Dwelling in the Word

[Torin and I have just returned full time to our pastoral duties after the birth of our son, Patrick.  While we were on parental leave, our congregation engaged in a process known as Dwelling in the Word.  For seven weeks we lived with Paul's words in Ephesians 3:7-21 and had seven different speakers, including Torin and myself, come with their thoughts and perspectives.

Unfortunately, I don't have the sermons from all of our speakers, and this Sunday was the concluding sermon in the series.  We hope you take some time to dwell with this text, and see how it may call you to a rooting and grounding in God's love]

Ephesians 3:7-21
Dwelling in the Word

Wow.  I can’t believe that it has been over two months since I last preached!  I don’t know how you feel about it, but it feels good to be here with you, exploring the word, dwelling in the word.  And yes, our seven weeks of dwelling in the word has come to an end.  I don’t know how you feel about that either.  Some of you may like to stay a bit longer and continue exploring what Ephesians 3:7-21 is working out in you.  Some are probably ready to get back to our regular routine.  At least, you’ve had enough of Paul, and need a little Jesus.  Or Moses.  Or even some Psalms for crying out loud. 

It is true that Paul can certainly be pedantic.  Long winded.  Confusing.  Boring.  Why would we want to spend 7 weeks looking at one of his letters?  Probably because he can be…pedantic, long-winded, confusing, and boring.  I mean if you just listen to one sermon on one part of his letters, it’s easy to dismiss him, to tune out, and wait till next Sunday when you get into more interesting, gospel stuff.  Spending 7 weeks with Paul, for some of you, may be like being stuck in the middle of the ocean on a boat with him .  You may want to jump ship, you may be searching for the shoreline when you can get off this boat.  But if you actually have a conversation with him, you just might learn something.  About him.  About yourself.  About God.

So yes, jumping back into the pulpit to face Paul—not just dwelling with him, but trying to make sense of him—seemed a bit exhausting.

And I don’t like being exhausted. Which is not good when you have two young boys and a baby.  So as you can imagine snatching small bits of rest in the day is crucial for me as a mother.  And for my naps I like to have book close by for those times when I wake up from a nap before any of the boys do, and I don’t want to walk around for fear they will wake up and demand something of me. And since I never know how long the quiet and stillness will last, I like having a book that has small segments with powerful thoughts.

A friend gave me the book Mitten Strings for God: Reflections for Mothers in a Hurry by Katrina Kenison.  One of the reflections is on nature, where she explored the ideas of Robert Michael Pyle.

Robert Michael Pyle is a nature writer, and a lepidopterist—someone who studies moths and butterflies.  And Pyle has presented in some of his works a rather provocative allegation.  He has observed that many children today—and probably many adults as well—suffer from what he calls “the extinction of experience.” 

Now at first, that sounds a bit counterintuitive because, as a mother, I know that there is an intense drive in contemporary parents to give our children experiences.  We want them to experience music, languages, art, dance, sports and so we rush around trying to get them signed up for this program and that lesson.  Will they ever really learn the piano if they are not in lessons by age 3?  Will they be severely deficient in our pluralistic culture if they aren’t learning Spanish and Mandarin by second grade?  We want them to know all these things, so of course we’re trying to get them experience in them, to have someone teach them, and have our children learn them.

But Pyle, being a naturalist, is not talking about this kind of experience.  He is referring to the extinction of experience with the natural world.  He says that unlike earlier generations, children do not have the kind of direct, frequent contact with the earth and its creatures that result in a passionate, lasting relationship with the natural world. 

Now it doesn’t mean that children are unaware of the natural world.  They know what a leaf is.  They know bugs.  And they certainly know about “the environment.”  In fact, Pyle suggests that our children are well versed in issues of the environment and may have “politically correct” response to whales, global warming, pollution, and rain forests; they  can speak to these major environmental issues—but far less grounded in their own visceral, firsthand experiences of nature just beyond their door.  Pyle of course, says it’s not enough to teach children about nature; we must allow our children to grow up in nature. 

The difference between knowing with our head, and a knowing, that Paul says, surpasses understanding.

 The difference between knowing and experiencing,

 between head thought, and heart revelation.

When Paul speaks to us about knowing the length and breadth and height and depth of Christ’s love;  when he speaks about knowing the love of Christ that surpasses knowledge, I think he is on to us.  He’s on to our skeptical minds.  He’s onto our contemporary need to know intellectually. for sure. what the answers about God are.  To know what is true about Christ…

We’ve been watching these wonderful videos in adult Sunday School, a series called Living the Questions where popular theologians, scholars, and clergy take on a variety of topics and then invite us to continue the conversation.  A few weeks ago the topic was on the biblical story, and how, essentially, it is possible to take the Bible seriously without always taking it literally.  It looked at questions about creation, and the nativity story, and our hangups about saying things did or did not happen in a certain way.

And I could tell, especially with the group gathered that day, it was a welcomed conversation.  And someone said in the midst of the conversation, “But how to you know it’s the truth.”  Of course, I wanted to get all sagely and philosophical and ask “Well what do you mean by know.”  and “well what is truth?”

If anything, this is where I know I can get hung up, most certainly.  I’m asking the questions, I’m seeking the answers.  I want to know when this was written and by whom and was it Paul or wasn’t it who wrote Ephesians.  I wonder what is the politically correct thing to think about the gender or lack thereof of God?  What is the right thing to believe about God’s  working in the world?  What is the limit that I can believe if I still want to be seen as intellectual?

If I’m honest, I’m so busy thinking about me when I approach God, there isn’t much height or depth or length or breadth to dive into.  It’s more like I’m…standing in a kiddie pool with not much water.

Sure, we know a lot about God, from what we learn from sermons, or books, or Sunday School, or bible studies.  I can say what so-and-so has said about God, I rehearse arguments about God, I can do theology.  But is that the same as knowing of God? 

Just like many children and adults know about the environment, we too have thought about God…but can you say you have experienced God? [pause] Not only that, but can you say you are filled with the fullness of God?  Daily living out of the divine spark within you?

So as we prepared to dwell with this challenge, I was asking myself “how do we know? how do we know?”

And what I’m left with, after these seven weeks, is a surprising invitation.: Stop trying to know.  Stop trying to find the answers that fit neatly.

Now I’m not saying don’t ask the questions, and it’s not a get out of jail free card with the response, “well, we never will know so let’s just live in the mystery”.  But it does require us to think about how we “know” in a different way.

Hear some of Katrina Kenison’s thoughts on knowledge, as she continues reflecting on our experience with nature.  You could probably switch out some of the words about nature and replace them with God, to more clearly see where I’m going with this.

Our children offer us an opportunity to rediscover the marvels of nature for ourselves.  You don’t need any special knowledge, any equipment, or even much of a plan.  You don’t need to be a naturalist or a teacher.  In fact you don’t need to identify a single bird or flower or constellation.  All you need is a willingness to go, to look, and to drink in the mystery and beauty of the world before your eyes.  I used to wish I had more knowledge to impart, a better foundation in the earth sciences, so that I could explain the world to my children instead of simply experiencing it with them.  Certainly our outings gave rise to more questions than answers.  But as we watched and wondered together, I came to suspect that our shared experience was probably more valuable to my children than any education I could provide.  In time, they will acquire knowledge, too—but first they need the time and space to develop an emotional connection with the land, forging their own relationships with plants and animals, earth and sky.  [The naturalist Rachel Carson reminds us,] “It is not half so important to know as to feel.”

So maybe the same is true with how we approach our lives with God.  And maybe in a way, our faith life can be a bit like Paul.  A bit pedantic..talking through ideas, figuring out who we are, criticizing bad behavior of others, trying to know, defending our position.  But thankfully, Paul surprises us with a blessing.  A blessing that tells us to let it all fall away

To not get hung up on trying to understand with our minds, but to live a life that open to experiencing the love of Christ.  And this love of Christ can and does compel us to plumb the deepest of our fears, and soar to the highest of what makes us joyful.  Christ’s love entices us to broaden our arms to welcome into our lives the unexpected: the unexpected person, or event, or possibility as well as encouraging us to go to lengths we may not have ever known possible.

So to conclude this portion of dwelling in the word, J I’ll just bestow on you the same blessing in a different way. 

What you know is not nearly sufficient to experience the Christ.  In snatches of moments,

Feel Christ’s love working through you. 

Hear Christ’s love as the wind blowing through the trees. 

See Christ’s love in great acts of courage and small acts of devotion.

Engage your whole self in being part of Christ’s love, moving past what you can understand intellectually

and open yourself up to being filled with the fullness of God.