Eat this Scroll

The Audacity of Authenticity; Proper 9, Year B

2009-07-05T12:36:00.003-04:00

Mark 6:1-13

http://www.io.com/~kellywp/YearB_RCL/Pentecost/BProp9_RCL.html

THE AUDACITY OF AUTHENTICITY

Has this ever happened to you?

Or, wait, I know the answer to this one. So: This has happened to you:

You're back visiting your parents for [funeral/wedding/holiday/vacation] after being away for a while. You've got friends, a job, maybe a spouse and kids-- in short, a whole life and identity where-ever you live now. You're not the same person you were when you were living with them, (although you ARE who that person grew into).

And yet, surrounded by the same old walls, the familiar books on the shelves, by your parents (+ possibly siblings), you mysteriously find yourself falling into the same habits of interaction and behavior. You find yourself strangely pressured into the old configurations of relationship, the same way of being; you shift a bit from who-you-are-usually to who-you-are-with-your-family.

Some of this invisible pressure is internal: you know how to be around them, and you have habits of interacting with them that are deeply ingrained. It's just easier, or more comfortable, to slip back into old habits. But a large part of this pressure is external: They "know" you as you used to be; they expect you to be a certain way; they know how to be with *that* you, not the 'updated' you.

You find yourself either reverting to another, older pattern of behavior-- OR, if you've made major life-changes and are trying hard to behave accordingly here-- you may find yourself pressured or pushed. You might be criticized, cajoled, treated with confusion, or otherwise manipulated towards a "you" that they are comfortable with.

If you have the audacity to be authentic, you might be greeted with confusion, hurt, hostility. Authenticity can easily be misinterpreted... as willfulness, pride, or self-righteousness... "Why are you behaving like this? You were always so respectful as a youth." or "I can't understand why you're acting so contrary."

This phenomenon is well defined in "family systems theory," a branch of psychology that studies how groups influence behavior. The family is like a mechanism which has learned how to operate with each member *a certain way.* If that member changes, the whole system doesn't quite know what to do with them, and is thrown off balance. It will subtly (or not-so-subtly) push them towards the way they used to be.

At its most benign, this phenomenon denies growth and development; at its worst, it can even work (without meaning to) to keep people unhealthy or dysfunctional. A family that has had someone work themselves to death taking care of everyone else doesn't know how to get along without someone in that role; a family with a "problem" member-- a troublemaker or perpetual screwup-- begins to "need" such a person in the family.

Groups other than families exhibit the same behavior; they learn how to function with people the way they are, and expect them to remain that way because now that's how the group *works*. If someone changes, there is pushback -- again, even if someone is trying to change for the better. (Think of the way that recovering alcoholics most often need to cut ties to their old group of friends, who invariably pressure them to revert. Or think when, after Jesus healed a demoniac who had been hurting himself for years, the nearby villagers become angry. They know that man as a demoniac, and they've learned how to cope with that-- now they have to figure out how to live with him as a man! Mk 5:1-19 [Note that Jesus sends the man back home to witness to the villagers, to make them accept the power of the change in the man.])

I'm put in mind of the proverbial crabs in a bucket... You know, how if you have a bunch of crabs in a tub of water, the ones below will supposedly grab any that begin to climb out and tug them back in?

So, to today's Gospel. Nazareth knows Jesus. They've known him since he was a kid! They know his family, his siblings, his childhood friends. "Isn't this son of Mary and brother of James and Joses and Judas and Simon, and aren't his sisters here too?" They've seen him work under his father, learning the family trade. So, that's another way to define him: "Isn't this the carpenter?" His very familiarity blinds them to the power of God which is so obvious to others. He is a known quantity in Nazareth. They can't seem to accept him as something different than what they already know of him.

In this context, Jesus has the audacity to be his authentic self. And so, he is greeted with, "The nerve of him! Who does he think he is? He's just Jesus the carpenter, Mary's kid!"

How often does that familiarity blind us? How often does what we "know" about someone keep us from knowing them more truly? Strangely, it may be hardest for us to recognize or accept holiness in those we know best. We aren't looking for the power of God in an old acquaintance; we're looking at the kid who stole our bike 15 years ago. We don't see the the power of the resurrection at work in our once-alcoholic brother, but the same screwup who can't seem to ever do anything right. We can't seem to recognize the Holy Spirit's life-changing influence on that friend from highschool; after all, we know what kind of trouble they got into in those days!

Expect God in each other. Sure, past behavior can give us some idea of what may still be going on with someone, but expect God's power to be working in your brother or sister. Expect to find the Spirit hard at work in their lives. Look with eyes open to the possibility that you may see Jesus' face... in someone who you used to think was a total jerk. Don't miss Jesus because you think someone is a "known quantity!" Don't miss a word from the Holy Spirit because you knew the speaker when she was a toddler!

And be true to who you are becoming in Christ... Even in the face of other expectations. Be yourself with integrity -- your true self -- even in the face of pressures to revert to some older, more comfortable you, a 'you' that your old friends or family know what to do with. Have the authenticity to go back, as Jesus sent the Geresene demoniac, "home to your friends, and tell them how much God has done for you."

Have the audacity to be authentic. And dare to see more in your neighbor than what you think you know. You might just surprise yourself, and be surprised in turn... by the face of Christ.

3 Lent, Year A, Notes

2008-02-22T13:05:00.005-05:00

3rd Lent, Year A,
(first thoughts, notes and marginal scribblings...)
[Exodus 17:1-7, Psalm 95, Romans 5:1-11, John 4:5-42]

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[Exodus 17:1-17]

Themes & motifs:
trust/distrust
faith/doubt
water and thirst
physical needs

vs. 17:2, the people "quarreled" with Moses;
vs. 17:3, Moses says, "Why do you quarrel with me? Why do you test the LORD?"

(testing & quarreling linked together, or conflated.)

Massah = heb. "test"
Meribah = heb. "quarrel"

The Israelites are complaining about a quite pressing physical need-- water to drink and to water their animals. This is no petty matter; it is literally an issue of life or death. They have been travelling through hot, dusty lands; and travelling is thirsty work. Especially in the wilderness, water is life. If they don't get water soon, they will begin dropping like proverbial flies.

However, they seem quite certain that Moses/God cannot provide the water they need. Moses' initial response hints at this connotation of their complaint; Their next words make it explicit: "Why did you bring us out of Egypt... to kill us and our children and livestock with thirst?" They seem sure that their needs won't be met; in effect, they are doubting God's ability to watch over them, questioning God as source and sustainer of life.

(Their doubt and testing is made explicit in vs. 7, when the narrator adds that the people asked, "Is the LORD amongst us or not?")

Also, the mood in the crowd is angry and accusatory. The narrative goes on to makes clear what mere text of their complaint cannot: tone of voice. The people are furiously angry. Moses says to God: "They are almost ready to stone me!" They're on the verge of becoming a mob, not a "congregation" -- the threat of violence looms.

Perhaps if they'd come to Moses with the same issue and a different tone, this wouldn't have been interpreted as sinful, or as "testing" or "quarelling."

The LORD has Moses take the same rod he struck the Nile with to a Rock, with elders to witness. The same LORD who has watched out for the people before will continue to; the same rod will be used.

God has power over water
an element of life & death, power to destroy or sustain
- power to part the Red Sea for escape (life)
- power to close the waters on the pursuing army (death)
- power to make water well up from the rock (life)

Thirst is a metaphor for one's longing for God in various places in the OT.
Psalm 42, "as the deer pants for the waterbrooks, so my soul thirsts for you..."
Psalm 63:1,
"O God, you are my God, eagerly I seek you;
my soul thirsts for you, flesh faints for you,
as in a barren and dry land where there is no water."
This is true of this story as well, as the people were doubting and testing God's presence and power.

If God has power over water, God holds the power of life & death.
If the test was "Is God with us," the answer is "Yes."
If the test was also implicitly "Is God able to help us?," the answer is also, "Yes."

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[Psalm 95]

Themes/motifs:
- God's creative/sustaining power
- God's pre-eminence
- God's care for us
- Our rightful response of praise and worship
- Trust vs. testing

Found in the Daily Offices in Morning Prayer as one of the introductory Psalms, the Venite... but noticably lacking vss. 8-11, which deal with the Israelites' testing of God at Meribah/Massah.

I love how, during Lent, the whole Psalm may be used as an Introductory Psalm, not just the "easy" verses.

The first half of the Psalm, vss. 1-7, do not at first seem directly related to the incident at Meribah.

vss. 1-7 joyfully proclaim God's creative and saving power.
- All creation is in God's hands; created by God.
- The rightful response to this is thanks and praise (vvs. 1-2;6-7)

They are related, however, to the Israelite's "complaint" in the wilderness of Zin: "Is God with us, or not?," (and implicitly, "can God save us?") Vss. 1-7 state, of course God is with us-- All the ends of the earth are always in God's hands-- and we are the "people of his pasture and the sheep of his hand" (vs. 7)

The second half of the Psalm is about the testing at Meribah/Massah. The generation in the desert who "put me to the test, though they had seen my works" (vs. 9) are used as a negative example for the faithful. Implicitly, if we want to "enter into [God's] rest," we'd better not follow their example, but remember the joyful affirmations of God's creative/redemptive power in the first half of the Psalm, and respond accordingly.

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[Romans 5:1-11]

Themes/motifs:
- hardship & its fruits (if endured with faith)
- boasting (in sufferings, in God)
- interceding/dying for another
- reconciliation

The surface-level gist of vs. 3-5 have entered our general vocabulary in the common idiom said of anything hard or unpleasant, "It builds character."

This sort of affirmation that suffering builds character is present in the passage, perhaps, but less simple than one leading directly to the other. We are able to rightly boast of our sufferings only when sufferings are endured in faith.

That is, it's not a churchy form of two old people trying to out-complain each other about who's health, joints, aches, and pains are the worst, as if suffering were so me sort of contest, or some sort of good in itself. (Paul warns us not to boast "in ourselves" as if our pain were praiseworthy in itself; but to boast "in God through our Lord Jesus Christ.") No, it is endurance in the face of suffering that makes hardship a possibly positive experience for the believer.

This endurance is a virtue-- thus, as that virtue is exercised and strengthened, one's character is "built." So, hardship can help us grow-- in faith, in character, in Godliness. It could just as easily help us grow apart from God-- in bitterness, in doubt, in jaded resignation, in raw sorrow.

Thank God for the grace we have through Jesus Christ and "the Holy Spirit that has been given to us" that allows us to endure suffering faithfully.

Early in The City of God, Augustine talks of the possible spiritual benefits of the suffering many Christians have endured as the power of Rome wanes and barbarians have sacked the city. He notes that through suffering, many may realize their own weakness and dependence on God. Or God might use their hardships to show them their inordinate love of worldly comforts, to the exclusion of prayer or worship. Or that suffering turns the believer from worldliness to thoughts of heaven in general. He may go a tad further than I would in assigning some agency to God for the barbarians' acts (in order to 'discipline' those who suffer), but he does helpfully note how such suffering can build the believer's character.

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[John 4:5-42]

Genre:
A Johannine "conversation" (as opposed to a "contraversy.) In the Conversations, a potential believer engages Jesus in a genuine dialogue, and shares their puzzlement, questions, objections, or confessions of faith. In a Contraversy, Jesus is confronted by his opponents on some point, and then gives an uninterrupted response that amounts to a monologue.

Motifs/themes:
- thirst, physical & spiritual
- water (drinking, baptism, "living water")
- social categories; social stigma
- ethnic/gender/religious barriers
- confession of Jesus as Messiah
- Sowing/harvesting/reaping (evangelizing)

-----------------------------------------------

Nicodemus (John 3) provides an interesting foil for the woman at the well:

Nicodemus came to Jesus in the middle of the night;
The Woman at the Well meets Jesus in the middle fo the day.

Nicodemus has high social standing, a respected rabbi;
The Woman at the Weel is a known adulteress in her community.

Nicodemus comes to Jesus as night, perhaps to avoid being seen;
Jesus meets the Woman at midday: perhaps she has come to the well during the hottest part of the day (the customary time to draw water being morning or evening) to avoid being seen by the other women of her town because she is a social outcast for her many "husbands."

Nicodemus does not publically affirm Christ after his encounter,
perhaps fearing for his reputation;
The Woman makes a public announcement of Christ after her encounter,
even though before she was avoiding people because of her reputation.

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I love that Jesus first asks the woman for a drink of water. The real physical thirst of travel on the long, dusty road between Judea and Galilee has made him thirsty. This story acknowledges the reality of thirst for water, as well as wielding this thirst as a metaphor for our thirst for God, and thirst for recognition by others as worthy of their time and respect. As a pariah living on the fringes of her town's society, coming to the well at hottest part of day to avoid having to face another confrontation by the town's other women, the Woman is thirsty for dignity. Her fervent expectation of the Messiah and excited questions when she realizes that Jesus is "a prophet" display her thirst for God.

--> (there is an echo here of the many OT meetings at wells-- Abraham's servant and Rebekah, Jacob and Rachel, etc... especially the latter, since this is "Jacob's Well." Like the story of Jacob coming to the well and then meeting Rachel there, Jesus is coming to a well in another land, but offering water to the one who is local to that area.)

Her reaction to Jesus' offer of "living water" (also "running water," like a stream or river) is at first overly literal:
- Where are you going to get this water? You don't even have a bucket.
- "Sir, give me this water, so that I may never be thirsty or have to keep coming her to draw water."

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The woman - Samaritan
- Remnant of the 10 northern Israelite tribes left after the Assyrians sacked Israel, intermingled with other peoples
- Followed the Torah
- Differences in worship customs
- Not acknowledged by the Jews as rightfully following God

Jews typically had as little to do with Samaritans as possible, considering them unclean, flawed in their religion, and having betrayed their heritage by intermarrying.

There are all sorts of social barriers in this story...

Men did not typically speak to women who were not their family in public
Jews did not typically speak to Samaritans
(both ethnic and religious barriers, "cleanliness" issues)
A known adulteress in her community / a known holy man

Jesus and the woman are both aware of these conventional social barriers. Jesus approaches the woman anyway, but the Woman is shocked, ans asks him, "How is it that you, a Jew, ask a drink of me, a woman of Samaria?"
- She is ready to let social stigma and social mores prevent an enounter with Jesus.
- "Your people don't talk to my people"

The disciples are equally astonished that Jesus is talking to a Samaritan woman, alone no less. But they don't say anything about it.

Stigma / fear / outcast-status
vs.
acceptance / boldness / public announcements

When the Woman returns to her village, she is emboldened and suddenly overcomes her shyness. No longer slinking around like an untouchable, she publically announces Jesus to her whole village, saying, "Come and see this man! He cannot be the Messiah, can he?" This is worlds away from the women we encountered at the beginning of the story, who journeyed to the well at the hottest part of the day to avoid contact with villagers who probably disapproved of her; now she seems to have forgotten her shame and is loudly proclaiming Jesus and inviting others to come and see him.

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"I know" that Messiah is coming

As with Nicodemus, the Woman is close to letting what she thinks she knows get in the way of hearing what Jesus has to say. She knows that Jews don't talk to Samaritans, and that men don't talk to unaccompanied women in public. She knows that Jesus doesn't have a bucket, so his offer of living water doesn't make sense. She knows that Jesus is a prophet once he discloses knowledge of her romantic biography-- thus lessening her likelihood of recognizing him as more than a prophet. She knows the differences between Jewish Temple observance and Samaritan worship on Mount Gerizim. She knows that Messiah is coming-- which rather ignores what Jesus has just said about the proper place (or mindset/way) to worship God; and that she knows Messiah is coming reduces her likelihood of recognizing that the Messiah has already come, and is standing right in front of her.

She is eager to talk politics & religion with this man who has unexpectedly deigned to speak to her in public, especially once it becomes evident that he is a holy man of some sort. Her eagerness shows a real spiritual thirst, and a very human social thirst for dignity and recognition. But in her eagerness and thirst for these things, she almost misses them by being blinded by preconceived notions. For example, Jesus does not legitimize either the Jewish or Samaritan place of worship, but says that now all worshippers will worship God wherever they are, "in spirit and in truth." The woman barely seems to hear him on this point, but seems to change the subject.

Year C Advent 3 (sermon) environmental variant

2007-12-15T23:23:00.000-05:00

http://www.io.com/~kellywp/YearA_RCL/Advent/AAdv3_RCL.html

Isaiah said:
The wilderness and the dry land shall be glad,
the desert shall rejoice and blossom;
like the crocus it shall blossom abundantly,
and rejoice with joy and singing.
The glory of Lebanon shall be given to it,
the majesty of Carmel and Sharon.
They shall see the glory of the LORD,
the majesty of our God.

The passage from Isaiah foretells a homecoming and a restoration, and as it echoes down the centuries to our ears, all the way to us listening this Sunday, it sheds various meanings. A way is being prepared for someone, it seems, but for whom, and what does it mean? To the people to whom the prophet originally spoke, it foretold the triumphant return of a remnant of the Exiles to promised land, to Israel. Centuries later, Christians recognized in it a prophesy about Christ’s coming; Jesus answered John’s disciples by citing many of its promises, ‘Go and tell your master, “The blind receive their sight, the lame walk, and lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear.”’ And after Christ’s resurrection, the early Church saw, as we still do today, an eschatological meaning in this passage—a meaning that stretches forward to Christ’s return.

One thing that really amazes me about this passage is its natural imagery. Apparently, this long-foretold coming isn’t just good news for God’s people, or for people in general. It’s good news for the earth. We hear that

The wilderness and the dry land shall be glad,
the desert shall rejoice and blossom;
like the crocus it shall blossom abundantly,
and rejoice with joy and singing.

What an amazing, lovely image: that the land itself can be glad! That an abundance of growth and blooming is actually like the voice of the wilderness singing! Isaiah goes on to say that formerly dry, dusty places will be as lush as foreign lands known for their greenery:

The glory of Lebanon shall be given to it,
the majesty of Carmel and Sharon.
They shall see the glory of the LORD,
the majesty of our God.

What’s interesting here is that the word “They” – as in, “They shall see the glory of the Lord,” doesn’t actually have any person as a referent in vvs. 1-2 or this passage. Either it refers to some people that Isaiah hasn’t been talking about yet, or, -- more likely – they refer to the “dry land,” the “wilderness” the “desert” which is about to be transformed as part of Christ’s coming. The very earth will share in witnessing the glory of God, and rejoice in its way—by becoming fertile, lush, and full of abundant water. For those living in the arid climate of Palestine, the promise of water transforming the land must have been an amazing expression of how God would redeem not only his people, the but whole earth:

“For waters shall break forth in the wilderness,
and streams in the desert;
the burning sand shall become a pool,
and the thirsty ground springs of water;”

What an amazing thought—that the earth itself is waiting for Christ’s coming, is just waiting to be redeemed, to rejoice, to be saved.

In the news this week, I’ve been following the stories about the UN-sponsored environmental conference being held in Bali. In Tuesday’s papers, there were three articles on one page— One about Al Gore’s joint acceptance of their Nobel Peace Prize with the UN panel for Climate Change; a second article, in which former White house employees reported that administration officials and scientists have been intentionally downplaying the impact of global warming in their releases and interviews. (Incidentally, A White House official, commenting in that article, said that the leak was a bald-faced attempt to draw attention away from the real progress being made at the Bali environmental Conferences.) And, as if on cue, the third article on the page was about the UN-sponsored environmental conference in Bali—where, it turns out, the U.S. was adamantly resisting setting numerical guidelines for the lessening of carbon emissions—a move which the EU and many other nations were pushing for.

Wednesday, an article entitled “Arctic may have melted past the tipping point”—complete with an alarming map of how much glacial ice mass Greenland has lost from melting since 1992, shared the page with the article “U.N. climate conference struggles on standards” – which, if you read it, was again largely about the U.S.’s unwillingness to set specific emissions reductions.

And late yesterday, after the Bali conference had gone into exhausting extra innings, they achieved some modest “success” – agreeing to meet in 2009 for another round of talks, and with no emissions reductions guidelines in the meantime.

In Al Gore’s nobel prize acceptance speech, he said: "Without realizing it, we have begun to wage war on the Earth itself, Now, we and the Earth's climate are locked in a relationship familiar to war planners: 'Mutually assured destruction.' It is time to make peace with the planet."

I do not think it out of keeping with Isaiah’s message that, as people making way for the coming of our Lord, it is high time to make peace with the planet. Luke says “all flesh shall see the salvation of God.” Isaiah describes a world in which nature itself is witness to the Glory of God, and in which the world is restored and made whole by God’s coming. As Advent people, we need to live into that vision. God has pronounced the created world good, and appointed us its custodians.

It’s really not such a radical idea. In the mid-first century, in his letter to the Romans, Paul wrote: “the creation waits with eager longing for the revealing of the children of God; that the creation itself will be set free from its bondage to decay and will obtain the freedom of the glory of the children of God. We know that the whole creation has been groaning in labour pains until now; and not only the creation, but we ourselves.”

The revealing of the children of God is supposed to be good news for creation itself, which groans alongside them for the coming of Christ. But all too often, we’ve abused that creation instead. Which brings us to our Collect of the Day. We need God’s help to live into God’s vision for the world. And so we pray:

Stir up your power, O Lord, and with great might come among us; and, because we are sorely hindered by our sins, let your bountiful grace and mercy speedily help and deliver us; through Jesus Christ our Lord, to whom, with you and the Holy Spirit, be honor and glory, now and for ever. Amen.

Year C, Advent 3 (sermon)

2007-12-15T23:22:00.000-05:00

http://www.io.com/~kellywp/YearA_RCL/Advent/AAdv3_RCL.html

Advent, as we know, is a time of waiting. But every so often we need to stop and ask ourselves:

What are we waiting for?

The passage from Isaiah foretells a homecoming and a restoration, and as it echoes down the centuries to our ears, all the way to us listening this Sunday, it sheds various meanings. A way is being prepared for someone, it seems, but for whom, and what does it mean? To the people to whom the prophet originally spoke, it foretold the triumphant return of a remnant of the Exiles to promised land, to Israel. Centuries later, Christians recognized in it a prophesy about Christ’s coming; Jesus answered John’s disciples by citing many of its promises, ‘Go and tell your master, “The blind receive their sight, the lame walk, and lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear.”’ And after Christ’s resurrection, the early Church saw, as we still do today, an eschatological meaning in this passage—a meaning that stretches forward to Christ’s return.

This sort of double-vision, this plurality of meanings, colors so much of what Advent is. We are waiting for something—but what, exactly are we waiting for?

In one sense, what we are “waiting” for what has already happened—the birth of Jesus Christ. We are expectantly approaching Christmas day, when we celebrate the birth of our Savior—so that our waiting and watching actually looks backwards. And, of course, we are waiting for that time to be with our families, the holiday meals, the exchange of presents, and the little family traditions that go along with Christmas.

But if we leave it at that, we’ve missed out on half of Advent. Because, in another sense, we are “waiting” not just for something that has already happened, but for something yet to be. We are watching for the final culmination of all creation in the return of Christ. Jesus cautioned “anyone with ears to listen” that they must be on their guard, that they should live expectantly, on the lookout for the Day of the Lord. This sense of urgency, of edge-of-your-seat anticipation, kind of gradually fizzled out of the early Church as Christ’s second coming seemed longer in coming than anyone expected. But Jesus warned about exactly that—that no one would know the hour or the day. Still, it’s hard to keep up a kind of truly expectant, watching-for-the-Master’s-return kind of mindset when the sun keeps stubbornly rising and setting, day after day, on a relatively unchanged world. Despite the prophet’s beatific vision, and despite those whom Christ healed during his ministry in Galilee, there are still the blind, lame, and poor. People still need to make a living. “They work the fields, they give and are given in marriage.” Oh blah dee, oh blah dah, Life goes on.

Even John the Baptist, who had earlier in Matthew’s gospel recognized in Jesus one who ought to baptize him, not the other way around—Who saw in Jesus the one who would baptize with fire and the holy spirit, not with water—is now perhaps having doubts. Now, from his jail cell, he is sending disciples to ask Jesus point blank—“are you the one who is to come, or should we expect someone else?”

It’s hard to live at a fever-pitch of expectancy. James advises his readers: “Be patient, therefore, beloved, until the coming of the Lord.” Farmers can be patient about their crops, he reasons—so you be patient too. But James wants to make sure that his community doesn’t become complacent and lazy in their waiting—“Strengthen your hearts, for the coming of the Lord is near!” James wants us too live as if Jesus is just around the corner. That’s what Advent living looks like. I mean, If all we’re looking forward to is a nice Christmas dinner, and presents around the tree--- well, it gets pretty easy for us to get sloppy about Advent. But if Jesus is coming, if Jesus is right about to ring the door bell any moment—well, we all probably have some pretty serious housecleaning to do, and fast! James wants us to feel that urgency; he writes, “See the Judge is standing at the doors!”

Live like that, James counsels us. Live like that, Jesus tells anyone with an ear who’ll listen. Live like restoration and homecoming is really on its way, Isaiah tells us.

What are we waiting for?

Because Advent is about waiting and watching, but what we’re waiting for makes a world of difference.

If it’s just Christmas—even a thoroughly religious Christmas, with carols and prayers and church services before all the family time—then all we’re left at the end of it is a pile of wrapping paper, a few church bulletins, and the overfed feeling that we’ve had a little too much of Mom’s green-bean and French’s Onion casserole.

But if we’re truly waiting for Christ’s coming again, then we’re left with so much more: Hope. Expectancy. Something worth looking forward to. All promises that Isaiah, the James, and John, and all the prophets, gave us. And if we’re expecting that, we need to live like that is a real possibility, like it’s coming, and we wanna be get on board while the getting’s good.

To live like that is to live as an Advent people, a people who have faith and hope not just at one time of the year, but all the time. See, James reminds us, The Judge is standing at the door!

So, what are we waiting for?

Let’s straighten this place up!

Proper 27, Year C (RCL) notes / reflections

2007-11-10T20:17:00.000-05:00

[Haggai 1:15:b-2:9]
[2 Thessalonians 2:1-5,13-17]
[Luke 20:27-38]

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Haggai 1:15:b-2:9

Take courage; for I am with you.

Haggai, like Zechariah, was a post-exilic prophet who encouraged Israelites who returned from Exile in Babylon to resettle the land and rebuild the temple. After Cyrus the Persion conquered Babylon in 539, he instituted a policy of allowing subject peoples to return to their homelands and resettle. After nearly 70 years of exile, the Israelites were allowed to return home in 538. In those 70 years, tales and stories of the former splendor of the Temple would have grown to almost mythic proportions, and Israel would have been remembered as the legendary promised land, rich with milk and honey.

The situation greeting the returning exiles was far from glorious, however, and enthusiasm quickly waned. Many Jews remained behind in Babylon, where they had lives and families. Those returning faced a Jerusalem in ruins, its walls and Temple destroyed. After an initial push to rebuild the Temple, the effort fizzled out, and there was a lapse of almost 20 years. Only the foundation of the Second Temple had been laid. Hostility from those surrounding peoples, and those who had remained on the land, seems to have plagued the returning exiles, and severe drought caused food shortages.

Given this context, Haggai's opening words in today's reading may seem rather odd. In what is essentially a message of encouragement, he begins by bluntly naming the frustration and dissatisfaction facing the returning Exiles.

"Who is left among you who saw this house in its former glory? How does it look to you now? Is it not in your sight as nothing?"

This seems too blunt, too curt; almost cruel. It's a real downer. But Haggai is only telling the truth, naming what everyone is already thinking. It cuts through denial or a "stiff upper lip," forcing the listener to admit to their feelings of despair or disappointment.

(By the way, it's significant that he addresses the Persian-appointed governor, the High Priest, and the "remnant of the people"/"people of the land" with this message. It shows that all levels of society are feeling this despair and sense of failure. Not only the poor, but those in positions of leadership feel like things are hopeless or off track.)

Only once their sense of fear and desolation is admitted, faced head-on, can they hear the message of hope Haggai offers. Three times, "take courage" is repeated, like a refrain or a mantra:

"Yet now take courage, O Zerubbabel, says the LORD; take courage, O Joshua, son of Jehozadak, the high priest; take courage, all you people of the land, say the LORD."

And why are they to "take courage," in the face of seeming failure? It is because "I am with you, says the Lord of Hosts." God has not abandoned the people. The current bleak situation does not mean that God's favor or presence is no longer with them. "My spirit abides with you; do not fear."

Although the Temple, the symbol of God among God's people, is not yet rebuilt, the LORD is with them even now. Armed with this reassurance, Haggai can exhort the people: "Work, for I am with you." Keep up the effort to rebuild the Temple. Although the Temple is not yet rebuilt, the whole earth, all the gold and silver and riches of the whole earth, belong to God. God's presence can be assured even before the symbolic seat of the faith is reestablished.

In the face of ruin, desolation, and hopelessness, Haggai offers a word of hope and assurance. In the worst of times, it seems that not only has the world turned against us; it seems that God too has abandoned us. Not so, says the Lord. Take courage, and believe that I am with you even in the worst of times; work, even when it seems against common sense, for restoration. I am not only with us in your efforts, but at work myself for the realization of restoration.

*************************************************

2 Thessalonians 2:1-5,13-17

Stand firm and hold fast.

The situation underlying this passage from 2 Thessalonians is somewhat unclear, but implied is some sort of threat to the community. Something ominous is going on: either persecutions, or fears about the authorities (notice references to "the rebellion" and "the lawless one"), and there are false epistles floating around "as though from us." We know the Thessalonian Christians were also concerned when the coming of Christ seemed delayed, and worried about what would happen to those who died before his coming.

In the letter, Paul (or perhaps a disciple of Paul writing in his tradition) warns the Church in Thessalonica not to be "quickly shaken in mind or alarmed" at these upheavals.

In the face of such fearful goings-on, the author offers Godly comfort: "God chose you as the first fruits for salvation through sanctification by the Spirit." The listeners are marked for salvation, despite whatever problems besieged them. Armed with this reassurance, Paul can command them:

"Stand firm and hold fast to the traditions that you were taught by us, either by word of mouth or by letter."

They are to cling fast to the content of the faith, not swerving due to new teachings or threat of persecution.

"Now may our Lord Jesus Christ himself and God our Father, who loved us and through grace gave us eternal comfort and good hope, comfort your hearts and strengthen them in every good work and word."

What emphasis on comfort and assurance! And yet the overall tone is not only pastoral, but empowering: "Eternal comfort and good hope" leads to present comfort-- ("comfort your hearts") that allows the saints to "strengthen them in every good work and word." Paul offers comfort and assurance so that the saints may not be shaken from the good path, from their good work.

No ominous rumblings, no threat of persecution, no fears of death or concerns about the afterlife, no apocalyptic "lawless one... who declares himself to be God" can separate the saints from the presence of their God. Their comfort is current, and it is eternal. Therefore, they can be strengthened in every good work, now and always.

*************************************************

Luke 20:27-38

The Sadducees had all sorts of savvy arguments to show the foolishness of belief in the resurrection. One rather amusing example uses on Jewish purity codes to propose a conundrum: After the bodily resurrection, would those raised have to purify themselves after having come into contact with a corpse? But they themselves were the corpse! How could they ever be ritually clean again? But what kind of Godly resurrection would it be, to never be clean?

In this Gospel passage, the Sadducees again use rather sly arguments to try to expose hope in the resurrection as foolish. As in the example above, they appeal to Jewish law, here as handed down by Moses, to propose a conundrum or paradox that the resurrection presents: Whose wife would the woman be in the afterlife, "for the seven [brothers] had married her?"

Notice that the word "dies/died" occurs 4 times in their question, and the "no children/childless" occurs 3 times. Death, family, and lineage are the driving semantic motifs of their question.

Let's also notice their tone of voice. This question narrates seven brothers passing a wife down the family line like players passing a football-- then dying like wooden cutouts. It is absurd. The tone is mocking, sly, and sarcastic. It is essentially making fun of Jesus, or anyone, for believing in the resurrection. It is making fun of hope.

In response to their wry, sarcastic, question, Jesus is direct, blunt even. He says that marriage is a "this life" thing; it is of this world, this life, and the question of progeny to carry on the family name is the same. In the resurrection, such concerns will no longer be so all-consuming; for they will be "like angels, and are children of God."

The two primary semantic concerns of the Sadducees question, death and children, are both addressed.

1) Opposing their fixation on "death," Jesus affirms, "Indeed, they cannot die anymore," "He is God not of the dead, but of the living." The God of Israel is no Egyptian God of death, nor a Greek God like Hades, but the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, and "to him, all of them are alive."

2) Against the Sadducees fixation on progeny and children, Jesus affirms that those resurrection are "children of God," and "children of the resurrection." The human concern for preserving a line no longer matters in the resurrection, for these children cannot die, and are all children of God. Our primary relationship in the afterlife, then, will not be between us and our former spouses or earthly children -- although we will be fellow-saints and children of God amongst them -- but between us and God.

To a sarcastic, tongue-in-cheek yarn about seven dying brothers and the hand-me-down wife, Jesus flatly reaffirms the truth of the resurrection. Jesus has no patience for those who mock hope, especially in ways that are meant to show their own cleverness. In other Gospels' versions of this tale, he mocks them right back, "Is it not because you do not know the scriptures that you say this?" and "You are quite wrong."

Jesus' tone and affirmation encourage us to ignore all those sophisticated voices of doubt or sarcasm which denigrate our faith, or would put us down for hoping in the future. True discussion is one thing; mockery is another. The world is full of those sly, wry, witty commentators who would reduce hope to naivete, religious faith to a droll joke.

Proper 14C (RCL) Sermon

2007-08-11T21:22:00.000-04:00

WHOSE HOUSE IS IT, ANYWAY?

The Epistle and the Gospel reading this week are all on about houses, and homes. Houses – who builds ‘em, who lives in ‘em, what it’s like to live in them, either joyfully or fearfully.
In Hebrews, we read that Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob “camped out,” as it were, in a foreign land, pitching their tents wherever they were as they looked forward to the City that God would prepare for them. The servants in Jesus’ first parable keep watch at their master’s house as he celebrates his wedding feast, awaiting his return. And the home-owner in the second parable finds that ownership means having to be watch out, or risk being robbed.
Houses—and homes. An old saying goes, “Home is where the heart is.” Jesus adds, “Where your treasure is, there will your heart be also.”
So this week, Jesus challenges us to examine our heart, asking ourself:
- Where is my treasure?
- Where is my heart?
- Where is my home?

About three months ago, my wife and I bit the bullet, signed on the dotted line, and bought our first house.
As first-time housebuyers, we could feel our blood-pressures rise as we looked over a repayment plan calculated out thirty-years into the future. Thirty years! That’s longer than either one of us has been alive! And, wow, it’s pretty anxiety-provoking to contemplate what thirty years interest does to your debt. I kidded that we ought to be signing in blood; Our mortgage broker, an impeccably well-groomed man with a bland smile on an inoffensive face, didn’t think this was very funny.
It seemed that from the moment we owned the house, there were any number of things we desperately needed but did not have. Apparently, the neighbors were not happy about the lush jungle of knee-high grass and weeds that came with the house. Within two days of moving in, our neighbor to the left had offered to lend us his lawnmower, some enterprising kids from down the street had quoted us some very competitive landscaping rates, and our neighbor on the right side had offered to mow our lawn himself. Okay, okay, we got the message: we needed a lawnmower. And a shed to keep the lawnmower in, I guess. And some furniture to fill up all these confounded rooms. And window-curtains, so our curious neighbors couldn’t peek through our windows to see those strange priests in their empty rooms who don’t seem to know how to mow their lawn.
Owning a house also meant we had to think about security. We suddenly had to ask ourselves questions like: What kind of homeowner’s insurance do we need? Should we get an alarm system? Do we need a brace-bar for the sliding door? Oh, what about the front door lock—are there still keys floating around from the Realtor’s lock-box? Should we change that lock? How about those motion-activated lights porch lights? Maybe we should get a guard-dog?—preferably a surly 200-pound pit-bull / mastiff mix with a pituitary condition and a pathological hatred of all strangers—but who’s good with kids?
Well, we ended up deciding against the auto-targeting defense lasers, and picked a relatively normal-sized, good-natured dog, but the point remains: Once we owned a house, we quickly found ourselves more concerned about “things,” more anxious about money, and thinking more than usual about our security.

In today’s Gospel, Jesus tells two short parables about houses. But first, he sets up these stories with this teaching: “Do not be afraid, little flock; for it is your Father's good pleasure to give you the kingdom. Sell your possessions, and give alms. Make purses for yourselves that do not wear out, an unfailing treasure in heaven, where no thief comes near and no moth destroys. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.”
There’s good news in this teaching, that’s for sure. The very first thing that Jesus tells his listeners is to let go of some of their fear. “Do not be afraid, little flock.” Just before this, Jesus has talked about all the ways we are afraid: We worry about food, we worry about clothing, we worry about our lifespans, we worry about the color of our hair-- worry about just about everything. When we’re afraid, we end up clutching what we do have so tightly our knuckles turn white—we take own lives in a stranglehold. Jesus here tells us that we can let go of that anxiety because “it if your Father’s good will to give you the kingdom.” If we have faith in God’s promises, we can ease up, just a little bit, on the life-constricting chokehold of fear—and with that letting go, we can breathe again. With trust in God comes hope, joy, peace, and the courage to give to others from what we have.
Jesus also says that this kingdom that the Father will give them is in heaven. All of the normal dangers and uncertainties that govern our worldly wealth won’t apply there—no thief comes and no moth destroys. Our true heavenly home, which is not of this world, will not have loss or anxiety or mortgages or theft. But Jesus tells his disciples they must fix their heart and their hopes on heaven, not earth. They should be piling up heavenly treasure, not earthly treasure—and that involves giving alms and doing good, not digging trenches and hunkering down.
And so, Jesus tells two short parables, both about “houses.”
Weirdly, these two stories feel very different, and yet both are stories about someone coming to a house. The first story, of the watchful servants waiting for their master to return, feels hopeful and joyous. The second, about the owner of a house who does not know the hour that a thief will come, is threatening and scary. Both seem to be about the coming of the Son of Man—so why does one seem so promising, and the other one so frightening? Why are these strangely dissimilar parables right next to each other here?
I think one thing that the juxtaposition of these two parables offers us is glimpses of our choices. Jesus has told us that where our treasure is, there will our heart be also; later in the Gospel he will elaborate that no one can serve both God and Earthly Wealth (Luke 16:13). This is the choice before us, and these two parables show what those choices look like.
To lay up our treasures in heaven and put our trust in God looks like the first parable. In this story, the main characters are servants of the household’s master. They are waiting “dressed for action”—more literally, with girded loins—with their robe cinched up and tucked under a belt so they can move quickly. They watch for his return with eagerness, because as good servants they know it is his house, not theirs, and they are ready to serve. When the master returns, in a surprising twist, he fastens his belt for service (in the greek, he “girds his loins” just as the servants did) and he begins to serve them. This parable is full of hope, joy, and blessing.
The next parable is also about the coming of the Son of Man, and is also superficially the same story—“someone comes to a house.” But that’s as far as the resemblance goes. Whereas in the first story, those at the house were servants, here the householder is the house owner himself. So, the whole attitude about the house is different. Here, the prevailing mood is defensiveness and threat. The parable suggests that the owner is, or at least might be, anxious about his possessions and protecting them. The house and everything in it is his, so he is worried about keeping them safe.
Here, then, is the question before us: If home is where the heart is, where is our home? Where is our heart? Where have we laid up treasure for ourselves? The letter to the Hebrews describes how Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, “confessed that they were strangers and foreigners on the earth,” while looking forward to “a better country, that is, a heavenly one.” They lived in tents, the letter suggests, because they knew they were “just passing through.”
When we feel like this world and this life is our true home, we end up living defensively and fearfully. We can find ourselves clutching what we have and grasping at more, and eyeing anyone who gets too near distrustfully. The man in the second parable reminds me of someone with twelve locks on his door, a baseball bat by the side of his bed, and a loaded pistol under his pillow. Who wants to live that fearfully? But the servants in the second parable make me imagine friends with party hats on, crouched behind furniture, waiting to shout “Surprise!” as the guest of honor returns. That’s the choice before us: crouched fearfully under the bed in a locked house, or joyfully welcoming and sharing God’s hospitality with each other.
So it's up to us. The question these two parables present to us is, “Which will you be, the servant eagerly awaiting your master or the owner, fearfully hiding from the thief?” Because Jesus is coming one way or another. Your attitude toward that coming will not change his nearness. Jesus is always drawing closer and closer to us. We must decide if he will look like a thief or a benevolent master when he appears.
And the way to decide this is to decide whether you will liver as a homeowner or a renter. Now, I don't mean you need to sell your houses and rent apartments in order to find God. I mean, we must all decide to live as though everything were indeed God's. Because, I'm afraid whether we care to admit it or not-- everything really is God's.
In the Gospel of John, Jesus tells his disciples, “In my father's house, there are many rooms. I am going there to prepare a place for you.” (John 14:2). As that slogan in those corny Motel Six ads goes, God'll “leave a light on for you.” Let us hold what we have in this world, then, lightly, in open hands, more ready to share than to clutch. For when the Son of Man returns he will come like the benevolent master returning to tell his servants. “Well done; your room is prepared and everything's been made ready for you. Welcome home.”

Proper 11, Year C (RCL) Sermon Notes

2007-07-21T19:22:00.000-04:00

[Luke 10:38-42]

[Movement 1: 2 stories]

- The visit to Mary & Martha's home comes right after the episode with the lawyer. In last week's Gospel, we heard a lawyer ask Jesus what he must do to be saved. Jesus affirmed the Two Great Commandements-- Love God with your whole being, and love your neighbor as yourself.

- After that, Jesus told a parable expanding on the point of loving one's neighbor, a story about a Samaritan man who stops to help a man beaten on the side of the road.

- Today's events, the story of the visit with Mary and Martha, elaborates on loving God.

- Neither of these stories is complete without the other. Both of these stories have a point to make that illuminates one of the Great Commandments. The Good Samaritan teaches us more about loving our neighbor. Mary & Martha teaches us more about loving God.

[Movement 2: The two elements of discipleship]

- The things we learn from these stories...

- The Good Samaritan is praised for his action, and Jesus tells the lawyer "Go and *do* likewise." Love of neighbor is characterized not merely by affect (feeling), but by action.

- On the other hand, Jesus praises Mary for sitting and listening. Love of God will move us to action, yes, but first comes seeking God in prayer, and silence, in "sitting at God's feet."

- The life of a disciple requires both: silence and action; prayer and service; quiet seeking and listening, and active helping of neighbor.

- Love of God is characterized first by listening and seeking because our "need" is greater. We can do a lot for our neighbors. But what can we do for God that God cannot do already? The fact is, God is perfect, powerful, complete, and self-sufficient, where we are imperfect, weak, and in need of God's love before we are complete. God's love is not something we have to earn, but comes first as a gift-- our frank need of God is graciously answered with God's love. Mary doesn't have to "do" anything to "merit" Jesus' love; she just sits at his feet.

[Movement 3: Taking time for Love]

- Both stories, furthermore, illustrate how *hurry* can get in the way of loving God and loving neighbor.

- In the story of the Good Samaritan, the priest and the Levite are too busy to stop and be inconvenienced to help the beaten man. At least part of their unwillingness probably stems from their hurry to reach their destination-- where they are going and what they are planning to do it "more important" than the unexpected complication of helping someone.

- Martha is busy and preoccupied with many tasks; these prevent her from paying actual attention to Jesus.

Proper 11, Year C (RCL) notes

2007-07-17T13:43:00.000-04:00

[Luke 10:38-42]

Now, if you've been going to church for any amount of time, you've probably heard a sermon or two about slowing down and making room in your life for prayer. Such sermons seem to crop up like mushrooms during seasons of special devotion, especially Lent.

And it's a good message, one worth hearing, the "Mary & Martha sermon." It usually goes something like this: "Balance your Martha side with your Mary side; Don't bustle around so busily that you lose track of Jesus. Don't be so 'anxious and preoccupied with many things' that you miss out on the 'one thing [that] matters.'"

Alright. That's all well and good.

But here's the thing: Every preacher who's ever preached this is a hypocrite.

Oh, to a lesser or greater extent, to be sure. Some clergy balance their spiritual lives with their work more gracefully than others. But every clergyperson has, at some point or another, become so preoccupied with the bustle of ministry, with its conflicting and often urgent demands, that they find themselves drifting away from their relationship with God-- praying less often, sitting with scripture less often, simply being still in the presence of God less often. The whole busy-ness of ministry can become just a business, a daily grind. People who once vowed at their ordinations to "persevere in prayer, both in public and private," can find themselves just a functioning religious professional. Who has time to pray when they're running around like a chicken with its head cut off?

In fact, there's a whole niche in the church-publishing industry that focuses on clergy burnout. More than a few trees have given their lives for books counseling clergy how to stay connected to God, how to keep their spiritual lives healthy in the midst of work. There are seminars and conventions teaching ministers how to keep their focus on God, discipline their prayer life, stay spiritual. And many clergy see Spiritual directors, people who help other believers stay focused on their spiritual journey.

All of this is just to say that no one is immune from the busy-ness and bustle of the world. Whoever we are, wherever we are in our faith journey, and whatever sort of work we find ourselves doing, everyone can become "worried and distracted by many things." In fact, perhaps it's when we engage in some sort of ministry that it's more likely to happen. We know we're up to something good, and that it's important, and that it needs doing now; it's probably that much easier to forget to take the time to pray, or to take a mental step back from our anxiety to ask God's presence in our work.

Take Martha, for instance. Martha is busy and preoccupied, to be sure, but she's doing good. This isn't a self-serving rat-race, or a petty scrabbling after riches, that she's engaged in; she's welcoming and serving Jesus himself. That almost sounds like the textbook definition of doing good to me-- serving Christ to the best of one's abilities.

Before we go much further, let's give Martha her props. What she's doing is good. She's serving Jesus Christ. That's good. But there is a greater good right in front of her: Jesus himself. Somehow, all the "good host" activities she's up to, getting out the fine china and refreshing his drink and getting the hors d'oeuvres out of the oven, all of this is distancing her from Jesus himself.

That's the problem: not that she's serving Jesus, but that her service is actually keeping her from truly being with Jesus, and from listening to him. Notice that she actually interrupts Jesus to complain about her sister's behavior! Mary was listening to Jesus when Martha comes up to them, so Martha is probably interrupting.

The problem isn't one of activity, but attention. Martha is "worried and distracted" away from paying attention to Jesus. No matter that what she is busy with is good-- showing generous hospitality-- she is turning away from a greater good towards a lesser good. It is like turning from light of a lamp to a piece of paper is it illuminating.

In today's Epistle, Paul says that "Christ Jesus is the image of the invisible God, the firstborn of all creation; for in him all things in heaven and on earth were created, things visible and invisible-- all things have been created through him and for him. He himself is before all things, and in him all things hold together." All things are already being reconciled to God through Christ. As Christ's body, the Church, we take part in that reconciling action-- but first we ourselves are reconciled to God.

But we don't even have to choose. It's not an either/or proposition. We are called to both: Love God and do good. We just have to remember to do them in that order-- "Love God and do good." It's when we try it the other way around-- "Do good, and love God when things slow down," that we get into trouble. First, love God. This is the better part Mary chooses, and it will not be taken away from us.

Proper 9, Year C, RCL

2007-07-07T17:57:00.001-04:00

Proper 9, Year C, RCL

2 Kings 5:1-14
Psalm 30
Galatians 6:(1-6), 7-16
Luke 10:1-11, 16-20

When I was in middle school, I used to read a lot of science-fiction and fantasy novels. They were always full of bold, capable heroes—like Superman, or Gandalf from Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings—whose brave, dramatic actions saved the day, and changed the courses of events. Of course, you don’t have to be a sci-fi geek to get what I’m talking about; if you’ve ever studied history, you know that it is the bigger-than-life figures who get remembered—the Washingtons and Jeffersons, the movers and shakers, the shapers of great events. This sort of image—the dramatic, impressive hero—bounced around in my imagination for years afterwards.
It’s fun to imagine being influential in that way, to dream of making the world a better place, of carving one’s mark in history. Who wouldn’t want to be the “chosen one,” one of those figures around whom Great Events seem to swirl—the next Harry Potter, or Gandalf, or Neo from The Matrix—or, for you non-nerds out there, the next Mother Teresa or Abraham Lincon?
Now this is bringing me around to something else I did a lot of in middle school—daydreaming. I used to zone out during classes, daydreaming some earth-shatteringly successful future for myself. Now, this is hardly unique to me. We all daydream. We daydream during lectures and while driving, at school and at work. Heck, some of you are probably doing it right now.
Now, the thing about daydreaming is, it’s rarely realistic. Daydreams tend to be built up to this overblown point. Maybe it’s just no fun to daydream about something small.
In today’s Old Testament reading, an important general with leprosy travels all the way from the neighboring country of Aram to Israel, drawn by rumors of a powerful man of God—Elisha—who might heal him. This man, Naaman, had a long journey to speculate and wonder how the prophet might heal him. Perhaps there would be some sort of dramatic ceremony. Maybe the prophet would wave his hands over his leprous skin, and invoke the name of his God. Or maybe he would give Naaman certain ritual acts to perform. His expectations must have had time to grow larger and more colorful all along the journey, daydreaming of how he might be healed.
And so, when Elisha tells him—by messenger, no less!—to just go and bathe himself in the Jordan river, Naaman is bitterly disappointed. It seems too trivial, too ridiculously anticlimactic. He’s come all the way from Aram, for goodness’ sake! He’s an important general! Shouldn’t there be something more? Surely there should be personal interaction with the prophet, some Spirit-filled waving of hands, a divine light show—something, anything more impressive than this.
Well, lucky for Naaman, he has a servant with him who’s got enough common sense, and courage, to encourage him to take Elisha’s advice. “Look,” he says, “if the prophet had given you some elaborate, difficult task to perform, you would have done it. Shouldn’t you be all the more willing if the task is simple?” And, also lucky for Naaman, he’s able to listen to such advice. Even though it doesn’t live up to how he’s imagined this healing, he follows Elisha’s instructions—and is healed!
Now, I can think of ways in which I need to be healed—of my sinfulness, of my inadequacies—of all the ways I don’t feel “good enough.” And I can daydream about how God will remake me in the image of Christ, and about how dramatic that change will be. But what if the healing that God is offering to me is much simpler than I imagine? What if I’m failing to take the good God is holding out to me because it doesn’t seem flashy enough? Naaman goes down the Jordan and immerses himself in the water seven times before he is healed. Think what a seemingly mundane act bathing is. We do it all the time; it’s no big deal. And think of the repetition of that immersion seven times. Instead of being hung up on how far I am from my image of how good I should be, maybe I could take those small, gradual steps (those “immersions”) that will move me in that direction. Like pray more. Or exercise more, if I’m worried about my health. Or pray more. Or see a spiritual advisor. Or try to be more kind in my everyday interactions. Or, did I mention, pray more?
The story of Naaman also says something about how we can serve God. It’s easy to daydream about doing good things. These daydreams may be grandiose and glorious—about how we might start a whole new ministry, or found a movement which will touch many people. And that’s good, as far as it goes; but it’s even better to do something—even something small. It’s far easier, I’ve found, to daydream than to plan. I can daydream a new cathedral much more easily than I can paint one wall that needs painting in my church. The trick is to not get so caught up in our own daydreams that we miss the chance to make a humble, but real, contribution in the real world.
In today’s Gospel reading, Jesus sends out seventy followers to go out in pairs before him, to all the places Jesus hopes to visit. First one person—John the Baptist—did this very thing, preparing the way for Jesus. Then, Jesus sent out the Twelve to “preach the Kingdom of God and heal the sick” (Luke 9:2). Now, he’s sending seventy before him, to heal the sick and announce that “the kingdom of God has come near you” (Luke 10:9). First one, then twelve—now seventy. The sense is that the movement is growing, and that more and more people are needed to spread the good news.
And Jesus uses a metaphor that would have made good, plain sense to his listeners, all of whom would have had some experience with agriculture. He uses the metaphor of the harvest. Richard Hays writes, “In every culture, harvest time is a time of great urgency. The common day laborer would have understood the exhortation to plead with the landowner to bring in more laborers to help with the harvest.” (Richard Hays, NIB v. IX, p. 219)
Now, Jesus does just that—sends out more laborers into the harvest. Since the group is larger, the task of each “laborer” is only part of one concerted effort. No individual disciple’s efforts are going to make or break the movement. They don’t have to reach everyone. Each pair is to stay at one household, if they are received, and preach the kingdom of heaven’s nearness. But if they are not well received, they are free to shake off the dust of their feet and move on.
By extension, Luke’s Gospel invites us to take up the same “labor,” to extend the same ever-widening work of spreading the good news. And this might manifest itself in some relatively humble ways—like inviting a co-worker to come to our church, or explaining to a friend how we can go in for all that “God stuff.” Or working, even in a small way, for justice in our community. It is good to dream of a world in which everyone knows God’s awesome love for them—but it is better to help even one person actually feel that love. It is a great thing to thirst for God’s justice to pour out over the whole world—but it is an even better thing to work for justice in some particular place. Naaman’s friend asked him, “If the prophet had commanded you to do something difficult, would you not have done it? How much more, when he asked you to do something simple?”
God is asking us not to fly—faster than a speeding bullet, leaping buildings in a single bound—to the realization of our wildest daydreams. God has a dream, and it is deeper and more wider than anything we had imagined. God is just asking us put one foot in front of the other towards God’s dream. And not to “greet anyone on the road”—that is, not to get sidetracked or distracted—either by the world or by our own vain imaginings.
Just asking us to take a step. And then another. And another.
Let’s get going.

7th Easter, Year C, RCL (notes) Acts 16:16-34

2007-05-19T15:08:00.000-04:00

[Acts 16:16-34]

[NPR: The Freedom Riders "Jail, No Bail" initiative]

Notes

Background: The story of Paul and Silas' mission among the Macedonians continues. Previously, they had chosen Philippi, a Roman colony and leading city of the area, as the starting point of their Macedonian mission. When a local cloth merchant, Lydia, heard about Christ, "The Lord opened her heart to respond to Paul's message." She and her household were baptized, and at her invitation, her house becomes the "home base" of Paul's mission to Macedonia.

Slaves of men, Slaves of God

Now, Paul and Silas are accosted by a slave girl "who had a spirit of divination" -- she's possessed by a spirit whose fortune-telling ability has brought her owners a good deal of money. She follows Paul and Silas around for days, crying out "These men are slaves of the Most High God, who proclaim to you a way of salvation."

This girl is twice-enslaved, then: twice-possessed. Physically (and legally), she is a slave to human owners; spiritually, she is possessed by a spiritual force that drives her to cry out fortunes. And one form of slavery reinforces the other: Far from seeing her spiritual condition as a problem, her owners see her "divining spirit" as an occasion for profit.

Now, this very spirit compells her to follow Paul and Silas around, telling any one who'll listen that they are "slaves of the Most High God." Technically, this is true-- they are. The theme of slavery, of being in thrall to someone or some force, has been raised. What it means to be a slave to God, or a slave to some other master, will continue to shape up in rest of the story.

Slavery and Freedom

Paul finally gets fed up with having his own demon-possessed PR agent, and commands the spirit: "I order you in the name of Jesus Christ, come out of her;" the spirit promptly takes off.

The Gospel is a liberating force: it breaks the spiritual chains that bind to false masters. Paul and Silas may be slaves to the Most High God, sure: but they are free of any other claim. God's mastery melts other claims like wax near a flame. Jesus taught that one cannot serve two masters: having God as a master overrules every other would-be master.

And look at the difference:
God is liberating;
any other master is limiting.
God frees us from all other claims;
other masters want to put us in chains.
God sees our worth in terms of love for us;
others see our worth as what they can get out of us.

God's mastery is ultimately freeing. But there are forces which resist the freeing message of the Gospel, because they profit from the slavery of those who are enslaved to other masters.

For example: The girl's owners are far from pleased. The slave girl was a source of income as a fortune-teller; now she's just another slave. As far as they're concerned, her spiritual and mental health aren't important: what's important is her market value-- what they can get out of her. They don't see her as a person, just as a source of potential cash-flow-- and now with her exorcism, they've seen that flow dry up.

And so, the owners seize Paul and Silas and drag them before the authorities in the marketplace. The setting is appropriate: from their point of view, they've suffered a loss of property-- their formerly valuable slave is now relatively worthless. Unfortunately, there's no law on the books against exorcizing demons from someone else's slave, so they bring other charges against Paul and Silas: "These men are disturbing our city; they are Jews and are advocating customs that are not lawful for us as Romans to adopt or observe."

The first charge isn't legally a charge at all: "These men are Jews." This charge is racist propoganda, plain and simple. Before they've made any real accusation against them, the slaveowners have appealed to the market's anti-semitism, to a Roman sense of racial superiority. The second part of the charge claims that Paul is "advocating customs that are not lawful for us as Romans to adopt." There doesn't seem to be much merit here, either: Paul, remember, is not actually much interested in asking Gentiles to keep the special "customs or laws" of Judaism.

Ironically, the charges Paul and Silas actually indict the accusers: they highlight the fact that are themselves imprisoned by Racism and Roman law. The enslaving powers that want to hold us in thrall, be they human or spiritual, do not like to see anyone deny their power over them, and they strike back accordingly; even those who have become comfortable in such slavery will lash out against freedom. So, the market crowds, enslaved by the same anti-semitism and oppressive law, joined the authorities in attacking the missionaries: Paul and Silas were beaten, stripped, and thrown into prison.

Captivity and Freedom

Amazingly, Paul and Silas refuse to be cowed.

They have been mobbed by the market crowds, stripped, and beaten with rods. They have been condemned by the authorities, thrown into prison, and fastened in stocks.

And still, even chained in their prison cell in the darkest hour of the night, Paul and Silas do something amazing: something I can't fully understand: they pray and sing to God. And they don't sing timidly or quietly-- they belt it out, loud and bold, so that all "the other prisoners were listening to them."

Even in prison, they can pray and sing to God-- and even here, they have found a mission field, for the other captives are listening to them. Heck, they're continuing the mission of Jesus, the one who came to "proclaim good news to captives, and freedom to those in prison."

What must they have thought, these other prisoners? Who were these two strange men, who worshipped and sang in a jail cell, even at midnight? Didn't they know where they were? Didn't they know they were in trouble? How could they sing hymns at a time like this? Observing the faith of these two Christians, the other prisoners could only listen in wonder, their attention turned to this source of liberating power.

And God's liberating power answers. An violent earthquake shakes the prison-- cracking the foundations and throwing open all the cell doors. But more amazingly, the earthquake unfastens all the chains! Strangely, Paul and Silas wait patiently inside their cell-- perhaps waiting for the jailer who will come along in a moment-- for as we shall see, they will set free the one who imprisoned them.

The jailer, thinking that all the prisoners have escaped, is ready to kill himself. Why? He must anticipate some punishment-- a punishment that he fully expects to be worse than death. He either fears the reprisal of his bosses, or has (correctly) interpretted the earthquake as a supernatural act, and is afraid of whatever god caused it. Either way, he's shown to be the captive of powers he fears, a slave to forces which he cannot trust.

Paul stops him from acting, and the man leads Paul and Silas out of the jail. Recognizing the power of God at work, the very one who held them captive becomes a liberator. Trembling, he asks how he can be saved, and Paul tells him to believe Jesus, and he will be saved-- and his whole household. The man then takes him into his house immediately-- "at the same hour"-- and washes his wounds. Paul (or, to give credit where credit is due, Jesus) has saved this man. Saved him from the oppressive Powers which enslaved him, from the racism and oppressive law system which made him into an oppressor himself.

The jailer has become a hospitaller-- one who heals and offers hospitality. The jailer has been set free from the jail, as surely as the prisoner.

Singing in Jail, Partying at Midnight

This is a pretty awesome thing! It's for a reason, us calling this message of Jesus "good news." His whole household hears it, receives it in baptism, and rejoices over an impromptu feast with Paul. It must be a surprising, shocking break of light in the middle of seemingly impenetrable darkness to them--
here this had begun as another night of the jailer going off to the night shift at what had to be a demoralizing job-- and it had turned into feasting and joy, into the happy reception of one of the very prisoners that it was the man's job to imprison. What strange, happy overturnings!

Paul agrees. Years later, writing to the Philippians about his time in prison there, he recalls: I want you to know, beloved, that what has happened to me has actually helped to spread the gospel, so that it has become known throughout the whole imperial guard and to everyone else that my imprisonment is for Christ; and most of the brothers and sisters, having been made confident in the Lord by my imprisonment, dare to speak the word with greater boldness and without fear. (Philippians 1:12-14)

Let us, too, dare to speak the word with greater boldness and without fear. Where are people being enslaved by powers and principalities, by forces other than God? Where are people not seen for their basic human worth, where are they reduced to categories, to race or ethnicity or political party or target demographic or economic class? Where-ever some false master lays its false claim on God's beloved people, let us dare to say with Paul, boldly and without fear: "I order you, in the name of Jesus Christ, come out of there."

Lazy blogger that I am...

2007-05-16T16:44:00.000-04:00

...nothing much by way of lectionary reflections lately.

And for something completely different:

One 'a my college buddies, Jon Henry, is coming to visit me this weekend! It should be fun. Moreso b/c the wife's away right now, and I've been starved for some social interaction. Less-so for the fact that I'm packing our belongings (by myself--as I mentioned, the wife's away) for the upcoming move, so the house is crazily decked out in precarious stacks of books and kitchen-gadgets stacked up to the walls.

Miss those old college friends of mine. Used to write a heck of a lot more then (poetry, that is.) 'Course, that could be because I was in school for it, but it didn't hurt that they were all writers too.

(For a Silent Retreat) The Necessary Chatter of the World

2007-04-30T16:16:00.000-04:00

I wrote this during my first year of seminary, during a silent retreat. I'm reposting it today because we at the Wash U. ECM are about to have a day-and-a-half long silent retreat...

THE NECESSARY CHATTER OF THE WORLD

Is talk something we "need," the way we need
food or love or internet access?
Yet monks go years without saying a word...
Today's a "quiet day" at Seabury,
which means that we are not supposed to talk
when we are in the halls, refectory,
or any other common space today.
At lunch, I sit and pick at my salad
(I'm trying to lose weight, or change my life
in a way vaguely linked to how I look,
or how I live, or how I treat myself...)
and look around at all my fellow students.
Most of them seem inward-turned today,
not looking at each other, eyes downcast
as if to say, "If I can't speak to you,
we might as well be in two different rooms."
What terrifying emptiness is formed
around us when sensations can't be named:
A siren bays somewhere not far away
and I can't lock it safely down with words--
as if the world might sink its million teeth,
from millions of its tiny mouths, in us
without the safety of restraining talk.
What does it "mean," when in a lingual void,
a rabbit runs across the campus Garth?
A tree falls in the woods, and no one speaks.
So did it make a sound? What would they mean,
sound, tree, meaning, woods, without the words?
And by the time I get back to my room
I'm feeling nervy as Schrödinger’s cat,
tense with the unnamed's breath upon my neck,
and sit down by the screen to write a bit--
to push the nothing back as by a charm,
as bonfires in the woods drive back the dark--
A stream of language, babbling like the sea--
The necessary chatter of the world.

Easter Wednesday (Daily Office Lectionary) Year One

2007-04-11T12:18:00.000-04:00

[Micah 7:7-15]

Do not rejoice over me, O my enemy;
when I fall, I shall rise;
when I sit in darkness,
the Lord will be a light to me.
- Micah 7:8

I love that this passage acknowledges, as does our Baptismal Creed, the inevitability of falling. It's not "if," but "when I fall." And what is so inspiring to me about this passage is its stubborn faith, the unlikely hope of the one who has already fallen. Who hasn't encountered, at some point or another, someone whose faith absolutely defied their circumstances? Those fallen-darkness-sitters who by all accounts have no reasont to hope, but do-- not an insane manic hope, but the calm certainty that God is with them, continues to be a light to them, and that they shall rise?

Oscar Wilde: True, all of us are in the gutter; But some of us are looking at the stars.

Feast of John Donne, 5 Lent, Saturday

2007-03-31T13:07:00.000-04:00

John Donne, 31 March 1631

XIX (from John Donne's Holy Sonnets, spelling modernized)

Oh, to vex me, contraries meet in one:
Inconstancy unnaturally hath begot
A constant habit; that when I would not
I change my vows, and in devotion.
As humorous is my contrition
As my profane Love, and as soon forgot:
As riddlingly distempered, cold and hot,
As praying, as mute; as infinite, as none.
I durst not view heaven yesterday; and today
In prayers, and flattering speeches I court God:
Tomorrow I quake with true fears of his rod.
So my devout fits come and go away
Like a fatastic Ague: save that here
Those are my best days, when I shake with fear.

A fitting poem of his to reflect upon, I thought, just before Holy Week, when the twelve will betray, deny, or abandon Jesus in his last hours. How have we wavered in our Lenten disciplines or vows? How can we respond more earnestly to Jesus' request to watch and pray this last night watch with him?

Collect for John Donne: Almighty God, the root and fountain of all being: Open our eyes to see, with your servant John Donne, that whatever has any being is a mirror in which we may behold you; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.

News!

2007-03-30T10:46:00.000-04:00

Well, friends in Christ, I'm finally gainful.

The Search Committee and Board of Rockwell House, the Episcopal Campus Ministry at Washington University (St. Louis), have selected me to be their next chaplain, and Bishop Smith has called me in that capacity.

I'm so happy and excited to be beginning this ministry among the amazing community at Wash U's Rockwell House. Check out their website, seriously, they're awesome. I especially love the scrolling questions/responses from the Baptismal Creed at the top of the screen.

Keep me, and them, in your prayers as we begin this transition. I start work there-- (SOON!)-- on Easter Monday.

5 Lent, Year C (RCL) notes

2007-03-23T17:31:00.000-04:00

[Isaiah 43: 16-21]
[Psalm 126]
[Philippians 3:4b-14]
[John 12:1-8]

********************
Isaiah 43:16-21
********************

"a new thing"

Here the prophet invokes Israel's sacred memory of the Exodus, when God led them through the parted Red Sea. This is a powerful, decisive moment in Israel's collective memory, defining them as a people, God's people.

However, the prophet moves quickly from the distant past to the immediate future. God announces that God is doing a new thing *right now*. The past is invoked briefly to remind Israel of God's redemptive power, but God goes on to say, "Okay, forget about that-- I'm up to something new!"

In fact, the prophet's poetic description of the impending Return, when God will lead the Babylonian Exiles back to Judah, actually picks up where historical reminder left off: God parted the water, led God's people safely through, and when the pursuing army followed they were "quenched like a wick". By stopping the retelling of the Exodus there, and then describing the upcoming Return as "a way in the wilderness" where God will "give drink to my chosen people," the prophesy invites the listener to project themselves into the Exodus story-- there return will be like a second wandering through the wilderness, and God will be with them just as God was with their ancestors.

The sense of expectancy, of imminence, is palpable. The verses are practically crackling with an electic sense of suspence. These events are about to burst out into motion; in fact, "it now springs forth, do you not perceive it?" The prophet sure does; the impending departure from Exile is so certain that it's as if it's already unfolding before his eyes: He describes the events "springing forth," and this metaphor quickly becomes a literal image of God creating "rivers in the desert," over which all the animals of the wilds rejoice.

It's interesting that the "former things" described are God's parting water and bringing death to pursuers, while the "new thing" is God's creating a life-giving river in the desert...

Look a the structural parallels:

The Lord who makes a way in the sea,
a path in the mighty waters...

I will make a way in the wilderness,
and rivers in the desert.

Israel was given this word while living as captives in Babylon, as "strangers in a strange land." They were dispirited, beaten, and subservient. By the thinking of the day, their defeat demonstrated that the Babylonian God Marduk was superior to their God, LORD. On a practical level, their defeat meant that they were no longer independent politically, and inferior on the social ladder. Things may not have looked absolutely bleak, but they sure did not look hopeful.

God, through the prophet, is inviting Israel to enliven its spiritual imagination, to dare to visualize a new thing, to have hope. God is opening Israel's eyes to a new vision of hope-- as powerful and awesome as the Exodus their ancestors experiences, but completely new, completely unprecedented.

This passage can speak to us as powerfully as it did to those dispirited Israelites in Babylon. Arguably, we are better off than the Bablyonian Exiles, in so many ways that it would be tedious to list them all. We're also better off, in terms of finances, diet, and political self-determination, than many other places in the world.

But the truth is, for all that, there are still things-- sometimes seemingly insurmountable things-- wrong with our life, with our city's life, with our nation's life. And I don't know what it is us, but sometimes we seem to see only what's wrong. Our vision gets gummed up with all the suffering and injustice that it's all we can see. Our imaginations get clogged with images of violence and crime and corruption until that's all we can imagine.

God is telling us to wipe the sand and grit from our eyes, and look out for something new. God is challenging us to imagine what amazing things we can do in the world-- even when it's hard to imagine that.

********************
Psalm 126
********************

I already preached on this Psalm earlier this year, so I won't go into too much detail..

"joy" is shot throughout this psalm, both the word and the emotion. So, however, is grief and sadness.

- joyful harvest & the spontaneous bubbling laughter

- the work of carrying the seed and sowing is done with "tears" and "weeping." Though the psalm affirms that joy follows with the harvest, the work that leads to renewal and rejoicing is done when that joy is not yet felt.

- have faith and trust in God; plant and sow even in hard times

********************
St. Louis connections
********************

When we first moved into the Shaw neighborhood of Tower Grove, Hope and I would go on walks around our neighborhood to get to know the area. On one of our excursions, we happened across this little diner on Russell. Apparently, the owner wasn't terribly busy that night, or maybe he was really in the mood to talk; when we told him we were new to this part of town, he regaled us for almost half an our with tales of the neighbhorhood. He told us that it's had some major ups and downs in the past few decades. After a long period of decline, he told us, with increases in property crime and drug use, when the streets were less safe and the houses in a poor state, the neighborhood looked like it would slide into a slow, ugly decay. More and more people were leaving the area as they felt less safe; more houses were looking run-down or left empty. However, some of the local residents teamed up to turn things around. They started an aggressive neighborhood watch, called the police repeatedly on known drug-houses, and did things like clean the sidewalks and lawns together. Some young couples started moving in and fixing up the old townhouses which were starting to look shabby. This guy-- the restaurant owner, had apparently been around to see this change happen, and to hear him tell about it, it was a dramatic change. It took people who were able to see past the problems to what the neighborhood might be, to effect this change. It took folks who could imagine a hopeful future, even when the present didn't given all that much reason for hope. It even took the ability to see that hopeful vision breaking through, in small ways, in the midst of a still-problem-ridden present-- and to celebrate those moments as the victories they were. Today, the Shaw neighborhood still has some important problems, but it isn't nearly as bad as it was in years past. Whether they know it or not, everyone who has the courage and imagination to see a vision of a better life for those around them, and to work to help that vision "spring forth" in little ways, is entering into the invitation God issues in today's Isaiah reading and Psalm.

Manure & Other Good News - 3d Lent (RCL) sermon

2007-03-10T19:25:00.000-05:00

(Pretty much a repost of my notes, cleaned up a little so as to flow better as a sermon. For those of you who've already seen that part, here's the only new bit:

Lent is a time of repentence, of a pilgrimage away from our distractions and hesitations towards God, towards Jerusalem, ultimately, towards the Cross. Jesus walked that same pilgrimage before us, and walks alongside us today. John’s gospel tells us that at the end of this journey, on his last night with them, washed his disciples feet. When they protested that such menial service was beneath him, he insisted: “Unless I wash you, you have no share with me.”

This tells us two things:
1) No work is too “menial,” even for Jesus
2) At the end of the Lenten pilgrimage is Maundy Thursday, when Jesus will offer to wash our feet; we’d darned well better get them dirty on the way!

Alright, w/out further ado, the sermon:

MANURE, AND OTHER GOOD NEWS

[Luke 13:1-9]

Jesus, talking to his disciples about repentence, relates a story about a fig tree in a vineyard to illustrate his point. Jesus often told these earthy, pithy, little stories that grounded his teachings in the details of everyday life - - bringing his teachings “down to earth.” Like all of Jesus’ parables, this one is (excuse the pun,) “fertile ground” for contemplation, so let’s (excuse another pun,) really “dig in” to this one and see what we can unearth…

The story opens with the owner of a vineyard inspecting his trees to see if they’re yielding good fruit. As a landowner, this man is probably better educated, richer, cleaner, and a whole different social class than those who he employs to work in his vineyard. What's impressive to me is that a humble gardener, probably sweat-stained, dusty-robed, with dirt beneath his nails, is able to stand up to the owner of the vineyard. And even more amazing, the rich owner actually takes the advice of one of his laborers. The gardener, who tends the vineyard and knows its workings, overrules the owner of the vineyard who wants to uproot the fig tree right away. "Let's dig around and fertilize it first," he says, "and see what happens next year, before we think about tearing it up." After all, the gardener is the one who tends the vineyard, the one who really knows its plants.

The gardener wants to dig up around the fig tree's roots and spread manure to fertilize it. I love the earthiness of this image. "Manure" is dank, rank, gross stuff. It's strong and smelly. And, importantly, it is considered a waste -- it's unclean, dirty, not worth anything. We don't want it-- we get rid of it, get it as far away from us as we can -- thrown into midden-heaps, cast into gutters or sewers, buried in holes, or today, flushed down toilets.

But in gardening, it's the stuff of new life, fertilizer.

In a passage about repentence and bearing fruit, this parable illustrates the "dirtiness" of really being about God's work-- it's "Roll up your sleeves and get planting" kind of work. True repentence probably isn't about "purity" -- about staying clean, but instead about not being afraid to get dirty in the service of God. The kind of repentence that leads to bearing fruit will get your hands dirty, get dirt -- or even manure -- beneath your nails.

In church, we like to dress up in our "Sunday best," to put on our crispest, fanciest clothes to show our respect for each other and God. Our clergy and acolytes wear bleached-white albs -- as white as we can get 'em. And while there are positive symbolic aspects to dressing this way, I wonder if it doesn't make us dissassociate Church with Dirt.

What would it be like if we dressed up for Church in paint-stained t-shirts, steel-toed boots, and work gloves? Gardener's overalls instead of three-piece suits? If our deacons had smudged kitchen-towels slung over their shoulders instead of stoles, ready for service? If our priests wore toolbelts instead of cinctures, our bishops donned hardhats instead of mitres? What would it say about the Church? What would it say about the world?

As it is now, we don't want people to "track mud" into the Sanctuary. Those whose clothes aren't as clean as ours, or those who haven't bathed as recently as us, may feel unwelcome or out of place.

What if the Church needs a little mud tracked into it? What if our Church is the fig tree that needs its roots dug around, get a little manure down there, nevermind that it's messy and smells bad and, yes, you will get dirty?

Or hey, what if the Church is the manure? What if instead of worrying about who's tracking mud on our carpets, we should be tracking mud out into the streets?

Lent is a time of repentence, of a pilgrimage away from our distractions and hesitations towards God, towards Jerusalem, ultimately, towards the Cross. Jesus walked that same pilgrimage before us, and walks alongside us today. John’s gospel tells us that at the end of this journey, on his last night with them, washed his disciples feet. When they protested that such menial service was beneath him, he insisted: “Unless I wash you, you have no share with me.”

This tells us two things:
1) No work is too “menial,” even for Jesus
2) At the end of the Lenten pilgrimage is Maundy Thursday, when Jesus will offer to wash our feet; we’d darned well better get them dirty on the way!

Really meeting the hopes, fears, and needs of the world can be messy. Honestly meeting people where they are, can be uncomfortable. Addressing the Gospel imperative to feed the hungry, clothe the naked, and bring justice to the oppressed means (quite obviously) having contact with the hungry, the naked and the oppressed.

If the Church is so antiseptic and clean, so starched and pressed, that it is afraid of a speck of dirt, it has no good news for the hungry, the naked, and the oppressed. Rather, it is a rather well-meaning but embarrassed humbug: "I wish you well, but I don't really know what I can do, good luck." You know, like one of those English butlers you see in movies wiping an immaculate white glove over a mantle to see if there's any dust there? I’d feel dirty just shaking that guy’s hand! This isn't Good News, it's further oppression: the real message is: "I wish you well, but you are Untoucheable, Unclean."

But if the Church is itself also manure, a fertile, fecund, source of life,
unafraid of the discomfort of new situations,
unafraid of new encounters,
unafraid of the uncertainy
that comes from really meeting injustice out in the world:
Then it has good news to offer, real Good News. Rather than "You are untoucheable," the message becomes "You are valuable, worthwhile, productive. Together, we can bear much fruit."

Manure. Something unclean, something we don't want to touch, something worthless.

But in God's hands, in the hands of God's gardeners, something infinitely valuable.

Let's put on our work gloves.

We've got digging to do.

Manure & Good News - 3d Sunday in Lent (RCL) notes

2007-03-06T10:56:00.000-05:00

[Luke 13:1-9]

Just got back from my Tuesday ecumenical Lectionary group. Some of our musings:

The gardener, who tends the vineyard and knows its workings, overrules the owner of the vineyard who wants to uproot the fig tree right away. "Let's dig around and fertilize it first," he says, "and see what happens next year, before we think about tearing it up." What's impressive to me is that a humble gardener, probably sweat-stained, dusty-robed, with dirt beneath his nails, is able to stand up to the owner of the vineyard. The owner, who is probably better educated, cleaner, not a physical laborer, and a different economic class, takes the advice of one of his employees (or perhaps even one of his "servants"/slaves). After all, the gardener is the one who tends the vineyard, the one who really knows its plants.

"Manure" -- The gardener wants to dig up around the fig tree's roots and spread manure to fertilize it. I love the earthiness of this image. "Manure" is dank, rank, gross stuff. It's strong and smelly. It is considered a waste -- it's unclean, dirty, not something that's normally worth anything. We don't want it-- we get rid of it as get it as far away from us as we can -- thrown into midden-heaps, cast into gutters or sewers, buried in holes, or today, flushed down toilets. But in gardening, it's the stuff of new life, fertilizer.

In a passage about repentence and bearing fruit, this parable illustrates the "dirtiness" of really being about God's work-- it's "Roll up your sleeves and get planting" kind of work. True repentence probably isn't about "purity" -- about staying clean, but instead about not being afraid to get dirty in the service of God. The kind of repentence that leads to bearing fruit will get your hands dirty, get dirt -- or even manure -- beneath your nails.

In church, we like to dress up in our "Sunday best," to put on our crispest, fanciest clothes to show our respect for each other and God. Our clergy and acolytes wear bleached-white albs -- as white as we can get 'em. And while there are positive symbolic aspects to dressing this way, I wonder if it doesn't make dissassociate Church with Dirt.

What would it be like if we dressed up for Church in paint-stained t-shirts, steel-toed boots, and work gloves? Gardener's overalls instead of three-piece suits? If our deacons had smudged towels slung over their shoulders instead of stoles, ready for service? If our priests wore toolbelts instead of cinctures, our bishops donned hardhats instead of mitres? What would it say about the Church? What would it say about the world?

As it is, we don't want people to "track mud" into the sanctuary. Those whose clothes aren't as clean, or who haven't bathed as recently, may feel unwelcome or out of place.

What if our Church needs a little mud tracked into it? What if our Church is the fig tree that needs its roots dug around, get a little manure down there, nevermind that it's messy and smells bad and, yes, you will get dirty.

Heck, what if the Church is the manure? What if instead of worrying about who's tracking mud on our carpets, we should be tracking mud out into the streets?

Chris D., one of the Presbyterian ministers in our group, said: "No offense, but what if the Church is the sh-t?"

To which I added: "The Church is sh-t: Let's spread it around."

Really meeting the hopes, fears, and needs of the world can be messy. Honestly meeting people where they are, can be uncomfortable. Addressing the Gospel imperative to feed the hungry, clothe the naked, and bring justice to the oppressed means (quite obviously) having contact with the hungry, the naked and the oppressed.

If the Church is so antiseptic and clean, so starched and pressed, that it is afraid of a speck of dirt, it has no good news for the hungry, the naked, and the oppressed. Rather, it is a rather well-meaning but embarrassed humbug: "I wish you well, but I don't really know what I can do, good luck." You know, like one of those English butlers you see in movies wiping a white glove over a mantle to see if there's any dust there? This isn't Good News, it's further oppression: the real message is: "I wish you well, but you are Untoucheable, Unclean."

But if the Church is itself also manure, a fertile, fecund, source of life, unafraid of the discomfort of new situations, unafraid of new encounters, unafraid of the uncertainy that comes from really meeting injustice out in the world: Then it has good news to offer. Rather than "You are untoucheable," the message becomes "You are worthwhile, you can bear much fruit."

Manure. Something unclean, something we don't want to touch, something worthless.

But in God's hands, in the hands of God's gardeners, something infinitely valuable.

Let's put on our work gloves.

We've got digging to do.

(As an aside: Paul says in Philippians 3:6 that he considers all his previous Pharisaic learning, expertise, and zeal "rubbish" [the Greek work is closer to "crap" or "sh-t"] compared to the greatness of knowing Christ.)

4th Sunday After Epiphany (RCL) sermon blocking

2007-01-26T17:28:00.000-05:00

[Luke 4:21-30]

Blocking for sermon

Block 1: "Been There, Done That..."

Have you ever been watching a rerun of a show you're a big fan of, and recognized which episode you're watching as it's just beginning? Me, I'm a big fan of Star Trek: The Next Generation-- I spent way too many hours watching it as a kid. To this day, I can pop in a dvd of Star Trek, and within about a minute identify which one it is: "Oh, right, I remember this one! This is the one where Captain Picard gets captured by the Borg..."

Now think of a passage of scripture that you've heard many, many times. It might be one that every gospel includes a version of, like Jesus' feeding of the multitudes just a few loaves of bread; or one that is told and retold in American culture, like the nativity story. It doesn't matter which one, but we're talking one you've heard (or read) enough that you know it like the back of your hand. One that you've heard so many times that when you hear the beginning of it, have that little moment of recognition, like a familiar sitcom rerun, and you say to yourself, "Oh yeah, this one. This is the one where Abraham talks to so-and-so, and such-and-such happens..."

While I was at seminary, we had three services every schoolday-- Morning Prayer, Eucharist, and Evening Prayer. This made for three sets of readings a day. Adding this to our study of scripture in OT and NT classes, and our own reading of the Bible, this meant that we covered a lot of ground in the Bible. Often during worship I would hear a reading that I'd just been reading in class or for a paper; I'd think, "Oh yeah, I know this one. I've just been studying this..." Next thing you know, I wouldn't be really hearing the reading at all; I'd be hearing my own ideas about the reading. After all, I already knew it: I knew what genre of Biblical literature it belonged to, I knew the historical-political context in which it was written, I knew what Biblical scholars said about it... If I couldn't exactly recite it word-for-word, well, I still knew what it meant.

The woman I sat next to in chapel was Jane, one of my classmates. The funny thing about Jane is that oftentimes during the readings, her lips would be moving. One day I asked her what she was doing: turns out she had a better memory than mine-- she actually could recite the readings word-for-word!

Knowing a particular Bible passage well can be a double-edged sword; in fact, this can be true even of scripture we don't know all that well but sounds "Bible-y", the way we think scripture "ought" to sound. We feel on familiar ground, we're on home territory; we know what the landmarks mean and can find our way around. We've been there, done that: bought the t-shirt. It's old hat. But what if there's more to the story? What if we're missing something because think we already know all there is to know?

Block 2: "What a nice sermon, Rabbi Jesus ben Joseph..."

In today's Gospel, the locals of Jesus' hometown have gathered at the synagogue to hear Jesus read and preach the Word of God. They knew the young rabbi had been preaching in Capernaum to stand-room-only crowds, and now the local-boy-made-good had returned to his home town. When Jesus read the reading we heard last week, some in the crowd must have nodded their heads in recognition.

All agreed the young man had read very clearly and eloquently.

Today's Gospel is calling us out of familiar territory. It is calling us out of our familiar interpretations, our comfortable ideas, our parochial

Thank God, the Word means more than we think it does. When we come across a reading and find ourselves thinking "been there, done that, bought the t-shirt," chances are that Jesus, the Word made flesh, has already slipped by unseen from our midst. We can stand confused on our cliffsides, or we can look with the eyes of faith.
Look, Jesus has moved on the next city.
Look-- We never imagined the Word might mean that.
We never imagined the Word go there.

Are we coming?

1st Sunday After Christmas (RCL) Sermon

2006-12-29T17:18:00.000-05:00

[Isaiah 61:10-62:3]
[Galatians 3:23-25;4:4-7]
[John 1:1-18]

GOD’S CHILDREN, PLAYING DRESS-UP,
or
DRESSING UP FOR THE BRIDEGROOM

In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. AMEN.

We have waited, and we have watched.
These past weeks of Advent, we have watched and waited for the birth of Christ. We have overheard the angel Gabriel’s announcement to Mary that she would conceive and bear a son, and name him “Savior.” We have witnessed the excited meeting of two expectant mothers, Mary and Elizabeth, and we have added our own voices to their song of celebration. We have trembled with the shepherds in the fields, as angels announced tidings of great joy, and we have drawn near with them to the side of the manger.
We have watched, and we have waited.

Today, we hear the evangelist John tell the same story, from a profoundly different perspective. Whereas Luke zooms in, focusing on the family of Jesus in a very intimate way, John zooms out, -- way out, going all the way back to the beginning of the Cosmos. John reminds us that Jesus’ birth is not merely a human drama with God somewhere in the background, but the fruition of a world- and time-spanning drama, which goes all the way back to the beginning of time:

“In the beginning was the Word,” John tells us, “and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.” While we may be tempted to over-sentimentalize the “little Lord Jesus, asleep on the hay,” John will not let us forget that this is the same Word through whom all things were made.

John’s heavenly perspective on these events conveys the same basic truth as Luke’s account: that “Word became flesh and lived among us.” But John’s way of telling the story assures that when we gaze upon the Christ child, we feel not only tenderness, but a sense of awe.

The Word, who was in the beginning with God, who was God, clothed himself in our humanity. The “light [that] shines in the darkness” became human, “dressed up,” as it were, in humanity.

Now, this in itself is awe-inspiring enough, an amazing thing; But the even more amazing thing is this: Christ wants us to join in this game of cosmic “dress-up.”
As he “put on” our flesh and clothed himself humanity,
he invites us to “put on” himself, and clothe ourselves in Christ.
As John tells us: “To all who received him, who believed in his name, he gave power to become children of God.”
The Son of God became human
so that we humans might become sons and daughters of God.
Christ took on our humanity
so that humanity might take on his divinity.

This idea of “clothing” ourselves in Christ, or “dressing up” as Christ, is found scattered throughout the New Testament. For example, Paul counsels the Romans:

“Live honourably as in the day, not in revelling and drunkenness, not in
quarrelling and jealousy. 14Instead, put on the Lord Jesus Christ, and make no
provision for the flesh, to gratify its desires.” (Romans 13:13a,13c-14)

Paul also tells the Corinthians that:

“Just as we have borne the image of the man of dust (that is, Adam), we will
also bear the image of the man of heaven (that is, Christ). (1 Cor. 15:49)

And, lastly, in the letter to the Ephesians:

Put away your former way of life, your old self, 23and be renewed in the spirit
of your minds, and clothe yourselves with the new self, created according to the
likeness of God. (Eph. 4:22a, 23-24a)

There is a wonderful passage in C.S. Lewis’ Mere Christianity about this. Lewis writes:

[The Lord’s Prayer’s] first words are Our Father. Do you see now what these words mean? They mean quite frankly that you are putting yourself in the place of a son of God. To put it bluntly, you are dressing up as Christ. If you like, you are pretending. Because, of course, the moment you realize what the words mean, you realize that you are not a son of God. You are not like the Son of God whose will and interests are one with those of the Father: you are a bundle of self-centered fears, hopes, greeds, jealousies, and self-conceit, all doomed to death. So that, in a way, this dressing up as Christ is a piece of enormous cheek. But the odd thing is that He has ordered us to do it.
Why? What is the good of pretending to be what you are not? Well, you know, there are two kinds of pretending. There is a bad kind, where the pretence is there instead of the real thing: as when a man pretends he is going to help you instead of really helping you. But there is also a good kind, where the pretence leads up to the real thing. When you are not feeling particularly friendly but know you ought to be, the best thing you can do, very often, is to put on a friendly manner and behave as if you were a nicer person than you were. And in a few minutes, as we have all noticed, you will be really feeling friendlier than you were. Very often the only way to get a quality in reality is to start behaving as if you had it already.
Now the moment you realize “Here I am, dressing up as Christ,” it is extremely likely that you will see at once some way in which at that very moment the pretence could be made less of a pretence and more of a reality. You will find several things going on in your mind which would not be going on there if you really were a son of God. Well, stop them. Or you may realize that [there is something you ought to do.] Well, go and do it.
You see what is happening. The Christ Himself, the Son of God who is a human (just like you) and God (just like His Father) is actually at your side already at that moment beginning to turn your pretence into a reality. This is not merely a fancy way of saying that your conscience is telling you what to do. If you simply ask your conscience, you get one result: if you remember that you are dressing up as Christ, you get a different one. There are lots of things which your conscience might not call definitely wrong (specially things in your mind) but which you will see at once you cannot go on doing if you are seriously trying to be like Christ. For you are no longer thinking simply about right and wrong: you are trying to catch the goodness from a Person. It is more like painting a portrait than obeying a set of rules. And the odd thing is that while in one way it is harder than keeping rules, in another way it is far easier. – (from C.S. Lewis, Mere Christianity, IV.7; condensed)

This last point about “rules” is found in both the Galatians reading and the Gospel reading. Paul tells the Galatians that the law was “our disciplinarian until Christ came.” John’s Gospel says, “The law indeed was given through Moses; but grace and truth came through Jesus Christ.” The law here is being compared to a sort of tutor, useful for a while, but eventually no longer necessary. Or the law is like a set of training wheels on a bicycle; It serves a purpose while you are learning, but it's superfluous for those who know what they are doing.

In Christ, we can grow out of the need for a “disciplinarian” and grow into responsible heirs of God. No longer is ethics a matter of obeying a set of rules, but a matter of living with integrity—living into the Christlikeness God intends for us.

We have waited, and we have watched. One of the metaphors that Jesus used in his parables for watchfulness was the wedding, and the way guests eagerly watched for the arrival of the bridegroom. And just as the bride and bridegroom would be dressed up for the event, the guests were expected to be dressed appropriately.
Jesus Christ, the bridegroom, has clothed himself in our humanity; and his bride, the Church, has been clothed in Christ’s holiness.

As it is written in Isaiah:

“He has clothed me with garments of salvation,
he has covered me with the
robe of righteousness,
as a bridegroom decks himself with garlands,
and
as a bride adorns herself with jewels.”

We have waited, and we have watched—not only for our Lord’s birth, but also for his second coming, when he will be our judge. As we await Christ, the bridegroom of the Church, let us clothe ourselves in him, that we may be found dressed,
and waiting,
and ready.

Thanksgiving (BCP / RCL lectionary mix) sermon

2006-11-23T09:42:00.000-05:00

Joel 2:21-27, Matthew 6:25-33

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

1. On Thanksgiving Day, I sometimes call to mind a list of things I’m thankful for...
- friends, relationships, family, etc...
- for plenty of food & drink...
- for a warm home to live in...
- for a measure of health enough to enjoy my days...
- for a nation that is, in many ways, stable and secure...

2. But sometimes it can make one a little uneasy to contemplate such a list...
- troubles that seem to encroach on our list of blessings
- our neighbors who may not have the same things
- contingency of what we do have...

Hubert Beck, Lutheran Theologian QUOTE

“I thank you, Lord, that I am NOT one of the homeless or the hungry or the
people who cannot find work or who are estranged from their family. I thank you,
Lord, that I do NOT live in ______________ (fill in the nation you do NOT want
to live in) etc., etc., etc.”

My thanksgiving is so frequently centered on what I have that it becomes
troubling when confronted with how many other people have little or nothing. My
health is to be treasured, to be sure . . . but not with a secret thankfulness
that it is not as troubled as somebody else whose health is in jeopardy. My
relative security in terms of money or home or family or diet is to be
treasured, without question . . . but not as though it placed me over against
those who are not blessed in the same way that I am.”

3. This kind of “catalogue” or “inventory” of what we are thankful for can make us uneasy or fearful...
- these ARE “goods”
- but we are paying more attention to what we are thankful FOR
- than what WHO we are thankful TO.
- all blessings, all goods flow from God
- and first and foremost, we should esteem God, then other goods,
not place other things above God in our hearts

The verse just before our Gospel lesson is:

‘No one can serve two masters; for a servant will either hate the one and love
the other, or be devoted to the one and despise the other. You cannot serve God
and wealth.

4. The verse before today’s Gospel makes it clear that we are to value our relationship with God first and foremost, more than what we have. Thankful first for God and our relationship with God, not love our “things” more than God.
- When we are more concerned with what we have, we are thinking about ourselves
- places us in an untrusting stance towards God
- a competitive stance towards neighbors
- an idolatrous stance towards “stuff” / “wealth” / “Mammon.”
- This makes us anxious and fearful
- we see around us only lack and poverty, or the threat of loss
- instead of seeing the riches that God is raining upon all creation continually

5. It is just this sort of anxiousness and fear that Christ comforts in the Gospel
- “do not worry about your life... what will we eat or drink... what you will wear”
- instead, draws our attention to the richness and splendor of creation
- and our own relationship with God: “Are you not of more value than they?”
- In fact, in the Joel reading, God tells the creatures of nature themselves not to worry:
- Do not fear, O soil; Do not fear, you animals of the field...
- It is b/c they will also be blessed that the people of Israel will be blessed

6. When we concentrate on God, TO WHOM we are thankful, firstly, we are freed to be less anxious for WHAT we are thankful for
- to see how the rich the gifts of God are in all creation
- to see how the blessings and gifts given to all the earth
—to the fields, to birds of the air, to wild animals,
- these are ALSO things we should be thankful for
—how their blessings are also our blessings
- and especially to see how the blessings and gifts of our neighbors are as important as those which we ourselves have
- Just as God pours gifts of rain and food upon the wild fields and animals in an almost spendthrift generosity, we are enabled to ask not “What do I lack?” but “What can I do for my neighbor’s lack?” It even allows us to give thanks to the blessings that our neighbors have that we do not, so long as they did not gain it by injustice.

Let us praise the God who gives the rain in its season, and provides the
richness of fruits of the earth to sustain both the wild animals and humankind.
Let us pray that we may be faithful stewards of the earth’s bounty, not only on
our own behalf, but with an eye towards all who are in need, and an eye towards
the inherent goodness, in God’s eyes, of the earth itself; through Jesus Christ
our Lord, who lives and reigns with the Father and the Holy Spirit, one God, the
fount of all life and source of all blessings. AMEN.

Proper 28, Year B (BCP) Sermon

2006-11-18T23:27:00.000-05:00

[Daniel 12:1-13]
[Mark 13:14-23]

FAITHFUL LIVING IN THE SHADOW OF THE END-TIMES

In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. AMEN.

Okay, confession time:

Earlier this week, when I sat down to begin thinking about this sermon, and when I saw the readings appointed for this Sunday’s service, something popped out of my mouth that sounded like “Oh, fudge”. Oh no, I thought to myself: Apocalypse. And not just any Apocalyptic literature, but the really confusing bits that comes at the end of the Book of Daniel. I mean, this is really dizzying, almost hallucinogenic stuff. It includes the only really clear promise of a resurrection in all the Hebrew scriptures, speaks of anguish such as there has never yet been in all creation, lists numbers of days that don’t add up—even with linen-clad angels standing in rivers issuing cryptic responses like “A Time, Two times, and half a time.” What in the world is going on here? I am almost relieved when I get to the part where Daniel confesses: “I heard, but I could not understand.” Oh, good, I think. So it’s not just me.

Both the Daniel reading and today’s Gospel reading—which is part of what’s called the “Little Apocalypse” of the Gospel of Mark—talk about fearsome, world-shaking events. Apocalyptic literature warns of violent, catalclysmic overthrow, turmoil, suffering. The angel Michael warns Daniel of a “time of anguish, such as has never occurred since nations first came into existence.” Jesus similarly states, “In those days there will be suffering, such as has not been from the beginning of the creation that God created until now.”

Apocalpses are “crisis literature.” Apocalypses speak to communities who are already in turmoil, during times of oppression or persecution. One such crisis was the oppression of the Seleucid king Antioches IVth, who set up the a statue of himself in the Jerusalem Temple; this is probably the “abomination that desolates” mentioned in Daniel. Out of this historical situation of crisis, the book of Daniel, and the Apocalpytic Book of Enoch both emerged. Another crisis which inspired the writing of several Apocalypses was the destruction of the Temple by the Romans in 70 A.D. Similarly, the early Christians experienced persecution and oppression by the larger Judean culture which did not accept their Master’s teachings. It is in the context of this sense of crisis that Jesus’ words made sense. The “desolating sacrilege” he speaks of might refer to repeated Roman attempts to set up the imperial standard—which included the statue of an eagle—in the Temple, where such images were forbidden. These attempts had met with popular riots in protest. Or, the “desolating sacrilege” might allude to Emperor Caligula’s edict that a statue of himself be set up in the Temple—an order that luckily was never carried out.

There are several ways that apocalyptic literature speaks hopefully to these communities in crisis. For one thing, they express a dissatisfaction with the current order, and suggest that this order is temporary and subject to complete overthrow by God. “They allow their readers to see their own situations from the perspectives of the supernatural world and from the vantage point of life after death. This chance of perspective allows a different consciousness to emerge, thereby changing experience itself” (Fred Murphy, NIB VII, 7). So, to people in turmoil, this sort of discourse serves as a reminder that God is in charge, and offers the hope that the current intolerable situation will be overturned by God’s unimaginably powerful hand.

But Apocalypse does something else, too—especially for those of us who are not swept up in the tides of dramatic social crisis—it confuses. Apocalypses, with their strange images and paradoxical warnings, unnerves, confuses, makes us feel disoriented. Apocalypse turns the world on its head, and so it is no surprise that we find ourselves a little dizzy in the process!

This is heady stuff, a strange, potent brew of dreamlike vision and ambiguous warning. This is scripture not to drink on an empty stomach. This is scripture that you don’t operate heavy machinery for at least one hour after reading.

So, I think it’s only natural that we try to “figure it out.” I think there is an almost natural human impulse to react to this sort of literature by trying to “solve” it, to “decode” it, to figure out what each dreamlike symbol stands for. Perhaps if we can get a handle on it, it won’t seem to strange and threatening. The history of the interpretation of Apocalyptic texts is filled with attempts to find one-to-one correspondences between the ambiguous symbols of the text and real historical events, and filled with attempts to project a timetable onto history based on Apocalyptic warnings. I am put in mind of one American Christian sect whose leader, in the 19th century, led his followers up to a hill to await the coming of the Lord, because he has precisely calculated the date of the Second Coming! When the expected end-times did not materialize, he checked his figures, and pushed the date back one year! What is amazing, though, is that this impulse to “figure out,” to somehow tame Apocalyptic writings, is evident in those very writings itself!

Think about it: After Jesus warns his disciples that the Temple will be torn down, just a few paragraphs before today’s reading, the disciples ask him: “Tell us, when will these things happen? And what will be the sign that they are all about to be fulfilled?” Daniel, too, asks the angel Michael, “How long shall it be until the end of these wonders?” These readings are full of the themes of understanding, of knowing what it all “means.” But Apocalypse resists neat and clear interpretation, resists being nailed down. Jesus already told the crowds that he would give no sign to his own age. Similarly, the angel ambiguously answers Daniel’s “How long” question with: “it will be for a time, two times, and half a time.” When Daniel gets frustrated with this and demands bluntly, “What will be the outcome of these things?” he is rebuffed even more frankly, “Get going, Daniel, for these words are to remain secret until the time of the end.”

Perhaps Jesus’ and the angels’ reticence over giving too much detail is that our desire to “decode” Apocalyptic does more harm than good. “Despite the carefully developed warnings about false prophesy in Mark, sectarian groups continue to preach that the end of the world is near. Survivalist sects stockpile arms, food, and other supplies so that members of the sect will be able to fight off the displaced humans created in the end-time turmoil.” (Eugene Boring, NIB VIII, p. 690) I think also of the hysterical predictions of catastrophe and supply hoarding that accompanied the dawning of this millennium--- y’all remember, don’t you, how the Y2K bug was going to spell the end of the world? Or I think of how some fundamentalists aren’t bothered by wars in the Middle East, because conflict in the Holy Land must supposedly precede the Second Coming. Or how some Christians are not concerned with taking care of the environment, because the world is to end soon. You see how this kind of thinking is dangerous?

When hard times and turmoils come, instead of digging ourselves into trenches to ride out the storm, we should be looking for how we can be Christ’s hands in the world. In the end, that’s what Apocalypse should be strengthening us to do, anyway: to meet adversity boldly and with faith, and combat suffering and persecution today with the conviction that the current brokenness of the world will be overthrown.

May God strengthen us to do just that. AMEN.

In Memorial for the life of Allene Mauchenheimer

2006-11-18T11:02:00.000-05:00

[I John 3:1-2]
[John 6:37-40]

For most of the history of Christianity, the vast majority of Christians couldn’t read or write. For illiterate believers, the visual arts were another sort of vocabulary that the common Christian could understand. Stained glass, along with sculpture, mosaic, icons, and panel painting, provided depictions of scriptural lessons which the average believer might hear read aloud occasionally, but could not read for themselves. Since it was only the wealthy who would usually have the chance to learn to read, stained glass and other pictorial arts were sometimes collectively called “The Poor Person’s Bible,” – that is, they provided a visual version of the Bible for the instruction and nurturing of the everyday Christian’s faith. The regular Christian could learn the “vocabulary” of these arts; how a saint would be usually depicted with particular symbols, how certain motifs had symbolic meanings, how this sort of arrangement represented the Last Supper, while that grouping over there represented the Ascension. Armed with this special sort of “literacy,” able to interpret the symbols and motifs of the visual arts, regular uneducated Christians could “read” the stories that nurtured their faith, and teach them to their children.

For those who could not read, stained glass and other visual arts were quite truly their Bible, the Bible that they could interpret. This is why Orthodox iconographers do not say that they “paint” icons, but that they “write” them—they are “writing” scripture in a different media, but it is a telling of the same good news, merely in a different language. For this reason, the artisans and craftsmen who made such Christians works of art were not merely skilled artists—they were evangelists. Just as surely as the four evangelists who wrote the Gospels, just as surely as the literate few who read the scripture out loud during services, these artists were also evangelists—“good news tellers,”—telling the scriptures in a language average Christians could understand—the universal language of pictures.

Even today, when the overwhelming majority of Christians in this country can read, stained glass speaks powerfully in ways that mere words cannot. Stained glass calls to mind stories that we know but aren’t thinking about. Stained glass can show forth lessons we think we know well in new ways, so that what seemed worn and familiar is suddenly fresh, even surprising. Even abstract windows evoke the grandeur, majesty, and glory of God. I think one of the terms traditionally applied to icons, “windows into heaven,” might be applied to stained glass windows as well.

Our prayer book reminds us that the liturgy for the departed is an Easter liturgy: It finds its ultimate meaning not in death, but in resurrection. Because Jesus was raised from the death, we, too, shall be raised. Jesus promised, “This is indeed the will of my Father, that all who see the Son and believe in him may have eternal life; and I will raise them up on the last day.’” Indeed, one of the ways that we “see the Son,” is in stained glass. When we see stained glass windows—like the ones Allene and her husband made—we see the Son, Jesus. We catch glimpses of all that God promises us, and we catch inklings and intimations of our future joy. Because Jesus was raised, we too shall be raised. So when we look up at a window depicting Jesus’ resurrection or ascension, we see also our own hope of eternal life.

Allene, was an evangelist, showing-forth the good news in her life and in her art. As different facets or panels of a window may catch an individual’s attention, you all may have seen different aspects of how Allene lived out the Gospel in her life. I myself, not having had the blessing of getting to know her in life, am concentrating on the way she shared the gift of her art with the church, but you all know better than me the many other ways in which she showed forth her faith in her life. But we do not yet know how much more radiant she has become now, that she stands before God face-to-face. In first letter of John, we heard today: “Beloved, we are God’s children now; what we will be has not yet been revealed. What we do know is this: when Christ is revealed, we will be like him, for we will see him as he is.”

Saint Augustine describes, in the climactic end of The City of God, how the faithful departed stand perfected in the presence of God. The saints who have died in Christ are changed; Paul describes this by saying as a seed changes and grows into something new, so will we. Just as Allene’s windows help “show forth” the glory of God but cannot fully capture the reality they describe, the departed Saints are more fully holy, more fully themselves, even than they were in this life. But, Augustine assures us, both the living and the dead are one Church, one City of God. He writes:

For the souls of the pious dead are not separated from the Church, which is even now the kingdom of Christ. Otherwise they would not be commemorated at the altar of God at the time of the partaking of the body of Christ. Why do we do this, unless it is because the faithful are still members of this body, even when they have departed this life?

Today, we celebrate the life of Allene, and the victory of our Lord Jesus Christ over death—a victory which she now shares, and which we will share. We celebrate not only for her, but with her. Jesus has been raised from the dead, and so shall we. And so, even at the grave, we make our song: Alleluia, Alleluia, Alleluia!

All Saints, Year B (BCP) more notes

2006-11-04T14:34:00.000-05:00

[Ecclesiasticus 44:1-10,13-14]
[Revelation 7:2-4,9-17]
[Matthew 5:1-12]

********************************
The Tomb of the Unknown Saint.
********************************

I was thinking about the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier as I read the propers for All Saints. Looking into the facts a little bit, I actually learned that there are two U.S. "Tomb of the Unknown Soldier"s, and that quite a few other countries have a similar Tomb.

The themes of publicity vs. anonymity, of being known and being unknown, or fame vs. humility, seemed to run through this week's lessons.

It made me think of how powerful a symbol it is for a nation to have a formalized remembrance of those who are not actually remembered by name.

It also made me think, conversely, of all the places where, in the early centuries of Christianity, an unknown skeleton would be unearthed beneath a Christian church and immediately acclaimed as the remains (relics) of some Saint or another. There was this urge, this drive, to identify and name the persons discovered in the catacombs. Some of these attributions are now considered pretty speculative, historically speaking.

Why this impulse: to identify the remains of the faithful as someone famous? Is it not enough to know that a Christian, who lived and died in hope, is buried there? Is it less meaningful if it was an 'ordinary' Christian?

It seems that, if having a formal symbol for those who are not known by name is a powerful symbol, then being able to attach a name to an unknown has a different type of power.

But still, I've got to playfully wonder, why can't we have a "Tomb of the Unknown Saint?"

**********************************
Ecclesiasticus 44:1-10, 13-14
**********************************

The Ecclesiasticus reading contrasts two category of "men" who are worthy of praise. There are those who are still remembered, and those who are now forgotten.

The passage is rife with "honor/shame" culture language and interests. The concern is largely on public perceptions and acknowledgements of worth. A rainbow of "fame"-related words is employed:
fame
glory
"name"
honor
pride of their times
praise

Clealy, public acclaim is something which is expected to attend a certain type of life. Whether this acclaim is something which God rewards the righteous with ("The Lord apportioned them great glory"), or something which they intentionally strove after (they "made a name for themselves") or something which the public itself controls ("Let us now sing the praises of famous men"), it is both good and somehow correlated to right-living.

The categories of people worthy of such admiration are catalogued as those who have the most "public" roles, who are the most visibly impressive before the eyes of all:
- rulers
- the valiant
- intelligent counsellors
- prophets
- leaders
- lore-masters
- wise instructors
- musicians
- poets/scribes
- the rich

In contrast to those whose memory persevered, there are those who are now unknown. It is ambiguous: Are these others who have left "no memory" formerly famous, and now forgotten, or were they always unknown? In a passage so concerned with public fame and glory, the opposite of publicity might be not shame but anonymity. Whether or not these others were always nameless or have fallen from fame, they are anonymous now-- nameless, faceless, "as though they had never existed... as though they had never been born."

After this passage's concern with fame, we expect the writer to go on to describe this as a fate worse than death, but our expectations are shattered: "But these also were godly men, whose righteous deeds have not been forgotten." So, perhaps the fame which tends to accompany godly living is not its reward-- in other words, public acclaim is not the reason to live righteously, but sometimes goes along with it anyway. The anonymous "godly men" are not considered somehow unfortunate or lesser because their particular name is not remembered; they lived and died well ("Their bodies are buried in peace").

So, perhaps the acclaim is for us; that is, it is for the onces "singing praises," not properly for the saints themselves. The praise and fame and acclaim train our eyes on wholesome examples. To recognize what is good and praiseworthy in the lives of others is to hold before our minds those worthy of emulation.

To this end, the author does spend more time praising those whose name remains known to us (for these are the ones whose example we can most clearly fix our attention on), but spends a few verses acknowledging those who left behind no memory or record of their good deeds. Indeed, these "unknown others" are, as a category, worthy of our memory: although we do not know their individual names, their "righteous deeds have not been forgotten... their glory will never be blotted out... and their name lives on generation after generation." That is, although we cannot honor them individually, we can honor (generically, as it were) those who lived godly lives but are not especially known to us.

*************************************************
Here's a blurb about the "unknown saints" who are among us now:
*************************************************

The Church must bear in mind that among her very enemies are hidden her future citizens; and when confronted with them she must not think it a fruitless task to bear with their hostility until she finds them confessing the faith. In the same way, while the City of God is on pilgrimage in this world, she has in her midst some who are united with her in participation in the sacraments, but who will not join with her in the eternal destiny of the saints.

...But, such as they are, we have less right to despair of the reformation of some of them, when some predestined friends, as yet unknown even to themselves, are concealed among our most open enemies.

- Augustine of Hippo, City of God I.35, trans. Henry Bettenson

All Saints, Year B (BCP) Revelation notes

2006-11-04T13:54:00.000-05:00

[Revelation 7:2-4,9-17]

The Apocalypse continues, “The souls of those who were slain because of their witness to Jesus and because of the word of God...” These are, clearly, the souls of the martyrs, their bodies being not yet restored to them.

For the souls of the pious dead are not separated from the Church, which is even now the kingdom of Christ. Otherwise they would not be commemorated at the altar of God at the time of the partaking of the body of Christ, nor would it be of any avail to have recourse to the Church’s baptism in time of peril, for fear that this life should end without baptism, nor to have recourse to reconciliation at such time, if it happens that one is separated from this body under penance through one’s own bad conscience. Why are such steps taken, unless it is because the faithful are still members of this body, even when they have departed this life?

-- Augustine of Hippo, from The City of God XX.9, Henry Bettenson, trans.

1. Augustine here locates the continuity between the living and departed members of the Body of Christ in the sacraments. The Church is “even now the kingdom of Christ,” and the sacraments show forth the communion between the members of the City of God who are still on pilgrimage (living in this world) and those members of the City of God who have entered into glory. Eucharist, Baptism, and Reconciliation are all mentioned here.

2. These three sacraments are especially appropriate points of contact with the departed saints: In the Eucharist the saints are commemorated and continue to “give thanks” with us; In Baptism, we enter into the same Body of Christ of which they are already members, and, as they have, wash our robes white in the blood of the lamb (today’s reading); In Reconciliation, we are pardoned from those offenses which have cut us off from the Body and so are reconciled not only to our living brothers and sisters but also to the saints in the “Heavenly City.”

3. As such a liturgically-oriented denomination, we Episcopalians can appreciate Augustine’s emphasis on the sacraments. In the sacraments, the “souls of the pious dead” who are “not separated from the Church” are fully present and active. They concelebrants with us in the work of the body of Christ which is “even now the kingdom of Christ.” The great cloud of witnesses which surrounds us not only encourages us, but adds its voices to our praise, and its petitions to our prayers.

(I am put in the Lutheran Book of Worship’s canticle “This is the Feast of Victory for our God;” every Sunday as I grew up in small ELCA parish, we added our voices to the cry of those “gathered around the throne” as we sang, “Blessing, honor, glory, and might be to God and the Lamb forever, Amen!” We have this song as Hymn 417 in the Hymnal 1982, by the way.)

For me, it always was, and still is, a powerful sort of sensation to know that we do not sing and pray alone, but “join in the hymn of all creation.”

Proper 25, Year B (RCL) sermon

2006-10-28T20:08:00.000-04:00

[Psalm 126]
[Jeremiah 31:7-9]

“When the Lord restored the fortunes of Zion,
Then we were like those who dream.
Our mouth was filled with laughter,
and our tongue with shouts of joy!”

It had finally happened!

The Jewish Exiles in Babylon had been dreaming about it for more than a generation, and it had finally happened.

Prophets like Jeremiah and Ezekiel had given them oracles of a time when they might return to the Holy Land, a vision of renewal that had given them hope as captives in a strange country: and it had finally happened.

The exile was over. Israel could go home.

Today’s psalm, Psalm 126, is a celebration of the Return from Exile. The Hebrew of the first line has a double-meaning, and can also mean:
“When the Lord restored the captives of Zion,
Then we were like those who dream.”
The Return of the Jewish Exiles, held captive as a marginalized minority in Babylon for over a generation, must have indeed seemed like a dream come true! The visions of hope and restoration they had treasured all throughout their Exile were coming true! It seemed as if the joyous promises found in Isaiah 40-55, in Ezekiel, and in today’s reading from Jeremiah were unfolding before their very eyes! Why, the prophesies seemed to leap off the page (or, more accurately, the scroll) and take flesh! It was as if they had woken from a wonderful dream only to find it was real.

Listen to their wild, shocked joy— the surprised laughter bubbling up out of the psalm. Imagine those exile’s joyful disbelief at their own good fortune—or, I should say, at God’s good blessing. It is the kind of happiness that makes them leap for joy, break out into spontaneous songs of happiness. It makes them, as Jeremiah puts it,
“Sing aloud with gladness for Jacob,
and raise shouts for the chiefs of the nations!”

The Lord has done great things for us, the returning captives cry in the words of the Psalm, and we are glad indeed.

Then, halfway through the psalm, something shifts. Look at what happens in verse 5. Now, in the present, things again seem in need of restoration and renewal. Verse 5 ("Restore our fortunes, O Lord") echoes the first verse ("When the Lord restored the fortunes of Zion"). This repetition suggests that, although God has done great things for them, the people again find themselves in need of help and refreshment, and cry out to God. They are saying to God: You did this before, and you can do it again!
1) The Lord restored the fortunes of Zion,
2) O Lord, restore our fortunes now.
In effect, they are raising a round of applause for what God has already done, and calling out for an encore. Bravo! they say. We want more!

Both of the Old Testament readings today contrast amazement and wonder with sorrow. Why this juxtaposition of tears with laughter, joy with weeping?

This makes a lot of sense in when you consider of the historical circumstances of the Return. It was the difficult trek of a victimized, displaced people. Perhaps some this crying is tears of joy, at the almost bittersweet sting of feeling hope after having been without hope for so long—sort of like the pain in a limb after it has has fallen asleep, when the blood returns. But perhaps also, these are tears of real sadness. This great crowd is still reeling from the experience of the humiliation of exile. This isn’t an army of able-bodied strong young men; it is a “great company,” among their number the blind and those in labor, those who are weak, or old, or vulnerable, the unlikely, the struggling.

Returning to the promised land,
all will feel the sting of uncertainty:
After being marginal, powerless, an exiled minority in a strange land,
they will have to stand on their own two feet.
Can they do it?
Will they make it?

Once the exiled Jews returned to Jerusalem, there were other difficulties. The city walls were rubble, God’s Temple had been razed to the ground, and much of the city lay in ruins. The Biblical books of Ezra and Nehemiah tell the story of the hard times those returning faced: struggles to rebuild what had been destroyed, to struggles recapture something of their past, and redefine their identity to take into the new realities.

Return, renewal, and rebirth are hard. The exuberant exhilaration of the initial experience of return may fade into a realization that things are still not all perfect, that there is still unanswered suffering and difficulty. Perhaps the optimistic sensation of being swept along effortlessly towards a perfect future is fading, slowly becoming replaced by a sense of doubt as the ruins do not sit up and rebuild themselves, as the economy takes more time than anticipated recovering, as the fields continue to require hard work and be subject to the same droughts and vicissitudes as all ancient agriculture.

But past experience of God's power fuels the present hope of God's renewal. As the people were formerly swept away with a dream-like sense of wonder that caused spontaneous laughter to well up in their mouths, they pray that God would again send a torrent of life-giving water into their lives. They pray,
“Restore our fortunes, O Lord,
Like the watercourses of the Negeb.”
The stream-beds of the Negeb are, like the ruts and arroyos in Santa Fe where I went to college, usually dry, dusty cuts in the ground. However, the seasonal rains can be transform these channels of dust into raging, rushing torrents. The dryness of the present is not the last word; God's aid can gush into the watercourses of our lives and sweep us off our feet again, as it has done in the past. Today's tears yield to future joys.

So, Psalmist looks honestly into the face of today's hardships. There are tears to be sown today, perhaps, or a sense dryness, or weeping at our labor. To admit that is not to somehow betray the renewal that God has already worked among us, or be untrue to it, or erase it. To hold up today's difficulties honestly next to the memory of God's past help is to invite God's further help. It is to face today honestly and with hope. As the returning Exiles experienced their restoration as a mixed blessing, with hardship as well as joy, the Psalm invites us to face our lives honestly, to lift up whatever we really feel before God: laughter and Songs of Joy when we are joyful, cries of supplication when are in need. The Psalm teaches us to applaud the wonderful, joyful renewal God has worked in our lives already, and to cry for a repeat performance, an encore, when we are in need.

You may have noticed I’ve shifted to the present tense.
This is not entirely accidental.

Here at St. John’s, I’ve caught a glimpse of the kind of joy the Psalm addresses, something like the joy of the Return after Exile. In the past few years, this parish has grown back from an average Sunday attendance of twelve to what we see today. Sometimes, there is an almost physical sense of energy and excitement in the air, a sense that God is doing things here, that almost makes the hair stand up on the back of my neck. St. John’s seems to be going somewhere, doing something, growing in discipleship and mission. It seems to be redefining itself, attempting to respect its past and the heritage of its traditions while asking how it might reach out to this neighborhood in new ways. New things are being tried. New leaders are taking on new roles. What an amazing thing! From a relative newcomer’s point of view, I have to say that I am amazed at the life and vitality I’ve seen flowing here, like waters turning a dry creekbed in dusty Santa Fe into a torrent.

I want to share with you what I’ve heard from others. As I attend other Episcopal functions around the Diocese, others are saying about St. John’s what the nations say in the psalm: “The Lord has done great things for them.”

However, there are struggles and difficulties in the life of any growing parish as well. Not every new thing that we try may work, or may not reap a harvest we can see right away. This is fine—as Jesus teaches us, we merely plant the seeds, and God gives the growth—but it may be hard on us. We sometimes experience sorrow over our own and each others’ setbacks. Some of us may struggle with experience of being unemployed. Some of us have family members who are gravely ill, or struggle with our own illnesses.

The gift that this week’s Psalm, and Jeremiah reading give us, is the honesty that there can still be difficulty and pain in the midst of blessing—and that we are not being unfaithful to face that. Admitting our own tears, owning up to our own need or doubt at times, does not mean that we are unaware of how God has led us thus far. It does not mean we do not have confidence in where our Lord is leading us. In fact, as Psalm 26 teaches, it is precisely because God has restored our fortunes in the past that we can boldly applaud him and cheer for a repeat performance, a standing ovation to our Lord.

The Lord has done great things for us,
And we say: O Lord: Bravo! Encore!

Proper 25 Year B (RCL) Psalm 126 notes

2006-10-27T13:01:00.000-04:00

[Psalm 126]

--> Post-Exilic?
- v. 1: "restored the fortunes" (NRSV) might also read "brought back the captives" (as in NIV); so with v. 4.
- This psalm seems to be a song of joy and amazement at the Return from Exile.

-->Seeming tension b/n vv. 1-3 & 4-6:

1-3 joyful song: the Lord has already restored our captives/fortunes
4-6 supplication looking forward to how the Lord will restore our captives/fortunes in the future

(some disagreement over how to translate the verbs in 1-3; see JPS TNK translation, which renders the entire psalm in future tense)

--> tension b/n past & present; joy & weeping
-God has done (or will do?) a wondrous, joyful thing
-But there is still weeping and "sowing with tears" now
From the NIB vol. IV; Psalm commentary by J. Clinton McCann, Jr.:

Historically speaking, the tension between vv. 1-3 and 4-6 makes very good sense in the post-exilic era... This glorious pilgrimage ran up against hard historical realities. The vision of Isaiah 40-55 did not materialize, and soon the disillusioned people found themselves again in need of restoration (see the books of Ezra; Nehemiah; Haggai; and Zechariah)... It is easy to imagine how the return of the captives from Babylon would have been like a dream come true (v. 1b).

Now, in the present, things again seem in need of restoration and renewal. Verse 4a ("Restore our fortunes, O Lord") echoes verse 1a ("When the Lord restored the fortunes of Zion"); this echo both contrasts the present need with God's past deed, and suggests that hope for the present can be found in memory of what God has already done.

Return, renewal, and rebirth are hard. The exuberant exhilaration of the initial experience of return may fade into a realization that things are still not all perfect, that there is still unanswered suffering and difficulty. Perhaps the optimistic sensation that the returning exiles were being swept along effortlessly towards a perfect future is fading, slowly becoming replaced by a sense of doubt and despair as the ruins do not sit up and rebuild themselves, as the economy takes more time than they anticipated recovering, as the fields continue to require hard work and be subject to the same vagaries of drought and harvest-yield as all ancient agriculture.

But past experience of God's power fuels the present hope of God's renewal. As the people were formerly swept away with a dream-like sense of wonder that caused spontaneous laughter to well up in their mouths, they pray that God would again send a torrent of life-giving water into their lives. The stream-beds of the Negeb are, like the ruts and arroyos in Santa Fe where I went to college, usually dry, dusty beds, but with the few seasonal rains can be transformed into raging, rushing torrents. The dryness of the present is not the last word; God's aid can gush into the watercourses of our lives and sweep us off our feet again, as it has done in the past. Today's tears can yield to future joys.

But in the meantime, the Psalmist looks honestly into the face of today's hardships. There are tears to be sown today, perhaps, or a sense dryness, or weeping at our labor. To admit that is not to somehow betray the renewal that God has already worked among us, or be untrue to it, or erase it. To hold up today's difficulties honestly next to the memory of God's past help is to invite God's further help. It is to face today honestly and with hope. As the returning Exiles experienced their restoration as a mixed blessing, with hardship as well as joy, the Psalm invites us to face our lives honestly, to lift up whatever we really feel before God: laughter and Songs of Joy when we are joyful, cries of supplication when are in need.

God who restored our fortunes yesterday will continue to restore them tomorrow. Alleluia!

Proper 25, Year B (RCL) Jeremiah notes

2006-10-27T11:38:00.000-04:00

[Jeremiah 31:7-9]

--> Part of the 'Book of Consolation' or 'Book of Comfort'
- a note of hope in Jeremiah; promises of restoration

- This passage concerns the promise of the return of the Exiles back to the Promised Land.

- Psalmic language (compare today's Psalm 126)

--> God's concern and care
- Pastoral metaphor: God as shepherd (vv. 8a, 9b)
- Parental metaphor: God as Father (vv. 9c)

God's concern for God's people is for all of them, not just the strong and whole. This is not an army march of the most able-bodied young persons, but also

"Among them will be the blind and the lame,
expectant mothers and women in labor;
a great throng will return." (NIV)

God's concern is also for (or even especially for) those who are might be the most vulnerable during such a trip back to Judah.

Those returning are weak, potentially vulnerable, or in need of guidance. They are, however, a "great throng." Their great numbers, seen in light of their need for guidance and care, make them more like a flock following a shepherd than an army following a general.

--> Joy and weeping

- the oracle opens with a note of joy:

"Sing aloud with gladness (or with 'joy,' NIV) for Jacob,
and raise shouts for the chief of the nations;
proclaim, give praise..."

- the oracle continues with a note of sadness:

"With weeping they shall come,
and with consolation (or 'supplication') I will lead them back."

Perhaps this weeping is tears of joy, at the almost bittersweet sting of feeling joy after having been without hope for so long.

But perhaps also, these are tears of real sadness. This great crowd is still reeling from the experience of the pain and humiliation of exile. Some among them are weak, or blind, or with child, or even in the midst of labor. The return from exile is not some sort of God-sponsored "survival of the fittest," in which only the strong make it home. No, God guides and leads this "great company" as a shepherd leads his flock, "by brooks of water, in a straight path in which they shall not stumble."

--> A Vision of Consolation
- The "Book of Consolation/Comfort" in Jeremiah offered the exiles a vision of hope, an image of a restored Jerusalem, a new Zion which will enjoy an even closer relationship with God than it did of old.
- People will again bless the "abode of righteousness, the holy hill" of Jerusalem (31:23); after their experience of having been torn from their roots, God will "sow the house of Israel and the house of Judah with the seed of humans and the seed of animals... [and] watch over them to build and plant" rather than to pluck up (31:28). And God will "make a new covenant with the house of Israel," (31:31), a new covenant which will be written on the very hearts of the people (31:33) so that they will not have to teach each other about the Lord, "for they all shall know me, from the least to the greatest"(31:34).
- What a promise of fidelity and intimate communion with God! God promises that only if his fixed order of Sun and Moon should cease, only if the very heavens could be measured, would he reject beloved Israel (31:36-37).
- The city shall be rebuilt, with even greater boundaries than before ("the measuring line shall go out farther"); even areas which were formerly desolate gravesites shall become part of the rebuilt city (31:38-40).

--> Hope and Honesty

Even while offering a vision of hope,
even in the very midst of an oracle of restoration,
God is deals honestly with the pain that the people are experiencing.

Returning to the promised land,
some of them will be homesick for Babylon:
even the land of exile becomes home after generations!
Some of them will be leaving behind loved ones,
friends, their own family members.

Returning to the promised land,
some will have a harder time of the journey than others:
among their number the blind and those in labor,
those who are weak, or old, or vulnerable,
the unlikely, the struggling.

Returning to the promised land,
all will feel the sting of uncertainty:
From the certainty of helplessness in Babylon,
from certainty of their own powerlessness--
The return is a rebirth,
as frightening and painful as first birth.
After knowing only their own helplessness,
they will have to get by for themselves.
After being marginal, powerless, an exiled minority in a strange land,
they will have to stand on their own two feet.

This oracle deals with the tears,
as well as the spontaneous laughter and shouts of joy.
Through it all, God will be there.
God will laugh with their songs of joy.
God will console when they weep.
God will hear their supplications and cries,
will lead them when they feel lost,
will support them when they stumble.

Proper 25 Year B (RCL) Gospel notes

2006-10-25T14:30:00.000-04:00

[Mark 10:46-52]

- Last miracle before Jesus reaches Jerusalem

- not a faceless, nameless person in need of healing:
We are told not only his name but his father's name (although Bartimaeus would mean, quite literally, "Son of Timaeus"-- so is it his proper name, like being named "Junior," or just that we are told his father's name?) Augustine of Hippo speculated that, as the only recipient of healing whose name and father's name we are told, Bartimaeus must have at one point have been an important/rich personage, before he became blind.

Bartimaeus' faith is insistent and persistent, calling out twice (the second time "even more loudly") despite the attempts of the crowds to hush him. This is faith that refuses to be cowed by resistence.

"Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!" This is a spontaneous version or variant of the "Jesus Prayer" so important in Orthodox practice. This very ancient prayer is considered one of the most profound prayers in Eastern Christianity. In its shortest form, it reads:
"Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner."
Its shortest form would be simply: "Jesus, have mercy."
The blind man's cry for mercy echoes down the centuries of Christian practice and piety to this very day. This most simple prayer, the acknowledgement of our need for mercy, and Jesus' ability to grant it, is the core or kernel of our salvation.

- "Jesus stood still"
Mark's Jesus is constantly driven, busy, moving, never able to catch his breath but hurried by the driving pace of the Mark's narrative from place to place, from this miracle story to the next. (For instance, consider the beginning of this very pericope. "Jesus arrives at Jericho; ...and as Jesus was leaving Jericho...") It is interesting that in the midst of Jesus' very busy itenerary of healings and exorcisms, all of which are hurtling him at a rapid pace towards Jerusalem, he pauses to stand still and listen to the cry of Bartimaeus.
Also, we have the sense that this crowd has great energy and noise. They seem swept up with Jesus in his progress towards Jerusalem, caught up in the action and excitement and Messianic fervor which will reach their crescendo on Palm Sunday. In this middle of this bustling, noisy crowd, some are trying to quiet those who seem on the fringes, crying out to Jesus. They are going somewhere-- they are headed towards Jerusalem-- and the man they are following has better things to do, they think, than be distracted by a blind beggar. In the midst of this noisy, boistrous, energetic crowd, Jesus takes the time to stand still.
Jesus is, to use Systems Theory language, the "nonanxious presence" in the midst of all this hubbub. He has the grace and the presence of mind not to get swept up in all of the excitement and arguments which have coalesced around him, but to stand still and have the crowds call Bartimaeus to him.

- "Take heart; get up, he is calling you."
The very same crowd which was trying to silence Bartimaeus is told to call him to Jesus. Some among the crowd had taken it upon themselves to act as the gatekeepers to Jesus, the boundary-guardians, the bouncers who would keep the riff-raff away. Jesus turns those who would drive people away into those who welcome. He makes the very same people who wanted to exclude into the agents of inclusion.
- I am reminded of the parable of the Good Samaritan. Like the priest and the Levite who hurried past the wounded man on the street on their way to more important things, the crowds want to keep the interruption of Bartimaeus' cry from Jesus, to hurry on to more important things in Jerusalem. By forcing them to stop and take the time to bring Bart to him, Jesus is in effect keeping the crowd from playing the part of those hurried figures in that parable, inviting them instead to play the part of the Good Samaritan to stopped to help.
- Amazingly, the crowd's passions turn on a dime. At this point, they turn to Bartimaeus excitedly and say, "Take heart, get up, he is calling you." What an empathetic invitation from the same crowd that shushed him moments before! It is as if, having realized that their teacher considered

- Unlike most of Jesus' miracles in Mark, there is no "Messianic secret," no exhortation to the one healed/exorcised to not to say anything about Jesus afterwards. As Jesus approaches Jerusalem, the time for secrecy is past, and his ministry is becomeing more and more public. Now that his time is coming, Jesus no longer commands silence.
- Ironically, it is as if the crowds are continuing to keep the Messianic Secret anyway. The crowds try to keep Jesus under wraps, secret, protected, insular. They want to close the way off to Jesus, to keep others from learning more about the one they are following. Instead, Jesus insists that they bring the man right to him.

Proper 24, Year B (BCP) Sermon

2006-10-21T11:13:00.000-04:00

[Hebrews 4:12-13]

Proper 24 Year B (BCP) Sermon
St. Matthew’s, Mexico, Missouri
10-22-06

In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
Did any of you here see the movie “Saved” that came out a few years ago? [Pause] “Saved” was in theatres about five years ago, just as I was beginning seminary. It’s about a handful of students at an Evangelical high school, and gently pokes fun at the kind of trouble we get into when we think we know exactly what God wants us to do with our lives—that is, when we think we have pinned down exactly the word of God.

There’s this one great scene where a group of popular girls—(and at this Christian school, most “popular” also means most “blessed”)—decides that their friend Malone is acting so out of line that she must be possessed by a demon. In an operation that would have done the A Team or Charlie’s Angels proud, they whisk their her away into a moving van. They then attempt to perform an impromptu exorcism on her. Well, she struggles her way out of the vehicle and stalks off, accusing them of having no idea what Jesus is like. Infuriated, the ringleader of the popular girls hurls her Bible at Malone’s back, screaming, “I am FILLED with Christ’s love!” Malone picks up Bible and waves it at the other girl, and yells, “This isn’t a weapon!”

In today’s epistle reading from Hebrews, we read, “The Word of God is living and active, sharper than any two-edged sword.” But the author is quick to explain that the Word is not like a sword in that we can use it as a weapon, to attack others: it is like a sword for its ability to penetrate our own hearts, to cut us to the very quick. To quote: “The word of God is sharper than any two edged sword, piercing until it divides soul from spirit, joints from marrow; it is able to judge the thoughts and intentions of the heart.”

As we read and hear the Bible, we encounter the Word of God which is “active and lively,” which is “sharper than any two-edged sword.” Who hasn’t felt the sharpness, the sting, of the challenges we encounter in the Bible? The Word of God is hard and difficult at times.

Sometimes it seems to be asking more than we think we can give. For instance, last week’s Gospel reading challenged the rich young man—and implicitly, us—to leave our “many possessions” to better follow Christ. We are tempted to ask, as the disciples did, “Then who can be saved?” We're not sure we can do it. The Word of God seems to penetrate us like a scalpel, cutting “joints from marrow,” asking us to cut off the “spiritual fat” from our bodies:
to slice off our sins,
our wealth,
whatever may be keeping us from following Christ.

At other times, the Word of God seems sharp in a different way. We are confused and perplexed by seeming inconsistencies. Am I to leave house and family, to give away all my possessions to the poor, as last week’s Gospel seems to suggest? What about the passage in Matthew’s Gospel where Jesus condemns the Pharisees for allowing children to give all their money to the Temple, thus forgetting the support they owe their parents? Or, should we “hold all things in common,” practicing the sort of primitive communism or communal sharing that the early Church practiced in Acts? The Word of God seems to be prompting us to do something about our wealth, but the Word of God doesn’t seem to hold still. It is lively and active, slippery, almost. It writhes and moves and shifts under our very grasp. Like a double edged sword, we try to grasp it only to find that we have grabbed the blade. Facing the fact of not always knowing exactly what God wants of us in every situation, we can understand what the author of Hebrews says: “The Word pierces until it divides soul from spirit.” We are divided within ourselves, hesitant, unsure.

I cannot deny the claim that the Word has upon me, but I cannot pin it down. It is larger than me. I encounter this Word in scripture and stand convicted before it. To put it one way: the Word judges me, I don’t judge the Word. I can only do my best to puzzle through the wonderful challenges that I encounter there, the living God who will not be pinned down by definitions or be put into a box. Each of us must work through our salvation in fear and trembling. As we do, God’s Word enters our conscience and weighs our efforts. As the letter to the Hebrew puts it: “It is able to judge the thoughts and intentions of the heart.”

I am continually amazed at how, if I read scripture faithfully every day, God’s word seems to challenge and speak to me personally. Through this collection of writings set down half a world away and thousands of years ago, God’s Word speaks freshly.

Thank God for the liveliness,
the freshness,
the unpredictability,
the surprise of the Word of God!
Thank God that his Word is so active and uncontrollable that it can speak anew in each new place.

But, if all this is true, we'd better be careful about thinking we’ve got it all figured out, that we having the Bible definitively interpreted for all time. God’s Word is too slippery and awesome a thing for that. It is still speaking in new ways, right now, to each one of us in different ways, to our sisters and brothers in the pews around us, to believers in our own country and to believers in cultures very different from ours.

So this passage warns us from thinking we’ve got the Word so pinned down that we can use it as a weapon against someone else. If I think I have the Scripture so figured out that I can use it to attack my fellow believer, I am probably not listening to the Word at all, but to my own idea of it—to a Bible-shaped idol.

Remember, we are not told to judge each other in this passage: quite the opposite. We read: “Before the Word no creature is hidden, but all are naked and laid bare to the eyes of the one to whom we must render an account.” I am told to concentrate more on the account I will have to make before God, to live as best I can according to my conscience and my understanding-- which that Word can see right through. I cannot know, unless we talk about it, the unique challenges and promptings that the Word has whispered in your heart. I cannot know, unless you tell me, how you are struggling to be accountable to God, how you are trying to be faithful to the Bible.

But I know one thing:
This [hold up Bible] is not a weapon.

Proper 23, Year B (BCP) sermon

2006-10-14T19:48:00.000-04:00

BECOMING GOD’S HOUSE, ONE BRICK AT A TIME

[Amos 5:6-7,10-15]
[Hebrews 3:1-6]
[Mark 10:17-27(28-31)]
http://www.io.com/~kellywp/YearB/Pentecost/BProp23.html

In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Good morning. I’m pleased to have the chance to come and worship with you again this Sunday morning. For those of you who didn’t meet me on my previous visit, I’m Andrew Benko, and this is my second chance to come to All Saints, Farmington, to come to church with you. Or perhaps I should say, “to come be church with you,” rather than “come to church with you”—because it’s really we who are church, not this or that building. If these walls and this roof, and all the beautiful windows all around us should disappear, all of us gathered here would still be church.

This week’s readings have got me thinking about houses. All of these readings mention houses in some way or another: how they are built, how to be faithful within them or as a part of them, how to leave or find them. We hear about the “houses of hewn stone” in Amos; Moses and Jesus’ different role in the “House of God” in Hebrews; and Jesus promise that those who leave house or household to for the sake of the Gospel will receive a hundredfold what they have left—houses and household and fields.

And as we gather here together to hear and reflect on these readings, we are not just in the House of God. As the author of Hebrews tells us, we are the House of God.

So, let’s take a closer look at the image of “house” that we find in these three readings:

In the reading from Amos, we hear the God condemn those who have built for themselves fine houses – “Houses of hewn stone” – by the oppression of others. The prophet says, “Therefore, because you trample on the poor and take from them levies of grain, you have built houses of hewn stone, but you shall not live in them.” This is what’s called a futility curse: saying ‘you have done so-and-so, but you won’t enjoy the fruits of it.’ In this case, God tells those who have built up fine mansions for themselves by defrauding the poor won’t get to enjoy their expensive dwellings for long. This isn’t the kind of building God wants us spend our energy on.

In the next reading, we see Hebrews' characteristic rhetoric of one-upsmanship in play: As usual, Jesus is somehow more-than or greater-than the old dispensation or figure. (This sort of argument runs through the entire letter to the Hebrews.)

- Moses was faithful in all of God's house as a servant
- but Jesus was faithful over God's house as a son

A servant or seneschal is faithful by executing the will of the householder-- by following orders. Moses was faithful in this way, following the commands given by God "to testify to the things that would be spoken later." So, like a good servant, Moses did as his master ordered.

But the author tells us that we are not just servants in the House of God—we are the House of God! We are called not just to build up or take care of this House—we are called to be it!

How is a house faithful? Perhaps just by standing firm, by being a good, structurally-sound house. A good house doesn’t crumble or fall down; it is well-made and unshakeable. The author tells us that "we are God's house if we hold firm to the confidence and the pride that belong to hope." A friend of mine, somewhat more knowledgeable of Greek than I, tells me that this could read: "if we hold firm the boldness and boasting that belong to hope." That is, if we are not prideful in ourselves, but boast in the hope that we have-- in God. If we are all bricks in this house, our confidence/hope in God is the mortar that glues us together into the House of God.

Do you see how exciting, and how challenging, this call is? If we are ourselves the House of God, it matters very much what kind of people we are. Our sins and failings aren’t just a private matter between us and God—they are broken windows, leaky roofs, missing bricks, and graffiti on the House of God. Now, none of us would dare throw a brick through the stain-glassed windows, or spraypaint obscenities on the walls of All Saints. But no matter how we may decorate the sanctuary with flowers or polish the altar silver, if we are not good bricks, the House of God is a pretty shabby place.

In today’s Gospel reading, the rich young man asks Jesus what he must do to inherit eternal life. Now, this man has been a pious, observant Jew all his life. We learn that he has kept all the commandments that Jesus lists from the Torah from his childhood. The Gospel says that Jesus looks at him and “loves him.”

Maybe that’s all this man really wants. Perhaps the man just wants affirmation. After all, he's kept the law. Shouldn't Jesus just tell him, "Well, it looks like you've got eternal life pretty much in hand; keep it up." Instead he gets a challenge.

It’s a pretty universal, human desire: we all want the approval of those we love and admire. We all want to hear those words, "Well done, thou good and faithful servant." We want to know we've pleased God. Just like a child wants praise from its parents, like a dog wants a pat on the head from its owner, we want to know God is happy with us.

But be careful what you ask for:
If you ask God, "aren't I a good boy (or girl)?"
You may just receive a challenge:
"You're off to a good start,
but here's what you need to change."

Maybe, with this teaching, Jesus helps illustrate how "no one is good but God alone." This young man certainly is on the way to "good-ness" -- he keeps the commandments Jesus mentions, and he clearly wants to be good-- but he falls short. There is a certain point in his growth towards goodness which he cannot get past, at least not without God's help.

For this young man, the thing holding him back most dramatically from following God is his wealth. This isn’t just about psychology: It’s not just that the man is “overly attached” to his money, that it is his “special sin.” Remember, in the Amos reading, God is concerned not about how wealth is “morally corrosive” to the wealthy, but how wealth is unjust because it exists side-by-side with poverty. I think sometimes we read this passage as if it need not apply to us, as if we need not listen to Jesus’ words to the young man. It is as if we are eavesdropping on a matter that does not concern us. But the Gospels are for us, now, today, here. Even the relatively poor, those who are struggling to get by in the United States, average among the top 3% of income of the world.

*****HERE'S A LITTLE GEM FROM THE SHEPHERD OF HERMAS,
an early Christian work. In a vision, Hermas is shown a great tower being built by angels, representing the Church. (See above for the Hebrews reading, also using the image of us being built into God's House.) Hermas asks his guide:************************ ************
“But who are these, Lady, that are white and round, and yet do not fit into the building of the tower?” She answered and said “How long will you be foolish and stupid, and continue every kind of question and understand nothing? These are those who have faith indeed, but they also have the riches of the world. When, therefore, tribulation comes, on account of their riches and business they deny the Lord.” I answered and said to her, “When, then, will they be useful to the building, Lady?” “When the riches that now seduce them have been circumscribed, then they will be of use to God. For as a round stone cannot become square unless portions are cut off and cast away, so also those who are rich cannot be useful to the Lord unless their riches be cut down.”*****************************************

You see, as the living bricks and walls and supports of God’s House, it’s not just enough to be “pretty good;” we need to be actually good—The kind of Good that only God is. If that sounds hard, remember that Jesus tells his disciples in another place: “Therefor be perfect, as your Father in Heaven is perfect.” Let’s dwell on the difficulty of this charge for a moment. “Be perfect.” That’s truly and actually perfect, God-like perfect.

It’s as if we’re camels who have been told to squeeze through the eye of a needle. Even if we manage to get rid of that hump, how can we ever fit?

Sounds impossible, right? Well, it is, in a way: “For human beings, it is impossible, but not for God: For God, all things are possible.”

That’s where I want to leave us this morning: hearing clearly the loving challenge, the invitation, of God, to put down our wealth, our sin, and our brokenness, and be the House of God.

This challenge isn’t just difficult, it’s exciting: God desires us for his Holy Habitation. God loves us, as Jesus loved the young man, even in our lack, and invites us to be the very House of God.

What an amazing thing.

On Giving Things Up

2006-10-13T15:20:00.000-04:00

Some of the themes I'm thinking about, based on this Sunday's Gospel, resonate with my reflection on last Thursday's reading from Hosea.

Proper 23, Year B (RCL) notes

2006-10-13T13:34:00.000-04:00

***********************************************************
[Amos 5:6-7,10-15]
http://www.io.com/~kellywp/YearB/Pentecost/BProp23.html
***********************************************************

Some themes & motifs:
1) "gate" image
2) "seeking"
3) Futility Curses on the unrighteous
4) persecution of the righteous

--> "GATE" IMAGE
1) "They hate the one who reproves in the gate, and they abhor the one who speaks the truth"
2) "...You who afflict the righteous, who take a bribe, and push aside the needy in the gate"
3) "Hate evil and love good, and establish justice in the gate"
- the "gate" of a city is an important public place in the OT
- public, social, gathering place, assembly-place
- in this passage: where justice will either be done or foiled
- where truth will be spoken, or truthtellers shunned
- as a public place, this is about the moral well-being of the whole city, the justice or injustice of the whole society: the "gate" is the open battlefield for the soul of the culture

--> SEEKING
- Parallelism:
- Seek the Lord & live.
- Seek good and not evil, that you may live,
- ...and the Lord will be with you.
- To seek Good is to seek God, and vice-versa.
- What do we want to go after? God, or Mammon?

--> FUTILITY CURSES
on those who seek wealth through injustice:
- built stone houses/ not live in them
- plant vineyards/ not drink their wine

--> PERSECUTION OF THE RIGHTEOUS
This passage speaks of how the unrighteous who "turn justice to wormwood" also "bring righteousness to the ground." This is in terms not only of their own misdeeds, but how they persecute those who are themselves righteous: they "hate the one who reproves... and the one who speaks the truth."
- "Therefore the prudent will keep silent in such a time; for it is an evil time."
- This verse warns that truth-telling, that godly reproof, will bring disapproval and persecution upon the righteous in a culture that does not want to know its own sin!
- Then again, we are to "Hate evil and love good, and establish justice at the gate." How can we establish justice if we are silent in the face of injustice? And the "gate" has already been established as the place where godly reproof will be given, where truth will be spoken. Perhaps it is better for us to be good than "prudent." However, let us not have any illusions: there will be resistance. There will be push-back. Those who do not want to hear the truth will not necessarily "play nice" when we tell it like it is.

***********************************************************
[Hebrews 3:1-6]
http://www.io.com/~kellywp/YearB/Pentecost/BProp23.html
***********************************************************

Here we see Hebrews' characteristic rhetoric of one-upsmanship in play:
As usual, Jesus is somehow more-than or greater-than the old dispensation or figure. This sort of rhetoric runs through the entire letter to the Hebrews.

- Moses was faithful in all of God's house as a servant
- Jesus was faithful over God's house as a son

Similarly, Jesus is more worthy of glory than Moses by way of this analogy:
-> Jesus:Moses
-> Builder:What-is-Built

Both comparisons convey that Jesus is greater,
and both use the image of a house,
but the two give Moses a slightly different "role" in the metaphor of the house:
1) Moses is like a servant set over a household, a seneschal.
2) Moses is like the house itself.
2a) Alternatively, the People of God is the house. Moses (as the one who gave the Law to Israel) could stand for all of Israel.

A servant or seneschal is faithful by executing the will of the householder-- by following orders. Moses was faithful in this way, following the commands given by God "to testify to the things that would be spoken later."

How is a house faithful? Perhaps just by standing firm, by being a good, structurally-sound house. The author tells us that "we are God's house if we hold firm to the confidence and the pride that belong to hope." A friend of mine, somewhat more adroit with Greek than I, tells me that this could read: "if we hold firm the boldness and boasting that belong to hope." That is, we are not prideful in ourselves, but boast in the hope that we have-- in God. If we are all bricks in this house, our confidence/hope in God is the mortar that glues us together into the House of God.

***********************************************************
[Mark 10:17-24(28-31)]
http://www.io.com/~kellywp/YearB/Pentecost/BProp23.html
***********************************************************

I wonder if "Good teacher" doesn't evidence a certain desire on the part of the man to please Jesus, to be accepted. It sort of sounds like "teacher's pet" language. He seems to want Jesus to approve of him.

It's sort of unusual to describe "wealth" as a "lack!"

Jesus looks on the young man who has kept the commandments since his youth and loves him.
1- Jesus loves him even while he "lacks" something.
2- Although he is not "perfect" in his faith yet, this man is pretty good, modelling his life after the Law.
3- Let us remember to hear the echo of Jesus' love in the command that follows it. Jesus is not sternly rebuking the man, chastising him like a bad child. He loves him. This is a loving invitation.

Maybe, with this teaching, Jesus helps illustrate how "no one is good but God alone." This young man certainly is on the way to "good-ness" -- he keeps the commandments Jesus mentions, and he clearly wants to be good-- but he falls short. There is a certain point in his growth towards goodness which he cannot get past, at least not without God's help.

In 1st-century Palestine, wealth would be interpretted by many Jews as a sign of God's favor. So, Jesus' describing the man's possessions as a "lack" -- as an obstacle to be overcome as he further enters into God's favor-- is surprising.

Maybe the man just wants affirmation; we all want the approval of those we love and admire. We all want to hear those words, "Well done, thou good and faithful servant." We want to know we've pleased God. Just like a child wants praise from its parents, like a dog wants a pat on the head from its owner, we want to know God is happy with us.

So, maybe the man just wants affirmation. After all, he's kept the law. Shouldn't Jesus just tell him, "Well, it looks like you've got eternal life pretty much in hand; keep it up." Instead he gets a challenge.

Be careful what you ask for:
If you ask God, "aren't I a good boy (or girl)?"
You may just receive a challenge:
"You're off to a good start,
but here's what you need to change."

What is holding us back? What is it that, no matter how "good" we are or how far we've come in our spiritual journey, is keeping us from following Jesus?

I love how this-worldly Jesus' response is: it is not just pie-in-the-sky-by-and-by, but the promise that those who give up "house, family, or fields" for the Gospel will recieve a hundredfold "now in this age." They will, however, be received "with persecutions." Jesus throws in the mention of eternal life-- what the rich man asked about in the first place -- almost as an afterthought, at the end of the list.

Is wealth the "hump" on the camel, that keeps it from fitting through the eye of the needle?

*******************HERE'S A LITTLE DOOZY FROM JAMES:
Come now, you rich people, weep and wail for the miseries that are coming to you. Your riches have rotted, and your clothes are moth-eaten. Your gold and silver have rusted, and their rust will be evidence against you, and it will eat your flesh like fire. You have laid up treasure for the last days. Listen! The wages of the labourers who mowed your fields, which you kept back by fraud, cry out, and the cries of the harvesters have reached the ears of the Lord of hosts. You have lived on the earth in luxury and in pleasure; you have fattened your hearts on a day of slaughter. You have condemned and murdered the righteous one, who does not resist you. (James 5:1-6)

Hear that? The very wealth piled up "for the last days" will itself bear witness against us in the last days! Our gold will melt in our pockets. Our own fat will eat our flesh like fire. Oh, the irony.

Sounds like the hump that broke the camel's back to me.

*******************HERE'S A LITTLE GEM FROM THE SHEPHERD OF HERMAS,
an early Christian work. In a vision, Hermas is shown a great tower being built by angels, representing the Church. (See above for the Hebrews reading, also using the image of us being built into God's House.) Hermas asks his guide:
******************************************************
“But who are these, Lady, that are white and round, and yet do not fit into the building of the tower?” She answered and said “How long will you be foolish and stupid, and continue every kind of question and understand nothing? These are those who have faith indeed, but they also have the riches of the world. When, therefore, tribulation comes, on account of their riches and business they deny the Lord.” I answered and said to her, “When, then, will they be useful to the building, Lady?” “When the riches that now seduce them have been circumscribed, then they will be of use to God. For as a round stone cannot become square unless portions are cut off and cast away, so also those who are rich cannot be useful to the Lord unless their riches be cut down.”

Again, sounds like that lump on that there camel's back is wealth.

* The camel's a pretty great metaphor for this, all things considered.
1) As a pack animal, it would be expected to carry "many possessions." It's the bearer of wealth, of carrier of "stuff."
2) That hump on its back? Fat. Gluttony and greed were pretty closely associated by the early Church. Until fairly recently, you had to be pretty wealthy to get fat. (You still can't get fat if you're poor most placed in the world, but it's easy as pie in the States.) Fat's sort of the physiological equivalent of hoarded wealth.

Anyway, what I'm hearing in all this is that something's gonna have to go. I'm going to have to give something up to follow Jesus-- probably a lot of things, actually-- and probably some things which I think of as part of who I am, or that I think of as benign-- even some things which I think are signs of God's favor. Am I overly proud of my own cleverness? Cut it off. Do I spend more time watching television than praying, by a factor of 10 to 1? Cut it off. Do I have "many possessions?" You heard what Jesus said.

Proper 22, Year Two, Monday

2006-10-09T16:40:00.000-04:00

[Hosea 14:1-9]

We've whipped ourselves like horses to a froth
and fallen broken far before the finish;
We've stumbled under burdens we have fashioned,
the iron bridles in which we place our faith,
and our necks-- We'd rather do than flourish--

Put down the dead weight of your wooden gods;
The U.S. shall not save us; We shall not say
"My God" to the work of our own hands;
We will not ride upon HumVees over the heads
of our enemies; Our efforts cannot save--

Take these words and give me better ones;
Take these hands and teach them to be still;
Take this guilt; Take this cry from my tongue;
Place on my lips this sweeter fruit: Your will,
My God, your will and only yours be done--

Events mundane: The Eyeglasses

2006-10-09T14:35:00.000-04:00

Getting out of the bath this morning, I stepped on my glasses, which I'd left on the floor like an idiot. The frames bent pretty badly; Now, try as I might, I can't seem to get them to bend back into quite the shape they were before.

So, my vision's all wonky. The lenses are just fractionally off, bent at odd angles just a little bit, and my visual cortex is not amused. Everything looks just the teensiest bit distorted and wrong.

Funny Coincidence b/n Daily & Sunday Lectionaries

2006-10-06T12:50:00.000-04:00

So, I went to two clergy Bible studies Tuesday (one Ecumenical, one Episcopal) on this Sunday's readings (Proper 22). We talked a lot about this Sunday's Gospel, Mark 10:2-9. Both groups devoted a good deal of energy and attention to the pastoral concerns that such a Gospel about divorce raises in a Church setting.

We were all clearly uncomfortable with this Gospel in some way or another. It is certainly one of the "harder" sayings about divorce in the New Testament, much less forgiving than Matthean version of this saying (which allows for divorce prompted by "unchastity"); Paul gives even more latitude in his advice to the Corinthians.

We had legitimate pastoral, even theological points to raise. Many in our congegations may have remarried after bad marriages, and found real mutual support and lasting love with their new partners. Then again, others may have remained in abusive relationships based on this very Gospel passage. I remarked that, although Jesus can condemn the "hardness of heart" that led the men in patriarchal ancient Israel to "put away" their wives, it is actually softness of heart (that is, pastoral concern) that prompts such allowances in the Church today.

[Or, to take the point one further: Jesus is condemning hardness of heart here. Isn't it ironic that in the Church, we usually react to divorce with more hardness of heart? Sadly, we don't really know what to "do" with divorces in our parishes, how to be loving with these people during what is probably one of the hardest times of their lives? Too often, the response they meet with is a tacit shunning by the community.]

Well, anyway, on to the funny coincidence part of this little rant:

Wouldn't you know, that very Tuesday's first Daily Office reading [Hosea 4:1-11a] comes down pretty hard on priests who "have forgotten the law of the Lord" and "feed on the sin of my people."

Now, I do not think that anyone in our Lectionary groups wants to make allowances for divorce merely to be easy or coddle people; and we are certainly not involved in the sort of idolatry that Hosea uses "adultery" as a metaphor for! However, I could not help but feel a little indicted by Hosea's stark declaration: "It will be like people, like priest." Certainly, the Church does bend in many ways to the winds of culture. This may be the result of pastoral concern, or our study of the harmony of the messages we find in scripture, or theological discernment-- but we should always take care not merely to follow the Spirit of this Age.

Let us recall that, as we bend, we should only do so with fear and trembling.

Proper 21, Year Two, Thursday

2006-10-05T15:51:00.000-04:00

[Hosea 5:8-6:6]

That God could be like so grotesque a thing:
"Like a moth to Ephraim, like dry-rot to Judah."
To think of God like that: Something which chews
sin's putrefying rottenness from within,

the stinking softness of our wounds gone septic,
what loathsomeness, what tumorous fleshy growth,
those gross beds of decay. Amid the groans
of dying soldiers and rude battlefield physick,

(before the use of penicillin) those
whose wounds went gangrenous were those which had been
picked clean of maggots-- It seems they had eaten
the infection from the flesh-- but Oh!--

to face such ravenous purifiers,
or else the rot consumes the limb's meat raw
and then-- to face the jerk of the bone-saw,
the staunching-rags, the cauterizing fire!

Perhaps something like love must guide the hand
that slides the blade through skin to lance the boil,
to rend and tear and burn that we may heal,
But God!, our Great Physician: it is hard.

Proper 21, Year B (RCL) sermon

2006-10-03T13:14:00.000-04:00

Numbers 11:4-6,10-16,24-29. James 5:13-20. Mark 9:38-50.

So: How many people can you carry?

[PAUSE]

I don’t have too many clear memories of my very early childhood. One of my most vivid memories from this time is that my father used to play “airplane” with me-- picking me up and swinging me around the air. I loved this game: I would beg him to do it. I also remember how, when we’d been driving at night and I’d fallen asleep in the back seat, he would pick me up and carry me into the house and put me in bed. If I woke up during this process, I would pretend I was still asleep so he wouldn’t put me down.

Then, there came the day when my father said to me: “You’re getting too big for this.” I was growing up, and too heavy for him to pick up and swing around, or carry into the house late at night. I was going to have to make do with my own two feet.

I didn’t have to like it, but he was right. If he didn’t put me down as I grew heavier, I wouldn’t learn to rely on my own strength—and my poor father would, eventually, break his back!

[PAUSE]

In today’s reading from Numbers, the people of Israel—who have just escaped from Slavery in Egypt under Moses’ leadership—are whining and wishing for all the wonderful foods they used to have in Egypt. Now, remember, this is after God has given them Manna—bread from heaven to eat; they’re not hungry, they’re just being picky. They complain: “We had onions and fish and garlic and all sorts of fresh produce in Egypt... and now all we have is this crummy ‘manna’ stuff! Remember how well we ate back in the good old days?”

Now, if the Israelites were honest with themselves, they’d have to admit that the “good old days” back in Egypt weren’t all sunshine and roses. They’re editing their memories considerably: this is the same land they were enslaved in, in which they were forced to work under impossible circumstances, bake bricks without the proper building materials, and where their sons were killed to keep their numbers in check.

Anyone who thinks that humor doesn’t have a place in the Old Testament hasn’t read Moses’ response to all this. Moses asks the LORD, in a pretty sarcastic tone: “God, what did I do to deserve this? If this is how you treat your friends, I’d hate to see how you treat your enemies! Did I conceive all these people? Did I give birth to them, that you want me to carry them around like children, and comfort them every time they come crying to me with a new problem? I can’t carry them all alone; they’re too heavy for me.” And, in one last exasperated, smart-aleck remark, Moses demands: “If this is how you’re going to treat me, you might as well just kill me right now—that is, if I’ve done enough to deserve at least a little mercy.”

Moses has had enough. He’s on his last nerve. Moses, the prophet extraordinaire, the most important spiritual leader in the entire Torah, is at the end of his rope. These are the words of a man who is exhausted, overworked, and can’t take it anymore. He can’t carry all the people of Israel all by himself: they are too heavy for him. Now, if even Moses has to admit he can’t carry everyone all by himself, this should give us some pause.

So: how many people can you carry?

[PAUSE]

Luckily, God knows that, while each of us has genuine strength and support to offer one another, no one of can carry everyone all by him-or-herself. Even Moses knew his limitations; Luckily for the people of Israel, God ignored his flippant demand “Put me to death at once!” and answered the underlying complaint, “I am not able to carry all this people alone.” God gives Moses 70 fellow-workers chosen from the elders of Israel, and pours out the Holy Spirit upon them—even the two who couldn’t make it to the meeting!

Similarly, Jesus chooses twelve special members from among his followers to receive special training and help in his work of preaching, healing, and casting out demons. And this circle of 12 isn’t all: in another story, Jesus also sends out 70 disciples on a similar mission of preaching and healing.

God pours out his spirit over many to participate in the leadership and spiritual guidance of his people. This is a great gift, because no one person can do it all.

Joshua, Moses’ assistant, wants to silence the two of the elders who prophesy in the camp, outside of the tent where Moses had gathered the seventy. Similarly, John and the apostles want Jesus to silence the man who is casting out demons in Jesus’ name. Perhaps they feel threatened by the Holy Spirit moving outside of the clearly-delineated chain-of-command, by others who are not in their immediate circle showing authority.

Or perhaps Joshua and John think that they do not need any help, that they can handle things just fine all by themselves, thank you very much. If that’s how they feel, it’s easy for them to say: the real weight of the burden of all the people are laid the heaviest on Moses and Jesus, not on their seconds-in-command! Moses and Jesus both recognize what blessing more help is.

Both Moses and Jesus offer similar responses. Moses replies: “Are you jealous for my sake? I wish that all the Lord’s people were prophets, and that the Lord would put his spirit on them!” And Jesus tells John: “Do not stop him: for no one who does a deed of power in my name will be able soon afterward to speak evil of me. Whoever is not against us is for us.” Their leadership welcomes the contributions that others have to make; and recognizes their contributions. The more ministers, the better!

[PAUSE]

In the Epistle reading, James describes a church in which the wishes of Moses have come true. After Pentecost, when the Holy Spirit descended upon the church, The Lord really had put his Spirit upon God’s people! And James describes a community in which all members are able to mutually support each other, to hold each other up in good times and in bad:

The suffering should pray together. The cheerful should sing together. The sick should call for the elders to pray over them and anoint them in the name of the Lord. We should confess our sins to each other and our sins will be forgiven. Although there may be members of the community of God who have particular prominence or special roles, the whole body prays for each other and supports each other. We should be able to lean on each other.

In our church today, we pray together for each other in the Prayers of the People, but we can share our concerns and dreams with each other in more personal ways, as well. Our Book of Common Prayer allows us to confess our sins to laypersons, unlike the Roman Catholics who limit confession to the clergy. We may visit each other when we are sick, and share conversation and prayer about our fears and hardships. The personal friendships that we make at Church may, with the sharing of our struggles and prayer for each other, become something more than “secular” friendship—it may be spiritual friendship. In the last few vestry meetings, the vestry members have taken a few minutes at the beginning of the meeting to share something for which they are thankful, and something for which they would like a prayer offered, and then taken turns praying for each other. Such sharing may push us a little, beyond the comfortable “casual” conversations, but the spiritual rewards are rich. I think we have all experienced the power of God at work at times when we “get real” with each other, when we share honestly what we are struggling with in our lives and pray over it with other Christians. James is confident that the Holy Spirit will be at work among us when we uphold and support each other. As James said, “The prayer of the righteous is powerful and effective.”

Working together like this, helping each other, we aren’t so much trying to carry each other—it’s more like we’re there to lean on when necessary. If you lean on me, and I lean on you, we can make it.

So: maybe the question, “How many people can you carry?” isn’t the right question, after all.

Maybe the question is, “How many people can we carry?”

Working together,
sharing each others’ burdens,
the answer is:
all of us.

Proper 20, Year B (notes)

2006-09-23T16:10:00.000-04:00

James 3:13-4:3;7-8a
Mark 9:30-37

************************
JAMES 3:13-4:3;7-8a
************************

-Chrysostum suggests that, just as mud can blind our physical eyes, ambition blinds our spirit.

- Wisdom will be known in the *actions* of the wise, not merely in their teaching. In other words, wisdom cannot be abstracted from its consequences, as if it were merely a question of “knowing” something.

- Wisdom-inspired actions will 1) pure, 2) gentle, 3) willing to yield, 4) merciful, 5) and bear good fruit.

- By contrast, what popularly passes for wisdom is little more than ambition. The world considers someone “wise” if they are a huge success, or manage to convince everyone how smart they are.

- This kind of (“earthly/devilish”) wisdom is about “selfish ambition,” not concern for one’s neighbors. It is about “getting ahead.” Such wisdom wants not just to *have,* but to have *more*. Those wise in its ways want to stand out from the crowd, to be better than others. Earthly “wisdom” in intrinsically competitive, and thus resents or envies the success/happiness of others.

- Dionysius wrote about unspiritual comparisons: “When a man has bought a large enough field and sees that his neighbor’s is larger still, he wants to increase his own so as to make his house greater.”

- Such “cravings that are at war within you” cause all manner of conflicts and disputes. Our wrongful desires – self-aggrandizing “wisdom,” competitiveness, envy, the need to be a “big fish in a small pond” – cause us to fight with each other.

- The epistler counsels that, when our desires are not met, we should not be “ready to murder” or engage in “disputes and conflicts.” Rather, we should “ask” (implicitly, ask God in prayer, but also perhaps each other?) If we ask and still do not get what we want, we should consider that we are “asking wrongly” – that is, asking for selfish things or at least for something that is not needful.

- The “pleasures” that the epistle writer identifies as the wrongful motives of the asker might not be as overtly sinful as greed or gluttony—they may include the prideful desire to be right, the ambition to “get one’s own way,” the desire to be influential or seem important to others.

- The antidote to this worldly-ambitious “wisdom?” Submit ourselves to God. Submission is the antidote to pride, to self-importance. Submission means we are not always in charge, that we do not always have to get our way. When we first submit ourselves to God, we can be “peaceable, gentle, and willing to yield” with each other. In so doing, we draw nearer to each other, and we draw nearer to God.

************************
MARK 9:30-37
************************

-Chrysostum commented of the disciples’ lack of understanding (9:32): “They were not altogether ignorant. They knew that he was to die, for they had continually been told about it. But just what this death might mean they did not grasp clearly... This is why they grieved.”

- Having been told that Jesus was going to die (several times) but not yet understanding about the resurrection, the disciples spent the rest of their walk to Capernaum arguing about “who was the greatest.” It is as if they have intimated that their master’s burgeoning movement will soon have a vacancy in the leadership position, and they are already jockeying for position: Who will be the new leader after Jesus is gone?

- Their silence implies that they realize that this was not a suitable argument for them to be having.

- What does it mean to be “the greatest,” in the world’s terms? It means being influential, important, being “right”, getting one’s way, commanding others. Such “greatness” is social, but negatively so: It is not about being “good” but “better than,” and so it needs others to be compared (favorably) to. It seems to derive satisfaction not in its own good, but in its superiority to others’ good.

- Jesus challenges such conceptions of greatness, even deconstructs them.

- “The shocking element in this episode cannot be appreciated by modern readers. Our social conventions have exalted childhood as a privileged time of innocence, this romantic view is usually imported into these passages. However, the child in antiquity was a non-person. Children should have been with the women, not hanging around with the teacher and his students. ...The example treats a child, who is socially invisible, as a stand-in for Jesus.”

- Also, those who are socially invisible or least influential may seem not only *irrelevant* in our arguments over which of us are the greatest, but also as *interruptions.* We have more important things to be thinking about than children, or anyone else who is not

************************
On LOWLINESS in general
************************

-Two nifty quotes from the “Ancient Christian Commentary” volume on Mark:

Gregory of Nyssa, from ON THE CHRISTIAN MODE OF LIFE:
“Let vanity be unknown among you. Let simplicity and harmony and a guileless attitude weld the community together. Let each remind himself that he is subordinate not only to the brother at his side, but to all. If he knows this, he will truly be a disciple of Christ.”

Augustine, from SERMON 38 ON THE GOSPEL OF JOHN:
“Observe a tree, how it first tends downwards, that it may then shoot forth upwards. It fastens its roots low in the ground that it may send forth its top toward heaven. Is it not from humility that it endeavors to rise? But without humility it will not attain to higher things. You are wanting to grow up into the air without a root. Such is not growth, but a collapse.”

************************
on “CRAVINGS” in general
************************

- Our culture is at odds with the counsel of James’ letter.

- Advertising informs us that it is our God-given right as an American to have what we want. Far from James warning of the “cravings that are at war within you,” advertising seems to imply that I am entitled to the object of my craving the moment I want it. Every whim, every passing craving, can be had. Go ahead, it tells me. You deserve it. You’ve earned it. “Have you had your break today?”

- Burger King announces the “good news” of instant gratification: “Have it your way, right away.” (In an intensification of this message, Burger King’s paper bags, cups, and fry boxes now include a host of little messages expounding this gospel of self-satisfaction, with a post-modern half-ironic flipness that acknowledges its own shallowness without condemning it.)

- From an entire aisle of toothpastes, and I can select the exact flavor I want. Ditto sodas, snacks, or any other product. Do I really need this much choice? Perhaps not, but God help the store that doesn’t have what I want – I am quite ready, as James warns, to enter into “disputes and conflicts” when I feel that I don’t get what “I’m entitled to,” what I crave.

************************
on “GREATNESS” in general
************************

- While arguing about “who is the greatest,” we only attend to those who we also perceive as being relatively great—that is, our potential competition. If we are concerned to show that we are the greatest, why should we pay attention to those who are *obviously* not the greatest? Concerned with being the most important, the most influential, the greatest, we concentrate all of our energies upon those who are also

- To show we are the biggest fish, we have to fight the other big fish in our particular pond. This sort of dynamic means that, if we wish to be perceived as important, we generally pay the *most* attention to those who are the loudest, who make the most fuss. We ignore those who are congenial, graceful, merciful, willing to yield, peaceable.

************************
on “WELCOME”
************************

- Jesus, in calling us to welcome those like the child in his name. That is, Jesus calls us to pay close and hospitable attention for those who do not necessarily “make a fuss” over themselves; who do not argue with us; who do not compete to be the most important or influential; with those who may not be peripheral to the decision-making process or unimportant in worldly terms.

- This description includes children, who, although they are not as socially invisible as they were in the ancient world, are still not really considered “powerful,” “wise,” or “influential.” However, who else does this description fit? The poor, for one. Also, those who visit our parish—they are, after all, not “important” in our internal politics, not influential, not engaged in our in-house arguments or power struggles.

- It is these to whom we should pay loving, caring attention, to make feel welcome.

Bishop Paul Jones

2006-09-06T15:55:00.000-04:00

Seriously, the gospel reading set for the Feast of Bishop Paul Jones is the shortest thing you've ever seen. Wow.

Proper 16 Year Two, Thursday

2006-09-01T13:29:00.000-04:00

[Psalm 18, Part One]

FOR NOAH'S FAMILY, ON THE ANNIVERSARY OF HURRICANE KATRINA

Whose huge hand is this which struck the face
of the waters like the surface of a drum,
which hammers the sea like a meteoric fist
and pulls the earth's supports from under it
like some rage-blinded Samson in his chains?

It's not just that so many people drowned
when the firmament was shattered like a glass
and the swells below leapt up to meet the rains;
It's that those few who found themselves at the last
possible moment

snatched from their roofs and fields and from the flood
as by some awful, arbitrary hand:
What could they do? To see their neighbors gone
with all their brothels and convenience stores,
and find themselves safe in that fiery grasp?

Well, what could they do? What else but hold
on to the One who thundered from the clouds
as if to the wings of life itself, to grip
the back of the flaming lion by its mane
and pray it doesn't roar.

Proper 16 Year Two, Wednesday

2006-08-30T22:08:00.000-04:00

[Acts 10:1-16]

The morning's headlines: whether read online,
in hardcopy, seen on the t.v. screen,
or heard read by radio's concerned lectors;
However taken, there's a comfort in
the rhythms of tragedy and human interest,
a secular liturgy of headline, story,
perhaps an editorial or two,
more at eleven. Even this litany
of horrors soothes us, as all ritual does;
At least, we are assured, we can depend
upon creation's gradual degradation;
The daily clippings of a world gone wild,
petals plucked from a garden gone to seed...

Look up from the pages of a world so stained
that the worst atrocities have grown mundane,
expected, comfortable even-- Look up to see
the light descending like a dazzling sheet
pulled by its corners taut over the frame
of an earth fresh-sheared and ready for the fuller...
Imagine: can it clean the news-print stain
from your fingertips; it will be said again
(as it once was, at the start of things, by God)
of all creation, "It is very good."

Proper 17, Year B (RCL) notes

2006-08-29T17:04:00.000-04:00

[Mark 7:1-8, 14-15, 21-23]

There are any number of little habits which tradition has handed down to the Church to adorn its worship: kneeling at certain times, standing at others; making the sign of the cross; bowing slightly at the Name of Jesus, or at the passing of the cross; etc. These are outward, physical movements which, considered all by themselves, say nothing about the soul of the worshipper. One can kneel without feeling penitent or worshipful; make the sign of the cross without adoring Christ; bow without believing in he whom the Name and the cross stands for.

These "manual acts" of our devotion can make hypocrites -- in the Greek, literally "play-actors" or "pretenders" -- of us, if we are only "going through the motions." However, this is not to say that these manual acts do not have their place in worship. When they proceed from the promptings of the heart, they are outward manifestations of our faith-- allowing our bodies to pray along with our lips. We express our adoration of God with not only our words, but with our whole physical being-- our gesture and body language and posture all being set to the worship of God. When these little actions (bowing, crossing ourselves, standing, kneeling, etc.) flow outward from our hearts, they have a rightful place in our devotional lives.

The sorts of "teachings" Jesus attacks the Pharisees for in today's Gospel are not intrinsically evil. Washing hands and cups, and taking care that one eats kosher foods, are not in and of themselves unethical. Jesus does not condemn the entire Holiness Code of dietary and bodily cleanliness, nor does he neccesarily condemn the careful piety which prompted the Pharisees to build "hedges" around the Torah, to be so extra careful about their observance of the Law that they went the extra mile. Like the expressions of our piety which have evolved as part of Christian tradition, these Pharisaical traditions can be an expression of healthy devotion to the Lord.

We must resist the temptation to "spiritualize" our ethics so that we think it does not matter what we do with our bodies. Jesus is not drawing a line between the physical and the spiritual here. The point is emphatically not that we should turn inwards, meditating upon our own bellybuttons rather than worrying about our outward actions.

Jesus condemns not the care with which the Pharisees scrutinized behaviour, but their overemphasis of action over heart. Our goodness proceeds outward from our heart. Outward shows of piety without faith are hypocrisy--play-acting. It is the empty shell of faith, like the husk of a cicada that has shed its skin.

However, from the believing heart, all sorts of acts of devotion will naturally flow. From the faithful heart-- almsgiving, righteousness, faithfulness, and perhaps, depending on our styles of piety, the sign of the cross or the "washing of cups"-- will naturally follow.

Proper 15 Year Two, Friday

2006-08-25T16:16:00.000-04:00

[Acts 9:1-9]

Driving to the nursery
with Hope just yesterday,
suddenly I couldn't see:
At first my eyes began to tear
and then began to burn,
until I could barely peer
at the interstate
through the saline film of pain
that wracked my vision, made me moan
and blink and shake my head
and close one eye and then the other
a second at a time--
All this at sixty miles per hour--
Unable to see the speeding blur
of traffic all around.
So this was it: I was sure
I'd hit another car--
Blinded, frightened, finally,
I got the us to the curb, and she
ask if I'd heard a voice:

"Paul, why do you persecute me?"

Proper 15 Year Two, Monday

2006-08-21T17:08:00.000-04:00

[Acts 7:33-8:1a]

Stephen: deacon, one among seven
appointed by the Apostles to oversee offerings
to the widows and orphans of the Hebrews and Hellenists;
the Seven chosen so the Twelve would not neglect
"the service of the Word to wait at tables"--
As if the Word their Lord whose words they preserved
had not fed five thousand nor broken bread
with priests and publicans, nor taught the Twelve
that the first would be last, that the highest should serve--
(To preach such a Word is to wait upon tables!)

Stephen, chosen to oversee offerings,
did many deeds of power and wonder:
He spoke in synagogues so that many believed,
disputing with detractors and none of their number
could withstand his wisdom for he spoke by the Spirit.

Stephen, standing accused by the council
testified to the Truth by rehearsing the history
of the children of Israel: how they grieved their God
and strayed from his statutes, persecuted his prophets,
and murdered the messengers who announced his annointed.

Stephen, to see with such lively vision!--
To peer into the past with the searing insight
that melts pride to wax, that dissolves the dross
and strips naked our sin, that wrings from reminiscence
of our bygone glory a catalogue of catastrophes.

But to see, as Stephen, not just the past
with this terrible clarity, but even the heavens
opening on the present with its priests and stones,
the gaping lip of the future yawning
over the moment to swallow Stephen,
the stones and spittle and the council's curses
which hang suspended on the moment frozen
on the page of paper, like a pane of glass
about to be shattered in an ecstacy of light
stronger than time, more hopeful than history.

Samson vs. the Vampire Women

2006-08-20T19:04:00.000-04:00

As a sort of bizarre homage to the fact that the Daily Office Lectionary has us reading the Samson material in the OT readings right now, I'm watching the Mystery Science Theater version of the old B-movie "Samson vs. the Vampire Women" tonight.

Talk about your weird pop-culture intersections. G'night, darlings.

Nothing this Sunday...

2006-08-20T15:44:00.000-04:00

I'm not preaching today, so nothing on this week's readings.

Events Mundane

2006-08-18T12:30:00.000-04:00

My car window was broken by someone last night. I noticed when I got in to drive to Morning Prayer this morning. Nothing was taken, and they broke that itty bitty window in the back, not the one that goes up and down. I didn't even notice until I heard wind coming in, and then noticed that my "Door Ajar" light was on. (The door was only partly closed, and it was unlocked back there). The culprit probably ran off when my car's alarm went off-- which it would have once the door opened.

Bye bye, about 220 bucks. Feh.

Oh, and both my Ipod and Internet Service weren't working this morning, but after a few phone calls and a couple of wasted hours, that's all taken care of.

Proper 14 Year Two, Wednesday

2006-08-16T14:12:00.000-04:00

[Judges 13:15-24]
[Acts 6:1-15]
[John 4:1-26]

TEACHER, GIVE US A WORD

I pulled a sheet of paper from my mouth.
I read it out loud: It had exquisite sound,
sumptuous consonance, just a touch of rhyme
(but nothing too garish) and a rocking rhythm
so lovely that it didn't need a reason.
I pulled another paper from my lips.
It read: "It is not right that we should neglect
the word of God in order to wait on tables."
It seemed to be entirely reasonable.
I spoke another page, and then another,
as if to bury the Word under a mound
of my own clever words, or have God bound
within a book, make a tomb of a tome.
I have stood and argued by the well
about the proper place for sacrifice
as Jesus tried to offer living water.
I stopped to catch my breath, and was surprised
that he was silent. I opened my book
to find the words had vanished. Then I took
the empty thing and threw it on the fire.
And look! As the sparks kicked higher and higher,
angels rose to heaven on the smoke.

Today's readings made me think of this older poem of mine:

THE NECCESARY CHATTER OF THE WORLD

Is talk something we "need," the way we need
Food or love or internet access?
Yet monks go years without saying a word...

Today's a "quiet day" at Seabury,
Which means that we are not supposed to talk
When we are in the halls, refectory,
Or any other common space today.
At lunch, I sit and pick at my salad
(I'm trying to lose weight, or change my life
In a way vaguely linked to how I look,
Or how I live, or how I treat myself...)
And look around at all my fellow students.
Most of them seem inward-turned today,
Not looking at each other, eyes downcast
As if to say, "If I can't speak to you,
We might as well be in two different rooms."
What terrifying emptiness is formed
Around us when sensations can't be named:
A siren bays somewhere not far away
And I can't lock it safely down with words--
As if the world might sink its million teeth,
From millions of its tiny mouths, in us
Without the safety of restraining talk--
What does it "mean," when in a lingual void,
A rabbit runs across the campus Garth?
A tree falls in the woods, and no one speaks.
So did it make a sound? What would they mean,
Sound, tree, woods, without the words?
And by the time I get back to my room
I'm feeling nervy as Schroedinger's cat,
Tense with the unnamed's breath upon my neck,
And sit down by the screen to write a bit--
To push the nothing back as by a charm,
As bonfires in the woods drive back the dark--
A stream of language, babbling like the sea--
The neccesary chatter of the world.

Blogging Episcopalians

2006-08-16T13:49:00.000-04:00

I was inspired by the article in latest issue of The Living Church on Blogging Anglicans. So, I resolved not only to keep up with my friends' blogs a little better, but looked around a little bit and discovered this webring, "Blogging Episcopalians." I just joined. There's a link at the bottom of the page; check it out and see what people are up to.

St. Mary the Virgin, August 15

2006-08-15T17:09:00.000-04:00

AND A SWORD WILL PIERCE YOUR OWN HEART, TOO

Hannah prayed that she might have a son,
Though she was barren. Soon, she had conceived,
(As Eli had foretold, and she'd believed),
and pledged the boy to serve the Holy One.

Hannah sang, "My heart exults in God,
My strength has been exalted in the Lord!
Those who were full have hired themselves for bread;
Those who were hungry have been satisfied!
To the barren, seven have been born;
While she who had many sons is now forlorn.
God raises up the needy from the dust,
And lifts the poor from out of the ash-heap."

And what of the ones left in the trash to sleep
The few hours of their lives in some gray dumpster?
Does the Lord raise up the abandonned, also?
Hannah left Samuel at the shrine at Shiloh,
Gave up her only son to serve the Lord.
Was her heart, also, pierced by Mary's Sword?

Proper 14 Year Two, Monday

2006-08-14T15:57:00.000-04:00

[Judges 12:1-7]

SAY 'SHIBBOLETH'

I went to the Asian market yesterday,
the one on Grand: It's called Jay's
International Foods.
So, shopping list in hand, there I stood
next to the frozen squid, unsure which way
would bring me to the curry paste.
Foods were oddly placed:
pastas in the cooler with the produce,
ox-tail soup base by the octopus.
Another wrong turn led me to waste
ten minutes by the tea,
lost and wandering in a land of plenty.
Finally, I found the soba noodles
and wasabi power (near the bottles
of vivid, bright-red chili).
The check-out clerk asked me in disbelief,
"Are you sure you know how to cook with these?"
I said, "I've got a recipe."
And then she asked me,
"What's with the shirt? Are you some kind of priest?"

Proper 14 Year B (RCL lectionary) Sermon

2006-08-12T15:24:00.000-04:00

I Kings 19:4-8
Ephesians 4:25-5:2
John 6:35,41-51

JUST WHAT ARE WE REALLY HUNGRY FOR?

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. AMEN.

The other night I was watching TV after dinner with my wife when something funny happened. There we sat on the sofa, full of this really excellent curry dish she’d made, when a commercial came on. It was a commercial for pizza; you know the kind, the ones in which the camera pans low over the surface of what looks like acres of bubbling cheese and pepperoni, like the surface of some sort of edible, delicious planet. I saw that commercial, and I wanted that pizza. I wanted that pizza so badly that, for a second, I forgot that I’d just eaten—It didn’t even occur to me that I was already full. I even wanted that pizza so much that, for a split-second after that did occur to me, I wished I hadn’t already eaten, so I could have it instead.

What was I doing, drooling after that pizza on television? I wasn’t even hungry. Why did I want it so badly?

Well, from an advertiser’s point of view, the answer is simple enough: I wanted that pizza because the advertisers wanted me to want that pizza. We’re constantly fed messages about what we want, what we need, what we’re hungry for. Commercials subtly promise that their product will fill that nagging void we feel. This promise is often implicit, subtle, or perhaps slightly ironic in a hip, Post-modern way, but the promise is there nevertheless: Buy this and you’ll be happy.

In commercials, our happiness is always tantalizingly within reach: If I whiten my teeth with new Whitening strips, I’ll have a brighter smile and more friends. If I buy a new car, I’ll be fulfilled. My life can be as young and hip and sexy as a beer commercial. And what a veritable horn-of-plenty is promised in fast-food ads: I can Supersize my happiness for only 99c!

Don’t get me wrong: the things advertised in commercials may be good or useful or helpful. But the fulfillment and happiness they seem to promise doesn’t actually come in the box along with them. It’s why big purchases sometimes feel so much like a bait-and-switch. You fork over the money for the glossy, picture-perfect life you saw in the magazine, and all you get is the clothes those models were wearing. You get the computer home, and after a few weeks you realize that you’d heard that guy in the Dell commercials wrong: You thought he’d said: “Dude, you’re getting a brand-new awesome life!” Turns out all he’d said was, “Dude, it’s just a computer.”

Companies don’t want us to stay fulfilled, don’t want that thrill of finally having our needs and hopes satisfied to last. While the satisfaction that commercials promise is always within reach, it’s always just out of reach too, receding to the next purchase, the next manufactured need. It’s like the Greek myth of Tantalus, who would reach out for the grapes he was starving for, only to have them recede just beyond his grasp.

The truth is, we are hungry for something. There is a hunger, a thirst, deep inside of us that yearns to be filled. There is something basic in our nature that needs to be satisfied for us to be truly nourished. But not just anything will satisfy this need. We try anyway; sometimes with drugs or too much alcohol. It’s pretty natural to try to plug this hole with food; I’m not the only one who finds myself overeating when I’m depressed. Food advertisers already have that working in their favor; other advertisers have to work a little harder to get us to displace our soul’s innermost yearning to their products.

In Isaiah 55, God calls:
Ho, everyone who thirsts,
come to the waters;
and you that have no money,
come, buy and eat!
Come, buy wine and milk
without money and without price.
Why do you spend your money for that which is not bread,
and your labor for that which does not satisfy?
Here, God is calling Israel to a metaphorical banquet, where what they truly hunger and thirst for will be provided for them. This spiritual “food and drink” is “without money and without price” – that is, both priceless and free. God encourages the Israelites to stop chasing after what doesn’t really satisfy, or throwing money away on what doesn’t really sustain. As Saint Augustine said, “Our souls are restless until they find their rest in God.”

[PAUSE]

I went to college in Santa Fe, and I used to drive all the way across Texas on my way home to New Orleans. On the highway, through the driest, hottest parts of Texas, water would appear far off down the road, only to disappear as I got closer. The promise of true, lasting happiness from any worldy thing is like a mirage; it evaporates when we approach it.

I’m sure all of us, at one time or another, have dreamed of eating, only to wake up still hungry. The opposite thing happen to Elijah! He dreams of a call to eat and drink, and wakes up to real food-- hot cakes and jars of water! More importantly, God has not just fed his physical hunger and thirst; God has responded to the despair that led Elijah to pray, “It is enough; now, O Lord, take away my life, for I am no better than my ancestors.”
Elijah laid down ready to die;
he woke refreshed and ready to go on.
He went to sleep soul-weary and full of doubt and despair.
He got up full of strength and confidence in God.
God fed his spirit as well as his body, giving him strength to get up and journey on to Mount Horeb, where he would encounter God in the “still small voice” after the storm.

Just before our reading from the Gospel, Jesus has been talking with the Jews about Moses and feeding the Israelites with Manna in the wilderness. The crowds had followed Jesus, in fact, because he had fed the five thousand in the wilderness. Jesus says that the Manna-bread that God gave the Israelites sustained them for a while, but in the end they still died. Jesus tells them about better bread:
“For the bread of God is that-which comes down from heaven and gives life to the world.”
The Greek of this sentence could also mean “the bread of God is he-who comes down from heaven.” The crowds respond, “Sir, give us this bread always.” (6:33-34)
They’re hoping, perhaps, for a repeat performance of the feeding of the five thousand. But the situation is completely different: the five thousand came out to the wilderness to be near Jesus, to hear him teach. While they’re there, Jesus decides to feed them. These people, by contrast, have set out intentionally to get a free meal out of Jesus.
Their request— “Sir, give us this bread always”— sets up Jesus’ startling self-revelation: “I am the bread of life.” Jesus is the very bread that the crowds have requested. They already have what they have asked for, right before them!

In the synoptic Gospels, Satan tempts Jesus to turn stones into bread. This temptation worked on two levels: one on level, it was merely a temptation to satisfy his own physical hunger, but on another, Satan was tempting Jesus to make himself a popular leader by bribing the masses, to make himself a “bread king.” Jesus’ response to this temptation is worth quoting here, when he is approached by a crowd hoping for the very same thing—a miraculous feeding, a bread magic show. He quotes Moses from the book of Deuteronomy (8:3):

God humbled you by letting you hunger, then feeding you with manna, with which neither you nor your ancestors were acquainted, in order to make you understand that one does not live by bread alone, but by every word that comes from the mouth of God.

As the Gospel of John has already made clear, Jesus himself is the Logos, the Word, that came from God. We are nourished by Jesus in a way that mere manna never could.

The manna met the Israelite’s immediate physical hunger, but those who ate it ultimately died. The bread from heaven, Jesus Christ, satisfies our ultimate human needs and satisfies us on another level. Jesus answers our human need at the most basic, most fundamental level, even more central to the core of who we are than (physical) hunger. On some level, bread alone—even manna—leaves us un-nourished. Christ nourishes us at that level—at the very core of our being

It was once thought that the Gospel of John was the least Eucharistic of the four Gospels. It does not have an account of the Last Supper as the other gospels do, or recount Jesus’ words over the bread and the wine. However, New Testament scholars now recognize that Eucharistic theology is woven throughout the entire Gospel in a diffuse way. In the turning of water to wine at the Wedding at Cana, in the feeding of the five thousand, and in the “Bread of Life” discussions in chapter six, the Eucharist permeates all of John’s Gospel throughout, rather than in discrete events as in the other Gospels.

As the food God sent to Elijah strengthened him to go on with his ministry, the Eucharist feeds us and nourishes us for the work God has given us to do. In Eucharistic Prayer C, we pray: “Deliver us from the presumption of coming to this Table for solace only, and not for strength; for pardon only, and not for renewal.”

In this feast, we are sustained at our most fundamental level, becoming more fully who and what we truly are. As we prepare to receive communion together this morning, ask yourself: What is my deepest need? What is my true heart’s desire? What is my soul thirsting for?

It probably isn’t a new car, a Dell computer-- or even a pizza. Whatever your truest need, it is fed in the Bread of Life. And may we pray, understanding better what we say than the crowds from John’s Gospel, “Lord, give us this bread always.” AMEN.

Proper 14 Year B (RCL lectionary) notes

2006-08-11T16:07:00.000-04:00

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1 Kings 19:4-8
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- Elijah in despair, sick of his efforts with Israel going unheeded, sick of Queen Jezebel’s harassment and persecution, sick of the weight of being a prophet to Israel.

- not being “up to task”
- not being “good enough”

- not being any better than, or even as good as, one’s predeccessors
- like Moses didn’t feel qualified (see Num.11)

- lies down in despair, ready to give up, ready to just throw in the towel and die
- sort of a spiritual paralysis

- Elijah’s complaint is not so much physical as emotional/spiritual. He is not only physically worn out from his efforts; he is spiritually drained. He needs sustenance which will feed his spirit with hope and vigor, not just his body

- God answers this sort of deep depression and spiritual paralysis with life
- a vision in a dream: spiritual response
- a word of encouragement and life: Get up and eat
- life-affirming
- outward signs of life and sustenance
- bread and life
- the basic support the body needs

The sustenance God gives to Elijah, both for his body and for his soul, not only satisfies him, but invigorates him.
- God does not just comfort Elijah in his depression, but strengthens him.
- the hot cakes and jars of water strengthen Elijah to get up and move on
- the life that God gives is for living
- Elijah continues on to Mount Horeb

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Ephesians 4:25-5:2 notes
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We are to speak truthfully and reign in our anger because “we are all members of one body.” Our corporate life means that we are to be genuine with each other, not hiding ourselves or the truth. It also means that we are not to let our own passing feelings of anger or frustration tear us apart from each other.

We are “members” of one body-- the Church—the Body of Christ.
- knit into Christ’s body, we are to be like Christ
- we are to imitate God, and imitate Christ
- Since Christ was loving and self-giving, we are to be also

We are “God’s beloved children.” Now, children imitate their parents and grow into their image. This mimicking is part of how children learn how to speak, how to behave, how to interact with others. Imitation is formation. And the parent not only models patterns of behavior for the child to imitate: they patiently teach and instruct as the child grows into these patterns.

But there is something more basic going on than that. Children are *like* their parents. There is something fundamentally “related” or “same” about the children and parents of a particular species. Baby elephants grow up into elephants. Kittens grow up into cats. Babies grow up into adults. So, as children of God, there is something fundamentally “godly” about us that we have to “grow into.” As God’s children, and as members of Christ, this “godliness” is already a part of who we are. But we, like any children, must mature into it, imitating the ways of our Parent—God—until we are grown.

As adopted children, the exhortation “do not grieve the Holy Spirit of God, with whom you were sealed” reminds us that we were sealed as God’s own in our baptism. As such, the phrase should sound in our ears something along the lines of “Do not grieve your father or your mother.” If we are to honor our earthly father and mother, how much more our heavenly Father, God!

Imitation themes in vv. 4:32-5:1
1 - God in Christ has forgiven us
- we are to forgive one another
2 - Christ loved us and gave himself for us
- we are to live in love

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John 6:35, 41-51 notes
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Immediately before our passage, Jesus has just told the crowds who followed him after the feeding of the five thousand:
“For the bread of God is that-which/he-who comes down from heaven and gives life to the world.”
They said to him, “Sir, give us this bread always.” (6:33-34)

This sets up Jesus’ startling self-revelation: “I am the bread of life.” Jesus is the very bread that the crowds have requested. They already have what they has asked for, right before them!

Jesus’ (earthly) parentage is a stumbling block for “the Jews.” When he claims to have descended from heaven, their rebuttal is that they know his father and mother— so he cannot possibly have come down from heaven! However, Jesus’ earthly origins are not the totality of his origins, and his human descent is not the totality of his descent. There is more to his identity than what they know.

The manna met the Israelite’s immediate physical hunger, but those who ate it ultimately died. The bread from heaven, Jesus Christ, satisfies our ultimate human needs and satisfies us on another level. Jesus answers our human need at the most basic, most fundamental level, even more central to the core of who we are than (physical) hunger.

On some level, bread alone—even manna—leaves us un-nourished
- Christ nourishes us at that level—at the very core of our being

vv. 45-46: learning, imitation, drawing near to Christ…

“It is written in the Prophets: ‘They will all be taught by God.’ Everyone who listens to the Father and learns from him comes to me,”
- touches themes of learning/imitating also found in the Ephesians reading
- Jesus is the “content” of the lesson;
- they will be taught by God,
 they listen to the father & learn from him
 they come to me
If we are learning what God is teaching us, we are drawing near to Jesus; Christ, or Christlikeness, is what God is teaching us.

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Eucharist notes
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Orthodox Eucharistic Invitation: Holy things for holy people.

- Receive What you Are, Become what you receive.

In Orthodox Eucharistic theology, God does not so much "come down" to our level as we, the people of God, are "lifted up" to God's level.

Eucharistic overtones: how Eucharistic theology permeates all of John’s Gospel throughout, rather than in discrete events as in the synoptics…

Bread is the “staff of life.”

Water is the “element of life.”

Together, water and bread represent the sustenance we require, our most basic needs.

Eucharistic Prayer C:
“Deliver us from the presumption of coming to this Table for solace only, and not for strength; for pardon only, and not for renewal.”

As Laurence Hill Stookey notes in Eucharist: Christ’s Feast with the World, “The English words companion and company both are formed from two Latin roots meaning ‘those who share bread’ with each other. The desire to be together when eating and drinking appears to be a universal human characteristic.”

In the Eucharist, we receive what we are: the Body of Christ. We come together with who we are: the Body of Christ. We are fed by Christ, in whom we are already children of God, and we are sustained at our most fundamental level, becoming more fully who and what we truly are.

This enables us to be Christ's hands and feed in the world.

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Food reflections
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Isaiah 55:1-2a

Ho, everyone who thirsts,
come to the waters;
and you that have no money,
come, buy and eat!
Come, buy wine and milk
without money and without price.
Why do you spend your money for that which is not bread,
and your labor for that which does not satisfy?

dreaming of food, only to wake up still hungry
- the opposite happens to Elijah!

seeing a mirage of food or water, only to have it evaporate when you approach

Dt. 8:3 He humbled you by letting you hunger, then feeding you with manna, with which neither you nor your ancestors were acquainted, in order to make you understand that one does not live by bread alone, but by every word that comes from the mouth of God.

There is something we hunger for that isn’t food;
something we thirst for that isn’t drink.

Proper 13 Year Two, Friday

2006-08-11T10:25:00.000-04:00

JOTHAM'S WARNING

The parliament of plants planned to elect
one of their rank to rule them as their king;
But who to select? They chose the Olive tree,
but it refused: "Do you really expect
me to leave my fatness, by whose oil
gods and men are honored, for anything?"
They asked the Vine if it would wear the crown;
It scoffed, "What, is it sweeter than my wine?"
They offered the throne to Oak, who preferred soil.
The Palm was much too busy offering shade.
The Rose had an appointment with a bee.
The Fig tree was engaged in growing figs.
They cursed their drought of luck: "By trowel and spade!
By spore and twig! Who will reign over us?"
Then Kudzu crept up and said, "Tell you what;
I know my brambles may not look like much,
but I'll be king." The parliament agreed.
And Kuzu grew and spread, devouring seed
and herb and flower, clambering up trunks,
and clinging like a parasite to trees;
until they wondered why they'd chosen a weed
to crown their king and meekly call their Sire.
And now, though they should die, when storms pass by,
they half-wish it would start a forest fire.

Proper 13 Year Two, Wednesday

2006-08-09T21:18:00.000-04:00

TORCH AND TRUMPET, EMPTY POTS, AND GOD

He woke from a dream of fire:
hundreds of children holding mason jars
full of captured stars
buzzing in the glass like molten bees.
He woke to the sound of fire:
three-round bursts, the tintinnabular
nightmare symphonies
of battle-cries and sirens through the trees
and all throughout the tents
the men were in a panic, shooting far
of the mark, rifles seized
by riotous spirits, each lieutenant's
sudden imcompetence
raining death upon his own allies.
He falls down to his knees
as the night explodes beyond the barbed-wire fence.
Far off, the enemy cries
"A sword for the Lord and Gideon!" at the skies,
which have dawned upon
a history full of hideous precedents.

Proper 9 Year B (BCP lectionary) Notes

2006-08-09T18:39:00.000-04:00

Ezekiel 2:1-6

The Lord sends Ezekiel knowing that Israel is “a nation of rebels who have rebelled against me.”
- they are “impudent and stubborn”

The Lord knows they may well “refuse to hear”
- even so, Ezekiel is to say “Thus says the Lord”
- they will know that there has been a prophet among them
- Ezekiel must speak whether or not they are expected to listen

Ezekiel must not fear dejection, scorn, mockery, or lack of listening
- do not be afraid of their words, though briers and thorns surround you and you live among scorpions.
- do not be afraid of their words or dismayed at their looks.

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Ps. 123

Have mercy upon us, Lord, have mercy,
For we have had more than enough of contempt,

Too much of the scorn of the indolent rich,
And of the derision of proud.

The psalmist looks to the Lord to answer the contempt of the scorners; (s)he does not attempt to “save face” by changing behavior to fit their expectations.
The scorners are “proud”
“indolent”
“rich”
The psalmist is (by implication)
Humble
Active/working
Poor

Rather than training his/her gaze on the mockers, the psalmist trains his/her eyes on God.

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2 Cor. 12:2-10

Paul has been accused of being proud, taking advantage of the Corinthians, or preaching the Gospel for personal gain
- he is misunderstood
- he is hurt by this
- what’s more, his message is in jeopardy because he has been misunderstood

At the same time, competing “super-Apostles” have moved in and are fomenting dissent and mistrust of Paul

Rather than boasting of his own worthiness, Paul rather ambiguously refers to the vision of a certain “person in Christ” (himself?).
- Paul emphasizes his own lowliness - contra accusations of his prideful ness

rather than surrender his image to the slander of the “Superapostles” Paul continues to attempt to reach the Corinthian Christians with his message

Paul has an additional reason to be content with insults and persecutions: in Christ, “whenever I am weak, then I am strong.”

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The residents of Jesus’ hometown cannot accept that this local boy, whose siblings and mother they know, is now some sort of prophet.
“Where did this man get all this?” they ask, scornfully.

People have certain expectations of Jesus. They expect him to be one way, and they cannot accept that he might be some other way.

Expectations sometimes blind us to what is really happening.

Faith here is contrasted with scornfulness and calcified expectations. When are minds are completely made up about other people, we may miss what God is up to: when we’ve written people off, we miss the chance that God is working through them.

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When others are scornful of us as Christians (even when only potentially so), it may seem easier not to attempt to speak to them about our faith or correct their misunderstandings. However, the Gospel-- the Good News-- of Jesus demands to be spoken even where we may reasonably expect an unfavorable reception.

Controlling metaphor: the bumper sticker
“Don’t Pray in My Schools,
And I Won’t Think in Your Church”
(misunderstanding, scorn, slander, writing off Xns as dogmatic, thoughtless, and stupid. Also a baldly contemptuous message-- whose only purpose is to make the like-minded chuckle and mock/anger Christians.)

Illustration: the “too smart for religion” intelligentsia,
- the students at my high school
- (my mostly silent tacit acceptance of such characterization)
- later, my friends in college
- (attempts to explain how one can have faith and be a thinking, intelligent person)

- Be who you are, even in the face of scorn or rejection.
- better to please God than mockers

- How will they ever know any different if we leave them to their misconceptions?

- THE CHURCH NEEDS APOLOGISTS, such as there were in the early centuries of the Church
- those who can interpret what Christians are really all about
- even in the face of a sometimes scornful secular world

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BLOCKING...

1. "...AND I WON'T THINK IN YOUR CHURCH."
- story about going to get a shake Friday night, seeing the bumper sticker
- writes off Christians as unthinking, reactionarily conservative, and oppressive

- Lots of people already have their minds made up about Christians
- contemptuous, mocking, dismissive

- Ironically, I think of myself as something of a liberal, and anything but "thoughtless"
- But this driver assumed that I was conservative,
- wished to impose my will on others,
- and unthinking.

2. TOO SMART FOR FAITH?

- My old buddies in H.S: smart, nerdy, intelligent, and liberal...

- Many of my old classmates in H.S. thought they were too smart for faith
- dismissive of Christianity, esp. Catholicism, as conformist, smallminded, and backwards

- Many thought of themselves as too kind of compassionate for a religion they saw as meanspirited

- my (mostly) silent tacit acceptance, reluctance to correct them.

- Many people today are dismissive of Christianity for one reason or another
- they have assumptions about us that may be false
- they apply their experiences with some of us to all of us

- their default stance towards Christians may be hostile, dismissive, or mocking

- It is easier, perhaps, to not talk to those who we either know to be, or expect to be, hostile towards us
- However, if we never even attempt to correct their misperceptions,
how will they ever know any better?

3. "...WHETHER THEY HEAR OR REFUSE TO HEAR"

ALL OF TODAY'S READINGS DEAL, IN ONE WAY OR ANOTHER, WITH BEING MISUNDERSTOOD OR HAVING ONE'S MESSAGE DISMISSED FOR ONE REASON OR ANOTHER -- AND BEING SCORNED IN THE ATTEMPT.

- God sends Ezekiel to a people who are "impudent and stubborn, a nation of rebels"
- they may well "refuse to hear"
- But God won't leave them to their mistakes without at least trying:
- they will know that there has been a prophet among them
- Ezekiel, for his part, is not to let their insults or impudence sting him.
- "do not be afraid of their words, though briers and thorns surround you and you live among scorpions
- "do not be afraid of their words, and do not be dismayed at their looks"

**********

Paul has been accused of being proud, taking advantage of the Corinthians, or preaching the Gospel for personal gain
- he is misunderstood
- he is hurt by this
- what’s more, his message is in jeopardy because he has been misunderstood

At the same time, competing “super-Apostles” have moved in and are fomenting dissent and mistrust of Paul

Rather than boasting of his own worthiness, Paul rather ambiguously refers to the vision of a certain “person in Christ” (himself?).
- Paul emphasizes his own lowliness - contra accusations of his prideful ness

rather than surrender his image to the slander of the “Superapostles” Paul continues to attempt to reach the Corinthian Christians with his message

**********

In the Gospel, Jesus faces the expectations of those in his hometown. "THEY TOOK OFFENSE AT HIM." They cannot accept God's wisdom from someone among whom they grew up, whom they have known all their lives.

4. NOT BEING DEFINED BY OTHERS

Ezekiel, the Psalmist, Jesus, and Paul all refuse to be defined by others' scorn of them.
- Since their message is about God, not themselves,
they don't let the mockery of the proud bruise their egos.

They train their eyes on God, and are eager to please God, not the contemptuous who mock them.

They also have the courage to speak to those who may not listen or who won't easily accept them.

5. MODERN-DAY APOLOGISTS

Throughout the history of Christianity, Christians have had to explain their faith, making it intelligible and "make sense" to contemptuous outsiders.

Although many of these "apologists" were saints, clergy, and theologians, the overwhelming majority of them were ordinary, mostly uneducated, and in menial positions.

Today, we need those willing to speak frankly, openly, and courageously to those who might be dismissive or misunderstand Christians

How else will they know any better?

God sends all of us to make the Good News of Christ's love for humankind available to all,

- and we are to sow that news with the liberality of the sower in the parable of the seeds,
- sowing on rocky ground or concrete roads where we may not expect favorable reception as well as on good soil

We know the wondrous truth that God has revealed to us in Jesus Christ.
God give us the courage to open our mouths and say "Thus says the Lord,"
...nevermind the scorpions.

Proper 12 Year B (BCP lectionary)

2006-08-09T18:36:00.000-04:00

2 Kings 2:1-15
Ephesians 4:1-7,11-16
Mark 6:45-52
Psalm 114

PASSING --AND TAKING UP-- THE TORCH

In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

We’ve all seen that ceremony at the beginning of the Olympics each year, where several runners race towards the stadium in shifts, carrying the Olympic torch. Each one runs for a certain span, then passes the torch to the next runner, who takes it from there. Eventually, this relay ends with the final bearer of the torch, who approaches the Olympic cauldron, then uses the torch to light the Olympic Flame. From this practice, we have the expression “Pass the torch,” meaning to surrender one’s duties or responsibilities to another who comes after.

In our Old Testament lesson today, the prophet Elijah “passes the torch” to his disciple, Elisha. Elisha had traveled with and learned from Elijah, rather like an apprentice, for years. Now, aware that his mentor would be taken from him this very day, Elisha doggedly refused to be dismissed, he refused to be spared the pain and confusion of witnessing Elijah’s ascension in the whirlwind. Elijah passes the blessing of a “double helping of his Spirit” onto Elisha for his faithfulness up to the very end. In doing this, Elijah also passes along the office of prophet, with all the responsibilities and authority that of that office. Elisha “picked up the mantle of Elijah” and in so doing assumed the same authority and role that Elijah had held before him.

In this story, we are witnessing something of a “relay race” of ministries. Elijah has faithfully run the course of his own ministry, and now passes the torch to Elisha, his student.

I’m sure many of us have run in relay races of one sort or another ourselves. I remember that, in grade school, we used to run relay races around the block in P.E. I recall pounding up the asphalt in my sneakers up to the next kid, fumbling the plastic relay staff into their hands as quickly as possible before they took off. I never really liked these races that much; I wasn’t a particularly good runner as a child-- I was somewhat overweight and bookish, not an athlete-- and I hated that my team suffered because I couldn’t run that well.

Running races is one of the Apostle Paul’s favorite metaphors to describe the Christian life. He exhorts the Corinthians, “Run in such a way that you may win the prize.” - that is, not a “perishable” prize, but an “imperishable” one. In the same letter, he describes his own evangelism as “running the race.“ In another place, Paul tells the Galatians that “You were running well.” until, that is, they were confused by false teaching.

But Paul is clear that this running isn’t just about the individual Christian. It is about the whole church community running toward the prize. In the letter to the Philippians Paul links the image of running a race with the idea that the Christian community should get along with each other. He writes, “Do all things without murmuring and arguing; It is by your holding fast to the word of life that I can boast on the day of Christ that I did not run in vain.” And the letter to the Hebrews links race with the rest of the Christian Church, both those we know, and those who came before us: “Therefore, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us also… run with perseverance the race that is set before us.”

If this Christian life is like a race, it is more like a relay-race than a race between individual competitors. Paul seems to be telling us: We all run together. If one stumbles, we all stumble. Like Elisha, God calls us to pick up the torch-- or the mantle-- of those who ran before us. And like Elijah, God calls us to pass the torch-- or pass the mantle-- to those we have prepared to run on after us. By acknowledging the importance of those who “ran the race” before us, and by training those who will run on after us, we recognize that the ministries we are engaged in are larger than us. They are not “our” ministries, but the Church’s ministries-- or, more properly, God’s ministries.

Let us ask ourselves honestly: Have we picked up the mantle that has been laid in front of us? Have we taken the lead from those who ran before us? And have we mentored others, preparing them to run after us?

(Pause)

The lesson of Elijah and Elisha teaches us a little about passing the torch across our limits in time: Our lifetimes are finite, but the Church is larger-- in time as well as space-- than ourselves. By acknowledging our own finitude, we are kept safe from over identifying ourselves with our particular ministry in the Church, and we are kept safe from being territorial or possessive about our “speciality.” When others express an interest in a ministry that we think of as “ours,” we are able to remember that it does not “belong” to us, and be generous in yielding some of our control over it.

(Pause)

Just as mentoring and teaching passes the torch across time, we can also pass the torch another way: by seeing the different gifts we each possess. In Ephesians, we hear that “there is one body and one Spirit,” but that the body of Christ-- the Church-- is made up of very different people. These different members of the body have quite different gifts: “The gifts that he gave were that some would be apostles, some prophets, some evangelists, some pastors and teachers, to equip the saints for the work of ministry, for the building up the body of Christ, until all of us come to the unity of the faith and of the knowledge of the Son of God, to maturity, to the measure of the full stature of Christ.”

When we acknowledge the gifts that others have, and how they differ from ours, we pass the torch across our talents: The ministry of the Church is larger than any one of us, and encompass the many different gifts we have. Paul says that only when all of our gifts are working together can we, the Church, grow “to maturity, to the measure of the full stature of Christ.” In other words, It takes all of us to be the Church, It takes all of us to be the body of Christ.

(PAUSE)

Let us mentor and teach others to follow in our ministries, and thank God for each other, whose gifts are so different than our own.

Let us pray, as Paul prayed for us, that we may grow up in every way into him who is the head, into Christ, from whom the whole body, as each part is working properly, promotes the body’s growth in building itself up in love. AMEN.

Proper 11 Year B (BCP lectionary)

2006-08-09T18:32:00.000-04:00

Isaiah 57:14b-21
Ephesians 2:11-22
Mark 6:30-44
Psalm 22:22-30

SEEING THROUGH JESUS' EYES

In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

At the beginning of today’s Gospel reading, The Twelve Apostles have just returned from their mission of preaching and teaching in the villages of Galilee. Jesus instructed them to go with little provisions for the road-- no bread, no bag, no money-- and to go on foot, from town to town, totally dependent on the hospitality of whoever they met on the way. In Matthew’s gospel, before sending them out Jesus prays: “The harvest is plentiful, but the laborers are few. Therefore ask the Lord of the harvest to send out laborers into his harvest.”

Now, after exhausting but amazingly successful work, the Twelve are returning to their teacher. They are
footsore from all the walking,
weary from the heat,
dusty from the road,
thirsty and hungry.
The Gospel says that, with all their comings and goings, they hadn’t had enough leisure to even to eat!

Jesus, in his love and compassion, recognizes how tired the Twelve are. They could use a retreat from the busy-ness of their work, to refresh themselves. He tells them, “Come away to a deserted place all by yourselves and rest a while.”

However, when Jesus and the Twelve reach their destination, they find that their fame has preceded them. Many people noticed where they were going, by the time they arrived by boat to a deserted place, they found a large crowd already there, waiting for them!

It’s almost as if Jesus and the Twelve look out at this crowd and see two different things. Jesus, filled with the same love and care he showed towards his Apostles, “had compassion for them, because they were like sheep without a shepherd.” Immediately, he begins to teach them, to guide them, to care for them.

The disciples, however, looked out and see a logistical nightmare. What in the world were they going to do with all these people? Where had they all come from? This was supposed to be a chance for them to “get away,” to relax, for goodness’ sake! Here they were, in the “deserted place” that Jesus spoke about, and it was as crowded as the villages they had just come from! And how, most importantly, were all these people going to find something to eat out here in the middle of nowhere?

Jesus looks at the crowd with the eyes of compassion and love, and sees sheep in need of a shepherd, children of God in need of care and guidance. His gaze is colored by faith in God and hope in God’s care for us. The Apostles, however, look at the crowd with the eyes of anxiety and doubt. They don’t see “sheep in need of a shepherd,” they see a crowdful of problems!

How can they look at the same crowd and see two such very different things?
Jesus looks out and prays,
“Thanks be to God! The harvest is plentiful!”
The Twelve look out and grumble,
“Oh my God… but the laborers are so few!”

Now, let me admit right now… I’m a pessimist. My wife, who’s more of an optimist than me, points this out to me often. When she notes that a glass is half full, I retort that the glass if half empty. When faced with a challenging situation, I find myself full of reasons why this or that solution won’t fly, why this or that idea won’t work.
And so I can admit, I can definitely sympathize with the Apostles’ objections here. They ask, “Should we go and buy half a year’s wages’ worth of bread?” Remember, the Twelve, fresh back from their mission of itinerant preaching, had no money in their belts, no bag, no food: They have no resources with which to get food for these people! They are hungry and tired themselves, and travel-worn. Their objections seem to make real, good sense to me.

We need to see a little bit more with the eyes of Jesus. The first thought to pop into Jesus’ mind when confronted with those is need wasn’t
“Why he can’t help,”
but “How he can help.”

Confronted with a huge, hungry crowd in the middle of nowhere, the Apostles may have had plenty of good reasons to think that there was nothing much they could do for these folks. But if their mindset had been just a little more like Jesus’, this wouldn’t have been the first thing to go through their heads-- first they would have looked on their neighbors with compassion. Only second, after they’d already rolled up their sleeves to help, would it occur to them that this might be incredibly difficult work-- indeed, almost insurmountable short of something miraculous. But with the mindset of Jesus, they would have the faith to hope for that miracle.

We’re presented constantly with situations which seem far beyond our capacity to make a difference in. The number of homeless who live near our church may seem like a far greater problem than we could help with. The problem of an unlivable wage or unjust working conditions may seem outside of our grasp. Confronted with the destruction and wreckage of Wednesday and Friday’s storms, with up to 60% of the city’s residents without power on Friday, we may wonder what in the world we could do to help in such a mess.

We may also, like the Apostles did, have excuses as to why we can’t help. I may be more worried about my mortgage payments than the homeless. I’m having enough problems making ends meet in my own household-- I don’t have time to worry about a just wage for others. My own power is out-- what can I do for others hit hard by the storm?

I’m happy to say, Jesus does not abandon us to our own doubts. What our own pessimism declares impossible, the faith of God declares possible-- even hopeful. When we protest, “Send these people into the surrounding villages to buy something to eat,” Jesus tells us, “You give them something to eat.” When we cry in despair, “What can be done about this or that problem?,” Jesus challenges us, “You do something.” Just think how freeing, how hopeful that challenge is! Jesus tells us that we, with all of our good reasons why we can’t , actually can.

If believe we can’t do anything about anything, it’s easier-- much easier, not to notice others’ need. It’s much simpler to pay no attention to who is hungry, who is grieving, who is suffering. But armed with the knowledge that Jesus says, “You can do it,” we can have the courage to take notice, the courage to have compassion. Instead of despairing, we can step up and meet the challenge, helping out how we can.

I read an article in the Post-Dispatch about a restaurant owner who lost power after the storm. Without electricity, he stood to lose several industrial-sized freezers full of meat. Instead of simply despairing, or throwing it out, the restraunteur began cooking everything and feeding anyone who came by. He cooked up steaks, wings, burgers, pork-steaks, and gave them to whoever was hungry. During that day, his restaurant was a favorite hangout of the police officers working overtime in all the storm-related commotion. This man had the imagination and the compassion for others to turn his own loss into a feast-- almost block-party, really-- for others.

Poking through the newspapers a little more, I happened across another story, very similar to the first-- a family with a large standing meat freezer holding a barbeque for their neighbors when they lost power. No sooner had I told this to our own neighbor-- who had come over to offer a few hours in his air-conditioned house to whoever on our block didn’t have power-- than he told me that someone just up our own street had done the very same thing-- hosted an impromptu cookout for anyone who happened by!

When my own home town of New Orleans was devastated by Hurricane Katrina, I was amazed and awed by accounts of how churches and volunteers-- many of them themselves refugees from the storm-- banded together and helped each other escape, or get water or food. I have heard stories from my friends who still live there, of how roving bands of do-gooders, many of them groups of churchgoers or youth-groups, go from neighborhood to neighborhood, wielding hammers and wearing facemasks against the mold, patching up peoples’ homes and clearing our peoples’ yards. Or stories of how, when refugees were fleeing the storm, strangers wherever they went gave them meals, money for gas, or help when they heard that they were from New Orleans.

We’ve all seen the images on television of how whole neighborhoods of New Orleans were literally demolished by Katrina. My wife and I went back to New Orleans to visit my family recently, and I can tell you, these sights are even more powerful in person. Just think of how these images must have confronted the volunteers who traveled from around the country to help with the restoration efforts! Think how, confronted with the ruins of block after block of empty homes under dead street lights, they must have wondered what sort of a difference they could make in the midst of all this.

We, on a smaller but still very painful scale, are faced with these same sorts of images all around us here in St. Louis.
God grant us the courage to face the need of others, and ourselves, honestly, and with love.
God grant us the compassion to acknowledge that those in need are our brothers and sisters in Christ.
And God grant us the hope that allows us to step in and do what we can, in whatever way we can, to care for our neighbors; may we even dare to hope that, through our modest hands, God may even work miracles.
AMEN.