Abundance

At the time, when you didn’t know God, you were enslaved by things that aren’t gods by nature. But now, after knowing God (or rather, being known by God), how can you turn back again to the weak and worthless world system? Do you want to be slaves to it again? You observe religious days and months and seasons and years. Galatians 4:8-10 CEB

I’m taking a day off. Well, sort of. So far I’ve washed yesterday’s dishes, fed the cats, set up some kombucha to ferment, cooked and eaten breakfast, helped Kay with her taxes and now I’m writing this. Later, I’ll work on some liturgy for April. But after the last few days, this is still a break. Holy Week’s a busy time at the church, and consequently for pastors and church staff. I don’t know how much energy I have for something new or creative...

Last time I mentioned my “Life Abundant” list. I’ll go that direction and see what happens.

Our Women’s Thursday Noon study group has been working our way through Galatians. It’s been interesting, and sometimes fun (although a couple women who are less interested in deep study may’ve been practicing some P/A behaviors through absenting themselves).

A couple weeks ago we were looking at the text above. I wrote “days, months, seasons, years” on the board. We briefly described sacred (things connected with the holy) and secular (strictly worldly things). Then I invited everyone to brainstorm about the important days in our lives – calling them out – while someone added them to a growing list on the board. 

The question came up, “Is Thanksgiving sacred or secular?” Our answer: “Yes.” 

Gradually the list included major holy days as well as the birthdays, anniversaries, and holidays important to anyone with family or friends. 

And the question surfaced about that boundary between sacred and secular. We flipped to John 10:10b and read: “I came that they may have life, and have it abundantly” (NRSV). 

What does this mean in light of that Galatians passage?

Even today, most faithful people still tend to separate our days into the sacred and secular, but if Jesus came so that we might have life abundant, isn’t that an invitation to live all moments of all of our days as if they are sacred (touched by the holy)?

The idea certainly puts a different face on what some of us do with our free time! (No more writing or looking at foul things online!) 

Scrubbing toilets, sacred? Defragging the laptop? Working on taxes? Yes. Yes. And, Yes.

Thank you (again), Brian 

Anyway, at the end of class, we each accepted the mission of working on a “Life Abundant” list of things that we can celebrate. The one stipulation was that it’s NOT to include the sort of things we appreciate because of our social location. It’s to be the sort of stuff that a person with barely a roof over their head might notice and value.

Weekends at the cabin? No. Abundance of shopping opportunities? No. Spring’s first dandelion. Yes. Humming? Yes. Legs that move under us? Yes…

Care to join us?

Life as a Pilgrim

Yesterday was my sabbath, the day I practice doing as much nothing as I possibly can, so as to rest in God’s presentness and to “test the premise that I am worth more than what I can produce—that even if I spent one whole day being good for nothing I would still be precious in God’s sight.”[1]

I say practice both because it’s a discipline – an exercise one does regularly, like wrestling, singing or meditation – for the purpose of growing in “skill” (hence the lower-case “s”), and because I’m not especially good at either doing nothing or making time for doing it.

One thing I did was to work on my “Life Abundant” list (more on this another time). Then, I turned to the next page in the black and white composition book and started a Bucket List. I'd made one of these a few years ago, and I thought it might be interesting to make another and compare the two. Yet after writing four goals, I couldn’t think of another. I wondered what that means about me.

On sabbath days, I’m often at loose-ends, so at this point, I pulled out a book that’s been on my shelf about five years. I bought it on a particularly blustery day when Kay and I were camping near Bayfield. We'd gone to the Apostle Islands Booksellers where I bought a pair of books. I liked the cover art for The Art of Pilgrimage, and its topic intrigued me but, until yesterday, I’d never made it past the Introduction. 

I’m sabbathing (and at loose-ends), and I’m preparing for a trip that self-identifies as a pilgrimage (more on that one another day, too) and this book is on the reading list. It seemed like a thing to do.

Skip ahead about an hour. The Introduction is behind me. Among other things, I’ve read that pilgrimage is “a transformative journey to a sacred center.”[2] I've begun to learn things about the nature of travel, about the search for the sacred all around us, and about myself.

I now see that my flight to Navajoland after graduating from college was at least somewhat a pilgrimage. Backpacking the high country of Yosemite was also pilgrimage, thought I recognized neither by this name at the time. Also pilgrimage was standing in awe and trembling in front of a pair of Gutenberg bibles in Mainz, and in that stairwell in Florence gazing at that other Pieta (The Deposition).

When you're someone who is eagerly curious, you will seldom, if ever, be bored. Yesterday, the topic was pilgrimage. What will it be tomorrow?

–––– 

[1] From Barbara Brown Taylor’s An Altar in the World: A Geography of Faith, edited to 1st-person
[2] Phil Cousineau, The Art of Pilgrimage: The Seeker's Guide to Making Travel Sacred.

Slothful

Thank you, Marissa Strniste

Slothful. Isn’t that a great word? Can’t you just imagine one of those South American animals hanging from a branch, moving in oh-such-slow motion. (Or maybe you think of Flash from Zootopia.) Can you feel your muscles relaxing as you reflect on the seemingly easy lifestyle of these wonderful creatures?

I’ve been feeling lazy these last few weeks. I haven’t felt like doing certain things I usually enjoy – like practicing the violin, writing blog entries, or preparing foods to eat. But I'm not worried. I know the cause.

My current slothfulness is because … ready for this? … I’m tired, plain and simple. I’m depleted as one might be after running a long race or at the conclusion of finals week. My ordination interviews last month were the culmination of years of effort, the last five months of which involved intensive preparation. At long last, I have time to do the things I let slide while I was busy writing papers, and praying, and mentally preparing myself. It’s taken me by surprise how worn out I feel even three weeks later.

Are you tired? Have you been beyond busy for about as long as you can remember? Can you recall the last time you got 8 hours sleep? I’ve been getting good sleep – granted, it’s easier when one doesn’t have a social life – but I’m also very good at keeping too busy. And I suspect that some of you might be as well. 

We could each come up with a list of reasons and excuses, and we are all well aware that there are things we can’t leave undone. But no matter how long the list, the question I encourage us to ask is, “How well am I handling all of this?”  

We need to ask, “What am I doing to take care of myself?” Or to frame it more theologically, “How well am I taking care of the person God created me to be, so that I can be about whatever it is God has in store for me?” Then, we need to look at the underlying questions ...

• What’s on my list that doesn’t really need to be there? 
• What can I delegate? 
• What won’t be missed if it doesn’t happen?
• What doesn’t matter to anyone but me?
  Is it worth it? (If so, keep it. If not, maybe you could get rid of it.)
• What do I need to change in order to take care of me more fully? 
• What am I willing to drop from my expectations so I can make time for myself?

Wherever we are in our life’s journey, I just want to remind each of us – in all love – that we’re better for the ones in our lives – at home, at play, and at work – when we take care of ourselves. 

Bless your life so that you can be a blessing to others.

Theology with Legs

Crucifixion of Jesus by Salvador Dali

A couple months ago, I wrote about how hard it can be to understand the nitty-gritty details of theology – what people mean by “soteriology” or, in my case, “theology of the cross.” I shared some historical stuff to start people thinking about their theology of the cross. But, though I didn’t say it then, none of that resonated with me. Today, I share a bit more of my journey to finding my own theology.

Do you have a lot of books? I do, especially theology books. At my first appointment, I bought the retiring pastor’s library and suddenly had hundreds. In seminary I got dozens more. I weed through them regularly. Sometimes, I open a book only to close it moments later and walk it to the donations box (a fixture in our house). Sometimes, I read a bit, then don’t get back to it for years. Only rarely do I read a text cover-to-cover.

A book that helped me in my quest was of the second type. It appealed to my passions in ministry – justice and discipleship. When I brought it out again last fall, on a whim I flipped to the third – and final – section of the book. I liked it; it definitely resonated. So, pencil in hand, I started again at the beginning. Imagine my surprise when somewhere around page 30 I started finding penciled underlinings (yes, mine).

I’ll be reading more of that book eventually. Today, I offer "My Theology of the Cross and of Atonement as it's lived out"

The first thing I have to talk about is sin because, for some people, atonement is all about sin. Many people see sin as “the things we’ve done” which offend God, but really, Sin is a rejection of God. It’s a willfulness that leads us to live apart from the wholeness that comes from God. We want to lead our lives our own way. 

We need God and the at-one-ment (get that?) God offers us. But what does this mean? Does God require blood sacrifice? Is atonement about God’s “punitive justice” on the person of Jesus? If your belief includes one of these, I respect that. But for me, the idea that God would demand blood to satisfy a divine sense of justice is contrary to God’s nature. I believe God’s goal is close connection with us, relationship. While God stresses our need to forgive; it’s us who worry about God’s forgiveness, maybe to deal with our shame after we accept God’s grace.

Still, I‘ve conceded that Jesus, as example of radical justice, love and compassion isn’t enough. I’m humbled that God would try so much to reach us perverse human creatures and I’d like to find that my theology didn’t require the cross. Yet, it’s on the cross, and before that, in Golgotha, that Jesus is finally and most completely God-with-us. It’s in accepting, then facing, Rome’s execution that he affirms his absolute humanity. Our God goes this far.

Astounding, humbling…

One’s theology of the cross, before anything else, speaks about God. The characteristic I keep returning to is God’s caring. This compassion leads God to find creation not only “very good,” but worth doing absolutely anything for, so that it (and we) might achieve wholeness, fulfillment, and redemption. God loves all of creation and is committed to saving not just a part but all of it, in all its interrelatedness.

Once we accept God’s grace, we’re called to discipleship. Some people ignore this call, but faith demands discipleship – a discipleship that leads us to connect and engage with the world in ways we wouldn’t think of doing on our own. We’re called to this – individually and as faith communities – for the purpose of growing in solidarity with the creation God wants to redeem. We’re called to offer an alternative reality to the one society presents.

Our obedience to this second call is the mark (or not) of our faith. We live this out as we practice love-in-action – toward God’s human children and all the earth … as we engage in situations we’d just as soon avoid or ignore … and, as we stop assuming that God shares our narrow view of who and what matter, and start living as if God loves and seeks to redeem, literally, everything.

So, there's a piece of my theology. What's yours?