Enough already

Years ago, I read a story in the New Yorker, a poem actually, about an exchange between Kurt Vonnegut and Joseph Heller. I may not get all the details right but here’s the gist of their conversation. They were attending a cocktail party at the home of a rich, young investment banker on the end of Long Island. At the party, Mr. Vonnegut leaned over to Mr. Heller and asked something like this: “How does it make you feel to know that this young man made more money last week than you made from your novel, Catch-22?” Mr. Heller responded: “I have something this young man will never have.” “What’s that?” Mr. Vonnegut responded. Mr. Heller: “The knowledge that I have enough.”

We read Psalm 23 in church yesterday, on what has come to be known as Good Shepherd Sunday. It’s included above. The version from the Book of Common Prayer may vary slightly from the version most people know. That’s a good thing, as it allows us to hear this well-known psalm anew.

There’s much we can focus on in this psalm. What caught my eye anew this week was the first verse, which reads: The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not be in want. In other words, the Lord is my shepherd and what I have is enough. It echoes the line in the Lord’s Prayer which asks for our daily bread. Not an overabundance, but bread that is sufficient for this day, the knowledge that it will be enough. The pastoral power of this psalm may come from the fact that in much of life, we battle a sense that whatever we have is simply not enough.

How do we come to a place in our lives where we sense that we have had a sufficiency, a gracious plenty?

It begins with an attitude of gratitude focusing on all good gifts around us, instead of focusing on what we might be missing. That grateful heart opens the doorway to contentment, which brings to mind the counsel of St. Paul as he wrote the beloved Philippian church. He spoke about his own sense of contentment, which I could imagine was a challenge for him: “I have learned to be content with whatever I have.  I know what it is to have little, and I know what it is to have plenty. In any and all circumstances I have learned the secret of being well-fed and of going hungry, of having plenty and of being in need. I can do all things through him who strengthens me.” (Philippians 4:11-13) In another letter to his protégé, Timothy, he writes: “There is great gain in godliness combined with contentment.” (I Timothy 6:6).

A call for contentment can be complicated in a world marked by deprivation and gross income inequality. The persistent biblical call to work for justice and peace trumps any message of stay in your place. It’s not a message of passivity or helplessness.

But in a culture stricken with affluenza, symptoms being the nagging sense that whatever we have is never enough, an attitude of gratitude leads to contentment which leads us to notice that we have what we need. As the hymn reminds us: All I have needed thy hand has provided. Great is thy faithfulness.

Where do you need to work on contentment in your life? Where does covetousness threaten contentment? And where do you need to embrace holy restlessness, an unwillingness to settle? As you embrace that restlessness, at the same time, remember all that you have been given, with a grateful heart. Remember that the world will tell you it’s never enough. Remember that you have a good shepherd.

-Jay Sidebotham

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Write your own Magnificat

What would you say about the greatness of God? What would be your version of the Magnificat?

Today, in a bit of calendar juggling, we celebrate the Feast of the Annunciation, the day that the angel announces to Mary that she was going to have a baby, the Son of God. The child will be called Jesus, because he will save people. The name means “God saves.” The feast is usually celebrated on March 25, which was the beginning of Holy Week this year. The church therefore transferred the feast until after the first week of Easter is over. So here we are.

Mary models a way to respond to a call from God. In many of the call stories in the Bible, the person receiving the call acts like the call was a wrong number. Moses said that he was not a good public speaker. Isaiah said he was a person of unclean lips. Jeremiah said he was just a kid. Peter told Jesus to depart from him because Peter thought himself unworthy to be called a disciple, to be near Jesus.

And along comes Mary, who does her share of wondering about how this all could be. Reasonable. But then she provides the model for us when we hear God’s call. She says: Here am I, the servant of the Lord; let it be with me according to your word.

Shortly after she gives her okay, as she visits her cousin Elizabeth, she breaks into song, the Magnificat, which proclaims the greatness of the Lord. That song is a kind of riff on the Song of Hannah, a character in the Hebrew Scriptures, who also breaks into song at the news of the coming birth of a child. Mary’s song also sounds a lot like the psalm printed in the column on the left, which is why that psalm is selected for this day.

It’s doubtful that any of us will receive a call from God as consequential as the call that came to Moses or Mary. But each one of us has a vocation. On a daily basis, we need to decide how we RSVP to God’s invitation to us, an invitation to be part of the Jesus movement, part of the saving, healing work God intends to accomplish in the world. How will we say yes?

A part of the answer, so fitting in this season of Easter, is to proclaim the greatness of God, to recognize the amazing grace that God calls each one of us to be part of the work of salvation.

Take time on this day in the Easter season to reflect on the greatness of God. Sing that old hymn, “How great thou art.” Give praise and thanks for God’s great wonders and plans for us (Psalm 40:5). And let that proclamation of God’s greatness, your own personal Magnificat, set the stage for doing God’s work in the world.

Join Mary in saying: Here am I, the servant of the Lord; let it be with me according to your word.

-Jay Sidebotham

Asking for directions

I was reflecting on the different ways, over the course of my life, that I would get directions. Younger readers may not believe that glove compartments were crammed with maps and atlases, telling us where to go. At some point, mapquest emerged, providing a print out of where to turn right and where to turn left. That felt like great breakthrough. Now someone talks to you, telling you that in ten miles you need to take an exit. For those of us of a certain age, such guidance would have been unthinkable in earlier days. But however it comes to us, we all need direction in life.

We’ve completed the journey through the season of Lent. We’ve walked the way of the cross through Holy Week. Yesterday we arrived at the Feast of the Resurrection. The celebration of Easter may feel like we’ve reached a destination. Phew. But the journey continues, as we begin making our way through the season of Easter, 50 days that help us reflect on the path ahead.

For this Monday in Easter Week, we read from Psalm 16 with a promise (See the psalm above) Speaking of the Holy One, the psalmist says: You will show me the path of life. In your presence there is fullness of joy. All of which is to repeat that the spiritual journey continues. There’s always more. And so we need guidance along the way. Where will we find the guidance for next steps?

There are a variety of ways we find our way spiritually. For all of us, there are probably wrong turns that we make. The news of resurrection is that a living Christ provides the guidance we need. In coming days, we’ll read from Jesus’ last words to his disciples in the Gospel of John. We’ll see how he prepares them for the time when they don’t see him in person. He says that the Holy Spirit will come and guide them into all truth.

We claim such guidance is still available for us. It’s one of the things we celebrate in the Easter season as we make our way towards Pentecost when the Spirit comes to the church with that promised direction. I’m wondering if you’ve had the sense of the Spirit guiding you along the way.

Guidance for the spiritual journey can come in many ways. A good starting place is simply to do some listening, to set aside time in the rhythm of your life to sit in silence.

I’ve tried over the years to listen with the ear of my heart, as St. Benedict suggested. What’s your gut say? What brings you joy? What just doesn’t feel right? Frederick Buechner said that the place where God calls you is the place where the world’s deep hunger and your own deep gladness intersect. So we listen with our hearts.

That in turn means that one of the ways we are guided is by service to the world’s needs. Those needs are all around us, appearing in great variety. Clarity of direction can come as we get outside ourselves, seeking and serving Christ in all persons.

In my own journey, I find guidance in connection with scripture. There are plenty of passages I don’t quite get. Some I don’t like. But repeatedly, I find that these ancient words speak to my circumstances and provide a pathway forward.

God places us in community so that we can bounce ideas off each other and get direction. In communities where there are deep connection, we can find people who can speak the truth in love to us. (If you’re looking for a good book on discernment, consider getting a copy of Listening Hearts.)

And of course, we can return to a basic tool of discernment offered by Presiding Bishop Michael Curry who said that if it’s not about love, it’s not about God.

In this beautiful psalm, we find a promise that we will be guided in the way of life. May God give us grace in this week, in this Easter season and beyond to claim that promise for our own spiritual journeys. Happy Easter. And traveling mercies.

-Jay Sidebotham

Well of life

Where are you finding strength these days? What resources keep you going? Does it ever feel like you’ve run out of gas, that you’ve come upon a dead end, that your well has gone dry?

As we begin Holy Week, I want to focus on the psalm selected for this Monday in Holy Week, which is included above. It provides beautiful context for the ways that we make our way not only through this week, but also through all of life with all of its challenges. The psalm speaks of the lovingkindness of God, love from which we can never be separated. That love is at the heart of Holy Week, which is to say that it is at the heart of our faith. Here’s the verse from this particular psalm that always catches my attention:

For with you is the well of life, and in your light we see light.

Going back to the questions raised in the opening paragraph: Is it well with your well? A friend who was senior pastor of a large non-denominational church told me that from time his senior lay leadership would come to him with this question: Is it well with your soul? Much has been written about clergy burn-out, about how to keep going in ministry. I know that challenge, yet I don’t need to tell you that that dynamic is in no way limited to clergy. Where do we go to discover the well of life when it feels like our own well has run dry? Maybe you feel like that this Monday morning.

The verse about the well of life makes me think about the story of Jesus meeting the woman at the well (John 4). One could imagine that the woman Jesus met there was on her last nerve, at the end of her rope. Five marriages hadn’t worked out. Who knows about the current relationship? She came to the well at an hour when nobody else would be around, suggesting she was being ostracized. Add to that her awareness of the discrimination a good Jew like Jesus might show her. Where was she finding the resources to move forward?

Jesus and this woman get talking about water, about resources for life, about where to access those resources. It’s about a whole lot more than H2O. The woman comes to ask for living water, drawn from a well that will make it well with her soul. Jesus promises and provides that resource.

We come to Holy Week with the same request. How can we obtain life-giving resources when our well has gone dry? Where can we find living water? Where can we find the well of life? Allow this Holy Week to answer those questions. Pray the collect for today which asks that as we walk the way of the cross today, we will find it be the way of life and peace (You can find this collect on p. 220 of the Prayer Book). In the end, as the verse from the psalm says, we will see light. That is our hope for this week, the hope for all of our weeks.

-Jay Sidebotham

Spring Training

A wise priest I admire, who also happens to be a baseball nut, has compared the season of Lent to Spring training. With that in mind, as we await opening day, a word from Francis T. Vincent, Jr., former Major League Baseball Commissioner:

“Baseball teaches us, or has taught most of us, how to deal with failure. We learn at a very young age that failure is the norm in baseball and, precisely because we have failed, we hold in high regard those who fail less often—those who hit safely in one out of three chances and become star players (.333 average), I also find it fascinating that baseball, alone in sport, considers errors to be part of the game, part of its rigorous truth.”

Along with baseball, our Christian faith embraces that rigorous truth. We see it in Psalm 51, a portion of which was read in church yesterday and is included above. The psalm surfaces early and often in the season of Lent, attributed to King David. Tradition holds that it was written to express his remorse over failures, egregious sins of adultery and murder, after he was called out by the prophet Nathan. To put it mildly, he did not bat 1000.

I’m not sure how one knows that David is the author. I don’t worry about that, because it points to something true about all of us. We each have occasions when we have messed up. We all stand in vital need of opportunity to start over. That is one of the things that I find compelling about the Christian message. Our faith tells us that there is always opportunity to begin again. Sometimes folks talk about it as being born again. The gospel holds the promise of renewal, a fine thing to think about in the season of Spring.

I find this hopeful dynamic in the baptismal covenant when we promise to persevere in the resistance of evil, affirming that whenever we fall into sin, we can repent and return to the Lord. The operative word in that promise is whenever. It doesn’t say if ever. Our falling short will happen as surely as the sun comes up in the morning. Rigorous truth. The good news is that there is always a way to come back. Failure does not define us. It does not limit us. It does not end our story. We bless the Lord who forgives all our sins. God’s mercy endures forever.

Here’s the verse from Psalm 51 that I find myself rehearsing over and over:

Create in me a clean heart, renew a right spirit within me.

The verse is really a prayer, asking God to go to work in us, making a clean heart. That is God’s work, not our own. At the same time, Lent is billed as a season for self-examination. That kind of spiritual audit has revealed that there’s a lot in my own heart that doesn’t feel particularly clean. I’m not inclined to share (or over-share) on the particulars, but trust me, there’s a lot there. And I find a need for a renewal of a right spirit. The prospect of renewal means that I can come back to a healthier place. I may be a miserable offender, but that’s not the bottom line on who I am. That is by no means the end of my story. God can turn that around. I think all that’s needed from me is openness to that good work.

We’re coming to the conclusion of the season of Lent. In these last days, before we come to Holy Week, prepare for this most extraordinary week by offering the prayer for a clean heart, a renewed spirit. I suspect that there is some way in which every one of us needs that restorative, renewing work. And with that in mind, we can get ready to play ball, spiritually speaking.

-Jay Sidebotham

Interested in RenewalWorks for your parish? Learn more about how RenewalWorks works!

RenewalWorks: Helping churches focus on spiritual growth

RenewalWorks is about re-orienting your parish around spiritual growth. And by spiritual growth – we mean growing in love of God and neighbor.

Churches can launch as part of a fall or spring cohort or go on their own schedule.  Sign up now!!

Learn more in our digital brochure.

What does it cost to say thanks?

A sacrifice of thanksgiving. A funny phrase when you think about it. It not only appeared in the psalm read yesterday in church (see verse 22 above), but also comes up in a bunch of other places in the psalter. Each time it surfaces, it suggests that this is the kind of sacrifice God is interested in. But how does it square with your associations with sacrifice?

We usually think of sacrifice as something we give up, something we lose, often accompanied by pain and cost. It’s often something that gets put to death, marking the end of some kind of liveliness. It can be violent. But it doesn’t sound like that’s the kind of sacrifice God desires.

In what sense is the offering of thanksgiving a sacrifice? In some ways, an offering of thanksgiving does mark the putting to death of something, i.e, the illusion that we are in control, that what we have comes to us the old fashioned way. We earned it. It’s ours, thank you very much.

When we offer the sacrifice of thanksgiving, we are putting aside the mythology of self-sufficiency, the pride of accomplishment, the illusion of independence. When we offer the sacrifice of thanksgiving, we are remembering the good news that all is gift. All is grace.

St. Paul talked about sacrifice in his letter to the Romans when he said we have been buried with Christ in baptism into death so that just as Christ was raised from the dead by the glory of the Father, so too we might walk in newness of life. (Romans 6.4) In the sacrifice of thanksgiving, we put to death a way of thinking focused on the self.

For me, the beautiful thing about the language of the sacrifice of thanksgiving is that it is not ultimately about something dying, something being killed, something ending. It is about a pathway to new life. In the eucharist (Rite I, p. 342 in the Prayer Book, Rite II, p. 363), we offer a sacrifice of praise and thanksgiving, presenting ourselves, our souls and bodies a living sacrifice, which is our reasonable service. Fed by that sacrifice, we move forward into the world with strength and courage, with gladness and singleness of heart.

A wise bishop offered some advice when I was at a fork in the road. She said that in the decisions we make, in the discernment we do, there is always cost and promise. There is cost in a sacrifice of thanksgiving, the surrender of the notion that the solar system is me-centric. But there is also promise, because our grateful offering of sacrifice to God, our worship, is a living thing, bringing us new life.

As we continue through the season of Lent, consider what it might mean to offer the sacrifice of thanksgiving in your own life, in your daily routine. What are you giving up in order to say thanks? What new life is in store for you as you nurture an attitude of gratitude?

-Jay Sidebotham

Interested in RenewalWorks for your parish? Learn more about how RenewalWorks works!

RenewalWorks: Helping churches focus on spiritual growth

RenewalWorks is about re-orienting your parish around spiritual growth. And by spiritual growth – we mean growing in love of God and neighbor.

Churches can launch as part of a fall or spring cohort or go on their own schedule.  Sign up now!!

Learn more in our digital brochure.

What’s on your mind?

This Lent, I’ve been reflecting on the Litany of Penitence, which gets read once a year on Ash Wednesday (p. 267 in the Book of Common Prayer, if you want to have a look). I confess that in the past, I’ve not paid a whole lot of attention to it. This year, it has become a way to focus my Lenten intentions.

One of the phrases that has caught my eye is a confession that we have not had the mind of Christ. I’ve been thinking about what it means to have the mind of Christ, and how we might get there.

On a related note, you’ll often hear a preacher begin a sermon with the last verse from the psalm printed above, a glorious psalm heard yesterday in church. The psalm begins with the recognition that all of nature points to the glory of God. It goes on to talk about the power of God’s teaching (the law of the Lord) to renew our spirit. It ends with prayers for the health of our inner life, one of the important themes of Lent.

In its final verse, the psalmist prayers that the words of our mouth and meditations of the heart be acceptable in God’s sight. I want to focus on the meditations of the heart, because I suspect that they have something to do with the mind of Christ. I’ve become fairly adept at watching what I say, filtering, screening. But if some of the things that go through my head were projected on a screen, I’d be in trouble.

So we join the psalmist in praying that we be kept from presumptuous (or willful) sins, that the secrets of our heart be cleansed. We pray that those things won’t get dominion over us. We pray that our meditations be acceptable in God’s sight.

Jesus had this to say about our inner life: What comes out of the mouth proceeds from the heart, and this is what defiles. For out of the heart come evil intentions, murder, adultery, sexual immorality, theft, false witness, slander. These are what defile a person, but to eat with unwashed hands does not defile. (Matthew 15:18-20) Earlier in Matthew’s gospel, Jesus tells disciples: Where your treasure is, there will your heart be also (another bit read on Ash Wednesday). It seems that for Jesus, it’s a matter of the heart, the inner life.

St. Paul wrote about the discipline of attending to the inner life in his letter to the Philippians: Finally, brothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is pleasing, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence and if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things. (Philippians 4.8) Apparently, we are granted agency in what goes through our head.

In the second chapter of that letter, Paul tells us what the mind of Christ is all about. He says: Let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus who, though he existed in the form of God, did not regard equality with God as something to be grasped, but emptied himself, taking the form of a slave, assuming human likeness. And being found in appearance as a human, he humbled himself and became obedient to the point of death—even death on a cross. (Philippians 2:5-8)

If you’ve got a monkey mind like me, with all kinds of random (and unsavory) thoughts flashing through all the time, join me in praying this Lent for the mind of Christ. Join in confession that it is not fully realized yet in our experience. And when monkey mind seems to have dominion over us, choose to turn your thoughts to the wisdom of St. Paul, who invites us to have the mind of Christ.

-Jay Sidebotham

Interested in RenewalWorks for your parish? Learn more about how RenewalWorks works!

RenewalWorks: Helping churches focus on spiritual growth

RenewalWorks is about re-orienting your parish around spiritual growth. And by spiritual growth – we mean growing in love of God and neighbor.

Churches can launch as part of a fall or spring cohort or go on their own schedule.  Sign up now!!

Learn more in our digital brochure.

APB: Calling the liturgical police

Maybe Psalm 23 is the best known of the 150 psalms. But Psalm 22 may be a close second. The first 21 verses are read in Holy Week, especially on Good Friday, as the psalm begins with the poignant, painful cry: My God, my God, why have you forsaken me? Those words are repeated by Jesus on the cross. They suggest one of the deepest wounds of Calvary, which is that Jesus senses abandonment by his father. When Jesus offers his question from the cross, it’s been regarded as shorthand for the rest of the psalm which vividly describes the pain of that crucial moment.

When this psalm appears in our liturgy, we usually just read the first 21 verses, again, a picture of suffering and abandonment. But consider the last part of the psalm, heard yesterday in church, included above. After 21 verses of grim news, rightly reflecting the grimness that life can serve up, the tone shifts. These verses suggest that even in the face of devastating loss, there is cause for praise, cause for hope.

Since I’m writing this on a Sunday in Lent, I’m going to take a Sunday break from Lenten observance and let loose a few hallelujahs. If you or the liturgical police take offense, know that I only do so based on the wisdom of spiritual writers (heroes) who know a lot more about the life of the spirit than I do.

I’m talking about Anne Lamott, who wrote a book called Hallelujah Anyway: Rediscovering Mercy. In her book, she notes the ancient Chinese practice of embellishing the cracked parts of valued possessions with gold leaf. According to Lamott: “We dishonor it if we pretend that it hadn’t gotten broken. It says: We value this enough to repair it. So it is not denial or a cover-up. It is the opposite, an adornment of the break with gold leaf, which draws the cracks into greater prominence. The gold leaf becomes part of its beauty. That leads her to hallelujah, because “in spite of it all, there is love, there is singing, nature, laughing, mercy.”

I’m talking about Joan Chittister and Rowan Williams, who collaborated on a book called Uncommon Gratitude: Alleluia For All That Is. Here’s some wisdom from Sister Joan: “Life itself is an exercise in learning to sing “alleluia” here in order to recognize the face of God hidden in the recesses of time. To deal with the meaning of “alleluia” in life means to deal with moments that do not feel like ‘alleluia moments’ at all.”

I’m talking about Henri Nouwen, who wrote an article entitled “All is Grace” for the journal Weavings in 1992. In that article, he says that “gratitude as the gospel speaks of it embraces all of life: the good and the bad, the joyful and the painful, the holy and the not so holy…The cross is the main symbol of our faith and it invites us to find hope where we see pain…The call to be grateful is a call to trust that every moment of our life can be claimed as the way of the cross that leads us to new life.”

Maybe that’s what St. Paul was after when he said to give thanks in all things (I Thessalonians 5.18).

We’re in the thick of Lent. Maybe that corresponds to a sense of wilderness, even forsakenness in your own life. I suspect that sense comes to each one of us at some time. Is there a way to offer praise anyway?

Read all of Psalm 22 today, as a Lenten practice. Maybe when Jesus asked his question from the cross, shorthand for Psalm 22, he was including the last portion as well, glimpsing with praise the possibility of a new life, a new beginning which we’ll observe on Easter. Maybe he knew what Anne Lamott says in her book: “God makes a way out of no way.”

-Jay Sidebotham

Interested in RenewalWorks for your parish? Learn more about how RenewalWorks works!

RenewalWorks: Helping churches focus on spiritual growth

RenewalWorks is about re-orienting your parish around spiritual growth. And by spiritual growth – we mean growing in love of God and neighbor.

Churches can launch as part of a fall or spring cohort or go on their own schedule.  Sign up now!!

Learn more in our digital brochure.

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