Earlier this week there was an article in The Hawk Eye about two twenty-something sisters who are having trouble getting Social Security cards. It seems that their parents were lifelong hippies/gypsies, never staying long in one place, getting odd jobs as they went, living outside any system. One daughter was born in a house and the other in the back of a van. Neither birth was officially recorded at the time. Now that they are older, the two women can’t prove their identity to the satisfaction of the Social Security Administration. And without a card they can’t get regular jobs.
Identity papers are a relatively recent invention. They crop up when a government feels the need to distinguish among different groups. Proof of identity has become particularly important in a world fearful of random violence. Somehow we feel more in control if we think we know exactly who everyone is. Never mind that tighter control makes counterfeiting more lucrative, or that some people are frozen out of the system because their personal identity isn’t good enough for a bureaucracy.
On Sunday we will have several questions of identity placed before us. Who is Moses? Who is Jesus? Who is Simon Peter? None of these people will be able to produce identity papers.
The story of Moses’ birth is a long one, befitting his importance. And like a good story, there is suspense. The struggles of the Israelites in Egypt are interwoven with the faithfulness of their midwives, who subvert orders to kill newborn baby boys. One such boy is hidden and discovered by the daughter of Pharaoh, who takes him as her own. Only at the end is the name of this child finally revealed: Moses. But even that drives the story forward. Will this child grow to identify himself as an Egyptian or as an Israelite? What will Moses’ final identity be?
Jesus comes right out and asks the identity question. “Who do people say that the Son of Man is?” he questions his disciples. They give him a variety of answers they’ve heard floating around, each a return to life of some famous figure in Israel’s history. John the Baptist. Elijah. Jeremiah (why him? Jesus wasn’t that much of a party-pooper.) Some other random prophet.
Jesus then turns the question on them. “But who do you say that I am?” Simon blurts out the right answer in spite of himself. “You are the Christ/Messiah, the Son of the living God.” Jesus is impressed, so impressed that he gives Simon a new name with a play on words. “Blessed are you, Simon son of Jonah…and I tell you, you are Peter, and on this rock (petra) I will build my church.”
It won’t take long for Simon Peter’s swelled head to get cut back to size – that happens next week – but for now he gets it right. And, I think, that is exactly what happens to us. There are moments when we can clearly see Jesus for who he is, when God names us and reveals to us who we really are. Even if we shortly thereafter fall into a confused forgetfulness, it is those moments of clarity that give us our true identity. It may not be one recognized by a bureaucracy, yet it is more permanent than any government card. It is who God knows us to be. And to be known, fully known and loved by God, is all the identity that we really need.
[Pentecost 10: Exodus 1:8-2:10; Matthew 16:13-20. I should note that Roman Catholics and Lutherans and others who fought bitter Reformation wars in continental Europe argue whether Jesus was building his church on Peter and his successors (i.e., the bishops of Rome) or Peter’s confession of faith. I’m thankful that from within the Anglican tradition I can talk about something else.]
Thursday, August 18, 2011
Thursday, August 11, 2011
Crying for Help
This summer R and I had a wonderful two-week vacation on the West Coast. Some of the time was spent in Berkeley, where she had a conference. Most of it was in Seattle, a beautiful city with cool air and lots to see and do. We spent a lot of time drinking coffee, of course, and made our pilgrimage to the original Peet’s in Berkeley. In Seattle, R browsed the Elliott Bay Book Company while I checked out the flagship stores of Daniel Smith and REI. We’d love to go back there again.
Like any big city, and unlike where we live and work, there were people on street corners asking for money. Some were clearly destitute, carrying all of their possessions with them. Usually they had a territory staked out and were present on the same corner every day. They also knew one another. In Seattle one man sold an alternative newspaper as a way of earning a small wage, a practice I had seen and supported when we lived in Evanston. But by and large, the needs were always greater than my ability to give. And, of course, there was no way to determine what the money would be used for.
I returned from vacation with a new perspective on the many people who drop by the church asking for assistance. Some have obvious needs – the fellow who walks everywhere, thin as a rail and brown as a nut, asking for food. The sickly, pale young woman who needs gas money to get to Iowa City for leukemia treatments. Then there are those who appear to be gaming the system, giving stories that aren’t true when checked, arguing when told no as though assistance is their right. I try to work through Community Action whenever possible, because I know that at least there’s some screening and accountability there.
My response to people in need undoubtedly developed from what I saw others around me doing as I grew up. For instance, my mother used to make a sandwich for anyone who came to the door asking for money for food. Then one day she found a sandwich in the bushes, and that was the end of that. We both became more wary of people who said they were hungry.
In the Gospel story this week, Jesus seems very constrained by his Jewish upbringing. Jews had interactions with non-Jews out of necessity rather than choice. When Jesus and his disciples went off into Gentile territory, one gets the impression that their teeth were set on edge just by being there. Sure enough, a foreign woman came running up and started shouting at them. “Have mercy on me, Lord, Son of David!” she cried. “My daughter is tormented by a demon.” I imagine a disciple muttering under his breath, “and she isn’t the only one!”
Jesus remained silent. “He answered her not a word” is the literal translation. That, of course, did not quiet her down. Like any parent, she wanted help for her child. Her persistence annoyed the disciples so much that they asked Jesus to send her away. Finally Jesus the Jewish Messiah spoke, telling her that he was only sent to the lost of Israel. Still she persisted, kneeling down in worship before him. “Lord, help me,” she said.
What follows is an exchange that is guaranteed to offend anyone with modern sensibilities. In effect, Jesus calls her a dog, saying that isn’t fair to throw the Jewish children’s bread to dogs. Remarkably, she comes right back at him. “Yes, Lord,” she says, “but even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from the table.”
I can just imagine what would happen if I told someone who asked for assistance that they are a dog. The parish administrator’s eyes would get very big. And the supplicant would be very offended and either leave in a huff or cover me with verbal abuse.
So what’s going on here? Bad day for Jesus? One request too many? Did he think the woman was on drugs? Some would say that the woman caused Jesus to change his mind, making him realize that he was sent to non-Jews as well. Others use this passage to show that the whole Bible is hopelessly patriarchal and should either be rewritten or thrown out.
There’s no question that this is a remarkable woman. For one thing, she addresses Jesus as the Jewish Messiah, the Son of David. She falls at his feet and worships him. She is willing to take him on his own terms. When he talks about dogs, she even goes with that. Her one goal is to get her daughter healed.
And she succeeds. “O woman, great is your faith,” Jesus says to her. “Let it happen for you as you wish.” And that is the key. The woman succeeded through faith. It’s not that she made Jesus change his mind; rather, it became clear to him what was appropriate for this particular woman. Her faith was great, unlike the little faith of the disciples. The whole scene anticipates the very end of Matthew’s Gospel, when the disciples will be told to go into all nations, baptizing in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.
I don’t want to minimize the offensiveness of this passage to our ears. No one should be called a dog, much less treated like one. But don’t let offense get in the way of meaning. Jesus responds to faith. Even if there is silence at first, persistence in prayer has an effect. Jesus is willing to listen and respond, if we are willing to come to him in faith. And that is why I pray every day for everyone who comes through the church doors. I may not be able to give them all that they request, but I can pray for them. And someday, unknown to me, Jesus might say, “Let it happen for you as you wish.”
[Pentecost 9: Matthew 15:10-28.]
Like any big city, and unlike where we live and work, there were people on street corners asking for money. Some were clearly destitute, carrying all of their possessions with them. Usually they had a territory staked out and were present on the same corner every day. They also knew one another. In Seattle one man sold an alternative newspaper as a way of earning a small wage, a practice I had seen and supported when we lived in Evanston. But by and large, the needs were always greater than my ability to give. And, of course, there was no way to determine what the money would be used for.
I returned from vacation with a new perspective on the many people who drop by the church asking for assistance. Some have obvious needs – the fellow who walks everywhere, thin as a rail and brown as a nut, asking for food. The sickly, pale young woman who needs gas money to get to Iowa City for leukemia treatments. Then there are those who appear to be gaming the system, giving stories that aren’t true when checked, arguing when told no as though assistance is their right. I try to work through Community Action whenever possible, because I know that at least there’s some screening and accountability there.
My response to people in need undoubtedly developed from what I saw others around me doing as I grew up. For instance, my mother used to make a sandwich for anyone who came to the door asking for money for food. Then one day she found a sandwich in the bushes, and that was the end of that. We both became more wary of people who said they were hungry.
In the Gospel story this week, Jesus seems very constrained by his Jewish upbringing. Jews had interactions with non-Jews out of necessity rather than choice. When Jesus and his disciples went off into Gentile territory, one gets the impression that their teeth were set on edge just by being there. Sure enough, a foreign woman came running up and started shouting at them. “Have mercy on me, Lord, Son of David!” she cried. “My daughter is tormented by a demon.” I imagine a disciple muttering under his breath, “and she isn’t the only one!”
Jesus remained silent. “He answered her not a word” is the literal translation. That, of course, did not quiet her down. Like any parent, she wanted help for her child. Her persistence annoyed the disciples so much that they asked Jesus to send her away. Finally Jesus the Jewish Messiah spoke, telling her that he was only sent to the lost of Israel. Still she persisted, kneeling down in worship before him. “Lord, help me,” she said.
What follows is an exchange that is guaranteed to offend anyone with modern sensibilities. In effect, Jesus calls her a dog, saying that isn’t fair to throw the Jewish children’s bread to dogs. Remarkably, she comes right back at him. “Yes, Lord,” she says, “but even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from the table.”
I can just imagine what would happen if I told someone who asked for assistance that they are a dog. The parish administrator’s eyes would get very big. And the supplicant would be very offended and either leave in a huff or cover me with verbal abuse.
So what’s going on here? Bad day for Jesus? One request too many? Did he think the woman was on drugs? Some would say that the woman caused Jesus to change his mind, making him realize that he was sent to non-Jews as well. Others use this passage to show that the whole Bible is hopelessly patriarchal and should either be rewritten or thrown out.
There’s no question that this is a remarkable woman. For one thing, she addresses Jesus as the Jewish Messiah, the Son of David. She falls at his feet and worships him. She is willing to take him on his own terms. When he talks about dogs, she even goes with that. Her one goal is to get her daughter healed.
And she succeeds. “O woman, great is your faith,” Jesus says to her. “Let it happen for you as you wish.” And that is the key. The woman succeeded through faith. It’s not that she made Jesus change his mind; rather, it became clear to him what was appropriate for this particular woman. Her faith was great, unlike the little faith of the disciples. The whole scene anticipates the very end of Matthew’s Gospel, when the disciples will be told to go into all nations, baptizing in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.
I don’t want to minimize the offensiveness of this passage to our ears. No one should be called a dog, much less treated like one. But don’t let offense get in the way of meaning. Jesus responds to faith. Even if there is silence at first, persistence in prayer has an effect. Jesus is willing to listen and respond, if we are willing to come to him in faith. And that is why I pray every day for everyone who comes through the church doors. I may not be able to give them all that they request, but I can pray for them. And someday, unknown to me, Jesus might say, “Let it happen for you as you wish.”
[Pentecost 9: Matthew 15:10-28.]
Monday, August 8, 2011
Walking on Water
Jesus finally got to take a break. At first it didn’t seem that he would. He got into a boat and took off across the sea. But some people saw him and guessed where he would be going, and they got there first. By the time he arrived they were waiting, holding up sick children and old parents and asking him to heal them. Because he was Jesus, he relented. He could tell that they wanted to hear the good news about God’s love for them.
Jesus healed and preached for so long that it was way past dinnertime when he finally finished. By then his disciples were hungry and cranky, and asked him to send everyone away so they could eat. “You feed them,” he said. They protested and said that they didn’t have enough food. So he took the little that they had brought along, blessed and broke it, and gave it back to them to distribute. Not only did it feed everyone, but there was a lot left over.
Now Jesus could command his disciples to get into the boat and take off. Then he dismissed the crowd. Finally he was alone, able to go up into the mountain and pray. He prayed for all the people he had healed and he prayed for those cranky disciples and he prayed that God’s Spirit would be with him for the days ahead.
Meanwhile the disciples were out at sea, struggling against the wind and waves. They toiled all night but despaired of ever reaching shore. Then, shortly before the first light of dawn was to appear, they saw something white, walking on top of the waves. A ghost! A phantasm! They cried out in terror.
Then it spoke. “Have courage,” it said, in a familiar voice. “It is I. Do not be afraid.” They recognized the voice, but Peter needed proof. “Lord, if it is indeed you,” he said, “command me to come to you on the water.” Jesus knew what would happen, but he still said, “Come.” So Peter clambered down out of the boat and into the water. He started walking with his eyes fixed on Jesus.
Then a wave splashed him in the face. He blinked, and suddenly remembered how exhausted he was, and how the boat had pitched on the waves. He took his eyes off Jesus to look at the surging water. He got scared all over again. And he started to sink. “Save me, Lord!” he cried out.
Immediately Jesus reached out and grabbed Peter. He held him firmly until they got to the boat. Then as soon as they both climbed in, the wind stopped.
Did all of this really once happen? As a scientist, I used to get all worked up about the reality and details of this passage. Eventually I realized that it is a narrative, where the story is what’s important, not its historicity as we understand it. And the story is very clear, even today. Jesus comes into the midst of fear and says, “Have courage. Do not be afraid.” As long as we keep our eyes fixed on Jesus, we can do whatever God asks us to do. And even if we do take our eyes off Jesus and fear returns, he will reach out and hold us until we reach safety. Walking on water may have happened, or it may not. But the promise that God will be with us in the midst of whatever life brings is a truth that is not dependent on historicity. It’s as true as having to take an occasional break from cranky disciples and pressing crowds.
[Pentecost 9: Matthew 14:22-33.]
Jesus healed and preached for so long that it was way past dinnertime when he finally finished. By then his disciples were hungry and cranky, and asked him to send everyone away so they could eat. “You feed them,” he said. They protested and said that they didn’t have enough food. So he took the little that they had brought along, blessed and broke it, and gave it back to them to distribute. Not only did it feed everyone, but there was a lot left over.
Now Jesus could command his disciples to get into the boat and take off. Then he dismissed the crowd. Finally he was alone, able to go up into the mountain and pray. He prayed for all the people he had healed and he prayed for those cranky disciples and he prayed that God’s Spirit would be with him for the days ahead.
Meanwhile the disciples were out at sea, struggling against the wind and waves. They toiled all night but despaired of ever reaching shore. Then, shortly before the first light of dawn was to appear, they saw something white, walking on top of the waves. A ghost! A phantasm! They cried out in terror.
Then it spoke. “Have courage,” it said, in a familiar voice. “It is I. Do not be afraid.” They recognized the voice, but Peter needed proof. “Lord, if it is indeed you,” he said, “command me to come to you on the water.” Jesus knew what would happen, but he still said, “Come.” So Peter clambered down out of the boat and into the water. He started walking with his eyes fixed on Jesus.
Then a wave splashed him in the face. He blinked, and suddenly remembered how exhausted he was, and how the boat had pitched on the waves. He took his eyes off Jesus to look at the surging water. He got scared all over again. And he started to sink. “Save me, Lord!” he cried out.
Immediately Jesus reached out and grabbed Peter. He held him firmly until they got to the boat. Then as soon as they both climbed in, the wind stopped.
Did all of this really once happen? As a scientist, I used to get all worked up about the reality and details of this passage. Eventually I realized that it is a narrative, where the story is what’s important, not its historicity as we understand it. And the story is very clear, even today. Jesus comes into the midst of fear and says, “Have courage. Do not be afraid.” As long as we keep our eyes fixed on Jesus, we can do whatever God asks us to do. And even if we do take our eyes off Jesus and fear returns, he will reach out and hold us until we reach safety. Walking on water may have happened, or it may not. But the promise that God will be with us in the midst of whatever life brings is a truth that is not dependent on historicity. It’s as true as having to take an occasional break from cranky disciples and pressing crowds.
[Pentecost 9: Matthew 14:22-33.]
Thursday, July 28, 2011
Feeding the Multitude
In September our church will be hosting its second annual community picnic in the park across the street. Last year’s picnic grew out of discussions in the Outreach Team over what we could do for the surrounding community, which ranges from well-to-do to hand-to-mouth. Most church activities revolve around food, and weekday visitors often ask for food vouchers redeemable at the local supermarket, so the decision was made to get the entire parish involved in feeding people. It worked. Everyone had a good time.
The planning for this year’s picnic started in March. Three especially energetic new team members jumped on the chance to organize it, so now we have a menu, food sources, grill, entertainment, advertising, alternate rain location, and organizational chart. Soon there will be personal calls to everyone in the parish, signing them up for jobs. The picnic happens to be on September 11, so the tenth anniversary of 9/11 has been incorporated. It’s a lot of work, but everyone enjoys it. We hope to feed some two hundred people – or whoever shows up.
Jesus, too, fed whoever showed up. In contrast to our careful planning, however, Jesus simply took what was at hand and managed to make it stretch to five thousand men, besides women and children. (Doesn’t that “besides” get you? At least Matthew includes the women and children. Mark just has men.)
Jesus’ disciples clearly are not as thrilled about the prospect of feeding everyone as our Outreach Team. They seem a bit peeved that a crowd showed up in a deserted place where Jesus was supposed to get some down time. It didn’t help that he preached right through the dinner hour. When their stomachs were growling and they were eyeing the bread and fish they’d brought along, Jesus had the nerve to tell them to feed everyone. Not having a cooler full of meat and ten bags of charcoal handy, they protested.
So Jesus took the little that they had. He blessed it, broke, it, and gave it back to them so that they could feed everyone. And they did. Not only that, but when they cleaned up afterwards they filled twelve baskets with what remained.
It was only in connection with Jesus that the disciples were able to feed those thousands of people. It will only be in connection with Jesus that our church will be able to put on a community picnic. It is the Spirit of Christ within that makes us want to help others in the first place. It is the love of God revealed to us through Jesus Christ that brings us together as a Christian community. It is the joy of Jesus that will be expressed that day.
If we do start to run out of food in September, someone will make a quick trip to the store. No one will ask me to take, bless, break, and give what’s available, expecting that it will miraculously multiply. Jesus will be present, but we still have to do the work. And by the grace of God, everyone will eat and be filled.
[Pentecost 8: Matthew 14:13-21.]
The planning for this year’s picnic started in March. Three especially energetic new team members jumped on the chance to organize it, so now we have a menu, food sources, grill, entertainment, advertising, alternate rain location, and organizational chart. Soon there will be personal calls to everyone in the parish, signing them up for jobs. The picnic happens to be on September 11, so the tenth anniversary of 9/11 has been incorporated. It’s a lot of work, but everyone enjoys it. We hope to feed some two hundred people – or whoever shows up.
Jesus, too, fed whoever showed up. In contrast to our careful planning, however, Jesus simply took what was at hand and managed to make it stretch to five thousand men, besides women and children. (Doesn’t that “besides” get you? At least Matthew includes the women and children. Mark just has men.)
Jesus’ disciples clearly are not as thrilled about the prospect of feeding everyone as our Outreach Team. They seem a bit peeved that a crowd showed up in a deserted place where Jesus was supposed to get some down time. It didn’t help that he preached right through the dinner hour. When their stomachs were growling and they were eyeing the bread and fish they’d brought along, Jesus had the nerve to tell them to feed everyone. Not having a cooler full of meat and ten bags of charcoal handy, they protested.
So Jesus took the little that they had. He blessed it, broke, it, and gave it back to them so that they could feed everyone. And they did. Not only that, but when they cleaned up afterwards they filled twelve baskets with what remained.
It was only in connection with Jesus that the disciples were able to feed those thousands of people. It will only be in connection with Jesus that our church will be able to put on a community picnic. It is the Spirit of Christ within that makes us want to help others in the first place. It is the love of God revealed to us through Jesus Christ that brings us together as a Christian community. It is the joy of Jesus that will be expressed that day.
If we do start to run out of food in September, someone will make a quick trip to the store. No one will ask me to take, bless, break, and give what’s available, expecting that it will miraculously multiply. Jesus will be present, but we still have to do the work. And by the grace of God, everyone will eat and be filled.
[Pentecost 8: Matthew 14:13-21.]
Friday, July 22, 2011
Life in the Spirit
This week three kinds of Bible readings greet us. First is the story of how Jacob, the ancestor of all Israel, got his first two wives. The second is one of the Apostle Paul’s closely reasoned arguments from his letter to the Romans. And last is a series of short parables from Jesus, each beginning with “the kingdom of heaven is like…” Three passages from continuous readings of three books of the Bible, so it’s not surprising that they don’t intersect with one another but rather seem to run parallel.
I’m not going to spend time with Jacob. To make sense of his story I’d have to supply a lot of background before getting to the point. Suffice it to say that summarizing it as “how he got his first two wives” shows what kind of “family values” are in the Bible.
Paul is worth the hard work of understanding, especially the eighth chapter of his letter to the Romans, often described as “Life in the Spirit.” Last week we saw how all “creation waits with eager longing for the revealing of the children of God” – a claim that always astonishes me, that not just we, but everything that exists, await redemption through Jesus Christ.
Yet Paul well knows that though redemption is promised, it has not fully arrived. The yearning for it is so deep that we cannot find words to express it. Here the Spirit helps us, for God, too, knows that deep yearning, and wordlessly speaks it in our hearts. That Spirit brings us comfort, hope, and patience.
And it brought Paul the conviction that nothing can separate us from God’s love. He ends this section with a Spirit-filled expression of great power. “For I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, not anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Jesus Christ our Lord.” Nothing. Nada. Nothing in creation can separate us from the love of God.
The power of that love, the all-encompassing nature of that love, Jesus shows us in a few short parables. What starts out as small as a seed becomes mighty; it fills everything like yeast in dough; it’s worth paying any price to get. Yet it is possible to reject God’s love. Why anyone would do that is beyond me, but God does give us the awful freedom to walk the other way. The end result as described by Jesus is sobering.
This Sunday I will be baptizing a three-month-old infant. Talk about a mustard seed! Through water and the Holy Spirit she will be raised to a new life of grace. She will be sealed by the Holy Spirit and marked as Christ’s own forever. When she yearns too deeply for words, the Spirit will intercede with God for her. Those are promises we are all given at baptism. It takes a lifetime to learn their truth – that nothing in all creation will ever separate us from the love of God in Jesus Christ.
[Pentecost 6: Genesis 29:15-28; Romans 8:26-39; Matthew 13:31-33, 44-52.]
I’m not going to spend time with Jacob. To make sense of his story I’d have to supply a lot of background before getting to the point. Suffice it to say that summarizing it as “how he got his first two wives” shows what kind of “family values” are in the Bible.
Paul is worth the hard work of understanding, especially the eighth chapter of his letter to the Romans, often described as “Life in the Spirit.” Last week we saw how all “creation waits with eager longing for the revealing of the children of God” – a claim that always astonishes me, that not just we, but everything that exists, await redemption through Jesus Christ.
Yet Paul well knows that though redemption is promised, it has not fully arrived. The yearning for it is so deep that we cannot find words to express it. Here the Spirit helps us, for God, too, knows that deep yearning, and wordlessly speaks it in our hearts. That Spirit brings us comfort, hope, and patience.
And it brought Paul the conviction that nothing can separate us from God’s love. He ends this section with a Spirit-filled expression of great power. “For I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, not anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Jesus Christ our Lord.” Nothing. Nada. Nothing in creation can separate us from the love of God.
The power of that love, the all-encompassing nature of that love, Jesus shows us in a few short parables. What starts out as small as a seed becomes mighty; it fills everything like yeast in dough; it’s worth paying any price to get. Yet it is possible to reject God’s love. Why anyone would do that is beyond me, but God does give us the awful freedom to walk the other way. The end result as described by Jesus is sobering.
This Sunday I will be baptizing a three-month-old infant. Talk about a mustard seed! Through water and the Holy Spirit she will be raised to a new life of grace. She will be sealed by the Holy Spirit and marked as Christ’s own forever. When she yearns too deeply for words, the Spirit will intercede with God for her. Those are promises we are all given at baptism. It takes a lifetime to learn their truth – that nothing in all creation will ever separate us from the love of God in Jesus Christ.
[Pentecost 6: Genesis 29:15-28; Romans 8:26-39; Matthew 13:31-33, 44-52.]
Thursday, July 14, 2011
Weeds
One of the botany courses I used to teach was plant identification. When we got to the section on lawn weeds, I brought the class to my home. R still talks about it. I would excitedly walk around our property identifying all the weeds and the students would dutifully take notes. I can only imagine what must have been going through their heads!
Occasionally a “complimentary” lawn analysis would be left on our door by a local lawn care company. If they made the mistake of following up with a call, I good-naturedly berated them for listing so few plants, and then proceeded to tell them all of the species they missed. Soon they would be laughing and I had made my point: I was not a potential customer.
What is a weed, anyway? Basically, it’s a plant that’s out of place. Many, like dandelions, hitchhiked from Eurasia. Most people would consider dandelion a weed, but if they aren’t useful, why are they made into wine or used in salad? It’s curious how the whole concept of what does and does not belong in a lawn changed with the invention of herbicides and the desire to make money from them.
Agricultural weeds are a different story. In abundance, they can reduce crop yield. They gum up machinery. And some are just plain noxious, poisonous to people and cattle, or so invasive that they outcompete everything else. There’s even a USDA website for them.
One of the chief candidates for the “weeds” (KJV “tares”) in this week’s Gospel is such a plant, the black darnel or ryegrass (Lolium temulentum to a botanist). It isn’t true rye (that’s Secale cereale) but a lookalike to both wheat and rye, at least when it’s young. It can also be home to a fungus that, when present, makes darnel toxic. Not something you’d want in your wheat field.
So when the biblical farmer’s servants noticed darnel coming up with the wheat, he knew something was amiss. He must have had a nasty neighbor, whom he immediately suspected of skulking about at night with some bad seed. Rather than risk disturbing the wheat, the farmer opted to wait until the harvest and then separate the desirable crop from the weeds.
Matthew provides an interpretation of this parable. The interpretation sounds like Matthew, but the story does not, so there’s a possibility that the parable existed before its explanation. There are some characteristic images picked up by the interpretation: God as the sower, God’s people as the good seed, Satan as the enemy. Yet the story clearly states that evil’s immediate removal is not desirable. Rather, the outcome is what matters. The desire is to harvest good fruit, just as we saw in last week’s parable of the sower.
That’s an important message in a time when so many are anxious to define who is good and uproot those considered evil. The existence of evil cannot be denied or ignored. Yet that is not the primary focus of the parable. Growth and fruitfulness are. True, growth can be hindered by evil, but the Spirit cannot be stopped. Faithful growth will bear fruit.
We don’t have many weeds in our lawn any more, as our new house has fewer trees shading a healthier lawn. I no longer need the lawn as a teaching tool, either. Yet I still have a fondness for plants whose names I know, about whom I can tell stories of their journey to this continent. I’m still willing to let some weeds grow where they are not wanted. And now I have a parable from Jesus to back me up for doing so. I can leave them alone until harvest time.
[Pentecost 5: Matthew 13:24-30, 36-43.]
Occasionally a “complimentary” lawn analysis would be left on our door by a local lawn care company. If they made the mistake of following up with a call, I good-naturedly berated them for listing so few plants, and then proceeded to tell them all of the species they missed. Soon they would be laughing and I had made my point: I was not a potential customer.
What is a weed, anyway? Basically, it’s a plant that’s out of place. Many, like dandelions, hitchhiked from Eurasia. Most people would consider dandelion a weed, but if they aren’t useful, why are they made into wine or used in salad? It’s curious how the whole concept of what does and does not belong in a lawn changed with the invention of herbicides and the desire to make money from them.
Agricultural weeds are a different story. In abundance, they can reduce crop yield. They gum up machinery. And some are just plain noxious, poisonous to people and cattle, or so invasive that they outcompete everything else. There’s even a USDA website for them.
One of the chief candidates for the “weeds” (KJV “tares”) in this week’s Gospel is such a plant, the black darnel or ryegrass (Lolium temulentum to a botanist). It isn’t true rye (that’s Secale cereale) but a lookalike to both wheat and rye, at least when it’s young. It can also be home to a fungus that, when present, makes darnel toxic. Not something you’d want in your wheat field.
So when the biblical farmer’s servants noticed darnel coming up with the wheat, he knew something was amiss. He must have had a nasty neighbor, whom he immediately suspected of skulking about at night with some bad seed. Rather than risk disturbing the wheat, the farmer opted to wait until the harvest and then separate the desirable crop from the weeds.
Matthew provides an interpretation of this parable. The interpretation sounds like Matthew, but the story does not, so there’s a possibility that the parable existed before its explanation. There are some characteristic images picked up by the interpretation: God as the sower, God’s people as the good seed, Satan as the enemy. Yet the story clearly states that evil’s immediate removal is not desirable. Rather, the outcome is what matters. The desire is to harvest good fruit, just as we saw in last week’s parable of the sower.
That’s an important message in a time when so many are anxious to define who is good and uproot those considered evil. The existence of evil cannot be denied or ignored. Yet that is not the primary focus of the parable. Growth and fruitfulness are. True, growth can be hindered by evil, but the Spirit cannot be stopped. Faithful growth will bear fruit.
We don’t have many weeds in our lawn any more, as our new house has fewer trees shading a healthier lawn. I no longer need the lawn as a teaching tool, either. Yet I still have a fondness for plants whose names I know, about whom I can tell stories of their journey to this continent. I’m still willing to let some weeds grow where they are not wanted. And now I have a parable from Jesus to back me up for doing so. I can leave them alone until harvest time.
[Pentecost 5: Matthew 13:24-30, 36-43.]
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
A Smooth Man
My dad always liked the story of Jacob and Esau. Maybe it reminded him of his brothers, who could be as wily and mischievous as Jacob. They resembled one another in appearance, and once my grandfather on my mother’s side mistook one Horn brother for another, who played the part so well that my grandfather never caught on.
Dad’s favorite statement of Jacob’s was “my brother is a hairy man, and I am a smooth man” (Genesis 27:11). It always made him laugh. I don’t know why. He was indeed a smooth man; his thin hairless legs gave him the nickname “Birdlegs” when he ran track in college.
Maybe the attraction of Jacob and Esau was how true to life the stories are. Even in the womb they struggled so much that their mother, Rebekah, said out loud, “If it is to be this way, why do I live?” Surely my dad saw the exasperation on his own mother’s face as she struggled to raise eight children. And that wonderful image of Jacob coming out of the womb with his hand firmly gripping his brother’s heel. This was not going to be a peaceful household!
It didn’t help that Rebekah loved Jacob and Isaac loved Esau. Later she would help Jacob cheat his brother out of their father’s blessing. Last Sunday’s passage is a preview of this, and shows Esau as a man with more belly than brains. It isn’t as easy to find game as it is to cook up some lentils, so when Esau drags in at the end of a fruitless hunt, he readily does whatever Jacob asks just to get some dinner. Unfortunately for the slow-witted Esau, what he trades are his rights as first-born – which, admittedly, aren’t very filling when you’re hungry.
These stories aren’t intended to be historical biography, of course. They explain why the children of Jacob (Israel) didn’t get along with their distant kin, the children of Esau (Edom). Some also see them as part of the age-old conflict between nomadic hunters and settled farmers. For me, though, and probably for my dad, they show how well the biblical writers understood human nature, and how little that nature has changed over thousands of years.
That’s really what makes the Bible come alive for me. These aren’t ancient myths told by pre-scientific primitives. They are keen insights into how the world works, especially how people work. Genesis, in particular, is breathtaking in its description of how God enters into history, using someone as scheming as Jacob to create a promise that will one day be fulfilled in Jesus Christ. If these stories weren’t true to life, they wouldn’t have much meaning for me.
As far as I know, the Horn brothers never took advantage of one another except perhaps in jest, as with my maternal grandfather. In that sense, the resemblance to Jacob and Esau isn’t that strong. Yet families still have conflict, people still wheel and deal, and some make poor choices. In spite of all our human failings, God works with us and makes out of us something more than we can ask or imagine. Through God we become a blessing to others. And that’s true whether we are hairy or smooth.
[Pentecost 4: Genesis 25:19-24. I'm now back from vacation, so this is posted a bit late.]
Dad’s favorite statement of Jacob’s was “my brother is a hairy man, and I am a smooth man” (Genesis 27:11). It always made him laugh. I don’t know why. He was indeed a smooth man; his thin hairless legs gave him the nickname “Birdlegs” when he ran track in college.
Maybe the attraction of Jacob and Esau was how true to life the stories are. Even in the womb they struggled so much that their mother, Rebekah, said out loud, “If it is to be this way, why do I live?” Surely my dad saw the exasperation on his own mother’s face as she struggled to raise eight children. And that wonderful image of Jacob coming out of the womb with his hand firmly gripping his brother’s heel. This was not going to be a peaceful household!
It didn’t help that Rebekah loved Jacob and Isaac loved Esau. Later she would help Jacob cheat his brother out of their father’s blessing. Last Sunday’s passage is a preview of this, and shows Esau as a man with more belly than brains. It isn’t as easy to find game as it is to cook up some lentils, so when Esau drags in at the end of a fruitless hunt, he readily does whatever Jacob asks just to get some dinner. Unfortunately for the slow-witted Esau, what he trades are his rights as first-born – which, admittedly, aren’t very filling when you’re hungry.
These stories aren’t intended to be historical biography, of course. They explain why the children of Jacob (Israel) didn’t get along with their distant kin, the children of Esau (Edom). Some also see them as part of the age-old conflict between nomadic hunters and settled farmers. For me, though, and probably for my dad, they show how well the biblical writers understood human nature, and how little that nature has changed over thousands of years.
That’s really what makes the Bible come alive for me. These aren’t ancient myths told by pre-scientific primitives. They are keen insights into how the world works, especially how people work. Genesis, in particular, is breathtaking in its description of how God enters into history, using someone as scheming as Jacob to create a promise that will one day be fulfilled in Jesus Christ. If these stories weren’t true to life, they wouldn’t have much meaning for me.
As far as I know, the Horn brothers never took advantage of one another except perhaps in jest, as with my maternal grandfather. In that sense, the resemblance to Jacob and Esau isn’t that strong. Yet families still have conflict, people still wheel and deal, and some make poor choices. In spite of all our human failings, God works with us and makes out of us something more than we can ask or imagine. Through God we become a blessing to others. And that’s true whether we are hairy or smooth.
[Pentecost 4: Genesis 25:19-24. I'm now back from vacation, so this is posted a bit late.]
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