New Year's Eve

A New Year's Eve tradition.

"I am no longer my own, but thine.

Put me to what thou wilt, rank me with whom thou wilt.

Put me to doing, put me to suffering.

Let me be employed by thee or laid aside for thee,

exalted for thee or brought low for thee.

Let me be full, let me be empty.

Let me have all things, let me have nothing.

I freely and heartily yield all things

to thy pleasure and disposal.

And now, O glorious and blessed God,

Father, Son, and Holy Spirit,

thou art mine, and I am thine. So be it.

And the covenant which I have made on earth,

let it be ratified in heaven. Amen."

("A Covenant Prayer in the Wesleyan Tradition," #607 in The United Methodist Hymnal)

Advent 1 - Pop Goes the Weasel

Advent is my favorite season of the church year.  Advent is a time of year where I try hardest to slow down and look and listen.  It is also a time of year where there seems to be so many things going on that slowing down is close to impossible and when the season closes out I find the “If only…” thoughts rolling through my head.

As I looked through the various readings in this week’s lectionary I was struck by the prophet Isaiah’s cry for the heavens to be torn open and for God to be revealed. I was especially intrigued by this bit: “When you did awesome deeds that we did not expect, you came down, the mountains quaked at your presence.” (Isa 64:4)

There is so much more going on in this text, but I couldn’t help but stop and think about how many times I wait for God do again, in a startling way, what God has done before.  Most of us are looking for God to do something remarkable in our lives, in our communities, in our churches, in our world.  We’re looking for God, waiting for God, but we’re waiting for the pattern that shows us that God is working.  Our expectation of awesome deeds isn’t an expectation of surprise, but an expectation of routine, of tradition (or traditions).

A little over 16 years ago, my family and I drove across country to visit with extended family for Christmas and New Years. I was still in my “spiritual but not religious” frame of mind, but we went to Christmas Eve services with my family because that’s what you do when you visit family.  One of the most vivid memories I have comes from this visit.  It was the end of the service and the lights were off and the candles were lit and the congregation was singing “Silent Night.”  My Dad was holding my six-month old daughter up in front of him and singing to her and my vision clouded and somewhere deep inside of me the constricting bands around my heart broke to let God in.

Maybe this is why Advent is so precious to me.

But this is also why I slow down and look for God because at a time in my life when I wasn’t looking, God snuck in.  I am a creature of habit, I love my routines and my patterns, and if I’m not careful I will only look for God to sneak in during sentimental moments.

On the other side of the prophet Isaiah is the Mark’s Gospel which has Jesus telling his listeners to keep awake because you do not know when the Master will return. (Mark 13:35-37)  Readers and scholars and pastors all talk about this being a Second Coming text—and it is—but I can’t help but take it paralleled with Isaiah and hear that refrain of “don’t look for God to keep doing the same old thing; don’t think you know how or when God will arrive.”  Have a willingness to be surprised by God’s arrival.

I was born in the early 70s and one of the toys I remember (or found so frightening that I can’t forget) was the old school Jack-in-the-Box.  You turned the handle while a little music box played “Pop Goes the Weasel” and at the end the lid popped open and a spring loaded clown jumped out.  It was frightening, exhilarating, fun and then you got old enough to see the pattern and it quickly lost any appeal.

Advent is too precious to me to get locked in to the same old patterns of looking for God to erupt into our world.  I should be expecting a surprise.  I should be looking for awesome deeds I don’t expect.  

Maybe you’ll join me on the journey.

Sheep, Goats, Baptism and Archeology

I listened to a sermon recently that spoke of the Imago Dei--that part of God's self woven into our very person (see Genesis 1:26-28 to get the full story) and on Christ the King Sunday (or Reign of Christ Sunday), a large potion of the Church will hear the parable of the sheep and the goats from Matthew's Gospel (which won't unsettle half as many people as it should…myself included…but that is a rant into the void for a different occasion).

This particular celebration of Christ the King Sunday I also have the honor of Baptizing a baby boy who is less than a month old.  I have the privilege of gathering with the community of faith and entering into a covenant to call forth the Imago Dei in the life of this child as he grows from infancy to adulthood.

I also recognize the challenges of being faithful to that covenant in an inherently transient community that is the military.  I most likely won't even see this baby boy's childhood much less his adolescence or adulthood because I will move, and his family will move, and even the face of this community where we entered into this covenant will change as people move.

But we join in the covenant anyway because covenant isn't about tangible results, it is about faith.  Having faith that the parents will be true to the covenant to keep this baby boy in a community of faith that will call forth the Imago Dei from within him and that God will continue to water that image with his own Spirit.  And having faith that someday, this baby boy will recognize that within everyone is the same Image of God that we called forth from within him.  

Calling forth the Imago Dei and reminding the community to do that is what I see in Matthew's parable this particular go around.  In Matthew's parable Jesus reminds us that when we serve the "least of these" we are serving Him. With this parable, Jesus is stomping his foot, tapping the proverbial podium, so that the Church will get it.  "This is testable material."  And to know that is to remember that within each human is the Image of God; but it's also to remember that to bear the Imago Dei is to carry the responsibility of acting as God would act--to participate in creation as God would participate in creation--and to use our acts of mercy as a way of calling forth the Image within from those who may look like anything but God.

I remember being in Italy for a mission trip/transcultural trip and stopping with our host on the street as he engaged a homeless man who was wrestling a discarded and obviously broken suitcase out of a dumpster.  Our host spoke to the man in his own language, even though they weren't from the same country, and as he spoke to the Image of God within this frustrated and broken human being, something changed as this unearthed image came forth. And the man wept, and I wept as I witnessed this thing happening.  

When I think of Jesus saying that the ones who do not care for the least of these have also not cared for him, I think of it as Jesus trying to scare the Hell out of us so that we work the Hell out of our world.  Because when the homeless are ignored, when the strangers go without welcome and hospitality, or when the thirsty go without anything to drink--well the world is kind of a Hellish place.  And if we are comfortable living in Hell now, well then maybe we won't really notice any difference later.

But God doesn't want that, and as I looked at this tiny little baby we washed with water and the Spirit, I knew that I didn't want that; I don't want that.

In third grade I wanted to be an archeologist; in college I was preparing to be an art history professor.  When I ponder what it is to get at the Image of God, I can't help but think of people who are dedicated to the original beauty of something--archeologists gently working the dust off of ancient finds, art historians carefully restoring a work of art to its original glory.  It's time consuming and perhaps a little tedious.  But so very worth the investment.

Risky Business?

Treasure Map…because what's most valuable gets hidden, right?

Stories about people in authority leaving subordinates in charge of property usually do not end very well.  Think of the movie Risky Business.  The young man portrayed by Tom Cruise begins celebrating his freedom by dancing in his underwear, sock feet, and sunglasses, singing “Old Time Rock n Roll” by Bob Seger.  Pretty innocuous, right?  But by the end of the movie he’s running a prostitution ring out of his parents’ house to make up the money needed for ruining his father’s Porsche.  

It seems that when stories are set up with parents, land owners, whomever, leaving someone in charge who is not normally left in charge, who would not normally receive massive amounts of responsibility, the outcome is bad news.

There is a parable that begins with the words, “A man going on a journey, summoned his slaves and entrusted his property to them.”  And between three slaves he splits eight talents—one slave gets five, the second gets two, and the third gets one talent.

Maybe we should get on the same page about this word talent.  A talent is a monetary unit worth more than fifteen years’ wages.  So slave one gets 75 years’ wages, slave two gets 30 years’ wages, and slave three gets 15 years’ wages.  Approximately.

But before we get stuck in the rabbit hole of wage comparison—and financial understanding of what that kind of money looks like today—we need to stop.  We need to stop because this parable isn’t about the money.

No, this isn’t a Jerry Maguire parable that’s all about “Show me the money!” (TWO Tom Cruise references so far…I’m not trying, really I’m not…)

It’s not about the money.

It’s about fear.

The slave who was entrusted with 15 years’ wages dug a hole in his back yard and buried it.  All of it.  Why?  Because that’s a lot of money to be trusted with and he knows—just like most of us would—that if that money got stolen—or if he wrecked his master’s Porsche in the Lake—that he would be up a creek with nary a paddle.  A slave can’t generate that kind of money.

But it’s not about money.  It’s about fear.

This slave is afraid of his master.  He’s afraid of what will happen if he does something with the money and he loses it, or if someone steals it.  He’s afraid.  He doesn’t trust his master to be merciful or forgiving.

So what does this have to do with us?  Because it’s not about money. 

I’ve talked in churches past about spiritual gifts because that is such an easy thing to bash people over the heart and head with…

“Look at what God has given you, can’t you see God wants a return on investment?”

No matter which way you do this, it all ends in fear.  Because the one who doesn’t give a return on investment gets tossed into outer darkness…and knows weeping and gnashing of teeth…and all that happiness…

But when you start with the slave’s fear, when you start with his lack of trust in his master, and when you understand that parables are usually about how God wants to relate with the world and wants the world to relate to one another and with God, then maybe I shouldn’t end in a place that says, “Use what God has given you…or else!” 

Maybe we start with “Don’t be afraid to risk the most precious thing God has given you.”  Because the ones who weren’t afraid of risking these super-duper valuable things entered into joy.

And truth be told, I can’t think of a more valuable trust than the ministry of reconciliation.  I can’t think of a greater treasure we can receive than that.

And truth be told, there are times I bury that thing in my backyard; not because I’m afraid it will be stolen…but because I’m afraid of what it means to risk forgiving someone.  I mean really forgiving them.  And so I miss out on entering into the joy of a full and grace-filled relationship.  And sometimes--especially when we bury that gift--those relationships wither in a place like death.

Sad isn’t it?  But maybe you relate.

I want to enter into joy. I want to know the depths of grace.  I want to risk sharing it with everyone.  I want to feast at the banquet where all of us can gather in joy and know the freedom that comes with not being afraid.

Shabbat and Sea Glass

A tiny bit of sea glass mixed in with shells and coral on Okuma Beach.

I spent a few days this past weekend on retreat with the Jewish community my wife belongs to.  On Saturday morning we walked the beach looking for sea glass.  It took me a while to slow down and appreciate the contemplative nature of searching for sea glass.

(I guess it's been a while since I've let myself slow down…)

In case you don't know what sea glass is, when broken glass bottles are tossed into the sea, the waves beat it against the bottom of the ocean, breaking the glass even more, and the coral, the sand, and the waves take broken jagged glass and offer up polished glass stones of a variety of colors: blue, green, white/clear, green, etc.

You have to be slow and observant when looking for sea glass.   Not every piece of glass is ready to be picked up.  Not every piece  of glass has been smoothed and polished by the crushing waves, sand and coral.  Some of it has still has jagged edges, and if you aren't careful will cut you as you try to pick it up.  Others are smooth and polished.

I have no idea how long it takes for sea glass to become smooth, or how much time must pass between the "not-yet" and the "ready."  I don't know if it depends on the glass, or on the environment, maybe it's a mixture of both.  

What I did notice is that the smooth and polished sea glass, isn't shiny glass any more, the sand and the coral and the waves have made the glass more opaque, a little hazy.  What makes it polished is that you can run your fingers around the edges and not get hurt.  You can handle "ready" sea glass and it does no harm to you.  

I couldn't help but think about humans as I looked for sea glass.  We all get broken from time to time and some of us, sometimes, take longer to heal than others.  It's a process.  We go from jagged to a little less jagged to polished and smooth. 

I don't know how much time it takes.  Maybe, like the glass, we each need the right environment to take the edges off.  But my hope is that we're each on the way to becoming something beautiful.  

And maybe, just maybe, if we take the time to slow down and look, we'll see that in each other.

A Father's Musings

::taps microphone::

Test one, test one, check, check, check,

::blows into microphone::

This thing still on?

Today we put our son on a plane to go start his life in the States.  It's kind of surreal.  I expect that it will continue to be strange for a while yet as we settle into "Empty Nesters: Phase One."  Thankfully, we still have a few years before our youngest is due to fly the coop.

I can't help but hope that all the seeds that my wife and I have sown will take root.  I know that he is an amazing young man, sensitive, conscientious, and full of joy.  

The last image we had of him before he disappeared around the corner of the security check point was of him grinning ear to ear and dancing the banana dance.  

Yeah, he's a great kid...ah, erm, young man...and I hope the world is good to him.  

Lent 3A "Water Talks"

I heard a Bishop from the Congolese Region of my Church speak one year at our annual gathering and he spoke about one of his first experiences of visiting the US.  He asked his host family if they could stop off at a store on the way from the airport so that he could get a toothbrush and some toothpaste.  They stopped and he went into the store; he was overwhelmed with the variety of toothpaste he had to choose from and with all the different types of tooth brushes.  He stood there for a while, just staring before choosing a toothbrush and some toothpaste.  They got back to the family’s house and he was asked if he would like something to drink.  He said Yes and then was asked if he wanted milk, juice, coffee, tea, soda, or water.  Again, he was overwhelmed with the choices.  He said, “If you come to visit me, and I ask if you want something to drink, you get water.  That’s all there is. Water.”

Have you ever looked for water in a convenience store or at a grocery store?  At our PX on Schwab we don’t have much; it’s a small PX.  But we have Dasani Water and Smart Water and DMZ Water and Diamond Water and Aquafina.  Who knew that water could be so complicated?

This conversation between Jesus and the unnamed Samaritan woman takes place at the water source for the village that Jesus and the disciples stop near; the water source for the village this woman calls home.  Jesus is, as the author of the gospel describes, tired out by his journey.  So when someone comes by the well to draw water he does what any one of us would do, he requests some water.  it’s not like Jesus has a variety of choices; there is the well or there is thirst.

There is some conversation about the cultural oddities of a Jewish man asking a Samaritan woman for a drink…because it would be odd enough were a Jewish man and a Samaritan man, because they hate one another so much; it would be even stranger were is a Jewish man conversing with a Jewish woman in public (especially a stranger…) but the clash of gender and the clash of ethnic identities is just too much.  So she asks, “Why?  Why would you talk to me?”

I know that’s not the way our translation worded it this morning, but that’s pretty much the underlying context of what she says.  She asks it for a variety of reasons: she’s come to the well in the middle of the day because—most scholars think—she is hoping to avoid others from her village; she’s surprised that Jewish male would speak to her, because men and women who are strangers to one another just don’t have conversation in public and if they are ethnic enemies the way Jews and Samaritans are, they really don’t have conversations in public.  Thirsty or not…why would you talk to me?

Really those types of encounters never fail to happen.  On a weekend morning, you’re just making a quick dash to the PX Express to get a few donuts and some orange juice, you’re in your sweats or your gym clothes, your hair is a glorious halo of bed head stuffed into a ball cap and all we want is to get in, get our stuff and get home.  We do not—DO NOT—want to bump into anyone.  In fact, we’re practically praying not to bump into anyone.  Which makes is pretty much inevitable, right?  It’s funny how God wants to talk to us at inopportune moments.

Jesus says to her, “If you knew who you were talking to, you would ask me for a drink and you’d get living water!”  This is such a loaded statement.  It’s loaded because “Living Water” is a term used to describe water that is flowing—streams, rivers, maybe artisan –as compared to water that is stored in cisterns or water that collects in wells.  That water, while drinkable and perfectly safe, is not living water; it may have a stagnant flavor to it.  Kind of like a glass of water that sits on your bedside table for a day or two or water from a water bull after a few days in the field; it’s potable, but stagnant.

So even from a simple and practical point of view, the offer of living water over the water stored in a well since the previous rain is much more appealing.  But Jesus is offering more than just fresh flowing H2O.  He’s offering relief from the stagnant stuff of life.  The stuff that we’ve become accustomed to may not be bad for us, per se, but it may not be as refreshing as what we’re really looking for.

My family bought a trailer out in the woods by a lake when I was growing up.  My Dad wanted a place for us to get away and have family time and it was a pretty neat place.  But it had a well, and the well water had a pretty high sulfur content.  Others around the area were used to it and they said, you’ll get used to it and it won’t bother you…which it won’t and it eventually didn’t…but it smelled so bad!  Sulfur water isn’t dangerous but it’s really unappealing because it smells like rotten eggs.

Jesus offers us living water.  The offer may come at inopportune times, times when we want nothing more than to just be alone, but the offer comes and with the offer of living water is the offer of transformation.  

The conversation between Jesus and the woman continues and they cover topics of spirituality and religion and they talk about prophets and the Messiah and human relationships and right as she’s beginning to really understand what’s going on, the disciples come back from their scouting expedition and the trip into town for some food.  They don’t say anything to her, or to Jesus, but sometimes you don’t have to actually speak to communicate what you’re thinking.  And she leaves.

But John includes an interesting detail.  He says, “Then the woman left here water jar and went back to the city.”  She left here water jar.  Her whole reason for going to the well was forgotten now that she’s met Christ.  The jars that would have been used to hold the well water are forgotten in lieu of the living water she’s received.

I think that’s what it’s really all about.  Encounters with Jesus and the experience of “Living water” are meant to move us beyond stagnant water, or routines of avoidance based on what others may believe about us.

We don’t know that this woman was “a sinner.”  All we know is that she’s had five husbands and the man she’s with now is not her husband.  That doesn’t make her “a sinner.”  She’s not in a position to divorce anyone, socially speaking; she doesn’t have any power to do that.  If she’s been widowed five times, that’s not really in her control either.  We don’t know that she’s done anything that would put her in the category of being “a sinner,” but we can infer that she certainly felt judged.  

Her encounter with Jesus and her experience with “Living Water” moves her beyond that.  Suddenly she’s met someone who, even though he knows and can tell her everything she’s ever done, has received her as one who is worthy of his time and attention.  Suddenly she is more than what others perceive of her.  And that is freedom.   That is liberation.  That is salvation.

Herni Nouwen speaks of the true self and the false self.  He says our false self is made up of voices that say “Prove you are worth something; so something spectacular, or powerful and then you will earn the love you so desire” and that many times our confidence and self-worth come from those voices.  Many of us do well in this; we succeed based on self-determination and the praise of our peers and superiors. He then says, “Beneath all my seemingly strong self-confidence there remained a question: ‘If all those who shower me with so much attention could see me and know me in my innermost self, would they still love me?’”(Life of the Beloved, p.34, 35).

Here is the One, sitting at the well, asking for a drink, who can tell you everything you have ever done, One who knows your innermost self, and says, “Yes, of course.  I know you.  And yes, of course.  I love you.”  You are more than what others perceive of you; you are Beloved.  And that reality is freedom.   That reality is liberation.  That reality is salvation.

Thoughts for the 7th Sunday after Epiphany

I was meeting someone for lunch on Friday and the television had Olympics coverage on.  It was a bit surprising to me that they were talking about Nancy Kerrigan and Tonya Harding, advertising the in-depth coverage that was supposed to be airing at a time I wasn’t too concerned about.  If you do a Google search there are articles about this month marking the 20^th anniversary of the attack.  All I could wonder was, “Why are we back to this? Do we just have a need for drama and conflict?”  Sadly, I know the answer to that question. We do love drama and conflict, and not just the made up kind that comes in the form of movies and nighttime television.  Not many of us have to deal with not-so-random knee attacks by jealous ice skating competitors, but we do deal with other attacks: personal insults, slights, things like that.  Earlier in the morning I had been scrolling through my Facebook newsfeed and came across a meme that stated, “I love it when someone insults me. That means I don’t have to be nice anymore.” Since this was posted by one of my former parishioners, I thought about posting a snarky, but spiritually motivating comment about how Jesus would feel about that post, but I decided that holding my virtual tongue would be more charitable—and then I ended up using it as sermon fodder, so you can decide how charitable I’m really being…

Our passage this week has the single most challenging mandate given to the followers of Jesus, and yet it is perhaps the single most distinctive command/teaching that sets the followers of Jesus apart from anyone else.  

“You have heard it said, ‘Love your neighbor and hate your enemy,’ but I say to you, Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you…For if you love those who love you, what reward do you have?”

“BAM!” says Emeril, right? (see last week’s post if you’re missing that one…)

Just as a refresher, let’s revisit the context statement for these particular words (from today’s passage.) Jesus says in earlier in Matthew chapter 5 that he has come “to make full, to complete, to put flesh to the words of the Law and the Prophets” and that unless the righteousness of his followers exceeds the that of the Scribes and Pharisees, there is no Kingdom of Heaven, there is no revelation of God’s Reigning on earth.  So, “you have heard it said…but I say to you…” or “That may be the letter of the Law…but this is Spirit behind it.”

In the pericope this week, we have Jesus beginning with “An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth,” which references the Jewish law of equitable retribution.  Most scholarship agrees that rather that setting a “bar of retaliation” this law was intended to limit retaliation and ought to be read “only an eye for an eye…nothing more.”  It was intended to prevent an escalation of force.

In the Sermon on the Mount Jesus takes the equitable retribution laws and gives us the fulfillment of it, turn the other cheek, give your cloak, walk an extra mile….love those who seek to do you harm and forgive those who have done you harm.

It is important to keep in mind that each of the examples Jesus uses have an explicit socio-political and historical context.  

To be struck on your right cheek means that someone has back handed you (or used their left hand which is sometimes referred to in middle eastern cultures as the wiping hand) which is an insult or given to someone who is intended to be reminded that they are inferior to the giver of the backhanded strike (meaning a slave, a servant, or, sadly, even a child or a woman).  If you were being sued for your coat, you were most likely indebted to someone much more powerful than you were and they were taking one of your two garments.  And if you were forced to go one mile…well the only people who could force you to go one mile were Roman Soldiers and they were using you as forced labor.

Each one of these examples reminded followers of Jesus that they were not in positions of power or authority AND that even when they were treated as less than human—the response was not equitable retribution.  Rather the response is a way of standing firm in our identity as Children of God.

Likewise, “enemy” for Jesus and for the disciples has a clear meaning: there were the families who were angry at the disciples for leaving all for the sake of following Jesus, for walking away from the family business, for abandoning loved ones. There were the religious leaders who cursed them for undermining the faith and for transgressing the Law. And, of course, there was Rome, and all of Rome’s occupying forces in the streets, and in the marketplaces, and in the Temple courtyard.  When Jesus speaks of enemy he is not speaking of an abstract concept.

N.T. Wright, pastor and theologian, and retired Anglican Bishop says, “Jesus’ examples are only little sketches…to give you the idea. Whatever situation you’re in, you need to think it through…what would it mean to reflect God’s generous love despite the pressure and provocation, despite your own anger and frustration?” (Matthew for Everyone, page 52) Jesus’ examples aren't’ meant to limit the expression of what loving our enemy looks like or who our enemy may be.

I am sure you have heard about the Michael Dunn trial in Florida. Dunn was on trial for the death of Jordan Davis.  He was convicted on three counts of attempted murder, but not for the actual death of Jordan Davis.  On the heels of George Zimmerman and Trayvon Martin, the Dunn acquittal had the media and social media spheres in an uproar.  I saw countless Twitter posts about loving our neighbor, (and how the acquittal was a gross failure of justice and thereby a failure to love our neighbor, Jordan Davis), but the one that caught my eye and caused me to stop and ponder said, “I must remember, as hard as it may be, that Michael Dunn is also my neighbor.”  Those we are quick to demonize--or dehumanize--with the label of enemy are precisely our neighbors.

“For if you love only those who are easy to love…how are you different from anyone else?” Daniel’s translation/paraphrase.

Wright also says, “The Sermon on the Mount isn’t just about us. If it was, we might admire it as a fine bit of idealism, but then we’d return to our normal lives. It’s about Jesus himself. This was the blueprint for his own life. He asks nothing of his followers that he hasn’t faced himself.” (Matthew… page 53)

Dietrich Bonhoeffer put it this way: “Here, in the Sermon on the Mount, we meet the word which sums up the whole of hit message, the word ‘love.’ Love is defined in uncompromising terms as the love of our enemies. Had Jesus only told us to love our brethren (sic), we might have misunderstood what he meant by love, but now he leaves us no doubt whatsoever as to his meaning.” (Cost of Discipleship, page 146)

One comedian, in speaking about Jesus’ command to care for the poor says that, If we aren’t going to do it, “either we have to pretend that Jesus was just as selfish as we are, or we've got to acknowledge that He commanded us to love the poor and serve the needy without condition and then admit that we just don't want to do it.”  Sadly, the same goes for this.  We’ve got to acknowledge that Jesus commands this and live it, or we have to admit that we just don’t want to do it, and then figure out what religion we actually follow.

But before you walk away…thinking you just don’t have the ability to love like Jesus does…listen to something else Bonhoeffer says, “The love for our enemies takes us along the way of the cross and into fellowship with the Crucified. The more we are driven along this road, the more certain is the victory of love over our enemies’ hatred. For then it is not the disciple’s own love, but the love of Jesus Christ alone, who for the sake of his enemies went to the cross and prayed for them as he hung there.” (Cost of Discipleship, page 150).

In the front of most church sanctuaries you will see the signs that point to where this “love” from the Sermon on the Mount springs from.   There is, first and foremost, the cross.  And then there is the altar where we celebrate the Eucharist.  I can think of no other greater symbols of forgiveness and reconciliation than these, both of which sit before most Christian week after week, inviting us to remember that Jesus was born, lived, died and rose again to make us—who were once the enemies of God—into Children of God.  

I do not expect that Jesus, when he said this, intended us to be able to master loving our enemies in a few short moments, or even that we would be able to do it under our own power or will.  (I am not sure, however, why he said that his yoke was easy or his burden was light, especially when I am forced to give my anger and hatred over to his love…) But perhaps this is why, in many traditions, we are invited to “sup” with Jesus on a regular basis.  The more frequently we encounter forgiveness, the more ready we are to offer it when it is required.

Epiphany 6A "A Life Immersed in Grace"

Image courtesy of Hemanoleon Clipart
http://www.cruzblanca.org/hermanoleon/byn/rc/ev2vi15.gif

Emeril Lagasse.  Upon hearing his name some of you immediately thought of one of his famous sayings.  Either you saw the image of him tossing spices into a pot and saying, “BAM!” or you thought of “I’m gonna kick it up a little” or “I’m gonna kick it up a notch.”  There is the way the recipe is written, and then there is the way Emeril makes it.

When I read or hear the passages from the Sermon on the Mount, which we will hear more from next week, I have to force myself to remember two things that Jesus said in the passage you heard last week.  These teachings of Jesus are framed by the statements, “I have come to fulfill the law and the prophets” and “”Unless your righteousness exceeds that of the Scribes and Pharisees.” Meaning he’s come to kick it up a notch.  There is the way the Law is written, and then there is the way that Jesus calls us to live it.

The Greek word behind “fulfill” means to fill to the full, to complete, to bring to realization, or to accomplish. 

So Jesus is saying, “I have come to make the letter of the Law complete…to show you how it works in day to day.”

Because here’s the truth.  We are creatures of rationalization.  We love the loophole. What do I mean by the loophole?

There’s a light hearted jab that goes back and forth between Greek and Russian Orthodox Christians when it comes to fasting. It was something I learned during the couple of years I spent in the Orthodox Church.  During seasons of fasting, like Great Lent, Orthodox Christians refrain from All Meat, All Dairy, Eggs, Wine and Oil.  The joke is that the Greeks say “No wine means no alcohol at all; no oil means no olive oil but canola, corn, peanut, etc. are okay.”  But the Russians say, “No oil means no oil at all; but no wine means no wine, vodka, on the other hand…vodka is okay.”  

Rationalization sounds like this statement: “I quit smoking in June 1996 and I haven’t smoked a cigarette ever since.  That being said, I have been known to enjoy a cigar from time to time…but since I don’t inhale, I’m not really smoking, right?”

We are creatures of rationalization.  We are lovers of the loophole.  In these teachings Jesus says, “No more loopholes; stop rationalizing your behavior.”  

John Wesley challenged his societies and class meeting to live by Three Rules.  The first two fit this fairly well.  Wesley said, “First of all, do no harm. Secondly, do all the good you can to all the people you can, in all the ways that you can, as long as ever you can.”  

Do no harm is pretty easy for most of us.  Don’t hurt people.  Don’t rob, don’t murder, don’t rape.  For a great portion of the population those are easy.  Do no harm.  But when you add the second rule of do good, it takes it up a notch.  Don’t just refrain from harming others, do good deeds for people.  Do good deeds to all of them.  Do as much good as you can, and do it as frequently as you can.  See the difference between do no harm and do good?

So what Jesus says is, “don’t just be satisfied with not killing your neighbor who upsets you…don’t even be angry.  In fact, if you think you may have caused someone else to be upset with you, seek that person out and be reconciled.” 

Think about that one for just a minute. How many people do you think you may have made upset with you in a given day?  Depending on the person, it may not take much to make them upset.  Not actually stopping to see how they respond to the greeting, “How are you doing?”  That upsets some people.  Cutting people off in traffic, that upsets some people.  Having a cartload of groceries in the express line, that upsets some people.  Having a different opinion from someone is cause for making people mad anymore.  But when we think of anger, usually what we’re most concerned with are those we’re upset with, not those we may have harmed—intentionally or otherwise.

I had a parishioner come up to me once, because in a statement I had made in a small group study where I thought I was complimenting her faith walk, she was under the impression that I had mocked her.  I had no idea that I had hurt her feelings until she came to me, but I also wasn’t in place where I was thinking about whether what I said could cause pain to others.  How many of people out there have been harmed by our words, even if we didn’t mean it?

Ultimately what Jesus is teaching us, is that our outward actions are guided by what goes on in our hearts.  And just living in the realm of “I didn’t actually do the deed” doesn’t really cut it.  He addresses the contentious issues of his time, but I would say that there are other issues that could be included beyond just the “hot topics” of his day.  

One scholar points out, “By collapsing the distinction between thought and action, this extension of the law against adultery to include lust suggests that no one should be regarded as a sex object. The burden here is placed on the man: women are not responsible for enticing men into sexual misadventures.”*  The following references (of cutting off arms and gouging out eyes) “are hyperbole used by Jesus to emphasize the need for integrity of self in terms of the relationship between intent and action, between attitude and practice.”**

Other people, women or men, are not meant to be objects of sexuality, or objects of wrath, or objects to be conquered on our pathway to success. The more we objectify the easier it becomes to dehumanize, the easier it becomes to dismiss sacred worth.

Some colleagues of mine back in the U.S. were recently discussing on Facebook whether or not we could/should rank sins.  There were a variety of responses, as I’m sure there are a number of different thoughts happening right now about ranking sin.  I won’t ask you to raise your hands or identify one way or the other, so don’t worry. But what our discussion had me thinking about again was the idea of justification and rationalization.  I haven’t killed anyone…even though your anger may have reached a point of killing your relationship with that person or you are completely disinterested in seeking reconciliation with someone.  

One of my favorite passages from the gospels is the parable of the Pharisee and the Tax Collector. The Pharisee is living a life of comparative piety.  I am not like “those people”…whereas the Tax Collector is only aware of how much he is in need of mercy and grace.

In the end, perhaps this is exactly where Jesus is calling us to land, spiritually speaking: aware of how much we still need mercy and grace. One pastor says that Jesus “is not just giving moral commands. He is veiling a new way of being human.”***

 So there is some danger in taking what Jesus says here and making it into a new form legalism; after all, legalism just means more loopholes.  Jesus doesn’t want legalism, and he is even less interested in loopholes; he wants us to explore what living with love, and a life immersed in grace, looks like.

* Amy Jill Levine “Matthew,” in The Women’s Bible Commentary quoted by Marcia Y. Riggs in the Theological Perspective of Sixith Sunday after the Epiphany in Feasting on the Word.

** Marcia Y Riggs. “Theological Perspective: Sixth Sunday after the Epiphany” Feasting on the Word: Year A, Volume 1, Advent through Transfiguration.

*** Edwin Chr. Van Driel “Exegetical Perspective: Sixth Sunday after Epiphany.” Feasting on the Word: Year A, Volume 1, Advent through Transfiguration.

Post Run Ponderings

I was walking home after finishing my run this morning and as I crossed a street a thought rolled through my head: "I miss the days of being able to run six or seven miles like it was no big deal."

A few months ago--close to six months ago now that I really think about it--we were living in Sasebo and if I said, "I'm going for a quick run" that meant I was going for a three-ish mile run.  Tuesday lunch runs were quick runs squeezed into a 90-minute lunch hour.  Normal runs were anywhere from four to six miles.  Long runs on the weekend were six to eight miles, occasionally longer.

Now I live in the 5k range on a regular basis and there are days where that reality just totally kicks my emotional ass.  Today was one of those days.

I was on the brink of saying, "I shouldn't even think of myself as a runner anymore" when my inner counselor told my inner sad sack to knock that shit off.

What is it about labels?  There was a time when I didn't consider myself "a runner." I was someone who had to run to meet certain physical standards to keep my job and be vital in my work and ministry, but "a runner?" Psh.  Not me!

Then one day I found out I really was "a runner" and it was liberating and kind of frightening all at the same time.  "When did I begin thinking of myself as 'a runner'?"

Of course, maybe I'm just a little too "in my own head."

But I realized that we do this thing with labels in other aspects of our lives as well.  I have seen in first hand in the church.  People hit spiritual rough spots and spend some time away from the church and if you ask them, they would not say they really don't identify with the label "Christian."

What I am learning as I get acclimatized to running in a new location is that I have to take each run as its own experience and its own gift: learn from it, and then get back out there again tomorrow.  The run may not be pretty, and I may not feel "unstoppable" as I suck wind and gasp through my bronchial issues, but it's a run.  Or, as I like to say on my daily mile posts, "at least I got miles."

One of my spiritual mentors once said, "There are times when the daily office will feel like sand in your mouth as you pray it, but by showing up you make yourself available to the Spirit."  That's why I keep lacing up, even when I don't know if it's going to be pretty, even though I'm not where I was one year ago.  By lacing up, I am making myself available to today's run, and today's lesson, what ever that may be.