It’s been quite a while since I last preached, nearly two years now. For me, this is a bit of a coming out. Not a debutante coming out, more like a coming out of hibernation. My son, Hardy, will be two years old next week. And aside from Hardy’s occasional relapses, which many of you here have heard about, we’ve been sleeping through the night for about four months now. So as I begin to wipe the sleep from my eyes, I look around at this wonderful congregation, take a big yawn, and say, “what can I do, how can I get involved?” I am increasingly feeling a pull to re-engage with the greater world, with church and community activism, but where do I begin?
It’s strange, now that I have a little more time and energy to contribute to the world beyond my family, I often feel at a loss over what to do. Once upon a time, not even too long ago, I was deeply connected to anti-poverty movements and was embroiled in policy debates around welfare reform. I lived and breathed this work and so I never needed to ask myself, what’s going on these days or how can I get involved.
It’s not that the atrocities of the world are not evident to me – I have wept with others over the many tragedies that have occurred since Hardy was born – the tsunami, Hurricane Katrina, Guantanamo, the increasing despair over Iraq, and now Lebanon. And I am not blind to the grinding poverty in this country. I see people who are hungry and homeless on the streets of this dear city and I saw many, many more on the streets of Atlanta when I was there last month. I have not hid from suffering – I worked during my pregnancy and much of Hardy’s first year as a hospice chaplain. And my full time work now at Union is critical social justice work. But still, I find myself asking, how do I get started? How do I re-engage with the wider community and with activism?
As I was preparing to preach today, I looked at the lectionary for this month. When I saw the text about the commissioning of the twelve disciples, I felt a pull. Here are direct instructions from Jesus about how to go forth in the world, instructions for what to do now. But then, as I read the passage more fully into its context, I had a sinking feeling.
In a parallel text in the gospel of Luke, we learn more about the content of Jesus’ teaching in his hometown that day. In Luke, we learn that Jesus unrolls the scroll and reads from Isaiah: The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to bring good news to the poor; He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives, the recovery of sight to the blind, to let the oppressed go free, to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor. Jesus proclaims that the year of the Lord’s favor or Jubilee is here right now.
This message is too much for the hometown crowd. How can Jesus proclaim Jubilee, a time when debts are relieved, crops are allowed to lay fallow, and those who are hungry are permitted to glean? How can he proclaim that when the hometown folk know that all of their crops are already spoken for by the upper classes, that they are indebted to tax collectors, and that a drought, or disease, or a death in the family could force them off their land and onto a slippery slope to complete outcast status. Jesus’ claims run counter to their survival instincts.
And, suddenly, I found myself relating to the peasant congregation at Nazareth in a whole new way. At one time, Jesus’ proclamation mobilized me to act. But now I find myself on the other side saying, no thanks, Jesus, what you are saying is too much. I’ve got a baby now, a pension to worry about. And do you know how much nursery school costs in New York City? I think I’ll just sit tight, circle the wagons.
But then there is that little voice – the one that tells me, “SIT TIGHT??!!??”, you’re going through life like an automaton. Here’s how it goes…Hardy wakes me up, I go to the bathroom, I change his diaper, make him breakfast, and get him dressed. I get myself dressed, I go to work. I work, work, work, sometimes take lunch. I go home, relieve Bill from child care, change my clothes, help feed Hardy dinner and shovel food into my own mouth. Then I begin the bedtime routine, bath, bottle, two big books, brush teeth, into crib, one little book, one pat on the back. Then I take a breath and pass out. Blink your eyes and a year and a half has gone by.
During an interview with Benjamin Webb, Parker Palmer says something that opens this whole issue up for me. He explains, “Spiritual formation, to put it very simply, is the process by which we reconnect with our own souls in a way that allows us to reconnect with that which is outside of us, which is other than us. When you have lost that capacity, as many in this world have, to connect with the deepest part of yourself, then you’re simply living life on the level of role, function, image, status.”
As I read this, it became clearer to me that my feelings of being a functionary and my difficulty re-engaging in social action are related. If I’m disconnected from my own inner soul life, then of course, I am incapable of responding on a societal level. Parker Palmer suggests that reconnecting with our own souls, our hopes, values and vision for a new world, will then send us back into the world in connection with community.
I have come to realize that in my new role as parent, there is another responsibility that I must value more than ever before. It is my spiritual formation. This is true for all of us as our responsibilities increase – as our survival needs become more complex whether because of earning a living, aging, health concerns or additional caregiving for a friend or loved one. The less time we have for our own soul work, the more we risk losing our sense of connectedness to our hopes, dreams, and values, and to community. And without carrying on a regular dialogue, or debate, between our core values and the values of the dominant culture then we become stifled, isolated, disconnected and unable to act for change. This is exactly what the status quo wants.
But as Parker Palmer says, “Once you know your inner truth, you’ve got two choices. You either act on it or you become unwell.” I think I’ve been feeling a little unwell these days because I’m unconnected. I’ve lost touch with my inner truth and am in need of healing. And what is my inner truth? I would say it is the kingdom of God that lives inside of me. The world that is just and free and kind and full of love and abundance. The great paradox of our faith is that this kingdom is here. And it’s in you, and we’ve tasted it here in worship and in all kinds of encounters with loved ones. But, it can often feel beyond reach and the world around us doesn’t tend to look very kingdom-like. And the truth is, the kingdom is both here and not yet here.
I realize that it is time for me to pay special attention to soul work, to re-connect with my inner truth. But I must be conscious that I’m in a new stage of life. The conditions have changed so my spiritual strategies have to change too. Not long ago, a regular yoga class, connection to movement activism, time with my father, with Bill, with friends, time spent in nature, all these things would have kept me in touch with my spirit life and the beauty of the world. But those things that were once major features in my life, no longer exist or exist in a smaller measure. So here I am ready to jump back into the world with the same passion for justice and clarity for action, but my life is totally different. I’ve come to understand that my old strategies for staying connected won’t work now. Yet, I know that I must and will act. The inherent conflict between our vision of what the kingdom is and what reality is, propels us towards action for change.
I may not know what that action will look like, but Jesus tells us that all we need to prepare for action is already within us. Jesus suggests to the disciples that they take nothing with them, no food, or bag or money, just a staff, the shoes on their feet and the clothes on their back. By not bringing that extra stuff, the disciples will manifest the kingdom by entrusting that the people they encounter will take care of them. All we need to get started is already within us, no amount of studying the issues, packing the right resources or planning can replace the vision of equality and unity that lives in our hearts.
But by no means is this work easy, it is rooted in conflict. Bringing wholeness to a broken world is painful. Preaching abundance to a world that operates on scarcity is scandalous. Working for the kingdom is a struggle and is greeted with rejection because it is threatening. And, meanwhile, numbness and isolation are always beckoning you back --- remember how easy it was when you lived with your head stuck in the sand. NOT! So Jesus suggests we go in twos. Maybe we should have truth-telling partners, witnesses to the struggle that awaits us when we proclaim the kingdom. Throughout the years, Judson Church has made it a practice to find institutional and organizational partners, religious or secular, as it’s embarked on challenging missions. This is wise.
I tell my story of getting ready today because I know that Judson is getting ready to embark on some critical social action programs. I want to be ready when you all get started. And I may very well need some truth-telling partners. Let us reach deep inside to the gift within us, and reach out to gather witnesses around us, this is all we are going to need as we head out. Amen.
Three Readings by Rich Montone, M.Div. Student at Union Theological Seminary
Untitled
by Gooselove
from The Love Songs of Joe Bridge, (Folk Poet) 2005
and the floods came again. i had spent most of my sixty-five years collecting balsa wood, popsicle sticks, and non-perishable food items. i was able to build an ark the size of a football field with the help of my family. as the waters began to rise, others too constructed ships to float in the sky.
remember?
as the storm covered the earth in ocean, buildings and noise, cities disappeared. sound traveled farther. joe fetched his ukulele and we all began to sing swimmers toward the ark. we passed other arks and traded song for beans, carpenters for philosophers, paints for chess sets. then, when the waters subsided, many of us found ourselves in new places, surrounded by those we loved most. we removed our wallets from our back pockets to buy food, and take cash advances from our banks: but our currency was of no value in these foreigns and the tides had disabled all the electronic cashpoints.
we were left to celebrate the gift of having what we had been working so hard to protect: each other, and began the business of searching for firewood. while my partner constructed a dwelling with my brother, i built a fire with gathered wood, kerosene and leftover currency. we didn’t need to think like that anymore.
Quiet Title (Savior)
by Lenelle Moïse
from We Got Issues, 2004
and he would kiss a gay man’s cheek.
and he would touch his a.i.d.s.-worn body.
and he would love him. and he would heal him.
that’s what your savior would do.
and he would hear a torn woman’s crying.
and he would wear a bullet-proof vest.
and he would pray with her in the waiting room.
and he would let her choose.
and he would knock your money jars over.
and he would say you were missing his point.
and he would scream “man cannot live
by bread alone.”
and he would hold my hand through a protest.
he’d be in rags, not a dark blue suit.
and he would love me. and he would heal you.
that’s what your savior would do.
The Sun Never Says
by Hafiz (c.1320-1389); translated by Daniel Ladinsky
from The Gift, (Penguin) 1999
Even after all this time
The sun never says to the earth,
"You owe Me."
Look what happens with
A love like that,
It lights the Whole Sky.
