Taking This World As It Is
Posted on March 24, 2019 5 Comments
There are a few formal or written prayers that I return to over the years. One is the Prayer of St. Francis, beginning with that excellent phrase, “Lord, make me an instrument of your peace.” There is a quote I am especially fond of by Henri-Frédéric Amiel, and I use it often as a blessing: “Life is short, and we do not have enough time for the hearts of those who travel the way with us. So, be swift to love! And make haste to be kind.”
Then, there is the Serenity Prayer. It is my “go-to” morning invocation and nightly vesper. Surely, you know it or have heard it: “God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change; courage to change the things I can; and wisdom to know the difference.” Praying this prayer daily, and doing my best to put it into practice, has been life-changing for me.
It is also a proven lifeline for those in Recovery. Every 12-Step program uses a variation, it seems, from A.A. (Alcoholics Anonymous) to W.A. (Workaholics Anonymous) and every “A” in between. You see the prayer printed on sobriety chips and coins all the time, helping to keep many an addict on the path. But as popular as it is within that community, it did not originate there.
Theologian and preacher Reinhold Niebuhr wrote the Serenity Prayer almost a hundred years ago for a sermon he was preaching in New England. It found welcoming hearts when he first invoked the prayer, so he began using it often as a benediction. It took decades to ever find its way into print, and years more before the Recovery movement adopted it as a mantra.
I find the second paragraph of Niebuhr’s prayer – yes, there is more – to be as moving and powerful as the first. It reads: “Living one day at a time, enjoying one moment at a time, accepting hardship as a pathway to peace; taking, as Jesus did, this sinful world as it is, not as I would have it.”
That last line is the real zinger: “Taking this sinful world as it is, not as I would have it.” This is neither the dismissal of personal responsibility, nor a hopeless resignation to the status quo. Quite the opposite, it is admitting that this world is in fact, corrupt and oppositional. Society tends to be cruel and ferociously unfair.
The response of faith is not to ignore this reality, but to face it honestly and soberly. We meet the world on its terms, yes, but we never slouch toward the temptation of trying to change those things over which we have no control. We confess that life will never be exactly as we wish it would, and thus, choose to do all the good we can do, where we can do it, for as long as we can do it. For such serenity, courage, and wisdom, indeed O Lord, hear our prayer.
Legacies Left Behind
Posted on March 17, 2019 1 Comment
In the autumn of 2013, I found myself standing alongside the grave of St. Patrick. Yes, the St. Patrick whose name is invoked every March 17th over tables laden with corned beef, cabbage, and endless pints of Guinness (I’m an Irish whiskey man, myself).
His remains are upriver from Strangford Lough, where my own Scot-Irish ancestors once lived, buried in the aptly named village of Downpatrick, and next to a massive, gorgeous cathedral that also bears his name. His marker, a chunk of local Mourne granite, carries a modest cross and the worn but still clear letters: P-A-T-R-I-C.
A sucker for all things ancient and Celtic, I snapped pictures, took copious notes, and trembled with ecstasy over the privilege of visiting this holy site. I learned later, that I was simply a sucker. I had been duped by the cleverness of a skilled marketeer.
It was not the bygone disciples of St. Patrick who set up his impressive gravesite on that hillside. It was Francis Joseph Bigger. Francis loved his native Northern Ireland, and over his decades he restored castles, renovated pubs, promoted the use of the Gaelic languages, boosted tourism, and generally championed every Irish cause he could find.
In April of 1900 – almost 1500 years after Patrick – Bigger placed the gravestone next to the Downpatrick cathedral. At least he payed to have it placed. It took a dozen men two weeks to actually place the stone. The truth is, we have no idea where Saint Patrick is buried. Maybe the dust that once was him is, indeed, beneath that giant rock. Maybe he is interred in the foundation or basement of the cathedral. Maybe he isn’t anywhere near that hillside.
Having had a while to think about it – and with a few of those Irish whiskies to ease my mind – I’m okay with all this and feel less defrauded. After all, Francis Bigger was not interested in beguiling anyone. His was an act of service, as he wanted more people to visit his homeland, fall in love with the storied countryside, and learn more about his island’s patron saint.
It worked. Thousands of people make the pilgrimage to Patrick’s grave annually. Going there they learn, as I did, that St. Patrick is much more than a poster boy for springtime revelry. He was a remarkable man of love, humility, and patience.
He came to Ireland with a refreshing spirituality, treating others with dignity. And rather than forcing his views on people or expecting them to conform to his personal orthodoxy, he met his neighbors where they were. Francis Bigger, in his own way, was telling this story to the world.
Yes, it is true: We can never know for certain where St. Patrick rests, but we certainly know the legacy he has left behind. He chose the path of loving sacrifice, living a life of service. From his grave, wherever it may be, Patrick still calls us to follow that path. Sláinte!
For Body and Soul, in the Here and Now
Posted on March 10, 2019 Leave a Comment
A friend of mine for many years teaches ESL, or “English as a Second Language,” at a small college in the Southern Appalachians. His students are of various backgrounds, their native language ranging from Spanish to Arabic. My friend is well suited for the job.
When he was younger he was a missionary in Mexico City. Later, he served an international development organization in Kurdish Iraq. His last overseas post was in the mountains of Yemen, where he worked at a hospital. The hospital was operated by one of the largest evangelical mission organizations in the world, an organization that decided the hospital should be closed.
Why? The results were not what the executives were hoping for, frankly. They refused to continue to pour dollars into a remote locale without seeing more converts; more “Christianization;” and more church start-ups. My friend, along with his peers, begged the mission board to reconsider – not for the sake of their employment – but for the sake of Yemen.
The hospital, meager as it was, performed life-saving surgeries every day. Tens of thousands of patients came through the doors each year. And more importantly, attitudes were changing. In the villages surrounding the hospital, locals found it increasingly difficult to hate or be suspicious of those who were saving their children.
My friends laid all of this on the table and was met with the coldest rejection possible. “We have not obligation,” one of the executives remarked glibly, “to the bodies of those whose souls are going to hell.” Within a few short years the hospital was closed, my friend came home emotionally and spiritually crushed, and an entire region lost the only medical care available for scores and scores of miles.
Today, Yemen is enduring one of the worst humanitarian crises seen since WW2. Thousands have died as Saudi Arabia has bombed the country into the apocalypse, and 80% of the population needs daily, basic, humanitarian assistance: Food, water, medicine, and shelter. The country is dying.
It is not the Gospel – literally meaning the “Good News” – to abandon suffering people, no matter who they are or how different their religious beliefs. Shame on those who defame the compassion of Christ by turning their backs on the poor, the outcast, and the marginalized; the sick, hungry, and thirsty; the imprisoned, the foreigner, or the immigrant.
Faith requires that we remain engaged, doing all the good we can do, where we can do it, for as long as we can do it, serving those whom Jesus called, “the least of these.” For the Good News is not so much a golden parachute that will eventually allow a few to float away to a harp-playing, cloud-riding, hymn-singing heaven.
Rather, it is an evil-rebuking, society-changing, personal-transforming, status-quo-reversal that brings liberation and healing to the world – in the here and now. And ironically, it may be in the saving of others’ bodies, that we find salvation for our own souls.
