Chris Yaw

My friend is an E.R. doctor.

Every day he faces a litany of urgent cases in which life hangs in the balance.

While he’s known for his skill in triage and the breadth of his medical knowledge, what his colleagues most admire is his ability to stay calm in the midst of the pressures and complexities of his everyday work.

He’s become known for one statement, ‘One step at a time.’ When asked to predict what course a disease will take, how far a cancer will spread, when a medication will kick in, or how long it will take a patient to regain consciousness, he simply says, ‘One step at a time.’

Living in the moment is not an option for my friend, it is a necessity – and it should be for you and me.

Just look at the tyranny of the immediate that surrounds us. From financial, career, and health concerns to worry about our national elections, we are tempted to fall prey to the threats of a future we cannot predict, and in some ways, do little about.

One step at a time.

Let’s not worry about things we cannot predict.

Let’s not spend our precious hours in anxiety over a future we do not know.

Let’s not waste our precious time in apprehension of unknowable circumstances.

This Sunday we will hear Jesus talk about faith.

He will chide his disciples – which include you and me – to believe.

To believe that everything will work out, that the world is in God’s hands, that nothing happens to us outside of God’s view, and that nothing happens by accident.

For we can never forget that we are a fragile people who live precarious lives, utterly dependent upon God’s daily mercies to shield us from the unknown.

And we are called to believe that we are always in God’s hands. So let us encourage one another to have faith and believe, one step at a time.

My friend is waiting for his brother to die.

He’s at the hospital right now keeping vigil. He’s among family and friends as they seek to face the challenge of keeping calm and focused in the face of uncertainty.

This vigil will end with a death, a loss, and deep grief. Family members will be irreparably scarred. Life for everyone involved will permanently change. My friend says losing his brother will be like losing a limb.

However, in the face of such tragedy we cannot forget the coarse but bitter truth; that the upside to having your face ripped off is that at least you get to see what you look like.

Yes, there are ways in which we become aware in life. Some do so when they get a promotion, buy a new home, or fully fund their 401k.

But most of us reach a deeper sense of awareness when we go bankrupt, get divorced, lose a child, break a leg, smash the car, or fail the test.

This is not to say God makes these things happen, it is to say that our deepest tragedies offer us unparalleled opportunities to become self-aware and, often, better people.

Sunday’s gospel brings us the familiar story about a rich man and a poor man named Lazarus. It isn’t until the rich man loses everything and sits in torment that he realizes the depth of his selfishness and harbors a real desire to help others.

What are the sadnesses and failures of our lives teaching us? How are our collapses and catastrophes serving to point us to greater awareness? What are our tragedies teaching us?

Little babies in cribs cherish the presence of loved ones the most.

Retirees in rest homes cherish the presence of loved ones the most.

What happens in between is the ongoing temptation to substitute things for what we know we should cherish the most.

And we do this all the time.

How are we doing it now? To what degree do we realize that putting relationships first is what we’re made to do and in the end, what we value the most?

I was leaving Cincinnati the other day and stopped to get a milk shake.

The only problem was that I couldn’t remember exactly where the ice cream store was. After 20 minutes of driving around I finally found it. Once inside I remembered how, a few years previous, I had driven around for 20 minutes trying to find the exact same ice cream store. I was lost, but had been found. Twice.

Sunday’s gospel reminds us of how much God rejoices when the lost are found. We think of the ways we get lost. We think of the ways communities get lost, and how even nations get lost.

And we think of Jesus’ job, and our job, which is to help the lost find their way.

Teachers, nurses, accountants, realtors, mechanics – nearly every profession involves some version of this. No matter who we are and what we do, we can help the lost.

My problem is that I am often so overwhelmed with finding my own way that I don’t pay as much attention to helping others as I should. This a perennial problem in our increasingly busy and independence-minded culture.

But that need not stop us from asking: how can we help ‘the lost’ – with math homework, relationship advice, or directions to Cleveland? In what ways has God uniquely equipped us to help ‘the lost?’

When we think about it we soon discover that not only are the lost all around us, but that have a lot to bring to the table. Also in doing so not only are we usually made glad, but according to the scriptures so is heaven.

Once upon a time there was a boy named John. He was raised by selfish parents.

They drove nice cars while they dressed John in last year’s fashions.

They spent Friday nights at fancy restaurants while John ate boxed mac and cheese with a babysitter.

They went on lush vacations while John racked up student loan debt.

When John got older he got married. He had a son. He named him Jack

John treated Jack like a king.

Jack had new clothes, weekends at nice restaurants, and more than one overseas vacation.

John changed the script.

We can too.

This weekend we will hear Jesus' words on flipping the script. We will hear of the permission he gives. We will also ponder the deep aversion yet seductive attraction we encounter when dare to we follow our destinies.

Too often the script before us is one that someone else wrote. Let’s not be afraid to change it.

“I just can’t stop worrying about my parents,” a friend confided in me.

He was concerned about their declining health, where they were going to live, and how they were going to begin to divest the contents of a home they’d occupied for five decades.

“And I’m so mad at myself for worrying so much,” he said, as if that helped matters.

My friend gives voice to a lot of our misspent energies, which we while away on worrying.

Jesus knew this, which is why his most frequent advice to his disciples was not to worry.

Of course, FYI Jesus, this is much easier said than done.

What may help though, is a cubbyhole exercise.

Imagine taking that concern, aging parents, financial pressures, health concerns, whatever, and putting them into a cubbyhole. Imagine this is one of many cubbyholes on the wall. Then envision taking something else out of another cubbyhole. Maybe it’s a briefcase to help concentrate on work, or a teddy bear to engage more fully with children or grandchildren. Or maybe it’s a fishing pole so a little R&R can help us clear our minds.

Tell yourself you’ve spent enough time worry about that particular concern, and now it’s time to occupy our thoughts differently. And, if it helps, promise yourself you'll return to it later. Just, not now.

It’s important to remember that we worry about things that mean a lot to us – in other words, worry is a way we value things. And if you’re like me you’d rather be around someone who cares too much than too little.

So let’s be easy on ourselves. Forgive ourselves. Put things in their proper place. And remember to fear not, we’re in God’s hands, all will be well.

“I need another job.”

That’s what my friend said the other day after he finished paying his bills for the week.

“If I just had another $200 a month, I would be on easy street.”

While it’s true that for the desperately poor, more money is the answer to a lot of problems, for most Americans, it isn’t.

In fact, our attempts to root our security in money, possessions, power, or political candidates only takes us so far.

For example, our Gospel reading on Sunday tells about a rich man who cultivated crops then stored them up, not knowing he was going to die that night.

How much better off he would have been – and you and me – if we were to cultivate the fruits of the Spirit and enlarge the storehouses of our hearts – trusting that God will take care of us?

When we seek first, the things that God asks of us, the rest always falls into place.

After all, there are two ways to be rich: Like John D. Rockefeller and like St. Francis. One owned almost everything, the other needed almost nothing. One was rich with stuff, the other was rich with God.

When we trust in God we always have enough.

‘We’re tired of prayer! We want action!’

I’ve heard this saying more than once during this summer of simmering racial tension. Many of us are fed up with what’s been done in the past and we want something new – something more significant – to take its place. To various degrees I think we all share the frustration, anger, and deep disappointment over the way society is failing to be the free and just place we want it to be.

However, one of the last things we need to jettison is prayer.

Sure, in the wider society, prayer is often understood as an escape from the world. It is something that goes on behind closed church doors, where the faithful run away and hide from pressing problems, seeking to get a God-fix so they can live through another day of injustice - as Karl Marx said the opium of the people.

However, I agree with our Presiding Bishop Michael Curry who recently said that prayer is not our way of fleeing the world, but our way of becoming more engaged with the world.

The exercise of prayer calls us to consider the lives and challenges of others. It asks us to visualize, often in detail, the pressing problems facing others.

It’s been said that if our inner life is rich, our outer work will never be insubstantial. However, if our outer life is big, our inner life may shrivel.

In Sunday’s Gospel, Jesus takes on the issue of prayer as the basis of doing all that’s worthwhile. Prayer is our way of keeping perspective, showing compassion, and yes, deepening our souls in the troubles and triumphs that surround us. We pray to enrich our inner lives so that our work may be substantial. Prayer makes us more human and more divine.

‘A New Beginning’ by John O’Donohue

In out-of-the-way places of the heart,
Where your thoughts never think to wander,
This beginning has been quietly forming,
Waiting until you were ready to emerge.

For a long time it has watched your desire,
Feeling the emptiness growing inside you,
Noticing how you willed yourself on,
Still unable to leave what you had outgrown.

It watched you play with the seduction of safety
And the gray promises that sameness whispered,
Heard the waves of turmoil rise and relent,
Wondered would you always live like this.

Then the delight, when your courage kindled,
And out you stepped onto new ground,
Your eyes young again with energy and dream,
A path of plenitude opening before you.

Though your destination is not yet clear
You can trust the promise of this opening;
Unfurl yourself into the grace of beginning
That is at one with your life’s desire.

Awaken your spirit to adventure;
Hold nothing back, learn to find ease in risk;
Soon you will be home in a new rhythm,
For your soul senses the world that awaits you.

The most important thing we can do right now is to center ourselves.

This means reminding ourselves of who we are, what we’re here for, and why we’re doing what we’re doing. It means re-owning our singularity and sacredness. It means abandoning the sense that we’re somehow missing out on another life, one that’s more special than the one we’re living.

No, we must seize this one. We must live deeply into our individuality, which Jesus has made divine. Our most important job is to be ourselves.

This is not easy because despite its infinite beauty and possibility we cannot forget there’s a conspiracy afoot to knock us off course. Our greatest enemy is distraction.

What’s distraction look like for you? In what ways is today taking us off course – or putting us back on course? How can we live more deeply, right now, into who we are, what we’re here for, and what we’re meant to be doing? How can we center ourselves?

Most of us have a sense of our ideal weight. For me it’s not measured in pounds or inches, but how comfortable my clothes are - specifically, if I’m able to go through the day with my belt at the second notch.

Sure, it usually means not ordering exactly what I’d like at the restaurant, leaving food on my plate, or minimizing (even abstaining from) dessert. But when my clothes feel comfortable, it’s all worth it.

In fact, when we think about it most things that are satisfying involve some sort of discomfort, inconvenience, or expense. I often use these as a way to validate my journey: if I’m going through the day and I’m not feeling uncomfortable, put out, or paying some sort of cost then I wonder just how giving I am; I wonder just how much I am contributing to the betterment of the world around me.

Jesus is our role model here, as the One who selflessly gave at most every opportunity. But not only is he our example, he is the source of our strength. So if we are feeling uncomfortable, inconvenienced, and like we’re paying way too high a cost, he is there to strengthen and uphold us. We all have stories of the ways God has stepped in - to give when we felt like we had no more to give. So let us not be angered or annoyed by life’s discomforts, but see them as validation of the ways we are participating in a fuller and more satisfying life.

I took a ride with an unhappy Uber driver this week.

He wasn’t happy with his job, his family situation, or the place where he was living. He seemed like a victim to some sort of negativity that was clearly bringing him down.

I wished I could have done more for him than pray.

Then it struck me that I could.

New research in the field of personality psychology tells us that hopefulness is contagious. If someone who’s feeling discouraged and negative is around hopeful people, over time, positive change regularly results.

In Sunday’s Gospel Jesus sends 70 disciples on a mission to bring hope. He warns there will be resistance. But he encourages them anyway.

Friends, times have not changed. We are to be bearers of hope to a discontented and discouraged world. We will encounter resistance. But Jesus says take heart; hope wins.

How are we embodying hope? Chances are it is making more of an impact on the world around us than we suspect.

Chris Yaw

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