15th Sunday after
Pentecost, Yr. B, September 9, 2012
Isaiah 45:4-7a; James
2:1-10,(11-13), 14-17; Mark 7:24-34
Sermon preached at St.
Stephen’s Episcopal Church
Say to those of a
fearful heart, "Be strong, do not fear! Here is your God."
(Isaiah). Here is your God! Where might that be? That here that Isaiah speaks of? Is it in the church?
In the city? In the pew
sitting beside you? Inside you? Where is here?
We are an
incarnational people. We believe
that God is present in all God creats, most especially in Jesus Christ, a man
who lived in first century Palestine.
Jesus lived in unique relationship with God, in perfect union. Jesus was fully human and always here with God. Jesus had the capacity to funnel God's
creative and healing energy into the world.
In our readings
from Mark, Jesus healed a man who is deaf and dumb. He exorcises a demon
with a word, without even stepping foot in the house. Jesus is a conduit
for the fulfillment of God's purposes on earth, just as we can be. James is pretty clear, just like he was
in last week's reading, that our calling is to believe and act. In
fact, he says, we are to act without partiality. No one person is less or more important than another. Each of us is precious in God's
eyes. That's why we address
everyone at Sunday Supper as "sir" and "ma'am". It's an act of respect. That's why we don't turn anyone away
from that meal or this table. Our
doing in love, is God doing in love.
God's power working in us can do infinitely more than we can ask or
imagine.
"Be strong, do not fear! Here is your
God." So how do we
prepare ourselves for God being HERE with us? How do we prepare ourselves for God taking up residence
within us?
For ten years I
followed a spiritual discipline, a rule of life that was grounded in centering
prayer. When we adopted a child
that discipline was challenged; when we moved, it was challenged even more. For almost six years now, that kind of
prayer has been absent from my daily life. I've been surprised that
something so central to my spiritual well being was so quickly stripped away.
Over these six
years, I have tried over and over again, to regain the discipline I used to
have. For short periods of time, for several weeks usually, I am
successful, but then my resolve crumbles like a crisp fallen leaf in fall. I find myself right back where I was
before beginning.
My soul longs for
the relationship I used to have with God. I yearn for that connection I
felt through commitment, even if not always in practice. I've wondered
why I can no longer stick to a routine that I know will give me the bread that
I seek.
Recently I read a
book by Cynthia Bourgealt. She
told the story of a nun who took a Centering Prayer workshop with Thomas Keating, the father of the
modern Centering Prayer movement.
After one of their prayer sessions, she approached Fr. Keating. She told him that she was terrible at this
kind of prayer. "I must have
caught my mind wandering a thousand times." He smiled and said, "How wonderful! You had a thousand opportunities to
return to God."
That thought has
stuck in my head. There is no
failure in prayer. Even if our
mind wanders, or we say the "wrong" words, intentionally setting
aside time for God we create an opportunity for grace to work. So, this week, I decided to begin
again. I took a seat in the rocker by the window. I sat for a few minutes, and then I
began to remember. I rememebered
the little prayer stool up in our office, how I used to sit and pray in our
bedroom at the old house. I
remembered the incense and candles, lit every day as I prayed. I
remembered the prayer table in the corner of my bedroom, holding a bell, some
feathers, stones from Maine and seed pods. All things that reminded me of God's
presence on earth. All
things that used to call me to prayer.
I missed that. Why weren't
they here?
And then I
remembered the little box in our attic that still held it all. One of the
only boxes that was never really unpacked when we moved. Was this an opportunity? I stopped praying and walked upstairs
to our attic. I was amazed at how
excited I was to unpack all the items I had so carefully wrapped in old
newspaper so many years ago. It was almost like uncovering buried
treasure. I couldn't believe how
quickly I set up a new prayer table in our office upstairs; how quickly there
was now a place, a place waiting and calling me to center myself in
prayer. Now it calls me. I want to
be there. I look forward to
encountering God there.
That shouldn't
surprise me, I guess. When I began
playing the dulcimer. Mitzie
advised me to take my rented dulcimer home and find a place to put it. Not under the table, not in the case
... But out and set up. Ready to
be played. Put it in place where
you will walk by it and see it every day.
Then, she said, you will play.
Even if it's only ten minutes, that's okay, because you might do that
two or three times a day and that is actually better than sitting down for an
hour at a time. That was wonderful
wisdom, and it has worked for me as I'm learning to play. The same is true for prayer. If we create a space for prayer, and we
put it right out in front of us, in a place that we'll pass by every day, we
will stop. And we will pray, even
if it's only for ten minutes or so once or twice a day.
So I encourage you
to think about setting up prayer space, not in a dark corner of the house, but
right out in a place where you will encounter it every day. Put one or two things there that remind
you of God's presence here, in the world. It
can be anything, a picture of someone you love, a candle, a leaf, a stone, a
book, a piece of jewelry, a meaningful gift, a favorite quote written on a
piece of paper. It's up to you. Make it your own for God. When
you pass that place, it will call you.
I guarantee it. At least
once a day see if you might be able to respond to that call, even if you only
have ten minutes. Especially if
you only have ten minutes! You
will find that no matter what time of day it is, God will be waiting for
you, because God is here.
Amen.
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