In Jesus's Company
“Martha, Martha,” the Lord answered, “you are worried and upset about many things, but few things are needed—or indeed only one. Mary has chosen what is better, and it will not be taken away from her.”
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Dear Kate,
I am going to open this letter in a way that is almost asking you to ignore the rest: To hope is to yearn for God Himself.
To anyone who does not acknowledge any sort of transcendence, this is religious talk. To a religious person, whatever follows is going to be a warmed-over sermon.
You've heard it a thousand times, such as the Mary-Martha story I posted above. Only that the preacher himself was also quite worried, making sure to hit all the points in his sermon, couldn't wait to plunge right back into the busy-ness that he must busy himself with: wrongs to correct, rights to affirm, people transactions keep on transacting to make the world whirl, the sun shine, blood boil.
A point has to be made, especially when we are disappointed, despondent, in despair. And when we pray, we pray for God to make that very point for us, to address whatever troubling circumstance we are hoping it away. If He is not doing anything right now, we might have reason to question Him, His ability, His willingness to help, His love for us--His love for anything at all.
"Why didn't God stop that?" Well, it looks like He ain't gonna answer. It looks like He might not even be there. He didn't stop children from being killed, war waged, or my roof leak, that innocent left turn I made that took away my everything. It looks like I must action justice and goodness on behalf of our absentee "master of the universe."
The patient and pious ones among us will say, "Nah, it's ok, God has his timing. Hope will come, eventually. He's still in control, despite all the evidence to the contrary. He will work it out. I will let God be God and enjoy what is given me, stay thankful and hopeful. He's the boss: who am I to question him? One day it will all work out."
Such self-talks, too, are warmed-over sermons that we preach to ourselves, pulling Martha out of her grave to humiliate her all over, only to have her speak for our frustration about life, with God.
Yesterday I was at the beach. It was supposed to rain but the sun came out (against all odds as projected by state-of-the-art human effort) and very strong too (even odder). The sea breeze deceived me into the self-delusion of invincibility, and I stayed exposed for more than two hours with only a t-shirt and rolled up jeans. Afterwards I wasn't feeling well.
But when I was out there I was happy, at peace. I was myself. I picked up rocks to clean limpets and barnacles off them (I didn't know why) and then threw them as far as I could back into the water (not either). There were a few adults, mostly far away from the beach, sunbathing, waiting for their order of food. The ones who got close to the water were parents, adults, talking necessarily to each other about necessary life matters, on their phones, calling the kids to look out. Children were the only ones playing.
You told me you weren't too happy yesterday, quite troubled actually. What were you hoping for? Was your prayer a list of laundry looking for a Molly Maid, a Martha of a God who is both willing and able to "meet you where you are"? Have you tried to meet God where He was?
Many of us don't know quite how to articulate the Gospel, the Good News of true hope, not in words, probably because first not in deeds. Sometimes we sound like, live like we are downright godless. I love to gather simple but profound words articulating aspects of the Gospel, and here, my gift to you, passing along, are the words of Rowan Williams, which, not incidentally, also speak about racial justice:
"We must turn to the children; the exhausted; the ravaged and burdened and oppressed - they know the secret. It's the really hungry who can smell fresh bread a mile away.
For those who know their need, God is immediate - not an idea, not a theory, but life, food, air for the stifled spirit and the beaten, despised, exploited body.
But what is this food, this life? Here's the deeper secret. To Jesus is given the freedom to give God's own life and love…
Wherever [Jesus] is, God is active, pouring out His gift, inviting our response. And this means we can't know fully who God is and what God gives unless we are willing to stand in the same place as Jesus…
Here is the secret of our true identity - we are made to be God's children and to find our most profound freedom in surrender to Him.
Once we recognise God's great secret, that we are all made to be God's sons and daughters, we can't avoid the call to see one another differently. No one can be written off; no group, no nation, no minority can just be a scapegoat to resolve our fears. We cannot assume that any human face we see has no divine secret to disclose: those who are culturally or religiously strange to us; those who so often don't count in the world's terms (the old, the unborn, the disabled).
An authentic Church has a difficult job. On the one hand, it must be constantly learning from the Bible and its shared life of prayer how to live with Jesus and His Father . . . But there is a further dimension. Living in Jesus's company, I have to live in a community that is more than just the gathering of those who happen to agree with me, because I need also to be surprised and challenged."
Amen.
Yours, Alex
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