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
Sunday, July 22, 2007
Thursday, July 19, 2007
Luke 10:38-42
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.
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.
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