Saturday, August 28, 2021

Religious Speech 17B

 

Proper 17B Religious Speech

I have spent much of the past 14 days reacquainting myself with the nature and meaning of scripture with assistance from Karen Armstrong’s remarkable achievement, The Lost Art of Scripture: Rescuing the Sacred Texts (Alfred Knopf, New York:2019) – a history of religious speech, specifically as it has emerged from ancient Israel, India and China. Speech. The sacred texts of most if not all civilizations are meant to be read aloud, chanted or sung in a community setting or ritual. Our tendency to study a text quietly, as individuals, and apply modern understandings of history and science to tease out the meaning of a specific text flies in the face of how these scriptures were meant to be experienced.

 

Sacred texts are understood to have “being” and life. They are meant to transform life. “The Word of God is living and active!” [Heb 4:12] Sacred Scriptures mean to lead us and inspire us to change and radical transformation amidst the challenges and crises that surround us, to imagine what can be, and to bind us together as a community. To do all of this they comment on past predicaments, and then must be allowed to speak directly to current predicaments and crises. As new crises arise, the narratives and myths are constantly revised to meet new challenges. So, Sacred Scriptures are always a work in progress open to new interpretation as necessary to address new circumstances. Scriptures, narrative, myth and poetry, seek to help the listener to discover that which is constant and essential to human life. It can be said that religious language, indeed all language as metaphor, seeks to make life meaningful, and that thus we create the world in which we live by means of speech.

 

For instance, the Song of Songs, sometimes called the Song of Solomon, is a group of love poems, possibly gathered together in one book to be recited or sung at weddings. It is portrayed as a conversation between a man and a woman. In chapter 2 verses 8-13 the woman hears the man’s voice declare that a recent crisis is coming to an end:

"Arise, my love, my fair one,

and come away;

for now the winter is past,

the rain is over and gone.

The flowers appear on the earth;

the time of singing has come…”

 

Perhaps this declares an end to loneliness, but could also refer to one of the periods of exile Israel experienced, or even a community’s sense of abandonment by God. The Song of Songs has often been understood as a conversation between God and God’s people, with God declaring undying love despite all challenges of the present situation. Addressing the present, it would be no stretch to think of the “winter” to be the ongoing threat of nuclear winter, or the current Climate Crisis declaring that one day flowers will once again flourish and our singing of hymns and songs to the God of all creation will once again be heard throughout the land. Perhaps if we would sing the Song of Songs, we would find ways to bind the world community together to seek ways out of a crisis created largely out of our conspicuous consumption of fossil fuels.

 

Then in Mark Chapter Seven we hear a dispute. After episodes of feeding and healing large groups of people, Jesus and his now dozens of disciples pause to share a meal with one another. Such meals are themselves sacred and the foundation of Biblical religion. Some Pharisees seemingly travel all the way from Jerusalem in the south to Galilee in the north to lodge a complaint: that Jesus’s disciples do not wash their hands before meals “according to the traditions of the elders?” Jesus recognizes this as a trick question right away and calls them out as hypocrites – literally actors or posers.

 

Oh yeah! I will see you and raise you tenfold. He first appeals to the prophet Isaiah, remembering that prophets were first and foremost temple priests acting as social critics:

 

‘This people honors me with their lips,

but their hearts are far from me;

in vain do they worship me,

teaching human precepts as doctrines.’

He concludes, “You abandon the commandments of God and hold to human tradition.”

 

There was no commandment in all the 613 commandments in Torah to wash hands before a meal (sorry, parents!). Most of Israel, including the Sadducees in Jerusalem, did not wash hands before a meal. Jesus says you just made that up. Furthermore, in verses strangely omitted by the lectionary, he accuses them of not Honoring Thy Father and Mother by another clever practice the Pharisees made up. Ouch! Finally, he wraps up by saying that nothing that goes into the body defiles the body, but rather only that from within, from within the human heart, do evil intentions come: “fornication, theft, murder, adultery, avarice, wickedness, deceit, licentiousness, envy, slander, pride, folly. All these evil things that come from us are what defile us and others.” No amount of handwashing can change this.

 

His accuses the Pharisees of mishandling the sacred texts and then simply make things up which contribute to evil intentions. That is, listening to untrue and unfaithful speech like that which you and your fellow Pharisees do is what damages human relations. We listen to the Word of God which is living and true to guide us through the current unpleasantness of the corrupt and corrupting military occupation by Rome along with the complicity of some of our leaders in Jerusalem. He then retires to a house in the region of Tyre to get away from it all, which of course is impossible, and leaves it to the crowd, the Pharisees and all of us to ponder just what this episode is meant to tell us.

 

For six days each day after an early morning run, I would sit near the beach, watch the waves coming in and going out, the occasional pod of dolphin diesel by, and modern-day Sun Worshipers standing with their smartphones high in the air to take photos or video of the sunrise to assure themselves the Sun once rose and might again. I would scribble a few notes and try to make sense of what has been going on all around us in this time of the Pandemic. Unwittingly, perhaps, or by divine inspiration, the last day at the beach I penned what may be one way to apply Jesus’s response to our current predicament and attendant crises:

Bethany Beach Entry #5-6    08/17-19/2021

“I must down to the seas again…”

No “go” as Maesfield wrote it, 

But as most have learnt it!

Yet, “go” we must it seems

As side by side down the beach

A Yoga class saluting the rising Sun

While fifty yards further

Beach Boot Camp makes it burn

Namaste vs grunts and shouts

Whilst most sit at the water’s edge

Quietly listen to the sound of the 

Gently rolling waves

The running tide which cannot be denied

Clouds flying overhead

Each morning a low hanging 

Line of small transparent clouds diesel by

The rising Sun

Like the pods of bottle-nosers

Who leap to our utter delight

Down to the seas

Makes us smile

Say “Good morning” to strangers

Nod to one another as we run 

Opposing directions

On the boardwalk

We discover we are 

Created to welcome 

One another

The Other

This feels good, makes us smile

Until we allow the chattering class

Make us feel afraid of 

One Another

Bash one another

Destroy one another

The Earth

And all its creatures

The seas remind us

To practice kindness

Joy

To stop each time we think

To bash someone

The Other

Stop

Reset

Be mindful

Grateful

Positive

Kind

We become

What we say and do

 

After spending three or four hours each day this past week at the Franciscan Priory in Ellicott City, I recall the words of St. Francis about preaching: “Preach the Gospel at all times. When necessary, use words.” The language we use and the things we do create the world we live in. Amen.

 

Saturday, August 7, 2021

Abide In My Love - The Eucharistic Life

 Abide in My Love - John 6:35, 41-51

Chapters 13 through 17 of John are by far the longest treatment of the Last Supper of any of the four gospels. These five chapters proclaim the heart of the Good News for John. And yet, have we ever noticed that from the opening of chapter 13, where Jesus strips down, gets on his knees, and washes feet, to chapters 15 through 17, where he does some mighty fine speechifying, in all of this longest portrayal of his last night with those he now calls friends, there is scarcely a mention of bread and none of wine? It’s as if John decides that Matthew, Mark, Luke, and even Paul have covered the blessings over the bread and the wine more than adequately, and I will, says John, tease out what it really means to “do this in remembrance of me,” to live a Eucharistic life.

 

Enter our words from chapter 6, where John appears to set the institution of the Last Supper. That is, to place the institution in the midst of Jesus’ ministry and day-to-day life. The chapter begins with the feeding of “about five thousand” people with a few loaves of bread and some fish. John pictures Jesus before a hungry crowd, a crowd that has taken to boats to cross the sea to find the One who is going about the countryside doing marvelous and miraculous things. They have heard about water becoming wine at a wedding reception in Cana. Some heard from the Samaritan woman herself about living water, and how she became the first person in John to recognize Jesus as the One who is to come. The One who takes, blesses, breaks, and gives away bread. The very same way we still take, bless, break, and give away bread in the Holy Eucharist.

 

Later, in the synagogue in Capernaum, he says astonishing things like, “I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never be hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty.” He also says, “I am the bread that came down from heaven.” And he says again, “I am the bread of life… the living bread that came down from heaven. Whoever eats of this bread will live forever; and the bread that I will give for the life of the world is my flesh.” I am the bread. Feed on me. And as it was in his hometown synagogue, the people are now scandalized, forgetting all about the twelve baskets of leftovers after feeding the five thousand. “We know his mother and his father!” they say. “How dare he say these things!”

 

He urges them to stop complaining. I cannot help saying these things for I am the manna. I am the bread of the Eucharistic meal. I give my life, my body for the life of the world. All this in chapter 6 is John’s institution of the Eucharist: bread is taken, blessed, broken, and given away – just as on Good Friday, Jesus will be taken, blessed by his Father, broken by us, and given away, handing over his Spirit to his community as his last act of charity, generosity, and love. Yet, it’s all too much, the love that’s shining all around him. It’s all too much.

 

Now jump ahead to the Last Supper chapters, especially chapter 15, where Jesus makes two even more astonishing declarations about who we are and whose we are. First, Jesus says, “As the Father has loved me, so I have loved you; abide in my love.” It is impossible for us to imagine just how much the Father loves Jesus, let alone begin to grasp the reality that Jesus, in turn, loves us that much! We hear it, we read it, year after year after year. We want to believe it is true. That just as God says Jesus is his Beloved Son at his baptism, so Jesus says that we too are God’s Beloved. That God is well pleased with us. We hear this, and like the people in the synagogue, we wonder, “How can this be? How can we abide in this love of his?”

 

Jesus then doubles down on this love, as if the Great and Second commandments to love God and love neighbor are not quite enough to get to the heart of living a Eucharistic life. Jesus issues a new commandment: “This is my commandment, that you love one another as I have loved you. No one has greater love than this, to lay down one’s life for one’s friends. You are my friends if you do what I command you.” That, as Led Zeppelin reminds us, is a Whole Lotta Love. Love. For their Greek-speaking, Greek-hearing audiences, Paul and the four evangelists had a number of words to choose from. There is eros, that frenzied, passionate, ecstatic, and all-consuming love. There is philia, the love of equal for equal, friend for friend. But they all chose the word agape, which speaks of love in which the one who is loved is raised to the level of the one who loves. Jesus’ love for us raises us to the level of his love, just as he has been raised to the level of the Father’s love. We need to ponder the depth and breadth of this love we are to become as we abide in his love.

 

About this love, he says, “Very truly, I tell you, whoever believes has eternal life.” He speaks not of immortal life or a future in heaven. Rather, this is “a metaphor for living now in the unending presence of God,”[1] what he sometimes calls the Kingdom of God. John places the institution of the Eucharist way back in the day-to-day life of Jesus and the things he does for others: feeding, healing, teaching, sharing meals. These are the things, and “greater things than these” which we are to do to abide in his love.

 

He calls us his Beloved. To accept our belovedness is to abide in his love. Once we accept this, when we look upon the host at communion, we no longer see just bread or the body of Christ. Rather, we are called to say, “Amen,” as we receive what we are to become.[2] What we are to become is the Body of Christ, and this is to shape our lives every moment of every day. Eucharist is not what Jesus does on one night near the end of his life, or what we do on Sundays. It is what he did, and we are to do, every moment of every day.[3] This is what it means to abide in his love: to accept our belovedness and live a Eucharistic life as he lived. Eucharist means “thanksgiving” – lives of thanks and giving – giving his love to others.

 

Nothing can be more important or more powerful than accepting this Eucharistic life. Every time bread is taken, blessed, broken, and given to us, he calls us once again to abide in his love so we may live his love for others – all others, no matter what. This, he says, is eternal life. Here and now. Every day. By placing the institution of the Eucharist in the midst of Jesus’ life, not on his last night among us, John suggests that our participation in the flesh and blood, the bread and the wine, belongs to all the days of the Christian life, not just Sundays or special days, but every day we are to share the love and the abundant presence of God in the world – the whole world.

 

May God help us all to abide in this love of Christ, and of the Father. Amen.

 

The Rev. Kirk Alan Kubicek is currently Priest in Charge at Christ Church, Rock Spring Parish, Forest Hill, Md. Christ Church is a Small but Mighty parish, and together we are rediscovering what our Lord has in store for our future. He has spent over 35 years in Parish Ministry in all shapes and sizes of parishes, and for 15 years worked with The Episcopal Church Office of Stewardship and TENS. He often uses storytelling, music, and guitar in proclaiming the Good News. Kirk also plays drums in On The Bus, a DC Metro Area Grateful Dead tribute band. All shall be well, all shall be well, all manner of thing shall be well!

 



[1] Gail O’Day and Susan Hylen, John (Westminster John Knox, Louisville: 2006) p. 75.

[2] Aidan Kavanaugh, “Christ Dying and Living Still” in The Sacraments (Alba House, New York: 1981) p. 271-272.

[3] Ibid. O’Day and Hylen, p. 79.