Shining Spirit

I don’t expect this to be a perfect day.
I have learned to set my sights a little lower.
Memorable would be nice.
Meaningful would be good.
Average is acceptable.
However and whatever it turns out to be,
I hope:
*that it begins and ends with two words:
Thank You
*that the man standing on the corner trying to
sell newspapers to passing motortists
will be acknowledged as a person
*that the people who have the power
to make decisions for me will
actually think of me
*that when I make decisions, I
think beyond myself
*that my encounter with the sacred
Spirit of Life is not because it
is “prayer time” but because
I have engaged life with integrity
and compassion
*that my conscience will connect
with my brain
*that I may respond to at least one
opportunity to smile at a stranger
instead of looking away
*admire some element of the
landscape around me
*do one generous thing for another
person without expecting a
“thank you”
*put my finger to my wrist to
feel my pulse and acknowledge
that I didn’t make it happen
*feel something so deeply that
I gasp or weep or laugh or sigh
*stop beating myself up or living
for somebody else’s admiration.

And when the day is done, may
I fall, exhausted, into the arms of
the Mystery that I know exists
but cannot explain
and may my last thought that
escorts me into sleep be:
it wasn’t a perfect day
but it’s what I had
and I tried.

It’s not a trick question. Jesus isn’t trying to trap his disciples by some crafty inquiry. He just wants to know “Who do people say that the Son of Man is?” Don’t trip over “Son of Man”…he’s talking about himself. What do you hear, friends? What is the word on the street? What are people saying about me? Who do they say I am?

And Jesus gets an interesting reply: well, “some say John the Baptist but others Elijah and still others Jeremiah or one of the prophets.” In short, there is conversation about you on the street, but their thoughts are random They aren’t sure. Then the important question becomes the crucial question: “But you, who do you say I am?” Was there silence for a moment? Is that why Peter spoke up and gave the answer? Did Peter hesitate? No matter; what he said became the confession that every woman and man makes when they put self aside and put on Christ. “You are the Messiah; the Son of the Living God.” Ten words.” That’s all. But those ten words have echoed through stars and planets and minds and hearts since that moment.

Peter says: Jesus, here’s what we think. You are the One. I will say it aloud: You are the Christ of God. Lots of sermons built around those ten words. And most of them end up in about the same place: who do YOU say I am? And everybody has to answer that question one way or another: affirm, deny, ignore, pretend. Not to answer is to answer. The staunch believer and the person who thinks all this foolishness; everybody answers. My observation is pretty simple. Think before you answer. Don’t be an echo of someone else. Answer from your heart as well as your mind. In fact, answer every day because this not a one-time response. How about every morning or every evening before you turn out the light: “You are the Christ, the Son of the Living God.” Every time you have a meal: “You are the Christ, the Son of the Living God.” Or every time you receive a kindness or give a blessing: “You are the Christ, the Son of the Living God.” But change one word in the ten. You are MY Christ, the Son of the Living God. My. Feels different, doesn’t it?

If you say it, mean it. And if you mean it, live it. And if you live it, rejoice and be glad for you are one more little piece of the Kingdom of God. Ten words.

Until the day Jesus learned of John the Baptist’s death, he was primarily a traveling storyteller. And those stories were dramatic and pointed; parables about how life should be lived. But then comes the news of John’s brutal execution, and words turn to work.

Today’s lectionary text, Matthew 14:34-36, lays before us a very human person and a very power-filled man. Human because when he heard the news, Jesus “went to a desolate place by himself.” He grieved the loss of his good friend and mentor. But, with John’s death, Jesus took on a new role. Matthew suggests in several ways that Jesus is the new Moses, but here Matthew shows us the transfer of power from teacher to student. Jesus emerges as the fullness of God; the same powerful voice but now a man with a spiritual depth that causes people to immediately recognize God’s incarnation in human flesh.

And the crowds overwhelmed him. People gathered the sick and brought them to Jesus. Imagine that “great crowd” of desperate people reaching out for his blessing. He heals them. Power is clothed in compassion and concern. Or, picture his disciples moving through “about five thousand men, beside the women and children…” handing out “five loaves of bread and two fish.” That’s Matthew’s next illustration of his power. But…it is power to feed the hungry. Power clothed in compassion and concern.

Now he retreats to a quiet mountain place to pray, only to come down, look for his disciples, and find them struggling in a small boat being tossed around in a storm at sea. To everyone’s amazament, Jesus “came to them, walking on the sea…” Power clothed in concern and compassison. Power to rescue and save. “Jesus…reached out his hand and took hold of him (Peter)…”A hand of power open to help, not a fist of defiance.

Finally, upon returning to land, Jesus was recognized and the citizens of the village “sent around (a message) to all the region and brought to him all who were sick. All. Everyone. And his power went out to them ALL…power clothed in compassion and concern. Two observations: power can be dressed up in garments of self-interest and greed or it can be clothed in love expressed as compassion and concern. And, it is hard to mis-read the power and the purpose of the man depicted in Matthew 14, just as it is hard to mis-read the unfolding dramas of the 21st century.

When Peter, sinking in the sea, cried out: “Lord, save me,” a hand reached out and took Peter’s hand. Power comes in many disguises. I recommend the hand that bears the scars of nails.

“You are not what you want to be.
You are what you do daily.”
Maxime Lagace

Big dreams
Deep desires
Hope abounds
Prayers spoken
Fingers crossed

Sit on the sofa with a bowl
of popcorn and a TV remote
control.

Oh well, maybe next time
I never have any luck
Poor me
Life’s not fair

How would you know if
you’ve never tried it?
Think there’s any application
to spiritual growth? Press on.

I once believed that I was an I
and you were a you,
but that’s not true.
I’ve been persuaded so long
that each person’s song
was independent, unique,
admirably strong,
I was wrong.
For I have come to believe
what I could not conceive
when my heart wasn’t ready,
nor my mind to receive.
I am one little cell among
trillions like me who, together,
create sacred harmony
when we come together as
life should be: to hear,
to reason, to laugh, to see.

I’m not an I and you aren’t
a you: we’re a we.
I think that’s how God probably
meant it to be.
From the start of time to this
very day, it was always meant
to be this way. It all makes sense
when you finally see that one
plus one always equals we.

I love the way Luke concludes the teaching section of his chapter six. That place is Luke’s ending of The Sermon On The Plain, the same story we find in Matthew 5-7, that Gospel’s writer’s Sermon On The Mount. Matthew tells the story one way. Luke another way. Mountainside or level place? You can draw some conclusions about the meaning of “place” for these authors, but don’t get lost in the maze of “Now, what does this mean? What are the theological implications of mountain versus level place?” Of interest, but not urgent.

I wonder what this old world would be like if people who claim the name and life of Jesus as their own actually concentrated on the content of these common sections? What if you and I actually read either of these references daily, engraving the practical applications of faith into the soft tissue of our hearts? Or, what if we actually lived what He taught? What a remarkable idea! Don’t just learn it! Live it! Don’t debate it! Do it!

Here’s the way Eugene Peterson’s “The Message” translation puts it at the end of Luke’s sermon to the people: “These words I speak to you are not mere additions to your life, homeowner improvements to your standard of living. They are foundation words, words to build a life on.”

What would our lives be like if we stopped highlighting scripture passages and nodding our agreement and concentrated more on doing one good thing everyday…in the name and spirit of The Teacher? Not doing accidentally…doing intentionally. “These are foundation words, words to build a life on.” As Peterson puts it in the wonderful story that immediately follows The Sermon On The Plain: “If you work the words into your life, you are like a smart carpenter…” who built his house on rock. “But if you just use my words in Bible studies and don’t work them into your life, you are like a dumb carpenter who built a house but skipped the foundation.”

Hang on to your highlighter, if you like. But don’t mistake it for a foundation.

Puppy dogs and toddlers have a lot in common.
Twist, stretch, wiggle, squirm.
Point A to point B to C to A to D to B to E
and that’s within the first ten minutes of waking.

Grandpas and 1968 Chevys have a lot in common.
They both make funny noises and move slowly.
Takes a little longer to get them started.
They both think they can do more
than they really can.

Puppy dogs and toddlers and Grandpas and
(maybe) 1968 Chevys are searching for
something. Might be fun or excitement or
just something to do or purpose or meaning.
Something. We’re all looking for something.

A woman asked her friend:
“How am I to find God today?”
Her friend answered:
“How are you going to let yourself be
found by God today?” Wise friend.

Maybe it takes a little more life experience
and maturity than the toddler possesses
or a little less anxiety about the finish line
that faces Grandpa to know that you
have been found. The search is off.

“Be still and know that I am God.”
Psalm 46, just in case.
“Be” don’t “do” yourself into oblivion;
“still” not running from desperation;
“know” which only comes from encountering
that the “I AM” is God. I AM is very
present tense; here, now, present, Presence.

I got up this morning and wondered:
“where will I find God today?” and
then I realized that the answer
was forming within my mind and
my heart. “I was lost, but now
I AM found.” Sorry, God.

I was thinking more about my search
than about your sacred presence.
I will be still and in the stillness
I will be discovered by
The Already,
The Always.

I don’t have to go to know.

I hear the sound of Yellow, friendly notes
deciding whether to become a song.
The sound is soul-filling, imaginative,
an invitation to invent. It laughs in play
and takes little seriously. It is the nature
of Yellow to tease, wink a mischievous
eye, do cartwheels down the mountainside
as the morning sun lights up the valley below.

Yellow is a perpetual child whose manners
could be improved but who captures your
heart with a disarming smile, and, if
deserving of scolding, charms with
playful irreverence. Yellow is over
indulged and under appreciated, unlike
the sound of Purple, very classical,
verging on pompous, or Green, whose
sound has become so common
as to go unnoticed.

I commend to you the sound of Yellow.
This sad world needs the bright splash
of song that lifts us above absolute monotony.
That’s Maroon, by the way.

24,957 photographs…on my computer. Granted, quite a few of those are duplicates, so maybe it’s time to say “goodbye” to a few of them. Maybe more than a few.

So, early this morning, between sips of coffee, I hit the “select” button and then started the process of deleting about 500 pictures. I stopped once or twice to talk to myself: “Maybe I should keep this one; eight copies of tree aren’t too many.”
And everyone needs 213 pictures of Arizona sunsets. And…” The wonderful coincidence then happened. As I was deleting a batch of 80 photos, I heard the sounds of raindrops on the patio just outside my window. Soft at first, then more intense, the rain washed away yesterday’s dust, watered the earth, and reminded me of something I already knew. Not everything is worth keeping. And, if I don’t use it, I don’t need it. And, “delete” is not a bad word. Something has to go if something else is going to grow.

And so, pushing the delete button became my morning prayer. Lord, as the morning rain washes away dust and debris, so may your Spirit wash over me and delete all the unnecessary baggage I carry around with me. Cleansing Spirit, help me see what is really important, to appreciate the essentials and to let go of the things that weigh me down. Christ of my life, I want to follow you but sometimes I feel like I can’t keep up; you move so quickly and so freely. 24,957, yes, that’s right. Yes, I understand what “delete” means.

I am thankful for all the memories focused in those photos. But, either I buy more storage space…build bigger barns, in a sense, or I let some of them go with a smile and a blessing. Maybe it’s better to keep my eyes fixed on Him rather than on duplicates of duplicates of yesterday.

Adios, photos. Thanks for the memories. Delete.

Yesterday, Gracious God, I did nothing of
importance; nothing profound; nothing
that caused angels to sing or
stars to applaud.
I broke a sweat at the gym,
cleaned and filled the hummingbird feeder,
hugged my wife,
wrote a poem that disappeared into
a three-ring notebook,
walked the aisles of a grocery store,
got fingerprinted at the local police station
(for a volunteer opportunity, God)
read a small book,
sipped a cool beverage with
my son-in-law,
heard from my three children,
dozed in the recliner,
watched re-runs of re-runs on TV
and fell asleep last night
exhausted from all the
activity.
Perhaps, Lord, something really
significant will happen today.
Otherwise, I wouldn’t mind
repeating yesterday.
In retrospect, it was a pretty good day.
Thank you.
Amen.