June 26, 2016
Gal. 5:1, 13-25
Luke 9:51-62
I have a regret that still nags at me a bit. A woman from a former church came to me in crisis. It wasn’t the usual kind of crisis though – no one was hurt, nothing lost. It was a spiritual crisis, a beautiful crisis of God so clearly on the move in her life that she found herself completely unsettled, spiritually disoriented, teary and shaken almost all of the time, and yet more alive, more impossibly loved, more surrounded by the sacred grace of God than she had ever known possible. She was at once suffering a great loss of self, while at the same time embracing a new awareness that she was much more than just a self. It was confusing, and scary, and exhilarating all at the same time.
None of this had come suddenly. Her faith had been growing over the years and her involvement in the church was more and more impactful. More and more she was making a difference for others. More and more she worked generously and creatively to offer the church beautiful experiences for fellowship and growth. But, when the crisis hit, it hit hard. And, I listened to her and I prayed with her, but I didn’t tell her enough that she was okay, and what was happening was okay, and that this sort of thing happens because God is really at work. I didn’t tell her that we should be shaken, that God’s intrusion should disrupt us, that faith coming alive anew unseats us, and humbles us, and calls us beyond ourselves into a greater holy mystery. I didn’t tell her that we’ve grown too used to boring faiths that risk little and kick into action mostly when it is convenient or when we perceive need. I didn’t say any of this enough, and so I feel that I kind of let her down.
Richard Rohr talks about the two halves of life. These halves don’t correspond to age; rather, they correspond to spiritual maturity. Throughout the first half of life we spend our energy developing an identity and building an ego so that in the second half of life we can give that ego over to God; we can give God something to work with. His June 19 daily reflection reads:
“Theologically and objectively speaking, we are created in union with God from the beginning (e.g., Ephesians 1:3-6). But it is very hard for people to believe or experience this when they have no positive sense of identity, no strong boundaries, and little inner religious experience. Thus, the first part of the spiritual journey is about externals, formulas, superficial emotions, flags and badges, correct rituals, Bible quotes, and special clothing, all of which largely substitute for an actual spiritual journey (see Matthew 23:13-32). Yet they are all used and needed to create the container. Yes, it is largely style and sentiment instead of real substance, but even that is probably necessary. Just don’t devote your entire life to it. (Tragically, that’s exactly what many of us do! We spend our whole lives building our egos.)
In the first half of our lives, we have no container for such content as true love or charity, no wineskins that are prepared to hold such utterly intoxicating wine. Authentic God experience always “burns” you, yet does not destroy you, just as the burning bush did to Moses (see Exodus 3:2-3). But most of us are not prepared for such burning, nor even told to expect it. By definition, authentic God experience is always “too much”! It consoles our True Self only after it has devastated our false self. We must begin to be honest about this instead of dishing out fast-food religion, which only wants consolation.”[1]
The combination of our two scriptures for today brought all of this to mind. First, there’s Paul calling the Galatians to sacrifice the desires of the flesh, not because the flesh is bad, but because for Paul the flesh is a symbol for the body without spirit, for a self without its soul. The ways of the flesh are all ego without the ego’s sacrifice to God. He’s saying, “Drop those things which falsely promise satisfaction; drop the self which thinks it is its own God, and embrace the Spirit of God which is alive within you. Be the higher self you are invited to be.” If we are preoccupied with self, with flesh, we will have a hard time seeing beyond ourselves to God. My professor at seminary said it like this: “If you come to church to check out the legs of the girl in the next pew you may have a hard time focusing on other things, like the Spirit of God in your midst.”
What strikes me in the gospel text is the sense of urgency that colors the passage. Up until this point Jesus has been teaching, preaching, healing, and gathering disciples, but with this passage there’s a shift: “The days had drawn near for him to be taken up.” That’s what Luke tells us, and with that, “Jesus set his face to go to Jerusalem.” The journey to his place of death and resurrection now begins. The mission of salvation has just intensified, and the conclusion of our passage echoes that intensity. When a potential follower wants to first bury his father Jesus’ reply is, “Let the dead bury the dead. Now is the time to proclaim the gospel.” When another says, “I’ll follow you, Jesus, I just need to say goodbye to my friends and family,” Jesus says, “Now’s not the time to look back, for the kingdom of God has come near!” It’s not that Jesus is insensitive or inconsiderate; rather, it’s that what is at stake here is important. Luke wants his readers to know that God is on the move and that what’s happening calls for their attention, their intention, their focus.
So, that’s where I hear the challenge for us as well. The very Spirit of the living God, the same Spirit that died with Christ and rose to life is poured out upon us and offered within us, and the question is: do we treat this like it matters? Are we willing to let it burn, disorient, confuse? Are we willing to suffer the cost to our egos in order to receive the love that God is giving, and in order to embrace the mission of sharing it around the world? Or, do we settle for first-stage faith, faith that affirms our judgments, or takes an hour out of our week, or asks for favors, but never demands that we find ourselves changed or called beyond ourselves in any significant way?
There’s a great relief in the pain of sacrificing our preoccupations and dying to self. When we no longer need to assert ourselves, to insist upon ourselves, to prove somehow that we matter, we are free to give ourselves, to receive ourselves, and to find that God matters.
If I were you I would be wondering just how to do it. How does one go about dying to self? Well, last week I suggested that scripture was calling us to “go.” Go out and tie yourself to God’s actions in the world. Express your faith in a concrete way by acting with love somehow for someone.
This week I’ll add that I find it nearly impossible to surrender to God, to give myself over to God, without the ritual of worship, without really engaging in the work that we are doing here together. I want to encourage you to really pay attention to the prayer that we say at our offering. We are not just giving our gifts; we are giving ourselves! To me, this corporate act of giving ourselves to God is the most important thing we do. We can hear in our prayer the rote repetition of words we say week in and week out, or we can hear instead a prayer that we say again and again because giving ourselves over to God takes practice, and it takes the company of loved ones, and it takes courage, …and it gives us nothing less than the kind of life that is worth living.
[1] http://campaign.r20.constantcontact.com/render?m=1103098668616&ca=d396548c-afc5-48c2-bcdb-ee1707ee46e1