I often write down quotes from articles or books I read and put them in prominent places within my workspace. Usually they are things I think will eventually make their way into a sermon or lesson and sometimes they do. But sometimes they don't and I continue to look at them.
This quote from H. Richard Niebuhr (a theologian) has been on my bulletin board for 5 months: "The great Christian revolutions come not by the discovery of something that was not known before. They happen when somebody takes radically something that was always there."
So I've been looking at that quote and thinking about it for about 150 days. Finally, I've realized there isn't that much more to be said about it. We know the tenets of our faith (right?). What is standing in our way of taking them radically? How about radical forgiveness? Radical neighbor love? Radical justice? Radical mercy?
What could you do differently, yea verily, radically today?
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
When I'm not posting...
Almost every day I make a little to-do list for the day. And almost every day "blog" is on the list. I expect myself to write in this space at least twice a week, but I dream of every day. The thing, I think of things to write almost every day, but then when it comes to taking the time to do it... something always seems to come up or I just don't make myself do it.
Then I get into a dangerous cycle of embarrassment. "Oh, it's been so long now. I need to acknowledge that I haven't been writing...etc." So then my mental "mea culpa" takes up my thought process and I do not write out of shame. In addition, I don't know if people are actually reading this, so I can always assure myself that it's not like anyone is actually seeking desperately needed pearls of wisdom here (as if you would find them if I did post all the time!).
So here I am, without good excuse- just myself.
I often hear the same thing from people about coming to church or about praying or about volunteering. "Oh, I haven't done it in so long... it would be embarrassing to show up now." And, yes, maybe there are a few unsubtle individuals out there who tease or give a hard time to those who have been absent, but mostly that's not the case.
If I haven't seen you in church lately, I'm glad to know you're doing well. If you haven't been praying, God is more than happy to hear from you. And if you fell by the volunteering wayside, people will be glad to see you back again.
The thing is, if you did these things because you wanted someone to notice- it doesn't always work out. So, here's the deal. I need to post more regularly and I will try. And you, faithful reader, if you're mad, speak up. If you're sad, reach out. If you're glad, help somebody else.
Let's try to do the best we can, rejoicing that God forgives and makes up our shortcomings. That is such good news!
Then I get into a dangerous cycle of embarrassment. "Oh, it's been so long now. I need to acknowledge that I haven't been writing...etc." So then my mental "mea culpa" takes up my thought process and I do not write out of shame. In addition, I don't know if people are actually reading this, so I can always assure myself that it's not like anyone is actually seeking desperately needed pearls of wisdom here (as if you would find them if I did post all the time!).
So here I am, without good excuse- just myself.
I often hear the same thing from people about coming to church or about praying or about volunteering. "Oh, I haven't done it in so long... it would be embarrassing to show up now." And, yes, maybe there are a few unsubtle individuals out there who tease or give a hard time to those who have been absent, but mostly that's not the case.
If I haven't seen you in church lately, I'm glad to know you're doing well. If you haven't been praying, God is more than happy to hear from you. And if you fell by the volunteering wayside, people will be glad to see you back again.
The thing is, if you did these things because you wanted someone to notice- it doesn't always work out. So, here's the deal. I need to post more regularly and I will try. And you, faithful reader, if you're mad, speak up. If you're sad, reach out. If you're glad, help somebody else.
Let's try to do the best we can, rejoicing that God forgives and makes up our shortcomings. That is such good news!
Monday, March 3, 2008
Speak up, speak up for Jesus
Yesterday (Sunday), I tried something new in my preaching. I offered a sermon as the mother of the man born blind (John 9). The man is healed by Jesus, but the story involves a whole host of characters: the man's parents, Jesus' disciples, Pharisees.
It's sometimes very interesting and enlightening to think about our gospel stories from different perspectives. A whole host of people moved around Jesus and were touched by his life- not just the people who were able to have their specific stories included. What was the woman at the well thinking? What did Nathaniel think when he saw Jesus coming? Why did that woman interrupt a dinner party to wash Jesus' feet?
Yes, we are speculating on what they might have said, but the author of Ecclesiastes tells us: "There is nothing new under the sun." People, since Adam and Eve had to leave the garden, have longed for acceptance, comfort and closeness with God. We can attribute emotions and reactions to the gospel players because they are just like us. That's what makes the gospel so resounding.
We can imagine how Peter felt when he needed to choose between admitting he was with Jesus or saving his hide. We identify with Thomas; we too want to see. Like the Samaritan woman, we long for words of consolation from someone who knows everything we have ever done.
In your next Scripture reading, think about who is in the story and who isn't mentioned, but might have been there. Picture yourself in the action and rejoice in the fact that the same Christ who was available to those people... is available, through faith and the Spirit, to you still!
It's sometimes very interesting and enlightening to think about our gospel stories from different perspectives. A whole host of people moved around Jesus and were touched by his life- not just the people who were able to have their specific stories included. What was the woman at the well thinking? What did Nathaniel think when he saw Jesus coming? Why did that woman interrupt a dinner party to wash Jesus' feet?
Yes, we are speculating on what they might have said, but the author of Ecclesiastes tells us: "There is nothing new under the sun." People, since Adam and Eve had to leave the garden, have longed for acceptance, comfort and closeness with God. We can attribute emotions and reactions to the gospel players because they are just like us. That's what makes the gospel so resounding.
We can imagine how Peter felt when he needed to choose between admitting he was with Jesus or saving his hide. We identify with Thomas; we too want to see. Like the Samaritan woman, we long for words of consolation from someone who knows everything we have ever done.
In your next Scripture reading, think about who is in the story and who isn't mentioned, but might have been there. Picture yourself in the action and rejoice in the fact that the same Christ who was available to those people... is available, through faith and the Spirit, to you still!
Thursday, February 21, 2008
Shadow of Denial (Luke 22:54-62)
I spent one semester of my seminary education at a school in England. In addition to adjusting to the cultural differences there, I also had to think about how to explain my program of study to people who were most familiar with the Church of England structure. To them, a seminary education means studying to be a priest, not a phrase I use often. Not to mention the fact that I truly felt uncomfortable at that time when someone asked me what kind of work I planned to do.
It is not that I did not want to be a pastor or harbor hope in my heart that it would work out, but more I dreaded the look of shock on people’s faces and then the inevitable flood that comes after such an admission. By freely confessing to my profession, I have opened floodgates to hear about dislike of church structure, confusion about church history, questions about religious practices and, most frightful of all, desire to question someone about God. The potential for this deluge made me keep my finger in the dike by not mentioning my program of study or my sense of call to ministry.
Then one day, I was walking back from the grocery store and I saw her. On the raised edge of the sidewalk, away from the street, sat an elderly woman, a woman I later figured out was in her early 80s. She was sitting with her bags of groceries around her feet and she was breathing heavily. I looked at my own two grocery bags and then at her four. I thought about how I was planning to get back to my apartment before a campus event that night. Then I stopped and asked if she was all right.
I ended up offering to carry her groceries for her after she caught her breath. We walked up the sidewalk together, past my school, past the roundabout, through a park. I finally asked where she lived and then she named a town three miles from where we were. Not only had I committed to carrying her groceries home, we stopped every 300 yards or so for her to catch her breath, so this was going to be a long, long three miles.
So I settled in for the walk and we talked as we slowly moved. She told me about her job as a secretary during the Second World War and about her children. She discussed her life in the Cambridge area and why she still liked to walk into town for her groceries. As fascinating as her tales were, when she stopped speaking, her short-term memory would let her down and she would look at me and ask why I was in England. In terms of experiences I never thought I would have, explaining that I was studying to be a priest- over and over- to an eighty-years-plus English woman while I carried her groceries three miles, a trip that took two hours.
Eventually I learned that as a young girl, this woman had been a Methodist and considered becoming a minister, but they did not yet ordain women. Each time she asked what I was doing and I re-explained myself, I would learn something new about her and hear a new hope about the church’s preparedness for women ministers. When I left her, with her groceries, she said to me, “In the war, we knew what we hoped for, but didn’t know if it would happen. So we would say to one another, ‘Steady on.’”
When I think about Peter’s denial, I think of how easy it would have been to tell her anything else other than the truth. She would not have remembered and I would not have had to explain something new each time. Yet the experience taught me something about the carrying of the hopes and dreams of others. Through this woman’s life story and questions, I learned the truth that our lives are not only our own, but are touched and shaped by those around us, some of whom we do not know.
When we deny the gifts God has given us, when we walk by the man lying by the side of the road, when we promise to do whatever “the next time”, we find ourselves standing beside Peter- listening to the cock crow. Because we do not earn the gift of salvation, God’s grace grants us the opportunity and the freedom to be our best selves. We glimpse the fulfillment of that when we share the gifts and talents we have. When we are honest about our blessedness, seeing how much we have been given, we step out of the shadow of denial and into the warmth of known communion with God.
Not denying Christ is not just about being able to say what your vocation is or being a Samaritan in an obvious way. We are called into faithful relationships with our families, our church, our community and all of God’s creation. Daily opportunities present themselves to look into the eyes of the Lord by meeting some need you see. We all hope to do the right thing at the right time and yet we will all fall short of. But in that moment, our Savior looks at us as he did at Peter, and tells us, “I forgive you. I love you. Steady on.”
It is not that I did not want to be a pastor or harbor hope in my heart that it would work out, but more I dreaded the look of shock on people’s faces and then the inevitable flood that comes after such an admission. By freely confessing to my profession, I have opened floodgates to hear about dislike of church structure, confusion about church history, questions about religious practices and, most frightful of all, desire to question someone about God. The potential for this deluge made me keep my finger in the dike by not mentioning my program of study or my sense of call to ministry.
Then one day, I was walking back from the grocery store and I saw her. On the raised edge of the sidewalk, away from the street, sat an elderly woman, a woman I later figured out was in her early 80s. She was sitting with her bags of groceries around her feet and she was breathing heavily. I looked at my own two grocery bags and then at her four. I thought about how I was planning to get back to my apartment before a campus event that night. Then I stopped and asked if she was all right.
I ended up offering to carry her groceries for her after she caught her breath. We walked up the sidewalk together, past my school, past the roundabout, through a park. I finally asked where she lived and then she named a town three miles from where we were. Not only had I committed to carrying her groceries home, we stopped every 300 yards or so for her to catch her breath, so this was going to be a long, long three miles.
So I settled in for the walk and we talked as we slowly moved. She told me about her job as a secretary during the Second World War and about her children. She discussed her life in the Cambridge area and why she still liked to walk into town for her groceries. As fascinating as her tales were, when she stopped speaking, her short-term memory would let her down and she would look at me and ask why I was in England. In terms of experiences I never thought I would have, explaining that I was studying to be a priest- over and over- to an eighty-years-plus English woman while I carried her groceries three miles, a trip that took two hours.
Eventually I learned that as a young girl, this woman had been a Methodist and considered becoming a minister, but they did not yet ordain women. Each time she asked what I was doing and I re-explained myself, I would learn something new about her and hear a new hope about the church’s preparedness for women ministers. When I left her, with her groceries, she said to me, “In the war, we knew what we hoped for, but didn’t know if it would happen. So we would say to one another, ‘Steady on.’”
When I think about Peter’s denial, I think of how easy it would have been to tell her anything else other than the truth. She would not have remembered and I would not have had to explain something new each time. Yet the experience taught me something about the carrying of the hopes and dreams of others. Through this woman’s life story and questions, I learned the truth that our lives are not only our own, but are touched and shaped by those around us, some of whom we do not know.
When we deny the gifts God has given us, when we walk by the man lying by the side of the road, when we promise to do whatever “the next time”, we find ourselves standing beside Peter- listening to the cock crow. Because we do not earn the gift of salvation, God’s grace grants us the opportunity and the freedom to be our best selves. We glimpse the fulfillment of that when we share the gifts and talents we have. When we are honest about our blessedness, seeing how much we have been given, we step out of the shadow of denial and into the warmth of known communion with God.
Not denying Christ is not just about being able to say what your vocation is or being a Samaritan in an obvious way. We are called into faithful relationships with our families, our church, our community and all of God’s creation. Daily opportunities present themselves to look into the eyes of the Lord by meeting some need you see. We all hope to do the right thing at the right time and yet we will all fall short of. But in that moment, our Savior looks at us as he did at Peter, and tells us, “I forgive you. I love you. Steady on.”
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
House of Prayer
So the church at which I work has been broken into and vandalized twice in the past week. This is in spite of the alarm system that was installed after six similar break-ins last year. The recent entries resulted in smashed windows, but no theft. The perpetrator is probably seeking cash, but there also seems to be an element of power-wielding and vengeance. The clean up from each break-in is more than simple removal of broken glass and replacing windows. We also have to look for healing in our hearts and our community that feels ever more violated and hurt and numbed by each experience.
This week when I was praying about this situation, I thought about Jesus cleansing the temple. As he threw out those who were selling offerings, providing monetary exchanges and making the temple into a general store, Jesus cried out, "My house was designated a house of prayer for the nations; you've turned it into a hangout for thieves."
These break-ins have not only violated our sense of community space, but also our sense of what church is about. Moments here, both sacred and mundane, are all fringed with the comforting knowledge of the Spirit and the gifts of God. It isn't that we are taken aback by the ways of the world (always), but that we don't expect to see that kind of violence and pain in a place of healing.
My prayers this week have been more along the lines of Psalm 137, than Luke 23:34. Yet we will gather again tonight and on Sunday to do what the Church has always done. We will worship and we will pray. This time we will pray for the cleansing of the temple from the specter of violence and violation. And we'll pray for the one(s) who continue to visit us- that they will know justice and, ultimately, peace. And we'll pray that God makes our positive prayers true in our hearts, but sustains us through the prayers that come from darkness, desperation and defenselessness.
This week when I was praying about this situation, I thought about Jesus cleansing the temple. As he threw out those who were selling offerings, providing monetary exchanges and making the temple into a general store, Jesus cried out, "My house was designated a house of prayer for the nations; you've turned it into a hangout for thieves."
These break-ins have not only violated our sense of community space, but also our sense of what church is about. Moments here, both sacred and mundane, are all fringed with the comforting knowledge of the Spirit and the gifts of God. It isn't that we are taken aback by the ways of the world (always), but that we don't expect to see that kind of violence and pain in a place of healing.
My prayers this week have been more along the lines of Psalm 137, than Luke 23:34. Yet we will gather again tonight and on Sunday to do what the Church has always done. We will worship and we will pray. This time we will pray for the cleansing of the temple from the specter of violence and violation. And we'll pray for the one(s) who continue to visit us- that they will know justice and, ultimately, peace. And we'll pray that God makes our positive prayers true in our hearts, but sustains us through the prayers that come from darkness, desperation and defenselessness.
Friday, February 15, 2008
Shadow of Betrayal (Sermonette 2/13)
Mark 14:17-21
I am starting to feel kind of frustrated at the darkness of the sermon texts that always seem to fall into my lap. This past Sunday, I preached on suffering, temptation and endurance. I believe one of the last times I stood here for a Wednesday night service, I preached about doubt. And today, we’re looking at the shadow of betrayal, the first of our Lenten series on shadows.
Where are the light-hearted sermons I thought I would be preaching? The ones about feeding the five thousand, the lame walking and the blind seeing? Where are the texts that make me imagine Jesus laughing and the disciples nodding their head in understanding? I feel a little betrayed.
How did this happen? Before I became an intern pastor, your vicar, I feel like I had a good understanding of what it meant to be a pastor and it’s not like the Bible changed. In the past year, there has been a gentle dawning of comprehension in my eyes about what you might expect from me, especially in a sermon. I betray the confidence you have in me, if I am too light with the text or I don’t fully deal with the darkness in there.
The miracle stories most of us, including me, need are not ones of food multiplication or casting out of demons, but of healing… of the heart, mind and soul. When we look to the passages, like the one today, we’re looking to how Jesus dealt with betrayal, something that happens to all of us- as a guide for our own behavior and as a support for our hope in the promises of God.
Knowing someone he loved was going to betray him, Jesus threw a party. A Passover seder is no quiet dinner, but a celebration of freedom and hope. Jesus brought everyone he loved to the table; even the one knew was a traitor to him. Yet it must have broken Jesus’ heart, regardless of the Scripture it fulfilled, to look not only at the eyes of the one who would turn him over to the authorities, but also at the eyes of all his other followers who saw in themselves the capability of betrayal. If they didn’t think it was possible for it to be them, they wouldn’t have asked, “Is it me, Lord?”
We too have all known betrayal. Even if we don’t eat at the same table with them, the ones who have broken our hearts, let down our trust and forgone our communion still breathe our same air and, for the most part, don’t appear to suffer. The pain of betrayal brings confusion and hurt.
Judas’ betrayal of Jesus led to the crucifixion and, more importantly, to the resurrection. Though we know how God used the events, we still look with some scorn at the nerve of Judas, but his actions speak to reality that we do not know the power of our actions. Just as those who betray us can underestimate the strength of theirs.
When we look at the shadows of Lent, it is important to remember that you only have a shadow where there is light. There must be a source of light, however small, to create a shadow. And a shadow is a false darkness, a moveable darkness that clings to our heels, but cannot overcome us.
Despite the presence of betrayal in our lives, a light shines in the darkness and the darkness has not overcome it. This is the miracle to which I am called to point, the sermon that must be preached over and over. It is the good news that we all need.
In the season of Lent, we look to a lengthening of days, more light and thus more shadows. However, even in the contemplation of this season, our eyes are always drawn to the Easter joy. That joy is not something that is forty days away, but is with us now. Despite the true pain of our struggles and our betrayals, we know we are always welcome Christ’s table- where he eats with everyone. And if scripture is fulfilled by Judas’ betrayal, then we can have faith the biblical promises of God with us, God for us and God transforming us are being fulfilled as well. That is the daily light the Spirit of the Risen Christ shines in our hearts today and always.
I am starting to feel kind of frustrated at the darkness of the sermon texts that always seem to fall into my lap. This past Sunday, I preached on suffering, temptation and endurance. I believe one of the last times I stood here for a Wednesday night service, I preached about doubt. And today, we’re looking at the shadow of betrayal, the first of our Lenten series on shadows.
Where are the light-hearted sermons I thought I would be preaching? The ones about feeding the five thousand, the lame walking and the blind seeing? Where are the texts that make me imagine Jesus laughing and the disciples nodding their head in understanding? I feel a little betrayed.
How did this happen? Before I became an intern pastor, your vicar, I feel like I had a good understanding of what it meant to be a pastor and it’s not like the Bible changed. In the past year, there has been a gentle dawning of comprehension in my eyes about what you might expect from me, especially in a sermon. I betray the confidence you have in me, if I am too light with the text or I don’t fully deal with the darkness in there.
The miracle stories most of us, including me, need are not ones of food multiplication or casting out of demons, but of healing… of the heart, mind and soul. When we look to the passages, like the one today, we’re looking to how Jesus dealt with betrayal, something that happens to all of us- as a guide for our own behavior and as a support for our hope in the promises of God.
Knowing someone he loved was going to betray him, Jesus threw a party. A Passover seder is no quiet dinner, but a celebration of freedom and hope. Jesus brought everyone he loved to the table; even the one knew was a traitor to him. Yet it must have broken Jesus’ heart, regardless of the Scripture it fulfilled, to look not only at the eyes of the one who would turn him over to the authorities, but also at the eyes of all his other followers who saw in themselves the capability of betrayal. If they didn’t think it was possible for it to be them, they wouldn’t have asked, “Is it me, Lord?”
We too have all known betrayal. Even if we don’t eat at the same table with them, the ones who have broken our hearts, let down our trust and forgone our communion still breathe our same air and, for the most part, don’t appear to suffer. The pain of betrayal brings confusion and hurt.
Judas’ betrayal of Jesus led to the crucifixion and, more importantly, to the resurrection. Though we know how God used the events, we still look with some scorn at the nerve of Judas, but his actions speak to reality that we do not know the power of our actions. Just as those who betray us can underestimate the strength of theirs.
When we look at the shadows of Lent, it is important to remember that you only have a shadow where there is light. There must be a source of light, however small, to create a shadow. And a shadow is a false darkness, a moveable darkness that clings to our heels, but cannot overcome us.
Despite the presence of betrayal in our lives, a light shines in the darkness and the darkness has not overcome it. This is the miracle to which I am called to point, the sermon that must be preached over and over. It is the good news that we all need.
In the season of Lent, we look to a lengthening of days, more light and thus more shadows. However, even in the contemplation of this season, our eyes are always drawn to the Easter joy. That joy is not something that is forty days away, but is with us now. Despite the true pain of our struggles and our betrayals, we know we are always welcome Christ’s table- where he eats with everyone. And if scripture is fulfilled by Judas’ betrayal, then we can have faith the biblical promises of God with us, God for us and God transforming us are being fulfilled as well. That is the daily light the Spirit of the Risen Christ shines in our hearts today and always.
Sunday, February 10, 2008
February Newsletter
As I was sitting here thinking about my newsletter, a piece of gossip is burning in my mind. I keep thinking about how I want to share it and how the person who heard it would react. I can hear their laughter in my head and the news in my mind burns all the more. Yet I know in my heart it would not be the right thing to do, to share this piece of information since it would result in tearing down the gossiped-about person, instead of building them up through affirmation. This dilemma brings to mind a letter Martin Luther wrote to Phillip Melancthon- a letter that contained one of Luther’s most famous phrases, “Sin boldly…”
Does this mean I should just share this gossip, in the spirit of bold sinning? No, because then I would be ignoring the whole sentence from the letter, “Be a sinner and sin boldly, but believe and rejoice in Christ even more boldly, for he is victorious over sin, death and the world.” In its context, the famous phrase seems a lot less like an exhortation to do whatever you want and is more of a reminder of what has been done for you.
The reality of life in this world is that nothing we do is without sin. Even our best intentions fall short due to large and small reasons (self-interest, self-promotion, lack of self-awareness). Yet this does not mean that we should or can rest on the laurels of grace and do nothing. Simply commenting on the transient nature of the world and watching it fall apart around us ignores the reality of God’s love for God’s creation and the fact that God has placed us in this world as well.
We have so many gifts and blessings given to us by God that meet the needs of the world in a variety of ways. The Holy Spirit moves in us, through us and for us- guiding to where we can offer moments of grace in times of great need. Along with that, Paul reminds us in Romans 5:8 that Christ died for us while we were sinners in order that we might be right with God. Christ’s efforts make us the great deficit that we cannot in terms of graciousness, faithfulness and mercy.
So what about sinning boldly? Well, we do not need to go around purposefully doing what we know to be wrong so that God can have even more chances to show grace to us. God does that without our creating the opportunity. We sin boldly by seizing the opportunities around us for love, care and service to others. We do the best we can with the blessed assurance that God’s grace and power cover our shortfalls in our relationship with one another and with Him.
As the ashes of that burning piece of gossip cool in mind, I rejoice in the fact that I am and will be forgiven for even thinking about it. More importantly, I need to think of something good to say about my potential gossipee- something that builds up and sustains. In the coming month, may the Holy Spirit grant you the courage to sin boldly, the wisdom to see opportunities and the faith to believe God’s grace stretches beyond the bounds of any shortfall.
Does this mean I should just share this gossip, in the spirit of bold sinning? No, because then I would be ignoring the whole sentence from the letter, “Be a sinner and sin boldly, but believe and rejoice in Christ even more boldly, for he is victorious over sin, death and the world.” In its context, the famous phrase seems a lot less like an exhortation to do whatever you want and is more of a reminder of what has been done for you.
The reality of life in this world is that nothing we do is without sin. Even our best intentions fall short due to large and small reasons (self-interest, self-promotion, lack of self-awareness). Yet this does not mean that we should or can rest on the laurels of grace and do nothing. Simply commenting on the transient nature of the world and watching it fall apart around us ignores the reality of God’s love for God’s creation and the fact that God has placed us in this world as well.
We have so many gifts and blessings given to us by God that meet the needs of the world in a variety of ways. The Holy Spirit moves in us, through us and for us- guiding to where we can offer moments of grace in times of great need. Along with that, Paul reminds us in Romans 5:8 that Christ died for us while we were sinners in order that we might be right with God. Christ’s efforts make us the great deficit that we cannot in terms of graciousness, faithfulness and mercy.
So what about sinning boldly? Well, we do not need to go around purposefully doing what we know to be wrong so that God can have even more chances to show grace to us. God does that without our creating the opportunity. We sin boldly by seizing the opportunities around us for love, care and service to others. We do the best we can with the blessed assurance that God’s grace and power cover our shortfalls in our relationship with one another and with Him.
As the ashes of that burning piece of gossip cool in mind, I rejoice in the fact that I am and will be forgiven for even thinking about it. More importantly, I need to think of something good to say about my potential gossipee- something that builds up and sustains. In the coming month, may the Holy Spirit grant you the courage to sin boldly, the wisdom to see opportunities and the faith to believe God’s grace stretches beyond the bounds of any shortfall.
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