Ninth Sunday after Pentecost

July 13, 2008

by The Rev. Constance Jones

Romans 8:1-11; Matthew 13: 1-9, 18-23

". . . to set the mind on the Spirit is life and peace. . . [for] he who raised Christ from the dead will give life to your mortal bodies also, through his Spirit that dwells in you."

Yesterday morning's Norfolk newspaper
had a feature article on Maury Cooke, an ex-bank president in Portsmouth
who practices Buddhist meditation for a couple of hours a day.
When we was in his twenties his mother died,
and he gave up religion.
But then he began to practice meditation.
It helped him survive the death of his son,
and rescued him the frantic search for success in the work world.
These days it grounds his daily life.
Now, I know some folks get jumpy about yoga and Buddhism
but Cooke is a Christian, an Episcopalian in fact,
and I'm thinking I'd like to meet him.
Because even from the newspaper page I can tell
tell that the Spirit of God St. Paul refers to,
the Spirit that dwells in us and gives life and peace to our mortal bodies,
dwells in Maury Cooke.
To use Jesus' metaphor in today's Gospel,
Cooke is obviously a man who puts forth a daily effort
to cultivate the soil into which the seed of God's presence is sown.

Some of us who are thinking through
the adult Christian formation programs that will be offered in the fall
have been reading a book by Dallas Willard1.
It's about the practices of a Christian disciple.
It's not about earning our way into heaven –
because we can't be good enough to do that,
and because in any case God has already given us grace enough for heaven.
But it's about cultivating the practices
of a person in whom the seed of God is growing,
going deeper into the heart of God,
and bearing fruit that testifies to the presence of Christ.

What practices? Well, nothing unattainable or terribly strange.
Prayer and meditation.
Studying the Bible, to understand it, pray it, and internalize it.

We might discover other practices that cultivate God's presence.
Maybe fasting, or walking the labyrinth, or observing sabbath.
Certainly worship and fellowship in a Christian community.
But the point is not the spiritual practice itself –
it is the fruit the practice will bear in your life.
Sewing your seed in good soil is not just to produce a good vine,
but to have good fruit at the harvest.

Not to sound too radical or anything,
but I'm pretty sure the point of Christian worship
isn't to spend all your time in church singing Jesus songs,
but to lead lives outside of church
that bear witness to the character of Christ that is in us –
acting with kindness, for example, on account of God's mercy.
Living in hope and love in the midst
of all of the craziness and turmoil and sorrow that greet us every day.

I will give you a personal example that I'm still working on.
I mention it today because in one of those Godly coincidences
our soloist today is Lisa Costen.
You all never knew my husband Bill, but he loved music so much
that we had big music at his funeral, and Lisa as a soloist.
I'd planned it all, except for this that was a surprise to me:
while that whole huge congregation was receiving Communion,
Lisa stood on the steps of the chancel and sang an old spiritual,
When I Die, Give Me Jesus.
For me, that moment of receiving and giving Communion
and hearing Lisa –
it was as though heaven opened up
and God's own word to me said, Yes, beloved, it is all true.
Since then, I have tried to practice resurrection.
No, that's the wrong way to put it, because my effort isn't the point.
It is Christ within me, or eternal life in me,
like a well of living water in the desert,
like a light in the darkness.
It's pretty complicated and still unfolding,
but it is a gift, a bearing of fruit that I can see.

Now, some of you know this about me:
I spend perhaps more time that is sensible at the computer,
listening in on news of the Episcopal Church
and the worldwide Anglican Communion.
And I am here to report (in case you hadn't heard)
that there are some very angry and contentious and anxious people out there.
I see a great need to control, to succeed, to be right at almost any expense.
If you gave me a thousand dollars for every person with a computer keyboard
who said, "Well, I could be wrong," or
"I hear what you're saying and it moves me,"
I would still not be a rich woman.

People are edgy these days, and we live in perilous times.
Even here in this sweet place, Grace Church,
I've felt some tension rise this week about the building project.
I tell you my friends, we have a decision to make,
and it's not about new-church or not-new-church.
The decision is if we remember whom we belong to,
and who lives within us, Christ Jesus.
If we remember that, we will bear the fruit of Christ right now
and all the way down the road.
We'll have no anxieties about tomorrow,
we'll return blessing for curses (should there be any),
because that's what Jesus would have us do.
When we disagree, we will excel in showing love.

Does that sound like I'm quoting from one of Paul's epistles?
Of course it does, because Paul was living in perilous times too,
and the early Christians had their own special squabbles.

If every one of us faithfully cultivated the seed of Christ within us,
and took on the character of Christ,
what blossoms might flower?

What if we practiced confession –
admitted our failings to God and one another,
then accepted forgiveness,
not carrying those sins around on our backs any longer?
What could we do with the extra energy, the lightened heart?

What if we practiced Eucharist –
not only receiving the Body and Blood of Christ at this altar,
but giving thanks for the food of every sort that God lays before us?
Could we stop hungering for things that can never satisfy us?
Or jealously striving for what we do not have,
or that we covet in others? --
and go to bed fully nourished every night?
What if we saw God as a lavish giver, not a stern withholder,
and lived with overflowing hearts,
knowing the well of God's goodness will never run dry?

Suppose we remembered, say, once an hour – we might even set an alarm!
Suppose we remembered the Holy Spirit's voice – at Jesus' baptism and at our own,
saying, "You are the beloved." "I love you so much."
Would we begin to believe we are loved?
Could we love ourselves
and, say, treat our bodies with tender respect?
If we knew we are loved,
could we stop trying to be more right, more orthodox,
more rich, more respected, than other people?
Would that be a blessed fruit of having the character of Christ?

Perhaps spending time in God's presence every day,
just a little while being our true and honest selves
in front of the God who tenderly made us,
would be a starting point.
Maybe not yoga and the lotus position – I don't think so for me.
But meditating, praying, reading the Bible, meeting God in the silence –
whatever works best.

Would it change your ability to deal with stress?
your patience with pain and strong emotions and loss,
your relationship with your children, your work?
What if it increased your understanding of other people
and your capacity for joy?
You could try it.
Because I promise you – whenever you invite God into the heart of your heart,
God comes.

You cannot earn a green light into heaven,
and you cannot buy the character of Christ.
They are free.
But when we learn the mind of Christ
and turn our lives in that direction,
particularly in the company of a Christian community,
our lives are transformed right now, and forever.

And there is no containing the abundance of it,
no eclipsing the light that shines through it.

So, I think of those words that were such a comfort to me before,
"When I die, give me Jesus."
And I want to add, please God, give me Jesus now too. Amen.

¹Dallas Williard, The Great Omission (2003).