A matter of love - Luke 7:36-50

February 19, 2017

            OK.  Once more with feeling…

            Begin to settle into your seat.  You may want to have your feet flat on the floor.  You may want to let your hands rest comfortably in your lap.  You may want to close your eyes.  Or not.  Sit upright, but relaxed.

            Now bring your attention to your breathing – at the nose, the chest, or the belly.  Observe the in-breath, the pause, the out-breath, the pause, just as they are.

            Now check-in with your body – the toes, the feet, the ankles, the shins and calves, the knees and thighs and ham-strings.  Just look.  Yogi Berra once said, “You can see a lot just by looking.”  So just look.

What do you see?  What sensations are you feeling?  Or are you not feeling anything in particular?  Notice that.  Now the hips, the lower back, the belly, the upper back, the chest.  Just notice what you are sensing. There’s no need to change anything.  No need to label anything.  Just look.

Now the shoulders and neck, the back of the head, the top of the head, the face, around the eyes and down the jaw.  And come back to your breath.

            Now check in with your mind – the ever-thinking mind – thoughts coming and thoughts going.  There’s no need to change anything, no need to create anything, no need to make anything happen.  Just observe.  Just look.  Let your breath give you a place to stand, a vantage point on your thinking, so you can observe without reacting.  And when you do react, observe that.  And when you get lost in thought – which all of us do – gently let go, gently return, and gently start again.

            So, come back to your breath, come back to your body in the pew, come back to your presence in this room, and invite you to open your eyes.

            Now that you’ve opened your eyes, look around.  I’d like you to try and find something you’ve never seen before.  It will be easier, of course, if this is your first time here.  Even so, you’ve been here for 20 or 30 minutes. What have you missed?

            It will be more difficult if you’ve been coming to church here since 1974.  But perhaps there’s an electrical outlet you’ve never paid attention to before.  Or perhaps the carpet has become worn in a particular place.  Or maybe the early morning February sun shines through the windows with its own particular light.

            Or maybe there is someone you haven’t seen before.  Or maybe they’re not sitting in their usual pew.  Or maybe the clothing they are wearing you haven’t noticed before.

            Whatever it is, look around and see if you can find something you’ve never seen before.

            Finally, what was that like?  Did you find something you had never seen before?  Did you look at the room or at others in slightly different way?  And did you learn anything about yourself – in virtue of what you had not noticed before, but now have seen?

            We are rarely aware of it, but our minds are great filters.  We filter out most of what we encounter every day, simply as an energy saving measure.  Our brains are constantly working to save energy, to cut corners, to label things and then to store them away, rather than keep thinking about them.

            We do this with people, too.  A friend of mine recently said, “The brain is a great profiling machine.”  This is how our brains work because it’s how our brains were programmed.  All these energy saving measures are part of the reason why our species has not only survived, but thrived.  Nevertheless, there are times when that labeling, that profiling, that ignoring of information, gets us into trouble.  It gets us into trouble when it cuts us off from others and draws us into self-centeredness.

            Jesus understood this.  He was invited to a Pharisee’s house for dinner.  While he was reclining at table, an uninvited, unnamed woman from the street (if you get my drift) came in and knelt at his feet.  She was weeping.  With her tears she washed his feet.  With her hair, she dried his feet.  She covered his feet with her kisses and she took some very expensive ointment.

            The host thought to himself, “If this man really were a prophet, he would know what kind of woman this is and he would have nothing to do with her, because she is a sinner!”

            Then Jesus, knowing what he was thinking, said “Simon, I have something to tell you.”

“Speak, teacher,” Simon responded.

Jesus told him a parable.  “Two men were in debt to a banker.  One owed five hundred silver coins, the other fifty.  Neither could pay up so he forgave them both.  Which do you think will love him more?”

            “I suppose the one who was forgiven the most.”

            “Bingo!” said Jesus. (That’s a loose translation.)

            Then he went on.  “Do you see this woman?  When I came to your home, you provided no water so I could wash my feet.  She has washed my feet with her tears and dried them with her hair.  You gave me no greeting, but she has not stopped kissing my feet.  You gave me nothing to freshen up, but she has drenched my feet with perfume.  Her sins which are many have been forgiven, and so she is very grateful.  She is very loving.  If the forgiveness is minimal, the love is minimal.”

            Then he turned to her and said, “Your sins are forgiven.”

            The guests were scandalized.  But Jesus said to the woman, “Your faith has saved you.  Go in peace.”

            Do you see this woman?  Simon saw her, but he didn’t see her.  He labeled her. He profiled her.  He judged her and, in judging her, he judged Jesus.  And these thoughts he had within himself, something rare in ancient literature, and so reveals even more clearly their self-centered nature.

            But Jesus didn’t allow him to remain there.  Jesus drew him out with conversation, so that he might not remain alone in his thoughts.

            When I first came to Hope, what did you see?  Do you remember?  What do you see now?  Someone who is thinner on top, greyer across the upper lip, and a bit wider around the middle.

            But what else do you notice?  Probably along with those physical things there are emotions of one kind or another, and behind the emotions there are stories – stories about me, stories that tell of experiences you’ve had of me.

            The person you see now is not the person you saw 15 years ago.  And that’s because of me, but it’s also because of you.  We see people through our own lenses.  Our experience of people is filtered through the lens of our minds.

            In the next few weeks and months, there will be other pastors up front.  You will look at them.  And you will make judgements about them, because that’s what our minds do.  But just remember that you’ve had 15 years to get to know me and you are just meeting them.  And if you have some judgement about them, what I encourage you to do is to go and talk to them.  That’s what Jesus did.  You don’t need to tell them what you are thinking, but talk to them so you get to know them as a human being – a real human being who is far more complex and interesting than our minds allow us to think at first.  Talk to them so that you can begin to see them instead of the stories your mind is creating about them.

            And when you see them, there can be forgiveness and gratefulness and love.

            So, after 15 years, what more is there left to say?  Taking the lead of Jesus and also of Dr. Ira Byock, there are four important things to say:

            First, please forgive me.  Forgive for all the times I have failed you as your pastor. Forgive me for the times I’ve neglected you or ignored you or haven’t provided you the pastor care and support you’ve needed. Forgive me for the times when I have not provided leadership to Hope in the way that Hope has needed it.  Please forgive me.

            Second, I forgive you.  I forgive you for all the things you’ve said or done or not said or not done which you feel some regret about.  I forgive you especially for anything you think you have done or said that has made we retire.  Let it go.  I forgive you.

            Third, thank you.  Thank you for listening to me.  I’ve already shared with you my call story.  When I was in fifth grade and sitting in the choir loft with the junior choir one Sunday, I was listening to the sermon.  And I thought, “How cool would that be, to stand in front of people and talk to them and they would listen to you?”

            That was it. That’s my call story.  No voice from God.  No vision of light.  And I’ve chuckled about it over the years.  But, you know, it’s true.  It is really cool to stand in front of people and talk and they listen to you.  I can tell that you listen to me when I talk.  And that is a great and precious gift.  It has been wonderful gift to me.  Thank you.

            And thank you for trusting me.  A few years ago, when I did my Lenten series, “Mindfulness for Lutherans,” I asked Sylvia to read the first sermon.  After she read it she said, “You know, your people really trust you.”

            I said, “I know they do.  But what makes you say that?”

            She said, “They trust you because, if you say, ‘Let’s try this,’ they’ll try it.”

            So, thank you for your trust.

            And thank you for supporting my varied interests – night chaplaincy and Advanced Care Planning and mindfulness and prison work.  I especially thank you for supporting my desire to take a unit of Clinical Pastoral Education five years ago.  For six months, I was half-time at Meriter and I couldn’t have done it without your support.

            I told the Executive Board on Monday night that I hesitate to say that it was a life-changing experience.  But it was certainly very significant.  It was significant for me both personally and professionally.  I hope that you have benefited, not only in the stories of some of my experiences there, but I also hope you’ve benefited from a greater heartfulness in my preaching and teaching and care of you.  So, thank you.

            Finally, thank you for all the times you have invited me into your lives at significant moments – births, baptism, weddings, funerals, hospital stays and other crises.  It is a rare privilege to be a pastor, to be welcomed into peoples’ lives in a way that no one else is. Thank you for sharing all those moments with me.

            Please forgive me.  I forgive you.  Thank you.  I love you.

            Pastor Michael Rehak installed me as pastor on Sunday, February 24, 2002.  At the end of his sermon, he said, “The real test of Pastor Chris’s ministry here at Hope is – will he love you?”  I hope that I have done that.  For I do love you.  I love you all.

            It’s not a matter of sin, as Jesus has taught us.  It is a matter of forgiveness and gratefulness.  And, above all, it is a matter of love.