Category: Religious

The following meditation is by Dr. Bruce Main, Founder & Executive Director of Urban Promise. It will appear in the forthcoming book, A Month of Prayer & Gratitude: Five-Minute Meditations for a Deeper Experience of Gratitude.

“They are polar opposites,” shared my host. We had just finished discussing his intentions for the retreat I was about to lead. Now he wanted to talk about his family. “One is loving, outward focused, a joy to be around. The other is so self-centered and drains the life of us whenever she’s around.” I glanced at the clock on the wall. It was creeping close to 11 pm and I was beginning to feel the effects of a long day of travel. “Another cup of coffee?” he poured without waiting for a response. I could tell this conversation was not ending anytime soon.

“Why do people age so differently?” posed my new friend. A professor at a small Liberal Arts college, he was sharing some of the challenges he and his wife were facing with aging parents. “My mother-in-law is a piece of work,” he continued. “And she’s robbing the joy and life out of my wife. Everything is a crisis. Everything is about her and about making her life better. I mean, the things she’s complaining about are so petty. Fortunately, she lives three hours away from us. But she’s talking about moving close. That would be a disaster.”

“Tell me about your mother,” I beckoned. “Completely opposite,” he began. “To give you an example, she has eleven grandchildren. Each grandchild has gone through college.” He paused for a minute and took another swig of coffee. “This is remarkable,” he chuckled. “While in college, she would write to each grandchild, every week, and enclose $5. That’s a lot of notes. That’s a lot of $5 bills. That’s a lot of stamps. Every grandchild talks about their grandmother with such fondness,” he concluded. “They call her all the time. They check in on her. They give her credit for helping them through tough times.”

“You are the light of the world,” says Jesus at the conclusion of his most famous sermon we know as the beatitudes. To a Jewish listener, these words would have been unsettling. After all, the Torah was the light. Jerusalem was the light. God was the light. This truth was affirmed through the prophets and Old Testament. But Jesus flips the script and reminds his listeners—you carry the light of God. And we all know that light gives life. Only with light can living things grow and flourish. Receive God’s light. Reflect God’s light through your acts of love, gratitude, and generosity. The world needs you.

Joy,

On February 14, 1990, some 3.7 billion miles away from Earth in the great cosmic dark, a small, humble construction of math and metal spun itself around to gaze back upon the world from which it came. Using the last of its dwindling power, it steadied itself, snapped a photograph, transmitted it, then silently continued its eternal journey far, far beyond our solar system. The photograph shows a field of black streaked with thin bands of dull, faded color like some ghostly rainbow. There, near the middle of the band furthest to the right of the image, is a tiny speck less than a pixel in size. This speck, this microscopic mite of brilliance amid the darkness of space, is none other than our planet, our interstellar home.

Nicknamed the “Pale Blue Dot” photo, this image taken by the Voyager 1 space probe is one of the most moving and famous in the history of cosmic exploration. A few years later, American astronomer Carl Sagan published a book by the same name in which he reflected on the photograph with a poetry and reverence usually reserved for the greatest works of art. Juxtaposing the presumed self-importance of its people with the planet’s insignificance within the grand scope of the universe, Sagan gently, almost lovingly, chastises readers to abandon the idea that anything—or anyone—might be coming to save us from ourselves. It’s our planet, Sagan insists; we alone can save it and us from ourselves.

Sagan, of course, isn’t wrong. Where once humanity believed our planet to be the center of the universe—both literally and figuratively—advances in science have proven that we are indeed a fleck of a fleck of a fleck in the grand scheme of creation. However, this need not mean people of faith are wrong for putting their trust in a God who craves a direct, personal relationship with each of us. If anything, religion gives not a different answer but an additional perspective on humanity’s place among the stars. We may be tiny, the great religions explain, but that makes us no less important in the eyes of the eternal. We see this reflected in the Bible where the prophets and poets of old stared into the night sky much like Sagan would millennia later and saw not proof of God’s absence but evidence of God’s majestic power. It was with the same hand that scooped and shaped the dust of Eden into the first humans that God sculpted the infinite galaxies and nebula. The same God who, with a word, brought forth Something out of Nothing, wove each of us in our mothers’ womb and called us by name. What is our worth as a species, the Bible asks? “Only slightly less than divine,” the Psalmist answers.

I write all of this because, at this moment in time, the state of our Pale Blue Dot seems tragically precarious. Wars are raging, economies threaten collapse, our environment gets sicker by the day, and more and more people are surrendering themselves to despair. Perhaps what many of us lack is perspective. Maybe we should, like Sagan and the Psalmist before him, remember that we are small but infinitely precious pieces of a larger whole. But if not even a sparrow falls without God’s knowledge, how much more does God pay attention to the problems and fears, hopes and uncertainties, of those who call God’s mighty name?

Joy,

We are all living a deeply entangled, complex life. As complexity increases, so does our exhaustion. We run faster, master complex planning calendars that were designed to make life less cumbersome, and come to the end of many days feeling that we have been defeated. Present is a growing nostalgia for a simpler world—a desire for a plainer, clearer path forward. This general desire includes the spiritual realm. The hope is that the church would provide a rediscovery of God, a reclaiming of God’s strength for daily living, and direction for a larger purpose to which we may attach our lives. Unfortunately, what many find are cumbersome requirements for membership and multiple invitations to serve on committees that multiply our exhaustion. With church participation, we discover that there are now more oars in the water that requires our attention.

How can we return to a simpler time? Jesus is instructive. Notice that Jesus does not invite people to register for a six-week new member class. Jesus does not make committee assignments. Jesus does not examine doctrinal purity or demand conformity to creedal statements. Jesus quite simply asks that we follow him. To follow Jesus is to share life with Jesus in the fullest sense: to go where he goes, to listen to what he taught, and to participate in practices and disciplines that were important to him. An invitation to follow is the suggestion that there is something of value to be found. Naturally, to accept such an invitation begins with an acknowledgment that the present life isn’t working anymore. Unless we really believe that another approach to life is required, we will continue trying to make the present one work.

The one other thing that Jesus asks for is a posture of humility, a desire to learn, and a willingness to participate in Jesus’ work: “and I’ll show you how to fish for people.” All the work of Jesus is about one thing—looking for those who have wandered far from God and bringing them back home to the Father. As with any great work, there are multiple functions that must be accomplished. None of us are asked—or equipped—to do them all. Some of us are to be teachers, some will show hospitality, and others will be administrators, caregivers, and evangelists. Others will provide care and comfort to the broken. The various jobs to be done are many. But one goal remains: “to fish for people” so that they may return to God. Jesus will show us the way.

None of this suggests that boards and committees are without value to Jesus. Leadership boards must be populated with those who have demonstrated the capacity to respond to the promptings of God, to show people where Jesus is moving and call them to follow. Committees provide a responsible means for organizing a great workforce for accomplishing all that Jesus seeks to do in a particular community. But, in this over-complicated world, the church must not add unnecessary complexity to the simple call of Jesus to follow him and to participate with him in his grand redemptive purposes: a cup of cold water to the thirsty, a helping hand on the roadside, an encouraging word softly spoken. These are all within our reach. Nor are we called to carry the whole world on our backs. Our chief function is to point to the one who does, Jesus Christ. That is the Gospel, plain and simple.

Joy,

Many of us have a bucket list—a list of experiences we would cherish before death. They require no explanation to others, no defense. They are deeply personal. Further, an explanation may reduce the depth, color, and richness of personal meaning. Most people recognize that what is experienced deeply can rarely be expressed with words. Words are useful for the communication of thought. They are less useful for conveying deeply held emotions, feelings, and convictions. A strong writer can approach this depth of meaning better than most. But always, words have a reducing effect. Permit me to simply state that high on my bucket list are three experiences I would value: a cameo appearance in a stage production of the musical RENT, a balloon handler in the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade, and sharing a cappuccino with David Hyde Pierce.

Some will remember that David Hyde Pierce played the character of Niles Crane on the popular television series, Frasier. On three occasions I have enjoyed David Hyde Pierce on a Broadway stage: Spamalot, Curtains, and Vanya and Sonia and Masha and Spike. If I were to have an occasion to have a private conversation with Pierce over coffee my first question to him would be, “What makes you cry?” An answer to that question often points to deeply held convictions; points to those values, struggles, and principles that grip our hearts. Again, words are limiting. But they can point another in the right direction. An answer to the question, “What makes you cry?” provides a window into the depths of another’s soul.

Naturally, tears come in a rich variety. A powerful conviction of truth draws tears to my eyes every time. I simply cannot read in Luke’s Gospel the story of Simeon taking the infant Jesus in his arms without my chest becoming heavy and tears forming in my eyes. Here, Simeon recognizes this child as God’s salvation. This is a story that reaches beyond the descriptive; it is evocative. In faith, Simeon sees God’s decisive hand in the unfolding drama of human history. Grief is another variety of tears. Old Testament teacher, Walter Brueggemann helps us with understanding this passage from the Psalms. Here is a confidence that God has kept, treasured, and preserved “my tears”; that is, all the pain and suffering that the psalmist has experienced. “God is the great rememberer who treasures pain so that the psalmist is free to move beyond that pain.”[1]

There is an ancient Jewish practice that provides care in times of misery and grief. A small bottle is provided to collect the tears of anguish and loss. The top of the bottle has a small hole in it that would allow those tears to evaporate over time. When the bottle is completely dry, the time for grieving is over. The Psalmist wants us to know that God has a bottle with our name on it. When tears of grief flow, God collects them in that bottle. This is how seriously God takes our grief; how God honors and shares in our loss. But there is a small hole in the top of that bottle. Over time the tears will evaporate. When the bottle is dry, and our eyes are clear, we see that God remains. And God redirects our eyes to tomorrow.

Joy,

[1] Brueggemann, Walter, and William H. Bellinger, Jr., Psalms: New Cambridge Bible Commentary, New York: Cambridge University Press, 2018, 254.