TWENTY-THIRD SUNDAY AFTER PENTECOST

Deuteronomy 6:1-9

Psalm 119:1-8

Hebrews 9:11-14

Mark 12:28-34

Prayer of the Day: Almighty God, you have taught us in your Son that love fulfills the law. Inspire us to love you with all our heart, our soul, our mind, and our strength, and teach us how to love our neighbor as ourselves, through Jesus Christ, our Savior and Lord.

“Hear, O Israel: The Lord is our God, the Lord alone. You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your might.” Deuteronomy 6:4.

“One of the scribes came near and heard them disputing with one another, and seeing that he answered them well, he asked him, ‘Which commandment is the first of all?’ Jesus answered, ‘The first is, “Hear, O Israel: the Lord our God, the Lord is one; you shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind, and with all your strength.” The second is this, “You shall love your neighbor as yourself.” There is no other commandment greater than these.’” Mark 12:28-31.

For us protestants, this Sunday has been set aside for celebrating the Reformation. It is a tradition I have dutifully observed throughout my ministry, though in more recent years I have done so with less enthusiasm. Part of the reason for this has to do with the lectionary texts appointed for the day.[1] None of them seem apropos.[2] Indeed, the Reformation of the sixteenth century and the issues it addressed seem far removed from today’s realities. Martin Luther confronted a culture in which fear of an angry god itching to damn sinners to hell hung thick over the minds of common people. He spoke out against a church whose power permeated every level of society and which exploited this fear to enrich itself and enhance its power. By contrast, today’s church in the United States is in institutional decline, fragmented and marginal at best. So, too, the fear of eternal damnation is increasingly rare. The last person I met in my ministry who feared going to hell was over ninety years old and that was over a decade ago. While I am sure the fear of hellfire is very much alive in certain demographic enclaves, it doesn’t rate anywhere near the top of the list of worries troubling the general public. Some of my colleagues lament this state of things. But I don’t share that sentiment. After all, the whole point of the Reformation was to free people from the terror of damnation and to find “a gracious God.” If people no longer live in fear of an angry, vindictive God, one major objective of the reformers has been met and for that we should rejoice.

That said, nature abhors a vacuum. The reformers may successfully have toppled one distorted image of God from its ecclesiastical pedestal. But while God is one, idols are many. There are always false gods waiting in the wings to occupy whatever space we give them. It seems to me that we modern, secular folk have given plenty of empty space to a variety of gods that have lost no time in occupying it.

At this writing, I have learned of yet one more mass shooting, an occurrence that is now as American as apple pie and baseball. This afternoon, two people were killed and at least four others injured, including a police officer, after a shooter opened fire in a mall in Boise, Idaho. This is just one more chapter in our country’s love affair with firearms and our deep societal conviction that our lives, freedoms and security depend on having guns at our disposal. Just as the medieval church exploited the common people’s fear of eternal damnation to enrich itself, so the gun industry, through its NRA mouthpiece, is exploiting the paranoia of “big government,” racist fears of “replacement” and outsized fear of crime to bolster its profits. No matter that a few thousand inocents, including children, are sacrificed to the almighty bottom line. All false gods finally require a blood sacrifice. I address this issue more fully in my post, Our Real Problem with Gun Violence-It’s as American as Apple Pie and as Addictive as Crack Cocaine. Suffice to say that Martin Luther’s definition of a “god” as that “from which we are to expect all good and to which we are to take refuge in all distress, so that to have a God is nothing else than to trust and believe Him from the [whole] heart…” puts the lie to our cult of gun worship.  

So, too, the false gods of nation, blood, race and soil are rearing their ugly heads, not only in our own country but around the world. This form of idolatry is more than adequately addressed in the Lutheran World Federation’s fine collection of essays in Resisting Exclusion: Global Theological Responses to Populism. As near as I can tell, this document and the issues it raises have been largely ignored by the Lutheran Churches in this country. I cannot help but believe that this is in part due to the symbiosis of Christianity with American nationalism to such an extent that it seldom occurs to us that these two might be in conflict or even different one from the other. How else can we explain solid church members with MAGA hats cheering deportations that split families, clapping with glee at a president who ridicules disabled people and marching at the forefront of a racist mob vandalizing the United States Capital Building while proclaiming “Jesus is my Savior”? How can anyone formed by Jesus’ parable of the Good Samaritan spout slogans like “America First”?

The above idolatries are not threats from an alien pagan culture. They are, sad to say, very much at home in many of our congregations. The kind of reformation the American church needs is a return to the great commandment: that God is the one who revealed God’s self by liberating a people from slavery and calling that people to a life of radical freedom from hierarchical systems valuing human beings as commodities. God is the one who throughout the Hebrew Scriptures identifies with the orphan, the widow, the poor, the alien and the vulnerable. God is the one who forsook violence at the dawn of history and in the fulness of time overcame human evil through suffering love and forgiveness. This God graciously embraces all of the human family and offers us a different way to be human exemplified by Jesus of Nazareth and enabled by the Spirit poured out upon his followers

The church of Jesus Christ is one, holy, catholic and apostolic. It trumps all other loyalties to nation, family and ethnic group. We believe water is thicker than blood and that our identity is defined primarily by our baptism into Jesus Christ. White supremacy, whether it goes under slogans like “America First” or conspiracy memes like “replacement theory” or under the guise of aberrant forms of Christianity needs to be named and denounced by every pastor, bishop and deacon for what it is-a heretical rejection of the biblical teaching that there is but one human family of common ancestry bearing collectively and individually the image of its Maker.

If salvation by grace through faith means anything anymore, it means liberation from the enslaving lies that keep us in perpetual fear and keep in place the systems of oppression that imprison so many of us living under fear, want and oppression. It means recognizing that the two great commandments Jesus invokes are actually one. There is no way to love God than to love your neighbor. There is no way to serve God other than serving your neighbor. Your neighbor is on both sides of every border and the duty of neighborliness knows no distinction of nation, race, party, religion or no religion. If you can’t see the face of Jesus in your neighbor-even the one who is hostile-you have not really seen him at all.

Here is a poem by D.H. Laurance illustrating that the call to love one’s neighbor is no idealistic sentiment and that obedience to that command is no easy thing.

Love They Neighbor

I love my neighbor

but

are these things my neighbours?

these two-legged things that walk and talk

and eat and cachinnate, and even seem to smile

seem to smile, ye gods!

Am I told that these things are my neighbours?

All I can say then is Nay! nay! nay! nay! nay!

Source: The Complete Poems of D.H. Lawrence, (edited by V. de Sola Pinto & F.W. Roberts; pub. by Viking Penguin, Inc.) D.H. Lawrence (1885-1935) was an English writer and poet. His collected works represent reflections upon the dehumanizing effects of modernity and industrialization. Lawrence’s writing also explores issues such as sexuality and the power of instinct. His novels include Sons and Lovers, The Rainbow, Women in Love, and Lady Chatterley’s Lover. Lawrence also wrote almost eight hundred poems. Most of them, like the above, were relatively short. Lawrence’s opinions and his frank narratives involving sexual themes earned him many enemies. He endured persecution and censorship throughout his life. His opinions were often misrepresented and his work dismissed as pornography. Following his death, however, his work gained critical acclaim and appreciation in the literary world. You can read more about D.H. Lawrence and sample more of his work at the Poetry Foundation website.

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[1] Jeremiah 31:31-34

Psalm 46

Romans 3:19-28

John 8:31-36

[2] Reading these lessons through the lens of the Reformation superimposes on the biblical texts a polemic foreign to them, thereby distorting their meaning. In addition to twisting their meaning, placing these readings into the context of the Reformation perpetuates divisions within the Body of Christ we have been attempting to heal for more than half a century. Moreover, Paul’s words disparaging the law as a means of salvation paired with Jeremiah’s promise of a “new” covenant and Jesus’ brief interchange with the “Jews,” all taken out of their larger context, lend credence to the heresy of “supersessionism,” the mistaken belief that Christianity is God’s replacement of Judaism.

TWENTY-SECOND SUNDAY AFTER PENTECOST

Jeremiah 31:7-9

Psalm 126

Hebrews 7:23-28

Mark 10:46-52

Prayer of the Day: Eternal light, shine in our hearts. Eternal wisdom, scatter the darkness of our ignorance. Eternal compassion, have mercy on us. Turn us to seek your face, and enable us to reflect your goodness, through Jesus Christ, our Savior and Lord.

May those who sow in tears
   reap with shouts of joy.
Those who go out weeping,
   bearing the seed for sowing,
shall come home with shouts of joy,
   carrying their sheaves. Psalm 126:5-6.

The old hymn, “Bringing in the Sheaves” was written by American author, evangelist and composer of gospel hymns Knowles Shaw. It was inspired by the words of this Sunday’s psalm. (For a fuller analysis of the psalm itself, see my Post for Sunday, March 13, 2016) It is also probably the first piece of sacred music I ever heard. The hymn was a favorite of my mother. She used to sing it frequently when going about her work around the house. That is, in fact, one of my earliest memories of her. I recall trying to sing along, thinking all the time that the refrain “bringing in the sheaves” was actually “bringing in the sheets.” It made sense to me because that was a good part of what Mom did on any given day. Although we had a decrepit washing machine in our basement, we did not own a dryer and could not afford one. So, in order to minimize trips to the laundromat, Mom would make liberal use of our cloths line where she hung our freshly washed laundry out to dry. Quite naturally, I assumed that Mom was singing about the work she was actually doing.

Maybe I was not so far off the mark. Of course, I learned at some point (I can’t recall just when) that the hymn was not about laundry, but the work of planting, irrigating and harvesting-work that is hard, sometimes unrewarding and, once completed, needs to be done all over again the following year. This is the song of exiles returning to a ruined land with a dream of its restoration planted in their hearts by a prophet. It is the hymn of a people beginning to come to grips with the gaping lacuna between its hope for a brighter future and the present dark realities of having to rebuild its culture and civilization nearly from scratch. Thiers was work that could easily be undone by bad weather, pests or the violence of invading armies. It was work that could bring one to tears of sorrow and anxiety at the onset but promised tears of joy in the end. Like growing crops, doing the wash is a repetitious task that seems to have no end. While it might not occasion a joyful celebration, there is a still a sense of relief and satisfaction in having completed a load of wash and gotten everything folded and back where it belongs.

I also learned over time that, despite her over all cheerful countenance, Mom carried heavy burdens about which my childish mind remained blissfully ignorant. She was a “stay at home mom” when I was small, caring for me, my younger sister and my two other teenage siblings. In the depths of the great depression, Mom left college in her second year to find work to support herself. Her dream of finishing her degree program and pursuing a career died when she married my father and had us kids. Of course, in today’s world that would not have been an insurmountable barrier. Today we see many women in all stages of life entering college to begin or complete their studies and pursue careers. Few such opportunities existed when my mother was young. I do not believe I ever fully appreciated the sense of loss Mom felt for the possibilities precluded by the life choices she made.

Mom was not at all bitter about the way her life unfolded. Graditude for a life well lived was deeply imbedded in her character. Regret and resentment were not part of her DNA. But she was determined that her own four children would never find themselves in a situation where they had to choose between a college education and family obligations. She was committed to putting all four of us kids through college and sending us out into the world with an education. For that reason, every penny not spent for essentials went into college savings. For that reason, too, my family frequently did without amenities such as a clothes dryer. Whatever extra work such austerity generated was simply part of the price Mom was willing to pay to give us kids a shot at the dream which eluded her. That is what made her mundane house work-such as bringing in the sheets-an occasion for song. In every chore she did, Mom was sowing the seeds of her children’s future in anticipation of their one day reaping a rich harvest.

Much of our discipleship consists of work done in hope. We write out a check each week for the support of our congregations; show up to help with the neighborhood food distribution program; visit the sick; raise our children; care for our aging parents; teach Sunday School and Confirmation; speak the truth in love with firmness, compassion and courage. All of this can become tedious, repetitious and tiring. But we do it with songs of joy-even when we have to sing through our tears. We do it because, like the returning exiles, we are convinced that we are planting seeds for a better future, a future that God has promised. That future is a planet where all creatures can live, breath and thrive together in a sustainable fashion. It is a future in which no person need fear discriminationon in our schools and workplaces on account of their skin color, accent, national origin or the persons they love. It is a future in which no children ever have to wonder where the next meal is coming from, where they will spend the night or why they are being abused and neglected. It is a future where women and girls no longer fear sexual harassment and violence in our streets, college campuses and work places. The dream of God’s will done on earth as in heaven shapes everything we do. It is for this reason that Mom’s work was done with joyful confidence that she would one day “come rejoicing, bringing in the sheaves.” Or perhaps sheets.

Here is the full text of Knowles Shaw’s hymn.

1. Sowing in the morning, sowing seeds of kindness,
   Sowing in the noontide and the dewy eve;
   Waiting for the harvest, and the time of reaping,
   We shall come rejoicing, bringing in the sheaves.
   • Refrain:
     Bringing in the sheaves, bringing in the sheaves,
     We shall come rejoicing, bringing in the sheaves;
     Bringing in the sheaves, bringing in the sheaves,
     We shall come rejoicing, bringing in the sheaves.
2. Sowing in the sunshine, sowing in the shadows,
   Fearing neither clouds nor winter’s chilling breeze;
   By and by the harvest, and the labor ended,
   We shall come rejoicing, bringing in the sheaves. (Refrain)
3. Going forth with weeping, sowing for the Master,
   Though the loss sustained our spirit often grieves;
   When our weeping’s over, He will bid us welcome,
   We shall come rejoicing, bringing in the sheaves. (Refrain)

Source: This hymn is in the public domain. Knowles Shaw (1834 –1878) was born in southwestern Ohio, but his family moved to Rushville, Indiana when he was a few weeks old. He was a member of the Churches of Christ, also known as the Christian Church or Disciples of Christ at the time. Shaw’s father died when he was only ten, leaving his mother to raise him and his siblings. Shaw was quick to learn most anything he put his hand to. He mastered shoemaking, cradle making, carpentry, watch repair and sewing. He also taught himself to play the violin his father had left him. Shaw was a prolific evangelist, known for his wit, knowledge of the Bible and ability to generate and maintain rapport with an audience. He baptized over eleven thousand people in his ministry. As noted above, Shaw was the author of the above hymn as well as others. You can read more about Knowles Shaw and sample more of his work at the following site.

TWENTY-FIRST SUNDAY AFTER PENTECOST

Isaiah 53:4-12

Psalm 91:9-16

Hebrews 5:1-10

Mark 10:35-45

Prayer of the Day: Sovereign God, you turn your greatness into goodness for all the peoples on earth. Shape us into willing servants of your kingdom, and make us desire always and only your will, through Jesus Christ, our Savior and Lord.

“The cup that I drink you will drink; and with the baptism with which I am baptized, you will be baptized; but to sit at my right hand or at my left is not mine to grant, but it is for those for whom it has been prepared.” Mark 10:39-40.

It is hard to fault James and John. They are only doing what every guidance counselor, employment agency and self-help career guide tells us to do, namely, to “sell ourselves.” You don’t get ahead simply by showing up every day, doing your job and keeping your nose to the grind stone. You have to be noticed, you need to stand out, you must “put yourself out there” if you want to succeed. And, of course, there is more to it than a bigger payday. Everyone wants to be recognized, to count for something and to have something to show for a lifetime of work. Those of us who serve as ministers in Christ’s church are supposed to be beyond all such vanity. But you don’t have to spend much time in a group of clergy to detect the “one upsmanship” that goes on. Who among us hasn’t fantasized about being elected to a high ecclesiastical office, or called to a large and prestigious church or getting a coveted tenured teaching position at a seminary or the religion department of an Ivy League school? Of course, there is nothing wrong with pursuing any of these positions for the right reasons. But therein lies the rub. We are typically the least qualified to evaluate our own motives. The hardest lies to see through are the lies we tell ourselves about ourselves. I have no doubt that James and John were, at least in part, motivated by a desire to draw nearer to Jesus and share more deeply in his mission. But it seems obvious that there was also a strong element of selfish ambition. The disciples were, like us, at the same time saints and sinners.  

My first pastoral call was to a small church in Teaneck, New Jersey. Like most northern New Jersey Lutheran Churches, it was top heavy age wise and struggling to meet its annual budget. Like many other churches, it leased out space to other non-prophets, including an Alcoholic’s Anonymous group, to make ends meet. I arrived at Our Saviour’s Lutheran filled with all the zeal, idealism and lack of real world experience twenty-six year old seminary grads typically possess. I knew the odds were long for this church to survive the decade, but I was determined to be the pastor it needed to thrive and do significant ministry to the community. I was ready to pour my all into Our Saviour’s. If we went down, I was determined we would go down swinging for Jesus with our last breath.

It could not have been more than a couple of weeks into my ministry at Our Saviour’s that I met Jack. He was a tough old Irishman who had come into Lutheranism by marriage to a Norwegian girl from Brooklyn. Jack was a survivor of the Battle of the Bulge. He started and ran a jewelry business in New York City until crippling arthritis forced him to sell out and retire. He had a wonderful sense of humor, a quick wit and profound faith. Jack had just come home from the hospital and was convalescing after a heart attack. I drove out to his house in order to bring him communion. We got to talking and he asked my how and when I received my call to ministry. After relating my experience and my eagerness to do ministry in Teaneck, Jack, never one to mince words, asked me, “How do you know God isn’t through with this church and that God called you here just to keep it alive for a few more years so the AA group has a place to meet?”

Though I tried not to show it, I was angered, insulted and hurt by that question. How dare Jack suggest that my call amounted to nothing more than playing hospice nurse for dying church? How dare he suggest that God would call me to pastor a church that God had already given up on? How dare Jack suggest that my work was so hopeless and devoid of meaning? Did he really believe God thought so little of me, my faith and my abilities?

Over the course of many years, I have thought about that conversation many times. Lately, I have begun to entertain a different set of questions. What if God needed to keep an otherwise dying church alive for another decade so that Alcoholics Anonymous could continue its redemptive work of rebuilding lives shattered by addiction? What if God were deeply interested in the individuals fighting for their sobriety and needed them for the work of establishing God’s gentle reign? Is it for me to pitch a fit because I don’t get to be at the forefront of the Kingdom’s advance? Is it for me complain because God needs me for a pawn rather than a bishop, knight or rook? Having been enlisted in God’s army, do I have a right to choose where, how and in what capacity I serve? Whose church, mission and ministry is it anyway? Since when do my needs, hopes, dreams and aspirations trump the needs of God’s coming reign?

Consider the following parable. At the end of time, when the messianic banquet had been set, the saints could not help but notice that there was at Jesus’ right hand at the head of the table, a woman gloriously dressed and bathed in light. Some thought that it must be the Virgin Mary. Others thought she must be Mary of Magdala or perhaps Lydia of Philippi or another great saint. Finally, one of the saints worked up the courage to ask, “Lord, who is that at your right hand?” The Lord answered, “Ah, that is my Sophia.” Jesus went on to explain, “There was one day when I was so despondent from being so thoroughly misunderstood, so crushed under the weight of constant attacks, so weary of dealing day after day with stupid questions, pointless arguments and overwhelmed by oceans of human suffering that I was ready to give up. I felt as though I could not go on one more day. That is when Sophia showed up with her sweet smelling perfume, pouring it over my fevered head, rubbing my scalp and massaging my tired feet. That delightful scent and the touch of those caring hands were just enough of what I needed right then to recapture my vision and zeal for God’s kingdom. I declared that wherever the gospel was preached, her act of kindness would be remembered in her honor-and can you believe it? That blockhead evangelist forgot to record her name! You can’t find good help anywhere anymore. Anyway, you are all here with me today because she was there for me then.”

Jesus tells us that “many that are first will be last, and the last first.” Mark 10:31. It may well be that the places of honor at the messianic banquet will not be filled by the Twelve, Augustine, Aquinas, John Calvin, Martin Luther, Dietrich Bonhoeffer, Martin Luther King, Jr., Mother Theresa nor anyone else we would expect. Perhaps those at Jesus right and left hand will be people neither we nor history recognize. They might be just ordinary folks who offered a hug, a kind word, a helping hand or a bottle of ointment at just the right time to change the trajectory of a life, a movement or even the course of history. Any act of kindness, mercy and compassion has ripple effects unforeseen and unforeseeable. That is so because the right hand of God is everywhere making use of these moments to move us closer to the day when God’s will is done on earth as in heaven. God’s hand turns up in the most unexpected times and places. The privilege of being there is not an honor to be achieved. It is, like all of God’s good gifts, a matter of sheer grace.     

Here is a poem about someone who might just be at Jesus’ right hand.

Roses in the Subway

The ground beneath us rumbles

As the crowded cars roll by.

The old bag lady mumbles.

A cranky baby cries.

The weeping of a saxophone

Cuts through the stagnant air.

A million soulless drones head home

Their faces worn with care.

None stops to drop a dime

Into the frail musician’s case.

Everyone is pressed for time

And loath to break the pace.

This cavern deep beneath the ground.

Which knows not night or day,

Is where the wretched folk are found

Who have no place to stay.

Yet in these very bowels of hell

She hums a merry tune.

The sweet scents of her wares dispel

The stench with breaths of June.

Her smiles chase the blues away

Her laughter mocks the gloom.

She sells roses in the subway,

Places flowers on the tomb.

Anonymous c. 2001

TWENTIETH SUNDAY AFTER PENTECOST

Amos 5:6-7, 10-15

Psalm 90:12-17

Hebrews 4:12-16

Mark 10:17-31

Prayer of the Day: Almighty and ever-living God, increase in us your gift of faith, that, forsaking what lies behind and reaching out to what lies ahead, we may follow the way of your commandments and receive the crown of everlasting joy, through Jesus Christ, our Savior and Lord.

“Jesus, looking at him, loved him and said, ‘You lack one thing; go, sell what you own, and give the money to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; then come, follow me.’ When he heard this, he was shocked and went away grieving, for he had many possessions.” Mark 10:21-22.

Here is where the strictest biblical literalists falter. While there are still plenty of folks who insist that the words of Jesus in last week’s gospel seeming to equate remarriage after divorce with adultery must be taken at face value with simple and unquestioning faith, these same people become surprisingly sophisticated (or perhaps “sophistic” is the better term) when it comes to interpreting this Sunday’s gospel. Some insist that this admonition is for the rich and not for common working, mortgage paying, over taxed citizens like us. But just a few lines later we learn that the twelve disciples had already left everything to follow Jesus. Thus, the command to relinquish one’s possessions is not only for the 1%, but for all of us. It is just that the rich have more to lose. Others spiritualize this text, claiming it only means that we should be willing and ready to relinquish our worldly goods if and when Jesus ever calls us to do so. The problem is, Jesus is calling us to that renunciation now. All of these hermeneutical maneuvers call to mind the stern admonition of my homiletics professor, the late Rev. Sheldon Tostengaard: “Don’t ever let me catch you trying to explain what Jesus meant. Jesus meant what he said and if you can’t handle it, get out of the pulpit and make way for someone who can.”

Of course, none of this is to say that a text has no context or that we can simply import biblical passages from the First Century into the Twenty-first as though nothing has changed since then. I believe that a cursory look at how property rights were viewed in the biblical world is helpful to understanding what Jesus is telling us. But I am afraid it won’t make his words any easier for us to digest. We start with the basic proposition that “the earth is the Lord’s and the fullness thereof, the world and those who dwell therein.” Psalm 24:1. Thus, we don’t own anything in the absolute sense, not even ourselves. As the old hymn has it, “We give thee but thine own, what ‘er the gift may be./All that we have is thine alone, a trust, O Lord, from thee.”  Evangelical Lutheran Worship, Hymn # 686 (text by William W. How, 1823-1897).

Even God’s gift of the Promised Land to Israel was not an outright grant. Possession of the land came with conditions: Labor laws ensuring that all people, animals and the land itself were given ample rest from the burdens of work Exodus 20:8-11, Deuteronomy 5:12-15 and Leviticus 25:1-7); just and impartial courts of law (Deuteronomy 16:18-20); requirements for equal rights for all inhabitants of the land-including widows, orphans and resident aliens (Deuteronomy 10:18-20); unconditional release of all indebtedness every seven years (Deuteronomy 15:1-6) and a safety net ensuring sustenance for the poor, both citizen and non-citizen (Leviticus 19:9-10). Of particular importance was the Jubilee to be celebrated every forty-nine years during which encumbered land and indentured servants were automatically returned to their families. Leviticus 25:8-12. Clearly, the wellbeing of Israel’s people, particularly the most vulnerable among them, trumped commercial interests and property rights.

Though the Ten Commandments are publicly displayed everywhere from courthouse lawns to refrigerator magnets, the all important preamble is nearly always omitted. Before any command is given, these words are uttered: “I am the Lord your God, who brought you out of the land of Egypt, out of the house of bondage.” Exodus 20:1-2; Deuteronomy 5:6. The God who addresses Israel is the God of slaves who abhors slavery and bondage. This God will not have God’s chosen people devolve into yet another Egypt in which the value of persons is determined by their place in a societal hierarchy. God will not have God’s people enslaving the resident aliens within their borders as they were enslaved under Pharaoh. God wills for Israel to be a free people and freedom is secured by adherence to laws impartially enforced that ensure protection from economic oppression, poverty and discrimination. This is done by regulating the economy so that it serves the wellbeing of all Israelites.

Oddly, a great many persons who identify as Christian these days define freedom in precisely opposite terms. Freedom, they claim, is liberation from government regulation of all kinds, particularly from those that would “redistribute wealth.” In their view, there is something insidious about taking money or property away from one who earned it and distributing it among those who did not earn or deserve it. While they might grudgingly allow that otherwise blameless people who fall on hard luck through no fault of their own should be given a hand up from the public purse, no such benefits should ever fall into the hands of those whose own poor judgment, folly and lack of work ethic put them in dire situations.

Rather than seeking an economy that serves people, our system appears designed to produce workers capable of serving the economy. Nothing illustrates this trend better than the so called “Common Core Initiative.” According to its website:

“State education chiefs and governors in 48 states came together to develop the Common Core, a set of clear college- and career-ready standards for kindergarten through 12th grade in English language arts/literacy and mathematics. Today, 43 states have voluntarily adopted and are working to implement the standards, which are designed to ensure that students graduating from high school are prepared to take credit bearing introductory courses in two- or four-year college programs or enter the workforce.”

It is important to add that, despite any flowery policy language to the contrary, the two or four year college programs are likewise designed to integrate their graduates into the workforce, albeit at a higher level. Education is increasingly market driven. Advertisements for colleges and universities focus less on forming character through a well rounded course of learning and more on their records for placing their graduates in well paying jobs and prestigious positions. It is hardly surprising, then, that programs in art, music, dance and the humanities are first to hit the cutting room floor when public school revenue drops. After all, multinational corporations can hardly expect to turn a profit through municipal orchestras or community theater. Unless you are a child prodigy, you might as well not bother pursuing an education in the fine arts. There is no market for that sort of thing.

Value has but one measure anymore. Our day to day speech is filled with language illustrating our reduction of human worth to dollars and cents. “What is your net worth?” the financial advisor asks her client. “This course will provide you with the skills you need to increase your value.”  “Bottom line,” says the CEO, “we can’t afford to keep these people on.” Everything that really matters is in the balance sheet, income statement and statement of change in financial position. And that is as it should be. The market decides which communities thrive and grow as well as which ones implode when their supporting industries suffer obsolescence, inability to generate profits and closure. That the closure of a factory might have ripple effects destroying surrounding businesses, ripping the very fabric of neighborhoods, families, civic organizations and religious communities is of no concern to an economy designed to increase profits with maximum efficiency.

I am not suggesting that there is anything wrong with market economies or free enterprise. I am not an economist and thus hardly an expert on the subject, but I happen to think that markets are an inevitable development in any human community. They make it possible for us to share our various skills, talents and possessions for the common good. It is not markets that trouble me, but rather the Market. It seems to me that capitalist ideology elevates the Market to near godhood. Reverence for the Market and its ability to solve our most pressing social ills, if only left unmolested, requires no less than ardent faith. Capitalism has come to operate as this nation’s civil religion. Even questioning the unfettered reign of the market over commerce, education, urban planning and every other aspect of our lives amounts to heresy. In the eyes of too many, an attack on the Market is an attack on the United States and our whole way of life. But I do not accept the dubious proposition that any regulation of the economy amounts to “socialism.” Neither do I believe that we are stuck with a binary choice between ruthless economic exploitation that leaves millions in poverty while enriching the upper one percent of the population on the one hand or some kind of Stalinist tyranny on the other.

I believe that Jesus meant what he said in Sunday’s gospel and more pointedly in Luke’s gospel, namely, that no one can be a disciple of Jesus without renouncing all that one has. Luke 14:33. Consistent with the Hebrew Scriptures, Jesus reminds us that nothing in our possession is truly our own. We are but stewards who must one day give an accounting for the way in which we have acquired what we possess and the use to which we have put it. Matthew 25 gives us a pretty clear picture of what that accounting looks like. At the last judgment no one is asked about who they loved, their religious affiliation, their marital status, their politics or, evangelicals please take note, whether they have accepted Jesus as their personal lord and savior. The nations of the world and their members are asked only how they treated the most vulnerable among them: the hungry, the homeless, the sick, the stranger and the imprisoned. Matthew 25:32-41. Late stage capitalism, under which human beings are made subject to the needs of a profit driven economy and property rights are enforced at the expense of human wellbeing, is not biblical and, I would add, unamerican. If the sabbath was made for the wellbeing of human beings and not human beings for the sabbath (Mark 2:27), how much more the economy.      

In sum, I don’t think it is too much to ask those of us who made a comfortable living using the roads, driving the cars, utilizing the technology of communication so abundently available to us to contribute to the wellbeing of those who built that infrastructure by seeing to it that they earn a living wage, have affordable housing, enjoy access to adequate healthcare and have the peace of mind that comes with a secure retirement. I don’t think it is too much to ask that we who have never known hunger in our lives pay a little more at the checkout counter to ensure that those who plant, grow, harvest, process and transport our food to the supermarket for our convenience receive adequate salaries and benefits. I don’t think it is too much to ask that corporations which are able to operate their businesses because citizens like us pay for the police protection, fire protection, legal infrastructure and transpiration systems pay their fair share in maintaining and improving these benefits. I don’t think it is too much to ask that a company around which its workers built their town and community and supplied it with labor for generations compensate that community upon its departure with the resources required to sustain it until it is able to transition to a new economic base. And finally, I don’t think it is too much to ask those of us who possess more of the world’s goods than we need to thrive (and that includes most of us white Christians) to invest the surplus (which is more than a token) in caring for those deemed “least” among us, particularly those at whose expense our success has come to us. Yes, I am talking about redistribution of wealth. I don’t know whether that is socialism, but I do know it is biblical.  

Here is a poem by Marilyn Nelson describing in stark terms capitalism’s ultimate monetization of humanity, namely, slavery.

Worth

Today in America people were bought and sold:
five hundred for a “likely Negro wench.”
If someone at auction is worth her weight in gold,
how much would she be worth by pound? By ounce?
If I owned an unimaginable quantity of wealth,
could I buy an iota of myself?
How would I know which part belonged to me?
If I owned part, could I set my part free?
It must be worth something—maybe a lot—
that my great-grandfather, they say, killed a lion.
They say he was black, with muscles as hard as iron,
that he wore a necklace of the claws of the lion he’d fought.
How much do I hear, for his majesty in my blood?
I auction myself. And I make the highest bid.

Source: Faster Than Light: New and Selected Poems, 1996-2011. (c. 2012 by Marilyn Nelson; pub. by Louisiana State University Press). Marilyn Nelson (b. 1946) is an American poet, translator and author of several children’s books. She is also the daughter of one of the last of the Tuskegee Airmen. Nelson is a professor emeritus at the University of Connecticut and a former poet laureate of Connecticut. She is a winner of the Ruth Lilly Poetry Prize, the NSK Neustadt Prize for Children’s Literature and the Frost Medal. Nelson is also the author of five books of poetry for adults and children. You can read more about Marilyn Nelson and sample more of her poetry at the Poetry Foundation website.

   

NINETEENTH SUNDAY AFTER PENTECOST

Genesis 2:18-24

Psalm 8

Hebrews 1:1-4; 2:5-12

Mark 10:2-16

Prayer of the Day: Sovereign God, you have created us to live in loving community with one another. Form us for life that is faithful and steadfast, and teach us to trust like little children, that we may reflect the image of your Son, Jesus Christ, our Savior and Lord.

“Whoever divorces his wife and marries another commits adultery against her; and if she divorces her husband and marries another, she commits adultery.” Mark 10:11.

I dread this pericope. I can’t help but wonder how these words of Jesus are being processed by women and men who are divorced and remarried, have children who are divorced, are trapped in abusive marriages or were raised by parents who are divorced or separated. It is tempting simply to ignore this first half of the reading in which Jesus deals with a question regarding divorce and focus instead on the second half where Jesus blesses the little children. If you are going to exercise that prerogative, I strongly suggest you omit from the gospel reading the previous section on divorce. Simply leaving these words hanging in the air without contextualizing or addressing them borders on pastoral malpractice.

On the other hand, if you choose to take the bull by the horns and preach on Jesus’ difficult remarks, there are a few essential points to be made. First, it must be emphasized that Jesus is responding to a man’s question asked by men of a man in a man’s world. “Is it lawful for a man to divorce his wife?” There was no provision in Jewish law for women to divorce their husbands. Hooker, Morna D., The Gospel According to Saint Mark, (c. 1991; published by Hendrickson Publishers, Inc.) p. 256. Thus, the concern here is exclusively for the rights of a man over his woman. Jesus will not discuss the matter of divorce on these terms. Though he does not dispute the validity of provisions allowing divorce under Mosaic law, he will not let this be the final word. Instead, he circles back to the Book of Genesis, also deemed to be a writing of Moses in Jesus’ day, to articulate the divine relational intent for marriage.

Jesus brings together elements from the two Genesis creation stories (Genesis 1:1-2:4 and Genesis 2:4-25) to broaden his audience’s perspective. “From the beginning of creation, ‘God made them male and female.’” Mark 10:6.[1] This is so because “the Lord God said, ‘It is not good that the man should be alone; I will make him a helper as his partner.” Genesis 2:18.[2] Clearly, men and women were created to be partners in God’s creative scheme. As such, their union is not merely contractual. It is covenantal. God is instrumental in this holy union. Accordingly, it is not for human beings to annul it. A man may not, under color of law, dispose of his wife as he would a piece of property to acquire a newer model. To do so amounts to adultery by another name. Jesus goes further to say that if a woman “divorces her husband and marries another, she commits adultery.” Mark 10:12. As previously noted, there was no provision in First Century Jewish law for a woman to divorce her husband. For this reason, most commentators believe this verse to be a later interpolation supplied by the church to make clear that the same rule applies to women in cultural contexts where such provisions did exist. Eg., Hooker, at 257. However that might be, it is entirely consistent with Jesus’ insistence that marriage is a covenant of equality between partners.

Second, Jesus’ uncompromising position on the matter of divorce needs to be seen against the background of his covenantal understanding of it. That understanding is further articulated by Saint Paul’s recognition of marriage as a symbol of and witness to the relationship between Christ and his church found in his Letter to the Church at Ephesus. Ephesians 5:21-33. [3] Marriage is not simply a private matter between two people. It is part of the glue that holds communities together, it provides shelter and care for children, the ones for whom the reign of God is chiefly designed (Mark 10:14), and it witnesses to the passionate love God has for the church. For these reasons, it should not lightly be dissolved.

That said, this text must never be used to stigmatize persons who have been divorced as having “failed” in some fundamental way. To be sure, Jesus and Saint Paul give us a high vision of marriage. But has any marriage ever met these high standards? No more than any church has ever lived fully into its identity as the Body of Christ. There is no such thing as a “successful marriage.” All marriages are failed marriages, some of which end in divorce. All marriages, first, second or third, are broken. All of them stand in need of grace and forgiveness. My own marriage has both lasted and deepened over the last four decades. But that is in no small part because Sesle and I both had parents who supported us financially, provided child care when we needed it and were always ready to lend a helping hand. We had supportive church communities that we knew we could count on. We both had employers who were compassionate and understanding when we needed to take time off in times of severe illness-which we faced more than once over the years. Would our marriage have fared as well if we had been on our own and without all of this support? Thankfully, I will never know the answer to that question. But asking it every so often reminds me that “it takes a village” to sustain a marriage and that better people than me have seen their marriages collapse under the weight of lonliness, isolation, health issues, financial stress and unemployment challenges Sesle and I never had to face alone.

In sum, I believe that this text must be handled with extreme caution. But with careful preparation and a compassionate gospel focus, it will preach.

Here is a poem by Wendell Berry that speaks of the intimate, turbulent and fragile nature of marriage as well as its potential for making us more than we can be individually.

Marriage 

How hard it is for me, who live
in the excitement of women
and have the desire for them
in my mouth like salt. Yet
you have taken me and quieted me.
You have been such light to me
that other women have been
your shadows. You come near me
with the nearness of sleep.
And yet I am not quiet.
It is to be broken. It is to be
torn open. It is not to be
reached and come to rest in
ever. I turn against you,
I break from you, I turn to you.
We hurt, and are hurt,
and have each other for healing.
It is healing. It is never whole.

Source: The Country of Marriage, (c. 1971 by Wendell Berry; pub. by Counterpoint Press 2013) also published in Poetry, June 1967. 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.

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[1] This text has frequently been used in support of the proposition that marriage consists exclusively between men and women, excluding be definition faithful monogamous relationships between LGBTQ+ folk. But that does not follow. God also “separated the light from the darkness. God called the light Day, and the darkness he called Night.” Genesis 1:4. And yet God also created the moon and stars to give light during the night and there are caves and ocean depths on which the sun never shines even during the day. “God said, ‘Let the waters under the sky be gathered together into one place, and let the dry land appear.’” Genesis 1:9. Yet we know that there are intertidal zones and wetlands critical to the earth’s many ecosystems that are neither water ways nor dry land. No one would suggest that these areas were not also divinely created and declared “very good.” Similarly, the binary poles of male and female do not define humanity in its entirety, but simply articulate parameters within which it blossoms and grows.

[2] The term “man” in the English translation is deceptive. “Adam” is not chiefly a proper name. It means simply “earth creature” or “creature made of earth.” As such, Adam is not, properly speaking, a man. It is not until the woman is created that there is man “ish” and woman “ishah.” Thus, one could and probably should say that man and women were created simultaneously.

[3] I am well aware that many find Paul’s words problematic because, whereas he urges husbands to love their wives, he calls upon wives to obey their husbands. I think that criticism is misplaced. Paul begins his exhortation with the admonition “to be subject to one another out of reverence for Christ.” Ephesians 5:21. Though Paul identifies the husband with Christ who is the “head of the church,” Jesus himself says to his disciples that he is “among them as one who serves.” Luke 22:27. Thus, one could reverse the roles and render the text “husbands, obey your wives” and “wives, love your husbands” without doing any violence to Paul’s argument here. The point is that Jesus relationship with his church is one of mutuality, friendship and partnership. Marriage should be seen as a sign and witness to such mutuality under the gentle reign of God.

SEVENTEENTH SUNDAY AFTER PENTECOST

Jeremiah 11:18-20

Psalm 54

James 3:13 — 4:3, 7-8a

Mark 9:30-37

Prayer of the Day: O God, our teacher and guide, you draw us to yourself and welcome us as beloved children. Help us to lay aside all envy and selfish ambition, that we may walk in your ways of wisdom and understanding as servants of your Son, Jesus Christ, our Savior and Lord.

“Then [Jesus] came to Capernaum [with his disciples]; and when he was in the house he asked them, ‘What were you arguing about on the way?’ But they were silent, for on the way they had argued with one another about who was the greatest.” Mark 9:33-34.

A young pastor found himself on his knees late at night after a particularly contentious church council meeting. “Good God!” he cried out, “I can’t possibly be a minister to this church. Nobody cares about the good news of the gospel. All they seem to care about is the budget and who controls where the money is spent and who has the final say on what happens everywhere from the altar to the furnace room! These people have no idea what it means to be the church and I don’t think they even care!”

Suddenly, the young pastor looked up and saw Jesus sitting in a chair in front of his desk. He was startled at first, but Jesus’ disarming smile soon dispelled his terror. “I’ve been listening to your prayers, son,” said Jesus. “Let me assure you, I know exactly how you feel. My first congregation was literally the death of me. I had a council president who promised to stand by me come hell or high water. But when the going got tough, he didn’t want to know me. My closest workers were constantly quarrelling over “who was the greatest.” I had a church treasurer who embezzled church funds and he had the nerve to turn me into the authorities! As for the rest of the congregation, they deserted me and left me alone to be hung out to dry-and that’s no metaphor. But enough about me. You were telling me about the problems in your congregation.”

At my daughter Emily’s ordination, I told her, along with a whole congregation of worshipers and well wishers, that there are just two requirements for being a successful pastor. First you have to believe in Jesus. Second, you have to love the church. Everything else you can fake. The second point is often the stumbling block. Of course, everyone loves the idea of church-that warm and inviting place where all are welcome, no one is judged and there is no favoritism. It is the real church we find hard to love. And this is so not only for pastors with unrealistic expectations for congregational life, but also for individuals seeking in the church the wonderful, accepting family none of us ever had. What we find when we walk in the door are people who are passive-aggressive, manipulative, power hungry and emotionally wounded in ways that make them unappealing candidates for friendship. They are people who compete with one another for power, prestige and control-much like Jesus’ twelve disciples.

Of course, that is only half the story and not even the better half. The church is also populated with the folks that are regularly found working at the local food pantry, picking up trash at the town playground with other volunteers and donating their services for the biannual blood donation drive. They show up with a casserole, a hug and a kind word where families experience a death, accident or severe illness. These folks are the first to pull out their checkbooks when natural disasters occur here or abroad. When the church basement floods, they are always there bailing away. Their small acts of kindness-a hand squeeze for the downcast fellow in the pew, a smile for the pensive teenager standing awkwardly in the corner of the parish hall, a gentle injection of calming humor into a tense and combative argument-have a transformational power out of all proportion to their seeming insignificance. These folks carry far more than their share in supporting their church and their community without getting any recognition for it, but you never hear them complain. They are what Jesus would call “the salt of the earth.”

That brings me to something said by Chaplain Peter, the teacher, pastor and prison chaplain who preached at my ordination. “Peter,” he said, “you will meet in your congregation some of the kindest, most selfless and most faithful people you will ever know. And you will also meet people who are more cruel, manipulative and toxic than you thought possible. And here’s the hardest thing. Often they will be the same people.” Chaplin Peter got that right. I learned that lesson the day it came to light that a talented youth worker and father of three, who had had such a positive influence on so many kids, was cheating on his wife with a married woman in the congregation.

I learned that lesson again when a homeless family with two small children in tow showed up at the church looking for grocery money. I had nothing left in my discretionary fund and only ten dollars in my wallet to offer. That’s when Brent, who had been painting the parish hall restrooms, walked into the narthex as the family was leaving. Brent was an old Norwegian carpenter who weathered the Great Depression without any help from anyone. He made no secret of his contempt for “welfare bums living off our tax dollars.” I was pretty sure he overheard everything that transpired between me and that family. I fully expected a lecture on the folly of giving “handouts” to people too lazy to work. I was wrong. There was a tear running down Brent’s cheek and he had three twenties in his hand. “You can’t feed a family on ten dollars anymore!” he said. “Hurry up and give ‘em this before they go.”

Martin Luther was fond of reminding us that believers are at the same time saints and sinners. Though we frequently fail to live up to the standards of love we profess, we sometimes find ourselves being better than we-and everyone else-thought possible. Nobody understood that better than Saint Paul, who could say to the dysfunctional church in Corinth, “Now you are the body of Christ.” I Corinthians 12:27. Not “you should be the body of Christ” or “if you ever manage to get your act together you might be the body of Christ,” but you are the body of Christ. The apostle goes on to encourage the Corinthian Church to live into what it truly is. That, I think, is the aim of all ministry within the church, namely, reminding us that we have been bought with a price, that we are better than what we have allowed ourselves to become and that God has important work for us to do. The resurrected Christ sought out the very disciples who had failed him so miserably and placed in their trembling hands the task of announcing the good news of reconciliation and peace to the world. Ours is the God of the second chance; the God who sees far more in us than we dare to see in ourselves.    

Prayer at the Closing of a Church

Good and gracious God,

this church-like our town-

is all used up.

There’s not enough of us

to keep the doors open.

So this little church

will join the row

of locked doors

and boarded up windows

that now line this street.

We didn’t do much

that is outstanding

over the last century.

There were no martyrs

among us, no heroes

of faith who gave all

for the sake of the gospel.

But we had Martha Bertrand

who taught Sunday school

for fifty years plus.

Her classes didn’t produce

Pastors or missionaries.

But she kissed away

a lot of bruises,

bandaged a lot of skinned knees

and once spent the whole

night with a former pupil,

by then a college freshman,

who arrived at her house

at some ungodly hour

looking desperately

for a reason not to end his life.

He didn’t.

We had several pastors,

None of them orators,

None of them church builders

None of them well known

figures in the community.

But they were there

when a loved one died,

when a family was in crisis,

when anyone was at wit’s end

and had nowhere else to turn.

They baptized, married and

buried us with love

and the same old shopworn

but still comforting scriptures,

hymns and words of consolation.

We didn’t do much

to end the scourges

of hunger and homelessness

in our community.

But we took our turn

housing the homeless

each month in our basement,

giving them a home cooked meal

shared with us around a table,

because these people

deserved more than

a roof over their head.

They deserved a home

and we tried to give them

as much a home

as we could provide

in a church basement.

We cared for Arnie,

a schizophrenic kid

with a criminal record,

who never darkened the door

of the sanctuary

but showed up for every potluck.

When he stole Mrs. Higgins’ purse

we didn’t call the cops.

The pastor just paid a visit

to his group home

and asked him to return it-

Which he did, asking with tears

that we forgive him.

We did.

We loved each other

As best we could-

Which often wasn’t very good.

We lived for Jesus, or tried.

But too often, his image was lost

in our concerns over finances,

the right way to worship,

fixing the boiler,

painting the restrooms

and in fights over who controls what.

But sometimes, we got Jesus right.

Sometimes, we met the challenge.

Sometimes we found ourselves

being better than we thought

we could be.

When that happened,

it was beautiful.

So as we retire

this old clay vessel,

we offer up these moments

as our final sacrifice of praise

in hopes that they have moved

the world just a little closer

to the day when your kingdom comes

and your will is done

on earth as it is in heaven.

Anonymous   

SIXTEENTH SUNDAY AFTER PENTECOST

Isaiah 50:4-9

Psalm 116:1-9

James 3:1-12

Mark 8:27-38

Prayer of the Day: O God, through suffering and rejection you bring forth our salvation, and by the glory of the cross you transform our lives. Grant that for the sake of the gospel we may turn from the lure of evil, take up our cross, and follow your Son, Jesus Christ, our Savior and Lord.

“But who do you say that I am?” Mark 8:29.

That is the sixty-four-thousand dollar question. The answer was not self evident then, nor is it today. When I was in seminary, the historical critical method was still the prevailing approach to understanding the Bible, though it was beginning to come under intense scrutiny. Shaped as it is by modernist presuppositions, historical criticism seeks to uncover the core meaning of each biblical passage through objective application of rigorous textual dissection, source criticism, redaction analysis and form criticism with an eye toward placing it in its historical context. Properly employed, this method was supposed to strip away all of the dogmatic prejudices of Israel/the church and so reveal what historical truth can be harvested from the Bible. Nowhere was this fevered search more focused than in the quest to unearth “the historical Jesus” out from under the clutter of the early church’s theological assertions. 

Since my seminary days, history has left the historical critical method behind. The work of scholars of color, women and persons of LBGTQ+ orientations has shaken our enlightenment era confidence in our ability to be “objective.” History, we now know, is not a matter of undisputed and verifiable fact. It is always shaped by narrative and usually that of the powerful, the military victors and those who are well off enough to have the luxury of writing it. Often the facts and events that are omitted from one’s historical narrative are as telling as those included. Excluded from my own historical education was the Tuskegee experiments, the Tulsa, Oklahoma massacre and the role of the slave trade in the rise of the United States. I learned a great deal about George Washington’s military prowess, statesmanship and piety. I was never told that, like nine of his successors, he was a slaveholder. There is no such thing as an unbiased account of anything and we deceive ourselves if we claim to be “unbiased.” The best we can do is be aware of our biases and try to see beyond them to the perspective of others.

So we start with the understanding that the mindset of the biblical narrators was quite different from our own. History, as we understand it in the modern context, had no place in their thinking. Thus, coming to them with questions framed in historical terms will not get us very far. The biblical speakers, writers and narrators did not distinguish between “natural” and “supernatural,” “spiritual” and “physical” or “mythical” and “historical.” For them, the universe was all of one piece and the God who created it inhabited it, acted within it and manifested God’s self to all its inhabitants. For that reason, Jesus is not revealed to us in modern documentary form. The nearest accounts we have of him are woven out of the stories, tales and teachings preserved for us by the early church in the New Testament. That might not appeal to our modernist sensibilities, but it is how God in God’s wisdom has chosen to reveal God’s only begotton Son.

All of this being so, I do not believe the question of whether and to what extent we can or cannot squeeze what we characterize as “history” out of the New Testament is worth pursuing. I contend that there is but one critical question: “Did the New Testament witnesses, in all of their diversity, tension and irreconcilable differences nevertheless ‘get Jesus right?’” Or is the Christian cannon just a tangle of garbled memories, exaggerated tales and dogmatically distorted preaching put into the mouth of a man whose true identity lies buried somewhere beneath the literary rubble? Can we trust the Jesus who emerges from the scriptural cannon as the church has transmitted it? I do not believe that is a question historical criticism or any other interpretive method can answer. The only response that can be given is the one given by Philip to Nathaniel in John’s gospel: “Come and see.” John 1:46. For the mystery of Jesus’ identity finally lies not in the text, but in the witness of the community formed by the text. Without Israel and the church, the Bible would hold no more significance than the Egyptian Book of the Dead. It would be of interest to scholars of ancient religion and culture, but of no relevance for anyone else.

Bottom line, the only Jesus we can know is the one proclaimed by his disciples. That, of course, includes not only the New Testament witnesses of the early church, but also the witness of all who throughout history have experienced Jesus as savior, come to know him through their attention to the scriptures and proclaimed him as Lord. Rather than viewing the church’s scriptures and teachings throughout the ages as a distracting and distorting encrustation obscuring the true “historical Jesus,” we should view them as a growing variety of windows into the identity of Jesus, a mystery we can never fully grasp this side of the resurrection. As such, they enhance rather than obscure our understanding of who Jesus is. Today we have the benefit of witness from Latin American disciples who find Jesus in their struggle for liberation; Black American disciples who find Jesus in their resistance to systemic racism and LGBTQ+ disciples who find Jesus in their struggle to live out their vocations authentically in a church that has for centuries excluded them. We are never through with trying to answer Jesus’ question, “Who do you say that I am?”

Here is a poem by Andrew Hudgins reflecting on the identity of Jesus in light of John’s gospel’s account of his resurrection.

Christ as a Gardener

The boxwoods planted in the park spelled LIVE.
I never noticed it until they died.
Before, the entwined green had smudged the word
unreadable. And when they take their own advice
again – come spring, come Easter – no one will know
a word is buried in the leaves. I love the way
that Mary thought her resurrected Lord
a gardener. It wasn’t just the broad-brimmed hat
and muddy robe that fooled her: he was that changed.
He looks across the unturned field, the riot
of unscythed grass, the smattering of wildflowers.
Before he can stop himself, he’s on his knees.
He roots up stubborn weeds, pinches the suckers,
deciding order here – what lives, what dies,
an how. But it goes even deeper than that.

His hands burn and his bare feet smolder. He longs
to lie down inside the long, dew-moist furrows
and press his pierced side and his broken forehead
into the dirt. But he’s already done it –
passed through one death and out the other side.
He laughs. He kicks his bright spade in the earth
and turns it over. Spring flashed by, then harvest.
Beneath his feet, seeds dance into the air.
They rise, and he, not noticing, ascends
on midair steppingstones of dandelion,
of milkweed, thistle, cattail and goldenrod.

Source: Andrew Hudgins (b. 1951) was raised in Alabama. He earned a bachelor’s degree. at Huntingdon College and his master’s at University of Alabama. Additionally, he earned an M.F.A. at the University of Iowa. Hudgins is the author of numerous collections of poetry and essays, many of which have received high critical praise. He is currently Humanities Distinguished Professor of English at Ohio State University, having previously taught at Baylor University and the University of Cincinnati. Hudgins lives in Upper Arlington, Ohio, with his wife, the writer Erin McGraw. You can read more about Andrew Hudgins and sample more of his poetry at the Poetry Foundation website.

FIFTEENTH SUNDAY AFTER PENTECOST

Isaiah 35:4-7a

Psalm 146

James 2:1-17

Mark 7:24-37

Prayer of the Day: Gracious God, throughout the ages you transform sickness into health and death into life. Open us to the power of your presence and make us a people ready to proclaim your promises to the whole world, through Jesus Christ, our healer and Lord.

Then the eyes of the blind shall be opened,
   and the ears of the deaf unstopped;
then the lame shall leap like a deer,
   and the tongue of the speechless sing for joy. Isaiah 35:5-6.

What does it mean to be healed? I asked that question of myself a lot over the last few weeks, during which I spent the better part of each day visiting my wife at Spaulding Rehabilitation Hospital in Boston. As those of you who follow me know, Sesle sustained a severe spinal cord injury necessitating spinal surgery and intense inpatient therapy. During our time at Spaulding, I made a few observations about the healing process. First, healing is miraculous. We are indeed “fearfully and wonderfully made.” Psalm 139:13-15. It is nothing short of breath taking to witness how nerves reawaken and muscles regain their power to move once flaccid limbs. It is marvelous to behold how hearing, taste and smell often sharpen to compensate for lost sight. As far as we have come with our medical technology, the best we can do is aid the human body as it repairs itself-until finally it does not.

That brings me to my second observation. Healing is always incomplete this side of the Resurrection. Everyone Jesus ever healed died of some other human aliment-just as each one of us finally will. We are inescapably mortal, no matter how desperately we try to cover it up with lotions and creams; no matter how rigorously we exercise; no matter how wholesomely we eat; no matter how effectively we hide the reality of death away in end stage hospital rooms, nursing homes and hospice facilities. At best, healing gives one a reprieve. To be healed is to be given more life, more health and more opportunities to do justice, love kindness and walk humbly with God for whatever time we have left. In that respect, healing is no different than waking up in the morning to a new day. The question is, will you live it joyfully, thankfully and obediently as God’s faithful creature and beloved child?

Third, healing never returns one to the status quo. When illness is serious, it leaves scars. Recall that the Resurrected Christ still bears the wounds of the cross. Sometimes those scars are visible-as were the third degree burns left on one Spaulding inpatient I encountered. Sometimes they lie deep beneath the surface manifesting themselves in nightmares, panic attacks and spells of depression. Sometimes scars make one stronger, wiser and more compassionate. Often they leave one crippled, bitter and withdrawn. The difference between healing and worsening sickness frequently turns on how one’s scars are treated, the meaning given to them and the degree to which one is able to make peace with them.

Finally, and most important, true healing is cosmic. That is to say, we can never be made whole individually. Not until “God is all in all” will we finally be healed fully and completely. I Corinthians 15:28. Only when the broken bodies and wounded minds of all God’s people are finally woven into the fabric of the new creation can it be said that we have been truly healed. We ought to know that. If this Covid 19 pandemic has taught us anything, it is that our own health can never be assured until the day that disease of this kind is given no more slums, no more malnourished populations and no more space where persons are deprived of basic health care. Such healing as we experience in our lives, as marvelous as it is, remains but a sign and a witness to the ultimate healing God desires for the whole creation and of which the resurrection of the crucified one is a sign and a down payment.   

Here is a poem by Joan Aleshire that speaks of illness, morality and a healing that transcends them both.

Healing

If the tests come out wrong, if the cells
begin to fail in their quiet weaving;
if the body that so lightly carries
this life betrays me — some night
when the pines talk to one another,
when no moon would tell my secret, snow
would fill my steps, I could go to that hill
so far beyond my neighbor’s it has no name.
Walking and waiting for numbness, I’d feel
the blade of air I’d chosen for my chest.
And if winter were too far away, the water
I watched today could take me — swift
churn of Otter Creek Falls, fanning out
smooth, moving from shore. Entering
such depth, a body would be part
of a motion, alive in its last time.

The doctor sensed the first tear
in his own tissue. The hand
with scythe-neat nails began to belong
to someone rebellious, his feet
were marble boats headed different ways,
his tongue turned against the thoughts
that tried to guide it. His country lost
its history — the childhood house
with its wings and boxwood borders,
the woman he noticed as she turned away.
He dreamed of dusty arenas, every exit
barred, a roar coming from the bull chute.

Doctor, he knew there’d be no reversal;
no way to cut or soothe. The ocean was open
all the way to the skyline; generous and deep.
How did he choose the time — after a day
of stumbling, or one so bright it tempted him
to stay? One night of no moon, he listened
to his wife breathing deep and even,
slipped back the broad cuff of sheet. Standing
he let his night clothes fall like snakeskin,
rustling down. He stepped in the last future
he could make — cold salt marking his ankles,
his calves as he waded in. Thighs, balls,
belly, chest. The tide began to love him
then, its pulse pressing his nipples,
answering his heart. He kept on,
letting in the water that would be his new air,
opening to the larger world, the failed body
lost to the final healing.

Source: The Yellow Transparents, Joan Ashire (Pub. by Four Way Books, 1997); also published in Poetry, (August 1988). Joan Alshire was born in 1947. She lives in Vermont where she is a library trustee and the founder of SAGE, an organization that supports sustainable agricultural education and the arts. She has written several poems touching on human frailty, mortality and resiliency. You can sample more of her poems at the Poetry Foundation website.

FOURTEENTH SUNDAY AFTER PENTECOST

Deuteronomy 4:1-2, 6-9

Psalm 15

James 1:17-27

Mark 7:1-8, 14-15, 21-23

Prayer of the Day: O God our strength, without you we are weak and wayward creatures. Protect us from all dangers that attack us from the outside, and cleanse us from all evil that arises from within ourselves, that we may be preserved through your Son, Jesus Christ, our Savior and Lord.

“But take care and watch yourselves closely, so as neither to forget the things that your eyes have seen nor to let them slip from your mind all the days of your life; make them known to your children and your children’s children—” Deuteronomy 4:9.  

This warning comes from Moses at what seems like the end of Israel’s long journey from slavery in Egypt through the perils of the wilderness to the brink of the Promise Land. Moses knows, however, that the journey is far from over and that he will not be with his people on the next stage. This is Moses’ last opportunity to address the people. He knows that Israel will face the challenge of transitioning from nomadic to sedentary existence. He knows that Israel will encounter the perils of warfare. But these are not the most formidable dangers the people will face. The greatest threat to Israel’s existence is forgetfulness. So Moses warns the people emphatically not to forget “the things your eyes have seen.”  Israel must never forget that they were slaves in Egypt and that God in God’s mercy liberated them from a life of bondage and opened up for them a new existence governed not by the gods of a ruling class, but the God who is champion of the marginalized. No longer would they be slaves whose bodies and labor belong to human overlords. Henceforth, they are to live under the governance of just laws that protect the “widow and the fatherless” and apply equally to citizens and resident aliens.

Forgetfulness is a natural human trait. Often, it is selective. As Barbara Strisand sings in, The Way We Were, theme song of the movie by that name:

Memories, may be beautiful and yet
What’s too painful to remember
We simply choose to forget

There was much in Israel’s history that Israel might well have wished to forget: the people’s panic and cowardice on the shore of the Red Sea as the Egyptian army approached and Moses appealed for them to trust in God; their ingratitude for the food, water and protection God had provided for forty years in the wilderness; their initial refusal to enter into the Promised Land-which resulted in their forty years of wilderness wandering. They might have wished they had a more flattering narrative to recite. Thus, Moses warns them later on in his final remarks: “Beware lest you say in your heart, ‘My power and the might of my hand have gotten me this wealth.’” Deuteronomy 8:17.

Israel took this admonition to heart, including in her worship liturgies hymns such as the following:

We have heard with our ears, O God,
   our ancestors have told us,
what deeds you performed in their days,
   in the days of old:
you with your own hand drove out the nations,
   but them you planted;
you afflicted the peoples,
   but them you set free;
for not by their own sword did they win the land,
   nor did their own arm give them victory;
but your right hand, and your arm,
   and the light of your countenance,
   for you delighted in them.  Psalm 44:1-3.

Nonetheless, the people frequently did forget that their freedom and their land were gifts that came with heavy responsibilities. Israel often succumbed to the temptation to treat its status as God’s people as an entitlement rather than gift. This forgetfulness finally led to Israel’s conquest and exile.

The church requires the same stern warning given by Moses. Too frequently we have forgotten that we have been called to serve those deemd “least” within the human family and imagined instead that our status as God’s chosen people is one of privilege. We have rejoiced in the conviction that we are “saved,” but forgotten the reason for which we were saved. We have often traded the integrity of our witness for political influence, social recognition and wealth. We have confused patriotic aspirations with the demands of discipleship and white middle class respectability for morality. We have courted the favor of the wealthy and powerful while shunning contact with the poor, homeless and marginalized. In sum, we have forgotten our story or, perhaps more accurately, traded it away for an easier and more flattering narrative.

This is why we have the season of Lent and Holy Week. There are no heroes in the Passion Narrative; only traders, deserters and cowards. Judas the traitor. Peter the denier. James and John who fell asleep at their posts. The twelve who turned and fled at the approach of danger. We tell these unflattering stories on ourselves to remind ourselves who we are. We are the people who failed Jesus in his time of greatest need-and too frequently fail him still. Yet we are also spiritual descendants of the ones the resurrected Lord sought out as they cowered behind locked doors, sending them out with the good news of God’s inbreaking reign. Faithless as we often are, God is ever faithful. Forgetful as we are of God’s kindness toward us, God remembers God’s promises to us and continues to send prophets, preachers and teachers to remind us who we are and what God has done and continues to do for us.

Truthful remembering is often a painful process. Nothing illustrates the point better than the fanatic resistance of white politicians and their constituents to educational efforts to come to terms with the role played by racism and white supremacy in our nation’s history. There is much in our national past that a lot of us would like to forget, much of our story that we would rather remain untold. Many of us would prefer that the whitewashed (pun intended) version of history we were taught in school remain unchallenged. The good news the church has to offer here is that the truth, painful as it might be, sets us free. Being reminded who we are can be devastating, but if at the same time we are reminded who God is, it can be redemptive. We cannot change what the past tells us about who we are, but Jesus’ good word to us is that God’s future, not our past, can control who we will be tomorrow. I believe the American Church is in a marvelous position to give our nation the gift of repentance and a vision of the future it so desperately needs. But until we first receive it ourselves, we have nothing to offer. For that reason, I have joined the call of many believers for our churches, particularly those that are predominantly white and more particularly my own Evangelical Lutheran Church in America, to commit to the making of reparations to Black American churches and their ministries. What is the purpose of the church if not to remind the world what it means to be human and show it what justice and reconciliation look like?

Here is a poem in which Langston Hughes calls upon his black sisters and brothers to remember. It is perhaps in some respets the kind of remembering to which Moses called Israel when the people were still enslaved in Egypt. It speaks to Americans a harsh, but true word. We would do well not to forget it.

Remember    

Remember
The days of bondage—
And remembering—
Do not stand still.
Go to the highest hill
And look down upon the town
Where you are yet a slave.
Look down upon any town in Carolina
Or any town in Maine, for that matter,
Or Africa, your homeland—
And you will see what I mean for you to see—
             The white hand:
             The thieving hand.
             The white face:
             The lying face.
             The white power:
             The unscrupulous power
That makes of you
The hungry wretched thing you are today.

Source: New Haven: Beinecke Library, Yale University, (Published in Poetry, January 2009). Langston Hughes was an important African American voice in the “Harlem Renaissance” of the 1920s. Though well-educated and widely traveled, Hughes’ poetry never strayed far from his roots in the African American community. Early in his career, Hughes’ work was criticized by some African American intellectuals for portraying what they viewed as an unflattering representation of back life. In a response to these critics, Hughes replied, “I didn’t know the upper class Negroes well enough to write much about them. I knew only the people I had grown up with, and they weren’t people whose shoes were always shined, who had been to Harvard, or who had heard of Bach. But they seemed to me good people, too.”  Today Langston Hughes is recognized globally as a towering literary figure of the 20^th Century. You can read more about Hughes and discover more of his poetry at the Poetry Foundation website (from which the above quote is taken).