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Dear St. Augustine's 'ohana,
The disciples must have felt a little sheepish. As they followed Jesus through Galilee, they passed the time by arguing over who was the greatest. Jesus overheard, and they knew it.
Jesus' subsequent lecture was simple: being a good person in the world, being kind to the last and the least, is more important than our status among others.
As we discussed last week, being kind is not always easy. We're tempted to find fault with anyone but ourselves because we are afraid. Distracted by minutia, we become self-absorbed and judgmental in an effort to assuage our feelings of unease.
Life's traumas have a way of taking hold, residing in our minds, infecting our hearts. With pain, we recall playground bullies, mean girls, or coming in last in a race. We remember arguments with friends, a bad breakup, a gaslighting coworker, or a micro-managing boss. Kindness exacts a steep price, or so it seems.
No one says "losers win." Except Jesus. As this Sunday's gospel recounts, Jesus says, "'Whoever wants to be first must be last of all and servant of all.' Then he took a little child and put it among them; and taking it in his arms, he said to them, 'Whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes not me but the one who sent me.'"
Jesus explains with both sharp authority and comforting tenderness that by experiencing loss and hurt, we have the opportunity to heal. On the surface, we tend to the wound, but at a deeper level, we can examine and heal the root cause: our fear. In fear, we hold on to those hurts as though clinging to them will prevent them from happening again.
I am reminded of a story I call "the box." We all carry a box. In it we store our life experiences: the good, the scary, the happy, the hurtful, and all the accompanying emotions.
Eventually, the box is stuffed to overflowing. When new experiences come along, the box is too full. We are overwhelmed, burdened, and hurting. There is no room for wonder, joy, or love.
Wisdom calls us to a spiritual practice of praying about the contents of our box, and, as we do, removing each item. In this practice, we discern: do I need this? What can I remove from this box that no longer serves me? Have I processed and learned from this experience such that I can release it?
The wisdom of this practice helps us heal. With Spirit working in us and with us, the box is emptied. New experiences come, some of which are wonderful. Even the negative things are not so burdensome.
Watching leaders on the world stage, it's tempting to think of how much better life would be if they would just empty their box once in a while! We might think, "I'm better than that, right?" Exactly at that moment, I hope I'll remind myself to tend my own box, with God's help.
Blessings,
Vicar Jennifer
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