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
Thursday, December 27, 2007
Tuesday, December 18, 2007
Lectionary Readings for Sunday, December 23, 2007
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
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
Friday, December 14, 2007
Lectionary Readings for Sunday, December 16, 2007
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
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
Saturday, December 1, 2007
Lectionary Readings for Sunday, December 2, 2007
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
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
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