Feast of John Donne, 5 Lent, Saturday

John Donne, 31 March 1631

XIX (from John Donne's Holy Sonnets, spelling modernized)

Oh, to vex me, contraries meet in one:
Inconstancy unnaturally hath begot
A constant habit; that when I would not
I change my vows, and in devotion.
As humorous is my contrition
As my profane Love, and as soon forgot:
As riddlingly distempered, cold and hot,
As praying, as mute; as infinite, as none.
I durst not view heaven yesterday; and today
In prayers, and flattering speeches I court God:
Tomorrow I quake with true fears of his rod.
So my devout fits come and go away
Like a fatastic Ague: save that here
Those are my best days, when I shake with fear.

A fitting poem of his to reflect upon, I thought, just before Holy Week, when the twelve will betray, deny, or abandon Jesus in his last hours. How have we wavered in our Lenten disciplines or vows? How can we respond more earnestly to Jesus' request to watch and pray this last night watch with him?

Collect for John Donne: Almighty God, the root and fountain of all being: Open our eyes to see, with your servant John Donne, that whatever has any being is a mirror in which we may behold you; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.

News!

Well, friends in Christ, I'm finally gainful.

The Search Committee and Board of Rockwell House, the Episcopal Campus Ministry at Washington University (St. Louis), have selected me to be their next chaplain, and Bishop Smith has called me in that capacity.

I'm so happy and excited to be beginning this ministry among the amazing community at Wash U's Rockwell House. Check out their website, seriously, they're awesome. I especially love the scrolling questions/responses from the Baptismal Creed at the top of the screen.

Keep me, and them, in your prayers as we begin this transition. I start work there-- (SOON!)-- on Easter Monday.

5 Lent, Year C (RCL) notes

[Isaiah 43: 16-21]
[Psalm 126]
[Philippians 3:4b-14]
[John 12:1-8]

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Isaiah 43:16-21
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"a new thing"

Here the prophet invokes Israel's sacred memory of the Exodus, when God led them through the parted Red Sea. This is a powerful, decisive moment in Israel's collective memory, defining them as a people, God's people.

However, the prophet moves quickly from the distant past to the immediate future. God announces that God is doing a new thing *right now*. The past is invoked briefly to remind Israel of God's redemptive power, but God goes on to say, "Okay, forget about that-- I'm up to something new!"

In fact, the prophet's poetic description of the impending Return, when God will lead the Babylonian Exiles back to Judah, actually picks up where historical reminder left off: God parted the water, led God's people safely through, and when the pursuing army followed they were "quenched like a wick". By stopping the retelling of the Exodus there, and then describing the upcoming Return as "a way in the wilderness" where God will "give drink to my chosen people," the prophesy invites the listener to project themselves into the Exodus story-- there return will be like a second wandering through the wilderness, and God will be with them just as God was with their ancestors.

The sense of expectancy, of imminence, is palpable. The verses are practically crackling with an electic sense of suspence. These events are about to burst out into motion; in fact, "it now springs forth, do you not perceive it?" The prophet sure does; the impending departure from Exile is so certain that it's as if it's already unfolding before his eyes: He describes the events "springing forth," and this metaphor quickly becomes a literal image of God creating "rivers in the desert," over which all the animals of the wilds rejoice.

It's interesting that the "former things" described are God's parting water and bringing death to pursuers, while the "new thing" is God's creating a life-giving river in the desert...

Look a the structural parallels:

The Lord who makes a way in the sea,
a path in the mighty waters...

I will make a way in the wilderness,
and rivers in the desert.

Israel was given this word while living as captives in Babylon, as "strangers in a strange land." They were dispirited, beaten, and subservient. By the thinking of the day, their defeat demonstrated that the Babylonian God Marduk was superior to their God, LORD. On a practical level, their defeat meant that they were no longer independent politically, and inferior on the social ladder. Things may not have looked absolutely bleak, but they sure did not look hopeful.

God, through the prophet, is inviting Israel to enliven its spiritual imagination, to dare to visualize a new thing, to have hope. God is opening Israel's eyes to a new vision of hope-- as powerful and awesome as the Exodus their ancestors experiences, but completely new, completely unprecedented.

This passage can speak to us as powerfully as it did to those dispirited Israelites in Babylon. Arguably, we are better off than the Bablyonian Exiles, in so many ways that it would be tedious to list them all. We're also better off, in terms of finances, diet, and political self-determination, than many other places in the world.

But the truth is, for all that, there are still things-- sometimes seemingly insurmountable things-- wrong with our life, with our city's life, with our nation's life. And I don't know what it is us, but sometimes we seem to see only what's wrong. Our vision gets gummed up with all the suffering and injustice that it's all we can see. Our imaginations get clogged with images of violence and crime and corruption until that's all we can imagine.

God is telling us to wipe the sand and grit from our eyes, and look out for something new. God is challenging us to imagine what amazing things we can do in the world-- even when it's hard to imagine that.

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Psalm 126
********************

I already preached on this Psalm earlier this year, so I won't go into too much detail..

"joy" is shot throughout this psalm, both the word and the emotion. So, however, is grief and sadness.

- joyful harvest & the spontaneous bubbling laughter

- the work of carrying the seed and sowing is done with "tears" and "weeping." Though the psalm affirms that joy follows with the harvest, the work that leads to renewal and rejoicing is done when that joy is not yet felt.

- have faith and trust in God; plant and sow even in hard times

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St. Louis connections
********************

When we first moved into the Shaw neighborhood of Tower Grove, Hope and I would go on walks around our neighborhood to get to know the area. On one of our excursions, we happened across this little diner on Russell. Apparently, the owner wasn't terribly busy that night, or maybe he was really in the mood to talk; when we told him we were new to this part of town, he regaled us for almost half an our with tales of the neighbhorhood. He told us that it's had some major ups and downs in the past few decades. After a long period of decline, he told us, with increases in property crime and drug use, when the streets were less safe and the houses in a poor state, the neighborhood looked like it would slide into a slow, ugly decay. More and more people were leaving the area as they felt less safe; more houses were looking run-down or left empty. However, some of the local residents teamed up to turn things around. They started an aggressive neighborhood watch, called the police repeatedly on known drug-houses, and did things like clean the sidewalks and lawns together. Some young couples started moving in and fixing up the old townhouses which were starting to look shabby. This guy-- the restaurant owner, had apparently been around to see this change happen, and to hear him tell about it, it was a dramatic change. It took people who were able to see past the problems to what the neighborhood might be, to effect this change. It took folks who could imagine a hopeful future, even when the present didn't given all that much reason for hope. It even took the ability to see that hopeful vision breaking through, in small ways, in the midst of a still-problem-ridden present-- and to celebrate those moments as the victories they were. Today, the Shaw neighborhood still has some important problems, but it isn't nearly as bad as it was in years past. Whether they know it or not, everyone who has the courage and imagination to see a vision of a better life for those around them, and to work to help that vision "spring forth" in little ways, is entering into the invitation God issues in today's Isaiah reading and Psalm.

Manure & Other Good News - 3d Lent (RCL) sermon

(Pretty much a repost of my notes, cleaned up a little so as to flow better as a sermon. For those of you who've already seen that part, here's the only new bit:

Lent is a time of repentence, of a pilgrimage away from our distractions and hesitations towards God, towards Jerusalem, ultimately, towards the Cross. Jesus walked that same pilgrimage before us, and walks alongside us today. John’s gospel tells us that at the end of this journey, on his last night with them, washed his disciples feet. When they protested that such menial service was beneath him, he insisted: “Unless I wash you, you have no share with me.”

This tells us two things:
1) No work is too “menial,” even for Jesus
2) At the end of the Lenten pilgrimage is Maundy Thursday, when Jesus will offer to wash our feet; we’d darned well better get them dirty on the way!

Alright, w/out further ado, the sermon:




MANURE, AND OTHER GOOD NEWS

[Luke 13:1-9]

Jesus, talking to his disciples about repentence, relates a story about a fig tree in a vineyard to illustrate his point. Jesus often told these earthy, pithy, little stories that grounded his teachings in the details of everyday life - - bringing his teachings “down to earth.” Like all of Jesus’ parables, this one is (excuse the pun,) “fertile ground” for contemplation, so let’s (excuse another pun,) really “dig in” to this one and see what we can unearth…

The story opens with the owner of a vineyard inspecting his trees to see if they’re yielding good fruit. As a landowner, this man is probably better educated, richer, cleaner, and a whole different social class than those who he employs to work in his vineyard. What's impressive to me is that a humble gardener, probably sweat-stained, dusty-robed, with dirt beneath his nails, is able to stand up to the owner of the vineyard. And even more amazing, the rich owner actually takes the advice of one of his laborers. The gardener, who tends the vineyard and knows its workings, overrules the owner of the vineyard who wants to uproot the fig tree right away. "Let's dig around and fertilize it first," he says, "and see what happens next year, before we think about tearing it up." After all, the gardener is the one who tends the vineyard, the one who really knows its plants.

The gardener wants to dig up around the fig tree's roots and spread manure to fertilize it. I love the earthiness of this image. "Manure" is dank, rank, gross stuff. It's strong and smelly. And, importantly, it is considered a waste -- it's unclean, dirty, not worth anything. We don't want it-- we get rid of it, get it as far away from us as we can -- thrown into midden-heaps, cast into gutters or sewers, buried in holes, or today, flushed down toilets.

But in gardening, it's the stuff of new life, fertilizer.

In a passage about repentence and bearing fruit, this parable illustrates the "dirtiness" of really being about God's work-- it's "Roll up your sleeves and get planting" kind of work. True repentence probably isn't about "purity" -- about staying clean, but instead about not being afraid to get dirty in the service of God. The kind of repentence that leads to bearing fruit will get your hands dirty, get dirt -- or even manure -- beneath your nails.

In church, we like to dress up in our "Sunday best," to put on our crispest, fanciest clothes to show our respect for each other and God. Our clergy and acolytes wear bleached-white albs -- as white as we can get 'em. And while there are positive symbolic aspects to dressing this way, I wonder if it doesn't make us dissassociate Church with Dirt.

What would it be like if we dressed up for Church in paint-stained t-shirts, steel-toed boots, and work gloves? Gardener's overalls instead of three-piece suits? If our deacons had smudged kitchen-towels slung over their shoulders instead of stoles, ready for service? If our priests wore toolbelts instead of cinctures, our bishops donned hardhats instead of mitres? What would it say about the Church? What would it say about the world?

As it is now, we don't want people to "track mud" into the Sanctuary. Those whose clothes aren't as clean as ours, or those who haven't bathed as recently as us, may feel unwelcome or out of place.

What if the Church needs a little mud tracked into it? What if our Church is the fig tree that needs its roots dug around, get a little manure down there, nevermind that it's messy and smells bad and, yes, you will get dirty?

Or hey, what if the Church is the manure? What if instead of worrying about who's tracking mud on our carpets, we should be tracking mud out into the streets?

Lent is a time of repentence, of a pilgrimage away from our distractions and hesitations towards God, towards Jerusalem, ultimately, towards the Cross. Jesus walked that same pilgrimage before us, and walks alongside us today. John’s gospel tells us that at the end of this journey, on his last night with them, washed his disciples feet. When they protested that such menial service was beneath him, he insisted: “Unless I wash you, you have no share with me.”

This tells us two things:
1) No work is too “menial,” even for Jesus
2) At the end of the Lenten pilgrimage is Maundy Thursday, when Jesus will offer to wash our feet; we’d darned well better get them dirty on the way!

Really meeting the hopes, fears, and needs of the world can be messy. Honestly meeting people where they are, can be uncomfortable. Addressing the Gospel imperative to feed the hungry, clothe the naked, and bring justice to the oppressed means (quite obviously) having contact with the hungry, the naked and the oppressed.

If the Church is so antiseptic and clean, so starched and pressed, that it is afraid of a speck of dirt, it has no good news for the hungry, the naked, and the oppressed. Rather, it is a rather well-meaning but embarrassed humbug: "I wish you well, but I don't really know what I can do, good luck." You know, like one of those English butlers you see in movies wiping an immaculate white glove over a mantle to see if there's any dust there? I’d feel dirty just shaking that guy’s hand! This isn't Good News, it's further oppression: the real message is: "I wish you well, but you are Untoucheable, Unclean."

But if the Church is itself also manure, a fertile, fecund, source of life,
unafraid of the discomfort of new situations,
unafraid of new encounters,
unafraid of the uncertainy
that comes from really meeting injustice out in the world:
Then it has good news to offer, real Good News. Rather than "You are untoucheable," the message becomes "You are valuable, worthwhile, productive. Together, we can bear much fruit."

Manure. Something unclean, something we don't want to touch, something worthless.

But in God's hands, in the hands of God's gardeners, something infinitely valuable.

Let's put on our work gloves.

We've got digging to do.

Manure & Good News - 3d Sunday in Lent (RCL) notes

[Luke 13:1-9]

Just got back from my Tuesday ecumenical Lectionary group. Some of our musings:

The gardener, who tends the vineyard and knows its workings, overrules the owner of the vineyard who wants to uproot the fig tree right away. "Let's dig around and fertilize it first," he says, "and see what happens next year, before we think about tearing it up." What's impressive to me is that a humble gardener, probably sweat-stained, dusty-robed, with dirt beneath his nails, is able to stand up to the owner of the vineyard. The owner, who is probably better educated, cleaner, not a physical laborer, and a different economic class, takes the advice of one of his employees (or perhaps even one of his "servants"/slaves). After all, the gardener is the one who tends the vineyard, the one who really knows its plants.

"Manure" -- The gardener wants to dig up around the fig tree's roots and spread manure to fertilize it. I love the earthiness of this image. "Manure" is dank, rank, gross stuff. It's strong and smelly. It is considered a waste -- it's unclean, dirty, not something that's normally worth anything. We don't want it-- we get rid of it as get it as far away from us as we can -- thrown into midden-heaps, cast into gutters or sewers, buried in holes, or today, flushed down toilets. But in gardening, it's the stuff of new life, fertilizer.

In a passage about repentence and bearing fruit, this parable illustrates the "dirtiness" of really being about God's work-- it's "Roll up your sleeves and get planting" kind of work. True repentence probably isn't about "purity" -- about staying clean, but instead about not being afraid to get dirty in the service of God. The kind of repentence that leads to bearing fruit will get your hands dirty, get dirt -- or even manure -- beneath your nails.

In church, we like to dress up in our "Sunday best," to put on our crispest, fanciest clothes to show our respect for each other and God. Our clergy and acolytes wear bleached-white albs -- as white as we can get 'em. And while there are positive symbolic aspects to dressing this way, I wonder if it doesn't make dissassociate Church with Dirt.

What would it be like if we dressed up for Church in paint-stained t-shirts, steel-toed boots, and work gloves? Gardener's overalls instead of three-piece suits? If our deacons had smudged towels slung over their shoulders instead of stoles, ready for service? If our priests wore toolbelts instead of cinctures, our bishops donned hardhats instead of mitres? What would it say about the Church? What would it say about the world?

As it is, we don't want people to "track mud" into the sanctuary. Those whose clothes aren't as clean, or who haven't bathed as recently, may feel unwelcome or out of place.

What if our Church needs a little mud tracked into it? What if our Church is the fig tree that needs its roots dug around, get a little manure down there, nevermind that it's messy and smells bad and, yes, you will get dirty.

Heck, what if the Church is the manure? What if instead of worrying about who's tracking mud on our carpets, we should be tracking mud out into the streets?

Chris D., one of the Presbyterian ministers in our group, said: "No offense, but what if the Church is the sh-t?"

To which I added: "The Church is sh-t: Let's spread it around."

Really meeting the hopes, fears, and needs of the world can be messy. Honestly meeting people where they are, can be uncomfortable. Addressing the Gospel imperative to feed the hungry, clothe the naked, and bring justice to the oppressed means (quite obviously) having contact with the hungry, the naked and the oppressed.

If the Church is so antiseptic and clean, so starched and pressed, that it is afraid of a speck of dirt, it has no good news for the hungry, the naked, and the oppressed. Rather, it is a rather well-meaning but embarrassed humbug: "I wish you well, but I don't really know what I can do, good luck." You know, like one of those English butlers you see in movies wiping a white glove over a mantle to see if there's any dust there? This isn't Good News, it's further oppression: the real message is: "I wish you well, but you are Untoucheable, Unclean."

But if the Church is itself also manure, a fertile, fecund, source of life, unafraid of the discomfort of new situations, unafraid of new encounters, unafraid of the uncertainy that comes from really meeting injustice out in the world: Then it has good news to offer. Rather than "You are untoucheable," the message becomes "You are worthwhile, you can bear much fruit."

Manure. Something unclean, something we don't want to touch, something worthless.

But in God's hands, in the hands of God's gardeners, something infinitely valuable.

Let's put on our work gloves.

We've got digging to do.




(As an aside: Paul says in Philippians 3:6 that he considers all his previous Pharisaic learning, expertise, and zeal "rubbish" [the Greek work is closer to "crap" or "sh-t"] compared to the greatness of knowing Christ.)