Into Pieces

I'd like to start off today’s message sharing a story from a book called “The Miracle of Mindfulness” by a Vietnamese Buddhist Monk, Thich Nhat Hanh.

I remember a number of years ago, when Jim and I were first traveling together in the United States, we sat under a tree and shared a tangerine. He began to talk about what we would be doing in the future. Whenever we thought about a project that seemed attractive or inspiring, Jim became so immersed in it that he literally forgot about what he was doing in the present. He popped a section of the tangerine in his mouth and, before he had begun chewing it, had another slice ready to pop into his mouth again. He was hardly aware he was eating a tangerine. All I had to say was, “You ought to eat the tangerine section you’ve already taken.” Jim was startled into realizing what he was doing.

It was as if he hadn’t been eating the tangerine at all. If he had been eating anything, he was “eating” his future plans.

A tangerine has sections. If you can eat just one section, you can probably eat the entire tangerine. But if you can’t eat a single section, you cannot eat the tangerine. Jim understood. He slowly put his hand down and focused on the presence of the slice already in his mouth. He chewed it thoughtfully before reaching down and taking another section.

Later, when Jim went to prison for activities against war, I was worried about whether he could endure the four walls of prison and sent him a very short letter: “Do you remember the tangerine we shared when we were together? Your being there is like the tangerine. Eat it and be one with it. Tomorrow it will be no more.”

Since reading this story a few months ago, it has come to my attention that I have spent many seasons of my life choking on tangerines.

You would think this would be quite noticeable to the outside world. As I imagine it, a half-chewed tangerine shoved down my throat, is the metaphorical equivalent to writing sermons with crayons while texting someone about a work-related issue, waiting on the microwave to finish Fiona’s macaroni and cheese dinner, while grabbing the leash to take the dog for a quick trip to go potty.

In the world of choking tangerines, it’s always something all at once.

The issue with all this, though, is not the realization that I have spent most of my life walking around choking but that choking on a metaphorical tangerine is not a noticeable occurrence in a world set up to shove them down our throats.

It’s not an issue, I would argue, because it’s an expectation.

For instance, I believe I would be highly skeptical of any person who answered the question, “How are you?” with anything other than, “Tired” or “Busy.”

Who has time to sit down at a table and eat? To cook a meal? To work a full time job? To sit down at a table to eat a meal you cooked after working all day at your full time job?

It seems that this discipline of what some call mindfulness, this practice of being aware of what is happening in the present moment and responding with acceptance, is one of the hardest and yet most important disciplines to master in our human existence.

Of course, we like to blame our short attention spans on things like social media and electronics but the disciples did fall asleep in the garden so there is a good bit of evidence that living a life driven by distraction that results in a counter practice of mind-less-ness, might just be part of human nature.

To be present requires more than just physically showing up, it requires the emotional energy to resist mentally straying from the place in which we find ourselves. Guy Armstrong defines this practice of mindfulness as “knowing what you are experiencing while you’re experience it.” A moment-to-moment awareness of being in the now; one moment, one breath, one thing at a time.

We know that worship services, particularly prayer times and sermons such as this, are great examples of a potential distraction zones but it happens everywhere. It’s why your partner always forgets at least one thing you asked them to get at the grocery store and the reason why you swear your partner never told you about the upcoming out of town trip they have planned.

We aren’t really present as much as preoccupied. Preoccupied with what could happen now or what should happen next or even what has happened just a few moments ago. We are anywhere but here and that is exactly the place Jesus is calling us to be.

The focus of the Lenten Journey is one in which we assess where we are and prepare for what is next knowing full well that it is impossible to get to whatever is next without knowing where you are starting. The only way to eat that tangerine is a piece at a time. The only way to live this life is one moment at a time.

We prepare for what is next by being present in the moment. The hardest task of all because as we all know from our life experience, some moments are much more difficult to be present to than others.

I’ll be honest with you, in today’s Scripture, I’m not sure Jesus does the greatest job of facilitating the Disciple’s ability to be present in this moment. In Jesus’ defense, he’s got a lot going on.

I would imagine that any evening that isn’t an advertised Murder Mystery Dinner Party that starts with the host sharing that one of the people in the room is going to be responsible for your death isn’t the most comforting climate to find yourself in.

It would be difficult to stay in the moment with this lead in. And the disciples don’t. They immediately jump to the, ‘who’s done it’ part of the evening program and in turn emotionally abandon Jesus.

Jesus is telling them someone will betray him for a reason: he wants them to understand this will be the Last Supper.

As difficult as it would be to know, I imagine there is a gift in understanding the place in time we are during this life; new beginnings, long goodbyes, unexpected losses.

As if in our knowing we are granted this gift, this opportunity, to just be present to the moment we are in with no expectation of any outcome or solution but present with complete surrender to the reality that is.

Jesus needed them to know what was coming so that they would pay attention to what was happening.

Not that Jesus isn’t perfect or anything but in some ways I wonder if this backfired on him. If maybe the Disciples spent the evening so preoccupied with the traitor in their midst, with the possibilities of preventing the predicted tragedy, that they missed the most important part.

For example, if I were a guest at Jesus’ dinner party here is what I would text to my friend, probably during dinner, “OMG Jesus just told us he is going to be betrayed and I totally think its Peter.”

I would have been wrong of course but I have always been a bad judge of character.

Maybe years later at a some low-budget Disciple Reunion some guy named Simon would approach me and say something about that time that Jesus broke the bread and poured the cup and I would literally have no idea what they were talking about.

In his book the “mindful path to self-compassion”, Christopher Germer writes, “Mindlessness is not a problem if the movie we’re playing in our heads is sweet and enjoyable, but sometimes it’s scary and we would like nothing better than to get up and leave the theater. Our attention gets kidnapped by our suffering.”

In the Quaker Practice of a Clearness Committee a group of six to eight people gather in a circle for two hours in an intentional process of deep listening to a person designated as a focus person. The goal of the process is that through creating a safe space where a person is free to hear themselves in a new way, clarity in direction and purpose is found.

As a listener in a Clearness Committee, your most important job is to follow what that person is saying. To not fall behind thinking of questions that have made you curious and to not leap ahead with solutions or imposed conclusions. You are simply to remain present. To not fall back or jump ahead but simply to stay with. Simply to follow.

Jesus knew this was a moment of suffering and he needed them to remain present to the path they had committed to follow. And knowing the potential of this suffering to pull them away from the presence to the mission of the moment, he offers them an anchor.

“As they were eating, Jesus took a loaf of bread. He gave thanks and broke it in pieces. He gave it to them and said, “Take, eat, this is My body.” 

He gave them bread. He gave them bread to calm the mind. To gather their attention and bring them back to the present moment.  

“Then He took the cup and gave thanks. He gave it to them and they all drank from it. He said to them, “This is My blood of the New Way of Worship which is given for many.”

He gave them the cup. He gave them the cup to offer them hope. To reign in all their racing thoughts and to bring them back to the purpose of the table.

In Living Buddha, Living Christ, Thich Nhat Hanh writes, “The message of Jesus during the Seder that has become known as the Last Supper was clear. His disciples had been following Him. They had had the chance to look in his eyes and see him in person, but it seems they had not yet come into real contact with the marvelous reality of his being. So when Jesus broke the bread and poured the wine, he said, This is my body. This is my blood. Drink it, eat it, and you will have life eternal. It was a drastic way to awaken His disciples from forgetfulness.”

“When we look around,” he continues, “we see may people in whom the Holy Spirit does not appear to dwell…the practice of the Eucharist is to help resurrect people so they can touch the Kingdom of Life….the miracle happens not because the priest says the words correctly, but because we eat and drink in mindfulness.”

The Eucharist is the anchor that pulls us back from the mindlessness of a life lived on autopilot pushing us into prisons built on the infrastructure of what’s next. It liberates us from slavery to the mindlessness of the acts of perpetual doing that through Christ we might be present in the moment to all that God has already created. The Eucharist is an invitation, an anchor, calling us to stop, notice, and sit at the table which Christ calls us to be a part of.

So I wonder….just as the Disciples were called to stay with Jesus at the Last Supper, what would it look like for us to stay with Jesus this Lenten season? To follow him to the cross and rise with him on Easter? To break into pieces the layers of busyness we have built up around ourselves and be open to the moment that Jesus presents to us.

I sat laughing with my daughter at the book she just opened. I turned off the ranting of the news and turned to listen to the story of the suffering. I rode my bike and felt the burn in my leg at the push of each peddle and noticed the cool breeze against my soft cheeks. I sat down and I ate, tasting the food on my tongue and I remembered, this is the body broken for me, and I rested in gratitude for the presence of my breath that ties my being to this life. I was present.