It was a dry, hot day, not unlike a lot of other days in Israel. Jesus and his disciples were on the dusty road to Jerusalem from Galilee, a road that took them smack dab through the foreign territory of Samaria. Well, not foreign, really; the Samaritans were sort of like the Jews. Maybe that’s what made them so maddening. They claimed the same ancestors, but they insisted on worshipping somewhere other than Jerusalem. They just had a mongrel religion as far as the Jews were concerned. Yet the road went through Samaria, so the disciples made the best of it.
On this especially hot day they left Jesus at a well while they went to find food – although they knew they’d be hard-pressed to find anything kosher in this place. While they were away, a Samaritan woman came to the well to get water. She noticed Jesus sitting there and gave him a wide berth. She’d had her fill of Jews. In fact, she’d had her fill of men, but back then women didn’t have anything unless they were attached to a man.
Suddenly this Jewish man talked to her. “Give me a drink,” he said. She almost dropped her jar in astonishment. “Why are you asking me?” she replied. “You Jews always think that we Samaritan women are dirt.” But the man wasn’t offended. He simply said, “If you knew God and knew me, you could have gotten living water.” That confused her even more. She thought that “living water” meant “running water,” and he didn’t even have a bucket. So she pointed that out.
As she studied him, she began to realize that there was something unusual about this man. He seemed deeper than the well, deeper than life itself, like the stories about their ancestor Jacob her grandmother had told her when she was a child. He talked about never being thirsty, of having a spring of water inside gushing up to eternal life. She started to imagine what that would be like. She felt the coolness of the spring, being filled with water on a hot day, sitting in the shade, not always being in need…
“Bring your husband,” he said. Oh. So he didn’t think she was worth much by herself after all. “I have no husband,” she said. And added under her breath, I’m not about to do that again. The man quietly said, “That’s true.” Then he proceeded to tell her whole life story with five husbands and the latest live-in boyfriend. But he did it without any judgment at all. It was like he knew her better than she knew herself. She was always telling herself what a stupid person she was for letting men ruin her life, and here was this Jewish man accepting her for who she was, knowing everything she’d ever done.
He must be some sort of prophet, she thought. If so, then he can help sort out some of this Jew/Samaritan stuff about where to worship. Yet when she asked him whether Jerusalem or Samaria is the place to be, he said neither. “God is spirit,” he said, “and those who worship him must worship in spirit and truth.”
As he talked, another of her grandmother’s stories arose from memory. “I know that Messiah is coming,” she said. “When he comes, he will proclaim all things to us.” And the man replied, “I am, the one speaking to you.” Now she really did drop her jar. Just then the man’s disciples arrived. She hardly saw them glare at her as she rushed home to her village to tell everyone. “Come see this man who told me everything I’ve ever done! He isn’t the Messiah, is he?”
The whole village trooped out in confused excitement. Even the three ex-husbands who were still living went, figuring they’d better check out this fellow who seemed to know everything. He seemed so different from all of the Jews they’d ever met that they invited him to stick around for a couple of days. By the end of that time they knew why the woman had been so excited. They were excited, too. They knew that he wasn’t giving his living water to just Jews or Samaritans; he offered it to the whole world.
And the woman? She kept going to Jacob’s well to draw water. But it never mattered any more when she was hot or thirsty or hungry. She could remember how cool and filled she had felt in the presence of that man at the well. And best of all, her boyfriend was a changed person after those two days. Maybe, she thought, just maybe, men aren’t that bad after all.
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
Born of the Spirit
R gave me a wonderful Valentine’s Day card this year. On the front is a couple sitting in their easy chairs looking at one another. The woman is thinking, “When you’ve been married a long time, you get to know what the other person thinks.” And the man, frowning at her, thinks, “No, you don’t.”
Isn’t that wonderful? Not only husbands and wives but parents and children sometimes assume that they know what the other is thinking. For me, this was especially apparent when our son was a teenager. I guess we had done such a good job of figuring out what he needed when he was younger that he expected us to know what he wanted when he was older. I’m sure I did the same thing to my parents, until I realized that speech was a better method of communication than telepathy.
Even when we talk, though, conversations can work at cross purposes. The conversation between Jesus and Nicodemus is an excellent example. It starts out innocently enough, but then Nicodemus gets totally lost. He thinks he’s talking about one thing, and discovers that Jesus has something else on his mind. Eventually Nicodemus disappears completely as the whole direction of the discourse changes. By the end we may all be confused!
It helps to know some of the code words which set up the story. Nicodemus is a Pharisee (uh-oh) and a leader of the Jews (uh-oh again). From other gospel accounts we know that the Pharisees are usually the bad guys, and the Gospel of John is especially hard on “the Jews,” which could mean either Judeans (big-city types who looked down on Galilean peasants like Jesus) or the leaders of the Jews (the people of parts). Furthermore, Nicodemus comes to Jesus by night. From the beginning of this Gospel there has been opposition between light (Jesus) and darkness. This doesn’t bode very well.
Nicodemus begins by declaring that Jesus must come from God because of the signs that he does. Some have said that this is intended to be irony, trying to trap Jesus into saying something foolish, but I prefer to read it at face value. In any case, the “answer” Jesus gives does not refer to what was said. Instead, he says that one must be born from above. The word translated “from above” also means “anew” or “again” – it is intentionally ambiguous. It does not refer to a specific, datable experience one must go through to be called a Christian (as in born-again Christians). The ambiguity puzzles Nicodemus, and he settles on the wrong meaning, that Jesus literally means to be born once more.
Things are not helped by another word play. The Greek word “pneuma” can mean blowing [wind], breath, spirit, or Spirit (as in Holy Spirit). Nicodemus seems baffled by the possibilities in Jesus’ use of it. Jesus says he should know better – teachers at the time were adept at word play.
And then Jesus says, “We speak of what we know and testify to what we have seen; yet you (plural) do not receive our testimony.” Just who are “we” and “you” (all-y’all)? It appears that we have stepped beyond an encounter between two people to the communities they represent: the non-believers on the one hand, those who prefer darkness to light, and the community of John the Evangelist, followers of Jesus, witnesses to the light of Christ. These are the ones who have been born anew/from above by water and the Spirit. They are the true descendants of Moses and the Israelites who followed Moses through the wilderness.
As one of my clergy colleagues put it, Nicodemus thinks that the conversation is about information when it is really about transformation. It’s not about the signs Jesus has done; it’s about new life in Jesus Christ. Yet even though this Spirit-filled life of light is freely offered to all, some choose to remain in darkness. God’s desire is that all come to the light so that all may have eternal life. But God is not about to compel people to come; instead, God chooses to limit God’s own power and allow humans to make their own choice. In effect, God does not condemn us; we condemn ourselves when we prefer darkness to light.
I’d like to think that, just as children and parents eventually understand one another, Nicodemus finally grasped the words of Jesus. We have a hint that he did. Much later in the story, Nicodemus will help Joseph of Arimathea take down the crucified body of Jesus and lay it in a tomb. Three days later that body will no longer be there. Maybe, just maybe, when Nicodemus encountered the resurrected Christ, he remembered that conversation held years before on a dark night – and walked forever more in a light so bright that he no longer could remember what darkness was like.
[Lent 2: John 3:1-17.]
Isn’t that wonderful? Not only husbands and wives but parents and children sometimes assume that they know what the other is thinking. For me, this was especially apparent when our son was a teenager. I guess we had done such a good job of figuring out what he needed when he was younger that he expected us to know what he wanted when he was older. I’m sure I did the same thing to my parents, until I realized that speech was a better method of communication than telepathy.
Even when we talk, though, conversations can work at cross purposes. The conversation between Jesus and Nicodemus is an excellent example. It starts out innocently enough, but then Nicodemus gets totally lost. He thinks he’s talking about one thing, and discovers that Jesus has something else on his mind. Eventually Nicodemus disappears completely as the whole direction of the discourse changes. By the end we may all be confused!
It helps to know some of the code words which set up the story. Nicodemus is a Pharisee (uh-oh) and a leader of the Jews (uh-oh again). From other gospel accounts we know that the Pharisees are usually the bad guys, and the Gospel of John is especially hard on “the Jews,” which could mean either Judeans (big-city types who looked down on Galilean peasants like Jesus) or the leaders of the Jews (the people of parts). Furthermore, Nicodemus comes to Jesus by night. From the beginning of this Gospel there has been opposition between light (Jesus) and darkness. This doesn’t bode very well.
Nicodemus begins by declaring that Jesus must come from God because of the signs that he does. Some have said that this is intended to be irony, trying to trap Jesus into saying something foolish, but I prefer to read it at face value. In any case, the “answer” Jesus gives does not refer to what was said. Instead, he says that one must be born from above. The word translated “from above” also means “anew” or “again” – it is intentionally ambiguous. It does not refer to a specific, datable experience one must go through to be called a Christian (as in born-again Christians). The ambiguity puzzles Nicodemus, and he settles on the wrong meaning, that Jesus literally means to be born once more.
Things are not helped by another word play. The Greek word “pneuma” can mean blowing [wind], breath, spirit, or Spirit (as in Holy Spirit). Nicodemus seems baffled by the possibilities in Jesus’ use of it. Jesus says he should know better – teachers at the time were adept at word play.
And then Jesus says, “We speak of what we know and testify to what we have seen; yet you (plural) do not receive our testimony.” Just who are “we” and “you” (all-y’all)? It appears that we have stepped beyond an encounter between two people to the communities they represent: the non-believers on the one hand, those who prefer darkness to light, and the community of John the Evangelist, followers of Jesus, witnesses to the light of Christ. These are the ones who have been born anew/from above by water and the Spirit. They are the true descendants of Moses and the Israelites who followed Moses through the wilderness.
As one of my clergy colleagues put it, Nicodemus thinks that the conversation is about information when it is really about transformation. It’s not about the signs Jesus has done; it’s about new life in Jesus Christ. Yet even though this Spirit-filled life of light is freely offered to all, some choose to remain in darkness. God’s desire is that all come to the light so that all may have eternal life. But God is not about to compel people to come; instead, God chooses to limit God’s own power and allow humans to make their own choice. In effect, God does not condemn us; we condemn ourselves when we prefer darkness to light.
I’d like to think that, just as children and parents eventually understand one another, Nicodemus finally grasped the words of Jesus. We have a hint that he did. Much later in the story, Nicodemus will help Joseph of Arimathea take down the crucified body of Jesus and lay it in a tomb. Three days later that body will no longer be there. Maybe, just maybe, when Nicodemus encountered the resurrected Christ, he remembered that conversation held years before on a dark night – and walked forever more in a light so bright that he no longer could remember what darkness was like.
[Lent 2: John 3:1-17.]
Saturday, March 5, 2011
Get Up and Do Not Be Afraid
One would not guess that fear is a common emotion in the Bible. It certainly doesn’t show up in many forms of contemporary Christianity, at least not in the West. We are too busy trying to figure out what will bring people through our doors to consider anything as negative as fear. It doesn’t fit into the Jesus’n’me theology that’s so well suited to our individualistic culture. Like death, fear is something we’d rather not think about.
It’s not like fear is absent in our lives. Some people have reasonable fears, for their health or economic well-being. Some live in circumstances where they are physically afraid. And then there are the vague fears, such as the future of the economy or the direction of the country. Those are the fears that get whipped up in elections, because political campaigners know that people will vote their fears, even if they are based on misleading information.
Fear in the Bible is different. It mostly seems to be fear of God, a concept that doesn’t sit well with us. Yet there it is – every time someone encounters the living God, they are terrified. Moses at the burning bush, the Israelites at the mountain, Isaiah in the temple, Mary and the angel Gabriel, Peter at the voice from heaven, the disciples at the appearance of the resurrected Christ. One gets the impression that they were ready to leap out of their skin. If they aren’t completely shocked into a trembling silence, they ask God to find someone else.
But God never does! Instead, there is a word of comfort before God describes what’s going to happen next. Take Peter, for instance. Having just given the right answer about who Jesus is (the Messiah, the Son of the living God), and finding himself among an elite group that Jesus took up a high mountain, Peter must have been feeling pretty good about himself. So good, in fact, that when Jesus lit up and Moses and Elijah showed up, Peter offered to provide them all a place to stay so the show could go on.
Suddenly God showed up with a speaking part. “This is my Son, the Beloved; with him I am well pleased; listen to him!” That wasn’t in Peter’s script, and he fell to the ground, terrified. When Jesus touched him, he probably jumped. But Jesus did not berate him; instead, he said, “Get up and do not be afraid.” It’s a foretaste of what Jesus will say after the resurrection to the disciples who abandoned him: “Peace be with you.”
Get up and do not be afraid. How often do we need to hear that? How often has fear paralyzed us, thrown us down, caused us to make poor choices? And who except God offers words of comfort after first making us afraid? And who except God invites us to become the persons God knows us to be: Moses, lead my people. Isaiah, preach my words. Mary, bear my Son. Peter, feed my sheep.
Get up and do not be afraid. That’s the invitation God gives, day by day, week by week. I will give you the strength to go on, God says. I will be present with you. I will lead you up the mountain and down again, but I will not leave you. So get up and do not be afraid.
[Last Epiphany: Exodus 24:12-18; Psalm 2; 2 Peter 1:16-21; Matthew 17:1-9.]
It’s not like fear is absent in our lives. Some people have reasonable fears, for their health or economic well-being. Some live in circumstances where they are physically afraid. And then there are the vague fears, such as the future of the economy or the direction of the country. Those are the fears that get whipped up in elections, because political campaigners know that people will vote their fears, even if they are based on misleading information.
Fear in the Bible is different. It mostly seems to be fear of God, a concept that doesn’t sit well with us. Yet there it is – every time someone encounters the living God, they are terrified. Moses at the burning bush, the Israelites at the mountain, Isaiah in the temple, Mary and the angel Gabriel, Peter at the voice from heaven, the disciples at the appearance of the resurrected Christ. One gets the impression that they were ready to leap out of their skin. If they aren’t completely shocked into a trembling silence, they ask God to find someone else.
But God never does! Instead, there is a word of comfort before God describes what’s going to happen next. Take Peter, for instance. Having just given the right answer about who Jesus is (the Messiah, the Son of the living God), and finding himself among an elite group that Jesus took up a high mountain, Peter must have been feeling pretty good about himself. So good, in fact, that when Jesus lit up and Moses and Elijah showed up, Peter offered to provide them all a place to stay so the show could go on.
Suddenly God showed up with a speaking part. “This is my Son, the Beloved; with him I am well pleased; listen to him!” That wasn’t in Peter’s script, and he fell to the ground, terrified. When Jesus touched him, he probably jumped. But Jesus did not berate him; instead, he said, “Get up and do not be afraid.” It’s a foretaste of what Jesus will say after the resurrection to the disciples who abandoned him: “Peace be with you.”
Get up and do not be afraid. How often do we need to hear that? How often has fear paralyzed us, thrown us down, caused us to make poor choices? And who except God offers words of comfort after first making us afraid? And who except God invites us to become the persons God knows us to be: Moses, lead my people. Isaiah, preach my words. Mary, bear my Son. Peter, feed my sheep.
Get up and do not be afraid. That’s the invitation God gives, day by day, week by week. I will give you the strength to go on, God says. I will be present with you. I will lead you up the mountain and down again, but I will not leave you. So get up and do not be afraid.
[Last Epiphany: Exodus 24:12-18; Psalm 2; 2 Peter 1:16-21; Matthew 17:1-9.]
Saturday, February 26, 2011
Today's Trouble is Enough
When I was in junior high school, I had Mr. Baines for two years of Spanish. Mr. Baines was legendary. My older brothers told me that he ran a hobby shop on the side, and periodically would offer to buy or sell Lionel model trains. What they didn’t tell me about were his teaching methods. After every test he would line us up along the wall and then call out names in test score order. Those who scored lowest he put in front, where he thought they would learn better. He didn’t seem to notice the shame on their faces, or consider that this was not the best form of encouragement.
Mr. Baines was fond of saying “Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof.” It was some years before I knew what that meant. Eventually I realized that he was simply quoting the King James Bible’s version of “Today’s trouble is enough for today.” Perhaps I wouldn’t have paid much attention anyway at that age, even if it weren’t in Jacobean English. But I have come to appreciate those words, and the ones Jesus spoke before them: “So do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will bring worries of its own.”
When I became a teacher myself – having learned what not to do from people like Mr. Baines – I had to put his saying into practice. I would stress over the weather forecast for a scheduled field trip, and then the rain would come later. Eventually I learned to make contingency plans and then set aside my worries. It’s a mantra I still tell myself (and others): deal with what is, rather than worry about what might be.
Jesus applied these words to more fundamental needs than field trips, however. “Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothing?” He spoke this to people who lived a hand-to-mouth existence. Jesus insisted that God knew what they needed and would provide it. His words take on even more meaning in an economy like ours, driven by consumption, where advertising stokes the desire for ever more possessions. This is a distorted desire, one that drives us apart and leads us away from God. No wonder that Jesus says, “Strive first for the kingdom of God and his righteousness” – or, as the version beloved of Mr. Baines puts it, “Seek ye first the kingdom of God.” Desire for God must be primary. All other desires must flow from that.
Focusing on the needs of today does not exclude planning for tomorrow. It’s only prudent to plan for “what if,” to have a contingency in mind. What Jesus excludes is being so caught up in what might happen in the future that the reality of the present is ignored. After all, the present is where we experience God, here and now. The present is where we have the everyday choice of whether to listen to God or not. The present reveals our true desires.
Like my brothers, I got through Mr. Baines’ classes. I was one of the fortunate ones assigned to the back row. I even remember some Spanish. But perhaps the most lasting memory was that admonition not to worry about tomorrow, because there’s plenty to deal with today. Let God worry about the rest.
[Epiphany 8: Matthew 6:24-34.]
Mr. Baines was fond of saying “Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof.” It was some years before I knew what that meant. Eventually I realized that he was simply quoting the King James Bible’s version of “Today’s trouble is enough for today.” Perhaps I wouldn’t have paid much attention anyway at that age, even if it weren’t in Jacobean English. But I have come to appreciate those words, and the ones Jesus spoke before them: “So do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will bring worries of its own.”
When I became a teacher myself – having learned what not to do from people like Mr. Baines – I had to put his saying into practice. I would stress over the weather forecast for a scheduled field trip, and then the rain would come later. Eventually I learned to make contingency plans and then set aside my worries. It’s a mantra I still tell myself (and others): deal with what is, rather than worry about what might be.
Jesus applied these words to more fundamental needs than field trips, however. “Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothing?” He spoke this to people who lived a hand-to-mouth existence. Jesus insisted that God knew what they needed and would provide it. His words take on even more meaning in an economy like ours, driven by consumption, where advertising stokes the desire for ever more possessions. This is a distorted desire, one that drives us apart and leads us away from God. No wonder that Jesus says, “Strive first for the kingdom of God and his righteousness” – or, as the version beloved of Mr. Baines puts it, “Seek ye first the kingdom of God.” Desire for God must be primary. All other desires must flow from that.
Focusing on the needs of today does not exclude planning for tomorrow. It’s only prudent to plan for “what if,” to have a contingency in mind. What Jesus excludes is being so caught up in what might happen in the future that the reality of the present is ignored. After all, the present is where we experience God, here and now. The present is where we have the everyday choice of whether to listen to God or not. The present reveals our true desires.
Like my brothers, I got through Mr. Baines’ classes. I was one of the fortunate ones assigned to the back row. I even remember some Spanish. But perhaps the most lasting memory was that admonition not to worry about tomorrow, because there’s plenty to deal with today. Let God worry about the rest.
[Epiphany 8: Matthew 6:24-34.]
Thursday, February 17, 2011
Turn The Other Cheek
I have an old bookmark containing the Ten Commandments. I don’t know who gave it to me, but I do remember being so young that I didn’t understand all of them. I thought the commandment not to commit adult-ery (it’s a narrow bookmark, hence the hyphenation) meant something about not acting like an adult, and considering how some adults acted, that made sense to me. At that point in my life I thought the church, like home, was full of rules.
Some people never get beyond thinking that the life of faith is one of rules. Certain parts of the Bible reinforce that. The book of Leviticus is full of rules, although I notice that people like to pick and choose which rules they think are important. Anything that has to do with sex is “gospel truth,” but rules about what to eat or wear or not shaving your head are ignored. Perhaps what we emphasize reveals more about us than it does about the Bible.
Jesus spent most of his ministry turning rules on their head. It wasn’t that he was fond of anarchy or that anything goes; rather, he recognized that devotion to rules had preempted worship of the God who lay behind them. The whole point of the levitical rules was to create a holy people, a people dedicated to God, a people worthy of God. As pointed out by the Apostle Paul, a recovering rule-worshipper himself, there is nothing that we can do to be worthy of God. God loves us freely. We can’t merit that love. Through Jesus Christ, we don’t have to. We are to simply respond to God’s love by loving God back and loving our neighbors as ourselves.
And so Jesus says that it isn’t good enough to limit retaliation to injury. Don’t retaliate at all. Turn the other cheek so that it can be struck, too. Make peace with your accuser. Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you. Pray and do not bomb them. (Oops, he didn’t say that!) Why is it that the very people who are so eager to apply the rules for sex are so reluctant to take the words of Jesus about peacemaking at face value? Is forgiveness really more complex than sexuality?
To me, it sure sounds like Jesus is advocating a pacifist position. That’s not a new idea. The path of nonviolent resistance is a time-honored one, and we recently saw yet another example of it in Egypt. Curiously, the most successful examples are from non-Christian cultures (Egypt, Gandhi in India). Nonviolent Christians have been less successful – the Anabaptists in Europe were nearly destroyed by Lutherans, Calvinists, and Roman Catholics before escaping to become Mennonites and Amish.
I know the arguments against pacifism. Great, systemic evil must be resisted. Someone recently remarked that we don’t speak German or Japanese now because of the outcome of World War II. It’s clear to me that Hitler had to be opposed. And yet – if we believe that Jesus Christ was God incarnate, we have to listen to him. We can’t say he was just a very good man and sometimes he didn’t it get it quite right.
I don’t have an answer. But I do want to raise the questions. Followers of Jesus Christ are obligated to be different and think differently than the prevailing culture. That’s part of what being a Christian is all about. And it’s perhaps the hardest part. After all, the person who did it best was crucified.
[7 Epiphany: Leviticus 19:1-2,9-18; 1 Corinthians 3:10-11,16-23; Matthew 5:38-48.]
Some people never get beyond thinking that the life of faith is one of rules. Certain parts of the Bible reinforce that. The book of Leviticus is full of rules, although I notice that people like to pick and choose which rules they think are important. Anything that has to do with sex is “gospel truth,” but rules about what to eat or wear or not shaving your head are ignored. Perhaps what we emphasize reveals more about us than it does about the Bible.
Jesus spent most of his ministry turning rules on their head. It wasn’t that he was fond of anarchy or that anything goes; rather, he recognized that devotion to rules had preempted worship of the God who lay behind them. The whole point of the levitical rules was to create a holy people, a people dedicated to God, a people worthy of God. As pointed out by the Apostle Paul, a recovering rule-worshipper himself, there is nothing that we can do to be worthy of God. God loves us freely. We can’t merit that love. Through Jesus Christ, we don’t have to. We are to simply respond to God’s love by loving God back and loving our neighbors as ourselves.
And so Jesus says that it isn’t good enough to limit retaliation to injury. Don’t retaliate at all. Turn the other cheek so that it can be struck, too. Make peace with your accuser. Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you. Pray and do not bomb them. (Oops, he didn’t say that!) Why is it that the very people who are so eager to apply the rules for sex are so reluctant to take the words of Jesus about peacemaking at face value? Is forgiveness really more complex than sexuality?
To me, it sure sounds like Jesus is advocating a pacifist position. That’s not a new idea. The path of nonviolent resistance is a time-honored one, and we recently saw yet another example of it in Egypt. Curiously, the most successful examples are from non-Christian cultures (Egypt, Gandhi in India). Nonviolent Christians have been less successful – the Anabaptists in Europe were nearly destroyed by Lutherans, Calvinists, and Roman Catholics before escaping to become Mennonites and Amish.
I know the arguments against pacifism. Great, systemic evil must be resisted. Someone recently remarked that we don’t speak German or Japanese now because of the outcome of World War II. It’s clear to me that Hitler had to be opposed. And yet – if we believe that Jesus Christ was God incarnate, we have to listen to him. We can’t say he was just a very good man and sometimes he didn’t it get it quite right.
I don’t have an answer. But I do want to raise the questions. Followers of Jesus Christ are obligated to be different and think differently than the prevailing culture. That’s part of what being a Christian is all about. And it’s perhaps the hardest part. After all, the person who did it best was crucified.
[7 Epiphany: Leviticus 19:1-2,9-18; 1 Corinthians 3:10-11,16-23; Matthew 5:38-48.]
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
Hard Choices
The Anglican writer C.S. Lewis once said something to the effect that we rarely make a big decision to follow God or turn away from God. Instead, we make many little decisions every day, each of which turns us a bit toward or slightly away from God. It’s the accumulation of those little decisions over time that determine where we end up – whether we find ourselves in the presence of God or totally alienated from God and other people.
It’s a concept I can relate to. When someone cuts in front of me on the road, I can choose to curse or bless them. If I’m given too much change in the store, I can pocket it or give it back. I can act as though the world exists for me, or I can look out for others. Each day brings many small opportunities to choose good or evil.
The readings for this Sunday, on the other hand, are about big choices. Moses just lays it on the line: “I call heaven and earth to witness against you this day that I have set before you life and death, blessings and curses.” It’s decision time, folks; which way you step determines the rest of your life, and beyond. It’s the kind of passage biblical literalists love. Moses promises a long life and land if you choose right. Your wealth will show everyone that God loves you. The implication, of course, is that if you die young or are poor then you have made the wrong choice and are cursed by God. Never mind that your poverty may come from being cheated by the rich, or that an early death is the result of a lack of access to medical care.
Jesus raises the stakes even further. He quotes the Jewish law (the Ten Commandments, actually) and then takes it further. Think you’re okay if you don’t murder? But if you even get angry, Jesus says, you’ll be judged. Think that ‘look but don’t touch’ is all right for married people eyeing the opposite sex? “But I say to you that everyone who looks at a woman with lust has already committed adultery with her in his heart.” And then Jesus gives the hardest saying of all: that any man who divorces his wife “causes her to commit adultery; and whoever marries a divorced woman commits adultery.” Is it any wonder that a preacher facing a roomful of people in their second and third marriages looks for some other Bible passage?
So what do we make of all this? Do we get to pick and choose between C. S. Lewis, Moses, and Jesus? Do we say that Moses and the judgmental Old Testament God are replaced by the loving God of the New Testament, and that Jesus was just using hyperbole, exaggerating for effect? That certainly is one way to go, and many have. I can’t. It’s just too easy to explain everything away.
Lewis knew that those daily choices may be small, but he also knew that they are not easy. They, too, are hard choices. Not only does it take some effort to make right choices a habit, but we have to work against our innate propensity to look out only for ourselves – what the church calls original sin. Jesus is talking about the same thing. Left unchecked, anger can explode into murder. Adultery is the natural product of looking at someone lustfully. The seeds of evil are present. Don’t fool yourself that they’re not.
As for divorce – it’s clear that Jesus thinks of marriage as a covenantal relationship, one in which two people make promises to one another in the presence of God. It is not something to be taken lightly, or as a matter of convenience. When clergy meet with engaged couples for pre-marital conferences, they spend little time on the wedding, the actual ceremony. Iinstead, they focus on the marriage, the life the two people will have together in the coming years. It’s a telling sign that our culture lays so much emphasis on the wedding itself and provides little guidance on how to hang in there for the long haul.
Falling in love is easy. Committing your life to another person is hard. Making peace with someone who angers you is hard. Deciding which hand gesture to use when someone cuts in front of you is hard. These are all hard choices. But in the end, Moses is right. One choice leads to life; one to death. One leads to reconciliation with God and fellow humans; the other choice leaves you by yourself. I don’t know about you, but at the end of the day, I’d rather have more company around than just myself.
[Epiphany 6: Deuteronomy 30:15-20; 1 Corinthians 3:1-9; Matthew 5:21-37.]
It’s a concept I can relate to. When someone cuts in front of me on the road, I can choose to curse or bless them. If I’m given too much change in the store, I can pocket it or give it back. I can act as though the world exists for me, or I can look out for others. Each day brings many small opportunities to choose good or evil.
The readings for this Sunday, on the other hand, are about big choices. Moses just lays it on the line: “I call heaven and earth to witness against you this day that I have set before you life and death, blessings and curses.” It’s decision time, folks; which way you step determines the rest of your life, and beyond. It’s the kind of passage biblical literalists love. Moses promises a long life and land if you choose right. Your wealth will show everyone that God loves you. The implication, of course, is that if you die young or are poor then you have made the wrong choice and are cursed by God. Never mind that your poverty may come from being cheated by the rich, or that an early death is the result of a lack of access to medical care.
Jesus raises the stakes even further. He quotes the Jewish law (the Ten Commandments, actually) and then takes it further. Think you’re okay if you don’t murder? But if you even get angry, Jesus says, you’ll be judged. Think that ‘look but don’t touch’ is all right for married people eyeing the opposite sex? “But I say to you that everyone who looks at a woman with lust has already committed adultery with her in his heart.” And then Jesus gives the hardest saying of all: that any man who divorces his wife “causes her to commit adultery; and whoever marries a divorced woman commits adultery.” Is it any wonder that a preacher facing a roomful of people in their second and third marriages looks for some other Bible passage?
So what do we make of all this? Do we get to pick and choose between C. S. Lewis, Moses, and Jesus? Do we say that Moses and the judgmental Old Testament God are replaced by the loving God of the New Testament, and that Jesus was just using hyperbole, exaggerating for effect? That certainly is one way to go, and many have. I can’t. It’s just too easy to explain everything away.
Lewis knew that those daily choices may be small, but he also knew that they are not easy. They, too, are hard choices. Not only does it take some effort to make right choices a habit, but we have to work against our innate propensity to look out only for ourselves – what the church calls original sin. Jesus is talking about the same thing. Left unchecked, anger can explode into murder. Adultery is the natural product of looking at someone lustfully. The seeds of evil are present. Don’t fool yourself that they’re not.
As for divorce – it’s clear that Jesus thinks of marriage as a covenantal relationship, one in which two people make promises to one another in the presence of God. It is not something to be taken lightly, or as a matter of convenience. When clergy meet with engaged couples for pre-marital conferences, they spend little time on the wedding, the actual ceremony. Iinstead, they focus on the marriage, the life the two people will have together in the coming years. It’s a telling sign that our culture lays so much emphasis on the wedding itself and provides little guidance on how to hang in there for the long haul.
Falling in love is easy. Committing your life to another person is hard. Making peace with someone who angers you is hard. Deciding which hand gesture to use when someone cuts in front of you is hard. These are all hard choices. But in the end, Moses is right. One choice leads to life; one to death. One leads to reconciliation with God and fellow humans; the other choice leaves you by yourself. I don’t know about you, but at the end of the day, I’d rather have more company around than just myself.
[Epiphany 6: Deuteronomy 30:15-20; 1 Corinthians 3:1-9; Matthew 5:21-37.]
Thursday, February 3, 2011
Blizzard
Many of you who read this blog experienced a major winter storm this week. It kept us home for two days, but at least we were safe and warm and had enough to eat. We are now dug out, thanks to a couple of neighbors with snow blowers who took pity on a middle-aged priest shoveling two-foot drifts in his driveway. R and I consider ourselves fortunate. We still are amazed at the hundreds of people stranded for hours on Lake Shore Drive in Chicago.
Tuesday morning before the storm hit, we went to our favorite coffee spot in town, knowing that soon we would be holed up at home. R remarked on the ironic title of the book I was carrying: In the Eye of the Storm by Kenneth Leech. It isn’t actually a weather book at all, but rather a passionate argument that spirituality and care for the poor are closely linked, that we don’t have an “inner life” separate from what we do in our “outer life.” The irony is not that the title fit the weather, but that the content fits the readings for this coming Sunday.
Take Isaiah, for instance. “Look, you serve your own interest on your fast day, and oppress all your workers,” he tells the Israelites. “Look, you fast only to quarrel and to fight and to strike with a wicked fist.” Instead, Isaiah presents a very different kind of fast, one the Lord chooses: “to loose the bonds of injustice….to share your bread with the hungry, and bring the homeless poor into your house; when you see the naked, to cover them.” True inward worship will reveal itself in outer acts of justice.
Jesus knows that. “Let your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father in heaven.” Paul speaks of the inner light as spirit. Only the human spirit knows what is truly human, he says. In a like manner, “no one truly comprehends what is God’s except the Spirit of God” – a Spirit given to us so that “we may understand the gifts bestowed on us by God.” Those gifts emerge as fruits of the Spirit – but only in people who are spiritual. Those who are unspiritual do not receive the gifts of God’s Spirit.
Being “spiritual” sounds very modern. It is exactly where Leech believes we have gone wrong, especially when it is mixed up with American individualism. Paul did not understand Spirit apart from God, nor the fruits of the Spirit apart from community. Jesus saw good works as a response to the light within, and thus a way to glorify God. Isaiah clearly believed that the right treatment of others revealed the presence of God’s Spirit within. There is no dichotomy here between an inner “spiritual” life and outer “worldly” life. The life of the Spirit cannot be confined to an hour on Sunday mornings. More importantly, we are not true followers of Jesus Christ if we do not strive to embody Christ’s Spirit in all that we do. As one commentator puts it, “the challenge is to live out in the public arena what one is intrinsically.”
Our neighbors with their snow blowers embodied the Spirit of Christ. They were only two of the many people who helped others in this latest storm. Disasters do tend to bring out the best in us. It is daily life, life when no one is watching, that truly reveals what is going on within us. May we strive for that life of the Spirit that shows forth in good works, so that we can give glory to our Father in heaven.
[Epiphany 5: Isaiah 58:1-12; 1 Corinthians 2:1-16; Matthew 5:13-20. The quote is from John Nolland, The Gospel of Matthew: A Commentary on the Greek Text, p.214.]
Tuesday morning before the storm hit, we went to our favorite coffee spot in town, knowing that soon we would be holed up at home. R remarked on the ironic title of the book I was carrying: In the Eye of the Storm by Kenneth Leech. It isn’t actually a weather book at all, but rather a passionate argument that spirituality and care for the poor are closely linked, that we don’t have an “inner life” separate from what we do in our “outer life.” The irony is not that the title fit the weather, but that the content fits the readings for this coming Sunday.
Take Isaiah, for instance. “Look, you serve your own interest on your fast day, and oppress all your workers,” he tells the Israelites. “Look, you fast only to quarrel and to fight and to strike with a wicked fist.” Instead, Isaiah presents a very different kind of fast, one the Lord chooses: “to loose the bonds of injustice….to share your bread with the hungry, and bring the homeless poor into your house; when you see the naked, to cover them.” True inward worship will reveal itself in outer acts of justice.
Jesus knows that. “Let your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father in heaven.” Paul speaks of the inner light as spirit. Only the human spirit knows what is truly human, he says. In a like manner, “no one truly comprehends what is God’s except the Spirit of God” – a Spirit given to us so that “we may understand the gifts bestowed on us by God.” Those gifts emerge as fruits of the Spirit – but only in people who are spiritual. Those who are unspiritual do not receive the gifts of God’s Spirit.
Being “spiritual” sounds very modern. It is exactly where Leech believes we have gone wrong, especially when it is mixed up with American individualism. Paul did not understand Spirit apart from God, nor the fruits of the Spirit apart from community. Jesus saw good works as a response to the light within, and thus a way to glorify God. Isaiah clearly believed that the right treatment of others revealed the presence of God’s Spirit within. There is no dichotomy here between an inner “spiritual” life and outer “worldly” life. The life of the Spirit cannot be confined to an hour on Sunday mornings. More importantly, we are not true followers of Jesus Christ if we do not strive to embody Christ’s Spirit in all that we do. As one commentator puts it, “the challenge is to live out in the public arena what one is intrinsically.”
Our neighbors with their snow blowers embodied the Spirit of Christ. They were only two of the many people who helped others in this latest storm. Disasters do tend to bring out the best in us. It is daily life, life when no one is watching, that truly reveals what is going on within us. May we strive for that life of the Spirit that shows forth in good works, so that we can give glory to our Father in heaven.
[Epiphany 5: Isaiah 58:1-12; 1 Corinthians 2:1-16; Matthew 5:13-20. The quote is from John Nolland, The Gospel of Matthew: A Commentary on the Greek Text, p.214.]
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