Lectionary Readings for Sunday, January 20, 2008
Second Sunday after the Epiphany
Isaiah 49:1-7
Psalm 40:1-11
I Corinthians 1:1-9
John 1:29-42
Life has a language.
And scripture has a word for us.
In this week's reflection I'd like to begin with a life experience that has been part of church life since the church began.
There are few gatherings as full of life as Bible studies.
That is not to say every session is memorable, or that every session is full of loving memory, hope, and divine intuition, or that we don't sometimes leave them feeling that the gathering fell flat. Nevertheless, no matter how well the session goes, or how much we believe it failed, by their very nature bible studies are full of life.
In them a small group of people take time to connect with each other, with scripture, and with the notion that God wants to connect with us. We can't help but connect with our experiences, our hopes, our fears, our belief that one way or another life is a gift from God.
We would like the sessions to reveal something about the nature of life, to renew our sense of direction, to quiet the nagging sense of chaos that either nips at our heels or sometimes stalks us. In bible study we find verses of scripture that seem to have been written just for us. In the text, and as we hear our friends grappling with the text, we both search for and find a sense of coherence.
We study with care both what people once did when they discerned the voice of God, and what God did in the course of their lives to change the course of their lives. There is nothing static about bible study . . . even the pillar of salt that ended the life of Lot's wife gives life three thousand years later when nostalgia for what was tries to claim our lives as well. Life happens and we gather around coffee tables with the text in our hand to see how it happened, how it is happening, and to prepare ourselves for tomorrow's happenings. In our Leading Causes of Life lexicon we call this agency.
We cannot study the text without a sense of hope. The story is one of promise, not slavery; one of life, not death, one of hope, not despair, one that urges us to trust a dove is on its way and that a slender twig from an olive tree is all we need to overcome despair. We go into the sessions thinking, "I wonder what God is going to say today" knowing that something will be said that encourages our own journeys.
And, we can scarcely meet for the bible study without finding it to be a blessing. And what is a blessing? It is the gift of perception that changes our lives. It is a gift we can give or receive, but we cannot give it to ourselves. Around that small circle before the Sunday service, or on Wednesday evenings, or in a Sunday School class, in those places we give and receive blessings that confirm our deepest beliefs or ask us to re-examine those very same beliefs.
Whatever the text may be, life speaks to us in Bible studies. It is crucial for us to remember that life is the teacher. I recall leading a bible study in a nursing home some years ago. There were perhaps 15 people present and I, in my mid 40s, suddenly had a palpable sense that those gathered around the table knew more about life and faith than I did. Just for fun we started adding up the age of everyone around the table. Before long the sum revealed more than 1,000 years of life experience sitting around that table so many years ago. Not surprisingly I remember the text we studied that day--it was the ten commandments that received our attention. When we were finished, having given credence to a thousand years of shared faith, we went about our separate ways with a deeper sense of connection, of the faith we shared, and the power of our shared blessings.
And now to today's text who's Gospel lesson asks us to connect with Jesus not just as a man but as the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world. In him chaos meets its match. As usual, this revelation takes place not as an isolated event but in the context of a community. And who was at the living "bible study?"
John saw Jesus coming towards him and stated Jesus' true identity in a most public way. It is interesting that the text does not say, "declared to Jesus." Instead, the declaration is for the public. He was speaking to those around him . . . and we know that he is speaking to us as well. Then the movement towards plurality gathers still more momentum. Having started with John, we move to Jesus, then on to the Spirit, and then to God. Along the way we connect with the Passover lambs whose blood brought life to those in bondage. We then move towards two disciples one of whom, Andrew, quickly fetches his brother to share the story that now has six actors: John, Jesus, the Spirit, God, Andrew, a fellow disciple and Andrew's brother Simon Peter. Two times in the short text names are given to establish an enduring sense of coherence: Jesus--the Lamb of God, and Simon Peter--who will be named Peter.
For all of them life will change.
With this in mind . . . notice how each sentence virtually overflows with both action and expectation:
The next day he saw Jesus coming towards him and declared, 'Here is the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world! This is he of whom I said, "After me comes a man who ranks ahead of me because he was before me." I myself did not know him; but I came baptizing with water for this reason, that he might be revealed to Israel.' And John testified, 'I saw the Spirit descending from heaven like a dove, and it remained on him. I myself did not know him, but the one who sent me to baptize with water said to me, "He on whom you see the Spirit descend and remain is the one who baptizes with the Holy Spirit." And I myself have seen and have testified that this is the Son of God.'
The next day John again was standing with two of his disciples, and as he watched Jesus walk by, he exclaimed, 'Look, here is the Lamb of God!' The two disciples heard him say this, and they followed Jesus. When Jesus turned and saw them following, he said to them, 'What are you looking for?' They said to him, 'Rabbi' (which translated means Teacher), 'where are you staying?' He said to them, 'Come and see.' They came and saw where he was staying, and they remained with him that day. It was about four o'clock in the afternoon. One of the two who heard John speak and followed him was Andrew, Simon Peter's brother. He first found his brother Simon and said to him, 'We have found the Messiah' (which is translated Anointed). He brought Simon to Jesus, who looked at him and said, 'You are Simon son of John. You are to be called Cephas' (which is translated Peter).
We will have a bible study. It will invariably be followed by "the next day" when we may be standing with friends as John was so many years ago, or walking along as Jesus did all those years ago. We may wonder, "What is our God given name?" We may wonder with whom we may share our testimony. We may be like John and say that we too "did not know him," or we may be like Peter who years later would deny our life-changing knowledge, or we maybe like Andrew and invite someone to next week's bible study.
Blessings to you and your group as you put on the coffee, open the book, and find yourself in the midst of life this week.
Larry
I welcome your response to these columns. I may be reached at:
larry@leadingcausesoflife.org
Or
larrypray@gmail.com
Thursday, January 17, 2008
Tuesday, January 1, 2008
Lectionary Readings for Sunday, January 6, 2008
Lectionary Readings for Sunday, January 6, 2008
Epiphany of the Lord
Isaiah 60:1-6 with Psalm 72:1-7, 10-14
Ephesians 3:1-12
Matthew 2:1-12
Life has a language.
And scripture has a word for us this Epiphany Sunday.
Were this a commentary there would be many levels to our exegetical inquiry. We would unpack Isaiah's prophetic words that hold power in their own right, and wonder perhaps if they have been commandeered by Matthew for whom history itself is always a matter of fulfillment revealed in the life of Jesus. We might tack a date to the time of King Herod, we might search maps for the lands east of Judea from whence three magi appeared, we might even lift a page from planetarium shows to show how a supernova might have ensured that every set of eyes lifted towards heaven would take note of its light. We might compare and contrast the “overwhelming joy” experienced by the magi with the equally overwhelming fear that prompted Herod's paranoia.
But these reflections are not exegetical commentaries. Instead we hold our ear to the ground and lift our eyes towards the heavens to both hear and see what life is saying. We know its story will involve connection and disconnection, coherence in the presence of chaos, hope that shows us what to do, where to go, and how to shape our lives. We know it will be a story of blessing.
And it all starts with a star.
Which is to say, it all starts with a reference point.
Which life translates as coherence.
We look into the night sky, though perhaps not often enough in an age that is apt to forget the stars are even there, and notice the seemingly countless stars. Some are first magnitude, each saying, “Follow me.” Many we piece together as constellations, each with a story as powerful as Orion or as evocative as the Pleiades. We take them all in but we ascribe meaning to some of them, ordering that which is almost too vast to contemplate on a winter night. We know we could navigate by them if we needed to, we know civilization learned to track them long before our electronic age of GPS systems that can tell us exactly where we are but not where we are going.
But not so this biblical star. It had (has?) the power to inspire a journey, to lead the way, and even had a sense of ownership. It is not part of a mythical beast, it is not part of Draco the Dragon or Pegasus. Instead it is attached to the birth of a specific person in a specific time. It is always true that the gathering power of coherence threatens other configurations of power. Herod and, remarkably enough—how very sensitive we are to the whims of those in power—all Jerusalem felt fear run through their soul.
We learn something about coherence.
Its borders may be porous or impermeable. When they are porous they allow three magi, who knows what religion they practiced back in Ur or in Persia, to become part of a great journey. When they are porous even the heavens have a role to play. When they are porous a shepherd can become a ruler. When they are porous even angels have a voice in the celebration of creation.
When they are sealed fear rules the day. When they are sealed my “in” means your “out” and truth becomes a casualty. I have never been able to read this Sunday's text without thinking of the wolf talking with Little Red Riding Hood trying his best to deceive her. Fear always tries to create its own reality in which control is the lead voice. Coherence insists that we live with some set of boundary expectations, but life insists that some of its doors must be left unlocked, some of its windows open.
With this in mind . . . look for the boundaries and its openings in the text:
Matthew 2:1-12
In the time of King Herod, after Jesus was born in Bethlehem of Judea, wise men from the East came to Jerusalem, asking, "Where is the child who has been born king of the Jews? For we observed his star at its rising, and have come to pay him homage." When King Herod heard this, he was frightened, and all Jerusalem with him; and calling together all the chief priests and scribes of the people, he inquired of them where the Messiah was to be born. They told him, "In Bethlehem of Judea; for so it has been written by the prophet:
'And you, Bethlehem, in the land of Judah,
are by no means least among the rulers of Judah;
for from you shall come a ruler
who is to shepherd my people Israel.'"
Then Herod secretly called for the wise men and learned from them the exact time when the star had appeared. Then he sent them to Bethlehem, saying, "Go and search diligently for the child; and when you have found him, bring me word so that I may also go and pay him homage." When they had heard the king, they set out; and there, ahead of them, went the star that they had seen at its rising, until it stopped over the place where the child was. When they saw that the star had stopped, they were overwhelmed with joy. On entering the house, they saw the child with Mary his mother; and they knelt down and paid him homage. Then, opening their treasure-chests, they offered him gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh. And having been warned in a dream not to return to Herod, they left for their own country by another road.
If the star catches my imagination, the last phrase can't help but catch my attention. The magi leave for their own country, a place where the boundaries are safe, a place from which they may both come and go as the occasion warrants. To arrive safely they must travel by another road outside of Herod's control. Such roads always exist. Sometimes they are physical, sometimes they are spiritual, sometimes we find them in literature, sometimes in art, and always in scripture. They allow us to thread our way through chaos and point us towards our reference point . . . a star known as life and a child whose name would be Jesus.
On this Epiphany Sunday, blessings to you as we all renew our reference point and continue our journey.
Soft walking,
Larry
I welcome your response to these columns. I may be reached at:
larry@leadingcausesoflife.org
Or
larrypray@gmail.com
Epiphany of the Lord
Isaiah 60:1-6 with Psalm 72:1-7, 10-14
Ephesians 3:1-12
Matthew 2:1-12
Life has a language.
And scripture has a word for us this Epiphany Sunday.
Were this a commentary there would be many levels to our exegetical inquiry. We would unpack Isaiah's prophetic words that hold power in their own right, and wonder perhaps if they have been commandeered by Matthew for whom history itself is always a matter of fulfillment revealed in the life of Jesus. We might tack a date to the time of King Herod, we might search maps for the lands east of Judea from whence three magi appeared, we might even lift a page from planetarium shows to show how a supernova might have ensured that every set of eyes lifted towards heaven would take note of its light. We might compare and contrast the “overwhelming joy” experienced by the magi with the equally overwhelming fear that prompted Herod's paranoia.
But these reflections are not exegetical commentaries. Instead we hold our ear to the ground and lift our eyes towards the heavens to both hear and see what life is saying. We know its story will involve connection and disconnection, coherence in the presence of chaos, hope that shows us what to do, where to go, and how to shape our lives. We know it will be a story of blessing.
And it all starts with a star.
Which is to say, it all starts with a reference point.
Which life translates as coherence.
We look into the night sky, though perhaps not often enough in an age that is apt to forget the stars are even there, and notice the seemingly countless stars. Some are first magnitude, each saying, “Follow me.” Many we piece together as constellations, each with a story as powerful as Orion or as evocative as the Pleiades. We take them all in but we ascribe meaning to some of them, ordering that which is almost too vast to contemplate on a winter night. We know we could navigate by them if we needed to, we know civilization learned to track them long before our electronic age of GPS systems that can tell us exactly where we are but not where we are going.
But not so this biblical star. It had (has?) the power to inspire a journey, to lead the way, and even had a sense of ownership. It is not part of a mythical beast, it is not part of Draco the Dragon or Pegasus. Instead it is attached to the birth of a specific person in a specific time. It is always true that the gathering power of coherence threatens other configurations of power. Herod and, remarkably enough—how very sensitive we are to the whims of those in power—all Jerusalem felt fear run through their soul.
We learn something about coherence.
Its borders may be porous or impermeable. When they are porous they allow three magi, who knows what religion they practiced back in Ur or in Persia, to become part of a great journey. When they are porous even the heavens have a role to play. When they are porous a shepherd can become a ruler. When they are porous even angels have a voice in the celebration of creation.
When they are sealed fear rules the day. When they are sealed my “in” means your “out” and truth becomes a casualty. I have never been able to read this Sunday's text without thinking of the wolf talking with Little Red Riding Hood trying his best to deceive her. Fear always tries to create its own reality in which control is the lead voice. Coherence insists that we live with some set of boundary expectations, but life insists that some of its doors must be left unlocked, some of its windows open.
With this in mind . . . look for the boundaries and its openings in the text:
Matthew 2:1-12
In the time of King Herod, after Jesus was born in Bethlehem of Judea, wise men from the East came to Jerusalem, asking, "Where is the child who has been born king of the Jews? For we observed his star at its rising, and have come to pay him homage." When King Herod heard this, he was frightened, and all Jerusalem with him; and calling together all the chief priests and scribes of the people, he inquired of them where the Messiah was to be born. They told him, "In Bethlehem of Judea; for so it has been written by the prophet:
'And you, Bethlehem, in the land of Judah,
are by no means least among the rulers of Judah;
for from you shall come a ruler
who is to shepherd my people Israel.'"
Then Herod secretly called for the wise men and learned from them the exact time when the star had appeared. Then he sent them to Bethlehem, saying, "Go and search diligently for the child; and when you have found him, bring me word so that I may also go and pay him homage." When they had heard the king, they set out; and there, ahead of them, went the star that they had seen at its rising, until it stopped over the place where the child was. When they saw that the star had stopped, they were overwhelmed with joy. On entering the house, they saw the child with Mary his mother; and they knelt down and paid him homage. Then, opening their treasure-chests, they offered him gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh. And having been warned in a dream not to return to Herod, they left for their own country by another road.
If the star catches my imagination, the last phrase can't help but catch my attention. The magi leave for their own country, a place where the boundaries are safe, a place from which they may both come and go as the occasion warrants. To arrive safely they must travel by another road outside of Herod's control. Such roads always exist. Sometimes they are physical, sometimes they are spiritual, sometimes we find them in literature, sometimes in art, and always in scripture. They allow us to thread our way through chaos and point us towards our reference point . . . a star known as life and a child whose name would be Jesus.
On this Epiphany Sunday, blessings to you as we all renew our reference point and continue our journey.
Soft walking,
Larry
I welcome your response to these columns. I may be reached at:
larry@leadingcausesoflife.org
Or
larrypray@gmail.com
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