"The Ordinary Life"

This little something-something was offered at the evening service, circa August 5, 2007.

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This was a day when nothing happened
And yet it was so full of
A nameless joy
But other than that, it had no destination
I woke up early and
Got the day started
All the normal, predictable things happened
I went to work
Was completely prepared
Did all the things I needed to do
Came home to eat and daydream
Return messages and a dozen other
Little things I like to do

And it reminds me
Of Professor Tolkien’s stories
Not of the great battles,
Or the kings and heroes,
But after great adventures,
After felling dragons
And negotiating the political chaos
That ensued,
Little Bilbo Baggins spent something like
A month
Just hanging out with the elves,
Dwelling in Rivendell,
Experiencing, perhaps, that nameless joy
That he tries do describe
By pointing out
That while great battles
And tales of suffering and woe
May make a fine story
That lasts for hours
Days spent in safety, peace, and contentment
Don’t make for good stories
Because there is no drama
No suspense, no plot, only a simple beauty
That is hard to replicate
In story form
Indeed, nearly impossible
Save to evoke memories
That we each carry
Of moments from our own
Beautiful lives

And then all we can really do
Is point and say
“There! There, do you see?
It was like that time
When you were in Maine
Walking along the coastline
And everything was quiet
Except for the ocean
Which roared
And it was so beautiful
So profound
So something-you-don’t-even-have-a-word-for
That you felt something shift
Inside of you
Like a giant puzzle piece
Plopping into place
And then you felt something
If beauty, peace, and contentment
Had a physical sensation
Like hot and cold do,
That would be it,
What you felt,
Right then
Except you didn’t consider yourself
A poet, a dreamer, a sage,
A celebrity who can incite
World Peace by simply releasing
The next album.
Because yours is the
Ordinary Life.
You never thought that
Your profound moments
Could touch anything like
Gandhi’s or Buddha’s or Jesus’
But that’s what I mean,”
You say as you point to that time
Your friend stood on the coastline of Maine
Feeling both Ordinary & Special at the same time.

You point to it, and say
“Remember that?
It’s just like that.”

"Greed"

This sermon was preached on Sunday, August 5, 2007, which was Proper 13, Year C.

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I want to talk today about greed. Greed. Examples of it, how to recognize and why to avoid it is what all of the readings today touched on. And yet, there was no clear definition that would help us along in our own lives. And since it is sometimes helpful to look back on a word that is so common to us, to take a moment to think about what it actually means, this word that we all use, with greater or lesser frequency, let’s do that.

We hear a parent say to a child whose hand grabs for too many cookies, “don’t be greedy” and we know what that parent means – don’t take too much, don’t take more than your share, make sure everyone has a cookie before you take another, only take what you need, or in this case, the two cookie maximum that you know you’re allowed.

Don’t be greedy. In those three short words, that parent manages to pack a wealth of meaning that the child will only fully understand a bit later, though it’s never too soon to start.

There’s another way to think about greed, though – maybe more than one other way, but here’s one I’ve been thinking of. I find it helpful sometimes to think about the opposite of something, when I really want to get to understand it. And the opposite of greed could be… generosity. But I don’t think so. I think generosity is part of the opposite of greed, but I think it’s too specific. I think that the opposite of greed is really a way to live in the world we hold things lightly. Holding things lightly, meaning that we’re happy to have things (whatever those things are) come to us, and we’re happy to let them go. We literally, don’t hold on to them tightly. Our friends the Buddhists have a term for something like this, and it is non-attachment. And maybe that term, succinct as it is, will work for you, but I like the thought of holding things lightly.

And so, if holding things lightly is the opposite of greed, then that would make greed grabbing on tightly to those things that are yours and those things within your grasp. And not letting go. And by things, things in your grasp, am I just talking about money, about finances? No. Think, grabbing on tightly to possessions, to love, to attention, to power, to fame, to prestige… and sure, to wealth.

Now, I don’t know about you, but when I think, am I greedy? My instant answer is, ‘no, of course not.’ But if I rephrase the question, ‘do I grab on tightly to things in my life? Is there something, or some group of things that they would have to pry my cold, dead fingers off of to get it out of my possession?’ My answer to that is less bold and confidant. And yet, that is exactly what we’re talking about. It’s what the wisdom we heard read is talking about. Because what God teaches about greed is pretty clear.

God says don’t be greedy.

God says be generous.

God says greed is utterly pointless. Pointless. Because what you have doesn’t matter, it isn’t the point, even if what you’ve got is a lot – so getting more is besides the point. (And God help you if you get more at the expense of others who have less. None of the prophets have anything good to say about that.)

So, okay. Clearly we’re not to be greedy. We are to hold onto things lightly. But that, as perhaps you have noticed, certainly I have, is sometimes easier said than done. So, perhaps in trying to figure out how on earth we go about living out this teaching (which I think is an important part of any teaching – how we’re supposed to do it), it’s helpful to consider briefly what it is we might need this teaching to begin with.

Why are we greedy in the first place?

Now, there are several answers to this, I’m certain, and I’m equally certain that they’ve all got some measure of truth in them. But try this one on for size, and keep it if it seems to fit.

If you’ll think back with me through the bible, especially through those ancient Hebrew scriptures we call the old testament, there are a few resonating themes that, regardless of what story we’re in the middle of hearing, whether it’s about creation, or Noah and the ark, or Abraham and the promises of a great nation, or Moses and the delivering of that great nation, or Samuel, or David, or the judges, or the prophets – throughout all of it, there’s this theme, this refrain, echoing over and over again, and this theme says: God is enough. God is enough. God is enough.

And there are variations on that theme:

If you have God, you have enough.

If you trust in God, you don’t need to trust anything else.

…Now, there could be several understandings of this theme. Certianly, a popular, but I think, wrong interpretation of the idea that ‘God is enough’ is that all we have to do is ‘believe’, and nothing will ever go wrong, life will always be nice, we’ll never get sick, we’ll never be hungry, and nothing bad will ever happen. This is what is prayed for, and this is what we believe will really occur, if only we believe enough. And if it doesn’t occur, it’s because we didn’t believe enough. This, I think, is a rather simplistic view of the complex universe that God has created, and knowing that this is how some people, some Christians approach religion makes me understand what Marx said when he accused religion of being the opiate of the masses.

Because let’s face it, faithful people in ancient Israel knew full well that life wasn’t nice, lots of people got sick and died, or worse, got sick and continued to live on, sick and outcast from society, half-starved and reviled for the rest of their lives. People in ancient Israel knew that if you wanted to eat, hard work was required. And yet, their stories were filled with a theme that says, God is enough.

I think the theme ‘God is enough,’ while a simple phrase, is incredibly more complex than all of that. I think it has to do with abundance, priorities, and some of the inherent laws of the universe.

Or, we can think of it this way, since what we’re really trying to understand is greed, and how to avoid it. The only thing we should be holding tightly to is God. Cling to God. Think to yourself, you’ll have to pry my cold dead fingers out of God’s hand, because I’m not letting go.

And, just to be clear, I don’t mean an image of God. This is not license to go beat up someone else because we’re holding tightly to an image of God that someone else disagrees with, or understands differently, no, no, no.

But to hold tightly to God, rather than possessions, attention, power, fame, prestige, wealth, or even love, but to God… Knowing that these other things will come. These other things will come because the nature of the universe, one of the yet to be enunciated laws of the universe is abundance. Abundance, the concept that there is not just enough, but plenty for all – and greed disrupts the balance and flow of abundance. When we are not greedy, intentionally and however fully we can manage to be not greedy, we are then active participants in God’s abundance that flows to us, through us, and to other people. Now, we don’t get all the credit for that abundance to other people, because that wouldn’t be right and it’s not ours anyway, but we become part of the system that works, we become part of the solution, instead of being part of the problem.

So there you have it – Greed. It’s like saying to God, “No, actually, I don’t trust you. I don’t believe you can provide enough when it’s necessary, so I’m going to grab on tight to everything I can reach, and to hell (maybe literally) with the consequences.”

And when we live without greed, it’s like living with an open hand that easily accepts and easily passes on, and hand that helps the flow of abundance come to us, and go beyond us.

It’s the work of a lifetime, perhaps, but I’ve always thought that it’s best to start those life lessons now.

"How to Pray"

This sermon was preached on Sunday, July 29, 2007, which was Proper 12, Year C

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Teach us how to pray.

That’s what Jesus’ friends and students asked him. Teach us how to pray. But of course, not just a simple, no strings-attached statement, teach us how to pray. It also has the added flavor of one-up-manship and whining. John taught his disciples to pray – won’t you teach us how to pray?

But for whatever the reason someone asks, it’s a good question to answer.

Jesus answered by coming up with a prayer that we now sometimes call The Lord’s Prayer, and taking it out of the specific terms that some of us know so well we don’t even think about them anymore, here’s what Jesus is really saying.

Jesus starts out addressing God, first of all, but he’s doing it in a radical way – he’s talking about a God who is so loving, so benevolent, so giving, and so caring that this God could be a parent – but Jesus goes further than that. Not content, as in most of our English translations, to address God as ‘Father’, he goes so far as to call him Daddy, like a small, trusting child would look up at their father, smile, and call him Daddy. That’s the kind of relationship that Jesus is assuming with God, and it’s the kind of relationship he’s modeling for us to have with God.

Now, if the idea of God as Dad doesn’t work for you, try God as Mom. If that really doesn’t work for you, move right on along to God as Beloved. It really makes no difference. The point is that God isn’t some nameless, faceless, passionless general manager of the Universe. Rather, God is even more caring, even more loving, even more giving and wise than even your own Dad, or Mom, than even your own partner.

So this is how Jesus starts out his prayer. Our Father in Heaven.

And then Jesus reminds us of how holy God is. Now, holy isn’t a word that is really in our every day vocabulary these days, though it would have been then. But just imagine, imagine trying to come up with a word, in this instance for God, that covers just how good God is. A word that expresses just how wonderfully loving, and giving, and caring, how imaginative, how creative, how wise, how powerful. Believe it or not, ‘holy’ actually covers all of that. And the somewhat archaic version of the word ‘holy’ is ‘hallow’

Our Father in Heaven,
Hallowed be your name.

Now comes an interesting bit, because Jesus is about to start praying for the things he’s doing in his own life and work. His whole three year ministry was about the Kingdom. The Kingdom of God, or the Kingdom of Heaven, if you prefer, and about how it is our job to see that this Kingdom manifests on earth with justice and peace.

Our Father in Heaven,
Hallowed by your name.
Your Kingdom come,
Your will be done,
On earth as it is in heaven.

And now, Jesus starts praying for every day life, beyond his work and ministry – he’s now going to pray for the basic necessities (which weren’t always 100% assured), for relationships, large and small, and for help avoiding those things that are troublesome.

Our Father in Heaven,
Hallowed by your name.
Your Kingdom come,
Your will be done,
On earth as it is in heaven.
Give us this day our daily bread
And forgive us our debts
As we forgive the debts of others
Lead us not into temptation,
But deliver us from evil.

And that’s where the prayer ended.

Now, I want you to think for a moment – think back. Who taught you to pray? Were you ever taught? Was it something you picked up just because you were around other people? Did you never have a chance to pick it up? Have you ever wondered if your prayers are good enough, or even heard by God?

Well, if you’ve ever had a moment of wondering, have I got good news for you.

Yes.

If you’re praying a prayer out of a book, or one you’ve memorized, or someone else is praying on your behalf, it counts. God hears.

If you’re praying in desperation because you just stubbed your toe, or you’re looking for a parking space you may not get, or because the baby won’t stop crying, it counts. God hears.

If you’re praying and it sound really more like angry shouting in God’s general direction because right now, things are not going well, not at all, it counts. God hears.

If you’re praying in utter silence – an intentional silence that some traditions call meditation – praying in that way where you’re not saying anything at all, but waiting and listening for God, that counts. God knows.

If you’re praying with your hands, making something – a meal, a garment, a table, a work of art, a piece of music, and there are no words, only powerful actions, that counts. God sees.

Praying is just part of this on-going conversation between us and God that we have throughout our lives. But, it needs to start somewhere, and if you’re curious about how to pray in that formal, vocal way, remember this:

Address God as God really is: loving, caring, and just really wonderful.

Pray for what you do, and what you need.

Pray for your relationship with others, knowing that you need to be forgiven, every bit as much as they need forgiving.

Pray to have help in avoiding the things that are too much for you.

Pray for the work Jesus left us to do: this living into the Kingdom of God, the kingdom that is all about justice and peace.

Do that, and you’ll be off to a great start, if you’re not already.
Amen.

"Mary and Martha"

This sermon was given on Sunday, July 22, 2007, which was Proper 11, Year C.

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All who are weary and heavy-laden…
All who are stressed-out and worn down,
All who are anxious and frazzled,
All who have had it up to here and can’t take it any more…

Come.

And this, you will notice, is not an invitation that will require a heck of a lot of hardwork on the part of the weary, stressed-out, anxious, heavy-laden, worn down, frazzled persons who have had it up to here and can’t take it anymore. Because after all, if these people had to do one more thing, have one more care, one more responsibility, they’d snap.

They’d just snap.

There are moments in our lives when what we need is to be poked and prodded and challenged. There are times in our lives when we need to have our assumptions, stereotypes, and basic attitudes turned utterly and completely on their heads because our God doesn’t take injustice lightly, nor does our God take inhospitability lying down.

But before that, and sometimes even in the midst of that, we need something else, because although we are a complex people, we are not an unchanging people – we are dynamic, fluid, and what we needed yesterday may yet be different from what we need tomorrow.

There are other times when we, the stressed out and heavy-laden, get to come to the feet of the master, summarily drop all of our cares at her feet, and then drop ourselves into a cushy chair with a cold drink at our elbow. But no, not then to vege out as we might do in front of a TV, or a radio, or a video game. No, that is not quite the sort of refreshment that God provides.

No, the kind of couch potato relaxing that may seem so common and natural to us is not really what brings us back to balance, real balance, though we can pretend it does. No because when we’re really balanced we’re ready to meet those rigorous requirements of God’s that encompass truth-telling dead ahead, of taking no bribes to our back, of all manner of hospitality on our right and of all manner of openness to our left – it’s the compass rose of God, and it centered, dead centered right where we are, always, in Love. Those are actions we can easily take part in when we’re at balance. That’s a compass rose we can live by when we’re at peace.

Peace. And the way you get to this peace, the way I get to this peace is to listen to the voice of God.

Now, if that seems to you a Herculean Task, don’t worry, because you’ve already done it dozens, nay thousands of times. Seriously. You have heard the voice of God, and so have I, though we may not have thought of it as such at the time. Lemme say that again so it can sink in, just in case this is a brand new thought. You have heard the voice of God, and so have I, though we may not have thought of it as such at the time. And that’s okay – it doesn’t upset God that other people get the credit.

But how – just for the sake of argument – should we know this voice of God that brings peace, particularly when we’ve never consciously recognized that voice to be of God before? Easy. It’s the one that brings peace. Or at least, in the mist of turmoil and suffering, it brings peace. In the midst of complacency, it tends to bring rather intense challenge. But that’s another story.

But no matter the situation, the voice of God is the voice that councils wisdom, peace, healing, and love. It’s the voice that reminds you and me of what we already wish to be true, sometimes, what we already deeply suspect to be true, what we already know to be true.

But lest you think this voice –whether it comes in the garb of that little voice inside your head, or the words of a friend or a stranger – lest you think this voice is always nice, always polite, please think again.

The voice of God is not always nice, polite, or even pleasant. But it is… caring.

And how could someone be caring, but not nice, polite, or pleasant? Parents – I bet you have some insight on this question.

I know that Martha in that story from the gospel of Luke that we just heard found out the embarrassing way how Jesus could speak with the voice of God and be caring, but not particularly pleasant.

Imagine it with me – Jesus is in their home, teaching. Mary is sitting at his feet, listening to him teach. Her sister, Martha, is busy making the meal – which back then took a heck of a lot of time and labor to produce. Now, ostensibly and according to the culture of the time, it’s Mary who is out of line. After all, this is her home, too, and part of showing hospitality for a woman would have been to be in that kitchen helping Martha. And yet, that is not what she chooses to do. One imagines she had her own reasons for shucking the expectations of her culture to sit and listen to the voice of God. Like, perhaps, that is what she needed to do. And Jesus didn’t say anything about it either way. Didn’t say, good for you, Mary. Didn’t say, get up lazy bones and get into that kitchen. Jesus was busy teaching.

Now, just as Mary made a decision to do what she did, so did Martha. She might have chosen not to cook, and they might have eaten late, and worse things could have happened. Instead she chose do to as she did, and Jesus didn’t say anything about it. He didn’t peek into his kitchen and say, well done, great hospitality. He didn’t call her out and demand to know why she wasn’t listening because he had some important stuff to say. He didn’t say anything. Jesus respected Martha’s decision to do as she would, just as he respected Mary’s.

But then, oh, then… Then Martha comes out. Does she pull Mary aside and demand help? No. She goes to the master. And this is where I always cringe, because it’s like watching a train wreck – you know something awful is going to happen, and yet you can’t look away, and it happens so quickly… “Tell her to come help me!” How embarrassing for Mary, in that moment, put on the spot, to have her sister do that, and how embarrassing still would it have been to have the Rabbi reprimand her.

And yet, Martha created a situation such that someone was going to lose face – and it was going to be either her sister or herself.

And what does Jesus do? Jesus bucks convention and refuses to reprimand Mary, who sits at his feet, listening. He respects Mary’s decision to sit and listen. And honestly, he respects Martha’s decision to be working and cooking, but he doesn’t respect Martha’s need to be a proverbial martyr in the kitchen, nor does he respect Martha’s need to redress Mary for making the decision she needed to make. And since Martha has pushed Jesus to comment on the subject, he’s going to do so honestly – it’s clear from the very conversation they’re having that Mary followed the decision of her heart, and Martha didn’t. And so he says, “Martha, dear Martha, you’re fussing far too much and getting yourself worked up over nothing. One thing only is essential, and Mary has chosen it – it’s the main course, and won’t be taken from her.”

Now, I don’t think this story is here so we can vilify Martha, and glorify Mary. I don’t think this story is here so we can use it as our excuse to never be hospitable, or never cook again, or to always be sitting, waiting, listening. No, because we are a complex and ever changing people. Some days we need to do one thing, and other days we need to do the other.

This story is here – one of the many reasons this story is here – is so that we can realize a few things. One of them is this: God won’t take our choices away from us, no matter how they bring us into balance, or keep us from it, God supports every decision that we make, for ourselves. Another thing we learn is this: God does not unanimously support the bad decisions we make for others – the judgments, the condemnations, the manipulations, and all of the untruths. It seems from this story that we can learn this: God respects our right to lie to ourselves, if that is what we’re really determined to do. However, God balks when we think we have a… God-given right to lie to others, to pull others into our self-delusion.

And so we find how the voice of God can be caring, and yet unpleasant. Caring, and yet not particularly nice. Because of all those lovely and general things we learn from this story of Mary and Martha, one concrete thing we might take away from it is this: when we, like Martha, start feeling resentful about the actions of others, that would be really great time to stop and listen for the voice of God. When we start feeling resentful about the actions of others, that’s a great signal for us that we aren’t getting what we need to feel balanced and at peace, whatever that thing that we need is.

And just like our best imitations of a couch potato doesn’t bring us into balance, neither does complaining to the Rabbi and hoping they will somehow, magically, restore balance.

Reaching balance, achieving peace, like all of our own, personal decisions, is something highly respected by God. And when we tell God that that is what we want to experience next, God will listen, and God will help. But will we be willing to receive that help and take the next, maybe frightening step of doing something different that we’ve done before?

Amen.

Just Breathe

This little something-something was given Sunday evening, July 15, 2007.

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Just breathing on that veil that separates
What Seems To Be and What Is
is the very thing that disintegrates it,
leaving…
something lovers and mystics,
poets and infants,
musicians and philosophers,
parents and siblings
have been trying to explain to others
and themselves
for thousands and thousands of years
– time out of mind, really –
and it turns out that the stories told of it,
it – this experience,
are as different from one another
as we are, one from another.

And yet, there is an underlying
similarity, if you can
suspend your disbelief long enough
to read between the lines of
one person’s perspective,
one person’s issues
and pain
and fears
and frustrations.

And then what you can see
– the whole picture, including all those things –
is exactly what is,
no matter whether it’s a philosophical argument,
a piece of fantasy fiction,
an impromptu jazz improv,
or the act of washing an infant.

It’s all the same.
It’s all us breathing
– like we’ve never breathed before,
and like we’ve always been breathing
since the doctor/nurse/midwife
smacked us on the butt and began
our indoctrination to this reality
(somewhat harsh, compared to the womb)
we’d been breathing just like that since then,
but this time,
somehow,
it was holy,
this time we knew it -
and for a split second
that lasted a year
the very air we breathe
actually dissolved the iron-thick door
between us and God

– the door that’s really just a curtain,
the curtain that’s really just a veil,
the veil that is so barely there
it’s only in our imagination,
our imagination that is so unhelpful
it turns it into a wrought-iron fortified door –

and for a heartbeat there’s nothing.
Nothing.
Absolutely nothing between us and God.
Nothing.

And then,
there’s something again,
and our brain snaps back
like a rubber band over extended,
but we’ve got the memory,
the sensation,
the experience of that moment
that nothing can take from us –
thank God nothing can take it from us.

And so we tell someone,
or we don’t.
It inspires something that we’re likely to do anyway –
music for the musician,
poetry for the poet,
yes, all of that,
but here’s the thing.

Here’s the amazing
wonderful
jump up and down when no one’s looking
ecstatic thing:

this one experience
that may be followed by others
again and again and again
has the power
– and I do mean power –
to change us,
if we let it.

We can put our foot down and refuse,
of course –
of course we can.

But we can also crack open
the door of our souls
just a smidgen
(or even throw the door wide open –
that’s great, too)
and let the fresh air flow through.

It’s always then that we realize
how fresh the air really is,
and how cooped up we’ve been all along.

And before you know it,
you’re someone different –
a smidgen better,
a tad wiser,
and it feels like you’ve done
nothing at all to deserve it,
to work for it,
but of course,
it’s all a matter of perspective,
because if you’re like most of us,
it took a hell of a lot of something
to open the door just a smidgen,
but of course,
that’s not the sort of hard work
we typically give ourselves credit
for doing, when
we give ourselves credit for doing
something well, at all.

And so it goes.

Jesus as Clint Eastwood

This sermon was preached on July 15, 2007 (Proper 10, Year C)

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Who is my neighbor?

The situation is a typical one. The new teacher comes walking into town – imagine the scene with me. I’m envisioning some Clint Eastwood Spaghetti Western. The new teacher comes to town with some disciples in tow. Out strides the locals with one or two official types out in front. The guy in town with the biggest hat, or the sharpest suit, depending on the town, takes a step forward from the crowd to test this newcomer.

In the Clint Eastwood mindset, we might expect that official to be thinking, “What side of the law is this one on?”

But for our purposes today, the official is thinking something more along the lines of, “What’s that boy teachin’? Is he Orthodox, or is he a heretic? Is he a good Jew, or is he a damn Samaritan?”

So a question is asked – one of those telling questions, one of those complex theological questions, and it’s one that presumably has no easy answer.

And what does Jesus do? He does what he always does in this situation – and I say always, because this isn’t the first time it has happened, and it won’t be the last.

Jesus, who is both crafty and wise, answers the question designed to trap him with another question that demands the accusing party answer it for themselves. Which just goes to show something rather important: We already have the answer; to this question and so many others, we already have the answer, if only we will trust ourselves enough to dare to speak it.

And because it is demanded of him, the lawyer answers with what any good Jew, then or now, might say to such a query. The answer has a name, it is so common, so well known. It is called “The Shema.” It’s a distillation of the first two of the ten commandments. It is the convenient answer to any question of what it is God requires of anyone, for anything. I won’t bother quoting it in my broken ancient Hebrew. Here it is again, in English:

Love the LORD your God
With all your heart
And with all your soul
And with all your strength
And with all your mind.
And love your neighbor as yourself.

That is the answer that Jesus’ cross-examiner has given to his own question. It is the answer that is given by the Hebrew holy writings, known as “The Law,” and it is eloquent, succinct, and correct. Jesus points out the correctness of the answer and tells him to follow his own advice. But the questioner is not content with having had to answer his own question, nor is he content that Jesus got out of giving his own answer. So he asks for further clarification. After all, this Jesus of Nazareth person was a traveling rabbi, and if there is one thing that traveling rabbis did well, it was their ability and willingness to comment on the holy writings. The same thing in a Christian setting would be called preaching. In the Jewish setting, it’s called Midrash.

Now, one would think that the Shema was pretty obvious – Love God with absolutely everything you’ve got, and love your neighbor as yourself. But already, perhaps, you’ve seen a questionable bit or two? The question from our time and culture is, “how can we love our neighbors when we can barely love ourselves, or at least, when we fail to love ourselves in healthy ways?” And it’s a valid question, because the command assumes that you are in fact, already loving yourself in a healthy and helpful manner. It’s a valid question, and we have to grapple with it, but it wasn’t the question in first century, Roman occupied Israel.

No, the question that the lawyer asks Jesus the Rabbi to preach on is this: “Who is my neighbor?”

Who is my neighbor?

And now, maybe the lawyer didn’t really give a fig about actually enacting the answer. Perhaps, after all, he was just asking because he was still in pursuit of this idea that he could trap this country-bumpkin preacher in front of his own congregation. Perhaps that was the case. Certainly the story has set the scene up for us to believe that. But perhaps it isn’t the case – perhaps he really wanted to know. We may never find out. But what we do know, is what Jesus said in response.

Now, he didn’t evade the question, and he didn’t turn it right back on the inquisitor, but neither did he give a straight answer that could be argued with. He told a story that hadn’t actually happened, but was certainly true, and it was to some great measure, shocking, but then those are the three hallmarks of Jesus’ parables, his favorite method of teaching. That’s what the lawyer got: a parable.

A parable, because the actions in the story hadn’t actually happened, but it described a great truth, and it was shocking, whether or not it seems shocking to our ears.

Who is my neighbor?

Now, a straight answer to that question might be something like, “everyone you want to be neighbors with, plus everyone you want to avoid, in addition to everyone you can’t stand. They are your neighbors.” But of course, you can argue with an answer like that until the cows come home. What is much more difficult to argue with is a concrete story of personal interaction, which is what the parable outlines.

A guy lies dying by the side of the road. Three people pass by. The first two are both upstanding citizens and leaders of the community, and just the sort of people you’d expect to help out a poor guy who is bleeding to death in the dirt. Now, please understand that the story doesn’t have him as a leper or outcast, someone who is poor, and of a completely different social class than those walking by. This story doesn’t even get into issues of social class. This guy who is lying in the dirt half dead was just like the ones walking by, only he got mugged in a rather brutal way and is now… lying in the dirt, dying. Now, the first two of these gentlemen who pass by carry the full weight of honor, respectability, and the love and favor of God. And what to they do? Well, here’s shocking part number one: not only do they do nothing to help, they cross to the other side of the road to avoid the dying guy. This would have scandalized the lawyer who was asking the question, but it’s hard to argue with when we all know full well that this sort of thing does happen. We may not like to talk about it, we may not like to hear it from the pulpit, and we share that with the first century Jews, but we all know it happens anyway.

But here comes scandalous thing number two: The third person who walks by is a Samaritan. Loathed and reviled by good Jews, Samaritans were likened to dogs by the Jews, who as a group did not apparently revere the animal as we do today.

And the Samaritan does not cross to the other side of the road.

And the Samaritan cleans and binds the wounds of the man half dead.

And the Samaritan loads him on his own animal, which means the Samaritan had to walk, for probably, miles, and took him to the nearest place to help.

And the Samaritan paid for his care, his food and lodging, well over what would probably be needed.

And the Samaritan promised to come back and pay more if necessary later, when he came back by again.

Shocking, shocking, shocking. It blasts apart stereotypes of who is capable of being a good person, a loving neighbor, not because of the man who got mugged and is lying half-dead in the dirt, but rather because of the particular individual who did help him, and because of all the ones who had a chance, but didn’t. The so-called “good people” didn’t lift a finger, and the so-called “bad guy” was the one who acted in the most merciful and graceful manner possible.

This is Jesus saying that our notions of who is Good and who is Bad are utterly meaningless.

Let me say that again. Our notions of who is Good and who is Bad are notions that are utterly meaningless. We can argue our assumptions and stereotypes until the cows come home, but they’re still meaningless. And when we base our willingness to show love and compassion to someone else based on assumptions of their goodness or badness, we are in fact going about the process backwards.

And so Jesus asks the question: “Who of these three acted as a neighbor to the man in the dirt?”

And the lawyer responds, “The one who showed him mercy.” And I like to think that at this point, no matter his reasons for beginning this line of inquiry, that maybe this gentleman has learned something from the wise master, Jesus. I can’t imagine hearing this story, given what we know of the culture and the time, and not being moved.

“Who is my neighbor?”

The one who shows you mercy, no matter who you are, no matter who they are. So go, and do likewise. Be a neighbor, regardless of who you are, regardless of who they are.

Go, and do likewise.

A Decision

This little something-something was given Sunday evening, July 15, 2007

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I was told at some point this week, or reminded, really,
That the main part of the experience of happiness
Was the decision to be happy.

Now, that’s just the sort of reminder that I love
Because it’s something simple
(Though of course, not everything
That is simple, is easy)
It’s something I can actually affect myself,
Something I can live into,
And it’s something that can have a bold and
Altogether significant effect on how I experience the world.

And since, even though I had heard it before
And had already attempted to incorporate it
Into my life,
yet it was a lovely reminder,
so I’ll repeat it again:

The main part of the experience of happiness
Is the decision to be happy.

And this idea does, I believe,
Tap into something greater than the isolated
Event of profound happiness
Gained by the decision itself

This idea taps into the very
Abundance of the Universe
That is already overflowing with
Joy, among other things

No longer a zero sum game
Order happiness from the menu and you have
To swap out something from
Column B, or two from Column C.

It’s more like putting your hand
Down in the water,
While sitting in a speeding boat

Just testing the water with your fingers
Provides you with a face full of happiness
As the water joyfully leaps up
At your mere inquiry.

And while perhaps you hadn’t planned
To have a face full of water,
Or Joy, at that exact moment
You can’t help but be happy about it

Because that’s the nature of joy.
And that’s the nature of abundance.
Just like exercising is guaranteed
To improve cardiovascular health

On demand, just like that,
A law of the universe, though it seems
Counter-intuitive huffing and puffing
On the treadmill, or in the park

Fully aware in that moment
Just how out of shape you really are
But you know this drop in the bucket
Will eventually fill the bucket

So it goes with any instance
Of the Abundance of the Universe.
So it goes with Love, with Understanding,
With Compassion, Wisdom, and Creativity,

So it goes with everything good
Every little thing, every big thing,
So it goes with Joy, and the rest –
Assumptions, fears, angers,

And all the things that stem from them,
Though they seem endlessly abundant
They are only in the way
Between us and the Reality

They’re the hurdle we have to
Pick out in the distance
So we’ve got a running chance
To jump over it, and not get

Cut down just as we get started.
Because all of those fears, angers,
Assumptions, those petty hatreds
And annoyances we cling to so admirably

Are really just the things keeping us
From having to trust
The Abundance of the Universe

They are really just the things keeping us
Distracted from realizing
That Truth isn’t in the smallness of
Right vs. Wrong, of my way or the highway

Truth lies somewhere else,
Somewhere at the intersection of Joy and Love
With a side of Compassion,
In Wisdom’s neighborhood cooperative

And that the directions to get there
Are blissfully simple, though not always easy,
As Mapquest won’t help,
Nor Google, for all its worth.

It requires summarily dropping
All that you carry
Tainted with anger and fear,
Injustice and intolerance,

Leaving it cold turkey,
And doing a 180,
Because so long as Fear is before you,
Love will be in the opposite direction,

And then you just walk.
Just go straight ahead,
Or more or less straight,
Keep walking, though it’s hard at first

Sometimes it’s easier to think about
Walking away from the Fear, or Anger
And work your way up
To walking toward something

That may seem foreign at first
But you’ll get there,
We all will – we’re all capable
It’s available to every one of us

This Abundance of the Universe.
All we have to do is lean over toward the water,
Reach out a hand, and feel the
Powerful wave reach right back at us.