starlings

A murmuration
splits! One flock north, one flock south.
One bird's confusion.

_________________________________________________


This one bird remains flitting about, alone and in between, as if unsure which group to follow. I think of this bird often, and its teaching. Today it teaches me about the importance of living with deep attention, attention not just to my surroundings, but also deep attention to where my mind is right now.

Where is my mind right now?

And now? Where has it gone to? What thread has it now grasped?

You need to pay attention to it for only a short while to observe that your mercurial mind has a remarkable capacity to rapidly shift the gears of attention.

Sometimes this helps us negotiate difficult and demanding situations. Sometimes, however, we find our minds adrift, scattered and confused, our attention never really settling but flitting about, indecisive, and unable to respond in a meaningful way to the people or experience at hand. Perhaps we call it "stressed out," or "overwhelmed," or "I'm going crazy!"

Try, for a portion of the day, perhaps just the next half an hour of your day, to watch both your mind as well as the input coming in from all around you. If you are working at a computer, notice what happens to your mind during this time. If you are meeting with someone, see if you can hold an awareness of what is going on within you as you also pay loving attention to this person you are with.

If there is reaction, notice the reaction.
If there is defensiveness, notice the defensiveness.
If there is empathy, notice the empathy.
If there is boredom, notice the boredom.

Notice how these things rise and then fall away,
manifest and then disappear.

And here you still are.

And here is this one who is with you.

And here is yet one more moment
to practice attention and loving presence.

I wonder if this is what Jesus was describing to his dear friends, Martha and Mary of Bethany, when he said:

"Martha, Martha, you are worried and distracted by many things; there is need of only one thing..."

the general dance

Shalom Mennonite Church

Sunday, November 25, 2012

Theme: The Cosmic Christ (“Reign of Christ Sunday”)

Texts: Colossians 1:15-20 and John 18:33-38

Eric Massanari

“the general dance”

Let's begin with some free association:

when you hear the word “king,”

what comes to your mind?

Chances are good that Pilate,

the Roman governor of Judea,

had some of the same things

in his mind when Jesus was

brought before him for questioning.

King, power, majesty, ruler, subjects,

swords, armies, wealth, land,

ruthless, mighty....

And here before him stood

a rather nondescript Nazarean.

“Are you the King of the Jews?”

To have made such a claim -

to claim to be the King of the Jews -

would have amounted to sedition,

an obvious threat

to the Roman Empire's

occupying powers in Judea.

Pilate and the Roman authorities

would have been aware of

the messianic hopes of the

Jewish people and the threats

this might pose to their governance.

However, Jesus really didn't fit the bill

when it came to most people's hopes for a Messiah.

Nor did he seem to fit the bill

when it came to Roman fears

about the rise of a mighty Jewish king.

Jesus is far from what people expected

of royalty of any kind.

Now, one more word association exercise:

When you hear the word “Christ”

what comes to your mind?

In the history of the Christian tradition,

both of these words have been associated with Jesus.

"Christ" (the anointed one) and “King.”

These names are religious and political.

They are names that elevate and set apart.

They are titles that, as far as we know,

Jesus never directly claimed for himself.

However, if you look at the scriptures

written after Jesus' death, and centuries

of theological writings and

and sacred music, you find that they

are names that have stuck nonetheless.

King Jesus.

Jesus Christ.

Christ, strangely, has almost come to

function as a surname for Jesus.

Not Jesus the Christ, which might

make more sense, but simply Jesus Christ.

This Sunday, just before the start

of the Advent and Christmas season,

has been traditionally marked as

“Christ the King” Sunday or

“The Reign of Christ” Sunday.

And this passage from the eighteenth

chapter of the fourth gospel is often read

as the gospel passage for this Sunday.

Before we move into the stories

of Jesus being born as a infant,

we have a story of Jesus at the

end of his life, standing before the

high priests and a Roman governor,

accused of being “King of the Jews.”

Are you King of the Jews?

My kingdom is not from this world.

If my kingdom were from this world,

my followers would be fighting

to keep me from being handed

over to the Jews. But as it is,

my kingdom is not from here. (v.36)

“My kingdom is not from this world.”

It is a statement about source and origins.

The power by which Jesus teaches and acts

is not from this world, not rooted

in human kingdoms or authorities.

Which does not rule out that

his kingdom may be very much

in this world,

meant for this world,

and already moving through this world.

Jesus' response reveals

what has been true all along

in this gospel story:

he's not operating by the usual

standards of human authority,

he's not entirely playing by the rules

as they've been interpreted

by the powerful and influential people.

Which is not the same thing as saying

he is some sort of rebel or radical

simply for the sake of being a rebellious radical.

It is to say that he places his authority,

his heart, his actions, his life,

in a wholly different place,

in something much greater

and far more powerful and prevailing.

And if people need to hear more

familiar language for it

then he calls it the kingdom of God.

And that is not a kingdom from this world

because it is more true to say

that the world is from it.

The kingdom of God is beneath, above,

through, and in this world.

And beyond it.

As Gerard Manley Hopkins put it well:

The world is charged with the grandeur of God.

The Jesus we meet in all four gospels

is repeatedly pointing

to the grandeur of God

that lies beneath each moment

and within each life.

The kingdom of God is already within you.  Luke 17:21

Or, alternately translated:

The kingdom of God is already among you.

  

Jesus, Christianity has said,

was the full incarnation of God's love.

And at the same time he was pointing

to Love's incarnation everywhere around him.

Isn't it interesting how the religion

of Christianity has so largely

confined the idea of incarnation

only to Jesus? Jesus Christ.

Why have we done this?

What insight and meaning have we lost by doing this?

Meanwhile there is this strong current

right here in our scriptures to point

us in a much more expansive

understanding of the incarnation

of God's life and love.

Expanding it beyond Jesus,

to include far more...

Listen to these voices from the scriptures:

In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God and the Word was God. He was in the beginning with God. All things came into being through him, and without him not one thing came into being. And what has come into being in him was life, and the life was the light of all people. John 1:1-4

Christ is the image of the invisible God, the firstborn of all creation; for in him all things in heaven and on earth were created, things visible and invisible... Colossians 1:15

And we, with our unveiled faces reflecting like mirrors the glory of the Lord, all grow brighter and brighter as we are turned into the image that we reflect... 2 Corinthians 3:18

 

And it is no longer I that that live but Christ who lives in me. Galatians 2:22

One can hear in these words

a much more expansive understanding

of the incarnation of God's love in Christ.

It moves beyond Jesus to encompass

other people, you and me, and all of creation.

I want to invite you to consider today

that perhaps we have defined

a name like “Christ” far too narrowly,

far more narrowly than Jesus himself

may have intended or desired.

Christ is not simply one person—

the person of Jesus, whose life, death and resurrection

fully incarnates the shape and movement of God's love—

Christ is also the very impulse of

Love to be incarnated through

all people, and all lives, all Life!

Christ, you might say, represents the impulse of God

to liberate and make whole all things

by revealing the truth of who and what we are.

This impulse of God

is revealed in the love you give and receive.

It is revealed in your creativity,

your deep listening to another,

your speaking the truth,

your acts of generosity,

your gratitude,

your beauty,

your wonder and your questions.

In these ways you are Christ come alive.

Where might such an

expanded understanding of Christ lead us?

I wonder if it might lead us

to a more open and rich engagement

with people of other faiths

and spiritual pathways.

We become less defensive and forceful

with our one and only example

of incarnation because through Jesus

we begin to see the Christ presence

all around us, including in other

streams of faith.

I believe an expanded understanding

of God's incarnation, a cosmic

understanding of Christ, if you will,

helps us honor our own rightful place

in creation. We recognize that all

creation is an expression of

the impulse of God's love to become incarnate.

It is not ours to manage or control,

it is ours to celebrate,

and give thanks for

and care for.

And, finally, I believe an expanded understanding

of Christ helps us recognize that we

are all created in goodness and blessing.

Jesus the Christ

helps us perceive

how we can come fully alive

and live as Christ now.

We are heirs of the kingdom

that is not of this world,

but it is in this world

and it is meant for this world.

I like Thomas Merton's description of

the kingdom of God,

the impulse of God to become incarnate;

he calls it “the general dance” of all life:

If we could let go of our own obsession with what we think is the meaning of it all, we might be able to hear the call to follow God in the mysterious, cosmic dance. We do not have to go very far to catch echoes of that game, and of that dancing. When we are alone on a starlit night; when by chance we see the migrating birds in autumn descending on a grove of junipers to rest and eat; when we see children in a moment when they are really children; when we know the love in our own hearts—at such times the awakening, the turning inside out of all values, the “newness,” the emptiness and the purity of vision that make themselves evident, provide a glimpse of the cosmic dance.

No despair of ours can alter the reality of things, or stain the joy of the cosmic dance which is always there. Indeed, we are in the midst of it, and it is in the midst of us, for it beats in our very blood, whether we want it to or not.

Yet, the fact remains that we are invited to forget ourselves on purpose, cast our awful solemnity to the winds and join the general dance. 

 

- Thomas Merton, from New Seeds of Contemplation

giving thanks in all things

Shalom Mennonite Church

Sunday, November 18, 2012

Worship Theme: “Rejoice in the Lord Always”

Texts: Philippians 4:4-9 and Luke 12:13-21

Eric Massanari

“giving thanks for all that is”

In my parents' home there is a framed

print of a famous Kathe Kollwitz drawing

of a mother holding a small child.

For eighteen years it hung on a wall

in my childhood home in Iowa City, Iowa.

For eighteen more years it hung on a wall

in my parents' home in Detroit, MI.

And now it hangs on a wall

in their house in Lynden, WA.

At some point my sister and I both

made it known that we love this piece of art.

We love it because it is beautiful

and because it reminds us both of home.

A running joke in our family centers around

which one of us will get this piece of art

when our parents die. Who will inherit it?

Will it go to their first-born 

(and no-doubt favorite) child?

Or, will it be given to their youngest child 

who probably doesn't fully appreciate the

fine quality of this piece of art.

One recent Christmas we all gathered

at my parents' home and I noticed 

that the Kollwitz print was no longer there on the wall.

My sister informed me that Mom and Dad
had decided to give it to her and her family
for the wall of their new house.
I suspected something was up and 
I soon found it hidden away under a bed.

It has all been in good fun.

I will be fine if that print winds up

in my sister's home (mostly fine, anyway).

That print—a print of a parent lovingly

holding a child—simply offers us a chance

to hold lightly and with humor

some things that are meaningful and important to us.

Through our joking we acknowledge

that our parents will not always be with us;

we remember that they will one day die, 

and so will we.

(And, I should add that my folks,

take part in this playful humor.)

Through our joking we acknowledge

that a very real risk of family life is that

we can learn to value the wrong things.

Many siblings and families really do

come to argue and battle bitterly over who

will get what portion of an inheritance

of land, money, stuff.

Through our joking we are reminding

one another that this is not what

we wish to value in our family.

We hope, as best we can, to value

all that is of most value: 

our relationships, and the love we share.

I share that story because

I believe that this is what Jesus points to

when the fellow comes to him

and asks him to help out in the dispute

he is having with his brother over an inheritance.

In those days, in that culture,

this would have been considered

a very normal request to bring

to one of the Jewish teachers.

The laws surrounding family inheritance

were religious laws for the Jews,

and they required a rabbi's help

for interpretation and enforcement.

However, it seems Jesus wants nothing to do

with such a mediating role in this situation.

He recognizes the greed motivating the man's request.

Jesus becomes the man's advocate,

just not in the way the fellow would like.

Jesus offers him a teaching story,

a parable about a wealthy

landowner who has earned

much through his prosperous farmland.

Just like the Onceler in Dr. Suess'

own parable, The Lorax, this

fellow just “keeps on biggering

and biggering, and biggering.”

He can't get enough.

The thought of sharing his surplus of grain

never seems to cross his mind.

He is thinking only of himself.

We might notice that there is no other

character in Jesus' parable.

The successful fellow is all alone

in the context of Jesus' story.

He is left alone with his own prosperity,

his own success, his own riches.

And then comes the punchline:

What a fool! What good is all of this wealth

if this successful man dies this very night?

Who's wealth is it then?

There is an echo here of Jesus' words

earlier in the gospel of Luke, in the ninth chapter:

        What good does it profit anyone

        if they gain the whole world

        but forfeit their lives? 9:25

Jesus puts the words here in God's own mouth:

       You fool! This very night your life is being

       demanded of you. And the things you have

       prepared, whose will they be? So it is with

       those who store up treasure for themselves

       but are not rich toward God. (v.21)

I wonder if this is the passage that

the sponsors of a billboard near Wichita

were citing. Maybe you've seen the sign:

       If you die tonight....

       Heaven? or Hell?

This parable is not about the afterlife.

Though the story strikes a more negative tone,

as some of the parables do,

this is a story about how we live here and now.

To use Jesus' own words,

this is about learning what it means

to be “rich towards God,” as we live,

and not just rich towards ourselves.

Jesus invites the man

to see that his greed has misled him.

It has distracted him from

all that is of greatest value in life.

And in order to understand what

is of greatest value, Jesus calls his attention

to a most basic fact of life:

he will die.

If not tonight, then one day.

And when that day comes

of what value will be all

the grain and all the wealth

that he has stored up?

There is deep wisdom in this parable

and it is not wisdom that pertains

to the afterlife, it is very much

about this life we are all living

here and now, today.

It is the wisdom we are being

taught in this autumn season

and in every autumn season

on the prairies as leaves fall,

and living things move into

dormancy while other beings die.

We are taught that life

is ever changing and that

one of the most profound

changes experienced in life is death.

You and I will one day die.

Perhaps this day.

Perhaps not for days to come.

One of the defining

characteristics of life

in all its forms is its impermanence.

And in its impermanence

we encounter life's supreme value and preciousness!

Life comes to us as gift.

We receive it as gift

and we pass it on as gift.

Much of what the world teaches

us to value and hold in esteem

is of little value at all

when measured against

the brief and precious measure

of a human life.

When we understand this,

and realize the immeasurable value of

the grace-filled gift we receive from God,

then we are able to turn

toward a life of deep

gratitude and generosity.

When we understand how

generous and rich

God's gifts are to us,

most especially the gift of

mercy and forgiveness

that have been embodied in Christ,

then we are able to be

generous and rich toward God.

We learn what it means to

rejoice in the Lord always,

and to again rejoice,

each day we are given.

The truth is that right now,

at this moment,

this is the one and only day that you have to live.

This gift is given to you,

it is not of your making.

What will you treasure this day?

What do you give thanks for this day?

What do you rejoice in this day?

What will you offer this day?

I invite you to carry these words

of Dag Hammarskjold into a time

of silent meditation:

  

       Each day the first day; each day a life.

       Each day we must hold out

       the chalice of our being to receive,

       to carry, and to give back.

       It must be held out empty...

just wind

The expectation that this moment should in some way be different than what it is, that this person with me should in some way be other than who they are, that I should somehow be other than who I am, can cause great and unnecessary suffering. Contrary to what we so often teach in the church and in our society, such expectations are not what drive us toward meaningful change and transformation. Such expectations, instead, may inhibit our transformation for the way they feed impatience, resistance, and defensiveness. Perhaps even the notion of transformation can be misleading because it can easily imply that what is right here, right now, is not okay, is not right, is fundamentally not acceptable. Can we continue on a path of transformation and discovery if we cannot accept the beginning point of that path?


_____________


Wind, from northern sky,
presses, pushes, passes through.
Now, there's just wind.
 

cut to the chase

Shalom Mennonite Church

Sunday, October 14, 2012

Texts: Hebrews 4:12-16, Mark 10:17-27

Eric Massanari

“cut to the chase”

These two readings

fit well together.

First, there's Paul's description of the

Word of God being “sharper than

a double-edged sword,”

separating truth from falsehood,

pretenses from authenticity,

fluff from the heart of the matter.

And then we have this gospel story

in which Jesus speaks the sharp-edged word,

slicing to the very heart of things

as he visits with this eager, wealthy man.

Listen again to the beginning of their conversation:

Good Teacher, what must I do

to inherit eternal life?

A hint of flattery in the address,

and then a fairly bold and direct question.

I want nothing less than

the kingdom of God,

so what do I have to do to get it?

And then a surprising and direct response:

Good? Why do you call me good?

There's no one good but God alone.

Jesus sees to the heart of things,

and sees that here is a man who longs to be good.

The rich man is a good man.

We can imagine he

has done many good things

in addition to faithfully fulfilling

the Ten Commandments of his faith.

He has probably been rewarded for his goodness

time and time again through his life.

He has been praised for being good,

probably by many good teachers.

Isn't that good?

Perhaps he wants

yet one more teacher—Jesus—

to assure him that

this is true: he is good.

And just in case there is

something else he should

be doing to make his good even better

in the eyes of others and in the eyes of God,

then he wants to know what it is

so he can do that too.

I picture the rich man in a cub scout uniform,

loaded up with colorful merit badges--

all the goodness projects that have been

undertaken, accomplished, approved and rewarded.

I picture him as a good Mennonite

young man from an upstanding

upper-middle-class Mennonite home

in Hesston, Newton, Goshen or Lancaster Co., PA...

Baptized at 14. Talented.

Popular among his peers,

and up for a good time,

just not the sort of “good time”

that might bring frowns, disfavor,

or the interest of the police.

He volunteered in community programs,

was organizer for his church youth group,

and even led worship before the age of 18.

He was reminded of his goodness

by family, and teachers and peers

before going off to college at a good school,

where he did a really good job,

and did some further studies at

another good school and then

embarked on a good, high-paying career—

which is, of course, a good thing.

The doors of the world opened to his goodness—

or at least so he thought,

because how could he be expected

to perceive that all of the standards

of goodness and success that he met

were prepared by and for

people just like him?

People with,

skin color like him,

gender like him,

money and resources like him,

social connections like him.

All this worked for him.

And life around him confirmed his goodness.

So why on earth would he not assume

that faith must be about

being good and getting even better?

Then, what comes next in this story?

We are told this one very simple

and very clear fact:

Jesus looked at the rich man

and he loved him.

I believe these words may hold

the sharpest edge of this story.

Jesus looks at the young man

and loves him.

He does not damn him.

He does not condemn him.

He loves him.

And he loves him enough

to offer him the very thing

he is asking for—a rather direct

course of action for inheriting

the kingdom of God he longs for.

Go.

Sell all.

Give everything away.

Then come, follow me.

Jesus cuts to the chase,

and the rich man is cut to the heart.

He has just heard the call

and claim of the gospel on his life,

and it turns his world inside out

in a way he cannot yet accept.

I like to imagine him, in time,

taking the plunge,

and fully surrendering himself

to this path.

Jesus takes him right to the edge,

and the next step must be his to take.

This is the power of the gospel of Love.

It invites us to this place of honest revelation

but the next step always remains ours

in total freedom.

This last week I came across a back-issue

of the Bethel Collegian newspaper.

In it I found an editorial written by

Jennifer Scott, a junior social-work major

and native of Newton.

Jennifer entitled her piece something like,

“Relationships Over Resumes,”

and that's what initially caught my attention.

Jennifer recounted her high school years

and all the effort she put into assembling

a stellar resume that would

impress college admissions staff.

She had her own agenda for goodness,

and was banking on that goodness

being rewarded with admission

and scholarships to college.

So, when the opportunity came

to visit a resident of Kidron Bethel Village

as part of a special teen visitation program,

she jumped at the opportunity

knowing that it sure would look good

on her resume.

As those visits continued,

her relationship with that elder deepened,

and she realized how much she

was receiving from that woman.

It had grown into a mutually

caring and transforming relationship.

A marvelous education in and of itself.

She said that she learned from the experience

that relationships are far more important

than seeking success or notoriety for oneself.

Loving relationship trumps self-interest every time.

I sense Jesus calls the rich man

to a similar path of learning,

and transformation.

However, to find the transformation

that he is seeking, he is asked

to first open his clenched hands

that hold tightly to his riches,

and to the assurance of his

own goodness and worthiness

that his wealth has brought him.

It is a disquieting story to all

of us who have much,

more than enough,

and wish for more.

The gospel of Christ's love

is not a merit-based,

reward and punishment system.

It is not to be recognized in

this world by its success, or wealth,

or power or privilege.

In fact, it is more often revealed

in bold and radical acts of letting

go of such things.

There is no spiritual merit badge

that we must earn with our goodness.

There is nothing we must do,

to inherit eternal life.

There is no amount of wealth of any kind

that will purchase greater presence

or deeper love from God.

And material wealth is not a sign

of God's special blessing or favor.

The living and active

and double-edged word of God

in Christ leads us to that same

place where it led the rich man,

to the realization that what we

most long for and seek,

is standing right before us.

It has already been given.

The kingdom is already within you.

Eternal life and love are already among us.

The sharp-edged word of the gospel

will keep leading us to this awareness

even though we seem to keep

doing all we can to keep the focus

on our own selves,

our own efforts,

our own stuff,

that we try to squeeze through the needle's eye.

Gratefully, with God,

all things are possible.

Amen.