Saturday in the Fourth Week

Jeremiah 11:18-20; Psalm 7:6-11; John 7:37-52

Discernment is a tricky business.  In today’s Gospel we see two different approaches to deciding what is true.  Neither is enough on its own.

Jesus comes to Jerusalem and makes a stunning pronouncement.  “Let anyone who is thirsty come to me, and let the one who believes in me drink.”  Some people said, “Wow!  This guy is really something.”  Others said, “He’s the Messiah.”  Others say, “He can’t be the Messiah.  He doesn’t fit the Scriptures.”  This is the appeal to biblical authority, often used today in painful ways.  John wants us to see the limitations of this way of thinking, so it’s easy to dismiss these folks.  They want their Messiah to fit their picture.  Good thing we’re smarter than that!  End of story?

Not so fast.  What about that first group?  They are impressed by Jesus.  John wants us to be like them, to hear Jesus and believe in him and follow.  But I wonder.  In my life, I’ve been impressed and moved by a lot of people who turned out to be less than a Messiah, less even than a prophet.  And I know I’m not alone.  So how do I temper my immediate emotional response to truly discern what is up at a given time?

Biblical literalism and unmediated response are two sides of a single coin.  What’s missing is genuine communal conversation and reflection.  We need to search our tradition, we need to examine the Scriptures, and we need to listen to our hearts and minds: and we need to do this with others, in a manner that lets us hear the subtle movement of the Spirit.  It takes longer to reach a point of clarity, but it’s worth it.

I imagine the crowd actually having a lively conversation, even arguing, as they hear Jesus.  I hope they didn’t separate into hostile camps too quickly, but stayed curious about what the others thought.  John’s story, in which you’re either with us or against us, doesn’t bode well for long-term growth (as we know from the history of his communities).  It sounds clear, but it’s the clarity of dissociated, binary thinking.  

Jesus speaks to each of us, and to all of us.  And it’s hard to understand, sometimes, what he’s saying.  It’s good to have friends, and even opponents, to sort it out.

Who do you go to to help you discern?

Friday in the Fourth Week

Wisdom 2:1a, 12-24; Psalm 34:15-22; John 7:1-2,10,25-30

“For God created us for incorruption, and made us in the image of [God’s] own eternity, but through the devil’s envy death entered the world, and those who belong to [the devil’s] company experience it.” (Wisdom 2:23-4)

Death entered the world through envy.  I think that’s profoundly true.  I’ve read, and I believe, that envy is the worst of the “mortal sins,” in that it is the only one that does not aim at some good.  Jealousy is rooted in a perceived good; gluttony, lust, avarice are excessive pursuit of a perceived good; even anger is often a reaction to a violation of what seems good and right.  But envy has no relation to any good.  

Envy seeks only to destroy and limit.  If I can’t have it, no one can.  If I can’t be it, no one can.  The envious person actively wills that others be less than they are, and in that way s/he sides with death.  In the Garden, I imagine the serpent envied Adam and Eve their status as stewards and wanted to take them down.  Envy seeks the bad.

We miss the verses in John 7 that show Jesus’ brothers struggling with what to make of him.  His brothers “did not believe” in him; but this unbelief sounds suspiciously like the envy of Joseph’s brothers (Genesis 37).  But we might also hear the scorn of the unrighteous in the Wisdom passage, the anger at being held accountable for their deeds, the desire to destroy what is righteous and true.

Envy is the door to death.  It’s so subtle.  “Who do you think you are?”  “You’ll get yours.”  “Don’t tell me about joy, or hope.”  “You’re a crazy dreamer.”  Don’t make me see my limitations!  Don’t make me see how small my world is, or how afraid I am, or how little I think of myself.  Come, be broken with me.  

God created us for incorruption, and made us in the image of God’s own eternity.  As we head toward Jerusalem, we need to remember.  Nothing can separate us from the love of God.  

Let the envious dead bury their dead; but as for you, come, follow Jesus.

Thursday in the Fourth Week

Exodus 32:7-14; Psalm 106:6-7,19-23; John 5:30-47

This story in Exodus cracks me up.  God is so human here, so like us.  “Your people have messed up.”  What happened to God’s covenant, God’s insistent call to Moses to take charge of these people?  It’s like a parent who, when a child causes trouble, tells their spouse, “Your child has done something wrong.”  Your people; not mine.

Moses isn’t having any.  He stands up to God, calling the Hebrews God’s people and reminding God of God’s role in the story.  He doesn’t defend what the people have done, but he calls on God to honor the promise.  And, in case the appeal to the covenant fails, Moses appeals to God’s pride.  “Do you want the neighbors to say you are a bad parent?”  Again, so human.  And God relents.

It’s tempting, when people are acting out or acting up, to disavow them.  I have struggled since last year’s election with saying, “Our President.”  I’m mindful of the bumper stickers over the years that read, “Don’t blame me; I voted for _____.”  But blame is not the point.  We are connected whether I like your behavior or not.  We are all in one boat.  You are all my people, whoever you vote for or whatever you do.  I don’t always like it, but I know it’s the saving truth.  Cutting off people is like cutting off a limb; the phantom pain is just as real, but now I’m left without an arm as well.

My impulse to abandon those who disappoint or infuriate me is as much a problem as anything the other might do.  Today I remember that even God is tempted to give up, but doesn’t in the end.  I also remember that sometimes an appeal to my pride, or that of others, might work when other commitments fail.  If I can accept my own humanity, and yours, I can better cooperate with God’s plan.

Is there someplace, someone you have disavowed?  Some part of yourself?  Go talk to God about it.  

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Wednesday in the Fourth Week

Isaiah 49:8-15; Psalm 145:8-19; John 5:19-29

A Song for Refugees, Exiles, and (Im)migrants: A Found Poem (Isaiah 49)

In a time of favor I have answered you, on a day of salvation I have helped you;

Saying to the prisoners, “Come out,”

to those who are in darkness, “Show yourselves.”

They shall feed along the ways; they shall not hunger or thirst,

neither scorching wind nor sun shall strike them down.

Lo, these shall come from far away,

and lo, these from the north and from the west, and south and east.

Sing for joy, O heavens, and exult, O earth; 

break forth, O mountains, into singing!

Can a woman forget her nursing child, 

or show no compassion for the child of her womb?

Even these may forget, yet I will not forget you.  

See, I have inscribed you on the palms of my hands.

Yes, Lord, yes.  Don’t forget us.  Don’t forget them.  Don’t let us forget them.

Teach us to love as you love, to see you in every tired and hungry stranger.  Open our doors, and let us trust in your abundance.  

See, now is the acceptance time; see, now is the day of salvation!

Yes, Lord, yes.

Tuesday in the Fourth Week

Ezekiel 47:1-9,12; Psalm 46:1-8; John 5:1-18

And now, a video blog!  I needed a mental health day, so Elizabeth joined me for a brief reflection on the Gospel passage.  Enjoy!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AdvS8FfA-04

Monday in the Fourth Week: Courtesy of Elizabeth

Monday in the Fourth Week of Lent: God PROMISES!

Isaiah 65:17-25; Psalm 30:1–6,11–13; John 4:43-54

I am about to create new heavens and a new earth;

the former things shall not be remembered or come to mind.

(Isaiah 65:17)

I don’t always remember that when God says things like this God PROMISES.  I respond as if God is saying “maybe I will, maybe I won’t.”  So I hedge my bets.  I stack up achievements, do my best to be perfect (ha!) and work to be as self-reliant as I can.  “Self-reliance failed us,” the AA Big Book says.  That doesn’t stop me from becoming despondent when I fail.   The maybe is often under the surface. 

Even when I care about suffering beyond my own I can fall into believing the “maybe.”  Then I may work really hard to fix it (or you!)  I act as if God says “It depends on you (singular or plural). It depends how you live, how you love, whether you confess your failures (and feel really bad about it).  If you….then the promise.  It is the ultimate bad equation.   

That is called being a “functional atheist.”  Or is it just bad religion?  Give lip service to God—and to placing trust in God—but hedge your bets.  Sing praise to God’s love and graciousness but be sure to operate as if new life that lasts is simply one possibility among many.  And whatever you do, don’t admit your doubt that God’s promises will have any real impact in the here and now.

Does God do commerce in promise, or possibility?  

I say God offers both.  The promise is that there WILL BE a new heaven and a new earth.  The promise is for us—all of us—from microbe to mountain, from acid raindrop to polluted ocean, all will be made new.

The possibility is that we will be part of creating it.   It is, indeed, only a possibility.  God gives us a choice.  Where will we align ourselves?  Who or what will we care about enough to DO something about tipping the balance.  How will we support the emergence of the new creation?  How do I?  How do you?  

 Some days I just don’t know.  But in this moment I know one thing:  it is a lot easier to discern the next step when I remember that I am not dealing with alternate facts with God.  I can trust what God promises and throw in my lot to be part of the promise coming to pass.  How about you?

Fourth Sunday in Lent: Sermon at St. Gregory's Episcopal Church, Woodstock NY

1 Samuel 16:1-13; Psalm 23; Ephesians 5:8-14; John 9:1-41

In 12-Step groups, newcomers often ask how the program works.  The answer they might get is, “here’s how: HOW.   Honesty, open-mindedness, and willingness are the keys to new life.”

This is just as true in our faith lives as in recovery from addictions.  In fact, it’s only true for recovery because it uses this spiritual truth.  The only barrier to spiritual growth is the inability to learn HOW.

We see this with our story today.  This blind man – let’s call him Fred – does not ask for healing.  Jesus just decides to heal him to show God’s glory at work.  The disciples, like many people of the time, believe that blindness is a punishment for sin.  Today, many people think that addiction is a matter of bad character, of sin, that either should be punished or is bringing punishment from God.  But Jesus says, Fred didn’t sin.  God isn’t punishing him.  Blindness in Jesus’ world is an occasion for God to show power by healing, not by punishing.

So Jesus heals Fred.  It’s simple, really; he puts some mud on his eyes, mud made with his spit, and tells him to go wash.  It’s simple, and it’s wrong by the standards of good behavior.  It’s the Sabbath, for one thing; this is too much like work.  And it’s unclean, full of bodily mess and mud.  Only a desperate man, or a really willing one, would go along with this.  But Fred does, and he’s healed.

Now, Fred can’t explain what’s happened to him.  He can tell that it happened, but he can’t tell why or how.  But he knows that he was blind, and now he sees.  That puts him ahead of all his neighbors and the Pharisees.  They are so certain of what is what that they can’t admit that Fred is healed.  Maybe it’s not him.  Maybe he was never really blind.  Maybe – maybe anything!  Just not that Jesus healed him on the Sabbath.

And isn’t that like us lots of days?  We want God to make sense, even if it makes us blind to what God is doing among us.  Or maybe, in our heart of hearts, we don’t want to know what God is doing.

It’s no coincidence that Fred finds himself alone once he’s healed.  Often people who choose to recover, or who turn their lives around, find that their families and friends are less than thrilled.  It turns out that no one is sick alone.  We are part of systems, usually our families to start, where we each have a role and a function.  If anyone changes their part, everyone has to adjust.  If you start to behave differently, I might have to notice how I behave.  

So if I don’t want to look at my behavior, my best bet is to keep you doing what you’ve always done.

Fred tells his story.  I was blind but now I see.  This man put mud on my eyes and had me wash.  And instead of rejoicing, his parents get scared.  They know that Fred could be in trouble with the Pharisees, and they want to dodge that bullet.  So they step away from him.  The Pharisees are upset because if Jesus is from God, if he’s healing on the Sabbath, then they don’t understand God like they thought they did.  Instead of being honest, open-minded and willing, we have a bunch of people who are being shifty, stubborn, and closed.  

In his open-minded honest quest, Fred grows closer and closer to Jesus.  He starts out just saying, “This guy did this thing.”  They he’s pressed to have an opinion, and he says, “He’s a prophet.”  That’s quite a commitment.  But then he goes further.  Jesus asks him to believe in him, the Son of Man, and he does.  He knows what he’s seen – the first thing he’s seen in his life.  Fred has gone from reporting a fact to confessing faith.  This is the moment when he really gains his sight.

Notice that Fred tells his story over and over, but he doesn’t seem to convince anyone.  He doesn’t bring anyone else to Jesus.  But he shows us how sharing our faith story can help us grow.  Even if it doesn’t help anyone else, even if it annoys others, it makes us reflect on our faith and helps us grow.  

Let me encourage you this week to spend some time writing down your faith story.  You may not know much yet.  You may be like Fred at the beginning: “all I know is that he put mud on my eyes and had me wash.”  That may always be the bottom line for you, like my recovery is the bottom line for me everyday.  “All I know is that when I was lost and hopeless, something put this book in my hand and this friend by my side and led me to my first meeting.”  All I know is that I stumbled into a church to sit in a quiet place, and I came out feeling at peace.”  “All I know is that when I look up at the stars, I feel a loving God around me.”  Whatever your story, it is precious.  Write down what has happened to you and your beliefs.  Share it with someone if you like.  But whether you share it or not, tell yourself what has happened to you.  

And as you write, ask yourself, where do you fit in Fred’s story? 

With Fred, willing to confess what has happened to you even before you fully understand it?

With the parents, private believers but afraid of losing status or connections if you share in public?

With the Pharisees, committed to the institution over against new experience of God?

Honest, open-minded and willing: That’s how you will see God.

Saturday in the Third Week: The Annunciation of our Lord to Mary

Readings for the feast are Isaiah 7:10-14; Psalm 40:5-11; Hebrews 10:4-10; Luke 1:26-38.

A friend told me that her Lenten practice is to stand in the space of “Do not be afraid.”  She hears God speaking to her through this simple phrase.  When she fears that her work will not be received well or that she’s not up to the task, she comes back to this message: Do not be afraid.

There are always reasons to be afraid.  (And sometimes our minds invent more, and make those fears sound reasonable.)  God does not want us to ignore real dangers or live in denial.  There is such a thing as holy caution, prudence, wisdom.  But God does call us to stretch past our reptilian brains, that part of us that focuses on simple survival at all costs, and trust that God is with us in our challenges.  Being fully human means partnering with God.  It means becoming the place where the human animal and the divine spark meet.

Mary knew about reasonable fear.  Joseph would learn about fear.  Jesus knew reasons to be afraid.  They took action to avoid trouble when that was called for, but they also stood their ground when it was time to do that.

There are always reasons to be afraid.  It takes faith to move through that to fullness of life.  May you be blessed among women (and men!), and bear the Christ in you with joy.  

Friday in the Third Week

Hosea 14:1-9; Psalm 81:8-14; Mark 12:28-34

Speaking of people of courage, today is the anniversary of the death of Oscar Romero, Archbishop of San Salvador, who was assassinated while celebrating the Eucharist in 1980.  Romero was chosen archbishop largely because the religious and military hierarchies saw him as weak and “safe.”  He was awakened to the suffering of the people there, and began to speak out against the government and businesses that oppressed the vast majority of people.  He was not the only religious figure killed by death squads in El Salvador, but his conversion and his leadership continue to inspire and teach us.

Unfortunately, Romero’s death did not end oppression in El Salvador.  His life, however, continues to encourage people to take action, to live out the commandment to love God and our neighbor.  It’s not complicated, but it’s not easy.  Non-governmental organizations work in the gaps to provide local education and advocacy, while also educating those of us who live in “safer” places about the needs of those living in contexts of oppression and deprivation.

The commandment is to love God and our neighbor.  We are called today to remember and turn.  We’re called every day: “O that today to you would hearken to God’s voice!”  Today.  Today.  Love God and your neighbor - today.  By doing so, you approach the kingdom of heaven.

Thursday in the Third Week

Jeremiah 7:23-28; Psalm 95:6-11; Luke 11:14-23

“So you shall speak all these words to them, but they will not listen to you” (Jer. 7:27).  Who exactly is being tested here?  The people have already failed; it seems that it is Jeremiah who is being tested.  Will he speak, knowing that it will only bring him trouble?  Jesus speaks to a similarly resistant crowd.  His words in today’s Gospel sound less like a reconciler than like a prophet of doom.

How do we remain faithful, when the truth is unpopular?  How do we find clarity and assurance that we hear God speaking, rather than our own egos?

Those who fought for civil rights in the 1950s and 1960s had a spiritual plan for waging that battle.  That plan was outlined by Martin Luther King Jr. in his “Letter from Birmingham Jail.”  The fourfold process of waging non-violent campaigns for justice includes collecting facts to determine if injustice is occurring, negotiation, self-purification through prayer and fasting, and finally direct action.

That plan is being revived today, as these rights are increasingly threatened and other goods, such as clean air, water, adequate food and shelter, health care, and education are being endangered again.  The Moral Resistance movement is just one group seeking to use this strategy for positive change.

This seems to me to be a Lenten call.  We may not succeed in turning the hearts of others in the ways that we hear God calling.  But success is not what God asked of Jeremiah.  God asked, God asks, for faithfulness.  

Sometimes the faithful path is gentle, and sometimes it is fierce.  But it is never hateful.  Jeremiah seeks the welfare of his city, even of its corrupt rulers.  Jesus seeks the welfare of all humanity.  But sometimes the medicine doesn't taste good, and the patient refuses to take it.  We cannot force another to turn to God, but we can choose for ourselves.

Is there something you need to say, to yourself or to others?  If you’re afraid, ask God for clarity and courage.  And pray for those prophets who speak up when it is unpopular or costly.  Pray that today we would hearken to God’s voice.

Wednesday in the Third Week

Deut. 4:1-2,5-9; Psalm 78:1-6; Matt. 5:17-19

Just do it.  Before it was a marketing slogan, it was truth.  Hearing about commandments does nothing.  Obeying, complying out of fear, does not really get us where God wants us to be.  Whole-hearted devotion, doing justice and loving mercy, will get us where we want to go.

Jesus comes to fulfill the law, not by intensifying the specifics of the law, but by going to their spirit and heart.  When we really turn, we naturally live in the spirit that the law invites us to.  We know the joy of life in the Spirit, even as we accept the demands placed on us.

Paul used the image of athletic training to describe the Christian life, and the same principles apply to spiritual exercise and physical.  We don’t gain the benefits from watching others do it, or judging how well they do it, or ignoring our bodies or souls.  We train because the reward is great, here in this life of the eternal now.

Just do it.  Do justice, love mercy.

Tuesday in the Third Week

Song of the Three Young Men 2-4, 11-20a (in some Bibles, this is Daniel 3:25-27, 34-43; in others it’s in the Apocrypha); Psalm 25:3-10; Matthew 18:21-35

Forgiveness again.  Jesus is unrelenting, the Gospels are unified, the tradition is clear.  And yet, until we’ve experienced the freedom that forgiveness brings, it’s just hard to take in.  When I was teaching I learned that people need to hear something seven times before they really hear it; maybe by the end of Lent this message will sink into all of us.

The image of the master who condemns the unforgiving servant can be a barrier to accepting forgiveness.  Even as we hear about God’s forgiveness, the parable suggests that this forgiveness is revocable if we don’t shape up.  God will change “His” mind and punish us if we don’t forgive.  I think this problem is due to the limits of metaphor rather than the nature of God.

It is a spiritual truth that we cannot experience forgiveness and the freedom it offers if we do not forgive.  God may forgive me, but if my heart is hardened I won’t know it or feel it.  It will be for me as though I’m cast into prison.  I will look to see who imprisoned me, and think that God did not forgive me after all.  But that’s an illusion.  The truth is that I’m the one imprisoning myself.  

It doesn’t matter whether the person to be forgiven is another, or is myself.  I can’t know that forgiving love without forgiving.  The Lord’s Prayer isn’t a petition so much as an affirmation of that truth:  We are forgiven as we forgive.  We know forgiveness as we forgive.  God forgives us every second, has forgiven us, but God won’t force us to acknowledge that.  We are free to live in prison if we choose.

Come out.  Unlock the doors of your prison, and of those you would hold in bondage.  Turn to God.  Read Psalm 25.  Then go forth, forgiven and forgiving.  And delight in your day!

Monday in the Third Week

2 Kings 5:1-15b; Psalm 42:1-7; Luke 4:23-30

Just in case you thought xenophobia and ethnic tensions were something new, we are reminded today of the enduring poison of suspicion and superiority.  In the story of Namaan we learn that God’s mercy and healing go beyond the boundaries set by humans.  Namaan is a conqueror, an oppressor of the people of Israel, but Elisha heals him (or, God heals him and Elisha announces it).  The line between Israelite and Aramean is not erased, but it is not the final word in God’s world.

Jesus reminds the people of Nazareth of this truth, and almost loses his life as a result.  They do not want to hear that their native son has a message that goes beyond them (and may in fact pass them by).  They want his gifts to bring glory to their town.  God’s generosity appears as a threat or an insult.

It seems that one sure way to lose God’s blessing is to demand it or claim it as my right.  When that happens, we leave the economy of grace and abundance and enter the economy of earning, of comparison, of scarcity.  We move from gift to deserving.  But all of Jesus’ stories tell us that the reign of God is characterized by grace and gift.  The last are first.  The earning son has the problem rather than the repentant son.  The hoarders and counters will miss the party.

Today we are awash in a culture of scarcity.  We close the borders that opened to many of our ancestors, and we punish those who need help.  Racism has become socially acceptable in the “highest” levels of government.  If Namaan showed up now, he couldn’t get a visa for his medical care (he was, after all, a Syrian).  His gifts, his contributions wouldn’t matter; he was born in the wrong place, and fought on the wrong side.  Let him suffer.  Let him die.

In God’s culture, we are not only allowed to cross borders; we are commanded to.  Samaritans, Syro-Phoenicians, women and men, leprous and clean, tax collectors and Pharisees, are all called to lay down the old hostilities and build something new together.  

Some people think we can do that on earth, here and now.  

What do you think?

Third Sunday in Lent

Exodus 17:1-7; Psalm 95; Romans 5:1-11; John 4:5-42

Thanks to Dario Ghersi, one of our Covenant Companions, for this reflection.

The Gospel for this Sunday tells of the famous encounter between Jesus and the Samaritan woman at the well. The story is rich and multifaceted, and every time I hear or read it something new shows up for me. This time what jumped at me was this verse: “Just then his disciples came. They were astonished that he was speaking with a woman.” The disciples have enough common sense not to question Jesus, though. Here we go again, once more: Jesus breaks free from the conventions of his times, not only addressing a woman directly, but announcing to her the good news that the Messiah has finally come. After hearing this, the unnamed woman rushes into town to announce the good news to everyone, having been invested with what looks like a prophetic mandate.

The contrast with the small-minded and very conventional way of thinking of the disciples is quite jarring. There is no doubt in my mind that the evangelist wants us to perceive it as such. On our side, we have behaved like those disciples for a very long time, to the point that the church has only recently begun to move beyond addressing only one of the genders in the liturgy. Through spending time with the Covenant of the Companions I have become acutely aware of this issue. A few years ago it did not bother me in the least. And yet, the words we say when we pray and when we worship shape the way we perceive, think, and feel.

A good friend of mine who has served in the Episcopal Church for a long time told me how she felt left out when saying the words of the Confession of Sin in the Rite I liturgy, “judge of all men.” Truth be told, she also quipped that since it is judgment we are talking about, perhaps being left out is not such a bad thing after all!

Gender-inclusive language refers to the use of words that bring everyone in, as well as to a balanced choice of biblical stories with male and female characters. Although there is still resistance in several denominations and congregations, ensuring that the language used in the liturgy is gender-inclusive has become an important issue for many pastors. When it comes to expansive language, though, things are much more complicated.

The technical term “expansive language” means addressing and referring to God with attributes that go beyond male-exclusive language. Common responses that we hear to this are that Jesus himself addressed God as “Father” on several occasions. I can’t argue with that, and the image of God as Father and Lord is obviously part of me. However, the Bible does include several tantalizing hints that point towards a more expansive reality. I’m thinking of Jesus’ address to Jerusalem in Matthew 23:37, for example: “How often have I desired to gather your children together as a hen gathers her brood under her wings […]” We could find many more examples.

Could these be small seeds planted by the Spirit, waiting to germinate at the right time? One thing is certain: words matter. Our perceptions, thoughts, and feelings are shaped by the language we use. The more expansive language used by the Companions has already started to stir things up for me.

How are we to respond to our sisters and brothers who are deeply attached to the language they have always used and who cannot imagine moving to a more expansive language? I don’t know. I suspect that the best we can do is to discern together. No matter what form our prayer books, church bulletins, and private devotions will take, I firmly believe that we will all experience growth if we engage with this issue. In the meanwhile, I’m reminded of that living water that Jesus promised to the woman at the well. Now that I think of it, in my mother tongue “water” is a feminine noun…

Saturday in the Second Week

Micah 7:14-15, 18-20; Psalm 103:1-4(5-8)9-12; Luke 15:11-32

Oh, I need to hear this story this week - especially after yesterday’s Gospel.  But I know many people who hate this parable, because God is so “unfair.”  And it’s true: God is outrageously unfair.  Does God really love (insert your nemesis’ name here) as much as me?  Is God “especially fond” of my enemies, as the God of The Shack suggests?  Don’t right and wrong, good and bad, mean anything to God?

Notice that the father in this parable does not excuse the younger son’s behavior.  He forgives him.  Forgiving doesn’t make a bad act OK; it simply releases the parties from being locked in pain.  The older brother remains locked in pain, in the midst of a party, because he would rather be right than happy.

On another level, this parable continues to challenge me.  My story has been that I sinned, I turned away from God, but when I returned God took me back.  God is gracious and merciful - but doesn’t have to be.  God might turn into the God of wrath, and I might deserve it.  So I continue to crawl back and say, “I am not worthy,” so I never really take in God’s delight at my return.

But God has another story.  In that story, grace and mercy are just who God is.  The God of wrath is a human construction, mirroring our fears and (in many cases) our families of origin.  When we live with the story of the God of wrath we are tempted to hide, or conform from fear rather than transform through love.

God is beyond fair.  God is not in the counting game or the measuring game.  God is love.  God is waiting to save us from self-accusation, as well as the accusations we throw at others.  We are invited to a party, if we will only accept.

How do we reconcile this God with the God of yesterday’s parable?  

When we turn away from God, we experience “hell.”  Then, we blame God and God’s wrath for that separation.  Our egos say that God did this to us, cast us out, but the truth is that we cast ourselves out.  I believe that those who were “cast out” are still welcome if they will but return.  There is no expiration date on God’s love.  Neither life nor death can separate us from the love of God.  Only our stubborn refusal can do that.

Come to the party!

Friday in the Second Week

Genesis 37:3-4, 12-28; Psalm 105:16-22; Matthew 21:33-43

Jesus’ parable here is surely challenging.  I’d love to find something else to write about.   How about Joseph being attacked and sold by his brothers?  What a choice.

As I sat with the parable, I thought of how it is often taught as a parable against “the Jews.”  Some Christians like to think that they are the people producing the fruits, when the wicked Jews turned against God.  But that’s not how it reads.  The last few verses, which are not appointed today, tell who it’s aimed at.  “When the chief priests and the Pharisees heard his parables, they realized that he was speaking about them” (v. 45).  Not “the Jews,” but a certain sector, those who thought they had the monopoly on truth and righteousness.  And even then I wonder: Didn’t some of them take his words to heart?  Nicodemus did, according to John.  Surely not all of them were of one heart and mind.

Whoever Matthew’s Jesus is aiming this parable at, I need to sit with it and ask, where am I doing this?  Where am I collecting the produce of God’s harvest and not giving what is due?  Where am I stoning or killing the messengers sent to bring me back into relationship?   And why, exactly, am I doing that?

The root sin of Joseph’s brothers is envy.  Is envy at work among the tenants in the parable?  It may not be the message that the tenants objected to; maybe they just envied the messenger.  Who does he think he is, anyway?  The Son of God?

Where is envy at work in me?  I know it’s there.  When others manifest gifts that I lack, do I turn away without acknowledging it?  When others have messages from God that I don’t want to hear, do I turn away or diminish them?  

I believe in a variety of gifts, and I believe what Jesus says about exaltation and humiliation, but still: I want my gifts, and yours.  I want to be exalted.  I’m sorry, God, but there it is.  Have mercy on me, a sinner.

Where are you with this today?

Addendum to Tuesday's Reflection

Thursday in the Second Week

Jeremiah 17:5-10; Psalm 1; Luke 16:19-31

Rob Bell does a great job with the story of Lazarus and the rich man, so I’m just going to quote him extensively here.  This is from Love Wins,, pp. 76-79.

“Jesus teaches again and again that the gospel is about a death that leads to life.  It’s a pattern, a truth, a reality that comes from losing your life and then finding it.  this rich man Jesus tells us about hasn’t yet figured that out.  He’s still clinging to his ego, his status his pride - he’s unable to let go of the world he’s constructed, which puts him on the top and Lazarus on the bottom, the world in which Lazarus is serving him.  

He’s dead, but he hasn’t died.

He’s in Hades, but he still hasn’t died the kind of death that actually brings life. . . . 

There’s more.  The plot of the story spins around the heart of the rich man. . . Jesus shows them the heart of the rich man, because he wants them to ask probing questions about their own hearts.  It’s a story about an individual, but how does the darkness of that individual’s heart display itself?

He fails to love his neighbor.

In fact, he ignores his neighbor, who spends each day outside his gate begging for food, of which the rich man has plenty.  It’s a story about individual sin, but that individual sin leads directly to very real suffering at a societal level.  If enough rich mean treated enough Lazaruses outside their gates like that, that could conceivably lead to a widening gap between the rich and the poor.

Imagine.

. . . What we see in Jesus’ story about the rich man and Lazarus is an affirmation that there are al kinds of hells, because there are all kinds of ways to resist and reject all that is good and true and beautiful and human now, in this life, and so we can only assume we can do the same in the next.”

Whatever you believe about hell after death, let these words about hell here and now sink in.  

Turn, and live.