YOU CAN NEVER HAVE TOO MUCH JESUS

I was at Target the other morning (and if you think a good number of my Morning Prayer reflections seem to begin with a trip to Target—you are right—the life lessons a trip to Target provides).  I had a cart and a list and on that list was hand soap.  Found the aisle, found the shelves and there greeting me was empty shelf after empty shelf after empty shelf.

I stared at it for a minute.  Then I took a picture and sent it to a friend.  “Is there a pandemic going on that I’m not aware of?”

We all remember those first weeks of the Covid lockdown, when people everywhere suddenly realized that hand washing was important, and the shelves were empty.  My local Target brought all the bottled water and whatever Clorox wipes they had to the front of the store so that no one would fall and break their neck trying to outsprint their neighbors to the back of the store.

Those were crazy times.  Toilet paper shortages meant that bidet sales were suddenly through the roof.

As someone who lived in Florida for twenty-five years, I can tell you that the Covid shortages were not unlike the shortages we faced with hurricanes.

Scarcity happens when people are afraid and they hoard whatever they have.

This past Sunday, our gospel reading from Matthew told the story of the Canaanite woman who is desperate for Jesus to heal her daughter who is stricken with a demon. 

As Rev. Greg pointed out in his sermon, first Jesus ignores the woman, then He tells her He’s not there for her and then He says something which should make anyone who loves Jesus feel extremely uncomfortable.  He compares the woman to a dog saying it’s not fair to take the children’s food and give it to the dogs.

But the woman is persistent and tells Him that even the dogs are free to eat the crumbs that fall from the table.

At that, Jesus tells the woman He will help her.  “How great is your faith,” He says to her, and instantly her daughter is healed.  You see, when He ignored her, when He rebuffed her, He was purposely echoing what the woman had been told her whole life to set up the contrast with what He was offering.

Rev. Greg’s sermon made me think about scarcity in our world today.  How the idea that something is rare, or exclusive or scarce makes us want to hoard whatever we have and once we’ve done that, race into the world to gather up what we don’t have out of fear of missing out.

We are driven and manipulated by the idea of scarcity.

In today’s reading from John, we see Jesus feeding the five thousand.  Now, people generally view this story in one of two ways.  Either Jesus supernaturally created the food to feed the crowd, or people were motivated to put whatever they had with them in the baskets, and their goodwill and generosity is what fed the people.

I can tell you I am in the camp of this being a supernatural miracle.

But in the end, whatever you believe, the message turns out to be the same.

With Jesus there is abundance.  In John 10:10, Jesus says, “I came that they may have life, and have it abundantly.”

There is no scarcity with Jesus.

There is no reason to fear, no reason to hoard.  God provides and He provides it abundantly.

With the Canaanite woman, why would Jesus ever withhold His love and grace and healing from anyone?  He’s never going to run out of miracles.  He doesn’t have a limit.  There are no bounced checks with Jesus.  Jesus is the one who pays our debts.  He doesn’t go into debt.

He is the one in Ephesians 3:20 who can provide us with more than we can ever ask for or even imagine.

I keep thinking about my old church, when I made the decision to attend both Sunday services, but asked the pastor if it was okay to get communion twice and her response was, “You can never have too much Jesus.”

She said it again some years later, when a little boy loved the communion bread we used on Christmas Eve so much that he came back around so he could get seconds.

“You can never have too much Jesus,” Pastor Debbie said.

Jesus is abundance.

The first can be made last and the last made first because in the end everyone eats.

The shelves at Target the other day weren’t completely empty.  There were two bottles left.  I needed one, so I took one.  I left the other one there. 

Where in your life can you see God’s abundance?

Where in your life have you been tricked into believing in scarcity?

How might you live your life abundantly in the love of Jesus today?

Amen.

 

TRY NOT TO SNEEZE ON THE ELEVATOR

The other day, I was in the elevator when I noticed a woman hurrying to catch it just as the doors were beginning to close.  Quickly, I hit the open doors button and the woman squeezed in just in time.  She immediately turned to face the door and put her face into her elbow.

“Oh, you’re going to regret that,” she said to me, “because I’m about to sneeze.”

Yesterday I was working on updating the cover to my book Prayers in the Pandemic which I wrote during 2020, during lockdowns and quarantines, during mask-wearing and one-way aisles in the grocery store.  I wrote a prayer a day for many days and posted them on Facebook, hoping they might provide some comfort.

It’s been six years, but Covid and what happened in 2020 have changed our lives forever.  Not just in the self-checkout lanes that are ubiquitous now in every grocery store, not just in our children being attached to a screen everywhere from home to school and everywhere in between. 

Covid changed how we communicate with each other, in good ways and in bad.  In those early days of the lockdown, I shared a virtual lunch with a friend as she and I Facetimed each other and ate our lunches in front of each other.  At church, we took advantage of the beautiful Florida weather and gathered outside for Morning Prayer.  Every Tuesday, I met a friend of mine at her church, and we walked her church’s prayer labyrinth and prayed.  Somedays, I gathered with friends in the front yard of our former pastor’s house for fellowship, for communion, for reminders that God was indeed present everywhere.

But the truth is that Covid enabled the digital world to become the primary method of communication in the world.  Younger generations now date less, hang out with friends less.  They are content to just message each other on their phones.  There’s a certain safety there.

On Monday, I received my very first iron infusion.  It was not a private room.  And shortly after they brought me back and started to get me hooked up, they brought another woman, an older woman back for her infusion.  I don’t know what she was there for.  I’m always hesitant to ask in those situations because your health information should be private.  You shouldn’t feel like you need to share that.

We didn’t speak to each other at first, even after the nurses left us and the only reason we wound up speaking at all was because when the nurse came in to hook me up to my bag of iron, the bag of iron looked like blood.  It looked like I was getting a blood transfusion and so I commented to the nurse about that and when he left, the other patient spoke up commenting on my blood-colored medicine.  And so I wound up sharing a bit of my story.

Since it was my first infusion, she gave me some tips—she told me not to be afraid to tell them you needed to use the restroom.  And I was a little afraid because the way you communicated that you needed help with something was to ring a little bell they gave you, like I was some kind of Downton Abbey dowager summoning the servants.

In today’s reading, Jesus encounters a Samaritan woman at the well.  It’s a story we are all probably familiar with.  Jesus asks the woman for some water.  She comments on how their two people are not on exactly water-getting terms.  Jesus mentions the living water he can give her.  The woman totally misses the point and scoffs telling Him, “You don’t even have a bucket.”

Here is the interesting thing about the gospels.  Virtually every story is an encounter story.  We see little of Jesus’ interior life, His thoughts, His hopes, His doubts.  We see a little bit of it at Gethsemane.  We are told sometimes that Jesus went off by Himself to pray.  I call Jesus the extroverted introvert.  He loves people, but He needs time to recharge alone.  But most of what happens with Jesus happens in conversation. 

And it’s why His words on the cross, “My God, my God why have You forsaken me?” are so devastating.  He is, in the end, alone, but that’s a sermon for another day given by someone far more knowledgeable about the context and the meaning of those words.

But today’s reading is about encounter.  And it only happens because the Samaritan woman is at the well at the wrong time.  She is there in the heat of the day.  It’s the worst possible time to go get water.  But she chooses that time because she hopes she will be alone.  She is a pariah because of her fluid relationships with men.  And she’s tired of it.  She’s tired of the judgement and gossip and the hate.

So she comes to the well to get water and instead finds there is a Jewish man already there waiting for her.

She might have turned around, but she needed the water.

She did not need conversation, but Jesus spoke anyway.

And note this—He didn’t start by declaring Himself the Messiah and sermonizing.

He began with small talk.  “Could I have some water?”

And that small talk opened a door so wide, that the Samaritan woman abandoned her water, and ran off back to town, back to the people who ridiculed her and became an evangelist.

I personally am horrible at small talk.  When I would visit people in the hospital as a chaplain.  I knew I couldn’t just walk into a stranger’s room and lead with, “So, what shall we pray for today?”  I knew I needed to make small talk, ask them why they were there, who was there with them, who they had at home, what kind of community they could expect to help them. 

It was not easy for me.  My first question was “What brought you to the hospital,” and after multiple people answered with a grin, “the ambulance,” I reworded that question.

It is not necessary for us to have a spiritual epiphany with every stranger we meet on the elevator, but I do think that engaging with people, encountering people in their moment, can open the doors where spiritual epiphanies can happen, not just for the strangers we speak to but for us.  I can’t tell you the number of times God has appeared to me as a stranger.

So this reflection this morning is one for me too.  I’m asking you to do something, but I’m reminding myself that I need to do it more, to engage more, to not be afraid to share the same breath with people even if they have just walked into your elevator and sneezed.

Amen.

 

 

COME AND SEE

Come and see, 

I have great hope

this morning,

 

after all the sun rose,

didn’t it?

 

And I got out of bed,

with a little groan,

with an “ugh”

and a sigh,

 

because this is the language

of middle-age, right?

 

And how I got out of bed,

with a roll and a twist

and a hand grabbing

my back;

 

this is the dance

of middle-age, isn’t it?

 

Come closer.

Listen carefully.

 

Because I want you to see

the hope that every day

brings to me,

 

even on the days,

when I have to mow

the lawn,

 

how even when the wet grass

clogs the mower,

 

and I speak

the language

of middle-age

 

and dance the dance,

squatting down to

scoop and toss

the wet green clumps,

aside, how even then,

 

I relish that smell

of grass, that clean smell,

that earthy smell, that

Genesis 1-third-day-

of-creation smell.

 

And when I head inside,

and grab the edge

of the countertop

and stretch out my back,

I am not just doing

some strange yoga pose,

 

I am bowing.

This is called

middle-age prayer.

 

And oh the stretch is good,

and oh the prayer is answered.

 

Outside the house finch

that fled her nest

while I mowed,

 

has returned, nestled

down into her spot

and started singing

to her eggs.

 

This is the language of birds,

the anthem of all flying creatures,

of angels even, dare I say,

of anything that speaks or sings

from soul to soul.

 

Come and see.

God is good, today.

God is good, every day.

 

God is good to me.

I woke up.

I let my spirit feast,

 

as I sat down to write

these words.

 

Come and see.

Where will you see

God today?

 

Amen.