The Christ Between Me...

I am at once both thieves

With the dying Christ between—

Each one of me stretched tight, near naked,

Exposing the dying my living has brought.

One of me robbed my inheritance,

And spent it wildly, leaving no flicker of regret,

Which the breath of the One between

Could warm into flames of repentance.

So let this cross do what it must

To return me to the dust

From which they say I came,

For at least, I concede, I am to blame.

As I hang dying, the other of me

Forces from my memory a whisper of sadness,

Sighing with remorse to be

Remembered by the One between.

My sigh of sorrow meets his breath of grace,

And I know that his memory includes me

Among those who will live in spite of their dying,

Who will live because of his death.

So, with the dying each day brings,

Let me repent of my thievery

And rise from the sweet death of sleep

With a reawakened memory

Of his dying for both of me.     

All Her Exes Were Not From Texas

All her exes were not from Texas.  They were most likely from her home town of Samaria.  All five of them. I’m thinking of this Sunday’s (March 27^th) Gospel lesson—the encounter at the well between Jesus and the Samaritan woman.  Many remember this story and the meta-communication as Jesus and the woman talked.  She came for water; Jesus offered her water, but not the potable kind.  I think she finally got it, but she kept the verbal game going.  And so did Jesus, until her thirst was quenched.

I once stole a sermon about this story from Dr. James Forbes.  Well, I re-imagined his thoughts and spun my own story about the woman’s return to Samaria to tell about this most amazing rabbi, Jesus, “…the man who told me everything I have ever done.”

She went back to Samaria, and the first person she told about her encounter with Jesus was her first husband.  They were so very young when they married, and he was so very cute.  But she found that “cute doesn’t last.”  And she wandered…and wandered…until the marriage eroded, and she left her cute husband for someone cuter.  She, now forgiven and understood by Jesus, sought forgiveness and understanding from her first husband, still cute, but with thinning hair and a bulging middle.  “He forgave me; he accepted me.  Will you?  I’m so sorry, but we were so young and immature.  Please forgive my unfaithfulness.”

Although it was painful for her, she located her second husband.  There were many bad memories…many.  He had seemed so mature, kind, and understanding.  The first time it happened, she brushed it off.  Just a bad day.  He simply lost control.  It really didn’t hurt that much.  A glancing blow with some minor bruising.  But it happened again and again and again.  Finally, she summoned the courage to leave him.  She would not be abused again.  She, now forgiven and understood by Jesus, wanted to forgive her second husband.  “He forgave me.  I forgive you.  Will you accept my forgiveness?”

Her third husband was quite old by now.  He was much older than she when they married.  She had been abused. This time she wanted to be taken care of, and he had the means to do so quite well.  Although there was quite an age difference, his money made up for it.  Yes, why not, she thought…why not marry for security and money and the comforts money can buy?  But he got older, and soon the money didn’t make up for whatever it was she was missing.  So…she left him, and through some sly manipulation took a lot of his wealth with her.  As she approached him, he barely recognized her with his failing eyesight, but he remembered her voice.  She, now forgiven and understood by Jesus, begged the elderly ex-husband’s forgiveness.  He gave it freely.  They both rejoiced.

She was not surprised to learn that her fourth husband was on his third wife.  He seemed so sincere and committed when they married, but she began to sense the distance between them.  She tried to stay close, but he drifted farther and farther away.  All the way into the affections of another.  So, she left him.  And she had never forgiven him for his unfaithfulness.  But it was different now.  She, now forgiven and understood, wanted to forgive her fourth husband.  “I forgive you.  Whether you need my forgiveness or not, I forgive you.  I, who am forgiven, forgive you.”

She finally found her fifth husband.  Since their divorce, he had tried to keep to himself, avoiding the inquiring public.  When they married, he was kind, understanding, warm.  He listened to her, and he accepted her failings and limitations.  She thought it odd that he didn’t seem interested in physical affection, but she never insisted.  It became no real surprise to her when he confessed that although he had a male’s body, that was about all.  He left her for another man.  Although not surprised, she suffered public humiliation.  She needed to forgive all three of them for not being honest.  She, now forgiven and understood by Jesus, said to her gay ex-husband, “He accepts you as he accepts me.  Just as you are.  He expects nothing of you but to consider his acceptance. He welcomes you into his presence and his life.”

And, as the scripture records, “Many Samaritans from that city believed in him because of the woman’s testimony, ‘He told me everything I have ever done’” (John 4:39).

Bumper Sticker Theology...

Surely someone has already written the article or the book about the theology of bumper stickers.  But I remember one I saw many years ago.  Stopped at a traffic light, this is what I read on the bumper sticker on the car in front of me:  Watch out for the idiot behind me.

Immediately, I looked in the rear view mirror to see about whom the bumper sticker was referring.  Then I realized that I was the one being referred to in the message.  Watch out for the idiot behind me.

Well…sometimes I do things that may be judged as idiotic.  Like trying to make something out of silly bumper stickers.  And sometimes I say things which may sound like idiocy.  When I was a pastor and worship leader, I remember saying something like, “Let us pray together this morning.”  If “us” pray, then we will be praying together. And if we pray then, we will be praying that morning.  What a waste of words! 

So, I’ve said and done some foolish things, but I’m not an idiot.  The bumper sticker was wrong.  But it may have something to say anyway.

What if the bumper sticker said, Watch out for the person behind me?  Now that might make some good sense.  In what ways am I watching out for myself?  Are you watching out for yourself?  Watch out for yourself. Now, that’s some good advice.

Taking care of ourselves.  We all need to strike a balance between taking care of others and taking care of ourselves.  Sometimes it is more blessed to receive than to give.  What do you need to receive?  Maybe a word of affirmation that you’re basically a good person.  Well, you are!  And so am I.

Maybe you need to receive self-given permission to take a break from whatever it is you need a break from.  Relax.  Do nothing for a few hours.  Don’t just do something; sit there.

Or maybe what you need to hear from yourself or what I need to hear from myself is something motivating.  Don’t just sit there; do something.  Get up and get moving.  Take a walk.  Get your heart rate up.  Take care of yourself or someone else.

Watch out for the idiot behind me.  Got my attention. 

Giving Up Lent for Lent...

Several years ago my good friend told me what he was giving up for Lent, the forty days of spiritual preparation before the celebration of the resurrection of Jesus.  He decided to give up three C’s…Chocolate, Caffeine, and Cigars.  He did it.  From Ash Wednesday until Easter Sunday, he gave up three of his addictions.  I applauded his decision and his discipline.  He’s the authority on his cravings and how they affect his spiritual well-being. 

In addition to the spiritual benefits of asceticism, I know my friend also saved some money.  He doesn’t drink grocery-store swill disguised as coffee; he doesn’t eat the processed muck packaged and peddled as chocolate; and, he doesn’t light up machine-rolled stogies that pass for real cigars.  He has class, my good friend, and he’s taught me much about the enjoyment of the good things in life. 

I once gave up radio-playing while driving during Lent.  I learned that there’s plenty of music without the blaring of an automobile audio system.  Another Lent I gave up frustration…or I tried to give it up.  My failure to do so led to more frustration, which is a damnable thing that probably has more negative effects than some luscious Belgian chocolate or an occasional hand-rolled cigar.  But, I confess that I’m not very good at giving up something for a set season.  I simply don’t have the stuff to give up stuff during the season of Lent.

If I did have what it takes to give up something for Lent, and if what I give up is something that distracts me from pondering the mysteries of Christ’s Passion, which is one of the reasons to observe Lent, then why should I give up this distraction for only 40 days, leaving the other 325 days vulnerable to my distraction?  If it’s good enough for Lent, it’s good enough for Ordinary Time, the longest season of the Christian year.

Really…I’m not giving up Lent for Lent.  I am giving up a familiar notion of Lent—that it’s a time to give up something.  Lent might be a time to hold on to something.  “Put it behind you,” someone says of whatever it is that interferes with whatever doesn’t need interference in one’s life.  “Let it go” is another simple, clear, easy…and wrong piece of advice for the complexity of letting go.  “Move on,” pop advice teaches, but sometimes there are too many pieces to pick up and just plant somewhere else.

Rumi, the Persian poet, wrote “This Being Human,” which begins, “This being human is a guest house; every morning a new arrival…”  This wise bard teaches me to welcome and attend every visitor, even if a meanness or depression or sorrow or regret or difficulty comes knocking at my door.  Greet these visitors as a way to welcome my humanity—not fearing them, not putting them behind me or letting them go or moving away from them.  This is radical hospitality.  Faces of my humanity are not my enemies.

If I let some fear or distracting habit go, it may return to haunt me.  If I put something behind me, I can’t see it…and I can’t trust it not to attack me from behind.  If I give up a trait or trial that has seemed to dog me all my life, or try to, then I lose control.  If I move on to leave some trouble behind, I may end up a nomad. No…I want to hold these bits of my humanity.  Not tightly, as if to strangle them. I waste energy trying to kill off these daily travelers. I just want to hold them, look at them, and view them from all angles and in different shades of my temperament.  I want to keep them gently in the palm of my being and befriend them. 

After all, these daily visitors to the mansion of me are what give me individuality and uniqueness.  When the guests pop in for an unexpected sit, the measure of my hospitality is the measure of the condition of my soul.  Welcome, meanness…you’re not so mean after all.  Come on in, jealousy…you’re not looking so green this morning.  Well, look who’s here, another addiction…I have just the spot for you.  Regret, it’s you again…well, come on in; you know where your place is.

So…this Lent I’m not giving up anything.  I’m not “letting go,” “putting behind,” or “moving on.” This Lent I’m going to enjoy my home and ruminate upon Rumi.  I’m practicing radical hospitality.  I’ll welcome all the old friends and kin to my house called “Being Human.” 

Leaning...

I love browsing around in music stores looking at guitars.  There’s nothing like the cedar-like smell of a brand new one.  If I’d spend as much time practicing my guitar as I did looking at new ones, I’d be a much better player.

One day I was in a local music store looking at and strumming a new guitar.  The salesperson and I fell into conversation.  We agreed that a fine instrument only gets better with age.  The wood cures and mellows out, and the tone just gets richer and better.

Then the guy told me something I’d never heard.  He said that if you took a new guitar and leaned it next to a stereo speaker—with the sound hole facing the speaker—the guitar would cure and mellow out much better.

Never heard that before.  Could be just an old guitar player’s tale.  But it does make sense.  The vibrations of the sound coming from the speaker might have something to do with how the wood of the guitar begins to age.  If I ever buy a new guitar, I’ll certainly take this man’s advice. 

There’s a fairly new guitar maker who uses the wood from old pianos for his instruments.  I hear they are fine instruments.  All those keyboard vibrations, aging and curing the wood, just may have something to do with the superior quality of these guitars made from the old pianos.

It occurs to me that if we leaned a person new to faith up next to an older or wiser person who vibrates with the love of God, the new believer would grow much better.  There are some believers whose faith just seems mellow and rich and vibrant.  Why not lean up against them and listen and learn?  I think the popular way to say it is “mentoring.” 

Against whom are you leaning?  I ask myself that question sometimes. Is there someone you could spend time with who could help you become mellower in your faith?  I think of many from my past who have let me lean on and learn from them. The communal nature of my faith and church gives me the opportunity to lean on many wiser and more mature believers.  Such leaning has enriched my life.

I also wonder about those who might lean on me.  Am I strong enough to hold them up?  Am I the kind of person others might want to learn from or grow by? There have been some humbling and holy times in my life when another has leaned on me.

The refrain of a great old hymn says, “Leaning, leaning, safe and secure from all alarms; leaning, leaning, leaning on the everlasting arms.” I suppose we could all use some eternity to lean on.  There are some everlasting truths that will prop us up when we’re tempted or discouraged or weak.

So, whether it’s aging guitars or maturing persons of faith, the early influence of vibrant sounds helps us make good music.

Dusty Chins...

Lent looms on the horizon.  When I was a pastor, I typically included a confession of sin in the order of worship during Lent.  Recalling that practice, I turned in my concordance to “confession.”  There it was in Leviticus 16.  It’s about the annual Day of Atonement when the priest followed an ancient ritual to atone for a year’s worth of the people’s sinning.

In one detail, Aaron lays his hands upon the head of a live goat and confesses over it all the sins of the people.  The goat, bearing all these sins, is led away to the wilderness of Azazel.  The “scape-goat” carries away the sins of the people. 

 

Poor beast!  Can’t you see it?  A skinny, old goat—his chin making tracks in the sand because his head is so heavy with sins.  The sad creature wanders around in the wilderness until it croaks and along with it a year’s worth of sins.  PETA would protest this literal scape-goating.

Wouldn’t it be nice if getting rid of our sins were that easy?  Find an old goat, load up the sins, slap its backside, and send it and the wrongdoings off to die. And think of the goat breeders!  They’d get rich.  I do believe there are more sins than goats to carry them. 

The fact is, while getting rid of our sins might not be easy, easing the guilt of them is much easier than loading it on a goat’s head.  Changing ways to avoid certain wrongdoings is hard, hard work.  The disciplines of holding my tongue, resisting temptation, easing anger, avoiding lust, diminishing envy, starving gluttony, denying addictions…the list goes on…are disciplines that take time, prayer, and patience.

However, receiving God’s forgiveness for my numerous sins is much easier than rounding up a scapegoat, literal or figurative.  All I need to do is tell God I’m sorry and ask God to forgive me.  When I become aware of or am confronted with my sinning, I can pray to God for mercy and know that my sin will be removed.  As the Psalmist says, it will be removed from me as far as the east if from the west.

We’ve replaced the Leviticus atonement scapegoat. She tempted me, he enticed me, the advertising was too aggressive, I didn’t read the warning label, I didn’t think anyone would notice, I wasn’t responsible at that time, my parents didn’t praise me enough, the devil made me do it …again, the list drags on.  I think I need to work hard to avoid those scapegoats. When we take personal responsibility for our sins, God is slow to anger and quick to forgive.

Is your chin dusty?  The burdens we bear weigh us down and can cause us to drag through our personal wildernesses.  But you know what?  They don’t have to.  If we insist on dragging around our burdens, it’s our own insistence that becomes another form of sinning.  No one is so good at burden-bearing that God’s help is not needed.  No one’s burdens are so heavy that God can’t lift them.  No one’s sin is so bad that God can’t forgive it.

A Little Pre-Lent Fun...

Here's a little ditty I wrote.  I dedicate to all my aging friends.

Shock of Aging  
(Sing to the tune of “Rock of Ages”)

Shock of aging, mercy me!

Need to find a place to pee.

Seems it happens more and more,

Searching for the men’s room door.

Barely made it, just in time.

Ah…the feeling is sublime.

Shock of aging, this will pass.

Damn, I hate this frequent gas.

Eat some roughage is the word.

But this diet is absurd,

‘Cause it makes me swell and bloat,

Then I stink just like a goat.

Shock of aging, cross my heart,

Never, ever, trust a fart.

Thought it had to do with smell.

That’s not it, I’m here to tell.

Trust me; heed this sound advice,

And you’ll keep your undies nice.

Shock of aging, what a thrill!

Men will need a small, blue pill.

Women will support the cause,

Free at last from menopause.

Shock of aging, never fear.

Grant me, Lord, another year.