1 Howard Be Thy Name... St. Andrew UCC 07-24-16 Luke 11:1-13 Do you believe in God? The journalist interviewing my friend suddenly had shifted from the details of the story she was interviewing him for to the definition of the Divine. Sort of, replied my friend. What I really believe in is Howard. Howard? You believe in Howard? she queried. Yes. It all has to do with my mother s maiden name, he said. Your mother s maiden name...?... was Howard, he said. She came from a big Memphis clan that was pretty close and was referred to as The Howard Family, or just The Howards. So, as a small child, I thought of myself as a member of the Howard Family because it was often an item of conversation as in The Howard Family is getting together next week, and The Howard Family thinks people should write letters to their grandmother. The matriarch, my grandmother, was even referred to as Mother Howard. And you thought... she... was... God? came the response. No, no, my friend quickly replied. It s just that I want you first to know how it was that the Howard family name was so important to me from early on in my life. You see, I got packed off to Sunday school around age four, and the first thing I learned was the Lord s Prayer: Our Father who art in
2 heaven, hallowed be thy name... Only that s not what I said. You see, what I heard was Our Father which art in heaven, Howard be thy name. And since little kids kind of mumble their prayers anyhow, no one realized what I was saying for quite a while, so I went right on believing God s name was Howard... and that I was one of his family, The Howards. Since I was told that my grandfather had died and gone to heaven, God and my grandfather got all mixed up in my mind as one in the same. Which meant that I had a pretty comfy notion about God. When I knelt beside my bed each night and prayed, Our Father which art in heaven, Howard be thy name... I thought about my grandfather and what a big shot he must be up in heaven, because of course the prayer ends with...for thine is the kingdom and the power and glory forever. Amen. So, I went to bed feeling pretty well-connected to the universe for a long, long time. It was all a huge Howard Family enterprise. You re not putting me on, are you? the reporter asked. No, not in the least, came the reply. All human images of the Ultimate Ground of Being are metaphors; and as metaphors go, this is a pretty homey one. And I thought it was that way for so long that even when I passed through all those growing-up stages of skepticism, disbelief, revision, and confusion somewhere in my mind I still believed in Howard. Because at the heart of that childhood image there is no alienation. I belonged to the whole big scheme of things. I live and moved and had my being in the family store. The reporter was nonplused. So, do you till believe in... Howard?
3 That s when my friend said, Let me give you what may seem like an enigmatic evasion, but it truly is the only way I have to answer your question. It s a line from the 13 th Century German Christian mystic, Meister Eckhart: The eye with which I see God is the very same eye with which God sees me. That s what I believe. Does that mean that you are God? she pressed. Well... yes and no, he answered. It depends. In some cultures if you say, I am God, you ll get shunned or even locked up as being crazy. In other cultures if you say, I am God, people will look at you and say, What took you so long to find out? If you say you pray and talk to God, people think of you as religious. If you say God talks to you, folks think you ve gone off the deep end. The reporter tries another tack: I m not sure I understand. Well, look at it this way, says my friend; It makes a big difference whether you think of God as transcendent or immanent as up there somewhere or present here. The reporter s eyes had glazed over. Ooookkkkaaaayyyy, she said; her brain had just blown up. But my friend pushed his point, saying, Howard is a transcendent image of God the God of childhood. The old man with the long, white beard on the throne up in heaven... up there, somewhere else, separate from us transcendent. But, on the other hand, if God is immanent, then there is no place God is not, and I am not separate from God. Hence, The eye with which I see God is the very same eye with which God sees me. There are no boundaries between me and God.
4 My friend smiled. The journalist smiled. Then, she changed the subject. None of this entire discussion about Howard appeared in the article she wrote, of course. That s all right. Some things are a little hard to sort out. Maybe when she first asked her question, Do you believe in God? my friend should just have said Yes. As a favor to her. But the truth is none of us has finished thinking about God. And the God of our childhood, and the God of our middle life are all mixed up together with the God of the wisdom that may come to us yet in our later years. And that s okay. Howard would understand. Howard also would resonate to this poem from Edward Rowland Sill (1841-1887), entitled THE FOOL S PRAYER: The royal feast was done; the King Sought some new sport to banish care, And to his jester cried: Sir Fool, Kneel now, and make for us a prayer! The jester doffed his cap and bells, And stood the mocking court before; They could not see the bitter smile Behind the painted grin he wore. He bowed his head, and bent his knee Upon the monarch s silken stool; His pleading voice arose, O, Lord Be merciful to me, a fool!
5 No pity, Lord, could change the heart From red with wrong to white as wool; The rod must heal the sin; but Lord, Be merciful to me, a fool! T is not by guilt the onward sweep Of truth and right, O Lord, we stay; T is by our follies that so long We hold the earth from heaven away. These clumsy feet, still in the mire, Go crushing blossoms without end; These hard, well-meaning hands we thrust Among the heart-strings of a friend. The ill-timed truth we might have kept Who knows how sharp it pierced and stung? The word we had not sense to say Who knows how grandly t would have wrung? Our faults no tenderness should ask. The chastening stripes must cleanse them all; But for our blunders oh, in shame Before the eyes of heaven we fall. Earth bears no balm for our mistakes; Men crown the knave, and scourge the tool That did his will; but Thou, O Lord, Be merciful to me, a fool! The room was hushed; in silence rose The King, and sought his garden cool, And walked apart, and murmured low, Be merciful to me, a fool!