One Church-y Word I Have Trouble with is "Mercy."

Words can be great stumbling blocks for me. Toward most words, of course, I am entirely neutral. “Mustard,” “lopsided,” brace” (as a noun or verb) elicit no emotions whatsoever. Others like “rodeo” “makeshift” and “bellow” I love to hear or, better yet, say, yet there are some, I cannot bring myself even to think.

As a regular church goer, I hear certain words every week, and I sometimes wonder what effects these repeated words have on other parishioners. Are people driven away by words like “offend,” “blood,” or “power?” What if people love to hear words like “eternal,” and “holy” and return week after week because where else are you going to hear such talk? 

One church-y word that I have had a lot of trouble with over the years is "mercy." The implied relationship between the one who shows mercy and the one who receives it casts me, and all worshipers, in a miserable light; we are despicable sinners who deserve ever-lasting torment. Worse than that is the image it suggests of God. There is a maniacal despot who might bless or curse depending on his whim - sort of a Red Queen type of god. Or the movie gangster who might show mercy to the deadbeat if he does him a favor. Although I was taught something very like that growing up, I no longer see us before God begging to be spared what we richly deserve, nor do I see God as being ever poised to condemn us.  

So when, a few months ago, I became interested in The Jesus Prayer, sometimes called The Prayer of the Heart, I came face to face with “mercy” and had to deal with it. The prayer goes like this: Lord, Jesus Christ, Son of the one true God, have mercy on me, a sinner. 

Variations abound, but “mercy” is always in there. I considered amending my version of the Jesus prayer to omit “mercy” entirely, to say instead “be in my heart” or some other phrase, but I was not at ease with this modern approach. Change something that is 1500 years old just to suit my taste? No and no.

In my research about the Jesus Prayer, I encountered a fascinating piece of information. "Mercy” or “eleison” in Greek, is related to the word “oil.” As much as I might resist the word “mercy” in prayer and scripture, that is how much I am drawn to the word “oil.” There is something abundant and comforting about oil as it’s found in Scripture.

Images of oil abound in our sacred texts, in both the narratives and in the Psalter. In Genesis (28:18-22), after his dream of the ladder and the angels, Jacob pours oil on the stone he had used as a pillow and declares he will make it “God’s house.” Oil was the finishing touch on the tabernacle that Moses built in Exodus (37:29). Samuel anointed both Saul and David for kingship in 1^st Samuel (10:1 and 16:12-13 respectively). The practice of anointing rulers continues to this day.

In the Episcopal church, oil is used in Baptism and when the sick are anointed and blessed. The prophet Isaiah (61:1-3) claimed his calling “…because the Lord has anointed me, he has sent me to bring good news to the oppressed, to bind up the broken-hearted.” 

Why is oil such a soothing image, while mercy suggests pain and misery? Oil is calming; oil is lavish. When the woman anoints Jesus with expensive oil at Bethany, people are scandalized at the “waste.”

Oil is love. Corpses were anointed with oil at burial, a last generous act of love to the departed. The psalmist rhapsodizes about oil:

Oh how good and pleasant it is 

when brethren live together in unity! 

It is like fine oil upon the head 

that runs down the beard, 

upon the beard of Aaron, 

and runs down upon the collar of his robe.    Psalm 133

Fellowship is like oil! Community. Vocation. Liturgy. All these are like oil.

Like everything in creation, oil comes from God. It is, therefore, good, a sign of God’s loving kindness, generosity, wild abundance ….. in short, everything I like.

You make grass to grow for flocks and herds

and plants to serve mankind

that they may bring forth food from the earth

and wine to gladden our hearts

Oil to make a cheerful countenance

and bread to strengthen the heart.   Psalm 104

So how can mercy be like oil? I worked with this idea for a long time until I was able to see that mercy is God’s generosity to us. His love for us is poured out like oil. When we love and care for each other we are embodying God’s mercy which is extravagant and beautiful - like oil. It is not a sign of his power; it is a sign of his love. When I am willing to see mercy as oil, I can ask for it. A merciful God is a generous God, a loving God. My God. Not the Red Queen. She would have no part of oil.

I thank my merciful God for Lewis Carroll’s Alice through the Looking Glass, for Metropolitan Anthony Bloom and his wonderful article on The Jesus Prayer*, and for the Psalmist who gave us this verse:

You have put gladness in my heart

more than when grain and wine and oil increase.
Psalm 4

*http://www.orthodoxa.org/GB/orthodoxy/spirituality/JesusprayerGB.htm

"and Judas Iscariot who betrayed him"

Lately, I have felt the urge to ponder a phrase from the daily readings in my Daily Office Book. One day this week it was "new wine skins" from Mark 2. Yesterday it was "honey in the rock" from Psalm 81. I have stayed with these phrases throughout each day and they have given me much in return. 

You may recognize this as a feature of lectio divina, which I do practice often. The difference here is that I am not focusing deliberately on a small passage from the readings. I am not trying for a lesson. The phrase just jumps out at me and I hold it for a day. I do not try to articulate any meaning or develop any prayer from it. Maybe I should. But for now I am just going with the flow.

Today's phrase was "and Judas Iscariot who betrayed him." This is from Mark 3 and recounts the calling of the 12. Mark is not known for pulling his punches. He doesn't respect our sensibilities and there is an warning about mature audiences. He is a maximum-impact-with-minimal-verbiage kind of writer. 

This phrase just smacked me in the face. Jesus called Judas. Jesus calls me. I have something in common with Judas. This phrase puts the calling of Judas level with his betrayal. It says before Judas betrayed Jesus he was chosen. 

So what is so great about being chosen? We know the answer, don't we? Being chosen, being called, as we are, out-weighs everything. It's irreversible. 

Mark could have prettied up his story and placed some conditionality on Judas' call. He could have written it in any number of ways to lessen the call to Judas, to make him an afterthought. But, no. That call stands. As does mine. And yours.

Julian Retreat

For six days in mid June, members and affiliates of the Order of Julian of Norwich, a contemplative order of monks and nuns in the Episcopal Church, met at a Redemptorist retreat center in Wisconsin for prayer and community. In the Order, prayer and community, though not exactly interchangeable, are very connected. Whether we are together, as we were last week, or miles apart as we usually are, our prayer binds us to each other, to the church, and most importantly, to our Savior.

For this post, I am going to let the pictures tell the thousand words that I really don't have about the beauty and power of this event. Above is a peony taken from the garden at Julian House Monastery. 

The first three days of the retreat were spent in silence. Except when our own voices were raised in prayer, only our retreat leader's voice was ever heard.

The labyrinth is a good place for contemplation, and there was one on the grounds. I am not a big fan of labyrinths, but I did walk this one several times. And I noticed some things about it. Here, on a sign just outside it,  are the directions for walking the labyrinth. Notice the bird droppings.

The paths in the labyrinth are laid out with mathematical precision. The stones that line the paths were clearly chosen for their uniform size and shape and color, yet there are many irregularities. Weeds grow in the paths. 

Walking the labyrinth can be challenging. Sometimes the paths are gentle and straight; sometimes there is a sharp turn and you might lose your balance.. Sometimes you feel that you are close to the center and your journey is nearly fulfilled. Then, with the next step, you are heading in the opposite direction. Pretty soon, you have to give up predicting your walk - how soon you will reach the center, or the exit - and just walk. 

The chapel is an important place in the retreat. Here the daily office is said, the Eucharist is celebrated and retreatants go to pray on their own. You can see the chapel empty (but for me) in the early morning and again with people waiting for the start of Eucharist. 

Brother Gerry, a Redemptorist who lives on site, has forty beehives. Here is one of them as well as some of its product. 

There is a tradition at this event to have a used book sale. A flat rate of $2 per book!! All proceeds go to the Order with the remaining books donated to the Cathedral's (Milwaukee) book sale. Maybe next year I'll be able to resist. 

The sisters at Julian House are expert soap makers and not lacking in a sense of humor either. 

The last three days (called Julian Fest) are spent with lots of talking and celebrating. Prayers and Eucharist continue as before but meals are noisy and there is lots of social time. On the penultimate day, we gathered for a group picture.

With this result.

Peace Sign

I drive into the Twin Cities about once or twice a month. Taking the freeway, I exit on Randolph Avenue in Saint Paul either to have lunch with a friend or keep an appointment with my spiritual director. 

Often there is a person holding up a sign at the off ramp. The person wants money, I suspect actually needs money.

There are lots of reasons not to give such a person money. They might spend it on something unsavory. They might be a scammer and not really in need at all.They ruin the look of the neighborhood nearby. (I have actually heard these last two excuses from a few people.)  They should make use of the many social services available to the poor. Etc. Etc.

I always give them money, as much as I can, in fact. Buddhists will tell you – and have told me – that it is a blessing to have the opportunity to give. It’s a grace. That’s how I see it.

Others will say that what these folks really want is some interaction, a greeting, a conversation, to be seen. It’s hard enough for me to talk to people I know well, much less strangers, much less someone who might view me as somehow other. And I've seen too many Uncle Tom scenarios where the privileged person makes nice with the under-privileged person and is rewarded with jollity and deference. Nope. I won't act that part.

But I always smile and say something: how’re you doing? God bless you. Stay warm. Something quick and superficial. Usually, I have a green light and barely have time for a smile before I have to turn onto my street.  Today I had a red light.

There was the first woman I'd ever seen in that spot. She was late middle age, early fifties, I’d say. Slightly overweight and very shabby looking. Her pink knit pants were dirty as if she’d been sitting on the ground. The sign she held was a piece of bent cardboard with a message on it. The message was so wordy and so long that I’m sure no one could have read it.

But I knew what it said.” I lost my job 18 months ago and have to feed three children. I am alone and any help would be appreciated. “  Or something like that. As she was, no one would be hiring her any time soon, even in our state of full employment. 

I reached out my window and handed her a bill, smiled at her and said God bless you. She asked God to bless me, too and she seemed a bit surprised. Do women not hand out money to other women? To her? Do they not invoke the Lord?

Waiting for the light to change, I wondered if I should roll down the window and ask her a mild question or mention the possibility of rain. Then the light turned green and I looked out my window to wave to her. 

She was waiting for me. Giving me the very biggest smile she had, she flashed me the peace sign. I was just able to manage a quick peace sign back, turn the steering wheel and continue on my now very merry way.

The peace sign is an insider thing. It says we know each other. It says we are compatriots, tribesmen. We share beliefs, experiences. We are in league. I don’t think I've received such a greeting in thirty years. There was a time when it was so common it barely meant anything. Long hair, a string of beads, a flowered shirt - flash the sign. March for peace, Civil Rights, Animal Rights - flash the sign. In line for a Stones concert - flash the sign.

Today, though, it meant a lot. We were not just two people behaving civilly to each other. She was a person to me and I was a person to her. And it was she who broke the barrier, not I.  Just for that second, there was something real between us. She gave me what I was not able to give - a human moment.

A Different Kind of Mother - A Different Kind of Day

Robert Frost famously and rightly said, “Home is where, if you go there, they have to take you in.” The woman and her son dying of thirst in the desert surely knew, if they’d ever doubted it, that the place they recently left was no home and never had been. A slave is property. She can be used just as a piece of crockery is used, fill it with what you want, have it for a while then toss it all out.

Sarah was finished with Hagar and Ishmael. There was no need of either of them once Isaac was born. In fact, it was possible that Abraham, the old romantic, might just decide to let Ishmael share in Isaac’s inheritance. So out the door they went into a desperate and deadly future.

How much of a mother to Ishmael was Hagar? At first, she was simply a vessel to deliver to Abraham some sort of son so that his line and fortune would continue. Did she love Ishmael then? Did she delight in his little-boy antics, or did she withhold that love knowing he would not be hers for much longer? He would have a clear future. She might be allowed a livelihood. Would he cherish her or would she embarrass him when he came into his true place?

We will never know because that story did not play out. What did play out was their exile from the house and land of Abraham. Certainly, wandering there in the desert Hagar loved Ishmael. They shared fear, hunger, thirst, despair. Did she look at him and feel she had failed him? If she’d been just a bit more conciliatory, would they have been allowed to stay? If he’d been just a bit less beautiful, clever, full of himself, would he have been more tolerable to Sarah? Can you possibly ever wish your child to be less than he is?

Unable to bear the sight of his dying, she placed him a ways (a bow shot) off and wept. It was then that an angel of the Lord opened her eyes and showed her where a spring flowed and their thirst was no more. The angel assured Hagar that they would be safe now and that God had heard the voice of the boy. “God was with the boy and he grew up,” we are told in Genesis. Was this a happy ending?

The theme for Lent at our parish this year was “In the Desert”. Our prayer group held a number of sessions on this theme, one of which was a lectio divina prayer on Hagar’s story. As we prayed with the text, the people in the group (even the men) focused on Hagar’s motherhood -- not on her meeting with the Lord, which is what I wanted them to focus on. They could not turn away from this homeless mother and her unwanted child. They said that motherhood was itself a desert. Even in the midst of a loving family, it can be a lonely job with a world of uncertainty.

Our prayers at the close of the session were said for the mothers we know and had and are, for mothers who wonder about their abilities and about their future. We prayed for children who find themselves out on the street. We prayed for the self-righteous, cold-hearted mothers who turn them away.

Earlier in the story Hagar, taking refuge in the desert from Sarah’s mistreatment, was told that Ishmael would be a “wild ass of a man with his hand against everyone and everyone’s against him.” I had always felt this to be of little comfort to poor Hagar, but my friends in prayer group decided that it meant that Ishmael would not be pushed around and owned as his mother was. He would be his own person and if that meant having his hand raised against everyone, then so be it. Before he’d be a slave, he’d be buried in his grave, to paraphrase the song. *

Hagar and Ishmael are not exactly heroes in the Judeo-Christian tradition.They are written out of the narrative early on. But that day, that mother and that child in that desert spoke to us. They told us that God takes care of even the outcast, even the foreigner, even the trouble-makers --- especially the trouble makers.

Happy Mothers Day.

You can find the story of Hagar in Genesis 16. 17. 21.

* “Oh Freedom” a American folk song, associated with the Civil Rights Movement    https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=veiJLhXdwn8

Hosea - Part 5 - I Will Love Them Freely

Like so many sad stories, the book of Hosea ends happily. The prophet instructs the people to return to the Lord to ask forgiveness and promise faithfulness. He even gives them the exact words to say:

Take away all guilt; 

accept that which is good,
and we will offer
the fruit of our lips. 14:2

Without a moment’s hesitation, God embraces the penitent nation.

I will heal their disloyalty;
I will love them freely,
for my anger has turned from them.14:4

Have you nursed a grudge for a few years? Do you remember some harsh words from a neighbor? Does some past injustice at work still rankle? For us, forgiveness is hard. It may take years. It may take forever.  We treasure our hurt like a diamond. It’s no wonder, then, that we have a hard time accepting forgiveness from God. Because we struggle to forgive, we think that God, who has so much more to forgive than we, must struggle also. 

But, no. God forgives easily. The reason this post is short is because God forgives in an instant. In Hosea, it took three verses. It’s almost as if God’s forgiveness is there waiting. 

God can bring us out of the muck of our sin and set us on the right path. Our righteousness, our faithfulness, our desire for God comes from that one pure source of love.

It is I who answer and look after you

I am like an evergreen cypress;
your faithfulness comes from me. 14:8

If there is anything that I want to take away from this lectio divina experience with Hosea it is that God’s forgiveness is certain. God cannot wait to forgive me, you, all of us. We have only to ask.

Hosea - Part IV - Hewn by the Prophets

We are saved by faith and not by works of the law; Paul tells us so repeatedly and emphatically. Christians sometimes believe that this is an insight particular to them. Jesus repeatedly bypassed the “law” in favor of acts of love and healing. He put love ahead of rules, people over procedure. Virtue comes from God. Rules and regulations must give way.

Old Testament writers, however, frequently point to God’s relentless care of his people. No matter how far they stray, God cannot abandon them. No matter how fleeting is their faith, God will reform them endlessly to his own purpose. All they need to do is know him, remember him.

Your love is like a morning cloud,
like the dew that goes away early.
Therefore I have hewn them by the prophets
I have killed them by the words of my mouth,
and my judgment goes forth as the light.
For I desire steadfast love and not sacrifice
the knowledge of God rather than burnt offerings. 6:4-6

The dictionary tells us that to “hew” is “to make or shape” but, most interestingly, “to remove a large piece of.” This is what a prophet will do: a prophet will call a spade a spade; a prophet will provoke; a prophet will admonish; a prophet will be used by God to remake God’s people. Prophets unsettle our systems and plague our minds.

We don’t want this. We don’t want large pieces removed from us. We are comfortable as we are, or so we think.

There is a saying: Hate the sin but love the sinner. Our priest pointed out in a recent homily that we tend to love our sins and then hate ourselves for them. Israel loved its sin; it was attached to it. It was so far gone that it identified with its own defilement. Israel was tangled in a web of sin, a morass of wrong-headedness. They were bogged down; their systems imprisoned them in despair.

You have plowed wickedness,
you have reaped injustice,
you have eaten the fruit of lies. 10:13

God would force them into exile. Their wealth would disappear. Their hubris would dissolve. Their hearts would break.

I am the Lord your God
from the land of Egypt:
I will make you live in tents again
as in the days of the appointed festival. 12:9

and

Because you have trusted in your power
and in the multitudes of your warriors,
therefore the tumult of war shall rise against your people
and all your fortresses shall be destroyed. 10:14

As angry as God sounds in these passages, his words don’t feel angry to me. Certainly, from my place and time of safety, 2700 years later, I can see beyond the wrathful words and hear the love and care in them. God brought prophets to his people. He brought woe and hardship and destruction. Why? For salvation. For the kingdom.

In the later chapters of Hosea, God remembers his love for his people.

Yet it was I who taught Ephraim to walk,
I took them up in my arms;
but they did not know that I healed them.
I led them with cords of human kindness,
with bands of love.
I was to them like those
who lift infants to their cheeks.
I bent down and fed them. 11:3-4

There is so much pain in these stories of love. The people turn from God and are miserable and weary. God mourns for the loss of the true hearts he fashioned. The people are forced to remember God’s mercy, they are hewn by the prophets, reconciled to their Father.

Does this sound like freedom? Most of us don’t relish the idea of being hewn. We want to make our own decisions, correct our own faults in our own time and way. We aren’t primitive folk like the ancient Israelites.  God’s corrective actions might seem restraining as read in Hosea. Fine for them, but wrong for us. 

The thing about lectio divina is that every word in every text is meant to be taken to heart. Every verse is as if it were written expressly for me, for you. So I can’t dismiss anything. I can’t claim a 21^st Century view point. A point of view is meaningless here. When you are reading Scripture, especially when you are praying it, you are in eternity. Time vanishes. You may as well be some sinner in the northern kingdom destined for Babylon. This is what I learned: I am every one of those people. And God taught me to walk.