lifelectionary

Lectionary Readings for Sunday, June 22, 2008

2008-06-19T15:10:00.000-07:00

Proper 7

Genesis 21:8-21 with Ps 86:1-10, 16-17 or
Jeremiah 20:7-13 with Ps 69:7-10, (11-15), 16-18
Romans 6:1b-11
Mattthew 10:24-39

It is in the nature of coherence to hold on to something. In your church this Sunday you will organize around an idea, search for its nuances, and affirm its power and identity that draws you together as a congregation. It is in our nature that we hold on to something. We learned this week that even on Mars grains of soil clump together and resist falling through a screen designed to break them apart before they are baked and analyzed.

For better or worse we are creatures with ideological tendencies that clump our thoughts. Our sense of the way things should be is powerful enough to deny all evidence to the contrary.

I remember visiting a school of architecture in the Soviet Union before the curtain that separated it from the rest of the world was drawn aside. The steps that led into the building had been miss-measured, breaking any sense of stride. Evidently the presence of a three inch step among its five inch partners had not been noticed.

Ideology allows us to have the answer before we entertain the question. It organizes our thinking, our responses, and our perception of the world. We fall victim to its power because it is in our very nature to hold on to something as we make sense of the world.

When Scripture asks us to break the mould we can't help but wince a bit. Both this week's Gospel reading and the powerful story of Hagar's banishment cause us to do just that. And both stories cause us to uncover just how deeply we hold on to our vision of the way the world should be.

How could it be, we wonder, that the searing but petty jealousy of one person could lead to the banishment of another? How could it be that a mother and child could be sent into the desert to die? How could the tragedy of Darfur happen? And how could it be that Jesus would combine words of consolation that remind us that we are valued with words that have the potential to divide families?

Once again a flurry of memories flashes though me. I remember the anguish of a father who lost his daughter to a cult because she felt “led” to rearrange family priorities by bringing them to an end. His mission became a search for reconnection with his daughter and an effort to let others know about the power of the cult.

“That's too harsh a reading,” I say to myself. Christianity is not a cult. God does not contradict God, I say to myself. There is a commandment about honoring one's father and mother, another one about love, another about humility.

In those thoughts I realize I am organizing what Jesus' words and Hagar's harrowing experience according to my own sense of coherence. I realize how tempting it is to shut God out. Without a sword to cut through my winces, chances are I might not, or could not, or would not hear what life has to say. There is a reason for Jesus' powerful warning.

When the expected world of Hagar, Abraham and Ishmael came to an end God started a new story authored not in fear but in hope. “Do not be afraid.” Having caught our attention, Jesus ends his remarks with words that are not about loss. “Those who lose their life for my sake will find it.” The progeny of the child Ishmael will become a great nation.

The phone rings.

The caller's voice is wrapped in palpable despair. It is the kind of call pastors, churches and friends receive from those whose worlds have collapsed. “It's getting worse,” she says concerning her condition. “I'm scared.” We know we cannot turn the clock back, that expected healings cannot be found, that comparison is an enemy. What “was” no longer fits with what “is” and the future has yet to speak. Devoting too much attention to what was, and the losses that caused it to fade away can only lock us in the past. We talk a bit about the need to adapt, the need to not lose courage, and the need to trust that life is speaking. We are grateful we can reach out to each other and encourage the embrace of a new day. Circumstance, fierce and unrelenting as it may be, must not define us. We are both aware it is not an easy teaching.

And yet the word of hope has been around since the days of Genesis. Our family arrangements, our health, our very being, and our desire for coherence must not preclude new experiences that bring us to life. God, this week's stories tell us, wants to establish new connections with us.

The opening line of the Leading Causes of Life is just four words long. “Life has a language,” we write. As we set aside fear, and move beyond circumstance, we too may find water in the desert and the sight of a mere sparrow will remind us that we are loved. The texts that center on coherence, call us to connection.

As the psalmist writes:

Give ear, O Lord, to my prayer;
listen to my cry of supplication.
In the day of my trouble I call on you,
for you will answer me.

I close with the readings, and an apology for my Lectionary absence these past few weeks as circumstance made a difficult appearance in our lives as well. And yet, once again, we live with newfound hope.

Genesis 21:8-21

The child grew, and was weaned; and Abraham made a great feast on the day that Isaac was weaned. But Sarah saw the son of Hagar the Egyptian, whom she had borne to Abraham, playing with her son Isaac. So she said to Abraham, "Cast out this slave woman with her son; for the son of this slave woman shall not inherit along with my son Isaac." The matter was very distressing to Abraham on account of his son. But God said to Abraham, "Do not be distressed because of the boy and because of your slave woman; whatever Sarah says to you, do as she tells you, for it is through Isaac that offspring shall be named after you. As for the son of the slave woman, I will make a nation of him also, because he is your offspring." So Abraham rose early in the morning, and took bread and a skin of water, and gave it to Hagar, putting it on her shoulder, along with the child, and sent her away. And she departed, and wandered about in the wilderness of Beersheba.

When the water in the skin was gone, she cast the child under one of the bushes. Then she went and sat down opposite him a good way off, about the distance of a bowshot; for she said, "Do not let me look on the death of the child." And as she sat opposite him, she lifted up her voice and wept. And God heard the voice of the boy; and the angel of God called to Hagar from heaven, and said to her, "What troubles you, Hagar? Do not be afraid; for God has heard the voice of the boy where he is. Come, lift up the boy and hold him fast with your hand, for I will make a great nation of him." Then God opened her eyes, and she saw a well of water. She went, and filled the skin with water, and gave the boy a drink.

God was with the boy, and he grew up; he lived in the wilderness, and became an expert with the bow. He lived in the wilderness of Paran; and his mother got a wife for him from the land of Egypt.

Psalm 86:1-10, 16-17

Incline your ear, O Lord, and answer me,
for I am poor and needy.
Preserve my life, for I am devoted to you;
save your servant who trusts in you.
You are my God; be gracious to me, O Lord,
for to you do I cry all day long.
Gladden the soul of your servant,
for to you, O Lord, I lift up my soul.
For you, O Lord, are good and forgiving,
abounding in steadfast love to all who call on you.
Give ear, O Lord, to my prayer;
listen to my cry of supplication.
In the day of my trouble I call on you,
for you will answer me.

There is none like you among the gods, O Lord,
nor are there any works like yours.
All the nations you have made shall come
and bow down before you, O Lord,
and shall glorify your name.
For you are great and do wondrous things;
you alone are God.
Turn to me and be gracious to me;
give your strength to your servant;
save the child of your serving-maid.
Show me a sign of your favor,
so that those who hate me may see it and be put to shame,
because you, Lord, have helped me and comforted me.

Matthew 10:24-39

[Jesus said:]

"A disciple is not above the teacher, nor a slave above the master; it is enough for the disciple to be like the teacher, and the slave like the master. If they have called the master of the house Beelzebub, how much more will they malign those of his household!

"So have no fear of them; for nothing is covered up that will not be uncovered, and nothing secret that will not become known. What I say to you in the dark, tell in the light; and what you hear whispered, proclaim from the housetops. Do not fear those who kill the body but cannot kill the soul; rather fear him who can destroy both soul and body in hell. Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? Yet not one of them will fall to the ground unperceived by your Father. And even the hairs of your head are all counted. So do not be afraid; you are of more value than many sparrows.

"Everyone therefore who acknowledges me before others, I also will acknowledge before my Father in heaven; but whoever denies me before others, I also will deny before my Father in heaven.

"Do not think that I have come to bring peace to the earth; I have not come to bring peace, but a sword.

"For I have come to set a man against his father, and a daughter against her mother, and a daughter-in-law against her mother-in-law; and one’s foes will be members of one’s own household. Whoever loves father or mother more than me is not worthy of me; and whoever loves son or daughter more than me is not worthy of me; and whoever does not take up the cross and follow me is not worthy of me. Those who find their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake will find it."

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 25, 2008

2008-05-23T13:03:00.000-07:00

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

2008-05-15T07:29:00.000-07:00

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

2008-05-01T07:55:00.000-07:00

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

2008-04-24T14:13:00.000-07:00

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

2008-04-08T09:04:00.000-07:00

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

2008-04-03T14:12:00.000-07:00

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

2008-03-27T09:28:00.000-07:00

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

Thoughts and Prayers for the Week of March 24, 2008

2008-03-24T10:42:00.000-07:00

by Butch Odom

Thought & Prayer for Monday, March 24, 2008

Welcome to the season of Easter, where we will remain until May. Easter is the most important time in the Christian year, but it is also the most mysterious. Since death has been overcome, since death has lost its sting, let’s consider embracing life and spend this week contemplating the Leading Causes of LifeTM, by Gary Gunderson with Larry Pray.

The lectionary passages for this week are numerous, and include: Jeremiah 31:1-6; Psalm 118:1-2, 14-24; Colossians 3:1-4; Acts 10:34-43; John 20:1-18 and Matthew 28:1-10.

From John 20:1-2 – Early on the first day of the week, while it was still dark, Mary Magdalene came to the tomb and saw that the stone had been removed from the tomb. So she ran and went to Simon Peter and the other disciple, the one whom Jesus’ loved, and said to them, “They have taken the Lord out of the tomb, and we do not know where they laid him.”

Leading Cause #1 - CONNECTION: As human beings we depend on our connectedness to family, friends and even coworkers. Imagine the sense of loss Jesus’ followers felt after the crucifixion. Now Mary finds the tomb empty, making her think initially that the final connection to Jesus, his grave, has been severed. Think of the significant connections in your life. Wouldn’t you agree that those connections are life-giving?

Prayer:
Creator God, you made us a people who thrive in healthy communities. Help us heal the disconnections in our lives so that we might live more fully. AMEN.

Thought & Prayer for Tuesday, March 25, 2008

From Acts 10:34-36 – Then Peter began to speak to them: “I truly understand that God shows no partiality, but in every nation anyone who fears him and does what is right is acceptable to him. You know the message he sent the people of Israel, preaching peace by Jesus Christ-he is Lord of all.”

Leading Cause #2 – COHERENCE: We strive for lives that have a sense of meaning and purpose. Imagine the coherence the disciples felt through their work with Jesus. Now imagine how that life-giving meaning was upset when Jesus was killed as a common criminal. Today, consider those people, those connections and those beliefs which bring the most meaning into your life.

Prayer:
Faithful God, for those people, those institutions, for all that brings rich, life-giving meaning into our lives, we thank you. AMEN.

Thought & Prayer for Wednesday, March 26, 2008

From Acts 10:36-38 – [Peter is still speaking.] “You know the message [God] sent the people of Israel, preaching peace by Jesus Christ-he is Lord of all. That message spread throughout Judea, beginning in Galilee after the baptism that John announced: how God anointed Jesus of Nazareth with the Holy Spirit and with power; how he went about doing good and healing all who were oppressed by the devil, for God was with him.”

Leading Cause #3 – AGENCY: “Just Do It” was the slogan of or the name of an organization that encouraged young people to do good…to act…to do something for the greater good that was within their power or skill set, even of something simple like planting a tree or picking up trash. Agency entails this ability to get things done. Can you begin to see how these Leading Causes of LifeTM tie together? The greater the sense of connection in our lives and the more coherence we feel, then the greater our ability to act effectively. Also, the more we act, the more meaning we could add to our lives and the more opportunities for connection we could have.

Prayer:
Gracious God, it is easy for us to think globally. Give us strength to ACT locally. AMEN.

Thought & Prayer for Thursday, March 27, 2008

From Psalm 118:1-2 – O give thanks to the LORD, for he is good; his steadfast love endures forever! Let Israel say, “His steadfast love endures forever.”

Leading Cause #4 – BLESSING: “How are you doing today?” I asked Janice. “Fine and blessed,” was her reply. We give blessings to each other and we receive blessings from others. But blessing also occurs through the ages as we connect with our parents and their parents on through the years and with our children and our children’s children. Through blessing, we are connected to forever.

Prayer:
Steadfast God of the beginning, middle and end of time, stand by us in our now. Help us be a blessing to those around us, and may we be blessed today. AMEN.

Thought & Prayer for Friday, March 28, 2008

From Psalm 118:24 – This is the day that the LORD has made; let us rejoice and be glad in it.

And from Matthew 28:5-8 – But the angel said to the women, “Do not be afraid; I know that you are looking for Jesus who was crucified. He is not here; for he has been raised, as he said. Come see the place where he lay. Then go quickly and tell his disciples, ‘He has been raised from the dead, and indeed he is going ahead of you to Galilee; there you will see him.’ This is my message for you.”

Leading Cause #5 – HOPE: The final of the Leading Causes of LifeTM is real, grounded hope. Such hope comes from the interaction of all the other causes discussed previously this week. How does one have hope in the midst of deep despair, for instance, if their life is not connection and coherence-filled? If one feels powerless to act and has no sense of blessing how can they experience hope? Today, take a moment to embrace that for which you hope most.

Prayer:
Steadfast God of hope, even in our despair, we know you are by our side. Help us be better instillers of hope in those around us. AMEN.

Lectionary Readings for Sunday, March 2, 2008

2008-03-01T10:41:00.000-08:00

Lectionary Readings for Sunday, March 2, 2008
Fourth Sunday in Lent

1 Samuel 16:1-13
Psalm 23
Ephesians 5:8-14
John 9:1-41

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

Let us then connect with God's word;
Let us find what order it brings to our lives;
Let us heed our call that asks us to step forth;
Let us listen to the voice of hope;
And let us both share and receive the blessings of life.

This Sunday we are in a story teller's paradise. We can practically see the line of Jesse's sons standing in a line, waiting to see which one would be anointed as Saul's successor. We love it when the one who wasn't even standing in line, the youngest, the weakest, the least probable son is chosen for reasons indiscernible to the human eye. Just as Jesus would one day say, “the last shall be first and the first shall be last.” It is a thrilling story that asks us to look beyond the expected to learn just how it is that God perceives life.

We are told the very same story in the Gospel of John. Last week we had that long, beautiful reading about a woman at the well who could never have expected that she would find living water in a conversation with this man named Jesus. This week we have another extraordinarily beautiful story about a man born blind.

As Jesus and the disciples pass by the man the disciples wonder to whom blame should be assigned. Had the man sinned even when he was an infant? Or were his parents at faualt? Surely there was a cause for his blindness, and surely blame could be assigned. Their question dovetails Eliphaz's understanding of Job's affliction: God does not punish the righteous. At the end of Job God makes it clear that such an assumption does not reflect the way the God of life works. Jesus makes the same point. With consummate insight Jesus answers both questions with a single word. “Neither,” he says. He pushes blame off the table and opens up an entirely new question world of perception. Blame and shame have the power to disconnect us from both ourselves and each other. Instead of enhancing life they block it.

At this point I am tempted to exegete the story using the five lenses of our Leading Causes of Life. We see connection with a man whose life was a “problem.” We see the battle for coherence as the Pharisees wonder who Jesus was and tried to draw boundaries to help them define and understand his extravagant gift of healing. We see hope fulfilled as the man proclaims his vision, we see that he actually did what he was asked to when told to go to the pool of Siloam. And we see the world of blessing at work as one man's experience produces a story from which we draw meaning in our own lives.

But on this day I would like to travel down another path.

Not long ago I received a report about the impact of healthcare costs on church insurance programs. An aging clergy encounters healthcare crises that insurance programs do not have the resources to handle. Small congregations can scarcely pay $12,000 or more a year to cover their clergy, and even if they do the pool is just too small to cover the costs of diabetes, heart disease, cancers, MRIs, CAT scans and the rest. Clergy tend to be an unhealthy group. Our levels of stress are high; our weight is often more than ideal; our self-care is minimal; and our expectation of being cared for is high. The report noted that the active clergy portion of the healthcare plan was in a “death spiral.” Denominations are both cutting back on what insurance provides and doing all they can to make preventative care a priority. At a recent Methodist conference in Mississippi clergy used the break times to walk with a vengeance on a track that surrounded the sanctuary. It was a group effort born of legitimate need but without a hint of shame. Not surprisingly, between breaks we took time to share our stories just as the man born blind shared his story two or three times in the Lectionary text.

If the disciples walked by healthcare system is in a death spiral, what might they have asked Jesus? Is it the system's fault? Is it the clergy's fault? Who is to blame for the death we cannot ignore? And what might Jesus' answer be? If the Lectionary gives us a leading, we can assume his word would not be one of blame of shame.

I write this with a certain ambiguity in my own heart. Fifty-two years ago, my immune system failed me and diabetes walked in the door and decided to stay. It is a costly disease. Thirty years later, and four days after my ordination, I lived through my first heart attack. Thirteen years later a second came along despite a regiment of exercise, healthy diet, medications meant to forestall the impending crises. The costs of keeping me alive have been significant. Indeed, they have been a drain. By all rights, the denomination should have said, “We simply cannot afford to have Type 1 diabetics serve as pastors. There is no way we can keep up with it.” My response is, “I'm sorry. My condition has nothing to do with choices I made or failed to make, but I am so sorry my life has been so costly and that there is no simple way to stem the costs that are part and parcel of diabetes.”

Which is to say . . . I assume the blame for something I did not chose. How would Jesus reframe the discussion? He found a purpose for the man's blindness. “He was born blind so that God's works might be revealed in him,” Jesus said.

It is an imaginative flight but curiosity can't help but wonder . . .

“This church is struggling with healthcare costs so that God's works might be revealed in it.” Or, might it be, “This insurance company is struggling with costs so that God's works might be revealed in it as well?” Or, “This woman has epilepsy so that God's works might be revealed in her.”

And just how might that happen?

One thing we know is that it happens through the telling of stories. I imagine a small church in Pennsylvania or Tennessee celebrating the return of a member after heart surgery. What happened? What have you learned? What is life teaching you, would you share it with us? Where is God in your healing? How has Scripture come true?

I know of a small church in Montana in which a member was told she needed heart surgery. She decided to not undergo the procedure. The family had already faced medical bankruptcy once; she was not going to bring her family to the brink another time. The congregation, and the town, decided to “do something.” First thing you know there was a rummage sale and $5,000 was given to the woman to banish the shame and worry that had taken hold in her life. Later on, when she saw her doctor it was decided she didn't need the operation after all. Some may attribute this to a miracle cure; others to unseen strength that makes itself known when shame worry have been pushed off the table. Either way, her story took root in the church, the church took root in the town, and hymns of thanks found their way heaven-bound.

We have the opportunity to claim healing as a common ground. We have the opportunity to learn from Jesus who turned his attention to the works of God who sees not from the outside but from the inside.

It is a necessary conversation if we are life in the light of Jesus' closing words: “I came into this world for judgment so that those who do not see may see, and those who do see may become blind.”

John 9:1-41

As he walked along, he saw a man blind from birth. His disciples asked him, 'Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?' Jesus answered, 'Neither this man nor his parents sinned; he was born blind so that God's works might be revealed in him. We must work the works of him who sent me while it is day; night is coming when no one can work. As long as I am in the world, I am the light of the world.' When he had said this, he spat on the ground and made mud with the saliva and spread the mud on the man's eyes, saying to him, 'Go, wash in the pool of Siloam' (which means Sent). Then he went and washed and came back able to see. The neighbors and those who had seen him before as a beggar began to ask, 'Is this not the man who used to sit and beg?' Some were saying, 'It is he.' Others were saying, 'No, but it is someone like him.' He kept saying, 'I am the man.' But they kept asking him, 'Then how were your eyes opened?' He answered, 'The man called Jesus made mud, spread it on my eyes, and said to me, "Go to Siloam and wash." Then I went and washed and received my sight.' They said to him, 'Where is he?' He said, 'I do not know.'

They brought to the Pharisees the man who had formerly been blind. Now it was a Sabbath day when Jesus made the mud and opened his eyes. Then the Pharisees also began to ask him how he had received his sight. He said to them, 'He put mud on my eyes. Then I washed, and now I see.' Some of the Pharisees said, 'This man is not from God, for he does not observe the Sabbath.' But others said, 'How can a man who is a sinner perform such signs?' And they were divided. So they said again to the blind man, 'What do you say about him? It was your eyes he opened.' He said, 'He is a prophet.'

The Jews did not believe that he had been blind and had received his sight until they called the parents of the man who had received his sight and asked them, 'Is this your son, who you say was born blind? How then does he now see?' His parents answered, 'We know that this is our son, and that he was born blind; but we do not know how it is that now he sees, nor do we know who opened his eyes. Ask him; he is of age. He will speak for himself.' His parents said this because they were afraid of the Jews; for the Jews had already agreed that anyone who confessed Jesus to be the Messiah would be put out of the synagogue. Therefore his parents said, 'He is of age; ask him.'

So for the second time they called the man who had been blind, and they said to him, 'Give glory to God! We know that this man is a sinner.' He answered, 'I do not know whether he is a sinner. One thing I do know, that though I was blind, now I see.' They said to him, 'What did he do to you? How did he open your eyes?' He answered them, 'I have told you already, and you would not listen. Why do you want to hear it again? Do you also want to become his disciples?' Then they reviled him, saying, 'You are his disciple, but we are disciples of Moses. We know that God has spoken to Moses, but as for this man, we do not know where he comes from.' The man answered, 'Here is an astonishing thing! You do not know where he comes from, and yet he opened my eyes. We know that God does not listen to sinners, but he does listen to one who worships him and obeys his will. Never since the world began has it been heard that anyone opened the eyes of a person born blind. If this man were not from God, he could do nothing.' They answered him, 'You were born entirely in sins, and are you trying to teach us?' And they drove him out.

Jesus heard that they had driven him out, and when he found him, he said, ‘Do you believe in the Son of Man?’ He answered, ‘And who is he, sir? Tell me, so that I may believe in him.’ Jesus said to him, ‘You have seen him, and the one speaking with you is he.’ He said, ‘Lord, I believe.’ And he worshipped him. Jesus said, ‘I came into this world for judgment so that those who do not see may see, and those who do see may become blind.’ Some of the Pharisees near him heard this and said to him, ‘Surely we are not blind, are we?’ Jesus said to them, ‘If you were blind, you would not have sin. But now that you say, “We see”, your sin remains.

Larry

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

Lectionary Readings for Sunday, February 24, 2008

2008-02-22T14:16:00.000-08:00

Lectionary Readings for Sunday, February 24, 2008
Third Sunday in Lent

Exodus 17:1-7
Psalm 95
Romans 5:1-11
John 4:5-42

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

These two thoughts frame our LCL Lectionary reflections. We have been given a Word of life that connects us with God and each other, a Word that has the power to order chaos, a Word that calls us to action, a Word that carries us in hope and a Word that we receive as a blessing.

The Gospel reading for this third Sunday of Lent is one of the longer readings in the Lectionary cycle. Many of us may be tempted to read just part of the 37 verses, knowing that although the story is dramatic it is not easy to keep the attention of a congregation during such a long reading. Indeed if we do so, we will still be left with a string of remarkable insights, each one of which would inspire a meaningful sermon. For example:

There is a sermon that asks us to speak with people we do not know and people we have been taught to avoid. If Jesus dares cross cultural, social and theological boundaries, should we not follow suit?

There is a sermon about thirst. For what do we thirst? How many times do we keep returning to the same well only to find out we must return yet again a few hours later? What are the waters that leave us thirsty?

There is a sermon about worship. Have we confused place with Spirit? Have we tried to own God by saying God is mostly present “here,” and then discovering that the “here” just happens to be a place we own?

There is a sermon about hospitality as an estranged people invite Jesus to stay with them and he accepts their offer.

There is a sermon about ministry moving from a private conversation into a public space as the woman goes and tells all her neighbors what she has heard. Have we privatized worship at the expense of public space?

There is a sermon about ministry as a collective effort as we, like the disciples, join the efforts of others who have labored.

There is a sermon about identity . . . if Jesus says, “I am he,” who do we say we are? It is essential that Jesus say who he is, just as it is essential for us to reveal our true calling.

And there is a remarkable sermon about history. I am indebted to the Rev. Ted Erickson for pointing out in his sermon for this Sunday that Jesus' noting that the woman's five husbands, and the man she is currently with, tells not the story of an individual but the story of Samaria. Her five husbands were Babylon, Assyria, Persia, Greece, and Judea. The man she is currently with is Rome. There has been nothing stable in her life, or in the life of her people for some 700 years.

If that weren't enough, it turns out that, unlike the Jews, the Samaritans held only five books of the Bible - Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers and Deuteronomy - to be sacred. The fact that she has gone beyond them to find another source of spiritual support is another indication that truly there has been nothing stable in her life. She would like to be homeward bound, but there have been so many homes one comes close to losing hope.

We realize that Jesus is not talking just to a woman. In our lives, how many churches have we been to; how many jobs have occupied out time and imagination; how many new interpretations have we relied on to give us a sense of direction? He is, as always, talking to us as well, asking us to recognize and love the remarkable boundary between water and living water, between food and food of the soul. Which is to say we have been given a story brings order to chaos. It is all about finding coherence that has the power to transcend the flow of history.

One of the most beautiful aspects to the Gospel of John is that he takes time to unpack the stories he tells. In Mark we are virtually left breathless as Jesus immediately leaves one place and immediately arrives in another where something immediately happens. There is no time to spare. But John takes time to let the story unfold. The word “water” will not work unless we differentiate the difference between life giving water and living water. The word 'worship” will not suffice unless practice is framed in spirit and truth. The word “messiah” will not work until it is given a name. John takes his time to tell the story.

Recently I was in a small circle of people and we were asked to tell our stories. We were given 20 minutes. It was, one might say, a “Mark” format. I left the circle feeling a bit empty, as though I had perhaps betrayed the stories that resisted being timed. I wanted to share them, and their actors, with more care. You have noticed that the conversations you have as a pastor with people before church are quite different from the conversations you have with them when the service draws to an end. Before church there is an openness, a signaling of what is important that is then surrendered to worship. We go into worship with a story that frames and reframes itself in prayer, in the singing of hymns, in scripture, in the windows, in the sacraments. After church time resumes its normal curtailing function.

I've wondered if perhaps a message from the long readings is that we must recognize it takes time to hear each other's stories. The person in the third pew, how do they hear “water?” The usher, what are the chapters of his life? It is not a story to be immediately told. It will take a full 37 verses.

Listen then . . . to a story it takes time to tell and a lifetime to live.

John 4:5-42

So Jesus came to a Samaritan city called Sychar, near the plot of ground that Jacob had given to his son Joseph. Jacob's well was there, and Jesus, tired out by his journey, was sitting by the well. It was about noon.

A Samaritan woman came to draw water, and Jesus said to her, 'Give me a drink'. (His disciples had gone to the city to buy food.) The Samaritan woman said to him, 'How is it that you, a Jew, ask a drink of me, a woman of Samaria?' (Jews do not share things in common with Samaritans.) Jesus answered her, 'If you knew the gift of God, and who it is that is saying to you, "Give me a drink", you would have asked him, and he would have given you living water.' The woman said to him, 'Sir, you have no bucket, and the well is deep. Where do you get that living water? Are you greater than our ancestor Jacob, who gave us the well, and with his sons and his flocks drank from it?' Jesus said to 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.' The woman said to him, 'Sir, give me this water, so that I may never be thirsty or have to keep coming here to draw water.'

Jesus said to her, 'Go, call your husband, and come back.' The woman answered him, 'I have no husband.' Jesus said to her, 'You are right in saying, "I have no husband"; for you have had five husbands, and the one you have now is not your husband. What you have said is true!' The woman said to him, 'Sir, I see that you are a prophet. Our ancestors worshipped on this mountain, but you say that the place where people must worship is in Jerusalem.' Jesus said to her, 'Woman, believe me, the hour is coming when you will worship the Father neither on this mountain nor in Jerusalem. You worship what you do not know; we worship what we know, for salvation is from the Jews. But the hour is coming, and is now here, when the true worshippers will worship the Father in spirit and truth, for the Father seeks such as these to worship him. God is spirit, and those who worship him must worship in spirit and truth.' The woman said to him, 'I know that Messiah is coming' (who is called Christ). 'When he comes, he will proclaim all things to us.' Jesus said to her, 'I am he, the one who is speaking to you.'

Just then his disciples came. They were astonished that he was speaking with a woman, but no one said, 'What do you want?' or, 'Why are you speaking with her?' Then the woman left her water-jar and went back to the city. She said to the people, 'Come and see a man who told me everything I have ever done! He cannot be the Messiah, can he?' They left the city and were on their way to him.

Meanwhile the disciples were urging him, 'Rabbi, eat something.' But he said to them, 'I have food to eat that you do not know about.' So the disciples said to one another, 'Surely no one has brought him something to eat?' Jesus said to them, 'My food is to do the will of him who sent me and to complete his work. Do you not say, "Four months more, then comes the harvest"? But I tell you, look around you, and see how the fields are ripe for harvesting. The reaper is already receiving wages and is gathering fruit for eternal life, so that sower and reaper may rejoice together. For here the saying holds true, "One sows and another reaps." I sent you to reap that for which you did not labour. Others have labored, and you have entered into their labour.'

Many Samaritans from that city believed in him because of the woman’s testimony, ‘He told me everything I have ever done.’ So when the Samaritans came to him, they asked him to stay with them; and he stayed there for two days. And many more believed because of his word. They said to the woman, ‘It is no longer because of what you said that we believe, for we have heard for ourselves, and we know that this is truly the Saviour of the world.’

The next morning, the Samaritan women went once again to the well. She heard the bucket splash in the pool at the bottom of Jacob's well. She drew the water up, thankful it was there and knowing her thirst for life had been slaked by different kind of water drawn from a well that said, “I am he.”

And so let's take the long story to heart and take time to tell the stories Paul so beautifully writes about in this week's Epistle.

Romans 5:1-11

Therefore, since we are justified by faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ, through whom we have obtained access to this grace in which we stand; and we boast in our hope of sharing the glory of God. And not only that, but we also boast in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not disappoint us, because God’s love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit that has been given to us.

Larry

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

Lectionary Readings for Sunday, February 17, 2008

2008-02-13T09:08:00.000-08:00

Lectionary Readings for Sunday, February 17, 2008
Second Sunday in Lent

Genesis 12:1-4a with Psalm 121 and
Romans 4:1-5,13-17 and
John 3:1-17 or Matthew 17:1-9

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

The story of our lives and the story of our congregations can be meaningfully framed as story of connections both made and lost; of meaning that brings order into our lives and times when chaos seemed to reign supreme. Or we can look through the lens of activities, sometimes prompted by our own endeavors, and sometimes born of a response to an ever-changing world. We would soon find, however, that our stories cannot be told without giving the ebb and flow of hope its proper attention. Towards the end of the tale we will undoubtedly take time to count our blessings and give thanks for their power to augment our lives.

Scripture gives us a well-focused lens through which we deepen our insights into the abiding mystery of life, just as John Calvin said it would be. It is not, however, a predictable journey. Time and again it turns our attention to improbable places. If we are to understand liberation we must first hear the cry of the Hebrew people as they endured slavery. If we are celebrate what God can do, we are likely to be drawn not to paragons of health and financial success, but to a group of lepers, a paralytic who has yet to walk, and women who know the meaning of “shun.” The Lenten trek begins not with a celebration, but with the “imposition” of ashes that reminds us of our mortality.

So it is with this week's reading from the Gospel of John. The conversation between Nicodemus and Jesus takes place not in broad daylight but in the depth of night in which daytime boundaries have lost their power to frame simple arguments. What happens at night is complex, somewhat confusing, and mysterious as life itself. We enter the discussion with verses that are chock full of territorial expectations that one would expect might point the way. But instead of solving a problem they simply reframe it.

“There was a Pharisee,” the text reads. The Pharisees knew that worship is not a one day affair, but a daily observance. One of their goals was to extend the sense of the holy so deeply felt on the Sabbath throughout the week. In a bible study last week one man who was not persuaded that Lent's would make an actual difference in the lives of those who observed it said, “From what I've seen everybody just goes back to what they were doing after Easter.” The Pharisees organized to help prevent just such a scenario. There are things you do when God is given primacy in your life; and there are things you do not do. A wise person learns and observes the difference and then shares that knowledge with others. It is essential to recognize that Nicodemus is part of a group. Birds of a feather do flock together when given an opportunity to do so. And when we get together we talk.

This morning I visited an Altzheimer's unit and noticed two chairs at the end of a long hallway. Both were occupied; and three people had drifted that way as well to share gentle conversation blessed by one-word sentences, nods of the head and occasional smiles. At the other end of the hallway a brightly lit dayroom also provided a gathering space. It is our nature to get together, and the patients had created a dayroom annex at the end of the long hallway. When Nicodemus speaks he will note not that he has noticed Jesus' healings, but that 'we” know the healings must be from God. In like manner Jesus notes that “we speak of what we know.” The world of coherence always seeks its adherents. It is in the boundary between coherence and connection that we find life full of wonderful, and inevitable, tension.

There are many layers of meaning in the landscape of coherence that introduces the text.

First we are introduced to a Pharisee.

Then the Pharisee is given a name. He isn't anybody; and he isn't somebody.

Next we learn he is a leader.

Next the leader meets Jesus, whose name reveals his saving mission that an esteemed leader might, or might not, need.

Next Jesus is referred to as “Rabbi.” Clearly the passage will be about learning and teaching. But learning and teaching about what? Coherence invariably asks, “What are you learning? And what are you teaching?”

Finally two men who raised in the same faith make it clear that God is the true focus of their conversation. Whereas Nicodemus pins his words to the world of experience, “No one can do these signs that you do apart from the presence of God,” Jesus pins his words to an understanding of God that transcends events. Nicodemus is impressed with and curious about signs; Jesus is otherwise inclined. The signs are what they are, but there is more, he seems to say. “Tell me about this,” Nicodemus seems to say and suddenly the teacher named Jesus becomes a teacher. And so it is that two worlds of meaning gently collide. It is not surprising that this happens in the dead of night where we must search carefully to get our true bearings.

Listen carefully to the text. I have highlighted those words that designate boundaries that are such an essential part of coherence.

John 3:1-17

Now there was a Pharisee named Nicodemus, a leader of the Jews. He came to Jesus by night and said to him, "Rabbi, we know that you are a teacher who has come from God; for no one can do these signs that you do apart from the presence of God." Jesus answered him, "Very truly, I tell you, no one can see the kingdom of God without being born from above." Nicodemus said to him, "How can anyone be born after having grown old? Can one enter a second time into the mother's womb and be born?" Jesus answered, "Very truly, I tell you, no one can enter the kingdom of God without being born of water and Spirit. What is born of the flesh is flesh, and what is born of the Spirit is spirit. Do not be astonished that I said to you, 'You must be born from above.' The wind blows where it chooses, and you hear the sound of it, but you do not know where it comes from or where it goes. So it is with everyone who is born of the Spirit." Nicodemus said to him, "How can these things be?" Jesus answered him, "Are you a teacher of Israel, and yet you do not understand these things?

"Very truly, I tell you, we speak of what we know and testify to what we have seen; yet you do not receive our testimony. If I have told you about earthly things and you do not believe, how can you believe if I tell you about heavenly things? No one has ascended into heaven except the one who descended from heaven, the Son of Man. And just as Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, so must the Son of Man be lifted up, that whoever believes in him may have eternal life.

"For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but may have eternal life. Indeed, God did not send the Son into the world to condemn the world, but in order that the world might be saved through him."

The text comes full circle in its understandings of life. What began as one man's question ends with a sermon addressed to everyone. What began with Jesus gently dismissing the power of signs ends with a reference to a serpent in the wilderness, a sign that once saved a snake-bitten people. What begins with reference to Israel ends with an embrace of the world. Although the world “believe” dominates the last two verses, it is clear that essential though belief may be, birth is not something we do. Instead we are born and then find our lives to be an extended conversation about the nature life to which we are called.

As we prepare to preach this text, it will inevitably spark memories of those times you thought something was “real” and then found it to be something else entirely. I have been to many committee meetings in my life as a pastor in which there were also many agendas present at the table and when we left the meeting and headed into the night only sometimes did we find daylight after the meeting. Most of the time these agendas were somewhat hidden, making the encounter between Nicodemus and Jesus remarkable for its candor, its naming of boundaries, and its willingness to engage in a conversation about life.

Or, it may be that you recall a place of apparent confusion that revealed stunning clarity. Such an incident happened to me this week. I was working with a group of dementia/ patients. As we began worship it was clear the congregation was on the move. Some needed to travel, and did. Some clapped to the rhythm of the hymn I played on my banjo, others seemed to drift away as the window framed a tableau of beautifully falling snow. Every once in a while one would speak, his or her words seeking to lay claim to some hidden world of meaning. There could not be, or would not be, an explanation as to why those words were spoken. Suffice it to say the short sentences, or counting over and over again, marked a boundary just as surely as your sermon will this Sunday.

Several days before I underwent yet another round of surgery on my left eye. The hospital asked me to wear a green wristband until a nitrogen bubble is absorbed into whatever cells will receive it. The wristband caught the attention of one woman whose only speech up to that point had been somewhat outside the realm of “normal” conversation. She pointed to the band, wanting to know what happened.

“It's for my eye,” I said. “There's a bubble in it. When the bubble goes away I can take this off.” She smiled.

“Your eye is going to be okay,” she said.

“Thank you,” I said. “You have given me a blessing, and I thank you.”

As so often happen, if we are to look for life we are wise to not avoid conversations born of an Alzheimer's night or an encounter between a wise leader named Nicodemus and a teacher named Jesus.

Larry

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

Lectionary Readings for Sunday, January 20, 2008

2008-01-17T10:06:00.000-08:00

Lectionary Readings for Sunday, January 20, 2008
Second Sunday after the Epiphany

Isaiah 49:1-7
Psalm 40:1-11
I Corinthians 1:1-9
John 1:29-42

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

In this week's reflection I'd like to begin with a life experience that has been part of church life since the church began.

There are few gatherings as full of life as Bible studies.

That is not to say every session is memorable, or that every session is full of loving memory, hope, and divine intuition, or that we don't sometimes leave them feeling that the gathering fell flat. Nevertheless, no matter how well the session goes, or how much we believe it failed, by their very nature bible studies are full of life.

In them a small group of people take time to connect with each other, with scripture, and with the notion that God wants to connect with us. We can't help but connect with our experiences, our hopes, our fears, our belief that one way or another life is a gift from God.

We would like the sessions to reveal something about the nature of life, to renew our sense of direction, to quiet the nagging sense of chaos that either nips at our heels or sometimes stalks us. In bible study we find verses of scripture that seem to have been written just for us. In the text, and as we hear our friends grappling with the text, we both search for and find a sense of coherence.

We study with care both what people once did when they discerned the voice of God, and what God did in the course of their lives to change the course of their lives. There is nothing static about bible study . . . even the pillar of salt that ended the life of Lot's wife gives life three thousand years later when nostalgia for what was tries to claim our lives as well. Life happens and we gather around coffee tables with the text in our hand to see how it happened, how it is happening, and to prepare ourselves for tomorrow's happenings. In our Leading Causes of Life lexicon we call this agency.

We cannot study the text without a sense of hope. The story is one of promise, not slavery; one of life, not death, one of hope, not despair, one that urges us to trust a dove is on its way and that a slender twig from an olive tree is all we need to overcome despair. We go into the sessions thinking, "I wonder what God is going to say today" knowing that something will be said that encourages our own journeys.

And, we can scarcely meet for the bible study without finding it to be a blessing. And what is a blessing? It is the gift of perception that changes our lives. It is a gift we can give or receive, but we cannot give it to ourselves. Around that small circle before the Sunday service, or on Wednesday evenings, or in a Sunday School class, in those places we give and receive blessings that confirm our deepest beliefs or ask us to re-examine those very same beliefs.

Whatever the text may be, life speaks to us in Bible studies. It is crucial for us to remember that life is the teacher. I recall leading a bible study in a nursing home some years ago. There were perhaps 15 people present and I, in my mid 40s, suddenly had a palpable sense that those gathered around the table knew more about life and faith than I did. Just for fun we started adding up the age of everyone around the table. Before long the sum revealed more than 1,000 years of life experience sitting around that table so many years ago. Not surprisingly I remember the text we studied that day--it was the ten commandments that received our attention. When we were finished, having given credence to a thousand years of shared faith, we went about our separate ways with a deeper sense of connection, of the faith we shared, and the power of our shared blessings.

And now to today's text who's Gospel lesson asks us to connect with Jesus not just as a man but as the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world. In him chaos meets its match. As usual, this revelation takes place not as an isolated event but in the context of a community. And who was at the living "bible study?"

John saw Jesus coming towards him and stated Jesus' true identity in a most public way. It is interesting that the text does not say, "declared to Jesus." Instead, the declaration is for the public. He was speaking to those around him . . . and we know that he is speaking to us as well. Then the movement towards plurality gathers still more momentum. Having started with John, we move to Jesus, then on to the Spirit, and then to God. Along the way we connect with the Passover lambs whose blood brought life to those in bondage. We then move towards two disciples one of whom, Andrew, quickly fetches his brother to share the story that now has six actors: John, Jesus, the Spirit, God, Andrew, a fellow disciple and Andrew's brother Simon Peter. Two times in the short text names are given to establish an enduring sense of coherence: Jesus--the Lamb of God, and Simon Peter--who will be named Peter.

For all of them life will change.

With this in mind . . . notice how each sentence virtually overflows with both action and expectation:

The next day he saw Jesus coming towards him and declared, 'Here is the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world! This is he of whom I said, "After me comes a man who ranks ahead of me because he was before me." I myself did not know him; but I came baptizing with water for this reason, that he might be revealed to Israel.' And John testified, 'I saw the Spirit descending from heaven like a dove, and it remained on him. I myself did not know him, but the one who sent me to baptize with water said to me, "He on whom you see the Spirit descend and remain is the one who baptizes with the Holy Spirit." And I myself have seen and have testified that this is the Son of God.'

The next day John again was standing with two of his disciples, and as he watched Jesus walk by, he exclaimed, 'Look, here is the Lamb of God!' The two disciples heard him say this, and they followed Jesus. When Jesus turned and saw them following, he said to them, 'What are you looking for?' They said to him, 'Rabbi' (which translated means Teacher), 'where are you staying?' He said to them, 'Come and see.' They came and saw where he was staying, and they remained with him that day. It was about four o'clock in the afternoon. One of the two who heard John speak and followed him was Andrew, Simon Peter's brother. He first found his brother Simon and said to him, 'We have found the Messiah' (which is translated Anointed). He brought Simon to Jesus, who looked at him and said, 'You are Simon son of John. You are to be called Cephas' (which is translated Peter).

We will have a bible study. It will invariably be followed by "the next day" when we may be standing with friends as John was so many years ago, or walking along as Jesus did all those years ago. We may wonder, "What is our God given name?" We may wonder with whom we may share our testimony. We may be like John and say that we too "did not know him," or we may be like Peter who years later would deny our life-changing knowledge, or we maybe like Andrew and invite someone to next week's bible study.

Blessings to you and your group as you put on the coffee, open the book, and find yourself in the midst of life this week.

Larry

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

Lectionary Readings for Sunday, January 6, 2008

2008-01-01T08:06:00.000-08:00

Lectionary Readings for Sunday, January 6, 2008
Epiphany of the Lord

Isaiah 60:1-6 with Psalm 72:1-7, 10-14
Ephesians 3:1-12
Matthew 2:1-12

Life has a language.
And scripture has a word for us this Epiphany Sunday.

Were this a commentary there would be many levels to our exegetical inquiry. We would unpack Isaiah's prophetic words that hold power in their own right, and wonder perhaps if they have been commandeered by Matthew for whom history itself is always a matter of fulfillment revealed in the life of Jesus. We might tack a date to the time of King Herod, we might search maps for the lands east of Judea from whence three magi appeared, we might even lift a page from planetarium shows to show how a supernova might have ensured that every set of eyes lifted towards heaven would take note of its light. We might compare and contrast the “overwhelming joy” experienced by the magi with the equally overwhelming fear that prompted Herod's paranoia.

But these reflections are not exegetical commentaries. Instead we hold our ear to the ground and lift our eyes towards the heavens to both hear and see what life is saying. We know its story will involve connection and disconnection, coherence in the presence of chaos, hope that shows us what to do, where to go, and how to shape our lives. We know it will be a story of blessing.

And it all starts with a star.

Which is to say, it all starts with a reference point.

Which life translates as coherence.

We look into the night sky, though perhaps not often enough in an age that is apt to forget the stars are even there, and notice the seemingly countless stars. Some are first magnitude, each saying, “Follow me.” Many we piece together as constellations, each with a story as powerful as Orion or as evocative as the Pleiades. We take them all in but we ascribe meaning to some of them, ordering that which is almost too vast to contemplate on a winter night. We know we could navigate by them if we needed to, we know civilization learned to track them long before our electronic age of GPS systems that can tell us exactly where we are but not where we are going.

But not so this biblical star. It had (has?) the power to inspire a journey, to lead the way, and even had a sense of ownership. It is not part of a mythical beast, it is not part of Draco the Dragon or Pegasus. Instead it is attached to the birth of a specific person in a specific time. It is always true that the gathering power of coherence threatens other configurations of power. Herod and, remarkably enough—how very sensitive we are to the whims of those in power—all Jerusalem felt fear run through their soul.

We learn something about coherence.

Its borders may be porous or impermeable. When they are porous they allow three magi, who knows what religion they practiced back in Ur or in Persia, to become part of a great journey. When they are porous even the heavens have a role to play. When they are porous a shepherd can become a ruler. When they are porous even angels have a voice in the celebration of creation.

When they are sealed fear rules the day. When they are sealed my “in” means your “out” and truth becomes a casualty. I have never been able to read this Sunday's text without thinking of the wolf talking with Little Red Riding Hood trying his best to deceive her. Fear always tries to create its own reality in which control is the lead voice. Coherence insists that we live with some set of boundary expectations, but life insists that some of its doors must be left unlocked, some of its windows open.
With this in mind . . . look for the boundaries and its openings in the text:

Matthew 2:1-12

In the time of King Herod, after Jesus was born in Bethlehem of Judea, wise men from the East came to Jerusalem, asking, "Where is the child who has been born king of the Jews? For we observed his star at its rising, and have come to pay him homage." When King Herod heard this, he was frightened, and all Jerusalem with him; and calling together all the chief priests and scribes of the people, he inquired of them where the Messiah was to be born. They told him, "In Bethlehem of Judea; for so it has been written by the prophet:

'And you, Bethlehem, in the land of Judah,
are by no means least among the rulers of Judah;
for from you shall come a ruler
who is to shepherd my people Israel.'"

Then Herod secretly called for the wise men and learned from them the exact time when the star had appeared. Then he sent them to Bethlehem, saying, "Go and search diligently for the child; and when you have found him, bring me word so that I may also go and pay him homage." When they had heard the king, they set out; and there, ahead of them, went the star that they had seen at its rising, until it stopped over the place where the child was. When they saw that the star had stopped, they were overwhelmed with joy. On entering the house, they saw the child with Mary his mother; and they knelt down and paid him homage. Then, opening their treasure-chests, they offered him gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh. And having been warned in a dream not to return to Herod, they left for their own country by another road.

If the star catches my imagination, the last phrase can't help but catch my attention. The magi leave for their own country, a place where the boundaries are safe, a place from which they may both come and go as the occasion warrants. To arrive safely they must travel by another road outside of Herod's control. Such roads always exist. Sometimes they are physical, sometimes they are spiritual, sometimes we find them in literature, sometimes in art, and always in scripture. They allow us to thread our way through chaos and point us towards our reference point . . . a star known as life and a child whose name would be Jesus.

On this Epiphany Sunday, blessings to you as we all renew our reference point and continue our journey.

Soft walking,

Larry

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

Lectionary Readings for Sunday, December 30, 2007

2007-12-27T14:15:00.000-08:00

Lectionary Readings for Sunday, December 30, 2007
First Sunday after Christmas Day

Isaiah 63:7-9 with Psalm 148
Hebrews 2:10-18
Matthew 2:13-23

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

In our church, the Christmas tree is still bejeweled with small white lights reminding me of the stars that somehow decided to rest in the fragrant boughs of a pine tree. For weeks it has blessed us, this evergreen that we brought in from the mountains, underlining once again that in Advent we are connecting with life over and over again: Angels speak, a baby is born, prophesy frames reality, the heavens play their part, we surrounded ourselves with evergreens that winter cannot vanquish.

And now a difficult scripture.

Its sheer violence almost stops us in our tracks. It becomes clear that there are indeed systems from which we must flee, there are safe havens we must find, there are times in our lives, in Mary's life, in Joseph's life, in Jesus' life, in which the powers of death seem to hold the upper hand. The peace that blessed us appears to be in short supply which the circumstances of power present themselves: opposition must be eliminated, Herod orders and, as I write these words, it happened in Pakistan too in yet another assassination.

We wonder, as we look at the still present Christmas trees in our churches just how far its symbolic power will reach, and how long its promise of new life will last. Once again we find ourselves threading the needle between the ideal and the real, thankful for the birth of a baby that caused such commotion and grimly aware of the families whose parents did not receive a warning that they too must flee to Egypt if their children were to survive.

Read the story for its thin line of life, knowing that deep and broad as our faith may we nevertheless walk a thin line as we travel through an all-too torn and troubled world. We too respond by “Getting up!” and by “taking” others as we flee towards safety. Read these words letting their power flood through you as “get up, take and flee” inform life in the midst of destroy, loud lamentation, weeping, fear, and yet more warnings. There is no room for pretend in any part of the story. Read it thankful for its reality and grateful that life found a way.

Word by word, slowly, read it.

Matthew 2:13-23

Now after they had left, an angel of the Lord appeared to Joseph in a dream and said, ‘Get up, take the child and his mother, and flee to Egypt, and remain there until I tell you; for Herod is about to search for the child, to destroy him.’ Then Joseph got up, took the child and his mother by night, and went to Egypt, and remained there until the death of Herod. This was to fulfill what had been spoken by the Lord through the prophet, ‘Out of Egypt I have called my son.’

When Herod saw that he had been tricked by the wise men, he was infuriated, and he sent and killed all the children in and around Bethlehem who were two years old or under, according to the time that he had learned from the wise men. Then was fulfilled what had been spoken through the prophet Jeremiah:
'A voice was heard in Ramah,
wailing and loud lamentation,
Rachel weeping for her children;
she refused to be consoled, because they are no more.'

When Herod died, an angel of the Lord suddenly appeared in a dream to Joseph in Egypt and said, ‘Get up, take the child and his mother, and go to the land of Israel, for those who were seeking the child’s life are dead.’ Then Joseph got up, took the child and his mother, and went to the land of Israel. But when he heard that Archelaus was ruling over Judea in place of his father Herod, he was afraid to go there. And after being warned in a dream, he went away to the district of Galilee. There he made his home in a town called Nazareth, so that what had been spoken through the prophets might be fulfilled, ‘He will be called a Nazorean.’

Several years ago it struck me that our readings of the Christmas story are remarkably selective. Christmas cards love to show a star, shepherds in the fields, a manger, the three magi, angels in the sky. They are almost inevitably an amalgamation of Matthew and Luke's rendition of Jesus' birth. And so, one year we decided that the Christmas pageant would tell Matthew's story. To prepare for it we brought dolls into the church and placed them in the pews. At first the congregation thought they were cute, and it was kind of fun to have a cabbage patch doll sitting beside you in church during the Christmas season. But then the story began.

Angels danced up the aisle to give Joseph his warnings. Herod issued his cruel order for the massacre of the innocents. At that point four or five kids, dressed as Roman soldiers, started making their way through the congregation.

“Give me your child,” they said as they began to collect the dolls. Suddenly the mood of the room changed. Without a cue, some of the parishioners said, “No!” “Give me your child.” “No! No!” It was a moment of anguish that threw us all off balance. Eventually the dolls were taken and placed in a pile at Herod's feet. One could have heard a pin drop. When it came time for Joseph to receive yet another message concerning his return we instinctively knew why he was afraid. And when he was told that Nazareth would be a safe haven, we were grateful. Sometimes there aren't many shelters in this world, and the discernment between which ones are truly safe and which are born of illusion does indeed require the guidance that only God can provide.

I share this with you to simply underscore the poignancy of this story we know about but so rarely actually take to heart. Suffice it to say, chances are that the good we have sought to do with our lives found itself in a thicket of violence which held the upper hand. There are times we have fled wondering if our fleeing was cowardice or if it was fulfillment. There are times we hoped life might do something for us, only to realize we would have to wake up, rise up, find friends and travel to a new place. And, inevitably, we have not done so without a sense of loss, and without a need for reconciliation. Soldiers often wonder why their friends died in battle while somehow they were spared. It is an inevitable question because it values life on all sides. We know that “my life” is “our life.”

We realize anew that Jesus came to save “us” and that this happens both in life and in death. Like the people in the pews that Christmas morning, we do not willingly hand over our children to the systems that would use them to prove a point. In the coming weeks, as we head toward the beginning of a new year, many there be many times we say, “No” as we say “Yes” to life and live in the blessing God gave to Abraham that then passed to Jesus and is now passed on to us once again.

Blessings to 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, December 23, 2007

2007-12-18T13:43:00.000-08:00

Lectionary Readings for Sunday, December 23, 2007
Fourth Sunday of Advent

Isaiah 7:10-16
Psalm 80:1-7,17-19
Romans 1:1-7
Matthew 1:18-25

We have been waiting.

We who have heard about a lion befriending a lamb, who keep an eye on the wolves that stalk our cattle, we have been waiting.

We who have seen how quickly a crocus blossom fades have been waiting.

We whose ears strain to hear life speaking have been waiting.

We whose lives are like braided streams have been waiting for a river of life to announce itself.

We who notice how early night's shadow falls over the land on a December afternoon, we who know those shadows in our own lives too, we have been waiting.

Our waiting has been informed by hope, the God-given antidote to futility that allows us to wait as an act of responsibility instead of an exercise in denial.

In hope we have been waiting. Each Advent Sunday has reminded us what we are waiting for.

But now, on this fourth Sunday of Advent, the tense changes. Visions of the future give way to a past event that tells of a the inevitable clash between circumstance and a fulfillment of hope. Matthew will not begin his story with the easy tones of “Once upon a time,” nor will he begin his story with prophesy. Instead he writes of an event in history in which circumstance vied with purpose on a landscape given over to the night.

Now the birth of Jesus the Messiah took place in this way. When his mother Mary had been engaged to Joseph, but before they lived together, she was found to be with child from the Holy Spirit. Her husband Joseph, being a righteous man and unwilling to expose her to public disgrace, planned to dismiss her quietly. But just when he had resolved to do this, an angel of the Lord appeared to him in a dream and said, ‘Joseph, son of David, do not be afraid to take Mary as your wife, for the child conceived in her is from the Holy Spirit. She will bear a son, and you are to name him Jesus, for he will save his people from their sins.’ All this took place to fulfill what had been spoken by the Lord through the prophet:

‘Look, the virgin shall conceive and bear a son,
and they shall name him Emmanuel’,

which means, ‘God is with us.’ When Joseph awoke from sleep, he did as the angel of the Lord commanded him; he took her as his wife, but had no marital relations with her until she had borne a son; and he named him Jesus.

Christmas may be “merry” but Matthew's story is conflicted. In his version:

Circumstance speaks of betrayal;

Circumstance speaks of ways to cover-up an untoward truth;

Circumstance speaks of a man surrendering the day's drama and wrapping himself in night's sleep with a heavy and troubled heart;

Circumstance speaks of fear;

To all of this the God, one of whose names in Hebrew is Life, has a response.

“I know this is not what you expected. Now, let me be God. I too have plans. Let's see them through.” We find ourselves in good company with Joseph. Is there an illness that is not in some ways a betrayal of the body? We too have had plans and expectations designed to bring order to our world just as Joseph and Mary had plans and expectations that were to have brought order to their world. And we too know how circumstance has the power to seemingly thwart it all.

As we give ourselves over to the story hope differentiates itself from expectation. As always it demands truth. Yesterday I was in touch with a woman who, like so many others is living the life whose factual diagnosis is “cancer.” But the fact of the matter is our brief conversation wasn't about cancer. It was about courage, patience, hope and connection. Had the angel not appeared fear might well have claimed the day. Had Joseph waited for Luke's heavenly host to appear in the sky singing “Angels we have heard on high” it might have been a long wait indeed. But hope's river is wide and God has many ways to connect with us. Angels can navigate the landscape of dreams just as surely as they can appear in the stars. Either God would have us set fear aside as we embrace life.

Like those who waited for Isaiah's vision to “come true,” like Joseph, like our friends in the midst of a long and difficult recovery, we have been waiting for circumstances to change. We learn in the Christmas story that they will not disappear but we can see our way through them. A surely conflicted relationship will heal, a message from God will prompt Joseph to obey, a name will be given, circumstance will not claim the day. We find ourselves in a virtual symphony of life occurring in the most unexpected of places. If life has five leading causes (and I hasten to add that if you believe it has six or seven that's wonderful!) they are all engaged.

God connects with humankind, and it happened “this way.” An angel connected with a man troubled by a fundamental disconnect in his life.

A name, “God is with us” establishes coherence as only a name that emphasizes the plural can do.

Plans are made; plans change; new plans are drawn as fear is set aside. Fear is the only static part of the story and it receives its divine checkmate.

At every turn hope authors the story we take as a blessing.

I think of my friend in the hospital waiting for cancer therapy to reconnect her with health and realize that as she does do she is full of life. I think of her diagnosis as an unchosen journey shared by millions. I think of the plans that were made only to be changed as one day led to the next. When I think how improbable it is to assert that God is with us when circumstance wants to rule the day I am newly grateful for Matthew's rendition of Christ's birth in the midst of a sea of difficulty.

I realize again how visceral, how gut-wrenching life is and how amazing it is that God travels with us throughout it all. Not long ago, in a conversation about rehabilitation, the comment was made that rehab is designed to improve or to better people's lives. I was taken aback for a moment. We can improve circumstances, but improving life is, to me at least, an odd thought. As we learn from this child born so long ago, our gratitude to have a chance to give God thanks for the gift of life knows no bounds.

In church this Sunday, we will hear Matthew tell us, “Life happened this way.” We will not care that Luke might way, “No, it actually happened this way,” or that John would ask us to turn our attention to the very beginning. In each case the often harsh voice of circumstance will meet its match as the One who has never left us returns once again.

Thanks be to God, and blessings unto 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, December 16, 2007

2007-12-14T20:12:00.000-08:00

Lectionary Readings for Sunday, December 16, 2007
Third Sunday of Advent

Isaiah 35:1-10 and
Psalm 146:5-10 or
Luke 1:47-55
James 5:7-10
Matthew 11:2-11

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

Both lead us to connect with God's word and with each other, both are antidotes to isolation that so easily leads to despair; both are well aware of chaos that seeks to engulf us, but both speak of order that gives our lives a nurturing coherence. Both ask us to do something, and both let us know that although we might control our responses to adversity, we are often not in control of what happens to us. Both ask us to live in hope, and both ask us organize our lives around the blessings we are fortunate to give and privileged to receive.

The word that comes to us on this Third Sunday of Advent is remarkably compelling in many ways. Mother earth doesn't have much to say in Hebrew or Christian scripture. When we hear of rain it may well turn out to be a flood. When we read about a darkening sky we don't take it as an enthralling thunderstorm, but as a sign of the sky's anguish at the death of Jesus. We read of rocks that might weep, of seas that present a barrier that must be overcome if it is to be crossed. The theology of a desert people gives thanks for creation but then doesn't give it much of a voice. We learn from it, “Notice the flowers of the field,” Jesus says, but we don't tend to listen to their voice. Not often does the mother nature we grew up with and learned to love have a voice.

But that changes this week. And, if the truth be told, it changes throughout all of advent. Angels will sing not from a pulpit but from the sky. Stars will point the way. The animals 4H kids learn to love and care for will make their way into the birthing shed. Heaven and earth finally come to a congruity that speaks of life in a voice and vision that asks us to connect, asks us to listen, asks us to perceive the earth. In his remarks about John, Jesus decries those with soft robes whose luxury has somehow disconnected them from the discontinuity of their lives.

Isaiah, however, turns this around in this season of advent in which we are asked to reattach ourselves to the reality of a Word made flesh. I would ask that we move slowly through his prescient words.

Isaiah 35:1-10

The wilderness and the dry land shall be glad,
the desert shall rejoice and blossom;
like the crocus it shall blossom abundantly,
and rejoice with joy and singing.
The glory of Lebanon shall be given to it,
the majesty of Carmel and Sharon.
They shall see the glory of the Lord,
the majesty of our God.

Notice that the little crocus, the first flower that pokes its purple and yellow blossoms through the snow, and tells us spring is on the way leads the way. Its brave example, its utter disregard for weather (it's too cold; there's too much snow; I haven't done a thing for almost a year, wonder if I have the strength to do it again), ignites rejoicing and blossoming in the desert, even brining joy to dry land and the wilderness which is often seen as a lonely and even dangerous place. When Jesus went into the desert we imagine it not to be inhabited by singing flowers, rejoicing land, and beautiful flowers. Quite the opposite. But now Isaiah lets us know that this loneliness, useful as it might be in forging ministry, is not the full expression of life. Life has a language, and the earth itself can speak.

He then moves from the wilderness and shows us how to rejoice, how to sing, how to connect with each other in our churches, our families, and even in the midst of our battles. The crocus led the way, and now it is our turn.

Strengthen the weak hands,
and make firm the feeble knees.
Say to those who are of a fearful heart,
'Be strong, do not fear!
Here is your God.
He will come with vengeance,
with terrible recompense.
He will come and save you.'

Twice we are told that we must checkmate fear. Now we have good reason to fear on many fronts. It is the nature of chronic disease to worsen, not get better over time. It is the nature of war to kill an enemy and destroy a chance for reconciliation. It is for good reason the poor fear for their future when what they need to survive is impossible to afford. It would be complete denial to say “None of this is true, so don't be afraid.”

But instead we have a helper. We are asked to connect with God and promises that God connects with us. We will find that we are not alone. Suddenly the scripture changes tense and moves into the future. The shift is not based on flimsy hope but on future assurance.

Then the eyes of the blind shall be opened,
and the ears of the deaf unstopped;
then the lame shall leap like a deer,
and the tongue of the speechless sing for joy.
For waters shall break forth in the wilderness,
and streams in the desert;
the burning sand shall become a pool,
and the thirsty ground springs of water;
the haunt of jackals shall become a swamp,
the grass shall become reeds and rushes.

Once again we find ourselves as part of creation. What shall the blind see? Crocus flowers. What shall they hear? A singing desert. How many streams will cross a formerly dry desert? Many. The Jordan River suddenly has friends. And there are ways to travel towards it.

A highway shall be there,
and it shall be called the Holy Way;
the unclean shall not travel on it,
but it shall be for God’s people;
no traveller, not even fools, shall go astray.
No lion shall be there,
nor shall any ravenous beast come up on it;
they shall not be found there,
but the redeemed shall walk there.
And the ransomed of the Lord shall return,
and come to Zion with singing;
everlasting joy shall be upon their heads;
they shall obtain joy and gladness,
and sorrow and sighing shall flee away.

Isaiah's penchant for lyrical expression whets our appetite. But then, in this latter stanza, the Word shifts once again. That is, of course, the wonderful things about scripture. Once you “get it” it moves and we realize our primary perception was simply a glimpse. The presence of paradox let us know we are in the presence of truth.
There is a highway that turns out to be a toll way. If we are unclean, if we do not have our ticket, we will not travel on that highway. I am reminded of the Woody Guthery gospel song,

This train is bound for glory,
this train don't pull no jokers,
this train don't ride nothing but the holy.
This train don't carry no liars.
This train don't carry no liars.
No hypocrites and no high flyers.
This train is bound for glory, this train.

But just as soon as we are glad there will finally be a train whose ticket required some degree of righteousness Isaiah lets us know that there are some fools on the highway known as Holy. The good news, of course, is that not even they will go astray because although errant judgment may have pointed them away from God they will not be forgotten, they will travel that highway too. The connections of advent, you see, are many, many, and still many more. Interestingly enough, we will walk, not run, on that road. It is sorrow and signing that will flee.

Slow down, Isaiah seems to say.

Watch for the crocus.

Listen to the parched earth sing.

Don't write off the faint hearted, help them write a new chapter in their lives.

See the many rivers.

Travel that road slowly, figuring out if perhaps you are one of the fools or one of the wise, knowing that either way this road is for you.

If fear has hemmed you in . . . find listen to creation itself.

It is singing, and you are part of the song.

When we find these words in winter, so much the better.

Larry

I welcome your response to these columns. I may be reached at:
Larry@Leadingcausesoflife.org
Or
Larrypray@gmail.com

Lectionary Readings for Sunday, December 2, 2007

2007-12-01T06:00:00.000-08:00

Lectionary Readings for Sunday, December 2, 2007
First Sunday of Advent, Year A

Isaiah 2:1-5
Psalm 122
Romans 13:11-14 and
Matthew 24:36-44

Life has a language.
And Scripture has a word for us.
Those two thoughts speak for themselves.

We can paint the story of our lives by glimpsing the connections that lovingly shaped us or the heartbreaking loss of relationship that pointed us another way. We can understand the story by asking what it means, or by remembering the times the floods chaos overwhelmed our lives before its waters revealed that all had not been swept away. Or, we can tell the story by recounting what we did, and what was done to us, by what happened and what failed to happen. But such a story wouldn't be complete without the voice of hope that transcends circumstance as it ebbs and flows, appears and disappears and then appears yet again. Taken together we will find the glimpses, the stories, the hopes, and the happenings to be a blessing. We know this because that is how life speaks.

From time to time both scripture and the church year ask us to rehearse, remember and emphasize life as our central calling. Advent is such a season and this first Sunday of Advent is such a Sunday. When we go to our churches we will find they are not the same as they were last week. The bulletin will have a perhaps worried announcement about upcoming rehearsals for the Christmas pageant. Small churches may wonder if their Wednesday night services during Advent will draw a crowd in such a busy season; mega churches are wondering how many services they will need to offer on Christmas eve. In many churches the altar candles now have companions in a wreath, one of which will be lit. Some will call it the candle of peace; others will call it the candle of hope; still others will say, “In our church when we light the first candle we call it 'Joy.'” Church choirs are wondering when it would be best to carol, and how they will be greeted. In the for what it's worth department our choir found their reception at the Big Timber Bar to be by far the warmest greeting on a cold afternoon.

Advent has returned.

In my heart, and in my imagination, the season's activities, liturgies and scripture readings are wrapped in connection. For Christians, the thought, prospect, and reality of Immanuel, God with us, is perhaps the ultimate connection. When we light advent candles we symbolize God's presence. We will be astonished to learn yet again that there is no room in the inn because the absence of connection is contrary everything we know and expect of life. Connection is one of life's “should be's” and something is wrong when it is refused. We like it when Matthew lets us know angels speak in dreams. We may not have seen them flying in the sky and singing in perfect harmony, but we too have perhaps encountered their voice in dreams and are thankful for the connection with the realm we trust but cannot see.

Now you may say, “I think advent is about hope.” I would say, “Yes, that will work. Or you may say, “There is nothing more proactive than God actually deciding to appear as the Word made flesh, it's all about agency.” I'd again say, “Yes, that's right. No doubt about it.” But each of us has a take on life, that's what coherence is all about. The goal, or sometimes the trick, is to not confuse the cause with life itself. As we do, scripture does indeed have a word for us.

The Lectionary invites us to take “the word that Isaiah son of Amoz saw concerning Judah and Jerusalem” nearly 3,000 years ago to heart.

Isaiah 2:1-5

In days to come
the mountain of the Lord's house
shall be established as the highest of the mountains,
and shall be raised above the hills;
all the nations shall stream to it.
Many peoples shall come and say,
'Come, let us go up to the mountain of the Lord,
to the house of the God of Jacob;
that he may teach us his ways
and that we may walk in his paths.'
For out of Zion shall go forth instruction,
and the word of the Lord from Jerusalem.
He shall judge between the nations,
and shall arbitrate for many peoples;
they shall beat their swords into ploughshares,
and their spears into pruning-hooks;
nation shall not lift up sword against nation,
neither shall they learn war any more.

O house of Jacob,
come, let us walk
in the light of the Lord!

There is a poignant and remarkable presence of the plural in the pericope that has found its way into a sculpture that seeks to set a tone for the United Nations, and inspired the writing of the Leading Causes of Life with the hope we might turn our attention away from the study of death and pursue a study of life.

“In days to come,” we note that the word “day” is plural. In the gospel reading Jesus emphasizes what Isaiah saw: “You do not know on which day the Lord will come.” It could be any one of the days ahead of us. Some have pointed out how mistaken the disciples, the early Christians and even Jesus was when they expected it to be one day “soon.” No matter, its very plurality is reassuring. Like those who heard Jesus speak and took enough note of Isaiah's word to save it for future generations, we all await healing and often we want it to happen “now.” But we find it to be a slow dance, and learn it is better to share this dance throughout our lives than it is to fence healing with narrow expectation.

Continuing to work our way through the vision, we soon find that we arel not traveling alone. All nations will travel along with us, many peoples will be with us. Some of them we know, and the chances are that others we might have once preferred not to know. But the over-arching hospitality of God's house is unmistakable. It is utterly different from the world we once knew and conquered in the name of one cause or another. And so it is not surprising that once we arrive there is much to sort through as we receive a class in how to set aside that which has divided us. Having received an invitation we did not deserve, we are perhaps finally ready to receive life's instruction. There is much to learn, there is much to be done. Advent has its Christmas eve services, it has its rituals that shape us and inform our experience as churches and individuals. The assembly of humanity within God's house is not a “Look, Ma, no hands!” experience. Like us it is in need of judgment, in need of arbitration, in need of a faith deep enough and an arm strong enough to beat swords into ploughshares. How ironic that the weapons that once beat other people are beaten themselves into the implements that sustain life.

Not surprisingly, with connection as the lens through which we discern Isaiah's vision, time makes its appearance. First the assembly, then the instruction, then the judgment, then the arbitration, then the surrender of swords, then the smithy that allows for the transformation of weapons into the implements that bless life. Were we to dwell on any one segment, perhaps saying, “This vision is for me and my people,” we might miss that it is for all people. Were we to avoid a word of judgment and the wisdom of divine arbitration, we might be loathe to relinquish our weapons that so effortlessly separate us one from another. Were we to avoid instruction, we would be focused on our own way, our own sense of timing, our own endless set of justifications that make God “nice” but not necessary.

In such a time, and in such a case Advent has a word for us.

“I'm here.”

“I'm here with you.

For me it is a word of connection. Knowing it has never left I am glad for its return. And, I suspect, so are you. After all, this word is for us. Together, as God said to Isaiah, let us walk in the light together.

Larry

I welcome your response to these columns. I may be reached at:
Larry@Leadingcausesoflife.org
or
Larrypray@gmail.com

Lectionary Readings for Sunday, November 11, 2007

2007-11-07T06:55:00.000-08:00

Lectionary Readings for Sunday, November 11, 2007

Haggai 1:15b-2:9 with Psalm 145:1-5, 17-21 or Psalm 98 or
Job 19:23-27a with Psalm 17:1-9 and
2 Thessalonians 2:1-5, 13-17 and
Luke 20:27-38

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

It is a word of blessing.

It has the easy and assuring cadence of a benediction that sums up the sermon, the prayers, the liturgy, the music, the tears and the laughter of congregants before sending them forth to live their lives.

Like all blessings it is marked by connection, wrapped in hope and speaks of coherence, assuring us that there is a purpose in life, that meaning can be found, that chaos has met its match when we stand fast, give thanks, and trust in life.

Paul's words to the congregation in Thessalonia could not be more heart-felt:

But we must always give thanks to God for you, brothers and sisters beloved by the Lord, because God chose you as the first fruits for salvation through sanctification by the Spirit and through belief in the truth. For this purpose he called you through our proclamation of the good news, so that you may obtain the glory of our Lord Jesus Christ. So then, brothers and sisters, stand firm and hold fast to the traditions that you were taught by us, either by word of mouth or by our letter.

Now may our Lord Jesus Christ himself and God our Father, who loved us and through grace gave us eternal comfort and good hope, comfort your hearts and strengthen them in every good work and word.

Note how beautifully life speaks.

We give thanks. The construction is plural. We, in our families, in our churches, in our networks of friends, we give thanks.

We give thanks to you, once again the construction is plural, addressed to brothers and sisters.

We are beloved by the Lord, God reaches out to us, once again the plural is embraced because God embraced us.

We have been called according to a purpose. There is order and meaning in nothing less than creation itself.

We have been asked to act by standing firm in the teachings that keep life alive in both what we say and in what we do.

Is there anything more beautiful than the opening of a church doors on a Sunday morning? I think not. The church is quiet, one person comes in, then two, then six, then soon the stillness of a quiet sanctuary fills with a wave of gentle conversation. We are gathered, we are met, we are waiting to renew our lives once again.

We know there are many who carry heavy burdens, and we know that we do not know what they all are.

I reflect on this week's accidental conversations as I rode the train across Montana and North Dakota before arriving at my destination here in Wisconsin. They were the conversations of life:

A man from Mississippi who works on an oilrig off the coast of Angola says he is not surprised at all that nooses have made an unwelcome appearance. "They've never gone away," he says. What "should be" is not, and what "should not be" is.

A mother whose daughter struggles through addiction and has yet to find a lasting serenity can't help but cry as she also knows what "should be" is "not yet."

A woman whose father has wondered if a radiation treatment is worth it as she wonders how to be a loving daughter from so very far away.

A kid, maybe 20 or so, who graduated from boot camp, not the army or the marines but the prison's boot camp and says he is "done with drugs" as he orders two beers at ten in the morning and downs them beside me as the train makes its way down the Mississippi River.

These are the conversations of your church. These are the conversations of people whose lives are emerging with awareness that there is no room for pretend. If there is to be a blessing it must meet the hard reality of two green bottles, a noose, cancer cells that have yet to take no for an answer, and addictions that speak of death rather than life.

A kind word is good.

But a blessing is better.

Now may our Lord Jesus Christ himself and God our Father, who loved us and through grace gave us eternal comfort and good hope, comfort your hearts and strengthen them in every good work and word.

We rely not on an ethereal presence but on Jesus Christ (the one who helps, the name means) himself.

And if such a presence cannot be discerned, or has faded away or been eclipsed by circumstance, then God who took action and first loved us.

We rely on a blessing that gives strength (com . . . fort) to our hearts, the seat of discernment that gives us courage as we speak and as we act to begin our lives anew.

There is no pretend here.

There is no pretend in your congregation either as you speak or as you share a word of life. It is all a matter of blessing that can only come from others. We cannot bless ourselves, but we can bless each other and recognize that once, long ago, and perhaps again this very sabbath, we are blessed by the love of God, one of whose names in Hebrew is LIFE.

If I may I end with a personal note. It was November 11 that my first life came to an end as a stroke washed away the billions of cells that once said, "This is who you are." Those who remain have asked, "And who are you to be?" And so, Paul's words apply to the boot camp kid beside me, the mother across from me, the father weighing his life, and to me with a poignancy that can only be born from the crucible of experience.

Blessings to you and thanks be to God for the privilege of conversation that will surely arise in the life of your church and aboard tonight's train bound for Montana.

Larry

I welcome your response to these columns. I may be reached at:
Larry@Leadingcausesoflife.org
or
Larrypray@gmail.com

Lectionary Readings for Sunday, November 4, 2007

2007-11-01T17:20:00.000-07:00

Lectionary Readings for Sunday, November 4, 2007
Proper 26, Thirty-first Sunday in Ordinary Time

Habakkuk 1:1-4; 2:1-4 with Psalm 119:137-144 or
Isaiah 1:10-18 with Psalm 32:1-7 and
2 Thessalonians 1:1-4, 11-12 and
Luke 19:1-10

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

This week it is a word of healing. If there is a common ground that connects all scripture it surely must be healing. We heal from slavery, we heal from rebellion, we heal from an exile that might well have destroyed our soul, and we seek healing when circumstance does its level best to break us. Over and over again we heal as individuals, as churches and temples, as a people.

The need for healing does not, and cannot, disguise itself.
“Look at the proud!” Writes Habakkuk in his unforgettable three chapters.
“Their spirit is not right in them,
but the righteous live by their faith.”

When the spirit is not right within us it is time for healing to happen. And how does healing happen? We move towards it, summoning the courage to act. We connect with others: sometimes a nurse, sometimes a neighbor, sometimes a physician, sometimes our conscience and sometimes, Jesus. So it was with Zacchaeus.

Luke 19:1-10

He entered Jericho and was passing through it. A man was there named Zacchaeus; he was a chief tax-collector and was rich. He was trying to see who Jesus was, but on account of the crowd he could not, because he was short in stature. So he ran ahead and climbed a sycamore tree to see him, because he was going to pass that way. When Jesus came to the place, he looked up and said to him, ‘Zacchaeus, hurry and come down; for I must stay at your house today.’ So he hurried down and was happy to welcome him. All who saw it began to grumble and said, ‘He has gone to be the guest of one who is a sinner.’ Zacchaeus stood there and said to the Lord, ‘Look, half of my possessions, Lord, I will give to the poor; and if I have defrauded anyone of anything, I will pay back four times as much.’ Then Jesus said to him, ‘Today salvation has come to this house, because he too is a son of Abraham. For the Son of Man came to seek out and to save the lost.’

Over the last month or so we have caught the cadences of Luke's ironic reversals. The publican turns out to show us the path to authentic prayer. The Samaritan leper shows us the exuberant joy of gratitude. Rich man Dives showed us what happens when we fail to notice what's happening around us. And today we find a curious Zacchaeus climbing the same kind of tree that the prophet Amos once dressed in order to see the Jesus he had undoubtedly heard so many rumors about. We find life speaking on all sides. A crowd and a chief tax-collector are all searching for “something.” Perhaps the crowd wanted deliverance from injustice. Perhaps a politically savvy Zacchaeus wanted to crowd to see he wasn't as bad as they thought he was, that he was interested in their interests. We do not know the motivations. But we do know setting the spirit right was the draw for Zacchaeus, the crowd and Jesus.

The spirit cannot be set right unless three things happen:

Zacchaeus must come down from the tree and dine with Jesus. In a very small church I once asked one of the elders, “What do you think is going to help this church grow?” She answered in one word. “Food.” It is no wonder churches often have not one, but two or three kitchens, that office buildings have a cafeteria, an arcade of food shops, and a coffee area complete with a refrigerator and well-stocked cupboards. And it is no wonder the sacrament involves the breaking and sharing of bread and wine. Connection has a way of giving life. Zacchaeus had to reconnect with the crowd, connect with Jesus and then connect with those he had fleeced over the years.

The second thing is just as clear. The crowd's murmuring needed to subside if they were to recognize the depth of Jesus' connection with all of the children of Abraham. Coherence is a tricky and somewhat elusive cause of life. By its very nature it unites us. But, by its very nature it can turn “our group” into a grumbler about “your group.” If the mumbling does not subside, the encounter with Zacchaeus, and the crowd's curiosity about Jesus will be no more than a momentary event.

And that leads us to the third. There must be restorative justice. What will it take to set the spirit right within us? It requires the presence of the Son of Man. Without Jesus we have a treed tax collector who knows all is not well within his soul; and a grumbling crowd. Not much to build on there. With Jesus we have broken bread with a son of Abraham and rejoiced that one who was lost is found.

The implications for us are guaranteed.

To the parishioner who finds your sermon unpalatable, we say, “I must dine with you today.”

To ourselves, “What must I restore?”

To our congregation, “With whom must we connect if the spirit is to be right within us and well with the world.

Larry

Readings for Sunday, October 28, 2007

2007-10-25T14:38:00.000-07:00

Readings for Sunday, October 28, 2007
Proper 25, Thirtieth Sunday in Ordinary Time

Joel 2:23-32 with Psalm 65 or
Sirach 35:12-17 or
Jeremiah 14:7-10, 19-22 with Psalm 84:1-7 and
2 Timothy 4:6-8, 16-18 and
Luke 18:9-14

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

As usual the words of Jesus capture the power of connection and the sadness of disconnects that plague the lives of a Pharisee and publican as deeply as they touch us. And, as usual, Jesus would have us look for life where we would least expect to find it. We learn again, perhaps because we need to learn it over and over again, that the pitcher of success often fails to hold the water of life. We learn that faith is not an accomplishment, that prayer is not an achievement, that role is secondary to what we do in our various roles. We learn that the boundaries that surround us must be porous rather than sharp, fluid rather than controlled. And we learn that although connection is a leading cause of life, circumstance most decidedly is not.

Although we might expect such a teaching to occupy a chapter or two, Jesus wraps the parable in a text with just five sentences:

He also told this parable to some who trusted in themselves that they were righteous and regarded others with contempt: ‘Two men went up to the temple to pray, one a Pharisee and the other a tax-collector. 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. I fast twice a week; I give a tenth of all my income.” 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!” 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.’

In a pastoral view of the Leading Causes of Life forgiveness opens the door to connection. We escape life, instead of living it, if we think that all connections will be pleasing, that all relationships will not have a tight spot or two, that everybody will comply with the same set of understandings. And so we must bring forgiveness to the forefront. If we do not the attitude of the Pharisee will separate us from each other just as surely as it isolated him. His world view, in a moment of prayer, disconnects him from “other people.” At every turn there is yet another layer of disconnection. Instead of eating he fasts; instead of spending he tithes the prescribed amount thus diminishing the gift. He wants to keep (who might steal his money) at a distance; and perhaps has too much experience with tax collectors who want a piece of his money to allow them safe space in a church that is trying to “stand for something.” Little did he know his string of disconnects would also sever him from God's justification. The boundaries of his life were drawn in the sharp lines of judgment rather than forgiveness. Such a life is both lonely and fragile.

It is telling that time is so often plays a central role in Jesus' teachings. At one moment Dives was sitting high; then he lost it all. At the beginning of his prayer the Pharisee is wrapped in success; but then he is humbled. The parable stretches over time, just as life in our churches stretches over time to reveal the necessity of forgiveness, the importance of connecting with “difficult” committee members or onerous committees. It takes time to realize how important it is to connect; it takes time to realize that without forgiveness we will soon cut ourselves off from the waters of life.

It is the publican who makes the point. He knew the depth of his disconnect has made him a sinner. There was only one solution, and that was a reconnection in a sacred place. Like us he may have wondered, “Am I welcome here?” And he summoned to courage to risk a confession. He asks God for mercy. And what is mercy? It is a gift. It is the receiving and bestowing of compassion. In Hebrew it is loving-kindness found in the womb, that living crucible of connective tissue that protects and yields life. The publican who we sense wishes to be reborn asks for such a connection.

It is tempting, as it always is in parables, to identify the “bad guys” and the “good guys.” But we must be careful before doing so. Last week Jesus told was that we were supposed to take the words of an unjust judge to heart. Only he could tell a moral story with such an unexpected twist. This week ever-so-different lives of Pharisee and the publican end up on the fertile ground of humility. “All who exalt themselves will be humbled, but all who humble themselves will be exalted.’

It may take a while . . . both connection and forgiveness always do, but in the end the rich soil of humility will gives to both. And, who knows . . . perhaps we too will share its blessing.

Larry

Graphic from Vie de Jesus Mafa, 24, rue Marechal Joffre, 78000, Versailles, France

Readings for Sunday, October 21, 2007

2007-10-16T14:16:00.000-07:00

Readings for Sunday, October 21, 2007
Proper 24, Twenty-ninth Sunday in Ordinary Time

Jeremiah 31:27-34 with Psalm 119:97-104 or
Genesis 32:22-31 wish Psalm 121 and
2 Timothy 3:14-4:5
Luke 18:1-8

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

The story Jesus tells is short, its inflections many, its message both an exhortation and an encouraging word.

Then Jesus told them a parable about their need to pray always and not to lose heart. He said, ‘In a certain city there was a judge who neither fears God and respect for people. In that city there was a widow who kept coming to him and saying, “Grant me justice against my opponent.” For a while he refused; but later he said to himself, “Though I have no fear of God and no respect for anyone, yet because this widow keeps bothering me, I will grant her justice, so that she may not wear me out by continually coming.” ‘And the Lord said, ‘Listen to what the unjust judge says. And will not God grant justice to his chosen ones who cry to him day and night? Will he delay long in helping them? I tell you, he will quickly grant justice to them. And yet, when the Son of Man comes, will he find faith on earth?”

Once again we find life speaking on all sides.

It is tempting to choose just one of the five Leading Causes of Life—coherence, connection, agency, hope and blessing—to filter the text. It would be simpler that way, just as it would be simpler this Sunday to give short shrift to Jacob’s name-changing struggle or Jeremiah’s promise and prospect of a covenant that would change hearts just as surely as Jacob’s struggle changed his stride, or Timothy’s counsel that we are to take time for prayer not once or twice but over and over again in our course of our all-too fragile lives.

But even a brief reading of the Gospel, to say nothing of the other texts, reveals all five causes at work in a remarkable way.

Prayer is nothing more, and nothing less, than the gift of connection. In prayer we speak with God; in prayer we anticipate God speaking with us and to us; in prayer we find, renew, strengthen and nurture a relationship. This establishment of a divine connection, and recognition of such a connection is not a nice idea, it is a need. When the prayers “work,” we need to pray; when the prayers seemingly fail, we need to pray. When we grow weary of prayer, we need to pray yet again, when we are discouraged we must not lose heart.

Prayer does not happen automatically. It asks for a time and a place. It will not be restricted by time, or by place, but it requires both. Wherever we are, whatever the time, prayer emphasizes both the moment and the place saying, “Here . . . and now.” Sunday mornings, for me, have always been a bit of a miracle . . . look at all the people who wake up on a day off and take the time to come to church, take the time to bring their children to church no matter how disconcerting it may be. There is a staggering amount of energy expended in these Sabbath voyages to the house of prayer. Clearly the reading is about the “doing”, the agency, of prayer and its life-giving connection.

If prayer is a matter of connection the judge Jesus tells us about is a study in disconnection. We are to love God and neighbor; the judge has no regard for either. He is dead to the connections that constitute life. As soon as Jesus tells us about him we do not like him. He is the villain. It is easy to judge him, easy to say, “I’ve known people like that.”

But then the plot thickens. Life never stands still. It always moves; always changes. Something always happens. Harsh attitudes soften, judgment proves itself to be mistaken, judges who have no desire to entertain any thoughts but their own can’t help but hear a pesky knock on the door. Life refuses to let the judge remain as he was; and life insists on a widow prevailing against her opponent. The lives of both the widow and the judge are about to change.

The widow’s actions are born of hope rather than expectation. Widows were not expected to speak, and did so at some risk. The judge had a reputation and was not expected to care about anyone’s concerns, least of all the concerns of a widow. Expectations turn out to be fragile whereas hope has the capacity to transcend circumstances. It is no wonder don’t say to couples during a wedding, “Let’s be clear about our expectations; let’s be aware of the promises being made here.” Instead we use an entirely different vocabulary: It’s not a wedding promise, it is a wedding vow inspired by hope. Justice too is inevitably born of hope.

And what do you know? The judge relents. It turns out he had a place in his heart all along, even if the pathway that led to it seems selfish. But in the end Jesus will not let us judge him too harshly. Indeed, he notes that sometimes even God is a bit slow in responding. The God who remembers can sometimes forget to remember until he hears those who cry to him “day and night” just as he once remembered the anguish of the Hebrew people during their experience of slavery.

God is not the author of chaos.

God will establish justice. The widow’s plea will be heard; the judge’s heart will make space for her; lives will change; and two thousand years later we will be blessed by the parable that provided and continues to provide a teachable moment.

This Sabbath, there are those in your church struggling for a name change but not sure what their new name should be. This Sabbath there are those in your church who find themselves up against overwhelming forces, those who wonder if they have the necessary stamina to prevail. This Sabbath, in your church, those for whom prayer has been empty will again pray, again create spaces for words that just might reshape their lives.

This Sabbath, in your church, once again . . .

Life has a language and scripture has a word for us.

Larry

Lectionary Readings for Sunday, October 14, 2007

2007-10-14T20:09:00.000-07:00

Lectionary Readings for Sunday, October 14, 2007

Jeremiah 29:1, 4-7, with Psalm 66:1-12 or
2 Kings 5:1-3, 7-15c with Psalm 111
2 Timothy 2:8-15
Luke 179:11-19

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

With these two thoughts we turn to the familiar rhythms of the Lectionary which has been waiting three years to bless us with unexpected insights found in unexpected places.

We would not expect Jeremiah’s word to the captives in Babylon that instead of seeking revenge they are to “seek the welfare of the city.”

We would not expect a Hebrew prophet to take an interest in the healing of an Assyrian general.

We would not expect healings that have nothing to do with medicine.

We would not expect to find much life in a place beset with warnings: lepers must stay away, Samaritans and Hebrews must not engage in conversation; Galilean Greeks and Romans living in tension with the peoples they were there to subdue.

We would not expect, just two weeks after learning that Dives’ plea for mercy could not and would not be answered, that ten lepers would plea for mercy.

We would not expect to find scripture devoted to nothing less than the crossing of chasms that separated so many from life.

We would not expect to find not one but three communities working to re-establish connection: a band of lepers who stayed together when no others would receive them; the band of disciples who noticed that Jesus took notice if a plea for mercy; and the priests who lovingly reached out to the cured lepers and welcomed them back into fold with exquisite compassion.

And, most of all, we would not expect to find a word of healing that can guide the lives of both the millions of people who opt for life in a medical system that breaks their financial back and those very institutions.

If we are to look for life we must often go to unexpected places. Like Jesus, we must travel and “see what happens.”

On the way to Jerusalem Jesus was going through the region between Samaria and Galilee. As he entered a village, ten lepers approached him. Keeping their distance, they called out, saying, ‘Jesus, Master, have mercy on us!’ When he saw them he said to them, “Go and show yourselves to the priests.” And as they went, they were made clean. Then one of them, when he saw that he was healed, turned back, praising God with a loud voice. He prostrated himself at Jesus’ feet and thanked him. And he was a Samaritan. Then Jesus asked, “Were not ten made clean?” But the others, where are they? Was none of them found to return and give praise to God except this foreigner?” Then he said to him, “Get up and go on your way; your faith has made you well.”

The initial teachings are so clear we are tempted to bask in the cadence of a children’s sermon. It is useful, and necessary, to remind us to give thanks, to understand that gratitude is an essential part of healing, to realize again and again that the giving of thanks is far more important than racial, religious, or economic identities. It is useful to recognize that although he did not touch them Jesus took note of those who were accustomed to being ignored. The children’s sermon cannot be taught too many times.

But then we resume our search for meaning and begin to notice what we had initially not noticed. The healing happened as the lepers made their way to the temple. Perhaps there was a stunning moment when, like a stream of light breaking through an afternoon’s thundercloud, their faces were suddenly made as clean as Namaan’s when he arose from his bath in the Jordan. Both healings happened in an instant, but both were part of a process. The road leading to chronic disease is a long one; the road that leads from chronic disease to healing is even longer necessitating many cries for mercy and many layers of community.

Once the lepers arrived at the temple, how did the priests greet them? We turn to Leviticus 14 for an answer that an NRSV footnote qualifies by saying the text “has archaic elements that elude explanation.” Without meaning to the footnote speaks to the mystery of chronic disease that so often eludes a cure. But no matter . . . The priests see the cleansed lepers and ask that two birds be brought forward. One is sacrificed over fresh water; the other is “let go into the open field.” Thirty-one verses describe what the priests are to do as they receive the no-longer lepers back into the arms of the community. The 32nd verse concludes the passage with the words, “This is the ritual for one who has a leprous disease, who cannot afford the offerings for his cleansings.”

We realize the ancient ritual that speaks to those whose disabilities once sent them apart, to those who opt for life but are unable to foot the bill for medical care, and to the church that was essential to healing. Was it Jesus’ word that prompted the healing? Was it the faith of a Samaritan leper? Was it the return to the temple? Whatever the cause it came from the heart of the temple. We find ourselves in the presence of a healing community that has the courage to count both the cost of healing and the freedom it provides. One bird is sacrificed, and one is set free in an open field. Provisions are made when one cannot pay. Jesus, the lepers, and the priests all crossed the chasms that without devotion to life might have forever separated them.

I write these words and share these reflections with for children and children’s sermon in mind. I think of the children I met last summer at a cancer camp, whose lives are a blessing of such grace and power, and I think of the ways in which paying for their care is a virtual impossibility for their families. What is to be done? How can the disability of chronic disease not lead to shame? How can an acceptable sacrifice be found?

Is there a cost to healing? There is.

Is there a burden to be lifted? There is.
Ten lepers, the temple priests, and Jesus show a way for us to return to life.

Larry

Lectionary Readings for Sunday, September 30, 2007

2007-09-24T10:51:00.000-07:00

Lectionary Readings for Sunday, September 30, 2007
Proper 21, Twenty-sixth Sunday in Ordinary Time

Jeremiah 32:1-3a, 6-15 with Psalm 91:1-6,14-16 or
Amos 6:1a, 4-7 with Psalm 146 and
1 Timothy 6:6-19 and
Luke 16:19-31

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

Luke 16:19-31
There was a rich man who was dressed in purple and fine linen and who feasted sumptuously every day. And at his gate lay a poor man named Lazarus, covered with sores, who longed to satisfy his hunger with what fell from the rich man's table; even the dogs would come and lick his sores. The poor man died and was carried away by the angels to be with Abraham. The rich man also died and was buried. In Hades, where he was being tormented, he looked up and saw Abraham far away with Lazarus by his side. He called out, "Father Abraham, have mercy on me, and send Lazarus to dip the tip of his finger in water and cool my tongue; for I am in agony in these flames." But Abraham said, "Child, remember that during your lifetime you received your good things, and Lazarus in like manner evil things; but now he is comforted here, and you are in agony. Besides all this, between you and us a great chasm has been fixed, so that those who might want to pass from here to you cannot do so, and no one can cross from there to us." He said, "Then, father, I beg you to send him to my father's house— for I have five brothers—that he may warn them, so that they will not also come into this place of torment." Abraham replied, "They have Moses and the prophets; they should listen to them." He said, "No, father Abraham; but if someone goes to them from the dead, they will repent." He said to him, "If they do not listen to Moses and the prophets, neither will they be convinced even if someone rises from the dead."

A single thing happens to two men and two stories ensue. One man dies and is carried away by angles. The other dies and is buried. One ascends, the other descends. The one carried away has no words in Jesus' ancient tale. The one who descended has many. Life has a language, but it is death that catches our ear and directs our attention. Death's language is wrapped in complaint without the prospect of resolution. It is fraught with fear. “I am in agony,” rich man, who lacks the dignity of name in the story but tradition calls him Dives, drawing on the Latin word for wealthy or rich. “I beg you,” he says to God. One begs with the assumption if one does not beg God would pay no attention to the plight of his brothers. A single line from a single hymn, “How Firm a Foundation” sums up the Jesus' response: “What more can be said, than to you has been said?” It is the language born of separation. On every side there is a broken connection. Dives lives in a separate world from Lazarus, even though they both sit at the same table. Abraham is separated from Dives and cannot bridge the chasm. Lazarus is as far away from Dives in death as he was in life. And the brothers are separated from a life-giving word and occupied with the distractions that make God's presence “nice” but not “necessary” are living in an isolation they have yet to see.

In a few words, death has a lot to say. Its disconnected presence has short circuited nothing less life. The Good Samaritan saw a man in need of medical attention and provided it thus showing himself to be a good neighbor. Dives saw a poor man at his table who needed medical attention and did not give it. Dives saw hunger and did not allay it. Dives' experienced success, and perhaps gave God thanks for his success but success has the capacity to eclipse truth. The lack of connection infects coherence and prompts it to build walls. I will dine sumptuously, and you will not. I will heal with physicians' balms and you might be healed by the licks of hungry dogs. I succeeded and you have not. Birds of a feather flock together. The “isms” of all ages, classism, racism, sexism, imperialism, nationalism all present themselves.

It is just a story but we find ourselves in it. We too know the language of complaint. We too know how to raise the neighbor's kids while failing to connect with them. We too can be beguiled by success. We too are tempted to beg in prayer without trusting that God's eye is on the sparrow. And we too find that we cannot avoid the one event that happened to both Lazarus and Dives. Death struck them both, and the consequences of life took each one in a different direction.

The message is clear.

If there is to be life, but now and in the hereafter, connection and a coherence deeper and more compelling than walls must speak.

Dives must connect with Lazarus. A message must be sent to five brothers who will hopefully connect with a God who remembered slaves and delivered them from anguish. The sick and hungry man at the end of the table must be seen. If there is to be life we must seek each other out by name and not by status. How telling it is that Lazarus' name, which means “God has helped,” reveals the Creator whereas Dives' name reveals economic success on a day the markets could not imagine a fall.

Break connection and you break life.

Define coherence to narrowly and life is locked out.

But what about that chasm? Is it not God who created the chasm? Could there be a remorse more poignant that the realization that the hands of the clock cannot be turned back? “No one can cross from there to us,” says Abraham. We realize his words are true. But we also recognize that we can cross from “there” to “here” as we engage in the ministry and mission of life.

“I set before you the ways of life and death,” as the Deuteronomist records God's fundamental teaching, “Choose life.”

When the day risks a divide, don't go there.

When the day replaces names with status, be careful. There may be someone at the end of the table who is part of the family.

In the epistle reading Timothy's exhortation could not be more clear:

But [as for you] pursue righteousness,
devotion, faith, love, patience, and gentleness.
Lay hold of eternal life, to which you were called
when you made the noble confession in the presence of many witnesses.
I charge you before God, who gives life to all things,
and before Christ Jesus . . .

This week, may we all turn away from the chasm as the God of life speaks to us yet again.

When the sun set last night, the clouds were deep blue, cool gray, a few white billows capping the long bands of clouds. It was getting dark as the Little Herder football team of Big Timber took on the Cowboys from Billings. For most it was their first football game. Suddenly, the entire eastern sky began to glow. One by one bands of luminescent pink, orange and crimson set fire to the gray clouds. We took our eyes off the kids and watched the sky spread its gentle and unexpected light.

Why do I end here?

When we open our eyes we see Lazarus at the table. We see God who gives life to all things, herders, cowboys, neighbors and sky. All we have to do, and all that must be done, is receive this gift and organize our lives knowing that life has a language, and scripture has a word for us.

Larry

Lectionary Readings for Sunday, September 23, 2007

2007-09-21T09:42:00.000-07:00

Lectionary Readings for Sunday, September 23, 2007
Proper 20, Twenty-fifth Sunday in Ordinary Time

Jeremiah 8:18-9:1 with Psalm 79:1-9 or
Amos 8:4-7 with Psalm 113 and
1 Timothy 2:1-7 and
Luke 16:1-13

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

As they do each week, these thoughts inform the reflections shared on these pages. There is an inevitable winnowing that takes place when we first see the readings that will frame Sunday's service. We troll through their words wondering what the Spirit will have our imaginations net.

In so doing we connect with the word;
We are drawn to meaning;
We receive the word and “work” the text;
We do so knowing that the purpose of our Sabbath gathering is an affirmation of hope that we are not alone, that creation is born from chaos, that we can indeed make a choice for life, and that each of us in need of blessings can also give them.

In short, we find life in this rhythmic preparation for the Sabbath.

Scripture asks us to find life in unlikely places. Amos is often referred to as the prophet of doom. The ninth chapter of his short book speaks a word of hope that scholars are quick to attribute to a who redactor just couldn't bear the full import of Amos' words. Jesus tells the story of the unjust steward, and asks us to be “shrewd” as we go about life. In both texts we must shrewdly engage the word if we are to heed its life-giving message. In both texts we find life at work in an unlikely place and in unlikely ways.

Let us hear the words spoken 2,700 years ago that have miraculously survived the ages and come down to us.

Amos 8:4-7

Hear this, you that trample on the needy,
and bring to ruin the poor of the land,
saying, 'When will the new moon be over
so that we may sell grain;
and the sabbath,
so that we may offer wheat for sale?
We will make the ephah small and the shekel great,
and practice deceit with false balances,

buying the poor for silver
and the needy for a pair of sandals,
and selling the sweepings of the wheat.'

The Lord has sworn by the pride of Jacob:
Surely I will never forget any of their deeds

It is almost by instinct that the headlines of the day come roaring into sight. The litany of social ills is sharp and many pronged. A poor family needed a mortgage, obtained one only to be devoured by its impossible terms and then blamed for a world-wide economic crisis. The proclivity of box stores to stay open 24/7. The astonishing rise of slavery in the traffic of women and children throughout the world after we had mistakenly assumed that slavery had ended years ago.

But are such thoughts a litany of life? Or is it a recounting of death? It is always easier to pin what is “wrong” than it is to organize around life. How can both scripture and headlines prompt us to be shrewd about life in presence of death? We read the words and realize the last verse, “Surely I will never forget any of their deeds,” is a verse of sacred connection.

We have a God who remembers. God remembered the plight of the slaves, heard their anguished cry and acted to release them from slavery. In like manner God will never forget the deeds against the poor because God has not forgotten the poor. Their lives count. Their lives, caught in systems that have been overtaken by greed, matter. And therein we find life speaking not “about them” but “to us.” It is all about connection.

I have recently been intrigued by the plight of families whose lives have been first broken by illness and then imprisoned by the costs of healing. How odd it is that institutional healing speaks the language of money. And yet each of these people has gifts of the spirit that could by harnessed by a clinic as a way to affirm life even if all financial resources have been swept away. Churches know they are to accept the disabled, but can they learn from them? Here we must seek a far deeper connection.

Would we forget the life of the poor because they are poor?

Jesus did not forget the life of the unjust steward even though he was unjust. Yes, Jesus seemed to say, he cheated his boss. But I'll tell you what, look at him closely and you'll learn something about life. Let us be shrewd as we more fully learn to speak the language of life.

I once knew a pastor who was in trouble with his church for emphasizing the social gospel. He was told in no uncertain terms to be more “biblical” in his preaching. He agreed and suggested that they focus only on one book in the bible for several months. They thought that was a good idea.

“Let's do Amos,” my friend said.
“Okay,” said the board. They all left the meeting with a smile. For one the smile lingered several months. For others . . .

Let us be shrewd.

If you want to be surrounded by life it is often useful to go to the places where death seems to prevail. Surround yourself for a day with cancer patients. Surround yourself for a day with patients looking for God's presence after a traumatic accident. Visit an open AA meeting and listen to the stories of connection. You hear an astonishing affirmation:

Yes, death came our way.
But we are not forgotten.
Let us be about life.

Larry

Lectionary readings for September 16, 2007

2007-09-12T17:30:00.000-07:00

Lectionary readings for September 16, 2007
Twenty-fourth Sunday in Ordinary Time

Jeremiah 4:11-12, 22-28 with Psalm 14 or
Exodus 32:7-14 with Psalm 51:1-10 and
1 Timothy 1:12-17 and
Luke 15:1-10

Life has a language.
And Scripture has a word for us.
As they do each week these two thoughts guide our reflections.

What is life saying when the lost coin is found? It takes but a second to view a two thousand year-old teaching through the LCL lens. Surely the story is about connection that restores coherence as the coin returns to its rightful owner. Surely the search is full of hope. Surely the coin didn't just appear, she needed to look once, twice, three times under the table, beside the vase, in the kitchen drawer, beside her bed. And surely the story is a enough of a blessing to vividly implant itself in the life of churches and believers around the planet.

But then the questions begin.

Shouldn't she have been better organized?
Shouldn't the Shepard have repaired the hole in the fence? I realize full well they did not have barbed wire in Jesus' day, and I am aware that I live in a part of the country where fence repair is a constant obligation.
But still . . . if the band of sheep had been a bit more coherence, if the church had a clearer understanding of right and wrong, a tighter mode of enforcement, wouldn't it be unnecessary to celebrate the return of a sheep that shouldn't have been lost in the first place?

And so . . . connection regrets the lack of coherence, and coherence gives thanks for connection. Each takes a turn, each prompts a question, each sheds light on the church that claims defining identity (don't get lost!) and, at the same time, recognizes that sheep, coins, people, and even churches are prone to get lost.

There is a rhythm in life. Not surprisingly, there is a rhythm in this Sabbath's Lectionary selections. Listen to Jeremiah's vision of a world lost, a world swept away, and a world saved from desolation.

Jeremiah 4:11-12, 22-28

At that time it will be said to this people and to Jerusalem: A hot wind comes from me out of the bare heights in the desert toward my poor people, not to winnow or cleanse— wind too strong for that. Now it is I who speak in judgment against them.
'For my people are foolish,
they do not know me;
they are stupid children,
they have no understanding.
They are skilled in doing evil,
but do not know how to do good.'

I looked on the earth, and lo, it was waste and void;
and to the heavens, and they had no light.
I looked on the mountains, and lo, they were quaking,
and all the hills moved to and fro.
I looked, and lo, there was no one at all,
and all the birds of the air had fled.
I looked, and lo, the fruitful land was a desert,
and all its cities were laid in ruins
before the Lord, before his fierce anger.

For thus says the Lord: The whole land shall be a desolation; yet I will not make a full end.
Because of this the earth shall mourn,
and the heavens above grow black;
for I have spoken, I have purposed;
I have not relented nor will I turn back.

You lost that coin!
You lost that ewe!
You are beyond reproach.
You are incorrigible!

And so . . .

Creation itself deconstructs.
The language of life gives way to a vision of death.

Chaos appears.
Light disappears.
The center cannot hold.
Waste replaces form.
Even “waste” receives an adjective of despair: void.
Empty.
Sites of revelation tremble, turning into hills whose reach cannot touch the heavens.
People have disappeared.
Only the hills travel in the chaos.
The birds have fled.
Cities are no more than fallen walls.

And yet . . . life will not be silence.
And yet . . . life speaks.
And yet . . . beneath our propensity to judge things as “good” or “bad” life continues.

And yet . . . the end will not be full.

And then . . . beautifully . . . and surprisingly . . . we receive the gift of mourning. In the depth of its sorrow, in its profound sense of loss, we find a path to healing. As Shakespeare had King Richard say, “You may my glories and my state depose, but not my griefs. Still I am king of those. (Richard II)

And how do we speak this mourning?
We give it time.
We connect with its hope.
We trust that order will one day return.
We sense that life is bigger than us.

There it is . . . the coin.
There it is . . . the lamb.

There it is . . . the morning.

Perhaps we can take better care of the fence as we preach, teach, and heal. Perhaps life can be our guide.

Larry

Lectionary readings for September 2, 2007

2007-09-01T13:42:00.000-07:00

Lectionary readings for September 2, 2007
Twenty-second Sunday in Ordinary Time

Jeremiah 2:4-13 with Psalm 81:1, 10-16 or
Sirach 10:12-18 with Psalm 112 and
Hebrews 13:1-8, 15-16 and
Luke 14:1, 7-14

Life has a language.
And scripture has a word for us.
Each week these two thoughts prompt the words of this column.

When we produced one of the pod casts for the Leading Causes of Life we realized it was intended to be more of an invitation than a presentation. The invitation asked us to remember and learn from experiences that revealed the depth of connections, the presence of coherence, the voice of hope, and the power of blessings in our lives. Scripture is also an invitation to remember. We read its words and instantly begin sorting through the flurry of memories that say, “That's true,” or, “I've experienced that,” or “What's the message.”

The building next door to my first church was once a Methodist church. A technology firm bought the sanctuary when the Methodists built a new facility. Most of the stained glass windows were still in place, but the pews and altar were replaced with tables, chairs and desks. The parking space nearest the door had a sign designating it for management. Churches sometimes have parking spaces reserved for “Clergy” just as hospitals do for “Doctors.” The CEO however, made a point of taking the most distant parking space he could find. To him walking through the rain and snow was a way to honor his employees, a way of embracing humility. He didn't talk about it; he didn't want his walk to be a “big deal.” It was an invitation, not a presentation. And it took to heart what Jesus teaches in this week's Gospel.

Luke 14:1, 7-14

On one occasion when Jesus was going to the house of a leader of the Pharisees to eat a meal on the sabbath, they were watching him closely.

When he noticed how the guests chose the places of honor, he told them a parable. ‘When you are invited by someone to a wedding banquet, do not sit down at the place of honor, in case someone more distinguished than you has been invited by your host; and the host who invited both of you may come and say to you, “Give this person your place”, and then in disgrace you would start to take the lowest place. But when you are invited, go and sit down at the lowest place, so that when your host comes, he may say to you, “Friend, move up higher”; then you will be honored in the presence of all who sit at the table with you. For all who exalt themselves will be humbled, and those who humble themselves will be exalted.’

He said also to the one who had invited him, ‘When you give a luncheon or a dinner, do not invite your friends or your brothers or your relatives or rich neighbors, in case they may invite you in return, and you would be repaid. But when you give a banquet, invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, and the blind. And you will be blessed, because they cannot repay you, for you will be repaid at the resurrection of the righteous.’

If you are a pastor, I am sure that you, like me, are astonished at the sublime depth of quiet faith in the lives of your parishioners. We often complain about committees or circumstances, but beneath the troubled waters there is a depth of coherence that defies expectation.

Our church had one of the lead citizens of our town. When Ollie died our church was not big enough to seat all who would attend, so the congregation borrowed the Lutheran Church. (In Minnesota it's a fairly sure bet that the Lutherans have the largest sanctuaries!) Ollie had left specific instructions for his funeral.

There would be no eulogy.
There would be no telling of his successes.
There would be no list of accomplishments.
There would be no mentioning of his many honors.

Instead there was to be three things, and three things only:

Prayer, hymns, and scripture.

In his own way he took the words of Jesus were taken to heart. And once again they pierce our hearts. “What will they say about me?” we may have wondered. Ollie showed that a funeral is an invitation rather than a presentation. He made sure that life was the keynote speaker.

Life, of course, is big enough, wide enough, and deep enough to defy categories. W.E.B. DuBois eloquently pierced the conditionality of life when he wrote, “How does it feel to be a problem?” His question lingers in the arenas of race, class consciousness, and disability.

The poor have a problem. They cannot pay their bills. Invite them.
The crippled have a problem. They cannot keep up. Invite them.
The lame have a problem. They are dis-abled.
The blind have a problem. They cannot see and, in Jesus' day, must beg or be led around.

It was a long walk across the parking lot. But resisting privilege was a necessary journey.
It was an odd funeral when Life was the speaker.
It was a stunning call to action when Jesus recognized the presence of life in lives that were considered problems.

This week. . . life speaks to us again.

Soft walking,

Larry

Lectionary citations for Sunday, August 19, 2007

2007-08-15T19:43:00.000-07:00

Lectionary citations for Sunday, August 19, 2007

Isaiah 5:1-7 with Psalm 80:1-2,8-19 or
Jeremiah 23:23-29 with Psalm 82 and
Hebrews 11:29-12:2 and
Luke 12:49-56

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

These Lectionary reflections are based on those two thoughts.

Today's reading catches me off guard and puts me on edge.
The life it describes, and the life around me, is one of ferocious
intensity. As I write on this August evening the sky is a blanket of
smoke. Yet another fire "blew up" this afternoon in a drainage that
was spared last summer. Four church camps were evacuated, among them
the Methodist Camp on the Boulder and the camp of my own
denomination, the United Church of Christ.

When Jesus says, "I came to bring fire to the earth," I
cannot help but be taken aback. I would so much prefer a text that
speaks of healing rivers, of storms that are calmed, of rain that
ends the drought. But this week's Gospel is wrapped in fire as life
itself is sometimes wrapped in fire.

I recall carrying one of our twins under each arm as we fled
a burning house a quarter century ago. I recall the words of a
professor who survived the fire bombing of Tokyo when he gently spoke
to a group in seminary who decided to ritually burn some texts they
found unacceptable. "Be careful of fire," he said. "Handle it
carefully. You must be aware of what you are doing." To believe we
control fire is a mistake. It controls us. The small campfire, the
gas burner, the match and the forest fire lit by a streak of dry
lightening--they all organize our actions.

So does baptism.

The new life it proclaims necessitates the end of one order
and the birth of something new. Jesus minces no words in his
proclamation. He will not let us be distracted by preferable
scripture. He will not allow us to shy away from the forest fires
his baptism kindled.

Will the baptism that organized his life also organize our
lives? And so the terse text begins:

Luke 12:49-56

I came to bring fire to the earth, and how I wish it were
already kindled! I have a baptism with which to be baptized, and what
stress I am under until it is completed! Do you think that I have
come to bring peace to the earth? No, I tell you, but rather
division! From now on, five in one household 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 her daughter-in-law
and daughter-in-law against mother-in-law.'

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. And when you see the south wind blowing, you say, "There
will be scorching heat"; and it happens. 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?

Calm down, I want to say. Those of us whose lives depend on
the rain are not hypocrites when we learn what the clouds and the
winds portend. But we confess we have often talked more about the
weather than we have searched out and spoken the language of life.
We confess we have been preoccupied with our own affairs more than we
have allowed baptism to order those affairs.

Calm down, I want to say to the arguing family. I confess I
often wish to end the argument more than I want to actually follow
the arduous route that would reconcile the Prodigal and his older
brother.

The hypocrite says one thing and does another. How often do
we acknowledge baptism but fail to live it? How often do we become
fluent in the language of complaint and fail to learn he verbs of
life that demand reconciliation before false agreement; that call for
genuine hope instead of wishful thinking; that require a stream of
blessings that we cannot give ourselves?

How often do we shy away from life? How often is it too raw,
too visceral, too hot to approach? How often will we let it be too
kind to defend itself, too forgiving to hold a grudge, too beautiful
to own?

And so fire sweeps across the landscape of our soul. We know
we should not be afraid. We know it is heat that turns mere flour
into bread. We know it is heat that refines precious metals. We
know ashes are a sign of rebirth. And we know that when we are burnt
by fire there is, after the conflagration, a blessing.

Next June the mountains will reveal their true lines without
the trees to cover the slopes. Next June wild flowers will erupt in
profusions of color just as they did this June where the fires
exploded last summer.

"Don't you know things change?" Jesus seems to say. And so
we have a scripture devoted to agency, the carrying out of mission,
the doing and the receiving of life. Funny thing about agency.
Sometimes we are the actors, and sometimes life happens to us.

Either way change is in the wind.

Readings for Sunday, August 12

2007-08-07T15:29:00.000-07:00

Lectionary Readings:

Isaiah 1:1,10-20 with Psalm 50:1-8,22-23
Genesis 15:1-6
Hebrews 11:1-3,8-16
Luke 12:32-40

Life has a language.
And Scripture has a word for us.
Each week these two thoughts frame LCL’s Lectionary Lens.

In every Lectionary there is a thread of coherence that knits together the readings. Each Sabbath the Psalms sing what the Epistles convey, the first readings frame what the Gospels observe. And, in every Lectionary, we can't help but connect it to our personal experience. We do so somewhat carefully, knowing that if there are too many “I's” in the sermon we may have eclipsed part of its message. But we also know that worship is not intended merely to make an interesting point. It runs deeper than that. The world's needs, to say nothing of our own needs, are greater than that. We wonder how we can cling to faith when there are so many circumstances that seem to work against us.

This week's Epistle lesson sheds light on how we navigate the visible and invisible streams of reality. Because the verses are so well known we would be wise to unpack them slowly.

Hebrews 8:1-3, 8-10
Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen. Indeed, by faith our ancestors received approval. By faith we understand that the worlds were prepared by the word of God, so that what is seen was made from things that are not visible.

By faith Abraham obeyed when he was called to set out for a place that he was to receive as an inheritance; and he set out, not knowing where he was going. By faith he stayed for a time in the land he had been promised, as in a foreign land, living in tents, as did Isaac and Jacob, who were heirs with him of the same promise. For he looked forward to the city that has foundations, whose architect and builder is God.

In our lives the last three months have led us through the intricate and often daunting maze of the medical world in search of healing. We know chronic diseases preclude healing. I know I must learn to live with the complications that are part and parcel of a half century with Type 1 diabetes, and that my wife and children must live the increasing burden of pain my wife and children experience each day. There is a sense in which we, and all people with chronic disease, have been betrayed by the very body that was designed to sustain us.

And so life has asked us to live in a world defined by a different set of expectations. We do so with the conviction that “it is worth it.” We do so knowing that pretend and denial, to say nothing of magical thinking, are not part of the conversation. Once we are called to a new place we have no choice but to fill that place as best we can. What was familiar must no longer be familiar. Change is in the wind. Had Abraham denied his call his life-changing story that is so deeply shared by three faiths would have no light to shed. But that does not make the journey easy. Indeed, scripture underlines the inherent difficulty of responding to a call. Yes, Abraham set out by faith. Yes, he didn't know where he was going. But once he arrives in the promised land the story line takes a sudden and dramatic turn. He and Sarah are living in this promised land “as in a foreign land.”

This is a tenuous existence. This is a dangerous existence. I happened to visit Lesotho not long after an uprising. The family I stayed with had a special satchel hanging on a hood beside the front door. In it were birth certificates, passports, identity cards, phone numbers, cash, credit cards—emergency supplies they might need if violence once again came there way. Living in a foreign land, be it another country or in our own country, is an “iffy” existence.

I think of the millions of people who claim life in a medical system that must count its costs and finds it hard to welcome their lack of insurance or their incapacity to pay. They are in a promised land of healing but find it a foreign place. What's to be done? They, and we, cling to a dignity that is not material. We live in promise when we find ourselves in a foreign land. In the words of Scripture “We look forward to the city that has foundations, whose architect and builder is God.” The promise does not take away the afflictions of a body that has betrayed us, but it does allow us to not get caught in circumstance. It does allow us to keep despair at bay. Indeed it is comforting to know Abraham found the promised land an uncertain place; that he had to adapt, and re-adapt, adapt again, and then adapt yet again to not lose his life-defining call.

A pastor once said to me, “Never underestimate the burdens people are carrying on their shoulders then they come into worship.” This Sunday, in your church there are some givens:

Someone will wonder how they are to live when their body has betrayed them;
Someone will wonder if they have the courage to live out an authentic call with unknown implications;
Someone will wonder if they can risk a call to live in another country;
Someone will wonder how to live in that land of tenuous uncertainty;
Someone will wonder if faith can quell the chaos that seems to once again swallow the world with each news cycle'
Someone will come to a holy place whose entire architecture is designed to emphasize and inspire coherence, with the hope of restoring their lives;
Someone, you see, is traveling to the promised land and wonders how to get there.

In short, there is a yearning for the coherence of life that transcends circumstance. This Sunday you will name the circumstances that would seek to restrain our lives. And then you may well ask, “Friends, what is it that defines us? We are defined by faith and it is through faith that we receive our approval.”

Thanks be to God.

Larry

Readings for Sunday, August 5

2007-08-01T15:06:00.000-07:00

Readings for Sunday, August 5

Hosea 11:1-11
Ecclesiastes 1:2, 12-14, 2:18-12
Luke 12:13-21

Life has a language.
And Scripture has a word for us.
Each week these two thoughts frame LCL’s Lectionary Lens.

We start with Jesus’ parable of the rich fool.

“Someone in the crowd said to Jesus, ‘Teacher, tell my brother to divide the family inheritance with me.’ But Jesus said to him, ‘Friend, who set me to be a judge or arbitrator over you?’ And he said to them, ‘Take care! Be on your guard against all kinds of greed; for one’s life does not consist in the abundance of possessions.’ Then he told them a parable.
“The land of a rich man produced abundantly. And he thought to himself, ‘What should I do, for I have no place to store my crops?’ Then he said, ‘I will do this: I will pull down my barns and build larger ones, and there I will store all my grain and my goods. And I will say to my soul, ‘Soul, you have ample goods laid up for many years; relax, eat, drink, be merry.’ But God said to him, ‘You fool! This very night your life is being demanded of you. And the things you have prepared, whose will they be? So it is with those who store up treasures for themselves but are not rich towards God.’”

Blessing is one of the five Leading Causes of Life. Like life the notion of blessing requires some unpacking. We learn in seminary that once blessings are given they cannot be taken away. And, in story after story, we are reminded of their extraordinary power. They derive this power from a configuration that checkmates their indiscriminate use. We can receive blessings. And we can give blessings. But we cannot bless ourselves. At their very core blessings require a community, a relationship, an intrinsic understanding that life is not our own creation.

I wonder in a musing sort of moment, what Jesus would have said had the person in the crowd simply asked for a blessing. What if he had asked, “How am I to use what I hope to receive?” We will never know because his mind was set on things. The rich fool also set his mind on things rather than blessings. Jesus points out that things will ultimately prove empty if they are self-serving. The selfish use of things is akin to trying to bless one’s self. It is an inherent contradiction of life.

The message is important. This is the only parable in which God speaks directly. Jesus talks; the story tells its tale, as stories always do; and God talks. One can’t get much stronger than that. The message requires a weighing of priorities, and a working recognition that the way things are used can be a blessing or a curse.

It is sometimes tempting to make things the enemy. Such an inflection makes for a predictable sermon. But the truth runs deeper than that. Jesus always speaks to our motivations. Will we use the things and the power we have to bless other people? Or will we become self-serving and thereby render both things and our lives impotent?

I write in the aftermath of working with people whose lives have been turned upside down by cancer. So very much of their lives had been taken away. The things they had were not able to forestall the diagnosis and the ensuing avalanche of bills. To say that they have survived by turning their attention to life would be an understatement. The world of things matters, ask anyone who is unable to pay their medical bills. But its power is empty. One family had statements in the neighborhood of two million dollars, all to save the life of their child. What does one do in such a circumstance? One becomes rich in God. And one begins to wonder how other can be blessed. One woman with expensive cancer medications that were for her now departed husband how they might be shared with others. Is there a way? It is a discussion of blessing.

Qoheleth sees vanity on all sides. In our day and age, as perhaps in every day and age, it is tempting to say, “He’s right.”

But today’s readings are not about vanity. They are about blessing. They are about choosing to become rich in God. In our church, and perhaps in yours, we sing every Sunday, “Praise God from whom all blessings flow.” Let us receive the blessings that cannot be taken away; and let us bless others knowing these blessings will last forever.

Amen.

Larry

Genesis 18:20-52 ; Hosea 1:2-18; Luke 11:1-13

2007-07-22T14:39:00.000-07:00

July 29, 2007
Genesis 18:20-52
Hosea 1:2-18
Luke 11:1-13

Life has a language.
And scripture has a word for us.
These two thoughts frame LCL's Lectionary reflections.

At first glance this Sunday's readings are all about connection. Jesus teaches us how to connect in prayer; Abraham wants to know how long a connection can be sustained when two cities decide to go their own way; and Hosea makes the point that Israel and God are estranged.

From a pastoral point of view connection involves accompaniment. As a leading cause of life connection is not a temporary accommodation. It is a long and often arduous process. Relationships may ebb and flow, but it is an awareness of sustaining connections that gives life. God accompanies us over the course of time, and asks us to do the same with each other.

In spite of all that has gone awry in Sodom and Gomorrah, Abraham prompts God to say that if just 50 inhabitants are found to be righteous the cities will be spared; well, actually 45 would do the trick. So would 40; and 30 would suffice; perhaps even ten would save the cities. The story gives solace to any for whom mission has become a lonely experience. But its deeper message reveals how reluctantly and slowly God determines whether or not the wayward cities should be destroyed. It takes a lot for the God of creation to end part of creation. It is a long reading, and a long process, this severing of connections.

We can't help but read the story with a bit of smile. We think of the times we've almost given up on the church and its myriad committees. We think of how patiently and fervently we nourish a thread of connection with our teenagers when they flew like Icarus into the sun's blazing heat. At great cost we wait for the prodigal to return. At great cost we wait for the church to declare its mission despite its tendency to turn inward. At great cost we keep connection alive and accompany each other through life.

And then . . . if the ties are severed . . . and when the ties are severed God points us towards a new beginning. We learn with certainty that separation from God leads to death and that learning informs our ministry and our world of accompanying relationships.

In the complex and beautiful Hosea passage we hear anguish and anger mingled together as Israel neglects the lessons of Sodom and Gomorrah. Hosea's son is to be named Lo-ammi which means NOT MY PEOPLE. The words are chilling. You DO NOT BELONG is a prelude to the injustices of our world in so many ways. Without an insurance card, you DO NOT BELONG. Without a job you DO NOT BELONG. Without the “right” ethnicity you DO NOT BELONG.

But the final word in scripture is not one of separation. “In the place where it was said to them, 'You are not my people,' it shall be said to them, 'Children of the living God.'” we read in verse 10.

Connection and the possibility of accompaniment is re-established. Life once again holds promise. How does that happen? How do we accomplish that? Jesus shows the way and, as usual, his words direct a symphony of connection.

Note again what has so often been noted in the Lord's prayer.

Our . . . the first word is plural.
Father . . . the second word is relational
Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven . . . the thought speaks of connection as profound as creation itself.
Give us . . . we must receive from another, and be open to the reception.
Forgive us our sins as we forgive those who sin against us . . . it is all transactional and sins is plural showing that this connection is trapped by a single moment in time.

If we are to be about life in our churches, we need only keep sacred teachings about connection alive with all our heart, all our mind, all our strength and all our soul.

Larry

Luke 10:38-42

2007-07-19T17:16:00.000-07:00

Life has a language.

And Scripture has a word for us.

It is a word of life that prompts us to connect with God and with neighbor. It is a word that creates a world of meaning rehearsed in liturgy, expressed in sermon, and ensconced in worship. It is a word that informs mission, that reminds us of hope. It is a word of blessing.

We wrote the Leading Causes of Life to uncover the structure of life's language. We wrote it to help guide our response to God's admonition that we are to “chose life.” We found that life always connects, always searches for meaning, never stands still, always moves towards hope and is full of blessings. In our lives as individuals, in the life of our church, or in the life of the institutions each of the causes—connection, coherence, agency, hope and blessing—tells the story of life.

When we examine Scripture's word of life we find the causes at work, guiding us in mission and ministry. It is the purpose of these Lectionary leanings to help us discern the language of life within Scripture in ways that I hope will be useful. We will find ways to tag sacred texts as stories about connections, both expected and unexpected; about meaning defined as belief; about the actions we take to serve a God whose name is a verb; about hope and about blessings that still hold their power after two thousand years.

We look forward to hearing from you and are open to whatever reflections you may have.

The Leading Causes of Life: Lexionary Leanings

Gospel Text for July 22, 2007
Luke 10:38-42

Now as they went on their way, he entered a certain village, where a woman named Martha welcomed him into her home. She had a sister named Mary, who sat at the Lord's feet and listened to what he was saying. But Martha was distracted by her many tasks; so she came to him and asked, 'Lord, do you not care that my sister has left me to do all the work by myself? Tell her then to help me.' But the Lord answered her, 'Martha, Martha, you are worried and distracted by many things; there is need of only one thing. Mary has chosen the better part, which will not be taken away from you.

Grace, mercy and peace to you.

As so often happens with Scripture, the story's rhythm is so pleasingly familiar it almost disracts us from the startling insight offered in its last sentence. We, who sometimes prefer the safety of doing dishes while the Bible study starts on the other side of the kitchen divider, identify and sympathize with Martha who can't help but nurse a gentle grudge against her dreamy sister, and who placates worry with a flurry of responsible actions. The choices Martha makes after inviting Jesus into their home are choices that were actually made for her since the beginning of time.

Everyone knows food must be prepared when a guest is present.
Everyone knows water must be poured.
Everyone knows conversation should be shared, not horded by one person.
Everyone knows that the chaotic messy room must be cleaned up or at least prepared to receive its guests.
Everyone knows that sometimes the best thing about inviting friends to dinner is that it provides a ready-made excuse to sweep, mop and dust.
The responsible person does these things because these are things responsible people do.
If the day has its burdens, and what day doesn't? they can be eased by carrying out the responsibility of hospitality. It will not do to make light of Martha's approach. Her response to Jesus' presence is human.

I think of a woman who, since her husband died some 26 years ago takes exquisite care to set a place for him at the table each time she dines. The plate is in place; the silverware gently weigh down a folded napkin; grief is kept at bay, his presence is palpable. There is nothing maudlin about her practice. To keep up with life sometimes we do the things that show we are indeed keeping up with life.

Martha, Jesus tells us, is distracted by many things. I think of the times my ministry was distracted by a meeting that went awry, by worrying about what was or what was not going to happen, by an unexpected dispute, by an unraveling relationship, by worry about the church budget in the summer months when attendance fell to the wayside, by one sociological analysis or another each of which focused on power dynamics instead of ministry. Distraction . . . thy name is Legion.

We understand Martha ever so well. In ministry, although parishioners may think pastors have power, we often feel as though the dynamics of a congregation demands that we respond to situations rather than making actual choices about what is, and what is not, important. We look for coherence but much of the time it is anything but cohesive.

“Martha, Martha,” says Jesus. “Pastor, pastor,” says Jesus. “Deacon, deacon,” says Jesus. “Trustee, trustee,” says Jesus. And then, having caught us staring in the mirror, he drives home the point.

“Mary has chosen the better part . . .” he says. For years I read the passage and overlooked its verb. Mary chose. Mary did something. She chose a conversation about life. She moved away from the choices made for her by culture or by custom. She chose a deeper conversation. We do not know what she was saying to Jesus, nor do we know what Jesus was saying to her, but the rest of the sentence offers a clue: it concerned things that will not be taken away.

Perhaps they spoke about the gift of grace that cannot be taken away. Perhaps they spoke about the Spirit's leading. Perhaps they spoke about hope. Perhaps they spoke about blessing. All of which is to say their conversation centered on life rather than its attributes. It was a conversation focused more on the water and less on the pitcher, as the Suffi would say it.

I write these words using 18 point type on my computer with a patch over one eye and vision fast fading in the other. I write acutely aware of how much can be taken from us. A month ago the gift of vision that has sustained me through half a century with diabetes departed. It was taken away.

Various encounters with eye doctors led to surgery which may, or may not, restore vision. What interested me was conversation with the physicians all centered on medical responsibility. The broken vessel is here; the blood is there; we could do this; we might do that. Do you have an insurance card? The opportunity to reflect on life never arose. The pregnant question God asked Amos in last week's Lectionary “What do you see, Amos?” never came up. Medicine was a matter of mechanics, just as hospitality is often a matter of mechanics.

Prior to surgery, before being wheeled into the operating room the anesthesiologist and I began talking. Curiously enough it was a conversation about life. Physicians and pastors both thrive on attention even though we both know it is chimeric in nature. “We don't connect much with anesthesiologists,” I observe. “We just keep you alive,” he said with a smile. “You an an underappreciated artist,” I said. We begin talking about healing, and I note that healing doesn't really happen in hospitals—it happens when we return home to our congregations. “I am determined to write a book about the geography of healing,” I say. The conversation goes on and on.

“You know,” he says, “they're probably getting all flustered in the operating room. Modern medicine, you know, chop-chop. Everything happens fast. But I think it is important to get to know you, just a bit. What's the name of the book you helped write?”
“The Leading Causes of Life,” I say. “Of course with a title like that I wish you would have read it before the operation.” We laugh and the next thing I know I'm gone.

I share this story and these words because Jesus had it right. We must actively choose to engage in conversations about life. We must actively break the hospital's fierce schedule and take time to learn about each other's life. We must actively recognize that much can and will be taken away from us over the course of our lives and that we must center on sustaining connection; on coherence rather than chaos; on hope and the blessings we can only receive from others.

As we do so, we chose life. And chances are that what we learned at home we may well find its way into the church: the best bible discussion in the world happens as together we wash the dishes and make room for a word with the giver of Life.