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?