Four filters

    Imagine how things appear to a newborn baby. The world he knew before was confined, ordered, peaceful. Then, in a matter of a few moments or hours everything familiar was lost. After the trauma of birth, a confusing complexity awaits his relatively untested mind and senses: loud sounds, strange colours and shapes, smells both pleasant and unpleasant... The task ahead is to bring order out of the chaos. It is a tribute to how "fearfully and wonderfully made" we are, that even before we are fully able to speak our world is mostly ordered.

    One of the most useful tools for finding order is the use of filters. In the technological field, a filter serves to make distinctions. Filters are used to sort by size. They are used to let the coffee out, while holding the grounds back. When I clean my room, I use filters such as "What is now, where it doesn't belong?" 

    Filters carry with them an inherent danger: if they are not well chosen, they may filter out something that would be important for us, or allow in something that would be harmful to us. Over forty years of ministry I've seen a number of marriages fail because, when the wife says "We have a problem," the husband filters the words out. Only when she says, "I've filed for a divorce" does he hear her; but by then it's usually too late. Likewise, when someone we value says something harsh or cutting, and we do not filter it out, words thrown out casually or in passing can do lasting damage to our self-understanding. The "narrative fallacy," in which people accept information that fits what they already believe, and reject information that goes against it, is another example of a filtering problem.

    Everybody has filters. It would be impossible to live without them. The only question is, which filters best help us navigate this brief time we have in the light?

    Here are four filters I try to use, as I approach life. Perhaps they may be of use to others.

(1) The Stoic filter: I make a sharp distinction between things that are under my control, and things that are not under my control. When I encounter a situation, I ask myself, "What, in this situation, is something under my control, and what is not?" I have no control over the words or actions of others. I only have control over my own choices. So I ask myself, "What can I do?" If there is something I can do, that will improve the situation, I will do it. If there is not, well, one can always pray. I don't dwell on things that I can do nothing about, because there's no point to dwelling on those things. I always have a choice before me--even if that choice is to die with courage.

(2) The Coolidge filter: Calvin Coolidge is famous for his taciturnity. Once when a woman told him, "My husband bet me I couldn't make you say more than two words the whole night," he responded, "You lose." Coolidge famously said that he never had to apologise for words he didn't speak. When I encounter a situation, I ask myself, "Is my input needed?" If the answer is "no," I try to keep silent. (I find this very difficult.) If the answer is "yes," I strive to say what needs to be said, as briefly as possible. (When I was confirmed in the Lutheran church, my memory verse was these words from James: "Be quick to listen, but slow to speak, and slow to become angry; for man's anger does not accomplish God's righteousness.")

(3) The Publican filter: We waste a lot of time trying to justify ourselves, which inevitably involves comparing ourselves to others. The biblical story of the Pharisee and publican is instructive. The Pharisee, in praying, compares himself to the publican (tax collector). When he leaves the Temple, the Pharisee has justified himself. The publican says, in his prayer, only these words: "God, be merciful to me, a sinner." He does not compare himself to others. He does not seek justice from God--only mercy. And Jesus comments, "This man went home justified." In my relations with others, it's a waste of time to explain. It's far better to admit my own fault. This is the "soft answer" that turns away wrath.

(4) The Resurrection filter: At the root of all the things I believe most deeply is this: a tomb just outside the city walls of Jerusalem in the first third of the first century, is empty. Christ's resurrection from the dead is the bedrock filter by which I judge everything else. I didn't always think this. My faith has passed through the furnace of doubt, to use Dostoevsky's expression. But a careful examination of the evidence convinced me. Only the resurrection can explain how a cowering band of friends could become a courageous group of confessors, within 50 days of Jesus' crucifixion. Only the resurrection can explain how Saul the persecutor became Paul the apostle. Only the resurrection can explain the founding and growth of the Church for the past 2,000 years. Since Christ is risen, life has meaning and death need not terrify.

These are the filters I use. What filters do you use? How do you make sense out of the chaos into which we're thrust at birth?

             Our choices embody our priorities…indeed, we could almost say that what we are today is the total of what we chose yesterday...for good and for ill. What we choose is not a part of our life; it is our life.

            The men in today’s gospel made choices. One chose to buy a field. Another chose to buy some oxen. Still a third chose to marry a wife. Now there’s nothing wrong with fields, and oxen, and getting married; but these choices came at a very high price. Their choices embodied poor priorities. They chose these things over the King’s gracious invitation. They chose what is earthly, over what is heavenly. They chose things that bring worry and care, but they passed up on the one thing that brings everlasting joy. They got what they chose…but oh, what they lost!

            Not so with the men and women we commemorate today: the holy ancestors of Christ our God. Oh, some of them were wealthy, some had great power, some were great warriors. But they counted all these things as loss, for the surpassing value of knowing Christ Jesus. They traveled through this life as pilgrims, and kept their minds fixed on the coming of enfleshed God. And so they became partakers of the table of God and of the Lamb.

            Beloved, we think of time wrongly when we think of near and distant past and future. Really there are only three days: yesterday, today, and tomorrow. 

            To yesterday belong the holy ancestors of Christ we celebrate today. To yesterday belong our departed loved ones, and those they loved. To yesterday belongs all our own life that has passed so far. You mustn’t think that the ancestors of Christ are somehow more remote and harder to access than last night in your own life. Neither is further removed from us than the other. Both alike are completely inaccessible to us.

            To tomorrow belongs what will happen to the people we love and live with…to our neighborhoods and to our nation. You younger folk don’t realize how quickly the time goes. To tomorrow belongs the return of Christ in glory, and the judgment of the nations; the sending of the goats to eternal judgment, and of the sheep to eternal life. We err when we think of Christ’s return as far off in the distant future. It’s just tomorrow, my friends. 

Tomorrow will come. But for now, it’s just as much out of our hands as yesterday. How foolish to live as if it never will come!

All we really have, is today. And we realize that every liturgy in the Precommunion prayer: “Like the thief will I confess thee: Remember me when thou comest in thy Kingdom.” We live, each of us, like that thief suspended on the tree beside Christ. We have our yesterdays, full of things to regret and be sorry for; we have our today, with its share of grief and suffering; and we have tomorrow, when Christ returns in glory. We don’t have time to delay. We do have time, right now, to repent; to turn to Christ and beg that he remember us in his Kingdom.

Do you remember how Christ answered the plea of the thief? He forgave his “yesterday.” And he turned his “tomorrow” into today: "Today you will be with me in Paradise."

Beloved, this is the day of salvation. Our King invites us to his feast. Let nothing else come first. Let us choose wisely, while it is still called “today.” Eternity begins today, here and now.

Don't just do something...sit there.

     The Supreme Court has declined to hear the lawsuit filed by Texas in the matter of the recent presidential election. For all intents and purposes, this means that the legal controversy over the election is over, and Joe Biden will be inaugurated as our 46th President on 20 January 2021. 

    I recognise that there is a microscopically small chance that something could happen when the Electoral College meets on Monday, or when the Congress meets on 6 January (!Theophany!) to ratify the Electoral College's vote. But let's assume, for purposes of this post, that nothing happens then.

    Partisans on both sides of the issue are clamouring for further action. 

    Some who supported President Trump are holding on to those microscopically small chances. Within that group, some Christians speak of a divine intervention to produce a second Trump term. (Are there stirrings in the soil around Simon Bar Kochba's grave?) Other Trump supporters want to have protest marches, or perhaps even darker responses.

    On the Biden side, some are seeking reprisals against the congressmen who joined Texas' lawsuit as amicus curiae. There are claims that by joining the suit, these representatives have acted treasonously against the Constitution; therefore they should not be seated, or they should be prosecuted. Others are seeking reprisals against those who supported President Trump, either by public endorsement or even by voting for him.

    Both sides seem to agree that the old saying, "Don't just sit there...do something!" is the way to go. But I'd like to propose a different course of action: creative inaction. "Don't just do something...sit there!" 

    The Taoist tradition speaks about wu wei, or "effortless action." The Tao te Ching says that the sage "... anticipates things that are difficult while they are easy, and does things that would become great while they are small. All difficult things in the world are sure to arise from a previous state in which they were easy, and all great things from one in which they were small. Therefore the sage, while he never does what is great, is able on that account to accomplish the greatest things."

    The Stoic philosophers tell us to distinguish between things that are under our control (our own opinions and actions) and those that are not under our control (everything else: body, property, reputation, vocation). They tell us to focus on what is under our control, and forget about what is not under our control.

    And the Sacred Scriptures teach the value of hesychia, or stillness.  

 Isaiah 30:15 "For thus the Lord God, the Holy One of Israel, has said, "In repentance and rest you shall be saved, In quietness and trust is your strength."

Psalm 131:1 "O Lord, my heart is not proud, nor my eyes haughty; Nor do I involve myself in great matters, Or in things too difficult for me. 2 Surely I have composed and quieted my soul; Like a weaned child rests against his mother, My soul is like a weaned child within me. 3 O Israel, hope in the LORD From this time forth and forever."

1 These. 4:11-12 "Make it your ambition to lead a quiet life and attend to your own business and work with your hands, just as we commanded you; 12 so that you may behave properly toward outsiders and not be in any need."

When God delivered Israel from the hand of Pharaoh, Moses told the people, "Do not fear! Stand by and see the salvation of the LORD which He will accomplish for you today; for the Egyptians whom you have seen today, you will never see them again forever. 14 "The LORD will fight for you while you keep silent." (Exod. 14:13-14 NAS)

God entered the world in silence.  "For while gentle silence enveloped all things, and night in its swift course was now half gone, 15 thy all-powerful word leaped from heaven, from the royal throne, into the midst of the land that was doomed..." (Wis. 18:14-15 RSV) And Mary's response was silence: "But Mary kept all these things, pondering them in her heart." (Lk. 2:19 RSV)

God redeemed the world in silence. We sometimes speak of the "seven words from the Cross," but have we reflected on how little Christ spoke during those long hours on the Tree? All seven sayings, together, would take well under a minute to speak.

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So, while the country descends into frenzy and madness, let me recommend creative inaction. Be still. Listen; renounce the attempt to be understood, and try your best to understand. Pray. Love...especially those who are not like you.  Repent of deifying politics and politicians. Believers do not live in a Republic; we live in a Monarchy. We always have. We always will.

I am a conservative

 This morning, I posted a comment on my FB page. As I thought about what I had written, I realised that it sums up things I have thought for a long time. Perhaps it expresses what some others think, too. Here it is:

I AM A CONSERVATIVE

I am a conservative, that's true.

 I'm a conservative because I don't believe we're as smart as we think we are. (We're certainly not as good as we think we are.) 

I'm a conservative because in a broken world, things which have stood the test of time should carry some weight. 

I'm a conservative because history is littered with the corpses of those who thought themselves wise, right, or indispensable. 

I'm a conservative because when I was little, I used to take things apart...and could never quite get them back together again. 

I'm a conservative because I believe that people who can't get the hang of cleaning their room, or caring for their own families, probably shouldn't be trusted with cleaning the world or caring for others' families. 

I'm a conservative because the price of being left alone by others, is to allow them the right to be left alone by me. I don't want to rule the world. I don't even want to rule others. Life is the most wondrous game, and I'm content to let everyone in it try to figure it out as best as they can. 

I'm a conservative because I watched the Wizard of Oz, and read "The Emperor's New Clothes," and discovered rather early that we are masters at fooling others and ourselves. 

I'm a conservative because I respect people who have skin in the game (parents, soldiers, entrepreneurs) more than people who don't (scam artists and many politicians). 

I'm a conservative because even when people correctly spot problems, they aim too high (perfection/utopia) and are too committed to their own solutions (the narrative bias affects everybody) to actually fix what they see is broken. 

So, yes, I guess I am a conservative.

Homily for the Feast of the Exaltation of the Cross, 2020

             If our nation has ever been more polarized than it is today, it’s not been in my lifetime. This year has been a perfect storm, with COVID, and George Floyd’s death, and now wildfires raging across the west. And did I mention the election coming up? Scott Adams captured it when he said that it’s like we’re watching two completely different movies on the same screen at the same time. Each side—and there are more than two---has lost the ability to even understand what people of other views are talking about.

           Look through the Scripture and you’ll see that times like this happen when God judges. In Babel, the people wanted to build a tower reaching heaven; but God came down and confused their speech, and the nations scattered. Gideon defeated the Midianites with only 300 men because God allowed confusion to come upon the Midianites, and they killed each other. We must face the facts, beloved: our nation is in a time of divine chastisement. When God turns away, everything quickly falls into the chaos from which it came: “In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth, and the earth was without form and void: “tohu vabohu” in Hebrew. When that happens, order gives way to chaos, and meaning gives way to vanity. Life is now a puzzle.

            As St. Paul says in today’s Epistle, God has made foolish the wisdom of this world.  “I will destroy the wisdom of the wise, and the cleverness of the clever I will thwart.” It is liable to get a lot worse, too, before it gets better. But it will get better, in God’s mercy. And that change can begin, here and now.

            It can begin when we turn back to the word of the Cross. “We preach Christ crucified,” says St. Paul, “Christ, the power of God and Christ the wisdom of God.” You might say that the solution to our puzzle is a Cross Word—or rather, the “Cross Word.”

            What is this “Cross Word?” It’s simply this: that God the Son, in whose image we were made…when he saw that we had turned from God toward death, he came and took on our humanity, made like us in everything except sin. He entered our space and time; he made our history, his history. He freely choose to carry our sin, and embrace our death and when he died, he poured out his blood for the life of the world.

            Apart from Christ, “things fall apart,” as we see happening in our culture today. But in him, as Paul tells us elsewhere, all things hold together.

            The cross of Christ opens our eyes to see that all things in life are hidden under their opposites. We triumph in the Cross, but not the way the world measures triumph. We learn to glory in our weakness, that Christ might be our strength; we learn to be labeled as crazy, and bad, so that we might be in our right mind; we embrace sufferings, and hardship for Christ’s sake because we know that if anyone wants to follow Christ he must deny himself, and pick up his cross and follow.

            So in Christ, I don’t have to justify myself any more. Indeed, whoever justifies himself can’t be justified by God. In Christ, and in his cross, I have a “weapon of peace” to fight against my sinful passions. In Christ, I need not fear even death. For death has lost its sting through his cross and resurrection.

            Let the change begin here and now, beloved. Let the word of Christ dwell in us richly: Satan will be overthrown, we will be saved, and God will be glorified by the word of the Cross.

Transfiguration homily 2020

            Today is the Transfiguration of our Lord and God and Savior Jesus Christ. Today the veil is pulled back, and the eyes of the apostles are opened, that they and we may know who this is we deal with. Before his passion they see his glory revealed—glory as of the only begotten of the Father, full of grace and truth-- so they might know that Christ crucified is the Lord of glory.

            We call this day “Transfiguration,” in Greek metamorphosis, that we may know that nothing changed in Christ's nature, only in his outward appearance. He who for our sake took the form of a servant, here reveals his natural form and glory, to show us it is for us and for our salvation, that the Most High took on flesh; that he who knows no sin, was made in the likeness of sinful flesh to become an offering for our sin; that he who dwells in light unapproachable covers himself so that we may approach him.

            Today the point of the Scriptures is revealed. For Moses, who wrote in the Law, and Elijah, the chief of the Prophets, speak to Christ about his suffering; and three of the apostles bear witness to us. The Bible shows us Christ, teaches us Christ, leads us to Christ and him crucified and risen from the dead.

            Today the Holy Trinity is revealed. For the Son stands in uncreated light on the Holy Mountain, and the voice of the Father is heard from heaven saying, “This is my beloved Son, listen to him” and the Holy Spirit overshadows Moses, Elijah and the apostles in the shining cloud of his glory.

            Today our eternal life is revealed as entering the cloud of splendor and sharing the life of the holy, consubstantial and undivided Trinity. The disciples fear; the disciples grow drowsy; the disciples say silly things—but for all that, they share in the divine radiance and splendor and testify, “Lord, it is good to be here.”

            Today even the creation is redeemed and renewed. For a mountain made in ages past bears the feet of the Ancient of Days, and even his garments shine with the uncreated light. The redemption Christ delivers is not for men alone and by themselves, but also for the whole created order. The creation groans in labor till this day, and because of Adam’s sin it is subject to futility and death and decay; but here on Mount Tabor we see that its sufferings will be ended, and the glory of the Lord will cover the earth as the waters cover the seas.

            We need to hear this, and to know this, as we share in the lowliness and sufferings of our Lord Jesus Christ. We need to know that these sufferings won’t be forever, and that they have a reason, as Paul says: these “light and momentary afflictions are thoroughly working out for us an eternal weight of glory as we look, not to the things that are seen but to those that are unseen; for that which is seen is temporal, but that which is unseen is eternal.”

            Take some time, then, to tarry on the mountain today. Soon we must go back to the struggles and frustrations of our everyday life. But the time is coming, sooner than we think, when we shall say with David and with all the saints, “In thy light we see light”—the light of the glory and inexpressible goodness of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.

Homily on the Annunciation, 2020

It's taken a tiny virus to remind us once again of all we have in common. Nearly half a million people, from nearly 150 countries, have been sickened—old Italian grandmothers, teens on spring break, and even Prince Charles of Great Britain. Tens of thousands have died, and the worst is yet to come. All the distinctions we make because of wealth, or heritage, or behavior—all alike are eliminated by this little creature, and we clearly see that all alike are subject to suffering and death, all alike share in flesh and blood.

Now the tiniest candle can pierce the deepest darkness; and today we mark the lighting of that candle some 2,000 years ago, when a young Jewish girl said to God’s messenger, “Let it be to me according to your word.” He himself, God the Son, became a partaker of our flesh and blood. Without ceasing to be what he always was—God—the Son became what he had not been—Man. He took on our nature, not at the height of its beauty and strength when it was first made, but in the condition it was. Sometimes a real estate agent will refer to a property as a “fixer-upper.” Well this transaction involved the ultimate “fixer-upper.” 

Today we celebrate a new wonder in heaven and on earth: Man is in heaven and God upon earth. For God the Son took on our nature, not a human person. He is a Person, of course; but his Person is the Second Person of the Holy Trinity. So we can truly say that Mary gave birth to God, and God hungered, and thirsted, and slept, and Pilate’s soldiers pulled the beard of God; that God was crucified, was under a curse, and died.

And all this he did, not because he had to—even after taking on our flesh and blood he was God the Son, not subject to the Law, or to death. He did it because he chose to. He did not go to death as a hapless victim; by his own will he went to death as a conquering general goes to the land of the enemy.

When he united himself to our flesh and blood, it was not a temporary arrangement. It was an unbreakable union, so that when people sometimes refer to God as “the man upstairs” it is no metaphor but the most literal truth.

But why? Why did he take on our nature and taste our death? St Paul says it was for two reasons: first, that through death he might destroy the tyrant, the devil. The Greek word for “destroy,” here, is beautiful. It’s made up of three parts: first, the word for “work”, then a prefix which means “not”, and then another prefix which implies “thoroughly.” When Christ tasted our death, he thoroughly brought to nought the devil’s work. All along, the devil’s great tool was our fear of death. But now that tool has been utterly shattered by the God who died. The devil still lives, of course, but he has no power of his own. He has only the power people give him when they yield to his temptations.

God the Son also took on our nature, and tasted our death, to set us free from fear of death. That is why Christians would rather die than deny Christ. That is why when plagues came in the ancient world, Christians alone would remain in the towns and serve those who suffered. It was this demonstration of love in the face of death that converted the world to Christ. And it does so again and again, whenever it’s tried. Since God shared our flesh and blood, and died our death, and rose again, we need no longer live in fear of death. His perfect love casts out our fear. And he who shares our flesh and blood, bids us now to share his flesh and blood, and walk no more in fear, as slaves, but in his love, as his dear children.

Homily on the ten lepers, 2020

            The lepers show us clearly the human condition. In two ways, all are alike; in one way, some are different. The question for each of us is, “Where am I in this story?”

            All these men alike were lepers. All of them had a progressive, degenerative disease for which there is no human cure. Now it’s true that nine of them were Jews, and one a Samaritan. But in the face of their disease, the other ways men mark themselves as different had all faded away. All alike came to Christ, pleading for mercy.

            Friends, we spend a lot of time showing how we’re different than other people. They’re a different color, or ethnicity. They hold a different political point of view. They root for the wrong team. But when we ponder the disease of death and of sin, what difference do all those distinctions make? Death and sin are no respecters of persons. And so it was with these ten.

            So they cried out to Christ, “Jesus, Master, have mercy on us!” The word for “Master” in Greek is epistata—a generic term for someone over you…rather like “boss.” They don’t call him “Lord.” They don’t call him “Son of David.” Just “boss.” It wasn’t what you’d call the deepest prayer, theologically.

            Yet he hears their prayer, and answers them. “Go, show yourselves to the priests,” he tells them. They walk off in obedience, and as they walk, all of them alike are cured. And this is the second way they’re all alike. To all, alike, the Lord shows mercy.

            So also with our human condition. God shows his mercy to all people. That doesn’t mean that everybody gets everything they want. Even Paul prayed to God to have a thorn in his flesh removed and was told, “No.” But God’s “no” was for a greater “yes;” the Lord told him, “My grace is sufficient for you. My power is perfected in your weakness.” The prophet Jeremiah, seeing Jerusalem in ruins, could still say, “Through the LORD'S mercies we are not consumed, Because His compassions fail not. They are new every morning; Great is Your faithfulness,” and again, “The Lord does not willingly afflict or grieve the sons of men.”

            Alike in misery, alike in receiving mercy. But in one way, these ten were different. Only one of them, a Samaritan, came back to give Christ thanks. The Lord is surprised. “Were not ten cured? Where are the nine?”

            Here he teaches us a powerful lesson. He himself had commanded all ten to go show themselves to the priests. The other nine were doing what he had commanded. But he commends the one who came back to say “Thanks!” Listen carefully to the lesson. The Lord values obedience highly; but he values thanksgiving more.

            The Greek word for “thanksgiving,” by the way, is eucharisto. It’s no accident that the central act of worship for the Orthodox people of God is the Eucharist. Here we gather to give thanks to God. And we strive to make all our life a thanksgiving; as Paul says, “In everything give thanks, for this is God’s will for you in Christ.” When we give thanks, we give God what he values even above obedience. When we give thanks, we put the troubles and problems of life into proper perspective. When we give thanks, we open our eyes to see the mercies of the Lord. So let us follow the example of the one; let us be people of gratitude. As Alexander Schmemann says, “Everybody who is capable of thanksgiving is capable of salvation and of eternal joy.”