A reflection on Pentecost by The Rev. Camille Hegg
Part of the story of Pentecost is that people of different countries and cultures understood each other, for the first time perhaps.
Maybe it was an awakening for them, that they could understand someone from a different culture who spoke in a language they didn’t know. How that happened I don’t know. But I do know that it takes some dedication to understand a language other than the language of one’s birth. The Holy Spirit is always involved in dedication.
Last week my seven year old grandchild shouted out from her back seat of the car we were in….
“omg…Look at the yellow punch buggy.” I was glad I understood. “Oh, my God, look at the yellow Volkswagen.” How does a seven year old know “omg?” And I doubt she knows Volkswagen, just punch buggy. They also yell out “bubblegum” when they see a yellow car.
I was schooled by her 10 year old sister. She taught me “LOL” (“lots of love” or “lots of luck” or “lots of laughs”) “IDK” (“I don’t know”) “BFF” (best friends forever)and of course, “OMG.”
I haven’t taught them some of our initials in the church” “AMGD” : “Ad Majorem Dei Gloriam – to the greater glory of God” or “HIS” the first three letters of Jesus ‘ name. No, it’snot, “In His Service.”
It’s important to learn the language of the people we are with. We need to know about the cultural and religions sects or groups in Iraq and in the religion of Islam, about the customs of the Japanese, the Hindu, Buddhists, all religious groups.
We need to know about the genocide in Darfur and Rwanda and other regions. We need to know about the recovery in hurricane Katrina in New Orleans and the floods of Nashville.
Every now and then I am asked, “habla Espanol?” I can reply ‘um poco” and usually discern what the person needs. Seven years of Spanish in high school and college and I am very rusty at it. But more and more I am meeting Hispanic people who need help and I am grateful that I can do my little bit. They are patient with me.
My friend is very careful to keep quiet about his burning passion. He helps undocumented mothers who have a baby in this country, get the child a US passport. That way, if she gets deported, the baby, at some point, can come back into the country.
There is so much to reading the lessons for Pentecost, and how the Holy Spirit participates in understanding all people.
To be an aware person, we need not to hide our faces, but look squarely at reality hope and an eye to find the holy in the midst all we experience.
Saturday, May 22, 2010
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
Easter 7
A reflection on the readings for Easter 6: John 17: 20-26, Acts 16. 16-24 by The Rev. Dr. Sarah Rogers
I have personally had a very bizarre couple of months. I was rushed into hospital on St. Patrick’s Day, so missed out on all of the events of Palm Sunday, Holy Week & Easter. In fact, I had major surgery on the Wednesday of Holy Week so that week saw me go through my own personal resurrection experience as I gradually recovered. The cause of all my trauma was gallstones and many parallels could be drawn with the Resurrection as the stones were finally declared to have gone. For me, that time was full of waiting. Waiting for test results, waiting for the operation, waiting for the all clear, waiting to be released from hospital, and then finally, while I was recuperating, waiting until I was well enough to return home to my parish.
So, I find myself writing this for the Feminist Theology Blog on the eve of the Sunday after Ascension the day when I will finally return to work after a very unsettled eight weeks, in the midst of another period of waiting.
We wait in Advent for the birth of Jesus, we wait in Lent for Jesus to die on the cross, we wait for three days for Jesus to rise from the dead and then finally after the Ascension, we wait for the coming of the Holy Spirit at Pentecost.
I think the disciples must have wanted to run away and hide after the Ascension. They had had a troubled and confusing few weeks as Jesus was arrested and crucified and then the events of the Resurrection. Jerusalem was not a safe place for Jesus’ followers, but that was where they had to wait. They knew something was going to happen, but they would not have known quite what. Fear of a difficult situation and the uncertainty that brings often makes us take a step back away. However, Jesus had left the disciples with a mission to fulfil and the means of fulfilling that mission was what they were waiting for, they could not do it without the presence of the Holy Spirit.
Reading the passage from John’s gospel and reflecting on the context the disciples found themselves in brings tremendous reassurance. Part of that great prayer of Jesus just before his betrayal where he has prayed to be returned to the glory he shared with God before creation, the disciples he will leave behind in the world though they are not of the world, consecrating them for their mission ahead. Now, he prays that all who believe in him ‘may be one’. This unity is rooted in the life of God; we share the unity that Jesus shared with God through the indwelling of the Holy Spirit. Jesus commanded us to ‘love one another’, that was no mere exhortation, but a challenge to share our life in God. We share the unity that Jesus has with God and the love that the disciples were commanded to have for one another so that we can continue the mission of the church. This love is a new love, it is of a sort that has never been fully experienced, it is a love that reveals itself only through the cross, completely unconditional and all consuming, and it is the love that we are called to share with one another, the love that holds us together in unity.
Two millennia ago, the church was a small, close-knit group of followers, huddled together in fear and anticipation of what would happen next. Today the church stretches across the globe, it has grown and developed and is now incredibly diverse – it seems unity is very far away. The phrase ‘that they may all be one’ is the central theme of the ecumenical movement; unity is constantly strived for despite our differences. However, structural or institutional unity is not what is sought; rather it is the relationship of unity, such as is found between the persons of the Trinity.
We have been reminded again of the divisions that exist not only between the denominations, but within the Anglican Communion itself, as Mary Glasspool is ordained as Bishop. I draw heart from the fact that despite the division in the Anglican Communion, the Anglican women have declared their desire to strive for unity within the Communion. I am also reminded of Paul’s words to the church in Ephesus:
‘For this reason I bow my knees before the Father, from whom every family in heaven and on earth takes its name. I pray that, according to the riches of his glory, he may grant that you may be strengthened in your inner being with power through his Spirit, and that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith, as you are being rooted and grounded in love. I pray that you may have the power to comprehend, with all the saints, what is the breadth and length and height and depth, and to know the love of Christ that surpasses knowledge, so that you may be filled with the fullness of God.’ (Ephesians 3. 14-19)
That passage strikes me as the perfect message for the whole of the church at this time, as much as Paul was writing for specific situations in the early church, I can’t help feeling that this is a message that it doesn’t hurt to be reminded of. We are all one, we are all the church, we are all one body. And we wait…..we wait for the reminder of the coming of the Holy Spirit at Pentecost, we wait for unity, we wait for mutual understanding, we wait for tolerance, we wait…..! The list is endless. We wait…but we never give up, or given in…and we trust that it is God who will prevail. We wait and we continue to strive for unity within the church.
‘Now to him who by the power at work within us is able to accomplish abundantly far more than all we can ask or imagine, to him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus to all generations, for ever and ever. Amen.’ (Ephesians 3. 20-21).
I have personally had a very bizarre couple of months. I was rushed into hospital on St. Patrick’s Day, so missed out on all of the events of Palm Sunday, Holy Week & Easter. In fact, I had major surgery on the Wednesday of Holy Week so that week saw me go through my own personal resurrection experience as I gradually recovered. The cause of all my trauma was gallstones and many parallels could be drawn with the Resurrection as the stones were finally declared to have gone. For me, that time was full of waiting. Waiting for test results, waiting for the operation, waiting for the all clear, waiting to be released from hospital, and then finally, while I was recuperating, waiting until I was well enough to return home to my parish.
So, I find myself writing this for the Feminist Theology Blog on the eve of the Sunday after Ascension the day when I will finally return to work after a very unsettled eight weeks, in the midst of another period of waiting.
We wait in Advent for the birth of Jesus, we wait in Lent for Jesus to die on the cross, we wait for three days for Jesus to rise from the dead and then finally after the Ascension, we wait for the coming of the Holy Spirit at Pentecost.
I think the disciples must have wanted to run away and hide after the Ascension. They had had a troubled and confusing few weeks as Jesus was arrested and crucified and then the events of the Resurrection. Jerusalem was not a safe place for Jesus’ followers, but that was where they had to wait. They knew something was going to happen, but they would not have known quite what. Fear of a difficult situation and the uncertainty that brings often makes us take a step back away. However, Jesus had left the disciples with a mission to fulfil and the means of fulfilling that mission was what they were waiting for, they could not do it without the presence of the Holy Spirit.
Reading the passage from John’s gospel and reflecting on the context the disciples found themselves in brings tremendous reassurance. Part of that great prayer of Jesus just before his betrayal where he has prayed to be returned to the glory he shared with God before creation, the disciples he will leave behind in the world though they are not of the world, consecrating them for their mission ahead. Now, he prays that all who believe in him ‘may be one’. This unity is rooted in the life of God; we share the unity that Jesus shared with God through the indwelling of the Holy Spirit. Jesus commanded us to ‘love one another’, that was no mere exhortation, but a challenge to share our life in God. We share the unity that Jesus has with God and the love that the disciples were commanded to have for one another so that we can continue the mission of the church. This love is a new love, it is of a sort that has never been fully experienced, it is a love that reveals itself only through the cross, completely unconditional and all consuming, and it is the love that we are called to share with one another, the love that holds us together in unity.
Two millennia ago, the church was a small, close-knit group of followers, huddled together in fear and anticipation of what would happen next. Today the church stretches across the globe, it has grown and developed and is now incredibly diverse – it seems unity is very far away. The phrase ‘that they may all be one’ is the central theme of the ecumenical movement; unity is constantly strived for despite our differences. However, structural or institutional unity is not what is sought; rather it is the relationship of unity, such as is found between the persons of the Trinity.
We have been reminded again of the divisions that exist not only between the denominations, but within the Anglican Communion itself, as Mary Glasspool is ordained as Bishop. I draw heart from the fact that despite the division in the Anglican Communion, the Anglican women have declared their desire to strive for unity within the Communion. I am also reminded of Paul’s words to the church in Ephesus:
‘For this reason I bow my knees before the Father, from whom every family in heaven and on earth takes its name. I pray that, according to the riches of his glory, he may grant that you may be strengthened in your inner being with power through his Spirit, and that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith, as you are being rooted and grounded in love. I pray that you may have the power to comprehend, with all the saints, what is the breadth and length and height and depth, and to know the love of Christ that surpasses knowledge, so that you may be filled with the fullness of God.’ (Ephesians 3. 14-19)
That passage strikes me as the perfect message for the whole of the church at this time, as much as Paul was writing for specific situations in the early church, I can’t help feeling that this is a message that it doesn’t hurt to be reminded of. We are all one, we are all the church, we are all one body. And we wait…..we wait for the reminder of the coming of the Holy Spirit at Pentecost, we wait for unity, we wait for mutual understanding, we wait for tolerance, we wait…..! The list is endless. We wait…but we never give up, or given in…and we trust that it is God who will prevail. We wait and we continue to strive for unity within the church.
‘Now to him who by the power at work within us is able to accomplish abundantly far more than all we can ask or imagine, to him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus to all generations, for ever and ever. Amen.’ (Ephesians 3. 20-21).
Sunday, May 9, 2010
Easter 6
A reflection Acts 16:9-15 for Easter 6 by The Rev. Karla Jean Miller
During the night Paul had a vision: there stood a man of Macedonia pleading with him and saying, “Come over to Macedonia and help us.” When he had seen the vision, we immediately tried to cross over to Macedonia, being convinced that God had called us to proclaim the good news to them.
We set sail from Troas and took a straight course to Samothrace, the following day to Neapolis, and from there to Philippi, which is a leading city of the district of Macedonia and a Roman colony. We remained in this city for some days. On the sabbath day we went outside the gate by the river, where we supposed there was a place of prayer; and we sat down and spoke to the women who had gathered there. A certain woman named Lydia, a worshiper of God, was listening to us; she was from the city of Thyatira and a dealer in purple cloth. The Lord opened her heart to listen eagerly to what was said by Paul. When she and her household were baptized, she urged us, saying, “If you have judged me to be faithful to the Lord, come and stay at my home.” And she prevailed upon us.
Prayer:
Mothering God, you gave us birth, you hold us safely in the shelter of your wings, you feed and nurture us with your Spirit and Grace. Feed us this morning, hold us this morning as we seek with open hearts your love. Amen.
There was a huge discussion this week on the RevGalBlogPals website as to how to approach worship on Mother’s Day. Do you go with a traditional Mother’s Day sermon (whatever that is?) Do you celebrate all women? What about women who aren’t mothers? What about those who have estranged relationships or no relationships with their mothers. What about those congregants who have recently lost their mothers…and what about those who longed to be a mother but couldn’t, or what about mother’s who have lost their children, or lost a pregnancy, or what about men who mother? Besides the fact that Mother’s Day isn’t even a church holy day or in the liturgical calendar, so should it be acknowledged, even? It’s a tangled web of what is politically correct, what tradition is, and how to be sensitive and honest.
As a woman who is NOT a biological mother and has a little bit of baggage about that, as well as being someone who mothers in many other ways, besides feeling so grateful for her and the many mothers in her life, all I can say is that I resonate with all of the questions flying ‘round the blogs. I think our hearts just need to be open for the contradictions and open to the pain and joy that can be overwhelming of this day. I am drawn, too, the open heart of Lydia, whom I have no idea was a mother or not, but her life was a set of contradictions that did not keep her from being transformed by the love of God.
In many seminaries, you can take a course on the Patristics , or, Fathers of the Church. Where I went to seminary, there was a whole reference room filled with translations of their writings. Sadly, there are no courses in Matristics, or Mothers of the Church, probably because women didn’t do a whole lot of writing back in the day—but there are many Mothers of the Church. We just have to look a little deeper into the texts, because often times, the stories of women are passed over, overshadowed by patriarchy and editing. Take our text today. A story of one of the many mission trips of Paul. It’s easy to focus on him in this story—he is fantastically courageous and certain in his faith. Who do you know has dreams about people in other countries, calling to him or her to come and help them, only to awaken, then wake up convinced that God is calling them make that dream a reality. Not many, for sure. If I have dreams about strangers calling to me, I wake up wondering what I ate that caused such a crazy dream. Not Paul, however. He was in touch and in tune with God’s call that he was able to make u-turns and boat-trips across oceans on a dime. This particular mission trip is packed with the best parts of Paul—who not only follows God’s lead, but is willing to go to the edges and fringes to find the least likely of converts—such as women praying at the river—to share the message of justice and hope of Jesus. This trip embodies one of Paul’s greatest revelations from Galatians 4—that there is no Jew or Greek, Male or Female, Slave or Free in Christ.
But Lydia, Lydia. To our contemporary ears, her story sounds fairly regular for a bible event. But there are several surprises in this text, if we dig deeper. Do you realize that you have just heard the story of the First Christian Convert in Europe—who was a Gentile, and a woman at that. (There is irony is this, don’t you think? That the first European Christian is a woman when European Christianity has for so long denied women from being leaders in the church?) Our information about Lydia is limited—some commentators think she had a family, a husband, and servants. Others argue that she was single, possibly a former slave. Most agree that she was a successful merchant, dealing in purple cloth that only the wealthy were permitted to wear. We know she was a former pagan who's studying to convert to Judaism, which is why the narrator calls her "a worshipper of God." We know that there are very few Jews in Phillipi, which is why we find the women down at the river, at the edge of town. There aren’t enough men to make a minyan—the required number to form a synagogue.
In spite of her wealth, and her elevated place in antiquity, we know this to be true: Lydia is hungry. Lydia is longing for nourishment. She has already affirmed a God that is compassionate and just, who knows her as a chosen one. She, too, is willing to go the fringe, the edge, in spite of who she is, in order to learn more, be filled more….seeking more Good News…
The Rev. Kate Huey puts it like this:
Lydia's open heart and mind can hear the good news and she can embrace the promises of God and know that those promises are for her, too, and for her whole household, her own people. She has such passion and, no doubt, energy, and, I like to think, maybe even some skills with preaching (after all, she talks Paul and his companions into accepting her invitation – even though she's a Gentile and that would have been a major problem for some folks); she has such passion that before this chapter sixteen is over, she's already gathered a group of sisters and brothers to be church right along with her, in her own house. She's not only the first Christian convert in Europe, but she's got herself a new church start – the first new church start in Europe, and it's by a woman, and a Gentile woman at that! Who would have ever thought it? (May I just mention here that nobody ever told me this kind of thing when I was a young girl growing up in the church? Are we telling our daughters these things?)
Lydia’s open heart led her to an unexpected place and to an unexpected discovery and to an unexpected twist in her life that was transformative.
We walk around, too often, with our hearts empty and closed, instead of wide open to possibility. The contradictions in life, suffering and sadness mingled with wishful thinking and half-hearted searching can be difficult to embrace. Empty hearts are o.k., I think—but locked up hearts aren’t.
I am wondering today, if your heart is open?
If it isn’t, what is keeping it locked? Can you find a shred of what it takes to at least crack it open?
If your heart is open, and you are searching for Good News, What are you hearing? What are you being touched by? Who are the unexpected gospel carriers among us?
Is it the long-time faithfulness of our elders that show us perseverance and trust can get you through most anything?
Is the good news the joy of a kindergartener marveling at a story bible?
The irony with the gospel, the good news of love and hope and justice and peace, is that is almost always discovered in the most unexpected, fringy parts of life. That’s why we need to allow ourselves to be mothered and nudged by Grace to keep our hearts open,
So we don’t miss out on the good news in life—
Who knows,
You might discover the grace of good news in your beloved,
Or in an unexpected moment where you stare out the window and see the clouds billowing in the sky as you look up from your computer.
It might be in the words of scripture, or the words of a seven year espousing wisdom about a cockroach like zen koan. (This happened to me this week).
It might be in a dream.
It might be down at the river.
It might be….(fill in the blank)
One thing I can promise…
With an open heart,
The good news will come.
Amen.
During the night Paul had a vision: there stood a man of Macedonia pleading with him and saying, “Come over to Macedonia and help us.” When he had seen the vision, we immediately tried to cross over to Macedonia, being convinced that God had called us to proclaim the good news to them.
We set sail from Troas and took a straight course to Samothrace, the following day to Neapolis, and from there to Philippi, which is a leading city of the district of Macedonia and a Roman colony. We remained in this city for some days. On the sabbath day we went outside the gate by the river, where we supposed there was a place of prayer; and we sat down and spoke to the women who had gathered there. A certain woman named Lydia, a worshiper of God, was listening to us; she was from the city of Thyatira and a dealer in purple cloth. The Lord opened her heart to listen eagerly to what was said by Paul. When she and her household were baptized, she urged us, saying, “If you have judged me to be faithful to the Lord, come and stay at my home.” And she prevailed upon us.
Prayer:
Mothering God, you gave us birth, you hold us safely in the shelter of your wings, you feed and nurture us with your Spirit and Grace. Feed us this morning, hold us this morning as we seek with open hearts your love. Amen.
There was a huge discussion this week on the RevGalBlogPals website as to how to approach worship on Mother’s Day. Do you go with a traditional Mother’s Day sermon (whatever that is?) Do you celebrate all women? What about women who aren’t mothers? What about those who have estranged relationships or no relationships with their mothers. What about those congregants who have recently lost their mothers…and what about those who longed to be a mother but couldn’t, or what about mother’s who have lost their children, or lost a pregnancy, or what about men who mother? Besides the fact that Mother’s Day isn’t even a church holy day or in the liturgical calendar, so should it be acknowledged, even? It’s a tangled web of what is politically correct, what tradition is, and how to be sensitive and honest.
As a woman who is NOT a biological mother and has a little bit of baggage about that, as well as being someone who mothers in many other ways, besides feeling so grateful for her and the many mothers in her life, all I can say is that I resonate with all of the questions flying ‘round the blogs. I think our hearts just need to be open for the contradictions and open to the pain and joy that can be overwhelming of this day. I am drawn, too, the open heart of Lydia, whom I have no idea was a mother or not, but her life was a set of contradictions that did not keep her from being transformed by the love of God.
In many seminaries, you can take a course on the Patristics , or, Fathers of the Church. Where I went to seminary, there was a whole reference room filled with translations of their writings. Sadly, there are no courses in Matristics, or Mothers of the Church, probably because women didn’t do a whole lot of writing back in the day—but there are many Mothers of the Church. We just have to look a little deeper into the texts, because often times, the stories of women are passed over, overshadowed by patriarchy and editing. Take our text today. A story of one of the many mission trips of Paul. It’s easy to focus on him in this story—he is fantastically courageous and certain in his faith. Who do you know has dreams about people in other countries, calling to him or her to come and help them, only to awaken, then wake up convinced that God is calling them make that dream a reality. Not many, for sure. If I have dreams about strangers calling to me, I wake up wondering what I ate that caused such a crazy dream. Not Paul, however. He was in touch and in tune with God’s call that he was able to make u-turns and boat-trips across oceans on a dime. This particular mission trip is packed with the best parts of Paul—who not only follows God’s lead, but is willing to go to the edges and fringes to find the least likely of converts—such as women praying at the river—to share the message of justice and hope of Jesus. This trip embodies one of Paul’s greatest revelations from Galatians 4—that there is no Jew or Greek, Male or Female, Slave or Free in Christ.
But Lydia, Lydia. To our contemporary ears, her story sounds fairly regular for a bible event. But there are several surprises in this text, if we dig deeper. Do you realize that you have just heard the story of the First Christian Convert in Europe—who was a Gentile, and a woman at that. (There is irony is this, don’t you think? That the first European Christian is a woman when European Christianity has for so long denied women from being leaders in the church?) Our information about Lydia is limited—some commentators think she had a family, a husband, and servants. Others argue that she was single, possibly a former slave. Most agree that she was a successful merchant, dealing in purple cloth that only the wealthy were permitted to wear. We know she was a former pagan who's studying to convert to Judaism, which is why the narrator calls her "a worshipper of God." We know that there are very few Jews in Phillipi, which is why we find the women down at the river, at the edge of town. There aren’t enough men to make a minyan—the required number to form a synagogue.
In spite of her wealth, and her elevated place in antiquity, we know this to be true: Lydia is hungry. Lydia is longing for nourishment. She has already affirmed a God that is compassionate and just, who knows her as a chosen one. She, too, is willing to go the fringe, the edge, in spite of who she is, in order to learn more, be filled more….seeking more Good News…
The Rev. Kate Huey puts it like this:
Lydia's open heart and mind can hear the good news and she can embrace the promises of God and know that those promises are for her, too, and for her whole household, her own people. She has such passion and, no doubt, energy, and, I like to think, maybe even some skills with preaching (after all, she talks Paul and his companions into accepting her invitation – even though she's a Gentile and that would have been a major problem for some folks); she has such passion that before this chapter sixteen is over, she's already gathered a group of sisters and brothers to be church right along with her, in her own house. She's not only the first Christian convert in Europe, but she's got herself a new church start – the first new church start in Europe, and it's by a woman, and a Gentile woman at that! Who would have ever thought it? (May I just mention here that nobody ever told me this kind of thing when I was a young girl growing up in the church? Are we telling our daughters these things?)
Lydia’s open heart led her to an unexpected place and to an unexpected discovery and to an unexpected twist in her life that was transformative.
We walk around, too often, with our hearts empty and closed, instead of wide open to possibility. The contradictions in life, suffering and sadness mingled with wishful thinking and half-hearted searching can be difficult to embrace. Empty hearts are o.k., I think—but locked up hearts aren’t.
I am wondering today, if your heart is open?
If it isn’t, what is keeping it locked? Can you find a shred of what it takes to at least crack it open?
If your heart is open, and you are searching for Good News, What are you hearing? What are you being touched by? Who are the unexpected gospel carriers among us?
Is it the long-time faithfulness of our elders that show us perseverance and trust can get you through most anything?
Is the good news the joy of a kindergartener marveling at a story bible?
The irony with the gospel, the good news of love and hope and justice and peace, is that is almost always discovered in the most unexpected, fringy parts of life. That’s why we need to allow ourselves to be mothered and nudged by Grace to keep our hearts open,
So we don’t miss out on the good news in life—
Who knows,
You might discover the grace of good news in your beloved,
Or in an unexpected moment where you stare out the window and see the clouds billowing in the sky as you look up from your computer.
It might be in the words of scripture, or the words of a seven year espousing wisdom about a cockroach like zen koan. (This happened to me this week).
It might be in a dream.
It might be down at the river.
It might be….(fill in the blank)
One thing I can promise…
With an open heart,
The good news will come.
Amen.
Sunday, May 2, 2010
Easter 5C
Easter 5C
Acts 11:1-18
Psalm 148
Revelation 21:1-6
John 13:31-35
A reflection by Janine Goodwin, M.A., M.S. Ed.
One day a few years ago, when I was working as a substitute teacher, I was talking to a middle school boy during a break at the end of a special education class. I forget how the conversation began, but I remember we were talking about possible ways to deal with a conflict. I suggested there might be a way everyone could get what they needed. The memory becomes painfully clear after that. His young face went rigid with anger.
In a voice of complete certainty, he said, “No. My dad told me: You can either win or lose. You either give orders, or obey.”
“You really believe there’s nothing else?” I asked.
“That’s all there is,” he said, and I thought I saw despair in his eyes, somewhere behind his scorn at my crazy question.
The bell rang. He grabbed his books and walked on to his next class, bumping shoulders with a buddy and grinning, a boy doing his best in a school system not designed for his needs.
I thought of the famous line Milton gives to Satan in Paradise Lost:
“Better to reign in Hell than serve in Heaven.” I did not see the boy as being like Satan, but I felt he was living in a hell he had inherited from his father. It is a hell in which many of us grew up. It is the hell of the eternal power struggle, where no real love can live. In that place, anyone’s gain must be someone else’s loss, and everyone, no matter what their relationship might be, was in competition with everyone else for the one prize: control.
This kind of thinking makes perfect sense, if you accept its premises:
first, that there is only a limited amount of power available; second, that power is always and only power over others, the power of control; and third, that it is good to have the power to control others.
Fortunately, the perfect love that Jesus shows us doesn’t make perfect sense by those premises. Jesus, in this gospel passage, has a whole different set of premises. Those premises are that God’s love is infinite; that we can make a life of mutual service in community rather than trying to defeat or control each other; and that God does not control us, but gives us the freedom to choose, even when we make choices that are evil.
In feminist terms, God is not interested in the power of control, power-over, but in the power of creativity, power-to.
In the beginning of the chapter from which this week’s Gospel is taken, Jesus washes his disciples’ feet, taking on a task so humble that Jewish law of the time declared that it could not be required of a Jewish slave.
Only a Gentile slave could be forced to wash the feet of others. Jesus washes his followers’ feet over the objections of Peter, a disciple with some interesting control issues: Peter is always trying to tell Jesus what to do and how to be. After washing the disciples’ feet and telling them to love each other, Jesus predicts his own betrayal; instead of destroying Judas, he offers him a morsel of food, a generous and intimate gesture that reminds us of the Eucharist. Then Satan enters Judas. Some people of faith and even some ancient documents claim that God forced Judas’s choice, but to me, the entire meaning of this passage says otherwise.
Jesus lays down power-over at every point in this chapter. The Jesus who washes his disciples’ feet is not a puppetmaster, but one who offers love even to one whom he knows is planning to betray him. I believe Judas has made a free choice to betray Jesus. When evil enters Judas, it is by invitation, through one choice influenced by a lifetime of choices. Jesus may know and accept his choice, may even tell him to go ahead, but Jesus does not force that choice. Jesus is not in a conspiracy with Judas, either; by this point in his ministry, there are plenty of people who want to kill him, and there is no need to engineer his own death. Jesus lets the world act, but does not force it to act. He sees what is coming, and chooses not to exert control over it.
Jesus dies because people who believe in control see him getting out of control. They see him calling for mercy where they want vengeance, and calling for justice when the powers that be would rather demand compliance with their own unjust systems. Jesus is crucified by our need to control God; he dies because he will not choose to control or to be controlled.
Jesus dies for power-to, and he is sentenced and executed by power-over.
He could take the morsel and decided to stay, could have confess and change his mind.
When Judas has accepted a gift of love, chosen evil, and left, Jesus turns to his disciples. He does not talk of power-over, of being a victim of the power of others, or even of winning in the end. He talks of God’s glory, in words that also hold the meaning of truth revealed. Jesus will be lifted up upon the cross so that God’s glory can be known. The glory of God has nothing to do with competition or power struggles, and everything to do with love. The response Jesus wants to God’s paradoxical glory is love. The disciples are to love one another as he has loved them. They are to exemplify the power he has given them, a power that is not about control but is about healing, about the immense creativity of the parables, about the divine justice and mercy which are so unlike our vengeful and cowardly ways of dealing with each other. The power of God is power-to, not power-over. It is about the freedom to love, not the urge to control.
Peter misses the point entirely. He drops the command to love one another and the promise that God’s glory will be revealed even in the crucifixion, and goes back to the words, “Where I am going, you cannot come.” He cannot accept a No from Jesus, and he tries to start an argument. “Where are you going?” he asks. Jesus repeats that Peter cannot follow him--yet. Peter insists that he will come with Jesus. Can you hear the power struggle? It is an echo of his argument with Jesus over the footwashing, when he first tells Jesus not to wash his feet, then tells him to wash his hands and head as well. Peter is always trying to control Jesus. Despite his loyalty and his love of Jesus, he is still playing the power games where one wins and one loses, and he wants to be the one who wins, even when he tries to make Jesus the other player. Now he pleads with Jesus to let him follow, not later, but now, saying, “I will lay down my life for you.”
Jesus knows his people. He does not play the game, but confronts Peter with Peter’s inability to keep his own grandiose promises. His response is not, “Because I said so,” but, “Will you lay down your life for me? Before the cock crows, you will have denied me three times.” Once again, I believe that Peter is not forced to deny Jesus, but Jesus knows him and knows how he will act; knows he will be unable to stay away from the turmoil resulting from Judas’s betrayal, but will also be unable, in the end, to risk death for Jesus before he has seen the proof of the Resurrection.
In reading this passage, I used to see Judas as irredeemably evil and Peter as misguided but basically good. The longer I study it, the less I feel inclined to make that simple opposition. Yes, Judas chooses evil and does evil. The spirit of evil enters him by his choice, yet he stays human, and that means he could repent if he chose. Peter does not make an open choice for evil, but he is making dangerous choices against faith, choices that could break his relationship with Jesus if he persists: he tries to control Jesus, and then denies him. What, then, is the difference between Judas and Peter?
I think it is this: Judas leaves the table, and Peter stays. Judas removes himself from Jesus and the other disciples: Peter, for all his wrongheaded attempts to get Jesus to do things his way, for all his failures, stays at the table and stays as close to Jesus as he can. He repents of his denial as soon as he comes to himself, and even though he wavers, he stays part of the community of faith. In the end, Peter chooses to accept the news of the Resurrection when Mary Magdalene preaches it. He gives up his attempts to tell Jesus how to run things, and finally listens when Jesus says, “Do you love me? Feed my sheep.” Judas never appears again in this Gospel. He chooses not to be part of the new thing God is doing. In twelve-step terms, Peter obeys the saying many people hear at twelve-step meetings:
“Keep coming back! It works if you work it!” I can only hope that the student I met one day when I was substituting has found some community where he can learn to keep coming back and discover that there is more to relationships between people than control.
The Resurrection tells us that power-to transcended the power struggle and brought new life into the world. Jesus waits to give power-to to us, our families, our churches, our workplaces, if we are ready to refuse the forces of power-over. The risks of confronting power-over are great. Many people have lost families when they confronted abuse, been pushed out of churches when they called for change, lost their jobs when they blew the whistle or just suggested a more humane way to do things. Many have been killed when they confronted tyrants. Yet they have brought the power of the Resurrection into the world by their actions. When we give up the struggle for power over others, when we give up the habit of telling God how to run the world, when we turn to each other with our limited ability to care and cope and our very partial understanding of what God asks of us, we are serving the reign of God, and the crucified and resurrected Jesus is glorified. Thanks be to God.
Acts 11:1-18
Psalm 148
Revelation 21:1-6
John 13:31-35
A reflection by Janine Goodwin, M.A., M.S. Ed.
One day a few years ago, when I was working as a substitute teacher, I was talking to a middle school boy during a break at the end of a special education class. I forget how the conversation began, but I remember we were talking about possible ways to deal with a conflict. I suggested there might be a way everyone could get what they needed. The memory becomes painfully clear after that. His young face went rigid with anger.
In a voice of complete certainty, he said, “No. My dad told me: You can either win or lose. You either give orders, or obey.”
“You really believe there’s nothing else?” I asked.
“That’s all there is,” he said, and I thought I saw despair in his eyes, somewhere behind his scorn at my crazy question.
The bell rang. He grabbed his books and walked on to his next class, bumping shoulders with a buddy and grinning, a boy doing his best in a school system not designed for his needs.
I thought of the famous line Milton gives to Satan in Paradise Lost:
“Better to reign in Hell than serve in Heaven.” I did not see the boy as being like Satan, but I felt he was living in a hell he had inherited from his father. It is a hell in which many of us grew up. It is the hell of the eternal power struggle, where no real love can live. In that place, anyone’s gain must be someone else’s loss, and everyone, no matter what their relationship might be, was in competition with everyone else for the one prize: control.
This kind of thinking makes perfect sense, if you accept its premises:
first, that there is only a limited amount of power available; second, that power is always and only power over others, the power of control; and third, that it is good to have the power to control others.
Fortunately, the perfect love that Jesus shows us doesn’t make perfect sense by those premises. Jesus, in this gospel passage, has a whole different set of premises. Those premises are that God’s love is infinite; that we can make a life of mutual service in community rather than trying to defeat or control each other; and that God does not control us, but gives us the freedom to choose, even when we make choices that are evil.
In feminist terms, God is not interested in the power of control, power-over, but in the power of creativity, power-to.
In the beginning of the chapter from which this week’s Gospel is taken, Jesus washes his disciples’ feet, taking on a task so humble that Jewish law of the time declared that it could not be required of a Jewish slave.
Only a Gentile slave could be forced to wash the feet of others. Jesus washes his followers’ feet over the objections of Peter, a disciple with some interesting control issues: Peter is always trying to tell Jesus what to do and how to be. After washing the disciples’ feet and telling them to love each other, Jesus predicts his own betrayal; instead of destroying Judas, he offers him a morsel of food, a generous and intimate gesture that reminds us of the Eucharist. Then Satan enters Judas. Some people of faith and even some ancient documents claim that God forced Judas’s choice, but to me, the entire meaning of this passage says otherwise.
Jesus lays down power-over at every point in this chapter. The Jesus who washes his disciples’ feet is not a puppetmaster, but one who offers love even to one whom he knows is planning to betray him. I believe Judas has made a free choice to betray Jesus. When evil enters Judas, it is by invitation, through one choice influenced by a lifetime of choices. Jesus may know and accept his choice, may even tell him to go ahead, but Jesus does not force that choice. Jesus is not in a conspiracy with Judas, either; by this point in his ministry, there are plenty of people who want to kill him, and there is no need to engineer his own death. Jesus lets the world act, but does not force it to act. He sees what is coming, and chooses not to exert control over it.
Jesus dies because people who believe in control see him getting out of control. They see him calling for mercy where they want vengeance, and calling for justice when the powers that be would rather demand compliance with their own unjust systems. Jesus is crucified by our need to control God; he dies because he will not choose to control or to be controlled.
Jesus dies for power-to, and he is sentenced and executed by power-over.
He could take the morsel and decided to stay, could have confess and change his mind.
When Judas has accepted a gift of love, chosen evil, and left, Jesus turns to his disciples. He does not talk of power-over, of being a victim of the power of others, or even of winning in the end. He talks of God’s glory, in words that also hold the meaning of truth revealed. Jesus will be lifted up upon the cross so that God’s glory can be known. The glory of God has nothing to do with competition or power struggles, and everything to do with love. The response Jesus wants to God’s paradoxical glory is love. The disciples are to love one another as he has loved them. They are to exemplify the power he has given them, a power that is not about control but is about healing, about the immense creativity of the parables, about the divine justice and mercy which are so unlike our vengeful and cowardly ways of dealing with each other. The power of God is power-to, not power-over. It is about the freedom to love, not the urge to control.
Peter misses the point entirely. He drops the command to love one another and the promise that God’s glory will be revealed even in the crucifixion, and goes back to the words, “Where I am going, you cannot come.” He cannot accept a No from Jesus, and he tries to start an argument. “Where are you going?” he asks. Jesus repeats that Peter cannot follow him--yet. Peter insists that he will come with Jesus. Can you hear the power struggle? It is an echo of his argument with Jesus over the footwashing, when he first tells Jesus not to wash his feet, then tells him to wash his hands and head as well. Peter is always trying to control Jesus. Despite his loyalty and his love of Jesus, he is still playing the power games where one wins and one loses, and he wants to be the one who wins, even when he tries to make Jesus the other player. Now he pleads with Jesus to let him follow, not later, but now, saying, “I will lay down my life for you.”
Jesus knows his people. He does not play the game, but confronts Peter with Peter’s inability to keep his own grandiose promises. His response is not, “Because I said so,” but, “Will you lay down your life for me? Before the cock crows, you will have denied me three times.” Once again, I believe that Peter is not forced to deny Jesus, but Jesus knows him and knows how he will act; knows he will be unable to stay away from the turmoil resulting from Judas’s betrayal, but will also be unable, in the end, to risk death for Jesus before he has seen the proof of the Resurrection.
In reading this passage, I used to see Judas as irredeemably evil and Peter as misguided but basically good. The longer I study it, the less I feel inclined to make that simple opposition. Yes, Judas chooses evil and does evil. The spirit of evil enters him by his choice, yet he stays human, and that means he could repent if he chose. Peter does not make an open choice for evil, but he is making dangerous choices against faith, choices that could break his relationship with Jesus if he persists: he tries to control Jesus, and then denies him. What, then, is the difference between Judas and Peter?
I think it is this: Judas leaves the table, and Peter stays. Judas removes himself from Jesus and the other disciples: Peter, for all his wrongheaded attempts to get Jesus to do things his way, for all his failures, stays at the table and stays as close to Jesus as he can. He repents of his denial as soon as he comes to himself, and even though he wavers, he stays part of the community of faith. In the end, Peter chooses to accept the news of the Resurrection when Mary Magdalene preaches it. He gives up his attempts to tell Jesus how to run things, and finally listens when Jesus says, “Do you love me? Feed my sheep.” Judas never appears again in this Gospel. He chooses not to be part of the new thing God is doing. In twelve-step terms, Peter obeys the saying many people hear at twelve-step meetings:
“Keep coming back! It works if you work it!” I can only hope that the student I met one day when I was substituting has found some community where he can learn to keep coming back and discover that there is more to relationships between people than control.
The Resurrection tells us that power-to transcended the power struggle and brought new life into the world. Jesus waits to give power-to to us, our families, our churches, our workplaces, if we are ready to refuse the forces of power-over. The risks of confronting power-over are great. Many people have lost families when they confronted abuse, been pushed out of churches when they called for change, lost their jobs when they blew the whistle or just suggested a more humane way to do things. Many have been killed when they confronted tyrants. Yet they have brought the power of the Resurrection into the world by their actions. When we give up the struggle for power over others, when we give up the habit of telling God how to run the world, when we turn to each other with our limited ability to care and cope and our very partial understanding of what God asks of us, we are serving the reign of God, and the crucified and resurrected Jesus is glorified. Thanks be to God.
Friday, April 16, 2010
Easter 3
Blog post for Easter 3C 2010: Acts 9:1-6, 7-20, John 21:1-19 by The Rev. Dr. Kate Hennessy
Conversion seems to be the theme of the day. Of course it’s obvious in the story of Saul that we have been hearing as long as we have been going to church. This tormentor of the early Christians is knocked from his horse, blinded by a light from heaven, and hears a voice that he comes to identify as the Jesus he has been persecuting. After three days without sight and food, he is transformed and converted. As a sign of his conversion he is baptized and then, we are told, “Immediately” goes out and begins proclaiming that Jesus is the son of God. We know from the “rest of the story” that he became Paul, Apostle, evangelist and martyr.
Those are the kinds of conversion tales that we might be used to. Dramatic tales of coming from darkness to light, not knowing to knowing, a complete turning of a way of life from one thing to another…once and for all. But of course not all conversions are like that.
In the Saul conversion story is another slightly less dramatic one…Ananias, who appears to be already on a first name basis with God seems to have to undergo a little conversion as part of that tale, too. For despite Ananias’ obvious recognition of the Lord when he spoke to him, he seemed to have a little problem with trust when it came to doing what the Lord requested. “Oh, no….not Saul…I have heard about HIM….he’s a bad actor….” God has to do a little work with Ananias, before he is willing to see things God’s way and go out and minister to Saul. Ananias has his own little conversion experience here, too. Less flashy and dramatic, but no less important in his relationship with his God. No less important in his own formation as a disciple.
And speaking of the disciples….our Gospel this morning finds them again wandering about in need of a bit of their own conversion. We know that it is sometime after Jesus has appeared the second time to the disciples, and a group of the disciples decided to go fishing. Not too strange. They were, after all, fishermen. This must have been an odd time for them. Still in their minds was the memory of Jesus’ death. They knew one of their own had handed him over. Possibly they were remembering their own behavior during his trial and crucifixion. May they were thinking about their confusion and joy when it became clear to them that Jesus was in some very real way alive among them again after the resurrection, talking and teaching again, wishing them peace, talking about forgiveness and the Spirit being among them. You know, I’m guessing that even though the disciples were thrilled to have Jesus with them, they also were somewhat disconcerted and puzzled, and maybe they not quite sure what to make of it all. Remember, these are the fellows who didn’t take direction very well when Jesus was right there alive with them, and were fairly clueless about his, and their, mission. Simply having the post-resurrection Jesus with them didn’t make them get purposeful! So, it seems they did what we tend to do when we aren’t really sure of the right thing to do…they fell back on the thing they knew, the thing that they were sure of and in which they felt comfortable. And who knows, they might have just been hungry and broke and needed to earn a few denarii besides!
Among them is Peter. Peter who very soon after encountering Jesus for the first time falls to his knees and says “Go away from me, Lord, for I am a sinful man!" Peter, who when he sees Jesus walking toward him on the water says . "Lord, if it is you, command me to come to you on the water." But then who a few minutes later is sputtering in the waves, half drowned, having panicked and lost faith. Peter, the one who, when Jesus inquires about who it is the disciples believe him to be blurts out, "You are the Messiah, the Son of the living God." Peter who wants to build tents at the transfiguration. Peter, who like the others, falls asleep when Jesus asks them to watch with him. Peter, who asserts "Even though I must die with you, I will not deny you.” Hotheaded Peter, who on the day Jesus was arrested cut off the ear of the high-priest’s slave to defend Jesus, and within hours denied that he ever heard of Jesus, to save his own skin.
Oh-so-human Peter, who, in today’s Gospel, when he realizes it is Jesus on the shore, jumps into the sea and lets the rest of the disciples haul in the catch. This catch so reminiscent of the one on the first day they met Jesus. He must of have been thinking of that day. I wonder what else he was thinking. About the crucifixion and his part in that whole awful drama? Was he wishing that he could turn back the clock and have a “do over?” Was he thinking, “How will it be with us when I meet Jesus one on one again, how can I face Him, what will I say, what will HE say?” We have no record if Jesus spoke with Him at the other gatherings, but we know that today, Peter and Jesus do come face to face.
Jesus has fed them, and when they finished, Jesus turns to Peter. “Simon, son of John,” Jesus addresses him by his full name, “do you love me more than these.” These? These what? These other fellows around us? These boats and nets that he used to catch the fish he made his living with? We don’t know. Jesus is not specific. But Peter knew. And he answered Jesus, “Yes, Lord, You know that I love you.” And Jesus responds with a charge for Peter....”Feed my lambs.” But once is not enough for Jesus with Peter. Once is not enough to ask, “Do you love me?” Again, Jesus asks, “Peter, do you love me?” Peter answers again in the affirmative, and again, Jesus gives him a task, telling him to “Tend my sheep.” And again a third time, Jesus asks Peter, “Simon, son of John, do you love me?” And Peter, God love him, is hurt at that, that Jesus needs to keep asking. Oh, How quickly we can forget our own failures and betrayals! Ever been there? “Oh, How could ask me, you KNOW I love you!” But Jesus never loses either His patience or His focus. Again, He responds with the task, “Feed my sheep,”
Yes, this is a conversion story, too. That day on the beach Peter was healed, reconciled, converted and called again to his life. He knew beyond a doubt that day on the beach with Jesus that he was forgiven and reconnected to Jesus. He experienced that his act of betrayal was wiped away by a power that was stronger than anything he had ever known before. We know from the “rest of the story” that Peter did indeed follow the call and that he did become a leader in the new faith movement that followed Pentecost and that he did die a martyr’s death “to glorify God.”
Peter often ends up serving as a kind of alter-ego for me. Often when I encounter Jesus, my first thoughts are how absolutely unworthy I am, and my first inclination is to run away, afraid somehow that He will see and reject my sinful self. Forgetting of course that He created me, loves me, knows and graces me, not in spite of who I am but because of it.
I am this Peter who has in one moment such faith, believing that if Jesus commanded it, I too could walk on water, and in the next, screaming in fear and sinking in the waves. And somehow, I believe I am not alone in this!
So sure one breath that God is who God is, but then in the next, faltering, confused, questioning and unsure.
I too have a hard time staying awake, staying conscious, paying attention in the way God asks of me. It is too hard sometimes, too painful to see the things God asks me to pay attention to, listen to, have compassion for, do something about. So, like Peter and his friends, I fall asleep.
And like Peter, it is so much easier to just haul out my sword and whack off someone’s appendages (figuratively of course—we ARE in Minnesota) than it is to stand by quietly and own the truth. Yes, I do stand for Jesus. Yes I am with Him. And with them, too. Those He touched, and ate with, championed and healed. Yes, I am here for them, too.
And, like Peter when I realize it is Jesus on the shore of my life calling me back, I want to hide myself, run away, have a do over. But like there was for Peter, there is something in that invitation that is so gentle, so welcoming, so full of grace and peace….come and eat, be fed….that I, that we cannot resist. And so we do come and are fed. And the conversation can begin….”Do you love me”….not once the question is asked but again and again until the answer satisfies. And not simply “do you love me” but do you love me MORE THAN THESE. Peter knew what it meant. What “these” were. Friends. Boats. Nets. Fish. Being “Peter the guy who catches the most and shiniest fish on Tiberius.” Whatever it was, he knew. We know. And Jesus asks us, “Do you love me more than them?” Hard question. Scary question. Question requiring something in the answer.
And then, if we answer yes, what happens? We are given a task, work….and not easy work. The work that Jesus did…the care and feeding of the least and the hardest. The stuff that got him killed, and he wants us to participate in it, too. It’s no wonder by the third time Jesus asked him, Peter was feeling sad. Two weeks out from “He is risen Alleluia!” and we are into the hard nitty gritty of the gospel. We are called to the task of creating God’s kingdom on earth. We are fitted to this task not by virtue of our own great strength or virtue but by grace. God’s promise to us is not that that it will not be hard work, that there will be no struggle, no pain, no times when we will fall flat on our very human little faces. But God’s very real promise to us is that in the resurrected incarnated redeemer, we have a risen One who has destroyed the power of death, the “big d” Death and our own little daily deaths. God says to us in Jesus that He asks us to do nothing that has not already been done for us. This is what we say “Alleluia” about!
Peter finally understood. No fear is too great to overcome, no sin too great to be forgiven. This Love, indeed, conquers all. And so we -- like Saul the persecutor who became Paul the Disciple, like Ananias, like Peter, and every other follower who has been converted and transformed by the grace of God can join the psalmist in proclaiming: "You have turned my mourning into dancing....O Lord, my God, I will give thanks to you forever!"
So accompanied by them and all of those in the great cloud of converted witnesses before us, we go back once again to the sea shore. Breakfast has ended, and Jesus calls us by our name and asks, “Do you love me more than these? Do you love me? Do you love me? Feed my lambs, tend my sheep, feed my sheep.”
Conversion seems to be the theme of the day. Of course it’s obvious in the story of Saul that we have been hearing as long as we have been going to church. This tormentor of the early Christians is knocked from his horse, blinded by a light from heaven, and hears a voice that he comes to identify as the Jesus he has been persecuting. After three days without sight and food, he is transformed and converted. As a sign of his conversion he is baptized and then, we are told, “Immediately” goes out and begins proclaiming that Jesus is the son of God. We know from the “rest of the story” that he became Paul, Apostle, evangelist and martyr.
Those are the kinds of conversion tales that we might be used to. Dramatic tales of coming from darkness to light, not knowing to knowing, a complete turning of a way of life from one thing to another…once and for all. But of course not all conversions are like that.
In the Saul conversion story is another slightly less dramatic one…Ananias, who appears to be already on a first name basis with God seems to have to undergo a little conversion as part of that tale, too. For despite Ananias’ obvious recognition of the Lord when he spoke to him, he seemed to have a little problem with trust when it came to doing what the Lord requested. “Oh, no….not Saul…I have heard about HIM….he’s a bad actor….” God has to do a little work with Ananias, before he is willing to see things God’s way and go out and minister to Saul. Ananias has his own little conversion experience here, too. Less flashy and dramatic, but no less important in his relationship with his God. No less important in his own formation as a disciple.
And speaking of the disciples….our Gospel this morning finds them again wandering about in need of a bit of their own conversion. We know that it is sometime after Jesus has appeared the second time to the disciples, and a group of the disciples decided to go fishing. Not too strange. They were, after all, fishermen. This must have been an odd time for them. Still in their minds was the memory of Jesus’ death. They knew one of their own had handed him over. Possibly they were remembering their own behavior during his trial and crucifixion. May they were thinking about their confusion and joy when it became clear to them that Jesus was in some very real way alive among them again after the resurrection, talking and teaching again, wishing them peace, talking about forgiveness and the Spirit being among them. You know, I’m guessing that even though the disciples were thrilled to have Jesus with them, they also were somewhat disconcerted and puzzled, and maybe they not quite sure what to make of it all. Remember, these are the fellows who didn’t take direction very well when Jesus was right there alive with them, and were fairly clueless about his, and their, mission. Simply having the post-resurrection Jesus with them didn’t make them get purposeful! So, it seems they did what we tend to do when we aren’t really sure of the right thing to do…they fell back on the thing they knew, the thing that they were sure of and in which they felt comfortable. And who knows, they might have just been hungry and broke and needed to earn a few denarii besides!
Among them is Peter. Peter who very soon after encountering Jesus for the first time falls to his knees and says “Go away from me, Lord, for I am a sinful man!" Peter, who when he sees Jesus walking toward him on the water says . "Lord, if it is you, command me to come to you on the water." But then who a few minutes later is sputtering in the waves, half drowned, having panicked and lost faith. Peter, the one who, when Jesus inquires about who it is the disciples believe him to be blurts out, "You are the Messiah, the Son of the living God." Peter who wants to build tents at the transfiguration. Peter, who like the others, falls asleep when Jesus asks them to watch with him. Peter, who asserts "Even though I must die with you, I will not deny you.” Hotheaded Peter, who on the day Jesus was arrested cut off the ear of the high-priest’s slave to defend Jesus, and within hours denied that he ever heard of Jesus, to save his own skin.
Oh-so-human Peter, who, in today’s Gospel, when he realizes it is Jesus on the shore, jumps into the sea and lets the rest of the disciples haul in the catch. This catch so reminiscent of the one on the first day they met Jesus. He must of have been thinking of that day. I wonder what else he was thinking. About the crucifixion and his part in that whole awful drama? Was he wishing that he could turn back the clock and have a “do over?” Was he thinking, “How will it be with us when I meet Jesus one on one again, how can I face Him, what will I say, what will HE say?” We have no record if Jesus spoke with Him at the other gatherings, but we know that today, Peter and Jesus do come face to face.
Jesus has fed them, and when they finished, Jesus turns to Peter. “Simon, son of John,” Jesus addresses him by his full name, “do you love me more than these.” These? These what? These other fellows around us? These boats and nets that he used to catch the fish he made his living with? We don’t know. Jesus is not specific. But Peter knew. And he answered Jesus, “Yes, Lord, You know that I love you.” And Jesus responds with a charge for Peter....”Feed my lambs.” But once is not enough for Jesus with Peter. Once is not enough to ask, “Do you love me?” Again, Jesus asks, “Peter, do you love me?” Peter answers again in the affirmative, and again, Jesus gives him a task, telling him to “Tend my sheep.” And again a third time, Jesus asks Peter, “Simon, son of John, do you love me?” And Peter, God love him, is hurt at that, that Jesus needs to keep asking. Oh, How quickly we can forget our own failures and betrayals! Ever been there? “Oh, How could ask me, you KNOW I love you!” But Jesus never loses either His patience or His focus. Again, He responds with the task, “Feed my sheep,”
Yes, this is a conversion story, too. That day on the beach Peter was healed, reconciled, converted and called again to his life. He knew beyond a doubt that day on the beach with Jesus that he was forgiven and reconnected to Jesus. He experienced that his act of betrayal was wiped away by a power that was stronger than anything he had ever known before. We know from the “rest of the story” that Peter did indeed follow the call and that he did become a leader in the new faith movement that followed Pentecost and that he did die a martyr’s death “to glorify God.”
Peter often ends up serving as a kind of alter-ego for me. Often when I encounter Jesus, my first thoughts are how absolutely unworthy I am, and my first inclination is to run away, afraid somehow that He will see and reject my sinful self. Forgetting of course that He created me, loves me, knows and graces me, not in spite of who I am but because of it.
I am this Peter who has in one moment such faith, believing that if Jesus commanded it, I too could walk on water, and in the next, screaming in fear and sinking in the waves. And somehow, I believe I am not alone in this!
So sure one breath that God is who God is, but then in the next, faltering, confused, questioning and unsure.
I too have a hard time staying awake, staying conscious, paying attention in the way God asks of me. It is too hard sometimes, too painful to see the things God asks me to pay attention to, listen to, have compassion for, do something about. So, like Peter and his friends, I fall asleep.
And like Peter, it is so much easier to just haul out my sword and whack off someone’s appendages (figuratively of course—we ARE in Minnesota) than it is to stand by quietly and own the truth. Yes, I do stand for Jesus. Yes I am with Him. And with them, too. Those He touched, and ate with, championed and healed. Yes, I am here for them, too.
And, like Peter when I realize it is Jesus on the shore of my life calling me back, I want to hide myself, run away, have a do over. But like there was for Peter, there is something in that invitation that is so gentle, so welcoming, so full of grace and peace….come and eat, be fed….that I, that we cannot resist. And so we do come and are fed. And the conversation can begin….”Do you love me”….not once the question is asked but again and again until the answer satisfies. And not simply “do you love me” but do you love me MORE THAN THESE. Peter knew what it meant. What “these” were. Friends. Boats. Nets. Fish. Being “Peter the guy who catches the most and shiniest fish on Tiberius.” Whatever it was, he knew. We know. And Jesus asks us, “Do you love me more than them?” Hard question. Scary question. Question requiring something in the answer.
And then, if we answer yes, what happens? We are given a task, work….and not easy work. The work that Jesus did…the care and feeding of the least and the hardest. The stuff that got him killed, and he wants us to participate in it, too. It’s no wonder by the third time Jesus asked him, Peter was feeling sad. Two weeks out from “He is risen Alleluia!” and we are into the hard nitty gritty of the gospel. We are called to the task of creating God’s kingdom on earth. We are fitted to this task not by virtue of our own great strength or virtue but by grace. God’s promise to us is not that that it will not be hard work, that there will be no struggle, no pain, no times when we will fall flat on our very human little faces. But God’s very real promise to us is that in the resurrected incarnated redeemer, we have a risen One who has destroyed the power of death, the “big d” Death and our own little daily deaths. God says to us in Jesus that He asks us to do nothing that has not already been done for us. This is what we say “Alleluia” about!
Peter finally understood. No fear is too great to overcome, no sin too great to be forgiven. This Love, indeed, conquers all. And so we -- like Saul the persecutor who became Paul the Disciple, like Ananias, like Peter, and every other follower who has been converted and transformed by the grace of God can join the psalmist in proclaiming: "You have turned my mourning into dancing....O Lord, my God, I will give thanks to you forever!"
So accompanied by them and all of those in the great cloud of converted witnesses before us, we go back once again to the sea shore. Breakfast has ended, and Jesus calls us by our name and asks, “Do you love me more than these? Do you love me? Do you love me? Feed my lambs, tend my sheep, feed my sheep.”
Saturday, April 10, 2010
Easter 2
“When it was evening that day, the first day of the week the doors of the house where the disciples met were locked for fear...”a reflection on the Gospel for Easter 2: John 20:19-31 by The Rev. Terri C. Pilarski
As this gospel reading begins we are in the evening of Easter Day. Jesus first appears to the disciples that very night. And he finds them hiding in fear. Their fear is justified, of course. Any of us would do the same thing if we had lived through the same three days as these disciples. If our friend had been killed, if we had abandoned that friend in her hour of need, if we had learned that somehow that friend was now alive – or something – because the body was missing. We’d be traumatized and afraid of what was coming next. Whenever we experience a series of bad events coming at us quickly, events that leave us suffering and confused we tend to shut down and hide in fear. It’s natural.
Several years ago Joan Chittister spoke on the subject of suffering at a conference at Chautauqua in New York State. Her presentation “Scarred by Struggle, Transformed by Hope, the 9 Gifts of Suffering” has now been printed in a book by the same title.
The premise is that all people suffer. Each of us has this one common denominator in life, times of suffering. They come she says, just when we think life is perfect. Wham. Everything changes. Someone dies. Someone get sick. Depression hits. A job is lost. The list could continue on. We all suffer when life changes dramatically for unexpected reasons when we least expect it. These struggles are not just some mere inconvenience. These struggles are irreparable change. Life will never be the same again.
And the point is, how do we go about living through these times of great suffering with out giving up the soul?
She lists 9 struggles and the gift that comes from the struggle. By gift she means what we learn about ourselves, our lives, our faith, by living through the struggle.
The first struggle is change. Struggle brings unwanted change. The disciples have faced an unbelievable change: Jesus has been crucified. From this place of profound change comes the gift of conversion, we learn to recreate ourselves. For the disciples this struggle began with them running away but led to the resurrection. Throughout the Easter season, for the next seven weeks, we will hear resurrection stories in our Gospel. On Pentecost we learn that these stories led to a conversion of strength and courage in the disciples. It was the disciples new found strength, enlivened by the Holy Spirit, that built the Church. And from the early church came a legacy of human transformation that has lived over 2000 years.
The second is isolation. The struggle leaves us feeling alone, and in deep pain. The disciples are hiding in the room with the doors locked. They are hiding in fear. From isolation comes the gift of independence. Actively working to move through our suffering days leads us to a place where we can become independent from our pain, we learn to insist on living despite the pain. Anyone who has lived with a chronic illness or suffered for a long time knows this reality. Buddhists call this “mindfulness” having an observing eye, able to look with some detachment at the circumstances of one’s life even as one lives and feels life fully.
The third is darkness and its gift is faith. In the darkness of losing everything we come to believe in a life beyond the life we know, something greater than we are is acting in the world. On our darkest days it’s that something that gets us up in the morning. God stays with us in these dark moments. We are not abandoned. Jesus returns to the disciples, finds them in their darkest moment, in this room, and assures them that they are not alone. He is with them always. “My peace I give to you. My peace I leave with you.” His resurrected body bears the marks of his tragic death , resurrection did not remove the marks. Those marks of suffering remain and become part of his new life.
Forth is fear. In our struggle we face things we do not understand and cannot name. We are paralyzed by our unknowing, but in moving through the fear we come to know the gift of courage. Every tiny act of courage: getting out of bed in the morning. Going to work each day. Seeking help. Each step we take to move through the fear produces in us a little bit of courage. Each little step puts us back in control of our lives, even if on a small scale.
Fifth is powerlessness and its gift of surrender. It is not defensive. And it is not a giving over of the self. It is not an absence of self. However, it is the realization that we are not in control of everything. This surrender is trusting that someone greater than we are is there to hold us up and keep us going. For Christians this is clearly the message of God’s love poured out in Christ. We sing, Christ beneath us, Christ above us, Christ behind us, Christ before us…where ever we go Christ is there.
Sixth is vulnerability and its gift of self acceptance. In moving through the struggle we come to a place where we have to admit that we are wounded. We need to accept our own weaknesses. Especially the way we hurt others. It is from their vulnerability that the disciples finally changed. Their weakness becomes their strength. Like the disciples when we are able to accept ourselves for being who are we acquire a position of humility and grace. We come to know that God loves us in our brokenness, just as we are. Being loved like this by a gracious God enables us to love others just as they are.
Seventh is exhaustion – moving through struggle wears us out. But the gift of moving through struggle, of living though the exhaustion, the gift is endurance. We learn that life begins again. Endurance brings us hope.
Eighth is scarring. We cannot move through struggle without becoming scarred. Our woundedness leaves marks on us. These marks can make us bitter. Or they can make us better. We can become better people through our struggles. The very process of moving through the struggle, of becoming scarred, is the same process that makes us better people. Our woundedness, our scars, become the source of our compassion, our hope, our faith, our strength. We wear our scars gracefully when we are gentle with ourselves and others, when we live with compassion.
Jesus is marked. He appears in the room and shows these marks to the disciples. It is a sign to them that he is who he is. He is their friend. He is Jesus. He loves them just as they are. He has come to help them move through their deepest struggle. He has come again to help them be more fully who they are meant to be. The gift of scarring is hope.
Like Jesus our scars, our wounds, can be the source of transformation in to new life. We all know people who do not move through struggles with grace and hope, people who become angry and bitter. That is one way our struggles can change us. But Jesus offers us another way. Jesus, though scarred is now even more, a fuller expression of the love of God poured out for all humanity. This love is now able to be fully present to all of the disciples, and all of us, all the time. In the resurrection Jesus becomes the bridge for us between the divine world of God’s love and the human world of suffering. Jesus offers us a way, a path, a means, for moving through the struggles of life into new life. The process, the struggle, the transformation, is the peace of Christ.
“Jesus came and stood among them and said, ‘Peace be with you.'"
As this gospel reading begins we are in the evening of Easter Day. Jesus first appears to the disciples that very night. And he finds them hiding in fear. Their fear is justified, of course. Any of us would do the same thing if we had lived through the same three days as these disciples. If our friend had been killed, if we had abandoned that friend in her hour of need, if we had learned that somehow that friend was now alive – or something – because the body was missing. We’d be traumatized and afraid of what was coming next. Whenever we experience a series of bad events coming at us quickly, events that leave us suffering and confused we tend to shut down and hide in fear. It’s natural.
Several years ago Joan Chittister spoke on the subject of suffering at a conference at Chautauqua in New York State. Her presentation “Scarred by Struggle, Transformed by Hope, the 9 Gifts of Suffering” has now been printed in a book by the same title.
The premise is that all people suffer. Each of us has this one common denominator in life, times of suffering. They come she says, just when we think life is perfect. Wham. Everything changes. Someone dies. Someone get sick. Depression hits. A job is lost. The list could continue on. We all suffer when life changes dramatically for unexpected reasons when we least expect it. These struggles are not just some mere inconvenience. These struggles are irreparable change. Life will never be the same again.
And the point is, how do we go about living through these times of great suffering with out giving up the soul?
She lists 9 struggles and the gift that comes from the struggle. By gift she means what we learn about ourselves, our lives, our faith, by living through the struggle.
The first struggle is change. Struggle brings unwanted change. The disciples have faced an unbelievable change: Jesus has been crucified. From this place of profound change comes the gift of conversion, we learn to recreate ourselves. For the disciples this struggle began with them running away but led to the resurrection. Throughout the Easter season, for the next seven weeks, we will hear resurrection stories in our Gospel. On Pentecost we learn that these stories led to a conversion of strength and courage in the disciples. It was the disciples new found strength, enlivened by the Holy Spirit, that built the Church. And from the early church came a legacy of human transformation that has lived over 2000 years.
The second is isolation. The struggle leaves us feeling alone, and in deep pain. The disciples are hiding in the room with the doors locked. They are hiding in fear. From isolation comes the gift of independence. Actively working to move through our suffering days leads us to a place where we can become independent from our pain, we learn to insist on living despite the pain. Anyone who has lived with a chronic illness or suffered for a long time knows this reality. Buddhists call this “mindfulness” having an observing eye, able to look with some detachment at the circumstances of one’s life even as one lives and feels life fully.
The third is darkness and its gift is faith. In the darkness of losing everything we come to believe in a life beyond the life we know, something greater than we are is acting in the world. On our darkest days it’s that something that gets us up in the morning. God stays with us in these dark moments. We are not abandoned. Jesus returns to the disciples, finds them in their darkest moment, in this room, and assures them that they are not alone. He is with them always. “My peace I give to you. My peace I leave with you.” His resurrected body bears the marks of his tragic death , resurrection did not remove the marks. Those marks of suffering remain and become part of his new life.
Forth is fear. In our struggle we face things we do not understand and cannot name. We are paralyzed by our unknowing, but in moving through the fear we come to know the gift of courage. Every tiny act of courage: getting out of bed in the morning. Going to work each day. Seeking help. Each step we take to move through the fear produces in us a little bit of courage. Each little step puts us back in control of our lives, even if on a small scale.
Fifth is powerlessness and its gift of surrender. It is not defensive. And it is not a giving over of the self. It is not an absence of self. However, it is the realization that we are not in control of everything. This surrender is trusting that someone greater than we are is there to hold us up and keep us going. For Christians this is clearly the message of God’s love poured out in Christ. We sing, Christ beneath us, Christ above us, Christ behind us, Christ before us…where ever we go Christ is there.
Sixth is vulnerability and its gift of self acceptance. In moving through the struggle we come to a place where we have to admit that we are wounded. We need to accept our own weaknesses. Especially the way we hurt others. It is from their vulnerability that the disciples finally changed. Their weakness becomes their strength. Like the disciples when we are able to accept ourselves for being who are we acquire a position of humility and grace. We come to know that God loves us in our brokenness, just as we are. Being loved like this by a gracious God enables us to love others just as they are.
Seventh is exhaustion – moving through struggle wears us out. But the gift of moving through struggle, of living though the exhaustion, the gift is endurance. We learn that life begins again. Endurance brings us hope.
Eighth is scarring. We cannot move through struggle without becoming scarred. Our woundedness leaves marks on us. These marks can make us bitter. Or they can make us better. We can become better people through our struggles. The very process of moving through the struggle, of becoming scarred, is the same process that makes us better people. Our woundedness, our scars, become the source of our compassion, our hope, our faith, our strength. We wear our scars gracefully when we are gentle with ourselves and others, when we live with compassion.
Jesus is marked. He appears in the room and shows these marks to the disciples. It is a sign to them that he is who he is. He is their friend. He is Jesus. He loves them just as they are. He has come to help them move through their deepest struggle. He has come again to help them be more fully who they are meant to be. The gift of scarring is hope.
Like Jesus our scars, our wounds, can be the source of transformation in to new life. We all know people who do not move through struggles with grace and hope, people who become angry and bitter. That is one way our struggles can change us. But Jesus offers us another way. Jesus, though scarred is now even more, a fuller expression of the love of God poured out for all humanity. This love is now able to be fully present to all of the disciples, and all of us, all the time. In the resurrection Jesus becomes the bridge for us between the divine world of God’s love and the human world of suffering. Jesus offers us a way, a path, a means, for moving through the struggles of life into new life. The process, the struggle, the transformation, is the peace of Christ.
“Jesus came and stood among them and said, ‘Peace be with you.'"
Saturday, April 3, 2010
Easter
Reflections for Easter, April 4, 2010 by The Rev. Jacqueline Schmitt
In 1999 I was a university chaplain, and our Sunday services were held in the afternoon. On Easter that meant reading the gospel story of the disciples encountering Jesus on the road to Emmaus. Our congregation had walked through all of Holy Week together, including a late Saturday night vigil at the cathedral. Some even attended Sunday morning services at local churches. But our communal Easter centered on this reading from Luke, of the two friends on the road and the mysterious stranger they meet.
In 1999, different wars were raging than the ones that rage now, so when you read this sermon, insert the conflict that preoccupies your conscience in place of the one I mentioned then. But profoundly, the date – April 4, the anniversary of the assassination of Martin Luther King –is the same this year as then. Something not to be lost in the frenzy of last minute Easter preparations as we rush to Alleluia.
It is true! Jesus was raised from the dead, walks, talks, eats, drinks – it was too astounding for the disciples to believe.
Death is far more believable. Struggling and discontent are more frequently our companions than one who makes our hearts burn within us, one who opens our minds to truth and reason.
On Friday, when we walked the Way of the Cross on campus, I was struck with how life continued to swirl around us, life in all of its mundane, ordinary splendor. In the back of my mind all week, though, has been the war in the Balkans, the suffering of the Kosovars, the apparent futility of NATO’s heavy bombing.
Today is the anniversary of the death of Martin Luther King, Jr., whose life – and death – was a witness to the power of non-violence. Imagine this: NATO troops marching into Kosovo like the civil rights marchers did into Birmingham, into Selma, into the face of violence, hatred and for some death. What if they put their bodies between the Kosovars and those who hate them, as did the young Episcopal seminarian, Jonathan Daniels, whose body stopped a bullet intended for a black woman trying to register to vote? It’s a foolish fantasy of mine. The power of those who hate and kill is too strong.
The disciples on the road to Emmaus lived in the same reality we live in, a reality marked by finitude and scarred by pain. Not enough good things happen to us for us to take on face value something spectacular that appears before our very eyes. We may feel it in our hearts, but our minds, world-weary and skeptical, can’t quite take it in. The currents of despair, filled with the flotsam and jetsam of day-to-day life, swirl around us.
Yet the astounding thing about this story of Jesus and the disciples on the road to Emmaus, is that the appearance of the risen Lord is so ordinary. He walks and talks with them on a familiar road. He sits down and shares a meal. My favorite painting of this story is by the Italian artist, Caravaggio. It shows three men sitting around a simple table, a peasant’s table, with a meal of wine and bread and roast chicken in front of them. One of the men is obviously, to our eyes, Jesus. The other two men are brawny (probably Italian) peasants, with strong, working-men’s arms and rough hands and sturdy, no-nonsense faces. The painter catches them at the moment of recognition that this man sitting with them, talking with them, is Jesus. You can see the movement in the painting, the men catching their breath as they rise out of their chairs, their hands beginning to reach out to their beloved friend.
Jesus comes after his death as he came in his birth: in the humblest of circumstances to the simplest and poorest of people. No chariots of fire, no Roman legions converted en masse, no temple rulers falling at his feet. The astonishment of it is that this is how Jesus comes to us: in the middle of our ordinary lives, when we least expect it, in the simplest of settings. In a gesture of hospitality and welcome, Jesus is known to us in the breaking of the bread.
Our prayers in the Easter season rise to heaven, yearning that more people will hear the simplicity of this astounding fact: the death that seems to reign supreme in so many parts of this troubled world is vanquished. Put down your weapons. Join hands. Alleluia! Christ is risen! The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!
In 1999 I was a university chaplain, and our Sunday services were held in the afternoon. On Easter that meant reading the gospel story of the disciples encountering Jesus on the road to Emmaus. Our congregation had walked through all of Holy Week together, including a late Saturday night vigil at the cathedral. Some even attended Sunday morning services at local churches. But our communal Easter centered on this reading from Luke, of the two friends on the road and the mysterious stranger they meet.
In 1999, different wars were raging than the ones that rage now, so when you read this sermon, insert the conflict that preoccupies your conscience in place of the one I mentioned then. But profoundly, the date – April 4, the anniversary of the assassination of Martin Luther King –is the same this year as then. Something not to be lost in the frenzy of last minute Easter preparations as we rush to Alleluia.
It is true! Jesus was raised from the dead, walks, talks, eats, drinks – it was too astounding for the disciples to believe.
Death is far more believable. Struggling and discontent are more frequently our companions than one who makes our hearts burn within us, one who opens our minds to truth and reason.
On Friday, when we walked the Way of the Cross on campus, I was struck with how life continued to swirl around us, life in all of its mundane, ordinary splendor. In the back of my mind all week, though, has been the war in the Balkans, the suffering of the Kosovars, the apparent futility of NATO’s heavy bombing.
Today is the anniversary of the death of Martin Luther King, Jr., whose life – and death – was a witness to the power of non-violence. Imagine this: NATO troops marching into Kosovo like the civil rights marchers did into Birmingham, into Selma, into the face of violence, hatred and for some death. What if they put their bodies between the Kosovars and those who hate them, as did the young Episcopal seminarian, Jonathan Daniels, whose body stopped a bullet intended for a black woman trying to register to vote? It’s a foolish fantasy of mine. The power of those who hate and kill is too strong.
The disciples on the road to Emmaus lived in the same reality we live in, a reality marked by finitude and scarred by pain. Not enough good things happen to us for us to take on face value something spectacular that appears before our very eyes. We may feel it in our hearts, but our minds, world-weary and skeptical, can’t quite take it in. The currents of despair, filled with the flotsam and jetsam of day-to-day life, swirl around us.
Yet the astounding thing about this story of Jesus and the disciples on the road to Emmaus, is that the appearance of the risen Lord is so ordinary. He walks and talks with them on a familiar road. He sits down and shares a meal. My favorite painting of this story is by the Italian artist, Caravaggio. It shows three men sitting around a simple table, a peasant’s table, with a meal of wine and bread and roast chicken in front of them. One of the men is obviously, to our eyes, Jesus. The other two men are brawny (probably Italian) peasants, with strong, working-men’s arms and rough hands and sturdy, no-nonsense faces. The painter catches them at the moment of recognition that this man sitting with them, talking with them, is Jesus. You can see the movement in the painting, the men catching their breath as they rise out of their chairs, their hands beginning to reach out to their beloved friend.
Jesus comes after his death as he came in his birth: in the humblest of circumstances to the simplest and poorest of people. No chariots of fire, no Roman legions converted en masse, no temple rulers falling at his feet. The astonishment of it is that this is how Jesus comes to us: in the middle of our ordinary lives, when we least expect it, in the simplest of settings. In a gesture of hospitality and welcome, Jesus is known to us in the breaking of the bread.
Our prayers in the Easter season rise to heaven, yearning that more people will hear the simplicity of this astounding fact: the death that seems to reign supreme in so many parts of this troubled world is vanquished. Put down your weapons. Join hands. Alleluia! Christ is risen! The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!
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