What I Wish God Would Do (and why what I wish doesn't matter)

16 December 2018

This morning’s sermon at Trinity featured Luke 3, John the Baptist’s preaching on the axe at the root of the trees, and branches being thrown into the fire. Our Rector noted that John was mistaken about what Jesus would do; we can tell because in Luke 7, John sends a delegation to ask, Are you the Messiah, or should we look for another?

The point was made that if I think God’s will looks a lot like mine, I may have a problem. (If on the other hand my will has been conformed to look like his, there may be less of one.)

But this made me think of what I would like God to do in our world. I wish for an end to various kinds of corruption and injustice in our country and the world, and for perpetrators to be brought to justice. What came to me was this: When Jesus walked this world, many of his countrymen wished similar things. But Jesus didn’t throw off the yoke of the Roman oppressors, and most likely he won’t do anything sudden, violent or miraculous to current perpetrators of injustice and oppression either.

So what does Jesus want? What is he doing, and what does he want me to do? I know some of the things he wants me to do: love the Lord my God with all my heart and soul, love my neighbor as myself (Mark 12, Luke 10). “Come to me,” he says (Matthew 11), “Take my yoke upon you and learn from me,” so he can give me rest.

Of course we should pray for those in government to make just and wise decisions (1 Timothy 2), we should work for justice (Amos 5, Micah 6) and care for the poor, but it’s really important for me to remember the idea of serving the God who is Love and that we pray, “Thy kingdom come, thy will be done on earth…” It’s not that I have an idea and want God to bring my idea of kingdom to earth.

May the Lord help us to see what’s his will and his kingdom, and not be blinded by our own idea of what Paradise should be

Prepare the way?

I’m not a singer and certainly not much of a musician, but whenever I hear the opening words of Isaiah 40, my mind’s ear hears a tenor intoning, “Comfort ye my people,” and some strings, then “saith your God. Saith your God!” Then more strings, etc.

That was from yesterday’s passage on Pray-as-you-go. Then came the, ah, is it recitative?—“A voice of him that crieth in the wilderness: Prepare ye the way of the Lord. Make straight in the desert a highway for our God.” Followed by “Every valley...and the glory of the Lord shall be revealed. And all flesh shall see it together.”

Then it struck me: this isn’t talking about geography or geology. John the Baptizer said under questioning that he was the voice crying in the wilderness. Or maybe crying out to the wilderness.

And it occurred to me, the words of John also apply to me—that I’m invited (or summoned?) to prepare the way for the Lord in the wilderness of my soul. To make a highway for our God in the desert of my heart. “Every valley shall be exalted and every mountain and hill made low—the crooked straight, and the rough places (a) plain,” as Isaiah (and the libretto) say.

What shall I do to participate in this? How do I prepare the way of the Lord, flatten the mountains, etc.?

Before reading the rest of the chapter (where the answer likely lies), I took a guess. Or a few. Today, if I hear his voice, I should remember not to harden my heart (Ps 95; Heb 3). Rejoice always, pray continually, give thanks all the time, don’t put out the Spirit’s fire or despise prophecies; avoid all kinds of evil (1 Th 5). Love God and my neighbor (Mk 12).

OK, back to Isaiah 40, which talks about God’s holiness and power and faithfulness. These attributes are important to remember. “To whom will you compare me, or who is my equal?” it says. So his wisdom, too.

And it commends those who “wait upon” the Lord—trust him, and live our lives with reference to him.

So nothing breathtakingly new there; basically I should welcome the Lord into my heart and mind, and remember to think true thoughts about him. And base my life on him, doing what he says. Pretty basic, which is not to say easy.

Is Liturgy Good?

Is the liturgy a good thing? Does it draw people into a space of more self-awareness or God-awareness? I guess it depends on the person and their experiences. When I was a young boy, I was taken to church by my parents (Mom mostly) and heard for example “The Lord’s Prayer” weekly. It didn’t do much for me, mostly because I just wasn’t interested—not interested enough in God, or in my eternal destiny. Fast forward a half-century: Many Sundays at Trinity, we hear the “Collect for Purity”:

Almighty God, unto whom all hearts are open, all desires known, and from whom no secrets are hid: Cleanse the thoughts of our hearts by the inspiration of thy Holy Spirit, that we may perfectly love thee, and worthily magnify thy holy Name; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

I really appreciate hearing this regularly, and though I suspect part of my appreciation stems from its novelty—I didn’t grow up hearing this regularly—I hope that it will continue to touch me in the years ahead. I hope these words never roll over me ineffectually, but always move me toward self-examination and self-awareness, and toward awareness of God’s loving presence.

What do I think is so great about this prayer?

First, it reminds me that God indeed knows me, as Psalm 139 and Hebrews 4 testify, the latter more emphatically: “And there is no creature hidden from his sight, but all things are open and naked to the eyes of Him with whom we have to do.”

How do I feel about God knowing my thoughts and even my subconscious desires and intentions? On one hand, it’s intimidating (which isn’t completely bad; as we read in Proverbs 1, “The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom”). On the other hand, it’s also a great comfort; I need never worry, “What if God finds out?” He already knows, and loves me anyway.

It’s important that I be reminded of this, because forgetting it leads to all kinds of evil: vain, unkind, envious or unforgiving thoughts; reckless words that pierce like a sword (Proverbs 12); and so on.

After the acknowledgment of God’s omniscience, we’re offered the opportunity to agree with the request to God: “Cleanse the thougts of our hearts by the inspiration of your Holy Spirit.” We want to breathe in the Holy Spirit (whose name also means “breath”) and thereby be cleansed.

About whether my thoughts need cleansing: do I agree with Psalm 19, “May …the meditations of my heart be pleasing to you”? Meaning they often are not? Yep.

Breathing in the Holy Spirit—how does that cleanse my thoughts? If I’m aware of the Spirit in me, if I allow the Spirit to remind me of God’s love for me, I won’t be so focused on wealth or status. I’ll have more power to clothe myself with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience. I’ll be better able to forgive others and more willing to serve them. My thoughts will be cleansed and will be more pleasing to God, who loves me more than I deserve.

And the point of this transformation, this growth? A life so filled and driven by the knowledge that God loves me that it’s also filled and driven by my love for God in return. And if I love him and think about his love for me, I’ll have a better chance of being my best self.

And as I become my best self, I magnify God’s name in my life.

A worthy goal.

Mom is dying.

She’s been declining for the past 4 years or more, but in the past month or so she’s really taken a nosedive. Last year she lost 28 pounds; by this October, she’d lost another 20. Since then, she lost the next 15. The big C (diagnosed in November) has been part of this, as has vascular dementia, but she’s also lived over nine decades; statistically she wouldn’t be long for this world, even without those ailments.

How am I dealing with all this? Well, I came out for a few days last month, after learning of the diagnosis. And I’m here again today. Yesterday I sat next to her as she dozed on the couch. I tried to get her to drink something, but she wasn’t much interested. Not interested at all in food.

We talked about her memorial service, and I asked her if she had any thoughts about what she wanted read or sung. A favorite psalm perhaps? I quoted the first half-dozen verses of Psalm 139; she shook her head No.

After a while, when I thought she’d forgotten the question, she turned her head toward me and whispered, “Last song, ‘God Be With You’.” I wrote that down.

I brought the fall 2018 issue of the Hedgehog Review with me; its theme is “The Evening of Life.” One article mentions the way we deal with aging in our impoverished (but materially rich) society. It struck me that it’s similar to how we deal with obesity: we pretend that if only you would do this or that, you could age “successfully…” by which we mean you could postpone old age, or cover it up, or compensate for it. But of course it catches up to every one of us, unless we die first.

All this reflects how I deal with big issues: I read, I think. Sometimes, when I remember, I pray. I think about the good times, but more than anything what I do is avoid it. I have a pending code review; even though I’m officially not at work, I nag people to have a look. I return email from someone who’s looking at a defect report I filed. I think about what to work on next.

And I prepare for an interview at a prospective new employer. Forty-two years of history says I’ll never switch employers voluntarily, but if it’s ever going to happen it’ll have to be soon.

This hasn’t been very coherent. But there’s a reason this is called a “blog.”