Seminary Disseminations

Approved!

2012-01-17T09:50:00.000-08:00

I'm happy to let you know that I've put another major step behind me in this journey to first call. My husband and I flew out to Denver for our approval interviews this past weekend. If you recall, approval is the final step of the candidacy process which began way back before we entered seminary. Last summer, after we had finished internship, we wrote our approval essay. Then in the fall, we had interviews with the faculty, who made a recommendation that we should be approved for ordination. Finally, we met with the candidacy committee for the approval interview. At the end of all that, the committee made a final decision to approve us for ordination!

Now we really move from the candidacy process into the assignment process. We join the group of seminarians who are approved for ordination and are now awaiting assignment and first call. In essence, we are the pool of candidates from which the bishops will draw for their first call pastors. As I've described in my earlier posts about the assignment process, we have submitted our paperwork, including our preferences, but we don't yet have any information about where we will be going.

We find out our regional assignment (remember this map?) on February 22. Sometime after that, we will be assigned to a synod within that region. Then we can start working with the bishop of that synod and her or his staff to look at congregational profiles. Interviews with congregations should follow, and after a congregation extends a letter of call, the ordination can be scheduled. How long that process will take depends on a lot of factors, including the availability of first calls and the pace at which the congregation chooses to move.

As always, stay tuned for further updates about the first call process!

Supply Preaching

2011-12-11T18:56:00.001-08:00

I supplied at a congregation in Maryland this morning. Here's my sermon, based on the gospel reading from John 1.

Good morning. I am so glad to be with you all this morning. I pray for God’s grace and peace among us in our worship.
Last week, you may remember that the gospel reading was from Mark. And Mark talked about a familiar figure: John the Baptist. John is one of those characters you learn about as a kid in Sunday School, right? You remember him. He lived in the desert, ate locusts and honey, dressed in camel hair. Told people to repent of their sins and baptized them in the River Jordan. Eventually, he baptized Jesus, too, which was the kick-off for Jesus’ ministry. That’s John the Baptist.
Or rather, that’s the John the Baptist we heard about in Mark’s Gospel last week. Today, we’re reading from the Gospel of John, and this version of John the Baptist might seem like a totally different guy. For one thing, he’s never called “John the Baptist” in this Gospel. And although he does baptize people, that’s not really the essential thing here. What’s important for this Gospel is what we hear in the first verses of our reading: “There was a man sent from God, whose name was John. He came as a witness to testify to the light.” A witness. He came as a witness. The whole purpose of what John did was to be a witness to the light which was coming into the world.
In our Gospel reading for today, I think it would be better to talk about “John the Witness” than “John the Baptist.” In this Gospel, John’s primary role is to witness to Jesus Christ. And that’s exactly what he does. He tells the priests and Levites who question him, “Among you stands one whom you do not know, the one who is coming after me; I am not worthy to untie the thong of his sandal.” John is acting as a witness to the one who is coming, the light, Jesus.

I want us to take a closer look at how John the Witness fulfills his role, how he testifies to Jesus’ coming into the world. The priests and Levites question John about his identity. They ask him if he is the Messiah, the hoped-for king of the Jews. John says, “I am not the Messiah.” They ask him if he is Elijah, the prophet who was expected to return before the Messiah came. John says, “I am not.” They ask him if he is the prophet, referring to a “prophet like Moses” whose appearance was also predicted. John says, “No.” Again and again, John defines himself in the negative, by saying who he is not. Finally, John admits that his identity is the voice of one crying out in the wilderness. But his identity, his role in this story about Jesus Christ, is primarily defined as the “I Am Not.”
Why does this matter? I think we are supposed to pay attention to John the “I Am Not,” because Jesus in John’s Gospel is the “I AM.” All those beautiful statements of Jesus: “I am the bread of life,” “I am the light of the world,” “I am the true vine,” “I am the good shepherd,” “I am the resurrection and the life”—all of these I AM statements come from the Gospel of John. Jesus is the “I AM,” and John the Witness is the “I Am Not.”

At the heart of it, John is telling the priests, “I am not God.” John is telling all of us, “I am not God.” And that’s a message we all need to hear. John is not God. I am not God. None of you is God. You know what I have to say to that? Thank God! My pastor once told me that every morning, when you look in the mirror, feeling anxious about the day ahead and all of your responsibilities, you should say to yourself, “There is only one savior of this world. And it’s not me.” Thank God. Thank God that we’re not God. The weight of the world doesn’t rest on your shoulders, or mine, or John’s. We don’t have to save the world. We don’t have to carry that burden. And thank God for that, because we can’t carry that burden. The savior, the resurrection and the life, the good shepherd, the light of the world—Jesus is all of those things. Jesus is the “I AM.” We are the “I Am Not.”

But if we’re not God, then who are we?
John freely admitted that he was not God. But John still had an important calling: he was a witness, a witness to the light of Christ that was coming into the world. We’re called to be witnesses, too. God doesn’t ask us to save the world. God doesn’t ask us to be in charge. God doesn’t ask us to be God. God asks us, calls us, to be witnesses like John. Why are we supposed to witness? To testify that Jesus is the light of the world, and we’re not. To testify that Jesus is the Messiah, and we’re not. To testify that Jesus is the one the whole world has been hoping for, aching for, longing for. Just like John, we are called to share that good news. We are called to be witnesses.

We’re in the season of Advent this month. We’re getting ready for Christmas and all that entails. As soon as we finished cooking those turkeys and mashed potatoes for Thanksgiving, we set out to buy Christmas gifts. We have to make sure we have something for everyone on our list, wrap all those gifts, put them in the mail. We have to decorate our houses, put up our Christmas trees, climb around on our roofs with lights and reindeer and Santa Claus. We have to make sure everything is clean for family visiting, stock the refrigerator, plan the holiday menu. We have to do so much to get ready for Christmas. But I think there’s one more thing we have to do. Each of us has to stop, and sit still, and say, “I am not God.”
Getting ready for Christmas is wonderful, but it’s not essential. The fate of the world is not at stake in our Christmas planning. In the season of Advent, we need to remember what’s really essential: that the light of the world came into the world, that Jesus is Christ, that God has come down to live with us because God loves us so much. We are not God. But we are called to be witnesses to the amazing love and grace God has given us. Amen.

Paperwork: Finished!

2011-12-02T13:05:00.000-08:00

December 1 was the big due date. All our assignment paperwork (Form A, Form B, Form RLP) is turned in to the ELCA and out of our hands. Now the bishops will have the chance to learn who we are and whether they think we'd be a good fit for their synods.

The next big date for us is January 13 and 14, which is when we'll have our approval interviews for the Rocky Mountain Synod. On February 22, we'll find out our regional assignments. Check back here to find out more information as we get closer to first call!

Recommendation for Recommendation for Approval

2011-09-28T17:58:00.000-07:00

Just a brief update this time:

The latest stage in this ongoing process occurred today—the faculty approval panels. These are interviews with two members of the faculty to consider a seminarian's theological understanding and articulation and his or her preparedness for practical ministry. At Gettysburg, the seniors had their faculty approval panels today, and the news is good. I was recommended for recommendation for approval. No, that's not a typo. The faculty members with whom I met made a recommendation to the whole faculty (who will meet in a few weeks). Even when the whole faculty meets, they don't make the final approval decision; that's up to the candidacy committees. Rather, the faculty makes a recommendation to the candidacy committee, to say that the faculty believes the candidate should be approved.

So today was the recommendation for the recommendation for approval. Slowly but surely, we move closer to ordination.

Assignment for First Call: Piles of Paperwork

2011-09-21T16:29:00.000-07:00

I'm continuing my blog series on the first call assignment process. Check out the earlier posts if you haven't already:

Part One: Approval

Part Two: Introduction to Assignment

Now, on to part three. Tonight, we had an informational meeting with two important folks: the seminary representative who goes to the assignment summit in Chicago (in the case of Gettysburg Seminary, he's also our director of field education and one of the New Testament professors), and the Region 8 coordinator. Remember in Part Two, we talked about the nine regions of the ELCA? Each region has a region coordinator, and those coordinators also go to the assignment meeting.

Our theme in the meeting tonight, and my theme in this post, is the piles of paperwork that go into this process. Are you ready? It should be loads of fun.

If you want to find out more than you ever wanted to know about assignment, you can check out the ELCA website dedicated to the subject. That's sort of our home page for this process. You'll see it has practical information, theological foundation, checklist, schedule... and the forms. The many, many forms.

Piles of Paperwork: So What Are All These Forms?

The candidate (that would be me) fills out three major forms: A, B, and RLP. (If the candidate is restricting herself or himself to a certain area -- as I described in Part Two -- there's one additional form, Form R.)

Form A: Basic information. Name, contact information, home synod, home congregation, education and work history, etc.

Form B: Candidate preference summary. This is the place to state regional preferences (see Part Two), as well as preferences for the setting where you would prefer to be called -- for example, rural or urban, solo pastor or member of a large church staff. It also has a (surprisingly small) box to describe your sense of call and your gifts. This is the primary way the bishops will get a sense of what ministry setting you are suited for.

Form R: I won't say much about this one; I'm not planning to restrict, so I won't be filling out Form R. This form is only for first call candidates who are requesting a restriction to a certain synod or area. (Note that it's a request; the request has to be approved by the bishops of the region to which the candidate wants to restrict.)

Form RLP: Assuming you have gotten the attention of a bishop in Form B, that bishop may choose to look at your Rostered Leader Profile. While Forms A and B are just a page each, the RLP is a massive 16 pages. Obviously, with 200-ish candidates going through this process at the same time, the bishops are not going to read every one of their RLPs. So this form functions to elaborate on what was written in Form B, for those bishops who want additional information. Like Form B, it includes regional preferences, preferences for setting (say, small town) and ministry (say, youth ministry or Christian education). However, it has more space to provide input, and it includes larger sections on your strengths and gifts, education and work history, etc.

The Rostered Leader Profile will continue to be important after assignment, because it's also the form that congregational call committees will look at when you're beginning to interview for first call. It functions as your resumé for congregations to look at -- but it also includes your vision for the kind of ministry to which you think you would be suited.

We're not done yet! There are two more forms which matter for assignment, but are written by other people.

Form D: Form D is the summary of what the candidate did in seminary. On the left-hand side of the single page are the summaries written at the end of internship. The internship supervisor and the internship committee, as well as the intern herself or himself, each write a single paragraph that summarizes and evaluates the internship experience. On the right-hand side of Form D, the seminary faculty gives their evaluation of your abilities and preparedness for ministry.

Form E: This is the candidacy committee's equivalent of Form D. Since the candidacy committee makes the final decision to approve the candidate for ordination, this form is the document that contains the official recommendation for ordination. It also includes their own summary of the candidate.

(If you're as neurotic as I am, you may be wondering why there's no Form C. I think that form is filled out by congregations who are seeking a pastor, but I'm not sure exactly what it entails.)

First Call: What's this Whole Assignment Process, Anyway?

2011-08-29T09:49:00.000-07:00

Part Two of my ongoing series about getting ready for first call. Check out Part One to read about the approval essay.

If you're a seminarian getting ready for assignment, you've probably found yourself explaining the process to friends, family members, parishioners from your internship site... the list goes on. If you're a friend, family member, etc. of a seminarian, you're probably interested in what a senior in seminary goes through. Assignment is complicated, and it can be confusing. I'll do my best to give an outline of how the process works.

Assignment for First Call: "So, you could go anywhere?"

Unlike nearly any other job (although the military seems similar, from what I understand), graduating ELCA seminarians going into their first call go through an assignment process. This is a mixed blessing. On the one hand, you're not expected to go out and find yourself a job, like most people have to when they get out of school. Instead, you are (ideally) matched with a congregation that needs your gifts and abilities. On the other hand, you don't have a lot of control over where you end up -- that decision is in the hands of the church, specifically the bishops. I'll be honest and say that it can be stressful to let go of that control.

So, how does the process work? In later posts, I'll write about the nuts and bolts, the paperwork seminarians have to fill out before they are assigned, the stages along the way. In this post, I want to lay out the broad outline of this nearly year-long process, as well as explain the geographical regions of the ELCA.

Every year, there are a group of graduating seminarians from the eight ELCA seminaries. And, throughout the church, there are congregations in need of pastors. Not all of these congregations are good contexts for first call pastors; their bishops help to decide which congregations will be open to being a first call site. The goal of assignment is to match up these soon-to-be-pastors with calls that are a good fit for their gifts and abilities. However, the church does not assign graduating seminarians directly to congregations (although it used to work that way, at least in some of the Lutheran denominations that preceded the ELCA). Instead, seminarians are assigned to a region and then a synod, and that's the process we call "Assignment".

Assignment for First Call: Regions? Synods?

A friend of mine, and spouse of a now-graduated seminarian, made a fantastic resource for anyone trying to understand the assignment process: a map of the regions of the ELCA. As you can see, the ELCA is divided into nine geographic regions. Each of these regions is broken into synods. (The size of the synods was determined by population of Lutherans, not land area. That's why you can have one synod - the Rocky Mountain Synod - that encompasses New Mexico, Colorado, Wyoming, Utah, and the panhandle of Texas, while the Twin Cities of Minneapolis and St. Paul rate two synods.) Seminarians are assigned first to one of these regions, then to a synod within that region.

So, as a seminarian, do you have any control over where you're assigned? In a limited sense, yes. Loosely speaking, there are two ways a seminarian can influence their assignment: restriction and preference. If a seminarian has a restriction, that means he or she can only accept a call in a certain area due to extenuating circumstances. For example, he might have young kids in school and a spouse with a job who can't move; or she might have an aging parent for whom she provides care. In these cases, the seminarian fills out additional paperwork explaining their restriction (e.g. within fifty miles of a certain city) and their reason. These restrictions are taken seriously by the church, but they can mean that a seminarian has to wait much longer for a call.

Even if a seminarian doesn't have a pressing reason to restrict, he or she can still state preferences for where he or she would like to be assigned. For example, you could state a preference for Region 2 first, then Region 6, and then Region 3 (three regions is the most you can preference). Preferences are no guarantee for where you'll end up, but they are taken into consideration at the regional assignment meeting.

Assignment for First Call: The Draft Pick

Every year, the bishops in each region come together and decide how many first call spots they have available. At the same time, they receive loads of paperwork (more on that in Part Three) from the graduating seminarians who have been approved for ordination. This gives them an idea of who will be available at assignment. It also allows them to see the preferences or restrictions the seminarians have stated.

In February (for seminarians who will be graduating in the spring), these bishops gather in Chicago, along with representatives from each of the seminaries. Seminarians humorously refer to this meeting as "the draft pick". To understand how it works, I recommend reading this post from a bishop who's been there. In short, the seminarians are doled out to each of the regions based on their preferences, the first call sites available, and the matches bishops have in mind. Again, bishops don't assign a first call pastor directly to a congregation - "You, go to this church" - but they often have contexts in mind that would be a good fit for a particular seminarian. Also, a bishop can't request more first call pastors than they have calls for. In theory, that helps to ensure that graduating seminarians aren't sitting around for months waiting for a church. The system is imperfect, but it's set up to be as effective as possible both for congregations and seminarians.

Well, that's about as brief as a summary could be. This is the process my classmates and I will be going through this year. There are plenty of details - and probably plenty of anxiety - to describe over the next few months. Check back here to find out more.

Beginning (of the end of) the journey to first call

2011-08-23T18:25:00.000-07:00

My internship is finished, and I'm back in Gettysburg for my final year of seminary. That means I'm well on my way to the process known as assignment.

I know I have many friends and family members who want to know how this process works. I'll be using the blog as a central place to find out the steps along this journey, from from approval to assignment to first call. It'll also give me a chance to let you all know how the decisions come down for me. And if there are any seminarians out there reading this, I hope it's a resource to you in what to expect from your senior year.

This is Part One. Check out Part Two, on the assignment process, and Part Three, on assignment paperwork.

Part One: The Approval Essay

A huge part of the road to becoming a pastor (or another rostered leader, such as an Associate in Ministry or a Diaconal Minister) is the candidacy process. Theologically, the church understands that call is not only a personal, internal feeling, but that there is also an external call that comes from the Christian community. Practically, we also want to make sure that the people who are leaders in the church are appropriate for that role. Both of these needs are filled by the candidacy committees - one in each synod. There are three stages of candidacy: entrance (before you begin seminary), endorsement (before you go on internship), and approval (before assignment and ordination). Each stage includes an essay and an interview with the committee, as well as other requirements that vary between the stages.

At this point, my classmates and I have already received a positive decision for entrance and endorsement. Now we're preparing for approval. Right now, that means we're writing an approval essay that will be submitted to our candidacy committee and our seminary. The topic for the approval essay changes from year to year. This year, we've been asked to consider cultural and demographic changes that are affecting the church. The essay includes reflection on our internship site, a sermon, and consideration of our leadership abilities.

The approval essay is due at the end of the summer. Once the fall semester begins, we'll have a faculty approval panel -- an interview with two members of the faculty to discuss our theological ability and our readiness for practical ministry. The faculty makes a recommendation to the candidacy committee about our approval decision. Then each approval candidate meets with his or her candidacy committee for the approval interview. Some of these interviews will be happening as soon as October; mine isn't until January. The candidacy committee will make the final decision as to whether the candidate is approved for ordination. If you're approved, then you can enter the assignment process.

Stay tuned for my next post, when I'll briefly explain the assignment process and the regions of the ELCA.

Follow-up to Pentecost Sermon

2011-06-16T07:40:00.000-07:00

The sermon this past Sunday was a success. After I preached my written sermon (below), I invited people to turn to their neighbors and share with one another how God was speaking to them. Then I invited those who were willing to share with the whole congregation. Probably a dozen people spoke up. It was really powerful to hear the congregation participating and getting involved in the preaching experience. As I said on Sunday, thanks be to God for the Holy Spirit working among us!

June 12 - Pentecost Sermon

2011-06-10T07:46:00.000-07:00

This Sunday will be my last sermon at my internship site. It's Pentecost, so I'm doing something creative and (gasp!) Spirit-led. I'm focusing primarily on the Acts 2 text, the story of Pentecost. We're going to have congregants speaking in many languages as part of the reading. Then I want to encourage further participation in the sermon itself. Check it out! I'll let you know how it turns out.

Grace and peace to you from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.

When I was in high school, I attended an event called Invitation to Service. It’s a youth event, a discernment retreat for teenagers to help answer the question: What is God’s call for your life?

I first attended Invitation to Service when I was 16, and I’ve been back every summer since then except one. Invitation to Service is one of the main reasons I’m standing here today, nearing the end of my seminary internship, preparing to become a pastor.

Invitation to Service is a powerful event, and I want to share with you one part of that three-day retreat. Every year, the youth who attend ITS have a mountaintop experience. They go for a hike up a mountain (or, as a child of the Rockies like me would say, a glorified hill) and get to hear a story—a call story, the story of how one pastor heard God’s call and followed it.

But it’s actually what happens after that mountain top experience that I really want you to hear. After the youth hike back down the hill, there’s a block of time set aside for a kind of open mic, a time called “How is God Speaking to You?”

These youth at Invitation to Service have heard pastors, leaders, adults talking about God’s call. But then the question is posed to them: How is God speaking to you? It is a time for their voices to be heard, for them to speak up. And they do, every year. It’s a blessed and a heartwrenching time. These youth speak about their hurts and their fears, their encounters with illness, loss, and death. They speak about their hopes and their dreams, their passions for the world around them. They speak up to say how God is calling them, how God is acting in their lives.

In our reading from Acts this morning, Peter quotes the Hebrew prophet Joel: “In the last days it will be, God declares, that I will pour out my Spirit upon all flesh, and your sons and your daughters shall prophesy.” Your sons and your daughters shall prophesy. Your young men and women shall see visions, and your old men and women shall dream dreams.

These words from Joel allow Peter to interpret what was happening on that day of Pentecost. We’re familiar with the story—after Jesus ascends into heaven, the followers of Jesus are gathered together. A rushing wind fills the house, and tongues of fire rest on each of them. Suddenly, they gain the ability to speak in many languages, every language of the earth. And you can imagine how they came tumbling out of the house and into the street, speaking a jumble of foreign words, somehow proclaiming the power of God to the startled crowds. It was something none of them had experienced before. I think Jesus’ followers, this early Christian community, must have been as bewildered as the crowds were. Some of these listeners wonder what is happening. Others make jokes at the expense of the followers of Jesus.

Peter steps forward to explain what is happening, and he uses the words of Joel: In the last days, God declares, I will pour out my Spirit upon all flesh, and your sons and your daughters shall prophesy. Peter identifies the work of the Holy Spirit in all those languages. The followers of Jesus are able to proclaim God’s deeds of power because of the power of the Spirit.

I know that same Spirit was working within and among the youth at Invitation to Service. It is the Holy Spirit that inspires these young people to stand up and proclaim how God is working in their lives. The Holy Spirit commissions many languages, many voices, working together to tell one amazing story.

The Holy Spirit inspires God’s faithful people to speak in many voices. That tells us something important about God. God does not want all God’s people to speak one language. God does not want us all to say the same things, in the same language. God wants and needs people to speak in many languages, with many words. In short, God’s kingdom is founded on diversity. The people of God should not look the same, sound the same, speak the same, act the same. The people of God, when the Holy Spirit is working among us, are diverse. We speak all the languages of the world—you heard many of those languages in this very space this morning. We have different stories, hopes and fears, like the young people at Invitation to Service. We have different visions and dreams for the world and for God’s church. And through the Holy Spirit, God lifts up and blesses all of that diversity, all of our differences.

I warned you at the beginning of the service that this sermon would require congregational participation. Now I can tell you why. The Holy Spirit empowers many voices, not just mine. I can’t preach a sermon about the diversity of God's kingdom if I’m the only one who speaks. So I have a question for you, the same question posed to the youth at Invitation to Service: How is God speaking to you? How do you see the Holy Spirit working in your life or in the world around you? What story of God’s power do you have to tell? What are your fears, your pains; what are your dreams and hopes? How is God speaking to you?

[At this point there will be time for other people to speak. When they're finished, I'll say a few more words to wrap things up.]

May 15 Sermon

2011-05-15T03:36:00.000-07:00

Here's my sermon for this morning, based on the John 10:1-10 text (in which Jesus declares, "I am the Gate for the sheep."). I made use of some images, so I embedded those in the sermon text at roughly the correct places.

Grace and peace to you from our Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.

"I am the gate for the sheep," Jesus says. "I am the gate." The Gospel of John is punctuated by seven famous "I AM" statements, from "I am the bread of life" to "I am the true vine." Perhaps "I am the gate" is not the most familiar, since it's not quite as dramatic as "I am the light of the world" or "I am the resurrection and the life."

When you hear our gospel reading this morning, with its talk of sheep and shepherds, bandits and gatekeepers, you may be expecting to hear another famous "I AM" statement: "I am the good shepherd." In fact, that statement comes just after the end of today's gospel reading. But this morning, Jesus does not identify himself as the good shepherd. Instead, he wants us to see him as the gate for the sheep.

I don't know about you, but I'm not very familiar with sheep farming. Perhaps some of you grew up on farms or in farming communities. Maybe you raised sheep. But I suspect that, like me, many of you are more familiar with government contractors than you are with nomadic shepherds.

For many of us, the agricultural language that would have been so familiar to Jesus' followers is worlds away from our own experience. When we think of gates, is this what comes to mind? A departure gate? Jesus saying, "I am the gate for the airline commuters?" And then maybe we could rewrite Jesus' parable: "Truly I tell you, anyone who does not enter the airport through the TSA security checkpoint but sneaks in another way is a threat and a terrorist. Please report any suspicious activity to airport personnel." That doesn't have quite the same ring, does it?

I think we often read this passage in John like it's describing airport security. You have to go through the checkpoint - pass a test - in order to get to God. When Jesus says, "No one comes to the Father except through me," we interpret that to mean that the "right people," the ones who believe in Jesus, are allowed past the checkpoint, while the "wrong people" are kept out. That's how TSA works, right? After all, the TSA, the security checkpoints, all the precautions we have to go through every time we want to fly - that's all intended to keep the wrong people, the "bad guys," out.

To be honest, I don't think Jesus would have used airport security as a way to describe himself. I don't think Jesus intended for us to focus on excluding others. I don't think the purpose of the gate was to be closed against the "wrong people." I'm not sure there were any "wrong people" in Jesus' eyes.

Maybe we do need to let ourselves sink into the language of the nomadic shepherds from Jesus' time. The sheepfold was not a permanent structure, fixed in place. Shepherds would travel with their flocks from location to location, looking for the best places to graze and for good sources of water. The shepherd would build a fence or wall of brush to enclose the sheep and keep them safe at night.

Jesus reminds us of this nomadic way of life in our gospel reading when he says, "The sheep hear the shepherd's voice. He calls his own sheep by name and leads them out." The sheepfold is not a permanent destination for the sheep; the shepherd leads them out through the gate and on to a new pasture. Whether going in or coming out, the gate is the open door that lets the sheep follow the shepherd's caring guidance.

If we are the sheep and the Lord is our shepherd, as Psalm 23 says so beautifully, then we can learn something from this nomadic lifestyle. Jesus, the gate, isn't the way into a permanent heavenly resting place. Our shepherd is constantly leading us on to new and better pastures. Sometimes, the gate lets us in to a safe place to rest; other times, the gate lets us out into the wider world, following and trusting the shepherd.

Having God as our shepherd and Jesus as the gate is vastly different from our experiences with airport security. God is not creating a "checkpoint," to only let through those who follow the rules and to keep out undesirables. And God is not letting us in to a permanent pasture-like heaven. Being one of God's sheep means being on the move, being led out into the world. The gate is open to us both coming and going.

Above all, having God as our shepherd means we are watched over, cared for, and loved. God leads us to green pastures and still waters. God welcomes us, opening the gate for us again and again. Today, God opens the gate for a large group of our children to receive communion for the first time. God welcomes all of us to the table, to the baptismal font. God welcomes us to worship. Then God welcomes us back into the world God made, leading us out through the gate to take to others the same love and care we have received.

In the housing development where my husband grew up, there was a road that led into the neighborhood. At the entrance, there was a large sign that said "Nellie Gail Ranch" - the name of the community. On either side of the road were large metal gates, wide enough to stretch across the road. But these gates literally could not be closed - they had no hinges. They were bolted to the ground. The gates were there to make you feel welcome as you arrived. These gates were not capable of keeping anyone out - their purpose was to welcome people in.

Jesus says, "I am the gate for the sheep." Jesus is the invitation, the open door that welcomes us into God's loving care. Jesus is the gate that lets us into God's pasture, and Jesus is the gate that sends us back into the world. Amen.

Palm/Passion Sunday sermon

2011-04-17T06:39:00.000-07:00

I'm preaching this morning for the awkwardly named Palm/Passion Sunday. There's a challenge with this festival every year - how much of the story do you tell? If people only come to hear about the palms and the hosannas, and then come back for Easter, they're missing a vital part of the story (yes, that cross thing matters). At the same time, I think it's important to respect the integrity of the festival of Palm Sunday and not steal from Maundy Thursday and Good Friday.

So, I tried to balance the royal entry with the Passion narrative. We had three gospel readings for the service. Matthew 21:1-11 was the processional gospel, telling the story of Jesus' royal entry into Jerusalem. During the Word section of the service, we read Matthew 21:23-46, emphasizing Jesus' conflicts with the religious authorities and their desire to get rid of him. (We also used Psalm 118, which tied in nicely with the "chief cornerstone" image.) Then at the end of the service, in place of a benediction, we read Matthew 26:1-5,14-25. This ends ominously with Jesus predicting his betrayal and Judas saying, "Surely not I, Rabbi?" Jesus responds, "You have said so." The congregation then leaves singing "Jesus, Remember Me." My hope is that this sets the stage for Holy Week, reminds us that the triumphal entry is not the real reason Jesus came to Jerusalem, and leaves people feeling unsettled.

Anyway, somewhere in the midst of all of that is my sermon. And here it is for your reading pleasure:

Grace, mercy, and peace be with you all in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.

We celebrate many festivals and holy days in our church year. Our greatest holiday, Easter, is just a week away. We celebrate Christmas, Epiphany, the Baptism of Jesus, the Transfiguration. We have a day commemorating Pentecost and a day to celebrate the Holy Trinity. We have a Sunday to remember the Reformation and we have a Sunday to remember the faithful who have died.

Yet out of all our festivals, today's might be the most confused. The church has taken to calling this day Palm slash Passion Sunday. We call to mind Jesus' royal entry into Jerusalem, with palm branches and crowds shouting "Hosanna!" Yet we also remember Jesus' conflicts with the authorities of his time, his betrayal, his arrest, humiliation, and eventual death.

So what exactly is this festival, this Palm slash Passion Sunday, all about? Do we remember Jesus as the powerful Son of God, the heir to the royal line of David? Or do we remember Jesus as the lowly one, betrayed, going to his death? We could ask the same question about this whole week, this Holy Week, that stretches ahead of us. What do we remember about Jesus - the royal entry, the last supper, the betrayal and arrest, the cross? The empty tomb that we know lies at the end of this journey?

I think the celebration of this holiday is so complex, even confusing, because we have a God - a savior - who is complex. Jesus defies expectations at every turn. He refuses to be pigeonholed, refuses to be limited. Jesus constantly surprises us by being so much more than we expect him to be.

Look at the crowds who welcomed Jesus into Jerusalem. By calling him "the Son of David" and shouting "Hosanna!" they are praising Jesus as a king. Jesus is lifted up as the heir of the royal line, stretching all the way back to King David. The crowd identifies Jesus as a political figure, a promised Jewish king in opposition to the foreign Roman rule. Yet Jesus will upset their expectations, for a royal heir should not be shamefully executed. Jesus does not come to Jerusalem as an earthly king.

Look again at the priests, the religious authorities in the Temple. Almost as soon as Jesus enters Jerusalem, he goes to the Temple - the heart not only of Jewish religion, but Jewish life. The chief priests and elders try to trap Jesus with their words, try to contain his power and authority. But Jesus will not be contained. In fact, he turns the situation around and traps them in their words instead. His parables about the two sons and the wicked tenants are clearly meant to shame the religious authorities. The priests are a like a child who claims to do the will of the parent but actually does nothing. The leaders in the Temple are like tenants of an absentee landlord, who think they can seize the inheritance by killing the heir. Their own words condemn them when they say, "The landlord will put those wretches to a miserable death, and lease the vineyard to other tenants who will give him the produce at the harvest time."

At the end of our service today, you will hear the story of Judas, who tried to contain and control Jesus by betraying him. Yet Jesus cannot be stopped even by the authority of the Roman Empire or the very power of death itself. No limitations can restrict him. No expectations can encompass him. Jesus is a surprise to everyone, whether the crowds, the priests, or his own disciples.

Sometimes, our clearest expectations are completely reversed. The expectations of the crowds, the priests, even Judas, are turned on their heads by Jesus. I’m reminded of a Native American story about Coyote. Now, Coyote is the trickster character, the one who’s always trying to fool or ensnare others. But more often than not, Coyote gets his comeuppance. In one story about Coyote, he sees a rabbit out in the open. He sneaks up behind a log to get a closer look. The little rabbit sits there, very still, brown-grey in color. Coyote laughs to himself—this rabbit is oblivious, it has no idea what’s coming. Coyote craws quietly around the log, getting closer and closer to the rabbit. Finally, he pounces, mouth wide open—and breaks all his teeth, for it was not a rabbit but a rock he was hunting. Just when our expectations are the strongest, sometimes we are in for a shock. Perhaps the people who watched Jesus as he entered Jerusalem, the priests who eyed him in the Temple, were about to find out that he was not a humble rabbit, but a stone—the chief cornerstone, as Jesus himself says.

So today is Palm Sunday, the Sunday of the Passion. We celebrate a complicated festival today because we worship a complicated God, a God who defies expectations and breaks free from every limit. This is good news! But it should also be a word of warning to us. How do we try to contain God? How to we try to limit Jesus? What expectations do we have that will be turned on their heads?

From time to time, we are like the crowds shouting "Hosanna!" outside the city. We assume that God will solve our civil and political problems, taking charge over human affairs. We claim that God favors our nation, our people. We set God up as an earthly king.

From time to time, we are like the priests, thinking we can trap God with our words. We try to bargain with God - promising our loyalty in return for God's support. Or we act like those wicked tenants from Jesus' parable. We believe that we can behave wickedly and manage to steal the blessings that God provides.

From time to time, we are even like Judas. When God does something we don't like, something that frightens or intimidates us, we turn our backs. We refuse to follow where God is leading. We would rather betray God than accept God.

We have so many expectations of God - expectations of what we think God should do, and expectations of what we think God shouldn't do. Expectations about what God accepts and what God rejects. Expectations about what God wants - either from us or from others. Too often, we try to force God into a box of our making.

Yet Palm/Passion Sunday, this awkward festival, reminds us that God will not be contained. Whether we expect a king or a dead man, Jesus will surprise us. No matter what kind of box - or tomb - we try to force Jesus into, he will burst free in the most unexpected ways.

Jesus will always surprise us. This is good news indeed. It frees us from our limiting expectations, our petty ideas of what God can be. Because God is far greater than we can begin to imagine. The crowds welcoming Jesus into Jerusalem thought that an earthly king was the greatest possibility. The priests and elders couldn’t imagine a new reality. Yet God brings us this new reality, this new life. If we allow ourselves to be surprised by Jesus, the humble king, we will step into a new life with him.

The Future

2011-04-07T09:46:00.000-07:00

The church seems to be worrying all the time about the future. (Has it always been this way? I don't know.) As numbers (both people and dollars) decline, enthusiasm lags, and leaders get burnt out, we wonder how this effort can be sustained. Among those in my generation, fewer and fewer are actively religious. So the church worries... how can we get "the young people" into the church?

Okay, first of all, my beloved brothers and sisters, stop talking about "the young people" like they're an alien race. And stop talking about "the young people" as if there isn't one right in front of you (that would be me, and my friends and classmates). There are young people in the church. We may be exceptions that prove the rule, but we don't like being spoken about as if we didn't exist.

Second of all, brothers and sisters, stop acting like you can fool or manipulate young people into coming to church. Having a praise band - or a facebook page - will not magically draw us in like a magnet. We are smart people, we care about things in the world, we know when we're being respected and when we're being patronized. So respect us.

Third of all, stop acting like this is up to you. The church is not our church - the church is God's church. God is in charge. (Now, that doesn't give us a pass; we don't get to do nothing.) God will preserve and sustain God's people. God will breathe new life into us, like those dry bones in Ezekiel. As people of faith, we should trust in the power and promise of the God we proclaim. Otherwise, it looks like we don't trust God enough to get the job done... and what kind of God would that be?

Fourth of all, go read this post. I can't say it any better.

Funeral Sermon - Vernon Stuart Foote, Jr.

2011-04-02T14:23:00.001-07:00

I've decided to post the sermon that I wrote for my grandfather's funeral, which was back in February. It was my first time preaching a funeral sermon, and I was honored to be able to do this for him and for my family.

Grace and peace to you from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.

Let me begin by saying that I am deeply honored and profoundly saddened to address you all today. On behalf of my grandfather's family, I thank you for being here today and for your expressions of love and support.

It is a truth universally acknowledged that the Foote family loves to tell stories. This fact probably comes as no surprise to any of you here today. Get two or three – or sometimes just one – of us together, and the stories will flow like water. And the stories we love to tell the most are stories about ourselves. Family stories.

Stories about Marilou's fear of heights. Stories about Lise or Stuart or Kim getting into trouble as children. Like the story about Lise running away and taking the baby Kim with her. Or about the time the kids and Stuart, my grandfather, decided to determine the relative densities of everything in the liquor cabinet, which could only be done by trial and error. Or about Stuart standing on Marilou's wedding dress but being unable to hear her whispered, “Stuart! You're on my dress!” until she said it loud enough for everyone in the wedding congregation to hear.

Funerals, I think, are the best time to tell stories. When we are grieving, when we are lonely, when we feel abandoned – then we need to remember, to share, and to laugh together. We need to tell stories. I have no doubt that everyone here today has a story to tell about Stuart. My hope and my advice for you is that you share your stories with one another today and in the weeks to come, as we all fondly remember Stuart.

The stories about my grandfather reveal who he was: an intelligent, dedicated, loyal man who loved his family. I'll tell you just one story that is special to me, because it's the story of how Stuart saved me as a baby. We were at the family house in Vermont one winter when I was only a year and a half old, and there was lots of snow in the sloping backyard. My grandfather took me on his lap as he sledded all the way down the hill - through the blueberry bushes at the bottom - and into the freezing creek. The sled tipped and he would have landed on top of me in the water. In order to protect me, he wrenched himself around and lifted me up to safety. He broke three ribs in the process, and of course he didn't go to the doctor because after all, they're just ribs.

That, to me, is a perfect story about Stuart - that was his dedication to the people he loved. He didn't hesitate to put himself in harm's way to protect others. He did what needed to be done. And we could all laugh about it later.

Story telling. It's the way we remember our past. It's the way we grieve and celebrate those we love who have died. The Foote family loves to tell family stories. And today we also remember another kind of story, a story that we are all a part of: the story of faith.

As Christians, we tell the story of our faith, the saving story of God's grace. God's mercy and love is a story that stretches from the prophet Isaiah proclaiming hope to God's people, through the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ, to the faithful proclamation of Paul, and down to us here today. When we read the Scriptures, when we recall the words of Christ and proclaim the Gospel, we are telling the story again and again.

As we tell this story, we are woven into it ourselves. The story of faith becomes our story. The ancient promises become our promises. When we tell the story of Isaiah's prophecy that "Those who wait for the LORD shall renew their strength, they shall mount up with wings like eagles," we ourselves are lifted up. When we tell the story of Christ's promises that "Because I live, you also will live," we are holding onto those promises ourselves. We are wrapped up into this same story, connected like threads woven into a great tapestry.

The story of Scripture is the long story of God’s love and grace. God brought a message of salvation to the people of Israel through the prophets. Jesus brought the message of salvation to his disciples and followers. And we hear that same story today in our own lives. We can trust that Stuart is held in God’s loving care until the promised resurrection. We can trust in God’s promises and in God’s love.

Indeed, love is the heart of this great story. As Paul writes to the Corinthians, “Love never ends.” All the impermanent things of this life - sickness and death, grief and pain - will pass away, but love will always remain. God’s love for us is eternal. So is our love for Stuart and for one another. Paul reminds us that faith, hope, and love will remain; and the greatest of these is love.

Story telling: it’s a favorite family activity, and it’s a central part of our faith. As we remember Stuart, I pray that we can share our stories of how he touched our lives. And at the same time, let us remember and tell the story of God’s love, for in this story we find the comfort and hope of God’s promises. Let us celebrate Stuart’s life by telling our stories, and see how our stories are woven into the great story of God’s love for us. Let us care for one another and love one another. Let love be the story we carry forward from this place. Amen.

March 27 Sermon

2011-03-26T09:09:00.001-07:00

For this Sunday's sermon, I am trying something a little different. I'm making use of a video as part of my message. Check it out for the full effect. The Gospel reading is from John 4, the story of the Samaritan woman at the well.

Grace, mercy, and peace to you from the Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.

We continue this morning our time in the Gospel of John. Last week, we got to listen in on Jesus’ conversation with Nicodemus, who wondered how a person could be born again. This morning, we witness Jesus at a well, a Samaritan well, a well belonging to a people rejected and outcast by the Jews. Though the Samaritans claim the same heritage as the Jews, being descendants of Jacob, yet they are considered a different people, an inferior people. But this morning, Jesus stops at this well, the Samaritan well, the outsider well.

And at the well, he finds a woman, there at midday - alone, because everyone else draws water in the early morning. Jesus asks a drink of her - a Samaritan, a woman, an outsider among outsiders. Jesus asks her to give him a drink, beginning a conversation that will have dramatic results. And this unnamed Samaritan woman at the well proves to be one of the most remarkable characters in John's Gospel. This woman, as we shall see, is known by Jesus and comes to know him better than his own disciples do.

But before we examine this story in the Gospel of John, let's hear it in her own words.

The woman at the well is so different from Nicodemus, who encountered Jesus in our Gospel reading last week. Nicodemus was a person of authority, privilege, and power; the woman at the well is none of these things. She is an outsider among outsiders. Yet her story begins very much like Nicodemus’. Both of these characters misunderstand and misinterpret the words of Jesus, trying to understand spiritual matters in earthly terms. Nicodemus was confused how anyone could be born again, how a grown person could return to the mother’s womb. Likewise, the woman at the well does not understand what Jesus means by “living water.” At first, she thinks he means running water, water of higher quality than stagnant water. But Jesus corrects her: “Everyone who drinks of this water will be thirsty again, but those who drink of the water that I will give them will never be thirsty. The water that I will give will become in them a spring of water gushing up to eternal life.”

Though the Samaritan woman at the well initially shares Nicodemus’ confusion, she moves beyond it in a way that Nicodemus never does. When confronted with the promise of living water, she tells Jesus, “Give me this water.”

This is her first revelation. She desires what Jesus offers; she is bold to ask for it. Now Jesus can move their conversation further, turn it from what is offered to the identity one who offers. He reveals that he knows her, understands her. He knows, as she says “everything she has ever done.”

And notice what happens. Because Jesus knows the woman, she knows something about him: she calls him a prophet. To be known is to know, to come to a deeper understanding. To be known by Jesus means knowing Jesus more fully.

Now, faced with a prophet, she asks him a religious question, a question which drives to the heart of her outcast status. The Jews worship in Jerusalem, but the Samaritans worship on this mountain. They worship the same God, but their differences drive them apart. She is outcast, excluded from Jewish society, for these religious differences. Now she wants Jesus to resolve them for her. She wants the one who has included her to include her whole people.

Once again, Jesus turns her mind from the earthly to the spiritual; for the place of worship, Jesus says, does not matter in the end. It does not matter where God is worshipped, but how God is worshipped. A God who is spirit will be worshipped in spirit and in truth. And among those who worship in spirit and in truth, there are no divisions, no exclusions, no outcasts.

Once again, the woman moves beyond her initial question to a deeper understanding. And now is her second revelation: her mind turns from prophets to the promised Messiah, the one who will “proclaim all things to us,” just as Jesus has been proclaiming to her.

This moment is striking: throughout the gospels, for various reasons, people come to see who Jesus is. They are driven to a confession of Jesus as the Messiah. Yet Jesus never takes this title for himself except here, with the woman at the well. When the woman at the well wonders aloud about the Messiah, Jesus definitively tells her, “I am he.”

To be known is to be loved, and to be loved is to be known. Too often we read this story as a morality tale, a story about a sinful woman - some even call her a prostitute - who is redeemed from her sin. But this story has nothing to do with morality; sin is never mentioned. This is a story about identity. This is a story that teaches us the miraculous power of being known, truly known, fully and completely known.

Jesus knows the woman at the well, and she comes to know Jesus as the source of living water, eternal life - the Messiah.

Because she has been known and has come to know, the woman at the well leaves Jesus to proclaim the good news to her people. The women who followed Jesus are often credited as being the first apostles, because they were the first to spread the news of Jesus’ resurrection. Perhaps the woman at the well became an apostle even before those women who went to the tomb. The woman at the well proclaims the good news, the good news about Jesus, the Messiah, the one who knows everything she has ever done.

If you read on in this chapter in John’s Gospel, you will find that the Samaritans are compelled by the proclamation of the woman at the well. They ask Jesus to stay with them, and many of them come to believe.

This is the miraculous power of being known. Because one woman found that she was fully known, her life was changed. She could not help but share this good news with everyone around her. Because one woman found that she was known, many came to know Jesus the Messiah, the Christ.

To be known is to be loved and to be loved is to be known. Each one of us is known by God, precious children in God's sight. Each one of us is known, and to be known is to be loved. We are constantly surrounded by God’s love. And loving the one who has first loved us, we come to know this man, Jesus, who stopped at a Samaritan well at midday to perform a miracle. Amen.

March 6 Sermon - Transfiguration Sunday

2011-03-10T07:16:00.000-08:00

I preached this past weekend for Transfiguration Sunday. I did something a little different with my sermon this time around: I enlisted some help from the congregation to do a sermon drama. I used this as a way to explain Moses' and Elijah's stories and their relevance to the Transfiguration event. My "actors" did a wonderful job, and I was pleased with the sermon.

(The text was Matthew 17:1-9.)

In our gospel reading for today, Jesus takes three of his disciples, Peter, James, and John, and climbs a high mountain. [Jesus walks up to the altar steps.] In this high and holy place, Jesus is transfigured; his face shines and his clothes dazzle. Suddenly, there appears to them Moses and Elijah...

[Moses and Elijah appear from the sacristy. Jesus stands between them. Peter, James, and John kneel in awe.]

Moses: I am Moses, the great leader of the people of Israel. I was called by God to lead the people out of their slavery in Egypt. I spoke to God face-to-face on a mountain, Mount Sinai. There God gave me the law to give to the people. Though I died before we entered the promised land, it is said that another prophet like me will arise. For it is written in the Torah, the law, “The LORD your God will raise up for you a prophet like me from among your own people; you shall heed such a prophet.”

Elijah: I am Elijah, a man of God and a prophet of the Lord. I was faithful to God even when my life was in danger. God met me on a mountain and spoke to me, instructing me to anoint kings and promising to preserve those who remained faithful. I was lifted up to heaven by a chariot of fire in a whirlwind, and it is said that I will return. For it is written in the prophets, “I will send you the prophet Elijah before the great and terrible day of the Lord comes.”

Moses: Jesus is the prophet like me!

Elijah: Elijah has returned!

Peter: [stands] What is this we are seeing? Six days ago, I called Jesus the Messiah and the Son of God. Then Jesus told us he would suffer and die in Jerusalem and be raised on the third day. Now, Jesus is shining white, standing with Moses and Elijah – how can this be? Surely the presence of God is in this place! We are trespassing on holy ground!
[to Jesus, nervously] … Lord, it is good for us to be here; if you wish, I will make three dwellings here, one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah –

[Interrupting] And a voice from the cloud said, “This is my Son, the Beloved; with him I am well pleased; stop what you are doing, stop talking, and listen to him!”

And Jesus came and laid his healing hands on the disciples and said, “Get up and do not be afraid.”

[All characters return to seats.]

This is Transfiguration Sunday. This festival marks the last Sunday of the season of Epiphany, and it leans forward into the season of Lent and, eventually, Holy Week and Easter. Transfiguration Sunday commemorates the events we have just seen reenacted here: Jesus ascends a mountain with three of his disciples, where he is transfigured – not a term we use every day. With him appear Moses and Elijah, and the disciples are awed. A voice speaks from heaven, apparently interrupting Peter. Moses and Elijah vanish, and Jesus comforts the terrified disciples. As they return from the mountain, Jesus instructs them to keep this secret until the right time: when the Son of Man has been raised from the dead.

Transfiguration Sunday is a multi-faceted festival, full of different ideas and implications. We are reminded of Jesus' baptism by the voice from the clouds. We cannot help but think of Jesus' resurrection when we are given this mighty, glowing image of Jesus. And there are dark undertones in this text, as well: The “six days” at the beginning of the text are marked from Jesus' first prediction of his death. As Jesus descends from the mountain, he begins an inevitable march to Jerusalem, where he will be killed.

In this text, we also are confronted with strange images and references that may be hard to understand. Why is the mountain so significant? Why do Moses and Elijah appear? What is Peter trying to accomplish? Fundamentally, I think this text presses on us again the question: “Who is Jesus?” According to Matthew, just six days before, Jesus asked his disciples, “Who do you say that I am?” Today, we must also try to find an answer: “Who do you say that I am?”

When Jesus asked his disciples, “Who do you say that I am,” Peter proclaimed, “You are the Messiah, the Son of the Living God.” It seems to me that the Holy Spirit must have inspired this answer in Peter. Indeed, when Jesus is transfigured on the mountain, it proves that Peter was exactly right. Jesus is revealed to be something extraordinary. Jesus is revealed to Peter, James, and John, glowing with glory. Jesus is revealed beside Moses and Elijah – these two giants of the faith who possess messianic connections. It was said that another prophet like Moses would come; it was said that Elijah would return. In Jesus, at the transfiguration, these prophecies are linked and fulfilled. If you need character witnesses to prove your messianic status, you can't do better than Moses and Elijah.

And as if that weren't enough, there is also a cloud that appears and a voice that speaks out of it. It is impossible not to draw the connection between this revelation and Jesus' baptism, where a voice proclaimed, “This is my Son, the Beloved, with whom I am well pleased.” Here the voice adds a commandment: “This is my Son, the Beloved; with him I am well pleased; listen to him!” The addition seems directed at Peter, who is apparently overcome by this transfiguration and is trying to figure out what to do in response.

This Transfiguration text can also speak to our own faith lives. Many of us have had “mountaintop experiences,” those moments when we feel profoundly close to God. We feel a certain kinship with the disciples here – after all, Peter, James, and John had the mountaintop experience par excellence. Yet like the disciples, we sometimes don't know what to do when we encounter the divine.

When we experience the presence of God, sometimes we react like Peter, babbling, “Lord, it is good for us to be here; if you wish, I will make three dwellings here, one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah.” Peter's nervousness, or eagerness, seems so very human, doesn't it? His intentions are clearly good, but he comes across as a bit of a fool. And the voice from the cloud cuts him off with the curt command: “Listen to him!” I heard one reinterpretation of the voice, that its message is, “Don't just do something – stand there!” Sometimes our busyness gets in the way of the message God wants us to receive. Sometimes we are too eager to do something, too eager to say something, that we forget to stop and listen. Sometimes we need to be quiet and let God speak.

So it is for Peter at the Transfiguration. Peter is so overwhelmed by this revelation of the divine, of Jesus' messianic status, that he can't stop talking. He feels this desperate need to do something. But the divine voice silences him. No Peter, this voice says, you need to listen to him. Be quiet. Listen.

Are your ears straining like Peter's to hear what Jesus will say? Indeed, Jesus does have something to say to his disciples. And it is these words that we should listen to today. Jesus says, “Get up and do not be afraid.” Get up. Do not be afraid. And as he speaks, he reaches out to touch the disciples – a touch that in Matthew is always associated with healing.

The divine voice says: Listen to him! And Jesus says, Do not be afraid. This is another revelation. The Transfiguration reveals Jesus as the Messiah, the fulfillment of prophecies, the Son of God. And these words reveal the depth of Jesus' love and healing care. The Jesus who heals and cares for others is not replaced by this shining, transfigured Messiah. Rather, we find that Jesus remains steadfast in his compassion for others, starting with his terrified disciples.

We often need to hear this reassurance. When we have experiences that seem overwhelming, then we need to be reminded of the abiding love of Jesus. When we are terrified, we need to feel that healing touch. Like the disciples, we need to know that the God who is transcendent, greater than everything, is also immanent, profoundly close to us. Jesus cares for us as deeply as he cared for his disciples. Amen.

Giving up Lent for Lent

2011-03-10T07:12:00.001-08:00

This is the newsletter article I wrote for the month of March. As we begin the Lenten journey to Easter, sometimes it helps to remember that Lent is not about guilt or a competition to see who can give up the most. My idea of "giving up Lent for Lent" was inspired by Dr. Schramm up at the seminary.

"Giving up Lent for Lent"

God's grace and peace be with all of you!

This month, we enter the season of Lent - a time of penitence and reflection before Easter, modeled on Jesus' own time in the wilderness. Christians have traditionally given up certain luxuries - like meat - for this season. Today, many choose to give up chocolate or soda or other temptations.

Others choose to take on a practice rather than give something up. They may take on an intentional time each day for prayer or reading Scripture. They may choose to devote extra time or money for caring for others.

The purpose of "giving up" or "taking on" is to deepen our spiritual lives. We remind ourselves during Lent that we are dependent on God and that God calls us to care for others. We should remember these lessons all year round! But sometimes it helps to have a reminder, and so many people choose a Lenten practice. Yet sometimes, the practice of Lent can feel like a burden.

One of my seminary professors is fond of saying every year, "I'm giving up Lent for Lent." Now, I can't say I know exactly what he meant by those words, but I think his point was that he was opting out: neither giving something up nor taking something on. In the overwhelming stress of seminary, I appreciated his implicit permission not to "do Lent." Sometimes our lives don't fit with the liturgical calendar. Sometimes we can't give anything up. Sometimes we can't squeeze a single extra thing onto our overburdened plates. Sometimes we need to give up Lent for Lent.

When we feel overwhelmed, Lent can seem like the straw that broke the camel's back: it's just one more thing we're expected to do. That's not how Lent should be. The season of Lent isn't designed to make us feel guilty and inadequate. It's designed to help us center our lives on God, and we can do that in a variety of ways.

So if you give something up this Lenten season, I pray that you will be reminded that we do not live by bread (or chocolate, or caffeine) alone. If you take something on, I pray that you will be enriched and enrich the lives of others. And if you choose to give up Lent for Lent, I offer you the words of Martin Luther: "Sin boldly! And trust in Christ more boldly still."

January 30 Sermon

2011-01-29T11:00:00.000-08:00

Here's my sermon for tomorrow, on the Old Testament lesson (Micah 6:1-8). Sorry I haven't posted in over a month, Christmas was a busy time!

Grace and peace to you from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.

Micah 6:8 is one of the more famous verses in the Old Testament. You may have heard it before, or seen it decorating someone’s home. It is printed on t-shirts and coasters. And with good reason — these words are both beautiful and powerful. “He has told you, O mortal, what is good; and what does the Lord require of you but to do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God?”
Micah 6:8 is probably much more familiar to us than the rest of the book of Micah. We so often hear this verse by itself, removed from its context. The context of Micah 6:8 is important, however, and worthwhile to a deeper understanding of this famous verse.

Like many of the Old Testament prophets, Micah brings a word of warning and condemnation to God’s people. Through Micah, God enumerates the injustice and faithlessness of the people of Judah. The language is of a court case – God is bringing a complaint against the people. Earlier chapters in Micah describe God's charges: prophets leading the people astray, the ruling class perverting justice and even taking bribes for their judgments. The powerful, both in civil and religious life, are abandoning their duty to the poor and powerless. Priests, prophets, and judges are self-serving and determined to maintain the status quo. They preach a message of God's favor to themselves. They do not wish to hear a word of judgment from God; but Micah brings precisely this word.
In the context of this injustice and self-serving religiosity, Micah brings God's complaint. In God's court, the created world is the jury: the mountains and hills themselves stand up to bear witness. “Hear, you mountains, the controversy of the Lord, and you enduring foundations of the earth; for the Lord has a controversy with his people, and he will contend with Israel.” In contrast to the faithlessness of humanity, God enumerates the many acts of salvation and loyalty God has performed for the people: bringing them out of slavery in Egypt, providing them leaders, providing them blessings, and leading them into the promised land. God asks if the people have gotten tired of this saving grace!

The response that comes from the people might sound plaintive: “With what shall I come before the Lord, and bow myself before God on high? Shall I come before him with burnt offerings, with calves a year old? Will the Lord be pleased with thousands of rams, with ten thousands of rivers of oil? Shall I give my firstborn for my transgression, the fruit of my body for the sin of my soul?” The people are saying: if God has declared us guilty, what can we do to make it right? They offer up sacrifices, even human sacrifices, to appease God.
Once again, the people display their obstinate ignorance of God's will. They propose sacrificing children in order to buy off God's wrath. But Micah sharply reminds them of the proper response: “God has told you, O mortal, what is good!” God has made it clear what God desires – and it's not human sacrifice. God can't be bought off. This famous verse, Micah 6:8, sums up God's expectation: “Do justice, love kindness, and walk humbly with your God.”

Allow me to take a step back from our Micah text for a moment to tell you a story. A member of this congregation has very kindly taken up the habit of bringing me my beverage of choice from Starbucks every Sunday (chai latte with 2% milk, in case you were wondering). A few weeks ago, as I was enjoying my Starbucks during the Sunday school hour, I looked down and read the back of the cup. “Everything we do, you do,” it said, and proceeded to explain how I had bought some two hundred thousand pounds of fairly-obtained coffee with my one little cup. It's a brilliant marketing ploy on Starbucks' part – not only do I get a drink, I get to feel good about myself, too! My consumerism gets to go hand-in-hand with my philanthropy!
Let me give you another example. The Dove corporation, which makes soaps and lotions, has a campaign targeted to women – you may have seen it. The “Dove Campaign for True Beauty.” This campaign lifts up the unreasonable images presented in advertising – female models who have been made up and photoshopped beyond any semblance of reality. Dove wants us to know that they're in favor of true beauty, authentic beauty. So by buying their products, I'm supporting women and girls!
Yet the company that owns Dove, Unilever, also owns Axe—which presents some of the most offensive images of women in advertising. You ought to smell a stink of hypocrisy on Dove's “True Beauty” campaign. I am quite confident that Dove is more interested in making a profit by whatever means than in promoting healthy images of women in advertising.
Now don't get me wrong, I'm not saying it's wrong to buy Dove soap or to drink Starbucks coffee. After all, I don't want to start a riot here, and I plan to keep enjoying my chai lattes. There's nothing wrong with drinking Starbucks. But there is something wrong with drinking Starbucks and convincing ourselves that it's the same thing as “doing justice, loving kindness, and walking humbly with our God.” Starbucks and other corporations want us to believe that consumerism is identical to justice – but it's not. We can't let ourselves be deceived by marketing campaigns.

The people of Micah's time thought they could buy off God. They thought that making some sacrifices of animals – or even children – would deter God's righteous anger. We may often think, in our modern world, that buying fair trade coffee is enough to stop injustice. We may think we can buy off God as well, fulfill God's demands for righteousness, through our consumption.
Micah then speaks a word of judgment to us just as much as he did to the people of Judah. In the face of our consumerism and self-satisfaction, Micah reminds us, “God has told you what is good!” God has told us what we ought to do. God has told us what God expects. Micah sums it all up in three brief instructions: do justice. Love kindness. Walk humbly with God.

The instructions of Micah 6:8 are not easy. We should not pretend that they are easy—that we can do justice, love kindness, and walk humbly with God just by spending more money or supporting the right organizations. As one commentator put it, “To enact justice, to love kindness, and to walk humbly with God, are not single acts that can be checked off the list and left behind. On an individual and social scale, in ways large and small, this is a way of life.” Yes, this is a way of life. The expectation of God spoken by Micah is that we devote our whole lives to doing justice, loving kindness, and walking humbly with God.
If we take seriously the commandment of Micah 6:8—and I certainly think we should—it’s necessary for us not only to examine the injustices of the world around us, but to examine ourselves as well. We need to consider how our actions affect the planet and our fellow creatures. We can’t be lazy, buying into the messages of advertising, because those messages are fundamentally intended to make money. We should consider how the systems of consumerism which make our lives so comfortable may cause misery for our brothers and sisters around the world.

The prophetic words of Micah were no doubt harsh and troubling to the people of Judah. So too for us today: we may be troubled, even shocked, when we consider our own injustices. The weight of the world’s needs may feel overwhelming or exhausting.
Yet this word is good news, as well. It is good news for the suffering, the powerless and hopeless, that they might see the justice they so deeply desire. A world where people direct their lives to doing justice, loving kindness, and walking humbly with God is a better world for those who are suffering.
And what about the unjust, self-serving priests and judges? What about the rich and powerful of today? What about our comfortable consumerism? Yes, there is good news for us, too. There is good news that we can be included in Jesus’ blessings: “Blessed are the meek... Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness... Blessed are the pure in heart.... Blessed are the peacemakers.” Blessed are those who do justice. Blessed are those who love kindness. Blessed are those who walk humbly with their God. Amen.

December 12 Sermon

2010-12-12T13:18:00.000-08:00

Here's my sermon from this morning. I wasn't totally happy with it, but... oh well.

Good morning. God's grace and peace be with all of you.

Our gospel text this morning begins with a question: “Are you the one who is to come, or are we to wait for another?” John the Baptist, who is in prison, sends this question through his followers to Jesus. “Are you the one who is to come?” The question might seem to be a strange one, coming from John the Baptist. After all, it was John who baptized Jesus, John who would have seen the heavens opened up and God's Spirit descending in the form of a dove and heard a voice from heaven saying, “This is my Son, the Beloved, with whom I am well pleased.” Wouldn't John, of all people, know that Jesus is “the one who is to come?”
Yet John doubts. John questions Jesus' identity, even when it would seem that he had more than enough evidence to prove who Jesus is. John is so concerned, he must send messengers from prison to ask, “Are you the one who is to come?” John is overwhelmed by a pressing question about Jesus; he simply must know: “Who are you?”

Jesus' answer may seem as unusual as John's question. Despite John's experiences with Jesus, he feels compelled to ask about Jesus' identity. And Jesus does not seem to answer the question he is asked. Jesus does not say, “I am the one who is to come,” or “I am the Messiah,” or even give a simple yes or no. Instead, Jesus says, “Go and tell John what you hear and see.” Jesus doesn't say who he is, instead he says what he does: “The blind receive their sight, the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the poor have good news brought to them.”
In response to a question about his identity, Jesus answers with his actions. In other words, Jesus is telling John, “If you want to know who I am, look at what I'm doing.” Jesus' identity is found in his actions. John is supposed to find the answer to his question in what Jesus is doing. And the same is true for us. If we want to know if Jesus is really “the one,” Jesus is telling us to look at how he lived in the world.

The answer is not what John was expecting or wanted to hear. If you remember the Gospel reading from last week, we got to hear about John’s expectations for the “coming one.” In Matthew 3, we read John’s words: “Even now the ax is lying at the root of the trees; every tree therefore that does not bear good fruit is cut down and thrown into the fire. I baptize you with water for repentance, but one who is more powerful than I is coming after me; I am not worthy to carry his sandals. He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and fire. His winnowing fork is in his hand, and he will clear his threshing floor and will gather his wheat into the granary; but the chaff he will burn with unquenchable fire.” John is anticipating divine judgment. He vividly describes how the “one who is to come” will act: he will cut down every tree that does not bear good fruit; he will separate the wheat from the chaff. The righteous will be rewarded and the wicked will be punished.
This was the hope of many in Jesus’ time, who had suffered terrible oppression at the hands of the powerful. The judgment of God was their only hope for justice in an unjust world. Even today, we may hope for the same: that God will finally come and give everyone what he or she deserves. Like John the Baptist, we may look forward to a divine judgment.

Again, however, Jesus’ answer goes against expectations. Jesus tells John’s followers, “The blind receive their sight, the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the poor have good news brought to them.” These are not actions of judgment! There is no ax at the foot of the tree here, no unquenchable fire. No, instead Jesus is describing acts of mercy and compassion. Jesus does not bring judgment; he brings good news to those who need to hear it most.
Are these the actions of a Messiah? John certainly didn’t think so — after all, “Messiah” is a political term. “Messiah” means “anointed one,” and the ones who were anointed were kings, going all the way back to King Saul. A king ought to be ruling, not performing acts of mercy and preaching to the poor! Jesus is neither the divine judge nor the chosen king that John and the people of his time were expecting. And so John asks, “Are you the one? Can you possibly be the one?”

Jesus has one other word for the followers of John. After he tells them all he has done, all the acts of mercy and grace, he says, “Blessed is anyone who takes no offense at me.” “Blessed is anyone who takes no offense at me” — anyone who takes no offense at a wandering preacher instead of a king, anyone who takes no offense at a merciful savior instead of a divine judge. John is facing the real possibility that he will take offense — that he will reject Jesus because Jesus does not meet John’s expectations. That possibility of offense is real for all potential followers of Jesus. The disciples, the crowds — all of them are confronted by a Messiah who goes against their expectations and hopes. They may take offense at who Jesus is, what Jesus does. But Jesus tells them, “Blessed is anyone who takes no offense at me.”

We, too, must face the possibility of offense. When God does not act in the way we want or expect, we may become offended. When Jesus reveals mercy when we expect judgment, we may become offended. When Jesus sides with the poor and weak instead of the rich and powerful, we may become offended. We may turn away, refusing to accept this Jesus.
In the season of Advent, we are waiting for the coming of God into the world in Jesus. As we wait, it’s worthwhile to ask ourselves, “Who are we waiting for?” Are we waiting for a divine judge, like John? Are we waiting for a powerful ruler? And if we are waiting for God to come into the world, how will we respond to Jesus as a helpless baby in a filthy stable?

I’m not asking these questions just to make a point. I think they are questions we should seriously consider in our own faith lives. Because there is the possibility of offense for all of us. After all, if the reality of Jesus — the Son of God, come to earth — were immediately obvious to everyone, then faith would not matter. If Jesus’ identity were clear to everyone, then everyone would follow him. But that’s not the case. The truth is, many people have been offended by who Jesus is. That’s not an occasion for us to be self-congratulatory, as if we “get it” when others do not. We face the possibility of offense as well: at times, even we turn away and refuse to follow. So we have to ask ourselves, “Who are we waiting for, this Advent?” We have to ask, “What will our response be? Are we going to be offended by Jesus?”

Jesus says, “Blessed is anyone who takes no offense at me.” How will we respond to Jesus, to God in human form? If, by the grace of God, we are among those “blessed,” then our response should be to follow Jesus. In a few short weeks, we will remember a baby born in a stable to a teenaged and unmarried mother. From those humble beginnings, Jesus did not rise to a life of power and privilege. Instead, he lived constantly among the sick, the poor, the outcasts of society, and he died shamefully on a cross. “Blessed is anyone who takes no offense at me.” This is the Lord we follow.
Jesus lived out God’s love, mercy, and care for the world. Jesus gave people what they most desperately needed — physical care, to be sure, but above all, compassion and hope. Jesus brought good news to the poor. So too, as followers of Jesus, should we. Christ calls us to be companions to those who are suffering, those we might find distasteful or frightening. Christ calls us not only to write a check, though that is certainly important, but to see them face-to-face. Christ, who was born in a dirty stable and lived among the poor, is calling us when he says, “Blessed is anyone who takes no offense at me.” Amen.

The Good News about New Year's

2010-12-07T08:40:00.000-08:00

[This is the January newsletter article I wrote for King of Kings. I liked it, so I figured I'd share.]

The Good News about New Year's

Just as surely as Thanksgiving has its turkey and Christmas has its decorations, January has its own tradition: New Year's resolutions. It's a staple of both pop culture and our own lives. After the holidays, after the family celebrations and the overindulgent feasts, we settle down into a dark, cold January, determined to remake ourselves. Join a gym; lose that holiday weight; become a more patient or thankful or kind person; find Mr. or Ms. Right.

What is it we are searching for, after all? When we try to conform our appearance to the photoshopped magazine ideal of slender bodies (or, for gentlemen, toned bodies) and perfect skin, we are doomed to failure. When we search for our lives' meaning in romance, we are more often than not disappointed. And when we try to mold ourselves into patient, kinder people, we often end up frustrated. New Year's resolutions send us chasing after impossible ideals and leave us feeling worse about ourselves than we did before we began.

In the second letter to the Corinthians, Paul writes, "Where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom. And all of us, with unveiled faces, seeing the glory of the Lord as though reflected in a mirror, are being transformed into the same image from one degree of glory to another; for this comes from the Lord, the Spirit." This is the good news for us about New Year's! Paul reminds us that we are being transformed, not by our own effort but by the Holy Spirit. We are being transformed, not in January but constantly. We are being transformed; therefore we don't have to be slaves to our resolutions, but we can enjoy the freedom of the Spirit.

This year, consider this New Year's resolution: to let go of resolutions. Instead, remember that God's Spirit is constantly transforming us. We are not becoming closer and closer to the false ideals of advertising, but we are becoming closer and closer to the glory of God. And it is through God's grace that we receive this transformation. Therefore, we are free! Thanks be to God!

December 12 Sermon - Part Two

2010-12-01T07:45:00.000-08:00

So I'm looking at Matthew 11:2-11. John the Baptist is in prison and sends some of his disciples to Jesus, wondering if Jesus really is the Messiah. At first, it seems like a silly question to come from John - after all, John is the one who baptized Jesus and heard a voice saying "This is my son." Shouldn't John, of all people, believe? But as David Garland pointed out in his commentary Reading Matthew, John had expected something different. In the Gospel text for December 5, we hear about John's expectations:

"The ax is already at the root of the trees, and every tree that does not produce good fruit will be cut down and thrown into the fire. I baptize you with water for repentance. But after me comes one who is more powerful than I, whose sandals I am not worthy to carry. He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and fire. His winnowing fork is in his hand, and he will clear his threshing floor, gathering his wheat into the barn and burning up the chaff with unquenchable fire."

John was anticipating a radical, apocalyptic judgment. Instead, he hears reports that Jesus is healing the sick, raising the dead, and proclaiming good news to the poor - signs of power and significance, certainly. But are they signs of the Messiah?

It seems that this is the fundamental issue in this text. What is the Messiah supposed to look like? Does Jesus fit the bill? And Jesus himself highlights the importance of this question: "Blessed is anyone who takes no offense at me." Even John, who was "more than a prophet," had to face the possibility that Jesus was not the Messiah he wanted. Even John could take offense at Jesus. How much more so for all the crowds - and how much more so for us today?

Since we are in the season of Advent, perhaps we can frame the question this way: For whom are we waiting, after all? What are we expecting of this baby we call "Emmanuel" and "King of Kings" and "Wonderful Counselor" and all the rest? Are we expecting judgment, to find mercy? Are we expecting political power, to find none of it? Are we expecting moral righteousness, to find someone who eats with riffraff (v. 19)? Can we face the real tension between offense and faith?

(I think there is also an interesting nuance here if we take the theological position that faith is not up to us. In other words, rather than reading this as a choice between offense and faith, what happens if we accept the faith itself as a gift from God?)

Kierkegaard, in his fashion, wrote an entire book on the phrase "Blessed is anyone who takes no offense at me." I'm going to go home and look at his account as well.

December 12 Sermon - Part One

2010-11-30T06:56:00.001-08:00

I'll be preaching on December 12, the third Sunday in Advent. As usual, check out the readings here.

The gospel text is Matthew 11:2-11, so I think that's the text I'll use. Time to check out some commentaries.

Christ the King Sermon

2010-11-21T10:30:00.000-08:00

Here's my sermon from this morning!

“This is the King of the Jews.” “This is the King of the Jews,” says our Gospel reading today. “This is the King of the Jews” - those are the words written above Jesus' head as he died on the cross. This is the King of the Jews.

For us, living in 21st century America, we take some pride, I think, in not having a king, not being ruled by a monarch. After all, we fought for our independence from the British crown some 200 years ago. So we don't have a king, or a queen, and we like it that way. At the same time, perhaps our political system distances us somewhat from the meaning of our festival today: Christ the King Sunday. We know, of course, what a king is, but we don't have to think about kings very often in our daily lives. We may not always have a good sense of what a king looks like.
If you've been following the news, you have probably heard that Prince William of England has announced his engagement to his girlfriend Kate Middleton. You've probably seen all the pictures of them together, and all the members of the royal family who are weighing in on the match. So we've had a reminder, we king-less Americans, of what monarchy means. We've had a chance to look at the probable future King of England, to be reminded of what a king is like: the power, the wealth, the life in the public eye.

And then we have our Gospel reading this morning. On the festival celebrating Christ as King, we read about Jesus being crucified, brutally tortured and mocked. “This is the King of the Jews!” the Romans sarcastically declare. To call this convicted and dying man a king is the greatest possible contradiction. The Roman soldiers are not making a statement of faith – they are making a cruel joke. Likewise with the religious leaders who call Jesus “Messiah,” meaning the chosen one of God. They have condemned this man, convicted him, and executed him. Now they mock him with titles of power, reveling in the obvious contradiction between the crucified Jesus and the meaning of “Messiah” and “King.”

I hope you are shocked by the starkness of the contradiction here, between “Christ the King” and Jesus dying on the cross. It is shocking. It is a misuse of the title “King,” someone who rules and has power over others, to apply it to a convicted and dying criminal. Yet we celebrate this festival of Christ the King. We lift up the cross as the central image of our faith. Perhaps we forget sometimes that the cross was an instrument of torture and death, the means by which the Romans kept their many territories in line. We worship here in the shadow of this cross. Imagine if Jesus had been born in a different time – we could be looking at an artist's representation of a guillotine, or an electric chair. How dare we celebrate and glorify death and violence in this way? How can we possibly call Jesus “King”?

Certainly, you will remind me that this is not the end of the story. After all, we know what happens next: Jesus is taken down from the cross, his body is laid in the tomb, and within three days he has risen again. But we do not get to hear the Easter story on this festival. You will not come back a week from now to celebrate the empty tomb. No, Christ the King Sunday leaves us here, at the cross. It is the end of our church year and the end of the story – next week, we start the story over again with Advent, waiting for Christ to be born. So we end with the cross, with the mocking and the cruelty, with death.
It is not enough to skip to Easter, to the resurrection. We cannot look to the risen and glorified Christ to find justification for calling him “King.” You see, if we focus only on Easter, the cross becomes meaningless. If we focus on Easter, then we cannot answer the question, “Why did Jesus have to die, and why die in this way?” We cannot explain the cross by glossing over it, by gilding it with the glory of the resurrection.

No, you see, we have to wrestle with the cross, we have to let the cross reveal its own meaning. We can't skip over this just to get to the “happy ending.” If we want to understand Christ, and if we want to know what it means for this man to be our King, then we have to let the cross speak.

So what does the cross mean? What is the significance of hanging this image in our worship spaces and wearing it around our necks? There are three important pieces of this death of Jesus, three rejections: a rejection by religious authority, a condemnation by civil authority, and an abandonment by God. Bear with me for a moment as I say a few words about each of these three.
First, Jesus was rejected by the religious authority: as we know, it is the religious leaders, the Pharisees and the Priests, who want to have Jesus killed. They are threatened by his popularity and by his message. As far as they are concerned, he is a heretic — after all, he claims to be the Son of God! And remember, before we pass judgment on these religious leaders, that we are like them. If you meet a man on the street who tells you he’s the Son of God and that God is coming, do you immediately drop everything and follow him? No. You probably assume he is mentally ill and you cross to the other side of the street. For these religious leaders, Jesus was not just a madman, he was a blasphemer. For this reason, they sought Jesus’ death.
Second, Jesus was condemned by the civil authority — the Roman Empire, specifically through the authority of Pontius Pilate. That is why Jesus was killed on the cross at all: for the Jewish community, the usual sentence of death was carried out by stoning. However, the Jewish leaders and the crowds demand crucifixion, a death that the Romans handed down on political rebels. And Jesus’ claims about the coming reign of God certainly were threatening to the Roman Empire. There were others who claimed to be the Messiah and who led violent rebellions against Rome — Jesus might have been seen as one of these. So he had to die.
Lastly, and this is the most difficult to understand, Jesus was abandoned by God. When we read in some of the Gospels that Jesus cries out, “My God, my God why have you forsaken me?” we should take these words seriously. Even though Jesus was the Son of God, in the moment of his death, he felt abandoned even by God. When we talk about the birth of Jesus, we often say that Jesus gave up the power and mightiness of God to be born as a helpless child. How much more so is Jesus removed from God in this moment of his death? After all, as ridiculous as it is for a king to die this way, it is far more ridiculous — even impossible — for a god to die. It is one of the great paradoxes of our faith: Christ is fully human and fully divine, yet Christ dies abandoned by God.
So in the cross, we see that Jesus dies rejected by religion, by the state, and even by God. You may be wondering why this matters. Yes, it’s an interesting fact of Scriptural analysis; yes, it reminds us of how horrible Jesus’ death was; but what does it have to do with us? What does it have to do with our faith in Jesus or with our lives today?

Those questions are absolutely vital. We Christians, who follow Jesus, who wear the cross as jewelry and use it to decorate our homes — we must ask what the cross has to do with us. As I said before, we can’t just skip to the happy ending of Easter, as important as the resurrection is for our faith. We have to understand the cross, the significance of the cross in our lives.

We are followers of Jesus, and Jesus told his followers again and again to “take up your cross and follow me.” The cross is not only the means of Jesus’ death, it’s also the model of discipleship for those who follow him. So for us today, also, we have to look to the cross to understand how to be disciples of Jesus. What does it mean to take up our own cross?
Certainly, it does not mean that all followers of Jesus will die by crucifixion like he did. “Taking up our cross” is not a literal instruction — and crucifixion has fallen out of style in the last two millennia. But how does the cross have meaning for us, even today?

We must look back at that triple rejection I mentioned earlier. Jesus died rejected by religion, the state, and God. His rejection was not accidental; he was not a victim of circumstance. Rather, Jesus chose to go to Jerusalem, chose to anger the authorities, chose to die on the cross. And he chose this death to be united with all those who are rejected by religion, the state, and God. Jesus took on those rejections to stand in solidarity with the rejected. Jesus died abandoned, so that the abandoned might feel hope.
So it is for those who follow Jesus. We are called to “take up our cross,” to accept rejection because it puts us in solidarity with those who are already rejected by the “authorities” of the world. That is not an easy prospect; discipleship should make us pause. Don’t let anyone tell you that following Jesus will make you rich, powerful, and successful. To follow Jesus means accepting the harsh reality of the cross. To declare Jesus our King means giving up the ideals of earthly kings — the power, the money, the glory. To celebrate “Christ the King” this morning means we have to turn all our expectations on their heads, because this King is a King on the cross. This is the King of the Jews. This is our King.

Reflecting on the cross of Christ is difficult. Not only does it require some sophisticated theological thinking, but it is a painful subject to contemplate. It’s more pleasant to remember the resurrection, the joy and glory that come with Easter. Yet it is the cross — not the empty tomb — that is the center of our faith. On Christ the King Sunday, we remember the death of Jesus. On this day, we reflect on what it means for Christ to die on the cross, rejected by the powers of his world and by God. As we make our faith claim — saying, “This is our King!” — we must acknowledge the implications it has for our own lives. To name Christ our King, to live in the Kingdom of God, means that we will take up our own crosses. To follow Jesus means following him into rejection and lowliness. But it also means that we follow a king who knows what it means to be rejected and abandoned. It means we are part of a kingdom which cares for the lowly. And so, when we name Christ our King, we proclaim good news for the world. Amen.

100 Books

2010-11-20T11:53:00.001-08:00

There's a list floating around the internet, supposedly from the BBC, of 100 books. The claim is that most people have only read 6. I didn't like that list, so I made my own. Here it is:

Here's Jennie's list of the 100 books I think everyone should read. Obviously it's going to be pretty biased by what I have read myself, but I'm still interested to see how many books people have read. (I kind of ran out of steam trying to think of 100, but I'm still pretty happy with the final list.)

100 Books (in no particular order)
1. Republic, Plato
2. The Bible (not really one book, I know)
3. The Great Divorce, C. S. Lewis
4. Elements, Euclid
5. Grapes of Wrath, John Steinbeck
6. Go Down, Moses, William Faulkner
7. War and Peace, Leo Tolstoy
8. Catch 22, Joseph Heller
9. Meno, Plato
10. Principia, Newton (you can count it even if you haven't read the whole thing)
11. Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, Mark Twain
12. 1984, George Orwell
13. Averroes' Search, Jorge Luis Borges (or substitute Borges story of your choice)
14. Brave New World, Aldous Huxley
15. The Lord of the Rings, J. R. R. Tolkien
16. Nicomachean Ethics, Aristotle
17. Oedipus Cycle (Oedipus Rex, Antigone, Oedipus at Colonus), Sophocles
18. The Scarlet Letter, Nathaniel Hawthorne
19. Physics, Aristotle
20. Metamorphosis, Franz Kafka
21. Two New Sciences, Galileo
22. Divine Comedy, Dante Alighieri
23. Histories, Herodotus
24. Abhorsen series (Sabriel, Lirael, Abhorsen), Garth Nix
25. His Dark Materials series (The Golden Compass, The Subtle Knife, The Amber Spyglass), Philip Pullman
26. History of the Peloponnesian War, Thucydides
27. The Prince, Machiavelli
28. The Wealth of Nations, Adam Smith
29. Le Morte D'Arthur, Thomas Mallory
30. Proslogion, Anselm of Canterbury
31. Confessions, Augustine
32. The Spirit Catches You and You Fall Down, Anne Fadiman
33. The Meditations Concerning First Philosophy, Descartes
34. Beowulf
35. American Gods, Neil Gaiman
36. The Origin of Species, Charles Darwin
37. The Sound and the Fury, William Faulkner
38. Experiments on Plant Hybridization, Gregor Mendel
39. Relativity, Albert Einstein (the "popular" account, if you don't want to do the math yourself)
40. Hamlet, William Shakespeare
41. King Lear, William Shakespeare
42. Prometheus Bound, Aeschylus
43. The Bacchae, Euripides
44. The Iliad, Homer
45. The Odyssey, Homer
46. Souls of Black Folk, W. E. B. DuBois
47. Beyond Good and Evil, Frederick Nietzsche
48. The Wounded Healer, Henri Nouwen
49. Their Eyes Were Watching God, Zora Neale Hurston
50. The October Country, Ray Bradbury (or substitute Ray Bradbury of your choice)
51. Thus Spoke Zarathustra, Frederick Nietzsche
52. The Canterbury Tales, Geoffrey Chaucer
53. Much Ado About Nothing, William Shakespeare
54. Twelfth Night, William Shakespeare
55. Siddhartha, Herman Hesse
56. Life of Pi, Yann Martel
57. The Color Purple, Alice Walker
58. Henry IV, William Shakespeare (or substitute history of your choice)
59. The Stranger, Albert Camus
60. The Aeneid, Virgil
61. Don Quixote, Cervantes
62. One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest, Ken Kesey
63. Crime and Punishment, Fyodor Dostoyevsky
64. The Motion of the Heart and Blood in Animals, William Harvey
65. Plutarch's Lives (you can count it even if you haven't read the whole thing)
66. On Education, Michel de Montaigne (or substitute essay of your choice)
67. Pensees, Pascal
68. Democracy in America, Alexis de Tocqueville
69. Pride and Prejudice, Jane Austen (or substitute novel of your choice)
70. Fear and Trembling, Soren Kierkegaard
71. Practice in Christianity, Soren Kierkegaard
72. The Brothers Karamazov, Fyodor Dostoyevsky
73. The Early History of Rome, Livy
74. Faust, Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
75. The Misanthrope, Moliere
76. Politics, Aristotle
77. Crito, Plato
78. Le Petit Prince (The Little Prince), Antoine de Saint-Exupery
79. Jane Eyre, Charlotte Bronte
80. Wuthering Heights, Emily Bronte
81. Return of the Native, Thomas Hardy (sorry, I liked it much better than Tess of the d'Urbervilles or Jude the Obscure)
82. Good Omens, Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman
83. To Kill a Mockingbird, Harper Lee
84. Pygmalion, George Bernard Shaw (or substitute play of your choice)
85. The Screwtape Letters, C. S. Lewis
86. Hard Times, Charles Dickens
87. Bless Me, Ultima, Rudolpho Anaya
88. The Song of the Lark, Willa Cather
89. The Alchemist, Paulo Coelho
90. The Milagro Beanfield Wars, John Nichols
91. Sir Gawain and the Green Knight
92. Moby Dick, Herman Melville
93. Paradise Lost, John Milton
94. Mein Kampf, Adolf Hitler
95. The Count of Monte Cristo, Alexandre Dumas
96. The Federalist Papers (several authors)
97. The Guide of the Perplexed, Moses Maimonides
98. Discourse on Inequality, Jean-Jacques Rousseau
99. The Imitation of Christ, Thomas a Kempis
100. The Gastlycrumb Tinies, Edward Gorey (Steve's suggestion... :P )

Whew, there you go. 100 books. I haven't read all of them myself. My total is 87, counting some books I've only read in part. What's yours?

November 21 Sermon - Part One

2010-11-02T07:19:00.000-07:00

Hello again, friends! I hope you all had a very happy Halloween/Reformation Day/All Saint's Day Eve.

I'm preaching next on November 21, the last Sunday of the church year (November 28 is the first Sunday in Advent!) - which is traditionally the festival of Christ the King or the Reign of Christ. Here are the appointed readings:
Jeremiah 23:1-6
Psalm 46
Colossians 1:11-20
Luke 23:33-43

The gospel reading is taken from Luke's account of the death of Jesus:

When they came to the place that is called The Skull, they crucified Jesus there with the criminals, one on his right and one on his left. Then Jesus said, "Father, forgive them; for they do not know what they are doing." And they cast lots to divide his clothing. And the people stood by, watching; but the leaders scoffed at him, saying, "He saved others; let him save himself if he is the Messiah of God, his chosen one!"
The soldiers also mocked him, coming up and offering him sour wine, and saying, "If you are the King of the Jews, save yourself!" There was also an inscription over him, "This is the King of the Jews."
One of the criminals who were hanged there kept deriding him and saying, "Are you not the Messiah? Save yourself and us!" But the other rebuked him, saying, "Do you not fear God, since you are under the same sentence of condemnation? And we indeed have been condemned justly, for we are getting what we deserve for our deeds, but this man has done nothing wrong." Then he said, "Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom."
He replied, "Truly I tell you, today you will be with me in Paradise."

My immediate reaction is that this text is a perfect opportunity to lift up a theology of the cross. That seems to be the only way we can reconcile a festival celebrating the dominion of Christ with a reading that mocks a dying man with the title "King of the Jews." I can't read this text without thinking of Moltmann's theology in The Crucified God. Hopefully, I can bring across some of that dense German theology in my sermon.

October 24 Sermon

2010-10-23T14:32:00.000-07:00

Good morning. God's grace and peace be with you all.
Our gospel text this morning is deceptively simple. On the one hand, we have a self-righteous Pharisee and on the other, a humble tax collector. The Pharisee's pride is almost a caricature, as he says, “God, I thank you that I am not like other people.” Meanwhile, the tax collector cannot even look up to heaven, but beats his chest and cries out for mercy, knowing his own sinfulness.
Our gospel text this morning is deceptively simple. We may look at these two characters and think we know exactly what message the text is trying to communicate. Be like the tax collector, not like the Pharisee! Be humble, not proud! We may think that we get it. We may even say to ourselves, “God, I thank you that I am not like that awful Pharisee...”
Do you see the problem? In our eagerness not to be like the Pharisee, we become exactly like the Pharisee. The Pharisee's prayer is addressed to God, but it is all about himself: his behavior, his righteousness, his worth. The Pharisee's attitude is entirely self-centered and self-righteous – and there are tragic consequences of this way of thinking. The Pharisee is so eager to puff himself up, he has to put others down. “God, I thank you that I am not like other people,” he says, “Thieves, rogues, adulterers, or even like this tax collector.” The Pharisee is putting up barriers, walls that separate him from others. The Pharisee is making himself an “insider,” a righteous person, and the tax collector an “outsider” and unrighteous. The Pharisee assumes he knows that God favors him and that God rejects the tax collector. The Pharisee is building barriers that shut the tax collector out.
The Pharisee is making divisions between those he sees as righteous (including himself, of course) and those he sees as unrighteous, like the tax collector. Yet if we read this text in terms of “proud people” and “humble people,” we are doing exactly the same thing. We are building barriers, defining insiders and outsiders – and most of the time, we draw the lines so that we can be the insiders. We pride ourselves on not being like the prideful Pharisee – blissfully unaware of our hypocrisy and misinterpretation of this text.

So let's reexamine this deceptively simple parable and see if we can get out of our hypocritical mess. We have, as we already know, two characters, a Pharisee and a tax collector. Although the Pharisee is cast as the villain of this story – as the Pharisees often are in the gospel of Luke – we should give him credit where credit is due. The Pharisee is righteous, according to all the requirements of his faith. He fasts, not one day a week but two; he tithes, not only part of his possessions but gives a tenth of everything. We have no reason to doubt the truth of his words. And we would be wrong to dismiss these righteous activities. Especially a week before our Pledge Sunday here at King of Kings, I think the stewardship team would be very disappointed if I ignored the stewardship, the tithing, of the Pharisee. The Pharisee is doing everything right, and he would not be a bad model for us in our faith lives. We too should exercise spiritual practices such as prayer and fasting; we too should give back a portion of what we possess, knowing these things are gifts from God.
Yet as we have already noted, the problem with the Pharisee seems to be in his attitude. It's all about him. His prayer is not about God, not to mention the poor tax collector. The Pharisee can't seem to think of anyone or anything but himself. And in this attitude, the Pharisee is creating divisions, building barriers, making “insiders” and “outsiders.” He considers himself righteous – an insider – not like the tax collector and other sinners – the outsiders.

The setting of the parable is also significant. This parable takes place at the Temple, the center of Jewish religious life. The Temple was in many ways a palpable symbol of barriers, distinctions. The Temple complex itself was divided into different areas, and only certain people were allowed to enter. In the very center was the Holy of Holies, where only the high priests could go. In the outer parts of the Temple, only those who were ritually clean could enter. And there were some “outsiders” who were not allowed into the Temple at all. There were good theological reasons for these divisions. The Temple was a holy place, where God's presence was found; it would be wrong to infect a holy place with uncleanliness. So there were distinctions made, there were barriers put up against the wrong kind of people. The “insiders” were literally the ones allowed inside the Temple complex, while “outsiders” had to remain outside. Our tax collector identifies himself as an outsider because he stands far off – he won't even get too close to the Temple, just in case.

But careful readers of the gospel of Luke will notice another significance of the Temple and its distinctions. For it is in the gospel of Luke that we hear this account of Jesus' crucifixion: “It was now about noon, and darkness came over the whole land until three in the afternoon, while the sun's light failed; and the curtain of the temple was torn in two. Then Jesus, crying with a loud voice, said, “Father, into your hands I commend my spirit.” Having said this, he breathed his last.”
In the gospel of Luke, at the moment of Jesus' death the Temple curtain is torn in two. This curtain was a barrier in the literal sense; it protected the holy interior of the Temple from outsiders. Just as clearly as the Temple was a physical symbol of distinctions and barriers, the tearing of the Temple curtain is a physical symbol of those barriers being broken down. What is revealed at this moment in the gospel of Luke is that God in Jesus Christ breaks down every barrier that we try to build up.
When we try to make distinctions between “righteous” and “unrighteous,” like the Pharisee in today's parable, God breaks down those barriers. When we try to make distinctions between the “humble” and the “proud,” God breaks down those barriers, too. Whenever we try to label “insiders” and “outsiders” on any principle – be it behavior, or race, or wealth, or belief – we find God not on our side, but on the other side, breaking down the barriers. Though the Pharisee looked down on the tax collector, it was with tax collectors and sinners that Jesus spent his time.

In our parable today, the Pharisee was confident of his own righteousness, and the tax collector was certain of his unrighteousness. The parable is even addressed to an audience “who trusted in themselves that they were righteous.” So righteousness – being right in the eyes of God – is clearly important to this text. Some of us may feel like the Pharisee, confident that we are righteous. Others may feel like the tax collector, desperately begging God for mercy. Whether we feel like the Pharisee or like the tax collector, we would do well to be reminded of the source of our righteousness. To be counted righteous in God's eyes is not something anyone can earn. Righteousness can only come as a gift from God. Perhaps the tax collector knew that better than the Pharisee. Yet we can know something that was unknown even to the tax collector – not only that righteousness comes from God, but that it has come from God. We don't have to beg God for mercy like the tax collector does, because God has already counted us righteous. God has already justified us through the free gift of God's grace.

Because God has justified us as a gift of grace, we are freed from being either the tax collector or the Pharisee. While the tax collector desperately begs for God's mercy, we have the assurance of God's love. While the Pharisee is obsessed with his own righteous behavior, we are free to think of others. The Pharisee is so eager to promote himself that he builds barriers against the other, saying, “God, I thank you that I am not like other people.” We do not have to become trapped in the Pharisee's “insider” and “outsider” mentality. Instead, we realize that we have been justified by a God who tears the Temple curtain, a God who breaks down barriers. Because we are justified by God through God's grace, not through our goodness, we don't have to compare ourselves to others; we don't have to build barriers that make us “insiders” and protect us from “outsiders.”

In one of my seminary classes, I had the opportunity to watch a documentary titled “A Time for Burning.” It was a factual account of a Lutheran congregation in Omaha, Nebraska in 1966, when their pastor tried to reach out to their African American neighbors. In a congregation and a community that were still segregated, Reverend L. William Youngdahl tried to convince his white parishioners to share conversation and community with those they considered “outsiders.” The response from the congregation is mixed, with some supportive and others opposed; but in the end, the pastor is forced to resign.
What struck me most in the documentary was the pastor’s conviction that this conversation, this sharing of community, was not only worthwhile but vital. Today, we would be shocked by what some of the people in the documentary say — yet, for all the progress that has been made in the last 45 years, how often do we still hold outsiders at a distance and build barriers against them? Whether on the basis of race, or religion, or personal behavior, we all like to consider ourselves “insiders” and others “outsiders.” Yet we should strive to be more like this Pastor Youngdahl, whose belief in the all-encompassing love of God led him to seek community and fellowship with the “outsiders” in his world.
We have been justified by God, whose love and grace are freely given. Now we are free to follow in Jesus’ footsteps, breaking down barriers and identifying with outsiders. Now, we can reach out to both Pharisees and tax collectors. Now, we can share the love that we have first received. Amen.

October 24 Sermon - Part 3

2010-10-16T07:27:00.000-07:00

Time to look at some commentaries! As I mentioned before, I'll be preaching on the gospel text, Luke 18:9-14.

I love how Working Preacher begins: the commentator lifts up the basic meaning of the text, which is to be humble, and then adds an important warning. He writes, "The difficulty with such an interpretive tact, however, is that we might as well end up preaching, 'Lord, we thank you that we are not like other people: hypocrites, overly pious, self righteous, or even like that Pharisee. We come to church each week, listen attentively to Scripture, and we have learned that we should always be humble.'" If we're praising ourselves for our humility, we've clearly missed the point. (I'm reminded of C.S. Lewis' description of pride as a hydra - when you cut off one head, three more sprout up in its place.)

As Working Preacher points out and I noticed myself in the text, the Pharisee is being both honest and virtuous. The Pharisee is doing everything he describes (fasting twice a week, tithing) and those actions are exactly what he is supposed to be doing. The Pharisee is following the law, which are God's expectations of God's people. Would that all of us were fasting twice a week and tithing! Working Preacher puts it this way: " It isn't that the Pharisee is speaking falsely, but rather that the Pharisee misses the true nature of his blessing. As Luke states in his introductory sentence, he has trusted in himself. His prayer of gratitude may be spoken to the Lord, but it is really about himself."

The tax collector, in contrast, knows his own unrighteousness. We have to keep in mind that tax collectors were seen practically as traitors to the people of Israel, in cahoots with the oppressive Roman regime. He cannot rely on his own righteousness, so he must rely on the mercy of God. Again, Working Preacher puts it better than I could: "Here is the essential contrast. One makes a claim to righteousness based on his own accomplishments, while the other relies entirely upon the Lord's benevolence." What I see here is a tension between action and attitude. Both are important. We should strive to act rightly; but right actions with wrong (self-focused) attitude leaves us like the Pharisee. By contrast, the tax collector is acting wrongly but thinking/believing rightly. It may be appropriate not to see action and attitude of equal importance, especially from a Lutheran perspective - the attitude here seems to be more important than the actions.

However, there's a problem here, too. Working Preacher warns me, "As soon as we fall prey to the temptation to divide humanity into any kind of groups, we have aligned ourselves squarely with the Pharisee. Whether our division is between righteous and sinners, as with the Pharisee, or even between the self-righteous and the humble, as with Luke, we are doomed." Well then. Luke has put us in a difficult position, hasn't he? A parable with contrasting characters teaches us the danger of placing people into categories.

I also checked out two other commentaries: Joel Green's Lukan commentary in the NICNT series, and Joseph Fitzmyer's in the Anchor Bible series. One interesting point that Green raised is the Pharisee's actions go above and beyond: the Pharisee doesn't just fast one day a week, but twice; the Pharisee doesn't make distinctions about what income to tithe, but gives a tenth of everything. So his righteous actions are being highlighted almost to the point of caricature. Fitzmyer echoed some of the points above, and also had a note on that para I was wondering about (it is a comparative, hence the translation "rather").

There's one other important issue at stake here. For most of its history, the church has emphasized the danger of pride, considering it the worst of the seven deadly sins, or that hydra of C.S. Lewis. As a person who struggles with pride at times, I understand whence this emphasis comes. Pride can be insidious and can overwhelm everything we do. However, and this is a big caveat, not everyone finds pride to be their greatest sin. This point is often raised by feminist theologians because it often affects women more than men - but I think the point is an important one, even apart from the issue of gender. There are some people for whom excessive humility, rather than pride, is their consuming and destructive tendency. Women tend to be more affected than men by this issue because women, more than men, are socialized to be humble and serve others. For those who are not puffed up with pride but beaten down with too much humility, the problem of sin looks very different. If we drive home a message that says, "You must serve others, you must not think of yourself," the prideful people may be corrected - but others will be paralyzed and destroyed. Jesus tells us to "love our neighbor as ourself," and that formula requires both love of self and love of neighbor. So I, and I think anyone who preaches on this text, has to be careful that we speak to sin in all its forms, both self-centered and self-destroying.

October 24 Sermon - Part Two

2010-10-13T08:48:00.000-07:00

In preparing for my sermon on the 24th, I translated the Gospel text (Luke 18:9-14). For the most part, my translation looks pretty similar to the NRSV version. However, in verse 14, which is the key to the whole parable, I ran into some questions.

The first issue is that loaded term, justified - or in Greek, dikaioo. The verb could be read as middle (justify one's self) or passive (be justified). The context obviously suggests that justifying one's self is precisely not the point, so the passive voice is probably the correct reading.

I also wondered about the Greek preposition para. In the NRSV, they translate that phrase "this man went down to his home justified rather than the other." However, the basic meaning I found was "beside," which would give "this man went down to his home justified beside the other." That changes the meaning pretty dramatically, doesn't it? Instead of an either-or, it becomes a both-and situation. Of course, that might just be a simple mistranslation on my part... I need to check out some commentaries and see what they say.

October 24 Sermon - Part One

2010-10-05T08:49:00.000-07:00

My next preaching date is October 24. Here are the readings assigned for that Sunday:

Jeremiah 14:7-10,19-22
Psalm 84:1-7
2 Timothy 4:6-8,16-18
Luke 18:9-14

Here's the NRSV translation of the Gospel text:

18:9 He also told this parable to some who trusted in themselves that they were righteous and regarded others with contempt:
18:10 "Two men went up to the temple to pray, one a Pharisee and the other a tax collector.
18:11 The Pharisee, standing by himself, was praying thus, 'God, I thank you that I am not like other people: thieves, rogues, adulterers, or even like this tax collector.
18:12 I fast twice a week; I give a tenth of all my income.'
18:13 But the tax collector, standing far off, would not even look up to heaven, but was beating his breast and saying, 'God, be merciful to me, a sinner!'
18:14 I tell you, this man went down to his home justified rather than the other; for all who exalt themselves will be humbled, but all who humble themselves will be exalted."

October 24 is the final Sunday before the "pledge" Sunday at King of Kings, so a stewardship theme will certainly be appropriate. I think this will be a fun text to preach.

October 3 Sermon

2010-10-02T17:51:00.000-07:00

In advance of my preaching tomorrow, here's the sermon I've written. I didn't get a chance to do much sermon prep here on the blog because, well, it's been a busy couple of weeks. (It's telling that I haven't posted since early September... where did that month GO?)

Anyway, I did decide to preach on Habakkuk, which revealed to me my ignorance about the book of Habakkuk. After some catching up in terms of my own knowledge, I feel like the sermon came together pretty well. It's nice to preach on something that's not quite as miserably difficult as the last two sermons I've preached.

Grace and peace be with all of you, in the name of our God. Amen.
For my sermon this week, I've chosen to focus not on our Gospel text, but on the First Lesson, the Old Testament text – the reading from the book of Habakkuk. I encourage you to look at the text again in your pew Bibles if you want to refresh your memory. As I was preparing this sermon, one of the resources I consulted had this word of advice: “When have the sainted people to whom you preach ever heard a sermon based on God's timeless word to Habakkuk? This week is their chance. Do not let them down.”
Well, I will do my best. I expect many of you sainted people have not heard a sermon on God's timeless word to Habakkuk. You may be unfamiliar with this book and its themes. Even I had to do some serious reading to figure out what this book, included among the prophets, is about.

The theme in this reading that jumped out at me is justice. Habakkuk writes, “So the law becomes slack and justice never prevails. The wicked surround the righteous — therefore judgment comes forth perverted.” Habakkuk is lamenting a situation filled with injustice.
And this lament of Habakkuk's seems timeless, doesn't it? There are so many times when we are struck by the injustice of a situation. I want us to reflect for a minute on those injustices we encounter; I'll give you an example of my own.
Last Christmas, my husband and I were traveling home from the seminary up in Gettysburg. We were flying out of the Dulles Airport, so we left our car in the long-term parking there. When we returned to our car eight days later, our front bumper was absolutely mangled. Someone had hit us in the parking lot while we were gone. There was no note, no sign at all that the person who had hit our car had wanted to make the situation right. Probably, the person who hit us figured he or she would be long gone before we got back to find our ruined bumper – and that person was right. We couldn’t know who hit our car and then drove off. So we went to a car shop and paid for a new bumper, and my husband muttered something about karma... hoping that the person who did us an injustice would get some kind of cosmic comeuppance.
What about all of you? I want you to take a moment to reflect on an injustice you have experienced, a time when maybe you wished for cosmic justice. [pause]

Some of you may have experienced injustice far worse than my husband's and my ruined bumper. I am well aware that my example is very minor compared to the injustice that some individuals and groups have to face. My little “injustice” is also very minor compared to the experience of Habakkuk. You see, Habakkuk lived in a time when the people of Israel were being deeply shaken. World powers – the Assyrians and the Babylonians – were conquering the people of Israel, sending some of them into exile and destroying their homes. Even the Temple of Jerusalem was eventually destroyed – a catastrophic event for God's people. Amidst all of this, the prophets cried out over the injustice they saw within the people of Israel – ignoring the poor, the widows and orphans; perverting the system of justice for personal gain..
That is the world in which Habakkuk speaks. Habakkuk cries out to God, “Destruction and violence are before me; strife and contention arise.” Habakkuk and the people of Israel are threatened by foreign powers and by internal injustice. The world around Habakkuk is all wrong, far from God's intentions and promises.
And Habakkuk cries out not only in lament to God, but in accusation. Habakkuk writes, “O LORD, how long shall I cry for help, and you will not listen? Or cry to you 'Violence!' and you will not save? Why do you make me see wrong-doing and look at trouble?” As Habakkuk knows, the God of Israel is supposed to be a just God, a God who protects the righteous and punishes the wicked. Habakkuk sees justice perverted and the wicked prospering; and he is forced to wonder what God is doing. If the world is unjust, does that mean God is unjust? Or has God forgotten the people of Israel and God's promises to them?

Habakkuk is not the only voice that cries out in this way when faced with injustice. There are others in the Bible who question the justice of God: the book of Job is perhaps the most famous. And at times we may find ourselves asking the same questions. In the midst of violence around the world; poverty, disease, and hunger; the personal losses and hardships we experience; stories in the news about cyber-bullying driving teenagers to suicide – we may wonder if God is unjust or simply absent from our world. We may find ourselves wandering in a dark place, feeling far from God, full of pain and doubt.
It is comforting for me to know that Habakkuk is in that dark place with us. We are not alone when we ask these hard questions. Habakkuk and other faithful people throughout history have asked the same questions. And Habakkuk can provide us with a model and perhaps some hope in that dark place – for Habakkuk does not only lament, does not only ask questions. Habakkuk waits, however impatiently, for a response from God. I love Habakkuk's words: “I will stand at my watchpost, and station myself on the rampart; I will keep watch to see what God will say to me, and what God will answer concerning my complaint.” I imagine Habakkuk putting his foot down, saying to God, “I am not going to move until you answer me!” How many of us have felt that same impatience and insistence? Even when we are doubting God, we still wait for an answer from God, hoping and trusting that it will come.

For Habakkuk, the answer comes in two parts. God does respond to the voice of the prophet, but warns that the answer Habakkuk seeks requires more patience. God says, “There is still a vision for the appointed time; it speaks of the end, and does not lie. If it seems to tarry, wait for it; it will surely come, it will not delay.” Habakkuk does not get the vision immediately. But God comes to remind Habakkuk of God's presence and faithfulness. Though it may seem that the answer to Habakkuk's questions is slow to come, God promises that it will come at just the right time.

God can speak to us through this word to Habakkuk, as well. When we find ourselves overwhelmed by the injustice all around us, or doubting the presence of God in the midst of injustice, we can read this word to Habakkuk. We can trust that God is still among us. Sometimes, we feel that presence of God in one another, in community. Sometimes, we can only hope that God's presence is there, unfelt. We trust in the word God gave to Habakkuk — that God does have a vision, a plan, and it will come at the appointed time.

When we gather here for worship, we often gather with joy. We celebrate weddings and baptisms; we celebrate God’s love and grace. Yet at other times, we gather here with different emotions. We gather to mourn at funerals, filled with sadness and overwhelmed by questions. Even for a regular Sunday service, some of you undoubtedly come weighed down by your doubts, fears, and pains. Some of you may come here overwhelmed by the injustice you see around you. Some of you may come, doubting whether God can be found here.
In many Christian churches, including this one, there is a special candle — the eternal candle. It’s right over there, on the wall. It remains lit, even when the service ends and all the other candles are extinguished. This eternal candle is meant to signify God’s ongoing, constant presence among us. Whether we gather in joy or in sadness, God remains faithfully present. Although we may not find the answers we are seeking — although we must wait for the vision to arrive — we trust that God’s spirit is here, as God has promised. Amen.

Speak Up, Speak Out

2010-09-08T08:40:00.001-07:00

Several weeks ago, I had a conversation on facebook about Christianity. It was occasioned by Anne Rice's public rejection of Christianity; a friend posted an article commenting on Rice's decision. I expressed some disappointment with the way the article portrayed Christianity, and my friend asked me to clarify. I said, "It just implies that Anne Rice decided to turn away from the Christian religion as a whole because her beliefs didn't agree with either the Catholic or evangelical churches. It comes across as 'Catholic + evangelical = Christianity'." To which my friend responded, "To those of us outside Christian culture, that's exactly what it looks like."

With apologies to Catholics and evangelicals - because I know many of you do not conform to the stereotypes - my friend's words highlighted for me a dramatic and serious problem in our culture today. I can't say I blame her (or Anne Rice, for that matter). If I didn't spend so much time in churches and seminary classrooms, I'd think the same thing. If my view of Christianity came only from what I see in the news, I'd want nothing to do with it.

In the name of Christianity, people are burning copies of the Quran this weekend. In the name of Christianity, people are spouting messages of hate and violence against gays. They are claiming that the earthquake in Haiti - or the tornado in Minneapolis last summer - are God's punishment. They murder doctors in the middle of a church. And those are just the things that make the news on a regular basis. These people also, day in and day out, threaten non-Christians (or fellow Christians!) with eternal torture and damnation.

This is appalling. It makes me both angry and depressed to see the faith which has had such an impact on my life be slandered and abused. It's broadcasting a warped and despicable image of Christianity to the world. I am tired of it. I'm tired of these people monopolizing the name "Christian" in the public eye. It's both wrong and unfair.

And so I feel compelled to speak up and speak out.

I am a Christian. I am a Christian, and I support gay rights. I am a Christian, and I am pro-choice. I am a Christian, and I am a feminist. I am a Christian, and I belong to a church body that allows gay marriage and the ordination of women and gays. I am a Christian, and I like drinking beer and playing violent video games. I am a Christian, and I believe Muslims in this country deserve the same religions freedoms that I enjoy on a daily basis. I am a Christian, and I do not want to convert you. I am a Christian, and I do not have all the answers. I am a Christian, and there are many more like me.

I am a Christian, and in my imperfect nature, I strive to follow the living God. The God who became flesh and blood, who lived and died in solidarity with the poor and marginalized, who calls Christians to be Christ-like. Amen.

October 3 Sermon - Part One

2010-09-07T07:15:00.001-07:00

I'm looking ahead to my next sermon, which will be October 3. Unlike my first two sermons here at King of Kings, the gospel text doesn't seem quite as difficult.... so I think I'm going to preach on Habakkuk. Let it not be said that I don't enjoy a challenge.

Here are the readings:
Habakkuk 1:1-4, 2:1-4
Psalm 37:1-9
2 Timothy 1:1-14
Luke 17:5-10

The gospel text is a bit confusing; it begins with the apostles asking Jesus to increase their faith, and Jesus responding with the metaphor of the mustard seed. The bulk of the reading, however, is about thanking slaves for doing what is commanded. The connection between the two parts is not clear to me.

Habakkuk, meanwhile, is a clear cry for justice. The Lord responds with a "vision for the appointed time." I'd love to preach on a Hebrew text, so I'm definitely attracted to this one. I'll do a translation and text study, and see where that leads me.

September 5 Sermon Draft

2010-09-01T10:58:00.000-07:00

Here is my sermon draft for this Sunday. I'm still not completely happy with it. I'm afraid that I'm trying to do too much and that my message may get lost. I'll continue to polish it over the next few days. As always, comments are welcome.

[Edit: By the time I got around to practicing this sermon today, it had grown to a 17-minute monstrosity. So I trimmed it down quite a bit and tried to streamline the message. I've updated this post to contain the most recent version.]

Grace and peace be with you in the name of the living God. Amen.
The words we hear this morning are harsh ones. In our gospel text, we hear Jesus say: “Whoever comes to me and does not hate father and mother, wife and children, brothers and sisters, yes, and even life itself, cannot be my disciple.” He tells the crowds that “None of you can become my disciple if you do not give up all your possessions.” These are harsh words, words that are difficult to hear.
Jesus’ words are especially harsh when we hear them directed at us: “None of you can become my disciple if you do not give up all your possessions.” By this reckoning, I suspect that there could not be counted a single disciple here today. I can certainly speak for myself — I have not given up all my possessions. Though I'm not living in the lap of luxury by American standards, I do have many possessions sitting back home in my apartment right now. So these words from the gospel of Luke strike my heart, telling me I am not a legitimate follower of Jesus.

This text, and others like it in the gospels that command Jesus’ followers to “sell all they have” strike my heart for another reason. Not only do they confront and condemn me personally; but I have seen the effect they have on other faithful Christians. I want to give you a specific example, a story that the person in question has given me permission to tell.
I have a friend whom I have known since childhood, a fellow member at my home church back in New Mexico. We'll call her Noel for the sake of telling her story. Growing up, Noel was thoughtful and serious beyond her years. From a very young age, just 8 or 9 years old, Noel was profoundly disturbed by these words in the gospels. Noel heard Jesus saying, “Give up all your possessions!” and she took those words personally. However, as a mere child, Noel could not imagine giving up all her possessions and literally did not have the ability to do so. So every time this text, and others like it, were read in church, Noel would become hysterical, crying and sobbing, unable to even sit through the service. I, a few years older than she, talked to her about it on more than one occasion. Noel confided in me that she felt guilt-ridden because she couldn't give up all her possessions. She was convinced that she was not worthy, not good enough. She didn't think God could love her.

I'm here to tell you this morning that God does love my friend Noel. And God loves each one of us here today. As we say in our Lutheran theology, we are saved by the free gift of God's grace. During the time of the Reformation, Martin Luther was very concerned about people like my friend Noel, people who lived in fear that they had not earned God's love. Luther made very clear that no one could buy their way into heaven. Luther wanted people to be confident that God loved them, to have assurance of God's grace.
God's love and favor do not depend on our actions. We don't have to prove ourselves worthy. We can't — and better yet, we don't have to — buy our way into God's loving arms. Rather, we have already received God's grace, and we continue to experience the blessing of God's love. That is the good news that we come here to proclaim and celebrate.

Having preached this good news, I could say “Amen” and sit down right now, and depending on how eager you are to get on with the service, you might like me to do that. But I think we can still learn something from Jesus' words today. So, assured of God’s love and grace, I want to look again at Jesus' message to us.

In our gospel reading, Jesus is concerned with discipleship. He is speaking to the crowds of people who are following him in his travels. Out of these crowds, some may become disciples — dedicated followers of Jesus. But discipleship, Jesus warns, is not an easy road to walk. It requires giving up loyalty to family and even to one's self. In Jesus' time, family relationships were paramount, but Jesus is showing that discipleship demands complete loyalty, at the expense of all other relationships. Discipleship requires the willingness to give up everything else. We might be reminded of the calling of the first disciples, Simon, James, and John, back in chapter 5 of Luke. These fishermen who became the first disciples left everything they had — their families, their business, their livelihood, their fishing boats — and followed Jesus. Jesus wants other would-be followers to know that their loyalty will be expected, as well.
In our reading today, Jesus is being brutally honest: discipleship is not easy. Discipleship requires sacrifice. In fact, becoming a disciple necessitates a transformation. It is simply not possible to become dedicated to following Jesus Christ without outward transformation in action. To say it another way: once we have encountered the true God in Jesus Christ, we are changed by the experience. When we begin to follow, walking that road of discipleship, we are transformed. Old loyalties fall away, things we once thought essential seem unimportant, as we begin to follow Jesus.

This transformation isn’t a one-time event. God is constantly working in and through us, changing us. We are all at different places on this road of discipleship. Some of you have been faithful followers for fifty, sixty, or seventy years. Some of you are only beginning that faith journey. Some of you may be “seekers,” not sure whether you want to follow or not. Wherever we are on the road of discipleship, we can be transformed. We can devote our loyalty to Jesus above all else. We can make the commitments that characterize authentic discipleship.
Not only are we at different places on the road of discipleship, but there are a variety of ways to walk that road. We are given different gifts and different callings as we all strive to follow Jesus. There are different ways of being a disciple. Next week is our Rally Day here at the church – there will be many opportunities this fall to be involved in the ministry of the congregation, whether through leading or learning, sharing fellowship or serving others. Of course, we can – and should! – follow Jesus outside of the walls of the church, too. But the many ministries that are going on here are certainly a good place to start.

Although we are at different places on the road of discipleship, and although there are different ways of walking that road, there are some practices that should characterize all disciples. Jesus gave the expectations to everyone in the crowd: loyalty and sacrifice. When Jesus says those harsh words, “None of you can become my disciple if you do not give up all your possessions,” he is telling us how all disciples should act.
There is a word in the church for what Jesus is describing when he says “give up all your possessions.” The word is “stewardship.” Now, usually when we use the word “stewardship” in the church, we're talking about fundraising for the church. Fundraising is not just about the money; it's about the ministry being done here and in the wider church around the world. I know the stewardship team here at King of Kings is already working hard on that goal.
We also sometimes use the word “stewardship” in a different way, getting back to the root meaning of the word. A steward is someone who cares for the possessions of another. In our theological language, we will talk about being stewards of God's creation: the creation belongs to God, but we are responsible for its care. Likewise, we are stewards of the blessings God has given us, whether in the form of physical comforts or in the form of our gifts, abilities and talents. Ultimately, our very lives are God's, and we are stewards of them. In all of this, we are entrusted with the responsible care of what is fundamentally God's.
In addition to thinking about stewardship as fundraising and as the responsibility of a steward, there's one other sense of “stewardship” that has been on my mind lately. It is a sense which seems very appropriate in the context of our gospel reading. Jesus says that authentic disciples must “give up all their possessions.” As I said before, this is a question of loyalty, of being devoted not to our possessions but to God. It also highlights this other aspect of stewardship: we can do stewardship for our own spiritual growth, for our own journey on that road of discipleship. Even if we cannot give up all that we have, the very act of giving up can remind us where our loyalty should lie – with the God who has blessed us so abundantly in the first place. Giving up reminds us that we are not Christians for our own sake, but for the sake of the gospel and for the sake of others. Giving up reminds us that we are called to take up our own cross, just as Jesus says in our gospel reading. As we walk the road of discipleship, striving to deepen our faith and commitment to God, we may find that our giving — our stewardship — aids our discipleship.

I am a fan of the poetry of Robert Frost, and all this talk of walking on the road of discipleship reminded me of one of Frost’s most famous poems, “The Road Not Taken.” Some of you may have read it. I would like to share part of it with you now. Frost begins his poem by describing a crossroads: “Two roads diverged in a yellow wood.” He must choose which of the two roads to take, so he stands and looks down each one, considering his choice. Finally, he chooses the second road, which looks less worn.
The poem concludes,
“Oh I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I —
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.”

Without doing injustice to Frost, I would like to read his poem in the context of our gospel this morning. The narrator of the poem faced a choice, two roads; and as Frost eloquently writes, “Two roads diverged in a wood, and I — I took the one less traveled by, and that has made all the difference.” The crowds who were following Jesus in our gospel reading faced a choice, two roads as it were: whether to become disciples, devoted to following Jesus, or not. We today face many choices: how to be disciples, to follow Jesus; how to deepen our faith; how to be involved in God’s ministry in the world. We consider the concepts of service and stewardship. We are walking on a road, this road of discipleship that strives to follow where Jesus walked. Our gospel reading warns us that discipleship will not be easy. And yet — confident in God’s love for us, Jesus’ words show us that the road we choose to walk may make all the difference. Amen.

Stewardship

2010-08-24T11:34:00.000-07:00

I've been thinking lately about the reasons why we do stewardship. King of Kings, where I'm serving on internship, is (like many churches) gearing up for a fall stewardship campaign. They are excited and energized about bringing in new and creative approaches to stewardship. Watching and listening to the dialogue here has gotten me thinking more about stewardship in general.

First, a word about the word itself: stewardship. It seems to have two basic meanings, at least in church conversations. On the one hand, "stewardship" is the process of being a steward, of caring for something that belongs to another. In a theological context, the "owner" is usually God; we are stewards of God's creation, God's resources, God's gifts of life and abilities. On the other hand, "stewardship" means the fundraising of the church. Hence there are stewardship committees and stewardship drives, aimed at getting members to pledge (and then, hopefully, give) money.

So I've been thinking about why we do stewardship, mostly in the latter sense of the term. Why do we ask people to pledge money to the church? The question seems pertinent. If we cannot articulate a reason for giving, then how can we expect anyone to give? For those suffering economically, giving to a church may be too great a burden. For those who have money to give, why would they give to a church instead of a charity? I think charities do a much better job than most churches at answering the why question. I'll give an example: I frequently give money to Heifer International. In response, Heifer sends me mailings that describe specific projects they are doing around the world, even naming specific families that have been helped. That makes me feel like my money is doing something worthwhile, and I'll go back to Heifer next time I have money to give.

What about churches? Why do churches do stewardship? I've thought of four reasons; perhaps you can think of others. First, a church does stewardship to fund its budget. That seems to be the most frequently cited reason for stewardship. Here at King of Kings, as I experienced at my home congregation, a member of the stewardship team has stood up and said, "Here's our budget, and here is the shortfall we're experiencing, so please give what you pledged so we can keep paying the bills." I want to be clear: there is nothing wrong with this reason in and of itself. Churches need to pay the bills. My mother served as the church treasurer at my home congregation for many years, and faced the unenviable and unpopular task of telling the council when the bills were in danger of not being payed. If the church doesn't have a budget, the church building is not going to be lit or heated or cooled, the staff is not going to be paid, and the church as an institution will not be able to function. All of that being said, I think it is quite valid to be concerned if this reason is the only reason for doing stewardship, or the primary reason for doing stewardship. It's certainly not going to inspire or motivate people to be involved. They have their own bills to pay; paying the church's bills is not a very meaningful goal.

Second, a church does stewardship to support its ministries. Now the focus is not on the church building or the church institution, but on the meaningful work the church is doing. Perhaps the church has a food pantry, or supports one in the community. Perhaps the church has a ministry to the homeless. Perhaps the church has a preschool. This reason focuses on the ministry of the church, the church as the hands and feet of Jesus in the world.

The third reason is similar to the second: a church does stewardship to support the ministries of the wider church. In the ELCA, a portion of the money each congregation receives goes to the synod. A portion of the synod's money, in turn, goes to the churchwide organization. The money coming from congregations helps to support organizations like Lutheran World Relief, or the ELCA World Hunger Appeal. These ministries have a far wider reach than that of an individual congregation. After the earthquake in Haiti, I read about how Lutheran World Relief was able to be on the ground providing aid very quickly - because they already had the organization and resources in place before the disaster happened. They didn't have to start from scratch in order to help the people affected by the disaster.

The fourth reason is one that I have been considering in the context of the Luke 14 text I'm studying for my next sermon (see my other posts for more on that). I think we do stewardship also for a personal reason. Stewardship in this sense is a spiritual practice, a way of deepening faith and becoming better disciples of Christ. It's not something we do to earn God's love or acceptance. But it is a way of reflecting on the blessings we have received from God, some of them concrete and economic. It is a way of considering the needs of others in relation to ourselves. It is a way of placing trust in God - as my stewardship professor pointed out, the whole point of giving "first fruits" is that you have no guarantee you will get "second fruits." It forces us to step beyond the instinctive drive for self-preservation, of holding on to what we can get because the future is uncertain.

So far at King of Kings, I have heard a lot of the first three reasons, but not very much of the fourth. As I mentioned, they are concerned (like most churches) with the budget; at the same time, they have a strong mission focus and understand their relationship to the ministry of the wider church. However, that personal component of stewardship, what I'm viewing as a spiritual practice, does not seem to be part of the dialogue (judging only from what I've heard and seen so far). I hope to lift it up in this sermon I'm preaching on September 5. Perhaps it will help to deepen the understanding of what "stewardship" means.

September 5 Sermon - Part Three

2010-08-24T07:48:00.000-07:00

In this post, I'll be checking out the commentaries on my text, Luke 14:25-33.

I'll start with the post over on Working Preacher. I really appreciated Dr. Brown's approach to the text. She begins, "We live in a market driven society, so it is not surprising that we feel the urge to 'sell' Christianity in the marketplace of competing ideas and ways of life. Yet, when Christian mission is shaped toward the 'sell' mentality, it more often than not becomes a 'low-cost' and 'low-risk' commodity. How else will we persuade others to receive the faith, if not by coming in with a lower or better offer? But is the Christian faith really a low-cost, low-risk endeavor? The lectionary text for this week, Luke 14:25-33, offers a challenge to a market driven approach to Christian mission." Wow - talk about economic and spiritual implications!

She goes on to address the troubling demand of "hating" one's family and one's own life, lifting up the hyperbolic and perhaps idiomatic language. Then she analyzes the parables of the tower and the king, concluding that "Jesus extols a commitment to finishing the discipleship journey once begun or not beginning it at all. Following Jesus is an all or nothing proposition." Rather than quote the entire commentary to you, I'll let you check it out yourself (click on the link above, then click the tab labeled "Gospel").

I also read Joseph Fitzmyer's Anchor Bible commentary. Fitzmyer compares Luke's version to Matthew's, as well as to similar sayings in the Gospel of Thomas. He makes an analysis of sources and form. He notes that "Verse 33 . . . is a conclusion to this passage, which has been composed by Luke, in order to add a further condition of discipleship, his favorite idea of disposing of material possessions." He also identifies two other specific conditions of discipleship: the willingness to leave family ties and the willingness to face radical self-denial. "In addition, [Luke] casts these conditions of discipleship in a demand for serious consideration . . . The engagement is not to be undertaken lightly." With regard to the giving up of possessions, Fitzmyer writes, "In these parables Jesus counsels the disciple to consider seriously what forces and resources the would-be disciple has. But the added condition in v. 33 counsels renunciation of all the material possessions that one has. Note the contrast: what one has in the former sense is infinitely more important than what one has in the latter."

Meanwhile, over in Joel Green's commentary (part of the New International Commentary on the New Testament), Green links this pericope to what has come before. He writes, "Particularly in Jesus' story of the great banquet (vv 15-24), he had introduced the possibility that one's ties to possessions and family might disqualify one from enjoying the feast. As Jesus turns to address the crowds traveling with him, he lists allegiance to one's family network and the shackles that constitute one's possessions as impediments to authentic discipleship." I appreciate his emphasis on transformation: "The conversion that characterizes genuine discipleship is itself generative, giving rise to new forms of behavior."

On the subject of "hating" one's family and one's life/soul, Green has this to say: "[Followers of Jesus] are characterized, first, by their distancing themselves from the high cultural value placed on their family network, otherwise paramount in the world of Luke. That is, in this context, 'hate' is not primarily an affective quality but a disavowal of primary allegiance to one's kin. . . Again, 'hating' one's self should not be taken as a reference to affective self-abhorrence, but as a call to set aside the relationships, the extended family of origin and inner circle of friends, by which one has previously made up one's identity."

Green also has a slightly different take on the second part of the pericope, the parables. He sees the point of the parables not to be the need for preparation but the unavoidable inadequacy of resources: "The interpretive crux does not lie in 'counting the cost.' The point is that, no matter what calculus one uses, no matter what resources one believes one can bring to bear, those assets will be insufficient to secure one's status before God." The landowner does not have the resources to build a tower, and so is mocked; the king does not have the resources to win the war, and so is forced to surrender. "By extrapolation, then, Jesus insists that such assets as one's network of kin, so important in Greco-Roman antiquity, are an insufficient foundation for assuring one's status before God." Green sees verse 33 not as a third condition added to the conditions in vv 25-27 (as per Fitzmyer), but as the summary of all the conditions.

Labels!

2010-08-20T17:00:00.000-07:00

Hey, I decided to start adding labels to my posts. I'll go back a tag a few of my old posts, and try to add labels for new posts from here on out. That way, there will be at least a bit of order to the chaos around here.

September 5 Sermon - Part Two

2010-08-20T15:58:00.001-07:00

Here's my translation of the gospel text, Luke 14:25-33:

25 But many crowds were going with him, and he, turning, said to them, 26 "If someone comes to me and he does not hate his own father and mother and wife and children and brothers and sisters, and even his own soul, he is not able to be my disciple. 27 Whoever does not bear his own cross and come after me is not able to be my disciple. 28 Indeed, who of you all, wanting to build a tower, does not first sit to count the cost, [to see] if he has [enough] to finish? 29 So that, lest he puts down a foundation and is not able to finish, all those seeing [it] might begin to mock him, 30 saying that this is the person who began to build and was not able to finish. 31 Or what king, going to another king to meet for war, does not first sit to take counsel whether he is able with ten thousand to meet the one coming to him with twenty thousand. 32 But if not, surely [when] he is still far away, he will send an ambassador to ask him for peace. 33 So therefore, all of you who do not say goodbye to all his own possessions is not able to be my disciple.

When I was translating, I wondered what connection there might be between verse 26 and verse 33. Are we to understand "possessions" as being the same as the family relationships of verse 26? On the other hand, these might be separate sayings of Jesus that Luke has strung together on the general theme of loyalty to Jesus.

My plan is to take a stewardship focus for this sermon. I've been thinking lately about the reasons we might do stewardship - to balance the church budget, to support the ministry of the congregation, or to support the ministry of the wider church. Those are the reasons I've been hearing at my internship site, and there's nothing wrong with any of them. However, I haven't heard any talk about the personal reasons for stewardship. To put it another way, stewardship might be a spiritual discipline, a way of practicing and developing one's own faith. It's not something we have to do to earn God's favor - but it's something we can and should do, in the same way that we can and should pray, or read the Bible. That's the message I want to communicate in my sermon. Giving up prepares us to be disciples, or to be better disciples.

A Word to Parents

2010-08-20T07:18:00.000-07:00

The religious landscape in this country is changing. It's been changing for decades (and probably before that, too). The so- called "golden age" of American protestantism, when "everybody" went to church, is clearly dead and gone. It is worthwhile to doubt whether it ever truly existed, or if it is just a figment of wishful hindsight. Still, it's true that organized religion in general, and Christianity in particular, is losing its cultural force. More and more people are not participating in a worship community, nor identifying with a religious group.

To be honest, I am not upset about this trend. Although my faith, and my participation in Christian community, has been a powerful and positive experience in my life, it's no offense to me if others feel differently. I certainly recognize and empathize with the disillusion many people feel towards Christianity. As an organization, the Christian church has done some atrocious things (and some merely stupid things). Although I find community with others to be important to my spirituality, I understand that others prefer to practice their spirituality in private.

However, there is one aspect of this trend that does trouble me, and which I feel moved to address. My comments are directed towards parents. What I often hear from parents is this statement, or one like it: "I don't take my kids to church because I want them to make their own decisions." Many of my friends have told me that their parents did not raise them in any kind of religious community; as a result, these friends find the very concept of faith to be a foreign and confusing (even upsetting) subject.

I'm not a parent, but I think I understand whence this attitude comes. Especially for those who grew up with a negative experience of religion, church can seem like the last place to take a growing child. If you had to memorize the catechism and recite it in front of the congregation, if you were indoctrinated, if your questions and exploration were squashed, if your voice was silenced - certainly, you wouldn't want to put your kids through that.

However, when I hear from a twenty-something that he or she really wants to believe in something, anything, but just can't seem to do it, it tugs at my heart. Faith is something I grew up with. That's not to suggest that my faith journey has always been easy or straightforward (it certainly hasn't), but I am convinced that I was greatly aided and equipped by growing up in a religious community.

Parents, you want your kids to be able to make their own decisions. You don't want to force a belief system on them. That is great. More power to you. But let me make an analogy. I assume that most parents also want their kids to decide on a career or profession. You wouldn't force your child to be a doctor or a teacher. But you still make your kids get up in the morning and go to school. Even if they don't want to. You know that, before your children can decide to be doctors or teachers or lawyers or the president of the United States, they have to get an education. They have to learn to read and write, add and subtract, engage in conversation and think critically. As their parents, you require your children to go to school; you give them, whether they want it or not, a groundwork that they will need to be able to make decisions later in life. You wouldn't let your kid sit at home for 18 years and then suddenly expect that they can get into a premed program.

I really believe that the same principles should operate in the area of faith. Your kids should be able to decide what they believe and how they practice that faith. But they won't be equipped to make those decisions unless you, as parents, provide them with a groundwork. That groundwork doesn't even necessarily have to come from a church - maybe you can read to your kids from the Bible, the Quran, and the Tripitaka. But give them something, some resource that they can draw on - or reject - in adulthood. Give them a groundwork on which they can build.

(A note here: I don't want to suggest that people who were not raised in a religious community are incapable of having faith. I don't believe that to be true. However, my conversations with friends have suggested to me that the faith journey may be much harder if you are trying to start from scratch in your twenties. That being said, there are resources out there for spiritual seekers, and I expect those could be very helpful.)

There is a lesson here for churches, too, lest we think that the problem lies outside of ourselves. Churches must be places where parents would want to take their children. That means very practical and important concerns with regard to safety (as the cases of clergy abuse have made all too clear). It also means that churches shouldn't be concerned with indoctrinating children. We should be open to questioning, to doubting, and to disagreement. We should allow children and especially youth to "tinker" with their faith, drawing in resources not only from our own religious tradition, but from other traditions as well. We should embrace and encourage spiritual creativity. We should break down the hierarchies that serve to silence some voices, particularly the voices of question and critique.

In short, my word to parents is this: give your children the education they need to be able to grow into their own, unique faith. And to churches: provide to both parents and children (and all spiritual seekers) resources for exploration and growth. May we all walk together on journeys of faith, wherever they lead.

Adult Christian Ed

2010-08-18T06:46:00.000-07:00

King of Kings (where I'm serving my internship) is trying to develop a stronger program for adult Christian education. There is a lot of interest in the congregation, but not a lot has been offered. So when I sat down with the pastor and the Christian ed (slash family ministry slash youth) director to plan the fall schedule, I offered to teach a class.

My class won't be until December, but the Christian ed director, Judi, is putting together a brochure about adult education. The brochure will be handed out at Rally Day (September 12) so people know what opportunities will be available throughout the fall. Here's my blurb, tentatively, for the brochure.

A Brief History of the Bible
Have you ever wondered where the Bible came from? Do you want to know who wrote it and when? Have you ever wished you knew what "apocrypha" meant, or wanted to learn more about the Dead Sea Scrolls? Join Vicar Jennie for a three week introduction to the Bible, its history, and the books that weren't included.
Week One: What's in the Bible?
Week Two: Bible History
Week Three: Building the Bible: The Formation of the Canon

Now, doesn't that sound like a class you'd want to take?

September 5 Sermon - Part One

2010-08-17T08:03:00.000-07:00

I preached my sermon on Sunday (slightly modified from the draft I posted here), and it went well. It's always a little hard to gauge how a sermon affects the congregation, but I received positive comments, and no one stormed out in the middle, so I'll count it as a success.

Now I'm looking ahead to the next time I'll be preaching: September 5. The readings for that day are Deuteronomy 30:15-20, Psalm 1, Philemon 1-21, and Luke 14:25-33. You can check out the readings here.

The Gospel text is about giving up possessions in order to follow Jesus. Jesus makes analogies to preparing for a building project or a battle, concluding, "So therefore, none of you can become my disciple if you do not give up all your possessions."

I am pulled a bit towards Philemon, because I think that would be a fun text on which to preach. The message there is about Christian community and the radical re-ordering of hierarchy (honor/shame) in Christ.

On the other hand, the congregation is thinking about stewardship right now, and the Luke text could preach to that subject very well.

So I'll have to make up my mind about which text I want to use. Any suggestions?

August 15 Sermon Draft

2010-08-12T09:34:00.000-07:00

My sermon is pretty much finished. I think I'd still like to add a closing image at the very end, but on the whole I'm happy with it. Comments are welcome (as always).

Grace and peace to you from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ.

I'm a big fan of disaster movies. They're always terrible, but they're too much fun not to watch. The cheesy dialogue, the over-the-top special effects, the hilarious pseudo-science, the heroic character who recognizes the signs just in time to save the human race – yes, whether there's a volcano under Los Angeles or an ice age bearing down on New York, you can count me in.

But I haven't had a chance to see the most recent big-budget disaster movie, 2012. Maybe some of you saw it when it came out in the theaters (because, you know, the special effects always look best on the big screen). Even though I haven't seen 2012, I've heard plenty about it. It's hard to avoid – there seems to be a lot of talk these days about the Mayan calendar ending. And, so the argument goes, when the Mayan calendar ends on December 21, 2012, so ends the world.

The end of the world. There's something fascinating to us about the idea of the end of the world. That's why disaster movies make so much money, after all. There's something in us that loves to hear about the world coming to an end. We listen with a sort of horrified fascination to these stories.

Of course, for many people, they're not just stories. I recently stumbled across a website that eagerly proclaimed to me that the world is really and truly going to end – but not December 21, 2012. The real end of the world, according to this website, will be May 21, 2011. That gives us about 9 months to set our affairs in order. Now, they claim that they have Biblical evidence for this date, but they seemed to be a little fuzzy on the details, and I couldn't figure out how they had decided on May 21, 2011 for the end of the world.

Certainly May 21, 2011 isn't the first time the end of the world has been predicted. Back in the early 20th century, the Watchtower Bible and Tract Society (forerunners to the Jehovah's Witnesses) predicted the end of the world for 1914; when 1914 came and went, they revised their prediction several times. Charles Wesley, the Methodist, believed the world would end in 1794. Martin Luther, back in the 16th century, was convinced that the world would end before his death. And so on. It seems that in every generation, there are those who believe that the world is coming to an end.

So what do disaster movies and end-of-the-world predictions have to do with our readings this morning? It's right there in the gospel reading from Luke. “I came to bring fire to the earth,” cries Jesus through the writer of the gospel, “and how I wish it were already kindled!” He predicts division and conflict. He refers to the sign of the times: “You know how to interpret the appearance of the earth and sky, but why do you not know how to interpret the present time?”

This kind of language is referred to as “apocalyptic.” Now you all will have to bear with me for a little teaching moment. “Apocalyptic” comes from “apocalypse,” the Greek word that means “revelation.” So the book of Revelation in the Bible is called “Apocalupsis” in Greek. So remember: “apocalypse” equals “revelation”. We usually think of “apocalypse” as the end of the world, but its basic meaning is revelation – specifically, God's revelation. In the centuries before Jesus, some Jews came to understand God's revelation – the apocalypse – as the catastrophic end of the world. God would appear to bring judgment, punishing the wicked and rewarding the righteous. A new age would be inaugurated in which all hopes of the righteous would be fulfilled. A new world would replace this broken, irredeemable world. And all this would happen very, very soon. Apocalyptic thinking and writing is always filled with a terrible urgency, with the conviction that there is no time left.

These ideas of the apocalypse certainly persisted in Jesus' time, as well as the time of the writing of the New Testament. There are strains of apocalyptic thinking in the gospels. We find the most obvious example in the book of Revelation, whose very title is “Apocalypse” in Greek. And apocalyptic ideas have lasted beyond the Biblical period. In fact, the ongoing predictions of the end of the world show us that apocalyptic thinking has its adherents in every generation.

What are we to make of such thinking? When we look at the predictions that the world would end in 1914, they may seem comical. When we hear predictions of the end in our own time, we may dismiss them as nonsense – or we may feel a shiver of fear.

And what about the predictions of the end of the world in the gospel of Luke, in our very reading today? In our reading, Jesus says he has come to bring fire to the earth – but there's no historical record of such fire. Jesus says he brings division within households – but what generation doesn't see division in households? The text is full of the urgent sense that the end is near. So what are we to make of this text? I have to be honest with you. When I read Luke's apocalyptic language, I wonder to myself, “Was Luke wrong? Was this just another crackpot end-of-the-world prediction?”

We believe that Scripture is inspired by God, that God speaks to us – here and now – through these ancient writings. Yet reading Scripture can be a difficult task, at times frustrating and disheartening. When I read predictions of the end of the world in the Bible, I can't help but wonder if they're just plain wrong. How can God speak to us through these apocalyptic texts? What is the Holy Spirit trying to do here?

But I do believe that God has something to say in this text. I do believe that God can speak to us, even if Luke felt an impending sense of doom that didn't come to pass. The apocalypse is the revelation of God. The revelation of God. God revealed. Perhaps that revelation doesn't come to us with end-of-the-world special effects. Perhaps God chooses to reveal God's self in other ways.

Indeed, God does reveal God's self. Though it does not come with the special effects of the blockbuster disaster movies, God's revelation is both surprising and dramatic. The revelation of God is Jesus Christ. God is revealed to us, to all of humanity, through Jesus Christ. That's why we call Jesus Emmanuel – God With Us. We proclaim this revelation, this apocalypse, every time we recite the Creed: “I believe in Jesus Christ, God's only Son, our Lord, who was conceived by the Holy Spirit and born of the virgin Mary.” We believe that we encounter Jesus here at the table, at communion. Jesus is the apocalypse, the revelation, of God. In Jesus, we find God; in Jesus, God is revealed.

The writer of our gospel text today expected the apocalypse, the dramatic end of the world and the coming of God's judgment. What actually happened was a different kind of apocalypse, the revelation of God through Jesus Christ. God has a way of surprising us, of turning our expectations upside-down. We find story after story in the Bible of God's unexpected, surprising revelation – whether at the burning bush, in the manger in Bethlehem, or in the tongues of fire that descended at Pentecost. God, it seems, loves to surprise us. God reveals God's self in the ways we least expect.

And what about you? I will venture to guess that most of you have not seen a burning bush. But I would be willing to bet that God has surprised you. Maybe God has appeared to you when you were hurting, in the face of a caring friend. Maybe God has appeared to you in the guise of a homeless person asking for help. Maybe God has appeared to you in your own heart, in a powerful emotion or sudden idea.

God does not always come to us in thunder and lightning and fire. God does not always appear in some kind of end-of-the-world disaster. On the other hand, God does not always come to us with a gentle word of comfort. Sometimes, God has a message of division, not peace. Above all, what we discover as we try to follow the living God, is the wonderful unpredictability with which God meets us.

August 15 Sermon - Part Three

2010-07-31T08:23:00.000-07:00

Now it's time to check out some commentaries. I have two to consult: the Anchor Bible commentary on Luke, by Joseph Fitzmyer, and the Eerdmans New International Commentary on the New Testament — the volume on Luke is written by Joel Green.

Fitzmyer lifts up the same apocalyptic tone I had noticed in my own study of the text. Referring to the second part of the lection, he writes, "There is no hint in this passage about a delay; rather 'the season that is here' is precisely the time for repentance and conversion." This passage indicates that now is the moment of crisis, the apocalyptic turning point, and there is no time to lose. Jesus speaks to the crowds: "As weatherwise Palestinian farmers, they have learned to read the face of nature, with its clouds and winds. They should, then, be able to assess the critical moment in which they exist. [Jesus] thus contrasts the people's 'meteorological sensitiveness' with their 'religious sensitiveness'."

Regarding the first part of the lection, Fitzmyer draws out the tension and contrast in Luke regarding the purpose of Jesus' ministry. The same Jesus who was hailed at the beginning of the gospel as bringing "peace on earth" (Luke 2:14) now says that his ministry brings discord. "Though peace is an important effect of the Christ-event in the Lucan view, the evangelist has here retained from 'Q' an interpretation of Jesus' ministry in terms of its opposite. Yet even that effect of his ministry has been foreshadowed in the infancy narrative: Jesus was a child set 'for the fall and rise of many in Israel' (2:34). . . Even in his own family the Lucan Jesus' career brought a 'sword' to pierce his mother's 'own soul' (2:35)."

Green similarly lifts up the apocalyptic character of the text, showing that it is part of the "overarching theme of vigilance in the face of eschatological crisis." Prior to this section of Luke, Jesus has made numerous references to making ready - "Blessed are those slaves whom the master finds alert when he comes" (12:37); "You also must be ready, for the Son of man is coming at an unexpected hour" (12:40); "Blessed is that slave whom his master will find at work when he arrives" (12:43). Green writes, "From those images of future judgment, Jesus now turns to the reality of judgment already at work in his ministry. The division accompanying his mission is itself both integral to his purpose for coming (vv 49-53) and a portent of eschatological judgment (vv 54-59)."

Regarding the prediction of division within households, Green stresses the importance of family groups in 1st century culture. For Jesus to predict the breaking down of family ties, as an integral part of his ministry, would have been quite shocking. However, "the dissolution of family bonds (which, in the Lukan narrative, has as its consequence the formation of a new kinship group around Jesus) should be taken as confirmation that he is God's agent and that he is bringing to fruition the purpose of God."

Green comments on Jesus' use of the term "hypocrites" in reference to the crowd. For Luke, "hypocrite" does not mean someone who says one thing and does another. Rather, Jesus "regards the crowds not as deceivers or phonies but as people who 'do not know.' His question, then, is not why they say one thing and do another, but why they have joined the Pharisees in living lives that are not determined by God."

I'm trying to decide on what focus I want to take for this sermon. I find apocalyptic themes difficult to preach on. The issues are so complex, and the thinking among Christians so diverse, that it seems quite daunting. However, I don't think I can ignore or gloss over the apocalyptic aspects of this text. It would not be fair to the text or to the congregation to whom I'll be preaching. On the other hand, it would appear that the plain sense of the text - that the final judgment was imminent - is simply incorrect. On top of that, I personally think it very dangerous to encourage apocalyptic thinking - every generation has believed it was the last. An unexamined belief in the imminent destruction of the world works against faithful stewardship, ecology, and efforts at peace and mutual understanding (all of which I happen to favor). So how does one preach on an apocalyptic text without preaching apocalypticism?

Time to find out, I suppose.

August 15 Sermon - Part Two

2010-07-30T07:27:00.001-07:00

In preparing for my upcoming sermon, I translated the Gospel text. Here is my (very rough) version:

Luke 12:49-56
"I have come to throw fire at the earth, and how I wish that it now were lit up! But I have a baptism to be baptized, and how I am surrounded until [it] may be finished. Do you think that I came to bring peace in the earth? No, I say to you all, but division. For from now on five in one house will be divided, three against two and two against three, they will be divided father against son and son against father, mother against daughter and daughter against mother, mother-in-law against bride and bride against mother-in-law."
He was saying to the crowd, "You all may see the cloud rising over the west; immediately you say that a rainstorm is coming, and thus it happens; and when a south wind [is] blowing, you all say that there will be heat, and it happens. Hypocrites! The face of the earth and of the heaven, you all know [how] to test the time, but this [time] you do not know [how] to test."

There is not a whole lot of difference between this and the NRSV version. They do take some liberties with verse 50, saying "what stress I am under" where I found "how I am surrounded" (or maybe even "how I surround myself," since it could be middle instead of passive voice). In the literary context, verses 49 through 53 seem to be addressed only to the disciples, while 54 through 56 are addressed to the crowd. If Jesus is describing himself to his disciples as "being surrounded," he might be referring to the crowds that are all around. Or if he is "surrounding himself," he might be referring to the disciples, whom he gathered around himself. Neither interpretation seems quite the same as "what stress I am under."

The meaning of the final verse seems important, the "testing" (or, NRSV, "interpreting") of times. I'm going to look more closely into that verse and the meaning of the Greek. This pericope seems to be divided pretty clearly in two - the first half being a prediction or pronouncement to the disciples, the second half being an address to the crowds. They're linked (as is much of this section of Luke) by an apocalyptic outlook. There may be a connection between the division among families and the signs of the times, but I don't want to force that if it's not original to the text. The two sections may have originally existed separate from one another, and it's only the lectionary that connects them. Hopefully the commentaries can help me figure that out.

I'll post again after I look at some commentaries and do a closer study on verse 56. As always, comments are welcome.

August 15 Sermon - Part One

2010-07-27T08:42:00.000-07:00

Whoa, starting a sermon for August 15?!? Crazy, right? I'm getting way ahead of the game.

August 15 is my first Sunday preaching here at King of Kings. My personal goal while I'm on internship is to have a sort of sermon garden going, so that I'm doing exegesis and text study well in advance of the weeks when I'm preaching. (We'll see how that works out - stay tuned.) So, now seems like a good time to start working on the lectionary texts for August 15.

Without further ado, here are the lectionary texts. (August 15 is also "Mother of our Lord" Sunday, but this congregation is not celebrating that festival, so I'm going to be using the standard nth Sunday after Pentecost texts.)

First Reading: Jeremiah 23:23-29

Psalm 82

Second Reading: Hebrews 11:29-12:2

Gospel: Luke 12:49-56

You can see all the readings here. I'm going to preach on the Gospel text, since it's one of those that you can't just ignore - it needs to be addressed. I'll reprint it below so you can see why:

Luke 12:49-56
12:49 "I came to bring fire to the earth, and how I wish it were already kindled!

12:50 I have a baptism with which to be baptized, and what stress I am under until it is completed!

12:51 Do you think that I have come to bring peace to the earth? No, I tell you, but rather division!

12:52 From now on five in one household will be divided, three against two and two against three;

12:53 they will be divided: father against son and son against father, mother against daughter and daughter against mother, mother-in-law against her daughter-in-law and daughter-in-law against mother-in-law."

12:54 He also said to the crowds, "When you see a cloud rising in the west, you immediately say, 'It is going to rain'; and so it happens.

12:55 And when you see the south wind blowing, you say, 'There will be scorching heat'; and it happens.

12:56 You hypocrites! You know how to interpret the appearance of earth and sky, but why do you not know how to interpret the present time?

You know, Luke (if that is your real name), it's texts like these that make me wish it could be Year A again already. I can tell you right now that this is not going to be an easy sermon to write.

In all seriousness, though, it's a challenging text, and it's going to need some exposition. I can hear some clear apocalyptic notes coming through - the language of "interpreting the present time," not to mention the predictions of conflict and the image of bringing fire to the earth. I'm intrigued by verse 50, where Jesus mentions his upcoming baptism (I'm taking that as a reference to the crucifixion). I wonder how that anticipated event fits in to the apocalyptic notions here.

I'm going to do my own translation of the text and check out some commentaries this week, and start writing the sermon next week. As always, thoughts and comments are welcome!

VBS Skits

2010-07-22T11:47:00.000-07:00

I'm in my first week of internship at King of Kings Lutheran Church. The congregation is doing VBS this week, so I definitely hit the ground running. My job has been writing the skits for each morning's opening session. I thought I'd share them here. Each day has a theme, which I've included before the skit itself. Enjoy!

Tuesday
Theme: The Ten Commandments
Props: None
Note: In the VBS program, whenever the kids hear the line "It's in the book!" they all respond with a big yell: "HUH!" You'll see that in the skit below for that reason.

[As the song finishes, Mike, Beth, and Jennie go up on stage.]
Mike: So, you all are learning about the Ten Commandments today, huh? The Ten Commandments are pretty important for all of us. [pause] Say, Vicar Jennie, what did you learn about the Ten Commandments in seminary?
Jennie: Well, I learned that the Ten Commandments are in the Bible...
Beth: [interrupting] Don’t you mean... They’re in the book! [HUH!]
Jennie: Yes, exactly! The Ten Commandments are in the book. [HUH!] Pastor Mike, what do you know about the Ten Commandments?
Mike: Well, the Ten Commandments teach us how we should act in our relationships — our relationship with God, our relationship with our family, and our relationships with everyone we meet.
Beth: Oh, right, like how the Ten Commandments tell us we should worship and love God.
Jennie: And don’t forget about honoring your parents!
Mike: And that we shouldn’t steal from other people or hurt them. The Ten Commandments teach us how we should act.
Beth: Hey Pastor Mike, these Ten Commandments, they’re like rules, right? So what happens if we break these rules?
Mike: Well, we should always try to follow the Ten Commandments, because that’s what God expects of us. But if we break them, we can trust that God will forgive us, because God loves us.
Jennie: You know, I learned in seminary about how the Ten Commandments remind us of God’s love for us.
Beth: What do you mean?
Jennie: Well, it’s because God loves us that God wants to have a relationship with us. And God gave us blessings like family and friends. And the Ten Commandments tell us how we should act in our relationship with God and our families. So whenever I think of the Ten Commandments, I always remember that God really loves us!
Mike: So when we learn about the Ten Commandments, we should remember to do what God expects us to do, but also remember that God loves us and forgives us.
Beth: The Ten Commandments are really great! I hope you’re all excited to learn more about the Ten Commandments today!

Wednesday
Theme: The Cross
Props: A washtub with a sign that says "Insta-Clean". Two clean t-shirts hidden in the tub. Two dirty t-shirts. One t-shirt that says "SIN" in big letters.
Note: The little "magic trick" involved here went over great. The kids totally bought it... when the first clean shirt came out, they were completely amazed.

Beth: Check it out, everyone! Here in this tub, I have my magic cleaner — Insta-clean! It can get out any stain or mess, guaranteed!
Jennie: Hey Beth, that’s pretty cool. [Holding up stained shirt] Do you think it could get all these dirt and grass stains out of my shirt?
Beth: Sure! Insta-clean can get out any stain! Just give me that shirt... [Puts the dirty shirt in the tub, and pulls out a clean shirt] Look at that! Good as new!
Jennie: Wow! That’s amazing, Beth!
Mike: Wow. Do you think you could get these mustard stains out of my shirt? I made a mess of myself the last time I was eating a hot dog.
Beth: No problem! Just give it to me and I’ll put it in the Insta-clean solution... [Puts the dirty shirt in the tub, and pulls out a clean shirt] Your stain is all gone!
Mike: Thanks, Beth!
Jennie: That Insta-clean works really well. Say... [Lifts up “SIN” shirt] Beth, what about this stain?
Beth: What does that say? S-I-N... Sin.
Jennie: Yeah, I’ve had it for as long as I can remember.
Mike: Oh, yes. Every one of us has the stain of sin, no matter who we are. I have it, too, and so does Beth.
Jennie: [To Beth] So do you think Insta-clean can get it out?
Beth: Well, I can give it a try... [Puts the shirt in, and pulls it out again] Huh. The stain is still there. Maybe it needs a little more time in the solution [Puts the shirt in and scrubs it for a few seconds, then pulls it out again] No, that stain is still there.
Jennie: Oh, darn! I was really hoping I could get rid of this sin.
Mike: You can’t get out sin with cleaners, no matter how powerful they are.
Beth: Well, how can you get rid of it?
Mike: Jesus washes us clean of sin. You see, because God loves us, Jesus came down to earth and died on the cross for our sins. Because of the cross, our sins are forgiven.
Jennie: Oh yeah! [Points to the cross] That’s why we have this cross here in our church, right? To remind us of Jesus’ death for our sins.
Mike: That’s right. The cross is a sign of God’s forgiveness. When we baptize someone, we also make the sign of the cross on their foreheads to remind us of God’s forgiveness. In fact, we can make the sign of the cross on our foreheads any time we want to remember that God loves and forgives us.
Jennie: Hey, That’s a great idea! Let’s do that right now! Everyone, with your thumb, draw a cross on your forehead. That’s a reminder of God’s love and forgiveness!
Beth: And we’re all going to learn more about the cross today. I hope you’re excited!

Thursday
Theme: Saved by Grace through Faith
Props: Martin Luther costume
Mike: [dressed as Martin Luther] “Here I stand! I can do no other! My conscience is captive--”
Jennie: [interrupting] Um, Pastor Mike... what are you doing?
Mike: Well, I'm pretending to be Martin Luther.
Jennie: So that's why you're wearing the robe, I take it? And quoting things Martin Luther said?
Mike: Yes. “My conscience is captive to the will of God!”
Jennie: Okay, but... why are you acting like Martin Luther, exactly?
Mike: Because our theme today is “Saved by Grace Through Faith.”
Beth: What does that have to do with Martin Luther?
Mike: Knowing that we are saved by grace through faith was one of the most important parts of faith for Martin Luther!
Jennie: Oh right... we learned in seminary about that. Martin Luther read the Bible and discovered that God loved us so much that God sent Jesus to earth to die on the cross. Because of Jesus, we are saved by grace through faith!
Beth: So you could say that “Saved by grace through faith” is in the book! [HUH!]
Mike: That's right!
Beth: But what does “Saved by grace through faith” mean, anyway?
Mike: Well, what it means is that we don't have to worry about being good enough for God.
Jennie: Right, like how we were learning about the Ten Commandments on Tuesday. No matter how hard we try to follow the Ten Commandments and do what God wants us to do, it seems like we always mess up and break the rules. We just can't get rid of that stain of sin.
Mike: But we aren't saved by being good enough. We're saved by grace, which is a free gift from God.
Beth: A gift from God? Wow! That sounds great!
Mike: It is great! God saves us because God loves us, not because we are good enough.
Jennie: And because we know God loves us and that we are saved by grace through faith, we don't have to be scared or worry when we mess up. We can be happy and joyful!
Mike: That's how Martin Luther felt, too. Before he learned about being saved by grace through faith, he was scared and worried all the time. But after he learned about being saved by grace through faith, he felt safe, knowing that God loved him.
Beth: And each of us is saved by grace through faith, too! We're going to learn more about that today.

Friday
Theme: Share the Good News
Props: Santa Hat
Beth: [wearing Santa hat] Guys! Guys! Pastor Mike, Vicar Jennie!
Mike: Beth, what's going on?
Beth: I just found out the best news. You're not going to believe it!
Jennie: Well, what is it?
Beth: I just found out that they're going to start having Christmas twice a year. Once in the winter, and once in the summer. Two Christmases! That means twice as many presents!
Jennie: Oh my gosh! That's amazing! I love Christmas!
Beth: Yeah, as soon as I found out the good news, I had to tell you guys!
Mike: Beth, is that really true? Where did you hear this, anyway?
Beth: I read it online! So it must be true, right?
Jennie: Uh oh...
Mike: Beth, you can't believe everything you read on the internet.
Beth: [dejected, pulling the hat off her head] Oh, darn... I was so excited.
Jennie: But you know, Beth, you just reminded me of today's theme: Sharing the good news!
Mike: Oh, that's right. Today, we're going to talk about sharing the good news.
Beth: What good news?
Jennie: The good news about Jesus!
Mike: That's right. The good news that God loves us and forgives us, and that Jesus died for us. The good news that we're saved by grace. It's the best news there is!
Beth: Wow, yeah! That's even better than having two Christmases!
Jennie: And when you know such good news, you can't just keep it to yourself! You have to share it!
Beth: Share it with who, Vicar Jennie?
Jennie: With everyone – your friends, your family, your classmates. This good news is so big, everybody should hear about it!
Mike: That's right. And the more we talk about the good news of God's love for us, the more we learn about it, and the more we appreciate it!
Jennie: In fact, that's what we do in church every week. We talk to one another about the good news that God loves us.
Beth: And that's what we've been doing here at Backstage with the Bible all week!
Mike: That's true! We've been learning about the good news and sharing it with one another. And after we leave here today, we can go out and share the good news with other people we meet, too!
Beth: That's really exciting! I feel like I want to share the good news that God loves us right now.
Jennie: We could do that, Beth. Hey, everybody - I want you to turn to someone sitting next to you and tell them, “God loves you!” And they can share the good news with you, too!
[Beth, Mike, and Jennie share the good news with each other]

July 11 Sermon - Part One

2010-07-06T07:39:00.000-07:00

This past Sunday was my last week supply preaching. On Thursday, I'm flying home to New Mexico for a long weekend. I'll be preaching at my home congregation, Bethlehem Evangelical Lutheran Church. So it's time to start preparing for that sermon.

The gospel text is the parable of the good Samaritan. Here is the reading:

Just then a lawyer stood up to test Jesus. “Teacher,” he said, “what must I do to inherit eternal life?” He said to him, “What is written in the law? What do you read there?” He answered, “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your strength, and with all your mind; and your neighbor as yourself.” And he said to him, “You have given the right answer; do this, and you will live.”

But wanting to justify himself, he asked Jesus, “And who is my neighbor?” Jesus replied, “A man was going down from Jerusalem to Jericho, and fell into the hands of robbers, who stripped him, beat him, and went away, leaving him half dead. Now by chance a priest was going down that road; and when he saw him, he passed by on the other side. So likewise a Levite, when he came to the place and saw him, passed by on the other side. But a Samaritan while traveling came near him; and when he saw him, he was moved with pity. He went to him and bandaged his wounds, having poured oil and wine on them. Then he put him on his own animal, brought him to an inn, and took care of him. The next day he took out two denarii, gave them to the innkeeper, and said, ‘Take care of him; and when I come back, I will repay you whatever more you spend.’ Which of these three, do you think, was a neighbor to the man who fell into the hands of the robbers?” He said, “The one who showed him mercy.” Jesus said to him, “Go and do likewise.”

It's a well-known story, obviously. We have a Samaritan, a member of the fringe-like group in Judea who accepted only the Torah (the first five books of the Hebrew Bible) and had their own version of the canon, known as the Samaritan Pentateuch. The Samaritans consider themselves to be the survivors of the destruction of the northern kingdom, who remained in the land continuously. Their practices were different from that of other Jews — particularly when it came to Jerusalem, the center of Jewish worship. Samaritans centered their religion on Mount Gerizim instead. All of this meant that other Jews looked down on the Samaritans, claiming they were not truly part of the people of Israel.

Here, however, the Samaritan is the protagonist. When the best of the best, a priest and a Levite, pass by the man in need, the Samaritan stops, cares for him, and even pays for his lodging. The point of the parable, on the basic level, is that the concept of "neighbor" does not depend on group loyalties or titles, but on loving action.

When I read this parable again today, another aspect of the story struck me. According to Luke, the lawyer is seeking to "justify himself" when he asks, "Who is my neighbor?" The lawyer knows the law; he knows that he is supposed to love his neighbor. When he asks this self-justifying question, he is clearly focused on himself. In other words, the lawyer seems to be thinking to himself, "I love my neighbor. Clearly, I am fulfilling the law and will inherit eternal life." However, Jesus frames the story differently. The man going down from Jerusalem to Jericho is the character with whom the lawyer is supposed to identify; the question "Who is my neighbor?" has been turned into "Who is this man's neighbor?"

The twist in the parable is this: the man's neighbor is not the one for whom he cares. The man's neighbor is the one who cares for him. It's not about what great things the man (and, by extension, the lawyer) is doing. It's about the care he receives when he is in need. Jesus is not only subverting the expectations about Samaritans and priests and Levites. Jesus is also subverting the expectations about what it means to be a neighbor. At the beginning of the reading, "neighbor" is understood as the one I love. By the end, "neighbor" is understood as "the one who showed [me] mercy." It's no longer about the I, but about the other.

July 4 Sermon - Part Two

2010-07-02T08:30:00.000-07:00

Well, I found the box with commentaries, so I've been taking a look at Fitzmyer's commentary on Luke again. I also checked out the commentary over at Working Preacher (www.workingpreacher.org).

Regarding the commission Jesus gives the seventy, Fitzmyer writes, "They are not being sent to carry out out ordinary social obligations and amenities, for what they are to preach and do will set them apart. There will be no time for ordinary greetings, scruples over what sort of food one eats, or searching for better quarters. . . Their concern for God's kingdom must be that of reapers confronted with a harvest that is to be gathered in before it spoils." He also notes that in Luke, the commission of the disciples and that of these seventy others form a doublet — in other words, Luke has doubled up a particular narrative, which is presented only once in the other synoptic gospels (Mark and Matthew). Luke is emphasizing that many will carry on the ministry of Jesus, not just the twelve disciples; this perspective becomes even more clear in Acts.

As for the report of the seventy in the second part of the reading, Fitzmyer emphasizes the final part of Jesus' response: "Jesus' last remark (v. 20) puts the mission of the disciples in its proper heavenly perspective. It is not just that Satanic evil has been eclipsed — this is not the reason for their joy — rather, the real reason for it is that God himself has inscribed the names of these representatives of Jesus in the book of life."

Over at Working Preacher, Dr. Salmon focused on what the experience of the seventy must have been like. She lifts up the importance of table-fellowship and hospitality in the gospel of Luke, noticing how this is played out in Jesus' instructions: "Remain in the same house, eating and drinking whatever they provide." She writes, "This model of hospitality transgresses common customs of hospitality as I know and understand them. Where is the notion of reciprocity? If I invite you to dinner, I will notice if I do not receive an invitation to dine at your home. And what about overstaying one's welcome? We have unflattering names for people who 'take advantage of' our generous hospitality. The name 'free-loader' comes to mind. . . When I heard his story, I pondered an underlying assumption that those who have more extend hospitality to those who have less." What Jesus is instructing is a different notion of hospitality than that with which we are familiar. If we put ourselves in the position of the seventy, as those carrying out Jesus' ministry, then we have to examine our assumptions about hospitality. Maybe this also speaks to the faulty notion of ministry as 'helping people' (in the sense of constantly giving, trying to fix, and assuming we are the 'haves' and others are the 'have-nots'). To be ministers in Jesus' work, we have to accept hospitality, stay in the home where we are welcomed, and eat what is set before us.

July 4 Sermon - Part One (and a quick update)

2010-07-01T10:10:00.000-07:00

Whew. It's been pretty busy since I last had a chance to post. I did preach this past Sunday (on the always-exciting "no one who puts a hand to the plow and looks back is fit for the kingdom of God" text), but I didn't have a chance to put up a single blog post about it. Steve and I moved from Gettysburg to Virginia last Friday, which meant that all of last week was spent busily packing up our Gettysburg apartment, and most of this week has been spent unpacking and setting up the new apartment. We were incredibly blessed to have help with the move — quite a few members of my internship site, as well as some folks from Steve's site, showed up to help us move in and feel welcome. Not only did they stock our pantry with food and other supplies, but they hauled all our furniture up three flights of stairs, to our fourth-floor-with-no-elevator apartment. We definitely couldn't have done it without them. And I don't even start internship for two and a half more weeks!

So that's the update about my life. Now back to the sermon-preparing! The gospel text for this week is Luke 10:1-11,16-20. Here is the lectionary text:

After this the Lord appointed seventy others and sent them on ahead of him in pairs to every town and place where he himself intended to go. He said to them, “The harvest is plentiful, but the laborers are few; therefore ask the Lord of the harvest to send out laborers into his harvest. Go on your way. See, I am sending you out like lambs into the midst of wolves. Carry no purse, no bag, no sandals; and greet no one on the road. Whatever house you enter, first say, ‘Peace to this house!’ And if anyone is there who shares in peace, your peace will rest on that person; but if not, it will return to you. Remain in the same house, eating and drinking whatever they provide, for the laborer deserves to be paid. Do not move about from house to house. Whenever you enter a town and its people welcome you, eat what is set before you; cure the sick who are there, and say to them, ‘The kingdom of God has come near to you.’ But whenever you enter a town and they do not welcome you, go out into its streets and say, ‘Even the dust of your town that clings to our feet, we wipe off in protest against you. Yet know this: the kingdom of God has come near.’

“Whoever listens to you listens to me, and whoever rejects you rejects me, and whoever rejects me rejects the one who sent me.”

The seventy returned with joy, saying, “Lord, in your name even the demons submit to us!” He said to them, “I watched Satan fall from heaven like a flash of lightning. See, I have given you authority to tread on snakes and scorpions, and over all the power of the enemy; and nothing will hurt you. Nevertheless, do not rejoice at this, that the spirits submit to you, but rejoice that your names are written in heaven.”

It's always fascinating to see what the lectionary cuts out. In this case, here are the missing verses that should follow "Yet know this: the kingdom of God has come near": "I tell you, on that day it will be more tolerable for Sodom than for that town. Woe to you, Chorazin! Woe to you, Bethsaida! For if the deeds of power done in you had been done in Tyre and Sidon, they would have repented long ago, sitting in sackcloth and ashes. But at the judgment it will be more tolerable for Tyre and Sidon than for you. And you, Capernaum, will you be exalted to heaven? No, you will be brought down to Hades."

Yikes.

As it's been set out in the lectionary, the focus here seems to be on the commissioning of the seventy, and their power to heal and cast out demons. They are doing, at least in part, what Jesus has been doing in his ministry. Obviously, they are not identical to Jesus, but they are carrying his ministry out to a broader area. This might be a good image for what the ministry of Christians looks like today. It's similar to the ELCA slogan, "God's work. Our hands." The seventy are doing the ministry of Jesus with their own hands (and feet).

At the end of the reading, Jesus says, "I watched Satan fall from heaven like a flash of lightning. See, I have given you authority to tread on snakes and scorpions, and over all the power of the enemy; and nothing will hurt you. Nevertheless, do not rejoice at this, that the spirits submit to you, but rejoice that your names are written in heaven." This sounds to me like the kind language that's used in the Dead Sea Scrolls. There is a clear dualism, a heavenly conflict, and the seventy have the authority to defy the enemy and be unharmed. However, the real source of rejoicing is not the power itself, but the identification of which side they are on — namely, the side of Jesus, of heaven.

Those are my initial thoughts. Once I figure out what box commentaries are packed in, I will check that out and put up another post.

June 20 Sermon - Part Two

2010-06-16T17:55:00.000-07:00

Okay, in this post I'm going to summarize what I found in my commentary — Joseph Fitzmyer's commentary on Luke for the Anchor Bible series.

Fitzmyer seems to share some of my confusion about this text and what he describes as its "flamboyant and grotesque details." However, he lifts up an idea from Bultmann: "The story has made use of the literary motif of the 'duped devil'. The demons sought to control Jesus by pronouncing his name; when asked for their own name, the demons reply not with their name, but with their number. . . When commanded by Jesus to come out of the man, they request to be sent into the pigs instead, rather than into the abyss. The exorcist consents, sends them, indeed, into the pigs, only to make the latter stampede to their and the demons' destruction. Thus Jesus duped the demons and 'saved' the man."

On this reading, the most important thing is Jesus' power over the demons in their struggle. The demons try to exercise control over Jesus by using his name (names carry great power), and suggest a military struggle with the term "Legion." However, Jesus has the final say in the conflict, and the demons are defeated while the man is saved.

Fitzmyer concludes, "The story depicts Jesus using his power to heal an unfortunate demented human being, an outcast of society, thus restoring him to soundness of mind and wholeness of life. This salvific concern is manifested, moreover, even toward one who is presumably a pagan." He also lifts up the importance of word in this narrative: the demons try to gain power over Jesus through his name, Jesus defeats them through word, and the man who was saved spreads the word of Jesus' actions. "He who cured by his word thus becomes the one proclaimed."

This sounds like a good direction to take in my sermon. I don't want to get lost in the details of the pigs, the demons, and the swineherders. This story speaks about Jesus' saving power and about the power of the word being proclaimed by many people in many places.

June 20 Sermon - Part One

2010-06-15T17:12:00.000-07:00

Hello again! I'm starting work on my sermon for this Sunday. The text is Luke 8:26-39. Here it is:

Then they arrived at the country of the Gerasenes, which is opposite Galilee. As he stepped out on land, a man of the city who had demons met him. For a long time he had worn no clothes, and he did not live in a house but in the tombs. When he saw Jesus, he fell down before him and shouted at the top of his voice, “What have you to do with me, Jesus, Son of the Most High God? I beg you, do not torment me”— for Jesus had commanded the unclean spirit to come out of the man. (For many times it had seized him; he was kept under guard and bound with chains and shackles, but he would break the bonds and be driven by the demon into the wilds.) Jesus then asked him, “What is your name?” He said, “Legion”; for many demons had entered him. They begged him not to order them to go back into the abyss.

Now there on the hillside a large herd of swine was feeding; and the demons begged Jesus to let them enter these. So he gave them permission. Then the demons came out of the man and entered the swine, and the herd rushed down the steep bank into the lake and was drowned.

When the swineherds saw what had happened, they ran off and told it in the city and in the country. Then people came out to see what had happened, and when they came to Jesus, they found the man from whom the demons had gone sitting at the feet of Jesus, clothed and in his right mind. And they were afraid. Those who had seen it told them how the one who had been possessed by demons had been healed. Then all the people of the surrounding country of the Gerasenes asked Jesus to leave them; for they were seized with great fear. So he got into the boat and returned. The man from whom the demons had gone begged that he might be with him; but Jesus sent him away, saying, “Return to your home, and declare how much God has done for you.” So he went away, proclaiming throughout the city how much Jesus had done for him.

I have to admit, this doesn't look like the easiest text to preach on. This text is complicated and obscure, at least to my experience. What can I say about demons and pigs that's relevant today? ...I guess we'll find out.

I did have some initial thoughts when I looked at the reading. First, this story emphasizes that Jesus has gone "opposite Galilee," into Gentile territory (hence the pigs). So here Jesus is saving a Gentile man who has been possessed by many demons. Jesus' ministry extends far and wide, and he cares about this Gentile man, too.

What I find striking is the dialogue between Jesus and the demons. They beg him not to send them back into the abyss — and Jesus allows them to enter the herd of pigs instead. Is Jesus also showing compassion for even the demons? Then again, what happens after the pigs drown? Maybe Jesus wasn't doing the demons any favors. Perhaps this note from the NET sums it up best: "The demons are destructive: They were destroying the man. They destroyed the pigs. They destroy whatever they touch. The point was to take demonic influence seriously, as well as Jesus’ power over it as a picture of the larger battle for human souls."

Then the swineherders, probably none too pleased about losing their livelihood, run back into town and spread the word. (I wonder if this would be the 1st century version of "The Boy who Cried Wolf"?) I would expect people to be angry — after all, they lost all those pigs — but their reaction is fear. In fact, they're so afraid, they ask Jesus to leave. Sometimes, the radical power of the divine is just too much to handle. For these people, life may be simpler if the power of God doesn't come too close.

Only the man who was healed wants to remain with Jesus, but Jesus sends him out — an apostle or evangelist among his own people. It's interesting that Jesus tells the man to share "how much God has done" for him, but the man proclaims "how much Jesus had done" instead. The action of God and the action of Jesus are so closely tied together here; God's action and Jesus' action seem to be interchangeable.

Well, those are my initial thoughts. Tomorrow, I'll check out the commentaries and figure out the focus of my sermon.

June 13 Sermon Draft

2010-06-02T09:55:00.000-07:00

Okay, everyone, here is my rough draft. The site where I'll be preaching is actually a campground. It seems they like to have a short Sunday worship service (service of the Word; no communion), and seminarians often take on this task. As a result, the service and sermon are both short. I'm also assuming that the level of biblical literacy may be pretty varied across the small gathering, so I don't want to leave anyone behind by being too technical.

My only concern is the way I end the sermon with a question. Perhaps it's too abrupt. I'm not sure.

Let me know what you think. Any and all suggestions are appreciated!

These days, I think we all know about debt. We might have credit card debt, mortgage debt, debt from other loans. Our government is in debt! It seems that, wherever we turn, we can't escape these debts. With the economic crisis we've faced for the past few years, more and more people have been overwhelmed by debts they can't repay.

We know something about debt. So we're actually in a good position to understand the parable Jesus tells in the reading we just heard. Jesus tells a story about two people who were in debt — one owed 50 denarii, a silver coin, and the other owed ten times as much. Although one owed far more than the other, neither of them were able to pay off their debts. You see, in Jesus' time, many people lived just at the subsistence level. They only earned enough to get them from day to day; there was no way to earn any extra money to pay back a debt. The only option for these people was to sell themselves into servitude, to try to work off the money they owed.

Although we live two thousand years later, we can understand the situation of these debtors. You might be facing debts yourself — or maybe you know a friend or a family member who is. I have friends who are finishing school with a huge student loans. As much as they want to, they simply aren't making enough money to pay those loans back. It seems like a hopeless situation.

Let's look again at Jesus' parable. We have these two debtors with no hope of repaying their debts. It seems like there is no possible solution to this situation. Then something remarkable happens: the money lender, the one to whom these debtors owe their money, cancels their debts! To have those debts canceled is a miracle, a new lease on life for the debtors. Can you imagine? Imagine if Bank of America called you up and said, "That mortgage of yours? Don't worry about it. The house is yours." Or if they called up my friends with the student loans and said, "We'll just call it even." It would be a life-changing moment.

Jesus tells this story of the creditor who forgives debts, and then he asks a question. "Which of them will love him more?" In our reading, the Pharisee concludes that the one who was forgiven more, will love more. But whether the debtors owed 50 coins or 500, both of them were freed from a debt they could never repay on their own. I would say, both of those debtors loved that moneylender.

Jesus then turns to the elephant in the room — or rather, the woman who's been washing his feet with her tears the entire time he's been telling this parable. What would cause her, an outcast and a sinner, to venture into this fancy dinner party and show such care for Jesus? Why would she wash and dry Jesus' feet, anoint them with expensive ointment? Jesus tells us the answer to these questions: the woman loves because she has been forgiven. Just like the debtors love the creditor who cancels their debts, this woman loves God who forgives her sins.

Love is not something that can stay quiet, locked up privately in our hearts. Love bursts free, reaching outward in action. That's what the woman demonstrates: love is more than just a feeling. Love is action. Her sins have been forgiven — and what does she do? She doesn't sit at home with a warm, fuzzy feeling. She seeks out Jesus and demonstrates her love in the only way she can, by cleaning and anointing his feet.

I think you all already know the twist ending to this story. But I'll tell it to you anyway: YOU are the debtors. YOU are the woman. Your sins and mine have been forgiven by our just and loving God, the same God who came to Earth as Jesus Christ. We have been forgiven!

Now... how will we demonstrate our love in action? How will we respond to this gift of forgiveness? I invite you to reflect on this question in the week ahead. How will you show your love?

June 13 Sermon - Part Two

2010-05-28T18:18:00.000-07:00

In this post, I'll lift up some points from the commentary on Luke, and try to focus the direction of my sermon so I can start writing. Stay tuned for a sermon draft by the end of the weekend.

The commentary I have on Luke is Joseph Fitzmyer's commentary in the Anchor Bible series. He makes quite a few technical notes about the form and origin of the passage (Luke 7:36-8:3). He argues that this story is probably a conflation of originally separate narratives, brought together in the L source and then used by Luke. The form critical analysis shows that this passage includes both a pronouncement and a parable, which would support a composite origin. Fitzmyer also points out the parallels in Mark and John, although those narratives are significantly different than the narrative in Luke (for example, the Simon in the other versions is a leper, not a Pharisee; and the anointing functions as preparation for burial).

This technical work is certainly important, but it doesn't really help me draw out a focus for my preaching. However, Fitzmyer has some great things to say about the overall thrust of the passage. He writes, "Repentance, forgiveness of sins, and salvation have come to one of the despised persons of Israel; she has shown this by an act of kindness manifesting a more basic love and faith, love shown to Jesus and faith in God." As I noticed in my last post, there is some ambiguity about which comes first — the forgiveness or the acts of love. Following the parable and Jesus' interpretation of the events, Fitzmyer concludes that the woman's loving behavior is a response to the forgiveness she has received, not a prerequisite of that forgiveness. In conclusion, Fitzmyer writes, "The love that the woman manifested to Jesus through the tears, kisses, and perfume revaled her more basic orientation to God himself [apologies for the masculine pronoun], i.e. her faith, which brings her salvation. For this reason, Jesus tells her to 'go in peace.' Thus the episode ends with allusions to two of the basic ways in which Luke views the effects of the Christ-event, salvation, peace."

I really like how Fitzmyer describes the woman's "basic orientation to God" as it is manifested in her care for Jesus. I'm wondering how I can use that for my sermon. Our faith is manifested in our actions. Jesus' identity is manifested in his action. It makes a nice parallel.

This text is also rich in economic implications — I've been thinking about how well we understand debt today. Maybe that's too much to draw in for the short sermon my supply preaching site is expecting.

I'm going to try to spin these ideas out into a draft sermon. Check back to see how it's going!

June 13 Sermon - Part One

2010-05-27T17:54:00.000-07:00

I'm starting to prepare for a sermon I'll be preaching June 13. Since I'll be out of town the week before that Sunday, I'm getting a head start now so everything will be ready to go when I come back from my trip.

The Gospel lesson for that Sunday is Luke 7:36-8:3. Here's the NRSV text:

One of the Pharisees asked Jesus to eat with him, and he went into the Pharisee’s house and took his place at the table. And a woman in the city, who was a sinner, having learned that he was eating in the Pharisee’s house, brought an alabaster jar of ointment. She stood behind him at his feet, weeping, and began to bathe his feet with her tears and to dry them with her hair. Then she continued kissing his feet and anointing them with the ointment. Now when the Pharisee who had invited him saw it, he said to himself, “If this man were a prophet, he would have known who and what kind of woman this is who is touching him—that she is a sinner.” Jesus spoke up and said to him, “Simon, I have something to say to you.” “Teacher,” he replied, “Speak.” “A certain creditor had two debtors; one owed five hundred denarii, and the other fifty. When they could not pay, he canceled the debts for both of them. Now which of them will love him more?” Simon answered, “I suppose the one for whom he canceled the greater debt.” And Jesus said to him, “You have judged rightly.” Then turning toward the woman, he said to Simon, “Do you see this woman? I entered your house; you gave me no water for my feet, but she has bathed my feet with her tears and dried them with her hair. You gave me no kiss, but from the time I came in she has not stopped kissing my feet. You did not anoint my head with oil, but she has anointed my feet with ointment. Therefore, I tell you, her sins, which were many, have been forgiven; hence she has shown great love. But the one to whom little is forgiven, loves little.” Then he said to her, “Your sins are forgiven.” But those who were at the table with him began to say among themselves, “Who is this who even forgives sins?” And he said to the woman, “Your faith has saved you; go in peace.”

Soon afterwards he went on through cities and villages, proclaiming and bringing the good news of the kingdom of God. The twelve were with him, as well as some women who had been cured of evil spirits and infirmities: Mary, called Magdalene, from whom seven demons had gone out, and Joanna, the wife of Herod’s steward Chuza, and Susanna, and many others, who provided for them out of their resources.

In this post, I'll write my personal reflections, before I look at any commentaries. Then I'll check out what the commentaries have to say and summarize them in a second post.

This is a complicated text. There is a story within the story: the short parable about the two men who owed money and had their debts canceled. Like many of Jesus' parables, it is a bit difficult to draw the connection between the meaning of the parable and its immediate context. We can see that a parallel is being made between "canceling" monetary debts and "forgiving" sins — however, the Greek word is different for the two situations. I want to be careful not to draw the parallel too strongly here.

Another question concerns the characters of the parable and the narrative. The parable has three characters: two debtors and one money lender. These seem to be parallel to the three characters of the broader narrative: Simon the Pharisee, the woman, and Jesus. However, the money lender cancels the debts of both men; while Jesus only forgives the sins of the woman. Likewise, in the parable the emphasis is on the canceling of the debts; Jesus and Simon only speculate about the response of love on the part of the debtors. On the other hand, in the narrative, the emphasis is on the love the woman is demonstrating. Her actions, along with Jesus' comment in verse 47 ("Her sins, which were many, have been forgiven; hence she has shown great love.") suggest that her sins have already been forgiven, even before Jesus says so in the following verse. The behavior of the third character, Simon, is not explicitly explained, but the implication seems to be that he is "the one to whom little is forgiven" who does not show the loving response.

Perhaps verse 49 deserves more attention. The people at the meal ask, "Who is this who even forgives sins?" Chapter 7 as a whole seems to be very concerned with this question — who is Jesus? The chapter begins with Jesus healing the slave of the centurion and raising the son of the widow. Then the disciples of John come to Jesus with the same question: who is Jesus? Jesus tells them, "Go and tell John what you have seen and heard: the blind receive their sight, the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, the poor have good news brought to them. And blessed is anyone who takes no offense at me." This answer suggests that Jesus' identity can be found in his actions. Then at the dinner party, the guests observe how Jesus forgives sins, and they wonder about his identity. If forgiving sins is Jesus' identity, or at least a part of it, then the dinner guests are missing the point.

Another point I noticed when looking at the Greek concerned verse 39. In the NRSV, Simon says to himself, "If this man were a prophet, he would have known who and what kind of woman this is who is touching him—that she is a sinner." The NET does the same, with a note that this is a contrary-to-fact condition: "This is a good example of a second class (contrary to fact) Greek conditional sentence. The Pharisee said, in effect, 'If this man were a prophet (but he is not)…'" However, the condition is constructed with ei plus the indicative, which usually indicates reality. Therefore I would translate the verse, "If [or even "Since"] this one is a prophet, he also knows what sort of woman is touching him, that she is a sinner." Jesus' acknowledgment of the woman's sins in verse 47 show that he does, in fact, know what sort of woman is touching him. This point may not be significant to the meaning of the passage as a whole, but I was struck by it anyway. It does cast a different light on Simon if he believes Jesus is a prophet than if he dismissively assumes Jesus is not.

Whew. That seems like enough for one post. I'll check out some commentaries and see what they have to say. Then I'll find a focus for my sermon and get writing!

It's the Easter season for blogs, too.

2010-05-07T14:25:00.000-07:00

I'm resurrecting my blog in anticipation of some future events. Starting in July, I will be serving my internship year at King of Kings Lutheran Church in Fairfax, Virginia. I intend to use this blog as a resource for sermon planning (with the help of some good friends). I may also include some general reflections on life as "Vicar Jennie." Stay tuned for that, as well as some sermons I'll be writing in June for a supply preaching job.

In the meantime, it's the last week of the semester. Still on my plate: a paper about the economic implications of Job 29:7-20 (with accompanying sermon), a sermon and Bible study about stewardship in Paul's letters, a final exam for my Systematic Theology class, and a "microteaching" (class presentation) about using genre to understand the Bible better.

Winter

2009-12-10T08:11:00.000-08:00

"A year soon runs its length and never returns the same,
And the end seldom seems to belong to the beginning...
And thus in many yesterdays the year passes
And winter comes back again as the world would have it, in the way of things."

-Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, translated W. S. Merwin

Breaking the Silence

2009-10-13T14:21:00.001-07:00

It's been quite a while, I know. I've been toying with the idea of taking down the blog entirely, since I feel I don't have the time to update regularly. Still, I came across something today that is too good not to share, so we'll give this another go. Oh, and I'm going to re-enable comments, just for the heck of it.

I have been reading A Hidden Wholeness, by Parker Palmer, for one of my classes. The book itself probably deserves a whole post, but I came across this gem near the end that I just had to post. Palmer is talking about how "broken hearts" may not be only a bad thing, that a broken heart might mean "a heart broken open into new capacity". On this subject, he tells the following Hasidic story:

The pupil comes to the rebbe and asks, "Why does Torah tell us to 'place these words upon your hearts'? Why does it not tell us to place these holy words in our hearts?"
The rebbe answers, 'It is because as we are, our hearts are closed, and we cannot place the holy words in our hearts. So we place them on top of our hearts. And there they stay until, one day, the heart breaks, and the words fall in."

I'll leave you with that, the image of God's holy word breaking our hearts open so that it can finally reach inside.

A Day in the Life

2009-06-06T07:38:00.000-07:00

Well, I have two weeks of CPE under my belt now. Orientation is finished, and things are settling into a rhythm. I've even done my first 24-hour on call. I've gotten to know my fellow interns and the residents (who have been at the hospital since last August), as well as Ted, the director, and Ken, the manager, of the Pastoral Care and Education department. So what is a day in the life of a CPE student like?

We begin each day at 8:00 (or 0800, since hospitals also use military time) with morning report. The chaplain who was on call the night before tells the rest of the chaplains about any traumas/pages, and makes referrals if necessary. Then the chaplain who is beginning his or her on call shift does a short prayer or devotion, and the group breaks up.

On Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday mornings, we have class. The classes take a variety of forms—some are lecture-like, in others one intern presents a verbatim of a visit he or she made in the hospital, and others are open-agenda group discussions. We have two class sessions each of these mornings, with a break in the middle to go to interdisciplinary rounds.

The rest of the time is basically free for us to use. A large portion of this time is spent visiting patients or families. We also have time for reading and writing. In my case, the Behavioral Health service line has a very structured schedule—they eat meals together at set times and have scheduled group activities—so I can do very few visits in the morning. I spend the morning doing other work and make most of my visits in the afternoon. We also have one-on-one sessions with our CPE instructor, Ken, about once a week.

Our on call requirements work out to about one on call a week. It goes from 0800 (8 am) to 0800 the next day, though someone else will hold the pager in the morning if the on call chaplain has class. When on call, the chaplain's main responsibility is to report to every trauma or class one medical, and to do triage with the other chaplains.

That's CPE in a nut shell, at least for York Hospital (every CPE site seems to work a little differently). It's a lot of work, and it's challenging in many respects. It's also a powerful and unique learning experience. I will try to post again soon.

An Open Letter

2009-05-27T14:09:00.000-07:00

Hello everyone.

I am posting this because today was my second day of CPE (Clinical Pastoral Education). CPE is one of the required field education experiences for my seminary program; it's basically a hospital chaplaincy internship. I am working at York Hospital full time from now until August 7. Tomorrow I will get to choose my "service line" (medical, surgical, oncology, cardiovascular, or behavioral health), which will be my main focus for the summer, in addition to on-call work in the Emergency Department. My first 24-hour on-call is June 4.

I just wanted to let you all know what I'm up to, and to apologize in advance for dropping off the radar for the whole summer. By the time I get home from York (sometime between 5:30 and 6:00, when I'm not on call), I will probably only have enough energy to cook dinner and fall into bed. CPE is a very intensive program in many respects, and while I am excited about the learning opportunity, I doubt that I will have much time or energy to stay in touch with people.

So, wish me the best, and I'll try to post updates now and then if I'm able.

-Jennie

God Go With You 'Till We Meet Again

2009-05-08T17:58:00.001-07:00

Today was commencement for the LTSG seniors. I just wanted to take a moment to congratulate them and express my heartfelt admiration for the work they've done.

Seniors, it has been a pleasure and an honor to get to know you. You truly deserve congratulations. Best wishes for your futures, and in the words of the hymn, "God go with you 'till we meet again."

Last Sunday (and last sermon) at Teaching Parish

2009-04-29T13:20:00.000-07:00

This past Sunday was the final one for Steve and I at our Teaching Parish site. We went out with a bit of a bang, because we were both preaching as well (Steve preached for two services, I preached for the other two). I have to say, although I will not miss the commute every weekend and the amount of time I spent at Teaching Parish, it is a bit of a sad parting. Grace Lutheran was a great learning site, and our mentors, Pastor Kevin and Pastor Martha, did a great job. Still, I'm on to new things, and Grace will probably be hosting a new Teaching Parish student in the fall.

My sermon is below; I thought it went all right, but not great—then again, it's the end of the semester and I'm burnt out, so I probably don't have a very positive outlook right now. There were at least a few people who said it really spoke to them, so I'll count that as a success. Plus, the children's sermon (in which I proved that Steve was not a ghost) went off without a hitch, so that was a big relief. The text in the lectionary was Luke 24:36b-48, but we read through to the end of the book (verse 53). Enjoy!

Once, there was a girl who was baptized as a child and brought up in the Christian faith. Her faith was strong throughout her teenage years and she was active in the church—singing in the choir, going on confirmation retreats, helping with service events. But when she went away to college, she stopped going to church and gradually, she lost her faith. For many years after that, she did not believe in God.
—Can faith be lost? Can it be found again?
There was a group of friends talking about faith. One of them had been a Christian his whole life; another had recently joined a church. They spoke about how wonderful faith was, and what a comfort it was for them. The third friend became uncomfortable. The other two asked what was wrong; he replied, “I don’t have faith.” The friends told him that it was easy, he just had to believe in Jesus and go to church. But their friend answered, “No, it’s not that simple. If I could believe, I would, but I just can’t.”
—Where does faith come from? Can we find it if we try hard enough?
There was a man who grew up without any faith; his family was not religious, and he never went to church or read the Bible. He had a powerful conversion experience—he was inspired to accept Jesus Christ as his savior. He felt born again. His wife suggested that he be baptized, and the man replied, “Baptism? What’s that? Is that something I should know about?”
—What counts for faith? How much do you have to know?
At first glance, faith seems like an easy thing to understand. It just means believing in something, right? We could say that to have faith means that you believe the words of the Creeds, for example. Or faith means accepting Jesus as your savior. But everyone here has probably experienced that faith is not quite that simple. There are days and weeks and even years when we struggle to believe, or we wonder what it is we’re supposed to believe in. Talking with other Christians, we find that different people have very different understandings of what constitutes faith. We wonder where faith comes from and whether it’s a matter of understanding or feeling, effort or grace. We learn with time that faith is not an all-or-nothing thing, that you either have or you don’t. It seems that the longer you are on the journey of faith, the more you realize that it is a lifelong endeavor.
In our gospel reading from Luke, these questions about faith are also present. Though Luke does not mention the word “faith” or “belief” in this passage, the faith of the disciples is clearly at stake. It is the day of the resurrection; in the morning the women were at the empty tomb, in the afternoon two disciples were on the road to Emmaus, where they saw the risen Jesus but did not recognize him until he broke the bread—and then he disappeared. They rush back to Jerusalem, to discover that Jesus has also appeared to Peter. At that very moment, Jesus stands in the room with them. These events have happened very quickly; the disciples do not yet understand what is happening. They are stricken with terror, not joy, at the sight of Jesus; they think he is a ghost. The disciples are facing a crisis of faith—Jesus, their Lord, was arrested and killed, and now they think they are being haunted by his ghost.
Yet by the end of our reading, they are worshipping Jesus as he ascends into heaven. Clearly, this resurrection appearance has a profound effect on the faith of the disciples. If we consider the different parts of this Gospel text, we can see several pieces that help us to understand the disciples’ faith, and think about our own faith today.
When Jesus appears to the disciples in this passage, they believe they are seeing a ghost. Jesus proves to them that he is no spirit—he is flesh and blood, he eats and walks on the ground. The proofs Jesus gives to the disciples point out one source of faith: a faith based on seeing, touching, directly experiencing the object of faith. The disciples could literally feel Jesus’ hands, see that his feet touched the ground. Jesus tells them, “Look at my hands and feet... Touch me and see.” It is this direct experience that convinces the disciples. Clearly, there is a connection between direct experience and faith. If you see and touch the risen Jesus, it is clear why you would believe in the resurrection. If you see Jesus ascend into heaven, it is clear why you would worship him. Likewise, all the people of Jesus’ time who saw the miracles—the healings, the miraculous feedings, Jesus’ power over nature—believed in him. The old saying is true: Seeing is believing.
But what of us today? We do not walk and talk and eat with Jesus of Nazareth—is this experiential faith of the disciples impossible for us? Can we have a direct experience of God? Today, people wonder if there are still miracles, examples of God’s action, in our everyday lives. When Captain Sullenberger landed flight 1549 in the Hudson River a few months ago, many people saw an example of God’s miraculous action. Others saw only the skills of an excellent pilot. It is difficult, in this scientific and technological age, to prove that something is a miracle, that there is no other possible explanation. So are we left high and dry, unable to experience God? Indeed not. While we may never know for sure whether that plane landing was a miracle or not, we experience God’s miraculous presence among us every week. We know that we meet God here at the table each Sunday, and meet God at the font when we baptize a child of God. God is here in this space right now, and we do experience God’s presence—in the water of baptism, the bread and wine of communion, and the faces of our brothers and sisters in Christ.

The disciples are convinced by direct proofs that Jesus must not be a ghost, but rather a living being; then there is a shift in the story. Jesus begins to explain the Scriptures, what we would call the Old Testament, to the disciples. When Jesus teaches the disciples about the Scriptures, we can see a second element of faith. Luke says that Jesus “opened their minds” and that Jesus explains the ultimate purpose of his mission: “That the Messiah is to suffer and to rise from the dead on the third day, and that repentance and forgiveness of sins is to be proclaimed in his name to all nations”. The Gospel of Luke is continued in the Book of Acts, which forms a second volume to this story. In the reading from Acts, we see this proclamation carried out—Peter proclaims this same repentance. Like Jesus, Peter also refers the people to the prophets, the Scriptures. Part of faith, for Christians and for Jews, is faith in the word of God. Jesus opens the minds of the disciples to the Scriptures so that they may believe in the words of Scripture; Peter does the same for the people to whom he preaches.
We, too, study the Bible not merely as an intellectual exercise or for our entertainment, but because we have faith in God’s word. That’s not to say that we have to agree with or believe every single verse of the Bible. But we understand the Scriptures as passing down core messages to us, and we believe in those core teachings. Jesus treats Scripture in the same way in the passage from Luke. When he explains the Scriptures, he does not go over every word; but he teaches the core message: “That the Messiah is to suffer and to rise from the dead on the third day, and that repentance and forgiveness of sins is to be proclaimed in his name to all nations”. These exact words do not appear anywhere in the Old Testament; but this is the core teaching Jesus wants to draw out of the whole of the Scriptures and pass on to his disciples.

After the proofs and the teaching, a third section of the story begins. Jesus leads his disciples out to Bethany, where he ascends into heaven. It is not until this point that we really see the results of what comes before. As an audience, we are left in suspense for a little while, waiting to see if the disciples will understand, if they will really have faith in the risen Jesus. Then, in verse 52, we find out the answer: “They worshiped him, and returned to Jerusalem with great joy”. Worship is the response for those who believe that Jesus is the son of God; for the disciples to worship him here proves that they believe in him.
We, too, come to worship to express our faith, and we also worship to strengthen our faith. Worship binds us together as a community, reminding us that we are the body of Christ, the people of God; we are joined together by our faith and by our common worship. Like the disciples, our faith journeys lead us into worship, and like the disciples, they lead us out again into the world, from the worship service into service to the world.

Faith is not an easy thing. Sometimes it seems to come to us when we’re not even looking for it. Other times, it seems to disappear just when we need it most. Perhaps it is some comfort to know that faith has been a journey, a struggle, and an experience for all God’s people. The disciples in this passage in Luke are wrestling with faith just as we are in our lives today. Luke shows us that faith can be seen in many ways and from many sources: from direct experience, in the Scriptures, and through worship. This is only the tip of the iceberg of faith; but it’s a good start, wherever we are on our faith journeys.

A Comment About Comments

2009-04-23T09:34:00.000-07:00

I've had a number of people ask me why they can't post comments on my blog, wondering if there is some error or perhaps I just don't know about the comments option.

I am aware that most blogs allow comments. I have chosen to disable them on mine because religion is always a controversial topic, because there are many people who tend to post stupid and hateful things on the internet, and because I don't have the time or energy to police comments at the moment. It's something I'm thinking about for the future, if this blogging thing continues, but right now I am going to keep things the way they are.

Most of you who read this blog know me personally. I always welcome comments and conversation via email or on facebook. I hope you can be flexible and respect the boundaries I'm trying to keep up. And I hope you keep reading and enjoying the blog!

Law and Gospel

2009-04-14T14:59:00.000-07:00

While I was thinking about reviewing the Lutheran Study Bible, I was reminded of another topic that has been on my mind recently: the Lutheran concept of "law and gospel". Now, you may be a Lutheran and have never heard this specific terminology. Perhaps to the shock of my classmates, I can honestly say I had never heard the phrase "law and gospel" in my life before I entered seminary. I was baptized, raised, and confirmed in the Lutheran church—maybe it's a regional thing. I certainly hear enough about law and gospel out here.

The concept comes from Luther's writings, though it is not unique to Lutherans. Luther used law and gospel as a method of reading and interpreting Scripture. It is important to note that law and gospel is not supposed to be a parallel distinction to Old Testament and New Testament, or to Jewish thinking as opposed to Christian thinking (however, see below). Law is that which condemns us (and therefore forces us to recognize the need for God's grace). Gospel is that which proclaims that same grace. Any given text in the Bible can be seen as law or as gospel. For example, the Ten Commandments can be seen as law because they condemn us (because we fail to live up to their standards), but also as gospel because they are the words of God speaking to the Israelites who have been rescued from slavery. Likewise, the teachings of Jesus could be seen either as condemning (law) or proclaiming the good news (gospel).

As far as it goes, the law and gospel idea is pretty useful. It fits into the Lutheran teaching about salvation—that we cannot save ourselves, but are saved by God's grace. I have to confess, though, that I'm getting tired of hearing about it; I feel that it's being overused. At the same time, I have some serious concerns that the phrase runs the risk of serious misunderstanding. If I have to explain that by "law", I don't actually mean the law in the Old Testament, and by "gospel", I don't actually mean the Gospels in the New Testament, doesn't that indicate that I need to use some different terms?

Specifically, I worry that using "law and gospel" language encourages a negative view of Judaism and the Hebrew Scriptures. It is too easy to equate "law" with the Law, the Torah, and "gospel" with the Gospels and the rest of the New Testament. That naturally leads one to think that the Old Testament is all bad news or outdated, which is then replaced by the New Testament. (On the same note, the very names "Old Testament" and "New Testament" promote the same line of thought. One of my professors suggests calling the Old Testament the "Ancient Witness" instead.) When my professors or my fellow seminarians use the phrase "law and gospel", I know that they are not making these stereotyped assumptions—but what about all the other people, Lutheran or not, who are not familiar with the use of these terms? Why do we keep using language that is very easy to misinterpret and has the potential to be so harmful to people's understanding of the Bible?

Personally, I'm trying to avoid using "law and gospel" language. I can appreciate the value of the idea without using the same terminology. I just don't think we should hang on to certain language purely for the sake of tradition, especially when there are compelling reasons to do otherwise. Call the two "condemning word" and "word of grace", if you like. Just don't inadvertently teach a bad understanding of the Bible by using confusing language.

Book Review: Lutheran Study Bible

2009-04-13T16:47:00.000-07:00

As you may or may not know, Augsburg Fortress has published a new Lutheran Study Bible (not to be confused with The Lutheran Study Bible, coming out in October from the Lutheran Church—Missouri Synod). This publication is part of the ELCA's "Opening the Book of Faith" initiative. Living at a Lutheran seminary, it was quite easy to get my hands on a copy, and I thought I'd post my impressions here.

To begin, both my husband and I were rather nervous about this Bible when we first heard about it. Do we really need a Lutheran study Bible?—after all, no denomination has a corner on the Bible. Is it just going to spout Lutheran catch phrases like "law and gospel" (expect another post on that topic soon)? Aren't there plenty of good study Bibles out there already? I was pleasantly surprised, however.

This Bible uses the New Revised Standard Version translation which is already used in Lutheran churches throughout the country, so you don't have to worry about the translation (unless you already were worried about the NRSV, I suppose). It's a unique shade of blue—Carolina blue, my professor from North Carolina explains gleefully. The notes are written by seminary and college faculty (and some others) from around the country, including a few of our professors here at Gettysburg—Dr. Hoffman wrote the notes for Mark, Dr. Stevens for Hosea, Dr. Largen for Jonah, Dr. Carlson for Colossians. Dr. Strobert, also on the faculty here, was on the board of consultants. I found the margin notes insightful, not just a sort of Lutheran soap box. They are divided into four categories: World of the Bible (historical details), Bible Concepts (theological ideas), Lutheran Perspective (here's the Lutheran-specific stuff), and Faith Reflection (application of the text). Each category has a different icon associated with it, making it very easy to tell at a glance what kind of note you're looking at. The notes are geared to an 8th grade reading level, which leads to an important point.

This is not an academic study Bible. I use the New Oxford Annotated Study Bible, which is aimed at a higher reading level and deals with some more complex notes (though any margin notes are bound to be limited in scope). I'm not at all saying this as a complaint about the Lutheran Study Bible; I'm just pointing out that "study Bible" can mean different things to different people. If you're looking for an every day Bible with basic notes to aid in understanding, this is a great Bible. If you're trying to do a text study to write a sermon or plan a class, probably you'll want another resource.

All in all, I am impressed with the Lutheran Study Bible. The notes are broad and easy to understand. There are some extra resources (for example, "Martin Luther on the Bible", "What Should We Expect When We Read the Bible?", "A Short Guide to Personal Bible Reading", and a "Bible Reading Plan") which offer some other insights. I would recommend it to anyone who was seeking a study Bible for everyday use.

Fascinating

2009-04-04T07:04:00.000-07:00

I know I haven't posted in quite a while, but this was just too good to ignore. One of my classmates shared an article with us about the difficult passage in 1 Corinthians relating to women keeping their heads covered in church. The passage reads,

"Any man who prays or prophesies with something on his head disgraces his head, but any woman who prays or prophesies with her head unveiled disgraces her head—it is one and the same thing as having her head shaved. For if a woman will not veil herself, then she should cut off her hair; but if it is disgraceful for a woman to have her hair cut off or to be shaved, she should wear a veil. For a man ought not to have his head veiled, since he is the image and reflection of God; but woman is the reflection of man. Indeed, man was not made from woman, but woman from man. Neither was man created for the sake of woman, but woman for the sake of man. For this reason a woman ought to have a symbol of authority on her head, because of the angels. Nevertheless, in the Lord woman is not independent of man or man independent of woman. For just as woman came from man, so man comes through woman; but all things come from God. Judge for yourselves: is it proper for a woman to pray to God with her head unveiled? Does not nature itself teach you that if a man wears long hair, it is degrading to him, but if a woman has long hair, it is her glory? For her hair is given to her for a covering. But if anyone is disposed to be contentious—we have no such custom, nor do the churches of God."

It's definitely confusing. For a woman, praying or prophesying with hair unveiled is the same as having her head shaved? It is degrading for a man to have long hair, but glory for a woman? If a woman's hair "is given to her for a covering", why does she need an additional veil?

It turns out the answer is sex. I'll warn you right now that this post is going to be a bit adult, so stop here if you're likely to be offended. The explanation stems from the ancient Greek understanding (very different from our own) of human physiology, and reproduction in particular. The author of the article, Troy Martin, examines Greek medical authors such as Hippocrates as well as others, including Euripides and Aristophanes, to explain this ancient Greek model: "Ancient medical conceptions confirm this association. Hippocratic authors hold that hair is hollow and grows primarily from either male or female reproductive fluid or semen flowing into it and congealing . . . Since hollow body parts create a vacuum and attract fluid, hair attracts semen. Hair grows most prolifically from the head because the brain is the place where the semen is produced or at least stored." In other words, semen is produced and/or stored in the head, so human beings grow the most hair there; this hair acts as a vacuum to pull or attract the semen. Men develop more body hair than women because they need hair to pull the semen downward to the genital area so that they can expel it during intercourse. For the same reason, men should keep the hair on their heads short, so as not to hold back the semen. Women, on the other hand, should wear their hair long so that they can pull as much semen as possible into their bodies. (Yes, I know it's weird, but the Greeks thought a lot of weird things. Bear with me.)

This explains Paul's statement that long hair is degrading for men but not for women, because long hair impedes fertility for men, but improves it for women. So far, so good. The other key to understanding Paul in this passage has to do with the very strange statement "For her hair is given to her for a covering." It seems to contradict what Paul just said about women needing to veil their hair. In fact, the issue is a mistranslation of the word "covering" here. The same word in Greek is used by Euripides; in one of his plays, Hercules says, "After I received [my] bags of flesh, which are the outward signs of puberty, [I received] labors about which I [shall] undertake to say what is necessary." The word here translated as "bags of flesh" (obviously referring to his testicles) is the same word for "covering" in Paul. Using this and other evidence, Martin concludes that Paul is actually saying, "For her hair is given to her for a testicle." In other words, women (unlike men) do not have external genitalia; but a woman's hair functions as part of the reproductive process and is thus effectively an external sexual organ, like the testicles.

Now, as Paul says, "Judge for yourselves: is it proper for a woman to pray to God with her head unveiled?" If hair is considered a sexual organ ("if it is disgraceful for a woman to have her hair cut off or to be shaved"), then it makes perfect sense that hair should be covered during church, just as men cover their genitals during church. If, on the other hand, we have a different understanding of physiology, and we say that hair is not a sexual organ (as I think we would be comfortable saying today), then there is no longer a reason for hair to be covered in church. Martin concludes, "Paul appropriately instructs women in the service of God to cover their hair since it is part of the female genitalia. According to Paul's argument, women may pray or prophesy in public worship along with men but only when both are decently attired. Even though no contemporary person would agree with the physiological conceptions informing Paul's argument from nature for the veiling of women, everyone would agree with his conclusion prohibiting the display of genitalia in public worship. Since the physiological conceptions of the body have changed, however, no physiological reason remains for continuing the practice of covering women's heads in public worship, and many Christian communities reasonably abandon this practice."

And now you know. I think this example demonstrates why we study the Bible in the context of its original writers and audience—because what modern person would have figured out this explanation on his or her own?

(Quotations taken from "Paul's Argument From Nature for the Veil in 1 Corinthians 11:13-15: A Testicle Instead of a Head Covering" by Troy Martin, published in the Journal of Biblical Literature. Used with permission.)

Let's See If This Works...

2009-03-20T14:11:00.001-07:00

Okay, I'm not sure this is going to work, but I'll give it a try. There's a website called Wordle (http://www.wordle.net) which allows you to put in large portions of text. It then creates an image of the words, where the most frequently used words are the largest. I put in the text of my senior paper from St. John's, which was on Paul's letter to the Romans. Here is the Wordle:

It's a neat program, because it allows you to see a text in a new way. It's especially cool for looking at Biblical passages; it really helps you see what's important.

EDIT: Okay, the Wordle is really tiny, so it's a bit hard to see. Check out the full-size version here.

Sermon: Mark 8:31-38

2009-03-08T13:11:00.000-07:00

I gave my first sermon at my teaching parish congregation today, in spite of a pretty wicked head cold that struck sometime yesterday. The Gospel reading was Mark 8:31-38. Here's the sermon:

Pop quiz! Something very odd is happening at the beginning of the Gospel reading we just heard—did you catch it? Take a look at the first verse of the reading in your bulletins. Do you see it yet? “Jesus began to teach them that the Son of Man must undergo great suffering, and be rejected by the elders, the chief priests, and the scribes, and be killed, and after three days rise again.” What’s going on here?

The thing that’s strange in this passage involves the title “Son of Man”. Now, sometimes when I read the Bible, I find myself asking dumb questions. And in this case, when I read this passage to prepare for my sermon, I asked myself a dumb question: “Who is this Son of Man Jesus is talking about, anyway?” He shows up at the end of the reading, too: “The Son of Man will also be ashamed when he comes in the glory of his Father with the holy angels.” So who is this guy?

Now, of course, you can all recognize and tell me that the Son of Man is obviously a reference to Jesus himself—who, we know, is rejected by the religious authorities, killed, and rises again after three days. Jesus is talking about his own future in this passage—but then why does he not simply say, “These things will happen to me”? Why does he refer to himself in the third person? Is he trying to keep it a secret, so that only those closest to Jesus will know what he is really talking about? And why use this strange title “Son of Man”? It seems like “Son of God” would be a bit more appropriate for Jesus, don’t you think?

Those of you who really know your Bibles will be able to tell me that the title “Son of Man” is taken from the Old Testament book of Daniel, specifically from chapter 7 of that book. In Daniel 7, Daniel has a terrifying vision, and one part of his vision is described this way: “As I watched in the night visions, I saw one like a son of man coming with the clouds of heaven. And he came to the Ancient One and was presented before him. To him was given dominion and glory and kingship, that all peoples, nations, and languages should serve him. His dominion is an everlasting dominion that shall not pass away, and his kingship is one that shall never be destroyed.” In this passage, Daniel takes the phrase “son of man” from its ordinary, expected meaning—just a human being—and turns it into a title for a glorious king who will rule forever. This Son of Man represents for Daniel the end of all oppression and pain for the people of God; finally, all the earthly kingdoms will pass away, and the one divine kingdom will take their place. The new king, the one like a son of man, will descend from heaven to take up this dominion, and will rule forever after.

Going back to our pop quiz, we still haven’t gotten to the really strange part of this Gospel reading. We’ve realized that Jesus is drawing the title “Son of Man” from Daniel and applying it to himself. The really strange part, though, is what Jesus says about the Son of Man—the way he understands that title. Listen one more time: “Jesus began to teach them that the Son of Man must undergo great suffering, and be rejected by the elders, the chief priests, and the scribes, and be killed, and after three days rise again.” This Son of Man sounds nothing like the Son of Man in Daniel, who comes out of the clouds to begin an everlasting dominion. How could such a figure be condemned, suffer, and die? That does not fit into the idea of a heavenly king at all—or does it?

We have already noticed that Jesus is using the title “Son of Man” to refer to himself. And we know, as Christians, that the details Jesus gives about the Son of Man come from Jesus’ own story. The fact that Jesus suffered, died, and rose from the dead is the central fact about Jesus Christ. As Christians, we can’t get away from it—it defines who Jesus is for us. So I think it is easy for us to read over these words of Jesus too quickly: “Yeah, yeah, I already know about Good Friday and Easter Sunday. I've heard that story before.”

However, think for a moment about how Jesus’ disciples and the crowds who followed Jesus might have heard these words. They would be familiar with the Son of Man in Daniel, the glorious, divine king. Just a verse before our reading for today begins, the disciples identify that Jesus is the Messiah—the anointed one, a king in David’s line. These kingly ideas are all beginning to come together; it is clear that Jesus is someone truly special. Perhaps he would even be the one to overthrow the Romans, to bring an end to all the foreign rule and establish God’s rule for God’s people. Just imagine all the hopes and ideals that were centering on Jesus at this time!

And now imagine that you are one of the followers of Jesus; you think that he is the Messiah, the king of Israel. Jesus begins to talk about the Son of Man, and you get really excited. It must be true: Jesus is the king who will bring about God’s kingdom! And then you hear these words: “The Son of Man must undergo great suffering, and be rejected by the elders, the chief priests, and the scribes, and be killed, and after three days rise again.” This does not sound like the Son of Man at all! A king cannot rule if he is tortured and killed... can he?

It is no wonder that Peter rebukes Jesus. Not only is Jesus dashing their hopes of the divine kingdom; he is teaching these things openly, so that anyone could hear them. It’s a PR nightmare, we would say today. Imagine if a presidential candidate went around describing himself (or herself) as a great leader, and then said, “If you elect me, I’ll be executed!” It just doesn’t make any sense.

Jesus rebukes Peter, the other disciples, the crowd, and all of us when he says, “You are setting your mind not on divine things but on human things!” Too often, we try to make God in our own image, rather than recognizing that we were made in God’s. We get too hung up on how we think the world works to allow God to work in a new way. We let ourselves be swept up in pessimism and frustration, now just as much as in Jesus’ time. If there is to be a new, divine kingdom, then the new, divine king cannot be rejected and killed—right? If God is going to make a difference in the world, God must use the strong and the powerful—right? And if the strong and the powerful reject God, reject the divine kingdom, then there’s no hope for the world—right?

Jesus gives his followers, gives all of us, another alternative. In this passage, Jesus is re-visioning the way God works in the world. The divine king becomes a suffering servant, rejected and killed. And if that is the king, what of the subjects? What of those who want to be a part of the divine kingdom? They, too, are transformed: “If any want to become my followers,” Jesus says, “Let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me. For those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake, and for the sake of the gospel, will save it.” We see now that everything is turned on its head: when the divine king becomes a suffering servant, the whole way the world works is reversed. Now the followers, the entourage for this king, if you will, must also take up a cross and lose their lives. We might expect, given what we know about the world, that the suffering of the king and the death of his followers signaled the ultimate failure of the divine kingdom. We might be jaded, pessimistic, without hope for the world.

But as Christians, we know that the cross is not the end, that the story does not end on Good Friday, but drives onward to Easter Sunday. The Son of Man dies, yes, but rises again. The followers lose their lives—but by losing their lives, they save them. This is truly a new thing: Jesus is turning everything on its head. He is envisioning an end to the self-serving rat race that is too often the nature of the world; no longer will the strong, the rich, the powerful, rule over the weak, the poor, and the marginalized. Instead, those who willingly accept lowliness, who lose their lives for the sake of the suffering king whom they follow—they will actually save their lives.

Jesus’ words to the disciples and the crowd also speak to us here and now. As Christians, we proclaim a crucified and risen Lord; we recognize our king to be the suffering servant. However, it is not enough to just recognize the suffering of Jesus, not enough to just remember the cross. We, too, must take up our crosses and fall into our places behind Jesus. We too, must suffer and give up our lives. For to follow Jesus means to follow him all the way to the cross and the tomb.

There is a well-known hymn called “The Lord of the Dance”. In one of the verses, we hear the voice of Jesus: “I danced on a Friday when the sky turned black/ It's hard to dance with the devil on your back/ They buried my body and they thought I'd gone/ But I am the Dance and I still go on!” The chorus calls to us, “Dance then, wherever you may be/ I am the Lord of the Dance, said He!/ And I'll lead you all, wherever you may be/ And I'll lead you all in the Dance, said He!” To be followers of Jesus, we must take up our crosses and follow him into the grave; but we do so joyfully, like dancers. We know that death is not the end of the story, that there is an Easter for all of us just as there was for Jesus. We follow the suffering king, giving up our own lives in the process, and we do so like partners in a dance.

Belated

2009-02-24T14:45:00.000-08:00

A day late... and a dollar short, too, I suppose (though I don't know what that would mean in this context). I have an open question for today's post, something that I have not thought about extensively myself but which is currently bothering me. First, a little background.

My Reformations class is currently looking at Luther and those who followed (or ceased to follow) him. Today, we talked a little bit about the conflicts between Luther and Karlstadt. Both were professors at the University of Wittenburg. They began as rivals, then Karlstadt was convinced by Luther's arguments and became his follower. However, their ideas quickly began to diverge, and eventually they parted ways entirely, on none-too-friendly terms. One of the conflicts between Luther and Karlstadt, as among any reformers, was the question of how to implement reform.

This is a sketch in very rough strokes (and I'm no expert), but it seems that Luther was much more interested in gradual change, taking into account the effect that his radical changes would have on many of those around him. As one of my professors put it last semester, Luther was theologically radical, but liturgically conservative; even though his theology led to profound changes in practice, he was cautious in instituting those changes because of his pastoral concern for those who would be affected. Karlstadt, on the other hand, was passionate that these changes (in liturgy, society, academia, etc.) must take place immediately, at any cost. Those who disagreed had to be forced to see the truth.

The issue (okay, one of the issues) at stake was that of Christian freedom. Both Luther and Karlstadt were profoundly affected by this idea, which in a nutshell states that, because God has already saved through grace, the Christian is utterly free, no longer bound by sin or death or anything else. (It is important to note that this concept was closely tied by Luther to an idea of service, leading him to say that the Christian is "servant to none" and simultaneously "servant to all".) Since Christians are free, they should not be constrained by law or any authority, papal or secular. For Karlstadt, this meant that he could throw all caution to the wind in implementing the reforms he saw necessary. As a result, there were numerous riots and other violent conflicts that took place. It was as though these reformers were saying, "We know the truth now, so we will force it on everybody else, like it or no."

Luther did not approve of this violent approach, although I'm not certain exactly what he would have done differently. However, the principle of Christian freedom, if taken to its extreme (as the reformers did), faces a contradiction in the model of Karlstadt: for Karlstadt, his freedom was absolute, but the freedom of those who disagreed with him was limited. True Christian freedom means that the reformers must be free to make reforms, but equally, the conservatives must be free to deny those reforms. Or to put it more bluntly: You are free to reform the church, but you must also admit the freedom of others to pigheadedly ignore your arguments for reform.

It seems that there is a similar problem in some Christian theology today, though it is not generally as violent as it was in the 16th century. We may feel that freedom should be a universal right for all; but that means we must also allow that freedom for those who would deny our view of freedom. We must be willing to admit that even those who resist reform have just as much Christian freedom as we do. How, then, is any reforming to get done? Perhaps certain groups or certain geographic areas can agree on a reform sooner than others; but the lines are not always drawn so clearly. In the ELCA, there has been a lot of what might be considered "pussyfooting" with regard to difficult issues present in the church today (such as gay marriage, ordination of gays, abortion, and so on)—the church is trying to make room for the freedom of both sides. However, this seems like it can only be a temporary measure, so I wonder how we can preserve our idea of Christian freedom without forcing some to feel marginalized or compelled.

Theophany

2009-02-16T17:30:00.000-08:00

Sorry about the missed post on Friday... I was abducted by Biblical literalists. Just kidding, I was actually just tired and lazy.

Today in Exodus class, we discussed Exodus chapter 3, the theophany (appearance of God) at the burning bush. This chapter is especially interesting, because it includes the account of God revealing his (God's, sorry for the non-gender-inclusive language, but that's the subject for another post) personal name to Moses. In order to understand the significance of this, it helps to know a bit of Hebrew.

In Hebrew, the word for god (any god, not just the God of the Israelites) is El. This is included in other names for God, such as El-Shaddai (something like "almighty God"). El can be used in Hebrew to refer to any god. When the God of Israel is meant, it is almost always written Elohim, which is actually the plural form of El. This is understood as a "plural of majesty", like the use of the "royal we" in English. As far as I can tell, the God of Israel is always referred to in this plural form, Elohim. However, the use of El or Elohim or compound names like El-Shaddai is really the use of titles, not personal names. This makes sense in English, as well; when we say "god," it could be any god; it's simply the title we use to denote a deity.

The personal name of God is another matter. It is referred to as the Tetragrammaton, which literally means "four-letter name," because it is written with four consonants in Hebrew: YHWH. (Keep in mind that the Hebrew alphabet has no vowels, only consonants; vowel markings have been added to the text, but all the meaning of the words in contained in the consonants.) It can also be referred to as Hashem, which simply means "the name". This name is treated with immense reverence among Jews. For Christians, it is often something of a mystery, and there is a lot of disagreement about how to treat the Tetragrammaton in scholarship and Biblical study.

In Exodus 3, the personal name of God is related to the Hebrew verb "to be". Moses asks God's name, and God responds, "I will be what I will be" (in many translations, "I am what I am"). The Hebrew transliteration of this phrase is Ehyeh asher ehyeh, where ehyeh is the verb meaning "I will be" (it is in the future tense; Hebrew has no present tense). However, this response from God does not include the Tetragrammaton, and it is a bit of a mystery how the Tetragrammaton relates to this phrase. Scholars hypothesize that the word ehyeh, which is spelled with the letters 'HYH, would be changed to YHYH, which would be the third person singular instead of the first person singular—"he will be". Then it is conceivable that the third letter changed from Y into W (because Hebrew just does things like that), resulting in YHWH. This conclusion is by no means certain, and it is a bit tangential to the topic at hand, so I'll leave it be.

What I'm particularly interested in is how the name YHWH should be treated today, especially by Christians. In Jewish thought, especially orthodox Judaism, the name of God should never be spoken (think of the Ten Commandments—"You shall not make wrongful use of the name of the LORD your God"). Indeed, this reverence was taken so seriously that when the Masoretic texts were compiled (remember the Masoretes from an earlier post?) and the vowel markings added, the name of God was marked in such a way that it is impossible to read it aloud. This is a bit hard to understand, but I'll try to explain; in Hebrew, every consonant must take a vowel. The name of God, YHWH, would therefore need to have four vowel markings (one per letter), but it only has two. Instead of reading the name of God, the person reading the Scriptures would say Adonai, which means "my lords" (again using the plural of majesty). This is why most translations of the Bible use LORD (in all caps) wherever the Tetragrammaton appears. However the name of God might have been pronounced back before the Scriptures were written down, that pronunciation has been lost to time—no one actually knows how YHWH should be pronounced.

So for Jews, YHWH is always read as Adonai, because the name of God is considered too holy to speak aloud. What about Christians? There is no consensus. Many Christians and scholars took to using the word Yahweh for YHWH, and this is still common today. However, inserting vowels into YHWH—whatever vowels we might choose to use—is very offensive to orthodox Jews, because it is an attempt to pronounce the name of God. The same goes for the name Jehovah, which comes from German (in German, the J takes the place of the Y, and the V the place of the W). Why should we, as Christians, care? Well, some Christians argue that we shouldn't care. In Jesus Christ, we are given a personal connection to God which allows us, in effect, to speak God's name with impunity. Theologically, this may be true (I'm a bit skeptical), but the counter argument is that we should be very concerned with how we treat our Jewish brothers and sisters. It has even been argued, in very provocative papers, that the use of "Yahweh" by Christians contributed to anti-Semitism and ultimately the treatment of Jews during the Holocaust.

This is ultimately a matter of personal piety, and not something that should be forced on Christians. In my experience, most Christians do not even think about the importance surrounding the name of God, and there is little understanding of the language and history behind this issue. My intention is to raise the question and hopefully provide some information to those who might not know why the personal name of God is so significant. Personally, I've become uncomfortable with using "Yahweh". Having a little more reverence in our treatment of God also appeals to me—yes, as Christians we believe that God came down and lived among us, and that is a marvelous thing. But perhaps we can worship a little more by bringing in more reverence in our speaking of and experiencing God.

In Defense of Biblical Non-Literalism

2009-02-09T17:15:00.000-08:00

A very touchy subject for today's post, so let me begin with a disclaimer. I'm not trying to tell anyone how to read the Bible, and I'm not forcing my opinion on anyone else. Feel free to disagree with me. It just seems that for some, the Bible must be read literally or not at all; to read the Bible non-literally is seen almost as an act of cowardice, as though the non-literal reader can't face the truth. I very much disagree with that claim. I think that non-literal readings of the Bible are equally as valid as literal readings, and that taking a "middle way" with respect to the Scriptures can have very positive consequences. As I say, I do not intend to change minds with this post, but merely to explain my own position.

The ELCA (Evangelical Lutheran Church in America, for those who don't know) recently published a little book about reading the Bible titled Opening the Book of Faith. In it, one of the authors, Mark Allan Powell, addresses the question "Do you believe the Bible? Do you believe it literally?"

He responds, "I'm not sure how to answer that. I believe the literal parts literally. And I believe the metaphorical parts metaphorically. When the Bible says, 'The Lord is my shepherd' (Ps 23:1), I believe that, but I don't think I believe it literally. If the Lord were literally my Shepherd, then wouldn't I have to be a literal sheep? And I'm not. The Bible says God is a rock (Ps 18:31). I believe that. But I don't believe it literally."

This already assumes, of course, that some parts of the Bible are meant to be read differently than other parts—that some parts are literal, others metaphorical. Then there are disagreements over which parts (if any) are indeed literal. Some scholars take a very radical view of what texts are metaphorical, even doubting if Jesus' life has any historical basis. I find it helpful to think about what was the author's likely intention. Obviously, this cannot be known with certainty; but much of the Biblical criticism that I have to study here at the seminary is concerned with those sorts of questions. Studying a text in this way will probably never lead to complete consensus over how it should be read, but it allows one to make informed decisions for one's self. Part of the reason I find studying Hebrew so fascinating is because of the insights it offers into the society of the Old Testament, which allows me to better understand how the Old Testament might have been meant by the people who wrote it.

What does it mean to say that the Bible is the Word of God? Does it mean that every word has equal value and must be taken literally? Or does it mean that the Scriptures give a faithful witness to who God is and how God acts in the world, without requiring that every verse is taken at face value? I'm inclined to believe the latter. In Opening the Book of Faith, Powell says, "[By 'The word of God'], we do not mean, 'the Bible is a book that contains no errors or contradictions'. We mean, 'the Bible is the book that tells us what God wants to say to us'. That puts a different spin on things. For the most part, Lutherans are more interested in understanding the Bible than they are in defending it. We don't think that we have to prove that the Bible is the word of God—we just believe that it is the Word of God, and then we focus on asking, 'What does God have to say to us?'"

I agree with Powell's perspective. I find it far more fruitful to read the Bible and try to understand what it says to me, to my Christian community, to the world—accepting that not every verse will speak to me in the same way or at the same time—than to try to hold the Scriptures together as an inerrant monolith that has to be taken whole cloth or not at all. You certainly don't have to agree with this way of reading the Bible. But consider that it may be a very lively and faithful way of listening to God's Word.

Things You Never Really Wanted to Know About Ancient Egypt

2009-02-06T12:33:00.000-08:00

As I've mentioned before, one of the classes I'm taking this semester is on the book of Exodus. In addition to translation work and reading through our textbook (Exodus, by Terence Fretheim, part of the Interpretation commentary series), we are doing small projects throughout the semester based on the different sections of the Exodus text we are examining. This week, the text is Exodus chapter one; and my assignment was to consider the socio-historical context surrounding this first chapter of the book. Now, if you grab your Bible and read the first chapter of Exodus, or read it on your computer through the wonders of the internet, you'll notice a few obvious questions regarding socio-historical context. The first group of questions would revolve around Pharaoh and his oppression of the people of Israel—who is this Pharaoh, when did he rule, where are Pithom and Rameses located, what was it like to work on these projects, etc. The second group has to do with those midwives—how were midwives understood in Ancient Egypt, what was their role in giving birth, and what's up with that birthing stool? Well, you're about to find out. [Note: if you happen to be in my Exodus class, or perhaps are the professor of my Exodus class, consider this your spoiler alert.]

So, the questions about Pharaoh first. As the commentaries on Exodus will tell you, the book of Exodus provides very little historical detail that would allow readers to date the story. The name of the Pharaoh in question is not even mentioned. Combine that with the fact that there is no extra-Biblical evidence of the Exodus (that is, no records from Egypt or anywhere else that relate the same details of this narrative), and it's apparent why the historical context would be difficult to establish. However, the cities of Pithom and Rameses (or Pi-Rameses, the prefix "pi" means "city of") are real places, and the garrisons were built under the reign of Pharaohs living in the 14th and 13th centuries BCE. This suggests that the pharaoh mentioned in Exodus 1 might be Rameses II, known as Rameses the Great, though this conclusion is by no means certain. Rameses II is known for his extensive and elaborate building projects, which he preferred to construct using foreign labor (Anchor Bible Dictionary, vol. 2, page 697). There are Egyptian documents relating the harsh life of physical laborers, so we can imagine that the oppression of the people of Israel was very severe.

As for the story about the midwives also brings up questions regarding birth practices in Ancient Egypt. Luckily for me, the seminary librarian is an Egyptologist, and he was happy to share his knowledge on the subject. For one, the "birth stool" (or "delivery stool") is not like the stool you might imagine for births today—a wide stool with a big hole in the middle that the woman can sit on. Rather, the Ancient Egyptian birth stool would be more like a birth brick; it was a rectangular object which would have been on the ground, less for sitting on and more to keep the mother and child out of the dirt. In fact, Ancient Egypt had a goddess of the birth stool, who was a brick with a face on it. You can see it in the famous papyrus from the Book of the Dead: she's the little black rectangle just above the figure in the center, to the left of Anubis (the jackal-headed god). As for midwives, there wasn't a profession of "midwife" as there is in some cultures, but it was assumed that several women would be present at the birth to help the mother and child through what was clearly a dangerous event. For the Hebrew midwives in the Exodus narrative to say that the Hebrew women were so hearty that they needed no help giving birth was obviously a jab at the Egyptians, whose women were so weak by comparison.

It's remarkable to me how much can be drawn out of a very short Biblical text; in just a few verses, there is a world of information and questions to be found. What I have written here barely scratches the surface of socio-historical context, not to mention the theological or literary aspects of the text. Still, this is at least an introduction to the kind of socio-historical questions that can be investigated in a text like Exodus.

Apocalyptic

2009-02-02T19:21:00.000-08:00

I think one of my most interesting classes this semester will be the elective I'm taking on the book of Daniel. In our first class last week, we discussed apocalyptic literature in general, and I found it really fascinating. So here's a post on what must surely be the most cheerful topic: the apocalypse! (That was sarcasm, people.)

The first important distinction to note is the difference between an apocalypse and apocalyptic. "Apocalype" is a precise genre of literature, whereas "apocalyptic" can refer more broadly to ways of thinking or attitudes which may be present even in texts which are not "apocalypses". The word "apocalypse", which in modern usage is taken to mean "the end of the world" or perhaps "cataclysm", actually means "revelation" or "disclosure". Hence, the most famous apocalypse, the Revelation of John in the New Testament, begins "The revelation of Jesus Christ" (Greek Apocalypsis Iesou Christou). I won't describe the precise definition of "apocalypse" used by scholars, but will note that in the Bible, there are only two books which meet that definition: Revelation and Daniel.

However, there are passages or images which are said to be "apocalyptic", and to the meaning of this adjective I will turn. The simplest definition of "apocalyptic" would probably be "relating to or sharing common elements with apocalypses". However, my professor listed nine characteristics which can be termed "apocalyptic", and these examples will be of more use in understanding the term.

First, apocalyptic is characterized by an understanding of two worlds; one of these worlds would be the one we know and inhabit, the other would be the world to come, however we understand that. It may be an afterlife or a spirit-world, or it may not. The point is the dualism between what we know from our experience, and another, different world we have not (yet) experienced.

Second, this world, the one in which we live, is under the power of evil (or the Evil One) and is unredeemable. That is, it is beyond saving; this world is so far gone, it can never be right again. Third, God has set a limit to this world—there will be an end, and in apocalyptic thought, the end is coming soon. In fact, the immediacy of the end is the fourth characteristic of apocalyptic.

The fifth characteristic is a belief that no matter how chaotic this world may seem (and it usually seems very chaotic indeed, to apocalyptic thinking), God is in control of the course of history. The reins are still in God's hands. This would also imply that the inevitable, fast-approaching end of this world is also in God's control. Likewise, the sixth characteristic is a belief that the future is preordained.

Seventh, the other world, the world to come, is a radically new creation. It will not be like this world; it will be very different. Most importantly, the powers of evil which reign in this world will not exist at all in the world to come. However, the transition will not be easy; the eighth characteristic is a conviction that the coming of the new world requires a catastrophic end to the present world.

Ninth, and serving as a summary of all these characteristics, is the statement that apocalyptic is the unveiling of reality in collapse. The world is chaotic and overrun by evil; it will pass away violently to make way for the world to come; and this collapse and upheaval is the revealing of God's plan for the world.

It is easy to see apocalyptic passages or elements throughout the Bible. The story of the destruction of the flood in Genesis has apocalyptic elements; there is a "little apocalypse" in Isaiah (Isaiah 24) and one in Mark (Mark 13). Chapter 8 of Romans describes an apocalyptic vision: "I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory about to be revealed to us. For the creation waits with eager longing for the revealing of the children of God; for the creation was subjected to futility, not of its own will but by the will of the one who subjected it, in hope that the creation itself will be set free from its bondage to decay and will obtain the freedom of the glory of the children of God. We know that the whole creation has been groaning in labor pains until now; and not only the creation, but we ourselves, who have the first fruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly while we wait for adoption, the redemption of our bodies."

While the whole of the Bible is certainly not apocalyptic in character, the apocalyptic mindset makes itself known frequently enough that it is worth considering. In order to understand Romans, or Mark, or Isaiah, and certainly to understand Daniel or Revelation, we have to consider the apocalyptic way of thinking. It seems dark and depressing, but at the same time it is profoundly hopeful in some sense—God is going to remake creation in order to make a better world. It presents God as immensely powerful, but not arbitrary; God discerns the deep problems in the world around us (think of poverty, disease, hunger, war) and envisions something better. Perhaps when one is in deepest darkness and oppression, it is vital to believe that God can and will make all things new.

Another Post About Text Criticism

2009-01-30T19:08:00.000-08:00

Okay, actually, this post is about source criticism. What's the difference? I'm so glad you asked! When it comes to Biblical scholarship, there are a lot of critical fields, each of which focuses on a different aspect of the Scriptures. Textual criticism investigates the physical text, the words on the paper (or papyrus, or vellum), and tries to figure out which manuscript or reading is the most accurate. Literary criticism examines the Scriptures from the point of view of literature; for example, considering the poetic elements used in a passage. There are many more. Today, I thought I'd talk about source criticism, which examines the possible sources of a text. Who wrote a particular book of the Bible? Where did the author live? When was he or she writing?

One example of source criticism would be, who wrote the Pentateuch, the first five books of the Bible? They are traditionally attributed to Moses, but anyone who reads the end of Deuteronomy quickly realizes that Moses could not have written an account of his own death. Through this and many other more complex considerations, scholars try to determine the authorship of the Scriptures.

In the case of the Gospels, one of the major questions posed by source criticism is, "Which Gospel was written first?" Traditionally, Matthew was thought to be first, which is why it was placed first in the New Testament. Scholars today generally agree that Mark is the oldest Gospel, followed by Luke and Matthew (though there is disagreement about which of these two was written first), with John being the latest Gospel. Matthew, Mark, and Luke are referred to as the "synoptic Gospels", which means that—as can be seen easily from reading them—they are roughly parallel. John is the oddball; it includes stories none of the other Gospels include, and leaves other, sometimes very significant, stories out. One of the most striking examples of this is the Last Supper; John has no account of this meal with Jesus and his disciples.

The question came to be raised, "Why are the synoptic Gospels so similar, with John being so different from all three?" It would seem reasonable to assume that the Synoptic Gospels were drawing on similar material, such as stories passed down by word of mouth, or even that the authors were aware of one another's work in some way. The most popular (though certainly not the only) theory regarding the Synoptic Gospels is called the "Two-Source Hypothesis", along with its closely related cousin, the "Four-Source Hypothesis". These theories assume that Mark was the earliest Gospel, and that Matthew and Luke both knew Mark's Gospel when they wrote their own accounts. This would explain why most of the stories in Mark are repeated in Matthew and Luke. However, there is also material found in both Matthew and Luke which is not in Mark, suggesting another common source used by Matthew and Luke, but not Mark. This source, which has never actually been found, is theoretically known as Q (from German Quelle, meaning "source"). Mark and Q, thus, are the two sources of the Two-Source Hypothesis. Since Matthew and Luke also have material unique to their Gospel accounts, some scholars imagine that they had other sources, possibly oral, possibly written, which were not shared by the other Gospels writers. These sources are referred to as M, for Matthew's source, and L, for Luke's. (source criticism does not require creativity in coming up with these names). Adding M and L to Mark and Q gives you the Four-Source Hypothesis.

Again, this is a very simplified explanation, but I think it gives a pretty good overview of source criticism and the understanding of how the Gospel sources relate to one another. I promise, I won't keep doing Biblical criticism posts all semester.

Hebrew or Greek?

2009-01-26T19:14:00.000-08:00

My class on Exodus began today. A large portion of the classwork, as I mentioned in my last post, will be translation from either the Hebrew or the Greek. It's pretty much assumed in seminary, as it was back at St. John's, that reading a text in its original language is important–even vital—to understanding it. In the case of the Old Testament, this raises a question: why the Septuagint?

The Septuagint is the Greek translation of the Old Testament, commonly referred to as LXX, the Roman numerals for 70. LXX refers to the legend surrounding the Septuagint: 70 rabbinic scholars went out in pairs to translate the Hebrew Scriptures into Greek. When they returned, all 35 translations were identical, proving (according to the legend) that the Greek translation was inspired by God. Even here, we can see the question being raised: if the Scriptures have been translated, are they still as reliable as the original? That is a question even today. In the case of translating from the Septuagint, we run up against the issue: the Septuagint is a translation. Isn't it on the same level as reading an English translation?

In short, the answer is no. The Septuagint is something of a special case as far as translation goes. To understand why, it is necessary to look at textual criticism—the study of the physical texts, the words that were written onto actual pages (papyri, technically) and passed down to us. In the case of the Hebrew text, the standard text used is called the Masoretic Text, or MT, which actually refers to a family of texts recorded by the Masoretes, who worked in the period from about 600 to 900 CE. You can see how late this is relative to the Scriptures themselves, which were in a finalized oral tradition as early as 400 BCE (in the case of the Pentateuch, the first five books of the Old Testament)—a thousand or more years before. The specific text used, the one you find if you buy any copy of the Hebrew Scriptures in Hebrew, is called the Leningrad Codex, and it dates from about 1000 CE. In short: when you're translating the Old Testament from Hebrew, you're actually using a manuscript that was written down 1400 years after the texts were finalized, not to mention when they were originally composed. Now, to be fair, the oral tradition which passed down the Hebrew Scriptures, and the Masoretes who eventually recorded them in the form we know today, treated the words with the utmost veneration. Even obvious errors, the typos of the ancient world, were not corrected because the Word of God was too sacred to change. (Instead, the Masoretes made marginal notes with the corrected text.)

What about the Septuagint? Well, for one thing, the text is much more complicated. It's actually a patchwork of many different texts, fragments that have been edited together to make a cohesive whole. But the translation into Greek began not all that long after the Pentateuch was finalized—sometime around 250 BCE. So the Greek translation is actually much closer to the origins of the Hebrew Scriptures than either the Masoretes or the Leningrad Codex.

Obviously, this is an oversimplification of the issue, and text criticism is a very complex field (in which I am clearly no expert). But the point I'm trying to make is simply that the Greek translation of the Old Testament is very ancient, so it bears more weight in terms of its authority that just any translation made from Hebrew manuscripts today. Another interesting note is that, in the case of Exodus, the Masoretic Text and the Septuagint are effectively identical. That is, there are not clear differences in the texts—the Septuagint seems to be a faithful translation of the Hebrew text we have today. Again, the oral tradition from which both derive was held in extremely high regard; it was passed down with great care, as we can see from the stability of the text over more than a thousand years. And there's your very brief introduction to text criticism. Hope you enjoyed it as much as I did!

New Classes

2009-01-23T18:49:00.000-08:00

So it's Friday... time for one of those blog things. I just completed my paper for my January term course: Music of Spiritual and Religious Formation. The class was very enjoyable; the paper, significantly less so. Still, it's done, and that is a relief.

I also just finished my first two days of classes, so today seemed like a good day to let you in on my spring class schedule. This semester had room for a few electives, which I'm really looking forward to. First, the required courses: I'm taking a history class on Luther and the Reformations, focusing mostly on Luther but also on Zwingli and Calvin as well as the Catholic and English Reformations. I'm also continuing with Church's Worship and Integrative Seminar from last semester. The last required class is Witness of the Gospels, the introductory New Testament class on (believe it or not) the Gospels. It involves a lot of work with Greek, not translation but exegesis based on the original text. Getting back into Greek after three years' absence will be quite painful.

I'm taking two electives, both on the Old Testament. The first is on Exodus, taught by the professor I had last semester for Intro to the Old Testament and for Hebrew. It's going to have a heavy translation component, with passages to translate each week from either the Hebrew or Greek (using the Septuagint, the Greek translation of the Old Testament), depending on which language the student knows. (Hebrew is not required for students here, so they give the Septuagint option for those who have only studied Greek). The class should be really interesting, considering that Exodus is the central story of the people of Israel. I'm also excited to keep using my Hebrew from last semester. The other is titled Daniel and Apocalyptic; it's primarily about the book of Daniel, but it's also covering apocalyptic literature in general.

So all in all, a lot of Biblical classes this semester. I'm basically getting all of my Old Testament electives out of the way at once. Still, I have to say the electives sound much more interesting than the required classes. Once the learning starts up again, you can look forward to blog posts that are actually about something.

That Tricky Thing Called "Love"

2009-01-19T09:14:00.000-08:00

I had a conversation with a friend recently in which she confessed that she had been reading Twilight. I was somewhat horrified, unjustly so because I have not read the books nor seen the movie. Still, there's something about angsty teenage vampire romance that I just can't handle.

This post is not about Twilight. But the conversation I had with my friend got me thinking about love, in all its confusing meanings. Part of the problem, of course, is that the English language uses "love" to refer to a lot of different things. In Greek, there's eros, erotic love, philos, friendship or non-sexual love, and agape, charity or Christian love. In modern society, there is something of an obsession with romantic love, and I think that is what most people mean when they talk about love. We see it in movies and on TV—nearly every film or show has to have a romantic interest of some sort. You can't watch an hour of TV without seeing ads for dating services and the people who fell madly in love thanks to them. Books like Twilight feed on our infatuation with love stories. It is not a purely modern phenomenon, of course—look at Jane Austen, or Charlotte Bronte's Jane Eyre. The idea of people being meant for each other, of finding one's true love and living happily ever after, is powerfully present all around us.

Please don't misunderstand me. I don't have anything against romantic love itself. I am very much in love with my husband, and the romantic love that we share is a great blessing in my life. What concerns me, what I want to bring up in this post, is the idea that romantic love is the be-all and end-all of human endeavors. Too often I think that romantic love is placed as the highest goal for people to achieve, and the goal which we must not fail to reach. There is a sense that, if you cannot fall in love with someone and have a storybook romance, you have failed in some deep, unforgivable way.

The Bible points to a different reality. There, we find an image of God who is loving, and God's love is extraordinary: "The LORD, the LORD, a God merciful and gracious, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love and faithfulness, keeping steadfast love for the thousandth generation" (Exodus 34:6-7). This is not human, romantic love; it is something wholly different. Then we discover that there is a different, transforming human love as well; in the New Testament, it is called agape. Paul famously described it in 1 Corinthians 13: "Love is patient; love is kind; love is not envious or boastful or arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; it does not rejoice in wrongdoing, but rejoices in the truth. It bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things."

How different is this from our idea of romantic love! Romantic love is jealous, suspicious, and self-centered—and it is understandably so. If you love one particular person, and want that person to love you in return, your love is naturally going to be particular and selfish. Again, there is nothing wrong with this love; but isn't agape a higher form of love? I think of C. S. Lewis' The Great Divorce, where he describes an image of heaven. His character meets a woman there and his mentor tells him, "Every man who met her was her lover." What he means is that this woman's love was so pure and divine, that it was shared with every person around her. This woman did not share romantic love with one person; she shared agape with every person, selflessly and universally.

Soren Kierkegaard also described agape in his Works of Love. He says that a good test of your love for others is to go to a cemetery and love the people in the graves. That way, you know you are not loving them because of who they are or what they could do for you—you are not even loving them in order to receive love from them in return. Your love is truly universal and selfless.

While romantic love certainly has a place in our human relationships, I would like to see a greater focus given to the love described by Paul, C. S. Lewis, and Kierkegaard. That is the love we are called to as Christians; that is the love towards which we should aim.

Update: I swear, I did not read the following before I wrote this blog post, but check out the Dinosaur Comic from last Wednesday. Might as well close up shop here, I've been outclassed.

New Year, New Term, New Blog Post

2009-01-12T17:39:00.000-08:00

Hello all! I'm back from vacation: rest, relaxation, and many hours of my life devoted to playing Mass Effect. I started my J-term class today—Music of Spiritual and Religious Formation. Hopefully Dr. Folkemer will forgive me for saying so, but it's a music appreciation class. We're going to learn about different kinds of music in different times and places, from Gregorian chant to black Gospel to Taize to Asian music, while considering how music affects spirituality and religion. But at the end of the day, it's a class where we sit around and listen to music. It'll be a nice, relaxing way to spend J-term. Oh yeah, and we have to write a ten-page paper when we're finished. I guess you can't win 'em all...

While I was on blogging hiatus, I decided to do things a little bit differently here this semester. I'm still interested in posting and keeping you all up-to-date with my seminary experiences, but the amount of time the blog has been taking up has been pretty substantial. I've decided to go to updating twice a week instead of three times a week. That means less time commitment for me, and fewer lame filler posts for you all. Look forward to new posts Mondays and Fridays!

On the Last Day of the Year...

2008-12-31T10:31:00.000-08:00

Happy New Year's Eve, everyone! Sorry for the lack of updates, I've been on my whirlwind tour of the west, having spent not quite four days in New Mexico and then moved on to California. Below is the sermon I preached at my home church this past Sunday; enjoy.

Grace and peace to you from God our father and the Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.

“The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light; those who lived in a land of deep darkness—on them a light has shined.” Listen to the words of Isaiah’s prophecy. “You have multiplied the nation, you have increased its joy; they rejoice before you as with joy at the harvest, as people exult when dividing plunder.” The nation of which Isaiah speaks has the joy of abundant harvests and military victories—no sign of famine or defeat. Indeed, all their foes and oppressors have been defeated by God. But even more than military victory, this people enjoys an end to all war—“For all the boots of the tramping warriors and all the garments rolled in blood shall be burned as fuel for the fire.”

For the kingdom of Judah, to whom Isaiah is speaking, this is the most wonderful vision of peace and prosperity they could imagine. Isaiah does not even say this will happen, in some distant future; he speaks in the past tense. The people already has seen a great light. For Isaiah, their hope is already present. And what is the reason for this hope? “A child has been born to us, a son given to us; authority rests on his shoulders.” Though the word is not used here, this is usually referred to as a Messianic prophecy, from the Hebrew mesiach, meaning “anointed”. Just as David was anointed by Samuel, the mesiach is the king, set apart by being anointed. This child,with authority resting on his shoulders, is a king and the hope of the kingdom.

But what happens in the years after this prophecy? The Northern Kingdom, Israel, is conquered by Assyria. Then Judah, the Southern Kingdom, is conquered by the next great empire—Babylon. Jerusalem is captured, and the very Temple of God is destroyed. The people are taken into exile in Babylon. A generation later, Babylon falls to Persia, and though the exiles are allowed to return home, they are still subjects of a foreign empire. They are certainly not permitted to have a mesiach, for anointing a king would be tantamount to rebellion. So it continues: after Persia comes Greece and after Greece, Rome.

With Rome, we find ourselves at the reconstructed Temple with an old man who hopes for the consolation of Israel—Simeon. Like the other Jews under Roman rule, Simeon remembers the prophecies of Isaiah and still trusts in God’s promises. Indeed, Simeon has received a promise of his own—the Holy Spirit of God has made known to him that he would see the promised mesiach with his own living eyes. Can we even imagine what this meant to Simeon? The words of Isaiah, spoken as though they had already come to pass, have been waiting in the hearts and minds of the Jews for more than seven hundred years. Now Simeon is going to see them fulfilled in his own short remaining span of life.

With the history of that prophecy behind him, Simeon looks forward in the hope given to him by the Holy Spirit, and guided by that Spirit, he goes to the Temple on the same day that Mary and Joseph arrive to present Jesus. Now, imagine you were those new parents—you go to a public place with your baby son, and some old man, a complete stranger, grabs him out of your arms and begins shouting: “Now I can die!” No wonder Mary and Joseph are “amazed” at Simeon’s words! But Simeon is looking forward, seeing in a tiny child the hope of a people—the hope of the whole world. Though his own life is nearly over, Simeon praises God for fulfilling the promise in this child.

Simeon looks forward, and this forward perspective, from the older generation to the infant child, is paralleled in Luke by the promise made to Zechariah, the father of John the Baptist. God tells Zechariah that his son will “turn the hearts of parents to their children.” The parents now look to the children, the old to the young. Zechariah and his wife Elizabeth receive a child in their old age; Simeon has waited his whole life; likewise, Anna, the prophet also in the Temple this day, is either eighty-four, or she has been a widow eighty-four years—making her over a hundred. All of them look to the child Jesus for hope, even though they will be long gone by the time he reaches adulthood.

In Simeon’s words over Jesus, we hear another kind of looking forward—Simeon looks forward to the kind of Messiah this will be. Simeon praises God, saying that salvation has been “prepared in the presence of all peoples, a light for revelation to the Gentiles and for glory to your people Israel.” Jesus will be more than the king promised to Judah; he will bring salvation to all peoples, Jew and Gentile alike. Though Simeon hopes for the consolation of his people, he looks beyond them and sees the hope of the Gentiles—even the Romans, who oppress him—as well. But Simeon also recognizes that Jesus’ salvation will be a source of conflict; he warns Mary of the discord and strife that will come from Jesus’ life. Jesus will be a “sign that will be opposed.” It is with Simeon that we see the first signs of how divisive Jesus will be, even among his own people; but that is the kind of Messiah that God has provided. Our Christmas story is always connected to the Good Friday story. Even though Simeon’s foresight reveals a Messiah perhaps very different from the king promised in Isaiah, Simeon knows that God’s promises have been fulfilled, and that he may indeed be dismissed in peace.

And what of us, today, another two thousand years further away from Isaiah? Are we not like Simeon, having waited and hoped for the promises to be fulfilled? Do we not look at the world around us, and wish for the world described in Isaiah? Does it seem sometimes that those promises will never come to pass? Perhaps the real question is—do we, like Simeon, maintain our trust in God’s faithfulness and stay steadfast in our hope?

Simeon recognized in a poor family, in an infant baby, the mesiach God had promised to his people. He saw that Jesus would not be just the king of Judah, but would fulfill those promises in a new and unexpected way. Simeon did not live to see Jesus’ life, ministry, death, and miraculous resurrection; but he did not need to. He had seen enough in the baby to satisfy all his hope and longing. The promises were fulfilled, though they had not come to fruition; the Messiah had come, though he was yet just an infant. We, too, are in this place of already-but-not-yet. The famines have not yet ended; the boots of the tramping warriors have not yet been burned; the kingdom of God still seems far away. But like Simeon, we have seen enough. The Messiah has come to us; he has lived and died and lived again; and we have died and risen with him. When we gather at this table, we both hope for and experience the meal of that kingdom over which our Messiah rules. So let us, with Simeon, with Anna, with Mary and Joseph, rejoice now in the fulfillment of our hope, even as we wait for its completion.

Christmas Eve

2008-12-24T13:22:00.001-08:00

Well, it's Christmas Eve. I was supposed to be back in New Mexico by now, but thanks to some miserable ice, I'm still in Gettysburg. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't upset about being stranded away from my family on Christmas Eve... but at the end of the day, Christmas is still Christmas even without the family and the traditions.

So Merry Christmas to you. And if you don't celebrate Christmas, then have a blessed Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, Eid, or just happy winter.

sigh of relief

2008-12-22T07:40:00.000-08:00

Well, the semester is over now. I took my four finals, turned in one last paper, and—miraculously—didn't die in the process. I did let you all down on the blog posts, and for that I apologize. Time to get back to our regularly scheduled program.

One interesting thing that came up in Church's Worship this semester is the practice of private confession. Now, most Lutherans are familiar with corporate confession, which is usually said at the start of every Sunday worship service. Corporate confession is held in contrast to private confession, which tends to be associated with Roman Catholics and those tiny confession booths. I think many Lutherans (myself included) think of private confession as one of those things we threw out during the Reformation. While the practice of requiring private confession before someone could receive the Eucharist would certainly be problematic for Lutherans, private confession itself is actually a valuable form of pastoral care. You may be surprised to discover that there is an order for private confession in both the ELW (the new red hymnal) and the old LBW.

I think the advantage of private confession over public confession is simply how personal it is. When you say the words of confession in a group, Sunday after Sunday, it can begin to feel like you're going through the motions. I can practically recite the order for confession from memory; and if you've got it memorized, you can use that time to see who else has arrived at church that Sunday (not that I'd ever do something like that...). In any case, corporate confession, while it certainly has many advantages, runs the risk of not actually being a confession of sins. If a person chooses to make private confession of sins, however, there is no chance of their mind wandering to other things. And for a person who is deeply troubled about something, they may need to use their own words to describe exactly what it is they need to be forgiven. To then hear a word of forgiveness touches that person much more deeply than when the pastor speaks it to the whole congregation.

I'm not by any means saying that corporate confession is a bad thing; simply that it runs the same risk of all liturgy—the words can lose their meaning. Private confession can act as a counter-balance to corporate confession. I'm just pointing out the advantages of private confession because it seems to be so little known in the Lutheran church. And now you know.

Finals Week

2008-12-16T13:32:00.000-08:00

Have I mentioned it's the end of the semester? Perhaps that I'm swamped, with one final down and three still to go, and that I was up very late last night (or, truth be told, early this morning) finishing my last paper of the semester? Does that sound familiar to anyone? Well, I didn't get around to updating the blog yesterday, and while I dearly wish I had a real post to put up today to make up for it, I don't. So instead, I commend to you the wise words of 1 Kings 19, which we translated for our Hebrew final (this is my translation, and therefore a bit rough around the edges):

9 [Elijah] came there, to the cave, and he stayed the night there. And behold! the word of the LORD said to him, “What are you doing here, Elijah?” 10 And he said, “I am surely zealous for the LORD, God of Hosts, because the sons of Israel have forsaken your covenant; they have destroyed your altar; they have slain your prophets with a sword. I remain, I alone, and they seek to take my life.” 11 And he said, “Go out and stand at the mountain before the LORD,” and behold! the LORD is passing by, and a great and strong wind is tearing away mountains and breaking rocks before the LORD. The LORD is not in the wind; and after the wind, an earthquake, and the LORD is not in the earthquake. 12 And after the earthquake, a fire, and the LORD is not in the fire; and after the fire, a roar of sheer silence. 13 As Elijah heard, he wrapped his face with his mantle and went out; and he stood at the opening of the cave. And behold! a voice said to him, “What are you doing here, Elijah?” 14 And he said, “I am surely zealous for the LORD, God of Hosts, because the sons of Israel have forsaken your covenant; they have destroyed your altar; they have slain your prophets with a sword. I remain, I alone, and they seek to take my life.” 15 And the LORD said to him, “Go, return to your journey in the wilderness of Damascus. You will come in, and anoint Hazael as king over Aram. . . 18 I will leave seven thousand in Israel, all the knees that have not bowed down to Baal, and every mouth that has not kissed him.”

More on the Old Testament

2008-12-12T15:39:00.000-08:00

It's the season of Advent in the church year right now, and we all know what that means: lots of readings from Isaiah. The prophecies of Isaiah, perhaps more than any other part of the Old Testament, have been read by Christians as being about Jesus Christ. The most famous examples are related to Christ's death (the "suffering servant") and to his birth ("The virgin is pregnant and bearing a son, and she will call him Immanuel"). This raises some complicated questions for me about how to read the Hebrew Scriptures. There are a few clear facts: the writer of Isaiah, and the Israelites to whom he wrote, did not believe that this prophecy was about some baby to be born more than five hundred years later. The language of the prophecy is very immediate. It is supposed that Isaiah was referring to Hezekiah, who would later be king. The other clear fact is that early Christians did read Isaiah's prophecies in light of the events of Jesus' life and death. Their interpretation is clear in the Gospels, especially in Luke and Matthew.

The issue is further complicated by questions of translation. The Hebrew word in Isaiah 7 literally means "young woman," not "virgin". In the Septuagint, the Greek translation of the Hebrew text, the word is "virgin," which was obviously picked up by the early Christians as sounding like the miraculous birth of Jesus. So how should modern Christians read this text? I am inclined to try to be true to the original meaning of the text, being sensitive to its historical context; but at the same time, this passage bears a powerful meaning for Christians. Saying that it is a prophecy about Jesus seems unfair and disrespectful of the Jewish tradition from which it comes; but saying that it is not about Jesus might offend Christians who love this passage. How can we be honest to both traditions?

My Old Testament professor gave a powerful answer to this question. She talks about reading the Scriptures in the context of faith claims. To read a passage in the Bible a certain way is to make a certain faith claim about it. This perspective applies to any Biblical passage, but consider it in this particular case: to say that this prophecy is about God's action in the political situation of ancient Israel is to make one faith claim, and to say that it is about the birth of Jesus Christ is to make another. It's not so much a question of right or wrong; but in the interest of respect, it's important to recognize that one is making a faith claim. When we read Isaiah in church during Advent, we should realize that this book has been read in different ways by different people and at different times; our reading is one of several, and we cannot claim absolute validity for our perspective. Nevertheless, our reading has a long tradition behind it and it contributes to our understanding of the stories of Jesus that have been passed down to us. In this way, we can read the Old Testament with respect to the people for which it was originally written, without being forced to completely agree with their interpretation.

Wisdom and Protest Literature

2008-12-10T16:53:00.000-08:00

My introductory class on the Old Testament is almost finished. One of the final topics we covered was wisdom and protest literature, two genres in the Ketuvim, or Writings, of the Hebrew Bible. Wisdom literature is most clearly exemplified in the book of Proverbs, and protest literature in Ecclesiastes, Job, and Ruth.

Wisdom literature is, unsurprisingly, focused on wisdom. It was presented to us as the third way in the Hebrew Scriptures of understanding humanity's relation to God. The first was that of the priest, where God is reached through ritual and purity and the tabernacle or temple was the focus. The second was that of the prophet, where God is found in God's word, which thus becomes the focus of piety. The third is that of the sage, or seeker of wisdom; the premise being that God can be found all around us, in the everyday experiences of our life. Seeking wisdom in the world, then, is seeking God. There is confidence that God can indeed be found this way. Now, no one of these three ways is superior to another, but all three can be clearly seen in the Scriptures, and there seems to be a chronological development (at least, it is clear that the sage comes last).

The outlook we find in Proverbs and other wisdom writings is a very optimistic one. In the world, one can find folly and wisdom; and if one is careful to distinguish between the two, one can choose to follow wisdom. Following wisdom leads to life, while following folly leads to death (see the powerful image of Wisdom and Folly personified in the first section of Proverbs). Wisdom can inform proper action in all aspects of life, especially in the family. Underlying this focus on wisdom is a belief that those who make good choices, who live good lives, get good results; and those who make poor decisions face the consequences. In short, everyone gets what he or she deserves; the order of things is just. There is a right course to follow, and wisdom allows one to discern that course.

Protest literature takes a variety of forms, but all writings in this genre are speaking out against the accepted order of things, rejecting the orthodox opinion. The story of Ruth, for example, is defying the belief that all foreigners (Ruth is constantly identified as "the Moabite") are impure and wicked. Some protest literature speaks against wisdom literature; Ecclesiastes and Job are both in this vein. Ecclesiastes rejects the idea that wisdom can be found in the everyday events; rather, all is "vanity" (the Hebrew word appears nearly 40 times in the book of Ecclesiastes), and the wise are a sham. Though the events in life are cyclical ("To everything there is a season"), it is difficult to discern the right time (when is it time for war, and when time for peace?). The claim that wisdom teaches the right course of action is denied. The idea of justice–namely, that each gets his just desserts—is also rejected, because good and bad alike die. Ecclesiastes points out the simple fact of life that sometimes, the bad are rewarded and the good punished; this recognition leads to a fatalist attitude. In the end, all that one can do is eat, drink, and be merry, although there is a nuance here—Ecclesiastes is not simply a call to hedonism; the author believes that God approves of life: "There is nothing better for mortals than to eat and drink, and find enjoyment in their toil. This also, I saw, is from the hand of God" (Ecclesiastes 2:24).

Job is also a protest against wisdom literature. We can see this from the very outset of the story: Job is a pious man, almost absurdly pious, but yet he loses everything (except his life, which he wishes could also be taken away). However, there is a textual point which affects the reading of Job: as is clear from looking at the text, there is a prose envelope (beginning and ending) surrounding about 40 chapters of poetry. The prose story probably stood alone at one point, telling of the pious man who is tested, passes the test because he refuses to curse God, and has everything restored to him. The poetry added into the middle of this story completely changes its meaning; although Job never does curse God, he curses just about everything else, and he is not rewarded at the end, but rebuked by God himself. The outcry of the character Job is the outcry of human experience against the optimism of the wisdom literature: I am suffering, and I did nothing wrong! Job's friends act as the voice of orthodoxy here, arguing that Job must have done something to deserve this punishment. Job can find no answers in these arguments, because he knows his own innocence. It is only in the face of God's awesome power that Job finds any kind of closure. For Job, there is no wisdom or justice; there is only the experience of God: "I had heard you by the hearing of my ear, but now my eye sees you."

Monday, Monday

2008-12-08T17:33:00.000-08:00

So it's the second-to-last Monday of the semester, and I'll be honest with you: I don't feel like writing a blog post. I've got two quizzes, a paper, and four finals still to go, and I am burnt out. Still, it seems unfair to you, my devoted audience (read: my family and college friends), to skip out entirely.

So here are two "fun" (I use the term loosely) facts from my Hebrew studies. First, the word "Armageddon" comes from the Hebrew "Har Megiddo," meaning "Mountain of Megiddo". Second, and in keeping with the season of Christmas, the word "Ebenezer" comes from the Hebrew phrase "even haezer." (In Hebrew, "v" and "b" are the same letter.) "Even" means rock or stone, and "ezer" means hope. The phrase thus translates as "the rock of hope," or more loosely, "the foundation of hope".

And now you know...

Liturgy: What's the point of all this, again?

2008-12-05T09:38:00.000-08:00

As promised, a run-down of my class this week on Eucharistic liturgy. But first, a word of explanation: I like liturgy. I really do. But it worries me—especially when seminarians and their professors put so much time and thought into liturgy that it leaves the people in the pews behind completely. The thing that bothers me is when pastors, professors and seminarians get so caught up in their ideas of how liturgy should be practiced, how it should be understood, that we forget about how it actually is practiced and understood. Take an example from my class this week; we discussed how it's very important not to give the impression that some magic is happening during the Eucharistic prayer. In other words, when the pastor speaks the Words of Institution ("In the night in which he was betrayed...") or invokes the Holy Spirit, he or she is not, by those words, causing a mystical change in the bread and wine. God's promises, through the action of the Holy Spirit, are what makes the bread and wine become something extraordinary at Communion. I agree with this idea... but then, why are we so careful about the words we speak? If the words of the pastor are not the essential thing, why are we all so uptight about making mistakes? I think the answer to this question is fairly simple: we get stage fright. We don't want to mess up, don't want to be seen making mistakes. It's very personal and natural. But—and here is the heart of the problem—it doesn't matter what the pastor believes; if he or she is uptight about saying the right words, the people in the pews are naturally going to be led to believe that the words themselves are the important thing.

I'm not saying by any means that the people who sit in the pews on Sunday morning are not as intelligent as the clergy. But the clergy get so lost in their ideals and theology and theory, that they forget the experience of the people who haven't gone to seminary. So we talk at length about how the Eucharist should be, but not about how it looks from the other side. That's why I'd like to talk about Eucharistic liturgy in this post, because I think if we're doing something for a certain reason, we should just tell people what the reason is, instead of hoping they'll pick up on the signals we're sending.

Okay, now that my rather lengthy introduction is out of the way, I'll actually talk about Eucharistic liturgy. The liturgy that's being taught in Lutheran seminaries and practiced (to a greater or lesser extent) in Lutheran churches is based on the movement of liturgical renewal. In short, liturgical renewal is an attempt to return to the roots of Christian practice, and as such relies on the documents of the early Christian church. In even the earliest accounts of Communion meals (going all the way back to the New Testament), there is a discernible "four-fold shape". This four-fold shape is described by the terms Bring, Bless, Break, and Share. Current liturgy attempts to reflect this shape. The first part, Bring, refers to the offering; this offering is not primarily gifts of money (though it may often appear that way in many churches), but it is the bringing forward of wine and bread by the community, for the community. In the understanding of Communion as truly a meal, the offering is the same as people bringing food together to share with one another.

The second part of the four-fold shape is the most predominant: the blessing of the bread and wine. This is, in its most basic sense, saying grace over the food just as you would say grace at the dinner table. Thanks and praise are given to God for giving us the food that we eat. In addition, the Last Supper is remembered in the Words of Institution, and the Holy Spirit is invoked. The third and fourth parts, Breaking and Sharing, are more utilitarian; the bread has to be broken before it can be eaten, and the sharing is the act of distributing the food to the people.

The important idea in this view of the Eucharist is that it is a meal. Just as Jesus ate with his disciples at his Last Supper, just as the crowds ate when Jesus fed them, and especially just as Jesus met his disciples over meals after the resurrection, Christians today come together to share a meal on Sunday mornings. To be certain, it is an extraordinary meal, because Jesus is present with us in it. The point is, it's not a bizarre ritual; it's based in our real experience. The liturgy surrounding the Eucharist may seem unnecessarily ritualistic, but it's there to preserve the important aspects and shape of Communion.

The Ol' Alma Mater

2008-12-03T17:14:00.000-08:00

I had an interesting class this week on Eucharistic liturgy that I'd like to talk about, but I think I'll put that off until Friday in the interest of time (and the paper I need to finish tonight). So instead, I'll regale you all with the unofficial anthem of St. John's College: "The Battle Hymn of the Republic of Letters".

Mine eyes have seen the glory of the eidos of the Good,
Which is not the same as pleasure, I have clearly understood,
And I wouldn't take the tyrant's power, even if I could—
I'm marching from the cave!
Marching, marching towards the sunlight,
Marching, marching towards the sunlight,
Marching, marching towards the sunlight,
I'm marching from the cave!

The fool conceives of God but thinks the faithful are deceived,
But a greatest being whose reality is not belived,
Is a being through which something greater still can be conceived,
Which contradicts itself!
Ontological rebuttal,
Ontological rebuttal,
Faithlessness will ever scuttle,
For it contradicts itself!

The state of nature's character we know from good report
To be very solitary, nasty, brutish, poor and short,
So we'll give the sovreign all our rights and all the guns and forts,
And then we'll all survive.
Ratify the Social Contract, (3x)
And then we'll all survive.

Deterministic limits on my freedoms are erased
By the transcendental ideality of time and space,
So my atoms are determined but my will a different case,
It's pure autonomy!
Hail the Transcendental Ego, (3x)
It's pure autonomy!

I've been through all the steps in my phenomenology,
Whether Master, Slave, or in between, it's all the same to me,
I'm unhappy and I know it so I'm absolutely free,
I'm fully synthesized!
I've undergone the dialectic, (3x)
I'm fully synthesized!

As you can guess, it's sung to the tune of the "Battle Hymn of the Republic", so you can sing along yourselves! The Republic of Letters is a reference to Plato, as is the first verse. The second verse is Anselm's ontological proof of the existence of God. The third is a conflation of Hobbes, Locke, and Rousseau. The fourth is based on Kant, and the fifth on Hegel (with maybe a little Nietzsche, too). It's hysterically funny to Johnnies, and completely lame to everyone else. Although, we did sing the Anselm verse in Early Church and Its Creeds today, so at least that professor is amused by it.

Stay tuned for Friday's post on the liturgy of the Eucharist!