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.

What is Really Hiding Under Your Bed?

Have you ever tried to get somewhere but forgot to bring the directions? You start out with a strong conviction that you know where you are going, but then something seems out of place; a little doubt creeps in, and you wonder to yourself, “Is this the way? It looks familiar, but then, again, it doesn’t.” And if the sky darkens as you travel, your doubt increases; you regret having left the directions behind, and you now wish you had the phone number of the person you were going to meet.

Children do not like darkness. They intuitively imagine bogeymen under beds and in closets. As a boy, I would ask my parents not to shut the bedroom door all the way after we said my bedtime prayers, or to leave the closet light on. It was more comforting to have a bit of light than to be alone with the silence of my irrational fears.

As we get older, we grow more comfortable with darkness, perhaps because we are more willing to face the reality of who we really are and to confront more prayerfully that which needs to be changed about how we live our lives.

Searching for meaning in our lives (some might call this looking God) is like that. We keep striving to find something familiar, something to light the way. But then we realize that God calls us to do just the opposite. We must enter the darkness of the unknown, turn away from the familiar, and enter into the threatening void of our deepest fears and anxieties, for that is where God waits.

Julius Caesar set the date for the winter solstice, the longest night of the year, as December 25, when the earth is farthest from the sun in its elliptical orbit. For those of us in the northern hemisphere, it is the time when we are tipped on our axis away from the sun. Science has corrected Caesar’s date for the winter solstice, and science teaches us something more. We now know that being deprived of light can lead to emotional stress and even depression. Modern research suggests that there is much more depression in peoples who live closest to the earth’s Polar Regions, where darkness lasts much longer during the winter days. The depressive psychological effect of winter darkness is called “seasonal affective disorder.” Some call it “cabin fever,” others “the winter blues.”

And the treatment for this disorder? Well, it may not surprise you to learn that it is light. A Wikipedia site explains that “Light therapy, increased negative ion exposure (which can be attained from plants and well ventilated flames, burning wood or beeswax) can reinvigorate the body from its seasonal lull and relieve winter blues by decreasing melatonin secretions, increasing serotonin and temporarily creating a more even sleeping pattern.”

Who is to say that our traditional winter festivals surrounding December 25, calling for lighted houses and trees, parlor fires, communion with close ones, and festive singing, aren’t simply winter therapies that have evolved to help keep us sane during our dark months? Imagine modern science supporting religious tradition and helping us to better understand of our fear of the dark and our intuitive craving for light.

The Judeo-Christian God knows about darkness. The Hebrew Bible opens this way: “In the beginning when God created the heavens and the earth, the earth was a formless void and darkness covered the face of the deep.” Two ideas merge in this story: One explains that God created light. God’s first words were, “Let there be light.” The second idea is that all creation was good. All of it was very good.

As we contemplate what God made, we cannot help but imagine that God wanted something more than darkness and void. When God commanded light, God created the opportunity for sight and with it the visual appreciation of the goodness of creation. In creating human beings, God gave us the potential to love each other and to love God. She/He did not command us to love Her/Him. Rather She/He gave us the freedom to seek Her/Him of our own free will. God waits in the darkness for us, and is willing to be lonely while we busy ourselves with our quotidian labors and concerns.

And God still waits. God waits for us to come into the dark, to seek and to say, “I love you” because we want to, not because we have to. Isn’t this the essence of the human condition—a deep desire to be loved and to be needed? The act of leaving the light on in the closet for a child is an act of caring and understanding. Perhaps it is not so much the light that matters as the compassion of the adult to have tenderness for a child who is afraid of the dark and to light the way to comfort and security.