At that time Jesus said, “I
thank you, Father, Lord of heaven and earth, because you have hidden these
things from the wise and the intelligent and have revealed them to infants.” --Matthew 11:25
Every
time I started to preach, the infant three rows back started to babble. Not cry.
Not scream. Babble. Baby talk.
“Sometimes her sermon is better than yours.” The mother teased. Or was she?
I
have spent the majority of my ministry in college and university settings
surrounded by the “wise and intelligent” and those aspiring to be. I like academic communities. I love the life of the mind. I enjoy scholarship, research and
reflection. I was perfectly “wired” for
the ministry I was doing. To this day I immediately
feel comfortable the minute I walk onto a college campus.
But,
it wasn’t in the halls of the academy where I learned my deepest lessons of
faith. I learned them in subsistence Mayan
villages in Guatemala, from herders in the bush of Tanzania, from my friends
George and Elizabeth in my internship congregation who had literally nothing by
the world’s standards but were two of the richest people I have ever
known. I have learned some of my deepest
lessons of faith in moments when wisdom and intelligence simply failed me. Weeping with parents who lost a child. Eating
a meal with a homeless drifter who radiated with the presence of Christ. Sharing Holy Communion with an elderly couple
separated by the ravages of dementia, yet still bound by an unshakable love for
one another. Frequently, I have learned
more about who God is from people outside the church than those inside it.
I
weary of all the people in the world who seem to think they know something
when, in reality, they do not. People
who claim to have all wisdom and understanding and think it’s their business to
point out everyone else’s failures, faults and foolishness. People who think they know the mind of
Christ, but don’t seem to understand Jesus’ heart. The resulting diatribe does not deepen the
faith, but deepens the ever growing divisions among us. I lament when those kind of thoughts cloud my
head or worse, spill from my mouth or keyboard. What we think is wisdom and
intelligence can leave us fools.
I
have spent a lifetime learning how to push the locus of my faith from my head
to my heart. I still have a lot to
learn. And unlearn. Yes, and sometimes the grace of God in Jesus
Christ leaves me babbling, speechless, and
as silent as a newborn cradled in a parent’s loving arms.
Peace,
Bishop
Mike
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