Epiphany 5
February 8th, 2009
There’s a danger lurking in the shadows, ready to pounce. A major threat to our mental and spiritual health-----------Shame.
In the catalogue of awful feelings, shame is right up there in the top two or three. I don’t know about you, but for me shame feels like little worms crawling over my skin.
The hard part about shame is that it’s often so vague. Sometimes I know why I feel ashamed, but more often shame descends on me like a cloud and I don’t really know why.
Or I find myself in a situation where I sense something’s wrong, but I don’t know what. And of course I assume whatever it is is my fault and I’m ashamed, even though I’ve no idea what went wrong.
I prefer good healthy guilt, when I know I’ve done something wrong. I can do something about it—I can own up to what I’ve done, and often I’m able to say I’m sorry and do what I can to mend the situation.
Shame, though—what can you do about that? It’s so indefinite, so shadowy, so vague.
Imagine Peter waking up in his own house early in the morning after Jesus had cured the sick and demon-wracked people of Capernaum.
Once Jesus had healed Peter’s mother-in-law of course he became a family hero, and they invited him to spend the night with them.
But at the first crow of the family rooster, Peter opened his eyes and Jesus was gone.
Peter searched the house—probably doesn’t take long—probably it’s only two or three rooms—and outside.
He saw the grass trampled down by last night’s crowds, but no Jesus.
And he feels shame.
Because Jesus was gone—this man who wasn’t like anyone else Peter had ever met.
Jesus, the man who’d looked at Peter as if he was the only person on earth and said, “Come, follow me.”
Peter had fixed it up with his wife and fishing partners and was supposed to leave today with Jesus, traveling who knows where.
But now Jesus was gone.
Suffused with shame, Peter tried to guess why: Maybe Jesus had been watching Peter all that day before and decided he wasn’t up to the job. Maybe Jesus regretted calling him to follow him. Maybe, basically, he just wasn’t good enough.
That’s the trouble with shame—it shrinks us into ourselves.
When I’m feeling ashamed I assume it’s obvious to everybody around me that I’ve got some awful flaw, even though I don’t know quite what it is.
At its worst, shame can spiral us down into real depression where we can’t do anything at all. We stop trying, stop hoping, isolate ourselves, even from people who love us.
In the world we live in, one of the most powerful sources of shame is failure because Americans worship success!
For the last three or four months in the Styles and Business sections of the NY Times I’ve been reading articles about how hard the current economic free fall is for high-power executives who suddenly find themselves out of work.
For years they’ve been “Masters of the Universe,” with seemingly infinite power, money, and perks. Now they sit at home, unemployed, wondering what hit them.
Whether or not some of them feel (sometimes appropriate!) guilt about things they may have done to get all that power and money, the articles describe in vivid detail the shame they feel at being out of a job. Sometimes they get dressed up and go out in the mornings so that the neighbors won’t guess that they really have no where to go. They’re terrified others will see them as they see themselves—as failures.
Alas, that sort of shame deriving from a sense of failure can haunt church members and church communities as well.
If we’ve come here from elsewhere, we’ve probably brought with us our vision of a “successful church”: What is a successful church? A full time priest—maybe more than one!, big Sunday School, active youth group, variety of education programs, big choir, a hefty endowment as a financial cushion . . . .
When that vision (even though maybe only semi-conscious) gets laid over the reality of the church one is actually in, shame can creep in. We can feel like failures.
But that denies the deepest truest thing about the church—that Christ has called every one of us here, just as truly as he called Peter.
When Peter finally cast off the shadow of shame and depression and went looking for the Master who had called him, he’d stopped thinking in terms of success or failure.
He remembered how Jesus had looked at him that day on the beach—scruffy, smelling of fish and sweat, not all that bright—and still chose him.
Jesus could work through him, just as he was.
And in the same way. God works with what we have, what we are, both as individuals and a church.
That doesn’t mean that we don’t grow and change and submit to God’s transforming love. Of course not. A friend of mine has a tag at the bottom of all his e-mails which says “God loves me just as I am, and God loves me too much to let me stay that way!”
But God doesn’t do shame. God doesn’t worship “success.” God just calls us to follow him and that should be quite enough for us.
Through God’s eyes, you are enough, each one of you; I am enough; we are enough. That’s all we need to know . . . . the rest is up to God.
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
Fourth Epiphany February 1st, 2009
Fourth Epiphany
February 1st, 2009
1 Corinthians 8:1-13
“To our dear brother in Christ, Paul,” the first letter began.
“We need your help. Some people among us say that it is wrong for us Christians to eat meat that has been sacrificed to one of the pagan idols. We know that those idols are just stories represented by bits of plaster and cloth. We know that our God is the one and true God, and that Christ is of God. So we know there is no harm in eating meat killed in the name of a mere myth. We buy the meat from our neighbors, and sometimes go to one of the big temple suppers. What’s the problem as long as we know that we worship the one true God? We’ve told the others that, but they still think eating the meat is wrong. How can we explain it to them?---------------Yours in Christ Jesus”—followed by a list of familiar names.
The second letter began in the same way, “To our dear brother in Christ, Paul,” but then went on:
“You have always been kind to us and helped us grow in our faith. We are confused. The leaders say that we can eat sacrificed meat, no problem, but we don’t feel good about it. It feels like we are still worshiping those other gods by eating sacred meat. And sometime when we eat the meat, our neighbors or wives or husbands who still worship the gods say, “I thought you worshiped the Christian God. What are you doing eating meat sacrificed to Zeus? Are you only a Christian when you’re not hungry?!” Shouldn’t we Christians act differently from other people?------------Yours in Christ Jesus,” followed by another list of names, including a few Paul didn’t know—they must have been newish members..
St Paul thought and prayed and sent back one letter to the whole community.
He’s saying to the first group: “You’re theologically right on. There is only one true God, so the meat is just meat. It’s not sacred meat, because the gods it’s sacrificed to don’t exist.
“But guess what? You’ve grabbed onto the wrong fork in this argument! Because all your sophisticated knowledge—and your pride in it—are causing suffering to some of your brothers and sisters, newer in the faith, maybe holding onto this dangerous faith by their fingertips.
“What’s most important here? Food or faith? Claiming your right to get what you want or giving it up for the sake of your brothers and sisters in Christ?”
“Remember this little maxim: ‘Knowledge puffs up; love builds up.’”
This is an exotic dispute, hard for us to get into our 21st century heads. But the same sorts of controversies arise today.
For example, the other day a new member asked about our alcohol policy.
I explained the history—that the diocese a few years ago asked that all the parishes consider the issue of alcohol at church functions.
Of course in our discussion at Church of the Holy Spirit the issue of insurance came up early and often. We know that ours is a litigious society and we need to prudently consider the possibility of being sued if someone who’s been drinking gets in an accident on the way home.. But we found out that our insurance has good coverage for that sort of thing. So, no problem, right?
Well . . . . no. We went on to ask ourselves whether as a church we are called to care in a special way for those who might be harmed by the availability of alcohol. In the end we decided to sacrifice our freedom to drink alcohol on church property for the sake of our brothers and sisters for whom alcohol is poison.
We opted, just as St. Paul advised the Corinthians, to “build up” each other in love.
President Obama has frequently mentioned the idea of a “beloved community,” a community joined together by mutual concern, respect, and love. It is a deeply Christian concept.
Yet it’s so easy for us church members to forget that we’re in this Christianity business not primarily for what each of us personally gets out of it, but for how we can build up and strengthen the whole body of Christ, the truly beloved community.
This week I’ve been thinking hard about something that happened last week at the Annual Meeting. I heard—and I confess I participated in—quite a lot of criticism of “the diocese.” Finally a hand went up at the back of the room and new member of the church said quietly: “But aren’t we the diocese?”
She was absolutely right. Her statement certainly pricked my conscience. The diocese is not a back room cabal out to get us. The diocese is us and all the other parishes and missions and Episcopal schools—all of us, a bigger realization of the Body of Christ. And our responsibility toward it?—to build it up in love.
And what about others around us? What about the people outside our church whom God loves as much as God loves us? We reach out to the world around us—to Salem Children’s Village, to local people in financial distress, to the Offenders’ Program and the Mabvuku project in Zimbabwe which is just beginning-------not as just a nice thing to do if we have some extra money, not because we’re going to get back something concrete from them—but because we’re simply not a church if we don’t imitate our Christ in his life of giving himself to others, especially to those suffering and in need. To build them up, to help them become more whole, through our loving actions, no strings attached.
“. . . love builds up.”
Another way to say it is: “Stretch!” The “I” needs to be stretched out more and more, whether it’s each of our individual selves or our little church.
If it feels like a sacrifice, fine. Look what Jesus sacrificed for love of our poor little selves—his own body and his own blood!
Another name for “sacrifice” is “generosity.” God’s generosity has given us so much: our lives, God’s own self!
I recently found a little prayer that I use each day to remind me to “stretch!” It’s simple: “May I, O Giver of Life, live as graciously and generously to others as you have lived toward me.” It works just as well as a prayer for our lives together as Church of the Holy Spirit: “May we, O Giver of Life, live as graciously and generously to others as you have lived toward us. . . . --------Amen.”
February 1st, 2009
1 Corinthians 8:1-13
“To our dear brother in Christ, Paul,” the first letter began.
“We need your help. Some people among us say that it is wrong for us Christians to eat meat that has been sacrificed to one of the pagan idols. We know that those idols are just stories represented by bits of plaster and cloth. We know that our God is the one and true God, and that Christ is of God. So we know there is no harm in eating meat killed in the name of a mere myth. We buy the meat from our neighbors, and sometimes go to one of the big temple suppers. What’s the problem as long as we know that we worship the one true God? We’ve told the others that, but they still think eating the meat is wrong. How can we explain it to them?---------------Yours in Christ Jesus”—followed by a list of familiar names.
The second letter began in the same way, “To our dear brother in Christ, Paul,” but then went on:
“You have always been kind to us and helped us grow in our faith. We are confused. The leaders say that we can eat sacrificed meat, no problem, but we don’t feel good about it. It feels like we are still worshiping those other gods by eating sacred meat. And sometime when we eat the meat, our neighbors or wives or husbands who still worship the gods say, “I thought you worshiped the Christian God. What are you doing eating meat sacrificed to Zeus? Are you only a Christian when you’re not hungry?!” Shouldn’t we Christians act differently from other people?------------Yours in Christ Jesus,” followed by another list of names, including a few Paul didn’t know—they must have been newish members..
St Paul thought and prayed and sent back one letter to the whole community.
He’s saying to the first group: “You’re theologically right on. There is only one true God, so the meat is just meat. It’s not sacred meat, because the gods it’s sacrificed to don’t exist.
“But guess what? You’ve grabbed onto the wrong fork in this argument! Because all your sophisticated knowledge—and your pride in it—are causing suffering to some of your brothers and sisters, newer in the faith, maybe holding onto this dangerous faith by their fingertips.
“What’s most important here? Food or faith? Claiming your right to get what you want or giving it up for the sake of your brothers and sisters in Christ?”
“Remember this little maxim: ‘Knowledge puffs up; love builds up.’”
This is an exotic dispute, hard for us to get into our 21st century heads. But the same sorts of controversies arise today.
For example, the other day a new member asked about our alcohol policy.
I explained the history—that the diocese a few years ago asked that all the parishes consider the issue of alcohol at church functions.
Of course in our discussion at Church of the Holy Spirit the issue of insurance came up early and often. We know that ours is a litigious society and we need to prudently consider the possibility of being sued if someone who’s been drinking gets in an accident on the way home.. But we found out that our insurance has good coverage for that sort of thing. So, no problem, right?
Well . . . . no. We went on to ask ourselves whether as a church we are called to care in a special way for those who might be harmed by the availability of alcohol. In the end we decided to sacrifice our freedom to drink alcohol on church property for the sake of our brothers and sisters for whom alcohol is poison.
We opted, just as St. Paul advised the Corinthians, to “build up” each other in love.
President Obama has frequently mentioned the idea of a “beloved community,” a community joined together by mutual concern, respect, and love. It is a deeply Christian concept.
Yet it’s so easy for us church members to forget that we’re in this Christianity business not primarily for what each of us personally gets out of it, but for how we can build up and strengthen the whole body of Christ, the truly beloved community.
This week I’ve been thinking hard about something that happened last week at the Annual Meeting. I heard—and I confess I participated in—quite a lot of criticism of “the diocese.” Finally a hand went up at the back of the room and new member of the church said quietly: “But aren’t we the diocese?”
She was absolutely right. Her statement certainly pricked my conscience. The diocese is not a back room cabal out to get us. The diocese is us and all the other parishes and missions and Episcopal schools—all of us, a bigger realization of the Body of Christ. And our responsibility toward it?—to build it up in love.
And what about others around us? What about the people outside our church whom God loves as much as God loves us? We reach out to the world around us—to Salem Children’s Village, to local people in financial distress, to the Offenders’ Program and the Mabvuku project in Zimbabwe which is just beginning-------not as just a nice thing to do if we have some extra money, not because we’re going to get back something concrete from them—but because we’re simply not a church if we don’t imitate our Christ in his life of giving himself to others, especially to those suffering and in need. To build them up, to help them become more whole, through our loving actions, no strings attached.
“. . . love builds up.”
Another way to say it is: “Stretch!” The “I” needs to be stretched out more and more, whether it’s each of our individual selves or our little church.
If it feels like a sacrifice, fine. Look what Jesus sacrificed for love of our poor little selves—his own body and his own blood!
Another name for “sacrifice” is “generosity.” God’s generosity has given us so much: our lives, God’s own self!
I recently found a little prayer that I use each day to remind me to “stretch!” It’s simple: “May I, O Giver of Life, live as graciously and generously to others as you have lived toward me.” It works just as well as a prayer for our lives together as Church of the Holy Spirit: “May we, O Giver of Life, live as graciously and generously to others as you have lived toward us. . . . --------Amen.”
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