What is it that we do here each week, when we share communion—the Lord’s Supper—together?
Communion is a ritual filled with many layers of meaning, with a rich history, and a bit of disagreement, and many different—yet good—interpretations. The sharing of bread and wine is one of our oldest Christian rituals, mentioned in Paul’s letters, the earliest portion of the New Testament, and in the book of Acts, the story of the early church.
Communion is a sign of the coming of the Realm of God, which sounds so heavy, but is so accessible.
Again: Communion is a sign of the coming of the Realm of God, or the kingdom of God
The Realm of God, Jesus said, is like a wedding banquet to which we are all invited. And it’s so important that we all be there, that a shepherd would leave his whole flock to find just one missing sheep.
We see the realm of God in the other meals that Jesus ate in his lifetime—meals with sinners, tax collectors, the outcasts, the poor, the marginalized. Throughout Jesus’ life, this open table was one of his most characteristic and controversial practices. It was carried through in the early Christian church, where the Jews and the Greeks, the rich and the poor, slave and free, male and female broke bread and worshipped together, sharing actual meals, “love feasts,” the ancient coffee hour.
These meals recall that ancient promise of the prophet Isaiah, who said that on the mountain, God will make for all peoples a feast of rich food, of well aged wine, and wipe away the tears from all faces. God invites all to the feast, and we are to turn no one away.
This is what we –not just symbolize—but actually act out, when we share communion: that we are all invited to God’s table—coming from east, and west, north and south— that we are all invited to a common life, together, ordered by justice, love, and peace. In a world marked by war, the church is called to be an outpost of the realm of God on earth, to build it and to share it. And of course, our life and the church’s life is messy. But this ritual, this sacrament is a sign of that hope which we have, that “God’s kingdom will come”, that someday all the earth will be fed, will be at peace, will be whole.
It is appropriate that in our communion, as we act out the practice that makes us followers of Christ, we also remember and give thanks for all that God has done and is doing. And we remember this tangible life of Jesus, a flesh and blood person who lived among us and showed us how we could be, how could live. We remember Jesus, and we remember what it cost Jesus to do this—his life, his body, his blood. Communion memorializes that sacrifice, but also points towards victory.
For death was not the end— afterwards, Jesus appeared to the disciples on the road to Emmaus: they did not recognize Jesus but saw him as a stranger, until later when they invited him to stay for dinner, and then Jesus took the bread, blessed and broke it, and their eyes were opened, and they recognized Jesus for who we was.
I pray that when we share the glorious open feast of communion, that we may draw closer to God, that we may see Jesus in our midst, that we might be encouraged and strengthened to go out into the world and live the life to which we’ve been called.
Showing posts with label vocation. Show all posts
Showing posts with label vocation. Show all posts
Friday, July 24, 2009
Monday, May 25, 2009
Moses: Here I am Lord, Please send someone else.
Following a reading of excerpts from Exodus 2-4.
"Here I am, Lord. Please, send someone else."
Moses says both these things, and because he does, he is perhaps a very approachable model for understanding our vocation, the work we are called to do with our lives—not our careers, but our lives.
Moses was born to a Hebrew mother, but because Pharoah was engaging in genocide against the Hebrews, his mother set Moses out in a basket in the river. He was found by Pharoah’s daughter who then hired his mother to nurse him. His mother must have been a formative influence: while Moses was raised as an Egyptian, he never forgot his Hebrew roots.
When I read the story, I see a Moses who is angry at the oppression of his people. He sees an Egyptian beating a Hebrew—and maybe his anger overcame his self-interest of keeping your head down (and depending on your perspective, his anger may have overcome his better judgment). He saw this beating and he killed this Egyptian, and is then forced to flee.
Moses doesn’t put up with much—well, he puts up with a lot later on as a leader, but he’s consistently standing up for the oppressed. He’s fled now to another land, sitting a well. He sees some women trying to water their flocks get chased away by some other shepherds; he defends the women, and then marries one. That worked out pretty well for him.
And so, Moses is tending his father-in-law’s flocks when the passage we just read began. He sees a burning bush, hears God calling him, hides his face in fear. This may be Moses’ first encounter with God—we don’t know much about his religious life beforehand. Moses sees something amazing, he must be rejoicing inside that God is finally going to act on behalf of his oppressed people. Until Moses gets the news: God’s going to send Moses to Pharaoh. “Who am I to go to Pharaoh”—seems like a legitimate question. “What if they don’t believe me”, ok.
But as God outlines the plan, Moses ain’t buying it. At the end, he’s reduced to “God, I’m not that well spoken.” When that doesn’t work, I think he’s finally honest: O my Lord, please send someone else.
Many of us are in a similar situation. Perhaps there’s no burning bush, but there’s a tug on our hearts—God is calling us to do something. I feel it sometimes: I’m too weak, too busy, too tired, not good enough. And these are legitimate worries, but they’re hiding something else. I just really don’t want to do it.
God knows our limitation—there’ll be help we can draw on, just as God gave moses signs and aid in the form of his brother Aaron. But, “send someone else”—there is no one else. We’re it. We the church are God’s hands. You and I have each been given our own calling: there’s no one who can do your life’s work.
We will fail along the way, miss the mark, just like Moses did—things may seem to go very badly, we’ll have self-doubt, others will question our work. For someone who didn’t want the job, couldn’t speak very well, got so frustrated he smashed the ten commandments, Moses did pretty well with his life. And so we too we may do pretty well in life, if we stay in touch with God, with that burning bush moment, to sustain us on the journey that is our life.
Amen.
"Here I am, Lord. Please, send someone else."
Moses says both these things, and because he does, he is perhaps a very approachable model for understanding our vocation, the work we are called to do with our lives—not our careers, but our lives.
Moses was born to a Hebrew mother, but because Pharoah was engaging in genocide against the Hebrews, his mother set Moses out in a basket in the river. He was found by Pharoah’s daughter who then hired his mother to nurse him. His mother must have been a formative influence: while Moses was raised as an Egyptian, he never forgot his Hebrew roots.
When I read the story, I see a Moses who is angry at the oppression of his people. He sees an Egyptian beating a Hebrew—and maybe his anger overcame his self-interest of keeping your head down (and depending on your perspective, his anger may have overcome his better judgment). He saw this beating and he killed this Egyptian, and is then forced to flee.
Moses doesn’t put up with much—well, he puts up with a lot later on as a leader, but he’s consistently standing up for the oppressed. He’s fled now to another land, sitting a well. He sees some women trying to water their flocks get chased away by some other shepherds; he defends the women, and then marries one. That worked out pretty well for him.
And so, Moses is tending his father-in-law’s flocks when the passage we just read began. He sees a burning bush, hears God calling him, hides his face in fear. This may be Moses’ first encounter with God—we don’t know much about his religious life beforehand. Moses sees something amazing, he must be rejoicing inside that God is finally going to act on behalf of his oppressed people. Until Moses gets the news: God’s going to send Moses to Pharaoh. “Who am I to go to Pharaoh”—seems like a legitimate question. “What if they don’t believe me”, ok.
But as God outlines the plan, Moses ain’t buying it. At the end, he’s reduced to “God, I’m not that well spoken.” When that doesn’t work, I think he’s finally honest: O my Lord, please send someone else.
Many of us are in a similar situation. Perhaps there’s no burning bush, but there’s a tug on our hearts—God is calling us to do something. I feel it sometimes: I’m too weak, too busy, too tired, not good enough. And these are legitimate worries, but they’re hiding something else. I just really don’t want to do it.
God knows our limitation—there’ll be help we can draw on, just as God gave moses signs and aid in the form of his brother Aaron. But, “send someone else”—there is no one else. We’re it. We the church are God’s hands. You and I have each been given our own calling: there’s no one who can do your life’s work.
We will fail along the way, miss the mark, just like Moses did—things may seem to go very badly, we’ll have self-doubt, others will question our work. For someone who didn’t want the job, couldn’t speak very well, got so frustrated he smashed the ten commandments, Moses did pretty well with his life. And so we too we may do pretty well in life, if we stay in touch with God, with that burning bush moment, to sustain us on the journey that is our life.
Amen.
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
Community as Context for Vocation
We often think of vocation—our calling—in very personal terms. We’re right to do so: God’s call to us is personal: we are unique, and must each seek out the direction God is leading us, to acknowledge the gifts that God has given us. Sometimes this vocation is a career, sometimes our vocation is found in the work we do in the evenings or on weekends, sometimes our vocation is not about our work at all but our joy.
But it is easy for our exploration of vocation to narrow in, and become essentially self-centered, for our scope of vision to see only me, my life. But such a narrow focus loses a critical element of God’s true call: community.
Like most things in the Christian faith, this sounds somewhat paradoxical: shouldn’t my vocation be all about me? A great novelist and preacher, Frederick Buechner, said that “Vocation is where your deep desire meets the world’s great need.” I think this is almost right—except we don’t just live in an undifferentiated world, we live (if we’re lucky) in communities, and certainly live with histories, in places, in neighborhoods. Our communities, our histories shape our vocations—they shape how we can use our gifts.
When we are baptized, we or our parents made promises to God—and these promises were made in front of a community; and indeed the church community makes promises to support us in the faith. Baptism is a sacrament that certifies that we are now forever joined to the church—the Christian community
Community is kind of a cheap word: many things we call communities are mere shadows of a true community: we can live in the midst of many others yet remain isolated, sharing little of our time and even less of our hearts with others. Like other true communities, Christian community—the kind Jesus advocated and the early church practiced— is intentional and mutual. The church is, in Dr. King’s words, “the beloved community”—the place where we can be transformed by God rather than conformed to the expectations of the world around us.
There’s a place for us all in true community. Paul, in one of his favorite metaphors, describes the church community as one body, made up of many diverse talents. Finding our vocation, then, is not finding how to get the most out of this world (money, success, achievement)—it’s about finding a context for a life, a meaningful place to give and to receive.
May we all cherish and nurture the communities that nurture us. As we have surely received, let us also give and find our place in the body of Christ.
Amen.
But it is easy for our exploration of vocation to narrow in, and become essentially self-centered, for our scope of vision to see only me, my life. But such a narrow focus loses a critical element of God’s true call: community.
Like most things in the Christian faith, this sounds somewhat paradoxical: shouldn’t my vocation be all about me? A great novelist and preacher, Frederick Buechner, said that “Vocation is where your deep desire meets the world’s great need.” I think this is almost right—except we don’t just live in an undifferentiated world, we live (if we’re lucky) in communities, and certainly live with histories, in places, in neighborhoods. Our communities, our histories shape our vocations—they shape how we can use our gifts.
When we are baptized, we or our parents made promises to God—and these promises were made in front of a community; and indeed the church community makes promises to support us in the faith. Baptism is a sacrament that certifies that we are now forever joined to the church—the Christian community
Community is kind of a cheap word: many things we call communities are mere shadows of a true community: we can live in the midst of many others yet remain isolated, sharing little of our time and even less of our hearts with others. Like other true communities, Christian community—the kind Jesus advocated and the early church practiced— is intentional and mutual. The church is, in Dr. King’s words, “the beloved community”—the place where we can be transformed by God rather than conformed to the expectations of the world around us.
There’s a place for us all in true community. Paul, in one of his favorite metaphors, describes the church community as one body, made up of many diverse talents. Finding our vocation, then, is not finding how to get the most out of this world (money, success, achievement)—it’s about finding a context for a life, a meaningful place to give and to receive.
May we all cherish and nurture the communities that nurture us. As we have surely received, let us also give and find our place in the body of Christ.
Amen.
Sacred Text: Community
From Paul, writing to the church at Rome:
Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your minds, so that you may discern what is the will of God—what is good and acceptable and perfect. For by the grace given to me I say to everyone among you not to think of yourself more highly than you ought to think, but to think with sober judgment, each according to the measure of faith that God has assigned. For as in one body we have many members, and not all the members have the same function, so we, who are many, are one body in Christ, and individually we are members one of another. We have gifts that differ according to the grace given to us: prophecy, in proportion to faith; ministry, in ministering; the teacher, in teaching; the exhorter, in exhortation; the giver, in generosity; the leader, in diligence; the compassionate, in cheerfulness. (from Romans 12)
Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your minds, so that you may discern what is the will of God—what is good and acceptable and perfect. For by the grace given to me I say to everyone among you not to think of yourself more highly than you ought to think, but to think with sober judgment, each according to the measure of faith that God has assigned. For as in one body we have many members, and not all the members have the same function, so we, who are many, are one body in Christ, and individually we are members one of another. We have gifts that differ according to the grace given to us: prophecy, in proportion to faith; ministry, in ministering; the teacher, in teaching; the exhorter, in exhortation; the giver, in generosity; the leader, in diligence; the compassionate, in cheerfulness. (from Romans 12)
Monday, July 16, 2007
Not Cutting It
Though we're coming from different places and heading in somewhat different direction, Andrew over at Emergent Village reminds me of my call:
Our work is critical to the future of the church—ok so maybe that sounds a bit dramatic, but I’m serious—deadly serious! If the church in the west is in decline and our current approaches to mission are not cutting it, then we must take the time to explore other ways we can configure ourselves to connect with the world we live in. We desperately need more pioneering missionaries who are willing to follow Jesus into the difficult places and explore ways of engaging with a world that doesn’t care if we exist.A hearty second over here at The Great Homesickness! My faith home is the liberal mainline church, and it's pretty clear that the old way of being a mainline Christian (basically, assuming that we are the dominant culture) is dying. But what an opportunity to revisit the basics in how to shape our lives after Jesus' model.
Sunday, July 15, 2007
Do the same thing, get the same results
Over at the blog of the Christian Century, Julie Clawson laments:
What we need--and it is not at all easy-- is to reshape the way we live together so that we can change. So much of how we live is not a conscious choice, but shaped by our community.
I am passionate about social justice and have come to believe that Christians are required to care for the poor and the oppressed. It is the essence of my faith to work for change in the world. But baby boomers tell me that I will eventually grow up and leave behind these passions. They tell me, on a regular basis, that I will eventually see how trivial such things as debt relief, gender equality, global warming and ending hunger really are.Yet I was feeling similar to these baby boomers during church today after a discussion of the parable of the Good Samaritan. Of course, debt relief is not trivial, but I ask, Is there room in my life for yet another thing? Often, the gospel message seems to be try harder. Occasionally such an exhortation can revive my flagging will, and I do try harder, and it can make a difference. But if the message is (and has been) "we're not doing enough," it's quite clear that the message will continue to be "we're not doing enough" a decade from now.
What we need--and it is not at all easy-- is to reshape the way we live together so that we can change. So much of how we live is not a conscious choice, but shaped by our community.
Thursday, July 12, 2007
Essence Precedes Existence?
Parker J. Palmer's Let Your Life Speak presents a liberating view of vocation and God's call:
And yet. I don't like the concept that who I really am is given to me, and I just need to listen for it. Rather, I create myself through the choices I make. Who I "really" wind up being could be pretty far from who I was called to be.
Perhaps it's a matter of language. Palmer prefers to say that our true selves exist and we can either live them out honestly or dishonestly. I prefer to say our true selves are what we make them, but that we can answer or reject to God's call to be a (very general) kind of person.
What then is discernment? Practical wisdom: figuring out how to respond to God's call given what we in particular have got: a history, a body, a community.
Discovering vocation does not mean scrambling toward some prize just beyond my reach but accepting the treasure of true self I already possess. Vocation ... comes from a voice "in here" calling me to be the person I was born to be, to fulfill the original selfhood given me at birth by God. (p.10)This vision is freeing at first glance. Vocation-- God's call-- is not about living up to some list of things that I'm supposed to do. It's about going inside, living out what brings me joy, listening for my "true self".
And yet. I don't like the concept that who I really am is given to me, and I just need to listen for it. Rather, I create myself through the choices I make. Who I "really" wind up being could be pretty far from who I was called to be.
Perhaps it's a matter of language. Palmer prefers to say that our true selves exist and we can either live them out honestly or dishonestly. I prefer to say our true selves are what we make them, but that we can answer or reject to God's call to be a (very general) kind of person.
What then is discernment? Practical wisdom: figuring out how to respond to God's call given what we in particular have got: a history, a body, a community.
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