February
24, 2008 Des Moines
Third
in a Lenten series on Take Time to be Holy
Matthew
19:13-15
Ephesians
4:1-5:2
Taking the time…for community
One
of my favorite Susan Werner songs is titled “Courting the Muse.” No, it isn't about justice or world peace or
civil rights or any of those other noble aspirations we typically spend so much
time emphasizing on Thresholds weekends.
It isn't about faith or religion or spirituality in the usual sense of
those words. Though it starts out
sounding like a blue love song, it turns out to be about creativity and
inspiration and the cold, dark, lonely nights of writer's block and creative
paralysis – when the Muse is achingly absent; or if present, is thunderously,
suffocatingly silent.
Well I lit up all the candles
And I turned out all the lights
And I waited up all hours
But she did not come by last night
She is beautiful as music
But jealous to the bone
And she will only love you
If you love her alone
And she used to sleep beside me
In my narrow single bed
When I took public transportation
And I was badly underfed
And she loved me more than a lover
More than anyone I've known
Yes she will truly love you
If you love her alone,
But then came some fame and fortune
And I got to feelin' pleased
And I paid her less attention
As my situation eased
So she left me for a busker
On the Spanish steps in Rome
And I could see that she loved him
'Cos he loved her alone
Now every night I light the candles
And I pray that she'll return
For I have learned the double lesson
That all her suitors learn
Don't get too much lovin'
Don't care what you own
'Cos she will only love you
If you love her alone
Creativity, the song suggests – being mentored by the
Muse – comes from the kind of “dirt-under-the-fingernails” connectedness to the
grit and gristle of real life that gets severed by too much comfort and ease
and self-containment. When we begin to
do well enough to be self-sufficient, the song gently hints, something deep
within our soul begins to atrophy and recede into silence.
I think
of that insight when I come across the odd little addendum to the biblical farm
bill contained in the 19th chapter of Leviticus – that portion of
the law devoted to pragmatizing what it means to be holy:
When you reap the harvest
of your land, you shall not reap to the very edges of your field, or gather the
gleanings of your harvest. You shall not strip your vineyard bare, or gather
the fallen grapes of your vineyard; you shall leave them for the poor and the
alien: I am the Lord your God. [1]
What
surprises me about this law is its sensitivity to the deep and vital
interconnectedness necessary among people and their environment if we are to
thrive; the expansive world view posited as the only effective means of
“courting the muse” of creative and sustainable living:
l
don't take it all;
l
don't pad your own
cushion, but pay attention;
l
be aware;
l
and be moved and shaped by
hopes and hurts and hungers and aches beyond your own.
l
Don't become too
self-contained.
l
Stay connected.
l
If you want
to live, be attentive to their living as well.
Don't get so
comfortable that you lose track of the discomfort of others.
Don't
get too much lovin'
Don't care what you own
'Cos she will only love you
If you love her alone
And I
suppose I'm also surprised by how counter-cultural that view apparently sounded
even to those early Israelites. -- else why would it need to be asserted? Exclusionary self-interest, in other words,
is not a new phenomenon, nor is the view that anyone who encroaches on it is a
parasite depriving me of what is rightfully mine. But, asserts the passage, if God being God is
going to carry any weight with us at all, then God's world view will
necessarily displace its rivals.
Creative, imaginative living will necessarily involve attentive loving.
Which
returns us to that other song that has taken our hands to lead us through the
weeks of this Lenten season – that old gospel song that urges us to “take time
to be holy.” Since the odds are good
that the weather has prevented you from being present for the first two
installments of this series, you can catch up by going to the church's website
and clicking on the button labeled “sermons.”
There you can either read or listen to those sermons or any from the
past few years.
If
those earlier phrases in the hymn emphasized the intentionality of holiness –
of literally taking the time to pay attention, to pray, to study and learn
about God's intent for creation, the phrase that frames us this morning focuses
on the relational dimension of holiness:
Make friends of God’s
children, help those who are weak...
It sounds
simple enough. But even at a literal
level it turns out that we need to take some time to actually choose to do
it. Take, for example, that story that
Matthew tells about children mucking up the orderliness of Jesus' public
appearances. The disciples, according to
the account, “spoke sternly to those who brought them; but Jesus said, “Let
the little children come to me, and do not stop them; for it is to such as
these that the kingdom of heaven belongs.” And he laid his hands on them and
went on his way.
If it's
easy to get indignant at the disciples for their heartlessness – who, after
all, doesn't love it when the LOGOS kids are playing their “Boomwhackers” in
worship or singing about hippopotamuses – let me also guess that there have
been other times, such as flying in a plane or strolling through the mall or
riding in the elevator, or checking out at the grocery store, when the petulant
tantrum or reckless exuberance or incessant wailing of kids helps account for
the invention of Paregoric.
But I suspect that more was going on in Jesus' exemplary
welcome than just the affirmation of kids.
Recall that in Jesus' culture, children had potential value – as
adults in waiting – but little inherent worth.
They had no voice, they had no rights; they were property, with a
functional value along with the cow or the sheep or the chicken. Quite literally one of the “least of these”
that Jesus would later call attention to, children were not among those who
garnered much concern or attention.
Except, as this story bears witness, from Jesus. And that is the point. “Make friends,” Jesus was demonstrating,
“with God's children” -- not merely the young, but precisely all those who are
typically and routinely marginalized or ignored or forgotten. “Have time for them.,” urges
the song. “Listen to them.
“ Listen to understand, because understanding their hopes and hurts and
aspirations and frustrations is just as important as understanding the titans
of industry or the powerful in elected office.
Our living is intertwined with the living
of others, and we will only thrive if we take the time to attend
to them. Or as the writer to the
Ephesians put it:
lead a life
worthy of the calling to which you have been called, with all humility and
gentleness, with patience, bearing with one another in love, making every
effort to maintain the unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace...speaking the
truth to our neighbors as members of one another...being kind to one another,
forgiving; imitating God, as beloved children, who live in love, as Christ
loved us.
For
as it turns out, there is no personal muse – private and exclusive and
concerned for our particular success – but only one whose inspiration is heard
in the plucking and strumming of the cords that bind us together; heard as we
listen carefully, humbly, empathically...
...to
understand.