Slightly Alive: March 15, 2021

 Year B, Lent 4                                                           Ephesians 2:1-10                                                                               

             One of my favorite movies is the Princess Bride.  If you have not seen it, you should…now.  I can wait.  Just pause me and come back.  Since you have now all seen it, I don’t need to recap the whole thing.  There is one scene near the end where they were trying to bring the main character (Wesley) back to life.  Two men took Wesley to a man named Miracle Max.  Miracle Max examined the body and proclaimed him “mostly dead.”  The friends asked him what he meant and he replied, “There's a big difference between mostly dead and all dead. Mostly dead is slightly alive.”

            I was reminded of this quote when I read Ephesians this week.[1]  It starts with, “You were dead through your trespasses and sin in which you once lived…”  It’s unusual to hear, “You were dead…”   There are a few people out there with near death experiences---you might even meet someone who died on the operating table for a minute and lived to tell the story.  But you are never going to find someone with experience being dead.  Yet Paul, was speaking to a group of people.  While he was speaking of spiritual death (rather than physical death), for Paul, it was no less serious.  Spiritual death was like the character in Princess Bride—mostly dead, but still slightly alive.  While being dead through trespasses and sins is serious, there is a part of that person that is slightly alive—and that is the place where God’s breaks in.

            The first four verses of Ephesians are heavy with talk of sin and death, but there is a major shift about half way through our reading for today.  “But God, who is rich in mercy, out of the great love with which he loved us even when we were dead through our trespasses, made us alive together with Christ…”  God loves us, even when we are spiritually dead, even when we don’t have time for him, even when we have fallen away from him.  Often when I read the New Testament, I am almost envious of these new Christians.  They had an excuse for being spiritually dead in the past.  They may never have heard of Jesus Christ. 

            Knowing that, I imagine that once they did hear about him, it was a complete transformation.  It was a true conversion experience.  And you know, I want that.  I was baptized as an infant.  I was raised in the church with a Christian family. My church never scarred me. And now I have been to two seminaries and served in two wonderful churches.  I have no excuse for being spiritually dead. 

            Despite not having a good excuse, I have to admit, that I have felt that at times. I felt it when I was going through infertility treatments.  I felt it after my miscarriage.  And I have felt it over the past year as I have gazed out on the empty church every week, as I explained rules that I don’t understand, as I yelled prayers for a dying person through an open window because it wasn’t safe to be inside.  I would imagine that many of us have felt it, especially over this last year. 

            Yet God, who is rich in mercy and lavish with his love, makes sure that there is always a part of us that lives in his light.  God doesn’t need a big opening.  Despite the grandeur and greatness of God, it’s amazing that he can work his way into such small places. And when we accept that light and see it for what it is, God expands to fill every dead space within us.  It may not be a conversion experience, but it is no less miraculous. 

            You might wonder, well what must I do? That sounds great. Nothing. You can do absolutely nothing to earn this kind of awe inspiring love. “For by grace you have been saved through faith, and this is not your own doing; it is the gift of God…” That is both maddening and liberating.  It’s maddening because we find value in the things we earn.  Even the love we experience from family and friends can be dependent on our action and inaction.  On earth we have been taught to earn love and we have learned that we can lose it as well.  God’s love is different than any we have experienced. It is often compared to the love of a parent for a child, but it’s even greater than that.          We are loved not because of who we are or who we are trying to be, but whose we are.  We are God’s creation---the jewel of God’s creation.  Paul writes, “For we are what he has made us, created in Christ Jesus for good works….”  While we cannot earn God’s love with work---we have been created to do good work. 

        Here is where I have to disagree with The Princess Bride. Being slightly alive is far different than mostly dead.  It might not always feel the way at the time, but it is.  Why? Because we are alive in Jesus Christ.  We are alive because of Jesus.  In a time in our world where we are seeing so much death, let us be grateful for the life we have.  “For we are what God has made us” and not only that, we are created to do God’s work, to shine God’s light in the darkest places.  So it’s ok, if you don’t always feel like a super Christian or even a slightly passable Christian.  You might not even feel fully alive.  God still looks at you every minute of every day and says to whoever is listening, “That’s my child and she is going to do wonderful things.” 

---

[1] I was actually reminded when I read a commentary on Ephesians that mentioned Princess Bride.  That was just too hard to explain.  I give credit to this commentator for the illustration: https://www.workingpreacher.org/commentaries/revised-common-lectionary/fourth-sunday-in-lent-2/commentary-on-ephesians-21-10-5

 

Praising in the midst: February 28, 2021

 Year B, Lent 2                                                 Psalm 22: 22-30                                                         

            I remember in the first few months of the pandemic reading the predictions of the number of deaths. They were saying 100,000 to 200,000 people would die.  At the time, that was unfathomable. Yet now such predictions seem almost quaint and optimistic.  This week, we reached 500,000.  500,000 people have died from COVID in one year.  That is four times the population of Hampton.  And this isn’t over. 

“My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”     

            I am sure you recognize those words. That is the first verse of Psalm 22, the psalm that Jesus quoted from the cross as he died.  I imagine those words, or words like them have been expressed far too frequently over the last year.  “Why have you forsaken us?” We always read Psalm 22 on Good Friday—not the whole psalm, the first 21 verses. 

Our psalm appointed for today, the 2^nd Sunday of Lent, is Psalm 22, verses 22 through 30.  It’s almost like a different psalm entirely.  The first 21 verses of Psalm 22 contains memorable verses like: “But as for me, I am a worm and no man” or “I am poured out like water; all my bones are out of joint; my heart within my breast is melting wax.” It is a lament psalm at its best and most dramatic. I mean, it had to be powerful for Jesus to quote it from the cross. 

This portion of the psalm that is appointed for today is far different.  It would be classified as psalm of praise and thanksgiving.  The author is encouraging, all the world to praise God, even those not yet born!   It’s not uncommon for the author of a psalm to go through dramatic shifts in perspective.  It makes my 4 year old’s mercurial moods seem tame.  It’s one of things I have always appreciated about the psalms.  They aren’t tame or predictable.  They don’t fit nicely into a genre. They are wild and erratic, which is true of life.  It is certainly true of the last year. 

2020 was a rollercoaster of experiences and emotions—but it was one of those wooden
rollercoasters that you think might just fall apart at any moment.  The thrill isn’t in the ride itself, it’s in coming out alive.  Let’s set aside for a moment the fires, the hurricanes, the locusts, the divisive politics and racial tension and violence.  Let’s focus on COVID (which I know we have talked enough about, but stay with me).  One moment things are fine.  Then you learn you have been exposed to someone with COVID, then you start trying to figure out all the people you have potentially exposed, then you are planning your funeral and theirs, then you are getting a Q tip up your nose and 3 days later you get your test result and learn you are negative.  So many emotions over 5 days. And that is the best case scenario.  Those are the lucky ones. In my lifetime, the psalms have never felt as realistic and appropriate as they have in this year. 

While many of the psalms have dramatic twists and turns—Psalm 22 stands out.  What’s striking to me about this psalm is how we have artificially divided it.  While I have read it many times and preached on it a few times, the end always surprises me.  Just this week I read the appointed portion and thought, wait, that’s not Psalm 22.  Where did that come from?  Despite my delight in the dramatic shifts of the psalms, I have always ignored the 2^nd part of this one.  Why?  Because it’s the Good Friday Psalm.  It’s the psalm Jesus quotes as he chokes on his own blood.  It can’t end with praise and hope.  That comes on Easter….not Good Friday.

Yet that is the beauty and poignancy of the Christian faith. The suffering and triumph---the pain and relief---the agony and the joy-- all exist on the same exquisite plain. And while that is poetic and transcendent, it’s not easy.  It’s so so hard.  It’s why Peter (in our Gospel reading) could not accept that Jesus had to suffer.  He’s the Messiah.  He’s not supposed to suffer and die.  He’s not supposed to carry the cross that he will then die on.  For those of us raised in the church, or even near the church, we forget how truly crazy the idea of a crucified Messiah is.  We know the end.  The crucifixion is just what we have to get through to get to Easter.

However, what this psalm reminds us is that neither our lives nor our faith are linear.  The moment we think we have suffered enough, the moment we think we have been through the rough patch and reached the other side, is the same moment when a fresh horror appears.  It is tempting in such times to assume that God has abandoned us.  It’s ok to feel that.  What this psalm teaches us is what it is to praise God in the midst of the suffering.  “Praise the Lord, you that fear him; stand in awe of him…and those who seek the Lord shall praise him.” 

There have been many times when I have envisioned the grand and spectacular worship service we will have when this is all over. There will be lilies and poinsettias, there will be music.  There will be praise and thanksgiving.  And God willing, that will happen. But we can’t wait for that moment to rejoice.  We cannot put our praise and worship on hold.  You might be thinking, yeah, but we can’t be together inside the church.    I get it.  It’s hard to praise God without the people and the sacred space.  It’s hard sitting in front of a computer.  It’s not impossible. 

People have praised God under much more difficult circumstances.  People have praised God in underground churches under the threat of persecution.  Enslaved people praised God even when their identity as children of God was denied.  We can do it.  We don’t do it because things are going swimmingly, we do it because we have a God who continues to love us.  We have a God who understands what it is to suffer and feel abandoned.  We have a God who created us and longs to redeem us.

And I have seen you all do it.  I have seen you show up outside on a freezing day to pray and receive ashes in a baggy.  I have seen some of you log on to facebook in the evening, the morning, anytime you can to participate in worship. I have seen you continue with zoom Bible study. I have seen you drop off food for the hungry. I have seen you come and pick up communion to deliver to your friends and family. We can do it. We are doing it.

We will find a way to do it on Palm Sunday and Easter, even if the weather doesn’t cooperate, even if we are not allowed to worship inside, we will find a way.  Because that is what we do as Christians. We praise God.  We worship God. We do it even when we don’t necessarily feel the words we are saying.  We might find that in saying the words or just hearing the words, that they inspire us to praise more, to find more ways to pray and worship---with action as well as words. We have found ways to do it and with your help, we will find more.

The Church We Need: Feb. 14, 2021

Last Sunday of Epiphany, Year B                            2 Kings 2:1-12                                                                           

           One of the many ways that this pandemic has affected us is that it has robbed us of the rituals surrounding transitions: graduations, marriages, baptisms, and funerals—to name a few.  The transitions have still happened, but we have not been able to mark them in the same way.  There have been online graduations, zoom weddings, small baptisms celebrated outside, and graveside services, but it’s not what most of us are accustomed to. I am sure the ultra-introverted among us are relieved to avoid some of these things, but it’s hard to imagine that anyone would want to miss all of these things.

While we associate joy with events like marriage and graduation.  They are still emotionally charged.  Without the tradition, without the people to acknowledge and celebrate that transition, it’s hard to really process it.  We all know change is hard.  We have had far too much change and not nearly enough ways to honor or acknowledge those changes.  And of course, there has been a tremendous amount of death, and too few ways to grieve.  Death and mourning is hard enough…not being surrounded by family, not having a funeral or even a burial is a burden no one should have to bear. 

            Both the Old Testament reading and the Gospel reading are stories of transition and transformation. We usually focus on the Gospel readings for this Sunday, but this year, it was the Old Testament reading that spoke to me.  It is a familiar one in some ways.  We have all heard the story of Elijah being taken up to heaven in fiery  chariot.  It’s evocative and kind of exciting, but I found that was pretty much all I remembered about the story and that is one of the least important parts.

            This is a story of two great prophets: Elijah and his successor Elisha.  We know from the very beginning that God is about to take Elijah into heaven.  Elijah knew it.  Elisha knew it.  Even the band of prophets who were with them knew it.  Despite that, Elisha was still having a hard time accepting Elijah’s departure, and who can blame him—he was about to lose his mentor and friend?   Over the course of our reading, Elijah was going on a rather elaborate and circuitous journey.  He was kind of walking in a circle, but it was a very deliberate circle where he stopped at historic and symbolic places. 

On three different occasions, he asked Elisha to stay and not follow him.  On every one of those occasions, Elisha responded, “As the Lord lives, and as you yourself live, I will not leave you.” It’s not clear why Elijah discouraged Elisha from following him.  What is clear is that Elisha was not letting go.  As long as Elijah was living, he would be by his side.  On the one hand it’s a beautiful tribute to his love for Elijah, but it also seems like he was having a hard time letting go.  It’s almost as if he thought, if I never leave him alone, maybe he will have to stay.  I think many of us can resonate with that experience—knowing it’s time to say goodbye but doing everything in our power to delay it. 

            Finally Elijah asked Elisha if there is anything he can do for him before he is taken.  Elisha asked for a double share of his spirit.  The double share is a reference to what the oldest son would receive upon the death of his father.  The oldest son would receive a double share of the inheritance.  Elisha didn’t want money or land.  He wanted Elijah’s spirit.  Elijah was a great prophet, one of the greatest leaders and miracle workers of the Bible, but he was humble enough to know that this spirit was not his to give. It was God’s spirit that allowed him to accomplish the things he had accomplished.  So Elijah told Elisha, that if Elisha saw him taken into heaven, then he would know he had it.

            Thankfully, Elisha did witness the awe inspiring event, one that would never be repeated.  Witnessing that gave him two important things. It gave him God’s spirit which Elijah had carried.  It also gave him the opportunity to witness a transition that few of us see.  It gave him the kind of closure that we all crave but rarely receive. That didn’t mean he wasn’t sad or overcome with grief.  He was.  But he was also emboldened to take something on that would require tremendous strength, courage and faith.

            It wasn’t just Elijah’s transition that Elisha witnessed, it was his own. This event also marked a transition for all of Israel. They were moving into a new phase with a new and different leader.   Soon after Elisha tore his garments in two and grieved, he picked up the mantle that Elijah had left.  In doing so, he acknowledged God’s spirit in him.  Before, he was holding on to Elijah and the past.  But now, he could carry on what Elijah had started.

            If I had more time to go through all the symbols within this story, you would see that it is steeped in ritual, tradition and community.  God knows those are important things to have.  Change must happen, but God gives us tools to navigate these endless changes.  As the church, we try to provide those same tools, in the form of traditions and ritual.  And the secular world does it as well, not as much or as often as the church, but they do.  We have been deprived of these rituals and traditions over the last year.  Even those of us who have been fortunate enough to remain healthy and keep our jobs and/or retirement accounts—feel the loss of all that we have missed.  And we need to acknowledge that loss and honor it.  But it will take time and sadly, we aren’t even at the end of the tunnel yet.  We are closer.  We can see it. But we can’t yet hold on tight enough to pull ourselves out. 

            As a church, we should start considering how we can help people through the transitions to come while also acknowledging all that has been lost.  We are a church steeped in tradition and ritual.  My friends, The Episcopal Church is made for this.  The world needs the church even more than it did before the pandemic started.  This week, we have one of our most beloved traditions—Ash Wednesday.  Normally, it seems an odd thing to do, put ashes on our foreheads and acknowledge our mortality.  “Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.” 

This year it almost seems cruel to remind people of that.  Haven’t we seen enough reminders of our mortality over the last year? We have, but that’s not all Ash Wednesday is about. In putting the sign of the cross on our forehead, we also acknowledge that we are God’s beloved children who have been given the gift of eternal life.  We are dust, but we are so much more.  In our rush to get back to “normal” life, let’s not forget to honor all that has transpired.  We will need God’s strength and spirit as we come out of our quarantined lives---as we break out of these cocoons we have built.  Because there will be times we will want to crawl  back into those cocoons, because we have found safety there.  We can’t.  We have to grow from this experience or we will never recover.   So let’s go back to those rituals and traditions that have allowed us to experience life fully in the context of our church community.  But let’s share what we have with the world so we can help more people.  We might just need the double share of God’s spirit so we can change what needs to be change, challenge what needs to be challenged and love those beloved children of God who need our love. 

Stay at the Table: January 31, 2021

 Year B, Epiphany 4                                             1 Corinthians 8                                                  

          Often times we read scripture and it’s easy to see how it relates to our life.  But today’s readings seem completely irrelevant to us.  In the Gospel reading, Jesus exorcized a demon from a man…not something we encounter much today.  In Paul’s letter to the Corinthians, Paul addressed the big argument over meat sacrificed to idols.  Now, I have had a few people tell me they thought they were possessed.  It’s rare, but it happens.  But I have never once had someone express concern over meat being sacrificed to idols.   

          Yet, like so much of the Bible, there is more to these stories than meets the eye.  In fact, I would venture to say that this part of Paul’s letter to the Corinthians is probably one of the most relevant things that Paul tells us for our lives today. 

          To understand why that is true, it is helpful to know a little about Corinth and the Corinthian people.  At the time when Paul was writing his letter, Corinth was a diverse and cultured urban center.  Most of the people were not Jewish.  Thus when they became followers of Christ, they were converting to a very different way of life.  For the Jewish converts, it was an easier transition.

Corinth was an epicenter of pagan worship.  You go to Hampton to sail and eat crabs.  You went to Corinth to be in a community of people who worshipped multiple gods and did it in a fairly big way.  While the Christian community was growing, it was still a small community and one that was fairly new.  These people were just learning about Jesus.  It was unlikely that there was a central place for Christian discourse.  The various small groups of Christians most likely lived in different parts of the city and then came together once a week for common worship.  The new Christians (and they probably did not even call themselves Christian at this point) were very different from one another. Some were wealthy and well educated.  Some were not. 

          The issue that Paul was addressing was meat that was offered to idols as a sacrifice.  You might wonder how big of an issue this could possibly be.  If you don’t want to eat meat sacrificed to idols, don’t go to the temple.  However, it was not always clear where meat came from.   After an animal was sacrificed, some of it would be burned, but the left overs were often sold in the market.  And unlike our grocery store, there were no packages or signs telling you where the meat was coming from.  It didn’t say: “grass fed”, “organic”, “local” or “sacrificed to idols.” 

Some people thought it would be safer to avoid all meat together.  That way they could be sure that they were not inadvertently part of any idol worship, which kind of makes sense.  But there were other people who ate whatever meat they wanted to.  They would even attend pagan ceremonies and eat the meat they knew had been sacrificed. They figured that since these gods weren’t real anyways, what difference did it make if they ate meat offered to these fake gods—these false idols? This created tension between those who were eating the meat and those who were not.

          The issue itself is not relevant to us.  The way Paul addressed the issue and encouraged the Corinthians to handle it is absolutely relevant.  First of all, Paul never pretended to be unbiased or neutral. He agreed with the argument that since there was only one God, then it was pointless to worry about what food is or is not sacrificed to those fake gods.  He even complimented the people who had used that argument- for their knowledge and religious understanding.  But he then added that there are some people who simply aren’t there yet. They might not have the same education. They might have a different background where they were more attached to pagan rituals-- making it more difficult to completely ignore where the meat came from. For those new Christians, it would have been deeply distressing to see other Christians doing something that seemed un-Christian to them.  He concluded by asking, is it really worth it to eat meat if you are going to destroy your sister or brother in Christ?

          What is interesting is that he didn’t dismiss those who felt they could not eat meat. It’s true he labeled them as “weak,” but I don’t think he meant it as an insult.  Because in the end, he chose to associate himself with the weak by promising not to eat meat.  While he didn’t agree with them, he felt that it was more important to love them and support them, rather than prove he was right.  He did this because he thought it would help them become better Christians instead of encouraging them to return to their idol worshipping ways. 

          It’s easy to read this and conclude that Paul was simply trying to keep this fledgling community together by convincing people not to offend one another.  But that’s not the case.  If he simply didn’t want to offend, he would have encouraged them to stop talking about it, or to stop eating together.  That would have solved it, right?  Just stop eating meals together and you don’t have to worry about what everyone is eating.  But Paul knew that sharing a meal was critical in a Christian community. It’s what Jesus did with his disciples.  And it’s one of the last things he asked of his disciples.  And let’s not forget, Paul never worried about offending people. He said some terribly offensive things.  Paul’s letters were consistently encouraging the church to be a place to talk about hard things. 

          That is something I fear we have lost.  We have a really hard time talking about hard things.  We do it when we have to.  But we also avoid it as much as we can.  And if the church isn’t a place to have difficult conversations, where are we having them? Social media?? The News?  We all watch different news channels.  There are rarely differing opinions unless it’s the token conservative or token liberal. There is no real conversation happening in the places where we often turn for news and information.  Instead community is torn apart by bickering and misunderstanding one another. 

          If the church doesn’t talk about hard things like racism, homophobia, sexism, government, mask wearing…then who is?  We are leaving these important conversations to social influencers on Instagram who are far more interested in selling us something than creating or maintaining a community.

          Paul wasn’t worried about offending people because he knew the Christian community was strong enough to have arguments and disagreements.  What he was afraid of was alienating people which might lead them back to idol worship.  In the church, when we alienate people, they don’t usually turn to idol worship, not literally at least.  However it’s still something we try to avoid. 

          How do we have these hard conversations without alienating people? I struggle with this, especially lately.  But I have seen it happen.  I saw it with our Sacred Ground series where Democrats and Republicans talked about politics.  Some people’s feelings got hurt and that was regretful, but to their credit, no one walked away from the conversation.  Right now we have a commission of people talking about the confederate memorial. There is a wide array of opinions, yet they listen and speak respectfully and they are going to find a compromise. I have no doubt about that. 

          This can work—but you have to stay at the table, even when you are hurt and irritated, even when you think, “How could a Christian possibly say that?” Because I can guarantee you, whatever side you are on…there is some merit on the other side as well.  We are called to love our enemies.  That’s hard.  Let’s start by loving our friends or acquaintances who disagree with us. Jesus doesn’t care who is right.  He only cares about how we love those we think are wrong. One way we do this is to stay at the table.

Photo by Elliott Stallion

 

Thoughts from the first week of 2021

 I have decided to try to write a blog post on the weeks I am not preaching about what ever I am batting around in my head.  Here is the first installment of something I have not yet named.

Photo by Hogarth de la Plante 

            Lately, I have been thinking a lot about wounds, specifically the wounds of Mary and Jesus.  In the 2^nd chapter of Luke, a prophet told Mary that a sword would pierce her soul.  We know that she was wounded emotionally just as Jesus was wounded physically.  Our nation has been wounded over and over since its very inception.  Yet the wounds of the past 12 months are fresh and deep.  And those wounds were apparent again on Wednesday as we witnessed the events unfold at the capitol.  It was particularly troubling because this violence occurred at the very seat of our democracy.  Many might contend that it was no worse than what has happened in the past.  I can’t be the judge of that.  But I can say that for me, it was bit of a breaking point.  It was the point when the division in our country felt less like a line in the sand and more like a chasm that we were all yelling across.  It feels like a wound that keeps reopening. 

I could pontificate about the causes of that wound, but I will leave that debate to superior minds and hearts.  What I would like to address is the healing.  I believe that healing is possible.  It won’t happen easily. We can’t just pretend this division doesn’t exist.  We also can’t ignore the causes, which are manifold.  Yet we can still resolve to overcome the differences. As Christians, we are called to rise above divisions---not to ignore them, but to rise above.  One of the most unique and powerful aspects of the Christian faith is we are a group that requires no common ground, except the ground at the foot of the cross.  We require no citizenship, but the citizenship of God’s kingdom.  We don’t have to agree to disagree because we don’t have to agree on anything except for the saving grace of Jesus Christ.         

While it might seem insurmountable, we can start small.  We can start in our homes and with our families.  We can start in our church which, like most, has a vast array of political opinions.  We can start in our city of Hampton whose diversity is both a strength and a challenge.  We can start with the relationships we have because those relationships are precious.  It’s so much easier during a pandemic, when we are cloistered in our homes, to focus on our differences.  But let us work to remember what binds us is not who we are, but who we belong to.  We are God’s children and God wants more from us than what we have seen over the last year.  Please pray with me. Pray frequently and fervently.  Pray in your words or the words of others.  I have found many of the prayers in our Book of Common Prayer particularly comforting.  I will leave you with this: O God, you have bound us together in a common life. Help us, in the midst of our struggles for justice and truth, to confront one another without hatred or bitterness, and to work together with mutual forbearance and respect; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

What Mary Kept: January 3, 2021

 Year B, Christmas 2                                                              Luke 2:41-52                                                                           

            While we were in the adoption process, I had a vision of how it would look when we finally brought our baby home---pure bliss.  All those years of waiting would culminate in this experience of joy.  There was tremendous joy, but there was something else—grief.  Because I knew that while I was bringing home a new baby, another mother was leaving the hospital with empty arms and conflicted emotions.  This knowledge didn’t temper the joy, it complicated it.  I was carrying this host of emotions and frankly, I wasn’t too happy about it.  I wanted something pure and free from pain.  I wanted what I perceived other new mothers had.

            I believe that experience gave me a new appreciation for Mary.  Throughout the first two chapters of the Gospel of Luke, we have witnessed her experience many new things and an array of emotions. When she learned that she was miraculously pregnant with the savior of humanity---she was frightened and bewildered, but also inspired. Then after she had the baby and the shepherds shared the news that they had learned from the angels, that this child she held was the Messiah—she was peaceful, but probably a little concerned. The text tells us, “But Mary treasured all these words and pondered them in her heart.” It’s not clear what she was feeling, but it sounds like it was messy.  She knew that being the mother of this child wasn’t going to be an ordinary experience.  She just didn’t know how extraordinary it would be.

            After all these angelic visits and one miraculous birth, the story we hear today seems almost mundane. I mean it would be terrifying for any parent, but the experience itself is ordinary in the sense that it was human.  Their child was missing. They were scared and beside themselves with worry.  It would seem, they might have even forgotten who exactly they were dealing with.  He was the Son of God, destined for greatness…he probably wasn’t going to just get lost. But he was also their son and they were not thinking rationally or even spiritually.  They were just feeling visceral fear.

They did what anyone would do, they retraced their steps, talked to people who might have seen them, probably had an argument that sounded like this, “You were supposed to be the one watching him!”  Finally, they went to the place where we always end up in the Gospel of Luke---the temple.  Remember, we were just in the temple…it was about 12 years before, but only a few verses back when Jesus was presented as an infant.   

            The temple is a theme in the Gospel of Luke.  The story begins in the temple when Zechariah hears the voice of God telling him that his elderly wife will conceive a child.  The Gospel ends in the temple as well.  After Jesus is resurrected and ascends to heaven, the apostles who witnessed his ascension returned to Jerusalem.  The very last line is, “And they were continuously in the temple praising God.”  Traditional Jewish customs were important to Jesus, his family and his disciples.  The first thing Jesus did after he was tempted by Satan was to go to the Temple to pray.  It’s a funny thing when you think about it.  I mean, if anyone shouldn’t need a place to worship, it’s Jesus (God incarnate).  Why does he have to go to a holy building to talk to himself?  Yet again and again we see him return to the temple, to a place that felt like home for him.

            Thus when his parents finally found him and expressed anxiety and frustration that he would leave them, he was perplexed.  This was the temple, the holy place where he felt close to God.  This is where they should have come first.  So he asked them, “Why were you searching for me?  Did you not know that I must be in my Father’s house?”  We don’t hear their response.  It just says that they didn’t understand him.  Now while his question seems almost disrespectful, we are told that he left with them and was obedient.

Then the Gospel writer adds, “His mother treasured all these things in her heart.” It’s the same words we hear right after Jesus’ birth when the shepherds visited her and told her about their angelic visitors and the message they sent.  Some translators say that a better interpretation would be, “She kept these things in her mind and heart.”  When we read the phrase “treasure in her heart” we sentimentalize the experience, as if she is creating a scrapbook of happy memories.  But I wonder if what was really happening was she was coming to terms with all of these conflicting emotions.  Fear and amazement.  Anxiety and relief.  Love and grief.  These events and words, were all wrestling around in her mind and heart. 

Just a few verses before the ones we heard today, Mary and Joseph presented Jesus in the temple when he was just a few days old.  The prophet Simeon saw Jesus and proclaimed, “This child is destined for the falling and the rising of many in Israel, and to be a sign that will be opposed  so that the inner thoughts of many will be revealed—and a sword will pierce your own soul too.”  It could never be simple for Mary.  It could not be a simple congratulations on your new baby.  Given everything she was being told from angels, to shepherds, to strange prophets, and eventually her own son---her soul, her heart, and her mind must have been in constant turmoil. 

Photo by Mateus Campos Felipe 

Yet we sing of Mary, meek and mild.  We paint her with a peaceful and placid expression. Then we use her as an example of a faithful servant, a model for all of us. I would agree that she is a model for all of us, but more so because her joy was not the bliss that self-help gurus try to sell us.  It was contemplative and mysterious.  Her life and faith was full, but she was also wounded, wounded by the knowledge that her son’s life would be difficult.   There would be pain and tragedy, but there would also be resurrection.

As we begin a new year, I know that I would like to just forget everything that has happened in 2020 and start over.  We can’t.  Over 350,000 people have died in the United States alone from COVID.  And of course, other things have been going on as well.  I could list them, but then it just sounds like I am listing the plagues.  We all know what happened in 2020.  Things will get better, but it’s not going to happen as quickly or easily as any of us want.  We have all been wounded, but so were Jesus and Mary.  Jesus was wounded physically and Mary was wounded emotionally and spiritually.

But she never lost hope. She probably asked God a lot of questions.  She probably wept and maybe even got angry at times.  But she kept all these things in her heart.  She didn’t throw it out because it made her sad or scared.  She held all those words and experiences close to her heart.  2020 and at least part of 2021 won’t be the year that most of us carry in our hearts with fond memories.  We won’t treasure most of these times.  But let’s keep them in our hearts.  Let’s learn from it, grow from it and tend to the wounds that need healing.  Then, when we come out the other side, let us experience the complicated joy that is life as a disciple of a crucified and resurrected God.  God willing…let us do it together, in this holy space where we meet God and one another.

Holy Desperation: Nov. 28, 2020

 Year B, Advent 1                                                                Isaiah 64:1-9                                                                           

            Typically when we come to the first Sunday of Advent, I find the readings rather jarring and incongruous with the holiday season. First Advent usually comes right after Thanksgiving when people are doing their Christmas shopping and decorating their homes. People come to church expecting some of that same light and joy.  Then they hear readings like the ones we heard today, which are depressing and a little scary. 

If this was any other year, I would start by apologizing for the readings as they just don’t seem to fit where we are right now.  But this year I read them and thought: “Sure, that sounds about right.” The Gospel reading is about the end times, the 2^nd coming of Christ. The sun is darkening and stars are falling from heaven.  There has been more than a few times this year when I have thought, “Yup, this is it. The end is coming.”

            However, the reading that really appealed to me this year was Isaiah.  “O that you would tear open the heavens and come down, so that the mountains would quake at your presence…”  When this was written, the people of Israel were desperate for God to make himself known, to be an unavoidable reality in their lives.  Things were so bad, they wanted God to tear apart the heavens, because he clearly wasn’t on earth with them.           

They knew their history---they knew that there were many times when God had intervened.  Isaiah wrote, “When you did awesome deeds that we did not expect, you came down, the mountains quaked at your presence.”  God had done it before for the people of Israel when he sent the plagues and delivered the people from the Egyptian army.  God toppled the walls of Jericho with just the shout of the army.  God delivered the 10 commandment and fed the people for 40 years with manna from heaven.  God had done marvelous and astounding things. They wanted to know, “Where is that all powerful God now?” 

            When I think of the themes of Advent, I think of preparation, expectation, repentance, waiting and hoping.  These are the tame themes, the ones that work well with the 5 candles of our Advent wreath.  So I was surprised when one of the commentaries I read mentioned that this reading from Isaiah contains two of the major Advent themes and neither were themes I usually consider.  The first theme Isaiah highlights is a deep sense of desperation about a situation that is out of control. I thought, wow, that sums up 2020 pretty well. I mean--- it doesn’t really work with any of our candles, but it fits our current situation to a tee.

Photo by Brian Kairuz on Unsplash

The people of Israel understood desperation. The book of Isaiah tells of a country that was defeated in battled. The land was devastated.  The Holy City (Jerusalem) was demolished. Most of the people were carted off to a foreign land where they were enslaved for generations.  In our reading for today, the long exile was over. They had returned to find a home that looked nothing like the one they remembered, nothing like the stories they had been told. They had to rebuild.  They were weary and they wanted a divine intervention.  They wanted God to burst through the heavens because no matter how scary that might sound, it was nothing compared to their current predicament. 

The first 4 verses demand and insist that God come down and make things right.  But then starting in verse 5 they acknowledged their own sin and seemed to give reasons why God should not come down.  It’s like they had this burst of self-awareness and realized that maybe there was something they should have been doing instead of simply demanding that God fix things.  There is another shift in verse 8. “Yet, O Lord, you are our Father, we are the clay, and you are our potter, we are all the work of your hand….Now consider, we are all your people.”

            In just 9 verses, we can observe massive shifts in the way people perceive themselves and God. It begins with a desperate demand that God display his great power and shake the very foundations of the earth. Then the people acknowledge their own guilt. Then they shift to their relationship with God, the relationship of the creator and the creation, the parent and the child.  That is an intimate relationship, one of trust and love.  And that is the 2^nd theme of Advent that Isaiah highlights--- a bold and confident trust.[1]

            I resonate with this reading from Isaiah, probably more than I ever have before. I understand what it is to go from desperate fear--- to guilt-- to trust and hope—sometimes in less than an hour.  Everything is so unpredictable and chaotic right now. Desperation can do funny things. If we look inwardly at our desperation, that can lead to hopelessness and grief.  If we look to God in those desperate times, that can lead to a renewed appreciation of what God has done for us and continues to do for us.

            There is a part of me that yearns to skip over Advent this year and go straight to Christmas. We have had enough of waiting and preparation.  No doubt, the people of Israel felt the same way.  The themes of desperation and trust might not be what we want right now---but they might be what we need. When this pandemic is over, things will not be like it was before.  The people of Israel returned to a land that had been demolished. It was nothing like they remembered.  They had to rebuild despite their weariness. We will have to do the same.  I know that I will yearn for a quick fix, because really, haven’t we been through enough?  Yet that will not be an option for most of us. 

Maybe this Advent we need to focus less on preparation and expectation and more on surrender…surrendering to our own powerlessness and brokenness.  Allow yourself that feeling of desperation. But in the midst of that desperation, let us remember that no matter how hard rebuilding might seem, we have the creator as our guide.  Our God knows how to create and recreate. It is ok to be desperate (perhaps even necessary), but let us never lose our faith, even when we are in the midst of that desperation.  Let it be a holy desperation—one that leads not to despair but repair.  If we are the clay and God is the potter, then we are never broken beyond repair.  Our world is never broken beyond repair.  Our broken places are places where God’s light can shine that much more brightly.  That light, that is the light that will give us the power to rebuild.

---

[1] Texts for Preaching, Year B Commentary p. 2