Becca Stevens

I was walking in the beautiful woods in North Carolina when a
crow's caw caught my attention. The crow has a distinct and familiar
song, but this old crow, sitting in a low branch sang a strange new
song. It had more notes, and it sounded almost backwards. It was
startling and brought me from my day dream into the power and presence
of the woods I was walking in. The crow is known as a harbinger of
truth, so to hear him sing a new song made me think about hearing a
new truth that shifts the other truths that live in us to make room
for a new one. It is similar to the heart shifting and making room
for a new baby. The new truth becomes part of all the other truths we
have already let sink into our hearts. There are many thoughts in the
world, only some sink in past our thick skin, a smaller amount moves
past our cynical thoughts, and only one in a million make it beyond
the boarders of our guarded hearts and take residence in the sacred
place that is our moral ground. That is the place that influences our
actions and moves us to act in faith without fear.

The old crow with the new song reminded me of the great gift of
new and deep truth that broadens and expands our horizons. Learning
knew truth is what makes the gospels a living world and our faith such
a joy. The truth comes to all of us, not like a nice finished piece
of art, but like a tapestry, made from the thousands of threads sewn
together from fragmented memories and bits of insight. It takes a
patience and prayer to weave the pieces together into a work of art in
progress. Each tapestry is as unique as the fingerprints on the hands
of the weaver. The piece, if made well, gets more intricate and
bigger for the truth seekers. To be such a truth seeker is a high,
artistic pursuit, it is not for the faint of heart or hand.

In the 25th chapter of Matthew, Jesus has finished his time at
the temple, he has confronted the religious authorities who claim to
hold the truth, and he knows the plot to kill him has begun. He is
two days from his arrest after the Passover and he goes to the Mount
of Olives with his disciples to conclude his teachings. He is
preparing them for the lives they will have to lead without him in
their presence. They will kill him for all the new truths he is
speaking with authority and for all the people he is drawing towards
himself. So he speaks to them in parables and tells them stories to
assure them that he is with them, that they should not be afraid even
though they don't know what is coming, and that they need to go back
out into the world, trim their lamps, carry more oil, share their
talents, and rejoice in the new spirit that will lead them into truth.

He tells them not to have the attitude of the Sadducees about
religious tradition that refuses to change, develop or grow. They
bury the truth in the ground, with no light and no growth and so it
will miss the joy of growing and flourishing in the world. It is
written on stone, not on hearts of flesh that change as they beat in
the world. We cannot hold on to what we feel comfortable with, or
what reassures in changing times or a hard economic forecast, this is
when we have to listen to the gospels anew, hear the song of the crow
again, and make room to learn new things and share the message with
the world that needs to hear it.

Howard Thurman, a wonderful theologian of the 20th century, talks
about the loneliness of the truth seeker that keeps moving beyond all
boundaries and boarders to larger spaces and places where we are
challenged again to hear God's calling anew. The crow's new song is a
great symbol of the gift of allowing new truth to weave its way into
our broad tapestry and share it as part of the unfolding story of the
truth of our lives.

This week Roy stopped me in the hallway. Roy is sometimes
homeless, sometimes living with a friend, and he has graced this
community for several years now. I have known Roy for a long time,
but mostly we just talk in passing, and he always reminds me that he
prays for me and my family. Sometimes he tells stories about the
police or his health or some injustice that has occurred in his life.
And sometimes I don't pay attention; it's like the crow's voice that
drowns into the noise of the woods themselves. But this time when he
was walking by he said, "Becca, do you know what to pray for?" And
like the strange song of the crow in North Carolina, I was startled
and stopped in my tracks. I almost didn't understand the question,
but the clarity of the question coming from my old acquaintance, made
me take it very seriously. "I don't know Roy; I don't know what to
pray for sometimes." "You need to pray for truth. Then you need to
preach the truth you learn. If you pray for God's truth and then
teach us what you learn, we all grow. You don't remember how young
you were when you started" he said, "but I remember, you didn't know
what you were doing. God has been kind to you. You need to keep
praying for God's spirit to lead you." I am grateful to the crow and
I am grateful to Roy and I am grateful for Howard Thurman, all
reminders to be open to new truth in our lives and to be reformed in
God's love. I want my tapestry to grow and be a more loving piece.
I want your tapestry to weave new images so that you can love better.
It means we have to take the truths we know, and risk them and seek
new truth. Pray for truth, let it take root and blossom in your
heart, let it weave into the fabric of your life in practical ways,
and then preach it, so we all grow and share in the joy of the
kingdom.

In the old story, two people walk down the beach as one bends
down and throws a starfish back in the ocean. After being questioned
about the futility of it in the face of a million starfish on the
beach, the thrower's insight that to the starfish it makes a
difference is intended to inspire us to help our brothers and sisters
who are suffering. Seen the from the starfish's perspective it is
life-saving and merciful parable. Seen from the perspective of the
more practical and flippant walker, the parable becomes a call to
humility and loving-kindness. But from the perspective of the guy who
keeps walking and throwing starfish, there is a touch of sadness in
the seemingly endless task ahead. You can picture him finally leaving
the inspired friend behind and walking alone on the beach, pitching
starfish and wondering if he is going to be throwing starfish for the
rest of his life. He may wonder if he will be throwing starfish while
forces more powerful than he will continue to wash a greater number of
starfish up on shore. He may wonder if he will be throwing some of
the same damn starfish again when they come back with the next low
tide. He keeps throwing starfish, and even though it means something
to the starfish, maybe sometimes he wonders what it says about the
meaning of his own life. When I hear the parable from the starfish
throwers view, I see a single man walking along a lonely beach. There
is more to the theology behind this story of starfish throwing though.
The image it has etched in my mind undermines our ability to throw
starfish well and ignores the foundation of walking that path of
faith.

Moses walked and led the multitude in the desert, ascending and
descending Mount Sinai to write countless laws given to him by God to
offer the people as a guide. He spent forty years in the desert
leading people towards the promise land. The people are depicted in
the story of exodus as helpless as starfish, victims of a force
greater than themselves and unable to determine how to respond. Moses
just keeps the faith, offers his life for their sake, all the time
searching for his God and following the path before him. His career
included dictating the Laws in Numbers and Leviticus for his people to
follow to be faithful and prosper. Toward the end of his life, when
the Lord calls him to Mount Sinai God tells him he can only show him
the back of his head. He is faithful and doesn't look upon the face
of God until God has passed before him and he glimpses at the back of
his head. A founder of the Muslim, Christian, and Jewish faith, he is
only allowed to see the back of his head. Whenever you or I are mired
in uncertainty about our calling or our discernment of God's will, all
we have to do is remember our Father Moses. He began by floating at
the mercy of the Egyptians in a reed basket down a river with
crocodiles. He found his calling on Holy Ground before a burning bush
with no idea how that would translate into freedom for his people. He
fought a powerful army only to wander in the desert for forty years.
He kept leading them and dreaming of the day he could stop wandering
and find the place he could call home. At the end of Deuteronomy,
when he is at the end of his 120 years of wandering, God shows him the
land. "I can't let you cross to the promise land", God says. "You
have to die on this side of the Jordon." Moses even dies as God
commands and after the people grieve him for thirty days, they start
walking towards Jerusalem. It kills me that he never got to stand in
Israel. It is similar to the seemingly sad story of the starfish and
can make one almost fall into despair. That is, until you read this
Gospel in Matthew 22. Jesus uses Moses' words when he is confronted
in Jerusalem. He uses the words that Moses heard from God in the
endless desert that he told the Israelites to write on their
children's hearts in this book of Deuteronomy. Jesus, at the critical
confrontation with the religious authority, doesn't bother quoting the
Minor Prophets, he speaks Moses' words. The faith of Moses is alive
and well and lived beyond the Jordon, beyond the words of other
prophets and was carried to the whole world.

It is Moses himself that began the tradition of starfish throwing
when he demanded that we learn how to love God, self and neighbor and
self. He spoke the words of God and we have been carrying the message
through the desert, through every major religion, and throughout the
world for all time. It only feels futile when we think we are the
only starfish throwers. We come from a long and powerful line and we
get our instructions from the creator of the universe through the life
and witness of Moses himself. There are thousands of starfish
throwers to walk the beaches and when we are faithful in our stretch,
the vision of helping starfish throughout the world feels doable. One
of the gifts this fall has been traveling and speaking about the
community of St. Augustine's grounded in the corporeal acts of mercy
and the ministry of Magdalene. Everywhere we go we hear stories of
people who are tending the starfish on their beaches. It is a
beautiful, broad and powerful image to enhance the old story. We can
imagine the story again; no longer lonely and sad as the starfish
thrower runs into others who are connected to him in his desire to
love God, self, and neighbor with compassion and faith. When you take
a step back and see the power in the thousands of people throwing them
from many different beaches it fills you with a sense of community and
purpose. You see yourself in a long line beginning with Moses and we
can keep going with all our hearts and write it again on the hearts of
our children.

When the prophets and preachers from the time of Joshua crossed
into the promise land, they took Moses with them. The religious
authorities in Jesus life knew this Law. They knew the Torah given by
Moses and that we are required to do deeds of loving kindness. Jesus
reminded them that the law itself depends on deeds of love. The words
and works of love have continued to echo through a great and powerful
line and words like Martin Luther King who knew that even though he
saw the Promised Land he may not get there. When you look into the
cosmos, a professor explained to me that you are really looking into
the past, because we can only see to our beginning, or when the first
light reached us. In the same way, when we look at the deeds of love,
we are not just looking at the present; we are looking at the entire
history of love in the world. It is the most powerful force for
change in the world, and it is a gift to be able to keep walking, and
do our part, knowing love was our beginning, and will carry us back to
God---our promised land.

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