Lent 2
February 28th, 2010
Should we always forgive?
Today is the second installment of our Lenten preaching series on forgiveness.
Last week, we looked at Jesus’ call for us to forgive others, epitomized in the words of Lord’s Prayer: “forgive us our sins as we forgive those who sin against us.”
Today we’ll wrestle with a question inspired by the gospel—Jesus lamenting over Jerusalem, so sacred, so precious, so corrupt.
The question is: “Did Jesus really mean it? Is it true that we should always forgive? What about someone who has done grievous harm to me or to someone I love? To perpetrators of domestic violence? What about someone who rapes a child? What about horrific social violence—Nazis in Germany? Serb and Croat partisans in Bosnia, the terrorists of 9/11—should they be forgiven? Or would forgiveness in any of these cases condone the sin and brush aside the suffering of the victims?”
In her book Forgiveness: Following Jesus into Radical Loving, Paula Huston tells the story of Simon Wiesenthal. He was a Jewish concentration camp survivor who spent his life hunting down Nazi war criminals and bringing them to justice.
One night, as he was working as an orderly in a Red Cross hospital, a nurse came to him and asked him to follow her.
She led him to the bed of an SS soldier who was dying. He wanted to confess a terrible sin: under orders he had gathered scores of Jewish men, women, and children into a house and then set the house on fire.
But the dying soldier didn’t just want to admit what he had done. He wanted someone to forgive him. He begged Wiesenthal to forgive him.
He did not. He turned away. But for the rest of his life, his refusal to forgive that SS soldier haunted him.
It so haunted him that late in his life he asked a group of philosophers and religious people whether they thought he ought to have forgiven him.
The overwhelming majority argued that Wiesenthal was right not to forgive. Huston says, “Their primary reason for rejecting forgiveness as an option is a particularly powerful one, and has to do with fear of perpetuating evil. In order to prevent us from ever again going through a moral catastrophe on the scale of the Holocaust, they say, the blood of the innocent must continue to cry out forever. We must never forget—and forgiving assures that we will” (p.8, my emphasis).
A handful of people disagreed with the majority opinion. While they absolutely agreed with the majority that we must act to prevent anything like the Holocaust happening again, they argued that to answer violence with violence, cruelty with cruelty, unforgiveness with unforgiveness only serves to perpetuate and prepare the ground for more violence. We only have to look at the conflicts between Jews and Palestinians, Shia and Sunni, Christians and Muslims, representing centuries of slaughter where forgiveness is regarded as weakness and revenge is lifted up as strength.
This minority argued that though evil it can only truly be overcome when it is answered with good rather than more evil.
There are no easy answers here. But I want to raise some points that might help us think through the question of whether Christ ever lets us off the hook for forgiveness:
1. Forgiveness is not a warm and fuzzy “it’s ok. It really doesn’t matter” kind of thing. Forgiveness does not mean whitewashing the sin. We need to tell the truth about evil, the way Jesus told the truth about Jerusalem.
2. Forgiveness—and this is important!—forgiveness does not mean that we forget. Forgiveness does not mean that we—personally, nationally, internationally—that we need to make ourselves stupid and allow the evil to happen again.
3. Forgiving someone doesn’t mean they have to be your new best friend. In fact, you can forgive someone and at the same time make it clear that for your protection you do not want to be friends with or even in the presence of that person. This is true, for example, in the case of domestic violence.
And finally, 4, even when we forgive someone who has done grievous harm, that person can, if appropriate, be bound over to the legal system for prosecution and punishment. Forgiveness and justice can go hand in hand.
Forgiveness is a mystery. In some cases it seems unimaginable.
But sometimes reality succeeds in racing ahead of what we can imagine. I want to end with a story of heroic forgiveness. It’s a true story, one that you know:
In 2006 we were all shocked by the murder in Lancaster County, Pennsylvania, of five little Amish girls by a non-Amish neighbor, Charles Roberts.
As a mother, I cannot imagine how I would react if my child was murdered. I strongly suspect that forgiving the murderer would not be first on my mind.
But you probably remember how the Amish mothers and fathers, the families and friends of the murdered girls immediately reached out to the killer’s family. They mourned with them over his suicide at the same time they were grieving their own children. They told Charles Roberts’ family that they forgave him.
People around the country were shocked and some were angry. How could these people possibly forgive a man who had brutally murdered their children? Didn’t they have normal human feelings? But in turn the Amish men and women seemed amazed that anyone would question their reactions.
According to Paula Huston, “[In response, they] tried to explain that forgiveness is simply a manifestation (sometimes, as in this particular case, a dramatic one) of a life lived according to Christ’s double commandment of love: ‘You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, with all your mind, and with all your strength . . . [and] you shall love your neighbor as yourself.’”
Huston goes on, “The fact that the Amish could forgive when they were so grievously injured does not imply that forgiving is any easier for them than it is for us—only that they are fully convinced that Jesus’ teachings on forgiveness lie at the heart of what it means to be a Christian.” (22-23).
Do you agree with them? Do I? What about Jesus’ prayer: “Forgive us our sins, as we forgive those who sin against us”? Do we mean it? Should we mean it? Sometimes? Always? …………………………………………………………………………..Amen
Sunday, February 28, 2010
Sunday, February 21, 2010
Lent I February 21, 2010 “Forgiveness at the Heart of Lent”
Lent I
February 21, 2010
“Forgiveness at the Heart of Lent”
What if . . .
What if after we had prayed the Great Litany together, I had walked out there and stood in front of you and said to you, “Please forgive me for anything I have done to hurt you.”
And then you had answered the same to me, and then turned first to one neighbor and then to another, saying, “Please forgive me for anything I have done to hurt you.”
That ritual happens at the beginning of Lent each year in Eastern Orthodox churches around the world on “Forgiveness Sunday.”
Every year at this time we talk about what we’ll give up during Lent, what practices we’ll take up. I suggest that this year we focus on that one practice— forgiveness.
Jesus put forgiveness front and center.
When the disciples begged him, “Lord, teach us to pray,” he included forgiveness in the very center of the prayer he gave them. “Forgive us our trespasses,” we say, or in the balder, more direct newer version, “Forgive us our sins.” Ok that’s all very well, but then Jesus followed that with a very startling next phrase: “forgive us our sins JUST AS we forgive those who sin against us.”
Hear that? “Just as”! That’s pretty clear: Like it or not every time we pray the Lord’s Prayer, we’re putting ourselves on the line on the forgiveness front. We’re giving God permission to ignore our request for forgiveness, if we refuse to forgive the people who have hurt us, or failed us, or gotten in the way of what we want.
I’ve mentioned to a few of you over the years that I had never really heard that part of the prayer until one day, right here, when we were saying the Lord’s Prayer together. All I could think was, “Uh oh.” I spent the rest of the service listing in my head the names of people I hadn’t forgiven and wondering, where does that put me with God?
To make this forgiveness business even more difficult Jesus didn’t just tell us to forgive others. He also said that that we shouldn’t even bother to come to church if we don’t seek forgiveness from the people whom we’ve hurt.
In Matthew’s Gospel we hear him saying, “. . . if you bring your gift to the altar, and there recall that your brother or sister has anything against you, leave your gift there at the altar, go first and be reconciled with your brother or sister, and then come and offer your gift.”
Jesus is clear, then, that we can’t possibly be in right relationship with God unless and until we learn to forgive and to ask for forgiveness.
Yet even Jesus may have needed to learn forgiveness.
Today’s Gospel describes Jesus’ forty days of temptation in the wilderness. The writer only describes three of the temptations. But he says that Jesus was tempted all the time—all the time! Forty days of whispers, suggestions, excuses, vivid pictures of gratifications of all kinds—nothing left out.
Jesus learned over those forty days how hard it is to be human, how many weakness we humans are prey to. How excruciatingly difficult it is not yield to those seductive voices, those “try it—it won’t really matter,” “try it—it’ll be worth it,” “go ahead—you’re more important than those other people.”
And by experiencing what it feels like to be a human being in the grip of a legion of whispers to turn away from God and one another—Jesus became even more truly human and capable of forgiving.
He’d felt the temptation to give up God’s work and go back to live a safe, comfortable life in Galilee, so he was able to forgive Peter when, poor coward, he denied knowing his beloved master. He’d felt the temptation to let fear of the devils overwhelm him, so he was able to forgive his closest friends for running away from the crucifixion. And he’d felt the fatal attraction of greed and power, and so he would have forgiven Judas.
Jesus knew how deep and powerful run the human attractions to cruelty and selfishness and cowardice. And so from his heart he was able to cry out from the cross: “Father, forgive them.” [Point out the heart at the center of the cross in the banner]
This Lent we will spend our sermon time exploring the forgiveness to which we are called as Christians.
Each week we’ll look at a different facet guided by the week’s Gospel.
It won’t be easy. We’ll have to talk about questions like: If I forgive someone who’s doing me harm, does that mean I just have to give in and keep on letting him hurt me? Does Christian forgiveness mean we can’t advocate putting people in prison? How could I ever forgive the murderer of my child—and should I?
Such hard questions! But they are questions we Christians need to ask as we grapple with Jesus’ demand that we put forgiveness at the center of our life.
The writer Paula Huston suggests that we won’t have to struggle alone: “When Christ tells us we must take forgiveness seriously, he also promises to accompany us. We do not seek or offer forgiveness on our own; we cannot. It is only through him that we are able,” able to say: “Please, please, forgive me for anything I have done to hurt you.” Amen.
February 21, 2010
“Forgiveness at the Heart of Lent”
What if . . .
What if after we had prayed the Great Litany together, I had walked out there and stood in front of you and said to you, “Please forgive me for anything I have done to hurt you.”
And then you had answered the same to me, and then turned first to one neighbor and then to another, saying, “Please forgive me for anything I have done to hurt you.”
That ritual happens at the beginning of Lent each year in Eastern Orthodox churches around the world on “Forgiveness Sunday.”
Every year at this time we talk about what we’ll give up during Lent, what practices we’ll take up. I suggest that this year we focus on that one practice— forgiveness.
Jesus put forgiveness front and center.
When the disciples begged him, “Lord, teach us to pray,” he included forgiveness in the very center of the prayer he gave them. “Forgive us our trespasses,” we say, or in the balder, more direct newer version, “Forgive us our sins.” Ok that’s all very well, but then Jesus followed that with a very startling next phrase: “forgive us our sins JUST AS we forgive those who sin against us.”
Hear that? “Just as”! That’s pretty clear: Like it or not every time we pray the Lord’s Prayer, we’re putting ourselves on the line on the forgiveness front. We’re giving God permission to ignore our request for forgiveness, if we refuse to forgive the people who have hurt us, or failed us, or gotten in the way of what we want.
I’ve mentioned to a few of you over the years that I had never really heard that part of the prayer until one day, right here, when we were saying the Lord’s Prayer together. All I could think was, “Uh oh.” I spent the rest of the service listing in my head the names of people I hadn’t forgiven and wondering, where does that put me with God?
To make this forgiveness business even more difficult Jesus didn’t just tell us to forgive others. He also said that that we shouldn’t even bother to come to church if we don’t seek forgiveness from the people whom we’ve hurt.
In Matthew’s Gospel we hear him saying, “. . . if you bring your gift to the altar, and there recall that your brother or sister has anything against you, leave your gift there at the altar, go first and be reconciled with your brother or sister, and then come and offer your gift.”
Jesus is clear, then, that we can’t possibly be in right relationship with God unless and until we learn to forgive and to ask for forgiveness.
Yet even Jesus may have needed to learn forgiveness.
Today’s Gospel describes Jesus’ forty days of temptation in the wilderness. The writer only describes three of the temptations. But he says that Jesus was tempted all the time—all the time! Forty days of whispers, suggestions, excuses, vivid pictures of gratifications of all kinds—nothing left out.
Jesus learned over those forty days how hard it is to be human, how many weakness we humans are prey to. How excruciatingly difficult it is not yield to those seductive voices, those “try it—it won’t really matter,” “try it—it’ll be worth it,” “go ahead—you’re more important than those other people.”
And by experiencing what it feels like to be a human being in the grip of a legion of whispers to turn away from God and one another—Jesus became even more truly human and capable of forgiving.
He’d felt the temptation to give up God’s work and go back to live a safe, comfortable life in Galilee, so he was able to forgive Peter when, poor coward, he denied knowing his beloved master. He’d felt the temptation to let fear of the devils overwhelm him, so he was able to forgive his closest friends for running away from the crucifixion. And he’d felt the fatal attraction of greed and power, and so he would have forgiven Judas.
Jesus knew how deep and powerful run the human attractions to cruelty and selfishness and cowardice. And so from his heart he was able to cry out from the cross: “Father, forgive them.” [Point out the heart at the center of the cross in the banner]
This Lent we will spend our sermon time exploring the forgiveness to which we are called as Christians.
Each week we’ll look at a different facet guided by the week’s Gospel.
It won’t be easy. We’ll have to talk about questions like: If I forgive someone who’s doing me harm, does that mean I just have to give in and keep on letting him hurt me? Does Christian forgiveness mean we can’t advocate putting people in prison? How could I ever forgive the murderer of my child—and should I?
Such hard questions! But they are questions we Christians need to ask as we grapple with Jesus’ demand that we put forgiveness at the center of our life.
The writer Paula Huston suggests that we won’t have to struggle alone: “When Christ tells us we must take forgiveness seriously, he also promises to accompany us. We do not seek or offer forgiveness on our own; we cannot. It is only through him that we are able,” able to say: “Please, please, forgive me for anything I have done to hurt you.” Amen.
Ash Wednesday February 17, 2010
Ash Wednesday
February 17, 2010
Why are we gathered here today/tonight?
Why the public breast-beating of the confession we’re about to say, naming the seediest of our sins?
Why are we about to allow ourselves to be publicly marked with ashes on our foreheads?
In my spare minutes this week I’ve been watching the Olympics.
You know how the commentators fill in the action with human interest bios on the athletes. I’ve been particularly struck this year by how many of the athletes have come back from serious, serious wounds: the skater whose skate blade cut his other leg to the bone. The skier who raced the men’s downhill a couple of days ago with a cast on the thumb he broke two weeks ago. The woman snowboarder who had been carried off a mountain unconscious at the last Olympics, but who came back to a spectacular win yesterday.
In all the interviews with those athletes, they said much the same thing: “I thought it was all over, but then I decided to do what I needed to do to heal and get back on the mountain or the ice dancing floor.”
We’re here today/tonight because each one of us carries wounds—physical wounds of illness, or—often even more painful—the wounds that others have inflicted on us and the wounds that our sins have made in our lives.
We’re here today/tonight because some part of our minds and hearts long to believe the words we just said in Psalm 103:
God forgives all our sins,
and heals all our infirmities,
There’s only one way that we can get this forgiveness and healing—to bend before the infinite mercy of God.
Practically speaking, how do we do this?
First, trust enough to name before God where we are most wounded. God won’t be shocked. God has heard it all before. But what both you and God need is for you to be honest. Maybe it’s a sin done long ago that still eats away at your peace and confidence. Maybe it’s a person you can’t seem to forgive, no matter how hard you try. Maybe it’s a habit of reacting angrily to other people, or an addiction to alcohol, or food, or drugs.
Don’t bring God a laundry list of things you want to change. Just focus on one. Then actually say to God something like, “Dear God, this Lent help to change just this one thing in my life.”
Next, pray about it, in the morning when you get up and just before bed. Give it to God. None of the wounded athletes I’ve heard this week said, “I just decided to heal it myself.” No, they found the best physician—and the best physician of all is the God who loves us.
In a few minutes we’ll read Psalm 51. It begins with a perfect prayer to God for healing:
Have mercy on me, O God, according to your loving-kindness;
in your great compassion blot out my offences.
Or, in a version I prefer,
In your great tenderness wipe away my sins.
When I hear these words, I always envision a mother wiping the dirt off the skinned knee of her child.
As you are praying during these forty days, giving yourself into the healing hands of God, you also need to do some rehab!
It won’t be easy—those of you who have been through rehab know how painful it can be. But we can’t heal without it.
Rehab means practice, stretching weak muscles, relearning how to do things.
If you’re working on forgiving someone, your rehab program may be simply once a day holding that person up to God’s mercy and grace. Or you may feel God nudging you to reach out toward that person (that is not always the best thing to do).
If you’ve named a habit of anger, say, or envy—try to become aware of just when and how your buttons get pushed. See if you can get a little grace time before you react—perhaps just take a breath before you say those angry words or push send for an e-mail.
If you suspect you’re addicted to something, reach out to someone who knows about these things—they can help you and it is immensely powerful, as AA has proved, to name your addiction to another person.
Why are we here today/tonight?
Like wounded athletes, we all need healing. Otherwise, how can we ever tackle the fogged-over mountain trails and bumpy ice that inevitable comes up in our lives:
We may all give different reasons for being here, but ultimately we came here for one reason alone. In order that, as Jesus says in the Gospel of John: “we might have life, and have it more abundantly.”
February 17, 2010
Why are we gathered here today/tonight?
Why the public breast-beating of the confession we’re about to say, naming the seediest of our sins?
Why are we about to allow ourselves to be publicly marked with ashes on our foreheads?
In my spare minutes this week I’ve been watching the Olympics.
You know how the commentators fill in the action with human interest bios on the athletes. I’ve been particularly struck this year by how many of the athletes have come back from serious, serious wounds: the skater whose skate blade cut his other leg to the bone. The skier who raced the men’s downhill a couple of days ago with a cast on the thumb he broke two weeks ago. The woman snowboarder who had been carried off a mountain unconscious at the last Olympics, but who came back to a spectacular win yesterday.
In all the interviews with those athletes, they said much the same thing: “I thought it was all over, but then I decided to do what I needed to do to heal and get back on the mountain or the ice dancing floor.”
We’re here today/tonight because each one of us carries wounds—physical wounds of illness, or—often even more painful—the wounds that others have inflicted on us and the wounds that our sins have made in our lives.
We’re here today/tonight because some part of our minds and hearts long to believe the words we just said in Psalm 103:
God forgives all our sins,
and heals all our infirmities,
There’s only one way that we can get this forgiveness and healing—to bend before the infinite mercy of God.
Practically speaking, how do we do this?
First, trust enough to name before God where we are most wounded. God won’t be shocked. God has heard it all before. But what both you and God need is for you to be honest. Maybe it’s a sin done long ago that still eats away at your peace and confidence. Maybe it’s a person you can’t seem to forgive, no matter how hard you try. Maybe it’s a habit of reacting angrily to other people, or an addiction to alcohol, or food, or drugs.
Don’t bring God a laundry list of things you want to change. Just focus on one. Then actually say to God something like, “Dear God, this Lent help to change just this one thing in my life.”
Next, pray about it, in the morning when you get up and just before bed. Give it to God. None of the wounded athletes I’ve heard this week said, “I just decided to heal it myself.” No, they found the best physician—and the best physician of all is the God who loves us.
In a few minutes we’ll read Psalm 51. It begins with a perfect prayer to God for healing:
Have mercy on me, O God, according to your loving-kindness;
in your great compassion blot out my offences.
Or, in a version I prefer,
In your great tenderness wipe away my sins.
When I hear these words, I always envision a mother wiping the dirt off the skinned knee of her child.
As you are praying during these forty days, giving yourself into the healing hands of God, you also need to do some rehab!
It won’t be easy—those of you who have been through rehab know how painful it can be. But we can’t heal without it.
Rehab means practice, stretching weak muscles, relearning how to do things.
If you’re working on forgiving someone, your rehab program may be simply once a day holding that person up to God’s mercy and grace. Or you may feel God nudging you to reach out toward that person (that is not always the best thing to do).
If you’ve named a habit of anger, say, or envy—try to become aware of just when and how your buttons get pushed. See if you can get a little grace time before you react—perhaps just take a breath before you say those angry words or push send for an e-mail.
If you suspect you’re addicted to something, reach out to someone who knows about these things—they can help you and it is immensely powerful, as AA has proved, to name your addiction to another person.
Why are we here today/tonight?
Like wounded athletes, we all need healing. Otherwise, how can we ever tackle the fogged-over mountain trails and bumpy ice that inevitable comes up in our lives:
We may all give different reasons for being here, but ultimately we came here for one reason alone. In order that, as Jesus says in the Gospel of John: “we might have life, and have it more abundantly.”
Sunday, February 7, 2010
Epiphany 5 February 7, 2010
Epiphany 5
February 7, 2010
Today Luke’s Gospel is a fish story meant to catch you and me!
It takes place along the shore of the Sea of Genesseret otherwise known as the Sea of Galilee, is a fisherman’s paradise.
Commercial fishermen still fish the waters, as Simon Peter and his brother Andrew, and John and his brother John, did 2000 years ago.
It’s a long, deep, freshwater lake, really, rather than a sea, and it still teems with fish just as it did in Simon Peter’s day. Catches of 600 pounds are not uncommon.
And yet you fishermen know how crazy fishing can be. One day you can’t keep them off your hook and the next day—not a bite.
Poor Simon Peter! He’s worked hard all night and caught exactly zero fish.
It’s a tough life, being a commercial fisherman: constant worry about money, risking disaster every single night.
Now to cap it off, this unknown teacher Jesus shows up out of the blue and commandeers his boat. Simon goes along, but really just wants the crowd—and Jesus—to go away.
But Jesus doesn’t go away. Instead he tells Simon, “Go out into the deep waters.” Fed up, Simon answers, “But we’ve just spent the whole night fishing” with the subtext—“we are fishermen, you are just a preacher, go away.”
But Peter finally gives in and against his better judgment picks up his nets, and rows out to the deep water with Jesus in the boat.
He dips in his net----and suddenly the problem shifts from “not enough” to “way too much”!
Flopping fish everywhere, too many to count.
Peter falls on his knees, hides his face from Jesus’ smiling face looking down at him, and cries out—“Go away! This is too much for me. I’m no saint. I’m just a regular guy.”
That’s it! That’s the whole point! Jesus didn’t choose Simon Peter to be his disciple because Peter was in any way at all extraordinary. Exactly the opposite—Jesus chose Peter because he was so completely a “regular guy.”
Look at his “regular guy” credentials: He worked for a living.
He had good days and bad days—presumably they balanced out, but Jesus showed up on a particularly bad day.
He had regular emotions. He lost his temper when Jesus, this carpenter from up north, presumed to tell him how to do his job.
And finally he had enough sense to be bowled over by the miracle of all those fish. He knew God was somehow right there in the boat. And he didn’t know what to do.
For the past few weeks, Joan Bowers has been guiding a small group of us in what’s called “group spiritual direction.”
Here’s how it works: We sit around the table in the CLC in silence, loosening ourselves from the busy-nesses of our day—all those buzzy thoughts about phone calls not made, e-mails not returned, those unwashed dishes at home—we just let them drift.
Then one person takes ten minutes or so to talk about something that’s bothering or concerning him or her, something weighing on them in their daily lives.
After they finish speaking we don’t start talking right away. We go back into silence.
Then for five minutes or so we ask the person questions. The point of these questions isn’t to fix the situation. It’s to provide an opportunity for the person to see more deeply into what is happening. We don’t always use “God” language, but we assume that God working with and calling to that person even in the hardest, most painful situations.
The situations we’ve been bringing to the group the past few weeks haven’t been questions about prayer or about the doctrines of our faith.
No—instead they’ve been gritty, practical, daily issues about family, friends, and work. They arose for us “regular” people in the course of our “regular” lives.
The process is amazing—When I presented, I brought up a painful problem involving a friend. During the question time I was bowled over by the hidden facets, the depths, the insights, revealed by the group’s responses. I had a clearer sense of what I am “called” by God to do in this situation.
At the end of my time, I felt a little like Simon Peter when he realized just who it was smiling down at him as he knelt down in awe in the fishy swill at the bottom of his boat.
That day on the shores of the Sea of Galilee, Jesus called Simon Peter and the others to be his disciples. And that’s how it works even today: he calls us regular people to be his disciples right in the middle of the events of our regular lives.
Sometimes the call is to leave those lives behind—as those Galilean fishermen did—and make a radical change—to go do mission work far away, or to seminary, or a monastery.
But most often God calls us to be disciples right where we are, with our families, friends, and communities.
But what does it mean, that odd word, ‘disciple’?
We don’t use it much in ordinary life. But here’s a simple definition: “disciples are people who live the Gospel in their ordinary lives so clearly that the people who come in contact with them can hear it and see it.” Again: “Disciples are people—regular people like you and me—who live the Gospel in their ordinary lives so clearly, so transparently, that people who come in contact with them can hear it and see it.”1
How will they know? What will they see? Here are some of the visible qualities of a disciple life: Kindness, patience. Care for the poor and the sick and the lonely. A passion for justice. Love for the unlovable.
Jesus casts his nets and draws us in: “Come, follow me,” Jesus says to us as he said to those fishermen so long ago, “come, follow me.”
1paraphrased Mary Hinkle
February 7, 2010
Today Luke’s Gospel is a fish story meant to catch you and me!
It takes place along the shore of the Sea of Genesseret otherwise known as the Sea of Galilee, is a fisherman’s paradise.
Commercial fishermen still fish the waters, as Simon Peter and his brother Andrew, and John and his brother John, did 2000 years ago.
It’s a long, deep, freshwater lake, really, rather than a sea, and it still teems with fish just as it did in Simon Peter’s day. Catches of 600 pounds are not uncommon.
And yet you fishermen know how crazy fishing can be. One day you can’t keep them off your hook and the next day—not a bite.
Poor Simon Peter! He’s worked hard all night and caught exactly zero fish.
It’s a tough life, being a commercial fisherman: constant worry about money, risking disaster every single night.
Now to cap it off, this unknown teacher Jesus shows up out of the blue and commandeers his boat. Simon goes along, but really just wants the crowd—and Jesus—to go away.
But Jesus doesn’t go away. Instead he tells Simon, “Go out into the deep waters.” Fed up, Simon answers, “But we’ve just spent the whole night fishing” with the subtext—“we are fishermen, you are just a preacher, go away.”
But Peter finally gives in and against his better judgment picks up his nets, and rows out to the deep water with Jesus in the boat.
He dips in his net----and suddenly the problem shifts from “not enough” to “way too much”!
Flopping fish everywhere, too many to count.
Peter falls on his knees, hides his face from Jesus’ smiling face looking down at him, and cries out—“Go away! This is too much for me. I’m no saint. I’m just a regular guy.”
That’s it! That’s the whole point! Jesus didn’t choose Simon Peter to be his disciple because Peter was in any way at all extraordinary. Exactly the opposite—Jesus chose Peter because he was so completely a “regular guy.”
Look at his “regular guy” credentials: He worked for a living.
He had good days and bad days—presumably they balanced out, but Jesus showed up on a particularly bad day.
He had regular emotions. He lost his temper when Jesus, this carpenter from up north, presumed to tell him how to do his job.
And finally he had enough sense to be bowled over by the miracle of all those fish. He knew God was somehow right there in the boat. And he didn’t know what to do.
For the past few weeks, Joan Bowers has been guiding a small group of us in what’s called “group spiritual direction.”
Here’s how it works: We sit around the table in the CLC in silence, loosening ourselves from the busy-nesses of our day—all those buzzy thoughts about phone calls not made, e-mails not returned, those unwashed dishes at home—we just let them drift.
Then one person takes ten minutes or so to talk about something that’s bothering or concerning him or her, something weighing on them in their daily lives.
After they finish speaking we don’t start talking right away. We go back into silence.
Then for five minutes or so we ask the person questions. The point of these questions isn’t to fix the situation. It’s to provide an opportunity for the person to see more deeply into what is happening. We don’t always use “God” language, but we assume that God working with and calling to that person even in the hardest, most painful situations.
The situations we’ve been bringing to the group the past few weeks haven’t been questions about prayer or about the doctrines of our faith.
No—instead they’ve been gritty, practical, daily issues about family, friends, and work. They arose for us “regular” people in the course of our “regular” lives.
The process is amazing—When I presented, I brought up a painful problem involving a friend. During the question time I was bowled over by the hidden facets, the depths, the insights, revealed by the group’s responses. I had a clearer sense of what I am “called” by God to do in this situation.
At the end of my time, I felt a little like Simon Peter when he realized just who it was smiling down at him as he knelt down in awe in the fishy swill at the bottom of his boat.
That day on the shores of the Sea of Galilee, Jesus called Simon Peter and the others to be his disciples. And that’s how it works even today: he calls us regular people to be his disciples right in the middle of the events of our regular lives.
Sometimes the call is to leave those lives behind—as those Galilean fishermen did—and make a radical change—to go do mission work far away, or to seminary, or a monastery.
But most often God calls us to be disciples right where we are, with our families, friends, and communities.
But what does it mean, that odd word, ‘disciple’?
We don’t use it much in ordinary life. But here’s a simple definition: “disciples are people who live the Gospel in their ordinary lives so clearly that the people who come in contact with them can hear it and see it.” Again: “Disciples are people—regular people like you and me—who live the Gospel in their ordinary lives so clearly, so transparently, that people who come in contact with them can hear it and see it.”1
How will they know? What will they see? Here are some of the visible qualities of a disciple life: Kindness, patience. Care for the poor and the sick and the lonely. A passion for justice. Love for the unlovable.
Jesus casts his nets and draws us in: “Come, follow me,” Jesus says to us as he said to those fishermen so long ago, “come, follow me.”
1paraphrased Mary Hinkle
Thursday, February 4, 2010
Rector’s Report Annual Meeting
Rector’s Report
Annual Meeting
Church of the Holy Spirit
January 31, 2010
A few weeks ago we read St. Paul’s description of spiritual gifts in the First Letter to the Corinthians. That same week I had occasion to call a man who comes occasionally to our church, but belongs to another denomination. We talked briefly about Church of the Holy Spirit, and at the end of the conversation he named what he considered to be an outstanding gift of our church: care for each other and for the people who come to us as strangers and often remain here as our brothers and sisters in Christ.
I write this Rector’s Report in a spirit of deep thanksgiving for the privilege of being your priest. I am continually surprised and moved by the depth of your faith and the breadth of your gift of kindness to others both within the church and those outside it.
During this year, I have served as your pastor, priest, and teacher, as specified in my ordination vows.
As pastor: I have visited the homebound and those in hospitals and nursing homes. I’ve also been called to function as a short-term counselor, to help parishioners discern issues including marital and job difficulties. In those cases, the Holy Spirit has been an important part of our conversations!
As priest: We rejoiced in the baptism of Isabelle White (grand niece of Anne Hunnewell), and in the Confirmations last spring of Courtney and Megan Abernathy, Michael and Andrew Buttolph, Simon Smith-Mauchly, and two students from Holderness School. We did not have any funerals of parish members during 2009—a striking change from 2008 when so many of our beloved friends were called home to God. Anyce Noyes died on December 24th and the family has been in contact with me to talk about a committal service in late April.
Early in 2009, Jonathan Ross joined us as choir director. Although not a music major, he has generously given of his time and his experience as a singer to guide our choir. The anthem at the 10:00 Christmas Eve service was a tribute to his gifts.
Julie Formidoni graduated in May leaving us, for the first time in six years, without a Formidoni at the keyboard. We have been incredibly fortunate to have Peggy Johnson as our primary supply organist since Julie left. Joyce Milner joined us briefly as organist, and Rosemary Genarro brought her considerable skills on the organ to us during Christmas week. In this time of musical semi-crisis, Anne Hunnewell, Gwynna Smith, and Will Cabell all rallied to give us music for worship.
The Wednesday Eucharist continues each week at 12:30 at the CLC. Everyone is invited to participate in this meditative celebration of Eucharist and in the discussions we have each week in lieu of a sermon.
We had a terrific series of Wednesday Schools for kids and parents during ski season, 2009, and they have begun again. It is a wonderful way for parents and children to have fun and to worship together.
We have continued our ministry of Eucharist, pastoral care, and Bible study at the Mentally Handicapped Offenders’ Program, now in its fifth year. Pat L’Abbe faithfully attends the Eucharist and always brings flowers to brighten the altar.
As teacher: During Lent we paired contemporary movies and discussions about faith in daily life. Since September we’ve enjoyed a rich series of events under the auspices of the Holy Spirit Center for Spiritual Life, skillfully guided by Joan Bowers: “From Sunday to Monday” on everyday spirituality and a one-day workshop in making Anglican rosaries. In addition, I led a three-session class on the Creed during Advent.
Other: Some of you may not be aware of the extent to which our Highland Street site is being used by members and by the community. Many people, even those who have lived in the area for a long time, have come to know of the existence of Church of the Holy Spirit through coming to an activity at the site.
Griswold Hall is in use every week day, often for more than one program. Church programs regularly held there include education events like the Rosary-making workshop, ECW luncheons, weekly Christian Yoga, our monthly quilting and knitting groups, as well as the weekly Al Anon which was begun and is led by CHS members. In addition, Griswold Hall each week hosts six sessions of AA and one of Narcotics Anonymous. It is also used on a semi-regular basis for watercolor classes and adult literacy tutoring. And that doesn’t include the Farmers’ Market each week during the summer and the ECW book sales!
We are blessed every day by the courage and generosity of those who, beginning in 2002, initiated and carried out the Capital Fund Drive which enabled Church of the Holy Spirit to expand its ministry into the community.
Annual Meeting
Church of the Holy Spirit
January 31, 2010
A few weeks ago we read St. Paul’s description of spiritual gifts in the First Letter to the Corinthians. That same week I had occasion to call a man who comes occasionally to our church, but belongs to another denomination. We talked briefly about Church of the Holy Spirit, and at the end of the conversation he named what he considered to be an outstanding gift of our church: care for each other and for the people who come to us as strangers and often remain here as our brothers and sisters in Christ.
I write this Rector’s Report in a spirit of deep thanksgiving for the privilege of being your priest. I am continually surprised and moved by the depth of your faith and the breadth of your gift of kindness to others both within the church and those outside it.
During this year, I have served as your pastor, priest, and teacher, as specified in my ordination vows.
As pastor: I have visited the homebound and those in hospitals and nursing homes. I’ve also been called to function as a short-term counselor, to help parishioners discern issues including marital and job difficulties. In those cases, the Holy Spirit has been an important part of our conversations!
As priest: We rejoiced in the baptism of Isabelle White (grand niece of Anne Hunnewell), and in the Confirmations last spring of Courtney and Megan Abernathy, Michael and Andrew Buttolph, Simon Smith-Mauchly, and two students from Holderness School. We did not have any funerals of parish members during 2009—a striking change from 2008 when so many of our beloved friends were called home to God. Anyce Noyes died on December 24th and the family has been in contact with me to talk about a committal service in late April.
Early in 2009, Jonathan Ross joined us as choir director. Although not a music major, he has generously given of his time and his experience as a singer to guide our choir. The anthem at the 10:00 Christmas Eve service was a tribute to his gifts.
Julie Formidoni graduated in May leaving us, for the first time in six years, without a Formidoni at the keyboard. We have been incredibly fortunate to have Peggy Johnson as our primary supply organist since Julie left. Joyce Milner joined us briefly as organist, and Rosemary Genarro brought her considerable skills on the organ to us during Christmas week. In this time of musical semi-crisis, Anne Hunnewell, Gwynna Smith, and Will Cabell all rallied to give us music for worship.
The Wednesday Eucharist continues each week at 12:30 at the CLC. Everyone is invited to participate in this meditative celebration of Eucharist and in the discussions we have each week in lieu of a sermon.
We had a terrific series of Wednesday Schools for kids and parents during ski season, 2009, and they have begun again. It is a wonderful way for parents and children to have fun and to worship together.
We have continued our ministry of Eucharist, pastoral care, and Bible study at the Mentally Handicapped Offenders’ Program, now in its fifth year. Pat L’Abbe faithfully attends the Eucharist and always brings flowers to brighten the altar.
As teacher: During Lent we paired contemporary movies and discussions about faith in daily life. Since September we’ve enjoyed a rich series of events under the auspices of the Holy Spirit Center for Spiritual Life, skillfully guided by Joan Bowers: “From Sunday to Monday” on everyday spirituality and a one-day workshop in making Anglican rosaries. In addition, I led a three-session class on the Creed during Advent.
Other: Some of you may not be aware of the extent to which our Highland Street site is being used by members and by the community. Many people, even those who have lived in the area for a long time, have come to know of the existence of Church of the Holy Spirit through coming to an activity at the site.
Griswold Hall is in use every week day, often for more than one program. Church programs regularly held there include education events like the Rosary-making workshop, ECW luncheons, weekly Christian Yoga, our monthly quilting and knitting groups, as well as the weekly Al Anon which was begun and is led by CHS members. In addition, Griswold Hall each week hosts six sessions of AA and one of Narcotics Anonymous. It is also used on a semi-regular basis for watercolor classes and adult literacy tutoring. And that doesn’t include the Farmers’ Market each week during the summer and the ECW book sales!
We are blessed every day by the courage and generosity of those who, beginning in 2002, initiated and carried out the Capital Fund Drive which enabled Church of the Holy Spirit to expand its ministry into the community.
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