Twentieth Sunday after Pentecost

Meister Eckhart, one of the church's great mystics, famously wrote that if you only had a single prayer to pray, "Thank you" would suffice.
This week, we continue with the general theme of prayer with the righteous Pharisee as an exemplar of how not to pray and the sinful "publican," or tax collector, the one an exemplar of how to pray.  As usual, the unexpected is central to this parable, but this is not one of Jesus' many Kingdom parables; rather, it is a parable relating directly to God.
      Jesus famously told his disciples what to pray with the gift of the Our Father; however, he didn't answer the question directly when asked by his disciples how to pray.  Today’s gospel is all about mercy.
     The Pharisee's prayer was more horizontal than vertical; his prayer was self-congratulatory for not being like his sinful neighbors. His prayer was from an island of self-righteousness.
 
O God, I thank you that I am not like the rest of humanity --
greedy, dishonest, adulterous -- or even like this tax collector.
I fast twice a week, and I pay tithes on my whole income.
 
His gratitude springs from "not being like the rest of humanity," it begins in separation, focusing on his side-view of a sinner.  And the tax collector was a sinner.  Let's not make him into some noble hero.  Tax collectors were famous sellouts in Jesus' time.  They were Jews who profited from their association with the Romans and were allowed to keep whatever they could collect above required from their fellow Jews and had the power to have non-compliant Jews arrested.  As with most people invested in such power, the power was abused, and these folks were famously despised. 
            The Pharisees were a group of religious scholars who were trying to bring the average person hope by helping one live a righteous life through putting the Law into practice.  The Pharisee's pride grew from being socially, educationally, and religiously set apart from the people he was called to lead.  There is a lesson in it for me as a priest and anyone with temporal authority within the Church.  I can imagine such pride was incremental and crept in as he appropriated each compliment and praise received from the people he helped, growing like a wildfire until it consumed him in the deception that what they adored was him rather than God's gift to him.  The tax collector had no such delusions.
     The tax collector's prayer was vertical; off at a distance and prostrated, he couldn't even see or hear the Pharisee.  The tax collector's sins were too painful for him to list.  He simply prays, "Have mercy on me, a sinner!" Scripture says he went away justified; God forgave his sins not because he was righteous but because he prayed from his poverty of spirit.  The Pharisee prayed from what he considered his great possessions: his righteousness. Like the widow only putting in a mite for the Temple collection, she gives all she has.  She isn't donating a small portion of her wealth; Jesus observes in that parable that "she gave from her poverty."  We must pray from our poverty because this is our state in relation to God.  We have nothing to stand on but clay feet, but it is the same clay God formed; it is human clay, and it is the source of true humility and genuine gratitude because God has redeemed it in Christ.  
     When we pray from our poverty, we tap into the riches that God has given us.  Time and time again, God's grace seeks out the humble, the lowly, and the dispossessed.  Throughout salvation history, God visits the least regarded and comes to visit and give great comfort.  There is something in the nature of God that desires such intimacy as that of a mother caring for her sick child. We don't need to be great and notorious sinners to attract God's love; it is there before we ask. God is in love with humanity, and the less we stand human before God, the more distorted our understanding of the image of God within us.

          The Oscar Wilde quotation, "We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars," comes to mind. Our prayer is always a cry for mercy when we begin with being grateful for having the vision of the stars from the gutter.

Nineteenth Sunday after Pentecost

"Rejoice always, pray continually, give thanks in all circumstances"  1Thessalonians 5:16-17

“If the only prayer you said was thank you, that would be enough.”
Meister Eckhart

One of the greatest acts of faith is prayer. Prayer acknowledges God explicitly and is done with the hope that God is listening.  To surround one's daily life in prayer, to strive to "pray without ceasing" is to hold on to the tail of a tiger and not let go.

      Today's gospel has a widow holding on to the tail of a tiger in the form of a judge who refuses to hear her case, but she prevails in the end because she refuses to let the matter drop.  Out of sheer fatigue, boredom, or a desire to simply get on with it, the judge finally relents, and she is afforded justice because of her perseverance.  Jesus uses this story to suggest that his disciples will soon find themselves like the widow, alone and in need of help and that the only way to proceed is to pray and not lose faith.  Jesus links faith with the endurance of prayer by asking "But when the Son of Man comes, will he find faith on earth?"

     How much more, Jesus reasons, will God who loves you hear your prayer and act decisively to render judgment? The word "quickly" in the scripture does not indicate a short time from asking, but rather the speed of God's action once God acts, His decisiveness.  As we read a couple of weeks ago, faith the size of a mustard seed is all that is required because faith is not measured in degrees; it is experienced by its presence or absence. 

     Faith is not something that is mainly feeling but is an action guided by the will and sustained by the strength of hope.  Though we tire, and at times fail to pray formally, our fatigue and desire for prayer itself is a prayer.   Reciting to oneself "Oh God, I wish I could pray" is a prayer.  Constant prayer is living with this awareness.

    The strong tradition of the "Jesus Prayer" in the Orthodox Church ("Lord Jesus Christ, have mercy on me, a sinner") is the mantra-like prayer that infuses one's being so that prayer is made constant in the awareness of one's beating heart or breathing.   The practice of stillness, or waiting upon God as prayer has a long and honored tradition within Christianity. Lighting a candle, paying attention to one's breath and only finding oneself in God's presence is also prayer.  Today, we might say that books on all manner of praying abound, and sell very well; whether or not anyone is praying is another matter.

     Prayer may not satisfy us that we are praying, but this need not distract us.  Lifting our hearts to God, desiring to be seen by God in our hesitation, our fear, our inability to form words allows the Spirit to pray in us and through us.  Being involved in praying can be as simple as sitting quietly and listening for God's "quiet, whispering voice."  We don't have faith because we pray.  We pray because we already have faith. It is God, through the Holy Spirit, which ultimately makes prayer possible.  We have this great stream of prayer running directly through our hearts like a great torrent.  We have only to jump in and let it carry us for God's "quickness" to be realized.

Eighteenth Sunday after Pentecost

Ten had Faith; One had Gratitude.

            Today's reading from The Book of Kings and the Gospel of Luke highlights healing and the outsider.  In Kings, Naaman, a Syrian, is healed by Elisha as a sign of God's blessing to those outside Israel.  In Luke, of the ten healed of leprosy, it is only the Samaritan that returns to give thanks.  The Samaritan and Syrian have the dubious distinction of being least-favored, not part of the "Chosen Ones," yet God's blessing rests on them.

            In the gospel story, the ten lepers are outside the city and cry to Jesus not directly for healing but for mercy.  Such a cry reveals the connection between illness and a loss of favor with God; if you were sick, you had lost favor with God.  Jesus doesn't pray for them but simply commands them to journey to a priest to be certified as being healed.  They had to begin the journey still uncured.  It was on their way that they were healed; it was their faith that got them moving.

            Faith requires us to act as if what we proclaim has already been brought about.  This is why there is always an element of the absurd in living a life of faith.  St. Paul speaks of this in 1 Corinthians, chapter 1:

 Jews demand signs, and Greeks look for wisdom, ²³ but we preach Christ crucified: a stumbling block to Jews and foolishness to Gentiles.

What, then, is the point of returning to give thanks if everyone was healed?  The other nine didn’t return to a leprous state because gratitude can only be a gift, not a requirement.  The gratitude of the Samaritan was rewarded by a relationship with Christ, a personal encounter one-on-one the other nine did not establish.  The Samaritan’s gift was relationship---the ongoing and direct connection to God.

            This story also serves to highlight another reality of the Christian life.  While a Christian may have faith, faith enough even to heal, that doesn’t mean she or he has that intimacy and closeness that those whose faith is sustained by gratitude enjoy.  Gratitude is what sustains us when we are not healed, for whatever reason, when our prayers seem to go unanswered.  Gratitude is what allows us to pass the blessings of our faith to others.  The other nine were healed, but how many lived that restoration and “returned Glorifying God in a loud voice”? One.

            We are called to “Glorify God in a loud voice” by displaying our gratitude, living our life as a gift from God that we can share with the world, with the “foreigners,” the outsiders who cannot lay claim to any blessing other than the one we can give that comes from God.

Seventeenth Sunday after Pentecost

"If today you hear God's voice, harden not your hearts"--Psalm 95

Having heard the voice of God, how could one’s heart be hardened?  Last week, we began a subtle transition from focusing on justice for the poor to faith.  Jesus’ story quoted Abraham speaking to “the rich man” who was seeking a spectacle to save the faith of his ancestors: “If they will not listen to Moses and the prophets, neither will they be persuaded if someone should rise from the dead.” Faith does not grow from spectacle; however, the apostles, this week, seem to be asking Jesus to somehow “increase their faith.”  His reply isn’t a recipe for “increasing,” but suggests they lack faith.

"If you have faith the size of a mustard seed, you would say to this mulberry tree, 'Be uprooted and planted in the sea,’ and it would obey you.”

     The mustard seed is famously small---roughly the size of a grain of sand.  Essentially, Jesus is saying “If you had any faith, you would not have to ask for more.”  Faith isn’t something that comes in all sizes; it comes in one size. Also, the gift of faith is often misunderstood as a type of passivity, of letting life wash over oneself and hoping for the best.  This passivity, however, is heresy.  It is called “quietism.”  Because faith has an element of endurance and patience, it doesn’t mean that faith is only waiting for something to happen. Faith is either present or absent, active or dormant. Let’s consider the cardinal virtues to dig deeper.

     The three cardinal virtues of Faith, Hope, and Love are joined for a reason.  They are joined because they complement one another and work together.  One aspect of this trinity can be understood as true faith engendering hope and the courage to love in the face of evil and doubt.  Despair is the relinquishing of hope, which is not the same thing as feeling depressed or defeated or searching for hope in the chaos and disappointment that marks many lives of people with faith.  True despair is acting in the world as if there was no hope; hating rather than loving because “What’s the point? Life is meaningless anyway; why not hate?”  Just as faith engenders love through hope, despair allows for hatred by renouncing hope.  One a virtue, the other a mortal sin. It is this scar of sin that can harden one’s heart as the Psalmist sings.

     The “hardened heart” is the heart that lives from despair.  Even the heart that has heard the Lord’s voice can despair because very often where faith leads us, the heart fears to go.  Following a timid heart rather than Christ stiffens the heart with an unnatural reluctance to love; the heart refuses to be vulnerable. What unlocks the potential of faith (rather than simply “strengthening” it) is action expressed in loving despite feelings of fear, doubt, and despair.  Love is not a feeling; it is a commitment to action in response to Christ’s command to love God and love one’s neighbor.  If you wait to feel like loving someone, your love will only serve an emotional need.

     If you respond to God with “I can’t possibly do this”, listen for the reply: “You are right. You can do nothing without me."  Open your heart and let the Spirit live and guide you”.   We are, indeed, as the gospel says “unprofitable servants” We bring God no profit through loving others.  Loving others, especially those for whom the feeling of love is absent, is God’s gift to us.