At work, a floppy disk containing a photo file I needed for a press release somehow became hopelessly corrupted, forcing me to go to Plan B. (I hate Plan B.) My day was further complicated by a sudden request for data from the "powers and principalities" in my organization that had me crunching numbers for most of the morning, a task I hate almost as much as Plan B. Physically...well, not to get into the gory details, but I felt like retiring to a faintin' couch with triple Advil, a hot water bottle and a pound of therapeutic M&Ms...but I couldn't. Then, when I got home, I found myself fighting the good fight, or at least a fight, on multiple fronts, on Beliefnet ("Must...restrain...Fist...of...Death..."). Same ol'- same ol'...intimations that I can't possibly be a Real Christian [tm], or that I need some major retrofitting to become one, or that I am "disordered" in some particularly horrible way, or that I'm just stupid and inadequate and baaaad all around.
So by the time I got around to the Evening Prayer, I had pretty much had it. One of the lines from the appropriately whiny/kvetchy/ingratiating Psalm of the day summed it up nicely: "My eyes have grown dim watching for your promise." But then I got to the Gospel reading, from Luke, and groaned. It was one of the "hard sayings" of Jesus, the grim parable of the three servants given sums of money by an unjust ruler to invest for him while he leaves town; two of them earn interest for their master, which makes him happy, but the third, who is afraid, buries his money instead of putting it to work, and gets punished bigtime...and then the pissed-off ruler demands that his enemies all be killed. The End.
Now, generally speaking, my rule of thumb with lectionary readings is that the more confusing or distateful they are, the more I need to pay attention for an especially valuable insight buried in there somewhere...but this evening, while I read and reread the lesson, trying to remember all the commentaries and discussions I've ever encountered of this particular parable, all that came to mind was a vision of The CEO giving a divine Powerpoint presentation in the conference room of the heavenly mansions,with my personal performance graph up on the screen, flatlining.
No.
Now, as some of you may know, when Jesus hangs out with me, sometimes he's The CEO, "in whom and through whom and for whom all things were made." Sometimes he's Rabbi Yeshua -- challenging, provocative and occasionally downright aggravating, but in a good way, like your best college professor. Sometimes he's my Brother -- a bit of the other two, for sure, but also someone who is closer to me than anyone else in the world. Tonight Jesus was my Brother, with an arm around my shoulder.
No.
It wasn't an angry "no." It was the kind of "no" I might say to someone I cared about who was beating herself up.
"What?"
No. Let's not do this anymore.
"You don't want me to pray the Daily Office?"
Let's read something else. Where's your Bible?
I got out my Bible.
Just page through the Gospels. You'll know when you find it.
"Now, wait a minute," I protested. (You have to give me chutzpah points for arguing with Jesus Christ.) "That's like bibliomancy...the kind of stuff I tell newbie Christians not to do."
In my mind's eye my Brother started raising a Christ Pantocrator eyebrow.
"Oh, all right." The eyebrow went back down.
I flipped through a few pages.
There. It was the Gospel of Matthew, in the 6th chapter:
Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust consume and where thieves break in and steal; but store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust consumes and where thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.
My Brother, smiling, made a tah-dah gesture.
"I don't get it."
You will. Just keep reading it.
So I did. I read it several times. And the last sentence kept reverberating in my head.
What does it mean to lose something? It means you don't know where it is; right?
"Okay..."
Where does this say you'll find your heart?
"Where my treasure is." This exchange was starting to feel like third-grade Sunday School, with me in the role of a particularly slow child; on the other hand, I felt as if I were on the edge of learning, or remembering, something important.
My Brother seemed almost excited. And where does this say you keep your treasure?
"In heaven..."
Another tah-dah.
And who's there?
"You are. I mean, metaphorically speaking. And, of course, not in a spatial sense,'up there'..." I was trying hard to get out of third grade.
I felt a hug.
Sister, you are SUCH a Lutheran. Stop overthinking it. Where is your treasure?
"With you. Oh...oh..."
An oldie but goodie from Lutheran hymnody, Jesu, Meine Freude, which I haven't sung or even thought of in ages:
Jesus, priceless treasure,
source of purest pleasure,
truest friend to me.
Ah, how long I've panted,
and my heart has fainted,
thirsting, Lord, for thee!
Thine I am, o spotless Lamb;
I will suffer nought to hide thee;
Nought I ask beside thee.
In thine arm I rest me;
foes who would molest me
cannot reach me here.
Though the earth be shaking,
every heart be quaking,
Jesus calms my fear.
Sin and hell in conflict fell,
with their bitter storms assail me,
Jesus will not fail me.
Hence, all fears and sadness,
for the Lord of gladness,
Jesus, enters in.
Those who love the Father,
though the storms may gather,
still have peace within.
Yea, whate'er I here must bear
stil in thee lies purest pleasure,
Jesus, priceless treasure!
Lectio divina indeed.
Christ the Teacher, Bridge Building Images
11 comments:
Thank you...that's very special.
and Jesus Meine Freude is an extra bonus, as I remembered singing it in the Bach cantata of that name, which also made me feel warm and smiley.
Blessings for a Friday :-)
I love reading your conversations with the Big Guy (my term of choice most days - yeah, it's not PC, but it works for me). It makes me realize that I'm not the only one who has little talks like that when praying.
You know, I just read something, somewhere on the web, about "treasure" - something really, really beautiful and heartstopping. (Unfortunately, I can't remember where. I hope it comes back to me, so I can point you to it.)
And then yesterday, they read this very passage at Vespers, and sang a gorgeous hymn in praise of monasticism (for the feast day of Columba): about giving up everything in the world for God.
And now you write this post.
Convergence....
Kathryn: Back at ya!:-)
Sheryl: I once had a nice online conversation with a spiritual, skeptical-but-not-totally-so individual who was intrigued by my accounts of my two-way conversations with JC, had ascertained through my other online writing that I was not insane, or that I at least held it to a manageable level;-)...and just wanted to know how that talking to God stuff worked. I referred him to Lewis Carroll's description of the Gnat in Through the Looking-Glass and told him it was something like that; an intimate conversation partner who seems to be outside oneself even though the conversation is happening in my head. He said, "Well, isn't that your imagination?", to which I said, "That may well be" -- but talked about the scene in Shaw's St. Joan where her inquisitors accuse her of creating her visions "in her imagination," and Joan replying that, yes, that's how God speaks to her. I'm not really concerned about the metaphysics of it;-)...I just know that I can't come up with these dialogues just sitting here trying to invent them on my own.
Bls: That just gives me chills down my spine.;-)
Funny thing...I never even thought of Jesu, Meine Freude until the next day, while I was typing up a draft of this on Blogger. I didn't have a good, clean ending for it, and while I was trying to think up some sort of snappy, pulling-it-all-together last paragraph, it just came to me: "Jesus, Priceless Treasure/font of purest pleasure/truest Friend to me..." When I was a child this was one of our more frequent Communion hymns. I got chills then too.
This is the kind of thing I'm talking about. This is what we need a lot more of in the Church. Discussion about what a real spiritual life looks like and feels like--both the joys and the sorrows.
Derek, I had a really interesting experience on Beliefnet awhile back when someone asked for stories about people having "numinous events" in their lives -- events they perceived as real encounters with the Divine. Mind you, this was on a debate forum where people are usually engaged in the rhetorical equivalent of grabbing others by the throat and choking them;-)...but people shared these wonderful, very self-disclosing stories about how they communicate with God, or about times when God was particularly close to them. One individual was someone I'd been continually butting heads with over theological stuff, but when she described her own prayer life I was writing back, "Me too!"..."Me too!"..."Me too!"
And it's a real irony that at times our own faith communities may be the very least appealing or even least safe places in which to talk about these things. Which is why I think there's a really exciting role for the Internet in Christian spirituality. I've had this discussion with my pastor, and he thinks the same thing.
What can I say but ... wow.
(Your choice of ikon just finishes the piece perfectly.)
Wow. Great blog. And don't forget to thank God for ibuprofen. It has blessed so many lives.
Charlotte: Thanks again. I love that icon. I do enjoy the "aha" of finding just the right artwork.
Pooperscooper: Thanks. And ibuprofen is indeed a good gift of God.;-)
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