You are currently browsing the monthly archive for July, 2009.
So I don’t preach from a manuscript, so the Audio and the text differ a bit…
More than we can ask or imagine…
I don’t know about you, but our house when I was growing up was known for its leftovers. To this day, when I’m home at my parents place my friends tend to show up to raid the fridge for stray containers of Chinese food, or pizza, or whatever may be on offer. There is always the delicate procedure of opening the container for a cautious sniff. How long has that Kung-Pao chicken sat in the back corner?
We’ve spent many a late night over beers and leftovers in deep conversations about music and life, rehashing old high-school stories. As the night wears on we tend to shift into global politics and theology. By three or four in the morning in my parents kitchen we’ve solved one of the world’s great problems: Poverty, Healthcare, Immigration…if only we wrote down those solutions.
In today’s readings we learn that God is a bit like my friend Drew, who is always the first to the fridge. God is concerned about leftovers.
We read today John’s tale of Jesus’ feeding the multitude. This story is so central to Jesus’ identity that it appears in all four Gospels, in fact in Matthew and Mark it appears twice. In all of the Gospels a figure stands out. After the loaves and fish are eaten, 12 baskets remain behind. There are 12 baskets of leftovers. In 2 Kings we hear of Elisha also feeding a crowd with a seemingly scarce source of food. Again we are assured that there is a remainder, there are leftovers.
The Word in either Hebrew or Greek for “leftovers” for “remainder” is theologically significant. This is the same word which describes the portion of field to be “left over,” not harvested, in order that the poor might have food to eat. This is the word that Isaiah uses to describe the Jewish people “left over” after the exile, the faithful remnant which is the hope of Israel’s future. This is the word that shows God’s concern for those who are left out, and that which is left behind. And so today’s lessons ask us to pay attention, like my friend at home do, like God does, to the leftovers. Leftovers are our way in, our way into the story of God’s abundance.
You all know the general theme of this story. People need to be fed. It appears the resources are too scarce, and yet somehow, miraculously after everyone eats there are leftovers. These stories tell us of God’s overabundance. My guess is that you all know a little bit about both scarcity and God’s abundance. In today’s economy we are aware of scarcity. Unemployment numbers and housing foreclosures continues to rise. Thousands are jobless, homeless, or on the brink. There seems not to be enough.
And yet you all are here this morning, and my bet is that many of you could tell stories about God’s abundance, stories where it seemed like the resources were scarce and yet somehow God provided more than you needed. These miraculous and surprising moments continue, our God is a God of overabundant blessing.
This is a basic tension that is named in the time of Elisha, the time of Jesus, and is still present today. Society and the forces of economics tell us a story of scarcity and God asks us to rely on God’s abundance. 5 loaves feed 5000. In God’s economy ALL are fed, ALL are satisfied. This divine economy of abundance requires a different sort of living, one that asks us to turn over our imagination to God.
Ephesians this morning assures us that God is doing more for us than we can ask or imagine. I don’t know about you, but I can ask and imagine a lot. What is at stake here is the realization that often we don’t really know what is best for us, that we must turn our lives over to the God that knows better than us. The God who, in the Word’s of Thomas Merton, “loves us better than we could ever love ourselves.” We are asked to live not out of what we imagine for ourselves, but out of God’s desire that ALL are fed. We are asked to live not out of scarcity, but trusting in God’s abundance.
St. Alban’s is a community that knows something about this. In your work with the Karin you have imagined with God what it would be to gather up the resources necessary to feed, clothe, and provide for God’s refugee children. This is a powerful witness to God’s care for the refugee, the remnant, to those left behind. With John Conrad you allowed your leftover land to house and advocate for the homeless. Might I be so bold this morning as to ask: Where else is God calling you to care for the leftovers? We are about to participate in a meal that among other things recalls Jesus’ feeding miracles, the bread come down from heaven. This morning, no matter how well the ushers count, there will be leftovers. Who do you still need to invite to this table?
We are asked to turn our lives over to God’s imagination, indeed to imagine with God. I believe it is God’s imagination that turns my parents leftovers into the blessing of a community of friends…it makes you look at your tupperware differently…leftovers are pregnant with possibility.
What will you do with your leftovers?
Spilling beyond the parade route, shaking hands, waving and dancing a sea of purple shirted volunteers, the St. Paul’s Cathedral contingent, made their way down University Avenue in the Pride parade. The message was clear: God loves you, and this church supports the full inclusion of Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual and Transgender people. 
It was a particularly salient time for the message. The Episcopal Church passed two resolutions this last week at General Convention. The first declares that our ordination processes are open to all baptized Christians regardless of sexual orientation. I was really inspired by my Bishop’s words on this one. He framed them with a joke:
“Do you believe in infant baptism? Believe in it? I’ve seen it!” I too have seen and affirm the ministry of All who God calls to ministry.
The other resolution called for Bishops to exercise “generous pastoral response to meet the needs of members of this Church” which basically means that more dioceses will allow for the blessing of same sex relationships. I had the dubious honor of ending up in both the Washington Post and the Boston Globe talking about how I am “relieved” that I will be able to celebrate the unions of my gay friends when I’m ordained.
I am proud of The Episcopal Church this week. I am especially proud to be a part of the church in San Diego which has worked so hard to keep everyone at the table while we move forward. A lot of what I talked about in the interview with the Washington Post didn’t make it into the article. I expressed frustration at some of the triumphalism exhibited by some of the more extreme advocates for LGBT people at convention. The interviewer asked me at one point if I was relieved that so many of the conservatives had left the Episcopal Church. I responded that I was saddened. It is always sad when people choose to walk away.
I am also incredibly concerned that the actions the Church took will be characterized as attempts to break with the Anglican Communion. Ian Douglas of Episcopal Divinity School and Bonnie Anderson, President of the House of Deputies, both characterized these two resolutions as very concerned with the future of the Communion. Indeed they both include a great deal of language about desiring ongoing relationship. Anderson and Douglas said that the resolutions were about being open and honest. I think they are about coming out.
When an LGBT person comes out, they do so not to hurt the person who they are telling. So many of my gay and lesbian friends’ parents asked the question: “How could you do this to us?” Coming out is about wanting to be in a better relationship. If I am going to truly be in relationship with someone, they have to know who I am. If I hide a part of myself because that part is viewed as inconvenient or “messy,” than I am not bringing my whole self to the table. The Episcopal Church essentially came out this General Convention. I am proud.
The recent events in Honduras have gotten me re-mincing about my year there.
A late evening in November of 2005 my friends Lyra, Linda, and I drove back to San Pedro Sula from Tela, winding through banana plantations and the aftermath of tropical storm Gamma. The main bridge was out, so the trip took an extra hour. We listened to Maná as we passed by wooden shacks where a single light bulb glowed blue green in that distinctly Latin American way. We’d come to Tela to pass the day as the country voted for the next president. We were upset when we discovered that the elections meant that no beer was for sale, but contented ourselves with some great seafood and an incredible sunset.
The run up to the elections had been loud and fascinating. Every morning around 6:30am the trucks began driving outside my windows at El Hogar orphanage in Tegucigalpa, where I was serving as a year-long volunteer. The trucks were mounted with loudspeakers which played a short jingle and then urged voters to select either Mel or Pepe for president. There seemed to be very few formal debates, but every imaginable surface was covered with political posters, and the air was thick with campaign promises. The choice seemed to be between a corrupt socio-path (Pepe wanted to enforce the death penalty for seemingly any suspected gang member) and a corrupt mafia boss (Mel supposedly had ties to crime rings and covered up murders). Hondurans figured that whichever president was elected, they would embezzle a large portion of the aid that flows to the Western Hemisphere’s second poorest nation.
Honduras is not a left wing country. I remember my surprise at the incredible words of praise that Hondurans spoke about Presidente Bush. The US Military operates a huge military base in the center of the country which was used to manipulate wars in El Salvador and Nicaragua during the 1970s and 80s. Before that Honduras had largely been run by US banana companies, giving rise to the terminology “banana republic.” The power of the US military and business influence has made a small portion of the population very wealthy, and meant that many Hondurans uphold a strong capitalist, pro-US political voice.
Lyra and I used to joke that Hondurans were a people in need of a revolution. Compared to our travels in El Salvador, where there was a sense that the poor could rise up from their situation through education and working to change the governmental and social systems, Hondurans were downtrodden. They lacked a sense of drive and commitment to change. “Yes We Can” were not commonly chanted words in a culture that had constantly been subject to someone else’s military business.
This is partly why I find this week’s events so puzzling and sad. It seems that so few Hondurans are in support of President Mel Zelaya’s supposed swing leftward toward empowering the masses. I suspect this is because Hondurans do not trust their elected leadership. They figured the president would rob the people, and it seems from the reports of embezzling that he has been.
Even more puzzling to me is the international response. As we continue to hear calls from the US, UN, Organization of American States, and Chavez to reinstate the democratically elected president I wonder about the sincerity of the desire to help the Honduran people. Realistically the livelihood of the average Honduran took its most drastic downturn when the North American and Central American Free Trade Agreements and the subsidized prices of US agricultural products came together in a perfect storm that drove thousands of campesinos away from farming. Over 50% of Hondurans are unemployed and 1 out of every 6 Honduran citizens live in the United States legally or illegally sending money home to their families.
If we really wanted to help the Honduran people we would do more than try to reinstate a questionable leader. We would work to create a market situation in Central America where the family farmers could earn enough to provide housing, food, health care, and education for their families. We would force our companies who employ thousands of Hondurans in maquilas (assembly factories) to pay a living wage.
As Lyra, Linda, and I tumbled down the winding back roads on the way back to San Pedro the night of the election I was amazed by the stark beauty and stark poverty of Honduras. I remember a great feeling of gratitude to have the opportunity to get to know these people and this place. I gave thanks to God for the joys and challenges I was facing. Today my prayer is that the people I got to know in Honduras come forward from these challenging times with a chance to dream for a better future.
Yesterday evening Jason Evans and I laughed as we attempted to flip buffalo burgers on the grill, each of us holding a beer in one hand and a utensil in the other. Meals at the Hawthorn House are a happy experiment, bringing together family recipes, sustainable ingredients, curiosity, and a desire to share food with friends. I’m living here this summer, in a house that embodies the experimental spirit: 9 adults, 2 kids, 2 dogs, a half dozen gardens, a couple of compost bins, and some renegade skunks all sharing one street address.
Cooking at the Hawthorn House
For me this summer is an experiment. I spent two happy years after college living in my own apartment, enjoying the solitude having my own space afforded me. My home became a refuge from the busy life I lived working as the Campus Minister at UCSD, beginning the ordination process, and dealing with life back in America after a year-long stint in Tegucigalpa, Honduras. I loved closing the door at the end of the day and sinking into my couch. So this summer by intentionally sharing space with others I am actively exploring what it means to hold space in common.
Holding this in common with this group of people so far has been more of a blessing than a hardship. I stay up too late drinking good beer and talking theology with my fellow nerds Jason and Lars, get hyped up about the politics of Michelle Obama’s organic garden with my housemate Brooke, commiserate about the insanity of the free clinics I’m working in with Bethany, or blow hookah bubbles with the guys upstairs. I may get labeled a monster, but just by Matty-boy (who is 5) and Paige (who is 7) as we play. If all else fails Tasha, the family dog, will throw her chew toy at my feet expecting a game of fetch.
The Evans Family
When trying to explain this concept to others I have often been meant with odd stares. What do you mean you’re going to live with that many people? Did you join a commune?
Others are familiar with what has been called “new monasticism.” A number of communities have arisen (and disappeared) over the past decades attempting to pattern their lives toward a shared vision of following Jesus. Shane Claiborne of “The Simple Way” in Philadelphia made his community famous when he described their life in his book The Irresistible Revolution. These communities generally understand that their movement to live together and work in economically deprived areas mirrors that of the monks and nuns who came after St. Benedict, St. Francis, and St. Clare.
Hawthorn House avoids the title “new monasticism.” My guess is that the term indicates that a community has come to some imagined settled reality. The Hawthorn House community, like the meals we eat, is an active experiment. At Hawthorn we bring together the traditions we hold dear, ongoing questions, friendship, and a desire to follow Jesus. This summer I’m trying not to hold on too tightly to any vision of what my future life with this community could be. If the experiment continues it will be because this is a community that knows that cultivating tomatoes while cultivating friendships can teach us a great deal about the kingdom of God.
