Just Do It

More than one person has pointed out the irony of Michael Schiavo's determination to carry out his wife's wishes, and his statements that she died 15 years ago, and now she should be released to go to God (there are philosophical and theological questions everywhere, much as we might wish not to deal with them except in the comfortable abstract). Which means, of course, this issue is all about power. The people running this circus now use fear and power as their goads, and they seem to have herds to drive before them.

This has, as you can tell, been driving me crazy. Things do that; get under my skin, and then I am frozen in an inertia of powerless anger and helpless despair. Cleaning up my files in an effort to return everything I wrote for 4 years of sermons back into electronic form (the boxes loom around me in my office as I type, waiting to be reviewed and transferred and then the paper destroyed), I found something I wrote for a church newsletter. Some of it is meaningless here; but this much wouldn't let me go:

"Feed My Sheep”

When they had finished breakfast, Jesus said to Simon Peter, “Simon son of John, do you love me more than these?” He said to him, “Yes, Lord; you know that I love you.” Jesus said to him, “Feed my lambs.” A second time he said to him, “Simon son of John, do you love me?” He said to him, “Yes, Lord; you know that I love you.” Jesus said to him, “Tend my sheep.” He said to him the third time, “Simon son of John, do you love me?” Peter felt hurt because he said to him the third time, “Do you love me?” And he said to him, “Lord, you know everything; you know that I love you.” Jesus said to him, “Feed my sheep.”

The "three times bit" is particularly poignant, given the passion story being read in many churches today. But I want to focus on it for a reason. In the original context of this article, I was talking about church membership, about participation. Remove those introductory paragraphs, and we can go straight to this:

Jesus asks Peter three times “Do you love me?” and every time Peter answers, Jesus says “Feed my sheep.” He doesn’t say: “That’s good. Now sit here on the back pew with me and listen to the sermon.” He says: “Do something. Feed my sheep.”
When you come to church, do you expect to get something? Or do you come prepared only to give something? It’s easier to receive, isn’t it? But Jesus says “Feed my sheep.” How can we do that only by receiving?

Dame Julian of Norwich says: “Pray even if you feel nothing, see nothing. For when you are dry, empty, sick, or weak, at such a time is your prayer most pleasing to God, even though you may find little joy in it. This is true of all believing prayer.” Pray, in other words, especially when you have nothing to give, when you really only want to receive. It’s a hard lesson, isn’t it? We’d rather pray when we are “motivated,” when God or the pastor or life in general gives us reason to pray. We don’t want to pray “because we have to.” We’ll do nothing instead. But Dame Julian understands something we don’t: God doesn’t belong to us; we belong to God.

That's it. That's all. A reminder. Pray without ceasing. Pray even if you feel nothing, see nothing. Because we belong to God. We all do. And prayer will do us more good than all the arguing and anger and grandstanding and public outcry combined. Not because it is magical, mystical, or miraculous (although it is); but because it is a reminder of whose we are, and who we are.

Jesus says: "Do something. Feed my sheep." We have no power. But we are not helpless. We have the power of powerlessness. We can do something. We can feed the sheep. It's a hard lesson, isn't it? What better time to get around to start acting on it, than Holy Week?