I’ve been told that in the journey of faith, we don’t need so much to be instructed as we need to be reminded.

This morning, I’m reminded of the life and ministry and witness of John the Baptist. Last Friday, June 24, the church celebrated his birthday, employing Episco-speak to observe the feast of his nativity. It is also the anniversary of my ordination, so I always pay attention to the guy, and year after year try to let him be my teacher, my reminder. Let’s just say, I’m a slow learner.

On one occasion, Jesus referred to John the Baptist as the greatest person ever born of a woman. I don’t get the sense that Jesus threw around those kinds of compliments unadvisedly or lightly. What made John the Baptist so exceptional in Jesus’ eyes?

The history of Western Christian art depicts John the Baptist pointing beyond himself, often extending arm index finger indicating Christ on the cross. The great theologian, Karl Barth, wrote volumes in a study in his home. (I’m not sure Dr. Barth ever had an unexpressed written thought. He once said that even he had not read everything he had written.) As he wrote and wrote and wrote at his small desk, Barth had a picture of John the Baptist hanging over the workspace, a small reproduction of the Grunewald Altarpiece, reminding him that his impressive efforts only had meaning as they pointed beyond himself to Christ. Maybe we could all use such a reminder in the work we do. How does the work we do point to Christ?

We celebrate the birth of John the Baptist near the summer solstice, when days are longest. I don’t want to dampen summer fun, but the fact is the days have already started to decrease in length, until we come to the winter solstice, near Christmas, the feast of Jesus’ birth. I mention this because the liturgical calendar preaches to us. The timing of Jesus’ birthday and the timing of John’s birthday fulfill what John said when asked whether he was the one people should follow. John said of Jesus: “He must increase but I must decrease.” The days after John’s birthday decrease in length. The days after Jesus’ birthday increase in length. He pointed to Christ.

Make no mistake. John was no shrinking violet. He preached to the elite of the day, and opened sermons by addressing his congregation as a brood of vipers. Try that in stewardship season. He spoke truth to power, calling out the king for scandalous behavior. He lost his head over that one. He was strong in his sense of who he was, with all his eccentricity, all his counter cultural ways. He not only knew who he was. He knew who Jesus was, and found in Jesus the direction for his life.

I need to be taught how to do that. I need to be pointed in the right direction. I need to be reminded of that, day after day, year after year. The longer I am a priest, the more I need the reminder. Maybe you share that sense. If so, take this day to think about the life and ministry and witness of John the Baptist. Then ask: To what does my life point? What would it take to get ego out of the way, to point beyond self, with all our eccentricities, to the one who stretches out arms of love on the hard wood of the cross to draw us into his saving embrace? What would that look like this Monday?

-Jay Sidebotham

Contact:
Rev. Jay Sidebotham
jsidebotham@renewalworks.org
RenewalWorks is a ministry of Forward Movement.
www.renewalworks.org

If you’d like to join in this donor-based ministry, donate here.

If this story isn’t true, it ought to be. I ran across this urban legend in one of Brennan Manning’s books. He’s a favorite author who writes with singular focus on the gift of grace, and how grace goes to work in the world. In this troubled time in our world, this story which he told came to mind:

During the Great Depression, on a cold night in New York, Fiorello LaGuardia went to a night court serving one of the poorest parts of town. He sent the sitting judge home and took the judge’s place, apparently something mayors can do. An elderly woman was brought before the bench, accused of stealing food from a local store. She explained that her daughter was sick, her son-in-law had abandoned them, and there was no food in the house to feed the grandchildren, no money to buy food. Despite this compelling story, the store owner insisted on prosecution. He couldn’t afford leniency because there were so many people in so much need. He’d be overrun. The mayor agreed, and told the woman that she had to either pay a fine of ten dollars, or spend ten days in jail.

Then he reached in his pocket and found ten dollars, paying the fine. And he spoke to the group gathered in the courtroom. He said, “I am fining each one of you 50 cents for living in a city where a woman needs to steal bread to feed her family.” Policemen, court officials, those present for traffic violations, even the shop owner paid the fine. The woman ended up with $47.50, a lot in those days. The mayor had made the point that the whole community bore responsibility. Justice and mercy were on display that evening. The story captures my imagination with the mayor’s sense that we are all connected, all responsible and even complicit in the brokenness of our world. What’s our part in it?

Our scripture poses that question, perhaps most famously when St. Paul addresses the religious and the not-so-religious and says that all have fallen short of the glory of God. We’re all in this together. Our liturgy poses that question, when at the beginning of Holy Week, in another courtroom scene, we read the Passion Narrative and the congregation cries “Crucify”. I know parishioners who skip that Sunday, claiming they would never have been part of the crowd, never part of a process that would put love to death. “Never. Not me. I’m not part of it.”

Facebook now echoes with images that say “I am Orlando.” just as a while ago we heard “Je suis Hebdo.” There is sad empathy there. But perhaps also a challenging message to think of our connection and our responsibility to address the brokenness of our world, to work for justice and peace. What part do we play in it? What we can do about it? Speak? Pray? Learn? Listen? Vote? Advocate? Serve? Be present? Pastor the community?

Along with the challenge is hope, perhaps conveyed in St. Paul’s image that we are all part of the body of Christ. All that we do is related to the rest of the body. We need each other. Below, find a message from Martin Luther King to the clergy of his day, well-meaning main-line Christian ministers who remained dangerously silent as Dr. King led the charge. He gave them an image of interconnectedness that speaks to all who would follow Jesus, who would be his hands and feet in the world.

This Monday morning, is there a way that God is calling you to pastor the community, to work for justice and peace, to participate in the healing of a hurting world? Can you see yourself as part of an inescapable network of mutuality, a single garment of destiny? Ask God to show you that way.

-Jay Sidebotham

-Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., an excerpt from his letter from a Birmingham Jail

Contact:
Rev. Jay Sidebotham
jsidebotham@renewalworks.org
RenewalWorks is a ministry of Forward Movement.
www.renewalworks.org

If you’d like to join in this donor-based ministry, donate here.

Maybe I shouldn’t write anything this morning when a hate crime rends our hearts. If you think so, stop reading and say a prayer for the victims, and for those who loved the victims, and for all of us.

If you choose to keep reading, a story (which may be worth telling today…I’m not entirely sure) about a walk in Central Park last week, a sunny, breezy day. Everyone was out. I enjoyed the beautiful scenery. The diversity of the crowd was energizing, everyone doing their own thing. But I texted as I walked, apparently not a good idea. I stepped in a small pothole, twisted my ankle and conducted a dramatic gravity experiment, sprawled all over the sidewalk. One young urbanite on his phone was literally about five feet away, walking toward me. I fell in his path. And nothing. He didn’t even look at me, let alone say anything. Not “Are you okay?” or “Should I call for help” or “Are you inebriated?” or “Get the heck out of my way.” Nothing.

So in addition to a sore ankle and wounded pride, I was unsettled with the lack of human connection. My gravity experiment became a social experiment. It made me think about what has become of us all. This story may sound judgy about New Yorkers. As a New Yorker, that’s not my intention. It may sound judgy about this young man. That’s not my intention (well, okay, a little bit) .

But it got me thinking about how we see each other. To the extent that I am judging the guy, I’m inclined to wonder how he is like me (Usually the ways I judge other people end up having something to do with my own growth opportunities. Funny how that works.) It made me think about the ways I regard other people. Or don’t. Who is invisible in my scope?

I saw a video which described a recent study held in Europe, as people of that region grapple with the influx of refugees from Syria and other places. In this experiment, refugees were asked to sit in a chair facing a German citizen, also seated in a chair. In many ways, there was a huge chasm between those two folding chairs. They were told to stare in each other’s eyes for four minutes without saying a word. The study indicated that the silent engagement opened up deeper levels of understanding and compassion and relationship. After the silence, deep conversation started. People were changed when they really saw each other.

I don’t know if one can scale that kind of experiment, or if it has to say anything to us today but we could sure use something like it. It made me wonder how I might apply the principle on this day marked by collective grief. It might begin by recognizing that certain people may well be invisible to me. They may be strangers on the street, those without homes or food, and I just walk on by. They may be folks who differ from me on politics or religion. (How dare they?) They may be people of another religion. They may be people who work to add to my convenience and ease: waiters, grocery check out, flight attendants, folks on the other side of the globe staffing the phones for customer service. They may be people near by, with whom I work. They could be relatives. What would it mean to see people the way Jesus saw people? What happens to us, to our spirits when they are invisible to us, when they are dispensable?

Try this spiritual experiment. See someone today. See life from that person’s perspective. Look at the world from their point of view. Do so with the eyes of Christ. Maybe you’ll even notice someone who has fallen down.

And if you have read this far on this grim morning, now pray for the people of Orlando, those who died because of hate, those who mourn unspeakable loss, those now filled with deeper fear, those tempted to meet hate with hate.

-Jay Sidebotham

And who is my neighbour? Jesus replied, ‘A man was going down from Jerusalem to Jericho, and fell into the hands of robbers, who stripped him, beat him, and went away, leaving him half dead. Now by chance a priest was going down that road; and when he saw him, he passed by on the other side. So likewise a Levite, when he came to the place and saw him, passed by on the other side. But a Samaritan while travelling came near him; and when he saw him, he was moved with pity.

-Luke 10

Ubuntu:
I am what I am because of who we all are.

Namaste:
The Divine light in me acknowledges the Divine light in you.

The Baptismal Covenant:
Will you seek and serve Christ in all persons, loving neighbor as self?

Contact:
Rev. Jay Sidebotham
jsidebotham@renewalworks.org
RenewalWorks is a ministry of Forward Movement.
www.renewalworks.org

If you’d like to join in this donor-based ministry, donate here.

I was thinking this week about a friend, a rector, who in the middle of summer has his congregation sing “Joy to the world” as a reminder that the good news of Jesus’ birth is good news all year long. It often throws people a bit. He likes that.

I was reminded of this as I finished up the 2016 Advent calendar that I create each year with a brilliant collaborator, Susan Elliott. (She’s the brains of the operation. I do the sketches.) This will be our twentieth year producing this piece. Time flies when you’re having fun. But I’ll be the first to admit that it is challenging to wrap my mind around Advent when we’ve just celebrated Pentecost and by the way, the beach beckons.

Thanks be to God, I came across a book by Dietrich Bonhoeffer, called “God is in the Manger: Reflections on Advent and Christmas.” It’s about Advent, for sure. But it’s about so much more. Bonhoeffer makes this point about that short season:

The Advent season is a season of waiting, but our whole life is an Advent season, that is, a season of waiting for the last Advent, for the time when there will be a new heaven and a new earth.

Good stuff. Here’s more:

God is in the manger, wealth in poverty, light in darkness, succor in abandonment. No evil can befall us, whatever [men] may do to us, they cannot but serve the God who is secretly revealed as love and rules the world and our lives.

That’s a message for any time of year, for sure. Okay, one more:

Advent creates people, new people.

Each of the liturgical seasons tells a story that is true all the time. In my own spiritual journey, with its joys and challenges, that’s particularly true of Advent. I was grateful to stumble across Bonhoeffer’s vision of God in the manger, reminding me that our whole life is an Advent season, that we are always meant to be looking for where God is coming into the world, expecting that to happen. We are always to be seeking Christ’s arrival, which often comes in other people (as irritating as that may be). We are always ready to be made new, always hopeful that we will see the day of Christ’s arrival, and that we will know it when we see it. Who knows, it may be June 6, 2016 that we see Christ in some new way.

And the seeking, the spirit of Advent goes on all the time, in all the time we’re given. To that point Bonhoeffer offered a reminder that life is a journey, not a destination. He said:

While it is good that we seek to know the Holy One, it is probably not so good to presume that we ever complete the task.

-Jay Sidebotham

If you let people concentrate too much on special times, feasts, services and seasons, they forget it is always now and here when God happens. They stop living in the naked now and wait for Christmas or Easter, Sunday morning or some far off future day of enlightenment.

-Richard Rohr,

 The Naked Now

As we work together with him, we urge you also not to accept the grace of God in vain. For God says,”At an acceptable time I have listened to you, and on a day of salvation I have helped you.”See, now is the acceptable time; see, now is the day of salvation!

-2 Corinthians 6:1,2

Come, thou long expected Jesus, born to set thy people free;

from our fears and sins release us, let us find our rest in thee.

Israel’s strength and consolation, hope of all the earth thou art;

dear desire of every nation, joy of every longing heart.
Born thy people to deliver, born a child and yet a King,

born to reign in us forever, now thy gracious kingdom bring

By thine own eternal spirit rule in all our hearts alone;
by thine all sufficient merit, raise us to thy glorious throne.

-Charles Wesley

Contact:
Rev. Jay Sidebotham
jsidebotham@renewalworks.org
RenewalWorks is a ministry of Forward Movement.
www.renewalworks.org

If you’d like to join in this donor-based ministry, donate here.