undefended

Contemplation is simply trying to face life in a truly undefended and open-eyed way.
- Gerald May

Though I walk through the darkest valley,
I will fear no evil;
for You are with me.
- Psalm 23:4

If we choose to pay attention, there are many signs that will tell us our defenses have been raised: a tightness in the gut, a racing heart beat, narrowed vision, shallow breaths, tightened muscles. The warning signs that tell us it would be unwise to walk down a particular alleyway in the middle of the night are some of the same signals we get when someone we are talking to has just pressed our buttons or wounded our pride. We get ready to do what we must to defend ourselves and seek safety in the face of a perceived threat.

Other signs I've observed in myself in situations where I've grown defensive include feelings of impatience, a diminished capacity to listen openly and ask questions, along with a corresponding tendency to interrupt, preempt, and provide answers. In those moments when I have chosen to become thoroughly hooked, it can be exceedingly difficult to "face life in a truly undefended and open-eyed way."

The challenge to live with a contemplative presence - with open eyes to see, an open heart to love, an open mind to understand, and open hands to serve - lies not only in those moments when the hackles stand on end, however. There are also all those engagements and encounters in our daily round that we come to with just the slightest amount of caution and wariness, just enough to cause us to hedge our bets a bit, and perhaps greet someone with diminished receptivity.

We remember what they said last time we were together and how we felt frustrated or hurt. We recall something we heard second hand about this person that has now colored our impression of them. We assume that this meeting we're about to attend will be just like the last one. We want to be prepared for all contingencies so we enter a new experience with our mental notes and outlines at the ready and our expectations firmly in place. For some of us things get so twisted around that we even expend energy defending ourselves against ourselves: "I can't trust myself when I'm with those people," "I'm afraid of what I will say if I see her again," and so on.

In these and many other ways we live our well-defended lives.

A contemplative way of living is a risky way because it means a willingness to be exposed to life in all of its fullness. It means being willing to feel our own joy and our own pain in full. It means being willing to witness and be present to the pain of others, just as much as we are willing to witness and partake of their joy. It means knowing that on the deepest level of our existence, the pain and joy of the other is our own. In this awareness of unity, compassion grows.

Contemplative living honors this unity of life, and at the same time values its diversity of expression. Each moment and experience is a unique doorway into life, and each person we encounter - whether it is a spouse or friend we relate to for years, someone we are meeting for the first time, or an adversary we go out of our way to avoid - bears the bright spark of Life and has a profound capacity to receive and share love in ways no one else can. To live with this awareness is to live with curiosity and to be surprised by wonder on a regular basis.

My defenses reveal to me something about my fears and what I am choosing to cling to in life. It isn't helpful to get down on myself for such things or to somehow try and root these patterns out and destroy them, as if that were even possible. Our fears are dispelled and released only in the light of our loving attention which is, in the end, a part of the very Light of God's own being. In those moments we grow defensive it can be a powerful thing to simply pause long enough to be aware we are getting defensive. Sounds simple, but it is work - holy work! We notice it and we might ask ourselves a question as simple as it is transforming: "What is it I am trying to defend here?" Or even, "What am I afraid of in this moment?"

The light of such attention is essentially practicing the contemplative vision within our own being. By doing this we transform the way we see and live our way into the world.

getting over the habit of judging people

It often happens so easily, so rapidly - as long as it takes for my gaze to rest on something or someone and deem it/them good or bad, appealing or unappealing. And it happens so often in our lives that it becomes habitual; it happens without our even realizing it has happened and without even recognizing how it shapes the choices that follow. Judgment happens. However, it seems that when we bring a mindful awareness to the moment at hand we can catch ourselves in the act of judgment, and we can choose not to judge. This releasing, too, can become habitual.

A story told by Theophane the Monk in his book Tales of the Magic Monastery:

I asked an old monk, "How do I get over the habit of judging people?"

He answered, "When I was your age, I was wondering where would be the best place to go to pray. Well, I asked Jesus that question. His answer was, "Why don't you go into the heart of my Father?" So I did. I went into the heart of the Father, and all these years that's where I've prayed. Now I see everyone as my own child. How can I judge anyone?"

are you willing to be a beginner?

Shalom Mennonite Church

Sunday, March 20, 2011

Lent 2: Becoming Human: Shaped by New Birth

Text: John 3:1-17

Eric Massanari

“are you willing to be a beginner?”

Nicodemus the Pharisee appears three times in

in the gospel of John, and this is the only

gospel in which we meet him.

The second time he appears on stage

he is with a group of Jewish leaders,

and he will plead to his brethren

for a fair treatment of Jesus. (John 7:50-52)

The third appearance is at the very end of the gospel where

Nicodemus will help prepare Jesus' body for burial. (John 19:38-42)

In this first appearance he is alone, and it is night.

And in his conversation with Jesus we find

what have become fundamental expressions of Christian faith:

You must be born from above.

[or, more popularly stated: “you must be born again”]

and

For God so loved the world that God gave

her only begotten son, that whosoever believes

in him will not perish but will have eternal life.

These messages to Nicodemus have been

repeated so often through the centuries,

given so many layers of meaning,

and, in some cases, been so fervently grasped,

that it might be difficult for us to really hear what it is

Jesus is saying to his nocturnal visitor.

So, I want to change the language of Jesus' words just a bit,

hopefully in a way that stays true to his message.

I would suggest that at the heart of Jesus'

message to Nicodemus is this question:

“Nicodemus, are you willing to be a beginner?”

Notice that Nicodemus' first words to Jesus are not a question

but an answer, a defining statement about Jesus:

“Rabbi, we know you are a teacher who has come from God,

for no one can do the things you do apart from God.”

Notice the language of “we.”

“We know.”

It's the language of experts, the language that

we sometimes use when we want to assert authority

and show that we know something important.

We appeal to a collective authority

who agrees with and backs up whatever it is we are asserting.

“Well, you know, they say that . . .”

“We are all in agreement that . . .”

“I think I can speak for everyone here that . . .”

Nicodemus apparently thinks he has Jesus figured out.

Ane yet, here he is, at night, apparently

still needing to check his answers

and see if they are indeed correct.

Something in him seems to be curious.

As usual, Jesus is not terribly direct.

And his response may amount to something like:

Nicodemus, are you willing to be a beginner?

Are you able to allow God to begin something new within you?

And what will it cost you to be a beginner again?

What will you have to let go of?

It is not a simple thing to be a beginner.

Certainly not in an age and culture such as ours

that celebrates exemplary achievement,

well-practiced productivity, and knowledgeable authority.

We elevate the ones who have the answers.

To be a beginner is not celebrated.

One is not supposed to linger long in beginner status.

And the Christianity that has

taken shape in this age and culture bears its imprint.

We have a difficult time admitting

that we may not have it all right,

that we still ask questions in the night,

that we stand before the mystery of our faith,

that we have much to learn from those who are different.

We are impatient to get it figured out,

and eager to be sure we have it right.

It's a crazy and mixed up world and

it feels much better when we think

we've got a handle on things.

And Jesus would likely ask many of us in the church today

the same thing he appears to have asked

the well-meaning, earnest, faithful Pharisee

who wanted to double-check his answers

and see if they were correct.

Are you willing to be a beginner?

What will it cost you to be a beginner?

What choice will we make now?

During a morning news report covering the aftermath of the Japanese earthquake and tsunami, the reporter remarked that in Japanese culture it is not typical to ask "Why?" when something like this happens.

"Why is there such devastation?"

"Why is there so much death and loss?"

"Why do so many innocent ones suffer?"

These are the sorts of questions we often raise in the West, he noted. Tragedy tends to violate our sense of justice and the life we may assume we have a right to. The Japanese, on the other hand, perhaps in part because of the influence of Shintoism and Buddhism, tend to ask instead: "How will we respond now that this terrible tragedy has happened?"

There is grief and lament, to be sure. There is agony felt in the terrible losses that have been suffered. Yet, somehow there is also the impulse to bring attention to the present and to the choices one must make now in response. How will we make the healthiest and most life-giving choices now, given what has already transpired?

There is great wisdom in this response. The response of the Japanese people in these days of suffering is a gift to those of us who bear witness to their pain and loss. We ask ourselves "What can I do to help?" Along with joining efforts to ease their suffering, one thing we might do is follow their example in our own daily living.

mirrors in the desert

Shalom Mennonite Church

Sunday, March 13, 2011

Lent 1: Becoming Human: Shaped by Testing

Text: Matthew 4:1-11

Eric Massanari

“mirrors in the desert”

Jesus was led up by the Spirit into the wilderness

to be tempted. (v.1)

The first words of this story suggest

that Jesus was compelled to go into the desert.

There is a sense here that he could

do nothing else because this is

where the Spirit was blowing his life-

the one and same Spirit that had

just come to rest on him in his baptism.

He fasted forty days and forty nights,

and afterwards he was famished. (v.2)

This second verse suggests a more intentional

and volitional act on Jesus' part,

his own embrace of the Spirit's call.

Once in the wilderness, Jesus chose to fast,

to grow hungry,

to be emptied.

And it is then, and only then,

that his testing begins.

It is at the end of the forty days

of solitude, silence, and hunger

that Jesus experiences his greatest test.

The Spirit's leading

and his own fasting

prepared Jesus to face

his tempter.

The devil.

The way the story is told

it is tempting to interpret this scene

as an encounter between Jesus

and a malevolent power beyond him,

and evil other.

Perhaps that is true.

However, if we consider our own experiences

of temptation, we might read this a different way.

Though we may be tempted by things

external to us: chocolate, web-surfing,

power, authority, wealth -

the experience of temptation is

itself an inner struggle.

I remember from my childhood a Disney cartoon

with Goofy the dog facing some temptation.

He had a little devil on one shoulder

and an angel on the other –

both the devil and angel bore Goofy's own face.

There is truth in that image.

When we are wrestling with temptation

it is as if we are wrestling within:

with a devil within

with an angel within.

Each one of us is capable

of doing good and doing harm,

serving others and serving our selves,

nurturing love or feeding fear.

We must choose, day-to-day, moment-to-moment, our path.

I suppose it may rub against the grain

of some traditional views of Jesus

to suggest that Jesus' temptation

in the wilderness of the Jordan

was for him an inner struggle.

The church has often emphasized

Jesus' divinity rather than his humanity,

and has therefore shied away from

suggestions that Jesus ever faced

his own inner struggles and turmoils.

This is what I would like to suggest this morning.

That in the fullness of his humanity

Jesus' time of testing in the wilderness

was very much a struggle within his own being.

And I would suggest that reading the story this way

brings great power and depth to the gospel

as it unfolds from this pivotal moment.

Before stepping into his public ministry

Jesus must face temptations that are

in a sense universal human temptations:

the temptation for power & control,

the temptation to be elevated above others in stature,

the temptation to seek his own safety and security.

He must bring these into balance

into right relationship within himself

before he can continue on the way

as a teacher, a healer, and an anointed one of God.

Jesus' moment in the wilderness, one could say,

is something a bit like Narcissus pausing by a pond

and staring down into the mirror-like surface.

Narcissus, you might remember from Greek mythology,

was a proud and handsome young man who

was so taken by his own reflection in the still waters,

so enamored with his own beauty,

that he could see beauty no where else,

and in no one else.

He could not see his own pride and arrogance,

and these devils within tempted him and made him blind.

His blindness overwhelmed him

and, in the end, it cost him everything.

In the desert Jesus looks into a mirror,

one that shows him what his path could be -

a path of power, control, success and security.

He is able to see what he could be

if he makes certain choices

from this point onward-

if he bends the world to his own will,

if he kneels down and worships himself

and the powers of the world.

And he is able to see clearly

that this choice to become

a beloved wonder-worker, a powerful ruler,

would come at far too great a cost.

And so he chooses a different path,

a life of loyalty to the vision and love of God.

His time of testing in the wilderness

is a necessary preparation for all that follows.

He has to first let go of these things

before he can fulfill his deepest calling.

We, too, need such mirrors in the dessert,

experiences in our lives that reveal to us

not just what we want to see in ourselves,

but also that which is more difficult to see:

the stuff that sometimes gnaws at us,

pulls at us, and often causes us

to seek after our own interests first—

our own power, control, security, affirmation—

no matter what the outward circumstances

of our lives may be.

Thomas Keating, a contemporary Trappist monk,

tells the story of a young man

who proudly used to drink his friends

under the table at the local bars.

Of course, the sense of satisfaction

this gave him would last only a few minutes,

until he found a new bar and new drinking buddies,

or until the inevitable hangover would set in.

Eventually he sees the error of his inebriated ways,

and he gives up his heavy partying,

he stops going to the bars, he gives up drinking,

he “sees the light,” he “gets saved”

and he decides to to join up with the most

rigorous group of Christians he can find.

So he joins a Trappist monastery

and relishes in their austere way of life in community.

When Lent rolls around he energetically joins the fast.

And as the forty days pass by,

and many of the other monks

wind up in the infirmary due to

weakness or digestive problems,

the young man feels a sense of pride

since he is one of the “last men standing.”

The scenery has changed,

but his inner barriers remain.

He's still stuck peering into the

surface of the pond like Narcissus.

This is a common human pattern.

We need those experiences

and relationships in our lives -

and it is often relationships -

through which the Spirit calls

us into our own wilderness experiences

that reveal to us the truth of what is there within.

The Spirit leads us into many self-revealing

moments every day, much like the Spirit

led Jesus into the wilderness.

Part of the equation is up to us, and our own

willingness to grow hungry and empty enough

to see what we need to see.

This is not easy to come face to face

with our own our own brokenness.

We might wind up feeling like the Apostle Paul

who, in a vulnerable moment, famously lamented:

I do not understand my own actions.

For I do not do what I want,

but I do the very thing I hate . . .

For I do not do the good that I want,

but the evil I do not want is what I do.

ROMANS 7:15-16, 19

But it can be a gift to be brought

to such honest self awareness.

The point in seeing the falsehoods within ourselves,

the ways we choose to indulge in our own selves,

is to hopefully, in time, confront them and,

as Jesus did, let them go—they do not define us!

The God who created you, sustains you

and works in redeeming ways in your life

does not dwell on your faults or falsehoods.

God sees and seeks those places in you that are

trying to say “yes,”

that are able to face temptations and tests of life

with great love and conviction, as Jesus did,

and say, “I choose the way of life and love—the Way of God.”

God leads us into the wilderness,

through our deepest hunger,

and then beyond,

into the truth and fullness of life. AMEN