The Face of Christ

Matthew 25:31-46

I know the images offered in today's Gospel lesson speak of a final judgment where 'goats' and 'sheep' are separated one from another. I know this. And yet I find it most helpful to hear this as encouragement even now to see and experience and respond to this world in new ways. Indeed, I hear Jesus' words today reminding me that I simply don't know when I will encounter the face of Christ next: thus making nearly all ground holy ground.  And in the end, maybe that is precisely what these words are meant to do.

One day this past summer, I had driven the half an hour to my mother's house for Friday chores and errands.  By now it was early afternoon. I had taken her car out to fill it up with gas for her.  Now, I have to say I noticed the trio as I drove north on 3rd Street. Two Latino men were trying to balance a very blonde Anglo woman between them. They were all three walking south on the sidewalk --- although the woman did not seem to be doing well. In fact, as I drove by they were trying to pick her up off the ground.  Well, my errand felt pressing --- or maybe I just wanted it to be pressing --- and so I kept going. Ten minutes later when I returned, I noted that they had not made much progress, so with no ready excuse to do otherwise, I pulled the Buick over and rolled down the passenger side window. I asked if they needed help.  The younger of the two men had an almost audible look of relief on his face as the two of them steered her to the front seat of the car. She was insisting that she was having seizures which caused her repeated stumbling as she walked. The younger man gestured to me that she, rather, was drunk. It took me a few minutes, though, to put that meaning to the hand gesture he was using.

I asked what her name was. She said it was Brenda.  I offered to take her to the hospital emergency room which was less than a block away. She declined saying she just wanted to go home.  She said the hospital would only find something wrong with her and charge her a lot of money and she's had these 'seizures' before and she knew she would be just fine.  Almost against my better judgment I gave in to her request and drove her home to her apartment in subsidized housing just beyond the hospital.

I'm sure it was quite a spectacle to behold for the two old men sitting on the park bench out in front of the apartment building watching that afternoon.  I pulled the Buick up close and stopped in a no parking zone.  I walked around the car to the passenger side. I opened the door and steadied Brenda as she swung her legs out of the car. Oh, I knew our journey together could not end quite yet and so she leaned on me as we walked to the front door where she handed me her key card and I swiped it.  We walked inside and rode the elevator upstairs where again, she gave me her key, and I opened the door. When we walked inside she flopped down on the sofa.  I asked her if she needed anything else.  She asked for my phone number. I didn't give it to her.

As I headed past the lobby on my way out a few minutes later, I overheard the old women sitting  there talking about me and my passenger.  "I think she took her upstairs..." I heard one of them say.  So I walked over to them and said hello and introduced myself.  They had lots of questions for me for which I had few answers.  One among them volunteered that sometimes she gets lost when she goes out like that. I suggested they let someone know Brenda was up there and someone might want to check on her later. And I went home.

I've thought of Brenda from time to time since then, wondering what has become of her.  I think of her now and wonder: "Was that holy ground that afternoon?  Was it, in fact, the face of Christ that could be seen in Brenda who apparently had too much to drink and got lost walking those few blocks home from the Dollar Store that afternoon?"  It would seem so, wouldn't it?  And unlike far too much of the time, this time it was presented itself to me in a way I felt I could not ignore it. 

The reminder today is straightforward, it seems to me. We will encounter Jesus in the 'least of these' --- in the hungry and the thirsty. In the stranger and the naked and the sick and those in prison. Oh no, our faith is not only of the mind and of the heart, but is also for the hands and the feet.  We live our faith in what we do. We live it in what we do in places that aren't always pretty. 

Perhaps most of the time we can ignore that this is so.  A lot of the time I don't have the courage to step towards it.  Too much of the time, not unlike the story I offer above, I do just enough and then extricate myself as quickly as politely possible.  Indeed, I don't offer that story now to pat myself on the back for I really did so very little.  I offer it only as a reminder that we don't know when such opportunities will present themselves. I offer it now as a way to begin to wonder what it means to see the face of Christ and respond.

So let me give you a thumbnail of what I'm struggling with right now.  Yesterday morning, my instant messenger 'pinged' on my cell phone long before dawn.  Now I had watched in fascinated horror the evening before as the husband of an acquaintance ('friends' on Facebook really can be a misnomer, can't it?) spilled his pain all over the screen. The story was hard to piece together, though, and I closed my IPad not long after as my alarm was set to go off early the next morning.  At 4 a.m. I read in sleepy surprise what sounded like a suicide threat by the same man. I confess, I did not respond right away for I do not know the young man and in my less than wakeful state I couldn't figure out how I would do that anyway--- especially since he lives several states away. A little over an hour later, though, I realized I could, in fact, just reply to the message. Would it be too late?  I couldn't know so I simply responded wrote back assuring him of my prayers and that God wasn't done with this story yet. A few hours later he replied with his phone number. I'm still trying to decide if I should allow myself to get more deeply embroiled in this. And yet. Isn't he the hungry, hurting, heart-broken that Jesus speaks of now? Isn't he 'the least of these?' Isn't he also the very face of Christ?

It is important to note, I suppose, that Jesus doesn't explain the actions of those who respond to such aching need in the world.  In the end, he just looks to see who did and who didn't.  And yet, for all of us, too much of the time, we find ourselves weighing and wondering, don't we?  Somehow I doubt that I am alone in this.

So I return to where I began today not knowing fully if I am 'sheep' or 'goat.'  I return to where I began and am grateful for Jesus' words now which at least seem to be opening my eyes to see the needs right in front of me. At least part of the time. I return to where I began and hope that more and more I will do less wondering and weighing and simply give from what has been given to me. I return to where I began and pray that I will see ever more surely that all ground is holy ground for the face of Christ is everywhere.  Especially where we least expect to see him.  Oh, I do return to where I began and yearn for a world where you and I live more and more like this is so....

• It is a 'judgment scene' that is described today. It seems to be meant as a gift for us.  Are you able to receive it as such? Why or why not?
• Think of a time when you were confronted with great need.  How did that seem to be 'holy      ground' for you?  How did you respond?
• What difference would it make if we saw the face of Christ in all who need?  For us as individuals?  As families?  As congregations?  As communities?  As a nation?  How would we then weigh what matters?

The Fearful Slave

Matthew 25:14-30

Jesus offers us a rich image today --- literally.  For as we hear about the example of the master taking off and leaving three slaves in charge, we hear that he leaves them with more wealth to tend than you and I can probably imagine. For the talents spoken of here are not aptitudes or abilities. They are, in fact, piles of gold coins. Bushel baskets full, in fact. To my understanding, one talent of gold coins weighed between fifty and seventy-five pounds.  So even the 'least' of the slaves received enough that he may have been challenged to carry it all on his own.  As Jesus tells the story now, we hear that these piles of gold were left with each one of them to tend and manage and grow. And there is no growing without risk. There is simply no growing without risk.

And yet, I completely get the third slave in our parable today. Perhaps you do, too.  I mean, many of us have seen what can happen when we invest our resources in ways too risky.  At least by burying the money, he didn't lose it, right?  At the same time, we can't help but recognize that his existence is small and timid and not what God would intend for us at all.

Still, I completely 'get' him. I recognize his fear in me far too much of the time. Here is a prime example of just that:

When I began my seminary internship many years ago now I was afraid.  I remember it well.  I think I will not ever forget driving alone on the last Saturday in August from Minneapolis south to Des Moines where I picked up Route 80 west to Omaha.  From there I drove west on Highway 6 to a little town called Wahoo, Nebraska, which was destined to be my home for the next twelve months.  I drove those many hours with my heart in my throat, for I was afraid.

Quite simply, I did not know if I would be up to the challenge that was before me. In fact, I think if I had been given any 'out' at all in those months leading up to it, I would have taken it. At the same time, I knew this was what I was called to, and I was deeply aware that the next year could alter the course of my life. My supervisor, the pastor of the congregation there, did, in a very real way, hold my future in his hands. And without a doubt, in those first months I saw him as judge, not benevolent helper --- almost as adversary more than as a friend.

I had been there a couple of months.  We were driving together to a meeting when he confronted me. This is how I remember it. He said, "Janet, you're doing fine.  But you're not taking any risks!"

I remember still how that stung. I heard it as criticism, which, in fact it was. No doubt part of the reason it hurt was I knew it was true.  I was doing what was required of me. I was holding fast to what I knew I had to do. But I wasn't really stretching -- not even in that year which was meant, in part, for taking risks. In fact, from my vantage point  today, I know that would have been one of the best times in my life to do just that. For interns are forgiven many mistakes ---- they are students still, after all, and their time there is brief.  It took me a while to learn that there. In fact, I expect it is a life lesson I'm still learning.

So let me offer a story which gave me real perspective on this.

It was November of 1996 when I first offered this to the congregation I was serving at the time.  My dad had been sick for some time by then with heart problems. Prior to his illness he had been retired a while. Never one to sit still, in his 'retirement,' he set up his own handyman business --- mostly doing odd jobs for widows who were not able or others who were just too busy --- everything from painting, to installing drywall, to repairing doorknobs and toilets.  He also kept busy sharpening knives and cutting window glass for a local hardware store.  He loved it.  For the first time in his life he was in charge of his own schedule.  He was still productive.  He loved people and interacting with them.  He loved learning new things (and many a dinner table conversation had us in stitches as he regaled us with tales of things he had learned and the risks he had taken to learn them!). 

Only he got sick, you see. And he was on a potent blood thinner.  And because of his heart issues, sometimes the blood flow to his brain was interrupted. So naturally, my mother and sisters and I worried about him and his odd jobs.  Truly, we did not think he should be climbing ladders, installing air conditioners, or cutting glass. It was all too risky!

But you know what?  He wasn't worried at all. He just kept going until he couldn't any more. Because you see, by the end of his life, he knew what I'm still having to learn.  A life spent only staying safe is no life at all. Deep down, I expect we knew this even then. So in the end, we just urged him to be careful and let him go.

He died two months after I first shared our struggle with this--- for reasons entirely unrelated to cutting glass or climbing ladders. But in the meantime he invested all that he had in living the life he felt called to live. The lesson he taught me then is one I carry with me still.

So back to Jesus' story now. Like these three slaves, God has richly blessed us in a thousand ways.  Indeed, our bushel baskets are so full we can't lift them on our own. God has given us all of it and asks only that we use it, spend it, invest it, grow it. God has given it all to us and asks only that we love and trust him enough not to sit on it, hide it, or bury it.  So what are we afraid of? For that matter, what are we waiting for?

One last thing. At first glance, it seems awfully harsh to me --- perhaps to you, too, --- that the third slave was punished so severely. However, don't you think that even before his sentence was pronounced that he was already there?  Already in that dark place --- put there not by the master, not by God, but by his own fear?  What do you think?

• Do you identify with the timid slave in this parable?  Why or why not?
• What do you think the 'talents' represent in this story?
• What do you think it means to take risks with what God has given us specifically 'for the sake of the kingdom?'  Do you think Jesus is getting at that here or is his intent something else? 
• Looking back from the perspective of the end of your life, what will it take for the master to say to you, "Well done, good and trustworthy slave..."?  What would it look like for you to trust enough to risk for the sake of growth in the time that is yours?  What does the opposite of that look like for you?

The Foolish Bridesmaids

Matthew 25:1-13

The story I offer now is an old one.  It comes to mind today because the ending is the same as the one in the story Jesus tells today. The door was closed on me.

I was in the 3rd grade.  Our class room was on the second floor.  There were two entries --- the one we normally used and the one we used for recess.  The one we used for recess was actually an old iron fire escape.  Without a key, the door only opened from the inside.

It was afternoon in the fall of the year and we were outside for recess.  Normally, I would have been playing with friends from my own class, but the second grade class was enjoying recess at the same time.  My sister, Martha, was in that class and I got to playing with her.  When I looked up again, my class was gone.

Now ours was a new teacher, and no doubt, she was still learning how to best corral the energy of 40 nine-year-olds.  Her method for gathering our attention and signaling it was time to go back inside for lessons was to stand in the middle of the playground and hold one hand up in the air.   We were to make a single file line in front of her and she would lead us back inside.

I was not the first one to miss it.  In fact, just the week before two boys had gotten busy and had not looked up at the right moment.  When they realized they had missed it, they went around to the school's front doors and came in.  She sent them back outside and ordered them to sit at the top of the fire escape steps until the end of the school day.

As it turn out, that day it was my turn.  I ran as quickly as my nine-year-old legs would take me to the top of the stairs.  I peered through the window to see my classmates taking off their coats and hanging them on their assigned hooks.  I saw our teacher tell them to ignore me --- not to open the door to let me in.  By the example of others, I knew it would do no good to enter by another way. I was something like those foolish bridesmaids we hear about today.  And so I sat on those top steps and waited until the end of the school day came and I was finally let in.  I was told to sit down at my desk where our teacher told me to make up the work I had missed.  I will never understand her surprise that by now I was choking back tears. (If you are a regular reader of this blog, you may wonder how I ever made it through grade school -- not to mention a couple of graduate degrees!)

Again, I offer this now because it ends in similar way to the parable Jesus tells today.  Recalling my third grade experience of being locked out' helps me test the point Jesus offers now.

But here is my struggle with the words before us today.  While the words of the parable end with Jesus telling his listeners to ' keep awake' --- my sense is that is not really his point --- at least not in the way we might normally understand it.  For as the story is told, both the foolish and the wise bridesmaids fell asleep.  So it seems to me that this 'keeping awake' must not be that of a third grader keeping her eyes glued to her teacher during afternoon recess so as not to miss her silent signal. Otherwise, what would be the point of recess at all?  Even so, this 'keeping awake' does have to do with being prepared --- always aware --- that the end of 'recess' is right around the corner ---- that the bridegroom could come at any time. In fact, Jesus is expected --- even if he is delayed.  And somehow our living should reflect that.

No, in many ways, my third grade playground experience is a pretty poor parallel here.  Indeed, the 'signs' of the bridegroom's return are only silent if I put in earplugs and tie on a blindfold and if I harden my heart to it.  Oh yes, in this meantime for all of us, in many ways it seems to me that Jesus would want us to live our lives not unlike a certain third-grader on the playground that afternoon so long ago; with abandon and joy. Only in the case of our whole lives, our 'abandon and joy' is focused on and because of what it means to live as a child of God in the world even while we work and play and care for one another and rest! 

Now I am deeply aware that such single-mindedness seldom characterizes how I am much of the time.  Oh yes, this is a quality I probably abandoned a very long time ago.  There are always so many distractions --- some welcome and some not so much --- that it takes real effort for me to stay fully in any moment for very long. And so it seems to me that Jesus tells this story now as a gift --- to remind us that like those bridesmaids so long ago, ultimately we are here for but one thing and all we have to do is keep our focus there.  In their case?  It was the arrival of the bridegroom and the celebration which would ensue.  All they had to do was make sure there was 'oil' in their lamp so as to be able to finish the wait.  It is the same for us, don't you think?

• What experience do you have with being 'locked out' because of your own lack of attention or preparation?  How was your experience like or unlike the story Jesus tells today?
• What does it mean to be 'keep awake?'  What do you think the 'oil' represents?
• Do you experience Jesus' story today as a gift?  Why or why not?

It All Belongs to God... All of It

Matthew 22:15-22

I had cause a few days ago to remember that it all belongs to God. All of it. Which is what I think this particular conversation between Jesus and his verbal sparring partners points us to.

This is how this came to be.

I had agreed to be interviewed for a research project on petitionary prayer. The project's purpose is to "understand people's beliefs and practices regarding petitionary prayer, a type of prayer where people ask God or other supernatural beings to make events occur."  The study is being conducted by a sociologist at our local university.

Shelby, his young graduate student showed up in my office on Tuesday afternoon toting consent forms and a ream of questions.  We settled in for a long conversation.  At the end of two hours, I was exhausted.  I found that I had been forced to articulate parts of my faith journey which I have long taken for granted. 

Again and again I was asked if it was 'appropriate or not' to pray for certain things.  This is what especially surprised me: more often than not I found myself realizing that most of these were things for which I could not necessarily remember praying.  For instance, I know with great certainty that I have never prayed for a good parking place. Or that a mortgage application be approved.  Or that I get into the college of my choice. Or what car I should purchase. Or that there be enough money in the bank to get through the month. Indeed, when asked about praying for a parking place I replied that I would be better off praying for one at some distance as I can usually benefit from the extra steps.  But I'm fairly certain it never occurred to me to pray for that either!

Of course, this is a study about petitionary prayer.  If called upon to quantify my prayers, I would say that I do spend time thanking and lamenting and thinking out loud in conversation with God.  I do spend time being still and simply listening.

Either way, even with regard to those things for which we do ask,  I want to say it's not because I don't think God cares about these things... but in some ways I do wonder. At least not for me. I am a person in good health and of great privilege.  I have never had to worry that there would be enough to feed me and those I love, that there would not be enough in my checking account to pay the mortgage, or that I won't be mobile enough to get from one place to another. Surely God has heard my pleas, no matter how small my need --- but in a world filled with so much more profound pain --- certainly God has more to worry about than where I park my car!

At the same time, I do regularly find myself praying for the healing of others.  This I believe God cares about --- that God only wants wholeness for all of us. Still, the older I get and the more I witness and experience, the more deeply I am aware that our time as we know it here is relatively brief.  What comes next will be much more expansive.  And while I know God cares about what happens here and now? God has the long view and that view is so much bigger than mine. 

Whatever else may be so, two hours with a young graduate student has me remembering that it all belongs to God and I am considering again what it is I ask for and why. Without a doubt, my meandering conversation surely extends to the very practical question posed to Jesus by the Pharisees and the Herodians in today's Gospel.  While we are told that their query was meant to entrap Jesus, his response turns it on its head to have us thinking about things that surely matter.  About what belongs to whom and why.

Indeed, again and again in my conversation with Shelby the other day I found myself thinking about when and where such petitions for God's help do seem appropriate.  While not for me, per se, perhaps they are for others.  And while not for me, even the very questions posed pushed me to think about what my response should be in this world where both sides of the coin do ultimately belong to God.

I, for one, have never been turned down for a mortgage.  Others have --- perhaps because they don't have the proper credentials to qualify.  But if the system is stacked against them, is  prayer then appropriate?  More than that, is my own action to change that system appropriate?  And then might I not be in conversation with God about that instead?

I, for one, was accepted at the college of my choice.  Everything in my life to that moment had paved my way to make that not only possible, but likely.  Should I not be working to ensure this is so for others, too?  Perhaps I should be asking God to help me shape a world where children are read to and learning is encouraged and resources are available so that all might be educated to their highest degree of capability.

And I, for one, have never been challenged by health so that I cannot park some distance from my destination and do just fine.  To pray for a nearby parking place would seem selfish in the extreme: especially when so many others could benefit from the same.  But perhaps my prayer should be that I be part of making the way clear so all people have access to what I so easily enjoy.

And at least for these three examples?  My prayer has me intersecting with 'that which belongs to the emperor,' doesn't it?  At least that's where I find myself landing now when I think about my own journey to a greater clarity about what I do believe in these last days.  Indeed, as long as we recall that while the emperor's image is on the coin, in the first creation account in Genesis 1 (see Genesis 1:27) we hear that God's image is imprinted on all of us.  This being so, then even that which has the emperor's image on it, also has God's image on it, right?

When asked what I do pray for, I had to say that when I pray for myself it is normally for calm and wisdom.  Because in this world God made and God loves --- in this world where it all belongs to God, it is my deep sense that God has already provided the answers to much of what I would think to pray for.  This being so, it seems to me that my praying truly should be in behalf of those for whom this may not be the case. For that matter, so should my doing.   And I don't know how to do that without believing that God is also deeply invested in what 'the emperor' does.  And so then must I be as well.  What do you think?

• I would invite you to take the same 'prayer' inventory which I did this last week. I found the challenge to be worthwhile in clarifying my belief about prayer, about God, and about my place in the world --- even in relationship to the 'emperor.  So what is it that you pray for? Why?  Is there anything you think it is inappropriate to pray for?  Why or why not?
• Jesus does not reference the first creation account when he replies to the question posed to him.  Do you think it's reasonable or fair that my memory went there?  Why or why not?

The Wedding Robe

Matthew 22:1-14

First a disclaimer.  I don't know that much about wedding customs in the time of Jesus.  I do know that it was typical for the celebration to go on for days --- weeks even.  And in today's Gospel reading we are led to  believe that for the guests, a certain attire is expected.  In fact, I remember learning a while back that the 'wedding robe' we hear about today would have been provided when the guest arrived at the door.  I don't know that all the wedding robes were alike --- although I imagine that they were. And so today I am thinking about all those times and places where we wear the prescribed attire --- as 'uniforms,' almost --- which by their very name speak of the unity they offer.  I am remembering the common purpose those who wear them have: at the very least, to work together.

Teams wear them, of course.  Military personnel do, too.  Graduates don their cap and gown on their special day. Although it varies, most of us have a picture of how a bride and groom will dress on their wedding day.  Depending on the store, I know what attire will identify who can help me find what I am looking for.  Pastors put them on, too --- at least those of us of a certain generation or tradition.  I like to wear a clerical collar when I am out on calls, officiating at funerals or weddings, and on Sunday mornings.  It reminds me that I am there for something larger than me.  And yes, sometimes the rest of the world recognizes and sees this, too. Oh yes, we know what it is to wear a 'uniform,' whether it is provided or not as we conform to dress codes of one kind or another. Indeed, I can remember in Junior High --- a very long time ago --- to belong you had to dress in a certain way. In the early 70's it was Levi's jeans and Adidas t-shirts.  Or at least that's how I remember it.  Again, what one wears connotes belonging. And common purpose.  And perhaps certain responsibilities.   

We do this in worship, too.  Again, in the tradition that is my home, as pastor, I wear the white or flax colored robe to lead.  When I put on the robe, my role is prescribed.  As I understand it, the robe worn by me, the assisting minister, and our acolytes is meant to be a sign of our baptism --- hearkening back to when the newly baptized would be dressed in white.  Last  Sunday, eight confirmands wore them, too.  This morning in worship, a beautiful baby girl who was baptized was also all in white.

Again.  We dress the same so as to not be a distraction to others who gather.  It is an equalizer, in a sense. It is also a reminder that those wearing the robe are there for a purpose. We have 'jobs' to do in behalf of all who come together.  It is a sign of 'belonging' to something greater than ourselves.

And yes, I think, too of the white pall we lovingly drape over the caskets of dear ones.  It, too, is a symbol of baptism.  In addition, it also serves as a visible reminder that no matter how costly the casket, in God's eyes, the beloved baptized are all alike. 

I have no idea what the wedding robe would have looked like in Matthew's Gospel.  As for its purpose, I am left to guess that it was worn so as not to take attention away from the celebrated couple and their family.  Perhaps, especially in a case like the one described today, it was a special gift as those attending may or may not have had the means to dress appropriately for such a celebration. Perhaps it was just 'tradition' -- one wore the robe as a sign and symbol that something special was happening then. 

And so it is, just as in recent weeks, today we hear Jesus telling a story in such an extreme fashion that if we are paying attention we find ourselves shocked by every new turn of events. Take another moment now to consider the sequence of events described before us now: 

The king's son is getting married.  Who wouldn't want to be there?  Even if you were not especially a supporter of the current regime and its policies, wouldn't curiosity alone get the best of you?  So when the king hears that the invited guests have inexplicably refused to come to the banquet, he decides to send other slaves --- perhaps some with more persuasive powers. This time he tells them to entice the guests with a vivid description of the feast that was waiting for them. This time, though, we hear that they not only turn the other way, some laugh and go back to work --- on what was probably a national holiday!  It gets even worse when we hear that others still turn on those bearers of the invitation and kill them.  Understandably, by now the king has had it.  He sees to it that they are destroyed, along with their city.

Oh yes, by now Jesus' listeners must be shaking their heads in disbelief.  I mean, really. Who behaves in this way?

And then the story takes yet another unexpected turn.  By no means will the banquet hall be empty.  The king tells his slaves to go and bring in whoever they can --- "both good and bad" --- who will be more than happy to come to the party.  And they come.    

Of course, that's not the end of the story. We are left with this strange twist at the end where we hear about the one who was there, but who had apparently refused to dress properly for the occasion. And evidently, it is a blatant, arrogant refusal.  Again, this is hard to comprehend.  He has been invited to the party to end all parties.  He has even managed to get himself there.  But once inside the banquet hall, his behavior shows that he doesn't really want to be there at all.  He has refused to put on the robe.

And you and I are left to wonder why.

Oh yes, with all of you, I shake my head at this. When told this way it's hard to understand. And then the veil drops and I realize that sometimes the one who refuses to put on the wedding robe is me.

• Oh yes, it is me in those moments when I have secretly considered myself somehow superior to --- or at least not 'as bad' as the other guests who were also invited to the party.  When I don't want to cover up what makes me distinctive by putting on a robe.
• I expect this is me every single day when I believe I have to do more, be more to be able earn an invitation to the banquet. When all I really have to do is show up. All I have to do is put on the robe.
• Oh yes, it is me when I forget I am here for a purpose larger than me.  The robe reminds me of this: perhaps, like with a wedding feast,  I am simply here to live in joy and gratitude for all that God has done.
• And yes, it is me every time I forget that I, too, always need the 'wedding robe' of Christ's forgiveness --- to cover up all my brokenness, my failings, my sin.  

 The story Jesus tells today makes no sense.  Why would anyone refuse an invitation to the king's party?  And once there, why wouldn't you just put on the wedding robe and join in the joy?  The story makes no sense. And then I realize it plays out in my own heart, in my own life all the time.  Oh yes, can't you almost hear the king pleading with me to just let all the rest go and come to the banquet and put on the robe?

When the day is done, indeed, when my last day is done, I am just grateful that the wedding robe will simply be handed to me.  The robe that symbolizes God's eternal claim on me in baptism that covers up my hesitation, my sense of shame, my fear, my guilt.  This is the promise for sure. Now.  I wonder what it would look like if I would just put on that robe every single day.

• In a parable which is so hard to comprehend, it does at least help me understand its meaning when I realize that the wedding robes were actually provided to the guests.  How about you?
• Can you think of times and places and ways when you have refused the invitation --- or having arrived --- have still refused to put on the wedding robe?  What was going on then?
• Again, it must be said.  This story makes no sense.  Why would anyone refuse?

God's Vineyard

Matthew 21:33-46

On Monday morning we left the house early.  I was headed off to a conference and my mother decided to tag along to visit her sister for a couple of days.  (If you don't know this yet, my mother moved in with me on Labor Day.  No doubt, that is the subject of another 'story,' but for now let me say that all is going well.)

The car was packed up and we were doing one last walk through to be sure nothing had been left behind.  There was plenty of food and water for Shadow, my cat, for a couple of days. Windows were closed and blinds drawn.  Just before we walked out the door, Mother walked back and closed the door to her room.  Her thought was to keep the cat out of there while we were away.

On Tuesday at about 5:30 p.m. I received a text from a friend who had promised to stop by to move the garbage cans to the garage, to bring in the mail, and just for good measure, to check on Shadow. The text began: "Just found Shadow locked in Kathleen's room..."  (Our plan to keep her out had failed.  Obviously, she was already 'in.') She went on to write that she had picked up the earrings that Shadow had used as playthings. And she cleaned had up the most obvious results of a cat being locked in a room for 35 hours. 

Now if you have a cat, you know how they can seem to 'own the place.'  Shadow, in particular, is not

as amiable as some cats.  She doesn't take well to strangers, particularly if you move quickly.  Sometimes, especially under stress,  she will even hiss at me --- forgetting, simply not knowing, or just not really believing, that she really does owe her entire 'way of life' to me.  I provide the shelter, the food and water, and the fresh litter in her box.  I am even generous with special treats.  I pet her when she lets me and I try to be sure she doesn't get locked in places away from her food and water and litter box.  All she has to do is 'live there.'  One would think she would 'get this.'  She does not.  And I'm pretty certain that even her time inadvertently locked in my  mother's room this past week did nothing to remind her of the certain truth that, in fact, she would be lost without us.  In fact, you can see her here, having taken over my bed as though it is her own...

It's easy to see it with a cat or a dog or a child, even, for that matter.  Sometimes, it seems, it's not so easy for the rest of us to comprehend.

Now, of course, the parable Jesus offers now is told in the extreme.  One cannot help but be outraged at the criminal behavior of the tenants as he describes it and them now.  For those of us listening in it is obvious that the owner of the vineyard has done everything to make their 'ways of life' possible.  He has planted the vines, placed a fence around it, put in the wine press and built a watch tower to protect it all.  To be sure, the tenants are doing the day to day work, but none of that work would be theirs to do if someone else hadn't made it possible.  One can hardly believe it when they  murder not just one envoy of slaves, but two.  When the owner's son meets the same fate, we find ourselves shaking our heads that those tenants could possibly believe the inheritance would then somehow actually be theirs to receive and enjoy.  As though the owner could forget what was done to him.

Yes, the parable Jesus offers now offers an extreme image.  And yet, it is also so for you and for me.  We forget that we are simply 'tenants' here.  We fail to remember that everything we are and everything we think we 'own' are just on loan to us.  These homes, acres, jobs, congregations, children, spouses, communities --- even our very bodies --- were created by God and given to us for this little span of time. And yet, how often do I behave as though it all 'belongs to me?'   In a sense am I also not 'taking the lives of those sent to collect the rent' whenever I live as though it is all mine?  Indeed, the flip side of that is that every day I fail to entrust it all to God, I am also taking on far more than I am intended to hold.

It is a hard word we hear today.  It is an important word.  And while it may not seem like it at first, it is also a life-giving word.  You and I are here because of God's generosity and God's tender care. God planted the vineyard.  And put in the fence.  And the wine press.  And the watch tower. God has given us all that we need. All we are asked to do is remember that.  It is God's Vineyard.  It is all gift.  And even the remembering of this is meant to be a gift.

On any given day, all I have to do is look at my cat, Shadow, to remember how ridiculous it is to believe otherwise.

• How do you hear Jesus' parable today?  Does the fact that he paints such an extreme picture make it easier or more difficult to apply to your life?
• I have made the parallel with my cat to help me understand  Jesus' words now.  What example might you use from your experience?
• It is a hard word that Jesus offers now.  It is also meant to be a life-giving word.  How does the understanding that it is all a gift from God bring you life?

"The Will of the Father..."

Ezekiel 18:1-4, 25-32

Matthew 21:23-32

So much time has passed since then.  Even so, I still offer this story with no small measure of pain.

We stood around her casket on a rainy Christmas Eve forty years ago.  It was just my mother and dad, my three sisters, my grandfather, and me. There was no visitation for receiving the care and comfort of friends.  There was no pastor to speak a word of light in our darkness, a word of comfort to our sorrow, a word of life as we faced death. 

I was in the 7th grade.  Though my grandparents had only moved to Illinois as my grandmother's health declined the year before, I knew that church was not part of her life. I did not know why, for it was never talked about. I was left to conclude that she was not a person of faith and in my then black- and-white, 12-year-old's faith, I reasoned that now, as a result, she must now be in hell.

I agonized over it, worried about it, wept at the thought of it, but I never spoke of it for fear of upsetting anyone.  It affected me deeply though.  Oh yes, even though the prophet Ezekiel is standing firm in the certain truth that our futures are not determined by our parents and grandparents, the proverb quoted there:  "The parents have eaten sour grapes and the children's teeth are set on edge" still rings true.  We are shaped and changed by those who have gone before us.  Without a doubt, it surely matters how we live our lives --- for our own sakes, of course, and for our contemporaries --- but also for the sake of those who come after.

I was well into adulthood before I heard the story behind the story.  Even my dad, her oldest son, did not know the reasons why until then.  He heard it from his sister whose mother had confided in her in her last years.

• Why did Beulah speak with such bitterness about the church?
• Why did she insist that her children be educated in the Catholic tradition, but never darken the doors for Mass herself?
• Why was her special disdain reserved for certain normally respected and respectable residents of the town in Massachusetts which was her place of growing up and raising a family of her own?

This is why.  In 1933 Tom  Clark, my dad's dad, died from a stroke. He was 40 years old. They had a comfortable life until everything was lost in the stock market crash a few years before and in those last years of his life, Tom had been scraping by, doing his best to provide for his wife and two small sons.

When Tom died he left behind Beulah, who was not yet 30 years old.  My dad, Tommy, was five.  His little brother, Rodney, was three. At his death, Tom Clark's small family was left virtually penniless.  And so Beulah took the only job she could get: selling magazines and cigarettes at a small downtown newsstand. She had no protection and found herself at the mercy of others. And so it was that for the rest of her life she would not forget that certain pillars of the community and the church ---  married men with families of their own --- did not hesitate to make advances towards her.  I cringe to think of it now --- how very painful and frightening this must have been for her. And without a doubt, her distress was compounded by this --- that their 'witness' to her was that the faith they professed seemed to have no bearing on their behavior when they walked into that shop.  It would appear that their example was that of the son Jesus describes today who heartily and eagerly said yes to their father, and then somehow forgot, failed, and did precisely the opposite of what God would want. 

Beulah never did get past it. And forty years later her granddaughter, not knowing the whole story, wept in fear for her soul.

Oh yes, it matters what we do.  It matters how we live our lives in all the places we are privileged to live them. 

Of course it is not as though any of us can ever get it completely right.  Neither of the sons described in Jesus' story today got it right.  For one said 'yes' and then proceeded to not do it.  And the other shamed his father by saying 'no' before he got around to doing what he should.  It's not that we won't fail. But that shouldn't keep us from trying.  That shouldn't stop us from doing what we can to 'get it right' for the sake of one another and for the sake of all those who come after.   Oh no, that shouldn't stop us from yearning after the new heart and new spirit which leads to life as Ezekiel promises today!

There is a lot going in in today's Gospel lesson.  By now Jesus is in major conflict with the chief priests and the elders. I can't blame them for being distressed at Jesus' actions and accusations.  (Remember that in Matthew's telling, just before this tense exchange he has violently cleared the temple of the money-changers.)  Perhaps I would react in much the same way that they did.  At the same time, I have been on the other side of the equation as well.  I have known --- at least from a distance --- the consequences of being an 'outsider' to the faith like the tax collectors and the prostitutes Jesus speaks of now.  I try to stay in touch with that ache even now.  It makes me less certain, of some things, yes.  At the same time, I think it also makes me more open.

If I had never known Grandma Hunt's whole story this may not have been so. I might still be worried about her apparent lack of faith. But then I learned about the pain that put her in that place.  And while, like all of us, she certainly bore some responsibility for this, ever since then I have wondered at how that struggle shaped the rest of her life. Imagine what a difference it could have made if just one of those who had attempted to take from her what was not theirs to take --- if even one of them who had forgotten that Beulah was a child of God: so very loved by God and meant to be honored as such --- Imagine if just one of those had later apologized.  How might it all have been different if only one had turned back and tried to make things better?  Don't you suppose that one would have been doing the 'will of the father?'  Even if it came late?  For that matter, I can't help but think that if Jesus were telling the story, maybe, just maybe, Beulah preceded all the rest into heaven itself.  This side of joining her there of course, I simply won't know.

In this meantime though, I find myself less likely to judge, less confident in my conclusions: especially about ultimate things.  Unlike my seventh grade self, I trust that to God even as I try to remember that what I do and say matters.  Even to children I may never meet.

• I expect most of us can think of times when we have been like both of the sons in Jesus' parable today.  Where have you seen this play out in your experience?
• Since Jesus' words are directed at people like you and me, it may be hard at first to find the 'grace' in this story: at least for you and I who profess belief but don't always 'live' it.  What do you think? 
• For me there is some comfort in the understanding that what appears to be absolute, not always is. For instance, Jesus reminds us that those least likely, by our standards, to 'enter the kingdom of heaven first' are those who actually do. I, for one, am grateful to leave such as this in God's hands.  How about you?
• It may be an unusual tying together of the prophet Ezekiel's words and Jesus' teaching today.  I think it worked in the story I offer, but there are, no doubt, other ways to do so.  What are your thoughts? 

On Night-Crawlers and God's Vineyard

Matthew 20:1-16

 I was out on my early morning walk today.

It had rained most of yesterday, and so there were still night-crawlers on the pavement --- forced out of their underground homes.  I never see a night-crawler on the ground without being taken back to when I was 10 or 11 years old and such as these were summer's gold.

For you see, when we were kids, this was how we earned our vacation money.

My folks set up the 'business' for us.  They went out and bought an old refrigerator and plugged it into an outlet in the garage, where the bait was stored by the dozens in paper cups and tin cans. They even had a professional sign painted --- white with red lettering --- which announced that night-crawlers could be had for 75 cents a dozen.  It leaned against the maple tree out in front of our house.

And so it was when it would storm, we would be out in force --- all four of us --- with flashlights and buckets.  Forty years later I can remember it like it was just last night, the gentle, persistent technique it took to take a hold of those overgrown worms who had come up for air and get them into the bucket in one piece.  And the crick in my neck from bending over like that for long minutes at a time. Funny, it didn't bother me then --- not the feeling of the night-crawler or the dirt beneath my fingernails.  I think I would be more squeamish now.

And then vacationers and others on their way for a week-end's early morning fishing would pull into our long driveway and offer to purchase a dozen or two.  And seventy-five cents at a time the money would pour in --- stored for the time being in a German beer stein whose home was on the top shelf in the kitchen.   The week before our annual family vacation would begin, we would take down the stein, pour the money out on the table and divide it into four equal piles.

Here is what strikes me now, especially as I consider the story Jesus tells today: I don't remember there ever being any debate about it.  None of us ever accused another of having captured fewer worms and thus being somehow less entitled to an equal share of the coins and dollar bills in the stein.  More than that, it's altogether likely that on any given night, one or another of us was not out there. Even so, in the end, we all got the same.

It could have been different, of course.  And normally in life it is.  We expect to get paid for what we do.  We don't expect another will be paid the same for doing less.  And I suppose it's easier when we are children before we find ourselves so dependent on our earned wage for actually paying for life's essentials. Even so, I think back on that time and find it unusual, for it reflects precisely the opposite of what plays out in the parable Jesus offers now.

For of course the world doesn't work like it did on South Main Street in the 70's or in Jesus' parable now.  In fact, I expect that most of us can relate to those who had been out there early and who had labored hard through the heat of the day.  It comes as no wonder that they were unhappy with those who didn't bother to show up until later, but in the end, received the same wage that they did.

And it goes without saying that it's really not fair.  Just like in a family where all are loved and valued equally, nobody gets to be loved more --- not even if they work harder.  Or if they've suffered more.  Or if they've achieved greater things.  Or obeyed more completely.  No, in the world Jesus describes, the owner of the vineyard sees them all the same.  In the world I grew up in, moms and dads loved all the same.  Just as God does.

And oh yes, the vineyard and the payroll belonged to the owner of that vineyard, after all.  In the same way, my folks owned the land from which the night-crawlers crawled out as well as the refrigerator and the garage that housed it. They purchased the sign that advertised our live bait and they made sure the electric bill was paid every month.  It really was all theirs. They just gave us a share in it on stormy summer nights.  Again, like God does, don't you think?

For t is so in the Kingdom of God as well --- and perhaps, from time to time, in the world where God's people seek to be part of making that kingdom come.  For it is, first and last, all God's isn't it?  I wonder what it would look like if you and I were to start to act like that were so, don't you?  I wonder what it would look like if you and I began to live as though the last were actually first, in the words of Jesus now.

You know, this happened to me in a small way today.  I found myself traveling from a graveside service to an unexpected hospital call out of town.  It was noon.  I was hungry and so I did what I seldom do any more, I drove through McDonald's.  Now I didn't order much. In fact, I had $3.39 pulled out of my wallet ready to hand the young woman at the drive up window.  When I pulled up she slid the window open and laughing with glee she announced that the person in front of me had paid for my meal.

Now in my experience, one never gets that kind of over-the-top glad greeting from folks at drive up windows.  It was pure joy for her to tell me that my meal was free.  Not because I earned it or deserved it.  But only because I happened to be next in line.

Now don't you think you and I would also have a great time being part of something like that?  And yet, of course, we get to be part of that all the time.  For you and I are called to announce to the world that the greatest gifts God intends for us are ours just because God wants us to have them.  God wants you to have them.  Even you who showed up late in the day.  Whether you're first in line or last in line.  Even you. Even me.

• I offer the example of our childhood night-crawler business as a parallel to what Jesus offers now.  What examples can you think of which would parallel Jesus' story?
• I wonder how it would play in our communities, our neighborhoods, our congregations if we actually lived as though the last were first.  Indeed, what would this look like on the football field, in the classroom, at the office, at church committee meetings, or, for that matter, in our national immigration policies, don't you?  Think for a moment about who 'the last' are in your world.  How might this parable be lived in a way which would actually change their world?
• When have you found your status changed from 'last' to 'first?'  How did you react?  What would it be like to be able to offer that gift to another?  When do you see yourself doing so next?

"Go and Point Out the Fault When the Two of You are Alone...."

Matthew 18:15-20

I think I probably have these words memorized --- I've taught them so many times in various congregational contexts.

What Jesus offers here is an antidote to most any problem in most any congregation, work-place, family, neighborhood.  And while certainly not a 'quick fix,' it all boils to talking to one another instead of about each other.

And yet, we don't seem to get it.  I know I don't.

In fact, I offer a story now which makes me cringe to even remember it, much less put it out there for all the world to hear and judge. I am not proud of it.  And yet, if I'm honest, I know the part that makes it memorable and that stills fills me with such shame is the fact that I got caught.

I spare you the details now --- in part to protect the one who was offended in the story, but also because many of them escape me now.  Time has erased much of it except for the lesson I clearly so needed to learn.

I was at a church gathering.  There were many people present --- some I knew well, some were strangers, some I respected, and some I held at arm's length.

I was walking to the rest room with a friend and we were (or maybe it was just me) complaining about another member of the gathering.  I must have spoken her name out loud. I don't remember what I said, but I can still taste my frustration.  I'm also fairly certain there was a note of ridicule in my voice.

Restroom stalls, of course, have doors on them.  In my thoughtlessness and yes, my unintended cruelty, I did not check to be sure we were alone.  We were not.  My unkind words were overheard by the very one of whom I spoke.

This came to my attention an hour later when in a quiet corner this one confronted me with an eruption of tears and accusations.  All I could do was hang my head in my embarrassment. And say I was sorry.  And I surely was.

We all do it. It seems it is our fallback position to criticize and complain behind one another's' backs instead of to one another's faces. We all do it.  We don't always get caught. But caught or not, it always erodes our relationships --- always it tears at that which makes us one.

Indeed, I can't count the number of times I have stood in congregational circles which have been torn apart by conflict and without exception, this is always happening.  One such time in particular stands out.  There was one leader at the table who had been the 'kind' recipient of the complaining of many people in her congregation. She was a good listener and she loved them all and so she would turn no one away.

By the time I was invited into the conversation she was a huddled mess sitting at the corner of the four tables which had been pulled together for our meeting.  All I could say to her was she was the only one who could make it stop. She had to urge people back into conversation with one another instead of about one another.  She had to refuse to receive their complaints any more and she had to push people to do as Jesus tells us we must today.

Now often when I am among those for whom this has become a real problem, those gathered will say that it will make no difference if they try to do as Jesus says today, for so many others are so much more guilty and they didn't bother to show up for the workshop.  They may be exactly right, of course.  Often those who most need to be there probably are not. And yet.  I still believe that if even a handful of us would begin to do as Jesus did, the culture would begin to shift.  And so I say this to those who have come together. And then we practice it: how to talk to one another when we disagree, or are wounded, or are afraid.

Now I know that one of the things which frightens us about these words of Jesus is there is a progression to the confrontation.  First we are to go alone. Then we take a few others with us as witnesses. Then we take it to the 'church.'  And yes, we get ourselves all hung up on what it would mean to 'tell it to the church.'  And yet, if we were only to do the first one?  If only we were to confront the one who has hurt us when we are alone --- much of the time, we probably will have to go no further. 

A long time ago one did this for me.  She came to me when we were alone and let me know how badly I had hurt her.  She didn't have to do so.  She could have told a hundred other people.  By talking to me and letting me see her pain, she also allowed me the chance to ask her forgiveness so that in some small way we are still in relationship today.  By telling me to my face she served to remind me of who I am and who I am called to me.  And while I hate to remember it even now, I have always been and always will be grateful...

• These words of Jesus are well known.  How have you seen them lived out --- at home, at work, at school, in your congregation?
• I have always been comforted by the certainty that Jesus knew that we would have need for words such as these. Even in the church. Indeed, he anticipates that at one time or another we will hurt each other. At the same time, there is great promise and hope in these words.  Our hurting each other does not have to have the last word.  How about you?  Are these words a comfort to you or not?  Why or why not?
• Most congregational cultures are marked and shaped by the opposite of what is offered here.  What can you do where you are to begin to change that?

Taking Up My Cross and the ALS Ice Bucket Challenge

Matthew 16:21-28

Truthfully, I was not sure at first just how these actually fit together: this business of taking up our cross and going after Jesus and pouring a bucket of ice water on your head. 

What I did recognize in myself is that as more and more people I knew were posting videos on Facebook depicting their own ice water showers, I was finding myself wanting to cyber-duck so as to avoid being called upon to do the same.  For I knew when I was called out, I would have to do it.  There would be no turning it aside.

This is so even though I've pondered all the arguments against it, many of which 'don't hold water.'

Some argue against it saying it's a gimmick and that many who are doing it aren't actually giving to the cause.  The ALSA would counter that, pointing out that donations are up significantly as more and more people publicly speak the name of this dreaded disease out loud.

One Catholic Diocese is forbidding its schools to participate for a small segment of the organization's work goes into embryonic stem cell research.  OK.  I suppose I see their point if that's your position, but would you then just ignore the thousands who are suffering from this disease?  More than that, I'm told that you can designate your gift specifically so that it does not go against your faith values in this way.

And then there is the one where it is asserted that to dump the water over your head is like "sounding the trumpet before you in the synagogue..." reminding us that our 'alms' should be given in secret and God who sees in secret will reward us, quoting Matthew 6:3-4.  This one does raise an important caution, it seems to me, but it also goes to motive.  Something which is especially difficult to judge in another.  More than that, somehow the benefit of raising awareness about this disease outweighs this one, at least in my mind.

One argument which has given me pause is that in a world where people have to walk miles to get clean drinking water, how can we justify just dumping water on the ground? Indeed, this one hits especially close to home for the congregation I serve has worked hard to raise money to purchase water filtration systems for our Companion Synod in Tanzania. (Even so, I know that I've wasted a lot more water than this for reason at all, other than my own thoughtlessness...)

And yet, even with all of this?  If I'm honest, I didn't want to do it because it looked uncomfortable and more than that, undignified. (Not that anyone who knows me would probably use the word 'dignified'  to describe me.)  Either way, I was hoping no one would notice that I had not yet been challenged.  Of course, finally, I was.

Now, I can't say why for sure, but it was only after the challenge was issued to me that I found myself pausing in the memory of the only person I have ever personally known who had ALS.  It was mine to call on her when I was still a young pastor and if I'm honest, it was never an easy visit.

By the time I became her pastor, Shirley's disease was well advanced.  She lived alone with scheduled caregivers who would get her up in the morning, prepare her meals, and get her back into bed at night --- not to mention assisting her in all of her personal needs.  By the time I met her, her ability to communicate was minimal.  I simply could not understand her when she would try to speak.  Even so, whenever I entered her home through her unlocked back door and found her, always in her chair in her living room with the television blaring for noise, companionship, distraction, or perhaps entertainment, Shirley's eyes always smiled at me.  Still, sometimes I would ache for the time to pass so I could get on to the easier parts of my call.  There was only so much I could think of to say to fill the silence.  I had not yet learned that sitting quietly really could be enough.

I have watched dozens of these ice bucket challenges fulfilled over the last couple of weeks. Almost without exception when the cold water hits the one being 'dumped on,' he or she involuntarily jumps up from their sitting position.  The automatic 'flight' system kicks in.  It strikes me that there is a certain kind of fitting irony in this for one in the advanced stages of the ALS would in no way be able to get herself out of the way of an icy shower or anything else that threatens.

Now of course, a moment's discomfort doesn't begin to compare.  And my small donation and the donations of others who may see me do so, may not make nearly enough of a difference to those who suffer from ALS.  At the same time, I can't help but wonder at how many times I have not picked up even the tiny 'crosses' which lay in my path and taken off after Jesus because it didn't seem like enough, it wouldn't make enough of a difference, there were plenty of arguments against it, or it was just plain 'undignified.'  I wonder at that and I wonder if only I would have allowed myself to take just the first step, if I might not then have found myself taking yet another and another one after that, moving more fully into the life that Jesus intended for all who seek to follow him.

So as you can see above, this morning I took the Ice Bucket Challenge for ALS Research.  I did so in memory of Shirley who taught me what this disease looks like and in hope for all those who will ever suffer from it, that healing might somehow be theirs.  I did so in front of my congregation after coffee hour on Sunday morning.  (If I'm going to look 'undignified' I might as well have an audience!)  I did so knowing that this very small thing is nowhere near enough, but also experiencing the truth that already it has opened my eyes and heart again to a kind of suffering I hadn't necessarily thought of much lately.  I expect I am changed in that and so then perhaps is my very life and maybe in some small way, so is the life of the world.

Indeed, there are usually countless arguments against taking up our crosses and following Jesus. Many of them good ones and occasionally they are ones which should be heeded.  Indeed, in my experience no earthly path, no human motive is ever entirely 'clean.'  Given this certainty, it is easy to become paralyzed and do nothing.  So maybe it does take something as shocking as a bucket of ice water over my head to get me moving again.  Or its equivalent metaphor in life itself. Maybe the call is to just get up and get moving and trust the rest to God. Or to force myself to stand still and let the ice cold water stream over my senses. What do you think?

• I'm not challenging you with a bucket if ice water.  Most likely someone else will do that.  However, I would challenge all of us to give, if not to this cause then to another.  If you'd like to give a donation to ALSA, please follow this link: Donate to ALSA
• I have used this example as a way to consider why it is that sometimes we don't 'pick up our crosses' to follow after Jesus.  Can you think of other excuses we might use?
• Jesus reminds us that we only live by dying.  Again, a bucket of ice water is a paltry example, but it is something which may get us moving in the right direction.  Indeed, this 'viral experience' has me remembering the suffering of one I had not thought of in years and I find it turns me towards the suffering of others even now.  In a way that does deepen and enrich my living.  When have you also known this to be so?

The Rock of Forgiveness: Binding and Loosing

Matthew 16:13-20

"I will give you the keys of the kingdom of heaven, and whatever you bind on earth will be bound in heaven, and whatever you loose on earth, will be loosed in heaven."

I have always heard this piece of Matthew as being about forgiveness.  Indeed, while a vast majority of those who follow Jesus would say that the 'rock' that Jesus promises to build his church on was actually Peter, or that it is Peter's confession which all the rest is built in, as for me, I can't help but wonder if that foundation is actually forgiveness.

And taken that way, this is a little disconcerting to think about, isn't it?  That you and I who hear these words as also meant for us are given a gift to give away which has such eternal consequences? That our ability or willingness to forgive and yes, perhaps, to be forgiven, so shapes us that this shaping is indefinite in time and scope?  Oh yes, taken this way we understand that as God's people, this forgiveness is central to who we understand ourselves to be.  It holds a power little else does.  And it is ours.  Ours to receive.  Ours to give away. Or not.

Now I have to say that in some ways my sense is that you and I best recognize the power of forgiveness when it is absent.

I think, for instance, of the young woman who recently sat in my office. She and her fiancee look forward to their wedding day in the near future.  They are ready for this next step in their lives.  But the bride-to-be could not stop weeping for her younger sister refuses to forgive her.  She is afraid of how this will play out on her wedding day.  She is more afraid of the consequences for her future relationship with her only sister.

 

Or I think of the old man who claimed the podium at a funeral I officiated at a few years ago.  I did not know the family and so I did not see it coming.  As soon as I had spoken the final blessing, he stood up and said, 'Pastor, may I have a word.'  It wasn't really a question.  I stepped back.  He stepped forward. Next he demanded that his wife's brother and nephew come and join him before the crowd of those gathered.  He proceeded to announce to the room full of family and friends and neighbors that until her dying day his wife had fervently prayed that the two of them would forgive each other. She died with that yearning unanswered.  Then the old man turned to his brother-in-law and nephew and demanded that they forgive each other then and there.

I don't know if that forgiveness 'took.' I can't imagine it does when we are so publicly shamed into it. And yet I couldn't help but wonder at the parallel.  He was asking them to forgive each other for the sake of his wife who loved them both. We are asked to forgive, if for no other reason than for the sake of Jesus who loves us all.  Who tells us now that this gift we've been given to give and to receive is the foundation for all the rest. 

Or I think of the five year old member of my congregation.  Last spring we were learning the story of Joseph.  We got to the part where Joseph reconciles with his brothers and I asked this group of grade-schoolers why we forgive.  This little one raised his hand high in the air and when I spoke his name he said, "Because if we don't forgive, we will always be alone."

Apparently, he and his dad had shared this conversation just a few days before.  He was angry with a friend who had chosen to sit with someone else on the school bus that morning.  He went home and shared this hurt with his dad who told him, "If we don't forgive, we will always be alone."  Wow.  What a gift to have that understanding so early in life.

In these past years there has been a whole lot of research on the power and the importance of forgiveness.  Or the power of not forgiving. Just take a moment and 'google' forgiveness research: the headings alone will capture the gist of what has been learned.  Those who forgive live longer. They have healthier hearts.  Other ailments heal more quickly.  And these are just the physical effects of forgiving.  We already know our ability to forgive has profound effects on our emotional lives and on our relationships with one another. And this does not begin to address how old wounds un-forgiven play out in communities or between nations.

Now I am no expert at this.  While I do not experience deep ongoing brokenness between and among those most important to me in my life, I certainly have my share of long held resentments which I have never let go.

I think, for instance, of my seventh grade tormentor. Today we are certainly not friends in real life nor are we 'friends' on Facebook. We lost track of each other sometime not long after 8th grade graduation.  However, her name and profile picture will show up from time to time on social media for we have mutual friends.  Once not long ago I went to her page and was able to see there the shape of her life: husband and children and grandchildren.  Her profile picture has her riding a motorcycle.  She likes country music.  From what I can tell she doesn't live too far away, but I haven't laid eyes on her in more than 35 years.  And yet the sound of her name, her smiling for an unseen photographer still stirs me up.  I have not forgiven.

Or I think of a congregational anniversary dinner I attended a while back. The church I grew up in was celebrating 50 years. In my formative years the congregation was rife with conflict.  We left there when I was still young when those resentments and hurts were still raw.  I discovered at this dinner that they still are --- for when the pastor who was at the center of the conflict stood to speak, I found myself tensing up.  I did all I could to avoid bumping into him or his wife in that banquet hall.  I expect they did the same in turn, for it turned out there was no need for an awkward exchange.  I drove home knowing that I have not forgiven.

Now neither of these examples would seem to impact my day to day life.  I could go the rest of my life and not see any of these people ever again. Even so?  The fact that I have not forgiven does not seem to be an issue for them.  It is for me though.  They have not let me go because I have not let go.  And I wonder now if my inability to 'forgive' an old bully shapes how I face bullies still.  If I just avoid them instead of going after them.  And I wonder if my unwillingness to forgive an old pastor shapes how I pastor now.  If those old hurts impact my ministry in ways less than helpful in the congregation I now am called to serve. 

Lately, I can't get this song out of my head.  Titled simply, "Forgive," it is sung by Sara Renner. (You can get it on ITunes.)  I heard it first this last spring at a conference.  The repeating refrain is, "If you wanna live, forgive."  This week I sent a note to Sara telling her I hadn't been able to track down the sheet music online and wondering if it was available.  She immediately sent me the lead sheet.  I wrote back to thank her and to ask about copyright.  She said they were working on that, but in the meantime to use it, sing it, spread the word. The world needs it.

Indeed, the world needs it.  I need it.  You need it.  And according to today's Gospel lesson, my wholeheartedly embracing it and living it has eternal consequences.  Consequences which begin in the very next moment of our life together.

Even as I know and believe this, I am deeply aware of how far I fall short. And so for now I'm hoping that my tendency to not forgive is outmatched by Jesus' willingness to forgive. As I know and trust it certainly is. For as Peter proclaims so clearly in those moments before he is given this awesome gift and responsibility: "You are the Messiah, the Son of the Living God."  This being so, perhaps what I do or do not do is not so central.  And yet even at that, this power of binding and loosing is still given to us. Even at that, this binding and loosing we are given to do has profound consequences. 

And so I am given pause today to realize once more how much it matters now:  this matter of forgiveness.  It is central to all that we are and hope to be.  It is the very foundation on which we are built, the rock on which we stand.  And so this much I know for sure: no matter what happens in heaven, it certainly matters now.

• What 'camp' do you find yourself in?  Do you hear the 'rock' as being Peter, Peter's Confession, or the Power of Binding and Loosing which has been granted us?
• What does it mean to you to 'bind or to loose?'  What does it mean that this may have eternal consequences?
• If to 'bind or to loose' is actually about forgiveness --- as I believe it is --- how have you experienced it in your life and ministry?  How is life itself tied to forgiveness even now?

A Mother's Cry

Matthew 15:21-28

"Have mercy on me, Lord, Son of David, my daughter is tormented by a demon."

Now I know that you all know this.  Mental illness carries all kinds of stigma today.

I have known this since I was a child and we experienced it in our own family. Back then it was something whose name you whispered.  I'm not sure it is so very different now.  When I was young during that time during the prayers of the church where we stood in silence and remembered people in need, I would close my eyes shut tight and silently plead for Aunt Donna's healing.

It didn't come.

And now we go to visit and we find a woman who has somehow 'survived' but whose life and world is narrow.  Over-medicated when she was younger and suffering who knows what sorts of abuse or neglect in all sorts of ways and places, she can still be delusional.  Indeed, her daily treats of Pepsi and cigarettes may be her only joy.  And yet, she scrawls across the pages of composition books her prayers... raising her own voice in the only way she seems able in behalf of family members and neighbors and friends --- many of whom have long since died.  Along with the occasional prayer for a favorite food --- or beer.  Something she has not enjoyed in a very long time.

It is a terrible thing to witness.  It is all the worse when it is someone you have loved.  Indeed, although it happened half my lifetime ago, I remember like it was yesterday sitting in my folks' living room listening to my own mother's utterly anguished cry as we tried to digest the news of my young cousin's death by his own hand.  He had the same debilitating illness his mother had. We had no words.

It is surely heartbreaking.

And for all the time and effort and resources poured into it, we don't understand it still.  The brain is complex and multi-faceted, and while it can be miraculous in its healing powers, it is also marked by such mystery that healing too often eludes us.

And if we don't understand it now, imagine how it must have been in the time of Jesus.  It made perfect sense to attribute this daughter's torment to a demon.  For this is how it must have seemed --- as though some outside force was taking over and making her life and the lives of all those around her, simply miserable.  And if it's bad today, just imagine what that daughter's prospects were then.  It is unimaginable, really.

So it is no wonder that the Canaanite woman in this story would go to any means necessary to secure her daughter help.  She risked ridicule and rejection --- speaking out in a time and place when women certainly did not do so.  Indeed, she would go anywhere, approach anyone --- even Jesus who was not part of her own tradition or culture -- she raised her voice to high heaven to get the attention of the one who, in 'casting aside a few crumbs,' might fulfill the hope she hardly dared hope.  For her daughter's sake and for the sake of everyone who ever loved her.

Now I know there is a great deal to stand still in as we read the story before us now:

We wonder how Jesus could have ignored her at first.  Even if he had wanted to, it had to be hard to shut her out. For this is the cry of a desperate woman.  In fact, we hear that both the narrator and the disciples described her as 'shouting.'

We wonder at Jesus' initial response --- even while we understand that he had understood his mission differently: that it did not, at first, include such as her.

We wonder at her brilliance.  It is a rare thing to 'win' a theological argument with Jesus and this one: a woman, an outsider, and one whose life was as hard as it could be --- does so.

We wonder at the faith that is already working within her.  Even though she is a Gentile, somehow she sees Jesus as having come for her as well.

And we wonder at her persistence.  And yet, we don't.  For it is surely no surprise to anyone who has ever loved and lived through what she has lived through, that she would dig down deep for what she needed and risk it all for the sake of that love.

I don't know exactly how I will approach this when I preach it.  But this is what keeps coming to mind.  This is one of those remarkable instances where the woman in the story reminds me a lot of God.  And if not actually God, then certainly one created in God's image:  Her willingness to risk it all --- to go to any means necessary for the sake of her suffering child. It does sound an awful lot like what God did for us in Jesus, don't you think?  And I find myself wondering if we all did this, wouldn't the world look a whole lot different than it does?  Even when it comes to the fates of those suffering from mental illness...

I get glimmers of this from time to time:

I listen, for instance, to the woman who lost her son to a heroin overdose. She raised her voice continually while he was still alive. And the day after she found him dead, she was vowing to make his death mean something -- to do what she could to keep another family from suffering as they were. And she has devoted every day since to reaching out to other mothers who find themselves where she was.

I think of another mother who is weeping over her son's battle to another addiction... and her pleading with me to help find him some help.

Oh, yes I find myself thinking now of all those I know who suffer because of this sort of illness of a loved one and who don't speak or only dare to whisper it aloud because of their fear of our misunderstanding, our judgment:  eating disorders and addictions, schizophrenia and bipolar disorder, or just a deep, deep sadness that has the world closing in and renders it impossible, even, to get out of bed in the morning.  The stories are countless and from what I can tell, touch most if not all of our families and I find, even now, that I am compelled to raise my own voice of pleading for forgiveness for my own too-long silence and wisdom to find a new way.  Because if this week's Gospel means anything, it tells us that even the 'leftover crumbs' of what Jesus offered would be enough to change everything.  And these are mine to give and to share.  These are ours to share with those who suffer so. 

And it all started with a mother's willingness not only to speak, but to shout.  For the sake of love.  Oh yes, I do wonder what would happen if we all were to do this.  Maybe at least these 'demons' would come out of the shadows and become something we can better address as communities of those who follow Jesus.  And I expect if that were so, almost anything would be possible, don't you? 

• It is clear that I see this story as being about Jesus' responding to mental illness.  While this may not have been the case, it surely seems to speak today.  What do you think?
• What is your own experience with mental illness or disorders or addiction?  How is that like being 'tormented by a demon?'  How does this mother's encounter with Jesus speak to your own experience?
• What do you make of Jesus' initial response to the woman?  How does that square with your understanding of who Jesus was and is?
• I know I am probably venturing into new territory when I compare this woman to God.  What do you think? Does that comparison work?  Why or why not?

Walking on Water

Matthew 14:22-33

I have survived some storms, of course.

I know you have as well.

I've weathered the sort of storms that inevitably come with living and I've watched the other kinds of storms roll in as well. The sort the disciples find themselves in the midst of in this week's Gospel lesson.

It was August of 1991.  I was on Cape Cod with my sister, Martha, and my folks.  Martha and I had left them with our Aunt Elsie in Sandwich and we had driven to the end of the cape to Provincetown for a couple of days.

This was on the front edge of 24/7 cable news.  We knew nothing of the Weather Channel yet and frankly, even if we had, we weren't paying attention.  I well remember standing at a pay phone talking to a friend back in Illinois who had been watching the news, however.  I remember distinctly the urgency in her voice when she told me a storm was coming.

So we quickly packed our bags and with thousands of other late summer vacationers we headed up
cape.  Even as we attempted to drive out of the way of Hurricane Bob, however, it was evident that others were traveling in the opposite direction.  The next morning's paper showed some of those daredevils who ignored all the warnings and were photographed standing at the end of the pier at the end of the Cape with their arms outstretched, seemingly daring the force of the storm to take them down.

I didn't get it then.  I still don't.  And for that matter, I really don't 'get' Peter in today's Gospel reading.  I mean, who thinks they can walk on water?  We mere mortals are simply not made to walk on water.  We are bound by gravity and weight and natural forces of all sorts.

In fact, I learned this the hard way this summer.

I had climbed a ladder to clear out a clogged gutter.  It had to be done.  There was some urgency to the matter.  I was the only one to do it and so I leaned the extension ladder against the house and climbed up.

I was actually only a few feet off the ground when the ladder gave way.  Apparently it was not securely latched.  It clattered to the ground. So did I.  And I was fortunate to walk away with only some deep bruises. Only nearly two months later?  Those bruises --- the ones you can't see --- are still healing.

This is what it is to be human.  We who are flesh and blood and bone?  We can't fly without jet fuel and we can't float standing up.

So this, perhaps, is why I have struggled so hard with this so very familiar story this week.  For you see, I just can't quite believe that you and I are ever meant to walk on water.  At least not in this way.

And I'm not certain Peter was either.  In fact, notice with me that he seems to almost be testing Jesus when he says, "Lord, if it is you, command me to come to you on the water."  Not unlike those daredevils who were tempting that hurricane so many years ago now.  Indeed, I can't help but wonder if Jesus wasn't smiling to himself as he told Peter to come on ahead.  Jesus had to have known that the storm swirling around Peter would eventually command his attention and that he would succumb to what one would have expected to have happened as soon as Peter's feet hit the waves. It is only normal to be frightened in the face of such a storm.  It's only human.   And human Peter surely was. But even more than that, of course: humans aren't made to walk on water.

Indeed, so far as I can recall, never again in scripture do we hear about the followers of Jesus trying such a stunt.  No, they reserved their 'walking on water' for baptizing the searching and teaching the curious and preaching to the crowds and healing the sick.  Any and all of those would seem to be just as miraculous --- although not in as self serving a way as Peter somehow strikes me today.

Maybe I'm wrong.  Maybe we who follow Jesus are meant to walk on water as Jesus did.  Or maybe, at least, it's not a bad thing to try. As long as we remember when we sink to reach out in gratitude and joy to the one who with a hand can lift us up again.  Perhaps attempting to walk on water isn't so bad --- particularly if in doing so we take home the certainty that we, in fact, are not Jesus.

Indeed.  It's not as though we who follow Jesus aren't called to and aren't enabled to do amazing things.  Only never for ourselves alone.  In fact, I can't help but wonder if it wouldn't be a whole lot like 'walking on water' if we simply acknowledged our fears and stepped into them anyway.  As Peter must have. I wonder if it wouldn't be a lot like 'walking on water' if we could just step past our differences and love in spite of all that would separate us.  I wonder if we wouldn't just be 'walking on water' if we gave up even a small part of our lives for another --- then emulating even so briefly --- what Jesus did for us all. 

I don't even do those things so well a whole lot of the time.  Which is why, when I do try and find myself sinking, I am grateful for the gentle scolding voice of Jesus as he grasps my hand and lifts me up and shakes his head at me.  Much as he did with Peter on that stormy sea so long ago.

• What do you think?  Are we meant to 'walk on water?'  If so, just what does that mean to you?
• What do you think went through Peter's mind as he took those first steps on water?  What do you think he felt when he sank and was quickly rescued by Jesus' hand?
• How does this story speak in the world today?  How does it speak to you in your walk of faith?

On Loaves and Fishes and Parking Spaces...

Matthew 14:13-21

It's such a familiar story before us now that it's hard to hear anything new in it.  Indeed, it rolls around with slight variations again and again.  Even so, while for the most part these are not 'original' thoughts on this story, these are what come to mind today...

One is this.  I know what it feels like to be told, "You give them something to eat..." and to feel as though there is so little to give, it's hardly worth starting to prepare the meal.

Another is this. This all happens in Matthew's telling right after Jesus hears about the gruesome, pointless death of his cousin, John the Baptist.   Perhaps in response to this horrific news, Jesus was heading 'on retreat' --- and I can't think of a more necessary time to seek such solitude.  But by now word has gotten out that this Jesus has something to offer that can't be found just anywhere.  The crowds with their sick and suffering in tow catch up with him.  And then they don't leave.  Like an unexpected guest with no manners whatsoever, they don't leave.  And a handful of disciples are left to carry out the ministry of hospitality which Jesus personifies.

And there is this. I'm wondering about the guy at the back of the crowd.  The one who hardly knows why he is there.  There is no big screen projection to give him a sense of what is going on down front.  Jesus has no way to amplify his voice for the blessing of those five loaves and two fish.  He's only hearing what's going on because the one in front of him is telling him.  In fact, he may never fully comprehend or appreciate the actual source of the meal he is enjoying.  He may never realize it is actually a gift from God's own hand.  But that doesn't make it any less so. Indeed, I wonder how many moments in how many days I am like that.  A lot, I would expect.  I need to remember that and give thanks even when I can't quite put it all together.

And there is this, too.  How does one end up with more than what one started out with?  Twelve baskets full, in fact.  How does that happen?

So here are some initial thoughts on possible directions to take: 

Opportunities to be about the work that Jesus calls us to don't necessarily come at convenient times.
They are, in fact, likely to come when we find ourselves most sad, most tired, most fearful about the future.  Even as Jesus would have every right to have been.

Often we just have to start.  We may not be able to see the ending --- in fact most of the time we surely can't --- but if we don't at least start, we will certainly never get there. For the disciples in this story, the only logical thing to do was to send that hungry crowd away.  They could not, at first, have fathomed the possibility that all those growling stomachs would be satisfied with what began as a meager meal.  But they trusted Jesus enough to hand him the five loaves and two fish and pretty soon it was a party.

And there is this.  This really is a story about scarcity and abundance.  I live in a time and place where I find myself never worried about a scarcity of food. That is not true, of course, for all of my neighbors --- but it is true for most of the people I interact with much of the time.  I do know what it feels like to believe there is never enough though.  I expect we all do.  Indeed, I have known this profoundly of late.  For here is how it has been:

Yesterday morning at 11 a.m. I officiated at the memorial service of one of our dear ones.  It turned out to be one of the largest gatherings of its kind that we had shared in for some time.  At 10 a.m., though, I was next door speaking briefly at our local public library's groundbreaking.

For the library is expanding, you see.  The building is dated, their space is limited, and this dream has been in the works for some time.

Now let me paint the picture for you.  Our church building shares a city block with another church building, yet another church's parking lot and the public library.  Parking is at a premium anyway and now this new construction will permanently close our street, limiting access to and visibility of our building and at least for the next eighteen months, making access to convenient parking a whole lot more challenging than it has been.  And it has always been challenging.

It is a situation which has had me shaking my head for some time.  I have wondered how we would do this.  It has been easy to bow to frustration and fear that there will not be enough --- there will never be enough.

Even so, the challenge was before us and so we dove in in this way: First, we've been talking it up for a couple of weeks.  On Sunday mornings we've been encouraging folks who are able to park further out, or to share rides, or if they're close enough, to actually just walk to church.  We're starting to think about a valet/parking lot ministry for those who are less mobile.  We've begun positioning greeters outside to help people find their way in.  And yesterday morning was our first real test.  

Now normally when the people gather, I'm among the first to arrive.  I'm already inside getting ready. But yesterday morning, I found myself sitting on the other side of the recently erected chain link fence watching the people of First Lutheran Church step up to this challenge. In spite of their own frustration and fear, I could see them there standing at the street corners and welcoming our guests and showing them their way in.  I was, quite simply, proud of them.

Now I don't know how it worked in the marvelous story before us now.  I don't know how it is that 10,000 people and more were fed with five loaves of bread and a couple of fish.  I do know it was a story about hospitality.  People were there and they needed to be fed and so those who were hosting fed their guests.  I do know that Jesus was at the center of it --- who always saw people and their needs and who always found a way to meet those needs.  And I do know that the story ends by reminding us that they wound up with a whole lot more than what the disciples first placed in Jesus' hands.

To tell you the truth, I still cannot see how there will be --- at least not for some time --- enough parking with easy access to our building.  And it's hard to see how we will ever have the easy visibility we have enjoyed for a hundred years.  But at the same time, this has forced us from behind our doors and out into the street to be even more welcoming than we have sought to be before.  And there is abundance in that which I certainly could not have envisioned all on my own.   Indeed, even now while I cannot yet see the 'ending,' I'm still starting to wonder if this might just find us able to 'feed' a whole lot more people than we ever have before.

• How do you understand the miracle story of the feeding of the 'five thousand plus women and children?'  What do you think happened here?
• Is there any significance to the fact that in Matthew's telling, this falls right after the news about John the Baptist's death?  Does knowing this alter your hearing of the story in any way?  Why or why not?
• I offer one example of perceived scarcity and abundance above.  Can you think of others?