Thy Kingdom Come

Psalm 25:1-10
Luke 11:1-4

I find it interesting where Luke places the Lord's Prayer. This form of prayer that we have come to know and love and memorize and repeat weekly when we gather for worship (or at least a sort of a version of it) appears only in the gospels according to Matthew and Luke, and on top of that they are slightly different in each gospel. I debated which to include as today's reading for a while, because they each have unique aspects to bring to the conversation about prayer. In the end I chose Luke's version for a couple of reasons, its context being one of them.

The chapter and verse numbers that have been imposed on the text after Luke's writing make this less obvious to us now, but the Lord's Prayer is taught in this gospel immediately following the famous story of Mary and Martha. Mary and Martha are sisters who are receiving Jesus in their home. Culture, good manners, and a love for Jesus dictate that they show him hospitality when he is a guest. Martha, who was the one who actually invited Jesus in, gets herself busy quickly making preparations, we assume she's bustling around in the kitchen, fetching water to make Jesus comfortable, or other things like that. Mary isn't bothered by all these usual tasks and instead sits undistracted at the feet of Jesus listening to what he is saying. Famously, Jesus compliments Mary for her choice saying, "Mary has chosen the better part, which will not be taken away from her."

From there Luke launches into the story of his disciples asking him to teach them to pray. I don't think this is by accident, and for that reason I think the two stories teach us together. Mary is complimented for her decision to just be with Jesus. She is complimented for her lack of distraction by many other things. She is complimented, I think, for nurturing her relationship with Jesus and not letting her busy-ness get in the way. When the disciples recognize for what she has been complimented, they want to know how to do it, too. The closest thing they know to ask for is a way to pray.

Prayer is not a big divine help button, although, I know I often treat it that way. Prayer is not a divine "Phone-a-friend" where we look for a quick answer to a tough a question then move right along to the next. Prayer is not a place to list out our pleases, thank you, I'm sorrys, and what abouts like a big long grocery list, on tumbling after another with no space to breathe or listen. And most of all, prayer is not a one way street.

In our adult education last week, those who gathered heard Marcus Borg talking about spiritual practices in general and prayer more specifically at times. Borg related his own recollection that seemed to resonate with a number of us. He talked about how as a child prayer was a "supposed to," something you just did because you had to, almost a requirement even. He said he prayed without a thought to the purpose of prayer. As a child, for him, and I imagine for many of us, prayer was primarily about asking for things. I'd add that it wasn't even always the self-centered things of childhood - a new toy, a puppy, and less annoying sibling - but even prayers asking for good health for others, help with a difficult situation at school, a friend.

As he grew, though, Borg told us that prayer has become something different. Jesus lifted up Mary's example of focus, attention, and presence. Jesus praised her for her lack of distraction and her gift of time to their relationship. Like any human relationship a relationship with God can only develop by paying attention to it. A relationship with God can only strengthen when it is given focus and attention and presence. A relationship with God can only grow deeper by spending time in it.

This is what prayer is all about, spending time in relationship with God. Too often we worry about whether the words we have said were just right. Too often we stress about whether we started correctly, got it all in the right order, or asked for the right things. Especially when we are praying out loud before others or on their behalf we want to make sure we say everything in just the perfect way, but in reality our prayers are not our words to each other, our prayers are our time spent in relationship with God.

Prayer is the practice of opening our lives and our hearts and our minds before God. Prayer is the practice of being present with God. Prayer is the practice of so aligning our spirit's with the Spirit of God, so aligning our lives with the life of Christ, so aligning our creativity with the Creator of all, that nothing else can happen, but the kingdom of God of on earth. Prayer is the words we utter aloud or in silence, the words written or sung, the words moaned or even the words unformed, but prayer goes beyond any words we can imagine and even those we can't, because prayer is the act of Mary, sitting and listening and being present with Jesus. Prayer is the act of the psalmist, trusting in God, waiting with God, walking with God, being led in what is right, what is love, what is faithfulness.

Prayer is the act of making time for God and time with God so that our relationship with God is cultivated and" nurtured and strengthened. And when that happens, oh, then we see what our prayer can do. The whole of the Lord's Prayer, the words we find in Luke, an expanded version in Matthew, and the even longer version we pray most weeks in worship, can, I believe be summarized in the very first petition - - "Thy kingdom come."

"Your kingdom come," God's kingdom, we invite, not our own. God's kingdom we ask for, not the kingdoms of this world. God's kingdom, God's purposes, God's will, God's grace, God's forgiveness, God's provision, God's guidance, we ask for, not the wisdom of this world that is foolishness. "Your kingdom come" should be the center of all our prayers spoken and unspoken, and at the same time it is also the answer to each of these prayers. When we make request the center of our lives before God, the focus of our relationship with God, we find this request is granted IN the lives we live.

When we are open to God, when our relationship with God grows deeper and wider as we pay attention to it we find ourselves agents of God's kingdom, offering daily bread to those who lack it, asking for grace and forgiveness in our relationships where we need it, offering it when it is ours share. We find ourselves impelled to speak the truth in love, work for justice in unrighteous situations, and side with the outcast, the lonely, and the forgotten. When we dwell in the presence of God, when attention is paid to the most important relationship in our lives, we find God's presence and opportunities to exhibit God's kingdom of love and grace and mercy in our work, in our homes, in our families, and our community. We find that God's kingdom does indeed come in us.

This is what prayer is all about. It's not the words we heap on words. It's not the verses we have memorized. It's not anything more or anything less then opening our lives, our hearts, and our spirits to God's presence, so that God's kingdom, God's realm, God's will and God's purpose can be accomplished for us, and in us, and through us. This simple phrase, "your kingdom come," is the most powerful, most subversive, and most life altering prayer we will ever utter or embody. Your kingdom, we pray, not mine, not my family's, not my pastor's, not my government's, not my political party's, not my friend's, not my employer's kingdoms and will and purpose be accomplished, but God's kingdom is what we pray will come and reign and have authority in the world. When we open ourselves to God's kingdom, God's presence, then we have truly prayed. When we open ourselves to God's kingdom, God's presence, then God's prayers are answered through us. Then God's kingdom comes.

The practice of prayer is about so much more than the words we put together beside or in our bed at night. The practice of prayer is about so much more than the routine verse we recite around the dinner table alone or with others. The practice of prayer is about so much more than the words that we offer in unison when we gather to worship God each week. It's even more than the words Jesus us taught us to guide our prayers together. The practice of prayer includes all these things and more, but it is not held in only these things. The practice of prayer is, above all, the practice of being present with God, attentive to God, and open to God's movement and leading in our lives, so that ultimately God's kingdom will come - for us, in us, and through us.

Whether we pray by singing, by writing, by speaking, by chanting, by drawing, by dancing, by meditating, by building, by sculpting, by painting, by driving, by gardening, by laughing, by crying and especially when we pray by listening, may our relationship with God grow deeper this day and always.

Turn Around

Psalm 32:1-7
1 John 1:5 - 2:2

The other morning as I was getting the kids ready to leave the house in the morning, I overheard a confession from the other room. The kids, to my knowledge, had had a great morning; everyone was getting along well, staying on task, helping each other. Or so I thought. From the hallway outside their bedroom, as clear as a bell I heard William's voice, "Hey Karoline! Don't tell Mom, but I hit Margaret in the head with my light saber when she was still in her crib. It was an accident. But I hit her."

Knowing that Margaret was just fine since she hadn't made a peep and there was no sign of the this hit in the last hour I had spent with her, I moved right past worry about the injury to wonder at William's response. He had been sitting on this little nugget of truth for over an hour. His only witness to the "crime" was himself and his 21 month old sister who couldn't divulge the secret easily or audibly. There was no logical reason to share it with anyone, but apparently he felt he needed to let it out. He needed to get it off his chest.

His little not-quite-five year old soul was maybe an age appropriate version of the soul the Psalmist describes. While he kept silence it was groaning all morning long, his strength to go on carrying this burden dried up like water on the sidewalk in the heat of a summer day. Aren't these descriptions beautiful? Aren't they accurate? We can feel that feeling in our spirits, in our souls. That feeling of carrying more than we know we can; that feeling of our energy been drained right out of our consciousness because we know we have started down a wrong path. We have felt what it is like to know that we have moved further away from the people we were created to be whether it is in thought, word, or deed, and we have felt what it is like to want to be rid of that truth.

A few weeks ago when we were working our way through the first chapter of Mark's gospel we saw the Jesus' mission was one of reversal. He touches tshoe who carry the spiritual contagion of uncleanliness. He surrounds himself with "mere mortal" fishermen, not synagogue leaders. His identity is recognized by demons, but not religious men. Over and over again in the gospels he is upsetting the norms of life around him. He touches those who carry the contagions of uncleanliness. He heals on the sabbath. He includes women in his inner circle. He talks to foreigners.

Over and over again he challenges the expectations of "good religious folks." Over and over again he stands up in the face of a culture that honors money, political authority, and honor and proclaims God's blessing for those who are poor, those who have no voice in the public square, those who are empty before God and humanity. Over and over again Jesus demonstrated and taught that the way we tend to go, the direction we would choose on our own, the one that makes us feel good, the one, actually, that makes us feel better than others, is not the direction God chooses for us.

From the very beginning Jesus announces, “The time is fulfilled, and the kingdom of God has come near; repent, and believe in the good news.” Repent, I said, isn't the scary word that sign carriers and street corner shouters have turned it into. Repent simply means to turn around, to go in the other direction. When Jesus calls it out to the crowds who listen to him, to his disciples who are near to him, to believers who still struggle to this day to join him, it means stop moving away. Turn around. Reverse your direction. Follow me.

Somewhere inside each of us is the urge to turn around, and the first step of turning around is acknowledging we're moving in the wrong direction. The letter from John calls it sin, darkness, unrighteousness. The Psalmist uses transgression, iniquity, and deceit. For William it was a whack with light saber. Intentional or unintentional, in our mind, in our heart, or in our actions, we find ourselves moving in directions away from God, but the promise the gospel delivers is one of reversal in Jesus our Christ.

Each week in worship we take the first step toward reversal corporately. We lift our voices and our hearts in prayer as we acknowledge the ways we have turned from God. We speak them out loud together, confessing even if not or own specific failings the ways humanity falls short of what God desires. This act of confession is something we do weekly, usually at the beginning of the service so that we are clearing the air right when we walk in the door. We are recommitting ourselves to walking in the way of God as we great the day with joy and praise. We are being cleansed and presenting ourselves wholly and completely before God in worship.

Likewise this practice of confession is one that is integral to the season of Lent. If each Sunday is a little Easter, a little celebration of the resurrection, in which we wouldn't think of worshipping without coming clean before God, how much more important is it stop what we're doing in Lent, acknowledge the ways we move from God, and begin the process of reversal, the process of following Jesus before the celebration of his new life on the feast of Easter? This whole season is about examining our lives, confessing to God the ways we have turned away, and recommitting ourselves to discipleship with our whole lives.

We take the first step toward reversal by naming that which has gone wrong in our attempt to follow Jesus faithfully, and when we do we should also always, every sing time, without fail, we hear the good news he proclaims. The kingdom of God is near. The possibility for a new future here. Turn around and enter that future today.

Cut It Out

Matthew 4:1-11

Isaiah 58

I didn’t grow up knowing much about Lent. It wasn’t something we talked about much in my church, and when we did it was at a time less than convenient for anyone but the retirees in our beachside Florida community. In my senior year of high school, though, I decided to try to remedy the situation the best way I knew how - by skipping school. Legally, of course, but still skipping school.

My plan started with a trip to my vice principal's office. One day a few weeks before Lent began, I made my appointment with Mrs. Brennan and declared that I was looking for a religious excused absence from school, once a week for the next several weeks. I needed to attend Lenten worship on Wednesday afternoons. I had the required signed letter from my pastor in hand. It was my ticket to a new understanding, I thought. or it could have been that I wasn’t in the right place at the right time.

Miraculously this worked. My Latin teacher, whose class I was missing, rolled her eyes when I told her of my plans. She told me to add it to the book I should write on how to skip school with permission from the administration. I had developed a knack for that by my senior year.

I don’t remember too much about those sermons, and I can’t differentiate now what I learned then and what I have learned later, but it was my introduction to Lent. The next year I went on to college, and had a further education in the season when I met my new best friends who were all Catholic. They taught me about giving things up for Lent - - chocolate, desserts, pop, potato chips, pretty much anything that might add a few pounds to the freshman 15. I came to think of Lent as God’s diet plan for the college student.

Lent wasn't always about chocolate. In its earliest days, the season of Lent was a time of preparation for those who were to receive the sacrament of baptism. Baptisms of adult converts and their households were held on Easter Sunday, once a year, in the early church, and a whole year was spent in study, prayer, and preparation. The final forty days of that year were an especially intense and holy time. Those who were already a part of the Christian community who felt a need to rededicate their lives, who recognized that the way they were living their lives was not the best representation of the body of Christ in the world, would often join the new converts in their final preparations for baptism.

As such Lent became a time of repentance and penance as it is now often considered, but it was at the same time a period of great spiritual growth and rebirth. It was marked by careful devotion to biblical spiritual practices. In Shrovetide, the week before Ash Wednesday, believers would make their confessions to God. They would discover their own required penance to be carried out in the forty weekdays of Lent. The season of Lent would be marked by personal acts of piety that corresponded to the sins confessed, but also general disciplines, like fasting, acts of charity, and prayer. Probably the best known of these in contemporary portrayals of Lent (whether faithful or mocking) is fasting, but many of us still wonder about how to do it or what it is for.

There is a strong biblical witness to the spiritual discipline of fasting. Moses fasted on the top of Mt. Sinai when he remained there to record the commandments of God on stone tablets. For forty days and forty nights we are told in Exodus he refrained from eating food or drinking even water as he dwelled in the presence of God, receiving the terms of God's covenant with Israel. Daniel, after having been saved from the den of lions, fasted as he prayed and mourned in the Babylonian exile. One fast recorded was twenty-one days long, in which Daniel cut out meats, rich foods, and wine. Esther, a young Jewish girl chosen providentially to be a queen while also in exile, asks the Jewish community to pray for her and fast for three days as she discerned her divine placement in the king's court. And, of course, there is Jesus' fast in the wilderness which we heard today. Still wet behind the ears from John's baptism he is led out into the desert by the Spirit where is fasts, presumably from food and water, for forty days and forty nights and is tempted.

There is something to be said for the practice of self-denial. In cutting something out of our lives that we love and crave and, maybe without even noticing, depend upon, we are reminded each time we begin to miss it, to turn our attention to God. Friends of mine from all walks of life answered a question I posed this week about fasting. One childhood friend chimed in that this year he is fasting from coffee, a difficult fast for him as it would be for many who cling to that morning routine. For him it also removes a "taste of home" from his life as he lives and works in China where most other tastes are foreign to his tongue. My friend Chris wrote, "It's amazing how something so seemingly small can provide so much comfort -- comfort that should be coming from His Cup, not my coffee cup."

Fasting, denial of food or water, accompanied by prayer has a long and rich tradition in Scripture and practice. Those who participate in this practice speak of a renewal of spirit, a realization of their dependence on God in new ways, humility in the face of a struggle, a connection to the self-denial and self-sacrifice of Jesus in a new way. For thousands of years people of faith, people of MANY faiths, have felt challenged, encouraged, and blessed through fasts, but the prophecy according to Isaiah seems to be pointing to another kind of fast. It's not better or more holy or more correct, necessarily, but a different way of thinking about a potentially important spiritual tool, especially, I believe, for the church in our culture, our context, our world today.

Ordinarily we think of humility as a hallmark of faith. Jesus speaks often of losing our lives in order to gain them, of humbling ourselves, not thinking too highly of who we are, what we have, what we can do. But there in Isaiah the prophet, speaking for God, seems to be saying that a day of humility is not the only fast pleasing to God.

In Epiphany one of the first ways we heard of God acting on the loose in the world was in a story about Jesus preaching in the synagogue. While he was there a man with an unclean spirit arrived. The demon challenged Jesus, recognizing his source and his divinity when no one else could. Seeing the torment this spirit inflicted on the man, Jesus cast it out, cut it out of the man's life in order that he could be free from oppression, from possession, from that which kept him from God and his community.

What if this could be a different model for fasting? Not a replacement, not something better than what has served so many for so long, but a different model, an additional one, one that addresses themes in our culture that encourage self-service and self-indulgence over serving others, putting their needs before our own. What if a Lenten fast was undertaken that cut things out that not just please me, but cut things out that keep me from pleasing God, that keep me pleasing from others, even things that harm others.

A fast of this kind might not look like fish Fridays and avoiding chocolate. A fast of this kind would probably look totally different. It might look like turning the TV off for a while and spending our time volunteering with the food shelf, Networks youth ministry, or Grace Place. It might look like deciding with our children that no toys will be purchased during Lent, but as a family we will purchase teddy bears given to children at Turning Point shelter for women and children fleeing domestic violence. It might look like lowering our voices in our homes and among our families, honoring each other as precious children of God, instead of asserting our will and authority with loud and angry shouts. It might look like the fast undertaken this Lent by a good number of friends who responded to my poll this week. They are fasting from fast food or eating out at restaurants or driving through drive-throughs and setting aside the money they would have spent on these things to give to organizations in their community that are fighting hunger.

Another friend spoke of doing everything she possibly could to ensure that the products she buys and uses in her home are fairly traded, that the corporations responsible for them treat their employees fairly. Still another friend and her family have decided to cut out all non-essential spending during Lent. They will buy simple foods, pay their bills, and continue their tithe to the church, but anything else, an app for the iPhone, a song to download, an afternoon at the movies, a coffee on the drive to work, the book screaming to them from the shelves of the store, ANYTHING not related to day-to-day living will be set aside for Lent. The money they save from this fast will be given, above and beyond their usual church pledge, to the church and other causes that aid people living in poverty at home and abroad.

Fasts of this kind honor what God was saying through the prophet Isaiah. Fasting and repentance, often thought of as very personal spiritual practices, have a communal or social aspect to them, too. A fast means nothing, Isaiah tells us, if we’re looking out for our spiritual health on one day, but treating workers unfairly on the next. Denying ourselves pleasures we enjoy, but at the same time ruining the enjoyment of others by fighting, mistreating, and striking others with our words, fists, or attitudes makes for a fast that is displeasing to God.

Isaiah points beyond simply spending time alone with God to other faithful actions we can incorporate into our lives as important parts of a truly faithful fast. Look out for the workers we employ. Watch our angry words and attitudes. Loose the ties that bind the oppressed. Share our bread with the hungry. Invite the homeless into our dwelling places. Cover the naked.

Isaiah's community took fasting seriously. They are not chastised for their lack of piety. But in the context of this passage, the lack of wholeheartedness, the lack of a holistic view in their practice of fasting was evidence that God's people were more interested in looking religious than in serving God and their neighbor. Their half-hearted attempts at fasting, attempts that looked only within, instead of also looking around to the community, were evidence that God’s people were more interested in getting ahead in their own relationship with God, instead of also aiding others in their spiritual and life journeys.

This is not the fast that God desires, a fast that only looks inward and only tends to my personal needs. The trumpet is sounding, Isaiah proclaims, and we are called to listen up: the fast God prefers is the one in which the hungry are fed. In God's realm, the rich person's fast shall make the way clear for the poor person's feast.

This Lenten season, we have been invited to participate in a fast before God, a fast that brings us closer to God and one another. Consider your fast in a new way. Consider casting out those demons that are holding onto your life, that are holding you at arms length from God by holding you away from others. Accept Isaiah's challenge to fast in a new way - sharing what we have to feed and clothe the hungry, satisfy ing the needs of the afflicted, challenging the systems in our community and in our world that oppress the poor.

Then our lights shall break forth like the dawn; then when we cry the Lord will say, “Here I am”; then our lives and our fasts will show the glory of the Lord to all.

Resolutions? Again?

I have a sort of love/hate relationship with New Year’s Resolutions.  OK, really it’s mostly a hate/hate relationship. In the interest of full disclosure, I will fully admit that most of my discomfort with them comes from my inability to keep any of them.  But even before I break them I have a hard time coming up with what seem like appropriate challenges.  I seem to either set the bar way too high - - like promising that THIS year I will not go to bed until every dish in the kitchen is clean and put away, or way to low - - I’ll keep brushing my teeth at least twice a day.  Last year a childhood friend of mine resolved to drink more coffee in 2010.  She reported this month that she is certain she achieved her goal and is taking on the consumption of chocolate for 2011.    Those are some decadent resolutions I might be able to get behind.

​Unlike my friend, though, New Years’ Resolutions are usually about self-improvement.  Any regular at the YMCA exercise classes can testify to the good intentions of New Years’ resolutions.  My favorite aerobics class is FULL the first three weeks in January of all the people who think that this year exercise is going to be a priority.  But by the end of month, attendance has dwindled back down to just us regulars.  I know I’m not the only one who struggles with keeping resolutions.

​This year I’ve been thinking about resolutions in a new way, though.  It’s generally a secular thing, right?  But it falls right in the middle of one of our most important Christian seasons.  We’re still in the middle of the twelve days of Christmas.  Sure a lot of folks have already taken down their trees and decorations, but it’s still Christmas!  I was proud of my 5 year old daughter the other day when we were at Target on only Dec. 26.  She looked down the aisles and said, “MOM!  They already have their Valentines out.  Don’t they know it’s still Christmas?”  It sure is.  It’s still Christmas

​So, what if we look at our New Years’ resolutions in the light of the Christmas season.  During Christmas we celebrate the most precious gift the world has ever been given.  During Christmas we celebrate the coming of God to live among humanity.  During Christmas we celebrate the love, and the grace, and the peace of Christ that brings light into the dark world, salvation to sinful and broken people.  During Christmas we celebrate that God’s promises are not just for the Israelites, but in Jesus God’s promises are given to the whole world.

​And right there in that statement, I think, is the key to a new understanding of New Years’ resolutions.  Maybe those of us who fail at keeping them, myself definitely included, fail because our view is too narrow.   It is only on fixing MY life, making MYself better, doing things for ME.  Self-improvement is not necessarily a bad thing, but self-centeredness definitely is.  It is a fine line between the two that can be very difficult to balance.  However, one thing I have learned is that often are greatest strides in self-improvement come not when we’re consciously trying to do something for ourselves, but when we’re trying to do something for others.  

​Maybe our New Years’ resolutions should be less about us and more about others.  Maybe in resolving to share our gifts with others the way God shared the greatest gift the world had ever seen, we will find ourselves growing closer to God, closer to others, and closer to the person God has created each one of us to be.  That right there is just about the best self-improvement I can imagine.  That right there is a New Years’ resolution I think I can get behind.

​I’m willing to give resolutions another try this year, but with this new twist.  Like the magi offered their gifts in worship of the child Jesus, I will offer my resolutions as a gift to honor and worship God.  By the power of the Holy Spirit, may God bless all of our efforts and through them bring us closer Christ.