Lectionary Readings for Sunday, May 25, 2008

Proper 3

Isaiah 49:8-16a
Psalm 131
1 Corinthians 4:1-5
Matthew 6:24-34

Life has a language.
And once again Scripture has a word for us.

There are few passages in which Jesus' teaching about life is as direct, poetic, and as wise as today's reading. We meet Jesus the teacher, Jesus the poet who learns from the fields and the birds of the air, and Jesus the wise man whose wisdom surpasses that of Solomon. In each instance his words are about life.

Jesus' words as a teacher are sharp and direct. “You cannot serve God and wealth,” he says. One must make a choice. It is a choice that Jesus himself made one day when he was in the desert and, famished, he was tempted to turn stones into bread. We do not live by bread alone, he responded, laying the foundation for the words he would say later in his ministry. “Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothing?”

The answer to his rhetorical question is, “Yes!” The “more” involves an abiding trust in God. After the temptation, angels would stop by and tend to the thirsty and famished Jesus. The “more” involves taking seriously the connection between God and our needs. We observe this connection every time we sit down at the table and say grace before a meal. In this way the meal is no longer “just food,” it is a gift that allows us to say “thank you” with our heart, our mind, and our strength.

Jesus then waxes poetic. It is not the first time scripture turns to the natural world to deliver its message. When God spoke to Job from the whirlwind he referred to the hail, the wind, the stars; the lip of a wave that washes ashore, stops at a certain point, and then retreats back into the sea. Creation is mysterious but well ordered. Nothing is overlooked, forgotten, or outside the ring of God's providential care. Jesus asks us to observe creation and to learn from it. The text that started by stressing connection has now moved to coherence.

Lest we be overly entranced by the sheer poetry of his words, Jesus makes sure we will not miss the point. “Do not worry, saying, 'what will we eat?’ or ‘What will we drink?’ ”

Our life, he says, is more than the circumstances of our lives. He says this knowing that the circumstances of our lives are indeed difficult, and that they tend to become all-consuming. Yesterday I happened to be speaking with a hospital administrator who remarked that the current recession couldn't help but put a squeeze on hospitals. As more and more families are unable to pay their medical bills the system can't help but wonder how it is going to keep up.

I think back to church committee meetings in which concerns about the church almost overshadowed our love for the mission and ministry of the church. We were indeed those of “little faith” as circumstance – too thin an offering, too small a congregation, too many conflicting personalities, too few connections with the wider world, all took their toll. There was a sense in which we thought we were being responsible by giving attention to every problem we could find. But pretty soon we noticed that there was more to life than analysis, more to church than budgetary shortfalls, more to community than just our members, and more to our presence than the sum total of our own energy.

In short, worry had taken its toll. Worry is a strange thing. It is invariably correct. But it solves nothing and does not lead to action. And so agency and hope makes their appearance in the text. Instead of worrying we are to serve God all the more. Instead of feeding on despair we are to find hope. Had Jesus turned the stones into bread he would have soon been hungry once again. Instead he waited for the angels to make their unexpected appearance.

Life invariably demands a string of choices. We can connect with God, or we can distrust God. We can learn from creation or we can disregard its teachings and try to control our own lives as though we were the only game in town.

That's not to say, however, that these choices are easy. As Gary and I were writing the Leading Causes of Life it kept striking me that they would not allow for “pretend.” Each of the causes has a raw and visceral edge. It takes courage to keep hope alive in the face of medical catastrophe. It takes sheer guts to trust in creation's order when one has lost a job, or when natural disaster plays its hand.

I have always found bible study to be an essential part of sermon preparation. Bible studies form an intersection of connection and coherence as a small group meets to see what the Word has to say, and how lives can be shared. At this week's session everyone in the circle was well over 80 years old, and few of them could fend for themselves. We read the passage, and almost immediately a question surfaced.

“If we were in Burma, and our home had been swept away, could we preach this passage?”

“Or what if we were in China?” asked another.

“I don't think so,” said one elderly woman. “I just don't think you could. It wouldn't be right to preach this to a group of starving people.”

“But I think you could,” said another. “The Scripture is about worry. It doesn't say we're not supposed to care.”

“It’s about keeping God first,'” adds another of the women.

“If we do that we'll know what to do.”

We talk for a moment about the choices churches make. One of the women works the church food shelf which has had an increasing number of people to serve. Another remembers folding used clothing to give away. I think of my visits home where my 89 year-old father invariably asks me to help him pick up groceries at his Quaker church and take them over to the Lutheran church for distribution. We remember Katrina and the way churches opened their doors to those in need. We realize that worry didn't inspire any of this. It was motivated by concern.

For life to speak we must find the courage to move worry to the side. It is not something we can do alone. It is best done together. And, we realized, this is indeed what churches do.

I close with the text itself, thankful for Jesus the teacher, Jesus the poet, and Jesus the seer who asks us to keep in mind that the day has troubles of its own and while it calls for our lives, it certainly does not need our worries.

Thanks be to God, and thanks be to you.

Matthew 6:24-34

No one can serve two masters; for a slave will either hate the one and love the other, or be devoted to the one and despise the other. You cannot serve God and wealth.
Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or what you will drink, or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothing?

Look at the birds of the air; they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not of more value than they? And can any of you by worrying add a single hour to your span of life? And why do you worry about clothing?

Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow; they neither toil nor spin, yet I tell you, even Solomon in all his glory was not clothed like one of these. But if God so clothes the grass of the field, which is alive today and tomorrow is thrown into the oven, will he not much more clothe you—you of little faith?

Therefore do not worry, saying, 'What will we eat?' or 'What will we drink?' or 'What will we wear?' For it is the Gentiles who strive for all these things; and indeed your heavenly Father knows that you need all these things.

But strive first for the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well. So do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will bring worries of its own. Today’s trouble is enough for today.

Larry

I welcome your response to these columns. I may be reached at:
larry@leadingcausesoflife.org
Or
larrypray@gmail.com

Lectionary Readings for Sunday, May 18, 2008

Trinity Sunday

Genesis 1:1-2:4a
Ps 8
2 Corinthians 13:11-13
Matt 28:16-20

Life has a language.
And Scripture has a word for us.

Before Pentecost, our Lectionary readings spoke of agency. Something was going to happen that would activate our lives. It would send us from a locked room into the world assuring us we are never alone and that we are called to serve wherever we may be.

Last Sunday we decked the church in red to celebrate the Spirit's astonishing arrival. Red stoles that had been stored in dark closets made their way to the shoulders of clergy whose sermons invariably said, “Look what happened!” and then added, “It is still happening if we let it!” Sermons ended with benedictions asking parishioners to “go forth” into the world knowing they had an Advocate, a Sustainer, and a Comforter. And then the banners are put away and we live in the embers of Pentecost's staggering power.

Flames are good, but often embers are better. We can carry embers with us, we can live with them knowing they will carry their warmth and the potential of light for many days. They can light fires when needed, be carried on the wind from time to time, and can warm the earth as well as the air. We have a long time to live in the embers of Pentecost. The green banners we put in place will stay in place until late November when the snows of a new church year bring us into Advent. It is not surprising that the language of scripture adjusts as well. Agency may ignite our lives into action, but the coherence of creation takes time. God did not create the world and its many inhabitants in a flash. Like our lives the creation happened over time.

We read the long Genesis passage and marvel once again at its patient beauty.

On all sides God gives form to that which had been formless and illuminates that which had been covered in darkness. Order replaces chaos. Dry land is given its place, the waters are given their place, animals have their place, trees their place, the sky its place, fish and birds their place, and humankind and even its relationship with creation has its place. Nothing is out of order.

From scripture we take our cue.

What is it that churches do? They bring order to our lives, harmony to our communities, and healing when chaos threatens what God created. We enter churches in search of healing, in search of understanding, in need of both strength and mending. Whether we seek creation or recreation we anticipate and hope for order.

And what is it that hospitals do? They also bring order into our lives. I write these words a day after Connie and I returned home after a two-day hospital stay. Its purpose was to determine why the pain in her body had grown increasingly disabling, and to see what could be done about it. Many incisions later we hope that life will prevail, that creation's power will turn back pain that had no boundaries.

We were both touched by, and struck by, the sheer beauty of the experience in the hospital, difficult though the surgery was. The five lenses of our Leading Causes of Life— connection, coherence, agency, hope and blessing – helped frame the experience. The hallways of the new building were bright and beautiful, the windows flooded with light, the artwork in the hallways stunning in its reminder of creation's intrinsic harmony. Even the signs that showed us where to go were clear, elegant and meaningful. One could not get “lost” in this house of healing.

As I sat in the surgical waiting room, and as the hour got later and later, the attendant went out of her way to keep tabs on both how I was doing and on the status of Connie's surgery. Noting that it had all taken a very long time, she called the doctor to make sure he would be stopping by. The Spirit of Pentecost, who promised we would not be alone, seemed to supply a woman who for 27 years cared for people who sat in that room wondering if the disorder of disease could be excised, if healing might return, if hope would present itself anew.

After Connie was wheeled to her room, the nurses that arrived were a study in the confluence of coherence and connection. There was nothing haphazard about their presence. Their spirits were alert, their voices confident, their questions both incisive and searching, their sense of compassion deep, their humor quick. They were doing life's work with skill, care and an understanding that healing called for and received all of their attention.

The place may be a hospital. Or it may be a church. Or it may be a body. Whatever the place, healing is the call and creation the process through which we speak the language of life that emphasizes coherence, connection, hope and blessing. In each place there is much to be concerned about.

Chaos does indeed threaten us. Not every hospital connection turns out to be healing. Not every sermon inspires hope, and not every church is aware of its neighbors or of the storms that threaten the lives of parishioners. There are governments that refuse to allow healers, medicines and food to enter “their” country. In our own country the cost of healing often breaks the backs of those in need of care. Restoring order, indeed perhaps even insisting on it, calls for all the strength and discipline we can muster. It is a life-centered discipline that requires and occupies our full attention.

We are not surprised creation took seven days. Neither are we surprised that working with the Spirit that spoke to us on Pentecost requires a string of Sundays that take us from spring into summer and then into the fall. We may refer to these Sundays as “ordinary time” but with our ear attuned to life we know there is nothing ordinary about it.

Throughout it all coherence plays its hand. “Put things in order,” Paul wrote to the church in Corinth.

And so we do. Over at the hospital, here at home, and in our churches we seek yet again to put things in order. It is, of course, the way of life.

2 Corinthians 13:11-13

Finally, brothers and sisters, farewell. Put things in order, listen to my appeal, agree with one another, live in peace; and the God of love and peace will be with you. Greet one another with a holy kiss. All the saints greet you.

The grace of the Lord Jesus Christ, the love of God, and the communion of the Holy Spirit be with all of you.

Larry

I welcome your response to these columns. I may be reached at:
larry@leadingcausesoflife.org
Or
larrypray@gmail.com

Lectionary Readings for Sunday, May 4, 2008

Lectionary Readings for Sunday, May 4, 2008
Seventh Sunday of Easter

Acts 1:6-14
Ps 68:1-10, 32-35
1 Pet 4:12-14; 5:6-11
John 17:1-11

Life has a language.
And Scripture has a word for us.

To everything there is a season, we read in Ecclesiastes. If our five causes — connection, coherence, agency, hope and blessing—reflect the basic structure of life's language — it should not be surprising that each cause has a corresponding liturgical season.

In Advent we anticipate the great connection when the Word becomes flesh and dwells among us.
In Lent we realize our lives need pruning if coherence is to take the place of chaos.
On Easter Sunday hope proves to be well-founded.
And on Pentecost, agency has its day as God asks us to hear something, to speak something, to do something trusting that the Holy Sprit will be our Advocate and Comforter.
In each season, and in the “in-between times” we give and receive blessings each and every day.

For seven consecutive Sundays the Lectionary texts have been preparing us for Pentecost. Although we think of Pentecost as a single day rather than a season, the Lectionary goes out of its way to point out that it is a season that requires both preparation and celebration. “Get ready! Prepare!” the texts seem to say. Having shared that his time with them would soon come to an end and that the Spirit would soon arrive, the Lectionary turns to Peter to show us how to wait.

The first word, “Beloved” is a sermon in and of itself. It is love that connects us with God and with each other. And it is love that defines us as a family. By necessity it is an intensely personal word. “Dearly beloved,” we often say to our parishioners. The two words create a world of meaning, provide a blessed assurance, and create a congregation.

Peter goes on to give practical advice.

“Do not be surprised at the fiery ordeal that is taking place among you to test you as though something strange was harassing you.” We are tempted to think we are the only ones who have suffered the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, as Hamlet put it. But such a perception would be false. Instead we are to realize that whatever misfortune we have experience has been experienced by many others as well. It is par for the course. Peter writes not to an individual but to a group.

There is strength in solidarity. It is incredibly healing when one realizes his or her experience is shared by others. At an AA meeting the alcoholic realizes he or she can say, “Me too.” At a cancer group, the same words are said. What once appeared as an exceptional experience, as a break in the order we expect for our lives turns out to provide a new common and sacred ground well-traveled by both fellow citizens and Christ.

Then Peter tells us what we are to do. Four verbs set the stage. We are to:

Humble ourselves. We do this by learning to let go and let God, by realizing there are some things we can change and some things we must learn to accept.

Cast all our anxieties on God. In our desire to be responsible we are tempted to cast some of our anxieties, or to trust God with the nonessentials rather than the essentials. But Peter calls for courage and asks us to cast all our anxieties on God.

Once we have done this we are to discipline ourselves. We are to practice trusting God and sharing our lives with others. We are to practice recognizing Christ's presence in all things. It will take discipline to not be overcome by the Adversary who is skilled in the language of death. We are to practice life and resist death.

We are not, however, the only actors. There are also four verbs that describe God's actions. God will restore, support, strengthen and establish us.

Once a week I am blessed to share worship with those whose entire lives would seem to be swept away. No longer able to be cared for by their family, they are now in a long-term care facility. Some can no longer speak, others can no longer remember the names of their sons or daughters, others are not sure where they are. Were one keeping score one might be overwhelmed by loss. But that is not what happens.

The day room in which they gather for devotions is invariably bright at ten o'clock in the morning. I take out my banjo and begin to play. A few people slowly arrive to see what's happening. A few more make their way into the light and look around to see who's there in the welcoming space. Around the corner I see the quiet steps of a walker proceed an inch or two, wait for a moment, and then move forward once again. Soon we are gathered and begin to sing. They sit side by side, aware of each other not by name but by spirit.

It is incredibly beautiful, this living in humility, this presence of life when so much has been taken away. It is incredibly moving, this trusting the day to God. And, for me, it is incredibly sustaining to learn from their discipline that says “it is time for worship, let's follow the music.”

In one fell swoop God supports, strengthens and establishes. Suffering, while palpable and undeniable, makes way for the restoration of life.

Get ready! The text tells us! Much is happening. Open the closet and find the red banners. Next Sunday you'll want them as Pentecost asks us to continue the Spirit's work anew.

We who received the light are to live it. Thanks be to God. Thanks be to the God of life.


1 Pet 4:12-14; 5:6-11

Beloved, do not be surprised at the fiery ordeal that is taking place among you to test you, as though something strange were happening to you. But rejoice in so far as you are sharing Christ’s sufferings, so that you may also be glad and shout for joy when his glory is revealed. If you are reviled for the name of Christ, you are blessed, because the spirit of glory, which is the Spirit of God, is resting on you.

Humble yourselves therefore under the mighty hand of God, so that he may exalt you in due time. Cast all your anxiety on him, because he cares for you. Discipline yourselves; keep alert. Like a roaring lion your adversary the devil prowls around, looking for someone to devour. Resist him, steadfast in your faith, for you know that your brothers and sisters throughout the world are undergoing the same kinds of suffering. And after you have suffered for a little while, the God of all grace, who has called you to his eternal glory in Christ, will himself restore, support, strengthen, and establish you. To him be the power for ever and ever. Amen.


Larry

I welcome your response to these columns. I may be reached at:
larry@leadingcausesoflife.org
Or
larrypray@gmail.com

Lectionary Readings for Sunday, April 27, 2008

Lectionary Readings for Sunday, April 27, 2008
Sixth Sunday of Easter

Acts 17:22-31
Psalm 66:8-20
1 Peter 3:13-22
John 14:15-21

Let us speak of agency in a time of loss.

The words need not be many. But their tone must be one of unmistakable eloquence. When the times for consolation arise, what we say must lovingly convey what has been, what is, and what will be with an unforgettable economy of expression. Life will not be trifled with. Neither loss, nor hope, is to be denied. We must shy away from speeches or sermons which have a point to make. We refer to Lincoln's words at Gettysburg an address, not a speech. The words Jesus speaks to the disciples in today's Lectionary are also referred to as an address. Once spoken, they frame just who Jesus has been, who the disciples are to be, and how the Spirit's arrival will bless the lives of all that follows.

The presence of both connection and coherence reminds me of a story within the life of my family. It too is a story of both loss and consolation. Nearly a century ago, in northern Wisconsin, on the shore of Lake Superior, an eight year-old child succumbed to scarlet fever. Neither prayer nor medicine could take the fever away. Finally, with my grandfather at his side, he slipped away. Slowly, carefully, my grandfather walked down the stairs, looked at my grandmother, and said, “Helen, we've had him.”

The time for consolation had arrived, just as it would soon arrive for the disciples. The Jesus they knew would soon depart and they would never see him again in the same way. He might appear, for a while here and a while there, but remarkable as the appearances would not be, life would not be the same. Knowing this, and knowing that loss without consolation can sometimes remove us from life, Jesus anticipates their sorrow and bids farewell by sharing the truth of his life.

It was a truth that could only be grasped in the plural.

If they have known God, they have known Jesus. If they have known Jesus they have known God. If they have known each other, they have known what it is to walk with God. If they have known what it is to be present for a moment, they will soon know the profound blessing of an abiding presence that doesn't go away.

Yes, they would know sadness, there will not be loneliness. The disciples would not be abandoned despite Jesus' absence. Neither would they be orphaned because what is being given to them cannot be taken away. The gifts of community turn out to have remarkable staying power. Neither will chaos prevail. To keep it at bay here are commandments to be kept, and they are the commandments of love. Jesus will leave but the Advocate, or Comforter, will arrive. It is God's work; it is Christ's promise; it is the Spirit's presence. Where one begins and another ends is a matter of mystery. The story is one of astonishing mutuality. It is, after all, a love story. In the last verse the word love is used not once or twice but four times.

Like all love stories, it asks us to do something and to receive something. That “something” is life itself. “Because I live, you will also live,” says Jesus. This living will not always be easy. There will be losses, as the poet William Stafford writes, that are too terrible to understand. God knows this; Jesus knows this too, and asks us to rely upon the Advocate. There is a reason six verses of Gospel consolation are paired with 12 verses from Psalm 66 that speak of deliverance from adverse circumstance.


Let us then let the text do its talking:

John 14:15-21

If you love me, you will keep my commandments. And I will ask the Father, and he will give you another Advocate, to be with you for ever. This is the Spirit of truth, whom the world cannot receive, because it neither sees him nor knows him. You know him, because he abides with you, and he will be in you.

I will not leave you orphaned; I am coming to you. In a little while the world will no longer see me, but you will see me; because I live, you also will live. On that day you will know that I am in my Father, and you in me, and I in you. They who have my commandments and keep them are those who love me; and those who love me will be loved by my Father, and I will love them and reveal myself to them.

And then let's let the Psalmist nail it down. It is God who keeps us among the living. And it is the very same God who brings into difficult places.

Bless our God, O peoples, let the
sound of God's praise be heard,
who has kept us among the
living, and has not let our feet slip.

For you, O God, have tested us;
you have tried us as silver is tried.

You brought us into the net;
you laid burdens on our backs;
you let people ride over our heads;

we went through fire
and through water;
yet you have brought us out
to a spacious place.

Blessed be God, because God
has not rejected my prayer
or removed God's steadfast
love from me.

Once again life carries us through.

“Helen, we've had him,” my grandfather said. They did what people do when the time for consolation arrives. They turned to their church, to their faith, and to life. They planted a maple at Jack's grave, and gave a baptismal font to the Episcopal Church in his name. A century later, both are still there.

It is a story of love.

So were the words of Jesus' farewell address that continue to bring us together and give us a world of meaning.

Thanks be to God.
Thanks be to the living God.

Larry

I welcome your response to these columns. I may be reached at:
larry@leadingcausesoflife.org
Or
larrypray@gmail.com

Lectionary Readings for Sunday, April 13, 2008

Lectionary Readings for Sunday, April 13, 2008
Fourth Sunday of Easter

Acts 2:42-47
Psalm 23
1 Peter 2:19-25
John 10:1-10


Life has a language.
And scripture has a word for us that emerges when we give it a chance.

This week, perhaps at a coffee shop, perhaps at a Bible study, or perhaps even in an extended moment in the passing of the peace, ask a simple question: “Is there a verse of scripture that carries special meaning for you?”

Life may seem chaotic at times, but throughout it all there is a verse or two that connect us with God, that revive hope, that help organize our actions, that center and bless our lives. Asking about the centering verse or verses is a prelude to a conversation about life. And more often than not, the chances are that many will say, “I go to the 23rd Psalm.”

This morning, as we begin devotions at a Day Care center for adults, I can't help but ask the question. It takes about two minutes to hear their answers. Sure enough, over half said, “The 23rd Psalm.”

“Why that one?” I asked.

“It puts me in touch with God the quickest,” one said. We noted that its honesty is reassuring. Our souls do indeed need restoring. We know that left to our own devices we might not lie down beside still waters, we are grateful that God makes us lie down. We know we need to be led in the paths of righteousness. And, most of all, we know you cannot go through life without traveling through some very dark valleys. The psalm does not say we should not be in such a place. Instead it affirms that when troubles arise, as they invariably do, we have no need to be afraid. It is a lively discussion, full of stories waiting to be told.

“Our text today, is the 23rd Psalm,” I said. They were pleased. We knew the morning would be full of stories that brought the psalm to life. We sensed the psalm would make sense of our lives, and our lives would make sense of the psalm.

I couldn't help but begin by telling them about Clara, one of my first parishioners. A frail woman in her mid 90s, she shared with me that she recited the 23rd Psalm when she woke up each morning, before each meal, and again at night before she fell asleep. She knew she didn't have long to live. Her son was far away; her husband had long since passed away. She alone lived in a large house graced by a stained glass window. She could no longer climb the stairs. Despair could have taken a foothold, but it did not. Over and over again, sometimes silently and sometimes out loud, she recited the 23rd Psalm to summon courage and revive her faith. It was she who first taught me that the hymns known as psalms are not texts for a day but texts for a lifetime. The psalm centered her life.

I think of friends in Lesotho who were kidnapped from their car after they pulled into their driveway, driven to a field, tied to trees and left for the night. They overheard their kidnappers saying, “What shall we do with them?” Deeply worried, they called on the 23rd Psalm while working to loosen the ropes, reciting it over and over. Finally they broke free and walked to a village, where they found help. When news of their kidnapping and escape circulated, hundreds of parishioners came to their home bearing gifts and prayers. They set the table, and then they celebrated life.

Reciting the verses of the 23rd Psalm in their time of danger brought my friends a measure of 'calm' which could not have been gained through other means.

Even though I walk through the
darkest valley, I fear no evil;
for you are with me;
your rod and your staff—
they comfort me.

The next stanza eloquently and precisely conveys what happened when my friends returned home.

You prepare a table before me
in the presence of my enemies;
you anoint my head with oil;
my cup overflows.

For some the 23rd Psalm defines the work of God.

Not long ago Yadesa Daba, a colleague who previously led the Evangelical Lutheran Church in Ethiopia, gave morning devotions in the nursing home whose ministries we share. He spoke with residents who, despite their frail conditions, made sure they found a way to attend chapel.

Yadesa's text was the 23rd Psalm.

“When I was a child I herded the sheep. One day some baboons came and killed two of my lambs. And then they started to come after me. I was just a child. I ran home. When I told my mother and father what happened I cried because I had not protected my sheep.

“To be a shepherd you must protect your sheep, and you must provide for them. You must move them to better pastures when the grass is thin, and when it is dry you must move them towards water. That is what God does for us. God protects us and God provides for us. On our own we cannot always protect, and we cannot always provide – for ourselves or for those we are meant to watch over. But God does both. For me, that is what the 23rd Psalm is about.”

If we are to exegete the 23rd Psalm we need only to give a careful hearing to our own life stories.

The chances are that when you ask a parishioner about his or her touchstone verses, they will be grateful for the question. Not many people ask. Fewer still take the time to listen. But when we ask about meaningful verses and the coherence they provide, a holy conversation ensues. There are so many ways in which churches provide a wonderful place to frame and share our life stories.

And so . . . we read the psalm, thankful for new translations but perhaps still hearing the rhythms of “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,” and grateful for a friend that continues to bless our lives.

Psalm 23

God is my shepherd, I shall not want.
God makes me lie down in green pastures;
and leads me beside still waters;

God restores my soul.
And leads me in right paths
for the sake of God's name.

Even though I walk through
the darkest valley,
I fear no evil;
for you are with me;
your rod and your staff—
they comfort me.

You prepare a table before me
in the presence of my enemies;
you anoint my head with oil;
my cup overflows.

Surely goodness and mercy
shall follow me
all the days of my life,
and I shall dwell in the house of God
my whole life long.


This Sabbath, listen as life and text speak the same language. And how does it speak?

It reminds us that we are not alone.

Its search for coherence restores our souls.

It asks us to act—to lie down, to accept guidance as we walk a new path.

It asks us to summon the hope that sets aside fears.

And it ends in a blessing we share whenever we gather together and share our lives.

Thanks be to God for the word that centers our lives, and the stories it inspires.

Larry

I welcome your response to these columns. I may be reached at:
larry@leadingcausesoflife.org
Or
larrypray@gmail.com

Lectionary Readings for Sunday, April 6, 2008

Lectionary Readings for Sunday, April 6, 2008
Third Sunday of Easter


Acts 2:14a, 36-41
Psalm 116:1-4,12-19
1 Peter 1:17-23
Luke 24:13-35

Life has a language.
And Scripture has a word for us.

The road leads from Jerusalem to Emmaus.

With the care of a historian who pays attention to detail, Luke tells us it is about a seven mile journey. But he does not tell us in which direction we are to walk. Whereas the exact location of Jerusalem has always mattered, the exact location of Emmaus is a mystery. There are many villages seven or so miles from Jerusalem, none of which are known as Emmaus. Its boundaries are uncertain. But its purpose is ever so clear. It is a place of recovery. The tumultuous events in Jerusalem had both dashed hopes and sowed the seeds of fear. What happened to Jesus might well happen to his followers, and so Cleopas and his friend headed for a place to regroup.

There are few Bible stories as user-friendly as Jesus' appearance on the way to Emmaus. Each step of the journey is familiar territory. Their path is one we have travelled many times. Whatever direction we take the destination is public worship and private discernment. It turns out that the Emmaus landscape is nothing less than the landscape of life itself.

What do we do when we encounter a traumatic event? We find a friend. And what do we do with the friend? We try to figure out what happened, and what our next steps should be. Life's events always prompt us to connect – to share, to talk, to find someone with whom we can make sense of those events.

It would be wonderful to write that every such connection restores hope, but such a thought would be far from the truth. It turns out that commiseration isn't the same thing as connection. Tell the same grim story, to the same friend, too many times and our eyes are closed. Despair has a way of doing that. And what happens when two of us cannot solve the problem? We bring a third person into the conversation. This person's viewpoints and teachings can't help but lend much-needed insight.

Sometimes hope's entrance is graceful, but more often than not it brings us up against our judgments. Cleopas and his friend are put off that the hidden Jesus does not know what happened in Jerusalem. And Jesus is a bit put off that Cleopas and his friend have not paid attention to scripture that could explain everything if seen in the right light. “Where have you been?” they both seem to say.

And so the conversation we will remember two thousand years later begins. The chaotic string of events that led to the crucifixion actually wasn't chaotic at all. It was meaningful, purposeful, useful. Besides which, the apparent ending wasn't an end at all. Life would indeed trump death. Suddenly the pieces of a chaotic puzzle fit into place, and their hearts are warmed as scripture suddenly makes sense. We know this, because we too have heard sermons that truly bring the text to life and put our doubts to rest.

In the Leading Causes of Life we have written about 'agency' as one of Life's causes. Agency is related to the simple observation that “things happen.” It is tempting to think that we are the authors of agency, that what we do is 'the most important thing'. But actually, sometimes it is the simple passage of time that moves us along. As they walked and talked the sun began to set, as it always did. They began to get hungry, as they always had at the end of day. It was time to find shelter, as human beings are wont to do. Cleopas and his friend had reservations, but the stranger did not. Night's advent forced a choice. Should Cleopas and his friend invite the stranger to spend the night with them? Should the stranger invite himself? Should he remain silent and wait for an invitation? What are the rules and the norms wrapped in the blessings of hospitality? The stranger would have been perfectly content to go his own way. But it would have meant breaking the connection that had been established along the way. Break a connection and you break the fabric of life itself.

“Stay with us,” they urge. Once inside, both connection and coherence make the voice of life plain and clear. The God who gives all we need is thanked, bread is blessed, bread is shared, and eyes are opened. Suddenly the stranger's identity is unmistakably clear. The stranger is not “anybody,” and the stranger is not “somebody.” The stranger has a name, the ultimate sign of coherence.

On the way to Emmaus we hear life speaking in many ways. It connects; it seeks order; it renews hope; it responds to a changing world; and it ends with a blessing. The pattern of events makes liturgical sense to us because we do it whenever we gather for worship. There too we connect with the God of life and with each other, we seek order through the telling of stories, we renew hope, we practice hospitality and we receive blessings.

The road to Emmaus is one we know well, and one we travel together whenever we worship. Let us turn to the story . . . listen carefully knowing that it describes each one of our lives. Where is Emmaus? It is wherever we go to make sense of life.

Now on that same day two of them were going to a village called Emmaus, about seven miles from Jerusalem, and talking with each other about all these things that had happened. While they were talking and discussing, Jesus himself came near and went with them, but their eyes were kept from recognizing him. And he said to them, "What are you discussing with each other while you walk along?" They stood still, looking sad. Then one of them, whose name was Cleopas, answered him, "Are you the only stranger in Jerusalem who does not know the things that have taken place there in these days?" He asked them, "What things?" They replied, "The things about Jesus of Nazareth, who was a prophet mighty in deed and word before God and all the people, and how our chief priests and leaders handed him over to be condemned to death and crucified him. But we had hoped that he was the one to redeem Israel. Yes, and besides all this, it is now the third day since these things took place. Moreover, some women of our group astounded us. They were at the tomb early this morning, and when they did not find his body there, they came back and told us that they had indeed seen a vision of angels who said that he was alive. Some of those who were with us went to the tomb and found it just as the women had said; but they did not see him." Then he said to them, "Oh, how foolish you are, and how slow of heart to believe all that the prophets have declared! Was it not necessary that the Messiah should suffer these things and then enter into his glory?" Then beginning with Moses and all the prophets, he interpreted to them the things about himself in all the scriptures.

As they came near the village to which they were going, he walked ahead as if he were going on. But they urged him strongly, saying, "Stay with us, because it is almost evening and the day is now nearly over." So he went in to stay with them. When he was at the table with them, he took bread, blessed and broke it, and gave it to them. Then their eyes were opened, and they recognized him; and he vanished from their sight. They said to each other, "Were not our hearts burning within us while he was talking to us on the road, while he was opening the scriptures to us?" That same hour they got up and returned to Jerusalem; and they found the eleven and their companions gathered together. They were saying, "The Lord has risen indeed, and he has appeared to Simon!" Then they told what had happened on the road, and how he had been made known to them in the breaking of the bread.

For the most part we are somewhat content to let the story end with the revelation of the stranger's identity. We tend to overlook the fact that Cleopas and his friend, who once sought refuge from the trials and tribulations of life in Jerusalem, decided to return to the city from which they fled. They are no longer afraid. They have a story to tell. Offer hospitality and you never know who you might meet. And, just as beautifully, the breaking of bread is not confined to a singular historic memory . . . it happens over and over again as one day leads to the next.

Are we perplexed?

Find someone with whom we can walk and talk.

Is the two-way conversation restoring hope?

If not, invite a third party.

Order is waiting to be found.

Life is trying to speak and has been doing so in the written word since the beginning of time.

Thank God for Emmaus . . . whose exact geography is no more, and no less, than the landscape of our lives as congregations, as individuals, and as disciples of the living Christ.

Larry

I welcome your response to these columns. I may be reached at:
larry@leadingcausesoflife.org
Or
larrypray@gmail.com

Lectionary Readings for Sunday, March 30, 2008

Lectionary Readings for Sunday, March 30, 2008
Second Sunday in Easter

Acts 2:14a, 22-32
Psalm 16
1 Peter 1:3-9
John 20:19-31

Life has a language.
And Scripture has a word for us.

No matter what the Scripture, or what the season, when we turn to the Word we can't help but find life on all sides. We will find stories of connection, and with them the heart-breaking stories of disconnection. We will find stories of hope, and along side them stories of despair that tried, but then failed to claim the day. We will find the creation, and the recreation, of a new day that orders the chaos of night. We will learn how others responded to their call, and wonder how their experience might inform our own experience. At the end of the Bible study, and at the end of the sermon, we will inevitably count our blessings.

It is almost a cliché to say Scripture is a word of life. An exegetical approach to Scripture asks us to unpack the cliché. What does the word say? How is life speaking? How is the Word formative? To say there are many approaches to these problems would be an understatement. Are we using the tools of rhetorical criticism so beautifully honed by Phyllis Trible? Are we to lift the lens of history? Are we to take every word literally? Are we to delve into the depths of context? Yes, yes, and again yes.

As we bring the Leading Causes of Life to each week's Lectionary, our task is not to replace any one approach. Instead, the task is to nest them in the logic of life. When life speaks it connects, it organizes our thoughts, it demands change, it reminds us of hope and we take it all as a blessing.

This week's Gospel reading is a case in point.

The scene opens underscoring profound isolation. Disconnection has taken its toll.

One way or another the disciples had all disconnected from the man named Jesus. Judas disconnected once; Peter disconnected three times; the disciples fled into the night. Those who had not been afraid suddenly knew fear, and in that knowing they disconnected from the first words of so many angels, “Be not afraid.” In life it is astonishing how quickly fear finds friends. They may have gone their separate ways after Jesus' arrest, but they knew where to gather when they feared they might be the next ones on a cross. And so they locked the door, making sure nobody could enter their world. Had they decided to escape they would have found themselves surrounded not by light but by approaching night. In short nobody could come in . . . and there was no point in going out. They were isolated . . . disconnected . . . trapped by fear.

Their situation is not unknown to us. Over the past few years I have had the occasion to minister to and learn from many whose lives have been skewed by one insurance system or another. They have found themselves “resented” by the insurance company. How dare they make a request? They have sought employment only to find their gifts overshadowed by disabilities that present too great a risk. They have found themselves up against medical bills that are beyond the means of even the rich to pay. They have banded together to share their stories in hopes of finding a way to untangle the knots they did not create. In last night's news there was a story of Wal-Mart suing a family for over $400,000 in medical expenses their insurance company would rather not pay. The suit is legal. Fear always makes a legitimate claim. The disciples had good reason to be afraid. The question they faced as they met, and the question people living with disabilities face, is whether or not hope is sustainable and, if it is, what good can be done?

I dare say there is not a person in your congregation this week who is not acquainted with fear; who has not from time to time locked himself or herself in a room and wondered what the next day might bring. Sometimes disability locks the doors; sometimes finances lock them; sometimes injustice locks them; sometimes a relationship gone sour locks them. Whatever the cause, being “locked out” makes us realize we are “missing out” on life.

And so . . . what might God say?

With incredible poise, poignance, and grace, God finds a way to break right into the room. Those walls that look solid are actually porous. Wal-Mart made a decision but according to the news over a million people sent an e-mail saying, “This is wrong.” Remember the walls of Apartheid? They looked impermeable. But actually they were porous as life found a way to trump restrictive identity. The disciples huddle in fear . . . and then Jesus appears.

He has a word. “Peace be with you.” He then connects them with the Spirit; he speaks of his Father to link them with the divine family; he gives them a mission beyond the walls; and he asks them to engage in forgiveness—the fundamental work of connection. If we do not forgive we cannot connect—it is as simple as that. In like manner we can accept a word of peace or we can continue to live in the fearful waters of chaos. “Choose life,” God said to us through Moses. In the locked room of your legitimate fears choose life.

A famous Presbyterian pastor once began every Bible study with this question: Okay, where's the joy and where's the pain? In the ensuing discussion, sparked by the text, they shared the elusive and compelling gift of life. Picking up on his questions, a Leading Causes of Life exegetical approach reads the text and asks:

Where's the connection?
What's the meaning?
How is the text calling to you?
How can we name despair and claim hope?
And what's the blessing?

Ask those questions as you peruse the text that begins in fear, moves to connection and ends with a blessing for the ages.

John 20:19-31

When it was evening on that day, the first day of the week, and the doors of the house where the disciples had met were locked for fear of the Jews, Jesus came and stood among them and said, "Peace be with you." After he said this, he showed them his hands and his side. Then the disciples rejoiced when they saw the Lord. Jesus said to them again, "Peace be with you. As the Father has sent me, so I send you." When he had said this, he breathed on them and said to them, "Receive the Holy Spirit. If you forgive the sins of any, they are forgiven them; if you retain the sins of any, they are retained."

But Thomas (who was called the Twin), one of the twelve, was not with them when Jesus came. So the other disciples told him, "We have seen the Lord." But he said to them, "Unless I see the mark of the nails in his hands, and put my finger in the mark of the nails and my hand in his side, I will not believe."

A week later his disciples were again in the house, and Thomas was with them. Although the doors were shut, Jesus came and stood among them and said, "Peace be with you." Then he said to Thomas, "Put your finger here and see my hands. Reach out your hand and put it in my side. Do not doubt but believe." Thomas answered him, "My Lord and my God!" Jesus said to him, "Have you believed because you have seen me? Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe."

Now Jesus did many other signs in the presence of his disciples, which are not written in this book. But these are written so that you may come to believe that Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of God, and that through believing you may have life in his name.

Blessings to you and your congregation.

I look forward to hearing from you, and learning from you, as together we decipher the language of life as entrusted to us in texts that guide our lives.



Larry Pray
larry@leadingcausesoflife.org
larrypray@gmail.com