Luke 7:24 - 30
After John’s messengers left, Jesus began to speak to the crowd about John: “What did you go out into the wilderness to see? A reed swayed by the wind? If not, what did you go out to see? A man dressed in fine clothes? No, those who wear expensive clothes and indulge in luxury are in palaces. But what did you go out to see? A prophet? Yes, I tell you, and more than a prophet. This is the one about whom it is written:
“‘I will send my messenger ahead of you,
who will prepare your way before you.’
I tell you, among those born of women there is no one greater than John; yet the one who is least in the kingdom of God is greater than he.”
(All the people, even the tax collectors, when they heard Jesus’ words, acknowledged that God’s way was right, because they had been baptized by John. But the Pharisees and the experts in the law rejected God’s purpose for themselves, because they had not been baptized by John.)
Who in your life will speak the truth to you? Who can you turn to for an honest assessment of what the shape of life looks like? Who can hear your truth and speak back to you in honesty?
These are not easy questions. And coming upon people who can be our personal "prophets" is not simple. Not everyone in our life-world does this for us.
We each need "prophets." Prophets, at least the Old Testament-style, were not fortune-tellers or prognosticators. They were those with special gifts of perception and intuition, those who were able to read the times. They surveyed the landscape, taking into account real-life events and shifts, then spoke into people's lives with blunt honesty. Always the intent of the prophet was to redeem, not to "bash-and-burn."
But because they spoke so forthrightly, they were often despised by the people who desired a softer, gentler word. I suppose if you interpret the line I just wrote, you could say that most people wanted -- and continue to want in our day -- someone to lie to them about life as it is, rather than tell them the truth.
Our human dilemma is that we so easily deceive ourselves. While that self-deceit may be a part of our wounded humanity, it also means that we will never be fully aware of ourselves, of the pulls and tugs that are the hidden motivations within us . . . the subtle impulses to power and control . . . the manipulative words we use to get affirmation in certain key relationships . . . our own emotional landscape that is very often unknown to us. We drop emotional landmines all around and then explode when someone unknowingly bumps into one of them.
Emotional and spiritual maturity are so very difficult and taxing. They are such hard work!
For that reason I need people in my life who see me from the outside, not pulled by my manipulations and hidden motivations, people with whom I can be honest about those tugs and who can help guide me through the terrain of my own spiritual and emotional being.
I see a person regularly -- once a month -- for spiritual direction. I invite her honesty. I don't go to her in order for her to "guide" me by making decisions for me or telling me what to do or where to turn. I ask her to help me see, to help me be aware of God and my life. I ask her to be honest with me. I may sometimes need a soft and comforting presence, but mostly from her I need honesty and help in seeing more clearly.
If this text is an indication, I sense that John the Baptist was this kind of honest, no-frills, shoot-straight presence. I need him in my life.
Showing posts with label honesty. Show all posts
Showing posts with label honesty. Show all posts
Thursday, December 15, 2011
Tuesday, December 13, 2011
The Third Tuesday of Advent -- December 13, 2011
Matthew 21:28 - 32
“What do you think? There was a man who had two sons. He went to the first and said, ‘Son, go and work today in the vineyard.’
“‘I will not,’ he answered, but later he changed his mind and went.
“Then the father went to the other son and said the same thing. He answered, ‘I will, sir,’ but he did not go.
“Which of the two did what his father wanted?”
“The first,” they answered.
Jesus said to them, “Truly I tell you, the tax collectors and the prostitutes are entering the kingdom of God ahead of you. For John came to you to show you the way of righteousness, and you did not believe him, but the tax collectors and the prostitutes did. And even after you saw this, you did not repent and believe him.
As I listen to this passage, I find myself within it.
I think of the promises I've made to God and others, especially the ones that I made with a deep earnestness. Some of them felt at the time like life-long commitments. They were made with such fervor and dedication . . . at summer camps in my younger years, or during the revival services, or in the emotionally-charged prayer gathering, or in the quiet of my personal prayer time.
"I'll never do that ____ again!"
Or, "I'll always . . ."
Usually the fervor of those decisions and impulses lasted a few days, but then I became the one who said, "I'll go out," but did not go.
By the same token, there have been plenty of instances when I've resisted God's invitations, plenty of times when I've ignored the persistent God-calls, hanging on as tightly as I could to life-as-I-knew-it, to what I had in that moment, to my understanding of life and self. Then, in the midst of ignoring or resisting or saying, "No, I will not go!", some events -- not of my own making -- have broken down the barricades. And I actually ended up doing what I had resisted.
I became the one who said, "No, I will not go!," by ended up going anyway.
So my life is not lived cleanly one way or the other. This is yet another biblical story in which I don't have the liberty to choose one character as my model over another. I am both of these people, both the one who says, "No," then goes anyway . . . and the one who says, "Yes," but does not go.
I have one foot in both camps. My life is not cleanly one or the other. I might as well recognize that about myself.
“What do you think? There was a man who had two sons. He went to the first and said, ‘Son, go and work today in the vineyard.’
“‘I will not,’ he answered, but later he changed his mind and went.
“Then the father went to the other son and said the same thing. He answered, ‘I will, sir,’ but he did not go.
“Which of the two did what his father wanted?”
“The first,” they answered.
Jesus said to them, “Truly I tell you, the tax collectors and the prostitutes are entering the kingdom of God ahead of you. For John came to you to show you the way of righteousness, and you did not believe him, but the tax collectors and the prostitutes did. And even after you saw this, you did not repent and believe him.
As I listen to this passage, I find myself within it.
I think of the promises I've made to God and others, especially the ones that I made with a deep earnestness. Some of them felt at the time like life-long commitments. They were made with such fervor and dedication . . . at summer camps in my younger years, or during the revival services, or in the emotionally-charged prayer gathering, or in the quiet of my personal prayer time.
"I'll never do that ____ again!"
Or, "I'll always . . ."
Usually the fervor of those decisions and impulses lasted a few days, but then I became the one who said, "I'll go out," but did not go.
By the same token, there have been plenty of instances when I've resisted God's invitations, plenty of times when I've ignored the persistent God-calls, hanging on as tightly as I could to life-as-I-knew-it, to what I had in that moment, to my understanding of life and self. Then, in the midst of ignoring or resisting or saying, "No, I will not go!", some events -- not of my own making -- have broken down the barricades. And I actually ended up doing what I had resisted.
I became the one who said, "No, I will not go!," by ended up going anyway.
So my life is not lived cleanly one way or the other. This is yet another biblical story in which I don't have the liberty to choose one character as my model over another. I am both of these people, both the one who says, "No," then goes anyway . . . and the one who says, "Yes," but does not go.
I have one foot in both camps. My life is not cleanly one or the other. I might as well recognize that about myself.
Monday, December 13, 2010
The Third Tuesday of Advent -- December 14, 2010
Matthew 21:28 - 32
“What do you think? There was a man who had two sons. He went to the first and said, ‘Son, go and work today in the vineyard.’
“‘I will not,’ he answered, but later he changed his mind and went.
“Then the father went to the other son and said the same thing. He answered, ‘I will, sir,’ but he did not go.
“Which of the two did what his father wanted?”
“The first,” they answered.
Jesus said to them, “Truly I tell you, the tax collectors and the prostitutes are entering the kingdom of God ahead of you. For John came to you to show you the way of righteousness, and you did not believe him, but the tax collectors and the prostitutes did. And even after you saw this, you did not repent and believe him."
When Jesus told this story about the two sons, I envision that everyone who heard the words thought someone else was the butt of the short tale. The scribes and Pharisees thought those immoral tax collectors and harlots were the one's who didn't respond to God's invitation.
And likely, the tax gatherers and prostitutes thought those self-righteous scribes and Pharisees were the subject of Jesus' talk.
That's how it goes for most of us. We hear or read the stories, and we think they are about someone else.
How many times, after hearing a sermon that stirred you, have you thought, "I wish _____ could hear this message! They could really use it!" Or you read a paragraph in a book and immediately thought of the person (friend, enemy or spouse) whose life would be straightened out if only they could read what you just read. (Hey, it's Christmas, and a great time to get that very book for them!!! Oops, I'm sorry . . . it's not the time for sarcasm, is it???)
It's our human nature to resist change, all the while noticing ways the people around us should change. Most persons live under the misguided thinking that their own life would be better if the people around them would change. Or they believe life would be grand if their own circumstances were different. We do life very externally that way. Too much of our happiness depends on what the situation around us looks like. We are so concerned with our external circumstances that we give little attention to our internal state.
In truth, Jesus' little parable is about all of us.
It's not an either-or story . . . either you say you're going to the field but you don't go . . . or you say you're not going to work, but you do go.
No, those are the extremes, the edges, but both sons described by Jesus live within each of us. We're not all good or all bad. We're not totally well-intentioned nor totally weak of will. Each of us are some strange and interesting mix of both edges. We are somewhere in between.
There is a part of me that says of both constructive and destructive things, "No, I'm not going to do that." But then I do them.
And there is a part of me that says of healthy and unhealthy things, "I think I'll partake of that," but then I don't.
Within any given decision, choice or life-direction, I can experience the push and pull both to and away from these extremes. They all reside within me. I'm no hero. And I'm no villain. This strange mix of motives and actions and promises lives within me.
And they also live within you.
This is the kind of authenticity we have been reticent to show in our faith communities. We've subtly and not-so-subtly communicated through the centuries that God causes some people to be morally superior by virtue of the words they say or the vows they take. We haven't admitted to the real that lives within us.
I come out of a faith tradition that is big on vows and professions of faith. The words you say and the belief system to which you give your assent are important in that system. But that doesn't mean there is no hatred among those in that camp. There is bigotry, jealousy, self-centeredness . . . you name it, and it's there . . . just as those things are present throughout the human family.
The stance, then, is not to deny they exist within us, but to name what truly lives inside us . . . to name it, and then have the courage to open up our lives for healing. Once we name the tax collector, harlot, scribe and Pharisee within ourselves, we've taken a giant step toward healing. It's a step that begins with honesty.
This seems to be the healing work God wants to do in you and me . . . and among the whole human family. I suspect it's why Jesus came to live among us.
“What do you think? There was a man who had two sons. He went to the first and said, ‘Son, go and work today in the vineyard.’
“‘I will not,’ he answered, but later he changed his mind and went.
“Then the father went to the other son and said the same thing. He answered, ‘I will, sir,’ but he did not go.
“Which of the two did what his father wanted?”
“The first,” they answered.
Jesus said to them, “Truly I tell you, the tax collectors and the prostitutes are entering the kingdom of God ahead of you. For John came to you to show you the way of righteousness, and you did not believe him, but the tax collectors and the prostitutes did. And even after you saw this, you did not repent and believe him."
When Jesus told this story about the two sons, I envision that everyone who heard the words thought someone else was the butt of the short tale. The scribes and Pharisees thought those immoral tax collectors and harlots were the one's who didn't respond to God's invitation.
And likely, the tax gatherers and prostitutes thought those self-righteous scribes and Pharisees were the subject of Jesus' talk.
That's how it goes for most of us. We hear or read the stories, and we think they are about someone else.
How many times, after hearing a sermon that stirred you, have you thought, "I wish _____ could hear this message! They could really use it!" Or you read a paragraph in a book and immediately thought of the person (friend, enemy or spouse) whose life would be straightened out if only they could read what you just read. (Hey, it's Christmas, and a great time to get that very book for them!!! Oops, I'm sorry . . . it's not the time for sarcasm, is it???)
It's our human nature to resist change, all the while noticing ways the people around us should change. Most persons live under the misguided thinking that their own life would be better if the people around them would change. Or they believe life would be grand if their own circumstances were different. We do life very externally that way. Too much of our happiness depends on what the situation around us looks like. We are so concerned with our external circumstances that we give little attention to our internal state.
In truth, Jesus' little parable is about all of us.
It's not an either-or story . . . either you say you're going to the field but you don't go . . . or you say you're not going to work, but you do go.
No, those are the extremes, the edges, but both sons described by Jesus live within each of us. We're not all good or all bad. We're not totally well-intentioned nor totally weak of will. Each of us are some strange and interesting mix of both edges. We are somewhere in between.
There is a part of me that says of both constructive and destructive things, "No, I'm not going to do that." But then I do them.
And there is a part of me that says of healthy and unhealthy things, "I think I'll partake of that," but then I don't.
Within any given decision, choice or life-direction, I can experience the push and pull both to and away from these extremes. They all reside within me. I'm no hero. And I'm no villain. This strange mix of motives and actions and promises lives within me.
And they also live within you.
This is the kind of authenticity we have been reticent to show in our faith communities. We've subtly and not-so-subtly communicated through the centuries that God causes some people to be morally superior by virtue of the words they say or the vows they take. We haven't admitted to the real that lives within us.
I come out of a faith tradition that is big on vows and professions of faith. The words you say and the belief system to which you give your assent are important in that system. But that doesn't mean there is no hatred among those in that camp. There is bigotry, jealousy, self-centeredness . . . you name it, and it's there . . . just as those things are present throughout the human family.
The stance, then, is not to deny they exist within us, but to name what truly lives inside us . . . to name it, and then have the courage to open up our lives for healing. Once we name the tax collector, harlot, scribe and Pharisee within ourselves, we've taken a giant step toward healing. It's a step that begins with honesty.
This seems to be the healing work God wants to do in you and me . . . and among the whole human family. I suspect it's why Jesus came to live among us.
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