Beloved
This sermon was delivered at the Medstar Georgetown University Hospital Protestant Worship service on October 19, 2017.
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So, I’ve been on this organizing-kick lately. It started with de-cluttering our apartment, but has quickly become an all-encompassing obsession. I’ve done pretty well with getting rid of clothes, excess towels, old people magazines, and general kitsch we’ve inherited over the years… so this week I’ve moved on to dealing with digital clutter.
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So, I’ve been on this organizing-kick lately. It started with de-cluttering our apartment, but has quickly become an all-encompassing obsession. I’ve done pretty well with getting rid of clothes, excess towels, old people magazines, and general kitsch we’ve inherited over the years… so this week I’ve moved on to dealing with digital clutter.
While
digging through thousands of pictures and word documents, I’ve come across a
ton of old cover letters. You know what I mean by cover letters, right? I despise writing cover letters, don’t
you? They are so awkward and self-congratulatory, and somehow I always use
vocabulary I never use in regular conversation:
“Dear Sir or Madame, I am writing you
on the behest of myself, as I have many accomplishments, which here-to-for
would make me an excellent candidate for said position.”
NO ONE TALKS THIS WAY!
Still,
I’ve had to write hundreds of these things over the years. And this concept of self
idealism has carried over into other aspects of my life, especially my presence
on social media: I only post flattering pictures of myself – usually one of those
down angle selfies, cut out the double chin… Only post articles that make me appear
smart and well informed. Why? I think bcause we’ve learned, or been taught,
that to get ahead we have to hustle for what we want.
What do I mean by hustle? Well
hustling looks different for all of us, but there are some major commonalities.
Author and researcher Dr. Brene Brown, says that in general hustling looks
different for men and women. Men, she argues, spend their energy on trying to
appear strong, invulnerable, and in control. For women hustling can be summed
up broadly as: “be perfect and look perfect doing it.”
When
it comes to our careers, family lives, romantic relationships, or presence on
social media, we often buy in – consciously or unconsciously – to the notion
that our value comes from external accomplishments… Am I funny enough? Busy
enough? Thin enough? Confident enough? And how do I compare to the people
around me.
Ironically, even when we do accomplish
wonderful things we can’t internalize it. We feel like frauds. Maybe you know
what I’m talking about, I’ve heard it called “imposter syndrome.” We dismiss our success as luck,
timing, or as a result of deceiving others into thinking they are more intelligent and
competent than we believe ourselves to be. We are stuck in a double bind, which
tell me a deep, long-lasting, sense of value must arise from somewhere else.
The
gospel reading we heard today recalls the baptism of Jesus. We heard Matthew’s
version of the event, but his is only one of four accounts. One of the first
things they teach you in seminary is that when an author wants to convey an
important point they will repeat it. As you may know, the gospels differ in
their accounts of Jesus’ life. They have different perspectives and include or
exclude certain stories to highlight what they consider key moments of Jesus’
ministry. Jesus’ Baptism, however, shows up in all four of the gospels and
every one includes the sky opening up, a dove coming down, and God the Father
saying of Jesus: “This is my beloved son.” The authors want us to know that God
is pleased with Jesus. Jesus is God’s beloved.
What’s
even more interesting about this story, in my opinion, is where this scene
falls in all the gospels. In Matthew it’s chapter 4, in Mark chapter 1, in Luke
chapter 3, and in John chapter 1. It’s at the beginning. What has Jesus done
yet, in terms of his ministry – not a whole heck of a lot. In fact, nothing
except to be born. If he was off building his resume before this we don’t get
to hear about it. No, Jesus’ ministry doesn’t end with “You are my beloved with
whom I am well pleased,” it begins with it. God says: you’re my boy. I love you
and am pleased with you. Just as you are; before you earn it, before you fall
into the trap of thinking you can earn it at all.
Why
is this so important? Well, the very next chapter of Matthew’s gospel gives us a
clue. Matthew chapter four is Jesus’ temptation in the desert. As a refresher,
the story goes that spirit led Jesus into the wilderness where he is confronted
by the devil, who tempts him with power and prestige. This is how the story is
usually taught – as warning against our craving for recognition, power, and
control. But I think it’s actually think the devil is trying to tempt Jesus
with something much more sinister…
Recall, for a moment, what
the tempter says to Jesus: “If you
are the Son of God, command these stones to become loaves of bread… “If you are the Son of God, throw yourself
down; for it is written, ‘He will command his angels concerning you.” If, if, if…
If you are the son of God? We know Jesus is the son of God
because God him/herself just ripped the sky open and made a big to-do of it!
God says, in no uncertain terms, “you are my Son with whom I am well pleased.”
The devil wants Jesus to doubt his fundamental identity as a beloved child of
God. A child who is good and praiseworthy exactly because that’s who God says
he is.
How often in a day do we doubt our goodness, our
loveliness, our voice and authority to have a place at the table? One hundered
times? A thousand times? How often do we deny this birthright to others?
Henri Nouwen, a phenomenal author and devoted Catholic
priest, writes about what it means to be beloved quite often in his work. In a
collection of his writings, entitled A
Spirituality of Living, he says this about God’s words from heaven:
“It
is with this knowledge of being beloved that could walk freely into a world in
which he was not treated as beloved. People applauded him, laughed at him,
praised him, and rejected him. They called out ‘Hosanna!’ and they called out
‘Crucify!’ But in the midst of all those voices Jesus knew one thing – I am the beloved.”[1]
Jesus says to you and to me, we are loved as he is loved. As Nouwen goes on to say, “That same
voice is there for us… Our freedom is anchored in claiming our belovedness.
Being beloved allows us to go into the world and touch people heal them, speak
with them, and make them aware that they too are beloved, chosen, and blessed…”[2] “It is an incredible mystery of God’s
love,” he says, “that the more we know how deeply we are loved the more we see
how deeply our brothers and sisters in the human family are loved.”
I was thinking about Henri Nouwen a
lot this week, in fact, because last Monday night I had the opportunity to
attend a prayer service with the local L’arche community. If you aren’t
familiar with L’arche, it’s a movement started by a French Catholic named Jean
Vanier, who organizes intentional living communities that revolved around people
with intellectual handicaps.
After spending many years as a
prolific author and professor on faculty at a number of prestigious
universities, Nouwen – inspired by Vanier - decided to give up his professional
life and become a caregiver in a L’arche community. What he discovered at L’arche
is that to the people he served his accomplishes didn’t mean anything. They
cared about him because he cared
about them. It didn’t matter that he
taught at Harvard, after all, Harvard didn’t prepare him to change adult
diapers or set the dinner table correctly. Nouwen’s experience working with disabled
people made him realize just how much of his self-esteem was based on whether
or not people praised his work – even
though his work was to convince people of God’s unmerited love and favor.
In a moment we are going to move
into the Lord’s Supper, so before we do I’d like to share a quote from the
Shauna Neiquest, as a reminder of how we come to this sacred meal:
“We don't come to the table to fight
or to defend. We don't come to prove or to conquer, to draw lines in the sand… We
come to the table because our hunger brings us there. We come with a need, with
fragility, with an admission of our humanity... The table is the place where
the doing stops, the trying stops, the masks are removed, and we allow
ourselves to be nourished, like children. We allow someone else to meet our
need. In a world that prides people on not having needs, on going longer and
faster, on going without, on powering through, the table is a place of safety
and rest and humanity, where we are allowed to be as fragile as we feel.”[3]
As Nouwen goes on to say, “That same voice is there for us… Our freedom is anchored in claiming our belovedness. Being beloved allows us to go into the world and touch people heal them, speak with them, and make them aware that they too are beloved, chosen, and blessed…”[2] “It is an incredible mystery of God’s love,” he says, “that the more we know how deeply we are loved the more we see how deeply our brothers and sisters in the human family are loved.”
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