Intertwined in Love

It seems to be summer. I mean, it’s pretty much sunny all the time and very warm in the daytime. The last drenching rains were over a week ago (then again, it can rain year-round in Oregon …). I find myself learning to shift now from protecting potted plants on the deck from the downpour to having to water the garden every few days. At least it gives me an excuse to get up from my desk and go outside.

I miss going to the gym of course. I really miss going to the supermarket or the hardware store on a lazy afternoon and just wandering along looking at the shelves of stuff I never buy, just to learn what’s there. Since “re-opening” began a few weeks ago cases of Covid-19 have climbed steadily all around us, so even my weekly foray to the store now takes on new menace.

Zooms have been a good way to stay connected but I also find myself overbooked, at least during the mornings, which have been my time for meditation and writing all of my life. So I space out my participation to preserve contemplative time but it means I miss out on chances to socialize. It’s a good thing I’ve got my roses and geraniums to commune with, I guess.

I’ve always been a sort of reluctant gardener. I love planting something and tending it and watching it grow. As a youth in Hawaii, where we all took horticulture classes and learned how to create functional gardens, I remember serious all-out gardening. Our family moved into a new house there all surrounded with challenging red clay soil. I planted Bermuda grass, then when it had spread I planted coleus that grew into a hedge (!) and propagated papaya trees from the seeds in a papaya I plucked from a tree nearby. These days I’m more a mulch and bright colorful flowers kind of guy. The red and orange blossoms give me pleasure and (I hear) increase our chi. But in my garden as in my personal life I value space.

An interesting theological puzzle has been lurking in the scripture over the past few weeks; this is the idea that the unity of all creation–the unity of God with us and us with each other and therefore all of us with God—this unity is the effect, the crop as it were—of being joined together, which means grown together, like the intertwining trunks of a banyon tree, on the one hand, but also like my zinnias and dahlias and roses and geraniums, nicely separated by pots and mulch but growing together simultaneously and joyfully coloring my garden. They are joined together, but separate too.

Like us, right?

As I said up top, I find myself less inclined to go out where people are these days. I also find myself waiting hopefully for a decline in disease that will make it safe to gather again, especially for loved ones at a distance to gather. We know from epidemiologists as well as from just watching the parts of the world that have successfully reduced transmission of the virus that it all depends on social distance. That the key to any sort of normalcy in the absence of a vaccine or a cure is separation, isolation ….

Pride month, the annual celebration of lgbt lives, has to be virtual this year. No singing, dancing or hugging. As lgbt people we are like my zinnias, I guess, grown together, joined together with our neighbors, yet apart. Our unity, we must always remember, is in God’s love, which is everywhere and eternal.

In the story of the testing of Abraham in Genesis (22:1-14) we learn that God always provides. The outcome of the test lived through with faith is that God provides. It doesn’t make the test go away, it doesn’t make the test less challenging. But the outcome of faith, which is the continuance of love, is always more love. Faith yields love, which yields the joining together that unites us with each other and with God. Love is the answer.

Sin is the theological term used for disconnection, and disconnection only takes place in the absence of love. In Romans 6 (12-23) Paul writes that we must not let “sin exercise dominion.” He means we must be alert to keep love uppermost at all times so that we maintain connection with each other, which is connection with God. Disconnectedness has no power except the power that we give it. Love, the opposite, is the answer to firm everlasting connection. Love is the fertilizer that keeps us growing together. Love is the freedom of knowing we live in God’s creation secure in connection.

Of course, freedom is not license. Love gives us freedom from disconnection. The love that yields freedom requires. at least for now, separation. Because it is only in this separation that we can be certain we are giving love at all times by protecting each other.

Jesus’ sermon in Matthew’s Gospel (10:40-42) is directed to all who are faithful. The essence of the message is that all who love welcome God. “Whoever gives even a cup of cold water to one of these little ones in the name of a disciple …” will be rewarded as righteous. By “little ones” Jesus means all of us—you and me—all of us who are the regular peeps trying our best to walk in love. It reminded me of a time now many years ago when I walked with the Episcopal Church in the pride parade in New York City. Somehow I got to be one of the people carrying the banner at the front of our delegation. My end of the pole was along the east side of the avenues as we paraded down Manhattan. I remember it was hot and sunny. I remember being stunned that so many people were calling my name as I passed them. It turned out lots of people I knew from Philadelphia had made their way to New York for the parade so I was doubly blessed, especially with fellow parishioners (LOL, fellow “little ones”) from churches in both cities (not to mention my model railroading buds). I remember the long line of collared clergy just behind us arms intertwined (grown together in love?) dancing down the avenues to shouts and cheers and applause. And I remember that every block or two when we stopped for a moment a group of volunteers would emerge from the crowd to hand us little cups of cold water—salvation, love, pride, all intertwined, all grown together.

Christian life in a nutshell is walking in love, intertwined in love, living always full out in love, trusting in God’s eternity, which is love.

 

Proper 8 Year A 2020 RCL (Genesis 22:1-14; Psalm 13 Usquequo, Domine?; Romans 6:12-23; Matthew 10: 40-42)

©2020 The Rev. Dr. Richard P. Smiraglia. All rights reserved.

The Revelation of Perpetual Love

The collect for today begins with the petition: “O Lord, make us have perpetual love and reverence for your holy Name.” In other words, we pray that God will create us continually as people who have perpetual love. Various dictionaries have various definitions, but in general “perpetual” means something along the lines of “ceaseless,” “everlasting,” and “continuous,” and I would suggest the term means all of these things mixed up together. So what would be “perpetual love?” It would be love that is outpouring from us, it would be outpouring love that is ceaseless and ongoing and everlasting. If we understand that love is not just a warm feeling, but rather is the giving and doing of respect and value, the soulful embrace that heals—if we understand this then we see that perpetual love is the healing action of God’s creation.

Where do we see perpetual love at this moment in time?

We see perpetual love in the now daily protests in cities and towns and villages and households all over the world. In this ongoing ceaseless outpouring of respect and demand for justice by the everlasting soulful embrace intended to heal humanity from the sins of exclusion that destroy lives we see the action of perpetual love. We see God’s children embracing God’s children and insisting by their perpetual love on the valuing of all life, of all humanity.

We see perpetual love in the now constant care we give to each other as we hunker down to make it through this pandemic, a whirlwind of death that is just a few droplets away. We see perpetual love in our citizens masked to prevent our infection, in our shopping mates standing apart six feet or better to prevent our infection, in these and thousands of other ways we see the perpetual love that is the soulful embrace that can heal even in this time of trial.

God has, indeed, made us all to have perpetual love.

In Genesis 21(8-21) we discover God hearing the voices of all of God’s children wherever they are. We see God’s embrace in the voice of the angel bringing the message “do not fear.” We learn (as indeed, we already know from our own lives) that God hears our voices just where we are, in all situations, that God opens our eyes when we are not afraid, and that God brings salvation to those who have perpetual love for God and for God’s children and God’s creation.

In Romans 6(1b-11) we are reminded that we are like infants, perpetually in the love that brings the newness of life we experience if we are together with Christ. We learn that we are grown together with Christ, like intertwined limbs we live in the soulful embrace of healing. God hears our cries where we are. Our constantly renewed life is without sin, which means that our new life is full with connection. It is the absence of disconnection that makes us continuously newborn and it is in this perpetual love that comes from the embrace of Christ that we discover the promise of the healing that is being “alive to God in Christ Jesus.”

In Matthew’s Gospel (10: 29-31) we are reminded that God has counted all the hairs on our heads, metaphorically or parabolically, every child of God is valued and respected and loved by God and is to be valued and respected and loved by all of God’s children. This is the meaning of perpetual love, that we must bring justice to all of God’s children by living with the perpetual love, the soulful embrace of healing, that God has given to each of us in our creation in God’s own image.

Newness of life, especially the perpetual newness of life that is the gift of salvation—this newness of life comes from total perpetual love. This is what Jesus means when he says (Matthew 10: 39)” “Those who find their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake will find it.” Perpetual love requires rebirth into a new life that is perpetually apart from disconnection. Perpetual love requires life that is full in vulnerability, full in trust, full in the outpouring of emotion and full in the soulful embrace of healing.

Perpetual love is the revelation of God’s work in the world on this day.

  

Proper 7 Year A 2020 RCL (Genesis 21:8-21; Psalm 86:1-10, 16-17 Inclina, Domine; Romans 6:1b-11; Matthew 10: 24-39)

©2020 The Rev. Dr. Richard P. Smiraglia. All rights reserved.

Laughter, Joy, Love and Everyday Miracles

Laughter is said to be the best medicine. I guess about now we want to take advantage of all the free medicine we can. I know that laughter is thought to reduce stress and increase immune response. But, of course, it also just feels good. I don’t laugh much during the course of a regular day; I spend most of my time at a computer with my brain metaphorically buried in manuscripts or statistics (but then, I love being a scholar, and I know that loving my work also affects low-stress and better immune response). I have a kind of dry wit sense of humor, which tends to lead more to the occasional chuckle than a good old-fashioned belly laugh. This is one reason I took up watching I Love Lucy a couple of years ago as a kind of discipline; every weeknight I watch at least one episode. It never fails to make me laugh out loud, and I admit it feels really good. I hope it has the desired effect.

The story of Sarah’s pregnancy, if you will, in Genesis (18:1-15, 21:1-7) seems to pivot around Sarah’s laughter. I think, like many people, Sarah starts laughing as a response to a shocking surprise. At first, hearing she was to become pregnant in old age, she laughed to herself. In the end, after the birth of her son, she understood better that “God has brought laughter for me” and “everyone who hears will laugh with me.” Laughter, after all, is contagious.

Of course, the surprise Sarah experienced, the surprise that made her laugh, was a visit by God. At first encounter “three men” appear at the entrance of Abraham’s tent. After he feeds them “one” of them speaks to Abraham, he even asks about Sarah’s laughter. At the end of the tale Sarah knows God has visited to bring her laughter, which is love.

God, as we know, is love. And God, as we also know, doesn’t really need to visit because God is always with us. Rather, it is we who need to learn to see that God is acting in our lives. This is why the visitor to Abraham and Sarah says “I will surely return to you in due season” meaning, “sooner or later you will let down your guard and know me again.” And it is the very laughter that is the opening of the gate, if you will, in Sarah’s consciousness that let’s her see and know that God is with her. “Is anything too wonderful for God?”

Well, laughter brings joy, and joy stirs up love, and love makes miracles happen. God’s “due season” is any time our laughter builds up enough joy to stir up enough love to realize not just the presence of God all around and within us but also the miracles of everyday life. Little things are God’s miracles—a recipe works, a rose blooms, a tree limb falls and doesn’t knock down the fence (just to name a few of my own)—a child is born as a sign of hope in a time of trial. God’s presence is made palpable by joy, by the sharing of love, by realizing in our hearts, with laughter or tears, the very miracle of the pure experience of love.

In the letter to the Romans (5:1-8) Paul writes that it is through the intermixture of the experience of life as faith that we see how God’s Holy Spirit has been given, is given eternally, to us. The Holy Spirit is always with us. Like the visitors to Abraham’s tent, we experience the “visit” of the Holy Spirit when we are able to experience the love that makes God’s presence palpable. We are justified by faith, by the love that does indeed make God’s presence known to us. This is the grace in which we stand, of which we boast, from which comes our hope, which enables us to endure. Hope is the joy given by the realization of the presence of God when we share God’s love.

In Matthew’s Gospel (9:35-10:8) we enter into the beginning of Jesus’ ministry as he begins to travel from village to village, summons his disciples, gives them authority, and then sends them out as well. Jesus’ instructions are all active verbs—go, proclaim, cure. “As you go, proclaim the good news.” The good news is this, that God’s love already is all around us. We stir it up by its proclamation. We stir up God’s love by the act of loving whether that means a good belly laugh or a soft chuckle or just a hug—remember hugs? Loving is action, not just feelings but the outpouring of feelings that makes God’s presence palpable. Going, doing, curing, proclaiming … these are the ways Jesus calls all disciples to stir up the presence of God’s Holy Spirit, which we endure in hope, which we realize in laughter, even the laughter of God’s surprising everyday miracles.

One more thing, Jesus sends his disciples to “go … to the lost sheep.” Who are the lost sheep? Why, we are of course. We are lost until we can pass through the gate of love into the dimension of God’s presence where we experience the very palpable companionship of God.

 

Proper 6 Year A 2020 RCL: Genesis 18:1-15, (21:1-7); Psalm 116:1, 10-17 Dilexi, quoniam; Romans 5:1-8; Matthew 9:35-10:8(9-23)

©2020 The Rev. Dr. Richard P. Smiraglia. All rights reserved.

Realism is the Bedrock of Faith

“How are you doing?”

“How are ‘you’ doing?”

Have you noticed that most if not all live interviews begin with that question these days? It is because there is a kind of delicacy around the idea of letting a person tell you “my beloved is on a ventilator” or “my beloved just died” or “we all are sick” or “we are all afraid.” This is a time where the niceties of human communication, normally so rote, resound with soulful meaning.

We are where in this pandemic? Do you know? When it began I thought it would be for a few weeks, flights would be delayed, concerts postponed. But then it became clear, and I am not mincing words here, that to be in the presence of other humans was to risk painful difficult death. Now, some of our regions are “opening.” What does that mean?

For one thing, it means stores are open, salons are open, medical care is open. But the thing they don’t like to talk about (at least here in the US) is that you still are likely to become ill if you go out there and do those things. And for me and my husband, both 68, and between us, trust me, we have every “pre-existing underlying condition” imaginable, for us, even going to the grocery store is risky business.

So, do you think we are going to go to restaurants? Think again. Do you think we will go back to the gym? Think again.

What about churches? The Episcopal Church is well-connected, even in these times; the clergy are meeting regularly and congregations are meeting regularly and worship is regular—almost all of it in digital form. We discuss the merits of reopening buildings and so far, most congregations are stating a preference for continued social-distancing to preserve everybody’s health. There is no doubt that God is with us in our sheltered places and that we are in unity with one another as we are all in unity with God.

It is a beautiful spring in Oregon; it is about to be summer. I cannot begin to describe the beauty of nature awakening here the last three months or the amazing sequence of creation tending to itself. Every time I wander out in the morning to get my newspaper (The Oregonian is delivered four times a week on paper, which I love … the other three days it’s Ipad time!) I marvel at the sheer beauty of my driveway, let alone my neighborhood, let alone the forest in which we live and the brilliant blue sky canopy … and I know if I drove down to the bottom of the hill to the south I could see Mount Hood in glory.

My goodness, how could such beauty be host to such illness? It sets up something as well-known in my academic discipline of information as it is in psychology—cognitive dissonance—something that makes so little sense the brain has trouble wrapping around it. In information systems cognitive dissonance is known to be the reason most people walk away from a system without even hitting “enter” a second time. The psychological parallel is similar—most of us walk away from cognitive dissonance. Its easier to look up at the sky and the trees again than to contemplate the confusion.

In the Church, today is Trinity Sunday, the first Sunday after Pentecost, the celebration of the Trinity of God, Christ and Holy Spirit. Today’s Gospel is the end of Matthew’s Gospel (28: 16-20) where we find the well-known “Great Commission.” Jesus tells the disciples to “go … make disciples … baptize …teach” and promises that Jesus will be with all disciples always. The essence of this commission is that it is for disciples, who are humans, and all humans have doubt.

You see, doubt is a critical part of faith. Without doubt there can be no faith. Faith is always a moral decision to rely on God, which means relying on each other, in the presence of doubt, which is not lack of faith but is realism.

As communities reopen we ask ourselves, so what? Just because things are open doesn’t mean it is safe to be out there. Just because things are open doesn’t make it safe to fly or gather. The recent uptick in cases is demonstrated to be the result of Mother’s Day and Memorial Day “parties”—both took place before the lockdown was “opened.” The roiling protests, holy and blessed as they are, make it worse, of course, because the protesters likely are spreading the virus which makes it even more dangerous for people like you and me to go to the grocery store. It means it will be even longer before we can reunite with people we love who are miles away.

How is this conundrum like the doubt of the very human disciples? How is it that even after seeing Jesus, touching Jesus, eating with Jesus on the shore … they still do not quite believe? It is because the cognitive dissonance of resurrection is too great for the brain. They see, they grasp, they believe, but they also doubt—there is no alternative because it is in this realism that faith is strongest and most secure.

Faith relies on feelings; feelings rely on human reactions to each other and to creation. It is because they “know” Jesus that the disciples believe. It is in our comprehension by feeling that we find the faith that transcends the doubt of cognitive dissonance.

Realism is the bedrock of faith. The love that is God that comes from and through God is the realism of love that infuses all of life. It is the realism of God’s love that is the foundation of our faith, even in times of dissonance.

So go ahead and question. It’s good for you and for God too. Think of it like a small child asking “why” a thousand times—it just builds up the bond of love between the child and beloved adults. Ask “why.”

But also remember to walk in love, to “go … make disciples … baptize …teach.”

 

Trinity Sunday (Genesis 1:1-2:4a; Psalm 8 Domine, Dominus noster; 2 Corinthians 13: 11-13; Matthew 28:16-20)

©The Rev. Dr. Richard P. Smiraglia. All rights reserved.