The spiritual life - hard and boring

Growing in the spiritual life is hard work. It is so much easier to find something else to do in place of the things that this undertaking requires. In a time when instant gratification or quick results are highly valued, the long, slow process of growth fails to impress those of us who have grown increasingly impatient.

Who among us finds that our year old computer or smart phone is suddenly inadequate to the task because it doesn't respond to our command instantaneously (as it once did). When we think about it, the things with which we have grown impatient used to take a very long time, even in our own experience -- we have just gotten used to more and more immediate results.

Regrettably, the growth process cannot be rushed. Just try tugging on a sapling to make it grow faster -- it just does't work. The reality is that growth is dull . . . and the work involved can sometimes be boring. There is always some overwhelming fatigue to be dealt with, always some excuse for not stretching our souls with new ideas and insights.

On the other hand, spiritual growth simply does not happen. The ground needs to be tilled, the seed planted, the seedling fertilized. But it all takes time.

QUIET! - The Swan Library

Every now and again, I treat myself to a bit of nostalgia, that sentimental yearning for a happier state of affairs in the past. Today's treat focuses on The Swan Library -- the public library located in my hometown of Albion. It used to be housed in an old house - a mansion by my humble standards -- with creaky wood floors, filled cheek-by-jowl with cases loaded with books categorized according to the Dewey Decimal System. The "reading room" was adjacent to the librarians desk and comprised what used to be the house's parlor and dining rooms, the separating wall having been removed.

I don't recall if there was a sign with the word QUIET! emblazoned above the librarian's desk, although there could be since that was the overwhelming memory of that place -- it's quietness even though the silence was often interrupted by the squeaking floors and people moved through. There was a distinction between silence (the absence of sound) and quiet (the state of being calm).

Silence and calm are clearly related. Without a modicum of silence it becomes difficult if not impossible to experience quiet or calm. That's where the nostalgia comes in.

In today's libraries, there is programming, not just reading, leading to activity and chatter. Readers, especially younger students, glean their texts while attached to headphones in turn attached to iPods (you can always hear what they are listening to). And computer stations for public use -- necessary and valuable -- but a constant source of distraction.

The experience of silence that leads to the experience of calm and then to quiet is missing in so much of our lives. It seems an insatiable need to be connected, with the latest news, information, and sports, to be entertained, or simply to chat/text leaves us with little real space for silence. And without that space, the quiet we need to hear and to heed the voice of the divine deep within us slowly disappears.

We live with what a kind of "noise pollution" that makes finding real silence a great burden. Many say that we do not have the time we need to think or to pray but actually what we lack is the quiet we need to go about our thinking. Until we can carve out a little bit of silence for ourselves, both outwardly and inwardly, we will find it increasingly difficult either to know God or ourselves very well.

Short of returning to the days of The Swan Library, each of us needs to disconnect, tune out, and turn off just a bit each day, so that the voice of the divine within us can manifest itself in the "still small voice," which is the voice of God.

What seed will you sow, today?

It looks simply like a bunch of fresh garden lettuce . . . but it is so much more.

This bunch of lettuce was delivered to Mother Hubbard's Cupboard (the food outreach ministry of the Jubilee Center at St. Mark's) by a kind woman who wanted to share some of the bounty of her garden with those who benefit from The Cupboard's work.

The back story is what is important though. This lettuce grew from seed planted by this generous woman in her backyard garden. The seed grew and grew and yielded a bountiful harvest, which now she wants to share with others. All because when she was down and out and didn't know where else to turn, St. Mark's was able to help her with food.

She was fed then, she said, not so much by the actual food packets she received but by the humaneness and generosity of spirit of the volunteers who care for her. Additionally, the volunteers who listened to her story were able to put her in touch with other service providers to help her with her many other needs at the time. Her visit with Mother Hubbard's Cupboard empowered her not only to get by but to move forward.

"He set another parable before them, saying, 'The Kingdom of Heaven is like a grain of mustard seed, which a man took, and sowed in his field; which indeed is smaller than all seeds. But when it is grown, it is greater than the herbs, and becomes a tree, so that the birds of the air come and lidge in its branches.'" (Matthew 13: 31-32)

A seed was planted and now we have the harvest. Not simply the seed of a lettuce plant but the seed of God's generous love has born its fruit in the generous self-giving of someone who once was without.

The Supreme Law . . .

When I studied canon law both in seminary and in graduate school, I was always intrigued by the section of the Code of Canon Law entitled “Sanctions” or more commonly, “Penalties.” What place did a list of penalties for “offenses” have within a community that professed the forgiving love of Christ?

Didn’t Christ die to forgive our sins? If God forgive so readily, shouldn’t we do as much? Why do we have to have a list of penalties?
Perhaps the answer lies in the underlying value of that section of the law. The principle is best summarized at the end of the 1917 Code of Canon Law in a phrase that ends the entire code: “salus animarum, suprema lex” – the supreme law is the salvation of souls. St. Paul understood this in his letter to the Romans: “So what are we going to say? That the Law is sin? Absolutely not! But I wouldn’t have known sin except through the Law.  (Rom 7:7, CEB)

Perhaps we have become a bit too permissive with the gracious forgiveness of God. Plenty for all – no sin too great etc. etc. etc. Perhaps it has led not so much to actual permissiveness but a willingness to accept an abdication of responsibility for our actions. After all, no rational being commits a truly evil act – or so we seem now to believe. There is a true distinction between right and wrong, between good and evil. This is the plain teaching of Scripture and, indeed , is the focus of Paul’s discourse in Romans. It is the law that teaches us this distinction. It draws the line over which we transgress, and when we transgress, it dictates the consequences for all to know. The trick is to learn about “the line” and to begin to understand when we have, in fact, crossed over.


The law, however, in any forum, is not to be applied indiscriminately. If the salvation of souls is indeed the supreme law, it is incumbent upon those who exercise authority to do everything in their power to bring individuals and communities into that spiritual maturity wherein the law no longer has great purpose. Penalties can never be seen as ends in and of themselves. They are serious tools that are meant to move us toward health (salus). They are never meant in the divine plan as a means to destroy. We need the law – not as a raison d’etre but as a means to learn the ways of God.  

This, in turn, should lead us to ask some fairly weighty questions about things like mandatory sentencing guidelines, treatment of minors as adults, capital punishment and the like. Mind you, I am simply saying we need to ask some questions -- and hash out some answers in light of the Gospel. 

With singleness of heart as thy servants and for the common good . . .

That it may please thee the inspire is, in our several callings, to do thy work which thou givest us to do with singleness of heart as thy servants, and for the common good  . . . (The Great Litany, BCP p. 151)

On November 5, 2009, a mass murder took place at For Hood, near Killeen, Texas. Nidal Malik Hasan, a U.S. Army major and psychiatrist, fatally shot 13 people and injured more than 30 others.

Since that dark November day, so many other acts of violence have plagued our land, Sandy Hook, the Navy Yard, school killings too numerous to mention here.

But the 2009 Fort Hood shootings have a particularly cruel irony: a man sworn to do no harm as a physician became a mass murderer.  I wonder if this doctor, whose calling went so terribly astray might himself have been saved – along with the many that were killed and maimed – if he had found the blessing of supportive and honest friends, who could have helped him see the truth, rather than the ideological fanatics by whom he was so deeply influenced, people who located all evil in their common enemy. How things might have been different if he had somehow gained a sense of himself as an individual, apart from this group and its expectations.  I wish that it had been so. I with a heart that passionate and devoted could have spent itself into old age, serving Allah in peace, with the education and skill that were God’s gracious gifts to him, instead of bringing premature death on innocent people through a murderous blaze of hatred and death.

So many of the other perpetrators are, after the fact, described as loners, as people who cut themselves off from others. These are at the extremes, but I wish that all of us had the support we need, the blunt honesty of a caring friend when we need it, the private space for the family and marital and personal intimacies we need. I pray for this, for you and for me. I work for it in my life, and hope that you will, too.  

The Rector's Easter Message

Many years ago, I was engaged in a program that taught catechists (Sunday school teachers) how best to understand how and what they taught their students. In the course of one class discussion, Tom, a middle-aged gentleman, lamented that catechism classes used to be simple. Students memorized the answers to various questions so that when queried by the bishop at their confirmation, they would know the accepted answer.  Familiar with this complaint, I asked the class of adults a simple question: “What is a sacrament?” They looked sheepish and puzzled wondering what answer would be acceptable to me, their mentor. Finally, I said to them, “C’mon! You know the answer . . . a sacrament is an outward sign instituted by Christ . . . .” They all smiled, breathed a sigh of relief, and felt vindicated in their complaint. But then, I asked another question, “All right, now what does that mean?”

Therein is the tough thing about Easter. When asked about Easter, we are eager to repeat what we may have learned: it is the day when we celebrate Christ’s rising from the dead.  Yet the challenge for us is always the next question, “But what does that mean?”

How would you describe the meaning of Easter to a group of young and eager faces? To questioning teens? To adults for which memorized answers no longer suffice?

I think we all approach Easter like the first disciples, in a spirit of confusion and near disbelief.  At first, those who were closest to Jesus failed to understand the meaning behind this glorious miracle. Only later, with the coming of the Spirit of Wisdom and Knowledge, the Spirit of Understanding and Fear of the Lord, did they begin truly to piece it all together.  So, too, we need to piece things together anew – to discover the power and impact of the Resurrection in our individual and communal lives all over again.

So . . . what does it mean for you to share in the risen life of our Savior? What did Christ’s triumph over sin and death do for us here and now? No complex theological answers allowed! Take some time this Eastertide to look at our lives and discover what is different about us because we have been redeemed “by the blood of the Lamb” and invited to share the life of the Risen One.

A tall order, this. For now, though, let us simply bask in the light and rest in the joy that comes to us because of Easter. Let us rejoice in the message that “He is risen. He is risen, indeed!” 

“Be not afraid, the one for whom you look is not here. He is risen and has gone ahead of you . . . “

Let us rise and go to find him with open and joyful hearts.

With every wish for a truly joyous Easter, I remain

David+

The Rev’d Dr. David Alan Zwifka

Rector

The best way out is always through

"The best way out is always through."
                                       -- Robert Frost

While the quote is Robert Frost, the focus is on Christ. Recall the garden of Gethsemane. "Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from me." We can relate. A long, difficult road may lay before us -- a relationship that is breaking down -- a diagnosis of dementia in a loved one -- a terminal disease -- loss of a career because of "down-sizing". All of it is somehow connected with dread expressed by Jesus as he clearly saw his fate that Thursday evening so long ago.

We can pray earnestly with him, "Let this cup pass from me." Yet, our entreaties seem unanswered . . . or are they. 

Perhaps the answer isn't one we really want to here. We would prefer to hear, "OK. Forget about it," but it seldom if ever happens that way. Rather the dread deepens, the difficulties, struggles, and suffering become more poignant to the point when we think we, like Jesus, are sweating blood. Yet, even as the situation progresses, are prayers are being answered. 

"The best way out is always through."

If the cup of suffering had passed from Jesus, there would have been no resurrection, no definitive event to mark God's ultimate triumph over sin and death. 

"The best way out is always through."

Each time we face extraordinary difficulties, we are challenged in a way similar to Jesus in the garden. We are tempted to beg God to take away the difficulty, make it easier, lighter, or non-existent. But if our prayers were answered, we would not find out how strong we are in God's grace. We would not discover the spirit at work in the healing of our hearts. We would not discover the immense support of family and friends when time are hard. 

Jesus' dread was deep and complete. It was about giving up his life. He understands fully the suffering and dread of human beings. Confident of that understanding, we face our suffering knowing full well that we have an Advocate that is always near us to give us strength and lead us to peace.