Friday, November 21, 2008

"When bad timing is transformed." Matthew 25:31-46

For several weeks, people from the smaller of the two churches I was serving told me that I should go and visit Mildred. She had been ill and they thought that she was going to get bad news very soon. So, I went to the hospital to visit her. It was the first time that we had met, and the awkwardness of that first encounter was multiplied by what was said and done in my first few moments there. When I introduced myself, Mildred told me that the doctor had been in less than an hour ago and had told her that she had six months to live, because nothing more could be done for her. As I stood by her bedside she became suddenly nauseated (hopefully, not because of me!)and began to throw up. I reached for the little tray that rested on her bedside table and held it in front of her to keep what was coming up from soiling her and her bed. Then I walked into the bathroom and washed out the tray, returned it to the table and continued to talk with her, and concluded with a prayer.
I visited Mildred on a weekly basis from that time until her death five months later. We talked about many things, including the wisdom of alternative therapies, her chances at entering heaven and the years she spent running a personal care home. It was months after that first visit that she confided to me that she was embarrassed when she got sick during our first meeting. She said that she could not believe that I was so calm in the midst of that messy time, and that I rinsed out the tray and acted as if nothing had happened. It meant the world to her. I reflected on that event and realized that I reacted in just the way that my mother reacted when I was sick. She took care of whatever needed taking care of and moved on. I was never made to feel shamed that I had gotten sick, or that, at fourteen years of age, I needed to be given a sponge bath by her after I had an appendectomy.It seemed like common sense to me. Perhaps Mildred was sensitive to the issue because she had cared for so many people over the years.
The Sunday of Christ the King features a reading by Matthew that speaks of the true meaning of kingship, and it is not what is commonly thought of when thinking about royalty. Those who care for God's people in the simplest ways will find the kingdom: visiting the sick and imprisoned, feeding hungry folks and helping those who need clothing. I did all of those things in that little parish, just as countless pastors and parishioners do the same day after day. I would not have given such a simple act a second thought, had Mildred not called attention to my cleaning up in the hospital room. In these days of mega-churches and TV preachers, struggling little country churches and over-worked pastors, it is good to be reminded of the simple steps to the kingdom. I had no idea that doing the decent thing in the hospital room that day so long ago could have been a sacramental moment for one looking for some reason to hope and cling to faith. And such simple acts have never lost their mystery and majesty for me.

Wednesday, November 12, 2008

When We Bury Ourselves - Matthew 25:14-39

The parable of the talents has always bothered me, because the servant who plays it safe and does not gamble with the money that was left in his care is targeted for retribution. I guess it bothers me because I am not a terribly adventurous person. I never had a rebellious period during my teenage years; I was the good kid who did not party. Sometimes I am embarrassed to think back on how dull a person I must have been back then. However, I am not the same person I was then, as I have taken risks in my professional life. But the "good son" in me still identifies with that servant who decided to play it safe.
A talent was a heavy piece of currency, weighing as much as seventy-five pounds, and representing about thirty-years' worth of wages for the average person in the ancient near-east. Knowing that bit of data may better help us understand why the master was so pleased with the two servants who made his money grow. In light of the current financial crisis worldwide, I have heard more than one individual muse about whether or not it might be a good idea to return our savings to the trusty mattress. It is hard to argue with taking a conservative fiscal approach during these very challenging times. If the parable was just about money, we might be able to modify its meaning in light of contemporary financial realities. But what if it's not just about money?
I came across some writings by Frederick Beuchner, that beloved writer who takes on sacred cows and willingly wrestles with them. He thinks of the first servant as one who took what might have been the "most alive part of himself" and buried it in the ground.Having done that, he was never able to become what he might have been. Beuchner then looks at the servant's punishment,being alone in the outer darkness, as the inevitable consequence of leaving one's life out of fear of living it fully.
The parable has larger teeth for us when we look at it as having less to do with money, and more with what we do with the lives we are living.I will avoid the cliche here of talking of how we should use our talents for God, because there are plenty of pastors who will talk about that in their stewardship campaigns. Instead, I think the parable is far richer if we, like Beuchner, see the talent as representing that part of ourselves that fears change or newness, or that tries desperately to not look at the pain that has been a part of our lives to this point. Instead of leaning into our pain and experiences so that we may work from that point to wherever such acknowledgments may lead, we bury it and hope never to think of it again. In so doing, we remain right there, at the grave, never having ventured beyond that hole in the ground. Yes, I was the "good son" who seldom got into trouble. But I have also been one who took the talent, heaved its weight upon my shoulder and dared to venture into the market, even if for just a short time. The parable beckons me to put on my hiking shoes and gloves and hoist that sucker one more time, and to walk in exactly the places in which I am afraid to go.

Friday, November 7, 2008

Amos Didn't Get It Quite Right. Lucky for Us! Amos 5:18-24

How often we have been inspired by the words from this section of Amos, especially the phrase "Let justice roll down like waters, and righteousness like an ever flowing stream." I have always loved the imagery, and the imagery of the plumbline. However, Donald Gowan, in his book Theology of the Prophets, asserts that the word has been mis-translated and that it should really be interpreted as tin. That takes a bit more creativity to conjure images relating to justice than does plumbline.
As often as I have read this section of Amos, I had never before thought about the fact that Amos got it almost right, but not totally. The destruction he imagines as something akin to the force of a flood never came. It is doubtful he was thinking about exile as he wrote. So, what came to Israel, eventually, was deliverance. With the coming of Christ, God inaugurated an age of redemption. While it is not fair to use Amos to point forward in time to that incarnation, it is fair to look backwards. Amos could not have known that the Lord would choose a way of peace to deal with errant humanity. It is obvious that Amos had a temper and seldom minced words when conveying a prophetic truth. But Amos was one of the eighth century BCE prophets, and, to my way of thinking, a man of valor. Those eighth-century prophets were not religious professionals, but religious people who took up the cause of Yahweh's desire for justice. All we know about Amos is that he was from a place called Tekoa and he had experience as a shepherd and as a tender of fig trees. A great professor of mine once referred to him as a "fig puncher." The image of Amos punching anything is a fun image.
In the end, his dismay with the empty worship of Israel did not presage directly the destruction of the temple. Amos painted a bleak picture for the wealthy and religious folks who thought of themselves as God's chosen ones. And the God he announced was more patient than Amos might have given him credit for being. The Christian message is one that reminds us, time and again, that we don't get what we deserve. We were not destroyed again in a raging flood, but in a torrent of love and unmerited grace. However, the image of justice as an everflowing stream remains a powerful motivator for those who seek to work for God's justice in a sometime hard-hearted world.