As my children used to say when they were younger:  “You snooze, you lose.”   Although in the parable of the Ten Bridesmaids (also ‘Virgins’) it wasn’t sleeping that made half of them miss the Bridegroom’s arrival, it was the fact that the foolish ones left to go purchase oil for their lamps.  They weren’t around when the Bridegroom arrived, they were off on a fool’s errand.

Now I know that many faithful people have understood this parable to be a rebuke of foolish people who don’t have enough of the Holy Spirit (oil) or who are not prepared for the coming of Christ and, therefore, are not ‘saved.’  You snooze, you lose.  It’s their own fault those foolish bridesmaids missed the arrival of the Bridegroom.

It seems to me, however, that the foolish act was to listen to the “wise” bridesmaids and leave (in the dark?) to go and attempt to purchase oil.  What if the “foolish” had stayed in the light of the other five?  One imagines the shame they may have felt failing to bring enough oil. Foolish, yes, but what if they had stayed there with the others–the wise?  What if they had stayed; feeling ashamed, unworthy and a failure,  standing on the edge of the light  coming from the other’s lamps, but hoping in their darkness for the forgiveness and mercy of the bridegroom–the Lord of Light?   Those “foolish” bridesmaids would have been there to greet him and to stand in the radiance of his good news.

That doesn’t seem foolish to me

Last Sunday we were reminded that it is Christ who makes Saints–it is Christ alone who hallows the wise and the foolish. There is no Saint who would say they earned their holy status.  Instead, a saint would likely say that they were living for and with Christ and trusting only in His love, mercy, and grace.   Saints are fools for Christ (see I Corinthians 4).  To be wise, as I see it, is to bear the light of Christ, to bring others to stand in the light of Christ, to share the light of Christ even with fools.

I know what I’ve written doesn’t seem to fit the parable of the Ten Bridesmaids or a more traditional interpretation of its meaning.  I understand that human hearts sometimes want us to say: “you snooze, you lose.”   Perhaps I’m being foolish.   “But you are the light of the world–like a city on a hilltop that cannot be hid.  No one lights a lamp and then puts under a basket.  Instead, a lamp is placed on a stand where it gives light to everyone in the house.   In the same way, let your light shine before others, that they may see your good deeds glorify your Father in heaven [and come to see and know the Bridegroom of life and light: Jesus Christ our Lord].” (see Matthew 5:14-16)

It is the wise thing to do.

Perhaps it is just how I am wired, but when I read this text the word ‘second’ leaves me thinking that Jesus is talking about two laws.  The first and greatest is to love God.  The second, and, therefore, in my mind, subordinate, is to love my neighbor as myself.

Both important. Both great.  But I always want to think of the first one Jesus mentions as the greatest and the second as somehow not quite as important.  Afterall, in my human heart, like all other human hearts, well-trained in assigning values to things and measuring the importance of things, there can only be one greatest thing.  In this case that is to love God, and then love my neighbor as myself.

Depending on your translation, the text also seems to support this notion of the second law being, well, secondary.  Many translations of this text read:  “The second is like it.”  But notice the subtle difference in the updated NRSV translation that I have used above.  The article ‘the’ does not appear.  It reads simply, “a second is like it.”

Not second greatest, but a second that is greatest like the first.

Like it or not, loving God with all your heart and soul and mind IS the same as loving your neighbor as yourself.  You cannot do either one separately!  They are indistinguishable in practice.  The first is the second and the second is the first.  This is the greatest commandment of all.

To love God is to love your neighbor is to love God.  The greatest challenge in all of this, however, may be loving yourself the way God loves you.

Things didn’t go so well for that friend after that.  The party was over for him.  The king had him thrown out to the outer darkness where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth.

Pretty harsh treatment for not wearing the right outfit to a wedding banquet.

We don’t know what the man was wearing.  Maybe he was dressed to the nines and prepared to make a big splash on the red carpet at the King’s wedding banquet for his son.  Perhaps that was his big mistake.  He thought he had it covered–his own outfit was all he needed.

What he needed, however, was a tailor.

God’s invitation to the great wedding banquet of Jesus is vast and generous.  It is even a come as you are invitation.  You can’t earn it.  You can’t dress for it.  Those with the finest attire–those clothed in some perceived sense of righteousness and self-worth, are invited just the same as those clothed in the humble habit of sin and shame. The Lord’s wedding banquet is an invitation to all.

But while the invitation is broad, attendance means transformation, and that requires wearing the clothes that only the Tailor of new life and salvation can provide.  We cannot fashion ourselves as worthy or dress ourselves for success in the kingdom of God.  Only God can do that.  And thank God we have been given the perfect robe that fits us all:  Jesus.

“Just as I am: thou wilt receive; wilt welcome, pardon, cleanse, relieve, because thy promise I believe, O Lamb of God, I come, I come..”  (Hymn 693)

My guess is that anyone who has had some experience with children has encountered the dreaded accusation that they are being treated unfairly because a sibling received a share in a reward that wasn’t earned or, according to the accuser, wasn’t deserved.  If my memory serves me, I think forms of this cry of injustice were the first conflicts between my children.  Certainly it is a conflict as old as Cain and Abel.  Whether or not our measure of rewards and worth is part of our DNA–something we are born with that serves our personal survival, we are certainly brought up to understand that rewards are earned.  It is at the heart of our economic systems.

The full-day laborers in Jesus’ parable of the “Workers in the Vineyard” argue from this very position.  ‘We worked all day in the scorching heat and you pay those who worked only an hour equal to us?  That’s an outrage!  Completely unfair.  They did not earn that reward.  If you pay them that, we should get more.  We earned it.’

But the parable of the “Workers in the Vineyard” is not a lesson on incentive economics and scarcity models. It is, instead, a lesson on the economics of God’s love which simply and thankfully does NOT follow market principles or scarcity models. God’s love makes no sense to human self-interested notions of what is deserved and what is earned.  God is generous beyond human measure in all things, especially love.

When I was in seminary, I participated in a retreat where Bishop Frank Griswold was a guest speaker (this was before he was elected Presiding Bishop).  In one of his reflections, Bp. Griswold described God’s love as “profligate and irresponsible.”  Those words struck me as bracing at first.  How dare anyone describe God as irresponsible, let alone profligate?  But on further reflection, Bp. Griswold’s point is true.  By all human measures it seems irresponsible to give so freely and not count the cost or scale the reward according to what is earned.  God’s love is profligate–wildly extravagant.

God’s love is NOT fair!

Not by human measure.  It is given, not earned.  Thanks be to God

Forgiveness, both the need for forgiveness and the need to forgive another, is one of the universal spiritual struggles of life.  It has been the most common question I have been asked over the years of my ordained ministry.

“How can I forgive this person?”  “How do I forgive myself”  “I can’t forgive because what was done was so wrong.”  “How can I forgive someone who doesn’t want to be forgiven, who doesn’t care/”

All very difficult questions.

One of the greatest challenges to forgiveness is that we often look for it to bring closure or healing to our injuries.  Forgive, forget, move on.  As my friend, bishop Jake Owensby has described it, we look at forgiveness like a toggle switch–flip it and you’re done.

It has been my experience that forgiveness doesn’t work that way.  It is a process not a moment.  It takes more time and spiritual effort than we can imagine.  It can be very hard work when scars remain that remind us of wounds to body or soul.

Forgiveness can be even more difficult when the person we need to forgive is ourselves.

Forgiveness is not about letting someone off the hook, making excuses for others, or accepting that somehow you deserved what was done or you that you are wrong to feel wounded.  Without honesty, accountability, and some manner of restorative justice–the hard work of reconciliation, forgiveness is incomplete.  But it is the start: a start that prevents us from drinking the poison of our own bitterness and resentment that serves only to erode our own spirit.

Forgiveness is a growth process.  It can take a lifetime–seventy times seven.  God knows we struggle to forgive as we have been forgiven.  For this reason, Jesus died for us on the cross.

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There are gaps in this world: spaces between people that define identities, that determine who is in one’s group and who is outside, boundaries and borders that predicate our obligations to others, that define our relationships.   Cultural, political, socio-economic, religious, even physical walls reinforce or maintain these gaps we create.

These gaps we create.

While these gaps are the work of human hearts, it is almost certain that the same human hearts believe that the gaps are the work of God.  And God is always on the right side of the gap!  Which is to say that God is always on MY  side of the gap.  We hold this to be true even if at some deeper level it is inconsistent with what we believe about God’s universal love for the world.  Nevertheless, with God on our side of the gap we justify our prejudice, our disdain, our judgment, our exclusion, our denial of even the recognition of our common humanity with those on the other side–on the margins.  Surely, God, I have no obligation to those who you have forsaken beyond the borders of my faith, where we, you and I, dwell in the security of our righteousness.

“Just then a Canaanite woman from that region came out and started shouting, “Have mercy on me, Lord, Son of David; my daughter is tormented by a demon.”  -Matthew 15:22

A Canaanite woman:  from the other side of the gap.  An outsider despite her being from that region.  No name, no standing, not worthy of compassion, not worthy of the disciples time.  Not worthy even of Jesus’ attention–a dog beyond the gap.

But she would not accept that gap.  Despite the walls established to define her, to separate her, to forsake her and her daughter from being seen, she would make even the Son of God see shared humanity, common human suffering and need, human desperation and love across the gap.

And when the gaps we create are bridged, we see not how our constructed identities and walls prohibit us from doing what is just and right in loving service to another, but reveals how we are obligated to each other through our common humanity and identity in God–the God who creates no gaps, only perfect unity,

Who are the Canaanite women on the other side of your gaps?  How will your faith in the God of perfect unity make you a bridge of love and service?

 -Mark 14:25

Patricia and I are back from family vacation on Sodus Bay in New York. It was a delightful time. Our days were filled with joy, laughter and even a bit of adventure. Certainly the highlight was all the time we had to visit with granddaughter, Piper, who is now 16 months old and developing quite a personality and vocabulary.

One of her words is “boat,”which pleases me greatly. For not only does she like to point at and name boats, she loves to ride in them, too. “Boat!” Yes, Piper, that’s the boat. Let’s go for a ride.”

Whether it is Sodus Bay; Lake Ontario; the Yukon River; The Tanana; Kachemak Bay; the Lynn Canal; or the Chena I’ve always found my time on the water to be a retreat. Sacred time. Refreshing time.

As the River Rat, a character in one of my favorite books, “The Wind in the Willows,” said to his friend Mole: “There is nothing—absolutely nothing—half so much worth doing as simply messing about in boats.”

It has never surprised me how many extraordinary stories of the disciples encounters with Jesus happen in boats. In calm or storm I, too, have met the Holy One, Jesus, on the water.

It is a blessing to have met him again in a boat, on retreat, with my family, with my granddaughter on the shoulders of Silvery Waters.

I’m in Juneau this weekend to participate in Holy Trinity’s Mortgage Burning Ceremony and Consecration of the Church Building (overlooking the Gastineau Channel appropriately enough—more water).

Coming up is the Standing Committee Face to Face meeting, and then visits to Eagle, Arctic Village, and Pt. Hope.

If you get a chance, get out and mess around (SAFELY!) in a boat.

In high school I worked as a groundskeeper on a family owned and operated golf course.  The owner’s son and I were mostly responsible for keeping the course well groomed, the greens in good shape, and the sand traps well raked.  On occasion, however, we were tasked with weeding the flower beds and boxes that adorned some of the tees and the Clubhouse.   It would be an understatement to say that weeding wasn’t one of my boss’s favorite tasks.  His approach to weeding gardens and flower boxes was to get it done as quickly as possible.  “All we have to do is make it look good for my sister,” he would say.   And he offered two axioms to guide our work:  The First:  “If in doubt, pull it out.”  The second was like unto the first:  “If it don’t look right, yank it out of sight.”  One thing was certain, we could weed a bed of flowers in record time and have the gardens looking “perfect”–well pleasing in his sister’s sight,  in short order.

At least that’s how we saw it.

There’s no telling how much innocent chlorophyll stained our hands.

Weeding can be a dangerous activity: an exercise of judgement, bias, control; a violence against what one sees as out of place or unknown; things unrecognized or believed to be wrong.   Perhaps this is why Jesus suggests that weeding be left to angels–to himself, the master gardener.  Let the business of growing and bearing fruit be ours, the work of weeding be left to divine love.

I am taking the next two weeks away from the Diocese to nurture the garden in my own soul.  Patricia and I are traveling to Rochester and Sodus Bay in NY to spend time with my children and our granddaughter, Piper, who is now 17 months old. We are also looking forward to spending time with my parents. We haven’t been together since Christmas.   While it might not necessarily be a “quiet” time away, we know it will be peaceful, refreshing, joyful and bear much fruit.