On the Way to the O.R. - Psalm 121

Last week I had surgery to remove a non-compliant gall bladder. Apparently, in my gene-pool, the gall bladder has much more of a limited warranty than other body parts. Both of my sisters have also had theirs removed. So, it was my turn. The thought of going under anesthesia gave me a few moments of feeling my mortality. Everyone has heard the stories of people who have had trouble coming out of the drug-induced sleep. A former parishioner of mine worked as a surgical nurse in a local hospital, and she talked about having to attend a deposition, because they had "killed" a thirty-two-year-old man while removing his tonsils. He had been given too much anesthetic, apparently. I have noticed a relationship between the telling of such stories and the increased rate at which they are told the closer that one gets to the date of surgery.
So, as I was being wheeled to the operating room, I searched for some scripture to be of some comfort. I had been doing really well about all of this, and even imagined how my family would react if I did not survive the surgery, telling everyone, "You know, he never acted as if he was scared at all." I was, to a degree, more peaceful about the whole thing than I had thought that I might be. But, as I was being wheeled down the hall, I retrieved the words of Psalm 121, "I will lift up my eyes to the hills, from whence comes my help." I was surprised at my choice of passages, as I had not given any thought to what passage I would recite. Why not Psalm 139? Certainly it would have been very comforting to think that the one who had "knit together my innermost parts" was also the one from whom I could find no separation. Why not some good stuff from Matthew, about the lilies of the field, etc? I cannot say. What I do know is mountains have always held an almost supernatural fascination for me. I was raised in the foothills of the Chestnut Ridge of the Allegheny Mountains, so my frame of reference for my very existence has always been tied to mountains. The times in my life when I have been least happy with my living situation have been those where I was surrounded by coastal plain. We lived in the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia for several years, and it was an other-worldly, wildly beautiful experience. When I finally visited the city of my birth in Utah, when I was in my forties, I was awestruck by the site of the Wasatch Range. Though the hospital where I was born is long gone, a park sits on the site, with a plaque commemorating the hospital that once stood there. From that vantage point, one has a breathtaking view of the mountains. It occurred to me at that moment that mountains have been the touchstone of my mortal existence; for most of my life, the mountains and I have co-existed in a most peaceable way.
I am very happy that the words of Psalm 121 came to my conscious mind that day, just as I was about to place my living self in the hands of others. For me, the mountains have always been, and will always be, a symbol of God's presence and care in my life. At that moment, lying flat on my back while viewing the blandness of the fluorescent lights overhead, I was given a vision of the mountains that have been there since I took my first breath. My life will have its perfect ending if I am allowed to see them as I take my last breath. Thanks be to God.

Why Is It So Difficult to Say "Not Me?" John 1:6-28

The Gospel of John presents an interesting take on John's appearance. Whereas Matthew and Luke have John baptizing Jesus, which then opens up the whole discussion of why John is doing that instead of Jesus, John does not seem interested in that little detail. Instead, he spends much ink writing about John's testimony of Jesus being the messiah. There is no doubt as to John the Baptizer's identity in John's gospel; John's is the voice crying in the wilderness, he is not the messiah.
I am a casual observer of long-tenure pastors and their congregations. It sometimes appears that the longer a pastor serves a given congregation, the more that congregation takes on the personality traits of the pastor. Some of this in inevitable, since the pastor's teaching and leadership style will affect the congregation's identity. A problem arises when the pastor becomes high and lifted up, and the pulpit may begin to "block out the altar," to quote a divinity school professor of mine. I have known of churches where the pastor insisted on being involved in all decisions. I once filled in for a pastor to perform a wedding. The pastor had already completed most of the pre-marital counseling. However, the pastor offered to sit in on the first part of my first meeting with the couple, and I agreed that such an idea was a good one. It served to break the ice for the couple who had never met me. However, it became apparent quite soon in the interview that I was expected to tow the line and style of the resident pastor, to the letter. I was surprised at the vehemence with which the pastor emphasized this point.
Sometimes we pastors need reminding that many are called, and many prophetic voices may be heard on the journey. There is no doubt among modern scholars that John the Baptizer had his own following, and those poeple might have gladly given him their allegiance over Jesus if it ever came to that. But John would have none of it,at least in John and Matthew's accounts. "I am not the messiah" can provide a corrective for those of us who have been serving a particular place for a long time. Truth is, it's not about us; it's about the one whom we claim to follow. This Advent season, we should be standing on "the tiptoe of expectation", anxiously awaiting the one who called us.

Another Advent

Before I tackle the texts for the second Sunday of Advent(being on a college campus, I had the first Sunday off..Thanksgiving break, ya know!)I wanted to think just for a moment about the season of Advent itself. I have a friend, a pastor, who once confided to me that he never knew what to preach on in Advent, because he did not find it to be a particularly exciting season. I was surprised at that comment, because Advent has always been an exciting time for me. If I could not find another reason to be excited about the season, I would choose to give thanks because the season of Pentecost is finally over! Remember when United Methodists used to call it "Kingdomtide"? Yuk! But I have a larger reason for looking forward to Advent. John Michael and Terry Talbot recorded a song entitled Advent Suite on their joint album, The Painter. The suite contains the phrase "Can you believe in the miracle coming, can you believe it will take you away?" I think these lyrics capture well the excitement of the dawning of the new church year. How do pastors who do not follow the seasons of the church year deal with the Sundays of December? Do they not have the same evil joy that their more liturgically-minded brethren share by denying the free ranging singing of Christmas carols until Christmas Eve? Do they not follow the lectionary and paint a vision of expectation and dreaming that is so tangible in Isaiah's writings? What would this time of year be like if we did not talk about the time in-between, and the tension of waiting while also looking back? So, for those who have not yet figured out where I stand on the matter, I stand on the tiptoe of expectation!

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

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

When We Bury Ourselves - Matthew 25:14-39

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

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

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

True Reformation - Matthew 23:1-12

Many of us Protestants do not give much attention to Reformation Sunday anymore. To some, it seems to focus more on our differences as Christians, rather than our similarities. But I think that on this Sunday before the presidential election, we should think about the very deep meaning of reformation.
The text in Matthew's gospel deals with perceptions of power. "Who will get the best seats?" seems to be the tone of the mindset which Jesus challenges. He makes it clear that true reformation has nothing to do with status, religiosity or power. We can speak eloquently about power and faith, but faith that does not translate into action is worthless, in Jesus' view. If we are concerned about who gets the best seats, it may indicate our own lack of awareness about power that is not ours.
Jesus had a marvelous way of bringing things down to the everyday level. If one was to ask, as did the disciples at one point, as to who would have the best place at the table, Jesus used his answer to show the individual that the question just asked was the wrong one. To avoid traps like this, we should not lose a true sense of self and place. I like the paraphrase of the beatitude that states, "happy are those who know their place before God." Even an awareness of the need for humility and wonder can go awry. Sometimes, we who are in positions of leadership or power, will try to appear humble, even though we like our positions and our power. We can still lose sight of the world and our place in it. We are religious people, and well-educated, and we must be modest about that, right? There is a wonderful quote, spoken by Golda Meier to one of her cabinet ministers, "Don't be so humble; you're not that great."
Presidential candidates seek to identify with "everyman/woman" by trying to show how out of touch the other candidate really is. This current campaign has been hateful and full of half-truths, because that is what works in American politics. How badly must one want power, to campaign for almost two years for an office? I have little doubt that, on the day after this election, someone will come forth to announce that he/she will make a run for the office in 2012!
We must seek true reformation as a country, because, no matter how much we try to convince ourselves of the truth of the belief, we are not God's chosen nation. However, I do believe that God does hold us to a higher standard, because we have the resources to reform society and to influence the rest of the world for good. So, as we live through this election, may we look for signs of reformation that rise above the bidding war for the best seats in the house. God really does care about our motives and actions, and those cannot be summed up in a thirty second soundbite.