Gloria Dei

A couple weeks ago I spoke to a friend who lives out in the country.  His home is at the end of a long dirt road.  Sometimes he looks a little unkempt but his heart is as big as all outdoors.  He asked how my father was doing after my mom’s death.  I said something about as well as could be expected.  And he replied, “You know John, it’s bound to be hard after all those years of compassionship.”  Compassionship.  My first, I need to say embarrassing, thought was to correct him and say, “You mean companionship, Al, don’t you?”  But then it hit me.  You dear man.  You said it in the best possible way.  Compassionship: living in the consolation of love.

The intensions of Christianity are clear.  Our goal, what we’re about is supposed to be compassionship.  The healing consolation of love is the reason and purpose for the church.  This is not just for ourselves, we who make up the church, but for all.  That includes those who well might never feel safe enough to risk the journey inside our thick brick walls where we get so very comfortable.

Ah, and here is the rub.  There are so many things which get in the way of compassionship.  We forget.  We get scared.  We get distracted especially when life gets busy.  It is tragic. Even church and church things become one more item on our “to do” list.  There’s just never enough time.

Which is why we need to focus this morning.  We only have a couple of minutes.  Saint Paul’s words to the Philippians provide the centering point.  Paul pleads with them by repeating not once, not twice, not three times, but four, the reasons for acting with compassionship: because of the encouragement you have received in Christ; because of consolation that comes from love; because you are sharing in the Spirit;  because of your compassion and sympathy.

Paul follows this four-fold reasoning with seven ways to have compassionship in life.  Instead of running through them all, turn with me to the very last one. “Let the same mind be in you which was in Christ Jesus.”

We speak of the heart of Jesus.  We speak of the pierced hands of Jesus.  We speak of the wounded side of Jesus.  We gush over the miraculous works of Jesus.  We focus on the teachings of Jesus.  We talk endlessly of the meaning of Jesus.  But we rarely speak of the mind of Jesus.  Peculiar, don’t you think, for Lutheran Christians who have such a rich history of cherishing education?  We need our wits about us for this one.  “Let the same mind be in you which was in Christ Jesus.”

Paul does not make us guess what that mind is.  He spells it out. Actually he sings it as he borrows words from an early Christian Hymn.  Jesus “who, though he was in the form of God, did not regard equality with God as something to be exploited, but emptied himself…”

The mind of Jesus is known in his intent to empty out all the riches of heaven.  This pre-existent, creative Word of God through whom and in whom all things came into being; this Christ of whom the prophets foretold; this Lord of heaven and earth, full to overflowing with God’s grace; this Jesus – emptied himself out.  As surely as the pitcher of water the acolytes hold is emptied into the baptismal font, to the very last drop every time we gather around, this Jesus left it all behind.  And came to earth naked.

What do you have when fullness is emptied out? When the gas tank in your car is empty, it no longer runs. You grind to a halt.  Your engine can’t and won’t turn over.  When your bank account is depleted and no funds are left upon which to draw, the statement says zero.  You can’t buy without racking up a huge service charge, and then be careful for there is a limit over which it becomes a felony.  When in the midst of a painful and gut wrenching grief your tears are finally all cried out, there is only silence.

Jesus emptied himself out completely. And the Word of God became quiet as death.  Get it?  Only an absence such as this leaves God room to fill.  When there was nothing left, only stillness, into this crack in our corner of the universe God funneled all the love of heaven – the resurrecting, the new life giving, the compassionate love of God – all for the life of the world.

Two very crucial points here.  Time and time again in the accounts of the Gospel, Jesus went away by himself.  He headed into the desert, he sought out a lonely place, he climbed to the top of a mountain, he got down on his hands and knees in a garden to pray.  He waited, like he taught in so many of his parables, to be filled by God.  Jesus knew that silence is the presence of Something More. That is Something with a capital S and More with a capital M.  In Jesus, the emptiness of silence was filled with God.  Keep it in mind.

Secondly, regardless of what it looks like, we too have a need for solitude and silence.  We who are so very productive, who make sure we have enough billable hours, who overbook our (we don’t even call them calendars anymore but) planners, we who scrupulously cultivate the six or seven or however many habits of the successful because we want to be one of them we have a need for solitude and silence.  Humankind simply has a need for solitude and silence.  I confess, I personally know about the struggle to keep the stillness.  I’ve been king of crowding everything in.  But I’m learning that crowding everything in crowds out the presence of God.  From the prophetic witness down to and through Jesus into the fledgling church, silence has been the essential nutrient of the soul.

Yes, there is too much month left over at the end of the paycheck, too much work still to do at the end of the day.  And of course if you or I don’t do it, no one else will.  But let’s adopt a different mind here. Churches historically have been called Sanctuary: empty, safe places where God is waiting.  When we come to the limits of our doing and achieving and polishing and manipulating, it is time to make some space.  Enter the silence.  Take a deep breath.  Here is a novel thought: let our Lord fill you.

Sound scary?  Friends, it’s the opposite that’s deadly.  I challenge you this week to arrange the time, make the space, have some quiet moments.  Sit and listen to the silence.  Let it be your prayer.  Let it be a quiet prayer in which you don’t have to say anything but just be open to God’s presence.  It will find you.  It’s the way love still enters the world.

Which gets us back to compassionship.  You already have put on Christ in Baptism and have become a new creation.  You already have been nourished with the Bread of Life which strengthens and prepares you for holy tasks.  Now, be liberal with your compassionship.  Lavish the consolation of love absolutely everywhere you can.  Let it be your ministry.  But know where your ministry comes from. Have the same mind as our Lord.  In stillness, allow yourself to be emptied out.  And wait.  Just simply wait.  You’ll be surprised at what you find. In fact, let us take a couple of minutes now, before the hymn, to center ourselves.  Trust me, there will be more than enough time to fit everything else in this morning.