self-definition and struggling with the Gospel

In the last couple of weeks, Luke has given us Jesus' walk toward Jerusalem and all the difficult teachings therein.  I've always had a love-hate relationship with the "where your treasure is" teachings.  I'm not much of a "stuff" person, really.  I want a car that gets me there, safely, but past that, I don't care much.  I don't get really excited about clothes and I LOATHE shopping.  I do love a good gadget, but I've had the same iPhone for 2 1/2 years and don't really care for an upgrade.  My beloved laptop is seven years old and I refuse to admit that it is ancient by technological standards.  It still works, after all.

But I don't really live simply.  I can be easily convinced that I "need" something and my messy house is a testament to all the things my family and I "need".  It is easy for me to imagine that Jesus didn't need stuff because Jesus didn't have kids.  Kids are ridiculous stuff magnets. First it is carseats, strollers, diapers and multi-part bottles, now it is socks and shoes, Legos, backpacks and art supplies.  Jesus can talk about lilies and ravens because he didn't have to carry a diaper bag.  And my kids are not really "stuff" people either.  They actually don't ask for much.  But we do seem to have scads of stuff lying about.

I can bluff and say that our hearts are not really with all this daily detritus.  But one glance at my four-year-old in the corner howling because she can't find THE-SHOES-I-WANT-NOT-THOSE-THE-OTHER-ONES-WITH-THE-STRAPS and my stomping around the house with WHO MOVED MY PHONE? and you'd call my bluff immediately.

Implicated.  No matter how I look at it, my heart is divided.  It is, admittedly, more divided now that I have kids.  So much of my baggage (literally and figuratively) contains things to keep them safe, occupied, fed and happy.  But as I get older, I am less excited about "making do" with a spoon when what I really "need" is a new stand mixer.  "Making do" is no longer a challenge or adventure, but a drag.  And so: more stuff.

So what to do with this placement of my heart?  What to do with this Gospel?  This time around, I'm thinking about stuff and self-definition.  How do I want to be known?  How do I want to know myself?  Am I "the mom who lives in the green house with the big addition on the back"?  "That priest who drives the Highlander"?  "That lady over there with the great shoes"?  When I die, will they say, "Oh wow, this stand mixer makes me think of Mom.  She sure loved this mixer."?  Ugh.

In an attempt to heal the divide of my heart--slowly and over time, of course-- I'm working on rearranging my list of definers.  I'm working towards moving "beloved child of God" to the top.  "Forgiven, loved and free" should come shortly thereafter.  Then maybe after that, my community connections: mother, wife, sister, daughter, friend... because it is through each other that we get to know God.

Eventually, the list will by necessity contain my hobbies, favorite ice cream, where I live, what I drive.  But my intention in reordering my list is to slowly convince my heart that it needs to be more firmly rooted in those primary definers.  Beloved, forgiven, loved, free.  I need to convince my heart that the stuff-- Highlander, Legos, iPhone-- while convenient and helpful at their best, are not even tertiary on my list of worth.

Hear me now:  I'm not going ascetic.  You probably won't even see the difference in my everyday self.  The difference is in my own head, how I value myself by trying to believe in the value that God puts on me, a value far greater than the stuff I surround and define myself with.            

Walking in the middle, yet again

This morning's Gospel reading from Matthew took me in the opposite direction from where it was supposed to.

Jesus is warning the disciples against being like the scribes and Pharisees who spend a lot of time being "greater than".  They expect praise and recognition for their piety.  they don't practice what they preach.  What we are supposed to learn from this is pretty clear:  Don't be a puffed-up jerk.  Be humble, be faithful.  Do without expecting praise.  Lead without expecting recognition.

I get that.

But after reading this passage this morning, I realized that the other end of that spectrum gets on my nerves just as much.  I can't stand the overly pious, self-effacing behavior of those who take this Gospel too seriously.  In fact, this probably bothers me more than the puffed-up jerks of the world.  I wonder if drawing attention to oneself by purposefully taking the lowest seat or waiting to only gather up the scraps doesn't have a similar effect to self-aggrandizement: it is alienating and counter to good community-building.  Just as no one wants to be bossed around by a big shot, no one wants to be made to feel inferior for NOT wanting to be a doormat.

Anglicans have been talking about "The Middle Way" forever.  It is, if I am honest, my fallback response to most dividing forces in the religious world is some version of this via media.  When we are at our worst, this makes us Anglicans look floppy and uncommitted, as if we can't quite make up our minds on where we stand (see previous post).  At our best, however, it means that we are making room for both ends of the spectrum (pick a spectrum, any spectrum!) and everyone in between.  I love the middle way because it means that I have some thinking to do. 

And this issue of grandiosity vs. humility gets solved for me in the middle way:  Don't be a jerk, but don't be a doormat either.  We were created for goodness, goodness we should be.  I'm not really sure what that might look like, but I'm open to your suggestions.  I think it has a lot to do with intentionality and motivation, about keeping God in clear sight at all times, and when our sight gets clouded, wiping the windshield and starting again.  This middle way-- in this respect and in so many others-- is, for me, the Christian walk: purposeful and strong, but with a light respectful tread.  

Reclaiming "Christian"

Goodness, I have a lot of work to do.  I haven't seen the top of my desk in days.  But I'm really distracted by Facebook today.  So many of my Facebook friends are expressing some mix of rage-sadness-support-disappointment-frustration about the passing of North Carolina's Amendment 1 .   I have also noticed the absence of some voices that I miss.

It is no secret that, while I try to stay fairly apolitical when it comes to publicly supporting a particular party, there are issues about which I see no gray area.  This is one of them.  I see marriage equality as a simple matter of human rights.  I was raised in a home and in a church community to respect the rights of all people.  I don't always do it perfectly, but I do work at it.  Hard.  Every day.  As a matter of personal, familial, religious and political belief, I work at it.

Recently, though, what has irked me so much about the "debates" (can we even call them that?) over marriage equality is that they seem to be divided along religious lines.  The main reason that Amendment 1 has been so sad for me is that it is a step backward for people that I love who want/need/deserve equal rights under the law of the land.  The secondary-- and perhaps more directly personal to me-- reason that this has been tough today is that it has stirred back up the hatred and vitriol that otherwise good people spew about "Christians".

I am 100%, through-and-through, without exception and proudly, Christian.  I'm an Episcopal priest, after all.  I have moments of doubt and faith crises from time to time.  I get irritated at the Bible when I don't understand it.  I get made at my fellow human beings and make bad choices in my interactions with them.  Yes.  But none of these things negate my status as beloved, believing child of God and follower of Jesus Christ.

I also believe strongly, as I mentioned, in human rights.  I believe that all people should have the freedom to choose their spouses.  I believe people should live free of fear, fear of their government, of their neighbors, of their family members.  (I wish we could all live free of the judgement of others but as we're only human, I'll be happy if we could all judge a little less or maybe just keep judgements to ourselves.)  We all deserve conditions that allow us to thrive. And it is my understanding that God believes all of these things, too.  And, of course, believed them first.   

But somewhere along the line, "Christian" got all wrapped up and synonymous with "hateful" "spiteful" "ignorant" "close-minded" and "self-righteous".  How did this happen?  Where can we place the blame for this hijacking of the Christian "brand"?  Or perhaps more importantly, how can we reclaim it?

I've always been a big fan of the St. Francis method: "Preach the Gospel at all times.  If necessary use words."  That is: Live it, doofus.  Walk the talk.   

But I'm wondering if just walking the talk is enough anymore.  "Mainline Protestants Love Radically" doesn't seem to be making headlines.  "Christians Blow Up Abortion Clinic" does.  I am not, of course, suggesting we blow anything up.  But I'm genuinely concerned about how to make this happen.

I get tired, frustrated and sad when this thing, this Christian-Jesus-love your neighbor thing, that is so close to my heart and so self-defining for me gets lumped in with something so dramatically other, that Other Thing that stands for the opposite of what I do and believe in. 

The Amendment 1 debacle is not about me and my own need to rescue Christianity from the clutches of those who want to destroy it with hate.  I know that. It is about denying people what they need to thrive. It is anti-Gospel. But I'm having a hard time concentrating on what matters while dodging the flying excrement.

Do not worry

Yesterday's Gospel reading for the feast of St. Brigid has had me thinking.  It is Matthew 6.25-33, where Jesus instructs his followers not to worry. 

This reading gives me fits. 

I'm not exactly an extreme worrier.  I let my kids fall on the playground and occasionally eat cheerios off the kitchen floor.  I manage our money carefully but try not to get wrapped up in every penny.  But I am concerned about things.  I do get a little (sometimes more than a little) worked up about outcomes and how I can change them. I do get worried about how my bad parenting choices will negatively impact my kids.  A lot of this is silly.  But not all of it. 

On one hand, the idea of not worrying what to wear or what to eat is really appealing. I'd love to be able to just let it go, to not worry about whether I paid the credit card bill on time, whether I remembered to schedule the pediatrician appointment, whether the squeak in the car's brakes is normal or an expensive/dangerous problem.  I would love to be free of that. 

There is a part of me that gets angry at Jesus for this one.  He didn't have small children or a mortgage or global warming.  Not worry?  How in the world can I even begin to manage not worrying?  And how am I supposed to manage the worry I am now experiencing about the fact that I worry too much?!?

See?  Fits. 

But last night, I heard a great little sermon-nugget from a seminarian.  He pointed out that, though we are made in the image of God, we are also human and so worry is just part of who we are, part of our DNA.  Perhaps Jesus' instruction was not for the individual, but for the beloved community.  What if, instead of worrying so much about how much we worry, we concentrate instead on removing worry (when we can) from others?

This has made me reflect on all of the times when I have been cared for, that is, when someone has taken the burden of worry off of me. 

• When our son was tiny and collicky, my mother came over and walked with him one afternoon to let me sleep.  While I was asleep, she also washed two loads of laundry and folded them.  I still remember the feeling of all that clean laundry after that good nap.  Two loads less of worry.

• Right in the middle of my marathon last summer, my husband and two of our friends-- unbidden-- texted me reminding me of how strong I am. A few miles of less worry.  

• When I was dealing with some rough discipline problems with one of my kids, a parishioner and seasoned mother looked me straight in the eye and said, "He's a smart, loving, beautiful kid and you're a great mom.  There will be bumps, but you'll be okay." A few moments less of worry.

I also indulged myself in remembering the times I have tried to reduce someone else's worry and anxiety.  I've cooked meals for new moms, said prayers before surgery, fed other people's kids. 

I like this idea that it is up to us to help one another with our burdens of worry.  And, if you check out the list above, you'll notice that none of the things I've listed are particularly brilliant, expensive or time consuming.  I would love to be able to wave my wand to help a friend out of a difficult and perilous home situation.  But I can't.  What I can do is pray for her and her family.  And I do, regularly.  I can also bring over my awesome baked spaghetti or watch her kids when she needs more hands than she has available.

We can all do this.  It might not reduce our own personal worry baggage.  But it will impact the Body, as everything we do in love does.  The favor might be returned.  It might not.  It doesn't matter.  What matters is that we are living the Gospel, we are taking in this difficult teaching in this difficult world and we are making it real in our lives and in the lives of others.      

Update: the preacher's name is Lee Curtis. Credit where it is due!