You are what you see

The eye is the lamp of the body. So if your eye is healthy, your whole body will be full of light, but if your eye is unhealthy, your whole body will be full of darkness. If, then, the light in you is darkness, how great is the darkness! -Matthew 6: 22-23

I hear Jesus saying that you are what you see. Or maybe that you become what you look at. Do you think that is the case?

On the one hand, we have the chance to make choices about where we give our attention, about what we see. The wisdom of Albert Einstein comes to mind. He said: “There are two ways to live your life. One is as though nothing is a miracle. The other is as though everything is a miracle.” We can choose, in a way that goes well beyond simply looking at the glass half full or half empty.

A friend attended a conference where the leader offered this exercise: Write the story of your life from three perspectives, as hero, victim and learner. Every one of us has the raw material to see our lives in these three ways. We all, at some point, fancy ourselves hero. The world and the Lord are lucky to have us on the team. We all, at some point, have been injured by someone (and we’re pretty good at remembering those). We all, at all times, have opportunity to learn something new. It depends on how we see things, how we see ourselves. In many ways, we become what we see.

In Paul’s letter to the Philippians, he talks about choosing where we give our attention. (See verses above.) Earlier in the letter, he tells this community to let the mind of Christ rule in their hearts. That strikes me as another way of saying that we can choose the way we look at life. As you think about where you get your news, your entertainment, your updates on friends, your advice, what are you choosing to see, to look at, to watch? Those choices shape us. Are those choices healthy?

Truth be told, some of us with unhealthy vision feel powerless to do anything about it. Our blindness does not feel like a choice. We need help from a power greater than ourselves. Think of the number of times Jesus addressed blindness, granting vision for the first time to those stuck in darkness. One of the lengthiest of these stories is told in John 9, where Jesus heals a man born blind. Disciples want to know what the man did wrong to be blind. Jesus says that is the wrong question.

From that encounter, we hear Jesus say: “I am the light of the world.” That says to me that healthy vision will come as we tap into relationship with him. He will show us the way, giving grace to help in time of need. As the psalmist said: “Your word is a lantern to my feet, a light along my path.” In our tradition, Jesus is that light-giving, life-giving word made flesh.

John 9 also tells us that there are those of us who may just prefer blindness. Jesus comes under criticism from religious leaders. He uses that encounter to make the point that some of the most religious people of his day were blind guides. It’s just one of the several places where he comes down on folks who pretend that they see but really don’t see much at all.

Such willful blindness is not limited to biblical times. Just think about the news since last Monday, revealing the darkness in our body politic. With the heaviness on all of our hearts in the wake of another senseless shooting, some leaders turn blind eye to the woefully exceptional American experience of mass shootings, more than 220 this year, way more than any other nation on the globe. Religious leaders in the largest Protestant denomination in the country have turned a blind eye to sexual abuse for decades. Every week, we collectively turn blind eye to divisions caused by persistent systemic racism and widening economic disparity. This kind of blindness is not just a communal experience. With blinders on, we practice it as individuals, with indifference to needs around us in our families, neighborhoods, churches, communities.

Jesus calls us to look at life another way, expressed by Presiding Bishop Michael Curry as he concluded his communication to the church after the shooting in Buffalo two weeks ago: “Even amid tragedy, even when manifestations of evil threaten to overwhelm, let us hold fast to the good. It is the only way that leads to life. As you gather with friends and family, and in worship on Sunday, pray for the strength to hold fast to the good. Yet we must also strive for good, and as citizens demand that more can be done to protect our elders, our young people, and our children from such horror.”

I am grateful for his vision. It’s healthy and healing. We sure do need it now.

-Jay Sidebotham

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Where is your treasure?

Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust consume and where thieves break in and steal, but store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust consumes and where thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also. -Matthew 6: 19-21

We hear this passage each year on Ash Wednesday, as it launches the season of Lent, a time for self-examination. The punchline to the gospel reading about the connection of treasure and heart hits me hard every time. It swirls around in my head, often in an unsettling way.

Jesus really knows how to get to us. With his statement about treasure and heart, we are called to take the following questions through the season of Lent, and beyond. We’re called to ask: Where is our heart? What do we really treasure?

Our treasure may be stuff: Fine collectibles. Savings, investments and assets. Highly valued toys. Our treasure may be less tangible. Our reputation, relationships or resume. Our pride at accomplishment. Our distasteful sense of being better than somebody, anybody.

Jesus’ challenging words make me think about related counsel from a desert father, Abba Poemem. To his students, he offered this timeless challenge: Do not give your heart to that which does not satisfy your heart. Which leads back to the question: Where are we giving our hearts?

I found myself wondering if what Jesus was really saying was that we do not always own our treasures. We may think we do, but often, they own us. They shape us. They make us behave in ways we would not otherwise behave.

Case in point: The history of slavery in our nation. Clearly, many people over those centuries knew it was horrific, that what they were doing was out of line with God’s intention for all people. But slavery was key to the economic health of the nation at the time. That sense of treasure made people behave in ways they would not have otherwise behaved. It made people make excuses, twist logic and deny fact to hold on to wealth. Change was not in the cards. I’m wondering in what ways do we do the same things these days. Any thoughts?

Above, find the story of Jesus’ encounter with a rich young man. It says Jesus loved this guy. That is not said of every person Jesus encountered. Not that he didn’t love them all, but there was special affinity here. As the young man asks what was required of him, he shared the ways he’d done all the right things, checked all the boxes. Jesus says there’s just one thing more. If he wanted to follow Jesus he needed to shift his treasure, surrendering his material possessions. He needed a change of heart that meant thinking in new ways about his treasure.

The young man can’t make the shift. He goes away sad. Jesus is sad. The whole thing is sad, as sad as the many ways that we give our hearts (our souls, our minds, our strength) to that which will not satisfy our hearts, to things that will not remain, to things that are not good for us.

While there’s plenty of challenge here, there’s also opportunity. It begins with gaining clarity about where our treasure lies. There are a number of measures we can consider. Start with a look at credit card statements. Look at calendars. They may not tell the whole story, but they offer insight into where we’re giving time, talent and treasure.

When it comes to where we locate our treasure, a lot of us diversify. We are pulled in many directions. That may be a good investment strategy, but when we take it to the level of what we worship and who we follow, we may uncover competing vocations calling to us. We can be about everything and about nothing. How can we gain more focus in what we treasure?

Later in this sermon, Jesus will say seek first the kingdom of God, with the promise that all the rest will fall in place (my paraphrase). I’m feeling like the answer to all this is to think each day about how we can with gladness and singleness of heart give our heart to the kingdom, the rule, the reign of God. How can we give our heart to the way of love articulated by Jesus, that which will satisfy our heart? Jesus promises that when we do that, everything else we need will be added. Dare we believe it?

Let me close with two brief parables to chew on today: The kingdom of heaven is like treasure hidden in a field, which a man found and reburied; then in his joy he goes and sells all that he has and buys that field. Again, the kingdom of heaven is like a merchant in search of fine pearls; on finding one pearl of great value, he went and sold all that he had and bought it. (Matthew 13:44, 45)

-Jay Sidebotham

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Fasting

When you fast, do not look somber as the hypocrites do, for they disfigure their faces to show others they are fasting. Truly I tell you, they have received their reward in full. But when you fast, put oil on your head and wash your face, so that it will not be obvious to others that you are fasting, but only to your Father, who is unseen; and your Father, who sees what is done in secret, will reward you. -Matthew 6: 16, 17

Fasting is all the rage. In many corners of our culture, we’ve come to realize that this ancient practice, part of many faith traditions, is a good idea. In the Christian tradition, fasting is often associated with giving something up for Lent. It may simply suggest deprivation. Truth be told, at least in my own experience, the practice of fasting in Lent can be a bit like beating your head against a wall. It feels so good when you stop. It can also become a matter of spiritual pride, a competitive sport. Being holier than thou easily slides into being more miserable than thou.

Jesus recognized that fasting was part of the spiritual practices of his culture. He saw its value. He began his ministry in the desert, going without food for forty days. I can barely skip a meal. He also recognized that like all kinds of spiritual practices, it can go off the rails as ego creeps in. (Remember: ego is an acronym for edging God out.)

We’re well past Lent. Right now may be a great time to consider what fasting is all about, free of seasonal obligation. It’s not about earning a spiritual merit badge. It’s about taking a look at our lives, at what we value, and what we might do without for a period of time in order to get clarity about what matters. Looking at it that way, assume that no one has any idea of the contours of your fast. Look inside yourself and think about what you might want to give up, maybe for an evening, or a day, or a month, or a season.

Maybe you want to go one day a week without checking social media, or take a break from screen time. That’s not to denigrate these ways of connecting with others or getting work done. It’s simply a way to say that it shouldn’t take over our lives. And it allows us to notice things we may have missed.

Maybe you want to have a day free of news, however you get the news. That’s not to say it’s unimportant to be informed. It’s a Christian duty. But a break from the news might just do some good for the soul, and offer some perspective.

Maybe you want a day of fasting from cussing. That may help you see how powerful speech can be, for good or ill.

Maybe you want a day free of complaining. We all have something to complain about, but how would the rest of the week be changed if we decided to accentuate only the positive for one 24 hour period.

Maybe you want a day free of comforting things like chocolate or Merlot or potato chips, a way to remember that billions of people in our world never get those small pleasures.

Maybe you want to skip a meal, or two, or three. That’s not a diet plan, though it does have health benefits. But it can help us pray for those who have no choice in skipping meals. There are people like that in all of our neighborhoods, not to mention our global village.

Maybe you choose a day without coffee…wait a minute…let’s not get carried away….

Here’s the deal: Nobody else needs to know when you fast. Jesus seems to indicate that if we sense that others need to know, we’ve missed the point. This is not about sitting in the city square in sackcloth and ashes. It’s about a regular check-in assessing the things we value, and focusing on the following:

• Gratitude: Fasting gives us a chance to count our blessings.
• Compassion: Fasting gives us a window into millions around us who face deprivation.
• Clarity: Fasting gives us a chance to see what is really important, really essential.
• Worship: Fasting gives us a chance to deepen our relationship with God, to trust that all that we need will be provided.

I invite you to. consider some non-Lenten way to put this spiritual discipline to work in your life. Let the practice be just between you and God.

-Jay Sidebotham

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More on forgiveness

For if you forgive others their trespasses, your heavenly Father will also forgive you, but if you do not forgive others, neither will your Father forgive your trespasses. -Matthew 6: 14,15

Does this really mean that when we withhold forgiveness from others, God withholds it from us? Is this a quid pro quo?

In today’s verses from the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus underscores what he has already said in the Lord’s Prayer: forgiveness matters. In the gospels, he sets a high bar. (Just take a look at the passage above.) We are to forgive someone seventy seven times, which basically means that there are to be no limits to our extension of forgiveness.

I’m mindful that many people have experienced traumatic injury that makes this strong call to forgiveness tough. Maybe beyond possibility. I can only imagine how hard this might be for some.

Speaking for myself, I’m loaded with limits on how much forgiveness I will extend. I consider the worthiness of the person I consider forgiving. I wonder if I can trust the person not to injure me again. I want accountability and occasionally I want revenge. Some folks seem to be simply irredeemable jerks, undeserving of forgiveness. Forgiveness in their cases would amount to enabling. Am I alone in feeling this way?

Jesus may be simply describing a spiritual dynamic, the reality that we can’t really embrace the fact that we’re forgiven if we’re not willing to forgive other people. But there is also a prescriptive dimension to his teaching, because the Jesus movement is at its heart a ministry about forgiveness. We can’t be part of that movement if we’re not working on forgiveness on a pretty extravagant level.

And if we decide not to forgive someone else, what does that say about us?

It says that we claim to know more about human relationships than God does. Or maybe that we have higher standards than God does. Or maybe that we are a better judge than God is. Or maybe we think that the injuries we’ve experienced are more egregious than what God experienced, the one who went to the cross. If the God of creation is willing to forgive us, for things done and left undone, in thought, word and deed, how can we withhold forgiveness?

It suggests that our own experience of forgiveness has had limited impact on us. In the gospel of Luke, Jesus notes the difference between someone who had been forgiven a great deal, and someone who had been forgiven less. (Luke 7:26-50) It becomes a matter of the heart, as we are deeply moved with love when we really embrace the amazing grace that we are forgiven, accepted, loved.

It ignores the fact that without forgiveness, relationships will remain unresolved, and probably broken. The withholding of forgiveness gets us stuck. It blocks a path forward. A refusal to forgive may indicate that we’re uninterested in moving forward. Indeed, it focuses our energies on the past. It may suggest that we’ve grown comfortable or familiar with our resentments. Maybe we even treasure them. The devil we know and all that.

The Jesus movement is at its heart a ministry about forgiveness, beginning with the news that we have been forgiven. It’s not about perfection. Just take a look at the disciples. Our participation in the Jesus movement depends on our ability to hear Jesus say to us, with arms stretched out on the hard wood of the cross: Forgive them for they don’t know what they are doing.

In church, before we come forward to receive bread and wine, we confess our sins, including our lack of love for neighbor as self. We can move forward in relationship, in communion, because forgiveness has been declared. In baptism, we find the promise that when we mess up, there is always a way to repent and return to the Lord. There’s always a way to come back. We can be part of opening that way for others. And really, if God opens the door for us to find our way back, where do we get off shutting the door on those who stand in need of our forgiveness?

Will God fail to forgive us if we don’t forgive others? Jesus seems to say that. That’s a hard one for me to wrap my mind around, especially when some injuries to people are so profound and traumatic.

So this Monday morning I’ll have to trust that God will do what is right, and just, and loving. Meanwhile, what is clear to me is that as a follower, a student, a disciple of Jesus, I need to work on the most expansive vision of forgiveness I can muster. Deep down, I know that on the occasions when I’ve been able to do that, I feel freer.

-Jay Sidebotham

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