If you have ever loved someone you could not protect, then you understand the depth of Jesus' lament. All you can do is open your arms. You cannot make anyone walk into them. Meanwhile, this is the most vulnerable posture in the world --wings spread, breast exposed --but if you mean what you say, then this is how you stand. In this story from Luke, Jesus is a mother hen, who stands between the chicks and those who mean to do them harm, in this story that is Herod, who is the fox. She has no fangs, no claws, no rippling muscles. All she has is her willingness to shield her babies with her own body. If the fox wants them, he will have to kill her first; which he does, as it turns out. He slides up on her one night in the yard while all the babies are asleep. When her cry wakens them, they scatter. She dies the next day where both foxes and chickens can see her -- wings spread, breast exposed -- without a single chick beneath her feathers. It breaks her heart, but if you mean what you say, then this is how you stand. It is terribly foolish for a hen to stand in such a vulnerable position. The world looks on this vulnerability as weakness, but it is this very vulnerability that saves the hens, that saves us.
(Excerpts taken from Barbara Brown Taylor, Christian Century 2/25/86.)
Jerusalem, Jerusalem, killer of prophets. In the midst of this image of the mother hen with her wings spread wide and her vulnerability fully exposed, is this lament. This is a terribly tragic story, but it is not a hopeless story. Tragedy is not the antithesis of hope, tragedy just is. Tragedy is part of our human existence. Tragedy and death are part of life, love and joy are part of life, but they are not opposites, they are merely parts of a whole. We are not saved from tragedy; you and I both know the reality of tragedy. Ice storms down power lines, a wreck on I-90 kills mothers, fathers, children, a hurricane devastates a city, an earthquake levels a country, a gunman goes to work one day and shoots people.
What we have today is this story of Jesus, the mother hen, who guards the chicks behind her wings and puts herself in between the fox and the hens, in full knowledge that the fox will kill her. This is tragedy, but tragedy is not the end of the story. This is the story of Jesus, who puts himself between the principalities and powers, and each one of us, because of love, and for the Kingdom, his way of peace.
The power of this story is that it shows us what Jesus does on the cross. Jesus puts himself in our place. It is so difficult for us to wrap our minds around, we want to ask why. Why would Jesus do such a thing? Why would Jesus put himself in between us and the principalities and powers? For love. Not a sweet, syrupy, romantic love, but a gritty, tough, and resilient love. It is very much like the love you have for your own children. Which one of us would not put ourselves in the way of sure and certain death for our child?
The problem is that the world counts death as failure. The words we use to describe disease and death invoke battles that are won and lost. We see in obituaries things like she lost her battle with cancer. This idea even sometimes directs our health care decisions. We are afraid that if we don’t wage a courageous battle, somehow we are not good enough. And Jesus’ dying on the cross looks to the world like failure. Jesus suffered, Jesus died. But Jesus did not fail. Jesus redefined death and life. Death does not have the final word; death does not have the victory. The Word of God has the final word.
What Jesus did on the cross was to make it possible for us to have new life, a life that our words cannot begin to describe, a life that our minds cannot begin to imagine. What Jesus did and does is to make it possible for us to be transformed.
Winning and losing have no meaning in Jesus’ Kingdom; love and forgiveness are gifts. Success and failure have no meaning in Jesus’ Kingdom; sharing and walking together are gifts. Isolation and alienation have no meaning in Jesus’ Kingdom; relationship and connection are gifts.
And as those chicks for which the hen gave her life, what is our response? The prayers for our Stations of the Cross say, Lord, teach me, help me learn. When I would snap at those who hurt me with their ridicule, those who misunderstand, or hinder me with some misguided helpfulness, those who intrude upon my privacy—then help me curb my tongue. May gentleness become by cloak. Lord, make me kind like you. This is a prayer of transformation. Lord, make me like you.
But are we serious when we pray a prayer like this, a prayer of transformation. Lord, make me like you. Make me like the hen that puts herself in between the fox and the chicks. Lord, make me like you. The implications of this prayer are enormous. Lord, make me like you who eat with tax collectors and sinners. Lord, make me like you who protect all those who are vulnerable. Lord, make me like you who clothe the naked, feed the hungry, welcome all who come our way. Lord, make me like you who says, love one another, as I have loved you.
It is for love that God came and comes into this world. It is for love that Jesus hangs on the cross, it is for love that Jesus suffers. It is for love.
The Lord is full of compassion and mercy: Come let us adore him.
Saturday, February 27, 2010
Saturday, February 20, 2010
1 Lent Yr C
A wondering Norwegian is my grandfather. I have attended Monson family reunions since I was in high school, at least that’s as far back as I remember. And as far back as that memory goes I heard the story of my family coming to this country from Norway. After a few years of hearing the story it was mine, I could tell it. In the valley where the farm was in Norway there was an awful avalanche that covered the house, Dorothy was hurt, but no one in the family was killed. Five siblings came to this country, including my great great grandfather Mons, only one stayed behind in Norway. After coming to this country, my great great grandfather settled near Benson Minnesota, and he and his wife had many children, one of which was my great grandfather Jacob. Jacob and Anna had many children, one of which was my grandfather Nelbert. Eventually, Nelbert and Inga had many children, one of which was my father, Juel. And eventually my dad who was always called Mons, and my mom Pat, had many children. When I was just out of college, I went to Norway and met relatives that live in the very valley where this avalanche was. As I stood looking out over that valley my great uncle who I was with and who I had only just met, told me the very same story and I was connected to those people of so long ago whose story is my story. I read their names on the historical marker that was erected by the road. This story has become very important to me.
These days when we gather for the Monson reunion we tell this same story, and we’ve learned more about ourselves over the years, and all of that is added to the story. As the elders of our family have died, we have been freed to talk more frankly about the reality of life on the prairies of Minnesota and North Dakota. Our story now includes the children born outside of marriage, it includes the truth about the difficult life that was lived in central Minnesota, our story reflects more accurately the joys and the sorrows of life. This is the story that nourishes us today, and gives us hope for tomorrow. We are constituted as Monson’s by this story.
We hear in Deuteronomy this morning, “A wandering Aramean was my father, he went down to Egypt and sojourned there, he and just a handful of his brothers at first, but soon they became a great nation, mighty and many. The Egyptians abused and battered us, in a cruel and savage slavery. We cried out to God, the God-of-Our-Fathers: He listened to our voice; he saw our destitution, our trouble, our cruel plight. And God took us out of Egypt with his strong hand and long arm, terrible and great, with signs and miracle-wonders. And he brought us to this place, gave us this land flowing with milk and honey. So here I am. I've brought the first fruits of what I've grown on this ground you gave me, O God.”
This is a creation story. This is the story that tells us that we are a people who are related to the Creator God. This is the story that constitutes us.
This is the story that tells us about the pain and the suffering that our people have endured. It is the story that teaches us that together we endured the abuse and battering, the slavery. It is the story that teaches us that God listened, saw our plight, and took us out of that land and brought us to a land flowing with milk and honey. After planting and tending crops, our people gave the first fruits to God.
You and I know however that the story continues, as it continues we learn that our people turned away from God and worshiped idols, we turned away from God and believed that we could be self-sufficient, that we didn’t need God. And as the story goes, God loves God’s people even in times such as these. This is the pattern of the story, it is the story that constitutes us, and it is the story in which each of us participates. God’s covenant with God’s people is about always loving humanity, and always loving every one of us, there is no one outside of God’s love.
And then we hear this story about Jesus in the wilderness. Jesus is full of the Holy Spirit, very newly baptized, and tempted by the devil. The story may have many titles, but as I read it again I hear dueling biblical interpretation. The devil throws down a scripture text, and Jesus retorts with a quote from Deuteronomy, “It takes more than bread to really live.” The devil throws down the next text, and Jesus responds again from Deuteronomy “worship the Lord your God and only the Lord your God. Serve him with absolute singe-heartedness.” And lastly the devil takes him to Jerusalem and challenges him to throw himself off the pinnacle of the temple, and quotes to him the psalm “he has placed you in the care of angels to protect you; they will catch you; you won’t so much as stub your toe on a stone.” And Jesus answers, “don’t you tempt the Lord your God.” Nothing the devil said was a lie. The devil quotes straight from scripture, but what the devil forgets in this dueling exchange of scripture, is the relationship. The relationship between God and the people that was constituted from the beginning, the relationship that Jesus renews by being in our midst, the relationship that reminds us who we are, and whose we are.
We wander in the wilderness of our own pain and suffering, alienation and isolation. We wander in the wilderness tempted by the excesses of our culture. We wander in the wilderness tempted by a sense of power that makes us think we can fix everything, that if we just work harder and longer and better we will live forever. We wander in the wilderness, we wander in the desolate places and we forget our story, we forget who we are and whose we are. We forget that we are in the wilderness together, and that together we encounter Jesus.
This Lent, we have the opportunity to be reminded by the Good News. The Good News that Jesus the Christ, full of the Holy Spirit, came to confront the powers of sin and death, the powers that separate us from one another, the powers that try to convince us that we are not loved or lovable, everything that separates us from one another, from God, and from the joyful, peaceful, loving life for which God made us, and for which Jesus won on the cross. But, I get ahead of myself. On this first Sunday of Lent, Luke shares with us the Good News that Jesus, full of the Holy Spirit, confronted the devil and won. Jesus reminds us who we are and whose we are.
Please remember that the victory Jesus won is not a victory that takes away pain and suffering. It is not an easy victory. Jesus accompanies us through the wilderness, through the pain and suffering and betrayal. We learn from our companions on the journey, if your heart is breaking, mine is breaking also, we need to walk together, and our stories and our prayers will sustain us. If you’re laughing, let’s share it, and lighten the way. Jesus, full of the Holy Spirit, was led into desolation and victory, and is company for all of us on the winding path toward healing and reconciliation.
The Lord is full of compassion and mercy: Come let us adore him.
These days when we gather for the Monson reunion we tell this same story, and we’ve learned more about ourselves over the years, and all of that is added to the story. As the elders of our family have died, we have been freed to talk more frankly about the reality of life on the prairies of Minnesota and North Dakota. Our story now includes the children born outside of marriage, it includes the truth about the difficult life that was lived in central Minnesota, our story reflects more accurately the joys and the sorrows of life. This is the story that nourishes us today, and gives us hope for tomorrow. We are constituted as Monson’s by this story.
We hear in Deuteronomy this morning, “A wandering Aramean was my father, he went down to Egypt and sojourned there, he and just a handful of his brothers at first, but soon they became a great nation, mighty and many. The Egyptians abused and battered us, in a cruel and savage slavery. We cried out to God, the God-of-Our-Fathers: He listened to our voice; he saw our destitution, our trouble, our cruel plight. And God took us out of Egypt with his strong hand and long arm, terrible and great, with signs and miracle-wonders. And he brought us to this place, gave us this land flowing with milk and honey. So here I am. I've brought the first fruits of what I've grown on this ground you gave me, O God.”
This is a creation story. This is the story that tells us that we are a people who are related to the Creator God. This is the story that constitutes us.
This is the story that tells us about the pain and the suffering that our people have endured. It is the story that teaches us that together we endured the abuse and battering, the slavery. It is the story that teaches us that God listened, saw our plight, and took us out of that land and brought us to a land flowing with milk and honey. After planting and tending crops, our people gave the first fruits to God.
You and I know however that the story continues, as it continues we learn that our people turned away from God and worshiped idols, we turned away from God and believed that we could be self-sufficient, that we didn’t need God. And as the story goes, God loves God’s people even in times such as these. This is the pattern of the story, it is the story that constitutes us, and it is the story in which each of us participates. God’s covenant with God’s people is about always loving humanity, and always loving every one of us, there is no one outside of God’s love.
And then we hear this story about Jesus in the wilderness. Jesus is full of the Holy Spirit, very newly baptized, and tempted by the devil. The story may have many titles, but as I read it again I hear dueling biblical interpretation. The devil throws down a scripture text, and Jesus retorts with a quote from Deuteronomy, “It takes more than bread to really live.” The devil throws down the next text, and Jesus responds again from Deuteronomy “worship the Lord your God and only the Lord your God. Serve him with absolute singe-heartedness.” And lastly the devil takes him to Jerusalem and challenges him to throw himself off the pinnacle of the temple, and quotes to him the psalm “he has placed you in the care of angels to protect you; they will catch you; you won’t so much as stub your toe on a stone.” And Jesus answers, “don’t you tempt the Lord your God.” Nothing the devil said was a lie. The devil quotes straight from scripture, but what the devil forgets in this dueling exchange of scripture, is the relationship. The relationship between God and the people that was constituted from the beginning, the relationship that Jesus renews by being in our midst, the relationship that reminds us who we are, and whose we are.
We wander in the wilderness of our own pain and suffering, alienation and isolation. We wander in the wilderness tempted by the excesses of our culture. We wander in the wilderness tempted by a sense of power that makes us think we can fix everything, that if we just work harder and longer and better we will live forever. We wander in the wilderness, we wander in the desolate places and we forget our story, we forget who we are and whose we are. We forget that we are in the wilderness together, and that together we encounter Jesus.
This Lent, we have the opportunity to be reminded by the Good News. The Good News that Jesus the Christ, full of the Holy Spirit, came to confront the powers of sin and death, the powers that separate us from one another, the powers that try to convince us that we are not loved or lovable, everything that separates us from one another, from God, and from the joyful, peaceful, loving life for which God made us, and for which Jesus won on the cross. But, I get ahead of myself. On this first Sunday of Lent, Luke shares with us the Good News that Jesus, full of the Holy Spirit, confronted the devil and won. Jesus reminds us who we are and whose we are.
Please remember that the victory Jesus won is not a victory that takes away pain and suffering. It is not an easy victory. Jesus accompanies us through the wilderness, through the pain and suffering and betrayal. We learn from our companions on the journey, if your heart is breaking, mine is breaking also, we need to walk together, and our stories and our prayers will sustain us. If you’re laughing, let’s share it, and lighten the way. Jesus, full of the Holy Spirit, was led into desolation and victory, and is company for all of us on the winding path toward healing and reconciliation.
The Lord is full of compassion and mercy: Come let us adore him.
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
Ash Wednesday 2010
Almighty, forgiving God, help me to accept your healing love today and to practice forgiveness in my daily walk with you and others. In this, the church’s holy spring, we ask you, O God, to renew us. With a gentle breath, blow from our lives the dust of sin, and make us your people again. Lift us from guilt, and shame, and regret, to repair all we’ve broken, and give us the gift of repentance. With the lengthening days, stretch our hearts, too, to be ready for your risen life; through Christ our Lord. Amen.
Just as Advent is the beginning of the New Year, Ash Wednesday and Lent are the beginning of our new life. I think we have a deep desire to start over, to begin again, to turn to God and take a deep, refreshing breath of new life, and to say, here I am Lord, I have heard you calling in the night.
This is our opportunity. This is our call. We present ourselves to God, just as we are, confident in the promise of starting over. Ash Wednesday, and all of Lent are an opportunity. An opportunity to put all our attention toward the Gospel call to love as Christ loves. Ash Wednesday and Lent are an opportunity to examine ourselves and find where we miss the mark of that love. Ash Wednesday particularly is an opportunity to come to our senses, to be reminded of who and whose we are, to start over, to loosen our heart’s grip on the things that separate us from the love of God and our sisters and brothers. Ash Wednesday is an opportunity to do that which is described in our gospel reading, to give alms, to pray, and to fast.
Today we are marked again with the cross of Christ. We were marked as Christ’s own forever with oil at baptism; today that same cross is traced with ashes. These ashes remind us of who we are, and whose we are. These ashes remind us that we came from dust and to dust we will return. These ashes remind us that God is God, and we are not. These ashes remind us that we are chosen and marked by God’s love, delight of God’s life, and that God is right here in our midst to show us the way of forgiveness.
The ashes of this day mark us as human, and offer us another chance at forgiveness. I think we sometimes dwell too much on our own need for forgiveness, and forget about our need to forgive. Today I invite you to remember your need to forgive. God loves us with an abundant love, love that seeks nothing, love that does not exclude. The Greeks had a word for the forgiving kind of love, agape; it means a profound concern for the welfare of another without any desire to control that other or to be thanked by that other. This isn’t an easy love. If we can follow it, it will mean that we will never exclude. Not the old, the ill, the dying. Not the people who have hurt us, or who have done us wrong. Or the people to whom we have done wrong.
Jesus set the standard for forgiveness. What does Jesus' teaching on forgiveness require of us, and how can we begin to practice this kind of love and forgiveness toward others? How have you felt, for at least a fragment of a second, the forgiveness of God?
What you will write today has to do with this kind of forgiveness. When you approach forgiveness with this kind of love in mind, you are able to lay your burden down. Your burden of perfection, your burden of hurt, your burden sadness, your burden of resentment, whatever it is. And you are able to begin to be healed. When you are able to forgive, you begin to be healed.
I invite you to ponder the kind of love God has for you, I invite you to approach the kind of forgiveness that does not want or need or manipulate. I invite you to lay your burden down, to lighten your load, to be marked with ashes, and begin the journey of love and forgiving. A journey that begins with ashes, that includes sadness, silence, and suffering. A journey that passes through some dark and scary places. A journey that moves through ashes once again, but includes the eventual joy of new birth, new life, new creation, resurrection.
Mystery of Goodness, by whose gaze we are called into being and held in life: teach us the secrecy of prayer which seeks no reward; the generosity of love which forgets itself; the gift of a treasure uncountable and unconsumed; through Jesus Christ, the Son of the Wilderness. Amen.
Just as Advent is the beginning of the New Year, Ash Wednesday and Lent are the beginning of our new life. I think we have a deep desire to start over, to begin again, to turn to God and take a deep, refreshing breath of new life, and to say, here I am Lord, I have heard you calling in the night.
This is our opportunity. This is our call. We present ourselves to God, just as we are, confident in the promise of starting over. Ash Wednesday, and all of Lent are an opportunity. An opportunity to put all our attention toward the Gospel call to love as Christ loves. Ash Wednesday and Lent are an opportunity to examine ourselves and find where we miss the mark of that love. Ash Wednesday particularly is an opportunity to come to our senses, to be reminded of who and whose we are, to start over, to loosen our heart’s grip on the things that separate us from the love of God and our sisters and brothers. Ash Wednesday is an opportunity to do that which is described in our gospel reading, to give alms, to pray, and to fast.
Today we are marked again with the cross of Christ. We were marked as Christ’s own forever with oil at baptism; today that same cross is traced with ashes. These ashes remind us of who we are, and whose we are. These ashes remind us that we came from dust and to dust we will return. These ashes remind us that God is God, and we are not. These ashes remind us that we are chosen and marked by God’s love, delight of God’s life, and that God is right here in our midst to show us the way of forgiveness.
The ashes of this day mark us as human, and offer us another chance at forgiveness. I think we sometimes dwell too much on our own need for forgiveness, and forget about our need to forgive. Today I invite you to remember your need to forgive. God loves us with an abundant love, love that seeks nothing, love that does not exclude. The Greeks had a word for the forgiving kind of love, agape; it means a profound concern for the welfare of another without any desire to control that other or to be thanked by that other. This isn’t an easy love. If we can follow it, it will mean that we will never exclude. Not the old, the ill, the dying. Not the people who have hurt us, or who have done us wrong. Or the people to whom we have done wrong.
Jesus set the standard for forgiveness. What does Jesus' teaching on forgiveness require of us, and how can we begin to practice this kind of love and forgiveness toward others? How have you felt, for at least a fragment of a second, the forgiveness of God?
What you will write today has to do with this kind of forgiveness. When you approach forgiveness with this kind of love in mind, you are able to lay your burden down. Your burden of perfection, your burden of hurt, your burden sadness, your burden of resentment, whatever it is. And you are able to begin to be healed. When you are able to forgive, you begin to be healed.
I invite you to ponder the kind of love God has for you, I invite you to approach the kind of forgiveness that does not want or need or manipulate. I invite you to lay your burden down, to lighten your load, to be marked with ashes, and begin the journey of love and forgiving. A journey that begins with ashes, that includes sadness, silence, and suffering. A journey that passes through some dark and scary places. A journey that moves through ashes once again, but includes the eventual joy of new birth, new life, new creation, resurrection.
Mystery of Goodness, by whose gaze we are called into being and held in life: teach us the secrecy of prayer which seeks no reward; the generosity of love which forgets itself; the gift of a treasure uncountable and unconsumed; through Jesus Christ, the Son of the Wilderness. Amen.
Saturday, February 13, 2010
Last Epiphany, The Transfiguration
They saw Jesus in his glory and the two men standing with him, Moses and Elijah. And later, after Jesus ordered the vile spirit gone from the young boy and handed him back to his father, they all shook their heads in wonder, astonished at God’s greatness, God’s majestic greatness. Two stories, one on the mountaintop, one down on the ground, two stories in which people experience God’s greatness and God’s glory, two stories that show us who Jesus is. This is my son, my chosen; listen to him!
But you and I live our lives somewhere in between these two stories. We don’t live on the mountaintop of glory, and we don’t live in the valley of suffering, we live on the plains and the prairies. And as we know, the plains and the prairies have their own kind of beauty, a kind of beauty that you make friends with, a kind of beauty that you grow to love, a kind of beauty that transforms you. The beauty of the plains is not necessarily self evident, the appreciation of the beauty of the plains is acquired, some would even think us crazy to speak of the beauty of the plains, their experience of it may be somewhat different, but listening to Harold Oberlander describing the sunrise and the sunset from the seat of his combine will convince them differently.
The place where we life our lives is like that. We live our lives in the flatland of the world. We are easily seduced by the world into believing that what we see is all we get. We work and we play and we go to school, and sometimes we are seduced into believing that it is the way of the world that is important. We begin to believe that life is about making money, having success, owning lots of things, living in a big house. Sometimes we even begin to think that life is all about us, and eventually we may even begin to believe that being successful is more important than being faithful, that having many and beautiful things is more important than having a meaningful relationship with the people in our lives and with God. This is the flatland, it is place that cannot have meaning, and it is a place that carries no joy, no truth.
We are called to live on the plains and the prairies, where the sunrises and sunsets are glorious, but unless we spend the time and make the space to really see them, we only see the flatland of Interstate 90. But this is what transfiguration is about, seeing with new eyes. The word transfigured is an interesting word. The Greek word is metamorpho, and it means to transform, kind of like the metamorphosis that happens when a caterpillar is transformed into a butterfly. The word is a verb which means to change into another form. Used in this way in the gospel, it means to match the outside with the reality of the inside. The inside reality of Jesus is being God’s son; in this story the outside reality is glory. This is what our gospel is about today. Matching the outside with the reality of the inside.
So what is our reality? The reality is that we are God’s beloved and we are marked as Christ’s own forever. As I say it, it seems easy, on the mountaintop it seems obvious and clear, and yet the message in the flatland of the world is so very different. In the flatland, our worth is measured by our job, how much money we make, who we know, what we can get, what our house looks like. We are scared into believing that we are not good enough, so we have to buy a particular kind of clothing, and lotion, and diet supplements, to be adequate. We have to be young, sexy, thin. We have to be fixed if our bodies are not perfect. But none of this is real.
What is real is that we are loved absolutely, abundantly and unconditionally by the God who is among us, walking by our side, holding our hand when we need our hand held, carrying us when we can no longer walk, being with us in the mess that is sometimes our lives, suffering and dieing so that death does not have the last word, so that death does not win. What is real is that God shows us this love in the midst of the glory, and in the midst of the suffering.
It is on the plains and the prairies of our lives that we are transformed, where the metamorphosis happens. It is on the plains and prairies of our lives where Jesus walks with us and shows us the way, where what Jesus does in his life and in his suffering and on the cross matter. Peter wanted to immortalize Jesus’ transfiguration along with Moses and Elijah with three dwellings; he wanted to enshrine the experience. He soon realized that’s not what transformation was about, he soon realized that transformation was about who you are and what you do all the rest of the time, on the plains.
It is on the plains that we live as the new creations, we live in the freedom that is the promise of resurrection and new life. Jesus’ transfiguration and our transformation are the birth of spiritual and moral discipline for us. Spiritual practices help us develop new holy habits; new ways of seeing the world and what God is doing in the midst of it. What we really hunger for, what we really yearn for, what we really want as people of faith, is transfiguration, transformation of our very cores, and that comes from God, not from the world. But it is in the world that we live.
Spiritual practice and moral discipline are a thankful expression of our transformation; they are our response to being transformed. We are in the world as God’s new creations. Spiritual practice and moral discipline are also an opportunity to see and hear God more clearly. Traditionally Christians have given something up for Lent. You know, you give up chocolate or you fast or you give up something that you are used to doing. Now the idea is not to beat your self up and it’s not to lose ten pounds. The idea is to create space in a crazy, busy life so that God can see us, so that we can see God. To get rid of the rubble so that our sightlines are clear and that takes some giving up of stuff’ whatever the stuff is of our lives and more importantly it calls us to do something very positive.
I invite you to create space in your crazy busy life. I invite you to do something positive. There are many opportunities for you here at St. Andrew’s, Morning Prayer, Friday afternoon Anglican rosary and Stations of the Cross. Wednesday morning Holy Communion, Wednesday night soup supper and program. I invite you to create space in your crazy busy life, to open your eyes and see the beauty of the ordinary, the beauty of the plains, the breath of God on the prairie, I invite you to put your coins in your Habitat house, to change the life of someone as your life has been changed.
The Lord has shown forth his glory: Come let us adore him.
But you and I live our lives somewhere in between these two stories. We don’t live on the mountaintop of glory, and we don’t live in the valley of suffering, we live on the plains and the prairies. And as we know, the plains and the prairies have their own kind of beauty, a kind of beauty that you make friends with, a kind of beauty that you grow to love, a kind of beauty that transforms you. The beauty of the plains is not necessarily self evident, the appreciation of the beauty of the plains is acquired, some would even think us crazy to speak of the beauty of the plains, their experience of it may be somewhat different, but listening to Harold Oberlander describing the sunrise and the sunset from the seat of his combine will convince them differently.
The place where we life our lives is like that. We live our lives in the flatland of the world. We are easily seduced by the world into believing that what we see is all we get. We work and we play and we go to school, and sometimes we are seduced into believing that it is the way of the world that is important. We begin to believe that life is about making money, having success, owning lots of things, living in a big house. Sometimes we even begin to think that life is all about us, and eventually we may even begin to believe that being successful is more important than being faithful, that having many and beautiful things is more important than having a meaningful relationship with the people in our lives and with God. This is the flatland, it is place that cannot have meaning, and it is a place that carries no joy, no truth.
We are called to live on the plains and the prairies, where the sunrises and sunsets are glorious, but unless we spend the time and make the space to really see them, we only see the flatland of Interstate 90. But this is what transfiguration is about, seeing with new eyes. The word transfigured is an interesting word. The Greek word is metamorpho, and it means to transform, kind of like the metamorphosis that happens when a caterpillar is transformed into a butterfly. The word is a verb which means to change into another form. Used in this way in the gospel, it means to match the outside with the reality of the inside. The inside reality of Jesus is being God’s son; in this story the outside reality is glory. This is what our gospel is about today. Matching the outside with the reality of the inside.
So what is our reality? The reality is that we are God’s beloved and we are marked as Christ’s own forever. As I say it, it seems easy, on the mountaintop it seems obvious and clear, and yet the message in the flatland of the world is so very different. In the flatland, our worth is measured by our job, how much money we make, who we know, what we can get, what our house looks like. We are scared into believing that we are not good enough, so we have to buy a particular kind of clothing, and lotion, and diet supplements, to be adequate. We have to be young, sexy, thin. We have to be fixed if our bodies are not perfect. But none of this is real.
What is real is that we are loved absolutely, abundantly and unconditionally by the God who is among us, walking by our side, holding our hand when we need our hand held, carrying us when we can no longer walk, being with us in the mess that is sometimes our lives, suffering and dieing so that death does not have the last word, so that death does not win. What is real is that God shows us this love in the midst of the glory, and in the midst of the suffering.
It is on the plains and the prairies of our lives that we are transformed, where the metamorphosis happens. It is on the plains and prairies of our lives where Jesus walks with us and shows us the way, where what Jesus does in his life and in his suffering and on the cross matter. Peter wanted to immortalize Jesus’ transfiguration along with Moses and Elijah with three dwellings; he wanted to enshrine the experience. He soon realized that’s not what transformation was about, he soon realized that transformation was about who you are and what you do all the rest of the time, on the plains.
It is on the plains that we live as the new creations, we live in the freedom that is the promise of resurrection and new life. Jesus’ transfiguration and our transformation are the birth of spiritual and moral discipline for us. Spiritual practices help us develop new holy habits; new ways of seeing the world and what God is doing in the midst of it. What we really hunger for, what we really yearn for, what we really want as people of faith, is transfiguration, transformation of our very cores, and that comes from God, not from the world. But it is in the world that we live.
Spiritual practice and moral discipline are a thankful expression of our transformation; they are our response to being transformed. We are in the world as God’s new creations. Spiritual practice and moral discipline are also an opportunity to see and hear God more clearly. Traditionally Christians have given something up for Lent. You know, you give up chocolate or you fast or you give up something that you are used to doing. Now the idea is not to beat your self up and it’s not to lose ten pounds. The idea is to create space in a crazy, busy life so that God can see us, so that we can see God. To get rid of the rubble so that our sightlines are clear and that takes some giving up of stuff’ whatever the stuff is of our lives and more importantly it calls us to do something very positive.
I invite you to create space in your crazy busy life. I invite you to do something positive. There are many opportunities for you here at St. Andrew’s, Morning Prayer, Friday afternoon Anglican rosary and Stations of the Cross. Wednesday morning Holy Communion, Wednesday night soup supper and program. I invite you to create space in your crazy busy life, to open your eyes and see the beauty of the ordinary, the beauty of the plains, the breath of God on the prairie, I invite you to put your coins in your Habitat house, to change the life of someone as your life has been changed.
The Lord has shown forth his glory: Come let us adore him.
Saturday, February 6, 2010
5 Epiphany Yr C
My dad loved to fish. I remember being very small out in the boat with him holding my fishing pole. I don’t remember catching anything, which I think was a good thing because I hated touching the worms and the fish. But I’d sit with him in the boat, for hours. Years later my dad finally built his lake cabin, out of concrete blocks of course, and he spent his time fishing in the summer and ice fishing in the winter. In those later years it was catch and release of course, but I don’t recall too many fish either way. For my dad, fishin was always more about recognizing the wonder of the lake, the cool breeze in the summer, the amazing trees forming the cathedral that is the shore of the lake, and the eerie and beautiful call of the loon.
This fishing story we hear today is about recognition as much as it is about fish. The setting is out beside the lake, where there was a huge crowd that had gathered to listen to Jesus teach, it was such a crowd it was pressing in on him. It’s in the morning, the fisherman had come in for the day, after having fished all night, as is the way fishermen did it on the lake of Gennesaret, they could get their biggest catch in the night. They were cleaning up, washing their nets. But Jesus needed some relief from the crowds, so he asked Simon Peter if he could get into one of the boats and do some teaching from out in the water. When he was finished teaching, he asked Simon Peter, the captain of the fishing boat, to put out into deep water and let down his nets.
This is where the story gets quite interesting. Jesus, who is the son of a carpenter, and who we assume to be a carpenter himself, is telling Simon Peter, a well seasoned fishing boat captain, how to do his job. Jesus is like a city boy telling a rancher how to ranch. He’s absolutely out of his element, he has no fishing credentials. He’s a carpenter, what does he know about fishing? Simon Peter told him that they had been out all night and hadn’t caught anything. But, Simon Peter conceded, and put the nets out one more time. And when they put their nets out, they caught so many fish that their nets were beginning to break. Simon Peter, the fishing boat captain, the big fish if you will, drops down at Jesus’ knees, and confesses, right there in front of his whole crew, he acknowledges Jesus as Lord. And everyone was amazed.
Jesus tells them not to be afraid, from now on they will be fishing people, not fish. How stupid is that. Fishing for people sure won’t pay the bills.
So what is this story about? It’s not about how to pay the bills. Simon Peter, James and John, and all the others left the catch of their lives, what they caught that morning probably would have kept them all in food, clothes, and new sandals for some time to come.
Simon Peter recognized that day something amazing. He recognized Jesus’ holiness and authority, catching those fish was proof of that. Simon Peter recognized Jesus and was willing to leave life as he knew it, life that was probably not cushy, but probably comfortable, for something that was completely unknown, for something that would scare him to death.
Jesus introduced to them that day a new way, a new economy if you will. So what does that have to do with us, we’re not fisherpeople. We live in an absurdly abundant world. A world where worldly faith rests in our power to choose and our power to get. The world is about an economy of greed, an economy of getting.
In this city, most of us here, can go to the grocery store, and have before us an array of choices. We can choose what we want to eat; we can choose how and when we want to eat it. We can open cans and put beans and tomatoes and meat together for chili. We can walk up to the deli counter and buy our chili already made, or we can go to the frozen food isle and get some frozen chili and pop it in our microwave. And yet, among us are those whose only choice is what is available at the food shelf, or each night at Cornerstone Mission.
Most of us can go to the mall, or to Target, or to Wal-Mart or an assortment of other places, and before us will be an array of choices. Not only can we find clothes for all events and purposes, sizes and colors, we can choose from a number of different brands of headache remedies, or heartburn remedies, as well as remedies for dysfunction in a number of areas. And yet, among us are those whose only choice is to endure the headache while sleeping under the bridge by the greenbelt.
Many of us go to school or to work each morning with a host of choices before us, what to wear, what to eat for lunch, who to count as friends, what classes to take, what sports to go out for. And yet, there are those among us whose only choice is to endure the teasing they get each day because they’re just not like the others.
After an absurdly abundant catch that Simon Peter, James and John and the others made that day, what on earth would make them pull their fishing boats up on the beach, leave them, and follow this prophet, this Jesus, the one who ate with sinners and women, the one who healed anyone, Jews and Greeks alike, the one who would be tortured and put to death. Wouldn’t they say, wouldn’t you say, do it again? Do it again Jesus, we can be rich. But instead, Simon Peter recognizes Jesus’ holiness, and confesses at that holiness. And Jesus responds to Simon Peter and the rest, with the call to bring in people, not fish. In the midst of the abundance, in the midst of such wealth, they turn to follow Jesus and the new economy that he has for them.
What on earth would make anyone of us say yes to Jesus’ call of a new life, a new economy? Even in a downturn in our economy, in the midst of the absurdly abundant life many of us live, we recognize Jesus in our midst. People who recognize Jesus are not necessarily holy people, we are people who pale in the light of holiness, we are ordinary fishermen and wives and mothers, fathers and children, youth and elders.
Recognizing Jesus is waking up to the truth of our existence. And the truth is that the absurdly abundant is not far from the hard rock pillow under the bridge. The choices of what do I wear and how do I look each day are not so different from the teased and alienated kid.
Recognizing Jesus in our midst is the call to be fishers of people. How can we not be fishers of people, how can we not spread the Good News, when we know the truth. The truth that God loves us so much, God came into this world as one of us, so that we may be in relationship with God and with one another. God’s love is absurdly abundant. God’s love washes over us, as do the waters of baptism. God’s love nourishes us, as does the bread we break each time we meet together. God’s love is absurdly abundant, as the fish that were caught that day in the boat.
We do have choices however. We can continue on living as if everything we have is ours. We can continue on living as if all we have we will have for ever. We can continue on as if our children belong to us, we can continue on as if we can have it all.
Or, we can choose to follow Jesus, and be fishers of people. Making that choice is hard. Because then we are transformed into someone who lives so that others might live. We are transformed into someone who lives as if nothing belongs to us or is possessed by us. We are transformed into someone whose absurd abundance is grace, it is gift, it is wonder. We are transformed into someone who becomes a steward, and who cares for all that has been given because it does not belong to us, it belongs to God. And that is the holiness and the authority of which Simon Peter spoke, the holiness that causes us to bow down before our God.
Being fishers of people is to speak, and live, and behave in ways that Jesus in our midst is evident. It is to be with the other, as grace and gift and wonder.
It is to go to the grocery store and give thanks for the opportunity to choose, and it is to choose to fill the food basket at church each Sunday. It is to give thanks for the opportunity to be able to afford to buy food, and it is to advocate for those who cannot buy food not to be taxed on the food they buy.
It is to go to the mall and give thanks for the opportunity to choose, and to choose to dress modestly in fashion and in price, and it is to give a pair of shoes away for each pair of shoes we have sitting in our closets. It is to work for fair wages for those who make shoes.
It is to give thanks for the opportunity to learn each day, to go to school or work each day, and it is to approach those who are different than us with love and respect. It is to stand up for those who are teased or mistreated.
We live in an absurdly abundant world. A world in which all that we have, and all that we are is bestowed upon us by an absurdly abundant God.
The Lord shows forth his glory: Come let us adore him.
This fishing story we hear today is about recognition as much as it is about fish. The setting is out beside the lake, where there was a huge crowd that had gathered to listen to Jesus teach, it was such a crowd it was pressing in on him. It’s in the morning, the fisherman had come in for the day, after having fished all night, as is the way fishermen did it on the lake of Gennesaret, they could get their biggest catch in the night. They were cleaning up, washing their nets. But Jesus needed some relief from the crowds, so he asked Simon Peter if he could get into one of the boats and do some teaching from out in the water. When he was finished teaching, he asked Simon Peter, the captain of the fishing boat, to put out into deep water and let down his nets.
This is where the story gets quite interesting. Jesus, who is the son of a carpenter, and who we assume to be a carpenter himself, is telling Simon Peter, a well seasoned fishing boat captain, how to do his job. Jesus is like a city boy telling a rancher how to ranch. He’s absolutely out of his element, he has no fishing credentials. He’s a carpenter, what does he know about fishing? Simon Peter told him that they had been out all night and hadn’t caught anything. But, Simon Peter conceded, and put the nets out one more time. And when they put their nets out, they caught so many fish that their nets were beginning to break. Simon Peter, the fishing boat captain, the big fish if you will, drops down at Jesus’ knees, and confesses, right there in front of his whole crew, he acknowledges Jesus as Lord. And everyone was amazed.
Jesus tells them not to be afraid, from now on they will be fishing people, not fish. How stupid is that. Fishing for people sure won’t pay the bills.
So what is this story about? It’s not about how to pay the bills. Simon Peter, James and John, and all the others left the catch of their lives, what they caught that morning probably would have kept them all in food, clothes, and new sandals for some time to come.
Simon Peter recognized that day something amazing. He recognized Jesus’ holiness and authority, catching those fish was proof of that. Simon Peter recognized Jesus and was willing to leave life as he knew it, life that was probably not cushy, but probably comfortable, for something that was completely unknown, for something that would scare him to death.
Jesus introduced to them that day a new way, a new economy if you will. So what does that have to do with us, we’re not fisherpeople. We live in an absurdly abundant world. A world where worldly faith rests in our power to choose and our power to get. The world is about an economy of greed, an economy of getting.
In this city, most of us here, can go to the grocery store, and have before us an array of choices. We can choose what we want to eat; we can choose how and when we want to eat it. We can open cans and put beans and tomatoes and meat together for chili. We can walk up to the deli counter and buy our chili already made, or we can go to the frozen food isle and get some frozen chili and pop it in our microwave. And yet, among us are those whose only choice is what is available at the food shelf, or each night at Cornerstone Mission.
Most of us can go to the mall, or to Target, or to Wal-Mart or an assortment of other places, and before us will be an array of choices. Not only can we find clothes for all events and purposes, sizes and colors, we can choose from a number of different brands of headache remedies, or heartburn remedies, as well as remedies for dysfunction in a number of areas. And yet, among us are those whose only choice is to endure the headache while sleeping under the bridge by the greenbelt.
Many of us go to school or to work each morning with a host of choices before us, what to wear, what to eat for lunch, who to count as friends, what classes to take, what sports to go out for. And yet, there are those among us whose only choice is to endure the teasing they get each day because they’re just not like the others.
After an absurdly abundant catch that Simon Peter, James and John and the others made that day, what on earth would make them pull their fishing boats up on the beach, leave them, and follow this prophet, this Jesus, the one who ate with sinners and women, the one who healed anyone, Jews and Greeks alike, the one who would be tortured and put to death. Wouldn’t they say, wouldn’t you say, do it again? Do it again Jesus, we can be rich. But instead, Simon Peter recognizes Jesus’ holiness, and confesses at that holiness. And Jesus responds to Simon Peter and the rest, with the call to bring in people, not fish. In the midst of the abundance, in the midst of such wealth, they turn to follow Jesus and the new economy that he has for them.
What on earth would make anyone of us say yes to Jesus’ call of a new life, a new economy? Even in a downturn in our economy, in the midst of the absurdly abundant life many of us live, we recognize Jesus in our midst. People who recognize Jesus are not necessarily holy people, we are people who pale in the light of holiness, we are ordinary fishermen and wives and mothers, fathers and children, youth and elders.
Recognizing Jesus is waking up to the truth of our existence. And the truth is that the absurdly abundant is not far from the hard rock pillow under the bridge. The choices of what do I wear and how do I look each day are not so different from the teased and alienated kid.
Recognizing Jesus in our midst is the call to be fishers of people. How can we not be fishers of people, how can we not spread the Good News, when we know the truth. The truth that God loves us so much, God came into this world as one of us, so that we may be in relationship with God and with one another. God’s love is absurdly abundant. God’s love washes over us, as do the waters of baptism. God’s love nourishes us, as does the bread we break each time we meet together. God’s love is absurdly abundant, as the fish that were caught that day in the boat.
We do have choices however. We can continue on living as if everything we have is ours. We can continue on living as if all we have we will have for ever. We can continue on as if our children belong to us, we can continue on as if we can have it all.
Or, we can choose to follow Jesus, and be fishers of people. Making that choice is hard. Because then we are transformed into someone who lives so that others might live. We are transformed into someone who lives as if nothing belongs to us or is possessed by us. We are transformed into someone whose absurd abundance is grace, it is gift, it is wonder. We are transformed into someone who becomes a steward, and who cares for all that has been given because it does not belong to us, it belongs to God. And that is the holiness and the authority of which Simon Peter spoke, the holiness that causes us to bow down before our God.
Being fishers of people is to speak, and live, and behave in ways that Jesus in our midst is evident. It is to be with the other, as grace and gift and wonder.
It is to go to the grocery store and give thanks for the opportunity to choose, and it is to choose to fill the food basket at church each Sunday. It is to give thanks for the opportunity to be able to afford to buy food, and it is to advocate for those who cannot buy food not to be taxed on the food they buy.
It is to go to the mall and give thanks for the opportunity to choose, and to choose to dress modestly in fashion and in price, and it is to give a pair of shoes away for each pair of shoes we have sitting in our closets. It is to work for fair wages for those who make shoes.
It is to give thanks for the opportunity to learn each day, to go to school or work each day, and it is to approach those who are different than us with love and respect. It is to stand up for those who are teased or mistreated.
We live in an absurdly abundant world. A world in which all that we have, and all that we are is bestowed upon us by an absurdly abundant God.
The Lord shows forth his glory: Come let us adore him.
Saturday, January 30, 2010
4 Epiphany Yr C
In the synagogue at Nazareth, Jesus’ home town, all spoke well of Jesus and said, “this is Joseph’s son.” I’m imagining the conversation something like this. “We watched this boy grow up, he was so helpful to his father in his carpenter’s shop. He has always been so faithful and pious, attending synagogue, reading the Torah, knowing his place. Ahh, such a good boy, we’re proud.”
And then, the next thing that happens is that they drive Jesus out of town and they want to toss him over a cliff! What’s up with that? How do these people go from being proud of the neighborhood boy to tossing him over a cliff? What filled them with such rage?
What’s this all about? And, what can it mean to us?
I’m never really sure what this story is all about, my wonderings are as good as your wonderings, but I have a little information that might be helpful in figuring this out. Remember that this story, the Gospel or Good News, is recorded here for a purpose. Part of the purpose of the writer of this gospel is to convince the reader that Jesus is a prophet in the line of prophets. The line of prophets includes Elijah and Elisha. Every Jew who heard this story knew this, and every Jew who heard this story also knew that all prophets in their stories are rejected in their hometowns. So, the writer of this story needed to have Jesus rejected in his own town in order for him to be a prophet in the line of the ancient prophets. Another part of the purpose for the writer of this Gospel is likewise to convince the reader that this prophet, Jesus, is the fulfillment of the scriptures, Jesus is the One who has been promised.
The writer accomplishes his purpose of placing Jesus in the line of the ancient prophets by invoking Elijah and Elisha, and the stories that Luke chose to have Jesus refer to are the stories about widows and orphans. Now, stay with me here for just another minute while I tell you why I think this is important. Widows and lepers are the two groups of people that are invoked in relation to the prophets Elijah and Elisha. In the cultural schema of Greek society, in the first century, when the story of Jesus was told, widows and lepers are as low as it goes.
Let me give you a brief picture of this culture. The patron of a household owned everything. He owned his wife, his concubines, his slaves, his children. He owned land and everything and everyone on it. He and his household were at the top of the pyramid, and he owned everything and everyone in it. There were artisans and farmers and smiths that were beholden to the patron. They were able to sustain a life because the patron allowed them to be part of his household. He was good to them, as long as they were loyal. Underneath the artisans and farmers and smiths, were the women and children. The women had worth only as measured by the men to whom they belonged, their father, or husband, or brothers. A woman owned nothing, and she had no means for protection outside of the man she belonged to. For all intents and purposes, a woman was dead if she did not belong to a man. When a husband died, the widow must be married to a brother to gain protection once again. So a widow was worthless, she had no means of support and no protection. Lepers were those cast out of this system because of disease. They too were worthless, they had no means of support and no protection.
Now let’s get back to the story. Jesus invokes these two groups of people. Two groups of people who were the lowest of low, who had no worth, no value in this first century culture. The people first hearing this story about Jesus already know where Jesus is going with this story. They’ve heard this one time and time again by the time it’s written down.
And they know about this Jesus. He’s the one who gave new life to the lowest of low. He’s the one who ate and talked with the widows, the lepers, the unattached women, the tax collectors. He’s the one who claimed that new life, value, worth, dignity, is theirs through God, his father. God, who loves them so much he was willing to come and be one of them. Jesus is the one who they say suffered, died, and appeared again to his friends and even strangers. Jesus is the one who they claimed is the new King.
And therein lies the rub. Jesus is the one who empowers the powerless. Jesus is the one who offers life where for all intents and purposes there is death. A woman without protection is as good as dead. A diseased person is surely dead. Jesus is the one who brings dignity and respect to all, including those whose culture judged them worthless and outcasts.
In this story Jesus claims to be a prophet in the line of the prophets. Jesus claims to be the one who gives new life where there was death. And that claim, by this young man who was just Joseph’s son, enraged the powerful people. It made them so mad, they wanted to toss him over a cliff. A prophet must be rejected in his hometown.
And yet, Jesus goes on to Capernaum, and people were astounded by his teaching, because he spoke with authority. Who’s authority? God’s authority.
What does this story have to do with us? It seems to me that the reason Jesus is rejected in his hometown is that his message is so shocking. If you were one of the power brokers of the town, one of the leaders of the synagogue, you may be thinking to yourself, “I thought this was Joseph’s son, but he’s become a young upstart, telling us how we ought to go about our business, how we ought to order our lives. He’s no son of ours.”
But maybe it was also necessary for Jesus to be rejected in his hometown because if he had been accepted, maybe he would never have left. Maybe his message of God’s love for all, regardless of power and prestige, would never have made it out of Nazareth. Maybe his message of dignity and worth, regardless of what you look like or how you smell, would never have made it out of Nazareth.
Maybe his message of new life, instead of our culture’s message of “it’s all about you,” would never have made it out of Nazareth. Well, then, we would be in a very sad state of affairs.
Jesus’ message is universal. It’s for all of us. You and I are part of this story. We have power brokers here, people looking for meaning and for a way to understand life beyond themselves. We have young people here, wondering where they fit in, wondering how to juggle all the balls. We have parents here, wondering how to keep it all together in a world that demands such busyness. We have elders here, wondering what it is they have left to give. We have children here, wondering why the rest of us are so serious all the time.
We, all of us, fit in to the story. The story is about God, and God’s love for us. God gave up all power to live as one of us, and through Jesus’ life, death and resurrection, we are brought back into relationship with God. We, who sometimes feel worthless, are valued. We, who sometimes feel broken, are made whole. We, who sometimes feel like no one cares, are loved. We, who are hungry, are fed. We, who are tired, are given rest.
Jesus shows us God’s love is for every one of us, even if that reality makes many folks mad, mad enough to throw Jesus right over the cliff.
The Lord shows forth his glory: Come let us adore him.
And then, the next thing that happens is that they drive Jesus out of town and they want to toss him over a cliff! What’s up with that? How do these people go from being proud of the neighborhood boy to tossing him over a cliff? What filled them with such rage?
What’s this all about? And, what can it mean to us?
I’m never really sure what this story is all about, my wonderings are as good as your wonderings, but I have a little information that might be helpful in figuring this out. Remember that this story, the Gospel or Good News, is recorded here for a purpose. Part of the purpose of the writer of this gospel is to convince the reader that Jesus is a prophet in the line of prophets. The line of prophets includes Elijah and Elisha. Every Jew who heard this story knew this, and every Jew who heard this story also knew that all prophets in their stories are rejected in their hometowns. So, the writer of this story needed to have Jesus rejected in his own town in order for him to be a prophet in the line of the ancient prophets. Another part of the purpose for the writer of this Gospel is likewise to convince the reader that this prophet, Jesus, is the fulfillment of the scriptures, Jesus is the One who has been promised.
The writer accomplishes his purpose of placing Jesus in the line of the ancient prophets by invoking Elijah and Elisha, and the stories that Luke chose to have Jesus refer to are the stories about widows and orphans. Now, stay with me here for just another minute while I tell you why I think this is important. Widows and lepers are the two groups of people that are invoked in relation to the prophets Elijah and Elisha. In the cultural schema of Greek society, in the first century, when the story of Jesus was told, widows and lepers are as low as it goes.
Let me give you a brief picture of this culture. The patron of a household owned everything. He owned his wife, his concubines, his slaves, his children. He owned land and everything and everyone on it. He and his household were at the top of the pyramid, and he owned everything and everyone in it. There were artisans and farmers and smiths that were beholden to the patron. They were able to sustain a life because the patron allowed them to be part of his household. He was good to them, as long as they were loyal. Underneath the artisans and farmers and smiths, were the women and children. The women had worth only as measured by the men to whom they belonged, their father, or husband, or brothers. A woman owned nothing, and she had no means for protection outside of the man she belonged to. For all intents and purposes, a woman was dead if she did not belong to a man. When a husband died, the widow must be married to a brother to gain protection once again. So a widow was worthless, she had no means of support and no protection. Lepers were those cast out of this system because of disease. They too were worthless, they had no means of support and no protection.
Now let’s get back to the story. Jesus invokes these two groups of people. Two groups of people who were the lowest of low, who had no worth, no value in this first century culture. The people first hearing this story about Jesus already know where Jesus is going with this story. They’ve heard this one time and time again by the time it’s written down.
And they know about this Jesus. He’s the one who gave new life to the lowest of low. He’s the one who ate and talked with the widows, the lepers, the unattached women, the tax collectors. He’s the one who claimed that new life, value, worth, dignity, is theirs through God, his father. God, who loves them so much he was willing to come and be one of them. Jesus is the one who they say suffered, died, and appeared again to his friends and even strangers. Jesus is the one who they claimed is the new King.
And therein lies the rub. Jesus is the one who empowers the powerless. Jesus is the one who offers life where for all intents and purposes there is death. A woman without protection is as good as dead. A diseased person is surely dead. Jesus is the one who brings dignity and respect to all, including those whose culture judged them worthless and outcasts.
In this story Jesus claims to be a prophet in the line of the prophets. Jesus claims to be the one who gives new life where there was death. And that claim, by this young man who was just Joseph’s son, enraged the powerful people. It made them so mad, they wanted to toss him over a cliff. A prophet must be rejected in his hometown.
And yet, Jesus goes on to Capernaum, and people were astounded by his teaching, because he spoke with authority. Who’s authority? God’s authority.
What does this story have to do with us? It seems to me that the reason Jesus is rejected in his hometown is that his message is so shocking. If you were one of the power brokers of the town, one of the leaders of the synagogue, you may be thinking to yourself, “I thought this was Joseph’s son, but he’s become a young upstart, telling us how we ought to go about our business, how we ought to order our lives. He’s no son of ours.”
But maybe it was also necessary for Jesus to be rejected in his hometown because if he had been accepted, maybe he would never have left. Maybe his message of God’s love for all, regardless of power and prestige, would never have made it out of Nazareth. Maybe his message of dignity and worth, regardless of what you look like or how you smell, would never have made it out of Nazareth.
Maybe his message of new life, instead of our culture’s message of “it’s all about you,” would never have made it out of Nazareth. Well, then, we would be in a very sad state of affairs.
Jesus’ message is universal. It’s for all of us. You and I are part of this story. We have power brokers here, people looking for meaning and for a way to understand life beyond themselves. We have young people here, wondering where they fit in, wondering how to juggle all the balls. We have parents here, wondering how to keep it all together in a world that demands such busyness. We have elders here, wondering what it is they have left to give. We have children here, wondering why the rest of us are so serious all the time.
We, all of us, fit in to the story. The story is about God, and God’s love for us. God gave up all power to live as one of us, and through Jesus’ life, death and resurrection, we are brought back into relationship with God. We, who sometimes feel worthless, are valued. We, who sometimes feel broken, are made whole. We, who sometimes feel like no one cares, are loved. We, who are hungry, are fed. We, who are tired, are given rest.
Jesus shows us God’s love is for every one of us, even if that reality makes many folks mad, mad enough to throw Jesus right over the cliff.
The Lord shows forth his glory: Come let us adore him.
Saturday, January 23, 2010
3 Epiphany Yr C
I remember the days when we had one telephone line in our house; maybe we had two telephones, one on the kitchen wall and one in my parents’ room. I also remember being yelled at to get off the phone, because my dad, being a self-employed block layer and cement man as we called him, depended on receiving phone calls at home regarding work. I didn’t really spend that much time on the phone myself, but there were eight of us, I imagine it was hard for dad to get his calls.
I would watch my kids, talking to two and three friends at a time while listening to music and allegedly doing homework while sitting at the computer. If I need to make or receive a phone call I can do it from my cell phone, or even from the landline that gets very little use. From our computer we can keep in touch with friends that have been dispersed all over the country and all over the globe. Away from the computer we can facebook from our blackberry’s and iphones. Doctors can take pictures of our insides and send them anywhere instantly for another doctor to take a look at on their computer screen, and tell us what’s up almost instantly. It’s an amazing world. It is a world I lament and a world I rejoice in all at the same time.
When the words of I Corinthians were written, could anyone have imagined this world we live in today? In 200, and 2000 years, will anyone be able to imagine the world we live in today? Just the other day, there was a group of us meeting, and we were talking about language, and how the meaning of words we have taken for granted has changed, because the experience of people today has changed. Some of the words we talked about are community and body of Christ. How do you talk about these things in this world when community can as easily mean a group of people gathered together in a church to rehearse the story of salvation, as a group of people logged into virtual church in second life, miles or even countries away from each other connecting the dots of their own stories?
For some time I have lamented what I have perceived to be the lack of community and connection between people because of the internet and all it offers, good and bad. I have decided no longer to lament but to rejoice in the ability of people to connect not only face to face, but keyboard to keyboard. I am able to keep in touch with classmates by e-mail and facebook, and when we meet face to face it is as if we have never been apart.
I know all of this has not diminished, but in fact expanded how I understand community, how I understand the body of Christ. We are all connected, maybe even now more than ever. What we do here in Rapid City matters to people as far away as Haiti. Maybe if Paul were writing today he would use a metaphor like the one that James Cameron uses in the new movie Avatar. Maybe you’ve heard of it; maybe you’ve seen it. Avatar is a story about the “outsider” coming into a world of “insiders,” becoming one of the “insiders,” and saving them from destruction. The people are hunters and gatherers, and have a great spirituality of connection with the planet, the animals, and the plant life. Each can literally connect with creation through appendages from their heads. They can connect to their ancestors, they can connect to the beasts they ride, and they can even connect to their Creator. Our main character gets separated from his team and taken in by the indigenous people on the planet Pandora, and eventually learns to become one. Through the process, he learns to love them and become one in more than just his appearance. They accept him as one of them until he must go on his own journey of self-exploration to fight for the people and culture he loves. By becoming one of them, he ends up saving them.
There’s another story with the same archetypes, one that we Christians know pretty well. One about a true outsider who comes to our world, becoming like us in order to save us. We know this as the Incarnation. God, in the form of human flesh in Jesus Christ, becomes one of us, in order for us to be connected to God in a way we have never experienced before. Avatar’s story is one of incarnation, one of love for God’s creation, one of transformation in order to understand.
Many would say that the Messianic archetype stretches far beyond the story in which Christians have placed their faith. It’s a story that has been told in many religions pre-dating Christianity. But that’s what makes the story so good. It’s a story that will never end. Humanity will always need its saviors. Movies like Avatar create fantastic parables to help us understand the world around us. That we are in need of something greater than ourselves and how blessed we are to have a God who loves us so much that God wants to become one of us. Avatar may not be a factual story, but it is a true story. The people are connected as a web, to each other, and to the entire environment around them. Much like the body that Paul describes.
Jesus embodies, enfleshes, incarnates, and proclaims God’s love in ways that make a difference for the lives of others. This is what we mean by body of Christ. Transformation is something that doesn’t happen to us like magic, transformation is something that is effected by our participation in the body of Christ, the community of faith, by proclaiming and making a difference for the lives of others on Jesus’ behalf.
And transformation doesn’t happen unless all of the parts of the body participate; all of the parts of the body, even the stinky feet. We tend to place limitations on parts of the body. We tend to think that participation in the body has to be on our terms, and by that I mean on the terms of those of us who are already here, who already claim the salvation of Jesus, but the truth is that there so many who could contribute so much to the body of Christ but don’t, because we look at them like they are stinky feet. These are people who find community through the internet, through texting, and at coffee shops. These are also people like you and me who refuse community because it doesn’t meet their needs. Community is not meant to meet our needs, community is meant to meet the others needs.
But, the body of Christ is not complete, it only limps along when we are all not present, and I mean present in the relationship sense of the word. I can be present with someone even when I am not physically in the same room with me.
We are transformed by the telling of the story, the telling of the story of God’s creation and blessing, of God coming into our world as one of us to show us the way. We tell this story and we hear this story and it becomes our story. It becomes part of us and we become part of it and it makes us different, it transforms us into the people God intends us to be. And God intends us to be people who love and serve one another. Not only do we tell the story of God’s activity in the lives of God’s people when we gather together in whatever way we gather together, we also need to tell our own stories of God’s activity in our own lives. It is when all of us, all parts of the body, contribute our own stories that the body can be complete.
The challenge to us right now is how we build up the body of Christ in this world without walls, in this world without limits it seems, in this world where community no longer necessarily means the gathered people. How do we show forth God’s love and wholeness in the body of Christ, in a broken and fragmented world? How do we invite people into this web of relationship with one another and with God?
We do it by showing God’s love in the world, by being God’s love in the world. We are God’s face, and what we do and what we say matters to the web, to the body of Christ. Let us be the embodiment of Jesus in this world; let us manifest God’s love in ways that make a difference for the lives of other. Let us make visible God’s justice in every part of our lives, in our work, in our schools, and in all our conversations. And let us invite others into the work that God is blessing here at St. Andrew’s.
The Lord has shown forth his glory: Come let us adore him.
I would watch my kids, talking to two and three friends at a time while listening to music and allegedly doing homework while sitting at the computer. If I need to make or receive a phone call I can do it from my cell phone, or even from the landline that gets very little use. From our computer we can keep in touch with friends that have been dispersed all over the country and all over the globe. Away from the computer we can facebook from our blackberry’s and iphones. Doctors can take pictures of our insides and send them anywhere instantly for another doctor to take a look at on their computer screen, and tell us what’s up almost instantly. It’s an amazing world. It is a world I lament and a world I rejoice in all at the same time.
When the words of I Corinthians were written, could anyone have imagined this world we live in today? In 200, and 2000 years, will anyone be able to imagine the world we live in today? Just the other day, there was a group of us meeting, and we were talking about language, and how the meaning of words we have taken for granted has changed, because the experience of people today has changed. Some of the words we talked about are community and body of Christ. How do you talk about these things in this world when community can as easily mean a group of people gathered together in a church to rehearse the story of salvation, as a group of people logged into virtual church in second life, miles or even countries away from each other connecting the dots of their own stories?
For some time I have lamented what I have perceived to be the lack of community and connection between people because of the internet and all it offers, good and bad. I have decided no longer to lament but to rejoice in the ability of people to connect not only face to face, but keyboard to keyboard. I am able to keep in touch with classmates by e-mail and facebook, and when we meet face to face it is as if we have never been apart.
I know all of this has not diminished, but in fact expanded how I understand community, how I understand the body of Christ. We are all connected, maybe even now more than ever. What we do here in Rapid City matters to people as far away as Haiti. Maybe if Paul were writing today he would use a metaphor like the one that James Cameron uses in the new movie Avatar. Maybe you’ve heard of it; maybe you’ve seen it. Avatar is a story about the “outsider” coming into a world of “insiders,” becoming one of the “insiders,” and saving them from destruction. The people are hunters and gatherers, and have a great spirituality of connection with the planet, the animals, and the plant life. Each can literally connect with creation through appendages from their heads. They can connect to their ancestors, they can connect to the beasts they ride, and they can even connect to their Creator. Our main character gets separated from his team and taken in by the indigenous people on the planet Pandora, and eventually learns to become one. Through the process, he learns to love them and become one in more than just his appearance. They accept him as one of them until he must go on his own journey of self-exploration to fight for the people and culture he loves. By becoming one of them, he ends up saving them.
There’s another story with the same archetypes, one that we Christians know pretty well. One about a true outsider who comes to our world, becoming like us in order to save us. We know this as the Incarnation. God, in the form of human flesh in Jesus Christ, becomes one of us, in order for us to be connected to God in a way we have never experienced before. Avatar’s story is one of incarnation, one of love for God’s creation, one of transformation in order to understand.
Many would say that the Messianic archetype stretches far beyond the story in which Christians have placed their faith. It’s a story that has been told in many religions pre-dating Christianity. But that’s what makes the story so good. It’s a story that will never end. Humanity will always need its saviors. Movies like Avatar create fantastic parables to help us understand the world around us. That we are in need of something greater than ourselves and how blessed we are to have a God who loves us so much that God wants to become one of us. Avatar may not be a factual story, but it is a true story. The people are connected as a web, to each other, and to the entire environment around them. Much like the body that Paul describes.
Jesus embodies, enfleshes, incarnates, and proclaims God’s love in ways that make a difference for the lives of others. This is what we mean by body of Christ. Transformation is something that doesn’t happen to us like magic, transformation is something that is effected by our participation in the body of Christ, the community of faith, by proclaiming and making a difference for the lives of others on Jesus’ behalf.
And transformation doesn’t happen unless all of the parts of the body participate; all of the parts of the body, even the stinky feet. We tend to place limitations on parts of the body. We tend to think that participation in the body has to be on our terms, and by that I mean on the terms of those of us who are already here, who already claim the salvation of Jesus, but the truth is that there so many who could contribute so much to the body of Christ but don’t, because we look at them like they are stinky feet. These are people who find community through the internet, through texting, and at coffee shops. These are also people like you and me who refuse community because it doesn’t meet their needs. Community is not meant to meet our needs, community is meant to meet the others needs.
But, the body of Christ is not complete, it only limps along when we are all not present, and I mean present in the relationship sense of the word. I can be present with someone even when I am not physically in the same room with me.
We are transformed by the telling of the story, the telling of the story of God’s creation and blessing, of God coming into our world as one of us to show us the way. We tell this story and we hear this story and it becomes our story. It becomes part of us and we become part of it and it makes us different, it transforms us into the people God intends us to be. And God intends us to be people who love and serve one another. Not only do we tell the story of God’s activity in the lives of God’s people when we gather together in whatever way we gather together, we also need to tell our own stories of God’s activity in our own lives. It is when all of us, all parts of the body, contribute our own stories that the body can be complete.
The challenge to us right now is how we build up the body of Christ in this world without walls, in this world without limits it seems, in this world where community no longer necessarily means the gathered people. How do we show forth God’s love and wholeness in the body of Christ, in a broken and fragmented world? How do we invite people into this web of relationship with one another and with God?
We do it by showing God’s love in the world, by being God’s love in the world. We are God’s face, and what we do and what we say matters to the web, to the body of Christ. Let us be the embodiment of Jesus in this world; let us manifest God’s love in ways that make a difference for the lives of other. Let us make visible God’s justice in every part of our lives, in our work, in our schools, and in all our conversations. And let us invite others into the work that God is blessing here at St. Andrew’s.
The Lord has shown forth his glory: Come let us adore him.
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