Sunday, October 11, 2009
The Rev. Natasha Brubaker Garrison
Year B, Proper 23
Amos 5:6-7, Ps. 90:12-17, Hebrews 4:12-16, Mark 10:17-31
Whenever I hear or read this passage of the Gospel I am shaken. I want to look for the loophole or the escape hatch. The obvious one is to say that, well, this command to sell all and give to the poor is for him specifically and not for me. But that delusion vanishes as I read further and here the words of Jesus saying how hard it is for the rich to enter the kingdom. Suddenly, the story has a universal applicability. I am reminded once again of how diametrically opposed the vision of the kingdom of God is from the vision of the American Dream. I claim to follow Jesus and then realize yet again how enmeshed I am in the world about me. See, I understand myself to be like the rich young man, or perhaps somewhere between the man and the disciples who chime in that they’ve left everything. As I thought about what to say today in response to such a full and rich passage, two opposing pairs come to my mind: God’s love and challenging invitation and what is consecrated—our lives to God or our lives to the world.
Let’s look at the first one: God’s love and challenging invitation. The hope in the story that I hear is always in that phrase, “Jesus, looking at him, loved him.” This rich young man is a decent man. He is honest, faithful, caring and sincere. He lives a good and upright life within the culture that is his. Jesus honors this. But the young man coming to Jesus signifies, at least to my mind, that even though he has lived this decent life he is hungry for more. He feels deep in his being it is not enough; there is something more, something deeper, something even more life giving. Jesus is where he sees this and so he runs up to him and prostrates himself—a rich man to whom others would bow himself bows at the feet of a wandering, disturbing man of a lower social strata. He wants to hear the Good News.
Before we hear the words that surely must have been hard to hear, Jesus looks with love, with compassion, on this earnest, decent person. His words are direct, but said with care: “You lack one thing; go, sell what you own, and give the money to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; then come, follow me.” Often we tend to hear these words as said with scorn or harsh judgment. Not so. Jesus, who is so keenly aware of the power of wealth and the chimera of security to lure us away from a focus on God and by extension our fellow human beings, is also aware of how fragile, how vulnerable we are. We are pulled by our obligations and responsibilities to provide for ourselves and those closest to us. If we choose a life that doesn’t seem to put us or our children on the path to upward mobility we are put down and criticized. We are in a tough spot.
Jesus though sees the promise underneath and gives it a challenging, but encouraging nudge. But most importantly he starts the whole encounter with a reminder that the unearned, unconditional love of God for us exists first. Then from that love we are invited to live into the challenging vision of the kingdom of God. All too often we hear it, either in our mind or from others, inverted: we must live up to the challenge successfully and then we will receive God’s love. As Jesus demonstrates, it is just the opposite. Love for us comes first; and when we can accept this, the challenge becomes less grievous and more joyful.
And this bring us to look at that second opposing pair I mentioned: the idea of what we consider consecrated.
There are several definitions of the word consecrate. In reading the Gospels and the vision Jesus lays out of the kingdom of God it seems that this definition is the operative one: set apart as sacred; dedicate solemnly to a sacred or religious purpose; make fit for religious use. In living our lives in such a way as to follow Jesus, to take the radical and difficult steps of letting go of the things of this world to be builders of the kingdom, we are in effect consecrating our lives to serve God. We do this as persons and even more so as the Church—a different type of community. All that we are and have is consecrated to this purpose: our time, our things, our money, our dreams, our suffering. And the promise is a new family of many houses, members and fields, along with persecution, for to live this life is to engage fully the suffering and pain and evil of the world. It is not an escape; it is an active engagement. It is a communal vision and one that hopefully can inspire the larger world around it.
There is another definition of consecrate and it is this one that all too often is what happens. It is this: to make an object of veneration or regard. Too often in the course of human life since human life as such began we get the focus wrong. Instead of consecrating our lives and its fruits to God, as things to serve the Holy One, we consecrate the things themselves. Just think of all the things that are “consecrated” in our society in this way: good looks, hip clothes, prestigious jobs, money, sports, sex, etc. These become the ends that are served before God.
Part of the core of our life as followers of Jesus is learning to truly see other people for who they are, warts and all, and to enter into relationship with them. To cultivate this ability we need to learn silence and presence. We are consecrating ourselves to the service of others rather than our own success or ego. We need to have time to be with people without a goal: we go for a walk and sit by a river rather than network; we have dinner with our family instead of another power lunch; we sit vigil by a sick person’s bedside; we sit and look at the world instead of working more overtime or taking on more activities we really can’t manage; we allow ourselves to see the heart of someone not all the surface stuff. The gift is the brothers and mothers and sisters and children of the kingdom of God.
For at the end of the day it matters not how much or how little we have but if we have connection, vital connection to other people. At the end of the day a fancy title cannot replace the ability to sit with someone in their pain or suffering as a steady, silent presence that will not leave. At the end of the day the gift of seeing all people no matter how flawed or messed up as reflections of part of God’s being gives us stores of compassion, the freedom to try new things, the openness of heart to embody a new society. At the end of the day it is not our net worth that matters, but if we have been able to see the worth of all people and live into relationships of dignity, respect and equity. This is the realness of life, the stuff that matters: authentic life with others not a ceaseless striving for outer trappings that at the end of the day can perhaps give us a sense of security but not love, not connection, not belonging, not the kingdom. Perhaps with God we can learn this sooner rather than later, now and not tomorrow, and live into it in our own lives and in the life we advocate for ourselves and others.
Which is why the community of faith is so important. Here we receive another vision, one that rejoices in who we each are with our gifts and abilities, and strives to live a different kind of life that honors all people. We come to learn about ourselves, those things in us that break our connection to one another, so that we can see another way to live. We strive to consecrate our lives to that vision drawn by Jesus time and again. We intentionally turn our lives over to God for with God all things are possible. We come to consecrate ourselves to be part of that kingdom of God and to live, struggles and all, for the sake of the good news.
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
October 4, 2009, The Feast of St. Francis
October 4, 2009
The Feast of St. Francis
The Rev. Tasha Brubaker Garrison
During my last year of college I took a course in nationalism. It was a fascinating course. On one of the first days we were asked to list the ways we identified ourselves. We each came up with our words and then we shared them. Often what pops into our minds first are the identities that hold the most weight for us. And while I don’t remember my list exactly or in the order I wrote them down completely accurately, I do have a decent recollection. My list went something like this: woman, white/Euro-American, Christian, Californian, student, only child and perhaps one or two more. Others list were similar or markedly different. Some included identities I didn’t claim though others would certainly see me from those angles. Today that list would probably look different, with Christian or Christian disciple probably being first given the pattern my life has followed and the way God has worked on my heart.
I wonder what the list would have looked like for St. Francis before he became St. Francis. Francesco Bernadone was a brash, spoiled youth. His life was that of privilege and wealth though not great education. The son of a successful cloth merchant he was surely the life of the party. He got into brawls, went off on a crusade or two seeking fame and adventure, and eventually spent a rather long time in jail in Perugia, I am not sure for what act of hooliganism. I imagine his list looked like this: man, rich Umbrian, adventurer, upper class, and perhaps a few more with Christian somewhere at the bottom. Like much of the world since Christianity became the official religion of Rome and other kingdoms, many if not most people were born into it and followed it as a matter of course—one among many identities. It was not an intentional, life-altering conversion as it was for the first generations. But that conversion still does happen. Francis came out of jail a transformed man intent on following the Gospel literally. If he had to list his identities I think it would have boiled down to one: disciple of Christ.
As legend goes his father was none to pleased with his son’s behavior and wanted him to settle down and take on responsibilities to the family and the business. The dénouement came in church when Francis quite literally stripped himself naked, tossing beautiful clothes and cloaks on the floor, and left to take up the life of an itinerant servant of the Gospel married to Lady Poverty. People did not know what to make of him. Surely many whispered behind raised hands and the eyebrows of upper crust Assisi reached new heights. What was that ridiculous child doing! Much the same was said about Jesus. Even his family was at a loss. And yet while confounded and repelled by his extreme change in lifestyle, people were also drawn to it and intrigued by it for there was a honesty, a courage, a purity of motive that shown through and reminded them of deeper truths and hopes. He was seen around Assisi barefoot, in simple, rough clothes, begging for food and preaching purity of heart and peace to all. He loved all creatures with an infinite love that reflected God’s love. He lived in companionship with animals as diverse as wolves and birds. He worked with his hands, swept and cleaned churches, cared for the sick and lepers, and sent food to brigands with greetings of affection. He spent much time alone in prayer. He owned nothing beyond the clothes on his back and as others joined his order things could be given or lent to them but they could have no money and no property.
In his literal following of the Gospel he clearly grasped one of the central points of Jesus’ teaching. More than any other topic Jesus speaks of the dilemma of money and wealth, even modest financial security, and serving God. He is clear that one cannot serve both. The pursuit of things, of money, pulls us into a way of life that places self at the center. It is that life that then tempts us even more strongly than we already are into jealously, rivalry, selfishness, power and control over others. Conversely, serving God does not mean that we are to have nothing at all for anyone and simply lie down and die. Rather, it is to use what we have modestly and first and foremost for the well-being of others. In caring for one another we ultimately will have enough for ourselves, but only if our hearts have God, love of God and service to all things created by God, at our heart and as our prime motivation.
There is an old saying for preachers. It goes like this: the Gospel is meant to afflict the comfortable and comfort the afflicted. It’s helpful as far as it goes. It can easily slide into giving guilt trips to those who are comfortable in worldly terms without recognizing that affliction comes in many guises, and it can treat the afflicted with pity and as perpetual victims without realizing that the marginalized in this world are often in need of empowerment and spiritual challenge as well. Francis embodies this tension for us. He afflicts, niggles, disturbs us and at the same time comforts and inspires us. No other saint is as popular as he. Outside of Mary who else more frequently adorns our gardens? We may be more at ease with him in a corner with the flowers where his radical message doesn’t confront us too often, but he is there all the same.
This tension of attraction and repulsion was present from the start of his ministry. In time a few joined with him. His witness grabbed the souls of enough men and women to turn them into a recognized movement within the Church. Yet many were bewildered. As he wrote in the Franciscan Rule of 1223: “The brothers shall have nothing of their own, neither house, nor land, nor anything, but as pilgrims and strangers in this world serving the Lord in poverty and humility, let them confidently go asking for alms. Nor let them be ashamed of this, for the Lord made himself poor for us in this world. Let this be your portion, which leads into the land of the living. Cling wholly to this, my most beloved brothers, and you shall wish to have in this world nothing else than the name of the Lord Jesus Christ.” What he asked was difficult and utterly counter-cultural. I doubt I could give up all I own to follow him if he walked by today. I would fight desperately to keep my dog and my oboe, assuming Blaine wanted to go with me. In effect, I would become homeless in a world that sees the homeless as generally a nuisance to be dealt with and something we would rather not see. Talk about scary. But I sense that his vision would also draw me.
Now, I doubt that anyone is going to have a moment of stripping naked in worship today and starting a new life just like that of Francis. Though nothing is impossible with God. But perhaps by remembering and recalling the intense incarnation of the Gospel in Francis we can find the way into the next step on our journey into a life centered in and having at its center God. For myself it invites me to engage with more concentrated prayer the thought of joining an order, something that has long played at the edges of my heart even as I work to give more away, live with less and less, and try my very best to serve others. For you, it will be whatever it is that is poking at your edges.
As Sam Portaro writes: “ Traveling without encumbrance, these roving monks have been a constant reminder through the ages that we are not hostages to creation, but the blessed recipients of its bounty, and stewards of its riches. Francis and those who follow in his way preach to us by living as though the gospel were a reality; they live as though the kingdom of God were present, the victory of Christ over this world as real as the closing Dow Jones average and the morning commute. They are an icon of vocation for every Christian, searching us and compelling us to see what we might be, and to live it.
The Feast of St. Francis
The Rev. Tasha Brubaker Garrison
During my last year of college I took a course in nationalism. It was a fascinating course. On one of the first days we were asked to list the ways we identified ourselves. We each came up with our words and then we shared them. Often what pops into our minds first are the identities that hold the most weight for us. And while I don’t remember my list exactly or in the order I wrote them down completely accurately, I do have a decent recollection. My list went something like this: woman, white/Euro-American, Christian, Californian, student, only child and perhaps one or two more. Others list were similar or markedly different. Some included identities I didn’t claim though others would certainly see me from those angles. Today that list would probably look different, with Christian or Christian disciple probably being first given the pattern my life has followed and the way God has worked on my heart.
I wonder what the list would have looked like for St. Francis before he became St. Francis. Francesco Bernadone was a brash, spoiled youth. His life was that of privilege and wealth though not great education. The son of a successful cloth merchant he was surely the life of the party. He got into brawls, went off on a crusade or two seeking fame and adventure, and eventually spent a rather long time in jail in Perugia, I am not sure for what act of hooliganism. I imagine his list looked like this: man, rich Umbrian, adventurer, upper class, and perhaps a few more with Christian somewhere at the bottom. Like much of the world since Christianity became the official religion of Rome and other kingdoms, many if not most people were born into it and followed it as a matter of course—one among many identities. It was not an intentional, life-altering conversion as it was for the first generations. But that conversion still does happen. Francis came out of jail a transformed man intent on following the Gospel literally. If he had to list his identities I think it would have boiled down to one: disciple of Christ.
As legend goes his father was none to pleased with his son’s behavior and wanted him to settle down and take on responsibilities to the family and the business. The dénouement came in church when Francis quite literally stripped himself naked, tossing beautiful clothes and cloaks on the floor, and left to take up the life of an itinerant servant of the Gospel married to Lady Poverty. People did not know what to make of him. Surely many whispered behind raised hands and the eyebrows of upper crust Assisi reached new heights. What was that ridiculous child doing! Much the same was said about Jesus. Even his family was at a loss. And yet while confounded and repelled by his extreme change in lifestyle, people were also drawn to it and intrigued by it for there was a honesty, a courage, a purity of motive that shown through and reminded them of deeper truths and hopes. He was seen around Assisi barefoot, in simple, rough clothes, begging for food and preaching purity of heart and peace to all. He loved all creatures with an infinite love that reflected God’s love. He lived in companionship with animals as diverse as wolves and birds. He worked with his hands, swept and cleaned churches, cared for the sick and lepers, and sent food to brigands with greetings of affection. He spent much time alone in prayer. He owned nothing beyond the clothes on his back and as others joined his order things could be given or lent to them but they could have no money and no property.
In his literal following of the Gospel he clearly grasped one of the central points of Jesus’ teaching. More than any other topic Jesus speaks of the dilemma of money and wealth, even modest financial security, and serving God. He is clear that one cannot serve both. The pursuit of things, of money, pulls us into a way of life that places self at the center. It is that life that then tempts us even more strongly than we already are into jealously, rivalry, selfishness, power and control over others. Conversely, serving God does not mean that we are to have nothing at all for anyone and simply lie down and die. Rather, it is to use what we have modestly and first and foremost for the well-being of others. In caring for one another we ultimately will have enough for ourselves, but only if our hearts have God, love of God and service to all things created by God, at our heart and as our prime motivation.
There is an old saying for preachers. It goes like this: the Gospel is meant to afflict the comfortable and comfort the afflicted. It’s helpful as far as it goes. It can easily slide into giving guilt trips to those who are comfortable in worldly terms without recognizing that affliction comes in many guises, and it can treat the afflicted with pity and as perpetual victims without realizing that the marginalized in this world are often in need of empowerment and spiritual challenge as well. Francis embodies this tension for us. He afflicts, niggles, disturbs us and at the same time comforts and inspires us. No other saint is as popular as he. Outside of Mary who else more frequently adorns our gardens? We may be more at ease with him in a corner with the flowers where his radical message doesn’t confront us too often, but he is there all the same.
This tension of attraction and repulsion was present from the start of his ministry. In time a few joined with him. His witness grabbed the souls of enough men and women to turn them into a recognized movement within the Church. Yet many were bewildered. As he wrote in the Franciscan Rule of 1223: “The brothers shall have nothing of their own, neither house, nor land, nor anything, but as pilgrims and strangers in this world serving the Lord in poverty and humility, let them confidently go asking for alms. Nor let them be ashamed of this, for the Lord made himself poor for us in this world. Let this be your portion, which leads into the land of the living. Cling wholly to this, my most beloved brothers, and you shall wish to have in this world nothing else than the name of the Lord Jesus Christ.” What he asked was difficult and utterly counter-cultural. I doubt I could give up all I own to follow him if he walked by today. I would fight desperately to keep my dog and my oboe, assuming Blaine wanted to go with me. In effect, I would become homeless in a world that sees the homeless as generally a nuisance to be dealt with and something we would rather not see. Talk about scary. But I sense that his vision would also draw me.
Now, I doubt that anyone is going to have a moment of stripping naked in worship today and starting a new life just like that of Francis. Though nothing is impossible with God. But perhaps by remembering and recalling the intense incarnation of the Gospel in Francis we can find the way into the next step on our journey into a life centered in and having at its center God. For myself it invites me to engage with more concentrated prayer the thought of joining an order, something that has long played at the edges of my heart even as I work to give more away, live with less and less, and try my very best to serve others. For you, it will be whatever it is that is poking at your edges.
As Sam Portaro writes: “ Traveling without encumbrance, these roving monks have been a constant reminder through the ages that we are not hostages to creation, but the blessed recipients of its bounty, and stewards of its riches. Francis and those who follow in his way preach to us by living as though the gospel were a reality; they live as though the kingdom of God were present, the victory of Christ over this world as real as the closing Dow Jones average and the morning commute. They are an icon of vocation for every Christian, searching us and compelling us to see what we might be, and to live it.
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