Living Into the Margins

When people ask me, “Mr. DeSalvo, what do you think about Jesus? Who was he really?” I say that, for me, he was the greatest teacher that ever lived. He was the reason I became a teacher.

Jesus might not be your teacher, but he is mine. In reading Against the Wind, Memoir of a Radical Christian by Dorothee Soelle I found myself agreeing with Soelle about teachers: A teacher is someone we choose. One does not become a teacher because of how smart or wise he or she is. You become a teacher when someone chooses you to be his or her teacher.

I chose Jesus because I was drawn to his style. His parables resonate with how I sense the world should be, how the kingdom of God would be if I ever got there.

One of his parables is about two men who go to the Temple, one an upstanding member of the community (the Pharisee) and the other a marginalized character (the tax collector). Both men offer a prayer that we are allowed to hear. The question Jesus poses is: Which prayer is most earnest and genuine? Which of the two men goes home justified?

Justification is the operative word in this parable from Luke. Where do we use it in our vocabulary? I immediately think about my word processing software which allows me to set up margins that are straight on the left and on the right, at the top and at the bottom.

The root of justification is, of course, justice. Justice is a basic concept. As I understand it, justice is born of reflection about what is right. It is based on ethics, rationality, natural law, fairness, and equity. As a Hindu teacher said to my friends and I recently, we all have it within us to know what is right, and we also have it within us to do what is right.

A colleague of mine says that seeking to know ourselves allows us to collaborate with ourselves. Self-reflection teaches us to confront difficult situations, and to persevere, setting a good example for others, thereby building personal health and strength of character.

Similarly, Jesus' parable from the 18th chapter of Luke challenges us to consider what is healthy verses what is justifiable. The parable is a warning against complacency. The Pharisee does not seek to go beyond the margins, but it is in the margins where the tax collector lives. It is precisely in the margins where the Pharisee might find new opportunities for growth. But he does not seek to grow. Perhaps it is too painful.

I was not alive during World War II, but it’s lessons and stories were fresh in the lessons my teachers taught. The SS guards in the concentration camps did not venture into the margins. They could not. They gassed people during the day and went home and listened to Beethoven in the evening. For them there was no contradiction between the beauty of the music in their homes and the reality of the death camps where millions of others lived and died.

This dichotomy of separation is one of the deepest threats facing our modern culture. Unless we seek to connect, to reconcile, to share what is just, what is better and sometimes painful, we will not realize our full potential, we will not find the peace we are desperately searching for.

In schools like the one where I teach, it is way too easy to imagine that the chaos "out there" is not our problem. Out there are the margins of our safe world. What is out there for us?

I am convinced that if we want to know who was justified in the story from today’s gospel, just read the ending. The tax collector hangs in the back. He is the minority member. Most of his colleagues are scorned by insiders and do not even bother to go to the Temple. He, alone, ventures out of his comfort zone. He whispers “God. I am experimenting with something different here. I am not accustomed to this place and not sure that I even belong. I do not know what to do. Help me. Accept me.”

Jesus says this is enough. Seek. Hope. Expect. It is enough.

The Pharisee, on the other hand, is the insider. He has the power. He has the position. But where is the grace? Where is the welcome? He says, “God, I am thankful that I am not like that guy in the back. I am generous. I am obedient. I am very nearly perfect in every way.”

So whom do you admire?

If you want to know who the justified are in our community, you do not have to look very far. The international students, the students of color, the little children in our community. These are the marginalized. They know what it is like to live as outsiders. All they seek is to belong. Talk to them about their experiences and they will tell you story after story of their gratitude, a thankfulness that most of us are not even aware of. All it takes is a little attention.

They are SO thankful that we are interested in them, that we make a little time to hear about their culture and background. Our attention lets them know that they have a voice, that they belong. More and more, good schools are showing deep interest in and commitment to international students and students of color and their rich histories.

When teachers include various religious views, social reform efforts, civil rights, affirmative action and other forms of multiculturalism into the fabric of the curriculum, it sends a strong and affirming message to the marginalized. They are encouraged to venture out, and as a result we all benefit from new voices and perspectives.

Like the tax collector in our parable, these students are the children of God in today’s world who have entered a community that is not their comfort zone. They are embracing new people, learning to negotiate, accepting what is very different from what they grew up with, and responding in positive ways to a culture that is mostly complacent and satisfied with itself.

Nevertheless, they are truly grateful. Imagine the sacrifice. Imagine the energy it must take to learn a second language and to communicate with people who expect precision. Ask yourself, who is adapting? I accuse myself because I know that I can do better; and, because I am not adapting, because we are not adapting, we are not growing.

Jesus was teaching a lesson by telling this parable, a lesson about the kingdom of heaven: Be not complacent. Do not seek to be justified by living within the narrow confines of a closed and rigid system no matter how perfectly justified those margins seem to be. Rather, reach into the unknown space. Make some notes there. Push yourself to accept what is different, what is difficult and what is painful. There we will encounter self-awareness, new growth, and opportunity. To get better, we need to be vulnerable and we need to be brave. We need to ask ourselves, “What am I missing? What am I knowingly, or unknowingly, overlooking, not seeing?” And then ask for God’s help. O God, give me the strength to open my eyes, to open my mind, and to open my heart.

Becoming an Adult

A few weeks ago a colleague of mine gave a talk to teenagers on the topic of adulthood. At his own expense, he began with a story from childhood in which he remembered having spoken to an elder about how the “kids” in his family were innocently attracted to the new cartoon channels being offered on Cable TV (also new), while he, being older and wiser, preferred the news, in particular news of the New York Mets. To the best of his recollection, he was eight-going-on-nine at the time.

At the wise age of twelve, my son Richard had an admission interview at the private school where I teach. It is a pretty good school, and his mom and I were not at all sure he would be accepted. During the interview, he was asked how he and the school would fit together. He replied, confidently, that since he and Dr. H, a veteran teacher in his late 50s, were friends, he thought the fit would be fine. I wondered, when the story was told to me later by the admissions officer: Does accompanying dad and Dr. H on a trip to Wendy’s for a hamburger secure the fit?

We’ve all met that unusual child who is “three-going-on-thirty”. You attempt to engage him or her with a riddle or a curious trick, but it does not work. The child sees through you, and wants you to know it.

When talking to adults about right living, Jesus said, “Unless you change and become like children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.” I take this to mean that children have a certain innocence about them that they should never lose. They can be wise as serpents and at the same time innocent as doves.

Many years ago, my wife Mary and a friend were wandering around their suburban neighborhood. They were a couple of bored adolescents looking for something to do and decided to release the emergency break on a neighbor’s car so that it rolled down the driveway and into a ditch. As it rolled, the girls ran away, filled with fear and elation.

Children can be innocent, kind, and loving. They can also be selfish and destructive. My mother used to say to my brother and I, “What you are to be, you are now becoming.” Although I did not understand it then, I see now that my mother was warning me against building adult foundations on selfish and thoughtless choices.

So how, we ask, do we do as adults are supposed to do, and still be, as Jesus says, like children?

I was once invited to a Halloween party at the house of my childhood schoolmate Debbie. We were in second grade at the time and the party was in the evening. My mother did not want me to go to this party because it was on a school night and would last until after my bedtime. Reluctantly, she gave in when I informed her that “all the other kids were going.” Dressed in my cherished Popeye costume, complete with plastic mask, I, Popeye-the-Sailor-Man, walked to the door of Debbie’s house, waved to my mom to let her know that I would be fine on my own, and rang the bell. Debbie opened the door, and, much to my shock and embarrassment, I looked beyond Deborah to the big-girl and big-boy Halloween party that was in full swing. I knew right away that I was not ready for it. Nobody wore a costume. The girls had on dresses and leather shoes. They boys were in slacks and loafers. There were soft drinks, pretzels and napkins on the table. A top-40 hit rang out from the hi-fi, and I could see that the furniture had been pushed back for dancing. I realized that I had not read the invitation carefully. Deborah, however, was cool about it. She guided me to the den and told me to leave my costume on the chair and join the party. But Popeye panicked. Underneath, he had on pale blue pajamas.

That seven-year-old boy aged ten years that evening. He never put on the Popeye costume again. It would have been childish.

Several years ago, Mary took our son Andrew and one of his friends to a movie in our small town. Both were about six at the time. Our son was so happy to be at this movie with his friend that without thinking he put his arm around him and said, “You are my best friend. I love you.” Mary and I thought this was a sweet and genuine act of friendship. And she was right. But Andrew continued to wear his feelings on his arm over the next few years, while little by little, the culture of his middle school and high school taught him some stinging lessons of adulthood. Among these were: be careful about sharing your emotions; sometimes it is best to hide your feelings.

On a certain level, I believe that Jesus was countering such life lessons by reminding us that God is not impressed by sophistication or status. Rather, God would have us speak the truth in love, and acknowledge that in order to be fully human, we need to build honest relationships with others.

At the end of Shakespeare’s play King Lear, a set of values emerges that changes how human beings view the human condition. An all too trusting Edgar, a character who has been innocently stripped of most of the things that he valued, concludes:

"The weight of this sad time we must obey,
Speak what we feel, not what we ought to say.
The oldest hath borne most: we that are young
Shall never see so much, nor live so long."

There is much in our culture that teaches children to become adults by suggesting what they ought to do instead of what they know is right. As my colleague continued his speech, he revealed what he called a secret about adults: they don’t always know what is right, and, even when they try to make careful decisions, they often make mistakes.

All of us make mistakes, and we will continue to make mistakes because none of us, child nor adult, is perfect. The older we get, the more convinced we are that our decisions are the ones we ought to make at the expense of our childlike impulse to speak what we feel.

Perhaps the best we can do, as we strive to live life to its fullest possible measure, is reason through issues and problems to the best of our intellectual abilities, but to always remember that there is a child within us who loves us without shame or doubt and who would have us love others the same way.

Native Liturgies Teach Old Lessons in New Ways

Yesterday morning five people gathered on a quiet point overlooking a pond in Delaware. As the sun rose over the salt marsh, a 180 degree panoramic view of the marsh, the spillway, the trees and fields, and more of the pond came into view. Geese and birds honked and sang in increasing numbers. Music from a CD of ancient Native American voices played in the background.

Our Native American Service of Holy Communion began with the five of us facing the four directions: Facing East and the gold of the morning star, we prayed for balance of mind and far-sighted vision.

Turning to the North we prayed for balance of our bodies, a good sense of humor, innocence, trust and love. We prayed that we might behold the sacredness of every living thing.

Facing West we prayed for balance of our emotions in the spirit of Gentleness and Honesty.

Turning South we prayed for the balance of our spirits in harmony with our brothers and sisters.

Finally, we turned to complete the circle and to imagine God's love and mercy in all things. We learned that many native peoples did not resist newcomers from Europe when they first arrived centuries ago; they adapted native beliefs with what non-native peoples taught them. What emerged was the image of a loving God, a God who bent the earth like a bow until it was one, round, shining planet. God's word became the land: mountains, deserts, forests and plains. God gathered waters into rivers, lakes and seas. God's creation was sacred, and people lived in harmony with creation. Non-native people crossed the sea in hopes of settling the already settled land. These pioneers broke the circle of God's creation by their greed and violence, and even though they sometimes shattered the lives of native peoples, God renewed the circle of the earth and turned the hearts of native and non-native toward one another.

One student read a story from the Gospel of Luke. It was the story of Lazarus, a rich person who did not pay attention to those less fortunate than he, not even when their deep suffering was right at his door. When Lazarus died, he was confronted by Father Abraham for his lack of compassion on those who suffered at his door. Abraham was unable to offer Lazarus any comfort, even though Lazarus was now suffering. Basically he said that it was too late to save those who had used up their chances to heed the warnings of the prophets who came before.

The young woman who read the passage became upset by what she read; she could not accept the idea that Lazarus would be condemned to eternal suffering.

Quietly, the five of us began to talk about the story in the context of what our Native American ancestors had to say about living together in harmony, about honoring the Great Spirit, about looking towards Grandmothers and Grandfathers for inspiration and guidance as to how we should be treating the earth and all that lives upon it, and also one another.

We began to imagine that the story of Lazarus is not unlike what our ancestors pointed to as "the ancient way," and we began to wonder if the story did not parallel what could be the end result of our way of life if we do not begin to take better care of the earth and all that live upon it. Perhaps God is calling us, we wondered, to listen to the oceans, the land, the mountains, and the wild animals, birds and fish who say, "Pay attention, brothers and sisters, before it is too late."

We prayed. And the sun rose golden. As we broke bread together, the words of an Ojibway prayer came to mind:

Grandfather, look at our brokenness. We know that in all creation only the human family has strayed from the Sacred Way. We know that we are the ones who are divided, and we are the ones who must come back together to walk in the Sacred Way. Grandfather, Sacred One, teach us love, compassion, and honor that we may heal the earth and heal each other.

Releasing the Character Within

In looking at a chunk of granite or a block of ice, what do you see—an obstacle or an opportunity?

In sculpting marble it is said that Michelangelo sought to release the figure trapped within. My friend and colleague John McGiff says that Michelangelo looked at a block of marble and saw how the sunlight pierced the stone. Only then would he make a cut in order to free the figure imprisoned within.

I admit to being confused as to why the master commends the steward in today’s Gospel story. After all, he had misused his position and neglected his responsibilities. Hearing this about his steward, the master, at first, views him as a useless block of marble, an obstacle and a dead weight. Only later, when he learns that the steward has been prudent and has willed himself into the lives and struggles of others, does the master seize an opportunity.

What the master does is what a teacher does: He seeks to release the gift that lies within the steward; in his case it is in being prudent. Ignoring gifts and talents, the pessimist flunks the steward and replaces him with another. Assuming gifts and talents, the optimist encourages and commends him.

A question we ask ourselves this morning is: Are we optimists or pessimists? Are we looking to inspire others or to vilify them?

When Mr. duPont founded St. Andrew’s in 1929, he envisioned a place where bricks and mortar, fields and ponds, books and teachers, classmates and roommates would wrestle with complex ideas and life issues and come out on the other side having developed moral strength, self-sufficiency, an ability to do and think for themselves.

Like Michelangelo, Mr. duPont hoped to take the outwardly rough teen, and release into society a confident and morally courageous college-bound young adult. He hoped you would release some of your character by chiseling off the things that entrap it.

That is why I loved Mr. Roach’s expression when he said a few days ago that ultimately the pursuit of material things, like popularity, pleasure, self-indulgent pleasures and egotism is essentially like trying to chisel away the cover from a hollow stone. What remains is emptiness.

Moreover nothing solid can stand on such a foundation for long.

Asked in a slightly more focused way, the question for us this morning is this: Are we willing to dig deep, search within, and allow our best selves emerge?

In today’s troubled and confused world, too few are able to measure up to the standards we set at St. Andrew’s. Nonetheless, success and happiness can only be gained in the giving of ourselves to something that will endure beyond our brief existence. Here, in a place set aside for the pursuit of faith and learning, we find ourselves being chiseled with such skill, and polished with such delicacy, that what emerges is nothing less than a proper balance between what is good for the self and what is good for the community.

If St. Andrew’s is about anything, it is about acknowledging then releasing our best selves. That is what education means: to lead out. Our teachers seek to draw out from us our humanity, understanding, and humility. In that sense, St. Andrew’s remains a garden in the middle of an unsteady and confusing environment; a very special community where, if we allow our best selves to emerge in everything we do, we cannot help but practice good and decent habits so naturally that others stop and say, “There goes someone with character!”

Mr. DuPont is no longer alive, but the way of life he envisioned lives on in our mission. It remains for each of us to grasp its standards. In this metaphor of releasing a character from blocks of stone, we are reminded of Robert Frost’s wonderful poem Fire and Ice:

Some say the world will end in fire,

Some say in ice.

From what I’ve tasted of desire

I hold with those who favor fire.

But if it had to perish twice,

I think I know enough of hate

To say that for destruction ice

Is also great

And would suffice.

Outwardly, a frozen block is just a block, and when fire meets ice what remains is water. Pure or putrid, fit or foul, which is it going to be for us? There are some who say if we do not live up to our best intentions the world will suffer unimaginable devastation due to the simple lack of clean drinking water. Could this be what Frost had in mind when he suggested that selfish desire is as much a threat as selfish hate? Both will be our undoing in the end unless we make some changes.

This chapel talk has asked you to consider yourself a block of something; perhaps it is ice or marble. Now that we have spent two weeks together in classes, at meals, on weekends, and in chapel, we have to ask ourselves: Are we made of the good stuff: clean, strong, pure, honest and caring; and, if so, are we committed to the work of setting a better example for others in a world that seems sick and getting sicker every day? If our answer is “yes,” are we willing to remain steadfast in our pursuit of what is best about ourselves, to stand for the hard right against the easy wrong, and let honesty, compassion and understanding be the substance of our character?

The master commends the steward because he sees in him a transformation and a willingness to develop, in some small way, his potential for improving the lives of others and his own at the same time. This is a step in the right direction.

Suffice it to say, St. Andrew’s, as a school, has inclined in new and more welcoming directions since 1929. It remains for us to meet her great demands and challenges—to understand them, to live them, and to preserve them for all who come after us.

What High School Reunions Really Do

In many ways, a high school reunion provides a very good measuring stick for how well we have embraced and exhibited life's best lessons. More than anything else, the high school reunion provides each alumnus a channel for speaking about the current mission and values of his or her Alma Mater, and a way to comment on what has changed, for better or for worse. In a democratic society, the voice of the people is always the best voice.

As we stroll across our campuses, or run with open arms as the younger folks do to embrace one another, we soon find ourselves launching into stories and conversations about the people we are now, where we have been for the past five, ten or fifty years, and what we are doing with our lives. Fred is a counselor, spiritual mentor and community organizer in Wisconsin. Whit is a bride, mother, and publisher of motivational materials in Virginia. David is media specialist and translator of books in Kansas City.

While we have chosen different paths, we share a common purpose: We were once confused teenagers, troubled by moral questions and rebellious attitudes. We struggled to make sense out of these questions while living together in educational communities based on progressive values and intellectual curiosity.

Our lives are connected to our schools because they were institutions that pointed us in the way of peace, love and service. At their best, our high schools never rested on their foundational pillars of faith and reason, but relied on the power of the human spirit to put this faith into action. We believed that God’s love and the human intellect would transform young students like Fred, Whit and David into mature citizens who would make a difference in the world. And it worked!

But coming back for reunion is not easy. Jesus as much as said so when he returned to his own home town of Nazareth. It was uncomfortable for him, and he did not feel welcomed there. That is why he spent so much of his teaching ministry in Capernaum, on the northern shore of the Sea of Galilee. There, amidst a conflagration of cultures, active urbanization, and suppressed political resentment, Jesus chose to spread a message of kindness and forgiveness.

Forgiveness. The person we once were certainly has it. The person we are now welcomes it. The person we will be, must show it. That is the example Jesus would have us follow. Forgiveness will bring peace to the world sooner than force.

My own son, now a teacher, said to me the other day, “Dad, 'unioning' is easy; it is the 're-unioning' that is hard." I think I get what he means: It is much easier to make a new friend in a new community than to confront, as Jesus did, those who scratch their heads and say, “Hey, isn’t that Jesus, the carpenter’s son, the kid who ran off without telling his parents where he was going?” Most of us would rather not confront the adolescent nincompoop we sometimes were. We just don't want to go there.

Our younger selves did not always think before acting, and we were hesitant, or too self absorbed, to accept responsibility. We thought it was funny to tell off-color jokes. For reasons we are not entirely sure of we used labels like "nigger," "spic," "fag," and "wop" to imagine that we would find popularity among the "in crowd." Even when we knew that the leaders at recess were bullies, mean girls, or simply half-baked idiots with attitudes, we reasoned that it was better to belong to something than to be left out. We cursed our parents and teachers. We complained about the rules and the food. We did not choose to do those things which we ought to have done, and we did those things which we ought not to have done, and there was little health in us.

Reunioning is hard because it makes us aware of our need for forgiveness. Fortunately, when we are back at our schools, laughing and joking with old friends, we are reminded of the transformative power of love and faith. Listening to each other, we are inspired to be better and to believe in something greater than ourselves.

Tad Roach, headmaster of an Episcopal school in Delaware, observes that, “we come closest to our mission when we extend ourselves collectively or individually for those in need, when we display courage, resilience, creativity and commitment, when we open ourselves to recognitions that change and transform us.”

These words must become actions through us. Our school administrators need to hear from us. They need to know that we are watching and that we get angry when our schools water down their curricula or back away from the core values that were put into place so that we might become responsible citizens, willing to do whatever it takes to create a better world.

If we live by faith, we know that we do not really need God’s forgiveness. God has already forgiven us. What we rightfully do ask is that our hearts be opened to the possibilities that await us as a result of the reconnections we make at events like high school reunions. There, in those spiritual homes of our youth, we ask God to rekindle our passions, and to bind us to the promises we made to our classmates, teachers, cooks, coaches, counselors, nurses, shop teachers, spiritual advisers, parents and friends.

Most of all, we remember classmates who fought the good fight, who once stood beside us as we competed and performed, who will forever stand with us in our class and team photos. Because they are no longer with us, we must stand for those who have gone to greater glory having lived out the lessons that were taught in every homeroom, classroom, studio, and playing field.

May God continue to bless and support our high schools, and may God bless and protect each and every one of us who musters the courage to visit and reconnect with his or her best self at a high school reunion. Together we can create the inspiration and courage to call our schools back to their core values, celebrate what was meaningful and transformational in our lives, and offer hope that future generations might find purpose and direction in their lives.

As this country strives to recreate its educational mission and rebuild its educational system, it looks to us for direction, evaluation and honest feedback. We must raise our collective voices in support of a first rate education for every person, and we can't rest until every person has access to that first rate education. To this end, we pray with the Psalmist: Lead us, O LORD, and in your righteousness make our ways straight before us.

Making Way for the New

The qualities of a leader are strong in every age. Our country’s historical leaders have been the likes of George Washington, Thomas Jefferson and Abraham Lincoln. In Delaware we are proud of Caesar Rodney, Absalom Jones and E.I. du Pont. Maryland’s leaders include Harriet Tubman, Frederick Douglass and Thurgood Marshall. In the Episcopal Church, we are blessed to have leaders like Desmond Tutu and Katherine Jefferts Schori to be our bishops. No matter what age or era, one thing is true about leaders: they insist on moving forward; they resist the status quo.; they learn from their experiences; they do what it takes to keep growing.

That’s the way it was with Peter. He had been actively working to encourage Jewish believers in places like Jerusalem and Philippi to grow as followers of Jesus.

Peter had been chosen by Jesus for a reason. Remember that he was the first to step out on the water when Jesus called. And he was the first to speak up when Jesus asked, “Who do you say that I am?” Some said John the Baptist. Some said Elijah. But Peter said, you are the Christ.

Peter was a careful person, someone who protected himself. When he ventured out on the water, he considered that it was dangerous. He got distracted and began to sink. When asked whether he was a friend of Jesus, he said that he did not know him. He was cautious for good reason, but, in the end, he made good choices.

His mission in going to Phillipi was to support believers in that region. Little did he know that he would make a critical act to open the Church on that trip. It was not his intention to include non-Jews in the fold. But something new was about to happen, and because Peter had the leadership qualities necessary, he interpreted his vision of forbidden animals to mean that God shows no partiality and that the Holy Spirit comes on all who hear the word.

If today’s lessons have a single thread holding them together, it is that

Growth embraces what is new.

Growth means making adjustments.

Growth means adapting.

The something new that Peter introduced was the idea of inclusion of non-Jews, and, that for the church to grow, it would have to both respect Jewish traditions and laws while including Jesus commandment to include and love all persons.

Up until this point, Peter operated under a code that said it was unlawful to associate with Gentiles or even be in the same room with them, for they were thought to be unclean and their uncleanliness contagious.

But then he had that vision, the text says it may have been a trance. Whatever it was, he interpreted it as an opportunity for growing the Christian Church.

The leaders of the new church back in Jerusalem were not happy with him. They wanted an explanation.

“What on earth were you thinking?” they asked Peter. “Why did you go to those unclean people?”

And that is when Peter told them the story of how he had gone to the house of a Gentiles, and the Holy Spirit came upon all the people there, and he said:

“I remembered the word of the Lord, how he had said, 'John baptized with water, but you will be baptized with the Holy Spirit.' If then God gave them the same gift that he gave us when we believed in the Lord Jesus Christ, who was I that I could hinder God?"

When they heard this, they were silenced. And they praised God, saying, "Then God has given even to the Gentiles the repentance that leads to life."

If the Church is going to grow, Peter learned, it has to be willing to make adjustments from time to time. Its leaders have to be open to the Holy Spirit. The status quo may feel comfortable, but the truth is that the Holy Spirit is always moving, so it is up to us to keep up.

To keep up takes discipline, commitment and training. It is not unlike becoming an athlete. The fact is, as some have noted, we are not born with the ability to insist on resurrection everywhere we turn. It takes the discipline and repetition that forms an athlete – in this case, a spiritually fit Christian.

We practice our faith because we must – it withers and atrophies unless it is stretched. We must continue to give evidence of the faith that is within us.

During the Easter season we are training ourselves for the purpose of what some have called “fighting the good fight.” Like Peter, God has given us a vision to stretch our hearts and minds for the future. God has renewed a life given to the evil of this world on behalf of those with no other helper. That earth-shattering and tomb-shattering rebirth has planted the seeds of hope in each one of us. Yet those seeds do not produce fruit without struggle.

The disciples were looking for new hope in the midst of death and struggle. As a nation and a people they were in grave danger as outlaws of the status quo Roman occupation. But their willingness to accept new members is evidence of the hope that was within them as a people.

The Christian community that would eventually spread from Jerusalem to the far ends of the earth was a community that could adapt and include. It had to in order to practice its faith in strange lands, with different peoples and cultures, always welcoming new members and growing in knowledge and spirit.

The Christian community is meant to be a mutual hope society, with each one offering courage to another whose hope is fragile. I am inspired by the promise that no matter how lost you might feel, new life is possible. Our work as a community is constant – it will not end until the end of all things. Like Peter, we are called to spread the word, year in and year out, and to invite others in. Our hope and joy are in the words, "Alleluia, he is risen! Indeed, he is risen, Alleluia!" For the body of Christ is risen when even a small part of it can rejoice that God continues to make old things new.

Peapods and Prodigals

"Necessity, is she who is the mother of invention."

This passage from Plato’s Republic came to mind as I thought about the many ways that people are creative. And because this morning’s gospel lesson is about the prodigal son, I thought a lot about creativity with pea pods.

In the Middle East, pea pods are used to make soup. In some Chinese recipes, pea pods are a basic ingredient for stir-fry dishes. With a handful of thyme, some olive oil and a little lemon zest, one can create a nutritious pea pod salad. In Massachusetts, there is even a restaurant named The Green Peapod Restaurant, and one major auto maker has an amazing electric mini car called, you guessed it, The Peapod.

God only knows the myriad ways one can be creative—even with simple pea pods.

The first lesson of the prodigal son is that one needs motivation to be creative, and that when we have too much stuff in our lives, we have less to motivate creativity. And so the younger son of the property owner asked for the inheritance that was going to come to him and left home. In a far away place, he ended up squandering his wealth until all that was left was pea pods.

His story teaches us that creativity is not an automatic consequence of necessity. If it were so, then the prodigal son might have done more than eat pea pods. Instead, he allowed himself to sink deeper and deeper into despair, until his only choice, apparently, was death by starvation (more likely humiliation and guilt) or go home to daddy.

Two not-very-creative options.

And so, we might ask, why did Luke want us to know that Jesus told this story to the grumbling Pharisees?

According to Luke, Jesus told this parable to Pharisees who were complaining about his association with tax collectors and sinners; Jesus was welcoming them, and even eating with them.

Lesson number two of the prodigal son is that Jesus welcomed change. According to Jesus, we might infer that rules were meant to be broken, especially if they were too strict and lacked a good rationale.

The Pharisees followed strict rules, and they imagined that they had God on their side. Rule #1 was that fear and intimidation keep us in line. Rule #1 says, “Thou Shalt Be Afraid.” It is such a bad rule because it undercuts creativity. What might happen if we try a new food, a new prayer book, welcome in a stranger who looks different than we?

The Pharisees did not like it that Jesus welcomed new ideas, new members into the fold, new opportunities for growth and understanding about what it means to be God’s children.

In answer to rule # 1, Jesus said, “Be not afraid. Only believe.”

The Pharisee’s rule #2 is the false idea that whatever situation you are in is going to continue forever. Despair, despair, despair. Accept that you cannot change things. If bad things happen, it must be because you did something wrong and God exists to punish you.

How many of us look at the newspaper or TV and say, “This is never going to change. Leaders are corrupt, selfish, power hungry, egoists; hunger and poverty and war continue, and that’s the way it is going to be … forever.”?

My guess is that most Americans have this attitude because we buy in to rule #2: Thou shalt not imagine that you can make a difference.

Again, Jesus says, “Be not afraid. Only believe.”

Finally, rule #3 says dictates that things must stay the same, and that change threatens our values and will disturb our future.

If there is one thing to notice about the life and ministry of Jesus, it is that he was constantly moving. Moving from town to town; welcoming different types of people; teaching individuals on one day and large groups the next; and moving from an old concept of God as judge, to a new concept of God as a parent who forgives.

Perhaps, as the prodigal son walks the many miles towards home, he recites Psalm 32: “Happy are those whose transgression is forgiven, whose sin is covered.”

And as he travels, a still small voice speaks to him and says, “Be not afraid. Only believe.”

The point of the parable is that forgiveness is a free gift. The boy’s father, being the strong and confident person that he is, does not hesitate one second to welcome his son home. No. He welcomes him in his heart even when the boy is far away. Compassion and love far outweigh any need of the payback the older brother (i.e. the Pharisee) expect.

And we are warned not to be like the Pharisees whose God seeks vengeance. Jesus teaches us that God is like the father in the story. God forgives. Moreover, forgiveness is a two-way gift. Both the giver and the receiver grow. In forgiving, we find the source of joy and wonder that fills us with health and vigor. When we forgive, we begin to feel a sense of purpose and direction. Our lives begin to change, really change, and we are transformed from earth bound humans to spiritual beings.

The great priest and mystic Teihard de Chardin wrote that:

“We are not human beings having a spiritual experience. We are spiritual beings having a human experience.”

Jesus understood this and he prayed that all people would come to see that judgment of others comes out of our human experience, but forgiveness, understanding and love, come from our spiritual experience.

Jesus calls us to a life of forgiveness. It is an over and over again calling, and in order to keep it fresh and genuine, he gave us the great gift of his body and blood, the ultimate food and drink of new, never-ending forgiveness for what we have done and the charge to be forgiving to others who fall short. have wronged us.

Can we do it? We can, but we will fall short. And when we do, we must know that we can return to this table, again and again, and that we will be received joyfully, renewed, and redirected to be the source and agents of God’s never-ending love and forgiveness in the world we have been given.