Reflections on the Transfiguration and being present

Rev. Molly F. James

DFMS Noonday Chapel

May 14, 2021

Psalm 92; Ezek. 1:28-3:3; Luke 9:28-36

May God’s Word be spoken. May God’s Word be heard. May that point us to the living Word who is Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen. 

Today we get the Gospel for the Feast of the Transfiguration. It is a familiar story - a feast we celebrate multiple times a year. It is officially in August, but then we always get this story on the last Sunday of the Epiphany.  And here it is in the daily office in May. Clearly this is an important text for us. And whenever I get a familiar text, I am reminded of my seminary professor’s wisdom: “Don’t confuse familiarity with understanding.” 

So, I am trying to look at this text anew, to see what it might be saying to us in this context, in this time. I will admit that I am having a great deal of trouble empathizing with Peter. “Lord, it is good for us to be here . . .” Here? No, Lord, not here. Not here where we are exhausted. Not here where we are tired of spending so much time between the same four walls. Not here where we are pretty sure this is our third or maybe it’s our seventh Zoom call of the day. Not here where we are afraid. Not here where the headlines are too full of violence and heartbreak. Not here where the problems of society seem too much to bear, too much to tackle. Not here, please Lord. 

We want to be over there. Somewhere in the future where we are traveling freely. Worshiping in person. Celebrating the sacraments. Hugging our family and friends. Where we feel safe and filled with joy. 

We have had enough with “here” - with exhaustion and anxiety. 

That is a good reason to keep reading in the passage. And to remember that Peter does not win that argument. They don’t build houses and just stay. They keep going. And there is our comfort. It will not always be like this. Already more things are possible than was true in previous months. Things are opening up. The beauty of the springtime helps us to remember the reality of change and new life. There are signs of hope all around us. 

So we can indeed have hope. We may not be instantly transported to that future where things will be better, but we are moving in that direction. 

As we make this journey from here to there, I hope we can be mindful of two important lessons from our text today. First, a reminder that we do not journey alone. Jesus did not go up that mountain alone. He did not come down it alone. He did not turn toward Jerusalem alone. The disciples were with him. 

We do not travel alone either. Even in those moments when we may feel isolated in our own challenges and struggles, we need not be. We are beloved children of God and there is a community of people who care about us. Who walk with us. Who will gladly drop what they are doing to be a listening ear or whatever we might need. Sometimes though, in order to receive that wonderful care, we need to ask for it. We have to be willing to share our struggles. I find this a challenge sometimes. I seem to have inherited far too much of my Purtian ancestors’ ability to keep a stiff upper lip and an external veneer that says everything is fine, even if it is not. Hopefully you all are better at asking for help and reaching out when you need it. 

Second, our text invites us to be present. Note that the voice from the clouds tells the disciples to Listen to Jesus. It does not say ignore. Go about your business. Nevermind us over here. It tells them to Listen. And that is a good reminder to those of us who might like to hurry things up or are wishing we could magically transport ourselves to another time and place. We can hold on to the knowledge that things will not always be the way they are, so we can trust that change will come. That means that we do not need to fear being present. Being present does not mean we are stuck. It means paying attention. It means being open to the ways that God is showing up in the world and in our lives. It means being on the lookout for the signs of hope, the glimpses of beauty, all that points us to the essential truths at the heart of our faith. That we are beloved. That there is always light. That there is always hope. That Easter is real. That love always has the last word. Always. Amen. 

 

Anxiety, Lilies, and staying connected

 

Rev. Molly F. James, PhD

DFMS Noonday Prayer via Zoom

May 12, 2021

Psalm 119:97-120; Baruch 3:24-37; Luke 12:22-31

May God’s Word be spoken. May God’s Word be heard. May that point us to the living Word who is Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.


“And can any of you by worrying add a single hour to your span of life?” Oh my. I struggle with this passage and this line in particular. In fact, it is enough to inspire worrying about worrying. Jesus is right. Worrying doesn’t DO anything. But it is not as simple as just deciding not to worry. It does not seem to just be a switch I can turn off.

And there is so much anxiety just floating in the air right now. What are the most recent guidelines? What can I do now that I am vaccinated? What will life be like this summer? When can we travel to see family? What is it going to be like when we go back to the office? How do we keep from being on pins and needles, waiting for the other shoe to drop, waiting for things to shutdown again because of another surge? How do we know that we will be safe? How do we keep our loved ones safe?

Like all of you, I am no stranger to fear and anxiety. My most profound experience of them was in the months following the end of my chemotherapy treatments. Once I had finished them and was sent back to my “normal” life, I felt adrift. I did not know what normal was anymore. I was out of survival mode, and I finally had the emotional and mental space to begin to process the magnitude of what I had just been through. I began to really grapple with the reality of my own mortality. And I was scared. The recurring question was, “If cancer, this terrible thing I never thought could happen, did, what was there to protect me from all the other terrible things in the world?” I wanted someone to promise me that I would have a long, full life with no more tragedies in it.

Of course, no one could give me that promise. There are no guarantees about how long we have. Whether we are in the middle of a pandemic or not. It is just that the realities of the pandemic have brought all of us face to face with mortality more often than we might like.

So what do we do? It would be easy to get ourselves all stirred up or feel like we are in knots in the midst of everything. And no doubt there are times that we do. But we are not powerless. The anxiety does not have to be the dominant narrative in our lives.

We can remember the rest of the passage - remember the flowers and the birds. Remember all the ways God is present in the world and in our lives. God is with us. We are never alone. And we can seek out the resources that help us to be grounded and connected. While it can be tempting to withdraw and isolate ourselves when we feel anxious, connection is the key. Relationship is the key. We need each other. We need conversation. We need support and care. We need the people whose wisdom widens our perspective, who remind us of all the sources of hope that surround us. What are the lilies in our lives? Where is the beauty that takes our breath away? We need the people who help us laugh at ourselves, at life, at the world. We need the people whose presence brings a smile to our face. We need people whose very being helps us remember that no matter what happens today, we are a beloved child of God.

It is true that we cannot add hours to our life by worrying. We can add quality to our lives by taking care of ourselves. By seeking out all the resources that help us to care for our whole selves. By seeking out the relationships that restore our souls. By ensuring we have enough time with the people who make us laugh, keep us humble, and inspire us to be more faithful followers of Jesus. Amen.

Complete Joy

 

Rev. Molly F. James, Ph.D.

St. Matthew’s, Wilton, CT

May 9, 2020

Acts 10:44-48; Psalm 98; 1 John 5:1-6; John 15:9-17

May God’s Word be spoken. May God’s Word be heard. May that point us to the living Word who is Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen. 

I was always that kid who needed to do their homework first before they could go out to play. And I like to work ahead. Always wanted to be sure I had an assignment done early and handed in on time. Procrastinating made me nervous. I wanted to have all my tasks completed, and then I could have fun. This strategy worked well until about middle school. Once there started being long term projects, where there was always something I could be working on, it became much more difficult. Once I hit college and grad school, where part of the learning was about discerning priorities - I was assigned more work than could be accomplished and needed to sort out what was essential - it really became impossible to try to finish work before I could play. This was a struggle. I really wanted to be able to have a completed to do list I could put down, relish my sense of accomplishment (yes, I am an achievement oriented Enneagram 3 for those of you are into that), and then celebrate with time outside with friends, a good book, a movie, a special meal, etc. 

I thought I could keep those things nicely separated. Work and tasks over here. Fun and celebrations over here. And I thought real fun and joy were only possible when I finished my work. “I have said these things to you so that my joy may be in you, and that your joy may be complete.” That your joy may be “complete.” I know that complete joy. It’s what would be possible if only I could have that magical fully completed to do list. It would be what is possible when all the tasks are done, and I have nothing left to worry about. 

That’s not how life goes. We do not live in some mythical universe where all the tasks can actually be accomplished. There will always be more to do, more that could be done. 

That realization, that truth could have been the source of great stress and anxiety (and some days it still is!). Instead I am learning (slowly), thanks to wonderful people in my life who are kind and patient teachers who care deeply about my well being, that joy is not contingent. 

Joy is not something I earn when I finish my tasks. It is not my reward. It is not dependent on my productivity. It just shows up. It shows up with the beauty of springtime blossoms. It shows up with the embrace of a loved one we have not hugged in far too long. It shows up in the laughter of children. In the first bite of a delicious meal. It shows up in the sound of a voice or a smile. A surprise phone call or text - just to say someone is thinking of us. A favorite piece of music. A card in the mail. A few extra minutes to put our feet up and breathe deeply. 

Except, how can we talk about joy being “complete” in this time? How do we talk about joy when our news headlines are so full of suffering? How do we talk about joy when we are all grieving all that has been lost in the past year? How do we talk about joy when we are this tired, or maybe weary or exhausted would be more accurate? How can we talk about joy when even some of the most joyous moments of our lives are tinged with sadness - for that loved one who is not there to celebrate with us, for the what ifs of the path not taken, for knowing it won’t be like this again? 

Here’s the thing though. If joy is not contingent on my completion of tasks, then it is also not contingent on how much energy we have or what the news headlines say or whether we have been able to fully compartmentalize our grief. The joy is not contingent on anything. And joy being “complete” is not about the absence of grief. Like so many things in our faith lives, when we would like clear lines and tidy boxes, God is inviting us into abundance. 

I think Eugene Peterson’s Message translation is helpful here. In this passage, he does not call joy “complete,” rather he calls it “fully mature.” Yes. Fully mature. Like a delicious cheese that allows for complexity and depth, for a fullness of texture and flavor. It’s okay for it to be complicated. Life is complicated. Our experiences, our feelings, do not fit in tidy little boxes. It is not as though we do grief on Mondays, so we can have joy on Tuesdays. 

Life is messy. Life is wonderful. God is inviting us into the fullness of it all. The joy is a gift - one that will just show up in our lives, if we are paying attention. It is not contingent on anything. And the thing is, if we can open our hearts to the joy, if we can let it in to sit alongside the grief we feel, something remarkable will happen. Our joy will deepen because our grief reminds us how precious, beautiful, and fragile life is. We can pay attention more fully to the joy because we know the realities of loss. And the grief will lessen because the joy has come - we have again been reminded that Easter is real - pain and suffering never have the last word. Love is stronger than death. Today and always. Amen. 

No Contingencies

Rev. Molly F. James, PhD

DFMS Noonday Prayer

Monica, May 4, 2021

May God’s Word be spoken. May God’s Word be heard. May that point us to the living Word, who is Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

Today we remember Monica, St. Augustine’s mother. And our readings are full of stories about mothers and children. Our psalm tells of how offspring shall increase. Our first reading from Samuel is all about Hannah’s prayer for a son being answered. Our Gospel is about the miraculous healing of a mother’s son. Dear God, dear lectionary committee, did we really need all these texts about mother’s prayers being answered just a few days before Mother’s Day. Life is complicated enough right now. Did we need to be reminded of our own complicated family lives or of the prayers we have fervently prayed that have not been answered in the way we might have hoped? Motherhood is complicated and fraught. There are complicated relationships with mothers. Complicated relationships with children. Those who desperately wanted to be mothers and that did not happen. Those who were not planning on it and suddenly found themselves to be mothers. 

I want to push back on things  a bit. Surprise, surprise. Monica is a remarkable faithful woman who is notable in her own right. Why do the texts for today make it all about her motherhood? Is that all we can mark of her significance, being Augustine’s mother? 

I will admit that it brings a smile to my face when a child comes up to me and calls me “Halsted’s mom” or “Katherine’s mom.” It is a source of pride and joy to be connected to those two remarkable human beings. Aaaaand, it is not the sum total of my existence. I hope I am known, I hope all of us, are known and honored for the multiple roles we inhabit - for the myriad relationships that give our lives meaning and texture, for the impact we have in the world, and ultimately just for the kind of person we are. 

What is so notable to me in Monica’s story is her statement to Augustine at the end of her life that it does not matter where she is buried, because proximity to God does not depend on geographic location. Ah there it is. There is the profound, significant truth that I would guess is a valuable reminder for all of us. Our connection to God is not contingent on where we are. Perhaps Psalm 139 (v. 6-9) would have been fitting for today? 

Where can I go then from your Spirit? *

    where can I flee from your presence?

 

If I climb up to heaven, you are there; *

    if I make the grave my bed, you are there also.

 

If I take the wings of the morning *

    and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea,

 

Even there your hand will lead me *

    and your right hand hold me fast.

We can see the light at the end of the tunnel. Things are opening up. More and more of us are being vaccinated. And there is still so much uncertainty. Will things stay safe and open? How do we not follow India’s path? What will the future look like? When will we feel safe in a large group of people again? 

It is a gift today to be reminded that God’s presence with us, God’s abiding love is not contingent on anything. It is not contingent on our behavior. It is not contingent on our location. It is not contingent on whether we have all the right answers. It is not contingent on whether or not we feel overjoyed or overwhelmed or just a little off. God is there. God is with us. Always. So in the midst of our week, whether things are going great or terrible or we just feel blah - and if this week is like so many other weeks, it will probably be all of those things at various points. In the midst of that let us remember to pause, to take a deep breath, to pray, to listen to music, to go outside, to call a friend, to read a book, whatever it is that provides us with a tangible reminder that God is indeed with us. No matter what. Amen. 

Pruning to bear good fruit

    

                                         

Rev. Molly F. James, PhD

St. Alban’s, Simsbury, CT  

May 2, 2021, Fifth Easter

Acts 8:26-40; 1 John 4:7-21; John 15:1-8; Psalm 22:24-30

May God’s Word be spoken. May God’s Word be heard. May that point us to the living Word, who is Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen. 

The house in which I grew up sat amidst an ancient apple orchard.  And behind the house, next to the vegetable garden there were two grape vines.  And then across the hayfield and the break in the trees, you come to nine acres of (Maine wild) blueberries.  The delicious, sweet, small ones that grow on carpet of small vines, only inches above the rocky soil.  Given that I spent my childhood surrounded by all these vines and branches, you can imagine my mind went straight there when I read the Gospel lesson for today.  Jesus said, "I am the true vine, and my Father is the vinegrower.  He removes every branch in me that bears no fruit.  Every branch that bears fruit he prunes to make it bear more fruit.”  Ahh, the pruning. 

I remember one early spring when my Dad went out with his pruning shears to cut the grape vines back.  He peacefully went about his work, and when he was finished, we were in a bit of shock and concerned that he might have done irreparable harm to the vine.  There seemed to be hardly anything left of it.  We were convinced that might be the end of our grapes.  But no.  The vine grew in, lusher than ever, and was weighed down with fruit by the end of the summer. Pruning truly does bear more fruit. 

And then there are the blueberry plants. They are pruned by mowing and burning.  After they are harvested the whole field is mowed and then, when weather permits, it is burned. Then it lies fallow for a year, growing back the vine, setting buds, but producing no blossoms and no fruit.  Then the following year, it produces more of the delicious fruit.  If the field is not mowed and burned, the plants would produce more and more leaves, and fewer and fewer berries.  Mowing and burning are actually key to a bountiful harvest of beautiful berries. 

One can see why Jesus chose these images from the natural world to make his point - they are so fitting, and so true!  

The trouble is, most of us don’t like to think of pruning.  And we particularly don’t like to think of God going around with pruning shears sniping away at bits of our lives.  We might not mind so much if God would like to do some pruning in some OTHER people’s lives - as a matter of fact I would bet that most of us have days when we would like to tell God exactly who and what needs pruning!

But we know that is not what Jesus is inviting us to consider.  Jesus is inviting us trust in the possibility that good, bountiful fruit will come, even when we are in the times where it looks like the vines have been pared back far too much. I would guess that most of us feel like there has been far more pruning in the past year than anyone of us would have liked or have desired. So many things have been taken away. In many ways our lives have been stripped bare. 

This is hard and painful. There is grieving to do. Much grieving to do. Over lives and opportunities lost. Over the loss of what we thought we could count on, of what we might even say we took for granted. I hope that you are finding time and space to grieve. That you are gentle with yourself when you find yourself overwhelmed with emotion or wanting to cry at unexpected times. This has been a hard year. 

And I hope that we do not miss the opportunity, the invitation that is there in the midst of these challenges. There is an invitation to clarity. An invitation to reorient our priorities. An invitation to be thoughtful and considerate about what fruit we would like to bear going forward. 

What might it mean, what might it look like for us to live lives that are more fulfilling, more meaningful. How might we be more deeply connected to God and each other? How might our actions be a part of realizing God’s dream, of contributing to the transformation of the world? The world needs transformation. The tragedies of this past year have laid bare realities of systemic injustice and oppression that too many of us have been able to ignore for far too long.

I think it is important to remember that pruning is natural.  Sometimes it just happens.  Lightening storms happen.  Wild animals do their share of damage. Pruning happens. It can look and feel like a real loss.  It can even be a pruning that threatens the survival of the whole plant.  But what does nature show us again and again?  It can also come back stronger.  It can overcome adversity and bear beautiful, nutritious fruit. 

So, what can we take away from this? This has been a year of pruning. Some of it the kind of pruning that clears away the detritus that has kept us from seeing the realities of injustice in our society. Other pruning has been loss on a scale few of us could even imagine. The losses have been harsh and painful, and they seem to make NO SENSE.  There is real pain and grief. And there is also an invitation to clarity. An invitation to remember that our roots run deep.  We are grounded in the love of God, and no matter what, we can trust that we are being given the strength to bear good fruit.  If we allow God to work through us, our bare branches and fragile stems can be transformed into a gift that helps feed the world.

AMEN.