Listening to Isaiah: A Shoot from a Stump




Isaiah 11:1-5
December 18, 2011

A shoot shall come out from the stump of Jesse, and a branch shall grow out of his roots. The spirit of the Lord shall rest on him, the spirit of wisdom and understanding, the spirit of counsel and might, the spirit of knowledge and the fear of the Lord. His delight shall be in the fear of the Lord. He shall not judge by what his eyes see, or decide by what his ears hear; but with righteousness he shall judge the poor, and decide with equity for the meek of the earth; he shall strike the earth with the rod of his mouth, and with the breath of his lips he shall kill the wicked. Righteousness shall be the belt around his waist, and faithfulness the belt around his loins.

2500 years ago, the prophet Isaiah set a tone for the Jewish, and later the Christian, faith that ever since has been foundational to our beliefs.  He used a poetic image to describe the nature of our faith.  He said, “A shoot shall come out from the stump of Jesse, and a branch shall grow out of his roots.”

Quiz time.  What did he mean by this?  Who was Jesse, and why would a shoot come out of his stump?  You may not know it, but you do remember Jesse.  Jesse was King David’s father.  And if you remember the story of the prophet Samuel in the Old Testament, Samuel was led to Jesse in Bethlehem to find the next king, and he found David among Jesse’s sons.  Isaiah was speaking to Jews after the kingdom of Judea had been conquered by the Babylonians, and all the artisans, scholars, and anyone with a skill, had been transported 700 miles to serve as slaves in Babylon.  Everything was dark and seemed hopeless. Isaiah was saying that even though the lineage of David, and therefore Jesse, had seemed to have been wiped out, there was still hope.

He was comparing Israel to a mighty tree that had been cut down, but had the potential for new life will grow out of it.  Israel had been a mighty tree, much like an oak, that had been cut down by the Babylonians.  But new life was already emerging.  It was small, and barely perceptible by the Israelites, but it was growing.  They needed to have faith and hope. 

Christian scholars have debated for centuries what Isaiah meant by our passage.  Was he actually prophesying Jesus’ coming?  Was he simply telling the Jews something about their fate after their exile to Babylon?  Was it something else?  Regardless of what he was referring to back then, one thing is undeniable.  He was describing the nature of Jewish and Christian faith then and now, which is that with God nothing is ever dead.  God is always working to renew life, and to resurrect out of death something new.  With any death begins the process of new life.

Ultimately he was saying that our faith, and the Jewish faith that it is built upon, is a Cinderella faith.  Embedded in our faith is the idea that no matter how bad things get, no matter how desperate they seem, God is always there to redeem us, restore us, renew us, and resurrect us. 

Christianity, at its core, is always looking for something new to come out of even the worst situations.  The post-World War II pastor, Dietrich, understood this facet of Christian faith.  At the end of World War II, he helped many devastated and hopeless Germans deal with the terrible things they had done during the war.  Pastor Dietrich was instrumental in helping them heal their wounds.  He was one of them.  He had done terrible things himself, and like them he was complicit in all the terrible things the Nazis had done prior to and during the war.  Yet after the war he preached a consistent message of God’s grace, love, and forgiveness, all of which he had experienced during the war.  God had transformed him from a Nazi animal to a man of love.  How did he become such a caring presence?  It all started in the early years of the war when he had been part of the infantry in the German army as they battled the Russians. 

It was the winter of 1941.  Terrible battles were being waged as the Germans penetrated further and further into Russia.  If you know anything about the German army’s attack against the Russians, you know that they were incredibly naïve in how they did it.  They attacked in mid-summer, giving themselves little time before winter, and the Russian winter was one of Russia’s greatest defenses.  Winter came and the German army became bogged down. 

Also, the Russian army had a particular defensive strategy that worked perfectly against the Germans, albeit a defense that was grounded on a massive disregard for Russian casualties.  The Germans had perfected the blitzkrieg strategy in which they would mobilize their air force, infantry, and tank cavalry to quickly break through enemy lines, thus taking over lands before the defenders knew what was happening.  The Russian army didn’t react the way other armies did, by putting up a massive wall of resistance, forcing the Germans to break through, and then caving quickly once the Russians did break through.  Instead, they deployed their army into successive wide and narrow defensive lines that could be easily broken through, each line about ½ a mile apart, forming ten or twelve lines. 

The Germans would easily break through the first line, and then attack the following line.  But each time the line that had been broken through would fall back and fortify the line behind them.  As the Germans penetrated further, they not only found each line becoming stronger with the support of the previous lines, but the previous lines falling back could also attack the sides and back of the German army, thus surrounding them and cutting them off.  Typically the Germans would penetrate through to the fifth or sixth line and then find themselves bogged down and encircled.  What seemed like a successful thrust towards victory could easily leave German troops caught behind enemy lines with little hope for support as the Russian Army surged forward. 

During one particular battle the Russian army fell back time and time again, and suddenly they surged forward in a massive counterattack.  As a result, a Nazi soldier, Dietrich, found himself stranded behind enemy lines.  He was confused, frozen, and terrified.  He knew that the Russians treated their prisoners horribly.  So he scrambled through the forest, anxiously trying to make it back to the German lines.  Exhausted and cold, he eventually came across a small hut with a wisp of smoke escaping from its chimney. 

He burst through the door only to find a tiny, poor, old Russian woman eating her dinner.  He angrily pushed her aside as he ransacked the house, looking for hidden dangers.  As he turned back toward the woman, he was surprised to find her holding out a dish of food for him.  Dietrich grabbed the plate out of her hands and greedily slurped down the food.  Much to his surprise, the old woman gave him more, and she took care of him for the next three days.  No matter how harshly he treated her, she responded with warmth and love.  Why was she doing this?  What made it even more puzzling was that if caught, she was certain to be shot for hiding a German soldier.  Why would she do this for an enemy?

Finally, Dietrich decided that it was time to try and reach the German lines.  Before he left, though, he had to know why she treated him so well when he had treated her so badly.  Though they did not understand a word of each other’s language, he finally was able to communicate his question:  “Why have you taken care of me when I have treated you so poorly?”  Her answer was simple and direct.  She pointed to a crucifix on the wall.  She had treated him this way because she loved God, and she knew that God loved Dietrich.  Her vision was so God-bathed that she did not see in Dietrich as an enemy.  She saw in him a child of God who was scared, hungry, and helpless.  And it was God’s love in her that called her to treat Dietrich with love, forgiveness, and compassion.

This woman’s love for God had a profound effect on Dietrich.  For the rest of the war, he reflected on the woman’s kindness and her faith.  He wanted something like that in his life.  How could he get it?  He decided that turning his life over to Christ was the only answer.  Her love for God allowed him to love God also.  And so after the war he pursued God, and eventually became a Lutheran pastor so that he could serve God in providing the German people with the same kind of love, forgiveness, and compassion that the Russian woman had given him.  Dietrich had been resurrected and renewed, and he helped the German people become resurrected and renewed, too. 

We are a resurrection people in more ways than one.  We follow a faith that says that nothing is ever hopeless, nothing is ever a lost cause, if we have faith in God.  This is a stump faith, a faith that says that no matter how dead things seem to be, God can always bring new life. 

Do you have a stump faith?  A faith that believes in God no matter what, that hopes no matter what, and that is prepared for new life no matter what?  Through Death? Divorce? Unemployment?  Illness?  Depression?  Struggle?  The thing you need to hold onto is that a shoot can grow out of the stump of your life, but you have believe.  Amen. 

Listening to Isaiah: Making All Things Right


Isaiah 61:1-11
December 11, 2011


The spirit of the Lord God is upon me, because the Lord has anointed me; he has sent me to bring good news to the oppressed, to bind up the brokenhearted, to proclaim liberty to the captives, and release to the prisoners; to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor, and the day of vengeance of our God; to comfort all who mourn; to provide for those who mourn in Zion— to give them a garland instead of ashes, the oil of gladness instead of mourning, the mantle of praise instead of a faint spirit. They will be called oaks of righteousness, the planting of the Lord, to display his glory.
They shall build up the ancient ruins, they shall raise up the former devastations; they shall repair the ruined cities, the devastations of many generations. Strangers shall stand and feed your flocks, foreigners shall till your land and dress your vines; but you shall be called priests of the Lord, you shall be named ministers of our God; you shall enjoy the wealth of the nations, and in their riches you shall glory. Because their shame was double, and dishonor was proclaimed as their lot, therefore they shall possess a double portion; everlasting joy shall be theirs. For I the Lord love justice, I hate robbery and wrongdoing; I will faithfully give them their recompense, and I will make an everlasting covenant with them. Their descendants shall be known among the nations, and their offspring among the peoples; all who see them shall acknowledge that they are a people whom the Lord has blessed.
I will greatly rejoice in the Lord, my whole being shall exult in my God; for he has clothed me with the garments of salvation, he has covered me with the robe of righteousness, as a bridegroom decks himself with a garland, and as a bride adorns herself with her jewels. For as the earth brings forth its shoots, and as a garden causes what is sown in it to spring up, so the Lord God will cause righteousness and praise to spring up before all the nations.

Some of you many know this already, many may not, but I have the privilege of being an adjunct faculty member at Pittsburgh Theological seminary, teaching classes at the master and doctoral levels.  In the classes I teach, the grades are always based on a final, 20-25 page paper.  The requirements of my papers are a bit different from most college or graduate school academic papers.  Those are academic papers in which the students must assert a theory or idea, and then cite material backing up their idea.  I ask my students to write a paper reflecting on a time in their lives when they felt God clearly transforming them in some way.  They are still academic papers because they have to apply what they’ve read and heard in lectures on their reflections, but the heart of their papers is a transforming experience of God.

As a result, I get to read some truly inspiring and amazing papers.  None was more inspiring than what Pastor Sarah wrote in her paper (Sarah’s not her real name, but I did get permission to share her story) for a class I did over the past year.

Sarah is an associate pastor of a large church.  She wrote that on a grey October day a number of years ago she stood on the front steps of her church pondering her fate.  Looking down the street to the left she thought to herself that if she started walking right then, in fifteen minutes she would be in the emergency room of the city hospital, where she could then check herself into the psychiatric ward.  Looking to her right, she saw her car and thought to herself she was just a fifteen-minute ride from home, where a kitchen knife was waiting for her, one that she could use take her own life.  Her husband was away for the weekend, so there would be no one there to stop her.  She stood on the step, paralyzed, not knowing what to do. 

She thought about the hospital option, and realized that if she chose it she would be committing career suicide.  What church would want a pastor suffering from mental problems?  People expect their pastors to have it together and to be free of problems.  Who wants a pastor with problems, especially a suicidal pastor?  

On the other hand, if she went home she would be committing physical suicide.  It wouldn’t be too hard.  She had already been a cutter for years.  All it would mean is cutting deeper.  If you don’t know what “cutting” is, it’s a condition that many people have struggled with, especially teens and young adults.  The best understanding of it is that people cut themselves with razors and knives in hidden places as a way of creating a small crisis that they can handle, which takes their minds away from large crises that they feel helpless against.  Sarah felt helpless against her large crisis, so cutting helped her deal with it.  But cutting was no longer working.

Sarah’s dark secret?  She suffered from perfectionism.  She had been striving for perfection her whole life.  In high school, college, and seminary she had always gotten top grades.  In fact, she had won several awards in seminary for her achievements.  As an associate pastor, she was constantly complimented on how hard she worked, how much she devoted herself to the church, and how great she was.  What they didn’t know was that to accomplish all this she had to put in 80 to 90 hour weeks.  It didn’t matter that her husband kept pleading with her to take time for their marriage, or at least for herself.  She was serving God, and that didn’t leave much time for anything else. 

Being that perfect had a cost.  The price she was paying was the growing sense that she was a shell, a fraud, trying to make up for her broken interior with a perfect exterior—perfect in behavior and appearance.  She felt hollow inside.  She couldn’t pray to God or read the Bible because she was just too busy.  Prayer was for people with time on their hands, and she was too busy cultivating an ideal to pray.

As she struggled on the steps, she caught something of a vision.  For some reason she began to think about Jesus suffering on the cross, and as she did she recognized that she was being crucified, too.  Jesus had been crucified by the Romans and the Jews.  She was being crucified by her desire for perfection.  She had been serving a false god, and it was now all falling apart.  She realized that she needed a resurrection, a transformation into a whole new way of living.  She walked to her car, and sitting behind the wheel she wept.  Amidst the tears were prayers for God to help her find a new way, a way without perfection, but a way of trust, compassion, and balance.  She could no longer live life the way she had, and she was giving to God her imperfect “perfect” life, asking God to transform her.

The next day she called the chaplain at the hospital and asked to meet with him.  Thus began a several year span in which she met with him weekly, pouring out her heart and soul.  Through this process she discovered a new way of being a pastor, a person, and a wife.  She discovered that there was no perfection in ministry or life.  Instead, there was a way of serving in which we can become available to God in everything.  So instead of keeping detailed lists of everything she had to do, she immersed herself in prayer.  She’d come to work, asking God, “What would you have me do today.”  If she prayed and had a sense that this or that person should be visited, that’s what she would do.  She took time for herself and for her marriage.  She spent time praying and reading.  And slowly her life got better.

Along with this new approach, she noticed that she was working less but accomplishing more. She discovered that when she was more balanced and grounded in God, it seemed like God was working through her.  Her ministry was no longer just her own.  She was letting God work through her, and it made all the difference in the world.  As long as she was in charge, she was crushed by her burdens, but when she let God be in charge, her burdens lightened incredibly and her life became a joy.  

Pastor Sarah discovered that when we truly place our lives in God’s hands, things work out and God makes us better.  She discovered the very message that Isaiah was preaching in our passage:  trust God, put yourself and your burdens into God’s hands, and things will work out for the better. 

Unfortunately we all excel at holding onto our struggles, or at least at putting them into God’s hands and then taking them back by keeping a tether tied to them so that as we walk away we can pull them back along with us.  The great Quaker writer, Hannah Whitall Smith, wrote about our struggle to give God our burdens.  She said that we are like a man walking from town to town, carrying a heavy burden.  And God is like another man, who pulls up in a large, horse-drawn cart, saying to him, “Oh, your burden looks so heavy, and you seem so tired.  Would you like me to give you a ride to the next town?”  The man accepts, gratefully, and climbs into the cart.  But the burden remains on his back.  The driver says, “Why don’t you place your burden in the back of the cart?”  And the burdened man says, “Oh no, it’s enough that you are willing to give me a ride.  You don’t have to carry my burden, too.” 

This is how we are with so much of life.  We have all sorts of small and large burdens we’re willing to talk with God about, but when it comes to giving them to God we hold back. I think one reason that we have such a hard time giving God our burdens is that we don’t think we know how.  Too many people assume that giving God our burdens means sitting back and doing nothing. That’s not what it means at all.  Giving God our burdens means giving God the anxiety we hold over issues we face, asking God to help us in knowing what to do about our burdens, trying our best to listen for God’s guidance, and then following what we sense God is calling us to do, doing the best we can. 

My guidance for giving God our burdens comes from Proverbs 3:5-6:  “Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and do not rely on your own insights.  In all your ways acknowledge God and God will make straight your paths.”  What this passage is saying is that giving God our burdens means giving God the anxiety we hold toward our burdens, and then trying to get our thinking in line with God.  The point, though, is not necessarily being perfect in figuring out what God wants.  God cares much more about our intentions that about our actual actions.  What I mean is that God cares much more that we want to follow God’s will than about how well we actually follow God’s will.  If our heart is in the right place, and we’re really trying to rely on God’s insights, then God will make our paths straight, even if what we are doing isn’t really what God wants.  In other words, God makes straight our paths based on the depth of our desire and intent, not on the merits of our actions.

The whole idea of placing our burdens in God’s hands is central to Isaiah.  He didn’t just want to limit it to burdens.  Isaiah called on people to ground all of their thinking in God. The people of his age had a hard time doing that, and little has changed since then.  We have a hard time grounding our thinking in God, and one of the main reasons is that we have a hard time building a foundation to our thinking that is actually grounded in what God wants. 

I don’t think I understood what building a God foundation to our thinking before studying with Adrian van Kaam.  He had a model for understanding our thinking that was brilliant.  He said that much of our thinking is like a pyramid in which we place certain ideologies, philosophies, and theologies at the foundation that influence all the others built on top of them.  What we place at the foundation will then influence and trickle through all of our other thoughts.  For example, if we place being conservative or liberal at the foundation, then our Christianity will become either conservative or liberal first, Christian second.  This is true for every kind of Christianity.  Whatever adjective we place before our Christian faith demonstrates what’s at our foundations, whether that be Evangelical, Pentecostal, Catholic, Presbyterian, or any other.  So, if we are a “liberal” Christian, or an “Evangelical” Christian, it means that we are liberal or Evangelical first, Christian second.  The result is that sometimes we act in ways that aren’t truly Christian because we’ve lost our connection with an authentic Christianity.  We’re trying to be liberal or evangelical, not Christian.

A lot of Christians don’t really place their Christianity at their foundations at all. They are Republican or Democrats first, conservative or liberal second, and Christian way down the line.  When that happens, their Christian faith becomes extremely limited because they can only see Christianity from a narrow perspective as it reflects only Republican, conservative, or Democratic, liberal thought, with a smattering of Christian. 

Van Kaam taught is that if we are truly to follow God’s guidance and thinking, we have to start by placing our Christian faith at our foundations, and let that influence everything else.  This is hard for many of us to do because we are something else at our foundations.  But this is what Isaiah was calling for:  to place God, especially our understanding of God from our deepest faith tradition, at our foundation so that this will help us to hear God and understand God’s will. 

Pastor Sarah did something very similar.  She had been placing a certain kind of perfectionism and work ethic at her foundations, but in that moment on the steps, in becoming open to God, she placed her faith at her foundation.  And it changed the whole way she say everything in her life.  It transformed her.  Because she did this, God accepted her burdens and slowly made everything all right. 

As we close, I want you to reflect on some questions:  What do you do with your burdens?  Do you give them to God or hold onto them tightly?  What’s the foundation of your thinking?  Is it God, or is it something else? 

            Amen. 

Listening to Isaiah: We Are Like Grass

Isaiah 40:1-11 December 4, 2011 Comfort, O comfort my people, says your God. Speak tenderly to Jerusalem, and cry to her that she has served her term, that her penalty is paid, that she has received from the Lord’s hand double for all her sins. A voice cries out: “In the wilderness prepare the way of the Lord, make straight in the desert a highway for our God. Every valley shall be lifted up, and every mountain and hill be made low; the uneven ground shall become level, and the rough places a plain. Then the glory of the Lord shall be revealed, and all people shall see it together, for the mouth of the Lord has spoken.” A voice says, “Cry out!” And I said, “What shall I cry?” All people are grass, their constancy is like the flower of the field. The grass withers, the flower fades, when the breath of the Lord blows upon it; surely the people are grass. The grass withers, the flower fades; but the word of our God will stand forever. Get you up to a high mountain, O Zion, herald of good tidings; lift up your voice with strength, O Jerusalem, herald of good tidings, lift it up, do not fear; say to the cities of Judah, “Here is your God!” See, the Lord God comes with might, and his arm rules for him; his reward is with him, and his recompense before him. He will feed his flock like a shepherd; he will gather the lambs in his arms, and carry them in his bosom, and gently lead the mother sheep. I don’t know if you are a fan of the television show, Seinfeld. I suspect that many of you are. It was a brilliant comedy that managed to stay fresh year in and year out. It was one of the few shows that actually went out on top of its game, even after airing for 11 years. The show was brilliant because it made fun of the little quirks that make us human and flawed. The characters each had their own foibles, and never seemed to grow beyond them. What made the show really hilarious was that they were like us on our bad days on steroids. Laughing at them was laughing at ourselves. Pretty much everyone who watched Seinfeld has a favorite episode. Mine was the Soup Nazi episode. In this episode, a soup stand opens up in Manhattan, and it offers amazing soup. The place is packed everyday, but the owner has a quirk. He likes order. So to buy the soup you have to stand in line in the proper way, you’re not allowed to talk in line, and you have to place your quickly and perfectly. If you didn’t do it exactly right, the owner would shout out to you, “No soup for you!” If you argued, he would say, “No soup for you,… ONE YEAR!” The idea of the Soup Nazi was actually taken from a real-life stand in Manhattan, one that still exists. When our family visited NYC last Christmas, I made everyone go to it, just so we could have the Soup Nazi experience. What I didn’t realize was that there was no place to sit, so we ended up at another soup place, conveniently situated across the street. But this isn’t the episode I want to talk about. I want to talk about the Opposite George episode, the one that reminded me so much of Isaiah. In this episode, George, a short, stocky, balding, persistently neurotic and self-destructive guy, gets an insight. He’s complaining one day to Jerry and Elaine, while sitting in their favorite corner coffee shop, that all his instincts about life are wrong, and that’s why he can’t keep a job, an apartment, or a girlfriend. Jerry tells him, “If every instinct is wrong, maybe you should just do the opposite.” George snickers at the idea, and then realizes that Jerry’s right. He should do everything the opposite. So George gets started by ordering a chicken salad sandwich on rye instead of his typical tuna salad on wheat. As he’s eating his sandwich, he notices a very attractive woman staring at him. Doing the opposite of what he’d normally do, George walks up to her and says, “I can’t help but notice you looking at me.” She says, “Yes, I noticed you ordered the same sandwich as me.” George looks at her and says, “My name is George, I’m unemployed, and I live with my parents.” Flirtatiously she smiles and says, “Who ARE you?” Later, George is on a date with her at the movies. Two tough-looking thugs are in the seat behind them, cracking jokes, kicking George’s and his date’s chairs, irritating everyone. George, who’s normally a coward, stands up, turns around, and says, “Hey, KNOCK IT OFF! If you don’t knock it off, I’m going to take you outside and show you some manners. And if you don’t believe me, try me. I would LOVE to show you what I mean. And don’t test me because I’m a dangerous man!” They immediately cower as the movie crowd gives George an ovation. His date looks at him and says, “Who ARE you, George Costanza?” The final scene takes place in the offices of the New York Yankees. George, recognizing that his normal instincts would keep him from ever applying for his dream job of working for he Yankees, decides to interview for a job. He goes to the interview dressed in jeans, a flannel shirt, and a down vest. He tells the interviewer that he has no skills for the job, and the man is close to kicking him out of his office. That’s when George Steinbrenner, owner of the Yankees, comes down the hall. The interviewer introduces George to Steinbrenner. Instead of shaking hands with Steinbrenner, George looks at him and says, “Mr. Steinbrenner, you have made a mockery of this team. Your ego has caused you to bring down this storied and once-proud organization (at the time the Yankees weren’t doing so well). You have micromanaged this organization into a shadow of it’s once-proud self. What do you have to say for yourself?” Steinbrenner pauses and says to the interviewer, “HIRE this man!” Opposite George has triumphed. So why do I bring up Opposite George? Because I couldn’t help thinking about him while thinking about our passage from Isaiah this morning. Isaiah was kind of an Opposite Guy. Actually, that’s not quite accurate. Most biblical scholars recognize that there really wasn’t one Isaiah. There were probably three, two of whom might have been apprentices—one to the original Isaiah, and one to the second Isaiah. But we don’t know for sure. What we do know is that if one prophet, Isaiah, wrote this, then He would have had to be writing for ten years prior to the Jewish exile to Babylon, then write all during the 70 years of the exile, and then be writing after the exile. Not likely. Anyway, why would I say that Isaiah is Opposite Guy? Because Isaiah never seemed to deliver the message you would expect. He always seemed to offer the opposite. Prior to the Babylonian exile, things were actually going well for Israel. Assyria, which had dominated Israel for 80 years, was weakened. Israel was becoming stronger nationally and economically. People were doing much better, but Isaiah was delivering a message of gloom and doom, earning him their scorn. Then, when the Babylonians conquered Israel, sending them into exile, they were desperate for a message of hope. But Isaiah poured salt into their wounds, saying that they were being punished for their lack of faith—for their sin. Then Isaiah, in the midst of their exile, turned around and offered words of hope, when they expected more gloom and doom. When they were set free (actually, the grandchildren and great-grandchildren of the original exiles were set free), they returned to Israel to find it a mess. They had hoped to find the Temple in it’s original condition, and Jerusalem a still-beautiful city. Instead, everything was a mess. Jerusalem looked like a slum, and most of the Temple had been torn down. They expected Isaiah to offer more words of gloom, but Isaiah told them that this was a great thing, and that they should be hopeful. God was with them, and everything would be all right. The thing about prophets like Isaiah is that they see things with a wisdom that most of us humans can’t see or won’t see. We don’t see with this kind of wisdom because we think too conventionally and commonly. We’re too wrapped up in what I call world think. We think in the ways either of the world in general, or of the groups we identify with, think. We think in terms of what we would like to see, what would seem to benefit us the most, or what seems “normal” to us. Prophets see things more from God’s perspective. Since they are passionate about what God wants, they refuse to be trapped by human perspectives. Isaiah’s connection with God led him to be what I call a hopeful realist. Like an optimist he was ever hopeful, but like a pessimist, he was rooted in the way things really were. He recognized that with God all things really do work out well in the end, but that at the same time, all things do end. He understood that with God there is always hope, but there is also a reality to life—we all die, and bad things do happen. It’s what led him to say to the Israelites both, Comfort, O comfort my people, and All people are grass. He was telling people that God was working in their lives, so live in hope. But don’t lose a grasp on the way things are because like the grass and the flowers, life does fade. I think the trouble with a lot of people is that they want the first perspective without the second. They want comfort, but not reality. Isaiah understood that real wisdom comes from having faith in God, while recognizing our own finitude—while recognizing our own mortality and the reality of death. Back in the 1970s a profound, Pulitzer Prize winning book was written by Ernst Becker, called The Denial of Death. In the book, Becker wrote about how we all deny death. It’s what allows us to accomplish what we accomplish in life. He said that all of us live with the false sense that somehow we will be the exception, overcome death, and live forever. The younger we are, the more we deny death. So we treat all of our own projects and pursuits as though they have some sort of eternal significance. It’s what leads us to believe that our beliefs, our accomplishments, our achievements are SO important. This denial of death leads us to problems of self-importance, while acceptance leads to humility and being grounded. The latter is what leads to a better life, even if the process of getting there is painful as we admit our mortality. Our passage reminds me a lot of a column I read Friday by one of my favorite political pundits, David Brooks. David Brooks is a conservative columnist who writes for the New York Times. What I like about him is that while he has a conservative perspective, he refuses to be trapped in that perspective. I find that most political columnists, no matter how smart of clever they are, can’t see beyond their rigid ideologies. Brooks recognizes the limits of his perspectives, and you can tell that he is a life-long learner who is always willing to question his own thinking. In his column this past Friday, he wrote about what he learned from those over 70 who responded to his request for them to send them their "Life Reports." He asked them to write about their regrets, their perspectives, and their happiness. Here are some of the lessons he learned from them: 1. Divide your life into chapters: In other words, be able to turn the page on the past. Those who were happiest didn’t let the past capture them, leaving them stuck in what they didn’t do, or what was done to them. When they went through a bad period, they looked at it as just that. And when it was over, they turned the page and moved on, closing that chapter of their lives. In that way they were able to, in a sense, continually recreate themselves. This is what Isaiah called on the Israelites to do—recreate themselves. Begin anew. Don’t let the pain of Babylon or the challenge of ruins hold you back. God is with you, so move forward. That’s his message to us, too. 2. You can't control other people (And, I’d add, your situation): The people who were happiest understood this. They knew that people are people, and they don’t do what we want. So work with them rather than trying to control them. Where this is often hardest is as parents. We want to control our kids so that they can live life without pain and make good decisions—or just to make life easier for us. But as our kids get older, they get harder to control. Especially as teenagers they seem to excel at being Opposite Guys and Gals themselves. Isaiah understood this about his own people. Even God couldn’t control the Israelites, so God let them suffer the consequences of their actions. And then God invited them to rejoin God in recreating Israel. 3. Lean toward risk: Those who were happiest didn’t live in fear but were willing to take risks, even when they were older. They didn’t live in fear and anxiety over what they could lose. Instead, they were willing to try new things. Again, much like what Isaiah was calling the Jews to do. 4. Work within institutions, not outside them: This is an especially important lesson for today. We live in an age in which everyone distrusts institutions, whether they are the government, schools, or churches. But the happiest people were ones who worked with others within institutions to make life better for everyone. They were civic-minded, realizing that institutions, when done properly, make life better. This is a huge lesson for people today who say they are spiritual but not religious. Becoming happy means becoming spiritual and religious, because if you aren’t you end up just becoming a lone ranger who really doesn’t work with others to make the world a better place. Think of all that the church does in ministry and mission. This is what institutions do—they get people to work together. And this is what Isaiah was calling on the Israelites to do. Isaiah had a message for the Israelites and for us: Don’t live in the past and in fear, don’t try to control others, take a risk every once in awhile, and work well with others. The question is whether we’re listening to Isaiah. Amen.

How Do We Pray? Praying from the Center

Philippians 4:4-7
November 20, 2011

Because of the interactive nature of this sermon, it's difficult to write it out. it is better heard. If you would like to listen to the sermon,
Matthew 6:7-15
November 13, 2011




“When you are praying, do not heap up empty phrases as the Gentiles do; for they think that they will be heard because of their many words. Do not be like them, for your Father knows what you need before you ask him.
“Pray then in this way: Our Father in heaven, hallowed be your name. Your kingdom come. Your will be done, on earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread. And forgive us our debts, as we also have forgiven our debtors. And do not bring us to the time of trial, but rescue us from the evil one. For if you forgive others their trespasses, your heavenly Father will also forgive you; but if you do not forgive others, neither will your Father forgive your trespasses.

You probably already know this because I’ve mentioned it perhaps too many times in my sermons, but I had a hard time in church when I was growing up. Somewhere between my childhood and adolescence, I became very cynical about church. A large part of it was that the seeds of the “I’m spiritual but not religious” movement were being sown at the time, seeds that have now grown into numerous crops. The surrounding youth culture was questioning everything about church, and it made me question.

So I became cynical about the need for church, while also being cynical and critical about the motivations of the people in church. I wasn’t sure that people needed to be in church, but as I looked around I became convinced that so many of the people I saw in church on Sundays were there for the wrong reasons. Looking around at those attending worship, I was convinced that they were there as much to be seen as they were to worship. I’m not sure I was entirely right, but it was what I saw.

My experience, or at least my perceptions as a teen, of people in church wasn’t far off from what Jesus saw in the Jews of his time. When Jesus taught his followers about prayer, he was reacting to something specific to the Jewish faith: they were praying more for prestige than to connect with God. And Jesus taught that praying for the wrong reasons was as bad as not praying at all.

To understand what I mean, it helps to transport yourself back to Jesus’ time, and to see what Jesus saw. First, he was critical of the Gentiles. The Gentiles, or non-Jews, had a faith that revolved both around the Greco-Roman gods, and a vague understanding of one God (depending on what movement you followed). The practice among Gentiles was to offer long, flowery, expressive prayers. They believed that to get the gods’ or God’s attention, they needed to pray in the right way, which meant being wordy and eloquent. So, as Jesus said, “they think that they will be heard because of their many words.”

Second, he was critical of the Jewish way of praying. This passage in Luke’s gospel is critical of the Jewish prayers for different reasons. The Jewish faith of the time was a very rigid faith, especially when it came to prayer. The Jews, to be righteous, were required to recite a number of memorized prayers, which many did in public so that others would see how holy they were.

For example, they were required to say the Shema at least twice a day, and the most righteous would say them three times a day. They were to say them upon rising and before going to bed. Many of the Jewish men would choose to be seen in public reciting their prayers, so they would emerge from their houses in the early morning, stand in the marketplace, and pray so that everyone could see. The Jewish culture was a religious culture, so prestige was heaped upon those who were seen as righteously religious. The Shema, which means “Hear,” as in “Hear, O Israel, The Lord is our God, the Lord alone,” is a recitation of the following three passages of scripture:
Deuteronomy 6:4-9
Hear, O Israel: The Lord is our God, the Lord alone. You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your might. Keep these words that I am commanding you today in your heart. Recite them to your children and talk about them when you are at home and when you are away, when you lie down and when you rise. Bind them as a sign on your hand, fix them as an emblem on your forehead, and write them on the doorposts of your house and on your gates.

Deuteronomy 11:13-21
If you will only heed his every commandment that I am commanding you today—loving the Lord your God, and serving him with all your heart and with all your soul— then he will give the rain for your land in its season, the early rain and the later rain, and you will gather in your grain, your wine, and your oil; and he will give grass in your fields for your livestock, and you will eat your fill. Take care, or you will be seduced into turning away, serving other gods and worshiping them, for then the anger of the Lord will be kindled against you and he will shut up the heavens, so that there will be no rain and the land will yield no fruit; then you will perish quickly off the good land that the Lord is giving you. You shall put these words of mine in your heart and soul, and you shall bind them as a sign on your hand, and fix them as an emblem on your forehead. Teach them to your children, talking about them when you are at home and when you are away, when you lie down and when you rise. Write them on the doorposts of your house and on your gates, so that your days and the days of your children may be multiplied in the land that the Lord swore to your ancestors to give them, as long as the heavens are above the earth.
Numbers 15:37–41
The Lord said to Moses: Speak to the Israelites, and tell them to make fringes on the corners of their garments throughout their generations and to put a blue cord on the fringe at each corner. You have the fringe so that, when you see it, you will remember all the commandments of the Lord and do them, and not follow the lust of your own heart and your own eyes. So you shall remember and do all my commandments, and you shall be holy to your God. I am the Lord your God, who brought you out of the land of Egypt, to be your God: I am the Lord your God.

In addition, they Jews were required to recite the Shemoneh ‘esreh, which means “The Eighteen.” These are nineteen prayers (one was added later to the original eighteen) that cover a whole variety of topics, many of which repeat the history of Israel. For instance, here is a sample of Number One:
"Blessed be Thou, O Lord, our God and God of our fathers, God of Abraham, God of Isaac, and God of Jacob, the great, the mighty, and the fearful God—God Most High—who bestow goodly kindnesses, and art the Creator of all, and remember the love of the Fathers and bring a redeemer for their children's children for the sake of Thy name in love. King, Helper, Savior, and Shield; blessed be Thou, Shield of Abraham"

Many Jewish men chose to recite their prayers in public so that they could be seen as being righteous. In addition, when they prayed they wore their phylacteries, which were two boxes—one worn on the head, the other on the arm—containing tiny scrolls with the Ten Commandments written on them. The latter was wrapped around the arm with a cord that extended down to the fingers.

Jesus wanted people to move away from memorized and wordy prayers to ones that really connect us with God. I believe that what Christ wanted was for people of faith to simplify their prayers, to make it more natural, and to get the focus back on God, not on how we were praying. That’s why he taught this simple prayer to take the place of all the prayers, the Lord’s Prayer.

This prayer wasn’t just a short memorized prayer to take the place of long memorized prayers. It was an attempt to get people to pray about what matters. It wasn’t just a prayer, it was an outline for prayer. The prayer wasn’t just meant to be said in one piece, the way we typically pray it, which can lead us to pray it in the way the ancient Jews prayed their prayers—without passion or emphasis. He wanted people to dwell on each facet. Let me go over the prayer and show you what I mean.

Our Father in heaven, hallowed be your name. What does Jesus mean by this? It’s not just a starting line, something to get us going, by calling God sacred name. Jesus was saying that when we pray, we need to start from a place of humility where we hallow God. What does it mean to say we “hallow” God? It isn’t just saying that God is holy. It’s starting in a place of awe and reverence, where we recognize God’s greatness. It overcomes the tendency to be so familiar with God that we fail to recognize God’s greatness, wonder, and mystery. Jesus was saying that when we pray, we need to stand in awe of how wonderful and great God is, for that sets the context for our surrendering to God. So start your prayer from a place of awe and reverence.

Your kingdom come. Of all the lines in the prayer, this is the one that is most misunderstood. What do you think it means? My guess is that you fall into one of two categories. First, you may think it means that we are asking God to let us into heaven when we die, but there’s a problem with this. If that’s what Jesus meant, he would have said, “Your kingdom be open to us when we die.” It’s speaking about God’s kingdom coming to us here. It’s not about death, it’s about now. This leads to the second thought: that it is asking that Jesus return in what are called the end-times, which so many people think of in relationship to the book of Revelation. They think that what Jesus is telling us to do is to pray for his return. There’s a HUGE problem with this idea, though. Why would Jesus have them pray for his return when he was already there, and before he had even taught about his return? Remember, this is in the beginning of his ministry. He hadn’t even mentioned his going and returning.

Jesus is actually teaching a concept that appears all throughout the gospels, which is the idea that when we are living the right way in complete openness to God, we can simultaneously live in the kingdom of the world and the kingdom of God. Jesus taught that while we all live in the material realm, the realm of the earthly reality, those of faith can live simultaneously in a spiritual kingdom that helps us see and experience God and God’s blessings all around us. When we live in that kingdom, we become open to everything God has to offer us. We begin to see with God’s eyes, love with God’s love, and do what God wills. Which leads us to the next part of the prayer. So in this part of the prayer, pray that you can live always in God’s realm as much as you live in the earthly one.

Your will be done, on earth as it is in heaven. This phrase flows out of the idea of God’s kingdom coming. It’s the idea that when we live fully in God’s kingdom, God’s will becomes done on earth through us, in the way that it becomes done in heaven. So pray always that you will be doing God’s will in everything.

Give us this day our daily bread. This is a reminder that God’s concerns aren’t only spiritual. God cares about our material needs, and not just bread. God cares about us being healthy physically, and that what we eat, drink, and where we live matters. So pray that God will care for your physical needs.

And forgive us our debts, as we also have forgiven our debtors. Several months ago someone asked me why we Presbyterians pray “debts” and “debtors,” rather than “trespasses,” or “sins,” which is what the original translation says. I kiddingly said to them that I believe it all has to do with our heritage. I figure the Episcopalians, being originally English, prayed “trespasses” because they tended to be the wealthy landowners who constantly had trespassers on their property. Meanwhile, the Scottish (who were the original Presbyterians) were always poor and in debt to the English (causing them to trespass), and so they were obsessed with getting their debts forgiven. Really, though, I have no idea why we don’t translate these as “sins.” The point of the prayer is that Christ wants us to pray that we can let go of our sins into God’s forgiveness, but that we would also steep ourselves in God by extending God’s forgiveness onto others. We all struggle to forgive, but when we forgive we live in God’s kingdom. And to forgive we have to be rooted in God’s kingdom. So pray that you will be forgiving just as you have been forgiven.

And do not bring us to the time of trial, but rescue us from the evil one. This part of the prayer recognizes that we struggle with testings and temptations, and it is a call to remember that we don’t face life’s challenges alone. God is with us. And so we need to pray for God to be with us when we struggle.

Personally, in my prayers, and even in the way I approach leading this church, I strive for Simplicity and Naturality. I realize that “naturality” isn’t a real word, but it rhymes so nicely with simplicity. I believe that when we pray, we need to be as simple and natural as possible, because the combination of the two opens us up the best to God. One of the problems with us pastors is that we are trained to be eloquent in our praying, and this can intimidate people, resulting in them feeling as though they can’t pray properly. God wants simple prayers, not necessarily eloquent prayers.

The point of our whole passage for this morning is that prayer is the foundation of the Christian life—even more than scripture is. Why? Because prayer is the stuff of our relationship with God. It is how we speak, listen, and love God. If you want to learn how to pray, learn from the Lord’s prayer: Keep it simple—Keep it natural—Make it constant.

Amen.

What Do We Make of Miracles? Finding Miracles in the Mundane

Psalm 104:1-18
October 30, 2011

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Bless the Lord, O my soul.
O Lord my God, you are very great.
You are clothed with honor and majesty,
wrapped in light as with a garment.
You stretch out the heavens like a tent,
you set the beams of your chambers on the waters,
you make the clouds your chariot,
you ride on the wings of the wind,
you make the winds your messengers,
fire and flame your ministers.
You set the earth on its foundations,
so that it shall never be shaken.
You cover it with the deep as with a garment;
the waters stood above the mountains.
At your rebuke they flee;
at the sound of your thunder they take to flight.
They rose up to the mountains,
ran down to the valleys to the place
that you appointed for them.
You set a boundary that they may not pass,
so that they might not again cover the earth.
You make springs gush forth in the valleys;
they flow between the hills,
giving drink to every wild animal;
the wild asses quench their thirst.
By the streams the birds of the air have their habitation;
they sing among the branches.
From your lofty abode you water the mountains;
the earth is satisfied with the fruit of your work.
You cause the grass to grow for the cattle,
and plants for people to use, to bring forth food from the earth,
and wine to gladden the human heart,
oil to make the face shine,
and bread to strengthen the human heart.
The trees of the Lord are watered abundantly,
the cedars of Lebanon that he planted.
In them the birds build their nests;
the stork has its home in the fir trees.
The high mountains are for the wild goats;
the rocks are a refuge for the coneys.



When I was eight years-old, I had a miraculous event happen to me. I’m going to tell you about it, and I think after I tell it to you, you’ll be tempted to say, “Oh,… that wasn’t all that miraculous.” But that may be because you tend to think of miracles as being much like fireworks. They’re only good if they’re spectacular. Sometimes miracles aren’t spectacular. They’re subtle. They pop like firecrackers.

At the time of my miracle, I was living outside of Philadelphia. We were renting a small house on the grounds of an old estate. Fields and woods surrounded the house. I loved the place. It was filled with natural wonders for an eight year-old boy. Various trees were my forts and spaceships. There were three ponds and a stream nearby where I could look at the fish, search for salamanders and crayfish, and skate on during the winter. I saw squirrels, rabbits, deer, turkeys, skunks (from a distance), and every once in a while, a small little pink hedgehog. I loved that place because I felt close to nature there, and to God—in an eight-year-old way.

My little miracle happened one day while climbing a particular beloved tree. It was a skinny little tree that was perhaps 12-feet high. I would shinny up the tree as far as I could go before it started to sway, bending under my weight. On this particular day, I went up about eight feet, and paused to look around. I could see the stream, the little mill house built in the 1920s where I would see the hedgehog, the old oak tree that I often dug peat moss out of. I then prayed to God: “God, please help me to always be kind to animals, trees, and everything else.” It was a simple prayer. What helps me remember it was that I felt as though God was profoundly with me in that moment. It was almost as though I could feel God hugging me. Not quite, but also not not quite,… if you get what I mean.

This experience has always stayed in my mind because it was the moment that I first recognized the miraculous in the mundane. It wasn’t like fireworks. It was like smelling flowers. I had an experience of oneness with God, with animals, with nature, and at some level it made me deeply aware that God is often found best in the mundane. I wouldn’t have said it that way when I was eight. Back then I just felt it. What this experience taught me for the first time was that too often we look for God’s miracles in big events, but where God is most often found is in the ordinary, the everyday,… the mundane.

Like everyone else, I’ve gone through all sorts of changes in my sensitivity to God over the years. I’ve had to struggle to find God in the ordinary. The fact is that all of us struggle with spiritual sensitivity. I believe our grappling with sensitivity begins as adolescents. That’s where we begin to lose a bit of our child-like innocence, and thus our ability to naturally sense God. There’s something about first becoming adolescents, and then adults, that makes us increasingly insensitive to God all around us.

As teenagers, we lose the sensitivity because we get caught up in school, which makes us more sensitive to what other people think of us, and less to what God is doing with us. Adolescences is a time of trying to figure out who we are, and so we spend an inordinate amount of time obsessing about how we either do or don’t fit in. We’re not thinking much about how we fit in with God. We’re thinking much more about whether he likes us, she likes us, what our parents are doing or not doing to/for us. Our brains undergo a tremendous amount of change, and we start developing the ability to think abstractly and philosophically, but that ability is spotty. Sometimes we flit into this more adult way of thinking, sometimes we snap back to childish ways of thinking. That’s why your teenage kids drive you nuts. You don’t know whether to treat them like adults or children.

What this does to us spiritually is that it causes many, many teens to put God on the shelf. You see evidence of this in the church. What typically happens to teens once they become confirmed? Often they stop coming to church. They may still see themselves as spiritual, but they put a halt to activities that are designed to help them grow spiritually. This isn’t true of all teens, but it is true of most. Adolescence through college age is the time of lowest church attendance.

Then, in adulthood, we get caught up with work and our careers, which makes us sensitive to how we’re going to make it in the world. Our focus becomes on our career, relationships, friends, and activities. In the process our sensitivity to God in the everyday gets lost, to the point that many people, when they struggle, have a hard time finding God. They look all around, but can’t find God even though God has been there all along. The problem isn’t that God is absent. It’s that they’ve taken God for granted, and have lost sensitivity to how we find God in the ordinary and mundane.

I’ve been reading a remarkable book lately that celebrates seeing God everywhere in a time when God seems nowhere. The book is The Life Journey of a Joyful Man. It is the memoirs of Adrian van Kaam, who died three years ago. I studied with van Kaam at Duquesne University for my Ph.D., and he’s probably the closest I have to a spiritual mentor. He was a brilliant man who probably understood as much about Christian spirituality and the spiritual life as anyone who’s ever lived, other than Jesus.

The first third of the memoir deal with his life in Holland during the Nazi occupation between 1939 and 1945. When the Nazis invaded Holland, things became difficult, but not radically. The Nazis saw the Dutch as being somewhat German, and therefore somewhat akin. But at the war progressed, and as the Dutch resisted German occupation and began hiding Jews from them, they oppressed the Dutch people more and more. Beginning with the Allied push after D-Day in 1944, life became truly oppressive. The southern part of Holland was liberated from Nazi control, leaving the northwestern portion in desperate straits while the Allies pushed on toward Germany. Van Kaam had been attending seminary in the south, but it was liberated while he was home visiting his family in the northern city of The Hague, leaving him trapped behind enemy lines. That’s when the devastation really began.

The Nazis, who were slowly losing the war, reacted by tightening control of the north. And as they did, they became more and more barbaric. It started with the Nazis demanding more and more food from the Dutch farms. They had to feed their armies, and they really didn’t care if the Dutch starved. As van Kaam wrote, the average person’s calorie-per-day quotient dropped from 2500 to 1300, then to 950. By winter of 1945 they were living on 450 calories a day. There was no meat, no fresh vegetables, no fruit. They lived on root vegetables at first—potatoes, carrots, turnips. When those were horded by the Nazis, they were left to eat sugar beets, which have no caloric value, and tulip bulbs, which were toxic when eaten in larger quantities. Van Kaam suffered the effects of that toxicity for the rest of his life. Then the Germans demanded that the Dutch population turn over their winter coats and blankets in order to give them to the German Army. The Germans also cut off electricity, coal, and oil. The Dutch people had no choice but to basically deforest most of the north to burn for heat, as well as burning siding from houses, shingles, window frames, furniture, and more. Anything that could be burned was. The Germans even confiscated pets and horses to use for food.

As the Dutch resistance persisted in their call for a nationwide labor and railroad strike, the Germans responded by killing men at random. Van Kaam writes about walking through the streets of The Hague one day as it sat eerily quiet and empty. Two women in an alley nervously motioned for him to come to them. When he walked over to them, they rushed him inside because the Germans were grabbing every tenth man off the street and shooting him in reprisal for Dutch Resistance activities.

Van Kaam went into hiding in general, while also being part of a network that hid Jews, anyone accused of hiding Jews, anyone caught speaking against the German government, or anyone who refused to cooperate with the Nazis. During this time he started an underground newsletter to speak words of faith and hope during the winter and spring of 1945. He would have been shot if he had been found out. The Germans, faltering on both the front lines and in Germany, posted announcements demanding that all men, ages 16-40, had to report to be conscripted to be shipped to German factories, to clean up German cities ravaged by Allied bombing, or to build German defenses on the front lines. Many men were taken. Many more went into permanent hiding. The women, in most cities, were left to do almost everything because the men were either gone or in hiding. Millions of Dutch were starving, freezing, plagued by diphtheria and dysentery, conscripted, slaughtered, and left to struggle for survival.

Still, despite of all of this, van Kaam discovered God’s grace everywhere. The Germans, exercising their God-bestowed free will to choose evil continued through their atrocities, did not kill van Kaam’s ability to sense God everywhere. In fact, the worse it got, the more he found Christ in the acts of thousands of self-sacrificing Dutch people, Protestant and Catholic.

Ultimately, his experiences under the Nazi occupation actually opened him more to the miraculous in the mundane. He sensed Christ’s presence in the simple acts of the Dutch people sharing their scarce food with each other. He sensed God’s presence in his increasing awareness of beauty of grass, trees, plants, flowers.

Van Kaam wasn’t alone in his discovering God in the mundane under German occupation and atrocities. Many other books chronicling events of the same era wrote about their authors’ sense of presence. Elie Weisel, the renowned Holocaust survivor and writer, tells in his book, Night, of a man being hanged in the center of the Auschwitz concentration camp where he was a prisoner. As the Jews all stood in formation, looking at this hanging from the branch of a tree, a man yelled out, “Where is God now?” Another yelled out, “Hanging on the tree!”

Victor Frankl, an Austrian psychiatrist and concentration camp survivor, spoke of how they discovered God in the profound beauty of a sunset while standing in the court of the concentration camp. Corrie ten Boom, whom I’ve mentioned many times before, discovered God in dinners shared with the Jews they were hiding, in Old Testament Bible studies with them, and in the concentration camp with the small little miracles that happened everyday to bring beauty to their devastation.

For a number of years I’ve been fascinated with a phrase I hear people speak on occasion: “God is nowhere.” So many people think this is the case, that God is absent, whether because there is no God, or because God doesn’t care. What fascinates me about the phrase is that if you change your perspective on the phrase just a little bit, the phrase is transformed from

GOD IS NOWHERE
to
GOD IS NOW HERE

The difference between the two is adding a little space to sense God’s miraculous presence.

If we really want to see miracles of God, it doesn’t take much. It just takes the willingness to cultivate the ability to look for God’s work in the mundane, the everyday, the ordinary; because it’s in the ordinary that we begin to lay the groundwork for seeing the extraordinary.

Amen