Saturday, February 28, 2009

A Strategy for the Wilderness

Sermon preached by the Rev. Lowell E. Grisham, Rector
St. Paul's Episcopal Church, Fayetteville, Arkansas
March 1, 2009; 1 Lent, Year B
Episcopal Revised Common Lectionary

(Mark 1:9-15) – In those days Jesus came from Nazareth of Galilee and was baptized by John in the Jordan. And just as he was coming up out of the water, he saw the heavens torn apart and the Spirit descending like a dove on him. And a voice came from heaven, "You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased."

And the Spirit immediately drove him out into the wilderness. He was in the wilderness forty days, tempted by Satan; and he was with the wild beasts; and the angels waited on him.

Now after John was arrested, Jesus came to Galilee, proclaiming the good news of God, and saying, "The time is fulfilled, and the kingdom of God has come near; repent, and believe in the good news."
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Do you remember the acceptance speech that Sally Field gave when she won her second Oscar? Sally Field started her career on TV as Gidget, a boy-crazy surfer girl, and was best known as The Flying Nun. With her cute smile and big dimples, she had a hard time getting cast into serious roles. She won an Academy Award in 1979 for Norma Rae, a performance that established her as a dramatic actress. But it was at the 1984 Oscars, when she won Best Actress for Places in the Heart, that her acceptance speech stunned so many people for its tearful honesty and vulnerability. "I haven't had an orthodox career," she said, "and I've wanted more than anything to have your respect. The first time I didn't feel it, but this time I feel it, and I can't deny the fact that you like me, right now, you like me!"

Sally Field realized that she had been given something that she had always sought. She had the respect of her peers in her profession. It validated something deep within her, and she was overjoyed. Underneath that joy, I suspect, was a deep well-spring of peace. Maybe she could relax now. She wasn't just Gidget or the Flying Nun anymore. She had a new and more profound sense of affirmation of her identity.

According to the accounts that we have, Jesus experienced a profound sense of affirmation and identity at his baptism. Mark writes, "As he was coming up out of the water, he saw the heavens torn apart and the Spirit descending like a dove on him. And a voice came from heaven, 'You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.'" He could feel it, and couldn't deny the fact that God loved him, right there, right then."

Maybe you can remember moments in your life when you felt a deep sense of appreciation or belonging. When you were able to embrace yourself, able to claim a particular sense of identity or role or vocation. When you felt respected, accepted, even loved.

We had an exercise in our Journey to Accountability class the other day when I asked the participants to think of some time in your life when you did something well and you were fulfilled in doing it. Then, I asked them to list as many of these as they could, at least ten. Maybe single events, maybe a series of events like raising a child. When were times when you did something well and you were fulfilled in doing it.

Memories like that can be clues to our gifts and our calling. Usually they are times when we have experienced a sense of identity and affirmation. It is good to remember such times. They remind us of our capacities and qualities. They remind us that we are good and worthy, and even "beloved."

We all need to know ourselves to be "beloved." We need to be able to feel it, deep in our bones. To know in such a way that we cannot deny the fact, that we are loved. It is a fundamental, core, bedrock message of the Gospel of Christ and a foundational teaching of Christianity that God loves each of us absolutely and unconditionally. I hope everyone in this room knows that you are "Beloved" – that you are loved, respected and accepted. I hope that everyone here has felt that as certainly as Sally Field felt it at her second Academy Award. If she ever forgets, she can go back to YouTube and replay it. The rest of us either need our memories, or symbols that can jog our memories, to remind us that we are "Beloved."

Those memories are important, because we don't stay in the afterglow and peace of the experience of being loved unconditionally. We need to treasure and recall that reality, because much of our lives is spent in the wilderness. After Jesus' baptism, and the exquisite experience of hearing the voice from heaven tell him that he is Beloved, "the Spirit immediately drove him out into the wilderness." He was in the wilderness a long time.

The wilderness is the place where the conviction that we are Beloved is tested. In the wilderness we do not feel beloved. In the wilderness we feel threatened. We feel unloved, maybe even unlovable. We feel stuck, powerless, out of control. Many of us spend a long time in the wilderness, like Jesus did.

Sometimes the wilderness can last for years, as it did for the people of Israel after their deliverance from bondage. After Mother Teresa died, we all learned what her spiritual director had known – she lived virtually her entire life in the wilderness, feeling only the absence of God, living faithfully upon the remembrance of a profound sense of calling in 1947 and a brief feeling of union with God in 1958. The rest of her life was a spiritual desert, but it produced a garden of healing and love.

I remember a time just after I had found my sense of belonging and vocation. I had become the Rector of my first church. I loved my work; I loved my community. This seemed like what I was born to do. I experienced a sense of affirmation and identity. But some time, within a year or two, I felt tired and depressed. I talked with a friend who was a therapist. "Burnout," he said. "Classic stuff." So I read a book about Ministry Burnout by John Sanford, and I learned that it is easy to become over-extended and out of balance. Writing as an Episcopal priest and Jungian analyst, Sanford said that our renewing energy often comes out of our shadow side or our inferior functions. In Jungian language, I had so over-used my dominant Intuitive functions that I had burned myself out. He recommended functioning out of the opposite side of my personality, the Sensate functions, to restore some balance and bring new energy. So I started digging a hole in the back yard to build a fish pond – a very physical, sensate activity, with concrete, visible results. I started feeling better immediately. Now I know, whenever I begin to feel worn out and over-burdened – do something physical. That is a path out of my particular wilderness.

When we teach about making a Rule of Life, I encourage people to make a strategy for the wilderness times. You know that you will go through periods of discouragement or disillusionment. We all do. Usually we revisit the same deserts we've been to before – the issues may be different or the circumstances altered, but usually we have characteristic, repetitive patterns when our wheels fall off.

So while we're in a good space – when we're feeling beloved or balanced or purposeful – that's the best time to plan a strategy for responding for the next time we're down-in-the-dumps and living in the wilderness.

What's worked for you in the past to bring you balance and energy? When life gets out of balance, how can you shift toward those things that are like the times when you did something well and you were fulfilled in doing it? Where do you find your grounding? Where is your foundation?

Matthew and Luke offer expanded accounts of Jesus in the wilderness. What sustained him was that he recalled the reality of his relationship with God – he remembered that he was God's beloved, and so he lived out of that reality instead of false comforts that tempted him when he felt especially weak and burdened.

When we know ourselves to be loved, grounded, respected, accepted – when we embrace the reality that we are beloved – we are less compulsive and more real. If we have a plan to remember that reality during our sojourns into the wilderness, we can bring some of the healing and balancing energy of blessing to our times of lostness. While we are with the wild beasts, we can realize that the angels wait on us.

When Jesus finally left the wilderness, he was ready to do something new. He was ready to proclaim the good news – "The time is fulfilled, and the Kingdom of God has come near." He may never have reached that place of power and authenticity without having gone through the period of testing and trial. There is something given to us through the wilderness. It seems inevitable and important.

So if you are in a desert wilderness right now, take heart. Lent is a great time to face your dryness. Or if you are in a time of fruitfulness and effectiveness right now, take the opportunity. Plan for how you will face your next venture into the desert. What will you do to renew your sense of affirmation and identity? How will you remember the fact that you are Beloved – how will you feel again that you are the beloved child of God, that you are loved and accepted absolutely and unconditionally? When you are in the desert next, you will want to remember the waters of your baptism, and you will want to drink deeply again. Remember now, and get your canteen ready.

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The Mission of St. Paul's Episcopal Church is to explore and celebrate
God's infinite grace, acceptance and love.

For information about St. Paul's Episcopal Church and it's life and mission,
please contact us at

P.O. Box 1190, Fayetteville, AR 72702, or call 479/442-7373

More sermons are posted on this blog

and on our web site: www.stpaulsfay.org

Visit our web partners at www.explorefaith.org

Saturday, February 21, 2009

Transfiguration Snapshots

Sermon preached by the Rev. Lowell E. Grisham, Rector
St. Paul's Episcopal Church, Fayetteville, Arkansas
February 22, 2009; Last Epiphany, Year B
Episcopal Revised Common Lectionary

(Mark 9:2-9) – Six days later, Jesus took with him Peter and James and John, and led them up a high mountain apart, by themselves. And he was transfigured before them, and his clothes became dazzling white, such as no one on earth could bleach them. And there appeared to them Elijah with Moses, who were talking with Jesus. Then Peter said to Jesus, "Rabbi, it is good for us to be here; let us make three dwellings, one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah." He did not know what to say, for they were terrified. Then a cloud overshadowed them, and from the cloud there came a voice, "This is my Son, the Beloved; listen to him!" Suddenly when they looked around, they saw no one with them any more, but only Jesus.

As they were coming down the mountain, he ordered them to tell no one about what they had seen, until after the Son of Man had risen from the dead.
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It was a strange day. There had been a dark mood around the disciples for about a week, since Jesus had exchanged some sharp words with Peter. One moment he was praising Peter for his insight, "You are the Messiah." The next moment Jesus called Peter "Satan" and started talking about death and rejection and how everyone must deny themselves and lose their lives. That was six days ago. It had settled over the little group like a cloud.

On this day, Jesus took three of them on a hike, away, up a mountain by themselves. And there, in the thin air, they saw something strange. They saw Jesus enlightened, as it were. Surrounded by light; infused by light. And a different kind of cloud overshadowed them. A cloud of divine presence that said, "This is my Son, my Beloved; listen to him." They didn't say anything to anybody about it. But the images stayed with them.

For those of us in the post-resurrection church, we can say that what happened to Peter and James and John was that they got a brief glimpse into the true and deeper reality of Jesus. For just a moment, they looked at their friend and saw him as he is. Later Paul will use this language: "the light of the gospel of the glory of Christ, who is the image of God." (We just heard that from Second Corinthians.) For a snapshot of a moment, these three disciples saw that light.

We have no record of it, but I hope they saved the image of that snapshot for later when things got so dark. They needed that picture when they looked upon the bitter reality of seeing the life broken out of that same body dying in slow anguish on the cross. Maybe one of the reasons their eyes were able to see him resurrected was because the image of the risen Jesus was more real to them than that final image of the crucified Jesus. Of course he was risen; they had seen that light in him before.

Transfiguration snapshots are important. We all have them, don't we? We have in our memories snapshots of our loved ones. Moments when they have caught our attention, when they looked particularly effused with light, when they appeared so beautiful and happy and free. In my memory and imagination I have images of Kathy like that, but since she's here, I won't embarrass her. Instead I'll embarrass my daughter Allison, she's not here. I think I've mentioned before of a moment on a soccer field, when she was maybe seven. The other players were herded around the ball somewhere toward the goal. But in the middle of the field, Allison was running with pure exuberant freedom, her hair flying behind her as she took long, gazelle strides celebrating the joy of running and being. So alive, so energized, so present, so happy. I carry the snapshot of that memory with me.

And lest I freeze her in the past, as an adorable little child, I have another, more adult image. I wasn't there, but I have in my visual memory a photograph of Allison. She's a college student at Ole Miss, standing confidently at a podium with her African American friend Jada, telling a packed auditorium how important it is for sports fans at that school to stop waving the Confederate battle flag and singing "Dixie." Same energy and intensity as the girl on the soccer field; different setting.

And my son Gray. There's a picture of him as a tow-headed child, head cocked, gentle smile; and the memory of him on my shoulders clapping his hands over his head singing "Born to be Wild" at his first outdoor rock concert. And a grown-up glance at him, tall and energized, talking adult-to-adult in animated conversation with one of our friends at a party in our house where he cooked a gourmet meal for us all.

We all have these family portraits in the gallery of our memory scrapbook. They capture the light and life of our beloved at moments when we see them in their particular transfigured glory. These are true images. Glimpses of their true self, the light that emanates from them when we see them as they truly are, beautiful beings created in the image and likeness of God.

It is especially important to recall and treasure these images and assert their reality in those other moments – when they are not so enlightened, when the dark clouds obscure their light, when sadness and suffering and folly seem more real than their glory.

A few days ago I looked on my father-in-law in his coffin. I can see that image in my mind's eye. I know it is real. He is dead. But there are other images of him that are so much more real and alive. As we looked through family pictures, we recalled old times. I found myself surprised at a picture of Kathy's mom Claire, late in her life, when emphysema made dark circles below her eyes. I had forgotten that she once looked that way. The picture reminded me. But my stronger, transfiguration image of her is from our family vacations at the beach, bending over from the waist, straight-legged, finding another sea shell washed up from the sea. She loved to do that. Contented, peaceful, with almost childlike joy.

Transfiguration images are healing. Sometimes when I talk to someone who is haunted by a sad or hurtful memory, I'll invite them to imagine Jesus physically there in the scene, bringing strength and light and enfolding love into their tragic moment. After all, Jesus was there. See him. Let him be there for you. For some it works better simply to let the remembered moment be filled with divine light and presence, God's light and presence loving you through the pain, upholding you and bringing healing and resurrection to the burden of your own remembered cross.

It can help to pray with images. To see someone who is weak or ill and to imagine them transfigured like Jesus on the mountain, filled with light and resurrection life.

Sometimes imagery helps when someone is angry or mad at you. Look below their words or their body language and see them as they truly are, a beloved child of God, infinitely loved and able to bear God's light, even though right now there seems to be a pretty thick cloud over that light. Clouds can pass. When someone really pushes my button, sometimes I'll remind myself that they had a mother, and their mother loved them. I don't know why, but that seems to help me. Maybe because my mother loved me, even when I wasn't very lovable.

It can help to pray transfiguration prayers for those with whom we are angry, or even those we hate. It helps me to think that Osama bin Laden had a mother, and his mother loved him. He too is a child of God who has been hurt, and now acts out his hurt in such damaging ways. For a little while I can imagine him healed, infused with divine, maternal light; quiet and peaceful once more; able to bear and reflect God's light again. How relieved I would be if he could embrace that deeper reality; and as I pray, I also realize that I will be relieved at his capture or death if he is unable to embrace that light.

I think that organizations and offices have a transfigured being. What would they look like if they were following their true calling with energy and enlightened reality? Nations have an inner being. How can this nation live into its truest identity and potential? Imagine that, see that, remember that.

In our teaching ministry here, in the Servant Leadership basic course and elsewhere, we teach about the process of dismantling our attachment to our false self and reconnecting with our true self, the person God created us to be. At the center of our being, where we are most truly ourselves, we are one with God, for we are created by God for God. Every person is created in the image and likeness of God. God is love. We are created by love, in love, for love. As Killian Noe tells street addicts in her remarkably successful rehabilitation program, "what is most true about each of us... is that we are loved and that God's love abides in us... Just as surely as a peach pit is at the core of every peach, love is at the core of every human being." (from Finding Our Way Home, p. 13-14)

To see with transfigured eyes is to see this loving divine reality exploding throughout creation, including within ourselves. For a moment, Peter, James and John saw Jesus as he really is.
And they treasured that memory. To see yourself as you really are would mean to look upon yourself infused with light, infinitely loved by God, at peace, secure and joyful. Can you hear the voice that comes from the divine cloud and speaks every time you look into the mirror? "This is my child. My beloved. Listen."

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The Mission of St. Paul's Episcopal Church is to explore and celebrate
God's infinite grace, acceptance and love.

For information about St. Paul's Episcopal Church and it's life and mission, please contact us at
P.O. Box 1190, Fayetteville, AR 72702, or call 479/442-7373
More sermons are posted on our web site: www.stpaulsfay.org
Visit our web partners at www.explorefaith.org

Saturday, February 07, 2009

Ice Storms and Sabbaths

Sermon preached by the Rev. Lowell E. Grisham, Rector
St. Paul's Episcopal Church, Fayetteville, Arkansas
February 8, 2009; 5 Epiphany, Year B
Episcopal Revised Common Lectionary

(Mark 1:29-39) – Jesus left the synagogue at Capernaum, and entered the house of Simon and Andrew, with James and John. Now Simon's mother-in-law was in bed with a fever, and they told him about her at once. He came and took her by the hand and lifted her up. Then the fever left her, and she began to serve them.

That evening, at sundown, they brought to him all who were sick or possessed with demons. And the whole city was gathered around the door. And he cured many who were sick with various diseases, and cast out many demons; and he would not permit the demons to speak, because they knew him.

In the morning, while it was still very dark, he got up and went out to a deserted place, and there he prayed. And Simon and his companions hunted for him. When they found him, they said to him, "Everyone is searching for you." He answered, "Let us go on to the neighboring towns, so that I may proclaim the message there also; for that is what I came out to do." And he went throughout Galilee, proclaiming the message in their synagogues and casting out demons.
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We had an interesting conversation last Sunday during the 10:00 Friends Talking hour. We discussed the ice storm – debriefing, sharing stories, seeing what insights we might learn from the experience.

How did you respond or react when you lost electricity and our world changed so dramatically?

There were some who were as delighted as kids on a "snow day" when school is cancelled. They felt relief. No going to work today. I don't have to face those responsibilities or frustrations or pressures, at least not today.

Some people said they experienced the ice storm as an adventure. For some, the adventure was mostly inside their own home and personal space. Getting creative to provide light or heat or food. For others the adventure was more outside. Getting around to check on others – people who live alone or who have handicaps. Guys grabbed chainsaws and did what guys with chainsaws do. Lots of people found ways to help other people.

Some people said they experienced a troubling sense of loss of control. They didn't like being faced with inconveniences that might escalate to threat, without being able to take charge and master the situation. For others, the dark and cold reinforced their sense of isolation or loneliness. A widow felt the helplessness of having to face all of this without her beloved partner.

I heard some people express anger in various forms. Others experienced fear or dread. Some people found motel rooms to move to. Others nested by fireplaces or gas heaters. There were reports of break-ins at homes that appeared abandoned. Several people said that they had more family conversation than usual without the distraction of TV or computer. Someone said they seemed to run out of conversation sometime on the second day.

Many said how thankful they were for the hard-working people whose job it is to try to restore electricity and do the other essential tasks for our community – things like health-care and police work and fire-fighting. Several people said how thankful they were that many cell towers functioned, or that they had saved an old analog telephone.

In the days following I heard people talking about making plans for being better prepared in the future. I heard a few people say they had a new empathy for the homeless and others who live with these inconveniences as a constant presence in their lives. I heard of gougers taking advantage of needs by overpricing their services, and of Good Samaritans who helped others without expectation of return. I met a couple of guys who had been unemployed; now they were working, clearing out debris thankfully. One called the storm "God's economic stimulus package" for people like him.

Someone else said it was like Sabbath. He spoke about the practice of Sabbath that his Jewish friend observes from sundown Friday to sundown Saturday every week. During the Sabbath his friend will not turn on a switch, answer a phone, access a computer, drive a car, walk more than a short distance, or do anything that might seem like work. Instead, he will light candles and have dinner with the family; rest, pray and read; visit with household and friends; think, and be quietly thankful.

It was after just such a Sabbath that Jesus went back to work, as we heard in our reading from Mark's gospel just a moment ago. At Saturday-sundown Jesus returned to his work of healing. Mark says "the whole city was gathered around the door." That sounds overwhelming to me. So many demands. So many expectations. The tyranny of everyone. The story continues, "And he cured many who were sick with various diseases, and cast out many demons; and he would not permit the demons to speak, because they knew him."

I wonder about the demons he silenced – those demons who knew him. Sometimes it is good to silence voices that are intent on spreading damage, who create confusion and suspicion in community. Or maybe these were demons that were particularly familiar to Jesus, the voices he met in his temptations in the wilderness; the voices inside of him that might deflect him from his center or compromise his purpose.

I felt overwhelmed at one point this week, and I let my demons of frustration have their voice. It was ugly. It was damaging and demoralizing. We all have these demons who know us, who know how to push our buttons and deflect us from our better self; who know how to get to us in so many ways – when we're tired and stressed, or equally when we're proud and successful.

People who practice contemplative prayer tell us that as soon as we start to become quiet, the chatter of the false self cranks up. The demons who know us try to seize the mental conversation. In last week's class as we were visiting about the ice storm, we talked about how our particular reactions to the dark and cold tended to mirror something in our own inner lives. Different things surfaced for different people. Frustration from lack of control; loneliness or vulnerability; relief for an escape from daily demands; confusion from not knowing what-to-do; anger for not being prepared. As our lives got interrupted by the ice, we got some clues, some snapshots of the shadows of our interior landscapes.

Sometimes when we stop, we make space for seeing our inner reality more truly. Sometimes when we stop, we make space for God's presence to silence our demons and to recall us to our center, to reinforce our purpose. Maybe that's why Jesus got up early "in the morning, while it was still very dark" and "went out to a deserted place, and there he prayed." There in the dark, quiet solitude he could be open to the divine presence. Like on the Sabbath, he could rest.

When you let go of the clamor of demands and you silence the voices, the tyranny of everyone, you can rest, and let God be God. You don't have to be in control, or fearful, or angry, or lonely. You can release all of that into the infinite dark silence of God, and simply rest. Just breathe. That's enough. Relax. Let God breathe you into being.

"Everyone is searching for you." That's what Simon and the others said to Jesus when they finally found him at his prayers. Jesus got up, apparently ready to get back to work. But he didn't just go back to work. At least he didn't return to Capernaum, even though there were still plenty of people to heal and plenty of demons to silence. Instead he said, "Let us go on to the neighboring towns, so that I may proclaim the message there also; for that is what I came out to do."

Sometimes when you back away for a while you get a new perspective. Sometimes when you make some space, you can disengage from the cycle of demand and response; separate yourself from the compulsive energies that drive and oppress us, the tyranny of everyone; silence some of the inner demons. Sometimes when you become silent and enter the quiet darkness of God, you reconnect with your center and your purpose. From that place, it is possible set healthy boundaries that come out of a sense of purpose and the sanctuary of security.

It is a good thing to find Sabbath and Sanctuary in your life. Jesus seemed to need that. If Jesus did, I'm sure we do too. Stop all the activity. Turn out the lights. Turn off the noise. Let go of the demands. Rest. Be still. Breathe. Let God breathe for you.

When you get up, everyone will still be searching for you that was searching for you before. That's okay. But maybe you can respond with a bit more definition and trust, with better boundaries and a touch of God's energy.

Right now is one of those Sabbath times as we offer our Sunday worship. You can relax and let the prayers happen. Offer it all to God and let it be blessed. See life taken, blessed, broken and given back to you as Christ's bread of life and cup of salvation. Nourished and strengthened, at peace with yourself, with God and with the world, you will be ready, in just a little while, to go forth into the world to love and serve the Lord. Thanks be to God.

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The Mission of St. Paul's Episcopal Church is to explore and celebrate
God's infinite grace, acceptance and love.

For information about St. Paul's Episcopal Church and it's life and mission,
please contact us at

P.O. Box 1190, Fayetteville, AR 72702, or call 479/442-7373
More sermons are posted on our web site: www.stpaulsfay.org
Visit our web partners at www.explorefaith.org