Priest and teacher Barbara Brown Taylor tells the story of the young mother she met in the pediatric surgery waiting room of the hospital where she was a chaplain.1 Earlier in the week, the woman’s little daughter was playing with a friend when her head began to hurt. By the time the mother found her, the child could no longer see. When doctors did a CAT scan at the hospital, they discovered that a large tumor was pressed against the child’s optic nerve. They scheduled the surgery as soon as possible. The day of the surgery Taylor found the mother in the waiting room. An ashtray full of cigarettes stood beside the mother’s chair. Taylor sat down beside her. After a little bit of small talk, the mother blurted out, “It’s my punishment, for smoking these damned cigarettes. God couldn’t get my attention any other way, so he made my baby sick.” She began to cry and then wailed, “Now I’m supposed to stop, but I can’t stop. I’m going to kill my own child.”
Have you ever said anything like that? Have you ever blamed yourself for something that happened to someone else? Why do bad things happen? Why does tragedy strike us? Why do innocent and good people especially seem to get struck down? Does God punish people for the sins of others, as the young mother thought? These are just the questions put to Jesus by those who listened to his teaching. “What about those innocent Galileans, Rabbi?”
These are age-old questions. We ask ourselves the same questions whenever disaster strikes. Is this God’s judgment on me, on us? Whose fault was it? Why did it happen? Even today, when disaster strikes, there’s always someone who stands up and declares that the disaster is God’s punishment on gays, or feminists, or the “party culture” of New Orleans. Would Jesus agree with that judgement?
There is a strand of Scripture that would agree with that judgment. Certain verses in Deuteronomy and Proverbs support the notion that people get what they deserve. We find it easy to believe that. We say, “If she hadn’t been in the passing lane, the drunk driver would not have hit her.” Maybe. But Scripture also reminds us that the innocent suffer and the guilty prosper. The psalms and the book of Ecclesiastes are filled with laments for the suffering of the innocent. And we can easily believe that too. The residents of the Lower Ninth ward in New Orleans might have read some of those psalms, for they did nothing to bring catastrophe on themselves when Katrina struck, while government officials stood by, slow to recognize their plight. While we might lay sin at the door of the gunman, the twenty children and six adults who died in Newtown, CT, like the Galileans in today’s gospel, did absolutely nothing to bring about their tragic deaths.
In an attempt to understand disasters, sometimes people, especially we religious people, offer another explanation: suffering is part of God’s plan. Would you agree? Is that what your experience tells you? One woman suffers a miscarriage at twenty weeks, while another, who did exactly what the first woman did, delivers a healthy full-term child. Did God really “want another angel in heaven?” Is it really the case that “God won’t send us more than we can bear?” Perhaps the people querying Jesus were also asking this question: did God intentionally cause these disasters?
Contrary to all our expectations, in Luke’s telling of this encounter, Jesus does not answer the question put to him. That’s because ultimately, there is no answer to these questions. While Jesus doesn’t rebuke his questioners, neither does he tell them that the Galileans killed by Pilate – and there is historical evidence that something like this really did happen – or that those who died when the tower of Siloam fell on them deserved what happened to them. He doesn’t tell them that their deaths were all part of God’s plan. Instead, he reminds all his followers – and by extension us – that life is precarious, that we cannot claim to know the cause of suffering, that we cannot control the events in our lives, and that we cannot smugly assume that we are immune from disaster – even if we say our prayers every day, worship regularly, and give generously. Even if we take every precaution, there are still abusive Roman soldiers in the world. Even if we drive defensively, the drunk driver can still cross over into our lane and crash into us. There are no guarantees in life. The best we can do, Jesus reminds us, is continually and intentionally try to orient our lives towards God and do our best to overcome our own sins and shortcomings. “Look at your own life,” Jesus in effect tells his hearers. “Reflect on how you are living, but don’t think you’re immune from disaster.”
But Jesus doesn’t stop with that admonition. Jesus adds one more piece to his call for reorientation and self-examination. To what could be a bleak message of despair, Jesus adds a message of reassurance and hope. Don’t we hear it in the parable that follows his warning? A fig tree has yet to produce the expected fruit. The gardener appeals to the owner for the tree to get another chance. Perhaps with a new trench for better water, or with extra fertilizer, the tree will produce the fruit it was meant to produce. We do face judgement, Jesus tells his hearers, and the opportunity for repentance is time-limited. But, the parable reassures us, God’s judgment is never separated from God’s mercy. As we might expect from Luke, Jesus’ parable reminds us of divine compassion, reassuring us of the abundant grace that is available to us – if we are willing to accept it while we still can.
So what does all this mean to us? I’d like to suggest three things we need to hear in this Gospel reading. The first is this: we are called to heed the warning in Jesus’ words. In this Lenten season especially, hear again his warning that, “Unless you repent, you will all perish as they did.” Whoever we are, we do face God’s judgment. Even if we are absolutely certain that we follow the law, even if we diligently engage in every appropriate spiritual practice, we can never be smug or arrogant, we can never think that therefore we can avoid tragedy or bypass God’s judgment. High on the center of the doorway of the south transept of the great cathedral in Chartres in France is a magnificent sculpture of Christ sitting in judgement at the end of time. While we no longer live in the mindset that would easily understand the importance of that image for our own lives, even we must remember that what we do with our lives has consequences.
Second, we are to hear the words in the parable warning us that our time to reorient our lives toward the Holy One is short: the gardener says, “Sir, let it alone for one more year.” We are called to be intentional about lives now, we are called to engage now in the self-examination that Lent calls for, not at some distant time in the future. Can we be sure that we even have a future? An old rabbi told his disciples, “You should repent the day before you die.” “But, Rabbi,” replied the disciples, “how can we know when that day is?” “Exactly,” said the rabbi, “that is why you must repent every day of your life.”
But third, Jesus never calls us to despair. Ultimately, Jesus calls us to trust and hope that God is at work in our lives. We are called to hear, and hear again, that God hears us when we call, that God upholds us and provides the hand to which we can cling, even when tragedy strikes, and that God always wants to nurture us so that we can bear good fruit.
How are we living our lives? Even though it’s still cold out there, I invite you to hear and meditate on that question through the words of Mary Oliver’s poem, “The Summer Day.”
Who made the world?
Who made the swan, and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I mean--
the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down--
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
I don't know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
With your one wild and precious life?
What is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life? Know that you have been gifted with an eye blink of time. Even when bad things happen, commit to living in that eye blink with your hearts and minds turned towards God. Trust that God is at work in your life. Be ever open to the leading of the Spirit.
1. “Life-Giving Fear,” Christian Century, March 4, 1998, p. 229.
Showing posts with label Lent 3. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Lent 3. Show all posts
Sunday, February 28, 2016
Monday, March 9, 2015
Was Jesus Mr. Nice Guy?
Was Jesus Mr. Nice Guy? If pictures of Jesus cradling sheep, or embracing children came to mind, no doubt you thought, “Sure, he was.” Or perhaps you heard Jesus intoning, “Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow….” Was Jesus Mr. Nice Guy? Or, does today’s gospel reading make you think again?
We have switched to the Gospel according to John for this and the next two Sundays. We return to the Gospel according to Mark on Palm Sunday, at the very end of the month, when we hear Mark’s story of Jesus’ death. Since the three-year Revised Common Lectionary does not set aside a year for the Gospel of John, as it does for the three synoptic Gospels, Matthew, Mark, and Luke, it interweaves readings from John into the various seasons of the liturgical year. We’ll hear a lot more from John during Easter tide.
John takes a very different approach to Jesus’ story from that of the synoptic gospels. Although it may contain earlier material, the gospel of John assumed its final form about 90 AD, thus making it the last of the four gospels. The Temple had been destroyed about twenty years earlier, and Jesus had been gone nearly sixty years. This gospel was written for a community of mostly Jewish Christians, most of whom were fighting with leaders of the mainline Jewish community around them. Each of the evangelists had a decided purpose for writing down Jesus’ story, and that purpose is reflected in the how the story is told. The writer of this gospel wanted especially to reassure the members of this beleaguered Christian community that they had made the right choice in separating themselves from the mainstream. We hear right at the beginning of this gospel how the evangelist views Jesus, that Jesus is the Word of God become human. At the end, the evangelist again states the purpose for the gospel: “these are written so that you may come to believe that Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of God, and that through believing you may have life in his name” (20:31).
So was Jesus Mr. Nice Guy? At this point in the story, Jesus has just come down from Galilee to celebrate the Passover. In Galilee he had attended a wedding in the village of Cana, where he offered the first sign of who he was to a small group of friends and relatives. When Jesus came into the great temple in Jerusalem, which Herod the Great had begun rebuilding forty-six years before, was Jesus tempted to be just another ordinary pilgrim, blending into the crowd with all the others? Apparently not. Instead, Jesus became angry. He flipped out, he lost it. Why? The evangelist is not clear. The commerce that was taking place in the Court of the Gentiles wasn’t really wrong. In order to follow the 610 commandments of the law, especially the laws regarding sacrifice, pious Jews had to offer unblemished animals, which they typically bought just as they entered the temple. They could not pay for those animals with ordinary coins, the coins with Caesar’s head on them, but had to exchange the Roman coins for Palestinian shekels. Both the animal sellers and the money changers were thus necessary for the required sacrifices to take place. The gospel doesn’t say that either the vendors or the money changers were gouging the pilgrims, or cheating them, or colluding with the Romans, or doing anything against the law. Why do we need to see Jesus call them to account and demonstrate his anger at them?
Perhaps the reason is that the evangelist was less interested in the pilgrims or the vendors and money changers and more interested in Jesus. Perhaps the evangelist wanted his readers to remember that one of the roles of the messiah, of God’s anointed one, was to be God’s prophet, to speak God’s truth, to challenge those in authority, even when those around him don’t want to hear him or face him. A long line of prophets in the Hebrew Scriptures had spoken God’s truth to leaders who resisted hearing it. Jeremiah, in particular, spoke hard truths to the king and was put down in a cistern, and then subjected to house arrest for his trouble. In the opposition that Jewish Christians were confronting, perhaps the evangelist wanted to remind his hearers that speaking God’s truth is dangerous. Most important, perhaps the evangelist wanted his hearers to remember, long before the story comes to Calvary, that, although Jesus’ story culminated in his death, it did not end there.
Was Sam Dodson Mr. Nice Guy? Sure he was. He was a well-regarded Methodist minister in a white congregation in Nashville Tennessee.1 It was the early 1960s. Dodson had been born in a small town in Tennessee, gone to Vanderbilt University, and earned his divinity degree at Yale. He had come to Calvary United Methodist Church in 1958 at the age of 43. Although they didn’t always agree with his sermons, his parishioners knew that Dodson generally supported sit-ins and racial integration. In 1963 he accepted the governor’s appointment as chair of the Tennessee Human Relations Commission, which had been formed to work on civil rights issues. A few members of Dodson’s congregation bristled at the appointment. Then came the unthinkable. On May 5, 1964 Dodson joined 150 seminarians and other members of the clergy, marched to the city hall, and presented the mayor with four demands: immediate desegregation of the public schools, ordinances assuring complete access to all public spaces, full access to recreational facilities, and equal employment opportunities in city government.
The hate mail poured into Dodson’s office during May and June. Most of the letters chastised him for his involvement with “politics.” His board wrote to his bishop asking that he be demoted to assistant pastor. Dodson stayed for another year, then in the spring of 1965 he and his family left for Athens, Greece, where he became the pastor of St. Andrew’s American Church.
Sam Dodson’s story culminated in his leaving Nashville in disgrace, but it didn’t end there. About ten years ago or so, people rediscovered his work in Nashville. Those who left Calvary Church because of Dodson have returned and apologized. When Dodson died in 2002, he was eulogized on the front page of the church newspaper. In 2013, a committee at Calvary began working on a permanent memorial to his work and courage. Today, on the wall outside the senior pastor’s office is a colorful timeline and display. Written across the top of the display are the words, “Dr. Rev. Samuel R. Dodson, Jr.: Man of Courage.”
And what about us? The evangelist has shown us Jesus’ prophetic actions. Jesus spoke out and demonstrated against what he considered unacceptable practice. He did so knowing full well that wearing the prophet’s mantle would not endear him to the authorities. Sam Dodson spoke and publicly demonstrated against practices he knew to be unacceptable and unjust. What about us? Lent calls us to “self-examination and repentance.” What do we need to face in ourselves, our parish, and our community? What wrong or injustice do we need to speak and work against?
In ourselves, do we need to forgive? Do we need to confess a wrong and seek forgiveness? Do we need to put aside anger, hurt, or indifference, and reconcile with someone? Do we need to forego gossip? Do we need to listen to someone’s story more attentively? Do we need to free ourselves of addictions, even harmless ones? Do we need to quit making excuses for ourselves and find time for prayer? Do we need to take our Christian commitment more seriously? I invite you, between now and Palm Sunday, to look at your way of life and find one thing that you know needs changing.
In this parish, what needs facing and changing? Are there conflicts that need to be resolved? Do we need to be more attentive to one another? Do we need to be more serious about supporting the parish with our resources? Is our ministry truly serving the needs of those around us? How else might we serve Jesus in our neighbors?
In the community and the world, are we taking seriously our commitment to work for justice and peace? Do we support elected leaders who work for the welfare of the poor and seek to defuse, rather than exacerbate, conflicts? Are we serious about addressing climate change, and especially about looking at our own consumption habits? Do we ever speak out for issues close to our hearts and support organizations seeking change? Between now and Palm Sunday, I invite you to find one issue about which you can be passionate and educate yourself on that issue, whether it be food insecurity, adequate access to healthcare, literacy education, clean water, climate change, opposition to capital punishment, or whatever calls out to you. Educate yourself and make a commitment to doing what you are called to do.
Jesus did not call us to be nice. Jesus called us to follow him and take up the prophet’s mantle, to seriously and intentionally follow his lead as one who actively critiqued the powers that be. Jesus called us to stand with the truth as we see it and to actively work against oppression and injustice. He did not promise that the way would be easy. Like Sam Dodson, we may indeed find ourselves with Jesus at the cross. And, like Sam Dodson, all our hope on God is founded. As Jesus’ story did not end with the cross, neither does ours.
1. The following is based on Erin E. Tocknell, “The Cost of Discipleship,” Sojourners, March 2015, 31-33.
We have switched to the Gospel according to John for this and the next two Sundays. We return to the Gospel according to Mark on Palm Sunday, at the very end of the month, when we hear Mark’s story of Jesus’ death. Since the three-year Revised Common Lectionary does not set aside a year for the Gospel of John, as it does for the three synoptic Gospels, Matthew, Mark, and Luke, it interweaves readings from John into the various seasons of the liturgical year. We’ll hear a lot more from John during Easter tide.
John takes a very different approach to Jesus’ story from that of the synoptic gospels. Although it may contain earlier material, the gospel of John assumed its final form about 90 AD, thus making it the last of the four gospels. The Temple had been destroyed about twenty years earlier, and Jesus had been gone nearly sixty years. This gospel was written for a community of mostly Jewish Christians, most of whom were fighting with leaders of the mainline Jewish community around them. Each of the evangelists had a decided purpose for writing down Jesus’ story, and that purpose is reflected in the how the story is told. The writer of this gospel wanted especially to reassure the members of this beleaguered Christian community that they had made the right choice in separating themselves from the mainstream. We hear right at the beginning of this gospel how the evangelist views Jesus, that Jesus is the Word of God become human. At the end, the evangelist again states the purpose for the gospel: “these are written so that you may come to believe that Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of God, and that through believing you may have life in his name” (20:31).
So was Jesus Mr. Nice Guy? At this point in the story, Jesus has just come down from Galilee to celebrate the Passover. In Galilee he had attended a wedding in the village of Cana, where he offered the first sign of who he was to a small group of friends and relatives. When Jesus came into the great temple in Jerusalem, which Herod the Great had begun rebuilding forty-six years before, was Jesus tempted to be just another ordinary pilgrim, blending into the crowd with all the others? Apparently not. Instead, Jesus became angry. He flipped out, he lost it. Why? The evangelist is not clear. The commerce that was taking place in the Court of the Gentiles wasn’t really wrong. In order to follow the 610 commandments of the law, especially the laws regarding sacrifice, pious Jews had to offer unblemished animals, which they typically bought just as they entered the temple. They could not pay for those animals with ordinary coins, the coins with Caesar’s head on them, but had to exchange the Roman coins for Palestinian shekels. Both the animal sellers and the money changers were thus necessary for the required sacrifices to take place. The gospel doesn’t say that either the vendors or the money changers were gouging the pilgrims, or cheating them, or colluding with the Romans, or doing anything against the law. Why do we need to see Jesus call them to account and demonstrate his anger at them?
Perhaps the reason is that the evangelist was less interested in the pilgrims or the vendors and money changers and more interested in Jesus. Perhaps the evangelist wanted his readers to remember that one of the roles of the messiah, of God’s anointed one, was to be God’s prophet, to speak God’s truth, to challenge those in authority, even when those around him don’t want to hear him or face him. A long line of prophets in the Hebrew Scriptures had spoken God’s truth to leaders who resisted hearing it. Jeremiah, in particular, spoke hard truths to the king and was put down in a cistern, and then subjected to house arrest for his trouble. In the opposition that Jewish Christians were confronting, perhaps the evangelist wanted to remind his hearers that speaking God’s truth is dangerous. Most important, perhaps the evangelist wanted his hearers to remember, long before the story comes to Calvary, that, although Jesus’ story culminated in his death, it did not end there.
Was Sam Dodson Mr. Nice Guy? Sure he was. He was a well-regarded Methodist minister in a white congregation in Nashville Tennessee.1 It was the early 1960s. Dodson had been born in a small town in Tennessee, gone to Vanderbilt University, and earned his divinity degree at Yale. He had come to Calvary United Methodist Church in 1958 at the age of 43. Although they didn’t always agree with his sermons, his parishioners knew that Dodson generally supported sit-ins and racial integration. In 1963 he accepted the governor’s appointment as chair of the Tennessee Human Relations Commission, which had been formed to work on civil rights issues. A few members of Dodson’s congregation bristled at the appointment. Then came the unthinkable. On May 5, 1964 Dodson joined 150 seminarians and other members of the clergy, marched to the city hall, and presented the mayor with four demands: immediate desegregation of the public schools, ordinances assuring complete access to all public spaces, full access to recreational facilities, and equal employment opportunities in city government.
The hate mail poured into Dodson’s office during May and June. Most of the letters chastised him for his involvement with “politics.” His board wrote to his bishop asking that he be demoted to assistant pastor. Dodson stayed for another year, then in the spring of 1965 he and his family left for Athens, Greece, where he became the pastor of St. Andrew’s American Church.
Sam Dodson’s story culminated in his leaving Nashville in disgrace, but it didn’t end there. About ten years ago or so, people rediscovered his work in Nashville. Those who left Calvary Church because of Dodson have returned and apologized. When Dodson died in 2002, he was eulogized on the front page of the church newspaper. In 2013, a committee at Calvary began working on a permanent memorial to his work and courage. Today, on the wall outside the senior pastor’s office is a colorful timeline and display. Written across the top of the display are the words, “Dr. Rev. Samuel R. Dodson, Jr.: Man of Courage.”
And what about us? The evangelist has shown us Jesus’ prophetic actions. Jesus spoke out and demonstrated against what he considered unacceptable practice. He did so knowing full well that wearing the prophet’s mantle would not endear him to the authorities. Sam Dodson spoke and publicly demonstrated against practices he knew to be unacceptable and unjust. What about us? Lent calls us to “self-examination and repentance.” What do we need to face in ourselves, our parish, and our community? What wrong or injustice do we need to speak and work against?
In ourselves, do we need to forgive? Do we need to confess a wrong and seek forgiveness? Do we need to put aside anger, hurt, or indifference, and reconcile with someone? Do we need to forego gossip? Do we need to listen to someone’s story more attentively? Do we need to free ourselves of addictions, even harmless ones? Do we need to quit making excuses for ourselves and find time for prayer? Do we need to take our Christian commitment more seriously? I invite you, between now and Palm Sunday, to look at your way of life and find one thing that you know needs changing.
In this parish, what needs facing and changing? Are there conflicts that need to be resolved? Do we need to be more attentive to one another? Do we need to be more serious about supporting the parish with our resources? Is our ministry truly serving the needs of those around us? How else might we serve Jesus in our neighbors?
In the community and the world, are we taking seriously our commitment to work for justice and peace? Do we support elected leaders who work for the welfare of the poor and seek to defuse, rather than exacerbate, conflicts? Are we serious about addressing climate change, and especially about looking at our own consumption habits? Do we ever speak out for issues close to our hearts and support organizations seeking change? Between now and Palm Sunday, I invite you to find one issue about which you can be passionate and educate yourself on that issue, whether it be food insecurity, adequate access to healthcare, literacy education, clean water, climate change, opposition to capital punishment, or whatever calls out to you. Educate yourself and make a commitment to doing what you are called to do.
Jesus did not call us to be nice. Jesus called us to follow him and take up the prophet’s mantle, to seriously and intentionally follow his lead as one who actively critiqued the powers that be. Jesus called us to stand with the truth as we see it and to actively work against oppression and injustice. He did not promise that the way would be easy. Like Sam Dodson, we may indeed find ourselves with Jesus at the cross. And, like Sam Dodson, all our hope on God is founded. As Jesus’ story did not end with the cross, neither does ours.
1. The following is based on Erin E. Tocknell, “The Cost of Discipleship,” Sojourners, March 2015, 31-33.
Sunday, March 23, 2014
Living Water
Picture yourself in Tucson. The city rests on a desert plateau about 2100 feet above sea level. It is surrounded on three sides by mountains that rise to over 9,000 feet. Unlike the Sahara of our imaginations – endless miles of rolling white sands – the desert here contains many varieties of plant and animal life. Saguaro cacti and other succulents rise high above the desert floor. Palo Verde and Mesquite trees provide a little shade, and hummingbirds twitter everywhere. The light in Tucson, like most of the desert southwest, is astonishingly clear and bright, and there are twice as many sunny days as cloudy ones. What you might not notice, until you begin to get dehydrated, is that the air in Tucson is very dry, indeed dangerously dry. Every work truck carries the familiar orange barrel-shaped water coolers. Open up almost anyone’s fridge and you’ll find plastic jugs filled with water, that are constantly being refilled. On the back patio there will inevitably be a gallon jug of tea baking in the sun. And when you sit down to lunch, or perhaps just to visit, you’ll drink at least three glasses of the chilled iced tea or some other drink. You can survive in Tucson without central heating, you can even survive without central air conditioning – the first evaporative coolers only became affordable in Tucson in the late 1940s. But you cannot survive in Tucson without water. It is absolutely necessary to life.
Now picture yourself in Samaria, near a well on the outskirts of Sychar. Here too the climate is desert-like and very dry. Here too you can’t survive without water. It’s noon. Trudging up to the well is a lone woman, shunned and ridiculed by the other village women, who would have come earlier, while it was still cool. The woman desperately needs water for herself and her male companion. To her surprise she meets a tired, dusty, Jewish man, who breaks all the rules and asks her for a drink. “What,” she says, “You’re kidding, right?” Then, to her astonishment, he tells her that if she knew with whom she was speaking she would have asked for “living water.” She knows her sacred geography and history, so she presses the stranger about this water. And again he astonishes her by telling her that all those who drink the water he provides “will never be thirsty,” and, indeed, that this water will become “a spring of water gushing up to eternal life.”
What on earth is this “living water?” To begin with the expression translated “living water” can also mean “fresh, running water,” as opposed to water in a cistern. But what kind of water is Jesus offering? Actually, we don’t have to look much farther than the Hebrew Bible to get some clues. In today’s lesson from Exodus, the water gushing out from the stony rock becomes a symbol for God’s continuing care for God’s people – despite their tendency to whine, complain, and drive Moses nuts! Elsewhere in the Hebrew Bible, Jeremiah speaks for God and, accuses the people of choosing cracked cisterns instead of the “fountain of living water,” i.e., God himself (2:13). Similarly speaking for God, Isaiah promises the exiles that when they return to Israel they will “draw water from the wells of salvation” (12:3). Isaiah also voices God’s promise to guide the returning exiles “by springs of water” (49:10) and God’s invitation to all who thirst to “come to the waters” (55:1). Ezekiel tells us of the beauties of the restored Temple with a lush description of the life-giving river flowing from the Temple. Ultimately, water symbolizes the source of life and Spirit for all creatures. Jesus is heir to this rich Scriptural tradition, and so he reminds the woman – and the hearers of this Gospel – that our relationship with him is absolutely necessary for life, and that through him, we have access, deep within ourselves, to the life-giving action of the Spirit.
There’s more. Jesus’ “living water” transforms us. It is not meant to make us feel good. Instead, Jesus’ living water transforms us into people who are like him. Look at how Jesus related to the Samaritan woman. Jesus reached out to her across every social barrier – gender, religious practice, morality, and ethnicity. He accepted her, instructed her, encouraged her, and loved her. He gave her dignity, even though those around her surely abused her, because she had transgressed the rules of proper living. When the woman was touched by Jesus’ loving acceptance, she could turn around and offer Jesus’ love to others. Running off and leaving her water jug, she ran to the neighbors who had shunned her and invited them into Jesus’ presence. Empowered by Jesus, she became the first evangelist!
Can we experience the transformative power of Jesus’ living water? In The Bean Trees, a hauntingly beautiful novel set largely in the southwest, Barbara Kingsolver relates the story of Taylor Greer, a native Kentuckian who winds up in Tucson with a Cherokee child. One day, just at the beginning of the summer rains, Taylor goes into the desert with Mattie and Esperanza, two of the assorted friends she makes. Mattie mentions that for the ancient Native Americans, today is New Year’s Day. “What?” exclaims Taylor, “July the twelfth?” Mattie explains that “they celebrated it on whatever day the summer’s rain first fell. Everything started over then,” she said. They planted crops, the kids ran around naked, and “they all drank cactus-fruit wine until they fell over from happiness. Even the animals and plants came alive again when the drought finally broke.”1
So do we have to go to the desert southwest to experience the power of living water? Aren’t we also thirsty? Like the Samaritan woman at the well, aren’t we also thirsty for love and acceptance? Aren’t we thirsty for real, authentic life? Don’t we, as John Lawrence suggested,2 often go after water that doesn’t really satisfy us? “There are,” he says, “the more obvious wells” of alcoholism and drug addiction, the “forever running sluice of poverty and hunger.” Perhaps we drown ourselves in our work – paid or unpaid – only to neglect our health, our families, our neighbors, and our God. Jesus promised the Samaritan woman that “those who drink of the water that I will give them will never be thirsty.” Jesus says the same thing to us – to all of us, me, you, the clergy, the bishops, the alcoholics downstairs. Irenaeus, the second-century Bishop of Lyons reminded us that “The Church is the fountain of the living water that flows to us from the heart of Christ. Where the Church is, there is the Spirit of God, and where the Spirit of God is, there is the Church and all grace.”
So the question remains. How do we experience this living water? We experience this living water in the same way that the Samaritan woman experienced it: by opening ourselves to Jesus’ presence. Although Jesus is present to us everywhere we seek him, for some of us, he may be more present in especially sacred places: old churches or pilgrimage places. Others of us might sense his presence in nature: in spectacular sunsets or on our daily walk. For others, Jesus is present in “thin places,” where the veil is parted and we suddenly sense that Jesus is standing beside us – as I did this week praying with a family whose loved one was dying. Many of us – hopefully all of us – see Jesus in the Eucharistic banquet, when we sense ourselves sitting at table with him and his friends as we receive his Body and Blood.
And when you are centered in the Lord, his water will flow through you. When his water flows through us into a parched and thirsty world, we can ourselves follow our Master, and offer our love to those whom Jesus loved, to those who are marginalized, who are poor, sick, needy, or addicted. Would you like a concrete way to ensure that people everywhere have access to the safe, clean water? Providing access to clean water is one of the major program areas of Episcopal Relief and Development. Closer to home, dare we let Jesus’ living water touch those who are not a part of this community? Later this spring, we hope to offer living water to those who wish to worship “in spirit and truth,” but who cannot, for any number of reasons, join us in this sanctuary. The church will leave the building – to share its living water with those who thirst.
As we prepare for Street Church and our other ministries here is a simple way to practice the presence of God.3 It is given to us by Edwina Gately. In week 27 of 52 ways to practice God’s presence, Gately prays,
The rain is falling
like millions of silver jewels
shining against
the black of the night
to be absorbed
by the thirsty soil.
May your grace, O God,
fall upon
our dried humanity
unceasing.
May we absorb
your moistness
that our dried up hearts
may rise and swell to bursting.
And here is her invitation: “As you water your plants or flowers, imagine God’s grace watering your soul.” May we, like our plants, drink deeply of God’s living water.
1. As quoted in Sundays and Seasons (Minneapolis, MN: Augsburg Fortress, 2007, 115.
2. Quoted in Synthesis, March 27, 2011 (Boyds, MD: Brunson Publishing Co.).
3. A Mystical Heart (New York: Crossroad, 1998), 66-67.
Now picture yourself in Samaria, near a well on the outskirts of Sychar. Here too the climate is desert-like and very dry. Here too you can’t survive without water. It’s noon. Trudging up to the well is a lone woman, shunned and ridiculed by the other village women, who would have come earlier, while it was still cool. The woman desperately needs water for herself and her male companion. To her surprise she meets a tired, dusty, Jewish man, who breaks all the rules and asks her for a drink. “What,” she says, “You’re kidding, right?” Then, to her astonishment, he tells her that if she knew with whom she was speaking she would have asked for “living water.” She knows her sacred geography and history, so she presses the stranger about this water. And again he astonishes her by telling her that all those who drink the water he provides “will never be thirsty,” and, indeed, that this water will become “a spring of water gushing up to eternal life.”
What on earth is this “living water?” To begin with the expression translated “living water” can also mean “fresh, running water,” as opposed to water in a cistern. But what kind of water is Jesus offering? Actually, we don’t have to look much farther than the Hebrew Bible to get some clues. In today’s lesson from Exodus, the water gushing out from the stony rock becomes a symbol for God’s continuing care for God’s people – despite their tendency to whine, complain, and drive Moses nuts! Elsewhere in the Hebrew Bible, Jeremiah speaks for God and, accuses the people of choosing cracked cisterns instead of the “fountain of living water,” i.e., God himself (2:13). Similarly speaking for God, Isaiah promises the exiles that when they return to Israel they will “draw water from the wells of salvation” (12:3). Isaiah also voices God’s promise to guide the returning exiles “by springs of water” (49:10) and God’s invitation to all who thirst to “come to the waters” (55:1). Ezekiel tells us of the beauties of the restored Temple with a lush description of the life-giving river flowing from the Temple. Ultimately, water symbolizes the source of life and Spirit for all creatures. Jesus is heir to this rich Scriptural tradition, and so he reminds the woman – and the hearers of this Gospel – that our relationship with him is absolutely necessary for life, and that through him, we have access, deep within ourselves, to the life-giving action of the Spirit.
There’s more. Jesus’ “living water” transforms us. It is not meant to make us feel good. Instead, Jesus’ living water transforms us into people who are like him. Look at how Jesus related to the Samaritan woman. Jesus reached out to her across every social barrier – gender, religious practice, morality, and ethnicity. He accepted her, instructed her, encouraged her, and loved her. He gave her dignity, even though those around her surely abused her, because she had transgressed the rules of proper living. When the woman was touched by Jesus’ loving acceptance, she could turn around and offer Jesus’ love to others. Running off and leaving her water jug, she ran to the neighbors who had shunned her and invited them into Jesus’ presence. Empowered by Jesus, she became the first evangelist!
Can we experience the transformative power of Jesus’ living water? In The Bean Trees, a hauntingly beautiful novel set largely in the southwest, Barbara Kingsolver relates the story of Taylor Greer, a native Kentuckian who winds up in Tucson with a Cherokee child. One day, just at the beginning of the summer rains, Taylor goes into the desert with Mattie and Esperanza, two of the assorted friends she makes. Mattie mentions that for the ancient Native Americans, today is New Year’s Day. “What?” exclaims Taylor, “July the twelfth?” Mattie explains that “they celebrated it on whatever day the summer’s rain first fell. Everything started over then,” she said. They planted crops, the kids ran around naked, and “they all drank cactus-fruit wine until they fell over from happiness. Even the animals and plants came alive again when the drought finally broke.”1
So do we have to go to the desert southwest to experience the power of living water? Aren’t we also thirsty? Like the Samaritan woman at the well, aren’t we also thirsty for love and acceptance? Aren’t we thirsty for real, authentic life? Don’t we, as John Lawrence suggested,2 often go after water that doesn’t really satisfy us? “There are,” he says, “the more obvious wells” of alcoholism and drug addiction, the “forever running sluice of poverty and hunger.” Perhaps we drown ourselves in our work – paid or unpaid – only to neglect our health, our families, our neighbors, and our God. Jesus promised the Samaritan woman that “those who drink of the water that I will give them will never be thirsty.” Jesus says the same thing to us – to all of us, me, you, the clergy, the bishops, the alcoholics downstairs. Irenaeus, the second-century Bishop of Lyons reminded us that “The Church is the fountain of the living water that flows to us from the heart of Christ. Where the Church is, there is the Spirit of God, and where the Spirit of God is, there is the Church and all grace.”
So the question remains. How do we experience this living water? We experience this living water in the same way that the Samaritan woman experienced it: by opening ourselves to Jesus’ presence. Although Jesus is present to us everywhere we seek him, for some of us, he may be more present in especially sacred places: old churches or pilgrimage places. Others of us might sense his presence in nature: in spectacular sunsets or on our daily walk. For others, Jesus is present in “thin places,” where the veil is parted and we suddenly sense that Jesus is standing beside us – as I did this week praying with a family whose loved one was dying. Many of us – hopefully all of us – see Jesus in the Eucharistic banquet, when we sense ourselves sitting at table with him and his friends as we receive his Body and Blood.
And when you are centered in the Lord, his water will flow through you. When his water flows through us into a parched and thirsty world, we can ourselves follow our Master, and offer our love to those whom Jesus loved, to those who are marginalized, who are poor, sick, needy, or addicted. Would you like a concrete way to ensure that people everywhere have access to the safe, clean water? Providing access to clean water is one of the major program areas of Episcopal Relief and Development. Closer to home, dare we let Jesus’ living water touch those who are not a part of this community? Later this spring, we hope to offer living water to those who wish to worship “in spirit and truth,” but who cannot, for any number of reasons, join us in this sanctuary. The church will leave the building – to share its living water with those who thirst.
As we prepare for Street Church and our other ministries here is a simple way to practice the presence of God.3 It is given to us by Edwina Gately. In week 27 of 52 ways to practice God’s presence, Gately prays,
The rain is falling
like millions of silver jewels
shining against
the black of the night
to be absorbed
by the thirsty soil.
May your grace, O God,
fall upon
our dried humanity
unceasing.
May we absorb
your moistness
that our dried up hearts
may rise and swell to bursting.
And here is her invitation: “As you water your plants or flowers, imagine God’s grace watering your soul.” May we, like our plants, drink deeply of God’s living water.
1. As quoted in Sundays and Seasons (Minneapolis, MN: Augsburg Fortress, 2007, 115.
2. Quoted in Synthesis, March 27, 2011 (Boyds, MD: Brunson Publishing Co.).
3. A Mystical Heart (New York: Crossroad, 1998), 66-67.
Sunday, March 3, 2013
Bear Fruits Worthy of Repentance
Have you ever eaten fresh figs? I don’t mean the dried figs that are common in our supermarkets. I mean a fig fresh from the tree, before it’s dried. They are tender, plump, and sweet. They’re very popular along the Mediterranean, which may explain why fig trees were also common in Tucson. We never grew figs while we lived there, but we did have a grapefruit tree, which actually produced grapefruits. Anyone who has a fruit tree of any kind, or grows the vegetables that botanically are fruits – tomatoes, eggplant, pumpkins, for example – knows that you spend a lot of time and effort helping a fruit-bearing tree or vine to flourish. There’s something else about fruits too: they are products of mature plants. Fruit trees have to reach a certain height before they begin bearing. Even when they are tall enough, or the vines are sturdy enough, the plant must bud, flower, and slowly produce the fruit out of its flower. It’s an awe-inspiring process – think about it when, in a few weeks, the trees around here begin to flower. And then remember that all the hard work and patient waiting are worth it, if the tree brings forth luscious figs, juicy grapefruits, or crisp apples.
Fruit is a wonderful spiritual image! It’s no wonder that Jesus chose to use a story about a fig tree to drive home his point about repentance, about being transformed spiritually. In using this image, Jesus was drawing on Hebrew Scripture, reminding his hearers that Isaiah, Jeremiah, Ezekiel, and other prophets had compared the community of Israel to a fruitful plant. Jesus’ hearers might also have remembered that his cousin John the Baptizer had shouted to the crowds who came for baptism, “Bear fruits worthy of repentance …. Even now the axe is lying at the root of the trees; every tree therefore that does not bear good fruit is cut down and thrown into the fire” (Luke 3:8-9). Now Jesus is on the road to Jerusalem. His cousin is dead. Jesus knows that he himself faces certain execution in Jerusalem. So, as they travel the dusty roads to the south, Jesus begins to give his band of disciples the spiritual tools they will need to carry on without him. Someone poses a question to him about some Galilean rebels killed in a surprise attack by Pilate’s soldiers: a sad but commonplace incident under Roman rule. While his disciples might be tempted to think that those people got what they deserved, Jesus says, “No, that is not how God’s economy works.” Rather, he reminds them that none of them knows when their lives will end, nor whether they will end peacefully or violently. And so, they must earnestly engage in continued reflection, self-examination, and, where necessary, change of life.
But that’s not the end of the story. In that strange little parable about a fig tree that doesn’t bear fruit Jesus offers his disciples a word of grace. He reminds them that, even if they have been unproductive fig trees, God never gives them what they deserve. God does not abandon them or cut them down, as human rulers do. Rather, like the gardener, God always gives them a second chance. God is always willing to be patient, take extra care, or offer richer nourishment, so that they may bear the fruit they were created to bear, so that they might indeed mature into plants producing luscious figs, juicy grapefruit, crisp apples, cherries, tomatoes, or any one of millions of other fruits.
Is Jesus speaking the same words to us? On Ash Wednesday, at the beginning of the church’s retreat in the wilderness, we accepted the challenge to keep a holy Lent through engaging in self-examination and repentance. You remember that the word that gets translated as “repentance” is metanoia, which means change of direction. Certainly acknowledging all the ways in which we miss the mark is necessary for our spiritual health,. However, in Lent, we are not called to manufacture sins – which we then “confess” to God. Rather, we are called to assess our lives, to examine how we are living, how we are spending our money, with whom we are associating, what we are returning to the community, and to ponder where change of direction might be needed.
Perhaps you are struggling at home. Perhaps you hate your job. Perhaps the teens are trying to figure out what kind of life they are supposed to live. Perhaps the seniors wonder if the psalmist was really right in declaring, “They will still bear fruit in old age, they will stay fresh and green” (Ps.92:14). Perhaps some are wondering whether, after the wreck they have made of their lives, God could still love them.
Lent is truly the time to ask ourselves, “Where should I be bearing fruit in my life?” What fruits might God want to see us bear? For what help might we ask God, in our desire to bear richer fruit? In his letter to the contentious Christians in Galatia, Paul reminds them and us that “the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control.” If you need a standard by which to examine your life, Galatians 5:22-23 would be a good place to start. We might also ask ourselves what fruits of ministry God might expect us to bear. Are you serving the church in any way? Praying for our parish and regularly attending worship is an important part of our ministry as Christians. Growing spiritually through prayer and formation is also part of our ministry, as is actively serving those who come through our doors. And we might ask ourselves, what fruits of service to the wider world God expects of us. Are you working in any way for a more just world, are you helping to alleviate hunger, are you part of the effort to enact sane gun laws, wider healthcare access, more effective immigration policies, appropriate aid to overseas churches and organizations? Finally, are we emulating our master in living an open and generous life, welcoming, indeed embracing, all whom we meet?
We might ask ourselves similar questions as a parish. Indeed, the fig tree is a collective image, often used in the Hebrew Scriptures to refer to Israel. What kind of fig tree are we as a parish? Are we bearing the fruit that God intends? Or do we need to pray for more help? If you are worried about the survival of St. Peter’s, are you praying that God will continue to give us a second chance, showing us how we must change?
You don’t think it’s possible to change your life? Then hear the story of Genelle Guzman-McMillan, the very last person to be rescued from the destruction of the World Trade Center on September 11, 2001.1 Though her right leg was crushed, Genelle received a second chance at life. Genelle had been living with her boyfriend Roger and spending her life working and going to dance clubs. She and Roger, who had been raised in church-going families, seldom awakened early enough on Sunday morning to consider attending church. Something happened to Genelle while she lay under the rubble of the Trade Center for twenty-six hours: she began to pray. She had visions of God and angels. When she awoke from sleep, she prayed some more, gradually feeling at peace. Arising again from sleep, she heard voices and knew that she was being rescued.
A few hours later in her hospital bed, Genelle told Roger of her experiences. She didn’t have a clear sense of direction, but she knew she needed to change her life. She told Roger that they needed to get married, and that they would attend the Brooklyn Tabernacle. Roger agreed, and they began planning a wedding. Genelle knows that her experience in the rubble truly transformed her. She cares much less than before about money or looking good. She refused to participate in the suits brought by other survivors. And she radiates a deep sense of peace. The designer of her wedding gown said that, “My main impression of her is really just how calm she is. You would never guess what she had been through.”
All of us have faced tragedy in our lives, but God willing, none of us will lie under rubble for twenty-six hours. Even so, God continues to give us second chances, continues to stand with us as we ponder how we might amend our lives, continues to offer us people who support us in the changes we see that we need to make. By God’s grace, this parish might be a place where we bear one another’s burdens, and where those who seek to amend their lives might be welcomed and encouraged.
“Bear fruits worthy of repentance.” Let God tend to you. By God’s grace, and with God’s help, our lives will bring forth good fruit, luscious, juicy, crisp, beautiful fruit.
1. The following is based on Lectionary Tales for the Pulpit, Series V, Year C (Lima: CSS, 2006), pp. 68ff. This chapter is based on John Cloud, “A Miracle’s Cost,” Time magazine, September 9, 2002.
Fruit is a wonderful spiritual image! It’s no wonder that Jesus chose to use a story about a fig tree to drive home his point about repentance, about being transformed spiritually. In using this image, Jesus was drawing on Hebrew Scripture, reminding his hearers that Isaiah, Jeremiah, Ezekiel, and other prophets had compared the community of Israel to a fruitful plant. Jesus’ hearers might also have remembered that his cousin John the Baptizer had shouted to the crowds who came for baptism, “Bear fruits worthy of repentance …. Even now the axe is lying at the root of the trees; every tree therefore that does not bear good fruit is cut down and thrown into the fire” (Luke 3:8-9). Now Jesus is on the road to Jerusalem. His cousin is dead. Jesus knows that he himself faces certain execution in Jerusalem. So, as they travel the dusty roads to the south, Jesus begins to give his band of disciples the spiritual tools they will need to carry on without him. Someone poses a question to him about some Galilean rebels killed in a surprise attack by Pilate’s soldiers: a sad but commonplace incident under Roman rule. While his disciples might be tempted to think that those people got what they deserved, Jesus says, “No, that is not how God’s economy works.” Rather, he reminds them that none of them knows when their lives will end, nor whether they will end peacefully or violently. And so, they must earnestly engage in continued reflection, self-examination, and, where necessary, change of life.
But that’s not the end of the story. In that strange little parable about a fig tree that doesn’t bear fruit Jesus offers his disciples a word of grace. He reminds them that, even if they have been unproductive fig trees, God never gives them what they deserve. God does not abandon them or cut them down, as human rulers do. Rather, like the gardener, God always gives them a second chance. God is always willing to be patient, take extra care, or offer richer nourishment, so that they may bear the fruit they were created to bear, so that they might indeed mature into plants producing luscious figs, juicy grapefruit, crisp apples, cherries, tomatoes, or any one of millions of other fruits.
Is Jesus speaking the same words to us? On Ash Wednesday, at the beginning of the church’s retreat in the wilderness, we accepted the challenge to keep a holy Lent through engaging in self-examination and repentance. You remember that the word that gets translated as “repentance” is metanoia, which means change of direction. Certainly acknowledging all the ways in which we miss the mark is necessary for our spiritual health,. However, in Lent, we are not called to manufacture sins – which we then “confess” to God. Rather, we are called to assess our lives, to examine how we are living, how we are spending our money, with whom we are associating, what we are returning to the community, and to ponder where change of direction might be needed.
Perhaps you are struggling at home. Perhaps you hate your job. Perhaps the teens are trying to figure out what kind of life they are supposed to live. Perhaps the seniors wonder if the psalmist was really right in declaring, “They will still bear fruit in old age, they will stay fresh and green” (Ps.92:14). Perhaps some are wondering whether, after the wreck they have made of their lives, God could still love them.
Lent is truly the time to ask ourselves, “Where should I be bearing fruit in my life?” What fruits might God want to see us bear? For what help might we ask God, in our desire to bear richer fruit? In his letter to the contentious Christians in Galatia, Paul reminds them and us that “the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control.” If you need a standard by which to examine your life, Galatians 5:22-23 would be a good place to start. We might also ask ourselves what fruits of ministry God might expect us to bear. Are you serving the church in any way? Praying for our parish and regularly attending worship is an important part of our ministry as Christians. Growing spiritually through prayer and formation is also part of our ministry, as is actively serving those who come through our doors. And we might ask ourselves, what fruits of service to the wider world God expects of us. Are you working in any way for a more just world, are you helping to alleviate hunger, are you part of the effort to enact sane gun laws, wider healthcare access, more effective immigration policies, appropriate aid to overseas churches and organizations? Finally, are we emulating our master in living an open and generous life, welcoming, indeed embracing, all whom we meet?
We might ask ourselves similar questions as a parish. Indeed, the fig tree is a collective image, often used in the Hebrew Scriptures to refer to Israel. What kind of fig tree are we as a parish? Are we bearing the fruit that God intends? Or do we need to pray for more help? If you are worried about the survival of St. Peter’s, are you praying that God will continue to give us a second chance, showing us how we must change?
You don’t think it’s possible to change your life? Then hear the story of Genelle Guzman-McMillan, the very last person to be rescued from the destruction of the World Trade Center on September 11, 2001.1 Though her right leg was crushed, Genelle received a second chance at life. Genelle had been living with her boyfriend Roger and spending her life working and going to dance clubs. She and Roger, who had been raised in church-going families, seldom awakened early enough on Sunday morning to consider attending church. Something happened to Genelle while she lay under the rubble of the Trade Center for twenty-six hours: she began to pray. She had visions of God and angels. When she awoke from sleep, she prayed some more, gradually feeling at peace. Arising again from sleep, she heard voices and knew that she was being rescued.
A few hours later in her hospital bed, Genelle told Roger of her experiences. She didn’t have a clear sense of direction, but she knew she needed to change her life. She told Roger that they needed to get married, and that they would attend the Brooklyn Tabernacle. Roger agreed, and they began planning a wedding. Genelle knows that her experience in the rubble truly transformed her. She cares much less than before about money or looking good. She refused to participate in the suits brought by other survivors. And she radiates a deep sense of peace. The designer of her wedding gown said that, “My main impression of her is really just how calm she is. You would never guess what she had been through.”
All of us have faced tragedy in our lives, but God willing, none of us will lie under rubble for twenty-six hours. Even so, God continues to give us second chances, continues to stand with us as we ponder how we might amend our lives, continues to offer us people who support us in the changes we see that we need to make. By God’s grace, this parish might be a place where we bear one another’s burdens, and where those who seek to amend their lives might be welcomed and encouraged.
“Bear fruits worthy of repentance.” Let God tend to you. By God’s grace, and with God’s help, our lives will bring forth good fruit, luscious, juicy, crisp, beautiful fruit.
1. The following is based on Lectionary Tales for the Pulpit, Series V, Year C (Lima: CSS, 2006), pp. 68ff. This chapter is based on John Cloud, “A Miracle’s Cost,” Time magazine, September 9, 2002.
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