Money Trouble

For those churches that conduct annual stewardship campaigns (this congregation among them) the season is fast approaching.  Falls Church Presbyterian is putting the final touches on our campaign for this year.  After all, running a church takes a good bit of money.  There are salaries to pay, utilities, and perhaps a mortgage.  There are music programs, educational programs, mission to the community and world, and these all cost money.

But the relationship of faith and money is often a troublesome one.  To disciples who assumed that great wealth was a sign of God's blessing, Jesus said, "How hard it will be for those who have wealth to enter the kingdom of God!"  And today's reading from Acts raises another issue, thinking our money can buy us what we most want.

When a man named Simon saw the Holy Spirit enter people when Peter and John laid hands on them, he offered money that he might have the power to confer the Spirit as well.  But his request meets with harsh condemnation from Peter, who demands that Simon repent saying, "For I see that you are in the gall of bitterness and the chains of wickedness."

Most of us would never be so brazen as to ask to purchase power from God. For that matter, many of us realize that we cannot earn anything from God, that God loves us because that's how God is.  And yet when stewardship season rolls around, we often start sounding like one of those regular PBS fundraisers.  "If you enjoy the great programing on your PBS station, you need to support that station." "If you enjoy the great music program at Falls Church Presbyterian, you need to support that program." 

It's a considerably more nuanced approach that the one Simon employs, but there are similarities.  "If you enjoy the worship and like how it helps you experience God, you need to pay for it."

I do not think that churches need to make any apologies for needing money to pay salaries and operate facilities, programs, and mission.  But the relationship of faith any money creates real spiritual problems for both individuals and the church itself. 

Many are familiar with the statement that says, "Budgets are moral documents."  The way governments divide up the money they have speaks volumes about a people's moral priorities.  In the same way, church budgets and personal budgets are spiritual documents, speaking volumes about our faith priorities.  But when churches use the PBS approach - "If you like it, you ought to pay for it." - we reduce a spiritual issue to a practical one, and we fail to call members to the discipleship Jesus asks of us.  Jesus says we are to love God with all that we have and are, and to love our neighbor as ourself, and he insists that money is one of the biggest obstacle to faithful life with God.  But all too often, we undercut Jesus' call, instead saying, "If you like what we're doing here, please give us a tiny bit of your leftovers after you've made sure you and yours have all that you want and need."

I don't for a moment think that Jesus meant generosity toward God and neighbor is the same thing as giving to the local church.  I have absolutely no issues with those who have felt God calling them to give extravagantly to some cause that furthers the peace, justice, mercy, and hope of God's coming reign.  But in my experience, and in every study I've ever seen, people of faith who are extravagantly generous with causes and organizations that work to better community and world are equally generous with their place of worship.

In a way, I suppose it all comes back to how I view myself and thus my possessions.  Am I my own, or do I belong to God?  And if "I belong -- body and soul, in life and in death -- not to myself but to my faithful Savior, Jesus Christ," then it stands to reason that in some way, all that I have belongs to him as well.  Now Jesus is a great guy, and he is more than happy for us to use some of it to live, to meet our basic needs, to enjoy life, and to have a good time now and then.  After all, Jesus liked a good party and a little wine.  But he also said we had to lose ourselves in order to discover true life.  And I'm pretty sure you can't lose much when you're busy keeping your wallet tightly closed.

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Opposing the Spirit

"You stiff-necked people, uncircumcised in heart and ears, you are forever opposing the Holy Spirit, just as your ancestors used to do. Which of the prophets did your ancestors not persecute?"  So says Stephen as his "trial" concludes in today's reading from Acts.  Hardly the way to talk to people who have power over you. No wonder Stephen gets executed.  But I suppose Stephen knows the whole thing is a foregone conclusion.  However, it was not Stephen's plight that caught my attention.  It was the content of his statement, and I found myself wondering if things have changed very much since Stephen spoke. 

I think we all tend to look back on colossal bad judgements of the past and assume we wouldn't have acted so foolishly. We like to think we would have always been on the right side of history, but the witness of history makes that seem unlikely.  Prophets are almost always a lot more popular after the fact.  Martin Luther King, Jr. is celebrated with regularity now, but that was not the case 50 years ago.  Even "progressive," white pastors asked King to tone it down and go slower, a request he rebuffed eloquently in his, Why We Can't Wait. 

Even those who were on the right side of history with regards to Civil Rights or other movements should likely not fee too smug. There's a good chance of finding yourself on the wrong side of another movement.  I've had a number of young, progressive reformers tell me that "old progressives" are sometimes their biggest obstacle because of how encrusted they have become.

All of this makes me wonder when and where I might be working counter to the Spirit.  As a pastor, it stands to reason that there are times when I am called to be prophetic. But if prophets are uniformly persecuted, as Stephen suggests, that's no fun.  Perhaps I could just be prophetic about things that are distant and far off, with no implications for my congregation or community.  Maybe that would insulate me.

I think one of my biggest fears as a pastor is finding out after the fact that I was working against the Spirit's moving to reform my own denomination.  As a group, we're on the progressive side, but we are also on the encrusted side.  I hear a lot of young pastors and other Presbyterians who are very frustrated with the church.  They have my sympathies, but as our denomination plods along toward the future, I wonder sometimes if I'm not a little like some members of the Jewish council who had misgivings about the proceedings against Stephen, but who didn't want to call too much attention to themselves by standing up.

I am fortunate to serve in a wonderful, vibrant congregation that that is considerably younger than the typical Presbyterian church.  But in a world where fewer and fewer people grow up in church, I wonder how well situated we are to translate faith to coming generations.  The worship here is well done, and the music program is unbelievably good.  Yet if you somehow time warped one of our services back to the sanctuary where I was seated in 1968 (a place that also had a stellar music program), I don't know that I would have noticed very much difference.

To any FCPC folks reading this, don't get nervous.  I'm not suggesting anything. I'm just wondering.  I wondering what it means to be a faithful church in the vastly different religious landscape of 2012. I wondering what the Spirit is up to, and whether I am spiritually astute enough to notice.  I'm wondering what words Stephen would have for me.

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Sermon audio - Letting Go and Falling into God

Sermon and worship audios also available at Falls Church Presbyterian website.

Sermon - Letting Go and Falling into God

1 Kings 2:10-12, 3:3-14

Letting Go and Falling into God

James Sledge                                                                                       August 19, 2012

Several decades ago, Mac Davis had something of a hit song entitled “It’s Hard to Be Humble.”  The opening verse, which also serves at the chorus, goes, “Oh Lord, it’s hard to be humble when you’re perfect in every way.  I can’t wait to look in the mirror ‘cause I get better looking each day.  To know me is to love me. I must be a hell of a man.  Oh Lord, it’s hard to be humble, but I’m doing the best that I can.”

You can find countless T-shirts, coffee cups, and bumper stickers that play on this hard to be humble theme.  It’s hard to be humble when you’re Scottish, Irish, Scandinavian, or from Texas.  It’s hard to be humble when you go to (insert your school name here).  It’s hard to be humble when you own a Border collie, ride a Harley, or – I actually found this one – crochet. 

Whatever the reason, seems it’s hard to be humble.  We may not like it if you go too far and act like Donald Trump, but our culture associates humility with weakness and timidity.  We’re more likely to pad our résumés than to leave stuff out.  Employment experts will tell you that you need to “sell yourself” when you apply for a job, and sell of course means to make yourself look as good as possible.  The pressure in our society to be impressive is tremendous, and we regularly see people get caught because they felt they needed to lie on their résumé.

Humility is no easier to come by among church professionals.  Pastors compare how big their congregations are, and rare is the pastor who feels God’s call to a smaller congregation.  I suspect a lot of us would have a hard time encouraging our congregations to do something we were certain God wanted if it would cause attendance or giving to go down.

To make matters worse in the pastoral humility department, we pastors are sometimes prone to confuse our own agendas with God’s. When we have ideas that we think are great, we expect everyone else to think they are great, too.  Most of the things I’d like to take back or undo as a pastor happened when I was overly impressed with my own ideas and got adamant or defensive when Session, some committee, or some other group didn’t want to go along.

Of course, while it may be hard to be humble, Christian faith is quite big on humility, as are most of the world’s religions.  The Old Testament wisdom from Proverbs says, When pride comes, then comes disgrace; but wisdom is with the humble.  Jesus describes himself as humble and he says on more than one occasion, “All those who exalt themselves will be humbled, and those who humble themselves will be exalted.”  And the letter of James quotes the Old Testament in reminding readers, “God opposes the proud, but gives grace to the humble.”

King Solomon seems to have gotten the memo on humility.  When he encounters God in our reading today he says, “O Yahweh my God, you have made your servant king in place of my father David, although I am only a little child; I do not know how to go out or come in.”  Little child here does not refer to Solomon’s age but to his status before God.  The same is true with regards to saying he is God’s servant, or, more literally, God’s slave.

Finding Our Place in the Story

Stephen is on trial for his life, falsely accused of blaspheming God and the Jerusalem Temple. Once the charges against him are outlined, the chief priest asks him, "Are these things so?"  And Stephen answers by beginning to tell a story.  He goes all the way back to Abraham, and sketches out Israel's story from Abraham to Isaac to Joseph to Moses and Joshua to David and Solomon.  Finally, he locates Jesus in this story.

It's a rather odd way to answer the priest's question when you think about it.  But Jesus also tends to tell stories when asked questions.  Someone says, "Who is my neighbor?" and Jesus tells the story of the "Good Samaritan."  I suppose stories and parables helped people remember Jesus' teachings better than straight forward answers, but I also think that faith is more story based than we modern folks tend to be.

If you're in a business meeting or a committee meeting and someone says, "Let me tell you a story," there will likely be groans (unless the person is a very gifted story teller).  We don't have time to waste on stories.  We are about efficiency and getting things done.  But in our rush to be efficient and accomplish things, we often have little sense of context, of where we are in the story.

It's seems rather obvious that we are products of stories: family stories, community stories, school stories, national stories.  We are shaped and molded by the narrative in which we live, but for whatever reason, we tend to think of ourselves as free and independent agents who create our own stories.  Those born into privilege speak of creating their own success.  We talk easily of earning what we have, often oblivious to the fact that we might well have done nothing of the sort in another age or culture, without infrastructures and supports that others provided, without advantages provided by gender, race, academic or physical gifts, etc.

Our disconnection from our stories has a profound impact in the way we pursue and experience faith.  The notion of "going to church" rather than "being the church" is but one example.  In some congregations, there is no more sense of community on Sunday morning than there is in a movie theater.  People are there to get something they need, and they don't necessarily see that as connected to a larger story intertwined with those around them.

A big part of my Reformed/Presbyterian tradition is the idea of vocation or call.  A vocation is not what I happen to do for a living but what I am meant to do, an activity that benefits me and my community, as well as God's plans for Creation. Responding to God's call, discovering one's vocation, is about finding our place in a larger story, one that we do not write on our own.

It seems to me that at times America's worship of individualism rises to a level that is extremely hazardous to faith and relationship with God. If we presume that we are author, producer, and director of our own stories, then we have forgotten the lesson of that old catechism question.  "Q. What is your only comfort, in life and in death?  A. That I belong--body and soul, in life and in death--not to myself but to my faithful Savior, Jesus Christ..."

I am not my own.  In Christ, I belong to God. And I am who I am meant to be, I am truly and fully alive, only when I discover my calling and take my place in the story of which God is author, designer, producer, and director.  I uncover my truest and deepest identity, my true self, as I take my small part in God's great narrative.  "A wandering Aramean was my father..."

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Welcome Table

I peeked in a little while ago to see how the Welcome Table was going.  That's a once-a-month meal hosted by this congregation where we also give out toiletries and gift cards for a local grocery store.  The numbers seem to get larger each month, and it was a huge crowd tonight.

The crowd is a very mixed group.  There are  different ethnic groups.  There are young and old.  There are individuals and families.  There are those who appear to be long term homeless, and there are those who may have just recently fallen on some hard times. 

I only recently moved to the DC area.  Homes right around this church are hard to find for less than $500,000.  I routinely get requests for rent assistance from people paying hundreds a month for a room in someone else's apartment.  As I watched some of these folks eating in our Fellowship Hall this evening, it struck me that many of them are our version of Samaritans.

Many of us think of Samaritans only in the context of the "good" one who now refers to someone doing a good deed.  But in Jesus' day, Samaritans were looked down on.  They were "inferior" in every way possible: ethnically, religiously, racially.  That Jesus lifts up a Samaritan as an example of how to be a neighbor to others is nothing short of scandalous.

But that happens in Luke's gospel.  In John's gospel we meet a more "typical" Samaritan.  She is surprised that Jesus speaks to her, worthless Samaritan that she is.  We learn that she had had five husbands and is now living with a man outside marriage. And even Jesus affirms that Samaritans are a bit wanting in the religious department.  And yet, she comes much closer to understanding Jesus than the religious teacher Nicodemus does few chapters earlier.

We Presbyterians are quite proud of being an educated denomination.  We make much of the fact that we require our pastors to study Greek and Hebrew so they can handle Scripture in its original languages.  And in my personal experience, we liberal/progressive Presbyterians are often even more taken with the idea of being educated, smart, and figuring things out.

I don't really have any grand conclusions from all this.  These are just thoughts bouncing around in my head right now.  The undesirables and sometimes despised of our day are eating just down the hall in a place led by a "religious expert," namely me.  And religious experts were befuddled by Jesus while an undesirable and despised of his day come face to face with God's great I AM and find new hope.

Sometimes it's hard not to hear Jesus speaking to me, as he did to religious experts of his day, saying, "Truly I tell you, the tax collectors and prostitutes are going into the kingdom of God ahead of you."

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Starving

As a deer longs for flowing streams,
    so my soul longs for you, O God.
My soul thirsts for God,
    for the living God.          (from Ps. 42)

During today's staff meeting, during a time of extended devotion and Bible study, we somehow got on the subject of why church people can be so unnerved by change, especially change in worship. (This seems to apply just as much, perhaps even more, to progressive/liberal Christians who one might expect to be most open to change.)

One wise staff member suggested something that had never occurred to me.  She said that some people may be spiritually hungry and thirsty, even starving, and worship is the single most important spiritual resource they have.  And so even a small change in worship can be perceived as a potential threat to their spiritual lifeline.

I don't know if this is the case, but I does make sense to me.  People who lead stressed out, hectic and harried lives may find it difficult to encounter much that feels spiritual on a day to day basis.  Under such circumstances, Sunday worship may be an oasis of sorts.

As I have become more familiar and more practiced in recent years with spiritual disciplines such as lectio divina, centering prayer, contemplative prayer, and spiritual direction, I have had to overcome my own prejudices of these disciplines being little more than esoteric, mysterious rituals with little to do with actual life.  They had often seemed to me little more that a nice diversion for folks who had too much time on their hands and thus could leave the everyday for extended periods.  And I also must confess that I was drawn to such practices because of a growing need to escape the burnout of the day to day.

But over time, I have come to recognize that spiritual practices are not about escape.  Nor are they about getting away to recharge one's spiritual batteries.  At their most radical and profound level, spiritual disciplines are about becoming more and more attentive to God's presence, grace, providence, and will at work in one's life and in the life of the world.  And this attentiveness is meant to go with you in the midst of day to day living. 

There is a lot of superficial spirituality being offered in the marketplace these days.  Much of it is well intended, but it often reinforces the stereotype of spirituality as something done away from daily life.  Such a spirituality may keep people from starving, but it fails at some fundamental level to form people for living every moment in the awareness of God's presence and will.

And that circles me back round to that observation about worship as an oasis, as a small morsel of food for the spiritually starving.  To the degree that worship is functioning this way for some, then it seems that we in the church may be failing at some fundamental level to form people for lives lived in the midst of God's vivid presence.  And if we are just barely giving people enough to keep them from starving, what do we need to do to help people become so filled with God's love and grace that it overflows to offer peace and life and hope to all whom they meet?

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Poor Nicodemus, Poor Me

Poor Nicodemus.  Why does faith have to be so hard? Nick seems genuine.  He is drawn to Jesus. Yes, I know he comes at night, in the dark, but don't we all?  I know that very often I publicly come to Jesus only in those ways that are "acceptable."  But if I get any hints that Jesus is asking something outside the norm of me, I explore that in secret.  I'll keep that between me and Jesus until I'm a bit clearer on things. 

But when Nicodemus comes to Jesus, Jesus talks in a manner that seems designed to confuse and confound.  Perhaps this is just a literary devise John uses to draw us into a deeper conversation about faith, but we can get caught up in the confusion ourselves.  Just witness the divides in modern Christianity around "born again" language drawn from this passage.

I have to admit that some days I'd like to grab Jesus by the collar, shake him vigorously and demand, "Talk straight to me, dammit! Tell me what you mean and what you want me to do. None of this spiritual riddle stuff."  Of course I'm a little scared that if he complied, I wouldn't like what he said, and I wouldn't want to do it.

And then there is the fact that Jesus is very clear about some things; love your enemies, for instance. But I tend to hold onto my anger with those who make my work difficult as a pastor.  These "enemies" of my ministry plans sometimes get under my skin in a way that I cannot bear.

Jesus also says that money and possessions are a huge barrier to right relationship with God and neighbor, but I love things.  I like to think that I'm afflicted with a less virulent strain of consumerism than most of those around me, but I'm afflicted nonetheless.  And I am quite certain that I would be a lot happier if I somehow ended up with a winning lottery ticket, never mind what Jesus says.

As I reflect on all this, I'm thinking that I may want to say something else when I grab Jesus by the collar and shake him.  I think I need to borrow one of Anne Lamott's primal prayers.  "Help me, help me, help me." And come to think of it, I'm pretty sure Jesus never said this would be easy.

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Sermon - Imitating God

Ephesians 4:25-5:2

Imitating God

James Sledge                                                                                       August 12, 2012

When I was a child, Disney movies were a staple of my movie going.  The Parent Trap, 101 Dalmations, Mary Poppins, The Jungle Book, and many others came out during my childhood.   A movie that I particularly liked, in part because my family had a dachshund, was one starring Dean Jones and Suzanne Pleshette entitled The Ugly Dachshund.

As I recall, Suzanne Pleshette’s prized and pampered dachshund is about to give birth to puppies, an event of such importance that she and her husband, played by Dean Jones, rush the dog to the veterinary hospital, enlisting a police escort from an officer who mistakenly believes this emergency involves a human birth.  Following the delivery, the vet convinces Dean Jones to place a Great Dane puppy who has been rejected by his mother into the litter of dachshund pups.  And so Brutus goes home as a member of this dachshund family, unbeknownst to Suzanne Pleshette.

As the title of the movie suggests, Brutus, raised by a dachshund mother with dachshund siblings, thinks he is a dachshund.  But of course as Brutus grows into a huge Great Dane who thinks he’s a tiny dachshund, all sorts of movie disasters and hilarity ensue.

It gets so chaotic that Suzanne Pleshette wants Brutus gone, but Dean Jones pleads with her and sets out to prove that Brutus can actually live up to his Great Dane DNA, entering Brutus in the same dog show as his wife’s prized dachshunds.   The plan almost goes terribly awry when Brutus spots a dachshund from the show ring, immediately reverting to thinking he’s a dachshund, crawling on his belly to appear small.  But the situation is salvaged when Brutus spots a lovely Great Dane and begins to adopt the regal, imposing figure of the Great Dane he actually is, winning the blue ribbon.

 The Ugly Dachshund is far from a great movie, but it does touch on a significant topic, that of identity and where it comes from.  Brutus the Great Dane has acquired an identity that does not fit him, and trying to live out his mistaken identity has been the source of countless mishaps and disasters.  But when Brutus encounters a Great Dane who knows she’s a Great Dane and begins to imitate her, he discovers his own, true identity.

__________________________________________________________________________

Who am I?  That’s a huge existential question, along with associated questions about how I become who I am.  Nature or nurture or some combination, and then in what proportions?  What is the interplay of genetics and environment?  None of us like to think we are programed or fated to turn out a particular way, but we also know that children who are abused often grow up to be abusers, that there are cycles of poverty and violence which seem intractable.

Coincidences and Providences

I love the LORD, because he has heard
    my voice and my supplications. 
Because he inclined his ear to me,
    therefore I will call on him as long as I live.   (from Ps. 116)

In his book, Humble Leadership, Graham Standish reports something a former archbishop of Canterbury, William Temple, is supposed to have said.  "I find that when I pray coincidences happen. When I cease to pray, coincidences stop happening."  Temple is, of course, speaking of providences rather than coincidences.  When through prayer he is more attuned and aligned with God, he sees and experiences God at work in his life and in the world around him.

Now I don't mean that every good turn of events can or should be attributed to God. (I have a memory seared into my brain of a boxer thanking God for his victory, saying how he felt Jesus empowering his fists as he pummeled his opponent into submission.)  But without some meaningful connection to and experience of God and God's providence, faith is nothing more than a philosophy or ideology.

The psalmist loves YHWH because God has heard him, has responded to him in some way.  I think this is often a weak point in Mainline Christianity.  We're big on knowledge, but not so much on experience.  In fact, we're suspicious of it.  I was once at a retreat that featured Brian McLaren.  He made an offhand comment about being able to learn something from Pentecostals, and most of the pastors over 50 practically came out of their seats to challenge him.

We certainly need to "test the spirits" to see which are from God, and a solid, biblically based knowledge of God and God's ways can help us to do this.  But if we cannot encounter God at work in our lives and in the world, along with being able to identify that work as providence, then we might as well be Deists.  I'm not knocking Deists, but we Presbyterians insist we don't believe in a great, cosmic clock-maker who is now removed from Creation. We say God IS at work in history, so surely  with the help of the Spirit, we should be able to say, "See, there is God's providence."

Of course if we became perceptive enough to sense God at work on a regular basis, it stands to reason that we would also become more sensitive to God's call in our lives.  We would also hear God's command.  And maybe that's a pretty good reason to keep God at arm's length.

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Something Old in Something New

When I read the daily lectionary passages, I admit to sometimes hurrying past the morning psalms.  Some of the same psalms occur with great frequency, and I think to myself, "Just saw that one the other day," as I begin to skim.

This morning I read, "O sing to the LORD a new song; sing to the LORD, all the earth."  It is one of those frequent psalms, and I began to speed up.  But before I could accelerate to full skim mode, I caught enough of the next few lines that something grabbed me.  The psalmist had commanded something old and something new.  We are to remember and declare God's saving acts and marvelous works, but apparently it requires a "new song" to do so.

I don't know why this contrast never struck me before.  I've commented before on this command for a "new song" alongside congregational "worship wars" where people fight to hang on to the old songs.  But I'm not sure I've ever thought about this idea that declaring what God has done requires a "new song."

Being the Church requires a fair amount of remembering and retelling.  We are rooted in a salvation story, a long story of God's countless, gracious acts to pull humanity back and repair a broken relationship.  Along with songs, laws, and wise saying, the Bible is a book of stories, stories we need to know to know who we are.  But, at least according to this psalm, sharing this knowledge requires new songs, repackaging if you will.

An inherent problem for all faith communities, whether Christian, Jewish, Muslim, Buddhist, etc. is a tendency to confuse our core purposes and our packaging.  We decide that our way of worshiping or singing, our style of liturgy or music, is somehow essential to the faith.  Worshiping God with music and song may well be essential to the exercise of biblical faith, but our particular music and song are not.  This is not an argument for or against any particular music style, but it is a reminder that getting confused about essential and packaging may make it difficult for us to tell of God's saving acts and marvelous works.

When we remember and tell, we do so in  order to be joined to a story that is moving toward a yet-to-come future.  Jesus calls us to proclaim the kingdom, the reign of God that is now only partially seen.  And our methods of telling can never be so rooted in the past that the past seems to be our desired destination.

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Insignificant

Praise the LORD!
  Praise the LORD, O my soul! 
I will praise the LORD as long as I live;
  I will sing praises to my God all my life long.
Do not put your trust in princes,
  in mortals, in whom there is no help. When their breath departs, they return to the earth;
  on that very day their plans perish.
Happy are those whose help is the God of Jacob,   whose hope is in the LORD their God, 
who made heaven and earth,
  the sea, and all that is in them; 
who keeps faith forever; who executes justice for the oppressed;
  who gives food to the hungry.             (from Ps. 146)


Most of us take some note of what other people think of us.  It bothers us if they think poorly of us and heartens us if they think us impressive in some way.  If I stumble and nearly fall, I quickly look around to see if anyone was watching.  Strange that I give others so much power over me, worrying constantly about how they see me.

Most of us tend to be very ego driven.  We are very focused on self, on staking out and defending an identity.  We do this almost completely in comparison to others.  We are forever building our

résumé, trying to portray ourselves in the best light compared to others.  And most of us want to be better, more powerful, richer, prettier, better dressed, and so on than those around us. The last thing we want to be is unimportant and insignificant.  We know that we can't always be first, but we can't stand the idea that we might be last.

I think this is why we so value being independent. Becoming dependent on others is a huge blow to our egos, to those résumés we work so hard to build.  To move from independent to dependent is a move toward insignificance in many people's minds, and some of us will go to absurd lengths to guard our independence and supposed significance. 

In ancient times, royalty was about as significant as they come, but this morning's psalm insists on their insignificance.  And the psalm calls for a radical dependence, a call echoed over and over in the Bible.  "Happy are those whose help is the God of Jacob, who hope is in Yahweh their God."  

Richard Rohr's meditations this week have been on "Healing Our Violence."  (They were not a response to the shooting at the Sikh temple but are certainly fitting.)  In today's piece he speaks of how our résumé-building egos are inherently insecure, "grasping for significance."  And this striving for significance, importance, and power is at the root of much of the conflict in our world.  But when our selves find their true identity in God, in radical dependence on God, we discover that we have "very little to defend, fight about, compete with, overcome, hate, or fear."

My own Protestant roots are about dependence on God's gratuitous love and tender care.  Not by works but by grace, we say.  But in practice we have worked very hard at explaining just how this grace works and insisting that our explanation is better than yours and that those with wrong explanations are in trouble.  And we end up being very impressed with how well and systematically we figured all this out, and we don't look the least bit dependent or insignificant. 

How dependent on God are you?  I sometimes think this issue is the single biggest obstacle to my work as a pastor. I so want to be a good pastor, a successful pastor, that my insecurities make it nearly impossible to simply trust God.  Change my heart, O God.

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