Mark 7:1-23.  Creating Images.

One of the simple joys in life is the appreciation of artistic and literary beauty. To stand in amazement the way a simple brush in one’s hand captures a moment in time.  How the construction of a sentence can stir the deepest emotions. When I walk into the Albuquerque Museum and encounter Wilson Hurley’s painting of the Sandia’s or read Thoreau’s description of his beloved pond - “Walden is blue at one time and green at another, even from the same point of view. Lying between the earth and the heavens, it partakes of the color of both.” 

But for all the majestic brush strokes or words, it captures just one dimension, a moment in time. While magnificent, we can only appreciate them from a distance.  Not life, but an image on canvas or paper.  You cannot hear the birds, smell the trees, feel the sun on your face or see the fish moving beneath the water.  We are viewing one person’s interpretation of the world.  

Have you ever wondered why in all the images of the Good Shepherd, we are always clean, white, innocent lambs?  What artist decided that?  If I were to be accurately depicted it would be as a raggedy old goat.  All different colors - brown, white, red, black, maybe some yellow.  Beard sprouting all over, 5 horns going every which way.  Crooked leg, blood shot eyes, bloody lip, and a sarcastic grin.  I know Jesus would have this exasperated look on his face because I would be struggling to get out of his arms.  My life is a testament as to why Jesus has that crook in the shepherd’s staff – to keep bringing me back.  

Honestly, don’t we all want to be the spotless lamb over the smelly goat?  Therein lies the problem.  We create images of ourselves, those around us, and of God.  It is said that God and reality are so much greater than our ability to comprehend them that we constantly attempt to tame and control them and thereby alleviate our anxiety. And when we put ourselves in control God and others, we cheat ourselves of the opportunity to know God and others.  We settle for life at a distance.

We settle for life at a distance, and go through life wondering why our interactions seem routine and bring little satisfaction.  We wonder why people do not respond to us.  Why should they?  We are living at a distance.  We become rigid, find fault with others, and our relationship with God becomes less important.  We see is an image of others and blind to the beauty and mystery of who they really are.  

I believe this is what Jesus impressing upon the Pharisees.  The disciples do not wash their hands before eating.  While unsavory, does it matter to God?  In the image the Pharisees created - Yes.  They question Jesus and his faithfulness to God.   Jesus then challenges this created image of God.  He points out that they are painting a one dimensional portrait. God at a distance, all while ignoring living, indefinable, all encompassing God. 

The Pharisees like their created image of God They can control God and thus others.   We believe we know what God wants, what God likes, what pleases God.   We fit God into our picture while forgetting we are created in God’s image. You can hear Jesus’ frustration:  “Quit trying to control God.  Just Experience God.  Simply Love God.”  When we conform God to our desires, love narrows, sin begins and the rigidity that darkens our lives seems natural. 

We notice the dirt on Jesus’ hands, and not the love in his heart. We see an unclean person, and not the cleansing love of Christ.  If we do it with God, we do it with others.  Fewer people fit in the picture.  I decided to play a word game with a group of friends, I would describe a person, and they were to respond with the dominant cultural characterization.  I asked them to be honest.  These are the results.  

I said -Young, unmarried African American Woman with three children, the response – welfare mom.  Hispanic teen, with baggy pants standing – gang member, drug dealer.   Immigrant – illiterate, free government services.  White family living in a trailer – redneck, racist. Overweight – no control. Rich white woman – snob, greedy. We create these images of people, without experiencing who they are.  Easier to create an image then asking what led this young women to raise her children alone.  What caused the dependence on eating, why the rich woman does not speak, do we care she is lonely or hurting.  Creating images is easy because it requires little effort.

 If we think this is nonsense, examine the problem of bullying in schools, the high rate of teen suicides, wars across the world, hate crimes, incidences of loneliness and depressions.  Each one of us can picture the Grand Canyon, a sunset or a love sonnet.  However, we cannot experience the immensity of standing on that cliff’s edge, the grandeur of watching the sun set beyond the ocean or the emotion of falling in love.  If we do not experience it, we cheat ourselves of hope, if we do not allow for the mystery, we cheat ourselves of life.  

There have been many in my life that influenced my priesthood and one was Greg. We were both 9, and he moved in after school started.  He wore dirty clothes with holes, his blond hair never combed.   His shoes without laces and wore ill-fitting thick glasses.  The first time I noticed him was his first day. Kids ran up from behind called him ugly trailer trash and pushed him to the ground.   Glasses flying, chin hitting the dirt, tears welled in his eyes.   He got up and continued, like he was used to it. 

He would lay his head on the desk and hold this old GI Joe in his arms.  I assume it was his only toy.  Once, I was riding my bike down the street, and I passed by his rented house, his father had him by the hair, punching him.  During lunch, he sat alone at lunch.  I decided to take a chance and sat with him.  Yes I was teased.  I tried to talk,  but we sat in silence.  As I was about to leave, he said “I like French fries too.” He smiled.  We spent time on the playground and he smiled frequently and we carried animated conversations.  He became my friend.   The taunting never relented, and this scar on my forehead was the result of one of the fights I entered into defending Greg.  

One day, I was upset.  He noticed and he gently handed me his old GI Joe.  He softly said: “I want you to feel better, you are my friend, you can have this – it always makes me feel better.   Greg smiled.  At the age of 9, I felt holiness in our midst.  I felt Christ.  The following Monday, he did not show up to school.  I learned that his family suddenly moved.  I have never seen Greg again, but he led me here.  If I had relied upon the image, I would not have seen a person who although experienced the worst in life, offered me his hope.  A 9 year old child who others called dirty white trash formed a Priest.  

Throw away your preconceived images of all the Greg’s in the world and God and simply experience them.  Create something new.  Go back again, again, and again.  Open yourself to new meaning, new hope, new life.  As Father Brian mentioned last week, keep coming back; it works if you work it.  When we go back, our lives transform from appreciating beauty at a distance to actually living the beauty we so desire.  

I have found that in those times where I am distant from God, my image of God narrows.  I rely on a recollection of who I believe God is.  My vision of the world becomes smaller.  I notice the sins and faults of others, while ignoring my faults and weaknesses. When I run back to Jesus, my world seems to expand, then burden seems lighter. 

I begin realize that I will always stumble and fall.  I will be more goat than lamb, but there will be a hand to pick me up and brush me off.   When I break those images and live in the light of a living God, sin seems like an option and not a requirement.   My acceptance of others becomes easier, I focus less on their faults, and more on my understanding.  I don’t point a finger, rather, I extend a hand.  

Let us break those images of others and transform the world.  Make your vision one where everyone of God’s children can fit in.  Break those images that someone else created of God, that you created and just stand on that cliff, hold out your arms and let that divine wind take you away.    Because in return, when we run to God, you will not find an image, only love, hope, and life.  

August 23, 2009
The Rev. Brian C. Taylor
The Eucharist John 6

As I mentioned two weeks ago, for 5 Sundays in a row our gospel has been about bread. As we’ve remained in the 6th chapter of John’s gospel, we’ve heard of it again and again. Today Jesus repeats himself: those who eat his flesh as bread from heaven will live forever. 

For the early church, this chapter of John’s gospel was a song of praise about the Eucharist, their central, sacred meal. And so today as we conclude this chapter I thought it might be good to reflect on this, our most important form of worship. I’m going to walk us through the Eucharist, saying a little bit about each section of it. 

Our Eucharist is a kind of mystery play, a sacred drama about the big things in life. Worship doesn’t explain these big things to us; it provides an atmosphere where we can experience them. For who can explain such things as creation, suffering, hope, and the reach of God’s love? We can’t. All we can do is dance around in the atmosphere of this mystery for an hour or so, and see what rubs off on us. 

When we arrive here, the play begins. Greeting our brothers and sisters in Christ, we are all on the same level. Unlike many social settings, here it does not matter what kind of car you drove into the lot, what you do for a living, or what your political opinions are. You walk onto this campus as a child of God. You are that lowly and that precious, and so is everyone you meet. If you are looking for it, you can see everyone this way. What a relief to just be human together, having taken off our roles and masks. Where else can we do this? 

Before we worship, many of us dip our fingers into the baptismal font and make the sign of the cross on ourselves, reminding ourselves of who we are, at the core of our being. We are baptized, marked as Christ’s own forever; we are already one with God in Christ. And so worship is not a struggle to get to God. We’re already there, and it is a celebration of this fact. 

In the pew, we pray. We request silence before worship, so that each can prepare in their own way. Some reflect on the week that has passed, offering it all, good and bad, to God. Others come with something heavy that is pressing on them, and offer that. Some of us just sit in the morning light, settling in to this holy place where so much illumination, healing, and unspoken intimacy takes place. 

After we praise God in opening hymn, we pray the Collect for Purity. Our hearts are open, our desires are known, and no secrets are hid. We pray that for the next hour, the thoughts of our hearts will be cleansed, so that we might perfectly love the Holy One who reaches out to us in this sacrament. What better preparation for worship could we make?  

Next, we listen to ancient Hebrew scriptures, a psalm, and early Christian texts. We call this “the living Word.” For us, as People of the Book, it is different from listening to poetry or an inspiring passage from some spiritual author. It is alive. This is truth about life that has been revealed to humanity by our Creator. God’s truth in scripture s certainly mixed in with lots of not-so-edifying personal and cultural baggage, but the light from heaven nevertheless breaks through. God speaks. 

For what human author, all on their own, could write such things as “Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven…God is love, and those who abide in love abide in God, and God abides in them…come to me, all who labor and are heavy-laden, and I will give you rest…what is it that the Lord requires, but to do justice, love mercy, and walk humbly with your God?”

We can only listen expectantly as the living Word is proclaimed, as it works its way into our hearts, as preachers fumble to say something helpful about it. The living Word has a life of its own, and if we expose ourselves to it, if we approach it with a humble and open mind, it will affect us. God reaches into us with this revelation. 

We then affirm the ancient creed of the church, some of us thinking we know what we mean by these words. Others aren’t so sure, simply reciting it out of respect, because it is the primary faith statement of the historic and worldwide church of which they are a part. In any case, these highly symbolic phrases of the creed should not be fretted over word by word. It is a hymn of praise, an affirmation of our trust in the Creator, the human and divine Jesus, the Spirit, and the gift of Christian community. 

In the Prayers of the People, we offer our individual needs, to be sure. But we also rise up out of ourselves in communion with millions of our brothers and sisters who suffer hunger, illness, and injustice. We give thanks for the gift of life, for those who have died, and we offer ourselves as servants to the world. All of this is vastly bigger than what we usually pray about, isn’t it? We need this self-transcendence at least once a week in order to put ourselves in perspective. 

In the confession of sin, the words we use out of the prayer book are refreshingly matter-of-fact, to the point. Unless we’ve recently done something awful, this isn’t a time for emotional hand-wringing. And in our tradition, it isn’t a time to grovel because we know that at our core, we’re miserable wretches. Our confession is a public acknowledgment, here in the presence of our brothers and sisters, that we all do things that compromise God’s intention for us, and that we want God to strengthen our goodness. And in being absolved, we are reminded that while our sin matters greatly, in another way it doesn’t matter at all. We are only human, and God is the renewing power of pure love: complete and unconditional love. 

The offertory is when we present to God our lives, as they are. We are an open book, vulnerable and willing. Everything in our worship up to this point that has been remembered, revealed, and given thanks for is offered back. We offer food for our hungry brothers and sisters in our neighborhood. We offer bread and wine, fruit of the earth, made by human hands. We offer our money, a reward for the work we have done in the world, so that it might be transformed into the work that God does in the world. Above all, we offer thanks in music and praise.

And finally, the denouement, the final act where all the strands of this sacred play come together: holy communion. We begin by recounting the history of God’s interaction with the world from the beginning of creation. This history culminates in Christ’s self-offering, and then it extends into this time and place. 

This is more than a remembrance of what took place 2,000 years ago at the Last Supper. It is the past become present. We are the apostles. Jesus is speaking through the celebrant. He is telling us that he is here, now, in the consecrated bread and wine, just as he has already been here in our gathering, in the living Word, in the prayers, and in the absolution. He is here. 

As we come up to the altar, we take into our bodies the body of Christ. He mingles with our being, and is embodied in us. This is more than a spiritual vitamin. It is Christ himself inhabiting us. If we know this, then our spiritual life is not just something we are struggling to carry out all by ourselves. It is the resurrected Christ living through us. As he said in today’s gospel, Those who eat my flesh and drink my blood abide in me, and I in them. 

Having done this, there is no need for further delay. We are immediately sent back into the world as Christ’s hands, heart, and mind. Go, we say, go forth into the world as witnesses of Christ, rejoicing in the power of the Spirit; go in peace to love and serve the Lord.

This is when the real worship begins, when we carry out what we have experienced here and take it seriously enough to live it. True worship of God is not a pious sentiment in this room. Worship is a response, a willingness to be poor in spirit and rich in faith, to abide in God, to love justice, do mercy, and walk humbly with our God. 

I have only mentioned a few of the possibilities of this mystery play. That’s all I can do. Don’t try to hold on mentally to all that I have said. Just hang around in this holy atmosphere with an open heart. Watch for what God is trying to reveal to you, and be willing to respond in how you live. And, as the people in recovery groups say, Keep coming back; it works if you work it. 

St. Michael and All Angels Episcopal Church   
Albuquerque, New Mexico 
Sunday August 16, 2009
Sermon : Give Thanks
Preacher: Christopher McLaren 
Text: Ephesians 5:15-20 


Not long a ago I listened to someone explain that they had ended a long relationship because of the sheer negativity of their friend whose constant complaining had simply become too corrosive. Expectations run high in our culture. In fact, at times, I think that complaining is a national pastime.  While I’m sure this description does not apply to you personally, I’m sure that you know a friend of a friend who is the most amazingly negative person you know. They can, it seems, find something to complain about in every situation. Nothing is quite good enough. The portions are too small, the price is to steep, the room I too hot, their grade was too low, the food too spicy, the crowds are too large, their taxes too high, the sermons too long, the politicians too greedy, the music to modern, the people too unfriendly, the parking lot too full, their partner too demanding, their children too smart, their cell phone too complicated, you name it. I’m also sure that you are aware of the incredible energy drain required by a culture of complaining. It can simply wear you out. I am not saying that there are no legitimate times to complain or become frustrated. However, I think you have experienced those well-intentioned dragons who have elevated complaining and whining to a kind of high-art form.  

This culture of complaining and whining has become so pervasive in American life that at times it seems a miracle that anything actually gets done.  The critical edge of our society sometimes paralyzes us in ways that only diminish and frustrate our all-too demanding lives. Take the current storms surrounding the health-care debate founded on so much misinformation and fear it puzzles those of us who see this as such a crucial issue of justice for the millions of poor Americans who lack adequate healthcare and for the millions of middle class Americans for whom healthcare has become such a debilitating financial strain.  Cooperating on something so crucial seems so, so reasonable but still we snipe and bicker. 

In the midst of our critical culture, our world of whining, and our overgrown sense of entitlement we encounter Paul’s letter to the Ephesians. It is a letter addressed to a Gentile congregation that is in the midst of a transformation of their personal and social identity having come to faith in Christ from outside the tradition of Israel. It is a letter of basic teaching and admonishment to a holy life given to Christians long-ago and therefore to us as well. While we may have a hard time swallowing the entirety of Paul’s message to the Ephesians, given our vastly different cultural context and the enormous changes in our society, there is a call to wisdom in the midst of this letter that requires our best efforts. Without apology it gives us an amazingly counter-cultural challenge and one of the most difficult practices of the Christian life.  It instructs us to, “give thanks to God the Father at all times and for everything in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ.”

I’m sure you’ve had times in your life when that idea of giving thanks has sounded downright absurd almost cruel. Returning after Hurricane Katrina to our home in New Orleans that had been steeping in 5 ½ feet of water for a month with temperatures in the 90’s and 100’s was one of those moments for me. I remember busting the storm soaked door open to find a think layer of mud on the floors, bookshelves collapsed, mold growing on the walls and ceilings, the rank smell of rotting food, and furniture jumbled all around wherever it had floated to and settled. Give thanks at all times and in all places, how?  

You can insert your own life-example into this sermon: The time you found out that your job was ending without warning, the silence on the phone after you learned of your friends life-threatening illness, the sound of your child begging you not to send them back to that horrible school.  We all know of times in our lives when the last thing, the very last thing we felt like doing was “giving thanks to God.” 

What kind of crazy advice is Paul giving this emerging Christian community and us? Is Paul really telling us to give thanks in the worst of times? Is Paul telling us to deny the understandably and perfectly natural human reaction to complain, to cry out in despair? Is Paul telling us to be Pauliana? [Song: Always look on the bright side of life.]

There are to be sure times where you and I will find it almost impossible to be thankful for the circumstances we find ourselves in or the pain or suffering we are enduring.  I don’t think Paul would deny that there are times when one is just in so much pain, enduring such struggle that it is hard to be filled with thankfulness or to have a posture of gratitude for what seems a perfectly awful circumstance. 

However, Paul is challenging us with a kind of wisdom that does not come naturally. It is wisdom that is acquired only with the eyes and heart of faith nurtured by the wisdom of Christ. I am confident that Paul is saying that there is always something to be thankful for in our lives. Paul is reminding us that in our baptism we have embraced and welcomed the wisdom of God into our very lives. Paul is reminding the Christians at Ephesus that Christ is at work in them, that the lover of our souls and bodies is with us at all times and in all places even when we are least likely to feel it or to want to celebrate it.  

Paul is not telling us just to give thanks but to give thanks to God in the name of Jesus Christ. He is exhorting us to see things through our relationship with God in Christ, through the love of God that has been poured into our hearts and lives. Paul is confident that even in the most dire of circumstances, the most depressing of relationships, the most shattering news: that there is an opportunity to be thankful for God’s very presence and work in your life. Paul does not say that you have to like what you are going through or that it is what you deserve or that if you are feeling pain and suffering you don’t really understand. He is simply saying that the light of the world, the wisdom of the universe is active and available to you at all times and in all places, for the making of your soul, for the healing of the world, for comforting you in your affliction. 

When I spoke with a member of St. Michael’s about this challenging Christian practice of giving thanks at all times and in all places this last week they shared with me the  well known story of Corrie Teen Boom the Dutch Holocaust survivor who wrote the book the Hiding Place.  She and her sister Betsie were both at the notorious Ravensbruck concentration camp. At one point in their captivity they were assigned to a barracks that everyone knew was horribly infested with lice and Corrie was complaining bitterly, her sister who later died in the camp, reminded here that they must give thanks at all times and for everything. It was of course tough advice to give and even tougher advice to follow. But as it turned out, the infestation of lice meant that even the guards refused to enter the barracks which enabled their ministry of prayer, study of the scriptures, and worship to go on unchecked giving many hope. There was in fact a reason to give thanks but it was not immediately apparent.  Before Betsie died she told Corrie, "There is no pit so deep that God's love is not deeper still."

I’m not sure if a dramatic example like this is helpful or not. Perhaps you have a story of God’ goodness and presence with you in the midst of great trial as well.  But what I sense in this story and in the words of Paul is this great wisdom; there is never a time when the mystery of Christ is not at work in our lives, there is never a time when we cease to be God’s beloved, there is never a time when the power of God’s resurrection is not at work for our healing.  In Paul’s words there is deep mystery and no easy illustration will capture it for us.  This posture of thankfulness at all times and places is something we can only cultivate in our lives by great effort surrounded by a community of faith.  It is why we come each week to this Holy Table: to be nourished and refreshed by the saving love of God in Christ, to be drenched in a hope-filled community.  It is why each week we celebrate the Great Thanksgiving remembering with joy the love of God poured out for us in so many ways no matter what the circumstances of our lives are this week or will be next week.  

Each week as we celebrate the Holy Eucharist or Great Thanksgiving we are in fact endeavoring to follow Paul’s advice.  We sing and give thanks, lifting up our hearts to God who fills all in all, that we might have the strength and deep trust to know that there is good reason to give thanks at all times and in all places.  In so doing we become a community of hope, a community built on giving thanks rather than on complaining and whining and this is deeply attractive. We can’t always feel it happening, we can’t always put our finger on just how God has touched us but by faith we experience God’s presence when we in fact most need and desire it, and for this we can most certainly give thanks. 

There is poem by Mary Oliver that I would like to share as a fitting end to our time. It was a gift as I contemplated the meaning of Paul’s challenging wisdom of giving thanks. The poem is entitled “The Vast Ocean Begins Just Outside Our Church: The Eucharist.” 


Something has happened 
to the bread
and the wine

They have been blessed. 

What now?

The body leans forward
to receive the gift
from the priest’s hand, 
then the chalice

They are something else now
From what they were 
Before this began. 

I want 
to see Jesus, 
maybe in the clouds
or on the shore,
Just walking,
Beautiful man
and clearly 
Someone else
Besides.

On the hard days
I ask myself
if I ever will. 

Also there are times
my body whispers to me
that I have. 



Give thanks to God at all times and for everything in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ.


*The poem The Vast Ocean Begins Just Outside Our Church: The Eucharist is from Mary Oliver’s book Thirst.

August 9, 2009
The Rev. Brian C. Taylor
The 10th Sunday after Pentecost
John 6:35, 41-51

I’m still getting used to our new lectionary, which assigns the readings we use for Sunday worship. This year, for 5 weeks in a row we listen to the 6th chapter of the gospel of John, and today we’re on week number 3. This whole chapter is about bread, so you’ll be hearing about bread for some time. Luckily we have 3 different preachers on these 5 Sundays, but I’m doing 3 of them. Not that I’m complaining. 

As chapter 6 begins, Jesus feeds 5,000 people bread and fish. He then tells the crowds that he is the real bread that gives eternal life - that when we believe in him, we will never be hungry again. We are to eat his flesh as bread from heaven. 

In John’s gospel, this is a turning point. Feeding people bread is one thing; but claiming that his followers would eat his flesh and then live forever – that’s another thing altogether. Many took offense, even some of his own disciples. 

What is all this about? Why so much emphasis on bread and feeding on Jesus’ body? On one level, and most obviously to us, this chapter is a statement by the early church about the importance of the sacred meal they shared that came to be known as the Eucharist.

But on another level, John’s gospel is borrowing all this language about eating divine food from a portion of the Bible that was well known to its audience, if not to us. It is the Wisdom literature, those late Hebrew writings that were the most recently composed prior to and during the New Testament period. To the early church, it was the freshest, newest part of the Bible. The Wisdom writings include the book of Proverbs, Job, Ecclesiastes, Sirach, and some of the Psalms. 

In these writings, “Wisdom” signifies far more than what we think of by the word. For us, wisdom means good judgment that comes from experience. But in the Bible, Wisdom is actually a personification of God. She is feminine. God uses Wisdom to create all things, to call people to harmonious ways of living, to reveal the truth. She is a divine force that gives life and order to all creation, and she helps those who seek her to know God intimately. As it says in the book of Sirach:

I [Wisdom,] came forth from the mouth of the Most High
and covered the earth like a mist. 
I dwelt in the highest heavens…
over every people and nation I have held sway.
(24:3-6)
Wisdom teaches her children and gives help to those who seek her. 
Whoever loves her loves life, 
and those who seek her from early morning are filled with joy.
Those who serve her minister to the Holy One;
the Lord loves those who love her. 
(4:11-14)

Now one of the remarkable things about Wisdom is that she tells those who seek her to eat her. Hear what she says, again in Sirach: 
Come to me, you who desire me, 
and eat your fill of my fruits. 
those who eat of me will hunger for more, 
and those who drink of me will thirst for more. 
(24:19, 21)
and from the book of Proverbs:
Wisdom has built her house….
She has prepared her meat, she has mixed her wine;
[she says] “Come, eat of my food, and drink of my wine.” 
(9:1-2, 5)

And so when in John’s gospel Jesus says to the crowds “come to me, eat and drink of me,” the people knew what he was saying: that he was the Wisdom of God in human form. Jesus, in whom there is no male or female (according to Paul), is the feminine force of Wisdom that has emanated from God from the very beginning. So when we eat of Christ, we take into ourselves the Wisdom of God. 

Right about now you may be thinking “This is all very interesting, but what does it have to do with me?”

Last week Fr. Daniel preached about how God will not be objectified, God will not remain separated from us as a static thing. God breaks through the glass that keeps us apart, and offers a real relationship to us. 

This is what the Wisdom writings and the Jesus of John’s gospel are saying. They use the metaphor of eating to say that we can go beyond a formal, distant relationship where God is frozen behind the glass of piety and proper forms of worship. We can take God into our very being, we can ingest and absorb God’s own Spirit internally, just like food. We can get out of our heads and into our hearts, into a more physical, emotional, intuitive, intimate way of knowing God. 

The greatest defense against God is belief in God. By acknowledging that there is a God out there somewhere to whom we are accountable and from whom we can ask favors now and then, we can leave it at that. God remains in the glass case, locked into whatever objectified form we settled upon at some point in our lives. God is a harmless little thing that confirms our opinions and makes us feel comfort once in awhile. God is domesticated for our purposes. 

But God, the real God, is wild. The Spirit is a living force who will not be easily understood or safely contained. And if we dare to go beyond our easy assumptions about God and enter into a real relationship, everything changes. 

As the 14th-century preacher and mystic Meister Eckhart said, “Man’s last and highest parting is when, for God’s sake, he takes leave of ‘God’.” Let me give you an example. It is from my experience, which is not necessarily yours. I don’t promote this. 

For many years, I cultivated a spiritual life. I read all the classics, I took time every day for silent prayer, I went on long retreats to monasteries and into the desert, I wrote books and led retreats, I started the Contemplative Center here, I taught you about techniques and practices. 

It was a very good and necessary time in my faith development, when I was undergoing training in our spiritual tradition. But at some point spirituality had become a thing for me. At some point it became a way of keeping God safe inside in the glass cabinet of spiritual practice. 

I felt called beyond spirituality. I felt called - for God’s sake - to take leave of “God.” I felt called into life itself, where God lives, to leave behind formal practice, and instead, to follow my hunger and my thirst: to experience the Spirit directly in my relationships with those I love, in the work and worship I share with you, in this amazing landscape we live in, in movies and art and music, in the times that I feel lost, in the emptiness that opens up once I remember that I don’t have to fill it. 

There was a new sense of eating God’s fruits, ingesting what God has to offer in life. Somehow God became more mysterious and unpredictable, but at the same time, more near, more emotional and more physical in my body, in others, in my food and in my breath, in the world around me, in my daily activities. 

Now I may understand God less, but I feel God more. I’m more inclined to pray simply, in the middle of things, asking for guidance, for Wisdom, and to give thanks. This is food enough. 

Have you experienced anything like this? You may not have taken the same path that I took to get there, but that’s not what is important. What is important is whether you have  learned to ingest God. If not, what might that be like for you? Are there ways in which you might take leave of “God” for God’s sake, to break through the glass and get real with God? Would it be somehow a physical feeling, more devotional, more expressive? How might you get out of your head and into your heart with God? 

In today’s gospel, Jesus calls up the divine feminine force of Wisdom and says that he is she. She says come to me; eat my bread, and you will be satisfied.

I can’t tell you how to do that. Nobody can. We are each too individual for a prescription to be useful. I can’t even adequately express my own experience of it. But I can tell you this; as it says in Sirach: 
Wisdom teaches her children and gives help to those who seek her. 

Seek her in the life you live. Follow your hunger, your thirst; trust it. Eat what is served to you, everything on your plate. She will feed you, and you will enter into eternal life. 

John 6:24-35.  Angels in the China Cabinet

In my grandmother’s home, were two angels inside a china cabinet.   Let me explain, during World War II, my grandfather served in Patton’s 3rd Army.  He found statues of two angels inside a bombed out church.  He wrote that among a destroyed church were these two angels,  they gave him hope.  He died before I was born, and they were placed in a China cabinet.  I was fascinated by the 2 angels, but not allowed to touch them.  

For me, they represented my connection to my Grandfather.   I would climb on a chair and peer through the glass.  My relationship with my grandfather was through the glass.  At times, my aunt would pull the angels out and explain to visitors their history, their importance, their value. 

My family had a tendency to create objects.  One had a room with white carpet and beautiful couches.  However, the couches had plastic covers and we could not enter the room.  An Uncle would purchase a car, but would not drive it – he did want to put miles on it.  One would buy expensive liquor and keep it on the top shelf.  All were objects to be seen, not experienced or shared.  The emphasis was on value rather than meaning, objects placed behind the glass without being touched.   

I sense those following Jesus around Galilee did not understand the love of God.  The crowds track Jesus down across a lake and pester him with demands.  He had just fed 5000 people – they should rejoice. But, as is the case with many who encounter Christ, it is not good enough - they want more, they want proof, they want something spectacular.  Jesus "what have you done for us lately?"

Like the fancy car, white couch or the angels behind the glass, they make God an object, to be displayed. Required to perform on demand or taken out in times of need.  God is placed behind the glass of the China cabinet. We glance in but never touch.  We peer through the glass at this wondrous man, expecting beautiful miracles, yet never fully experiencing his love. 

In the Gospel, Jesus refuses to accede to the crowds demands. He says that we try to fill ourselves with temporal satisfaction, and objects that fail to nourish us. We fill our emptiness with possessions and quick, simple solutions to complex problems.  He tells them to look for a different type of bread.  Hungry?  Only I will satisfy your hunger.  Jesus is the bread of life.  

They did not understand that their old ways were being shattered.   They were encountering something new.  Like that day when I was 10, I wanted to know the number of times a ball could bounce between the walls of my grandmother’s room.  I launched the ball off one wall, it sped toward the other, 3 bounces, 4, and then, instantaneously, I determined the trajectory.  Everything became slow motion. My mouth started saying “oh followed by a four letter oldie but goodie.  Impact, broken glass, destroyed cabinet, headless angel. Someone wore out their hand on me.  

I picked up the pieces and for once, I actually held the angel.  For the first time, my grandfather became real, I touched part of him.   Our relationship with the Lord is also meant to be held, touched, and consumed.  We were not created to be separated from our creator.  When Jesus tells us that “he” is the bread of life – he means it, he wants to be with us.

I had not intention in breaking the glass, but God, on that cold night in Bethlehem intentionally shattered the distance between the divine and human; God refused to be an object.  God is saying “here I am.”  We often are willing to hear the words of Jesus as long as he makes sense.  “I am bread?”   These words seem usable instructions for practical living in a difficult world.  

Yet the meaning is quite simple.   The Bible tell us a story, the true story of God who seeing his creation suffer, decided that he would rather die, shatter the old, than allow it to fall into the abyss.  God does not want to be hidden, displayed when convenient, or admired from afar. The love of God made real, through Jesus Christ.  No longer are we on the outside looking in.   

But we forget.  We become complacent, comfortable and turn to the world.  We put spirituality, friendships, and love on that cabinet – they become objects.  We are left with the fingerprints of life on that glass.  And we do not realize this until, it is broken one again.  And then we do not understand, like those following Jesus – we want immediate answers and threaten to walk.

When we experience the sickness or death of a loved one, the natural tendency is to scream  “why Lord?”  Your picture of family is perfect and then it is broken by alcoholism, drug abuse or mental illness.  The one you love has cheated on you, faith and love are shattered.  You know you will bleed when you break the glass of discrimination and fear by telling your parents you are Gay.

Life sometimes pushes us to our knees, to where we do not know how to relate to God anymore.  We ask, does faith do any good?  But it is there where we have to surrender, quit pretending and face this brokenness.  We face that we cannot fix it on our own.  It is said that faith is moving from our emptiness to the fullness of Christ.  

And it is there a friend’s outstretched hand becomes genuine.  It  there where the God who we worship only once a week, the God we stick in the China cabinet of our lives, suddenly becomes meaningful.  

In the bread of life we discover the strength to continue after a tragedy, or realize that the problems in our home cause us reassess our priorities, who we love or how we love.  In Christ there that hope is born for a new healthy relationship with our parents after they accept us for who we are, or we feel the gratitude of a loving relationship after one filled with infidelity or abuse.  The broken pieces are held intimately in God’s hand, and that love is real.   

Today focus on the Eucharist.  Notice that is not a ritual; it represents our broken lives, and the filling love of Christ.  The body of Christ is offered, blessed, broken, and then consumed.  And then each one of us, with our personal joys, brokenness, hopes and sorrows come forth as a community to become whole.  The Gifts of God for the people of God.

A broken angel from a broken Church allowed me to touch my grandfather, crushed wheat becomes communion bread, broken grapes become sacramental wine, a divine broken body, brings the love of God to each one of us.  

The film Places in the Heart offers a moving message on how brokenness, creates something new.  How hunger is filled with the bread of life.  The story is set in rural Texas during the depression.  A young sheriff, while saying prayers before Sunday dinner, is called away from his family on an emergency: a young African American boy is inebriated and shooting a gun.

As the boy is handing over the weapon to the sheriff, it accidentally fires. The Sheriff is hit and dies immediately.  He leaves behind a wife, two young children, a farm and a large mortgage.   The men of the town lynch the youth and drag his body to the widow’s farm. Seeing the boy, her heart is filled with grief, not hate.  

We meet a white blind man and an African American farmer working on the widow’s farm and they become family.  The film speaks of tragedy, betrayal, severe poverty, and racism.  Yet it also speaks of second-chances, determination, hope and forgiveness.  This community is broken by tragedy, the entire glass is shattered, but through all the pain, we find wholeness.   

The closing scene takes place in a church. Communion is being passed, in the sharing of the bread of life, we see unexpected members feeding one another.  We see the young and the old.  We see life and the woman who died in the tornado.  We see the betrayers and the betrayed; they are all together as one. As they pass the elements to one another, each repeats “the peace of God”  

In the final frame, the sheriff's widow shares communion with her husband, and he, in turn, passes the bread and cup to the youth who had killed him.  The broken bread becomes Christ, manna from heaven. The broken community is one.  They need nothing more.  Christ is with them.   The hymn named the Garden is playing and you hear the words: “I come to the garden alone.  While the dew is still on the roses. And the voice I hear, falling on my ear; The Son of God discloses. And He walks with me, And He talks with me, And He tells me I am His own, And the joy we share as we tarry there; None other has ever known.

In his brokenness find wholeness, in the bread you find eternal life. Break the glass in your lives, walk with him, fill up on him, come to his table and receive.