separation was painful for both of them, even though it brought Jesus into a closer connection with us.

Then, once Jesus had reestablished a connection with us, in the bonds he formed with his disciples and followers, he had to leave to go back to God, “And now I am no longer in the world, but they are in the world, and I am coming to you.”

And that meant a separation of one type of closeness with us, even though it began to bring us all back to a closer connection with God.

“The hour is coming when I will no longer speak to you in figures but will tell you plainly of the Father. On that day, you will ask in my name. I do not say to you that I will ask the Father on your behalf, for the Father himself loves you…” (Jn 16:25b-27a)

Jesus has been telling them he’s going to have to leave, and that things are going to get pretty hairy when he leaves, but that, through him, they have the same access as he does to seek help from God – his Father and their Father.

Then, while they’re sitting there, he begins to pray for them. It’s like he’s bringing God in the room and introducing Him to his disciples and introducing them to Him.

“I have told these folks about you; I told them what you said, and they’ve received it and know you’re the one who sent me. Now, I’m asking you – protect them, and unify them, just like we are. While I’ve been here, I’ve looked out for them, but now I’m coming back, and so I’m asking you to look out for them now.”

And pretty soon after this prayer, he gets arrested and killed, and things do get pretty hairy for the disciples, and they don’t understand what’s going on at first, but gradually they realize that Jesus has reunited them with God, his Father and their Father – Our Father.

When you’ve been separated or estranged from someone, even just briefly, reuniting is difficult – and sometimes it takes some help.

Imagine you and your dad having a fight, and you get really mad and go lock yourself in your room. He tries to talk to you through the door, but you won’t say anything.

After a while, here comes your brother… “Dad says come eat supper.”

“No!”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing!”

“Can I come in?”

A brother is different than a dad. Your brother can talk to you in a different way than your dad can – and there are things your brother can tell you that you won’t hear from your dad.

That’s kind of the situation between God and his people. There had been a lot of fighting between us and God, and we’d become estranged and weren’t talking to each other. We had locked ourselves in our room, kind of. So Jesus came into the situation from our side. At first, he ferried messages back and forth like a mediator. He would tell us what God said and explain what he meant by it and he would also listen to our grievances and see what we were upset about and then go out to the kitchen and talk to God for us.

So you’re in your room, feeling a bit better and thinking maybe you’ll come out in a while - and your brother says, “Okay, I’m going – it’s time for supper and I’m supposed to set the table; you should talk to Dad.”

And maybe you feel ready for that and maybe you don’t, but he opens the door, and there’s God, standing in the hall. “I told her that you’re not mad and that you just want her to come eat, and she said she believes you and she’ll come out.”

Then he goes down to the table – and God’s there in the hall, and you’re looking at each other for a while, not knowing what to say – and he says, “Why don’t you come eat with us…”

Amen.

About fighting

Year C - Pentecost, Proper 24
Readings: Genesis 32:3-8,22-302 Timothy 3:14-4:5 Luke 18:1-8a Psalm 121


A common theme in today's texts is that of persistence in struggle and difficulty - hanging in there. Fighting and prevailing.
In struggling with the man he believes to be God, Jacob literally hangs on until he receives a blessing. In the epistle, Timothy is urged to "continue in what you have learned and firmly believed" and to "be persistent whether the time is favorable or unfavorable..." And in the gospel, Jesus tells a parable "about the need to pray always and not lose heart." The widow in his story "kept coming" and asking for justice, and eventually the unjust judge decided to grant it "so that she will not wear me out by continually coming."
Another aspect of this theme of struggle and persistence seems to be the presence of opposition. In the Gospel, the widow seeks justice against an unnamed opponent - we don't know the problem there - but then she has a further struggle with the judge, who doesn't really care about justice and so in that sense forms some more opposition.
In the OT reading, the opponent seems to be God. The text just says 'a man,' but Jacob clearly believes afterward that he has seen God and even fought with him, and he's amazed God didn't kill him. Jacob wrestles with the man, and the man dislocates his hip, but Jacob still won't let him go without a blessing, so the man gives Jacob a new name. "You shall no longer be called Jacob but Israel, for you have striven with God and with humans, and have prevailed." The word translated as 'prevail' doesn't necessarily mean that he conquered his opponent - that he beat God; it can also mean that he showed endurance, strength and courage in the fight. I think that's very important to notice - you don't have to beat your opponent to prevail.
I think struggle and fighting are things most of us can relate to. We fight with people, with circumstances, with God, with ourselves. What does it mean to prevail in these?
When we fight with people, it's just as often, if not more often, that we fight with people we love. In this situation, beating your opponent is not really a good way to 'win.' In a fight with family or friends, this kind of winning isn't very satisfactory.
When we fight circumstances, whether it's a health issue, a job situation, a policy or a law, people usually get drawn into it, too - even if you know what's to blame, it's hard to fight something you can't see or touch.
Sometimes, we fight God, and a similar thing can happen there - think Cain and Abel. But really, if anybody can handle our fight, it's God. Writers of the Psalms often got really angry with God; so did Job, and so did Jonah, and so did countless other people in the Scriptures. God's big enough to take it, and if God's the one you're mad at, God's the one to take it up with. I think it's also true that when you fight with God, you know God better.
Then there's fighting within ourselves: fighting our fears, our demons, and all the gunk we internalize from the problems and dysfunction in our lives. In the book The Imitation of Christ, I ran across this: "Who has a greater struggle than those who labor to overcome themselves?" Anyone who's faced addiction or even observed someone in that struggle can agree this is true.
In all of these struggles, what does it look like to prevail? I think part of the answer relates to peace. Sometimes, just to endure is to prevail - if you've made it this far, regardless of how much damage you've sustained - the fact that you're here is prevailing. Your scars show what you've been through - like Jacob limping as he walked away from wrestling with God. But you've lived to tell about it - you struggled with God and the world and yourself, and you've prevailed.
What if you lose? It depends on what you think losing is. I think to make peace with an opponent is to prevail, even if they win. For example, to face death and make peace with that opponent, whether you then live or die - is to prevail in that struggle - to show courage and endurance. I heard a saying once: 'Courage is fear that has said its prayers.' I like that, and I think it's true.
When I was facing a medical procedure to repair a brain aneurysm a couple of years ago, I also had to face the fear of dying. There came a point, after six months of delays, when all my distractions were gone, and there was no avoiding it anymore.
I wouldn't say I won that battle; I didn't beat the fear. I tried every argument I could think of to reason myself into peace, and I couldn't. Fear is more primal than reason. So finally, I prayed and asked God to give me peace about death, and it came.
It was so simple, I didn't believe it could be true at first and tried to make myself afraid again, but I couldn't. So I prevailed, but it wasn't because I defeated the fear; it was because God fought for me when I couldn't fight anymore.
Another thing about fighting is that it reveals a lot about the character of the contenders. When you fight someone, you know them. This idea was expressed in the sequel to the Matrix, when Neo is summoned to a meeting, and as soon as he walks in the door, the doorkeeper immediately engages him in a ferocious battle. Afterwards, the guy says he had to fight Neo in order to know for sure who he was.
I've started arguments with people before for no apparent reason, I suppose to see how they would respond, to flush them out into the open, I guess, to figure them out. And I've had people do that to me, too - to see how far they could push me before I pushed back.
There's something about competition that brings out things you don't see in casual interaction. People are more raw when they're fighting or competing. If you play any sport, or ever have, you know this. I played soccer from the time I was four until just a few years ago, and now I fence. In either place, I've found I learn a lot about people by facing them in competition. I learn their strength, their speed, their stamina, their habits and their style, how rough or skillful they are, whether they play clean or dirty.
The other side to this is, I learn a lot about myself, too. Some of it's good - some not.
When I played soccer, I learned that I'm persistent and I'm tough, but I'm not always realistic about the laws of physics. I frequently got knocked down trying to challenge people much bigger than me, but I'd get up and keep going. When I played goalkeeper, I wasn't afraid to dive or charge a forward one-on-one.
I also learned, though, that when I played forward, I had a tendency under pressure to sabotage my own plays and then make excuses about why I lost the ball, even though I had enough skill, technically, to keep it. If I had a fullback bearing down on me, for example, sometimes I'd cross the ball early from the wing just to get rid of it. But the center forwards weren't in place yet, so all that work to get the ball up was wasted.
The thing is, probably nobody would blame me. Except that I knew I was doing it. And actually, you can't have that many 'unlucky' breaks without someone seeing a pattern. When I played on my cousin's team, he commented 'Good Lord, I've never seen a more skittish forward!'
He had me sorted. I didn't have myself sorted, though. I didn't know WHY I was doing it. But at that point, I decided I better figure it out and try to fix it.
I think the same concept is true in many types of competition: the quest for grades, the desire to climb a ladder or achieve some status, even political debates.
The reason this is useful - what we see in the microcosm of a game or a debate or an argument, we can work on in that context and in other areas. And more broadly, what we see when fighting under any circumstances, can be an indicator of strengths or weaknesses.
In spite of our desire for peace, we do a fair amount of fighting. I think it's somewhat a part of the way we are as people. Maybe this is why God fights with Jacob and doesn't kill him - because God knows Jacob and knows that's the way he is.
Some people just come out swinging, and Jacob's whole life was like that - Jacob wasn't the ideal man like Abraham - calmly accepting all kinds of difficulties and waiting patiently for their seemingly impossible fulfillment. No, Jacob was going to grab what he could - he was grabbing his brother's heel when he was born - and since that moment was always fighting or scheming with somebody.
One of the most notable examples was when he tricked his brother Esau out of a blessing, and it was after this that he fled his home, afraid of the revenge his brother would taken when he discovered this.
Sometimes, people just kind of have to fight, I think. We wish for peace and harmony and unity with no divisions, but the reality is far from these ideals. In our culture, we don't have a lot of acceptable circumstances for fighting, but I think in some sense, people need to contend with something. Sports are one example, but also things like Survivor and a lot of those reality TV shows, where all kinds of normal activities, like dating, doing a job interview, and designing clothes are turned into competition events. Yesterday, I was watching Iron Chef America - they were having 'Battle Eggplant'...Now you tell me we don't have a need for competition!
The movie Fight Club is a very clear example - these young guys started a club just to fight each other - hand to hand, no gloves, no weapons, and very few rules. The story is somewhat more complicated than this, but essentially, the appeal seemed to be that by fighting, and sustaining injury, they were doing something that felt real - more real than pushing papers in an office. This movie was really popular, which means people respond to it for some reason. I think there's something to notice there.
If you're fighting, especially one-on-one, your goal is clearly defined by beating your opponent. But if you're a small part of a big goal, and especially if you don't know what that goal is, your part can feel pointless. This is somewhat our situation as members of the Church - we're each small parts of a larger body, involved in doing a work that we don't see the end of because it's so much bigger than any of us.
I think part of the implication of the letter to Timothy is - Hang in there. Don't lose sight of the goal you're part of. Know what that goal is. Learn what your part is and do it. And don't let other people's impatience or lack of interest make you forget what you're about.
AND - Fight the good fight.

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Given to St. John's, Silsbee
Oct. 21, 2007

fighting, struggle

Morning Prayer - Daily Office Year 1
Epistle: I Tim. 6:6-21


The writer of 1 Timothy is speaking as Paul to his young protégé, urging him to fight the good fight, to keep his focus and not to get distracted by temptations or contentiousness.
The format of the letter, written as from a teacher to a student and giving advice for leading faithfully in a time of conflict, has similarities to what we’re doing here in the Iona School. Here, some of you are passing on a deposit of faith and learning, and some of us are preparing to carry it forward into an uncertain future.
I feel a little odd preaching to you about it, since it feels like a role-reversal – you all are to me certainly more like Paul than Timothy.
It’s also a bit odd, because a few of the themes here – namely money and conflict - are not ones comfortably addressed in our culture – but a pulpit is still one place where people partly expect and even accept occasionally being bothered about them.
This may be part of my training as a deacon – my rector, Fr. Hugh Magers, seems to feel I have a ways to go in the diaconal gift of irritating people - but there are few things more irritating, I would imagine, than someone – especially a young person - preaching to you about how to view your money, so here we go – forging right ahead.
Warnings about the love of money are particularly adamant in this passage, as in the much-misquoted verse ‘for the love of money is a root of all kinds of evil.’ The dangers of falling into this desire are so great, Timothy is told to shun it or flee from it. One commentary noted that this warning is as severe as those against idolotry and sexual immorality and makes this observation: "evidently some threats to piety are so subtle and so powerful that they can be dealt with only by running from them." (New Interpreter’s Bible)
I think this is a very wise defensive tactic – it may look wimpy, but it works really well. I do fencing, and one of the first and most important concepts we learn is keeping distance from your opponent. If you are farther away than your opponent can reach, you don’t get hit. It’s a very simple concept – and the most effective method of defense – just back up – get out of the way.
I think it’s good to know the areas where we’re weak or most likely to have trouble – and this is an area that universally troubles most people – this verse is probably so much quoted and misquoted because the love of money and the pains people pierce themselves with because of it are obvious in society today.
For example, there are unfortunately so many examples of this dynamic at work in our society and in our churches even, that each of us could probably name five or six without having to think hard.
Think of one example and have it in mind -- If the culprit had run away from that temptation, what might be different? Since the culprit didn’t run, what’s remembered: the noble and lonely last stand or the terrible fall?
As well as running from temptation, Timothy is urged to run or chase after a collection of virtues that all complement each other: righteousness, godliness, faith, love, endurance, gentleness – and to ‘fight the good fight of the faith.’
Several commentaries noted that the word translated as ‘fight’ comes from the Greek word that gives us ‘agonize.’ It can be translated several ways, including ‘to struggle,’ ‘to contend,’ or ‘to compete’ as in competing for a trophy in a sports event. ‘Compete’ brings out the connotation that living faithfully requires the energy and discipline of a good athlete. (New Interpreter’s Bible) Just as athletes must practice to compete well, anyone struggling to live faithfully needs a disciplined practice as well, and it will take energy and time. ‘Contend’ and ‘fight’ include the idea of an adversary, and people trying to live faithfully certainly face adversaries, but ‘struggle’ is closer here because the meaning is more like perseverance against many kinds of odds than just combat - except that ‘struggle the good struggle’ doesn’t sound right.
This urge to ‘fight the good fight’ seems very relevant to us here, at this time. Last month, Bishop Wimberly met with the deacon candidates, and he talked some about what the church is facing in the next few months and how this intra-Episcopal struggle has been for him. ‘Agonizing’ would probably be a good word. What does it mean for the church if its members are struggling with each other? What might it mean for us in this room, as we begin to carry this struggle forward? It would seem that fights may be a given.
I think in the fact of facing struggles internally and externally, we’re not so different from the communities addressed in many of the letters, including 1 Timothy. Right from the beginning, there was conflict among members of the church, all the way through its history to the present day. These stories offer both perspective and encouragement.
Today, for example, is the lesser feast of St. Dunstan, Archbishop of Canterbury in the 900s. He was a confessor, among other things. I don’t know much about what being a confessor implies, except that initially, saints were given that title after enduring persecution and torture for confessing their faith rather than recanting it. St. Dunstan’s story also involves falling in and out of favor with a succession of kings and political rulers, but he stayed constant. So there was certainly struggle in his faith practice.
In light of the church’s fairly consistent behavior regarding conflict, it should probably not seem strange that we are going through it now. The issues change, but struggle itself seems fairly constant. The set of issues the Episcopal Church is wrestling with now are not what many would have chosen - I wouldn’t have picked them - but this is the situation we’ve been called to live faithfully in.
Eight years ago when I was confirmed in the Episcopal church, I didn’t know any of this was on the horizon; probably many of us didn’t. I hadn’t planned to consider ordination; the diaconate didn’t even exist in this diocese at the time. Now, a completely uncertain future with many possibilities stretches ahead, and it seems uttlerly overwhelming at times. We are learning enough here to know that there’s a whole lot we don’t know, but also getting inspired enough to want to try and do something anyway.
"Ah, but a man’s reach should exceed his grasp, or what’s a heaven for?" (R. Browning "Andrea del Sarto: Called ‘The Faultless Painter’")
We should struggle to reach goals that are beyond our ability to achieve – like righteousness, godliness, faith, love, endurance and gentleness – and we should also trust God to strengthen us, as we ask in the Collect for Renewal of Life: Drive far from us all wrong desires, incline our hearts to keep your law, and guide our feet into the way of peace.
And we should keep our distance from distractions – they’re not ‘the right hill to die on’. When it comes to making stands, we need to be fighting the good fight of the faith and staying away from contentiousness. Let God make up for our weakness in this area with His strength.
I think this is the other part of the message written to Timothy – struggle with all your strength and skill – and wait on the Lord, who will do things according to His plan in His good time.
This is the same dynamic as faith and works, the same as the debate about grace and the law.
We have to learn both to labor and to wait.
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Given to the Iona School for Ministry
May 19, 2007