Fear not

On Christmas, it was my joy and delight to preach about Peanuts.

I talked about a moment in the animated classic, A Charlie Brown Christmas, 50 years old this year. In that film, when asked about the meaning of Christmas, Linus in full lisp recites the story as told by St. Luke. He moves to spot-lit center stage and launches into the gospel many of us heard at Christmas services. When he comes to the part where angels appear to the shepherds and, in the artful phrasing of King James, the shepherds are sore afraid, something interesting happens.

Linus drops his blanket. That doesn’t happen often in Schulz’s work. Maybe never, apart from this one moment. Linus soon picks the blanket up again, but for that moment, the proclamation of good news gave freedom from his fears. And since Charles Schulz was not only gifted cartoonist but also insightful theologian, it’s worth paying attention to that detail. In my office/studio, I have framed a quote offered by Charles Schulz, who said: “Cartooning is preaching. And I think we have a right to do some preaching. I hate shallow humor. I hate shallow religious humor. I hate shallowness of any kind.”

I may be straining for homiletic point, but the timing of the dropping of the blanket is key, and anything but shallow. The announcement of the good news of Christmas gives a way to counter fears, allowing for the release of those things we use to fend off fears, our own versions of Linus’ security blanket.

Perhaps more than in other years, the message of Christmas seems to speak to the fears we bring, the hunger for security. Mindful of this season marked by heightened anxiety, I’ve been humming the Advent hymn because of this text:

So when next he comes with glory and the world is wrapped in fear, may he with his mercy shield us and with words of love draw near. (Hark a thrilling voice is sounding, stanza 3).

These days, our world seems pretty well wrapped in fears, with the help of 24/7 news cycle and political candidates making points by scaring us and of course that reminder every time we fly to take off our shoes lest someone blow up the plane with their loafers. Fear is in the air.

The good news of Christmas, as so memorably recited by Linus, is that love breaks into that fearful atmosphere, in keeping with the New Testament affirmation that perfect love casts out fear. So as the new year begins, pay attention to the fears wrapped around you. They may be global concerns. Fear of the future. Fear for safety. Fears that the familiar fades away. They may have a more individual character. Fear that we won’t measure up. Fear that relationships won’t survive. Fear that there won’t be enough. Pay attention to the security blankets we count on. What are you holding onto to help you navigate the fears? Is it up to the task?

And then celebrate the good news that love came down at Christmas, as Christine Rossetti wrote in the poem below. Experiment with this premise, this promise that love casts out fear.

And since Christmas is a season and not just one day, let me extend to readers of this weekly message my prayers, my hopes for a merry Christmas, for joy in this season and blessings in the coming year.

-Jay Sidebotham

It always strikes me, as December 21 rolls around, that doubting Thomas crashes Christmas. His feast day turns up, you guessed it, today. It transports us from holiday preparation, from hopeful Advent observance, to the days after Jesus died, when rumors of resurrection were surfacing, and disciples were locked behind closed doors, for fear of the authorities.

I’m not enough of a scholar to know exactly why his feast day ended up on this day. But one thing it tells me is that fear and doubt are part of the biblical record, from beginning to end. It’s true of the Christmas story, as we’re told shepherds were terrified, or as the King James Version so artfully puts it, they were sore afraid. Angels repeat the message to Joseph and Mary, in separate encounters: “Be not afraid.” Mary wonders: “How can this be?’ She ponders it all in her heart, which makes me imagine that she must have had doubts along the way.

And then Thomas helicopters in, you know, the one who goes down in history as the one who doubts. Skeptic, cynic, loser. That doesn’t always strike me as 100% fair. I imagine that he might well be an Episcopalian if he were around today. He is not alone, for the gospels tell us that fear and doubt surfaced in many of the appearances of Jesus after he was resurrected.

Maybe fear and doubt are part of your story. Fear is in the air, energizing political campaigns as 24/7 news services fuel that fire. This former ad guy will tell you that fear is one of the great motivators. (One of the campaigns I worked on had this tagline: You can pay me now or you can pay me later.)

And there is plenty of reason to doubt. In my own journey, doubts have many sources. It’s just too good to be true. I’ve been disappointed too many times. It doesn’t make sense. If God is in charge of the universe, how can this happen? If God is working through religious people, why isn’t the world a better place? Why do so many religious people of all traditions often seem so mean?

I’m grateful to have found my way to the Episcopal Church, as our Presiding Bishop describes it, a part of the Jesus movement. This denomination has a special vocation to celebrate questions, to welcome skeptics, to work it through. That has been a huge gift in my own spiritual journey, as I’ve resonated with what folks have said about doubt. For instance:

Frederick Buechner called doubt the “ants in the pants of faith.”

Paul Tillich noted that doubt is “not the opposite of faith, it is an element of faith.”

Emily Dickinson said: “We both believe and disbelieve a hundred times an hour, which keeps believing nimble.”

But doubt is not destination. It is discovery, integral to nimble faith. The fear and doubt the shepherds knew led them to worship at the manger. The fear and doubt Thomas knew led him to see Jesus in a new way, to offer one of the great affirmations in the gospels as he addresses Jesus as “My Lord and my God.”

Our church calendar invites us to recognize fear and doubt as part of the journey. No wonder. How amazing that the word would become flesh and dwell among us! Whatever fears and doubts you bring to this day, whatever their source, see them as a possibility for discovery, for learning, for new life, as we await the arrival of the one called Immanuel, which means “God with us”, with us in our fears and doubts.

-Jay Sidebotham

Thomas (who was called the Twin), one of the twelve, was not with the other disciples when Jesus came. So the other disciples told him, “We have seen the Lord.” But he said to them, “Unless I see the mark of the nails in his hands, and put my finger in the mark of the nails and my hand in his side, I will not believe.”

A week later his disciples were again in the house, and Thomas was with them. Although the doors were shut, Jesus came and stood among them and said, “Peace be with you.” Then he said to Thomas, “Put your finger here and see my hands. Reach out your hand and put it in my side. Do not doubt but believe.” Thomas answered him, “My Lord and my God!” Jesus said to him, “Have you believed because you have seen me? Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe.”

John 20:24-29

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

“We don’t always do what we always do.”

That’s what one of my favorite church musicians said about the liturgy, and about life in the church generally. I appreciated her nod to flexibility in an admittedly traditional context. I sense she was listening to the Spirit, not locked into some rigid vision.

Her comment came to mind when I eavesdropped on the sermon offered by John the Baptist to that crowd in the wilderness, a sermon we read in church yesterday. It’s the crowd he so pastorally labeled a brood of vipers. (I’ve not yet tried that in preaching, though there was occasional temptation. An excerpt from that sermon is below.) I consider his sermon exemplary, because at its conclusion, the crowd asked what they were supposed to do in response. I think a sermon should do that. It’s a wonder they listened to him at all. Yet his truth-telling helped them hear a call to live life differently. It’s an ancient example of what I call the “so-what factor.”

So let’s compare and contrast what John said to what Jesus sometimes said to followers. Jesus told Peter and John to leave their fishing nets and follow him. Give it all up. Matthew got up from his tax collector table and left it all behind to follow Jesus. Jesus told the rich young ruler to sell all his possessions and follow him. John the Baptist didn’t say that. If I put myself in John the Baptist’s shoes, I’d probably tell tax collectors that they needed to quit loathsome, corrupt jobs and do something more holy. Instead John tells them to stay put and transform the place where they are. I’d probably tell Roman soldiers, instruments of oppression, to quit their posts. Instead, John tells them to bring integrity to the place they serve, to be content with what they have. In a certain way, that sounds more spiritually challenging than if he simply told them to quit.

And if you don’t identify this morning with sleazy tax collectors or oppressive soldiers, there’s something in John’s homily for everyone. He tells the crowd to share what they have, something everyone can do, right where they are. His words were echoed by St. Ambrose in the 4th century who said: If you have two shirts in your closet, one belongs to you and the other belongs to the man with no shirt.

Three points here.

First, the call that we hear is not cookie-cutter. It may not be the same for everyone. We may not all be asked to do the same thing as someone else, or the same thing we’ve done in the past. We may not be all asked to make the same sacrifices, to follow the same path. We don’t always do what we always do.

Second, the call that we hear may invite us to spiritual growth right where we are. The call may come to a place that is tough to redeem, a place that is ethically complicated, an office with snarly politics, a home with broken relationships, a community divided by injustice. Our faith tells us that God’s spirit is present in all those places, able to transform, redeem the places in which we live and work. (Not that I always act like I believe that is true, but pretty soon we’ll get to hear Mary say that with God all things are possible.)

Third, we all don’t have to do everything. But we all can do something to help welcome Jesus into our world, to make a difference. What then shall we do this week?

As Advent winds up, place yourself in the crowd, as you hear John announce that Jesus is on the way. Join that crowd in asking about the so-what factor. It may well be a call to move, to grow, to deepen, to serve. It might call you to some totally new place. And it may also mean that you live out that call right where you are, which is often more challenging, and which can begin right now, in some new way this Monday morning.

-Jay Sidebotham

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

Imagine

Several firsts for me this past weekend. I was invited by a friend and colleague, Tracey Lind, to teach and preach at the cathedral in Cleveland, where she ably and artfully serves as Dean. I’ve known of her courageous and creative work for years, in Cleveland and other places, I was pleased and honored to see the place in action for the first time, a vibrant, diverse, inclusive community. In my experience, church isn’t always like that.

Another first. At 9am, I preached at a service with a colorful, wide-ranging musical palette. Yesterday was Beatle’s Mass. “Yellow Submarine” was not on the play list. “Help” perhaps should have been. But with the help of gifted musicians, we explored the liturgical and theological connections of songs like “Let it be” and “All you need is love.” During communion, music leaders and congregation sang “Imagine.” Given what I’ve read in the news of late, it was no wonder that John Lennon’s song brought tears to eyes, lumps in the throat, and wonderment about what a world of fulfilled imagination would look like.

I recalled the many times I’ve walked by the spot in New York where John Lennon’s life suddenly ended, yet another victim of senseless gun violence. I imagined what other songs might have come from his imagination had he been shielded from such deadly intention. I thought about the plaque in the pavement near his apartment, where the single word “Imagine” is embedded, where people make pilgrimage and keep vigil, sing songs, leave flowers and photos and notes, at all times of day.

In that song, John Lennon imagines a world that I might imagine differently. But I was struck with how his call to imagination was really a prayer (though I’m guessing his vision of prayer and God and theology was different than mine would be). In church, I was struck with how potent this song was for these people I didn’t know, how for the people who came forward for communion, there seemed to be a desire for a “better country” as the New Testament describes it (see the column on the left). I’d invite you to think this Monday morning about what you would imagine.

You see, this season of Advent is really about imagination, closely related to hope, closely related to prayer. The contemplation, the intentional quiet, the prayer during the weeks before Christmas are meant to help us imagine hope for a better world marked by peace and generosity. We need that. We have to grab it with intention.

Back to Cleveland. In the Beatle’s Mass, we also sang “Here comes the sun.” Because I’m such a cheesy punster, I thought about how this season anticipates the dawning of a new light with the birth of that son of Joseph and Mary: “Here comes the Son.” For those who feel called to follow Jesus, that journey includes imagination of a world marked by his grace, forgiveness, peace, welcome, inclusion. On this day (Dec. 7), a day that will live in infamy as we remember violence that expanded the war in 1941, take time to imagine something different, something more, something better. As you prepare for Christmas, imagine a new day, a new way: for yourself, your household, your community, our world. Let the imagination become a hope and in turn become a prayer, offered not only with your lips but with your life.

-Jay Sidebotham

A reading from the New Testament letter to the Hebrews, chapter 11:

All of these died in faith without having received the promises, but from a distance they saw and greeted them. They confessed that they were strangers and foreigners on the earth, for people who speak in this way make it clear that they are seeking a homeland. If they had been thinking of the land that they had left behind, they would have had opportunity to return. But as it is, they desire a better country, that is, a heavenly one. Therefore God is not ashamed to be called their God; indeed, he has prepared a city for them.

Hail! the heav’n born Prince of peace!
Hail! the Son of Righteousness!
Light and life to all he brings,
Risen with healing in his wings.

Mild he lays his glory by,
Born that man no more may die:
Born to raise the sons of earth,
Born to give them second birth.

Hark! the herald angels sing,
“Glory to the newborn King!”

Contact:

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

Not so great expectations

In conversations about spiritual growth, how it happens, what gets in its way, here’s one of the challenges I’ve run across. It’s the absence of an expectation that such growth could or would or should happen. I’ve heard people say: “I don’t expect anything to happen at church.’ Maybe it’s complacency or fatigue. Maybe it’s discouragement or disillusionment, insult or injury. Maybe it’s a matter of being busy with other stuff. Maybe the church these days offers what people don’t want, poses questions people aren’t asking. For many reasons, I’m finding many people expect little from church. I’m not sure why. When I inquire about the “so-what” factor, the intersection of faith and every day life, I often am met with reverential Episcopal silence.

Elizabeth Drescher is a scholar who focuses on shifting patterns in religious affiliation. Her latest book, which comes out in March, is entitled Choosing Our Religion: The Spiritual Life of America’s Nones, which explores spiritual practices among America’s fast-growing religious demographic: the religiously unaffiliated. As I thought about expectations, I recalled an interview Dr. Drescher gave in which she spoke about why Roman Catholics, Evangelicals and Mainline congregants were leaving their churches. I was particularly interested in what she said about Mainline folks since Episcopalians fall in that category.

For Mainline Protestants, we know that the data tells us that about 55 percent now of young people raised Episcopalian will leave the church as adults. About 20 percent of those will become “Nones.” For Mainline Protestants, the theme is neither hurt nor anger, but a sense of ennui. They got it. They get that they’re supposed to be good to people, share what they have, do good in the world. If I had a nickel for how they love, love, love their youth group, or what a great time they had on their mission trips, I’d be a very wealthy woman. What tends to happen with Mainline Protestants is that they are deeply affirmed in early formation and then they “graduate” from church. And we let them have that model. One young woman told me, “I learned everything I needed to know there, I get it. I don’t need this in order to be a good person or in order to make sense of everyday life.” I hear this when I interview parents as well: “Our children will learn good values. Check. They’ve learned this, we can move on.”

In other words, there seems to be little expectation for a deeper life in the church, a deeper life with God, a greater love of God and neighbor. Absent such expectation, such hope, such sense of possibility, I wonder why one should bother. I’m both puzzled and troubled by that, since my own interest in life in the church is the hope that participation will make a difference in my life, will make me a more centered person, a less selfish person (a big task), which I believe will make a difference in the church, in the hopes that the life of the church will in some way make a difference in the world.

Advent is a season about waiting, quiet and contemplative for sure, a counter-cultural invitation to slow down. It is also a season to elevate expectation, out of the conviction that things might actually be different, that there is more to learn. Something is going to happen. Something big. Christ will show up. That advent, that arrival can happen in all kinds of ways. Scripture tells us that when it happens, we’re probably going to be surprised by it. But we’re meant to be looking for it.

So what are you waiting for this Advent? Do you have any expectation that life could be different, better, transformed? If you wish for that, is it at all possible that the church could be part of that process, or does the church impede the process? As the season of Advent begins (today is day two), invite God’s spirit to be at work in you, helping you grow, and where needed, helping you to change. Get ready for Jesus to show up. Expect it.

-Jay Sidebotham

It is well with my soul

Anxiety is running pretty high, assaulting on many fronts. Fear is fueled by war and rumor of war. Institutions of all sorts seem profoundly dysfunctional. Driving around town, I maxed out on the news and put in a CD (remember those) of old hymns, including the one with this refrain: It is well with my soul.

Written by Horatio Spafford, the hymn text was forged out of tragedy, beginning with the Chicago Fire, which ruined Spafford financially. His business interests were further hit by an economic downturn in 1873, at which time he planned to head to Europe with his family. In a last minute change, he sent the family ahead, staying behind to attend to business. While crossing the Atlantic, the ship sank. All four of Spafford’s daughters died. His wife Anna survived and sent him this telegram: “Saved alone.” Spafford soon traveled across the Atlantic to meet his wife. The ship passed by the exact place where his daughters had perished. As it did, he was inspired to write the hymn text, the first stanza appearing in the column on the left.

How do people navigate those waters? Where does inspiration come from, affirming that, despite circumstances, all will be well? We’re moving into the season of Advent, a season of hope and expectation. I’m reminded of what Jim Wallis said: Hope is believing in spite of the circumstances and watching the circumstances change. Have you ever known that to be true? Does your faith deepen hope, so that you can say with Julian of Norwich that all will be well?

In my own journey, my own struggle for soul-wellness, I’m grateful to have been supported by others in this call to wellness. One of my spiritual advisors, at moments when I battled toxic church behavior which threatened spiritual wellness, simply reminded me: “Turn toward the light.” He meant Jesus. (He even gave me a t-shirt with that saying printed on the front.) One friend would take me to lunch from time to time, simply to ask how I was doing, whether it was well with my soul. Another participated with me in a weekly bible study. The gathering always began with a circle of prayer. As we went around the circle asking for stuff, he would always say a prayer for me and my family.

I’m grateful for those over the years who have found ways to show and share concern for the state of my soul, for my walk with God, in ways that didn’t make me want to run or shut down (I’m good at both), in ways that felt genuine and kind. It meant a lot to me when brothers checked in. I invite you to think about who there is in your life, leader or follower, employer or employee, friend or relative who might benefit today, not from inquisition but from generous, sensitive inquiry into spiritual health and wellness.

Such inquiry in word, action, prayer is service (as long as you listen for the answer). It shifts focus from self to the other. It lifts us out of patterns shaped by ego, patterns shaped by our narrative as hero or victim.

It may be a word of gratitude. It may be letting someone know you said a prayer for them. It may be a blessing, wishing that person well.

There’s a lot of talk about wellness these days. So what do you think about wellness of the soul? How can our faith provide it for us? How can we help those around us to receive it?

– Jay Sidebotham

Contact:

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

Monday, November 16, 2015

The joy for our family ran deep. My son got married on Saturday to a remarkable young woman from a faithful family, surrounded by love and prayers of friends and relations who witnessed exchange of vows and pledged support for these two fine young people. There was a gracious plenty of feasting and dancing. It was one of the best weekends of my life. The whole thing filled me with hope for the future. The joy ran deep.

Alongside that stream of joy ran breaking news of a broken world, the human family one more time victim of violence, this time in a city my wife and I recently visited for our wedding anniversary. I heard the news as I walked into the wedding rehearsal. Joys and fears, sorrow and love, part of life at the same time. Perplexing stuff. How do we withstand when we can’t understand? How do we navigate such contradiction? Deny one or the other? Act as if one or the other is not real or pertinent? Stop watching the news? Give up hope? Hope for revenge?

Our tradition knows contradiction. When Mary is told that her child will be the savior, she was also told that a sword would pierce her heart. A few days after Christmas, we observe the feast of Holy Innocents, horrific violence visited on the powerless. These days, we read the story of Hanukah in the Daily Office: capricious cruelty of political and military power visited on the faithful, those who love God most deeply. In John’s gospel, Jesus’ hour of glory is his hour on the cross. Nothing new here. The Bible tells me so. But that doesn’t mean we have any greater clue how to respond.

What are people of faith to do? I don’t really know, but let me offer this thought. In our work with congregations, here’s one of the marks of spiritual vitality. They pastor the community. I love the phrase which researchers developed and which echoes Jesus’ charge to disciples. It suggests that the role of the faith community, and individuals in it, is to focus beyond self to pastor the community. That can mean hands-on service, like Habitat or Meals on Wheels or charitable giving. It can mean advocacy, lobbying with people in power for policies that move toward justice and peace. It can mean learning about what God is already up to in the neighborhood, perhaps much needed interfaith conversation. It can mean presence to those in need. It can mean prayer, in silence, in word, in action.

That ability to pastor the community, as individuals, and communities, comes from a place of grace and deep joy, allowing us to move beyond self to see self as part of the whole human family. And God knows, the human family needs pastoring. From a platform of grace, we pray for our broken world, in all the ways we pray.

This Monday morning, if you’re looking for a way to pray in the midst of things beyond understanding, try the prayer for the human family (Book of Common Prayer, p. 815). Precede that prayer with ten minutes of silent remembrance of those who died, in prayer for those who have been injured in body, mind, spirit, seeking comfort for those who mourn, seeking guidance for those who lead, in intercession for twisted hearts that give their own lives to inflict random violence and spread terror. Pray for enemies. Pray for the human family.

Maybe the Spirit will lead you to actions that build on those prayers. I don’t know what those might be. I’m baffled by the contradictions, constrained by a sense of powerlessness, which is why I commend prayer. Whatever the response may be for you this morning as you pray for the people of Paris, and for the whole human family, may all be done in the spirit of Jesus, who was never afraid to confront evil, but never did so in a spirit of revenge. May our life of prayer be offered in the spirit of Jesus who came to live among us, to give his life for us, so that joy might be complete. May our life of prayer, with our lips and our lives, move toward healing in the spirit of Jesus, the great healer. May our life of prayer equip us to pastor the community.

That’s all I’ve got this Monday morning, with a heart full of joy and a heart that is broken all at the same time.

– Jay Sidebotham

A Prayer for the Human Family
O God, you made us in your own image and redeemed us
through Jesus your Son: Look with compassion on the whole human family; take away the arrogance and hatred which infect our hearts; break down the walls that separate us; unite us in bonds of love; and work through our struggle and
confusion to accomplish your purposes on earth; that, in your good time, all nations and races may serve you in harmony around your heavenly throne; through Jesus Christ
our Lord. Amen.

Jesus said: As the Father has loved me, so I have loved you; abide in my love. If you keep my commandments, you will abide in my love, just as I have kept my Father’s commandments and abide in his love. I have said these things to you so that my joy may be in you, and that your joy may be complete.

-John 15:9-11

Contact:

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

The Pope, the Presiding Bishop and you

“There is no such thing as a stationary Christian. You cannot think of a stationary Christian: a Christian that remains stationary is sick in their Christian identity. The Christian is a disciple to walk, to move.”

Over a year ago, Pope Francis offered these rather hard hitting insights in a homily: I thought about his insights as I reflected on another sermon, offered by our new Presiding Bishop, Michael Curry, at his service of installation last Sunday, November 1. (Another Monday morning nudge to watch it. It is stunning, sterling, inspiring. Youtube has it.) He talked not so much about Christianity or the church, let alone the Episcopal Church. He talked about the Jesus movement, and how the Episcopal Church is one expression of that movement.

Bishop Curry framed it as a movement of the church into the world, turning the world upside down, which is in fact really a matter of turning an upside down world right side up. It’s the work Jesus did in all kinds of ways.

Jesus taught it: The last shall be first. You give up your life to find it. Blessed are the poor, the meek.

Jesus modeled it, when he washed disciples’ feet, or blessed children, or had a theological debate with the Samaritan woman, or called religious leaders “whitened sepulchers.” A king on a cross models a world turned upside down, with a movement animated by grace, culminating in resurrection. It’s a movement which expanded from a small group of disciples (ancient near eastern keystone cops) to a global communion that has reached even to us.

While it’s a movement of the church with global scope, I found myself thinking about the fact that it’s also interior movement exploring the geography of the heart. I’ve come to believe that the vitality, the forward movement of our denomination will emerge from the vitality of our congregations which will emerge from the spiritual health and vitality of the individuals in those congregations. I call it the cellular model. Which leads to the Monday morning question: What does that movement, the Jesus movement look like in your life and mine?

When in your life you have experienced such movement? What contributed to that process? When in your life has the movement come to a grinding halt? What was that about? Hear the words of Thomas Keating, great contemplative who linked the life of silence and prayer with a call to serve in the world. He wrote:

“The call of the gospel, “Follow me,” is addressed to every baptized person. We have within us in virtue of our baptism all the grace-given powers we need to follow Christ into the bosom of the Father. The attempt to do this – to reach more deeply toward the love of Christ within us and to manifest it more fully in the world – constitutes the heart of the spiritual journey.”

Take time today to reflect on your journey, with the help of our new Presiding Bishop. What do you make of this thing called the Jesus movement? Do you consider yourself part of it? Would you like to be part of it in some new way?

-Jay Sidebotham

Jesus said: I am come that you might have life and have it more abundantly.

-John 10:10

Whatever faith you emerge with at the end of your life is going to be not simply affected by that life but intimately dependent upon it. For faith in God is, in the deepest sense, faith in life – which means that even the staunchest life of faith is a life of great change. It follows that if you believe at fifty what you believed at fifteen, then you have not lived – or have denied the reality of your life.

-Christian Wiman, from his book My Bright Abyss

Contact:

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

Intentionality

Last week at this time, I was attending a conference called “Discipleship Matters.” The Rev. Carol Anderson, one of our speakers, described the opportunities and challenges, hopes and fears, cost and promise of discipleship these days in the Episcopal church. She emphasized the importance of intentionality. She placed a lot of hope in this for the church.

In her travels, her visits to churches, it is often hard to know what a community is about. Often, it seems like churches are all over the place. They are about everything and nothing. The challenge becomes one of getting clear about mission, purpose, goal, identity and to be intentional about living into that. And what is true about faith communities, I believe, is also true about individuals in those communities. It may well be that a community cannot gain clarity if individuals in that community don’t have clarity.

What does intentionality suggest to you? Some may call it mindfulness. Some may call it attentiveness. Some may speak of purpose or mission or goals. My spiritual coach, who happens to be my wife, who happens to be a yoga teacher often begins her classes with a call to set an intention for the time “on the mat”. Pausing to do that can transform the time. It becomes about something. Gratitude. Forgiveness. Blessing. Setting an intention can also be about what we set aside, what we leave outside the room, what we decide to let go. (My professor at Union Seminary, Dr. Christopher Morse proposed that in theological reflection we need to think not only of what we believe, but what we refuse to believe.) The invitation to intention on the yoga mat may be a parable for our call as disciples. What intention might we set for this day?

First of all, what do we need to set aside? What is not serving us? In many cases, this has to do with forgiveness, releasing resentments that distract and restrict us. It may have to do with trust, releasing our anxieties to God’s care.

Then what do we need to embrace with intention? The church talks about it in terms of vocation. (Eastern traditions speak of it as dharma.) What are you being called to do and be? For many of us, the challenge comes in the fact that we have numerous and occasionally competing vocations. Parent. Child. Student. Teacher. Leader. Follower. Boss. Employee. Citizen of this nation. Citizen of the world. Church member. Disciple. Believer. Skeptic.

Jesus’ words to his disciples carried great intention, a command to follow him on the way, to enter the narrow gate, to fulfill commands to love God and neighbor, to be part of his movement. Hear that call this morning, and take some quiet time today to set an intention, to imagine how you will respond with intentionality to the call to share God’s love with those you meet as this Monday unfold.

And if you want an example of a Christian setting an intention, watch Michael Curry’s sermon yesterday at his installation at the National Cathedral. Think this week about his call to be part of the Jesus movement, and the specific intentions that come with that. More about that next time.

-Jay Sidebotham

Then Jesus said to them all, ‘If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross daily and follow me. For those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake will save it. What does it profit them if they gain the whole world, but lose or forfeit themselves?
– Luke 9:23-25

I give you a new commandment, that you love one another. Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another. By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another.’
– John 13:34-35

I press on towards the goal for the prize of the heavenly call of God in Christ Jesus.
– Philippians 3:14

Contact:

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