Tuesday, August 30, 2016

Delight – Entering God's Heart Through Prayer

The Way of a Pilgrim is a 19th century Russian work telling the story of the narrator’s pilgrimage across Russia pursuing wisdom in the way of prayer. In particular he is concerned to learn to pray without ceasing in communion with God. The focus is on the Jesus Prayer, the ancient Eastern Christian practice of continuous prayer: “Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner.” It is an instructive account of the challenge of praying deeply and truly.

After much practice, the Pilgrim has this experience:

The prayer of my heart gave me such consolation that I felt there was no happier person on earth than I, and I doubted if there was a greater or fuller happiness in the Kingdom of Heaven. Not only did I feel this in my own soul, but the whole outside world also seemed to be full of beauty and delight. Everything drew me to love and to thank God; people, trees, plants, animals. I saw them all as my kinfolk. I found on them all the magic of the Name of Jesus. 
– The Way of a Pilgrim

While we trust that God desires for us to bring all our concerns to him in prayer, all true prayer is rooted in the practice of sinking our hearts into the Heart of God where we are transformed and begin to see other people and everything in the world with the love of God – full of beauty and delight.

Sunday, August 28, 2016

The Stranger is the Messenger

A sermon on Hebrews 13:1-8

“Let mutual love continue.  Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers for by doing that some have entertained angels without knowing it.”

Six nights in a row the man had had the same dream. Six nights in a row he had awakened, weeping. Tears of longing. 

In the dream, he was lost, wandering the streets of a large city. It was a winter night, dark and bitterly cold. But every door of every building was locked. 

No matter how hard he knocked or how loudly he shouted the doors remained closed. Only silence on the other side.

He eventually came to a door behind which he could hear the muffled sounds of a party, a great celebration. The door was slightly warm to the touch, promising warmth and comfort on the other side. The faint bits of laughter and music that made it through the door made his heart ache with longing.

He knew his joy depended upon entering, but, like all the other doors in the city, this door was locked. He knocked. He pounded. He shouted. He pleaded. There was no answer. 

At this point, six nights in a row, the man had awakened, weeping. 

On the seventh night, he had the dream again. This time, as he stood at the door, he cried out in desperation, “Dear God, tell me how to open the door.” 

To his amazement, he heard an answer, “The Stranger is my messenger. You will find the secret in the stranger.” 

Again, he awakened, weeping. But, now the tears were tears of expectancy.

As soon as he could get himself ready and skipping breakfast he went out on the sidewalk and asked each person he met, “Are you the messenger?” All he got were blank stares and puzzled looks.

It occurred to him that maybe the stranger would not know whether or not he or she had the message. It was up to the man to pay attention.

That evening he went to a committee meeting. There were people there he had known for a long time. More than one of the committee members was a source of great irritation to the man. During the meeting he realized that though he had known some of those on the committee for a long time, in a deeper sense he had never really gotten to know them. They were still strangers. Maybe one of them was the stranger! He began listening to each person with patient attention like a prospector panning for gold.

So it was with each person he met, not just strangers, but friends and family as well. 

He became more and more open-hearted. He invited others into his heart and made them welcome. The drunk on the street corner. The clerk at the store. The salesperson at his door. He learned to listen to each stranger, seeking the messenger. Every person he met, no matter how troublesome or offensive, was a potential bearer of the message.

The man hosted a big party in which there was much laughter and music. Because he was the host, everyone came. When each person came to his door – whether they were rich or poor, respectable or disreputable, attractive or offensive – he greeted each with a warm embrace and said, “Welcome friend.” He welcomed them regardless of gender, race, or ethnicity. If they had an accent, he just listened more attentively. He spent the evening getting to know as many as he could, hoping to discover the messenger.

He went to the jail and visited the prisoners. He visited patients in the hospital. He went to the nursing home and the insane asylum. Maybe among the prisoners, the sick, or the mentally ill he would find the messenger with the secret to opening the door.

As he invited people into his heart, his home, and his life, things changed. Not always the way he expected or wanted – sometimes the floors and rugs got dirty when some people were careless. Once, his flower garden got a bit trampled. Sometimes, as he welcomed people into his heart, all he got was heartache. strangers did not always cross the borders of his life as he intended. But that was a risk worth taking for the sake of finding the message giving him access to the joy on the other side of the door.

His life was not always comfortable and predictable. But, his life was transformed even as he transformed the lives of others.

Gradually, the man began to realize: each person he let into his heart or home was the stranger-messenger with part of the answer. He had been expecting one particular stranger to have the message, but every stranger, indeed every other person, was part of the message. Each person the man met was a sacred gift, each one rare and precious, each one a messenger from God – an angel.

Every encounter with another person became a potential Visitation, every conversation was a potential Annunciation or Epiphany. With every encounter, he was panning for gold – panning for God.

In showing hospitality he also got to know God who is by nature hospitable, always reaching out to every stranger with open arms to say, “Welcome friend.” 

He learned humility. Not humility born of a groveling sense of worthlessness, but humility born of the realization that each person he met was the very image of God, worthy of respect, honor, and attention. 

He learned love. And the love he learned was mutual love. As he learned to receive the gift of others, he learned to offer the gift of himself.  He, too, might be a messenger of warmth and joy to others.

This was the answer he needed to hear. In his dreams, as in his heart, all the doors were open. He was able to join the celebration on the other side. He still sometimes woke up weeping – but now the tears were tears of joy.

“Let mutual love continue. Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers for by doing that some have entertained angels without knowing it.”

Friday, August 26, 2016

Mercy – We fall down and we get up

The spiritual path can be a herky-jerky affair. It often seems like a two steps forward/one step back affair. We commit, we fail, and we recommit. We find ourselves returning again and again to some of the same sin. We can become discouraged by our own spiritual intransigence. We are tempted to give up or give in. We need mercy. We need help.

It is good to remember that this is – and has always been – standard fair for those seeking to live into holiness. It is also good to remember that our call to live lives of disciplined faithfulness comes within the context of the amazing grace we know in Jesus Christ. That discipline in the context of grace is demonstrated in this story from the early Church:

Dorotheos of Gaza was a monk in the sixth century who, among other things, oversaw the infirmary at his monastery. Dorotheos had an assistant whose name was Dosithy.

In the infirmary Dosithy was a good worker, looking after the sick, making their beds, and making them comfortable. Everything that he did was well done. If it happened that he was put out by a peevish patient or grew angry and rough with his patients, he would weep bitterly and would not be consoled. The others would report it to Dorotheos, who would seek him out and find him seated on the floor weeping his eyes out. ‘What’s the matter, Dosithy, what are you crying about?’ ‘Forgive me, Father,’ he would say, ‘I got angry with my brother and spoke unkindly with him.’ ‘And so, Dosithy, you were annoyed, and are not ashamed to speak badly to your brother! You don’t yet realise that he is Christ, and that you have been a cause of suffering to Christ?’ Dosithy would lower his eyes, still crying, and say nothing. When he had cried enough, Dorotheos would say, ‘God forgive you. Up now! Let us begin again from now, and let us be more attentive and God will help us.’ As soon as he heard these words, Dosithy would get up joyfully and run off to his duties, fully convinced that he had been pardoned by God. Similar scenes took place from time to time, and always when Dorotheos said, ‘Come on! Up you get! God forgive you. Once more start again from the beginning, but correct yourself from now on.’ Dosithy would shake off his trouble and go to work again with a will. 

I am struck with how this story demonstrates how seriously the early Church took anger as a sinful passion and kindness in word and action along with patience as fundamental virtues.

I am also persuaded that the way Dorotheos engages Dosithy is the way God engages us. Our sin is named and taken seriously – no excuses. We should weep over them with remorse. But, then, in his mercy, God does not leave us to wallow in guilt or despair. ‘Come on! Up you get! God forgive you. Once more start again from the beginning, but correct yourself from now on.’

When asked what about life in the monastery, a monk answered, “We fall down and we get up, we fall down and we get up.”

Bernard of Clairvaux said once, “The difference between the damned and the saved is that everyone, except the damned, gets up and stumbles on.”

Up now! Let us begin from now and let us be more attentive and God will help us stumble on.

Becoming a People of God's Mercy and Delight, Part 1

Becoming a People of God's Mercy and Delight, Part 2


More Mercy and Delight

Monday, August 22, 2016

Delight – Dante, Beatrice, and the Delight of God


In a recent post on God’s delight, I compared my early experience of romantic attraction with that of Dante and Beatrice and the way those experiences mirror experiencing the love and delight of God. Following are some quotes from Dante himself. The second quote describing the effect Beatrice had on Dante might also be said of the difference knowing God’s love and delight can make in how we live and how we engage the world around us.

Dante Alighieri (1265-1321) only met Beatrice twice. The first meeting came in May of 1274 when he was only nine years old and she was eight. She was dressed in soft crimson and wore a girdle about her waist. Dante was overcome with love at first sight and heard in his mind, “Now your bliss has appeared." He frequented places where he could catch a glimpse of her, but she never spoke to him until nine years later. Then one afternoon in 1283 he saw her dressed in white, walking down a street in Florence accompanied by two older women. Beatrice turned and greeted him. Her greeting filled him with such joy that he retreated to his room to think about her. Seven years later, Beatrice died with Dante's love of her unrequited.

Those two meetings and one greeting inspired Dante to write some of the most vivid poetry ever and some of the most profound spiritual reflection of the Christian tradition. His first reflections came in the La Vita Nuova (The New Life or Life Renewed) a collection of prose and poetry written over the ten years after the second meeting, years that included Beatrice's death. They culminated in his masterpiece, the Divine Comedy which includes the Inferno, Purgatorio, and the Paradiso.

Dante came to understand that the love Beatrice evoked in him drew him into the life of God – “the Love that moves the sun, the moon, and the other stars” (Paradiso, XXXIII, 145). Indeed, she seemed an icon of the renewed, redeemed life found ultimately in that Love revealed in Jesus Christ. Dante was the great master of the idea that all true love reflects and participates in that one Love revealed in the life and love of Jesus Christ.

Here is Dante's account of his second meeting with Beatrice:

When exactly nine years had passed since this gracious being appeared to me, as I have described, it happened that on the last day of this intervening period this marvel appeared before me again, dressed in purest white, walking between two other women of distinguished bearing, both older than herself. As they walked down the street she turned her eyes toward me where I stood in fear and trembling, and with her ineffable courtesy, which is now rewarded in eternal life, she greeted me; and such was the virtue of her greeting that I seemed to experience the height of bliss. It was exactly the ninth hour of day when she gave me her sweet greeting. As this was the first time she had ever spoken to me, I was filled with such joy that, my senses reeling, I had to withdraw from the sight of others. So I returned to the loneliness of my room and began to think about this gracious person. 
(Vita Nuova III)
And
Whenever and wherever she appeared, in the hope of receiving her miraculous salutation I felt I had not an enemy in the world. Indeed, I glowed with a flame of charity which moved me to forgive all who had ever injured me; and if at that moment someone had asked me a question, about anything, my only reply would have been: ‘Love’, with a countenance clothed with humility. When she was on the point of bestowing her greeting, a spirit of love, destroying all the other spirits of the senses, drove away the frail spirits of vision and said: ‘Go and pay homage to your lady’; and Love himself remained in their place. Anyone wanting to behold Love could have done so then by watching the quivering of my eyes. And when this most gracious being actually bestowed the saving power of her salutation, I do not say that Love as an intermediary could dim for me such unendurable bliss but, almost by excess of sweetness, his influence was such that my body, which was then utterly given over to his governance, often moved like a heavy, inanimate object. So it is plain that in her greeting resided all my joy, which often exceeded and overflowed my capacity. 
(Vita Nuova XI)

Here is a poem he wrote about Beatrice:

The power of Love borne in my lady’s eyes
Imparts its grace to all she looks upon;
Men turn to gaze at her when she walks by;
The heart of him she greets is made to quake,
His face to whiten, forcing down his gaze;
He sighs as all his defects flash in mind;
All pride and indignation flee from her.
Help me to honour her, most gracious ladies.
All sweet conception, every humblest thought
blooms in the hearty of the one who hears her speak,
and man is blest at his first sight of her.
The image of her when she starts to smile
breaks out of words, the mind cannot contain it,
a miracle too rich and strange to hold.
(Vita Nuova XXI)

Friday, August 19, 2016

Mercy – Grace over Karma

Grace is God's favor extended toward us, unearned and undeserved. Grace is the invitation extended by Jesus (and made possible by his life, death, and resurrection) to enter into the irresistible and penetrating light of God's love. And more, it is the gift of God's own Spirit working in us enabling us to RSVP. Still more, grace is the promise of the Holy Spirit working in us to bring about a radical transformation through the mercy of forgiveness, healing, and the infusion of God's own love such that we may become partakers of the divine nature.

In an interview, Bono of the rock band U2, had this to say about grace:

Bono: You see, at the center of all religions is the idea of Karma. You know, what you put out comes back to you: an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, or in physics; in physical laws every action is met by an equal or an opposite one. It’s clear to me that Karma is at the very heart of the universe. I’m absolutely sure of it. And yet, along comes this idea called Grace to upend all that “as you sow, so you will reap” stuff. Grace defies reason and logic. Love interrupts, if you like, the consequences of your actions, which in my case is very good news indeed, because I’ve done a lot of stupid stuff.

Assayas: I’d be interested to hear that.

Bono: That’s between me and God. But I’d be in big trouble if Karma was going to finally be my judge. I’d be in deep shit. It doesn’t excuse my mistakes, but I’m holding out for Grace. I’m holding out that Jesus took my sins onto the Cross, because I know who I am, and I hope I don’t have to depend on my own religiosity.

Maybe after all, Bono is only partly right. Maybe Grace and Mercy are actually at the heart of it all rather than Karma (or, according to the New Testament, certain ways of understanding the Law). That is good news indeed. Because we've all done a lot of stupid things.

Listen to the song Grace by U2. Or just read the lyrics. However ugly things may seem, remember: grace makes beauty out of ugly things.


Grace
She takes the blame
She covers the shame
Removes the stain
It could be her name

Grace
It's a name for a girl
It's also a thought that changed the world
And when she walks on the street
You can hear the strings
Grace finds goodness in everything

Grace, she's got the walk
Not on a ramp or on chalk
She's got the time to talk
She travels outside of karma
She travels outside of karma
When she goes to work
You can hear her strings
Grace finds beauty in everything

Grace, she carries a world on her hips
No champagne flute for her lips
No twirls or skips between her fingertips
She carries a pearl in perfect condition

What once was hurt
What once was friction
What left a mark
No longer stings
Because grace makes beauty

Monday, August 15, 2016

Delight – God's Love Changes things

A version of this appeared in The Anglican Digest in 2006 and in my old blog.

"Tammy Metzger thinks you're cute" (and so does God).

I was a shy, scrawny farm boy. Shy and unsure of myself, I was the shrinking violet of wall flowers. When I was in the 9th grade, I rode a bus, along with other farm kids, to the small town of Claypool, Indiana. There, we were joined by the kids from the town. We were also joined by the kids from the neighboring community of Silver Lake. From there we rode the bus to the high school in Warsaw, the county seat.

I knew all the kids from Claypool, having gone to grade school with them. But the kids from Silver Lake were new. One particular girl from Silver Lake caught my eye. Her name was Tammy Metzger. She was beautiful. She was mysterious, intimidating, and awe-inspiring – the way 9th grade girls often are to 9th grade boys. She intimidated the living daylights out of me! I was dazzled by the splendor of her beauty. It never crossed my mind to even speak to her, let alone tell her that I thought she was beautiful.

One day, on the way from Claypool to Warsaw, word was passed from the back of the bus where the Silver Lake students sat to the front of the bus where I was sitting. The person behind me tapped me on the shoulder and said, “Matt, Tammy Metzger said she thinks you’re cute.” Wow! Bells went off in my head. Unbelievable! Amazing! It changed me.

I was not quite the same boy when I got home that day as I had been when I set out. I was changed. Not a lot – at least, not right away. I was still too shy to ever say anything to Tammy. But, as Dante experienced with Beatrice, just knowing that someone as beautiful as Tammy Metzger had noticed me, began to change me. I did not suddenly become suave and confident, but there was the beginning of a real change in the way I thought about myself. If Tammy Metzger thought I was cute, maybe there was something I was missing. 

Curiously, the very next day, as I was leaving school, another girl stopped me in the hall and said, “I hear that Tammy Metzger thinks you’re cute. I don’t know what she sees in you.” But, she wasn’t Tammy. The fact that Tammy Metzger thought I was cute meant that what anyone else thought was irrelevant.

Knowing that someone looks at us with a measure of delight changes us. This is true of those early experiences of youthful attraction. It is true of deeper romantic relationships. It has been true of my relationship with my wife, Leslie. But it is also true of family relationships. And it is true of friendship. All relationships in which we know ourselves to be noticed, delighted in, enjoyed, cherished, loved, or even simply considered "cute" change and shape us.

The same kind of change happens when we encounter the love of God. It was around the same time as the Tammy Metzger moment – perhaps not coincidentally – that I began to experience God’s love as something real, vital, and directed toward me. In spite of my insecurities, in spite of my feelings, God loved me. Perhaps, God even thought I was “cute”.

Of course, God's love is not cute. It is total self-giving – to the point of entering into the sin and suffering of our world and dying on the cross. It can also be demanding in the expectation that we imitate that love. The transformations it shapes can be uncomfortable. Still, God's delight fashions us for joy.

The knowledge that God delights in me and reaches out to share his life with me changed me. The world was shot through with meaning. My life and how I live it, the choices I make day to day, all began to matter infinitely because I mattered infinitely to God. I was dazzled by the splendor of God’s beauty. 

No matter how often and in how many ways the Adversary has said, “I don’t know what God sees in you;” knowing God’s love in Jesus Christ has made the words of the Naysayer irrelevant. I am loved by the Love at the heart of everything “the Love that moves the syn and the other stars.” So are you.

Like that message passed on the bus all those years ago, an amazing word has been passed to us through the ages by the Church. God is love and that love has been embodied in Jesus Christ. Allow God’s love and delight to wash over you, sink into you, change and shape you.

Becoming a People of God's Mercy and Delight, Part 1

Becoming a People of God's Mercy and Delight, Part 2

Friday, August 12, 2016

Mercy – God's Mercy Personified in Jesus Christ

From Pope John Paul II's wonderful Encyclical on the Mercy of God:

Although God “dwells in unapproachable light” (1 Timothy 6:16), he speaks to man by means of the whole universe: “ever since the creation of the world his invisible nature, namely his eternal power and deity, has been clearly perceived in the things that have been made” (Romans 1:20). This indirect and imperfect knowledge, achieved by the intellect seeking God by means of creatures through visible world, falls short of “vision of the Father”” “no one has ever seen God,” writes Saint John, in order to stress the truth that “the only Son , who is in the bosom of the Father, he has made him known” (John 1:18). This “making known” reveals God in the most profound mystery of his being, one and three, surrounded by “unapproachable light.” Nevertheless, through this “making known” by Christ we know God above all in his relationship of love for man: “philanthropy” (Titus 3:4). It is precisely here that “his invisible nature”: becomes in a special way “visible,” incomparably more visible than through all the other “things that have been made”: it becomes visible in Christ and through Christ, through his actions and words, and finally through his death on the cross and his resurrection.

In this way, in Christ and through Christ, God also becomes visible in his mercy; that is to say, there is emphasized that attribute of the divinity which the Old Testament, using various concepts and terms, already defined as “mercy.” Christ confers on the whole Old Testament tradition about God’s mercy a definitive meaning. Not only does he speak of it, and explain it by the use of comparisons and parables, but above all he himself makes it incarnate and personifies it. He himself, in a certain sense, is mercy. To the person who sees it in him–and finds it in him–God becomes “visible” in a particular way as the Father “who is rich in mercy” (Ephesians 2:4).

. . . .

The truth revealed in Christ, about God the “Father of mercies” (2 Corinthians 1:3) enables us to “see” him as particularly close to man especially when man is suffering, when he is under threat at the very heart of his existence and dignity.