Michael Valliant | Michael Valliant

Burn it down: we are called to live differently

Lead in: I am about to begin my second year in seminary through the Iona Eastern Shore program, which allows our cohort to continue working while we are in seminary. August 13-14 was a preaching weekend for me at Christ Church Easton. This is the text of the sermon I gave.

Churches/denominations that use the Revised Common Lectionary have prescribed readings for each day and Gospel readings for each Sunday. So we don’t get to pick what Gospel we preach on.

The Gospel reading for August 14 was Luke 12:49-56, which begins with Jesus saying “I have come to cast fire upon the earth and how I wish it were already ablaze!” and then gets more confusing from there.

For my last two preaching weekends, I have had demoniacs and fire-casting Jesus, both of which ask us to get our thinking caps on. The upside to getting the more obscure or confusing Gospel passages is that I generally have a lot of room to work with. We’re all kind of left scratching our heads and wondering what Jesus, and Luke, are talking about.

I think it is safe to say that the disciples were doing the same thing. I can imagine them looking back and forth to each other going, “I have no idea what he is talking about…”

And that is a theme throughout the Gospels: Jesus delivering a message that people didn’t understand or weren’t ready for. Or in some cases, that people didn’t want to hear.

One of the things we find Jesus talking about repeatedly is the way the world is…and the way the Kingdom of Heaven or the Kingdom of God is. And he wants to help us bring about the Kingdom of Heaven. Which is not how things were, and not how they in the world now. But they could be.

Jesus was not one for the status quo. He didn’t want things to just keep going the way they were. He came to be different and to show us how to be different, and how to live differently.

Thinking about Jesus’s strange message in today’s Gospel, I thought it might be helpful to point out a few things that Jesus IS NOT KNOWN TO HAVE SAID.

Here we go:

Jesus never said, “It’s all good.”

Jesus never said, “You do you.”

Jesus never said, “As long as you don’t hurt anyone.”

And Jesus never said, “Just keep doing what you’re doing.”

Jesus followed more in the sandals (not shoes) of John the Baptist, who said, “Repent.” Turn around. Stop doing what you are doing and live differently.

It’s important to put today’s message in context of Luke’s Gospel and the passages that are going on around it.

Over the last couple weeks, we’ve heard Father Charlie Barton distill the preceding Gospel messages to a few key phrases:

“Be rich toward God—don’t make your life about material things or treasures.”

And “Where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.”

I am a fan of a Franciscan Friar/Monk named Richard Rohr. In talking about Luke 12, he says:

“The simplest rule of thumb for each of us to ask, ‘Where do we spend our time and where do we spend our money?’ That’s where our treasure is, we can be sure. The focus of your time and money will tell you what your God is and what is important in your life. As others have wisely said, your checkbook and your calendar reveal your true belief system.”

Where we focus, what we value most, that will determine who we become and how we act in the world. So focus on God. Don’t focus on the things of this world, but on what Jesus has been telling us is more important. Things like caring for the poor and the sick, lifting each other up, loving God and our neighbor.

So when Jesus says, “I have come to cast fire upon the earth, and how I wish it were already ablaze”—he is talking about the way the world was, those who are storing up earthly treasures, those who are focused on power and not on love.

Burn down the old ways, Jesus is offering something new.

“Do you think I have come to bring peace to the earth? No, I tell you, but rather division.” And what happened to the people of Israel who decided to follow Jesus: division.

Even in and among households. If you are living in the old house and can’t picture what the new one looks like yet, you might not be ready to burn what you’ve got. Or maybe you think this guy is full of nonsense, you have no desire to do what he says or follow where he leads. Some followed, some didn’t. And households became divided.

Well, it’s a good thing we don’t have divided households now [raised eyebrow, pulls at collar] Glad they got that out of the way… or maybe what seemed like a strange, bombastic reading has some relevance.

How many people have family members or close friends who you aren’t speaking to or can’t talk to about religion or politics? How many have divided houses when it comes to big, important issues?

Maybe Jesus was on to something.

We all know the peace-and-love Jesus, and that’s the Jesus we hold dear. That’s the Jesus we want to study and to emulate. And that’s what we should do.

But we also need to remember that Jesus was not afraid to call people out.

Blessed are the peacemakers, absolutely. But the status quo then, AND NOW, isn’t peace. We have a lot of work to do.

Here at Christ Church, in our Bible studies we’ve used commentary by a bishop and theologian named N.T. Wright, and we have found him to be helpful for making sense of Scripture. In talking about this passage, Wright says that there may come a time when Christian teachers and leaders find people have become too cozy and comfortable.

He says that maybe churches might start to omit the Bible readings that talk about judgment, or warnings, or the demands of God’s holiness, because they ask something of us. And that maybe there are times when, like Jesus himself on this occasion, we need to wake people up with a crash. There are, after all, he says, plenty of warnings in the Bible about the dangers of going to sleep on the job.

Cruise control does not serve us well when we are heading in the wrong direction, or off a cliff.

“It’s all good” doesn’t work when it’s not all good for a lot of people, or when power and security are held closer to the heart than love and compassion.

Jesus talks to the crowds about how when you see clouds, you know it’s going to rain and when you see the south wind blowing, you know it’s going to get scorching hot.

Granted, weather forecasters don’t get much credit in our world today, but there are so many things we can know, we can predict, we can figure out. Look at all the technology around us and what we can do. On the simplest scale, I was blown away recently with the thought that I can send my family pictures while I am in Alaska and they get them instantaneously back here.

If we can do so many things, how come we can’t step up for those who can’t stand for themselves? How come we still store up earthly treasures but aren’t rich toward God? Let’s look where our treasure is, where our priorities are, and try to see where our collective heart is?

Jesus came to change the direction humanity was heading.

He came to show us a different way to be—one that isn’t easy, one that not everyone will get… a way that will cause division, and will call for the burning of some of our current, misdirected ways.

And he gave his life for that cause, and in today’s reading, he knew that that’s where he was heading.

Maybe it was fair to call out the crowds. And guess what?

We’re the crowds. Maybe it’s still fair to call us out.

N.T. Wright says:

“If the kingdom of God is to come on earth as it is in heaven, part of the prophetic role of the church is to understand the events of the earth and to seek to address them with the message of heaven.”

Maybe we need to do a better job of addressing the world with the message of heaven.

Maybe we should help burn down some of what’s broken for a new way, for a more loving way, for a more caring way.

For Jesus’s Way.

Amen.

Music for Our Souls

“When you are lonely, you become acutely conscious of your own separation. Solitude can be a homecoming to your own deepest belonging.”
John O’Donohue, “Anam Cara”

Loneliness and solitude are not the same. When we feel alone, we feel cut off, isolated, disconnected. Solitude gives us a chance to go beneath the surface noise of our lives and spend time getting to know our souls. Solitude can help us feel connected.

This week I was talking to a friend who is reading “Anam Cara” alongside our study at Christ Church Easton, though his schedule doesn’t allow him to make the classes. Our brief conversation meandered all over the place and as we went our separate ways I said that I hoped he was enjoying and getting something out of the book.

“You know what it gives me: music for my soul.”

Amen. May we all find music for our souls each day, and for those reading “Anam Cara,” may it add soul music to your days.

Section 3, “Solitude is Luminous,” is the halfway point in our study. John O’Donohue has contemplated the mystery of friendship (Section 1), and pointed out the infinity of our interiority and how our senses are our gateways to the world around us and to each other (Section 2). And now he shows us the need for us to go inside, to embrace solitude so that we can know our true selves, our gifts, what makes us who we are, so that we can be of benefit to others and to the world.

If all we do is follow the world and go wherever the figurative wind blows us, and we never get to know our passions, desires, gifts–our best selves, who God created us to be–what can we really offer anyone else in friendship?

“It is in the depths of your life that you will discover the invisible necessity that brought you here. When you begin to decipher this, your gift and giftedness come alive. Your heart quickens and the urgency of living rekindles your creativity.”

I am going to string a series of connected quotes here, one leading to another, because O’Donohue makes his points beautifully:

“When you acknowledge the integrity of your solitude and settle into its mystery, your relationships with others take on a new warmth, adventure, and wonder.”

Spending time in solitude is not some navel gazing, narcissistic indulgence, it actually helps us be better friends, partners, parents, better people.

“There is such an intimate connection between the way we look at things and what we actually discover. If you can learn to look at yourself and your life in a gentle, creative, and adventurous way, you will be eternally surprised at what you find.”

This is such an important thing to get across: how we look at things determines what we see. The lens, the eyes we use to look at the world shape/color what we see. And the same goes with how we look at ourselves. We are here in this life for the time that we have, treating ourselves gently and creatively and getting to know our souls and what we bring to the table is so important to what we make of our lives.

If you follow the idea that loving our neighbors as ourselves should be one of the top priorities of our lives, then it matters how we relate to ourselves. If we are miserable people who don’t know ourselves, where does that leave us with our neighbors?

O’Donohue goes on to warn us of the danger of “the unlived life.” He says, “We are sent into the world to live to the full everything that awakens within us and everything that comes toward us.”

If you come to “Anam Cara” with a lens to Scripture, you might hear echoes of the Gospel of John:

“The thief comes to kill and destroy, I have come that they may have life and have it to the full.”
John 10:10 (NIV)

If we live our lives to the full, we help others to do the same. That’s what God wants for us, for humanity, for all of Creation. That’s what we should be working towards, hoping for, searching for, praying for.

This week, Rev. Susie Leight shared the following photo and connected reflection from O’Donohue:

I arise today

In the name of Silence
Womb of the Word,
In the name of Stillness
Home of Belonging,
In the name of the Solitude
Of the Soul and the Earth.

I arise today

From Matins, by John O’Donohue

As we rise today, as we arise, may we look inside so that we can be the best versions of ourselves for those we encounter.

As we go through our days, may we find and appreciate music for our souls, and may we help provide and encourage soul music in others.

Through the noise and stress and worry of the world going on around us, may we make time to look deeper and see that “there is something beautiful, good, and eternal happening.”

Beginning today with the “Blessing of Solitude” with which O’Donohue closes his chapter, may we recognize, realize, and learn to see ourselves like this.

What Did I Really See Today?

“Many of us have made our world so familiar that we do not see it anymore. An interesting question to ask yourself at night is, ‘What did I really see this day?'”
John O’Donohue, “Anam Cara”

This is an observation John O’Donohue makes and a question he asks in the second section of his book, “Anam Cara.” The section is called “Toward a Spirituality of the Senses,” and it delves into how our senses are our gateways into the world around us.

This may seem like a no-brainer, but there has been a long, human-induced rift between the spirit and the senses. We often hear that we shouldn’t trust things of or from the body, and our senses arise from these bodies we inhabit.

O’Donohue, in his heaving together of the Celtic and Christian (and in what we would do well to bring back as a more mainstream way of seeing in Christianity), points out that our bodies and our senses are gifts from God.

“Your body is your clay home; your body is the only home you have in this universe. It is in and through your body that your soul becomes visible and real for you. Your body is the home of your soul on earth.”

He goes on to say that, “the body is a sacrament. The old traditional definition of sacrament captures this beautifully. A sacrament is a visible sign of invisible grace.”

In this lifetime, our bodies are how we experience the world, how we encounter each other, and even how we come to know God. They are a central part of our earthly experience. We are meant to use, honor, and be grateful for our bodies and our senses in and of themselves and as a means for coming to know and draw closer to God.

And the senses:

“The senses are our bridges to the world. Human skin is porous; the world flows through you. Your senses are large pores that let the world in.”

And O’Donohue pushes us a bit further: “A renewal, a complete transfiguration of your life, can come through attention to your senses. Your senses are the guides to take you deep into the inner world of your heart.”

Let’s think about this. We’re on the Eastern Shore–think about pulling a summer tomato off the vine, washing it, cutting it up and eating it–whether in a salad, as part of a dish, or sliced with salt, pepper, and mayonnaise on a plate.

Think about the smell of honeysuckle, or freshly cut grass, or fragrant flowers in a garden. Remember what it feels like to breathe in deeply and smile. Or even the wetness of tears running down your cheek, for any number of different reasons. Or the colors in the sky at sunrise or sunset. Or the sound of the voice of someone you love. The sound of contagious laughter.

If we pay attention to our senses, we can have a deeper, richer experience of life.

Remembering that “Anam Cara” translates as “soul friend,” we are going to keep coming back to the phenomenon of friendship and relationship. And O’Donohue, in his lyrical exploration of friendship, loves mic drop phrases and sentences, the kind that stop you reading right where you are and make you think.

So when he starts us off in the section by talking about the face, he goes big:

“In the human face, the anonymity of the universe becomes intimate…

The human face is the subtle, yet visual autobiography of each person…

The face reveals the soul, it is where the divinity of the inner life finds an echo and an image. When you behold someone’s face, you are gazing deeply into that person’s life.”

Imagine if we kept this in mind when we meet someone for the first time. Or when we see a close friend, or anyone. What if we gave ourselves a chance to be present with someone when we come face to face?

A couple of photographs that show faces and maybe a glimpse as to what might be behind them.

O’Donohue deepens what these encounters mean when he explores what is behind our faces: “at a deeper level, each person is the custodian of a completely private, individual world.” And we are.

So let’s think about what that means when a friend comes to your house:

“When people come to visit your home, they come bodily. They bring all of their inner worlds, experiences, and memories into your house through the vehicle of their bodies. While they are visiting you, their lives are not elsewhere; they are totally there with you…”

This is not my default way of thinking. But maybe it should be more often. If we are mindful that everyone has these infinite inner worlds inside them, which we carry around with us, maybe when we encounter someone, what can so easily seem like a throw-away moment–‘hey, what’s up, how’s it going?’–can lead us to deeper connection. Maybe we wouldn’t be on our phones, thinking about the laundry, or what we have going on tomorrow. Maybe we could be completely in the moment, realizing the sacredness of time with a friend.

What did I really see today? Did I pay attention to the intimate details around me in the landscape? When I talked to, or had dinner with my daughters, was I fully present, was I actually there? When I saw a friend, did I really see them?

O’Donohue points out that the “eyes” or what he calls the style of vision we bring to the table (life) determine what and how we see things. This is something any of us could do well to remember:

“To the fearful eye, all is threatening…

To the greedy eye, everything can be possessed…

To the judgmental eye, everything is closed in definitive frames…

To the resentful eye, everything is begrudged…

To the indifferent eye, nothing calls or awakens…

To the interior eye, everyone else is greater…

To the loving eye, everything is real… If we could look at the world in a loving way, then the world would rise up before us full of invitation, possibility, and depth. The loving eye can even coax pain, hurt, and violence toward transfiguration and renewal.”

I need to be careful of so many of those. I hope that I can remember, be mindful of, and look through the loving eye.

Our “Anam Cara” classes meet on Monday evening, one group on Zoom earlier, and then a larger group in person in the Parish Hall of Christ Church Easton. Discussion goes from the cosmic to the everyday, from the existential to the personal (when is the existential not personal, really?). And one of the questions we return to is, “what do I do with this?” In other words, how do we fold it into our lives? Into our everyday encounters?

Last evening, Rev. Susie Leight synthesized so much of this with another pull from O’Donohue. Words, quote, and photo from Susie:

Questions to consider at the end of the day, try answering from a place of honesty, not judgment. Offer your answers up to God and see where the Holy Spirit leads…

“What dreams did I create last night? Where did my eyes linger today? Where was I blind? Where was I hurt without anyone noticing? What did I learn today? What did I read? What new thoughts visited me? What differences did I notice in those closest to me? Whom did I neglect? Where did I neglect myself? What did I begin today that might endure? How were my conversations? What did I do today for the poor and the excluded? Did I remember the dead today? Where could I have exposed myself to the risk of something different? Where did I allow myself to receive love? With whom today did I feel most myself? What reached me today? How deep did it imprint? Who saw me today? What visitations had I from the past and from the future? What did I avoid today? From the evidence why was I given this day?”

— “At The End Of The Day: A Mirror Of Questions,” by John O’Donohue

It is Strange to Be Here

John O’Donohue’s book, “Anam Cara,” begins: “It is strange to be here. The mystery never leaves you.”

And that’s maybe as true a statement as we will ever encounter. Take our consciousness, the fact that we are thinking, feeling beings inhabiting bodies, add science, add faith, add civilization, observations–when you sit and think about it, it is strange to be here. There is no way around it.

At Christ Church Easton, we’ve just begun a six-week study of “Anam Cara.” Rev. Susie Leight and I and 20+ curious and daring friends embarked this week on the first section of the book, “The Mystery of Friendship,” and a power-packed prologue to help set the tone.

O’Donohue was a poet, theologian, philosopher, and former Catholic Priest. When I read about him and his life, I am jealous, thinking–that’s it, that’s how I want to live my life. His way of bringing together Celtic spirituality and Christianity infuses life and sacredness into everything we encounter–God, each other, Creation and the landscape we are a part of–in ways that mainstream western Christianity could do well to remember and to look more closely at. Which is part of what we are doing.

“Anam Cara” is a Gaelic expression translatable as “soul friend.” And O’Donohue lets us know that what he hopes to do with his book is to explore friendship in a “lyrical-speculative” form. His writing is a meandering, meditative way through beauty, friendship, the senses, that can leave me stunned and spinning at times.

It is strange to be here. And given that, friendship, reaching out to an other, another person, is maybe the only sensible thing to do, to find other people to walk through life with.

O’Donohue says that:

“Human presence is a creative and turbulent sacrament, a visible sign of invisible grace. Nowhere is there such intimate and frightening access to the mysterium. Friendship is the sweet grace that liberates us to approach, recognize, and inhabit this adventure.”

Thinking of friendship as a grace, as sacramental, puts us in an open frame of mind. In this strange, lonely world putting ourselves out there, finding friendships with other people, is a courageous and necessary act.

As he wanders through the first section of the book, O’Donohue focuses on light.

“Light is the secret presence of the divine. It keeps life awake. Light is a nurturing presence, which calls forth warmth and color in nature. The soul awakens and lives in light. It helps us to glimpse the sacred depths within us. Once human beings began to search for a meaning to life, light became one of the most powerful metaphors to express the eternity and depth of life.”

This week, reflecting on some of our “Anam Cara” reading, Susie used some of O’Donohue’s thoughts on light and darkness in her own musings. She writes:

“Inspired by JOD’s words, I decided to wake up just before dawn a few mornings a week, to watch “how the darkness breaks” and observe how “light can coax the dark” while pondering & praying the question, “I wonder what this will be?”

Many changes are on the horizon (all very good & exciting, but there is anxiety too) & so rather than placing all sorts of expectations around what is next (which is my tendency) I have decided to sit, watch and listen, trying to separate the artificial from the real, what is of God and the Spirit, of the world or my own. the question seems large enough to hold what is and what may be… ‘just as darkness brings rest and release, so the dawn brings awakening and renewal. In our mediocrity and distraction, we forget each day that we are privileged to live in a wondrous universe. Each day, the dawn unveils the mystery of this universe…’

sometimes my camera does stuff without me trying, thought this was a cool shot. more to come.”

That is wonderful. When we read something challenging, we should let it challenge us, inspire us, help us think. If it doesn’t seep into our everyday lives, our hopes, our dreams, our friendships, then why are we studying it together and discussing it?

In “Anam Cara” we are talking about friendship, we are talking about light, and we are talking about love. Anytime we are talking about God, we should be talking about love. God is love, and love is what unites us in friendship. O’Donohue writes:

“Love is the nature of the soul. When we love and allow ourselves to be loved, we begin more and more to inhabit the kingdom of the eternal. Fear changes into courage, emptiness becomes plenitude, and distance becomes intimate.”

Love is what brings us together, what unites us. And coming together as friends to discuss, to be opened up by, a book about the nature of and need for friendship stands out as significant, in and of itself.

O’Donohue closes the section on “The Mystery of Friendship” with a friendship blessing, which is beautiful, profound, and inspiring. I read it out loud to close our first class. I would encourage you to read it out loud as you read it, and I hope that its words and sentiments bless you today and every day. The photo after it is one of Rev. Susie at her ordination to the deaconate earlier this year, along with our dear friend, the deacon Rev. Barbara Coleman. Soul friends in action.

“A Friendship Blessing”
By John O’Donohue

May you be blessed with good friends.
May you learn to be a good friend to yourself.
May you be able to journey to that place in your soul where there is great love, warmth, feeling, and forgiveness.
May this change you.
May it transfigure that which is negative, distant, or cold in you.
May you be brought in to the real passion, kinship, and affinity of belonging.
May you treasure your friends.
May you be good to them and may you be there for them;
may they bring you all the blessings, challenges, truth, and light that you need for your journey.
May you never be isolated.
May you always be in the gentle nest of belonging with your anam cara.

A Sermon in the Books

Prologue

Sunday morning, I walked up to the church about an hour before the 8:00am service. The evening before, I preached a sermon–still a very new-to-me experience–on Luke’s gospel story of Jesus healing a man possessed by demons.

Christ Church Easton has multiple worship services each weekend and Saturday is the most casual. People in the service, priest included, wear regular clothes. I was myself–talking in jeans and a Hawaiian-ish shirt and Vans. On Sundays, those serving are vested/robed. I was on my way inside to get robed up for three Sunday services.

The sunlight was dancing in the garden next to the church and I almost walked by it, feeling like a needed to be on task. And then I thought about being in the moment, for as many moments as we can, and I stopped and walked over. And perched on a flower was a dragonfly, who stayed, and didn’t fly away.

The dragonfly, the sunlight, and the flowers set the tone. Be in the moment.

A little background.

This past year, I became a first-year seminary student discerning a call to the priesthood. I’ve been a full-time church educator for the past five years. Our rector/pastor is giving a co-worker/fellow seminarian and I opportunities to preach, each of us being scheduled one weekend every other month. We have an incredible congregation/community, who are encouraging us.

So there’s that.

In the Episcopal Church, what the readings are each week comes from a common lectionary, which rotates over a three-year cycle. Generally speaking, an Episcopal service on a given weekend anywhere you go, will likely have the same Gospel reading. And if you are preaching, that is the Gospel you want to make sense of for folks in some way.

The reading for my preaching weekend was Luke 8:26-39, the story of Jesus healing the Gerasene demoniac. You know, a story that anyone would be keen to talk about 🙂

But as I thought about the reading during the week, an angle presented itself–talking about why a seemingly dated, archaic reading, which to many people might not seem to be at all relevant, actually matters here and now.

So I set out to look at demon possession through a modern lens. And here is what I came up with.

Personally, I retain more by reading than I do from listening. So the text is below. A friend was able to record the sermon portion of our 10:00am traditional music service, which you can watch here. Bear in mind that this is among the earliest sermons of someone not inclined to speak in front of gatherings of people.

An alternative to being demon possessed

Leading up to today’s reading, in Luke’s Gospel story, Jesus has been walking through cities and towns “proclaiming and bringing the good news of the kingdom of God.”

The crowds are everywhere around him, so much so that when his mother and brothers come to see him, they can’t even get to him.

So Jesus does something that plenty of people on the Eastern Shore can relate to: he gets on a boat.

And he says, “Let’s go over to the other side of the lake.” Jesus falls asleep in the boat, and Luke gives us his account of the storm coming up, the disciples waking Jesus and Jesus calming the storm. The disciples are blown away that he can even command the wind and the waves.

So in our reading for today this boat ride takes them to the country of the Gerasenes. Jesus has gone over to the other side of the lake to get away from the crowds. And as soon as he steps on land, a man with demons meets him.

The funny thing, reading about the demon-possessed people in Scripture is that I think we dismiss these stories. Because we don’t talk like that anymore. Most of us aren’t worried about demons when we go into the grocery store or walk across town. So we say, okay, this story doesn’t apply to me. It’s not relevant.

Let’s think for a bit on this man and his demons. Here is a guy who is not in his right mind. His mind has been taken over by so many demons, they identify themselves as “Legion.” Here is a man on the opposite side of the lake from Galilee, meaning he is a gentile, not Jewish, which we further see by the fact that there are pigs around, which anyone Jewish wouldn’t have had. But what this area did have in common with Galilee, Jerusalem, the whole region, is that it had been taken over by Rome. And legions of Roman soldiers. So here is a man whose people had been conquered by foreign powers, and whose lives would have been affected accordingly. We might say that he was dealing with the spirit of the times.

Do we feel like the spirit of the times, of our times, might take over our minds sometimes? As Fr. Bill mentioned last week, do we feel like an unholy trinity of fear, leading to anger, leading to violence might carry us away with it sometimes?

Social media offers us more than a peek inside something like this. I have seen people who I know to be loving, caring, do anything for anyone people, say things on social media that certainly point to something taking over their minds and hearts—things full of blame and hate and anger and fear. Those are things, especially when they take over people who are otherwise loving and giving and caring, that lead us nowhere we want to go. And I get it, I feel those things too, I can be overcome with thoughts and feelings I don’t know where they came from and I wish they weren’t there.

We have dear friends and brothers and sisters at Christ Church who have shared their addiction stories and their journeys in recovery. Addiction is a disease that takes over someone, in a way that someone in Jesus’s time might well have described as demon possessed.

And when we look around the country at a new mass shooting each week, now including St. Stephens Episcopal Church in Alabama—it is not hard to make the case that we have people, here and now, who are not in their right minds; we are struggling and trying to understand and to help people through mental health crises, to help them know that they are loved and valued, at times when they are having trouble finding themselves.

We can see all around us that there are forces at work that have nothing to do with love, grace, forgiveness, or God.

All of this is to say, when we run into the demon possessed in Scripture, don’t be so quick to dismiss these stories—they still happen today, to us, just as much—with things taking over the way we think, feel, and act—which cause us to act in ways we normally wouldn’t.

And so in today’s reading, what do we see immediately with Jesus: these demons know him, and know that he has authority over them. They know he can get rid of them. Which he does and puts this man back into his right mind. And that is a great line, I think, when the people came out to see what happened, “they found the man from whom the demons had gone sitting at the feet of Jesus, clothed and in his right mind.”

And then there is one of the most curious, interesting lines. Seeing this guy back in his right mind, how did this make the people feel? “They were afraid.”

Let’s circle back to our times. If we know that love conquers all; if somewhere in our hearts, we know we could live differently, be more loving, but we would have to put down this armor, this way of seeing and being that we’ve become accustomed to… if we were asked to stop blaming people we disagree with, if we were asked to love our neighbor who lives differently or votes differently than we do: would we? If we are asked to love and forgive and do something about the state of the world around us—will we?

If we get so used to looking at the world through certain lenses, taking those lenses off, and trying on a different way of seeing, of living, can be scary. It requires us to change. It asks something of us.

So into this demon-possessed way of being, Jesus comes, and frees this man from the legion of things that cloud his heart and mind. Jesus, with power and authority, gives him, and gives us, an alternative way to be. A different way of seeing things and being in the world.

Jesus restores the man who was possessed by demons. And in the next chapter of Luke’s Gospel, we see Jesus calling the twelve together and giving them power and authority over all demons and to cure diseases and sending them out.

We are called to be disciples of Jesus, right? I am going to speak for probably most of us, when I say I don’t know how well equipped I am for casting out demons and healing the sick. But there is some good news for those of us who don’t feel up to those tasks. And this season of Pentecost gives us a clue: He hasn’t left us alone to do this kind of work. He has sent us the Holy Spirit as our advocate, as our comforter, as our helper. We are never alone, especially when we are doing the work that God has given us to do.

A number of us have begun a three-week study of former Archbishop of Canterbury, Rowan Williams’ book “Being Disciples.” And at the end of the first chapter, Williams has this profound thing to say about discipleship. He says:

“A disciple is, as we have seen, simply a learner; and this, ultimately, is what the disciple learns: how to be a place in the world where the act of God can come alive.”

We are learning how to be a place in the world where the act of God can come alive.

No pressure, right?

Let me tell you a quick story. Over the past month and a half, I have taken 20 minutes each morning for centering prayer. What that is, at base, is breathing, clearing my mind, and being in the presence of God. One of the ways I try to keep that focus is when I breath in, I think about breathing in God’s love. And that makes me smile. And when I breathe out, I think about filtering God’s love through me, and breathing out compassion, empathy, and love for others. And if I sit with that for a minute, and wrap my mind around spending more time breathing love into the world, than I do fear, or hate, or anger, that should certainly change how I act, how I see other people, and how I treat others.

This is maybe the exact opposite of demon possession. Instead of taking in all these things of the world that keep us from God, I try to take in, to dwell on, to feel God’s love and grace.

I’m not saying that centering prayer is the answer to evil in the world. But let’s ask ourselves, what are those things we can do to help us focus on God, on love, on healing and forgiveness, rather than the different forces at work that want to keep us from the power of God’s love.

Rowan Williams has a few suggestions as to things that can help. He says: 1) attending to Scripture, following the Gospels so we can better understand this life we are called to live. 2) He says coming together to worship, to baptize, to celebrate Communion together and to welcome others to do the same. 3) And he says looking to the lives of others around us that help us to have faith. We need each other for that, to help us focus on God.

And so what if all of us who think of ourselves as Christians spent even a little time each day trying to focus on God’s gifts for us; on God’s grace and his love, in whatever ways we find most nourishing.

And then what if, by our breath, by our thoughts, by our actions, we tried to put more love into the world—taking in God’s love for us—and putting that love, in our own special and unique ways, into our community, into our world. Would that make a difference? And if it would, are we willing to put the time in, to put the work in, to do it?

We are called to be those people. We are called to be that community. We are called to further this work.

Today’s story of a demon-possessed man should resonate with us in today’s world, if we use the language of our time. And Jesus having the power to heal, to drive out the demons that tormented this man, and many others, is still as true today as it was then.

The world we live in is a frightening and heart-breaking place too much of the time. Helping to set it right, helping to be places where the acts of God can happen in the world is the work we have been given to do.

But we don’t do it alone. We have each other, and we have the Holy Spirit. And that is enough.

Amen.

Oh, also. It helps to wear your preaching Vans.

A Wonder Kickstarter

We need our sense of awe, of wonder, kickstarted. When I look at any given week ahead, at the to-do list, at the bills, at the schedule, it’s easy to get lost in the details.

Everyone has a soapbox they frequently stand on. Wonder is one of my few soapboxes. Carl Sagan gets it. Let Carl get you going. When he says dot, he means the Earth:

“Look again at that dot. That’s here. That’s home. That’s us. On it everyone you love, everyone you know, everyone you ever heard of, every human being who ever was, lived out their lives. The aggregate of our joy and suffering, thousands of confident religions, ideologies, and economic doctrines, every hunter and forager, every hero and coward, every creator and destroyer of civilization, every king and peasant, every young couple in love, every mother and father, hopeful child, inventor and explorer, every teacher of morals, every corrupt politician, every “superstar,” every “supreme leader,” every saint and sinner in the history of our species lived there-on a mote of dust suspended in a sunbeam.”

That’s the kind of perspective I need from time to time. The history of humankind–our dreams, accomplishments, stories, are all a speck in the cosmos. Get your head into the stars.

What are your go-to activities, places, or ways to amp up your sense of wonder and awe? For me, getting outside is as big as it gets. Watching the sun come up or set on a river, bay, ocean; hiking, trail running, skateboarding; gardening where I take the time to look at the details of what is growing or blooming. And obviously, books.

Some wonder-sparking books that were nearby while I was typing.

Here’s a thought from Pablo Neruda:

“We the mortals touch the metals,
the wind, the ocean shores, the stones,
knowing they will go on, inert or burning,
and I was discovering, naming all the these things:
it was my destiny to love and say goodbye.”

Again with our brief time here, the span of time before and after us, and yet, there are times when we can feel connected to, a part of everything around us.

Let’s play that out. We are here. We were created. You and I have consciousness and questions and feelings. So the same Creator that made all of the wonder-filled, awe-stoking Universe, made you and made me.

Becca Stevens is an Episcopal priest, a writer, and founder of Thistle Farms. She has a small, green book called “The Path of Love: Walking Bible Study.” The idea behind it is to put us out into creation to get in touch with the Creator.

“The story of our faith beings with the Creation narratives, in which the act of Creation itself becomes the unfolding of God’s love for the whole world.

God’s love is written all over creation. It begins when God takes the deep and the darkness and, instead of destroying these things, makes them a part of creation. God calls it very good, and we are all created together by a loving God who destroys nothing in creating–deep and darkness, earth and light, knit together in a creation that is both unified and diverse…

Nature is sacred; it was made by the same creator who made us. If we want to love, worship, and be with God, then it makes sense for us to stand in the midst of creation. The closer we are to nature, the nearer we most be to the heart and desire of the Creator.”

Let that wash over you for a minute. That sense of awe and wonder in us, that connection to the larger Universe, to creation, can be a means for us to get to know God and draw closer to Him. Even if we are a blip on the screen, we are still a part of it and we can do something with our time.

We were made to wonder. We were made to dream. We were made to enjoy and take part of the beauty of the Creation of which we are a part. And by doing so, we find ourselves a gateway to God.

The Kingfisher’s Wing

Driving Trappe backroads I had to stop the car on a small bridge, mid-conversation, just to take in the scene. To recognize and capture the moment: the mist on the river, the slick calm surface of the water, the way the sun froze everything in time, just for a second.

“… After the kingfisher’s wing
Has answered light to light, and is silent, the light is still
At the still point of the turning world.”
T.S. Eliot, Burnt Norton, “Four Quartets”

That’s how Eliot puts those iridescent moments–they can become the still point of a turning world. If there are a handful of books that we get sent back to over and over again in the course of our lives, T.S. Eliot’s “Four Quartets” is one of those books for me.

This weekend it was Rowan Williams’ book “Being Disciples,” that sent me either down the chute or up the ladder to the kingfisher’s wing. Williams compared prayer to birdwatching (two things I dig and want to spend more time doing). He said:

“I’ve always loved that image of prayer as birdwatching. You sit very still because something is liable to burst into view, and sometimes of course it means a long day of sitting in the rain with nothing very much happening. I suspect that, for most of us, a lot of our experience is precisely that. But the odd occasions when you do see what T.S. Eliot (in section IV of ‘Burnt Norton’) called ‘the kingfisher’s wing’ flashing ‘light to light’ make it all worthwhile. And I think that living in this sort of expectancy–living in awareness, your eyes sufficiently open and your mind both relaxed and attentive enough to see when it happens–is basic to discipleship.”

And that’s it–having our minds and hearts open and expectant, so that we can catch those moments when they happen. Eliot pointed it out for me years ago, Williams reminded me and sent me back to Eliot, but God presents us with those moments every day.

Running through John Ford Park on a Friday morning after a Thursday night rain, and a magnolia blossom all but audibly called out to be noticed and appreciated. It’s so easy to put my head down and pass those moments by, but thankfully I am easily led when it comes to opportunities to marvel and wonder.

Another one of those books to return to countless times over a lifetime is Walt Whitman’s “Leaves of Grass,” particularly “Song of Myself.”

“Swiftly arose and spread around me the peace and joy and knowledge that
pass all the art and argument of the earth”
Walt Whitman, “Song of Myself”

Have you had those feelings, possibly brought on by those kingfishers’ wing moments that we happen to catch? When you are sitting there, drinking in the day, firehose style, where you know you are missing a lot of what you are trying to take in, and you breathe, and look over and the moment transforms into a feeling and you are in it and it is in you.

Morning Snapshots

Eastern Bluebirds are flying in front of and behind me as I skate onto the Oxford Conservation Park loop. I’ve had their shade of blue and orange in my head since I first saw a bluebird years ago and they still quicken my heart.

It is a Saturday with nothing on the morning calendar and temperatures looking to move into the mid-90s. This early though, there is a breeze and it’s perfect sitting outside weather.

Books frequently open my mind and expand my worldview. The path I am walking (or skating) I owe in part to a Trappist monk named Thomas Merton. Recently I’ve encountered another Trappist monk Thomas, Thomas Keating.

“Grace is a participation in the Divine nature, it’s not just something added on like an overcoat. It’s a radical transformation of the whole of human nature so that it can be a divine human being, meaning it can exercise freedom, compassion, love…”
Fr. Thomas Keating

From reading his books to watching the documentary, “A Rising Tide of Silence,” Keating and a former student of his, an Episcopal priest named Cynthia Bourgeault, have pointed me to the practice of centering prayer. I’ve made this type of silent prayer part of my mornings for the past month or so, and I hope to keep it in my daily routine.

This morning, I want to go outside, to make this time under my sitting tree. After my bluebird greeting, I have a deer run across the cemetery loop about 10 feet in front of me.

I’m traveling light, just a notebook, pen, and binoculars, and I sit on my skateboard on the shoreline looking out onto the cove.

For centering prayer, they recommend picking a word that can bring you back to the moment, Bourgeault describes the word as being like windshield wipers to wipe away the thoughts that always jump in the way for attention. The word I have been using is “rest.” In Matthew’s Gospel, Jesus says, “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.” (Matthew 11:28). Psalm 37:7 says “Rest in the Lord,” which can also be translated as “Be still in the Lord,” meaning be at peace. I find that to be the right approach and mindset for me.

Sitting by the water, I breathe and close my eyes. A breeze is across my skin and in my ears like a conversation and listening, there is a constant concert of songbird voices. I can hear a fish jump in front of me to the left, and I open my eyes to see the rings it left–a cardinal flies low over the water, like it’s his cue to go on. The ascending sun reflects off the water to the right.

I am new to centering prayer, but even with my limited experience, I find that when I let my passing thoughts go, it gives me an opportunity to be closer to God. Keating’s quote that grace is for us a chance to participate in the work God is doing in the world and the love He has for us and for creation. And I can feel that this morning. And sitting alongside a cemetery, where my grandparents, family, and friends are buried, remembering and feeling them, I feel re-connected over and through time, like we are all sharing these remarkable moments.

Keating writes:

“When the presence of God emerges from our inmost being into our faculties, whether we walk down the street or drink a cup of soup, divine life is pouring into the world.”

For most of my life, this kind of quiet prayer time, these morning moments and experiences have been solo endeavors, an introvert’s delight. And I still need plenty of those. But I also find that I can be around people and still be at peace; I can even delight in what other people are doing. Like Keating says, walking down the street, or having a cup of coffee (too early for soup), I want to take those moments with me into the world, to be a part of that divine life pouring into the world . And I am not ready for the next phase of the day to start, so I head to the Oxford Park.

I stop through Oxford Social, the cafe right next to the park, for the first time. A birding friend from my Oxford Community Center days gets in line and we talk birds a bit, and about Third Haven Quaker Meeting House, and about seminary. I walk down to a bench by the river and sit with coffee, the view, conversations off to my right, kids playing on the swings to my left, and a young boy running with his dog.

I pick up John O’Donohue‘s book “Anam Cara,” a favorite book, which Rev. Susie Leight and I will be leading a book study of starting in July, and I come across this:

“Love is absolutely vital for a human life. For love alone can awaken what is divine with in you. In love, you grow and come to your self. When you learn to love and to let yourself be loved, you come home to the hearth of your own spirit… Love begins with paying attention to others, with an act of gracious self-forgetting. This is the condition in which we grow.”
John O’Donohue, “Anam Cara”

And it’s this openness, this paying attention to others, this self-forgetting, letting go of ourselves, letting go of myself, where I seem to be spending a lot of my time of late. O’Donohue continues:

“Once the soul awakens, the search begins and you can never go back. From then on, you inflamed with a special longing that will never again let you linger in the lowlands of complacency and partial fulfillment. The eternal makes you urgent.”

Maybe this has been a slow build over the last 50 years. Maybe all those different moments I can look back on and feel sitting here now, have all been hints and flickers, breadcrumbs or candles of encouragement. And each epiphany adds to a longing, pushes further into the search. Maybe with the state of the world, the worry, the suffering, the confusion, the time is coming that we need to look at differently and help others do the same; we need to live differently and help others do the same.

Maybe when we have moments of sitting quietly and emptying ourselves out, what’s there that we connect to, is Love (God is Love). And what could be more important to share with each other?

Sediment, Tents, Hot Dogs and the Holy Spirit

Shake a snow globe full of sediment and you’ll have to wait a while for the sediment to settle. Only then can you see through it. Clarity comes from letting the sediment settle. Now think of the sediment as all the demands and distractions in our daily lives–and there is always something or someone shaking our snow globes.

The weekend retreat during The Alpha Course is designed to help us settle, unwind, and unplug so we can plug into something that will recharge us. It’s a time to connect with the Holy Spirit and with each other.

Five years to the weekend after Christ Church Easton‘s first Alpha retreat, we took a group of more than 20 people to Pecometh’s Riverside Retreat Center outside Centreville, MD, for a weekend to reconnect. The weather was in the 70s during the days, the night skies were starry and clear, and the waterfront campus is full of trails, woods, and structures to get you dialed-in to creation.

Saturday morning, we had a group gathered on benches outside by the river for morning prayer. We read from Padraig O’Tuama‘s “Daily Prayers,” in which we pray, in part:

We resolve to live life in its fullness:
We will welcome the people who’ll be a part of this day.
We will greet God in the ordinary and hidden moments.
We will live the life we are living.

We set our intention to be present, open, and to appreciate one another and our lives.

Weekends like this are about moments; they are about relationships; they are about laughter and tears from being overfilled; they are made up of sharing meals, of taking hikes and walks or going skateboarding; they are built around small group discussions and big questions and shared experiences and being vulnerable.

The Alpha Weekend five years ago is the first time I reflected on advice that St. Paul gave in his letter to the Romans where he said:

“Do not be conformed to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind.”
Romans 12:2 (NIV)

In a world that wants us to conform, we are encouraged to live differently. In a series of videos over the weekend, we meet Jackie Pullinger, a missionary who went from England to Hong Kong more than 50 years ago, who has worked to help prostitutes, gang members, and the poor. She has done amazing work and points out that what we need to spread God’s love in the world are “soft hearts and hard feet.” And she says that maybe the only way our hearts soften is by being broken.

An Alpha Weekend is about relationships and downtime and making memories, including the debut of a non-existent band called “Skater Dads.” It’s skipping stones at sunset and exploring the campus for the camp’s famed outdoor chapel.

The Alpha Weekend is about sitting around a campfire singing songs, roasting marshmallows and hot dogs and being awestruck when someone reaches their hand into the fire to successfully rescue a fallen hot dog and comes out unburned (don’t try this at home or around a youth director) ; it’s about feeling seen simply by someone noticing that you are almost done cooking your hot dog and being asking if you want a bun.

It’s what happens when a group of people gather in a beautiful place for the sacred purpose of being together, worshipping God, and being open to the Holy Spirit.

Sunday morning, the ending of such a powerful and peaceful weekend, the big feelings were about not wanting the weekend to end. A conversation made me think about the transfiguration of Jesus on the mountaintop, this absolutely incredible experience of Jesus, Elijah, and Moses, and Peter’s immediate response is to build tents–“Master, it is good for us to be here; let us make three dwellings” (Luke 9:33)–he wants to stay in that moment, he wants to keep it going, just like each of us wanted the weekend to keep going. But Jesus knew differently. He knew that as incredible as those experiences are, it is not about building tents and trying to hold the moment–it is about carrying the moment back into the real world, because we have work to do. We have to spread that Holy Spirit experience. I mentioned all this to our collected groups. Which gave Rev. Susie Leight an idea.

Susie expounded on the theme of leaving, going back to the world, by opening our Sunday morning worship service with a blessing/prayer from Jan Richardson:

Dazzling

A Blessing for Transfiguration Sunday

“Believe me, I know how tempting it is to remain inside this blessing, to linger where everything is dazzling and clear. We could build walls around this blessing, put a roof over it. We could bring in a table, chairs, have the most amazing meals. We could make a home. We could stay. But this blessing is built for leaving. This blessing is made for coming down the mountain. This blessing wants to be in motion, to travel with you as you return to level ground. It will seem strange how quiet this blessing becomes when it returns to earth. It is not shy. It is not afraid. It simply knows how to bide its time, to watch and wait, to discern and pray until the moment comes when it will reveal everything it knows, when it will shine forth with all it has seen, when it will dazzle with the unforgettable light you have carried all this way.”

This weekend was a blessing made for coming down the mountain, back into the world; it was an experience, it was moments, it was deepened relationships. It is a blessing for us to share with those we meet, with those who are a part of our days.

There’s Nothing As Whole As a Broken Heart

“There’s nothing as whole as a broken heart.” I read that sentence and just stopped. And sat. And let it wash over me. We have two different small groups reading Rachel Held Evans’ book “Wholehearted Faith,” during Lent at Christ Church Easton.

In a chapter titled “Where Stone Becomes Flesh,” she quotes Ezekiel:

“A new heart I will give you, and a new spirit I will put within you; and I will remove from your body the heart of stone and give you a heart of flesh.” (Ezekiel 36:26)

If there is anything we need in the world today, it’s to be able to cast off our hard hearts and start working and living with hearts of flesh.

Evans explains it further. She quotes Rabbi Ariel Burger from an interview.

“There’s a Hasidic teaching, from Rebbe Nachman of Breslow: ‘There’s nothing as whole as a broken heart… In these traditions you cultivate a broken heart, which is very different from depression or sadness. It’s the kind of vulnerability, openness, and acute sensitivity to your own suffering and the suffering of others that becomes an opportunity for connection.”

On Thursday night discussing the chapter, someone read this passage, and then added, “I’ve got a broken heart. And if through that, I could help someone else…”

And that’s it. Right there. When we take what we’ve been through, the hurt, the pain, the suffering, and see it and use it and offer it as a way to help others, then love wins.

That’s part of what we are here for. That’s the work that God has given us to do. To love one another.

Amen.