Strive First for the Kingdom of God

Many thanks to my friends Nancy, Yaret, Gabe and Saul--for introducing me to "Background" by Lecrae (featuring C-Lite).  I'm reminded that the Teacher is always at hand, always shining a light, always offering encouragement for the journey ahead.  Even now, even tonight, he bids me follow.  "Do not worry," he says.  "God knows what you need."  Let your heart sing.  Let your life love.  Let your light shine.  The battle is already won.  "Follow me."

Discipleship.  Following Jesus against the grain.  Following Jesus into the contradictions of the cross.  Following Jesus into the beating heart of mystery.  Discipleship.  Jesus says "strive first for the kingdom of God...and all the rest will be provided..."  Seek ye first the kin-dom, the oneness, the healing of life.  Jesus is that Love. 

Am I willing, am I ready to follow?  To turn my full attention to the kingdom--to the reconciliation of broken pieces, to the healing of broken lives, to the project of God's kingdom on earth?

My study this spring--with two very special and very different study groups--reminds me that I cannot answer these huge questions alone.  I can only answer in partnership with others, others who ask questions of their own and rely on my friendship and my encouragement.  Even as I rely on theirs. 

Prayer and Liberation

One of my theological heroes died this week: Walter Wink--who taught at both Union and Auburn Seminaries in New York and wrote some of the 20th century's most important theology.  In an essay called "Prayer and the Powers," Walter wrote this:

"Prayer is never a private inner act disconnected from day-to-day realities.  It is, rather, THE INTERIOR BATTLEFIELD where the decisive victory is won before any engagement in the outer world is even possible.  If we have not undergone THAT INNER LIBERATION in which the individual strands of the nets in which we are caught are severed, one by one, our activism may merely reflect one or another counterideology of some counter-Power.  We may simply be caught up in a new collective passion, and fail to discover the POSSIBILITIES GOD IS PRESSING FOR here and now.  Unprotected by prayer, our social activism runs the danger of becoming self-justifying good works.  As our inner resources atrophy, the WELLS OF LOVE RUN DRY, and we are slowly changed into the likeness of the beast.

"Prayer may or may not involve regular regimens, may or may not be sacramental, may or may not be contemplative, may or may not take traditional religious forms.  It is in any case not a religious practice externally imposed but AN EXISTENTIAL STRUGGLE AGAINST THE "IMPOSSIBLE," against an antihuman collective atmosphere, against images of worth and value that stunt and wither human life.

"Prayer is the field hospital in which the spiritual diseases that we have contracted from the Powers can be diagnosed and treated."

Thanks be to God for Walter Wink and all the pioneers of prayer!

My Walking Staff

Alexander Shaia describes the Beatitudes (Matthew 5) in this way: "[They] reflect diverse parts of a harmonious unity which endlessly reflect and touch each other as we go through our lives.  As the very heart of Jesus's teachings, their practice opens us to compassion.  If we are able to place these on our hearts, walk with them on our feet, hold them in our hands, and seal them in our thoughts, we will have more insight along our journey.  They will become our walking staff and guide for the arduous times we will face" (The Hidden Power of the Gospels, 79). 

I'd extend this lovely metaphor--the walking staff--to include the entirety of the Sermon on the Mount.

What might it mean for us to place this sermon on our hearts, to walk with it (everyday) on our feet, to hold it (in every meeting, in every encounter) in our hands, and to seal it somehow in our thoughts?  "Blessed are the poor in spirit...I say, Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you...Do not worry, for God knows what you need...Seek first the kingdom of God, the justice of God...Blessed are the merciful, the pure in heart, the peacemakers..." 

Alexander Shaia suggests that Matthew's intent (and Jesus') is to invite a new kind of attentiveness.  A deep and reverent engagement in the ways of God.  "Just because a respected external authority establishes a code of behavior," he writes, "does not make it correct.  Meaningless acquiescence is not a holy course; a genuinely holy path requires individual responsibility, effort and scrutiny."  The Sermon on the Mount charts a course, a genuinely holy path.  It's a path that requires companionship, discipline, hope and mindfulness in every step. 

I have a walking staff that I take along, often, on long hikes.  Sometimes I grab it for a walk around the neighborhood.  I wonder, now, about carving into its wooden core some of these verses, some of Jesus' words, this teaching that guides me through arduous times...

LOVE. 
DO NOT WORRY. 
SEEK FIRST THE KINGDOM.  
FORGIVE.
MERCY.  
PEACEMAKERS.  
YOU ARE THE LIGHT OF THE WORLD.

What about finding a walking staff for yourself?  What about carving the Sermon on the Mount--or the words that move you--into it?  Place these words on your heart every day.

Practice Forgiveness

On the first path--facing change in our lives--we come to appreciate the importance of spiritual practice.  It's a difficult path for most: hiking through new terrain, facing wilderness tests, encountering in Jesus' teaching a whole new way of living and loving.

One of the key practices here is forgiveness.  It's so central to the Sermon on the Mount, so much the heartbeat of everything else Jesus' teaches.  It's in learning to forgive one another, risking reconciliation, that we come to appreciate and delight in the freedom of God's forgiveness.  "Forgive us...as we forgive others."  It's the key signature of Christian life.  And it takes a lifetime, for most of us, to learn and to learn and to learn again.

Just as important, on this first path, Matthew's great mountain--our learning to receive, rejoice, dance in the forgiveness extended to us.  We are loved beyond accounting.  We are blessed and reconciled in the deep love and grace of Christ.  In all this, perhaps we can even learn to forgive ourselves!  On the mountain path, testing the radical love of the gospel, we will stumble and fall.  We will make mistakes.  "To err is human," the old bard says, "to forgive is divine."  Grace makes it possible, even inevitable, to forgive ourselves.  Even the hard stuff.  Even the big mistakes.  Even our sin.

One of the great gifts of Christian community--of the church at its best--is the gathering of courage and forgiveness in our midst.  I can look around the sanctuary Sunday morning and see all kinds of folks...and so many great examples of forgiveness and grace.  Because of their courage, because of their creativity with gospel love, I begin to imagine myself as one of them.  I begin to imagine grace at play in my heart and my relationships.  Community becomes communion.  Grace becomes practice.  And new life.

If you're looking for more encouragement, I highly recommend The Forgiveness Project!  Great site, great inspiration.

Why Wilderness?

Most of us don't relish the idea of forty hungry, thirsty days in wilderness.  After a long day, when fatigue sets in, I long for my favorite pillow, a great book, my own comfortable bed in my own familiar space.  And yet, there's a time for everything.  Whatever my tendencies may be, there's definitely a time for wilderness, for discomfort, for spare and tested living, for NOT knowing what comes next.  Whether I want that wilderness or not.  Becoming human, deepening gratitude, maturing in service: I find myself tested, hungry, thirsty, wandering in desolate territory.  I know you know.

Liberated Hebrews cross over the Red Sea--o miracle!  o liberation!--only to discover there's a wilderness on the other side.  They must wander there, struggle in the open spaces, learn from a Holy and Unmanageable Spirit, test their beliefs and practices against grace.  Like a wise scholar says: "It's easier to get the people out of Egypt than it is to get Egypt out of the people!"  Liberation has so much to do with testing and temptation, with practice and teaching, with faith and trust.  The Red Sea is just the beginning.  And a great song to sing.

Jesus owns that same experience--as the Spirit drives him into the wilderness.  He too has a great song to sing: "Beloved!"  He's been through the Sea.  He's heard the Voice.  He's anointed by the Love.  Now it's time to be tested, to do an inventory of the Egypt-places within, to learn new practices.  To claim liberation as his own.  The animated cartoon here is as powerful as anything I've seen in a long while--personal, but connected to a long history of saints and pilgrims; evocative and tender; flush with gratitude and the mystery of life.

Everything Must Change

Along the winding path, the first path, we face not only the sudden changes in our lives.  We come to see that change is what life is: it's what time is, it's what time does, it's how mystery unfolds.

Since hearing our jazz band play this tune in church last week, I can't get enough of it.  I'm singing it the car, humming it in the shower, tapping it out skinning vegetables for a dinner salad.  "That's the way of time / nothing and no one goes unchanged."

Spiritual life offers me a way, a path--not a way around, but a way into.  There's a way into the changing of things.  There's a way into the grief I'm experiencing around my dad's death.  There's a way into the shifting rhythm of God's call, God's invitation.  Everything must change.  And God offers me companionship.  And music for the journey.

"Winter turns to spring / wounded hearts will heal / but never much too soon / yes everything must change."  Along this winding path, this first path, I look for friendship, inspiration, a community of open hearts.  Mystery awaits.

Pray Everyday

Over many years, my own practice of prayer and meditation has changed, evolved, morphed endlessly.  I guess that just makes me human.

These days, I most often sit in silence twenty minutes each morning.  It's meditation time, prayer time, a way of centering my life in God's love before the push and pull of daily responsibilities.

After lighting a couple of candles and ringing a 'singing bell' on my table, I relax into the silence.  I pay attention (letting go of lists, worries, other obligations) to my breath, to the Spirit who moves in me like my breath.

Of late, I find it helpful to have a little mantra, a phrase or two that help me with this.  For me it's this: "Jesus, teach me / peace and mercy."  As I breathe in, I pray silently: "Jesus, teach me."  As I exhale, I pray silently: "Peace and mercy."

Last fall, a friend taught me a little wrinkle that slows the process a bit more.  We breathe in (JESUS, TEACH ME)...then we hold the breath and repeat (JESUS, TEACH ME).  Then we breathe out (PEACE AND MERCY)...and we hold the breath again (PEACE AND MERCY).  It's not meant to be stressful or strenuous, but simply to slow the breathing cycle down a bit...and allow for mindfulness in the transition from inhalation to exhalation, and then from exhalation to inhalation.

I hope you'll give this a try, if it seems helpful.  You can obviously play around with your mantra, with one that works for you.  There are mornings when I need the mantra more than others.  And there are some mornings when I seem to be able to pay loving attention to breath without it.  It's a gift, a tool, a companion...more than a rigid rule for praying!  The point is simply sitting, in silence, with God.  The silence becomes a trusted friend on the journey.

Before ringing the bell to close my prayer time, I recall the names of those I'm holding in special concern (or gratitude) this day.  I try not to rush: I simply whisper or speak a name, then say something simple like, "Lord, have mercy."  When I seem to come full circle I ring the bell and extinguish the candles. 

Like all of you, I go through seasons in my prayer life.  When I'm disciplined about it, when I'm practicing in a daily way, I feel the practice sustaining me throughout the day.  The little mantra is with me in a difficult meeting.  The sense of compassion.  "Jesus, teach me / peace and mercy."