Manna and Mercy

Manna and Mercy--February 15, 2017

"Pray then in this way: Our Father in heaven, hallowed be your name. Your kingdom come. Your will be done, on earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread. And forgive us our debts, as we also have forgiven our debtors." [Matthew 6:9-12]

It's like being taken by the hand and led out of the cruise ship swimming pool and invited to jump into the great wide ocean that was there all along beyond the lido deck.

It's like being pulled from the living room window through which you were straining to see the moon out in the night sky, and taken out into the front yard to see the whole night sky in all its brilliance, away from the haze of light pollution from your living room TV.

That's what it's like to be pulled out from the narrow little reality of "my will" and being drawn into the wide open ocean, the sea of stars in the night sky, that is the will of God.  It is a pulling out of something, yes--but something that was ridiculously small and comparatively shallow when held up against the vast beauty that was surrounding it the whole time. 

We need to have this conversation, as we are looking all month long at turning our old question, "How do I get what I want out of life?" upside down to ask instead, "How will God get what God intends in the world, and how can I be a part of it in my life?"  We need to be clear, or maybe I need to be clear myself, about what it really means to talk about "the will of God."  Sometimes that can sound just as narrow and tremendously fatalistic--it can sound like God has a secret "correct" parking space in which you must park in order to accomplish some divine plan, or that God has a vital interest in which pair of socks you wear this morning.  Sometimes religious folks (and TV and radio preachers have this down to a science) can sound like they have special secret access to God's will for you personally, and that if you will take their recommended steps (often it involves sending money to their TV or radio ministry, ordering their latest book, subscribing to their blog, or voting for the candidate they not-too-subtly support), then they will cue you in to the secret plan of God's best parking space for you. 

This is manifestly not what I have in mind (and I don't think the New Testament writers, nor Jesus himself) has in mind when we talk about reorienting our lives around God's will.  It is not that you have to stop liking mushrooms on pizza because God's secret will is for you to start liking pineapple and ham.  And it is not that God will start sending you notes with stock tips and fashion choices for your daily outfits if only you will pray the right prayer.  Nope.  Not that.  Not at all.

But what I want to suggest is that when we are bent in on self (which is another way of saying, living for our own wish lists and seeking to get "my way"), we are actually settling for much less than is out there, and it turns out that when we allow ourselves to be reoriented around the Reign of God, we discover something that is good and beautiful and wide enough for all.

Sometimes talk of "seeking the will of God" sounds like we are going to be asked to walk on glass, or take up frowning permanently, or to stop enjoying good jokes with friends, or the taste of a cold beer, or the smell of rain, or the reassurance of the voice of someone who loves you.  And it's not that, either.  It turns out that the living God has a thing for spreading joy, all around, and that includes things like rain and friends and love and good jokes and all the rest. But God's vision, if we dare to believe the Scriptures, is wider and bigger than our narrow self-interest.  It turns out God doesn't just want me to be joyful, or just me-and-my-immediate-group, but everybody.  It turns out, God wants me to be fed, but not just me--God's will is for everybody to get to eat, not just that I get to gorge myself on supersized excess.

That's the difference: turning our orientation toward God's will rather than "my way" opens me up to recognizing that the Maker of the Universe, who sends the good gifts of sun and rain on all of us, has a reckless generosity toward all.  Now, that isn't meant to take away from my joy, but we humans have a way of sliding into petty childishness that gets upset when someone else gets something good, even if we still have whatever good things we need, too.  We have a way, like in Jesus' provocative parable of workers in the vineyard, of getting upset when someone else gets the same as we already have, even though we haven't been cheated out of anything ourselves.  We have a way of assuming the world is a zero-sum game, and that if something good happens to you, it must be bad for me--and conversely, that the only way I can feel successful enough is to label you a "loser" and myself a "winner."  That's the way children think.  That's the way petty hearts think.  That's the small-size and shallow-scope vision of someone bent in on "my way" and "Me-and-My-Group First!" that thinks there is only enough good to go around for a select few.

But the living God has a way of multiplying loaves and fishes.  The living God has a way of raining down manna from heaven each morning--enough for all, and bound to spoil and rot if you try and hoard more for just you and your little group.  The living God has a way of envisioning goodness and abundance that is enough for all.  And only only ONLY if we are stuck in petty-minded-child mode will we see it as "bad news"  to be pulled out of our narrow self-interest into something wider and bigger.  It really is like being taken by the hand from the cruise ship swimming pool to see that we are being invited to take a dip in the ocean. That's what it is to learn to pray, as Jesus teaches, "Your will be done on earth as it is in heaven."

Because... did you notice what immediately follows from praying for God's Reign to come and God's will to be done?  Almost like Jesus is elaborating on what that looks like, Jesus proceeds to teach us (always in the plural--there is no "me" and "my" but "us" and "our" for Jesus) to ask for bread for the day, like manna from the old wildnerness wanderings, and forgiveness for all.  Food and forgiveness.  Manna and mercy.  And notice that in Jesus' view, these things are meant to be given all around, shared all around, and asked for all around.  I don't just ask for God to cover my food needs while my neighbor goes hungry--my neighbor going hungry will not make my food taste any better, after all.  If anything, it should make my sick to my stomach to know that my neighbor is going without.  And forgiveness is the same: Jesus teaches me not simply to ask for my own forgiveness so that I-and-I-alone can "get into heaven" because I am forgiven, but rather we ask for mercy in the plural ("forgive us") and Jesus hitches it to our practice of forgiveness of others.  That is what it looks like where God's will is done--everybody gets to eat.  Everybody gets grace.  Not that we all get to gorge ourselves on a fifth large pizza with divine blessing on our avarice.  And not that we all get license to be rotten jerks to each other because we think forgiveness means "permission to be a jerk."  But daily bread.  Daily forgiveness.  This is what God's will is... for all.

See how wide a vision that is?  See how much more beautiful it is than just me in the tiny, over-chlorinated pool on the cruise ship?  See how many more stars I can see when I am led out from the glow of the TV to the open air of the night sky?

That's what it is on this day to learn to pray, "Not my will, but yours, O God.  Not what  I thought was my wish-list, but your dream, O God, your vision, and your Reign of manna and mercy for all."  Let us step into the day this way.

Not my will, but yours, O God.  Not what I thought was my wish-list, but your dream, O God, your vision, and your Reign of manna and mercy for all.