The Bells of Nathaniel

Philip found Nathanael and said to him, ‘We have found him about whom Moses in the law and also the prophets wrote, Jesus son of Joseph from Nazareth.’ Nathanael said to him, ‘Can anything good come out of Nazareth?’ Philip said to him, ‘Come and see.’ When Jesus saw Nathanael coming towards him, he said of him, ‘Here is truly an Israelite in whom there is no deceit!’~ John 1:43-47 NRSV

In this passage from this morning's prayers, two things ring in my ear like bells.

The first is that, at a Nazarene, Jesus grew up in a backwater that was the butt of jokes and derission among the more sophisticated people in Israel. Jesus was a hillbilly: poor white trash. He came from a place where the news was always bad. I am reminded of national news items about my home state. When we see a story about Kentucky on CNN or Huffington, our first reaction is, "Oh, no. What now?" It's usually about how ours is among the hardest places to live, with the most depressed people, the most numerous smokers, the worst poverty, the highest rates of cancer or drug abuse or most recently, the flu. We expect the news that makes it out of Kentucky to be bad.

At the same time, people who live in the cities of central and western Kentucky often look to the eastern mountains as the home of ignorance, meth labs, moonshine cookers, and snake handlers. Even among ourselves, we have a system of class and caste.

As it is in the Bluegrass, so it was with Israel As far as Rome was concerned, Palestine was a strategically important cultural wasteland. Though their homeland was critical to the Emperor's control of the eastern Mediterranean,  the Hebrews looked like savage primitives to the sophisticates in Rome. That cultural contempt echoed in Nathaniel's joke about Nazareth. Nothing good could ever come from the holler dwelling trailer trash in that miserable place.

Where else would you expect to find the Savior of the World?

And that's what strikes me as so important: Jesus was a cultural surprise. He was not a graduate of Harvard Divinity school, or even Oral Roberts University. He was a nobody from nowhere. A preacher who showed up from West Virginia or Mississippi or the lettuce farms of California or the ghettos of Detroit. We might expect such a man to offer homespun wisdom and folksy, simplistic philosophy, but never the most radical and influential theology in history. Jesus was a man without influence, from the most miserable town in the most miserable part of the Roman world. Jesus is not who we expect him to be. He is not to be found among the usual suspects. Jesus will take us by surprise, and challenge all of our prejudices and assumptions.

The second bell rings when Jesus greets the man from Bethsaida. We might expect a stern rebuke, or even good natured ribbing from the penniless preacher, but instead, he greets him with praise. Before Nathaniel even speaks to him, Jesus sees his character and his integrity. "Here is truly an Israelite in whom there is no deceit!" Jesus does not return contempt for contempt. Nathaniel may look down on the Carpenter's Son, but at least he is honest about it. He does not smile with his mouth and sneer with his heart. And in that candor and honesty, Jesus recognizes a man who can serve God even if he is very different from the people among whom Jesus was raised. Jesus compassion transcends both bigotry and cultural differences, and in that moment, the two men form a bond that lasts a lifetime.

The story of Nathaniel calls us to look beyond our expectations and our differences. In this morning's collect from the New Zealand Book of Common Prayer, we hear, Make us willing to listen and humble in what we believe is right. (p 563)

Jesus was willing to listen, and humble in his beliefs: he did not see a snob from the port city of Bethsaida, but rather a man who was without trickery or guile. Jesus took the time to see and hear a stranger, and he found a friend. God grant that we might have the courage to really look and see the people we encounter, and the compassion to recognize the divinity in them, in spite of our own assumptions and expectations.

Peace, y'all.
Bob

To See and Be Seen

I've been contemplating this guy for a few days now. In the waning days of winter, I used an old lion for my profile picture on Facebook. But with the first day of spring, I wanted to make a change. I have always identified with these beautiful animals. Their strength. Their ferocious loyalty. When you grow up big and maybe a little too sensitive for your own good, you don't really connect with the cheetahs and the rabbits. So you can either resent the "big ape" thing, or else embrace it and make the best of what you have. I was never very good at chest pounding or swatting fighter planes out of the sky, but the dark browed, broad shouldered scowl came in handy on the subway a couple of nights. It's good to have it in the repertoire when you need it.

But ferocity isn't what attracted me to Old Silverback here. It was his eyes. They seemed to see. As much as I would love to be the kind of guy who sweeps the pretty girl off her feet and carries her to the top of the Empire State building, I think I'd rather be one who can look at her the way this fellow is looking. To see. To regard. To accept. To respect.

He isn't seeing himself in her. His failures. His fears. Those aren't eyes that imagine and project. They are eyes that embrace and perceive. He isn't afraid to know the truth. He isn't afraid to see what's really there.

Maybe that is because he isn't afraid to be seen. When I consider those strange, yet familiar eyes, I see open windows that let the truth pass through in both directions. He is able to know, because he is willing to be known. His strength is his defenselessness. 

He seems like the kind of guy who isn't afraid to take the time to get to know you. Or to give you all the time you need to do the same thing.

I want to be that kind of an ape. One who can look without staring. Who can see without judging. Who regards each detail with curiosity and reverence, and treats your love as a sacred trust, a holy exchange of personhoods.

Too often, instead of a gorilla I have been a chattering carnival monkey. Grabbing and snatching. Clinging to scraps and squirrreling them away as if I were certain that the supply could never last. Too many times, I have blurted and blundered my way out of love with impatience. "Take this," I cry. "Take me. All of me. Now. Today." As if love were a desperate race against time. 

But the monkey isn't pressed for time. He is haunted by fear. "Take me or leave me," he cries, " But for god's sake, get it over with. Don't make me wait for the rejection that I know is coming anyway." He thinks he's being brave, stripping naked for you to see. But really, he is a coward. He doesn't have the courage to wait for you to undress him yourself.

So I chose this beautiful old Mountain Gorilla to be my spirit guide for the spring. I hope he teaches me to see and be seen. I want to learn his courage and confidence. I want to learn his quiet strength and his tender patience. 

When I contemplate those eyes, I see... I suppose the word I'm looking for is "Presence." He isn't thinking about what's next. He isn't a million miles away. When Old Silverback looks at you, he says, "I am here with you. I see you. See me." 

If that isn't love, what is?

Fear not.

And, lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shone round about them: and they were sore afraid. And the angel said unto them, Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. ~ Luke 2:9,10

Fear not.

Life is terrifying sometimes.

Fear not.

You will find yourself at the mercy of things,

Beyond your control.

Fear not.

People will hurt you,

Often on purpose,

Usually not,

Fear not.

Things will flow past in the river of your life. 

Storms will rain down,

Broken branches will block your way,

Currents will change and hide the channel,

Troubles will wound your lonely little craft,

Fear not.

Though the world  laughs and judges,

Offers you shame, not acceptance,

Though the ones you love doubt you,

And the mystery of things seems to bury you

Let it be,

Fear not.

You are not alone,

You have love in you,

Life that leaps inside you,

At the sound of your name.

Like a weary companion trudges along beside,

With no knowledge or understanding, to guide the way,

You have love around you,

Peace, for which there are no words,

Truth for which there is no proof,

Fear not.

There is a place for you,

Shelter from the cold and the dark,

Not what you might have chosen,

Not what you expected or hoped for,

But a place where you belong,

A place only you can fill,

A task only you can do,

Fear not.

There is a story to tell,

Your story,

A story many will hear, 

And many will not understand.

It is as simple as a box of straw,

And glorious as a choir of angels,

No one else can tell it for you,

Much as they may try,

They will need your voice,

Your heart,

Your song,

The ones who hear,

Will not be the ones you expect,

They need to hear you sing,

Even if you sing off key,

Fear not.

An pregnant girl,

A confused fiancee,

A harried innkeeper,

Shepherds, terrified,

Magi, laden with useless tribute,

A puppet king filled with jealous hatred,

And there among them,

A baby,

The innocent creator of the universe,

God in the straw,

Unafraid.

That's what Christmas is all about, Linus.

It isn't about trees and paper and bags,

It isn't about angels and virgins and shepherds,

Not hymns,

Not bells,

Not turkey,

Not pies,

Not doctrine or dogma or history or theology.

The meaning of Christmas,

The true meaning of Christmas is in you, Linus,

It's the love that wraps around you like a blanket,

It's the courage that keeps you going,

The compassion that lets you care,

Christmas is the joy you feel for the blessings you have

And the strength to overcome the blessings you lack,

The meaning of Christmas,

The true meaning of Christmas,

In the face of all logic,

In spite of good sense,

No matter what yesterday's failures have taught you,

Or whatever tomorrow's dangers might be,

Christmas

Is reckless

Fearless

Love.

And if you can't believe in that, Linus,

You can't believe in anything.

Fear not.

Happy, Holy Day.

Merry Christmas.

Love,

Pennsy

#473: The Man I Want To Be

"You're always talking about what you want to be for someone else, but what kind of man do YOU want to be?"

Damned head-shrinker. Always asking the hard questions.

I have a pretty good idea what kind of man God wants me to be. I know what's expected of me at work. I'm far too aware of the things I should have done to be a better husband... but what kind of man do I want to be? What kind of self would let me say, "I'm understand that you feel that way about me, but I'm confident in the person I am"?

First, I would be courageous, like the wolf. My life's compass would be Love, not Fear. I would be proud to join the pack, and lead when needed, but I would also run alone when my heart told me it was the right thing to do. When faced with danger of loss or defeat, I would use my senses and my experience to choose the best course of action and take on the challenge as an opportunity to grow in wisdom and courage. When other, weaker wolves were placed in my care, I would teach them, challenge them, protect them, and defend them with my life.

I would be strong, like the lion. I would work to keep my muscles and mind ready to do the things that need to be done. I would eat what I needed to grow strong and powerful; rest to allow myself the chance to restore and recover from the day's tasks; and exercise to teach my body how to overcome today's obstacles and to prepare for tomorrow's challenges. When my heart said "Go!" I would have the capacity to go, even through great fatigue or even pain. I would have no need for other's weakness, because I would know the confidence of  my own strength.

I would be compassionate, like the gorilla. I would see the world through eyes that may not always understand, but always accept. I would use my courage and strength with tenderness toward the world, taking only what I needed, doing no harm, bringing gentleness and patience to the task of nurturing myself and my community. Though I would be a fierce adversary, my ferocity would be tempered with kindness, and my heart, powerful enough for any battle, would be soft enough to feel the pains and joys of every creature I encounter.

Finally, I would be joyful, like the bear. I would know the beauty of play and treasure the value of laughter. I would wrap my arms around creation and roar with happiness at the blessings of this life. To others, I might appear clumsy, oafish, clownish, or even dangerous, but in my own heart, I would know the happiness of a bear who knows where the softest moss is, where to find the best fishing, and how to roll back and laugh as the water tickles my belly and the sun dries my fur on an autumn afternoon.

"Do you see," asked the head-shrinker, smiling, "that you are all these things already? You have courage and strength and compassion and joy, and you exercise them every day! This man you wish you were... he exists right now. He is not perfect, and he does not always live up to his own ideals, but he is alive and growing and he is YOU... he is NOW... not some future possibility."

It is so easy to notice and remember our vices. Ask me to list the cowardly, weak, selfish, miserable things I have done in the past year, and I will fill pages with sins and omissions. Opportunities missed. Responsibilities shirked. Mornings when the sunlight was just too much to bear and I pulled the covers back over my head. Nights when it was easier to turn up the music and eat ice cream than to listen to the voices arguing in my own soul. I know the things I've done wrong I know them by heart.

And that's why I've started recording Three Right Things. Every day, before I go to sleep, I try to remind myself of three things that I have done that reflect the man I want to be. It might be something as simple as getting out of bed when I was filled with anxiety. It might be an hour spent on the road or in the weight room. It could be a long phone call with my Mum. Or it could just be sitting and laughing with a child at the Y who finds some kind of delight in the company of a big, round, hairy bear of a man with a loud voice and eyes that seem to see you when they look at you.

As I remember the things I do right, I am reminded of the man I am. I am reminded of the man God created me to be. And I remember that God is sending people and experiences to me so that I can learn how to better be the man I want to be.

Three Right Things. It doesn't seem like much. Not when you compare it to the mountain of things I do wrong every day. Maybe it isn't a very ambitious goal. But it is mine. I will work to imitate the wolf, the lion, the gorilla, and the bear. I will try to do three things every day that make the world better than it was. I will continue to nurture the best in the man I already am.

I will battle with strength and courage. I will love with compassion. And whether times are good or bad, I will not miss an opportunity to lay back in the sun, wave my big paws in the air, and laugh.

That's a self I can live with. Even if it is only three times a day.

Peace,
Bob