Embracing Fear

CH Mel Baars O’Malley

“Transfigured”

February 7, 2016

BAMC Chapel

I was thinking, as I was preparing for this sermon, that the last time I preached in chapel, fear was the subject. If Chaplain Leathers, one of the Clinical Pastoral Education supervisors were here, he might ask me what it says about m that this theme of fear keeps popping up in many of my sermons. And, he would have a fair point. It seems that fear is everywhere. We can’t really navigate our world without it. Fear is one of our most important survival instincts. We use it to teach our children not to touch the stove or run into traffic, things that can be very harmful for us but, when we are young, we don’t really understand that. Fear quells our curiosity so we don’t have to learn the hard way.

But fear can become counter productive. When we take fear to an extreme, we can easily become paralyzed. I have been known to do this on occasion. J When we let fear take over, we end up missing out on a lot of life because fear has become too important, has taken over everything. We are so afraid of the possibility of one bad apple that we throw the other 99 away. Fear can cause us to close ourselves off so much that we even miss encounters with God.

There is a lot about fear in the Bible. It is a safe bet that no matter the story, the details of what is happening, the people involved are dealing with fear. The Bible tells us the story of God and God’s people, but the story is told as it unfolds. This means there is a lot of unknown quantities. The people wonder, “What’s going to happen?” How is all of this going to turn out?” And most importantly, “Am I going to be ok?” Again and again, God says to them, “I am with you. Do not fear. I love you. You are mine.” But memory can be so fleeting so just as soon as God has come through for them, a new challenge arises and, again, they are wonder, “What’s going to happen?” How is all of this going to turn out?” “Am I going to be ok?” It is a vicious cycle.

Today we have two passages involving groups of scared people. In Exodus, Moses has just had an encounter with God, and this exchange between them has physically changed him…  profoundly. His face is shining. He is radiant. Moses’ presence is literally reflecting God’s brightness. But, rather than be drawn to him, the people are terrified. They won’t come near him. It gets so bad that Moses literally has to put a veil over his face whenever he is around the people so that they will not avoid him.

In the gospel reading, what we often refer to as the transfiguration, Jesus has taken Peter, James and John, his close friends, up another mountain. There, Jesus is transformed into a dazzling white. The disciples witness him having a conversation with Moses and Elijah. Then, they are enveloped by a holy cloud and God says, “This is my Son, my Chosen; listen to him!” It should be no surprise to us that they are terrified, too.

Just like it is healthy to fear a burning hot stove or being run over in traffic, there has often been healthy fear associated with God. The creator of the universe, the author of all, the One who is able to do anything, everything. Awe, respect, and healthy fear these are all appropriate responses to this holy presence. But, the people with Moses aren’t merely shielding their eyes or bowing their heads out reverence for the holy, they are literally running in the other direction. It is as if they are afraid that a close encounter with God might change them, too.

Humans seem to be deeply resistant to change, even when we tell ourselves that we want to change. I have heard it again and again, conversations with patients and service members and friends and in my own head, this feeling of bewilderment over those times when we do or we feel the opposite of what we want to do or feel.  We want to be generous, open, loving and yet some days it is such a struggle. And, too often, we justify our behavior by blaming our fears.

Richard Rohr, a priest who has written prolifically on Christian spirituality, talks about this resistance to change in terms of sin. We are addicted, in a way, to our sin just like an alcoholic is addicted to alcohol. Resistance to chance, our sin, is part of who we are. Even a life of seeming sinlessness doesn’t eradicate sin just like sobriety doesn’t mean a person is no longer an alcoholic. In fact, one of our biggest dangers is to think that we are ever fully recovered. Instead, we are continually striving for recovery. It is never complete but an ongoing process of transfiguration.

Much earlier in Exodus, God appears to Moses in the form of a burning bush. It is a safe bet to say that fear and trembling pulsed through Moses’ veins, as it would for any of us, when God first called out to him from the fire. But fear didn’t paralyze Moses. In fact, once he gets over his shock over this encounter with God, he takes off his sandals to signify that he is standing on holy ground. He is in the presence of God and he is afraid, but his fear doesn’t compel him to flee. Instead, he stops everything he is doing, embraces God’s presence and is forever changed.

So what helps Moses breathe through his fear so that he is able to stay open to God’s presence rather than run in the opposite direction? When fear sets in and we feel those survival instincts ramping up, what can help us, to stay right where we are, to take a risk, to remain open to a God who surprises us where we least expect it, in burning bushing, a dazzling face, or a mysterious clouds, or in the places we are most afraid to go, into relationships with someone who is different than us, back to the doctor to get the news about a biopsy, to all those spaces of unknown.

Jesus doesn’t invite Peter and James and John to go with him up that mountain so that they will experience fear. He invites them because there they will encounter holy ground and be forever changed. It is where God is at work, transforming and transfiguring. And, because they go with Jesus they teach us a valuable lesson about God’s presence. When a cloud descends, when darkness comes and you can’t see anything and you are afraid, God will be there with you.

The Israelites were afraid of Moses and his shining face because he was living proof that an encounter with God would change them forever. Change, transformation, is scary and unknown. I am sure that some of them wanted to be free from the burden of their sin, something that only God can help with, but their survival instincts would not allow them to voluntarily wade into that uncharted holy territory. Very few of them would go there on their own. And, we understand. We struggle to go there, too.

But just like Jesus invited Peter and James and John, he invites us up to the mountain of transfiguration. He doesn’t ask us to come because he wants us to be terrified. Jesus invites us to come to the mountain so that we can have the experience of facing fear with him by our side. Come on, he says, let the cloud envelop you and let the fear swell. But hold on to me, too. Breathe in and out and let me transform you.

In a few days we will be marked with ashes and reminded that we are dust and to dust we shall return. As we enter into this season of Lent, may we see this time as an opportunity for growth, for a time for our own transfiguration. And whether we focus on sacrifice or on a new spiritual discipline this Lent, whatever we do to expand our faith, may it help us to find our way up the mountain, and with both fear and trust in God’s promises to us, allow the holy cloud to wash over us, changing us forever.

Judas and me

Chaplain Mel O’Malley

Brooke Army Medical Center

March 13, 2016

“A New, Old Thing”

This week I have been thinking a lot about Judas. You may be thinking that Judas is kind of a strange person for me to be thinking a lot about. I can’t really remember when I first heard about him, probably some lesson in church school when I was very young. But I know, whenever it was, it wasn’t a good thing. I can’t recall one story where Judas comes out looking like a good disciple, or even a decent human being. When we hear the name Judas, we don’t get a warm and fuzzy feeling, which is likely the reason that the name Judas was 11515^th on a list of popular, or in this case, unpopular boy names from last year. There were only three reported babies named Judas.

It’s not surprising though, because none of us wants to be like Judas. When I was reflecting on Judas in the office here on Friday, I asked one of the other chaplains if he knew any stories where Judas was painted in a positive light. As we thought through passages, and even talked about our gospel from today where Judas is judging Mary for using her perfume on Jesus instead of giving it to the poor, he said, “You know, the Gospels were written down after the fact. It’s no wonder that Judas was painted so negatively. His whole person is seen through the lens of his final act.” He really has been made into a real Biblical villain, the betrayer, the one who helped to crucify Jesus, as if Jesus’ death was all his fault. We would much rather blame someone else, than see where we might be responsible.

A lot of effort has been made over the years to show just how different us good church going folk are from a guy like Judas. But, the problem with making Judas into the bad guy is that we push him so far away from us that it is hard to see how we are similar, the traits we share, how we, just like him, struggle to live and act and follow Jesus well. The more self-aware I become, the more compassion I have for Judas. I wonder how he got so lost. I am sure he didn’t start out intending to lose his way, or to betray his friend. One thing led to the next and before he realized it, he was a long way from the still waters, from paths of righteousness. I guess I have realized that what made Judas fragile and vulnerable to temptation, is exactly the same for me.

Our gospel today brings together a cast of characters who are all pretty familiar. Judas, Lazarus, Mary and Martha are all gathered together for dinner. When I read through the story this week, I realized in all the years that I have heard about the woman who uses her very expensive perfume to anoint Jesus, I never made the connection that this was Mary, as in the Mary from the story of Martha and Mary. I am sure you know it. The story where Martha is doing all the hard, tedious work of hosting a meal and Mary is sitting with Jesus, spending quality time with him. In the end, an annoyed Martha is chided for not simply being with Jesus, for missing out on the moment because of being so distracted by doing.

Of all the different derivations of this story about Mary and Martha, one theme seems to emerge. This is the idea that being “right” or even doing “right” is not always the most important thing. This is not an easy lesson for someone like me who LOVES being right. If my husband were here he would corroborate my confession. But here’s the issue. Being right forces one into the position of judge. And, this is part of the problem here for Judas. He has heard enough Biblical teaching to know, at least intellectually, that caring for the poor is God’s commandment. He knows that excess and waste is wrong. So, when he witnesses Mary’s act of love for Jesus, all he sees is the transaction- costly perfume used up in a matter of seconds on one person. On the surface, it is a waste. He watched Jesus feed a hungry multitude. He knows that Jesus’ heart is with those who are in need. So, he sees an opportunity to be right, or more pointedly, point out where someone else is wrong. He self appoints himself as judge, a position that we are reminded again and again, isn’t for us to occupy.

But let us not also fall into the trap off making Judas into the bad guy. First of all, I am not sure I can go a whole hour much less an entire day without inching my way into the judge’s seat. It is very difficult to stay out of judgment, which is probably why Jesus spends so much time teaching about its perils. Often, we slip into the judgment mode, and we don’t even realize it. We self appoint ourselves as the arbiter of right and wrong. Being right is about holding a position of power, which presupposes that those who are wrong are in a lesser place. People who have a constant need to be right often struggle with feelings of inadequacy and self worth. For instance, if I need to focus on where others are wrong so that I feel that I am ok, clearly, I am not ok. 

This is where grace comes in for a person like Judas. He isn’t ok. He doesn’t know how to be in a relationship with Jesus because he doesn’t know how to love himself. It’s so much easier to be right than stay in relationship because relationships bring so much hard stuff to the surface, our weakness and vulnerability, our deep need to be loved, our fears of rejection, our shame of being fully seen warts and all. Focusing on being right, and knowing better than, is a lot easier than dealing with all of that.

Jesus deftly turns Judas’ thinking upside-down. But not because Jesus didn’t care about the poor, or because he was suddenly fine with waste and excess, but because Jesus cares more about relationships than about being right. He is most interesting in loving and teaching us to love than harping on all the places where we are wrong. He was trying to help Judas see that there is more to this scene than being right. Mary gets that. She understands. She understood this when she took time to sit with Jesus and cultivate a relationship with him rather than worrying about hosting a lunch, and she understood this when she used up her most valuable possession in a matter of minutes to wash and anoint Jesus’ feet, to tenderly love him the best way she knew how.

Reflecting on this story makes me ask myself how I might be more like Mary than like Judas?” Both of them heard Jesus’ teachings, witnessed his miracles, lived in his presence and observed his radical ministry. Discipleship was demonstrated to both of them in the flesh. There were no secrets, nothing hidden. Yet, one was able to open her heart, to recognize the gift of relationship and the other was not.

It seems to me that we are constantly navigating this reality, whether to open up our hearts to love and the perils of relationships or to keep them closed off. Choosing risk over safety. It was certainly a risk for Mary to love and believe in a man who was headed for death, who would soon be hunted and whose friends would also be in danger because of their association with him. It is a risk to open up our hearts because we can’t selectively open them to just the good stuff. When we open up our hearts we also let in the hard stuff, too. It’s a counter-intuitive decision for many of us. And, it’s not easy.

But this morning, amidst our own struggles with choosing love, with admitting just how fragile, how vulnerable we are, we are also reminded that God is making a way for us. God’s voice rings out saying, “I am about to do a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it?” And yet this new thing is not really new at all. It’s the same thing that God has been doing for us from the very beginning. Whether it’s making a way through the mighty sea or holding us close and teaching us to open our hearts again, God is with us, helping us find a way toward new life, a way toward resurrection.

In just a few days we will be reminded of Judas’ final act as a betrayer, we will remember with grief, his final act. We will acknowledge how fragile, how vulnerable any of us could be. But let us also remember Judas as a child of God, one who Jesus called to be his very own, one with whom Jesus broke bread. Let us bear this good news to the world, that the one who has come to save us all, the one who brings life out of death, is also the one who will go to the ends of the earth to find that one lost sheep. And when he finds it, lays it on his shoulders and rejoices.

May we let our hearts to be opened wide. May we walk in the light. May we allow ourselves be found. Amen.

Still, Small Voice

Chaplain Mel O’Malley        

March 20, 2016

John 12:12-19

“Still, Small Voice”

It is pretty safe to say that if Jesus had been running for President on Palm Sunday, the electoral math would have easily been in his favor. A great crowd gathered to see him coming into Jerusalem. If there had been any media outlets, CNN, Fox News, MSNBC, I am sure they would have been covering this event.  As Jesus got closer to town, the people started chanting, “Hosanna! Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord— the King of Israel!” On this particular day, the people loved Jesus. They called him King, and they put out palm branches, making antiquity’s version of the red carpet. That was then, though. A few days later, in the blink of an eye, everything had changed for Jesus. The crowds who were once waving palms became crowds spitting and screaming, “Crucify him.” Jesus’ popularity had been crushed.

Popular opinion can make a huge impact. Earlier this week on the radio before Tuesday’s primaries, one political commentator said that all Bernie Sanders had to do was steal enough of Clinton’s delegates, not necessarily even win a whole state, but just take enough delegates to convince the public that he was surging. Doing this might change everything for him, might turn the tide. Public opinion matters a lot. We think it matters more now than ever before in this age of 24 hour news coverage and internet because nothing goes unseen. Everything is available for public consumption. But public opinion mattered for Jesus, too. How else can you explain the journey between Palm Sunday and Good Friday? Something happened in those few days that changed the course of Jesus’ life and ultimately brought him to his death.  

Woven in the narrative of all of the gospels is this fearful voice emanating from the political and religious leadership, from leaders like Herod and the Pharisees. They use this common refrain saying, “If the people love Jesus, believe in him too much, if they realize who he really is, then they will follow him instead of us.” Those in power do not like to have their power threatened. In our passage today the Pharisees are bemoaning the growing problem of Jesus. Those who had witnessed Jesus raising Lazarus from the dead were still talking about that miracle. Others, maybe those who had benefitted from that time when Jesus fed five thousand or when Jesus gave sight back to a blind man or healed countless people, they were also talking about him.

The situation was getting out of control. The people liked Jesus too much. The Pharisees said one another, “You see, there is nothing we can do. Look, the world has gone after him!” They were so worried about Jesus gaining the power away from them because of his popularity that they were willing to do anything they could to stop Jesus in his tracks. So they capitalized on the people’s fears. They said and did whatever they could to lead the people away from him. This is how we went from Palm Sunday to Good Friday.  

There is a reason that many of the parables use sheep as an example. Besides the obvious that Jesus’ audience was agrarian and understood the mechanics of sheep, generally, sheep are a really great example of mob mentality. If one or two start to go in one direction, for no particular reason, then the others will quickly follow, even if it is a bad idea. They don’t seem to have any sense of direction or much sense at all. A few months ago when my parents were visiting, we watched a movie together. There was a scene where a few of a group of about 200 sheep got spooked. So they broke through their protective barrier, a terrible idea for them in the long run. The whole group of sheep panicked, started running. The next thing you know every one of them had run off a cliff and died.

This reminds me of a saying that I have heard parents say to their kids, in fact I am sure my parents said it to me too, “If so-in-so jumps off a bridge, does that mean you should go and jump off a bridge, too?” We like to think it’s just teenagers who would indignantly say, “Yes!” to this question. But if we are honest, we may also admit where we are susceptible to the pull of the masses. When people start to shout and panic and run in a direction, it’s easy to be pulled along, to get swept up. This is why having the right kind of shepherd is so important. Those sheep wouldn’t have run off the cliff if their shepherd had been there, calming them down and guiding them away from danger.

But, looking at our story today, the Great Shepherd was there. He was actually there in the flesh. He had been healing the sick, bringing sight to the blind, raising people from the dead. He was right there with them living the Good News. And still, the crowd got confused about who their shepherd really was. They listened to the louder voices, the ones that were inciting fear. The ones that were attempting to discredit Jesus. The crowd got spooked and ran toward death rather than life.

When we read the Bible, it’s easy to view these stories as if they are about a different time and place, a different people. We think this story is about Jesus and a crowd that flip flops on a dime and ends up killing the one who had come to save them. But this story is also about us. It’s our story, too. We know the siren song of the false shepherd. We are lured by it every time we delude ourselves into thinking we have control over our lives, when we believe that one of these politicians actually has the power to wipe away all our worries and problems and make it all better. We follow false shepherds when we let the loud and angry voices direct our steps, tell us what to think and feel, who to love and to whom to give our mercy.

Maybe part of what we taught about the danger of being swept up in the crowd is that sometimes following Jesus is about just standing still. Not jumping when the wind changes or raising our voice when others start to shout loudly. But just standing amidst it all, listening for another kind of voice, a still, small voice, and having the faith to wait for that voice to lead us toward green pastures and still waters, toward a future of true hope and fullness of heart.

Long before Jesus’ triumphal entry into Jerusalem, the prophet Elijah learned this lesson first hand. Elijah was told to “Go out and stand on the mountain before the Lord, for the Lord is about to pass by.” First, a great wind came, so strong that it could split mountains and break rocks in pieces, but the Lord was not in the wind; next, after the wind an earthquake, but the Lord was not in the earthquake; and after the earthquake a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire; and after the fire came a sound of sheer silence. When Elijah experiences this silence, he wraps his face in his mantle and goes out and stands at the entrance of the cave. It was only then that he heard God’s voice.

The chaos of the wind, the earthquake and the fire, the loud shouts of confused and scared people, afraid of what they may lose, the pull of the mob who does not even know who its shepherd is and will go toward whatever voice that calls out most convincingly, all of this madness can distract us, even prevent us from hearing God’s voice calling out to us. If Elijah’s story teaches us anything, it is that sometimes we do have to be patient. Sometimes we have to wait for a break in all the noise, or even make a space away from the constant sound by turning off the tv or radio or IPod or even silencing the voices in our own heads, so that we will be able to hear that still, small voice, calling out to us, leading us, shepherding us toward the only life that means anything.

In a noisy world, where many false shepherds sing siren promises, may we have courage to stand our ground, always listening for that still, small voice, having faith that this voice will be all that we need to find our way. Amen

Peace here and now...

Rev. Mel Baars O’Malley

First Presbyterian Church Karnes City

May 1, 2016

If given the choice, I don’t often choose the Revelation passage when it comes up in the lectionary. I am happy to leave interpreting its convoluted passages to the scholars and professors. Nonetheless, there are a few passages in Revelation that I do really love. I think I discovered most of them when I was a pastor in South Africa and was called on to preach at funerals. Revelation paints a picture that is quite spectacular. Whether it’s a new earth where there is no more crying or pain or suffering or, as we read today, a city where there is no need for sun or moon to shine on it, but a place where the glory of the Lord illuminates everything and everyone. Besides the obvious savings on electricity bills, which everyone would be grateful for, the prophesy in Revelation describes this light as so spectacular that all the nations walk by it. It is hard to even imagine a time and place where all people, all nations, walk in the light.  It seems like a fantasy especially when you consider that we, even in the church, don’t always walk in the light with any real unity.

In South Africa, where there wasn’t a lot of present hope because so many people were sick and struggling to find work and to make a good life for themselves and their families, it was really easy to focus on the future rather than dwell or even deal with the problems of the present. The government wasn’t going to stop acting corruptly. HIV and AIDS wasn’t going to suddenly cease transmitting. Jobs weren’t going to magically appear and ensure solid wages for everyone who was unemployed. God’s promises were the only real hope there was and we talked about them, longed for them, with our whole hearts.

In the midst of suffering and pain, it is difficult not to give in to the impulse to escape. I have to fight this impulse every time I am called up to a room where a patient is suffering or even dying. I have to struggle myself to stay in the room for a little longer, linger in a place even where it hurts, where I am reminded of my own frailty and humanness, because God is at work here too, in the suffering and tears and pain, and if I escape too quickly I will miss it.

Revelation’s vision is a promise worth celebrating, but I think we have to be careful not to use it as our escape from life, from the complicated and messy gifts that we have in the present moment. Because as I have grown, certainly as a pastor and even more as a person, I have experienced the value of loss and pain, of valleys of darkness. Not that I would ever ask for them to come into my life, but excepting that they will sooner or later, that there is gift there, too.

About a year ago one of my friends from seminary decided that the pastorate is not really where she is called. All the jobs that she has had post seminary have not gone the way that she thought they would go. It’s been a really frustrating road. She has been treated unfairly by pastor bosses and hurt by the church as an institution. What seemed like a worthy and beautiful profession turned out to be a disappointment. So what do most people do when they are not sure what to do next in life… they go to law school. That was for you Greg. But as I have listened to her talk about her hopes and dreams for making a difference, for allowing God to use her life for good, it strikes me that law school isn’t going to make her path any easier. Bosses are still going to be disappointing and institutions, church, government, or anything else, are still going to fall short. Escaping one mess doesn’t mean another mess won’t still come our way.

What strikes me about our gospel reading today is that this disappointing world that we live in is the same reality that Jesus lived and taught and ministered in, too. His was also a world ruled by corrupt government and by people who were only self-interested, who would do anything to protect their way of life, even crucify an innocent man. Jesus knew disappointment first hand. And despite the pain and suffering he experienced, he says to his friends, “Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled, and do not let them be afraid.”

What Jesus isn’t doing here is offering an escape route to avoid the messiness of the world; he isn’t encouraging them to focus on a less painful future or even on the everlasting life that they have been promised. But he is giving them his peace reminding them that his peace is the only thing that can cure a troubled heart, the only thing that can truly cast out fear.

Jesus gives them and he gives us these words of encouragement not so we can avoid pain or detour around the dark valleys, but he speaks this good news so that we can be more ready to endure our lives, the good, the bad, and everything between, with an openness to the joyful gifts as well as the painful ones. It’s peace as you hold your grandchild in your arms for the first time. Peace as the doctor says those dreaded words. Peace when the well runs dry or the job doesn’t work out and peace when it does.

Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Of course, its hard not to want what the world gives. The advertisements alone paint a tempting picture, a picture that tells us with a few less wrinkles or some miracle cure, all of our troubles will be wiped away. But we also know that even this promise, as good as it seems, will still disappoint us.  

My grandmother used to talk a lot about what we would do when her ship came in. As a little kid, I don’t know if I really understood what that meant, but I knew enough that I should be hoping and praying for that ship because when it did show up life was going to be awesome. But looking back at my memories with her and my aunts and uncles and cousins as I was growing up, I realize now that my life was already awesome, and it is not only because she had an endless supply of dove bars in her freezer. But there was love and wonder and joy accompanied with sadness and disappointment and loss. We were all there together, though, enduring it all, and I have to think that at some point she realized her ship had come a long time ago.

This morning Jesus reminds us of the gift that he has left with us so that we are able to live our lives well. He makes no promises of ease. He doesn’t tell us how to escape or that we just have to hold on until heaven comes, but instead he gives us his peace. It is the gift of the spirit which helps us to keep going when we are tired or afraid; it is the gift which keeps our hearts open and willing to love. This is the good news we have to share in an often disappointing and painful world. Don’t let this crazy election season or news of economic downturn or anything else in the world detract from this. Don’t let it take away your peace. But leave from here ready to share as Jesus did, trusting that this peace will be enough today, tomorrow, and always.  Amen