For my first three or four years of elementary school I seemed to catch just about every germ, bacteria, and infection that came down the pike. Daytime TV was mostly geared to housewives who watched soap operas and not to young kids so it was sort of a last resort. Mama couldn't spend all her time reading me books or telling me stories, so about grade 3 I started reading books myself. I was hooked for life.
When I got a little older I found biographies of famous people, especially women. I read books about Florence Nightingale, Pocahontas, and, perhaps the most interesting, Joan of Arc. Pocahontas was a local girl, one whose story I knew just from people telling me the history of the area in which I lived. Florence Nightingale went to a war zone and worked to save lives of sick and wounded soldiers far from home. Joan, though, was different. There was a religious component to her story that intrigued me, so much so that when Mama went to an antique store where I saw a statue of a woman in armor, I asked for it. It may have been a Valkyrie, for all I knew, but to me, that was Joan and I wanted her to be a sort of guide and a presence.
Joan was a simple girl from a relatively small town, a "shepherdess on the green" as the hymn* calls her. She was basically illiterate although she could sign her name. What she had, though was a strong faith and a belief that God had something big in store for her. From a young age, she heard voices and saw visions of angels and saints, most frequently the Archangel Michael and St. Catherine of Alexandria, who gave her the challenge to save France which was in the grip of war between the houses of Burgundy and Orleans. It was a formidable task, one that would surely daunt anyone, much less a young girl, but she had faith in God and her guides.
Joan broke a lot of the rules of normal behavior of the time. She heard voices and saw bright lights and spoke of them to others. To accomplish her task, she dressed first as a boy, then in armor. She talked with and persuaded princes and theologians, and led troops in battle. She got the Dauphin crowned Charles VII, and was captured in battle. The Burgundians sold her to the English but she was returned to France where she faced charges of heresy and witchcraft and where she was forced to recant her statements about the voices and visions.
She was still in prison when she was tried again a few months later and this time she refused to recant, instead confessing her faith in the messages that she knew came from God and the gathering of saints. She was convicted as a heretic and burned at the stake in 1431. Twenty-five years later, her case was appealed and the Pope declared her to have been falsely accused. Almost 500 years later, she was canonized as a saint.
Today most people think nothing about girls who wear boy's clothing although boys in girl's dresses cause more than a raised eyebrow or two. Nobody thinks anything about people seeming to talk to themselves (or maybe God or someone else) because we're so used to people talking on Bluetooth or cell phones. We've gotten accustomed to hearing stories of saints and mystics who have heard voices or had visions back hundreds of years ago, but we are somewhat skeptical of people who claim the same thing today. We're much more aware of mental illness than mysticism, and possibly more comfortable with it as well.
But mystics live among us, usually unnoticed because they don't go around wearing an "I'm a Mystic" button or proclaiming their mysticism. They may not go around wearing armor and riding a white horse with a banner floating over their heads, but neither are they all hiding in dark caves or out in the deserts. What they all have, though, is faith and a desire for union with God. Even non-mystics can have that same faith and desire for union, with or with out the voices and visions.
We may not be called to lead an army, get a prince crowned king, or even something really heroic. Maybe we're called to march in support of a cause or volunteer to serve meals at a homeless shelter. Maybe we're called to help children learn to read or remind elders that they are not forgotten. We may not get the lights and voices, but we, like Joan, can find our passion and follow it, with a little guidance from God and a lot of faith that we can have a deep connection and we can find our ministries and missions.
Perhaps we can ask Joan to help us.
*Hymnal 1982, Church Publishing Corp. NY. #293.
Originally published at http://www.episcopalcafe.com/speaking-to-the-soul-joan-mystic-and-warrior/ on Episcopal Café Saturday, May 30, 2015.
Sunday, May 31, 2015
Sunday, May 24, 2015
Going up, Coming Down
3Then Moses went up to God; the Lord called to him from the mountain, saying, ‘Thus you shall say to the house of Jacob, and tell the Israelites: 4You have seen what I did to the Egyptians, and how I bore you on eagles’ wings and brought you to myself. 5Now therefore, if you obey my voice and keep my covenant, you shall be my treasured possession out of all the peoples. Indeed, the whole earth is mine, 6but you shall be for me a priestly kingdom and a holy nation. These are the words that you shall speak to the Israelites.’
So Moses came, summoned the elders of the people, and set before them all these words that the Lord had commanded him. 8The people all answered as one: ‘Everything that the Lord has spoken we will do.’ Moses reported the words of the people to the Lord.
On the morning of the third day there was thunder and lightning, as well as a thick cloud on the mountain, and a blast of a trumpet so loud that all the people who were in the camp trembled. 17Moses brought the people out of the camp to meet God. They took their stand at the foot of the mountain. 18Now Mount Sinai was wrapped in smoke, because the Lord had descended upon it in fire; the smoke went up like the smoke of a kiln, while the whole mountain shook violently. 19As the blast of the trumpet grew louder and louder, Moses would speak and God would answer him in thunder. 20When the Lord descended upon Mount Sinai, to the top of the mountain, the Lord summoned Moses to the top of the mountain, and Moses went up. - Exodus 19:3-8, 16-20.
I remember, as a small kid, how I loved to hear Mama read and tell stories. I was sick fairly often so she spent a lot of time doing those. They captivated me, kept my mind occupied, and often sent me in to dreams where the words Mama read and spoke came to life.
Stories also serve as vehicles to convey information: the history of the people, important events, hero stories. the Bible is full of those stories conveying that kind of information in a way that people could learn from and pass on to the next generation. The reading today is only part of a much longer story, the story of the exodus from Egypt, but even part of a story can have a lesson in it.
There are a lot of stories in the saga of the exodus. This one is part of the run-up to the giving of the Ten Commandments; it sets the scene. The journey has taken them to the base of Mount Sinai, where God will give them the Law, but first God has a few words with Moses about a message to be given to the Israelites about what God had done for them and would do for them if they agreed to obey God and keep God's covenant. They had been freed from Egypt and could be God's chosen people if they just agreed to do as God wanted.
Three days after that, God woke the people with a rather spectacular reveille that certainly got their attention. They gathered at the very foot of the mountain and there they watched as Moses talked with God and God replying with thunder and trumpets. Then God summoned Moses to the top of the mountain.
Whether or not we have ever climbed a real mountain or not, we use metaphoric mountains to describe stages of our lives. Any worker who began at the bottom and has worked his or her way up the corporate ladder could just as easily have said they climbed the corporate mountain. Same with sports figures and performers of all kinds. Climbing the mountain is work, hard work, but the view from the top is breathtaking. Often intensely spiritual experiences are called "mountain-top experiences." Jesus had several mountain-top experiences beginning with his temptation in the wilderness and probably culminating with the meeting with Moses and Elijah at the Transfiguration.
Moses surely had a mountain-top experience as he climbed to meet God. There seem to have been several such journeys up and down, going between God and the people, hearing God's words and taking them down to the Israelites below. It must have been a sort of physical elevator ride, the constant going up and coming down, but it was necessary.
Reaching the mountain top is a feeling like none other. It's exhilarating, energizing, perhaps reverential. From the mountain top a person feels like they can see what seems like the whole world and they own it. There's a closeness to heaven in that place, whether one is actively seeking a closeness to and with God or not.
One thing is certain, though. No one can stay at the top of the mountain forever. Like Moses, the person must come down and go about the daily life they had left when they began their ascent. Chances are, though, there is a bit of change in them somewhere as a result of the journey, something that remains with them that they could share with the world, like Moses' bringing the words of God to the people. He had to come down the mountain to do the work he was given to do; he couldn't do it from the top.
We all have work to do, especially after we visit the mountain top. We have a new perspective, a new job description, a new calling that needs our attention, study, and sharing. Perhaps we found our faith a bit deeper and richer, perhaps we found God a lot closer, perhaps we found some answers to questions we didn't even know we had. But just think -- what if we had never gone up that mountain?
As Newton once said, "What goes up, must come down." We all need trips to the mountain top now and again, but we also need to remember that our work is done on the plain below, or perhaps in some valley that has needs we can fill. God doesn't always speak with thunder, lightning, and trumpets. Sometimes God speaks in a breeze that rifles the hair or in the wide vista from the mountain.
Moses went up and came down, once with a glow that was so bright he had to wear a veil so that people wouldn't be blinded. We may never encounter that phenomenon, but we can be so changed inside that people can see it. Or, better yet, we can see it in ourselves and our actions reflect it.
I think it's time for a mountain-top experience. There are enough mountains, literal and figurative, around for everyone to go up, experience and come down renewed.
Originally published at Speaking to the Soul on Episcopal Café Saturday, May 23, 2015.
I remember, as a small kid, how I loved to hear Mama read and tell stories. I was sick fairly often so she spent a lot of time doing those. They captivated me, kept my mind occupied, and often sent me in to dreams where the words Mama read and spoke came to life.
Stories also serve as vehicles to convey information: the history of the people, important events, hero stories. the Bible is full of those stories conveying that kind of information in a way that people could learn from and pass on to the next generation. The reading today is only part of a much longer story, the story of the exodus from Egypt, but even part of a story can have a lesson in it.
There are a lot of stories in the saga of the exodus. This one is part of the run-up to the giving of the Ten Commandments; it sets the scene. The journey has taken them to the base of Mount Sinai, where God will give them the Law, but first God has a few words with Moses about a message to be given to the Israelites about what God had done for them and would do for them if they agreed to obey God and keep God's covenant. They had been freed from Egypt and could be God's chosen people if they just agreed to do as God wanted.
Three days after that, God woke the people with a rather spectacular reveille that certainly got their attention. They gathered at the very foot of the mountain and there they watched as Moses talked with God and God replying with thunder and trumpets. Then God summoned Moses to the top of the mountain.
Whether or not we have ever climbed a real mountain or not, we use metaphoric mountains to describe stages of our lives. Any worker who began at the bottom and has worked his or her way up the corporate ladder could just as easily have said they climbed the corporate mountain. Same with sports figures and performers of all kinds. Climbing the mountain is work, hard work, but the view from the top is breathtaking. Often intensely spiritual experiences are called "mountain-top experiences." Jesus had several mountain-top experiences beginning with his temptation in the wilderness and probably culminating with the meeting with Moses and Elijah at the Transfiguration.
Moses surely had a mountain-top experience as he climbed to meet God. There seem to have been several such journeys up and down, going between God and the people, hearing God's words and taking them down to the Israelites below. It must have been a sort of physical elevator ride, the constant going up and coming down, but it was necessary.
Reaching the mountain top is a feeling like none other. It's exhilarating, energizing, perhaps reverential. From the mountain top a person feels like they can see what seems like the whole world and they own it. There's a closeness to heaven in that place, whether one is actively seeking a closeness to and with God or not.
One thing is certain, though. No one can stay at the top of the mountain forever. Like Moses, the person must come down and go about the daily life they had left when they began their ascent. Chances are, though, there is a bit of change in them somewhere as a result of the journey, something that remains with them that they could share with the world, like Moses' bringing the words of God to the people. He had to come down the mountain to do the work he was given to do; he couldn't do it from the top.
We all have work to do, especially after we visit the mountain top. We have a new perspective, a new job description, a new calling that needs our attention, study, and sharing. Perhaps we found our faith a bit deeper and richer, perhaps we found God a lot closer, perhaps we found some answers to questions we didn't even know we had. But just think -- what if we had never gone up that mountain?
As Newton once said, "What goes up, must come down." We all need trips to the mountain top now and again, but we also need to remember that our work is done on the plain below, or perhaps in some valley that has needs we can fill. God doesn't always speak with thunder, lightning, and trumpets. Sometimes God speaks in a breeze that rifles the hair or in the wide vista from the mountain.
Moses went up and came down, once with a glow that was so bright he had to wear a veil so that people wouldn't be blinded. We may never encounter that phenomenon, but we can be so changed inside that people can see it. Or, better yet, we can see it in ourselves and our actions reflect it.
I think it's time for a mountain-top experience. There are enough mountains, literal and figurative, around for everyone to go up, experience and come down renewed.
Originally published at Speaking to the Soul on Episcopal Café Saturday, May 23, 2015.
Sunday, May 17, 2015
True Martyrs
Commemoration of the Martyrs of Sudan
Readings:
Wisdom 3:1-9
Psalm 116:10-17
Hebrews 10:32-39
Matthew 24:9-14
It's a bright, sunny day with comfortable temperatures. It's the kind of day where it is hard to think of anything but good things like cute babies, fluffy kittens (or frolicking puppies), vacations at the beach (or the mountains), hot dogs at the ball park, or beer at the 19th tee. It's a nice day for kids to be playing soccer or baseball, or biking with their friends around the nice, safe neighborhood. It's a good day, the kind people daydream of as they go about their normal work week.
It's hard to think about people in places that are very different, places where kids can't play outside because the area isn't safe for them--or for anyone really. They are homeless because someone whose politics or religion were far different decided that there needed to be changes, either governmental ones and/or religious conversions, either by choice or by force. Their homes and businesses are in ruins, they may be living in the midst of rubble or an overcrowded tent city with inadequate food, water and sanitation. The people there would probably like to think about baby animals, soccer games, and safe neighborhoods, but their reality is something very different.
There are many areas of the world where the different reality is clear, but today we mark the commemoration of people in one particular place, Sudan. Until it gained independence in 1956, the British had ruled the country with an arbitrary border intended to keep the peace but which, in fact, lead to much of what we see today, namely religious conflict. The British assigned the northern section to the Muslims and the south to more diverse ethnically and religiously-based groups. After the independence, the uneasy tension between the two halves of the country began to tighten and civil war became the name of the game for the next forty years. Beginning in the 1980s the Islamic government of the north increasingly enforced Sharia law and extended that influence into the south. We still see the results on the news almost nightly.
The Sudanese Martyrs represented all levels of society from military and religious leaders to ordinary people, all who refused to give up their Christian beliefs and convert to Islam as they were being pressured to do. Over the last few decades, Christians like them have tried to survive in what is now South Sudan, but in the course of that struggle two and a half million people have died as martyrs, four million have been displaced, and another million have been scattered around Africa and in other parts of the world, including the US. Religious buildings and schools were razed, and safety for Christians was and is almost nonexistent.
The conflict continues with no end in sight. The Sudanese martyrs chose to follow Christ, as did the early Christians of Rome and the Mediterranean area. They followed to the death, just as many Christians around the world as well as in South Sudan are still doing today.
We hear people talk about others as martyrs, mostly because the ones under discussion are doing something difficult or unpleasant without a lot of complaining or boasting. Another popular use of "martyr" is from those who insist they have all the right answers and beliefs and feel put-upon because other people disagree with them and refuse to join with them. The verbal conflict can get very loud and heated, but usually the war of words does not cause fatalities that would truly make martyrs. Words, though, often escalate into action.
There are Christians under very real attack around the world and we watch, horrified, as churches, temples, shrines, and schools are bombed and burned, children are murdered along with their parents and grandparents, and survivors are uprooted and forced to flee to places where survival is a genuine struggle. All refugees are not Christian nor are all martyrs Christian. Many die for their particular faith, unlike those who claim martyrdom because others won't accept their beliefs or faith. That pseudo-martyrdom seems like a copy from a printer that is almost out of ink.
We have had our martyrs, people who have died because of their beliefs and their following of their beliefs when others were intent on crushing their visible practice of those beliefs. Some were in the wrong place at the wrong time, like the little girls in Birmingham who died when someone bombed their church. They weren't intending to be martyrs but they became innocent ones. Martin Luther King, Jr? Definitely a martyr. Fr. Mychal Judge, who ran into the maelstrom of the 9/11 disaster? He chose to face possible death to practice his faith and bring help and comfort to those most in need at that moment. Nuns earned the crown of martyrs in Nicaragua, El Salvador, and Liberia because others felt they were dangerous as did Bishop Oscar Romero. The list goes on and on.
There are lots of examples of true martyrs, including many outside the Christian faith. We must never feel we have a lock on martyrdom. We have to be careful to make sure we use the word not as a cheap play for pity or agreement but rather as an accolade for those who have truly given their all rather than simply giving in to pressure. The martyrs of Sudan are our reminders today of the price Jesus has called us to pay, a price he paid himself because a he was thought to be danger to them the Temple and the Empire. He was just living his faith and teaching about it, and that, to his enemies, was dangerous.
Today's collect reads:
Originally published at Speaking to the Soul on Episcopal Café Saturday, May 16, 2015, under the title "The Martyrs of Sudan."
Readings:
Wisdom 3:1-9
Psalm 116:10-17
Hebrews 10:32-39
Matthew 24:9-14
It's a bright, sunny day with comfortable temperatures. It's the kind of day where it is hard to think of anything but good things like cute babies, fluffy kittens (or frolicking puppies), vacations at the beach (or the mountains), hot dogs at the ball park, or beer at the 19th tee. It's a nice day for kids to be playing soccer or baseball, or biking with their friends around the nice, safe neighborhood. It's a good day, the kind people daydream of as they go about their normal work week.
It's hard to think about people in places that are very different, places where kids can't play outside because the area isn't safe for them--or for anyone really. They are homeless because someone whose politics or religion were far different decided that there needed to be changes, either governmental ones and/or religious conversions, either by choice or by force. Their homes and businesses are in ruins, they may be living in the midst of rubble or an overcrowded tent city with inadequate food, water and sanitation. The people there would probably like to think about baby animals, soccer games, and safe neighborhoods, but their reality is something very different.
There are many areas of the world where the different reality is clear, but today we mark the commemoration of people in one particular place, Sudan. Until it gained independence in 1956, the British had ruled the country with an arbitrary border intended to keep the peace but which, in fact, lead to much of what we see today, namely religious conflict. The British assigned the northern section to the Muslims and the south to more diverse ethnically and religiously-based groups. After the independence, the uneasy tension between the two halves of the country began to tighten and civil war became the name of the game for the next forty years. Beginning in the 1980s the Islamic government of the north increasingly enforced Sharia law and extended that influence into the south. We still see the results on the news almost nightly.
The Sudanese Martyrs represented all levels of society from military and religious leaders to ordinary people, all who refused to give up their Christian beliefs and convert to Islam as they were being pressured to do. Over the last few decades, Christians like them have tried to survive in what is now South Sudan, but in the course of that struggle two and a half million people have died as martyrs, four million have been displaced, and another million have been scattered around Africa and in other parts of the world, including the US. Religious buildings and schools were razed, and safety for Christians was and is almost nonexistent.
The conflict continues with no end in sight. The Sudanese martyrs chose to follow Christ, as did the early Christians of Rome and the Mediterranean area. They followed to the death, just as many Christians around the world as well as in South Sudan are still doing today.
We hear people talk about others as martyrs, mostly because the ones under discussion are doing something difficult or unpleasant without a lot of complaining or boasting. Another popular use of "martyr" is from those who insist they have all the right answers and beliefs and feel put-upon because other people disagree with them and refuse to join with them. The verbal conflict can get very loud and heated, but usually the war of words does not cause fatalities that would truly make martyrs. Words, though, often escalate into action.
There are Christians under very real attack around the world and we watch, horrified, as churches, temples, shrines, and schools are bombed and burned, children are murdered along with their parents and grandparents, and survivors are uprooted and forced to flee to places where survival is a genuine struggle. All refugees are not Christian nor are all martyrs Christian. Many die for their particular faith, unlike those who claim martyrdom because others won't accept their beliefs or faith. That pseudo-martyrdom seems like a copy from a printer that is almost out of ink.
We have had our martyrs, people who have died because of their beliefs and their following of their beliefs when others were intent on crushing their visible practice of those beliefs. Some were in the wrong place at the wrong time, like the little girls in Birmingham who died when someone bombed their church. They weren't intending to be martyrs but they became innocent ones. Martin Luther King, Jr? Definitely a martyr. Fr. Mychal Judge, who ran into the maelstrom of the 9/11 disaster? He chose to face possible death to practice his faith and bring help and comfort to those most in need at that moment. Nuns earned the crown of martyrs in Nicaragua, El Salvador, and Liberia because others felt they were dangerous as did Bishop Oscar Romero. The list goes on and on.
There are lots of examples of true martyrs, including many outside the Christian faith. We must never feel we have a lock on martyrdom. We have to be careful to make sure we use the word not as a cheap play for pity or agreement but rather as an accolade for those who have truly given their all rather than simply giving in to pressure. The martyrs of Sudan are our reminders today of the price Jesus has called us to pay, a price he paid himself because a he was thought to be danger to them the Temple and the Empire. He was just living his faith and teaching about it, and that, to his enemies, was dangerous.
Today's collect reads:
O God, steadfast in the midst of persecution, by your providence the blood of the martyrs is the seed of the Church: As the martyrs of the Sudan refused to abandon Christ even in the face of torture and death, and so by their sacrifice brought forth a plentiful harvest, may we, too, be steadfast in our faith in Jesus Christ; who with you and the Holy Spirit lives and reigns, one God, for ever and ever. AmenThose are words to carry with us today and every day. We never know when we may be forced to make the choice the martyrs made. May we be as strong, brave and faithful.
Originally published at Speaking to the Soul on Episcopal Café Saturday, May 16, 2015, under the title "The Martyrs of Sudan."
Sunday, May 10, 2015
Sunday, May 3, 2015
The Value of a Life
and you will be hated by all because of my name. But the one who endures to the end will be saved. 23When they persecute you in one town, flee to the next; for truly I tell you, you will not have gone through all the towns of Israel before the Son of Man comes.
‘A disciple is not above the teacher, nor a slave above the master; 25it is enough for the disciple to be like the teacher, and the slave like the master. If they have called the master of the house Beelzebul, how much more will they malign those of his household!
‘Everyone therefore who acknowledges me before others, I also will acknowledge before my Father in heaven. - Matthew 10:22-32
Recently some friends and I paid a visit to a small zoo near where we live. We walked for miles, saw lots of animals, fed a giraffe (their tongue feels like a cow's, one person said), and were surrounded by lots of trees and birds, thousands of birds, both as exhibits and just plain ordinary everyday birds doing what birds do. There were really BIG birds, like the ostriches, and very colorful birds like macaws, peacocks and parakeets. There were lots of little birds too, flying free and resting in the thick foliage. They weren't colorful or particularly interesting, but they were there and very much a part of the panorama of life.
The reading this morning reminded me of not only the countless little birds I saw at the zoo but also the ones that live in my neighborhood. Sparrows, pigeons, and doves are plentiful here, and their calls are like morning talk shows when I go out walking around dawn. I read the familiar "Are not two sparrows sold for a penny?" and began to wonder -- why would anyone go to such trouble to catch such ordinary little birds, much less sell them to someone else?
By using the word "sparrow," Jesus could have been referring to any small grain-eating bird including swallows. They would be have had their feet tied and hung up in the courtyard awaiting the poorest of people for whom a penny's sacrifice was all they could afford. The Romans taxed their homes, lands and crops, the Temple taxed their membership as the chosen people of God, and then the sacrifice for sin, cleansing, atonement, substitution, or thanksgiving had to be made from temple-approved birds and animals, thus sort of a God-tax, since the sacrifice was given to God even though the money to pay for the sacrifice went into the Temple treasury.
The point Jesus was making was that everyone and everything was important, not just the wealthiest or the most eye-catching or the most powerful. Even the most casual perusal of the TV or media news is a series of disaster stories, whether man-made or nature-made. The news is full of death, damage, threat, reactions to threats and death tolls. At the end of each newscast, however, there's almost always a "feel good" story about a person or group doing something to help others in some way or who were rewarded for their service to others at a risk to themselves. It doesn't seem like enough -- maybe 1/20th of what we see and hear being something that encourages us to go out and help, to fight fear with action, to speak up for those who are voiceless.
If the lives of two sparrows are worth a penny, how much more would our lives be worth? What is the value of a human being? Depending on when in time you asked that question the answer would vary. Slaves had value, even though it wasn't their lives so much as their ability to work and produce income. Still, their lives had value to them. What about the innocent children killed in drive-by shootings in a turf war? What are their lives worth? What about the veterans who fought in wars and saw too much death and carnage to protect our freedoms? The Native Americans, African-Americans, the differently-abled, the elderly, the orphans, the immigrants, the homeless, the GLBT? What are their lives worth? How much do we value the invisible, the ones with nothing or little?
A human life is worth far more than a whole flock of sparrows to God, and it should be to us as well. Whenever a human is devalued, it is like telling God that God's own measure of worth isn't accurate. The students are telling the master what is important and what is valuable.
What is the value of life? What is the value of a forest, clean water, abundant wildlife, human dignity? What about honesty, trustworthiness, compassion? Do we value those, especially in our fellow human beings? Or do we only care about our own interests, whether or not they are in accordance with God's teachings?
If God values the life of a sparrow, or anything else, how much more can we as humans be valued in God's sight? Do we have the right to say that this person or that one has little value to us because they aren't like us in some way -- physically, culturally, educationally, financially, religiously-- and therefore have no value to God? Would God prefer us to others who are not like us? Or would God take exactly the opposite position?
Jesus told us we have value. When are we, you and I, going to learn to see that value in all of creation and try to make it the kingdom of God on earth as Jesus taught us to do and God wanted us to do from the beginning? We may laugh at tree-huggers, but what would happen if we actually did it ourselves, hugged the trunk, felt the bark, touched the leaves other than to rake them up so the yard would look tidy? What if we offered a homeless person a sandwich and coffee and not just a buck or two with the hope they weren't going to spend it on dope or booze?
There are millions of ways to celebrate life all around us, to validate the value of life in this world. We all have value -- so spread it around. Find someone and validate their value as a friend, co-worker, mentor, family member, even a stranger as a person and a beloved child of God.
We don't have to be martyrs, just committed.
Originally published at Speaking to the Soul on Episcopal Café Saturday, May 2, 2015.
‘A disciple is not above the teacher, nor a slave above the master; 25it is enough for the disciple to be like the teacher, and the slave like the master. If they have called the master of the house Beelzebul, how much more will they malign those of his household!
Whom to Fear
‘So have no fear of them; for nothing is covered up that will not be uncovered, and nothing secret that will not become known. 27What I say to you in the dark, tell in the light; and what you hear whispered, proclaim from the housetops. 28Do not fear those who kill the body but cannot kill the soul; rather fear him who can destroy both soul and body in hell.* 29Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? Yet not one of them will fall to the ground unperceived by your Father. 30And even the hairs of your head are all counted. 31So do not be afraid; you are of more value than many sparrows.‘Everyone therefore who acknowledges me before others, I also will acknowledge before my Father in heaven. - Matthew 10:22-32
Recently some friends and I paid a visit to a small zoo near where we live. We walked for miles, saw lots of animals, fed a giraffe (their tongue feels like a cow's, one person said), and were surrounded by lots of trees and birds, thousands of birds, both as exhibits and just plain ordinary everyday birds doing what birds do. There were really BIG birds, like the ostriches, and very colorful birds like macaws, peacocks and parakeets. There were lots of little birds too, flying free and resting in the thick foliage. They weren't colorful or particularly interesting, but they were there and very much a part of the panorama of life.
The reading this morning reminded me of not only the countless little birds I saw at the zoo but also the ones that live in my neighborhood. Sparrows, pigeons, and doves are plentiful here, and their calls are like morning talk shows when I go out walking around dawn. I read the familiar "Are not two sparrows sold for a penny?" and began to wonder -- why would anyone go to such trouble to catch such ordinary little birds, much less sell them to someone else?
By using the word "sparrow," Jesus could have been referring to any small grain-eating bird including swallows. They would be have had their feet tied and hung up in the courtyard awaiting the poorest of people for whom a penny's sacrifice was all they could afford. The Romans taxed their homes, lands and crops, the Temple taxed their membership as the chosen people of God, and then the sacrifice for sin, cleansing, atonement, substitution, or thanksgiving had to be made from temple-approved birds and animals, thus sort of a God-tax, since the sacrifice was given to God even though the money to pay for the sacrifice went into the Temple treasury.
The point Jesus was making was that everyone and everything was important, not just the wealthiest or the most eye-catching or the most powerful. Even the most casual perusal of the TV or media news is a series of disaster stories, whether man-made or nature-made. The news is full of death, damage, threat, reactions to threats and death tolls. At the end of each newscast, however, there's almost always a "feel good" story about a person or group doing something to help others in some way or who were rewarded for their service to others at a risk to themselves. It doesn't seem like enough -- maybe 1/20th of what we see and hear being something that encourages us to go out and help, to fight fear with action, to speak up for those who are voiceless.
If the lives of two sparrows are worth a penny, how much more would our lives be worth? What is the value of a human being? Depending on when in time you asked that question the answer would vary. Slaves had value, even though it wasn't their lives so much as their ability to work and produce income. Still, their lives had value to them. What about the innocent children killed in drive-by shootings in a turf war? What are their lives worth? What about the veterans who fought in wars and saw too much death and carnage to protect our freedoms? The Native Americans, African-Americans, the differently-abled, the elderly, the orphans, the immigrants, the homeless, the GLBT? What are their lives worth? How much do we value the invisible, the ones with nothing or little?
A human life is worth far more than a whole flock of sparrows to God, and it should be to us as well. Whenever a human is devalued, it is like telling God that God's own measure of worth isn't accurate. The students are telling the master what is important and what is valuable.
What is the value of life? What is the value of a forest, clean water, abundant wildlife, human dignity? What about honesty, trustworthiness, compassion? Do we value those, especially in our fellow human beings? Or do we only care about our own interests, whether or not they are in accordance with God's teachings?
If God values the life of a sparrow, or anything else, how much more can we as humans be valued in God's sight? Do we have the right to say that this person or that one has little value to us because they aren't like us in some way -- physically, culturally, educationally, financially, religiously-- and therefore have no value to God? Would God prefer us to others who are not like us? Or would God take exactly the opposite position?
Jesus told us we have value. When are we, you and I, going to learn to see that value in all of creation and try to make it the kingdom of God on earth as Jesus taught us to do and God wanted us to do from the beginning? We may laugh at tree-huggers, but what would happen if we actually did it ourselves, hugged the trunk, felt the bark, touched the leaves other than to rake them up so the yard would look tidy? What if we offered a homeless person a sandwich and coffee and not just a buck or two with the hope they weren't going to spend it on dope or booze?
There are millions of ways to celebrate life all around us, to validate the value of life in this world. We all have value -- so spread it around. Find someone and validate their value as a friend, co-worker, mentor, family member, even a stranger as a person and a beloved child of God.
We don't have to be martyrs, just committed.
Originally published at Speaking to the Soul on Episcopal Café Saturday, May 2, 2015.
Sunday, April 26, 2015
Cloaks and Wineskins
After this he went out and saw a tax-collector named Levi, sitting at the tax booth; and he said to him, ‘Follow me.’ And he got up, left everything, and followed him.
Then Levi gave a great banquet for him in his house; and there was a large crowd of tax-collectors and others sitting at the table with them. The Pharisees and their scribes were complaining to his disciples, saying, ‘Why do you eat and drink with tax-collectors and sinners?’ Jesus answered, ‘Those who are well have no need of a physician, but those who are sick; I have come to call not the righteous but sinners to repentance.’
Then they said to him, ‘John’s disciples, like the disciples of the Pharisees, frequently fast and pray, but your disciples eat and drink.’ Jesus said to them, ‘You cannot make wedding-guests fast while the bridegroom is with them, can you? The days will come when the bridegroom will be taken away from them, and then they will fast in those days.’ He also told them a parable: ‘No one tears a piece from a new garment and sews it on an old garment; otherwise the new will be torn, and the piece from the new will not match the old. And no one puts new wine into old wineskins; otherwise the new wine will burst the skins and will be spilled, and the skins will be destroyed. But new wine must be put into fresh wineskins. And no one after drinking old wine desires new wine, but says, “The old is good." - Luke 5:27-39
You meet people in the strangest places, people who may at first seem just like everybody else but who become important people over the course of time. I'm not sure what Levi thought when a stranger walked up to him and spoke to him, but evidently there was a compulsion there that made Levi get up and walk away from a fairly lucrative if despised profession. It was a compulsion great enough that Levi even threw a big party and invited lots of his former co-workers to meet Jesus. We don't know if Jesus changed the minds of any other tax-collector, but he did collect Levi and gained a follower who also probably became a friend.
I wonder if Levi knew what he was getting into when he stood up from his tax-table. Did he call another collector to take over his stand? Did he take what money he had collected to another and ask that they get it to the proper authorities? Did he do the same with his tax rolls? Or did he just stand up and walk away from it all, leaving it to whomever noticed and might feel encouraged to lighten the amount the Romans would get as a result of Levi's work?
Levi became not just a follower of Jesus but, most likely, a good friend as well. He threw a banquet for Jesus where a number of Levi's former associates were present. This threw the scribes and Pharisees into a frenzy of accusations that Jesus was associating with Roman collaborators and sinners, people any righteous Jew would refuse to be seen with much less sitting down and eating with. Of course, Jesus got a reputation as a drunk and partygoer by associating with the outcasts, but in reality the scribes and Pharisees were just looking for evidence to use against Jesus who was a challenge to their authority.
Jesus had an answer for the scribes and Pharisees and, as was quite frequent, he used images to make his point. They asked why he ignored the righteous people he should associate with and instead dined and partied with people known to be outcasts and less-than-respectable citizens. In this reading, he used the images of cloaks and wineskins, both of which were common, ordinary objects. Everyone had a cloak and probably even a young child would know what a wineskin was.
The lesson was about practicalities -- and also about people. It isn't practical to ruin a new piece of cloth to patch an old cloak, or put unfermented grape juice in an old skin which has already been stretched and which might not withstand the pressure of fermentation of a new batch. The old saying about "waste not, want not" certainly would apply here. But when Jesus used the illustrations, he was talking about people, not commodities.
Daily we are surrounded by people: friends, family, co-workers, acquaintances, total strangers and all sorts in between. We don't have disciples like Jesus did (at least, most of us don't), but we do have people around us. Some are like cloaks; they warm us, they comfort us, they help protect us. They're the ones who patch the holes caused by rough treatment, loneliness, even down and out desperation, not with patches cut from new cloth but with love, caring and compassion. Others are like old wineskins with new wine put in; they have already been stretched and pressure from within makes them give way so that the skin ruptures and the wine is lost. These are the people who drain us of energy, who cause us pain and misery, or who represent things harmful to us. They may call themselves "friends" but these are not friends at all.
Jesus was surrounded by people too, some like warm cloaks, some like bursting wineskins. At times his disciples seemed like one or the other, sometimes seeming to change from one to the other in the space of the blink of an eye. What kind of friend swears they would die for you yet go and hide when you yourself are in danger? The disciples were like that, and we are not really a lot different. We celebrate when the bridegroom is present but hide when he is taken away. What kind of friends does that make us?
We as Christians claim friendship and discipleship with Christ. We quote him, we pray to him, we gather together periodically to celebrate his life and resurrection as we partake of the Eucharist. But when we walk out the church door, do we become cloaks or wineskins? When we see people in need, are we cloaks or wineskins? When there are people in danger who need our help, which are we then?
Could we be Levis who walk away from a lucrative profession to follow a homeless rabbi and teacher? Would we throw a party for our associates and friends to introduce this rabbi to them as someone to listen to and to follow? That's putting away the wineskin and taking up the cloak.
Do we have the courage Levi did?
Originally published at Speaking to the Soul on Episcopal Café Saturday, April 25, 2015.
Then Levi gave a great banquet for him in his house; and there was a large crowd of tax-collectors and others sitting at the table with them. The Pharisees and their scribes were complaining to his disciples, saying, ‘Why do you eat and drink with tax-collectors and sinners?’ Jesus answered, ‘Those who are well have no need of a physician, but those who are sick; I have come to call not the righteous but sinners to repentance.’
Then they said to him, ‘John’s disciples, like the disciples of the Pharisees, frequently fast and pray, but your disciples eat and drink.’ Jesus said to them, ‘You cannot make wedding-guests fast while the bridegroom is with them, can you? The days will come when the bridegroom will be taken away from them, and then they will fast in those days.’ He also told them a parable: ‘No one tears a piece from a new garment and sews it on an old garment; otherwise the new will be torn, and the piece from the new will not match the old. And no one puts new wine into old wineskins; otherwise the new wine will burst the skins and will be spilled, and the skins will be destroyed. But new wine must be put into fresh wineskins. And no one after drinking old wine desires new wine, but says, “The old is good." - Luke 5:27-39
You meet people in the strangest places, people who may at first seem just like everybody else but who become important people over the course of time. I'm not sure what Levi thought when a stranger walked up to him and spoke to him, but evidently there was a compulsion there that made Levi get up and walk away from a fairly lucrative if despised profession. It was a compulsion great enough that Levi even threw a big party and invited lots of his former co-workers to meet Jesus. We don't know if Jesus changed the minds of any other tax-collector, but he did collect Levi and gained a follower who also probably became a friend.
I wonder if Levi knew what he was getting into when he stood up from his tax-table. Did he call another collector to take over his stand? Did he take what money he had collected to another and ask that they get it to the proper authorities? Did he do the same with his tax rolls? Or did he just stand up and walk away from it all, leaving it to whomever noticed and might feel encouraged to lighten the amount the Romans would get as a result of Levi's work?
Levi became not just a follower of Jesus but, most likely, a good friend as well. He threw a banquet for Jesus where a number of Levi's former associates were present. This threw the scribes and Pharisees into a frenzy of accusations that Jesus was associating with Roman collaborators and sinners, people any righteous Jew would refuse to be seen with much less sitting down and eating with. Of course, Jesus got a reputation as a drunk and partygoer by associating with the outcasts, but in reality the scribes and Pharisees were just looking for evidence to use against Jesus who was a challenge to their authority.
Jesus had an answer for the scribes and Pharisees and, as was quite frequent, he used images to make his point. They asked why he ignored the righteous people he should associate with and instead dined and partied with people known to be outcasts and less-than-respectable citizens. In this reading, he used the images of cloaks and wineskins, both of which were common, ordinary objects. Everyone had a cloak and probably even a young child would know what a wineskin was.
The lesson was about practicalities -- and also about people. It isn't practical to ruin a new piece of cloth to patch an old cloak, or put unfermented grape juice in an old skin which has already been stretched and which might not withstand the pressure of fermentation of a new batch. The old saying about "waste not, want not" certainly would apply here. But when Jesus used the illustrations, he was talking about people, not commodities.
Daily we are surrounded by people: friends, family, co-workers, acquaintances, total strangers and all sorts in between. We don't have disciples like Jesus did (at least, most of us don't), but we do have people around us. Some are like cloaks; they warm us, they comfort us, they help protect us. They're the ones who patch the holes caused by rough treatment, loneliness, even down and out desperation, not with patches cut from new cloth but with love, caring and compassion. Others are like old wineskins with new wine put in; they have already been stretched and pressure from within makes them give way so that the skin ruptures and the wine is lost. These are the people who drain us of energy, who cause us pain and misery, or who represent things harmful to us. They may call themselves "friends" but these are not friends at all.
Jesus was surrounded by people too, some like warm cloaks, some like bursting wineskins. At times his disciples seemed like one or the other, sometimes seeming to change from one to the other in the space of the blink of an eye. What kind of friend swears they would die for you yet go and hide when you yourself are in danger? The disciples were like that, and we are not really a lot different. We celebrate when the bridegroom is present but hide when he is taken away. What kind of friends does that make us?
We as Christians claim friendship and discipleship with Christ. We quote him, we pray to him, we gather together periodically to celebrate his life and resurrection as we partake of the Eucharist. But when we walk out the church door, do we become cloaks or wineskins? When we see people in need, are we cloaks or wineskins? When there are people in danger who need our help, which are we then?
Could we be Levis who walk away from a lucrative profession to follow a homeless rabbi and teacher? Would we throw a party for our associates and friends to introduce this rabbi to them as someone to listen to and to follow? That's putting away the wineskin and taking up the cloak.
Do we have the courage Levi did?
Originally published at Speaking to the Soul on Episcopal Café Saturday, April 25, 2015.
Sunday, April 19, 2015
Goodbye, my friend...
I don't remember the precise time when we passed from acquaintances to friends, but I should. I didn't know at the time it was going to be one of those friendships that lasted for decades and would be so important to me. Had I known, I'd have marked it on my perpetual calendar and tried to find a Hallmark card or a bunch of flowers or even a pizza special enough to celebrate the day.
I met her at church. We were both on the Altar Guild but on different teams. At some point in time, we started talking and became good friends. For me, I considered her one of my very best friends and, as the wise know, those are the treasures we find in life when we open up to the possibilities of entering a relationship. It was a risk I have always been grateful I took and that she did too.
She had such an interesting life, one so different from mine. She had lived in places I'd dreamed of, and I always envied that. She definitely traveled in social circles well above mine, but somehow that didn't matter because we were friends. I took her into my world, she shared hers with me, and we were both comfortable with that.
It is said that a mark of a true friend is one with whom you can share anything and still keep the friendship intact. We disagreed about some things (she loved talk radio and I listened to nothing but classical, among other things). We could (and did) talk about almost anything (okay, we left out some things that would have simply been TMI -- too much information). We laughed a lot which is always a good thing. She could be serious, but she also could be very funny, sometimes at the same time.
Of all the reasons I have to be grateful to her, probably the most important was her being there for me when I really needed her. She was one of the first people I called after my husband died, and she figuratively held my hand for weeks afterwards, helping me come out of the fog and make decisions I had to make.
When I needed a ride to a medical test, she was there to take me and sit in the waiting room until the procedure was done. Now there's nothing more boring than sitting in a waiting room, but she did it not once but several times. It was to her that I turned to when I was given the diagnosis of breast cancer, and she accompanied me on the initial visit to the surgeon to explore my options. She was my second set of ears and also my advisor. "Here's what I think but it is completely your decision," was that advice and it gave me the courage to do what needed to be done. She got up long before her normal rising time to take me to the hospital and wait until I was safely out of surgery, which involved a lot of sitting in a waiting room -- again. She picked me up the next day and brought me home. We checked in frequently and I knew she was there when I needed her. To me, that was the greatest sign of love a friend could give and she gave it wholeheartedly.
I've learned that one of the hardest things about growing older is the loss of people we considered rocks and even portions of our own support system. News of her passing came a shock but not a surprise. Knowing her medical problems, it was inevitable that one day something was going to happen, I just wasn't ready for it to happen quite so soon.
I'm grateful we had pizza together a week or so ago, and that I got her my usual Easter gift to her -- cheap chocolate-covered marshmallow Easter eggs, the cheaper the better. She loved the things and would ration herself so they would last for as long as possible. This year I gave her several dozen, telling her with a laugh that that should last her until next Easter. I hope she got to eat a lot of them.
Little things like that meant a lot to her, like the shoestring potatoes another friend gave her every year for her birthday. She looked forward to those and enjoyed them for as long as possible. I think to her, they were as important a gift as any extravagant one would be.
One thing she loved above all was her family. They were the center of her world. She could get exasperated, upset, hurt and puzzled by them but there was never a time when her love didn't encompass each and every one of them. Her family has been so exceedingly lucky to have had her with them for so many years.
I'm really going to miss JJ, as I called her. I am grateful for the memories but I wish we'd had time to make a few more. It appears her passing was quick and, hopefully, painless. That's a passing I think everyone wants but not everyone gets to have. I'm glad it was that way for her. She would have hated losing her independence. I'm glad she was spared that, for her sake and her family's.
Most of all, I'm going to miss that bright light she brought into my life. The world for me is a bit darker today. We didn't often say it, but there were times when the greatest thing either of us could say was "I love you."
Goodbye, my friend. You'll always be as close as my next heartbeat and my reminders of the many gifts you've given me. We'll meet again, and I hope there's pizza in heaven because we'll have a lot to catch up on. Rest in peace and rise in glory, JoJane.
I met her at church. We were both on the Altar Guild but on different teams. At some point in time, we started talking and became good friends. For me, I considered her one of my very best friends and, as the wise know, those are the treasures we find in life when we open up to the possibilities of entering a relationship. It was a risk I have always been grateful I took and that she did too.
She had such an interesting life, one so different from mine. She had lived in places I'd dreamed of, and I always envied that. She definitely traveled in social circles well above mine, but somehow that didn't matter because we were friends. I took her into my world, she shared hers with me, and we were both comfortable with that.
It is said that a mark of a true friend is one with whom you can share anything and still keep the friendship intact. We disagreed about some things (she loved talk radio and I listened to nothing but classical, among other things). We could (and did) talk about almost anything (okay, we left out some things that would have simply been TMI -- too much information). We laughed a lot which is always a good thing. She could be serious, but she also could be very funny, sometimes at the same time.
Of all the reasons I have to be grateful to her, probably the most important was her being there for me when I really needed her. She was one of the first people I called after my husband died, and she figuratively held my hand for weeks afterwards, helping me come out of the fog and make decisions I had to make.
When I needed a ride to a medical test, she was there to take me and sit in the waiting room until the procedure was done. Now there's nothing more boring than sitting in a waiting room, but she did it not once but several times. It was to her that I turned to when I was given the diagnosis of breast cancer, and she accompanied me on the initial visit to the surgeon to explore my options. She was my second set of ears and also my advisor. "Here's what I think but it is completely your decision," was that advice and it gave me the courage to do what needed to be done. She got up long before her normal rising time to take me to the hospital and wait until I was safely out of surgery, which involved a lot of sitting in a waiting room -- again. She picked me up the next day and brought me home. We checked in frequently and I knew she was there when I needed her. To me, that was the greatest sign of love a friend could give and she gave it wholeheartedly.
I've learned that one of the hardest things about growing older is the loss of people we considered rocks and even portions of our own support system. News of her passing came a shock but not a surprise. Knowing her medical problems, it was inevitable that one day something was going to happen, I just wasn't ready for it to happen quite so soon.
I'm grateful we had pizza together a week or so ago, and that I got her my usual Easter gift to her -- cheap chocolate-covered marshmallow Easter eggs, the cheaper the better. She loved the things and would ration herself so they would last for as long as possible. This year I gave her several dozen, telling her with a laugh that that should last her until next Easter. I hope she got to eat a lot of them.
Little things like that meant a lot to her, like the shoestring potatoes another friend gave her every year for her birthday. She looked forward to those and enjoyed them for as long as possible. I think to her, they were as important a gift as any extravagant one would be.
One thing she loved above all was her family. They were the center of her world. She could get exasperated, upset, hurt and puzzled by them but there was never a time when her love didn't encompass each and every one of them. Her family has been so exceedingly lucky to have had her with them for so many years.
I'm really going to miss JJ, as I called her. I am grateful for the memories but I wish we'd had time to make a few more. It appears her passing was quick and, hopefully, painless. That's a passing I think everyone wants but not everyone gets to have. I'm glad it was that way for her. She would have hated losing her independence. I'm glad she was spared that, for her sake and her family's.
Most of all, I'm going to miss that bright light she brought into my life. The world for me is a bit darker today. We didn't often say it, but there were times when the greatest thing either of us could say was "I love you."
Goodbye, my friend. You'll always be as close as my next heartbeat and my reminders of the many gifts you've given me. We'll meet again, and I hope there's pizza in heaven because we'll have a lot to catch up on. Rest in peace and rise in glory, JoJane.
Temptations
’Jesus, full of the Holy Spirit, returned from the Jordan and was led by the Spirit in the wilderness, 2where for forty days he was tempted by the devil. He ate nothing at all during those days, and when they were over, he was famished. 3The devil said to him, ‘If you are the Son of God, command this stone to become a loaf of bread.’ 4Jesus answered him, ‘It is written, “One does not live by bread alone.” ’
Then the devil* led him up and showed him in an instant all the kingdoms of the world. 6And the devil* said to him, ‘To you I will give their glory and all this authority; for it has been given over to me, and I give it to anyone I please. 7If you, then, will worship me, it will all be yours.’ 8Jesus answered him, ‘It is written,
“Worship the Lord your God,
and serve only him.” ’
Then the devil* took him to Jerusalem, and placed him on the pinnacle of the temple, saying to him, ‘If you are the Son of God, throw yourself down from here, 10for it is written,
“He will command his angels concerning you,
to protect you”,
11and
“On their hands they will bear you up,
so that you will not dash your foot against a stone.” ’
12Jesus answered him, ‘It is said, “Do not put the Lord your God to the test.” ’ 13When the devil had finished every test, he departed from him until an opportune time. Luke 4:1-13
Jesus had just been baptized, complete with the Spirit appearing as a dove and a direct attestation from God. That same Spirit told him to go out into the desert where he would be for a fairly significant period of time. Jesus was in the desert for 40 days (40 consecutive days, unlike our Lent which is 40 days but excludes Sundays). While he was there he was subjected to some temptations which, had he given in, would have eased his situation and given him power over the earth or so he was promised.
nbsp;Jesus had feelings, emotions, thoughts, and fears; he would have had to or his human experience would have been totally and fatally flawed. He was the Son of God, yes, but on earth as a Jewish male, not a god.
For us, temptations crop up with great regularity: buy this, get that, avoid this, lose weight because you're always too fat no matter what, keep up with the Joneses or you'll be considered a loser. We get temptations and some of them we can do without but some we succumb to. We're human and humans are subject to temptations. Jesus' temptations were about his being human and more. Having been in a human body for 30 years, he had to have gone through a lot of things that we go through, little temptations like eating a little too much a meal or drinking a little too much wine, doing something that maybe shouldn't be done but is done anyway. With his own temptations, Jesus showed how we should react to our own.
Every time we pray the Lord's prayer, we always pray "… Lead us not into temptation…" That always seems to be a puzzle to me. In the theology of my childhood church, God gives us trials to check our faith, to see if we succumbed to weakness or whether we were strong in our faith. If someone got cancer, it was God's will, it was God's test of their faith, regardless of the outcome. If a child died, it was God's will and a test of the parent' strength of belief. No matter what came along, if it wasn't great and wonderful and terrific it was a test from God. Wait a minute. Wasn't something like this covered in the book of Job?
Job lived a righteous life; he was a good guy. Suddenly, based on a sort of celestial contest, Job lost everything that made his life enjoyable and productive. His health was taken from him, most of his family were killed, and all his possessions were taken away because of a bet. Job was a pawn in an apparent struggle between the Adversary and God, to see if Job the righteous would become Job the unrighteous. He passed the test and of course was able to regain everything he'd lost including more children, more wealth, more livestock, more everything. I realize that Job is an allegory but so much of the theology that I was taught as a child and even some that I hear today is dependent on this as a test from God. Job passed that test because he never denied God, he never got angry with God, he never did anything wrong. God rewarded his faithfulness.
This is hard for me to comprehend now. If someone gets cancer, is that a test from God to see how strong their faith is? A job gets lost and with it a family's stability is lost also; is that a test from God? It is far above my pay grade to really say yes or no, but as I grow older the more I wonder what is it that I actually believe about this. How can I say ..."lead us not into temptation ..." or the new version, ..." save us from the time of trial..." when I don't believe God actually leads us into temptation or a time of trial just to check and see if were going to pass the faithfulness test. I would venture to say most if not all of us would fail miserably.
I can look at Jesus. He was as Paul said, was "...in all points tempted like as we are, ..." (Heb. 4:15b). That's what makes the crucifixion and resurrection so incredible. Yet am I supposed to believe that Jesus death on the cross was God's will and pretty much the sole reason Jesus had to go through Good Friday's agony? That's pretty hard pill to swallow.
As I grow older my questions grow. Not that I don't believe; I believe very strongly in the crucifixion and resurrection and humanity of Jesus as well as his divine nature. But what I can't believe is that this is a test from God or that a lot of things that we hear other people say about "Oh well, it was God's will" or "God is testing our faith". I just can't wrap my mind around it. Perhaps I'm not supposed to. Perhaps the test is to see if I can still rely on God and yet solve my own problems without assigning blame to someone else. I don't think my cancer was sent by God, but it strengthened my bond with God and it also taught me that I have more strength maybe than I thought I did.
We aren't as strong as Jesus; we succumb all the time. Where I think the lesson is in what we do if we give in and what's the outcome. Does it bring us closer to God or separate us further from God? That's the real question we have to answer, and answer directly to God. God doesn't require it, but is always ready and waiting to listen.
Originally published at Speaking to the Soul on Episcopal Café Saturday, April 18, 2015.
Then the devil* led him up and showed him in an instant all the kingdoms of the world. 6And the devil* said to him, ‘To you I will give their glory and all this authority; for it has been given over to me, and I give it to anyone I please. 7If you, then, will worship me, it will all be yours.’ 8Jesus answered him, ‘It is written,
“Worship the Lord your God,
and serve only him.” ’
Then the devil* took him to Jerusalem, and placed him on the pinnacle of the temple, saying to him, ‘If you are the Son of God, throw yourself down from here, 10for it is written,
“He will command his angels concerning you,
to protect you”,
11and
“On their hands they will bear you up,
so that you will not dash your foot against a stone.” ’
12Jesus answered him, ‘It is said, “Do not put the Lord your God to the test.” ’ 13When the devil had finished every test, he departed from him until an opportune time. Luke 4:1-13
Jesus had just been baptized, complete with the Spirit appearing as a dove and a direct attestation from God. That same Spirit told him to go out into the desert where he would be for a fairly significant period of time. Jesus was in the desert for 40 days (40 consecutive days, unlike our Lent which is 40 days but excludes Sundays). While he was there he was subjected to some temptations which, had he given in, would have eased his situation and given him power over the earth or so he was promised.
nbsp;Jesus had feelings, emotions, thoughts, and fears; he would have had to or his human experience would have been totally and fatally flawed. He was the Son of God, yes, but on earth as a Jewish male, not a god.
For us, temptations crop up with great regularity: buy this, get that, avoid this, lose weight because you're always too fat no matter what, keep up with the Joneses or you'll be considered a loser. We get temptations and some of them we can do without but some we succumb to. We're human and humans are subject to temptations. Jesus' temptations were about his being human and more. Having been in a human body for 30 years, he had to have gone through a lot of things that we go through, little temptations like eating a little too much a meal or drinking a little too much wine, doing something that maybe shouldn't be done but is done anyway. With his own temptations, Jesus showed how we should react to our own.
Every time we pray the Lord's prayer, we always pray "… Lead us not into temptation…" That always seems to be a puzzle to me. In the theology of my childhood church, God gives us trials to check our faith, to see if we succumbed to weakness or whether we were strong in our faith. If someone got cancer, it was God's will, it was God's test of their faith, regardless of the outcome. If a child died, it was God's will and a test of the parent' strength of belief. No matter what came along, if it wasn't great and wonderful and terrific it was a test from God. Wait a minute. Wasn't something like this covered in the book of Job?
Job lived a righteous life; he was a good guy. Suddenly, based on a sort of celestial contest, Job lost everything that made his life enjoyable and productive. His health was taken from him, most of his family were killed, and all his possessions were taken away because of a bet. Job was a pawn in an apparent struggle between the Adversary and God, to see if Job the righteous would become Job the unrighteous. He passed the test and of course was able to regain everything he'd lost including more children, more wealth, more livestock, more everything. I realize that Job is an allegory but so much of the theology that I was taught as a child and even some that I hear today is dependent on this as a test from God. Job passed that test because he never denied God, he never got angry with God, he never did anything wrong. God rewarded his faithfulness.
This is hard for me to comprehend now. If someone gets cancer, is that a test from God to see how strong their faith is? A job gets lost and with it a family's stability is lost also; is that a test from God? It is far above my pay grade to really say yes or no, but as I grow older the more I wonder what is it that I actually believe about this. How can I say ..."lead us not into temptation ..." or the new version, ..." save us from the time of trial..." when I don't believe God actually leads us into temptation or a time of trial just to check and see if were going to pass the faithfulness test. I would venture to say most if not all of us would fail miserably.
I can look at Jesus. He was as Paul said, was "...in all points tempted like as we are, ..." (Heb. 4:15b). That's what makes the crucifixion and resurrection so incredible. Yet am I supposed to believe that Jesus death on the cross was God's will and pretty much the sole reason Jesus had to go through Good Friday's agony? That's pretty hard pill to swallow.
As I grow older my questions grow. Not that I don't believe; I believe very strongly in the crucifixion and resurrection and humanity of Jesus as well as his divine nature. But what I can't believe is that this is a test from God or that a lot of things that we hear other people say about "Oh well, it was God's will" or "God is testing our faith". I just can't wrap my mind around it. Perhaps I'm not supposed to. Perhaps the test is to see if I can still rely on God and yet solve my own problems without assigning blame to someone else. I don't think my cancer was sent by God, but it strengthened my bond with God and it also taught me that I have more strength maybe than I thought I did.
We aren't as strong as Jesus; we succumb all the time. Where I think the lesson is in what we do if we give in and what's the outcome. Does it bring us closer to God or separate us further from God? That's the real question we have to answer, and answer directly to God. God doesn't require it, but is always ready and waiting to listen.
Originally published at Speaking to the Soul on Episcopal Café Saturday, April 18, 2015.
Sunday, April 12, 2015
Witnessing with our lives
Now when they saw the boldness of Peter and John and realized that they were uneducated and ordinary men, they were amazed and recognized them as companions of Jesus. 14When they saw the man who had been cured standing beside them, they had nothing to say in opposition. 15So they ordered them to leave the council while they discussed the matter with one another. 16They said, ‘What will we do with them? For it is obvious to all who live in Jerusalem that a notable sign has been done through them; we cannot deny it. 17But to keep it from spreading further among the people, let us warn them to speak no more to anyone in this name.’ 18So they called them and ordered them not to speak or teach at all in the name of Jesus. 19But Peter and John answered them, ‘Whether it is right in God’s sight to listen to you rather than to God, you must judge; 20for we cannot keep from speaking about what we have seen and heard.’ 21After threatening them again, they let them go, finding no way to punish them because of the people, for all of them praised God for what had happened. 22For the man on whom this sign of healing had been performed was more than forty years old.
“Why did the Gentiles rage,
and the peoples imagine vain things?
26 The kings of the earth took their stand,
and the rulers have gathered together
against the Lord and against his Messiah.”*
27For in this city, in fact, both Herod and Pontius Pilate, with the Gentiles and the peoples of Israel, gathered together against your holy servant* Jesus, whom you anointed, 28to do whatever your hand and your plan had predestined to take place. 29And now, Lord, look at their threats, and grant to your servants* to speak your word with all boldness, 30while you stretch out your hand to heal, and signs and wonders are performed through the name of your holy servant* Jesus.’ 31When they had prayed, the place in which they were gathered together was shaken; and they were all filled with the Holy Spirit and spoke the word of God with boldness. -- Acts 4:13-31
Peter and John had been preaching in Jerusalem, a rather brave thing to do considering that not all that long ago they had hidden with their brother disciples as their teacher and master had been crucified publicly not very far away. This time, though, they had healed a 40-year-old lame man and suddenly the crowd saw them as more than uneducated Galileans who preached about the impossibility of a dead man who came back to life. Those sermons and speeches got the temple leadership all in a tizzy. What to do about these men whose actions were causing such a stir throughout Jerusalem?
The answer was to haul Peter and John off to prison until they could decide what to do. Their final solution was to tell them to just shut up, to quit talking about this Jesus, and let things go back to normal. Peter and John must have grown some spine since the resurrection; they not only refused to keep quiet, they continued to speak out, to pray openly, and to attract more and more attention.
Each of us probably hears thousands of words a day. Conversations with friends, family, coworkers and sometimes almost total strangers like the server at Starbuck's or the clerk at the grocery store, news and entertainment on the radio and TV, readings and sermons in church, exchanges of ideas and proposals at work; the list is almost endless. Sometimes we might even hear a sermon from a street preacher or pass by a religious channel on the media. Now and again, a word or a phrase or even a tone of voice might cause us to pause a bit to hear more of what is being said.
Perhaps that's how Peter and John's message got through to so many. It's certain that the miracle of the lame man gave them an extra credence. Still, the bumbling disciples who seemed to have been so slow to catch on when Jesus was with them had become persuasive, even eloquent speakers. Looks like the Spirit had taken over and turned their lack of understanding into tongues of gold.
We get used to seeing miracles or what we call "miracles." On almost every newscast there's a final story about something that would make people feel good: a lost child found, a veteran with an amputation takes his first steps, a dog saves a family from a fire, people risk their lives to save other people or animals from risky if not potentially fatal situations. It's easy to call them "miracles" and, perhaps they are. A lot of what makes us pay attention is the words the newscaster, reporter or eyewitnesses use to describe what happened. The people in Jerusalem had seen a lame man healed, but they were told about a man rising from the dead. Now that was a true miracle!
We hear the words about that miraculous event every Easter and, in fact, we hear it throughout the year in church. What we don't hear is talk about it outside the church walls unless you run into a street preacher or tune in to a religious program on radio or TV. Oh, we get sound bytes of Christians around the world walking the pilgrim way or doing the stations of the cross during Holy Week, carrying crosses on Good Friday, marching through the streets and around the churches on Palm Sunday, and joyous celebrations of Easter a week later. After that, nothing unless there's a funeral or wedding of a prominent person or someone around whom a community rallies.
For people enjoined to spread the good news, we aren't always that good at it. We let the clergy and the church do that for us with ads in the paper about times of service and maybe a bit of the mission statement which isn't always understood by the target audience. We put banners outside the church or church or denominational logos on bumper stickers or cling-ons for our car's back window and think that's being a witness. It's better than nothing, but it really isn't up to the par of Peter and John. We aren't called to be them, but we are called to witness, as the prayer book puts it, "...not only with our lips, but in our lives..." (125).
While we are still in the Easter season, it might be nice to be a witness whether by words or by actions. Acts of kindness, forgiveness, empathy, and presence are things we can do on a daily basis. Maybe we won't mention the name of Jesus, but maybe, just maybe, Jesus will work his way into the conversation. It's worth a try.
Originally published at Speaking to the Soul on Episcopal Café Saturday, April 11, 2015.
The Believers Pray for Boldness
After they were released, they went to their friends* and reported what the chief priests and the elders had said to them. 24When they heard it, they raised their voices together to God and said, ‘Sovereign Lord, who made the heaven and the earth, the sea, and everything in them, 25it is you who said by the Holy Spirit through our ancestor David, your servant:*“Why did the Gentiles rage,
and the peoples imagine vain things?
26 The kings of the earth took their stand,
and the rulers have gathered together
against the Lord and against his Messiah.”*
27For in this city, in fact, both Herod and Pontius Pilate, with the Gentiles and the peoples of Israel, gathered together against your holy servant* Jesus, whom you anointed, 28to do whatever your hand and your plan had predestined to take place. 29And now, Lord, look at their threats, and grant to your servants* to speak your word with all boldness, 30while you stretch out your hand to heal, and signs and wonders are performed through the name of your holy servant* Jesus.’ 31When they had prayed, the place in which they were gathered together was shaken; and they were all filled with the Holy Spirit and spoke the word of God with boldness. -- Acts 4:13-31
Peter and John had been preaching in Jerusalem, a rather brave thing to do considering that not all that long ago they had hidden with their brother disciples as their teacher and master had been crucified publicly not very far away. This time, though, they had healed a 40-year-old lame man and suddenly the crowd saw them as more than uneducated Galileans who preached about the impossibility of a dead man who came back to life. Those sermons and speeches got the temple leadership all in a tizzy. What to do about these men whose actions were causing such a stir throughout Jerusalem?
The answer was to haul Peter and John off to prison until they could decide what to do. Their final solution was to tell them to just shut up, to quit talking about this Jesus, and let things go back to normal. Peter and John must have grown some spine since the resurrection; they not only refused to keep quiet, they continued to speak out, to pray openly, and to attract more and more attention.
Each of us probably hears thousands of words a day. Conversations with friends, family, coworkers and sometimes almost total strangers like the server at Starbuck's or the clerk at the grocery store, news and entertainment on the radio and TV, readings and sermons in church, exchanges of ideas and proposals at work; the list is almost endless. Sometimes we might even hear a sermon from a street preacher or pass by a religious channel on the media. Now and again, a word or a phrase or even a tone of voice might cause us to pause a bit to hear more of what is being said.
Perhaps that's how Peter and John's message got through to so many. It's certain that the miracle of the lame man gave them an extra credence. Still, the bumbling disciples who seemed to have been so slow to catch on when Jesus was with them had become persuasive, even eloquent speakers. Looks like the Spirit had taken over and turned their lack of understanding into tongues of gold.
We get used to seeing miracles or what we call "miracles." On almost every newscast there's a final story about something that would make people feel good: a lost child found, a veteran with an amputation takes his first steps, a dog saves a family from a fire, people risk their lives to save other people or animals from risky if not potentially fatal situations. It's easy to call them "miracles" and, perhaps they are. A lot of what makes us pay attention is the words the newscaster, reporter or eyewitnesses use to describe what happened. The people in Jerusalem had seen a lame man healed, but they were told about a man rising from the dead. Now that was a true miracle!
We hear the words about that miraculous event every Easter and, in fact, we hear it throughout the year in church. What we don't hear is talk about it outside the church walls unless you run into a street preacher or tune in to a religious program on radio or TV. Oh, we get sound bytes of Christians around the world walking the pilgrim way or doing the stations of the cross during Holy Week, carrying crosses on Good Friday, marching through the streets and around the churches on Palm Sunday, and joyous celebrations of Easter a week later. After that, nothing unless there's a funeral or wedding of a prominent person or someone around whom a community rallies.
For people enjoined to spread the good news, we aren't always that good at it. We let the clergy and the church do that for us with ads in the paper about times of service and maybe a bit of the mission statement which isn't always understood by the target audience. We put banners outside the church or church or denominational logos on bumper stickers or cling-ons for our car's back window and think that's being a witness. It's better than nothing, but it really isn't up to the par of Peter and John. We aren't called to be them, but we are called to witness, as the prayer book puts it, "...not only with our lips, but in our lives..." (125).
While we are still in the Easter season, it might be nice to be a witness whether by words or by actions. Acts of kindness, forgiveness, empathy, and presence are things we can do on a daily basis. Maybe we won't mention the name of Jesus, but maybe, just maybe, Jesus will work his way into the conversation. It's worth a try.
Originally published at Speaking to the Soul on Episcopal Café Saturday, April 11, 2015.
Saturday, April 11, 2015
Requiem
I listen to the radio a lot, always the local classical station. Usually I don't seem to hear much choral music except in December and on the Sunday program featuring Baroque music, but lately I've heard a few more, and oddly, most of them seem to be selections from various requiems. I started thinking about it the other day and suddenly saw what might be connections between the requiems and the upcoming Holy Week. Perhaps tenuous and erroneous connections but nonetheless, it seemed worth thinking about.
Requiems are Roman Catholic masses for the repose of the dead, musical compositions of those services, and memorial compositions and works written in honor of a particular person. They can also be used at memorial surrounding death or mourning. Most of the major (and a bunch of the minor) composers have written versions of the requiem, whether for a special occasion or memorial for a famous person, or sometimes as a concert piece. Like writers are drawn to write about subjects that speak to them, composers often find something in the liturgy that suggests a musical exploration. They are no less beautiful or meaningful, and quite often they are incorporated into memorial services or funerals.
The word requiem is a form of the Latin requies meaning repose or rest. The opening of the traditional service is Requiem aeternam dona eis Domine, (Grant them eternal rest, O Lord) and is a prayer for the dead and a comfort for the mourners. When we pray for the dead, we are asking that God look with mercy on them and give them eternal rest. The various prayers of the requiem mirror the confidence we have in that mercy but also sort of hedging our bets on behalf of those being memorialized; we tend to be forgetful, and while we're sure God isn't, we aren't taking chances.
The Kyrie eleison and the Agnus Dei are familiar, at least in translation, from liturgies we celebrate during Advent and Lent. They represent both requests for mercy for the dead but also for ourselves. While we pray for the dead, we also pray for ourselves. Especially during Lent we are reminded again and again of our mortality and our inability to evade sin. We are encouraged to penitence for what we've done wrong and determination to avoid sin in the future. Of course, we may be penitent but most of us have some jolly little sins we're relatively fond of and others we really would like to do without except they are too convenient at times. Still, we go to church, confess our sins, promise we'll change, and pray for those who are now beyond any earthly redemption, for that redemption only God can provide.
I know that we hear requiems around November 1st and 2nd, the feasts of All Saints and All Souls, and that makes sense. We remember those we loved who have died and we pray that they will rest in peace and rise in glory. But why would we hear requiems during Lent and Holy Week? Whose death are we mourning?
Holy Week, which begins tomorrow with Palm Sunday, traces the triumphal entry of Jesus into Jerusalem, moves through the events at the temple, the celebration of the first Eucharist, the night in the garden, the arrest. trial and finally crucifixion of Jesus. There we have a dead man for whom we might well pray for God's mercy upon him. But hold it. Jesus rose from the dead - and you can't sit shiva or raise prayers for the dead if the person isn't dead! So therefore it has to be a reminder for someone -- maybe us.
We pray for the dead and, perhaps, we hope deep down inside that someone will do a requiem or pray for us after we have died. We can't pray for ourselves or ask for mercy so we hope we have paid it forward in the prayer department by praying for others. Hopefully someone will do the same for us.
During the season of Lent and Holy Week, we draw closer to the cross, the instrument of death, and find that it isn't about death but about life. It's about Jesus but it is also about us. It's about our mortality and the promise of rest and resurrection. Perhaps the sound of the requiem is to be a comfort to us. The march to the cross leads not to a requiem but rather a celebration of life.
Amen.
Originally published at Speaking to the Soul on Episcopal Café Saturday, April 4, 2015.
Requiems are Roman Catholic masses for the repose of the dead, musical compositions of those services, and memorial compositions and works written in honor of a particular person. They can also be used at memorial surrounding death or mourning. Most of the major (and a bunch of the minor) composers have written versions of the requiem, whether for a special occasion or memorial for a famous person, or sometimes as a concert piece. Like writers are drawn to write about subjects that speak to them, composers often find something in the liturgy that suggests a musical exploration. They are no less beautiful or meaningful, and quite often they are incorporated into memorial services or funerals.
The word requiem is a form of the Latin requies meaning repose or rest. The opening of the traditional service is Requiem aeternam dona eis Domine, (Grant them eternal rest, O Lord) and is a prayer for the dead and a comfort for the mourners. When we pray for the dead, we are asking that God look with mercy on them and give them eternal rest. The various prayers of the requiem mirror the confidence we have in that mercy but also sort of hedging our bets on behalf of those being memorialized; we tend to be forgetful, and while we're sure God isn't, we aren't taking chances.
The Kyrie eleison and the Agnus Dei are familiar, at least in translation, from liturgies we celebrate during Advent and Lent. They represent both requests for mercy for the dead but also for ourselves. While we pray for the dead, we also pray for ourselves. Especially during Lent we are reminded again and again of our mortality and our inability to evade sin. We are encouraged to penitence for what we've done wrong and determination to avoid sin in the future. Of course, we may be penitent but most of us have some jolly little sins we're relatively fond of and others we really would like to do without except they are too convenient at times. Still, we go to church, confess our sins, promise we'll change, and pray for those who are now beyond any earthly redemption, for that redemption only God can provide.
I know that we hear requiems around November 1st and 2nd, the feasts of All Saints and All Souls, and that makes sense. We remember those we loved who have died and we pray that they will rest in peace and rise in glory. But why would we hear requiems during Lent and Holy Week? Whose death are we mourning?
Holy Week, which begins tomorrow with Palm Sunday, traces the triumphal entry of Jesus into Jerusalem, moves through the events at the temple, the celebration of the first Eucharist, the night in the garden, the arrest. trial and finally crucifixion of Jesus. There we have a dead man for whom we might well pray for God's mercy upon him. But hold it. Jesus rose from the dead - and you can't sit shiva or raise prayers for the dead if the person isn't dead! So therefore it has to be a reminder for someone -- maybe us.
We pray for the dead and, perhaps, we hope deep down inside that someone will do a requiem or pray for us after we have died. We can't pray for ourselves or ask for mercy so we hope we have paid it forward in the prayer department by praying for others. Hopefully someone will do the same for us.
During the season of Lent and Holy Week, we draw closer to the cross, the instrument of death, and find that it isn't about death but about life. It's about Jesus but it is also about us. It's about our mortality and the promise of rest and resurrection. Perhaps the sound of the requiem is to be a comfort to us. The march to the cross leads not to a requiem but rather a celebration of life.
Amen.
Originally published at Speaking to the Soul on Episcopal Café Saturday, April 4, 2015.
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