Jason Gaboury's Blog, page 3

Lent Exercises: Conversion - Restoring the Awkward Joy of Life with God.

In his book The Rise of Christianity, sociologist Rodney Stark reflects on conversion.  Stark notices that new converts don’t have theological categories to describe their experience.  These, he says, are supplied later by their new community.  According to Stark what happens in conversion is a social and emotional (I’d also argue spiritual) change.  Converts discover, sometimes with feelings of great joy, that something has shifted within them.  

 

They believe.  

Just what they believe however, isn’t yet clear.  It’s the community of faith that helps new believers translate their experience.  As they do, the convert learns to tell their story in theological terms.  

I remember Derek shaking his head after a bible study.  “That was amazing,” he said.  He kept saying it.  “Wow… that was… amazing…”.  After listening to Derek circle around a few more times I asked, “What was amazing?”  Derek looked confused.  “I don’t know,” he said, “God… I think… Jesus for sure.”  

 

Derek’s enthusiasm continued in the weeks and months that followed.  He was enthusiastic for other people to know about… how God… how Jesus… how learning about God and Jesus in scripture was, “amazing…”.

 

I think of Derek as I reflect on the call of Levi in Luke 5:27-31.  Levi is in the middle of doing his despised and despicable tax collection duty when Jesus calls him.  Everything about Levi’s status disqualified him to be a disciple.  He wasn’t morally upstanding.  He had the worst kind of political affiliations.  He made a living by exploiting his own people.  And he’d gotten wealthy.  

 

Jesus sees him, calls him, and immediately he abandons his post to start a new life.  

It’s way too easy for me to fill in a story, to make the pieces make sense.  Perhaps Levi was really unhappy and heard Jesus’ call as a chance for a new start.  Perhaps Levi hated himself for the ways he’d betrayed his people.  Perhaps Levi was so overwhelmed that Jesus would call someone, “like him.”  

 

But the more I reflect on it, the more I think this story is stranger and more profound.  Levi hears, sees, and responds to Jesus in joyful abandon.  I don’t think Levi knows what’s happening.  I suspect he’s experienced Jesus and he wants to go with him.  

 

The religious impulse in the passage, in me, and in our churches can (unintentionally) flatten the joy of a Levi or a Daniel.  As the story unfolds Levi throws a party with all his disreputable friends.  The religious people shake their heads.    

 

As you reflect on this passage what stirs in you?  Can you connect with the awkward joy of a Levi or Daniel?  Can you imagine, or remember, the joy of simply wanting to be close to God?  Can you imagine God has joy in wanting to be close to you?  

Lent Exercises: Confess - Unearthing Hunger for Relationship with God

This week I spent an hour talking to students at Cornell University about God.  “How do you know God really exists,” was one of the first questions.  

 

I used to answer that question philosophically.  I’d say, “Did you know there are something like 100 arguments for God’s existence,” naming a few.  “There’s the kalam cosmological argument, there’s the argument from motion, the argument from beauty, the moral argument, the argument from purpose… which one do you want to talk about?”  

 

This approach led to fascinating conversations but, the conversations rarely changed us.  Then one day I watched my friend Ashley respond to the same question.  “How do you know God exists,” a student asked.  Ashley looked at the student for a moment and said, “Because I’ve met him.”  Suddenly the conversation shifted.  It was no longer about ideas and abstract principles it was about a person.  

 

There was something powerful and honest in Ashley’s answer.  His honest confession created space for the student to share his disappointment with God.  Both men were changed by the encounter. 

 

The conversation unearthed a desire in me.  Even though I was a minister, I was more comfortable talking about God than I was honestly confessing him.  My approach was as much a way of avoiding a God as it was of sharing him.

 

In Luke 5:1-11 we’re told that Jesus asks Peter for use of his boat so he can teach the crowd.  Then he asks him to go out to the deep water and put out the nets.  It’s the wrong time of day.  Peter had already worked all night with no luck, but he does as Jesus asks.  The catch fills two fishing boats to overflowing.  

It’s one thing to have a God expressed in beautiful ideas.  It’s another thing to have Jesus get into your daily life and start changing things.  As Peter listened to Jesus teach the crowds he was undoubtedly impressed by this teacher and the ‘authority’ with which he taught.  (See Luke 4).  But the catch of fish unsettled Peter.  

Peter falls down at Jesus’ knees and says, “Go away from me… I’m a sinful man.”  Peter understands that Jesus’ words and direction have, deeply practical, consequences.  He is caught up in Jesus’ life and ministry and isn’t sure he belongs.  Jesus responds with by telling him not to be afraid and inviting him to “catch people.”  This last bit isn’t just a clever word play.  It’s a reference to the prophecy of Jeremiah 16:16, an oracle that is simultaneously hopeful and ominous.  Peter leaves everything to follow Jesus. 

 

“I know God really exists because I’ve met him,” I said, sharing about my encounters with God in scripture, in prayer, and in ministry.  Jesus has gotten into my world and has changed things.  Like Peter, I’m caught up, in Jesus’ life. He is not a set of ideas or a moral vision. He is a person who has upended and redirected everything. 

How has Jesus gotten into your daily life?  What is that like for you?  

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Lent Exercises: Give - Poverty, Generosity, and Life in God

I grew up working poor.  During the gas crisis in 1979 we converted the lawn of our small back yard into a vegetable garden.  We grew food and shared our produce with neighbors.  Despite being a small child, I could tell that our work was tethered to an anxiety.  Would there be enough? 

 

My sister resented the ways the inflation of the early 1980’s kept us on the outside of fashion.  (It’d be years before thrift stores were trendy.) While I sometimes envied friends on the street who had cool bikes or new toys, I also loved our family’s creativity.  Dad’s jigsaw made toy guns that were the envy of the neighborhood.  Milk crates and twine created some pretty cool forts.  Wood fires were fun to tend, especially learning to bank them to maximize heat.  

 

Dad started making money the same year mom left.  A bigger car was a small consolation for the chaos of a broken family.  On vacation, I missed sleeping in a work van that was converted into a camper with cardboard, foam, and sheer ingenuity.  

Maybe that’s why the story from Mark 10:17-27 has always struck me.  The ‘rich young ruler’ comes to Jesus asking for life.  Jesus points him to love God and his neighbor, by keeping the law.  When the young man shares that he’s done this, Jesus looks at him with love and says, “’You lack one thing; go, sell what you own, and give the money to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; then come, follow me.’ 22 When he heard this, he was shocked and went away grieving, for he had many possessions.”

I’ve never heard a preacher teach this passage of scripture without going to pains to explain how it’s ok to have possessions.  This always struck me as odd.  Possessions and wealth are the things that are keeping this, otherwise godly, man from life.  It’s as if we’re so afraid of the implications of this story that we feel a need to protect ourselves.  But what if it’s our wealth or our desire for wealth that is keeping us from life?  

 

There is a kind of poverty that is death.  When hunger, oppression, vulnerability, and danger overlap, the results are ugly.  In fact, Jesus seems concerned to alleviate this kind of poverty.  But there’s another kind of poverty, the kind that makes you dependent on your neighbors, the kind that unleashes creativity and craftsmanship, the kind that looks to God for daily bread.  I suspect we need this spiritual poverty more than we know.  

 

Why not practice almsgiving today?  Set aside $5 (or more if you want) to give to someone in need.  Slip it under a neighbor’s door.  Give it to a local food pantry or homeless shelter.  Buy a sandwich for someone in need.  Try giving something, for no other reason than because God is generous, and notice what happens in your soul.    

Lent Exercises: Smoke - Groaning in the Spirit

Smells are powerful memory triggers.  The smell of burning leaves or of pipe tobacco can bring a forty-year-old memory rushing forward.  So can the smell of incense.  

That year our family life had descended into chaos.  Our idyllic family façade was shattering.  We learned the smell of alcohol and attuned to signs of sudden outbursts.    

It was during this time that Walt Kelley decided to train my brother and I, as well as some of the other church kids, as acolytes.  This was a church boy’s dream.  Acolytes got to be up at the front of the church.  We got to carry lit candles and heavy crosses.  We got to be right at the center of the God stuff during communion.  

Walt Kelley’s acolyte club was a quiet and orderly place.  The only alcohol was kept for communion.  We learned to tie knots.  We learned the meaning of the slow liturgical dance we mirrored week to week.  We learned why there was always one candle burning in our church, and how to light, and extinguish, all the others.  

 

One day Walt took us to the cathedral.  We were there in rows, wrapped in cassocks, singing a hymn I don’t remember, when a man walked towards me with a smoking metal box.  His lips moved with an ancient prayer as he swung the box toward me.  My nose caught the sweet smoke, and for a moment that might have been an eternity, I found myself overwhelmed.  I was fully alert and yet utterly transfixed.  I was standing in a row, and yet somehow hovering overhead in the sweet aroma.  I’d never felt so secure and utterly terrified at the same moment before.  

Later I’d come to learn that incense has a long symbolic meaning in the Christian tradition.  Revelation uses incense as a symbol of the church’s prayer.  The sweet-smelling smoke that rises before God in this vision is no symbol of peace.  The prayers of the saints univocally cry out for justice in a world corrupted by bestial powers and suffering.  

 

I didn’t know how to pray in the chaotic and frightening family I found myself in.  For a few moments, the smell of incense and the ancient liturgy had prayed for me.  

It’s hard to pray today.  The soot and smoke of carpet bombing, and shelling fills the newsfeed.  Today a child, younger than I was in this memory, was pulled from rubble, a casualty of the cruel who masquerade as global leaders.  

I’m grateful for the smell of incense and the promise of Romans 8:26-27.

Likewise the Spirit helps us in our weakness; for we do not know how to pray as we ought, but that very Spirit intercedes with sighs too deep for words.  27  And God, who searches the heart, knows what is the mind of the Spirit, because the Spirit intercedes for the saints according to the will of God.

 

It’s no coincidence the smoking prayers of the church cry out for justice.  Perhaps, if we let ourselves, we can groan along with the Spirit as the smoke rises.  If we do, we just might find ourselves moved by the Spirit in ways we didn’t expect.  

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Lent Exercises: Come - The Deep Wisdom of the Table

“If you were God and you’d come to earth to show people what you were like, what would you do?”  This question brings to mind hundreds of conversations with students on campus.  Faces flash to mind.  The frat leader tilts back his head and smiles.  The nursing student’s eyes widen in surprise.  The president of the hip hop club nods slowly.  

“I’d tell people I was God,” a student says, sheepishly.  “Really,” I say, “there have been a lot of people who’ve said something like that.  How do you think it would go?”  

 

“No, you know what you should do,” a friend chimes in, “you should cure cancer, end war, and eliminate poverty.”  

“I can see why you’d do that,” I say. “What do you think keeps us from curing disease, ending war, and eliminating poverty?” 

 

Someone else chimes in, “It’s the bad people, you know the greedy, selfish, power hungry, colonialists who oppress others to get what they want.  If I were God, I’d get rid of them.”  

“Totally,” I agree.  “How would you know where to stop though?”  

“What do you mean,” she says.  

 

“Well, it seems like most people I know are pretty willing to step on others to get what they want.  If we took all the ‘bad people’ away, it seems to me there could be a vacuum and others, perhaps even you or me, might be tempted to step in and make others live how we want.  How would you know where to stop ‘getting rid’ of people?” 

 

I’m grateful God doesn’t act in the ways that seem most intuitive to us.  

 

Today’s reading is from Isaiah 55:1-13. The first verse says.  

 

Ho, everyone who thirsts,
    come to the waters;
and you that have no money,
    come, buy and eat!
Come, buy wine and milk
    without money and without price.

 

God’s announcement of space and place does not start with zapping the ‘bad’ people.  Nor does God’s announcement absolve human beings of responsibility for addressing the needs of the sick, poor, and oppressed.  Instead, God’s announcement of space and place begins with an invitation to come, eat, and drink.  There is a deep wisdom here.  

 

I experience something of this wisdom when I visit my mother-in-law.  “Did you eat?”  These will be her first words.  No matter how we answer, her next words will be, “kain na,” come eat.  This is an invitation, not into the task of fueling our bodies, but into a sacred space.  Time loses relevance.  We will sit, eating rice and fish with vinegar.  We will enjoy fruit or some other sweet.  At this table there is abundance.  At this table there is time.  At the table we make space to know and be known, to laugh and cry, to simply be present.  

 

I’m not sure if God is like my Filipina mother-in-law, or if my Filipina mother-in-law is like God.  (I suspect it’s both.). In a world that rushes to news, and to judgment, God says, “come eat.”  

Read Isaiah 55:1-13.  Imagine this invitation offered to you in love.  What emerges?  

 

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Lent Exercises: Seek - Wanting God's Life Without Limit

I was walking down Broadway with a lot on my mind.  I was in NYC for a set of interviews.  A few weeks before I’d come down for a set of auditions.  I stuffed my hands in my pockets as I walked past the open market that used to be on the west side of Columbus Circle.  

 

What would it mean to make an abrupt turn at this point in my career?  Was I making a mistake?  Was going into ministry career suicide?  

 

As I turned these questions over in my mind, I heard Luke 12:31 thundering in my skull.  “But rather seek ye the kingdom of God; and all these things shall be added unto you.”  The voice in my mind was not my own.  It was urgent, powerful, and beautiful.  

I made the career turn.

In Luke 12:22-34 Jesus invites his friends to believe that God cares more about providing for our needs than we do.  He prompts us to look at flowers, birds, and grass.  If God takes care of grass, birds, and flowers, why do we doubt God’s interest and ability to take care of us?  

If God’s posture towards us is love, we are free to love in response.  This is the foundation and principle of the Spiritual Exercises of St. Ignatius.  David Fleming translates Ignatius’ words this way. 

The goal of our life is to live with God forever. God, who loves us, gave us life. Our own response of love allows God’s life to flow into us without limit. 

All the things in this world are gifts of God, presented to us so that we can know God more easily and make a return of love more readily. 

As a result, we appreciate and use all these gifts of God insofar as they help us develop as loving persons. But if any of these gifts become the center of our lives, they displace God and so hinder our growth toward our goal. 

In everyday life, then, we must hold ourselves in balance before all of these created gifts insofar as we have a choice and are not bound by some obligation. We should not fix our desires on health or sickness, wealth or poverty, success or failure, a long life or a short one. For everything has the potential of calling forth in us a deeper response to our life in God. 

Our only desire and our one choice should be this: I want and I choose what better leads to God’s deepening his life in me. 

Imagine allowing God’s life to flow into us without limit.  What stirs in you?  

Are there things, loves, gifts, (a career ambition) that are displacing God’s life?  Can you imagine living in greater freedom?

 

Try this prayer: Loving God, I want, to want, more of your life in me.  Help me see, touch, taste, know, and choose what better leads to your life in me.  

 

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Lent Exercises: Father - Taking a Step Towards Trust

I used to do a monologue from a play called, “I never sang for my father,” by Robert Anderson.  It felt like it was written for me.  It’s a confessional piece full of abrupt endings.  “That night I left my father’s house forever… he never left… I could never learn what that emotion was… he died without even an orange in his hand…”.

I could relate to the staccato.  My relationship with my dad had been punctuated by quick turns and sometimes quicker hands.  The monologue gave me words to express and explore abandonment, rage, grief, desire, and disappointment.  Through it I had permission to speak of dad in the past tense.  I relished the thought.  Still, the ending line haunted me, “But still every time I hear the word, Father, it matters.”  

 

The word, father, still matters.  Everything I want for my daughters is evoked in those syllables.  When I offer direction, sponsorship, or support to young leaders, the word comes to mind.  

 

Today’s reflection comes from Psalm 103

 

As a father cares for his children, *
so does the Lord care for those who fear him.
14 For he himself knows whereof we are made; *
he remembers that we are but dust.
15 Our days are like the grass; *
we flourish like a flower of the field;
16 When the wind goes over it, it is gone, *
and its place shall know it no more.
17 But the merciful goodness of the Lord endures forever
on those who fear him, *
and his righteousness on children's children;

 

For someone who’s relationship with a father is strained, distant, or abusive, texts like this one can be difficult.  What do you do if the image of father, evokes traumatic memory, fear, or profound grief?  As we lean into the foundations of our Lent Exercises, you’re invited to re-imagine your image of father.  

 

Here are some things to notice as you reimagine God as father.  Notice that the Lord, as father, cares for his children.  This care for us is tied to God’s acceptance of our humanity.  We are dust.  Our days are like grass.  We are impermanent, limited, time bound creatures.  And yet, God’s mercy and goodness endures forever.  

 

What would it be like to be loved by a father who cared for you?  Just this week I sat on the phone and cried alongside one of my daughters as she worked through a disappointment.  Can you imagine God doing this?  Can you imagine a father who accepted your limitations, faults, and failures?  Can you imagine a father whose love will endure long past your accomplishments, or sense of responsibility?   

 

If you can, open your imagination and talk to God as though he is this kind of father.  What emerges?  

If you can’t, that’s ok.  Imagine one way God has cared for you.  Ask, that caring God to help you feel safe enough to trust God just a little bit more.  What emerges? 

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Lent Exercises: Rekindle - How to Deal With a Case of Spiritual "Yips"

For this reason I remind you to rekindle the gift of God that is within you… 2 Timothy 1:6

 

I’d never heard of “the yips,” before watching the first episode of Ted Lasso season two.  In this episode the joyous and talented Dani Rojas loses the ability to perform the most essential football (soccer) skills.  In true sitcom style, the challenge was introduced, dramatized, and resolved in less than an hour.  But it made me curious.  Are “the yips” a real condition?  How serious are they?  Is there a cure?  

 

It turns out that “the yips,” is a real condition.  It seems to be brought about by psychological factors.  Athletes suffering from “the yips,” lose the fine motor control they’ve spent years refining.  Treatment includes working through psychological barriers, and sometimes even includes re-learning basic fundamental skills.  

 

As I reflect on the spiritual life, it seems like all of us experience something like the yips.  A young woman I know recently went from a season of active ministry where she helped others work through doubt and disillusionment, to a season where she doubted God’s existence.  I’ve seen students awaken to life with God, only to drift back into spiritual slumber.  I’ve seen churches transition from hubs of spiritual vitality to powerless fractured communities with alarming precipitancy.  

 

It seems to me that the most typical (and least helpful) response to a spiritual case of, “the yips” is shame and blame.  Both shame and blame create a felt distance between us.  Shame turns us inward with feelings of inadequacy.  Blame turns us outward in resentment.  Neither help us to relearn or rekindle the skill or grace received.  

 

In 2 Timothy 1:1-12, Paul takes a very different approach.  Timothy is clearly experiencing a crisis of confidence, perhaps a spiritual equivalent of “the yips.”  Paul doesn’t blame Timothy for the challenges the church is facing.  He doesn’t blame himself for not being a better apostle.  Instead, Paul closes the distance.  In verse 2 Paul refers to Timothy as a beloved child.  In verse 3, Paul shares his prayers for Timothy.  Paul expresses joy at the idea of seeing Timothy again, and shares confidence in the faith Timothy has received.  

 

Paul then reminds Timothy to rekindle the gift he’s received from God.  Again, notice there is no shame or blame here.  Paul doesn’t say, “why did you let the gift fizzle out, or grow cold,” he simply asks Timothy to rekindle it.

 

The way we deal with “the yips” in the spiritual life is to rekindle the gift God has given.  Instead of withdrawing from God in shame, we’re invited to come close.  God is not surprised at our struggle.  God is not disappointed or angry.  Instead, we are invited to re-learn the ways of grace.  We rekindle God’s gift of faith when we turn toward God in prayer.  We rekindle God’s gift of faith, when we remember our identity as beloved children.  We rekindle God’s gift as we keep Lent together.  

What needs to be rekindled in your spiritual life?  

 

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Lent Exercises: Trumpet - A Call for Compassion and Integrity

 Tim wasn’t responding to my messages.  It was odd.  After all, Tim had been the one to reach out to me.  After seeing an early draft of my book, Tim suggested his colleagues might be interested in helping promote it.  Why wouldn’t he return my messages?  

 

Maybe Tim’s early enthusiasm had waned. Maybe his colleagues hated it. Was Tim avoiding me because he changed his mind?

These thoughts circled through my mind.  Several months passed.  Then the scandal broke.  The ministry Tim worked with was in the news.  Layer after layer corruption came to light.  Tim’s colleagues, I’d hoped would add credibility to my work, were exposed and discredited.  

 

Over the last few years, we’ve seen a number of high-profile scandals within Christian churches and ministries.  Closer to home, I’ve been close to a handful of church leaders and ministries that have imploded through misconduct, misuse of authority, or sexual misconduct.  

Each of these situations is heartbreaking.  Every scandal diminishes trust for the whole church, its ministers, and its message.  Mishandling of money, authority, or sex are obvious signs of spiritual malaise.  Today’s reading emphasizes a, perhaps, less visible scandal.    

 

Trumpet: Isaiah 58:1-12

The prophet Isaiah uses the image of a trumpet to call attention to a scandal.  

“Shout out, do not hold back!
    Lift up your voice like a trumpet!
Announce to my people their rebellion,
    to the house of Jacob their sins.”  

These verses invoke the ancient Jewish festival of trumpets.  The trumpets call the community back to God. They remind God’s people of Sinai, of the connection between God and people meant to be good news for everyone.  

 

These trumpet blasts are also confrontational.  They announce the community’s rebellion and sin.  God’s people have exploited workers for economic gain.  They have ignored the poor. They have used their religious practices, even their fasting, to obscure their injustice.  They pretend to be righteous, while ignoring vulnerable, shunning the poor, and enriching themselves.  

These are not just ancient problems. We too are quick to turn a blind eye to injustice. We too pretend to righteousness while ignoring our neighbors while seeking our own wealth. Too often our churches participate in consumer and celebrity culture uncritically.  

 

The point of this call is not to shame or discredit the community of faith. The point is to restore it.  God desires to saturate the common dust of our humanity and create a community of hope in the midst of a hostile world.  God does this so that everyone can see that it is possible for the invisible God to make himself visible through creatures of dust and spirit.  Injustice diminishes us.  Compassion toward the vulnerable shows the face of God.  

 

This Lent, consider almsgiving as a part of your fast.  Set aside a certain amount of money to give to vulnerable people (secretly if possible) as you remember God’s generosity.  

Give generously, like God, and you might experience his love more deeply.  

 

Lent Exercises: Dust - A Reflection for Ash Wednesday

“Remember that you are dust and to dust you shall return.”  On Ash Wednesday, I’ve said these words hundreds of times, placing a blackened finger to a forehead, and tracing the sign of a cross.  

Sometimes it’s deeply moving.  I remember looking into the eyes of a critically ill woman.  My voice broke.  “Remember that you are dust…”  The moment stretched between us.  Time slowed down.  And the two of us stared into each other’s eyes as though death itself stood between us.  I remember tracing ashes on a baby full of life’s promise.  “Remember that you are dust.”  

 

How did we get here?  

 

In the Christian origin story human beings are formed out of dust.  Genesis 2:7-8 says, “then the Lord God formed man from the dust of the ground and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life; and the man became a living being.”  In contrast to the creation story captured in the poem of Genesis 1, where God speaks creation into existence through big, powerful, words.  Here, we encounter the divine presence sitting in the mud.  After fashioning a ground creature, from the ground, the Lord God, kisses the breath of life into this creature, forming humanity. 

 

Origin stories, including this one, are designed to tell us who we are and how we’re meant to relate to the world around us.  Here, we are God kissed mud, fashioned by God, for God.  

 

“Remember that you are dust.” 

 

Such a reminder is not morbid or self-deprecating.  It is an invitation to remember that within the protein chains, chemical processes, and energy of your existence is an ancient and divine kiss.  We are not the random recombination of meaningless matter, rushing toward the carbon death of the universe.  We are living souls, made for connection.  

 

Restoring connection is what the theme of Ash Wednesday is all about.  The scripture readings come from Joel 2. 

 

 Yet even now, says the Lord,
    return to me with all your heart,
with fasting, with weeping, and with mourning;
  rend your hearts and not your clothing.
Return to the Lord, your God,
    for he is gracious and merciful,
slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love,
    and relents from punishing.

 

Return to the Lord.  This is not the call of a capricious and disappointed authority figure who can’t wait to punish.  It is the invitation of the divine figure with hands in the mud.  We are made for connection, with God, with one another, with our environment.  But we turn in on ourselves.  We turn our back on God.  We oppress, hurt, exploit, and kill others.  We turn our world into a gold mine in one direction and a waste dump in the other.  

 

Ash Wednesday we’re invited to remember.  We’re dust, simple creatures of mud, made for connection.  We’re returning to dust.  The empires we build will fall.  Return to the God who fashioned you.  Return to relationship.  Return to the source of life.  

 

Remember that you are dust. To dust you shall return.  

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