The Waking Dreamer

2012-01-15T16:23:00.001-06:00

Sacred Space

1 Sam. 3:1-10; 1 Cor. 6:19[1]

Some of you know that I’ve been trying to lose 20 pounds for a while now. I guess about the last 6 years! It’s no secret that one of the keys to losing weight is a regular exercise program. I did try it—mainly motivated by the desire to lose the belly I developed in my forties! One of the things I realized recently about why I could never stick to anything is that I was essentially doing it on my own. About six months ago I walked into a yoga class at the YMCA, and I’ve hardly missed a class ever since. There’s something about having a class to make at a certain time that helps me follow my exercise routine more regularly. But more importantly, the fact that I’m working out with other people instead of essentially on my own makes it much more fun—even though it’s still hard work.

Our lessons for today confront us with the reality that spirituality is something we have to work at—it doesn’t just come naturally, it has to be cultivated. In our lesson from Samuel, we hear about a boy called to fill the vacuum left by priests who had so thoroughly abandoned their calling that “the word of the Lord was rare in those days” (1 Sam. 3:1). The sons of Eli were blaspheming God by using their position to fleece people who were just trying to worship God. The result was a spiritual impoverishment over the whole land. Our lesson from St. Paul shows us a congregation that had let their new-found freedom in Christ turn into license to do just about anything they wanted, using the slogan, “all things are lawful.” But again, it seems to me that their casual approach to faith resulted in the poverty of their souls that they tried to fill by indulging their desires.

I think we can identify with these lessons. It seems to me that we can see signs of our own spiritual poverty all around us. We define our lives by the clothes we wear and the cars we drive. We are constantly chained to some kind of electronic device or another, constantly staring at some kind of screen. It’s no wonder we feel so lonely and so isolated, so cut off from God and from the life of God’s Spirit in the world. It’s no wonder we are driven to try to fill that emptiness with other things or to use all kinds of substances to at least dull the pain.

Ironically, although our spirituality seems to be at an all-time low, in some respects “religion” seems to be doing better than ever. But it’s a religion that reminds me of something the prophet Isaiah said: “these people honor me with their lips, but their hearts are far from me” (Isa. 29:13). It’s pretty obvious that religion these days can be just a veneer to cover over the way we really live. It’s no wonder so many people can say “I’m spiritual, but not religious.” And yet, I’m not so sure that works any better than our superficial religion. What a contrast to the joyful lesson of Epiphany that God is here among us. As I said last week, the good news of this season is that wherever we are, God is there, loving us, nurturing us, drawing us into the joy of God’s life and love. And yet, it seems that we have embraced a way of life that reinforces the feeling that we are god-forsaken, cut off from God’s presence and the joy of God’s life and love.

The hard truth is that a sense of God’s constant presence isn’t something that comes any more automatically than getting back into a regular exercise routine. Religion has played a role in keeping God at a distance by designating only certain spaces as “sacred space” where God is present and by separating all but the special few from that “sacred space.” But the idea that God is separated from us tends to interject separations into all of life: we separate body vs. soul, individual vs. community, and humanity vs. the natural world. It seems to me that all these forms of segregation isolate us from creation, from one another, and from God.[2] The reason for that is because it is in the world around us, in other people, and in God’s creation that we experience God’s presence through the Spirit.

If we want to integrate our lives more fully into the freedom and joy and exuberance of God’s Spirit, it will take some effort. True “spirituality” is something that has to be cultivated—it’s not just the default mode that we fall back on when we reject organized religion for all its many flaws. Genuine spirituality is something you have to practice. For some people, the traditional ways of doing that will work—you study the Bible, you pray, you give, etc. For other people, it will take different practices, practices that reinforce the truth that all the space around us as sacred space because it is constantly inhabited by God’s Spirit. In a recent book called An Altar in the World, Barbara Brown Taylor discusses ways of recognizing that—practices like taking time off, engaging in physical labor, feeling pain, pronouncing blessings, and getting lost![3]

We’re not much into cultivating things these days. We’d much rather just pull up to the drive through and take home whatever it is we want. Or order something on the Internet and have it on our doorstep the next day. But if we want to live in the joy of God’s presence and God’s life and love, we are going to have to be intentional about seeking to integrate our lives into our faith. We’re going to have to cultivate a sense of Gods’ presence through the Spirit that constantly surrounds and fills us.

One way I’ve found helpful is to turn off all the distracting noise and all the devices we use to escape reality and just pay more attention to what’s going on right here and now. Another way I’ve found helpful is to avoid the “lone ranger” approach and make cultivating spirituality a group effort.[4] That’s why we do things like having Wednesday Bible Study and evening prayers and a Servant Leadership School. Practicing our faith and our spirituality can be much more meaningful in a group that on your own—much like my experience with my exercise routine. I can’t guarantee automatic results. But I can guarantee that if you intentionally practice your faith in these ways, from time to time, sometimes when you least expect it, the Spirit will surround you and fill you with a sense of God’s presence that leaves you seeing every part of your life as sacred space.

[2] Cf. Jürgen Moltmann, The Spirit of Life: A Universal Affirmation, 173.

[3] Cf. Barbara Brown Taylor, An Altar in the World, xv-xvi.

[4] Cf. Taylor, An Altar in the World, 9, where she says that “houses of worship” are places “where people of faith meet to say their prayers, because saying them together reminds them of who they are better than saying them alone.”

2012-01-15T16:10:00.000-06:00

God is Here!

Gen. 1:1-5[1]

As most of you know, Kristi and I have become parents again—we’re raising our beautiful granddaughter Avery. Because she’s had some instability in her short life, we’ve done things like letting her keep her nighttime bottle longer than most pediatricians would recommend. It was difficult getting her off that at first, but she made the transition just fine. Now we’re helping her make the transition from having one of us in the room when she goes to sleep at night to going to sleep on her own. Our motivations are mixed on this one—it’s important for her to learn to do that, but we also want her to be able to put herself back to sleep on her own when she wakes up in the middle of the night!

We got some professional advice on this, and you might find the method interesting. We go through her normal bedtime routine, and we sit in the chair by her bed like usual. Then we “remember” we have to go do something “right quick” and we’ll be “right back.” We stay gone for a short time at first—only 30 to 45 seconds. Then we come back and sit down again for a short time. And then we “remember” that we have to do something else, and we’ll be right back. And we stay gone a little bit longer each time, until we come back and find her asleep. She’s essentially learning that even when Grandpa and Grandma aren’t right there, physically present in the room, we’re still there.

I think that’s a lesson most of us are still learning when it comes to God. Even when we don’t feel like God is anywhere near us, God is always as close to us as the air we are breathing.[2] Wherever we are, God is there, loving us, nurturing us, drawing us into the joy of God’s life and love.[3] Unfortunately, I doubt that there are many people in this world who really believe that. Even in church. Especially in church!

I think part of the problem is that traditional religion has tended to promote the idea that God is essentially estranged from us. God is “up there,” distant, remote, and unconcerned. We have to do something very, very special to get God’s attention, and even then, we may or may not succeed. That may work for some people. But I personally find that way of looking at God very unsatisfying. I don’t want a God who may come around for brief and fleeting encounters any more than I want a spouse who comes by for a visit once in a blue moon! I want a God who’s always there for me. I suspect that I may not be alone in that.

One of the reasons why I’m such a proponent of the Bible is that I firmly believe that’s the way it actually depicts God. I firmly believe that the witness of Scripture is that God is with us all continuously. In our lesson from Genesis for today, the Bible uses the language of the Spirit to express this conviction. It describes the Spirit of God as “hovering” or “resonating” over the world as it is being formed and ordered by God’s creative Word.[4] I believe that, from the very beginning, God has been fully present to everyone and everything in this world. And God is still with us because the Spirit of God still “hovers” and “resonates” over and around and in us all.[5]

The idea that God is constantly with us all through the Spirit’s presence is one that pervades human spiritual and religious experience. We have used many names for this “presence” throughout the centuries—the ancient Chinese called it “Chi.” Buddhists spoke of it as an emptiness that connects us all together![6] Whatever the word for it, religions of all kinds have by and large operated from the conviction that there is a powerful spiritual life force that pervades and upholds and fills everything.

One of the things I find interesting is how many of these religious and spiritual traditions use breathing as a means of quieting the distractions that compete for our attention and encountering the presence of something greater than ourselves. The reason I find it so interesting is that when the Hebrew Bible speaks of the Spirit of God hovering over all things at the beginning of creation, the word for “Spirit” is the same word as the “breath” that is later breathed into human beings to bring them to life! In a very real sense, the various spiritual traditions in our world echo the biblical conviction that the Spirit hovers over all creation, resonating with all living beings, giving them breath, and filling them with the life-giving presence of God. [7]

It’s amazing how quickly children pick up on things. The second night of our new bedtime routine, Avery was already anticipating our pretenses for slipping out of the room. But it’s also amazing how quickly children can learn. After only a few nights of our new bedtime routine, she’s already learning that we’re still there with her, even if we’re not right there in the room. That’s a lesson I think most of us are still learning when it comes to God. The biblical story of creation teaches us that from the very beginning, God has been right here. And God is still right here with us all. Even when we don’t feel like God is anywhere near us, God is never any farther away from us that the very breath we fill our lungs with. All we have to do to become aware that God is right here with us is to just breathe! Wherever we are, God is always here.

[2] Cf. Jürgen Moltmann’s concept of God’s “interpenetration” of all creation; see Trinity and the Kingdom, 39, 104-5. See also Jürgen Moltmann, God in Creation, 9; Jürgen Moltmann, The Spirit of Life, 161. See further, Paul Tillich, “Spiritual Presence,” in The Eternal Now, 86-87.

[3] Moltmann, God in Creation, 9-17.

[4] There is great debate whether the reference in Gen. 1:2 is to a “great wind” that is part of the chaos God tames through the creative word, or whether it refers to the “Spirit of God” hovering over the primordial deep as an agent of creation. Cf. Claus Westermann, Genesis 1-11, 106-8; cf. also Gordon J. Wenham, Genesis 1-15, 16-17.

[5] Jürgen Moltmann, God in Creation, 9-10, 96, 98-103. Cf. Paul F. Knitter, Without Buddha I Could Not Be A Christian, 22- 23.

[6] Cf. Knitter, Without Buddha, 18-23, where he explores the Buddhist concept of “emptiness” in terms of Thich Nhat Hanh’s conception of it as “InterBeing,” or “the interconnected state of things constantly churning out new connections, new possibilities, new life” (ibid., p.12).

[7] Cf. Jürgen Moltmann, The Spirit of Life, 34-35; Peter C. Hodgson, Winds of the Spirit, 277-79.

2012-01-15T16:07:00.001-06:00

Love Came Down[1]

By now, Christmas has come and gone for most of us, even though it is only the “Eighth Day of Christmas.” For most of us, this is a time not for celebrating the fulfillment of God’s promises in the birth of the Christ child, but rather a time for recovering from the Christmas frenzy. For most of us, it’s a time to return gifts that either don’t fit, or aren’t quite right, or that we simply don’t want. Then there’s the rush to take down all our decorations so that our household can “get back to normal.” For many of us, these days are the beginning the long, gray, dreary experience of January. It’s a time for riding out the winter until springtime comes around. Truth be told, we are entering what is for most of us the least favorite time of year.

Maybe that’s why we put such emphasis on “New Year’s Resolutions.” In order to take our minds off the post-Christmas “hangover,” we determine what we’re going to do differently with our lives in the New Year. Part of that is deciding what we’re going to “give up” this year. You know, those bad habits we’ve slipped back into. Those foods we’ve been eating that we know good and well we shouldn’t. But I think it’s also a time when we think about what we’re going to do differently with our lives.

I saw an amazing movie last night for my New Year’s Eve celebration—Martin Scorseses’ contemporary masterpiece, “Hugo.” It’s the story of a boy living in the Paris train station who, like everyone else around him, is looking for the purpose of his life. After his father, a watch-maker, dies in a tragic fire, all Hugo has to figure it out the purpose of his life is an “automaton” that his father found in a museum attic. It was a mechanical person—essentially a robot—that was broken and tarnished from disuse, and together they set about to repair it. But after losing his father, Hugo must carry on alone as best he can.

When Hugo’s father dies, his uncle Claude takes him to live in the train station and help him keep the clocks working. But Claude is a drunk and soon disappears, leaving Hugo to make his own way. As he continues to maintain the clocks, Hugo also searches for a way to repair the mysterious automaton. As he steals food to keep himself alive, he also steals toy parts from a shop in the station run by a bitter old man.

As it turns out, however, the toy shop keeper is none other than Georges Méliès, a famous pioneer in movie-making who created “movie magic” through a variety of innovative techniques. But the devastation of World War I left him virtually bankrupt, able to barely support himself by running the toy shop. Part of Hugo’s quest is connected to Mssr. Méliès, because he was the original maker of the automaton that Hugo is trying to repair. In the end, with the help of Méliès’ god-daughter Isabella, Hugo not only finds his own purpose, but also helps restore Mssr. Méliès to his calling as a visual “magician.”

As a person who gave up his calling for the sake of integrity, and then gave up his career for the sake of his kids, I resonate with the struggle to find meaning and purpose in life when it seems that I cannot do what I was born into this world to do—to teach the Bible to people who want to become ministers. Make no mistake—I am deeply grateful for the opportunity to be a part of the two communities of faith I serve as Pastor. But I still struggle with the loss of what I thought was my life’s purpose.

But I think “Hugo” exposes the flaw in our thinking about purpose and meaning. As I did when I was younger, we tend to think that our purpose and meaning in life has to do with accomplishing something. It seems to me that at the heart of all our lives is the calling to embrace the divine compassion that is at the heart of all things and to share that compassion with those around us in any and every way we can. That’s what Hugo does by repairing the automaton and in the process restoring Georges Méliès to his vocation as a visual “magician.” The purpose and meaning of our lives is to open ourselves to the love at the heart of all things and share that love with those around us in our world that can be incredibly loveless at times.

I’m going to be giving up some things this year—at least I hope. I’m going to try to give up being short-tempered in stressful situations. I’m going to try to give up thinking about myself so much and think about others more. But one thing I will never give up is the conviction that at the heart of all things there is a divine compassion that defines and surrounds us all constantly. I actually learned this most lesson profoundly from studying Buddhism!

But it is a conviction that is central to our faith as well. Our lesson from St. Paul for today uses this language to describe it: “God has sent the Spirit of his Son into our hearts, crying, ‘Abba! Father!’ So you are no longer a slave but a child, and if a child then also an heir, through God” (Gal. 4:7). The Spirit that God pours into all our hearts is a Spirit of compassion. It is a Spirit that embraces us and makes us a part of a family defined by God’s love. It is that compassion that gives us our meaning and purpose in this life. And so I’m going to resolve to try to live into what I believe is the true purpose of my life—to open myself to God’s love that constantly surrounds me and try to share it with those around me. I hope you will consider doing the same.

2012-01-15T16:05:00.000-06:00

God’s Favorites

Isa. 61:1-4. 8-11; Lk. 2:14[1]

“Playing favorites” never has a positive connotation. Whether it’s in the home or at work or among friends, when you start “playing favorites,” someone gets special privileges and someone gets passed over. It can wreak havoc in any context, creating strife at work, hard feelings among friends, and painful humiliation in the home. There’s really nothing good you can say about playing favorites. I think Kristi and I know a little something of the challenges of playing favorites, since we have a blended family of five. From the outset, however, we have made it our intention never to “play favorites” with our kids. We don’t view them as “your kids” or “my kids”; they are “our kids.” Of course, it doesn’t always work out that neatly. But we do our best to avoid “playing favorites,” because it can destroy the very fabric of a family.

I think “Playing favorites” is something to be avoided in just about every situation involving human relationships. And yet, it would seem that at the heart of the Christian message is the idea that God plays favorites![2] It would seem that the story of the Scriptures is that God chooses a family to bless in a special way above all other families. God chooses a people to liberate so as to be unique above all other peoples. God chooses a nation to honor as a favorite possession treasured above all other nations. It sounds like God is “playing favorites”!

In fact, the phrase at the heart of our Christmas celebrations, “Peace on earth, good will toward men,” is a prime example of this problem. As I mentioned last week, the best evidence we have is that it should actually read, “Peace on earth to men of good will.”[3] As one translation says it, “peace on earth” is for those “on whom God’s favor rests” (Lk. 2:14, NIV). Again, that sounds like God is “playing favorites.” It sounds like the good news of peace on earth is not for all people, but only for God’s favorites.

But I think it’s important at this point to ask on whom does God’s favor rest. Does God’s favor rest on just the few, only the chosen, only the righteous? That idea is not consistent with the strange Kingdom of Heaven we’ve seen and heard about in Jesus’ parables. In fact, it’s not even consistent with the Angels’ announcement of “peace on earth” itself. It was made to shepherds, the ultimate outcasts in the Jewish world of that time. It seems to me that the announcement of “peace on earth to all whom God favors” (Lk. 2:14, NLT) precisely to those who would seem to be the most disfavored of people indicates that it’s God’s peace for all that is the promise of Advent. It’s God’s good will toward the whole human family that the Angels’ Christmas declaration is talking about![4]

It’s the same message of the prophet Isaiah: in our text for this week, the prophet Isaiah announces “the year of the Lord’s favor.” This is shorthand for the “year of Jubilee,” the time when all debts were cancelled and all property sold or mortgaged was returned to the original owners. Isaiah reminds us that in “the year of the Lord’s favor,” God comes to set right everything that has gone wrong, which make it possible for all people to thrive.[5] It’s a time when God’s grace defines life for all people.

But Isaiah reminds us that this also involves “the day of vengeance of our God.” To some extent, God’s coming to set things right involves an element of “judgment.” But as we have seen many times, from the perspective of God’s grace “judgment” is never simply punishment. We might envision it as “preparing the way for the Lord,” as making straight what is crooked in order that it may be set right.[6] It is a matter of restoring us all to the people we were meant to be.[7] And it extends ultimately to all humankind—just and unjust, righteous and sinful alike.[8]

It seems to me that we all long for that kind of acceptance; acceptance that is complete and unconditional. Any kind of “playing favorites” hinders that. I know, because I’ve been on both sides of that game, and I’ve seen how much harm it can do. I’ve been the favored child, and I’ve experienced the false sense of privilege and entitlement that goes along with that. I’ve also been the disfavored one, and I’ve experienced the humiliation and the pain of being rejected. So to me, the suggestion that God would somehow “play favorites” and inflict that kind of experience on a single solitary person is appalling in the extreme.

But that is not the good news of the gospel! The good news of the Christmas Gospel is that Jesus has come so that now God’s favor rests on all people alike, with no exceptions! The Angels’ announcement means that it is now the “year of the Lord’s favor;” it is the time when God’s grace defines our lives—all our lives. The joyful message of the angelic choir, “peace on earth to all whom God favors,” is that now we are all—with no exceptions—“God’s favorites.”

[2] And this, despite the fact that the Bible claims several times that God doesn’t “play favorites” (2 Chron. 19:7; Acts 10:34; Rom. 2:11; Gal 2:6; Eph. 6:9)!

[3] Cf. F. Bovon, and H. Koester, Luke 1 : A commentary on the Gospel of Luke 1:1-9:50, 91.

[4] Cf. Fred B. Craddock, Luke, 36

[5] Cf. James L. Mays, Psalms, 311, “Righteousness is the rightness that makes for life and shalom.” Cf. also Jürgen Moltmann, The Way of Jesus Christ, 121.

[6] Cf. Christopher R. Seitz, Isaiah 1-39, 192; cf. also Jürgen Moltmann, The Coming of God, 243-44, 255.

[7] Cf. Claus Westermann, Isaiah 40-66, 367, where he points out that “vengeance” in Isa. 61:2 refers to restoration; cf. The Inclusive Translation, “day of vindication.” See also Isaiah 10:20–27; see also Jeremiah 30:1–9; Micah 5:7–15; Zechariah 8:1–8; 12:1–13:6; 14:1–21.

[8] Isaiah 2:2-4; 25:6–10; 45:20-25; 52:7–10; 66:18, 23; see also Micah 4:1-3; Jeremiah 3:17; 16:19.

2012-01-15T16:03:00.000-06:00

Peace on Earth

Isa 40:1-11; Mk. 1:1-8[1]

As most of you know, I spent about 5 days last week in Cameroon. What you may not know is that I was for the most part accompanied by Presbyterian nuns. Yes, in Cameroon there is an order of nuns called the Emmanuel Sisters who are Presbyterian! I think they’re probably the only Presbyterian monastic order in the whole world! But based on my experience with them, I say may their tribe increase! Of course, my view may be biased a bit. They did look after me with kindness and vigilance—concerned to make sure my every need was met!

But there was something more to it than just the fact that they treated me like royalty for those few days. What I experienced among them was an incredible amount of joy. Make no mistake—they live rigorous lives. They are up at 5 am for the first of 7 rounds of worship throughout the day. And when they are not at their prayers they are at work, making ordination gowns and stoles for all the new Presbyterian ministers, making communion wafers for the whole Presbyterian Church in Northwest Cameroon, making yogurt and butter, cooking, cleaning, etc. Their lives are full of work. And they do it with such amazing joy it’s hard not to be infected by their spirit.

I think one of the things that enables them to live such difficult lives with so much joy is that they experience the peace that we all hope for and long for at Advent. I think in part it is their constant spiritual focus. Their days are literally punctuated by worship. They sing the Psalms and read the Scriptures and pray, and they do it all with an African flair. That means when they are singing their praise songs, they’re dancing and shaking rattles and playing drums and other instruments. It seems to me that their joyful focus on worship is a powerful means of enabling them to be filled with peace.

Advent is a special time of year for us. Or at least it can be. If we can survive all the hustle and bustle, all the pushing and shoving of the pre-Christmas buying frenzy without letting it completely sour the way we view life, Advent can be a special time of year. It is a time of looking. A time of looking for the promise that our faith holds out to us: “peace on earth to all whom God favors” (Lk. 2:14, NLT). That translation may be different from what you’re used to. The traditional one says, “peace on earth, good will toward men.” But I think they say the same thing, except the first one says it better. It’s God’s peace on earth that is the promise of Advent. It’s God’s good will toward the human family that Christmas is talking about! [2]

And that good will is very specific. In the book of the prophet Isaiah, the good news of Advent is that God comes to reconcile and to heal and to restore all people, along with all creation. That’s why Isaiah could speak of God’s coming like a shepherd who gently carries the lambs who are either too weak to make it back to safety or who perhaps have been injured (Isa. 40:11). And the prophet’s message of restoration fills the whole book of Isaiah—with promises of the end of violence and warfare (Isa. 2:4), of the end of suffering and oppression (Isa. 25:8); a promise of a rich feast set for all peoples (Isa. 25:6), of God coming to set right everything that has gone wrong (Isa. 28:5-6) and to restore and heal those who are weak and injured (Isa. 35:3-6).[3]

And part of the “Good News According to the Prophet Isaiah” is that “the word of our God will stand forever.” In this context, that is a bold declaration that God will not leave the promises of salvation, restoration, and renewal unfulfilled.[4] In another passage, Isaiah puts it this way: “as the rain and the snow come down from heaven, and do not return there until they have watered the earth, making it bring forth and sprout, giving seed to the sower and bread to the eater, so shall my word be that goes out from my mouth; it shall not return to me empty, but it shall accomplish that which I purpose, and succeed in the thing for which I sent it. For you shall go out in joy, and be led back in peace” (Isa. 55:10-12). The prophet declared in the name of the Lord that “the word of God” does not return empty, but accomplishes what it was intended for—to bring joy and peace.

I think I got to experience a little bit of that joy and peace on earth, right here, right now. The Sisters of Emmanuel were generous enough to embrace me into their fellowship and share the joy and the peace that defines their lives. I think that’s one of their secrets to a life of joy and peace—embracing all who come into their path. They called it “the heart of Africa.” And it means that you embrace everyone you meet as “my” sister or “my” brother. I only hope and pray that I can cultivate that “heart of Africa.” I pray that I can keep that joy and peace in the midst of all the stress and frustration that we call “the Christmas season.” In fact, I hope that I can keep that joy of “peace on earth to all whom God favors.” And I hope that you can too.

[2] Cf. R. Alan Culpepper, “The Gospel of Luke,” New Interpreters Bible IX:65; Fred B. Craddock, Luke, 36; F. Bovon, and H. Koester, Luke 1 : A commentary on the Gospel of Luke 1:1-9:50, 91.

[3] Brevard Childs, Isaiah, 298-301.

[4] Paul D. Hanson, Isaiah 40-66, 10; cf. Claus Westermann, Isaiah 40-66, 36-37, 42-43.

2011-11-17T07:20:00.002-06:00

Merit Badges

Mt. 25:14-30[1]

Most of you know that I was a Boy Scout. And many of you know that I’m an Eagle Scout. What you may not know is that I really liked the whole system of checking off requirements to advance to the next rank—from Tenderfoot to Second Class to First Class to Star to Life to Eagle. I also liked the whole aspect of earning merit badges. When you completed all the assignments, you finished the badge. And at the next Court of Honor, you got that badge and you got to wear it on your sash. It was a very satisfying thing to have a merit badge sash full of badges. When I first started out, I had three—rowing, canoeing, and swimming. I took those my first year at Summer Camp in 1972. Having a sash with only 3 merit badges made you feel kind of “naked.” So there was a subtle motivation to fill that sash up! When I finished in 1977, I had 28 merit badges.

I always liked that system—you check off requirements, and you get a reward. I’ve often thought I should have gone into the military, because at least on the surface it looks like an extension of that very structured system of merits and rewards. It seems to me that a lot of people look at the parable of the talents in our Gospel lesson for today and think that the “Kingdom of Heaven” operates like that. Now, I realize that among the parables of the kingdom in Matthew’s Gospel, this one may be the hardest to see as ironical—it is in fact talking about the opposite of what the kingdom is like. Most of us have heard the “sanitized” version of the parable—the “talents” are abilities that you’ve been given to invest on behalf of the kingdom, and if you don’t use them you lose them. But I don’t think that’s what this parable is about at all. Not at all!

In the first place, a “talent” in that day and time was an incredible fortune—the equivalent of ten to twenty years’ wages. This story should be called “The Parable of the Fortune Funds.” That puts this parable in a completely different realm of life—that of profits and margins and commissions! But more importantly, if you pay close attention to the details, this parable is about earning rewards. You get five fortune funds, you earn five more, and you get to keep all ten as a reward. You get two fortunes, you earn two more, and you get to keep all four. It’s very structured, very predictable. The rewards match the deeds; the merits match the achievements. But the down side applies to any “under-achievers.” If you’re like the servant who got one fortune and did nothing with it for fear of losing a great deal of money, then you don’t even get to keep that. And because you didn’t live up to the requirements, you get thrown out and punished.[2]

If that’s really what the “Kingdom of Heaven” is like, God looks more like a ruthless Wall Street tycoon than a loving creator and redeemer.[3] In that version of the kingdom, “to all those who have, more will be given, and they will have an abundance; but from those who have nothing, even what they have will be taken away” (Matt. 25:29). Make no mistake, if the parable of the talents is not ironical, then the “kingdom of heaven” is about a strict system of earning rewards, and there’s not much room for grace or forgiveness or mercy.

I don’t know about you, but to me that doesn’t sound much like the God who blesses the poor in spirit, those who mourn, the meek, and those who hunger and thirst for righteousness (Matt. 5:3-6). It doesn’t sound much like the God who freely gives the blessings of sun and rain to all alike (Matt. 5:45). It doesn’t sound much like the God who feeds and clothes those who have little faith (Matt. 6:25-30), or the God who gives good things to those who ask like any parent does with a child (Matt. 7:7-11).[4] It doesn’t sound very much like the God who cares so much about each one of us as to keep track of the very hairs of our head (Matt. 10:30)! And it doesn’t sound like the God who seeks us out like a shepherd seeking one lost sheep because it is not God’s will that “one of these little ones should be lost.” (Matt. 18:14).

Nor does the idea of a kingdom that operates based on merit and rewards sound much like the strange kingdom Jesus talks about. In this strange kingdom, there is nothing to earn—no merits or rewards to rack up.[5] And everybody gets the same gift—God’s full and free acceptance. In this strange kingdom, the religious “under-achievers” gain entry ahead of those who think they’ve racked up more spiritual points. In this strange kingdom, God doesn’t throw people into “outer darkness,” because the only judgment is based on God’s mercy that forgives all sin and creates the possibility of new life for everyone.[6] It is a strange kingdom indeed—one that works completely contrary to the way things work in our world.

Now, what you may not know about my merit badge sash is that there are two badges missing that almost every Boy Scout everywhere always earns. I never got my Cooking and Camping merit badges! Isn’t that absurd—an Eagle Scout without Cooking and Camping merit badges! Of course, in reality I fulfilled the requirements for both of them many times over. But I was never officially awarded the badges! In our world—sometimes—when you fulfill the requirements you get the reward. When you do what is expected—sometimes—you get the “merit badge”—whatever form your “merit badge” might take. And when you collect enough badges you get to move up to the next rung of the ladder. And you keep climbing, because if you slack off, you might get bumped all the way off the ladder!

But that’s precisely the problem with that kind of system. It works for those who make it to the top; but for everyone else, it means only rejection and humiliation; "the scorn of those who are at ease, the contempt of the proud" (Ps. 123:4). More importantly, if whether we “make it” or not in a spiritual sense is determined by a strict system of merit and reward, then the plain truth is that we’re all under-achievers. On our own, none of us can ever earn enough merit badges. But I think that’s Jesus’ point—the “Kingdom of Heaven” works completely differently from “The Parable of the Fortune Funds.” In this strange kingdom, there are no badges and no rewards, because everything is a gift. In the “Kingdom of Heaven,” everything depends on God’s love, which never fails, and God’s grace, which always seeks us out, and God’s mercy, which embraces us all completely.

[2] It seems to me that the 2011 Independent film “Margin Call” presents a contemporary real-life scenario that effectively models this dynamic of “winners” and “losers” in the financial world.

[3] In fact, Berthold Brecht, in his Threepenny Novel, has a scene in which a Bishop preaches a funeral sermon for the crew of a warship that sank because it was launched in unseaworthy condition. The Bishop uses this parable to justify the profit that the wealthy ship builders made at the expense of the crew’s lives. See U. Luz and H. Koester, Matthew 21-28, 250. They observe, “When the rapaciousness of a capitalist … become(s) a parable for the kingdom of God, … these methods and the profit motive behind them are justified … . God thus becomes a God of the rich and the clever, since he acts just like them.”

[4] See David J. Neville, “Toward a Teleology of Peace: Contesting Matthew’s Violent Eschatology,” Journal for the Study of the New Testament 30 (Dec 2007): 153, where he points out the tension between the violent outcomes in these end-times parables of Matthew’s Gospel and the presentation of Jesus’ teaching in Matthew’s Sermon on the Mount which he describes as “a nonviolent moral vision … grounded in the indiscriminate love of God.”

[5] Cf. Desmond and Mpho Tutu, Made for Goodness: And Why This Makes All the Difference, 21.

[6] Cf. Jürgen Moltmann, The Way of Jesus Christ, 315, 334-37. Cf. similarly, Jürgen Moltmann, The Coming of God, 255.

2011-11-08T16:06:00.001-06:00

Final Judgment?

Mt. 25:1-13[1]

I went to school with a guy named John. He was a troubled fellow—I never knew his whole story, but I know that he suffered. As a result John became fixated on the concept of God as an angry God, a God of judgment who punishes people, seemingly without mercy. Because he was always condemning people, my fellow students called him “John the Baptist.” I tried to be compassionate and respectful toward him, but John was convinced that just about everybody we knew would wind up in hell! I think that John’s obsession with an angry and violent God may in and of itself give us a clue what he suffered.

I’ve always been amazed when people speak with absolute certainty about what happens to us when we die—I wonder if most or all of them suffered a similar trauma. For whatever reason, there are people out there who seem to think they can describe the entire process in great detail. And depending on who’s sketching out this end-time scenario, our eternal destiny depends on having said the right words and done the right things with reference to faith in Jesus. Of course, these people are also supremely confident that they will be rewarded, because they have said the right words and done the right thing with reference to faith. And they are supremely confident that if you haven’t said the same words and done the same things then you will be rejected.

Our Gospel lesson for today raises these issues for us. In it, Jesus presents a parable about bridesmaids waiting for a bridegroom. Five of them are wise, and they bring enough oil to keep their lamps lit in case the bridegroom delays. Five of them are foolish, and they don’t think to bring extra oil. When the bridegroom arrives, the foolish bridesmaids are left behind and shut out because they didn’t have any oil. The story seems to conform to St. Matthew’s fondness for pointing out that there are some in the church who are wise and follow Jesus’ teachings and there are some who are foolish and don’t (cf. Matt. 7:21-23).[2]

But there are some problems with the parable. Although this is a parable about a wedding, there is no bride! And when the bridegroom does arrive—at midnight!—the wise bridesmaids tell the foolish ones to go out and buy oil for their lamps—at midnight! Furthermore, although the main point of the parable is that we are to keep awake because we don’t know the day or the hour (Matt. 25:13), all of the bridesmaids fell asleep! But perhaps the most important difficulty is the fact that when the foolish maids return, they cannot enter because the door is shut. That turns the idea of a wedding celebration, which is thoroughly joyful, into the threat of being excluded![3]

This seems to be consistent with St. Matthew’s idea that there are some in the community of Christ who really don’t belong there, and when the judgment is rendered, they will be exposed and shut out from the blessings of salvation. But I’m not so sure he got this idea from Jesus. In fact, this kind of thinking was prevalent in that day—it’s called “apocalyptic.” It originated in response to the trauma the Jewish people suffered at the hands of their Greek and Roman overlords. The main idea of apocalyptic is that at the end of time, God will come to vindicate the faithful by taking revenge on the rich and powerful oppressors who have tormented them. Ultimately, all those who do not belong to the people of God will be violently destroyed—either at the hands of God or at the hands of God’s people marching to victory in battle. That way of looking at things may sound familiar to you, because it’s still around today.

My problem with this is that there’s not much about that viewpoint that rings true to the message of Christ![4] Although the church has shut doors for centuries, God doesn’t shut doors. Although supposedly “righteous” people have been keeping people out since the beginning of our faith, Jesus doesn’t keep people out. It seems to me that contrary to shutting people out, Jesus occupied himself by breaking down the barriers that kept people out.[5]

Now, there’s no question that Jesus pointed to a future fulfillment of the strange kingdom that we can only glimpse here and now. And it’s also clear that Jesus warned that we would all be accountable for our actions in this life. But the biblical view of judgment is very different from what you find in apocalyptic. Biblical judgment always leads to restoration. Biblical judgment is about redeeming those who have gone astray, not punishing them. Biblical judgment is about God’s justice of mercy that forgives all sin and creates the possibility of new life for us all. [6]

No, the apocalyptic obsession with judgment and punishment are simply not God’s word to humankind. In God’s judgment, the only things that are destroyed are sin and death (1 Cor. 15:58). In God’s judgment, what is final is that God’s steadfast love endures forever (Ps. 106:1). In God’s judgment, what is final is that all things are restored by Jesus our Savior (Eph. 1:10). In God’s judgment, what is final is that every knee shall bow and every person who ever lived or ever will live will one day acknowledge God as their Savior (Isa. 45:22-23; Phil. 2:10-11). It seems to me that the only thing final about God’s judgment is that God has determined to “make everything new” (Rev. 21:5).[7] It is the promise of the fulfillment of God’s strange kingdom of justice and peace and mercy and joy and love and life.[8]

[2] Cf. M. Eugene Boring, “The Gospel According to Matthew” New Interpreters Bible 8:449-451; cf. also U. Luz and H. Koester, Matthew 21-28, 244.

[3] Luz and Koester, Matthew 21-28, 244.

[4] Jürgen Moltmann, In the End, The Beginning, 139-151.

[5] Cf. Matt. 9:10-13 (tax collectors and sinners); Matt. 15:22-28 (gentiles and women); Matt. 18:1-5 (children); Matt:21:31-32 (tax collectors and prostitutes); and Matt. 25: 34-40 (destitute, homeless, foreigners, physically disadvantaged, prisoners). Cf. also Jürgen Moltmann, The Way of Jesus Christ, 112-116.

[6] See especially Jürgen Moltmann, The Coming of God, 250-55; Cf. also Karl Barth, Church Dogmatics 4.4:56.

[7] Cf. Moltmann, The Coming of God, 240-46

[8] See Desmond Tutu, God Has A Dream, 122; cf. also Hans Küng, The Christian Challenge, 120; and Jürgen Moltmann, The Church in the Power of the Spirit, 77, 190, 216.

2011-11-08T15:59:00.002-06:00

Doing as We Say

Mt. 23:1-12[1]

Religion has always been connected with words. If you look at the history of religion throughout the ages and collected all the words associated with them, you would find volumes upon volumes of Scriptures of all kinds, explanations of those Scriptures, Prayers, Hymns, Chants, and Mantras. Even religions that are supposedly “wordless,” like the Tao or Zen Buddhism, have their own collections of words. We Christians may be some of the wordiest religious people in the history of the human family! If you gathered together the written deposit of all the preachers and teachers and bishops and popes throughout the centuries, it would fill a sizable library.[2] And we Presbyterians with our official books and declarations are no exception. I think it’s safe to say that where ever you find religion you’re going to find lots of words.[3]

I think, however, that words are a big part of the image problem with religion in our day and time. I’m afraid that all those religious words come across to many people as so much slick marketing. The words we religious people use make people think that this is just another way of getting money out of them or getting them to do something they really don’t want to do! We Christians say all kinds of things that sound profound and perhaps even beautiful, but at the end of the day I think many people see it all as just hollow words. After all is said and done, do all those words really make a difference in the way we live?

When you look at our gospel lesson for today, it’s far too easy to come away from it with the idea that those Jewish Scribes and Pharisees were the ultimate hypocrites. They didn’t even practice what they preached! But to do that would be to miss the fact that one of the most dangerous temptations for all of us is to use religious words to make ourselves think that we have it all down, when in reality our lives don’t come any where near to matching what we say. It’s the temptation of talking the talk without walking the walk.

If you doubt that we still face that temptation today, think about some of the Christian leaders who have been guilty of talking the talk without walking the walk. For some, what difference did all those religious words make when it came down to taking money from the millions of dollars good people contributed to the work of God? What difference did the words make when it came to abusing children who were placed in their trust? What difference did the words make when it came to using parishioners to indulge their sexual desires? And, of course, these temptations apply to all of us. It seems that one of the biggest image problems we have is that we say a lot of good things, but we don’t really do any of them.

When you look at all the ways Jesus criticized some of the Jewish leaders of his day, it seems to me that the common thread may be one of ego.[4] In all the ways that he pointed out their hypocrisy, it seems to me that where they went astray was that they used their religion to massage their own egos, to get “strokes” to make themselves feel important. The truth of the matter is that, whether we know it or not, whether we are even aware of it or not, religion has always been incredibly susceptible to being corrupted into just another way for us to feed the unhealthy pride that lurks in the corners of our insecurities. You know, that pride that tempts us to try to make ourselves look more important or more moral or simply better than others. It’s the other side of the temptation to brand others as “sinners” so that we can be “righteous.”

But when we indulge that temptation to “exalt ourselves” at the expense of others, we’re really only reinforcing our own insecurities.[5] If my sense of self depends on being better than you, then I always have to find ways of reassuring myself that I am indeed better than you. And I do mean always. And so it becomes a vicious circle—insecurity, pride, ego. It becomes something of an obsession. Or perhaps even an addiction.

The solution to that kind of obsessive religious egotism that shows itself in the unhealthy need to “exalt ourselves” over others is surprisingly simple. You just let it go. You simply stop feeding those insecurities. And the way to let it go is to embrace the central truth of the strange kingdom Jesus believed in: that God loves and accepts us—all of us.[6]

But like any unhealthy behavior, if you don’t replace it with something else, it’s incredibly difficult to break the cycle. And so the alternative is that instead of viewing others from our insecurities as the “competition,” we learn to view them from the perspective of compassion. Genuine compassion that cares whether they have everything they need today to be happy and well. Heartfelt compassion that really hopes and prays for them that they may be surrounded by God’s steadfast love that endures forever. When you look at others that way, instead of trying to “exalt yourself” above others, you can care about them enough to serve them.

That’s what true religion has always been about—whatever its name or origin or locale. All the religious words throughout the ages that have ever meant anything boil down to embracing God’s love and sharing it with others.[7] The same thing is true of the strange kingdom Jesus proclaimed: “the greatest among you will be your servant” (Matt. 23:11). It’s right and good that we use words like that to express and experience this profound aspect of human life. But at the end of the day, what it’s all about is doing the profound and beautiful things we say—putting them into action in our lives and in the lives of those around us.

[2] And in this day and time, you can access most of it online at the Christian Classics Ethereal Library (ccel.org), at Project Gutenberg (gutenberg.org), or at the Vatican web site (vatican.va), among others. I would think this serves as ample evidence of Paul Knitter’s comment that we Christians “talk too much”! Cf. Paul F. Knitter, Without Buddha I Could Not Be a Christian, 56-57. He also mentions (ibid., 66) Thomas Aquinas’ caution that “He knows God best who acknowledges that whatever he thinks or says falls short of what God really is” (Aquinas, De Carnis 6).

[3] This, in and of itself, is not necessarily a bad thing. In a Buddhist context, our words can be like fingers pointing to the moon; the challenge is not to confuse the finger with the moon. Knitter, Without Buddha, 61, says, “Fingers serve to point us in the direction of that mystery, which can be as real in our experience as it is beyond our words and understanding.”

[4] It’s important for us to heed Douglas Hare’s caution when he says that no one would deny that there were pious frauds in the Judaism of Jesus’ day, but to insist that all the Jewish leaders were pious frauds is “manifestly unjust.” Cf. Douglas A. Hare, Matthew, 263.

[5] Cf. Jürgen Moltmann, The Church in the Power of the Spirit, 186-87. He says, “it is never possible to substantiate oneself without depreciating the other.”

[6] Cf. M. Eugene Boring, “The Gospel According to Matthew,” New Interpreter’s Bible 8:433. He says that Jesus points to an “alternative world” and an “alternative family” where “the approval of God removes the heavy yoke of self-justification.” Cf. also Moltmann, Church in the Power, where he observes that the compulsion to justify oneself at the expense of others can only be overcome when this “primal fear” is replaced by the “primal trust” that “Human life has eternal value because it is loved and accepted by God.” Cf. similarly, Henri Nouwen, Here and Now, 136.

[7] Cf. Knitter, Without Buddha, 71, where he says that our religious symbols “are meant to change our lives, not fill our heads.” Cf. also John Caputo, On Religion, 115, 139, where he discusses the importance of “doing the truth” we believe, and “enacting” the “meaning of God.”

2011-11-02T09:32:00.001-05:00

Come as You Are

Matt. 22:1-14[1]

As you’ve probably figured out from my references to him in my sermons, my Grandpa played an important role in my life! One of his favorite sayings was that it didn’t matter if your clothes were new or old, if your shoes were shined you were dressed up. Some of you may remember that kind of thinking. He was pretty “old school” about things like that. And so you’ll understand why for years I always shined my dress shoes before Sunday morning church. Somewhere along the way I quit doing that—I don’t know if it was kids or career or age or all of the above. But I still do at least run a dry brush over my shoes most Sundays!

Back in the day, it was fairly clear to everybody that “clothes make the man.” Of course, that whole way of thinking came out of a male world, so it’s no surprise that the very phrase is sexist. But even in our more inclusive world, we still judge people by their clothes. A white frock coat means that you’re a medical professional, and you can answer any question about health. A badge and a gun belt mean you’re a law enforcement official and you don’t put up with any bull. A black robe and a clerical collar mean that you’re a priest or a minister, so you must be holy. You get the idea.

Even outside the professional world, clothing distinguishes us. Just ask any high school student. Local gangs have their colors, and if you happen to wear the wrong color and run into the wrong gang, you just might get beaten up—or worse. The “jock” crowd has their athletic gear on. The “preps” are wearing the most expensive clothes in school. And if you want to make a statement rejecting all these artificial distinctions, you dress all in black and you’re a “goth.” Or, if you’re a “nerd” you really don’t care what you look like because you’ve got the latest version of the Android tablet. In a very real sense, “clothing makes the person” still applies in our world.

In our gospel lesson for this week, Jesus tells a story about how “clothing makes the person.” But we have to be careful here, because this is another ironical parable. It’s a story about the way the world works, and if you want to know how the “Kingdom of Heaven” operates, you have to think the opposite.[2] In this story, a king throws a wedding feast for his son. Now, in the Mediterranean world of Jesus’ day, any “king” in that neck of the woods was nothing more than a “stand-in” for Caesar. It would seem that the people he ruled knew that this man was no real king. And apparently, he wasn’t even very good at being a “stand-in” king, because when he threw a party, none of the “movers and shakers” of his kingdom would come. It would seem that they didn’t care for him very much. But the problem is that a royal wedding is very much about demonstrating the ongoing legitimacy of one’s rule. And that means that when the wedding guests refused to come, they were repudiating his rule over them. Not a very polite way to RSVP to a wedding party!

So the king responds the way any petty ruler of the day would—with force. He sends his soldiers in and they attack them and kill them and burn them out. No surprises there. But then the king does something strange—he decides to invite all the “riff-raff” to the party. After all, he’s throwing a party to celebrate his rule and it’s continuation through his son. When you throw yourself a party, and nobody shows, it’s not much of a party. So he decides to save face and fill up the banquet hall with anyone and everyone his servants could find on the streets.

Just in case you’re beginning to think this guy must not be all bad if he’s willing to throw a really inclusive party, the story includes his not-so-friendly interaction with one of the guests. When the king sees one of the people who have been whisked off the street to fill the party not dressed in the appropriate attire, he flies into a rage and throws him out. After all, perhaps the fact that he didn’t have the right wedding garment on was a blatant reminder to the king that his “guests” were really just there to make the party look like a success. And so he vents what’s left of his anger over being snubbed by the original guests on this unsuspecting fellow.[3] And the justification for his temper tantrum sounds reasonable enough: “many are called but few are chosen.”[4]

That’s the way the world in which we live works. Clothing makes the person. Appropriate attire is required; and if you’re not dressed appropriately, don’t bother showing up. Although that has eased up a bit in recent days, it’s still very much the way we live—we judge people by outward appearances. But in the strange kingdom of God that Jesus envisioned and proclaimed, there is no dress code. In this strange kingdom, everyone is welcome at the table.[5] In this strange kingdom, everyone is accepted.[6] In this strange kingdom, “all are called, all are chosen.”[7] In this strange kingdom, everyone is invited, all are welcome, and you can come to the party just as you are.

[2] Cf. Daniel Berrigan, “A Parable For Today, If Not Tomorrow - The Parable Of The King's Banquet,” in National Catholic Reporter (May 4, 2001): 10-11. He says, “The parable of the king's banquet is brutally secular. It tells of the domestic misbehavior of the powerful and the victimizing of the powerless, of war and retaliation.” Contrast the many other commentators, exemplified by Ulrich Luz and Helmut Koester, Matthew 21-28, 57-58, who say this parable illustrates the principle that the church must prove its calling by good works.

[3] Cf. Berrigan, “Parable,” 10-11. He points out the disconnect in the king’s reaction by saying, “Imagine a homeless person in New York rounded up to appear at a wedding and then berated for not being clothed in a tuxedo!” Contrast Karl Barth, Church Dogmatics 2.2.588 (along with many others), who says, “he who does not obey and come accordingly, and therefore festively, declines and spurns the invitation no less than those who are unwilling to obey and appear at all.”

[4] Berrigan, “Parable,” 11, says, “These are not the words of Jesus; they are the words of the worldly host and warrior, the one given to eviction and slaughter.”

[5] Cf. Mark 2:15-17; Luke 15:2; Matt. 11:19; cf. Jürgen Moltmann, The Way of Jesus Christ, 112-115. He says that in these meals Jesus was “demonstrating in his own person what acceptance by the merciful God and forgiveness of sins means.”

[6] Cf. Paul Tillich, “You Are Accepted,” in The Shaking of the Foundations, 153-163; Cf. also Desmond Tutu and Mpho Tutu, Made for Goodness, 192: “When we can accept our acceptance, the texture of life changes. The fear that has held us hostage will release its stranglehold on us.”

[7] Berrigan, “Parable,” 11.

2011-11-02T09:24:00.001-05:00

Vengeance?

Matt 21:33-46[1]

I find it ironic what kinds of actions we in the human family can see fit to cultivate. For example, it seems to me that we put a lot of energy and effort into taking revenge. In our world, when someone does you wrong, if you have the ability to get even, you do it, no matter what it takes. I think you could fairly say that revenge is a behavior that we have raised to the level of an art. In fact, I think you could almost say that some cultures take revenge as seriously as religion. After all, the Bible does say, “an eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth” (Lev. 24:20)! But “an eye for an eye” does not prescribe revenge, it limits it—essentially it says that if you take revenge for the loss of an eye, take no more than an eye in retaliation.

On the other hand, Jesus followed the tradition from the Torah that said “Do not seek revenge or bear a grudge against anyone among your people, but love your neighbor as yourself (Lev. 19:18).” That’s right—the command to love your neighbor as yourself, which Jesus identified as one of the two great commandments, is the Torah’s alternative to a life of revenge! In the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus taught his disciples simply not to retaliate even against evildoers (Matt. 5:39)! Instead, he commanded them to love their neighbors as well as their enemies.

Okay, so far so good.

Then we come to the parable from our Gospel lesson for today. Jesus tells the story of a man who established a vineyard and leased it to tenant farmers. When it came time to collect his share of the produce, he sent his servants, but the tenants beat them and threw them out. Finally the landlord sent his son, and the tenants killed him. When Jesus asks what the owner of such a vineyard would do to the tenant farmers, the Jewish leaders answer in a way that is entirely expected—he will take his vengeance by killing them.

The problem with this lies with the way the church has traditionally interpreted parables like this one. We have tended to see them as metaphors for the way God works—the landlord is God, the vineyard is Israel, the tenants are the Jewish leaders, the servants are the prophets, and the son is Jesus the Christ. But if we read the parable that way, it makes God into an absentee landlord who makes unjust demands of those he has put in charge of his vineyard. And God doesn’t know very much about how to be an absentee landlord, because he sends his servants to collect the rent without any protection. And in the end, God acts just like the oppressive land owners of the day by taking revenge on those who oppose him.

I don’t know about you, but the image of a God of vengeance doesn’t work for me. In the first place, it’s not at all consistent with the image of God that Jesus paints, the God who is kind and generous toward the just and the unjust alike (Matt. 5:45). But perhaps most importantly, it makes Jesus essentially say to us, “don’t take revenge, because in the end God will take revenge.”[2] Some people find that idea perfectly consistent—we can’t take revenge because we don’t know the whole picture for anything or anybody. But presumably since God does, then God’s revenge will always be just. But it’s still revenge! And I just can’t buy into Jesus endorsing a God of vengeance.

So I would propose a different way to read this parable. Jesus tells a story about an absentee landlord who follows the standard customs regarding tenant farmers—customs which are incredibly unfair.[3] Essentially, he takes such a large cut of the profit as to leave the farmers who are actually working the land with barely enough to keep their families alive. As a result, the tenants rise up and determine to overthrow their tyrant of a landlord. And in response, he sends in an army and wipes them out. That’s the way the world works.[4] When someone does you wrong, if you have the ability to get even, you do it.

What then does this parable have to do with the strange kingdom we’ve been talking about the last few weeks? In a very real sense, I would say the parable illustrates the “Kingdom of Heaven” by showing the opposite way in which the world works. This world operates on the basis of do unto others as they have done unto you, just like the characters in the parable. In this world, when someone does you wrong, you get even. But the “Kingdom of Heaven” operates on a very different basis[5]—on the basis of God’s grace, God’s unconditional love, and God’s unfailing mercy. The specter of God’s vengeance doesn’t even exist in the “Kingdom of Heaven” that Jesus envisioned.

In the strange kingdom Jesus proclaimed, enemies become friends. In this strange kingdom, those who rebel may indeed find themselves broken and crushed by their defiance, but they also find that God is the one who heals the broken and lifts up those who are crushed (Ps. 145:14; 147:3). In this strange kingdom, there is no more “eye for an eye,” because operative rule is to forgive as you have been forgiven, to be merciful as you have been shown mercy. In this strange kingdom, there’s no more getting even, because that’s what it means to “love your neighbor as yourself.”

[2] For this viewpoint, see Barbara Reid, “Violent Endings in Matthew’s Parables and Christian Non-violence,” Catholic Biblical Quarterly 66 (2004): 252-53, 255. She admittedly does not frame it in these terms, but it’s hard not to conclude that this is essentially what she’s advocating.

[3] Cf. Bruce J. Malina and Richard L. Rohrbaugh, A Social Science Commentary on the Synoptic Gospels, 110, for a similar reading.

[4] Cf. Linda McKinnish Bridges, “Preaching the Parables of Jesus in Matthew's Gospel in Ordinary Time,” Review and Expositor 104 (Spring 2007):350-52. She says, “The feudal setting implodes. Nothing works; everyone loses. ...This is the domination system at its worst. This is not God's way.”

[5] I think that Jesus may have been pointing in that direction when he quotes the Scripture, “The stone that the builders rejected has become the cornerstone.” I would suggest that Jesus was essentially rebuking the religious leaders for rejecting him as he sought to restore the people of Israel to a way of living defined by the will of God and expressed in the justice, peace and freedom of God’s realm. But he was insisting that what they had rejected would indeed become the foundation for a completely different way of living in the “Kingdom of Heaven.”

2011-09-28T18:31:00.002-05:00

Identified Sinners

Mt 21:23-32[1]

Families are challenging. Anybody who has a family knows that. In fact, most people who study families these days will tell you that all families are at least a little dysfunctional. One of the ways that families can be dysfunctional is by dumping all the hurtful and harmful patterns on one person. That person is called the “identified patient.” Often it will be a teenager with a drug problem or an eating disorder. Psychologists will tell you that the only way to treat the “identified patient” is to treat the whole family, because in a very real sense that person is simply embodying the problems inherent in the whole system. Sadly, some families reject this notion, because it means everybody has to take responsibility for the problem, and it’s much more convenient to just let the “identified patient” take the blame.

I think our Gospel lesson this week reflects something of this dynamic in the religious family of Judaism in his day. The religious leaders were supposed to be the examples of righteousness. They were the ones who were devoted to constantly studying and keeping the word of God. They controlled the Temple and the Synagogues, which means that they controlled who was considered “righteous” and who was branded a “sinner.” When Jesus referred to the “tax collectors and prostitutes” as shorthand for “sinners,” he was simply voicing the views of the Jewish leaders of the day.

But Jesus tells a parable that suggests there was something different going on in this whole setup. In the parable, a father asks a son to go work in the vineyard and he refuses, but then changes his mind and goes. The father asks his second son to go to work and he says yes, but then doesn’t go. The clear implication is that it’s not always those who make a lot of noise about being righteous who actually practice the peace and justice and freedom of God’s realm. In fact, Jesus told the religious authorities point blank that the tax collectors and prostitutes were way ahead of them when it came to actually doing God’s will!

In fact, however, the authorities had already betrayed their fraudulent religion in their interaction with Jesus. When they asked him about his own authority, they were clearly not being straightforward. Not only were they being deceptive with Jesus, they were also anxious to conceal their true opinion from the crowds. Their religion was such that they were more worried about maintaining their power and prestige and about how they looked to other people than about actually practicing the way of life that Jesus called “the way of righteousness” (Matt. 21:32).[2] It would seem that the “righteous” people weren’t so righteous after all.

On the other hand, it would seem that at least some of the people whom the religious authorities branded as sinners didn’t deserve to be so stigmatized. In fact, it would seem likely that the whole system of religion was to some extent an elaborate self-justification for the self-righteous [3] The authorities who were often deceitful and malicious got to designate themselves as “righteous” whereas people who may have been guilty of nothing more than being poor or destitute were designated as “sinners.”[4] It’s as if they were the “identified patients” in that dysfunctional family—or better, they were the “identified sinners.” But designating them as sinners only gave the “righteous” a convenient way to avoid facing their sins by diverting the attention to others. Making tax collectors and prostitutes the “identified sinners” only enabled them to keep up appearances with their sham religion.

This kind of behavior was not the exclusive prerogative of the self-righteous in Jesus’ day. Religious leaders throughout the ages have exercised a great deal of control over people by their power to determine who gets branded sinners and who gets to be righteous. And religious people of all levels have identified others as “sinners” as a way of justifying themselves. But whenever we use our religion to make ourselves look good at the expense of others, we’re really only deceiving ourselves. We’re deflecting the attention away from ourselves so we can keep up the appearance of righteousness. We’re using them as “identified sinners” so that we can avoid facing our own sins.

In “the Kingdom of Heaven” Jesus preached, that kind of hypocrisy will not do. In the way of living that puts into practice God’s justice and peace and freedom, there is no room for making yourself look good at the expense of others. But as I said before, this kingdom is one that operates completely differently from the way things work in our everyday lives. In this strange kingdom, those who are the “identified sinners” can be way ahead of the supposedly righteous when it comes to actually doing the will of God!

Our gospel lesson confronts us with hard truth that our religious devotion can often turn into something harmful. Unfortunately, there is something in religion that can turn it all too easily into a way of simply making ourselves look good. But that kind of hypocrisy doesn’t just hurt those we identify as “sinners.” It also hurts us. When our religion is about justifying ourselves, it easily turns into an obsession—and obsessions rarely do us any good![5] But when we leave behind the need to make ourselves look good and simply seek to put into practice “the way of righteousness,” then we experience the peace and freedom of the kingdom of heaven—right here.

[2] Ulrich Luz and Helmut Koester, Matthew 21-28: A Commentary, 31

[3] Cf. Jürgen Moltmann, The Way of Jesus Christ, 114: by accepting the “sinners,” Jesus was “breaking through the vicious circle of their discrimination in the system of values set up by the righteous.” Cf. also Jürgen Moltmann, The Crucified God, 128-131; Jürgen Moltmann, The Church in the Power of the Spirit, 87-89, 186-87.

[4] Cf. Moltmann, Way of Jesus, 112-13, where he points out the social dimensions of the terms “righteous” and “sinner.”

[5] Cf. Jürgen Moltmann, The Way of Jesus, 114, on the compulsive nature of self-righteousness.

2011-09-28T18:29:00.001-05:00

Nothing to Earn

Mt 20:1-16[1]

I have confessed on more than one occasion that I’m not very good at handling money. That’s not for lack of exposure to money matters. I was raised in part by a Grandfather who taught me the value of putting your money to work for you before I reached adolescence. So as a young Seminary professor in my 30’s, you will understand that I was putting 10% of my income into retirement. Unfortunately, life has a way of thwarting the best laid plans. In fact, it would seem that our current economic situation is so complicated and confused that it is thwarting everyone’s best laid plans! Even those who study economics and follow the markets closely are scratching their heads and throwing their hands up in resignation.

Economics at that level may be hard to understand, but at a more down-to-earth level, it’s not hard at all. You have to plan your budget based on the principle that income must exceed expenses. If it doesn’t, you have to make other plans, or you have to cut your expenses. That applies to family budgets, church budgets, and businesses as well. And when it comes to running a business, again the principles are fairly straightforward: you reward the employees who perform the best, and to those who don’t perform you give instruction and warning, and finally when all else fails, you let them go.

In our Gospel lesson for today, Jesus tells a story that reflects a completely different way of looking at things. It is a story about a vineyard owner who pays his workers on the principle of generosity, rather than on the principle of merit. And this story is supposed to illustrate “the Kingdom of Heaven.” That phrase might lead us to think of this as some kind of otherworldly realm, but that is not the case. In Matthew’s Gospel, “the Kingdom of Heaven” is just a more reverent way of saying “the Kingdom of God.” They both refer to the same thing: a way of living that puts into practice God’s justice and peace and freedom for all people. It is the goal toward which everything in Scripture is moving. It is the hope that continues to inspire faith and love on the part of those who seek to live as the people of God.[2]

Having said that, I think we would have to admit that it is a strange kingdom. The story from our lesson for today depicts a man who owns a vineyard large enough to employ all the day laborers this particular community could supply. Apparently, the harvest is ready and he’s anxious to get the grapes out of the field as quickly as possible. And so he goes to the market at the break of day to hire workers for his field. But then he keeps going back all day long, sending more workers to help with the harvest. So far so good.

But when it comes time to pay the workers for their labor, things begin to get strange. The vineyard owner instructs that the workers be paid beginning with the last to be hired—and he pays them all the same thing! Those who worked only 1 hour get a full day’s wage, just like those who put in a full 12 hours! This part makes no sense if you’re trying to run a business. Think of it—if you tried to run a business on the basis of paying everybody the same thing regardless of how well they worked, your business wouldn’t last very long.

And when one of those who had worked all day complained, the employer simply insists that he has a right to be generous with what belongs to him. The story of the workers in the vineyard insists that in the kingdom God envisions, the realm in which God’s justice and peace and freedom defines life for all people, there is nothing to earn.[3] In a very real sense, we are all “eleventh-hour workers,” regardless of what we may have done.[4] In this kingdom, everyone receives the generosity of God’s grace, God’s unconditional love, and God’s unfailing mercy.[5]

The “Kingdom of Heaven” that Jesus talks about is a strange kingdom indeed! It operates completely differently from the way things work in our everyday lives. In the strange kingdom Jesus envisions, “the last will be first and the first will be last.” In this strange kingdom, those who are deemed godless gain entry ahead of those who are supposedly godly and righteous. In this strange kingdom, little children are the example by which we all must measure ourselves. In this strange kingdom, those who serve are the ones who are viewed as great. It is a strange kingdom indeed! How can this kind of kingdom survive in a world where the first are first and the last are last? What was Jesus thinking in advocating this kind of kingdom as the ideal for those who seek to be the people of God?

I think the point of it all is that the grace of God, God’s unconditional love, and God’s unfailing mercy, are gifts that we can never earn. They are given to us all freely, generously, with no strings attached. That means there is nothing to earn—we don’t have to do more or be better in order to ensure that God loves us, because God loves us completely already.[6] As Desmond Tutu puts it, “There is nothing we can do to make God love us more” and “there is nothing we can do to make God love us less.”[7] It is a strange kingdom indeed where there is nothing to earn. Thanks be to God!

[2] Jürgen Moltmann, The Way of Jesus Christ, 97-99.

[3] Cf. Desmond and Mpho Tutu, Made for Goodness: And Why This Makes All the Difference, 21.

[4] Douglas A. Hare, Matthew, 231.

[5] Cf. M. Eugene Boring, “The Gospel According to Matthew,” New Interpreter’s Bible 8:394.

[6] Tutu and Tutu, Made for Goodness, 24-25.

[7] Desmond Tutu, God Has a Dream: A Vision of Hope for Our Time, 32

2011-09-20T17:10:00.001-05:00

Forgiving as We Have Been Forgiven

Mt 18:21-35[1]

Every Sunday, millions of Christians in this country pray for God to forgive us as we forgive others. I wonder to what extent we really take that seriously. Let’s face it, there’s something very difficult about really forgiving those who have wronged us. On this day, it’s especially difficult for us to forgive those who attacked this country and caused the deaths of thousands of our fellow Americans. And on this day, of all days, the good news of our Lord and Savior Jesus the Christ tells us that we are to forgive those who sin against us not just seven times but seventy-seven times![2] When I was planning my sermons a couple of months ago and I saw that what the gospel reading was for this Sunday, I knew it was going to be challenging for us.

The last ten years have consumed us with a “war on terror.” Apparently, in some measures we have been relatively successful at thwarting Al Qaeda.[3] And yet, at what cost? Besides the many thousands who have died, there is also the cost in what are essentially intangible measures. We’ve had to learn to adjust to a whole different way of life that is marked by greater hostility toward those who are different from us, greater anxiety about our safety, and greater fear about our future. But perhaps the most pervasive cost to us is that in our effort to make ourselves feel safe we have sold our souls to the gods of war and violence. In the process, we have essentially imprisoned ourselves in a house whose boundaries are inscribed by our fear and anger and unwillingness to forgive.

There’s a story in the 2005 Sydney Pollack film, The Interpreter that I think illustrates our predicament: do we go on avenging ourselves on our enemies, or do we find a way to practice the forgiveness we say we believe in, and in so doing set ourselves free from that awful day? The film is about an interpreter at the United Nations named Sylvia. She tells the story of a ritual of forgiveness in Africa that’s based on the principle that “the only way to end grief is to save a life.” The ritual takes place when someone is murdered. After a year of mourning, the family of the victim undergoes the “Drowning Man Trial,” where the killer is tied up and thrown into a river to drown. The family have to choose—if they let the killer drown, they will have justice, but they will spend the rest of their lives in mourning. If they save the killer from drowning, if they accept that they share a common humanity and that life isn’t always just, then their act of saving a life can heal their grief. Whether there is or ever was such a thing as a “drowning man trial,” I think it serves at least like a parable for us: do we forgive as we have been forgiven, and in so doing find healing for ourselves, or do we seek vengeance and punishment, and so find ourselves trapped in grief and bitterness?

There is a real-life story of forgiveness that comes out of South Africa and the injustice of Apartheid. One person who embodies this story is Archbishop Desmond Tutu. He was raised in one of the townships—or better shanty towns—where black South Africans were kept. He lived Apartheid—he and his family experienced it firsthand. Several of his friends were imprisoned and even killed in the violence that defined South Africa under Apartheid. When that whole system of oppression ended, the South African people faced a crossroads: would they simply live out the script of every oppressed people throughout history, whereby the oppressed become the oppressors, or could they find a different path that would lead to healing for both oppressed and oppressors alike?[4]

The leaders of the new South Africa formed a “Truth and Reconciliation Commission” to try to seek that different path. Instead of handing out punishment, the whole purpose of the commission was to give victims the chance to tell their stories, to have their suffering acknowledged, and to confront their oppressors in person. And to give the oppressors a change to tell the truth about their crimes and seek forgiveness and clemency. They had no idea what would happen from this, but as it turns out, time after time, oppressed and oppressor came together and experienced genuine reconciliation based on the experience of crimes acknowledged and forgiven.

One of the foundational principles of this experience is what Tutu calls “Ubuntu.”[5] It is a Xhosa word that stands for the idea that we all share a common humanity. It says that the only way the human family can thrive is together. That means that when we look at another human being, even someone who has wounded us deeply, we cannot see an enemy, but rather a fellow human being, a brother or a sister. It seems to me that, in order to prayer the prayer, “forgive our sins as we forgive those who sin against us” and mean it, we have to practice “Ubuntu”—we have to acknowledge that we share a common humanity even with those who wrong us. When we can look at those who inflict pain on us and see brothers and sisters, then we can begin to forgive as we have been forgiven. Then we can begin to set them and ourselves free from the vicious circle of bitterness, hatred, and violence, and move into the freedom of forgiving as we have been forgiven.[6]

[2] Cf. M. Eugene Boring, “The Gospel According to Matthew,” New Interpreters Bible 8: 380, where he observes, “Whoever counts has not forgiven at all, but is only biding his or her time (1 Cor 13:5). The kind of forgiveness called for is beyond all calculation.” Cf. also D. A. Hagner, Matthew 14-28, 537. Cf. also Ulrich Luz, Matthew, 465, where he points out that Peter was asking not about limited forgiveness but whether he was expected to practice perfect forgiveness. Jesus responds by calling for “The most perfect, boundlessly infinite, countlessly repeated forgiveness.”

[3] “Ten Years On,” The Economist 3 Sept 2011, 11-12.

[4] Cf. Desmond Tutu, God has a Dream: A Vision of Hope for our Time, 52-58.

[5] Cf. Desmond Tutu and Mpho Tutu, Made for Goodness: And Why This Makes All the Difference, 47; cf. also Tutu, God Has a Dream, 25-28.

[6] Tutu & Tutu, Made for Goodness, 150-51.

2011-09-20T15:57:00.001-05:00

Charity Never Fails

Rom. 13:8-10[1]

I think many people these days are pretty confused about love. We say “I love you,” but what we really mean is “I’m lonely and I want you to comfort me.” Or “I think you’re incredibly attractive and desirable.” Or “Will you please just do what I want?” Or “I’m really excited to have such a great looking guy/girl with me; my friends are going to think I’m really cool.” Love is about wanting, or desiring, or controlling. I think part of the reason for this is that we associate love so completely with romance. As a result, love has everything to do with feelings of infatuation or attraction or even lust. When we do that, we tend to lose sight of any aspect of love as a choice, as an act of will, as a gift you give to another person.

In the Bible we’re told that one of the two great commandments, one of the two principles that sum up what it means to try to be a person of faith and to live in a way that is responsive to God’s presence in our lives, is “you shall love your neighbor as yourself.” Given our confusion about love, I think it’s no wonder that we’ve taken this great commandment and turned it into a mandate for self-help. Since you can’t love others if you don’t love yourself, it becomes a command to love yourself. Talk about turning things upside down!

By contrast, it would seem that “you shall love your neighbor as yourself” doesn’t prescribe healthy self-esteem, it assumes that we are going to love ourselves. Now, I realize that there truly are some people in this world who have a hard time loving themselves. And for them, a good lesson in self-esteem probably would help them to love others better. But the reality is that the kind of love prescribed by the command is not anywhere near that complicated. The idea is that, unless you have serious problems, you are going to do what you need to take care of yourself. You are going to eat when you’re hungry; you’re going to sleep when you’re tired. If you’re sick, you will do what it takes to get well. It’s a much more practical version of love than the one we operate with.[2]

From this perspective, loving your neighbor means, “if your neighbor is hungry, feed him.” It means “if your neighbor is thirsty, give her something to drink.” If there are people who are sick or hurting or suffering or alone in the world, visit them. It’s not rocket science! But it’s not easy. I think part of the reason love has gotten so confused for us is that we’re pretty much always thinking about ourselves. We are always in the mode of “what’s in it for me?” But that’s not the kind of love the Bible teaches us. The kind of love that Jesus modeled for us and that the Apostles taught us to practice is a kind of love that simply gives to another person—without any wish to get anything in return.

From this perspective, love is what you do when you really care enough about another human being to set your needs and wants and feelings and expectations aside—and simply give yourself to them by what you do.[3] Whether it’s feeding the hungry, or clothing the poor, or comforting the sick and dying—or just listening to your spouse enough to really hear him or her—to love another person means to give of yourself to that person without thinking about “what am I going to get out of this?” In the 16^th century, the translators commissioned by King James translated “love” with the word “charity.”[4] They were following the lead of the ancient scholars who translated the Bible into Latin, who used the word caritas. While “charity” has implications that may be misleading, the basic idea is one of relating to other people with genuine, heartfelt care and compassion.

In our lesson for today, St. Paul says that loving your neighbor means that you do no harm to others (Rom. 13:10). In this he may have been echoing the famous Rabbi Hillel, who summarized the whole of torah in a kind of “negative golden rule”: “What is hateful to yourself, do not do to your neighbor. That is the whole Torah. The rest is explanation.” The idea is that when we can look at another human being with true compassion, we’re not going to do that person harm. Rather, if it is truly compassion that we feel, we will seek their good in so far as it is possible for us to do so. As Jesus put it, we’re going to “do unto others as we would have others do unto us.”

In our society we tend to think of fulfillment as a matter of getting everything we want in life. But the truly spiritual sages throughout history have told us in many ways that the true path to fulfillment in this life is through giving yourself away in service to others.[5] It seems to me that if we find happiness elusive, perhaps one place to look is at our practice of love for others. “Loving” others as a means of getting what we want may provide short-term benefits, but in the long term it’s not going to be a prescription for happiness. I think we will only find genuine, lasting happiness in this life if we can learn to relate to others with genuine care and compassion, and really give ourselves to them. I think we can only find fulfillment in life if we can learn to practice the “charity” which never fails.

[2] Cf. the Heidelberg Catechism of 1562, which defines loving your neighbor as yourself in terms of showing “patience, peace, gentleness, mercy, and friendliness” to all, even your enemies (Heid Cat 4.107)! It means to “work for the good of my neighbor wherever I can and may” (4.111).

[3] Cf. Desmond Tutu and Mpho Tutu, Made for Goodness: And Why This Makes All the Difference, 25: “Perfect love is not an emotion; it is not how we feel. It is what we do. Perfect love is action that is not wrapped up in self-regard, and it has no concern with deserving. Instead, perfect love is love poured out. It is self-offering made out of the joy of giving. It requires no prompting. It seeks no response and no reward.” Cf. also N. T. Wright, “The Letter to the Romans,” New Interpreters Bible 10:724

[4] Cf. Encylopedia Britannica, s. v. “Charity.”

[5] Tutu and Tutu, Made for Goodness, 34: “selflessness opens a door to real peace.” Cf. also Dietrich Bonhoeffer, Life Together, 31-39; Frederick Schmidt, What God Wants for your Life, 169, 179-88; and Henri Nouwen, Here and Now, 98-99, 103-4.

2011-09-20T15:54:00.001-05:00

Embracing Evil

Rom. 12:9-21; Matt. 16:24[1]

It seems like everybody’s always angry with somebody these days. It’s so easy to get angry these days—all you have to do is turn on the TV, or listen to the news in your car, or scan the headlines on the internet, or even just overhear a conversation at Starbucks! We as a people are facing problems that pose serious threats to us all—even to the extent of losing our jobs and our homes! It’s no wonder so many people are so angry about so many things. While anger may make us feel more powerful in the face of overwhelming obstacles, it does not enable us to find solutions. When we’re angry, we inevitably look at our “opponents” with contempt—even if we’re good at keeping it hidden.

So how do we respond to the issues in this world that get under our skin? Oppression, injustice, deception, manipulation, violence. We really cannot just sit back and ignore what is going on if we truly believe in justice and peace and freedom, can we? If we turn to the Apostle Paul for help here, he says we’re to “hate evil” (Rom. 12:9). Surely that means we should do everything within our power to fight against it! But I think we have to be careful here. He also says we’re not to repay anyone evil for evil, and that we’re to overcome evil with good (Rom. 12:21). While it sounds pretty straightforward in theory, in practice I think it’s anything but that![2]

Last week we talked about a book called Without Buddha I Could Not Be a Christian, by Paul F. Knitter. He uses insights from his study of Buddhism to re-frame Christian faith. We talked about how the Buddhist greeting, “Namasté,” is a way of acknowledging that everyone we meet has all the same goodness that is in us. And when we acknowledge that, it enables us to relate to others with genuine compassion. This way of looking at things also has implications for our attitude toward evil. If we can recognize that others have all the goodness we have, we also have to recognize that we have the same capacity for evil as those whose actions we abhor.

Professor Knitter illustrates this principle with a story from his life. In the 1980’s, he and his wife were very active in the efforts to end the violence in Central America and to promote justice and peace in several countries. He tells the story about how he took a retreat with a Zen teacher in preparation for a trip to El Salvador in 1987. He told the teacher he wanted to do his part to stop the death squads, but he also felt the need for meditation. And the Zen master responded, “they are both absolutely necessary. You have to sit (in meditation). You have to stop the death squads. But you won’t be able to stop the death squads until you realize your oneness with them.”[3]

He relates how at first he didn’t understand this. But it sank in over the following years as he carried out his convictions in working for peace and justice, and he saw the smugness of the activists, their anger over the wrongs, their hatred of the death squads, and their contempt toward governments and others who seemed to respond ineffectually. And he realized that all of those attitudes were in themselves forms of violence. They were seeking to end the violence in Central America, but they were going about it with violence in their own hearts!

When we oppose those who do evil in our world with anger, we are more likely to perpetuate the evil they do. So how then do we respond to evil? In the same way Jesus did. Jesus knew that only the willingness to respond to hostility with peace, to respond to hatred with forgiveness, can redeem evil.[4] I think that’s what Jesus meant when he said those who want to follow him would have to take up their cross (Matt. 16:24).[5] He was calling us all to follow his pattern of responding to evil by not retaliating, but by embracing those who do evil with mercy and kindness and forgiveness. It’s the way Desmond Tutu and Nelson Mandela and countless other black South Africans responded to the white South Africans who had committed unspeakable atrocities against them. That’s what it means to overcome evil with good! We can only truly overcome evil if we can embrace the “evildoers” with compassion.[6]

I’m not sure there’s a calling in human experience that’s more challenging than embracing those we consider evil with compassion. I’m not sure it’s possible to do that without “denying self”—setting aside all the selfish ego needs we have. [7] Only when we can get outside ourselves can we truly relate to those who do evil in our world in a way that has the chance of overcoming evil with good. Only when we can embrace those who do evil in our world with genuine love can we hope to respond to what they do in a way that will bring real change—responding to violence with forgiveness, responding to hatred with compassion, responding to hostility with peace.[8] When we do, we have the chance to change not only what they do but more importantly who they are. As we embrace those who do evil, we have the chance to make a change that can create peace and justice and freedom. [9]

[2] N. T. Wright, “The Letter to the Romans,” in New Interpreters Bible 10: 715, where he says that God’s people are to meet the evil in the world “ in the way that even God met it: with love and generous goodness.” Cf. also James D. G. Dunn, Romans 9-16, 752.

[3] Paul F. Knitter, Without Buddha I Could Not Be a Christian, 173.

[4] Cf. PC (USA) Study Catechism, q. 45: “An abyss of suffering” has been “swallowed up by the suffering of divine love.” Cf. also Jürgen Moltmann, The Church in the Power of the Spirit, 91, 95; Jürgen Moltmann, The Crucified God, 246, 277.

[5] M. Eugene Boring, “The Gospel According to Matthew,” New Interpreters Bible 8:350-52.

[6] Cf. Knitter, Without Buddha, 188, where he cautions that even the act of calling others “evildoers” can preclude our ability to respond to them in a way that creates justice and peace and freedom. Contrast Karl Barth, Church Dogmatics 2.2.713-14, where he recognizes the general application of some of what Paul is advocating, but essentially reserves it for the Christian community. Cf. also ibid., 4.2.805: “the neighbour as the one who in Christian love is loved … is the fellow-man who stands to the one who loves in the historical context of … the existence of the community of Jesus Christ. He is not the fellow-man as such, but this particular fellow-man.” I could not disagree more.

[7] Cf. Knitter, Without Buddha, 184, 198, he defines these as the need for recognition, for success, for control, and for superiority.

[8] Cf. R. Jewett, Romans : A Commentary, 779, observes that in the context of a global mission in which love has the power to transform all humankind, “even a cup of water given to the thirsty becomes a means of expressing the love of Christ and thus extending the realm of divine righteousness.” Cf. also Cf. John Calvin, Commentary on the Epistle of Paul the Apostle to the Romans, 477, where he says that the one who “attempts to overcome evil with evil, may perhaps surpass his enemy in doing injury, but it is to his own ruin.”

[9] Knitter, Without Buddha, 183-84. He relates this to Thich Nhat Hanh’s reminder that if we want to make peace, we have to be peace. Cf. also ibid., 197.

2011-08-27T14:09:00.003-05:00

Ordinary Compassion

Rom. 12:1-8[1]

I think many people in our society may be looking for God in all the wrong places. They look for God in the “perfect” church, which tends to be very large, with a smorgasbord of programs so broad that everyone in the family can find something they like. Others look for God in some spectacular, supernatural experience—whether a “miracle” or a special vision, or a unique calling. Others look for God by turning inward and shutting out “the world” as a dangerous place full of hostile people. But I don’t think any of those places are the place to look for God. I think we are meant to look for God in the ordinary compassion we share with the people around us.

I’ve mentioned to some of you that I recently read (and thoroughly enjoyed) a book called Without Buddha I Could Not Be a Christian, by Paul F. Knitter. The author is a Catholic theologian who’s lived out a dialogue with Buddhism for 40 years—primarily through his relationship with his wife, who is a practicing Buddhist! One of his major themes is the idea that there are some significant connections between Christianity and Buddhism. He uses those connections as a way of re-framing Christian faith where it seems to have gone astray—as in where to look to find God. In essence, Knitter has found a way to be more “Christian” through the influence of Buddhism!

One of the primary teachings of Buddhism is reflected in the greeting, “Namasté.” It’s a greeting that means, “the light within me honors the light within you.”[2] It seems to me that someone who greets you by saying “Namasté” is in effect saying, “the goodness in me acknowledges and honors the goodness in you.” And that applies to everyone we meet. It’s not a matter of applying this to only “good people,” because Buddhism teaches that everyone we meet has all the same goodness that is in us, regardless of their faults and failures. It’s almost as if it is the reverse of our Christian idea of fallenness—when I see anyone doing something I detest, I must acknowledge that I am just as fallen and therefore have the capacity to do the same things. Buddhists turn that around and honor the goodness in everyone

When you have that kind of mindset about other people, it changes the way you relate to people. In a very real sense, when you can recognize and honor the goodness in others, you are recognizing and honoring the fact that we all belong to one another.[3] Much as the Apostle Paul talks about the church being the body of Christ, and therefore “individually we are members one of another” (Rom. 12:5), which simply means that each of us belongs to one another. St. Paul was talking about the church, and he was still stuck in the mindset of avoiding “the world” as a hostile place.[4] But I think there’s something to be said for applying this idea of a “body” to the whole human family. As beloved children of the one creator God and friends of the one loving redeemer, there is much to point us to the conclusion that we all belong to one another. When that is the case, how can we not acknowledge and honor the goodness in each other? How can we not relate to one another with compassion and kindness?

This mindset changes the way you live, and in a very real sense, it changes you. It reminds me again of St. Paul talking about being “transformed by the renewing of your mind” so that you may discern the will of God. What could be more appropriate to the will of God than relating to everyone you meet in a way that expresses God’s compassion for us all!

But what does all this have to do with the original question of where we look for God? I think one of the things that happens to you when you begin to relate to everyone you encounter with God’s compassion is that you begin to become aware that God’s compassion is constantly surrounding us all. We find the answer to the question where to look for God in the way we relate to one another. As it turns out, loving other people is what it means to know and love God. Sounds biblical, doesn’t it!

When we look at everyone we encounter as a beloved brother or sister, and recognize that all the goodness in us is also present in them, we find that God is there. When we relate to the people around us with compassion, we find God’s compassion surrounding us all. That’s where we look for God. Not in the busyness of a big church, or in some supernatural experience, but in ordinary, everyday compassion towards other people. We find God’s love waiting for us in a hug from a friend or in the embrace of a child or a parent. We find God’s love waiting for us in the satisfaction of a good day’s work with friends. We find God’s love waiting for us as we extend ordinary compassion to another human being who is hurting—for whatever reason. When we offer simple respect and kindness to those we meet, we find God who is constantly surrounding us with compassion.

[2] Ram Dass, in Grist for the Mill, explains it this way: “In India when we meet and part we often say, ‘Namaste,’ which means I honor the place in you where the entire universe resides. I honor the place in you of love, of light, of truth, of peace. I honor the place within you where if you are in that place in you and I am in that place in me, there is only one of us.”Cited in a review by Frederic and Mary Ann Brussat, accessed at http://www.spiritualityandpractice.com/books/books.php? id=19335 .

[3] Paul F. Knitter, Without Buddha I Could Not Be a Christian,181: Buddism teaches us to respond to the moment “with the wisdom of feeling your connectedness with everyone and everything, and then respond with the compassion that naturally results when you feel so connected.” Cf. also ibid., 202-203.

[4] So much is this the case that it influences even one so astute as Karl Barth to adopt a similar outlook. Cf. Karl Barth, Church Dogmatics 2.2:713-14. Cf. also Robert Jewett, Romans, 744.

2011-08-20T14:06:00.000-05:00

Gifts are for Sharing

Gen 45:1-15, Rom. 11:31; Mt. 15:21-28[1]

A few years ago, I wrote a Bible Study on sharing, and I asked the students to identify their most prized possession, and then begin to look for ways to give it away. At that time, mine was a classical guitar. It was a particularly nice guitar. I must confess that at the time, I wasn’t sure I could ever give that guitar away. But gifts are for sharing. Our granddaughter Avery and our nephew Eli—who are both three years old—are learning the concept of sharing. And of course, for them sharing is a matter of learning “mine” and “yours.” As you can imagine, they do a lot better with “mine” than they do with “yours.” The other day, however, as we were having breakfast with Eli’s family, we witnessed a blessed event—three-year-olds sharing toys. He had brought some of his sister Tyler’s rings with him, and of course Avery wanted to play with them too. When he offered to share a couple of them with her, she gave him a kiss!

Gifts are for sharing. When we receive a gift, it’s always more enjoyable if we can “share” it with someone. How many times have you found yourself in that position, just dying to tell someone? There is something to that—perhaps it points us in the direction of literally sharing our gifts, not just telling someone about it. That pattern of sharing gifts is built into the way God relates to us, and the way God calls us to relate to each other. When we truly know ourselves to be people who have been given grace and mercy, we will share it with those around us, extending grace and mercy even to those who are hard to like.

I think that’s what happened to Joseph—sold into slavery by brothers who hated him. Later elevated to the position of Pharaoh’s Prime Minister. And when famine struck their world and his brothers came to Egypt to buy grain for their families, Joseph recognized them! There they were, those brothers who hated him so, and he had the power of life or death over them and their wives and their children! And he extended to them kindness, and love, and generosity. I think Joseph had received the gift of God’s grace and mercy in his life, and so he shared that grace and mercy with his brothers by letting them off the hook for their past deeds.

We, like students of Scripture throughout the generations, have ample evidence that mercy is a gift that is meant to be shared.[2] And yet we, like Jesus’ own disciples, constantly have to re-learn the lesson that we who have received mercy must in turn extend that mercy to others. To some extent, I think that’s what is going on in our Gospel lesson. It has often been said that Jesus’ strange interaction with the Canaanite woman was a test of her faith.[3] But I would say that it was not the woman Jesus was testing, but rather the disciples. After showing them they could be channels of divine grace and mercy at the miraculous feeding of a vast multitude, when Jesus’ disciples encountered a person in need, they once again wanted to send her away.

I think that’s why Jesus utters the sentiments about being sent only to “the lost sheep of Israel” and not giving the children’s bread to dogs, sentiments that seem offensive to us because they are so out of character with what we see of Jesus elsewhere. I think it’s likely they were the very thoughts Jesus’ disciples were thinking as good reason for sending her away. Because she was a despised Gentile, she was beneath their mercy! But I think Jesus wants to teach them that no one is beneath their mercy.!

That situation is reversed in our lesson from St. Paul. One of the problems he was dealing with was the fact that a Jewish Messiah was largely rejected by his own people, while Gentiles were responding to him in faith. In a very real sense, that meant that Gentile believers faced the temptation to look down on people of Jewish faith. Still do, in fact. But Paul insisted that it was all a part of God’s plan to extend mercy to all people— as improbable and unimaginable as that is. St. Paul says it this way, “by the mercy shown to you they too may receive mercy” (Rom. 11:32).[4] Isn’t that always the way it is with God’s mercy? We receive it not to boast about it, or to show the world that we are God’s special favorites. We receive God’s mercy as a gift so that we will in turn share that mercy with others—all others.[5]

Sharing is something that doesn’t come easy to me. Especially sharing a gift as dear to me as my classical guitar. I had played that guitar for hours during my seven-month severance from the Seminary. And I had played it again for hours when I adjusted to life on my own after my divorce. To me it was like an old friend, a faithful companion. At the time I wrote that Bible Study, the thought of giving it away was something I couldn’t fathom. At the time I had no idea to whom I would even give it. But I did give that guitar away—to my son Zach when he went off to school and needed a classical guitar. I enjoyed the gift of that guitar in some particularly difficult times of my life. And now Zach enjoys the gift of that guitar—and he plays it better than I ever did! Gifts are for sharing—especially the gift of mercy. We receive God’s mercy as a gift so that we will in turn share that mercy with others—all others. No ifs ands or buts. No discriminating. No exceptions. No exclusions. Gifts are for sharing, and so is mercy.

[2] Cf. Paul J. Achtemeier, Romans, 189, where he points to the theme that “God responds to disobedience with mercy” as a thread that runs throughout Scripture.

[3] In fact, many suggest that the episode was actually a test for Jesus, one that convinced him to extend God’s salvation to Gentiles. Cf. Judith Gundry-Volf, “Spirit, Mercy and the Other,” Theology Today 51 (Jan 1995): 519-22.

[4] Cf. Karl Barth, Church Dogmatics 2.2:303-4: he sums up Paul’s logic by saying, “God’s mercy would not be the present of the Gentiles if it were not the future of the Jews also.” The end result of this bewildering plan of God is that “everywhere we begin with human disobedience and everywhere we end with divine mercy—everywhere and for all.”

[5] Cf. Cynthia Jarvis, “Siding with Grace,” The Christian Century (July 31 2002) 20.

2011-08-10T10:19:00.002-05:00

“Living” the Dream

Gen 37:1-28; Ps 105:16-22[1]

Dreamers can have difficulty with the harsh realities of life. Most of you know our two boys, Zach and Michael. After years of dreaming about being musicians, they are beginning to actually get paying gigs—for actual money! Of course, the reality is that they count themselves lucky if they clear $50 a night after expenses! Their word for it is “living the dream.” The irony in that is the way they (like most teenagers) used to dream about becoming celebrities and living the lifestyle of the rich and famous! These days, I think they will be happy if they can actually make a living as musicians—by teaching, or performing, or all of the above! Dreamers can have difficulty with the harsh realities of life.

Joseph was a dreamer. Although our lesson for today doesn’t mention it, one of the first things we learn about Joseph was that he had a couple of amazing dreams—both of which seemed to hint that he would one day be exalted to a position of great authority. In the beginning, it would seem that he was in fact rather cocky about his dream. But Joseph’s dream took him to places he never counted on as a young man. The Psalmist has an interesting phrase for it—“until what he had said came to pass, the word of the Lord kept testing him.” (Ps. 105:19). I think the idea is that Joseph’s vision put him through a refining process that he would never have imagined when he had the dream.[2] When he had the dream, he must have thought he had it made in this life. The reality is that it would be much more difficult.

Initially, Joseph’s refining process was a matter of humiliation. Because of his arrogance, his brothers hated him so much that they sold him into slavery. Suddenly he went from being the favored son of a wealthy man to being a slave with no rights, no family, no home. Talk about humiliating! In point of fact, however, apparently Joseph was so good at serving in the house of Potiphar that he quickly learned how to run the whole place and was elevated to head steward. The humiliating experience of being sold into slavery refined Joseph by preparing him with skills he would need later.

Unfortunately things didn’t work out so well, because his master’s wife accused him of trying to seduce her. So the ‘word of the Lord” kept refining Joseph—this time in prison. We have to remember that prison in that day was nothing like prison in our day. There were no rights in prison. You had no right to an attorney, no right to a speedy trial, and there was no such thing as habeas corpus to compel the powers that be to be fair in the way they treated you (at least theoretically). “Prison” in the ancient world meant being thrown into the dungeon, where you may not even be able to stay alive, let alone eat or sleep in a bed or any of the other things we take for granted. But while Joseph was in the dungeon, some of Pharoah’s personal attendants spent some time there. They too had dreams, and Joseph interpreted them. When Pharaoh had a dream, one of them told him about Joseph, and Joseph wound up as the Prime Minister of the most powerful nation in the ancient world!

It was a long and winding road for Joseph from being a young dreamer to becoming the chief administrator of Egypt. Why did Joseph have to go through such a long and painful process? Why did it take years of suffering to prepare him for “living” the dream he had in his youth?[3] Besides the obvious answers, it would seem built into the nature of what it means to commit yourself to a “dream.”[4] In a very real sense, this is part of how we truly “live” our dream for the world. It’s how the dream gets inside us. Until that happens, until it gets inside you so that you live, eat, and breathe it, you’re in no position to try to go out and see that vision realized in life.[5] We cannot hope to bring compassion to the world if we don’t have compassion in our hearts for other people—all of them. We cannot hope to bring peace to the world if we haven’t yet become peace—towards everyone.

Like Joseph, we may have to go through a refining process to get there. It may be frustrating for us to continue to try to hold on to our dream, only to keep being disappointed with the way life actually works. One of the lessons we learn when we’re undergoing this refining process is that the first step toward “living” the dream is to surrender our expectations of what that’s going to look like and to accept life, the world, and others as they are.[6] That’s the only way we can ever hope to learn how to respond to real human beings in a real world with compassion and peace.

It’s not easy being a dreamer in this world. Dreamers can have difficulty with the harsh realities of life. When you stake your life on a vision for the way things can be different, it will “keep testing you.” It may take years for the vision of the God’s compassion and peace and justice and freedom to really get inside us. But when it does, when we become the compassion and peace we long for in this world, then we will be truly “living” the dream.

[2] Although it would seem that most scholars think this is a reference to his interpretation of the dreams of Pharoah’s attendants (cf. H.-J. Kraus, Psalms 60-150, 311), I think there is merit in the idea that it includes Joseph’s initial dreams (cf. Leslie C. Allen, Psalms 101-150, 58).

[3] Cf. Charles Spurgeon, “Trial by the Word,” a sermon delivered Feb. 6 1876 at the Metropolitan Tabernacle; accessed at http://www.spurgeon.org/sermons/1277.htm, where he says, “visions tarry, and we must wait for them.”

[4]John Caputo, On Religion, 15, describes it as “longing with a restless heart for a reality beyond reality.”

[5] Cf. Paul F. Knitter, Without Buddha I Could not Be a Christian, 183-85.

[6] Cf. Knitter, Without Buddha, 185-86.

2011-08-10T10:05:00.001-05:00

Channels of Compassion

Mt. 14:13-21[1]

I think our generation must be the most analyzed generation of human beings in the history of the world. After all, psychology didn’t even begin as a formal scientific discipline until the late 19^th Century. And it didn’t really take hold in our society as something helpful until the last 50 years or so. One of the results of the rising interest in the human being as a mental, emotional, and social creature is that there is now a fairly massive self-help movement. Much of this is good—for example various forms of 12-step programs have literally saved many lives. But sometimes too much of a good thing can be not so good.

One of the lessons of the self-help movement is that we have personal “boundaries” that we can maintain in our relationships with others. Again, this is a very healthy thing—especially in a culture like ours where people have been raised to be subservient to those around them, and wind up giving so much of themselves away that they have nothing left. But as with any helpful lesson, it has to be applied with care and thought, not just used as a hammer for any and every situation. When we apply that lesson with wisdom and compassion, I think we learn that there are times when we should maintain our boundaries and take good care of ourselves; and there are other times when we should set our needs and wants aside and offer kindness and care to those who are in need around us.

I think this is at least part of the lesson from our Gospel reading for this week. Jesus had given so much of himself to those around him that he withdrew to a deserted place to be alone. To make that happen, he took a boat from one side of the Sea of Galilee to the other. Now, I think we’d have to say that this was a good and wise choice on his part. He must have been tired from all he had been doing, and he was taking care of himself. But the crowds actually walked around the lake to find him. They literally took the long way around! And when they showed up, the Scripture says that he had compassion for them. It seems to me that Jesus’ interaction with the crowds that followed him provides us with an example of the lesson that there is a time for self-care, but there is also a time for putting our own concerns aside and simply offering ourselves as channels of compassion for those around us who are in need.

The story that follows is intriguing, because although it is the only miracle of Jesus recounted by all four Gospels, there is also no mention of what actually happened to make the five loaves and two fish feed such a massive crowd! Some have suggested that the example of generosity inspired those in the crowd to share their food with others. We don’t know that. Popular movies have depicted it as an instantaneous miracle—Jesus lifts the food in a basket to heaven to bless it, and when he brings it down the basket is overflowing with loaves and fishes. But we don’t know that either. We really don’t know and may never be able to explain how Jesus multiplied the loaves and fish.[2]

What we do know is that initially the disciples wanted to send the crowds away. I would imagine they too were tired and wanted to have some down time. After all, the whole reason why they got in the boat and went to a deserted place was to be alone. Or perhaps, in their characteristic “little faith,” they were afraid there would not be enough food.[3] Probably a pretty reasonable concern! And what we do know is that Jesus gave the loaves to the disciples, and the disciples gave them to the crowds.

This brings no closer to explaining this story. But I wonder if it could be that it was in the act of the disciples being willing to put their own concerns aside and to simply give the food they had to the crowds that the miracle occurred?[4] We still don’t know that for sure, but it does seem significant that the disciples who wanted to send everybody away turned around and served their food to the hungry crowds around them. And it would seem that the miracle happened somehow in giving. By setting aside their own concerns, their fears and their doubts, Jesus disciples became channels for God’s miraculous work. Perhaps one of the lessons is that true miracles happen in ways we can never explain.[5]

We’ll probably never know for sure exactly what happened that day by the Sea of Galilee, but I think this might point us in a direction. When we remain excessively focused on maintaining our boundaries, when we stay in our fears that there will not be enough or perhaps we aren’t good enough, when we just want to send others away to fend themselves, we inevitably withhold the loving kindness and compassion that we have been so generously given. On the other hand, when we let go our fears and concerns about our own well being—at least when the situation calls for it—and open our hearts to the people we encounter with a giving spirit, we become channels of the divine compassion that can have a truly miraculous effect.

Our compassion, our loving kindness may be small and faltering, but if we will just give what we have, perhaps in the giving it will be multiplied to meet the needs. When we give compassion freely, it ripples out far beyond our ability to explain or even imagine. When we open ourselves to be channels of compassion, those streams of kindness and mercy that flow through us have an effect that only God knows.

[2] Douglas Hare, Matthew, 165, says that all the efforts to “explain” the miracle “hardly do justice to the story in the Gospels.”

[3] Cf. M. Eugene Boring, “The Gospel of Matthew,” New Interpreters Bible 8:324.

[4] Cf. Karl Barth, Church Dogmatics 2.2:447, where he says that Jesus feeds the multitude “with the little that the apostles themselves have to offer them, and all that truly remains for them is to deliver and offer the much that He gives in the form of the little that they have to give.”

[5] Cf. Charles L. Allen, “A Sermon: When Worlds Break Open,” Encounter 65.1 (2004): 75.

2011-08-10T09:54:00.001-05:00

Something Unexpected

Mt. 13:31-33[1]

If you’ve spent any significant time in the Southeastern United States, you know that “Kudzu” is bad word. A very bad word. People in that part of the country hate Kudzu with a passion. The reason is that it is one of the fastest growing invasive plants ever to make it to our shores. Ironically, Kudzu was originally cultivated in the U. S. about a hundred years ago as a means of controlling erosion. But talk about too much of a good thing. By the 1950’s the agriculture folks knew there was a problem. By the 1970’s it would seem that the problem was out of hand. These days, the authorities in the worst-affected areas spare no effort to eradicate Kudzu. Or at least to try to stop it from spreading.

I think one would be hard-pressed to make the case with people in these areas that Kudzu might have any beneficial uses. In fact, however, in Southeast Asia Kudzu is considered a food crop! According to Wikipedia, in its native China Kudzu is considered one of the “fifty fundamental herbs” and is used as an herbal remedy for the treatment of alcohol related problems, including treating liver problems! There are even some hints that it may show promise for treating migraines, diabetes, Alzheimer’s, and even cancer! Wouldn’t that be a twist—if medical science discovered the ultimate cure for cancer in the plant that our neighbors are spending millions of dollars to eradicate!

Something like this kind of twist is involved in Jesus’ parables from our gospel reading for today. To use a mustard seed as a means of describing God’s kingdom would have been about as shocking in that day as telling a native of Alabama that Kudzu might become the next miracle cure. It just doesn’t compute. Mustard was just about as virulent as Kudzu. Once it took hold in a field, it would eventually take over the whole place. It’s just about impossible to eradicate. Modern farmers hate it because it gets in their crops. Ranchers hate it because it irritates the eyes of their livestock. What possible good could come from mustard seed?

But in a very real sense, that’s precisely the point. God’s realm of justice and peace and freedom in this world is something unexpected. It works contrary to our expectations. The eventual success of God’s kingdom at transforming this world into a place of justice and peace and freedom would have been about as unexpected to the people who originally heard this parable as Kudzu turning out to cure all our most serious ailments.[2] It just didn’t make much sense.

One of the biggest obstacles to our ability to wrap our heads around the idea that a kingdom of humility and self-sacrifice and mercy would somehow transform this whole world is that it just isn’t the way the world works. In our world money talks. Might makes right. Nice guys finish last. Those who lay down their lives for others become doormats. Humility means weakness. Mercy means being taken advantage. In a world that works like that, Jesus’ vision of a new realm that would bring justice and peace and freedom seems ludicrous.

What tends to happen, it seems to me, is that even those who identify themselves as disciples of Jesus adopt the means of this world to “force” the issue. Not content to just continue sowing Gospel seeds, waiting patiently for the harvest, leaving the outcome vulnerable to circumstance and luck, with no guarantees but the promise of faith and hope, many who call themselves Christian take the shortcuts that they see working in this world. They try to guarantee the success of God’s realm by shrewd calculation and slick marketing. They try to ensure the success of their Gospel seeds by any and every means, including manipulation and deceit. But what they miss is the plain truth that you cannot promote the justice and peace and freedom of God’s realm by methods that are unjust and unpeaceful and unfree. You may find some success by those means, but it will not be God’s realm that you are promoting. It will much more likely be something of your own devising.

In the midst of all this, Jesus’ strange parables remain as an encouragement to those who will wait in faith and hope. The parables of the mustard seed and the yeast in the dough both suggest that, despite all obstacles, and despite all indications to the contrary, God’s realm of justice and peace and freedom is here; it is real among us now. And these parables point to the promise that one day God’s realm will define all of life in this world.[3] As unlikely as that may sound, Jesus was no fool. I think he knew that his message about God’s realm was unlikely at best—as unlikely as the success of weeds and leaven—and at worst it came off as ludicrous. The “kingdom” that he brought to the people who were looking for it was something different entirely from what they were expecting. But if I’ve learned anything in life, it’s that sometimes something unexpected can be more satisfying than anything we could have imagined. When and where and how we least expect it, God’s justice, God’s peace, and God’s freedom break out in this world in unlikely ways and unlikely places.

[2]Cf. Linda McKinnish Bridges, “Preaching the Parables of Jesus in Matthew's Gospel in Ordinary Time,” Review and Expositor 104 (Spring 2007): 344. Cf. also Donald A. Hagner, Matthew 1-13, 390; Ulrich Luz and Helmut Koester, Matthew: A Commentary, 261; and M. Eugene Boring, “The Gospel of Matthew,” New Interpreters Bible 8:311-312.

[3] Cf. Karl Barth, Church Dogmatics 4.3.1: 301; Boring, 8:309; and Luz and Koester, 262.

2011-07-20T10:12:00.002-05:00

“Special” People

Mt. 13:24-30, 36-43[1]

As a child, like many of you I was raised on the great American myth. You know, it’s the one where you’re told that you can be anyone you want to be and do anything you want to do. It’s the myth that I’m “special.” Now, I don't mean "special" in the sense of having a healthy sense of one's uniqueness and value. I mean "special" in the sense of having special privileges, special benefits, special advantages. I think one of the hardest lessons in life for those of us raised on that myth is to come to grips with the reality of life. The reality is that each of us is born with a set of circumstances, a genetic inheritance, a personality that, try as we may, we can no more change than a leopard can change its spots or a zebra its stripes. I think my generation especially has had great difficulty accepting the reality that I’m not “special.”

It seems to me that religious perfectionism thrives on the desire to be “special” in God’s sight. In fact, I think that’s putting it mildly. I’d have to say that religious perfectionism is positively obsessed with being “special.” To some extent, it’s an obsession whose seeds are planted early in the biblical narrative. In a very real sense, the stories about the patriarchs and matriarchs are all about the idea that the children of Abraham and Sarah are special. God promises them special blessings—they will be so numerous as to be “like the dust of the earth.” They will be given a “land flowing with milk and honey,” a land that belongs to other nations. With that kind of outlook in the very beginning of the Bible’s story, it’s no wonder that religious perfectionists throughout the ages have sought to lay claim for themselves on God’s special attention and blessing.

Religious perfectionists have used all kinds of strategies to guarantee that they get to be “special” people in God’s sight. One of those strategies is reflected in the parable from our gospel lesson for today: making it all about “us” against “them.” It’s a parable that is difficult to understand, and perhaps it may have been tampered with to make a point.[2] The community Matthew was writing for was probably struggling with the fact that, though they were Jewish, they had been thrown out of their synagogues. Now they were probably feeling displaced and struggling to justify themselves in the face of rejection.

The parable itself seems to talk mainly about the difficulty of separating good from evil in this world. That would be a point that is consistent with Jesus’ teaching—that it is difficult if not downright impossible to accurately judge another person’s motives and actions. [3] It would seem that, in the hands of Matthew’s church, that story turned into a means of supporting an “us” against “them” mentality: they are the “wheat” that will one day be harvested and gathered into God’s barns, while their enemies are the “weeds” that will one day be gathered up and burned. It’s a strange text. In the Sermon on the Mount Jesus says that God gives the blessings of sun and rain to all alike (Mt. 5:44-45). Here, however, he tells a parable about separating the “children of the kingdom” from the “children of the evil one.” When you look at what Jesus says elsewhere, this parable about “us” against “them” stands out like a sore thumb. [4]

You may find it hard to believe, but religious perfectionists use this still today to support their “us” against “them” mentality. I heard this reflected in a recent BBC interview with Jerald O’Brien, a leader in the Aryan Nations organization in the Pacific Northwest.[5] He believes that he and all “Aryans” are “the children of God,” the true descendants of Israel, while others, especially the Jewish people, are “children of Satan.” Of course, that means anyone he doesn’t like, including President Obama, is Jewish, and therefore a “child of Satan.” Now, when we hear someone like that, we can all agree that it takes a lot of nerve to think you can confidently identify another person as a “child of Satan!” Or perhaps in this case at least a few screws loose.

But unfortunately we are not immune from the desire to be “special” when we hear this parable and its allegorical interpretation.[6] Who among us doesn’t assume that we are the wheat and “they,” whoever they may be, are the weeds. We all tend to approach a parable like this one and assume that we are the favorites, we are the chosen ones, we are the “children of the kingdom.” But the plain truth of Scripture is that in God’s sight all people are loved and valued. There is no such thing as “special” people in God’s realm, in the sense of having special privileges. [7] God does not single anyone out for special attention or blessings. God gives the blessings of sun and rain (Mt. 5:44-45), compassion and care (Ps. 145:9), to all people on earth alike. All people are God’s children—both by virtue of creation and redemption—and our faith and our way of life and our outlook on other people ought to be consistent with that basic truth.

[2] Cf. M. Eugene Boring, “The Gospel of Matthew,” New Interpreters Bible VIII: 308, 310.

[3] William G. Doty, “Parable of the Weeds and Wheat” Interpretation 25 (April 1971):192. He says, ““The outcome of the parable … is the Father's business. The believer is free to go about his task … without intensive, extensive, frenetic justifying and judging and rooting-out of the ‘enemy’or his deeds.” Cf. also Douglas R. A. Hare, Matthew, 155.

[4] Barbara E. Reid, “Matthew’s Nonviolent Jesus and Violent Parables,” in Christian Reflection 2006, 31. In response to the violence of the parable, Reid asks, “What has happened to the boundless, unreciprocated divine love described in the Sermon on the Mount (5:44-48)?” unfortunately she resolves the tension by advocating the view that violence in this day and time is different from the end-time violence of judgment.

[5]Jonny Dymond, “US ‘hate groups’ bolstered by Obama’s election,” BBC News, 5 July 2011; accessed at http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-us-canada-14018798 .

[6] John Calvin, Commentary on the Epistle of Paul to the Romans, 473, says this is due to our “innate pride, which makes us very indulgent to our own faults and inexorable to those of others.”

[7] From a biblical standpoint, if anyone is singled out in God’s sight, it’s for the same reason the children of Abraham and Sarah were singled out: to serve others; to be agents of God’s compassion, of God’s peace and freedom and justice.

2011-07-20T10:03:00.001-05:00

Sowing and Not Reaping

Mt. 13:1-9; Ps. 119:105-112[1]

There are some vocations that I think by definition can be incredibly discouraging. I would think that being a police officer can be one of them. Depending on where you work, you may spend most of your days working with the most troubled and violent members of the human family. I think teachers must also face this challenge. You go into teaching out of a sense of idealism about making a difference in the younger generation. And unless you’re very fortunate, you may wind up spending your days trying to teach kids who are much more interested in everything but learning. I would think it would be very easy to become cynical about the prospects of making a difference in the world.

I know for a fact that the same thing applies to ministers. Like teachers, many ministers go into the ministry out of a deep sense of idealism about making a difference in the world. They go through a seminary program that raises their awareness about biblical mandates regarding social justice, and about the joys of deeply spiritual worship, and about the latest strategies for reaching the neediest people in the community. And they get into the church and find out that people can be more interested in which hymnal they’re using, or in making and enforcing ever more specific rules on everybody else, or in keeping all the “squeaky wheels” in the congregation happy. And they work hard each week with the Scriptures trying to discern a fresh and inspiring message, only to wonder, week after week, if anybody is listening at all! Ministry is definitely a vocation that by definition can be incredibly discouraging.

But the reality is that the same thing can be said for Christian living. Most of us embrace the faith in some sense or another out of a feeling of “ought-ness” or a vision to make a difference in the way the world works. And you identify with a congregation and a denomination and find your way onto the session, only to find out that the leaders may spend more time fighting about décor and money than attempting any kind of mission to save the world. It can be incredibly discouraging. But you find your niche in mission and you keep going through the motions month after month and year after year, until you wake up one day so incredibly discouraged from a lack of results that you wonder if you ever really believed in God in the first place!

To some extent, the parable of the sower addresses this aspect of the Christian faith. When we seek to go out and make a difference in the world—whether in church service or in another vocation—we’re very much like the sower, planting seeds as we go. Now, planting seeds these days is quite different from planting seeds in Jesus’ day. These days we have it down to a science when and how and what kind of seeds to plant. In Jesus’ day, planting seeds was much more like life. You scatter seeds all over the place, hoping some of them will take root and grow and bear fruit. In spite of that difference, most farmers still know what Jesus was talking about—the quality of the soil makes all the difference in the quantity of the harvest. These days we can even get crops to grow on bad soil; In Jesus’ day, you had to just make do with what you got.

Of course, Jesus wasn’t really talking about agriculture. Among other things, he was trying to warn those who followed him out of a sense of personal commitment to the vision of a world of justice and peace and freedom that he inspired in them that not all the seeds they planted would bear fruit. There are lots of times when sowing does not lead to reaping. [2] Instead of rejoicing while “bringing in the sheaves,” we find ourselves just sowing and weeping and sowing some more. Despite some of the lofty sounding promises in the Bible, you just can’t always count on results, no matter how hard you try. Obedience doesn’t always mean rewards, even if the Psalmist seems to say it does. Faithfulness doesn’t guarantee results. Sometimes we find ourselves sowing and not reaping.

One of the notions that drive religious perfectionism is the idea that obedience automatically brings rewards. If we do what we’re supposed to, if we live like we’re supposed to, then our lives will be free from suffering and all our dreams will come true. Just the very action of identifying ourselves with faith and the gospel means that we’re on Jesus’ side and we will go from one success to another. But this pipe dream doesn’t live up to reality. In fact, it oftentimes leads to discouragement and even bitterness. As Henri Nouwen put it, the very expectation that our faithful sowing of seeds ought to lead to reaping a harvest leads to the resentment of bitterness when the results fail to appear.[3] That’s why he said that we must sow our seeds in the hope that there really is “light on the other side of darkness.”[4] That means that, even though we find ourselves sowing without reaping, we keep right on sowing those gospel seeds, seeds of mercy and kindness, seeds of love and justice, seeds of peace and freedom. We do it because one day some of those seeds are going to bear fruit.

[2] M. Eugene Boring, “The Gospel According to Matthew,” New Interpreter’s Bible VIII:306. One of the difficulties faced by Matthew’s audience who were sowing gospel seeds was the fact that “the Messiah had been rejected by his own people.”

[3] Henri Nouwen, The Wounded Healer, 76. He says that laboring on the basis of “expectations of concrete results, however conceived, is like building a house on sand instead of solid rock.”

[4] Nouwen, Wounded Healer, 76: “Hope makes it possible to look beyond the fulfillment of urgent wishes and pressing desires and offers a vision beyond human suffering and even death.” Cf. also Linda McKinnish Bridges, “Preaching the Parables of Jesus in Matthew’s Gospel in Ordinary Time: The Extraordinary Tales of God’s World,” Review and Expositor 104 (Spring 2007): 340

2011-07-20T09:55:00.001-05:00

Lay Down Your Burden

Mt. 11:28-30; Rom. 7:15-25[1]

Children are wonderful and amazing. Especially as they go through the various stages of development. In our household, our granddaughter Avery is at that stage of development where she is discovering her autonomy. She is learning that she can make choices about what she wants to wear or what she wants to play. Of course, at this stage of the game, what that means is that she wants to choose what Kristi and I do as well. Many of you have been there and done that. So the decision-making process gets complicated because she decides she wants to wear the pink dress, no the blue dress, no the green dress. And she wants to wear the lace-up sneakers, no the pink crocs, no the new Velcro shoes. You get the idea. What she really wants is to be in charge!

I thought of this when I was looking at our Gospel lesson for today. Last week we talked about how making the essence of holiness a matter of following rigid rules leads us to condemn others while letting ourselves off the hook. But the other side of the coin is what we do to ourselves when we take that path of religious perfectionism. On one side we see people who are more conservative than we are and we think that they are being too strict. And we may wonder whether they have some kind of mental illness. On the other side we see people who are more progressive and we think they are being too lax. And we may condemn them for having loose morals.

That’s what’s going on in our Gospel lesson with the strange comment Jesus makes about his contemporaries being like children saying, “We played the flute for you, and you did not dance; we wailed, and you did not mourn” (Matt. 11:17). John the Baptizer lived simply and practiced a fairly rigorous form of self-discipline. He withdrew from the normal interactions of life and lived like a recluse. And because he wouldn’t “dance to the tune” they were playing, they wrote him off as demon-possessed![2] But when Jesus came and lived life and laughed and welcomed all kinds of people—and, perhaps in the eyes of his Jewish contemporaries worst of all, ate with the “unclean” and “impure”—they also condemned him. Because he didn’t mourn with them when they “wailed,” they wrote him off as a glutton and a drunkard.

On the surface of things, it can seem that we’re incredibly ambiguous about spiritual matters, first condemning those who are too conservative, then condemning those who are too liberal. But in reality, we’re like children who can’t make up their minds what they want, because what they really want is just to dictate your actions. When we make religion a matter of following rigid rules, we essentially make ourselves the measure of all things spiritual. That’s an incredible burden to bear. It’s bad enough when we define religion by rigid rules; but when we make ourselves the measure of godliness, that’s a heavy burden indeed.

But in response, Jesus announced that he had come to set people free from their burdens. He came to free the people who, no matter how hard they tried, could never live up to the rigid requirements of the religious perfectionists. The rule-makers went around declaring everybody but themselves impure and unclean for some reason or another. But what gets hidden in all of this is that those who make themselves the arbiters of holiness carry an incredible burden themselves. Beneath the façade of “holier than thou” lurks the nagging doubt as to whether they have carried out the rules perfectly. We might see some of that burden in St. Paul’s anguish over his inability to keep the rules. I think Jesus came to free the perfectionists as well.

We live in a society where this kind of compulsive religion is no longer the norm for many of us. But there are other burdens that keep us from freedom that God intends for us all. Fear is a burden. We fear loss or pain or worse. But fear keeps us locked in a prison cell where our only companion what we fear the most. Anger is a burden that some of us carry. Most of us never learn that anger is normally a response to being hurt. But anger keeps us miserable, in turmoil, stuck in a place where we re-live that hurt—over and over again. Pride is our preferred form of perfectionism. We don’t just want to “keep up with the Joneses”; we have a driving need to be “better than” the Joneses. But that nagging insecurity that it’s never good enough is always around.

When children grow up in a stable environment, they have the chance to learn that they really don’t want to dictate what everybody else does. That need to control not only my life but everybody else’s becomes a burden that will crush anyone who tries to carry it. When we try to live that way, we rob ourselves of joy, and love, and life. The wisdom of the ages has taught us that the burdens that we carry only trap us in prisons of our own making. The only way to live—to truly live—is to let go the illusion of control—whatever it is you’re trying to control. Jesus said come to me, lay down your burdens, and I will give you rest. When we lay down the fear and anger and pride that imprison us, we can open our hearts to receive joy, and love, and life, and rest.

[2] Douglas Hare, Matthew 123-24.

2011-06-29T14:37:00.002-05:00

A Cup of Cold Water

Mt. 10:40-42; Rom. 6:12-23[1]

Sometimes I think religious professionals may be more of a hindrance to spiritual living than a help. You may find that a strange thing for a religious professional to say! It seems to me, for some reason, we religious professionals tend to make things more complicated than they need to be. We create systems and rules to ensure that everyone winds up at the same place in their spiritual journeys. But systems always have to be tweaked, as any Presbyterian who has tracked the evolution of the Book of Order can attest. And rules always have to be expanded to take care of exceptions and loopholes, as any tax attorney can attest! It might be tempting for us to point the finger at those other religions out there, for “straining a gnat and swallowing a camel,” as Jesus put it. But the reality is that all religions, as attempts to create a systematic way in which all people can approach ultimate things like God and eternity, can become obstacles in the spiritual quest.

In the Hebrew Bible, we see an approach to the spiritual life that essentially defines holiness in terms of carefully conducted ritual sacrifices, and it defines sin in terms of staying pure by eating the right foods and having intimate relationships with the right kind of people. Well let’s look at this: we no longer believe that people have to offer ritual sacrifices in order to please God. And we don’t think that having a plate of oysters somehow makes us unclean in God’s sight. But many in our faith still believe that the essence of sin is having an intimate relationship with the wrong kind of person (even in the context of marriage). And yet, the “wrong kind” of person for the Hebrew Bible was anybody outside the family of Abraham! Do we really believe that marrying a person outside your faith, or marrying a person of another race, or another ethnic group somehow makes us sinful in God’s eyes? I wonder if it’s time to move past this aspect of the Hebrew Bible as well.

I see some of this when read our lesson from St. Paul’s letter to the Romans for today. While we are clearly indebted to the great Apostle for many of the building blocks of our faith, I think his views on sin have some problems. In a very real sense, I think the main problem is that he has a very “First-Century Jewish” notion of sin. On the surface of things, obviously we don’t want to be “slaves of sin” but “servants of righteousness.” But the problem comes when you ask what kind of sin Paul had in mind. With all his talk of your “members,” or body parts (6:13), presented to “impurity” in the “passions” of the “flesh,” it seems to me pretty clear that the kind of “sin” that leads to “death” in St. Paul’s thinking here is sexual sin—having an intimate relationship with the “wrong kind” of person.

But is that really what we believe? When we look around at the world in which we live, where do you see sin leading to death? Well, I see power-hungry dictators unleashing tanks against their own peoples to suppress dissent. And the result of that sin is death—over and over. And I see impoverished people living in ramshackle slums that are swept away completely—with all their residents, men, women, and children—whenever an earthquake or a flood or a hurricane comes through. I see the death that results from the sin of the wealthy in those countries hoarding all the resources and the sin of the government leaders who profit personally from injustice. I would have to say, in all honesty, that I don’t death resulting from having an intimate relationship with the “wrong kind” of person. I’m afraid I’d have to say that the beloved Apostle missed it on this one. His feet are firmly stuck in the Jewish notions of sin prevalent in his fellow Pharisees.

Whenever we make the essence of spirituality and holiness a matter of following religious rules, it seems to me that we have missed the mark. Rigid religious rules always become obstacles to loving other people; it seems to me that means they are obstacles to truly loving God. Jesus called them “burdens too heavy to lift” and points the finger at religious perfectionists of all stripes for ignoring their own sins and focusing on the minor lapses of others. It all becomes just an elaborate way of justifying myself by condemning someone else. But at the end of the day, even we religious perfectionists can’t bear the burden we’ve created for others.

Jesus had a way of cutting through all the hypocrisy and trivia and nonsense that we religious professionals can generate in that foolish effort. He said that true holiness is about loving God and loving others—all others, no exceptions. He said that true spirituality is about embracing a child, caring for the weak and outcast. He said that true goodness is about feeding the hungry person, visiting the sick, and being a companion to those who are in prison.[2] For Jesus, a truly spiritual way of living is about being willing to give someone a cup of cold water on a hot day (Mt. 10:42).[3] It’s really no more complicated than that. No elaborate systems, no obsessions with keeping every jot and tittle. At the end of the day, it’s about having a heart that is willing to give to others the same grace, and mercy, and unconditional love that we have received.

[2] Cf. Jürgen Moltmann, The Church in the Power of the Spirit, 126-9, where he says in effect that those who truly follow Christ are to be serving where Christ awaits us, “amid the downtrodden, the sick, and the captives.”

[3] I recognize that Jesus is probably talking about people receiving the “little ones” among the disciples who are traveling as evangelists and teachers, but I think that the same principle of kindness can apply generally. Cf. Ulrich Luz and Helmut Koester, Matthew: A Commentary, 121-22.