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.”
Friday, April 16, 2010
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!
Friday, March 26, 2010
Palm/Passion Sunday
A reflection for Palm/Passion Sunday March 28, 2010 by the Rev. Dr. Kate Hennessy Luke 23:1-49
“It all seems to change so suddenly….from shouts of hosanna and praise to ‘Crucify him, Crucify him.’ In one short week he goes from being the hero to the most scorned and lowly of victims…dying in shame on the cross on the hill. But we must remember….this was no victim of crowd mentality run riot. This was Jesus…God incarnate….this was his choice, this was his gift. This was the God who loved us enough to become us. Who as theologian Brookes Ramsey says, became like us so could we could learn to be more like God. So we watch him this week, this final week of his life here on earth…this God of ours who loved us enough to chose this life, and now chooses this death….all for us. And as we watch him go through his final days, as he speaks his final words, does his last acts on this earth, makes one last ultimate choice for love of us…we watch to see what we can learn from this gift of his about being more like God….and in doing so perhaps we too can learn to be more human as well. Amen.”
Yes, that really is all I have to say from two pulpits on this very important Sunday in the church year. There is already so much here, so many words, so much ritual and story, so much truth…..do I really need to overwhelm it with my thoughts?
With as much clarity of liturgical recall as I have for much of my very churched childhood, I don’t seem to remember much about this particular Sunday. I have a vague recollection of making little palm crosses and of the interminable length of the Passion reading. But somehow there was no link, no connection between the two….if one was even made. Maybe in that day and time we separated the two…it was Palm or Passion. Impressionable as I was with all the things of church, I cannot remember.
Holy Week, however, is a different story. Holy Week left strong and stark memories from an early age. Weekly Stations of the Cross every single Lent from Kindergarten on prepared me and left no doubt in my mind of the great suffering and magnitude of the gift given in the death of Jesus Christ on the Cross. By the time we ended the last service on Good Friday it would seem as if the very earth were in tune with what had transpired. In my memory, even the sky was always clouded as we left church after the service. Over time my theology and understanding of why the sacrifice was made, why the gift was given has changed. And so has my response…at some level. But at another, far more visceral, and I would say perhaps deeper and spiritually richer level, when I hear described those last events in Jesus’ life, or see in my mind the images they conjure, I am humbled and astonished by such flagrant love. Something in me seems to come to stillness before such undeserved amazing grace. Something in my heart responds with only “yes.”
“It all seems to change so suddenly….from shouts of hosanna and praise to ‘Crucify him, Crucify him.’ In one short week he goes from being the hero to the most scorned and lowly of victims…dying in shame on the cross on the hill. But we must remember….this was no victim of crowd mentality run riot. This was Jesus…God incarnate….this was his choice, this was his gift. This was the God who loved us enough to become us. Who as theologian Brookes Ramsey says, became like us so could we could learn to be more like God. So we watch him this week, this final week of his life here on earth…this God of ours who loved us enough to chose this life, and now chooses this death….all for us. And as we watch him go through his final days, as he speaks his final words, does his last acts on this earth, makes one last ultimate choice for love of us…we watch to see what we can learn from this gift of his about being more like God….and in doing so perhaps we too can learn to be more human as well. Amen.”
Yes, that really is all I have to say from two pulpits on this very important Sunday in the church year. There is already so much here, so many words, so much ritual and story, so much truth…..do I really need to overwhelm it with my thoughts?
With as much clarity of liturgical recall as I have for much of my very churched childhood, I don’t seem to remember much about this particular Sunday. I have a vague recollection of making little palm crosses and of the interminable length of the Passion reading. But somehow there was no link, no connection between the two….if one was even made. Maybe in that day and time we separated the two…it was Palm or Passion. Impressionable as I was with all the things of church, I cannot remember.
Holy Week, however, is a different story. Holy Week left strong and stark memories from an early age. Weekly Stations of the Cross every single Lent from Kindergarten on prepared me and left no doubt in my mind of the great suffering and magnitude of the gift given in the death of Jesus Christ on the Cross. By the time we ended the last service on Good Friday it would seem as if the very earth were in tune with what had transpired. In my memory, even the sky was always clouded as we left church after the service. Over time my theology and understanding of why the sacrifice was made, why the gift was given has changed. And so has my response…at some level. But at another, far more visceral, and I would say perhaps deeper and spiritually richer level, when I hear described those last events in Jesus’ life, or see in my mind the images they conjure, I am humbled and astonished by such flagrant love. Something in me seems to come to stillness before such undeserved amazing grace. Something in my heart responds with only “yes.”
Saturday, March 20, 2010
Lent 5C
A reflection on Propers for Lent 5C: Isaiah 43;16-21, Psalm 126, Philipians 3:4-14, John 12:1-8 by The Rev. Camille Hegg
When Mary anoints Jesus with “a pound of costly pure nard,” she was doing something both brave and loving. In this age of fear and anxiety, to approach someone and anoint him is an act of hope and expectation, neither fear nor anxiety.
There are many instances of the use of oil for anointing in the Bible. The psalmist says to put on the “oil of gladness.” The “balm in Gilead” is reminiscent of the ointment or oil, balm, for soothing and easing pain. When Jesus was brought frankincense and myrrh, these were probably oils for anointing. After his death the women returned to anoint his body for burial. David was anointed king although we are not told what oil was used. There are so many more examples of the use of elements of the earth for anointing and healing. An in-depth study of the various oils of the Bible is interesting and engenders my own creative energies.
I keep an aloe plant in my kitchen. When I cut or burn myself I cut a stem and rub the viscous matter that oozes from it onto the hurt place. Frequently the next day I can’t tell anything happened. Aloe is also mentioned in the Bible. Traditions grew up around various oils from plants, tree bark, roots of the earth. More than ‘old wives tales,’ these understandings of the properties and uses have been passed down for centuries and still hold meaning and interest today. And, by the way, “old wives” are and were very wise in many ways.
Therefore, I decided to look into ‘nard’ and see what Mary might have been using. Nard is a shortened word coming from spikenard. Some versions actually say spikenard. In Song of Solomon, 1:12, the bride says, ‘while the king sits at his table my spikenard sends forth its fragrance.” It was prepared by steaming the roots of a plant, some sources say a valerian plant from India, others make no mention of which plant. It was probably mixed with olive oil. Hippocrates and Galen both prescribed it as a sedative and said it was good to help with sleep. Spikenard was prized by Egyptians and imported to the holy land, usually in alabaster jars and was indeed very expensive.
The folklore around it was that nard was useful to quell fear and anxiety, improve meditation, and induce restful sleep and pleasant dreams. Jesus could have benefitted from all these properties especially at this dinner on this evening.
They were at a dinner party for Lazarus. The evening was probably jovial as they celebrated Lazarus’ return. Surely some, Mary and Jesus if no others, had a sense of impending gloom or darkness. Mary was weeping. We don’t know Jesus’ demeanor or state of mind, except that he was with his friends and it was, according to John, six days before the Passover.
He allowed her to anoint him. As she cried she dried her tears with her hair. These are acts of love and devotion amidst grief, and sadness. He defended Mary when Judas criticized her extravagance in using this expensive oil.
John says the room was filled with the fragrance of the perfume. I’ll bet that many of them remembered Mary’s actions, Jesus’ responses, the sweet, earthy smell of the room that night when on the day of his death Jesus was returned to the earth in the tomb. Acts of love, kindness, bravery and faith, last longer than a fragrance, but the fragrance carries its own memories.
When Mary anoints Jesus with “a pound of costly pure nard,” she was doing something both brave and loving. In this age of fear and anxiety, to approach someone and anoint him is an act of hope and expectation, neither fear nor anxiety.
There are many instances of the use of oil for anointing in the Bible. The psalmist says to put on the “oil of gladness.” The “balm in Gilead” is reminiscent of the ointment or oil, balm, for soothing and easing pain. When Jesus was brought frankincense and myrrh, these were probably oils for anointing. After his death the women returned to anoint his body for burial. David was anointed king although we are not told what oil was used. There are so many more examples of the use of elements of the earth for anointing and healing. An in-depth study of the various oils of the Bible is interesting and engenders my own creative energies.
I keep an aloe plant in my kitchen. When I cut or burn myself I cut a stem and rub the viscous matter that oozes from it onto the hurt place. Frequently the next day I can’t tell anything happened. Aloe is also mentioned in the Bible. Traditions grew up around various oils from plants, tree bark, roots of the earth. More than ‘old wives tales,’ these understandings of the properties and uses have been passed down for centuries and still hold meaning and interest today. And, by the way, “old wives” are and were very wise in many ways.
Therefore, I decided to look into ‘nard’ and see what Mary might have been using. Nard is a shortened word coming from spikenard. Some versions actually say spikenard. In Song of Solomon, 1:12, the bride says, ‘while the king sits at his table my spikenard sends forth its fragrance.” It was prepared by steaming the roots of a plant, some sources say a valerian plant from India, others make no mention of which plant. It was probably mixed with olive oil. Hippocrates and Galen both prescribed it as a sedative and said it was good to help with sleep. Spikenard was prized by Egyptians and imported to the holy land, usually in alabaster jars and was indeed very expensive.
The folklore around it was that nard was useful to quell fear and anxiety, improve meditation, and induce restful sleep and pleasant dreams. Jesus could have benefitted from all these properties especially at this dinner on this evening.
They were at a dinner party for Lazarus. The evening was probably jovial as they celebrated Lazarus’ return. Surely some, Mary and Jesus if no others, had a sense of impending gloom or darkness. Mary was weeping. We don’t know Jesus’ demeanor or state of mind, except that he was with his friends and it was, according to John, six days before the Passover.
He allowed her to anoint him. As she cried she dried her tears with her hair. These are acts of love and devotion amidst grief, and sadness. He defended Mary when Judas criticized her extravagance in using this expensive oil.
John says the room was filled with the fragrance of the perfume. I’ll bet that many of them remembered Mary’s actions, Jesus’ responses, the sweet, earthy smell of the room that night when on the day of his death Jesus was returned to the earth in the tomb. Acts of love, kindness, bravery and faith, last longer than a fragrance, but the fragrance carries its own memories.
Sunday, March 14, 2010
Lent 4C
A reflection on Luke 15: 11-32 by the Rev. Sarah Rogers
It is March and Spring is finally in the air after a heavy winter. The bulbs are finally looking as though they might flower, the trees are in bud and it feels as though things will begin to turn green before too long. New signs of life are all around, lambs are being born and before long the birds will be making their nests. It seems that March is a month to focus on Motherhood. There certainly seems to be a tremendous focus on women during March, there is the Women’s World Day of Prayer, International Women’s Day, UNCSW are meeting in New York. Then later in the month we will celebrate the Annunciation to the BVM (a timely reminder that there are only 9 months until Christmas…!).
Here in the UK we also celebrate Mothering Sunday, this stems from an ancient tradition of returning to our ‘mother’ church, or Cathedral on the 4th Sunday of Lent. This later became an occasion for family reunions, when children who were working away, particularly girls in service would return home, as they walked along the country lanes, children would pick wild flowers or violets to take to church or give to their mother as a small gift. This Saturday afternoon, I spent some time making cards and gifts with our children in Messy Church. This is a time when grandparents and parents can spend time with their children and work together to create. We then had a short service during which the mum’s were given posies of flowers, a small token to say thank you for their care and nurture. There were a couple of dad’s there, and yet it occurred to me that the event of Mothering Sunday, focuses not only on Mothers but also on family, our own families and our family the church.
I have to admit, that that reflection stems out of today’s gospel reading, the parable of the prodigal son. It is such a well known story in which the younger son squanders his inheritance away on ‘dissolute living’, while his brother stays at home and works hard to look after the farm, the ultimate dysfunctional family. The younger son seems to treat his father as though he is already dead by claiming his inheritance early, it must have been quite an insult. There would also have been a considerable financial impact, as the father would probably have needed to sell half of what he owned in order to satisfy his younger son. The younger son soon spends all the money, then he is left with nothing, destitute in a time of famine, envying the unclean animals, the pigs, and finally he realises that even the hired hands on his fathers estate faired better than he did at that moment.
Who can blame the elder brother for reacting in the way that he did, after all he had given years of loyal service to his father. He had probably had to work harder than ever with his brother away, he had helped to fatten up the calf and after all, it was part of his property. He does not want to acknowledge his brother, referring to him as ‘this son of yours’.
It occurred to me in reading this passage that the father perhaps somehow embodies both father and mother. He is a wonderful character, perhaps a little too indulgent in allowing his son to go off with his inheritance. When he returns he cannot hid his affection and runs to meet him. He forgives everything immediately, whatever insult or loss of dignity that occurred because of his earlier indulgence is instantly forgotten. The father does not forget his other son either, leaving the party and his new-found son to try and coax away his resentment. He acknowledges that everything that is left belongs to him.
It is of course the mother’s voice that is missing in all this. There is no mention of her, if she were there then surely she would have been mentioned, would she not have also welcomed her son back in the same way as his father did? Perhaps the story would have been quite different, she may have persuaded her son not to go away (or been able to persuade her husband not to give him the money to go!). However, the absence of any mention of the mother suggests that she is not on the scene, that she has passed away. Perhaps that is the motivation for the younger sons behaviour, perhaps that is why he wants his inheritance, perhaps that is why he wants to run away. In those circumstances, perhaps the Father did the right thing, in letting his son find his own way through.
This story teaches us a vital lesson, after all there is nothing more complicated than family relationships. No matter how much we love our children we have to let them go, and that is true as much for mothers as for fathers. Somewhere along the way we have to let them go to make their own mistakes, to find themselves, to grow and to eventually become parents themselves. It is not always easy to take that step back and let our children be themselves, sometimes they do things that we would rather they didn’t do. The father in the story of the prodigal son reminds us that is okay for our children to make their own mistakes, but we must also remember that when they come home, even if they have somehow disappointed us, we must welcome them with open arms, and kill the fatted calf.
It is impossible at this time of year not to turn our thoughts to Mary, as she waits at the foot of the cross for her son to die. She always knew that he was the son of God, but did she realise what the reality of that would be. I think Mary and Joseph learnt that lesson early when Jesus stayed in the temple when he was just 12 years old. They cannot but help realise where his destiny lay. I can’t remember which film this scene is in, I think it is ‘The Passion of the Christ’, that controversial film by Mel Gibson, there is a scene when Jesus falls as he is carrying the cross and Mary sees, and is desperate to run to him as she recalls him falling as a child and grazing his knee. How much she must have wanted to run and comfort him as he was dying on the cross, watching him die could not have been easy.
Yet, there at the foot of the cross we are reminded of the meaning of family, as Jesus entrusts his mother Mary to the care of John his beloved disciple. In that moment Jesus makes Mary our mother, we are all part of his family, we are all children of God.
What comes through is the central message of love, that is key family life no matter how complicated it is. Whatever we do, whether for our own families or for the family the church, must be in love. It seems to me that even now as a church there are difficult times ahead, even today Christians are persecuted and there are even issues on which Christians are going to fall out. Somehow, somewhere, individuals are going to be disappointed in how parts of the church act, but we must hold together and we must always act in love. We are all one body the church, and we are all held together by the love of God and by our love for one another.
It is March and Spring is finally in the air after a heavy winter. The bulbs are finally looking as though they might flower, the trees are in bud and it feels as though things will begin to turn green before too long. New signs of life are all around, lambs are being born and before long the birds will be making their nests. It seems that March is a month to focus on Motherhood. There certainly seems to be a tremendous focus on women during March, there is the Women’s World Day of Prayer, International Women’s Day, UNCSW are meeting in New York. Then later in the month we will celebrate the Annunciation to the BVM (a timely reminder that there are only 9 months until Christmas…!).
Here in the UK we also celebrate Mothering Sunday, this stems from an ancient tradition of returning to our ‘mother’ church, or Cathedral on the 4th Sunday of Lent. This later became an occasion for family reunions, when children who were working away, particularly girls in service would return home, as they walked along the country lanes, children would pick wild flowers or violets to take to church or give to their mother as a small gift. This Saturday afternoon, I spent some time making cards and gifts with our children in Messy Church. This is a time when grandparents and parents can spend time with their children and work together to create. We then had a short service during which the mum’s were given posies of flowers, a small token to say thank you for their care and nurture. There were a couple of dad’s there, and yet it occurred to me that the event of Mothering Sunday, focuses not only on Mothers but also on family, our own families and our family the church.
I have to admit, that that reflection stems out of today’s gospel reading, the parable of the prodigal son. It is such a well known story in which the younger son squanders his inheritance away on ‘dissolute living’, while his brother stays at home and works hard to look after the farm, the ultimate dysfunctional family. The younger son seems to treat his father as though he is already dead by claiming his inheritance early, it must have been quite an insult. There would also have been a considerable financial impact, as the father would probably have needed to sell half of what he owned in order to satisfy his younger son. The younger son soon spends all the money, then he is left with nothing, destitute in a time of famine, envying the unclean animals, the pigs, and finally he realises that even the hired hands on his fathers estate faired better than he did at that moment.
Who can blame the elder brother for reacting in the way that he did, after all he had given years of loyal service to his father. He had probably had to work harder than ever with his brother away, he had helped to fatten up the calf and after all, it was part of his property. He does not want to acknowledge his brother, referring to him as ‘this son of yours’.
It occurred to me in reading this passage that the father perhaps somehow embodies both father and mother. He is a wonderful character, perhaps a little too indulgent in allowing his son to go off with his inheritance. When he returns he cannot hid his affection and runs to meet him. He forgives everything immediately, whatever insult or loss of dignity that occurred because of his earlier indulgence is instantly forgotten. The father does not forget his other son either, leaving the party and his new-found son to try and coax away his resentment. He acknowledges that everything that is left belongs to him.
It is of course the mother’s voice that is missing in all this. There is no mention of her, if she were there then surely she would have been mentioned, would she not have also welcomed her son back in the same way as his father did? Perhaps the story would have been quite different, she may have persuaded her son not to go away (or been able to persuade her husband not to give him the money to go!). However, the absence of any mention of the mother suggests that she is not on the scene, that she has passed away. Perhaps that is the motivation for the younger sons behaviour, perhaps that is why he wants his inheritance, perhaps that is why he wants to run away. In those circumstances, perhaps the Father did the right thing, in letting his son find his own way through.
This story teaches us a vital lesson, after all there is nothing more complicated than family relationships. No matter how much we love our children we have to let them go, and that is true as much for mothers as for fathers. Somewhere along the way we have to let them go to make their own mistakes, to find themselves, to grow and to eventually become parents themselves. It is not always easy to take that step back and let our children be themselves, sometimes they do things that we would rather they didn’t do. The father in the story of the prodigal son reminds us that is okay for our children to make their own mistakes, but we must also remember that when they come home, even if they have somehow disappointed us, we must welcome them with open arms, and kill the fatted calf.
It is impossible at this time of year not to turn our thoughts to Mary, as she waits at the foot of the cross for her son to die. She always knew that he was the son of God, but did she realise what the reality of that would be. I think Mary and Joseph learnt that lesson early when Jesus stayed in the temple when he was just 12 years old. They cannot but help realise where his destiny lay. I can’t remember which film this scene is in, I think it is ‘The Passion of the Christ’, that controversial film by Mel Gibson, there is a scene when Jesus falls as he is carrying the cross and Mary sees, and is desperate to run to him as she recalls him falling as a child and grazing his knee. How much she must have wanted to run and comfort him as he was dying on the cross, watching him die could not have been easy.
Yet, there at the foot of the cross we are reminded of the meaning of family, as Jesus entrusts his mother Mary to the care of John his beloved disciple. In that moment Jesus makes Mary our mother, we are all part of his family, we are all children of God.
What comes through is the central message of love, that is key family life no matter how complicated it is. Whatever we do, whether for our own families or for the family the church, must be in love. It seems to me that even now as a church there are difficult times ahead, even today Christians are persecuted and there are even issues on which Christians are going to fall out. Somehow, somewhere, individuals are going to be disappointed in how parts of the church act, but we must hold together and we must always act in love. We are all one body the church, and we are all held together by the love of God and by our love for one another.
Friday, March 5, 2010
Lent 3C
A reflection on the Propers for Lent 3C by The Rev. Crystal Karr
Jonah 3:1-10 NRSV
The word of the Lord came to Jonah a second time, saying, 2‘Get up, go to Nineveh, that great city, and proclaim to it the message that I tell you.’ 3So Jonah set out and went to Nineveh, according to the word of the Lord. Now Nineveh was an exceedingly large city, a three days’ walk across. 4Jonah began to go into the city, going a day’s walk. And he cried out, ‘Forty days more, and Nineveh shall be overthrown!’ 5And the people of Nineveh believed God; they proclaimed a fast, and everyone, great and small, put on sackcloth. 6 When the news reached the king of Nineveh, he rose from his throne, removed his robe, covered himself with sackcloth, and sat in ashes. 7Then he had a proclamation made in Nineveh: ‘By the decree of the king and his nobles: No human being or animal, no herd or flock, shall taste anything. They shall not feed, nor shall they drink water. 8Human beings and animals shall be covered with sackcloth, and they shall cry mightily to God. All shall turn from their evil ways and from the violence that is in their hands. 9Who knows? God may relent and change his mind; he may turn from his fierce anger, so that we do not perish.’ 10 When God saw what they did, how they turned from their evil ways, God changed his mind about the calamity that he had said he would bring upon them; and he did not do it
Luke 13:1-9 NRSV
At that very time there were some present who told him about the Galileans whose blood Pilate had mingled with their sacrifices. He asked them, ‘Do you think that because these Galileans suffered in this way they were worse sinners than all other Galileans? No, I tell you; but unless you repent, you will all perish as they did. Or those eighteen who were killed when the tower of Siloam fell on them—do you think that they were worse offenders than all the others living in Jerusalem? No, I tell you; but unless you repent, you will all perish just as they did.’
Then he told this parable: ‘A man had a fig tree planted in his vineyard; and he came looking for fruit on it and found none. So he said to the gardener, “See here! For three years I have come looking for fruit on this fig tree, and still I find none. Cut it down! Why should it be wasting the soil?” He replied, “Sir, let it alone for one more year, until I dig round it and put manure on it. If it bears fruit next year, well and good; but if not, you can cut it down.” ’
I was a daddy's girl, I absolutely adored my father. However from a very early age and on I was a witness to his methods of terrorizing my mother, girlfriends, and stepmothers. As a young girl I believed that however scary and mean my father was to "his women" it was only because they must have done something to deserve it. As I grew older I began to realize that the women in my father's life did not deserve his violent outbursts which left warning signs all over the house--broken windows, holes in the wall, and purple bruises on their flesh. I then became disgusted with him and wanted nothing to do with my father. And yet, I could still recall just how wonderful, fun, and loving he was to me. Those feelings of adoration still pop up and make me feel warm and fuzzy inside. My husband can't understand how I could possibly love him and yet I do and know that I always will. Children are resilient.
The town of Nineveh was filled with sin and violence. Jonah, like my mother in regards to my father, no longer wanted anything to do with it. Nineveh was scary and awful--nothing good could possibly come from it. Yet, God, like the child I was, sought to forgive Nineveh. Sure, God was prepared to destroy the town, to cut it off but wanted to give that second chance, because maybe, just maybe the people could change, and despite the violence and sin, God loved the people (and creatures) of Nineveh.
God continued to instruct Jonah to go to Nineveh even after he tried to run away! God put Jonah through hell--in the belly of a great big fish. Even after my mother tried to run away she was brought back to my father every weekend so she could see me. I remember many weekends in which he put her through hell as she came to get me. But I loved my daddy, I still do.
As I got older I understood my mother's terror of my father. I wanted to protect my mother from my father. She deserved better. I was prepared to cut my father out of my life because I knew he wouldn't change.
Jonah proclaims to Nineveh that in 40 days God would destroy the entire town--beasts and people--all were bound for destruction. There was no hope--that's just the way it was going to go.
But then, the people heard Jonah's cries for destruction. The king declared that there would be a fast for both humans and beasts, all would cry out and worship God because maybe, just maybe there was a chance at reconciliation--even though Jonah had offered no hope, no word of encouragement, there was a fast. There was also forgiveness.
I'd like to say that my father changed, his violence stopped but that's not entirely true. He tried. The tears would stream from his face and words about love would pour from his mouth and while he might fast from his anger and violence it was just a fast. It was only temporary.
Often we understand God as father or mother. This always has problems because there are too many people who had broken fathers and mothers who abandoned them, abused them--physically, sexually, emotionally. The love of fathers and mothers can be great but because of our sin-sick world it can also be very destructive. So for some of us the image of God the parent doesn't work--it's not just unappealing but it hurts us.
But what if we imagined God as Loving Child? I'm now a parent and know that children aren't always so loving, innocent, and pure but stay with me for a bit and remember that all of our images of God are flawed.
God has the love of a child, a resilient love that exists and longs for reconciliation even when everyone else has given up, even when it hurts us. This is a love that sometimes gets angry, upset, and is greatly pained by the things it sees go on in the world, the love continues, grows, and matures. Even as it recognizes the pain and hurt, the damage, that the parents of the world have caused the love remains strong, indestructible.
While a child is resilient but not indestructible we worship a God who is indestructible. No matter our attempts to kill God, in the flesh of Jesus or emotionally, we cannot do it. The Resurrection tells us that God is more than what the evil we inflict on one another, upon God's creation, and yes, upon God--God's love remains steadfast.
In the 2nd scripture the master declares the fig tree's barrenness and demands that the gardener cut it down. However, the gardener begs for it to remain, for yet another chance, another year to help the tree grow fruit. Now, a fig tree grows fruit almost the entire year, it's continually producing fruit, it's the bunny of the fruit trees! The master is probably correct in declaring its barrenness, that if it has not produced fruit after 3 years then it won't ever yield fruit! Yet, the gardener isn't ready to give up. The gardener is willing to give it another try, to nurture it to grow and yield figs as it was created to do. The gardener is even willing to get really dirty by spreading manure on the soil around the tree! The gardener will do whatever it takes. The gardener says that if it doesn't work then he'll cut the tree down the following year--but I can't help but wonder if he'll make the same proposal at that time. Perhaps not but another year in the life of a fig tree is quite an extension!
We fail God over and over again, yet God remains steadfast. We try but we fall down, we screw up and yet God picks us up again and again. Jonah ran away but God delivered him from the belly of an enormous fish. Nineveh repented even when it seemed that all hope was gone.
In our world of sin and brokenness the cycle of violence continues. Children of abusive parents continue to love their parents even in the midst of disappointment and great pain--not only as children but into adulthood. In no way am I belittling the pain and suffering of abused children, rather the love that resides in them reminds me of the love that God offers to us. So often you can't understand it unless you've experienced it.
It's not a love of open arms rather it is a love that has experienced great pain and suffering but exists anyway, it is resilient, it continues to grow even from a distance, even when it is saddened by the behaviors of the "other"--whether that is a parent, or humans. It is a love that works in spite of despair and hopelessness. It is a love that has lived in a broken and sin sick world but continues to live and work and hope beyond what could ever be imagined. Thanks be to God. Amen.
Jonah 3:1-10 NRSV
The word of the Lord came to Jonah a second time, saying, 2‘Get up, go to Nineveh, that great city, and proclaim to it the message that I tell you.’ 3So Jonah set out and went to Nineveh, according to the word of the Lord. Now Nineveh was an exceedingly large city, a three days’ walk across. 4Jonah began to go into the city, going a day’s walk. And he cried out, ‘Forty days more, and Nineveh shall be overthrown!’ 5And the people of Nineveh believed God; they proclaimed a fast, and everyone, great and small, put on sackcloth. 6 When the news reached the king of Nineveh, he rose from his throne, removed his robe, covered himself with sackcloth, and sat in ashes. 7Then he had a proclamation made in Nineveh: ‘By the decree of the king and his nobles: No human being or animal, no herd or flock, shall taste anything. They shall not feed, nor shall they drink water. 8Human beings and animals shall be covered with sackcloth, and they shall cry mightily to God. All shall turn from their evil ways and from the violence that is in their hands. 9Who knows? God may relent and change his mind; he may turn from his fierce anger, so that we do not perish.’ 10 When God saw what they did, how they turned from their evil ways, God changed his mind about the calamity that he had said he would bring upon them; and he did not do it
Luke 13:1-9 NRSV
At that very time there were some present who told him about the Galileans whose blood Pilate had mingled with their sacrifices. He asked them, ‘Do you think that because these Galileans suffered in this way they were worse sinners than all other Galileans? No, I tell you; but unless you repent, you will all perish as they did. Or those eighteen who were killed when the tower of Siloam fell on them—do you think that they were worse offenders than all the others living in Jerusalem? No, I tell you; but unless you repent, you will all perish just as they did.’
Then he told this parable: ‘A man had a fig tree planted in his vineyard; and he came looking for fruit on it and found none. So he said to the gardener, “See here! For three years I have come looking for fruit on this fig tree, and still I find none. Cut it down! Why should it be wasting the soil?” He replied, “Sir, let it alone for one more year, until I dig round it and put manure on it. If it bears fruit next year, well and good; but if not, you can cut it down.” ’
I was a daddy's girl, I absolutely adored my father. However from a very early age and on I was a witness to his methods of terrorizing my mother, girlfriends, and stepmothers. As a young girl I believed that however scary and mean my father was to "his women" it was only because they must have done something to deserve it. As I grew older I began to realize that the women in my father's life did not deserve his violent outbursts which left warning signs all over the house--broken windows, holes in the wall, and purple bruises on their flesh. I then became disgusted with him and wanted nothing to do with my father. And yet, I could still recall just how wonderful, fun, and loving he was to me. Those feelings of adoration still pop up and make me feel warm and fuzzy inside. My husband can't understand how I could possibly love him and yet I do and know that I always will. Children are resilient.
The town of Nineveh was filled with sin and violence. Jonah, like my mother in regards to my father, no longer wanted anything to do with it. Nineveh was scary and awful--nothing good could possibly come from it. Yet, God, like the child I was, sought to forgive Nineveh. Sure, God was prepared to destroy the town, to cut it off but wanted to give that second chance, because maybe, just maybe the people could change, and despite the violence and sin, God loved the people (and creatures) of Nineveh.
God continued to instruct Jonah to go to Nineveh even after he tried to run away! God put Jonah through hell--in the belly of a great big fish. Even after my mother tried to run away she was brought back to my father every weekend so she could see me. I remember many weekends in which he put her through hell as she came to get me. But I loved my daddy, I still do.
As I got older I understood my mother's terror of my father. I wanted to protect my mother from my father. She deserved better. I was prepared to cut my father out of my life because I knew he wouldn't change.
Jonah proclaims to Nineveh that in 40 days God would destroy the entire town--beasts and people--all were bound for destruction. There was no hope--that's just the way it was going to go.
But then, the people heard Jonah's cries for destruction. The king declared that there would be a fast for both humans and beasts, all would cry out and worship God because maybe, just maybe there was a chance at reconciliation--even though Jonah had offered no hope, no word of encouragement, there was a fast. There was also forgiveness.
I'd like to say that my father changed, his violence stopped but that's not entirely true. He tried. The tears would stream from his face and words about love would pour from his mouth and while he might fast from his anger and violence it was just a fast. It was only temporary.
Often we understand God as father or mother. This always has problems because there are too many people who had broken fathers and mothers who abandoned them, abused them--physically, sexually, emotionally. The love of fathers and mothers can be great but because of our sin-sick world it can also be very destructive. So for some of us the image of God the parent doesn't work--it's not just unappealing but it hurts us.
But what if we imagined God as Loving Child? I'm now a parent and know that children aren't always so loving, innocent, and pure but stay with me for a bit and remember that all of our images of God are flawed.
God has the love of a child, a resilient love that exists and longs for reconciliation even when everyone else has given up, even when it hurts us. This is a love that sometimes gets angry, upset, and is greatly pained by the things it sees go on in the world, the love continues, grows, and matures. Even as it recognizes the pain and hurt, the damage, that the parents of the world have caused the love remains strong, indestructible.
While a child is resilient but not indestructible we worship a God who is indestructible. No matter our attempts to kill God, in the flesh of Jesus or emotionally, we cannot do it. The Resurrection tells us that God is more than what the evil we inflict on one another, upon God's creation, and yes, upon God--God's love remains steadfast.
In the 2nd scripture the master declares the fig tree's barrenness and demands that the gardener cut it down. However, the gardener begs for it to remain, for yet another chance, another year to help the tree grow fruit. Now, a fig tree grows fruit almost the entire year, it's continually producing fruit, it's the bunny of the fruit trees! The master is probably correct in declaring its barrenness, that if it has not produced fruit after 3 years then it won't ever yield fruit! Yet, the gardener isn't ready to give up. The gardener is willing to give it another try, to nurture it to grow and yield figs as it was created to do. The gardener is even willing to get really dirty by spreading manure on the soil around the tree! The gardener will do whatever it takes. The gardener says that if it doesn't work then he'll cut the tree down the following year--but I can't help but wonder if he'll make the same proposal at that time. Perhaps not but another year in the life of a fig tree is quite an extension!
We fail God over and over again, yet God remains steadfast. We try but we fall down, we screw up and yet God picks us up again and again. Jonah ran away but God delivered him from the belly of an enormous fish. Nineveh repented even when it seemed that all hope was gone.
In our world of sin and brokenness the cycle of violence continues. Children of abusive parents continue to love their parents even in the midst of disappointment and great pain--not only as children but into adulthood. In no way am I belittling the pain and suffering of abused children, rather the love that resides in them reminds me of the love that God offers to us. So often you can't understand it unless you've experienced it.
It's not a love of open arms rather it is a love that has experienced great pain and suffering but exists anyway, it is resilient, it continues to grow even from a distance, even when it is saddened by the behaviors of the "other"--whether that is a parent, or humans. It is a love that works in spite of despair and hopelessness. It is a love that has lived in a broken and sin sick world but continues to live and work and hope beyond what could ever be imagined. Thanks be to God. Amen.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)