II Corinthians 4:7-18, "7 But we have this treasure in jars of clay to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us. 8 We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; 9 persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed. 10 We always carry around in our body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be revealed in our body. 11 For we who are alive are always being given over to death for Jesus' sake, so that his life may be revealed in our mortal body. 12 So then, death is at work in us, but life is at work in you. 13 It is written: "I believed; therefore I have spoken." With that same spirit of faith we also believe and therefore speak, 14 because we know that the one who raised the Lord Jesus from the dead will also raise us with Jesus and present us with you in his presence. 15 All this is for your benefit, so that the grace that is reaching more and more people may cause thanksgiving to overflow to the glory of God. 16 Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. 17 For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. 18 So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen. For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal."
The message of Paul in II Cor to me is that as Christians, we carry around both the death and resurrection of Christ Jesus. In the lie, "For we who are alive are always given over to death for Jesus' sake; so that his life may be revealed in our own mortal body (verse 4:11)." This is a theme that is always rising in Paul's writings -- the ongoing, constant tension of what it means to be a Christian -- to embody both the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ. I think Paul said it best in Romans 12 when he urges us not to be conformed to this world, but transformed by the renewing of our minds and hearts. To me, to carry around the death is a challenge to not only to be aware of the things that call our attention away from God, but to also to have the courage and grace to die to old ways for the sake of Christ. In so doing, we are resurrected and Christ can work through our whole being.
The challenge I see to this passage of Paul is that I work in instances where people constantly kill parts of themselves. However, instead of dying to old habits so that Christ may be glorified, some prefer to wallow in death and destruction. On-going self medication through abuse of self, alcohol, drugs, exploitation, leads people to the delusion that they are not worthy of God. It is hard to hear the gospel of new life when all you see is misery and anguish around you.
This is where the mission of the SF Night Ministry, "to rekindle the hope" is so important. I walk the streets with my colleagues to continuously sow seeds seeds of hope, so that people may understand all are worthy of Christ's hope for new life. Sometimes my most meaningful work comes when I tell a gay male, intoxicated yet attentive, that, yes, Jesus does indeed love him; or to a sex worker that her tears water seeds of hope for herself, and that God works through her just as she is.
The challenge for me is to die to my doubts of myself in regards to my work, to put away my feelings of being ineffectual, and to just trust that the Spirit is working in ways I may see or not see.
Amen.
Monday, March 2, 2009
Sunday, December 14, 2008
So a priest walks into a bar...
Often over the last few weeks, I have felt like a set up for the joke, "A priest walks into a bar," and yet, it is imperative to my job.
When I first started, I thought I would have a hard time going into bars and would just haunt the 24-hour donut and coffee shops. And yet, as the weeks have gone by, I have found it easier to sit and talk in bars.
There is one I usually stop in, and in one instance, a woman asked me as I was walking in, "Are you for real?" To which I replied, "Yes, I know I am a set up for a joke." We proceeded to have a good conversation. As I have made it a point to frequent this bar, I have gotten to know some of the regulars, and am known simply as "Fr. Thom."
Recently, it has been raining in SF, and after a reprieve, I visited a regular person the Night Ministry talks with. Over the course of the conversation, he stated the one thing he really needed was a garbage bag for his clothes. Instead of proceeding to a local supermarket, I stopped into a neighborhood bar and ordered a coffee and two garbage bags to go.
So, a priest walks into a bar...
When I first started, I thought I would have a hard time going into bars and would just haunt the 24-hour donut and coffee shops. And yet, as the weeks have gone by, I have found it easier to sit and talk in bars.
There is one I usually stop in, and in one instance, a woman asked me as I was walking in, "Are you for real?" To which I replied, "Yes, I know I am a set up for a joke." We proceeded to have a good conversation. As I have made it a point to frequent this bar, I have gotten to know some of the regulars, and am known simply as "Fr. Thom."
Recently, it has been raining in SF, and after a reprieve, I visited a regular person the Night Ministry talks with. Over the course of the conversation, he stated the one thing he really needed was a garbage bag for his clothes. Instead of proceeding to a local supermarket, I stopped into a neighborhood bar and ordered a coffee and two garbage bags to go.
So, a priest walks into a bar...
Monday, December 8, 2008
Bitter cup of sorrow
Reflections on Matthew 20.20-28
"Can you drink from this bitter cup?" Christ asks James and John, sons of Zebedee.
"Yes," they reply. Christ Jesus in turn responds, "Yes, indeed you will."
Christ drank deeply from the bitter cup of sorrow, as did his disciples and believers through the centuries. Jesus drank deeply from the cup of sorrow; in doing so, Christ tasted what it is to be human -- to taste fear, despair, discouragement, betrayal, isolation, discrimination, abandonment, and death. Christ took all this, drank,and turned these bitter grapes into the sweet wine resurrection, hope, new life, and solidarity.
As is stands right now, I can hold the bitter cup of sorrow, but can only sip it lightly before I pass it back. In my work as associate night minister, I pass by several cups of sorrow each night. Sometimes the cups are held out to me to drink from as well; other cups are spilt all over the ground; and yet other cups are clutched so tightly out of mistrust so as not to be shared.
As I grow into my position as a night minister, I know part of my role is to commune with those on the streets and drink from each cup of sorrow as it is presented to me. At first I would merely sip just enough from a cup of sorrow to just enough to wet my lips with the taste of a particular brand of sorrow, and then quickly hand the cup back. Slowly, over the weeks, I have begun to linger a bit more, to saunter. Instead of sipping sorrow and passing the cup back, I am learning to hold the cup longer, sip, and at least sniff the aroma of bitterness.
Such is where I am as I grow into my role as a night minister. I think at least the other night I was able to help squeeze out at least one drop of the sweet wine of Christ's hope.
"Can you drink from this bitter cup?" Christ asks James and John, sons of Zebedee.
"Yes," they reply. Christ Jesus in turn responds, "Yes, indeed you will."
Christ drank deeply from the bitter cup of sorrow, as did his disciples and believers through the centuries. Jesus drank deeply from the cup of sorrow; in doing so, Christ tasted what it is to be human -- to taste fear, despair, discouragement, betrayal, isolation, discrimination, abandonment, and death. Christ took all this, drank,and turned these bitter grapes into the sweet wine resurrection, hope, new life, and solidarity.
As is stands right now, I can hold the bitter cup of sorrow, but can only sip it lightly before I pass it back. In my work as associate night minister, I pass by several cups of sorrow each night. Sometimes the cups are held out to me to drink from as well; other cups are spilt all over the ground; and yet other cups are clutched so tightly out of mistrust so as not to be shared.
As I grow into my position as a night minister, I know part of my role is to commune with those on the streets and drink from each cup of sorrow as it is presented to me. At first I would merely sip just enough from a cup of sorrow to just enough to wet my lips with the taste of a particular brand of sorrow, and then quickly hand the cup back. Slowly, over the weeks, I have begun to linger a bit more, to saunter. Instead of sipping sorrow and passing the cup back, I am learning to hold the cup longer, sip, and at least sniff the aroma of bitterness.
Such is where I am as I grow into my role as a night minister. I think at least the other night I was able to help squeeze out at least one drop of the sweet wine of Christ's hope.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
