Second Sunday after Christmas
Jeremiah 31:7-14; Psalm 147:12-20; Ephesians 1:3-14; John 1:1-18
My wife and I, our grown son and daughter, our son-in-law and our two-week old granddaughter celebrated Christmas Eve in Buffalo, New York, attending a service at Trinity Episcopal Church on Delaware Avenue.
In an unfamiliar city, I had a difficult time finding a parking place, then turned wrong and headed toward the nearest steeple, thinking it was Trinity. But people were coming OUT of the church, and I asked one of them why she was heading in the wrong direction. She looked at me strangely, and muttered something about leaving the church. But my family was in there, so I resolutely headed toward the entrance out of which more and more people were exiting. I assumed that the service was so crowded they were being denied admittance!
Only when I got to the doorway did I see the sign stating it was St. Louis Catholic Church, NOT Trinity Episcopal. How embarrassing, I thought, as my wife dialed my cell phone to see what was taking me so long!
When I finally got to Trinity, the procession was ready to go down the aisle of a darkened church. Some children in costume were gathered around a furry donkey-looking creature that I assumed was on wheels and they would pull it down the aisle. But then I turned left and saw the Llama, who was rolling its eyes. I quickly turned and looked back at the donkey, and his ears were definitely twitching. They were alive! And the donkey was processing down the center aisle with a crowd of children to dramatize the birth of Jesus. The Llama was a camel-stand-in, because he came later when the youthful narrators talked about the Magi and three youngsters proudly acted their roles as wise men with gifts.
Everyone was invited to communion. If my two-week old granddaughter was on solid food, I think she would have been invited to partake of the bread and wine. At one point in the service many of the children in the congregation brought wrapped presents up to the altar. The pastor made the point these gifts were not for him, but for poor families in the community. Some of them were in big boxes and looked expensive. I saw a skateboard in plastic!
As I approached the altar for communion, an elderly woman was pushing a man about the same age in a wheelchair.
So, you might ask, what does any of this have to do with the readings today? --Just that a number of them make the point that God is calling people together. Jeremiah portrays God as calling his people back from exile, and not only the healthy, but the poor and lame and pregnant are also being called. Psalm 147 says that Yahweh “gathers together the outcasts of Israel” (Ps. 147:2).
And here we all were in Trinity Episcopal—we from Cleveland and others from who knows where. We, the old parents, and their grandchild who was celebrating her two week birthday. We gave each other a sign of peace, we shook hands with strangers and told people about the baby and they smiled and rejoiced with us. We were in the same place as the man in the wheelchair and prayed for him. We heard the nativity story and were admonished to share it with our children and grandchildren again and again.
The pastor told a story about feeling very poor in his first church rectory, but he used to regularly give money to a poor man named Ritchie, and Ritchie showed up with his girlfriend around Christmas time when the pastor was feeling depressed about his church and his personal finances. He always gave the man some money although he had little himself. But this night, he invited the Ritchie into his home for the first time, and the man saw the pastor’s Christmas tree and the presents under the tree for his family, and the poor man marveled at how beautiful it all was, and how beautiful the rectory was and what a joy it must be to have a family, and the pastor’s perspective changed that night as he saw his life through the poor man’s eyes. And that’s what he challenged us, his listeners, to do: to listen to the poor and the stranger and to allow them and this Christmas story to change our perspective by looking at our lives from their perspective.
In Ephesians, Paul talks about our inheritance. This story, of God with us, of the Word made flesh, is that inheritance, isn’t it? We can unpack it and cherish it, no matter how spatially challenged we are and what church we are leaving or trying to get into. And today we read the famous beginning of John’s gospel: “In the beginning was the Word…” It recalls the book of Genesis. Scholars say that one translation of the Greek word logos (the Word) is “the explanation.”
As we think of all the myths and stories humans have constructed to explain our scary universe, it is so comforting this season to read John, substituting the word “explanation” for the “Word.” “In the beginning was the explanation…and the explanation was with God and the explanation was God… and the explanation become flesh and made his dwelling with us.” What a Christmas gift: the explanation! No wonder the Psalm ends with Praise: Praise Yahweh!
Monday, December 27, 2010
Thursday, December 23, 2010
Commentary on Lectionary for December 26, 2010
First Sunday after Christmas
Isaiah 63:7-9; Psalm 148; Hebrews 2:10-18; Matthew 2:13-23
When Christmas is on a Saturday, many people will miss these readings for the first Sunday after Christmas. And they’ll be glad they did, because the one from Matthew tells a gruesome tale of a king murdering children two years old and under. It seems almost unfair for God to send an angel to warn Joseph to take the child to Egypt, but then no one warns the Mothers in and around Bethlehem and their children are slaughtered.
What a savage time, we think! But Matthew writes that not only Herod was afraid when the wise men came looking for a King, but “all Jerusalem with him” (Mt. 2:3). Their neighbors to the east had already proven themselves aggressive enemies, so Herod may have been taking no chances in ordering this pre-emptive strike against a possible threat in the distant future. And the irony is that Herod died before anyone could tell whether his action was necessary to preserve the powers that be. History would not vindicate him. The destruction of the Temple would come from Rome.
Anyhow, Matthew’s main purpose seems NOT to have been to tell horrible stories, but to link Jesus to the Old Testament prophecies, to Micah and Jeremiah and Isaiah. He wants to make it perfectly clear: this is the one who was foretold.
And the creators of the lectionary readings did the same thing: the Isaiah reading comes from a chapter that pictures God as dressed in crimson because he has killed so many of Israel’s enemies. But the chosen verses are those that make the point that God didn’t send an angel to save his people: it was “his presence that saved them; his love and pity redeemed them” (Is. 63:9).
The letter to the Hebrews quotes Psalm 22, which also contains so many violent images, as directly applying to Jesus. And the point of that passage is that this God who created everything came to us in human form, sharing all of our sufferings, a victim of our violence, so that He could help us get beyond our pain and relax in his presence.
As the New Testament writers look back on the first Christmas and the life of Jesus, they seem to be saying, “Yes, yes, we know that life is full of powerful men who will do anything to preserve their status; we know there are nations who want our land and our resources and will kill to get them; we know even children have a high mortality rate and sometimes die horrible deaths, but the thing we want to tell you is not that—that’s old news. The thing we want to tell you is that something new has happened; someone has entered our nasty realities to help us, to save us from all of this. We have VERY good news for you! Go pray Psalm 148 and call upon all of creation to praise the God who has come to join us!”
Now here’s the thing, and it will bear repeating throughout this new church year: the nasty things are not going to stop. The reading from Matthew is proof of that. Prayers will still go unanswered. Disaster and heartache and tears are all around. But with his presence, his grace and his help, we can align ourselves with the reality that is underneath all temporary forms, find our peace in it, and start our eternal life now. We won’t always be successful in this “alignment,” but some day we may swim through our tears and find joy.
Isaiah 63:7-9; Psalm 148; Hebrews 2:10-18; Matthew 2:13-23
When Christmas is on a Saturday, many people will miss these readings for the first Sunday after Christmas. And they’ll be glad they did, because the one from Matthew tells a gruesome tale of a king murdering children two years old and under. It seems almost unfair for God to send an angel to warn Joseph to take the child to Egypt, but then no one warns the Mothers in and around Bethlehem and their children are slaughtered.
What a savage time, we think! But Matthew writes that not only Herod was afraid when the wise men came looking for a King, but “all Jerusalem with him” (Mt. 2:3). Their neighbors to the east had already proven themselves aggressive enemies, so Herod may have been taking no chances in ordering this pre-emptive strike against a possible threat in the distant future. And the irony is that Herod died before anyone could tell whether his action was necessary to preserve the powers that be. History would not vindicate him. The destruction of the Temple would come from Rome.
Anyhow, Matthew’s main purpose seems NOT to have been to tell horrible stories, but to link Jesus to the Old Testament prophecies, to Micah and Jeremiah and Isaiah. He wants to make it perfectly clear: this is the one who was foretold.
And the creators of the lectionary readings did the same thing: the Isaiah reading comes from a chapter that pictures God as dressed in crimson because he has killed so many of Israel’s enemies. But the chosen verses are those that make the point that God didn’t send an angel to save his people: it was “his presence that saved them; his love and pity redeemed them” (Is. 63:9).
The letter to the Hebrews quotes Psalm 22, which also contains so many violent images, as directly applying to Jesus. And the point of that passage is that this God who created everything came to us in human form, sharing all of our sufferings, a victim of our violence, so that He could help us get beyond our pain and relax in his presence.
As the New Testament writers look back on the first Christmas and the life of Jesus, they seem to be saying, “Yes, yes, we know that life is full of powerful men who will do anything to preserve their status; we know there are nations who want our land and our resources and will kill to get them; we know even children have a high mortality rate and sometimes die horrible deaths, but the thing we want to tell you is not that—that’s old news. The thing we want to tell you is that something new has happened; someone has entered our nasty realities to help us, to save us from all of this. We have VERY good news for you! Go pray Psalm 148 and call upon all of creation to praise the God who has come to join us!”
Now here’s the thing, and it will bear repeating throughout this new church year: the nasty things are not going to stop. The reading from Matthew is proof of that. Prayers will still go unanswered. Disaster and heartache and tears are all around. But with his presence, his grace and his help, we can align ourselves with the reality that is underneath all temporary forms, find our peace in it, and start our eternal life now. We won’t always be successful in this “alignment,” but some day we may swim through our tears and find joy.
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
Commentary on Lectionary for December 19, 2010
Fourth Sunday of Advent
Isaiah 7:10-16; Psalm 80:1-7, 17-19; Romans 1:1-17; Matthew 1:18-24
You can imagine one of the prophets or the person who wrote Psalm 80 getting out of bed (whatever ‘bed’ meant in those days) and looking around perhaps at a whirling sandstorm, then remembering that the Assyrians were already killing people and kidnapping others, and you can imagine that person looking up at the sky and saying: “God, where are you? You promised! You planted this strong and wonderful vine called Israel and now you are NOT taking care of it! Where are you?”
All of us can imagine ourselves doing and saying the same thing in our own version of sandstorms and threatening attacks. Maybe accusing God of being a bad gardener is healthier than giving in to severe depression and giving up, as if there WERE no God.
Maybe we should ask for a sign…or pray to recognize a sign that has already been given. In the Isaiah reading, Ahaz did not want to ask for a sign because he had already made up his mind and decided what he was going to do—and it did not include God. Ahaz was going to ally himself with the enemy, the Assyrians who were already destroying the northern kingdom and eventually would conquer Samaria in 722 BCE.
God gave him a sign: a young woman would bear a child and call him Immanuel, which means God is with us! In other words, God was saying to Ahaz: You do not NEED the Assyrians. You just need to recognize and have confidence in the presence of God.
Joseph, Mary’s husband, got it. Maybe he needed a message from an angel in a dream, but he ended up trusting enough to take an unmarried pregnant woman as his wife.
It is very difficult for us to crawl out from under the covers each day and watch the morning’s news and find God in any of it. The meeting of God with reality, with day to day ‘stuff,’ is rarely perceived and believed. Those who profess to perceive His presence are often on the edge of sanity themselves and prone to make outlandish statements concerning what God is telling them to do.
We need a sign to discern whether our perception of Immanuel is true or false, real or fanatical. Many “saints” –like Paul--throughout the ages have pointed to peace and a quiet joy as being two of those signs. The surface of life may be chaotic and violent; the depths are still and silent. I think such saints have had their times of yelling at God, accusing Him of desertion, but have come to this desert place, this place of presence which often feels like absence. Perhaps it is best called a space, a space in which He dwells, God with us.
Isaiah 7:10-16; Psalm 80:1-7, 17-19; Romans 1:1-17; Matthew 1:18-24
You can imagine one of the prophets or the person who wrote Psalm 80 getting out of bed (whatever ‘bed’ meant in those days) and looking around perhaps at a whirling sandstorm, then remembering that the Assyrians were already killing people and kidnapping others, and you can imagine that person looking up at the sky and saying: “God, where are you? You promised! You planted this strong and wonderful vine called Israel and now you are NOT taking care of it! Where are you?”
All of us can imagine ourselves doing and saying the same thing in our own version of sandstorms and threatening attacks. Maybe accusing God of being a bad gardener is healthier than giving in to severe depression and giving up, as if there WERE no God.
Maybe we should ask for a sign…or pray to recognize a sign that has already been given. In the Isaiah reading, Ahaz did not want to ask for a sign because he had already made up his mind and decided what he was going to do—and it did not include God. Ahaz was going to ally himself with the enemy, the Assyrians who were already destroying the northern kingdom and eventually would conquer Samaria in 722 BCE.
God gave him a sign: a young woman would bear a child and call him Immanuel, which means God is with us! In other words, God was saying to Ahaz: You do not NEED the Assyrians. You just need to recognize and have confidence in the presence of God.
Joseph, Mary’s husband, got it. Maybe he needed a message from an angel in a dream, but he ended up trusting enough to take an unmarried pregnant woman as his wife.
It is very difficult for us to crawl out from under the covers each day and watch the morning’s news and find God in any of it. The meeting of God with reality, with day to day ‘stuff,’ is rarely perceived and believed. Those who profess to perceive His presence are often on the edge of sanity themselves and prone to make outlandish statements concerning what God is telling them to do.
We need a sign to discern whether our perception of Immanuel is true or false, real or fanatical. Many “saints” –like Paul--throughout the ages have pointed to peace and a quiet joy as being two of those signs. The surface of life may be chaotic and violent; the depths are still and silent. I think such saints have had their times of yelling at God, accusing Him of desertion, but have come to this desert place, this place of presence which often feels like absence. Perhaps it is best called a space, a space in which He dwells, God with us.
Sunday, December 5, 2010
Commentary on Lectionary for December 12, 2010
Third Sunday of Advent
Isaiah 35:1-10; Psalm 146:5-10 or Luke 1:47-55; James 5:7-10; Matthew 11:2-11
I can tell, as soon as I sit down to meditate, if I am not at peace. My breathing gives me away; and that feeling in my stomach. No use pretending. The temptation is to make the meditation a wrestling match, like Jacob’s famous match in Genesis 32. --Fight hard to keep the anxious thoughts at bay, to empty my mind of them, to NOT let fear take me over.
And how surprising it is to discover how little the event is that can throw me out of peace, that can dis-ease me! It can be a single word, or a look, or even a silence when I expected a response. Or it can be a doctor’s appointment, an unwelcome task or warning, a traffic ticket, or even a downturn in the stock market.
Today’s readings give hope to the unpeaceful, the overwhelmed, and the suffering: all that will be turned around. Isaiah says it to the exiled: Not only will you come back from Babylon to your beloved Judah, you will do it on a highway—a SAFE highway, and one that belies the fact that it is in the middle of a desert because there will be water and blooms!
My daughter, on her way to India, had to land in Jordan and stay the night. She couldn’t get over what she saw when she looked out of the window of the hotel the next morning: nothing but desert! And yet when we visited my son in Arizona last May we saw cacti in bloom—a beautiful sight. The difference was, of course, WATER.
And so what will make peace bloom once again within us? It is the coming of God into our lives, as subtly as a gentle hand laying a wet cloth on our fevered forehead, or as dramatic as being thrown from our horse. John the Baptizer in Matthew thinks it is happening in his time. He sends his followers to ask Jesus: “Are you the one or should we look for another?” And Jesus answers, in effect, “Go tell John what you have heard and seen: everyone is getting healed; suffering is being alleviated; what is lacking is being reversed!” It’s a new, a different kind of Exodus—from dread and pain to peace and joy.
But, we respond, like a child whose sore finger has just been kissed: “How come it doesn’t feel better NOW?” James has an answer in today’s excerpt: Wait for it! Or as he puts it: “Be patient, therefore, beloved, until the coming of the Lord.” James points back to prophets like Isaiah, who prophesied the return from exile that took years to be realized, and we will soon hear those wonderful words from the book of consolation: “Comfort , comfort my people! (Is. 40:1)”
And so I sit for meditation, in peace or un-peace, and I wait as patiently as I can, sipping confidence from these preachers of the word, these singers of God’s works, like Mary in Luke, suffering the discomforts of her pregnancy yet able to sing to her cousin Elizabeth: “My soul magnifies the Lord, and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior, for he has looked with favor on the lowliness of his servant.”
I take the breath into my body and feel its presence there, and wait. The message was clear: Where you are doesn’t matter—in desert or in chaos. Wait for Him. He will find you.
Isaiah 35:1-10; Psalm 146:5-10 or Luke 1:47-55; James 5:7-10; Matthew 11:2-11
I can tell, as soon as I sit down to meditate, if I am not at peace. My breathing gives me away; and that feeling in my stomach. No use pretending. The temptation is to make the meditation a wrestling match, like Jacob’s famous match in Genesis 32. --Fight hard to keep the anxious thoughts at bay, to empty my mind of them, to NOT let fear take me over.
And how surprising it is to discover how little the event is that can throw me out of peace, that can dis-ease me! It can be a single word, or a look, or even a silence when I expected a response. Or it can be a doctor’s appointment, an unwelcome task or warning, a traffic ticket, or even a downturn in the stock market.
Today’s readings give hope to the unpeaceful, the overwhelmed, and the suffering: all that will be turned around. Isaiah says it to the exiled: Not only will you come back from Babylon to your beloved Judah, you will do it on a highway—a SAFE highway, and one that belies the fact that it is in the middle of a desert because there will be water and blooms!
My daughter, on her way to India, had to land in Jordan and stay the night. She couldn’t get over what she saw when she looked out of the window of the hotel the next morning: nothing but desert! And yet when we visited my son in Arizona last May we saw cacti in bloom—a beautiful sight. The difference was, of course, WATER.
And so what will make peace bloom once again within us? It is the coming of God into our lives, as subtly as a gentle hand laying a wet cloth on our fevered forehead, or as dramatic as being thrown from our horse. John the Baptizer in Matthew thinks it is happening in his time. He sends his followers to ask Jesus: “Are you the one or should we look for another?” And Jesus answers, in effect, “Go tell John what you have heard and seen: everyone is getting healed; suffering is being alleviated; what is lacking is being reversed!” It’s a new, a different kind of Exodus—from dread and pain to peace and joy.
But, we respond, like a child whose sore finger has just been kissed: “How come it doesn’t feel better NOW?” James has an answer in today’s excerpt: Wait for it! Or as he puts it: “Be patient, therefore, beloved, until the coming of the Lord.” James points back to prophets like Isaiah, who prophesied the return from exile that took years to be realized, and we will soon hear those wonderful words from the book of consolation: “Comfort , comfort my people! (Is. 40:1)”
And so I sit for meditation, in peace or un-peace, and I wait as patiently as I can, sipping confidence from these preachers of the word, these singers of God’s works, like Mary in Luke, suffering the discomforts of her pregnancy yet able to sing to her cousin Elizabeth: “My soul magnifies the Lord, and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior, for he has looked with favor on the lowliness of his servant.”
I take the breath into my body and feel its presence there, and wait. The message was clear: Where you are doesn’t matter—in desert or in chaos. Wait for Him. He will find you.
Monday, November 29, 2010
Commentary on Lectionary for December 5, 2010
Second Sunday of Advent
Isaiah 11:1-10; Psalm 72:1-7, 18-19; Romans 15:4-13; Matthew 3:1-12
The first two readings have to do with the ideal king. We in the U.S. have a hard time imagining what it would be like to have a king, especially one whose main concern is the poor. It is difficult to find a single king in all of history who made the poor his chief concern—unless you are talking about Jesus, of course, and recognize Him as a “king.”
Besides the incredible biblical assumption that someone in power would care about the poor, the other issue that defies belief is the peaceable kingdom that the painter Edward Hicks illustrated from these words of Isaiah. If the wolf and the lion lie down with the lambs and the calves, they will starve to death. We speak of them being “hard wired” to kill and eat. They are predators. Some say we humans are hard wired, too, to protect our families and property, to expand our reach through war.
In her book Prodigal Summer, Barbara Kingsolver makes a strong case that predators such as the coyote must be allowed to survive or the world will be overrun by rodents. We have all learned that the accidental or purposeful introduction of species where they are not found naturally has often led to disastrous consequences for the environment.
Amid this talk of kings and predators, Matthew’s gospel portrays John the Baptist talking about Jesus as a powerful figure, someone who will thrash about with his pitchfork and send people into “unquenchable fire.” Ever after, preachers can use that quote to try to scare people into righteousness. Unfortunately, righteousness often meant a public confession followed by hefty contributions to the preacher’s organization.
However, when Jesus begins his ministry, He gives very little evidence of a winnowing fork, and instead He associates and appears to LOVE the people that the righteous condemned. And so He shows Himself the kind of king that Isaiah and the Psalm were talking about. The people He befriended, lifted up, cured and healed, were most often people who were poor. They were lacking in the eyes of the elite.
And so we come to the big questions: Is Jesus someone who would relate to you? Would He understand you? Would He LIKE you? Would you like Him or even love Him? If yes, is that because you are blameless and have perfectly observed all the commandments from your youth?
No worries. Jesus gave a clue right from the beginning that he was separating himself from the establishment. He went to the river Jordan to be baptized by John, this upstart who eventually was executed by the current King. Then He begins showing a shocking favoritism to those whom Isaiah calls “the meek of the earth” (Is. 11: 4).
And so this is the way Jesus demonstrated for us what He meant by a “spirit of Wisdom and understanding, the spirit of counsel and might, the spirit of knowledge and fear of the Lord” (Is. 11:2). And we are still hoping, in the waning weeks of 2010, to walk in His way and so bring to our world those gifts of His Spirit.
Isaiah 11:1-10; Psalm 72:1-7, 18-19; Romans 15:4-13; Matthew 3:1-12
The first two readings have to do with the ideal king. We in the U.S. have a hard time imagining what it would be like to have a king, especially one whose main concern is the poor. It is difficult to find a single king in all of history who made the poor his chief concern—unless you are talking about Jesus, of course, and recognize Him as a “king.”
Besides the incredible biblical assumption that someone in power would care about the poor, the other issue that defies belief is the peaceable kingdom that the painter Edward Hicks illustrated from these words of Isaiah. If the wolf and the lion lie down with the lambs and the calves, they will starve to death. We speak of them being “hard wired” to kill and eat. They are predators. Some say we humans are hard wired, too, to protect our families and property, to expand our reach through war.
In her book Prodigal Summer, Barbara Kingsolver makes a strong case that predators such as the coyote must be allowed to survive or the world will be overrun by rodents. We have all learned that the accidental or purposeful introduction of species where they are not found naturally has often led to disastrous consequences for the environment.
Amid this talk of kings and predators, Matthew’s gospel portrays John the Baptist talking about Jesus as a powerful figure, someone who will thrash about with his pitchfork and send people into “unquenchable fire.” Ever after, preachers can use that quote to try to scare people into righteousness. Unfortunately, righteousness often meant a public confession followed by hefty contributions to the preacher’s organization.
However, when Jesus begins his ministry, He gives very little evidence of a winnowing fork, and instead He associates and appears to LOVE the people that the righteous condemned. And so He shows Himself the kind of king that Isaiah and the Psalm were talking about. The people He befriended, lifted up, cured and healed, were most often people who were poor. They were lacking in the eyes of the elite.
And so we come to the big questions: Is Jesus someone who would relate to you? Would He understand you? Would He LIKE you? Would you like Him or even love Him? If yes, is that because you are blameless and have perfectly observed all the commandments from your youth?
No worries. Jesus gave a clue right from the beginning that he was separating himself from the establishment. He went to the river Jordan to be baptized by John, this upstart who eventually was executed by the current King. Then He begins showing a shocking favoritism to those whom Isaiah calls “the meek of the earth” (Is. 11: 4).
And so this is the way Jesus demonstrated for us what He meant by a “spirit of Wisdom and understanding, the spirit of counsel and might, the spirit of knowledge and fear of the Lord” (Is. 11:2). And we are still hoping, in the waning weeks of 2010, to walk in His way and so bring to our world those gifts of His Spirit.
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
Commentary on Lectionary for November 28, 2010
Isaiah 2:1-5; Psalm 122; Romans 13:11-14; Matthew 24:36-44
Advent begins, a period of making room for the Presence of God in our lives. There is a stillness, a joyful anticipation about this liturgical season. In the Christian tradition, Advent has been likened to a journey, a trip to Bethlehem, as if we were wise men and, having had some star, some illumination that convinced us that something stupendous has happened on this earth, we set out to follow that light wherever it leads.
No wonder Psalm 122, one of the “ascent psalms,” speaks about the joy of going up to Jerusalem along with all the tribes of the Lord, and hearing proclaimed from that holy city the word “Shalom”—“Peace be within you!” Isaiah (2:1-5) and Micah (4:1-3) proclaim the same thing: the wonderful invitation to climb the Lord’s mountain to get instruction in God’s ways. And what do they hear? --That there will be an end to war and amid all the violence of clashing armies and rival kings, the one God will stand secure, bring peace, and be worthy of our praise.
At this time of year, our Islamic brethren have just made the haaj to Mecca. More than two million people, dressed simply, obliterating external signs of wealth or class, are fulfilling one of Islam’s pillars, the visit to this holy place, a purifying journey, a chance to commune with God.
Advent also begins the frantic rush toward Christmas. Instead of a peaceful pilgrimage to the holy places, many of us in this country fight each other for merchandise at Black Friday prices. People get trampled; violence erupts; politeness is discarded; incivility reigns. For those in-store guards watching for theft on monitors, it must be a terrible scene that unfolds before them and a sorry commentary on what we humans can become. And the saddest part is that our economy needs to be fed with a huge amount of purchasing each year, and so merchants try to extend black Friday backwards from the day after Thanksgiving, even trying to rename that traditional day of giving thanks, ‘gray Thursday.’
Can you imagine Paul of Tarsus standing at the doors of a mall or a Wal-Mart saying, as he does in Romans 13:13-14: “Let us live honorably…not in quarreling and jealousy…make no provision for the desires of the flesh!” --Certainly ignored; probably trampled.
So what’s the point? Is it wrong to want to give gifts, to seek bargains, to make Christmas lists? I don’t know. We are caught up in a culture and an economic system that says: of course not. We are caught up in a crowd heading in one direction and are pushed along whether we dig in our heels or not. Maybe the best we can do is to heed Jesus’ words that we don’t know when God will come, will try to reach us, will take us to Himself. “Stay awake, therefore! You cannot know the day your Lord is coming” (Mt. 24:42). The experience of His Presence is the most precious gift we will ever receive.
Maybe in the midst of the frenetic activity before Christmas, we can carve out a little bit of time each day to read Psalm 122 and hear its message of peace. Shalom!
Advent begins, a period of making room for the Presence of God in our lives. There is a stillness, a joyful anticipation about this liturgical season. In the Christian tradition, Advent has been likened to a journey, a trip to Bethlehem, as if we were wise men and, having had some star, some illumination that convinced us that something stupendous has happened on this earth, we set out to follow that light wherever it leads.
No wonder Psalm 122, one of the “ascent psalms,” speaks about the joy of going up to Jerusalem along with all the tribes of the Lord, and hearing proclaimed from that holy city the word “Shalom”—“Peace be within you!” Isaiah (2:1-5) and Micah (4:1-3) proclaim the same thing: the wonderful invitation to climb the Lord’s mountain to get instruction in God’s ways. And what do they hear? --That there will be an end to war and amid all the violence of clashing armies and rival kings, the one God will stand secure, bring peace, and be worthy of our praise.
At this time of year, our Islamic brethren have just made the haaj to Mecca. More than two million people, dressed simply, obliterating external signs of wealth or class, are fulfilling one of Islam’s pillars, the visit to this holy place, a purifying journey, a chance to commune with God.
Advent also begins the frantic rush toward Christmas. Instead of a peaceful pilgrimage to the holy places, many of us in this country fight each other for merchandise at Black Friday prices. People get trampled; violence erupts; politeness is discarded; incivility reigns. For those in-store guards watching for theft on monitors, it must be a terrible scene that unfolds before them and a sorry commentary on what we humans can become. And the saddest part is that our economy needs to be fed with a huge amount of purchasing each year, and so merchants try to extend black Friday backwards from the day after Thanksgiving, even trying to rename that traditional day of giving thanks, ‘gray Thursday.’
Can you imagine Paul of Tarsus standing at the doors of a mall or a Wal-Mart saying, as he does in Romans 13:13-14: “Let us live honorably…not in quarreling and jealousy…make no provision for the desires of the flesh!” --Certainly ignored; probably trampled.
So what’s the point? Is it wrong to want to give gifts, to seek bargains, to make Christmas lists? I don’t know. We are caught up in a culture and an economic system that says: of course not. We are caught up in a crowd heading in one direction and are pushed along whether we dig in our heels or not. Maybe the best we can do is to heed Jesus’ words that we don’t know when God will come, will try to reach us, will take us to Himself. “Stay awake, therefore! You cannot know the day your Lord is coming” (Mt. 24:42). The experience of His Presence is the most precious gift we will ever receive.
Maybe in the midst of the frenetic activity before Christmas, we can carve out a little bit of time each day to read Psalm 122 and hear its message of peace. Shalom!
Sunday, November 14, 2010
Commentary on Lectionary for November 21, 2010
Jeremiah 23:1-6; Psalm 46; Colossians 1:11-20; Luke 23:33-43
If you have lived through any type of natural disaster—for example, a volcanic eruption with fiery lava raining down on you as you flee, or a serious earthquake, or a tsunami with a 30 foot wave coming toward you or a war—apocalyptic writing must have a special meaning for you. When your body gives out or the earth shakes, it must seem as if nothing is stable. –And ultimately, nothing is stable.
Scriptural readings such as those last week can fill a person with great fear. So today’s readings are a welcome turn, as if we have awakened the morning after a storm and the sun is shining, making everything look fresh and beautiful. In last week’s readings, God is seen as a terrible avenger of all the evil mankind continues to do.
Today the prophet Jeremiah speaks harshly to the kings of Israel, whom he blames for scattering God’s people. But then He has God promising to bring them back, to gather them together, acting as a good shepherd after his flock has been frightened into flight by a pack of wolves.
Psalm 46 continues this portrait. God is a refuge, not a cause of fear. God is the place where we go when our knees are shaking and our faces pale, “even though mountains slip into the heart of the sea; though its waters roar and foam.” No earthquake can shatter this confidence because “God is in the midst of her…The Lord of hosts is with us.” What a wonderful juxtaposition of verse 8 with verse 9! God is pictured as one who “has wrought desolations in the earth,” but then the very next line makes it seem as if his “desolations” are breaking apart weapons and causing war to cease.
We can almost see the Psalm writer putting his finger to his lips and saying to us who are cowering and frantic: “Sh-h-h! Be still and know that I am God.” Or as one translation has it: “Cease striving and know that I am God.” It is a wonderful contemplative moment when you can get your mind to stop and your body to relax, and you follow your breath in and out as you grow still and let all your tasks, all your fears, and all that is happening get sucked into the stillness and peace of God.
It is almost jarring, this close to Advent, to read the Gospel passage from Luke that has Jesus on the cross talking to the man crucified next to him. Here is a thief, someone who has broken the law of God, probably not just once, and here is Jesus offering him forgiveness. It reminds me of the story of a psychiatrist who worked with a criminal on his deathbed and the man said just before dying: “Thank you for giving me life.”
Paul explicitly makes Jesus the person who fulfills God’s promise way back in Jeremiah’s time and the Psalmist’s time: He is God with us. He “rescued us from the domain of darkness” (Col. 1:13). Not only that, but he reconciled all things in himself. He didn’t meet violence with violence. He met it with forgiveness. What followed was peace and new life. And those are the gifts held out to us again and again as we read the scriptures. Cease striving, relax in his presence, carry this connection into your dealing with the world and with others, and then the earthquakes will come, but they won’t matter.
If you have lived through any type of natural disaster—for example, a volcanic eruption with fiery lava raining down on you as you flee, or a serious earthquake, or a tsunami with a 30 foot wave coming toward you or a war—apocalyptic writing must have a special meaning for you. When your body gives out or the earth shakes, it must seem as if nothing is stable. –And ultimately, nothing is stable.
Scriptural readings such as those last week can fill a person with great fear. So today’s readings are a welcome turn, as if we have awakened the morning after a storm and the sun is shining, making everything look fresh and beautiful. In last week’s readings, God is seen as a terrible avenger of all the evil mankind continues to do.
Today the prophet Jeremiah speaks harshly to the kings of Israel, whom he blames for scattering God’s people. But then He has God promising to bring them back, to gather them together, acting as a good shepherd after his flock has been frightened into flight by a pack of wolves.
Psalm 46 continues this portrait. God is a refuge, not a cause of fear. God is the place where we go when our knees are shaking and our faces pale, “even though mountains slip into the heart of the sea; though its waters roar and foam.” No earthquake can shatter this confidence because “God is in the midst of her…The Lord of hosts is with us.” What a wonderful juxtaposition of verse 8 with verse 9! God is pictured as one who “has wrought desolations in the earth,” but then the very next line makes it seem as if his “desolations” are breaking apart weapons and causing war to cease.
We can almost see the Psalm writer putting his finger to his lips and saying to us who are cowering and frantic: “Sh-h-h! Be still and know that I am God.” Or as one translation has it: “Cease striving and know that I am God.” It is a wonderful contemplative moment when you can get your mind to stop and your body to relax, and you follow your breath in and out as you grow still and let all your tasks, all your fears, and all that is happening get sucked into the stillness and peace of God.
It is almost jarring, this close to Advent, to read the Gospel passage from Luke that has Jesus on the cross talking to the man crucified next to him. Here is a thief, someone who has broken the law of God, probably not just once, and here is Jesus offering him forgiveness. It reminds me of the story of a psychiatrist who worked with a criminal on his deathbed and the man said just before dying: “Thank you for giving me life.”
Paul explicitly makes Jesus the person who fulfills God’s promise way back in Jeremiah’s time and the Psalmist’s time: He is God with us. He “rescued us from the domain of darkness” (Col. 1:13). Not only that, but he reconciled all things in himself. He didn’t meet violence with violence. He met it with forgiveness. What followed was peace and new life. And those are the gifts held out to us again and again as we read the scriptures. Cease striving, relax in his presence, carry this connection into your dealing with the world and with others, and then the earthquakes will come, but they won’t matter.
Monday, November 8, 2010
Commentary on Lectionary for November 14, 2010
Mal 4:1-2a; Psalm 98; 2 Thessalonians 3:6-13; Luke 21:5-19
We often use Scripture to find out who God is. In these last readings of the Church year, it’s almost as if God returns the favor, and shows us who WE are. Visit any historical museum, and you will see evidence of countless years of war, weapons development, bigger and better, science, knowledge, huge sums of money used to promote killing in the name of freedom, peace, and righteousness. One war sows the seeds for the next.
And so we can understand the apocalypse and apocalyptic writing. God is telling us what we sometimes refuse to believe, even after all of the violence: nothing in this universe is permanent, and something in us wants to destroy it all. The U.S. and Russia are even now in negotiations about how many mass destructive devices they will keep to destroy each other. And some of our politicians want to derail these negotiations so that we can build MORE bombs than other superpowers. In this, they say, is our security. Any other approach, they imply, is naïve.
Into all this conflict and tribulation, a Prince of Peace has come, with a whole different view of what power is and in what direction to go if we are looking for peace. God first sent prophets like Malachi (whose name means “my messenger”). Prophesying in the 5th century BCE, Malachi might have said: Yes, you have rebuilt the Temple, but your rules for worship harm and manipulate people; your leaders are corrupt, and you continue to oppress the widows and the poor as well as reject aliens. How can you be freed from all of this without some kind of purification? It will not be pleasant, but it will be healing, like an astringent salve on a wound. It is so difficult to take up the cause of the poor and oppressed, and to fight for justice because we know we will be persecuted.
God sends his son, Jesus, the embodiment of the divine. He doesn’t come with guns blazing, flame throwers clearing the way like some Schwarzenegger action film. We’re talking a manger here, and fishermen, lepers, donkeys to ride on, a crown of thorns, and a painful and shameful death.
And now, even after Jesus’ coming, says the author of 2 Thessalonians, we need a second coming because we didn’t get His message the first time. Or we’ve gotten weary trying to do what is right. Or we’ve become distracted by the budget, and have forgotten to pull together and work to help one another and those outside our circles who are in need.
Jesus’ words in Luke remind us what our world is like and what we can expect of corruptible forms. Natural disasters have and will come. We don’t know how to live without violence. The message here, I think, before we can seriously look at where Jesus needs to come again and how we can help make this second coming happen, is that we need to treat these tribulations as a purifying process. He will be with us, urging us to hang in there with faith and to wait to feel his presence, a presence so all-consumingly wonderful that we will consider the pain of getting to it trivial.
Like the Psalmist, even while we are being purified, we will only think praise, of making a joyful noise, of using all of the instruments we know how to play and then calling upon all creation to join us: “Let the sea roar…let the rivers clap their hands…let the mountains sing” (Ps. 98:7-8).
We often use Scripture to find out who God is. In these last readings of the Church year, it’s almost as if God returns the favor, and shows us who WE are. Visit any historical museum, and you will see evidence of countless years of war, weapons development, bigger and better, science, knowledge, huge sums of money used to promote killing in the name of freedom, peace, and righteousness. One war sows the seeds for the next.
And so we can understand the apocalypse and apocalyptic writing. God is telling us what we sometimes refuse to believe, even after all of the violence: nothing in this universe is permanent, and something in us wants to destroy it all. The U.S. and Russia are even now in negotiations about how many mass destructive devices they will keep to destroy each other. And some of our politicians want to derail these negotiations so that we can build MORE bombs than other superpowers. In this, they say, is our security. Any other approach, they imply, is naïve.
Into all this conflict and tribulation, a Prince of Peace has come, with a whole different view of what power is and in what direction to go if we are looking for peace. God first sent prophets like Malachi (whose name means “my messenger”). Prophesying in the 5th century BCE, Malachi might have said: Yes, you have rebuilt the Temple, but your rules for worship harm and manipulate people; your leaders are corrupt, and you continue to oppress the widows and the poor as well as reject aliens. How can you be freed from all of this without some kind of purification? It will not be pleasant, but it will be healing, like an astringent salve on a wound. It is so difficult to take up the cause of the poor and oppressed, and to fight for justice because we know we will be persecuted.
God sends his son, Jesus, the embodiment of the divine. He doesn’t come with guns blazing, flame throwers clearing the way like some Schwarzenegger action film. We’re talking a manger here, and fishermen, lepers, donkeys to ride on, a crown of thorns, and a painful and shameful death.
And now, even after Jesus’ coming, says the author of 2 Thessalonians, we need a second coming because we didn’t get His message the first time. Or we’ve gotten weary trying to do what is right. Or we’ve become distracted by the budget, and have forgotten to pull together and work to help one another and those outside our circles who are in need.
Jesus’ words in Luke remind us what our world is like and what we can expect of corruptible forms. Natural disasters have and will come. We don’t know how to live without violence. The message here, I think, before we can seriously look at where Jesus needs to come again and how we can help make this second coming happen, is that we need to treat these tribulations as a purifying process. He will be with us, urging us to hang in there with faith and to wait to feel his presence, a presence so all-consumingly wonderful that we will consider the pain of getting to it trivial.
Like the Psalmist, even while we are being purified, we will only think praise, of making a joyful noise, of using all of the instruments we know how to play and then calling upon all creation to join us: “Let the sea roar…let the rivers clap their hands…let the mountains sing” (Ps. 98:7-8).
Sunday, October 31, 2010
Commentary on Lectionary for November 7, 2010
Job 19:23-27a; Psalm 17:1-9; 2 Thessalonians 2:1-5, 13-17; Luke 20:27-38
The worldwide news is always full of disasters, which is certainly not surprising, since nothing in this universe is permanent. Still, you can’t help but wonder about how God can love and care for an individual, since so many people live and die each day. I read that the tsunami in Indonesia last year killed over 200,000 people! Thanks to the internet, we can access a world population clock. Here’s what it showed on October 31:
U.S.: 310,606,330
World: 6,878,635,170
21:29 UTC (EST+5) Oct 31, 2010
If we are all brothers and sisters, how can God love ME, when I have nearly 7 billion siblings? Such thinking is a bit humbling to our egos.
In the reading from 2 Thessalonians, Paul was dealing with a community really upset by the rumor that the second coming of the Lord had already occurred and that they had been left behind! In a way, they are like Job, as if saying: “Here I am, sitting out here scratching my diseased body, and the favor of the Lord is somewhere else!” Job finds within himself the faith to say: No. “I know that my Redeemer lives and that at last…after my skin has been thus destroyed, then in my flesh I shall see God…” (Job 19:25-26).
If you believe that the world will end in 2012, you can smile at the prediction that your health care benefits will run out in 2014.
To the Thessalonians, Paul not only condemns the rumors as false, he says, in effect: “How could the Lord leave you behind, when you are His beloved ones? You are special to Him, ‘first fruits’ of His Resurrection!” “But,” they might ask as we do today, “what about the Second Coming? Don’t I get to laugh at all those predictions of calamity after 2012 because that will be AFTER the Second Coming.”
Dare we interpret what Paul and Job are implying? “Forget about the Second Coming, because you are beloved of God!” Rest in His love. Laugh at calamity. Find the deep peace that can be within you when your skin may be abscessed but your heart sees the reality of God’s presence. This is a coming of God to you, only He’s always been there, but it is so surprising to become aware of His presence that it may appear to you that He has just arrived.
The Psalmist has such faith. He does not hesitate to address the Lord, and expects an answer. He also expects that God looks upon him as a precious individual: “Keep me as the apple of your eye; hide me in the shadow of your wings from the wicked…” (Ps.17: 8-9).
And so we come back to Jesus’ words in Luke’s Gospel: “God is not the God of the dead but of the living. All are alive for him” (Luke 20:38).
I asked my wife the other day: “How many galaxies do you think there are?” [She has to put up with such questions from me now and then, now that our children are grown]. I looked up the answer on the NASA site. It reported that the Hubble Space Telescope estimated in 1999 that there were 125 billion of them. Astronomers estimate that small galaxies have between a million and a billion stars in them. Big ones have billions of stars. Such thinking usually leads us to Psalm 8 (“What is man that you should be mindful of him?”), but it can also lead us to be completely in awe of our own belief that the creator of all this didn’t pass us by, does not ignore us, is as close to us as life itself. As in last week’s story about Zaccheus, we hear him pause by whatever tree we are up in and invite us to dinner.
The worldwide news is always full of disasters, which is certainly not surprising, since nothing in this universe is permanent. Still, you can’t help but wonder about how God can love and care for an individual, since so many people live and die each day. I read that the tsunami in Indonesia last year killed over 200,000 people! Thanks to the internet, we can access a world population clock. Here’s what it showed on October 31:
U.S.: 310,606,330
World: 6,878,635,170
21:29 UTC (EST+5) Oct 31, 2010
If we are all brothers and sisters, how can God love ME, when I have nearly 7 billion siblings? Such thinking is a bit humbling to our egos.
In the reading from 2 Thessalonians, Paul was dealing with a community really upset by the rumor that the second coming of the Lord had already occurred and that they had been left behind! In a way, they are like Job, as if saying: “Here I am, sitting out here scratching my diseased body, and the favor of the Lord is somewhere else!” Job finds within himself the faith to say: No. “I know that my Redeemer lives and that at last…after my skin has been thus destroyed, then in my flesh I shall see God…” (Job 19:25-26).
If you believe that the world will end in 2012, you can smile at the prediction that your health care benefits will run out in 2014.
To the Thessalonians, Paul not only condemns the rumors as false, he says, in effect: “How could the Lord leave you behind, when you are His beloved ones? You are special to Him, ‘first fruits’ of His Resurrection!” “But,” they might ask as we do today, “what about the Second Coming? Don’t I get to laugh at all those predictions of calamity after 2012 because that will be AFTER the Second Coming.”
Dare we interpret what Paul and Job are implying? “Forget about the Second Coming, because you are beloved of God!” Rest in His love. Laugh at calamity. Find the deep peace that can be within you when your skin may be abscessed but your heart sees the reality of God’s presence. This is a coming of God to you, only He’s always been there, but it is so surprising to become aware of His presence that it may appear to you that He has just arrived.
The Psalmist has such faith. He does not hesitate to address the Lord, and expects an answer. He also expects that God looks upon him as a precious individual: “Keep me as the apple of your eye; hide me in the shadow of your wings from the wicked…” (Ps.17: 8-9).
And so we come back to Jesus’ words in Luke’s Gospel: “God is not the God of the dead but of the living. All are alive for him” (Luke 20:38).
I asked my wife the other day: “How many galaxies do you think there are?” [She has to put up with such questions from me now and then, now that our children are grown]. I looked up the answer on the NASA site. It reported that the Hubble Space Telescope estimated in 1999 that there were 125 billion of them. Astronomers estimate that small galaxies have between a million and a billion stars in them. Big ones have billions of stars. Such thinking usually leads us to Psalm 8 (“What is man that you should be mindful of him?”), but it can also lead us to be completely in awe of our own belief that the creator of all this didn’t pass us by, does not ignore us, is as close to us as life itself. As in last week’s story about Zaccheus, we hear him pause by whatever tree we are up in and invite us to dinner.
Monday, October 25, 2010
Commentary on Lectionary for October 31, 2010
Isaiah 1:10-18; Psalm 32:1-7; 2 Thessalonians 1:1-4, 11-12; Luke 19:1-10
At our moving Taize service this month, a reading from James 5:16 counseled us to “confess [our] sins to one another so that [we] may be healed.” We have to load this advice up with complications, because we have issues of trust and confidentiality; people may gossip (“Do you know what Joe DID when he was younger?”); and some relationships will not survive confessions of infidelity and betrayal. But if you do find someone who knows all your sins and still accepts and loves you, it is a marvelous thing, and you can almost feel the healing.
Only once in my life was I in the exactly the right place in front of a grove of pine trees and the cones were at just the right state of ripeness so that when the sun came out, I could hear them popping open…That’s what I imagine the healing is like.
In the reading from Isaiah today, the prophet is brutal in detailing God’s disgust at Judah’s hypocrisy at observing rituals and festivals while acting unjustly, especially toward the wronged, the widows, and the orphans. Yet after telling the Israelites “Though you pray the more, I will not listen,” God promises through His prophet: “Let us set things right…Though your sins be like scarlet, they may become white as snow…” --Interesting choice of words. Not: “IF you set things right, THEN I’ll forgive your sins…” More like a collaborative effort: You’ll need my help to set things right; or I’ll help you set things right.
In 2 Thessalonians 1:11, Paul may be expressing this same promise of help from God when he prays that “our God may make you worthy of his call.”
The Psalmist sings the joy of acknowledging one’s sins and experiencing the great serenity of God’s forgiveness. God is portrayed as One Who reaches into our stress, our floods of distress, and shows us how to get out of it and to find shelter in Him.
Even in next week’s selection from Luke, where the Sadducees present Jesus with a far-fetched problem involving seven brothers marrying the same woman and then dying, Jesus speaks of a different reality, of a realm to which prayer can take us, of a shelter that has no weak walls, and of a life that knows no end. And that life, by implication, is where Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob reside and where our departed dear ones are, too.
At our moving Taize service this month, a reading from James 5:16 counseled us to “confess [our] sins to one another so that [we] may be healed.” We have to load this advice up with complications, because we have issues of trust and confidentiality; people may gossip (“Do you know what Joe DID when he was younger?”); and some relationships will not survive confessions of infidelity and betrayal. But if you do find someone who knows all your sins and still accepts and loves you, it is a marvelous thing, and you can almost feel the healing.
Only once in my life was I in the exactly the right place in front of a grove of pine trees and the cones were at just the right state of ripeness so that when the sun came out, I could hear them popping open…That’s what I imagine the healing is like.
In the reading from Isaiah today, the prophet is brutal in detailing God’s disgust at Judah’s hypocrisy at observing rituals and festivals while acting unjustly, especially toward the wronged, the widows, and the orphans. Yet after telling the Israelites “Though you pray the more, I will not listen,” God promises through His prophet: “Let us set things right…Though your sins be like scarlet, they may become white as snow…” --Interesting choice of words. Not: “IF you set things right, THEN I’ll forgive your sins…” More like a collaborative effort: You’ll need my help to set things right; or I’ll help you set things right.
In 2 Thessalonians 1:11, Paul may be expressing this same promise of help from God when he prays that “our God may make you worthy of his call.”
The Psalmist sings the joy of acknowledging one’s sins and experiencing the great serenity of God’s forgiveness. God is portrayed as One Who reaches into our stress, our floods of distress, and shows us how to get out of it and to find shelter in Him.
Even in next week’s selection from Luke, where the Sadducees present Jesus with a far-fetched problem involving seven brothers marrying the same woman and then dying, Jesus speaks of a different reality, of a realm to which prayer can take us, of a shelter that has no weak walls, and of a life that knows no end. And that life, by implication, is where Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob reside and where our departed dear ones are, too.
Monday, October 18, 2010
Commentary on Lectionary for October 24, 2010
Jeremiah 14:7-10, 19 – 22; Psalm 84:1-7; 2 Timothy 4:6-8, 16-18; Luke 18:9-14
Two women came to my door this week, wanting to talk about God and the Bible. I told them I probably wouldn’t read their literature, but they left it anyway. As I was about to throw it away, I noticed that one of the ladies had included a hand-written letter with the literature. This I read, admiring the deep-seated beliefs that prompted them to approach strangers and put up with so much rejection in the hope that someday someone would listen to their interpretation of the Scriptures and be saved.
The letter directed me to Matthew 6:9-13, which is the Our Father, and then went on-in the spirit of the Book of Revelation—to describe what a paradise there will be on earth for those who, I assume, are among the chosen saved ones.
Our reading from the gospel for today is not in Matthew, but in Luke. There are two people in the story, both men, both at the Temple to pray. They are not praying the Our Father. Jesus says the one is a Pharisee and he is grateful for his rigorous observance of the Law. He is thankful he is not like the rest of men. Then there’s a tax collector. He knows where he stands in terms of Temple worship and observance of the law. He doesn’t have the “points,” the good works, the evidence of largess, that could possibly gain God’s or his religion's favor. And so he beats his chest and asks for mercy. And something happens to him. He goes home “exalted.” Wouldn’t a synonym for that be “exhilarated,” “touched by God?”
As David Lose from Luther Seminary in Minnesota writes, this parable is ultimately not about a Pharisee and a Tax Collector, or about self-righteousness and humility—it’s about God and how He breaks down class distinctions and religious distinctions and how he usually comes down on the side of those who ARE down. The very next passage in Luke is about children—to such, Jesus says, the kingdom of God belongs.
There has been a lot written about the Kingdom of God, this place where God dwells and to which our earthly journey leads. Where is it? When Jesus tells us it is “not of this world,” and lets us conclude that neither the Pharisee nor the tax collector needed to go to the Temple to find God, we can now understand today’s Psalm in non-localized terms: “How lovely is your dwelling place, O Lord of hosts?” We can sing it using Braham’s haunting melody in his Requiem, and feel a full measure of His Peace. Truly “a day in your courts is better than a thousand elsewhere.” It keeps us going back to try prayer again and again, even during the desert times of our lives.
I can’t thank God for not attracting me or causing me to be born into a religion that goes door to door. But I can know that He loves those who are on BOTH sides of those doors. The way I read this parable, the point is NOT that the Pharisee is going to hell. The point is that the way to pray, to get in touch with God, is simply to throw out all you think you’ve done to deserve His Presence, and to just make room for Him. And if you want to use words, those of both the Our Father or the prayer of the tax collector will suffice. You can even complain loudly as the widow did before the unjust judge, or the people in Jeremiah’s time who did not at all like how God was dealing with them, but concluded by admitting, much like the tax collector’s prayer implied: “We set our hope on you.”
Two women came to my door this week, wanting to talk about God and the Bible. I told them I probably wouldn’t read their literature, but they left it anyway. As I was about to throw it away, I noticed that one of the ladies had included a hand-written letter with the literature. This I read, admiring the deep-seated beliefs that prompted them to approach strangers and put up with so much rejection in the hope that someday someone would listen to their interpretation of the Scriptures and be saved.
The letter directed me to Matthew 6:9-13, which is the Our Father, and then went on-in the spirit of the Book of Revelation—to describe what a paradise there will be on earth for those who, I assume, are among the chosen saved ones.
Our reading from the gospel for today is not in Matthew, but in Luke. There are two people in the story, both men, both at the Temple to pray. They are not praying the Our Father. Jesus says the one is a Pharisee and he is grateful for his rigorous observance of the Law. He is thankful he is not like the rest of men. Then there’s a tax collector. He knows where he stands in terms of Temple worship and observance of the law. He doesn’t have the “points,” the good works, the evidence of largess, that could possibly gain God’s or his religion's favor. And so he beats his chest and asks for mercy. And something happens to him. He goes home “exalted.” Wouldn’t a synonym for that be “exhilarated,” “touched by God?”
As David Lose from Luther Seminary in Minnesota writes, this parable is ultimately not about a Pharisee and a Tax Collector, or about self-righteousness and humility—it’s about God and how He breaks down class distinctions and religious distinctions and how he usually comes down on the side of those who ARE down. The very next passage in Luke is about children—to such, Jesus says, the kingdom of God belongs.
There has been a lot written about the Kingdom of God, this place where God dwells and to which our earthly journey leads. Where is it? When Jesus tells us it is “not of this world,” and lets us conclude that neither the Pharisee nor the tax collector needed to go to the Temple to find God, we can now understand today’s Psalm in non-localized terms: “How lovely is your dwelling place, O Lord of hosts?” We can sing it using Braham’s haunting melody in his Requiem, and feel a full measure of His Peace. Truly “a day in your courts is better than a thousand elsewhere.” It keeps us going back to try prayer again and again, even during the desert times of our lives.
I can’t thank God for not attracting me or causing me to be born into a religion that goes door to door. But I can know that He loves those who are on BOTH sides of those doors. The way I read this parable, the point is NOT that the Pharisee is going to hell. The point is that the way to pray, to get in touch with God, is simply to throw out all you think you’ve done to deserve His Presence, and to just make room for Him. And if you want to use words, those of both the Our Father or the prayer of the tax collector will suffice. You can even complain loudly as the widow did before the unjust judge, or the people in Jeremiah’s time who did not at all like how God was dealing with them, but concluded by admitting, much like the tax collector’s prayer implied: “We set our hope on you.”
Monday, October 11, 2010
Commentary on Lectionary for October 17, 2010
Genesis 32:22-31; Jeremiah 31:27-34; Psalm 121:1-8; 2 Timothy 3:14-4:5; Luke 18:1-8
I am writing this from Tucson, where Psalm 121 seems especially appropriate. In every direction you look, there are mountains: the Catalinas, the Santa Ritas, the Tucsons, and the Rincons. If you journeyed into them, you would indeed need to call upon the Lord for help, because there are mountain lions, rattlesnakes, scorpions, tarantulas, and the ever present scorching sun sucking up every drop of moisture. Going back to work after a wonderful vacation must feel a little like encountering those critters.
The Psalmist promises: "He who keeps Israel will neither slumber nor sleep." --Israel--that name given to Jacob after he wrestled all night with a man he later recognized as God ("I have seen the face of God and lived!"). In Genesis 32, Jacob, too, was traveling and was afraid because his brother Esau was close on his heels with 400 men--Esau, whom he had cheated out of his inheritance. The knowledge that if harm came to Jacob and his family, it was his own fault, must have tasted bitter.
And that's the message Jeremiah was communicating to the descendants of that same Israel: the Babylonians are coming! Our civilization is unraveling, and much of this has been brought upon ourselves because we have lost our way.
2 Timothy puts a solution in focus for all of these travelers: the living word of God, the word that Jeremiah prophesied is written on our hearts, can remind us of the direction we should be taking. These sacred, ancient words can remind us with whom we are wrestling--not as proof texts, not as weapons, but as a powerful wind blowing the dust from our path and gently but powerfully turning us toward the places where His Spirit waits. The awfully wondrous fact is that God has given us freedom and so He does not guarantee himself a win every time. We usually manage to withhold some piece of dross within ourselves, yet even though we can never win this struggle with God, we limp along with the marvelous knowledge that we have been touched by Him!
He blesses us and continues to listen to us. He apparently wants us to continue our journey through life, with all its scorpions and snakes, with the confidence that--unlike the judge in Luke 18--his help will come to us and abide with us, especially when we side with the widows and victims of injustice.
I am writing this from Tucson, where Psalm 121 seems especially appropriate. In every direction you look, there are mountains: the Catalinas, the Santa Ritas, the Tucsons, and the Rincons. If you journeyed into them, you would indeed need to call upon the Lord for help, because there are mountain lions, rattlesnakes, scorpions, tarantulas, and the ever present scorching sun sucking up every drop of moisture. Going back to work after a wonderful vacation must feel a little like encountering those critters.
The Psalmist promises: "He who keeps Israel will neither slumber nor sleep." --Israel--that name given to Jacob after he wrestled all night with a man he later recognized as God ("I have seen the face of God and lived!"). In Genesis 32, Jacob, too, was traveling and was afraid because his brother Esau was close on his heels with 400 men--Esau, whom he had cheated out of his inheritance. The knowledge that if harm came to Jacob and his family, it was his own fault, must have tasted bitter.
And that's the message Jeremiah was communicating to the descendants of that same Israel: the Babylonians are coming! Our civilization is unraveling, and much of this has been brought upon ourselves because we have lost our way.
2 Timothy puts a solution in focus for all of these travelers: the living word of God, the word that Jeremiah prophesied is written on our hearts, can remind us of the direction we should be taking. These sacred, ancient words can remind us with whom we are wrestling--not as proof texts, not as weapons, but as a powerful wind blowing the dust from our path and gently but powerfully turning us toward the places where His Spirit waits. The awfully wondrous fact is that God has given us freedom and so He does not guarantee himself a win every time. We usually manage to withhold some piece of dross within ourselves, yet even though we can never win this struggle with God, we limp along with the marvelous knowledge that we have been touched by Him!
He blesses us and continues to listen to us. He apparently wants us to continue our journey through life, with all its scorpions and snakes, with the confidence that--unlike the judge in Luke 18--his help will come to us and abide with us, especially when we side with the widows and victims of injustice.
Monday, October 4, 2010
Commentary on Lectionary for October 10, 2010
20th Sunday after Pentecost
2 Kings 5:1-3, 7-15c; Psalm 111; 2 Timothy 2:8-15; Luke 17:11-19
Two themes tie these readings together this Sunday: leprosy and thanksgiving. Second Kings tells the story of Naaman’s healing from leprosy by the prophet Elisha. Naaman knew to go into Jewish territory for a cure because his wife’s servant girl was from Israel and she knew of the prophet’s powers. The cure led to Naaman’s promise to worship only Israel’s true God (although he confessed he would still have to accompany his own King to the temple of Rimmon; but he asked forgiveness for that ahead of time)! The story gets ‘curiouser and curiouser’ when Elisha’s servant Gehazi commits a little greedy deceit in order to get some of the riches Naaman brought with him (and offered to Elisha, by the way, but he wouldn’t take anything). So Elisha curses Gehazi and the servant ends up getting Naaman’s leprosy!
The Psalm is one of thanksgiving for all the great and wondrous things our God does for us and provides for us (such as food and the law). This thanksgiving, says the Psalmist, he will proclaim publicly, in the assembly, for all to hear.
Luke’s Gospel is the story of Jesus curing ten lepers and having only one—the Samaritan—come back to thank him. The ten weren’t cured instantly. Jesus sent them off to the priests so they could be certified as free of leprosy and thus regain their ability to mix with their families and society. It was while they were traveling to the priests that they became cleansed of the leprosy. The Samaritan returned to fall at Jesus feet, giving thanks to him, and Jesus remarked that he was the only one to do so, and pointed out that he was a ‘foreigner.’ Jesus tells him to stand up and go; his faith has made him well (one commentator points out that the Greek word really means, “your faith has saved you”).
Only Second Timothy is outside of the two themes, probably because we are working our way straight through this letter at the same time as we are progressing through Luke. If we were to make a connection, we might say that Paul does not want Timothy to be like Elisha’s servant, but to stand by Paul as Paul stands by Jesus, to have the courage to endure hardships, imprisonment, whatever—for the sake of others. They are to LIVE the Gospel and not just “wrangle about words.”
How apply all of this? To practice staying connected to the divine, as Jesus did and as Paul did, cures us of our leprosy—all the bad stuff that eats away at us, imprisons us and makes us unfit for transforming society. Staying connected with God’s real presence lets us live thankful lives. His touch makes us free enough of our structures, our bondage, that—like the Samaritan--we can return in gratitude to the One who loves us. Our job is to give God room to touch us. I don’t know how to do that without daily prayer, daily practice of quieting our minds, saying our mantra, making room for thanks.
2 Kings 5:1-3, 7-15c; Psalm 111; 2 Timothy 2:8-15; Luke 17:11-19
Two themes tie these readings together this Sunday: leprosy and thanksgiving. Second Kings tells the story of Naaman’s healing from leprosy by the prophet Elisha. Naaman knew to go into Jewish territory for a cure because his wife’s servant girl was from Israel and she knew of the prophet’s powers. The cure led to Naaman’s promise to worship only Israel’s true God (although he confessed he would still have to accompany his own King to the temple of Rimmon; but he asked forgiveness for that ahead of time)! The story gets ‘curiouser and curiouser’ when Elisha’s servant Gehazi commits a little greedy deceit in order to get some of the riches Naaman brought with him (and offered to Elisha, by the way, but he wouldn’t take anything). So Elisha curses Gehazi and the servant ends up getting Naaman’s leprosy!
The Psalm is one of thanksgiving for all the great and wondrous things our God does for us and provides for us (such as food and the law). This thanksgiving, says the Psalmist, he will proclaim publicly, in the assembly, for all to hear.
Luke’s Gospel is the story of Jesus curing ten lepers and having only one—the Samaritan—come back to thank him. The ten weren’t cured instantly. Jesus sent them off to the priests so they could be certified as free of leprosy and thus regain their ability to mix with their families and society. It was while they were traveling to the priests that they became cleansed of the leprosy. The Samaritan returned to fall at Jesus feet, giving thanks to him, and Jesus remarked that he was the only one to do so, and pointed out that he was a ‘foreigner.’ Jesus tells him to stand up and go; his faith has made him well (one commentator points out that the Greek word really means, “your faith has saved you”).
Only Second Timothy is outside of the two themes, probably because we are working our way straight through this letter at the same time as we are progressing through Luke. If we were to make a connection, we might say that Paul does not want Timothy to be like Elisha’s servant, but to stand by Paul as Paul stands by Jesus, to have the courage to endure hardships, imprisonment, whatever—for the sake of others. They are to LIVE the Gospel and not just “wrangle about words.”
How apply all of this? To practice staying connected to the divine, as Jesus did and as Paul did, cures us of our leprosy—all the bad stuff that eats away at us, imprisons us and makes us unfit for transforming society. Staying connected with God’s real presence lets us live thankful lives. His touch makes us free enough of our structures, our bondage, that—like the Samaritan--we can return in gratitude to the One who loves us. Our job is to give God room to touch us. I don’t know how to do that without daily prayer, daily practice of quieting our minds, saying our mantra, making room for thanks.
Sunday, September 26, 2010
Commentary on Lectionary for October 3, 2010
19th Sunday after Pentecost
Habakkuk 1:1-4; 2:1-4; Psalm 37:1-9; 2 Timothy 1:1-14; Luke 17:5-10
Both Habakkuk and the Psalmist are asking the same question about their life situations: What’s going on here? Why are we being so oppressed? Why are those oppressing us seeming to PROSPER? Aren’t WE the chosen ones, the beloved of the all-powerful God?
Habakkuk complains to God about this and asks for an answer. God’s answer is: Wait for the vision. You need to have a vision. And in chapter 3, the vision seems to be that God will arrive like a house of fire and level everything in a grand display of retributive justice.
The Psalmist, however, keeps saying: “Be not vexed!” “Do not fret.” Wait for the Lord. In verse 10, the Psalmist assures us that the wicked will “be no more.” Again and again the just, the meek, are assured that they will win, and their winning will translate into possession of the land.
Does the Old Testament vision change in the New Testament? In Luke 17, Jesus acknowledges the evil that even is directed at children and causes them to ‘stumble.’ He hates it. But right after his saying about millstones tied around the necks of those who corrupt little ones, another saying calls for forgiveness. And then he moves on to talk about faith. His vision is of his disciples having faith, even as small as a mustard seed. The vision is that all of the evil in the world cannot cause you to lose faith and once possessed of this gift, you have the power to change things, even impossible things, as difficult to move as trees (Luke) or mountains (Mark). In another place, Jesus makes it clear that 'winning' over evil will not be a matter of acreage, but of transformation.
The Pauline author’s last words to Timothy in his second letter are similar: stay close to God and cowardice won’t get control of you in the face of wickedness. You will be transformed.
Maybe it’s a mistake to attempt to tie these four readings together. But the creators of the lectionary did it in presenting them to us on this Sunday. I mean, we could also ask: is the Old Testament connected with the New Testament? Are the sacraments connected with the commandments? Are the letters connected to the Gospels? --In many ways, yes. Do our attempts to live as people of faith run in separate channels?
No. More and more spiritual leaders are fighting dualistic thinking and trying to get back to that single vision, that unity which is epitomized in Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.
Habakkuk 1:1-4; 2:1-4; Psalm 37:1-9; 2 Timothy 1:1-14; Luke 17:5-10
Both Habakkuk and the Psalmist are asking the same question about their life situations: What’s going on here? Why are we being so oppressed? Why are those oppressing us seeming to PROSPER? Aren’t WE the chosen ones, the beloved of the all-powerful God?
Habakkuk complains to God about this and asks for an answer. God’s answer is: Wait for the vision. You need to have a vision. And in chapter 3, the vision seems to be that God will arrive like a house of fire and level everything in a grand display of retributive justice.
The Psalmist, however, keeps saying: “Be not vexed!” “Do not fret.” Wait for the Lord. In verse 10, the Psalmist assures us that the wicked will “be no more.” Again and again the just, the meek, are assured that they will win, and their winning will translate into possession of the land.
Does the Old Testament vision change in the New Testament? In Luke 17, Jesus acknowledges the evil that even is directed at children and causes them to ‘stumble.’ He hates it. But right after his saying about millstones tied around the necks of those who corrupt little ones, another saying calls for forgiveness. And then he moves on to talk about faith. His vision is of his disciples having faith, even as small as a mustard seed. The vision is that all of the evil in the world cannot cause you to lose faith and once possessed of this gift, you have the power to change things, even impossible things, as difficult to move as trees (Luke) or mountains (Mark). In another place, Jesus makes it clear that 'winning' over evil will not be a matter of acreage, but of transformation.
The Pauline author’s last words to Timothy in his second letter are similar: stay close to God and cowardice won’t get control of you in the face of wickedness. You will be transformed.
Maybe it’s a mistake to attempt to tie these four readings together. But the creators of the lectionary did it in presenting them to us on this Sunday. I mean, we could also ask: is the Old Testament connected with the New Testament? Are the sacraments connected with the commandments? Are the letters connected to the Gospels? --In many ways, yes. Do our attempts to live as people of faith run in separate channels?
No. More and more spiritual leaders are fighting dualistic thinking and trying to get back to that single vision, that unity which is epitomized in Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.
Monday, September 20, 2010
Commentary on Lectionary for September 26, 2010
18th Sunday after Pentecost
Amos 6:1a, 4-7, Psalm 146, 1 Timothy 6:6-19, Luke 16:19-31
A lot in the book of Amos is about God’s anger, including this passage. A website named enterthebible.org states, “Without the concept of God's anger, God's love is an empty concept.” What do you think of that? According to this website, God hates oppressors. The concept of God as a hater is a cherished one, paradoxically, as long as WE can decide whom He should hate. Some of the religious people in Jesus’ time felt that Jesus should hate the tax collectors and prostitutes and sinners, as they did. But he didn’t. And that’s the problem. “You’ve got to be taught to hate the world…you’ve got to be carefully taught”—remember that musical?
So back to Amos. Why do we assign an emotion like anger to God? --Because we cannot conceive of a Being who is always loving, who loves everyone, whose very essence is love. That sounds too namby/ pamby, too naïve, too touchy-feely, too IMPOSSIBLE. We are outraged at what people do to other people—just think of the scams and greed and bribes and corruption that have hurt so many. It makes us furious! Open your spam email and count the number of emails that are asking you to wire money somewhere to claim your winnings, and the sheer number of them and the gall of them make you furious that people would use this technology that has such potential for good, to defraud innocent people. Just read about war and the atrocities that seem to accompany war like kissing cousins. They make us all want to don the mantle of prophecy and to throw oracles like lightning bolts against the perpetrators of such evil.
What some preachers say is that God gets angry because he loves us. But when a loved one is truly angry with us, especially when He has the power to disintegrate us, it doesn’t feel much like love. And if we change our behavior because we are scared stiff of eternal damnation, fire, burning flesh and all the other terrible punishments we have been threatened with in our misguided youth, it is VERY difficult to see those as love, and then in middle age—bent over with guilt--to turn around in love toward that person who has threatened us “within an inch of our lives.“ The prodigal son didn’t return, according to scripture, because he feared thunderbolts from on high. He returned because he recognized the beneficence of his father, even toward that father’s hired hands.
What this country needs, say some, is more sermons that tell it like it is and threaten people with the fire and brimstone that would make Amos happy. This “anything goes” culture has got to go, they clamor. I agree. But for me, the way it will be transformed, is not by threats. It COULD happen by consequences. The consequences of selfish and oppressive, dishonest and violent behavior can certainly rain down upon our heads. These are NOT God-caused. These are the results of cheating, defrauding, oppressing. The poor may rise up. The FBI may come with handcuffs and chains. The people may unite in demanding an end to corruption. But anyone experiencing these just consequences for terrible, egotistic acts, can turn to God and KNOW that He loves. He cannot do otherwise. He does not know how to hate because He is positive and hate is negative; He is good and hate is evil; He is light and hate is darkness—you get the idea.
As Richard Rohr writes in The Naked Now, p. 60: “We already know far more than Jesus or Buddha ever knew, but the great difference is that they knew what they did know from a different level and from a different way. The same powerful scripture text that brings a loving person to even greater love will be mangled and misused by a fearful or egocentric person.”
Psalm 146 reminds us on whose side God is: He sides with the oppressed, the needy, the poor. He sides with those who rely on Him. Again the point seems to be to open ourselves to the experience, the love, of God. The Pauline letter to Timothy states it boldly: set our hopes on God, because to set them on money is to trip on the root of a LOT of evils—all of which lead to unhappiness and an unfulfilled life.
I had a chance recently and passed it up. A waitress in a restaurant I was in dropped a dish and it broke. The manager made a big and loud point of the fact that this expense would be deducted from the young woman’s pay. At first, I thought he was kidding. But then he repeated it and I thought: this woman is being paid close to minimum wage. I make much more than that. Why don’t I go back and offer her the $5 that will be deducted from her pay? After all, it was an accident. She hadn’t thrown the dish against the wall (or at the head of her employer). But I didn’t do it. I walked out. I felt it was none of my business and I might make things worse. But now I regret it. People underestimate, I’ve learned, the happiness that comes from being generous and giving money away. I resolved to go back when there is a next time.
Jesus’ story in Luke 16 about the Rich Man and Lazarus has given me nightmares. Is this how I treat the poor? Yes, I donate to the Cleveland Foodbank and to other charities, but is that enough? Stop. Does this parable make it clear that Jesus could not possibly love ME? --Because I have too much money? –Because I am not generous enough? –Because I have not given enough of it away? I have not travelled to foreign countries to establish schools and clinics and distribution points. I have not risked my life… Stop. The solution for us who are relatively wealthy is to acknowledge its irrelevance to happiness; to become needy in spirit; to cast our material cares on the Lord; to hope—not in our wise investments—but in His presence.
And so I come to the greatest test of my faith, and it is this one test question: “Can God possibly love ME?” Those who know, who are ‘experts’ in prayer, gurus of the spirit say: God cannot NOT love you. He IS love. And so, I imagine he might just see me there, climbed up in my tree with all its branches of fear and guilt and attachments, and he might look up and say: “Come down. I want to eat supper with you.”
Amos 6:1a, 4-7, Psalm 146, 1 Timothy 6:6-19, Luke 16:19-31
A lot in the book of Amos is about God’s anger, including this passage. A website named enterthebible.org states, “Without the concept of God's anger, God's love is an empty concept.” What do you think of that? According to this website, God hates oppressors. The concept of God as a hater is a cherished one, paradoxically, as long as WE can decide whom He should hate. Some of the religious people in Jesus’ time felt that Jesus should hate the tax collectors and prostitutes and sinners, as they did. But he didn’t. And that’s the problem. “You’ve got to be taught to hate the world…you’ve got to be carefully taught”—remember that musical?
So back to Amos. Why do we assign an emotion like anger to God? --Because we cannot conceive of a Being who is always loving, who loves everyone, whose very essence is love. That sounds too namby/ pamby, too naïve, too touchy-feely, too IMPOSSIBLE. We are outraged at what people do to other people—just think of the scams and greed and bribes and corruption that have hurt so many. It makes us furious! Open your spam email and count the number of emails that are asking you to wire money somewhere to claim your winnings, and the sheer number of them and the gall of them make you furious that people would use this technology that has such potential for good, to defraud innocent people. Just read about war and the atrocities that seem to accompany war like kissing cousins. They make us all want to don the mantle of prophecy and to throw oracles like lightning bolts against the perpetrators of such evil.
What some preachers say is that God gets angry because he loves us. But when a loved one is truly angry with us, especially when He has the power to disintegrate us, it doesn’t feel much like love. And if we change our behavior because we are scared stiff of eternal damnation, fire, burning flesh and all the other terrible punishments we have been threatened with in our misguided youth, it is VERY difficult to see those as love, and then in middle age—bent over with guilt--to turn around in love toward that person who has threatened us “within an inch of our lives.“ The prodigal son didn’t return, according to scripture, because he feared thunderbolts from on high. He returned because he recognized the beneficence of his father, even toward that father’s hired hands.
What this country needs, say some, is more sermons that tell it like it is and threaten people with the fire and brimstone that would make Amos happy. This “anything goes” culture has got to go, they clamor. I agree. But for me, the way it will be transformed, is not by threats. It COULD happen by consequences. The consequences of selfish and oppressive, dishonest and violent behavior can certainly rain down upon our heads. These are NOT God-caused. These are the results of cheating, defrauding, oppressing. The poor may rise up. The FBI may come with handcuffs and chains. The people may unite in demanding an end to corruption. But anyone experiencing these just consequences for terrible, egotistic acts, can turn to God and KNOW that He loves. He cannot do otherwise. He does not know how to hate because He is positive and hate is negative; He is good and hate is evil; He is light and hate is darkness—you get the idea.
As Richard Rohr writes in The Naked Now, p. 60: “We already know far more than Jesus or Buddha ever knew, but the great difference is that they knew what they did know from a different level and from a different way. The same powerful scripture text that brings a loving person to even greater love will be mangled and misused by a fearful or egocentric person.”
Psalm 146 reminds us on whose side God is: He sides with the oppressed, the needy, the poor. He sides with those who rely on Him. Again the point seems to be to open ourselves to the experience, the love, of God. The Pauline letter to Timothy states it boldly: set our hopes on God, because to set them on money is to trip on the root of a LOT of evils—all of which lead to unhappiness and an unfulfilled life.
I had a chance recently and passed it up. A waitress in a restaurant I was in dropped a dish and it broke. The manager made a big and loud point of the fact that this expense would be deducted from the young woman’s pay. At first, I thought he was kidding. But then he repeated it and I thought: this woman is being paid close to minimum wage. I make much more than that. Why don’t I go back and offer her the $5 that will be deducted from her pay? After all, it was an accident. She hadn’t thrown the dish against the wall (or at the head of her employer). But I didn’t do it. I walked out. I felt it was none of my business and I might make things worse. But now I regret it. People underestimate, I’ve learned, the happiness that comes from being generous and giving money away. I resolved to go back when there is a next time.
Jesus’ story in Luke 16 about the Rich Man and Lazarus has given me nightmares. Is this how I treat the poor? Yes, I donate to the Cleveland Foodbank and to other charities, but is that enough? Stop. Does this parable make it clear that Jesus could not possibly love ME? --Because I have too much money? –Because I am not generous enough? –Because I have not given enough of it away? I have not travelled to foreign countries to establish schools and clinics and distribution points. I have not risked my life… Stop. The solution for us who are relatively wealthy is to acknowledge its irrelevance to happiness; to become needy in spirit; to cast our material cares on the Lord; to hope—not in our wise investments—but in His presence.
And so I come to the greatest test of my faith, and it is this one test question: “Can God possibly love ME?” Those who know, who are ‘experts’ in prayer, gurus of the spirit say: God cannot NOT love you. He IS love. And so, I imagine he might just see me there, climbed up in my tree with all its branches of fear and guilt and attachments, and he might look up and say: “Come down. I want to eat supper with you.”
Sunday, September 12, 2010
Commentary on Lectionary for September 19, 2010--25C
Amos 8:4-7; Psalm 113; 1 Timothy 2:1-7; Luke 16:1-13
Amos is one of the so-called “minor prophets,” a shepherd (1:1) turned poet and prophet during the prosperous reign of King Jeroboam II in the 8th century BCE. He prophesied in the northern kingdom, called Israel, from one of the royal sanctuaries until he was kicked out by the priest in charge (7:12) because of his harsh oracles.
These few verses are about justice—specifically about not cheating people by using false scales or enslaving them because they owe you some money for sandals. When acquiring money by unjust means is your target, keeping the Sabbath and observing other laws that level the playing field between rich and poor (such as forgiving debts, for example), are simply an unwelcome distraction, a pious nuisance. Corruption becomes a way of doing business. Sound familiar?
Where is God in all this? Amos makes Him out to be an almighty avenger who will exact terrible vengeance on these people who are so proud: “I will make the sun set at midday…I will turn your feasts into mourning…and make every head bald…and bring their day to a bitter end” (Amos 8:9-10). Those verses are outside our reading today, and we can also look outside of Amos’s worldview at a different concept of God. Jesus gives it to us—a God who hates not us, but our pain; a God who cries with the destitute and motivates his lovers to do something about their state.
Remember last week’s Gospel stories about lost sheep and lost coins? True, we are all lost, but once we are found by the Relentless Pursuer (remember The Hound of Heaven?), then we ourselves want to come to the aid of the destitute, to go find some lost sheep, to be sweepers in the dark corners of life.
Psalm 113 talks about God as “above the heavens…enthroned on high,” which may be one of the reasons we look UP when we pray and have an idea of God as “out there” somewhere. Again we can get caught up in the idea of a mighty God wreaking justice by raising “up the lowly from the dust…to seat them with princes.” But if we can get out of the king/power/winners-losers paradigm, we can see God as one for whom everyone is of equal importance—those on the dunghills of life and those in the palaces. Both are called to respond to his love and to take care of each other according to their means (which means the prince has the bigger obligation).
1 Timothy makes this clear: God “wants all men to be saved and come to know the truth” (4). In fact, the Pauline writer implies that the kings and those in authority can do a lot to make it possible for all of us to live “tranquil lives in piety” (2b). And so we should pray for them and thank God for good ones.
In the Gospel of Luke, Jesus tells a story about a wealthy owner who found out his manager was cheating him. Fearing he was going to be fired and out on the street, the manager made friends with those who owed him money by cutting their debts in half. He did what he needed to do, and he was praised for it.
What WE need to do, says Jesus, is to learn that all wealth is temporary. It doesn’t last. In itself, it can’t even make us happy. [Did you see the study that found that after reaching $75,000, more money does NOT increase happiness?] So why do we have it? Should we use it to level the playing field? To look around to see if anyone is destitute and needs it?
Few of us have the courage to do much of that. See the poignant comic strip at: http://www.freethunk.net/russells-teapot/comics-russells-teapot-strip-10.php.The rich young man goes away sad (but still loved!). We may need to do something first. We are lost in all this “stuff;” we need to allow ourselves to be found. Once we experience the God who loves us, there will be no need to serve money.
Amos is one of the so-called “minor prophets,” a shepherd (1:1) turned poet and prophet during the prosperous reign of King Jeroboam II in the 8th century BCE. He prophesied in the northern kingdom, called Israel, from one of the royal sanctuaries until he was kicked out by the priest in charge (7:12) because of his harsh oracles.
These few verses are about justice—specifically about not cheating people by using false scales or enslaving them because they owe you some money for sandals. When acquiring money by unjust means is your target, keeping the Sabbath and observing other laws that level the playing field between rich and poor (such as forgiving debts, for example), are simply an unwelcome distraction, a pious nuisance. Corruption becomes a way of doing business. Sound familiar?
Where is God in all this? Amos makes Him out to be an almighty avenger who will exact terrible vengeance on these people who are so proud: “I will make the sun set at midday…I will turn your feasts into mourning…and make every head bald…and bring their day to a bitter end” (Amos 8:9-10). Those verses are outside our reading today, and we can also look outside of Amos’s worldview at a different concept of God. Jesus gives it to us—a God who hates not us, but our pain; a God who cries with the destitute and motivates his lovers to do something about their state.
Remember last week’s Gospel stories about lost sheep and lost coins? True, we are all lost, but once we are found by the Relentless Pursuer (remember The Hound of Heaven?), then we ourselves want to come to the aid of the destitute, to go find some lost sheep, to be sweepers in the dark corners of life.
Psalm 113 talks about God as “above the heavens…enthroned on high,” which may be one of the reasons we look UP when we pray and have an idea of God as “out there” somewhere. Again we can get caught up in the idea of a mighty God wreaking justice by raising “up the lowly from the dust…to seat them with princes.” But if we can get out of the king/power/winners-losers paradigm, we can see God as one for whom everyone is of equal importance—those on the dunghills of life and those in the palaces. Both are called to respond to his love and to take care of each other according to their means (which means the prince has the bigger obligation).
1 Timothy makes this clear: God “wants all men to be saved and come to know the truth” (4). In fact, the Pauline writer implies that the kings and those in authority can do a lot to make it possible for all of us to live “tranquil lives in piety” (2b). And so we should pray for them and thank God for good ones.
In the Gospel of Luke, Jesus tells a story about a wealthy owner who found out his manager was cheating him. Fearing he was going to be fired and out on the street, the manager made friends with those who owed him money by cutting their debts in half. He did what he needed to do, and he was praised for it.
What WE need to do, says Jesus, is to learn that all wealth is temporary. It doesn’t last. In itself, it can’t even make us happy. [Did you see the study that found that after reaching $75,000, more money does NOT increase happiness?] So why do we have it? Should we use it to level the playing field? To look around to see if anyone is destitute and needs it?
Few of us have the courage to do much of that. See the poignant comic strip at: http://www.freethunk.net/russells-teapot/comics-russells-teapot-strip-10.php.The rich young man goes away sad (but still loved!). We may need to do something first. We are lost in all this “stuff;” we need to allow ourselves to be found. Once we experience the God who loves us, there will be no need to serve money.
Saturday, September 4, 2010
Commentary on Lectionary for September 12, 2010--Ordinary 24C
16th Sunday after Pentecost
When you are being screamed at by an irate boss, it takes everything in you to keep In touch with an inner self that knows you are a good person and that believes the boss can’t destroy that certitude. Reading Moses’ speech in Deuteronomy 30:15-20 last Sunday required you to keep your balance. If you have been brought up with a terrifying concept of God, this passage will only add to it or throw you back into it.
In those extremely rough days—no electricity, no escape from the heat, little food, scarce water, unclear direction—Moses had a tough time reminding all those people what they were doing and why. “Do you really want to go back there to Egypt? Must I remind you what the situation was really like there? Can you not retain your belief in a God who offers you life In the midst of this difficult journey?” Keep choosing God, Moses seemed to be saying, no matter how hard it gets.
This week’s first reading switches to Exodus 32:7-14. It is a famous story. It’s a story of what can happen when people are led into strange new territory and then the leader disappears. Is he coming back? When? So what do we do now? Aren’t we supposed to be GOING somewhere? You can imagine the bickering, the attempts by one after the other to put forward their ideas. But finally they settle on Aaron, the brother of Moses, as leader, but one they can control.
The people longed for an icon, something tangible, an image. They were willing to pay big money for it—to bring Aaron all their gold and jewelry. Wow! At this point, many preachers will remind us of a long list of things that WE substitute for God. And we squirm in our seats and try not to feel guilty.
But Thomas Keating says that the greatest gift we can give God is to allow Him to love us! He says that we cannot separate His might, His omnipotence, from His mercy, His forgiveness. Makes you wonder what would have happened if Aaron had proclaimed a series of sessions on how to pray and taught people how to use this wilderness experience as a way to contact God, or, better, as a way to let God contact them, each and every person. And the way that’s expressed in this passage from Exodus is that Moses gets God to change His mind about destroying the people. Unfortunately, we take from this passage the idea that we must pray harder, amass points, find someone holy (Jesus?) to intercede with God so that He will change His mind and be forgiving, kind and loving to us. NOT NECESSARY. The message of Jesus is: the Father loves you and wants to be one with you.
Getting to that openness so that His love can fill it can be like a journey through the desert and an exodus from the familiar. And so Psalm 51 is still appropriate: "Create in me [us] a pure heart, O God, and renew a steadfast spirit within me [us]." An ‘examination of consciousness’ is still helpful, if—in Eckhard Tolle’s insight—the examination carries us to the knowledge of the Being that is beyond our situational life, beyond our boss’s rants, and beyond space and time.
In 1 Timothy 1:12-17, the Pauline author acknowledges his sinfulness, but explains that he obtained mercy because he did sinful things “ignorantly, in unbelief” (1:13). But many of us don’t have that excuse. However, we do have Jesus’ words from the cross: “Father, forgive them , because they do not know what they are doing” (Luke 23:34). And the Father does just that.
Jesus models the Father’s concern by associating with sinners and telling stories about lost sheep and lost coins. The owners drop everything and everyone to go look (Luke 15: 1-10). And when the owners find the sheep and the coin, there is great rejoicing. And when we are found, there will be great rejoicing!
When you are being screamed at by an irate boss, it takes everything in you to keep In touch with an inner self that knows you are a good person and that believes the boss can’t destroy that certitude. Reading Moses’ speech in Deuteronomy 30:15-20 last Sunday required you to keep your balance. If you have been brought up with a terrifying concept of God, this passage will only add to it or throw you back into it.
In those extremely rough days—no electricity, no escape from the heat, little food, scarce water, unclear direction—Moses had a tough time reminding all those people what they were doing and why. “Do you really want to go back there to Egypt? Must I remind you what the situation was really like there? Can you not retain your belief in a God who offers you life In the midst of this difficult journey?” Keep choosing God, Moses seemed to be saying, no matter how hard it gets.
This week’s first reading switches to Exodus 32:7-14. It is a famous story. It’s a story of what can happen when people are led into strange new territory and then the leader disappears. Is he coming back? When? So what do we do now? Aren’t we supposed to be GOING somewhere? You can imagine the bickering, the attempts by one after the other to put forward their ideas. But finally they settle on Aaron, the brother of Moses, as leader, but one they can control.
The people longed for an icon, something tangible, an image. They were willing to pay big money for it—to bring Aaron all their gold and jewelry. Wow! At this point, many preachers will remind us of a long list of things that WE substitute for God. And we squirm in our seats and try not to feel guilty.
But Thomas Keating says that the greatest gift we can give God is to allow Him to love us! He says that we cannot separate His might, His omnipotence, from His mercy, His forgiveness. Makes you wonder what would have happened if Aaron had proclaimed a series of sessions on how to pray and taught people how to use this wilderness experience as a way to contact God, or, better, as a way to let God contact them, each and every person. And the way that’s expressed in this passage from Exodus is that Moses gets God to change His mind about destroying the people. Unfortunately, we take from this passage the idea that we must pray harder, amass points, find someone holy (Jesus?) to intercede with God so that He will change His mind and be forgiving, kind and loving to us. NOT NECESSARY. The message of Jesus is: the Father loves you and wants to be one with you.
Getting to that openness so that His love can fill it can be like a journey through the desert and an exodus from the familiar. And so Psalm 51 is still appropriate: "Create in me [us] a pure heart, O God, and renew a steadfast spirit within me [us]." An ‘examination of consciousness’ is still helpful, if—in Eckhard Tolle’s insight—the examination carries us to the knowledge of the Being that is beyond our situational life, beyond our boss’s rants, and beyond space and time.
In 1 Timothy 1:12-17, the Pauline author acknowledges his sinfulness, but explains that he obtained mercy because he did sinful things “ignorantly, in unbelief” (1:13). But many of us don’t have that excuse. However, we do have Jesus’ words from the cross: “Father, forgive them , because they do not know what they are doing” (Luke 23:34). And the Father does just that.
Jesus models the Father’s concern by associating with sinners and telling stories about lost sheep and lost coins. The owners drop everything and everyone to go look (Luke 15: 1-10). And when the owners find the sheep and the coin, there is great rejoicing. And when we are found, there will be great rejoicing!
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