This Is the Day! Easter Homily 4-24-11
We are an Easter people! This is the day we’ve been waiting for—the alleluias are back, the choir is eagerly awaiting their turn to bring you the Easter message and the world, it seems, is primed for a fresh understanding of the resurrection of our Lord. And we are poised to be a people of the resurrection once again. Rising again, making it through the dark night, acknowledging daybreak with new eyes and, perhaps, a new heart and mind; this is the day that our alleluias swell beyond the smallness of our lives and join with the awesome alleluias of the church universal—throughout the world, throughout all time.
What is it about Easter that makes it all seem so new? When we were children, many of us looked forward not just to the candy, but to the new clothes. For those of us who grew up poor, it was the one Sunday a year that we were almost guaranteed something new to wear for church. New hats, new shoes, new ruffles or bow ties—all came to represent the change that happened each year sometime in March or April that capped off a strange and holy week of palms, and pain, and even death. Even as children we knew that something had happened—long before we grasped the concept of resurrection, we got the idea of ‘new’. And so we talk of Easter being a time when things are new and fresh, a time of new beginnings and new ways. A giant do-over, if you will.
But we must not miss the miracle. And the miracle is this: it is the same Jesus who taught us to love, who speaks to us in the garden this morning. The same Jesus who healed and taught us, who chastised and challenged us and called us to walk in the way of justice and peace—this same Jesus leads us out of the garden into the world to sing our ‘alleluias’ beyond these walls. Perhaps that is the most miraculous of the miraculous after all—that even after suffering and dying, and rising from the dead, this Jesus speaks to us of peace and forgiveness and calls us to understand once and for all, that nothing, nothing, nothing will ever be the same again. This same Jesus who walked this earth, putting life to the love of our creator, God, in ways that no one had ever seen; this is the same Jesus who lived, and died, and lived again so that we would know just how far one of God’s children would go to save the rest of us. And so our lives are made new in this living and dying and living again, we remember.
And as our alleluias pulse through us, grateful to be in this place on this day, celebrating the resurrection of this Lord, we rejoice in the resurrection of this Jesus who said “A new commandment I give unto you, that you love one another; as I have loved you,…” Today, as we recall the earthly life of Jesus and marvel that the stone has rolled away, let us open our hearts to loving one another, not just the one anothers gathered here, but all those one anothers whose names we do not know, lives we do not understand, and languages we do not speak. This is the call to resurrection, to Easter itself. This is the new way of being that this same Jesus who lived, loved, died, and rose again calls us to embrace with our resurrected hearts and minds. Let the Alleluias begin!
Welcome!
Wednesday, April 27, 2011
Monday, April 18, 2011
Rolling out the Royal Red Carpet 4-17-11
The Gospel: Matthew 21:1-11
When they neared Jerusalem, having arrived at Bethphage on Mount Olives, Jesus sent two disciples with these instructions: "Go over to the village across from you. You'll find a donkey tethered there, her colt with her. Untie her and bring them to me. If anyone asks what you're doing, say, 'The Master needs them!' He will send them with you."
This is the full story of what was sketched earlier by the prophet: Tell Zion's daughter, "Look, your king's on his way, poised and ready, mounted on a donkey, on a colt, foal of a pack animal." The disciples went and did exactly what Jesus told them to do. They led the donkey and colt out, laid some of their clothes on them, and Jesus mounted.
Nearly all the people in the crowd threw their garments down on the road, giving him a royal welcome. Others cut branches from the trees and threw them down as a welcome mat. Crowds went ahead and crowds followed, all of them calling out, "Hosanna to David's son!" "Blessed is he who comes in God's name!" "Hosanna in highest heaven!"
As he made his entrance into Jerusalem, the whole city was shaken. Unnerved, people were asking, "What's going on here? Who is this?" The parade crowd answered, "This is the prophet Jesus, the one from Nazareth in Galilee."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
God, we come here today at your invitation. You have called us to this place, at this time and we come into Your presence to learn and to love. Amen.
If you’ve ever been in a crowd of people that seemed to have a mind of its own, you know that there is a thin line of difference between celebration and violence. My scariest “crowd out of control” moment was on the 25th anniversary of the Stonewall Riots in New York City—some of you may have been there, too. Now I have one distinct disadvantage in a crowd—a disadvantage that many of you share as well. On that day, I felt the shortest I have ever felt as the tens of thousands of people all moved along the streets and sidewalks in a flow of celebration tinged with anger at 25 years of struggle with little to show. The 25th anniversary of Stonewall took place in the midst of the AIDS crisis. And the crowd was infused with just enough emotional highs and lows to make them volatile indeed. Fortunately, there was no real violence that day and the swirling mass of people eventually found their way to the southern tip of Christopher Street and as the crowds dispersed into the street fair, I could finally see open air (instead of the t-shirt of the guy in front of me) and I began to breathe normally.
We start this week in the crowd of “Hail, King Jesus” and “Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord!” In the week ahead, we see played out in slow motion the unfolding of the events which will place Jesus in the midst of a very different crowd by Friday. A crowd who does not cheer, but rather jeers; a crowd that swears and accuses instead of sings; and a crowd who replaces today’s “Hosanna” with Friday’s “crucify”. Today’s crowd—likely followers of Jesus; Friday’s crowd probably not; more than likely, they were just festival goers, unaware of and uncaring about the political drama which pulled them into the turning point in the history of God’s people. Much will happen in the next six days.
But first, we start with the joy of today! Today we are one with that crowd waving palms and branches along the way. We wave our palms as we sing, feeling almost a little silly; perhaps forgetting that the waving of palms joins us with the followers who waved their palms that day as Jesus entered into Jerusalem and with all the saints in all the places and all the years who have waved Palms since. And so we begin with Hosanna to the King of kings! Imagine yourself in that crowd on that day—you may not have known, and according to our scripture, many didn’t—exactly what was happening—but if you were present, you knew that something special was going on. If you were near the front of that crowd, you could see this humble man riding on a donkey through the streets of the city. If you were far back in the crowd, you may only have been able to sense the awe in the shouts of hosanna. If you knew your history and prophecy, you knew that this was no ordinary King—a military king would have come in on a stallion. This man was different, this man was no ordinary king at all, but one sent by God. And you may have felt the emotions roll over the crowd like an incoming ocean wave rolls over the starfish and shells lying on the beach.
And then, suddenly, the day goes back to normal. The crowds disperse and people get on with living, completely unaware of the drama that will unfold over the next few days. Not so for Jesus—he went directly to the Temple and denounced what he saw, entered into the temple and drove out the money changers and then went out to Bethany with his disciples. This may have been the act that started all that was to come. In the days to come, the people continued to listen to his teaching and the priests and scribes began to plot to kill him as they were afraid of him and his power. The scriptures record many of the parables that he was telling the people. Underlying this narrative is the building subplot by the officials to quiet this man who spoke of righteousness and love. They tried entrapment but he outsmarts them regarding taxes by responding “render unto Caesar that which is Caesar’s”. And so it goes, with sermon after sermon, parable after parable, prophesy after prophesy; Jesus never tires, working to leave as much for his followers as he could.
As he always did, he tries to reveal the bigger story to his disciples; and, as always they stay focused on the here and now—wanting specifics—unable to see beyond what is happening in front of them to understand all that Jesus is showing them. Jesus predicts many things including that the temple will be destroyed and that the disciples themselves will be persecuted and killed. He calls them to watchfulness—to be awake and aware—to see the signs and learn from them. Jesus teaches to the end.
And finally, the conspiracy begins to play out. Judas agrees to betray Jesus and actively looks for a time when he can identify Jesus to the authorities. Passover begins and Jesus makes plans to spend the Passover meal, his final meal, with the disciples in the home of an unidentified man. And then unfolds the beautiful gathering of friends, even the same friends who will later betray Jesus, and Jesus leads them in a celebration of life and love for each other that we remember this and every time we gather for worship. And then, there is Gethsemane…the long tortuous hours of prayer and supplication—the lonely hours when the disciples cannot even keep watch while their leader, teacher, and friend agonizes over what is to come. And what about the others, those who sang “hosanna” a mere 5 days earlier? We know that, except for a few, that crowd was gone now, probably in fear of what the officials were about to do, hiding somewhere, waiting to see what happened next.
We must not judge these weary followers too harshly. They, like many of us, were looking for a leader, a fantabulous, miraculous leader. But at the end of the triumphal entry lay more work, more journey, more earthly sacrifice. This was not a king who would change their world in a blink of an eye. This was a king who would invite the whole world into the reign of the justice of God—a reign that required treating others with dignity, justice, and love. Five or six days is a long time to keep a memory alive—we know that even today. What is news today will only be news for perhaps a day or two, and not even that if something bigger comes along.
We want to be done with Lent today—to get to the rejoicing. Palm Sunday seems almost like a cruel joke—a time to get us shouting with joy only to be dropped on our faces in despair by Friday. And we could look at it that way. But I believe that the meaning in Palm Sunday lies in Jesus showing us who he really was—that he would fulfill the crowd’s expectations only in the way that he was called to do—by riding a humble donkey as a king of peace. The shouts of earthly praise did not deter him from doing the hard, agonizing, painful work of sacrifice. What a temptation to become the king that the people would have had him be. And yet, Jesus, King of kings, submitted to the will of his God and took on the sins of the world—the sins of those who hailed him as king today and the sins of those who called for his death on Friday.
And so, I invite you to walk with Jesus the next 6 days—hear him teaching in the Temple and in the streets. Contemplate the love and compassion that moved him to welcome his closest friends—even those who would betray him—to a dinner full of love, and memory, and hope. And then, to walk the journey on Friday, to stand on the side of the road and watch this man of peace struggle to carry the cross—to want to reach out to touch him and help him and know that it is not to be—to feel the agony of his mother and the despair of his friends. And to wait—to wait to celebrate the miracle of Sunday morning—a Sunday like all other Sundays—yet always new with rebirth and resurrection and life. Amen and Amen
When they neared Jerusalem, having arrived at Bethphage on Mount Olives, Jesus sent two disciples with these instructions: "Go over to the village across from you. You'll find a donkey tethered there, her colt with her. Untie her and bring them to me. If anyone asks what you're doing, say, 'The Master needs them!' He will send them with you."
This is the full story of what was sketched earlier by the prophet: Tell Zion's daughter, "Look, your king's on his way, poised and ready, mounted on a donkey, on a colt, foal of a pack animal." The disciples went and did exactly what Jesus told them to do. They led the donkey and colt out, laid some of their clothes on them, and Jesus mounted.
Nearly all the people in the crowd threw their garments down on the road, giving him a royal welcome. Others cut branches from the trees and threw them down as a welcome mat. Crowds went ahead and crowds followed, all of them calling out, "Hosanna to David's son!" "Blessed is he who comes in God's name!" "Hosanna in highest heaven!"
As he made his entrance into Jerusalem, the whole city was shaken. Unnerved, people were asking, "What's going on here? Who is this?" The parade crowd answered, "This is the prophet Jesus, the one from Nazareth in Galilee."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
God, we come here today at your invitation. You have called us to this place, at this time and we come into Your presence to learn and to love. Amen.
If you’ve ever been in a crowd of people that seemed to have a mind of its own, you know that there is a thin line of difference between celebration and violence. My scariest “crowd out of control” moment was on the 25th anniversary of the Stonewall Riots in New York City—some of you may have been there, too. Now I have one distinct disadvantage in a crowd—a disadvantage that many of you share as well. On that day, I felt the shortest I have ever felt as the tens of thousands of people all moved along the streets and sidewalks in a flow of celebration tinged with anger at 25 years of struggle with little to show. The 25th anniversary of Stonewall took place in the midst of the AIDS crisis. And the crowd was infused with just enough emotional highs and lows to make them volatile indeed. Fortunately, there was no real violence that day and the swirling mass of people eventually found their way to the southern tip of Christopher Street and as the crowds dispersed into the street fair, I could finally see open air (instead of the t-shirt of the guy in front of me) and I began to breathe normally.
We start this week in the crowd of “Hail, King Jesus” and “Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord!” In the week ahead, we see played out in slow motion the unfolding of the events which will place Jesus in the midst of a very different crowd by Friday. A crowd who does not cheer, but rather jeers; a crowd that swears and accuses instead of sings; and a crowd who replaces today’s “Hosanna” with Friday’s “crucify”. Today’s crowd—likely followers of Jesus; Friday’s crowd probably not; more than likely, they were just festival goers, unaware of and uncaring about the political drama which pulled them into the turning point in the history of God’s people. Much will happen in the next six days.
But first, we start with the joy of today! Today we are one with that crowd waving palms and branches along the way. We wave our palms as we sing, feeling almost a little silly; perhaps forgetting that the waving of palms joins us with the followers who waved their palms that day as Jesus entered into Jerusalem and with all the saints in all the places and all the years who have waved Palms since. And so we begin with Hosanna to the King of kings! Imagine yourself in that crowd on that day—you may not have known, and according to our scripture, many didn’t—exactly what was happening—but if you were present, you knew that something special was going on. If you were near the front of that crowd, you could see this humble man riding on a donkey through the streets of the city. If you were far back in the crowd, you may only have been able to sense the awe in the shouts of hosanna. If you knew your history and prophecy, you knew that this was no ordinary King—a military king would have come in on a stallion. This man was different, this man was no ordinary king at all, but one sent by God. And you may have felt the emotions roll over the crowd like an incoming ocean wave rolls over the starfish and shells lying on the beach.
And then, suddenly, the day goes back to normal. The crowds disperse and people get on with living, completely unaware of the drama that will unfold over the next few days. Not so for Jesus—he went directly to the Temple and denounced what he saw, entered into the temple and drove out the money changers and then went out to Bethany with his disciples. This may have been the act that started all that was to come. In the days to come, the people continued to listen to his teaching and the priests and scribes began to plot to kill him as they were afraid of him and his power. The scriptures record many of the parables that he was telling the people. Underlying this narrative is the building subplot by the officials to quiet this man who spoke of righteousness and love. They tried entrapment but he outsmarts them regarding taxes by responding “render unto Caesar that which is Caesar’s”. And so it goes, with sermon after sermon, parable after parable, prophesy after prophesy; Jesus never tires, working to leave as much for his followers as he could.
As he always did, he tries to reveal the bigger story to his disciples; and, as always they stay focused on the here and now—wanting specifics—unable to see beyond what is happening in front of them to understand all that Jesus is showing them. Jesus predicts many things including that the temple will be destroyed and that the disciples themselves will be persecuted and killed. He calls them to watchfulness—to be awake and aware—to see the signs and learn from them. Jesus teaches to the end.
And finally, the conspiracy begins to play out. Judas agrees to betray Jesus and actively looks for a time when he can identify Jesus to the authorities. Passover begins and Jesus makes plans to spend the Passover meal, his final meal, with the disciples in the home of an unidentified man. And then unfolds the beautiful gathering of friends, even the same friends who will later betray Jesus, and Jesus leads them in a celebration of life and love for each other that we remember this and every time we gather for worship. And then, there is Gethsemane…the long tortuous hours of prayer and supplication—the lonely hours when the disciples cannot even keep watch while their leader, teacher, and friend agonizes over what is to come. And what about the others, those who sang “hosanna” a mere 5 days earlier? We know that, except for a few, that crowd was gone now, probably in fear of what the officials were about to do, hiding somewhere, waiting to see what happened next.
We must not judge these weary followers too harshly. They, like many of us, were looking for a leader, a fantabulous, miraculous leader. But at the end of the triumphal entry lay more work, more journey, more earthly sacrifice. This was not a king who would change their world in a blink of an eye. This was a king who would invite the whole world into the reign of the justice of God—a reign that required treating others with dignity, justice, and love. Five or six days is a long time to keep a memory alive—we know that even today. What is news today will only be news for perhaps a day or two, and not even that if something bigger comes along.
We want to be done with Lent today—to get to the rejoicing. Palm Sunday seems almost like a cruel joke—a time to get us shouting with joy only to be dropped on our faces in despair by Friday. And we could look at it that way. But I believe that the meaning in Palm Sunday lies in Jesus showing us who he really was—that he would fulfill the crowd’s expectations only in the way that he was called to do—by riding a humble donkey as a king of peace. The shouts of earthly praise did not deter him from doing the hard, agonizing, painful work of sacrifice. What a temptation to become the king that the people would have had him be. And yet, Jesus, King of kings, submitted to the will of his God and took on the sins of the world—the sins of those who hailed him as king today and the sins of those who called for his death on Friday.
And so, I invite you to walk with Jesus the next 6 days—hear him teaching in the Temple and in the streets. Contemplate the love and compassion that moved him to welcome his closest friends—even those who would betray him—to a dinner full of love, and memory, and hope. And then, to walk the journey on Friday, to stand on the side of the road and watch this man of peace struggle to carry the cross—to want to reach out to touch him and help him and know that it is not to be—to feel the agony of his mother and the despair of his friends. And to wait—to wait to celebrate the miracle of Sunday morning—a Sunday like all other Sundays—yet always new with rebirth and resurrection and life. Amen and Amen
Monday, April 11, 2011
April 10, 2011--The Journey from Endings to Beginnings
Reading One: Ezekiel 37:1-14 (The Message)
God grabbed me. God's Spirit took me up and set me down in the middle of an open plain strewn with bones. He led me around and among them—a lot of bones! There were bones all over the plain—dry bones, bleached by the sun. He said to me, "Son of man, can these bones live?" I said, "Master God, only you know that." He said to me, "Prophesy over these bones: 'Dry bones, listen to the Message of God!'" God, the Master, told the dry bones, "Watch this: I'm bringing the breath of life to you and you'll come to life. I'll attach sinews to you, put meat on your bones, cover you with skin, and breathe life into you. You'll come alive and you'll realize that I am God!"
I prophesied just as I'd been commanded. As I prophesied, there was a sound and, oh, rustling! The bones moved and came together, bone to bone. I kept watching. Sinews formed, then muscles on the bones, then skin stretched over them. But they had no breath in them.
He said to me, "Prophesy to the breath. Prophesy, son of man. Tell the breath, 'God, the Master, says, Come from the four winds. Come, breath. Breathe on these slain bodies. Breathe life!'"
So I prophesied, just as he commanded me. The breath entered them and they came alive! They stood up on their feet, a huge army.
Then God said to me, "Son of man, these bones are the whole house of Israel. Listen to what they're saying: 'Our bones are dried up, our hope is gone, there's nothing left of us.'
"Therefore, prophesy. Tell them, 'God, the Master, says: I'll dig up your graves and bring you out alive—O my people! Then I'll take you straight to the land of Israel. When I dig up graves and bring you out as my people, you'll realize that I am God. I'll breathe my life into you and you'll live. Then I'll lead you straight back to your land and you'll realize that I am God. I've said it and I'll do it. God's Decree.'"
Reading Two: John 11:25-26 (The Message)
25-26"You don't have to wait for the End. I am, right now, Resurrection and Life. The one who believes in me, even though he or she dies, will live. And everyone who lives believing in me does not ultimately die at all. Do you believe this?"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Lent: The Journey through Endings to Beginnings
4-10-11
Let us pray: God, God of healing, gently touch our lives with your Spirit. Bring warmth and comfort, life and wholeness, restoration into our fractured lives and spirits. Amen
I’ll admit it—the passage from Ezekiel today is a little far-fetched—just a wee bit over the top for most of us. And it may be that compared to the rest of the book of Ezekiel, which is often violent and difficult to understand, this somewhat interesting—in a bizarre sort of way—and certainly more hopeful portion of Ezekiel is what we most remember about our old prophet friend Zeke.
Our reading says “God grabbed me!’ Old Zeke was not out on a casual Saturday afternoon walk when he happens on to this valley full of bones. No, God put him there and put him there for a reason. But God starts with a riddle of sorts: “Mortal”, probably, “mere mortal, can you see a way to make these bones live?” Now here is Zeke, standing in the midst of thousands of bleached white bones—bones that weren’t even skeletons anymore, just piles of bones, and God is, are you ready—posing a riddle. Ezekiel, tired from all that has come before in his life, says, “Ok, God, I give—only You know the answer to that!” But if we are to know why Zeke is so tired, so exasperated or so hopeless, we need to know a little of what the poor man has been through in the years preceding the drama playing out before us.
Condensing several decades of history to a few sentences—it goes like this: Ezekiel was forced into exile in 597 BCE after having been a prominent—rising star, if you will—future priest to a priest who had no temple at all in exile. His wife also died earlier in the story, and God called Ezekiel not to mourn her, but rather to use the lack of mourning as an example to the rest of the community to stop mourning the loss of the Temple, which by the way had been destroyed by the Babylonians as they destroyed Jerusalem, killed most of the inhabitants and drove the rest into exile in Babylonia. This is the backdrop upon which the vision, so full of hope and resurrection, occurs.
Only by seeing this backdrop hung behind the platform where our desert scene plays out do we grasp the wonder of the amazing swirling winds tossing and turning the bones until they are fully formed human beings again, breathing the very breath of life that God has blown back into them. Only then can we truly experience the despair of Ezekiel turn to amazement and hope and joy as the resurrection of these people plays out before his, quite honestly, doubting eyes. But old Zeke does as he is told—he prophesies and prophesies until God is finished raising this valley of dry bones into an army of revived and restored souls.
The miracle in this story, or vision, if you will, does not simply revolve around the swirling and spinning bones. The true miracle is that it all plays out after the community has been completely devastated by loss. But the familiarity of the story can lead us to ignore all but that which fascinates us in the swirling and spinning which sets our senses reeling with utter amazement. In fact, we can become so fascinated with the rebirth of the bones that we forget the pain and trauma which got the bones into that dry valley in the first place. So here we are, two weeks before Easter, with a story that reminds us that we must not so single-mindedly focus on the coming resurrection that we ignore that which must come before.
What does this mean for us in the world—walking these ways in the weeks before Easter. I believe that it means that we must first be willing to walk in the depths of the despair that so pervades our world if we are to truly understand the heights of the joy that comes with resurrection. It also means that like, Ezekiel, we are to be active participants in the revival; we are to prophesy in word and deed until the hopelessness in the world is replaced with hope and despair with joy.
This Sunday is celebrated as Lazarus Sunday in many churches, and, indeed our statement from Jesus, “I am the resurrection and the life” is the very statement that Jesus says just moments before he raises his friend, Mary and Martha’s brother Lazarus from the dead. But the contemporary Lazarus Sunday is designated as a Sunday to remind ourselves of the hundreds of thousands of people in Africa dying of AIDS. Lazarus Sunday calls us, just as Ezekiel was called to survey the dry bones, to be aware of an entire generation of African people crying out “our hope is lost, our bones broken and fragile, we are cut off from the rest of the world.” This is one of many calls to hear our prophetic voice in the bone-filled valleys of despair—the prophetic voice that calls for a life-giving response from individuals, faith communities, indeed governments and corporations.
And there are more valleys of dry bones demanding our attention. This week our Moderator, Rev. Elder Nancy Wilson, called us to be aware of the situation for gay, lesbian and transgender people in Uganda. She says:
At a time when many nations are recognizing that LGBT rights are human rights, Uganda is moving rapidly in the opposite direction. In a country where gay sex is already illegal, Uganda's Parliament has spent two years debating new anti-gay laws which, in various versions, would mandate the death penalty for gays and lesbians, require a sentence of life in prison for engaging in a gay sex act, and even imprison persons who fail to report to authorities if they overhear a conversation in which someone acknowledges they are gay.
It gets worse... Sadly, some Uganda church leaders are fueling the anti-LGBT frenzy. For example, Rev. Martin Ssempa, pastor of an evangelical church in Uganda's capital city, regularly hold anti-gay rallies at which he describes all gay people as pedophiles and deserving of imprisonment or death. He even shows hard-core pornography at churches and Christian conferences to fuel anti-gay sentiment. Think that's bad?
But it gets worse...A number of American fundamentalist churches -- including some mega-church pastors -- are sending funds to support anti-gay in Uganda! Horrified?
It gets still worse...The current anti-gay frenzy in Uganda has created a climate of threats, intimidation and violence against LGBT people. The situation has become so volatile that many human rights groups now describe the situation there as a "Gay Genocide."
But I am happy to tell you that the story does not end there: there is hope—there is God’s prophetic voice speaking through this very denomination and other organizations working to end some blatant discrimination and hatred before the valley of dry bones becomes full to over-flowing.
Rev. Elder Nancy reminds us that on January 26 of this year, David Kato, head of Sexual Minorities Uganda, murdered in his home in Mukono, Uganda. She also wants us to know that “MCC's Global Justice Institute organized David Kato's memorial service at New York City's historic Abyssinian Baptist Church and helped organize a major rally at the site of Uganda's mission to the United Nations. And MCC has partnered with his organization and Integrity to establish St. Paul's Reconciliation & Equality Center, which offers safe space to LGBT Ugandans. This Center meets a pressing need for Ugandans who live under the daily threat of anti-gay violence. For some, it is a safe space where they can experience a time of freedom from persecution. And for others, it offers temporary housing while awaiting asylum to other countries.” And for this reason and others, she calls us to be a part of the prophetic voice of MCC in the world, through our special Easter offering and our daily walk and work in our communities.
Our final reflection on this out-of-the-ordinary passage is to remind ourselves that our old pal Zeke did not do this miracle alone. Yes, he prophesied, he followed God’s orders, but God gave the breath, formed the glue that held the once dusty bones back together and poured the life, quite literally into them. He opened the space for God’s breath to come in. When we seek the will and want of God, we walk headlong into valley after valley of dry bones. We do it each time we open these doors to another person who wonders if this is the place where they will find a community of people just like them, broken and battered, yet aching for the renewing spirit of God. We do it each time we speak up and out and call for an end to injustice for our community and for likewise marginalized communities everywhere. And we do it every time, we say “this is not the way the story ends—in pain and hopelessness!” Every time we prophesy as God calls us: Let these dry bones live and dance and go forth to bring the breath of God into the world. Amen and amen!
God grabbed me. God's Spirit took me up and set me down in the middle of an open plain strewn with bones. He led me around and among them—a lot of bones! There were bones all over the plain—dry bones, bleached by the sun. He said to me, "Son of man, can these bones live?" I said, "Master God, only you know that." He said to me, "Prophesy over these bones: 'Dry bones, listen to the Message of God!'" God, the Master, told the dry bones, "Watch this: I'm bringing the breath of life to you and you'll come to life. I'll attach sinews to you, put meat on your bones, cover you with skin, and breathe life into you. You'll come alive and you'll realize that I am God!"
I prophesied just as I'd been commanded. As I prophesied, there was a sound and, oh, rustling! The bones moved and came together, bone to bone. I kept watching. Sinews formed, then muscles on the bones, then skin stretched over them. But they had no breath in them.
He said to me, "Prophesy to the breath. Prophesy, son of man. Tell the breath, 'God, the Master, says, Come from the four winds. Come, breath. Breathe on these slain bodies. Breathe life!'"
So I prophesied, just as he commanded me. The breath entered them and they came alive! They stood up on their feet, a huge army.
Then God said to me, "Son of man, these bones are the whole house of Israel. Listen to what they're saying: 'Our bones are dried up, our hope is gone, there's nothing left of us.'
"Therefore, prophesy. Tell them, 'God, the Master, says: I'll dig up your graves and bring you out alive—O my people! Then I'll take you straight to the land of Israel. When I dig up graves and bring you out as my people, you'll realize that I am God. I'll breathe my life into you and you'll live. Then I'll lead you straight back to your land and you'll realize that I am God. I've said it and I'll do it. God's Decree.'"
Reading Two: John 11:25-26 (The Message)
25-26"You don't have to wait for the End. I am, right now, Resurrection and Life. The one who believes in me, even though he or she dies, will live. And everyone who lives believing in me does not ultimately die at all. Do you believe this?"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Lent: The Journey through Endings to Beginnings
4-10-11
Let us pray: God, God of healing, gently touch our lives with your Spirit. Bring warmth and comfort, life and wholeness, restoration into our fractured lives and spirits. Amen
I’ll admit it—the passage from Ezekiel today is a little far-fetched—just a wee bit over the top for most of us. And it may be that compared to the rest of the book of Ezekiel, which is often violent and difficult to understand, this somewhat interesting—in a bizarre sort of way—and certainly more hopeful portion of Ezekiel is what we most remember about our old prophet friend Zeke.
Our reading says “God grabbed me!’ Old Zeke was not out on a casual Saturday afternoon walk when he happens on to this valley full of bones. No, God put him there and put him there for a reason. But God starts with a riddle of sorts: “Mortal”, probably, “mere mortal, can you see a way to make these bones live?” Now here is Zeke, standing in the midst of thousands of bleached white bones—bones that weren’t even skeletons anymore, just piles of bones, and God is, are you ready—posing a riddle. Ezekiel, tired from all that has come before in his life, says, “Ok, God, I give—only You know the answer to that!” But if we are to know why Zeke is so tired, so exasperated or so hopeless, we need to know a little of what the poor man has been through in the years preceding the drama playing out before us.
Condensing several decades of history to a few sentences—it goes like this: Ezekiel was forced into exile in 597 BCE after having been a prominent—rising star, if you will—future priest to a priest who had no temple at all in exile. His wife also died earlier in the story, and God called Ezekiel not to mourn her, but rather to use the lack of mourning as an example to the rest of the community to stop mourning the loss of the Temple, which by the way had been destroyed by the Babylonians as they destroyed Jerusalem, killed most of the inhabitants and drove the rest into exile in Babylonia. This is the backdrop upon which the vision, so full of hope and resurrection, occurs.
Only by seeing this backdrop hung behind the platform where our desert scene plays out do we grasp the wonder of the amazing swirling winds tossing and turning the bones until they are fully formed human beings again, breathing the very breath of life that God has blown back into them. Only then can we truly experience the despair of Ezekiel turn to amazement and hope and joy as the resurrection of these people plays out before his, quite honestly, doubting eyes. But old Zeke does as he is told—he prophesies and prophesies until God is finished raising this valley of dry bones into an army of revived and restored souls.
The miracle in this story, or vision, if you will, does not simply revolve around the swirling and spinning bones. The true miracle is that it all plays out after the community has been completely devastated by loss. But the familiarity of the story can lead us to ignore all but that which fascinates us in the swirling and spinning which sets our senses reeling with utter amazement. In fact, we can become so fascinated with the rebirth of the bones that we forget the pain and trauma which got the bones into that dry valley in the first place. So here we are, two weeks before Easter, with a story that reminds us that we must not so single-mindedly focus on the coming resurrection that we ignore that which must come before.
What does this mean for us in the world—walking these ways in the weeks before Easter. I believe that it means that we must first be willing to walk in the depths of the despair that so pervades our world if we are to truly understand the heights of the joy that comes with resurrection. It also means that like, Ezekiel, we are to be active participants in the revival; we are to prophesy in word and deed until the hopelessness in the world is replaced with hope and despair with joy.
This Sunday is celebrated as Lazarus Sunday in many churches, and, indeed our statement from Jesus, “I am the resurrection and the life” is the very statement that Jesus says just moments before he raises his friend, Mary and Martha’s brother Lazarus from the dead. But the contemporary Lazarus Sunday is designated as a Sunday to remind ourselves of the hundreds of thousands of people in Africa dying of AIDS. Lazarus Sunday calls us, just as Ezekiel was called to survey the dry bones, to be aware of an entire generation of African people crying out “our hope is lost, our bones broken and fragile, we are cut off from the rest of the world.” This is one of many calls to hear our prophetic voice in the bone-filled valleys of despair—the prophetic voice that calls for a life-giving response from individuals, faith communities, indeed governments and corporations.
And there are more valleys of dry bones demanding our attention. This week our Moderator, Rev. Elder Nancy Wilson, called us to be aware of the situation for gay, lesbian and transgender people in Uganda. She says:
At a time when many nations are recognizing that LGBT rights are human rights, Uganda is moving rapidly in the opposite direction. In a country where gay sex is already illegal, Uganda's Parliament has spent two years debating new anti-gay laws which, in various versions, would mandate the death penalty for gays and lesbians, require a sentence of life in prison for engaging in a gay sex act, and even imprison persons who fail to report to authorities if they overhear a conversation in which someone acknowledges they are gay.
It gets worse... Sadly, some Uganda church leaders are fueling the anti-LGBT frenzy. For example, Rev. Martin Ssempa, pastor of an evangelical church in Uganda's capital city, regularly hold anti-gay rallies at which he describes all gay people as pedophiles and deserving of imprisonment or death. He even shows hard-core pornography at churches and Christian conferences to fuel anti-gay sentiment. Think that's bad?
But it gets worse...A number of American fundamentalist churches -- including some mega-church pastors -- are sending funds to support anti-gay in Uganda! Horrified?
It gets still worse...The current anti-gay frenzy in Uganda has created a climate of threats, intimidation and violence against LGBT people. The situation has become so volatile that many human rights groups now describe the situation there as a "Gay Genocide."
But I am happy to tell you that the story does not end there: there is hope—there is God’s prophetic voice speaking through this very denomination and other organizations working to end some blatant discrimination and hatred before the valley of dry bones becomes full to over-flowing.
Rev. Elder Nancy reminds us that on January 26 of this year, David Kato, head of Sexual Minorities Uganda, murdered in his home in Mukono, Uganda. She also wants us to know that “MCC's Global Justice Institute organized David Kato's memorial service at New York City's historic Abyssinian Baptist Church and helped organize a major rally at the site of Uganda's mission to the United Nations. And MCC has partnered with his organization and Integrity to establish St. Paul's Reconciliation & Equality Center, which offers safe space to LGBT Ugandans. This Center meets a pressing need for Ugandans who live under the daily threat of anti-gay violence. For some, it is a safe space where they can experience a time of freedom from persecution. And for others, it offers temporary housing while awaiting asylum to other countries.” And for this reason and others, she calls us to be a part of the prophetic voice of MCC in the world, through our special Easter offering and our daily walk and work in our communities.
Our final reflection on this out-of-the-ordinary passage is to remind ourselves that our old pal Zeke did not do this miracle alone. Yes, he prophesied, he followed God’s orders, but God gave the breath, formed the glue that held the once dusty bones back together and poured the life, quite literally into them. He opened the space for God’s breath to come in. When we seek the will and want of God, we walk headlong into valley after valley of dry bones. We do it each time we open these doors to another person who wonders if this is the place where they will find a community of people just like them, broken and battered, yet aching for the renewing spirit of God. We do it each time we speak up and out and call for an end to injustice for our community and for likewise marginalized communities everywhere. And we do it every time, we say “this is not the way the story ends—in pain and hopelessness!” Every time we prophesy as God calls us: Let these dry bones live and dance and go forth to bring the breath of God into the world. Amen and amen!
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
Lent--The Journey to God 4-3-11
First Reading: Ephesians 5:8-14 (The Message)
You groped your way through that murk once, but no longer. You're out in the open now. The bright light of Christ makes your way plain. So no more stumbling around. Get on with it! The good, the right, the true—these are the actions appropriate for daylight hours. Figure out what will please Christ, and then do it. Don't waste your time on useless work, mere busywork, the barren pursuits of darkness. Expose these things for the sham they are. It's a scandal when people waste their lives on things they must do in the darkness where no one will see. Rip the cover off those frauds and see how attractive they look in the light of Christ. Wake up from your sleep,
Climb out of your coffins; Christ will show you the light! So watch your step. Use your head. Make the most of every chance you get. These are desperate times!
Second Reading: John 9:1-8, 10-11, 13-17, 24-25 (The Message)
Walking down the street, Jesus saw a man blind from birth. His disciples asked, "Rabbi, who sinned: this man or his parents, causing him to be born blind?" Jesus said, "You're asking the wrong question. You're looking for someone to blame. There is no such cause-effect here. Look instead for what God can do. We need to be energetically at work for the One who sent me here, working while the sun shines. When night falls, the workday is over. For as long as I am in the world, there is plenty of light. I am the world's Light."
He said this and then spit in the dust, made a clay paste with the saliva, rubbed the paste on the blind man's eyes, and said, "Go, wash at the Pool of Siloam" (Siloam means "Sent"). The man went and washed—and saw. Soon the town was buzzing. …They said, "How did your eyes get opened?" "A man named Jesus made a paste and rubbed it on my eyes and told me, 'Go to Siloam and wash.' I did what he said. When I washed, I saw." …They marched the man to the Pharisees. This day when Jesus made the paste and healed his blindness was the Sabbath. The Pharisees grilled him again on how he had come to see. He said, "He put a clay paste on my eyes, and I washed, and now I see." 6Some of the Pharisees said, "Obviously, this man can't be from God. He doesn't keep the Sabbath." Others countered, "How can a bad man do miraculous, God-revealing things like this?" There was a split in their ranks. They came back at the blind man, "You're the expert. He opened your eyes. What do you say about him?"… They called the man back a second time—the man who had been blind— and told him, "Give credit to God. We know this man is an impostor." He replied, "I know nothing about that one way or the other. But I know one thing for sure: I was blind . . . I now see."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Let us pray: Loving God, we thank you that you are with us, and that we may call upon you no matter where we are, or what we are feeling. Keep us mindful of your presence and trusting in your promise—that you are working with us in the moment-by-moment unfolding of our lives. Amen.
I have had many teachers—some are still living, some not. Some were great, some not so much. But one of my greatest spiritual teachers has four paws, a bushy tail and weighs (when he stays on his diet) about 16 pounds. Jonathan and I have walked the road of faith for 8 years now and he has taught me many things along the way about unconditional love, patience, and God. Since we moved to The Villages, our dogs have had to give up their fenced yard. We still have a doggie door in the slider leading to the lanai, but that’s as far as it goes. This seems to satisfy their need for freedom somewhat. Jonathan has developed this amusing habit that got me to thinking about my—and maybe our—relationship with God. He will go outside and then sit and look back in the sliding glass door with an expression that looks very much like “I wish I had a nice house to live in”. Of course, all he has to do is come back in the doggie door, but he will sometime sit there as long as an hour just woefully looking in.
As he was doing this just the other day, I got to thinking about our journey to God. I wonder how often we sit and look longingly at a close, warm relationship with God when in reality the path to that relationship is a mere six inches away. And so, I wonder if Lent might not be about moving us those six inches—from longing to experiencing, from seeking to having. Both of our scriptures point us in this direction. Paul, in Ephesians, exhorts-- You groped your way through that murk once, but no longer. You're out in the open now. The bright light of Christ makes your way plain. So no more stumbling around. Get on with it!” Move that six inches—that approach—Paul’s famous ‘tough love’ works for some of us—not for others.
Jesus, on the other hand, is walking down the street where we often find him—out in the world, walking with the common folk. He comes upon a man born blind. In answer to the disciples’ questions about the whys of this man’s blindness he calls them to move to another place in their thoughts. “There is no one to blame—look at what God can do.” And then he calls us to the gospel itself, saying “We need to be energetically at work for the One who sent me here, working while the sun shines… For as long as I am in the world, there is plenty of light. I am the world's Light." And, then, of course, he heals the man. It is the response of that very man where the six inches becomes clear—remember—that six inches from longing to experiencing, from failing to see to seeing. People all over town are haunting this man—taunting him, actually. How did this Jesus heal you? What do you think happened? This man says simply, “he told me what to do, I did it, and now I can see.” Over and over, they just won’t leave him—wanting theological answers, wanting him to explain away the obvious miracle. At last we hear him say: “I don’t know about any of that! I just know that I used to be blind and now I see”. All this other stuff gets in the way for him—his sight is the reason he believes—he is different, he is healed. In doing what the Lord asked him to do, he has moved his six inches for sure.
Barbara Brown Taylor, a contemporary prophet and minister who now works in a small college in Northeast Georgia and lives on a working farm, says this about too much information about God in the church: “In an age of information overload, when a vast variety of media delivers news faster that most of us can digest—when many of us have at least two email addresses, two telephone numbers, and one fax number—the last thing any of us needs is more information about God. We need the practice of incarnation, by which God saves the lives of those whose intellectual assent has turned as dry as dust , who have run frighteningly low on the bread of life, who are dying to know more God in their bodies. Not more about God. More God.”
And here is Jesus, spitting into clay—being God, and changing a man’s life forever in an instant. This healing, this miracle, changed this man’s perspective from one who couldn’t see to one who could. And he did it by reaching out—body to body! This, my friends, is the Gospel incarnate! This is Jesus, the living Word, walking on this earth as one of us, who used something as common as spit and clay to change a man’s very world. And this is what Lent is all about—moving that six inches, from longing to being, from chaos and confusion to purpose and peace.
Now I know that many of you have heard sermons on this passage before. And we know that most of the time, the man born blind is said to represent our spiritual blindness, our inability to see the truth. Jesus, literally, opens the man’s eyes and he sees all that there is to see. Most importantly, he captures the truth of the simplicity of it all—none of the theological questions bother him one iota—he just knows that now he sees—and we are invited to see the same way—by allowing Jesus to become incarnate in us and is so doing, he makes us aware of all that we need to know.
I would challenge us to look again at the passage and see the second truth that may get hidden in the excitement around the miracle of new sight! We usually identify with the formerly blind man. Is there not a second role that this passage calls us to—to be the embodiment of Jesus—Jesus, the one who stooped and scooped up clay and then spat into it to create this miracle? Jesus, who keeps us focused on the very real, sometimes very dirty work of spreading the Gospel. And this is what Barbara Brown Taylor calls us to when she tells us that people don’t need to know more about God—we need more God. We ALL need more God—and as I look around this place, I see plenty of God to go around. And so I invite us to join Jesus in this stooping and scooping and healing—to join the creator of the universe in the healing of the universe. Those of us who struggle with spiritual understanding, not knowing if all of this Jesus and miracle and change is really for us, need really look no farther than this simple, earthy and earthly act of Jesus.
For it is in allowing God to be embodied in us, just as God was embodied in Jesus that we shift that tiny six inches and we become immediately in the loving embrace of a God who welcomes us to be a part of the Word made flesh—the Word in the world, as it were. Jesus says, “we need to be using our energy to work for the One who sent me here, working while the sun shines.” And then—“for as long as I am in the world, there is plenty of light. I am the world's Light." Here’s what I think—I think that Jesus is telling us that it is up to us to keep him visible and working in the world. That it is our work, modeled after his work, his stooping, scooping, dirty, healing work that keeps him present to a world so desperately hungry for God. And once we are busily doing the work of God, our perception shifts that magical six inches—there is no secret that evades us when we are down in the dirt with Jesus. This is the blessing—the embracing relationship that we seek—to know that God has used us to bring others new sight.
And now a blessing for the Journey of Seeking God:
*When your soul whispers of its deepest longings,
may you quiet yourself to listen.
May you follow the path of yearning to the One alone who blends the uneven edges
into a life of meaning.
May you meet and be united with God
and give thanks for the whispers
that led you there. (*from explorefaith.org)
And all God’s people said amen and amen!
You groped your way through that murk once, but no longer. You're out in the open now. The bright light of Christ makes your way plain. So no more stumbling around. Get on with it! The good, the right, the true—these are the actions appropriate for daylight hours. Figure out what will please Christ, and then do it. Don't waste your time on useless work, mere busywork, the barren pursuits of darkness. Expose these things for the sham they are. It's a scandal when people waste their lives on things they must do in the darkness where no one will see. Rip the cover off those frauds and see how attractive they look in the light of Christ. Wake up from your sleep,
Climb out of your coffins; Christ will show you the light! So watch your step. Use your head. Make the most of every chance you get. These are desperate times!
Second Reading: John 9:1-8, 10-11, 13-17, 24-25 (The Message)
Walking down the street, Jesus saw a man blind from birth. His disciples asked, "Rabbi, who sinned: this man or his parents, causing him to be born blind?" Jesus said, "You're asking the wrong question. You're looking for someone to blame. There is no such cause-effect here. Look instead for what God can do. We need to be energetically at work for the One who sent me here, working while the sun shines. When night falls, the workday is over. For as long as I am in the world, there is plenty of light. I am the world's Light."
He said this and then spit in the dust, made a clay paste with the saliva, rubbed the paste on the blind man's eyes, and said, "Go, wash at the Pool of Siloam" (Siloam means "Sent"). The man went and washed—and saw. Soon the town was buzzing. …They said, "How did your eyes get opened?" "A man named Jesus made a paste and rubbed it on my eyes and told me, 'Go to Siloam and wash.' I did what he said. When I washed, I saw." …They marched the man to the Pharisees. This day when Jesus made the paste and healed his blindness was the Sabbath. The Pharisees grilled him again on how he had come to see. He said, "He put a clay paste on my eyes, and I washed, and now I see." 6Some of the Pharisees said, "Obviously, this man can't be from God. He doesn't keep the Sabbath." Others countered, "How can a bad man do miraculous, God-revealing things like this?" There was a split in their ranks. They came back at the blind man, "You're the expert. He opened your eyes. What do you say about him?"… They called the man back a second time—the man who had been blind— and told him, "Give credit to God. We know this man is an impostor." He replied, "I know nothing about that one way or the other. But I know one thing for sure: I was blind . . . I now see."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Let us pray: Loving God, we thank you that you are with us, and that we may call upon you no matter where we are, or what we are feeling. Keep us mindful of your presence and trusting in your promise—that you are working with us in the moment-by-moment unfolding of our lives. Amen.
I have had many teachers—some are still living, some not. Some were great, some not so much. But one of my greatest spiritual teachers has four paws, a bushy tail and weighs (when he stays on his diet) about 16 pounds. Jonathan and I have walked the road of faith for 8 years now and he has taught me many things along the way about unconditional love, patience, and God. Since we moved to The Villages, our dogs have had to give up their fenced yard. We still have a doggie door in the slider leading to the lanai, but that’s as far as it goes. This seems to satisfy their need for freedom somewhat. Jonathan has developed this amusing habit that got me to thinking about my—and maybe our—relationship with God. He will go outside and then sit and look back in the sliding glass door with an expression that looks very much like “I wish I had a nice house to live in”. Of course, all he has to do is come back in the doggie door, but he will sometime sit there as long as an hour just woefully looking in.
As he was doing this just the other day, I got to thinking about our journey to God. I wonder how often we sit and look longingly at a close, warm relationship with God when in reality the path to that relationship is a mere six inches away. And so, I wonder if Lent might not be about moving us those six inches—from longing to experiencing, from seeking to having. Both of our scriptures point us in this direction. Paul, in Ephesians, exhorts-- You groped your way through that murk once, but no longer. You're out in the open now. The bright light of Christ makes your way plain. So no more stumbling around. Get on with it!” Move that six inches—that approach—Paul’s famous ‘tough love’ works for some of us—not for others.
Jesus, on the other hand, is walking down the street where we often find him—out in the world, walking with the common folk. He comes upon a man born blind. In answer to the disciples’ questions about the whys of this man’s blindness he calls them to move to another place in their thoughts. “There is no one to blame—look at what God can do.” And then he calls us to the gospel itself, saying “We need to be energetically at work for the One who sent me here, working while the sun shines… For as long as I am in the world, there is plenty of light. I am the world's Light." And, then, of course, he heals the man. It is the response of that very man where the six inches becomes clear—remember—that six inches from longing to experiencing, from failing to see to seeing. People all over town are haunting this man—taunting him, actually. How did this Jesus heal you? What do you think happened? This man says simply, “he told me what to do, I did it, and now I can see.” Over and over, they just won’t leave him—wanting theological answers, wanting him to explain away the obvious miracle. At last we hear him say: “I don’t know about any of that! I just know that I used to be blind and now I see”. All this other stuff gets in the way for him—his sight is the reason he believes—he is different, he is healed. In doing what the Lord asked him to do, he has moved his six inches for sure.
Barbara Brown Taylor, a contemporary prophet and minister who now works in a small college in Northeast Georgia and lives on a working farm, says this about too much information about God in the church: “In an age of information overload, when a vast variety of media delivers news faster that most of us can digest—when many of us have at least two email addresses, two telephone numbers, and one fax number—the last thing any of us needs is more information about God. We need the practice of incarnation, by which God saves the lives of those whose intellectual assent has turned as dry as dust , who have run frighteningly low on the bread of life, who are dying to know more God in their bodies. Not more about God. More God.”
And here is Jesus, spitting into clay—being God, and changing a man’s life forever in an instant. This healing, this miracle, changed this man’s perspective from one who couldn’t see to one who could. And he did it by reaching out—body to body! This, my friends, is the Gospel incarnate! This is Jesus, the living Word, walking on this earth as one of us, who used something as common as spit and clay to change a man’s very world. And this is what Lent is all about—moving that six inches, from longing to being, from chaos and confusion to purpose and peace.
Now I know that many of you have heard sermons on this passage before. And we know that most of the time, the man born blind is said to represent our spiritual blindness, our inability to see the truth. Jesus, literally, opens the man’s eyes and he sees all that there is to see. Most importantly, he captures the truth of the simplicity of it all—none of the theological questions bother him one iota—he just knows that now he sees—and we are invited to see the same way—by allowing Jesus to become incarnate in us and is so doing, he makes us aware of all that we need to know.
I would challenge us to look again at the passage and see the second truth that may get hidden in the excitement around the miracle of new sight! We usually identify with the formerly blind man. Is there not a second role that this passage calls us to—to be the embodiment of Jesus—Jesus, the one who stooped and scooped up clay and then spat into it to create this miracle? Jesus, who keeps us focused on the very real, sometimes very dirty work of spreading the Gospel. And this is what Barbara Brown Taylor calls us to when she tells us that people don’t need to know more about God—we need more God. We ALL need more God—and as I look around this place, I see plenty of God to go around. And so I invite us to join Jesus in this stooping and scooping and healing—to join the creator of the universe in the healing of the universe. Those of us who struggle with spiritual understanding, not knowing if all of this Jesus and miracle and change is really for us, need really look no farther than this simple, earthy and earthly act of Jesus.
For it is in allowing God to be embodied in us, just as God was embodied in Jesus that we shift that tiny six inches and we become immediately in the loving embrace of a God who welcomes us to be a part of the Word made flesh—the Word in the world, as it were. Jesus says, “we need to be using our energy to work for the One who sent me here, working while the sun shines.” And then—“for as long as I am in the world, there is plenty of light. I am the world's Light." Here’s what I think—I think that Jesus is telling us that it is up to us to keep him visible and working in the world. That it is our work, modeled after his work, his stooping, scooping, dirty, healing work that keeps him present to a world so desperately hungry for God. And once we are busily doing the work of God, our perception shifts that magical six inches—there is no secret that evades us when we are down in the dirt with Jesus. This is the blessing—the embracing relationship that we seek—to know that God has used us to bring others new sight.
And now a blessing for the Journey of Seeking God:
*When your soul whispers of its deepest longings,
may you quiet yourself to listen.
May you follow the path of yearning to the One alone who blends the uneven edges
into a life of meaning.
May you meet and be united with God
and give thanks for the whispers
that led you there. (*from explorefaith.org)
And all God’s people said amen and amen!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)