A Cooperative Cummunity Project in Middletown, DE

Dear Friends,

I write as a volunteer with Family Help, Inc. For a number of years, concerned folks in Middletown, Delaware have had a dream of creating transitional housing for families in crisis—families with little kids, but no homes, no jobs, and, in some cases, not enough education or the skills to navigate a way forward.

That dream became a reality last summer. My friends Harvey Zendt, Irv Brockson, Dennis Christy, Jerry Gawel, The Rev. Joann Barker, Brenda Murray, Sam Tuttle, Willie Savage, Father Bob Snable, Lisa LaMarch, Dr. Zelda Carter and others created four family apartments. These tireless volunteers worked with the town, purchased property, rebuilt foundations, renovated, painted, landscaped, etc., etc., then interviewed homeless moms, inviting four families to pilot the program. It has been a very rewarding experience for everyone.

Since August, these families have been receiving food and clothing from generous community groups, financial counseling and job training from board volunteers, and personal counseling from two Middletown pastors. The families are asked to put a small sum of money each month into an account that will help them get started when they have jobs and are ready to move into their own apartments or houses. We are teaching each family to save, to provide for themselves, and to find their way to economic independence and spiritual growth.

Until then, however, help is needed to keep the project going. We need money to maintain the property and provide basic needs for the families. Our goal is to guide these humble folks to a road of self-sufficiency, and when one family leaves to take in the next struggling family.

Won't you please help?

These are hard times, but, together, we can provide hope for struggling families in this small town and point them in a positive direction—towards productive employment and a secure home for their children.

You can help by sending a donation to Family Help, Inc. P.O. Box 302, Middletown, DE 19709. Your donation is tax deductible.

For more information, you may call Harvey Zendt (302-376-6339), or me (302-824-6272).

Peace and Blessings in the new year, and thank you.

Dave D.

Faith—Answering The Call

Texts: Isaiah 7:10-16 , Psalm 80:1-7, 17-19, Romans 1:1-7, Matthew 1:18-25

It was probably another ordinary day for Joseph. This pious Jew, whose work was carpentry in Nazareth, looked at his life and was well pleased. After all, he was from good stock, a member of the house of David, a respected family line. He was linked, we do not know for sure how, to a young woman named Mary and was going to marry her.

Joseph was happily minding his own business, when he got some disturbing news. Mary, his betrothed, was with child. Understandably, Joseph’s ordinary day changed. Since then, nothing has been the same.

I am not a carpenter, but I have done some building of things out of wood. It is ordinary work. By that I mean there are steps. The wood must be cut, then stripped of bark, sawed, dried, planed, measured for fit. If a person is alone in his wood shop, he has lots of time to think, to ponder, to dwell on what has gone right or wrong that day. So it was with Joseph on the day he learned that his betrothed was going to have a baby—not his baby. We imagine his confusion, his utter frustration. He feels ill equipped to move forward with his life.

So, he planes the boards. Long after they were level enough, he planes—stroking out his frustration, as needless layers of healthy shavings fall to the ground. This ordinary carpenter, someone whose life is upright and admirable, finds himself at a loss. His orderly plans have been disturbed. What should he do?

Matthew tells us that he “planned to dismiss [Mary] quietly.” It was the lawful thing.

But Matthew also tells us that Joseph had a dream, a dream that changed his mind. The theologian Paul Tillich would say that Joseph was grasped by something, or someone, beyond himself. What he prayed for, and the one to whom he prayed, became one, and he awoke full of courage to follow where his faith would lead.

Sometimes we all need a sign. A sense that we would rest more comfortably if our decision was somehow revealed to be consistent with God’s will.

I have an older brother. He loved giving me wise advice when I was little. He told me never to question whether God existed because one day when he was taking a bath, he said, “God, if you are really up there, make a drop of water fall from the shower head.” And at that very moment, a drop fell.

Wishful thinking? A trivial coincidence? Perhaps, but to him it was a sign. Besides, who am I to contradict my big brother? Let us not forget that Jesus criticized his disciples for their lack of faith saying, "truly I tell you, if you have faith the size of a mustard seed, you will say to this mountain, 'Move from here to there,' and it will move; and nothing will be impossible for you.” (Matthew 17: 20, NRSV)

Remember how the LORD spoke to Ahaz, saying, “Ask a sign of the LORD your God; let it be deep as Sheol or high as heaven. But Ahaz said, I will not ask, and I will not put the LORD to the test. Then Isaiah said: "Hear then, O house of David! Is it too little for you to weary mortals, that you weary my God also? Therefore the Lord himself will give you a sign. Look, the young woman is with child and shall bear a son, and shall name him Immanuel.”

Joseph’s dream comes to us through Matthew’s gospel as a manifestation of God’s active participation in Joseph’s life, and an example of faith. To have faith, one must participate in the action. To reach out and to fully expect that there is a power beyond that reaches back.

Likewise, in Psalm 80, the psalmist reaches out, fully expecting God to save and restore the people of Israel. That restoration would be a sign that God loves God’s people, and calls them to follow.

Paul, the Apostle to the Gentiles, preached that through faith, we are born to a new life, a life of Spirit and truth. He says that he was “called” and that we are called. The word “call” is used multiple times in his letter to the Romans, and we cannot ignore it: called to be apostles, called to belong to Jesus, called to be saints, called to bring others into a life of faith.

The question we ask ourselves is this: What are we called to do? I believe that God is calling us this very minute to be someone new, to live up to our true potential, to shed a skin (as Joseph did), and become the person God intended us to be.

Remember that Joseph was of the lineage of David. He was a proud and faithful man. He had a good life. He didn’t need to be shaken. I can hear him saying, as he sanded and polished, “Why me, God? This is too hard. I am just a regular guy, content to avoid all the social, intellectual, legal, and religious 'stuff.' I'm just a simple carpenter who wants to be left alone.”

And God answers, “That is precisely the reason why I am choosing you: Your background, your wealth, your advantages, what will they get you in the long run? I am a God that chooses the meek and lowly, the poor and the oppressed, the widow and the orphan. Listen. Put your ordinary agenda aside and really listen. If you want to claim me as your lord, then you have to trust me, and follow me. There is no other way. Do not make excuses for why you can’t. Trust. Have faith. Follow.”

Why are we so afraid to follow God? Because we fear we might be wrong. And by being wrong, we might miss out on something. We fear the unknown. We fear being ridiculed. We fear being labeled theologically light-weight. We fear being unpopular, or on the "out" side of the intellectual “in”. Fear leads to disconnection from our faith in Jesus—and our call to teach and to lead others to him. When we back down or run away from this call, we are saying to others that this is a satisfactory choice.

It is not.

Faith is.

And facing fear is the first active step of faith. Faith is Freedom, and Freedom is a gift God established in creation—free will: we must always have the sense that God gives us the freedom to choose, or not choose, a connection with God. The right or the wrong of it will become evident as we follow God’s call. We cannot always know the outcome before we take the first step.

Joseph makes up his mind without hesitation. He goes to sleep an ordinary woodworker, but he wakes up a master carpenter, the guardian of the king of kings, and lord of lords.

Joseph listened to God. He set an example for us. He followed God’s call in a dream. Then he stepped back and let the extraordinary story unfold. Aren’t we glad he did?

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.

Fig Trees Must Produce Figs

I begin this Blog by asking my readers to consider these words from Scripture:

"Come to me all who are thirsty, and I will give you living water to drink. The water you think you need, like the bread you eat and the work you labor on, will never truly satisfy you. Come unto me, and I will give you life-giving water."

Many colleges still have what are called comprehensive exams, culminating assessments in a student’s major area of study. If she or he can pass these tests, often taking several hours or even days to complete, the student is assured of his or her degree.

For someone majoring in liberal arts, the exams might include a short answer section where students are asked to identify the source and context of a number of brief quotations from important historical works.

So I ask you, again, to consider these words:

Come to me all who are thirsty, and I will give you living water to drink

If you said “Isaiah 55,” you would be correct, but if you said, “that sounds like something Jesus said,” you would also be right. That’s because Jesus knew his Scriptures very well, so well, in fact, that they permeated his every thought and action. Isaiah must have been a favorite of his because we hear strains of Isaiah in many of Jesus’ best stories.

Continuing our survey, how should we identify the passage about drinking from the rock?

“all passed through the sea, … and all ate the same spiritual food, and all drank … from the spiritual rock.”

Did you guess Exodus 14: “And the Lord said to Moses, ‘lift up your staff, …’” or did you think, “that sounds more like chapter 17, when: ‘The Lord said, …”take the staff, strike the rock, and water will come out.”’” Perhaps you recalled that in Numbers 20, Moses arrived at Meribah with all Israel complaining about the lack of water for themselves and their livestock. God tells Moses to command the water to flow from the rock that it might provide for the people and animals. And the people assent to this. But what does Moses do? He raises the staff and strikes the rock twice. And the water gushed out.

“and the rock,” said Paul, “was Christ.”

What is this new teaching? Is it some sort of hybrid? Is Jesus in the rock. Is he the bread of life? What about the life-giving water?

Imagine, if you will, Scripture as a spiritual root system for the abundant life that God intends for all creation. The system requires sunlight, water and nutrients. Given these and time, the healthy foundation will feed the tree, and the tree will produce good fruit.

Likewise, imagine a similar foundation feeding the work of the Church, a foundation built on a way of life modeled by a man named Jesus. A man who, by at least four important accounts, knew the Scriptures, was a respected teacher and healer, and who lived and acted as if he were the Son of God.

I, for one, believe that he was. Not a meek and mild person, but a lion, a man full of courage and wisdom—a rock, said Paul.

So what, you may ask, was Jesus doing when he told this parable about the fig tree? From the very opening we notice something unusual. Who plants a fig tree in a vineyard? Aren’t vineyards places to cultivate grapes? And what sort of vineyard is this anyway? Could it be that this is not a real vineyard but a metaphor for something else, an unusual garden that has been taken over by foreigners?

And because the tree is a not at home in this place, it does not bear fruit.

The fig tree is threatened, presumably by the owner of the vineyard who had it planted there to begin with,but whose eyes clearly see the changing way of things.

So why, I asked myself, did he plant this tree in the first place?

To bear fruit, that’s why. That’s what fig trees do—they bear fruit. It is their nature, and they know, instinctively, what they are meant for—bearing fruit. In particular, figs.

I imagine that Jesus wants us to look within and identify that for which we too were created, and then to bear fruit suited to the unique gifts we have inside, not the kind of fruit that the world chases after—wealth, fame, recognition, power—but fruit that sustains us in an eternal way. A fig tree must produce figs, not grapes or olives or pistachio nuts.

Perhaps you sympathize with the fig tree, that it fears the contempt it might receive from grape vines when its fruit looks and tastes different. It is the Ugly Duckling before Hans Christian Andersen. It does not belong. It is not one of us. Therefore, it does not deserve the space it occupies. Cut it down.

Jesus knows, as you and I know, that the fig tree will never produce grapes because that is not its purpose. And trees sometimes fail when they are in isolation. But given time, a community, and a sense of urgency and purpose, it can thrive and find its true calling.

Even in an uncomfortable place, surrounded by what is very different, we have a choice. We can give up. That is the easy way. We can pretend to be what we are not. That is the fruitless way. Or we can step back and reclaim that for which we were created, pursuing it with renewed vigor and courage, the kind that comes from a the refreshing and nourishing waters that spring from the rock, the rock that is Christ Jesus.

The tree symbolizes the tension we live in. A tree is more than just its roots. It is a living thing and it grows and provides fruit in surprising ways. So we must stay connected, continue to seek God who is mystery, be active today, follow Jesus as our example. It is life that matters, not a life of judgment about past faults, but about hope and expectation of a vibrant and meaningful future.

A few weeks ago we looked at a passage that warns that connection with God does not mean that we can do anything we want whenever we want. That is not the freedom from judgment that Jesus preached. Nor are we God. We are of God, like God in our forgiveness and compassion. We are like the fig tree, full of possibility and potential for goodness.

I took comps back in the day. I was uncomfortable because of the randomness of the quotations, and the breadth of knowledge expected of me. Today’s lessons, at first struck me this way, but as I studied, more and more connections were revealed.

I liken this parable to all little churches or groups who read and study in order to learn more about God and Jesus. What are we doing in this vineyard where we stick out like the threatened fig tree? Was this the garden imagined by the founders of IU? I mean the world has changed over the past 100 years. But we must remain firm, grounded in who we are in this place and at this time. It is the only way to honor the God who created us and to live up to our full potential.

God Is With Us

As I read the Bible, I see a long and rich history of Judeo-Christian tradition whose main thrust is about understanding God’s relationship with humanity. From our reading of Genesis to Luke’s references about Jerusalem, we hear of the many ways that people have chosen to understand and worship God.

First, we understand that God creates. Not only did God create the universe, but God also chose to be present in that universe. The story of Abram talking with God about being childless and grieving over not having an heir, tells us that our religious ancestors understood God as one who interacts with human beings, makes promises and covenants, and visits often to ensure that those promises are kept.

As time passed, and Jesus came onto the scene, there was less emphasis on God’s conversations with human beings, and more attention to the nature of God’s relationship with us, that God loved all creation, and God loved human beings in ways that we cannot even imagine.

The poetry of Psalm 27, is about having confidence in and being encouraged by God’s active participation in the world. Just listen to the words, “The LORD is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear? The LORD is the stronghold of my life; of whom shall I be afraid? When evildoers assail me to devour my flesh-- my adversaries and foes-- they shall stumble and fall. Though an army encamp against me, my heart shall not fear; though war rise up against me, yet I will be confident.”

The God depicted in Psalm 27 is not a distant God, but an ever present and compassionate God, One who knows our hopes and dreams and fears, and One who instills in us a sense of trust that all shall be well if we will keep faithful.

But there is a turning point in the psalm. Suddenly, at verse 9, the psalmist is not so confident. “Do not hide your face from me…Do not cast me off, do not forsake me.”

What has happened that the psalmist has lost courage and is no longer confident in God’s protection?

Paul writes that we understand one another when we share in each other’s sufferings. The psalmist cries out in sure confidence that God wants to know our sufferings.

Why do people suffer? We do not always suffer from physical pain, but emotional pain, loss, loneliness and uncertainty as well. People are afraid, just as the psalmist says:

Afraid of failing at what we love and care about—our place in the family, our job, our community. We fear being taken over by others. For the psalmist. it may have been an invading army, but for us it can be the invasion of age, the invasion of financial stress, the invasion of failing health. We fear that we can be petty and jealous of others, and that God may hold this against us in some way.

Paul reminds us that no one fully understands Christ, but we press on (3:12) towards the goal of being with Christ when he comes again. This is the goal of all “mature” (3:15) Christians: to center our lives on Jesus, not on his popularity and power, but on his sufferings and his choice to share the suffering of others.

Paul says that our bodies, now mortal, will enter eternal life in a changed form. And not just our bodies, but that God will also “transform the body of our humiliation that it may be conformed to the body of his glory, by the power that also enables him to make all things subject to himself.”

We cannot fully understand the source of that power, except that it comes from God, and we live in the hope that it will transform us so that we will be present with one another to share each others’ sufferings as Jesus did.

When Jesus is warned that Herod was out to kill him, he responded, "Go and tell that fox for me, 'Listen, I am casting out demons and performing cures today and tomorrow, and on the third day I finish my work.”

In other words, no secular power is strong enough to deter Jesus from his chosen mission to serve and to empower the poor, the friendless and the needy.

And so we come full circle to meet, again, the God who keeps promises and loves us. Theologian Rudolf Bultmann wrote that Jesus’ teaching of God seems no different from that which Jesus himself had been taught: to need and depend on God, even though we are not sure that we can totally trust that God will take care of us. Jesus made it his goal to bring this distant God close to us.. We see this clearly in the opening words of the Lord’s Prayer. God is “our” God, not a distant God. God is a parent, not a remote, fearsome and unpredictable God. And so we have those words that Luke uses to explain God’s relationship to the world, “Jerusalem, Jerusalem, the city that kills the prophets and stones those who are sent to it! How often have I desired to gather your children together as a hen gathers her brood under her wings, and you were not willing!”

I do not see Jesus speaking that to any particular Pharisee, but to the whole of creation. It is as a mother who, when speaking to God about her kids, opens her hands and says, “Where did I go wrong? All I ever wanted was to give them what I never had.” All I want is to love them. That is the God that Jesus preached. Not a God who wishes to command and who demands that we obey, but a God who beckons us to be in relationship with God and with one another. To be in this kind of relationship is everything. To see a model of this, we look to Jesus, how we talked, how he lived and how he died. This is the story we tell during Lent, and the story we hope to make our own.

On Never Giving Up

Since I am both a teacher and a priest, I feel that today I should write something educational as well as spiritual.

Always sit in the front pews when you go to church, especially if the ushers are going to dismiss the congregation from the front, as they did at my boarding school this morning. This is the best policy in the long run, because, if you sit in the back you end up waiting a long time for your homemade omelet. We have a fantastic Sunday brunch, by the way, and that is motivation enough for most people to want to be first out of the church. Moreover, most chapel speakers at my school imagine that what they have to say is very important, so it also helps if the students humor them whenever possible. Nothing is more disturbing to a preacher than to have everyone sit as far back as they can, and to have them burst out of the building the moment the final words, “Thanks be to God” are spoken. If the preacher does not inspire you, the least you can do is pretend that he or she does. It’s the courteous thing to do.

Never chew gum in chapel. So many children have learned this bad habit by watching older students chew and snap gum. I have witnessed the sweetest little faculty children, who, striving to be just like the older students, wiping tables after supper, straightening benches and tidying up the school, only to find them years later as sophomores or juniors, concealing wads of watermelon bubblicious wedged between cheek and jaw in chapel. We used to have a hard and fast rule about this, and it applied to all school gatherings, including special programs, theatre performances and school meetings. Certain very sly individuals would sometimes sneak it in their cheek, and keep it there, even during the prayers and hymns. But, as Murphy proved, gum will betray you, and at the most conspicuous moment. It has happened during an important pause in the Confession or a silent moment during the anthem that "snap!" the proverbial cat jumped out of the bag, and all eyes turned on the culprit who shrank low in the pew. So don’t embarrass yourself or risk upsetting the adults around you, by chewing gum in chapel. We are pretty sure we know better about such things; and the little children, who learn from you, will be less inclined to develop this bad social habit.

Never throw an ice ball. Many broken noses, stung cheeks and damaged eyes are the result of this temptation. The American author Mark Twain tells the story of a young boy who played with an unloaded rifle. My story is a paraphrase about a boy who was playing in the snow one Sunday afternoon. He had made the perfect ice ball—cold, wet, hard packed —a perfect weapon. Just then his great aunt was leaving after a Sunday visit with the family, and the boy, who had never thrown any ball more than about ten feet, spied her our at 20 yards. She looked up, and waved her arms. “No! n0!” she cried. But the boy, thinking he could never reach her, just laughed, took careful aim and let the ice ball go. And he was right, he missed. The ice ball went only about ten feet. It’s the strangest story. 99 times out of a hundred, a boy who couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn at ten feet, can nail his great aunt with an ice ball every time. Nevertheless, have fun with snow, make forts, and snow angels, but, please, I implore you, leave ice balls and unloaded weapons where they belong—in stories.

Always try something new. I give you this advice from an old friend, whom my students call “Griz.” He learned it from his father, and regretted that he didn’t take the advice seriously until almost too late. How else, he would say, will you know if you might actually like some new food or activity, be good at something, or find your true calling? Finding a vocation is complex. It involves a certain amount of independence, and a deep commitment to effort. Most of us do not find that true calling on the first attempt, so we must try and try again. Three times is the charm, they say. In football, the team tries three times. If you don’t succeed, then punt the ball.

In the Gospel of Luke, Jesus advocates for the "try something new" approach. After teaching to the crowd, a personal teaching moment arose. Simon was a bored fisherman. He was working at a vocation that was really his father’s, and probably his father’s father’s as well. Jesus asked Peter to let down his nets for a catch, and what did Peter say?

“Yo, dude,…forget about it. We’ve tried all night. There are no fish.” I imagine Jesus being stern and in control. He looked at Simon Peter and said, “Just do it!” And, surprisingly, Simon did. Next thing you know the nets are bursting and the boat is sinking because of the huge load of fish they’ve caught.

But the lesson is not really about the fish; that’s just to get your attention. The lesson is in what comes next. Jesus looks deeply into the eyes, and deeply into the soul of Simon Peter. Jesus cuts through the boredom, through Simon’s sarcasm and his pessimistic attitude, and he says, “You, know…fishing is not your thing, is it? You are a person with huge potential, but your potential lies dormant… .” Dormant, from the verb Dormir in French, which means “to sleep.” Jesus knows that Simon is not made for catching fish. It was a vocation that just came along, so he took the job. His true potential was in working with people. That calling excited Simon. It resonated with something deep inside himself. It stimulated an awareness that had always been there.

That potential is there for every one of us. Goodness, virtue and potential are the condition of every human being, but we too often give up too early. How many of us have said, or will say, “I am no good at anything.” It’s just not true, and that is why Jesus chose to become the prophet who awakens people to the mystery of their own souls.

Each of us has a soul made for goodness and with unlimited potential. Unlimited. That means, no end. That means, if you don’t succeed the first time, try again. Seize the day, again, and again, and again. Griz would say, “Don’t wait until you are 78 to open yourself to the potential that lies within you.” Jesus says, “Do not be afraid to find your true vocation, that which you were meant to be.”

You will ask, “How will I know?” Peter, and his partners James and John have an answer: “We left everything to follow Jesus. That is how we knew.”

When you are so sure that something is right for you, so sure that you are willing to leave everything—father, mother, home, country, even your life—then you stop being anxious; you have conviction; faith and confidence become your reward.

Passing the Peace

Why do we shake hands when we greet someone, give a hug or pass the peace in church? I think we do it because we want build bridges and bring down walls. They may seem like simple expressions, but they symbolize the blurring of boundaries and offer a tiny pathway to peace. If we can teach our children to connect with others without feeling uncomfortable, then there is hope for the world.

Accepting responsibility for connection and peaceful relations with others is always ours to choose. Recalling my high school English class, I am reminded that Shakespeare put these words into the mouth of Hamlet:

To be or not to be – that is the question:



Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer



The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,



Or to take arms against a sea of troubles



And, by opposing, end them.

Christians in the 21st century are asking, “What does it mean to be a Christian? Am I a worshipper or a follower? Should I take charge, or be passive?”

I dare say that for many of us, being a Christian means gathering with like-minded folks for one hour in a week of 24 x 7 = 168 hours to have our neat and tidy lives confirmed by others under the watchful care of a God we hardly know. As we gather, we are painfully aware that most of the 6.8 billion people in the world are in trouble. 25 thousand human beings die of hunger every day, 5 thousand die of AIDS every day, 5 thousand children die of pneumonia, 4 thousand of TB, 3 thousand of Malaria every day.

For the past three days we have all had our hearts broken by the devastation caused by earthquakes in Haiti. Thousands have perished. Thousands are starving, thirsty, grieving, lost. This is the harsh reality of the world we live in.

Now we can sit in our living rooms and congratulate ourselves for being concerned. We can send donations. We can even get on a plane and fly to Haiti. These are great choices, but, as a young student of mine said to me yesterday, "If it doesn't come from the heart, then it doesn't mean as much." That resonated with me because, as an American, I feel a strong connection with a heritage that knows about sacrifice, courage and commitment.

To be the best we can be means having the courage of our convictions. I remember reading a story in one of John Maxwell's little books on leadership about a circuit preacher named Peter Cartwright who was preparing a sermon one Sunday when a well-meaning parishioner warned him that the President of the United States happened to be in attendance. The parishioner also suggested that sermon references and remarks should be kept inoffensive. During the sermon, Mr. Cartwright included the following message: “I have been told that the President of the U.S. is in this congregation. And I have been asked to guard my remarks. What I must say is this: even the president will go to hell if he does not repent of his sin.” After the service, the president faced Mr. Cartwright and said, “Sir, if I had a regiment of men like you, I could whip the world.” I dare say, with more people of courage, we could bring peace and an end to suffering in this fallen world.

Courage is the first step in breaking down the walls that separate us. So the real question is: what are the voices within us that wall off our courage? How can we bring down the walls of our own fears and reach out to others with sincerity, integrity and truth? The potential is there; make no mistake about it.

Seeking wholeness is not easy, but I learned early in my ministry as a teacher that ending a bad direction is never accomplished by looking outside myself. Wholeness, which includes courage, will not be found there. Searching without, all we do is skip from one quick fix to another, and no real change is made. Swiss psychiatrist Carl Jung put it this way: "Your vision will become clear only when you can look into your own heart. Who looks outside, dreams; who looks inside, awakes." Jung understood that navigating through a sea of troubles means traveling inward, and he understood how necessary it is to confront and silence those voices that keep us from following our dreams.

Speaking of navigating through a sea of troubles, I am reminded that Jesus understood about boats. Many of his journeys involved travel by sea, in weather that was not always calm or clear. Jesus knew well that navigating inward requires a good compass. That compass is the Holy Spirit, the voice that comes from God and says you are my child, and in you I am well pleased. Jesus heard that voice and he is that voice.

Another name for Jesus is Emmanuel: God in us. When we make the inward journey, we will encounter Jesus. In fact, we cannot avoid him, for he promised to be in us to the end of the age. There in the darkest corners, he waits for us—to talk to us—to point the way—to excite us to live up to our potential, and to have the courage of our convictions.

There is a great poem by William Butler Yeats that begins,

Turning and turning in the widening gyre

The falcon cannot hear the falconer;

Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;

Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,

The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere

The ceremony of innocence is drowned;

The best lack all conviction, while the worst

Are full of passionate intensity.

(from The Second Coming)

This is utter chaos! Think about it: The best lack all conviction, while the worst are full of passionate conviction? Let’s face it: more and more these days it is the negative voices within us that speak with passionate intensity. They direct us to quick fixes, shallow responses and pretending. They tell us that we don’t need to fight for our rights; we don’t have a right to be upset; that our problems don’t really matter. They say, “Chill out, and wherever you go, don’t make waves. Don’t do something that will cause you to lose your head, your job, your possessions.”

Situations like the one happening in Haiti challenge us to find and use our true compass, one that points to who we really are and what we can do to bring peace and healing to a suffering world. We cannot solve every problem, but we can try. We begin by having the courage of our convictions. With that and an invitation to the Holy Spirit to be with us and in us, we can ignite our passion for life, truth, creativity and service to those in need.