Lectionary Readings for Sunday, September 30, 2007

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

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

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

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