Seventh Sunday after the Epiphany

One of the ways the culture of the Pacific Northwest is described is that we’re the “Nones.” Not “nuns” like “Catholic Nuns” living in a convent. Quite the opposite, in fact. We’re a culture where, on surveys when asked about religious affiliation, people check “None.” They have no religion.

There are a lot of reasons for this, of course, too many for me to lecture on with any kind of authority. I’m no anthropologist or sociologist. But I am a priest. I have some confidence of what the church is called to be. In the language of our parish mission, the church is called to be like Jesus. And I am quite certain, that were the church – not just St. John’s or the Episcopal Church, but the church at large – were the church to be living the way Jesus described in today’s gospel, there would be far fewer people checking “None” on those surveys.

Love your enemies.

Bless those who curse you.

Pray for those who abuse you.

Do not judge or condemn.

It’s not that people are chomping at the bit to live this way. But they do want to see a church that does. Because – as hard or unappealing as loving enemies may be – it’s exactly the kind of humanity our hearts want to believe can be possible.

This is the stuff of “pure religion.” It’s not doctrine. It’s not credal statements about what you must believe in order to be saved. It’s far less intellectually certain than that. And far more elementally identified, by our spirits, as the better way.

And, surely, it is this kind of truly holy living that our secular society has witnessed far too infrequently. It’s not to say it doesn’t exist in the church. But it’s not what they’ve seen. The public expression of the church is more often about protecting itself than giving itself away. It is more about judgement and condemnation than it is about loving our critics.

And these are especially difficult days to be people of faith. And when I say “difficult,” it has nothing to do with the difficulty of being ignored or disrespected by the “nones” in our society – as if the church were enduring some kind of “passive persecution.” No. It’s difficult because we’re all part of the same world. We’re all shaped by the same culture. We’re all enduring the same circumstances – from COVID to Putin and the Ukraine to red state-versus-blue state to hypocritical or lackluster churches. We’re all in this together. And we’re all just as vulnerable to the same narratives that saturate our newsfeed and rehearse themselves in conversations.

But what the church has to offer, is the hope of a parallel reality (you might say), the hope – that in the midst of all these woes – there is another narrative that remains true. And not just “remains true,” but is (in its way) even more true in that it has the greater power.

It is the alternative narrative that Jesus offers – and offers so clearly in our gospel reading today.

The simple genius of Jesus’ upside-down message is that he takes what we know to be good and true in our loving relationships – the kindness and generosity we experience with close friends and family – he takes that and says, if it true for them, it must also be true for everyone. It’s that simple.

You enjoy buying your granddaughter a gift? So buy a gift for your neighbor whose barking dogs annoy you.

You forgive your spouse for coming home late for dinner without telling you? So forgive your ex for their infidelity.

Now, of course, it’s easier to bless those who bless you, and to forgive small infractions than massive betrayals. And Jesus knows that. But the point is, if the supremacy and power of love is true in one kind of relationship, it is true in the other as well. And all the more so.

And when we gather as a church – week after week, interaction after interaction – the heart of what we’re doing is reinforcing the hope of this parallel reality. And at the heart of that reality is God. It is God, of whom we say, “God is love.” Which means everything else in this entire cosmos radiates out of that same reality from which it was made. God is loving everything. God is compassionate to everyone. God is forgiving every transgression. And we are made in God’s image. Which means our fundamental calling is to seek our true identity by living the way of God in this world.

And when we do – when we seek this kind of godliness – the parallel reality becomes the truer reality for which we are made.

And so in days like these – when the circumstances are worsening, when politics are more frightening and social divisiveness more glaring – then do we need the hope of such a God all the more. Then does the message of the church and the mission of the church become all the more urgent. For us. And for the world. Now is the time to lean into our call to bless those who curse, to offer the other cheek, to forgive, to lend freely, to be kind to the ungrateful, and to set ourselves free from a spirit of judgment or condemnation.

This is what we need, if we are to live as people of faith. This is what we need if we are to live as people. Which is to say, we’re all craving the same thing.

As many of you know, and are participating in, at the beginning of this year I began leading Loving Kindness Meditations on our YouTube channel three mornings a week. And it was precisely to foster this kind of broadly-spread love that I chose this method of prayer. It starts with desires for our own well-being, then moves to the well-being of our families and friends, then to the well-being of strangers, and then to those who annoy us or who we might even call “our enemies.”

And in the meditation, as each ring of acquaintance is introduced, we’re asked to imagine just one representative. We don’t pray generally for our grandchildren (for example), but we focus on one grandchild as a representative of the whole. We hold that one in our hands (in our hearts), desiring their good particularly. And likewise for our enemies. We don’t pray for “all those idiots we can’t stand;” we’re asked to pick just one – one person specifically whose voice or values or actions are antithetical to our own, and then to desire their specific well-being.

But to be clear, when I pray for political adversaries, I’m not praying for their political success. But I am choosing to see and value who they are as a person, made in God’s image, just like I am, whose most basic desires are just like my own: to be loved, to be safe, to be at home in this world. I don’t need to work out the details. I don’t need to advise God on how to improve them. It is enough for my heart simply to desire their well-being and to trust God to translate that desire into this world, however God chooses. And in practicing this, I find it is changing me.

The other day, someone did me wrong. And my normal impulse would have been to start stewing about it. To fuss over it like picking at a scab (and getting bloodier all the while). But because we’ve been doing these loving kindness meditations, that didn’t happen. As soon as I identified what this person had done, it became natural to think, “I’ll be sure to choose them tomorrow when I’m praying for my enemies.” And that was it. I didn’t need to stew. It’s like God’s given us a little cubbyhole for our enemies. We can just deposit them there until the next time we sit down, and settle our spirit with God’s spirit, then take them out gently, and hold them in our hands, and speak to them directly, with God as our message bearer, “May you be filled with loving kindness. May you be safe. May you be well.” Such a different way to confront our adversaries.

And it’s this same spirit, of broadly cast love, that we’re advocating for Lent this year. We still can’t gather together for meals, so there’ll be soup-suppers. And after two years of being denied of so many enjoyable things because of this pandemic, it hardly seems the year to promote severe disciplines and self-denials.

What we need is love. What we need is community and the fostering of generosity and kindness.

So we’ve come up with the most unLent-like program this year. Instead of just giving things up things for Lent, we’re inviting you to take something you love, and to share it with someone else. And to help you with this, when you get home from church today, you’ll find an email waiting for you, with a link you can push, that will take you to a site where you can offer anything you enjoy – a bottle of wine, a good book, whatever it is that’s life-giving to you – you list what we’re willing to share, and it automatically gets added to an online catalogue (of sorts) that anyone in the church can see. And whoever calls you first, that’s who you give it to. And then you arrange together a time to share your gift. You can do it just once, or you could leave the same offering up to give away as many times as you’re asked.

“Do good, and lend, expecting nothing in return. Your reward will be great.”

It’s just a way to bless one another and develop friendships.

And then there’s another button you can press! Like the first option, it’s to take something you enjoy – but this time it’s an activity – and offer to host a small group during the season of Lent that you’ll lead. It may be a hiking group. A prayer group. A play date for kids. A wine and cheese pairing. Whatever you’re willing to lead. You may meet just once, or weekly, or however often you choose. The ball’s in your court. And the website will walk you through the system.

But the point of it all is to celebrate the fact that as the church, we’re called to join God in creating community; we’re called to bless and to share and to make life with one another. And whereas we might be used to doing this within our families or close friend group, the church is a natural place to broaden the scope of our love and the hope of our oneness. And certainly, these groups would also be a welcome place to invite others who may have no other association with St. John’s.

But wouldn’t it be lovely if their first experience with this parish was that they were warmly welcomed to our parties, on our hikes, at our playdates. That in a world increasingly at odds with one another, they would find those St. John’s people to be oddly welcoming and kind.

“Give and it will be given to you. A good measure, pressed down, shaken together, running over, will be put in your lap.”

For we shall be living in the abundance of God and God’s unceasing love.