FIFTH SUNDAY AFTER PENTECOST

Job 38:1-11

Psalm 107:1-3, 23-32

2 Corinthians 6:1-13

Mark 4:35-41

Prayer of the Day: O God of creation, eternal majesty, you preside over land and sea, sunshine and storm. By your strength pilot us, by your power preserve us, by your wisdom instruct us, and by your hand protect us, through Jesus Christ, our Savior and Lord.

“O give thanks to the Lord, for he is good;
   for his steadfast love endures forever.” Psalm 107:1.

So say the persons in this Sunday’s psalm who experienced God’s rescue from a fierce storm on the sea. Living as I do on the Outer Cape, I am ever mindful of the ocean’s power. The ocean is a source of livelihood for commercial deep sea fishers and the shellfish industry, both economic staples in our area. Of course, the sea is also a boon for the recreational businesses such as hotels, campgrounds, seasonal restaurants, whale watching expeditions and fishing charters. But the ocean also wields frightening destructive power. It influences our weather, sometimes inflicting damaging storms. Though a sunny day at the beach with children playing in the sand, teenagers jumping the waves and surfers riding the swells might appear to be peaceful and benign, every year there are tragedies to remind us that the ocean is not a safe playground. A rogue wave can plunge an unobservant swimmer head first into the sand causing severe or fatal injury. Rip currents claim the lives of swimmers each year and, though the danger they pose is very much exaggerated in my view, there are the sharks. You may enjoy the sea. But you had better respect it as well.

I learned to respect the sea at the age of eleven on a fishing trip with my Dad. I was on the other side of the country at the time, Western Washington to be specific. We were going out for salmon on Puget Sound. My Dad owned a twelve foot aluminum boat with a five horsepower outboard motor. Dad was in most respects a cautious man. You would never find him scuba diving, hang gliding or scaling cliffs. He always admonished us kids not to take foolish risks with our lives. “A cheap thrill sometimes comes with a steep price,” he told us many times. But when it came to fishing, Dad threw caution to the wind. He would forge his way with an obsessive passion no less intense than Captain Ahab’s into whatever waters he had reason to believe the fish were lurking.

On this particular day, the weather was calm and mostly clear. We were already much further out on the Sound than anyone in a craft like ours had any business being, when Dad noticed seagulls circling over a patch of water lying further still from shore. He reasoned that the gulls were after herring that, in turn, had been driven to the surface by king salmon pursuing them. If we could get ourselves over to where the seagulls were, we stood a good chance of getting our limit. Dad was right about the fishing. It was great. In fact, we were so busy pulling fish out of the water that we failed to notice the wind picking up. Only when the sun suddenly disappeared did we look up and see the looming storm clouds overhead.

At that point, we knew we had to get ourselves in fast. At my insistence, Dad had allowed me to sit in the back and steer the boat as we headed out-quite a thrill for an eleven year old boy. Now his experience and expertise were desperately needed in the stern. But changing places in a boat our size is a dicey proposition under the best of circumstances. These obviously were not the best of circumstances. So Dad instructed me as best he could. “Start her up,” he commanded. I yanked the pull cord, but the engine refused to turn over. After a few more pulls, Dad shouted, “she’s out of gas. You’re going to have to fill her up.” I had never fueled up the motor before and was less than confident about doing so now, but there was no other choice. So, as the boat rocked back and forth, Dad did his best to keep the bow into the waves with the oars while I fumbled with the gas can, funnel and the engine fuel cap. A large wave hit the stern hard, soaking me to the skin and knocking the funnel we used for fueling into the water.  “Goddamit! I screamed. Can’t you hold still for a single minute!”

I don’t know to whom I thought I was talking or why I thought anyone would be listening. What I do know is that it struck my eleven year old mind in a starkly vivid way that we might die out there on the Sound. The wind and the waves did not care that our lives were on the verge of being snuffed out. Neither did they bear us any malice. They were simply doing what they do and we were in the middle of it all. If blame were to be attributed, it could only fall upon our own shoulders. Who could think it was a good idea to head out into the deep in a twelve foot boat with a five horsepower engine? Who could think it wise to put an eleven year old in the stern to steer? Who could be so oblivious to the clear signals of danger in the sky overhead?

I did my best to pour the gas into the tank without  the funnel, but ended up losing more than half of it in the Sound. “That will have to do.” said Dad. “Hopefully it is enough to get us in.” I yanked at the pull cord once again. Thankfully, the engine started up on the second pull. With Dad’s coaching, I managed to maneuver the boat back to shore. We arrived home shaken and chastised, but alive and well.  

At the time, I did not have the maturity or the conceptual tools to articulate what I felt. But I know that it was akin to a deep sense of gratitude, something like what the sailors in the psalm and the disciples in our gospel lesson must have felt. Though I cannot point to anything in this experience that was remotely miraculous, I was convinced that our lives had been spared. We could have died that day. Perhaps we should have. Had this been a Greek tragedy, our hybris and our disregard for the powers of nature would have earned us a watery grave. But life, according to the Scriptures, is not tragic. There is no such thing as fate driving us inevitably forward into the devastating consequences of our flaws, ignorance and bad decisions. Life is instead governed by the God who saves people who do not necessarily deserve a break. Our psalm illustrates how God rescues those who “rebel against the words of God” and those who are “sick through their sinful ways.” Psalm 107:10-11; Psalm 107:17. Jesus rescues his disciples despite their lack of faith. Mark 4:40. It is a remarkable thing to be given your life back to you.    

One might be tempted to ask, why some and not others? Clearly, the world does not operate on the basis of moral cause and effect. Careful and responsible sailors (unlike Dad and me) wind up losing their lives at sea. Where was their rescue? Perhaps that is the wrong question. After all, being mortal, we are all subject to death at some point. Nobody is getting off this planet alive. Even the people Jesus raised from death finally died, albeit at a later point. Therefore, these divine rescues are no more than a brief reprieve. So, then, the proper question is, what am I to do with this undeserved extension of my life? Is it still my life? Was it ever my life to begin with?  

The psalmist, on behalf of all the recipients of God’s salvation mentioned in the psalm, responds with thanksgiving for God’s steadfast love. God, of course, does not need our thanksgiving or anything else we have to offer. Our neighbors, however, do need us. The way to thank God properly is to care for the neighbor made in God’s image. We have been blessed not to privilege, but to be a blessing for others. We have been rescued to offer rescue to those among us who need it-whether we think they deserve it or not. There are plenty of things from which God saves us, many of which are enumerated in the psalm. But the psalmist’s chief purpose is not merely to remind us of all God saves us from, but to get us thinking about what God has saved us for.

Here is a poem about the beauty, wonder and terror of the ocean.

The Pacific

Source: Anonymous    

FOURTH SUNDAY AFTER PENTECOST

Ezekiel 17:22-24

Psalm 92:1-4, 12-15

2 Corinthians 5:6-17

Mark 4:26-34

Prayer of the Day: O God, you are the tree of life, offering shelter to all the world. Graft us into yourself and nurture our growth, that we may bear your truth and love to those in need, through Jesus Christ, our Savior and Lord.

“With many such parables [Jesus] spoke the word to them, as they were able to hear it; he did not speak to them except in parables, but he explained everything in private to his disciples.” Mark 4:33-34.

“Nothing you say is going to change my mind.” I have been met with these words numerous times throughout my life. There really is no response one can make. It is a little like being confronted with a “dead end” sign. The message is clear. You may as well turn around because there is no way you are getting through here. Most of us do just that when we are on the road. But when it comes to conversations, arguments and debates, we are reluctant to believe what the sign is telling us. We cannot rid ourselves of the belief that if we talk long enough, hard enough and persuasively enough, we can get through to that knucklehead and shake those wrongheaded notions out of his head. Witness the arguments over politics and religion that turn into shouting matches. Witness the endless threads on social media where verbal battles are waged with links to articles, clever (and not so clever) memes and the same tired arguments flung back and forth over solidly drawn ideological frontiers. Perhaps these shout fests are in some sense cathartic. But I have never seen them change any minds.

In reality, we tend to believe what we believe because we want to believe it. Our fundamental beliefs about God, about politics and about the world in general help us make sense of our experience. Many people I know need to believe in a god who controls everything and makes all things work out for those who believe in it. How else can they find hope in circumstances that seem otherwise hopeless? For MAGA folks, Donald Trump and his dark rhetoric explain their own anger, fear and feeling of victimhood. The more you point out the man’s stupidity, incompetence and malice, the more angry, defensive and hostile they become. Nothing you say is likely to change their minds. Knowledge that contradicts deeply held beliefs is discounted, explained away or simply ignored.    

I think Jesus understood the futility of arguing against unchangeable minds. That is why he seldom gives a direct answer to opponents who question him. As often as not, he responds with a parable or another question. Jesus is not interested in winning arguments on the terms of his opponents or responding to their arguments or questions. His objective is to get his opponents to ask better questions and discover perspectives they might not have considered before. Parables tend to do just that. They take us into a parallel reality where the consequences of our beliefs and loyalties play themselves out in ways that make us question them. As poet Emily Dickinson urges us to do, Jesus tells the truth, but tells it “slant.” That is often the only way it gets through.

Last week’s gospel is a perfect example of the Jesus approach. His opponents claim that the only reason Jesus can cast out demons is because he is empowered to do so by the prince of demons. Jesus could, of course, take this personally and point to all the good he is doing that is entirely inconsistent with their malignant attack on his character. But he doesn’t. “Alright,” says Jesus. “Let’s run with that. If, in fact I am casting out demons by the prince of demons, it follows that the powers of evil are divided against themselves and about to fall. If that is the case, the reign of God is at hand. On the other hand, if I am casting out demons by the finger of God, it means that the prince of demons is overcome and the reign of God is at hand. Have it your way or mine, but in either case, we are at least agreed that the reign of God is at hand, are we not?” Instead of defending himself and his own reputation, Jesus turns the discussion toward his proclamation of God’s immanent reign and leaves his opponents with a potent question to consider.

I do not believe Jesus made converts of his opponents that day. “Damascus Road” experiences are rare. At least that is the case in my own experience. My changes in perspective, opinion and assumptions happen over time as, little by little, experience, reading, study and conversation with others chips away at what I have always thought to be true and introduces new viewpoints I never considered. Most of the time, our minds change direction more like aircraft carriers than hydroplanes. A little nudge to a great ocean going vessel might not seem to change its course at first. Only twenty or thirty miles out does it become evident that a fraction degree’s change has altered the trajectory of the ship, placing it in a different location than the one toward which it was headed. That is how parables operate. Instead of trying to break down the front door, they sneak in through the back. They sow seeds of doubt that undermine long held beliefs and suggest alternatives that settle subliminally into the brain. Parables are sneaky, seductive and subversive.

The two parables in this Sunday’s lesson do not give us a theological definition of the reign of God-a mystery quite beyond definition. Rather, they give us a fleeting look at what that reign “is like.” It is like the growing cycle. The farmer plants, fertilizes, waters and weeds. But the seed pops when it is good and ready. The earth produces in ways too marvelous for the farmer’s understanding. In the end, the farmer reaps a crop that, while it is the fruit of his efforts, is nevertheless dependent upon powers and processes beyond understanding and control.

And there is more. The second parable lets us know that the crop we get is seldom the one expected or even wanted. Notable in this parable of the mustard seed is the absence of a human  planter. Mustard is not a plant one would deliberately plant or welcome on good, fertile soil. It is a fast growing plant that is highly disruptive. Hooker, Morna D., The Gospel According to Mark, Black’s New Testament Commentaries (c. 1991 by Morna D. Hooker, pub. by Hendrickson Publishers, Inc.) p. 136. The mustard plant can readily take over a field cultivated for more profitable crops. Like the farmer in the previous parable, one must wait patiently on the operation of powers beyond human control. But the resulting “crop” does not spring up in neat, orderly, edible rows waiting to be harvested. Instead, it takes on a life of its own, becoming a haven for birds of the air. This is all very reminiscent of the church in Acts which grows, mutates and expands faster than the apostles can manage to order or control.

My Evangelical Lutheran Church in America employs the moto, “God’s work; our hands.” That is all well and good, as long as it is understood that “our hands,” are not required to get God’s work done. As our Catechism reminds us, God’s kingdom comes without our prayers, works or anything else we do or not do. It is solely because of God’s gracious invitation to include us in this good work that our hands have any involvement. The first parable in Sunday’s lesson should make that clear. Moreover, we ought to be aware that what we imagine to be God’s purpose and what God’s end game actually is are two different things. We might believe that working for a more equitable United States with food, shelter and health care for all comports with God’s design. It may be, however, that God means to make an end of the Untied States to further God’s better purpose for all creation. In that case, putting a mad man at its head followed by a howling lynch mob would be an efficient method of so doing. I hasten to add, however, that this does not in anyway lessen the call to do justice, love kindness an walk humbly with our God as that walk is revealed to us in the faithful life, obedient death and glorious resurrection of Jesus. It does mean, though, that the result of such good work might not comport with our hopes and expectations.

This is how parables work. They get under our skin, shake up everything we think we know about God’s reign and leave us wondering. Parables leave us with more questions-good questions-than answers. We still have no idea what we are doing when we preach, teach, serve, advocate and testify. All we have is God’s promise to put it to God’s own good uses. We have no idea to what ends God will use our good work, whether we will live to see the harvest or recognize it when it appears. All these parables tell us is that the reign of God we cannot see, control or even imagine is nonetheless mysteriously present with us now. That is surely not all we would like to know. But it is enough.

Here is the poem by Emily Dickinson to which I alluded ablove. It illustrates the need for parables where arguments fail.

Tell all the Truth, but tell it Slant

Tell all the truth but tell it slant —
Success in Circuit lies
Too bright for our infirm Delight
The Truth’s superb surprise
As Lightning to the Children eased
With explanation kind
The Truth must dazzle gradually
Or every man be blind —

Source: The Poems of Emily Dickinson: Reading Edition, (c. 1999 by the President and Fellows of Harvard College; edited by Ralph W. Franklin, ed., Cambridge, Mass.) Emily Dickinson (1830-1866) is indisputably one of America’s greatest and most original poets. Born in Amherst, Massachusetts, she attended a one-room primary school in that town and went on to Amherst Academy, the school out of which Amherst College grew. In the fall of 1847 Dickinson entered Mount Holyoke Female Seminary where students were divided into three categories: those who were “established Christians,” those who “expressed hope,” and those who were “without hope.” Emily, along with thirty other classmates, found herself in the latter category. Though often characterized a “recluse,” Dickinson kept up with numerous correspondents, family members and teachers throughout her lifetime. You can find out more about Emily Dickinson and sample more of her poetry at the Poetry Foundation website.

THIRD SUNDAY AFTER PENTECOST

Genesis 3:8-15

Psalm 130

2 Corinthians 4:13—5:1

Mark 3:20-35

Prayer of the Day: All-powerful God, in Jesus Christ you turned death into life and defeat into victory. Increase our faith and trust in him, that we may triumph over all evil in the strength of the same Jesus Christ, our Savior and Lord.

“But just as we have the same spirit of faith that is in accordance with scripture—‘I believed, and so I spoke’—we also believe, and so we speak, because we know that the one who raised the Lord Jesus will raise us also with Jesus, and will bring us with you into his presence.” II Corinthians 4:13-14.

“I was there when you were but a child, with a faith to suit you well in a blaze of light you wandered off to find where demons dwell.” Borning Cry, John C. Ylvisaker, Evangelical Lutheran Worship, Hymn #732.  

Paul speaks of a mature faith in Jesus’ resurrection and our own. But people do not typically come by such faith apart from a torturous journey through doubt, questioning and growing pains. I came to faith through the community in which I was baptized as an infant. I was raised in a loving and secure home. My family was part of a community of believers who cared for one another and modeled, however imperfectly, the way of life Jesus taught. I had every reason to trust both them and the God they proclaimed. I learned stories from the Bible as they were read to me by my Mom from Elsie Eggemyers Bible Story Book and illustrated on the flannel board in Sunday School. I took everything I learned at face value, as most five to seven year old kids do. At this point in my life, I had a faith that “fit me well.”

But all of that changed in the fifth grade when I came upon a book in the school library about our solar system and how it was formed. There I learned about the formation of stars and galaxies as well as the immense periods of time in which these processes take place. I was fascinated. I began seeking out other books and articles about cosmic origins and even checked out a book on cosmology from the public library that was far above my reading and compensation level. Though the physics and chemistry were quite over my head, the basic concepts of the “big bang” and the “expansion” of the universe tantalized me. It did not even occur to me until I was well into this learned tome that there was no role for God in all of this. The God I learned from my home and church, so intimately involved in the creation of the world, seemed altogether absent from this scientific account of origins. Somehow, though, I was able to hold these conflicting understandings together in my young brain without much need to reconcile them.

Things came to a head, however, when in the eighth grade I was introduced to the theory of evolution, again, by way of a book I found in the school library. My first reaction was fascination. Fascination led to further reading, questioning and a growing interest in biology and living things, which I continue to hold to this day.[1] I might have gone on for some time living comfortably with the disconnect between my faith and my interest in science. But I was abruptly brought to the brink of existential crisis by my pastor’s confirmation lesson on creation, wherein we were told that evolution was a false and godless doctrine entirely irreconcilable with Christian faith. At that point, I could no longer deny the disconnect.

Pastor Schmidt (not his real name) made a point of meeting individually with each of his confirmands prior to the public confirmation ceremony, where we would each confess our faith and be accepted into full church membership. My meeting was initially uneventful. Pastor Schmidt asked me a series of basic catechetical questions, all of which I must have answered to his satisfaction. He told me what a pleasure it was having me in confirmation class, asked me whether I had any thoughts about what I wanted to do when grown and whether I might consider seminary (I think he asked these same questions of all of us-though I am sure the last was directed only to boys.) Then he asked me if I had any questions for him. Part of me wanted just to say no, thanks just the same and take my leave. But the stronger, more curious and impulsive side of me won out. I took a deep breath and asked, “Pastor, do you think it is possible for someone to believe in evolution and still be a Christian?”

There followed an uncomfortable silence that I am sure seemed to last longer than it did. Obviously, Pastor Schmidt was deeply uncomfortable with my query. In retrospect, I can better understand that discomfort. He had already told us (and probably the whole congregation) that he felt evolution was incompatible with the Bible and faith in Jesus. That being the case, he was likely wondering how he could in good conscience confirm me if it turned out that my hypothetical “someone” turned out to be me. Yet, knowing that my father was an elder and my mother a teacher and musician in the church, he probably wondered as well how he could possibly refuse to confirm me. Finally, he sighed and said, “Well, Peter, I can’t answer that question without knowing more about this person. But it seems to me that when a teaching, whether in science, religion or any other area of life conflicts with the Bible, a true Christian has to side with the Bible.” There followed a lengthy lecture on the need to uphold the infallibility of the Bible. After all, Paster Schmidt argued, if you doubt any single biblical assertion, you cast doubt on the basis of our Christian faith. If the Bible lies to us about the age of the earth, the creation of humanity or any other particular, how can we be sure that it isn’t also deceiving us about Jesus’ resurrection from death, the forgiveness of our sins or the promise of eternal life? At the conclusion of our meeting, Pastor Schmidt gave me a booklet published by what was then called the Creation Science Foundation and urged me to read it. “Not all scientists reject the Bible,” he told me.

It did not take me long to breeze through the booklet given to me by Pastor Schmidt. The arguments made therein were too lame to persuade even my eighth grade mind. I was well on my way to rejecting the faith in which I was raised. I knew the parting would be painful. The biblical stories, hymns and teachings of my church played a formative role throughout my childhood. But I now felt that I had outgrown my faith. It no longer “fit me well.” If keeping the faith came at the cost of shutting out the wonders of the universe I was just beginning to understand and suppressing my curiosity about the diverse and wonderful varieties of life on this planet, the price was just too high.          

A good many people with whom I grew up parted company with the church and the faith it proclaims for the same reasons I almost did. But others followed the lead of Pastor Schmidt. If science tells us the universe is thirteen billion years old and that human beings evolved from other life forms, then the scientists are God denying atheists whose words must be rejected. If medical professionals tell us that same sex attraction falls well within the spectrum of normal human sexual behavior, then they must have been corrupted by politically powerful forces with a malicious, anti-Christian agenda. Sex is for married people only and marriage is between a man and a woman. “The Bible says it, I believe it and that settles it.” These folks spun around themselves a cocoon of junk science, conspiracy theories and religious propaganda to protect a faith they had outgrown and must have known deep down could not withstand the scrutiny that inevitably comes with learning, growth and maturity. Their frantic efforts to protect their fragile beliefs have given us the book banning and educational censorship we are seeing throughout the country. As between faith’s deserters and those who sacrificed their intellects in order to remain faithful, I have the greater respect for the former.  

So what kept me in the fold? Fortunately, Pastor Schmidt was not the only spiritual mentor who guided me. When he took a call to another church, our congregation was served by an interim pastor, a Navy Chaplin whom I will call Chaplin Bob (not his real name). Chaplin Bob took the time to listen to my concerns and gave me a different perspective. “Science and the Bible are not enemies,” he told me. “They just have different purposes. Science tells us ‘how,’ and that is a wonderful thing. There is nothing wrong at all with asking questions about how the earth came to be or how life came to be on this planet. I think God made us curious for a reason. But the Bible tells us ‘why.’ That’s a different kind of question. The Bible guides us in figuring out how we ought to live in this marvelous world full of the wonders science shows us. You can ask both ‘how’ and ‘why’ questions without rejecting either science or the Bible.” You might object that this explanation is a little too simplistic and that the whole issue is more nuanced. Still, it gave my eighth grade mind new conceptual tools for addressing both my interest in science and my faith. Chaplin Bob helped my faith to grow to the point where it fit me once more.

Another mentor of mine, a rabbi from whom I took a class in Biblical Hebrew, once remarked that he had a hard time understanding Christian fundamentalism. “When we learn something new that conflicts with the Torah, we don’t deny what we have learned or reject the Torah. Instead, we take our new knowledge back to the Torah and ask, ‘what did we get wrong here? How do we understand the Torah now that we have this new information?’” That, I think, is the right approach, though not the easiest. It is far easier simply to dismiss one’s faith tradition than to re-evaluate it, let go of its comforting but misleading conceptions and enlarge it to encompass the wealth of knowledge and understanding one attains with growth and maturity. It is easier to ignore, reject or deny uncomfortable facts that challenge our most cherished beliefs than to let them change minds and help us to grow. But Jesus never promised to make anything easy.

So how do we prepare children with childlike faith to grow into faith that can support them “where demons dwell.” First off, as much as I love this hymn, I think that particular line is unfortunate. When our children graduate from high school, head off to college or move into the world of work, they are not entering into the haunt of demons. They are setting out into a world that belongs to the Lord (Psalm 24:1) and is “full of the steadfast love of the Lord.” Psalm 119:64. To be sure, this is a fallen world and there are demonic forces at work that would rip it apart. But as Saint Paul reminds us, creation is held together against those forces by God’s incarnate Word, Jesus Christ. Colossians 1:17. What our children need is not “demon repellent,” but a maturing faith that is flexible, curious and courageous enough to make sense of a world that is wondrously complex, mysterious and full of surprises.

Though my church was for me a caring community that mirrored life in Christ, its pastor and his theology failed me miserably. Thankfully, Pastor Schmidt was not the only source of instruction and pastoral advice I received. If we are going to produce mature and faithful disciples, we need a theology capable of opening up the world for us rather than trying to shut it out. I do not believe, however, that faith capable of growth and maturation can be instilled merely by instruction. It is altogether pointless to attempt preparing young children to confront and deal with issues they are not yet capable of understanding and in which they have no interest. It is critical, though, to develop relationships of trust with young people from early childhood. It is important that children be taken seriously at all stages of their development and that their concerns be dealt with honestly, sensitively and compassionately. It is important that they know there are people in the church to whom they can talk freely and confidentially without fear of judgment, criticism or punishment. Only so can we help their faith to grow up with them.

Here is a poem by Charles Oluf Olsen about a faith that failed to grow up.

Stony Faith

Source: Poetry, December 1930. Charles Oluf Olsen (1872-1959) was born in Denmark and came to the United States at the age of 16. He worked as a cook, blacksmith, salesman, and lumberjack. Olsen was also an amateur photographer. His photos include gritty scenes of life among the homeless and workers in the logging industry throughout the northwest. He eventually began writing for newspapers and magazines, including the Oregonian and the Oregon journal. He published several poems and some articles of fiction. You can read more about Charles Oluf Olsen at the Archives West site.

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[1] Though I ultimately pursued other career paths, I never lost my interest in biological science. To some degree, I re-visit this “path not taken” vicariously through my son who earned a masters degree in evolutionary biology. Together we tramp through the woods turning over logs, staring into kettle ponds and tide pools admiring the diversity of the biosphere and the wonderful creatures with whom we share it.