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.