Chris Yaw

My friend is suing his next door neighbor... his cousin.

He says his dog repeatedly wanders into his yard and ‘causes problems’ - which include digging holes in his lawn, terrorizing his cats, and depositing substantial amounts of excrement in very inconvenient places.

His attempts to solve the problem have gone nowhere, in fact he’s convinced that his cousin is taking great pleasure in inflicting such distress. This keeps him up at night and fuels his rising blood pressure.

It’s not hard to see where this is going: first the cops, then the lawyers, maybe a fence, possibly relocation.

One way around this is to attempt the empathetic exercise of suspecting that our opponent is rarely malicious, but usually selfish - and perhaps even unconsciously so.

Consider my friend’s cousin as someone who is convinced he's a good neighbor and a superior pet owner who, unlike other dog minders, gives his pet the freedom to roam the neighborhood, and fully expects those around him to allow a dog to be a dog, and look with grace and charity to one of God’s creatures and his natural habits.

In fact, very rarely do people consider themselves tormentors or afflicters, rather our inherent self-centeredness, which allows us to be more aware of what people are doing to us than what we are doing to others, is at fault.

On Sunday we will hear the apostle Paul say, "Do nothing from selfish ambition or conceit, but in humility regard others as better than yourselves. Let each of you look not to your own interests, but to the interests of others.” (Philippians 2)

Our lizard brains constantly tempt us to think less of others, take misunderstandings as sleights, and find offense where no offense is intended. Self-centeredness, not maliciousness, is what’s most commonly to blame for the run-ins, cut-offs, and harsh disagreements we routinely encounter.

Thus, our faith asks us: How might we live more deeply into the generosity of spirit and the willingness to try to understand, and perhaps think more positively of our opponent? What might an empathetic exercise with our enemy look like? How might we envision selfishness - not maliciousness - as the cause of our pain?

After a grueling morning of auditions the director decided the lead role in the production should go to Jessica.

The other four finalists hung their heads, only one of them saying, 'Nice job Jess, you're going to be amazing!'

The emotional let down that occurs when we don't get picked usually overwhelms any sense of altruism or good will we may have for those who fared better. We get it. It's natural.

But since, on average, we don't get picked more than we do, it's really important for us to cultivate a generous sensibility around these many occasions when others achieve more than we do.

In Sunday's gospel we hear the familiar story of those who work many hours and are paid just as much as those who work a few. It's unfair and more than a bit irritating. But an idea here is that every day there are winners and losers, and you and I can chose to sulk over our misfortune, or look with appreciation on whatever win there might be - choosing to rejoice in generosity and achievement rather than sinking into self-pity.

We have a few options here:

We can practice empathy, putting ourselves in the shoes of the winner and looking at things from their perspective: how happy they must feel, what plans they must be making! What horizons have changed for them as a result of this achievement?
We can also look at the big picture. There have been times when we have won. We have worn the olive wreath. And somewhere down the line we will win again. In light of the victories we've achieved, shouldn't we be happy when someone else does?
And finally, we can look to God. Jesus reminds us that there is some sense of order and providence in the world - that God's in control. And the important thing is his presence among us - God is with us through wins and losses

I know, I know, rejoicing in the good fortune of others is hard. But this is what being a disciple is about - we can tell because if there's one thing Jesus promised about following him it would be difficult.

So how are we rejoicing in the achievements of others? How might we better cultivate a sense of 'other-awareness' in the many times we lose in life?

We lift our hands in praise when we get picked, we should try to do something similar when others do.

Maybe it's an ex boyfriend? Girlfriend?

A former landlord?

Someone from a lawsuit?

Is it a poor person who is lacking the resources you have consumed?

The easy answer we so want to give is nobody.

But we rightly suspect that this response merely masks our unwillingness to engage in the valuable yet always uncomfortable exercise of self-reflection.

Wise Christians through the ages have contended that a deeper knowledge of ourselves always yields a deeper knowledge of God - and that when we are more intimately acquainted with those we have offended, we have an easier time forgiving those who offend us.

It's good to know why people are mad at us, whether or not we've done enough to patch things up, and have a better understanding of how we might avoid offending others down the road.

Robert was incensed at his mechanic.

He had gone in for some repair work and given her the car key before sitting down in the waiting room. A half hour later, when he asked about the progress, the mechanic said she hadn’t been able to pull the car in because Robert hadn’t given her the key.

Furious, Robert swore he had. And the disagreement went back and forth, escalating when the locksmith came out and furnished a $200 replacement.

Realizing that things could go in a number of directions, Robert chose the difficult road: he would not vent his anger, nor seek revenge, but he would take the road less traveled, take the hit, pay for the mishap, and move on.

Often times, the hardest thing you and I will do today is give in.

This is the difficult work of reconciliation - it’s the cross-carrying, disciple-making, world-changing power of humility and mercy. It’s not codependency, it’s not weakness. On the contrary, working to protect the sanctity of our relationships often comes from a place of divine strength - and is what you and I were put here to do. It is hard. It is painful. It needs to happen more often.

Friends, Jesus gives us the permission, and vocation, to go ahead and quit the worldly ways of vengeance, wrath, and outrage. He modeled it and equips us to follow. In what ways is the Lord calling us today, to make amends by giving in?

While on vacation, my daughter wiped out on her bike.

She chose to go down a steep hill that proved a bit too steep.

As she crawled out from beneath her bike, tears streaming down her face. she vowed never to ride her bike again. She said the stinging pain of her bloodied knees would serve as a lasting reminder of the danger of two wheeled travel.

Within 48 hours, though, things had changed. She saw that to get any place fast, her bicycle was her best option. She saw others getting on their bikes. And she heard the empathetic and encouraging words of those around her offering similar stories of painful tumbles, then resolve to get back on the bike. Lo and behold, before long, she was once again, happily pedaling along.

This Sunday you and I will hear the words of St. Paul as he also offers similar encouragement. Using words like ‘persevere,’ ‘enthusiasm, and ‘be patient’ - he wants believers to approach the wipe outs of our lives with similar grit and resolve.

And so we ponder: in what ways are the adversities of our lives keeping us out of the game? A broken heart? A bad test result? A lackluster daily routine? What about boredom or apathy?

Jesus is calling us to get up from our tumbles, to persevere, to hope, and hold out our hand to him.
C’mon, let’s get back on our bikes.

A little baby died this week of a kiss.

Maybe you heard - little Mariana Sifrit of Iowa was just 18 days old when she died of viral meningitis most likely passed on when someone kissed her - a gesture of love and affection gone horribly awry.

The deeper tragedy is that Mariana’s death is added to the ocean of heartbreak that makes up human life – for the prevalence and predominance of evil is simply too immense to avoid.

And the Bible has some things to say about this.

This Sunday we will hear a familiar parable from Jesus about a farmer who sows wheat and an enemy who secretly sows weeds in the same bed. Surprisingly Jesus advises no action – he says the good and the bad seeds are to grow up together, living and thriving alongside one another, until the day of completion when a judgment will come.

I am drawn to St. Augustine’s words, “Almighty God, himself supremely good, would never allow anything evil to invade his works, unless he were so almighty and so good that he can bring good even out of evil.”

Let us consider that God is up to more than we can know.

Our response to evil can never be one of ultimate failure. God is up to something in both the good and the bad. Have faith, hold on - God is not finished yet.

In 1977 the president of a leading tech company, NEC, was on the lookout for new products.

He was on the hunt for trends and new developments to take his company to the next level. He spent hours studying the latest technology. He immersed himself in the latest market data. That was when he made this statement,

"There is no reason anyone would want a computer in their home."

This is a big reason you and I recognize the names Apple and Google these days, but not so much NEC. At the most basic level this is a cautionary tale about being open to the new.

On Sunday you and I will hear that famous story about a sower who cast seeds everywhere. However, he only sees a harvest in a few places.

This sower, like God, is constantly sowing things that want to grow – inspiring us with new visions and ideas, bringing new possibilities across our paths.

That’s why it's incumbent upon the soil to be fertile, to be open and nurturing to that which God is planting and wants to grow.

What's this say about our openness, our willingness, to that which the sower is casting seeds upon the soil of our hearts?

It was a rather simple science experiment.

My 6-year-old brought home some dirt, a sunflower seed, and a coffee can. We placed the dirt and the seed in the can, watered it, then he took it to his room.

A week later he brought it to me, angered and frustrated, he said ‘This doesn’t work!’ and he handed me his can of dry dirt – no plant, no flower.

I asked if he had watered the seed, and if he had placed it in his windowsill so it could get sunlight. He said yes, he had watered it that once, a week ago and he had put it on his bookshelf, which was near the windowsill. But then, he’d forgotten about it.

This result, as surprising as it was to him, was not to me. I told him that the problem probably had to do, less with the seed and the dirt, and more with the rather indolent way we were following instructions.

This Sunday you and I will hear those epic words of Jesus that we know so well, ‘Come to me, all you that are weary and carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest.’

And if you’re like me, you may ask, ‘Why don’t I always feel this rest? Why do I feel angry, frustrated, and worried about things? After all, I've given my life to Jesus, where's the peace?

And on our good days we step back and ponder just how comprehensively we’re ‘coming’ to Jesus.

Let’s face it, in our modern culture of fast answers, simple solutions, and instant results we can be programmed to forget that ‘coming to Jesus’ is not something we do overnight - not once a lifetime, once a year, or even once a week. Over and over again, we are to come. We are to bring all that we are to Jesus, coming to him physically, spiritually, financially, recreationally, sexually, and politically. There is no part of us that we withhold, there is no part of our life that goes unexamined, there is no period in which we are to back off.

Like that seed in the coffee can, we are to tend to our lives with Christ, bringing all that we are, giving time and attention to this, our life’s most noble pursuit. How can we more completely ‘come to Christ’ today?

To see how far religion has come, it helps to read up on some ghoulish history – namely, the history of human sacrifice - keeping in mind this is not for the faint of heart.

What we see is that not more than a half dozen centuries ago, humans were doing unspeakable things to other humans in the name of religion.

It’s understandable, as we had no idea how the earth worked. So to appease the invisible forces behind rain and sunshine, fertility and health, humans reasoned they were to give up something valuable. Anthropologists say this is the genesis of nearly all forms of religious sacrifice.

It is in this primitive setting that one of the most popular religious stories appeared: Abraham and the near-sacrifice of his only son Isaac.

If you have a problem with a God who wants an innocent child sacrificed you’re not alone. However given the setting in which this story first appeared, there would have been far fewer objections.

The revelation here is that, in fact, this God does not want a child sacrificed. The revolutionary statement was that while the gods of Abraham’s neighbors were calling for human sacrifice, this God wasn’t.

This God was different.

Very different.

Israel’s God was interested in blessing. Indeed, the bigger story of Abraham was his call to be a ‘blessing to all nations.’

This story announces that God is not the angry, judgmental, punishing deity that too many of us still suspect – rather God’s interest is in loosing you and me from the ideas that we are here to do anything less than to love, heal, reconcile, and assist in repairing the brokenness of the world.

You and I are called, as Abraham was called, to come face to face with a God who wants to bless others through us. How are we seeing ourselves as this vessel? Whom is God asking us to bless, and how are we doing so?

An elderly man, who lived his entire life in his beloved Detroit, died one day.

As he arrived at the pearly gates, he clutched a fist full of Belle Isle dirt. God welcomed him at the pearly gates and said, ‘Welcome to heaven, now put down the dirt and let’s go inside.’

The elderly man said, ‘Put down the dirt? Never! Detroit is my home and heart, I shall never let go.’ God, taken aback, went back through the pearly gates alone.

A few decades went by and God walked out to see the man. This time, God brought two bottles of Stroh’s beer and the two talked and laughed for a while. Again, God invited the man to put down the dirt and to accompany him through the pearly gates. Once again, the man said, ’Never!’

A few more decades passed when God sent one of the man’s relatives – a granddaughter to try to persuade the elderly man to come in. ‘Let’s go grandfather – there are so many of our relatives to see!’ she said. This time, the elderly man relented, and as the earth dropped from his fist, he passed through those pearly gates.

Then, as he looked out at the sight before him, the elderly man dropped to his knees - for he was standing at the entrance of Belle Isle.

Friends, we cannot accept the new without releasing the old. Change is always difficult, but when we trust the Lord’s voice, taking that step of faith, we are usually rewarded.

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My friend Eddie drove drunk in high school and killed his best friend.

The loss of a buddy, the anger and devastation of family and friends, not to mention all the legal entanglements that resulted put Eddie in a mental state that lasted for years. At the core, and in the end, the most pervasive challenge was getting rid of the guilt and forgiving himself.

Years down the road, after Eddie had married and had children, he was still haunted by the crash. Then one day he opened up to a friend who was brave enough to come alongside Eddie and offer some advice. He pointed out that one’s inability to forgive one’s self has been scientifically proven to had adverse affect on one’s children – and if Eddie really loved his kids, he would learn how to let it go.

This piece of advice had an amazing affect on Eddie, who marks it as a major milestone in his road to wellness – all because someone was willing to go deep with him and care enough to care.

This Sunday you and I will hear an overwhelmed and overburdened Jesus ask his friends for help tending to the hurting people around him – people like Eddie.

Jesus knows there are a lot of Eddies out there just waiting for people like you and me to come alongside them.

So our challenge today might be: Whom around us needs a friend, a touch, a call, an email? How can we get in better touch with the challenges others are facing around us? How is Jesus sending us out to heal the hurting?

When we agree to enter into a relationship with someone we’re best to do so with wide-eyed, generous, optimism grounded in the reality that the other person has some very serious problems.

After all, they’re just like us – human. And we humans, for some reason, are desperately flawed - the Church often calls this ‘original sin’ – so much so that we really don’t know what we don’t know about ourselves, much less about the situations around us and the future into which we have no choice but to be dragged – fearfully and pitifully unprepared. It’s no wonder we behave erratically, becoming angry and frustrated with big, though usually small things, inflicting the greatest amount of pain upon the people we claim to cherish most.

It is given this reality that we seek trajectories we hope will take us upward, into becoming the best versions of ourselves. And we know, instinctively, because we humans are a communal breed, that we do this better when we are in relationship with others.

And those relationships work best when we take into account our shared imperfections and act generously, kindly, and forgiving toward others.

Relationships come to mind this time of year because this weekend we celebrate something called Trinity Sunday. This is the only feast day on the calendar not dedicated to a person or an event, but a theology – as the Church wants us not only to worship God, but to spend at least one day a year trying to figure out who s/he is.

Centuries of analysis by the best minds in the tradition have concluded that the idea of a ‘trinity’ – of a Father, Son, and Holy Spirit – is the best way to conceptualize this - which, of course, bespeaks relationship. The famous icon by the Russian iconographer Rublev depicts this so wonderfully in the illustration above.

The image suggests a civil, respectful conversation around a shared table. No one is throwing a fit. Dialog is occurring. There is peace, if not joy and hope, in the shared work being undertaken.

And we humans are at our best when we enter relationships with the crazy people around us not only recognizing our own craziness, but with a polite and optimistic outlook toward the abundance of shortcomings we’re bound to encounter.

It is in this way that we emulate the Trinity – becoming like God by showing respect, calm, and even hope for the potential of relationships around us. How do we encounter others as well meaning, though mutually flawed? How are we working to be more generous, forgiving, and accepting of those who are most likely doing their very best?

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Chris Yaw

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