Readings for Sunday, October 28, 2007

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

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

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