The Fourth Sunday of Lent: Let Justice Roll

Justice is sweet and musical;
but injustice is harsh and discordant.
-Henry David Thoreau



Justice.

A powerful word. An even more powerful ideal. Yet we so often mess it up. Whenever I am teaching ethics I have to stop and explain that from an ethics standpoint justice is not what we normally think it is. Legally, it is usually seen as giving someone what they deserve.

• “We want justice to be done against that criminal.” 
• (Justice is the appropriate penalty for having done something wrong.)
• “Justice was served!” 
• (They got what was coming to them.)

In ethics, however, justice is all about equity and equality.

• Justice is about appropriate use of resources so people are not left out. 
• Justice is making sure that people get what they need, not what they deserve.

A Google search gave me this definition:

• Just behavior or treatment.
• synonyms: fairness, justness, fair play, fair-mindedness, equity, even-handedness, impartiality, objectivity, neutrality, honesty, righteousness
• The administration of the law or authority in maintaining this.

Hence Thoreau’s quote above is a great way to start thinking about justice- it is sweet and musical!

I love the thoughts that come with that phrase. When justice is done it is more than just good. It is sweet. I has a sense of rightness and purpose to it. Justice helps people look at a situation and not let preconceived notions or ideology get in the way. Justice helps people recognize the needs of neighbors as much as our own needs. Justice, in God’s universe, is giving people what they need! Using the musical metaphor, there is harmony to justice, the justice that helps people get what they need brings us together.

One of my favorite quotes on justice is from the prophet Amos, chapter 5, verses 23-24:

Take away from Me the noise of your songs; I will not even listen to the sound of your harps. But let justice roll down like waters and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream. (NIV)

Institutionalized oppression was the rule instead of the exception. God didn't like that.

• Prayers and sacrifices do not make up for bad deeds.
• "Practice of religious acts is no insurance against the judgment of God"
• Behaving justly is much more important than ritual.
• By oppressing the poor and failing to practice justice the Israelites were behaving unrighteously.
• Social justice was to be enacted as a core of God's message in Amos' prophetic teachings. (Link)

Yet we humans are not good at this kind of justice. The prophets remind the people regularly. Jesus tells the parable of the workers waiting in the village square waiting to be hired for a day’s work. Some are hired at the crack of dawn, others at noon, and a few more are hired with but a few hours left. At the end of the day they all got paid the same. It was the amount promised to the first worker and the last. In the parable the ones who worked all day get upset.

“We worked all day out there and these loafers came along at the end of the day. They shouldn’t get the same. At the least they should get less.”

“This is what I promised,” said the owner. “Do you begrudge me my generosity?”

You better believe we do!

It was just, no one was wronged. Everyone got what they were promised. Generosity. Justice. Grace!

God is telling the people through Amos that even their best and most sacred music (music, again!) is useless if there is not justice in the land. Jesus is telling his listeners that a promise is a promise. Words must lead to appropriate responses. Heavy-duty stuff. Again, a common theme it seems this Lenten season: Words aren’t what it’s all about. It is in our actions that we show what we are made of, that we show what we believe.

God is the different drummer, the one giving the rhythm to a more just and loving world. God is telling us to be "just" as God is "just."

Your Kingdom come, Your Will be done,
On earth as it is in heaven!

BUT, I don’t want God to be just to those who aren’t as good as I am. I don’t want the sinner over there to get the same grace as I get. It’s all about me! What I want. God being “just” or giving “justice” is different.

Thanks be to God!

• Do I truly believe in God’s justice, God’s justness, God’s generosity, and finally and eternally, God’s grace?
• Do I truly believe that God wants true justice to flow like an everlasting river?
• Do I truly believe that my actions are more important than my prayers and my “humble” words and worship?

• This Lent, may I be open to hearing the words of justice from a loving God.
• This Lent, may I seek ways to be a channel of God’s justice.
• This Lent, may the words of my mouth and the meditations from my heart lead to true worship in standing with those who need God’s justice.
• This Lent, may I discover the wonders of grace lived and acted out in God’s Name.

That may be the most beautiful thing I can share!

Though we travel the world over to find the beautiful,

we must carry it with us or we find it not.

- Ralph Waldo Emerson

All About Grace- An Audio Version

Last Sunday I posted the text of my sermon from that morning. It was a short story about grace and Jesus. I recorded it on my iPhone and then added some stock and my own photos and posted it on You Tube. If you want to hear me tell the story, just click below.

All About Grace- A Story

I preached this morning, something I don't get to do as much any more. I was in the mood to write a short story. The scriptures pointed me to the ideal of grace. Here it is for your reading.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I have always enjoyed novels and stories. They are a way to listen, share, and learn. They can sneak in the back door with truth. Jesus told stories, but we call them "parables." They share truth even through stories of things that never happened. For many years I wrote a story every Christmas for the candlelight service. As I prepared for today a theme came up on the Internet on one of those idea seeds and I said- yep! The theme was a historical story in a woodworking shop with a scale.

As I started to write I saw this woodworking area that was part of the courtyard of an ancient house. It would be wrong to call it a “shop” as it was just a wide area on the side of the house. It was well arranged and, like the house, it had a good roof, as much for a place to sleep outside in summer as to keep out the sun and the winter rains.

Various tools of the time were scattered. We might recognize some of them- and wonder how anyone could do such fine work with such primitive tools. But have no fear, years of training, apprenticeship, and then hard work do work miracles. There was no workbench. That came much later in history. The Craftsman, and his sons, worked on the ground, bending, kneeling or sitting. Different projects at different stages of progress stood against the wall of the house or leaned against one of the poles that held up the roof. For one, the plow from their neighbor Avram had hit a stone too big to pass by. He would be repairing its gash. Door frames for the new doors for the synagogue were curing in the sun.

But what caught everyone’s attention when they stopped by was the smell of the fine cedar wood The Craftsman was using for his most important task in months. He was to build a new box for the synagogue. It was to be the place where the Torah scrolls were housed between the Sabbaths. In a couple hundred years these boxes would be known as “Arks” after the Holy of Holies at the Temple. In those days, though, the great Temple in Jerusalem was still the center of religious life and no one would even consider using that name for a mere local synagogue. Synagogues were not for worship as we know it- and as Jerusalem described it. The regular pilgrimages to the Temple provided the central rituals of sacrificial worship. Jerusalem was for true worship. Synagogues were more like schools. They were places to hear the Torah read and explained. At that time in history they were not much more than large rooms, maybe 30 feet by 30 feet. Benches sat along the walls with the local copy of the Torah- the five books of Moses- kept safely in a wooden box- brought out on the Sabbath when the community came together to hear and learn.

It wasn’t a large town. It sat on a hillside about 12 miles from the nearby Sea and surrounded by farming land. The 400 or so inhabitants were more like an extended family than a modern village. Humble, poor- and proud of their heritage, the new box for the scroll was a noteworthy addition after the old one had finally fallen apart. They had raised enough support to import this fine cedar wood from Lebanon. The Craftsman, the local woodworker, was chosen to make it instead of going to a nearby city where the care and respect wouldn’t have the same value attached to it.

The Craftsman’s two boys were most interested in that Torah chest. The expensive cedar showed that it was important- and holy. It was connected with the one God. The Shema, “Hear O Israel, the Lord our God, the Lord is One”, was the first creed of their faith; and those mighty words were on that scroll.

“Abba,” said the older son as he ran his fingers along the fine piece of cedar wood. “I know the Torah is from Moses; and Adonai, the Lord God, blessed be His Name, gave Moses the Aseret ha-D’varim.” (That’s the phrase the Torah uses to refer to what we call the Ten Commandments.)

“Yes, my son,” the father smiled. He enjoyed it when his sons showed interest in the Torah. They would grow into fine men of the faith. “As we heard from the Psalm last Sabbath, the words of ‘Adonai are more desirable than gold, yes, than much fine gold; sweeter also than honey and the drippings of the honeycomb…’ ”
“Why, then, Abba, are they called simply the ten d’varim and not the ten mitzvoth?” (In English d’vrim is translated “sayings” or “words”. Mitzvoth are “commandments.”)

“Are these ten, then, NOT mitzvoth, ten requirements like all the other 600 mitzvoth?”

The Craftsman paused a moment and walked over to the piece of wood his son was admiring and touched it gently. “You are wise, my son, to have figured that out. It is an important piece of wisdom.”

The boy beamed- as any child would when given such praise by their father.

“Does that mean they are not mitzvoth and we don’t have to obey them?” the younger boy asked. “Obeying them makes us righteous, doesn’t it, father?”

The Craftsman glanced beyond the courtyard to the hills outside the city. He was remembering one of his neighbors when he and their son were young.

“You know Miriam who lives up the hill over there,” he pointed. She and Yosef, may his memory be blessed, had a son my age. Yeshua. We spent a lot of time together. There was this one Passover when we all traveled to Jerusalem. On the way home we couldn’t find Yeshua. It turned out that he had simply been sitting in the Temple listening to the elders.” The Craftsman smiles and shakes his head remembering. “No one wanted to rebuke him for something as holy as that. All saw Yeshua’s joy at having spent that time there.”

The Craftsman’s son nodded, no doubt thinking, "Yes, Abba. Get on with it." He had heard the story many times. It was part of the folklore of their town.

“Yeshua was quiet at first as we finally headed home,” the Craftsman continued.

“About a day from home we passed by Samaria. I made some kind of childish comment about the Samaritans not being righteous people because they have a different Torah, not the real one like we do.

“Yeshua stopped and pulled me aside. ‘Oh, Baruch,’ he said, shaking his head sadly. ‘We are all part of the same people in the heart of Adonai, blessed be his name. The Torah is words. They give us a way to know what Abba Adonai wants us to do. But righteousness is not following laws. It is living and being open to the ways of the Lord God- in spirit more even than in word.’

“I was upset at what Yeshua was saying. I looked around to make sure that none of the adults heard him. ‘But how will Adonai know we are his people if we don’t follow his mitzvoth?’ I asked. ‘How can the people of God stay together if we lie to each other, steal from each other, are envious of what others have?’ ”

“Just then a young boy came running at us from the village we were passing. He was a little older than us- and was obviously a Samaritan- our people didn’t live near there. We could hear him crying for help. One of his sheep had strayed and was caught in a thicket. ‘Help me,’ he kept yelling. ‘My family needs that lamb.’ Yeshua started toward the boy. I called to him, urging him to stay away. ‘He is unclean, Yeshua. Our parents will be angry. We can’t go near him.’

“Yeshua ignored me. I was afraid- I didn’t want to become unclean. I stood there and watched as Yeshua went with the boy toward a bunch of branches. Together they worked and got the lamb out of the thicket. It was a little ragged, but it survived its ordeal.

“All I did was stand there,” said the Craftsman. “I stood and was afraid of Adonai because Yeshua had just broken a command. How would he be punished?” Baruch stopped talking and rubbed his hand gently across the cedar wood. He turned to see both his sons looking puzzled. They had never heard this part of the story before.

“What happened, Abba? Did Yeshua get punished?”

Baruch smiled. “No, my sons. We never told anyone. As I watched him that day I knew Yeshua was right- the joy on the Samaritan boy’s face was enough to convince me. Yeshua never questioned what he should do. He just went and did it., I learned that day that to be righteous is not in words or reciting mitzvoth. To be a righteous one is to do what is right to help another.”

“But Abba, some say Yeshua is not a righteous one. They say he leads people away from the Torah with wrong teachings. Remember last year when people chased him from town?”

The Craftsman did remember that painful Sabbath. “I don’t know about those things, my son, though I, too have heard people say that. Many do not like to have their beliefs tested or challenged. Especially about things like the Torah. I learned much from Yeshua when we were growing up. He was a good friend and showed great compassion. I even learned to love the words of the Torah even more because of him. He showed me that they are alive.”

His sons gave another confused look.

“Someday you will understand what that means,” the Craftsman smiled. “These words are priceless. When we say them out loud how many shekels could you pay to get them?”

“You can’t weigh them," the one son responded. "They are just, well, words”

“Correct. They are air and my scale over there couldn’t ever weigh them. There’s nothing there. But they are alive and real when we as the people of Adonai live them. To make them into dead laws kills them. They are far more important than that. They won’t get us into heaven, only the Holy One, blessed be his name, can do that. But he gave Moses these words so we can find the way.”

The Craftsman rubbed his hand across the cedar and smiled then held it out to the boys. “Smell this, my sons. One day soon this will be the fine smell of our Torah, absorbed into it and always there to smell. Then, when you smell cedar it will remind you to breathe in the wonder of these holy words.”

“I smell fresh bread. When’s lunch, Abba,” the younger boy piped in. “I’m tired and hot.”

The Craftsman laughed as he put his arms around the boys. “That, too, is a holy smell from the house. Let’s eat!”

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[Note: I recorded the sermon on audio. I may put it together as a You Tube presentation. Will post it if I do.] 

Saint Day for an Addict Who Kept Showing Up

He was an opium addict who couldn’t receive the sacraments. But he’s a martyr and a saint.

St. Mark Ji Tianxiang was an opium addict. He died an addict. But he didn't die from his addiction. He died a martyr. He was a respected doctor who treated himself with opium and then got hooked. He went to confession, but couldn't stay clean. He kept trying but was eventually forbidden from taking the sacrament since he obviously wasn't serious or he would have been able to remain sober. (No one knew of the disease in those days. It was a shameful, moral failing.)

When the Boxer rebellion occurred in 1900 he ended up imprisoned with his family as many other Christians were. He begged his executioner to allow him to be killed last so none of his family would die alone. And yes, he was finally released from his addiction.

On the website Aleteia, Meg Hunter-Kilmer wrote:

St. Mark Ji Tianxiang is a beautiful witness to the grace of God constantly at work in the most hidden ways, to God’s ability to make great saints of the most unlikely among us, and to the grace poured out on those who remain faithful when it seems even the Church herself is driving them away.

On July 9, the feast of St. Mark Ji Tianxiang, let’s ask his intercession for all addicts and for all those who are unable to receive the sacraments, that they may have the courage to be faithful to the Church and that they may always grow in their love for and trust in the Lord.

Lenten Journey- Good Friday- Loving the Real

God does not love some ideal person, but rather human beings just as we are, not some ideal world, but rather the real world.
—Dietrich Bonhoeffer, Meditations on the Cross

On the cross, no matter how we explain it, God in Jesus knew the reality of being human. It was not a warm, fuzzy, feel-good moment. I have no idea how or why it happened. There are many different theological explanations. I have a hunch all of them are wrong- and all of them may have a kernel of truth. If I could understand it, it wouldn’t be the work of God.

What I do know is that in the eternal wisdom and will of the Creator of the universe, Good Friday was the first half of the revolution and restoration of humanity. Jesus knew very well how we humans act. God knew very well how we humans can be evil and do injustice to our fellow humans.

Yet there was that cross.

At that I am speechless.

Were the whole realm of nature mine, 

that were a present far too small. 

Love so amazing, so divine, 

demands my soul, my life, my all.

Christmas Season 2015

I had mixed feelings during the first part of the Christmas Eve service last week. We were reminded of the violence that has been so much in the news recently. We were reminded of the sad and at times desperate world we live in. This, we were told, is not unlike the world that the Baby Jesus came into all those centuries ago. If we even look at the Christian events of this week we will be reminded first of the first martyr in the stoning of Stephen followed by the slaughter of the innocents a couple days later. Yesterday was the Saint's day for Thomas Becket, martyr.

I wanted to yell-

Stop! Can't we have one day when we forget all this? Can't I come in here, into a sanctuary on a silent night and not have to face the hatred and anger of the world? I want to escape!

The answer came back:

No, you can't escape. Because of that little Baby, you must not escape- and you no longer need to.

All the sweetness of Christmas was lost in a moment. I have been as guilty as anyone for fostering the cuteness and almost fairy tale like quality of the evening. I have fifteen years of stories written for Christmas Eve that have that element to them.

Ah, wasn't that cute! So nice.

Yes, some of the stories had an edge to them. A drug addict was in one; a hostage situation in another; lost and lonely people in most of them. But it was so easy for people to hear the "happy ending" usually with some mystical or magical realism element to it and feel good- the wonder of Christmas allowing them to escape into a world of fantasy, allowing the Christmas story to give them a moment's respite from the world.

But that is not what the stories- or Christmas- are all about. It is not about escape. It is about redemption, salvation, release of captives, hope in a God who would come into our midst in a feeding trough crib behind the inn. It is about grace.

Grace is my all-time favorite word. I over use it. I add it to most of my "prayer" comments on Facebook. Grace. It is what we need to experience and learn. Grace. It is our being accepted by our Creator no matter what.

I then thought of the words I had already chosen for today's picture for the season. They come from the hymn, I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day. It was a poem/hymn written in the midst of the Civil War. It starts with the same hopelessness that I was sensing as we were reminded of the ways of death and hate, anger and fear spreading throughout the world today. There is no peace on earth the writer cried out. This is all a facade, perhaps even a sham.

No, came the pealing of the bells. This is the story that God has not given up on us. This is the story that God is very much alive and ready to support us. Peace on earth is not a way of escape- it is a way of living the life of God among us.

At that point I realized that it isn't about taking an hour or so on December 24 and escaping from the news; it is about being renewed in order to confront that news bombarding us every day. It is about knowing that there is a peace that we can never explain that will lead us- not away from the world, but back into the world with the message.

I didn't get what I wanted on Christmas Eve- an escape from reality. I got what is needed- the reminder that God is very much alive and calling me- and all- into a different way.

As usual, God was at work when I was willing to listen.

That, I have come to know, is what Grace can give me. What a gift.

More from the Duggar News

I preached this morning and the start came from my post on Friday about the Duggar Family scandal. Here's the manuscript....


The super Christian Duggar Family of the reality show 19 Kids and Counting was in the news again last week. Josh, the eldest son who was outed a few months ago for molesting his sister when they were younger, has now been revealed as having an affair and being addicted to pornography. He has admitted to this latest sinfulness.

My first reaction was Well, welcome to the club, Josh. The club of being human.

Being human of course includes the innate ability to be a sinner and do things we don't want to do- on a regular, if not daily- basis. This human ability also reared its ugly head when he acted as if he was "holier than thou," parading his faith and pointing fingers at others. Call it self-righteousness or grandiosity or even narcissism, it’s still the failing of human sinfulness.

When one sets oneself up as a judge and jury of others because one is better than others- more perfect, less sinful, etc.- the sinfulness is already active. I am serious when I say that even in his admission of sin, Josh Duggar continued his grandiosity- now he said of himself that he is "the biggest hypocrite ever.” St Paul in 1 Timothy claims the same for himself- the greatest of sinners.

One of the most important quotes I retain from my Seminary days was the one from the Hebrew Bible professor. The professor was liberal and progressive, but he got our attention when he said early in the course that

the longer you are in ministry the more you will be convinced that original sin is the only provable Biblical doctrine.

Yep.

I know I have seen that tendency toward sin- as much in myself as in others. Yet the self-righteousness that denies this reality can easily be found in any ideological approach to faith. It ignores our human failings, believes that all we have to do is believe the right way, worship in the right way, act the right way, have the right politics (conservative or liberal) and we will be fine.

That ignores that ever present human reality of sinfulness that is at the heart of both the Hebrew and Christian Testaments. Sadly, it also ignores something just as real- that we are not sinners in the hands of an angry God, regardless of what some people have said and still say. Both these testaments are filled with the work of grace. Grace: free and unearned forgiveness and acceptance. Grace is the reality that in the midst of who we are, there is also a God who is far greater. Yet, in spite of this free gift, it is in our innate humanness that we find ourselves in a seemingly constant struggle. It’s like we have these two voices sitting on either shoulder.

No- don’t. Sure- go ahead.

Back and forth they go.

In today’s epistle lesson from Ephesians Paul puts this in the context of a struggle- even more- a war.

There are of course different ways to describe war. The theologian-novelist Fredrick Buechner has commented that one way to look at it is a war of conquest. One way or another we all fight to conquer the world, for our place in the world. With that kind of war, Buechner says, there are adversaries of flesh and blood. They are human beings like ourselves, each of whom is fighting the same war toward the same end and under a banner emblazoned with the same word that our banners bear, and that word is of course Myself, or Myself and my Family, or Myself and my Country, Myself and my Race, which are all really MYSELF writ large.


In this type of war we wear the whole armor of man, because this is a man's war against other men. Buechner says these are things like:

• The breastplate of self-confidence because if you have no faith in yourself, if you cannot trust to your own wits, then you will never get anywhere.
• Maybe there’s the gospel of success-the good news that you can get just about anything in this world if you want it badly enough and are willing to fight for it.
• Don’t forget, adds Buechner, the shield of security because in a perilous world where anything can happen, security is perhaps what you need more than anything else - the security of money in the bank, or a college degree, or some basic skill that you can always fall back on.
• Maybe there’s the helmet of attractiveness or personality"

But there is another way to look at this struggle that we all face- and ignore at our peril.

This says Buechner is the war to become whole and at peace inside our skins. It is a war not of conquest now but a movement of liberation because the object of this other war is to liberate that part of ourselves which has somehow become lost, that dimension of selfhood that involves the capacity to forgive and to will the good not only of the self but of all other selves. This other war is the war to become a human being. This is the goal that we are really after and that God is really after. This is the goal Buechner reminds us, that power, success, and security are only forlorn substitutes for. This is the victory that not all our human armory of self-confidence and wisdom and personality can win for us- to become at last truly human.”

This is where Paul talks about the belt of truth (and perhaps we might add, honesty) a breastplate of righteousness- living right. There’s the shield of faith, the shoes of the Gospel of peace.

What this boils down to is that we need to become real and honest about who we are- sinners. Then, and this is as important as admitting our human nature- we look, as Christians, to God as revealed to us in Jesus Christ. There we will discover the storehouse of those pieces of the armor of God. In today’s Gospel, Jesus says we will live because of him, that the spirit gives life and that his words are spirit and life.

That promise is renewed every time we come here and come to the Lord's Table. We confess our sinfulness and are reminded of the presence of forgiveness. Then, in the Eucharist Jesus words in John are made new week in and week out: Those who eat my flesh and drink my blood abide in me, and I in them.

Here we discover all the many ways that Jesus living Spirit is available. We may have looked in other places and in many ways, but in the moment of that discovery- and every time- we can join with Simon Peter: “Lord, to whom can we go? You have the words of eternal life. We have come to believe and know that you are the Holy One of God.”

Charming, Challenging, Moving

Those three words in the title describe two books I recently read. Rachel Joyce started an amazing storyline in The Unlikely Pilgrimage of Harold Fry. In it she tells of Harold who received a letter from an old friend, Queenie Hennessy, that informs him she is dying and in hospice care. He decides to walk the length of England to see her and, in so doing, help her to live longer. As any regulars here know, I am a sucker for the idea of "pilgrimage," so I jumper right on it when a friend highly recommended I read it.

He was right. It is quite a commentary on all kinds of things of every day life- work, relationships, renewal, retirement, hope, dying, fame in 380+ pages. There were a number of places where Joyce could have taken an easier, more Hollywood-type approach, but she didn't. She kept the story moving at a pace that matched Harold's journey and his wife's musings. We hear much about Harold's past and see how his becoming mindful of his journey changes just about everything.

I loved the flow of the book and the way the characters kept interacting through Joyce's narrative. It's kind of like life- which I know is a pilgrimage of daily discovery. It was a bestseller and longlisted for the Man Booker Prize.

The second book is Joyce's parallel story of Queenie Hennessy as she relates her story while Harold is making his pilgrimage, The Love Song of Miss Queenie Hennessy. It is a deeper telling of the events from Harold's life from a person involved in them in ways Harold never knew. Queenie starts writing this letter after she informs Harold of her terminal illness. She describes life in the hospice, how they respond to Harold's pilgrimage and their own mortality that you can never escape in a hospice. In the midst of that Queenie also tells her back story of her time working with Harold and the 20-years since she last saw him.

Harold's pilgrimage is a physical one, transforming his inner life and world-view. Queenie's is internal, remembering and reacting, finding new ways of bringing life to a closure. Her's is truly a love song about finding and losing love while internalizing it, building it in different ways, and finally giving it a voice.

Since we already know one side of most of the events Queenie relates, it is intriguing to put the two together for a larger and more profound picture. It reminded me that we don't often know either how much impact we have on others, or how they are interacting with our lives. While that sounds trite and cliched, Joyce is an accomplished storyteller who keeps us wondering, "What next?" even as we know the end.

That is what this pilgrimage of life is like, though. We all know the end. It is the ultimate equality And yet, it is how we walk that pilgrimage, how we respond to our events that makes each life unique. Hope, transformation, grace- they are all just around the corner at each moment.

Toward Pentecost (20): Grace

A Day of Pause and Reflection

For Christians it is the day in-between. We have had the the Footwashing, the Last Supper, Gethsemane, Calvary. As I have said a number of times on this blog we have the advantage of knowing how the story ends. We know who won't be in the tomb when the women arrive tomorrow morning. We should not forget our privileged position of awareness- nor try to read it back into the original story. I saw a church sermon title for tomorrow that did that.

Afraid- But Filled With Joy

is what it read and I have assumed that it is trying to put those two feelings into the original disciples on Easter morning- a certain way of getting it wrong. Just as we don't need to be afraid today because of yesterday's Crucifixion, they had no sense of joy, even when the women reported the tomb empty.

Joy came later.

When we try to give definitive answers to what the events of that Holy Week (I still like Passion Week, by the way!) we will always fail. I don't care who you are or how educated you are, we cannot get into the First Century mindset to understand what it meant then, let alone what it means today.

I came to that realization sitting in church on Thursday evening in the silence prior to the start of the Maundy Thursday Footwashing and Eucharist. I wanted to be there and it was a calm, refreshing and renewing place to be. I thought about all the 40 years as a pastor on this evening or the years when I was first a Christian and went to the Good Friday services. I pondered the changes in the service, as the pastor said, since in most of those years there was no such thing as a footwashing service. We did those things as a "Camp-thing" but few would have thought of that for a Maundy Thursday experience.

I remembered our Moravian Lovefeasts or Tenebrae services of darkness. I reflected on the words of the liturgy:

• Do this
• My body
• My blood
• In remembrance
• Until He comes

But if you had asked me what this all means to me today, I couldn't have answered you. Nor would I have tried. I know far, far less today than I have ever known; I have far fewer final answers than I have ever had or been given. I don't need to know the answers anymore. I don't need to believe some iron-clad, no-way-around-it theology or theological ideology. I know these words express a deep, personal and universal reality. I know there is truth, no, there is Truth here that I will never grasp with my head or logic.

Nothing about this is logical. Nothing about this makes any intellectual sense in spite of what many want to find. What makes the words of Jesus and the actions of God so powerful to me today is that they don't have the same narrow meaning they may have had 2000 years ago. They are words that lead us to something far more than I can ever grasp.

Because the spiritual reality that I can fully understand will not be the spiritual reality of God. God is greater than that. God speaks in each time and each place. The events in an Upper Room, a Garden or on the garbage hill of Jerusalem in 30 AD are actions of God. No doubts there. They are part of a Truth that I will never humanly understand.

So all I can do is thank God for what God has done and is doing for me and for all. All I can express is what I have seen and heard and received.

• Grace
• Peace
• Forgiveness
• Salvation
• God's love.

So I let that surround me, wash over my feet in the footwashing, be a blessing as I washed another person's feet and then enter through me in the Eucharist.

Thanks be to God!

Maundy Thursday

The Last Supper

A Video for the Month: Go in Peace

Sam Baker.

A wonderful way to start the year.

Happy January 1!!

Third Sunday in Advent: Believing While Waiting and Not Knowing You're Waiting

In a discussion about faith, religion, spirituality and the like the other evening a moment of insight came to me.

I have never been an agnostic.

Even when I didn't know what I believed, or how it all fit together; even when I was unchurched, semi-churched, irreligious or non-religious, I never doubted the existence of "God." My understanding of "God" has undergone more than my share of transitions, revisions, revolutions and revelations. The breadth and depth of my understanding of God has changed drastically over the years and I know far, far, FAR less about God today than when I was younger. At the same time I am far, far, FAR more convinced of God's presence, grace, love and all those other words I have been posting daily in my picture devotional.

What I came to think about in that discussion on Friday evening was "waiting," which is what Advent is all about. Waiting- and being accepting of where I am at in any given moment of my faith journey. Pilgrimage is how I name it- my movement through my days seeking, in each day, the signs and grace of God. Waiting is not "inaction," which is how we often think of it. Waiting is actively moving forward in the direction of grace. Waiting is knowing that if I am honest I can admit that I don't know all that I need to know.

Waiting is finally realizing that if I ever get to the point where I really, totally, completely understand and can explain God- I have gone off the path- or I have died. Even then I have a hunch that I won't know it all or have all the answers- they just won't  matter any more.

So perhaps I should stop worrying about finding "the answers" now and instead learn to live in the presence and the grace. Yes, we are in the Advent season when waiting is uplifted. But in the waiting, we are still active in God's world. The pictures I have been posting at times have attempted to illustrate that.

The Holy Spirit is still hovering over the depths of the earth whether those are the depths of the oceans or the depths of our human souls. The Holy Spirit continues to inform our waiting and perhaps even illuminate us more deeply.

It was in God's time (Greek- kairos) that Jesus came. It is always in God's kairos, far different from our chronological time, that God gives us the next part of our understanding.

So let's wait and watch and live what we already know.

Grace.

Crumbs of Grace

Sunday's Gospel text was the story of the Phoenician woman who pleaded with Jesus for his healing. He refused with a somewhat snide remark.

It is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs.

But she was quick with a comeback:

Yes, Lord, yet even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their masters’ table.

Which led me to think the title of today's post. All any of us get in our day to day lives is truly nothing more than a few crumbs of grace falling, I believe, from the bounty of God. Crumbs of grace.

Yet it is enough. It is always enough. Grace is never deficient.

I have never thought,

Gee, if only I had a little more grace today. Things would go so much better.

Nor have I thought, (out loud, anyway!)

I deserve more grace. Look at all I have done. Look at how wonderful I can be. Surely there's more grace set aside for me.

I know that when I write that it sounds downright silly, if not idiotic. We all know (intellectually) that grace is unearnable. It's free, a gift, far beyond anything we deserve -or would get if justice were based on our human standards. Yet I have heard many people over the years make statements, in coded language of course, but the message is clear:

Look at me, I deserve more grace.

Sunday evening then I was doing some research for a presentation this fall that includes a look at "feminist ethics." As I was reading the description and insights of feminist ethics, it struck me that in the scene from the Gospel on Sunday, we were seeing an example of the "ethics of care" that the woman was presenting.

The "old ethics" was that this woman was below any attention. She doesn't even deserve grace. (I know, that's an oxymoronic statement!) But her ethic is far stronger. Her ethic is based on relationships and healing, not strength and force. Her ethic is based on caring for her daughter. So, in essence she says to Jesus and the disciples:

I don't care what your ethic is, mine is to take care of my daughter. It is as good as your ethic. Maybe better? Even the dogs get to eat the scraps, and Jesus, you are a man of grace and have a lot to share.

I then came across a quote in my reading that, for me, summed up the difference between her ethic and the ethic of force and wielding power:

grace is a healing power rather than a saving force.

What a statement. Healing vs. saving. Force, or a gift. Perhaps if we were more attuned to the Canaanite woman's ethic, we would be more open to caring for those around us in a more helpful way.

All In One

Jesus says that he is
the Way, the Truth, and the Life.

So what does that mean?

Let's keep it simple..

• The Way- the road
• The Truth- the direction of the road
• The Life- what you find on the Way of the Truth.

I am sure that this can (and has been) easily misused, abused and twisted. But the simplicity of it struck me as I was reflecting on the passage which was today's Gospel.

In Jesus we can find the road that is the best one to take. Once we find the road, we will find the directions (the map) that shows us how we are to travel. With the map in hand we begin to travel the road- the pilgrimage of faith and Spirit and there we find life in all its abundance.

I don't think God intends this to be a very closed and difficult road.

I don't think God intended this just to be for that small, elite group that believes right or has some kind of inside track.

I don't think God intends that this is a way to keep people from entering into God's amazing presence through some sorting of having been fortunate to have been born in the right place at the right time.

I have discovered that this is a way of openness and grace. If

The Way is open to someone like me and
The Truth is understandable by all, then
The Life can be mine.

Praise God from whom all blessings flow!

A 50-Year Memory

I was coerced. Well, not really. Just kind of pushed to make a decision that I wasn't willing to admit I was ready to make.

One Sunday morning my friend came back to the pew before church and announced to me that he had told the pastor I was ready to be baptized... and the pastor was going to give the invitation at the end of the service that morning.

But.... but....

No "but"s about it. It was now or else maybe never. I thought about it the whole service. I am sure I never heard a word of the sermon or felt the music as I normally did.

At the end of the service, less than an hour away, I was expected to raise my hand and go forward, indicating my intention to become a baptized Christian.

I think it took until the third verse of the hymn as my friend kept poking me and shaking his head- pointing toward the front. Finally, as I saw the pastor looking in my direction I raised my hand and was called to the front.

A few weeks later, on Sunday evening, May 17, 1964 I entered the water of the fount behind the pulpit along with several others, including my best friend's brother. I don't remember anything about the service, what questions I might have been asked, how I responded. I remember the pastor's hands on my head and back as he leaned me back and into the water.

I was at the end of my sophomore year of high school. I had made my Bar Mitzvah less than three years earlier, my Mom had died a little more than six months after that, my Dad had been in a VA hospital for nearly a year and would be gone by the end of the year. Here I was now officially a Christian, a member of the Body of Christ. It would be only a little more than 10 years after that day when I would be ordained a minister of the Moravian Church. (That anniversary will be in September!)

I left the Baptist church and its insistence on "believers' baptism" behind many years ago. I have a more "high church" understanding of sacraments today. Baptism is at the top of the list. I have written here before of the wondrous love and joy I feel whenever I have been blessed to be part of a baptism. I get the chills of the Spirit running up my spine and through my soul when I think of the words from our liturgy of baptism, words of commissioning:

Therefore live. Yet not you but Christ live in you. And the life you live, live by faith in the Son of God who loved you and gave himself for you.

Wow!

Then the deeply moving words of the priestly benediction from Leviticus:

The Lord bless you and keep you
The Lord make his face to shine on you and be gracious onto you
The Lord lift his countenance upon you and give you peace.

Such an act of indescribable grace. The little baby did nothing to earn or deserve such a blessing. The sacrament is freely given- instituted by God in Christ because we can never be good enough or do enough to deserve it.

The almost 16-year old in the baptismal of Walnut St. Baptist Church, supposedly old enough to make the decision for himself, was nowhere near ready for that grace. The nearly 66-year old today isn't either.

That's why it's grace.

That Sunday 50 years ago still stands large in my life. Even with the change and (I believe) growth in my theological and spiritual understanding, it is all built on that day. Going into that water- or bringing your child to be graced- is to go into a flow of life. It has been the source of my strength, even when I was ignoring it. It was the reminder, always present, that my sins, and my Sin, are forever forgiven.

Praise be to God who gives us the victory!

There is a river and it flows from deep within
There is a fountain that frees the soul from sin
O come to this water there is a vast supply
There is a river that never shall run dry.

Palm Sunday 2014

Between now and next Sunday Christians will ponder the mystery of Holy Week. The beginnings of the Eucharist in Holy Thursday's Last Supper, the Way of the Cross on Good Friday, the day of silence on the Great Sabbath and finally there will again, as always, be the empty tomb.

A few weeks ago a line from a hymn caught my attention and it seems right to start this Holy Week with the idea I found in it. The hymn spoke of the fact that

Grace chases evil away.

I was struck by the seeming incongruity of that statement. Not because I don't believe in grace- I depend on it day in and day out. But we don't think of what happens this week as "grace." Not in the sense that grace itself is the action that defeats evil- and will continue to defeat evil in our own lives and world.

Grace- the free, unencumbered gift from God.

If we have to earn it,

it isn't grace.

If we have to pay for it,

it isn't grace.

If we have to be good enough to deserve it,

it isn't grace.

How does that chase evil away? How does that defeat evil?

Then it came to me, evil wants us to think we are powerful
or have to be good
or earn the love of God.

Evil wants to undermine the idea that God loves us
just as we are.

In the depth of our soul we know that we can never be good enough, or strong enough, or wise enough to get the love of God

by our own actions.

As a result we end up pursuing control, looking for power.

The Evil One tells us that God will destroy us
or turn us out of paradise.

Grace calls BS on the words and works of evil.

Grace simply says

Come on in. I'm right here.

Let THAT sink in as you go through this Holy Week.

Midweek Grace for Advent - 3

Grace cannot prevail…until our lifelong certainty that someone is keeping score has run out of steam and collapsed.
― Robert Farrar Capon, Between Noon & Three: Romance, Law & the Outrage of Grace

Getting Into Trouble

Let me give proper warning, this is about to be a "rant". It has to do with that Elf on the Shelf® thingy. From their webpage:

The Elf on the Shelf® is a special scout elf sent from the North Pole to help Santa Claus manage his naughty and nice lists. When a family adopts an elf and gives it a name, the elf receives its Christmas magic and can fly to the North Pole each night to tell Santa Claus about all of the day's adventures. Each morning, the elf returns to its family and perches in a different place to watch the fun. Children love to wake up and race around the house looking for their elf each morning.

When I first heard about this I was disturbed. The more I think about it, the more disturbed I get.

There are spies in the living rooms of children all over America (and presumably the world). They are taking down the names and activities of the children in those houses and reporting them to the north Pole. What an awful idea. It perpetuates what, to me, is the biggest problem with Christmas as we celebrate it: You have to be good to get the gifts of Christmas.

The only reason some children are "being good" right now is that there is this Elf taking the information back to Santa. They want the presents. Talk about taking Christ OUT of Christmas. Using the "X" is an appropriate symbol for Christ used for centuries. Xmas is not anti-Christ. The idea of needing to be good to get what God is offering is the underlying idea that is enhanced by the Santa Claus story we have developed.

I don't know about you, but I got the presents from Santa whether I was good or bad, naughty or nice.

I think it was the first time I understood grace.

By the way, I believe in Santa. I like Santa. Not because he brings me gifts, but because he is a bringer of grace. Let's tell THAT story as well.

Midweek Grace for Advent - 2

Grace is the celebration of life, relentlessly hounding all the non-celebrants in the world. It is a floating, cosmic bash shouting its way through the streets of the universe, flinging the sweetness of its cassations to every window, pounding at every door in a hilarity beyond all liking and happening, until the prodigals come out at last and dance, and the elder brothers finally take their fingers out of their ears.
― Robert Farrar Capon, Between Noon & Three: Romance, Law & the Outrage of Grace