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Getting Ready for tomorrow, August 29, 2010: The Fourteenth Sunday after Pentecost

Saturday, August 28th, 2010

St. John Lutheran Church

Tomorrow will be a big day at my parish, St. John Lutheran Church in Griffin, Georgia.  The bishop will be coming to help us celebrate not only the dedication of a new educational wing and fellowship hall, but also help us rejoice on our Pastor’s twentieth anniversary of her ordination.  What a day it will be!

I’ll be telling you more about it, especially as we come together in the Prayer for the Day, in the Great Thanksgiving (the Eucharist–the Church’s ancient name for Holy Communion), and in the many intercessions, praises, and personal prayers of parishioners.

In the meantime, realizing that the Gospel for tomorrow, The Fourteenth Sunday after Pentecost is Luke 14.1, 7-14, you may want to visit Journey with Jesus to read “A Spirituality of Food: The All-Sufficient Metaphor for Power,” Daniel B. Clendenin’s essay on Luke 14.1,7-14.

Those of you wishing to examine Luke 14.1, 7-14 more intensely may go to Brian P. Stoffregen’s Exegetical Notes located within Crossmarks.

Posted in Announcement, Daniel B. Clendenin, Pastor Katie, Sundays after Pentecost, Uncategorized | No Comments »

Yesterday (August 8) and Next Sunday (August 15)

Monday, August 9th, 2010

Now that I’m settled (somewhat) in Georgia and have my books on the shelves, connected to the Internet, and my prayerbook where I can locate it, I’m finding that this Monday is a good time to reflect on yesterday’s Eucharist:  the liturgy, the Scripture readings, the excellent sermon given by Pastor Katie Pasch at St. John Lutheran Church, and the continuing gifted presence of Jesus in Holy Communion.  Last evening Pastor Luckey once again sent me his sermon from Faith Lutheran Church, Lexington, Kentucky, and after reading it, I’m convinced that you will want to read it too.  It’s based on the second reading, Hebrews 11:1-3, 8-16.  Here it is:

I want to talk about faith this morning.   What it is.  And particularly what it isn’t.  And I want to use a verse from the letter of Hebrews.  Listen to this:  “Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen.”

You might get the idea from that verse that faith is a feeling. That it’s a matter of the heart.  “Now, faith is the assurance of things hoped for.”  That idea of what faith is, drives people into my office occasionally.  “I’ve lost my faith,” they say, by which they mean they’ve lost that feeling they once had.  We have the idea—and I blame preachers for this—   we have the idea that faith is something you feel.  A confidence you have inside.  No doubts.  Complete certainty.  You either have it or you don’t.  And if you don’t, there must be something wrong with you. 

But here’s the interesting thing.  And this is so important.  The word in this verse that we translate “assurance” doesn’t mean “to be sure.”  It is not describing a feeling at all.  It has more the sense of a verb, really.  It means to behave as if you are sure, even when you may not be sure.  Does that make sense? There are some times in your life when you are called upon to act “as if” something is true even when you have your doubts.  When your daddy or your mama stood in the water beside the edge of the pool with their arms up and said to you:  “Jump. I’ll catch you,” it probably didn’t feel safe.   You didn’t KNOW beyond a shadow of a doubt that they’d catch you.  But you behaved “as if” they could be trusted to catch you, and you jumped.

Sometimes I have someone say to me in a new members class or in a counseling session:  “I can’t in good conscience say the Apostle’s Creed because I’m not sure I believe it.”  And my advice to them is:  “Say it anyway.  Say the Apostles’ Creed as if you believe it trusting that there will come a day when God will bring you around and you will actually believe it.”

The Bible is not a book of psychology.  There’s precious little in the Bible about feelings.  Faith is not about what you feel.  It’s wonderful when you feel all “spiritually” warm inside.  But your faith should never be measured by how you feel.  In the Bible faith is not a feeling.  Faith is behaving “as if” the thing you hope is true, is in fact, true.

What I admire about some people is that there is an “as if-ness” about them.  All hell may be breaking loose around them, but they behave “as if” God has them in the palm of his hand.  And that makes all the difference in the world.  It’s what distinguishes them from other people.  That’s the faith the writer of Hebrews is talking about.  He’s not talking about a feeling of assurance.  He’s talking about a way of behaving.  “Now faith is the ‘as if-ness’ of things hoped for.”  Living “as if” God’s promises will come true.

Having given a definition of faith, the writer of Hebrews then uses the story of Abraham and Sarah to illustrate what faith looks like.  In the book of Genesis Abraham is almost a hundred years old when we meet him the first time.  He’s got Coke-bottle thick glasses and walks with a cane.  His wife, Sarah is in her nineties.  They’ve been married for decades and have never had a child. 

God visits Abraham one evening.  “Come outside with me for a moment,” God says to him.  He takes Abraham out under the night sky and tells him to look up.  “See those stars up there?” God says.  “Can you count them?  That’s how many grandchildren and great grandchildren and great-great grandchildren you and Sarah are going to have.”

And Abraham says:  “Lord, with all due respect, have you checked my sperm count lately?  Have you taken a good look at Sarah?  There’s not a snowball’s chance [on a hot dessert day] that she and I are going to have a child.”

And God says:  “I didn’t tell you to look down below your belt, Abraham.  I told you to look up at the sky.  Count the stars, Abraham.”  Start behaving ‘as if’ what I promise is going to come true.” 

And if you read the story in Genesis, Abraham starts behaving that way.  He may be on a cane, but after that evening when God stops by there’s a certain spring in his step as he travels toward the land that God has said will be his.  He behaves “as if” God can be trusted to make him the father of an entire nation.  A little later on, Sarah gets her own chance to behave “as if” or not.  Three visitors stop by one day with the news that Sarah will conceive soon.  Not surprisingly, she laughs at the idea.  Which gives one of the three visitors the bright idea that a good name for their future son would be Isaac, which means “laughter.”

So that forever thereafter, whenever they call their son to supper—“Isaac!”—they’ll remember how they were tempted once upon a time to second-guess God.  To behave “as if” God couldn’t be trusted.  Well, to make a long story short, nine months later Abraham and Sarah are getting up for Isaac’s two o’clock feeding.  “Now faith is the assurance—the ‘as if-ness’—of things hoped for.”

That was Abraham’s faith.  Not what he felt.  But what he did in spite of what he might have felt.  He behaved as if he were going to be the father of a nation, even if, by the way, he never got to see all those grandchildren and great grandchildren God said he’d have.

And that is the story of faith throughout the Bible.  Not feelings.  But behavior in spite of feelings.  Behaving as if God can be trusted even when all the evidence points to the contrary.  Refusing to act out of fear even when we feel afraid. 

It’s the kind of faith Moses told the people of Israel to have at the Red Sea.  Here they were with their backs against the wall.  They turn to face the most powerful army on the face of the Planet—the Egyptians.  The Hebrew people have no weapons. They have no boats to cross the Red Sea.  They’ve never learned how to swim.  They’re “done for.”  They start bawling and wringing their hands.  And what does Moses say to them?  I’m quoting here.

“Don’t be afraid.  Stand your ground and watch what God will do to save you today . . . . The Lord will fight for you, and all you have to do is keep still.”  Keep still “as if” God can be trusted.  And you know the story. 

The Bible is filled with those kind of stories about a God who makes a way out of no way.  And who asks only one of thing of us—“Trust me.”  Behave as if what I say is true.

It’s one story after another.  Culminating in the life of a man named Jesus—whom we call God’s son—whose last words on the cross were what?  According to Luke it was:  “Into thy hands I commend my spirit.”  Abandoned by his closest friends and surely feeling that his mission was an absolute failure, he behaved on the cross “as if” God could be trusted to bring something good out of this “mell of a hess.”  He was behaving “as if” Easter had already happened.  That’s the kind of faith the Bible talks about.

And it is into this faith that we baptize.  We Christians refuse to live our lives in fear.  Regardless of what the voices from the right and left tell us on their talk shows about where our nation and this world is headed, we will have none of it!  Because we are baptized.  And that means we behave “as if” God holds the world in the palm of his hand and will stop at nothing until his will is done. 

Shel Silverstein says in one of his poems:

Listen to the mustn’t, child.
Listen to the don’ts.
Listen to the never could bes.
Listen to the won’ts.
Listen to the never has beens.
Then listen to me.
Anything can happen, child.
Anything can be.

In a world that constantly uses words like:  “Can’t” and “won’t” and “never will” and “never could be,” we are baptized.  And we live “as if” anything God says can be, can be because we’ve heard stories of what God did at the Red Sea and in a tomb outside of Jerusalem.  And we’ve looked up and counted the stars.  And we’ve seen an old couple rocking their baby boy and behaving “as if” this were only the beginning.

This morning Daniel B. Clendenin sent out his Monday morning announcement in Journey with Jesus about what to think about in preparation for next Sunday’s lectionary readings:  Here’s what he says:

There’s a remarkable admission in the reading for this week, that many believers who have died “did NOT receive the promises of God” (Hebrews 11:13, 39).  And so I call my essay “Believing Isn’t Seeing.”  This is a great antidote to all the many forms of the prosperity gospel that we hear.

Huston Smith of UC Berkeley, now in his nineties, has a new autobiography that I review this week: “Tales of Wonder: Adventures Chasing the Divine” (2010).

For movies I review the Argentinian title  The Secret in Their Eyes, which won the Academy Award for best foreign film in 2009.  And for poetry we post a piece by the Spanish mystic and priest Saint John of the Cross (1542-1591), ” I Do Not Die.”

Posted in Abraham, Baptism, Daniel B. Clendenin, Faith, Pastor Ron Luckey, Sermons | No Comments »

Last Sunday (July 25) / Next Sunday (August 1)

Friday, August 6th, 2010

Several weeks ago I promised to send you “yesterday’s sermon” on Mondays and an alert to Daniel B. Clendenin’s, essay on the lectionary readings for the coming Sunday.   That promise got unfulfilled this past week because my wife and I moved from Kentucky to Georgia, and in the confusion and mess of moving I simply was unable to get myself hooked up to the Internet until yesterday.   So this Friday morning, I’m doing my best to keep my promise.  It’s a good thing too.  Because Pastor Ron Luckey of Faith Lutheran Church in Lexington, Kentucky, sent me a fine sermon on the Gospel (St. Luke 12:13-21) for last Sunday, the Tenth Sunday after Pentecost.   Here it is:

 “Take care!” Jesus says.  “Be on your guard against all kinds of greed.” All kinds of greed. I’ve never really thought about that before—that there is more than one kind of greed.  I always thought greed was greed.  But Jesus says:  “No, greed comes in all shapes and sizes.”  He tells a story about one kind of greed.  The kind that tempts you when your ship suddenly comes in. 

 Once upon a time, there was a farmer whose land suddenly woke up one year and began to produce crops like there was no tomorrow.  The farmer had never seen so much stuff coming up out of the ground.  All summer long, he takes the corn and beans, tomatoes and cucumbers and Lord knows what else to market, and he makes a fortune.

 Now, he’s got a decision to make.  He was accustomed to knowing what he would do with a hundred thousand dollars.  But now, he has a million dollars.  “What do I do with all this money?”  Now, that’s not just a question you have to answer when you suddenly become a millionaire like this farmer.

 It’s the question a college senior or a graduate student asks when they’ve been living on ramen noodles in a cramped college apartment for years, and suddenly one day they’re offered a job making a high five-figure income.  “How am I going to spend all this cash I’m going to be making?” Or when you get a promotion, and there’s a big pay raise to go along with it.  “How am I going to shape my lifestyle now that I’ve got a bigger paycheck?”  Or when you get a certified letter in the mail from an attorney telling you that your uncle who passed away a few months back left you ten thousand dollars in his will. 

 “What should I do with this sudden windfall?  Save it?  Spend it?  Give it away?”  Or when you pay off your mortgage and the kids you’ve been supporting get a good job, and you find your savings account is two thousand dollars fatter each month than it’s ever been before.

 “How is our life going to change, now that we have more discretionary income each month than we’ve ever had as a couple?”  That’s the situation this farmer faced.  Your ship has come in.

And now you’ve got a decision to make.  “What should I do, For I have no place to store my crops?”  So, that’s one kind of situation where we’re tempted to be greedy.  And to one degree or another we’ve all perhaps had something like that happen to us.

Not a lot money, but suddenly more than we had yesterday.  Now what?  But there’s another kind of greed.  The kind of greed most of us are familiar with. 

It’s much more subtle.  It’s the kind of greed that just sort of comes with the territory of living in a rich nation like ours where we’re constantly tempted to want more.  Enough is never enough.  There’s always something else out there to acquire.  It’s the kind of greed that’s so dangerous because we’re actually given permission to be greedy.  We’re helping the economy    when you buy stuff, we’re told.   Then you’ve got advertisements telling us we need what they’re selling to bring out our potential beauty or enhance our performance at the gym or the bedroom.  We need their stuff. 

Add to that our basic fear that God can’t be trusted to make us secure, so we’d better surround ourselves with things.  We’re always looking for more stuff.  And, like the farmer, we have to find a place to put all our stuff.  The farmer built bigger barns. We rent storage sheds. One of the fastest growing industries in the United States is storage companies.  Did you know that?

That ought to tell us something about the problem of greed in this country.  I looked it up in the yellow pages this week. I hope you appreciate all this research I do for you each week.  I looked it up this week.  There’s A Number 1 Mini-Storage, AAA Storage, ABC Storage, Ace Mini-Storage, Add-a Space Mini-Storage, American Mini-Storage, Amy’s Storage . . . . And, mind you, each of those outfits has several locations in town.  And that’s just the A’s.  There are two more pages of storage companies in the phone book. 

 And when we run out of storage space, what do we do?  We have yard sales, of course.  It’s the American way.  And we aren’t the least bit guilty about it.  When was the last time you had somebody apologize to you for having a yard sale?  “I’m sorry I’ve got all this stuff.  As an act of penance, I’ll sell you this couch for a quarter.”  Nobody apologizes for having a yard sale. 

  “Take care!” Jesus says, “Be on your guard for all kinds of greed.”  Jesus understands that there are all kinds of greed but in the story of the farmer he makes it clear that all greed—whether you’re a multi-millionaire or a little kid . . . . A teenager, or somebody living a modest middle class life—all greed is based on the same thing.  The notion that what is mine is mine.  It’s my money.  I worked for it.  So, I get to decide how I’ll use it.  Because what’s mine is mine.  That is what all greed has in common—the belief that what is mine is mine to do with however I please.

And Jesus challenges that notion.  He will not let it go without a fight. Because he happens to think that greed is a spiritual issue.  What we do with our stuff, he says, is an indicator—maybe the greatest indicator—of our relationship with God. 

In this story he tells, Jesus lets us inside this farmer’s head, so we get to listen to his conversation with himself as he tries to decide what to do with all this money he has.  Listen to him.  He says to himself, “Here’s what I’ve decided to do. I will pull down MY barns and build larger ones, and there I will store all MY grain and MY goods.”  Are you hearing all those personal, possessive pronouns?  “I’ve decided.”  These are My barns.  This is My grain. My goods.

And do you hear all the grand plans he has?  “I will pull down my barns.”   “I will build larger ones.”  “I will store all my grain and my goods.”  You see what he’s assuming?  That not only is this stuff his.  The future is his as well.  “I get to decide what my future looks like.” 

That’s where all greed comes from, Jesus says.  Assuming that what’s mine is mine.  “MY money. MY grain. MY goods.  And even MY future.”  “And I will say to myself (after accumulating all this stuff). ‘Self, you have enough stuff to last a lifetime.  Relax, eat, drink, and be merry.” 

And God says him, “You fool!”  By the way, God doesn’t use that word, “fool” lightly.  Just about the only occasions in the Bible in which a person is called a fool is when that person begins to behave as if there is no God.

It’s what Peter Rhea Jones calls, “practical atheism.”  It’s when you say you believe in God, but you manage your life, and you make your decisions, and you deal with your possessions,  and you plan for the future as if there is no God.  As if God hasn’t promised to give us everything we need. 

That’s practical atheism.  I practice it all the time. I stand here all gussied up on Sunday morning. The Reverend Doctor Fancy Pants.  “I believe in Gawwwd.” And then I turn right around on Monday and behave as if God is not God, I am.

And God says:  “You fool.”  You and I can make a lot of mistakes in our lives.  Commit a lot sins.  And God won’t call us a fool.  But the moment we begin to behave as if there is no God then God says:  “You fool.”  And that’s what he says to this farmer.  He says, “You fool.  These aren’t your barns.  They’re my barns.  And this is my grain and my goods. And by the way, this future that’s ‘YOURS’  Have you checked your cholesterol lately?  Tonight, you are ‘history.’ ”

Jesus concludes this story by saying, “So it is with those who store up treasures for themselves but are not rich toward God.”  David Buttrick is a biblical scholar and teacher of preaching. Buttrick reminds us that in the Bible the phrase “rich toward God” has a very special meaning.  According to the Bible there is only one way to be “rich toward God.”  And that is not to build bigger barns but to give away what is already in our barns to those who have no barns.  That is what makes us rich toward God.

And that is our constant challenge.  To say we believe in God and then, with God’s help, to behave as if we really do.  By letting the first thought in our mind be, “This is not mine to keep.  This is God’s to give away.”  The farmer was rich.  He just wasn’t rich toward God.  He wasn’t about to redistribute his wealth.  And Jesus said:  “You fool.” 

Now, you gotta admit, calling somebody a fool for not redistributing their wealth doesn’t make political sense.  Not these days.  But then, Jesus never ran for political office.  And if he had, he’d have lost by a landslide.

Which makes it all the more amazing that knowing us like he does, he tells this story on his way to Jerusalem to die for fools like us.  And that is the good news.  Isn’t it?

Next Sunday’s Gospel is Luke 12:32–40, and Daniel B. Clendenin’s “‘Don’t Worry About Your Life’:  Jesus Speaks to Our Fears and Anxieties” is worth reading carefully.

If for next Sunday you have parish preaching or teaching responsibilities, you may want to prepare for your delivery of a sermon or Scripture lesson by consulting CrossMarks Christian Resources, especially Exegetical notes on texts from the Revised Common Lectionary by Brian Stoffregen.    Remember:  Next Sunday’s Gospel is Luke 12:32–40, (Proper 14, Year C).   Going to Crossmarks is well worth the visit.

Posted in Daniel B. Clendenin, Gospel of St. Luke, Pastor Ron Luckey, Sundays after Pentecost | No Comments »

Yesterday and Next Sunday

Monday, July 19th, 2010
Yesterday, July 18, was the Eighth Sunday after Pentecost.
Next Sunday, July 25, will be the Nineth Sunday after Pentecost.
+++++
I’ve not posted in a week or so because the circumstances in my life are changing.  I’ve just sold my Kentucky home in Richmond and am moving next Monday to Barnesville, Georgia.   As a consequence, as you might imagine, my wife and I are boxing up all our coffee mugs, books, and bed linens.  From now on I’ll not be traveling up and down I-75, living between two homes.  From now on, it’s mostly one home, just one study, one library, only one yard to mow, and merely one set of kitchen pots and pans to clean.  O yes, we have that little lake house near Jackson, Georgia, but taking care of that place will be something of a handyman’s side job.  And it’ll be only forty miles away. Managable.

To keep me intellectually alert (as far as that’s possible), I’ve been hired by Gordon College in Barnesville to teach several classes, most importantly American Literature I (Beginnings to 1865) and some freshman writing classes.  June’s son Stan is giving me a bike so that I can wheel myself to campus and back, and there’s a two-miles walking trail in a near-by woods that will give me a chance to stretch the legs and watch the birds.  Need I say that I’m looking forward to all of this? 

Importantly it’s my hope that in the weeks, months, and years to come–once settled in!– that on Mondays I can provide a posting that many of you will find interesting, provocative, and transforming. 

Last night after the Eucharist, my dear friend, Pastor Ron Luckey of Faith Lutheran Church, Lexington, Kentucky, promised to send me his Sunday sermons and has given me permission to publish them each Monday on this blog.  That’s a considerable privilege.   I’m quite sure Luckey will be diligent in sending me his homilies.  If, on my part, I can also be diligent in editing his seven- or eight-page “pulpit texts” into a readable ”blog texts,” then lots of you will be delighted to visit this blog at least at the beginning of each week on Mondays. 

You’ll notice that I’ve titled this posting “Yesterday and Next Sunday.”  “Yesterday” refers to what I will receive from Pastor Luckey, his Sunday sermons posted here on Monday,s a day later.  “Next Week” refers to Daniel B. Clendenin’s “weekly essay on the Revised Common Lectionary” readings for the coming Sunday, posted every Monday on The Journey to Jesus:  Notes to Myself.   Having read Clendenin’s essays for many years now, I’ve always found them insightful, challenging, and transformative, exactly like the sermons Pastor Luckey gives to his parishioners each Sunday.  By posting Luckey and Clendenin as Sunday and Monday witnesses to the Gospel of our Lord, I hope that I can alert all my readers to thoughtful re-listenings to yesterday’s Gospel lectionary reading and a preview of the lectionary reading that will arrive next Sunday. 

Here now is “yesterday’s” sermon by Pastor Luckey.  

If you were in church last Sunday and listened carefully to the gospel reading for the day, you have every reason to be a little confused this morning. Because in TODAY’S gospel reading Jesus seems to contradict everything he said in LAST week’s gospel reading.  

 

He Qi, The Good Samaritan

Last week Jesus told the very familiar story known as the parable of the Good

Samaritan.  A man is taking a trip from Jerusalem to Jericho.  Along the way he is beaten up and robbed and left to die by the side of the road.  A pastor walks by reading his Lutheran prayer book and looks up long enough to see the man in the ditch.  But the good reverend is so engrossed by these beautiful old prayers he’s reading in his prayer book that he ignores the man and continues on his way.  No doubt making the sign of the cross and saying, “God bless you, my son.”

Not long after that a man walks by on his way to teach Sunday School.  He hears somebody moaning and begging for help, and he looks over to see this poor guy lying there in a ditch.  But he checks his watch and thinks to himself:  “I’ve got a classroom full of third and fourth graders waiting on me right now.  They’re going to be running all over the church if I don’t get there on time.  I’d like to stop, but I just can’t.”  So, he too walks on by. 

But then, the story goes, a foreigner drives by—a Samaritan—and quite unexpectedly, he stops to help.  All he has is some oil and some wine to clean the wounds and an old t-shirt to tear in two for a bandage.  And so (and I’m quoting here) “He went to him and bandaged his wounds, having poured oil and wine on them.”  And then he loads the poor guy into the back of his pick up truck and takes him to a walk-in clinic and hands the lady at the desk a “twenty” and says:  “Take care of this fella, will you?  And if you have to spend more on him, go ahead and do it.  And I’ll come back by in a day or so and reimburse you.”

 

Jesus says to the man he’s telling this story to: “Which of these three, do you think, was a neighbor to the man who fell into the hands of the robbers?”  And the man says: “Obviously, the one who showed him mercy.” 

And Jesus says to him:  “Go and do likewise.”  Go and be like that man who served.  Not like those two people who were too busy doing “holy things”—thinking about God in their heads, talking to God in their prayers, and reading about God in their books. 

Now, that story ends with verse 37 of chapter 10.  Got it?  Verse 37.  The very next verse—verse 38—begins today’s gospel reading.  Jesus has just finished this story when he gets to the home of a woman who is a perfect illustration of what Jesus has just been talking about.  Her name is Martha.  

 

He Qi, Martha, Mary, and Jesus

You cannot find in all the gospels a better picture of someone trying to be a Good Samaritan.  She’s heard that Jesus is coming to her house for a visit.  He’s on his way to Jerusalem.  Martha knows this is a very dangerous time in Jesus’ life.  There are people who hate him in Jerusalem.  Who want him dead.  She knows what Jesus needs right now is a friend.  Someone who will take care of him.  And love him.  And pamper him. So she drops everything she’s doing, to concentrate on serving someone in need.  She polishes the silver.  Presses the linen table cloth.  She makes sure the good crystal is spotless.  Sets the table with the knife and the spoon on the right and the fork under the linen napkin on the left.  And when Jesus arrives, she goes to the door and kisses him on the cheek.  And says:  “Make yourself at home, Jesus.  Mi casa, su casa.  Dinner will be on the table shortly.”  And she goes into the kitchen.  Cuts up the chicken to fry.  Slices the tomatoes.  Snaps the green beans and puts them on to boil with a big hunk of pork meat she pirated in, in the dead of night.  Makes the macaroni and cheese from scratch.  Not that orange pasty goop from Kraft that you buy in a box, for God’s sake.  But the real thing.  She ices the chocolate cake she baked this morning. Puts the ice in the glasses for the sweet tea she’s made. 

She does it all.  Because she wants to serve this man in need who’s sitting in her living room.  She cannot do enough for him.  She knows that he’s on his way to Jerusalem.  For all she knows, his days are numbered. 

He may be sitting in her living room, but she understands that in his own way, he’s really lying wounded in a ditch.  And in HER own way, she’s bandaging his wounds and pouring oil and wine on them.  She’s doing everything Jesus just told a story about.  

And then . . . there’s Mary.  “Holy Mary, daughter of God.”  Not a hair out of place.  Not a bead of sweat on her brow.  If MARTHA’S hands smell like onions,  MARY’S smell like the pages of an old prayer book. Mary is sitting on the couch listening to Jesus while Martha serves Jesus.  And Martha’s a little ticked by that. She comes out of the kitchen wiping her hands on her apron and saying:  Jesus, I’d appreciate it if you’d tell this sister of mine to get up and come out here and help me.” 

Now, let me stop here for just a moment.  Imagine you’d never heard this story before.  Based on the parable Jesus had just told before coming to dinner, what do you think he is going to say?  Remember, you haven’t heard this story before.  What do you think he’s going to say?  After all, Mary is the pastor with his nose buried in his prayer book.  She’s the Sunday School teacher who’s weighed the two options and decided the well-dressed kids in church need her more than the guy dying in a ditch. 

Mary seems to be the very kind of person Jesus condemned in that parable he just told.  Surely, Jesus will say: “Mary, as much as I enjoy talking to you, you have work to do.”  

But he doesn’t say that.  He turns on Martha—a Good Samaritan—  and says: “Martha, Martha.”  Two times, he says her name, as if to make sure he’s got her attention.  “Martha, Martha, you are worried and distracted by all the things you think you’ve got to do for me.  There’s really only one thing you’ve got to do.  The thing Mary is doing.  Come sit down and let’s talk.”    

Mary, the one who sits and listens, is the hero of this story.  And Martha, the one who breaks her neck for Jesus, is the goat.  

So, which is it? Which is better? To be Mary or Martha?  Last week, you’d get the impression it was Martha.  This week, it’s clearly Mary.  In Jesus’ words, she has chosen “the better part” in the two stories.  It just goes to show, you can’t necessarily take one story from the Bible and build your faith on it.  You have to read the whole shebang, cover to cover.  

If all you have is the story of the Good Samaritan, then the Christian faith is all about you and what you have to do for Jesus.  If all you’ve got is the story of the Good Samaritan, then the Christian faith becomes just one more burden to be taken on your shoulders.  That’s why Luke follows up the Good Samaritan story with this story of Mary choosing “the better part.” Listening to Jesus.  Talking to Jesus.  Singing hymns to Jesus. Eating a meal with Jesus. 

Luke puts these two stories back to back for a reason, you see.  Because he knows us.  Luke knows that you and I have a tendency to take the Christian faith about Jesus and what he’s done for us and twist it around until it’s all about us and all the things we must do for him to prove ourselves and save ourselves.  

Luke knows us.  He puts these stories back to back to remind us that as important as being a Good Samaritan is—working in soup kitchens, attending BUILD rallies, giving your money to church and charity, adopting orphans, visiting in jails, writing your representative in congress to ask:  “Why hasn’t our nation paid one penny yet of the 1.5 billion dollars we pledged to rebuild Haiti after the earthquake?” 

As important as service is, the Christian faith is ultimately not what about being a Good Samaritan.  It’s about Jesus being THE Good Samaritan. It’s about what Jesus has done for us.  And what, in our baptism, he allows us to do through the power of his Spirit.  We do not save ourselves by being Martha.  We are saved by grace.  And we remember that grace by being Mary.  Luke puts these two stories back to back to remind us that following Jesus does indeed involve hands that are busy like Martha’s.  But that in the end, it’s not about the meal we fix for Jesus.  It’s about the meal he fixes for us. That’s why we keep coming back to this place week after week after week.  To sit at Jesus’ feet.  To listen to the stories of the faith and in scripture and in the preaching.  To talk with him loudly in the hymns we sing and softly in the prayers we pray.  And to eat the meal with him that has cost him so dearly.  

It is only then—when we are reminded once more that it is by grace we are saved that Jesus says:  “Now, go in peace and serve the Lord.”  Find somebody in a ditch and be A Good Samaritan to them just as I have found you in a ditch and have been THE Good Samaritan to you. 

You see how it works?  It’s not Mary OR Martha.  It’s Mary AND Martha. But it’s Mary first. Because Mary knows when all is said and done, it’s really about JESUS first.  

And here is Clendenin’s essay alerting you to what you can look forward to next Sunday, the Nineth Sunday after Pentecost. 

If for next Sunday you have parish preaching or teaching responsibilities, you may want to prepare for your delivery of a sermon or Scripture lesson by consulting CrossMarks Christian Resources, especially Exegetical notes on texts from the Revised Common Lectionary by Brian Stoffregen.    Remember:  Next Sunday’s Gospel is Luke 11.1-13 (Proper 13, Year C).   Going to Crossmarks is well worth the visit.

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Preparing for Next Sunday, the Seventh Sunday after Pentecost, July 11, 2010

Monday, July 5th, 2010

An Icon: Amos the Prophet

As we have come to expect, Daniel B. Clendenin on his weekly Journey with Jesus has written another fine essay on one of the lectionary readings for next Sunday, the Seventh Sunday after Pentecost.   Here’s how it begins:

 This week’s reading from Amos relates one of the most dramatic encounters in all of Scripture. If the dust-up occurred today, it would go viral on YouTube. The actors in the drama come right from central casting. The script should come with warning labels like “not recommended for children,” or “side effects include severe political and spiritual discomfort.”  

Read the rest of the essay.

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Not Everything Turns Out Well

Monday, January 25th, 2010

Here are the lectionary readings for The Fourth Sunday after Epiphany,Jeremiah_Michelangelo_Sistine_Chapel_sm
January 31, 2010:  

Jeremiah 1:4–10
Psalm 71:1–6
1 Corinthians 13:1–13
Luke 4:21–30.  

At Journey with Jesus, Daniel B. Clendenin’s essay, “Not Everything Turns Out Well,” is well worth reading.  Take a look at it and give the Holy Spirit time enough to make an impression in your thinking, life, and actions.

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The Gospel for the Third Sunday after Epiphany, 24 January 2010

Sunday, January 17th, 2010
"Emmanuel," Icon by Betsy Porter

"Emmanuel," Icon by Betsy Porter

At Journey with Jesus  Daniel B. Clendenin has again published a thoughtful essay, “Today is Here,” by Sarah Miles on the Gospel for next Sunday, Luke 4.14-21.  Sara is Director of Ministry at St. Gregory of Nyssa Episcopal Church in San Francisco and the author of Take This Bread (previously reviewed at JwJ).  Her new book is Jesus Freak: Feeding, Healing, Raising the Dead (Jossey-Bass, February, 2010), and Dan reviews an advance copy this week, along with a film review of Malos Habitos.   To go along with Miles’ essay, he also posts the Peace Prayer of Saint Francis of Assisi (1182–1226): “Lord, make me an instrument of your peace.”

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From my daybook, 12-16 January 2010

Saturday, January 16th, 2010
Days of unspeakable tragedy, sorrow, heartache. The first news of the earthquake in Haiti came, not from TV, but via email sent by Debbie Berquist from the Village of Hope in Port au Prince:

Jan 12, 2010 – 6:03pm WE ARE ALL FINE….shook up in more ways than one as you can well imagine. A few MINOR bruises. It is 5:40 PM as we type this and we are still having a few after shocks…the room shakes as I type. All the Haitian staff at Hope House are fine as well. My Haiti phones are out. Some of the team members (from PA) have been able to contact their families.

Since that message, many more, some almost hourly. Marie Major is all right as are all her children at Grace Orphanage; the kids at The Little Children of Jesus Orphanage are okay. A fragment of a phone call from Johnson tells us that Johnson and Andronic are alive; there is no word yet about Stevenson. We fearful that he may not be alive. My talk to the parish on Sunday bears fruit with money being collected, many prayers offered, and SJLC fully aware of the disaster. Received word today that Thrivent is matching funds given for relief: $1 for every $2 donated. In touch with Luckey, Pat, and Sherri; all of us are convinced that our scheduled February 1 trip to Port au Prince is on indefinite hold.

On Wednesday I met with Larry Schultz on the Global Missions Committee at the Manhattan Restaurant; Larry comes from good stock, open and honest. That evening the Eucharist was clean and simple, always Christ. Becky and Wayne came over for supper on Thursday. Met Hugh in the Barnesville post office and afterward he helped me get the plywood over to his place. We got the boat covered with a huge tarp.

Importantly, am learning to do the Jesus Prayer with regularity, each morning about 6. The darkness is important. 100 slow knots and prostations. Two chokti arrived as did the votive candle for the icon shelf. Learning how to include the saints in my prayers, especially the Blessed Virgin Mary. Clearly more Orthodox. Jim Forest’s book a big help, especially the collection of prayers.

Good movie: Under the Sun with subscripts. Tomorrow’s Gospel, the wedding at Cana. Dan Clendenin says it well:

At Cana in Galilee Jesus filled and fulfilled the ancient promises of Judaism. He filled the empty pots used for ritual purity with wine used for secular celebration. He didn’t merely announce a coming reign of God, or direct attention away from himself to some other. With the first of his “many miraculous signs” he demonstrated that somehow and in some unsurpassed manner he revealed the glory and character of God like no other. This friend of sinners, accused of being a glutton and drunkard, revealed a God of extravagant goodness and mercy.

Posted in Blessed Virgin Mary, Daniel B. Clendenin, Epiphany, For the record, Icons, Jesus Prayer, Personal Reflections | No Comments »

“Immensity Cloistered in Thy Dear Womb:” Venerating the Mother of God, Worshipping the Son of God

Monday, December 14th, 2009

As often noted here, each  Monday I receive an essay from Daniel B. Clendenin; it’s usally a reflection, published at Journey with Jesus, on one of the readings appointed for the upcoming Sunday.  Today I’m taking liberty, not only of providing a link to Clendenin’s essay, but of actuality providing the essay in its entirety.  I’m doing this for two reasons.  First, yesterday in our Scripture class at St. John Lutheran Church, we spent an hour discussing the first chapter of Luke’s Gospel from which includes the Gospel reading for the Fourth Sunday in Advent, December 27.   And second, during that Scripture class, we talked about our Lutheran understanding of the Blessed Virgin Mary’s role in our salvation.   Luther  said Mary is “the highest woman,” that “we can never honour her enough,” that “the veneration of Mary is inscribed in the very depths of the human heart, ” and that Christians should “wish that everyone know and respect her”.   The Lutheran Confessions, and many Lutherans today bear witness to the high esteem  they give to the Blessed  Mother of God.   Clendenin in this essay tells us why. 

As we are now in the final weeks of Advent, this reflective essay is well worth reading.  I hope you find it worth your time.  Surely the Blessed Virgin Mary, “in the fulness of time,” as St. Paul says, found it worth her time to say “Yes” to God so that we might know the Lord of all, Jesus Christ.   Here is the essay:

For Sunday December 20, 2009
Fourth Sunday in Advent
Lectionary Readings (Revised Common Lectionary, Year C)
Micah 5:2–5a
Luke 1:46b–55 or Psalm 80:1–7
Hebrews 10:5–10
Luke 1:39–45 (46–55)

           When I was in Oxford several years ago, every evening I left my study carrel and walked down Woodstock Road to the city center and attended the Evensong services at Magdalen College. I loved so many things about those thirty minutes of worship — the peace and quiet, the architecture, the history (Magdalen College was founded in 1448), the smell of the candles that lit the early darkness of October, the boys choir in robes, and the formal liturgy.

Maori_Madonna_and_Child_sm           One part of Evensong caught me off guard; every single night we sang Mary’s “Magnificat” (Luke’s Gospel for this week). Why did the daily liturgy assign her such prominence? Why was Mary so central to the daily Christian confession?

           In the small Presbyterian church where I grew up, every Sunday we recited the Apostles Creed that Jesus was “born of the Virgin Mary.” Practically speaking, Mary played no role at all in my Christian identity. Later I learned that Protestants question dogmas about Mary that were codified quite recently and that do not enjoy clear Biblical support, like her perpetual virginity, her freedom from actual and original sin (Immaculate Conception, 1854), and the idea that she did not die but was taken directly to heaven (Bodily Assumption, 1950).

           We Protestants also get agitated about exalted language that sounds like Mary is a co-redeemer of humanity. And finally, in popular devotion the cult of Mary can drift into excess and superstition. For these reasons, Protestants emphasize a distinction that both Catholic and Orthodox believers acknowledge, that Christians honor or venerate (duleia) Mary as the Mother of God, but we don’t worship her (latreia), which worship is due to God alone.

           Nevertheless, you might argue that no woman has influenced western history and culture more than Mary. Her “Magnificat” in Luke 1:46–55 takes its name from the first word of the Latin text:

My soul glorifies the Lord
   and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior,
for he has been mindful
   of the humble state of his servant.
From now on all generations will call me blessed,
   for the Mighty One has done great things for me—
holy is his name.
   His mercy extends to those who fear him,
from generation to generation.
   He has performed mighty deeds with his arm;
he has scattered those who are proud in their inmost thoughts.
   He has brought down rulers from their thrones
but has lifted up the humble.
   He has filled the hungry with good things
but has sent the rich away empty.
   He has helped his servant Israel,
remembering to be merciful
   to Abraham and his descendants forever,
even as he said to our fathers.

Despite Protestant reservations, Mary remains cenral to our Christian confession for four important reasons.

Ron_Garvais_Madonna_with_Child_sm           Mary was a woman of exemplary faith. She was a peasant girl from a working class neighborhood of carpenters in Nazareth, a village so insignificant that it’s not mentioned in the Old Testament, in the historian Josephus (c. 37–100), or in the Jewish Talmud. “Can anything good come from Nazareth?” asked Nathanael (John 1:46). Her angelic encounter took place in an unknown, ordinary house, not the temple. When the angel Gabriel foretold the birth of her son Jesus, Mary responded in words of faith that have echoed through the centuries: “I am the Lord’s servant, may it be to me as you have said.” Her bold belief startled her pregnant cousin Elizabeth, who exclaimed “in a loud voice: Blessed are you among women, and blessed is the child you will bear! Blessed is she who has believed that what the Lord has said to her will be accomplished!” (Luke 1:38, 42, 45).

           Catholics remind us of another “Marian” truth that’s easy to overlook but nevertheless stupendous. In some mysterious way the incarnation resulted not only from the work of God the Father but also from the will of the Mother Mary. Numerous church fathers acknowledged Mary’s active cooperation in the history of salvation. According to Thomas Aquinas (Summa, III:30), human redemption depended upon the consent of the pregnant teenager Mary. She didn’t ask to bear the Son of God, nor was she compelled to do so. She might have said no, or like Zechariah responded to Gabriel’s staggering annunciation in disbelief. But she didn’t shrink from God’s call on her life, and instead enriched all humanity by her willing participation and obedient submission.

Ronald_Jones_Madonna_and_Child_sm           Mary was also a woman of prophetic pronouncement. Her “Magnificat” moves from the deeply personal to the explicitly political. God, Mary proclaims, “has been mindful of the humble state of His servant. . . the Mighty One has done great things for me.”  This peasant girl who a few months later would bear the Son of God then praises God the Mighty One because He has “brought down rulers from their thrones but has lifted up the humble. He has filled the hungry with good things but has sent the rich away empty” (Luke 1:48–49, 52–53). I wonder what Herod or Tiberius thought when they heard her words. The incarnation of the Son of God, Mary announced, meant the inversion of conventional wisdom. Dethroning political power, plundering rich people, and redistributing food supplies signaled a new age and order.

           Finally, Eastern Orthodox believers emphasize that because the son of Mary was the Son of God, God made flesh, we honor her with the technical term theotokos (“bearer of God”). In his poem The Annunciation John Donne thus marvels:

Salvation to all that will is nigh;
That All, which always is all everywhere,
Which cannot sin, and yet all sins must bear,
Which cannot die, yet cannot choose but die,
Lo, faithful virgin, yields Himself to lie
In prison, in thy womb; and though He there
Can take no sin, nor thou give, yet He will wear,
Taken from thence, flesh, which death’s force may try.
Ere by the spheres time was created, thou
Wast in His mind, who is thy Son and Brother;
Whom thou conceivst, conceived; yea thou art now
Thy Maker’s maker, and thy Father’s mother;
Thou hast light in dark, and shutst in little room,
Immensity cloistered in thy dear womb.

This term theotokos bestowed upon Mary by church fathers since the third century acknowledges her special role in redemption; she is nothing less than the “Mother of God.” When the term gained official status at the third ecumenical council of Ephesus in 431, the intent was to emphasize the full divinity of the son more than the privileged status of his mother. Mary did not give birth to a mere man (christotokos), as the Nestorians taught; she bore a child who was fully divine.

 Larry_Scully_Madonna_And_Child_Soweto_sm           If you wonder why Catholics and the Orthodox refer to Mary as the “Blessed Virgin,” consider the Gospel for this week: “Blessed are you among women,” Elizabeth said. “From now on all generations shall call me blessed,” Mary acknowledged. Veneration of the Mother of God leads to exaltation of the Son of God, which is precisely the message of Christmas: “My soul glorifies the Lord and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior.”

For further reflection

* What has been your experience of Mary?
* With which of the four aspects of Mary above do you most fully resonate?
* What other subversions of cultural conventions might follow those of food, money, and political power because of the incarnation?
* Listen to Bach’s rendition of the “Magnificat.”
* Jaroslav Pelikan, Mary Through the Centuries (2004); Tim Perry, Mary for Evangelicals (2006); Scott McKnight, The Real Mary; Why Evangelical Christians Can Embrace the Mother of God (2006).

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An Essay for The Third Sunday in Advent

Monday, December 7th, 2009

In Advent we are looking  for Jesus’ coming to us.  What does Jesus mean when he says, “For judgment I came into the world?”  This is the question Dan B. Clendenin asks at the end of his essay, “From Political Analysis to Moral Civil_War_Congo_smAccountability: Ancient Poetry and Modern ‘Eliminationism’.”   Based on the Old Testament reading for next Sunday, Zephaniah 3:14-20,” Clendenin’s essays is a horror story in which we are implicated.   Here is the beginning of the essay:

Last month I read Worse Than War: Genocide, Eliminationism, and the Ongoing Assault on Humanity by Daniel Goldhagen.   Read the essay here.

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