"But Jesus often withdrew to lonely places and prayed." Luke 5:16
What does this practice look like in our modern context?
Last summer I spent a week of training for my spiritual director certificate at the Interfaith Institute in Berkeley, CA. Throughout the week, my cohort explored the practice of deeply listening to one another through a variety of different activities. We shared stories. We worked with images. And we even went on solitary walks. Now, eight months later, the memories of this experience are some I still treasure dearly.
And, there's one gem I gained from our Hindu instructor I've thought a lot about this Lent. She said, "If you want to listen to God, then you need to limit media you are taking in." Or in other words she offered: "If you want to be close to the Divine, ask yourself, why are you watching so much tv or listening to so much of the radio or watching movies on Netflix online?" Her words were practical and to the point.
I love media like most of you. Sometimes I think my computer is attached to my body. Sometimes I find myself sad when I don't have a day to catch up on the recorded shows on my DVR box and just veg out. Sometimes the silence of driving in the car with the radio is deafening. My generation loves noise.
But then there are moments when I truly turn it all off and I'm so glad I did.
On Sunday night, Kevin and I were cooking in our Oklahoma apartment's kitchen. The counter space is limited and we were side by side. He was chopping fruit. I was baking bread. We were preparing to host breakfast the next morning for the country directors from Feed The Children in town for the week.
We had both previously commented how excited we were about watching the Oscars. Being movie buffs, we couldn't wait to see who won what and how funny (or not) the jokes were. But then a strange thing happened. We came home from the grocery store and we didn't turn the tv on.
I don't know how, but we forgot about the Oscars.
We unloaded the car, cooked in silence for a while and then began to talk to each other-- sharing details about our weeks that we would have missed if we didn't take this time of pause. I learned more about some of Kevin's deep burdens and he learned more about mine.
I think that listening to God is like this. I think this is what Jesus was modeling for us when he went to the lonely places and prayed.
Sure, we all might have intentions about what we are "doing" this Lent to grow in our faith-- no sweets, no soda, exercising more or even drinking more water, but what good are these things if we don't allow the slower pace of life to help us listen?
Listening to what we are to do next in our daily rhythms . . .
Listening to what our primary relationships need most from us . . .
Listening to what we can only hear if we turn our tvs and computers off . . .
In reading through the gospels, it seems to me that as much as Jesus was "on" and busy, he was always looking for a retreat, quiet and silence. Thank goodness that it is this season, that reminds us every year that the most important thing we can all do is unplug and listen!
Dear Washington Plaza Church family-
I needed to write you one more letter. I love you. I don't just say that lightly. I really do love you.
It has become abundantly clear to me again this week that goodbyes are always hard. But they're especially hard when you're parting as we are, having loved each other well for several years now. I've believed in you (and still do) from the first moment I met your pastoral search committee in that office in Reston Interfaith. I knew that if the rest of the church was as awesome as the search comittee then we were going to have a lot of fun. And, fun we've had! Over these years, I have always wanted to brag about you to my friends-- telling them that in Washington Plaza I found the church I dreamed to be a part of as pastor in seminary.
I love how you blessed me over four years ago now when you saw a 28 year old female with no solo pastoring experience and called me with an unanimous vote to be your preacher on the plaza. I love that you saw in me what I most felt true about myself-- that I was a pastor and that God had made me for a time to be your pastor. I love how you've followed my lead, taken chances with me to try new things and asked really good questions when we've faced crucial decisions together. I love how you've never told me "no" to my growing passion for writing and ministering to folks outside the church. It is you, dear Washington Plaza, who has given me a chance to hear my own voice clearly-- the voice I believe will be what I need most in the chapter that lies ahead of me. I have you to thank for gracing me with this great gift!
I love how kindly you have welcomed me in your community, just as I was (church baggage and all) and most especially I love how you've welcomed Kevin. It's a hard road being married to a pastor, but just as you help me to grow up over the past several years, you've done the same for Kevin. You've given him opportunities to serve in the kitchen and cook for a crowd (his favorite!). You've ordained him as a deacon-- a milestone in his own journey. You've given him the spiritual community he needed to be at the point in his life to say "Yes!" to God's ministry for him at Feed The Children this year. You've loved him and cheered him on as much as you have me-- and I know you'll continue to do this in all that lies ahead for us.
I love how you welcome those in whom other churches simply would not. You welcome so lovingly folks who may not come to church dressed just so. You welcome folks who call themselves gay and Christian-- who just need to know that God loves them too. You welcome those who have been hurt by the church and just need to have a place to come and take deep breaths for awhile. You welcome those who have deep burdens on their hearts who just need a place in corporate worship to unload them in prayer. You welcome those who aren't sure they believe in Jesus-- but really want to-- and a safe place to ask their questions as they figure it all out. You welcome those who often take more than they give without grumbling or complaining about doing more of your share of the work.
I love how I've seen Jesus in you:
Times when you've showed up with hymnbooks at bedsides singing to those who are dying.
Times when you've gone with me to take communion to shut-ins who could no longer come to church.
Times when you've built community with each other outside of the confines of the building-- over glasses of wine, during breakfast meetings, at walks for the homeless in Reston, or in one another's homes.
Times when you've given your money or time to help the homeless or nearly homeless who show up at our doorsteps and are in need of a meal or a conversation.
Times when you've believed in second chances for those who have hurt you or those who have hurt our church.
Times when you've said to me, "My faith is growing to be more important to me all the time."
Times when you've shown up at a week night Bible study with eagerness to learn and listen to each other.
Times when you never said anything mean about my wet hair on Sunday mornings or continual search for my lost keys around the church or even why there were spelling errors in the bulletin.
I will forever cherish this time in my life as the time when I was YOUR pastor. Know that I'm cheering you on in all that lies ahead and will forever think of you with gratitude for how you've altered the direction of my life and Kevin's life too in so many lovely ways. I know you'll be just as good to the next person who leads you too. And, they'll be a lucky pastor just as I have been for these four years.
I love you!
Elizabeth
Mark 12:38-44
There are weeks when I have scripture texts before me and I wonder as I prepare what the writer of the text was smoking (for I just can't figure out the point) and there are times I think I have absolutely no experience with the implied message of the text and feel so inadequate to preach. How God can use me to speak a word to you in weeks like this? I just don't know.
But then there are some special weeks like this one, where I feel God must have thought I was the one who really needed to learn something. For, I've seen and experienced a version of this text all week-long.
If there is ever any doubt that I learn as much from writing sermons as I do in giving them or you do in hearing them, then I have proof. Mark 12 was mine to learn from this week.
And this is our particular text that I want us to stick closely to this morning: Jesus is nearing the end of his life, on his way to Jerusalem. And on his way, he's using every teachable moment possible to help his disciples see what the kingdom of God looks like. Not only did the disciples need to be prepared for what was to come in his death, but they needed guidance as to what kingdom living looked like on earth in real time.
Let's look closely at what Jesus says to his disciples and those bystanders in ear-shy beginning in verse 38. “Beware of the scribes, who like to walk around in long robes, and to be greeted with respect in the marketplaces, and to have the best seats in the synagogues and places of honor at banquets! They devour widows’ houses and for the sake of appearance say long prayers. They will receive the greater condemnation.”
Obviously, Jesus and the religious scribes were obviously working from two different visions of what made their life count with lasting value.
The scribes wanted to do works to be seen and to be important among the who's who of society. And, to achieve these goals, the scribes were known to take from those in the community who were without means to defend themselves, namely the widows. Specifically they were known to "devour them" a word used in scripture only in cases of extreme separation from what is good and what is evil.
Contrary, Jesus cared nothing for this kind of recognition or power. In fact he condemned it. He had already said in Mark chapter 10, "and the last shall be first and the first shall be last." Things in the kingdom of God were not like the ways of the scribes. In Jesus' vision of the world, room was always made at the table for one more, no matter the rank, class or belief system. According to Jesus, a life that God honored always included love of neighbor.
As many of you know, Kevin and I spent the last week on a mission delegation to the Philippines as part of Kevin's job with Feed The Children. It was an experience that challenged us on many fronts as to what love of neighbor looks like.
And over the past 8 days, we held babies. We fed school children who eagerly anticipated their portion of rice and sweet potatoes. We danced with women (yes, proving that white women can shake with the best of them). We talked to school children about staying in school and studying hard. We traveled long hours by plane, boat, van, and taxi to see with our eyes what we didn't know before we left the comfort of our home in Northern Virginia.
We spent several days in the capital city of Manila, a city over 12 million people.
In Manila, everything you could possibly need or want as a Westerner is here. You could start your day off with Starbucks (which you know Kevin did, of course). You could go to the mall and buy a new outfit at Old Navy or body wash at The Body Shop. You could dine at Wendy’s or Burger King. Folks in the business district of downtown can be seen carrying Prada purses or wearing Jimmy Choo stilettos. Folks at the airport all talk on the latest IPhone 5.
But, as with most major urban centers, it is not the whole story.
The urban poor, living in shanties in the slums are in this city only a few km from the high rises of folks drinking the finest coffee and wine. For these slum dwellers, life is difficult and assistance is needed from NGOs for basic survival.
The necessity of organizations like Feed The Children comes into play because government social services (which we expect in the US as a given) are limited, if existent at all. Children are malnourished and drop out of school. Children go unsupervised and play in garbage dumbing grounds. Children grow up without dreams of ever leaving the community in which they were born.
In these experiences we learned much. But most of all this--
There are far more widows in the modern world than rich scribes and Pharisees.
As much as the religious zealots of our time make the headlines on a daily basis especially as they have over the last year of our election cycle . . .
We are a world of "widows."
And by widows, I don't necessarily mean just widows from the technical definition --women who are on their own because their husband has deceased.
But I mean "widows" in the broader sense. For example, mothers and fathers who have more children than they can afford to take care of. Or, these are babies who come from the womb malnourished because their mothers didn't receive the proper prenatal care. These are families who make the choice to live in garbage dumps because they can make $2 a day in the recycling sorting business instead of no income at all in somewhere less smelly.
Throughout the Philippines, I met these "widows" this week ... or otherwise known as the slum dwellers, the down and out or the working poor.
And in meeting them, I realized that such is not a situation in the Philippines, but one that is all over the world...
And so this is what I really want to say: the Mark lection is not some isolated occurrence without application to the characters we have among us today. We live in a global community among the rich and the religiously arrogant. And we live in a world of the incredibly poor and destitute.
(Though such is not something that we like to think about very much, if at all. It is of course much easier to go about our lives pretending all is well in who-vile or whatever it is that we call where we live.)
Yet most interpretations of this passage or sermons you've heard for that matter seek to guilt us into believing our calling as Christians is to be more like the widow. For we read in verse 42 and following that when it came to offering time in the nearby temple: "a poor widow came and put in two small copper coins, which are worth a penny . . . out of her poverty has put in everything she had, all she had to live on.” And so, like her, we too must give more!
(So shall I take a special offering now? Will the ushers come forward . .. Ok, just kidding.)
It's inspirational isn't it? Giving beyond our means. Giving till it hurts. Giving all we have even if it means our own personal suffering. But last time I checked the Bible was not an inspirational book, but one full of challenges to our societal norms.
And so this morning, I am not going to tell you to be more like the widow. For how much you give and how you give, comes out of your own life circumstances and spiritual journey. Your giving practices are a conversation you must have and keep having with your Maker.
But what I am going to ask you to do is to see the world as it really is-- not to glorify poverty but to lament with me for a moment that we live in a world where those with few resources have to carry the responsibility of giving what they do not have so that the rest of us can learn what loving neighbor is all about.
Professor David Lose of Luther Seminary asks us all this pointed question: "Are we wrongfully accepting the gifts of those who are giving too much of their income while we praise, and give influence to, those who give greater sums but hardly feel the impact of their gifts?"
Humm.
While Kevin and I were spending time on Wednesday of this week, dedicating the new wing of a school that Feed The Children gave to an impoverished community outside of Manila, our schedule included some time in the community from which the children came. Namely the slums.
I was prepared for anything I thought but little did I know what was in store.
Remember this was the slums... But when the community heard Feed The Children was coming, they made our group quick guests of honor. A tent was found to give us shade (not sure where it came from). Plastic chairs were brought from individual homes to make sure we had somewhere to sit. A banner of welcome made from bedroom sheets hung over our seats of welcome. The town council chair said to us "We don't get visitors often. We wanted you to feel special."
And special we felt as kids and mothers alike performed for us cultural Filipino dances and modern ones too, sang solos and prayed blessing prayers over us. Kids even without shoes put on their best outfits for the performance.
At one point during the program, Kevin leaned over to me and said, “I can't imagine what amount of work this took to put our visit on like this."
"Yeah, I know."
"Look up Elizabeth, and see those decorations across the tent. Those are colored plastic grocery bags filled with air have become such a colorful and resourceful expression of their welcome to us. . . . Folks with so little have given us everything, all they have."
Like the widow with her mite, our team was given some of the most pure expressions of love and hospitality that can be experienced in our world. We who came from so much-- people who could have parties every week and afford more than blown up plastic bags for decorations-- were given all that these people had.
We, oh citizens of this great nation , of the United States of America. I am here to say that in this gospel reading we play the role of the scribes. There's just no way to get around it. We are the ones who have left the poor behind.
No matter if we find ourselves in the middle of the Filipino slums or right here on the Plaza in Reston, we are contributors to the systems in this world that pretend to give but indeed take and take some more.
We pretend to be people who care for social justice but we buy cheap clothes and jewelry from sweat shops in developing countries where workers earn pennies an hour.
We pretend to be great givers to church, civic groups and other non-profits, but our end of the year giving reflects more distaste for federal taxes and less about giving and receiving one another abundantly.
We pretend to give sacrificial gifts to loved ones during the holidays but what we really are doing is re-gifting stuff we didn't like from last year.
Today's sermon is not meant to make us feel guilty for what we have or what we don't give away. But simply to tell us the truth of who we are. When it comes to giving as Jesus showed us how and gave to us, we are clueless.
But thanks be to God that there is always good news. We can live a life that counts for the good of all people.
Later on in the same day (that we visited the slums), Kevin and I made a trek up a very tall hill to visit another family. I was grumbling because I had flip-flops on and didn’t quite think I’d be able to make it the whole way. But somehow, we arrived at a stopping spot. There we were introduced to a mother of one child who struggles to have food to give to her daughter. Though her husband works in factory that sends goods to America—figurines, in fact that we will probably see on our shelves during the holidays, she hardly has enough rice or meat in any given day not to go hungry.
As Kevin and I listened to her story of pain, and we both struggled not to cry (unsuccessfully of course). Why did the rains of blessing fall on us but not her, we wondered, As we left, I stopped the camera crew. “Where’s the hope?” We have to give them hope. We didn't give that family any hope in the interview. (We learned that later the Feed the Children staff would be bringing them food for the next week).
And so, we always must have hope. We interact with one another in hope. And here is yours:
If we are ready to see the world as God sees it . . . If we are ready to live more of our days with the kind of generosity that is not taking too much or too less . . . If we are ready to accept our Pharisee status and move on to what God has prepared for us, our Lord is ready to teach us. I’ll say it again, the Lord is ready to teach us.
All we have to do is ask.
AMEN
Growing up in evangelical culture of the southern part of the United States, I learned a key component of strong Christian faith was the annual practice of going on mission trips.
Based on the Great Commission of Acts 1:8, we'd be challenged by youth pastors to make a service trip each summer, a priority in our schedules. While few would be excited about local mission projects in the inner city of our own city, for example, everyone would consider going somewhere, especially if it was a cool locale with a pool.
The farther away the holier, of course, but usually we could not afford more than an 7-8 hours drive away in one of those rented Greyhound buses. And the more poverty or the greater the population of the "heathen" (like Buddhists, atheists, etc) the more worthwhile too.
Many of my peers at church loved these trips, like I did. They formed the the young adults we were becoming without us truly understanding it at the time. We began to get a glimpse of the world outside the one created for us by our parents and surroundings. We grew in the depth of our relationship with Jesus. All of this is good. So I don't want sound overly judgmental as I continue . . .
But here is the thing: the results were typical and short lived.
We felt moved by whatever "have nots" we encountered, feeling sorry for our blessings waiting for us back at home. But secretly craving (or not so secretly) our own beds and a hot shower pronto.
We cried on the last day of the trip, sad to leave our new friends, vowing to keep in touch. But losing the contact info page before we got off the bus.
We promised to come home and give away our clothes or shoes that we really didn't need, only to go shopping at the mall the next weekend.
And so mission trips became just that, a trip -- something fun to do with our peers in the summer that left our parents feeling good about the children they'd raised. We weren't as selfish as the rest. And we had the pictures to prove it.
So here I am in my early 30s having gone on two of these major "missions" trips as a part of my real life the past two months, not some summer jolly ride out of town. And the funny thing is, I find myself expressing some of the same emotions I might have uttered in the 9th or 10th grade when we lodged in inner city Philadelphia.
"The spirit of the Filipino people moved me to tears."
"The poverty was overwhelming to my eyes."
"I want to find a way to make my life simpler, to give more."
But this time, as a grown up, with a long term commitment to an organization that deeply cares about making changes in communities of need, I want things to be different. I want my life to reflect the stories of great need that I have been blessed to see personally. I want this week to not merely be "another" mission trip but just a part of a lifestyle.
How this happens, I still am not sure. But at least for today, I acknowledge the great arrogance and temptation of just another mission trip kind of faith. And hope this season of life will be about learning a new path.
For the past two nights, our crew has been stationed in the Philippine capital of Manila. It's a modern city reminding me a lot of New York or LA-- a city that doesn't seem to sleep that is resident of over 12 million people. Upon arrival, has been such a shock to our system after spending several days in some very rural areas (islands of less than 500 people for example), where folks are without running water and you take showers with buckets and bring your own toilet paper.
It's a country of contrasts because in Manilla, everything you could possibly need or want as a Westerner is here. You could start your day off with Starbucks or a Krispy Kreme donut. You could go to the mall and buy a new outfit at The Gap or Forever 21. You could dine for dinner at Pizza Hut or TGI Fridays. Folks in the business district of downtown can be seen carrying Guess purses or in designer stilettos. Folks at the airport all talk on IPhones.
But, as with most major urban centers, it is not the whole story.
It is a city of contrasts. The urban poor, living in shanties in the slums are in this city only a few km from the high rises of folks wearing Chanel perfume. For these slum dwellers, life is difficult and assistance is needed from NGOs for basic survival. The necessity of organizations like Feed The Children comes into play because government social services (which we expect in the US as a given) are limited, if existent at all. Children are malnourished and drop out of school. Children go unsupervised and play in garbage dumbing grounds. Children grow up without dreams of ever leaving the community in which they were born.
Furthermore, it is easy to go on trips like this and think this world of contrasts is a problem of a far away place. But it is a problem of my home land too.
America is a world of contrasts. For every luxury apartment in Manhattan, there are hollers in West Virginia. For every millionaire on Wall Street, there are thousands of single mother on welfare. For every child growing up entering college with bright eyes, there are multitudes inner city kids struggling to get their GED.
We are a rich nation with the poor among us. Like our Filipino friends, it is easy to ignore.
Even in counties like Fairfax Virginia where my church is located we also have a homeless problem, a large one in fact. Makeshift shelters are made every night in the woods with tents, tarps and sleeping bags around the corner from some very large shopping malls and 4,000 square feet houses.
Tonight at dinner, a Feed The Children staffer and I were trying to make sense of our experiences in this world of contrasts. "Why don't more people share?. . . Why doesn't the government do more about these problems? . . . How can the rich have poor literally in their backyard and do nothing?"
It's a frustrating place to be in thought-- to try to make sense of the senseless. The only comfort is to think that at least you are supporting an organization that is trying to do something. But then that is not always enough to satisfy the injustice.
All guilt, frustration or apathy put aside, if we are ever going to make changes, human changes to these worlds of contrasts then we have one important task before us. We must wake up and simply see it. The Philippines has given me new glasses.
At dusk last night, I walked through the slums of Cebu City, Philippines.
The invitation to walk through the slums at nightfall came after our delegation spent the afternoon at Pasil Elementary, where Feed The Children is highly revered. Last year the elementary got a new wing of state of the art classrooms with funding facilitated by FTC. Upon hearing of our visit as a delegation from the US, a program of celebration was planned. Songs, dances and opportunities to interact became a delightful stop for our group. The kids who got FTC scholarships to attend school sang to us in the program: "Thank you, thank you. We hope we make you proud. May you remember to pray for us and that the Spirit connects us all." I sat on the stage and cried.
I thought the emotion of the day couldn't be any more intense. But then there was . . . the slums . . . the place where the school kids live.
Though no slums virgin, the shock came over me quickly with the first step. It would be a sensory assault from the start.
Stepping through the maze of "houses" in order to get to the dock by the sea, several roosters running free nearly tackled me, pecking my feet. I saw a man going for the kill with a chicken-- I guess for his families' night's dinner. Passing by public toilets where the entire community showers, uses the toilet and gets their running water (after paying a fee of two pesos), the potency of the odor marked the spot. Next door to the "sanitation" center was a dwelling that burnt down in 1988 (we learned) that still housed a family even among the ashes and lopsided walls. I saw a mother chopping potatoes by candlelight there.
Further in, child after child was running free without supervision with tattered shirts, dirty faces, and shoeless. They stared with wide eyes as to why I would be there. Makeshift market stands selling shrimp and crab caught by fishermen slum dwellers earlier in the day, filled the concrete pavement. And no, there was no refrigeration to keep the seafood up to health code relegations. I wondered who would eat the shrimp and whether or not it would make them sick. I wondered who would treat the ills of these folks if they got sick. Anyone?
Yet, afterwards, Kevin said, "Now that was a scene out of a nightmare, wasn't it?" Funny thing was I was thinking the exact same thing.
Before all the mother worrying types out there get too concerned, let me tell you that Kevin and I weren't alone. Thank goodness, we had a guide, the local town council member for we surely would have gotten lost or had something stolen off our bodies if this woman's presence hadn't said "They're with me. I will take care of them." Our group stayed close to her and felt as safe as one can feel in a slum.
This is the part of this blog post where you might expect me to make meaning of what I saw and experienced. But I can't.
I am a wealthy white woman from the United States. But there are some members of my human family who live in the slums.
As I write this I find myself on a boat heading from Bohol back to Cebu (Philippines) and I stand in amazement of where life has taken me recently. Not only did I celebrate my 6th anniversary of ordination yesterday (wow what a ride as a reverend has been!), but in the past less than 60 days, Kevin and I have traveled to three countries in Asia and Africa in which Feed The Children serves. Our lives of late have felt a lot like a long mission trip. Tiring indeed but a lot of fun!
We've held babies. We've fed sick children. We've danced with women. We've talked to school children about nutrition and AIDS prevention. We've traveled long hours by plane, boat, van, and taxi to see with our eyes what we didn't know before we left the comfort of our home in Northern Virginia.
Over these past 60 days, we've seen the world from the perspective of what it really is like: mothers who work hard to give their kids a better life but as hard as they try they can't. Communities that take ownership for their prosperity, even though they have little resources. Houses that shouldn't house even one but are a refuge for many. And, children building friendship with their neighbors with makeshift and homemade ball, cars and soccer fields.
Yes, we've seen poverty of the material kind but we've also seen the huge accomplishments of those whom so much of the world has written off as part of the "third" or "developing" world.
Yesterday, for example, we met a group of families on a remote island who pulled their resources together to begin a village savings and loan-- where their was no bank to help give the financial resources to move the community forward. Feed The Children facilitated the beginning of this livelihood development project, but now takes a very hands off role in its day-to-day management. It is the community's leadership project to see through.
During our visit, our delegation was allowed to observe, a shareholders meeting, a weekly occurrence, where loans were given and dividends were paid back to share holders. Most impressive, we learned that 10% of the money made in the project goes back to assist the children in the community. Parents said, "We want a better life for kids. We know that begins with us being good stewards of our own resources. We want to be able to do this ourselves." Over the past year this community-- one where it is not commonplace to have toilets in the house or more than one pair of shoes per person-- has saved over $3,500 US to reinvest in their children's school.
Wonderfully surprising isn't it?
For now, this is what I know: most of the world is not as it seems to us from our lens of privilege in America. The "have-nots" people are not less than human. Change CAN happen as resources and strong leadership are given to make it possible.
I have always known that intellectually as all of you blog readers do too, I'm sure. But when you see it, when you see it with your own eyes in such frequent chunks as we have, you realize that life must change.
Life can no longer be about "that trip" or "out there" but somehow we must find a way to integrate life in such a way that all of life is about being a member of the human family that is full of challenges, yes, but hope. We must do what we can to serve wherever you find yourself. We must never think first of our privilege as an honor but an opportunity to be in a larger community.
It's such a tall order ahead... I see now why it would be easier to stay at home.
.
Excuses Series: I’m Not Smart Enough--Mark 9:30-37
Have you ever found yourself in a situation or a conversation with someone and have wanted to throw up your hands and say, “This is all just over my head. What you are saying is beyond me!”
Maybe this was a time you were in Algebra in high school and your teacher put up the formula, x+y= ? and pointed to you for an answer. The clueless look on your face said it all. “I’m not smart enough to answer that. Math is just not my thing. Could you ask someone else?”
Maybe it was a time when you moved to a new place—a place where the primary language was not the one you learned since childhood. Someone directs their attention to you, seeking to have a rapid fired conversation and all you can say with the confused look in your eyes, “I’m not smart enough to understand you. Could you please just talk to someone else?”
Maybe it was a time when you found yourself at a dinner party with some well-educated folk. Before too long the conversation goes in the direction of topics or current events to which you know nothing. When it seems to be your time to contribute, your dazed expression says back to the group, “I’m not smart enough. Could we please just talk about something else?”
In all these situations and countless others that you and I could encounter in a given week, the most human response is silence. We are people who disengage when we don’t understand something. Our excuse that keeps us from greater depths of relationship or knowledge is simply, “I am not smart enough.”
In the same way, in our gospel lesson for this morning, we encounter a group of Jesus’ disciples who were also fans of using the excuse, “I’m not smart enough” when the cost of discipleship intensified. They too allow silence to be their response.
And this is the scene: Jesus has just returning from a long trip to Caesarea Philippi has come home to Galilee—Capernaum to be exact, the only place throughout the gospels where Jesus is known to have had a house during his entire three-year ministry. Jesus’ ministry is climaxing. Like the moment the dramatic music begins to play in the middle of a movie, signaling “now is the time to pay attention” (can you hear it now?) so to was Mark 9’s place in the larger plot.
Jesus knows that his time on earth will so be coming to a close. He needs his disciples to not only to be prepared for all that is to come, but also to see things more clearly. Previously, Jesus had asked Peter, “Who do you say that I am?” Peter’s answer of “You are the Christ, the son of the Living God” had shaken the foundations of this ministry. But, there was more. This was it (look with me at verse 31): “The Son of Man is to be betrayed into human hands, and they will kill him, and three days later after being killed, he will rise again.”
And is the case with Jesus, every moment was a teachable experience, every moment was an opportunity to life to life to fullest—to help his followers truly understand what life in the kingdom of God was really like.
But, like a tough Algebra lesson or an over intellectualized dinnertime conversation, verse 32 tell us the disciples’ response, “But they did not understand what he was saying and were afraid to ask.”
Jesus, you see, had just let them in on the future and the glory of all that was to come, but what do they do? They SAY NOTHING. Their silence speaks to their excuse of—“We’re not smart enough.” And by this I mean, not that the disciples had mental or intellectual challenges or disabilities, but that they allowed their own fears of the unknown to keep them from going the next step in their relationship with Jesus. They held on to the crutch of the excuse of, “Whoa, wait a minute Jesus . . . what you’ve said is just a little too much for us. We just started to love you and commit to follow you for the rest of our lives and now you tell us that you are going to die and then rise again. We just don’t comprehend.”
The problem wasn’t the confusion. It wasn’t even the lack of understanding. It was the ego. It was the disciples being too fearful of what others might have thought of them that they wouldn’t even ask their questions aloud. Fear held them back.
Jesus, I believe, would have had no problem entertaining their questions IF they’d only been courageous enough to say them.
Instead, the disciples opted for another way. They clung to these pristine images of themselves—as the chosen, as the put together ones, as the ones who were of course smart enough to know everything that they already needed to know that they said nothing. They couldn’t dare ask Jesus a question because what if they admitted their doubt, what would this say about them? (Met someone like this in church lately?)
As we keep on reading, it all becomes plain to us. Because when the disciples and Jesus finally got to Capernaum, Jesus takes them aside. “Hey boys, what have you been fusing about with one another on the way?” Though they’d not fess up to it (again there’s silence) scripture tells us that they’d been busy debating who among themselves who was the greatest.
Can stop right here and call out the ego once again?
This band of travelers were so concerned about where they fell in rank, how folks around them sized them up, and how important they seemed in the mix in the end that such sentiments led to an argument. Their greatest concern was looking bad in front of Jesus.
No wonder then, when Jesus is giving them such a “come be part of my life, my future, and see me for who I really am” kind of moment that thy let the excuse of “I’m not smart enough get in the way.” For, they were embarrassed to be seen as they really were—scared, confused and clinging to the excuse of not wanting to seem less than.
Because in the end, it didn’t matter, to Jesus how intellectual they were. Or what they did or did not understand. Rather, it was if they brought their whole selves to God—their doubts, their fears, their questions. Because if they brought all of this to God Jesus was able. He was able to transform their doubts to faith, their fears to belief, and their questions to life-sustaining peace.
In fact, Jesus takes this conversation one step further—giving the example of including children in worship by calling over a small one in this teachable moment. Jesus declares in verse 37: “Whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes not me but the one who sent me.”
Or, in other words—hey, boys, take some lessons from the children. Maybe you don’t need to worry so much about who is the greatest or where you rank. Just be.
Several weeks ago when Kevin and I were in Africa with Feed The Children, we had as you might imagine countless opportunities to spent time with and observe communities of children. On our first full day in Nairobi, Kevin and I along with the rest of the staff in the US delegation spent time at the Dagoretti Children’s Center—an orphanage run by Feed the Children for those who have been abandoned by their parents. The children, who live there, though faced with great pains of wondering why their parents abandoned them as they grow up, are among the lucky ones. They are fed, clothed, and loved unconditionally by a staff of committed caregivers. According to the World Food Program statistics, a developing nation like Kenya, one in four children are underweight due to malnourishment. Children under 5, are regularly not feed properly because their families fear these babies won’t make it to their 5th birthday (so why bother to share such valuable resources with them?).
It’s truth to say that children are vulnerable.
But it’s also truth to say that children can be some of our greatest teachers—for they tell us the truth.
So, on the day that Kevin and I were touring the Center, we spent some time playing with the children around the center. However, as Kevin made conversation with his usher for the day called Moses—an elementary school aged boy at the center whom had been assigned as Kevin’s buddy for the event, Kevin asked him what he thought of the food we had for lunch. Kevin thought he was just making conversation with the child, asking what he thought would be a simple question with a simple response of something like, "I like it very much." But instead, he heard about how slow he felt the kitchen staff were in bringing out the food and wasn't as good as it used to be, much to the embarrassment of the center director. But children can not be controlled as any parent knows-- they say what they feel. (We later learned that this child only recently started attending American school where he'd grown accustomed to the pace of life being much faster than African standards).
I think this kind of honesty in our vocalizing our thoughts—though it may be shocking to our adult sensibilities is exactly what Jesus was getting at when he encouraged the disciples to welcome the children.
Didn’t Jesus also once say that “whoever finds his life will lose it, but who whoever loses his life for my sake will find it?”
Or in other words—we can’t be people who are so concerned with saving face that we miss out on the peace, the joy, the hope that only Jesus can bring to our souls. We can’t be so concerned with looking stupid by asking questions that we don’t speak up. We can’t be so concerned about what our neighbor in the pew sitting next to us would think if we truly got into the quietness of the prayer time or the hymns that we are kept from worshipping.
Because truly, today’s gospel lesson asks us how it is that we are going to deal with the big questions of life. Are we going to be held back by our egos? Or are we going to tell the truth about what we think, where we are, what we hope for and what we most need? And if we are going to do this, we have to start asking some better questions--
Anne Lamott, one of my favorite writers and spiritual teachers says: “Your problem is how you are going to spend this one and precious life you have been issued. Whether you're going to spend it trying to look good and creating the illusion that you have power over circumstances, or whether you are going to taste it, enjoy it and find out the truth about who you are.”
So, what about you today—are you going to be silent? Are you going to shuffle around trying to find your rank among your peers—hoping that you are the top of the list, the greatest if you will?
Or are you going to trust in Jesus to work out what you can’t—what you can’t understand, what you do not know (and may never know)? Are you going to speak up and as God the big questions when you need to?
Questions like: why do children suffer in this world? Why do good things never seem to happen to me? Why doesn’t my husband seem to love me anymore? Why can’t I seem to find a good job? Why do I not feel your presence, God when I pray? Why can’t you make my wife, God, come to church with me? Faith, I just don’t understand how you get it, God! And the list could go on and on. God can take our questions—any of them—there’s no shame in simply asking!
Today, let our excuse of “I’m not smart enough or I’m don’t understand” not hold us back any longer to the relationship that our Lord has for us today and for all the days to come.
AMEN
It's always fun in my clergy circles to share stories about creative ways we've officiated and served communion. Especially during service trip experiences when the normal supplies are are rare to find, I've known colleagues who have served communion with elements like sweet tea, Cheetos or cinnamon rolls. I've even known colleagues who have even used chocolate wine when a red wine can't be found.
The theology of switching up the elements from the traditional bread and wine (or grape juice) can be frowned upon or celebrated depending on who you talk to. It has been said that communion in the Protestant tradition is really about a shared meal, a common cup, and a collective community so what does it matter what you actually eat or drink? However, personally, I tend to be more traditional in my approach-- bread and wine work just fine for me. Yet I understand why changing the approach isn't so bad every now and then. It is easy for us to get caught going through the motions of hearing: "This is my body broken for you" and "This is my blood shed for you" that we forget the spiritual significance of what we are doing in the first place.
Two weeks ago now, when Kevin and I first arrived in Kenya and began spending time with the staff (all 220+ of them) gathered at the children's center for a day of installation and celebration of Kevin as the new President of Feed The Children International, of course we ate together. It was like Christmas in August, we learned as we shared a meal of chicken, greens, rice,salads, arrow root, bread, potatoes and soda. It was the finest traditional feast they could offer.
But no festive gathering like this one we learned would be complete without a cake. A special cake for the occasion was prepared for us. And a cake cutting ceremony was in order. Kevin and I were invited to the cake cutting table in front of everyone as the community choir sang. Though Kevin and it felt a lot like our wedding (as they later made us feed each other while everyone took pictures . . a quite funny site! And, no I didn't smear it on Kevin's face), learning about the meaning behind the whole event made it all worth it.
Esther, the director of school feeding programs and the MC for the day, passionately explained to all of us, why we were cutting the cake. She said something like this:
If you think about the parts that go into making a cake . . . The eggs, the flour, the sugar, the water, etc you realize that none of these elements are very good if at all on their own. But when you mix them together, adding just the right amounts (and no more than is needed), you get a sweet dessert. You get something that tastes good that all people can enjoy.
In the same way, all of us today are a part of a larger family. We who are many believe that our fellowship is better and sweeter when it is shared. Let this cake today be a participation for you in knowing that each of us is part of a larger family. And when we come together in just the right way, our community and love shared among us is what we call the best life has to offer.
Then, Kevin and I (along with the two other US based FTC staff) were asked to take the plates of little chunks of cake on a plate and pass them out individually to the staff and children as they gathered in a semicircle around us. Simultaneously, everyone continued to enjoy their Sprite, Fanta and Pespi.
If this was not a communion like act, I don't know what is!
As I served the cake from my hand to their napkin, chills ran down my spine and I caught myself saying "the peace of the Lord be with you" on several occasions though no one asked me to do so. It felt to me so much like what I do with my own congregation each Sunday when I give them the elements through hand to hand contact, looking them in the eyes and wishing blessing each participant. In the giving and receiving of the elements as a gathered community, we remember in gratitude the one who gave of his very life for us all.
While the traditions of the church and the communion liturgies that we've passed down from generation to generation are dear treasures in our spiritual lives, I believe, we can't help but keep looking for God's ongoing teachable moments for us. For sometimes the bread of Christ just might come to us in white coconut iced cakes and His cup to us in glass soda bottles. And as we partake, we'll remember the expansive beauty in the Body of our Lord. And taste for ourselves that life in Christian community is very good.
As I’ve been back in the US this week and have been processing the trip Kevin and I shared to Malawi and Kenya last week, one of the questions/ comments I've heard a lot is: “Aren’t you so glad to be back? I’m sure the poverty was heartbreaking over there. You must be so relieved to be at home again so that you can get back to 'normal' life.”
I mean no offence to any of the wonderful people in my life here, but I really do want to say "no". I haven’t been relieved to be at home. In fact, I’m grieving the passing of the experiences of last week. With many tears, Kevin and I were quite sad to leave. The work we participated in-- such as serving lunch to school children in the slums (see picture) was so special. It's the purest and most wonderful parts of this kind of work.
And while yes, there are so many perks to life in the US— water from the sink that is safe to drink, constant source of power to your home without daily interruptions, warmth and water pressure in your daily shower, well-constructed roads and city planning that makes getting from place to place easy, etc, etc—I really want to convey that being in the US is not always the end all existence. We aren't as rich as we might think.
And this is what I know: I feel our journey took us from two rich countries to come home to a poor one.
For the true be told, when we begin to life with less as Kevin and I did last week, we realize we need less. When we converse face to face, those whom we thought we came to serve become our teachers. When we relax and enjoy life, laughter springs up even in the slums.
It’s obvious what you might be thinking. All the world statistics of East Africa tell a story of scarcity of resources. Access to clean and safe drinking water is rationed - if present in some communities at all. Mothers die unnecessarily during childbirth. Fathers die too soon of preventable diseases. If children live to their 5th birthday, families are overwhelmed in amazement. The number of inequalities in this land are unfathomable. Cycles of poverty seem too strong to even imagine being broken (even if all the NGOs and government agencies actually worked together).
But, even with this true, there’s another story at work. And it’s a story not of poverty, but of abundance. As we spent time with the Malawians and the Kenyans, this is the richness I saw:
People share.
Smiles are warm and heartfelt.
Time is unhurried.
Simple pleasures like breaks for tea and coffee are honored.
Food is savored, not devoured.
Leftovers of all kinds are not put to waste.
Help given is received with overflowing gratitude.
Sitting from my position of privilege, it's not that I want to overspiritualize poverty. Rather, I want to say that in the US, I believe it is so easy to become distracted by our blessings. We not only take them for granted, but we become consumed with them to the point of forgetting from where they came. We forget the responsibility that comes from such great gifts. We forget to be people of blessing instead of just people with blessings.
As I continue to stick close to what my spiritual teachers taught me last week, I hope you’ll join me in thanksgiving for the great paradox of the gospel. The last shall be first and the first shall be last. It is more blessed to give than to receive. And, blessed are the hungry, for they will be filled.
Today, our delegation toured, observed, and participated in the work of Feed the Children Kenya in the Maparasha, a remote village community of the Masai tribe.
We saw a water sanitation project in action as women and children gathered water from a clean well instead of walking 5 km up a hill to a remote water source. We visited with school children in an early learning center who received lunch of corn and beans from Feed the Children's distribution. (Kevin and I even got to serve the meal to the kids who came through the line with their tin bowls). We visited an AIDS education training session. We met with mothers at an nutritional seminar at the community birthing center-- watching lessons on how mothers can best feed their family.
I felt proud today to be connected to the larger Feed the Children family.
However, in all of these accomplishments, there is always so much more that that just isn't getting done because lack of resources.
Children have shoes but they are tattered and falling off their feet. Children have uniforms on, yes, but they have holes in them. Children eat lunch but the school only has a few number of bowls so everyone must eat in shifts. Yes, there is clean water from the pipes, but in dry season there's still not enough water to go around so that water is only available two days a week.
Feed the Children like other NGOs needs more funds to support even more sustainable projects. And while many of us in theory care for the poor and want to help out, we look at our monthly budgets and say there is no way that I can give or give more. The big issue of child hunger and poverty seems too overwhelming to even try to involve ourselves in. Or if we are givers, we do so without a lot of hope that our small donations can make a difference. We have no connection to the larger human family that needs all of us to give and take.
I remembered today in all of my thinking about this a sermon illustration I used many months ago by Tony Campelo that seems to apply well here.
In 2003, I attended a meeting of the Cooperative Baptist Fellowship in Charlotte, NC where seminary professor and social advocate, Tony Campolo spoke. It came time to give the offering for missions after the sermon. And, the gentleman guiding the program asked Tony to pray before the ushers came forward to receive the offering. Seemed like a very normal churchy thing to do.
However, to the shock of many, Tony refused to pray. “What?!?” we were all thinking in our seats. Instead he said something like this: “We don’t need to pray for the offering tonight because this is what I know about God. God has already given each us in this room enough resources to meet our $15,000 offering tonight. All we need to do now is to give. So, I’ll start by emptying my wallet with the cash in it and maybe some of you could do the same.”
And, just like Tony said that night, we got our $15,000 plus mission offering plus some in that very room.
And it is the truth. God has given us every resource we need to do what we are called to accomplish. We have the money. We really already have it. It is just up to each of us to do our part. Or in this case, give so that many more kids around the world have life's most basic necessities.
I know I am catching more fire in me for advocacy work this week. You simply can't see needs and not be changed in return.
