Saturday, August 18, 2012

The Most Intense Experience In the World


Sermon preached by the Rev. Lowell E. Grisham, Rector
St. Paul's Episcopal Church, Fayetteville, Arkansas
August 19, 2012; 12 Pentecost, Proper 15, Year B
Episcopal Revised Common Lectionary

(John 6:51-58)  Jesus said, "I am the living bread that came down from heaven. Whoever eats of this bread will live forever; and the bread that I will give for the life of the world is my flesh."
The Jews then disputed among themselves, saying, "How can this man give us his flesh to eat?" So Jesus said to them, "Very truly, I tell you, unless you eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink his blood, you have no life in you. Those who eat my flesh and drink my blood have eternal life, and I will raise them up on the last day; for my flesh is true food and my blood is true drink. Those who eat my flesh and drink my blood abide in me, and I in them. Just as the living Father sent me, and I live because of the Father, so whoever eats me will live because of me. This is the bread that came down from heaven, not like that which your ancestors ate, and they died. But the one who eats this bread will live forever." 
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 “Eating is the most intense experience in the world.  There is no other creative moment that uses all five senses.”  That’s a quote from the famous Spanish chef Ferran Adriá. [i]  When humans celebrate, we eat – a wedding banquet, a White House state dinner, tailgating, the Thanksgiving meal.  Sacred meals are important to every enduring religion.  And as Chef Adriá says, all five senses are involved.  “Eating is the most intense experience in the world.”

That intensity and sensuousness seemed a threat to a Presbyterian minister from Connecticut who codified a diet in 1837 designed to help eradicate various kinds of immorality.  The Rev. Sylvester Graham was part of a reform movement that believed that our tendencies toward vice and sin are provoked by an unhealthy class of substances he called “stimulants.”  Stimulants, he said, wreaked havoc on the body and leeched people’s vitality, making them ill and sinful.  Alcohol, coffee, tea, sugar, meat, and refined grains were all unhealthy stimulants, he proclaimed, because of their distance from the “organic vitality” of nature.  (Lest you scoff too much, you might listen to contemporary warnings of the evils of processed foods; they sound very similar.)

Serious Grahamites ate whole-wheat crackers and other baked goods made with minimal sugar and fat, along with fruits and vegetables, all served with water.  Not long after Rev. Graham died his methods got a big boost when the Seventh-day Adventists adopted his diet as a core of their practice.  The church was formally established in 1863 in Battle Creek, Michigan, where Adventist leader John Harvey Kellogg found good support for his promotion of breakfast cereals as health foods.  In 1890, Mr. Kellogg started manufacturing Graham crackers for the Adventists Sanitarium Health Food Stores.  Adventists today point to various studies as evidence that they enjoy longer lives and better health than the common population, who tends to place marshmallows and chocolate between Graham crackers to create a sugary, sensuous stimulant we call s’mores. [ii]  And a cracker first invented to quiet the passions has now been transformed into something wonderfully sensuous and stimulating.

John’s gospel today speaks of the Eucharistic feast, something as simple as a s’more.  Bread and wine – taken, blessed, broken, and given.  As we experience this simple meal, time and space break open.  We participate in that first Eucharist at the Last Supper when a young man on the cusp of death took bread and wine and identified it with himself and with his coming sacrifice.  He told his friends “to do this in remembrance” of him.  The Greek word for remembrance – anamnesis – that communicates this command is more than merely remembering something that happened in the past.  It also invites the past into the present to be re-lived, re-enacted.  Time opens and the past becomes present:  We are in that upper room with Jesus; we are at the cross where body and blood become gift and life. 

Not only past and present meet in this mysterious moment, but also future and fulfillment, as we participate in a foretaste of the heavenly banquet where all is God and God is all.

In this simple meal the church teaches that God grants the free gift of forgiveness, and we are born anew.  We become one with Christ, for it is his life we consume.  And we become one with one another, nourished by the same life and love in the sharing of the feast. 

Our past is healed.  Our present is reconciled and made one with heaven and earth.  And we are nourished to go into the world strengthened to be Christ’s body and blood – Jesus’ hands, and heart and voice.  “The Gifts of God for the People of God.”

Such a simple thing.  Such profound meaning.  As Dom Gregory Dix famously said: 

At the heart of it all is the eucharistic action, a thing of absolute simplicity—the taking, blessing, breaking and giving of bread and the taking, blessing and giving of a cup of wine and water, as these were first done with their new meaning by a young Jew before and after supper with His friends on the night before He died.  He had told his friends to do this henceforward with the new meaning “for the anamnesis” of Him, and they have done it always since.

Was ever another command so obeyed?  For century after century, spreading slowly to every continent and country and among every race on earth, this action has been done, in every conceivable human circumstance, for every conceivable human need from infancy and before it to extreme old age and after it, from the pinnacles of earthly greatness to the refuge of fugitives in the caves and dens of the earth.

[We] have found no better thing than this to do for kings at their crowning and for criminals going to the scaffold; for armies in triumph or for a bride and bridegroom in a little country church; for the proclamation of a dogma or for a good crop of wheat; for the wisdom of the Parliament of a mighty nation or for a sick old woman afraid to die; for a schoolboy sitting an examination or for Columbus setting out to discover America; for the famine of whole provinces or for the soul of a dead lover; in thankfulness because my father did not die of pneumonia; for a village headman much tempted to return to fetish because the yams had failed; because the Turk was at the gates of Vienna; for the repentance of Margaret; for the settlements of a strike; for a son for a barren woman; for Captain so-and-so, wounded and prisoner of war; while the lions roared in the nearby amphitheatre; on the beach at Dunkirk; while the hiss of scythes in the thick June grass came faintly through the windows of the church; tremulously, by an old monk on the fiftieth anniversary of his vows; furtively, by an exiled bishop who had hewed timber all day in a prison camp near Murmansk; gorgeously, for the canonisation of S. Joan of Arc—one could fill many pages with the reasons why [we] have done this, and not tell a hundredth part of them. And best of all, week by week and month by month, on a hundred thousand successive Sundays, faithfully, unfailingly, across all parishes of Christendom, the pastors have done this just to make the plebs sancta Dei—the holy common people of God. [iii]

I contend that it is not mere eating that is the most intense experience in the world.  I contend that the Holy Eucharist is the most intense experience in the world.  It is a stimulant of the most marvelous kind.  In it, past, present and future unite in a physical, mystical and spiritual expression of the fullness of life’s meaning and direction.  The past is cleansed and healed; in the present we are nurtured and united; and we are empowered and sent into the future with renewed identity and purpose.  We are accepted, invited, fed, and united.  We are given an identity and mission in the life of God expressed through Christ’s gift of himself.  All of this comes through the simple elements of bread and wine.  It is more powerful than a nuclear explosion and as gentle as a child’s open hand. 

With awe I invite you to the most wonderful event on earth.  “The Gifts of God for the People of God.”


[i] quoted by Jon Reiner, The Man Who Couldn’t Eat, Esquire online, August 17, 2009, http://www.esquire.com/features/chrons-disease-diet-0909-3
[ii] What Graham Crackers Can Teach Us About Whole Foods, by Dana Logan, Religion & Politics, http://religionandpolitics.org/2012/08/01/what-graham-crackers-can-teach-us-about-whole-foods/, augmented by the Wikipedia article, Seventh-day Adventist Church.
[iii] Dom Gregory Dix, The Shape of the Liturgy, Dacre Press, London, 1945, p. 743

Monday, August 13, 2012

Nicodemus' Invitation

Monday, August 13, 2012 -- Week of Proper 14, Year Two
Jeremy Taylor, Bishop of Down, Connor, and Dromore, 1667

Today's Readings for the Daily Office (Book of Common Prayer, p. 979)
Psalms 89:1-18 (morning)       89:19-52 (evening)
Judges 12:1-7
Acts 5:12-26
John 3:1-21

[Go to http://www.missionstclare.com/english/index.html for an online version of the Daily Office including today's scripture readings.]

Nicodemus is unusual.  He is one of the leaders who comes to Jesus with interest and sympathy.  Most people of position and respect have found fault with the ititerant Galilean.  But Nicodemus approaches Jesus with the respectful title, "Teacher."  "Rabbi, we know that you are a teacher who has come from God; for no one can do these signs that you do apart from the presence of God." 

Jesus then takes Nicodemus to his edge.  As a Pharisee, Nicodemus is an observant Jew, following the laws of Torah in a life of obedience and devotion.  Since he is an acknowledged leader, he is probably a person of some accomplishment.  In other words, he is managing his life with some degree of competence and dignity.  But something must be lacking.  He approaches Jesus with curiosity.

Jesus goes immediately to what must be Nicodemus' edge:  You must be "born from above/born anew."  Jesus will contrast the life of the flesh and the life of the spirit/wind.  A new life from a new source.  This is the next step for this good man.  Nicodemus leaves this story appearing perplexed, but later we will see him standing up in the Sanhedrin, arguing for for due process for Jesus at his trial, and Nicodemus will help Joseph of Arimathea bury Jesus' body.

Nicodemus is a good patron for all of us who are basically good, conscientious, and competent people.  Those of us who follow the rules and seem to do okay.  We are respectful and respected people who have accomplished a degree of success.  But when you have done what you are supposed to do and established a sound reputation and degree of prosperity, sometimes there is a nagging sense of incompletion, "Is that all there is?" 

Jesus invites this good man into a new self-understanding -- a living relationship with a lively God.  It is such a different way of being that it is like being born anew, born from above.  It is unpredictable and light-hearted.  It is more like sailing than motor boating. 

In this new life, Jesus invites Nicodemus to attune himself to the subtle movement of the Spirit, as ephemeral as the wind.  He is to let his intuition and wonder guide him into a mystery of divine adventure.  When the wind of intuition moves a bit -- he is to stop like Moses before the bush and allow himself to move with the Spirit. 

All of his life Nicodemus has followed the conventional way -- doing the correct and expected thing, setting goals and reaching them.  Now he is to be open to new possibilities -- available to turn in a moment should his heart be touched, willing to move into the unknowing direction should his intuitive curiosity be aroused.

For those of us with controlled and predictable lives, this can be an unnerving and thrilling invitation.  Can we give up control?  Can we let go of our comfortable, conventional way of living by the rules?  Can we be free and responsive to the movement of the Spirit? 

It is an exciting but risky invitation.  It may call for great change and struggle and sacrifice.  But it is walking in the light and living in love.  It is the invitation into the kingdom of God.

Lowell
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 Audio podcast:  Listen to an audio podcast of the most recent Morning Reflections from today and the past week.  Go to: http://www.stpaulsfay.org/id244.html

About Morning Reflections
"Morning Reflections" is a brief thought about the scripture readings from the Daily Office of Morning and Evening Prayer according to the practice found in the Book of Common Prayer of the Episcopal Church.

Morning Prayer begins on p. 80 of the Book of Common Prayer.
Evening Prayer begins on p. 117
An online resource for praying the Daily Office is found at http://www.missionstclare.com/english/index.html

Another form of the office from Phyllis Tickle's "Divine Hours" is available on our partner web site www.ExploreFaith.org at this location
-- http://explorefaith.org/prayer/fixed/index.html

The Mission of St. Paul's Episcopal Church

is to explore and celebrate
God's infinite grace, acceptance, and love.

See our Web site at www.stpaulsfay.org

Our Rule of Life: 

We aspire to...
    worship weekly
    pray daily
    learn constantly
    serve joyfully 
    live generously.

Lowell Grisham, Rector
St. Paul's Episcopal Church
Fayetteville, Arkansas

Saturday, August 11, 2012

The Bread and the Wolves


Sermon preached by the Rev. Lowell E. Grisham, Rector
St. Paul's Episcopal Church, Fayetteville, Arkansas
August 12, 2012; 11 Pentecost, Proper 14, Year B
Episcopal Revised Common Lectionary

(John 6:35, 41-51)  Jesus said to the people, "I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never be hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty.
Then the Jews began to complain about him because he said, "I am the bread that came down from heaven." They were saying, "Is not this Jesus, the son of Joseph, whose father and mother we know? How can he now say, `I have come down from heaven'?" Jesus answered them, "Do not complain among yourselves. No one can come to me unless drawn by the Father who sent me; and I will raise that person up on the last day. It is written in the prophets, `And they shall all be taught by God.' Everyone who has heard and learned from the Father comes to me. Not that anyone has seen the Father except the one who is from God; he has seen the Father. Very truly, I tell you, whoever believes has eternal life. I am the bread of life. Your ancestors ate the manna in the wilderness, and they died. This is the bread that comes down from heaven, so that one may eat of it and not die. I am the living bread that came down from heaven. Whoever eats of this bread will live forever; and the bread that I will give for the life of the world is my flesh."
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I am the bread of life.   John 6:35a

At our household table, bread is usually just an accompaniment for the other main courses.  Bread is not the most important or even an essential element of many of my meals.

But to Jesus’ listeners, bread was the staple of their diet.  Scholars tell us that a majority of people in first century Israel were malnourished, some severely.  We may see a reflection of that in Luke 6 where Jesus’ disciples pluck grains of wheat and rub them together in their hands to eat even though it is a Sabbath.  There was almost no meat in their diet, although fishermen would keep a small portion of their catch for their family.

Bread was the one food that first century commoners most likely possessed.  It wasn’t unusual for a poor family to have nothing else but bread, and they would put salt on the loaves and eat them.  There is a Middle Eastern saying that refers to extreme poverty:  “Living on bread and salt.”

Traditional eating in the Middle East often doesn’t include the use of utensils.  They will use bread instead, tearing off a chuck of the pita-like loaves and dipping it into one of several bowls on the table, containing the main dishes. [i]

So when Jesus says, “I am the bread of life,” we might imagine his listeners thinking of the life-giving staple of bread, and maybe also bread as the instrument for obtaining the better things in life.  Jesus is offering them the basic staple of life and also he is giving them the means to full life, abundant life.  He himself is that staple and that means.

There is the old saying:  “You are what you eat.”  So think with me for a minute, what it might mean for you to let Jesus be your bread of life.  We participate in the liturgy of eating this bread of life every Sunday at our Eucharist when we partake of “the Body of Christ, the Bread of Heaven.”  We feed on his life to nurture and renew our lives, and to guide us into the abundant life that Jesus promised.

So, let’s look at his life as our staple.  What do we see?  We see a life characterized by compassion and love.  We see someone grounded and confident in his intimate relationship with God.  We see someone who challenges cultural values whenever those traditions seem to divide or diminish other human beings, especially the vulnerable or outcast.  We see one who brings healing and coherence in his very presence.  And we see a person in profound conflict with the established powers of privilege and control.

Love and compassion.  Healing and justice.  Forgiveness and inclusion.  Coherence and courage.  These are some of the characteristics of Jesus.  This is the bread of life that satisfies our true hunger.

There is an old Cherokee legend.  A chief was teaching his grandson about life:

“A fight is going on inside me,” he said to the boy.  “It is a terrible fight and it is between two wolves. 

“One wolf is evil – he is anger, envy, sorrow, regret, greed, arrogance, self-pity, guilt, resentment, inferiority, lies, false pride, superiority, self-doubt, and ego.

“The other wolf is good – he is joy, peace, love, hope, serenity, humility, kindness, benevolence, empathy, generosity, truth, compassion, and faith.

“This same fight is going on inside you – and inside every other person, too.”

The grandson thought about it for a minute and then asked his grandfather, “Which wolf will win?”

The old chief simply replied, “The one you feed.” [ii]

To eat the Bread of Life is to feed your own soul with the Spirit of Jesus.  That means avoiding some food.  If “you are what you eat,” you also “are what you think.”  Whatever you ingest mentally feeds one of the two wolves within you.

Think about what you give your attention to.  What is your diet of thoughts?  …of conversation?  …of television?  …of reading? 

What subjects consume your attention?  Which wolf do you feed?

I find some news programs and talk radio seem to feed the wolf of anger, envy, greed, arrogance, self-pity, resentment, inferiority, lies, false pride, superiority, and ego.  Turn ‘em off.  The same with magazines and books, and maybe some people.

What can you digest that feeds joy, peace, love, hope, serenity, humility, kindness, benevolence, empathy, generosity, truth, compassion, and faith?  -- The good wolf. 

Be intentional about choosing what captures your attention.  Ask yourself as you go through your day moment by moment, which wolf am I feeding?

We live in a time when it can be hard to judge the quality of what we are mentally digesting, hard to tell the difference between what is true and what is false.  We are given a pretty regular diet of potentially polarizing information.  How do we know what is true? 

A friend forwards something from the internet.  It makes some claims that seem pretty inflammatory.  I try to check out those things on snopes.com.  Snopes.com is a non-partisan, apolitical web site dedicated to checking out the truth of internet rumors, email-forwards, and other stories of uncertain or questionable origin.  Don’t hit the “forward” button until you’ve checked it out.  And if you find it is untrue, click “reply” and ask the person who forwarded it to you to correct the misinformation they have distributed, and to do so to everyone they misinformed.  Remember the ninth commandment:  “Thou shalt not bear false witness against thy neighbor.”

When I see or read political claims or hear campaign ads, I often like to check them out at factcheck.org.  Factcheck.org is a non-partisan, non-profit website service of the Annenberg School of the University of Pennsylvania.  They do a solid job of checking the accuracy of political statements and commentary.

Having a fundamental commitment to being truthful is the first step on the road to spiritual maturity. [iii] Yes, we are all rather poor arbiters of truth, for we are all nearsighted, subject to seeing what we expect to see based on our cultural conditioning, bias and prejudice.  So we promote our sense of the truth humbly, always ready to be taught and corrected. 

Ultimately our being is grounded in the acceptance of God, not our own capacities.  God knows us and regards us through the divine lens of pure, unbounded love.  God feeds us with God’s own divine nature – God is love.  How much of your day each day can you feed on that love? 

Will the bread of Christ be only an accompaniment to your other interests, your main courses?  Or will it be the staple, the means to your striving for an abundant life? 

Which wolf will you feed?  The wolf of anger, envy, sorrow, regret, greed, arrogance, self-pity, guilt, resentment, inferiority, lies, false pride, superiority, self-doubt, and ego?  Or the wolf of joy, peace, love, hope, serenity, humility, kindness, benevolence, empathy, generosity, truth, compassion, and faith? 

You are what you think.  With what will you fill your mind?

I’d like to close with a passage from St. Paul’s letter to the Philippians.  It’s something that I have taped to the side of my computer monitor. 

Finally, beloved, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is pleasing, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence and if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things  …and the God of peace will be with you.  Philippians 4:8


[i] from my friend Paul McCracken of the Jerusalem Institute for Biblical Exploration who was our guide for our 2010 trip to Israel.  Paul sends weekly notes on the lectionary, available by email request to:  paul@jibe-edu.org
[ii] from the website First People, The Legends, http://www.firstpeople.us/FP-Html-Legends/TwoWolves-Cherokee.html
[iii] Scott Peck, The Road Less Travelled

The Transfiguring Shift of Consciousness


Sermon preached by the Rev. Lowell E. Grisham, Rector
St. Paul's Episcopal Church, Fayetteville, Arkansas
August 5, 2012; Transfiguration Sunday, Year B
Episcopal Revised Common Lectionary

(Exodus 34:29-35)  Moses came down from Mount Sinai. As he came down from the mountain with the two tablets of the covenant in his hand, Moses did not know that the skin of his face shone because he had been talking with God. When Aaron and all the Israelites saw Moses, the skin of his face was shining, and they were afraid to come near him. But Moses called to them; and Aaron and all the leaders of the congregation returned to him, and Moses spoke with them. Afterward all the Israelites came near, and he gave them in commandment all that the LORD had spoken with him on Mount Sinai. When Moses had finished speaking with them, he put a veil on his face; but whenever Moses went in before the LORD to speak with him, he would take the veil off, until he came out; and when he came out, and told the Israelites what he had been commanded, the Israelites would see the face of Moses, that the skin of his face was shining; and Moses would put the veil on his face again, until he went in to speak with him.

(Luke 9:28-36)  About eight days after Jesus had foretold his death and resurrection, Jesus took with him Peter and John and James, and went up on the mountain to pray. And while he was praying, the appearance of his face changed, and his clothes became dazzling white. Suddenly they saw two men, Moses and Elijah, talking to him. They appeared in glory and were speaking of his departure, which he was about to accomplish at Jerusalem. Now Peter and his companions were weighed down with sleep; but since they had stayed awake, they saw his glory and the two men who stood with him. Just as they were leaving him, Peter said to Jesus, "Master, it is good for us to be here; let us make three dwellings, one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah"--not knowing what he said. While he was saying this, a cloud came and overshadowed them; and they were terrified as they entered the cloud. Then from the cloud came a voice that said, "This is my Son, my Chosen; listen to him!" When the voice had spoken, Jesus was found alone. And they kept silent and in those days told no one any of the things they had seen.
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Moses did not know that the skin on his face shone because he had been talking with God.  Exodus 34:29b

Have you been watching any of the Olympics?  One of the wonderful things about the games is seeing a competitor accomplishing something remarkable and challenging.  We watch the effort, the concentration, the sacrifice.  At those moments when it all comes together, when the competition ends – then we see the joy, the radiance.  And a young teenager, or maybe a tenacious older athlete seizing one last chance – stands before us beaming, glowing, resplendent – dazzling.  A fellow human being, transfigured in joy.  The happiness is contagious. 

Last year we I hosted a Sunday morning series called Authentic Happiness, and one of the things we talked about was the experience of “flow.”  Flow happens when we find ourselves doing something significant to us, and time seems to stand still.  It happens when we give ourselves to some task that is challenging and requires our skill; we have to concentrate; there are usually clear goals and we know the markers of our progress.  We enter a deep, almost effortless involvement in something meaningful that we have a measure of control over.  Sometimes were become so immersed in the effort that our sense of self vanishes; time stops.  When we emerge from the effort, often we experience a deep sense of gratification.

I get that way sometimes when I am studying something or trying to write.  I know someone who enters the flow when he ties fishing flies.  Another who gets lost in the creative process of cooking. 

I once watched a plumber concentrating, taking apart a complicated faucet with lots of small parts, breaking it down systematically, finding the debris that had inhibited its flow, then putting it all back together again flawlessly.  Immersed in his task, his hands moved with the beauty and precision of a ballet.  And when he was finished, he turned the water on full flow and beamed with satisfaction.  He was a transfigured plumber. 

There is a certain quality of mindfulness that only takes a small turn of consciousness, but it seems to open life to its transcendent dimensions. 

Yesterday I was watching my one-year-old granddaughter Laura.  She likes to help with watering the plants.  She helps make watering into play.  It wasn’t watering time, but she took the water pitcher outside as a toy.  We went to the driveway next to the faucet.  There she studied the twigs littering the concrete.  Some twigs she kept, placing them into the pitcher.  Others she discarded.  What did she see, or not see, as she carefully studied the qualities of each twig?

At one point she lay on her back on the front porch.  My eyes followed hers to look at the leaves in the sunlight, the play of green against blue sky, and the complex patterns of shape and color.  Through a child’s eyes, the world was radiant for me again – resplendent, shining, glorious, even dazzling.  Some hours later it struck me.  Recently I had talked with my neighbor about the possibility of our partnering to cut down that ugly, unwanted tree.  It’s all about how you are looking at it. 

Thursday morning I was writing my Morning Reflection as I do most weekdays.  I had gotten into the flow a bit.  I liked what I had created.  I clicked “print,” and it all disappeared.  Gone.  An hour’s work, and literally irreplaceable. 

Now usually I would begin to rant and rave, raising the emotional temperature and complaining of the injustice of life.  But it happened that part of what I had just been reflecting on was Psalm 71, a psalm about someone who is suffering, threatened and anxious, and who nevertheless turns to God for refuge and comfort.  He’s in a miserable situation, and yet he says, “Let my mouth be full of your praise and your glory all the day long.”  (vs. 8)  That’s the verse that had jumped out at me.  When I’m in a miserable situation, my mouth is usually full of complaint. 

But the last thing I had written, in that now-lost 800-plus-words, was about my intentional resolve to be more centered and courageous whenever I am threatened, anxious or frustrated.  So I was presented with an immediate opportunity.  I had irretrievably lost the entire content of what I had been writing for more than an hour.  And for once I took my own advice.  After a moment of grief and rage, I tried to turn again toward God.  I tried to fill my mouth with a bit of praise.  And I wrote a lesser piece (300 words), that had much less eloquence than the former, but a bit more authenticity.  And I felt pretty good about it.

How do we live with a more radiant, transfigured perspective?  How do we see the beauty and elegance around us, even in hard times?  How do we look at a cross and imagine resurrection?
 
Desmond Tutu is a model of radiance for me.  I first saw him during the darkest days of apartheid.  Beaming, chucking, laughing joyfully, he told us to pray for his white oppressors in South Africa, for they have already lost and do not know it.  For they fight against angels and archangels and all of the company of heaven.  They haven’t got a chance, and they don’t even know it!  Pray for them, he said.  That’s a transfigured vision.

Last week Bishop Tutu was in Hawaii, and he was asked, “Looking back on Nelson Mandela’s incredible life and your common struggle against apartheid, what would you say is the greatest lesson you learned about that painful time?” 

Bishop Tutu answered:

“First, I do not know what kind of person I might have turned out to be had I been subjected to the same conditions as the racists.  So I have learned to say thankfully, ‘There but for the grace of God go I.’  And then, I have been amazed by the resilience of those who have suffered grievously, their capacity to come up for more, and then when you expected them to be consumed by hatred and a lust for revenge, to be bowled over by their magnanimity and generosity of spirit in their willingness to forgive the perpetrators of even the most gruesome of atrocities.  I have learned that this is indeed a moral universe and that ultimately good and right will prevail over their ghastly counterparts.”  That’s a transfigured vision.

The interviewer asked him what his parting message would be for the young people of Hawaii and the U.S. 

Bishop Tutu said this: 

“Please go on being idealistic.  Dream, dream of a world where poverty is history, dream of a world where we don't spend those obscene billions on arms, knowing full well that a tiny fraction of those budgets of death would ensure that children everywhere had clean water to drink, could afford the cheap inoculations against preventable diseases, would have good schools, adequate healthcare and decent homes.  Dream of a world where children can laugh and play and not be blown up by a mine they thought was a toy; dream God's dream that we will wake up and realize that we are sisters and brothers, members of one family, God’s family, the human family.  Dream, be idealistic and don't be infected by the cynicism of us oldies.  This world, the only one we have can, yes, as you believe, be better; no, it can be great as the home for all.” 

Dream.  Imagine. 
Open your eyes to see the radiance of a concentrating plumber, the beauty of a twig, the praise that opens misfortune into grace.  It takes only a slight shift of consciousness to see the transfigured glory that fills creation. 

In a few minutes you’ll get to practice.  We are about to experience baptism.  If you’ve got a bit of imagination, you may see the heavens open and the Spirit descend.  You may hear the voice of God speak and say, “This is my beloved child!”  You may even feel the vibration of a memory buried deep in your own consciousness.   A memory of the time when the heavens opened and spoke over you, “This is my beloved child!”  You may know yourself to be the glorious, beloved child of God.  And if that happens, you might shine with a radiance like Moses, and not even know it, because you have been talking with God.

The Bleeding Woman


Sermon preached by the Rev. Lowell E. Grisham, Rector
St. Paul's Episcopal Church, Fayetteville, Arkansas
July 1, 2012; Pentecost 5, Proper 8, Year B
Episcopal Revised Common Lectionary

(Mark 5:21-44)  Jesus had crossed again in the boat to the other side, a great crowd gathered around him; and he was by the sea. Then one of the leaders of the synagogue named Jairus came and, when he saw him, fell at his feet and begged him repeatedly, "My little daughter is at the point of death. Come and lay your hands on her, so that she may be made well, and live." He went with him. 

And a large crowd followed him and pressed in on him. Now there was a woman who had been suffering from hemorrhages for twelve years.  She had endured much under many physicians, and had spent all that she had; and she was no better, but rather grew worse. She had heard about Jesus, and came up behind him in the crowd and touched his cloak, for she said, "If I but touch his clothes, I will be made well." Immediately her hemorrhage stopped; and she felt in her body that she was healed of her disease.

Immediately aware that power had gone forth from him, Jesus turned about in the crowd and said, "Who touched my clothes?" And his disciples said to him, "You see the crowd pressing in on you; how can you say, `Who touched me?'" He looked all around to see who had done it. But the woman, knowing what had happened to her, came in fear and trembling, fell down before him, and told him the whole truth. He said to her, "Daughter, your faith has made you well; go in peace, and be healed of your disease."

While he was still speaking, some people came from the leader's house to say, "Your daughter is dead. Why trouble the teacher any further?" But overhearing what they said, Jesus said to the leader of the synagogue, "Do not fear, only believe." He allowed no one to follow him except Peter, James, and John, the brother of James. When they came to the house of the leader of the synagogue, he saw a commotion, people weeping and wailing loudly. When he had entered, he said to them, "Why do you make a commotion and weep? The child is not dead but sleeping." And they laughed at him. Then he put them all outside, and took the child's father and mother and those who were with him, and went in where the child was. He took her by the hand and said to her, "Talitha cum," which means, "Little girl, get up!" And immediately the girl got up and began to walk about (she was twelve years of age). At this they were overcome with amazement. He strictly ordered them that no one should know this, and told them to give her something to eat.
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It helps to know a little background information to understand what was at stake in this encounter.  We know from earlier in the story that this is a “woman who had been suffering from hemorrhages for twelve years.”  Her menstrual period didn’t stop after a few days each month, but continued perpetually.  This had been going on for twelve years. 

One can imagine the physical inconvenience and misery, but you also need to know what it meant to her socially.  The Jewish Law in the Torah is very clear and specific.  Throughout the days of her discharge “she shall be unclean.”  Everything she sits on or lies on shall be unclean.  Anyone who touches these things shall be unclean and must bathe themselves and their clothes and remain unclean until the evening.  Only after eight days without discharge can she be made clean, following a ritual sacrificing two turtle doves or two pigeons.  (Leviticus 15:19-30)

Life for women in first century Palestine was very intimate.  They lived in homes of extended families with small rooms where several generations of women would work together starting from before dawn preparing food for the all of their relations.  As they worked, they talked.  This was their time of bonding, of sharing their lives and feelings and hopes together.  Their shared labors continued in various forms throughout the day until a few hours after sunset.  From all of this, the woman with the hemorrhage was excluded.  For twelve years.

Imagine her sense of isolation and helplessness when she learns that Jesus had returned from his mission in the Decapolis, and tales of healing and great power swirled around him.  How desperate she must have felt, when she fashioned the hope, “If only I could touch him…  Maybe…?” 

There is a detail in Matthew’s account of this story that I think is very significant.  As a crowd follows Jesus toward the home of the leader of the synagogue, where the little girl has just died, (Matthew writes) “suddenly a woman who had been suffering from hemorrhages for twelve years came up behind him and touched the fringe of his cloak, for she had said to herself, ‘If I only touch his cloak, I will be made well.’”  (Matthew 9:20-21) 

What she touches – the fringe of his cloak – is significant.  It is his tzitzit.  The Law of Moses instructed the Israelites to make fringes on the corners of their garments and to put a blue cord on the fringe at each corner.  There is some debate whether the fringes in Jesus’ day were a separate garment or were added to an existing piece of clothing, but the fringe – the tzitzit – was important and special.  It was the most valuable garment that a man would own; it might be his most valuable possession period.  It was also his most personal possession.  No one – absolutely no one – outside of his immediate family should ever touch the fringe, the tzitzit.  For someone other than a wife, parent, son or daughter to touch the tzitzit would be horrifying – an unspeakable act, signaling some form of depravity or perversion.  Unimaginable.

But that’s what this desperate woman does.  She touches Jesus’ tzitzit, and when she does, she feels her body’s healing.  But Jesus knows immediately that something has happened – power has gone out of him.  “Who touched my clothes?” he asks. 

Whoever has done this – whoever has touched Jesus’ tzitzit has done something profoundly disgraceful.  Shameful.  Theirs was a culture defined by honor and shame.  One moves up and down in power and respect according to one’s honor or one’s shame.  And it’s not just an individual matter.  Middle Eastern society is deeply interconnected.  Everything one does brings either honor or shame, not only to oneself, but also to one’s family, one’s community and one’s village.  One of the greatest complements someone can offer to a person from the Middle East is to say, “You bring honor to your community.” 

When Jesus says, “Who touched my clothes?” this desperate woman knows, if she is discovered, she will have covered herself, her family, and her village with shame.  For twelve years she has experienced the isolation of uncleanness.  Now she would be cursed with the humiliation of a public disgrace that she has brought upon the whole community.
We read from Mark:  “[T]he woman, knowing what had happened to her, came in fear and trembling, fell down before him, and told him the whole truth.”  What courage.  She knows she be disgraced.  What integrity.

But look what Jesus says to her.  His first word is, “Daughter.”  Remember?  Only a member of a man’s immediate family is allowed the intimate act of touching his tzitzit.  “Daughter!” he says to her.  How beautiful.  Jesus embraces her into his family by naming her as his “daughter.”  He makes her act acceptable.  He makes her acceptable.  Jesus takes away not only her illness and isolation, but also her shame.  Jesus restores her to health and to community.

Every one of us carries some shame.  There are things that we can think of, and we begin to bleed.  Our heart rate rises, temperature seems to go up.  Our face may flush, or we might feel moist under the arms as the memory returns.  A buzz in the ears.  A gnawing regret:  “I wish I hadn’t done that.  I SO wish that had never happened.”

Sometimes when these things come back to mind, we believe that we are unworthy.  Shamed.  We think, “If others knew, what would they think?  If people actually knew me as I am, would they accept me?”  Sometimes others actually do know.  If your shame is something public, you might imagine they could be judging you every moment.

Jesus looks at you in your shame, smiles, opens his arms, and says, “My Child; my beloved.”  His infinite well of love embraces you with unqualified forgiveness and complete inclusion.  Power goes forth from him, and you are healed.  Restored to health and community.

The woman with the decade of bleeding is all of us, each of us.  We’ve all got wounds that seem to open and seep from time to time without final closure.  The woman who acted so shamefully is all of us, each of us.  We’ve all touched something we shouldn’t have touched.  The woman who reached out
to Jesus in desperation found healing:  The woman who took her shame to Jesus – telling him the whole thing, in fear and trembling – is also all of us, each of us. 

Jesus invites us to bring our hurts and our shames to him.  He does not judge or condemn.  He heals and accepts.  He makes us his own kin, his own daughters and sons.  He restores our dignity.  His power goes forth into us, and we are healed.  He takes us by the hand, raises us up, and invites us into wholeness and community.  He tells us, as he told her:  “Go in peace, and be healed of your disease.”


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My gratitude to my friend Dr. Paul McCracken of the Jerusalem Institute for Biblical Exploration.  Paul was our guide for our pilgrimage to the Holy Land in 2010.  Paul sends a weekly Lectionary Note on the readings offering archeological, cultural and historical perspectives drawing from his long experience in the Middle East.  This sermon draws extensively from his Note for this week.  He posts his notes at www.jibe-edu.org (look in the right margin for links to “Lectionary Notes”).