Shining Spirit

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.

I continue to be amazed when I open the short letter to the Philippians in the New Testament. It’s always the same, but it is never the same. Today’s reading is chapter 4, beginning at verse 11. I paraphrase…

There is a reason that the several categories of spiritual leadership exist; a purpose. People who fulfill the role of apostles, prophets, evangelists, shepherds or teachers serve a common purpose. It is not to be elected or appointed to a spiritual office: shepherd, teacher, etc. Leadership is not a reward for service done; it is not an honorary position. If you hold such a position in your church, it is for this reason, according to Philippians 4: “to equip the saints.” By the way, “saints” is a very common term for church member. You may or may not be “saintly”; that’s a different conversation. Leaders exist for the basic purpose of equipping others not for “right belief” but for “the work of ministry.” Designated leaders are builders. Lesson by lesson, experience by experience, they shape the “saints” for the specific goal of “doing the work of ministry.”

And what happens when this process is thoughtfully in place? The church finds “unity of faith and unity of knowledge.” I do not think this means a rigid, lock-step approach toward perfect sameness. We don’t march in the parking lot until we have perfect precision. We invite the Spirit to touch and transform as the Spirit will, allowing for gifts, skills and talents. And that leads to a measure of spiritual maturity; to growing up in faith, not remaining in spiritual diapers forever. Children are inexperienced, vulnerable, easily influenced; they simply have not lived long enough to recognize the realities and the implications of verse 14: “we may no longer be children, tossed to and fro by the waves and carried about by every wind of doctrine, by human cunning, by craftiness in deceitful schemes…”

The task and calling of mature leaders in the church is to “equip,” “build up,” their own replacements to a level of spiritual maturity where they will not be manipulated by human cunning, craftiness or deceit.

Is there a common formula for this critical process? Have a look at verse 15: “speaking the truth in love…” We all grow up into Christ. Speak the truth and speak it in love. The highest calling for a woman or man in a position of spiritual leadership is to equip everyone for the work of ministry by guiding them through experience after experience of Christ in the world, thus preparing them for the challenges of deceit and cunning. And here is the wonder of the whole process: when this happens, “when each part is working properly…the body will grow and build itself up in love.”

Teachers, leaders…all who are entrusted with leadership roles in our churches are builders. Take it seriously…intentionally…and do it with humility. Maybe someone helped you get ready for “the work of ministry.” Now it’s your turn.

Sometimes when the shadows are deep and the way is not clear, I pull up an old, traditional church hymn and sing it into the darkness. These are hymns that I grew up with, tunes that are memory catchers, old but still powerful. In all fairness, though, I have to state that some of the words in some of the hymns are a bit dated; maybe beyond contemporary understanding. So, a long time ago I started a project that I have visited and re-visited over the years…new words for old songs. I compiled a long list of old lyrics and tunes that fall into the Public Domain and, saving the tunes, began to write new lyrics. I entered number 47 in the Table of Contents early this morning and decided that I would share one or two with you. If you get the old tune firmly in your mind, then slip the new words into place. Sing away! You see…still some value in old things. Thank God.

Here’s one you might recognize. The original title is “O God, Our Help In Ages Past.” The original hymn tune is St. Anne, if that matters. Ready? Sing!

Come, Spirit, and renew our faith,
your blessing here bestow.
For by your mercy and your grace,
we each shall come to know

the fullness of your saving love,
compassion in our need.
Transform the hardness of our hearts
and banish all our greed.

We ask for courage to proclaim
your kingdom’s truth and power.
Equip us for the journey, Lord,
with strength to meet the hour.

We would be Christ to everyone;
we turn no one away.
All people find a welcome here
in this and every day.

Be patient, God, come Spirit come
and set our hearts ablaze.
Teach us to walk the way of Christ
in gratitude and praise.

Be blessed today…and be a Blessing.

They call it the beautiful game. It wasn’t Sunday.

Soccer, or “Football” to the rest of the world, is a contact sport. What happened at the FIFA World Cup Final match between the national teams of Spain and Argentina was a few steps beyond “contact.” The Argentine players turned the match into 100+ minutes of provocation, insult, and physical mayhem. One player was thrown out of the game for unnecessary violence. Others should have been. After losing 1-0, the Argentines, former FIFA champions, continued the provocations until players were fighting on the field. Some say it was a disgraceful demonstration of how to lose. It looked like petulant children hurling insults at each other, then swinging fists. The beautiful game? Not yesterday.

There were moments during the madness that I thought to myself: What has spawned this show of violent invective? This is sport, not international politics. This is a game, not a prelude to war. Why the intentional efforts to demean and destroy? It’s as if the world was watching what some might call the new cultural reality: Do unto others before they do unto you. Or, win at all cost. Or, violate the rules, the law, until you get caught and then point the finger at someone else. Or, provoke until the point is lost and all that’s left is revenge and retribution. It was particularly painful to see some of the players, in both uniforms, make the sign of the cross on their chests as they exited the battleground, just after they had spat out their last insults and made their departing obscene gestures toward their enemies.

The “beautiful game.” A freeze-frame of societal reality? A signal, even a warning, to those who still see value and meaning in those old-fashioned things called virtues or values or moral principles…or sportsmanship? Play the game, but play it fair. Play hard, but within the boundaries of decency and rule. If you win, don’t gloat. If you lose, don’t grovel. Take no pride in petulant recklessness; it is demeaning to the other and to yourself.

“Do unto others…”

Do you hear, soccer players, people of power, political leaders…?

“…as you would have them do unto you.”

Maybe you would like to think through these spirit journeys, too. My heart and my mind got together and formed these thoughts; I offer them to you.

Outside my window at the moment of this writing, a Dove sits in the small mesquite tree and she calls out her “Coo, Coo” sound again and again. Soft and soothing, a song in the air. In that same way, but at a great distance from my house, a Rooster sends his greeting to the morning. I hear it faintly: “cock-a-doodle-do.” It’s more like a sound than a song, but then songs differ, don’t they? The Dove and the Rooster brings gifts this morning. What is the Spirit trying to say to me? To you?

In a TV interview I saw last night, the deeply appreciated Fr. Richard Rohr, author and world renowned spiritual guide, talked about his personal prayer life. I paraphrase: My prayer life has evolved from words to what I would call Sacred Gazing. I find myself engaged with God by looking and seeing God in and through all things. It’s not pantheism, he added; I just stand amazed how I am absolutely surrounded, covered fully, embraced by the presence of the holy. End of paraphrase. What if, today, I intentionally looked upon the world with Sacred Gazing? What if I acted upon the basic belief that God is not elusive but engaging.

An illustration of what you just read in the paragraph above: as I was writing the last two sentences in the preceding paragraph, I heard a new song from the little mesquite tree. It was a strong, clear chirp, the kind of sound that breaks through thoughts and claims your attention. It was so lovely that I quietly opened the back door, phone in hand with a bird-sound identifying app, and I heard the song even more clearly. To my surprise, within moments of opening the door, the choir began to sing. The first strong voice was from a Brown-crested Flycatcher who was joined by a House Finch, a Verdin, a lesser Goldfinch, an Abert’s Towhee, and a Bell’s Vireo. Anthem! Gift! Presence! Sacred hearing, in this case.

One more: Back to Fr. Rohr and the TV interview. His comment: if you want to know about Jesus, his life and activities as a man, you can read the first three Gospels: Matthew, Mark, and Luke. If you want to know the Christ of God, read the Gospel of John. The first three about the life of the man among us, the last one about the resurrected presence within us. But, and this is my comment, not Fr. Rohr’s: don’t read to learn. Read to experience. Put yourself into each experience and event, become part of it as if you were physically present. Don’t investigate by reading; invest yourself through your spiritual imagination. Even this: in the believed that God is fully among us, allow the reading to be a springboard into the Presence. Let the reading open the door. Anthem awaits! Press on!

A second look at Barbara Brown Taylor’s book, “An Altar In The World.” Maybe you know someone who is a “creature of habit.” To get from point A to point B, she always takes the same route, rarely experiments with anything “new,” frequents the same radio station, buys only one brand of clothing, dines at one of two restaurants when there are 100 to choose from…habit. Taylor writes: “…the practice of getting lost is both valuable and undervalued, at least by the North American culture most of us know best. In this culture, the point is to get from point A to point B as quickly as possible, even if that means you miss most of the territory, including the packed dirt under your feet.”

Is it better to stick to the familiar, the known…or, is there value or reward in getting “intentionally lost” in places where new experience and new insight might be waiting? You decide.

Dilemma Of The Narrow Path

A friend advised me, just yesterday
to get off the path where I like to stay,
the place where I feel safe and secure,
familiar turns where the footing is sure.
But this path, I said, while known to me,
cuts through the wilderness where I could be
lost in a wild, unknown terrain;
why risk the chance of senseless pain?

I always walk this familiar route;
the footprints always lead me out
of inherent danger in the wilderness.
But, if I’m honest I must confess
that the same safe route, traveled time after time,
has become for me the perfect rhyme.
I remember each step; I know them by heart,
and I can predict, from the very start,
that taking this path exclusively
will get me where I want to be.

I know I miss new, exciting things;
the sudden joy discovery brings.
Off to my left I see yellows and greens;
fields of flowers, forests that sing,
but to smell the flower or touch the tree
I must risk unknowns and that’s not me.
It’s the narrow path through the wilderness land
that sustains me in my careful plan.

Others take detours to discovery;
they leave the path for what they see
off in the distance where dangers hide;
they walk through shadows where evil resides.
Fearless? Yes, I’m sure that’s true,
but my task is to safely find my way through
even when beauty reaches out to me,
even when mystery is there to see.

My comfort, my safety, my peace of mind
are all in these footprints where I constantly find
the safe way to walk through my darkest fear,
without allowing new ways to appear,
distractions that offer only empty reward;
why make the journey unbearably hard?

It is true that I miss the sights and the sounds
of mystery, new life, unexplored ground.
But I settle for safety, security’s twin
as I plan each step before I begin.
There is comfort in always looking down,
focusing my eyes on familiar ground.

The dilemma of the narrow path…