What's In A Name? Luke 3:1-6

Every year at about this time, I meditate deeply on what I can say about John the Baptizer that will present him in a new light, or, at least, a different light than I presented him in last year! But we have so little information about John that it is difficult to find a great deal about him that will seem new. Then again, maybe that should not be my task. So, this year, I am going in a bit of a different direction.
What is behind the name "John?" Well, from the Hebrews we got y'hohanan, the Greeks pronounced it Ioannes, and both mean, loosely, "Yahweh has favored and is gracious." Of course, to fulfill the tenets of full disclosure, the name John also has a meaning derived from jakes, from the sixteenth century which means toilet. Then, of course, there is the name for the customer of a prostitute. So, let's stick with the biblical John, specifically, John the Baptizer. When reading the gospel accounts of John, it is not difficult to agree with the traditional definition of the name that expresses God's favor. Even Jesus commented that, of mortal men, no one was better than John. And John, who had a following all his own in those days, asked from prison if Jesus was the one for whom they had been waiting. Frederick Beuchner tries to imagine what John must have felt when the word came back that Jesus was, in fact, the one who had been foretold. Beuchner muses that "maybe he remembered how he had felt that day when he'd first seen him heading towards him through the tall grass along the river bank and how his heart skipped a beat when he heard himself say, "Behold the Lamb of God who takes away the sins of the world." Peculiar Treasures, p. 71. John was an old-style prophet, a strange sort of fellow, but a man who gave his life for the kingdom that Jesus came to bring forth.
So, it is a bit daunting to possess such a name as John. So many expectations come with such a name, and how can one even hope to live up to its meaning? Perhaps the best that people with the name, John, and people of the faith, can do, is to live up to the inspiration that Jesus' cousin John brought to the name. If one looks in baby name books, John is defined as "God's gracious gift." John the Baptizer was such a gift. Why can't we be as well, regardless of our name? God breaks into our world during Advent, and perhaps God looks for people, male and female, who call to mind the John of the desert, the river and the prison. God looks again for people who bear the likeness of one known, so long ago, as God's gracious gift.

A King of All, Even Those Who Do Not Wish To Be Like Him. John 18:33-37

We are preparing for the Sunday of Christ the King, or the Reign of Christ. I cannot help but think that the best way to celebrate the final Sunday in the Christian year is to emphasize, once more, how this king is different from any other king. Ralph Milton, writing in an e-zine for "people with humor" describes the paradox that this Sunday highlights. When we hear the scriptures read, does it ever occur to us what was running through the minds of those who wrote the words of the texts? The writer of John's gospel contrasts the roles of Pilate and Jesus, "But the people who wrote the Bible wouldn’t recognize today’s kings. What good is a king, Pilate would have asked, who owns no land, who can’t raise an army to defend himself, who doesn’t extort taxes, who refuses to force people to do things his way..." It is unlikely that the believers of the first century understood the kingship of Jesus any better than believers of the twenty-first century, which is to say, they didn't get it either. And they could not have imagined the standard of living that the majority of western Christians enjoy today.
We give lip-service to the concept of the kingship of Christ, thinking we understand it so much more than those folks so long ago. And yet, we continue to follow TV preachers who preach in churches that seat thousands, while the preachers themselves travel around on their own private jets. A friend recently wrote to me and mentioned the new sanctuary that his church is building, which will seat eight-hundred people, while cutting available parking space in half. The price tag for this expansion is twenty-million dollars.
Let's be honest, it is not that we don't understand what kind of king Jesus was; we just don't want to emulate that kind of kingship. It calls on us to give up too much and to think and live in a way much closer to the way that he lived. I can think of a few pastors and laypeople in my experience who did their best to live such lives, but they are exceptions. I live comfortably, though not extravagantly, by any means. Yet, I have so much more than a person in a developing nation could ever imagine. I claim to follow a king who had no earthy possessions, but I have not chosen to live my life in the same way. Most Christians are like me. So, in reality, we cannot celebrate the Sunday of Christ the King as if we really understand it. Perhaps the best that we can do is to enter that day with a sense of awe, and a willingness to try once more to see beyond what we want for ourselves so that we might discover how we can take another small step on the way to understanding what it should mean to live under the reign of Christ.

2012 - Just Another Year. Mark 13:1-8

According to Mark's story, Jesus spoke the words of the "Little Apocalypse" on the Tuesday before the crucifixion. But the early Christians did not read the words of Mark's gospel until after the temple in Jerusalem had been destroyed. So, Jesus' prophetic words were not dealing with the fears of what was to come, but with the realities of what had already happened. The nightmare had come to pass and Jerusalem lay in ruins. But the story of Jesus' words uttered during the last few days of his life gave hope to people of all generations. When the temples and institutions of religion and government fall, there is no need to give up hope. The One who has existed from the beginning of time remains with us, and will be with us when our end time comes. Christians who read the gospels in the early centuries of the church knew all about fear and persecution and death; it was part of life and faith for them. They believed that it was possible to die with words of faith on their lips. The temple had been destroyed, but the church had survived, and continues, to this day.
With the opening of the film "2012" today, folks are chatting about the end of time. I have asked my students what they are hearing,and they all know some story of the end associated with the year 2012. Most of the hoopla began with the realization that the Mayan Long Count Calendar of 5,126 days turns over and nothing is listed following that time. Though it does not sell books and movie tickets to say it, the end of the Mayan calendar means that another cycle of time then begins. In America, at least, people prefer to be kept on edge, especially during the tough economic times that we are experiencing. So, pundits come forth will all manner of doomsday scenarios and folks line up to have their wits scared out of them. In addition to the 2012 phenomenon, the story persists of a giant asteroid that is hurtling towards earth and will hit us by 2016. If one takes the time to research this matter, one will find that the asteroid has a 1 in 43,000 chance of hitting the earth. The truth does not sell, so the fables arise in its place.
Mark's scary chapter 13 is actually a balm for nervous folks. Jesus warns his followers that there will always be those who claim that they know when the end will be. His advice? Don't listen to them. Keep faith in God, in good times and in bad, and the truth will not only set us free, but will carry us through to our end, and beyond. 2012 will be just another year, another artificial time period created by humankind to measure events. 2012 will provide opportunities to love and serve others, just as every year does. So, don't be rattled by the hype. Instead, be comforted, strengthened and inspired by the truth. And give thanks to God for another year of life.

An Amazing Grace - Ruth 3:1-5; 4:13-17

As I was looking over the sermon resources for this week, I could not help but notice that few commentators commented on the text from Ruth, opting instead for the Markan passage about the widow's mite. Perhaps they felt that all that needed to be said about Ruth was spoken last week, when the text focused on Ruth's decision to remain with Naomi. How we love the "whither thou goest" language! This week, we are confronted with the story of what happened next: Ruth had to figure out a way to earn a living, and Naomi tried to figure out a way to find a nice Jewish husband for Ruth. Enter Boaz. Through some scheming, Noami and Ruth were able to get Boaz to notice Ruth, and to notice her in a big way. Boaz took quite a shine to her, and even though a kinsman of Naomi's late husband was next in line to court Ruth, he stepped aside so that Boaz might be the suitor. So, Ruth and Boaz married and had a child and Naomi had an honorary grandchild and all lived happily ever after. That sounds corny, and I cannot help but wonder if that is why so many folks ignore this passage this week. After all, what can one say about the story that was not covered last week?
Glad you asked! At its heart, the story of Ruth is the story of the Other. Andre LaCocue, in his book The Feminine Unconventional: Four Subversives in Israel's Tradition, makes the point that Ruth, a foreigner, was the embodiment of all that was despised by those who considered themselves "pure." "Ruth is not any foreigner in general. She belongs to a nation that, for Israel, represents perversion and destruction. Moabite females attempted to corrupt the Israelites coming from Egypt on their way to Canaan. Since then, the numerous references to Moab in Scripture are unanimously pejorative (85).
The true miracle of the story of Ruth is the outcome for Naomi, and, by extension, for the children of Israel. The law of levirite marriage provided a childless widow with the opportunity to have a son to carry on the family bloodline (Genesis 38, Deut. 25:5-10). Usually, the brother of the dead husband provided the necessary "services." In the case of Naomi, her ex-daughter-in-law, a Moabitess, was wed to a Jew, Boaz, and gave birth to a son, Obed. Through the machinations of Levirite marriage, Naomi's Jewish family bloodline was preserved through an outsider. And it should be noted that the child, Obed, grew to marry and he and his wife had a son, Jesse, who had a son, David..and you know the rest,right?
So, in Jesus' own bloodlines were women who were anything but insiders, Ruth and Rahab among them. How then, can people of faith ever stand by while folks are excluded from religious communities for any reason? Perhaps the story of Ruth is given scant attention for the very reason that it upsets the status quo, if that status quo is one that demands that the Other remain just that. The story of Ruth is the story of an amazing grace from a God whose love knows no bounds. Go ye, and do likewise.

You're Stuck with Me! Ruth 1:1-18

In the past month, I have officiated at three weddings, which for me, is a high number. Were I still in the parish, it would not seem so high. I recall that the summer my wife and I were married was the summer that I performed seven weddings. By the time my wedding day rolled around, I could have been on automatic pilot. Fortunately, I was not. When I pronounce a couple husband and wife, I am always struck by the power of the words I have just uttered. Because of the words I have just spoken, a couple is bound together for life, at least, legally. In reality, they have probably bound themselves together in spirit long before. But on their wedding day, the bride and groom say to one another, if not literally, then figuratively, "You're stuck with me!"
Ruth was not stuck with Naomi, but she chose to be. Ruth and Orpha (spellcheck just suggested that this word should be "Oprah") were daughters-in-law to Naomi, living in their native land, Moab, Gentile territory. However, both of their husbands died and Naomi, a Jew, decided to return to Judah, her home. Naomi gave Ruth and Orpah permission to stay behind in their homeland and find new men to marry. She felt that they had no further obligation to her. Eventually, Orpah did decide to remain behind, but Ruth chose to go with Naomi. Ruth's words to her have captured the imagination of people of faith and moviemakers ever since: “Do not press me to leave you or to turn back from following you! Where you go, I will go; Where you lodge, I will lodge; your people shall be my people, and your God my God. ¹⁷Where you die, I will die— there will I be buried. May the Lord do thus and so to me, and more as well, if even death parts me from you!” Ruth 1:16-17 NRSV.
Ruth did not have to go with Naomi, there was no obligation to care for her now that they were no longer related by marriage. Ruth CHOSE to accompany Naomi back to her homeland, where Ruth would be an outcast. Her bonds of love superseded any practical concerns about her future and welfare. The Book of Ruth is a wonderful story, whether or not any such person really lived. But why is it in the Bible? Perhaps those who chose the books for the canon wanted to make sure that a book was included that illustrated radical devotion that grows from a sense of love and loyalty to illustrate the never-ending love of God for God's people. God voluntarily chooses to be stuck with us, for the long term.
Every time I perform a wedding, I am reminded of the story of Ruth, but not for the reason that people might imagine. More than one couple, including my wife and me, have included Ruth's words to Naomi in their wedding album! I think of the story of Ruth because, in the act of professing undying love and faithfulness to one another, a couple re-enacts God's promise to always be with us, no matter how thick-headed or unfaithful we may at times act. The story of the prophet Hosea and his naughty wife Gomer is another reminder of a long-suffering and ever-faithful God whose love is a pattern to be emulated by every set of individuals who pledge love and faithfulness to one another. Marriage and lifelong unions are not always pretty as they move through the years, and they seldom live up to the romanticized visions painted on the wedding day. But just as no amount of contrariness and rebelliousness can ever cause God to leave God's people, those who live together in marriage or lifelong unions will prosper if they but remember the story of a loving former daughter-in-law and mother-in-law and their journey together. In that tale is the story of our faith, our hope and our end.

True Reformation: Peace! Job 42:16 and Mark 10:46-52

I have never been one to really celebrate Reformation Sunday, as I think it focuses too much on the differences between Protestants and Catholics, and Protestants and Protestants. But I think the use of the word "reformation" can be quite instructive this week. As has been true for the past seven years, at least, we are engaged in war. Much ink has been spilled of late speculating on whether or not we will, or should, pull out of Afghanistan. Fortunately, I don't have to make such far-reaching decisions in the course of a given year. But many people of faith have opinions on both sides of the issue when it comes to matters of war and peace. I think that the scriptures for the day can be helpful as we try to wend our way through the issues.
Although the lesson from Job for the week features Job's humble response to God's chastising in the previous two chapters, I want to go back to those chapters. In them, the Lord utters the following interrogative: "And the Lord said to Job: ²“Shall a faultfinder contend with the Almighty? Anyone who argues with God must respond.” ³Then Job answered the Lord: ⁴“See, I am of small account; what shall I answer you? I lay my hand on my mouth. ⁵I have spoken once, and I will not answer; twice, but will proceed no further.” ⁶Then the Lord answered Job out of the whirlwind: ⁷“Gird up your loins like a man; I will question you, and you declare to me. ⁸Will you even put me in the wrong? Will you condemn me that you may be justified?
Job was asking, quite rightly, according to our ways of looking at things, about the horrible condition of his life of late. Who cannot sympathize with poor Job and his state of utter destitution. But the Lord does not offer sympathy, but a question: "So, are you so smart that you know how I do what I do?"Job, realizing that the universe was just a bit beyond his comprehension, spake thus: Then Job answered the Lord: ²“I know that you can do all things, and that no purpose of yours can be thwarted. ³‘Who is this that hides counsel without knowledge?’ Therefore I have uttered what I did not understand, things too wonderful for me, which I did not know. ⁴‘Hear, and I will speak; I will question you, and you declare to me.’ ⁵I had heard of you by the hearing of the ear, but now my eye sees you; ⁶therefore I despise myself, and repent in dust and ashes.”
This story unsettles us, because we think that Job deserved an explanation, and he did not get one. So, perhaps our thinking can stand a bit of reformation? Let's move on to the story of Bartimaeus. Despite the calls of everyone around him to shut up, Bartimaeus, who was a blind beggar, called after Jesus. Jesus called back and asked that he come over to him. There is no placing spittle or mud in his eyes, no bathing in healing waters. When Jesus observed the man's sincerity, he told him to go on his way, for his faith had made him whole.
Both of these stories contain elements that lead us to understand that our thinking about life, death, God, etc, is in need of reforming. War continues to exist because people of faith still look at it as an acceptable alternative, and we sometimes attempt to remake Jesus in the image on one who thinks as we do. So, we need to read the Lord's response to Job and Job's response to the Lord, over and over again. Can we admit that we don't really understand God's ways and that we should, perhaps, spend more time in contemplation and prayer before we take actions that we think are justified by our faith? Bartimaeus got it right, when all those around him did not. Though Jesus told him to go on his way, for his faith had made him whole, he continued to follow. We should go and do likewise!

A Double Standard Mark 10:2-6

I was a freshly minted M.Div. grad and was serving my first parish. I received a call on a Friday afternoon from a woman who asked if I would perform her wedding. She admitted that she had been on the phone all afternoon, being turned down by every pastor with whom she spoke, because she was divorced. Since there was divorce in my family, it was not something that I had ever thought should be a barrier to re-marriage. Even then, as a young man, I knew to ask questions as to whether or not the pain of that split had healed enough to give a second marriage a fair start and whether or not the divorced individual had become jaded about the whole idea of marriage in general. I have been surprised at how many couples have been so grateful that I would perform a wedding for them, since one or the other had been divorced. These days, most of the couples who come to me for premarital counseling have been living together for some time, and that is something that the church has also looked at with discomfort over the years. But many of us have come to the conclusion that we are happy that a couple wants to make a public commitment of faith and fidelity to one another, and we want to encourage that.
Jesus' comments about divorce are troubling. “Whoever divorces his wife and marries another commits adultery against her; ¹²and if she divorces her husband and marries another, she commits adultery.” If that be so, there are quite a few adulterers out there, and some of them are clergy!
We would do well to remember that Jesus was responding to a trap set for him by the Pharisees. If he said that divorce was wrong, he would have gotten himself into the same hot water that John the Baptizer had when he criticized Herod for breaking up his brother's marriage in order to secure his wife. If he said that there is nothing wrong with divorce, he would have been guilty of a blasphemy. So, what he did was to remind all present that men and women were created one for another, for companionship and happiness. As usual, he was looking at the big picture, and that transcended laws about marriage and divorce. He wanted folks to enter into marriage very seriously, with the intention of spending the rest of their lives together. And who better than Jesus, and God, for that matter, understands when unforeseen problems may cause a union to split? When a dissolution of the covenant occurs, are we to believe that one has no right ever to fall in love again? Is that the kind of God we claim to love, and who claims to love us?
I don't think pastors are as likely to refuse to perform marriages because of divorce as they were thirty years ago. I think we look at this scripture passage as a cautionary tale; couples should enter into marriage for life, not simply for convenience or as a filler for a temporary loneliness.
Having said that, why are many of us able to look at these verses with a larger view in mind of what Jesus might have met, but many cannot look beyond some much less specific verses concerning same-sex behavior and use those as absolute bans on same-sex unions? Shame on us for our double standard!

This Story is NOT an exclusive! Mark 9:38-50

The disciple's concern seems to have been a reasonable one: they observed someone casting out demons and not doing so in Jesus' name. Shouldn't someone doing such an act give credit to the one who had perfected the method of doing so? If others were permitted to commit the acts of healing that Jesus performed, without attribution, wouldn't that dilute the brand? Jesus gave a wonderful response: "Whoever is not against us is for us!" WHAM! So much for exclusivity and being a special member of the club!

The disciples knew that they were on to something special with Jesus. When folks discover that they are a part of a movement that is achieving some form of notoriety, they sometimes want to keep the group small. Think of children, boys or girls, who found a kid's club in the back yard. It may be for girls only, for boys only, or for the kids who founded it, only. Such an activity is the first exposure to a form of exclusivity for many of us, and it feels good. It is grand to be a part of a group to which not just anyone is invited. Harvard is proud of its acceptance rate of just nine percent this year. When I was in college, fraternities and sororities tended to define themselves by whom they excluded, and not by whom they admitted.

Christians have not learned to let go of the club mentality, in some instances. Some churches seem more like country clubs, while other churches limit membership to those with beliefs that conform to the majority of members. But such places forget Jesus' admonition that those who imitate us are at least not working against us.

Christianity is a faith of the open door. Throughout the centuries, some faith communities have spent more time and money trying to figure out how to keep people out rather than how to make even more folks feel welcome. We need look no further than recent debates in American churches to see that we have a long way to go before all of the fences come down. My own denomination has been a great disappointment to those for whom the open door has been a hallmark of our heritage. Thankfully, a recent agreement with another denomination enables a full exchange of clergy between our faith communities. The Lord does, indeed, work in mysterious and wonderful ways.

Preschool: The Image of Christ. Mark 9:30-37

There are several preschool classes that meet right next door to my campus. Often, we see the children playing on the quad, or the really tiny ones being moved around campus in mega-strollers that rival SUV's in size and comfort. The older toddlers will sometimes come on campus "leashed" together like a sled-dog team, always with a tot at the head of the line leaning forward to try to make the group walk to his or her pace. Last week, some of the older kids, in the four-to five year range, were playing on the quad. Two little girls were giggling as they kept pushing the other to the ground, only to have that child arise and push her opponent to the ground. The teachers had gathered the other children and were moving out, but had to pause while these youngsters played out their shoving match, with full belly laughs punctuating the mid-morning air.
Whenever I see these children on campus, I stop and watch them, with a mixture of laughter and tears. I laugh, because their laughter and frolicking nature is infectious, and I cannot help but to join in. Sometimes there are tears, because in these little ones I see my daughter, now a beautiful woman, when she was in preschool, walking along, singing, smiling and laughing. At other times I see my son, a handsome young man now, when he was little more than a toddler, ball cap on backwards, trying to climb on the jungle gym.
Perhaps it is because I am a father that I so love the instance in Mark when Jesus places a child before the disciples and tells them that when they see a child, they are seeing him. In that day, children were considered nuisances, invisible and powerless. Being a parent, I cannot fathom how such an idea about children can exist, even though I know of changing cultural norms. When we become parents, something that happens to someone else's child happens to our child, in a way. We identify with all children as if they were our own. We feel protective, proud or happy for them, just as their parents do.
A couple I know adopted a little girl from China. She had been found in a field when she was three weeks old. She had been left to die. Thankfully, she was rescued, and a little less than one year later, she was in a new home with a loving family. Jesus tells us that such children are the embodiment of Him. Christians cannot look into the face of a child without seeing the eyes of Christ. Think about that the next time children are playing in a yard or making noise with their excited chattering. At such times, we hear the voice of God!

It's Not Our House - Mark 7:24-37

One common trait of many clergy is that they know what it is like to live in a house that does not belong to them. Though parsonages are becoming less common, there are still plenty of them around. Clergy families move into houses that have served as home for generations of families, and some of those houses have all manner of color schemes reflecting the personal taste, or lack thereof, of those who lived there previously. My first parsonage was falling apart when I arrived as a single pastor, with holes punched in the walls and a rocking toilet in the bathroom and shreds of wallpaper hanging from the ceiling downstairs. The master bedroom was painted lavender, and the kitchen had gray plastic tile up the walls and across the ceiling. When I left, five years later, the house was charming and greatly improved, at least, in my opinion.
The lesson from Mark this week reminds Christians that we inhabit a house that was not built for us. Our spiritual home was built for the children of Abraham, and we, through family circumstances, have become heirs of the house. Though we seldom think about it, we have more in common with the Syrophoenician woman in Mark's account than we would care to admit. Jesus treated her with feigned hostility, reminding her that she was technically allowed in the house, but she had the place of annoying pets who were tolerated, at best. The term "dogs" was commonly used at the time to be descriptive of all Gentiles. The actual Greek word would translate as "little dog" or "puppy." Of course, we twenty-first century types imagine a cute and cuddly puppy whom no one could despise. The view in the ancient near east was not as loving, and Gentiles were despised. Scholars have puzzled for a long time over Jesus' hostile treatment of the woman. In the best light, he is described as having thrown a challenge to the woman to see how she responded. In the worst light, he is portrayed as a man of his time and place, complete with ethnic prejudices. Regardless of the motive, his words about the children's food being kept from the dogs must have cut like a dagger in the heart of the women whose daughter lay ill. She loved her daughter enough, and perhaps had enough faith in a God who would embrace even those outside of the "family" to dare call on God's mercy. Jesus could not resist, and the child was healed, without even having to be in Christ's presence. Heidi Husted, writing in the Christian Century on August 16th 2000, states that this is the day that the gospel "went to the dogs." Mark shows us how Jesus opened the good news of the gospel to the world. We Christians are not the first heirs of the "big house" but we have been invited to make it our home. Can we do any less than offer the same hospitality to the excluded in our world today?

Imperfect Leaders of True Faith

My commentary on the lectionary texts will return later this week. Over the weekend, I watched both the funeral of Senator Ted Kennedy and a documentary about former President Jimmy Carter. It is interesting that I should have focused in on these two men, since they were bitter rivals during the presidential primary in 1980. But they have a commonality that binds their lives together: their Christian faith. Kennedy was a deeply flawed individual, and the mere mention of his name will induce his critics to invoke the name of Mary Jo Kopechne, the young woman who died in the famous traffic accident off Chappaquiddick Island. He was also a drinker and partier, most famous for his bad influence on William Kennedy Smith, his nephew, who was charged, and then acquitted, with rape. With all of this on his resume, it is a wonder that Kennedy can be remembered for anything positive. But he did much good for the country, and his was a voice that spoke out for the poor, the elderly, those with physical disabilities and those needing healthcare. Many are wondering if anyone will aside in congree to take up his agenda for social reform.
Jimmy Carter is not considered to have been a great president, and his greatest legacy may consist of the things he has done since he left public office in 1980. While other former presidents travel the lecture circuit to pad their bank accounts, Carter has worked tirelessly with Habitat for Humanity, helped to create the Carter Center at Emory University, which seeks to advance the cause of world peace, and was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize. A couple of years ago, Carter came under attack from members of the American Jewish community, and world supporters of Israel for using the term "Apartheid" in the title of a book that discusses the Palestinian/Israeli conflict. The documentary, Jimmy Carter: Man From Plains, shows in great detail the abuse that Carter took from people who had, up to that point, agreed with his efforts for peace in the region.
In the lives of Kennedy and Carter, their Christian faith formed the foundation for their prophetic activity. Such a faith does not proclaim that either man is, or was, without flaw, but that each man spoke from the heart of his religious beliefs in order to call attention to what he saw as social injustice.
We live in a time when congress is hopelessly partisan and unlikely to bring about any major legislative reform that will benefit the people of the United States. Even our president, whose election brought such hope to so many, has shown signs of bowing to the forces of political expediency, especially in the matter of healthcare reform. President Obama also claims a faith rooted in the Christian tradition. May the lives of Kennedy and Carter remind him of what is possible when one puts the needs of others ahead of immediate political security and expediency.

A Second Look at a Remarkable Entrance

I had heard about the wedding entrance at the Kevin Heinz-Jill Peterson wedding in Minnesota that had popped up on YouTube this past week. So, I watched it. Immediately, I thought it inappropriate. I was not familiar with the song and I thought that the dancing was a bit over the top. I thought of all of the couples that will try their own version so that they can get onto YouTube and get their fifteen minutes.
And then a strange thing happened - I watched the video again, and again and again. It was not until about the third or fourth time through that I realized what it was that kept me coming back. The sense of sheer joy that permeated the whole event is undeniable. Watch the video and look at the faces of everyone in the wedding party, the members of the congregation and even the pastor, God bless her open and welcoming heart. Several biblical images now come to mind whenever I watch that video. A few weeks ago the lectionary included a reading where David danced, half naked, before the ark. He danced with pure joy and devotion to God, for he felt that he had done a good thing by bringing to ark to Jerusalem. And today, when I watched the video and observed the section where the whole wedding party reassembled in the back of the church and came down the aisle together, in a processional that reminded me for all of the world of the biblical description of Palm Sunday, I was moved again. Follow that with a joyous bride hardly able to control her happiness as she boogies down the aisle and I ask, how could God not be smiling? The youth and vitality and sheer happiness of those involved in the dance is inspiring and will assure that the knock-offs that are bound to appear on YouTube soon will be faint copies at best. Jill and Kevin, may the joy and sheer exuberance of your wedding entrance remain a part of your married life always.

Mark 6.14-56.. John Had the Last Word

I am always amazed by the blank stares I get from students when I ask what, or who, a prophet might be. I should say that I get blank states after I tell them that, no, it's not someone who predicts the future. I like Walter Brueggemann's definition of a prophet as one who criticizes, energizes and proposes a new way. His take on this is important, because anyone can criticize. Criticism is one of our favorite pastimes: we love to moan and complain. It becomes more difficult to carry out the second criteria of prophetic speaking, energizing. We can gripe and say what is wrong, but only a few can actually get people's attention and begin to energize them with thoughts about the way things could be. Barack Obama was able to do that during the eternal election season of last year....and the year before. He captured the imagination of the American people, especially young adults, in a way that no one had for quite some time. As now President Obama is discovering, it is very difficult to carry out the third criteria of prophetic speaking, that of providing a roadmap for a new way. No matter how much we may say that we want something new, we are very attached to the old ways, and cannot escape thinking in terms that Brueggemann refers to as the "royal consciousness" which is the mindset that is determined to hold on to power at all costs. Many people don't want the changes in the tax structure and health care, to name two elements, that must happen for a new way to emerge. Vested interests are loathe to relinquish power.
John the Baptizer didn't care what it cost him to speak truth to power. The Bible portrays him as somewhat of a curious character. He lived in the desert for a while, maybe Qumran, maybe with the Essenes. He dressed in animal skins and ate honey and wild locusts which were probably the pods of the locust tree, and not the bugs. Sorry, sci-fi fans. Because John had publicly criticized the shenanigans perpetrated by Herod to get his brother's wife for himself, Herodias, said wife, was upset with John. When the opportunity came to silence him through her daughter's request to have John's head on a platter, Herodias must have thought it was a good day indeed. She was able to silence John, eternally. Or did she? John spoke of the new kingdom and the one who would bring it. In spite of John's death, a glimpse of the kingdom came with Jesus. Though the kingdom has yet to come in all of its fullness, we people of faith are supposed to be working for it and looking for it. When we speak prophetically, meeting the above-mentioned criteria, doesn't John, in fact, have the last word?

What About The Shack?

Though I tend to shy away from popular theology and psychology books, I thought I would give The Shack, by Wm. Paul Young a read. Having done so, I am not sure what I think about the book. I cannot escape the suspicion that Young has read Dorothy Bryant's The Kin of Ata Are Waiting for You, which predates his book by at least thirty years. His book does challenge one's preconceptions about God's appearance, and I am for anything that dares us to think of God in new and unusual ways. I don't agree with Eugene Peterson's blurb on the front cover that this book will "do for our generation what John Bunyan's Pilgrim's Progress did for his." I should confess here that
I am not a fan of The Message, so Peterson will not sell me on many things. I wonder why it is that Americans jump on books such as The Shack. I think it has to do with a desire to get at some kind of eternal truth, but not requiring the effort of long-term deep thought and study. Young's work does not require much deep reading, though it is not without some shining moments. There is just one line in the book that stays with me, where a Jesus-like character is speaking affirmatively about the many religions of the world and people's ideas about God. And so the subject of the book, Mack, asks if that means that all roads lead to God. The Jesus character replies, "No, but I will travel down any road to find you." Aside from that, I don't think that the book breaks any new ground, especially when it comes to dealing with tragedy. Try as we may, there is no way to make tragedy easier to understand. Truth is, very bad things happen to people, regardless of how religious they may, or may not, be. Without giving away the plot of the book, I think Young copped out and did not address the agony of Mack in dealing with his tragedy. I think Dorothy Bryant did a better job of that in the above-mentioned book.
So, do not count me as a member of The Shack bandwagon.

Summer is a Time for Reading

I don't know about you, but summertime is a great time for me to do some free reading. Since classes have ended, I have more time to read, though I still work at the office daily. I have read through most of Parting the Waters: America in the King Years, 1954-1963 by Taylor Branch. It is volume I of a trilogy, and the other books, Pillar of Fire: America in the King Years, 1963-1965 and At Canaan's Edge: America in the King Years, 1965 - 1968 are waiting on my night stand.
I tend to have several books going at once, as do many other folks. I am also reading Jesus Was a Liberal by Scotty McClennan. So far, I have found it refreshing to read someone who, also a university chaplain, thinks in many ways as do I. I also picked up recently I Was a Stranger: A Christian Theology of Hospitality by Arthur Sutherland. Another volume that I intend to get through before school starts is Atheist Delusions: The Christian Revolution and Its Fashionable Enemies by David Bentley Hart. Hart is a scholar who takes on Hitchens, Dawkins and others and states that their "revolutionary" arguments are nothing new.It's a deep read, so I will breathe deeply while wading through it.
If you have a favorite book that others who look at this blog may find of interest, please comment and we can all read it there. Have a great summer and happy reading to you!

A Glimpse of the Kingdom

The academic year has ended, Commencement commenced and now I prepare for next year. I forget, sometimes, how little life on a college campus has in common with the outside world. Take yesterday, for instance. I was chatting with someone who recounted, in horror, the time that her daughter brought home a guy of another race. This person and I grew up in the same region of the country, so I knew the mindset out of which she was speaking. However, I found myself taken aback and not able to identify with her feelings of shock and disapproval. There was another instance, recently, when I was talking with someone and the subject of same-sex attraction came up. Immediately, it was obvious that we were not on the same page regarding the subject.
These instances, and others that I could cite, attest to the world in which I live and work. It is a world in which the population changes every four years and life seems always in a state of flux for that reason. I lead worship services for a congregation that is racially mixed oftentimes, and I forget that such is not the case in many places of worship in the United States today. I meet with students who are looking for advocates to help sustain their efforts to bring attention to instances of injustice in the world, and , sometimes, on campus. In such a small community as a liberal arts college, folks get to know one another well. More so than on the outside, students become protective of one another, even if they don't share one another's ideologies or political or religious beliefs. Therefore, whenever I chat with someone who does not work in such an environment, I am caught off guard sometimes by an individual's fear of someone from a middle-eastern country, or a person of another race, or of someone who is gay or someone who has differing political views.
You see, I work with young adults who often make stupid choices regarding alcohol consumption and can be promiscuous sexually, though the majority are not. But these young people are also determined to be more accepting of those with whom they differ, and who are less likely to think that race or ethnicity matter in relationships as much as folks of my generation do. I can offer new interpretations of the Gospel that would cause an uproar in the parish, but here, such ideas about Jesus' concern for all people and my enthusiasm for interfaith cooperation are met with joy and a willingness to explore new avenues of ministry. So, it occurs to me that, though life in an academic community can exhaust one in ways unimagined outside the campus perimeter, life here is shot through with idealism, energy and hope. Working with students who are so accepting of one another gives me a glimpse of the kingdom of God that not many get to see.

F.O.G. - F.O.J. John 15:9-17

When Bill Clinton was running for president, and afterward, members of his inner circle were known as F.O.B.'s, as in, Friends of Bill. Barry Chance, writing in the on-line source, Join the Feast, speaks of the people who practice the kind of love Jesus talks about in John 15 as Friends of God and Friends of Jesus. The love which John describes, agape love, is a selfless giving for others. It was the kind of love that defined Jesus. In John's gospel, those whom Jesus loves are defined as philios, the friends of Jesus who experienced that transforming love. Gandhi is said to have stated that he liked the tenets of Christianity very much. He never converted to Christianity because he said that he did not see Christians living out the love that Jesus proclaimed.
On more than one occasion, my wife has turned to me and stated that she is very glad that I chose a career in ministry in higher education as opposed to life as a parish pastor. And she knows that of which she speaks; I was a parish pastor for more than seven years. It was the best of times, it was the worst of times. I experienced such transformative love and encouragement as a young divinity school graduate by the folks of my first parish. Later, I served a small parish in another state, and one of the churches on that circuit exemplified some of the most unloving behavior that either my wife or I had ever experienced. She stopped attending the women's group because most of the time was spent gossipping about women who were not in attendance. Don't get me wrong; there is nastiness everywhere, including among students on a college or university campus. However, I have seen more evidence of the transformative power of love and acceptance in the lives of the students with whom I work than I have the less attractive side of life. Young adults can have a tremendous capacity for changing their minds and opening themselves to new ideas. I see so much less of the hatred towards some segments of society when I am with them than I read about in church publications or hear at annual conference. I have met so many young adults who are F.O.G.'s and F.O.J.'s. They live out the kind of love that Jesus talks about in John's gospel, the kind of love that some folks in the church deram about but despair of seeing come to fruition. Perhaps these same young adults will lead the way towards helping the church reclaim that love that is visible, certainly in some churches and faith communitites, but nearly enough of them.

Abiding Love - John 15:1-8

When my niece was baptized, I asked a friend to sing a song entitled "Abiding Love." I have not heard that song since, and I think the reason I chose it way back then was because she sang it so beautifully, and because I had a crush on her. I was a teenager then, and the word abiding had a limited meaning, because I had not lived long enough to know what it meant for something or someone's love "to abide." Now that I have the wisdom that comes with being fifty-something, I have a better idea.
In John's gospel, Jesus speaks of abiding in us and us abiding in him. I know that I understand that passage very differently than I did when I was in college. My Christian friends and I looked at the idea of Jesus abiding in us as having an exclusive hold on that love, because so many other students were not like us. It is easy to overlook the fact that, in the same passage where Jesus speaks of abiding love, he also speaks about the need to prune the vines every now and then. I was moved by an old column written by Walter Wink, as he referred to such a pruning process in his own life. He likened it to cooking in the fires of purgatory, and then reflected on its true meaning for him: Something in me stayed with the process simply because God was in it. This, too, was a way to abide. "Abide in me and I in you," even in the purgatorial fires of individuation. Abide in me, even when it feels as if you are being consumed. Abide in me, for there are branches that, when pruned, can be used to build the inferno in which you can be cooked, and cleansed, and slowly shaped into a human being.
I like to think I have become a better human being as a result of the pruning in my own life. That pruning has come in the form of reprimands, encouragement, loss, love, rejection, wilderness wanderings, mountaintop experiences and God's gracious forbearance in waiting me out when I have felt rebellious. Abiding love - God's assurance that we will not have the last word.

A Deeper Look at the Good Shepherd- John 10:11-18

The text in which Jesus refers to himself as the Good Shepherd is a challenging one for the simple reason that we are pretty sure that we know what a good shepherd is like. Many of us learned the words to Psalm 23 when we were just tots, and we cannot help but apply those images to Jesus, just as he probably had the same Psalm in mind when he referred to himself as the Good Shepherd. Often, when I have spoken about this passage, I have referred to sheep as being less than intelligent, which is why it can be such a challenge leading them. I was told recently that sheep do not have great eyesight, so they tend to focus on what is close at hand. I don't know if that is true or not. However, I came across some writings this week that cause me to want to look at this familiar passage again with eyes that fully embrace the shepherd imagery.
Harvard chaplain Peter Gomes once wrote about the custom in early New England of referring to the founding of churches as the "gathering" of the church. Cornerstones are inscribed with the words "..Gathered in 1687..." instead of "founded." What a different dynamic such language sets up for us. To say that a church was founded calls to mind a small group of folks establishing a congregation, electing officers and scheduling meetings. Or, perhaps that is my United Methodist heritage peeking through. However, to gather a congregation calls to mind the actions of another, a leader, a caretaker, a shepherd, if you will. It fosters the idea that God had a part in bringing said congregation into being that the word founded just does not communicate. God was there at its gathering to nurture and care for the congregation, just as a shepherd or shepherdess gathers and cares for a flock.
In my reading I came across the opening words to the Heidelberg Catechism, the foundation document of the Reformed Church, and ancestor of the United Church of Christ. The catechism asks, "What is your only comfort in life and death?" The first two elements of the response: "That I belong, body and soul - in life and death - not to myself, but to my faithful savior, Jesus Christ."
When one combines the image of being gathered together by God with the affirmation that one belongs not to oneself, but to a faithful savior, the image of the Good Shepherd comes alive with life-altering force. Nothing else needs to be said.

How Do We Keep the Feeling? Luke 24:13-35

Though the lectionary deals with the end of Luke's 24th chapter this week, I have chosen to discuss the first part of the chapter. I am continually intrigued by the account of the journey to Emmaus and the revelation that took place there.I prefer the first part of the chapter, because in that account, by the time that his followers recognize him, Jesus disappears from their midst. The assigned text for the day, from the latter part of the chapter, has Jesus appearing to the disciples, eating in front of them and showing them his wounds. It smacks too much of our need for proof, and I think we need to spend more time getting away from that kind of thinking.
The two people traveling to Emmaus, Cleopas, about whom we know nothing else, and an unnamed companion, are joined by a third person, who seems oblivious to the goings on of the past few days. The walk takes place on Sunday evening, so news of the purported resurrection of Jesus that morning had reached their ears, though they did not know what to make of it. The stranger who walked with them was surprised that they did not seem to grasp the natural progression of events, and he told them as much. He then taught them as one who knew about such things. Just as the conversation was getting really interesting, they reached their turn-off on the road and the stranger appeared to be going on ahead. Customary rules of hospitality bade them to invite him to their place for food and lodging, and he accepted. While they were eating, in the breaking of bread, Jesus was made known to them, and then he was gone.
We just hate it when that happens. Just as God is within reach, God hot-foots it out of there.But what is more important than the fact that Jesus was made known to them was the way they felt when he was with them. "Did our hearts not burn within us?" was the way the fellow travelers expressed their amazement. And that, I think, is at the heart of our longing for some kind of encounter with a physical manifestation of God. Ronald Goetz, writing in the Christian Century years ago, stated that what the believers experienced was "not a revivification of the man they had known, but rather, one knowable only by a miracle of self-disclosure." Goetz then went on to get at the heart of our longing by comparing it to the experience of the commingling of the bonds of affection that occurs between friends or lovers. Those first encounters are almost over-powering in the mutual experience of common interests, feelings and even passions. Can we remember the first date with a current or former lover? Remember the quickening of the pulse, the clammy skin when you finally got up the courage to actually hold hands? Recall the intense longing after you parted, whether for a day, or forever? On the flip side, how about those who remained friends or lovers after those initial feelings of shared affection? Have you found yourself trying to reclaim those early fireworks, only to find that now you seem bored, or at least uninspired with the relationship? Goetz stated that the Other, who became almost as real as one's own self, does not and cannot stay. Moods change, interest fades, the Thou becomes an It. That first moment cannot last. Like the heavenly manna of the Exodus, the experience of that initial love cannot be stored and preserved.
When Jesus vanished from the midst of his new friends, they had only the memory of how they felt when in his presence. It's fleeting nature is what made it so exciting, so precious, so remarkable. As they, and the early church would soon discover, that memory would have to be enough. And it must be enough still. We cannot recreate those moments of self-disclosure, either by God, or by friends and lovers. We can only treasure them, meditate on them and try to understand them in the context of our fleeting lives. They are blessings on the journey and signposts to the Kingdom that awaits us, in this world, and the next.

So, What DID Become of Sin? I John 1:1-2:2

Yes, there was a famous book written by Dr. Karl Menninger back in the 1960's whose title asked "Whatever Became of Sin?" I even have that book on my office bookshelf; it was one of the first books I bought for free reading when I was a divinity student. As I recall, I read about half of it. Menninger was a psychotherapist, and he wondered if we had risen above the need to call anything sin anymore. He felt that we attempted to explain everything away through psychological processes and counseling. I still think his point was valid. Don't get me wrong, after all, I hold a graduate degree in counseling, so I do believe in its merits. But I have come to believe that we so misunderstand the whole concept of sin that it has been rendered mostly meaningless. But it really should not be so.
Now, let's think about what comes to mind when we say the word "sin". Is a sin telling a lie, falsifying one's income taxes, or going too far when out on a date? Many of us were raised with such definitions of sin. But to think of sins as individual acts misses the true meaning and danger of sin. The writer of I John asks how we can say we have no sin when we are sinners? By denying we are sinners, we become liars. Truth is, sin is not individual acts but a state of being. I think sin is reflected in the general cynicism, dishonesty and judgmental way in which we tend to view others. Instead of practicing the Christian hospitality that welcomes the stranger so that he or she becomes a friend, or at least a member of our community, we exclude folks who do not measure up to our idea of what is acceptable. We all remember the boy or girl in junior high and high school who did not fit in for whatever reason, and who was mocked and isolated by other students.
I cannot help but mention the saga of the latest media darling, Susan Boyle, whose audition for Britain's Got Talent has catapulted her into international stardom. She is a plainspoken woman from Northeastern Scotland who happens to have been blessed with a remarkable singing voice. Before she sang on the show, the judges and audience members treated her with a condescending sense of tolerance and amusement. After she sang, they fell over one another praising her. Susan Boyle has touched me deeply, because hers is a story of one who has had a challenging life; she was born with a slight disability that causes here to be perceived as lacking in social graces. She has been the target of neighborhood kids who ring her doorbell and run away. After her performance on TV, she remarked on how great it is to be congratulated by children in the street. So, what has changed to make her suddenly cool? People saw another side of her, there is a groundswell of love and support for her now, and folks are caught in that rising tide. But Susan Boyle, a faithful Catholic who cared for her elderly mother for years, has always been special in the eyes of God. Why is it that many who live in her village did not think so until now?
We have just come through the miracle of Easter; can we change our daily behavior to reflect that miracle? Can we love the unlovable, laugh with, and not at, people who do not seem to fit in? Can we admit that sin, properly understood, is a condition that causes us to separate ourselves from the realm of God's love for all people? And do we have the willpower to rise above the common cynicism of our time to show zero tolerance anytime anyone is singled out for ridicule, or cast out of the "accepted" community. I hope so, because only then can we say that we are trying to rise above sin and walk in the truth about which the writer of I John spoke.

Another Easter, Another Missed Opportunity?

We have come through another Easter Sunday, with churches filled to the brim and folks feeling inspired afterwards. I don't think we will ever know, truly, what brings people out to church on Easter Sunday. Unlike some more skeptical folks, I don't think it has as much to do with making a fashion statement as it does with folks wanting to feel that they are part of something very special. So, once a year our churches are full and we have such an opportunity to address the meaning of the day. And I cannot help but feeling that we never really address it in the way that would be most effective.
I could not help but notice that, although we are in the lectionary cycle that features the gospel of Mark, John's account is also offered as the text for Easter Sunday. The church that my family and I attended used the Johannine passage. I am curious as to why the Markan account is not enough for the day and why we have to fall back on John's more detailed account. And what if we read the account from Mark and stop where many of the most ancient manuscripts did, at 16:8? Instead of an account where Mary sees Jesus at the tomb and assumes that he is the gardener, Mark gives us an account of a young man in the tomb who tells folks not to be alarmed, but the Jesus they have come looking for is not in the tomb, but has gone before them into Galilee. The young man told them that they would see Jesus there, out in the world among folks, just as he had told them. Why is that account not enough for us?
People come out on Easter and they want a show, they want the stops pulled out all the way. Might I go so far as to say that they want whatever proof the pastor can offer that the story is true? That task may seem easier with an account that has Jesus actually appearing to the disciples. Even Mark's gospel has an alternate ending, with more of Jesus and less left to the imagination.
As for me, give me the shorter ending every time. The empty tomb is plenty for me; I don't need to read about Jesus appearing to many people, as if such an account can remove all of the desire for more proof that each of us wants, secretly, or not. Truth is, I want it to be left to me to figure out, on my own. I know the story, I know the faith, so let me try to reason it through. Make me think it through, pray it through, read it through. I want to be challenged to look for Jesus "out there" among the people. I think we get way too attached to the empty tomb. I remember reading long ago that when we have an empty tomb, all we have is a tomb without a body in it.We should spend less time wondering if the shroud of Turin is authentic, because it means nothing. What matters most is the life that Jesus lived, and the sacrifice that he made on Friday. Students are amazed when I tell them that I believe Good Friday to be the most important day of the Chrsitian year. It is the authenticity of Jesus, his faithfulness to the message that he taught, and to his calling from God, that matters most. He was loving, obedient, and his words and his activities were seamless; he was the real deal. I prefer Mark's shorter ending, because it makes me keep looking for Christ in everyone I see and everywhere I go. That is something that lasts longer than the Easter Sunday service; it renews me daily, all year long.

What's Good about "Good Friday?"

I just spent an hour with some students discussing why Good Friday is considered good by Christians. To make the discussion more interesting, I asked them to try to imagine that they had to answer the question without knowing about what happened on Easter Sunday. It turned out to be a real stumper. One student discussed the atonement, and I reminded him that the atonement was a doctrine that evolved in hindsight, and would not have been on the minds of Jesus' followers on that Friday. Seeing that the good folks were really trying to get this, I asked them to think about other events during what we now call Holy Week, and also other events that they could think of where Jesus was making points about the kind of faith he was proclaiming. Finally, one of them said, "because, in his death, he was living up to what he had always taught about sacrifice." Bingo!
For me, Good Friday became more meaningful when I ceased to be fascinated with the details of the day. After all, none of the gospel writers agree on every detail, so trying to come up with the "ultimate chronology" proves to be a less-than-satisfying endeavor. Looking at Good Friday for what the day has to say without looking to Sunday can be a tricky, but very rewarding adventure.
I grew up in a town that used to have a three-hour Good Friday service that was sponsored by the local ministerial association. The services were broken into half-hour segments, and different clergy would preach during each segment. Folks could come and go between segments. As luck, and God's sense of humor, would have it, my first parish after graduation from divinity school was located four miles from my hometown. So, I became a member of the very same ministerial association that had sponsored those services during my youth, and they were still doing them. During my second year in that parish, I was scheduled to preach at one of the segments of the three-hour service. The pastor who preached during the segment before mine told people to lose the long faces, that Good Friday did not matter because Easter Sunday was to follow. Then I followed him and called attention back to the day at hand. I remember playing to a tough room that day.
We prefer happy endings to our stories, even the stories of our faith. But I am an advocate of not moving ahead too quickly with the events of Holy Week. If we are too squeamish to even contemplate the agony of the cross before skipping ahead to the joy of Easter morning, how can we identify with the sacrificial nature of the faith to which we are called by God? What does a faith that has no room for dealing with tragedy, sadness and injustice have to do with us? On Good Friday, God made it clear to the world that God was not above knowing the pain of loss. I would much rather serve a God who can identify with my station in life than one who is only about the triumphal side of faith. Easter Sunday has little meaning apart from the events of Good Friday. We will do well to remember that.

My Kingdom for a Towel! Mark 14:51-52

There is one thing I can always count on when discussing Mark's passion narrative with students: they have never noticed the account of the young man running away from the garden after Jesus' arrest. They don't really pay attention until I remind them that the text states that he "ran off naked." Of course, because I attended college in the 1970's, I never fail to describe the practice of streaking, which was all the rage on campuses (and at the Academy Awards) at that time. They usually stare, not understanding at all why anyone would think such a practice was even the least bit cool. I cannot help but agree with them, though I cannot understand in the least why some of them think it is cool to drink beer from a hose! I guess it's all a matter of perspective.
But the story of the young man running out of the garden in his all-together has always fascinated me; why is it there? Why did Mark, and Mark alone, include this account? What can it possibly add to the story? Some scholars believe that he may have been a young man who was asleep in the house whose upper room Jesus and the disciples had just used for the Seder meal, and who awoke and followed them to the garden. If the house in which they met was the house of Mary, the mother of John Mark, it may be a bit of autobiographical license by the evangelist himself. Why would he include such an account and what theological purpose could it serve? Perhaps the author is saying, "You can believe this account, because I was there!" It is certainly not the first time an author or an artist has included him or herself in a story or a piece of artwork. It's a way of adding a sense of authenticity to a work. For Mark, it may have been a way for him to reassure the fledgling Christian community that had been demoralized by the destruction of the Temple and the city of Jerusalem itself by the Romans that they could believe in what Jesus had promised, because he, Mark, had witnessed the events himself.
Strange as it may seem, I really appreciate this odd little verse in the midst of such a painful story of our Lord's betrayal and death. The little notation about a young man who was probably not prepared for the intrigue that was to occur that night brings the story down to our everyday level. We struggle to understand this faith of ours, no matter how long we have been believers. Christianity requires daily re-examination, because it strains our understanding, and at times, our willingness to believe what was written so long ago. In this vignette about a young man who did not dress properly for what he may have thought was a low-key garden party, we are thrown a tiny lifeline for our faith. Here is someone who may not have really understood what was happening, and who hot-footed it out of there when things became tense. What was initially embarrassing, running away naked, in front of God and everyone, became for Mark, a seal of authenticity. He might have been telling his readers to take what he said as truth, because he was there and saw and heard it all. Who among us would not give all we have for a chance to under-dress for that particular garden party, even if we too ran away?

A Surprising Lenten Journey

I have embarked on a journey that I did not intend to be a spiritual wandering, Lenten style, but that is what is happening. I am currently taking a week's study leave at Duke Divinity School, from whence I graduated exactly thirty years ago. As one might expect, much has changed since then. The part of the divinity school that was known as "new divinity" back then is now known as the Langford Building, after the former dean, provost and theology professor. The name had to be changed because there is now a new addition to the school which is magnificent, and which rendered the former new divinity, old. So, I have had to learn my way around, get used to the fact that there is no longer a parking lot behind the school, and let it sink in that the chapel at the divinity school is a real chapel now, not a study hall in the library that was used as a chapel for many years, including the time that I was here.
So, those and many other aspects of the place have changed since I was a student here. There is just one professor left from my time, and he will retire this year. The faculty is different, the student body is a generation removed from mine and the whole place has wireless internet access! What has surprised me most is the sense that I am surrounded by a great cloud of witnesses here. Sitting in chapel during worship, I was transported to my days as a student, singing in the chapel choir and preaching my senior sermon. Suddenly, all of the people from that time can flooding into my memory. I thought of classmates whom I have not thought about in years, young, laughing, dreaming. I feel them as a palpable presence with me, and I see myself, as a young, idealistic student who had no idea what lay head of him. I have sat in on classes, only to discover that their content was not really new to me. I wanted to take charge and talk about what this stuff really means "out there" among God's people. But I sat quietly and listened, for they will make their own discoveries, just as I did. I think of my classmates who have died, and they will always be young and vibrant and still here, all around, in my mind's eye..
I did not expect this journey to have this almost supernatural glint to it; I just came down for study leave. But I am being transformed by the place, the people and the memories of all who have gone before this current crop of students. I don't belong here anymore, and yet, I will never completely separate myself from the place. There will always be a little part of this unspeakably beautiful place in my heart. It helped to form me, and I am still influenced by the people and the place. So, during this season of Lent, as spring unfurls its beauty and the mystical sense of the presence of God everywhere manifests itself, I hope you too have an unexpected and uncharted journey into the very heart of yourself, your life and your connection to God.

What Happens When We Un-circle the Wagons?

Since spring break is coming and I will not have a chapel service next Sunday, I am taking the liberty of veering away from the lectionary text this week. And yes, I do feel somewhat naughty for doing that! One of the great blessings in working in religious life on a college campus is that one may have the opportunity to engage folks of other, or no, religious traditions more often than one may have the opportunity to do in the parish. Such is the case on this campus. We have a thriving collection of religious traditions here. Those with organized groups include Christian (Protestant, Catholic and Orthodox), Jewish, Muslim and soon, Hindu. We also have a small group of Buddhists who are trying to get together for regular meditation. We created an Interfaith Council three years ago, and it has become a catalyst for interfaith dialogue and cooperation. Students tend to be more willing to step outside of their own comfort zones to learn about the religious traditions and truths of others. Thanks to some discussions we had during a visit by the Interfaith Youth Core, I have a better grasp on the purpose and promise of inviting persons to the table who would consider themselves agnostic and atheist. Yes, all of this has to do with getting over the need to feel protective of one's religious tradition or territory. Our religious traditions survived for hundreds of years before we arrived on the scene, and they will live on long after we go. I have good friends who do not understand my seeming preoccupation with this interfaith work. Am I not happy as a Christian? Is not the Christian faith enough for me? Well, those are fair questions, and I guess the answer to both is a qualified "no." I am not happy when the Christan Church seems to function as a club for the "haves" and a way to inspire envy and jealousy in the "have nots." And if Christianity means that I should not be in dialogue with those of other faith traditions, yea, if it insists that my religion is the only true way, then perhaps it is not for me.
Happily, I remain a devoted Christian, because I perceive Christian faith as being much more concerned with opening doors than with closing them. And frankly, I am happier because I can admit that Christianity is not about me only, but about all of God's creation. And, I have become a better Christian, a more thoughtful person of faith because I have had regular conversations with persons of other faith traditions. I feel less necessity to work circling the wagons to preserve orthodoxy than others may think that I should. Our future in exploring multifaith traditions and conversations on this campus is beckoning, and it promises to be a great ride. I wouldn't miss it for the world!

Of Pisces and Misunderstanding - Mark 8:31-38

When I was in college I used to wear a fish pin on the lapel of my denim (ugh!) suit. I wore it as a faith symbol, as in icthus, the English transliteration of the Greek initial letters for Jesus Christ, God's Son, Savior. So, imagine my disappointment when someone came up to me and commented, "Nice Pisces pin!" Never having been much of a fan of, or believer in the signs of the Zodiac, I was heartsick. I took the pin off the lapel and never wore it again. Fortunately, I also stopped wearing that denim suit not long after that. The whole incident got me to thinking about how easy it is to wear a pin which represents some aspect of one's faith, and how difficult it is to explain that faith. I was caught off-guard by the astrological reference and was probably less than graceful in my explanation of my rationale for wearing the fish pin.
We are much more comfortable sometimes with bumper stickers than we are with the real message of our faith. Lent is our reminder that some folks would consider the central tenet of our faith to be somewhat un-pretty. In Mark's gospel, Jesus states that those who follow him should be ready to surrender all, including their lives. Peter did not care for that interpretation, and made his displeasure known. Apparently, Peter did not care for the return he was getting on his emotional and spiritual investment. He had hoped that there would be something more akin to the Jesus Christ Superstar mode of messiah. We resist the thought that discipleship must necessarily be costly. But that costly discipleship has an up side. Bishop Ken Carder has stated that "by following a crucified Christ, we can face our own vulnerability." We don't like being vulnerable if we can avoid it. It is easier to have one's guard up and at the ready, because we don't want others to see the uncertainty of our faith that we see daily. If only we could take comfort in the knowledge that God not only knows of our uncertainties and secret suffering, but God is a "fellow sufferer who understands" in the words of Alfred North Whitehead. Then we would have nothing to hide. I remember feeling somewhat sheepish at having to explain the real meaning of my lapel fish. I no longer feel embarrassed at revealing myself as a person of faith. Instead, I feel a great responsibility to get the message right. Thanks be to God that God knows me well enough to encourage me, even when I stumble over the explanation.

While Protestants Catch Up - Ash Wednesday

I remember so well when I introduced a Lenten discipline into the lives of some of the folks in my first parish. They handled the Ash Wednesday service, with the imposition of ashes pretty well, especially considering that it was their first. There was only one women who did not participate in that part of the service, telling me afterward that she didn't know why she did not choose to receive ashes, and that she was not opposed to the practice. Later, my wife, who is sometimes a keen observer of such phenomena, privately offered her opinion that the woman in question may have chosen not to participate because the ashes might have landed on the white fur coat that she was wearing.
Even more than the Ash Wednesday service itself was the difficulty some of the folks had with the Lenten study that I offered. We met weekly for a study and to talk about how our individual observances of the Lenten discipline were going. I was not supposed to hear as one woman leaned over to another and whispered, "I can't wait until we're allowed to feel good again!" I realized that I might have overdone it with the emphasis upon ascetic practices during Lent. I was a recent seminary graduate and I may have been a bit too ambitious in my desire to introduce a Lenten discipline to my congregation. Truth be told, I had embarked on a rather rigorous Lenten regimen and I hoped to bring others along with me. Imagine my dismay when I realized that not everyone was as excited about this project as I was.
Here we are, decades later, and many of my students are still surprised when I invite them to our ecumenical Ash Wednesday service on campus. After all, they have heard their local newscasters announce Lent as a "Catholic" observance. Not surprisingly, quite a few Catholics are surprised when they learn that Protestants also observe Lent. But then, many of our Catholic students would be surprised to learn that Ash Wednesday is not a day of holy obligation. As one Catholic colleague once told me, "Why would I burst their bubble and tell them it's not a day of obligation? For some, it's one of the few days during the year that they attend church."
Whether one chooses to observe Lent with a discipline or chooses to observe from a distance, it is a journey that is worth taking, regardless of degree. Lent reminds us of the sojourner characteristic of Christian faith; we are fellow travelers on this odyssey, and God chooses to come along as well. Giving up chocolate (which for some devout people I know is simply out of the question)or observing some other votive act during Lent is optional. Remembering our Lord's desert wanderings is not. I think it is necessary to reflect and meditate on his willingness to spend time alone as he embarked on his ministry, his life's purpose.
After working with college students for the past twenty-two years, I have discovered that many of them want some kind of discipline that makes them go a step further than they feel that they have to when it comes to their faith's journey. They want some aspect of their faith to set them apart, to serve as evidence to them that they are on traversing a deeply spiritual path. There is nothing more gratifying than to watch a young adult willingly struggle with disciplines of faith that are optional or non-existent for many people of the same age. It is because of the energy and sincerity of these young people that I am optimistic that Protestants will catch up with our Catholic brothers and sisters in seeing Lent as a necessary discipline and spiritual experience.

Heeeeeeeerrre's Hollywood! II Kings 2:1-12; Mark 9:2-9

For those who ridicule the seeming hocus-pocus mentality of religious types, the Sunday of the Transfiguration offers a special challenge. But wait, there's more! Not only do we get the story of Jesus and the disciples on a mountain who experience the ultimate in Power Point presentations, but we also have the story of Elijah, Elisha and a cast of special effects guys who would make modern-day Hollywood types drool.
Comedian Bill Maher has gotten rich making fun of religion and religious types. Maher states that "either you believe in a talking snake, or you don't!" For him, there is no intellectual middle ground for people of faith. Either we are all idiots, or we are not. So, I would imagine that the pyrotechnics in the story of Elijah's translation to heaven and Jesus' transfiguration make people like Maher salivate at the good comedic gold to be mined.
Truthfully, I have a bit of trouble swallowing the Elijah story as well. A magic mantle that parts the waters, a fiery chariot and horses? Come on, it doesn't help our case to be taken seriously theologically when such events are recorded in scripture. But then, having read the story in II Kings, I have a frame of reference to assist me in contextualizing the story of the Transfiguration, a tale that Protestants don't know what to do with. Why should we care that Jesus' appearance changed and he was talking with Moses and Elijah? The Moses reference we get fairly easily since he was the original trailblazer, and was assisted by divinely initiated special effects all his own: cloud by day, pillar of fire by night, and then there was all of that manna. But what is Elijah doing on that mountain with him?
I thought about this and realized that, as much as the story of the translation of Elijah seems beyond belief, it grounds the story of the Transfiguration. For me, Elijah's appearance seems to mock me, as if to say, "so, you didn't think I really got here, did you?" Quite honestly, the Transfiguration strains my imagination as well. But, having read about Elijah's fiery chariot, I am able to detect a theme. The people of faith who composed the Bible as we know it had to find a way to communicate to us the indescribable majesty of the Almighty. Since we have to rely on the written word, we can only accept the description of events as they were passed down in a far-away culture long ago. Do I have to take it literally? No, I don't. But do I have to then write it off as fiction? No, I don't have to do that, either. If the story of our faith tells us anything, it is that we don't have all of the answers, and God's ways are not our ways. Perhaps that is the only response I can give to those who accuse me of believing in a talking snake; perhaps it is the only response necessary.

Miracle Snobs: Missing the Special Effects. II Kings 5:1-14; Mark 1:40-45

The student work team and I had been laboring together for nearly a week, helping out in a rural and impoverished county which happens to be the same county in which I grew up. It was sad to see how much the area had suffered over the years, or had it? Was it just as destitute when I was growing up? It's hard to say. But working there was a troubling, yet holy experience for me. So, since we had just completed our final work day, the group had decided that they wanted to celebrate communion together that evening. So, I pulled off the highway at a small grocery store, and told them I would return as soon as I purchased "the body and blood of our Lord." They were aghast! "I thought that you ordered it from a special place, like a place that sells only to churches," exclaimed one worker. "No," I replied. "This is the kind of place that sells it. Of course, it remains ordinary until the words of institution," I offered in a feeble attempt to mollify them.
Why were they so surprised to learn that bread and grape juice come from the grocery store? Perhaps because communion is an extraordinary event, we expect that the place where we purchase the ingredients would be out-of-the-ordinary as well. Had I been able to bake the bread, at least, it probably would have seemed to be more special, more sacred. But where would I have purchased the flour? Same place, at the little grocery store along the highway.
So, is it really so difficult to understand why Naaman was insulted when Elisha told him to wash seven times in the plain and simple Jordan River? If he was to be cured of his skin condition, should not Elisha have come out of the house and waved his arms over Naaman and uttered some holy syllables? After all, he had already been dissed by the king, so Elisha was his last hope. Why was Naaman such a miracle snob? Perhaps he saw himself as a special servant of God and felt that he merited a special prophet of God to carry out the healing. We tend to be no less miracle snobs than Naaman was. We are special people, so we should have only the best, right?
Maybe Jesus sensed that snobbery in his own followers. His love mandated that he heal the leper, but he commanded the man who had been healed to keep quiet about who it was who actually performed the miracle. People would not see the act as something that could possibly eminate from a simple preacher, so they would ascribe the title of prophet to him, or worse, messiah. Miracle snobbery makes it impossible for folks to see the everyday miracles that God sends our way, and so we miss most of them. We look instead to the multimedia prophets and worship in the "smart" churches with all of the technological bells and whistles.
Even my wonderful students were taken a back at buying communion supplies at the corner store. What they did not realize was that the real miracle, the honest-to-gosh light show, was accomplished by their selfless labor all week long in a very dirty house filled with children and adults. The real Eucharist had already been celebrated, and the Body of Christ had already been offered and accepted. I feel certain that, in time, they saw it too. They were miracle snobs no more.

Life in the Human Order - Isaiah 40:21-31

Paul Tillich, writing in The Shaking of the Foundations, discussed the two orders in which humanity lives: the human order and the divine order. The human order, according to Tillich, is primarily the order of living and dying. Humankind's experience of melancholy, fed by the awareness of one's fading and perishing nature, reminds one of the transitory nature of life. What a downer! It can be compared to living life in exile, away from all that is familiar. But can it be compared to the Babylonian exile in which many of the Children of Israel lived for more than a generation and to whom Isaiah spoke?
Contemporary biblical scholarship is beginning to transform our ideas about what life was like during the exile. It turns out that not all, or even most of Israel was taken to Babylon. It was mainly the landowners and educated who were forced to leave their homeland. And for those who lived in Babylon, they had relative freedom as far as how they lived their lives. They were even free to worship in their own familiar way. So, imagine how difficult it must have been when someone would suggest that they seek to return to their homeland. Jerusalem lay in ruins and was a desolate place. Who in his/her right mind would want to go back? This makes us think a bit differently about Walter Brueggemann's concept of "numbness" that kept people from responding to the prophetic message. While some may have been immune from prophetic calls for hope and restoration due to a sense of personal loss and a longing for home, others were numb to the call because they could think of no earthly reason to want to return home. After all, Babylon was not home, but it wasn't faded and ugly Judah, either.
Still, the prophet who is recorded in II Isaiah bids the people to form a vision of a restored homeland and a renewed sense of being God's people. He bids them to think of Tillich's other construct, the divine order. The divine order can cause us to be dissatisfied with what has always been and can bid us to imagine a very different world. That is what Isaiah was getting at; "there is a new way of thinking and living. And if thinking of such a place seems beyond your grasp, there is One who can help you imagine it."
When each day's news brings bad tidings of thousands more layoffs and gloom and doom, some may find it insulting to be challenged to imagine a new world order. Isaiah dealt with the same unreceptive type of audience as a prophet will find today, but the word continued to go out, until, with the cooperation of a disinterested King Cyrus, the Israelites were permitted to go back home. Surely, what they found waiting for them must have been demoralizing. But rebuilding has to start somewhere. It begins with a vision of what can be.
Life in the human order does not have to be without hope, because there is a vision of life in the divine order that we have not really attempted to get our minds around. Who would dare proclaim such a message in such difficult times as these? Who indeed!

We have met the crazies, and they are us! Mark 1:21-28

Mark's account of Jesus dealing with the man who was possessed can cause flashbacks for anyone who has dealt with an individual who has seemed less than sane at one time or another. For pastors or church people, stories of the congregational "crazies", like the people to whom they refer, are legion. My first parish consisted of two churches, and both had at least one person who made my life, well, more interesting. A woman in church #1 called me often for help with the latest crisis at home. Sometimes it was a need for food, another time I accompanied her to a hearing for her son who was being sent to jail for attempted robbery. I visited him while he was in prison, only to sense that he was already planning to misbehave when he was freed, and that is what happened. Often, my wife and I returned home to find a message from her on our answering machine. She always ended her pleas by saying "Amen." In church #2, there was a woman who sometimes filled in as pianist. She had a look in her eyes that was troubling, as if one could see into the torment that she dealt with in her mind. One woman warned me to not ever be alone with her, because she had thrown a can of cling peaches at said woman's husband. Of course, the very next time I went to the church for a meeting, I arrived early and she was the only other person there! She once called my home, screaming because someone had kicked her goat and she also suspected that someone was stealing gas from her car. She felt that the world was out to get her. I remember so well the day she told me that she felt called into ministry, and that she would need the recommendation of the church to get past the district committee. In my mind I panicked, because I knew that I could never recommend her as a candidate for ministry, and I feared that such a declaration would impel a can of fruit to come speeding my way.
Yes, we have all dealt with the less than sane folks, so we can relate to Mark's account. But we often miss a salient point that is stated in the story: the demon within the poor fellow is the only being in that gathering who recognized Jesus as the Son of God. What are we to do with that bit of information? Perhaps we should pause and think about those times in our own lives, and we have all had them, when we have been one of the "crazies," even if just for a moment. Sometimes it is during such times that we most keenly feel the need for God's presence to reassure us that all will be well. Might it also be true that at such times we are most able to recognize when God's representatives are in our midst?
There was nothing noble about the demon's recognition of Jesus, because there was a tradition at that time that taught that speaking one's adversary's name first granted one power over that person. So, the recognition may have been a scheme to gain the upper hand, not to pay tribute to the Son of God. Jesus cast out the demon, which had become violent within its host's body. Jesus was not fooled by the power play, nor was Jesus insensitive to the pain of that poor man. So, what are good Christian people to do? The story seems to offer no alternative but to deal with such folks honestly and compassionately, but not to be manipulated by them.
I made a difference in the life of the family of the lady in church #1, even though her constant calls for assistance exhausted me. Her life's situation made escape from her poverty impossible, but a compassionate presence helped her to endure. I performed the wedding for one of her sons, and he and his wife were baptized and joined the church a few years later. The lady in church #2 eventually left the congregation and I never heard from her again. But I cannot clear her image from my mind to this day. That look in her eyes was almost a plea for someone to free her from the prison of her torment. I was not able to do that, but I hope that, eventually, with God's love and compassion and professional intervention, someone did.

When God's Mercy Really Ticks Us Off! Jonah 3:1-5,10

I once read a commentary that stated that if we do not think that God has a sense of humor, we ought to read the book of Jonah. Sadly, the only part of the the story of Jonah that most people claim to know is the story about the fish. Note that the story describes a fish, and nowhere states "whale!" Jonah hated the behavior and attitude of the people of Ninevah, who were especially offensive to the Lord. The Lord would have destroyed the city outright, but then decided to give the people another chance. He asked Jonah to go and preach to the populace and to warn them to turn from their wickedness. Most folks don't know that the reason that Jonah ended up in a fish story is because he was running away from the directive that he had been given to preach to the citizens of Ninevah. So, with nowhere else to go, he went into the city and preached the need for repentance. And lo, and behold, the people repented. Though the rest of the story is not contained in the pericope for Epiphany 3, Jonah was so upset that the Lord forgave the people of Ninevah that he went away and sulked, and the humorous part of the story ensues. Go and read it for yourself.
I will never forget the time in my life when this passage came around in the lectionary cycle and I knew that I had to preach on it. I was serving as a college chaplain in rural Virginia, and was also filling the pulpit of a church who's pastor had been called up into the first gulf war. The first President Bush was posturing and talking tough about the need to get Sadaam Hussein (Some things never change, do they?). It occurred to me that, as hell-bent as the country was on going after Hussein, it would be very difficult for someone to stand up and call for peace. So, I stood up in the pulpit of a church that I had been serving for just a few weeks and asked if we as a people would relent of our desire for war if Hussein was to miraculously repent and turn away from his violent ways. I stated that I did not think that we would relent, and that we really wanted to get him. We were experiencing the kind of feeling that Jonah was having regarding Ninevah. He wanted them to get what was coming to them. And then I uttered the most frightening phrase I had uttered from a pulpit up until that time: I told that congregation that I was opposed to the war and that war is a symbol of humanity subverting the will of God. I also told them that it was difficult for me to say those words, with their pastor's family in the pews and him serving, though not in a war zone.
The service ended and I greeted folks at the back door. The first gentleman through the door extended his hand, but would not look at me. Others greeted me in their normally friendly way, but did not comment on the sermon. And then a man about my age, a school teacher, came through the line with tears in his eyes and hugged me and sobbed and thanked me for my words. Immediately, I felt that I had done the right thing. Looking back on it, one would think the incident was of a very minor nature. But we forget how silent the church was about that war, and how few people were speaking out against it. The next Sunday, the man who had thanked me for my words was in charge of the children's sermon. He had cut up pieces of paper and had asked the children if they could assemble them. When they put the pieces together, they formed the image of a dove, and he talked about peace. On his way out, he looked at me and told me that the children's sermon was offered because of me and what I had said the week before.
I haven't always said the right thing at the right time. As a matter of fact, I have been known to suffer from "foot in mouth" disease. But never have I been more certain that I was being directed to speak truth to power than when that lesson from Jonah jumped off the page at me. If you have not read the book of Jonah in a while, or ever, do it now. Who knows what God has in store?