RECIPES FOR LIFE RECONSIDERED

“Where is the wisdom of the wise?” Paul asks,

“Has God not made foolish the wisdom of the world?”

Philosopher Auguste Compte was the child of the Enlightenment 

     and the father of much philosophy that would follow.

A large stone monument to Compte stands in front of the Sorbonne, 

     one of the world’s greatest universities.

     It portrays the triumph of modern philosophy

          over the both of the old wisdom ways 

  – Greco-Roman Classical philosophy : 

     Aristotle, Cicero, and Marcus Aurelius. 

     and the Medieval Christianity of St. Francis, St. Benedict, etc.

     

     The statue of a proud Compte is big, very big.

     There are two small figures at his feet.

     To his left is a forlorn Classical Greek boy with his lyre 

          resting idly in his lap --  superseded and un-played.

      To his right is Mary, the Christ Child in her arms;

      but she does not look at Baby Jesus.

      She gazes upward in rapt adoration of Auguste Compte.

     But on the day I saw this monument,

      a real life pigeon was perched on Compte’s head,

        there to do what pigeons do.

     The pigeon’s name was Paul.

     

     Actually, the Bible isn’t anti-intellectual.

     The so-called “wisdom” Paul rejected

      wasn’t about reason in search of truth. 

     It was a prescriptive philosophy 

            – a how to succeed at business formula

          --  only it’s broader than business. It’s how to succeed at life .

     Take the adage, “Early to bed, early to rise,

      makes a man healthy, wealthy, and wise.”

     Ben Franklin was paraphrasing a Greek adage from 

     the how-to-be successful guidelines of Paul’s day,

     what he called “the wisdom of the world.”

     

     Prescriptions for a happy life still abound.

     Some are religious like Joel Osteen’s prosperity gospel.

     Others are secular or New Age. 

     Amazon offers The 7 Habits of Effective People, 

        The 48 Laws of Power,

      Think And Grow Rich, and multiple guides for how 

         to make our spouse affectionate, our children obedient,

      our subordinates at work docile, and our boss distracted.

     Much of this is rubbish, but there’s some sound advice in the mix.

     It would be rank hypocrisy of me to condemn it all

      -- not while I eat a brain health diet, do family systems therapy,

      and keep a warehouse of nutritional supplements.

     So eat kale. Wear sunscreen. Fine.

     

     But here’s Paul’s point: 

    There are limits to what life prescriptions can do.

     Too many things are beyond our control;

      most are even beyond our influence:

         genetics, family history, social and economic constraints,

         the weight of history and random luck.

     

     When we drive down life’s highway, we should drive carefully, 

          but we aren’t the only driver on the road. 

     Other people run red lights.

     Driving carefully down life’s highway 

         improves our odds but it doesn’t guarantee happiness.

     

     Kentucky poet Robert Penn Warren says,

      “the earth grind(s) on its axis . . . 

     history drip(s) in darkness like a leaking pipe .  . ..”  

     Call it entropy, Murphy’s law, fate, or bad luck. 

Sometimes life is tough.

     Christians say it this way: life has a cross in it.

     “Must Jesus bear the cross alone and all the world go free?

      No there’s a cross for everyone and there’s a cross for me.” 

     

     Sometimes we fail. Sometimes we suffer. Eventually we die.

     That’s the cross. But you know who we meet at the cross? 

     Jesus. We meet Jesus at the cross.

     At Calvary he made our cross his cross.

     The cross isn’t the only place of communion with Jesus,

      but it’s the place that we need him most. 

     We meet him in times of trouble, at the point of our vulnerability.

     I’ve had times of trouble. You have too. 

    Maybe you’ve got troubles today.

     

     Those troubles lead us to the Beatitudes.

     Matthew’s and Luke’s versions are a little different, 

        but their point is the same.

     Instead of “Blessed are the indigent,” 

        it’s “blessed are the depressed.”

     Instead of “Blessed are the malnourished;’ 

        it’s “blessed are the downtrodden.”

     Jesus never said, “Blessed are the rich, the good-looking 

    and charming, the self-assured and serene, 

        the prosperous and the healthy.” 

     It’s “blessed are the afflicted, the anxious, 

        the stumblers on life’s road.”

     

     Jesus isn’t prescribing masochistic self-mortification 

        like Medieval monks.

     We don’t have to fast, flagellate ourselves, 

        or climb stone steps on our knees.

     Life deals us our share of sorrow.

     But when hardship inevitably happens, Jesus meets us there.

     When we bleed, he bleeds – we bleed together. 

     Jesus doesn’t just comfort us.

     He redeems our suffering by investing it with spiritual meaning.

     He doesn’t cause our suffering. The world does that. 

    He redeems it.  

     Jesus turns our tragedy into the gateway to joy.

     

     We are blessed when we falter, 

          because we meet Jesus at the cross

          and that’s Communion with the power of love in it.  

     For Holy Communion to happen, the bread of life must be broken.

     Hemingway said,

      “The world breaks everyone and afterward 

          many are strong in the broken places.”

          

          In R. S. Thomas’s poem about the sinking 

            of a Welsh fishing trawler, he says to Jesus,

          “You are there also 

            at the foot of the precipice

                 of water that was too steep for the drowned . . ..

          You have made an altar of the deck of the lost

          trawler whose spars are your cross. .  . . 

        There is a sacrament there . . ..”

           

Our cross. Jesus’ cross. It’s the same cross. 

That’s the sacrament. That’s Communion.

          We may or may not feel his presence. 

          But he’s there. We know it by faith.  

             

     Rough patches are where we find the love of Jesus,

             and to know the love of Jesus is better – it is better –

      than being “healthy, wealthy and wise.”

 A high school music teacher, Rhea Miller, said it best:

             “I’d rather have Jesus than silver or gold.

      I’d rather be his than have riches untold.

      I’d rather have Jesus than houses or land.

      I’d rather be led by his nail pierced hand.”

LET US GO TO BETHLEHEM AND SEE

In 16th century Spain, where Teresa of Avila was the abbess 

    of a convent,    the high point in Catholic mysticism 

    was a vision of the Virgin Mary.

One night a novice rushed to Teresa’s door and breathlessly called,

“Rev. Mother, Rev. Mother, I have received a vision 

        of the Blessed Virgin.”

Teresa replied, “It’s alright. Just keep praying. It will go away.”  

  

Teresa, you see, had read today’s Gospel lesson

  in which the Shepherds teach us a spiritual practice 

     that runs 180 degrees opposite     

     to what we sometimes call “spirituality.”

This story isn’t about  getting into some “spiritual” zone 

--  an out-of-the ordinary state above this world 

         of jobs, bills, and car repairs.

We may think of “spirituality” as a place 

     of deep serenity, or visions, or a glow of love

     where our feet don’t touch the pavement.

 

All that’s good. I’m not disparaging it.

But Luke is about a different spirituality – related but different.

Like Teresa’s novice, our Shepherds were in the zone 

     -- gazing in awe at the night sky.

They saw angels, heard the heavenly chorus. 

But what did they do next?

They could have just reveled in their advanced spiritual state,

     maybe built a shrine to mark the spot.

They could have travelled to a holy place to give thanks

     —maybe to Mount Zion -- or if they were interfaith 

     to Delphi, Kathmandu, or a Celtic thin place.

The Jerusalem Temple was just up the road.

     

Instead they went to a stable in po-dunk Bethlehem – population, 300 

    -- to see a poor couple with a new baby.

To imagine this scene the way Luke painted it, just for today,

     we need to set aside our creche and Christmas carols.

We’ll go back to them later but —just for today – 

    let’s look at  Luke’s description

     of what the shepherd’s saw in Bethlehem. 

     

There are no angels  – no wisemen – no little drummer boy 

     – an ox, maybe, but no lamb.

If the poor baby woke, he cried. This wasn’t the zone. 

They were looking at earth, not heaven -- at people, not angels.

This is “the sacred ordinary” – a spiritual discipline 

     of simple, caring  attention to people.

The words “look” or “see” appear in this Gospel over 100 times.

Luke keeps saying, “Look at what’s right there in front of you.”  

.

Christian practice begins with holy people watching 

    – the holy watching of ordinary people -- 

    the grocery store cashier, the furnace repair technician, 

    our neighbors walking their dogs.

It takes an interest in people  – not their roles or functions – 

        but  themselves

     --  attending to their stories, their situations, 

    the expressions on their faces. 

We don’t  evaluate them like an HR executive, 

    diagnose them like a therapist, or judge them like a magistrate.

We see them personally -- or as painter might,

     as DaVinci saw Mona Lisa 

    and Vermeer saw the girl with a pearl earring . 

Chaucer, Burns, Hawthorne, and Melville 

    all worked in Customs Houses.

Their jobs were so boring they had to watch the people there 

    just to stay awake.

Those people became characters 

    in some of the world’s greatest literature. 

John Donne’s newest biographer says Donne’s core message is that

      “for all its horror, the human animal is worth your attention.” 

We are on stage with a wild and wonderful cast of characters

     – if we just look up and notice them. 

     

 Paying attention is delightfully engaging, 

        but it isn’t just for entertainment.

 It’s the foundation of morality.

We cannot treat people justly unless we first see them clearly.

Morality – Buddhists call it “right action” – is a natural, 

     nearly automatic, response to other people if we just look at them. 

      

20th Century philosophers, Simone Weill and Iris Murdoch, 

     both taught that morality isn’t following a rule book,

     and it doesn’t spontaneously gush from our good hearts.

Moral acts happen -- almost reflexively -- 

    when we really see each other.

Today’s neurology supports their point. 

Murdoch said, morality begins 

     with  “patient, loving regard directed upon a person . . ..” 

     Weill said, “Attention, taken to its highest degree, 

        is the same thing as prayer.”

     

Weill left her professorship to work in factories and on farms 

     with ordinary people. 

Knowing them led her from agnosticism to Christian faith. 

Murdoch was an atheist.

But Weill believed that an atheist who pays attention to people 

     is a better Christian than is a Christian who doesn’t pay attention.

     

 Luke’s primordial commandment is, “Look” 

     because seeing is itself an act of justice and mercy. 

In The Death Of A Salesman, Willy Loman is 

       the most mundane of people.

But, at his burial, his widow pleads,

      “He’s not to be allowed to fall into his grave like an old dog.

       Attention, attention must be finally paid to such a person.”

The Bible says, “If we don’t find Christ in our brothers and sisters, 

     we won’t find him in Heaven.” 

True, but Christ is both divine and human. 

His humanity is our contact point.

Eventually, we may see his divinity in someone and say “namaste.”

But that’s advanced practice. 

First we connect to Christ’s humanity 

     by looking for the humanity in others.

Just see them as human and take an interest.

So I invite you to make this your 2023 spiritual discipline. 

Look. Look closely. 

Look beneath people’s orneriness, wrongheadedness,

     rudeness, and outrageous politics.

Those are just costumes. Look beneath them.

Look deeper for the struggling, vulnerable, mortal person 

     who is Christ just by being human.

When we see people as themselves, we bless them.

It may make them better. It will make us better.

It certainly makes our world vastly more interesting. 

Brothers and sisters, Bethlehem is all around us. 

     “Let us go to Bethlehem and see.”

1

PUSHING UP SUGAR BEETS

 

Back in the 70s, when I was younger and dumber,

            I was hitch hiking from Denver to Greeley.

Two men picked me up.

They were fresh out of prison

            on parole for serious felonies.

One of them intended to rob me.The other did not.

Unfortunately, their communication with each other

            was unworthy of partners in crime.

Criminals, like spouses, need to talk to each other.

 One of them told me way too much about themselves.

 

They drove out into the beet fields Northeast of Ft. Lupton, 

flashed a gun,  relieved me of my $15, 

put me out of the car in the middle of nowhere, 

    and drove off.

Then they remembered they’d told me their names,

            their parole officer’s name, where they lived, etc.

Letting me live wasn’t smart.

They came back and ordered me into the car.

But I wasn’t that dumb.

So one got out and tried to drag me in.

Then, the miracle. A car came driving down that lonely dirt road.

I dragged my assailant into the path of the oncoming vehicle.

He let go and I started flagging down the car.

 

When I saw the driver, I knew I was ok.

He was a fit, clean-cut, young white guy -- my kind of people.

I knew I was saved.

He sped up, nearly killed me, and rushed right past. 

The robber resumed pulling me toward their car.

 

Then, miracle of miracles, another car along.

Again I pulled the robber into car’s lane. 

Again, the robber released me.

Again, I started to flag down the car.

But this time when I saw the driver, my heart sank.

She was a Latina mother in a cheap old car 

    hauling a load of kids.

No way was she going to stop for me in a dangerous situation.

 

She didn’t stop.

She slowed down, threw open the passenger door 

for me to jump in on the run, then hit the gas and sped off.

She turned out to be someone with a strong reason 

    to avoid situations.

Her family was undocumented.

But if they’d been legally in Mexico 

    instead of illegally in Colorado,

            I’d be pushing up sugar beets in Weld County.

 

The lawyer had read Leviticus. 

He knew salvation depends on loving our neighbor.

But he asked: who is my neighbor? Jesus answered:

A Jew was beaten, robbed, and left by the road.

A priest and Levite came along. 

They were bound by race, religion, & nationality 

    to help their fellow Jew.

But they just passed him by.  

Then along came s Samaritan

            -- wrong race, wrong religion, wrong nationality. 

But he stopped and helped

beyond anything the Jew could expect from his own kind.

Jesus said, “go and do likewise."

 

So, when the chips were down, 

why did I assume the young white guy would save me

and the Latina mother would not?

In the Stone Ages people used tribalism as a survival strategy.

Tribalism -- -- us vs them  -- our group vs their group – told them 

who they were bound to help 

and who they could expect help from.

Evolution passes survival strategies 

    down through the generations

            so it’s with us today 

    -- White vs Black, Christian vs Muslim, 

Liberal vs Conservative, Straight vs. Gay, 

Native vs Immigrant.

 

Dividing into antagonistic groups is wired into all of us.

It’s the way of the world. Enter Jesus. 

He said, In this world you will have trouble.

He might have elaborated, 

            You will have racism, classism, 

            divisions of religion, politics, and language.

 

In this world you will have trouble, Jesus said, 

            but take heart. I have overcome the world.

Jesus can set us free from those constraints that separate us 

-- divisions that shackle our minds 

            and hold us back from full humanity. 

They make our hearts tighter, 

our minds narrower, and our lives smaller.

 

But how does that work? 

How do we overcome genetically programed prejudice? 

Philosopher Martha Nussbaum, calls it participatory imagination,

            seeing things through another person’s eyes,

                        walking in their shoes, feeling what they feel.

Basic empathy expands our experience 

    and wisdom immeasurably.

It’s a fundamental part of being human.

Nussbaum says today fear is intensifying our divisions. 

We are regressing into tribalism,

 losing our capacity for participatory imagination. 

and our lives are diminished.

Jesus said, 

    I have come that you might have life and have it abundantly.

To make our life abundant, 

    Jesus teaches us to love our neighbor,

especially our who neighbor is the wrong race, 

wrong nationality, wrong religion, wrong language, 

wrong sexuality, or wrong political party. 

Imagine how things look to that person

and – bam! -- the size of your life doubles. 

But how can we possibly 

    go against genetically wired human nature

to love across the divide?

The answer is enabling, empowering, amazing grace.

Whatever Jesus commands us to do,

            he gives us the power to do it. 

 

To love across the divides is a miracle – a supernatural act.

But we can do it – with God’s help.

We just direct our hearts toward anyone Jesus calls us to love,

then pray for Jesus to open our hearts and our eyes.

His grace will do the rest.