By the Rev. Dr. Paul S. Nancarrow
This sermon is based on Genesis 24:34-38, 42-49, 58-67 , Romans 7:15-25a , and Matthew 11:16-19, 25-30
An audio version of this sermon is available here.
Our readings from Scripture this morning are all over the place. We’ve got: a historical narrative from a highly patriarchal culture about negotiating for a wife, an almost frighteningly incisive depiction of a psyche divided against itself, and comfortable words from Jesus — comfortable words that are prefaced by some pretty harsh criticism. All over the place. What in the world could tie these three readings together?
Well, I think what ties these readings together is God in the world. Each of these passages, each in its own peculiar way, speaks to us of how the changing, confusing, conflicting details of our lives can be held together by recognizing God with us in the midst of things.
The servant sent out by his master Abraham to find a wife for Isaac is anxious about managing all the conflicting details of his task — until he prays that God will show him through a simple act of kindness, something so simple as a woman offering water to his camels, that she is the one God has chosen to be Isaac’s wife. When Rebekah shows him that kindness, he knows she is the one, and he is able to move from anxiety to action, he is able to make the bridal offer, because through prayer he has recognized God with him in the midst of ordinary things.
That same presence of God in the midst of things is what saves Paul in his struggle with the self divided against itself. Paul describes in this passage a classic psychological dilemma: on the one hand he knows what is good and loves what is good and wants to do what is good; on the other hand when he tries to do what is good, something evil turns out instead. There is a power in his members that is at war with the guidance of his mind, he says; there are appetites and desires and impulses that pull him this way and that, and the welter of all these different drives is beyond his ability to bring into one single coordinated purpose in life. It sounds to me like what Buddhists call “the monkey mind,” the tendency of our attention to jump around from one thing to the next, always picking up shiny objects but never settling down into the centeredness of compassion. “Wretched man that I am!” Paul exclaims from the tug of his conflicted impulses, “Who will rescue me from this body of death?” “Thanks be to God,” he says, “through Jesus Christ our Lord.” Paul realizes release from the distraction of many desires comes from recognizing God with us in Jesus in the midst of the multiplicity of life.
What that means is spelled out in more detail in our Gospel, in the contrast Jesus makes between the way of life John the Baptist taught, and the way of life Jesus himself teaches. John came fasting, teaching a way of asceticism, teaching that the way to get close to God is to get away from the world. The people recognized John’s way — fasting and withdrawing from the world were standard religious practices — but they also thought John’s way was too hard, too inconvenient, too extreme: he’s crazy, they said, he’s got a demon, he’s too much for us. Jesus, on the other hand, taught a different way: Jesus taught a way of engaging with the world in order to recognize God’s presence in the world. Instead of fasting, Jesus ate and drank; instead of withdrawing to a wilderness riverbank, Jesus sat at table with tax collectors and sinners and Pharisees and ordinary folk; instead of trying to get away from the world in order to get close to God, Jesus enacted the reign of God right there within the world. The people didn’t understand that: they accused Jesus of being a glutton and a drunkard; they thought Jesus enjoyed food and drink and people just to gratify his own desires, just for his monkey mind; they did not realize that Jesus enjoyed food and drink and people because he always recognized in them the goodness and the wisdom and the presence of God. Jesus’ way of spiritual growth was to recognize God in the midst of things, and to love God in the things and to love the things in God.
That is the yoke of Jesus that is easy. That is the burden of Jesus that is light. That is the rest Jesus promises for our souls. All the many appetites are resolved into one love when we see all things in God; and we are released from the restlessness of distracted desires, released from the jumpiness of the monkey mind, released from the anxiety of not knowing if we can make the right choices and accomplish our tasks, released to be centered and focused, at the still point of the turning world, souls from which actions can come forth with purpose and integrity and grace. “Come to me,” Jesus says, “and learn from me to get close to God in the midst of the world.”
And getting close to God in the midst of the world is a spiritual practice, a meditative technique, that we can actually learn and develop. Years ago I was introduced to a book by Avery Brooke called How to Meditate Without Leaving the World. In that book she described a very simple yet very powerful practice for doing spiritual meditation with material objects: a candle, a leaf, a cloud, a shoe, a vista from a mountaintop, a photograph of someone you love, just about any object you can think of. In this meditation you focus your attention on your object and ask four questions: “What is this thing? What does it mean? What is God saying to me through it? How will I respond to God?” That’s it — four simple questions. Yet focusing the attention on one object and opening the imagination with questions has a wonderful way of quieting the monkey mind and giving rest to our souls as we recognize God with us in the midst of things.
There was a time I had a difficult decision to make. And the more I thought about this decision the more difficult it became: I could visualize all these possible choices before me, and I could visualize all these possible consequences that could follow from the choices — and some of those consequences were not very pretty. It was like my monkey mind was jumping around from one thought to the next; I wanted to do what was good but I didn’t know how; and my restless anxiety about my decision just got worse and worse and worse. At one point I just set it all aside and went for a walk. I ended up in a field, and there was an oak tree growing right in the middle of the field, and as I looked at that oak tree I began to do the four-point meditation with it. As I observed the tree and asked what it meant, I realized that there was a whole lot of the tree I couldn’t see, that for all the branches I saw above ground there was an equal amount of tree below ground, the whole branching root system that supported and sustained the tree. And the invisible part of the tree was just as important as the visible part. What God said to me through that tree was that there was an invisible part of my decision, that for all the branching possibilities that I could visualize there was an equal branching of support and sustaining in the invisible grace of God. No matter what decision I made, God would still be there; even if the choice I made turned out to be really stupid and wrong, God would still say “Okay, you kind of blew that one; let’s try this instead,” and God would still be there. And as I recognized God with me in that meditation on the oak tree, all my anxiety about my decision, all the restlessness of my monkey mind, just sort of faded away, and my soul came to rest, and from that still point I could decide to act with clarity and integrity and compassion. My decision did turn out to have a few unforeseen consequences, but they weren’t so bad as I had feared, and the grace of God got me through them, too. That simple meditation helped me know what to do, it helped rescue me from the distraction of conflicting impulses, it helped bring rest to my soul and let me engage the world — and all because it helped me recognize God with me in the midst of things.
So I commend that meditation practice to you. I invite you to try it sometime — sometime this very weekend. Sometime during this holiday — perhaps later today, perhaps tomorrow, maybe in the early morning, maybe during a picnic, maybe in the middle of fireworks — but sometime in this holiday weekend I want you to try this meditation for yourself. Pick an object, any object at all, and ask about it “What is this thing? What does it mean? What is God saying to me in it? What am I going to do about it?” Let God be with you in the midst of such things, giving your soul rest from the restlessness of distracted desires, helping you to more deeply engage the world.
Jesus says, “Come to me, you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and you will find rest for your souls.” May we answer Jesus’ call, and in Jesus may we come to know God right in the midst of things. Amen.
This sermon is based on Genesis 24:34-38, 42-49, 58-67 , Romans 7:15-25a , and Matthew 11:16-19, 25-30
An audio version of this sermon is available here.
Our readings from Scripture this morning are all over the place. We’ve got: a historical narrative from a highly patriarchal culture about negotiating for a wife, an almost frighteningly incisive depiction of a psyche divided against itself, and comfortable words from Jesus — comfortable words that are prefaced by some pretty harsh criticism. All over the place. What in the world could tie these three readings together?
Well, I think what ties these readings together is God in the world. Each of these passages, each in its own peculiar way, speaks to us of how the changing, confusing, conflicting details of our lives can be held together by recognizing God with us in the midst of things.
The servant sent out by his master Abraham to find a wife for Isaac is anxious about managing all the conflicting details of his task — until he prays that God will show him through a simple act of kindness, something so simple as a woman offering water to his camels, that she is the one God has chosen to be Isaac’s wife. When Rebekah shows him that kindness, he knows she is the one, and he is able to move from anxiety to action, he is able to make the bridal offer, because through prayer he has recognized God with him in the midst of ordinary things.
That same presence of God in the midst of things is what saves Paul in his struggle with the self divided against itself. Paul describes in this passage a classic psychological dilemma: on the one hand he knows what is good and loves what is good and wants to do what is good; on the other hand when he tries to do what is good, something evil turns out instead. There is a power in his members that is at war with the guidance of his mind, he says; there are appetites and desires and impulses that pull him this way and that, and the welter of all these different drives is beyond his ability to bring into one single coordinated purpose in life. It sounds to me like what Buddhists call “the monkey mind,” the tendency of our attention to jump around from one thing to the next, always picking up shiny objects but never settling down into the centeredness of compassion. “Wretched man that I am!” Paul exclaims from the tug of his conflicted impulses, “Who will rescue me from this body of death?” “Thanks be to God,” he says, “through Jesus Christ our Lord.” Paul realizes release from the distraction of many desires comes from recognizing God with us in Jesus in the midst of the multiplicity of life.
What that means is spelled out in more detail in our Gospel, in the contrast Jesus makes between the way of life John the Baptist taught, and the way of life Jesus himself teaches. John came fasting, teaching a way of asceticism, teaching that the way to get close to God is to get away from the world. The people recognized John’s way — fasting and withdrawing from the world were standard religious practices — but they also thought John’s way was too hard, too inconvenient, too extreme: he’s crazy, they said, he’s got a demon, he’s too much for us. Jesus, on the other hand, taught a different way: Jesus taught a way of engaging with the world in order to recognize God’s presence in the world. Instead of fasting, Jesus ate and drank; instead of withdrawing to a wilderness riverbank, Jesus sat at table with tax collectors and sinners and Pharisees and ordinary folk; instead of trying to get away from the world in order to get close to God, Jesus enacted the reign of God right there within the world. The people didn’t understand that: they accused Jesus of being a glutton and a drunkard; they thought Jesus enjoyed food and drink and people just to gratify his own desires, just for his monkey mind; they did not realize that Jesus enjoyed food and drink and people because he always recognized in them the goodness and the wisdom and the presence of God. Jesus’ way of spiritual growth was to recognize God in the midst of things, and to love God in the things and to love the things in God.
That is the yoke of Jesus that is easy. That is the burden of Jesus that is light. That is the rest Jesus promises for our souls. All the many appetites are resolved into one love when we see all things in God; and we are released from the restlessness of distracted desires, released from the jumpiness of the monkey mind, released from the anxiety of not knowing if we can make the right choices and accomplish our tasks, released to be centered and focused, at the still point of the turning world, souls from which actions can come forth with purpose and integrity and grace. “Come to me,” Jesus says, “and learn from me to get close to God in the midst of the world.”
And getting close to God in the midst of the world is a spiritual practice, a meditative technique, that we can actually learn and develop. Years ago I was introduced to a book by Avery Brooke called How to Meditate Without Leaving the World. In that book she described a very simple yet very powerful practice for doing spiritual meditation with material objects: a candle, a leaf, a cloud, a shoe, a vista from a mountaintop, a photograph of someone you love, just about any object you can think of. In this meditation you focus your attention on your object and ask four questions: “What is this thing? What does it mean? What is God saying to me through it? How will I respond to God?” That’s it — four simple questions. Yet focusing the attention on one object and opening the imagination with questions has a wonderful way of quieting the monkey mind and giving rest to our souls as we recognize God with us in the midst of things.
There was a time I had a difficult decision to make. And the more I thought about this decision the more difficult it became: I could visualize all these possible choices before me, and I could visualize all these possible consequences that could follow from the choices — and some of those consequences were not very pretty. It was like my monkey mind was jumping around from one thought to the next; I wanted to do what was good but I didn’t know how; and my restless anxiety about my decision just got worse and worse and worse. At one point I just set it all aside and went for a walk. I ended up in a field, and there was an oak tree growing right in the middle of the field, and as I looked at that oak tree I began to do the four-point meditation with it. As I observed the tree and asked what it meant, I realized that there was a whole lot of the tree I couldn’t see, that for all the branches I saw above ground there was an equal amount of tree below ground, the whole branching root system that supported and sustained the tree. And the invisible part of the tree was just as important as the visible part. What God said to me through that tree was that there was an invisible part of my decision, that for all the branching possibilities that I could visualize there was an equal branching of support and sustaining in the invisible grace of God. No matter what decision I made, God would still be there; even if the choice I made turned out to be really stupid and wrong, God would still say “Okay, you kind of blew that one; let’s try this instead,” and God would still be there. And as I recognized God with me in that meditation on the oak tree, all my anxiety about my decision, all the restlessness of my monkey mind, just sort of faded away, and my soul came to rest, and from that still point I could decide to act with clarity and integrity and compassion. My decision did turn out to have a few unforeseen consequences, but they weren’t so bad as I had feared, and the grace of God got me through them, too. That simple meditation helped me know what to do, it helped rescue me from the distraction of conflicting impulses, it helped bring rest to my soul and let me engage the world — and all because it helped me recognize God with me in the midst of things.
So I commend that meditation practice to you. I invite you to try it sometime — sometime this very weekend. Sometime during this holiday — perhaps later today, perhaps tomorrow, maybe in the early morning, maybe during a picnic, maybe in the middle of fireworks — but sometime in this holiday weekend I want you to try this meditation for yourself. Pick an object, any object at all, and ask about it “What is this thing? What does it mean? What is God saying to me in it? What am I going to do about it?” Let God be with you in the midst of such things, giving your soul rest from the restlessness of distracted desires, helping you to more deeply engage the world.
Jesus says, “Come to me, you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and you will find rest for your souls.” May we answer Jesus’ call, and in Jesus may we come to know God right in the midst of things. Amen.
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