Tag Archives: Jesus

The Riddle (Christmas Day, 12/25/2024)

Leave a reply

Readings

Some centuries before tonight’s events, the prophet Elijah’s generation was immersed in profound change—economic, social, cultural—you name it. The fear and anxiety in the air did not leave Elijah untouched. At one point he journeyed to Mt Sinai: “I have been very zealous for the LORD, the God of hosts; for the Israelites have forsaken your covenant, thrown down your altars, and killed your prophets with the sword. I alone am left, and they are seeking my life, to take it away” (1 Ki. 19:10).

As the story goes, the LORD said “’Go out and stand on the mountain before the LORD, for the LORD is about to pass by.’ Now there was a great wind, so strong that it was splitting mountains and breaking rocks in pieces before the LORD, but the LORD was not in the wind; and after the wind an earthquake, but the LORD was not in the earthquake; and after the earthquake a fire, but the LORD was not in the fire; and after the fire a sound of sheer silence” (1 Ki. 19:11-12).

All these convulsions, and the LORD is in none of them—until “a sound of sheer silence.” Surprising, both because these convulsions were characteristic on the LORD’s presence when Moses and the people showed up centuries earier at Sinai, and because these are the sort of convulsions Elijah probably thought necessary for the LORD to sort things out. But no: “a sound of sheer silence.” So the LORD’s appearance turns out to be a riddle: Who is this God? What is this God up to? What does this God want from us?

Tonight’s events mirror Elijah’s experience. All during Advent we’ve been praying “O come, O come Emmanuel,” our prayers echoing so many biblical texts (Isaiah: “O that you would tear open the heavens and come down, so that the mountains would quake at your presence” [Isa. 64:1]), and channeling our own fears and anxieties. An angel appears, then the choir of the angelic army (recall the Red Army Choir)—and the shepherds are directed to… a newborn baby: a sound of sheer silence—except when the diaper needs changing. All these images of irresistible power (the angel’s first words: “Do not be afraid”)—and then this baby. After four weeks of “O come, O come” and hoping (perhaps? probably?) for something like Arnold Schwarzenegger’s coming in Terminator 2: Judgment Day, a newborn baby. So we’re right there with Elijah: Who is this God? What is this God up to? What does this God want from us?

Whatever else Christmas is, it’s that riddle. Let us go with the shepherds to pay attention to that riddle; our lives and peace hang on it.

Repentance (2nd Sunday of Advent, December 8, 2024)

Leave a reply

Readings

In our second reading from Paul’s letter to the Philippians we heard: “I am confident of this, that the one who began a good work among you will bring it to completion by the day of Jesus Christ.” Philippians is known as Paul’s joyful epistle: God is powerfully at work in Philippi; Paul and the Philippians get to be part of it. But Paul’s words caution: there’s been a good beginning; there’s still a good way to go for the completion. And in between the beginning and completion he calls even the Philippians to repentance.

Paul, we might say, is happy to channel Malachi and John the Baptist—also when addressing the baptized!

Last Sunday we entered Advent praying “Almighty God, give us grace to cast away the works of darkness…” Casting away the works of darkness is, of course, not simply what we do the first week of Advent, but what we do continually as Christians. We learn—and it is a lifelong task—how to recognize ourselves as sinners. It is like peeling an onion: layer after layer, and sometimes involving tears. As Luther put it in the first of his 95 theses: “When our Lord and Master Jesus Christ said, “Repent” (Mt 4:17), he willed the entire life of believers to be one of repentance.”

Repentance, of course, is not a stand-alone project. The “entire life of believers” revolves around loving God and neighbor. Repentance is about what gets in the way of that love.

Repentance, the core of our work in Advent. The classic treatment of repentance is in one of the homilies Queen Elizabeth sent to us clergy in 1562. This sermon is simply a summary and contextualization of that homily. Repentance: a process involving four steps: contrition, confession, faith, and amendment of life.

Contrition Contrition is expressed chiefly in the confession itself: “We acknowledge and bewail our manifold sins and wickedness, / which we from time to time most grievously have committed, / by thought, word, and deed… / We do earnestly repent, / and are heartily sorry for these our misdoings; / the remembrance of them is grievous unto us, / the burden of them is intolerable.” A great deal of Scripture’s testimony is condensed in these words. God loves us—yes. We’re created in God’s image—yes. But we’ve responded to that love rather badly and marred that image. And so we return again and again to these words. They may or may not match my current self-image. If there’s a disconnect between the words and my self-image, the problem isn’t with the words.

Contrition involves both awareness of sin and sorrow for sin. Sometimes this comes easily. We screw up royally, we know it, we do what’s necessary so that it doesn’t happen again. There are some mistakes we only have to make once. That’s how contrition is supposed to work.

Often awareness of sin and sorrow for sin don’t come quite so easily. The minority party within us is aware; the majority is all for blurring the issue, changing the subject. We lack the imagination to see the effects of our sin on us and those around us.

Here’s one test. I should be able to talk about everything I do with someone. If I’m doing things that I can’t talk to anyone about, that isn’t simply a red flag. That’s all the klaxons going off and all the red lights flashing.

Sometimes the contrition we need has to do with sins we’re completely unaware of, but which those around us are quite aware of. So here’s the question: am I listening for what they might be telling me? Most of us do not like criticism, and our neighbors know that. So they’d be crazy to give a direct answer to “Tell me what you really think.” But if we’re trying to listen to both what is said and to the silences—with minimal filtering from our own fears and agendas we might pick up what we need to hear.

But whether it takes a short time or a long time to get to awareness of and sorrow for sin, in all cases it’s a matter of keeping the eye on the goal, love of God and neighbor. What’s making that harder? What’s eroding my desire to even achieve that goal?

And when for a particular sin we get to awareness and sorrow, it’s time to move on to the next step. There’s no value in wallowing in contrition (“Oh, what a terrible person I am!”), and it can quickly become counterproductive.

Confession Confession,expressed chiefly in the confession itself, is a matter of taking responsibility for these manifold sins and wickedness. Of course, none of these happened in a vacuum, but however much nature or nurture made these easier, they are still our acts, and we remain trapped by them until we acknowledge them as ours, until we confess.

Faith Here we’re not talking about faith in general, but the faith or trust that God will in fact forgive my sins, be merciful to me. There’s an important circle here that can spiral either upwards or downwards. If I feel little need for God’s mercy, I don’t need much faith in God’s mercy. I may not dare open myself to knowledge of that need without some of that faith. As I learn how much I need that mercy, the faith needs to keep up with the knowledge, or I end up in denial, spiral downwards. To assist that faith, in Rite I itself, after the absolution there is the option of reading one or more sentences that emphasize God’s mercy (page 332). To the degree that I’ve let myself acknowledge my need, I may really need to hear those! And, hearing those, I can continue to grow in self knowledge, and in faith in God’s mercy, and the spiral can continue upward.

By the way, sometimes believing that God will forgive my sins, be merciful to me, is difficult enough that it’s worth scheduling private confession with a priest. Sometimes hearing “The Lord has put away all your sins” face to face is exactly what I need to hear.

Amendment of life The invitation to confession already points us toward amendment of life: “and intend to lead a new life, following the commandments of God, and walking from henceforth in his holy ways” Toward the end of the confession we pray “and grant that we may ever hereafter / serve and please thee in newness of life, / to the honor and glory of thy Name.” In the Absolution: “confirm and strengthen you in all goodness”: this is not going to be easy. Were it easy, “strengthen you” would be an unnecessary petition.

Amendment of life isn’t easy. It involves change. It can be painful. The good news is that we don’t have to do it alone. It helps to have a friend with whom you can share your journey and get some accountability. You have a deacon and will soon have a regular priest: make use of them!

In our tradition we don’t expect to reach perfection in this life—but that’s no reason not to work towards it. We might work towards it for the sake of better loving God and neighbor, but few of us are far enough along spiritually for that to be a reliably sustainable motive. So here’s a more sustainable motive: the alternatives to amendment of life are even more painful. Recall M Scott Peck’s opening argument in his book The Road Less Traveled: “Life is difficult.… What makes life difficult is that the process of confronting and solving problems is a painful one.… Fearing the pain involved, almost all of us, to a greater or lesser degree, attempt to avoid problems” And, finally, this attempt “becomes more painful than the legitimate suffering it was designed to avoid.” So, amendment of life, the less painful option.

“And I am sure that he who began a good work in you will bring it to completion at the day of Jesus Christ.” We live between the beginning and the completion, and repentance is an ongoing part of our commitment to love God and neighbor. Repentance: Contrition, confession, faith, amendment of life. Sustained and empowered by Almighty God, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, let us renew our dedication to this work as we continue in Advent.

Hope (1st Sunday of Advent, December 1, 2024)

Leave a reply

Readings

And so we begin another year, with all the hopes and fears anything new brings. The readings and the liturgy can pretty much carry us along; perhaps what the sermon can offer is attention to three of the images in or behind our readings.

The first is that word “righteous” in Jeremiah. “A righteous Branch… execute justice and righteousness… Jerusalem… called: ‘The LORD is our righteousness.’”

“Righteous” and “Righteousness” are today pretty much restricted to religious contexts. That’s a pity, because ‘righteous’ (tsaddiq in Hebrew) is a remarkably useful word. A person who is righteous (a tsaddiq) is a person who does what needs to be done to fulfill the obligations of a relationship, even if it means coloring outside the lines.

In the Old Testament one of the classic examples of the tsaddiq is the widow Tamar. She owes it to her dead husband to have a son who’ll carry on his name. But her father-in-law, Judah, is standing in the way, and has shown no sign of budging. So, off with the widow’s garb, on with the prostitute’s garb, and she has the son by an oblivious Judah. Judah’s outraged—until she shows him the credit card receipt—but then has to acknowledge her as the more righteous: she’s done what’s necessary to carry on her husband’s (Judah’s son’s) name. She’s the Tamar who shows up in Jesus’ genealogy in Matthew.

The Lord, precisely in this sense, is righteous. It doesn’t matter how powerful Israel’s enemies are. It doesn’t matter how deep a hole Israel has dug herself in. The last thing the Lord will say is “Well, you brought this on yourself; what do you expect me to do?” The Lord is righteous. If that means bringing Israel out of Egypt, opening a way through the sea, the Lord will do it. If that means toppling the Babylonian Empire so the exiles can return home, the Lord will do it. If it means taking on human flesh to live as one of us, the Lord will do it. The Lord is righteous.

It’s that confidence in the Lord’s righteousness that animates the psalm. It doesn’t matter what combination of external enemies and self-inflicted wounds the psalmist is dealing with: the Lord can and will sort it out. That’s the confidence the psalm—and our tradition—invite us to share. The Lord is righteous, creative, stubborn; the Lord will sort it out.

The second image is from the Gospel, “the Son of Man coming in a cloud.” We heard those same words last Sunday in vision from Daniel 7. Recall the vision: Daniel sees a series of four beasts, each more terrifying than the last, with the last one hounding God’s people. But then the Ancient One comes onstage, the beasts are dealt with, and “the Son of Man coming in a cloud”—that one receives kingship. (And so we heard the text at the Feast of Christ the King.) It’s a remarkably hopeful vision: the face of the human future is not bestial, but human. The terrorists don’t win. The surveillance state doesn’t win. God bats last; God and humanity win.

You see, if the future that awaits us is bestial, then the dissipation and drunkenness Jesus warns us against in today’s Gospel sound like pretty good options. If the future that awaits us is bestial, then the invitation “to cast away the works of darkness” is futile. But the future that awaits us has a human face, Jesus’ face, so hope—with the swimming upstream that it entails—is the rational response.

The Lord is righteous. This Son of Man secures a human future. Two images from our readings. The third image lies just below the surface and serves as the motor. It’s captured in one of the carols that didn’t make it into our hymnal: “Tomorrow shall be my dancing day: / I would my true love did so chance / To see the legend of my play, / To call my true love to my dance: / Sing, O my love, O my love, my love, my love; / This have I done for my true love.” That’s the story we’re in, “we” as the human race, “we” as each individual. How the Nicene Creed manages to summarize this romance, this love story, without using the word ‘love’ is a head-scratcher. Anyhow, as love is necessarily a joint project, God’s standing invitation: let’s write this story together. And in that spirit the Church invites us into this season of Advent.

Cristo Rey: ¿Y estamos celebrando qué precisamente? (24 de noviembre, 2024)

Leave a reply

Hoy estamos celebrando la fiesta de Cristo Rey. Pero, ¿qué estamos celebrando exactamente?

Nuestro salmo ofrece una respuesta: poder. “Más potente que la voz de muchas aguas, / más potente que los rompientes del mar, / más potente es el Señor en las alturas.” Y, bueno, la cuestión de poder es bien presente en las otras lecturas.

Recordemos el contexto de la primera lectura. En una visión Daniel veía cuatro bestias saliendo de un mar turbulento, cada bestia más espantosa que las previas, y la última bestia luchando contra y venciendo al pueblo de Dios. Entonces la llegada del Anciano, con “un hijo de hombre” recibiendo “el poder, la gloria, y el reino.”

Escuchamos el mismo tema en la Revelación: “Jesucristo… tiene autoridad sobre los reyes de la tierra.”

Y en el Evangelio, Pilato ostentando su poder sobre el preso. Si hubiéramos leído un versículo más, habríamos escuchado la réplica de Pilato: “¿Y qué es la verdad?” En el mundo de Pilato, con suficiente poder, la verdad no importa. Y este es el mundo que nos aguarda afuera.

Bueno. Con inmensa gratitud celebramos el poder de nuestro Dios. Sin este poder no hay salida. Entonces, aprovechemos las oportunidades de fortalecer nuestro sentido de su poder, o en estas lecturas o en nuestras experiencias con la grandeza de su creación.

Sin embargo, si estamos celebrando solamente este poder, tenemos un problema. ¿Por qué tenemos que vivir en la parte de Daniel 7 donde la bestia lucha contra y vence al pueblo de Dios y no en la parte donde el poder, la gloria, y el reino de este hijo de hombre es obvio? ¿Por qué tenemos que vivir en el mundo de Pilato donde Pilato tiene la última palabra?

No tengo la respuesta. En las palabras de Dios por Isaías: “mis ideas no son como las de ustedes” (55:8). Pero en nuestros textos sí hay un indicio. La bestia lucha contra el pueblo de Dios. Y ¿qué sabemos de este pueblo de Dios? En la Revelación: “Cristo nos ama, y nos ha librado de nuestros pecados.” ¿Quiénes somos? Amados, pecadores librados. Entonces, aunque podemos hablar—como hablan muchos de los salmos—de los justos y los malos, debemos hablar también de pecadores recibiendo la libertad que Dios ofrece y de pecadores rechazándola. Jesucristo ama a Pedro…y a Pilato. En la primera carta de Pablo a Timoteo: Dios “quiere que todos se salven y lleguen a conocer la verdad” (2:4). O, como Jesús ben Sirac lo expresa en Eclesiástico, “El hombre se compadece solo de su prójimo, pero el Señor se compadece de todo ser viviente; él reprende, corrige, enseña, y guía como un pastor a su rebaño” (18:13).

Por eso, el poder de Dios es buenas noticias para nosotros los pecadores porque Dios es—primero—Amor, y emplea su poder con paciencia. Paciencia con nosotros, paciencia con nuestros enemigos. Y quizá—quizá—esta es una parte de la respuesta a nuestra pregunta. ¿Por qué seguimos diciendo “Cristo volverá”? También porque Dios es paciente.

Y si Dios es paciente, que nosotros—pecadores recibiendo la libertad que Dios ofrece—seamos pacientes, compasivos, con nuestros prójimos, también con nuestros enemigos. No como una expresión de resignación o de impotencia, sino porque así se comparta nuestro Dios. ¡Viva Cristo Rey!

An invitation to joyful confidence and humble wisdom (25th Sunday after Pentecost, 11/17/2024)

Leave a reply

Readings (Track 2)

Our readings from Daniel and Mark make quite a pair. The Daniel reading ends a long description of the Last Things; the Mark reading begins a long description of the Last Things. In both, all hell is breaking loose or is about to. In both, hell doesn’t get the last word. How are our innards supposed to respond? Both readings—together with the psalm and epistle—are an invitation to joyful confidence and humble wisdom. Joyful confidence and humble wisdom. Let’s see if you agree.

Psalm 16. It’s one of the Psalter’s many individual petitions. “Protect me, O God, for I take refuge in you.” The situation is lethal; the Grave and the Pit are in view. Nevertheless, the psalmist is confident in the Lord’s power and goodness, so the overriding emotion is joy, both in the present and anticipated in the future. Fear’s probably knocking (pounding?) on the door. But the psalmist doesn’t have to answer; we don’t have to answer every robocall.

So giving attention to joy’s a choice. If we pay attention, there’s joy in the present: “My boundaries enclose a pleasant land; / indeed, I have a goodly heritage.” And in the future: “And in your right hand are pleasures for evermore.” Those who’ve read C.S. Lewis’ The Screwtape Letters may recall that senior devil’s rant (“[God’s] a hedonist at heart.”[1]). In the present:

And since the other readings will get us thinking about wisdom, notice v.7: “I will bless the Lord who gives me counsel; / my heart teaches me, night after night.” Counsel, actionable wisdom, on an ongoing basis.

What the psalmist is experiencing is what we pray for in that short prayer immediately following Baptism: “Sustain them, O Lord, in your Holy Spirit. Give them an inquiring and discerning heart, the courage to will and to persevere, a spirit to know and to love you, and the gift of joy and wonder in all your works.” The psalm gives us a palpable picture of how God’s answer to that prayer can be experienced.

So, an invitation to a confidence that generates joy.

Hebrews. The psalmist’s confidence rested on the Lord’s experienced power and goodness, experienced by the psalmist and the psalmist’s community. The confidence repeatedly expressed in our Hebrews text rests on that same power and goodness at work in Jesus—as we celebrate at every Eucharist. And here the confidence generates corporate faithfulness.

Turns out our 21st century temptations aren’t all that different from 1st century temptations. “Not neglecting to meet together.” It can be a strong temptation: anything to avoid having to deal with that person. But withdrawal makes the same sense for a Christian as it does for a football player. “So you’re a football player. What team are you on?” “No team, just a football player.”

Anyhow, an invitation to the confidence that generates corporate faithfulness.

Mark. Our Mark reading starts by continuing the eyesight issue from last week. What do the disciples see when they see a scribe? What do they see watching the very different gifts of the rich and the poor widow? Even after three years with Jesus, he’s still working on their eyesight. Today, looking at the temple, the disciples are all “Ooh, Aah,” when you don’t even have to be a prophet to know that between the high taxes and the Zealots, the temple’s days are numbered. But Jesus keeps trying—as he does with us.

As the reading continues some disciples ask “Tell us, when will this be, and what will be the sign that all these things are about to be accomplished?” They want a timetable, information out there that doesn’t require any change on their part. Jesus has no interest in giving that sort of answer. His answer instead is punctuated by “Beware!” —sometimes better translated as “Watch!” or “On guard!” The future will demand wisdom, discernment. From Scripture’s perspective the only wisdom worth the name is a humble wisdom, a wisdom ever-aware of its own limits. So, in Jesus’ answer: don’t try to prepare your speech for the hostile authorities beforehand—the Holy Spirit will take care of that; don’t assume you know when the Master will return.

However we summarize Jesus’ answer (“All hell will break loose, but hell doesn’t get the last word!”), it clearly invites confidence. Equally clearly, an invitation to humble wisdom, without which that confidence will probably be counterproductive.

Daniel. The bottom line of that long description running from chapter 10 to 12: the Lord is sovereign, whether in the times of the Persians or the Greeks, whether the faithful are honored or hunted. The last verse supplies the exclamation point: “Those who are wise shall shine like the brightness of the sky, and those who lead many to righteousness, like the stars forever and ever.”

Let’s stay with that verse for a bit. That word ‘wise’ has shown up repeatedly in Daniel. It introduces Daniel and his three companions back in chapter 1; it characterizes the persecuted faithful in the days of Antiochus Epiphanes (chapter 11), whose genocidal policies sparked the Maccabean revolt. In Isaiah, it introduces the servant in the fourth “Servant Song:” “See, my servant shall prosper [be wise].” That same Song is probably responsible for the description “those who lead many to righteousness.”

“Those who are wise.” In the book of Daniel, Daniel and his companions are the paradigms of the wise. By their time, Lady Wisdom, participant in God’s creation, “delighting in the human race” (Prov. 8:31), and Moses’ Law had pretty much merged. So Daniel and his companions carefully observe Moses’ Law. Perhaps surprisingly, this frees them to give their best service to foreign kings. I think Jeremiah, who wrote “But seek the welfare of the city where I have sent you into exile” (Jer. 29:7), would have liked that.

Jumping ahead, in a variety of ways the New Testament celebrates Jesus as the incarnation of Wisdom. Back in Proverbs, the personification of wisdom as Lady Wisdom was more than a rhetorical ornament. It captured the insight that gaining wisdom is more like getting to know a person than accumulating innumerable maxims. The incarnation seals that: if I seek wisdom, I seek to know Jesus. Not simply Jesus’ teaching or Jesus’ example—these can quickly and conveniently become abstractions—but Jesus himself, with all the open-endedness and mystery any personal relationship involves.

But talk of wisdom is dangerous, as Proverbs already recognized: “Do you see persons wise in their own eyes? There is more hope for fools than for them” (Prov. 26:12). Wisdom neglectful of its own limits is no wisdom. And I don’t escape that danger by announcing that I’m seeking to know Jesus. It’s tempting to cherry-pick the parts of Jesus I find attractive. But, for example, Jesus aligned with none of the Jewish parties: Pharisees, Sadducees, Herodians, Zealots, Qumran separatists, etc., and annoyed most of them. He cut diagonally across all of them. I would expect the same to be true of our parties today, whether political or religious. So if Jesus is not periodically annoying me, I’m probably cherry-picking.

Coming at the same issue from a different direction, it’s easy to assume that after baptism and confirmation we’ve got the basics, and it’s just a matter of—as the Hobbits would say—“filling up the corners.” The Chilean priest Segundo Galilea is closer to the truth when he writes “Let’s not assume that a Christian believes in and prays to the Christian God. There are always ambiguities and subtle idolatries in the God they adore and follow. Getting acquainted with and conversion to the God of the Gospel is a task for one’s entire life, and for everyone.”[2]

But isn’t emphasizing the limits of our wisdom a buzzkill? Recall the baptismal prayer: “the gift of joy and wonder in all your works.” When wonder, awe, even curiosity kick in, the limits of our wisdom move over into the “Win” column.

To resume, as in Mark, our Daniel text invites us to confidence (“All hell will break loose, but hell doesn’t get the last word!”) and wisdom. And here I’ve spent more time pulling back the camera to notice the importance of a wisdom that stays conscious of its limits.

And, pulling back the camera in a different direction, taking in the Book of Daniel as a whole, what that confidence and wisdom do is create a quite remarkable freedom to engage Empire. Sometimes there are happy endings: Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego; Daniel in the lion’s den. Sometimes not. In the runup to today’s text we hear “The wise among the people shall give understanding to many; for some days, however, they shall fall by sword and flame, and suffer captivity and plunder” (Dan. 11:33). It’s not that the wise (the faithful) have changed their strategy; it’s just that the choices of the powerful are sometimes wise, sometimes foolish. And that lies beyond our control, but not the Lord’s. With Daniel and Mark: the Lord bats last.

[1] Chapter 22.

[2] “No pensemos que a priori un católico cree y ora al Dios cristiano. Siempre hay ambigüedades e ‘idolatrías’ sutiles en el Dios que adora y sigue. El conocimiento y conversión al Dios del evangelio es una tarea para toda la vida y para todos” (El camino de la Espiritualidad, p.55).

“Then the eyes of the blind [disciples] shall be opened” (24th Sunday after Pentecost, 11/3/2024)

Leave a reply

Readings (Track 1)

Centuries before Jesus, when Solomon’s temple was still standing, the prophet Isaiah, surrounded by the folly that passed for wisdom, spoke of God’s coming salvation. One of his images: “Then the eyes of the blind shall be opened, and the ears of the deaf unstopped” (35:5). What might that look like? Today’s Gospel provides one answer, Jesus working at opening the eyes of the disciples.

“As he taught, he said, ‘Beware of the scribes, who like to walk around in long robes, and to be greeted with respect in the marketplaces, and to have the best seats in the synagogues and places of honor at banquets! They devour widows’ houses and for the sake of appearance say long prayers. They will receive the greater condemnation.’”

What do the disciples see when they see a scribe? All the outward signs proclaim honor, but open eyes don’t stop with appearances. Where does Jesus get this? Maybe through recalling stories like the one about the prophet Samuel, sent to anoint Israel’s next king. The Lord to Samuel: “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” (1 Sam. 16:7). So, not Eliab, but David. Or maybe through the multiple texts in Proverbs we noticed a few weeks back. A rich man: rich through diligence or theft? A poor man: poor through sloth or oppression? Based on appearances we don’t know. Or maybe from having grown up in the North, where scribes who copy and interpret the legal documents can be seen rather differently than in the capital.

Is Jesus talking about every scribe? Of course not. He is talking about what we see, what assumptions inform what we see.

And, of course, Jesus’ words continue to be passed down also because they speak to new situations. Soon the new churches have bishops, priests, deacons—and the temptations of long robes, preferred seating, etc. are as relevant as ever. But that would be another sermon.

“Then the eyes of the blind shall be opened.” Jesus keeps working the problem.

“He sat down opposite the treasury, and watched the crowd putting money into the treasury. Many rich people put in large sums. A poor widow came and put in two small copper coins, which are worth a penny. Then he called his disciples and said to them, ‘Truly I tell you, this poor widow has put in more than all those who are contributing to the treasury. For all of them have contributed out of their abundance; but she out of her poverty has put in everything she had, all she had to live on.’”

What do the disciples see? Which gifts look impressive? Jesus’ mother had sung “He has cast down the mighty from their thrones, / and has lifted up the lowly.” Perhaps Jesus is remembering that too. In any case, what they see, what we see, is important also because it determines what we do. We heard Jesus’ brother James a few weeks back: “For if a person with gold rings and in fine clothes comes into your assembly, and if a poor person in dirty clothes also comes in…” (2:2).

Salvation: Jesus working on our vision—on our hearing, for that matter—so that we treat each other well. A surprising number of our acts of seeing and hearing reflect who we are, who we are becoming.

And sometimes the rich get it right, as our first reading reminds us. It would have been easy for Boaz to write Ruth and Naomi off. He doesn’t. He listens. And as the parts of the text we didn’t hear in the assigned readings make clear, he makes decisions that are financially costly to do right by the women. One result, as the text reminds us in a delightfully understated postscript, King David.

We can close by noticing an additional layer to the contributions to the temple treasury story. Mark puts the story right at the entrance to Passover/Holy Week. At Passover the High Priest, richly attired, accompanied by all the pomp and ceremony Jerusalem can muster, will offer the prescribed sacrifices. At that same Passover, a prisoner stripped of everything, will stretch “out his arms upon the cross.” As we heard in our second reading, the author of Hebrews has no doubt which sacrifice was the more efficacious, the more worthy of honor. If our eyes are open enough to see the value of the widow’s two small copper coins, we just might be able to see the value of that prisoner’s self-offering.

“Then the eyes of the blind shall be opened, and the ears of the deaf unstopped.” So in the coming week who knows when the Lord might nudge us: “What do you see? What do you see?”

The Guy Who Stopped Jesus in His Tracks (23rd Sunday after Pentecost, 10/27/2024)

Leave a reply

Readings (Track 2)

The working title for this sermon: “The Guy Who Stopped Jesus in His Tracks.” Did you notice that in the Gospel reading? “’Son of David, have mercy on me!’ Jesus stood still and said, ‘Call him here.’” Jesus, pretty much constantly in movement in Mark’s Gospel, but in response to Bartimaeus’ words, “Jesus stood still.” That’s what we heard the author of the letter to the Hebrews talking about: “he always lives to make intercession for them.” In our world: the more important the person, the more layers to get through to (maybe) reach them. That’s the surprise with Jesus, Son of David, or (from our Hebrews reading) “such a high priest, holy, blameless, undefiled, separated from sinners, and exalted above the heavens.” No layers, available 24/7.

That’s followed by a second surprise: Jesus asks Bartimaeus a question: “What do you want me to do for you?” Again, in our world the more important the person, the more assumptions they tend to make about the people around them. Jesus doesn’t do that. He asks Bartimaeus what Bartimaeus wants, recognizes and respects Bartimaeus’ dignity.

Even with the best intentions it’s easy to make assumptions. My first career was in the Christian relief and development agency World Vision. Particularly in development it’s easy to assume that we know what the community needs, how those needs should be met, etc. It takes time and effort to escape such assumptions, and we kept at it also through a standing joke: The three great lies? The check is in the mail. Of course I’ll respect you in the morning. We’re from World Vision and we’re here to help you.

No. Jesus asks, and responds to Bartimaeus’ answer. “My teacher, let me see again.”

Then there’s a third, and final surprise. Jesus’ words invite Bartimaeus to set his own course. “Go; your faith has made you well.” Bartimaeus could have gone home, opened a pizza joint, whatever. Our text: “Immediately he regained his sight and followed him on the way.” That puts Bartimaeus on the short list of competent theologians in Mark’s Gospel: he realized his best course was to follow this Jesus. It’s something like that scene in the movie Under Siege where Tate (the former playmate) says to Ryback “The safest place on this ship is right behind you!”

So that’s the story, and I suppose we could also title it “Be like Bartimaeus.” And stories like this ground the use of the Jesus Prayer in the Orthodox Tradition: “Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me a sinner.” It’s not a bad practice, and might balance out all the other scripts knocking around in our heads.

And Jesus answers every prayer as directly as Bartimaeus’ prayer? No, and so Jesus tells stories elsewhere about being downright stubborn in prayer, like the widow who wears down the unjust judge by continuing to petition (Lk 18:1-8). And one reason Jesus gathers us into parishes is so that we can encourage each other in this stubbornness.

Now, if we pull back the camera to include the other readings, there’s a larger story, and I’ll notice it briefly before closing.

The Jeremiah reading and the psalm look to a triumphant return from exile to Jerusalem. We know when the exile started: that was the Babylonian (Iraqi) destruction of Jerusalem in 586 bc. When it ended: that’s a trickier question. Some returned after the Persians (Iran) defeated Babylon (Iraq), but Jerusalem remained under foreign heels, first Persian, then Greek, then—also in Jesus’ time—Roman. And by this point in Mark’s Gospel Jesus is headed for Jerusalem, and next story after Bartimaeus is the Triumphal Entry. Our Jeremiah reading mentioned the blind—probably the reason for its pairing with today’s Gospel—so Jesus is following the Jeremiah/Psalm script? The Temple gets cleansed, the Romans thrown out, and the Kingdom fully established?

Well, no. Jesus challenges us to be stubborn in prayer because the Holy Trinity is even more stubborn, not content with half measures, determined to have mercy not only on Jerusalem, but on Susa, Athens, Rome, and cities past the New Testament horizon, like Sun Prairie. And that meant Holy Week, or, as Hebrews puts it, “Unlike the other high priests, he has no need to offer sacrifices day after day, first for his own sins, and then for those of the people; this he did once for all when he offered himself.”

‘Stubborn’ is one word; ‘committed’ equally comes to mind. That ham and eggs breakfast: the chicken is involved, the pig is committed. The Holy Trinity is like the pig, committed to our salvation, stubborn in seeking it, inviting us to recognize in the coming week the multiple opportunities to respond like Bartimaeus.

Jesus’ “Follow me:” Beyond Answers & Checklists (21st Sunday after Pentecost, 10/13/2024)

Leave a reply

Readings (Track 1); expanded Hebrews reading here

Jesus, today’s Gospel tells us, loved the young man and offered him life. The young man loved other things, and declined the offer.

That scene is important for two reasons. It warns us of one possible outcome in our interactions with Jesus, and so is a narrative enactment of the warning on which the author of Hebrews is focusing: “Today, if you hear his voice, do not harden your hearts.” The second reason, the scene’s stress on Jesus’ love (“Jesus, looking at him, loved him”). We sometimes fear that God is playing “Gotcha,” looking for reasons to declare us guilty, and so read the text accordingly. Mark’s stress on Jesus’ love should save us from that misreading of both the Epistle and the Gospel.

Jesus loves the young man and offers him life; the young man loves other things and declines the offer. Why, we might wonder, does this scene repeat itself with such regularity that the author of Hebrews dedicates a much longer stretch of his letter than we read today to this warning (“Today, if you hear his voice, do not harden your hearts.”). The foundational answer, I think, is reflected in God’s words in Isaiah 55:

8 For my thoughts are not your thoughts,
nor are your ways my ways, says the LORD.
9 For as the heavens are higher than the earth,
so are my ways higher than your ways
and my thoughts than your thoughts. (Isa 55:8-9)

Recall Gregory of Nyssa: any god we could understand would not deserve our worship!

Now, in Isaiah 55 and Scripture in general “For my thoughts are not your thoughts, nor are your ways my ways” is good news. For instance, God does not “do” power like the self-proclaimed movers and shakers that fill our political landscape. But it also means that not understanding, being confused, is the normal experience of the people of this God, and we become less anxious as we approach getting used to this.

Let me unpack what I’m suggesting in a couple of ways, because this emphasis on Isaiah 55—and we could also recall St. Paul’s “For now we see in a mirror, dimly” (1Co 13:12)—runs counter to two popular ways of understanding our faith.

First, Isaiah 55 tells us that God’s not in the business of giving us the answers we want. Recall Job in our first lesson, or the psalmist’s multiple questions in Ps 22! Recall, for that matter, Jesus’ quite unnerving answer to the disciples’ question (“Then who can be saved?”…”For mortals it is impossible…”). Between our Bible (some 1600 pages) and the BCP (another 1000 pages), one might get the impression that being a Christian is a matter of having Answers. The more answers, the better!

But that’s to miss the point. Consider the Tabernacle, the place for a particular manifestation of God’s presence, described in detail in Exodus. Precise descriptions of the courtyard, the rooms in the Tabernacle, its furnishings, including the Ark of the Covenant with the two great creatures pointing toward the presence. But of the Presence itself, nothing. Or, better, when all is set up, Exodus tells us: “Then the cloud covered the tent of meeting, and the glory of the LORD filled the tabernacle. Moses was not able to enter the tent of meeting because the cloud settled upon it, and the glory of the LORD filled the tabernacle” (Exo 40:34-35). All the components of the Tabernacle: simply to guard the mystery.

Or consider the Nicene Creed. If we get under the hood, look at what motivated this particular collection of affirmations, we discover that virtually every line is to guard against a misunderstanding. So, the Bible, the BCP: resources to keep our questions alive, to pull us back from premature closure, and sometimes, maybe even often, to suggest new questions.

And before moving on, notice that Hebrews wants us to understand that Jesus fully entered into this human condition. (“For we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but we have one who in every respect has been tested as we are, yet without sin.”) So Jesus on the cross makes his own the question with which Ps 22 opened. With all our questions and puzzlements we’re not in bad company.

Second, Isaiah 55 can help us guard against reducing the faith to a sort of checklist: baptism, first communion, confirmation, such that if we get everything ticked off we can go on autopilot. Baptism, for example, is as much about disorientation as it is about orientation. “N., you are sealed by the Holy Spirit in Baptism and marked as Christ’s own for ever.” So the parents’ and godparents’ hopes for the child are no longer the only hopes—or even the primary hopes—in play.

Now, if the faith isn’t about a growing tidy set of answers or a cradle-to-grave checklist, what is it? Notice that—back to the scene with Jesus and the young man—the central metaphor is “follow me.” Follow—well, start learning how to follow—this unpredictable God whose ways are not ours. In the section of the Gospel from which this reading is taken we’ve been watching this “follow me” play out as Jesus works at reducing the distance between his ways and the disciples’ ways:

No, arguing about who’s the greatest is not helpful

No, forbidding others from using Jesus’ name because they’re not “with us” is not helpful

No, keeping little children away from Jesus isn’t helpful either.

And in today’s Gospel, notice how this plays out immediately after the Jesus and young man scene. When Jesus describes how difficult it is for the rich to enter the kingdom, the disciples ask “Then who can be saved?” They assume that the rich have the inside track, because the rich have the leisure to study Torah and the wherewithal to ensure compliance with all the traditions.

Equally important, notice that Jesus doesn’t respond to their question by talking about the poor having the inside track. So, while some may properly hear Jesus’ command to sell everything as addressed to them—St. Francis comes to mind—it’s a misreading of the text to make that command universal or interpret it as defining a higher tier of discipleship. It’s Peter that tries that line: “Peter began to say to him, ‘Look, we have left everything and followed you…’” And Jesus’ reply leaves it clear that while the disciples’ action hasn’t been wrong, it’s not going to play out like they imagine. “But many who are first will be last, and the last will be first.”

Jesus loves the young man and offers him life; the young man loves other things and declines the offer. Jesus loves us, and offers us life. Because Jesus’ ways and our ways are so different, neither Answers nor Checklists will do: “follow me.” We’ll continue to have questions, continue to be puzzled, and Jesus will continue to offer us the mercy and grace to follow Him into the awe-inspiring and life-giving mystery that is the God for whom all things—even our salvation—are possible.

Serving God–and each other–“for nothing” (20th Sunday after Pentecost, 10/6/2024)

Leave a reply

Readings

Among the courses in seminary that today I most regret not taking: juggling. Here’s why. Our Old Testament readings take us through Job and Ruth. The Epistle readings, again starting today, take us through the Epistle to the Hebrews. And in the Gospel readings in Mark, Jesus continues his march towards Jerusalem, accompanied by the apostles who continue to argue over whose name will be in the biggest lights on the marquee. So in a now venerable tradition of TV story-telling, we’ll all juggle multiple story lines together, and listen for what our gracious and subtle Lord might be saying to us.

Job

Today’s reading introduces Job and sets up the problem: if God doesn’t protect us –more broadly, if there are no concrete benefits—is God worth serving? That is a question no one wants to be the position of having to answer. But most of the rest of the Old Testament, and, in particular the Book of Proverbs, with its continual emphasis on the correlation between good behavior and good results, forces the question. Do we only serve God because/when it pays? Does God have to buy our love?

In setting the question, the book eliminates two of the three classic responses to the problem of evil: God’s power is unquestioned (Satan has to ask permission to do anything) and God’s knowledge is intact. What we are left to wonder about –and what Job will wonder about very loudly in the coming chapters—is whether God is good, or simply very big. Tune in next week.

Hebrews

Hebrews is one of the least accessible books in the New Testament. It was usually ascribed to Paul, who was almost certainly not its author. It seems to assume that its audience is in danger of abandoning faith in Jesus for some other form of Judaism. In any case, the bulk of the book is devoted to Jesus’ superiority. In the process, it offers perspectives that Christians throughout the centuries have found illuminating and encouraging.

For instance, in the second half of the 20th Century, Christians in many countries sought –as they have in every time and place—for ways of speaking of Jesus that resonated with their hearts. One of these: Jesus our Brother. Not: our God, our Lord, our Master –all true enough—but Jesus our Brother. And it was in this prickly epistle that we found the richest resources to develop this image: the one who “is not ashamed to call [us] brothers and sisters,” the one who shared our flesh and blood. Jesus is our Brother, who can help us when we suffer and are tested, because he suffered and was tested too; one of the few human beings worthy to be Job’s brother.

Shared our flesh and blood, “so that –listen carefully—through death he might destroy the one who has the power of death, that is, the devil, and free those who all their lives were held in slavery by the fear of death.” The New Testament is united in confessing that we are saved through Jesus’ death. But there is no unanimity regarding how Jesus’ death saves us, simply a wealth of different images and metaphors. This image, Jesus’ death effecting the defeat of the devil and our liberation, was perhaps the most frequently image Christians used in the early Centuries of the church’s life.

Chrysostom used to say: “the devil [is like] a creditor, who cast into prison those who are in debt to him; but now he imprisons one who owes him nothing. He has exceeded his rights, and he is deprived of his dominion.” Augustine used to say: “the devil found Christ innocent, but none the less smote Him; he shed innocent blood, and took what he had no right to take. Therefore it is fitting that he should be dethroned and forced to give up those who were under his power.” (Aulén in both cases: Christus Victor 51).

Matthew

One of the jokes about my people, the Scots, is that if there are three of us, there’ll be four political parties. This could have been said of the Jews of Jesus’ day, as illustrated by today’s reading. Moses permitted divorce; on what grounds could a man seek divorce? The School of Shammai said: only for unchastity; the School of Hillel said: for practically anything, including burning the roast. The Pharisees wanted to know what Jesus thought.

Jesus asks what Moses commanded; they reply citing the provision for a certificate of divorce. Jesus interprets that as a concession to their hardness of heart, and returns to the creation story: “‘the two shall become one flesh.’ So they are no longer two, but one flesh. Therefore what God has joined together, let no one separate.”

That certainly sounds as though Jesus is taking a position to the right of Shammai: there are no grounds on which a man could seek a divorce.

So that’s all we need to say about that? Hardly. Matthew tells the same story as Mark, but in his story Jesus says “whoever divorces his wife, except for unchastity, and marries another commits adultery.” So in Matthew, Rabbi Jesus aligns with Rabbi Shammai. Paul takes up marriage in his first letter to the Corinthians, and permits divorce and remarriage in the case of a Christian whose non-Christian spouse wants out.

So how do we respond to the NT as a whole? Over time the Greek-speaking Eastern Church and the Latin-speaking Western Church came to give quite different answers. The Western Church understood Jesus words as transmitted by Mark as canon law: no divorce. Unfortunately, what that often ended up meaning was that if you were well-connected (money helped), you could get an annulment, and if you weren’t, then you could either divorce & remarry or continue to receive Holy Communion, but not both. The Eastern Church read the same texts and concluded that marriages could die, and so divorce and remarriage were permitted as tragic concessions to our continuing hardness of heart. The history of the Western Church has been a history of gradually approaching the Eastern Church’s position; although some parts –most notably the Roman Catholics—continue to prohibit divorce.

Marriages can die. This certainly rings true. But does it really take Jesus’ words as recorded in Mark seriously? Well, yes, for I think what Jesus is doing here is like what he does in the Sermon on the Mount: “if you are angry with a brother or sister, you will be liable to judgment;” “everyone who looks at a woman with lust has already committed adultery with her in his heart.” Does this mean we adjust our laws accordingly? No. Jesus is, I think, making two points: we must not fall into the trap of equating obeying the law with goodness, because anyone with half a brain can figure out how to satisfy the law and still do evil. Second, if we tightened up the law to eliminate this problem, all of us would be locked up.

Marriages can die. The challenge Jesus’ words pose: how do we as a parish support the marriages in our midst and nourish virtues such as honesty, humility, and patience, without which no marriage will flourish?

And this is the point –I do see the light at the end of the tunnel—at which the worlds of our three lessons do converge, with whose convergence we can wrap this up.

In the first conversation between God and the Satan (“the accuser”), the Satan asks “Does Job fear God for nothing?” It’s one of the questions that drives the whole book, and it bleeds over into the rest of Scripture. Recall the ending of our Hebrews reading: “Because he himself [Jesus] was tested by what he suffered, he is able to help those who are being tested.” Did Jesus fear God for nothing? Precisely because the answer is yes, “he is able to help those who are being tested.” And the question lies just under the surface of our Gospel reading, for what often—not always—drives divorce is one of the partner’s decisions not to stay in the marriage “for nothing.” But that’s what the vows promise, right? “For better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health” (BCP 427). Whether it’s our relationship with God, with our spouses, maybe even with any serious friendship, “for nothing” isn’t the whole story, but sometimes necessary to keep the story moving forward.

It’s popular to criticize Job’s wife for her “‘Curse God, and die.’” But notice: when Job’s friends start laying into him in chapters 3-37 –that’s right, chapters 3-37—she stays out of it, and she’s still around for Job’s restoration. Their marriage flourishes at the beginning and ending of the story, with a very rough patch in between. O, to be known as a parish that nourished such marriages!

Returning to Paul, he’s clear that both the single and married states are vocations, callings in which we can reflect God’s holiness. So, at a marriage, we’re asked “Will all of you witnessing these promises do all in your power to uphold these two persons in their marriage?” And we respond: “We will.” And we’re reminded of this obligation to mutual support as we celebrate marriage anniversaries. Sadly, there are no liturgical affirmations of this obligation to uphold those whose vocation is the single life. (Perhaps the folk thinking about Prayer Book revision could think about that!) But the obligation’s there, the obligation to uphold each other in either state, married or single. Perhaps today’s texts can encourage us to take this obligation more seriously, particularly when someone’s needle is hovering at “for nothing,” and do better than Job’s friends, who, hovering just offstage, can’t wait to tell Job what he’s done wrong.

Jesus “delivered into human hands”–ours! (19th Sunday after Pentecost, 9/29/2024)

Leave a reply

Readings

Help us, Lord, to become masters of ourselves, that we may become the servants of others. Take our minds and think through them. Take our lips and speak through them. And, take our hearts and set them on fire. For Christ’s sake, Amen.

Masters of ourselves, that we may become the servants of others: that’s where we’ll end up; it will take some time to get there.

The first reading is the Lectionary’s only selection from the Book of Esther, the story of God’s saving the Jews from Haman’s genocidal attack throughout the Persian Empire through a Jewess named Esther. It’s a gem of a short story, filled with sharp humor, and is the basis for the Jewish feast of Purim, or Lots.

It is also a subversive story. When Cyrus the Persian gave the Jews permission to return home from exile toward the end of the 6th Century bc, Jewish leadership was united in urging, exhorting, guilting the Jews to return. Isaiah, Ezra, Nehemiah, Haggai, Zechariah, Malachi: all agree that Good Jews belong on the road back to Jerusalem. Esther is one of the Bad Jews who didn’t make the trip, and whom we encounter in Susa, the Persian capital. Obviously, God will be attending to the Good Jews, and not to Jews like Esther. But when this threat of genocide comes, deliverance comes not from Jerusalem, but from Susa. If there were ever a tale warning us against writing some portion of the Body of Christ off, it’s this one.

“Teacher, we saw someone casting out demons in your name, and we tried to stop him, because he was not following us.” “Do not stop him; for no one who does a deed of power in my name will be able soon afterward to speak evil of me.” Jesus, one suspects, has been reading Esther.

Our second lesson is the last part of the Epistle of James, in which James speaks to us of patience and the tongue.

Patience.Ambrose Bierce, probably in The Devil’s Dictionary, says “Patience is a minor form of despair, disguised as a virtue.” So we exercise patience when we don’t have other options. James’ vision of patience is quite different. The future is assured because Jesus is coming. There will be a rich harvest, so we can settle into the farmer’s patience. And, James reminds us, Jesus is coming as judge, so judging is something we don’t need to do and are positively forbidden to do.

But some people require so much patience! Yes; us –and God is patient with us. If, by the way, we don’t think that God has to exercise patience with us, we don’t know ourselves very well. So, our exercises in patience with others become a matter of exercising the same patience that we know we need from God. And, notice, the last thing we want from God is any hint of condescension. Are we in the company of an obnoxious person? Well, we have an excellent opportunity to mirror the patience we need from God.

The tongue. A couple chapters ago James warned us of its dangers; here, in an unguarded display of hope, he turns to its positive uses. Three points to notice:

Echoing Jesus, he warns us against oaths. Our ordinary speech should be trustworthy, so that “I promise to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth” is quite unnecessary. It’s a little disconcerting how often our speech betrays this problem. “Speaking frankly…”: so the rest of the time I’m not? “Honestly…”; and what was I saying before? “To be perfectly truthful…”

We use the tongue to bring our illnesses before the community and before God. “Are any…sick? They should call for the elders of the church…” Illness is not a private matter; if one of us is sick, all are affected. As we pray for the sick, we’re saying “God, this is our problem, not simply their problem. “The Lord will raise them up.” ‘Raise up’ is used both for healing and for resurrection. We do not know how God will respond to any particular request for healing. We pray for healing both because we can do no other, and because, bringing the sick to Jesus, there is no better place we can bring them.

We properly use the tongue to bring back those who wander from the truth. This sounds quite foreign to us, because we’re used to thinking of each person as having a rather large sphere marked “private” and live in a culture that constantly tells us that one person’s truth is not another’s. Ironically, the same society that hungers for community encourages us to act as strangers to each other. I have no interest in bringing in judging through the back door. But not judging is not the same thing as remaining silent. When we see a brother or sister acting self-destructively, we need to risk saying something. If our society can manage “Friends don’t let friends drive drunk,” we Christians should be able to take that a bit further. There are, in other words, things worse than conflict, and one of them is watching someone taking a wrong turn and saying nothing.

Our Gospel comes from that part of Mark that is structured thematically by Jesus’ repeated warnings of the fate that awaits him in Jerusalem. “The Son of Man is to be betrayed into human hands” says Jesus, and Mark follows this warning with stories of the disciples arguing over who’s greatest, trying to silence those who don’t follow them, etc. The human hands into which Jesus is most immediately and consistently betrayed are the disciples’!

Jesus follows his rebuke to the disciples regarding their treatment of others with exhortations regarding their treatment of themselves. The ruthlessness they’ve displayed towards others needs to be focused on themselves: If your hand, your foot, your eye, causes you to stumble, cut it off, tear it out. Metaphorically, but no less decisively for being metaphoric.

One of society’s most seductive promises is “you can have it all.” It shows up in songs, as the goal of various self-help schemes. A women’s organization that should know better will even sell you a t-shirt for your (grand)daughter: “Girls can have it all.”[1]

Nope. We have to choose, and the higher we aim, the more we have to give up. A relatively innocuous example of a literal enactment of Jesus words was provided by the NFL defensive back Ronnie Lott, who had the tip of his left pinky finger amputated during the offseason so he wouldn’t risk injuring it in the future and miss more football games.[2] Any sort of excellence demands hours of practice and preparation, time that’s simply not available for other things.

More fundamentally, Jesus’ words are about paying attention to the choices we have. Rather than spending our energy on the faults of others; we might spend our energy on the choices we have regarding how we live before God. Here some ruthlessness isn’t a bad thing, being as attentive to our life before God as the new car owner is to the sound of the engine, or the photographer is to the cleanliness of her lenses.

Why? Because the stuff that destroys us and those around us usually starts small. There are so many incitements to complain; it is so natural. But over time we can spend more and more time complaining, until there is no longer a person complaining, just an incessant complaint. Again, the disciples’ “Teacher, we saw someone casting out demons in your name, and we tried to stop him…”: well, they’re a small group and don’t have much power so that “someone” is probably safe. But with more power that same impulse drives the inquisition.

Bottom line: we have more power, more choices than we imagine. We may not appear center-stage to deliver our people as did Esther. All of us can pray, as did our brother Elijah, and thereby transformed the weather and the politics of Israel. And all of us daily make decisions: how much slack do I cut those around me; how much slack do I cut myself? Those around me: a lot, as God cuts us a lot of slack. Myself: very little, for little decisions add up, for good or ill, and at the last day I hope to be one who seeks, rather than avoids, God’s gaze.

Help us, Lord, to become masters of ourselves, that we may become the servants of others. Take our minds and think through them. Take our lips and speak through them. And, take our hearts and set them on fire. For Christ’s sake, Amen.

[1] http://www.now.org/cgi-bin/store/TK-GCH.html?id=3QKrWV34.

[2] http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ronnie_Lott.