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.

insight

Shalom Mennonite Church

Sunday, October 7, 2012

Worldwide Communion Sunday

Text: John 9:1-11

Eric Massanari

“insight”

If I were asked to compose a title

for this story in the gospel of John,

I think it would be something like:

      Those who can't see, do.

      Those who can see, don't.

Or, perhaps I would borrow

a choice phrase from the

poet, e.e. cummings, and call it:

      When the eyes of our eyes are opened.

This is a story about sight.

It is only partly about

seeing with the eyes in our heads.

That vision is a supreme gift,

one that is easy to take for granted

as long as we are able to see,

and do not have our vision inhibited

by injury or illness or age.

The blind man in this story is utterly blind,

and we are told he has been so from birth.

So, when Jesus makes the mud,

and spreads it on his eyes,

and then he goes to wash

in the pool at Siloam,

and then he sees,

it is a wondrous thing.

But as this story unfolds you begin

to get the sense that it isn't

just about that kind of seeing,

and that there may be other

varieties of blindness.

We see another sort of blindness
right at the beginning of the story
when the disciples ask Jesus:

Teacher, who sinned, this man or his parents,

that this he was born blind?

Who sinned?

Who is to blame?

They're looking at the man and their world

with a fault-finding vision.

If there is hurt, or suffering or brokenness,

there must be someone to blame, right?

It is a particular kind of blindness

that needs to ascribe blame

to someone or something out there

for the pain or disquiet we feel in here.

We meet more blind people in this story

when the healed man returns from

the Pool of Siloam and rejoins his neighbors.

Who is this man? They ask.

Surely this isn't the blind guy

that we've walked past all these years.

No, it's probably just a man who looks like him.

They have been able to see this man

only through the obscured vision

of judgment and shame.

Perhaps they've seen him as

too crippled and weak to be worthy

of their attention. Or, perhaps they

have felt ashamed by his presence

and their own unwillingness to

acknowledge him fully as a neighbor.

And this shame and guilt has turned their

gaze away from who he truly is.

Whatever it may be, they too are blind.

The healing of this man

reveals the blindness

in the world all around him.

He is surrounded by people who see with their eyes,

but have no insight.

Insight has been described as

“seeing with the eyes of the heart.”

It is vision that remains open,

curious, and teachable.

It means seeing with a desire

for understanding that which

may dwell below first appearances

and the surface of things.

Our patterns of blaming,

shaming, fearing, and judging,

diminish our capacity to

see one another and our world

in any sort of open, loving way.

One of the greatest gifts you can give the world,

is learning how to identify these patterns in yourself.

To notice them in a way

that doesn't turn the

blame, shame and judgment

back in on your own being

but simply sees that yes, indeed,

you, too, have these patterns

and can choose not to act them out.

We can each choose to nurture insight,

to practice seeing ourselves and

the people and the world around us

in a way that seeks deeper understanding,

that remains curious and open.

This is what allows love to flow.

This is what Jesus repeatedly asked people to do,

to recognize their own blindness.

He didn't shame them into it.

He didn't damn them for it.

He did challenge them to become honest enough,

and uncomfortable and disturbed enough to let it go.

The meal we are about to eat together,

the Lord's Supper,

is a nourishing meal.

It is not meant to nourish so much

our physical bodies—certainly not in

the way the delicious potluck food

will in just a little while!

This is nourishment for

the body that we are

when our lives are joined by love.

This is nourishment for

that deeper sight--for insight.

Jesus offers a loaf of bread,

and a cup of wine,

to help people see differently.

To see the world differently,

and to see one another differently.

To come to this table with

our sisters and brothers,

and on this special day

with people all around the world,

is to be invited to let the

scales fall from our eyes—

scales of blame, shame, fear, guilt, judgment.

If you desire to see deeper,

to live with greater love,

then come to this table

with others who seek the same.

We are not the perfect.

We are the wounded,

the broken,

the gifted,

and the beautiful.

May the eyes of our eyes be opened at this table of our Lord. Amen

the riches of an autumn morning

Gold:
first light
on cottonwood leaves,
wet with dew.

Rubies:
topmost branches
of maple tree,
bleeding summer.

Silver:
whispered globes
of dandelion seeds,
waiting for wind.

Ivory:
gentle face
of silent friend,
turned toward sunrise.

All riches needed,
here,
now.

All riches desired,
for now,
forgotten.