A question to treasure

The reflection from Sunday was offered in three sections with space in between for silent reflection. It is based on the lectionary gospel reading which you can find here, and also on excerpts from ‘Let your life speak’ by Parker Palmer which you can listen to me reading in the audio clip below.

In the gospel reading we hear Jesus ask a question. He knows the answer. He knows both what people are saying about him and he knows who he is, truly.

And who he truly is has nothing to do with what people think of him, or what they say about him. He stands on the sacred ground of knowing his full and true identity. This is the source of his authority and power, his compassion and his humility – this truth is what flows through his life and brings life, brings healing, peace and joy.

How long has he known, I wonder? Since his temptation in the desert? Since his baptism in the river Jordan? Since before? Since his birth? When Mary fed him at her breast was there, swirling in the depth of his eyes, all the knowledge of the entire universe?

If we say he is fully human, then we must also recognise that the human experience begins with discovery. We are born with only 25% of our brain wiring in place. We start out not knowing and we learn from everything we encounter.

At some point in his growing up, Jesus began to know who he was. At some point he began to hear and understand his calling – to make known the love of God by living in and through and as the love of God – his calling to be love embodied. I could say that those of us who follow him are called to this same path, this same vocation, and I believe that’s true.

Come to me, Jesus said, and I’ll give you rest. At the same time, I’m inviting you to join me in my work…learn how to embody love with me; learn the rhythm of this work; learn to listen and be all in, fully present to each part of being and doing.

Who are you, truly? Do you know?

A time of silent reflection as we listen to music. Followed by the second reading

Let you life speak excerpts

Parker Palmer is a Quaker teacher. He offers a wise reflection on what it means to know who you truly are. His experience may be much more extreme than yours. Perhaps you are not deeply depressed now, nor have you ever been. Parker describes how he came to understand his depression as having a friendly intent towards him.

He imagined it, he says, as ‘a friendly figure, standing at a distance, trying to get my attention by shouting my name, wanting to teach me some hard but healing truths about myself. But I- fearful of what I might hear, or arrogantly trying to live without help, or simply too busy with my ideas and ego and ethics to bother– ignored the shouts and walked away.

So this figure, still with friendly intent, came closer and shouted more loudly, but I kept walking. Ever closer it came, close enough to tap me on the shoulder, but I walked on. Frustrated by my unresponsiveness, the figure threw stones at my back, then struck me with a stick, still wanting simply to get my attention. But despite the pain, I kept walking away. Over the years, the befriending intent of this figure never disappeared but became obscured by the frustration caused by my refusal to turn around.

When all else failed, there was only one option left: drop the nuclear bomb called depression on me, not with the intent to kill but as a last-ditch effort to get me to turn and ask the simple question, “What do you want?” When I was finally able to make the turn– and start to absorb and act on the self-knowledge that then became available to me– I began to get well.

He says then that he understood the figure who had been calling to him all those years was, his truest, full self. The self-planted in us by the God who made us in God’s own image– the self that wants nothing more, or less, than for us to be who we were created to be. 

Who do people say that you are? How much does that matter to you? Who are you, truly?How free are you to be who you are created to be? Are you confident to stand on the sacred ground of your true self, beloved, humble, quiet.

A time of silent reflection as we listen to music

The question begins as personal – a question for you.

Is the life I am living the same as the life that wants to live in me? Because before I can tell my life what I want to do with it, I must listen to my life telling me who I am, and I must listen my life telling me what truths I embody, what values I represent.

When the parish council took some time together to discuss our personal and shared values, we began with a whole page of value words and we had to cross off all but ten. This was very hard. Some of the words were really good. And then we had to narrow those ten down to the top two. It was really challenging.

There was one word I wanted to be my top value: wholehearted. But I wasn’t sure if I could say, hand on heart, “this is my highest value. This is what I strive for, measure myself by, this is what I am inspired by and aspire to. This is what I do and who I am.” And then, nearly a year later, I came to realise that it’s not my top value. The more I listened to my life, the more I watched what I do and how I do it, what I prioritise – sometimes even against my own intention – I realised: my top value is connection. I can’t change that. My life has spoken.

I am here for connection.

What is the value your life wants to embody? What is your truest, fullest self telling you?

And when you know that, the question then becomes relational.

Who are we? And whose are we? Who do you belong with and what are we here to do?

Our journey together is a whole made up of many parts. This faith community has a long history in the area, and the stories of growth, loss, love, death, joy, hope, failure and forgiveness – they are all part of finding our way. Parker encourages us to listen to our lives and to embrace the fullness of what we hear when we create the quiet, inviting and trustworthy conditions where the soul dares to speak its truth. Because that journey stands a chance of taking us toward the place where our deep gladness meets the world’s deep need.

The fullness that flows from knowing who you are, knowing what is yours to do – what you are here to embody – that wise knowing guides us through the seasons of rest, planting, nurturing, and harvest. And so finally, this leads us to the last question:

What do you want to let go of, and what do you want to give yourself to?

There is no hurry to answer this. You must be clear so you can flow with it, into it – so it can flow through you, as you.

Parker says:

We are exploring together. We are cultivating a garden together, backs to the sun. The question is a hoe in our hands and we are digging beneath the hard and crusty surface to the rich humus of our lives.

Backs to the sun with this question in our hands…let’s pray.

Command me to come to you

https://diglib.library.vanderbilt.edu/act-imagelink.pl?RC=55904

You can find all the readings for Sunday here.

Immediately he made the disciples get into the boat and go on ahead to the other side, while he dismissed the crowds. And after he had dismissed the crowds, he went up the mountain by himself to pray. When evening came, he was there alone, but by this time the boat, battered by the waves, was far from the land, for the wind was against them. And early in the morning he came walking toward them on the sea. But when the disciples saw him walking on the sea, they were terrified, saying, “It is a ghost!” And they cried out in fear. But immediately Jesus spoke to them and said, “Take heart, it is I; do not be afraid.” Peter answered him, “Lord, if it is you, command me to come to you on the water.” He said, “Come.” So Peter got out of the boat, started walking on the water, and came toward Jesus. But when he noticed the strong wind, he became frightened, and beginning to sink, he cried out, “Lord, save me!” Jesus immediately reached out his hand and caught him, saying to him, “You of little faith, why did you doubt?” When they got into the boat, the wind ceased. And those in the boat worshiped him, saying, “Truly you are the Son of God.” 

Matthew 14:22-23

This is a reflection on the gospel reading.

When I was young, my dad told me stories. He made up bedtime stories for our entertainment and he also told stories in an attempt to educate.  I say an attempt, because although my parents tried hard with me, I never really believed the educational stories any more than I believed the ones about the teddies who went on adventures and got into scrapes. One of the educational stories my dad told stayed with me because of it’s obvious unbelievability…. I’ll tell it to you and you can hear for yourself….

Once upon a time, there was a young girl who was out in town with her family. It was a busy Saturday morning, and they were walking down a noisy street with lots of other people out and about – talking to each other, calling out hellos while cars and trucks rumbled up and down the street. Then, something happened – I can’t remember what it was…perhaps the young girl spotted her best friend from school across the road, or maybe she dropped something precious she was carrying that rolled into the road…in any case, for some reason she carelessly ran out into the traffic.

By some miracle she wasn’t immediately run over, BUT two trucks were converging on her from each side! She could not safely cross back to her family or continue over to the other side. Fortunately, her father assessed the situation in a moment and at the top of his lungs he yelled, “STOP”.

And the obedient child immediately froze in her tracks perfectly in the centre of the road. The two trucks passed by behind her and in front, missing her by inches. And that’s why it’s important to do what you are told straight away. The end. See what I mean?

Now, I thought it was an utterly unbelievable story until I heard Annie tell a story of Miles teaching her to drive. You remember what it’s like when you are a learner driver, and you are on hyper alert, just a hair below full on panic. And if you have ever sat with a learner driver, you know what it’s like to put yourself in the hands of someone who is not yet skilled enough to do it but is nonetheless travelling at speeds that could cause significant injury.

It’s stressful for everyone.

Annie told me how, as she drove down a two lane highway, Miles barked at her to turn in behind that red car, and she obeyed immediately, without mirror, signal manoeuvre – not waiting for the gap in traffic…and crashed into the car beside her on the road. So, obviously, I was wrong and there are people in the world who obey without question, straightaway. Or perhaps there are people in the world whose commands feel powerful enough to create compliance?

I’ve been thinking about this because of the gospel story this week.

It follows on directly from last week’s story of the multiplied bread and fish, and in it we see that Jesus hadn’t given up on his need for time alone, he had just deferred it. He finally dismissed the crowds and also the disciples, sending them off in the boat while he takes time to pray. We know this story, it’s one I personally love. I think the idea of walking on water is delightful, and captivates the imagination… I mean, who hasn’t tried it?

It seems perfectly understandable to me that Peter would want to give it a go…why wouldn’t he? What’s the worst that can happen? We know Peter can swim, because he does in John’s gospel. But we also know that the sea of Galilee can whip up a storm that terrifies even experienced fishermen.

Matthew recounts that story in chapter 8, when the boat is in danger of sinking and the disciples have to wake Jesus up and beg him to save them. When he does, he first asks them where is your faith? And then he stills the storm by his command. The disciples then turn to each other and ask, I expect quietly, who is this?? Who can command the wind and the waves?

They know the answer, by the way, but they still have to ask the question.

And now, here they are again, in a boat, in rough seas.

In the past, when I’ve considered Peter’s request to walk on the water to Jesus, I’ve thought of it as going from the safety of the boat to the risky uncertainty – impossibility – of the water. I thought of the boat as the safe place to be, but actually, I don’t think that’s how it would have seemed to those in the boat. The sea, in Judean imagination, was a symbol of chaos and danger. Being on the sea was never ‘safe’, no matter what vessel you were in.

It’s helpful for me to recognise that because Peter frames his request using rather strange language. Have you ever considered that? If it is you…command me to come to you. Doesn’t that sound a bit odd? I thought so, anyway.

Until I came across an essay by rabbi Jonathan Sacks, who was exploring the spirituality of listening. The most important word in Judaism, he says, is ‘Shema’, which is usually translated ‘‘hear’’ as in ‘hear, O Israel, the Lord our God, the Lord is One’. But rabbi Sacks said that the word shema is almost untranslatable into English because it has so many different meanings. It does mean hear, and also listen, and pay attention, and understand, and internalise, and respond and obey.

The Hebrew scriptures say again and again: listen, heed, pay attention. Hear what I am saying. Hear what God is saying. Listen to what God wants from us and for us. If you would only listen … Judaism, says rabbi Sacks, is a religion of listening. In listening, you understand. In hearing, you respond. Listening to God speak is how God is made known.

This is very different from our Western approach to knowing.

Our knowing is much more focussed on seeing. We take a perspective. We make observations and we like illustrations. We speak of insights or foresight and hindsight. We engage in introspection and when we understand something we say, ‘I see’. This allows us to take a spectator seat to our knowing. We aim to be a little apart, separate from what we observe.

Not so in Judaism. Because God cannot be seen, and no images of God can be made. Instead, God communicates in sounds. God calls, speaks and commands, and the people listen and respond. We speak to God in our prayer, and in the speaking and the listening there is connection and engagement – there is revelation and there is relationship. In the Hebrew sense, knowing is closeness and intimacy – knowing means involvement.

So, if it is you…says Peter.

I hear you, Jesus. I hear you and if it is indeed you, then I need to do something in response. So command me, and I will obey. Of course.

He’s not stepping out of a safe place into a dangerous one. In the boat/on the water…It’s all dangerous. But he is stepping deeper into the recognition of who Jesus is and what it means to know him. And when he starts to sink and panic, just like in the storm tossed boat before, Jesus asks about his faith. Why did you doubt? I think it’s not so much a rebuke though.

I think it’s much gentler than that… more like when your child is ready to take off the stabilisers on their bike and they go a good distance before they wobble and over correct and fall off.

I think there’s a soft chuckle in his voice when he says why did you doubt? because Jesus reaches for him straight away, and when they are back in the boat, no one is asking Who is this??

No, they worship him, because they know. And we know.

So listen. Are you being called to step deeper, too?

What are you being called to do? And how will you respond to that calling?

Photo by hansskuy on Pexels.com

A feast of enough

Brene Brown

This week’s reflection is based on the gospel reading from the lectionary texts, which you can find here.

I confess that this week I had to make a considerable effort to approach this story expecting to hear something new. I know I advocate for this approach a lot, but I acknowledge that it still takes effort even when I am deeply committed to the principles behind it.

Firstly, I hope and trust that I’m not the same person who read this story when it came up in the lectionary cycle three years ago – I trust that I have learned something and let some things go; I trust that I have grown a little bit wiser, a little bit gentler. Secondly, I firmly believe that the Spirit of the living God speaks in new ways through these ancient words every single time. And so I believe that there isn’t – there can’t be – one right way, one meaning, one application for any of these texts.

Instead of meaning and application, the scriptures offer a meeting place where we can attend to who we are and how we are in relationship with the God of love.

To help me find something fresh, I focused in turn on each of the three main actors in the story.

First of all, I considered the people. The crowds. They may or may not have known that Jesus and John the Baptist, who had just been beheaded, were cousins. So they may or may not have known that Jesus, on hearing the news of John’s death, and heading out into the wilds, was perhaps seeking a place of quiet, perhaps wanting a wilderness space for his grief and for prayer. The crowds see Jesus taking off and they follow him.

I paused to wonder…does my desire to follow Jesus and to be with him…does that lead me into deserted places? Does yours?

If not, would your needs drive you out there? Because the story says that Jesus healed the sick among these crowds who followed him, which tells us that people walked out into the deserted places, taking sick people with them…can you imagine??

I paused to consider the many kinds of reasons why they – and I – might chose to stay home instead. Apart from the inconvenience of schlepping all the way out into the wilderness, I can imagine…apathy might keep me at home –What’s the point…., fear might talk me out of risking that trip … distrust, busyness, exhaustion… what could you identify as some of the things that hold you back?

Still, five thousand, plus uncounted women and children had the will and the energy for it though.

They wanted to be with Jesus and so they followed him. And I guess that they wanted something from Jesus – healing and also hope.  Hope that things can change. Hope that there is something happening, that God is at work, that the future holds something different from the past….I can definitely relate to that, can you?

After the crowds, I considered Jesus’ part in this story. He looked for a quiet place, but the hopeful and needy crowd evoked his compassion. He went from seeking space to full and deep engagement, and he works into the evening, meeting, listening, talking, teaching, healing.

I have to admit that the mum/leader in me wonders how he could have paid so little attention to the practicalities of food, shelter and timing. Did he leave it to others to sort those out? It doesn’t seem very responsible. Everyone can see the shadows are lengthening and evening is coming…he could have sent the crowd away in good time so they could be home for dinner. Instead, he works until the light goes, and then the disciples point out the obvious.

Which brings me to the disciples as the third main actors in the story. I imagine that they are grieved at the news about John the Baptist, and also shocked, scared and worried. Is Jesus safe? Are they safe? I expect that they wanted to have some time to figure out their next move, to discuss the implications for Jesus and to come up with some plans. Instead, they are plunged into…well, actually, when I thought about it, I wondered what they were doing while Jesus was healing the sick. Were they watching and listening as he talked and touched? Were they organising people into groups…lame over here; blind there; demon possessed a bit further away…?

Were they doing follow up pastoral care with people or leading small group discussions or even taking the opportunity to have that conversation among themselves about how they would manage things to keep Jesus safe? Matthew doesn’t say anything about this, however, he just tells us that at the end of the day, the disciples are done and they want to crowd to go on home.

And Jesus lands them with an unexpected responsibility. Feeding the people is their problem. And it’s too much. They are tired and hungry too. They are likely worried if not scared and angry and who knows what else. They have given all they can already. Plus, see my earlier comment about everyone can see the shadows lengthening.

They look at what they have left among them, and it is clearly not enough. Barely worth mentioning. It’s embarrassingly meagre.

As I reflected on this story and our story, it seemed to me that the loaves and fish that the disciples rustle together and offer is kind of symbolic. The ‘all we have’ is not just about the food. It’s also about the situation and how it feels. The task Jesus has given is too big for us. The needs are too great and we’ve already had a long day and worked hard and there are so many different things that need attention, that we can’t tell where we should begin.

Plus, it seems a bit hopeless.

Through a series of events, we find ourselves in a place where what resources we have left among us are not enough for the task in front of us. In the story, the disciples bring their meagre offering to Jesus and with a blessing, he breaks and multiplies it…. and all the disciples need to do is distribute.

It’s my guess that as they did so, they too, felt the blessing breaking them open and creating more within them.

So, I think, maybe it’s better when we know we can’t be disciples, we can’t follow in Jesus’ way to live and give, love and bless out of our own resources, or in our own strength. I think it’s better when we recognise that we need God to work with the little we have, and we need to let God bless us as we share and distribute the goodness of grace.

The blessing begins when, in response to Jesus’ question: ‘what do you have?’ we gather all our resources and offer them to him.

With the disciples, we can say, ‘this is all; that’s the lot’. And then we trust that Jesus will bless and surprise us. So, I guess we need to take a reckoning. What do we have? What do you have to put in the kitty to be blessed?

While you consider that, I was talking with a chaplain recently who is reaching gold card age. She’s been a missionary and involved in church planting and pastoral care all her working life, and she noticed people have begun asking what she plans to do when she retires. She wasn’t sure she understood the question.

She said, “I’ve always done what I sensed God was calling me to do. Why do people think that would change when I turn 65? I am confident that God is aware of what I can and can’t do and will adjust my calling appropriately.”…..

So, what do we have? Now? Could we list what we have now -our equivalent of the loaves and fish – without any sense of judgement or grief or fear or shame? Without regret for what we used to have and have no longer? What we have now is also in part about what you have, now, and what we have depends on whether, whatever it is you have, you are willing to put it in the kitty to be blessed and shared. Because it takes teamwork to make the dream work…it takes a team to keep and grow a church.

Here’s how much we already do to keep the church

And I’m sure there’s more that I haven’t listed. Some of you may be feeling the weight of uneven distribution of responsibility, too. It can be hard not to keep stepping in when you know something needs to be done and end up carrying more than you are called to do.

Here’s what we are talking about at parish council to grow the church in the next 12 months

What is God calling you to offer?

The gospel story ends with a whole heap of leftovers – 12 baskets, one for each of the tribes of Israel. On the one hand, that’s an abundance. On the other, that’s one each.

That’s enough.

And we’re enough. Our meagre offering is enough. Let’s let God bless it and see what happens next.