Wither and Grow: Turning the Tables Proper 21A

 Turning The Tables: Wither or Grow?

“By what authority are you doing these things, and who gave you this authority?” It’s a fair question. The chief priests and elders have every right to ask Jesus who has authorized him to “do these things.” (Matthew 21:23-32) Disembodied as this question is from its greater context, it helps to know just what these things are, and just why those who have long been entrusted and authorized to protect the traditions and The Jerusalem Temple would be concerned. 

There are three things he has done, which some have suggested are mirrored by the three parables that follow - of which we have the first of those parables before us about two adolescent brothers. What Jesus had done, in the eyes of his questioners and his equally perplexed disciples is: to storm the royal city with as rag-a-tag a group of followers imaginable cheering him on; he storms into the Temple precinct overturning the tables of commerce that make it possible for all people, including foreigners, ie gentiles, to properly worship the One God of the Covenant; then he curses and withers a fig tree for bearing no fruit, despite it not being the proper season for fruit to appear. (Matthew 21:1-22) 

In short, he has appeared to do nothing but cause one ruckus after another during Jerusalem’s busiest time of the year, The Feast of the Passover - commemorating the foundational event that forged a disparate band of refugees into a people - a people that God loves and entrusts with God’s own wishes and deepest desires for life on this fragile Earth, our island home. These chief priests and elders, protectors of the traditions, believe they know what they are doing and are obviously aghast at what Jesus has been doing in the very House of the Lord they have been tending for generations. 

Like any good rabbi, Jesus answers their question with a question of his own: “I will also ask you one question; if you tell me the answer, then I will also tell you by what authority I do these things. Did the baptism of John come from heaven, or was it of human origin?” They begin to argue with one another. Already the disrupter has caused a fourth ruckus! There is no good answer for them. If we say “heaven” he’ll ask us why we did not believe John and follow him; if we say “human origin” this crowd gathered for Passover who believed John was a prophet will turn on us. “We don’t know,” they meekly reply. 

See what Jesus does there? He turns the tables on them! He validates John’s call for everyone, even the chief priests and elders, to repent and return to the very principles of the Covenant: to love God and love all neighbors. Which is what Jesus has been announcing as well. And again, like any good rabbi, to illustrate, he tells them a story. Three stories really, of which we have the first. Stories which are meant to act as a mirror into which we are to see ourselves - to really see our true selves, and whether or not we are ready to repent and live in the very ways God has asked us to live, especially to love and care for others - all others, no questions asked. 

The story is one about two brothers whose father (hint-hint) needs their help and cooperation. The first one is deep into playing Call of Duty on his X-Box and says, “No way, dude!” But later, he relents/repents, and heads out into the vineyard to help. The second is in the middle of a virtual reality tennis match against Novak Djokovic and says, “Sure, sure. I’ll be right there.” But he is just starting the fifth set and is still playing at his console to this day! “Which one, “ asks Jesus, “is doing the will of his father (hint-hint).” Finally, a question the chief priests and elders can answer. “The first!” they cry out triumphantly. Not so fast, says Jesus. Tax collectors, prostitutes and sinners will get into the kingdom of God of my Father ahead of you, because they heeded John’s call to repent and you still have not! 

What isn’t said, but is implied by reading the whole of chapter 21, is that like the fig tree, there is still time to get with the program. When the disciples saw the withered fig tree they were amazed, saying, “How did the fig tree wither at once?”  Jesus answered them, “Truly I tell you, if you have faith and do not doubt, not only will you do what has been done to the fig tree, but even if you say to this mountain, ‘Be lifted up and thrown into the sea,’ it will be done. Whatever you ask for in prayer with faith, you will receive.” Understand, as long as your prayers are aligned with the principles of God’s Covenant Kingdom. The challenge of the fig tree is just this: Wither, or Grow? 

The parable of the brothers calls us all to set aside the distractions of techno-life and political strife and whatever other nonsense takes up all of our time and begin bearing the fruit of God’s kingdom - which in chapter 25 Matthew’s Jesus lays out in no uncertain terms at all: feed the hungry, assuage people’s thirst, welcome strangers, care for widows, orphans and resident aliens so that we all can enjoy the fruits of this astonishingly beautiful and abundant creation spinning through the vacuum of an otherwise cold and hostile universe. If only we work together and love one another the way God my Father loves and cares for us. Which means being merciful, which Kurt Vonnegut once said is the one good idea we have been given so far. 

Imagine this for just a moment. Jesus enters our hearts and minds, not Jerusalem. We witness his actions and look into the mirror of his parables. What do we see? A withered fig tree? Or do we see fruit on our tree? Do we see someone who allows Jesus to turn the tables on us so we might break free from all our assumptions and beliefs and be made new? Do we see ourselves taking off our cloaks, laying them on the roadway into our hearts, and welcome the Father’s Son into our hearts to change us? To free us from ourselves? To make us One with God, One with creation, and One with one another? Do we see ourselves out in the vineyard to work for the kingdom of heaven on Earth? “Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on Earth as it is in heaven.” 

Or, do we continue to dabble in virtual reality, take endless selfies, ignore the needs of a planet and its people while Antarctica melts away and the Siberian tundra burns? While millions beg for just a drop of water? While millions more beg for just a crust of bread? Do we continue to play Church and protect the traditions of our elders, while the very Earth stands on tip-toe and groans awaiting all of us, some of us, just one of us to stop what we are doing, repent, turn our lives around, turn the life of our Father’s world right-side up again, so that there really is justice and peace and mercy for all people and all creatures great and small? 

This is what Jesus is asking the chief priests and elders. That’s who we are. This is what he is asking all of us. To look into the mirror. What do we see? Someone who will let him turn our sacred tables over and follow him?

Grateful Hearts Proper 20A

 Grateful Hearts

Our Psalmist proclaims:

Give thanks to the Lord and call upon his Name; *

make known his deeds among the peoples.

Sing to him, sing praises to him, *

and speak of all his marvelous works. (Psalm 105) 

Gratefulness is the heart of Biblical religion. Yet, bracketing this call to gratefulness are two stories of grumbling, ungrateful folks: those who escaped from bondage and slavery in Egypt, and workers who believe they deserve more pay. It seems it is ever thus. Raising questions like: Are we ever satisfied? How much is enough? Hasn’t God done enough, already? Will we ever learn to have grateful hearts? 

In Exodus 16, no sooner has Miriam and the sisters raised their tambourines in song and dance giving thanks for the fact that the authoritarian empire of Egypt can no longer tread water, than the people immediately complain about not having as much bread as they did around the “fleshpots” of the empire. Surely, we are meant to laugh.  Fleshpots refers to “luxurious and self-indulgent” living! A world of conspicuous Consumption. These runaway slaves never came close to the lifestyle of the one percent at the top of the Empire. Yet, these escapees want more than freedom and a life lived with the God who arranged their great escape. No gratefulness here. The singing of Miriam and the sisters is so soon forgotten. 

The Lord hears their cry once again, and instructs Moses on a new arrangement: God will provide “what is it.” That’s what “manna” means: whatisit! The manna will appear each morning as a kind of ground-frost. You may collect what you need for a day, and no more, except on the sixth day you may take twice as much so you do not have work on the Sabbath Day. There’s a caveat: if you take more than a daily share and try to save it up, it goes bad. Note, in God’s Shrewd Economic Plan, everyone gets enough, no one gets too much, or the worms and maggots settle in. 

Jesus teaches his followers to pray for bread that is given daily. That is, Jesus calls for a return to Manna Season for everyone, no exceptions! This, coupled with his equally explicit call to forgive debts, constitutes what Jesus calls living in the Kingdom of Heaven, or the Kingdom of God, here and now: a world of forgiveness, daily bread, and gratefulness where everyone gets enough, no one gets too much, and if you hoard more than your share, everything begins to go poorly, and the world of fleshpots takes over once again. 

Some 1,300 years after the wilderness experience, and things, evidently,  are going poorly. Now everyone’s labor is directed to feed the ravenous fleshpots of Caesar and the Herod’s new empire of Consumption, Rome. Those who wish to appease Rome challenge Jesus with meaningless questions about taxes, divorce and other minutia unrelated to Manna Season, Forgiveness and Grateful Hearts. Some children come bustling in, chattering, playing, noisily and interrupting the silly debate. The disciples try to chase them away. No, says Jesus. Theirs is the kingdom of Manna Season, Forgiveness, and Gratefulness! Let them come to me. He lays hands on them. He blesses them and leaves the debate to others. 

Along come a young man who wants to know how to inherit eternal life. Jesus urges him to live out of the Ten Commandments. Oh, says the young man, I do all of that already! So proud of himself. Well then, says Jesus, give away all that you have and follow me! The young man goes away sad, for he had “many possessions.” The disciples are aghast! Jesus tells them, the first will be last and the last will be first. Still perplexed, still not understanding, he tells them a story; this one about the wideness of God’s mercy and some ungrateful workers. (Matthew 20:1-16) 

A landowner hires workers for the day’s wage. By mid-day he needs more workers. He goes back to town and hires some more for the day’s wage. Mid-afternoon he sees he needs more hands-on- deck, and hires some more. At the end of the day, he begins to pay them, beginning with those who were last to be hired. They get the full day’s wage. Same with the noonday workers. And finally, those who worked all day get the day’s wage. They grumble: “We worked longer than the rest of these bums! We should get more!” But I gave you what I promised to pay you, says the landowner. I choose to pay everyone a day’s wage. Am I not allowed to do what I want with what is mine? Do you begrudge my generosity? 

That’s the question for all of us, really. Why not be grateful that everyone was taken care of? Fritz Kunkel, a psychologist, in his book Creation Continues, acknowledges that the relationship between freedom and causality is puzzling. With this parable, Kunkel suggests, “we see clearly now that our endeavor is indispensable, but its success is a free gift from Beyond. For a moment God seems to be unjust, unfair and arbitrary. But as soon as we leave behind our egocentric claims and make the growth of the kingdom our chief concern, the injustice disappears. God takes care of his kingdom; God does justice to his creation; suddenly we recognize the infinite difference between God, the great Beyond, and us. We think in terms of cause and effect; more work brings more reward. God lives in categories beyond our grasp.

            “God is the Father who rewards his children for their little achievements, not according to their contribution, but according to their needs. Our work, therefore, should not be done for the sake of reward, or for fear of punishment; that would keep us on the level of egocentric bargainers for higher wages. We should do what we do for the sake of God’s kingdom. Whether we are admitted or not, the purpose of creation must be achieved. The paradox that the first will be last and the last will be first loses its appearance of injustice [and unfairness].”[i] 

Saint Augustine once wrote that our hearts are restless until we find our home in God – the great Beyond, whose vision of life in God’s own creation is centered on Manna Season, Mercy, Forgiveness, and Gratefulness. Grumbling is just not to be a part of it! This Homecoming Sunday we are invited to be Welcomed into God’s vision, which is very different from our standard view of life in this world. To live in what Jesus calls God’s kingdom requires a whole new way of envisioning how we might live with one another – that our journey in this world is not meant to be lived on our own, but with others – ultimately, with all others. Only then can we hope to sing as the Psalmist calls us to sing:

Give thanks to the Lord and call upon his Name; *

make known his deeds among the peoples.

Sing to him, sing praises to him, *

and speak of all his marvelous works.

---

[i] Kunkel, Fritz, Creation Continues (Paulist Press, NY:1987/1947) p.213-214.

Let's Do The Numbers Proper 19A

 Let’s Do The Numbers!   Proper 19A

In the 18^th chapter of Matthew’s story of Jesus, Jesus offers a parable after the discussion of reconciliation. Leading into the parable, Peter has a question: How many times must we forgive someone? Seven times? (Matthew 18:15-20) Peter, no doubt, feels as if he is being generous by going beyond the community’s standard of three times. But still, thinks Peter, there must be a limit to forgiving. Jesus, however, feels even seven is not enough: No, not seven, says he, but seventy-seven times. As they say on Marketplace Report every morning, “Let’s do the numbers!” 

Once again, translation is tricky, especially when it comes to numbers in the first century. Many, if not most, scholars would translate Jesus’s reply as seven times seventy. That would be 490 times. Which from anyone’s perspective may as well be infinity! Why? Because throughout the Hebrew Bible that Jesus and Peter are familiar with, God is understood to be “a gracious and merciful God, slow to anger, abounding in steadfast love, and relents from punishment.” (Jonah 4:2, Exodus 34:6-7, Psalms 86:15 & 103:8) Jesus’s logic seems to reflect an understanding that as those creatures whom God creates in God’s own image, male and female he creates us as icons of the living God, it only follows that we ought to be as merciful, gracious, slow to anger, abounding in steadfast love and relent from punishment. Being merciful, Kurt Vonnegut once said, was the one good idea we have been given so far! 

To bolster this notion of forgiving anywhere from 490 times to infinity and beyond, Matthew reports Jesus telling a story about a king and a number of his high and mid-level bureaucratic servants. Again, let’s to the numbers. A servant is in debt to the king for ten thousand talents. To get some sense of the size of the servant’s debt, a talent was worth fifteen years of a laborer’s wages; times ten thousand, rounds up to a total of 150,000 years of labor. The king, seeing that he is unlikely to ever get that amount orders the servant, his wife and children all to be sold into slavery to get whatever he can get out of them. Even should the servant have worked every day for the past 2,000 years since the story was told, he would still have 148,00 years to go! Another way to look at it: humans are believed to have been here approximately 195,000 years, so he would have had to begin when hominid life as we know it began. Those listening to the story would recognize the servant’s predicament and would know paying off such a debt represents what is known in some business circles today as a BHAG – A Big Hairy Audacious Goal! 

Since this is one servant of many from whom the king seeks to settle accounts, this is one very wealthy king! How does one run up such a debt? The servant is a high-level retainer whose job is to collect tribute monies from both direct and indirect taxes on behalf of the king – the king who when he assumed his kingship understood the resources of the state were his possession to plunder for his personal gain. He believes he stands at the very top of an authoritarian system above the law and all restraints! The servant says he will collect the tributes of ten thousand talents if he and his family can go free. Surprisingly to everyone in Jesus’s audience, the king not only lets him go, but forgives him the debt! Such an act of debt forgiveness has never ever been imagined let alone heard of. What an unbelievably fortunate and lucky retainer! 

But does he feel grateful in this astonishing turn of events? No. He immediately runs into a mid-level retainer who owes him one hundred denarii. This is about half of a Roman Centurion’s annual salary, and much more than the annual salary of the average day laborer. It’s a sum most of the farmers and trades people listening to this story will never see in their lifetime. The second man makes the very same plea as our first retainer, but alas, he is not feeling the mercy and forgiveness he has been granted at all and has this man put in jail to be a slave. Mind you, his one hundred denarii could barely make a dent toward the ten thousand talents. A group of mid-level servants then go to the king and let him know what has happened. Why? Because they could be next to feel the high-level retainer’s wrath as he tries to round up the tribute he owes to the king. 

The king is very disappointed. It seems he wished the high-level servant to forgive as he had been forgiven. People had heard about it. Now the king feels publicly shamed. So shamed that he now has him thrown in jail to be “tortured until he can pay the debt.” To which Jesus is said to have added, “And so my Father will do to anyone who does not forgive a sister or brother from the heart.” That last part should cause us pause. How can the God who is merciful and gracious, abounding in steadfast love, slow to anger and relents from punishing be imagined to do such a thing? The answer, of course, such a God would not torture anyone. This is believed to be a later addition to the story by those in the church who had assumed the standard role of ruthless authoritarian kings and their bureaucratic retainers, and is a proper subject for another day. 

This story no doubt had everyone surrounding Jesus waiting to see what astonishing thing would happen next. But it turns out to be a rather mixed message. The king was moved to do something radically new – forgive debts. Matthew’s Jesus had earlier taught his audience that they are to pray, “forgive us our debts as we forgive our debtors” in his Sermon on the Mount (Matthew 6:12). Perhaps this was a new king who was hoping the servant would do the same, and the next servant would do the same, on and on down the line, until the entire kingdom was debt free. Earlier in Matthew’s story the people wanted to make Jesus a kind of new king. It was written on the cross upon which he was hung by the Romans. And for good reason: all these thousands of talents were to eventually make their way back to Caesar in Rome! Can’t have debts being forgiven now, can we? 

But just for a moment that day, a crowd of people could imagine what Jesus was saying could be the promised Sabbath Year, the Jubilee Year, the forgiveness of debts God had ordered in Torah to happen every 50 years. Perhaps it really was possible to reset the entire nation! If only. If only we would be those people who forgive others as we would like to be forgiven. It is a glorious vision of how we could live with one another. And Jesus seems to think it is how we should live with one another. A world of infinity and beyond awash with forgiveness. 

Still there is that last line – which seems to say, beware. You know and I know, says Jesus, unless we can live like the icons of God we are created to be, this system of consolidated wealth, authoritarian elites and their bureaucratic functionaries will continue. Until. Until we try, really try, something astonishingly, incredibly new. My Father does not need to torture anyone. Until we can all forgive as we are forgiven, we do a pretty good job of torturing one another ourselves. 

Jesus says, my Father is merciful and gracious, slow to anger, abounding in steadfast love, and relents from punishing. I am his Beloved Son. You who follow me are my kin, my beloved sisters and brothers, my true family. You are God’s Beloved. God forgives you 490 times to infinity and beyond. Go, and do likewise. And all shall be well; all shall be well; all manner of thing shall be well.

Reconciliation: Christ Centered Love Lived Proper 18A

 

Reconciliation: Christ Centered Love Lived

As a Church and as a Society and a Nation, there may be only one thing we all agree on: that we all disagree about almost everything these days. So, we self-identify as Red or Blue people; young or old people; conservative or liberal people; the listing goes on and on and is exhausting for us all. We seem to be in a true test of what President Abraham Lincoln meant when quoted the gospel saying a house divided, a nation divided, a church divided, cannot stand. Today we hear about a process of reconciliation as Matthew’s Jesus lays it out, and it sounds so simple.

 

Yet, when one lives a life spending time in one parish church and diocese after another, one might conclude that this sensible bit of advice on the need for reconciliation in Christ Centered Communities in Matthew 18:15-20 has never been read before. Or, if read, not heard. We are surprised to be reminded that it is front and center once every three years in our rotation of lectionary readings for Sundays. And amidst the detailed instructions on how to approach reconciliation, it’s easy to miss two things. 1) the risk of failure is written into the script – failure resulting in someone being kicked to the curb; a kind of giving up altogether that ought to strike us as being at odds with the Good News of God in Christ have tasked ourselves to exemplify in all that we say and all that we do. This giving up on reconciliation often is the result of thinking that gospel and gossip are somehow related – for more failures at reconciliation are the result of gossip in the community of Christ than any other possible cause.

 

The second thing we tend to overlook is the recognition that wherever two or three are gathered in Christ’s name, Christ promises to be there with us. Reconciliation is a we-thing. We might notice that step one, which might be paraphrased, “If you have a problem with someone, speak directly to that someone, not someone else,” results in there being two people, which Christ says constitutes enough of a quorum, or minyan, for him to be present. Which is true if, and it is a mighty if, if the two gather “in the name of Christ,” not in the name of some cause, opinion, or self-centered sense of self-righteousness. Then in step two, go to speak with that someone with one or two other “witnesses,” it now constitutes more than a new quorum or minyan of three or four people having the conversation – three or four people seeking some sense of reconciliation.

 

Step three suffers from translation issues – it seems it’s always a translation issue. Steps one and two failing, our NRSV translation insists we take it to “the church.” The word in the text of Matthw is ekklesia, which means “a summoned group,” originally in Ancient Greece, an assembly of summoned citizens in the agora, that is a public meeting in an open space. Quite possibly in a market place. Imagine! Hauling someone who has somehow offended you into the local Shop Rite or Safeway to sort things out! Over time ekklesia has come to mean “church,” and indeed our Book of Common Prayer does allow, concerning someone who may be a “notorious sinner,” to be ex-communicated. That is, no longer able to receive Holy Communion, or even harsher, not even attend church any longer. This practice, however, is immediately tied, by Matthew’s Jesus, to an ancient practice of “binding and loosing.”

 

This is where we make the most consequential misunderstanding of what is being said. Binding does mean to restrict or remove someone or something from the main body of an assembly. But binding as a practice does not exist, nor have meaning, unless accompanied by “loosing,” which is to restore that someone to the life of the summoned assembly. My understanding is that binding is not to be imagined as a permanent state of removal or isolation, but rather more like a time-out period in which to return to steps one and two so that the ekklesia can be fully restored.

 

All of which, we must remember, must be practiced in the “name of Christ,” and with the understanding that Christ is present to all such attempts to reconcile differences notorious enough to be considered sinful, that is missing the mark of what it means to live a Christ-like love with one another. Reconciliation can be construed as Christ-Like Love Lived.

 

Let this percolate for a moment. And then try to remember a time when differences in the ekklesia have been successfully reconciled either by steps one and two, or, a successful return of someone has been bound from being a part of the assembly – all done both in the name of Christ, and everyone behaving as if Christ is right there as reconciliation is being sought? It’s not easy

 

Experience suggests that most often the person who feels wronged, person number one as Matthew’s outlines the process, leaves in a great huff, and making sure everyone knows they are leaving. Or, they simply disappear. And it is easy to understand why. The church historically does not do a great job of teaching this process of reconciliation. And in places where it does, people are often not willing to attempt to resolve things either in the name of Christ, and even less likely honoring the fact that Christ promises to be here with us even when there are only two or three of us, let alone the entire summoned assembly! It is an inherently risky business, this reconciliation thing. And yet our Catechism in the Book of Common Prayer lists it as a primary ministry of us all: “and according to the gifts given to them [us], to carry on Christ’s work of reconciliation in the world…” (BCP 855) Not only between two people. Not only within the Church itself. But in the World! A world which we all agree is in serious need of reconciliation.

 

To make any of this work, I find I need to remind myself of several things. All people are created in the image of God. We are all living icons of the living God. We are all to seek and serve Christ in all persons. Not some people, not a lot of people, but all people. For the good of the world, the church, and ourselves, we need to carry on Christ’s work of reconciliation in the world. Or, else. Or, else we all end up bound. If we don’t forgive one another, we carry the burden of division. All of us. Every single one of us. Forever and ever.

 

The highlight of my week in three parishes I have served was to lead pre-school chapel for three and four-year-olds. We sang a lot. We sang all the time. As I pondered all of this, a song I learned for chapel at Church of the Good Shepherd, Ruxton came to mind it’s a kind of anthem of reconciliation proclaiming that by all that we do and say we can show that not only does God love us we love God too.:

 

God loves me, and I love God too

God loves you, and I love you too

God loves us, so everything we do

Will show God that we love God too

 

This is what it means to Live Christ-Like Love. People can see that we are Christ’s. This is not only who we are, but whose we are. Everything we do and say must show others not only does God love us, but that we love God too! Reconciliation: Christ-Centered Love Lived!

Some Personal Reflections Proper 17A

 Some Personal Reflections  Proper 17A

Our story from the third chapter of Exodus, Moses before the Burning Bush, always reminds me of my ordination to the priesthood, forty years ago this coming December. When one is ordained a deacon, one of the things presented to you is a Bible “as a sign of your authority to proclaim God’s Word…” Someone had forgotten to get Bibles for us, so they looked into a Sunday School Closet and found illustrated Bibles. Bishop George Nelson Hunt gave me a Bible that had photos of the Holy Land. At the beginning of the New Testament was a page of three photos. The first one was of a bush – a random bush somewhere in Israel. The caption read, “The Burning Bush!” 

Six months later, when I was to be ordained a priest, The Reverend Canon Chester LaRue asked if I wanted a new Bible, or would I like them to use the one I received as a Deacon. I said, “Oh, the one I have because it has a photo of The Burning Bush!” In the Diocese of Chicago, the ordinations are quite elaborate. You are on your knees in front of the bishop who is seated. He makes the sign of the cross with Holy Oil on the palms of both hands, wraps your hands in a linen cloth called a manutergium made by nuns, a chalice is then balanced on your bound hands, steadied by one’s thumbs, a stole is placed around your shoulders, and then the bishop ordains you. After all of that, my hands were unbound, but still kneeling, Bishop James Winchester Montgomery hands me my Bible, says the appropriate words, and then leans over and says in a hushed tone, “Here it is, Kirk, Burning Bush and all!” It was that moment when, like Moses, I knew I was on Holy Ground, and, like Moses before the Burning Bush, wondered exactly just what had just happened to me, and what was I meant to do next! How can I possibly proclaim the Word of God? And then I remembered, as Moses questioned the very same thing, the Lord, identified only as “I Am,” reassures him saying, “I shall be with you.” And that has been a certainty upon which I have relied from that day forward.  

In our ongoing episode in Matthew (16:21-28) near Caesarea Philippi, after asking the disciples who people are saying Jesus is, and Peter blurts out, “You are the Christos! The Son of the living God!” Jesus congratulates Peter, which must make him feel pretty good. Jesus then goes on to tell the twelve, in no uncertain terms, that he is going to Jerusalem, where he will undergo great suffering at the hands of the elders, chief priests, and scribes, and be killed by the Roman Empire, and on the third day be raised. Peter, apparently not listening to the last part of being raised again, now takes Jesus aside and rebukes him, saying, “God forbid it, Lord! This must never happen to you.” Jesus says to Peter, “Get behind me, Satan!” Which does not mean a guy with horns, a tail and pitchfork in his hand. In those days it simply meant “accuser.” And the word for “get behind” is also translated later as “come after me,” a variation on the familiar, “Follow me,” which is what Jesus calls us all to do. We are Peter. Peter is us. 

Then Jesus, to all the disciples, and from Matthew’s perspective, to all future persons who choose to follow Jesus, lays out what our job description is to be: “If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me. For those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake will find it.” Try to imagine how Peter now feels. One minute he seems to see who Jesus really is. The next, he learns he is really off-base. There is nothing about belief. Nothing about a creed. A simple commitment to follow Jesus, which means to take up our own cross. We often speak of this, that or the other cross we have to bear. It seems like the cross is whatever bad things happen to us in this life. We say things like, “She has had this cross to bear for so many years.”

My first year as a priest, however, I was soon to learn another way of seeing this story. It was my first baptism, and this was the gospel that day. She was a little girl, about five years old named Eleanor. And her mother, Frances, was being baptized as well. It was a special morning for the entire congregation.  Afterwards, as we were having brunch at Eleanor’s grandmother’s house, I was talking with someone while enjoying a piece of quiche and a glass of wine, when all of a sudden there was a tug on the back of my trousers. I turned, and there was Eleanor asking me, “Can you still see the cross on my forehead?” That is the cross, traced with oil that had been blessed by Bishop Montgomery, signing and sealing Eleanor as Christ’s own forever. That cross that represents all the promises she made, as a five-year-old, such as to seek and serve Christ in all persons, to love your neighbor as yourself, to strive for justice and peace for all people, and respect the dignity of every human being, and that all that we say and all that we do will proclaim the Good News of Jesus.  Eleanor was old enough to say, “I will with God’s help.” As I looked into her inquiring eyes and her expression of expectation, I said, “Yes, Eleanor, I can still see the cross on your forehead!” That is a great question, I thought to myself. Then I went back to eating quiche, drinking wine, and continued the conversation. By the time I got home that afternoon I had entirely forgotten our little encounter. 

Fortunately, God was with me, and God was not through with me yet. One week later, as I was vesting for church, there was a tug on the back of my alb. Eleanor had come to find me in the Vesting Room, and looked up at me, and once again asked, “Can you still see the cross on my forehead. I was as surprised as Peter. She had remembered that moment for eight days! Simply for asking such a provocative and important question I of course said, “Yes, Eleanor, I can still see the cross on your forehead.” At that moment, Eleanor’s question forever changed my understanding just what Jesus was talking about that day outside Caesarea Philippi. Of, course, I thought to myself. It’s this cross, traced with oil on our foreheads, marking us as Christ’s own forever. People are meant to see this cross in how we live into promises we make in our baptism. Jesus is not asking us to believe anything. He wants us to live in a way that reflects our commitment to him. Like the single “t” in the middle of the word “commitment,” there is only one cross that Jesus carries for us all. He carries all our troubles and failures so that we can let the cross on our foreheads lead us into the life of his kingdom. Then people will know we are those people who follow Jesus; we are those people who proclaim the Good News of Jesus Christ in everything we say and everything we do. They will see the cross on our foreheads! 

This would be a heavy load, to be sure, for any one of us. But Jesus promises that where two or three of us are gathered, he is in our midst. As God promised to Moses, Jesus promises to be with us - Emanuel, “God with us.” He means for us to live this life, not on our own, but together with others. Being Christian is not a “me” thing, it is a “we” thing. We do this by giving up the ways of this world, and by living the life of the kingdom Jesus is always talking about: seeking and serving Christ in others, all others; loving those who hate us; continuing his work of healing and reconciliation in the world. Perhaps we can make a beginning of living in a way that people can see the cross on our foreheads if each day we pray for just one person. Or, perhaps reach out to someone in need: someone hungry, thirsty, or a total stranger seeking a new life, a better life. Or, by giving up one thing, one habit, one opinion about others. By giving up a little of our lives, and living into the life of Christ. It may even mean letting go of how we see Jesus, and like Peter, get behind him, and begin to see him in a whole new way. We are on Holy Ground. We can live kingdom lives here and now, if only we will let the cross we already carry lead the way!

https://youtu.be/egCBkz25_wc?si=Hi2YYBq5CM9t6rnq

Tell No One I Am The Messiah Proper 16A

 He sternly ordered the disciples not to tell anyone that he was the Messiah.

-Matthew 16:13-20

As I pondered this admonition, I was reading some ancient Zen poetry on the beach. I ran across this by the real or imagined Lao Tzu who begins his opus, the Dao De Jing like this:

“Dao defined is not the constant Dao;

No name names the Eternal Name.

The un-named is the origin of heaven and earth.

Named it is the Mother of Ten Thousand Things!”

 One can attempt to determine just what “the Mother of Ten Thousand Things” may have meant four centuries before the time of Jesus. Or, we can imagine just what the plain text says. Which suggests to me, that once we name someone or something, as the first man, Adam, named all the animals; that once we name the “origin of heaven and earth,” the mischief of religions, world views and ideologies, and their attending “certainties” about that being (Being) begins. Ten thousand thousand ways to disagree, quibble and divide ourselves not only from one another, but ultimately from the Being, the Source, the Origin of heaven and earth, the creator of all things seen and unseen. Jesus seems to know this. He knows that naming someone or something confers some power to the namer. 

It has been suggested that although the Greek word for “sin” in the New Testament is borrowed from the ancient world of archery, and means “to miss the mark,” “to miss the target,” that too easily makes us think it is all about behavior, rules, ethics, a quantified way of being – such as the Ten Commandments, which many in the historic Jewish community call The Ten Suggestions! 

Rather, the mark that is most often being missed, and appears to be the singular concern of one Jesus of Nazareth in Galilee, which may be summed up in his words: we are to love God with all our mind, heart and all our love,  and to love our neighbors as ourselves. Sometime  later he adds, “in your spare time, love your enemies and pray for those who hate you –  and try to be perfect as God is perfect.” 

When he asks his disciples who people think he is, they name all the things he is not: he is not John the Baptist; he is not one of the prophets; he is not Elijah. Even when Simon Peter, he who stepped out of the boat, walked on the water toward Jesus, lost his faith and his nerve and begin to sink beneath the surf; even when Peter says, “You are the Christos,” which means anointed, which is “messiah” or “maschiach,” in Hebrew, Jesus tells them all not to say this to anyone. Of course this is tantamount to saying, “I know you are all going to blab this around town even though I am telling you not to. This will cause much trouble for us all.” And those of us who know the rest of the story know very well, that is exactly what happens. 

It's as if Jesus knew what Lao T’zu had warned some four hundred years or so prior to this little pow-wow outside of a town called Caesaria – which, by its very name, itself foreshadows the dangers that lie ahead once that which cannot be named is named. Almost immediately, after his prohibition not to say a thing, the cat is out of the bag, and all sorts of characters, most especially Caesar’s Empire of Brutality and Violence, wants him dead and buried. 

The New Revised Standard Version Bible and the BCP 1979 have changed all references to “Christos,” or “Christ,” to “messiah,” and the mischief persists – as if Jesus, God or the Dao can somehow or other in any way be the sole possession of any single religion, world view or ideology without causing endless problems – problems which Jesus means to avoid at all costs. 

The change in our Bibles and our Prayer Book flies in the face of his prohibition. It causes  similar kinds of mischief as it did way back then. Back then people expected very specific kinds of messiahs: a warrior to drive out the Romans; a judge to sort out the good from the bad; an apocalyptic character to end the current age and begin the world all over again, to name but a few. 

Then there is the relationship between Christianity and Judaism. Since Jesus fits no prior notion of what a messiah, God’s anointed, is to be like, it is difficult, if not impossible, for the Jewish world to agree that he is. The Church’s response to this is, “Well, he is a different kind of Messiah.” While many, if not most Jews, who are waiting for messiah to come, say, “When messiah comes, and it turns out to be Jesus, we will gladly get on board!” Others have said, “Well, the world looks about the same before and after Jesus, so how could he be The Messiah?” 

Jesus appears to have some idea that if this notion of Peter’s gets out, it will take all the focus off of his primary program: to love God and to love our neighbors as ourselves. And we know his definition of “neighbor” knows no bounds, no limits. As the familiar hymn says it, “All are neighbors for us and you.” 

That is, Jesus, who does not want to be identified as “messiah,” similarly, does not want to divide people up into good vs bad, healthy vs sick, abled vs disabled, native vs foreigner, straight vs LGBTQ+, male vs female, poor vs rich, us vs them. It is the very naming, categorizing, and labeling of others that causes us to become fearful and afraid of what we might call, for lack of a better name, “otherness.” Fear of “otherness” is our problem, not the other persons problem. Fear of “otherness” is the Mother of Ten Thousand Thousand problems in this world. 

All of which can change if, as we say in our Baptismal Covenant, we vow to “seek and serve Christ in all persons, loving our neighbor as ourself.” It’s always the pesky word “all” that trips us up. Not most, not many, most certainly not a few, but “all persons.” 

How might we learn to seek, see and serve the Christ, the Jesus, the God, the Dao that is in everyone and everything? It has been suggested that we give up any and all notions that “I am a self.” When we allow ourselves to drop whatever mask, whatever notions, that somehow I am not like everybody else, we might just begin to see, seek and serve the Christos in others as we would like to be seen, sought and served by others. It’s worth a try. 

As Mike Royko, a Chicago Daily News columnist I grew up reading, often put it, “I may be wrong, but I doubt it!”

The Night Sea Journey Proper 14A

 The Night Sea Journey

As the saga of Joseph son of Jacob begins, one notes: “Jacob settled in the land where his father had lived as an alien, the land of Canaan.” [i] The storyteller reminds us one and all of the care the Lord God of Israel has for aliens and strangers: because we all were strangers in a new land once upon a time. We tend to migrate. It’s what we do. It’s part of what it means to be human. This theme is reprised in Exodus when, thanks to brother Joseph who holds no grudge against his brothers who want to kill him, finds them a new home as aliens in the strange land of Egypt. After they escape Pharoh’s Egypt, Moses reminds them to always welcome the alien, the foreigner and the stranger: “For the Lord your God is God of gods and Lord of lords, the great God, mighty and awesome, who is not partial and takes no bribe, who executes justice for the orphan and the widow, and who loves the strangers, providing them food and clothing. You shall also love the stranger, for you were strangers in the land of Egypt” [ii]

 

Because two of the brothers, Reuben and Judah, stand up to the rest, instead of killing Joseph because they don’t like his favored status with dad, and even more they don’t like his coat of very long sleeves, they sell him for a profit to Ishmaelites, descendants of Abraham’s first son, who one day become the people of Islam. Note, despite the popularity of Donny Osmond who has currently been held over in Vegas (another sort of strange land!), the coat was not made of “many colors.” That turns out to have been a poor translation leftover from the King James project. After his trials in the land of Pharaoh’s Egypt, Joseph becomes something like Secretary of State and helps Jacob and the other eleven sons, daughters, daughters-in-law and many many grandchildren, to escape famine in Canaan and live a life as slaves in Egypt where at least they get to eat leek soup every day! One might also note: there is no mention of God in this narrative. In fact, it is a fairly mundane tale of sibling rivalry. Until. Until Joseph demonstrates what the forgiveness, compassion and love of God really looks like. There is no place for grudges in the story of God’s people.

 

Then there is chapter 14 in Matthew, which includes what one commentator and a psychologist, Fritz Kunkel, calls The Night Sea Journey. The back story. Jesus is worn out. After hearing that John the Baptist had lost his head, he tries to get away to be alone with God his Father. But the Sea of Galilee being a relatively small lake, people saw where he was going, and tracked him down to hear what new teachings he might convey. The disciples try to get him to send the folks home to fend for dinner on their own. Poppycock, says he! Feed them yourselves! They whine: we only have five loaves and two fish. Sighhhh. Hand them over to me, says he. After inviting folks to sit down, he takes the loaves, blesses the loaves, breaks the loaves and gives all that they have away. Everyone ate and were full. There were twelve baskets of leftovers. The number of people who ate were 5,000 men, not to mention women and children. Make of this what you will, but it is not out of the realm of possibility that once Jesus and the disciples took, blessed, broke and gave away all that they had, others may have been inspired to do the same.

 

Once again he tries to get some time alone. He dismisses the crowds, tells the disciples to get in the boat and go to the other side of the lake, while he goes up on a mountain to pray – to talk with Abba, his Father, and ours. As the sun sets in the west, he is finally all alone. Not for long.

 

A storm erupts over the lake. The boat is battered by waves, and the headwind impedes their progress. They are stranded, far from land. Proving once again that there is no rest for the weary, the next morning Jesus walks across the sea to greet the lads. They are terrified! It’s a ghost, they cry! “Take heart, it is I; do not be afraid.”

 

Peter, never missing the teachable moment, says, “Oh yeah! If it’s you, command me to walk to you on the water!” Jesus says, “Come.” Peter steps out of the boat and begins to walk toward Jesus. On the water! Suddenly, Peter remembers that it is windy, he gets frightened and begins to sink beneath the surf. “Help me, Lord! Save me Lord! Help me! I’m going down!” Immediately, without hesitation, Jesus reaches out his hand and brings Peter back up, saying, “You of little faith; why do you doubt?” As soon as they get back in the boat, the wind ceases. Like a Greek chorus of twelve the disciples cry out, “Truly you are the Son of God.” No doubt Jesus is thinking, “Feeding five thousand men, not to mention women and children, with five loaves and two fish was not good enough to convince you that I am who I am?”

 

There is still no rest for the weary. They go ashore. Everyone there recognizes immediately who he is. They bring all the halt, sick and the lame to him. And all who touched the hem of his cloak were healed.

 

These strange stories were told by Matthew at a time when not only was Jesus long gone, but the Temple and all of Jerusalem, and much of Israel, was in ruins as the Roman Legions crushed the Jewish rebellion. People, whole families, whole tribes, were displaced. There can be no doubt, people were frightened like Peter on the lake – like Joseph, sold off to the sons of Ishmael and carted off to Egypt. It is a long dark night for everyone. Everyone is as hungry as the people on one side of the lake. Everyone is seeking healing of some kind on the other side. The life of faith has become one long Night Sea Journey. What are we to do. We struggle against the wind and the waves until we remember who we are and whose we are; until we reach out and ask for help; until we trust one another enough to love one another.

 

We all know what it’s like to be strangers in a strange land. Like Jacob, we all live as aliens in the land. We all know what it’s like to be a stranger. To feel alone. Not like everyone else. We all know what it’s like when everything looks to be going down beneath the waves; when everything seems to be stalled heading into a mighty wind; when resources appear ridiculously small. We read these stories to remember: there is a hand that can take, bless, break and give us what we really need – a helping hand, a morsel of bread, a brother or sister who has every reason to hate us, but who reminds us to love one another, no matter what.

 

Jacob lived as an alien in his father’s land. All of us do. People are hungry for bread and healing of all manner of dis-ease. Like the Jacob, Joseph and Peter, we are all on a Night Sea Journey of faith. Jesus walks towards us. What does he say? How do we respond? Do we take his hand? Do we touch the hem of his garment? Do we follow him wherever he goes? Do we strive to do the things that he does? And greater things than these?

 

As the apostle Paul once said, the entire universe stands on tiptoe in anticipation to see what we, the daughters and sons of God, will do.  [iii]

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[i] Genesis 37:1-4, 12-28

[ii] Deuteronomy 10: 17-21

[iii] Romans 8:19