|
|
|
Reverend
Rita's Sermons (Jul - Dec 06)...
The
Lord Is with You - 12/10/06 The
Lord Is with You 10 December 2006 This advent season we are focusing on the messages of the angels to some of the players in the Christmas story. Last week we heard the story of Zechariah, and the angel's message that "God has heard your prayer." How Zechariah had long ago ceased to pray for his heart's greatest desire, and how we ought to reflect on the prayers of our own hearts, whether known or hidden, because advent, the season of God's coming, begins with prayer. Today we hear the story of Mary, and the angel bringing to her the message that "The Lord is with you." Here's the thing, though: presumably if God had to send an angel to deliver these messages, then these are things that Zechariah and Mary didn't already know. Okay, granted that in both cases the news about a baby was quite unexpected, but think about the further implication: Zechariah didn't know that God heard his prayer. Mary didn't know that God was with her. She had to be told this. Perhaps that explains why her reaction to the news of her immanent pregnancy was to burst out into song. And what a song it is! The Magnificat, from the Latin, "My soul magnifies the Lord, my soul glorifies the Lord, for God has been mindful of the humble state of this servant." Her song resonates with many Biblical themes, for example echoing our passage from Isaiah even though she doesn't actually quote it. "Every valley shall be exalted," cries Isaiah, "and ever mountain made low." Mary sings, "God has scattered the proud, filled the hungry with good things, and the rich have been sent empty away." These are beautiful, powerful, stirring words, but if we really let ourselves listen to them, they are pretty radical, too. "God has filled the hungry with good things, and sent the rich empty away"?!?! The first part sounds pretty good, but the second part – ooh, that's rather harsh. Think about it, friends: which are you? Are you the valley being exalted, or the mountain being made low? Are you the hungry wanting to be filled, or are you the rich? Be honest with yourself. We tend – not surprisingly – to spiritualize poverty and richness here. But the truth is, there's not a one of us here who isn't filthy rich compared to 90% of the world's population. A book I've been reading lately says, "Only the poor can truly understand the gospel." When you think about passage like these from Isaiah and Luke, you can see where that writer is coming from. I'm not entirely sure I agree with it. I don't want to agree with it, because it implies that the rich can't understand the gospel, which further implies that the gospel is for the poor and not the rich, that God is for the poor and not the rich, and I just cannot believe that God chooses sides, that God would be against anyone. But still we have this phrase, "God has filled the hungry with good things, and sent the rich empty away." But maybe we should let ourselves squirm over it for a bit. Which are we, really? Are we the poor, or are we the rich? Mary definitely sees herself as poor. Several times throughout the story and in the song itself she refers to herself as a lowly handmaiden. Who was she, really? There are many traditions that have risen up, but we don't really know the facts. Is she just being humble when she refers to herself as a lowly handmaiden? Or does she literally see herself as a servant, low on the social totem pole? According to some traditions, her parents were wealthy, so why then would she sing that the rich have been sent away empty? What about this idea that only the poor can truly understand the gospel? Well, let's think for a minute. Why wouldn't the rich be able to understand the gospel? Jesus himself in the fourth chapter of Luke announces that he has come to preach good news to the poor, to set prisoners free, to restore sight to the blind and release the oppressed. And elsewhere he notes that those who are healthy have no need of a physician, only those who are sick do. Perhaps that's the point: that the rich don't need saving. What does it mean to be rich, anyway? It means to have enough money to provide for all the needs of your family. It means having enough money to put some away for retirement or against bad times. It means security, self-sufficiency. To be wealthy means you can make your own choices and you don't have to rely on anyone else. You don't even have to rely on God. Isn't that true? "In God we trust, all others pay cash"? Jesus said that it is easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than for a rich person to enter heaven. Not because it is impossible, but because rich people don't think they need God. What need does a rich person have for someone who sets captives free and gives sight to the blind? The rich person is already free, right? Maybe that's why you have to be poor to truly understand the gospel. And yet here's the thing: don't rich people need God, too? Certainly Jesus didn't ignore the rich. His good news may have been for the poor, but he preached it to everyone. We remember the story of the rich young man who asks Jesus what he needs to do to enter heaven. And Jesus says, "Love God and your neighbor, honor your parents, keep all the commandments." And the man said, "Yes, I do all these things." So rich people can be good and pious. Jesus gave his approval, but then he went on to say, "One thing remains: you must sell all you have and give it to the poor." He didn't issue that as a general commandment to everyone. He gave that message to this one man. Why? Perhaps Jesus saw that the man was too attached to his own wealth. That it gave him a sense of security so that he didn't think he needed God. In other words, he didn't recognize his own poverty. A poverty not of wealth, but of generosity. A poverty of spirit, of imagination, so that he saw the poor as simply people to receive his charity, wretches to be pitied, not as his brothers and sisters. Let's go back briefly to that Isaiah passage: every valley lifted up and every mountain made low. The way of the world is to see this world as a zero sum game. In order to raise up those valleys, you have to take from the mountains. That's why a passage like this makes us uncomfortable: are we the ones who are going to receive extra, or we the ones who are going to have ours taken from us? It's all well and good to want to raise up those poor, but not with my money! Not unless it's me deciding how much money to give, through charity. But this business of selling all I have and giving it away? No, thank you! We are afraid to lose what we have. But is that what these passages really mean? That God is on the side of some and not of others? That some are included and not others? Think again of what the angel's message was to Mary: The Lord is with you. God does not see the world as a zero sum game. God sees the world as being filled with abundance, and there is plenty enough for all. We can find that theme expressed over and over again in the Bible. But it's we stingy mortals who say, "No, there isn't enough. If I give away all I have to others, there won't be enough for me." That's why the rich can't understand the gospel. That's why it's so hard for us to enter heaven: not because we have things, but because we rely on those things rather than on God. Now let's back up for a minute and think of all this richness and poverty in spiritual terms. If a person is sad and grieving, these passages say that God will fill you with happiness. That's all well and good. But if a person is happy, filled with joy, then what? Is that taken away? Well, sometimes the Bible says that too! But think of it another way: God has given you the joy that you have, and now your task is to share it with others. Do you have a mountain of joy? Then share it with those who are in the valley. What is it that you are blessed with? How are you rich? Do you have an abundance of peace? A calm and patient spirit? Then share that with others! Can you truly be called happy if you horde that joy to yourself and never spread it around? Can you truly be called peaceful if you never share it with anyone? Think of the Beatitudes, those who are called blessed. Some of them are poor, the poor in spirit, those who mourn, the meek, those who hunger and thirst for righteousness. But some of them are rich: the merciful, the pure in heart, the peacemakers. And they are called to share. We are all called to be together in Christian community. Maybe this is the real point of these passages, not that some are saved and others aren't, but that none of us will be free until all of us are free. None of us can see until all of us have sight. None of us can ever be rich until all of us are rich. That is God's good news: abundance, plenty for everyone. That is how those valleys are raised. The Lord is with you: with you poor people who think you've been forgotten, with you rich people who think you don’t need God. The Lord is with each and every one of you! You have to be poor enough to understand that, but when you do understand it, you will act differently in the world because of it. So reflect on it: how are you poor? How are you in prison? How are you blinded? It could be literal poverty that imprisons you or it could even be wealth. But how are you in need of the gospel? Then turn it back around: how are you rich? How have you been blessed? What do you have that God wants you to share with others? Spread that wealth around, in whatever way you have it. We are all in need of the gospel, regardless of the state of our bank account. I really do believe that: every single person on this earth is in need of the gospel. We are all poor! But we are also all blessed. We already have that which we need, and have it in abundance. This is the message of the angel: the Lord is with us. Can we see it? Your
Prayer Has Been Heard 3 December 2006 It's official now. Another Christmas season has begun. The weather turned cold enough that we had to retrieve our coats from the back of the closet. The radio station has switched to an all-Christmas format. There have been riots in the stores as shoppers scramble for this year's hot gift item. And we've also had our first Christmas decoration controversy. In a suburb in Colorado, a woman was fined by her local homeowner's association for putting up a wreath in the shape of a peace symbol. It seems some people mistook it for a satanic pentagram. A stupid error, but I can forgive people for making such a mistake. However, others felt that the peace symbol was intended as an attack on the war in Iraq. The mix-up over the satanic symbol we can dismiss as absurd, but this other – well, there could be truth to that charge. I don't know what this woman's political views were – and by the way, the homeowner's association lifted the fine when the story hit the national press. But think about it: the peace symbol was deemed too controversial for Christmas. If peace isn't appropriate for Christmas, then what is? Isn't peace kind of the whole point of Christmas? It makes you wonder what her critics wish for each Christmas. Christmas is a time of hope and expectation. It is a time of wishing, when kids write letters to Santa, and adults drop hints to their loved ones about what they'd really to find under the tree come December 25. There’s something a selfish about this quest for gifts, and yet the flip side is a chance for generosity. Over Thanksgiving my family debated once again; as we do every year, over whether we should just forego all the gift-giving, because none of us really need anything. And yet after much discussion we decided – as always – to exchange gifts anyway because we want so much to give. But the dilemma still remains: what do we ask for? If Christmas is for wishing, then what do we wish for? But the wishing of this season isn't all material. In a spiritual sense, Christmas is about anticipating the coming of Christ. That's a wish, too. We wait and hope for the day of God's coming – but why? We begin our advent season with two texts about two different wishes. In Jeremiah we have a wish phrased in terms of a promise that God makes. Jeremiah lived through one of the darkest periods of Israel's history. He started his ministry under a decent king, but saw that king die and be replaced by a truly worthless son. He saw the Babylonian army come in and defeat the nation and loot the Temple. Over the next few years, more bad kings followed, along with more looting and pillaging by the Babylonians until finally the king defected, Jerusalem was captured, and the Temple itself was destroyed. And Jeremiah saw it all happen. The worst thing for him was the knowledge that Judah had brought its fate upon itself. And in the aftermath of all this tragedy, Jeremiah knew perfectly well what to wish for: "I will make a righteous branch sprout from David's line; he will do what is just and right in the land. In those days Judah will be saved and Jerusalem will live in safety. This is the name by which he will be called: The Lord Our Righteousness." Jeremiah wanted a decent king, a good king, one who would bring peace and establish justice. I daresay all of us wish for that, too, albeit in presidential form. But how often does the reality live up to our hopes? I'm guessing not so much. Whether the guy in office at any given time is the one you voted for or not, let's be honest: they always disappoint. About the best we can ever manage to say about any president is, "At least he's not as bad as the other guy!" Honestly, what kind of Christmas wish is that? But not all of our Christmas wishes are as noble and lofty as peace on earth and justice for all. Sometimes are wishes are much more ordinary and down-to-earth. We might be inclined to call these little wishes selfish. We hear the story of such a wish from Zechariah and Elizabeth. They were both of the priestly tribe, and even though the kingdom of Judea had been restored and the Temple rebuilt, things weren't much better than in Jeremiah's day. The king was just a puppet of the Roman Empire, and even the Temple itself was not sacrosanct, officiated as it was by high priests handpicked by the Romans. For an ordinary priest like Zechariah, serving in the Temple must have been a bittersweet experience. Zechariah and Elizabeth, like all good Biblical couples, had no children. In fact, Zechariah doesn't even pray for a child in our tale. Unlike persistent Hanna from a couple of weeks ago, he has apparently given up even wishing. But the wish is still there, hidden deep within him, a small, selfish wish. Oh, to have a child! A future for him and his wife. He didn't even bother to wish for a better future for his nation, his people. Perhaps in his service to the Temple he recited the ancient prophecies of Jeremiah, but they tasted sour on his tongue. What's the use of hoping, of praying? God had never answered his prayers. Zechariah performed his duties faithfully, and he even believed in his own way. But he no longer truly hoped. Are we like Zechariah in terms of our own hopes, whether great or small? Whether it's world peace, or prayers for family, do we even really hope any more? How many times have we been disappointed? Perhaps we still believe. We might decorate our houses with a wreath in the shape of a peace symbol. But it is only a symbol. We don't really get our hopes up. We never get what we really want, anyway. So Zechariah goes to the Temple as always. He performs his duties. He enters the Holy of Holies, the inner sanctum of the Temple, the very throne of God. He's seen it many times, and it has always been empty. But this time – this time something is different. He is not alone in the room. Someone is there with him. It is an angel, a messenger of God. But Zechariah is not glad to see this being. Rather, he is confused and afraid. Why would he be afraid? He's like the child who meets Santa Claus at the mall for the first time. The reality is quite a bit scarier than the wonderful stories you've heard! But not only that. You might be anxious about your prayers. Have you asked for the right thing? Did you ask in the right way? Have you really been such a good little girl or boy after all, or might Santa have a stocking full of coal waiting for you? Or worst of all, now that you are finally face to face with the giver of gifts, the granter of wishes, the One who answers prayers – do you have anything to ask for at all? It's no wonder Zechariah is afraid! And so it is, with Zechariah in such an anxious state, that the angel says, "Fear not! God has heard your prayer." A prayer Zechariah hadn't even said. A prayer he'd given up on long ago. But God heard. God hears all the unspoken prayers in our hearts. God even hears the prayers we don't even know we've made. Sometimes we mortals are not so good at listening. Do you ever do that? You're supposedly listening to your friend, your boss, your child, but really the whole time you're thinking about something else, or thinking about how you're going to respond to them, what you're going to say. And you don't really listen at all. But have you ever had someone really listen to you? Someone who listened so closely that they actually helped you figure out your own thoughts? Someone who listens without judgment, who takes you very seriously, who gives you their full attention. Someone who seems to think that you are important. It's amazing how powerful that is. And this is the angel's message: God has heard your prayers. So this advent season let us reflect on the secret prayers of our hearts. They can be great or small, personal or global. But whatever they are, prayers are the first step toward God's coming. It's fine for our prayers to be for ourselves, but let them not be petty or vindictive or hateful. Because God is listening. King
of Kings 26 November 2006 Today in the church calendar is "Christ the King" Sunday. It is the last Sunday of the church calendar, so it ends on a majestic, triumphal note, before we start the New Year next week with the first Sunday of advent. It has an apocalyptic flavor, as we heard in the reading from the Book of Revelation, when we look to that future day when Christ shall come again and establish his never-ending reign of peace and rule forever and ever, amen. Hence "Christ the King", or as it is often updated, "Reign of Christ" Sunday. Updated first because of the inclusive language issue, some people preferring to avoid any exclusively masculine language like "king," and also because "king" is such an archaic term anyway. I can kind of understand that. Me being a red-white-and-blue-blooded American, I despise anything that smacks of royalty and noble bloodlines. I never got into the whole fascination many of my fellow Americans had with Princess Diana, for example. She was a Lady who married a Crown Prince, big deal, a title he holds for no other good reason than who his parents were. We're Americans! We fought a whole war to get rid of that ridiculous system of so-called merit. For that matter, I don't even like hereditary organizations like the Daughters of the American Revolution. In my view, every citizen of this country is a daughter or son of the American Revolution, and that's the way it should be. So kings? No thank you. I have no use for them whatsoever. And yet you can't exactly call it "Christ the President" Sunday. As much as I approve of the whole system of presidents, you don't really want to think of "Christ" as being an elected position. In a doomed exercise at updating ancient Christian imagery, I once tried to re-envision the Holy Trinity of Father, Son, and Holy Spirit in terms of the executive, the legislative, and the judicial branch of the Godhead. It was a very interesting experiment, but...it just didn't quite work. But for all my passionate dislike of royalty, I actually don't mind the traditional concept of "Christ the King." That's because Christ is utterly different from all worldly kings. You can interpret the "king of kings" to mean Jesus is the ultimate king, and so people have often tried to do over the centuries. Just as Jesus was anointed by God, so some would say have all earthly kings been. They too have divine sanction. Just as we ought to obey Christ the King, some would say, so too should we obey all earthly kings as Christ's own representatives. But there's another way you can look at it. You can interpret that "king of kings" title to mean Christ is the king to end all kings, the king who trumps all others, who proves that all other kings are merely pretenders to the throne. Just as Jesus was the sacrifice to end all sacrifices, and the high priest to end all high priests, so he is the king to end all kings. Sort of the anti-king. That's certainly how I see him, and I think it's the right way to view him, because Jesus is altogether unlike any earthly king. Let's take that "divine right of kings" concept, for example. The idea is that God made Henry VIII king, and the rest of us pathetic mortals have to right to question or oppose him. Is that what is behind Christ's kingship? Jesus never aspired to any worldly pomp or ceremony. He never sought any worldly position of power or privilege. And he certainly didn't forbid people to question him. On the contrary, Jesus spent his life roaming the countryside and getting into debates and discussions with anyone who cared to come talk to him, whether shepherds or Pharisees, Roman centurions or blind beggars. Yes, Christianity has a concept of obedience to Jesus or following Jesus, but it's not like the obedience of a serf who is subject to a king, someone who has no right to oppose the king's will. Rather with Jesus, our obedience must be voluntary. It cannot be forced. And it's less about obedience than it is about discipleship. We obey because he is our teacher, not because he is our boss who gets to order us around. Earthly kings are supposed to administer justice, to uphold the law. But all too often that justice has meant "might makes right." The king upholds the law because he gets to say what the law is, and strangely enough when the law and the king disagree, it's usually the king who wins. That's why he's king! In our gospel selection, Pontius Pilate is not a king, but he rules in the king's stead. He likes to think of himself as a righteous and just ruler, which is why he questions Jesus here the way he does. After all, Pilate doesn't just go around randomly executing people! No, no; he is open-minded and fair. He talks with his prisoners and tries to discern if they are right or wrong, as in this scene where he discusses things with Jesus. And yet for all that he tries to be just and fair, Pontius Pilate still ends up ordering the execution of an innocent man. Might still makes right. He isn't just at all. But Jesus does not use force on anyone. He doesn't impose justice with a sword. Rather he upholds it through forgiveness and mercy. This king expresses his lordship through service to others. This scene in the gospel is a tricky one. The exchange between Pilate and Jesus is hard to interpret. What does it mean when Jesus says, "If my kingdom were of this world, my followers would fight to keep me from being handed over"? Some people since then have said that since Christendom has now been established on earth through the church, therefore Christians do have the right and even the obligation to defend the church with the sword. But I wonder if Jesus meant rather to reject such a view. If his kingdom were of this world, then it would be like all the other worldly kingdoms where people fight with the sword. But his kingdom is not like those and never will be, therefore his followers should never defend it with the sword. If we do seek to defend the church with the sword, then we make it into a false and idolatrous kingdom. That's something to remember this season as some Christians call us to arms against the so-called War on Christmas. Is that really how Jesus would have us defend him? Another characteristic of earthly kings, of course, is that aspect of noble blood. Whoever has the most royal blood in them, whoever is "closest in line" inherits the throne. Certainly Jesus had nothing to do with that. He did not pass on any divine right of succession. Rather, Jesus says that "anyone who hears my word and follows it is my mother and brothers and sisters." In other words, when we follow Jesus, we all become his rightful heirs. We are all crown princes and princesses. Even Popes, who claim to be descended from Peter, make that claim not by virtue of birth but by the laying on of hands. This is the kind of king Jesus is, not a king like all earthly ones, but a king who dethrones all earthly ones. More
Imagination 19 November 2006 Today we again find a woman at the center of our story, and as is often the case in the Bible, it is a woman who has no children. Hannah is barren. This is the point where the minister usually says something about how a woman without children was a nobody back in those days – but I already said that last week. And here's the thing: although we make a fuss over that point, these childless women are usually well-loved. Sarah was beloved of Abraham, Rachel was the one wife (out of four) that Jacob greatly loved. And so with Hannah. Though she has borne no children, her husband loved her, gave her a greater portion of food, and sought to comfort her, saying, "Hannah, why is your heart sad? Am I not more to you than ten sons?" I do think that part of the reason why there are so many stories of barren women in the Bible is because these women were traditionally looked down on, but Hannah does not have to be oppressed by patriarchy to grieve her inability to have children. Many couples today share that grief. And not just women. Men, too, lament their inability to have children. All these Bible stories of infertility and miracle babies can be very painful to read, because today, even with all our advancements in medicine, some people are still not able to conceive a child, and for them no miracle comes. This pain is great indeed. I'm sure such couples can identify with this story of Hannah, deeply distressed and weeping so bitterly in the holy temple that the high priest thinks she's drunk. As I said, you don't have to be oppressed to grieve so deeply. Infertility is just no something anyone expects to happen to them. We all have inherited that primal urge to find a mate and have children. But when the years go by and no children come, it's a terrible blow. It can destroy your sense of self: what's wrong with me? Is it something I've done? Am I being punished? Is there some reason why I cannot do what others can? It puts a terrible strain on the marriage, generating feelings of blame and doubt, resentment and pain. And even though our rational brains tell us we are being unreasonable, we still have those feelings, and they can be overwhelming. Even sex itself, that most intimate of acts, can be tainted and even destroyed because so much hope and disappointment become associated with it. I wonder if in some ways it was easier to deal with in Hannah's time, when the only cures available truly were miraculous, and therefore out of our hands. Nowadays there are all kinds of medical treatments, yet they are not 100% effective, and there are still some people who will be unable to conceive. Yet the temptation is great to keep trying, because maybe this time we will fall into the category of that lucky 10%, or 5%, or 2%. I've seen how devastating that sliver of hope can be. I myself have not struggled with infertility, but I am barren in my own way. Like everyone else, I fully expected to get married and raise my own litter. But when I reached my mid-twenties without finding anyone I liked enough to even tempt me, I started wondering if marriage was not in the cards for me. This led me to question myself, wondering if there was something wrong with me. In time I did come to accept and even embrace my single state, but it wasn't easy. Our society is rather skeptical of anyone who is single, just as it is skeptical of couples who have no children. And in both cases, well-meaning busy-bodies sometimes say unintentionally cruel things. I had to endure people saying to me, "You'll make a great wife and mother some day." Childless couples get asked, "Why don't you have children? You'd make great parents!" I must have passed my expiration date because I haven't had anyone wish me a husband in years. (Of course, I know people think I'm a lesbian, but they don't usually say it outright!) The Biblical scholar Walter Brueggemann says that the theme of barrenness is about the fear for a lack of a future. Barrenness is also often linked to a prophecy, a promise that God has made that mortals doubt can be fulfilled. IN some ways barrenness, then, means a lack of imagination on our part in seeing how God does give us a future. In the Bible people often react with doubt and outright skepticism to God's promises. When God promised Abraham and Sarah that they would be parents of a great nation, they only laughed. In the New Testament, the priest Zachariah laughs when God says that his barren wife will conceive the man who will be the forerunner to the Messiah, John the Baptist. They couldn't conceive of how God could have a future for them, so they in fact couldn't conceive. While God probably won't miraculously cause infertile couples to conceive a child, nevertheless there may be some truth here about the barrenness of our imaginations, and not only on the matter of infertility. There are all kinds of ways in which we become locked into a certain idea of how we think our lives ought to be: we ought to find a spouse, we ought to have children. We ought to get a certain job, we ought to make a certain income. We ought to bring democracy to Iraq. (*ahem*) and sometimes we get so wrapped up in our vision that we lose sight of God's vision. There are times when "staying the course" is not actually a virtue if it is the wrong path. For while God may not fulfill our dreams the way we want, God does keep God's promises. We're the ones, however, who stand to miss out if we aren't paying attention to the path God is opening to us, if we lack the imagination to see the future God has in store for us. When I accepted my singleness, I automatically expected that I would never have children. It seemed a given, so I channeled my parental urges in other directions. But lo and behold, this past January I began to see that God might have something else in mind for me: an option that I had never previously been willing to entertain. We
Belong 12 November 2006 We human beings are pack animals. Or to put it more nicely, we are "social creatures." Our nearest cousins in the animal kingdom, chimps and gorillas, live in groups. The reason why dogs became the first domesticated animals is due largely to the fact that they, like us, are pack animals. They recognized humans as their pack leaders. Dog's are man's best friend because friends are so important to them. And that's what it boils down to: the need to be with others, to be part of a group. Where do we fit in? Where do we find a place to belong? Think back to your first day of school: Will I make friends? Will the others pick on me? But for many of us, those questions follow us throughout life, because we move so often. People change jobs, they move to different cities. It's increasingly rare for people to live anywhere near their relatives. The things that defined people's identity in the past are not as clear-cut as they once were: family lines, religious beliefs, national identity. All of these changes and moves and shifting identities make us feel very lonely. One way we've dealt with that loneliness is to sentimentalize love. We fantasize about how there is one special person out there for us. We want that sense of rightness, of belonging, that we knew in our families growing up. Love means someone who makes us feel special, someone who we share the same values, the same pastimes, the same thoughts and feelings with. But at the same time that we are sentimentalizing love, divorce rates are going up. It used to be that the only way you could get a divorce was if one of the partners seriously violated their marriage vows, for example by having an affair. But now you no longer have to prove "breach of contract." Now you can get a divorce just because you no longer find the marriage fulfilling, you're no longer in love with your partner. I'm not sure that going back to an era when divorce was illegal would really improve things, but the reality of divorce, of moves, of loss of jobs, and all those factors makes all of us feel more precarious in our situation. We look more and more for a sense of love and acceptance and belonging, in an age when those things seem more elusive than ever. That is the context in which we hear our two scripture readings today. Our first reading from the book of Ruth contains a passage that is often quoted at weddings, despite the fact that it doesn't mention love, and it's in fact spoken be a woman to her mother-in-law. The second passage from Mark's gospel is one that should be even more familiar to us. It does speak of love, yet it's a very difficult one for us to figure out how to live out. One thing we need to realize is that the Bible is not sentimental. It doesn't romanticize love the way we do today. In the Bible, love isn't about feelings; it's about actions. You don't feel love, and out of that feeling do loving things to other people. Rather, the starting point is our actions: act as if you love other people. That's the important part. And the story of Ruth, simple and homey, and lacking in showy miracles, illustrates this very well. Ruth is a foreign woman, a gentile. She is, in fact, a Moabite, and the Moabites were one of Israel's biggest enemies. If you remember in Genesis, the story of Lot and his family escaping the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah. Lot's two daughters have no husbands, so they get their father drunk and sleep with him so they can conceive children. The oldest daughter bears a son named Moab: the ancestors of the Moabites. Well, you can image, that kind of lineage is nothing to brag about. Yet Ruth, this daughter of Moab, will become the great-grandmother of none other than Israel's beloved king David. This story is about how that happens. But the story actually begins with Naomi. She and her husband left the Promised Land in search of greener fields. They settled in Moab and married their two sons to local women. But the father and both sons died. In those days, a childless widow was at the bottom of the social totem pole. She had no men to provide for her. So Naomi prepares to go back home and beg from her relatives, and she releases her two daughters-in-law to stay in Moab among familiar people, in the hope that they might be able to remarry. One of the women elects to do so, but Ruth declares that she will go with Naomi, and she makes this beautiful declaration about the kind of love and belonging we all dream of: "Where you go, I will go, and where you stay, I will stay. Your people will be my people, and your God my God. Where you die, I shall die, and there be buried. I solemnly declare before the Lord that nothing but death will part me from you." Just reading it I get the shivers! Love is never mentioned in this speech, and yet isn't this what love is really all about? Isn't this what we all hunger and thirst for? Not compatible interests and candlelight dinners and strolls along the beach, but this: this sense of solidarity, of belonging and companionship. Surely this is love, for Ruth to leave her own land, her own blood relatives, and travel to a distant country with this woman to whom she owes nothing. God is not really an active player in this tale of Ruth. God doesn’t send prophetic dreams or work dramatic miracles. Yet God infuses this story, as if saying, "Anyone who loves in this way, not with sentiment but with action, even though they are poor and scorned and a foreigner; such people will always be welcome in my home." This, then, is what we need to keep in mind when Jesus is asked about the greatest commandment. At this point in the gospel Jesus has entered Jerusalem. He's in the final week of his life, and the religious leaders are quizzing him at every opportunity, wanting to trip him up somehow, hoping to prove that they are more pious than he is. And in the midst of all these trick questions, one honest scholar comes forward and asks Jesus, "What is the greatest commandment?" To which Jesus replies, "To love the Lord your God with all your heart and soul, mind and strength, and to love your neighbor as yourself." And the scholar says, "Yes, yes, that is right. And this is more important than offerings or sacrifices or any other religious trappings." You know, to hear some Christians go on today, you would think that the point of Christianity is to hate. They rail against those who see things differently, call them godless, say that there should be "no tolerance for sin", and so on. They may claim that they love the sinner and hate the sin, but the things is, Jesus didn't say anything about homosexuality or abortion or prayer in schools, or even Christmas. All we got from Jesus was this: that the greatest commandment is to love God and to love your neighbor. I'm sure Pat Robertson would claim he loves God, and I'm sure he does indeed have warm feelings for God. But God cares about actions, not sentiment. The love of God cannot include hatred of others, no matter how much we think they deserve it. And lest you think I'm somehow being soft on sin, consider the original context of that "love your neighbor" quote. Jesus is in fact quoting from Leviticus 19:18: "Never seek revenge or cherish a grudge towards your kinsfolk; you must love your neighbor as yourself." The problem today is that in our mobile culture, we get to choose what neighborhood we live in. It's easy to love your neighbor when everyone on your street is in your same economic bracket, the same race and ethnicity, has the same educational background and holds the same time of jobs. But Jesus has something to say about that too, in the parable of the Good Samaritan. The neighbor, he said, is not the person like you, respectable, decent, acceptable, having all the social graces. Rather, the neighbor is the person who helps others, who cares for people, who loves others the way they love themselves. You think God is going to be impressed because you shared a cup of sugar with your next-door neighbor? Or will God be more impressed when you welcome all people, strangers as well as friends, outcasts as well as the respected ones. We all hunger for acceptance, for true companionship and neighborliness. That's why we tend to seek out people like us: we're afraid that people different from us might reject us. It's a normal enough reaction. But the flip side is that if we only hang out with people "like us", we will live in perpetual fear that if we show that we are somehow different from the others, we'll be rejected, too. But
God rejects no one. God welcomes all people. No exceptions. There
is no place for hate among God's people. God doesn't care about
sentiment, God cares about actions. Friends, what kind of church
are we? Do we truly welcome all people? Do we demonstrate our love
for God and for one another in the things we do? 29 October 2006 One of the things that help define a community is tradition, which in its most simplistic way can be expressed as, "We've always done it that way." Why shoot fireworks on the fourth of July? Why string lights on our houses at Christmas? Why lay flowers on graves? Why eat hot dogs at a baseball game? Tradition! Tradition gets a bad rap these days in our fast-paced world, and yet there's something in us that hungers for tradition, for ritual and habit. Kids can be amazingly attuned to this. Parents, in an attempt to be up to date might say, "Let's have ham for Thanksgiving this year." But odds are that the kids will say, "No! We have to have turkey. Otherwise it's not Thanksgiving!" At its best, tradition gives us a sense of connection, to the people around us, to the past and the present. It gives us a sense of identity. It's what let's us know who we are. Who are Texans? Texans are the people who eat barbeque. Who are San Antonians? They are the ones who eat breakfast tacos. What are Christians? They eat bread and wine in tiny portions. Hmm. Why are all my examples of food? We'll, I've preached that sermon before. Back to the topic at hand. Spirit of Peace, being a new church, had to create our own traditions. So in our first year we took a cue from our San Antonio surroundings and celebrated "el dia de los muertos." It took hold fast, and we've celebrated it every year since. This year at Community Church, the secretary said to me, "You know, we used to celebrate Totenfest. Why don't we do that again?" I'd never heard of it before, so I went online and googled it. And what should pop up at the top of the list but our own UCC webpage! "Few in the UCC today know this word," it said, "But it comes from our German Evangelical heritage. Totenfest means 'feast of the dead'." Well, whaddya know! And what could be more central Texan than a tradition that is una mescla de Mexico und Deutschland. Zehr gut! Andale! The mescla of the UCC is good. Traditions, I believe, are meant to be shared, not to exclude. Sharing traditions brings us into each other's worlds. I'm glad of it because in my own Congregational heritage in the UCC, our fall holiday meant dressing up in black and locking each other up in the stocks. (You think I'm joking. I'm not.) The Pilgrims would have never been into any feast of the dead, whether in German or Spanish or any other language. I would have missed out without the UCC! But what is this day of the dead all about? TO a repressed child of the Pilgrims like me, it sounds a bit morbid, even macabre. Not to mention a bit blasphemous. Building an altar to the dead? Isn't that paganism? In this feast, are we in fact worshipping the dead? Is that what we're going here? No. We don't think the dead are gods. We're not trying to curry any special favors from them. But think of it this way: our creation story says that God created humankind in the divine image. Each of us bears the stamp of God on our faces. So then if we want to see God, all we must do is look one another in the eyes. That still doesn't mean we are all gods. We aren't making idols of one another. But Orthodox Christians say that we are icons. We are windows to the sacred, mirrors of the divine. You may recall in my sermon series on Genesis last year, when God said, "I will show Abraham my thoughts, so that he may teach my ways to his children, and in that way all the world will come to know me." This charge has been passed on through the ages. So when we remember and honor our ancestors, we also remember and honor the wisdom they have passed on to us. Whatever is good, whatever is loving and generous and kind – whatever of these good gifs were passed on to us, these are also gifts from God. So when we honor our loved ones, we also honor the God who made them. A yearly festival like the day of the dead also keeps our loved ones as part of our lies. When someone we love dies, people gather and remember at the funeral, but what happens after that? When do we again have the chance to say their names aloud to others? We often feel pressure – we even pressure ourselves – to "get over it." Grief is seen as negative, depressing morbid. But if you love someone, you never really stop missing them. Even if the passing of time dulls some of the sharpness of that pain, aren't they still a part of us? Didn't they help make us who we are? Do we ever truly forget them? So it is fitting not only to remember, but to remember in the context of worship, where God is present with us, loving those whom we love, grieving with us. For truly even though we might forget, God never, ever will. 22 October 2006 "Whoever would be greatest among you must be the servant of all." This is an example of how some of the greatest Christian concepts can be twisted into something dark and anti-Christian, as many Bible translations illustrate by saying, "Whoever would be greatest must be the slave of all." Bear with me for a bit of Greek language lesson, here. The word "doulos" here literally means slave, and some Bible versions translate that faithfully, rather than using the softer term "servant," in order to acknowledge the reality of slavery in Bible times. And that's good. To speak of Hagar as the servant of Abraham and Sarah is to really misrepresent her relationship to them. But on the other hand, slavery in ancient times was not like slavery in the United Sates. So sometimes the use of that word comes off as more severe to our ears than is really warranted. So why am I boring you with this little language lesson? Because passages like this one have been used to oppress people, to keep them at the beck and call of others, to keep them in their place beneath someone else's boot heel. Passages like this one were quoted to American slaves in order to make them obey their masters. Women have sometimes been told to put the needs of others ahead of their own, even told to submit to their abusive husbands, because it's what Jesus wants. And on and on in far too many examples I could name. But that is not what Jesus is talking about here. He is not endorsing slavery. Think about it: what is the difference between a slave and a servant? Or to put it another way, what is the difference between servitude and service? My handy dictionary puts the matter quite plainly: service means work performed for another, or assistance given to someone. Servitude, however, is slavery or bondage of any kind. Servitude is involuntary. It's about obeying more than it is about serving. The whole point is that you have no choice, you are forced to submit your will to another person's, no matter what they order you to do. Now, does that describe Jesus? Some people might say yes, but really: was Jesus weak, powerless? Was he unable to exercise his own will? Did he undertake his ministry because he had no choice? Did the Father impose his will on the Son, or else? Hardly! Jesus was no slave. But he was a servant. He performed his ministry for others, he gave assistance to others. He didn't live in servitude, but in service. And that's what he expects of those who would be like him: whoever would be the greatest must serve all. So with that in mind, let's look a bit more closely at this story. One of the amazing things about the Bible is that, even though they didn’t have psychology back in those days like we do, we can read these stories from our 21st century perspective, and we can recognize the reality of how human beings behave. James and John pull Jesus aside for a moment. They have a request to make of him. "When you come into your glory, let one of us sit on your right side and one on your left." They're like a couple of campaign workers who go to their candidate on behalf of whom they have been doing all this service, and say, "When you get elected President, will you make me your Secretary of Defense, and make my brother your Attorney General?" Notice how they ask him privately, because they don't want anyone else to get wind of it and to beat them to the positions of privilege. And they want these honors not because they're more qualified than everyone else or because they're so suited to the jobs, but just because they're his disciples. Nepotism at its most blatant! My career in the Girl Scouts was short-lived for exactly this reason. In my brownie troop, the den mother's daughter got special privileges that none of the rest of us got. She got to go first in every activity. She got the biggest snack. She didn't have to do the chores that the rest of us did. The final straw for me was when our troop went on a field trip to see the Independence Train in 1976. We all brought our own sack lunches, and we were told that that was all we could eat on the trip. We wouldn't be allowed to buy any extra treats. Yet the den mother bought her daughter a snow cone. You can imagine how the rest of us felt about that! I resented it so much that I quit the Girl Scouts. At least the rest of the disciples didn't quit when they learned what James and John had asked for, but they sure resented it. Jesus' mother Mary provides another example of this principle of privilege vs service. There is a gospel story in which a woman in the crowd calls out to Jesus, "Blessed is the mother who bore you!" In other words, Mary ought to be blessed just because of whose mother she is. But Jesus answers back, "Blessed rather is the one who hears my word and does it!" Why is Mary blessed and revered in Christian tradition? Is it just because of whose mother she is? Sadly, Mary too is sometimes used as an example to keep women in their place, an example of a woman who submitted to a kind of holy servitude. But think of the annunciation story: does Mary act like a submissive slave? Is it a story of oppressive slavery, or of powerful service? Well, for a slave, she sure questions her master a lot! She asks all kinds of questions and shows a healthy skepticism about the whole enterprise. She knows what she would risk in answering this call. Magic baby or no, an unmarried girl who gets pregnant could get into serious trouble. So she asks questions. She ponders the pros and cons, and when she finally agrees, "Let it be to me according to your will," it's a choice she freely makes. She could have said no. (And for all we know, perhaps God did approach a number of other young girls before this who turned the offer down!) But when God called Mary, she chose to serve. And that choice is what makes her blessed, not whose mother she is. So what do these stories tell us about true Christian service? For one thing, that it's a giving, not a taking. If anyone tries to make you serve, then it isn't Christian service. (Remember that when someone tries to strong-arm you into serving on a church committee!) Secondly, Christian service is based on need, and on our ability to do the work. By need, I mean that the service must have a practical value, it must meet an existing need. Remember a couple of weeks ago, that story about the medieval saints who vied with each other to see who got to clean out the latrine. What they cared most about was doing the most loathsome task, not necessarily what task was most needed. It's all very well and good to clean out the latrines, but what if what is really needed is for someone to greet the visitors? Christian service isn't about degradation or humiliation, it's about doing what needs to be done. That may seem obvious, but sometimes we need to remember that. And that leads to the second part: Christian service must be based on our abilities. For example, I was called to be a minister because I love to talk. It's one of my abilities! But it would have done God no good to call me to be a church organist. You can't serve at something you're not capable of doing. That's another thing to remember when you're being asked to do something for the church. I'm not saying we should use ignorance as an excuse not to serve; there are certainly many forms of service that we can learn. But you're like me, and when you add two and two you get three, then you probably shouldn't serve as church treasurer! Finally, the mark of true Christian service is that it is done for itself, and not for personal gain. The irony is that the principle, "Whoever would be greatest must serve all," can be turned into another form of gain – like those monks fighting over who got the honor of doing the most wretched job. That's hardly what Jesus had in mind! The Kamps aren't here today, so I can tell this story: we sometimes ask ourselves how being a Christian makes us different from others. Cylia, who did not grow up in the church, tells how what she noticed that was different about John wasn't his piety or his goodness. It was the fact that he served others without any need for recognition or gain. She had never encountered that before! In every other organization she was a part of, people expected some kind of recognition for the service they performed. But not in the church. I can relate to that, because my father is much like John. They are both scientific-minded skeptics, not at all the pious definition of a Christian. But like John, my dad serves when he is called upon to do so, and he does so quietly, faithfully, and without fuss. Whoever would be the greatest, must serve all. Not be a slave, because a slave has no choice. A slave can't give because everything is already taken from them. Nor is greatness given to anyone just because of who they are, some title they possess or role they play in society. There are plenty of people in the world around us who accord greatness to the masters, to those who are powerful or prestigious, to those who are rich or beautiful, or because of whose mother they are. But Jesus said, "I measure greatness not by how much you lord it over others, but by how much you serve. How of your own free will you give to others, and do what needs to be done not because you'll get something out of it, but because you want to be of help." This is the cup from which Jesus drank. This is the baptism with which he is baptized. He was no slave, but he was a great servant. Can we all do the same? The
Greatest Gift 7 October
2006 This meeting is a historic first, in its own little way. This is the first time that Spirit of Peace Church is hosting the South Texas Association annual meeting. We will be six years old in January, a new church start – and yet we are no longer the youngest church in this association, a title we are very, very happy to pass on to others. Two churches have come into existence since Spirit of Peace was born! That's good news indeed! We appreciate you all taking the time to figure out where this meeting place is. At first we thought of hosting the meeting at one of the other two churches here in San Antonio, but Charles Stark strongly recommended that we find a separate place to meet so that we could establish a separate identity. Our regular meeting place at First Unitarian Church just up the road is busy on Saturday morning as a Jewish congregation meets there, so we had to find another location. We chose Los Angeles Presbyterian because they had offered their building as our church meeting place a couple of years ago. Unfortunately the logistics didn't work out, but they offered their space if we ever had need of it again, so we are very happy to welcome you as host into the house of our friends! We're sort of like the Hebrews wandering around in the desert and pitching our tent wherever we can. As you know, many of you having just come to my installation at Community Church a couple of weeks ago, I serve a two-point call. Folks often ask me how that's going, with a bit of a dubious look in their eyes. Not because of the challenges of serving two churches, but because of these particular two churches. One is post-merger UCC, the other is solidly German Evangelical. One is progressive theologically, the other is more traditional. One is open and affirming, the other is not. It seems some people think there might be a kind of contradiction between those two churches, or at least a tension. They wonder how I manage it. In fact, I'm doing fine. The two churches are certainly different, but that's a source of blessing, not of contradiction. Because as different as those two churches are, one thing they share is their commitment to the United Church of Christ. I have found good news in both congregations. At Spirit of Peace, newcomers to the UCC are finding the church home that they had begun to think they'd never find. At Community there are old-timers who learned their catechism in German and who have a very deep and solid understanding of what being a church community is all about. And I can tell you right now that either one of those churches would lose something without the other one. That is why all of us were saddened when St. Paul in Cibolo voted to leave the denomination. In recent years, the UCC has welcomed many new churches or new churches starts into our fellowship as people have discovered us through the God Is Still Speaking campaign, but we all know that other congregations have voted to leave. And sometimes the pain of the latter overwhelms the joy of the former. After all, the newcomers are unknown to us, but to lose people that we've known so long – and who in the case of St. Paul, many of us are related to – it feels like losing a part of ourselves. When that happens, it can cause some of us to wonder about the future of the United Church of Christ and whether we want to be a part of it. That's why when Spirit of Peace learned that we would be hosting this association meeting, we wanted to offer our perspective as newcomers to this denomination. In a new church, you can take nothing for granted. And since in many ways we don't fit the usual picture of a church - we don't have our own building, we have little history or tradition – we have continually had to ask ourselves: How do we know we are a church? What makes us a church? Certainly not our building, since we don't have one! Is it our theology? Is it our worship? Is it our stand on social issues? Fortunately Paul, who was a new church starter himself, tells us what makes a church. "If I speak in the tongues of mortals and angels, but have not love, I am just so much noise. If I have prophetic powers and understand all knowledge, and if I have faith so as to move mountains, but have not love, I am nothing. Love is patient and kind, it is not jealous or boastful. It does not insist on its own way, it is not irritable or resentful. Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. So faith, hope, and love abide, these three. But the greatest of these is love." The greatest of these is love. How easily we forget that! But we shouldn't. It's all over in the gospels, in the Bible. "For God so loved the world that he gave his only begotten son." The greatest commandment is to love God with all our heart, mind, strength and spirit, and the second is like it: to love our neighbor as we love ourselves. Everything rests on this: not our theology, not our polity, not our buildings or budget, but on our ability to love one another. A less-quoted passage from the first letter of John lays out what's at stake here: No one has ever seen God, but when we love one another, then God's love lives in us and is made perfect in us. Think about that! When we love one another, God's love is made perfect in us! What happens, then, if we don't love one another? God's love is left imperfect, incomplete! Outrageous! How can God be imperfect? Yet God chose us to perfect her own love. That’s why God sent Jesus, after all, because God so loved the world. We don't have to agree with one another on everything. We don't have to see eye to eye. And that's a good thing, because we do disagree! On gays in the church, on abortion. On the death penalty, on the war. We disagree on whether to vote Republican or Democrat. And all of those things are important, but they're not the greatest. The greatest of these is love. So what we're going to do here today is remember why we're here. Why we're Christian, why we're part of the United Church of Christ. We hear too much bad news, so today we're going to remember the good news. I want everyone to think about why you love your local church. Why do you love it? When was a time when you felt the love of God at your church? When was a time when you felt the love of your neighbor at your church? I want you to think about those things, because the reasons why you love your local church are the reasons why you love the United Church of Christ. Because all of our churches are members of the United Church of Christ! The good news in our churches is the good news of the United Church of Christ! But love is not love unless we share it with others, spread it around. So here's how we're going to turn our love into a blessing for others. Everyone will be given a ribbon, and I want you to write down on that ribbon what it is you love about your church. Then later on in the service you will be invited to make your offering. You will come up to the communion table and present your monetary offering, and also leave your ribbon up here. Then you'll come back into the front of the church to be anointed with oil. I can anoint you on your forehead or your hand, whatever you prefer, or if you don't want the oil, let me know, and we'll just do a laying on of hands. So you will bring forward your blessing, and you will receive a blessing. Then at the very end of the meeting, as we all leave, we will each receive a ribbon of blessing to take home. So that the joy of one will become the joy of all, the blessing of one will become the blessing of all. Because our fellowship here would be diminished if any one of us were missing. A
House of Prayer for all Nations 1 October 2006 Today is Worldwide Communion Sunday. On this day, Christians across the globe celebrate the Lord's Supper, the meal that shows our unity in Christ. A couple of weeks ago I preached about how the church truly is global these days, something that is a source of tension as well as blessing. But as we know from the story of Jacob wrestling with the angel, blessings often come along with a dislocated hip, so we shouldn't really be surprised that there's such a tension. Our world itself has gone global these days. That may seem self-evident, but it was only a hundred years ago when people traveled by horse or on foot. Few people ever traveled more than a hundred miles from the place there were born. You knew the people around you, but that was about all. People in the next county had strange, foreign ways, ate unusual foods, sang unknown hymns. Nowadays, people can hop on a plane, and in a few hours be in another country. Or more to the point, they can cross the street and meet people who were born on the other side of the planet. I doubt there's a town in the United States, no matter how small, that doesn't have at least one Chinese restaurant and one Mexican restaurant. Once when I was traveling across country to my cousin's wedding, I stayed over night in a town in Arkansas so small they didn’t even have a Wal-Mart. But they had a Greek restaurant! And thanks to the internet, the world is closer than ever. I have internet friends in England, Chile, Finland, Australia, and Thailand. So in many ways, that global church seems to be a reality. There are Christians in every nation in the world. Truly God's house has become a house of prayer for all nations! And yet, as I said, that blessing has put some people's hips out of joint. Some global denominations are threatening to split apart over theological issues. There are African churches that oppose some American churches' views on gays in the church. And going the other direction, there are American churches that oppose some African churches' blessings of polygamous marriage. It's sometimes hard to separate religion from culture. And globalization itself can be upsetting. Some people truly love their neighbors – so long as they remain on the other side of the fence. I can't help but scratch my head over the current "immigration crisis" we are having in the US. I don't recall it being a crisis more than six months ago. Every once in a while I like to go online and watch clips of the Daily Show with Jon Stewart. No, I don't get my news from there: I just love the news commentary. And recently they had Pat Buchanan on, talking about his new book, "State of Emergency" that's all about the so-called third world invasion and conquest of the US. (You gotta admire Pat Buchanan for being to willing to go on Jon Stewart's show.) So Pat Buchanan is going on about how these immigrants – and by that he means Latin Americans, especially Mexicans – how they are coming to this country but they won't learn our language or our ways. This, he said, unlike previous immigrants like Italians and Greeks and Jews, who were willing to assimilate into American culture. You have to wonder sometimes if these guys can even hear what they're saying! Those same Italian, Greek, and Jewish immigrants of yore that Buchanan lauds, were in their day condemned for – you guessed it – refusing to learn our language and our ways and become assimilated! The only real difference between those immigrants and these new ones is that...well, that was then and this is now. (I also find it interesting that the people most up in arms over these immigrants coming over the Mexican border are the people who live along the Canadian border. Perhaps that means those of us living along the Mexican border should be worrying about those Canadians?) The world is more global, but we are perhaps as ill-equipped to deal with that reality as we have ever been. In such a context, then, what does worldwide communion Sunday really mean? How do we keep it from meaning that the rest of the world must celebrate communion the way we do? Fortunately this is not the first time the church has had to ask such questions. I picked this passage from Isaiah for the sermon today, in part because it contains those famous words, "My house shall be a house of prayer for all nations." Jesus quoted that verse when he turned the moneychangers out of the Temple. Judaism, like all ancient religions, did not start out with a global view. Rather, God was their God, and everyone else had to become like them in order to worship their God. But even then, not everyone was allowed that privilege. This passage mentions two groups, foreigners and eunuchs, that were specifically forbidden from becoming part of the congregation. Eunuchs in particular were never allowed to worship God in the temple because they were seen as damaged men. Yet during the time of exile, when the Jews lived in an alien land, God spoke to them again, calling them to welcome those whom they previously deemed unfit to join in the worshipping congregation. In this passage, the very people who previously were cut off from the congregation are now given a special blessing. Centuries later as Christianity was getting started, it too had to make a decision about whether those outside of the church had to become like us in order to worship faithfully. The earliest Christians, after all, were Jews themselves. So the question arose: did gentile converts need to become like Jews, to be circumcised and follow the kosher laws? It was a heated debate – not unlike the trees versus the walkway that I talked about last week – but in the end they decided that God's house is a house of prayer for all nations. They expanded their concept of what it meant to be a faithful church. They welcomed outsiders in. And so the dilemma continues throughout Christian history and up to the present day: do we welcome people as they are, or do we insist they become like us in order to worship with us? Missionaries carrying the gospel throughout the world had to ask themselves this question. Some of them insisted that converts had to become like them, that is, like Europeans. So we hear those stories about local people being forced to wear European-style clothes, to sing European hymns, to reject their own culture in favor of another. Yet there were other missionaries who took the opposite approach, who recognized that Christianity is for all nations, not just Europeans, who got to know local cultures and language and music, and then translated Christianity into that culture in ways that people could understand. For that matter, take communion itself. What is important here: that communion be celebrated with bread and wine, or that communion be celebrated with the most basic staples of our food? To the Japanese, for example, bread is an alien and exotic thing. Rice is their staple. So there are churches throughout the world that celebrate communion with the basic foods they know: rice and manioc, coconuts or water. That might seem strange or alien to us, but isn't the whole point of Christianity that Jesus came to us in our ordinary and common lives? Worldwide communion Sunday gives us a chance to look at our global fellowship. For it to truly have meaning, we need to ask ourselves who do we welcome at our communion table? Do we set up barriers to keep people out, because they look different or dress differently, because they speak different languages or eat different foods? Can we truly celebrate the global church in all its diversity? Strife 24 September 2006 Being a Christian is supposed to make you a better person, right? The church ought to be a loving, harmonious place where we all care for one another and put other people's needs ahead of our own. Right? Funny how it doesn't always seem to work out like that! The reality is that Christians can be the biggest hypocrites around, and churches can be places of terrible quarreling and strife. Even in the gospels, we see the disciples arguing, and over what? Over who is the greatest. Actually, I love the way Mark tells this story. He doesn't mention them fighting. Rather, Jesus asks them what they were discussing as they traveled to Capernaum. But the disciples don't even answer him, because they knew that their topic of conversation was not truly worthy. Maybe they were even ashamed of themselves. And so we are also ashamed when we behave in ways that we know are not very Christian, when our churches do not act like a house of prayer for all peoples. But being Christian is not about being perfect. We are human just like everyone else. Rather, Christianity offers a way for people to do better at loving God and one another. Today our two scripture readings talk about strife and quarreling. Our scriptures give a diagnosis for the problem and a way to overcome it. The letter of James is particularly helpful in this way. James isn't about lofty theology or pie-in-the-sky ideals. James talks about real people in all their petty glory. Practical advice, for real people. Where do these conflicts and disputes come from, he asks? They come from our cravings, our desires. That's not necessarily the answer we would expect. Say there's a conflict in the church. I'm going to be diplomatic and not give an example from either of my existing churches. I'll pick one from a previous church! One of the most contentious annual meetings that church ever had was about trees. We had a large piece of property with many trees on it. There was a movement to expand the walkway from the parking lot to the church, but this would involve cutting down trees. So it became a conflict between the tree people and the walkway people. Now think about the basis for this conflict. Both sides wanted what was best for the church. They didn't think they were being selfish, but rather selfless. Because each side cared about the church and knew better than the other side what was the best thing to do. My way is the right way. I'm the smartest, the wisest, the most giving and selfless. I am...the greatest among you. A-ha! Now we go back to the Mark story. What were those disciples discussing, anyway? Maybe they were discussing what to do next: what town to visit, whose house to stay in, what they should do when they got there. Peter wanted to do some teaching, and Mary Magdalene wanted to perform exorcisms. Andrew thought they should heal the sick, and Salome thought they should help the poor. And the rest of them were arguing among themselves whose plan was the best. Which disciple was the greatest? James says, "You want something and do not have it, so you engage in disputes and conflicts. You commit murder." That latter bit sounds kind of extreme, and yet isn't there some truth to it? Especially when you consider how Jesus said that when you hate someone you murder them in their heart. I can tell you that at that annual meeting of the trees vs the walkway, things got pretty heated! You start to resent the people who prefer a different approach, who disagree with you, who oppose your plan. You start seeing them as an enemy, standing in the way of all that is good and righteous. The tree people thought the walkway people didn't care about the environment and were going to ruin the beauty of the campus. The walkway people thought the tree people didn't care about the older members of the congregation who might trip on the old walkway and break their hips. Both of them had right on their sides! So you start to see it as a moral duty to stop those people, to make them submit to your will, your cravings, your desires. Why? Because you are the greatest. Do I exaggerate? Meditate on it for a moment. Think of the most contentious conflicts you've known, whether within the church or outside it. Did people listen to one another? Respect one another? Or did they end up choosing sides? That's the way we tend to resolve things in this country. For example, we've got two political parties, and you vote for one or the other. Whoever gets the most votes wins. The system works well enough, except that you end up with red states and blue states, people defaming the other side and so on. It might be an acceptable way to run a country, but do you really think the kingdom of heaven is like that? We want something and don't have it, so we dispute and argue. It becomes a battle over who is the greatest. But Jesus doesn't take sides in the dispute. Rather, he takes a child and puts her in the middle of all those disputing disciples and says, "Whoever welcomes a child like this, welcomes me." It's hard for us to really hear this lesson because today we do put children first, or so we say. Today people do everything for their kids, supposedly. But in Jesus' day, children came last in society. The commentary for this passage on the UCC website noted that medieval theologian Thomas Aquinas taught that in a raging fire a man was obliged to first save his father, then his mother. Then his wife, and then last of all his children. After all, you can't replace your parents. But you can always have more kids. The truth is, children took a lot of resources, and they didn't contribute to the family as much as an adult. And with a high infant mortality rate and so many deadly diseases, few children survived to adulthood. So there was a cruel logic to putting children last. The child you save from the fire today might die of smallpox next week. But if you save your spouse, you save a working member of the family, and you save future children. So children, while loved, were truly the least. The least valuable, the last in line. This, then, is Jesus' message. "You want to know who is the greatest? The greatest is not the one with the best plan, or the keenest vision or the deepest insight. The greatest is the one who welcomes those who have the least value, who have no power, who aren't important or rich or influential. Whoever welcomes someone like that, welcomes me." Can you imagine if we ran our presidential elections like that? Perhaps not. But we ought to think about handling our church business like that. As Christians, we ought to conduct ourselves like that in all settings. In the great tree vs. walkway conflict, what would have happened if both sides took a moment to stop and think about who they were neglecting to welcome, if they paused in trying to gain people to their point of view and stopped to think about who they were leaving out, if they recognized how they were excluding the folks who saw things differently from themselves. But the amazing thing is that this does not mean we have to just roll over and let others have their way. James says, "You do not have, because you do not ask." How often might that be the problem behind our conflicts? What if the people had asked, "How can we protect the trees?" and the walkway people asked, "How can we make the walkway safe?" Or James says, "You ask and do not receive because you ask wrongly, in order to spend what you get on your own pleasures." This is like when people ask, "How can I get you to change your mind and agree with me?" To welcome the least important person is to welcome all people, to recognize that everyone has value in this community. This is not to say that we won't have conflicts. But when we do, perhaps that's the time when we need to remind ourselves to welcome the least. That is the time to ask ourselves, "Have I asked for what I want? Or have I asked wrongly, for my own pleasure?" 10 September 2006 I beg your forgiveness. I'm afraid I've changed my mind several times this week about what I wanted to preach on. In the end it's come back to an editorial that appeared in last week's paper, which a church member gave me a heads-up on. The editorial was noting the changing face of Christianity. We tend to associate Christianity with Europe and North America, but the church is growing fastest in Africa and Asia, places that we probably still tend to think of as non-Christian. That wasn't news to me. Back in 1990 when I worked for the United Church Board for World Ministries, there was a projected statistic that I loved to mention as often as I could, that by the year 2010, the continent with the most Christians on it would be Africa. Frankly, I wouldn't be surprised to hear they're ahead of schedule. It kind of changes your conception of Christianity a bit, doesn't it? But the writer further pointed out that the churches growing in Africa and Asia tend to be evangelical or Pentecostal. They are not the mainline protestant denominations that come from Europe and the United States. In fact, the writer noted, those churches are in decline. I can't really dispute that fact, either. But he didn't stop there. He went on to draw some conclusions, saying that perhaps those mainline churches ought to wake up and realize that we've missed the boat with our "social gospel" concerns about justice. The growing churches, he said, emphasize a simple, back-to-the-basics interpretation of scripture, not all this liberalism and social focus that the mainliners have. He all but said, "Evangelical and Pentecostal churches are the future; mainliners are the past. Evangelical and Pentecostal churches are right, mainliners are wrong." Now that's some pretty hard news to take. And we might be tempted to read it that way. Those other churches are growing, and we are declining. So maybe we are doing something wrong? Maybe we have missed the boat? But then what is someone like me to do? I am a mainline protestant. I can't be an evangelical or Pentecostal. I probably shouldn't say it's impossible, because with God all things are possible. I've been to Pentecostal churches when everyone around me is speaking in tongues, and I can admire that and even envy it a bit. But it's highly unlikely I'll ever receive that spiritual gift. I'm just too rational, people, it's not gonna happen. But does that mean I have no spiritual gifts at all? Does it follow that my faith is somehow deficient? I sure hope not! And that's the problem when we start looking at the church in terms of "success" – or worse, using numbers to gauge success. Should we really be saying that only the successful, that is large, growing churches, they are the only ones who are right? That their expression of Christianity is the best one, or the only one that should be followed? This is where I remind myself of the example of the Quakers. The Quakers have been around for about three hundred years, but they are never going to become the biggest denomination in Christendom. I don't have statistics, but I bet the only time they were the big church on campus was when Pennsylvania first became a colony. They've always been a small group. Not many other denominations have taken their pacifist position, for example, or followed their example of getting rid of all outward sacraments of baptism and communion in favor of a purely spiritual interpretation. They don't have worship like most other Christians do. They get together and just sit there until the Spirit speaks to someone. Then that person gets up and delivers the message, and then they all sit and contemplate it. Quakerism is never going to be the happening thing! And yet we would be nuts to claim that they aren't a success. The Quakers have been highly influential well beyond their numbers. They have worked on prison reform, on ending slavery, on all kinds of social justice issues – the very issues that our editorialist seemed to scorn. The American Friends Service Committee is known throughout the world for its humanitarian work. Christianity as a whole would be a lesser movement if it weren't for the witness and work of the Quakers, even though most of us will never become Quakers ourselves. And if that's true, then why should us mainline Protestant-types waffle just because some other denominations are growing. We should celebrate their growth! That's a wonderful thing! I agree with the editorialist that we need to be realistic: the mainline denominations are declining, and quite frankly, I believe that the whole concept of denominations is changing. In one hundred years, the Christian scene won't look like it did even fifty years ago. We're in the middle of that transition now, and it can be hard for us mainliners to even admit that our glory days are in the past. But let's also remember the important work and witness that we have always had and that we continue to have. We can't just give up our heritage in order to follow where the Spirit is leading someone else. And here's where I want to go back to our story. The seventh chapter of Mark is kind of a story arc. There are two little stories here, about the Pharisees chiding Jesus for not washing his hands, and about Jesus meeting the woman who has had the misfortune of going down in history as the "Syrophonecian woman". But that's an impossible mouthful, so let's just call her Gladys. Let's talk about Gladys first. We find this story upsetting because Jesus calls her a dog. This is just not at all the kind of thing we expect Jesus to say to someone, and in fact the Jesus Seminar people universally voted that there's no way Jesus said it. But that's the problem with the Jesus Seminar people; they cut out the stuff they don't like, rather than let themselves be challenged by it. Because for the disciples in Jesus' day, they wouldn't at all have been surprised for Jesus to call her a dog. She was a foreign heathen! She was a dog! They weren't scandalized by that. Rather, they were scandalized by what he said to the Pharisees. So here's the set-up. In chapter six, Jesus has just wowed the crowds with his miracle of the fishes and loaves, and he followed it up with a nice show of walking on water and calming the raging storm. So he's becoming a big hit with everyone in the country. This is the guy who sees abundance where we see only scarcity! This is the guy who sees good news where we only see the raging storm! But the Pharisees are upset with him. Why? Because he doesn't follow the law. Oh, he may be working all these amazing miracles, but he doesn't wash his hands before meals and therefore he is breaking the good Jewish law. That’s a pretty miserly view of faith, don't you think? Then Jesus meets Gladys, this foreign heathen woman. Now he acts in the way you would expect a good Jewish rabbi of the day to act, and he calls her a dog and refuses to help her. But how does Gladys respond? Does she buy into this view of herself? No, she knows Jesus' game. She's heard about those fish and loaves, and she knows there's plenty of good news even for someone like her. Maybe Jesus wasn't really insulting her; maybe he was putting her to the test, the way he put the Pharisees to the test. They failed, but she passed. They heard the good news and reacted in a miserly way. Gladys heard the good news, and she reacted in a generous way. The question for us is: how do we react when we hear the good news? Will we be miserly, or will we be generous? Will we respond with judgment, or with faith? And here we go back to our editorial. How will we react when we hear of these other churches growing in other parts of the world? Will we respond like the Pharisees and resent this sign of blessing, put down the others because they're different from us? I certainly hope not! Or will we listen when someone like this editorialist calls us unworthy dogs? We're washed up, we missed the boat, we're out of date. Are we going to buy into that stingy view of who we are? Well, I hope we don't do that either. I hope we will respond like Gladys and say, "I'm glad those other churches are thriving. More power to them! But I know that there are still blessings enough even for me." Friends, here's the truth: it doesn't matter if you're Pentecostal or Catholic, evangelical or mainline Protestant. It doesn't even matter if your church is growing or shrinking. All God cares about is how you respond to the good news. No one is unworthy of that blessing, and there's plenty enough for everyone to get an ample share. The
Search for Meaning 3 September 2006 "Vanity of vanities! All is vanity!" So runs the famous refrain of the book of Ecclesiastes. Here is how the theme plays in the Contemporary English Version: "Nothing
makes sense! Everything is nonsense. How's that for a bit of cheerful optimism? And it only goes downhill from there. It's not hard to see why this book almost didn't make it into the Bible. Religion ought to bring some kind of comfort and assurance, right? At the very least it ought to make you feel better about life. But Ecclesiastes does not. Rather, it reads like the gospel according to the world's greatest cynic, and let me tell you: when a cynic preaches, there is no good news! Tradition says that the author of this book was King Solomon the Wise, himself. But it's more likely that his name was attached to the book in order to make it go down easier with the religious authorities. As with most books of the Bible, we don't really know who wrote it. Also, as with most books of the Bible, it's been edited by later writers who couldn't quite handle this starkly bleak attitude. Those pious editors added the occasional verse praising God in suitable fashion, but their bias is so blatantly obvious, it's pretty easy to figure out what parts they added. If you take those out, you get one of the most depressing books in the Bible, perhaps even more depressing than Job, because at least Job got a personal visit from God for all his troubles. Instead, we get unrelenting depression and cynicism, as in this passage: I looked
again and saw people being mistreated But you know, when you look at the evening news, it's kinda hard to disagree with our cynical sage. There is a lot of oppression and injustice, so much sorrow and trouble. We want to believe that God is good, but if we're honest with ourselves, haven't there been times when you would agree that it's better never to have been born at all rather than to face some of the cruel hardships in the world? Our sage also spends a fair amount of time fretting over wealth, both the fact that it can never really bring you happiness, but also the fact that you can't take it with you. Perhaps you're familiar with the Frank Capra film with Jimmy Stewart and Lionel Barrymore. Did you know that title is a direct quote from Ecclesiastes? If you've never seen that movie, go out and rent it. Frank Capra makes much the same point as our sage, but in a happier, more optimistic note. Here, however, is a sampling of our sage's view on the subject: I have
seen something terribly unfair. I love that comment about how worries about money make you gloomy at mealtime! But he makes a good point, doesn't he? This cynical attitude makes the sage take an almost slacker-like attitude toward work. Remember how the book of Proverbs emphasized industry and thrift, and chastised laziness? Perhaps you recall that clever verse illustrating how lazy people will find any excuse not to work: "There is a lion in the streets! If I leave my house, I'll be eaten!" Listen, then, to what our sage has to say about all that hard work: If
you dig a pit, you might fall in; The best he can manage to say is, "If you don't sharpen your ax, it will be harder to use." I wonder why it is that no one ever quotes those verses to graduating seniors? However, in the midst of all this cynicism and slacker attitude, the sage never quite throws in the towel. For all that he thinks it would be better never to have been born, he does not at all advocate suicide. He doesn't even argue that you should sit around and be lazy all day. Work, he says, is the business that God has set for us, and we can't change it. But we can strive to enjoy our work. And this is the key for our sage. If we work hard in order to amass great wealth, it will do us no good, but if we enjoy our labors for itself, then no one can take that away. In all things, he encourages us to enjoy ourselves. This isn't a matter of selfish indulgence, but a kind of zen-like ability to find pleasure in the world exactly as it is. Hence he gives this advice: Nothing
on earth is more beautiful than the morning sun. That last line? Is probably an addition from those pious editors. But it fits in well enough with our sage's practical advice: enjoy life, but don't do anything too stupid. It might also surprise you to learn that Ecclesiastes contains a passage that is sometimes quoted at weddings. It's not about love or romance, but about the practical benefits of having a companion in life. It is perhaps reassuring to know that while the sage doesn't have a lot of confidence in God, he does appreciate the value of a friend. You
are better off to have a friend than to be all alone, It's no love letter, and yet isn't that kinda what "for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health" really means? What are we to make of this strange book, with all its negative attitude? For one thing, whenever I feel down and discouraged, I like to read Ecclesiastes, because after a couple of chapters I think, "Oh come now, things aren't really all that bad!" It has the effect of cheering me up. But more than that, this book serves to undermine all of our false idols: of wealth and health, of industry and power, even of progress and worship! There's nothing wrong with any of these things in themselves, but we tend to give them more meaning than the really deserve. We blame the poor and the sick for their problems, for example, or we think that we have somehow earned our health and wealth through our own merits. We think that we have the power to significantly change the world – and while I by no means think we should ignore the good we can do, nevertheless, we need to be realistic about our ability to really change things. The sage reminds us that we are not God, that most of life is under God's control rather than ours, and we really can't fathom the depths of God's mind, so why fret about it? Why take on worries and troubles that belong to God in the first place? Yes, there's something fatalistic about this attitude, but it can also help us to put everything into perspective. It's telling that the sage doesn't think we should get up early in order to get work, but he does think it's worth getting up to enjoy the beauty of the sunrise. This zen-like spirit of surrender and living in the moment is what lies at the heart of that most famous passage of all: For
everything there is a season, Every season, whether good or ill, is part of God's time. So let us enjoy life, because God's gift to us is the happiness we get from our food and drink, from the work of our hands, and from our friends. Amen 27 August 2006 Around this time of year, many American churches celebrate some kind of homecoming Sunday. It's tied to the start of a new school year, often resuming Sunday school or other church programs. People have come back from their summer vacations, or perhaps they moved over the summer and they're now getting settled into a new home. Spirit of Peace Church has often had new members join the church on this Sunday, signaling the expansion of our church household. It's also a time, though, when people leave home, particularly to go to college. The kids have to adjust to living away from home, and their homes have to adjust to their absence. We tend to call it "homecoming Sunday." But what does it mean to come home? What is home, for that matter? You know the old saw, "Home is where the heart is," or "Home is where, when you go there, they have to take you in." Home is above all about people, right? About the ones we love the most – though that kind of leaves us single folks out in the cold. We usually make a distinction between a home and a house, yet isn't it a house, too? How many of you have ever returned to the house – or one of the houses – where you grew up? You tend to have a strong, gut reaction to going back. When I go to my parents' house, which I still think of as "home," I often will dream about my childhood, even dreaming about people I haven't seen in thirty years. The Gulf Coast got a graphic demonstration of how important those physical houses are about a year ago, actually a year ago on Tuesday, when hurricane Katrina struck. I recently read the blog of a teen-age girl who lives in New Orleans, writing about what it's like a year later, how her neighborhood is still a mess, trees missing, her family living in a FEMA trailer, her school only about one-third full because so many of her classmates never came back. Now they're gearing up for another hurricane season, no doubt already relieving the trauma of that storm. With so much of the area still a mess, many of us wonder why anyone would want to go back there. And yet those who returned wonder at our wonder: of course we would go back; it's our home. Our scripture reading today tells the story of King Solomon building a home for God, a Temple. If you recall the story, from the time of Moses, God had lived, so to speak, in a tent, traveling with the people wherever they went. For hundreds of years there was no permanent building where God was worshipped. Instead, God lived in sort of the ancient Bible version of a Fema trailer, portable and easy to pack up. When David became king and built a big, splendid palace for himself, he thought it would only be right to build a permanent home for God as well. At that point, God said, "No, thank you. I've lived in a tent all this time, and I'll go right on living that way." Now that Solomon is king, however, he decided to build the grand temple that his father never did, and we have heard from his prayer for the dedication of that temple. The thing is, though, that no one at the time was sitting around recording the prayer. Rather, this is a reconstruction written many years later, during the time of exile, a time when the temple had been destroyed, the nation of Israel defeated, the people scattered far from home, and there was no longer any throne for a descendent of David to sit upon. The people mourned the loss of their home and of God's house in the temple in Jerusalem. If God was the God of Israel, what would happen now that the nation of Israel was destroyed? How could they worship God when God's dwelling-place had been torn down? Yet the people discovered that even though they had been driven from their homes, they also carried their homes with them. Just as God had once accompanied them on all their travels in the sacred tent, so God continued to travel with them. Even though they ventured far from their homeland, when they arrived in that distant destination, they discovered God was still there, waiting for them. God, they learned, was not the God of one nation, but of all nations. Even foreigners and strangers could pray to God and be heard. In his prayer of dedication, Solomon asked this important question: Will God indeed dwell on earth? Even the highest heaven cannot contain you, much less this house we have built!" Indeed, a house built by human hands does not seem big enough to contain God. So our ancestors looked up to the sky and said, "God must dwell in heaven, in some place far above us, far removed from us." Yet in modern times, the space program has explored the heavens that seemed so distant. Do you remember the story about the Soviet cosmonauts who went into space and said, "We don't see God up here"? We are able to peer even into the most distant corners of the universe. Just this week I was looking at a National Geographic article about the Hubble telescope. There was a picture that at first I thought was a view of the United States at night from space. You've seen the pictures, showing how the lights blaze even into the distance of space. That's what I thought I was looking at; but then I realized that this was in fact a picture of hundreds and hundreds of galaxies, all packed together in a section of the sky perhaps no bigger than my thumbnail. So many billions of galaxies out there! And even though they are very far away, they are still part of our universe, made from the same stuff as our own galaxy, our own solar system (with or without Pluto), as our own planet. There is no distant heaven separate from earth where God dwells. No, God does indeed dwell on earth, and all the other places in the universe. God dwells in this house and in every other house of worship, of any religion. God travels with us wherever we go, off to college, or to a new house, or to a FEMA trailer. So it's a bit of a misnomer to call it "homecoming Sunday," because wherever we go, we are in God's home. The
Search for God's Presence 20 August 2006 How many of you were not familiar with this story? It's pretty shocking, isn't it? It's not surprising that the rabbis were reluctant to include it in the Bible. A God who pits the fortune of his faithful servant in a wager with Satan? Would our God do such a thing? It's appalling! But that's not the point of the story, so I don't wasn’t us to get hung up on it. The point is that Job suffers a horrific tragedy. Now, wisdom literature, of which Job is a part, conventionally claims that God rewards the good and punishes the wicked. Remember last week in Proverbs, that wisdom is a tree of life that blesses those who cling to it. Job is wise and righteous and good, yet he suffers this terrible tragedy. So the book challenges that conventional wisdom, and I daresay people ever since have read this story and identified with it, because we have all suffered unjustly, too – we, or someone we love dearly. This book rings true to our experience. Even people who otherwise reject God and the Bible, they see a kindred spirit in Job. There is so much to explore in this story, but one of the books I read looked at Job from a pastoral perspective, at how people survive tragedy. All of us have been through it ourselves, or know someone, but we don't know how to help our loved ones. So it seems to me that this would be a very practical and helpful way to look at this story. Often the first thing we wonder is what to say. Indeed sometimes that's why we avoid someone who's been through tragedy, because we don't know what to say. But in between the story of Job's catastrophe and the long speeches, there are these crucial three verses that we just hear. When Job's friends here what happened, they come to comfort him. They don't even recognize him at first because he is so changed by his tragedy. They tear their clothes and weep, and they sit next to him on the ground for seven days and seven nights, and no one speaks a word to him the whole time, because they see that his suffering is very great. Some of you may know that two years ago my aunt was killed in an accident. She'd been on a road trip with my mother, and they were walking across the highway when a car struck my aunt and killed her. My mother was, of course, devastated. Later than summer the family gathered together, and one afternoon my mother and I sat outside on the porch and just cried. For an hour, we used a whole box of Kleenex. The rest of the family were inside. They could see us through the window, and my sister told me later that they didn't know what to say or do. They probably felt they couldn't handle our terrible grief on top of their own, and I totally understand that. But my dad did come out. He's not the kind of person to talk about or even show negative feelings; he's very stoic. But he came outside and just sat with us. He didn't say anything, didn't hug us, didn't even look at us. But he stayed there until we finished crying. He never left. Later he told me how helpless he had felt, that he hadn't known what to say, and I told him, "Dad, that was the most compassionate, comforting thing I have ever experienced." When a loved one is grieving, our impulse is to comfort them. But people in the throes of tragedy don't want to be comforted. They want to lament, to cry and rant and tear their clothes. Your job, the most important way you can help, is to be there and to keep your mouth shut. Not only do you not have to say anything, it's better if you don't. The only thing, the only thing you should say is, "I'm so sorry." Perhaps some of you have experienced that yourselves, a friend who just let you cry all you needed to and didn't stop you. It is unbelievable how healing that is. That's what Job's friends did for a week. They said nothing and just sat with him. At last it is Job who speaks, and he pours forth this tremendous lament. Read it in chapter three, and I'm sure you'll identify with the emotion he expresses. He doesn't curse God or rant against God. He just keeps crying, "I wish I'd never been born!" And this is when Job's friends make their mistake: they answer him. They try to comfort him. They mean well, indeed, if you're like me, you've said these same things yourself to people. They say, "You've always helped others, and we know how much you revere God. Now is the time for you to remember the advice you've always given. God has a purpose, even though we don't understand it." Very kindly meant, even true in its own way. But the irony is that whatever words we offer to try to explain a tragedy, it comes across as a hidden rebuke. You shouldn't be carrying on like this. Job picks up on that and gets angry. So it proceeds throughout the next thirty chapters. Job gets angry, the friends try harder to get him to see reason. He then includes God in his wrath as well, and now his friends try to stop him from what they see as blasphemy. It escalates into a terrible mess. Hopefully you've never experienced it to go quite so far, but I'm sure you've seen something like this before. The grieving person becomes testy and quarrelsome. They may say things about God that are frightening to hear. You worry that they're losing it and try harder to get them to be reasonable, but that only makes it worse. All of the feelings we can hear in Job's speeches ring true: anger, self-pity, a demand that God answer for what has happened, a grief so heavy it's suffocating. We've all experienced that. And God makes an obvious target. And why not? We don't believe God would wager our lives with Satan. On the contrary, isn't God our shepherd, our redeemer, our rock? Why do we believe in God in the first place? Shouldn't God protect us? Today we might recognize the hypocrisy of saying, "I go to church, so this shouldn't happen to me." But instead we might say, "It's unfair." The words may be different, but they mean the same thing. Tragedy upsets our sense of justice. So God increasingly becomes Job's target. One moment he rails about how God has hemmed him in and weighed him down, and he wishes God would just leave him alone and bother someone else. But the next moment he cries out like a small child, "Why don't you help me? Don't you care?" He remembers how God used to bring him such joy, how he delighted to praise God, and he issues this telling lament, "I'll die and rot in the grave, and you will seek me, but I will not be there." It's the old teen-age protest: "I'll die, and then you'll be sorry!" So it goes on and on, between anger and pleading, and at last God shows up. But the infuriating thing is that God doesn't answer Job's questions! He doesn't explain why Job suffers. He doesn't even offer words of comfort. Instead he gives this long speech that lasts four chapters, of which we heard a small part. In the first part of the speech God acts all indignant. "Where were you when I created the universe? Are you the one who makes the tides come and go? Can you make the sun rise and set?" He goes on and on about his power and the wonders of the world. Then he talks about the wild animals. "Do you know when the mountain goats give birth? Do you think you can tame the wild ox? Do you give the horse its strength? I mean, just look at the hippopotamus! And you think you're so hot?" God's speech seems totally irrelevant! But that's kind of the point. God is pointing out how wondrous and amazing, and yes, how terrifying the world is. Job has been carrying on as if he is the only person who has ever suffered, and God is basically saying, "It's not all about you." God says that he cares about rivers and snow and ostriches and hippopotamuses – calling to mind Jesus' parables about the lilies of the field and the birds of the air – and God cares about them not because they're useful to humans, but because they are wonderful in their own right. Implicit in all this is that if God cares about the hippopotamus just because it's cool, then doesn't he also care about us? Not because we're useful, not because we're righteous, but just because we are. We're no more important than anything else, and yet God thinks we're pretty awesome just for existing. The second theme of the speech hits a bit closer to the point. God says, "Will you put me in the wrong? Will you condemn me so that you will be justified?" Job, in insisting that he suffers innocently, is all but saying that God made a mistake. He does place himself above God. But remember what Proverbs told us, that we must admit we are not wise, we must be humble and submit ourselves to a greater truth. Even though God does not outright answer Job's question, he says, "Do you really want to say that you're more just than me?" And here at last Job recants. Many readers throughout history resent this. We can relate to Job's demands, and now his capitulation seems like a let down, as if he had taken a stand, and now he wriggles out of it. But Job is responding to this thunderous, amazing speech from God, this privileged glimpse of the grandeur of the universe. "I have talked about things that are far beyond my understanding. I heard about you from others, but now I have seen you with my own eyes. That's why I despise myself and repent in dust and ashes." His repentance seems harsh after all his tragedy. But friends, isn't that exactly what we are? We humans aren't made of some special stuff. We are dust and ashes. From dust we came and to dust we will return. It's reality, and at some point it's what everyone who survives a tragedy realizes. I'm not the only person this has ever happened to. There's nothing special about me. But I've survived it. The world goes on, and now I can help the next person who goes through this grief. The story ends with Job's fortunes restored. He gets new cattle, new sheep, even new children. This all could seem like ashes in the mouths of the readers. What, God did all this horrible stuff and now just gives it all back? But the kids don't just magically reappear. These new kids mean that Job went back to his wife, and they made those kids. They don't replace the ones he lost. They represent Job's ability to return to life and move on through this tragedy. God never answers Job's questions. He gives no explanation for what has happened. But we must not lose sight of the fact that in the end, he grants Job's deepest desire. Because what Job wanted most of all was God's presence, to know that this tragedy was not a sign of God's displeasure. And that's exactly what he got. So I return to my question: why is this book included in the Bible? What would we lose if we didn't have it? All I can say is, when I have experienced tragedy, I was very comforted to have Job as a companion. _________________ The
Quest for Understanding 13 August 2006 How do you preach a sermon about the book of Proverbs? The sayings are too short. They don’t flow from one another, and after a while your eyes glaze over from reading all these little random couplets. I actually did read the whole book before starting this sermon. Or more accurately, my eyes passed over the whole thing. It was impossible to stay focused on it. This is not to say the book is a bad one, just that you can't really sit down and read it. I have the same problem with museums, actually, especially art museums. All the pictures and sculptures are nice too look at, but they don't relate to one another, there's no coherent narrative, and after a while you just can't absorb another "Still Life with Pears" no matter how well it's done. This is why the best way for me to get through a museum is to have a good guide book. A guide will help you find the most important works, and it will give you a context for understanding what you're looking at. A really great guide book will make me feel like I've taken an art history course by the time I'm done, and I'll get far more out of the experience than I ever would if I'd gone in alone. The book of Proverbs is much the same: overwhelming if you start at chapter one verse one and continue through to the end. But if you have a guide book in the form of a good commentary, you'll get a lot more out of the experience. In the interest of disclosure, I relied heavily on the Knox Preaching Guide to get me through and help me organize my thoughts for this sermon. So let us begin our tour! I invite you to take out the pew Bibles and browse, as I will be making frequent references throughout the sermon. Way back in the beginning, in Genesis, there were two trees in the center of the Garden of Eden: the tree of life and the tree of the knowledge of good and evil. We chose to eat from the latter tree, and so were cast out of paradise. But the wisdom of Proverbs bridges that gap by uniting the two trees. "Wisdom," says 3:18, "is a tree of life to those who lay hold of her; those who hold her fast are called happy." There are still two trees, wisdom and folly, there are two paths. But one leads to life and the other to death. We are faced once more with the choice from the garden, but with Proverbs to guide us, we hopefully will do better this time around. "My child," says the Proverbial parent," do not forget my teaching, but let your heart keep my commandments; ...bind them around your neck, write them on the tablet of your heart." (3:1, 3) There are three rules or paths of wisdom. The first rule of wisdom is: you are not wise. We talked about this a little bit last week, the need for humility in the face of greater truth. We human beings have an amazing ability to fool ourselves about our own motivations. This is captured in a gem of a proverb that I had to read several times before I even got it: 22:13, "The lazy person says, 'There is a lion outside!! I shall be killed in the streets!'" Yes, that is an excellent to stay at home and not do anything! Ch 20:9 says it less humorously, but no less true, "Who can say, 'I have made my heart clean; I am pure from my sin'?" The moment we think we are wise is the moment when we prove we know nothing. Instead, if we want to be wise, we must admit how little we know. We must be humble before the truth and submit ourselves to learning. Without such an attitude, though, we'll learn nothing even from the best of teachers. As 14:6 says, "A scoffer seeks wisdom in vain, but knowledge is easy for one who understands." Jesus said something similar in one of his parables, "The more you have, the more you will be given, but to those who have little, even what they have will be taken away." (Mt. 13:12, 25:29) It's one of those sayings that seems cruel, unless you realize that he's talking about wisdom, not wealth. This kind of wisdom can be hard for us moderns to deal with. We place so much emphasis on proof and certainty, but Proverbs reminds us that wisdom must always be approached with caution because we are so easily deceived. Someone who is convinced of their knowledge may rush headlong into disaster. Our very desire for certainty makes us naïve. Says 14:15-16, "The simple believe everything, but the clever consider their steps. The wise are cautious and turn away from evil, but the fool throws off restraint and is careless." Are you unsure what this means? Think about all those endless polls that our politicians pay so much attention to. Does a poll really provide wisdom, or even knowledge? Yet because it has confident numbers and percentages attached, we often think they mean something real. Or consider the wonderful world of modern advertising. How easily we are manipulated by a picture of a fat, juicy hamburger? Mmmmmm, hamburger! Truly, we are weak-minded creatures, ready to run after almost any crazy idea if it comes with a strategic plan. Proverbs reminds us in 20:24, "All our steps are ordered by the Lord; how then can we understand our own ways?" Far better for us to submit to a wisdom greater than our own. Hence the first rule: know that you are not wise. The second rule of wisdom, then, is about discipline and self-control. This contains the sayings that sound the most like the kind of advice we would expect from a book on wisdom. Perhaps the most famous is 16:18, "Pride goes before destruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall." I have to confess that I didn't realize that came from Proverbs! Here we find many lessons about the folly of laziness that could come out of Aesop's fables, as in 20:4, "The lazy person does not plow in season; harvest comes, and there is nothing to be found." The kind of advice that's so obvious, you used to roll your eyes when your parents spouted this kind of thing. "Yeah, yeah, Mom, I know: 'Do not love sleep, or else you will come to poverty; open your eyes, and you will have plenty of bread." (20:13) We all would benefit from remembering 15:1, "A soft answer turns away wrath, but a harsh word stirs up anger." Indeed, try it out the next time a cop pulls you over for speeding. That kind of wisdom is useful in many areas of life, as is this one from 16:32, "One who is slow to anger is better than the mighty, and one whose temper is controlled than one who captures a city." It's just the kind of advice, though, that we willingly discard when we're in the express lane and the jerk ahead of us has thirteen items. Self-righteous wrath can be so satisfying! But then amidst the pedantic proverbs comes a shining gem like this one from 16:24, "Pleasant words are like a honeycomb, sweetness to the soul and health to the body." When you put it that way, the idea of curbing your tongue sounds rather appealing. Perhaps discipline and self-control do indeed have some rewards. And that leads us to the third rule of wisdom: practical virtue. Notice I didn't say "practice virtue." That makes it sound like a chore! Rather, the book of Proverbs continually points out all the selfish ways that we benefit from following the path of wisdom rather than folly. It's all very well and good for Jesus to say, "Love your enemies," but few of us want to do it. Proverbs 24:17-18 gets us to do much the same thing – well, perhaps not to love our enemies, but at least not to gloat over them – but it does so by appealing to our baser nature. "Do not rejoice when your enemies fall, and do not let your heart be glad when they stumble, or else the Lord will see it and be displeased, and turn away his anger from them." In other words, don't gloat, or God might take pity on your enemies. None of us want that! And yet if we follow this bit of advice, the effect is that – we don’t gloat over our enemies. Proverbs also gives us a verse that Saint Paul would later quote, about giving your enemy food and drink, for in doing so you heap coals of fire on their head and God will reward you. That last bit sounds nasty and vindictive indeed, yet the concrete result is that you show hospitality to your enemy. A prudent approach, indeed! Proverbs also recognizes that what is appropriate in one situation may not be in another. Some Christians today take exception to what they call situational ethics, but how else do you explain the delightful contradiction between 26:4 and 5? "Do not answer fools according to their folly, or you will be a fool yourself. Answer fools according to their folly, or they will be wise in their own eyes." (And for a bit of fun, cite those verses to Bible literalists. They don't know what to do with it!) But for those with ears to hear, these verses show that wisdom cannot be reduced to a simple set of rules. Wisdom means knowing when to speak and when to stay silent. The book of Proverbs claims that if you follow these noble practices, life will be good to you in return. But Proverbs can also recognize that wisdom is not always repaid with blessing. Wealth, for example, can cover up a lot of folly, and it doesn’t always go to the deserving. 13:23 notes that, "The field of the poor may yield much food, but it is swept away through injustice," or 28:3, "A ruler who oppresses the poor is a beating rain that leaves no food." Nevertheless, even when you don't get what you really deserve, Proverbs insists that there is a satisfaction that flows from wisdom itself. So 13:25 points out that even when they eat the same meal, "The righteous have enough to satisfy their appetite, but the belly of the wicked is empty." And finally, wisdom has the power to restore harmony to life, as in 16:7, "When the ways of a person please the Lord, he causes even their enemies to be at peace with them." 6 August 2006 "The Lord helps those that help themselves." Does anyone know what gook of the Bible that verse is in? Answer: none of them! If you fell for it, don't be embarrassed: I have, too. Even if you know it isn't in the Bible, it sure sounds like it, doesn't it? We might be able to guess that "Cleanliness is next to Godliness" probably doesn't come from the Bible, but some of those classic proverbs, especially the Ben Franklin kind, sure could fool us. I was fishing for sermon topics recently, and several people expressed an interest in hearing about those short books that seldom ever get read from the pulpit. Most of these books, it turns out, are examples of what is called wisdom literature. That is, they contain proverbs and teachings and sayings that are laid out like a kind of ancient primer. You may have heard another popular, non-Biblical saying that BIBLE stands for Basic Instructions Before Leaving Earth. Well, the wisdom books are the only books in the Bible that actually fit that description. Yet they are seldom preached on. In fact, these books almost didn't make it into the Bible in the first place, and they've been constantly challenged ever since by people who want to take them back out. Why are they so unpopular? Their main fault is that they hardly mention God. The rest of the Bible talks about God's deeds in the world, or God speaking directly through prophets. But the wisdom books contain no such divine messages. God doesn't really do anything in those books. The only mention God gets is this: the fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom. That's about it! IN fact, as we will see in coming weeks, some of these books don't have a lot of confidence in God at all. It seems like the critics might be on to something. And yet these books were included. That's pretty remarkable when you think about it. And that will be our main question in this series: why was each of these books included in the Bible? What important lesson would be lost if we took them out? IF you believe that they Bible is divinely inspired, then that must mean that even these books that scarcely mention God nevertheless say something important about the Almighty. And the one thing these books more or less agree on is the verse I quoted earlier: the fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom. This implies that the Lord and wisdom are closely related, even that you can't have one without the other. So what is wisdom? Think about it. Is it book learning? Can you go to college and get a PhD in wisdom? No, not really. Intelligence doesn't make a person wise. Surely we've all known really intelligent, highly educated people who lacked ordinary common sense. So is wisdom common sense, then? A penny saved is a penny earned. The early bird gets the worm. Well, that certainly seems a bit closer. Practical, down-to-earth concepts. Yet it seems like wisdom is a bit more than just advice about washing your hands before dinner. Think of Forrest Gump. He had a below-average IQ, yet he spouts all kinds of simple, down-home wisdom. Consider his trademark line: Life is like a box of chocolates; you never know what you're going to get. That's a lot like the kind of wisdom we encounter in the Bible. But what does such a statement really teach us? Do we learn anything new? Gain any new insights? It seems self-evident, and it isn't even really very profound. But think about if we said the same thing, only in a different way: Life is just one damn thing after another. Do you hear the difference? There's a different attitude, and that attitude is what enables Forrest Gump with his 65 IQ to weather all kinds of experiences and come out on top. It's a special quality so that when other people meet Forrest, they are able to straighten out their lives and get their act together, just because of his influence. It doesn't require book-learning or brains; it's wisdom. The Bible speaks about wisdom as if it were a person, a woman, in fact. That's a clue, too. After all, what does it take to get to know a person? Book-learning? Does it mean memorizing facts about the person, where they were born, how old they are, their vital statistics? NO, when you know a person, you know their heart. You can read their moods, you know what kind of gift they'll like for Christmas. You understand what makes them tick. That's the way we need to understand wisdom – not by memorizing proverbs, but by steady acquaintance and familiarity. There are actually two people in the book of Proverbs: Wisdom and Foolishness. If we want to become wise ourselves, we should become friends with the former and not the latter. Another quality of wisdom is that it is to be found in the ordinary and the every day. You don't have to have a special revelation from on high. You can discover wisdom by looking at your own life. Divine knowledge is all around us, we just have to listen for it. Notice that in the passage we read, wisdom calls out in the streets, in the marketplace and at the city gates. These are all public places right in the hustle and bustle of life, not in the Temple or the study. That's not to say that you can't find wisdom in the inner sanctum, but that if you're looking for it, you need to venture outdoors, into the center of life. But why should the fear of the Lord be the beginning of wisdom? We don't really emphasize the fear of God. Probably most of us think of God in more cozy, loving ways. But the issue here is not that we should be afraid of God. Another word we might use for this concept is "awful," a word that today tends to mean something bad, but which literally means "full of awe," wonder a sense of humility before something magnificent, something we will never fully grasp or master. Think about it: do you know any wise people who are arrogant? Smart people, yes. But wise? All the wise people I have ever been blessed to know were very humble. It's like yet another proverb, that the more you know, the more you realize how ignorant you really are. If we're looking for wisdom, we must have that sense of humility in the face of something so much greater and more wonderful than us. And this is why skeptics are so important to faith. Skepticism doesn't mean unbelief. It means doubt, which is a testing of faith. It means making sure we haven't substituted something mediocre for genuine truth. Skepticism can be a form of arrogance, but when it is a form of humility, when it is based in the fear of the Lord, the awe of what is truly grand, then it is indeed the beginning of wisdom. I find it very encouraging that the Bible makes room for the skeptic. That may be why some people don't like these books, though. They prefer certainty in their beliefs. They want the confidence that comes when you know God is speaking directly to you, acting directly in the world. The kind of wisdom in Proverbs and the like seems too weak, based as it is in human experience. Isn't part of the point of divine revelation the assertion that humans get it wrong? And there are definite limits even to wisdom, as we will see when we look at the books more closely. Wisdom that is based on practical experience tends to be middle-of-the-road, safe, not too radical. Wisdom does not always reflect the reality that goodness is not necessarily its own reward. While Jesus spoke in parables rather than imposing divine statements, nevertheless his parables were designed to turn conventional wisdom on its head – exactly the kind of wisdom we find in these books. But our Bible, by including these books, sees value in revelation as well as practical wisdom. The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom; the two go together. Another non-biblical proverb says, "Skepticism without religion is impossible, and religion without skepticism is intolerable." We all need each other in order to have a full understanding. The Gospel According to Harry Potter 23 July 2006 I first heard of the Harry Potter books early on, how popular they were and how kids were gobbling them up like candy. But I don't really like fantasy novels, and I was skeptical that the books deserved their fame, even though adults as well as children recommended them to me. So I held off until Christmas of 2000. That was the year the fourth book came out, and by a bizarre coincidence, my mother was given all four books, even though she'd never even heard of Harry Potter. Well, I decided to give them a try. I read the first one, and as soon as I finished it, I grabbed the second, and so on. The problem was, my mother and both my sisters and my brother-in-law were all trying to read the books at the same time. It made for a quiet and increasingly contentious Christmas, because each book is longer than the ones before. You'd be done with book two while the person ahead of you was still working on book three. We were literally snatching the books out of each other's hands as soon as the last page had been turned. My poor father was on his own as the rest of us kept our noses buried between the covers. I read the first four books in five days. Then I took a break, went out and bought copes of them all for myself, and read them again. Maybe there is something to the allegations of witchcraft after all! I remain thoroughly enchanted to this day. But of course whenever something becomes popular, the critics start to weigh in. and nobody has been more critical of Harry Potter than certain Christian circles which claim that the books teach witchcraft. This is, in a word, ridiculous. I can guarantee that no matter how many times you shake a stick at a locked door and shout, "Alohamora!" it won't open. Not that I've tried or anything! The books are made up. They don’t' teach any witchcraft at all. More to the point, the devil is never mentioned. The most devilish character in the book is the bad guy. All the characters we like spend all their time trying to defeat him, so the author is certainly not trying to seduce anyone to the dark side. And yet, just as the devil is never mentioned, neither is God. I hardly think that just because God isn't mentioned, a book is therefore satanic. But God – and religion in general – are noticeably absent from the books. The characters celebrate Christmas with gifts and Easter with chocolate bunnies, and Harry has a godfather, but there's no spiritual context to these vaguely religious events. So are the Christian critics perhaps on to something after all? I still think not. The author, JK Rowling, is an active Presbyterian and has said in interviews that she deliberately explores some very Christian themes in the books, such as love and forgiveness and redemption. But if that's true, then why doesn't she mention God? One of the great powers of fiction is that it gives you the chance to look at your own world, your own life, through fresh eyes. In her books Rowling has removed all of the prejudices that divide us in real life. She's created a world in which all people are equal regardless of gender or race or nationality – or religion. In the real world any discussion of religion would require a look at the prejudices that religion often inspires, as we talked about last week. In order to avoid getting bogged down in those details, Rowling created a fantasy world in which none of those prejudices exist. However, she's not trying to create a utopia. Rather, prejudice is very much at the heart of the novels, but not in any of the forms we practice. Rather, the Harry Potter prejudices are between magical folk and Muggles, between humans and non-humans like werewolves, centaurs and elves. She's hoping that in showing us how irrational and harmful these wizarding prejudices are, we'll gain some insight into our real world prejudices as well. The theme plays out in many ways in the books, even in Harry's tendency to see people he doesn't like as evil. We hope that Harry will learn to get over his prejudice, and as we read his struggles, perhaps we'll overcome some of our own. So while God and religion aren't specifically mentioned, Christian themes do play out in the books if you have eyes to see and ears to hear. Indeed, it's hard to see Dumbledore's speech here as anything but deeply moral. Dumbledore, the headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, is the books' moral compass. He's not God, but he is the guiding sage, the prophet if you will. He has an incredibly generous and forgiving attitude toward everyone, even those who seem least deserving of it. It remains to be seen in book seven whether his trust has perhaps been misplaced. I think it is not, because if Dumbledore turns out to have been wrong in forgiving others, then it would overturn our moral compass. Dumbledore tells Harry again and again that love is the most powerful force in the universe. Harry is destined to confront the evil Lord Voldemort, but Dumbledore constantly cautions him against using any of the Unforgiveable curses, so called because their sole purpose is to hurt and destroy. Rather, at the end of the first book Dumbledore explains to Harry why Voldemort has been unable to harm him. "Your mother died to save you," he says. "If there is one thing Voldemort cannot understand, it is love. He didn't realize that love as powerful as your mother's for you leaves its own mark. Not a scar, no visible sign...to have been loved so deeply, even though the person who loved us is gone, will give us protection forever." Such language ought to resonate with Christians in our story of Jesus' sacrifice for love of us. Harry's mother embodies the truth of what Jesus said in John's gospel, "No one has greater love than this, to lay down one's life for one's friends." This is a profound lesson that Harry has not quite learned the full meaning of. The second greatest lesson Harry has had to learn comes from his nasty potions professor, Severus Snape. Not that Snape is a great teacher, and Harry has not learned his lessons very well. But Snape presents the central dilemma of the books, and the way his story will be revealed in the final book will say a lot, I believe, about how Christian the books really are. Snape is one nasty piece of work from start to finish. He's ugly, with greasy hair, sallow skin and a hooked nose, and his ugliness is far more than skin deep. He shows blatant favoritism, picks on slower students, and takes an unholy joy in assigning Harry detention for even the smallest of infractions. And his hatred spans generations. It turns out that he went to school with Harry's father, where they seemed to have spent all their time throwing hexes at each other. He was so nasty that he joined the ranks of Voldemort's henchmen, the Death Eaters, and he may have even played a role in the death of Harry's parents. He seems like the perfect villain. Yet for all his nastiness, Snape has always protected Harry whenever he was in true danger. Over the course of the series we learn that Snape repented of joining the Death Eaters. He went to Dumbledore, and when Dumbledore forgave him – there's that Christian theme again – Snape turned spy for the good guys, risking his life to fight Voldemort. Scarcely a book goes by without him saving Harry's life, yet Harry is never grateful. He persists in his hatred of Snape, and he believes Dumbledore was wrong to forgive the potions professor. In the sixth book, Snape commits an act that seems to prove all of Harry's worst opinions: he kills Dumbledore. Surely this places him once and for all on the side of evil! But remember those Christian themes, not only of forgiveness, but of sacrificing your life for your friends. Dumbledore may have in fact willingly given his life for the greater good. Snape may be playing the role of Judas – and you may recall the gospel of Judas that made such news earlier in the year, claiming that Judas was part of the plan all along and hand-picked by Jesus for his role. If Snape was likewise picked to play such a role in Dumbledore's plans, then he has made the greatest sacrifice of all: the sacrifice of his livelihood, his reputation and eventually perhaps his life, in order to help Dumbledore defeat Voldemort. After all, Jesus had to die at the hands of his enemies in order to triumph once and for all, too. So
are the Harry Potter novels anti-Christian? No. Are they in fact
Christian? It depends on how you read them. I think there are many
lessons that we could all learn from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft
and Wizardry. Not about bat bogey hexes and turning pincushions
into hedgehogs, but about rejecting prejudice and embracing the
good in people, about loyalty and courage, intelligence and cunning,
and above all about love and forgiveness. After all, you don't have
to have magic to use those powers. "It is my belief – and never have I so hoped that I am mistaken – that we are all facing dark and difficult times.... [Soon we will all have to make a choice between what is right and what is easy.]" Beheading
the Problem 16 July 2006 As you know, I love to travel, and this trip was no exception. I'd never been to that region of the world before. It was really beautiful: gorgeous countryside, dramatic mountains, rivers with waltzes named after them, cities that look like a fairy tale. But I also visited a place whose name haunts all of us: Auschwitz, in Poland. A lot of people asked me why I went there. Who wants to visit the side of the greatest mass murder in history on their vacation? But I felt compelled to go, to confront the reality of this horror story I've heard about all my life. The most chilling moment was when I visited nearby Birkenau. This was the huge camp that the Nazis built when Auschwitz proved to be too small for their purposes. You knew standing there that this had been a death camp. Train tracks entered the compound, but did not leave. I walked the length of those tracks, over half a mile long – that's how big that camp is. The trains would pull in and the people disembark from the cattle cars. On the platform, one in four people were pulled aside and sent to the nearby bunkhouses. All the others went straight into the gas chambers. I walked along the same tracks they did, and at the end I turned and looked back to the gate so very far away. And the sight hit me with a sickening realization: for millions of people, this was the last sight they ever saw. I can't describe what it's like to stand in a place and know that millions of people were murdered there. Not hundreds. Not thousands. Not hundreds of thousands. Millions. It's a physical sensation, so strong that just picturing the place in my mind makes me feel ill. Worst of all is the knowledge that the same thing continues to happen, not on quite so large a scale but with just as much horror. Just this week there was the terrorist bombing in India. The Middle East looks like it's finally heading to meltdown. The former Yugoslavia, which I also visited on this trip. Croats and Serbs are both Slavic people: they speak the same language, they have the same culture, the same food, and music. You and I wouldn't be able to tell a Serb from a Croat. There is only one difference between them: Croats and Catholic and Serbs are Eastern Orthodox. Yet this difference was enough for them to turn on one another and murder people who used to be their next door neighbors. It gets pretty depressing, and you start to wonder: are the critics of religion right? Time after time this violence plays out along religious lines. Is that really what religion is about? Would the world really be a better place without religion at all? Personally, I'm skeptical about that as a solution. After all, it seemed to me that the atheist communists did a pretty good job of murdering people, too. Rather, the lesson I learned at Auschwitz is that all human beings have the capacity to commit horrific acts of violence against their fellow humans, and that they will use any excuse to do it. Religion just happens to make a very good one. After all, any level of violence is acceptable, even a sacred obligation, when we tell ourselves that God is on our side. But that raises the real question: is God ever on the side of violence? Or is religion really about something else? It's the ultimate irony that many Christians throughout history and even to this day have used the murder of Jesus as an excuse to murder others. "They murdered our Messiah," right? They being the Jews, or perhaps the Muslims for not believing in him, or perhaps those other Christians for not believing in him in the right way. But do you really think the Prince of Peace wants anyone to be killed in revenge for his own death? Christians, by focusing so much on the death of Jesus, have sometimes lost sight of what it really means: that Jesus was an innocent victim, a man who had done no harm, yet who was murdered for both political and religious reasons. His death places him with all the other victims of hate, in the gas chambers of Auschwitz, the rape camps of Bosnia, the rubble of the World Trade Center, and the bombed commuter trains of Mumbai. The crucifixion has come to have many layers of meaning for Christians, some of which are outright wrong, and others which cloud the issue. So let's take a step back and look at another innocent victim in the New Testament, one that we aren't quite as emotionally attached to, and see what light his story sheds on the fate of Jesus and all other victims of violence. For John the Baptist suffered the same fate. But why was John the Baptist killed? What got him into trouble? He got into trouble because he criticized the King of Israel, Herod. This has both religious and political overtones because while Herod was supposedly the Jewish king, he was educated in Rome and ruled at Rome's will. John, however, passed judgment on Herod both as a religious and a political leader, condemning him for marrying his brother's wife, with whom he had had an adulterous affair, and for whom he divorced his first wife. So the sin John accused him of was taking what doesn't belong to him. And isn't this what all tyrants do? They think that everything – money, land, people and their lives – belong to them, that they don't have to follow the same fair rules that everyone else does. It wasn't that Herod loved Herodias, it's that he wanted what his brother had, and the proof of this is that as soon as he married her, she ceased to have any influence over him. She was furious over John's criticism and wanted him dead, but Herod refused to give in to her wishes. And there's an interesting detail here in the story that is easy to miss. Herod arrests John and throws him in jail, but doesn't kill him because as the gospel says, "When Herod heard John he was much perplexed, and yet he heard him gladly." Now why would he hear him gladly? Let's ask it another way: what does John have that Herod wants to possess? Perhaps it is John's lack of fear of Herod, his refusal to bow down to Herod and acknowledge him as above the law. Tyrants, after all, don't just want to kill those who opposed them. They want no one to oppose them in the first place. Rather than want their enemies dead, they want their enemies to be afraid, to acknowledge their power, to show weakness before the tyrant. As a result, there is a kind of fascination with the victim. Another example of this is a museum I visited in Prague that housed many precious Jewish artifacts – but it was the Nazis who created this museum, one which Hitler planned to call the Museum of the Extinct Jewish Race. You wouldn't expect Nazis to be interested in Jewish culture, yet this museum is an example of that fascination with the object of hate. Herod is likewise fascinated by John and refuses to kill him, against the wishes of his wife Herodias. So Salome enters the picture. We think of her as a great temptress with the dance of the seven veils, but the Greek actually calls her a little girl. She's a child. Here's the scenario: it's Herod's birthday, and he has invited all his cronies to the party. The child Salome dances for him and everyone is delighted. It's a sweet, innocent scene really, not the kinky thing we usually picture. And Herod is so delighted with this child that he makes an extravagant offer: "Ask me for anything, and I'll give it to you," probably thinking she'll ask for a pony like all preadolescent girls do. But the question is too big for Salome. She doesn't know what to ask for. So she runs to her mother, and her mother seizes the moment. "Ask for the head of John the Baptist." The child runs back to Herod and embellishes her mother's request, "Bring me the head of John the Baptist on a silver platter." So it is that an innocent child is manipulated into becoming an accessory to murder. It reminds me of that song from the musical South Pacific, "You've got to be taught to fear and hate, before you're six or seven or eight. You've got to be carefully taught." With Salome's request, Herod is caught. Everyone heard him make the offer, he can't take it back. So he fulfills her request, this child who doesn't even understand what she's asking for. He beheads John, and of course now he will have to justify it to himself and everyone else, that John had to be killed because he opposed the God-given (and Roman appointed) king. He didn't show the proper fear. He didn't fit into the system. And after all, what else could Herod do? He's the real innocent here. So we see the cycle of violence: it starts with a desire to possess what others have, a desire to make them fear you and acknowledge your power. Children have to be carefully taught to perpetuate the cycle, and your crimes are covered-up, justified, making the murderer into the real victim. But Jesus uncovers that lie. Jesus was one of the innocent victims, and he refused even for one second to buy into the false power of the ones who killed him. And in the resurrection, true power is proven to be decisively on the side of the victims. The resurrection breaks the cycle of violence. Yet as we know full well, people do still kill each other, and they do so in the name of God, even in the name of Jesus. The resurrection is not a magic cure. But the resurrection does show us a way to end that cycle. First, we need to acknowledge that none of these victims deserves death. Second we need to stop teaching our kids to hate. Remember when the disciples bring the children to Jesus and he says, "Woe to anyone who causes these children to stumble!" Let us not so harm our own children. And finally, we must not desire what others possess, desiring what does not belong to us, whether it's people or their lives. When
I was at Auschwitz, I overhead people saying, "How could those
Germans have done this?" But that's the wrong question. The
Germans are not the only ones to have ever murdered people in hate.
Rather the lesson of Auschwitz is that all peoples have the capacity
to commit that kind of violence. When you stand there next to the
gas chamber, the question each of us must ask ourselves is, "How
can I make sure that I never go along with such murder?" |
