Prisons are not good places to be. Prisoners are dehumanized, often brutalized. Prison is not a place where hope is easily kept alive. So John the Baptizer, messenger of God, now in prison has questions. What about his own ministry and his hopes for the renewal of his people? What about this Jesus? He looked so promising, and John even dared to believe, but now, in this dark, dank, inhuman place, he wonders. His hope and his dreams of the promised new day are collapsing. So he needs to hear from his closest friends about what's going. What the buzz about Jesus now?
Matthew's gospel is written to a community dealing with shattering change. Matthew and his community know very well that too much change overwhelms. Individually and as communities the experience is like being in prison: a prison of our own dark worries and demons, or of the oppressive regime around us, or of the polarized and thus demoralized culture in which we live.
In such dire circumstances, the ministry of witnesses is crucial. When our confidence in God wavers we need those who are in a better place and free, to come and witness to us again of what the Christ is up to in the world. In my view, that's just what John's disciple-friends likely did for him—at his request.
The Matthew 11 story reminds me of the situation of Martin Luther, the genius reformer. His theological insight and passion for the gospel was the driving force of most of his career. Yet he was also a deeply troubled soul and every so often descended into a prison of darkness where he felt that he was losing faith and confidence in the gospel as he had experienced, preached and taught it. So what did he do? Somewhat like John the Baptizer, he asked his friends, who were in a better place faith-wise, to surround him and “preach” the gospel to him until once again his faith was renewed. He needed to be reminded again and again about the works of God in Jesus the Christ.
Remember that Quadratos is based on the supposition that each of the gospels was written in and/or to a particular community. Matthew's gospel itself is a witness to the acts of the Christ in the midst of great change. Witnessing is powerful stuff when it is done in community and as compassionate friendship, not as arrogant theological bullying. There are times when liturgy becomes that for the people of God. There are other times when the ministry of friends does the witnessing.
Think of how Jesus' words in Matthew 11can be taken as metaphor, and thus help us to bear witness in specific ways to persons and perhaps faith communities in crisis:
“Go and tell John what you hear and see: the blind receive their sight, the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the poor have good news brought to them. And blessed is anyone who takes no offense at me.”
Where is this happening now? What does it look like in your corner of the world? Or are you in prison and longing for hope and reassurance?
In this Matthean Advent we are blessed if we recognize our imprisonment and ask for friends to speak the good news to us and our community; and we are just as blessed if we discover that we are free enough to see what the Christ is doing even now, in this time of the shaking of the foundations.
Either way, blessed is anyone who takes no offense at him who lives the way of God in a world and time of change.
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
Monday, November 8, 2010
Just Because You're Paranoid Doesn't Mean They're Not Out to Get You
In response to working on this apocalypse in Luke 21 I decided to reread Cormac McCarthy's “The Road.” His bleak novel is a walk through an unnamed and undefined but dreadful apocalypse.
As with “The Road”, being on the road with the Christ will take us into bleak and terrifying landscapes and events not well-defined, and not given a date on the calendar. And then, the kicker: after rumors of wars and insurrections—which I take to mean the socio/politico/religious systems stressed and collapsing—what comes next is the persecution of Christians. And then what follows that is cosmic apocalypse, which I do not take to be literal, but rather archetypal and much deeper than typical “end of the world” speculation.
Ready for all this? Luke's Jesus expects us to be. On this road, the Christ asks us to open our hearts to the agonies and sorrows of the world. This is not easy. It will give us broken hearts, wounds, and sorrows not originally our own. In fact, the more I work my way in Luke, the more I sense how severe is the call in the fourth path of maturing service. In Luke, the only creative response to a future yet unknown, but loaded with the stealthy shadows of war, evil, and persecutions, is to live faithfully in the present, serving those in need along the way. To serve like that we need see, hear, and feel the pain right in front us, and then seek to do something about it, one way or another.
But every step brings risk. We may trip over a “roadside bomb”, or encounter the shadowy lurking “they” whom Jesus references several times (“they will arrest you and persecute you, they will hand you over, they will put some of you to death...”). Even betrayal by family and friends is a feature of the this fourth path, this “Way”.
Luke's community lived all that stuff. Opposition to the Way is real because the Way is real and runs counter to the systems that ruin life and the world.
Therefore we are asked to continue down this road, this Way of maturing, difficult service, knowing that what may be around the next bend in the road is trouble greater than we've imagined: apocalypse now.
But knit together in a community of faith and service, we are given the wisdom and comfort of the Holy Spirit. Our answer is God, not timetables or doctrines about eschatology. In Christ we endure, and doing so, we gain more than mere physical survival. We gain our souls, a transcendent gift of the grace of God.
As with “The Road”, being on the road with the Christ will take us into bleak and terrifying landscapes and events not well-defined, and not given a date on the calendar. And then, the kicker: after rumors of wars and insurrections—which I take to mean the socio/politico/religious systems stressed and collapsing—what comes next is the persecution of Christians. And then what follows that is cosmic apocalypse, which I do not take to be literal, but rather archetypal and much deeper than typical “end of the world” speculation.
Ready for all this? Luke's Jesus expects us to be. On this road, the Christ asks us to open our hearts to the agonies and sorrows of the world. This is not easy. It will give us broken hearts, wounds, and sorrows not originally our own. In fact, the more I work my way in Luke, the more I sense how severe is the call in the fourth path of maturing service. In Luke, the only creative response to a future yet unknown, but loaded with the stealthy shadows of war, evil, and persecutions, is to live faithfully in the present, serving those in need along the way. To serve like that we need see, hear, and feel the pain right in front us, and then seek to do something about it, one way or another.
But every step brings risk. We may trip over a “roadside bomb”, or encounter the shadowy lurking “they” whom Jesus references several times (“they will arrest you and persecute you, they will hand you over, they will put some of you to death...”). Even betrayal by family and friends is a feature of the this fourth path, this “Way”.
Luke's community lived all that stuff. Opposition to the Way is real because the Way is real and runs counter to the systems that ruin life and the world.
Therefore we are asked to continue down this road, this Way of maturing, difficult service, knowing that what may be around the next bend in the road is trouble greater than we've imagined: apocalypse now.
But knit together in a community of faith and service, we are given the wisdom and comfort of the Holy Spirit. Our answer is God, not timetables or doctrines about eschatology. In Christ we endure, and doing so, we gain more than mere physical survival. We gain our souls, a transcendent gift of the grace of God.
Monday, October 11, 2010
Pray Always and Do Not Lose Heart
Luke18:1-8
1Then Jesus told them a parable about their need to pray always and not to lose heart. 2He said, “In a certain city there was a judge who neither feared God nor had respect for people. 3In that city there was a widow who kept coming to him and saying, ‘Grant me justice against my opponent.’ 4For a while he refused; but later he said to himself, ‘Though I have no fear of God and no respect for anyone, 5yet because this widow keeps bothering me, I will grant her justice, so that she may not wear me out by continually coming.’” 6And the Lord said, “Listen to what the unjust judge says. 7And will not God grant justice to his chosen ones who cry to him day and night? Will he delay long in helping them? 8I tell you, he will quickly grant justice to them. And yet, when the Son of Man comes, will he find faith on earth?”
——————————————————
Christ is the model of praying always and not losing heart.
His life was (and is) a continuous day and night cry, a consciousness of and witness to the injustice and suffering everywhere present in humanity. And not just in humanity, but in all creation, which, St Paul states, groans like a woman in childbirth–so great is the longing of all beings for the ultimate revelation of divine justice, consolation, peace, and deep communion. The four chapters of the great gospel also are such a form of prayer, bearing witness to the sins of the world and the hope of God. For the pattern of the way of the Christ gives voice to the passion of God’s great dream of shalom and becomes a sign of it.
Since this is a lot to understand, Luke writes in a very pointed manner to his fledgling church and to us: “And the Lord (Jesus!) said: “Listen to what the unjust judge says”—the judge who finally announces he will grant the widow her justice. I wonder how this resonated in the ears and the heart of Luke’s community, as they experienced the “great divorce” of Judaism and the fledgling Christian movement. Ostracized, shunned, and persecuted, they may have seen themselves as very much in the same fix as the basically powerless widow. And the ever present temptation surely must have to been to give into the ways things were and give up on God.
Listen to what the judge says and remember the widow! She “won her case”, finally, yet what power did the widow have? Most likely none but the power of persistence, the deep courage of never giving up until justice is done.
What does this mean for us? In the post-modern age, when Christianity and (real) faith are largely passe, we may also experience now what many others have endured: marginalization and a feeling of powerlessness. Longing for the past triumphalism of Christendom is neither prayer nor faith, but rather seeking to have power that is not from God.
Therefore, the sign of faith on earth are the “chosen ones”, who in their weakness are finally attentive to the primary call: unceasing prayer for people in every circumstance, friends and enemies alike, and for all creation. Such prayer gives voice to the cry of the Christ, day and night, by both words and actions. This difficult enterprise of unceasing prayer brings into ever growing consciousness the sins of the world and the hope of God.
Thus we affirm the inescapable mission of those who would follow The Way: pray always and never lose heart. That is the sign of faith on earth
1Then Jesus told them a parable about their need to pray always and not to lose heart. 2He said, “In a certain city there was a judge who neither feared God nor had respect for people. 3In that city there was a widow who kept coming to him and saying, ‘Grant me justice against my opponent.’ 4For a while he refused; but later he said to himself, ‘Though I have no fear of God and no respect for anyone, 5yet because this widow keeps bothering me, I will grant her justice, so that she may not wear me out by continually coming.’” 6And the Lord said, “Listen to what the unjust judge says. 7And will not God grant justice to his chosen ones who cry to him day and night? Will he delay long in helping them? 8I tell you, he will quickly grant justice to them. And yet, when the Son of Man comes, will he find faith on earth?”
——————————————————
Christ is the model of praying always and not losing heart.
His life was (and is) a continuous day and night cry, a consciousness of and witness to the injustice and suffering everywhere present in humanity. And not just in humanity, but in all creation, which, St Paul states, groans like a woman in childbirth–so great is the longing of all beings for the ultimate revelation of divine justice, consolation, peace, and deep communion. The four chapters of the great gospel also are such a form of prayer, bearing witness to the sins of the world and the hope of God. For the pattern of the way of the Christ gives voice to the passion of God’s great dream of shalom and becomes a sign of it.
Since this is a lot to understand, Luke writes in a very pointed manner to his fledgling church and to us: “And the Lord (Jesus!) said: “Listen to what the unjust judge says”—the judge who finally announces he will grant the widow her justice. I wonder how this resonated in the ears and the heart of Luke’s community, as they experienced the “great divorce” of Judaism and the fledgling Christian movement. Ostracized, shunned, and persecuted, they may have seen themselves as very much in the same fix as the basically powerless widow. And the ever present temptation surely must have to been to give into the ways things were and give up on God.
Listen to what the judge says and remember the widow! She “won her case”, finally, yet what power did the widow have? Most likely none but the power of persistence, the deep courage of never giving up until justice is done.
What does this mean for us? In the post-modern age, when Christianity and (real) faith are largely passe, we may also experience now what many others have endured: marginalization and a feeling of powerlessness. Longing for the past triumphalism of Christendom is neither prayer nor faith, but rather seeking to have power that is not from God.
Therefore, the sign of faith on earth are the “chosen ones”, who in their weakness are finally attentive to the primary call: unceasing prayer for people in every circumstance, friends and enemies alike, and for all creation. Such prayer gives voice to the cry of the Christ, day and night, by both words and actions. This difficult enterprise of unceasing prayer brings into ever growing consciousness the sins of the world and the hope of God.
Thus we affirm the inescapable mission of those who would follow The Way: pray always and never lose heart. That is the sign of faith on earth
Monday, May 31, 2010
The Spirit of Truth
Parents know they cannot leave their little children home alone. And Jesus knew his church could not be abandoned, left all on its own. An Advocate was necessary, the Advocate, the Holy Spirit. Why? Being a human organization as well as body of Christ, the church is flawed, and from time to time congregations and members of them lose their way. As the Spirit of Truth, the Paraclete keeps calling us back to clarity about the way of the Christ, for the sake of the well-being of our life and mission. Pentecost: many languages, yes, but the bottom line was truth telling.
During my term as bishop of the synod, I spent a lot of time dealing with the significant level of congregational discontent around the synod. At first this really offended me. What on earth is going on in this synod? I anguished over it, became discouraged. Then, after about a year and half in office, the Advocate whacked me alongside the head, so to speak, with the amazing insight that when trouble breaks out in a congregation, in spite of all the meanness and nastiness around that trouble, the trouble itself is a good thing! The Spirit is bringing forth truth!
Does this sound crazy? Well, since the Spirit, the Advocate, is the Spirit of Truth, then in times of congregational trouble, there is cause for rejoicing, because now the reality about their actual situation is beginning surface after perhaps years of secret power moves, weakened mission, and general failure to be the lively, compassionate community Christ’s body is called to be. Naturally when I shared this perspective with congregational leaders in the midst of the storming chaos, it was not exactly greeted with rejoicing, since in times of trouble, we just want someone come and make the trouble go away.
Facing reality, in depth, is tremendously difficult work Whether in our personal lives or in congregations, we never initially welcome the truth with open arms. Indeed, we resist it. Yet the Advocate stays with us, not to abuse us, but to bring us to life and health and purposeful well-being. We are neither abandoned nor are we just coddled in our denial, but rather helped to accept responsibility for ourselves, face reality, and endure the suffering truth-telling brings. When that happens, over time we discover we’ve been born into a new life! This is the joy and well-being the Advocate brings us to: the other side of truth, the common-union, burden-bearing, forgiving, welcoming, and rejoicing in Christ that spirituality that healthy congregations are about!
Pentecost continues! The Holy Spirit, the Advocate walks us through change, suffering, joy, and service to the gospel cause, in order to align us with God’s work, and to deepen our commit to the church’s mission, following the way of our Lord Jesus Christ in whom we live, and move and have our being. And that’s the truth! Amen.
During my term as bishop of the synod, I spent a lot of time dealing with the significant level of congregational discontent around the synod. At first this really offended me. What on earth is going on in this synod? I anguished over it, became discouraged. Then, after about a year and half in office, the Advocate whacked me alongside the head, so to speak, with the amazing insight that when trouble breaks out in a congregation, in spite of all the meanness and nastiness around that trouble, the trouble itself is a good thing! The Spirit is bringing forth truth!
Does this sound crazy? Well, since the Spirit, the Advocate, is the Spirit of Truth, then in times of congregational trouble, there is cause for rejoicing, because now the reality about their actual situation is beginning surface after perhaps years of secret power moves, weakened mission, and general failure to be the lively, compassionate community Christ’s body is called to be. Naturally when I shared this perspective with congregational leaders in the midst of the storming chaos, it was not exactly greeted with rejoicing, since in times of trouble, we just want someone come and make the trouble go away.
Facing reality, in depth, is tremendously difficult work Whether in our personal lives or in congregations, we never initially welcome the truth with open arms. Indeed, we resist it. Yet the Advocate stays with us, not to abuse us, but to bring us to life and health and purposeful well-being. We are neither abandoned nor are we just coddled in our denial, but rather helped to accept responsibility for ourselves, face reality, and endure the suffering truth-telling brings. When that happens, over time we discover we’ve been born into a new life! This is the joy and well-being the Advocate brings us to: the other side of truth, the common-union, burden-bearing, forgiving, welcoming, and rejoicing in Christ that spirituality that healthy congregations are about!
Pentecost continues! The Holy Spirit, the Advocate walks us through change, suffering, joy, and service to the gospel cause, in order to align us with God’s work, and to deepen our commit to the church’s mission, following the way of our Lord Jesus Christ in whom we live, and move and have our being. And that’s the truth! Amen.
Monday, March 22, 2010
The Passion of our Lord according to St Luke
The reader’s theater proclamation of the Passion of our Lord according to St Luke was going well; each of the readers ably bringing forth the various parts and voices, and the narrator, a young woman with a confident public voice added gravitas to the whole thing. And then we got to the portion where Jesus is abused by the authorities and mocked and flogged by the soldiers and then dragged off to be killed. Her voice broke and she began to sob, unable to continue for some moments.
The waiting readers began to weep and so did most of the congregation. I could tell by the hankies and tissues up patting at eyes. But what was this moment about? Pious emotion overflowing for a time, feeling bad for Jesus, experiencing a bit of heartbreak over what he suffered?
I wonder if, on a deep, mostly unconscious level, we were weeping for ourselves, because so to speak, God showed up. We were caught up in the deep truth of Luke’s passion narrative. The women who witnessed his lurching steps toward crucifixion were wailing for him, and Jesus shouted to them, “Daughters of Jerusalem, do not weep for me, but weep for yourselves and your children.”
This is about more than history or Jesus’ biography. The vignette needs to be honored as a vital part of what Alexander Shaia has called the annual church retreat. The examination of conscience, both individually and corporately, will reveal our entrapment in inescapable history and cultural milieu. Especially in this year of our Fourth Path call to service, such reality is difficult to face: not only do we hurt one another, but we are in turn hurt, abused, limited, enslaved to our pasts and mocked by the present. Why wouldn’t we weep?
Every experience of suffering and crucifixion and resurrection are apocalyptic, world-ending, rebirthing moments—truth be told, God moments, times when the reality of Christ as us is all too real. During this Lenten retreat, we have permission, even a mandate, to get so honest about ourselves personally and corporately, that we become able to let go and “weep for ourselves and our children.” Tears, like baptism, welcome us into both the death and the new life of the Christ.
Even Easter includes the startling, frightening presence of Christ, who announces: “Peace be with you.” In that moment, the universe lights up like a neon sign and we see: our journey is not about us, but about God and our neighbor and what happens when both show up in our lives—for real.
The waiting readers began to weep and so did most of the congregation. I could tell by the hankies and tissues up patting at eyes. But what was this moment about? Pious emotion overflowing for a time, feeling bad for Jesus, experiencing a bit of heartbreak over what he suffered?
I wonder if, on a deep, mostly unconscious level, we were weeping for ourselves, because so to speak, God showed up. We were caught up in the deep truth of Luke’s passion narrative. The women who witnessed his lurching steps toward crucifixion were wailing for him, and Jesus shouted to them, “Daughters of Jerusalem, do not weep for me, but weep for yourselves and your children.”
This is about more than history or Jesus’ biography. The vignette needs to be honored as a vital part of what Alexander Shaia has called the annual church retreat. The examination of conscience, both individually and corporately, will reveal our entrapment in inescapable history and cultural milieu. Especially in this year of our Fourth Path call to service, such reality is difficult to face: not only do we hurt one another, but we are in turn hurt, abused, limited, enslaved to our pasts and mocked by the present. Why wouldn’t we weep?
Every experience of suffering and crucifixion and resurrection are apocalyptic, world-ending, rebirthing moments—truth be told, God moments, times when the reality of Christ as us is all too real. During this Lenten retreat, we have permission, even a mandate, to get so honest about ourselves personally and corporately, that we become able to let go and “weep for ourselves and our children.” Tears, like baptism, welcome us into both the death and the new life of the Christ.
Even Easter includes the startling, frightening presence of Christ, who announces: “Peace be with you.” In that moment, the universe lights up like a neon sign and we see: our journey is not about us, but about God and our neighbor and what happens when both show up in our lives—for real.
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