2nd Epiphany, Year A

“Superagers” is a term coined by the neurologist Marsel Mesulam for people over the age of 65 whose memory and attention isn’t merely above average for their age, but is actually on par with healthy, active 25-year-olds.  In an article in the New York Times, he describes his research into the differences between the brains of superagers and the brains of everyone else.  He and his colleagues have identified the specific brain regions which become thin with age in everyone else, but in superagers stay as thick as they were in their 20’s.  The regions are connected with both emotions and cognition.  The article gives interesting explanations of the research and then gets to the question people most want to know:  How do you become a superager?  What activities increase your likelihood of remaining mentally sharp into old age?  The answer is to work hard at something, and specifically hard enough that you feel bad.  The researcher says: 

These brain regions have an intriguing property: When they increase in activity, you tend to feel pretty bad — tired, stymied, frustrated. Think about the last time you grappled with a math problem or pushed yourself to your physical limits. Hard work makes you feel bad in the moment. The Marine Corps has a motto that embodies this principle: “Pain is weakness leaving the body.” That is, the discomfort of exertion means you’re building muscle and discipline. Superagers are like Marines: They excel at pushing past the temporary unpleasantness of intense effort. Studies suggest that the result is a more youthful brain that helps maintain a sharper memory and a greater ability to pay attention.

This means that pleasant puzzles like Sudoku are not enough to provide the benefits of superaging. Neither are the popular diversions of various “brain game” websites. You must expend enough effort that you feel some “yuck.” Do it till it hurts, and then a bit more.

I expect this factor is not the only one at work in a system as complex as the brain; genetics is a factor too, and so are other elements.  However, it is very appealing to me that when I’m dealing with something that is hard, frustrating, creating the feelings of “yuck”, I can think to myself, “Hey, this is good for me: it’s making my brain better as I age.” Even more appealing is the realization that difficulties aren’t bad; in fact, continuing to work at things even when they’re difficult is what our brains were designed to do.  

I like the quote that mentions that great ships are safe when they’re docked in a harbor, and then says, “But being docked in a harbor is not what great ships were made for.”

I have been thinking about this as I’ve been reflecting on our gospel passage today, which includes two elements.  We get John’s description of the baptism of Christ, and then the very next day the call of the first disciples who drop everything and go off and follow Jesus.  The disciples are students of Jesus, but they are not people who sit in a classroom, and then pass an exam to show they’ve mastered the material, and then start work.  With Jesus, they just go, whether they’re ready for it or not, and they learn along the way, or fail to learn along the way, while they’re both witnessing, and participating in, both great pain and great miracles.  Along the way, Jesus just keeps getting into trouble, especially with those who have religious power, economic power, or political power.  And Jesus just keeps sticking up for the poor, the sick, the foreigner, the marginalized, and the oppressed.  Jesus proclaims the holiness of these people, as well as telling people that God is not just off in a distant heaven, but right in front of them in flesh and blood, and Jesus gets into trouble for saying both. The disciples are plunged into that trouble with him, sometimes willingly, sometimes not, all the way until the trouble of the crucifixion.  

Baptism is a sign of God’s grace.  It is also our call to discipleship, and discipleship is sometimes difficult.  We see both the grace and the striving through difficulty, not only in today’s gospel passage, but also in our baptismal covenant.  We can picture the sections of the baptismal covenant as concentric circles starting inside our souls and expanding out farther and farther.  We begin inside our souls with “Do you believe in God?” then we expand to a person: “Do you believe in Jesus Christ our Lord?” then we expand to beliefs about others and the community: “I believe in the Holy Spirit, the holy catholic church, the communion of saints”.  Then the circles expand from our belief to our actions, first among our own faith community: “Will you continue in the apostles teaching and fellowship, in the breaking of bread and in the prayers?”  Then the circle expands to our interactions with those we sin against, and the next circle expands to those we proclaim the good news of God in Christ to.  The next circle expands to all persons: Will you seek and serve Christ in all persons?  The next circle expands not just to individual persons but to society as a whole: “Will you strive for justice and peace among all people and respect the dignity of every human being?”  And the next extends to all of creation. I am grateful for that word “strive,” since it suggests that it is something difficult, and something we never fully achieve, and yet is worth striving for.   For every one of the commitments in our baptismal covenant, there is room for improvement in each of our lives.  It is a lifelong process.

On December 19th I celebrated the 20th anniversary of my ordination to the priesthood.  I have been thinking lately about who I was at that point in my life, and I have been thinking about the bishop who ordained me in the Diocese of Virginia, Bishop Peter Lee.  I started seminary in the fall of 2003, just after the General Convention of The Episcopal Church voted to consent to the consecration of Gene Robinson, the first openly gay partnered person to be a bishop in The Episcopal Church.  There was a group within the church who wanted not only to reject gay couples, but also to reject everyone who accepted gay couples’ relationships.  Ironically, as they worked to divide the church on this issue, they accused everyone who accepted it of being divisive.  As their opposition became more vociferous, Bishop Lee arranged community meetings across the diocese, including one at Virginia Seminary (where I was a student), in the hopes that airing different points of view might be a starting point for healing those divisions.  In his opening remarks, Bishop Lee talked about what an enormously difficult decision it was for him whether or not he would consent to Gene Robinson’s consecration, both because of his own mixed feelings about gay partnerships and because of mixed feelings in the diocese and the wider church.  He described the different angles from which he had looked at it, consulted about it, examined scripture on it, and prayed about it.  He then said, “In preparation for Convention, I also read again the “Letter from a Birmingham Jail” written by Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. in response to criticism from a group of white bishops that the timing of his non-violent protests in Birmingham was provocative.  That was the Spring of 1963.  I was thinking of the possibility of ordained ministry at the time.  One of the bishops who criticized Dr. King was a young Alabama bishop whom I deeply admired and whose timidity disappointed me.  I decided then, if I were ever in a position of lay or clerical leadership in the Church, not to stand in the way of what God might do in the future to break down barriers.  Re-reading Dr. King reminded me that significant change, especially change that involves new understanding of justice, often comes in a disruptive and disturbing manner.”   

Hearing this from Bishop Lee made an impression on me, a young seminarian thinking of ordained ministry, looking at my bishop, as well as trying to figure out what I was getting myself into with this Church I was about to commit my life to.  But there was something on the topic of striving for justice and peace among all people that affected me on an even deeper level. A journalist from the New York Times Magazine interviewed Bishop Lee for an article that came out in January of 2004, six months after that General Convention, entitled “Bishop Lee’s Choice”.  The article began by noting that Bishop Lee’s episcopacy had been characterized by his role as a centrist, who always really wanted peacefulness among those of different views.  The writer, Michael Massing, asked Bishop Lee how he had arrived at his choice to vote to confirm Gene Robinson’s election.  Bishop Lee began farther back:

''I was born in Mississippi and raised in Pensacola, Fla.,'' along a stretch of the Gulf Coast ''known as the redneck Riviera,'' Lee said. His father, the manager of a manufacturing plant, was a lay officer of a local Episcopal church. It, like the schools Lee attended, was segregated.

In the spring of 1963, while he was working as a copy editor for a newspaper in Richmond and pondering the ministry, Lee followed with interest the nonviolent demonstrations being organized by the Rev. Martin Luther King Jr. to protest segregation in Birmingham. Several local clergymen criticized King for moving too quickly, but Lee was moved by King's argument that injustices would never vanish by waiting until everyone was ready. Clerical leaders, the young Lee concluded, should use their authority to fight discrimination. 

But Lee was not a natural activist. In 1965, when he was attending the Virginia Theological Seminary, several of his fellow students went to Selma to march with King. Lee did not join them. ''Emotionally, I wasn't there -- I wasn't ready to demonstrate,'' Lee recalls. 

And here is the part of the article that I find most moving.

Soon after, on a visit to his parents in Pensacola, he gave a ride to their housekeeper, a black woman who worked for the family for many years. ''She said, 'Mr. Peter, I saw all these young preachers walking with Dr. King, but I didn't see you,''' 

Lee said, ''That was a sore that went deep into my soul.''

I could picture the two of them in the car, and Peter Lee’s suddenly feeling the effect that his not getting involved had had on her, seeing himself and his inaction through her eyes.  That when she looked to see who had her back on issues of justice, “I didn’t see you.”

And what I found especially moving was that Peter Lee let the pain of his inaction sink in, without trying to make excuses for it, or minimize it, or deflect it.  He let the sore go deep into his soul, and remain there, so that when there were others who needed justice, who needed someone to have their back, it was the source of his courage, even when it was difficult, to do the right thing.