In the late 90s,
while I was serving on the Vestry of Trinity Cathedral Parish in Little Rock, we undertook a capital campaign with the expressed
purpose of renovating the Cathedral. Actually, once we got into the details of repairing this building which was constructed
on a shoe string budget in 1884, we discovered that the building in all its majesty and sacred beauty was on the verge of
collapsing—years of deferred maintenance decisions and superficial patch jobs had almost relegated this church building
to the scrap heap. But the people of Trinity dug deep, and eighteen months later, after worshipping in a gym week by week,
we rededicated the building for another century of use as a “house of prayer for all people.”
One
of the great gifts of serving on the Vestry at that time is that we weren’t just dealing with the usual decisions about
money and program and staffing—those continued for sure, but at the end of each monthly meeting we would adjourn for
a tour of the construction project to see its staged progress. We discovered all sorts of surprises about the building by
making this monthly pilgrimage into the Cathedral. Restoration experts had discovered, for example, these bright Victorian
colors of paint on the wainscot that had long since been covered up by generations in the early 20th Century. Inscriptions
on the wall in the baptistry where I had been received into the household of God years earlier were reclaimed as an integral
part of our worship space. And the beautiful woodwork of the reredos (behind the altar), installed in the 1920s, handmade
by German artisans, was washed and given new life at the hands of preservationists.
The centerpiece
of this great work of art behind the altar is a statue of Jesus Christ made from a solid piece of oak from some centuries
old forest in Europe. From its high perch above and behind the altar, this Jesus appears to be life size, but we were stunned
to see, when it was removed for safekeeping in the midst of the construction, that it is only about 4.5 feet tall! It is the
perfect size when it rests in place, though, and if you have never seen it, I encourage you to go sometime—it is, after
all, your church, since this Cathedral is the possession of every Episcopalian in Arkansas.
When
I was a child we sometimes irreverently called him the “stop sign Jesus” because his hands are up in the position
as if he is saying “Halt.” Only later did I learn about the catacombs underneath ancient Rome, where the early
Christians met secretly for worship, under great risk of persecution and death, and there are paintings throughout the catacombs
that represent Jesus and those who followed him with their hands in this same position. It meant not “halt” but
I am open to you.
It is why police tell their suspects to get their hands up—an open palm in plain
sight is an empty palm—one with no weapon that might do harm. It is why we shake hands—an empty palm offered to
another is a hand that means no harm. It is a position of vulnerability.
Which is why you will notice that
when I preside at the altar for Holy Communion, I lift my hands up to God—it is called the “orans” position—literally,
the position of praying, the ancient position prescribed for public prayer, with palms open to God.
You
will notice, too, that when I pronounce God’s blessing at the end of the service, I present an open palm to you while
the other hand rests on the altar—that is, the table of God. I am not blessing you; I am a conduit that offers God’s
blessing to you all.
Open palms equal vulnerability, a willingness to engage the other with respect, honor,
and hopefully the love that flows from God to and through us to the world.
Which is why the rich young man
in today’s gospel has such a difficult time wrestling with what Jesus tells him. I know this passage is used to beat
people up about their money, but I think there is something deeper here, something more poignant than that. At the heart of
this teaching is a call to be vulnerable, to be open to one another and to God.
For my part, I am convinced that
we were created to be vulnerable to one another, to be engaged in works of honor and respect and love—these are gifts
that come from God but that are ours to give away.
What are the things that cause us to close our palms so tightly that we shut out the possibility of those gifts flowing
from us? What if Jesus is inviting us to ponder that question—what is it that you are grasping in your hand so tightly
that it causes you to stumble?
Is it resentment—maybe someone has wronged you, hurt
you, offended you, and you resent the results of their actions that have adversely affected you so. Are you holding onto to
that resentment? Is Jesus calling for you to open your palm and let that blow away, thereby freeing up your hand to give,
because you still have much to give…
Perhaps it is envy or jealousy that has caused you to clench
your fist—maybe you have not been given a fair shake in life, and you can’t seem to take your eyes of what the
other seems to enjoy. Is Jesus calling you to become “halt” such comparisons, addressing yourself instead to the
blessings in your own life—blessings that afford you the opportunity to give away.
Or
is it greed—maybe you know what it is like to walk through the desert of true need, and maybe you have become accustomed
to operating as if there is just not enough to go around—and so your feet keep taking you there, even as the richness
of God’s mercy and love lights on your shoulder day by day as a sufficient offering for your well-being. Is Jesus calling
you to walk away from that perspective of life, crawl away if you have to, and dance instead in the wonders of God’s
goodness.
I believe with all my heart that we were created by God to be giving souls—which
is why this image of the open palm is so powerful. Our hearts will be restless until we rest in the truth that we were created
to be open to God and to one another—to be recipients and conduits of God’s grace and love. To be sure, it is
in our vulnerability that we are at greatest risk of being hurt even more, and yet it is also the locus of the greatest reward.
So be aware this week—be aware of the moments when you have a choice—a choice to have God’s gifts
flow through you to the world. And take a second to glance at your hands, and decide then—will they be open?
