On occasion, I participate in yoga classes taught by my wife. I’m surprisingly good at certain parts of the practice, like shavasana and child’s pose. There are poses I refuse to do in front of parishioners, like happy baby. And there are parts that make me think one should never receive yoga instruction from a spouse. Take plank for instance, which is basically holding an army push up halfway down for about 3 or 4 days. Or chair pose, which is something my Junior High gym coach made us do when we misbehaved.

And don’t get me started on this particular instructor’s ability to count: “Hold that pose for 10, 9, 8, 7, you all look great, 9, 8, 7, 6, breathe deep, 8, 7, 6, 5, now smile, 7, 6, 5, 4…”

All of this is preceded by a time in which the instructor prepares us for practice with mindful meditation, helping us make transition from busy lives outside the studio. My wife is particularly gifted at these reflections. Of late, she has incorporated a passage attributed to Thich Nhat Hanh (see below) to begin the session. It has caught my attention as it includes this particular intention: to be awakened from the trance of forgetfulness.

I don’t think that this wise Vietnamese monk is talking about forgetting names, forgetting where I left my keys, forgetting my password (though I often find myself in that kind of trance). The power of that phrase comes in recognizing that the spiritual journey is about remembering, and in recognizing that a lot of the time I am spiritually asleep.

This awakening, this act of remembering is a spiritual intention, at the heart of the Christian tradition. The story of the children of Israel is told again and again to the children of Israel, to keep them on track by reminding them to look in the spiritual rear-view mirror. “Remember, your father was a wandering Aramean.” When wandering in the wilderness, the children of Israel would complain to God, as if asking “What have you done for me lately?” To counter that complaint, they were called to recollect divine provision, redemption, forgiveness and liberation. Scripture calls people of faith to do the same these days, to awaken from the trance of forgetfulness.

The psalmist knows that a strong relationship with God comes with awakening from forgetfulness. In exile, the psalmist speaks of holding on to the memory of Jerusalem. See the portion of Psalm 137 below. Or read the first 8 verses of Psalm 78. It includes this intention: We will recount to generations to come the praiseworthy deeds and the power of the Lord, and the wonderful works he has done…that the generations to come might know, and the children yet unborn, that they in turn might tell it to their children, so that they might put their trust in God, and not forget the deeds of God. (vss. 4,6,7)

In the New Testament, Jesus gathered disciples at the Last Supper, instituting the eucharist with the command: Do this in remembrance of me. In our liturgy, a portion of the prayer used on Sunday at communion recalls the great and gracious things God has done in the past. That portion of the prayer is referred to as anamnesis. That literally means not forgetting (not amnesia).

Have you ever felt yourself caught in a trance of forgetfulness, spiritually speaking? Maybe you’re there this morning. The call to thanksgiving is meant to awaken us. We give thanks to God not to stroke the ego of a narcissistic divine being. Rather, we reflect on ways we have come to experience grace in the past so we can embrace those experiences in the present, and trust they will unfold in the future. When we can remember that amazing grace, we can awaken from the trance of forgetfulness.

Carry that phrase with you this Monday. Awaken from any trance you might be in. Forget forgetfulness. Remember that grace abounds.

-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.

You can safely assume that you’ve created God in your own image when it turns out that God hates all the same people you do. -Anne Lamott

Years ago, Life Magazine featured a two-page spread of photographs, a mosaic of images of Jesus from around the world, portraying a Jesus who might have grown up in Africa or Asia or South America. To me, the most jarring of the images came from the Scandinavian tradition, which portrayed Jesus as a Bjorn Borg look alike. I’m not sure what the historical Jesus looked like. I’m pretty sure he wasn’t a blondie.

For me, the collection of images indicate our tendency to make Jesus into our own image. You’ll be shocked to learn that people often use religion to affirm what they already value, confirm status quo, ratify existing (and dearly held) points of view. We hear reports that Jesus favors one candidate or policy over another. On social media, people claim they know exactly what Jesus would do about divisive issues of our time. All I know is the guy was full of surprises, comforting the afflicted and afflicting the comfortable.

I recalled the Life Magazine photos when I recently read an article by Dallas Willard, professor of philosophy who spent 48 years teaching at U.S.C., a theologian known for writings on Christian spiritual formation. In this article, he spoke about his work with churches and religious schools, trying to measure spiritual vitality. For him, this kind of growth was about growing in Christ-likeness. It stood in contrast to those Life magazine images, suggestive of the ways we try to make God or Christ in our own image. Dr. Willard challenged readers to think about how we might change to become more like Christ.

But what does that mean, to be like Christ? I’m sure there’s not one answer. But try this exercise this morning. Think of five attributes of Jesus, based on what you know of him. Can you make some commitment to be more like him in those five ways?

I’ll start. Here are five things that came to my mind about Jesus:

1. He valued simplicity, born as a refugee in a stable. He was itinerant, often homeless, and navigated all that with joy and freedom from anxiety.
2. He was big on forgiveness, even forgiving his torturers and executioners. It makes me think he knew how to manage the kind of petty resentments that drive me nuts.
3. He made a commitment to be of service, washing disciples’ feet, maybe an episode from an ancient near eastern version of Dirty Jobs
4. He paid attention to people no one else liked or noticed: the rich and wildly unpopular Zaccheus, the crazy guy in the cemetery, the woman at the well with a scandalous past, those incompetent and fickle fishermen (who apparently never catch a fish without Jesus’ help).
5. He went off by himself and prayed a lot, recognizing the need to appeal to the one he called Father, to a higher power.
   There’s more of course. I’ll stop there and ponder these five, focusing on them this week. Rather than trying to make Christ look more like me, I’m going to try to make some shift to look more like Christ, try to bring that shift to my work, to my responses to the troubled state of our world, to my relationships, my family and friends.

A clergyman I admire offered the following wisdom in a wedding homily. He charged the couple standing before him to be Jesus for each other. In other words, to be more like Christ.

It would be a good idea if we all in the church worked on that, mindful of what Gandhi said when pressed to convert to Christianity. He declined the invitation, saying: “I like your Christ, but not your Christians. Your Christians are so unlike your Christ.”

-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.

I’m wondering if it’s your time to ask Rabbi Kushner’s question: Why do bad things happen to good people? Maybe you ask that question all the time.

The question has come my way lately, with a big challenge suddenly faced by a friend I care for and deeply admire. It’s basically inexplicable. At times, maddeningly sad. I’m guessing you know about such challenges. They come in great variety. As one of my mentors says, suffering is the promise life keeps. How’s that for a cheery kickoff to Monday morning?

Part of why I spend time reading the Bible is because scripture knows and shows that these kind of questions make up our stories. Most famously, the book of Job raises the question but resists any neat answers. Psalmists repeatedly ask where God has gone. Jesus posed the question, echoing Psalm 22: My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?

In such moments, about the worst response one can offer is something that tries too quickly to make sense of it all. Job’s friends, prime example, offering something that ties it up in a neat package, often more about easing one’s own discomfort than supporting those who suffer. I have in mind sayings like: “God never gives you more than you can handle.” “God never shuts a door without opening a window.” All feed into the Gary Larson cartoon image of God at the computer, watching the falling grand piano about to smash an unwitting pedestrian, God pressing the smite button. Do we worship such a God?

If you’re asking the bad things/good people question, there may on occasion be explanations for the challenges, something we have done or something done to us. Too often, there are no available easy answers. So we are led to the prayer from the burial service which asks for God’s help in the midst of things beyond our understanding.

And we withstand when we can’t understand. We proclaim when we can’t explain. What we proclaim is God’s presence, often felt most deeply in love and prayers of others.

We proclaim resurrection, which literally means “to stand again.” When folks we love get knocked down, we move forward with them and for them, helping them stand again. We say our prayers with them and for them, prayers with our lips and with our lives, prayers that may be no more or less than silent, faithful, loving presence.

We give thanks for what we are able to give thanks for. And if the attitude of gratitude is too hard, we let someone else do the thanking and praying.

With courage (it suggests both bravery and heart), we hold on to hope. St. Paul, who knew suffering and challenge, prayed about it, occasionally whined about it, asked for relief from it and didn’t always get relief. He referenced his own suffering in the letter to the Romans. Speaking of his own experience, he said suffering brings endurance which brings character which brings hope because God’s love has been poured into our hearts. (Romans 5).

When we find ourselves in times of trouble, when understanding or explaining elude us, when we can do no more than withstand, in those moments a positive spirit, a sense of hope and promise becomes our guide. Easier said than done, I know. But something we are each and all given to do at some time. Maybe this Monday morning is that time for you. Blessings in this time.

-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.

Monday, July 3, 2017

Tomorrow we observe the Feast of Independence Day (a.k.a, the Fourth of July). It’s one of the few secular holidays that has found its way into the church calendar, along with Thanksgiving and Labor Day. Appointed scripture readings and prayers help us reflect on who we are called to be as a nation. The feast indicates that our lives as citizens are related to our lives as followers of Jesus.

The feast has to do with more than hot dogs and hamburgers, though I won’t turn those down. It has to do with a sacred celebration which invites us to ask this holy stewardship question: What do we do with the gift we’ve been given in our common life, as a nation blessed with remarkable prosperity and unprecedented freedoms?

As Episcopalians, who claim that praying shapes our believing, we can look to the collect crafted for this day (below), and see what it says to us this Monday. Look at what we pray for. We ask that we may all have “grace to maintain our liberties in righteousness and peace.” So join me in reflection on that word righteousness.

Righteousness means so much more than being right or even being good. In scripture, righteousness suggests right relationship, with a recognition that so many of our relationships are out of whack. What does it mean to be a righteous nation? It seems to me that it is about building relationships marked by healing and wholeness, mending places where relationship is broken. The scriptures (you can look them up…a nice spiritual discipline for a day off) appointed for the Feast of Independence Day speak to the character of this common life.

There’s a reading from Deuteronomy (10:17-21) written to the people of Israel before they entered the promised land and started to figure out what it meant to be a people. The reading talks about the character of the nation: executing justice for orphan and widow (the neediest, the marginalized), loving the stranger and providing food and clothing for them. Maybe this is one of those places where folks say we don’t need to take scripture literally. But at face value, the righteousness of a nation has to do with how we treat the least among us. Across the political spectrum, folks will disagree about how best to accomplish that. But the goal seems clear.

The psalm chosen for the day (Psalm 145) reflects God’s character as loving to everyone. “Compassion is over all God’s works. The Lord upholds those who fall, and lifts those who are bowed down. The Lord opens wide his hand and satisfies the needs of every living creature.” Again, scripture indicates a community marked by healed relationships.

The New Testament reading from Hebrews (11:8-16) calls readers to remember that they were once strangers and foreigners, that they desire a better country, a heavenly one. It’s a graceful, hopeful acknowledgement that we can always do better.

The Gospel reading, excerpted from the Sermon on the Mount (Matthew 5:43-48) is a call by Jesus to love not only neighbors but also to love enemies. Does he really mean that? It’s not fun. It’s not easy. In our divided nation, what would it mean if we would and could do what Jesus asked us to do?

As I reviewed these readings, calling us to think about who we are on this national holiday, I was struck with how much we have erred and strayed from a righteous vision, from right relationships. The measure of a great nation, it would seem from scripture and especially from the prayer, has to do with an embrace of grace, a commitment to live in righteousness and peace, to let that be shown in compassion, especially towards those pushed to the edges.

Independence Day is a holiday, which means it’s a holy day, a chance to reflect on who we are, and who God is calling us to be. Enjoy the celebration tomorrow. Give thanks for our remarkable nation. Pray for our leaders. And consider the call to deeper righteousness, to healthier relationships, marked by compassion. Is there a specific way you can live into that imagination this week?

-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.