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.
Saturday, March 20, 2010
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.
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
Lent 2C
A reflection on the readings for Lent 2C: Genesis 15:1-12, 17-18, Psalm 27, Philippians 3:17-4:1, Luke 13:31-35 by Janine Goodwin, M.A., M.S. Ed.
I usually begin the preparation for a sermon by doing some quiet homework.
I study commentaries and use the prayer discipline of lectio divina, working to see the present through a particular Scripture story.
Sometimes, though, an event brings me to the scripture through experience first. This is one of those times.
Last week, after working as a substitute musician in the local Episcopal parish for Shrove Tuesday and Ash Wednesday, I planned to begin studying, let the knowledge sit quietly for a few days, and then write. A casual decision to check the local newspaper’s webpage changed all that: we learned that a white supremacist group is planning to move its headquarters to a small town near us. Suddenly, my husband and I were caught up in a set of tasks we had not expected: phone, email, and Facebook discussions; learning more about the hate group from various sources including the Southern Poverty Law Center; finding out about informational events, protests, and prayer meetings; making the decision to show up and be a small part of the community’s response.
I had less time and much more motivation to spend time with Scripture. I carried the bulletin insert for this Sunday’s readings folded in my coat pocket and read it in the car on the way to and from church and events. My instinct was to hold Scripture close to me, an instinct I identified with the small Bibles my grandfathers reads in the trenches of the First World War. On the first Sunday of Lent, we read Psalm 91, the psalm my father’s father said every day of the war as a prayer for safety, and I remembered him. My grandfather fought in the “war to end all wars,” a conflict whose unintended consequences included the group I am opposing now. In the timelessness of God, I believe we prayed together for our own safety and for the healing of the world. The familiar psalm had a new private meaning for me, a new public meaning for the local church as its members asked for strength and courage. Scholarship is good, study is good, and in times of trouble we use Scripture in simple and immediate ways that are also good:
Grandpa’s worn Bible and my crumpled bulletin insert were ways of reaching for God’s hand in troubled times.
The presence of Scripture was a comfort, and the call to “read, mark, learn, and inwardly digest” it is always our responsibility. I went to the readings for the second Sunday of Lent asking for insight as well as strength. Scripture came alive in new ways. New perceptions and new questions began to appear. I prayed Psalm 27 first. It reminded me that God is present to us, we are not alone, and we have hope. It called me to offer multiple kinds of prayer: prayers of trust and gratitude, prayers for God’s protection and presence and for opportunities to serve, pleas to be heard, praise, and the prayer that listens for what God is calling us to do. That last kind of prayer, listening prayer, is the one that is hardest for me and the one I most need to do. Psalm 27 can remind us that prayer is the first response to any challenge, the response on which all others are built.
Next, I puzzled over the covenant with Abram, thinking of the ways this ancient sacrificial rite has been interpreted over the years. God makes covenants with us, fulfilling the fundamental desires of our hearts and accepting the gifts we bring, answering our questions, acting in the deep and terrifying darkness of our sleeping souls. The hate group calls itself a Christian church; I wondered how they would interpret that passage, how they use Scripture to promote their cause. How do we humans distort God’s words to us and God’s love and generosity? How can we be freed from those distortions? What might various people or groups assume wrongly, or miss, about the stories that come from cultures and times far removed from our own? How have people used the stories of sacrifice to justify destruction that God never intended?
From Philippians came Paul’s warning about the enemies of the cross of Christ and the promise of citizenship in heaven. Paul wept over those enemies. He was uncompromising in his description of their actions and the consequences of those actions. We are tempted to hate those who practice hatred, destruction and arrogance. If we do not hate in return, others (or we ourselves) may see us as cheerful wimps who don’t understand the magnitude of the situation, yet Paul shows a tough clarity that is free from either bitterness or compromise. How does he do that? How can we learn to be like him, strong in our faith and clear about what is wrong, yet without self-righteousness?
Finally, I came to the Gospel. It is only the second Sunday of Lent, but already in this story we see Jesus headed toward Jerusalem. He is opposing the powers of his world with an integrity that leads him into multiple kinds of danger. The obvious danger is the violence Herod may commit. The hidden danger is the deception and trickery others try to practice in the very act of pretending to warn him about that violence. Luke Timothy Johnson tells us that the Pharisees, who do not believe in prophecy, are trying to make Jesus deny his prophetic identity. If he turns away when he is warned, the Pharisees will know he is not a true prophet. If he continues toward Jerusalem, Johnson says, “they will have to confront his claims explicitly and reject them explicitly.” Jesus doesn’t take the bait, nor does he try to trick them in return. He is not intimidated and not fooled. He answers veiled hostility with strength and integrity. He says openly what he is going to do, and tells them to go tell “that fox”
Herod all about his actions and his approaching death. Then he grieves for the people of Jerusalem, the very people who will soon call for his death.
Then the incarnate God shows his manipulative questioners an image of himself that is as far as possible from the conquering leader they expect a prophet to be. He calls himself a mother hen, calling her little ones to safety. He does not present them with an image of God as an angry and powerful warrior, but with a fiercely loving, mothering God who wants to spread her wings over her children and protect them. If Herod is a clever, scheming fox and Jesus a brave and loving hen, Jesus is not placing himself in a position of power and victory, but of courage and sacrifice.
Faced with a sneaky predator, he puts himself between the fox and the ones he would still protect, even though they will not come to him.
What does Jesus offer us as we work to oppose preachers of hate? I believe that he calls us to meet their deception and violence with absolute refusal and without compromise, with clarity and honesty. I believe he still hopes to gather them in and heal them if they will choose to accept his infinite, motherly love. That love is not easy to accept. It demands growth and change that are often painful, and never settles for easy answers. It does not make us invulnerable to the evil others may choose to do, though our trust in God tells us that love always overcomes that evil.
Jesus continues on the way of truth and calls us to follow him. He does not run from danger. He does not give in to hostility. He puts the strength of creative love to work in a hostile world, and conquers death itself. Thanks be to God.
I usually begin the preparation for a sermon by doing some quiet homework.
I study commentaries and use the prayer discipline of lectio divina, working to see the present through a particular Scripture story.
Sometimes, though, an event brings me to the scripture through experience first. This is one of those times.
Last week, after working as a substitute musician in the local Episcopal parish for Shrove Tuesday and Ash Wednesday, I planned to begin studying, let the knowledge sit quietly for a few days, and then write. A casual decision to check the local newspaper’s webpage changed all that: we learned that a white supremacist group is planning to move its headquarters to a small town near us. Suddenly, my husband and I were caught up in a set of tasks we had not expected: phone, email, and Facebook discussions; learning more about the hate group from various sources including the Southern Poverty Law Center; finding out about informational events, protests, and prayer meetings; making the decision to show up and be a small part of the community’s response.
I had less time and much more motivation to spend time with Scripture. I carried the bulletin insert for this Sunday’s readings folded in my coat pocket and read it in the car on the way to and from church and events. My instinct was to hold Scripture close to me, an instinct I identified with the small Bibles my grandfathers reads in the trenches of the First World War. On the first Sunday of Lent, we read Psalm 91, the psalm my father’s father said every day of the war as a prayer for safety, and I remembered him. My grandfather fought in the “war to end all wars,” a conflict whose unintended consequences included the group I am opposing now. In the timelessness of God, I believe we prayed together for our own safety and for the healing of the world. The familiar psalm had a new private meaning for me, a new public meaning for the local church as its members asked for strength and courage. Scholarship is good, study is good, and in times of trouble we use Scripture in simple and immediate ways that are also good:
Grandpa’s worn Bible and my crumpled bulletin insert were ways of reaching for God’s hand in troubled times.
The presence of Scripture was a comfort, and the call to “read, mark, learn, and inwardly digest” it is always our responsibility. I went to the readings for the second Sunday of Lent asking for insight as well as strength. Scripture came alive in new ways. New perceptions and new questions began to appear. I prayed Psalm 27 first. It reminded me that God is present to us, we are not alone, and we have hope. It called me to offer multiple kinds of prayer: prayers of trust and gratitude, prayers for God’s protection and presence and for opportunities to serve, pleas to be heard, praise, and the prayer that listens for what God is calling us to do. That last kind of prayer, listening prayer, is the one that is hardest for me and the one I most need to do. Psalm 27 can remind us that prayer is the first response to any challenge, the response on which all others are built.
Next, I puzzled over the covenant with Abram, thinking of the ways this ancient sacrificial rite has been interpreted over the years. God makes covenants with us, fulfilling the fundamental desires of our hearts and accepting the gifts we bring, answering our questions, acting in the deep and terrifying darkness of our sleeping souls. The hate group calls itself a Christian church; I wondered how they would interpret that passage, how they use Scripture to promote their cause. How do we humans distort God’s words to us and God’s love and generosity? How can we be freed from those distortions? What might various people or groups assume wrongly, or miss, about the stories that come from cultures and times far removed from our own? How have people used the stories of sacrifice to justify destruction that God never intended?
From Philippians came Paul’s warning about the enemies of the cross of Christ and the promise of citizenship in heaven. Paul wept over those enemies. He was uncompromising in his description of their actions and the consequences of those actions. We are tempted to hate those who practice hatred, destruction and arrogance. If we do not hate in return, others (or we ourselves) may see us as cheerful wimps who don’t understand the magnitude of the situation, yet Paul shows a tough clarity that is free from either bitterness or compromise. How does he do that? How can we learn to be like him, strong in our faith and clear about what is wrong, yet without self-righteousness?
Finally, I came to the Gospel. It is only the second Sunday of Lent, but already in this story we see Jesus headed toward Jerusalem. He is opposing the powers of his world with an integrity that leads him into multiple kinds of danger. The obvious danger is the violence Herod may commit. The hidden danger is the deception and trickery others try to practice in the very act of pretending to warn him about that violence. Luke Timothy Johnson tells us that the Pharisees, who do not believe in prophecy, are trying to make Jesus deny his prophetic identity. If he turns away when he is warned, the Pharisees will know he is not a true prophet. If he continues toward Jerusalem, Johnson says, “they will have to confront his claims explicitly and reject them explicitly.” Jesus doesn’t take the bait, nor does he try to trick them in return. He is not intimidated and not fooled. He answers veiled hostility with strength and integrity. He says openly what he is going to do, and tells them to go tell “that fox”
Herod all about his actions and his approaching death. Then he grieves for the people of Jerusalem, the very people who will soon call for his death.
Then the incarnate God shows his manipulative questioners an image of himself that is as far as possible from the conquering leader they expect a prophet to be. He calls himself a mother hen, calling her little ones to safety. He does not present them with an image of God as an angry and powerful warrior, but with a fiercely loving, mothering God who wants to spread her wings over her children and protect them. If Herod is a clever, scheming fox and Jesus a brave and loving hen, Jesus is not placing himself in a position of power and victory, but of courage and sacrifice.
Faced with a sneaky predator, he puts himself between the fox and the ones he would still protect, even though they will not come to him.
What does Jesus offer us as we work to oppose preachers of hate? I believe that he calls us to meet their deception and violence with absolute refusal and without compromise, with clarity and honesty. I believe he still hopes to gather them in and heal them if they will choose to accept his infinite, motherly love. That love is not easy to accept. It demands growth and change that are often painful, and never settles for easy answers. It does not make us invulnerable to the evil others may choose to do, though our trust in God tells us that love always overcomes that evil.
Jesus continues on the way of truth and calls us to follow him. He does not run from danger. He does not give in to hostility. He puts the strength of creative love to work in a hostile world, and conquers death itself. Thanks be to God.
Saturday, February 20, 2010
Lent 1
A reflection on the propers for Lent 1 by The Rev. Karla J. Miller
T.S. Eliot, 20th century
The last temptation is the greatest treason: to do the right deed for the wrong reason.
Henry David Thoreau, 19th century
Generally speaking, a howling wilderness does not howl: it is the imagination of the traveler that does the howling.
Mother Teresa, 20th century
I know God will not give me anything I can't handle. I just wish [God] didn't trust me so much.
(Quotes from Sermon Seeds at iucc.org)
Wilderness and Temptation…
A real wilderness sounds good to me, today…
A quiet, albeit lonely, lonely place
Where the only distraction is grumbling hunger
The parched dryness of my soul,
And the loss of control.
Stripped naked, in that kind of vulnerable starkness,
There would be luxury of time to know my pain, know my weakness,
Reflect on what is important…
Say NO to the dross
And cling to my Creator God
On which my very life is hinged.
But the wilderness I face today is full,
Not just of the business of caring for souls
And writing sermons and rushing to meetings and working to do my part to repair the world (as if…)
My wilderness is abundance…
Of whatever I want whenever I want it…
My wilderness is the ways in which I make comfortable and easy and fun
My everyday living,
My rewards for being good…
Time out for Facebooking, a (big) glass of wine at the end of a long day, the next books I order from Amazon, the delivery of pizza to my door, the phone calls I screen from my father because I am just not up to it …
My wilderness is
the time I don’t have…
Oh yes, it’s all about the time I don’t have…
To create the internal space…
Where I can discern whether my rewards
Are really succumbing to the temptation
Of anesthetizing my heart,
Of denying the out of control consumption, the illusion of my own protection, the idol of my own power
To save myself.
To not bother God with having to take care of me—I can do that so you don’t have to Holy One. Take care of others. They need it more than me.
Ah, yes. The wilderness of my life is full,
And I have sinned. I have succumbed. I am goddess of my life.
Oh Holy One, Creator of the earth and skies and even me,
Lead me not into temptation,
Deliver me from the evil of denial,
Create in me a clean heart, oh God…
Renew a right spirit within me…
I offer you my pain. I lift up my brokenness to you.
I trust you. (well, at least for now I can only say that, but I want to believe it)
I will trust in you.
Teach me.
My life is hinged on you.
Help me remember.
Show me true worship
Of You.
Amen.
T.S. Eliot, 20th century
The last temptation is the greatest treason: to do the right deed for the wrong reason.
Henry David Thoreau, 19th century
Generally speaking, a howling wilderness does not howl: it is the imagination of the traveler that does the howling.
Mother Teresa, 20th century
I know God will not give me anything I can't handle. I just wish [God] didn't trust me so much.
(Quotes from Sermon Seeds at iucc.org)
Wilderness and Temptation…
A real wilderness sounds good to me, today…
A quiet, albeit lonely, lonely place
Where the only distraction is grumbling hunger
The parched dryness of my soul,
And the loss of control.
Stripped naked, in that kind of vulnerable starkness,
There would be luxury of time to know my pain, know my weakness,
Reflect on what is important…
Say NO to the dross
And cling to my Creator God
On which my very life is hinged.
But the wilderness I face today is full,
Not just of the business of caring for souls
And writing sermons and rushing to meetings and working to do my part to repair the world (as if…)
My wilderness is abundance…
Of whatever I want whenever I want it…
My wilderness is the ways in which I make comfortable and easy and fun
My everyday living,
My rewards for being good…
Time out for Facebooking, a (big) glass of wine at the end of a long day, the next books I order from Amazon, the delivery of pizza to my door, the phone calls I screen from my father because I am just not up to it …
My wilderness is
the time I don’t have…
Oh yes, it’s all about the time I don’t have…
To create the internal space…
Where I can discern whether my rewards
Are really succumbing to the temptation
Of anesthetizing my heart,
Of denying the out of control consumption, the illusion of my own protection, the idol of my own power
To save myself.
To not bother God with having to take care of me—I can do that so you don’t have to Holy One. Take care of others. They need it more than me.
Ah, yes. The wilderness of my life is full,
And I have sinned. I have succumbed. I am goddess of my life.
Oh Holy One, Creator of the earth and skies and even me,
Lead me not into temptation,
Deliver me from the evil of denial,
Create in me a clean heart, oh God…
Renew a right spirit within me…
I offer you my pain. I lift up my brokenness to you.
I trust you. (well, at least for now I can only say that, but I want to believe it)
I will trust in you.
Teach me.
My life is hinged on you.
Help me remember.
Show me true worship
Of You.
Amen.
Saturday, February 13, 2010
Last Epiphany
A reflection on the propers for Last Epiphany: Exodus 34:29-35; 2 Corinthians 3:12-4:2; Luke 9:28-36 by The Rev. Margaret Rose
What about the veil?
Most years when it comes to “Epiphany Last” or the story of the Transfiguration I preach some version of the sermon I heard years ago when I had one of those “aha” experiences from a text. Jesus’ climb up the mountain with Peter and James and John, the dazzling white, the appearance of Moses and Elijah and their subsequent disappearance, the proclaiming of Jesus as Beloved Son was about history and the future coming together. It was God giving Jesus his marching orders, and even more, to the disciples and to us. The message was, “You can’t stay up on the mountain enjoying the glory of God. You can’t keep things the way they are or create a “dwelling” to hold everything statically in place. Jesus, renewed, beloved, called, named, had to come down the mountain and journey to Jerusalem. There was work to be done in the valley and it was time to get to it.
This year, I read the texts with this blog in mind, allowing myself to hear the words and the narrative of the Exodus story as well as the responding texts of 2Corinthians and Luke with the ear of a woman. What struck me was the word Veil and its curious use in both the Old Testament and the Epistle . Moses, his face shining brilliantly with the encounter with God, put the veil on his face when he was not speaking in an official capacity. And took it off when he was with God. In the letter to the Corinthians, there is the confusing explanation that the veil had to do with Moses not allowing the people of Israel to see the glory of God, implying that the people of Israel had a veil over their minds and could not understand or receive God’s glory. “A veil lies over their minds;but when one turns to the Lord, the veil is removed.” The Good News for the community in Corinth is that in the freedom of the Lord, unveiled faces allow the spirit of the lord to enter in. Christians see the Glory of God in their own and one another’s faces.
Many of us have experiences with veils. And the word and the wearing are both fraught.
The wedding veil comes first to mind. Many brides ask, “Shall I wear a wedding veil?” Is it a sign of chattel? Or is it’s removal a symbolic moment of revelation which allows two people to see one another as never before, shining with the spirit of God’s presence? One bride once asked whether or not they might create a way for her fiancé to wear one too!
I remember as a child having to wear “something” on my head when I went into church. Whether it was a hat, a handkerchief, or a scarf it was called a veil.
Years later, in 1978 when I was in Divinity School, my boyfriend who was a Mennonite, invited me to his home in Pennsylvania. Hoping not to surprise me with cultural differences he let me know that his mother and sisters, and most of the women I would meet there would be wearing the veil. Instead of reassuring me, I felt petrified. Would I be able to see their faces, their eyes. Would this be like the Muslim women I had seen on a recent trip to Israel? I wondered if they would assume that my unveiled face was promiscuous! I must admit to great relief when I discovered the veil to be very similar to the head covering I had worn to church as a child.
Today the question of head covering within and among the three Abrahamic traditions is complex and ambiguous as it is lived out in “secular” or “sacred” territory. In France, the controversy continues over whether Muslim girls will be allowed to wear a veil or head covering to school. Among Muslim feminists, there are deep discussions over whether the head covering is a sign of oppression or in fact allows for a kind of liberation from cultural objectivism. The underlying answer seems to be somehow connected to choice.
Jewish women as well have traditions about veils and head coverings which are undergoing examination.
The questions remain. Is the veil a sign of submission? And to whom? Or is it respect for oneself and God? Or is it about following the New Testament prohibition about women’s heads being covered? And is removing it a sign of empowerment and liberation?
What about the connection to Moses and his encounter with God? His face reflected God’s presence and glory as he was transformed into the role of leader and liberator of the people of Israel. That is, I hope, exactly what our own faces reveal in transfigured moments of our lives. To be transfigured means somehow to be free to experience and share the glory of God. Whether or not there is a symbolic or literal veil over our heads or faces.
Margaret Rose
What about the veil?
Most years when it comes to “Epiphany Last” or the story of the Transfiguration I preach some version of the sermon I heard years ago when I had one of those “aha” experiences from a text. Jesus’ climb up the mountain with Peter and James and John, the dazzling white, the appearance of Moses and Elijah and their subsequent disappearance, the proclaiming of Jesus as Beloved Son was about history and the future coming together. It was God giving Jesus his marching orders, and even more, to the disciples and to us. The message was, “You can’t stay up on the mountain enjoying the glory of God. You can’t keep things the way they are or create a “dwelling” to hold everything statically in place. Jesus, renewed, beloved, called, named, had to come down the mountain and journey to Jerusalem. There was work to be done in the valley and it was time to get to it.
This year, I read the texts with this blog in mind, allowing myself to hear the words and the narrative of the Exodus story as well as the responding texts of 2Corinthians and Luke with the ear of a woman. What struck me was the word Veil and its curious use in both the Old Testament and the Epistle . Moses, his face shining brilliantly with the encounter with God, put the veil on his face when he was not speaking in an official capacity. And took it off when he was with God. In the letter to the Corinthians, there is the confusing explanation that the veil had to do with Moses not allowing the people of Israel to see the glory of God, implying that the people of Israel had a veil over their minds and could not understand or receive God’s glory. “A veil lies over their minds;but when one turns to the Lord, the veil is removed.” The Good News for the community in Corinth is that in the freedom of the Lord, unveiled faces allow the spirit of the lord to enter in. Christians see the Glory of God in their own and one another’s faces.
Many of us have experiences with veils. And the word and the wearing are both fraught.
The wedding veil comes first to mind. Many brides ask, “Shall I wear a wedding veil?” Is it a sign of chattel? Or is it’s removal a symbolic moment of revelation which allows two people to see one another as never before, shining with the spirit of God’s presence? One bride once asked whether or not they might create a way for her fiancé to wear one too!
I remember as a child having to wear “something” on my head when I went into church. Whether it was a hat, a handkerchief, or a scarf it was called a veil.
Years later, in 1978 when I was in Divinity School, my boyfriend who was a Mennonite, invited me to his home in Pennsylvania. Hoping not to surprise me with cultural differences he let me know that his mother and sisters, and most of the women I would meet there would be wearing the veil. Instead of reassuring me, I felt petrified. Would I be able to see their faces, their eyes. Would this be like the Muslim women I had seen on a recent trip to Israel? I wondered if they would assume that my unveiled face was promiscuous! I must admit to great relief when I discovered the veil to be very similar to the head covering I had worn to church as a child.
Today the question of head covering within and among the three Abrahamic traditions is complex and ambiguous as it is lived out in “secular” or “sacred” territory. In France, the controversy continues over whether Muslim girls will be allowed to wear a veil or head covering to school. Among Muslim feminists, there are deep discussions over whether the head covering is a sign of oppression or in fact allows for a kind of liberation from cultural objectivism. The underlying answer seems to be somehow connected to choice.
Jewish women as well have traditions about veils and head coverings which are undergoing examination.
The questions remain. Is the veil a sign of submission? And to whom? Or is it respect for oneself and God? Or is it about following the New Testament prohibition about women’s heads being covered? And is removing it a sign of empowerment and liberation?
What about the connection to Moses and his encounter with God? His face reflected God’s presence and glory as he was transformed into the role of leader and liberator of the people of Israel. That is, I hope, exactly what our own faces reveal in transfigured moments of our lives. To be transfigured means somehow to be free to experience and share the glory of God. Whether or not there is a symbolic or literal veil over our heads or faces.
Margaret Rose
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
Epiphany 5C
Reflection for the Fifth Sunday After Epiphany by the Rev. Dr. Kate Hennessy
I am not a strong swimmer, and the idea of going into deep water, whether swimming in a lake or a pool, or even getting on a boat is always sort of scary for me. It even made me think twice when it came to signing up for the first of the RevGals Big Events, which was, of course, a cruise. Would I, I wondered, panic when I woke up that first morning and realized that we were indeed in the deep water far from shore, and that there was no going back? Or would I be able to let down my nets of worry and anxiety and relax into trusting God that all would be well? And actually that was what happened. As I went topside that first morning, I was astonished by the beauty and serenity of the ocean, and comforted by warmth of the community that was rapidly forming among our little group.
The deep water. Such a good metaphor for the places our faith journeys take us. The places that hold such an abundant catch, but often the ones we fear to go because we can’t touch bottom, or even see if from where we are. Things way out there in the deeps may require a different approach from us, might ask that we leave the comfort zone of “the way it’s always been”. We may think we have been working really hard, doing it things our way, the usual way, whether its working or not….but then comes a nudge, an urge, or even a command. “Let down your nets.” That strikes me more like a suggestion to release something than it does to work harder, to trust that there is an abundance waiting if we can just open up and trust in our ability to receive.
Peter. God love him, Everyperson that he is. It is hard to admit, but I think that might have been me there on the shore. Faced with all that abundance, instead of joy and gratitude…. I too might have been doing guilt and “Jesus, go away.” How do we repent of that? Of the part of us that simply will not allow God to love us, that will not allow ourselves to relax into the grace of abundance and simply be present? The disciples got it that day on the shore when they left everything and followed him. They weren’t perfect. Half the time, they weren’t even very good at it. But it didn’t matter. Jesus kept right on loving them. And calling them back to the deep water, into things way beyond their depths. And they kept going on with him. Sputtering sometimes. Half drowning, having to be drug out and wrung out and loved back to dry land.
It’s almost Lent again. One more Sunday of the Epiphany season and we are into it. That time that seems to call us to go into our own deeper places, that times that urges us to fall into God again and simply allow ourselves to know….that we are loved, that we are called, that we have simply to come into the water and drop the net and we too will find all the fish we could ever need in abundance. That we, too could afford to leave everything else behind and simply….follow him.
I am not a strong swimmer, and the idea of going into deep water, whether swimming in a lake or a pool, or even getting on a boat is always sort of scary for me. It even made me think twice when it came to signing up for the first of the RevGals Big Events, which was, of course, a cruise. Would I, I wondered, panic when I woke up that first morning and realized that we were indeed in the deep water far from shore, and that there was no going back? Or would I be able to let down my nets of worry and anxiety and relax into trusting God that all would be well? And actually that was what happened. As I went topside that first morning, I was astonished by the beauty and serenity of the ocean, and comforted by warmth of the community that was rapidly forming among our little group.
The deep water. Such a good metaphor for the places our faith journeys take us. The places that hold such an abundant catch, but often the ones we fear to go because we can’t touch bottom, or even see if from where we are. Things way out there in the deeps may require a different approach from us, might ask that we leave the comfort zone of “the way it’s always been”. We may think we have been working really hard, doing it things our way, the usual way, whether its working or not….but then comes a nudge, an urge, or even a command. “Let down your nets.” That strikes me more like a suggestion to release something than it does to work harder, to trust that there is an abundance waiting if we can just open up and trust in our ability to receive.
Peter. God love him, Everyperson that he is. It is hard to admit, but I think that might have been me there on the shore. Faced with all that abundance, instead of joy and gratitude…. I too might have been doing guilt and “Jesus, go away.” How do we repent of that? Of the part of us that simply will not allow God to love us, that will not allow ourselves to relax into the grace of abundance and simply be present? The disciples got it that day on the shore when they left everything and followed him. They weren’t perfect. Half the time, they weren’t even very good at it. But it didn’t matter. Jesus kept right on loving them. And calling them back to the deep water, into things way beyond their depths. And they kept going on with him. Sputtering sometimes. Half drowning, having to be drug out and wrung out and loved back to dry land.
It’s almost Lent again. One more Sunday of the Epiphany season and we are into it. That time that seems to call us to go into our own deeper places, that times that urges us to fall into God again and simply allow ourselves to know….that we are loved, that we are called, that we have simply to come into the water and drop the net and we too will find all the fish we could ever need in abundance. That we, too could afford to leave everything else behind and simply….follow him.
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