A few weeks ago I was asked to give a lecture in an Introduction to Liberal Arts course at Monmouth College. The class was reading Michael Pollan’s The Botany of Desire, and the professor wanted the perspective of a botanist/theologian. I began with what are sometimes called ways of knowing, ways in which we make sense of the world around us (such as history, music, and science). Some ways of knowing, like theology, also provide meaning to our lives. We use them to explain the why of what happens, not just the how and what. Pollan happens to be a materialist, one who believes that nothing exists except matter. That in itself is a faith statement, although my guess is that Pollan would not see it as such.
The Bible, of course, is full of theology. It is concerned with who God is, who we are, and what our relationship should be to God and one another. It uses the how and what to illustrate the why, its chief focus. Sometimes we get mixed up and think that the biblical how and what are just as important as the why. Then the Bible becomes the basis for all ways of knowing, so that even science must yield to what the Bible says. That is not a fruitful approach, although I would not go so far as a former colleague who described it as “intellectual suicide.”
Remembering that the “why” is important, and that Scripture is about who we are in relation to God and one another, becomes essential when approaching the more difficult biblical stories. This Sunday we have two such passages. Both present God as judge and destroyer. Both repel us, for we would much rather hear about God’s love and mercy.
The first passage, from Isaiah, presents itself as a love-song for God’s beloved. It describes Israel, and more particularly Judah and Jerusalem, as a vineyard lovingly planted and tended, given everything it needs to provide a bountiful harvest of grapes. Instead, it yields wild grapes, the small, sour kind that no one wants. So the vineyard is destroyed and becomes a wasteland.
Jesus undoubtedly has this passage in mind when he tells his own parable of a vineyard to the chief priests and elders of the people. Ostensibly the story is about a landowner, but as Jesus describes the creation of the vineyard, it’s clear that he is really talking about Isaiah’s vineyard, and the landowner is God. In Jesus’ story, however, it’s not the grapes that are the problem. It’s the tenants who care for the vineyard. They are the ones who kill the landowner’s slaves, and eventually his son, when they attempt to get the fruits of the harvest. So when the landowner himself finally arrives, he is expected to destroy the wicked tenants and lease the vineyard to others.
Isaiah wrote about the vineyard as a warning to the people of Judah. They should not think that they can do whatever they want because they are God’s chosen people. God has expectations of them – and of us – expectations of justice and righteousness, not only as individuals but as a society. Instead, what God found was bloodshed and the cry of the oppressed. Later, when both Israel and Judah were conquered and the people carried away, their destruction was interpreted as God’s judgment on an apostate people. That theology provided the why of exile.
Jesus had a different object in mind. He expected the vineyard, God’s people, to bear fruit. It was the tenants of the vineyard, the religious leaders, who had gone astray from God And just in case they missed the point, Jesus made it explicit: “Therefore I tell you, the kingdom of God will be taken away from you and given to a people that produces the fruits of the kingdom.” The chief priests and the Pharisees heard him loud and clear, and plotted how to get rid of him.
In each case, the Bible tells how to act toward God and one another. We are to acknowledge that all we have comes from God, that we are living in a world that God created. Our response should be not only to praise and give thanks to God, but also to bear the fruits of the gifts we have been given. In his letter to the Galatians, the Apostle Paul lists some of those fruits: love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control. Yet it is essential that we do not forget that both Jesus and Isaiah are also concerned with the wider community, both the community of faith and the nation. Justice and righteousness must be found there as well as in our individual actions.
That is why theology, for me, is the most important way of knowing. It tells us how to act, not only as individuals but as a society. It tells us that our choices have consequences, that it is a matter if life or death which way we go. Jesus assures us that the kingdom of God, God’s vineyard, will bear fruit no matter what. The question is, are we willing to share that fruit, or will we try to keep it for ourselves and cast out those whom God sends to us?
[Pentecost 16: Isaiah 5:1-7; Matthew 21:33-46. The Galatians passage is 5:22-23, and not part of this Sunday’s lectionary.]
Thursday, September 29, 2011
Thursday, September 1, 2011
Reconciliation
Peter, Paul and Mary had a memorable song called “Right Field.” It was about the common childhood experience of being chosen for a pick-up ball game. The team captains choose the best and most athletic kids first, so one finds out pretty quickly how one is regarded. Unlike the person in the song, I was never the last to be chosen, but I was pretty close to it. It’s not that I was uncoordinated or unathletic. I just didn’t care that much. I’d rather stand in the middle of the field and talk with a friend than pay attention to the game. That’s not what a team captain likes.
Being part of a group, even at the lowest level, is always important. It is how we are made as humans, to be in relationship with one another. We like to think that we are independent sorts, but in reality we need one another. This past week we saw an example of that in Vermont, a state full of independent people. When Hurricane Irene wiped out roads and isolated villages in the Green Mountains, the people in those towns got together and started fixing roads and cleaning up long before anyone “official” arrived. Eventually all will return to their scattered homes deep in the woods. But for a short time, at least, they worked together as a community. They know that’s part of their identity.
The Gospel reading for Sunday shows us just how important it is to be part of a community, particularly the community we call the Church. I’ve heard some say that this reading is all about forgiveness. I think it is more accurate to say that reconciliation is at its heart.
Suppose someone sins against you, Jesus says. The first thing you should do is go to that person yourself and point out the problem. He or she might listen to you, and if so, you have regained a friend. But if no listening occurs, next take along another person or two. After all, you may have misheard. Or it may be that part of the fault lies with you, and a neutral observer can see that. If it turns out that the offender refuses to listen to anyone, tell the church. If he or she refuses to listen to the church, “let such a one be to you as a Gentile and a tax collector.”
All of this sounds very awkward to our postmodern ears. After all, aren’t we supposed to respect everyone, even if we think they’re wrong? (Tell that to Congress!) Aren’t there many ways of being right? And how can we afford to turn people out when we want more to attend church?
Jesus wasn’t talking to postmoderns, of course, or even moderns. He was talking to people who were quite comfortable with the idea that there is one true church, and people are either in it or out of it. Even today some Christian groups operate that way. Some practice “shunning” – when someone is cast out of the group, no one will ever speak to or acknowledge them again. Shunning is based on that very verse: “let such a one be to you as a Gentile and a tax collector.”
I don’t think shunning is what Jesus had in mind. For one thing, the “you” is singular. It is not the plural “you” of the whole church; it is the “you” who originally went to talk one-on-one with the offender. And treating a person as a total outcast is to act as ancient Jews did toward Gentiles and tax collectors. It is not the way of Jesus, who ate with tax collectors. Matthew himself, we are told, was one of them. And by the end of Matthew’s Gospel, the apostles will be told to make disciples of all nations – all Gentiles. It’s hard to make a disciple of someone you’ve shunned.
Maybe that’s the point. An unrepentant sinner is an outsider, but not beyond reconciliation. He or she is not destined to remain outside permanently. The community must have boundaries, if it is to have any integrity, any clarity of belief. Yet those boundaries are not so solid that reentry is impossible.
The Truth and Reconciliation Commission led by Archbishop Desmond Tutu after the collapse of apartheid in South Africa is the best illustration I know of what Jesus was saying. During weeks of testimony, those in the former government who had committed atrocities confessed what they had done, in the presence of their former victims. It came with a tremendous emotional cost, as Archbishop Tutu vividly describes. But the reward was greater. For telling the truth, the torturers received reconciliation with the community that had thrown them out.
The Truth and Reconciliation Commission is far from the light-hearted “Right Field” song. Yet both spring from the same basic human need to belong. Without other human beings, we are lost. We may do things that cause us to lose community, but no one is ever beyond reconciliation. That is true for individuals as well as the church. Is there someone formerly in your church who needs to hear from you? Someone in your own life who needs your reconciliation?
[Pentecost 12: Matthew 18:15-20.]
Being part of a group, even at the lowest level, is always important. It is how we are made as humans, to be in relationship with one another. We like to think that we are independent sorts, but in reality we need one another. This past week we saw an example of that in Vermont, a state full of independent people. When Hurricane Irene wiped out roads and isolated villages in the Green Mountains, the people in those towns got together and started fixing roads and cleaning up long before anyone “official” arrived. Eventually all will return to their scattered homes deep in the woods. But for a short time, at least, they worked together as a community. They know that’s part of their identity.
The Gospel reading for Sunday shows us just how important it is to be part of a community, particularly the community we call the Church. I’ve heard some say that this reading is all about forgiveness. I think it is more accurate to say that reconciliation is at its heart.
Suppose someone sins against you, Jesus says. The first thing you should do is go to that person yourself and point out the problem. He or she might listen to you, and if so, you have regained a friend. But if no listening occurs, next take along another person or two. After all, you may have misheard. Or it may be that part of the fault lies with you, and a neutral observer can see that. If it turns out that the offender refuses to listen to anyone, tell the church. If he or she refuses to listen to the church, “let such a one be to you as a Gentile and a tax collector.”
All of this sounds very awkward to our postmodern ears. After all, aren’t we supposed to respect everyone, even if we think they’re wrong? (Tell that to Congress!) Aren’t there many ways of being right? And how can we afford to turn people out when we want more to attend church?
Jesus wasn’t talking to postmoderns, of course, or even moderns. He was talking to people who were quite comfortable with the idea that there is one true church, and people are either in it or out of it. Even today some Christian groups operate that way. Some practice “shunning” – when someone is cast out of the group, no one will ever speak to or acknowledge them again. Shunning is based on that very verse: “let such a one be to you as a Gentile and a tax collector.”
I don’t think shunning is what Jesus had in mind. For one thing, the “you” is singular. It is not the plural “you” of the whole church; it is the “you” who originally went to talk one-on-one with the offender. And treating a person as a total outcast is to act as ancient Jews did toward Gentiles and tax collectors. It is not the way of Jesus, who ate with tax collectors. Matthew himself, we are told, was one of them. And by the end of Matthew’s Gospel, the apostles will be told to make disciples of all nations – all Gentiles. It’s hard to make a disciple of someone you’ve shunned.
Maybe that’s the point. An unrepentant sinner is an outsider, but not beyond reconciliation. He or she is not destined to remain outside permanently. The community must have boundaries, if it is to have any integrity, any clarity of belief. Yet those boundaries are not so solid that reentry is impossible.
The Truth and Reconciliation Commission led by Archbishop Desmond Tutu after the collapse of apartheid in South Africa is the best illustration I know of what Jesus was saying. During weeks of testimony, those in the former government who had committed atrocities confessed what they had done, in the presence of their former victims. It came with a tremendous emotional cost, as Archbishop Tutu vividly describes. But the reward was greater. For telling the truth, the torturers received reconciliation with the community that had thrown them out.
The Truth and Reconciliation Commission is far from the light-hearted “Right Field” song. Yet both spring from the same basic human need to belong. Without other human beings, we are lost. We may do things that cause us to lose community, but no one is ever beyond reconciliation. That is true for individuals as well as the church. Is there someone formerly in your church who needs to hear from you? Someone in your own life who needs your reconciliation?
[Pentecost 12: Matthew 18:15-20.]
Tuesday, August 23, 2011
Ten Years Later
[I will not be preaching this Sunday, so I do not have an entry on the Sunday lessons. Instead, I am posting the reflection that will be in the church's September newsletter.]
September 11th will be the tenth anniversary of the attacks on the United States: the destruction of the twin towers at the World Trade Center, the crashing of a jet into the Pentagon, and the loss of life in Pennsylvania when passengers attempted to regain control of a hijacked plane.
No one who lived through that time will forget where they were and what they were doing when they heard the news. No one will forget the fear of what might be next, or days without planes in the sky. It was a defining moment for this country, like the loss of the space shuttles Challenger and Columbia, the assassinations of John F. Kennedy and Martin Luther King, Jr., and the bombing of Pearl Harbor. All are etched into the memories of those who lived through them.
Ten years later, we still live in the shadow of 9/11. As a country, we struggle to disengage from two wars initiated in retaliation for what happened. Travel in general, and air travel in particular, has become difficult and costly. Even the political polarization and gridlock we now experience can be traced to differing reactions to the attacks, and the tremendous economic cost of responding to them. If, as is sometimes suggested, one of the intentions of the attackers was to overburden the U.S. economy, they have certainly succeeded.
In the last decade, historians have documented the precise sequence of events that occurred. Engineers have analyzed the mechanical weaknesses which caused the towers to collapse. CIA and law enforcement officers have examined the failures in intelligence and communication that allowed the hijackers to succeed. Sociologists have weighed in on the political and economic conditions that spawned people who sought to destroy as many lives as possible through their suicidal acts.
What about the religious response? How can our Christian faith, in particular, give meaning to what happened? An early response by Pat Robertson, who said that God punished the U.S. for its sinfulness, especially its tolerance of homosexuality, must be rejected as non-Christian. The God revealed to us through the Jesus Christ of the Gospels is not a God who capriciously kills innocent people. One wonders what Bible Pat Robertson reads, that he is so quick to condemn others.
What is clear is that the God whose Son died an excruciating death on the cross was present with those terrified people in the hijacked planes. God was ready to receive them into his everlasting arms, ready to embrace the workers and firemen and policemen who died.
It is also clear that evil is very real, evil greater than any human being. The men who trained to fly their planes into buildings – who practiced takeoffs but not landings – allowed themselves to be overpowered by evil under the deadly illusion that they were doing the work of God. I do not believe that Islam is a fundamentally violent religion, any more than Judaism or Christianity are. But each religion has adherents who preach violence in God’s name. And that, I believe, is a perversion of their faith.
This September 11th our church will have a brief ceremony of remembrance in the park across the street. There will be representatives from the local fire department and a military honor guard. After that remembrance we will have our annual community picnic. You may wonder why we’ll have a joyful event on such a solemn day, but it makes perfect sense to me. September 11th brought us together as a nation. It created community, common purpose, and a turning toward God. What better way to remember that sense of unity than to offer what we have to the community around us? What better way to be thankful for what God has given us than to provide a free meal to everyone who comes? And what better way to come together as a church community than to work toward a common purpose of helping others?
Yes, 9/11/2011 will have its somber moments as we remember those who have died. Yet it is also an opportunity to witness to our faith that evil will not prevail, that through his resurrection, Jesus Christ overcame evil and destroyed death. God reigns. And no amount of human-caused destruction can change that fact.
September 11th will be the tenth anniversary of the attacks on the United States: the destruction of the twin towers at the World Trade Center, the crashing of a jet into the Pentagon, and the loss of life in Pennsylvania when passengers attempted to regain control of a hijacked plane.
No one who lived through that time will forget where they were and what they were doing when they heard the news. No one will forget the fear of what might be next, or days without planes in the sky. It was a defining moment for this country, like the loss of the space shuttles Challenger and Columbia, the assassinations of John F. Kennedy and Martin Luther King, Jr., and the bombing of Pearl Harbor. All are etched into the memories of those who lived through them.
Ten years later, we still live in the shadow of 9/11. As a country, we struggle to disengage from two wars initiated in retaliation for what happened. Travel in general, and air travel in particular, has become difficult and costly. Even the political polarization and gridlock we now experience can be traced to differing reactions to the attacks, and the tremendous economic cost of responding to them. If, as is sometimes suggested, one of the intentions of the attackers was to overburden the U.S. economy, they have certainly succeeded.
In the last decade, historians have documented the precise sequence of events that occurred. Engineers have analyzed the mechanical weaknesses which caused the towers to collapse. CIA and law enforcement officers have examined the failures in intelligence and communication that allowed the hijackers to succeed. Sociologists have weighed in on the political and economic conditions that spawned people who sought to destroy as many lives as possible through their suicidal acts.
What about the religious response? How can our Christian faith, in particular, give meaning to what happened? An early response by Pat Robertson, who said that God punished the U.S. for its sinfulness, especially its tolerance of homosexuality, must be rejected as non-Christian. The God revealed to us through the Jesus Christ of the Gospels is not a God who capriciously kills innocent people. One wonders what Bible Pat Robertson reads, that he is so quick to condemn others.
What is clear is that the God whose Son died an excruciating death on the cross was present with those terrified people in the hijacked planes. God was ready to receive them into his everlasting arms, ready to embrace the workers and firemen and policemen who died.
It is also clear that evil is very real, evil greater than any human being. The men who trained to fly their planes into buildings – who practiced takeoffs but not landings – allowed themselves to be overpowered by evil under the deadly illusion that they were doing the work of God. I do not believe that Islam is a fundamentally violent religion, any more than Judaism or Christianity are. But each religion has adherents who preach violence in God’s name. And that, I believe, is a perversion of their faith.
This September 11th our church will have a brief ceremony of remembrance in the park across the street. There will be representatives from the local fire department and a military honor guard. After that remembrance we will have our annual community picnic. You may wonder why we’ll have a joyful event on such a solemn day, but it makes perfect sense to me. September 11th brought us together as a nation. It created community, common purpose, and a turning toward God. What better way to remember that sense of unity than to offer what we have to the community around us? What better way to be thankful for what God has given us than to provide a free meal to everyone who comes? And what better way to come together as a church community than to work toward a common purpose of helping others?
Yes, 9/11/2011 will have its somber moments as we remember those who have died. Yet it is also an opportunity to witness to our faith that evil will not prevail, that through his resurrection, Jesus Christ overcame evil and destroyed death. God reigns. And no amount of human-caused destruction can change that fact.
Thursday, August 18, 2011
A Question of Identity
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.]
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 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.]
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