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When weak, then strong??? (7th Sunday after Pentecost, 7/7/2024)

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Lessons (Track 1)

In our second reading Paul ends with “for whenever I am weak, then I am strong.” Since “weak” is not our preferred operating mode, that gives us more than enough to chew on.

First, what’s Paul talking about? If we’d asked Paul about the strength part, that is, the power of Christ dwelling in him, I would guess that he would have talked about two things: the apostolic work we heard described in today’s Gospel (preaching, healing, exorcising), and the endurance in the face of rejection and opposition (the theme of our reading two weeks ago). This power of Christ is equally available to the Church today: power in preaching, healing, exorcising, and endurance in the face of rejection and opposition. In what we call the “developed” world, we often work with a shorter list: preaching—preferably of the sort that invites neither rejection nor opposition. And so when we hear the phrase “the power of Christ” we may have trouble connecting it to our experience. In much of the rest of the world Christians do not have that problem. In this country I was able to prepare for ordination without a single hour devoted to how we do healing and exorcisms. Had I been preparing for ordination in, say, sub-Saharan Africa, that would have been as unthinkable as omitting preaching or celebrating the Eucharist from the preparation. So when we hear “preaching, healing, exorcising” and scratch our heads, the difficulty’s more with us than with the text.

Endurance. When we are able to endure, to continue to bear witness to our Lord in the face of rejection and opposition, that is God’s power working within us. It’s not something we’re expected to come up with on our own, much less something we’re expected to be able to imagine doing on our own.

“Whenever I am weak, then I am strong.” –because the power of Christ in preaching, healing, exorcising, and endurance shines forth.

“Whenever I am weak, then I am strong.” A second dimension of this is the sort of weakness involved in Jesus’ instructions to the apostles. They are sent out to proclaim the Kingdom, to cast out demons and heal. Sounds like strength. But Jesus also tells them how to travel: “to take nothing for their journey except a staff; no bread, no bag, no money in their belts; but to wear sandals and not to put on two tunics.” That, together with being a guest in someone’s house, implies vulnerability, and we recall the ways in which Paul describes his vulnerability. Now the funny thing about that is that something of this sort of vulnerability or weakness is necessary for useful communication and learning to take place.

We wrestled with this in World Vision, the Christian relief and development organization with which I worked for 18 years. World Vision typically seeks to work with very poor communities to help them improve all dimensions of their life. In the early days we did this pretty naively, with all the trappings of power, usually starting with arriving in the village in a vehicle more expensive than any of the villagers could hope to own. And villagers, while poor, are smart. They know that when someone more powerful comes, rule number one is that you tell that person what you think they want to hear. And so we’d come with our ideas, be very pleased that the villagers thought they were all very good ideas, and then wonder why the ideas didn’t work out as we’d planned. Over time we learned that differences in power were one of the chief obstacles to communication, that, in other words, Jesus’ instructions (“no bread, no bag, no money in their belts”) made excellent practical sense.

And the same logic applies here in Wisconsin. Our texts tell us—we heard it from Paul two weeks ago—that we are ambassadors of God Almighty. And we may say: sure doesn’t look like it: very few BMWs, we get sick as often as our pagan neighbors do, no heavenly trumpets herald our arrival. Well, and if it did look like it, how many honest conversations would we succeed in having?

The learning part is equally important. Circling back to the World Vision example, as long as we were comfortable operating from strength, we thought we knew enough. Failure forced new choices: do we whitewash it (we’re still strong, we still have nothing to learn) or acknowledge it and actually learn something.

I’m reminded of Chief Inspector Armand Gamache in Louise Penny’s mystery novels. He invites new recruits to learn to use (and mean) these four statements: “I don’t know. I need help. I’m sorry. I was wrong.” Weakness is no fun, but without acknowledgement of weakness, no learning.

“Whenever I am weak, then I am strong.” Also because when I acknowledge weakness, useful conversations and learning can take place.

“Whenever I am weak, then I am strong.” There’s a third dimension, and for that we go back to Jesus’ instructions: “to take nothing for their journey except a staff; no bread, no bag, no money in their belts; but to wear sandals and not to put on two tunics.” Why that particular list? Perhaps Jesus is recalling Israel’s time in the wilderness. The Gospel of Mark begins, recall, with the announcement of a new exodus: “Prepare the way of the Lord, make his paths straight.” As Moses had lead Israel out of Egypt, so a new Moses will lead Israel and all peoples out of bondage into freedom. And in the march through the desert –testified Deuteronomy—the clothing and shoes lasted, and Israel was fed by manna from heaven. So in this New Exodus, one tunic and one pair of sandals is all the disciples need.

If that’s the script, then it would be simply superfluous to bring bread, money, extra clothing! Travel light, because God is handling the logistics. And that in itself brings its own sort of power and liberty.

“Whenever I am weak, I am strong.” When I acknowledge my weakness, that my resources are simply incommensurate with the road that lies ahead, then I am free to acknowledge God as the Quartermaster of the whole project and to focus on the particular tasks to which I am called.

I’ve not yet said anything about David. The story of his rise contains one of the dramatic examples of “Whenever I am weak”: the young shepherd and his slingshot vs. Goliath. Closer to the heart of our reflection, there’s David Gunn’s observation that gift vs. grasp is a central tension in David’s story: will he receive God’s gifts as gifts, or grasp them? David certainly succeeds in grasping Jerusalem, and the narrator intones “And David became greater and greater, for the Lord, the God of hosts, was with him.” In light of the following chapters we may suspect the narrator of irony, for Jerusalem will be the site of David’s greatest failings. We hope for a New Jerusalem not so that Jerusalem can be vindicated, but so that Jerusalem can be redeemed.

“Whenever I am weak, I am strong.” The universe is not arranged so that we get to choose whether to be strong or weak. When we are strong, let us do what we can with our strength. But we often have the choice between acknowledging our weakness and denying it. In those moments both for our own sake and for the sake of those around us, let us acknowledge it. Let us discover what God’s power within us might want to do. Let us discover what conversations and learning acknowledging our weakness might permit. And let us learn that, since our strength does not suffice the journey on which we’ve embarked, one tunic is quite enough, and bread is found in the most unexpected places.

Waiting (6th Sunday after Pentecost, 6/30/2024)

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Readings (Track 1)

So, what might the Spirit be saying to God’s people in these readings? This time around that repeated exhortation “wait” in our psalm got my attention. The Gospel stories illustrate the obvious payoff, whether for the woman suffering from hemorrhages for twelve years, or the parents with their gravely-ill twelve-year-old. Both are stories of waiting longer than we might think reasonable (“Your daughter is dead. Why trouble the teacher any further?”). In both Jesus talks about faith, a faith that’s expressed by waiting.

This morning we’ll take this theme of waiting in three directions. First, acknowledge that waiting is unwelcome, unwelcome enough that we have various strategies for avoiding it. Second, noticing that waiting is not disengaging, and not only the Gospel stories, but also the Joseph stories, help us see that. Third, wondering: we certainly wait; does God ever have to wait?

Wait! Outside of “love your enemies,” hard to think of a more unwelcome exhortation. Recall the “Please wait” on an otherwise blank computer screen or the automated voice on the phone assuring us that the wait time is only x minutes. When waiting on someone currently or always more powerful, most of the possible reasons why we’re waiting are not encouraging. We like to be in control; waiting’s the antithesis of that.

So it can be a bit unnerving to notice how often waiting shows up in the Bible’s stories: Abraham and Sarah waiting for that promised son, the Judean captives in Babylon waiting for something—anything—to happen, the multiple psalms exhorting us to wait.

So, waiting is unpleasant enough that we come up with various strategies for avoidance. The complaint of the Judean exiles in Babylon as recorded in Isaiah is typical: “My way is hidden from the LORD, and my right is disregarded by my God” (I40:27). Why wait? So it’s easy to question God’s power, knowledge, goodness. “If I’m waiting this long, I obviously don’t matter to God.”

Another strategy that I catch myself using: shrink the circle of concern so there’s less that requires waiting. I can’t even begin to imagine how God might sort out Ukraine, the Holy Land, Haiti, Puerto Rico, the Southern Border, etc. Oh so tempting to shrink the circle!

So, first point, waiting on the Lord is one of the harder things our tradition asks of us, and it’s absolutely necessary. So let’s not beat ourselves up if we find it hard, even as we check our attempts to throw in the towel.

Second, waiting on the Lord: the antithesis of disengaging. The woman with the hemorrhages, the synagogue leader: they seek Jesus out. They risk being disappointed.

Pulling back the camera, I’m struck by the Joseph stories. Early in the story Egypt is not where Joseph wants to be, and there’s no chance of getting to passport control. So he’s waiting. At the same time he’s repeatedly engaging, and making choices about that engagement. One of those choices: the refusal of the advances from Potiphar’s wife, whose advances would have offered one solution to a bad situation. Another of those choices: how to respond to two oily high-level bureaucrats who’d gotten on the wrong side of Pharaoh and who had dreams that needed interpretation. It would have been so satisfying to keep them waiting. But Joseph keeps engaging, even while having no control over the results of his choices. Joseph in Egypt, Tobit in Nineveh, Esther in the Persian capital, Paul’s collection mentioned in our second reading, for that matter: all folk from whom we can learn about waiting and staying productively engaged.

Third, with all this talk of our waiting on the Lord, it sounds like we’re doing the heavy lifting. Does the Lord ever have to wait? It turns out that there’s this intriguing verse in Isaiah: “Therefore the LORD waits to be gracious to you; therefore he will rise up to show mercy to you. For the LORD is a God of justice; blessed are all those who wait for him” (30:18). “The Lord waits…blessed are all those who wait for the Lord.” There are a good number of texts in the prophets we could use to flesh that out, but since those would need some setup, we’ll move to the New Testament.

“And [Jesus] did not do many deeds of power [in his hometown], because of their unbelief” (Matt. 13:58).

More dramatically—also from Matthew: “For I was hungry and you gave me no food, I was thirsty and you gave me nothing to drink, I was a stranger and you did not welcome me, naked and you did not give me clothing, sick and in prison and you did not visit me” (25:42-43). That’s some serious waiting.

So while as individuals or communities of faith we’re regularly waiting on God, we’re card-carrying members of nations that regularly keep God waiting, hence that line in one of our confessions: “We repent of the evil that enslaves us, the evil we have done, and the evil done on our behalf.”

Let’s sum up. “O Israel, wait for the Lord.” That’s directed to us.

Rather than disengagement, waiting is a productive way of staying engaged.

And, yes, the good Lord also waits, and sometimes that’s something we can do something about.

God’s Clashing Desires (5th after Pentecost, 6/23/2024)

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Lessons (Track 1, 1st set)

What a combination of readings: David & Goliath, Jesus in the middle of the lake calming the storm—and Paul pleading with the Corinthians.

Let us start with the obvious. Our world has plenty of Goliaths, enemies who claim to dominate our present and future. Our world has plenty of storms. It is very good news that Goliath’s claims are simply claims, that the pitch black skies and the water-drenched deck at unbelievable angles are not the last things we’ll experience. The battle is the Lord’s: Goliath doesn’t get the last word, our feet will again be on solid ground. These are stories to hang onto, and there are times in our lives when that’s all we need to hear from them.

But how does Paul’s “through great endurance” fit into those stories? It’s not Paul’s fault; David and Jesus had their share of “through great endurance” moments. It’s that in many situations “where’s my slingshot” isn’t the appropriate response—though we’ve all had experience with folk like that. There were probably parts of Paul that wished for a slingshot, wished to simply shout into the storm “How about you all just shut up and do what I say!” Why not go there?

Recall our Old Testament lesson from two weeks ago: the people want a king, which the Lord and Samuel think is a really bad idea, and the Lord tells Samuel to give them what they want. How do we make sense of that?

Wrestling with the text two weeks ago, this is what I came up with. God wants two things, that we be free and that we make good choices. Either would be relatively easy. Together, not so much, as any parent knows. This combination of desires is one way to talk about God’s love. God loves us: desires that we be free, desires that we make good choices. “We want a king like all the nations.” “OK; we’ll do this the hard way.” A king can serve as a template for the Messiah.

Where this gets challenging: God desires that we share these desires. This is typically not an easy sell. Recall that scene in Luke, when the Samaritan village refuses hospitality to Jesus and his disciples. James and John: “Lord, do you want us to command fire to come down from heaven and consume them?” (Luke 9:54). Desiring people’s freedom and that they choose well means that their good becomes primary, so Jesus has to work on the disciples’ notion of greatness: “You know that among the Gentiles those whom they recognize as their rulers lord it over them, and their great ones are tyrants over them. But it is not so among you; but whoever wishes to become great among you must be your servant, and whoever wishes to be first among you must be slave of all” (Mark 10:42-44). Discipleship is a lengthy process because learning to desire what God desires doesn’t come easily.

Which brings us to Paul, trying through letters to reset his relationship with the Corinthians. They’re a typical congregation, working out what being Christian means, and sometimes avoiding that work. The city of Corinth’s motto could have been “The one who dies with the most toys wins,” so some in the congregation assumed “The one who has the most spiritual gifts wins.” So Paul in 1 Corinthians talks about spiritual gifts, culminating in that bracing chapter that begins “If I speak in the tongues of mortals and of angels, but do not have love, I am a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal” (1 Cor. 13:1).

And in the text we heard this morning Paul details what that love has meant: “great endurance, in afflictions, hardships, calamities, beatings, imprisonments, riots, labors, sleepless nights, hunger; by purity, knowledge, patience, kindness, holiness of spirit, genuine love.”

Paul gives them this long list not to score points—though perhaps that’s not completely absent, Paul being human and all—but because this is how the Corinthians need to love each other. So that—picking up David’s words—“all the earth may know that there is a God in Israel, and that all this assembly may know that the LORD does not save by sword and spear.”

Paul’s saying nothing new here, simply reminding the Corinthians of Jesus’ story, a story that’s to become our story. Jesus’ love, a love serving others, means a story of death and resurrection. So in our baptism we pray “Grant, O Lord, that all who are baptized into the death of Jesus Christ your Son may live in the power of his resurrection.”

God desires that all be free and that all use their freedom well. For that God needs a people committed to that project, and baptism is how we are enlisted. “Yes, Lord, I want to learn to love as you love, desiring people’s freedom and that they use it well. I want to learn to serve them, so that Jesus’ death and resurrection play out in this flesh.” Amen.

Walking by faith, anticipating sight (4th Sunday after Pentecost, 6/16/2024)

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Lessons (Track 1)

“…for we walk by faith, not by sight.” You can get a decent sermon out of that line from Paul. But some care is needed, since it’s vulnerable to misunderstanding and abuse. Misunderstanding: thinking that the invisible per se is more valuable than the visible. Abuse: recall Orwell in 1984: “The party told you to reject the evidence of your eyes and ears. It was their final, most essential command.” Bluntly, when we talk about faith, what distinguishes us from the folk who wear aluminum foil hats to keep the aliens from controlling their minds?

It turns out that appeals to the senses show up at some key moments in Scripture. For example:

Jesus answered them, “Go and tell John what you hear and see: the blind receive their sight, the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the poor have good news brought to them. And blessed is anyone who takes no offense at me.” (Matt. 11:4-6)

[From the beginning of John’s first letter:] We declare to you what was from the beginning, what we have heard, what we have seen with our eyes, what we have looked at and touched with our hands, concerning the word of life– (1 Jn. 1:1)

Not to mention the very visible harvest and fully-grown plant in Jesus’ parables. In the middle of the last century the then Archbishop of Canterbury captured it well: “Christianity is the most avowedly materialistic of all the great religions.”

So when does sight or, more broadly, the senses, become problematic?

First, in our lesson from the Book of Samuel, the prophet Samuel anoints David. Working through the line of older brothers we hear:

“Do not look on his appearance or on the height of his stature, because I have rejected him; for the LORD does not see as mortals see; they look on the outward appearance, but the LORD looks on the heart.”

Appearances can give incomplete information. This is a point the Book of Proverbs, solidly empirical in orientation, makes repeatedly. You see a wealthy person. Wealthy through hard work or through theft? Can’t judge by appearances. You see a poor person. Poor through sloth or oppression? Can’t judge by appearances.

(Paul uses the same outward appearance/heart contrast in v.12. I wonder if he is alluding to the David story, which might align Paul with David and “those who boast in outward appearance” with David’s older—and rejected—brothers.)

Second, we’re in a story, and where we are in the story can determine what’s visible or invisible. That appears to be what’s in play in that line from Paul with which we started. Here it is in context: “So we are always confident; even though we know that while we are at home in the body we are away from the Lord–for we walk by faith, not by sight.” In this part of the story the Lord’s out of sight, so, faith.

In the previous chapter, “For this slight momentary affliction is preparing us for an eternal weight of glory beyond all measure, because we look not at what can be seen but at what cannot be seen; for what can be seen is temporary, but what cannot be seen is eternal” (2 Cor. 4:17-18). The glory is now invisible—but still worth attending to!

And story (time) is central to the logic of both of Jesus’ parables. Someone scatters seed, and for a good stretch nothing seems to be happening. But, oh, the harvest. Again, the proverbial mustard seed. Looking at the seed, we’d write it off. But just wait!

So, reliance on sight can be problematic because it gives incomplete information or because what’s visible depends on where we are in the story. The third reason is more profound—and more challenging. God coming in Jesus’ vulnerable flesh which climaxes in Jesus’ death and resurrection profoundly recasts what it means to see glory. So in the Gospel of John’s vocabulary Jesus being glorified and Jesus being crucified can be synonymous.

Jesus answered them, “The hour has come for the Son of Man to be glorified. Very truly, I tell you, unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains just a single grain; but if it dies, it bears much fruit” (Jn. 12:23-24).

And this in turn shapes Paul’s understanding of glory. Recall what we heard earlier:

…always carrying in the body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be made visible in our bodies. For while we live, we are always being given up to death for Jesus’ sake, so that the life of Jesus may be made visible in our mortal flesh. (2 Cor. 4:10-11)

When I cited this earlier I focused on the “visible” part. Now notice what is visible: a cross-shaped combination of death and life. If the Corinthians aren’t paying attention they’ll conclude that Paul isn’t to be taken seriously because there’s little worldly glory in his ministry. But that’s to miss the point. If the crucified Jesus is the central revelation of God’s glory, then what we look for when we look for glory needs serious readjustment.

Where does this leave us? Briefly:

First, “the Lord looks on the heart.” We do well to remember the limits of our perceptions. And faced with decisions we pray for guidance.

Second, where we are in the story can determine what we can see or not. As often as not I find this very good news. With the problems we face “you can’t get there from here” can haunt me. Jesus’ parable reminds me that there are situations in which I not only don’t need to see—I don’t need to understand. “…and the seed would sprout and grow, he does not know how.”

Third, Paul’s cross-shaped combination of death and life: the losses, the deaths we experience: united to Jesus’ story these can also make life visible. This isn’t a matter of technique; it can encourage our hope and patience.

Earlier in the letter to the Corinthians the issue of letters of recommendation comes up, and Paul doubles down on the visible: “You yourselves are our letter…to be known and read by all.” Paraphrasing slightly, “We don’t need no stinking letters.” That’s Paul’s hope for Corinth…and for North Lake. “You yourselves are our letter…to be known and read by all.”

Love complicates things (3rd Sunday after Pentecost)

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Readings (Track 1)

In the middle of Jesus’ argument with the scribes he tells this short parable: “But no one can enter a strong man’s house and plunder his property without first tying up the strong man; then indeed the house can be plundered.” Plunder: that’s an intriguing image for what Jesus is about. For what God’s about, for that matter. The Exodus: plunder on a national scale. The mob stirred up by Paul and Silas’ presence in Thessalonica didn’t get it entirely wrong: “These people who have been turning the world upside down have come here also” (Acts 17:6). No wonder Paul’s regularly in trouble—as we heard in our second reading.

But it’s not plunder for the sake of plunder (“My pile of loot’s bigger than yours!”), but, whether at the Exodus or in Galilee, for human freedom, restoring it so that it can be used well. Pulling back the camera to take in all of Mark’s Gospel, whether in the exorcisms, the healings, the conversations or the proclamation, that plundering is about restoring human freedom and encouraging us humans to use it well. The first thing out of Jesus’ mouth in that Gospel: “The time is fulfilled, and the kingdom of God has come near; repent, and believe in the good news” (1:15).

The kingdom/reign of God, with two divine desires in play: that we be free, that we choose well. Either one of these would be easy to fulfill; both—that quickly gets complicated. Consider our first reading from Samuel’s time, a few centuries after the Exodus. The people have repeatedly used their freedom badly, and now they want a human king. A king: they’d celebrated the Lord as their king back at the Exodus (Exodus 15:18). But now, no, a human king “so that we also may be like other nations.” If God’s desire were simply that the people choose well, well, so much for freedom: no human king. But God desires both that they be free and that they choose well. So God tells Samuel to give the people what they want; we’ll do it the hard way.

That’s a pretty good illustration of God’s love. God loves us too much either to compromise our freedom or to stop caring about our choices. Love—as any parent knows—complicates things. God can bring good out of our bad choices (the king is the template for the Messiah), but the price is high (“King of the Jews” was the sign on Jesus’ cross).

Does God always get what God wants? Since what God wants is that we be free and that we choose well, the answer is pretty clearly no. (That’s one of the main reasons why the Bible is a lengthy book!) And one of the recurrent challenges in worshipping this God is to respect both of these divine desires. If we think the people are choosing badly is their freedom really all that important?

Bad choices bring death. Adam and Eve choose badly in Genesis chapter 3; only one of their sons (Cain and Abel) is alive by the end of chapter 4. Death ends the story; death ends all stories. In the psalms one of the most frequent arguments the psalmists make for deliverance: rescue me, because in Hades no one praises you; that’s the lose-lose option. Shakespeare nails it in MacBeth:

Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player,
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,
And then is heard no more. It is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.

So if there were ever a game-changer, it’s Jesus’ resurrection (the motor for Paul’s reflections in our second reading). Death isn’t the end. Jesus’ transformed body grounds our hope for a similarly transformed body, “an eternal weight of glory,” as Paul put it.

How to tie this together? At least three ways come to mind. “God desires our freedom and that we use it well.” That, of course, is only one of many ways we might summarize what God’s up to. But play with it; wonder how it might serve to guide our outreach budget and activities.

Second. God desires our freedom and that we use it well. Because neither desire is negotiable God’s history with us is as messy as it is (recall, again, Holy Week) and Mick Jagger’s “You can’t always get what you want” turns out to apply to God as well. So we don’t know how all this will play out in the end. Will all be saved? We do know that it comes down to a fairly simple question: is my character such that I’d enjoy spending eternity with this God who keeps making hard choices and who loves my enemies as much as me?

In this respect heaven and hell reflect who we are. Recall that old analogy: a large banquet hall, the tables loaded. The complication is that our arms no longer bend at the elbows. At some tables, despair: despite increasingly acrobatic strategies no one can feed themselves. At other tables, delight: everyone feeding their neighbor.

A third way of tying this together: C. S. Lewis’ luminous sermon “The Weight of Glory” that draws on our second reading. After imagining what this weight of glory might mean, he pivots:

…it may be asked what practical use there is in the speculations which I have been indulging. I can think of at least one such use. It may be possible for each to think too much of his own potential glory hereafter; it is hardly possible for him to think too often or too deeply about that of his neighbour.… It is a serious thing to live in a society of possible gods and goddesses, to remember that the dullest and most uninteresting person you talk to may one day be a creature which, if you saw it now, you would be strongly tempted to worship, or else a horror and a corruption such as you now meet, if at all, only in a nightmare. All day long we are, in some degree, helping each other to one or other of these destinations.…There are no ordinary people.

God, in love, desires our freedom and that we use it well, for our choices really matter. That doesn’t make it easy for God or for us. Easy, apparently, is not the point.

Postscript to June 2 Sermon

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Interpreting Psalm 139 starts with a moral decision: are vv.19-22 (vv.18-21 in the Book of Common Prayer) templates for our prayers? Some traditions in both Testaments would support an affirmative answer (the imprecatory psalms, Jehu’s religious purge [2 Kings 10:18ff], Paul’s comments regarding his opponents in Galatians [1:9; 5:12 etc]). Others in both Testaments a negative answer (psalms like 143 [“for no one living is righteous before you”], Jesus’ command to love the enemy  [Mt 5:44]).

My answer is negative, placing the verses in a position analogous to the many eloquent but wrong-headed speeches of Job’s friends. But why in God’s providence is it still there? A reminder, I think, that all of us remain capable of sentiments and acts good, bad, and ugly. Once we start cancelling what we don’t like we end up—if we’re consistent—cancelling ourselves (recall the guillotine). Better: that God got the divine hands dirty dealing with the author(s)/editor(s) of Psalm 139 gives me hope that God’s hands will keep dealing with me.

The Japanese have a custom of repairing pottery in a way that highlights the fractures with precious metals (kintsugi). Perhaps Psalm 139 is an exercise in kintsugi (like ourselves?).

Does our theology survive contact with the enemy? (2nd Sunday after Pentecost, 6/2/2024)

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Readings (Track 1); Psalm 139 (complete; versification differing slightly from the BCP version cited)

The Lectionary included part of Psalm 139 (Verses 1-5, 12-17) in today’s readings; what are we supposed to do with that psalm? The Lectionary offers one answer: read the parts you like; don’t read the parts you don’t like. Well, whatever text we’re reading, that doesn’t sound like a promising strategy for learning something new. So what are we supposed to do with it?

There certainly is an abrupt change in tone between vv. 17 and 18. The best way of making sense of that is to recall that some judicial processes in Israel involved a divine decision, the accused subject to divine examination (guilty or innocent?) with the decision announced, presumably, by a priest. “Presumably” because all our evidence is indirect: multiple psalms whose combination of themes is best explained by such processes. This psalm reflects such a process: the accused speaks to God regarding God’s thorough knowledge of the accused, and then calls for God’s judgment on the “wicked,” those who’d brought charges against the accused.

I say “This psalm reflects” because it’s hardly a transcript of the speech of a particular accused person. In fact, this theme of divine knowledge has expanded far beyond what the judicial process would involve, nevertheless preserving the flow from the accused affirming that just God’s knowledge of them, to crying out for that just God to punish the deserving. And in the process the psalm becomes—in its entirety—a sort of mirror for us. Let’s walk through it.

Verses 1-5 focus on God’s complete—astounding—knowledge of the speaker. It’s not that the psalmist is assuming divine omniscience. It’s more personal than that, putting experiences together. You know me, know all my tells. A game of poker against you would be folly. This knowledge: wonderful, incomprehensible. Peterson paraphrases “This is too much, too wonderful—I can’t take it all in.” But, such knowledge, welcome or unwelcome? Today, with all these databases collecting everything possible about us, increased use of facial recognition: good news? Is God having all this knowledge good news? The verses don’t say. The text invites us to wonder how we experience this knowledge.

Verses 6-11 provide a sort of answer: the speaker inventories all the possible places to escape this knowledge. But there’s no place to hide. Again, it’s not as though the psalmist is assuming omnipresence. It’s more like a wide receiver talking to a cornerback: “Just when I think I’m open, you’re there. You seem to know when I’m going to cut before I do.” Good news or bad news? The verbs in v.9 sound like good news, but then we can be lead where we want to go or where we don’t want to go.

Surprisingly, the light/darkness contrast in vv.10-11 provides a way forward, reminding the speaker of what God accomplished for the speaker in complete darkness: the speaker’s own bodily existence (vv.12-17). Verse 13: “I will thank you because I am marvelously made; / your works are wonderful, and I know it well.” Scripture’s well aware that our bodies can malfunction in horrific ways, but the uniform response is to call on God to make them work again, rather than to abandon the project. So Paul repeatedly speaks of a new body, and John’s Gospel notes that Jesus’ resurrected body is no barrier to enjoying a good serving of fish and chips. (Ketchup not mentioned because tomatoes hadn’t yet made it over from the Americas.)

God’s involvement with the psalmist started from the moment of conception. Amazing—but also in need of a sidebar. We’d misuse the psalmist’s testimony by dragging it into the current arguments about abortion. The psalmist is celebrating the care and continuity. The psalmist is not asking when this “unformed substance” (so the NRSV in v.15; “limbs” in the BCP) became a legal person. In Scripture that question is only implicitly addressed in the Exodus law dealing with fight between men that injures a woman that results in a miscarriage (Exod. 21:22ff). There the Greek translation introduces a distinction between a child not fully formed and a child fully formed, with personhood implied only in the latter case. So Thomas Aquinas’ position that the fetus received a soul 40 or 80 days after conception is representative. In the Roman Catholic Church ascription of personhood from the moment of conception may first appear in the 19th Century. Among the Evangelicals, as late as 1968 their flagship magazine, Christianity Today, sponsored a consultation on abortion. Participants disagreed on many points but reported “about the necessity of it and permissibility for it under certain circumstances we are in accord.”[1] But back to the text.

As in the previous sections, the psalmist is overwhelmed by the qualitative difference between God’s knowledge and theirs, and this becomes the focus of the section’s concluding verses (16-17):

How deep I find your thoughts, O God!
how great is the sum of them!
If I were to count them, they would be more in number than the sand;
to count them all, my life span would need to be like yours.

But all that doesn’t derail the train of thought from God the judge examining the accused to calling on God to give the accusers what they deserve (vv.18-21).

What’s striking is that the intensity of the psalm seems to increase at v.18. God’s innumerable thoughts (vv.16-17) are important; God doing something about the enemies is really important. Somehow, once the enemies come on stage, all that celebration of God’s knowledge and creativity goes into the background and God’s role is reduced to destruction, to doing what the speaker can understand very well, thank you very much.

That’s the mirror that I think’s important here. We’re happy to celebrate God’s knowledge and the life-giving ways that God’s knowledge surpasses our own. But when the enemies come on stage, too often all that recedes, and what we want from God is that God do things we understand very well.

We remember Jesus’ “Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you” (Matt. 5:44). But sometimes we’re not there yet, and in those cases better to pray all of Psalm 139, than stop at v.17, hoping to convince ourselves that we’re farther along than we are.

To come at it from a different angle, the enemies provide an unwelcome helpful reality check: my talk of God’s amazing knowledge and competence: quarantined in the distant past, or the ground for trust and confidence in the present? That’s the recurrent challenge for God’s people in both Testaments: can the celebration of God’s past actions translate into trust now? Our enemies—alas—help us sort that out.

The last two verses attempt a sort of summary of the psalm. And they can serve as a sort of summary for our interaction with the psalm.

“Search me out, O God, and know my heart;
try me and know my restless thoughts.”

“Search” and “know”: verbs from the beginning of the psalm. So God should keep doing what God’s been doing, despite our recurrent ambivalence about whether that knowledge is good for us (“restless thoughts”).

“Look well whether there be any wickedness in me”

Perhaps that petition was originally formulaic, spoken assuming that of course God’s going to find me innocent. But after all the attention to God’s qualitatively superior knowledge, perhaps at least for us it can destabilize the assumption of a firm distinction between us and the wicked.[2]

“And lead me in the way that is everlasting.”

And in particular, “when the enemies come onstage, don’t let our vision shrink to what we’re capable of imagining you doing.” The military has a proverb: no plan survives encounter with the enemy. We might ask: does our theology survive encounter with the enemy? That’s the challenge Psalm 139 poses to us.

[1] https://www.politico.com/news/magazine/2022/05/10/abortion-history-right-white-evangelical-1970s-00031480, accessed 5/30/2024.

[2] The Pharisees as portrayed in Mark’s Gospel would have had no problem praying Ps 139 straight through and understanding their conspiring against Jesus as assisting God in the fulfillment of vv.18-21.

Postscript to the Trinity Sunday Sermon

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The Lectionary readings opened more doors than could be entered in the sermon. I could for example have spent much more time exploring the Trinity at work for our salvation in John’s Gospel. Hence this postscript.

One of the sermon’s primary themes was the Trinity as eternal community/fiesta/banquet/dance of love—hat tip to Leonardo Boff (Holy Trinity, Perfect Community) and C. S. Lewis (the Great Dance in Perelandra, chapter 17). But what of the buzzkill at the end of the Romans reading, Paul’s reference to sharing Jesus’ suffering?

The mediation between these themes was “The Prodigal Son” parable. (Is that parable a retelling of the Cain and Abel story?) The father wants both the younger “prodigal” son and the older self-righteous son at the banquet. But that’ll only happen if both recognize that the father’s love, forgiving, repaying evil with good (Rom 12:21), is an expression of strength, not weakness. That’ll only happen if both practice that love in forgiving, in repaying evil with good. Likewise the Father wants us at the banquet—us and our enemies. And that’ll only happen etc. That practice in this world means suffering (just ask Jesus how Holy Week went).

Pulling back the camera, while there are many moving parts in Jesus’ death, the combination of today’s Isaiah reading and the Prodigal Son parable encourage me to think that that death is less about paying some extrinsic penalty incurred by our guilt (a coal from the altar took care of Isaiah’s) and more about breaking the cycles of getting even that mar human beings and human history (see, conveniently, Gerhard Lohfink’s chapter 16 “Dying for Israel” in Jesus of Nazareth: What He Wanted, Who He Was).

Forgiving and repaying evil with good instead of seeking payback: signs of a strong or weak human being? (Signs of a strong or weak male?) The winds of that argument buffet us daily, and it’s worth noticing the answers we’re giving. And, since this is an election year, our presidential election is also about that.

The Holy Trinity: And I should pay attention because? (Trinity Sunday, 5/26/2024)

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Readings

Today we celebrate Trinity Sunday, one of the principal feasts of the Church. One God; Three Persons. But—with all due reverence—so what? There are many ways we might answer that question; here are a couple.

Confessing the Holy Trinity we say that before creation there is a community of love: Father, Son, Holy Spirit. That’s probably the most profound sense of the statement “God is love:” Father, Son, Holy Spirit in an eternal relationship of love. ‘Relationship’: that’s probably too weak a word. We might call it a banquet or a dance. And out of that love God creates our universe. Not out of lack or necessity (nothing is lacking) but out of desire to share that primordial love.

To share that primordial love: that’s the human destiny. It appears throughout Scripture; here are three examples. The first comes at the culmination of the Exodus at Sinai:

Then Moses and Aaron, Nadab, and Abihu, and seventy of the elders of Israel went up, and they saw the God of Israel. Under his feet there was something like a pavement of sapphire stone, like the very heaven for clearness. God did not lay his hand on the chief men of the people of Israel; also they beheld God, and they ate and drank. (Exodus 24:9-11)

The second, from the prophet Isaiah:

On this mountain the LORD of hosts will make for all peoples a feast of rich food, a feast of well-aged wines, of rich food filled with marrow, of well-aged wines strained clear. And he will destroy on this mountain the shroud that is cast over all peoples, the sheet that is spread over all nations; he will swallow up death forever.  (Isaiah 25:6-8a)

The third, from the end of the Revelation given to St John:

The Spirit and the bride say, “Come.” And let everyone who hears say, “Come.” And let everyone who is thirsty come. Let anyone who wishes take the water of life as a gift. (Revelation 22:17)

The party’s been going on from all eternity; we’re invited to join in.

Now, a parenthesis which for some will be quite unnecessary, for others—like the preacher—quite necessary. One God; billions of people scattered over the centuries. How could that not end up being organized bureaucratically? Here’s where my imagination needs stretching. Jesus, it turns out, is aware of the problem:

Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? Yet not one of them will fall to the ground apart from your Father. And even the hairs of your head are all counted. So do not be afraid; you are of more value than many sparrows. (Matthew 10:29-31)

Even the hairs of my head: counted. Perhaps not surprisingly this personal dimension to the divine invitation is captured most vividly in the Old Testament’s portraits of Lady Wisdom: “She hastens to make herself known to those who desire her.… because she goes about seeking those worthy of her, and she graciously appears to them in their paths, and meets them in every thought. (Wisdom 6:13, 16)

Which brings us to today’s second theme. The first: the Holy Trinity’s breath-taking invitation. The second: we’re not left to respond to that invitation on our own, as we’ve heard in the readings from Romans and John. In Romans Paul speaks of the Spirit empowering our prayers. A bit later he talks of those frequent situations in which we don’t have the slightest idea how to pray:

Likewise the Spirit helps us in our weakness; for we do not know how to pray as we ought, but that very Spirit intercedes with sighs too deep for words. And God, who searches the heart, knows what is the mind of the Spirit, because the Spirit intercedes for the saints according to the will of God. (Romans 8:26-27)

In John’s Gospel Jesus uses the image of birth: “Very truly, I tell you, no one can enter the kingdom of God without being born of water and Spirit.” And so we baptize (with water) in the Name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Birth: that suggests a one-off event. In practice it tends to be a recurring event as we—picking up Paul’s language—repeatedly by the Spirit put to death those destructive habits that still form part of our character.

The Trinity’s breath-taking invitation, the Trinity’s daily assistance in responding to that invitation: that’s probably plenty for the sermon. But there’s that last bit in the Romans reading: “it is that very Spirit bearing witness with our spirit that we are children of God, and if children, then heirs, heirs of God and joint heirs with Christ– if, in fact, we suffer with him so that we may also be glorified with him.” Suffer with him? After all the talk of feast and banquet in the sermon, how’d that get in? A long answer would require another sermon; here’s the short answer. In Jesus’ parable that we usually call “The Prodigal Son” the Father wants both the younger prodigal son and the older self-righteous son at the banquet. But that’ll only happen if both recognize that the father’s love, forgiving, repaying evil with good, is an expression of strength, not weakness. That’ll only happen if both practice love in forgiving, in repaying evil with good.

The Holy Trinity wants us at the banquet. More precisely, us and our enemies at the banquet. But that’ll only happen if we recognize that the Trinity’s love, forgiving, repaying evil with good, is an expression of strength, not weakness. That’ll only happen if we’ve at least begun to practice that love in forgiving, in repaying evil with good. And that practice in this world means suffering—as every Eucharist reminds us.

The Holy Trinity, a community of love since before time, inviting us into that same community, empowering us through the Spirit to accept that invitation, empowering us through that same Spirit to walk in the way of forgiveness and repaying evil with good. If that’s not a reason to celebrate, I don’t know what is.

La Santísima Trinidad–¿y qué? (La Trinidad, 26/5/2024)

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Lecturas

Hoy celebramos la fiesta de la Santísima Trinidad, una de las fiestas principales de la Iglesia. Un Dios; tres Personas. Pero—con toda la debida reverencia–¿y qué? Hay muchas maneras de responder a esta pregunta; voy a enfocar dos.

Confesando la Santísima Trinidad, confesamos que antes de la creación hay una comunidad de amor: Padre, Hijo, Espíritu Santo. “Dios es amor” decimos, y aquí tenemos el sentido más profundo de esta afirmación. Antes de nada, una comunidad de amor. “Comunidad”: quizá la palabra es demasiado débil. Mejor: una fiesta, un baile de amor. Y desde este amor Dios crea nuestro universo. Ni por carencia ni por necesidad, sino para compartir este amor primordial.

Compartir este amor primordial. Y aquí tenemos el destino humano: participar/vivir en esta comunidad de amor. Vislumbramos este destino en muchos textos de la Biblia. Por ejemplo, después del Éxodo y la entrega de la Ley:

Subieron Moisés, Aarón, Nadab, Abihú y los setenta dirigentes de Israel, y vieron al Dios de Israel: bajo los pies tenía una especie de pavimento de zafiro, límpido como el mismo cielo. Dios no extendió la mano contra los notables de Israel, que pudieron contemplar a Dios, y después comieron y bebieron. (Ex. 24:9-11 BNP)

O del profeta Isaías:

6 Y el SEÑOR de los ejércitos preparará en este monte para todos los pueblos un banquete de manjares suculentos, un banquete de vino añejo, pedazos escogidos con tuétano, y vino añejo refinado. 7 Y destruirá en este monte la cobertura que cubre todos los pueblos, el velo que está extendido sobre todas las naciones. 8 Él destruirá la muerte para siempre… (Is. 25:6-8 LBA)

O del fin de la Revelación de Juan:

El Espíritu y la esposa dicen: Ven. Y el que oye, diga: Ven. Y el que tiene sed, venga; y el que desea, que tome gratuitamente del agua de la vida. (Ap. 22:17 LBA)

Una fiesta de gozo desde antes de la creación—y nosotros, invitados a participar.

Ahora, un paréntesis, innecesario para algunos, necesario para otros—como su servidor. Un Dios; billones de personas: ¿no implica esto una burocracia sofocante? Bueno—necesito un poco más de imaginación. Y parece que Jesús mismo se dio cuenta del problema:

29 ¿No se venden dos gorriones por unas monedas? Sin embargo ni uno de ellos cae a tierra sin permiso del Padre de ustedes. 30 En cuanto a ustedes, hasta los pelos de su cabeza están contados. 31 Por tanto, no les tengan miedo, que ustedes valen más que muchos gorriones. (Mt. 10:29-31 BNP)

Hasta los pelos de mi cabeza. Y vemos esta dimensión personal de la invitación particularmente en los retratos de la Dama Sabiduría en el Antiguo Testamento:

Ella misma se da a conocer a los que la desean. Ella misma va de un lado a otro buscando a los que la merecen, los aborda benigna por los caminos, y les sale al paso en todo proyecto. (Sab. 6:13, 16 BNP)

En otras palabras, esta invitación de la Santísima Trinidad: no viene dirigida a ¨Ocupante¨ o ¨Residente¨.

Y esto nos lleva al segundo tema de esta plática. El primero: la asombrosa invitación de la Trinidad. El segundo: Dios no nos abandona a nuestros propios recursos para responder a esta invitación, como hemos escuchado en las lecturas de Romanos y Juan. En Romanos Pablo habla del Espíritu empoderando nuestras oraciones. Un poco después, de la intercesión del Espíritu cuando no tenemos la menor idea cómo orar:

26 De ese modo el Espíritu nos viene a socorrer en nuestra debilidad. Aunque no sabemos pedir como es debido, el Espíritu mismo intercede por nosotros con gemidos que no se pueden expresar. 27 Y el que sondea los corazones sabe lo que pretende el Espíritu cuando suplica por los consagrados de acuerdo con la voluntad de Dios. (Rom. 8:26-27 BNP)

En el Evangelio de Juan Jesús usa la imagen de nacimiento: ¨Te aseguro que, si uno no nace del agua y del Espíritu, no puede entrar en el reino de Dios.¨ (Jn. 3:5 BNP) Por eso bautizamos con agua en el Nombre del Padre, del Hijo, y del Espíritu Santo. Nacimiento: la imagen sugiere un evento único. En la práctica, algo que recurre cuando—usando las palabras de Pablo—con la ayuda del Espíritu hacemos morir los hábitos destructivos que siguen siendo parte de nuestro carácter.

En otras palabras, ¿qué nos dice la doctrina de la Trinidad? Respondemos al Padre con el Hijo a nuestro lado y el Espíritu dentro y entre nosotros.

Bueno. La asombrosa invitación de la Trinidad, la asistencia diaria de la Trinidad a responder a esta invitación: basta para una plática. Pero, hay la última parte de la lectura de Romanos:

Y este mismo Espíritu se une a nuestro espíritu para dar testimonio de que ya somos hijos de Dios. Y puesto que somos sus hijos, también tendremos parte en la herencia que Dios nos ha prometido, la cual compartiremos con Cristo, puesto que sufrimos con él para estar también con él en su gloria. (Rom 8:16-17 DHH)

¿Sufrir con él? Después de tantas referencias a gozo, fiesta, banquete, ¿de dónde viene eso de sufrir? Una respuesta completa implicaría otra plática. Entonces, una respuesta mínima. En la parábola de Jesús que solemos llamar ¨El hijo pródigo¨ el padre quiere que tanto el hijo prodigo como el hijo creído estén en el banquete. Pero eso pasará solamente si los dos reconocen que el amor del padre, un amor que perdona y que vence al mal haciendo el bien (véase Rom 12:21) es una muestra de fortaleza, no de debilidad. Eso pasará solamente si los dos hijos practican este amor, perdonando, venciendo al mal haciendo el bien.

La Santísima Trinidad quiere que nosotros estemos en el banquete. Mejor: quiere que nosotros y nuestros enemigos estemos en el banquete. Pero eso pasará solamente si reconocemos que el amor del padre, un amor que perdona y que vence al mal haciendo el bien es una muestra de fortaleza, no de debilidad. Eso pasará solamente si hemos empezado a practicar este amor, perdonando, venciendo al mal haciendo el bien. Y esta práctica en este mundo trae sufrimiento—como nos recuerda cada Eucaristía (¨que por nosotros y por nuestra salvación bajó del cielo¨).

La Santísima Trinidad, una comunidad de amor desde antes de tiempo mismo, invitándonos a esta comunidad, empoderándonos por el Espíritu para responder a esta invitación, empoderándonos por el mismo Espíritu a caminar en el camino de perdón y de vencer al mal haciendo el bien: buenos motivos para celebrar esta fiesta, ¿no creen? Amén.