what the soul waits for

For God alone
my soul
in silence
waits.
- Psalm 62:1


The soul waits expectantly - always expectantly - for God, and is satisfied by nothing less. Perhaps this is because the soul knows very well that for which it waits: the One who is the soul's own source and essence. How could your soul wait for or be satisfied by anything else?

How does the waiting of your soul impact the living of your life?

mountains of light

on east horizon
pre-dawn thunderstorms become
great mountains of light.

do no harm?

This morning a group of us met at sunrise to walk the labyrinth at PrairieView mental health center in Newton. The air was warm and muggy as it has been each morning for many days, but a welcome breeze rattled through the nearby cottonwood trees, offering a raspy-throated blessing upon our gathering. Birds that have been largely silent during these hot days assumed treetop positions and sang their chants of praise.

The cement had cooled to a comfortable, stony warmth over night and I welcomed the opportunity to walk the spiraling path with bare feet. After taking a few steps, I noticed many, many small ants scuttling across the surface of the labyrinth in their own dizzying tangle of paths. They were a frenetic wonder!

Here, on the the labyrinth, I could clearly see these tiny creatures that normally fall well outside the scope of my attention. Here, I could clearly see the threat posed by each of my footfalls.

I found myself mesmerized by their scurrying, and attempted to do my best to avoid doing harm. Yet, I soon found that no matter how hard I tried there was the occasional ant that I failed to see, or the one that changed its route just as my foot came to rest on the pavement. No matter how hard I tried I caused suffering and death.

I considered how this happens all of the time as we make our way through life. It is literally impossible to "do no harm." This goes well beyond the tiny creatures who wind up under the soles of our feet. It has to do with choices we make and the ways we live. It has to do with decisions we make each day and the sometimes inadvertent consequences those decisions have, not for just ourselves but for others, including people who may fall well outside our attention.

Sometimes in our most intimate relationships we find we have hurt the ones we love without intending to at all.

The intention to do no harm and to live with compassion is a vital and important orientation for our lives. Along with it, however, we must remember with humility that we remain fully capable of causing pain, and suffering, and even death. And then the question stands before us: How will I respond to the harm or the hurt I have caused?

running with the light

Cresting a swell of prairie at dawn
I see my shadow race ahead
across a wheat field's stubble,
leap the hedgerow with its hidden creek,
carelessly ignore the interstate's traffic,
and make a dash for the horizon.

I'm drawn long,
stretched thin,
as shadow and shade,
still running with the Light.

the upper room with an open door

Shalom Mennonite Church

Sunday, June 5, 2011

Easter 7 - “Commissioned and Waiting”

Texts: John 17:1-11 and Acts 1:6-14

Eric Massanari

“the upper room with an open door”

Jesus' birth into the world

may have been humble,

but his exit from the world seems fantastic.

His death may have been that of a criminal,

but his departure is that of an angel.

His resurrection from a dark tomb had no witnesses,

but his ascension is a glowing, main-stage event

with all of his disciples bearing witness.

For as much as we celebrate Jesus' birth,

and remember his death,

and confess his resurrection,

we don't tend to say much about

this moment when Jesus makes one final rising

up into the glorious, sunlit clouds.

Jesus goes up . . . up . . . and away!

Able to leap tall buildings in a single bound!

Going . . . going . . . gone!

The temptation may be to interpret this as

a final parting of the ways—Jesus bound for

his home in a heaven high beyond the clouds,

while the disciples and the rest of us are left earthbound.

The temptation may be

to interpret the ascension of Jesus as a

final moment of separation.

And, in fact, it has largely been viewed

this way in traditional theologies.

Which is unfortunate because to read the story this way

may be to miss one of the deepest and

most transforming messages of the gospel.

There is another stream of Christian wisdom

that invites us to see something

quite different in the story of the ascension.

Rather than interpreting this as a moment of separation,

we might understand it as a revelation of profound union.

This stream of theology suggests

that Jesus is not ascending to some place apart from the world;

Jesus is in fact returning to the very place

where Christ has always lived:

fully immersed in the world

and in the fullness of all life.

Thomas Keating describes the ascension of Jesus in this way:

This is the invitation to enter into the cosmic Christ—into his divine person, the Word of God, who has always been present in the world...This is the Christ who disappeared in his Ascension beyond the clouds, not into some geographical location, but into the heart of all creation. In particular, he has penetrated the very depths of our being, our separate-self sense has melted into his divine Person, and now we can act under the direct influence of his Spirit. Thus, even if we drink a cup of soup or walk down the street, it is Christ living and acting in us, transforming the world from within...The Ascension is Christ's return to the heart of all creation where he dwells now in his glorified humanity.

Keating, Thomas, The Mystery of Christ

The “Cosmic Christ.”

That is a term not often heard in church.

Usually when we speak of Christ

we speak solely, even exclusively, of Jesus as Christ.

And when we do this we sometimes neglect

the strong scriptural witness

which suggests that Christ

not only describes Jesus of Nazareth,

it also describes the Living Word of God

as a reality that transcends

the historical person of Jesus.

The Cosmic Christ is the glory of God

that permeates the whole of life.

The world is charged with it, filled with it!

At the beginning of John's gospel

it is described in this way:

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.

What has come into being in him was life,

and the life was the light of all people. (John 1:1-4)

In the first chapter of the letter to the Colossians

Christ is described with these words:

Christ is the image of the invisible God,

the firstborn of all creation;

for in Christ all things in heaven and on earth

were created, things visible and invisible . . .

all things have been created through and for Christ.

Christ is before all things,

and in Christ all things hold together. (Col. 1:15-17)

Later in the letter to the Colossians,

as Paul describes what it means

to be “clothed” in the love of Christ,

He writes:

Christ is all and in all! (Col. 3:11)

This reflects a far more expansive

understanding of who and what and where Christ is.

This is the wisdom that understands

all of creation as bearing the Christ presence.

From its beginning in a Big Bang,

or whatever dream or movement sent

the expanse and evolution of the universe into motion,

Christ has been the power of being

at the heart of all life—the Cosmic Christ

is an extension of the very heart of God.

For a particular window of time

this power of being was expressed

in a profound way, in human form,

in the person of Jesus.

The special gift of Jesus is that through him

we come to see what it means to live a human life

fully immersed and fully surrendered

to the glory of God's love—what it means to live in Christ.

In Jesus we are invited

to live in this same manner—

we are invited to allow the Christ-presence

that is in each of us to be fully revealed.

We keep wanting to make Jesus someone wholly different from us,

and Jesus wants to make us wholly one with him.

When we build bonds and bridges with others

instead of boundaries and dividing walls

we are participating in the life of Christ

that ascends within our own being;

we are revealing the Christ in us,

and we are recognizing the Christ in our sister and brother.

When we follow self-centered patterns

or wallow in self-pity,

when we speak of Christ as having

having been present exclusively

in the historical Jesus,

then we deny the Glory of God

that is written in all life, in our neighbor,

and in our own flesh and bone.

We must choose with our lives, each day,

whether we will join in the revealing of the glory of God,

or whether we will shroud it and deny it.

Will we live this day, this moment,

in awareness and in union with

the Cosmic Christ, who is all and in all?

Will we direct our intentions and actions

to the path of Christ-like love?

Or, will our choices deny

that this world and our own lives

are the revealing place for God.

I look at the disciples in this story from Acts,

and at what they do after they have witnessed

the ascension of their teacher.

They go back to their upper room,

their gathering place in Jerusalem

that has for a time been their hideout

in the days following Jesus' death.

We might remember some of the Easter stories

in which they are described as gathering in

this place with the doors locked

“for fear of the Jews.”

I notice that this time nothing is said here

about the doors of the upper room

being locked or closed,

and nothing is said about the disciples being afraid.

I imagine that now the doors are unlocked,

and I imagine the doors standing wide open.

Because now the disciples have seen

that there is no where they can go

where Christ is not already alive and dwelling.

They have seen what has always been true,

and what will forever be true:

there is nothing that can separate us

from the love that is God.

So, they need not fear.

They need not fight or defend.

They are free to love.

They are free to receive God's Spirit.

They are free to join in the ascending of Christ.

And so are we.

a first-hand God

Shalom Mennonite Church

Sunday, May 29, 2011

Easter 6 - “Orphaned and Adopted”

Text: John 14:15-21

Eric Massanari

“a first-hand God”

Orphan.

To be an orphan is one of the most vulnerable

human conditions we might imagine.

It evokes the image of a child

standing alone,

facing the dangers of the world.

“I will not leave you orphaned,”

Jesus says to his friends, assuring them that

he will not leave them without a “spiritual parent.”

He promises them that when he is gone,

they will not be alone.

As Jesus points them toward the road ahead,

he gives them two distinct messages

about the way of discipleship they are to follow.

The first message is:

Remember to keep my commandments.

It is a clear, direct and simple

reminder that they are meant

to orient their daily living

to the path of loving action

he has taught them and modeled for them.

This path includes

tending to the needs of the poor,

visiting the sick,

feeding those who are hungry,

giving drink to the thirsty.

This is the path of loving one's neighbor as oneself.

The second message Jesus gives them is:

God's own Spirit will be with you as your Advocate.

This Advocate will be their teacher and guide

just as Jesus has been their teacher and guide.

The Spirit will dwell among

the community of believers

and within the community of believers.

God's movement continues to be toward

humanity through the Holy Spirit.

And we are called to continue to move

toward God by living in ways

that reflect God's love into the world.

The path of discipleship then is two-fold:

it is receptivity and it is action,

it is being and it is doing,

it is yielding oneself to God and it is asserting oneself in the world.

And Jesus is very clear with his disciples

that these interrelated movements of faith

are complimentary and necessary for the way of the disciple.

The Christian path has found many expressions

over the centuries, and these varied expressions

and traditions have emphasized

these two movements of faith to varying degrees.

Some traditions—just like some individual believers—

have been more naturally reflective,

focused on worship and prayer life,

sometimes with less emphasis on obedience

to Jesus' commandments in daily living.

Other traditions and communities

have been much more inclined to

emphasize the active movement of discipleship;

following Christ in relationships,

preaching the Good News, sharing it

through action and service:

planting churches, disaster relief,

peace & justice work, mission efforts, and so on.

Most Christian traditions and communities

I have encountered have some element of both movements,

but the balance might be struck very differently

and the expression of these movements might

look quite different than it does for other Christians down the street.

And what about us?

What about the good 'ol Mennonites?

What about us here at Shalom church?

It is an interesting question because

I think today Mennonites are often viewed by others

as being “doers of the word.”

We are seen as a tradition that emphasizes

the active more than the reflective movement of discipleship.

And, in large part, I sense we openly claim this

in our own self-identity as a Christian tradition.

In fact, when we use the word “discipleship”

we are typically pointing more to that active

part of faith – the doing more than the being.

Especially at the more “liberal” or “progressive”

end of the Mennonite church spectrum,

we tend to emphasize service to others,

and witnessing and working for peace & justice.

We are very comfortable discussing political and social issues—perhaps more than we are with joining in Bible study

or prayer circles.

We are inclined to ask,

“What can we do?” or “How can we help?”

more readily than we ask,

“How is God speaking to us right now?”

“Where is God leading us as a church?”

To put it in a bit different terms:

We are more of a Sermon on the Mount kind of church

than we are a “go forth and make disciples of all nations,”

or a “go to the garden with Jesus to pray” sort of church.

This is not a “good” or “bad” reality,

it is simply who we have been and become

for some very wonderful reasons—

those reasons being the people

and the circumstances and experiences

that have shaped this remarkable congregation of Shalom.

However, it is an important reality to name

because it reveals to us not only our gifts

but also our growing edges,

as we remember Jesus' two-fold message

to his friends about what the path

of discipleship entails – both the doing and the being.

It means, in part, God needs us—

our doing, our good works—

and it also means, we need God.

We are called to attend to the presence of the One

whose Spirit acts and speaks within us

as Advocate and guide.

We nurture that second part

through our worship together

and through making room for prayer.

And by “prayer” I don't mean

necessarily those formal expressions

of spoken word that sometimes

mark periods in our worship.

By prayer I mean much more inclusively

that spirit of yieldedness

we come to know when we grow receptive

and open to that presence of God's Spirit

within us and among us.

Prayer is less about method

as it is about all that nurtures the connection

between us and God.

This week I came across a book on prayer

that was unfamiliar to me;

a book entitled, Clinging, by Emilie Griffin.

She writes:

Prayer is, after all, a very dangerous business. For all the benefits it offers of growing closer to God, it carries with it one great element of risk: the possibility of change. In prayer we open ourselves to the chance that God will do something with us that we had not intended. We yield to possibilities of intense perception, of seeing through human masks and the density of “things” to the very center of reality.

To avoid this, sometimes we excuse ourselves from prayer by doing good works on a carefully controlled schedule . . . By doing something limited “for God,” something we judge to be enough and more than enough, we skirt the possibility that God—in prayer—may ask us what he wants to ask, may suggest what we should do.

- Emilie Griffin, in Clinging: The Experience of Prayer

I think she is naming a challenge

to a church such as ours as we seek

the path of discipleship Jesus described.

Our challenge may be to

entertain the possibility

that God is here – within and among us -

calling us to much more

than what we assume to be our tasks or jobs.

Which is not to say God is asking us to do more.

It is so easy to get lost in that language of doing

that has to do with our commitments,

our time, our energy, the limited things

we measure with “more” or “less.”

God is not seeking our heroic time commitments

or our overworked exhaustion.

God is asking for our hearts,

our yieldedness together, in community,

to the presence of the Spirit.

And there is no “more” or “less”

when it comes to the Spirit of God.

We are a people whose minds are occupied

with great complex problems and issues.

We sometimes forget, or we are terribly suspicious,

of what may be simple responses – such as prayer,

prayer that listens for God's voice and call.

However, if we make space for this listening,

as we do when we come together like this,

then we begin to participate in the Spirit,

in the Spirit that is working for the needs

and the well-being of humanity and all life.

We orient our doing with our deepest being in God.

We need God,

and God needs us. Amen

many dwelling places

Shalom Mennonite Church

Sunday, May 22, 2011 - Easter 5

Text: John 14:1-14

“many dwelling places”

I thought it best to go ahead and prepare

a sermon for today, just in case the

apocalyptic prognosticators got it wrong.

Which they did -

again.

Here we are.

Here is the world.

And together we live on.

Thanks be to God!

Visions of the end times are

as old as humanity itself.

For as long as we have wondered about life,

we have wondered what will happen after death.

Is there reward for our goodness?

Is there punishment for our waywardness?

Is there . . . anything?

Think of all of the jokes we tell

about death, the afterlife, and people who stand

at the “pearly gates” talking to St. Peter.

I don’t remember many jokes,

but one I remember tells of a fellow who has died

and made his way to the pearly gates

and, much to his relief, has found

admittance into heaven.

He is welcomed in by an angelic tour guide

who begins to show him all of the perks

and pleasures of dwelling in eternal bliss and harmony.

There are choirs singing,

children and adults at play,

there are people lounging

in lush green grass with lions and lambs,

the streets glow golden,

the waters run clear,

and the sky is a perennial, crystalline blue.

As they walk down one street

the recently deceased fellow hears

a wonderful choir singing in perfect harmony.

The music comes from a simple

but beautiful stone building

that stands off on its own in a field.

It is different from the other heavenly structures

because it has no open windows

and no apparent doorways.

Somehow the beautiful sound of the choir

manages to escape from the building

even though there seems to be no way in or out.

“Who is in there?” the newcomer asks.

The angel guide replies:

“Oh, those are the Mennonites.

They think they are the only ones here.”

I’ve heard my Catholic, Methodist, Presbyterian, Episcopalian

friends tell a similar sort of joke on themselves.

What makes the joke funny

is the element of truth in it.

It puts a finger on the prideful, sometimes arrogant way

we hold our deepest beliefs and convictions.

This, too, is part of the human story.

“In my father’s house there are many dwelling places,”

says Jesus in this morning’s passage.

This has often been interpreted as a statement

about the afterlife and the realm of heaven.

I have heard this passage read at funerals

and memorial services, and I have heard

eulogies and funeral sermons that draw

on this imagery as a word of comfort for

those who are grieving in death.

The message being:

there is room enough in heaven

for all of God’s faithful ones.

If we look closely at this story, however,

we will see that it is not so much about death

and what happens in the afterlife,

as it is about life here and now.

The disciples in this moment are not so much

concerned about where they will go when they die;

they are concerned about

where they will go,

what they will do,

who they will follow,

now that Jesus has died.

Their “hearts are troubled” not because

they are fretting over the afterlife

but because they are wondering

which way to go in this life.

“In my Father’s house there are many dwelling places.”

The reference to the “Father’s house”

is not simply a synonym for heaven.

We are meant to hear this message in the context

of this gospel of John in which the language

of place, location, and residence

is often used to signify something about relationship. (O'Day, p.740)

John often uses the language of

“abiding” and “dwelling” in his writing about Jesus.

He uses these words not so much to describe

a particular location as much as he does

to describe the particular shape of relationship

Jesus shares with God and that

we share with God.

To know where Jesus “abides” or “dwells”

is to discover the intimacy of his relationship with God.

And it is to discover something about the nature

of our relationship with God.

“In my Father’s house there are many dwelling places.”

Jesus is reiterating what has been his message

to the disciples all along:

There are many ways and places to abide with God,

to dwell with God, in this world.

You do not need to be fearful, Jesus tells them.

You will know the way to where I am going

because you have known me.

And therefore you know

what it means to be part of God’s

household. You will not be lost or forgotten.

You abide where I abide,

in the very heart of the God of Love.

This message of assurance and presence

is at the heart of this passage.

And when we understand that, then I think

we hear the rest of this passage differently

than it is sometimes interpreted.

When Thomas gives voice to his

lingering fears and confusion,

Jesus responds with one of his most

widely quoted - and arguably most misused - statements:

“I am the way and the truth and the life,

no one comes to the Father except through me.”

How often have these words been taken out of context.

The context here is Jesus speaking

a word of assurance to his closest friends.

However, the church in various guises

has assumed this to be a universal message to the world,

a message of Christian triumphalism and supremacy,

with the essential message being:

There is no other faithful path than the Christian path.

All others are left on the outside of God’s favor.

It is put even more bluntly by a billboard

that stands along one of our local highways:

Repent and believe in Jesus Christ . . .

or regret it forever!

Dwelling behind such statements

is a rather fierce and fickle God,

and a a very exclusive sort of Jesus,

both of whom do not ring true

with what we find revealed through the gospels.

Yet many in the church,

have clung to this exclusivist claim on God’s favor.

Rob Bell, the widely known Christian author

and pastor of Mars Hill bible church,

recently published a book entitled,

Love Wins: A book about heaven, hell, and the fate of every person who ever lived.

Quite a title!

The book has landed him in hot water with

many North American Christians because

he claims that in the end, love and mercy

trump judgment and vengeance.

In the end, God’s love will reconcile all things

and all people to God’s self.

Bell challenges the exclusivist claims of a Christianity

that cannot hold alongside its deep convictions

all that remains unanswerable and incomprehensible.

As another contemporary author, Marilynne Robinson put it,

“There is something about certainty that makes

Christianity very un-Christian.”

Bell is being called many things by others in the church:

a heretic, unfaithful, and a universalist.

Those who try to dismiss him in this way

miss the fact that he arrives at this viewpoint

not because he has tried and practiced

a myriad of other faiths and found them true

but precisely because he has rooted himself in Christ

and it has transformed how he sees the world. (Marty, p.25)

The world needs less, not more, people who

claim titles like “chosen people” or “royal priesthood”

over and against their sisters and brothers.

The world, I believe, cries out for followers of Jesus

who are clearly grounded and rooted in Christ’s way,

who are not afraid to say this is

“the way, the truth and the life” that shapes my life,

and who recognize that at the center of that

Way is an eternal spring of merciful Love,

a God who is seeking to reconcile all things

to Godself and not necessarily under the heading “Christianity.”

“In God’s house there are many abiding places . . .

I am the way the truth and the life,

no one comes to God except through me.”

There is a tension in these words of scripture.

We might be tempted to resolve it by either

assuming Jesus was making an exclusive claim

about himself to the whole world,

or, we might focus on the

“many places” element and say that really

all ways are okay as long as we don’t step on toes

or ruffle each other’s feathers.

At one extreme the church festers in exclusivist certainty,

and at the other end of the spectrum is a Christianity

diluted into a secular relativism that

has a difficult time witnessing with faithful conviction.

I think, as Christians, we are asked to stay in the tension.

It is a tension that found voice at our Coordinating Council

meeting a week ago here at Shalom.

We found ourselves at one point

celebrating the way we seem able in this church

to stay in community with one another

in the midst of some significant differences -

we have recognized and allowed room here

to witness that there are indeed “many ways

and places in which one can dwell with God.”

In our discussion we also named what a challenge

it can be to also act as a community with conviction,

to state together - maybe not with one mind,

but at least with a unified voice and witness:

“this is where we stand,

this is the faith we bear witness to with our lives,

we live this way because we live in Christ

who has shown us the way of life lived in love.

Therefore, this is who we are called to be.”

How do we celebrate different expressions of faith

and also root ourselves in the unity of Christ Jesus

in a way that we can bear witness in the world

to the love of Christ?

The challenge for the church today, I believe,

is to do just that. To root ourselves -

to choose to abide and dwell -

in the way, the truth and the life of Christ,

and in so doing to find there in the end

a dwelling place with many rooms.

We do not need other ways to be wrong

for the Way of Christ to be right.

We do not need other faiths to be false

for our faith in Christ to be true.

We do not need to try to be all things to all people

in order to root ourselves in the love

that in the end reconciles all things and all people.

The most vital questions for us today are not,

When will the world end?

or

What happens in the afterlife?

The vital question of faith standing before us

here and now in this moment

is the same as it was for the disciples long ago:

Will we get the great joke of God's love

that has been told in the life, death and resurrection of Christ?

Will we get it

and tell it with our lives?

__________

Sources:

Marty, Peter. "Betting on a generous God," The Christian Century, May 17, 2011.

O'Day, Gail R. "The Gospel of John," The New Interpreter's Bible, Vol. IX. Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1995.