Gospel: Luke 14:25-33
1st Reading: Deuteronomy 30:15-30
2nd Reading: Philemon 1:1-21
Well, do we have any takers? Is anyone here willing to give up family and all possessions to follow Jesus? Me neither! I’m kind of glad that you don’t all weigh the cost, because we wouldn’t have a congregation, if you did. I’ve asked many people to join the church and they tell me, no—that there is no way they could tithe or be at church every week or go to meetings all the time. And that’s when I get to tell them the good news of God’s grace. Joining the church is making it public what we already know is true, that you are a part of this community and we are a part of your life and ministry. We have exactly no requirements for being a member. If you want to be a voting member, that’s another story—you need to either take communion or give an offering that can be traced back to you in the previous year. A lot of people might be glad to miss the congregational meeting in which they can vote on a very exciting budget and a new batch of council members. Maybe we make it too easy to be a member here. I think we probably do. I’d rather err on the side of grace than upset or exclude someone. On the other hand, with no requirements at all, does it have any meaning to be a member of this congregation? I guess it means what you decide it means. Only you can decide your level of involvement—whether you want to truly be a part of this community, a family member deeply known and a part of something, or whether you’d prefer to keep it more distant, but always knowing we’re here if you need us. Of course, even if you’re not a member, we do try to be there for those who need us.
Well, Jesus isn’t talking about being a member of King of Kings or a Lutheran. He’s talking about those who want to be his disciple—who want to follow him. This is heavy stuff. You might be surprised, that to be a Lutheran, you don’t have to want to follow Jesus. You can be a Lutheran in name only and sit in a pew every Sunday, never read a Bible during the week, never help another person or care about anybody else, but I don’t think you’d be getting the most out of your faith. And that is what Jesus is talking about. I would hope that you would want to be a Lutheran and follow Jesus, too—be his disciple, too. If only we could do it without giving up everything we love!
Jesus really wants to get our attention in the Gospel this morning. That’s why he uses such strong language. We’re not going to be able to just sit here, and think to ourselves, “How nice of Jesus to say all that! What a sweet and gentle man!” He says to us here in our comfortable padded pews, having driven here in our comfortable cars, about to go eat a spread of fruit and crackers and cookies and coffee--He’s saying there is more to life than our comfort. He wants to invite us into something radical. So he tells us to hate our life. Oh it is so hard to hate my soft bed and my delicious food and my happy job. I will flat our refuse to hate my delicious child and my husband who is my best friend and my siblings who are, at times, annoying, but I am still far from hating. The word for hate used here doesn’t carry the emotion that our word does, but he’s still trying to get our attention. He’s inviting us along on this trip he’s taking, but it isn’t to the Bahamas or something. He wants us to know what we’re getting into. This isn’t like just joining the church—it is a lot of work and sacrifice. But he’s saying that it will be worth it in the end, because new life is going to take the place of the old life we’re leaving behind. This word for hate is more about priorities and what we are willing to give up. Still, I don’t think there are many of us who would be willing to give up our families and all that.
I wonder if God estimated the cost when he decided to throw in the hat with us. Some of the scriptures, with God lamenting the people’s idiocy and faithlessness, makes me wonder. But even after all that, God sent the Son, Jesus. God must have had a pretty good idea then how it would all turn out. So God gave up everything to be here with us. When we estimate the cost, maybe it is the cost to God, of what it took. For us to give up family and friends and possessions would be nothing compared to what God gave up. God, the author of life, the all-powerful, all-wise, all-knowing, gave all of that up—took on limits to be with us, to be us, and to give us life. When we consider that cost, doesn’t it make you a little less clingy to your stuff? If God could give up that view of the stars and the universe every day, give up that throne so high above, give up knowing and seeing everything all at once, maybe we could give something up to serve that God, especially because it means that our life takes on new meaning that is deeper, and so much more fulfilling than the one we have based around possessions.
The truth is that we will all, eventually, give up father, mother, spouse and children, brothers and sisters, all our possessions and even life itself. For some, it happens sooner than others. Our parents get sick, our spouse dies, we lose our children to addiction. We learn the art of letting go every day. The things we thought were most important change. We may have put the ultimate value in our work. Then we retire and we have to find new meaning in our lives. We might have put the ultimate value in raising our children, but the years fly by and we experience an empty nest. Then we have to find new meaning in our lives. We may have put all our faith in self-reliance, and suddenly we realize we can’t do all the things for ourselves that we used. We may find ourselves having that conversation with our kids about giving up driving or moving to assisted living. As we move from our homes to apartments, to a rehab center, we give up our possessions one by one. And of course, we all eventually give everything up, even our lives, when we die. But life is so much more than the things we have and even our family. And Jesus wants to give us that life, now, and for all eternity.
Jesus is saying that God is a part of that letting go. God knows what it is like to let go and it isn’t easy. God knows what it is like to suffer, because God did so in Jesus in life and on the cross. Even Jesus asked that the cup be taken from him. He may have estimated the cost, but when the time came, he found himself overwhelmed. Yet, he put his purpose first. He was not willing to compromise on his generous welcome and his critique of humanity, and that’s what got him killed.
What Jesus is saying is that there is one place you can put your energies that is completely reliable and that is to put your faith in God and your energies into following God. For Jesus, he did so completely. For us, it is a matter of degrees. We are somewhat committed to God. We are probably more committed to our family and friends. When forced to choose, we’d probably more often choose our family, friends, possessions, and comfort over our service to God. But not always. When we give our offerings, we make a small sacrifice in order to serve God. When we give our time, we are showing commitment to God. With practice, we can train ourselves to follow a little more boldly. When we do, I think we find ourselves, not hating our family and friends, but loving them in a new way—letting them be themselves and live their lives and make their own decisions. When we follow Jesus, we may not necessarily hate our possessions, but we are aware that they are temporary, we don’t spend all our time and energy protecting them. Instead, we use them in service to God, to help other people.
I think of two times when people in this congregation, took people into their homes who were in danger of becoming homeless. Both times, their families really struggled with it. They put someone else and their needs before the desires of family. Both times they estimated the cost, and both times it paid off. The risk was worth the outcome. But when you’re serving God, or doing anything really, you don’t know all the possible outcomes. An estimate is only an estimate. There are often unforeseen costs
Wednesday, September 11, 2013
Tuesday, September 3, 2013
September 1, 2013
Gospel: Luke 14:1, 7-14
1st Reading: Proverbs
2nd Reading: Hebrews 13:1-8, 15-16
Based on the Gospel, I thought about handing out a seating chart this morning, but I didn't want to be looking for work, come Monday morning. I suppose throwing you off with worshiping outside is already pushing my luck! It is pretty amazing how some of us can get so attached to a particular spot and others can be so flexible able to adjust to something so simple as a new seat.
We might not realize, but where we sit says something about who we are and where we fit in. Think of the first time you walked into the sanctuary. How did you decide where to sit? How did you end up where you are now? Do you normally sit on the aisle or mid-pew? Do you sit in the back or near the front? Have you ever ended up stuck on a hump between the pews—very uncomfortable! What are your sight lines? Can you hear? What are the distractions around you?
There is a spot near the back where many times no one sits. I've been told the last three people who sat there died and now the people in entire back row are protecting the rest of us. Of course a seat doesn't kill you. It is partly a reminder of those who have gone. We haven't forgotten them. In a way we are saving a seat for them in our hearts. It is a way to remind others of those we have cared together about and continue to share stories and memories about them. If they let you sit there, I guess you know they don't mind if you're the next to go!
You can tell a lot about someone's position in life by their location. We live in the US where people tend to be on the wealthy side compared to a lot of countries. We live in Oregon, so we are awesome, of course! You can tell something about someone's social status by what neighborhood they live in, what stores they shop at, and where they work.
It gets more subtle when you start talking about where someone sits at the table. The more power you have, the more choices you have about where you sit. Once the most powerful has chosen, then it is up to everyone else to decide where they fit in the
power structure. Sitting close to the person with the most power shows you are friends and have influence with them. It means you share their values and views. You know when someone makes a seating arrangement for a dinner party or wedding reception, you don't put two people next to each other who are going to argue.
So here is Jesus at this dinner party. I'm not sure I'd want to invite him to a barbecue at my house. He's kind of a lose cannon. He’s looking at this group and he’s critiquing it. While everyone is standing around, watching Jesus to see where he’ll sit, watching each other, to see where they will sit, Jesus is watching them. Even though he’s among all these important people, he’d rather be somewhere else. This isn’t his scene. He’d rather be out preaching on the mountain or the field. He’d rather be among the poor, who don’t waste all this time trying to decide where to sit or whose the greatest, but plop down wherever they are and take in Jesus’ generosity, pull out whatever food they have tucked in their pocket and share it with their neighbor. They don’t look as good or smell as good. They are just regular people and they are starving for his teaching, his attention, his food and aren’t ashamed to admit it. They don’t care who they sit next to, as long as they get a chance to be near Jesus.
So Jesus just lets these important people have it. “You think you’re hot stuff! What a waste of time! Take a good look at yourselves! Quit trying to be more important than you are.” He’s insulted every guest. Then he goes on to insult the host. “You’ve got your guest list all wrong. You just invite people who can reciprocate. How about inviting people just because of their value as people instead of what they can do for you.” Jesus doesn’t like to play the games we play of where to sit and giving the most attention to the most powerful. He knows that God is the only one that’s truly good. The rest of us fall short. The rest of us are all even. We think we’re better because we’ve got more money or drive a better car or can afford to get our teeth fixed or got an education or don’t smoke or are healthy or whatever. The truth is, wealth, health, age, mental faculties, all that is temporary. And the truth is, we have all fallen far short, we’ve all been self-serving, we haven’t valued every person for who they are, we’ve all invited people because of what they could do for us. There is God way up here. Then there’s the rest of us—none are better are worse. We’ve all fallen short. No one is better than anyone else or worse.
That’s one of my favorite things about church. When I was growing up, I didn’t have new clothes. My mom might have put $5 in the offering a week and that was truly all she could afford. No one in my family had been to college. We didn’t know what fork to start with. We came in a dirty, white one-ton van with seats my dad made himself and we occasionally snagged our nylons on. Yet, we were truly a part of that community. Nobody judged us or the runs in our stockings. That church was family to us and we were to them.
During my vacation, I got to go back to my home congregation for the first time in many years. It was like coming home—seeing all those people who had given me summer jobs and encouraged me and prayed for me. I could have been trapped in a life of boredom and worked at National Frozen Food for the rest of my life, but because this group took me under their wing and believed in me, I learned there were other possibilities. Because of them, I was inspired to go to college and then Seminary. Because of them, I’ve seen something of the world. I’ve been invited into people’s lives in good times and bad. I’ve had the chance to begin live up to my potential and found myself pretty fulfilled and definitely challenged and often delighted!
This is the Kingdom of God, to me, when those who aren’t valued much in the world get some attention and care and it lifts them to their potential. The important people, who normally wouldn’t be bothered with these little guys, don’t differentiate, but stoop to make support networks and families with those who are different from them and lift them up to new levels. Actually both groups benefit from associating with each other. Our whole world is made better. Someday even those in upper classes with all their ducks in a row are going to find themselves in the lower position, needing someone with power and influence to help them. Hopefully, we all build relationships among many different groups so that we can be that support to each other in different times in our lives.
There are so many people that we run into each day. It is a matter of whether we will see each other with fear or with interest and hope. When we are fearful or don’t know any better, we try to position ourselves in a better place and be more powerful and important. But as we go through life, we realize that is temporary and that people can have value beyond their money or attractiveness or job or car. There are some people in life who have a natural positive attitude about other people. When they see other people, they are hopeful. They see the angel in each person. They see the potential. They invest in all kinds of people generously without regard for superficial, temporary traits. They get a lot out of life. Yes, sometimes people take advantage of them and they get hurt. But more often than not, people come through and show a side of themselves that might have been unexpected. May we all keep our eyes open for the angels among us. And who knows someone might then see an angel in us.
1st Reading: Proverbs
2nd Reading: Hebrews 13:1-8, 15-16
Based on the Gospel, I thought about handing out a seating chart this morning, but I didn't want to be looking for work, come Monday morning. I suppose throwing you off with worshiping outside is already pushing my luck! It is pretty amazing how some of us can get so attached to a particular spot and others can be so flexible able to adjust to something so simple as a new seat.
We might not realize, but where we sit says something about who we are and where we fit in. Think of the first time you walked into the sanctuary. How did you decide where to sit? How did you end up where you are now? Do you normally sit on the aisle or mid-pew? Do you sit in the back or near the front? Have you ever ended up stuck on a hump between the pews—very uncomfortable! What are your sight lines? Can you hear? What are the distractions around you?
There is a spot near the back where many times no one sits. I've been told the last three people who sat there died and now the people in entire back row are protecting the rest of us. Of course a seat doesn't kill you. It is partly a reminder of those who have gone. We haven't forgotten them. In a way we are saving a seat for them in our hearts. It is a way to remind others of those we have cared together about and continue to share stories and memories about them. If they let you sit there, I guess you know they don't mind if you're the next to go!
You can tell a lot about someone's position in life by their location. We live in the US where people tend to be on the wealthy side compared to a lot of countries. We live in Oregon, so we are awesome, of course! You can tell something about someone's social status by what neighborhood they live in, what stores they shop at, and where they work.
It gets more subtle when you start talking about where someone sits at the table. The more power you have, the more choices you have about where you sit. Once the most powerful has chosen, then it is up to everyone else to decide where they fit in the
power structure. Sitting close to the person with the most power shows you are friends and have influence with them. It means you share their values and views. You know when someone makes a seating arrangement for a dinner party or wedding reception, you don't put two people next to each other who are going to argue.
So here is Jesus at this dinner party. I'm not sure I'd want to invite him to a barbecue at my house. He's kind of a lose cannon. He’s looking at this group and he’s critiquing it. While everyone is standing around, watching Jesus to see where he’ll sit, watching each other, to see where they will sit, Jesus is watching them. Even though he’s among all these important people, he’d rather be somewhere else. This isn’t his scene. He’d rather be out preaching on the mountain or the field. He’d rather be among the poor, who don’t waste all this time trying to decide where to sit or whose the greatest, but plop down wherever they are and take in Jesus’ generosity, pull out whatever food they have tucked in their pocket and share it with their neighbor. They don’t look as good or smell as good. They are just regular people and they are starving for his teaching, his attention, his food and aren’t ashamed to admit it. They don’t care who they sit next to, as long as they get a chance to be near Jesus.
So Jesus just lets these important people have it. “You think you’re hot stuff! What a waste of time! Take a good look at yourselves! Quit trying to be more important than you are.” He’s insulted every guest. Then he goes on to insult the host. “You’ve got your guest list all wrong. You just invite people who can reciprocate. How about inviting people just because of their value as people instead of what they can do for you.” Jesus doesn’t like to play the games we play of where to sit and giving the most attention to the most powerful. He knows that God is the only one that’s truly good. The rest of us fall short. The rest of us are all even. We think we’re better because we’ve got more money or drive a better car or can afford to get our teeth fixed or got an education or don’t smoke or are healthy or whatever. The truth is, wealth, health, age, mental faculties, all that is temporary. And the truth is, we have all fallen far short, we’ve all been self-serving, we haven’t valued every person for who they are, we’ve all invited people because of what they could do for us. There is God way up here. Then there’s the rest of us—none are better are worse. We’ve all fallen short. No one is better than anyone else or worse.
That’s one of my favorite things about church. When I was growing up, I didn’t have new clothes. My mom might have put $5 in the offering a week and that was truly all she could afford. No one in my family had been to college. We didn’t know what fork to start with. We came in a dirty, white one-ton van with seats my dad made himself and we occasionally snagged our nylons on. Yet, we were truly a part of that community. Nobody judged us or the runs in our stockings. That church was family to us and we were to them.
During my vacation, I got to go back to my home congregation for the first time in many years. It was like coming home—seeing all those people who had given me summer jobs and encouraged me and prayed for me. I could have been trapped in a life of boredom and worked at National Frozen Food for the rest of my life, but because this group took me under their wing and believed in me, I learned there were other possibilities. Because of them, I was inspired to go to college and then Seminary. Because of them, I’ve seen something of the world. I’ve been invited into people’s lives in good times and bad. I’ve had the chance to begin live up to my potential and found myself pretty fulfilled and definitely challenged and often delighted!
This is the Kingdom of God, to me, when those who aren’t valued much in the world get some attention and care and it lifts them to their potential. The important people, who normally wouldn’t be bothered with these little guys, don’t differentiate, but stoop to make support networks and families with those who are different from them and lift them up to new levels. Actually both groups benefit from associating with each other. Our whole world is made better. Someday even those in upper classes with all their ducks in a row are going to find themselves in the lower position, needing someone with power and influence to help them. Hopefully, we all build relationships among many different groups so that we can be that support to each other in different times in our lives.
There are so many people that we run into each day. It is a matter of whether we will see each other with fear or with interest and hope. When we are fearful or don’t know any better, we try to position ourselves in a better place and be more powerful and important. But as we go through life, we realize that is temporary and that people can have value beyond their money or attractiveness or job or car. There are some people in life who have a natural positive attitude about other people. When they see other people, they are hopeful. They see the angel in each person. They see the potential. They invest in all kinds of people generously without regard for superficial, temporary traits. They get a lot out of life. Yes, sometimes people take advantage of them and they get hurt. But more often than not, people come through and show a side of themselves that might have been unexpected. May we all keep our eyes open for the angels among us. And who knows someone might then see an angel in us.
August 25, 2013
Gospel: Luke 13:10-17
1st Reading: Isaiah 58:9b-14
2nd Reading: Hebrews 12:18-29
I’ve heard this phrase a lot lately, “Getting old ain’t for sissies!” I can appreciate that, since I have my own aches and pains. I’m not complaining, mind you. I’m just exhausted most days, in a good way!
In the Gospel, we meet a woman who knows about aches and pains of body and spirit. Who is this woman who is bent over and crippled for 18 years? We don’t know very much about her. She is completely silent at the beginning of this story—but still Jesus notices her. She doesn’t complain to anyone about her illness. She doesn’t ask to be healed on the Sabbath or any other time. She doesn’t say anything at all until we hear that she began praising God. Even after she’s healed, she doesn’t get into the debate between Jesus and the leader of the Synagogue.
We can know from the history and culture of that time that she wouldn’t have been allowed to be a full member of society. We can assume that she was probably blamed for her illness and that people probably avoided her. It is likely that she wasn’t even supposed to be there in the synagogue that day, let alone close enough to this holy man that he would have noticed her.
In some ways the reading leaves it open for us to interpret who is this bent woman. I think of our churches, bent over budgets, bent out of shape about who is included and who isn’t, bent up looking backward about the good old days and what we’re doing wrong that we aren’t growing, bent up with fear about the future, bent toward holding fast to what we’re used to, bent over with low self esteem. Some of this is about the larger church and all the stories that send us in a fearful spiral about how the church is shrinking and we’ve gotta change or die, --stories that either make us cling to the newest fad to try to hang on a little longer or hold fast to old traditions that we don’t know why we like them but we do.
Thankfully, I have found in this congregation, while yes, a little bent with age and a teeny bit of anxiety here and there and with past hurts, actually more than a little flexibility that I really appreciate. We may be bent, but part of that is out of necessity—we’ve had to learn to bend with some of the difficulties with leaders, pastors, with budgets, with loss and grieving many members over the years whether they died or moved on. So I know I’ve found this to be a place of grace, although bent a little here and there.
You’ve been pretty open to different ideas. For instance, next week we’ll be worshiping outside. It is a little inconvenient moving chairs and trying to speak loud enough that folks can be heard outdoors. But we do it because it reminds us that God is not just here in our building, but in the world. And we find ourselves seeing God in different ways. The outdoor service can be a good time to invite friends and family who don’t feel as comfortable in our sanctuary, and many of you often do. I appreciate your willingness to stretch and invite and bend a little to experience God in a new way.
You’ve been flexible about the pantry, about partnering with Church of God of Prophecy, about different groups using the building, and to different ways of worshiping, celebrating, and working together. I want to encourage you and remind you to keep up the good work. There is always more that we can do to bend and adapt and be relevant. We can do even better to be welcoming and open and encouraging to all. We’re pretty good at this, but everyone makes mistakes. I’ve overheard little side comments very similar to this complaint by the synagogue leader about what is proper and what isn’t. I’ve seen sideways glances. I’ve occasionally participated in a lack of welcome, too. There are ways that we could be more flexible while still being grounded in what’s most important, our Savior Jesus Christ and his love and grace. To get grounded, we read the Bible, we have prayer practices, we worship and sing God’s praises, and remind ourselves of how he’s welcomed us completely, and now we get to bend to make sure that others are welcomed as fully as we have been.
Being bent isn’t all that bad. It shows adaptability. If you look at reeds, you can see the little joints, the places that hold the stalk together and allow for movement in the wind. I love laying on the ground and watching trees sway in the wind. They have the ability to be strong, but also the give to move a little and give a little. Our big tree in front of our house even makes a wonderful creaking sound. I like to think of that as its praising of God, like this bent over woman in the Gospel.
Think of the people bent in and around this congregation. Some are facing serious illness. Others are aging. Some are grieving. People come to the church crippled with hunger for food and a friend. Our friends with Church of God of Prophecy had been crippled, held back from growing because their meeting space was inadequate until now. We have all at times been bent by rejection, by fear, had our hopes crushed.
For our congregation, for us as individuals, for our neighbors and friends, even for the trees and reeds, Jesus comes with healing, renewal, repair, and restoration. He comes with joy and daring. And to our embarrassment, he comes on the wrong day! He is going to get the powers that be in a tizzy. He is healing and feeding the wrong people on the wrong day in the wrong way. He is healing and rebuilding the church in the wrong way on the wrong day. We’ve got our ideas of what healing should look like and how it should happen, and he’s throwing healing around willy nilly. He doesn’t line people up from most deserving to least or hardest working to laziest.
But for Jesus, this is what Sabbath is for. Yes it is about rest. Yes it is about focus on God. But God’s focus is healing and restoration and freeing people, all people, all creation, every single day, especially on the Lord’s day. God wants to free congregations from anxiety and shame and being stuck. God wants to free people from hunger and disease and burdens. God wants to free neighbors from isolation. God wants to free us all from arbitrary social conventions (like what day healing can and can’t take place) that don’t help us but only make life harder.
God is about healing and freeing. Love is about healing and freeing. Jesus not only healed that crippling disease, but also took that upon himself. He allowed himself to be bent over with all the burdens of life that we face. He knew the burdens of hunger. He was bent with shame, with pain, with abandonment. He didn’t shun being bent. Instead he embraced it, so that in our bent state, we could stand tall. We could stand up straight and tall whether we are from a large congregation or small one, whether we could afford a part-time or full-time pastor, whether we had pews or chairs, whether we were young or old. Jesus came so that we could stand tall whether we were sick or well, gay or straight, divorced, widowed, or married, no matter what we wore or how many pearcings or tattoos we have or don’t have, how much ear hair we have, or what devotional practices we might have, or any other differences between people. Being freed, ourselves, to stand up straight, we have to be careful then not to be hypocrites and apply another set of rules to others. We can then free others to stand up and be their fullest selves.
We are the bent woman. We have known difficulty in life. We find ourselves somehow in Jesus’ presence. Jesus sees us and all we have been going through. We may or may not ask for the help we need, but Jesus brings us healing and renewal nonetheless. It is a scandal that he does it. We didn’t do anything to deserve that healing. There are people in more need, who are worse off. He does something scandalous. He offers himself for our healing and hangs naked and exposed, humiliated and accused, bent and broken for the healing of all. And what can we do, but give thanks and praise, stand up tall, and minister to others so they know the freedom and welcome that we do!
1st Reading: Isaiah 58:9b-14
2nd Reading: Hebrews 12:18-29
I’ve heard this phrase a lot lately, “Getting old ain’t for sissies!” I can appreciate that, since I have my own aches and pains. I’m not complaining, mind you. I’m just exhausted most days, in a good way!
In the Gospel, we meet a woman who knows about aches and pains of body and spirit. Who is this woman who is bent over and crippled for 18 years? We don’t know very much about her. She is completely silent at the beginning of this story—but still Jesus notices her. She doesn’t complain to anyone about her illness. She doesn’t ask to be healed on the Sabbath or any other time. She doesn’t say anything at all until we hear that she began praising God. Even after she’s healed, she doesn’t get into the debate between Jesus and the leader of the Synagogue.
We can know from the history and culture of that time that she wouldn’t have been allowed to be a full member of society. We can assume that she was probably blamed for her illness and that people probably avoided her. It is likely that she wasn’t even supposed to be there in the synagogue that day, let alone close enough to this holy man that he would have noticed her.
In some ways the reading leaves it open for us to interpret who is this bent woman. I think of our churches, bent over budgets, bent out of shape about who is included and who isn’t, bent up looking backward about the good old days and what we’re doing wrong that we aren’t growing, bent up with fear about the future, bent toward holding fast to what we’re used to, bent over with low self esteem. Some of this is about the larger church and all the stories that send us in a fearful spiral about how the church is shrinking and we’ve gotta change or die, --stories that either make us cling to the newest fad to try to hang on a little longer or hold fast to old traditions that we don’t know why we like them but we do.
Thankfully, I have found in this congregation, while yes, a little bent with age and a teeny bit of anxiety here and there and with past hurts, actually more than a little flexibility that I really appreciate. We may be bent, but part of that is out of necessity—we’ve had to learn to bend with some of the difficulties with leaders, pastors, with budgets, with loss and grieving many members over the years whether they died or moved on. So I know I’ve found this to be a place of grace, although bent a little here and there.
You’ve been pretty open to different ideas. For instance, next week we’ll be worshiping outside. It is a little inconvenient moving chairs and trying to speak loud enough that folks can be heard outdoors. But we do it because it reminds us that God is not just here in our building, but in the world. And we find ourselves seeing God in different ways. The outdoor service can be a good time to invite friends and family who don’t feel as comfortable in our sanctuary, and many of you often do. I appreciate your willingness to stretch and invite and bend a little to experience God in a new way.
You’ve been flexible about the pantry, about partnering with Church of God of Prophecy, about different groups using the building, and to different ways of worshiping, celebrating, and working together. I want to encourage you and remind you to keep up the good work. There is always more that we can do to bend and adapt and be relevant. We can do even better to be welcoming and open and encouraging to all. We’re pretty good at this, but everyone makes mistakes. I’ve overheard little side comments very similar to this complaint by the synagogue leader about what is proper and what isn’t. I’ve seen sideways glances. I’ve occasionally participated in a lack of welcome, too. There are ways that we could be more flexible while still being grounded in what’s most important, our Savior Jesus Christ and his love and grace. To get grounded, we read the Bible, we have prayer practices, we worship and sing God’s praises, and remind ourselves of how he’s welcomed us completely, and now we get to bend to make sure that others are welcomed as fully as we have been.
Being bent isn’t all that bad. It shows adaptability. If you look at reeds, you can see the little joints, the places that hold the stalk together and allow for movement in the wind. I love laying on the ground and watching trees sway in the wind. They have the ability to be strong, but also the give to move a little and give a little. Our big tree in front of our house even makes a wonderful creaking sound. I like to think of that as its praising of God, like this bent over woman in the Gospel.
Think of the people bent in and around this congregation. Some are facing serious illness. Others are aging. Some are grieving. People come to the church crippled with hunger for food and a friend. Our friends with Church of God of Prophecy had been crippled, held back from growing because their meeting space was inadequate until now. We have all at times been bent by rejection, by fear, had our hopes crushed.
For our congregation, for us as individuals, for our neighbors and friends, even for the trees and reeds, Jesus comes with healing, renewal, repair, and restoration. He comes with joy and daring. And to our embarrassment, he comes on the wrong day! He is going to get the powers that be in a tizzy. He is healing and feeding the wrong people on the wrong day in the wrong way. He is healing and rebuilding the church in the wrong way on the wrong day. We’ve got our ideas of what healing should look like and how it should happen, and he’s throwing healing around willy nilly. He doesn’t line people up from most deserving to least or hardest working to laziest.
But for Jesus, this is what Sabbath is for. Yes it is about rest. Yes it is about focus on God. But God’s focus is healing and restoration and freeing people, all people, all creation, every single day, especially on the Lord’s day. God wants to free congregations from anxiety and shame and being stuck. God wants to free people from hunger and disease and burdens. God wants to free neighbors from isolation. God wants to free us all from arbitrary social conventions (like what day healing can and can’t take place) that don’t help us but only make life harder.
God is about healing and freeing. Love is about healing and freeing. Jesus not only healed that crippling disease, but also took that upon himself. He allowed himself to be bent over with all the burdens of life that we face. He knew the burdens of hunger. He was bent with shame, with pain, with abandonment. He didn’t shun being bent. Instead he embraced it, so that in our bent state, we could stand tall. We could stand up straight and tall whether we are from a large congregation or small one, whether we could afford a part-time or full-time pastor, whether we had pews or chairs, whether we were young or old. Jesus came so that we could stand tall whether we were sick or well, gay or straight, divorced, widowed, or married, no matter what we wore or how many pearcings or tattoos we have or don’t have, how much ear hair we have, or what devotional practices we might have, or any other differences between people. Being freed, ourselves, to stand up straight, we have to be careful then not to be hypocrites and apply another set of rules to others. We can then free others to stand up and be their fullest selves.
We are the bent woman. We have known difficulty in life. We find ourselves somehow in Jesus’ presence. Jesus sees us and all we have been going through. We may or may not ask for the help we need, but Jesus brings us healing and renewal nonetheless. It is a scandal that he does it. We didn’t do anything to deserve that healing. There are people in more need, who are worse off. He does something scandalous. He offers himself for our healing and hangs naked and exposed, humiliated and accused, bent and broken for the healing of all. And what can we do, but give thanks and praise, stand up tall, and minister to others so they know the freedom and welcome that we do!
July 21, 2013
Gospel: Luke 10:38-42
1st Reading: Genesis 18:1-10
Second Reading: Colossians 1:15-28
Since my husband is an independent filmmaker, he pays close attention to the film industry. We don’t always watch the Academy Awards, but we did a couple of years ago when Kathryn Biggelo was up for best director for the film “Hurt Locker.” Female directors don’t get nominated very often and up to that point none had won in that category. She did win that year, but it still doesn’t change the fact that men write the vast majority of screenplays, direct most of the movies, have many of the best film roles, and are the movie executives who decide which films get to be made. In all of Nick’s film classes, it was rare that he even had a woman classmate at all. I know I sometimes find it hard to relate to female characters in films. Could it be because of the lack of female representation in the film industry?
Luke ensures women equal footing with men in his Gospel. He gets that his message is for everyone, and so for every story he tells with a male hero, he tells another with a female heroine. Last week, we heard about the Good Samaritan, who helped a stranger in need and saved his life. There were men all over that story, asking questions, trying to justify themselves, beating people up, falling in ditches, being important, passing by, and coming to the rescue. This morning we get the counterpart story of Mary and Martha—a story for women about women—it is the Lifetime Network of the Gospels.
Remember the question for last week was, “What must I do to inherit eternal life?” and “Who is my neighbor?” We’ll start with the first question about life.
Mary and Martha are practicing hospitality, like Abraham in the Old Testament story. They are welcoming Jesus into their midst. They clean house. They cook food. They sit at Jesus’ feet and listen to him. But only one of them is really living.
I think it is understood that in our church we have a lot of “doers”—people willing to pitch in and help, bring things, come to the rescue of someone in need, welcome visitors, etc. That’s one of the things that makes this church pretty amazing—all the people working together to keep this the welcoming place that it is. I know a lot of people who claim to be a “Martha.” Hard work is really valued in churches, families, communities, and the Kingdom of God. After all, we just heard a hero story of the Good Samaritan who came to help. Aren’t we supposed to be doing? So why is Jesus being so hard on Martha?
The problem is that Martha is making herself so unhappy in her serving. She is worried that the food won’t turn out right. She is angry at her sister for not helping her. She is distracted by all her tasks that she has to do. She is complaining to the very one she is trying to welcome. The only way you can be a Martha is to complain all the time—so sorry, I can’t let any of you claim that, anymore. Martha is serving Jesus. She may prepare the most wonderful meals, but it doesn’t bring her joy. She isn’t really living, as long as she does these tasks out of obligation.
This story is really groundbreaking. In Martha’s time, there would have been very few paths open to her if she wanted to serve Jesus. Her place is the home. Her hospitality comes through food—not by choice, but because her culture decided for her. For Mary to have the chance to sit at Jesus’ feet and listen would have been unheard of. Mary is breaking through all convention, and acting as a man, at Jesus’ feet. Yet, this is what gives her life. This is what brings her joy. Jesus is saying we don’t have to fit the expectations set down for us.
Why are we here? Society would say it is to fit in a certain category and do certain tasks so that everything gets done. But the question from the lawyer last week seems to indicate that we are actually here to inherit eternal life, to inherit unlimited life, to live fully. Mary takes the risk to try something new and she loves it. Martha is unhappy, but she doesn’t change anything about how she behaves. Instead she tries to change her sister—or she tries to get Jesus to change her sister. She tries to put her sister back in that box.
I love that Jesus tells Martha that Mary has taken the better part. He knows if everyone sits at Jesus’ feet, he’s not going to get anything to eat. On the other hand, if he gets hungry enough, he knows how to catch and barbecue some delicious fish. When I was growing up, my grandma woke at 5 am to make breakfast for my grandpa. I’m not even sure he could make a sandwich. He never had to, as far as I know. In my house, my husband and I take turns cooking the meals. We both take care of our child. We both mow the lawn. We both work outside the home. So who has taken the better part—me or my grandma? It is about a balance of listening and doing, rest and action. It is about finding what gives life to ourselves and others. But if we find ourselves in the same old rut, feeling put out by our roles and chores and complaining to our guests, it is probably a good time to consider whether what we’re doing gives us life, or if we need to try something else. Thankfully, different things give different people life at different times, so if we all did what truly gives us life, we would presumably find the balance and the different gifts that make for a healthy society.
We’re getting somewhere with the question about living fully and eternal life. But what about, “Who is my neighbor?” Remember, the lawyer quotes the scripture that says, “Love your neighbor as yourself.” Sometimes we forget that we are commanded to love ourselves. Mary is loving herself. She’s doing what gives her life. It must have made Jesus happy to have someone listen to him with such interest. Martha is not doing the loving thing for herself or her sister or Jesus. She’s just making everyone miserable. Even if her food is delicious, who will be able to enjoy it, with all the tension and complaining going on?
Who is my neighbor? Because of Jesus we get to look for God in places we never expected. In Genesis, these strangers show up and Abraham treats them with such respect. He sees that they represent God. He gives them the best of what he and his wife and servants have to offer, both food and attention. Yahweh, God, appeared to him as three strangers who came for lunch. Yet, Abraham’s hunger, his deepest need, is also being met. A stranger brought news from the outside world. Abraham needed company, he needed connection, he needed community, and that day he found it in those three strangers, he found it in God. His love of God, himself, and his neighbor were all wrapped up into one. In Colossians, Paul writes that one of the biggest mysteries is “Christ in you.” God is not far away, but within the people we know, strangers, foreigners, even within ourselves, and in every creature under heaven. It is Christ who holds all things together, not us. We can let go of our usual roles and it won’t all fall apart. It is in God’s hands. God is the director and the screenwriter and the key player of all the parts. And Mary and Martha experienced Jesus in their own house—one was too upset to enjoy it, and the other loved herself enough to take the chance to sit and listen to him, to hang on his every word. If God is with in you and you and you and in that wide circle I tried to draw last week with my pirouette, how do we respond? Who are we going to feed? Who are we going to listen to? What will be our attitude when we do those things? God’s hope for us is that we would find joy, that we would both listen and serve, and that we would see and honor God in ourselves, the stranger, and our sister at the same time.
1st Reading: Genesis 18:1-10
Second Reading: Colossians 1:15-28
Since my husband is an independent filmmaker, he pays close attention to the film industry. We don’t always watch the Academy Awards, but we did a couple of years ago when Kathryn Biggelo was up for best director for the film “Hurt Locker.” Female directors don’t get nominated very often and up to that point none had won in that category. She did win that year, but it still doesn’t change the fact that men write the vast majority of screenplays, direct most of the movies, have many of the best film roles, and are the movie executives who decide which films get to be made. In all of Nick’s film classes, it was rare that he even had a woman classmate at all. I know I sometimes find it hard to relate to female characters in films. Could it be because of the lack of female representation in the film industry?
Luke ensures women equal footing with men in his Gospel. He gets that his message is for everyone, and so for every story he tells with a male hero, he tells another with a female heroine. Last week, we heard about the Good Samaritan, who helped a stranger in need and saved his life. There were men all over that story, asking questions, trying to justify themselves, beating people up, falling in ditches, being important, passing by, and coming to the rescue. This morning we get the counterpart story of Mary and Martha—a story for women about women—it is the Lifetime Network of the Gospels.
Remember the question for last week was, “What must I do to inherit eternal life?” and “Who is my neighbor?” We’ll start with the first question about life.
Mary and Martha are practicing hospitality, like Abraham in the Old Testament story. They are welcoming Jesus into their midst. They clean house. They cook food. They sit at Jesus’ feet and listen to him. But only one of them is really living.
I think it is understood that in our church we have a lot of “doers”—people willing to pitch in and help, bring things, come to the rescue of someone in need, welcome visitors, etc. That’s one of the things that makes this church pretty amazing—all the people working together to keep this the welcoming place that it is. I know a lot of people who claim to be a “Martha.” Hard work is really valued in churches, families, communities, and the Kingdom of God. After all, we just heard a hero story of the Good Samaritan who came to help. Aren’t we supposed to be doing? So why is Jesus being so hard on Martha?
The problem is that Martha is making herself so unhappy in her serving. She is worried that the food won’t turn out right. She is angry at her sister for not helping her. She is distracted by all her tasks that she has to do. She is complaining to the very one she is trying to welcome. The only way you can be a Martha is to complain all the time—so sorry, I can’t let any of you claim that, anymore. Martha is serving Jesus. She may prepare the most wonderful meals, but it doesn’t bring her joy. She isn’t really living, as long as she does these tasks out of obligation.
This story is really groundbreaking. In Martha’s time, there would have been very few paths open to her if she wanted to serve Jesus. Her place is the home. Her hospitality comes through food—not by choice, but because her culture decided for her. For Mary to have the chance to sit at Jesus’ feet and listen would have been unheard of. Mary is breaking through all convention, and acting as a man, at Jesus’ feet. Yet, this is what gives her life. This is what brings her joy. Jesus is saying we don’t have to fit the expectations set down for us.
Why are we here? Society would say it is to fit in a certain category and do certain tasks so that everything gets done. But the question from the lawyer last week seems to indicate that we are actually here to inherit eternal life, to inherit unlimited life, to live fully. Mary takes the risk to try something new and she loves it. Martha is unhappy, but she doesn’t change anything about how she behaves. Instead she tries to change her sister—or she tries to get Jesus to change her sister. She tries to put her sister back in that box.
I love that Jesus tells Martha that Mary has taken the better part. He knows if everyone sits at Jesus’ feet, he’s not going to get anything to eat. On the other hand, if he gets hungry enough, he knows how to catch and barbecue some delicious fish. When I was growing up, my grandma woke at 5 am to make breakfast for my grandpa. I’m not even sure he could make a sandwich. He never had to, as far as I know. In my house, my husband and I take turns cooking the meals. We both take care of our child. We both mow the lawn. We both work outside the home. So who has taken the better part—me or my grandma? It is about a balance of listening and doing, rest and action. It is about finding what gives life to ourselves and others. But if we find ourselves in the same old rut, feeling put out by our roles and chores and complaining to our guests, it is probably a good time to consider whether what we’re doing gives us life, or if we need to try something else. Thankfully, different things give different people life at different times, so if we all did what truly gives us life, we would presumably find the balance and the different gifts that make for a healthy society.
We’re getting somewhere with the question about living fully and eternal life. But what about, “Who is my neighbor?” Remember, the lawyer quotes the scripture that says, “Love your neighbor as yourself.” Sometimes we forget that we are commanded to love ourselves. Mary is loving herself. She’s doing what gives her life. It must have made Jesus happy to have someone listen to him with such interest. Martha is not doing the loving thing for herself or her sister or Jesus. She’s just making everyone miserable. Even if her food is delicious, who will be able to enjoy it, with all the tension and complaining going on?
Who is my neighbor? Because of Jesus we get to look for God in places we never expected. In Genesis, these strangers show up and Abraham treats them with such respect. He sees that they represent God. He gives them the best of what he and his wife and servants have to offer, both food and attention. Yahweh, God, appeared to him as three strangers who came for lunch. Yet, Abraham’s hunger, his deepest need, is also being met. A stranger brought news from the outside world. Abraham needed company, he needed connection, he needed community, and that day he found it in those three strangers, he found it in God. His love of God, himself, and his neighbor were all wrapped up into one. In Colossians, Paul writes that one of the biggest mysteries is “Christ in you.” God is not far away, but within the people we know, strangers, foreigners, even within ourselves, and in every creature under heaven. It is Christ who holds all things together, not us. We can let go of our usual roles and it won’t all fall apart. It is in God’s hands. God is the director and the screenwriter and the key player of all the parts. And Mary and Martha experienced Jesus in their own house—one was too upset to enjoy it, and the other loved herself enough to take the chance to sit and listen to him, to hang on his every word. If God is with in you and you and you and in that wide circle I tried to draw last week with my pirouette, how do we respond? Who are we going to feed? Who are we going to listen to? What will be our attitude when we do those things? God’s hope for us is that we would find joy, that we would both listen and serve, and that we would see and honor God in ourselves, the stranger, and our sister at the same time.
Wednesday, July 17, 2013
July 14, 2013
Gospel: Luke 10:25-37
1st Reading: Deuteronomy 30:9-14
2nd Reading: Colossians 1:1-14
I remember a sticker on my grandparents’ motorhome, a red circle with a picture of a man with a halo. It said, “Good Sam’s Club!” I wondered what good deeds my grandparents had done to deserve being admitted to this exclusive group. I had no idea that anyone can purchase a membership that reduces the cost of staying at an RV park! The character of the Good Samaritan is so well known—it has been adopted into our culture. Everyone, Christian or not, knows what a “Good Samaritan” is. Google “Good Samaritan” and you’ll find hundreds of images and videos. There is Good Samaritan Hospital, of course. Anyone can be a good Samaritan, just by opening a door for someone or smiling at them or serving in a soup kitchen for a couple of hours.
I think the story of the Good Samaritan appeals to us, because we like to help and feel good about ourselves, not that there is anything wrong with that. But usually when I hear this story, I feel guilty. I think of this story almost every day when I pass someone on the street carrying a sign, pleading for money or food or work. I think to myself that I need to help that person, get to know that person. That’s what Jesus would do. That’s what Jesus calls me to do. Yet, day after day, again and again I don’t do it. I feel ashamed of myself. I feel ashamed of my country that we don’t provide the support people need to live. I judge, and say to myself, “They must have burned all their bridges not to have anybody to help them.” I feel guilty about my own inaction. I feel angry at our government which has abandoned the mentally ill. I feel helpless to make any real difference. I feel smug that our church has a pantry that at least does something to help people in our neighborhood. When I see a person who is suffering, I feel convicted of selfishness and greed which makes me feel even more guilty and afraid and even less likely to help. I get into this never-ending cycle.
In some ways the story of the Good Samaritan is so well known, that we can’t really see what’s going on. Let’s take a closer look at this interaction. This important man, this lawyer is asking a question of Jesus. “What can I do to inherit eternal life?” This is an “I” question about something personal to him. Certainly salvation is a question for individuals to work out for themselves. I can’t affect someone else’s salvation, can I?
Or can I? I know, when I get into my guilty, judgmental, and smug cycle I get focused on me again and I get stuck. Some have said selfishness is the root of sin—we make idols of ourselves. And when it is about me, it can be so isolating and helpless because I can do almost nothing by myself. So is the lawyer even asking the right question or a helpful question?
Jesus is moving all of us, this morning, from the “I” to the “we.” First he asks about the law. The law comes from outside ourselves and gives us rules to help us make good decisions. It takes us from a selfish question, to consider the opinions of others—toward the “we.” If I am seeking eternal life, or a good restaurant, or perfect teeth, it might be good to consult others, and even consult experts. The law is like the Angie’s List or E-How or Better Business Bureau—the expert on good ways to get things done. The law begins to take us from the selfishness and helplessness of the “I” to the wider view of the “we.”
The man knows just what the law says, to the letter. He has recited this since he was a child. He knows it forward and backward. But he wants more than a saying. Maybe he wants Jesus to tell him he’s a good person. Maybe he wants any onlookers to know how wise he is. Maybe part of him is really wondering who his neighbor is. Whatever the reason, he asks. “Who is my neighbor?” It is easy to see neighbor as immediate family and friends. It is easy to see the person living on each side of you as neighbor. The smaller we draw the circle, the more likely we’re going to be able to actually do the loving thing.
What Jesus does is expand the circle wider than any of his audience would have expected. It is hard for us to imagine. What would be the equivalent today? A muslim in a hijab is walking by and is the one to come to the rescue, a biker in drag is the one to stop and help, an undocumented immigrant who doesn’t speak English is the one to come to the aid of the person in the ditch, a teenager, an old person in a wheelchair—all these would have been about as expected as the Samaritan. These are my neighbors.
This story invites us to play each part in the story. In one instance we might play one part and in another instance, we might play another, but the point is there are multiple roles and each depends on the other.
I feel guilt and fear and smugness, when I put myself in the role of the people who walk by uncaringly. I am that person plenty of the time. But sometimes I am the person who stops to help. When I think of times I have been able to come to the rescue, I feel deep joy welling up. I feel tears of thanksgiving that I was at the right place at the right time.
And when I think of times I was in the ditch, I feel an immense sense of thankfulness that someone stopped to help me, even at their extreme inconvenience.
I get to be three people at once rather than just one. In this way the story invites us to go from the “I” to the “we.” It gets at the complexity that we face as people, our mixed motives, our mixed experiences of power and vulnerability, our mixed emotions when faced with choices.
This story reminds us that salvation (another word for healing) is not about me. I depend on others for help. Eternal life is not about me. My life depends on other people. It always has and it always will.
The life of the man in the ditch depended on his neighbors. Literally he needed pulled out of the ditch and cared for or he would have died.
The life of the priest and Levite that pass by depend also on their neighbors. Were they really living when they passed by? The laws of the time would have dictated that they don’t go anywhere near a corpse, which is what they may have truly believed they were seeing. Likewise, you’re not going to see me approaching any naked, bloody, men in ditches. At least, I can call 911 on my cell phone now, which they didn’t have the chance to do then. But how many people do I pass by on a daily basis, because I have a schedule to keep, people to see, meetings to attend, and better things to do? Is that really living? Is that really doing my job as a pastor, as a neighbor?
This story reminds us why we’re here. We’re here to show mercy. We’re here to spread love and healing (salvation). Our schedules and routines are supposed to help us do that, not get in the way of that.
Ultimately, this story is about what Jesus does for us. We are the ones in the ditch. We’ve been left for dead by our own doing and sin, by mean people, by the natural course of events. Others in our lives have failed us. They have walked on by, or even pushed us in. It is Jesus who walks into our lives and comes to our aid. He is a stranger. We have rejected him. He’s not like us. He’s that biker, that teenager, that Middle Eastern man that we’ve written off and walked past any number of times. Surprisingly, the ones we’ve relied on pass on by, but he’s the one who stops and renders aid at great personal expense to him. Not only does he pull us out of that ditch, but he gets us the help we need, turns our life around, and pays the full bill for complete healing.
Eternal life—we think of it as heaven that we will go to after we die. I’ve heard it said many times, eternal life starts today. It has no beginning and no end. Maybe it would better be called “unlimited life.” How can I inherit unlimited life? I can’t. You can’t. Unlimited means it has to go beyond you and me. It doesn’t stop. How can we inherit unlimited life? As Christians, we know it comes through Jesus Christ and his gifts. It takes me and you, it takes Jesus. And it doesn’t stop there. Just as Jesus reached out to us in the ditches, unlimited life goes beyond us to those in even deeper the ditches. When we remember how we have been helped and saved by others and by the grace and mercy of God, we can reach out to others in the ditches, not from a sense of guilt and shame, but out of a sense of gratefulness and joy for all God has done for us.
1st Reading: Deuteronomy 30:9-14
2nd Reading: Colossians 1:1-14
I remember a sticker on my grandparents’ motorhome, a red circle with a picture of a man with a halo. It said, “Good Sam’s Club!” I wondered what good deeds my grandparents had done to deserve being admitted to this exclusive group. I had no idea that anyone can purchase a membership that reduces the cost of staying at an RV park! The character of the Good Samaritan is so well known—it has been adopted into our culture. Everyone, Christian or not, knows what a “Good Samaritan” is. Google “Good Samaritan” and you’ll find hundreds of images and videos. There is Good Samaritan Hospital, of course. Anyone can be a good Samaritan, just by opening a door for someone or smiling at them or serving in a soup kitchen for a couple of hours.
I think the story of the Good Samaritan appeals to us, because we like to help and feel good about ourselves, not that there is anything wrong with that. But usually when I hear this story, I feel guilty. I think of this story almost every day when I pass someone on the street carrying a sign, pleading for money or food or work. I think to myself that I need to help that person, get to know that person. That’s what Jesus would do. That’s what Jesus calls me to do. Yet, day after day, again and again I don’t do it. I feel ashamed of myself. I feel ashamed of my country that we don’t provide the support people need to live. I judge, and say to myself, “They must have burned all their bridges not to have anybody to help them.” I feel guilty about my own inaction. I feel angry at our government which has abandoned the mentally ill. I feel helpless to make any real difference. I feel smug that our church has a pantry that at least does something to help people in our neighborhood. When I see a person who is suffering, I feel convicted of selfishness and greed which makes me feel even more guilty and afraid and even less likely to help. I get into this never-ending cycle.
In some ways the story of the Good Samaritan is so well known, that we can’t really see what’s going on. Let’s take a closer look at this interaction. This important man, this lawyer is asking a question of Jesus. “What can I do to inherit eternal life?” This is an “I” question about something personal to him. Certainly salvation is a question for individuals to work out for themselves. I can’t affect someone else’s salvation, can I?
Or can I? I know, when I get into my guilty, judgmental, and smug cycle I get focused on me again and I get stuck. Some have said selfishness is the root of sin—we make idols of ourselves. And when it is about me, it can be so isolating and helpless because I can do almost nothing by myself. So is the lawyer even asking the right question or a helpful question?
Jesus is moving all of us, this morning, from the “I” to the “we.” First he asks about the law. The law comes from outside ourselves and gives us rules to help us make good decisions. It takes us from a selfish question, to consider the opinions of others—toward the “we.” If I am seeking eternal life, or a good restaurant, or perfect teeth, it might be good to consult others, and even consult experts. The law is like the Angie’s List or E-How or Better Business Bureau—the expert on good ways to get things done. The law begins to take us from the selfishness and helplessness of the “I” to the wider view of the “we.”
The man knows just what the law says, to the letter. He has recited this since he was a child. He knows it forward and backward. But he wants more than a saying. Maybe he wants Jesus to tell him he’s a good person. Maybe he wants any onlookers to know how wise he is. Maybe part of him is really wondering who his neighbor is. Whatever the reason, he asks. “Who is my neighbor?” It is easy to see neighbor as immediate family and friends. It is easy to see the person living on each side of you as neighbor. The smaller we draw the circle, the more likely we’re going to be able to actually do the loving thing.
What Jesus does is expand the circle wider than any of his audience would have expected. It is hard for us to imagine. What would be the equivalent today? A muslim in a hijab is walking by and is the one to come to the rescue, a biker in drag is the one to stop and help, an undocumented immigrant who doesn’t speak English is the one to come to the aid of the person in the ditch, a teenager, an old person in a wheelchair—all these would have been about as expected as the Samaritan. These are my neighbors.
This story invites us to play each part in the story. In one instance we might play one part and in another instance, we might play another, but the point is there are multiple roles and each depends on the other.
I feel guilt and fear and smugness, when I put myself in the role of the people who walk by uncaringly. I am that person plenty of the time. But sometimes I am the person who stops to help. When I think of times I have been able to come to the rescue, I feel deep joy welling up. I feel tears of thanksgiving that I was at the right place at the right time.
And when I think of times I was in the ditch, I feel an immense sense of thankfulness that someone stopped to help me, even at their extreme inconvenience.
I get to be three people at once rather than just one. In this way the story invites us to go from the “I” to the “we.” It gets at the complexity that we face as people, our mixed motives, our mixed experiences of power and vulnerability, our mixed emotions when faced with choices.
This story reminds us that salvation (another word for healing) is not about me. I depend on others for help. Eternal life is not about me. My life depends on other people. It always has and it always will.
The life of the man in the ditch depended on his neighbors. Literally he needed pulled out of the ditch and cared for or he would have died.
The life of the priest and Levite that pass by depend also on their neighbors. Were they really living when they passed by? The laws of the time would have dictated that they don’t go anywhere near a corpse, which is what they may have truly believed they were seeing. Likewise, you’re not going to see me approaching any naked, bloody, men in ditches. At least, I can call 911 on my cell phone now, which they didn’t have the chance to do then. But how many people do I pass by on a daily basis, because I have a schedule to keep, people to see, meetings to attend, and better things to do? Is that really living? Is that really doing my job as a pastor, as a neighbor?
This story reminds us why we’re here. We’re here to show mercy. We’re here to spread love and healing (salvation). Our schedules and routines are supposed to help us do that, not get in the way of that.
Ultimately, this story is about what Jesus does for us. We are the ones in the ditch. We’ve been left for dead by our own doing and sin, by mean people, by the natural course of events. Others in our lives have failed us. They have walked on by, or even pushed us in. It is Jesus who walks into our lives and comes to our aid. He is a stranger. We have rejected him. He’s not like us. He’s that biker, that teenager, that Middle Eastern man that we’ve written off and walked past any number of times. Surprisingly, the ones we’ve relied on pass on by, but he’s the one who stops and renders aid at great personal expense to him. Not only does he pull us out of that ditch, but he gets us the help we need, turns our life around, and pays the full bill for complete healing.
Eternal life—we think of it as heaven that we will go to after we die. I’ve heard it said many times, eternal life starts today. It has no beginning and no end. Maybe it would better be called “unlimited life.” How can I inherit unlimited life? I can’t. You can’t. Unlimited means it has to go beyond you and me. It doesn’t stop. How can we inherit unlimited life? As Christians, we know it comes through Jesus Christ and his gifts. It takes me and you, it takes Jesus. And it doesn’t stop there. Just as Jesus reached out to us in the ditches, unlimited life goes beyond us to those in even deeper the ditches. When we remember how we have been helped and saved by others and by the grace and mercy of God, we can reach out to others in the ditches, not from a sense of guilt and shame, but out of a sense of gratefulness and joy for all God has done for us.
July 7, 2013
Gospel: Luke 10:1-11, 16-20
1st Reading: Isaiah 66:10-14
2nd Reading: Galatians 6:1-16
About 20 years ago Bette Midler had a hit song “From a Distance.” The refrain stated that “God is watching us from a distance.” There were some nice things about that song. It isn’t often that such an outwardly religious song shows up on the radio and the hit charts. The song was about what distance does, and that is to blur our differences, to help us see the big picture. One of the best lines of the song says, “From a distance, you look like my friend, even though we are at war.”
God, who created the universe, who has always existed and always will, who gave order to our world, must be distant, right? God is so much bigger, so much more powerful, so much more glorious than we can imagine. God must be far away from us puny little people.
At a youth event when I was a teenager, the group “Captive Free” performed that Bette Midler song. Although the song did have something to say, I felt that that it was missing some important theology that I hold dear. Yes, God sees the big picture. Yes, God holds us together in one family. God is bigger than all the universe and our comprehension. But God is also very near, which is the theme for today’s Gospel reading. The main job of Jesus’ disciples was to declare how close God’s Kingdom really is. We are disciples, too, and that is our job—to announce how near God’s Kingdom is.
Both my dad and my husband’s dad were in the military when we were little—far from home. I recently learned that our mothers both audio-taped us as toddlers chattering away to send to our grandmothers, so that they could have a taste of what it was like to be near. Many of you have experienced family scattered all over the US and in other countries, too. It used to be that all that you could do in a situation like that was write letters. Sometimes there were weeks between letters as you waited for them to arrive and then for the reply to come.
A year and a half ago my brother moved to Indiana to take a job. The rest of the family lives in Oregon, although spread from Medford, to the coast, to past La Grande. That’s a big reason we wanted to move back to Oregon—to be near family. It has been hard to have my brother so far away. Since he moved away, Sterling was born and my brother’s family added a little daughter who is now 4 months old. We really feel the distance between us.
So if distance isn’t good for family, how could it be for God? When we feel a distance between us and someone else, that is never good. When we push someone away, that never has a positive connotation. So why would it be good for God to watch us from a distance?
My brother and his family are visiting Oregon this month and I saw them last weekend. My nephews, although they live far away and haven’t seen me in almost two years, knew me instantly. It was because of Skype—video chat over the computer. Do some of you Skype with loved ones who live far away? Sometimes there is a delay with Skype, a little jerkiness, eye contact is impossible, sometimes we struggle with the sound or picture, but it brings us so much closer than a letter could. You hear the sound of their voice, see their body language, show each other books or toys. My mom reads to her grandchildren over Skype. My husband’s parents play peek-a-boo with Sterling. One time when the baby lost interest in Skyping, I laid him on the bed and blew bubbles over him and Nick’s parents just watched in wonder while he giggled and went wild with delight.
Yes, God is big and amazing and far away. But God is in everything and closer to us than we are to ourselves. God knows us intimately, has a count of the hairs on our head, and knows our joys and sorrows deeply and dearly. The Bible is about God approaching closer and closer, or maybe it is only our awareness that is changing. Abraham and Sarah have God over for dinner. Jacob wrestles with God—that is very close. Moses gets so close to God he has to take off his shoes and hide his eyes. The prophets were always reminding the people that God is in the poor and the stranger. God is always trying to show how close God is to us.
Finally, God was born into this world, to a teen mom, in a world that didn’t want him. Jesus grew up in this world, just like we did. He walked in our shoes. He had disappointments and heartbreak. He enjoyed life, too.
But there are a lot of people who are invested in there being distance between us and God. When God is close to people and people know that, we become empowered and stand up for the oppressed. Plenty of people thrive on the oppression of others and are threatened by that kind of cooperation and unity. If people knew God was close by and our divisions fell away, we wouldn’t have a need for a criminal justice system. People would be out of work.
When we know that God is close by, that brings us close to each other. When we are united in love, everyone will be fed and there are plenty of people who thrive in this world because others go hungry. I’m sure you can think of world leaders who manipulate people by their distribution of food. When people are united the world is changed and that is very scary for those invested in the world as it is. As long as people are divided, there will be things we can’t accomplish. When people are united in love, other people will be threatened.
In some way we are all invested in the world as it is. If there is healing on a massive scale, who would I go visit in the hospital? If you knew how close God was and that you had all the access you needed without any special words or years of study, I would be back working in an optometry shop. If neighbors cared for each other and shared all they had, we wouldn’t need the pantry anymore, and all these people who come together and work so hard, wouldn’t have anything to do. It is a problem I’d be happy for us to have.
Jesus came near and comes near all the time. God’s reign comes near and touches us all the time. It is a matter of us noticing God coming near in each bite we eat, in each interaction we have, in each cloud, raindrop, blade of grass, and weed, everyday in our mistakes and successes, in opportunities to serve and be served, in every word we speak and hear, in every hope, and especially in every person we meet. We are the ones who push God away. God is always drawing us closer and showing us just how near we are to God. And if near to God, then near to each other.
We in small congregations occasionally get to feeling sorry for ourselves that more people don’t come to our church. Remember Jesus appoints and sends out the seventy into every town. Jesus sends us out from here. Our job is not to get people into our pews or into our church, but to go out to them announcing peace and the nearness of God through healing, welcoming, taking risks, and loving.
1st Reading: Isaiah 66:10-14
2nd Reading: Galatians 6:1-16
About 20 years ago Bette Midler had a hit song “From a Distance.” The refrain stated that “God is watching us from a distance.” There were some nice things about that song. It isn’t often that such an outwardly religious song shows up on the radio and the hit charts. The song was about what distance does, and that is to blur our differences, to help us see the big picture. One of the best lines of the song says, “From a distance, you look like my friend, even though we are at war.”
God, who created the universe, who has always existed and always will, who gave order to our world, must be distant, right? God is so much bigger, so much more powerful, so much more glorious than we can imagine. God must be far away from us puny little people.
At a youth event when I was a teenager, the group “Captive Free” performed that Bette Midler song. Although the song did have something to say, I felt that that it was missing some important theology that I hold dear. Yes, God sees the big picture. Yes, God holds us together in one family. God is bigger than all the universe and our comprehension. But God is also very near, which is the theme for today’s Gospel reading. The main job of Jesus’ disciples was to declare how close God’s Kingdom really is. We are disciples, too, and that is our job—to announce how near God’s Kingdom is.
Both my dad and my husband’s dad were in the military when we were little—far from home. I recently learned that our mothers both audio-taped us as toddlers chattering away to send to our grandmothers, so that they could have a taste of what it was like to be near. Many of you have experienced family scattered all over the US and in other countries, too. It used to be that all that you could do in a situation like that was write letters. Sometimes there were weeks between letters as you waited for them to arrive and then for the reply to come.
A year and a half ago my brother moved to Indiana to take a job. The rest of the family lives in Oregon, although spread from Medford, to the coast, to past La Grande. That’s a big reason we wanted to move back to Oregon—to be near family. It has been hard to have my brother so far away. Since he moved away, Sterling was born and my brother’s family added a little daughter who is now 4 months old. We really feel the distance between us.
So if distance isn’t good for family, how could it be for God? When we feel a distance between us and someone else, that is never good. When we push someone away, that never has a positive connotation. So why would it be good for God to watch us from a distance?
My brother and his family are visiting Oregon this month and I saw them last weekend. My nephews, although they live far away and haven’t seen me in almost two years, knew me instantly. It was because of Skype—video chat over the computer. Do some of you Skype with loved ones who live far away? Sometimes there is a delay with Skype, a little jerkiness, eye contact is impossible, sometimes we struggle with the sound or picture, but it brings us so much closer than a letter could. You hear the sound of their voice, see their body language, show each other books or toys. My mom reads to her grandchildren over Skype. My husband’s parents play peek-a-boo with Sterling. One time when the baby lost interest in Skyping, I laid him on the bed and blew bubbles over him and Nick’s parents just watched in wonder while he giggled and went wild with delight.
Yes, God is big and amazing and far away. But God is in everything and closer to us than we are to ourselves. God knows us intimately, has a count of the hairs on our head, and knows our joys and sorrows deeply and dearly. The Bible is about God approaching closer and closer, or maybe it is only our awareness that is changing. Abraham and Sarah have God over for dinner. Jacob wrestles with God—that is very close. Moses gets so close to God he has to take off his shoes and hide his eyes. The prophets were always reminding the people that God is in the poor and the stranger. God is always trying to show how close God is to us.
Finally, God was born into this world, to a teen mom, in a world that didn’t want him. Jesus grew up in this world, just like we did. He walked in our shoes. He had disappointments and heartbreak. He enjoyed life, too.
But there are a lot of people who are invested in there being distance between us and God. When God is close to people and people know that, we become empowered and stand up for the oppressed. Plenty of people thrive on the oppression of others and are threatened by that kind of cooperation and unity. If people knew God was close by and our divisions fell away, we wouldn’t have a need for a criminal justice system. People would be out of work.
When we know that God is close by, that brings us close to each other. When we are united in love, everyone will be fed and there are plenty of people who thrive in this world because others go hungry. I’m sure you can think of world leaders who manipulate people by their distribution of food. When people are united the world is changed and that is very scary for those invested in the world as it is. As long as people are divided, there will be things we can’t accomplish. When people are united in love, other people will be threatened.
In some way we are all invested in the world as it is. If there is healing on a massive scale, who would I go visit in the hospital? If you knew how close God was and that you had all the access you needed without any special words or years of study, I would be back working in an optometry shop. If neighbors cared for each other and shared all they had, we wouldn’t need the pantry anymore, and all these people who come together and work so hard, wouldn’t have anything to do. It is a problem I’d be happy for us to have.
Jesus came near and comes near all the time. God’s reign comes near and touches us all the time. It is a matter of us noticing God coming near in each bite we eat, in each interaction we have, in each cloud, raindrop, blade of grass, and weed, everyday in our mistakes and successes, in opportunities to serve and be served, in every word we speak and hear, in every hope, and especially in every person we meet. We are the ones who push God away. God is always drawing us closer and showing us just how near we are to God. And if near to God, then near to each other.
We in small congregations occasionally get to feeling sorry for ourselves that more people don’t come to our church. Remember Jesus appoints and sends out the seventy into every town. Jesus sends us out from here. Our job is not to get people into our pews or into our church, but to go out to them announcing peace and the nearness of God through healing, welcoming, taking risks, and loving.
Tuesday, July 2, 2013
June 30, 2013
Gospel: Luke 9:51-62
1st Reading: 1 Kings 19:15-16, 19-21
2nd Reading: Galatians 5:1, 13-25
The birds of the air were asleep in their nests, and the bullfrogs croaking pleasantly in the lake at Camp Odyssey. The campers had a safe place to lay their heads, while the staff sat up to make sure there was no sneaking out. It was Friday evening, the last night of camp. If anyone was going to sneak out, this would be the time. This was their last chance to connect with that special love interest of 36 hours. This was their time to bond. This was their chance to test the limits now that they had been empowered. So the staff was anxious, and tired. We had our eyes on the prize—getting the campers safely through the week, even slightly more aware and open than when they arrived, rested and ready to go home in the morning. Nothing would stop us on our mission.
It was 2:30 am. I stood at the door of the bathroom arguing with four youth leaders who were supposed to be in bed. They needed a drink of water. The sound of the walkie talkies we were carrying on patrol were keeping them up. Why wouldn’t we let them sleep on their cabin porches? The adults were using their adult privilege to oppress the youth. Why wouldn’t we trust them? And on and on until I finally gave up and went to bed, knowing the next patrol would be by in 20 minutes to continue the conversation, there weren’t any boys around, and I was dead tired and needed to drive back to Portland the next day.
Eyes on the prize—that’s where Jesus is at in today’s Gospel reading. Only the prize doesn’t consist of him getting to sleep in his own bed, eat familiar food, and water his garden. This is the home stretch, the last lap for him as he heads for the cross.
I don’t think he’s complaining about his own discomfort—about not having a place to rest or belong. Believe me, the camp staff complained—good naturedly for the most part but maybe less so as the week progressed. But Jesus points out that this journey is not about his own comfort. He’s not here to lay his head down, or eat good food, or get recognition, or put his feet up. He’s here to serve. He’s here to teach about love and show love. He’s here to heal and feed and treat people like people no matter if they matter to anyone else. And this last lap is leading, not to a glorious finish, with cheering crowds and pretty girls. This race is leading him toward death, toward the cross, toward suffering.
A soft pillow and warm meal would be a distraction for him at this moment. He is focused. He is disciplined. He’s got one thing on his mind and that is to complete this journey, to take the worst of what human beings can dish out, to become the most despised all because people couldn’t handle how freely he offered love and compassion.
We are all on this same journey. It is easy to get distracted. When one is plowing a furrow, one look back and the row becomes crooked and throws off the whole rest of the field. It is like trying to drive while looking in your rearview mirror. Do any of us ever focus too much on the past. The past can inform us. We’d never be where we are without it. Yet we can get obsessed with the past and forget we are living in the present. We can carry regrets and pains we never healed. We can misremember the past and dwell there. We can impose our ideas of the past onto the present and try to make the present into the past. That is all futile. Jesus moves forward this morning, even though the future isn’t looking too bright at all, even though he must surely feel like giving up. He has his eye on the prize. The scene is set, the dominoes are already falling. There is no going back.
We are all on this journey with Jesus as his followers. When opportunities for service or sacrifice present themselves, it is easy to make excuses. “Little ol’ me?” Moses said, “But I have a speech impediment. You can’t expect me to lead the people.” Others say, “I am too busy already.”
We’d like to think that following Jesus would be easy, make life easy, make us rich, keep our loved ones from harm. But our journey, too, leads to the cross. We encounter it every day. Sometimes we do it to ourselves—increase our own pain, sAY things we regret, push other people away, etc. Sometimes it is completely random—an accident, A disease, a natural disaster. Sometimes we do all the right things and still we don’t see a better world.
At some point, Jesus says, we have to take a risk. We have to get out of our comfort zone, forsake our own pillow, our familiar role, our easy life, in order to really live. Sometimes that happens by choice. We Accept responsibility in a different way than we ever have before. We try something new out of curiosity, or out of a sense of duty, or because we want to learn and grow in a new way. Sometimes we do it because we’re forced to in a time of illness, or unemployment, or other upheaval in our lives.
Jesus encourages us not to make excuses. You have other priorities? Re-evaluate them now and then to make sure they are really giving you life. Don’t sign up to help with the same thing year after year just because that’s always what you have done. Ask yourself if it puts you on your path to the cross, to going through a little discomfort in order to learn and grow, whether it brings you closer to strangers, whether it is about love rather than recognition, whether it has the potential to open you more to others—to make you more compassionate and loving.
Jesus is saying don’t get distracted. One person in the Gospel has a funeral to attend. That sounds pretty important. He isn’t saying that wasn’t important. He’s saying that you can always think of one more important thing you’re doing that will keep you from your path. Another has someone to say goodbye to. There is always someone else to bid goodbye to. At some point, we need to lay those things Aside and get moving on our journey of faith.
However we might drag our feet, make excuses, argue with ourselves or God, Jesus moved forward to the cross to give us the freedom to dawdle and the freedom to move ahead. Like those campers standing in the bathroom At 3 am, we have a choice whether to get with the program. And Jesus responds in a very different way than I did that night. Jesus responds with grace. Jesus meets us where we are And respects where we are. Jesus shows us that we aren’t stuck where we are, but there is more to life. Jesus invites us someplace new—both scary and amazing.
Jesus’ journey was finally a matter of where he would lay his head, and that is in our hearts. Not that little Jesus we imagine when we are children, sitting inside us, but God’s love, God’s compassion, God’s generosity residing in our hearts And showing up in our words and actions.
The second to last day at camp we threw the ball around and whoever caught it said something they learned that week. Kevin was in my small group. He was in the foster care system and had been in trouble with the law. His friend had recently taken his own life. He had trouble engaging all week. But when he caught the ball he said, “I learned I can change my community.” I almost started crying. For a boy with so many troubles to get it like that and to be able to show that he got it was more than I could ask for. I hope that lives were changed for the better this week at camp—in fact, I know they were. That’s what Jesus hopes for today, too. Keep eyes on the prize, persevere to the finish, until God resides in all hearts and we form a community of caring and love.
1st Reading: 1 Kings 19:15-16, 19-21
2nd Reading: Galatians 5:1, 13-25
The birds of the air were asleep in their nests, and the bullfrogs croaking pleasantly in the lake at Camp Odyssey. The campers had a safe place to lay their heads, while the staff sat up to make sure there was no sneaking out. It was Friday evening, the last night of camp. If anyone was going to sneak out, this would be the time. This was their last chance to connect with that special love interest of 36 hours. This was their time to bond. This was their chance to test the limits now that they had been empowered. So the staff was anxious, and tired. We had our eyes on the prize—getting the campers safely through the week, even slightly more aware and open than when they arrived, rested and ready to go home in the morning. Nothing would stop us on our mission.
It was 2:30 am. I stood at the door of the bathroom arguing with four youth leaders who were supposed to be in bed. They needed a drink of water. The sound of the walkie talkies we were carrying on patrol were keeping them up. Why wouldn’t we let them sleep on their cabin porches? The adults were using their adult privilege to oppress the youth. Why wouldn’t we trust them? And on and on until I finally gave up and went to bed, knowing the next patrol would be by in 20 minutes to continue the conversation, there weren’t any boys around, and I was dead tired and needed to drive back to Portland the next day.
Eyes on the prize—that’s where Jesus is at in today’s Gospel reading. Only the prize doesn’t consist of him getting to sleep in his own bed, eat familiar food, and water his garden. This is the home stretch, the last lap for him as he heads for the cross.
I don’t think he’s complaining about his own discomfort—about not having a place to rest or belong. Believe me, the camp staff complained—good naturedly for the most part but maybe less so as the week progressed. But Jesus points out that this journey is not about his own comfort. He’s not here to lay his head down, or eat good food, or get recognition, or put his feet up. He’s here to serve. He’s here to teach about love and show love. He’s here to heal and feed and treat people like people no matter if they matter to anyone else. And this last lap is leading, not to a glorious finish, with cheering crowds and pretty girls. This race is leading him toward death, toward the cross, toward suffering.
A soft pillow and warm meal would be a distraction for him at this moment. He is focused. He is disciplined. He’s got one thing on his mind and that is to complete this journey, to take the worst of what human beings can dish out, to become the most despised all because people couldn’t handle how freely he offered love and compassion.
We are all on this same journey. It is easy to get distracted. When one is plowing a furrow, one look back and the row becomes crooked and throws off the whole rest of the field. It is like trying to drive while looking in your rearview mirror. Do any of us ever focus too much on the past. The past can inform us. We’d never be where we are without it. Yet we can get obsessed with the past and forget we are living in the present. We can carry regrets and pains we never healed. We can misremember the past and dwell there. We can impose our ideas of the past onto the present and try to make the present into the past. That is all futile. Jesus moves forward this morning, even though the future isn’t looking too bright at all, even though he must surely feel like giving up. He has his eye on the prize. The scene is set, the dominoes are already falling. There is no going back.
We are all on this journey with Jesus as his followers. When opportunities for service or sacrifice present themselves, it is easy to make excuses. “Little ol’ me?” Moses said, “But I have a speech impediment. You can’t expect me to lead the people.” Others say, “I am too busy already.”
We’d like to think that following Jesus would be easy, make life easy, make us rich, keep our loved ones from harm. But our journey, too, leads to the cross. We encounter it every day. Sometimes we do it to ourselves—increase our own pain, sAY things we regret, push other people away, etc. Sometimes it is completely random—an accident, A disease, a natural disaster. Sometimes we do all the right things and still we don’t see a better world.
At some point, Jesus says, we have to take a risk. We have to get out of our comfort zone, forsake our own pillow, our familiar role, our easy life, in order to really live. Sometimes that happens by choice. We Accept responsibility in a different way than we ever have before. We try something new out of curiosity, or out of a sense of duty, or because we want to learn and grow in a new way. Sometimes we do it because we’re forced to in a time of illness, or unemployment, or other upheaval in our lives.
Jesus encourages us not to make excuses. You have other priorities? Re-evaluate them now and then to make sure they are really giving you life. Don’t sign up to help with the same thing year after year just because that’s always what you have done. Ask yourself if it puts you on your path to the cross, to going through a little discomfort in order to learn and grow, whether it brings you closer to strangers, whether it is about love rather than recognition, whether it has the potential to open you more to others—to make you more compassionate and loving.
Jesus is saying don’t get distracted. One person in the Gospel has a funeral to attend. That sounds pretty important. He isn’t saying that wasn’t important. He’s saying that you can always think of one more important thing you’re doing that will keep you from your path. Another has someone to say goodbye to. There is always someone else to bid goodbye to. At some point, we need to lay those things Aside and get moving on our journey of faith.
However we might drag our feet, make excuses, argue with ourselves or God, Jesus moved forward to the cross to give us the freedom to dawdle and the freedom to move ahead. Like those campers standing in the bathroom At 3 am, we have a choice whether to get with the program. And Jesus responds in a very different way than I did that night. Jesus responds with grace. Jesus meets us where we are And respects where we are. Jesus shows us that we aren’t stuck where we are, but there is more to life. Jesus invites us someplace new—both scary and amazing.
Jesus’ journey was finally a matter of where he would lay his head, and that is in our hearts. Not that little Jesus we imagine when we are children, sitting inside us, but God’s love, God’s compassion, God’s generosity residing in our hearts And showing up in our words and actions.
The second to last day at camp we threw the ball around and whoever caught it said something they learned that week. Kevin was in my small group. He was in the foster care system and had been in trouble with the law. His friend had recently taken his own life. He had trouble engaging all week. But when he caught the ball he said, “I learned I can change my community.” I almost started crying. For a boy with so many troubles to get it like that and to be able to show that he got it was more than I could ask for. I hope that lives were changed for the better this week at camp—in fact, I know they were. That’s what Jesus hopes for today, too. Keep eyes on the prize, persevere to the finish, until God resides in all hearts and we form a community of caring and love.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)