Show up

Proper 20 B 2009
(Prov 31: 10-31; Ps 1; James 3: 13-4: 3, 7-8a)


God spoke to me when I walked the Chihuahua.

The Chihuahua is a constant in our household life—he upholds the truth that in our lives there is someone or something who needs constant care, daily attention, and the results are often not pretty. And there’s no medal given for a good job.

So I was walking the Chihuahua, no longer caring that it is impossible to keep one’s dignity while walking a Chihuahua. The Chihuahua stopped for a particularly productive moment. I stooped with one of the numerous plastic bags we keep for just such occasions. As I rose, I heard in my mind’s eye a voice that said, “This is your life.”

Now, that may sound like one of the darker moments, but it wasn’t. I stood still and felt the breeze. The sun was bathing Mt. Tabor in soft light, making the green of the trees glow. Even the Chihuahua seemed to sense something in his almond-sized brain as he stood still for a change. I held in my hand the only tangible thing a Chihuahua produces and thought, “This is my life. I’d better start showing up for it.”

Our God is a God of the present moment, of the actual. God does not wait for pious moments or for times when we feel neat and clean and properly prepared for the presence of the Divine. God is in the actual, in the day to day. We are to “love things heavenly”, but “heavenly” is not the same as “not yet.” “Heavenly” begins now.

If we wish to encounter this God and drink deeply of God’s presence, then we need to show up at our own lives. We need to be present and greet the moment. We need to acknowledge with awe and gratitude the God whose presence is felt in the actual, whose love is conveyed through the love of others.

And it matters what we do, how we show up.

When I read today’s Old Testament text, I figured I was dead in the water. I thought about how my life expectancy would be measured in minutes if not in seconds if I presumed to tell any woman here all about a “good wife.” Besides, as the text presents it she’s kind of a Type A personality, sleep deprivation and all. Personally I prefer to keep my role models a low bar—Homer Simpson is my model for fatherhood, or on really bad days Peter Griffin.

But the woman whom I have the honor of living with is usually up before light, often walking the same Chihuahua through whom God spoke to me. Most of us are up before first light. All those details—making a living, engaging with the family, multitasking—our lives may not have much to do with weaving and distaffs and linen cloth any more, but the sweat of keeping it all together, dropping as few juggling balls as possible, feels very familiar. And in the midst of that, we struggle to be decent human beings, to give something to those in need, to show up at church sometimes. That’s where we all live. This text loves the actual, and says that God not only sees our lives but is there in the sweat and the juggling. So it matters that we show up to our own lives, it matter who we are. And it matters what we ask for from God in order to live our lives, says James. So ask often and well. We’ll get what we need to live a life in Christ.

In fact, we’ll get what we need in order to have our lives transformed.

The Gospel today is all about reversing expectations. Mine are being reversed all the time. There’s a character in a Tolstoy short story who wanted nothing more than that his life proceed “easily, pleasantly, and decorously.” At age 51 I am coming to terms with the fact that my life will never be all worked out—job secure, income not obscenely large but enough to eliminate worry, health of course fine, and everything smooth for the spouse and kids. Well, real life does not proceed “easily, pleasantly, and decorously.” Goodness and gift alternates with curve balls and, often enough, burdens that we end up carrying for the long haul.

But we’re not called to ease and predictability. We’re called to wonder and to transformation. In the Gospel-world, the most despised and powerless are great. Everything we thought about power, prominence, and meaning is flipped upside-down by Jesus taking that child in his arms. In Jesus’ times children really did not exist as people until they reached a certain age and it looked as if they would survive childhood. They had few if any rights, and were here today, gone tomorrow.

But God loves and raises up the forgotten and the vulnerable.

God raises up the forgotten and vulnerable in the world. We the Church do well to remember that when we lament our lack of access to financial and political power, and when we ask what is our mission and reason for being.

And God raises up the forgotten, vulnerable portions of our own lives. Nothing we live, nothing we endure, nothing we wonder is beyond the loving gaze and transforming power of God. Often enough, it is the most neglected, ordinary, and vulnerable part of ourselves that is the most crucial. It is there that we meet the loving God.

Just ask any Chihuahua.