Pastor, I know you are busy...

About every fourth or fifth email I receive and about half of every phone conversation I have, I hear something like, “I know you are busy, but…” I cannot speak for every pastor but I believe that this modified story from the spirituality of the desert story might speak for many clergy - including myself:

There was a student who went to a teacher and asked for a word. The teacher shared a word with the student who went back home. The next day the student forgot what the teacher had said, so the student returned to the teacher.

“I am sorry teacher, but I have forgotten what you said yesterday. Can you share a word with me?”

The teacher spent a little more time with the student this second time, and then the student went back home.

A week later, the student returned and said, “Teacher, I am so sorry to bother you and I have asked now two times, but I have forgotten and would you share a word?”

The teacher sat all day with the student before the student returned home.

After two weeks, the student returned to the teacher. The student felt ashamed and was embarrassed to ask the teacher, yet one more time, “I know you are busy, and I know that I have taken a lot of your time already, but I have forgotten what you said. Could you remind me again?”

At this point the teacher took the table lamp that was to his right and asked the student to pass him a candle that was on the entry table. The teacher lit the candle, handed it to the student, and asked the student for a second candle from the entry table. The teacher lit the second candle, handed it to the student who was asked to retrieve a third and then a fourth candle.

The teacher lifted the lamp up and looed at the student who was now holding four lit candles. The teacher said, “Is the lamp diminished because it gave some of its light to the four candles?”

The student understood and said, “No.”

Never again did the student hesitate to visit the teacher and both of their homes became full of light.

Tears: Helping Us See Clearly

Like a lot of men, I have very little experience with personal tears. I bet that I have such limited experience with tears that I can name 90% of the times I have had tears (not as the result of being kicked in the groin or allergies):

1. I “sports cried” when I watch Dirk hold up the 2011 NBA championship. Yes, I joined the rest of the human race in tearing up watching the opening sequence in “Up”.

2. I was caught off guard when tears came over me when I was talking about the beauty and brokenness of the UMC after returning from General Conference 2016.

3. When I was appointed to a new church and had to say goodbye to a dear friend, I was grateful that she was shorter than I was so she could not see me ugly cry when we hugged for one of the last times.

4. Seeing my children for the first time was a big tear moment. So was waiting at the end of the center isle when those doors flung open and there stood the one person who I was about to make covenantal vows with. Then there was those two times where I sat in a parking lot and heard a song that made my eyes so red that I drove around the block just to try to minimize my eyes puffiness.

5. I suppose there where those three Easter sermons over the years where I was so moved by the story of light and hope and resurrection accompanied by images of love and delight that were also very tearful.

That is it.

There are many stories of ancient desert Christians (called the Abbas and Ammas) that feature tears or weeping. Often in these stories, tears and weeping come with of some understanding of sin or awareness of truth or revelation of love. In fact, it might be argued that tears did not come as a result of new awareness but the new awareness was the result of tears.

Meaning, it was the tears that helped the ancient one see more clearly than they had before.

We are told that tears in our eyes cloud our vision, however, that is not always true. Many times tears allow us to see more clearly by washing out what was clouding our vision to begin with. Tears are not the product of, but the initiation to new sight.

Maybe this is why so many of us (and I am talking to myself here) are blind. We have little experience with tears to wash out our blind spots and ignorance.

The Good Little Giants “Birdsong” has a stanza that goes:

Sometimes a grown man cries
To grieve the years he spent believing lies
He sees more clearly now through tears in his eyes
Maybe sometimes, baby, sometimes

And so, may we be blessed with tears.

Consuming our Neighbors

The following story is inspired by Tim Vivian’s translation of an ancient story from the desert wisdom.

A widow had a son who she could not keep fed. The son would eat pounds of bread each day. He hunger was so insatiable that the son would even turn to his excrement. She was fearful that her son would eat through all that she was left with but also was fearful that if she did not feed her son he would die. The widow took the boy to a holy man, Abba Macarius, who, it was said, could heal the boy. When Macarius heard how much the boy was fed each day, he grew angry.

He said, “Do you know why your son was so hungry? When his father died you were left with a large inheritance, more than you needed to live your days. You have not shared your abundance with those in need. Scripture teaches that we will be judged and treated the way we judge and treat others. Your son’s hunger is the result of your stinginess towards others. Cut in half what you feed him and then give the other half to the poor, powerless and infirm who live near you. Only then will your son’s hunger will subside.”

The widow had more than she new what to do with so she gave it to her son in excess. In doing so, her son was eating more than the bread but eating away at the lifeline that the poor and powerless could have for survival. Macarius’ teaching is as old as wisdom: when we practice generosity we discover that we have more than we need and stinginess corrodes the community. When we are generous we do not “run out”. However, if we remain stingy and focus only on our own desires then we will in fact consume all that we have, including our neighbors.

In the debates of what should or what should we not give to people who are un/under-employed, this story rings in my ears. If we believe that our abundance cannot be given away to others in need, because we will run out of the abundance we have inherited or that our gift will be squandered, then we will in fact run out of our inheritance. However, if we were generous with our inheritance with those in need we may discover that there will be more than enough.