The value of dependence

The story reflection that follows is based on the gospel reading for Sunday, Matthew 22:34-40, which you can find here.

There’s a story I heard once, of Margaret, an older woman who lived alone. Well, not entirely alone. She had a dog called Isla.

Isla was a well mannered, gentle dog with big, warm brown eyes and velvety soft ears.

The two of them lived on an ordinary street in an ordinary neighbourhood. When I say ordinary, I mean it wasn’t fancy. We might call it mixed. Margaret had lived there a long time, and she had seen her neighbours come and go. She had seen coming and going in her own life too, and the pain of that had left its marks. On the whole, Margaret was content with her life. She had Isla, she had her interests, she had a few friends she kept in contact with, and some family – but they were not close by, so she only saw them infrequently.

And so, her life flowed on in a quiet way. Everyday Margaret and Isla went for a walk– morning and afternoon, and sometimes evenings too, if it was nice out. Margaret wasn’t unfriendly, but she was quite self-contained.

Happily, Isla was a gentle dog and she was a friendly dog, and there were several people they met regularly on their daily walks who looked forward to seeing Isla, stroking her soft ears while they talked with Margaret of the day and the latest news.

Such was Margaret’s life and she was not unhappy with it.

Until she started to notice a blurry patch in her vision. It began small, but slowly grew. She went for tests and found that there wasn’t much that could be done for the condition. So, although it was hard, she learned to adapt. She did not want to move into a home. She could still manage most things but despite her best efforts, she started to have trouble with two important things.

Firstly, she found she simply could not read her post – and the few friends she was in contact with were letter writers. They wrote actual letters. So that was a problem. She found ways to write to them still, but finding a way to read their letters was…beyond her. The second thing was that she had trouble opening the tins of dog food. I forget exactly how come her vision loss meant that she struggled with this, but it did. And she loved her dog.

It happened that one evening, Margaret got so frustrated when the tin of dog food bested her that she cried hot tears of shame and anger with herself. Isla was confused. And hungry. And Margaret was at a loss. She wanted so much to manage by herself, it was a source of quiet pride for her how she was still able to live independently, and now her whole life was falling apart because of a stupid tin of dog food.

As she sat on the kitchen floor feeding Isla cheese, she had a sudden idea. It was an unusual idea, for sure, but once it had arrived in her head, she couldn’t shake it off.

So she got up, put on her coat and picked up Isla’s lead, and the two of them headed out the front door. Isla wasn’t expecting another walk just yet, and she was keen, but also surprised when Margaret got to their front gate and turned left instead of right. She went two doors down and then – stranger still – opened the gate of number 23 and went to knock on the door.

There was banging and shouting coming from inside, as a child came to answer.

‘Hello Isla! Hello Mrs. Margaret!’ said the boy in some surprise. When she heard his voice, Margaret was relieved. She didn’t know how she would have explained her presence there if anyone else had answered the door.

‘Hello Sammy’, Margaret said.

Sammy was one of Isla’s admirers. He was a quiet 12 year old, and they usually met on their morning walk past the school bus stop. Sammy stooped to stroke Isla and asked Margaret if everything was alright. No, Margaret told him. I can’t open her tin of food, and I was hoping you might come and help me? Sammy didn’t realise what a huge deal it was for Margaret to admit that she needed help, so he didn’t make a big deal of it either. Sure, he told her, and off they went back to Margaret’s house.

So began a beautiful arrangement. Sammy came over every day to help feed Isla. He started to read Margaret’s post to her, when she asked him if he wouldn’t mind. He liked spending time with Isla, particularly, but after a while he also started to feel more comfortable with Margaret. He began to tell her bits and pieces of his life…his real father who was no longer around but had come and gone with bursts of violence and anger…he confided his fears and his difficulty sleeping. He learned to trust himself to another person as Margaret listened and accepted him, as she cared for him and about him. And when Sammy grew up, because of his relationship with Isla and Margaret, he was inspired to come up with an idea about a different style of elder care, one where animals and children are part of the lives of the retirement village residents. Many lives were touched by the relationships of these two people – a connection that grew from dependence, from vulnerability and need.

When I was talking with my supervisor this week, I told her about the AGM. She knows all about St Peter’s, because I’ve been seeing her every month for a few years now. So when she asked me what my feeling was about where we stand now, as I wrote my report I said, ‘vulnerable’. Our rosters are half full at best. I do not say this with judgement. You are all doing your best, doing what you can. But this is the reality. We are few, and we are fewer. This makes us vulnerable.

And then she asked me – ‘what does it mean to you, to be vulnerable?’

And I paused. Because here’s what I know – being vulnerable means you have got in touch with courage. It means you have tapped into a deep, soul level of strength because being vulnerable means being authentic and genuine and real. It takes courage to ask for help, to admit that you cannot manage by yourself.  We have been led to believe that we shouldn’t need help – that we can manage by ourselves. Of course, that’s utter nonsense.

But, still. It takes a strength of character to allow another to do for you and not to feel resentful or abased. But when we say, ‘our church is vulnerable’ we don’t think – oh, that’s good! We think ‘that’s dangerous. That’s threatening’.

So I wonder, can we accept our reality – embrace our weakness – and turn our vulnerability into strength? Can we tap into courage and reach out for help? Perhaps we are not yet at a sitting on the kitchen floor crying hot tears of loss and longing stage. I think we are near. I know I am.

When Margaret finally admitted defeat, an idea came to her. A possibility that wasn’t there before suddenly danced into her darkness. It did not come with any guarantees, but from her courage and the relationship which developed because of her need, so much grew out of that one seed of an idea.

There is no shortcut to the idea and the blooming that follows. We cannot skip the kitchen floor moment. But if, as we believe, the pattern of life, death and new life is woven into creation, then we do not need to fear the kitchen floor.

Jesus is already there waiting for us, a bag of seed ideas in his wounded hands.

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Fear meets Trust

The reflection was in two parts this Sunday – the first part followed the reading from Exodus tells the story of the golden calf from the image above – and the second part followed the reading from Philippians. You can find all the lectionary readings here.

Exodus 32:1-14

This week as I continued to reflect on my experience at General Assembly, and as I prepared my report for our AGM, the thing that stood out to me in the readings was the difference in the leadership of Moses and Aaron.

At the beginning of this reading, Moses goes up the mountain to listen to God. If you are like me, and you have trouble remembering the finer details of this story, here’s a quick recap of what’s just happened: three months or so after their miraculous and narrow escape from slavery, God gives the ten commandments from the mountain top, in the hearing of all the people.

There’s smoke and thunder and lightning, and the people are all a-tremble, so they tell Moses that they want him to be the one who stands in front of God and he can pass on to them what God has said. All well and good. Moses goes off and is given a range of instructions and laws which touch on things from proper worship to rights, property, restitution and retribution.  

Then Moses relays all this to the people, and they agree to everything. They make sacrifices to God and the blood of the covenant is splashed on them, and Moses, Aaron, and 70 elders all approach the holy mountain, see God, and eat and drink in God’s presence.

It’s after this that Moses is summoned up the mountain to receive the tablets of stone. He tells Aaron and the elders, ‘wait here. Aaron is in charge if there are any problems.’ And then Moses disappears into the cloud covered mountain, into the glory of the Lord which looked like a devouring fire. He’s gone for 40 days and 40 nights. The people are down below, and they have no idea what is happening. Moses could well be dead.

They begin to get restless and anxious. This is normal when we don’t know what’s going on, isn’t it? It’s normal. It doesn’t matter what happened just before. It doesn’t matter what you’ve seen or heard or what you believe.

It’s totally normal and understandable that when we don’t know what is happening, when we are waiting in uncertainty, when we think that something should be happening and it’s not – we get anxious. And like the worst kind of virus, fear and anxiety are contagious. Very contagious.

So when one person moves up the gears from restless to jittery, from worried to stressed into full blown panic…it spreads. Everyone around you starts to feel edgy and apprehensive. And when we are anxious, we make poor choices. We make poor choices because the noise in our head is all fear, and we can’t hear past the fear.

We make poor choices because fear shuts down a whole bunch of options that are still open to us – we just can’t see them. We can’t think creatively. We are in self-preservation survival mode.

You have for sure experienced this somewhere at some time in your life – because it’s normal.

So the people of Israel, in their fear and anxiety turn to Aaron, who is in charge, and tell him that they need a visible sign of God in their midst right now, and they need to do the things that make gods happy. They NEEEED it.

Again, this is normal.

People still do it now – not so much with the smelting gold in the back garden – but people bargain with God all the time. People in doctor’s waiting rooms, people in bomb shelters, people in refugee camps… all kinds of people in all kinds of situations promise all kinds of things to God in exchange for more life, for someone else’s life, for respite from suffering, for freedom. And Aaron is in the same boat with them. He’s been put in charge and he’s just as anxious and fearful as the people who turn to him for leadership.

I feel some deep compassion for Aaron right now! It is hard to be calm, clear and kind when it feels like the house is on fire. It’s not normal to be calm then. It’s normal to panic and to reach for the things that have made sense in the past, or the thing that seems like the only option left.

It takes deep trust; deep, compassionate presence to feel the fear rise, to hear the inner roar of anxious thoughts and to greet all that with empathy and then consciously turn the volume down on the fear.

This kind of trusting calm presence doesn’t come from just reading scripture. It doesn’t come from having a particular or special kind of spiritual experience. It is not an idea for you to understand. It’s a practice – an every day practice.

I find breathing slowly, evenly and deeply into my belly really helpful at such times. I find exhaling and telling my shoulders, jaw and forehead to drop, soften and melt really helpful. Once I’ve breathed myself back from the edge of panic, then I am calm enough to begin a listening practice.

I do need to listen to the fear, yes, because it’s telling me something important, and I also need to listen to the God who is peace. I practice listening with ears and with whole body, whole being. This way I learn to listen and engage with God and with life as Moses does, as God invites us all to do.

In their conversation there is back and forth. Leave me alone says God…., yes but wait, Moses says… I’m going to put an end to this nonsense, says God…please consider…says Moses. All right then, says God.

Trust is based in mutual receptivity. Moses listens to God and God listens to Moses.

Right now you may be thinking, ok, but I am not a leader. So, just remember that fear and anxiety are contagious. Each one of you, in all of your relationships can lead that movement toward anxious restlessness without standing up here and preaching about it. You can do it with just a few words at morning tea, or in the car park, but also, you can do it without even saying a word – just by the way you hold yourself, by the way you are present.

So, let’s pause for a moment, and reflect in quiet. What are the thoughts and movements within that you are listening to and making present here?

Philippians 4:4-8

These words from Paul are a balm to the anxious mind and fearful heart. Joy and peace both pass our understanding. They do not make sense – but they are not ways to trick you out of your experience by saying it’s not that bad, or others have it worse. Joy and peace reflect the practice of deep trust in God’s compassionate presence in the midst of whatever suffering, whatever destabilising, panic inducing reality you are living in.

Joy and peace might seem like advanced level spiritual fruits, slow growing, like patience. But the beginning level of practice looks exactly the same as the mature level. All that’s different is that the more you practice, the quicker you get at noticing when you are spiralling into fear yourself, and the better you get at spotting when you are joining someone else’s fear spinning out. And, you also find yourself more able to breathe yourself steady, calm and kind in the midst of whirling circumstances.

You’ll find that the more you practice reaching for and resting in the peace of trusting Christ, the more deeply that peace is anchored within you.

Practicing gratitude draws us into joy – more on that next week. Practicing surrender is what draws us into peace.

Surrender has been understood as giving up, as having no backbone or not standing for anything – giving in. But this is a fighter’s perspective on surrender. So I invite you to contemplate Christ who models for us what it means to surrender.

Christ, who did not grasp at equality with God but emptied himself in total surrender to the limitations of human life.

Christ, who did not meet the power of the Roman Empire on its own terms, who refused to use violent force to establish his kingdom, and who forbade his followers to use violence in his name.

Christ, who surrendered himself to the power of death in complete trust. Just like us, Jesus did not know what lay on the other side of death. Just like us, Jesus moved into situations of fear and uncertainty and had to choose – choose peace, choose trust, choose to acknowledge and accept this present reality.

And then, in this surrender of his own push or pull reaction, he is free – free to tap into the deeper reality of God’s love and presence which is constant and sure.

Surrender releases us into the loving arms of God and in that security there is peace that passes understanding. A practice of surrender begins with acceptance of the present, however unpleasant or uncertain. Yes, to all that is. Yes, hello. I see you, present reality, and I receive you.

This can be challenging, because the uncomfortable experience doesn’t stop being uncomfortable just because you have acknowledged and accepted it.

In the Exodus story, the people wait for Moses, unsure if he is alive. They don’t really know or trust the God who has liberated them. They still want to lean into the familiar things that made sense to them before the Passover events. They still want Aaron to fill this anxious gap, to give them what they want.

Our story, our circumstances are equally uncertain.

We may be tempted to reach back for things we’ve done in the past, or struggle to think creatively beyond the options we see in front of us. But Jesus shows us that accepting the reality of the situation – even if that reality is full of anguish – returns you to relationship with the God who is in all things.

So to practice peace this week, begin with breath. When you notice yourself feeling anxious or angry, fearful or restless: breathe slow, steady, deep. Exhale: drop, soften melt.

I know it doesn’t sound like a spiritual practice. But please –  trust me on this one.

Ten for Now

The readings for this sermon can be found here.

These two passages side by side in the lectionary readings is not an accident. The giving of the law in the form of the Ten commandments is set beside this vineyard parable to highlight one particular reading of the parable. That’s kind of misleading though. Parables are wisdom teaching tools intended to be multi layered and slightly obscure.

A parable is a teaching story that offers us ongoing insight precisely because it is open to many interpretations. So giving us another text to interpret the parable with limits the scope of what we are likely to hear and give our attention to.

And the reality is that both of these passages have their own context, and when we lift them out and give them a stand alone – or indeed a stand together-  value and meaning we are at best courting trouble and at worst we are messing with how the Bible actually works.

So let us just consider the Ten commandments to start with.

This list of rules has been lifted out of their ancient near Eastern context and given universal status. They have been put into courtrooms, used as the basis for entire legal systems and held up as standards for every society, every culture, every person, in every age. But they are not that. They are not a set of universal rules, but a way of living that is Israel’s response and commitment to faithfulness as partners in God’s covenant with them.

I’m going to say it again, because it’s probably a bit shocking: The ten commandments are not rules for everyone to follow as a way of living a good and God-sanctioned life. Consider for a moment that it is possible for you to follow all of these rules and never love your neighbour, never be a friend, never serve or share, never work for peace or justice, or walk humbly anywhere.

So when we look to these rules as guidelines for a good life, we may be missing the point rather….which is exactly what Jesus said to the rich young man who didn’t want to sell his goods and give to the poor. However, taking them with their context and seeing what they may say to us today still offers us a lot of food for thought.

To start with, God declares I am the one who sets you free and you shall have no other gods before me. God begins with a statement of essence and relationship. I am liberating in nature and action, and I want your undivided devotion.

I wonder what you make of this… The people had just experienced a thoroughly convincing demonstration of God’s power, provision and presence. The Egyptian army and gods were totally beaten, no other gods had even come close….so why the reminder about being set free and the exclusivity clause? And why make this the number one command?

Let’s be curious here. From your experience of God in your own life, what’s the number one thing you’d say about who God is? Chances are between us we’ll have a few different responses to that question, which means if I asked, who do we think God is, we might not have a tidy answer…. so….this commandment might prompt the question: Do we worship the true God? Do you? How do you know?

Is the God you worship the one who sets you free? The one who meets you where you are, and draws you to move more fully into life? I think it can be easy to slip into believing in and worshipping a god who takes care of us because we’re special. To worship a god who comforts us but rarely challenges. It’s even oddly easy to find that we worship a god who requires we keep a set of rules and standards, even though those rules mean we aren’t truly set free from anything.

That first commandment invites us to an ‘image of God reality check’ that flows into the second commandment. We make idols out of so many things that the second commandment is one that we might want to keep firmly in its ancient context. None of us has a shrine to a local deity in our houses where we bow down in worship…but consider just for a moment your image of God.

Is it male? Is it white – see the hand that holds those tablets in the image above? Is it essentially able bodied? Is it strong/powerful/privileged? Kingly? Judgey?

While these are some of the images the bible offers us for God, (well, not the whiteness) all of them are partial at best, and at worst they are images that misrepresent and distort the God who is Mystery beyond our imagining and yet is the one who liberates and loves us.

Let’s move on to taking the Lord’s name in vain. This is not about swearing – or at least, if we’re just looking at that we have missed the point again. This commandment in our context tells us that any way that we use the Christian faith as a justification for superiority is a misunderstanding of God’s  choice to be in our midst. Any time we leap to God’s defence against some insult or injury to God’s dignity is a misunderstanding of God’s loving nature. Any time we hurt others in God’s name, or for the purity of the faith is a misunderstanding of God’s grace – and this is taking the name in vain.

On to the sabbath. A day of rest. A day for restoration through things that nurture the whole person that you are. That might mean a day of gardening, cooking, gathering with close friends and sharing life. It might mean a quiet day with a book or crafting or a walk in the bush and it might mean meeting with friends at church to sing, pray, listen and talk.

Sabbath is a way of remembering that you are free. You are not a slave to life’s demands. Neither are you slaves to the demands of religion! Sabbath is a time to practice letting go of efforting and enjoy the ride. And again, just like with every spiritual practice it’s not meant to be a simple set aside a day to do this. Sabbath isn’t another box to tick – it’s the opposite of that.

Sabbath is a day to practice being. For most of us, being gets lost when we start doing, so taking a day set aside to practice being is so helpful. When we take time out to give our attention to what is, we are often surprised:

Oh, this is how tired I am. This is how lonely I am. This is how scattered, how frustrated, how busy, how anxious. This is how much energy I put into trying to make things happen the way I want. This is how hard I try to be good enough, to fit in, to belong. This is how much I focus on looking after everyone else.

The next six rules all seem pretty straightforward, except I suspect that the last commandment could use some extra scrutiny.

When I read anything from the Hebrew scriptures, I have to remember that these laws were written for a very different period in time and a very different culture. They were written when wives, houses, donkeys, oxen and other humans were all belongings and no one was going to argue about it. Back then. Now – we have to do some careful checking in.

Is it ok to own slaves? No, we have globally agreed now that it is not. Is a wife a belonging? Well, in the western world we are mostly agreed on this one. But not all of us. That is still a thing women and girls are living with and if it doesn’t give you pause when you read this commandment and feel the burden of it, then I can guarantee the rest of the commandment hasn’t properly landed.

Because alongside questions of equality sits the reality that our whole economic machinery is fuelled by covetousness.

Advertising and marketing campaigns rely on stimulating covetousness to promote products that you don’t need that will not transform you into the happy and successful person they promise. Coveting is comparing what I have with what you have and feeling dissatisfied. Coveting is competing with others to be more by having more. Coveting is hustling for worthiness and value. It’s utterly exhausting and demoralising because no matter what you have someone else has something better. The promise of fulfilment and satisfaction and peace is empty.

And the antidote for number 10 is number 1 and number 4. Undivided devotion to the liberating God and Sabbath. Take a sabbath rest and be with the God who rescues you, who sets you free, who wants to be with you.

If we want to be the people who God gives the vineyard to – if that’s what Jesus is meaning by his parable – then we might do well to look at how the ten commandments might shape our response to God’s new covenant with us. How are we living our commitment of faithfulness to God?

And is it leading us to love of neighbour, to be a good friend, to share, serve, make peace, work for justice and walk everywhere with humility?

Are not these the fruits of the kingdom?