Where Authority Comes From

 

Luke 20:1-8

The Daily Office Eucharistic Gospel for today leaves me with a lot of questions. But, of course, that’s not an unusual occurrence when I read various passages. Yet, this one catches my curiosity right from the beginning.

Jesus was teaching and “telling the good news” in the temple where ostensibly the people were listening and appreciating what he was saying. Who wouldn’t like hearing good news? There isn’t so much of it around that people can ignore it, can they? Yet, three groups of people:  the elders, chief priests, and scribes,  made their way to Jesus and openly questioned him about where he got his authority to teach such things. I know the temple officials were looking for false preachers who were encouraging belief in heretical theology; however, the temple was too holy to be open to those who preached such things.

As happened many times during Jesus’s life on earth, he answered a question with a question, turning the table on the officials and challenging them to respond.  Usually, the questions Jesus posed to his questioners dealt with judgment on what appeared to be something other than related to the original query. On this occasion, Jesus asked the officials about who told John he should baptize people? Where did the authority come from? It was a very canny question as it put the questioners in a quandary. If they said “heaven,” they would legitimize John as prophetic. As a result, his teachings would gain even more popularity and more followers every day. If they said “earth,” the followers of John would rise up and very possibly stone the religious leaders who refused to accept John as a prophet, a stance that many people believed in wholeheartedly.

The temple leaders could only answer that they did not know where John’s authority came from, which was an admission that they could not confirm or deny the question. This situation called for a “Yes” or “No” answer., “I don’t know” was not one that would win any points in an argument, like a draw in a chess game. Jesus’s words of “Neither will I tell you by what authority I am doing these things,” he gave the equivalent of “Checkmate” in two brief moves.

Another question that occurred to me was, where do we see this happening in our own time? Who has authority,  and where does it come from?  Religious sects and denominations, political parties, martial and judicial officials, and even groups like homeowners’ associations claim to have power and authority, yet where does this come from? Basically, it comes from the group that serves as an electoral board or some other group representing all those who claim allegiance to the person, group, or party seeking to be put in charge by a majority. Much of the time, the majority of the whole group decides the outcome. Still, now and again, the minority continues to fight to overturn the decision. Some groups may claim their authority comes from God, but can we always trust whether that is actually true or not? Do their words sound like words from God? Do the actions of the group mirror Godly acts? Do their fingers point at others to distract from their own shortcomings, or do they speak of God and the good works of God’s people?

The people in Jesus’s time would have had to make up their own minds as to whether or not John, or Jesus, for that matter, were telling the truth and were who they claimed to be. We have the same choice, based on the same information. As for others who seek to influence people and lure them to their particular faith, party, or group, we must ask our own questions and weigh the answers we receive. Will we select those who choose to lead us to good words and actions, or will we choose self-serving people who care only for themselves and those who support them?  Do we follow those who direct us to heaven or earth?

We have to choose wisely.

God bless.

 

Originally published under the title "Authority" at Speaking to the Soul on Episcopal Café, Saturday, June 12, 2021.

Contemplating Dreams

 

I seem to dream a lot more than I have for years; the Lord only knows why. I went for years without dreaming or remembering that I did dream, much less what it was about. Maybe getting older has something to do with it, but it can be enjoyable, fun, scary, informative, or reminiscent. Sometimes it seems to be a mere story I’m involved in, but at other times it makes me think during the next day or so about what it meant or was trying to teach me.

When I began studying the Education for Ministry (EfM) program in 2005, I was introduced to many different ways of deepening my spiritual life through various types of prayer, contemplation, meditation, and reflection. Over the years, I have found that writing has been one way I felt my spirituality growing and deepening. When I wrote about dreams that I had had that seemed to stick with me even after awakening, I gained new insights into my beliefs, thoughts, and life itself.

One morning I woke after a particularly vivid dream. I’m not sure how it started, but I remember being a slave in China at some point in its history. I was sent to a temple to work. I was given the job of moving a large porcelain turtle from a stand to a cart. I tried to lift and balance it for transfer, but it slipped and shattered on the floor.

I remembered that I was a slave with no rights, no ability to speak, and only harsh words and beatings to look forward to. I knew breaking the turtle would earn me many stripes from the canes and lashes, and that I might die as punishment for being careless, unlucky, or perhaps even overburdened for my size and age. Yet, as terrified and also as sorry as I was at the time, I felt I needed to be humble, to accept my fate, and to try to move without collapsing or staggering. I woke up at that point and spent most of the day trying to coax the ending out of my subconscious, to no avail.

Where did this scenario come from? What was it trying to tell me?  I knew that as a slave, I had no choice as to what I could do, as overseers and others beat people such as me to the point of complete submission. However, the humility I felt was coming from something else, like I had heard someone speak of a sage who encouraged humility from everyone, regardless of their status. It didn’t feel like I had heard of Confucius or any other holy person calling for such action. Still, as a slave, I would not have had the opportunity to hear much of anything other than curses and orders. Was my resignation to my punishment simple capitulation?

What I remember from the dream was that behind the resignation and hopelessness, there was still a glimmer of something, a feeling that someone or something was behind me that was greater than I and that even if I suffered and died, it would matter to someone greater than any of those who would execute me. Of course, I had never heard of God or Jesus, for that matter. Still, as I thought about the dream, it seemed that that moment in time was when I first became aware that even if I were utterly insignificant in the world, I still mattered to God.

I know I was supposed to learn this lesson from my early days. After all, hadn’t one of the most sung Sunday School songs been “Jesus Loves Me”? Yet when I went upstairs to church services, I was continually reminded that I was a sinner, no matter how good I tried to be, and that God did not like sinners. It was a lot for a small girl to take in. It took many years and experiences to even get to the point where this dream would have any meaning for me other than to put me in the place of a slave to learn how hard and dismal such a life could be.

Revisiting this dream has once again allowed me to mine it for other insights. But, unfortunately, I cannot pretend to understand or empathize with those who actually lived and suffered as slaves, even those closer to my own time or in the area where I grew up. Try as I will, and as much as I read about slavery and its ramifications, I still can only imagine what it would be like, much less truly feel the pain and suffering. Perhaps that is something I am supposed to consider more – what it meant to people of that time on both sides of the color line, and how it now needs to be revised to accept all people, regardless of color, ethnicity, and so many other characteristics, as equal, Children of God, and worthy of being accepted as such.

I’m impatient to see what the next dream brings me. I know that I still have much to learn in the time God gives me on this earth. Maybe I will finally have all the answers when the end comes, or perhaps it will just be another learning opportunity. The older I get, the more curious I get about that. Meanwhile, I will continue dreaming and contemplating.

God bless.

Originally published at Speaking to the Soul on Episcopal Café, Saturday, June 5, 2021.

Jolts of Joy

 

The renovations at my house are over, and now I'm putting the rest of it back in some order. I do love my new shower. I wish I could refurbish a few more things, but I'm not sure I'm anywhere near ready to move items around and block off part of the house so that the boys won't wander where they shouldn't.

I found something joyful during this process that I hadn't experienced for quite some time. It was such an unexpected feeling that I found myself looking forward to its repetition whenever possible. It is a simple something that I can enjoy from the comfort of my rocking chair and not have to go wandering about to find it. Of course, it doesn't last long, but even a few minutes of what I've begun calling my "Jolt of joy" is enough to lighten my mood and lift my heart.

I have some prisms in my living room window on the northwest side. The tree outside is quite a bit thinner of branches this year, so I get more direct afternoon sun. Now and then, in the late afternoon, the sun hits a prism, and I find a spot of a rainbow on the ceiling. Soon there are more dots of prismatic color, and my heart soars. It's simple to sit there and look at them without thinking of anything but instead just letting my mind open up to the beauty I see. It becomes a time of contemplation which I'm beginning to count on as a God-given period just to be, see, and enjoy.

Prisms are pieces of glass that take the light and break it into seven distinct colors that make up a rainbow. Every child in school learns at some time or other to use the mnemonic of ROY G BIV to remind them of the red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, and violet we see as the light passes through angles and planes of glass. Noah built an ark in the First Covenant, gathered up his family and representatives of all the animals, and put them inside the ark as God commanded. Then God sent enough rain to flood the entire earth, drowning the land, animals, birds, and even all the people except those in the vessel. When the land emerged from the receding waters, God put a rainbow in the sky as a visual sign of God's promise never to destroy the whole earth by flood again. I know I don't always think of Noah when I see a rainbow, especially a double one, but I can't seem to get enough of the colors while I can see them.

Rainbows remind me of natural stained-glass windows. In churches, public buildings, galleries, sometimes private homes, stained glass represents pictures, designs, and stories told in bits of colored glass used to teach and remind even the illiterate of things and people to be remembered when seen. I loved going to the National Cathedral to see the magnificent stained glass. One of my favorites is the Space Window, a blue-shaded glass representing the vastness of space, then a sphere that signifies the moon itself. In a clear-glass bubble is a dark shape that is an actual rock from the moon's surface. Other windows in other churches I have visited have been as complex and colorful as those at the Cathedral in D.C. or simple blocks and lines of color with no particular outline or shape. For me, it is all about the color.

It isn't all about rainbows and colors, though. I look out my window from my computer desk toward several trees across the street with their layers of green due to the natural colors of the leaves and the shades and hues the light of the sun gives them. I remember the vivid blue of the South China Sea and the dancing diamonds of the wavelets as they sparkled in the sun. I love the brilliant red of the Japanese Maple in fall, especially when it contrasts with other trees whose leaves are orange, yellow or even the many shades of evergreens. Then, there are the shaded browns and tans of the natural formations polished by wind and water in Antelope Canyon, or the white flowers of dogwood and pinkish-red of the redbuds I saw as I drove through the spring forest back home. I didn't know them as jolts of joy then, but now, as I remember them, their memories have sharpened over the years, and I've learned to see them as moments of beauty and color, things that represent joy to me.        

I think that for some people, joy might be diamonds, big houses, shiny new cars, trips to foreign places, or any one of a million things. For me, though, I've found the simple things (or sometimes more complex ones) remind me that joy is a gift to be treasured. I don't think God would have spent a lot of time creating a world without so many colors, shapes, textures, and sizes had God not enjoyed the process so much. So undoubtedly, I should take every possible moment to enjoy them and send up a small arrow prayer toward heaven to say, "Thank you."    

Where do you find your jolts of joy?

God bless.

Originally published at Speaking to the Soul on Episcopal Café, Saturday, May 29, 2021.

Pressure

 

My son and daughter-in-law got me an Instant Pot for my birthday and Mother’s Day presents rolled into one. It’s an imposing thing, reminding me somewhat of the round bread maker I had some years ago that looked like R2D2, only this is a different color with no clear dome on top.

I often give my mechanical and electrical things names. For instance, my computer is TheaJane while the printer is Mabel (after a dear aunt who could talk the ears off a doorknob, every word worth hearing). If my machines misbehave or break down, the name is usually a word I won’t use here because it would offend a friend who has a donkey to whom we refer a lot in our EfM class. This new widget is too new to have earned a name yet, although I’m tending toward Darth since it scares the bejabbers out of me.

I’ve used electric frying pans, microwave ovens, electric grills, toaster ovens, panini grills, electric can openers, crock pots (slow cookers), and a few others, but Darth is in a class by himself. Darth cooks, sears, steams, makes yogurt, stews, and more stuff I can’t remember. It does, in addition, acts as a pressure cooker, and therein lies the fear factor. I have never used a pressure cooker, although Mama used one occasionally. Unfortunately, she died before she could teach me how to use one, and I don’t know whether to be grateful for that or not. My son, however, has embraced the technology wholeheartedly and has joyfully used his for the past several years. I feel like a bit of a lousy mother to have to ask my son how to use one now. He’s become a kind of evangelist on the benefits of using his Instant Pot almost daily. I’m feeling a bit of pressure to take the step – after I read the book I bought to tell me how to use the thing without blowing up the house.

I was actually only joking about my son being an evangelist for this kind of cooking. He doesn’t get enthusiastic about culinary things very often. But, since he does most of the cooking in his house, I tend to listen to what he has to say. I’ve had contact with many kinds of evangelists in my life, so I tend to pick who I listen to as well as the subject they’re recommending, whether it’s an appliance, a philosophy, political stance, financial investment, diet, or religious belief.

The word “evangelize” causes me to react much as the word “pressure cooker” does. I understand what it means, and how it works, and that it can be a very beneficial thing. Jesus didn’t know about pressure cookers, but he did know about evangelism. It was his stock in trade, so to speak. He was earnest and honest, interesting to listen to, and interested in listening to others. He had a message to sell to the world, but he didn’t use the pressure tactics we see now. He could be scornful to those who refused to accept his message, but he would turn to others who were more receptive. It was more persuasion than coercion. But, of course, he died because of pressure, a fear that he was a threat to not only the empire but the Temple, its structure as well as its hierarchy.

We’ve had our share of pressurized politics. Unfortunately, it doesn’t seem to go away. Pressure is the mechanism to convince followers and skeptics that red is green and the loser is really the winner. The current government will take everyone’s guns away and, by the way, their hamburgers and beefsteaks, and any number of dire consequences.  I hear that social justice is socialism in very thin disguise, and the more that is given to the poor, the less the rich will get, and that isn’t the way God wants it. Is this the message that Jesus brought us? 

Something that has been running through my brain with all the thoughts about pressure is that nothing ever changes without some form of it. So when is pressure good, and when is it destructive? It may be suitable for making a fantastic boeuf bourguignon, but how much does a concept, ideal, or even a necessity need to make a beneficial and change to a mode of thinking in line with the teachings of Jesus?

Sooner or later, I will get the hang of this new (to me) way of cooking, but will I ever be able to see what is right and good through what amounts to what I could see while trying to look through the pressurized water coming through a fire hose right in front of me? Yes, I know that prayer, Bible reading, listening to wise preachers and theologians, and simple faith answer the question. Unfortunately, for years, I followed the wrong ones. It was pressure to understand the Bible one way and quote specific verses in a literal manner to prove that this particular thing was sinful. At the same time, another one approved of something else that is now almost universally condemned.

Some of the things that changed my perspective nearly 180-degrees felt (and still feel) a bit like I am under that fire hose, while others came as gently and gradually as a stream gently flowing into a pond. I still may  be wrong about some things, but I don’t feel the pressure so much any more. I guess maybe I’ve surrendered to God, and if I feel resistance to something, I don’t let the pressure get to me. Instead, I think, read, listen, and pray about it, and then just let God take over. It saves me a lot of headaches.

Now to turn Darth over to God – and the stuff I’m reading in the guidebook on how to use it. Today boiled eggs, tomorrow boeuf bourguignon.

Julian, Anchoresses and Hermits

 

Suppose there is a religious figure that lived centuries ago yet speaks to us today. In that case, I think many would consider Julian of Norwich, otherwise known as St. Julian (although the Roman Catholic Church has not officially canonized her), Dame Julian, or Mother Julian, to be a relevant and comforting figure.

She was born around 1342, but her date of death is unknown, although likely after 1416. We know nothing of her life before the age of 30, but in May of 1373, she became dangerously ill and near death. During that brief but terrifying illness, she had fifteen visions or "revelations" from God.  After her recovery, she wrote about the visions and meditated on them and their meaning. These became known as the "Short Revelations." Later in life, she wrote an expanded version known as the "Revelations of Divine Love," a theological classic that has endured to the present day.

Was she a nun? We don't know for sure, although we aren't certain that "Julian" was ever her given name but rather a name taken from the church of St Julian where she entered as a recluse probably around 1394. For the remainder of her life, she lived as an anchoress in a small set of rooms attached to and yet separate from the church itself. Anchoresses (and anchorites, the male version) lived in a small room with three small windows: one opening into the church so that the anchoress could hear and see the mass and receive communion; a second opening so that her maid or servant could pass food in and remove containers of waste from the cell; and a third where Julian could receive and counsel those who came to her for spiritual advice. She was well-known for her wisdom and holiness, which brought many to her, including the English mystic Margery Kempe, a noble and notable layperson who made pilgrimages across Europe to sacred sites for prayer, meditation, learning, and, her particular gift, copious bouts of crying while contemplating the cross, crucifixion, pain, and death of Jesus Christ.

Julian, as an anchoress, took various vows before being sealed in her cell or rooms until death came for her. Like most religious orders, those who take final vows of poverty, chastity, and obedience. These rules also apply to those called hermits, who were recluses who chose to live in isolation although were free to move from place to place. The Desert Fathers (and Mothers) were among the first Christian monastics, and the later Christian orders grew from these hermits. Anchorites took one additional vow of stability,  a promise to remain not only staying in one place but being walled in with no exit and only the three small windows until the day the anchorite died.

In a sense, we have had a sort of hermit-like life over the past year or so, and sometimes even a sense of being locked into a house with limited contact with the outside world. We have felt cut off from family and friends, our church, even the simple act of going out to eat or shop. We have worn masks much as monks, nuns, or even hermits wore identifying habits to mark them as set apart for religious or health reasons. Granted, the masks we wore were many and varied rather than cohesive or unifying, but as a sign that we were following a discipline for not only our own safety but for that of others.

While we were sequestered due to our pandemic, we also had the opportunity to live a bit of an anchorite's or anchoress' life, with time to devote to extra prayer and meditation. In addition, we could participate with new people we had never met but with whom we had a common interest in spirituality and faith formation in the way Julian could meet with those of her day with the same concerns and interests. I wonder what Dame Julian would make of Zoom?

One of Julian's most famous quotes is, "All shall be well, and all shall be well and all manner of thing shall be well." Probably nearly every Christian has heard that wisdom at some time or other in their spiritual journey. If ever there was an anchor to hold on to in good times and bad. Heaven knows, we have all shared some tough times recently, ranging from inconvenience to ultimate tragedy. We may not have the opportunity to go live in solitude in the desert; however, we still have the chance to find a small space in our houses to go and be alone to practice our spiritual exercises much as someone with an exercise machine could set aside space to ride a stationary bike or run on a treadmill. So likewise, our hearts can set aside room for us to communicate with God and listen as well. Granted, it takes discipline, but then, religious intention takes work, another word for discipline.

So, as we think on Julian today, we can use her words and example to anchor us in the present and to a firm foundation of faith and hope. So it is using ancient words to fill a current need, one that is always present.

God bless.

Originally published at Speaking to the Soul on Episcopal Café, Saturday, May 8, 2021.

Were They Listening?

‘If you know me, you will know my Father also. From now on you do know him and have seen him.’

Philip said to him, ‘Lord, show us the Father, and we will be satisfied.’ Jesus said to him, ‘Have I been with you all this time, Philip, and you still do not know me? Whoever has seen me has seen the Father. How can you say, “Show us the Father”? Do you not believe that I am in the Father and the Father is in me? The words that I say to you I do not speak on my own; but the Father who dwells in me does his works. Believe me that I am in the Father and the Father is in me; but if you do not, then believe me because of the works themselves. Very truly, I tell you, the one who believes in me will also do the works that I do and, in fact, will do greater works than these, because I am going to the Father. I will do whatever you ask in my name, so that the Father may be glorified in the Son. If in my name you ask me for anything, I will do it.  – John 14:7-14

The Gospel reading for the commemorations of St. James and St. Philip reviews the interaction of Philip with Jesus. Jesus had stated that those disciples who had seen him had also seen God. Philip immediately asked for proof, “Lord, show us the Father, and we will be satisfied.” Philip’s request not sitting well with Jesus, he expounded about how he was in the Father and the Father was in him. Mystical, but nonetheless a teaching that Jesus hinted at more than once. Philip must not have been paying attention in class. James, fortunately, kept any such questions to himself. 

James Kiefer points out that there were many Jameses in the New Testament, each with a slightly different designation – like “son of Clopas,” “son of Zebedee,” “the Greater,” and several others. Perhaps no reference to James in this passage might be due to confusion over which James was present! Kiefer does an excellent job of sorting them out as to who was who, to whom each was related, or why that particular James had a specific identifier.  Perhaps the many Jameses are one and the same, each named for a different stage of life and ministry? 

Today’s passage followed Passover when Jesus dismissed Judas to go and do his nefarious deed. Jesus went to the upper room where he washed the disciples’ feet and spoke to them at length about the time of his death being close. Jesus wanted them to understand all that he had taught them, whether or not they completely appreciated his teaching at the time. He was attempting to convey his whole message; his time was short. They, fore their part, would have to continue learning his teaching after Jesus’ death, resurrection, and ascension. 

James and Philip travelled with Jesus throughout his ministry. Yet even some of the closest disciples to Jesus, like Peter, still did not appreciate the fullness of the message. Was their faith shallow? Was Jesus trying to teach nuclear physics when the disciples could not pass simple addition and subtraction? Education in Jesus’s time was primarily oral learning, often by storytelling and repetition of passages; did they not pay close attention? If Jesus sent them out to heal and preach and yet they came home complaining of being unable to do so, why not? 

Of course we have been taught to love our neighbors and do good to those in need for two millennia. How can I have question the disciples’ inability to catch on after just a year or three?

I have heard Bible stories my entire life, and have read them for most of that life. Yet, there are times when passages I always thought of as clear are now cloudy – as I ponder them in different ways. Perhaps the disciples had many of the same questions I now have, only without answers in the back of the book (meaning, Jesus to answer them, even if in parables and metaphors). Maybe the disciples seemed so dim so that we might learn to think the questions and lessons through and find solutions through prayer and contemplation rather than accept it literally word-for-word. 

We have the Bible as a guide, but we have to learn to read it in the manner of the writers. What was familiar to them that is very different for us today. How can we reconcile the two? 

Time to do some homework, lest I be called on like Philip and not have the right Jeopardy question to the answer Jesus gives. 

God bless..

Originally published at  Speaking to the Soul on Episcopal Café, Saturday, May 1, 2021.

Genocide and Remembrance

 

Today President Biden may cause a ripple in history that could create international problems in an area with which our country already has strained relations. It will only be a one-word change, but it will reflect a choice of words that has stood for over a century and represented a degree of barbarity that almost defies belief. The word is “genocide,” coined in 1941 by Raphael Lemkin.1  In 1947, the United Nations defined genocide and brought it into the world’s eye as a crime unparalleled in gravity. Still, it has been around for time immemorial. 

There are synonyms for actions similar to genocide, namely: purges, ethnic or racial cleansing, revolution, and Holocaust; all of them involve picking out a specific group and determining to wipe them out to create a more homogenous, cohesive group alike in beliefs, thinking, and purpose. Many people can still remember the genocides, ethnic cleansing, and purges not all that long ago: Rwanda (1994), Germany (1939-45), Uganda (1969-79), and Afghanistan (1986-2001)2,  to name a few. We remember the Holocaust because we see images and hear stories from survivors of the concentration camps. Sadly the number of these survivors decreases each year. Unless we take care to remember history, it will be, for the most part, forgotten – like Rwanda, Uganda, Afghanistan, China, Japan, Cambodia, and Bosnia-Herzegovina. 

The Bible is not innocent when it comes to violence and, indeed, genocide. One passage often quoted as proving God was harsh and promoted genocide is found in Deuteronomy 20, which gave the rules for warfare, including v. 16-17, “But as for the towns of these peoples that the Lord your God is giving you as an inheritance, you must not let anything that breathes remain alive. You shall annihilate them—the Hittites and the Amorites, the Canaanites and the Perizzites, the Hivites and the Jebusites—just as the Lord your God has commanded.” Perhaps there is a reason for this command attributed to God; who can know?

Joshua chapter 11 tells of Joshua’s attack on the massed Northern Kings and his subsequent pursuit and total victory over them. Again, he did this was for the same purpose described in Deuteronomy, only his was a longer campaign. Still, Joshua followed what he believed to be God’s instructions. In the name of God.

We often ponder stories in the Bible telling of cruelty, rape, murder, betrayal, and mass killing. How did such stories appear in this book we are asked to revere and study? What are we supposed to learn from them when we also read that we are not to kill, steal, etc.? We often get confused when we hear Jesus commanding us to love one another, forgive, and care for others, regardless of whether they are religiously or ethnically our brothers and sisters, do we not? 

Would God approve of genocide, such as we read about in the history books and the newspapers? Often, it seems, the events are caused by differences in beliefs similar to those differences between the Israelites and the pagans. The root cause is often intruders want the settled land that the victims already occupy. Religious differences then become the reason (or excuse) for the mass executions. It is hard to reconcile that the God we are taught to love, respect, and honor might approve of such actions. Yet, it seems as though God commanded the Israelites to do just that to clear the land for God’s people. 

Perhaps it might help to consider events such as the Armenian genocide to put things in perspective. We often have a hard time looking at the mass killings on our streets, stores, churches, and neighborhoods, even if the number of casualties is almost insignificant when compared to the millions in World Wars I and II and the various mass executions like the Holocaust and the purges of Russia and Bosnia-Herzegovina. Why is it so easy to look past genocides and yet seem to care so much about random victims of gunfire? Will gun ownership cut down on the possibility of more mass shootings? Will God reward those who carry guns for “self-protection” and which may kill an innocent person in a rush to kill the perpetrator of a crime or an intruder in the gun owner’s home? Where does forgiveness come into this scenario?  Where is God? 

Maybe we should look at the price of human life, which God gave to each of us, with the only cost being that God wanted us to love and obey God. How do we reach any type of agreement with others so that we all can live in peace and harmony? Why does it seem we aren’t even willing to try? 

May God’s mercy be upon all those who have been victims of genocide, mass murder, hatred, fear, or greed. May we learn to be peacemakers rather than fear-mongers, and shepherds rather than threats to other children of God. May we remember the past so that we will not repeat it. 

God willing.

Originally published at Speaking to the Soul on Episcopal Café, Saturday, April 24, 2021.

Mary or Martha?

 

During my working life, I looked forward to retirement. I would be able to spend time doing what I wanted to do, reading all day if I so chose, or going shopping during the week when the crowds weren't so large as on weekends. As I had a husband much older than myself, I thought perhaps I would be widowed early. It turns out that proved to be before I stopped working. I knew it was going to happen, and every day I woke up with the thought of "Is today the day?" The day finally came, and my single life began for the first time in over 27 years.

But retirement finally came, and I reveled in it – most of the time. I could go to bed when I liked, get up when the cats allowed it, watch whatever I wanted on TV, have a breakfast of peanut butter on toast or bacon and eggs at 10 am, and dinner of pizza or cereal at 4:30 pm. I could read all day, dust or mop the floor, or do dishes when I felt like it (and the dishware cabinet and tableware drawer weren't completely empty). It was nice.

I could study all day if I chose, and some days I did that. The books I read were frequently religious in content, although I snuck in quite a few British cozies. I did some writing when the Spirit moved me and napped whenever the Spirit sent me in that direction. I had lots of "Mary" moments, but there were moments of "Martha-ism" as well. It was lovely being able to choose.

I don't live across the street from the church like I used to, or I probably would spend a lot more time there. There have been changes, so it doesn't really feel like home like it did years ago. I miss that – but I just can't go back now. So much for being Mary, or even a Martha on the Altar Guild.

For me, life always seems to be a choice between those two exemplary women. Martha undoubtedly would have an immaculate house, always something baking in the oven, and well-planned, healthy meals. Mary would be studying the Bible, often in prayer, always conscious of God's presence, and eager to sit at Jesus's feet as he taught the disciples, never caring that it wasn't a "womanly" thing to do when there were meals to be cooked and served, cleaning and laundry to do, or sitting quietly away from the men, sewing or mending. Inside the house, they could have some autonomy, but it was limited to household matters only. Everything else was under male control. And retirement? There wasn't any. Most people died before they could retire, and, provided they were rich, could have servants to do the work and make money, with children to care for them.

I'm glad I don't live back then. I'd miss things like the variety of food we have, often shipped from far away via fast transit that ensures stuff like fruits and vegetables that aren't in season where I live still arrive crisp, flavorful, and fresh. I would definitely miss modern indoor plumbing, washing machines, electric lights, fast internet, and many channels I can watch on TV. I'd miss being able to buy and read books by the dozen if I so chose and on topics that I would want to read. I'd miss even being able to read since quite a bit of the world doesn't see girls as worthy of learning anything but household care, bearing and raising children, and perhaps tending herds of goats since goats were considered women's work. There would be little time to be Mary since from morning until nightfall, being Martha was the only possibility.

In the story of the two sisters of Lazarus of Bethany, it is clear that the role of Martha and her busy-ness is typical to most of the world. She was doing what she was supposed to do. She was perfectly within her sphere of influence to demand that Mary also live up to the norms of the time. But Mary had chosen her path, and that, at least at that particular time, didn't include slicing bread and cooking a meal for a group of men.

In church, we are taught that Mary had chosen the better part, sitting and learning from the Master while he was on earth.  At that time, the disciples didn't know he would soon be gone, but we benefit from a knowledge of the past. It makes a difference.

I have lots of choices and abilities Mary and Martha didn't have. Still, I don't have the opportunity to sit and listen to Jesus in person. Well, if I'm into my studies deeply enough, I can imagine I hear his voice speaking as I read the words ascribed to him by the Gospelers. If I'm wise, I would take the terms in, like Mary was doing, but then perhaps recall them as I go around, being busy in my Martha phase.

I think I need to be more conscious of where I am during the day. Am I doing things that build me up spiritually, or am I making my house cleaner and more comfortable to live in? Am I being active like Martha or being lazy and trying to fool myself into believing I'm a Mary? I've got some hard thinking to do (and probably some hard rearranging) to get my life in actual order, inside and out.

Originally published at Speaking to the Soul on Episcopal Café, Saturday, April 17, 2021.

Christianity and Care for Creation

The world is charged with the grandeur of God.
    It will flame out, like shining from shook foil;
    It gathers to a greatness, like the ooze of oil
Crushed. Why do men then now not reck his rod?
Generations have trod, have trod, have trod;
    And all is seared with trade; bleared, smeared with toil;
    And wears man's smudge and shares man's smell: the soil
Is bare now, nor can foot feel, being shod.

And for all this, nature is never spent;
    There lives the dearest freshness deep down things;
And though the last lights off the black West went
    Oh, morning, at the brown brink eastward, springs —
Because the Holy Ghost over the bent
    World broods with warm breast and with ah! bright wings.

              -- Gerard Manley Hopkins

               It always amazes me when I keep running into something several times when I usually don’t see or hear of it for months or even years. I take NCIS’s character, Leroy Jethro Gibbs’s Rule #39, “There’s no such thing as a coincidence,” with great seriousness. However, I have been surprised by coincidences from time to time.  For example, recently, I found the poem “God’s Grandeur” on my Facebook page, read by HRH Charles, Prince of Wales. It was written in 1877 by Gerard Manley Hopkins in a traditional sonnet (14-line) form, and the prince’s voice made the reading sing. Many read poems as if they were reading the New York Times headlines, but this reading was slow-paced and emphasized places that begged to be stressed. It surprised me that I went back several times over the following week or so to hear it again, me, a person who doesn’t really like poetry.

Behold my surprise when I opened my Reading and Reflection Guide for this year’s Education for Ministry (EfM) program just a couple of days later. The chapter for study this week included the very same poem that had made me stop and think the week before. We have been working a lot with Christianity and its role in care for creation and all of God’s creatures, so Hopkins seemed to be right on the money there.

What a hopeful and eloquent statement is laid out in the very first line, “The world is charged with the grandeur of God.” It has been part of the faith and tradition since the creation itself. In another coincidence, I ran across a short series of programs about “Jewish Law,” which again stressed the necessity for caring not just for people but also for creation itself. God put Adam and Eve in charge of the Garden of Eden to preserve and enjoy it, and what happened? One sin led to another, which started the ball rolling, as the poem indicates.

We have reached the point where species, which were once plentiful, be it plant, animal, or mineral, have vanished partially or even completely. We can no longer feel the kinship or even the holiness of the ground we walk on because we have polluted the earth. Even worse, we don’t notice the pollution we’ve caused because we always wear shoes with soles, often quite thick. There are people in this world who either wear thin soles or none at all and can sense the health or illness of the soil, but we seldom listen to or even hear them when they warn us.

God gave the world, indeed the universe, a great gift of the ability to renew and replenish itself, often regenerating seemingly on its own. At other times, it requires the help of humankind to reseed, reap, or remove the contamination and assist in restoration. Given time, an area blasted by a firestorm will usually recover. Still, it will probably take centuries to begin to resemble the place that had been there before. Humans can replant trees in the burned area and hasten the growth process. It is a healing kind of thing, both for the land and for the humans who help or even pass by the former scene of destruction and see new life springing up in hope.

The poem reminds us that morning comes after even the darkest night, and that morning brings hope itself. God, in the form of the Holy Spirit, spreads God’s wings and nurtures the world as a mother coos over her offspring. It is an image that is powerful, but somehow it seems to be one we have lost in our busyness and hurry to make money or gain power. Still, God is always there, whether we notice or not, participate in re-creation or not, and even whether or not we care about it.

Sometimes it takes a coincidence to bring something to the forefront. I know focusing on how a particular topic of study and how it impacts our lives and Christian practice often makes it more understandable in a context in which we had never considered it. Sometimes it takes hearing something said or seen differently that changes our thinking.  This change of thinking propels us to right old wrongs, clean things that are soiled and spoiled, and become closer to God through the everyday toil of caring for creation in all its diversity. The world was made diverse for a reason; otherwise, it would be as dull and colorless as many of our futuristic novels portray.

I think I’ll have to look for more coincidences. It might be fun to have new things to think about instead of rehashing old topics and news.

God bless.

Originally published at Speaking to the Soul on Episcopal Café, Saturday, April 10, 2021.

Three Traditions of Good Friday

 

This year I thought I would reflect on Good Friday since I have reflected on Holy Saturday for at least eight years, if not more. Everyone knows that it was the day when Pontius Pilate condemned Jesus to death. Following that condemnation, Jesus was scourged, forced to wear a crown of thorns, then carry his wooden cross through the streets to the site of his execution. Since medieval times, people have followed the path from the former Antonia Fortress to the Church of the Holy Sepulcre. The church considers it a particularly religious practice when done on Good Friday in Jerusalem. Many churches have images called “Stations of the Cross,” which commemorate the events from the condemnation to his internment in place of the physical journey. The stations are frequently done weekly throughout the year but have special significance during Holy Week, especially Good Friday.

Flagellation is a frequent practice among two vastly different groups of practitioners. One group represents those who enjoy pain, often in a sexual context. The second group is composed of some monastics and members of rigorous religious organizations where repentance is heavily emphasized. Flagellants scourge themselves with whips, sticks, thorn branches, rope strings with bits of metal on the ends, and canes.  Public flagellation is, in some countries, used as a punishment for legal or moral infractions. The chastisement can range in severity and the number of lashes, depending on the crime. A penalty of 100 lashes is often fatal. 

The Philippines is predominantly Roman Catholic and has many places known for their intense dedication to their faith. In Pampanga province, north of Manila on the island of Luzon, they have been celebrating representations of the stations of the cross, including rows of flagellants walking for miles while scourging themselves until their backs are raw and their blood flowing. 

Another Good Friday practice performed in Pampanga is that of actual crucifixion. Men and women who have chosen to do this are frequently repenting of sins but also may do it to share in the passion of Christ or even to thank God for particular events such as loved ones recovering from near-fatal illnesses or accidents. For some, it may be a rather painful way to be like the Pharisee in the temple, raising his religious status by showing himself to be pious. Still, I am sure that the vast majority of those who do participate do it for the glory of God and to show their love and reverence. They want to imitate Jesus as much as possible, and this is one way to do that.

Some participants choose to don a white loincloth and then be tied to the crossbars of the crosses they have carried for some distance before being raised upright. Others lie on the cross in the traditional position, have their arms tied to the cross member in several places, then have four-inch nails driven through their hands and five-inch spikes through their feet. They remain upright on the cross for as little as five minutes or as much as an hour, depending on how much pain they can bear. Spectators worldwide come to see the spectacle enacted every Good Friday except for the past two years due to the pandemic. I expect there are other places in the world where reenactments like these take place, but Pampanga is one of the best known and most publicized.

Jesus, as we traditionally see his crucifixion portrayed, wasn’t always shown with bindings and footrests to help support his weight. The bent knees we see on crucifixes, and the downward slump of the corpus had the purpose of illustrating a posture of slow suffocation since the ribs could not inflate fully. The corpus also shows the incision of the spear point and even the trickles of blood from the crown of thorns. What crucifixes often can’t show is the sun beating down mercilessly, sweat trickling into the raw gashes of the scourge marks, the slow dehydration that can cause delusions, and eventual death. 

Jesus, as the gospels tell us, spent six hours in this torment, not to mention the previous torture of the scourging, carrying the cross until he could bear it no longer, and the strength-stealing suffering of a sleepless night and the prospect of more torment to come. 

I do not imagine Jesus went through all that he did because he wanted to. It seems more of an act of submission, much as the actions of the penitents today. Many Christians put crosses on their front lawns, hang rosaries from their rear-view mirrors, wear necklaces showing crosses, crucifixes, and other iconic symbols. It is showing their religious affiliation but also as an act demonstrating their faith. The liturgies and prayers we attend or participate in during Holy Week are symbols of what our faith is about and reminders of who and what Jesus was besides being a charismatic preacher, teacher, rabbi, and human being during his earthly lifetime. 

May we take the time on this Holy Saturday to reflect deeply on what Holy Week represents, especially Good Friday. In what other ways can we show our submission to Christ, emulate his life, illustrate his teachings, and devotion to God? There is more to Holy Saturday than dyeing eggs, stuffing baskets with candy and chocolates, and new clothes. There’s more than starting preparations for a large dinner (or a smaller one if the family can’t travel to visit). There is more to faith than twice-a-year attendance at the major celebrations of the church. 

How can you demonstrate your faith? 

Have a blessed Easter.

 

Originally published at Speaking to the Soul on Episcopal Café, on Saturday, April 3, 2021.