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.

[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.

SECOND SUNDAY AFTER PENTECOST

Deuteronomy 5:12-15

Psalm 81:1-10

2 Corinthians 4:5-12

Mark 2:23—3:6

Prayer of the Day: Almighty and ever-living God, throughout time you free the oppressed, heal the sick, and make whole all that you have made. Look with compassion on the world wounded by sin, and by your power restore us to wholeness of life, through Jesus Christ, our Savior and Lord.

“The sabbath was made for humankind, and not humankind for the sabbath…” Mark 2:27.

The same is true for the other nine commandments. They were made for the benefit of humankind. The Commandments are our servants, not our masters. In our gospel lesson, Jesus’ opponents stand the law on its head by making it the master of humankind rather than its servant. There is plenty of religion around taking that approach. There is plenty of religion, much of it purporting to be Christian, that preaches a god obsessed with his rules. This is the god who allows school shootings to punish the Supreme Court for its decisions on the legality of school sponsored prayer in our public education. This is the god who sent AIDS to punish gay men simply for being who that same god supposedly created them. This is a god incapable of forgiveness, who must have a blood sacrifice to punish every infraction of his rules. This is the god who is obsessed with each particular of a teenager’s sexual conduct but doesn’t give a flying fruitcake when legislators attempt to deprive millions of people of health care insurance in the name of balancing the budget. This spiteful, narcissistic, egotistical and mean-spirited little god does not exist. He is only the imaginary product of spiteful, narcissistic, egotistical mean-spirited little people. This pathetic little deity is not the God who gave us the sabbath.  

Note well that the sabbath is not about going to church. It is all about rest, rejuvenation and re-creation. It is more a labor law than a religious ordinance. Jesus does not abrogate the sabbath or suggest that it is not important. To the contrary, the sabbath is the oldest commandment in the Bible, being grounded in the Genesis account of creation. There we read that after six days of creative work, God rested and sanctified the seventh day as one of rest. Being the generous God that God is, God makes provision to share the divine joy of rest with creation. Hence, the sabbath. God is serious about ensuring that we-and all creation-get our rest. Jesus knew that it is hard to rest when your stomach is empty or your hand is crippled and painful. He was therefore affirming the importance of the sabbath by ensuring that his hungry disciples and the fellow with the crippled hand could share fully in the rest it affords.

“Remember,” says Moses to the people of Israel, “that you were a slave in the land of Egypt, and the Lord your God brought you out from there with a mighty hand and an outstretched arm; therefore the Lord your God commanded you to keep the sabbath day.” Deuteronomy 5:15.

Israel had had firsthand experience of life without rest. They were slaves, after all. The Egyptian empire regarded the Hebrews as units of labor. They could be worked to death without consequence. Their numbers could be regulated by genocidal laws mandating infanticide. For four hundred long years they knew nothing but unrewarded toil under ruthless exploitation with no hope for anything better. The God who liberated the people of Israel from that bleak condition was determined not to allow them to sink back into the same kind of existence in the land of promise. To that end, sabbath law mandated rest not merely for the people, but also for their oxen, donkeys and livestock. Deuteronomy 5:14. As observed by the author of the Letter to the Hebrews, the sabbath has an eschatological dimension. “So then,” says the anonymous writer, “a sabbath rest still remains for the people of God; for those who enter God’s rest also cease from their labors as God did from his.” Hebrews 4:9-10. It is God’s desire that all creation enter into God’s rest, a state of justice, reconciliation and peace.

The Israelites are commanded to include also their male and female slaves in their sabbath observance. Clearly, slavery existed in Israel with no indication of divine disapproval. While I do not wish to be understood as justifying or rationalizing slavery in any way, shape or form, it is worth noting that the wellbeing God desires for Israel extends to slaves as well as non-Israelite resident aliens. Before being too critical of Israelite culture in the bronze age, we progressive white and ever polite American Christians should reflect on how the working poor in our own land are often holding down multiple jobs without adequate health insurance or any vacation, maternity or sick leave, yet still find it difficult to shelter and feed themselves and their families. There is little if any sabbath rest for them or for our resident aliens living daily with the threat of deportation. American capitalism is in most ways as ruthless a slave driver as any Egyptian overseer. So, let us be mindful of the proverbial glass house before casting stones in the direction of ancient Israel.

We are a people who make a god of work. The highest compliment you can pay a person in our culture is to say “she’s a hard worker,” “he’s a real go-getter,” “that family has a strong work ethic.” Conversely, the worst thing you can say of people is that they are “lazy,” “unproductive,” “slackers.” As I look back on my years of pastoral ministry, I often muse on the habits and practices I developed unconsciously. For example, when a colleague asked how I was doing, my reflexive response was, “busy.” I generally received the same response form such quarries directed to them. Truth be told, I was often not particularly busy. To be sure, there were always things I could be doing. There were always calls to be made, worship planning to be done, meetings for which I needed to prepare. But these matters were seldom urgent, requiring my immediate attention. I had the time, or with a modicum of planning, could have made the time for leisure, rest and recreation. But something deep inside made me ashamed to admit that and I always felt twinges of guilt when, for example, I slipped away from the office to enjoy an ice cream sundae at the nearby Dairy Queen on a sunny afternoon. At times like these, as I sat in the shade with my ice cream, I could never quite silence the voice in my head reminding me of all that I could (and therefore should) be getting done. As the full weight of cultural guilt for wasting a valuable work hour overshadowed me, it never occurred to me that, in all my frantic devotion to getting more work done, I was actually wasting precious sabbath time.

My advanced Hebrew language professor in college, who was a reformed Rabbi, used to say that God commanded us to rest on the seventh day because God knew, if we were not so commanded, we would never rest. God knew we needed a day to stop all the work we imagine to be so important. Only so will we ever learn that, lo and behold, the sun still rises and sets and the earth keeps rotating even though we have not completed the last item on our to do list. We need the sabbath to remind us that there is more to our existence than work, that we are more than the dollar value of our labor, that just sitting in the shade with an ice cream sundae, being alive and breathing the good clean air and drinking in the beauty of God’s good world is time well spent without need for justification or apology. This sabbath joy is God’s gift to the human race and to all of creation. What a shame it would be for us to miss out on it because we were just too damned busy!

Here is a poem by Nikita Gill describing beautifully what a sabbath day might look like.

The Present

Source: Where Hope Comes From, Nikita Gill (c. 2021 by Nikita Gill; pub. by Hachette Books) p. 48. Nikita Gill is a British/Indian poet and playwright who lives in southern England. She is editor of SLAM!, a poetry anthology, and has produced several collections of her own poetry. You can learn more about Nikita Gill and sample more of her poetry at her Instagram site.

HOLY TRINITY

Isaiah 6:1-8

Psalm 29

Romans 8:12-17

John 3:1-17

Prayer of the Day: Almighty Creator and ever-living God: we worship your glory, eternal Three-in-One, and we praise your power, majestic One-in-Three. Keep us steadfast in this faith, defend us in all adversity, and bring us at last into your presence, where you live in endless joy and love, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, one God, now and forever.

“Ascribe to the Lord, O heavenly beings,
   ascribe to the Lord glory and strength.
Ascribe to the Lord the glory of his name;
   worship the Lord in holy splendor.” Psalm 29:1-2.

I was raised in the traditions of the Lutheran Church-Missouri Synod, one of the most conservative branches of American Lutheranism. On Holy Trinity Sunday we affirmed together the Athanasian Creed. For those of you who might not be familiar with this lengthy statement of Trinitarian doctrine, allow me a brief introduction. The official title of this statement of faith is “Quicunque Vult.” That is Latin for “What must be believed.” It was almost certainly not written by the great bishop, pastor and theologian Athanasius. Though frequently identified as one of the three ecumenical creeds, along with the Apostle’s Creed and the Nicene Creed, the Eastern Church had no part in formulating it and never accepted it as authoritative. Thus, I question whether it ought to be considered “ecumenical.”

Furthermore, while the Athanasian Creed does lay out what I believe to be a sound, orthodox understanding of our Trinitarian faith, some of its language is more than a little problematic. Most notable is the withering admonition at the end of the creed to the effect that “One cannot be saved without believing this firmly and faithfully.” There are a couple of problems here. In the first place, our faith has never been about believing a doctrine, however sound it might be. Our faith is about trusting a person, namely, Jesus Christ. When all is said and done, can anyone really say they understand the Triune God? Can anyone claim to understand the miracle of the Incarnation? Can we really explain the glorious promise of resurrection and eternal life? As important as our creeds and confessions are, they can take us only to the precipice of human understanding from which we view “as through a glass darkly” mysteries that surpass human understanding. Thus, it seems more than a little presumptuous to imply that salvation is contingent on possessing a body of knowledge.  

The second problem is the presumption that all who do not affirm the propositions set forth in the creed “will doubtless perish eternally.” That is not what Jesus and the New Testament witness say. Though the New Testament does say those who reject Jesus and the reign of God he proclaims face judgment and potential rejection, it also proclaims that salvation is bigger than the church. As our gospel lesson points out, God loves the world enough to send the Son to save it, not condemn it. John 3:16-17.  It is not God’s will that any perish. II Peter 3:9. Jesus has told us that he has other sheep that are not of his fold that he intends to gather in. John 10:16. There are many outside the church who, though not among Jesus’ disciples, are with him in furthering the gentle reign of God. Mark 9:38-41.

Trinitarian faith is an outgrowth of Trinitarian worship. Before there was a “doctrine of the Trinity” the lyrical account of creation in Genesis spoke of God’s lifegiving breath blowing over the waters and creating the universe by God’s Word of Power. The poetic prologue to John’s gospel speaks of the unity of God’s word with God’s self. I do not mean to say that any of the aforementioned texts articulate, much less “prove” the doctrine of the Trinity. They are addressed not chiefly to metaphysical assertions about God, but to the worship of God whose marvelous and passionate love for us is revealed in acts of salvation, yet who remains beyond the reach of our partial and limited capacity for understanding. The Apostle’s and Nicene Creeds grew out of and are a part of the church’s liturgical language of worship and praise. They “ascribe to the Lord the glory of his name” and serve the church in “worship[ing] the Lord in holy splendor.”

That being said, the Athanasian Creed makes a valid point. What we believe, teach and confess about God matters. While failure to subscribe to what the church understands to be correct teaching may not lead one to “perish eternally,” there are understandings of who God is and what God requires that are toxic and potentially lethal. People driven by their twisted ideas of God and what God demands have launched bloody wars, shot up Planned Parenthood clinics, conducted suicide bombings, carried out mass shootings and led lynch mobs to commit murder. Belief in God has led to the ruthless persecution of LGBTQ+ folk in the name morality, the banning of literature in our schools and racism thinly disguised as border security. I wish I could tell you how many people I have encountered who left the church because they were introduced to a god that bore no likeness to the Triune God we claim to worship. Bad religion produces warped faith and perverse actions.

Trinitarian faith has some important things to say about God that need to be heard. Perhaps the most important is the affirmation that God is love. Let us be clear about what this means. It does not mean that what we experience and understand as love is God or that love leads us to a knowledge of God. It is quite the other way around. As John the Evangelist reminds us, we know love only because God has revealed it to us. I John 4:7-12. Love preexists creation. Saint Augustine teaches us that perfect love is the glue binding the Trinity, the love between Father, Son and Holy Spirit. God, as lover, beloved and the love between them, is complete in God’s self. There was no necessity for creation in the sense that God needed it. The universe is not the product of God’s loneliness and boredom. Yet one could say that creation was necessary in this sense, namely, that love is always seeking to expand, to embrace and to become more. So, as the hymn says, “the universe of space and time did not arise by chance; but the Trinity in love and hope made room within their dance.”[1] God said, “Let there be…” God makes space for something other than God to exist, to become, to have agency and freedom. The world God made is a theater into which Trinitarian love expands, gets entangled, becomes flesh, embraces suffering, brings healing, hope and newness. This expansion of God’s self into the world God made will cost God dearly. But nothing, not even the cross, can deter God from sending the Son to become flesh in the midst of it.

It follows, then, that God does not need anything from us. God does not need our worship, service, prayers, love and, certainly, God does not need our defense. But our neighbors do need our love, care and defense. Disciples of Jesus need the sustenance of prayer and worship to persevere in such love, which can be as costly as the love God first showed them. It ought to be clear from all this that there is no room for violence on God’s behalf, as though the reign of God needed strength of human arms to establish it; no necessity to make America a Christian nation, as though God were so feeble and impotent that God needed a nation, society or culture to prop God up; no need to protect Christian faith from “godless” literature and dangerous ideas, as though God’s truth were so unsound and indefensible that it cannot withstand critical inquiry. Trinitarian truth, the truth as it is revealed to us in Jesus seeks only faithful witness, not defense.

Here is a rendering of the well known Prayer of St. Patrick that I believe reflects a worshipful expression of Trinitarian Faith

The Prayer of St. Patrick

Source: Though attributed to the legendary Irish Saint Patrick, no one knows the precise origin of this beautiful expression of faith which appears in many abbreviated forms and has inspired numerous hymns, including “I Bind unto Myself Today,” by Cecil Frances Alexander in Evangelical Lutheran Worship, (c. 2006 by Evangelical Lutheran Church in America; pub. by Augsburg Fortress Press) Hymn # 450.  

[1] “Come Join the Dance of Trinity,” by Richard Leach, Evangelical Lutheran Worship, # 412.

PENTECOST SUNDAY

Acts 2:1-21 or

Ezekiel 37:1-14

Psalm 104:24-34, 35b

Romans 8:22-27 or

Acts 2:1-21

John 15:26-27; 16:4b-15

Prayer of the Day: Mighty God, you breathe life into our bones, and your Spirit brings truth to the world. Send us this Spirit, transform us by your truth, and give us language to proclaim your gospel, through Jesus Christ, our Savior and Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and forever.

“May the Lord rejoice in his works….” Psalm 104:31.

Here the psalmist prays that God may rejoice in God’s works-a puzzling expression. We might wonder, to whom is the psalmist speaking? Who other than God is capable of causing God to rejoice in God’s works? Yet the expression is problematic chiefly because we protestants tend to view prayer as a one way transaction. We pray, praise, supplicate and lament. God is the recipient who may or may not respond in a way we desire, hope or expect. As the Psalms demonstrate, however, prayer is dialogical. To be sure, the complete range of human experience of awe filled worship, longing, despair and hope are given full expression in the Psalms. But the voice of God is also heard encouraging, rebuking and instructing. The voice of the wicked and the oppressor are also heard. It is occasionally difficult to discern who is speaking in the Psalms. Sometimes this unclarity results from difficulties in translating them from the original Hebrew. But for the most part, the alternating voice in these prayers reflects the Hebrew understanding of prayer as a boisterous and uninhibited interchange. The Psalms are as messy, conflicted and mysterious as life itself.

So what does the psalmist mean in praying that the Lord will “rejoice in his works?” In the first place, the psalmist is affirming that God delights in all that God has made. More than that, God is intimately involved in caring for the earth’s inhabitants, humans and all other living things. Thus, in addition to providing bread to sustain human life and “wine to gladden the human heart,” God gives water to the wild ass, vegetation to feed cattle, refuge in the heights for the mountain goat and trees to shelter the birds. Psalm 104:14-18. God carefully balances night and day so that diurnal and nocturnal creatures can pursue their livelihoods without conflicting with one another. Psalm 104:19-23. All creatures “look to [God] to give them their food in due season.” Psalm 104:27. God cares deeply about the earth, its climate, ecosystems and the wellbeing of all of its creatures.

Second, in spite of what some of our poorer theological work reflects, human beings are not the center of the created order. If one goes back to the second chapter of Genesis, the first human being was entrusted with the task of tilling and keeping the Garden of Eden. Genesis 2:15. We humans are the earth’s gardeners, not its lords.[1] If you were to hire a landscaper to care for your yard, you might give her some discretion. If, like me, you are not big on yard maintenance, you might trust her to select shade tolerant plants for areas of the yard that do not get much sun. You might let her select flowering plants that bloom at various times throughout the growing season so that your yard is always adorned with blossoms. But if you were to return home and discover that your landscaper had decided to store her collection of non-functioning vehicles on your front lawn, I suspect you might not be happy with her. I expect God feels the same way about our strip mining, fracking, deforestation, industrial discharges of waste into the air and water. Such conduct on our part not only exceeds, but violates our mandate to care for God’s earth.

Third, God grieves over the wounds God’s human creatures inflict upon God’s good creation. The most horrible distortion that has arisen out of western enlightenment culture is the objectification of the natural world. Modern industrial society views the earth as a “thing,” a ball of resources to be exploited for whatever can be sold for profit. In the words of conservative commentator Ann Coulter, “God gave us the earth. We have dominion over the plants, the animals, the trees. God said, ‘Earth is yours. Take it. Rape it. It’s yours.’” In the biblical view, the land is not a “what” but a sentient “who.” Like people and animals, the land is entitled to a sabbath rest. Leviticus 25:1-4. The land suffers from and mourns the violence and exploitation of the people inhabiting it. Hosea 4:1-3; Isaiah 24:20; Jeremiah 4:28; Jeremiah 12:4. The land possesses a degree of agency and will not tolerate abuse and exploitation indefinitely. Should the wickedness of its inhabitants become extremely excessive, the land will “vomit” them out. Leviticus 18:25-28. The land is one of God’s creatures and the object of God’s deep affliction. As much as God delights in the beauty of the created world, God laments the wounds inflicted upon it by God’s human creatures. It is the psalmist’s prayer that God may at last rejoice in all that God has made without any cloud of grief.

In our second lesson, Saint Paul tells us that “the whole creation has been groaning in labor pains until now.” Romans 8:22. It is now beyond dispute that our relentless exploitation of the land, our excessive reliance upon fossil fuels and other unsustainable means of production, transportation and development are wreaking havoc on our environment. The world literally groans as it “waits with eager longing for the revealing of the children of God.” Romans 8:19. One way to read this passage is to understand that the well being of the earth hinges on the redemption of its human creatures. When human beings, transformed by the Holy Spirit, cease their quest to conquer, dominate and exploit God’s good earth and learn to live faithfully within their creaturely limitations as devoted caretakers, the earth will be liberated to become the garden God intended it to be from the beginning.

Here is a poem by Wendell Berry imagining how a redeemed humanity might make way for the redemption of the good earth and the very unredeemed human inclinations standing in the way.  

The Dream

I dream an inescapable dream
in which i take away from the country
the bridges and roads, the fences, the strung wires,
ourselves, all we have built and dug and hollowed out,
our flocks and herds, our droves of machines.

     I restore then the wide-branching trees.
I see growing over the land and shading it
the great trunks and crowns of the first forest.
I am aware of the rattling of their branches,
the lichened channels of their bark, the saps
of the ground flowing upward to their darkness.
Like the afterimage of a light that only by not
looking can be seen, I glimpse the country as it was.
All its beings belong wholly to it.  They flourish
in dying as in being born.  It is the life of its deaths.

     I must end, always, by replacing
our beginning there, ourselves and our blades,
the flowing in of history, putting back what I took away,
trying always with the same pain of foreknowledge
to build all that we have built, but destroy nothing.

     My hands weakening, I feel on all sides blindness
growing in the land on its peering bulbous stalks.
I see that my mind is not good enough.
I see that I am eager to own the earth and to own men.
I find in my mouth a bitter taste of money,
a gaping syllable I can neither swallow nor spit out.
I see all that we have ruined in order to have, all
that was owned for a lifetime to be destroyed forever.

    Where are the sleeps that escape such dreams?

Source: The Peace of Wild Things, Berry, Wendell (c. 1964 by Wendell Berry, pub. by Penguin Random House, 2018) p. 21. Wendell Berry (b. 1934) is a poet, novelist, farmer and environmental activist. He is an elected member of the Fellowship of Southern Writers, a recipient of The National Humanities Medal and the Jefferson Lecturer for 2012. He is also a 2013 Fellow of The American Academy of Arts and Sciences. Berry was named the recipient of the 2013 Richard C. Holbrooke Distinguished Achievement Award. On January 28, 2015, he became the first living writer to be inducted into the Kentucky Writers Hall of Fame. You can read more about Wendell Berry and sample more of his works at the Poetry Foundation website.

[1] A great deal of mischief has been unleashed by the misinterpretation of a single verse in the first chapter of Genesis in which human beings are commanded to “fill the earth and subdue it.” That one passage has been lifted out of context to justify wholesale rape of the environment by commercial entities for profit and a tragic indifference to the natural world by Christians convinced that God will rapture the righteous out of this world and leave it for the devil to wreak a ruinous “tribulation” upon it. We need to understand that the Hebrew word “CABASH” translated in Genesis 1:28 as “subdue” is the same word employed in God’s command for Israel to subdue the land of Canaan. Numbers 32:22; Numbers 32:29; Joshua 18:1. The subjugation of the land meant more than merely driving out Israel’s enemies. Very specific commands were given to Israel directing the people to care for the land and its non-human inhabitants. For example, trees were to be spared from the ravages of war. Deuteronomy 20:19-20. Egg producing birds were to be spared from slaughter. Deuteronomy 22:6-7. The sabbath rest mandated for all human beings, from king to servant, extended also to animals. Exodus 23:12. Moreover, the land itself was to be given a year’s sabbath rest from cultivation every seven years. Exodus 23:10-11. God was worshiped not only as the provider for human beings, but for all living creatures. Psalm 104:10-23. The Bible is big on ecology. In fact, insofar as the New Testament declares that God’s goal for the universe is the reconciliation of the world in Christ (II Corinthians 5:19), you could say that the Bible is all about ecology.

SEVENTH SUNDAY OF EASTER

Acts 1:15-17, 21-26

Psalm 1

1 John 5:9-13

John 17:6-19

Prayer of the Day: Gracious and glorious God, you have chosen us as your own, and by the powerful name of Christ you protect us from evil. By your Spirit transform us and your beloved world, that we may find our joy in your Son, Jesus Christ, our Savior and Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and forever.

“And now I am no longer in the world, but they are in the world, and I am coming to you. Holy Father, protect them in your name that you have given me, so that they may be one, as we are one.” John 17:11.

“Happy are those
   who do not follow the advice of the wicked,
or take the path that sinners tread,
   or sit in the seat of scoffers;
but their delight is in the law of the Lord,
   and on his law they meditate day and night.” Psalm 1:1-2.

“There are two ways, one of life and one of death, and there is a great difference between the two ways. The way of life is this. First of all, thou shalt love the God that made thee; secondly, thy neighbor as thyself.” The Didache

“There are two ways…” says the anonymous ancient early Christian epistle, The Didache. That sentiment is reflected in the psalm and Jesus’ words in this Sunday’s gospel reminding us that disciples of Jesus remain “in the world.” Lest there be any misunderstanding here, this is the same world to which God sent the only Son to save and not condemn. Yet it is a world hostile to God, so hostile in fact that it rejected and murdered the most precious gift God had to give. It is a world governed by a culture of human greed and retributive violence. In the midst of this world, disciples of Jesus are invited to become a counter-cultural community governed by love. The church is to be, as Koinonia Farms founder Clarance Jordan once remarked, a “demonstration plot” for the kingdom of God. It is the place where Jesus invites us to recover our humanity, to have the mind of Christ formed in us, to regain the divine image in which we, along with all humanity, were created. The good news of Jesus is that there is a better way of being human, a better way for the world to be the world. This, according to our lessons and the Didache, is the way of life.

It may appear that the choice between “the two ways” is a once and for all decision. Or perhaps it presents itself only in circumstances where the choice literally involves either life or death, such as it did for those few heroic souls in occupied Europe during the Second World War who risked their lives sheltering Jews in their homes from the Nazis. Such occasions constitute the “moment of truth,” the time of trial that defines who a person truly is. But that is not really the case. Contrary to popular lore, the devil never buys a soul outright in a single transaction. He takes it piece by piece, one small moral decision at a time. Just as courage, integrity and honesty are habits of the heart formed by the practice of small, daily ordinary acts of selfless compassion that build character capable of standing firm in the time of trial, so these virtues are stolen one white lie, one practical compromise with evil, one small theft, one inconsequential act of deception at a time.   

I know whereof I speak. I have taken a stroll on the path of death myself. For eighteen years I practiced law at a firm specializing in civil defense. We were employed by insurance companies to defend their policyholders against law suits ranging from professional liability claims to simple slip and fall cases. I feel compelled to say from the outset that my firm’s record and reputation for ethics cannot be matched. We were nothing if not scrupulous when it came to honesty with our clients, honesty with the court and honesty and fairness toward our adversaries in the litigation process. But as everyone knows, most cases are not resolved through the formal litigation process. Typically, civil cases are settled at some point before trial through negotiation. Attorneys representing the plaintiff usually initiate negotiations by making a settlement demand far in excess of what they actually expect to get. Attorneys for the defendant, like me, will respond with a settlement offer far below what we actually believe will be required to resolve the case. “I am authorized to offer seventy-five thousand to put this matter to bed,” I say to the plaintiff’s attorney. Plaintiff’s counsel responds, “I will convey that to my client, but I cannot recommend it. I am prepared to recommend one hundred fifty thousand, however. I think I can convince my client to take that.” The truth is, I am actually authorized to offer up to one hundred thousand and the plaintiff’s attorney has probably already discussed with the client a bottom line number, which is likely below the one hundred fifty thousand for which they are asking. But we will go back and forth several more times before finally resolving the matter. I will lie about how much settlement authorization I have and the plaintiff’s attorney will lie about the client’s bottom line. That is how we get to “yes.”

I rationalized all of this on grounds that nobody was really being deceived. Every seasoned plaintiff’s attorney knows what a case is worth and will not settle it for less. The plaintiff’s attorney also knows very well that defense attorneys like me never put all our settlement authorization on the table in the first go-round. Defense counsel understand that a settlement demand is just an opener to get negotiations going. It is not a line drawn in the sand. Long before a case gets close to trial, both attorneys have a pretty good idea of the risks and exposure involved. They will resolve the case on that basis-or not. So what is the harm? Nobody is deceived and no one is getting hurt. If all this posturing gets us to a place where a dispute can be resolved without the risk and expense of trial, doesn’t the end justify the means?     

However much the interests of our respective clients and the administration of justice might benefit from this process and the lying it entails, I still believe that there exists a mortal threat to the soul. The first case I settled left me feeling very ill at ease and, frankly, a little nauseated. Having been raised in a home where honesty was taught and expected, having taught and preached honesty from the pulpit for years, I was now horrified that I had willfully and knowingly practiced deceit by speaking untruths. The second case was easier. After a few more cases, I had become quite the natural when engaging in settlement negotiations. If I may say so, I got to be rather good at it. Thankfully, however, I never reached the point where I was at peace with it.  

There is, I think, danger in becoming comfortable with lying, no matter how established a custom and practice of settlement negotiations it may be. If it is easy for me to lie in settlement negotiations, would it not become as easy for me to lie to my wife? Why not tell her that I am home late because I got caught up in traffic rather than reveal that I stayed late to have a drink or two with a couple of colleagues? My little fib will make her more sympathetic and less exasperated with me. That, in turn, will make for marital tranquility instead of strife. We will both enjoy a happier evening together. So what’s the harm? The harm is that the practice of lying becomes more pronounced and begins to spill over into all other aspects of one’s life. Once you become comfortable with lying, as soon as you get to the point where it comes effortlessly, where lying becomes a regular habit employed to avoid difficult and embarrassing confrontations, it spirals out of control. Lying begins to undermine your relationships, cloud your professional judgement and ruin your spiritual wellbeing. The truth becomes your dreaded enemy, always threatening to blow down the wall of illusions you have built around yourself. In the end, you wind up lying to yourself. The most dangerous lies are the ones we tell to ourselves about ourselves. When you have finally lost altogether the capacity to distinguish between the lies you tell and the truths you believe, you have fallen victim to a lethal moral pathology, a sickness of the soul that devourers the core of your being. You no longer know who you are. That is the end stage of the “way of death.”

I am thankful that throughout the period in my life during which I practiced law, I was also part of a community of truth tellers. As good as I may have gotten at the settlement game, my church’s preaching, teaching and example ensured that I never became truly comfortable with it. I was surrounded by people I knew would never let me get away with excuses, rationalizations and “alternative facts.” However good I may have gotten at lying, my fellow disciples saw to it that I could never be at peace with it. I can see now, if only in retrospect, how my community of faith steered me away from “the way of death” and kept re-directing me to “the way of life.”

Our rejection of God’s beloved Son should have, according the way and logic of death, resulted in God’s wrath and punishment. But God chose the way of life and forgiveness for us instead. For that reason, it is now possible for us to choose the way of life rather than remaining in death. It is now possible for us to stop hiding behind the lies we use to justify, excuse and rationalize our behavior. It is possible now to escape the cycles of vengeance and retribution driving our politics, twisting our religion and fueling our wars. It is now possible to be motivated by God’s wide open future instead of being shackled with chains of guilt, resentment and regret to our dark and constricted past. Jesus embodies a stark alternative to the way of death. The way of life is now before us. From dawn to dusk, the old way of death pulls us back while the new way of life calls us forth. Each step taken in this new direction builds character, shapes in us the mind of Christ and empoweres us for living faithfully in a dying world.         

We need each other if we are to remain on the “way of life.” That is why Jesus prays that his disciples will be one just as he is one with God the Father. The way of death is always before us. We meet it at school, in the work place, within our homes and families. It is easier to turn away from one who is in need, shut the door in the face of strangers, opt for the easy lie instead of the difficult conversation, keep quiet in the face of injustice instead of speaking out for its victims. We need each other to remind each other that ours is the way of life, the way of our God who passionately loves our world and calls upon us to love our neighbors across the street and across the world. We need to support one another in the practices that build the mind of Christ among us.

Here is a poem/pray by Jan L. Richardson celebrating the freedom given us to choose the way of life.

Source: Night Visions, Richardson, Jan (c. 1998 by Jan Richardson; pub. by Wanton Gospeller Press). Jan Richardson is an artist, writer, and ordained minister in the United Methodist Church. She grew up in Evinston, a small community outside of Gainesville, Florida. She is currently director of The Wellspring Studio and serves as a retreat leader and conference speaker. In addition to the above cited work, her books include The Cure for Sorrow, Circle of Grace, A Book of Blessings for the Seasons, In the Sanctuary of Women, and Sparrow: A Book of Life and Death and Life. You can learn more about Jan Richardson and her work on her website.

SIXTH SUNDAY OF EASTER

Acts 10:44-48

Psalm 98

1 John 5:1-6

John 15:9-17

Prayer of the Day: O God, you have prepared for those who love you joys beyond understanding. Pour into our hearts such love for you that, loving you above all things, we may obtain your promises, which exceed all we can desire; through Jesus Christ, your Son and our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and forever.

“As the Father has loved me, so I have loved you; abide in my love.” John 15:9.

Brad is a tall, lanky kid with some troubling mental impairments. On any given Sunday morning you can find him in the narthex pacing back and forth looking for a conversation partner. If you are wise, you will not make eye contact because as soon as you do, Brad will latch onto you and start talking-nonstop. Brad has no sense of personal bubble. He will get right in your face. To make matters worse, he has halitosis powerful enough to slay an ox. Unless you are willing to be less than courteous, you will not escape before the start of the service. If Brad is the first person you meet when visiting our church, you might consider going somewhere else next Sunday.

Sally is generally friendly, cheerful and sociable. But there are days when she comes to church with all the fears and phobias her medication is supposed to keep in check. On those days, she might approach you and ask, “Why are you staring at me? What were you telling that lady about me? I heard the names you just called me! You’re very poor Christian to talk like that about me.” There is nothing you can say to disabuse her of her conviction that you are out to get her. If Sally is the first person you run into when visiting our church, chances are good you will not be back next week.  

Bernie is a crabby octogenarian who comes to church with his daughter. He complains audibly about the slightest noise any child might make, makes rude remarks to anyone sitting in what he imagines to be “his” pew and mutters throughout the service about how he wishes people would speak up so that they can be heard. Bernie’s politics is extreme to the point of falling off the edge of the flat earth. He is not shy about expressing his views as well as his contempt for all who do not share them, which probably includes you. If you have the misfortune of sitting near Bernie on your first visit to our church with your children, you will not come away with a good first impression.

So here is my problem with the notion that the church is supposed to be a “welcoming community.” Every church I have served has people like Brad, Sally and Bernie. They are members of our congregation because nobody else will have them. Nowhere else will anyone put up with their antics. They annoy the hell out of us, too. But they belong to us. They are part of our household of faith. We believe that they are with us because Jesus has called them here. We believe they have things to teach us that we cannot learn from anyone else. So we love them, as difficult as that sometimes is. I am mighty proud (in a Pauline sense of the word) of our church for that very reason. Consequently, if you are to be a part of our church, you must learn to love them too.

As I know I have said before, one of the big mistakes we American protestants make is overselling the church and underselling Jesus. Look to the religion section of any local paper and you will find churches advertising their friendliness, lively worship, community activism, youth programs, couples’ groups, singles groups, quilting groups and all manner of cultural and social events. The programmatic welcome mat is out. My own ELCA advertises itself on our website as a church that “embrace[s] you as a whole person–questions, complexities and all.” What we do not say on that website, though perhaps we should, is that we expect the same in return. If you cannot embrace Brad, Sally and Bernie, then my church is not the place for you. We are not the loving and affirming family you never had. We are not a place safe from insult, hurt and rejection. If you want a community where everyone affirms you, everyone strives to meet your needs, everyone makes you feel comfortable, accepted and at ease, then I recommend Sandals, Club Med or a yoga retreat in the Poconos. Church is not about making you welcome, at ease and comfortable. It is about making you a saint.

Jesus tells his disciples, “[t]his is my commandment, that you love one another as I have loved you.” John 15:12. It grates on our modernistic ears when Jesus uses “love” and “commandment” in the same breath. Love cannot be compelled, can it? Love should be given freely, spontaneously and without coercion. Otherwise, it is not truly love, is it? That, not to put too fine a point on it, is a bunch of Hallmark crap. The love Jesus is talking about is a matter of action, not words. As John the Evangelist pointed out to us last week, all the pity, compassion and love we might have for our hungry siblings is empty sentimentality if we do not come across with something into which those siblings can sink their teeth.

Love is a spiritual discipline. It develops with practice. Sometimes before you can love someone, you have to act like you do. You need to put up with a lot, forgive a lot, try and fail a lot before you finally begin to know people, learn their stories, understand their struggles and see them for the unique and fascinating individuals they are. It takes a long time before understanding breeds compassion, compassion breeds caring and caring grows into love. Love is not something you fall into. It is like learning a musical instrument. A lot of practice lies between picking up the violin for the first time and the concert performance. Abiding in love is damned hard work. If you are not up for that, church is not the place for you.

I meet a lot of folks these days who accuse the church of hypocrisy because we do not live up to the love we profess. In such encounters, I feel very much like Inigo Montoya from the movie, The Princess Bride, who famously said “[y]ou keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means.” If Christians are hypocrites because they do not meet the standard of love to which they aspire, then every Olympic athlete competing for gold, but who comes away with silver or bronze instead is a hypocrite. Every student who ever aspired to get an A but managed only a B is a hypocrite. Hypocrites, according to this warped understanding, are people with high aspirations pushing them to become better, stronger and more courageous than they are. In fact, however, hypocrites are those who claim to have reached aspirational goals that they have not actually met. They are people who pretend to be better than they truly are. To be sure, there are hypocrites in the church as there are everywhere else. But in defense of hypocrites, I will say they have at least enough of a moral compass left to be ashamed of the failures they try to cover up. More revolting than hypocrites are those who admit to having no standards and take a cynical pride in mocking those who do by remarking, “well, unlike all the hypocrites, at least I’m honest!” Here the words of Francois Duc De La Rochefoucauld ring true: “Hypocrisy is a tribute that vice pays to virtue.”

A more honest (dare I say less hypocritical?) portrayal of the church (are you listening ELCA?) would be to say that we are a community of flawed people who have been embraced as whole persons–questions, complexities and all by a God who loves us completely, freely and unconditionally. We strive, often with only limited success, to love as we have been loved, to follow Jesus in giving ourselves to humble service and truthful witness in word and deed. We invite you to join us on our journey to becoming the people our God would have us be. But be prepared for hurt feelings, insults, rejection and misunderstanding. That is all part of abiding in love with people who have not yet got it quite right, but are getting there little by little. This is boot camp for learning love. Are you up for that?

Here is a poem by Julia Kasdorf about church and the way love is learned, practiced and grows.

What I Learned from my Mother 

Source: Sleeping Preacher (c. by Julia Kasdorf, 1992; pub. by University of Pittsburgh Press). Julia Kasdorf (b. 1962) is a Poet, essayist, and editor. She was born in Lewistown, Pennsylvania and received her BA from Goshen College. She earned an MA in creative writing and a PhD from New York University. She is the editor for the journal, Christianity and Literature and author of several books of poetry. You can find out more about Julia Kasdorf and read more of her poetry at the Poetry Foundation website.

FIFTH SUNDAY OF EASTER

Acts 8:26-40

Psalm 22:25-31

1 John 4:7-21

John 15:1-8

Prayer of the Day: O God, you give us your Son as the vine apart from whom we cannot live. Nourish our life in his resurrection, that we may bear the fruit of love and know the fullness of your joy, through Jesus Christ, our Savior and Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and forever.

“I am the true vine, and my Father is the vine-grower. He removes every branch in me that bears no fruit. Every branch that bears fruit he prunes to make it bear more fruit.” John 15:1-2.

John Haig lived across the alley from the house in which I grew up. He was a tall, strong, dower man who mostly kept to himself. John took great pride in his house and yard. His hedges were always trimmed, the lawn mown and God help any weed that might dare poke up its head in John’s garden. In addition to his impressive stands of azaleas, rhododendrons and rose bushes, John grew grapes. That was quite a feat in my western Washington home. The weather, the soil and everything else about our climate is wrong for grapes. Though neither my folks nor, I suspect, anyone else in the neighborhood would ever have told John to his face, we were convinced that his vineyard project was doomed to failure. But we were wrong. Somehow, John got his grapes to grow and to yield a fruitful harvest each year.

One of my earliest memories of John Haig was watching him tend his grapes. Each fall in October or early November he would come out carrying a pair of shears that looked for all the world like medieval torture implements. With these fearful tools he cleared away the dead vines and cut the live ones down to a fraction of their original length. There was not a hint of gentleness in John’s pruning. To the contrary, there was a certain ruthless determination in his work. One could almost pity the poor vines facing the coming winter wounded, diminished and bare. For that reason, I am not so sure Jesus’ words in Sunday’s gospel are all that reassuring. It is no fun getting pruned, not for grape vines and not for the church.

Early this year I learned that the church in which I was baptized and spent my early childhood closed its doors. The church from which I received my first call and served for my first five years of ministry met the same fate in the mid nineties. Four congregations within my conference closed during the last ten years of my ministry. In the United States of America, the church as we have known it is vanishing. My own Evangelical Lutheran Church in America recently established a “Commission on a Renewed Lutheran Church,” the purpose of which is to reconsider statements of purpose for the church and its organizational structure. Finally, reality is setting in. Our leaders are at last acknowledging that our denomination, as currently constituted, is no longer sustainable. This is all very sad.  The congregations to which I refer were once vital communities of discipleship, witness and service. They bore much good fruit in their time. Over the last century, our church has developed global ministries that have provided disaster relief, anti-hunger programs, immigration assistance to refugees and many other important mission initiatives. Given our diminishing membership and support, it is possible that we might not be able to conduct these ministries in the near future or that the levels of our support for them will be drastically reduced. This season of pruning is a painful one.

I must admit that I do not much like the idea of having a God like John Haig coming after us with his iron shears. The only consolation here is that John Haig loved his grape vines just as God loves the church. John knew, as did Jesus, that grape vines left untended and unpruned are unlikely to survive the winter cold and probably will not bear fruit worth harvesting. In order to be fruitful in the coming year, the vines need to be pruned back. Unfruitful branches have to be loped off. Dead wood must be cut out. If the vine is to live, thrive and be fruitful, it must be cut down to within an inch of its life.

I believe that, too often, the church has measured its worth and success in terms of its influence within society, its ability to build and expand its institutions and its membership growth. In reality, however, these very markers of success point to areas of potential spiritual weakness. The exalted status enjoyed for much of the last century by the church in American culture is due in no small part to our willingness to play the role of upholding white middle class morality, blessing our nation’s wars and promoting patriotism as a spiritual virtue. Our pride in our institutions has often led to a reluctance to criticize, reform and re-center them on the good news of Jesus’ Christ. Our lust for growth has often led to our selling the church and all the programs, perks and benefits it can bestow rather than calling people to the privilege and challenge of discipleship with Jesus. As a result, we have ended up with a lot of unfruitful branches and dead wood. We need a good pruning and, if my instincts are correct, that is exactly what we are getting. Perhaps when we have been shorn of everything except the good word of the gospel, we will finally be small enough, poor enough and weak enough for God to make good use of us.

What makes Jesus’ unnerving words about the season of pruning hopeful is the fact that this season is, after all, a season. As such, it points invariably forward. There is for the pruned vine a “whither.” The day will come when, warmed by the sun, fed by the soil and watered with the spring rains, the vine will spring up renewed, strengthened and ready to bear fruit. We can know with certainty, then, that whatever shape, size and makeup the church may have in coming generations, it will be precisely the church God needs to proclaim the good news of Jesus and the reign of God for which he lived, died and continues to live.

Here is  poem by Robert Frost speaking to the melancholy of a season’s end, yet offers a faint hint of promise.

Reluctance

Source: The Poetry of Robert Frost, (c. 1969 by Holt, Rinehart and Winston, Inc.) pp.29-30. Born in 1874, Robert Frost held various jobs throughout his college years. He was a worker at a Massachusetts mill, a cobbler, an editor of a small town newspaper, a schoolteacher and a farmer. By 1915, Frost’s literary acclaim was firmly established. On his seventy-fifth birthday, the U.S. Senate passed a resolution in his honor. The State of Vermont named a mountain after him and he was given the unprecedented honor of being asked to read a poem at the inauguration of John F. Kennedy in 1961. Through the lens of rural life in New England, Frost’s poetry ponders the metaphysical depths. His poems paint lyrical portraits of natural beauty, though ever haunted by shadow and decay. You can learn more about Robert Frost and sample more of his poetry at the Poetry Foundation website.

FOURTH SUNDAY OF EASTER

Acts 4:5-12

Psalm 23

1 John 3:16-24

John 10:11-18

Prayer of the Day: O Lord Christ, good shepherd of the sheep, you seek the lost and guide us into your fold. Feed us, and we shall be satisfied; heal us, and we shall be whole. Make us one with you, for you live and reign with the Father and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and forever.

“How does God’s love abide in anyone who has the world’s goods and sees a brother or sister in need and yet refuses help?” I John 3:17.

That question haunts me. One of the few regrets I have in life is that Sesle and I never took in a foster child. I have encountered a number of foster children who have found their way into loving and secure homes where they were able to thrive. But I have also encountered too many who have languished in group homes where they have received little in the way of personal attention, were compelled to wear ill fitting clothing and lacked sufficient space and privacy. I have encountered children with physical and emotional problems who were bounced from one foster care family or facility to another without ever receiving the care they needed. We could have taken in one or more of these children, but we did not. There were good reasons for that. We had three children of our own, after all. We had serious health issues in our family that were taxing on us and jobs demanding long hours and weekends in the office. Still, the truth is that we had the resources, we had the space and we could have made the time. So I have to ask myself, how does God’s love abide in me?

Hunger, poverty and the injustice that gives rise to these scourges have always been high priorities in my giving, volunteerism and ministry. Yet when I drive into Boston for doctor appointments (a frequent occurrence these days), I routinely drive past dirty and disheveled men and women with their soggy cardboard signs reading, “unemployed, three kids,” “hungry, haven’t eaten in days,” “need money for meds.” There are good reasons for not stopping. For one thing, I don’t carry much cash these days and I doubt I could readily get my hands on what little I have from behind the wheel. Furthermore, stopping on a busy street in Boston can easily result in an accident. Besides, these folks have problems bigger than I can solve with a few bills. Better to make a check out to the local charity and let the professionals deal with these people. Yet the truth is, I could pull over to the curb for the few minutes it would take to hand someone a few dollars. These folks are not asking me to solve all their problems-just the immediate one, namely, a meal. Moreover, the professionals are not out on the street where I meet these folks, but I am. So, again, I wonder how does God’s love abide in me?

These are just a few instances in which I could have helped a brother or sister[1] in need-but did not. My life experience reflects all too accurately the attitude that appears to have been taking hold in the faith community John addresses. It is an attitude that has taken hold in a world where nations guard their borders with guns, dogs and barbed wire against people desperate to find food, shelter and sanctuary. It is an attitude prevalent in communities like mine that resist affordable housing with law suits, letter writing campaigns and ballot initiatives. It is an attitude that has taken hold in congregations guarding their assets, facilities and resources against the needs of the communities in which they reside and against the call from the church at large to support global mission and ministry. How does God’s love abide in us, who are part and parcel of this tightfisted world?

Author, philosopher and Holocaust survivor Elie Wiesel warns us that the opposite of love is not hate. The opposite of love is indifference. The Nazis nearly succeeded in murdering the Jews of Europe because too many people simply did not care enough to stop them. I fear that, in much the same way, the hard won protections people of color have fought to put into law opening a way out from under the suffocating oppression of systemic racism will soon be erased because too few people care. I fear that women will increasingly be denied critical reproductive health care because it is simply not important enough to protect. I fear that transgender teens, already at risk for self harm and suicide, will lose access to the care and treatment they need due to misguided laws championed by religious extremists and implemented by state legislators eager to placate them, all because too few of us care. What matters to the American people, we are told repeatedly, are “kitchen table issues.” That may be the case. Just as so many people in Europe looked the other way as the Jews were being dispossessed and murdered, so too many of us Americans will be content to sit in the security of our kitchens stuffing our faces with roast beef, offering perfidious prayers while our siblings in the human family suffer. In the words of poet Robert Frost, “I think I know enough of hate/ To say that for destruction ice/ Is also great/ And would suffice.”  

How does God’s love abide in me? I think that the only comfort to be derived from this haunting question is that it haunts. If we are asking ourselves this question, it can only mean that our hearts have not yet turned to ice and that love for our siblings has not yet grown cold. It can only mean that there is yet some stirring of the Holy Spirit in our hearts. It can only mean that we are still capable of recognizing the voice of Jesus calling to us from people who desperately need the help, support and advocacy we are capable of offering. While the hour may be late, it is not too late, as long as we have life and breath left in us. Now, more than ever, we need to heed the Spirit posing to us this haunting question: How does God’s love abide in me?  

Here is the poem by Robert Frost to which I alluded above.

Fire and Ice

Source: The Poetry of Robert Frost, (c. 1969 by Holt, Rinehart and Winston, Inc.) p. 220. Born in 1874, Robert Frost held various jobs throughout his college years. He was a worker at a Massachusetts mill, a cobbler, an editor of a small town newspaper, a schoolteacher and a farmer. By 1915, Frost’s literary acclaim was firmly established. On his seventy-fifth birthday, the U.S. Senate passed a resolution in his honor. The State of Vermont named a mountain after him and he was given the unprecedented honor of being asked to read a poem at the inauguration of John F. Kennedy in 1961. Through the lens of rural life in New England, Frost’s poetry ponders the metaphysical depths. His poems paint lyrical portraits of natural beauty, though ever haunted by shadow and decay. You can learn more about Robert Frost and sample more of his poetry at the Poetry Foundation website.

[1] I am aware that many biblical commentators assert that Saint John is principally concerned with the faith community to which he writes and that “brother or sister” refers to fellow believers within the community. I am not convinced that is so. Nonetheless, whatever John may have intended in this context, we know that Jesus never limited our duty of love to any group or community. Just as God lavishes God’s good gifts on all people regardless of merit, so disciples are called to reflect that same love to all people, even the enemy. Matthew 5:43-48.