"Driven Into the Desert" given Feb. 18

Mark's Gospel depicts the Temptation of Jesus as occurring immediately after His Baptism. “Immediately” is Mark’s favorite word. His Gospel is written at breakneck pace. It conveys for us the sense of extreme urgency that gripped and led Jesus throughout his ministry. We see that urgency in this event as well.

Even on the heels of that extraordinary, life-changing spiritual crossroads, there is no time to bask in the glory. No time to play to the crowds. Instead, our Lord found himself in the Judean wilderness, driven out there by that urgency-- by an overwhelming need that took command of Him and sent Him into the forsaken, the lonely places of this world. He was almost thrown into that rocky wilderness.

The Spirit didn't lead or invite him. It drove him into the desert--immediately. As one preacher has noted, this is no sweet dove. This Spirit is more like a bird of prey-- it has claws and talons to grip and hold and move us.

And there, in the wilderness, Jesus is tempted. Other gospels do this temptation in some detail. Mark says only that Jesus was tempted there, in the wilderness where there were "wild beasts." It is a dark, fierce, enigmatic tale with which to open a Gospel. The wilderness is a dark fierce place in which to find oneself-- or to find oneself alone with one’s God.

Throughout Israel's history, the desert had always been a place for encounter with the Divine. For the prophet, the hermit, the pious, the holy men and women of God, the desert had been a place where you fled for retreat from the world, for spiritual assessment and re-grouping, for fasting and self-examination, and for communion with the Almighty.

There in the desert, like Moses on Mt. Sinai, like Elijah fleeing from Jezebel, we are told that Jesus fasted and prayed for forty days-- a number symbolic of a holy period of time. And like Moses, like Elijah, like so many others, Jesus would eventually emerge with His energy revitalized, His vision clarified, His understanding matured, His purpose strengthened, His life renewed.

It's from the Temptation story that the church takes its model for the season of Lent. Lent is an opportunity for those of us who strive to follow Jesus to take seriously His example of solitary self-examination, spiritual discipline, study, prayer, and devotion. Lent is a time when we too, are called to the quiet places of our lives, when we are invited to forty days of stripping down to the bare essentials of contemplation, and fasting, and prayer.

At the end of these forty days and six Sundays, we'll celebrate the holiest and most joyous day in the church's year-- the Feast of the Resurrection-- Easter-- Christ's once and for all time victory over sin and death. And just as Easter will provide us with an opportunity to celebrate and reflect upon His glory-- Lent is also providing us with an opportunity.

These six Sundays will remind us that our faith is more than just fellowship hours and warm fuzzy feelings about one another and God. Lent reminds us that ours is not just a faith of glory. Each of these Sundays-- everyone of those forty days-- will remind us that ours is also a faith of sacrifice, of service. Ours is a faith of caring for others and the giving of self. Ours is a faith of the cross.

We find the cross in the midst of our everyday lives-- as well as during Lent-- in the desert places-- as well as on Gethsemane. Mark has skipped over that time of Temptation in the wilderness. But in doing that, Mark is also skipping over the humanity of Jesus.

And it seems to me that is the real wonder of our faith. Not that Jesus was Almighty God walking around on earth impersonating a human being. (After all, Zeus and his crowd were supposed to have done that sort of thing all the time.) Jesus wasn’t God dressed in a human suit-- Jesus actually was a human being-- as human as you or me. And yet in some inexplicable, mysterious, incomprehensible way-- this man Jesus was also God.

Jesus the man felt the need for that forty day retreat. Having been baptized, having received the Divine promise, Jesus was driven into the desert. And there in the forsaken places of life, He was tried and tested by His own human nature-- his own doubts, his own questions, his own hesitations.

There in the desert-- in that testing, in that temptation-- yes, in His doubts and hesitations too-- we clearly see the human face of Jesus. There in the wilderness, Jesus is most like us. We too, have had our wilderness times. We too have wondered about our identity, our call, our place in the cosmos.

The patriarchs and saints of old and heroes of our faith knew the wilderness as well. They were tempted. They doubted. They stormed heaven with their prayers-- and at times seemed to receive only silence in return . One of them wrote eloquently of “the dark night of the soul”.

We too, have known the dark night. We too, know what it is to be tempted. We too, know the doubts-- the fears-- the tears. To have them is not a disgrace-- it is simply to be human. The plain fact is that the tests and trials of human life will sooner or later drive each one of us into the wilderness of our deepest selves. And once there-- like Jesus, we each must journey alone-- face those challenges alone. Like Jesus in the lonesome valley, nobody else can face them for us. Eventually we too, must overcome our temptations, face our doubts and prevail, just as our Lord did. Or they will destroy the faith within us.

Frederick Buechner is his classic novel Open Heart sets the scene for a conversation between Leo Bebb-- former Bible Salesman, former evangelist, currently pastor and seller of mail order ordinations-- and his agnostic son-in-law, Antonio Parr. It is the night after the funeral of Herman Redpath, Bebb's wealthy native American patron and friend. Bebb speaks:

.... I'll tell you one thing about what it's all about, and that is that it's hard, Antonio. It's all of it hard, right down to the end. Even when things are supposed to be easy, they're hard too. You take what Herman Redpath is up against now. 'In the twinkling of an eye we shall all be changed,' Scripture says. In the twinkling of an eye, Antonio, like it was the easiest thing in the world. It is not easy. Out there now Herman Redpath and his Maker are sweating like horses. You ever see anything being born looked easy, Antonio, let alone anything getting born again?

From behind, Bebb had no neck to speak of, just a coil of fat above his collar. He looked diminished against the huge sky.

I said, 'At least it's nice you believe there's something left of Herman Redpath to sweat with.'

'Listen', Bebb said. That's not half of what I believe.'

'What else do you believe?' I said.

'Antonio,' Bebb said, 'I believe everything.'

It was a remark of such classic grandeur that for a few moments I sat there in the twilight, silent before the sheer magnitude of it.

'You make it sound almost easy,' I said finally.

'Don't kid yourself,' Bebb said, turning slowly to where he could look at me. 'It's hard as hell.'

Sometimes, often times, it's hard to believe-- hard as hell. It was hard at times for the saints, hard for the prophets, hard for the early Christians, even sometimes hard for Jesus. Is it any wonder that it's sometimes hard for you and me?

All of us want to believe in a God who will protect us, a God who will be on our side, a God who will use the powers of Creation to preserve us from the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune. But Jesus warned us. It won’t be that way. It won’t be easy. He told us upfront that we'd have to be willing to take up our cross alone if we truly wanted to follow Him.

Our faith has no magic wand that will wipe away-- much less shield us from the trials and tragedies of life on this planet. On the contrary, sometimes it feels as if we inherit more than our fair share of those dark moments. No saint or philosopher ever spoke any truer words than Leo Bebb's "It's all of it hard.... It's hard as hell."

During World War II, a teacher told his Sunday School class about the Passion and Crucifixion of Jesus. The children listened attentively until the teacher finished telling how Jesus finally died. At this point a little boy jumped up, literally quivering with indignation and cried out, "But where were the Marines?"

And that's the point of our faith. Jesus died without the Marines coming to His rescue. No US Calvary rode to the rescue, no legion of angels, not even John Wayne intervened to save Our Lord from death on the cross. He sweated and hungered those forty days in the wilderness. He was whipped and mocked. He suffered and hung naked on that tree. He was hungry. He was parched. He hurt. He bled.

No EMT. No CPR. No “heroic measures”. No “tunnel of light’. No, he just died-- his heart stopped, his lungs shut down, his bodily functions shut down. He died-- dead.

That's what it means to have a religion of the cross. Our Lord didn't hunger in the wilderness, or suffer on that cross for no reason. He hungered and was tempted for a reason-- so that He might begin His ministry, His battle with evil with clean hands and a clean heart. He suffered and died in order to defeat sin and death-- in order to redeem suffering humanity.

And it's precisely at those very moments-- in the desert and on the cross-- during our own dark nights-- that the heart of our religion of the cross appears. "It's all of it hard" writes the novelist. And it's in that very hardness, in our struggle to believe, in our times of loss and grief, in those dark and savage nights of doubt, in our confusion and even anger at God, that you and I can triumph.

At those crisis moments, we inevitably find ourselves driven to the desert within the deepest part of us. Like Jesus in the Judean wilderness, what we do there is crucial. If you and I can allow ourselves to acknowledge and face not only our doubts-- but our fears and our courage, our attitudes and our prejudices, our selfishness and our selflessness, our defeats and our victories, our gifts and graces, our pettiness and our greatness, our gold and our shadow-- we will find our spirits, our minds and our hearts enlightened and enlarged and deepened.

If you and I have the guts to keep walking that interior desert through prayer and listening as well as through ministry and outreach in the outer desert, we will eventually come face to face with ourselves-- and with our Lord. We will eventually come to know His Divine Mercy, His love, His acceptance. And we will

begin to find it within to be merciful to, and love, and accept our selves.

It’s a paradox. We won’t necessarily find out everything there is to know about God and who God is. We’ll begin to get to know ourselves. We won’t necessarily get our doubts assuaged. We’ll get our faith deepened. We won’t get the secrets of the universe. We’ll get awe and mystery. We won’t get pat answers to our questions. We’ll learn to ask better questions.

We won’t get a rose garden in this life. We’ll get challenge and struggle just like everybody else. We won’t get a chance to earn our way into paradise by our good works. We’ll get a vocation that will make life meaningful. We won’t get earthly success that makes life sweet and smoothes out all our difficulties. We’ll get a purpose for the everyday living of our lives and strength to meet those challenges. We won’t get a crown. We’ll get a cross.

That’s the very heart of the paradox of a religion of the cross-- if we open ourselves to Him-- His cross will make our spirits joyful, our lives worth living, and our hearts full. His cross will become the sign of our victory. What was a sign of death will mean life for us.

Jesus came out of the desert-- not whining in defeat-- but proclaiming that the time had come at last. He shouted from the housetops that his listeners should repent, change their hearts and minds and believe in the Good News. He walked the way of faithfulness. He knew it would end at the cross. And still he walked. And still he calls us.

In the very moment of Christ’s abnegation-- we see His exaltation. The glory of His Baptism is immediately followed by His struggles and trials in the desert. The miracle of His Godliness is juxtaposed against the doubts and suffering of His humanity. The heartbreak of His Passion precedes the wonder and promise of his Resurrection. And that’s the basis of that urgency Mark worked so terribly hard to convey to us. Lent is followed by Easter. Always. Immediately.

"In Secret" Ash Weds 2018 given Feb 14

When the Davis family lived in Rockford about umpteen years ago, we had the dubious distinction of owning a couple of used cars that were, quite frankly, clunkers. As a direct result of that fact, we became acquainted-- too well acquainted-- with a number of local garages and mechanics in that area. And as a result of that fact, we also became acquainted with a pair of brothers who owned an upstanding local establishment known as "Mr. Morgan's Rent-A-Cheapie". In fact, Donna and I became such regular customers that these young men would often knock a couple of bucks off of the price of a used car rental for us.

One Sunday evening my car broke down-- again-- while I was attending an evening Lenten Program at the old St. John's UMC. As a result, I was stranded on the opposite side of the Rock River from my parsonage in a neighborhood that some people might not feel too comfortable in. I knew from hard experience that there was absolutely zero chance of finding a garage open that night. So, I called up good ol' Rent-A-Cheapie.

They were happy to come pick me up and drive me back to their office-- where we'd do the paper work on this latest rental. On the way, the younger

brother (who was driving) and I, got to talking. He asked me what in the world I was doing out so late in such a bad neighborhood on a Sunday night. I explained I'd been attending a Lenten Service and Potluck.

“Yeah, that's right. It's Lent, isn't it." I agreed that it was. “You know Reverend, every year at Lent I try to give something up. Do you do that in your church?" I admitted that some of us were known to do that.

Well," he continued, "what I try to give up is bread."

“Bread! I never heard of any body giving up bread for Lent!"

"Yeah, well most people haven't when I tell 'em. Ya'see, I'm kinda heavy. And I read somewhere that if you wanna lose weight, one good way to do it is to cut down on your carbohydrates-- Ya know, like bread.

So I figure, what the hey, I'll go whole hog and just give up all Bread for Lent. That way I'll lose some weight, and I'll have God to keep me on my diet."

“Aha, I see. And does it work?"

“Not so far. This is the fourth year I've tried it. I love bread, but I can manage to give it up. But if I don't eat bread, I get so hungry that I fill up on Pasta instead. Last year I ended up gaining fifteen pounds! This year I'm up five pounds already! That's the way it's been every year. And the bad thing is, I can't lose the weight I gain in Lent during the rest of the year--'cause then I'm back to eating bread again! And I love bread!"

“Sounds like a vicious cycle to me." I replied.

“Yeah, it's terrible. I'm so fat now that none of my clothes fit. And it's only a couple weeks into Lent. I just don't know what to do. I don't want to quit fasting, but I'm so fat now! Tell me something Reverend. Do ya’ think I might be too religious?"

We Protestants have some problems with Ash Wednesday and Lent and Fasting. It's not really part of our religious mind-set. Frankly, it feels too Catholic to us. Sure, we recognize that we could stand a little more prayer in our lives. Maybe we even acknowledge that some spiritual discipline can be a good thing-- if carried out in moderation. But, the truth is, we tend to be a bit hesitant about the idea of fasting and regular devotions.

That's for fanatics-- we tell ourselves-- or for those folks in the "high" churches. Or, like my friend from the used car rental place, we confuse our very real need for physical discipline with our equally compelling need for spiritual discipline. This may be what the Apostle Paul was saying in his First Letter to the Corinthians when he writes:

“All the runners at the stadium are trying to win, but only one of them gets the prize. You must run in the same way, meaning to win. All the fighters at the games go into strict training. They do this just to win a wreath that will wither away, but we do it for a wreath that will never wither. That is how I run, intent on winning. That is how I fight, not beating the air. I treat my body hard and make it obey me, for having been an announcer myself, I should not want to be disqualified.”

Locker-room theology aside, there's an important insight here. There really is a spiritual training that Paul is pointing to, and that Jesus assumes in this evening's reading from Matthew's Gospel. Jesus says,

"When you give alms... when you fast... " Not if, but when. Jesus was assuming that His followers would give and would fast. It didn't have to be said, it was a natural and expected part of religious life.

The Common Lectionary Reading that we're using tonight cuts up Matthew 6. In verses 1-6, we read instructions on how we are expected to give charity-- in secret, without making a show of it. And then we jump to verse 16, where we read Christ's instructions about fasting in secret. Omitted from tonight's lesson, are verses 7-15, Jesus' instructions on how to pray-- The Prayer of our Savior-- The Lord's Prayer.

Matthew 6 lays out for the disciples-- and for you and me--the three pillars of Jewish and early Christian spiritual practice. Almsgiving-- or Charity, Prayer, and Fasting. Our training schedule-- if you'll forgive one last athletic metaphor.

"Rend your hearts and not your garments. Turn back to your Sovereign God" says the Prophet Joel.

“Give generously, give spontaneously, give anonymously, pray the prayer I've taught you, and fast in secret—“ says our Savior.

When we consider these teachings, you and I can begin to see that Jesus was a man thoroughly grounded in the historic faith and spiritual traditions of His own people. We can begin to see Him as a man who practiced-- and indeed lived out-- these three principles in His ministry, His teachings, even in His death upon the Cross. The Pharisees accused Jesus and His disciples of not fasting. Whether or not they knew it, what they really meant was that Jesus and His followers did not publicly fast.

Charity, Prayer, and Fasting. They don't necessarily sound like a lot of fun. Do they? And when we speak of becoming more disciplined in our giving, our devotions and our abstinence, it sounds even less attractive. Doesn't it?

Hey, we go to church-- most Sundays-- okay, some Sundays. We pray in church and at Sunday Dinner-- maybe even at bedtime most nights-- okay, some nights. We give to our church-- and to the United Way and the March of Dimes, too! We're trying to cut down on table salt and artificial preservatives. We're on a diet, and back on, and back on, and back on. Well, that's a lot better than some people we could name! It's easy to tell ourselves that we're basically doing okay in these areas.

But the question arises, is that really what Jesus had in mind in these teachings? Regular church attendance, faithful giving, and going on a diet are commendable-- even necessary activities. But as Jesus says, they are their own reward. And even worse, we might actually gain weight if we give up bread. What is more important than what we do, is why we do it.

Lenten Fasting with the not-so-secret object of trimming a few inches off our middle has exactly as much spiritual benefit as hiring a brass band to play a fanfare when you make a donation to your favorite charity.

Fasting, prayer, and charity need to be seen as a single movement in our spiritual life. They are not separate. They are connected. They are not three disciplines. They are one. And they are meant to be practiced for their own sakes-- and for the sake of our Savior who calls us to them. We have forgotten in our day and age, that real spiritual growth does not come without discipline.

We have forgotten that excellence does not come without practice.

From Willie Nelson, to the Rolling Stones, to the Chicago Symphony Orchestra, for every moment that those musicians perform in public, there are literally hours, days, weeks of rehearsal.

If a husband and wife only give one another a hug only when they are feeling particularly spontaneous and affectionate, they will soon end up with a sick and limping relationship. Some things are so important that we need to do them and keep doing them for their own sakes--whether we're the mood or not. It's like the old joke--

"Hey buddy, how do I get to Carnegie Hall?"

"Practice, practice, practice"

Retired Bishop William Willimon, writes,

Most of us eat, sleep, work, make love out of habit. We habitualize certain actions because we think they are important. Most Christians go to church out of habit. Contrary to popular belief, their habit in no way minimizes the importance of this experience, in fact, it confirms its importance. Spontaneity is fine, so far as it goes. But our deepest feelings, our most important shared values and commitments, must be constantly reiterated in our lives. Therefore we do them out of habit.

The medieval church taught that only those actions of an individual that arise from customary habits could be judged as good or bad. They saw our habits as direct reflections of the true moral basis of our personal character. Prayer, Fasting, and Charity--if you and I really desire a closer relationship with our God, we need to engage in these spiritual disciplines --all three --or all one.

If the Sacraments at church seem to be meaningless and repetitious; if our worship experience has become boring, if we feel isolated and separated from that experience of life in Christ that we covet-- perhaps we need to examine our habitual disciplines. Perhaps we need to examine our habitual ways of living and being in the world. Perhaps we need to examine our motives.

Maybe we need to stop trying to piggyback our diets onto our prayer lives. Maybe we need to start a prayer life! Maybe we need to stop advertising our generosity in order to impress others. Maybe we need to stop publicizing our piety in order to feel good about ourselves. Maybe we need to stop begrudging our stewardship for the sake of gaining a bigger bank balance.

"Rend your hearts" says the Prophet Joel. That message speaks for itself. The message is, I hope, as clear for us as it was in Joel's day. The real key to personal growth, the real key to a church growth and revitalization, the real key to a closer relationship with our Maker, the real key to that "kinder, gentler America" President Bush I talked about, lies in the transformed hearts of her people. It lies in you and in me, and in our sisters and brothers in the faith. It lies in our commitment-- both individual and corporate-- to personal growth and wholeness.

"Rend your hearts", and pray, and give, and fast. Amen.

Frederick Douglass

GORDON LIGHTFOOT ~ The Pride Of Man ~

i shall not be moved - Mississippi John Hurt

"What I Came to Do" given Feb. 4

Mark's Gospel opens with a report of Jesus' first working day as Messiah, as Redeemer, as Savior. No Nativity story. No angels, or shepherds, or Magi. Just Ministry. Just Mission.

But what a first day it was! He started off preaching in the synagogue. He performed an exorcism, as we read last week. And then, just to round the day off, He made a pastoral call to Simon Peter's house, where He healed Peter's mother-in-law.

All day long the word must have been spreading ab out Him. The rumors would have been flying about this home-town-boy-turned-rabbi who had an unexpected gift of healing. Remember, it was now the Sabbath, and even nominally religious Jews did not travel on the Sabbath--except on foot and only as far as was absolutely necessary.

But even given those prohibitions, word must have been spreading like wildfire through all the tiny villages that ringed the Sea of Galilee-- thanks to that mysterious, invisible mode of human communication that we dismiss so casually as "the grapevine"

By sundown, when the Sabbath was officially over, folks started swarming in, looking for Jesus. They must have come from all over the area, hauling their infirm loved ones, their sick relatives, their bedeviled cousins, their own afflicted selves. Lepers and cripples and blind and deaf people-- physically and mentally and emotionally challenged people from all over seeking a cure, looking for a miracle. And when they found Him, they must have clamored for the new faith healer's curing touch.

Jesus healed as many of them as He possibly could. But even He couldn't heal them all. It was an impossible situation.

Imagine if you were to open up an absolutely free hospital-- first come, first served-- with instantaneous and everlasting healing guaranteed for all people, of all ages and suffering from all the challenges and ailments people suffer from—schizophrenia, cancer, strep throat, appendicitis, the common cold, arthritis… anything.

Imagine the lines, the crowds, the pushing and shoving. Imagine the fights when somebody jumped line, the problems keeping order, the problems with food and sanitation for the multitudes you would draw. And imagine the terrible emotional and physical drain on the one solitary person doing all that healing.

Jesus must have gone to sleep exhausted that night. And early next morning He no doubt woke up to the sounds of the crowd starting to gather. This “hangover” from the night before, sent Jesus back to where he’d started-- back to where he’d just come from-- back to the wilderness-- back to God

There, Jesus wrestled with the situation. Was he being tempted to do good but miss the best? Tempted to spend himself and his gift helping individuals, when a whole sin-sick world awaited His redeeming sacrifice?

I love that Mark shows us this very human side of Jesus-- that even He had to wrestle with doubts and questions. Even He had to take care of himself. Even Jesus had the need for quiet time-- for time alone. Even He had the need for regeneration and renewal. Even Jesus had to work to keep his life centered on doing God’s Will.. Even He had to have the sense that his life was tied together with purpose and meaning. Even Jesus had to go within himself—go to God, on a regular basis. C.S. Lewis wrote:

The moment you wake up each morning, all your wishes and hopes for the day rush at you like wild animals. And the first job each morning consists in shoving it all back; in listening to that other voice, taking that other point of view, letting that other, larger, stronger, quieter life come flowing in.

Even Jesus had that inner hunger-- the need, deep within his most secret heart, for that other, larger, stronger, quieter life through communion with the One He called “Abba”. That’s the same hunger for the Holy that every human ever to have walked on this planet, has deep inside. The same need that makes us all human.

Yes, Jesus was God’s Messiah-- but he was a human Messiah. He’d chosen to come among us and be one of us for our sakes. And that choice meant that Jesus had a unique and wonderful gift he would one day offer-- the gift of that life for the Redemption of the world. But it also meant that Jesus’ earthly ministry was constrained by that gracious choice.

. As a human being-- Jesus couldn't do it all alone. And that’s another thing I love about this passage—it shows us that ministry—healing—caring—compassion cannot be a solitary pursuit. Even Jesus needed the support of the disciples—His co-workers and colleagues in ministry to share the burdens--and share his hearts with.

It would have been perfectly possible for Jesus to spend the rest of His life and ministry right there in Galilee, working and ministering as a faith healer. But even if he were to heal day and night for the rest of his natural span of life, that even if afflicted people from all over the Roman world were to come to him, our Lord still probably wouldn’t have managed to heal 1/1000^th of 1% of all the poor suffering victims on this tear-stained planet.

And once that happened, Jesus' ministry to heal people's whole lives-- to make whole this broken world-- would get buried under His ability to heal peoples' bodies. And once that happened, He'd never have an opportunity to give the message that God had sent Him to deliver all of suffering humanity..

"For that," Jesus said, "is what I came to do."

Meanwhile, the crowd continued to build. More and more people were coming in from all the towns around the Lake-- people looking for a quick and easy cure, a way out of their misery, a magic gesture, a healing touch from a holy man who would make them whole.

They didn't care that this holy man had come not only to heal infirm bodies but also to heal wounded spirits, to heal sin-sick souls, to heal broken lives, to heal a wounded world. They didn't care what this holy man had to say. They wanted change-- but only on the surface. They wanted healing-- cheap and easy. They feared to change their lives-- and to change their hearts.

Doctors know all about folks like that-- patients looking for a miracle cure, a silver bullet, an injection, a pill, a magic elixir that will cure their ills, that will make everything all right. Penicillin or Prozac, herbs or vitamins, cocktails or miracle drugs, anti-depressants, anti-oxidants or antibiotics, -- we don't really care-- we just want a cure-- the sooner the better. But who said anything about changing our lives?

I used to have a cartoon taped to my refrigerator door. Hagar the Horrible is talking to Dr. Zook.

"Doc!" he says, "you gotta help me! I'm so overweight. Look, these are my only pair of pants that still fit. I'm desperate, Doc! I'll do anything to lose weight!"

"Good!" says the doctor. "I want you on a strict diet, get lots of exercise and quit drinking!"

In the next frame, Hagar is looking at the Doctor in stunned disbelief.

"I mean anything within reason."

Like Hagar, we will do anything-- within reason. We want to want to be cured. We want to change our lives. But we're not willing to change our way of living. We're not ready to give up our addictions, not willing to change our eating habits, not willing to slow down the pace of our lives, change our stressful harmful attitudes. There are so many who want a surface cure-- but only if it involves no commitment, no involvement, no discomfort.

We'll sit around McDonald's and pontificate on the ills of society for hours on end-- and not do a single thing to make the world any better. We have a prescription for everything wrong with the world-- nuclear proliferation, poverty, alcoholism, welfare reform, school violence --but we aren't willing to get involved with solving these problems.

We'll do anything-- within reason. We can sit through endless meetings about homelessness and then ignore a pan-handler on the street. We'll recycle our newspapers. But we won't lobby our legislators for tougher anti-pollution laws. We'll get upset about a TV show on hunger in Africa but it'll never occur to us to volunteer at a food pantry. We'll weep over articles about abused children, but it wouldn’t occur to us to become foster parents. We'll moan about the evils of drug abuse and then go home and have a drink or six. We'll make a show of our concern for the ill or infirm, and then shy away from visiting a nursing home.

We'll do anything-- within reason. We'll run three miles a day to build up our lungs. And then we'll sit down and have a cigarette. We'll go to the doctor for treatment of a drinking problem. But we won't join AA. We’ll complain and moan about our aches and pains, but we won’t go on a diet to lose the excess pounds putting so much strain on our joints. We’ll monitor our cholesterol and blood pressure levels but we won’t start even the mildest exercise program.

We’ll do anything—within reason. We’ll pop antidepressants like M&Ms. But we won’t do the hard work of looking within through prayer and introspection and meditation that will lead us through the swirling shadows of wounds and challenges, victories and defeats, habits and fears and inspiration to find the Divine spark within. We won’t bother to make the effort of getting in touch with, and coming to know and accept that blessed, golden inner child of a God whose deepest yearning is to reach us and teach us to live in wholeness and loving unity within our selves, with one another, and with God’s deepest heart.

Those were the sort of people who swarmed all over Jesus that day. People looking for a quick fix, people looking for magic, people looking for someone else to do the healing, someone else to take the responsibility, someone else to do all the dirty work, someone else to make everything okay. People like you. People like me.

And when Jesus realized who they were and what they wanted of him, He went off to be with God. But then Peter and the other disciples ran Him down. And when they'd found Him, they said, "Come on. Everybody's looking for you."

But He wouldn't come. Instead, Jesus told them that the time had come for Him to move on. There were people in the next village who needed to hear the good news. There were demons throughout the whole of Galilee who had to be expelled. There were more people to be healed along the way.

Jesus knew that He needed to go to spread His message and His healing touch to others. Jesus knew above all, that He needed to get His listeners, and the Twelve, and you and I, involved in the mission of healing our own selves, and healing one another, and healing the world.

"For that is what I came to do." He said. He wanted to heal us beneath the surface, heal us of the broken-ness of heart and soul that does not allow us to care-- much less reach out when the poor are hungry, when babies are dying, when elderly parents are alone, when neighbors are troubled and in need, when women and children are abused and molested and the earth is despoiled and polluted.

He offered us real healing, the kind that takes a willing and active receiver as well as a compassionate giver. He wanted to heal us and empower us to change our lives so that indeed we can banish our confusion, give up our harmful compulsions, lose weight and begin to live a healthier life-style. We can conquer our selves. We can reach out to our alienated sister or brother, mend our broken relationships, forgive all those who have trespassed against us.

We can establish a new and healthy relationship with our spouse, our children, our neighbors. We can come to accept and love and establish a new relationship with our deepest, truest selves-- and a new relationship with God.

"For that," Jesus said, "is what I came to do.." The disciples didn't understand that. The crowd didn't understand. They came looking for change without effort, cheap grace, salvation without faith, the easy thing. They came-- as many come today.

The physical healings were fundamental to His ministry. But Jesus never meant his healings to be the main focus of his ministry. The healings were always intended as signs. They were intended to be seen as signs of the dawning of God’s Reign. They were intended to be seen as signs of God‘s compassion for suffering humanity.

The main event-- the reason Jesus came was, was to offer total healing of spirit and of life. By preaching the good news, and expelling demons, and healing the broken. He called people-- as He still calls us-- to choose. You and I can choose to follow Him, and commit ourselves to care and minister to others. We can choose to know and love ourselves and God. Or we can choose to just go on suffering-- ensnared in our own self-ignorance, self-doubt, and self-centeredness, and end up wallowing in our own eternal self-pity, trapped within the Realm of Darkness. It’s our choice.

"For that," Jesus said, "is what I came to do."

Dave Allen - religious jokes

Sister Rosetta Tharpe - Didn't It Rain

Sister Rosetta Tharpe - Didn't It Rain

Guide My Feet