feed your wolf

Reflections related to my most recent post caused me to remember a story about St. Francis of Assissi. Here it is, as I remember it . . .

The people of the small Italian village of Gubio were fond of their home, and therefore they were deeply troubled when something began attacking and killing their livestock. An older woman recounted that late one night she heard a strange sound, peered out the window and saw a shadow that looked like a wolf, heading into a neighbor's livestock pen.

The situation became even more serious when the villagers awoke one morning to find that the creature had entered the village during the night and mauled one of their neighbors. Things had gone too far, so the terrified villagers decided to call on Francis for help. Francis was known for having a gentle way with animals and they hoped he would be able to stop the attacks.

The people had very clear ideas about what they wanted Francis to do. Some wanted him to preach to the wolf and remind it of the peaceful way of the gospel and the commandment against killing, while others wanted Francis to convince the wolf to move on and go some place else.

Francis listened to the people's requests and then went off into the woods in search of the creature he addressed as "Brother Wolf."

After several days Francis returned to the village of Gubio. He said, "Good people of Gubio, the solution to this problem is very simple. You must feed your wolf."

The people were at first shocked, and then many were outraged. "Feed our wolf?! You want us to actually feed this monster?"

"Yes," replied Francis. "Feed your wolf and the attacks will cease."

So the people of Gubio began to feed their wolf, and the killing stopped.

coming clean

Some of the most amazing and agonizing moments in this life come when we bring into full awareness (our own awareness and the awareness of others) some part of our own brokenness - a wound we have caused, an egregious error in judgment, a "trespass" we have willfully committed, a sin. We would rather such things remain under the rugs of our attention, or at least tucked away enough so that they appear to be of relatively no import or consequence.

Sometimes, it is someone else or some unexpected moment that pulls these inner shadows out into the light - very much against our will. We can be thankful for such truth-telling people and experiences that help us expose things we would rather keep hidden, because in the end they are instruments of our healing and transformation.

To have our broken places exposed, our sins revealed, is to be given an opportunity to become more fully human, which can also be described as growing more completely in the image of God that we each bear. This is because such honest, humble exposure invites us to let go of the falsehoods we carry and use to shore up our self-involved ways, and then yield even further to the truth of who we are as beloved children of God.

"Coming clean," is a term often used for this path of confession, honesty and reconciliation. It is a meaningful term because it describes how this path involves a cleansing and uncovering of what is, underneath it all, most true and real and blessed.

slowing down

fallen pear blossoms
curl across lanes of traffic -
I slow down, and yield.

looking (and believing) like a fool

A Meditation for Holy Humor Sunday
April 11, 2010
Shalom Mennonite Church

Text: John 20:19-29 (Thomas' encounter with the risen Jesus)

"looking (and believing) like a fool"

A toilet plunger is a symbol for foolishness in our household; it has been ever since Yolanda and I lived in Denver during our years of graduate school and seminary. One day the toilet in our small apartment backed up and we had to borrow a plunger from some friends. After employing it (successfully) it came time to return it. Yolanda suggested that since it was such a nice day we should walk the two miles to our friends' home. I considered walking across campus, through nearby neighborhoods and at least one busy business district carrying a toilet plunger. I replied, "No thanks, I'd rather drive."

I didn't want to look foolish. Most of us don't. We'd rather be seen as competent, capable, relevant and responsive to the situation at hand. We want to be seen as having our act together. For most of us, this fine art of fitting in happens almost reflexively and unconsciously; we learned it from a very young age. It is embarrassing to look foolish! It's to be avoided!

I think Thomas wanted to avoid appearing as foolish. He didn't want to go out proclaiming something outlandish like, "Jesus is risen!", without some kind of proof. So, he makes a rather ridiculous and absurd statement; "I'll believe it when I can poke my fingers in the nail wounds in his hands and stick my hand in the spear wound in his side."

The next time the disciples gather in the cloistered "upper room" Thomas is with them. When Jesus appears he gives his now familiar greeting, "Peace be with you," before turning to Thomas and saying "Alright Thomas, feel free to have a poke around!"

I imagine a stunned Thomas turning to Peter and saying "I'm not going to touch it, you touch it." And Peter replying, "I'm not going to touch it, you touch it!"

It is difficult for me to imagine this scene unfolding without there being laughter erupting at some point. In fact, I can't imagine any of the resurrection stories happening without laughter - Jesus laughing, the disciples laughing, and those of us reading the stories today laughing at the sheer joy of it all! Why is it we tell these stories of resurrection with such solemnity and seriousness most of the time?

Certainly it wasn't all laughs for those first disciples after the resurrection. They were sent out to share the Good News with others. And we know from the stories that have been passed down that they were often met with disbelief, resistance, or even aggression.

This really isn't a surprise given the message they were bearing: A messiah who was condemned a heretic and crucified a criminal, a man who rose up from the dead, and a Way that included befriending tax collectors and sinners, nonresistance to evil and violence, poverty, forgiveness, and letting go of self-centered living and self-righteous believing. Pretty foolish stuff in the eyes of the world.

As the Apostle Paul would later tell folks in the early church, the wisdom of God is foolishness in the eyes of the world (1 Corinthians 1:18-21). To be a disciple, one must become a "fool for Christ."

We continue to proclaim a Way that runs against the grain of much in this world, and it can seem quite silly to many. And for those who come and ask us for proof, for empirical evidence for our belief we have no data to offer - no more and no less than the first believers. We are meant, quite simply, to reflect it through our lives.

This is not an easy Way. Great leaps of faith, hope and love are required of us to follow the example of Jesus in this world today. And perhaps one of the greater risks we face is getting really, really serious about it. There are a great many really, really serious people in the church! (And we don't need any more).

It's kind of funny, really, because we profess to follow one who knew how to party, and laugh, and savor life in its fullness. Jesus never once told his followers to "get serious." Yes, he did call their attention to quite serious and important things in this world and in people's lives. However, we might pay attention to how he did this. By gathering with people at table, by sharing in conversations, by engaging life in a wakeful, passionate way, Jesus taught his followers to love passionately! And how can one do that without joyful exuberance and a good laugh from time to time?

Jesus grounded his teaching in earthy, homey, ordinary things: mustard seeds, oil lamps, fish, bread, wine, water, wind, mud. Perhaps he did this to remind folks that when we take ourselves and our religion too seriously, we tend to remove ourselves from living in touch with our world - we get "holier than thou" and "holier than now."

Who know, Jesus may have been earthy enough to make a parable out of a toilet plunger . . .

The Joy of God is like a toilet plunger. It has the power to unclog the messy gunk that plugs us up and blocks us from flowing in this life with grace, peace and playfulness!

Easter Day

Shalom Mennonite Church

Sunday, April 4 - Easter Sunday

Text: John 20:1-18

“behold”

“Behold! I have seen the Lord!”

Mary Magdalene's words are

a proclamation and a prayer,

made with eyes wide open.

She has seen with “the eyes of her eyes,”

and with the eye of her heart.

She has seen and believed.

It took some looking, though.

While others remained in hiding,

Mary came to the tomb while it was still dark.

Perhaps she wanted to see the place,

to touch the tomb,

to be sure that it wasn't all just

a horrible nightmare.

At first Mary looks from a distance.

Peering through the darkness

she sees that the displaced stone.

Running to get help, she returns with Peter

and the one called the Beloved Disciple,

and they, too, look to see what has happened.

Together, they look more closely . . .

An empty, stuffy tomb.

Grave clothes left, as if the body

had just disappeared.

This was enough, it seems, for the Beloved Disciple.

“He saw and believed,” we are told.

He and Peter return to their homes.

But Mary Magdalene remains.

Perhaps it is her pain that compels her to stay

and to look more closely, still.

She looks deep into the empty tomb.

In time she sees two angels

where her teacher's body should have been.

They see her. They see her tears and ask,

“Woman, why are you weeping?”

It is after responding to their question,

and giving voice to her pain and confusion,

that she turns to find that

there is someone else with her.

At first she sees gardener of the tombs.

But when he speaks,

she sees even more deeply,

and beholds the face of Jesus.

“Behold! I have seen the Lord!”

The Resurrection is a wonder

to be beheld, proclaimed and prayed

with eyes wide open.

To see it we must sometimes

peer into the darkness.

To perceive it we must sometimes

look closely and patiently –

sometimes for a very long time.

Then, to believe it – perhaps that

is the greatest gift and leap of all.

In her book, Pilgrim at Tinker Creek,

Annie Dillard tells of a young woman,

who, at 22 years of age, received a surgery

that gave her sight after a lifetime of blindness.

At first she was overcome by the world's brightness,

the brightness and light that you and I take

for granted each day when we have eyes to see.

It was so overwhelming for her

that she closed her eyes

and did not look again for two weeks.

Then, as she gradually began to look,

and to see more and more -

to see color, and shape and shadow for the first time -

she said again and again:

“O God! O God! How beautiful! How beautiful!”

For those of us with eyes to see sunlight

shining off and shining through

the stuff of this world,

it may be a rare moment that we make such an exclamation.

We might say it when standing

on the edge of the Grand Canyon for the first time,

or seeing a spring storm roll over the Flint Hills,

or witnessing some tender, heart-opening moment.

These are moments of beholding – deep seeing.

Much of the time, however,

we cast our gaze only briefly, skimming across

things and people as we move through life.

How often do we look long and deep,

with the eyes wide open?

It is a gift we offer to the world and others

to behold in this way.

And when someone looks at you in this way

you feel the gift of it.

It isn't easy to look with patience

when we're in a hurry.

It isn't easy to look deeply

when so much seems ordinary.

It isn't easy to look with hope

when it is dark.

It isn't easy to gaze carefully into a tomb,

when death is near.

Yet, this is where the Resurrection is first seen,

and it is where it is first believed -

precisely where it is least expected.

Here and now, centuries after Mary's moment

of recognition and wonder at the empty tomb,

we proclaim “Christ is risen!”

Unfortunately, it is easy for that

to remain a remembrance, to be a memorial

proclamation about the past and not

a affirmation about the present.

What if we said with Mary Magdalene:

“I have seen the Lord!”?

I have seen the Lord!

He was sitting at Druber's this morning

drinking coffee and eating a donut

and he said: “Isn't the sunrise glorious?”

I have seen the Lord!

She was at the Sister's of St. Joseph monastery

last weekend and she was stooped over in a backbrace,

but she managed to look up into my face with a smile

and hold my hand and say, “Welcome.”

I have seen the Lord!

He was there when I told my friend

“I'm sorry for betraying your trust.”

And I saw his face when my friend said,

“I forgive you.”

I have seen the Lord!

She was holding a spoon

and feeding her lover

on the nursing unit at Kidron Bethel Village.

The face of the risen one

can be seen everywhere once our eyes are open.

Even in the darkness

and even among the tombs.

The resurrection of Christ,

God's living Word of Love,

changes everything in this world,

not just in one moment, but through all moments!

And there is nothing that can overcome it.

No sin can overcome its power to heal.

No darkness can overcome its light.

No violence can overcome its peace.

No passage of time can overcome its vitality.

If you want to behold the resurrection

you must sometimes

look beyond the light-filled places

and peer into the darkness, both inside and out.

To behold the resurrection you must

slow down and look carefully and patiently -

sometimes for a very long time.

And when you behold it

with the eyes of your eyes

and the eyes of your heart,

you might be led to believe

and to proclaim with those who've come before:

“O God! How beautiful!”

“I have seen the Lord!”

Easter - before sunrise

in the dark, a pause . . .

silence between indrawn breath

and outpouring song.

Holy Saturday

a mouth with no breath,
two eyes beholding no light:
sometimes day is night.

Good Friday morning

gray, pressed on prairie -

thunder goes no where but through,

to sound in hollows.

Thursday of Holy Week

By this everyone will know . . .


Little children, I am with you only a little longer.
You will look for me; and as I said to the Jews
so now I say to you,
"Where I am going, you cannot come."

I give you a new commandment,
that you love one another.
Just as I have loved you,
you also should love one another.
By this everyone will know that you are
my disciples, if you have love for one another.

JOHN 13:33-35


not by our creeds or our complex confessions,
not by our great edifices or our well-honed arguments,
not by our style of music or the hipness of our speech,
not by who we vote for or whether we're red or blue,
not by our comfortable circle of friends
or our hard-won credentials,

but by our love for one another
will we be known
as disciples.