The Sassy Syrophoenician Woman

 

I don't often get to highlight the powerful women in Scripture and the way that they get God's attention. So when one of their stories pops up in the lectionary...well, I have to talk about it. And the Syrophoenician woman (Canaanite woman in Matthew's Gospel) is one of my faves. 

Text: Mark 7:24-37

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Back when I was in massage school in Gainesville… I had what might best be described as a misunderstanding with one of my teachers.

He’d said something in class that felt like a personal insult to me.

I was upset and hurt by it.

So I asked to meet with him to talk.

I was scared.

I didn’t like confronting him or anyone for that matter.

And past experiences in life had taught me that speaking truth to power would more often than not result in a boomerang effect…where the powerful would exact some kind of retaliation against me.

So…I was nervous having this meeting.

But Frank…the teacher… like all of my instructors at Florida School of Massage… showed enormous patience… kindness… and thoughtfulness in listening to me.

Even as my voice shook… and I was holding back tears… he wasn’t cruel.

He wasn’t dismissive.

He wasn’t even defensive.

And he told me he was sorry and he had not intended to be hurtful.

After about a half hour…Frank and I left on much better terms… having taken that time together to talk and to listen.

A few days later…and after reflecting on our meeting… I approached him after class and thanked him again for how he treated me.

I wasn’t used to a man being willing to listen to me that way.

And I shared that at other times in my life…especially working in the very male-dominated field of broadcast journalism… any complaint I raised automatically made me….

The “B” word….the word for female dogs.

Now I would describe Frank as a happy and even gentle man.

But when I used that term in reference to myself… this jovial kind soul… frowned and looked me straight in the eye:

“Don’t you ever use that word about yourself! You are not that and I would never call you that. Don’t you ever think of yourself that way!”

That brief exchange…was an even more powerful teaching moment.

I share that story because in our Gospel today…we hear Jesus call this Syrophoenician woman the “B” word. 

No…the word itself isn’t in our translation of Mark’s Gospel…but that is essentially what’s been said.

To call this woman… and by extension her demon-possessed daughter…“a dog” was deeply offensive, hurtful and rude.

Some biblical scholars try to downplay this scene and pass it off as Jesus not really being this mean. They try to say that he used a word that means “puppies” and…y’know… puppies are cute and cuddly so he wasn’t really being THAT bad…and he was just testing this woman’s faith.

I’m not buying any of that.

He called her a dog.

And such an insult flies in the face of everything we’ve come to think about and believe about Jesus.

So why would Jesus be this aggressively nasty to her?

Well… to borrow a term often used in social media to describe a relationship status…

It’s complicated.

It’s a mix of so many “things” …. Gender… religion….and class differences going on in this story with Jesus and this unnamed woman.

Let’s do some unraveling.

First of all… this scene takes place in Tyre… which is a seaport city on the coast of the Mediterranean Sea in the north just below Syria…part of what is now modern-day Lebanon.

This is a Gentile area of the Roman Empire.

And it was a city that dominated all of the surrounding rural areas.

Tyre and its city-dweller population gobbled up food…supplies…and labor to enrich themselves at the expense of those around them….particularly their poorer…more rural and oppressed Jewish neighbors in Galilee.

As you might imagine…this behavior and the wealth gap it created didn’t make the people of Tyre all that popular with Galileans.

And Jesus was from Galilee.

One biblical commentator rephrased Jesus’ contemptuous reply to the woman this way:

“First let the poor people in the Jewish rural areas be satisfied. For it is not good to take the poor people’s food and throw it to the rich Gentiles in the cities.”

There’s also the religious differences between these two.

This woman is not Jewish. She’s a Gentile.

And not just a Gentile but a “Syrophoenician”…a Greek…which scholars say means she’s a pagan.

She has no interest in becoming a follower of Jesus…or worshipping the God Jesus talks about.

There’s no desire on the part of either Jesus or this woman to have some sort of conversion experience.

So this ISN’T a “faith-based” discussion.

Finally… there’s the gender difference.

Jesus… as a Jewish man… would have been and could have been offended at a woman crashing his attempt to get away for awhile by showing up at this house…and asking for a remote healing for her daughter.

Women… especially Gentile women… weren’t supposed to be so forward and pushy especially toward men who weren’t part of their own kind.

So…there are a myriad of issues going on in the background of this passage that could be at play for why Jesus behaves in a very un-Jesus way.

And yet… he did respond.

He did the healing.

He returns to being the Jesus we know and love.

So what happened?

My favorite way of reading this story is from the perspective of what happens when women overcome whatever societal norms get in their way…and show persistence in fighting for their cause…in this case a daughter who’s in trouble.

This Syrophoenician woman is that single mother fighting for life-saving healing from the one doctor who she’s heard has the medicine that can do it.

As a mother…living in a system that is heavily ranked… with rules about who can speak and when… she’s beyond caring about the social mores and is willing to risk everything approaching “the man” to ask for his help.

And when he calls her a derogatory name…she doesn’t flinch.

In fact…in the words of the womanist biblical scholar Mitzi Smith… she gets “sassy.”

She employs the rhetorical technique of the oppressed to take that insult… turn it on its head…and spin it back at Jesus.

Jesus hears it.

Jesus gets it.

And Jesus grants this queen her fervent wish.

Not because she’s promised to follow him.

Again…this has nothing to do with her faith.

Jesus responds because her words… the words of someone who acknowledged her own powerlessness in this situation turns to his power to make something happen.

By being bested by this woman’s words….Jesus changed his mind.

And in changing his mind…our Savior is demonstrating to us another valuable lesson.

Jesus shows us…through his own humility…his own humanity…the importance of listening…and what happens when we set aside ideas of status and difference to listen…even to one who isn’t one of our own kind.

And he does it without any expectation of “getting anything” back.

Think of what happens when we take a moment to really listen to another person’s story…particularly when we listen to the complaint of someone who is not like us.

We learn something. Not just about the other person but it can challenge us to learn some more things about ourselves.

Sarah mentioned it recently…that Johari window… where we uncover things in ourselves that maybe we were not aware of.

And once we’re made aware of it… we have an opportunity to take this new information… and change.

It’s through a process like this that we start to free ourselves from the shackles of fear and prejudice that keep us from becoming a more cohesive member in that bigger body of Christ.

It helps us to become better friends and neighbors to each other and our wider community. 

Thanks be to God for the Syrophoenician woman for her bravery and her sass.

And thanks be to God for the humility of Jesus to demonstrate that it is OK to listen and change.

In the name of our one holy and undivided Trinity.

 

 

Peace Be With You: A Sermon for 3B Easter

 I could have called this "Deja vu all over again" but I cut that line from the sermon figuring that those who missed last week's Gospel lesson from John, and those who were there, wouldn't know or remember what I was talking about last week. But I still wanted to say somethings differently, even if the basic message is the same. Such is life when you're the only one preaching and celebrating at a church. 

 

Text: Luke 24: 36b-48 

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Jesus stands among the disciples and says, “Peace be with you.”

Before I get too far along in this sermon…I want to hear from you:

When you hear the word, “Peace”…what images…or thoughts pop into your head?

(Leave time for responses)

With those things in mind…can you imagine for a moment…what it must have been like for the disciples?

These were people who had pinned their hopes and dreams of freedom and liberation from oppression on the man Jesus only to see him ruthlessly killed by the Roman Empire.

They were far from those (fill in any image or phrase that might have come up).

Their hearts were troubled.

As we enter into this scene in our Gospel…we need to know that the two disciples whom Jesus had met on the road to Emmaus are in the room with the others.

They’d just had their encounter at the dinner table where Jesus breaks bread and opens their eyes to see that he is risen.

And then…he disappeared.

They’ve rushed back to Jerusalem to the tell their friends how their hearts had been “strangely warmed” by his words as they were walking and talking.

Now…here comes Jesus again…suddenly standing with them.

The group is startled.

They think he’s a ghost.

But instead of saying, “Boo!” he’s told them, “Peace…be with you.”

He shows them that it is truly him…wounded in his hands and feet and yet unbroken.

And then…to further make the point…Jesus asks for something to eat.

They offer him a piece of fish.

At Emmaus…Jesus eats bread. 

In Jerusalem…Jesus eats fish. 

The loaves and the fish again…a meal Jesus and the disciples once shared with the thousands.

A meal in which Jesus demonstrated the abundance of God’s love for the all the people.

Not only giving them what they needed in that moment…but providing many baskets of leftovers.

This is the peace that Jesus brings into the room…into the lives of these scared souls.

A peace that says, “All is NOT lost. Love IS alive…and well…and eating bread and fish.”

This is the love that he then traces back over time…back to the days of Moses and the deliverance from the oppression endured by the ancestors in Egypt.

This is the peace that comes at times of trouble and fear when the psalmist cries out for help.

This is the breath that brought to life those dry bones…the breath that commands the prophet Ezekiel to prophesy and give life to those skeletons.

Slowly…methodically…with caring and concern for the disciples…Jesus reminds them of all these things.

 All of which pointed to a future.

A coming time of peace.

A time when they could live into the commandment to love one another as Jesus had loved them.

Follow in his path.

Be a friend to the stranger and to the lonely.

Be an advocate for the person who in need of help.

Include those whom the authorities have pushed aside and relegated to the margins of society.

Most importantly…Jesus gives the instruction that anyone who speaks in his name…anyone who claims to be part of his tribe…has an obligation to turn away from those things that get in the way of living in love…and forgiveness.

This peace that Jesus brings to the disciples is the same peace that Jesus brings to us…right now.

Because like the disciples in this Gospel…we…too…are witnesses.

Think of a person or people who have shown up when you needed help.

When you have either been in a jam or have been having a particularly difficult day.

That person who sat with you…listened to you…walked along side you.

As a massage therapist…I do this all the time with my clients.

The body often carries hidden hurts and wounds that show up as that painful knot in a muscle…that chronically aching shoulder.

Once touched…and the connective tissue around the muscle releases…sometimes…so does the memory of whatever happened to the person.

It may come out in heavy sighs.

Sometimes it’s tears.

Maybe words.

Whatever and however a person needs to express what has troubled them…the release not only happens physically with the softening of the tissue…it’s happened in their mind and in their spirit as well.

These are holy moments…met with the peace that comes from therapeutic touch.

It’s why I tell people that massage therapy is a ministry of healing.

I have seen this same peace manifest in support groups.

For a while…about fifteen years ago…I led a local chapter of the group Parents…Families…and Friends of Lesbians and Gays…or PFLAG.

The meetings were a safe space for people to gather…most of them cisgender straight people…who had sons and daughters that had come out to them years ago.

Florida voters had just enshrined a ban on same-sex marriage in the state constitution…and these folks wanted a place to learn how to support their children who now felt unwelcomed in their home state.

People came in…sometimes with righteous anger…sometimes with tremendous guilt because they’d never had to think about discrimination before.

And because it wasn’t part of their lived experience…there would sometimes be a sense of helplessness.

They knew that there were things that just didn’t know.

People would share their moments of triumph in speaking up for their kids.

Others would confess when they messed up.

Maybe they’d said some things out of thoughtlessness that were hurtful…or had stumbled in some other way.

We’d listen.

And just as it happens in any support group…there was always someone or a couple someone’s in the room…who’d been there…done that…got the T-shirt…and donated it already to Goodwill.

They could hear another person’s story and say…”Yeah…I did that. But now I know better.”

And as the late Maya Angelou once said, “Once you know better, do better.”

I watched as parents ministered out of their own experiences…their own mistakes…their own discoveries… to other struggling parents.

And by the end of the night…I would see a mom who’d been wracked with anxiety at the beginning of the meeting leave looking much lighter and brighter.

I could witness that dad realizing that he wasn’t alone.

While God’s holy name may never have been invoked…God’s peace was present…and a burden was lifted from a parent’s shoulders.

The passing of God’s peace is how we transition in our service from this time of hearing the scriptures…and praying for one another and for our world….to that moment where we break bread…the body of Christ…and share in a common meal of thanksgiving.

I started this sermon with asking you what images or thoughts come to your mind as you think about peace.

If what you imagined is something that brings peace to you…think of how you might pass that to your neighbor this morning.

Think of how that peace might help another as they approach this table to meet Christ in the bread and the cup.

As witnesses to Jesus’ love…we are now the apostles of that love to one another.

And that’s a transformative love worth sharing.

In the name of God…F/S/HS.

 

 

 

 

 

Meditation on Washing Feet: Maundy Thursday

 This is my first time being in the role of priest for Holy Week. And serving a congregation 80 miles from home has meant that I needed to stay in Valdosta. I chose to write all my sermons before Maundy Thursday. I didn't want to chance not getting them done. 

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Text: John 13:1-17; 31b-35

 

Loving God, as we seek to know and follow you more faithfully, we pray you will open and fill our hearts with love and knowledge of your Son Jesus. May we see ever more clearly what it is you are calling us to, and may we respond with joy and justice. Amen.

 

You know, feet must be some of the most mysterious parts of the human body.

They’re pretty essential parts, too, particularly for anyone working jobs that don’t involve sitting at a desk all day long.  

As a licensed massage therapist, I have had countless numbers of clients tell me that they don’t want me to touch their feet (thankfully, I have some who are more than happy to have me work on them). Most of the time, it’s that folks are embarrassed about their feet…especially if they haven’t had time to go home and shower before their appointment. I always gently assure them that I am not offended by their feet…and remind them how our feet must hold us up all day, sometimes in socks and cramped shoes…so they could use some tenderness and care.

And…if the person seems really worried about having dirty feet…I’ll offer to wash them.

The times when I have done this in my practice have been beautiful. The anxiety, the fear, the self-consciousness about having stinky feet literally seems to flow out of their soles and into the water bath. The creases on their foreheads relax. They’re refreshed and renewed. And I haven’t even laid my hands on their aching back, or tired neck.

Jesus’ act of washing the disciples’ feet is part of his last instructions to them and to us about what it means to love one another. There were no closed-toe shoes back in First Century Palestine, so their feet were likely pretty rough and caked with all kinds of mud and dirt. In the same way that John’s Baptism was meant to purify people from sin, Jesus is washing away the impurities collected on the feet and giving them a fresh feeling that relaxes the whole body.

Now…Simon Peter…sweet loveable Peter…he doesn’t understand what Jesus is doing and actually is offended that Jesus wants to wash his and the others’ feet.

“Oh, no, no, no…Lord. This is beneath you, good Teacher, venerable Rabbi, most excellent Messiah…”

And then he starts insisting that Jesus must wash all of him! Honestly, if washing his feet was “too much”…Peter wants Jesus to wash his whole body?

Jesus is like, “Didn’t you take a shower today?”

See: from Jesus’ perspective…this foot washing is exactly what he’s supposed to be doing.

He’s not royalty.

Just because they call him “Master” that doesn’t excuse him from serving…especially to those who will soon find out that he’ll need them more than ever to serve his good work in the world. This foot washing is to make the point: love one another. Treat everybody right. This is how we’ll change the world as we know it.

Tonight…we engage in this same opportunity to give and receive, to allow another to show us love…that same agape-type love…that we had with our meal before the service. For those who are so used to being the ones who help…the doers…some might call y’all the Marthas of the church…allowing your fellow follower of Jesus to wash your feet may make you a little bit nervous. That’s OK. I know better than to tell you “Don’t be nervous.” I will remind you that one of the most oft-repeated phrases in the Bible is “Do not be afraid.” Taking part in this ritual brings us all closer to the One who taught us this action as a sign of Love.

It is also a good preparation for what is to come for these next days of the Triduum….that fancy word for “The Three Days.”

Letting go of control…and the need to know what’s going to happen next…acknowledging that some events are put into motion and we must go into places which challenge us. That’s all part of what begins tonight with the stripping of the altar. On this night…when Jesus says he knows his hour has come…he is releasing himself completely to God’s will and mission. The symbolism of taking away the artifacts and the beautiful altar frontal and leaving the table bare is the reminder that…in the end…Jesus laid himself bare as his final act of love…trusting in God’s mercy and deliverance. Just like the sharing of a meal…and the washing of feet…the emptiness of the altar serves as a visual reminder to us that love makes us vulnerable.

All the more reason for us wash each other’s feet, and give each other that comfort that we are not alone on this journey.

 

Farewell to a Family of Hope and Change

 

By noon today, we will no longer have the Obama family living at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue. And that, for me, is a crying shame. It would have been sad to see them go any way. President Obama has served well and faithfully for eight years, so I knew his time in office was over. But his successor? I will not forget: almost three million more people in this country voted for Hillary Rodham Clinton. More of us were happy with the direction we were headed and were prepared to take it further. Instead, we are being blessed with a man who treats women as objects for his pleasure, regularly stiffs contract workers, and campaigned on a message of hatred and division all with the aid of our longtime enemy, Russia.

I don't want to dwell on the man coming into office, but rather think about the man leaving and sing his praises one last time. I am thankful that I was alive and of age and able to vote--twice--for Barack Obama. I will never forget hearing a soundbite from his first news conference after he started on the job in 2009, and being in awe that he knew how to use a subject-verb-and-predicate sentence. That just tells you how desperate I was to have decent leadership in the White House! After eight years of gobbledygook and goofy grins of George W. Bush, I was ready for an adult.

I told people that when he took over, that he had a tall order in front of him. He was going to have to carry a bucket of soapy water and scrub all the magic marker off the walls and furniture in the Oval Office. In fact, I knew it didn't matter if it was him or John McCain in the presidency, whoever got elected would be entering under less than ideal conditions. We'd been engaged in a pointless war that had further destabilized the world. Our economy was in a recession. People were losing their homes and their jobs after corporate scandals and subprime lending dropped people into a metaphorical debtor's prison. And then there was health insurance. Completely unaffordable to a self-employed massage therapist, I had to hope that nothing catastrophic happened to me less I would have to declare bankruptcy, and I had to be select about when I would go to the doctor. 

When President Obama proposed the Affordable Care Act, I knew it was not the ideal solution. I am one of those "liberals" who believes that we should be ensuring a minimum level of care to all our citizens; hence I believe in the same type of single-payer like systems that exist in European countries. People shouldn't have to choose between eating and whether to see a doctor. Sadly, the health insurance industry has amassed lots of money and power in Washington, and so getting my dream health care isn't likely. ACA, or "Obamacare" as it was called, took important steps toward giving the likes of me a chance to buy health insurance that was affordable and gave us protection in case of an emergency. I remember tearing up in the office of the Florida Blue representative as we selected the best plan for me. The president had done something that indeed helped me.

But what made me whole was when President Obama, in his second term, finally said that he had no problem with marriage equality. People don't believe me when I say this but his interview with Robin Roberts on ABC was a massive sea change. I could see and sense the valleys being lifted up and the mountains being made low for LGBTQ+ people. The noxious Don't Ask Don't Tell military policy had already been laid aside, but to have the President of the United States say that I should be allowed to marry did so much to open up the dialogue, especially among friends of color on their Facebook pages. I saw so many otherwise silent bystanders of color come out swinging and standing for the gay community that it made me think, "This might really happen!" And it did. It took brave people putting their lives before the court, but we did finally win the right to be married. And the White House would be lit up in rainbow colors. Once married, I could leave my insurance through Obamacare and be on even better insurance through my spouse's job. Again, the president had done something that indeed helped me.

President Obama wept after Newtown. So did I. His facial muscles were tense with anger and disappointment every time he had to talk about another senseless death of a black person--Trayvon, Michael, Eric, Tamir, Freddie, Sandra, Philando....and on and on. My face grimaced and my eyes teared-up along with him. The murders at Newtown should have been enough. The mowing down of people in Colorado high schools and movie theaters should have been enough. Every murder involving a gun on the south side of Chicago should have been enough. And the horrific killing field of the Pulse nightclub in Orlando should have been enough. But the National Rifle Association is another powerful lobby. I'm sorry the President was not able to accomplish some form of reasonable gun control. My own is to take away the guns, melt them down, and make them into art. But I am a super minority in this country.

I will remember and appreciate a President who took steps, albeit not with the same boldness I had hoped for, toward addressing the real and pressing danger of climate change. Our fragile earth is being fracked, drilled, and drained to death. Really. The refusal to put in safeguards for release of chemicals into our water and ozone-eating emissions into the air is going to destroy us. Really. And there they were, members of Congress, throwing snowballs on the floor of the House of Representatives to say, "See? No global warming here!" It amazes me that people who profess a belief in God who they cannot see deny the emperical evidence brought to them by the scientific community who they can see. It's as if they don't think God might not be working through these scientists to bring us the prophetic news of "Repent and get serious about regulation of industry or we will die of famine and rising waters!" 

We are going to need a whole lot more prophets speaking out in the next four years. I keep hoping the Episcopal Church will rise to the occasion. Meanwhile, I hope that President and Michelle Obama rest well, and join our chorus when they are recharged and ready.

Thanks, Obama. Thank you to your family. 

Celebrating A Life Well Shared

Paul Davenport 1949-2016

I was brought up short about two weeks ago when I was scrolling through Facebook and saw that one of my friends who had been a counselor and advisor to me while in massage school was asking for prayers for her husband, the co-owner and director of my massage school. I immediately lifted his name and spirit and hers in prayer, but I wasn't exactly sure what was going on.

As time passed that day and into the next, the news began to filter out through third parties: Paul Davenport had had a heart attack and his wife, Josie, had found him and was able to use CPR to revive his heart. But he was in the ICU at a Gainesville Hospital. And the prognosis did not look good.

It is so strange sometimes that people who have touched my life in some important and profound way re-enter my conscious thinking when there is something going on with them. I had had such an occasion of Paul as I was working with a client. They were having an issue in the area of their armpit, or the anatomically-correct term, at the axillary. I recalled Paul's quirky way of helping us learn body parts with his stories that would always end in a really bad pun. In this case, it was the Volvo mechanic who is pointing out to Paul the problem with Paul's car as its up on the lift. The mechanic's name was Larry, as signified by the name badge on his left side above his heart. As Larry pointed to the axle of the Volvo, Paul couldn't help but notice the large sweat stain at his left armpit. And it made him think: "Axle+Larry=Axillary." We would then have to repeat that...and forever have this image seared into our memories.

I kept up my prayers for both Paul and Josie and the entire Florida School of Massage community. I asked to add Paul's name to the Prayers of the People at St. Thomas. And I would periodically check to see if Josie had put out any more information.

Tuesday afternoon of last week, I learned that Paul was being taken off life support. His chance of survival was such that the best thing was to let him go and have his spirit move on from this realm to the next. I wept. There are just some individuals whose hearts were so large that its impossible to imagine that their heart will give out. Apparently, though, Paul's had been giving him problems for the past seven years. He had bypass surgery in 2009 which forced him to slow down. But even in the slowing down, he kept up with playing music and being the man so many of us had come to know as the warm, compassionate presence of love and kindness.

He finally breathed his last on Thursday morning.

I've noted before here on this blog that the labyrinth cut into the grass in the back of the Florida School of Massage property has been an important "thin place" for me to go when I need quiet contemplative time with the Holy. My spouse and I took our separate trips along the winding path this past Saturday following Paul's Memorial service at the school. As per usual, I stood at the opening and took a moment with each of the statues that greet visitors to the labyrinth. One instructed me to look for wisdom. The other gave me the word "joy." And so my walk began. Wisdom and joy...joy and wisdom..

The more those words traveled back forth in my mind with each step, the more I realized that Paul's influence and the school's philosophy had really planted a seed for my overall spiritual growth. He did, after all, inform all of us that we were being ordained into the royal priesthood of the PHLANGES! (this must be done with a step forward, arms raised, and fingers to the sky). The fact that he put in a labyrinth on the grounds was a nod to an ancient prayer practice and an encouragement for those attending FSM to see that touching the body makes us the carpenters and caretakers of the house for a person's soul. The regular mantra at the beginning of each month when we'd receive our calendar of instruction--"Changes will be made"--was not only a reminder that, sometimes, we'd have to go with the flow on any given day but it was the inherent promise that the deeper we went into our practice and the more we worked on the body, the more likely it was that changes were going to happen.

I reflected again on the many silly stories and puns and Paul's inviting and playful smile. I thought about the way that I have approached my own study and reading of the Bible, and how so often a bad pun has come to mind or I've delighted in a play on words in Scripture that helps to open a new and different understanding. It's as if my learning of Scripture bears the mark of Paul's constant presentation that we can all change with a little more love. How Jesus of him! My walk on this hot midday afternoon came to an end with my two statues and the culmination of where "wisdom" and "joy" had led:

"Wisdom and Joy
Joy and Wisdom
The Holy Spirit blows in love
And it travels to the heart,
And once it has settled into the heart
The heart will pump out love into the veins
which exude love through every part of the body.
The learning is in the experience.
You get it now?"

At Paul's memorial service, we heard the prayer that he penned and that he and Josie would say as part of their regular meditation. Paul, who had a Methodist background, never ascribed to any particular religious path although he was highly influenced by the Dalai Lama and Buddhism. He took a Buddhist prayer and put his own interpretation on it.

With the wish to help all beings to be free from suffering 

I will always go for refuge

To the purity of all phenomena

It's direct perception 

And it's manifestation

Enthused by wisdom and compassion 

Today in the presence of enlightened awareness

I generate the awakened mind

For the benefit of all beings

For as long as space endures

And sentient beings remain

May I too abide

To dispel the misery of the world

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From my precious teachers 

And the pristine nature of existence 

I take the open path

With myself clear

As a vessel for wisdom and compassion 

I present my offering 

Following teachings of kindness and right livelihood 

I remain committed to purity of thought speech and activity

Enjoying the fruits of study and practice 

I benefit others 

With the giving of shelter sustenance guidance and love

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May the supreme jewel Bodhicitta

Arise where it has not arisen

And may that which has arisen

Never diminish but increase more and more 

Due to all these merits may all the father and mother sentient beings have all happiness 

And may the lower realms be empty forever

Wherever there are bodhisattvas, may their prayers be accomplished immediately 

May I cause all this by myself alone

May people be happy and their years be blessed

May crops grow well and may religion prosper

I pray that all happiness arises for everyone

And that whatever they desire shall come to pass