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.
Sunday, October 31, 2010
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.
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