All the Light We Cannot See is a recent novel that is set in occupied France during World War II. It tells the story of Marie-Laure LeBlanc who, at the age of six, becomes blind from a degenerative condition. Her widowed father is a master locksmith at the Museum of Natural History in Paris. To help her navigate the world and live independently, Marie-Laure’s father builds her a scale model of her neighborhood, and then walks her through the streets, teaching her to count her steps. He also has her learn Braille and brings her books that open up her world.
When the Nazis invade France in 1940, Marie-Laure and her father flee to Saint-Malo on the Atlantic coast, where they live in the house of great-uncle Etienne, a recluse. Again Marie-Laure’s father builds her wooden scale models and teaches her to navigate Etienne’s house and neighborhood. Although her father is arrested by the Nazis, partly because of his diligence in mapping Saint-Malo, Marie-Laure is able to function without him, draw out Etienne, help her neighbors, and change the life of Werner, a young German soldier of the occupation. There’s much more to the story, and I highly recommend that you read it for yourself. And why do I recommend it? It is not only the character of Marie-Laure that captivates us. What is more important is that the novel reminds us that there are different kinds of blindness, and that physical blindness does not necessarily lead to a life of misery, but only if the world around us is willing to support us and enable us to “see” differently.
Today’s readings from Scripture also ask us to consider the meanings and varieties of blindness. As you heard the reading from the first book of Samuel about the choice of a king to succeed Saul, couldn’t you just picture the parade of Jesse’s sons passing by the prophet Samuel? Tall, strong, probably accomplished horsemen, hunters, and fighters, wouldn’t they all have made excellent kings? No one in the story here is physically blind, but all are inwardly blind, as they seem to focus only on outward physical appearance. Even Samuel, when he sees tall Eliab, thinks that Eliab must be God’s choice. However, Samuel is also attuned to God, and so he is able to hear God say, “Do not look on his appearance … for the Lord does not see as mortals see….” When David is finally summoned from tending the sheep and is brought before Samuel, Samuel is able to hear God say, “Rise up and anoint him; for this is the one.”
Our Gospel story from the Gospel according to John similarly intrigues us with its depiction of different kinds of blindness. But first, there are some caveats, or warnings, when we talk about this gospel. Remember that it was written in the 90’s, i.e., sixty years after Jesus’ death. More important, it was written for a community in conflict with the mainline Judaism of its day. “The Jews” in this text are the religious leaders opposed to Jesus, not all Jews and not even all religious leaders. When this particular story mentions that followers of Jesus were “put out of the synagogue,” it refers to what Jesus’ followers in the 90’s were experiencing, not the experience of Jesus’ first disciples. And finally, remember that the overarching theme of this gospel is proving Jesus’ divinity, which you can hear here in “If this man were not from God, he could do nothing.”
So keeping that all in mind, let’s look at this challenging story. Here we see different kinds of blindness and different ways of responding to what is plainly in front of us. To begin with we see the man born blind, i.e., physically blind like Marie-Laure. However, unlike Marie-Laure, this man is stigmatized by his community because of his disability. Considered unclean, he is forced to become a beggar. Yet by God’s grace he is able to allow Jesus to touch him with a mixture of mud and saliva, and to follow Jesus’ instruction to wash in the pool of Siloam. Knowing he has been healed, he declares Jesus to be a prophet and one who had surely come from God.
Meanwhile, everyone else in the story is unable to see what has happened. The bystanders waffle: maybe it was he who was healed, maybe it wasn’t. The man’s parents cannot or will not say that their son has been healed. And the religious leaders, like so many people we know, cannot believe what they see and hear. Why? Because what has happened does not conform to their view of the world, the Law of Moses, or what are permissible activities on the Sabbath. While the evangelist seems to portray these religious leaders negatively, I can easily understand their desire to hold on to tradition, their inability to accept a changed reality, and their certainty that they are right.
And more important, aren’t we too in these stories? We are surely in the story from first Samuel. So many of us are just like Samuel! We too can’t see beyond outward characteristics! Don’t we judge other people on the basis of looks? Actually, our culture is obsessed with looks, especially how women look. Just look at the ads in any magazine! But don’t we also judge people on the basis of gender, age, religion, ethnicity, nationality, social class, and disability? “You only get one chance to make a first impression,” the how-to-succeed books say. But so often that first impression is so wrong. For most of us, it takes more than one encounter for us to see the real person beneath the outward trappings. How hard it is to see “as God sees.”
And don’t we also find it hard to see that God has done and is doing a new thing in our lives or in our world? Do we find it difficult to accept the reality of God’s actions because, like the bystanders, we don’t trust the evidence right in front of us, or because, like the beggar’s parents, we are afraid of what others might say if we commit to some new understanding? Or more than likely, we find it hard to see God at work, doing a new thing, because we are still looking through the lenses of the past. Like the religious leaders, we dismiss the possibility that God is changing our lives or our world, because we can’t let go of cherished beliefs and practices. “Tradition!” says Tevye in Fiddler on the Roof, when he attempts to explain life in his village. Do we still cling to outmoded traditions and beliefs?
We don’t have to stay blind! Marie-Laure learned to “see” through her father’s models and measured walks. Samuel learned to see by trusting God’s voice inside him, as he rejected all of Jesse’s older sons. The blind man was able to see through trusting a strange rabbi. The bystanders, the man’s parents, and the religious leaders were not able, at least in this story, to learn how to see.
How do we learn to see more clearly? To me, we begin to see more clearly when we give up our own sense of “how things are” and allow for the possibility that God does see differently than we do. We see more clearly when we can grasp that reality might be different than we think it is. We see more clearly when we are willing to give up our intense control of our lives and admit that we are not always right. For some of us, that is very difficult!
And how do we cultivate discernment and inner sight? How do we learn to let God help us see more clearly? There are lots of formal processes and good books about discernment out there. The Jesuits are especially good at teaching us discernment through meditating on Scripture. They also teach an especially good practice of walking through our day, watching for where God might have shown up. In the secular world, strategic planning, especially when it includes visioning exercises, can lead to clearer sight. Parishes can engage in communal discernment practices, and, again, there are many good books, consultants, and programs out there for that. Some of you are familiar with the discernment processes that accompany a felt sense of call to ordained ministry.
For us as individuals, perhaps the best way to learn to see more clearly is to spend some time, preferably every day, in intentional silence. Lectio divina, i.e., slow reading of Scripture, intentionally listening for God’s word to us, is one practice that, like new eyeglasses, can improve our sight. Or just sit in silence, even for five or ten minutes, setting aside your own thoughts and even conscious prayers, just listening for God’s word. Have you ever considered a silent retreat? They are wonderful for bringing us to a place of openness to God and for enabling us to consider how God might want to do something new in our lives. If you’re not ready for a week in silence – even though I highly recommend it – I invite you instead to try this spiritual exercise. Sit quietly. Take a few deep breaths. Ask yourself: what does God see in me? What does God see in N? Is there anything about N that I might not be seeing?
Ultimately, our goal as followers of Jesus is to cultivate wisdom, about ourselves, the world, and God, which is how we truly see. As we listen for the Word made flesh, i.e., God present to us in Jesus, we will learn wisdom. We will not be blind, but we will truly see God at work in ourselves and in all whom we encounter.
Showing posts with label Lent 4. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Lent 4. Show all posts
Sunday, March 26, 2017
Sunday, March 6, 2016
But Now am Found
I’ve always loved the hymn, “Amazing Grace,” especially that great line, “I once was lost, but now am found….” It’s a very popular hymn in this country, but do you know its story? It was first published in 1779, and its author was an English poet and clergyman, John Newton. Newton was not raised in a religious family, and in his early years, especially during the time he was forced to serve in the English navy, he was often a stubborn and recalcitrant loner. After leaving the navy, he got involved in the Atlantic slave trade, ferrying Africans to the U.S. and other cargo back to England. In 1748, a violent storm battered his vessel off the coast of County Donegal, Ireland. Newton felt so threatened that he called out to God for mercy. The storm abated, and he realized that God had saved his life. He continued in the slave trade for the next seven years. However, in 1755, he gave up sea faring and began studying theology.
Newton was ordained in the Church of England in 1764 and began writing hymns with the poet William Cowper. Recalling his own moment of conversion off the coast of Ireland, he wrote “Amazing Grace” to illustrate a sermon for New Year’s Day 1773. Though not well known in England, “Amazing Grace” was sung extensively during the Second Great Awakening in the U.S. in the early 19th century. In 1835 it was joined to the tune “New Britain,” by which we know it today. Perhaps what is most “amazing” about the hymn is that, with its message that our sins do not cut us off from forgiveness and redemption, and that, God, in God’s mercy, continues to search for us, "Amazing Grace" is one of the most recognizable songs in the English-speaking world.
Unquestionably, John Newton knew his Scripture. When he wrote “Amazing Grace,” perhaps he had in mind not only his own extraordinary experience of God’s radical acceptance of him, but also this passage from the gospel of Luke that we have just heard. Spoiler alert right from the top: the parable that we wrongly call “The Prodigal Son,” is not primarily about forgiveness. It is about restoration, wholeness, and God’s unrelenting search for us, in order to bring us back into community with Godself and with God’s people. You can see that immediately if you look at its context, and especially if you think about why Jesus might have told this parable.
A major motif of the gospel of Luke is Jesus’ humanity. What is more important, throughout both the gospel and its sequel, the Acts of the Apostles, is that the writer emphasizes Jesus’ message that all are welcome in God’s realm, and that salvation is available to all humanity. In the gospel in particular, Jesus heals, seeks out, welcomes, and dines with all kinds of people, rich and poor, sinners and law-abiding, Jews and gentiles. In gathering together all kinds of people, Jesus intentionally creates a new family within the realm of God, a family whose members acknowledge God’s grace and mercy, especially as they see it reflected in Jesus’ welcome of all into that family.
As we heard in today’s reading, some Pharisees and Scribes, i.e., some of the religious leaders, appear to question Jesus’ willingness to cross ethnic, gender, and social class boundaries. “This fellow welcomes sinners and eats with them,” they complain. Think about it. In Jesus’ time there were only very prescribed people with whom it was customary to share food. In response to this complaint, Luke has Jesus tell three stories, all having to do with something lost, and all ending with joyful recovery of the lost item. All three stories illustrate what Jesus’ ministry is about. The first two, which come in between the opening sentences and the parable we just heard, are relatively simple and straightforward. The first, as those of you Bible-readers remember, is the parable of the ninety-nine sheep that are safely in the fold and the one that has gone astray. After diligently searching for and finding the lost sheep, the shepherd in the parable says, “Rejoice with me, for I have found my sheep that was lost.” In the second story, a woman turns her house upside down searching for a lost coin. When she finally finds it, she says, “Rejoice with me, for I have found the coin that I had lost.” Interpreting both these parables, Jesus says, “Just so, I tell you, there is joy in the presence of the angels of God over one sinner who repents.”
The third parable, the one we just heard, is more complex. But ultimately its theme is similar to that of the other two. God deliberately seeks those who are lost, it tells us, and rejoices when the lost ones are found. This is not the parable of the Prodigal Son, as it’s usually called. It’s really the parable of the selfish sons and the loving father. Consider: both sons are lost – in different ways. The younger son is more obviously lost. He has taken a chunk of the family’s money and run away. He’s probably immature and inexperienced, so the money quickly disappears, either through extravagant spending or because, as a young man, he was taken advantage of by expert con men. Be that as it may, he was reduced to starvation and a less than minimum wage job. How does he save himself? He rehearses a pro forma apology and heads back home expecting at least a decent meal and a place to sleep. But his father rushes out. Can you picture the old man? Perhaps he’s spotted the boy from the roof-top. He tears down the stairs and out to the road, robes flying, bare legs exposed. When he sees him, does the father rebuke the boy? Of course not. He embraces the boy, ignores his pro forma apology, and calls for a celebration on the spot. “Rejoice with me, for this son of mine … was lost and is found.”
The older brother is also lost. He bears the burden of goodness – as eldest children often do. He is expected to live up to family mores, carry on the family name and occupation, and live up to family standards of behavior. But in some ways, goodness is a prison, especially if you think that you have to be a model person solely through your own efforts. The older son is also alienated from the community and celebration, and has yet to realize that he constantly receives his father’s love, whether he is the model son or not. Lost in alienation, he stands outside the party. A celebration was always waiting for him, but he has always seen himself as carrying the burdens of the world on his own shoulders.
Both sons need the grace of restoration to family and community: one for the unholy life that he has lived, and the other for a life solely focused on himself. Both need to know that they are truly God’s beloved, if imperfect, children. Both need to know that God continually seeks them out, finds them, and rejoices over them. “Rejoice with me, for the child that I have loved has come back to the family.”
Where are we in this insightful parable? Some of us may feel like the younger brother. Perhaps we have intentionally cut ourselves off from community. Perhaps we have committed unspeakable crimes. Sue Klebold, the mother of Dylan Klebold, one of the two shooters at Columbine High School in Littleton Colorado in 1999, has just broken her silence about what it has been like to have been the mother of such a son. Others of us have severed our ties with our families or communities through addictions, either to such harmful substances as alcohol or drugs, or to ostensibly good things like work, sports, or computer or smart phone screens. If we are like the younger brother, God is always waiting for our return, eagerly seeking us, and yearning to draw us back into community.
The truth is that most of us are probably more like the older brother. Priest and writer Henry Nouwen reminds us of our need to acknowledge “the fact that what God has for us is really there all the time….” What we really need are eyes to see. Nouwen continues, “Celebration belongs to God’s Kingdom. God not only offers forgiveness, reconciliation, and healing, but wants to lift up these gifts as a source of joy for all who witness them. In all three parables which Jesus tells to explain why he eats with sinners, God rejoices and invites others to rejoice with him.”1
As we respond to God’s invitation, we are also called to emulate the third son, the teller of these parables. God also invites us to seek out the lost and invite them into community. Episcopal Relief and Development is at work all over the world doing just that. Many of their stories touch my heart. However, this month two stories in this month’s Rotarian reflected a similar commitment. In one, a woman was working with women who had been trafficked as young prostitutes and were trying to come off the streets. In another, a team of young Rotarians were delivering 2,400 durable non-inflatable soccer balls to countries where young people have been seen playing soccer with bundles of trash or rags. Wherever they stopped, the team played a lively game of soccer with the recipients of the balls.
In this parish, we know the joy of welcoming our Loaves and Fishes diners. I wonder, who else should we be inviting? Ultimately, all are welcome in God’s realm. All are invited, sought, and rejoiced over. God rejoices over you and invites you to bring others into the celebratory feast.
1. The Return of the Prodigal Son: A Story of Homecoming (N.Y.: Doubleday, 1992), quoted in Synthesis, Lent 4 2016, p 4.
Newton was ordained in the Church of England in 1764 and began writing hymns with the poet William Cowper. Recalling his own moment of conversion off the coast of Ireland, he wrote “Amazing Grace” to illustrate a sermon for New Year’s Day 1773. Though not well known in England, “Amazing Grace” was sung extensively during the Second Great Awakening in the U.S. in the early 19th century. In 1835 it was joined to the tune “New Britain,” by which we know it today. Perhaps what is most “amazing” about the hymn is that, with its message that our sins do not cut us off from forgiveness and redemption, and that, God, in God’s mercy, continues to search for us, "Amazing Grace" is one of the most recognizable songs in the English-speaking world.
Unquestionably, John Newton knew his Scripture. When he wrote “Amazing Grace,” perhaps he had in mind not only his own extraordinary experience of God’s radical acceptance of him, but also this passage from the gospel of Luke that we have just heard. Spoiler alert right from the top: the parable that we wrongly call “The Prodigal Son,” is not primarily about forgiveness. It is about restoration, wholeness, and God’s unrelenting search for us, in order to bring us back into community with Godself and with God’s people. You can see that immediately if you look at its context, and especially if you think about why Jesus might have told this parable.
A major motif of the gospel of Luke is Jesus’ humanity. What is more important, throughout both the gospel and its sequel, the Acts of the Apostles, is that the writer emphasizes Jesus’ message that all are welcome in God’s realm, and that salvation is available to all humanity. In the gospel in particular, Jesus heals, seeks out, welcomes, and dines with all kinds of people, rich and poor, sinners and law-abiding, Jews and gentiles. In gathering together all kinds of people, Jesus intentionally creates a new family within the realm of God, a family whose members acknowledge God’s grace and mercy, especially as they see it reflected in Jesus’ welcome of all into that family.
As we heard in today’s reading, some Pharisees and Scribes, i.e., some of the religious leaders, appear to question Jesus’ willingness to cross ethnic, gender, and social class boundaries. “This fellow welcomes sinners and eats with them,” they complain. Think about it. In Jesus’ time there were only very prescribed people with whom it was customary to share food. In response to this complaint, Luke has Jesus tell three stories, all having to do with something lost, and all ending with joyful recovery of the lost item. All three stories illustrate what Jesus’ ministry is about. The first two, which come in between the opening sentences and the parable we just heard, are relatively simple and straightforward. The first, as those of you Bible-readers remember, is the parable of the ninety-nine sheep that are safely in the fold and the one that has gone astray. After diligently searching for and finding the lost sheep, the shepherd in the parable says, “Rejoice with me, for I have found my sheep that was lost.” In the second story, a woman turns her house upside down searching for a lost coin. When she finally finds it, she says, “Rejoice with me, for I have found the coin that I had lost.” Interpreting both these parables, Jesus says, “Just so, I tell you, there is joy in the presence of the angels of God over one sinner who repents.”
The third parable, the one we just heard, is more complex. But ultimately its theme is similar to that of the other two. God deliberately seeks those who are lost, it tells us, and rejoices when the lost ones are found. This is not the parable of the Prodigal Son, as it’s usually called. It’s really the parable of the selfish sons and the loving father. Consider: both sons are lost – in different ways. The younger son is more obviously lost. He has taken a chunk of the family’s money and run away. He’s probably immature and inexperienced, so the money quickly disappears, either through extravagant spending or because, as a young man, he was taken advantage of by expert con men. Be that as it may, he was reduced to starvation and a less than minimum wage job. How does he save himself? He rehearses a pro forma apology and heads back home expecting at least a decent meal and a place to sleep. But his father rushes out. Can you picture the old man? Perhaps he’s spotted the boy from the roof-top. He tears down the stairs and out to the road, robes flying, bare legs exposed. When he sees him, does the father rebuke the boy? Of course not. He embraces the boy, ignores his pro forma apology, and calls for a celebration on the spot. “Rejoice with me, for this son of mine … was lost and is found.”
The older brother is also lost. He bears the burden of goodness – as eldest children often do. He is expected to live up to family mores, carry on the family name and occupation, and live up to family standards of behavior. But in some ways, goodness is a prison, especially if you think that you have to be a model person solely through your own efforts. The older son is also alienated from the community and celebration, and has yet to realize that he constantly receives his father’s love, whether he is the model son or not. Lost in alienation, he stands outside the party. A celebration was always waiting for him, but he has always seen himself as carrying the burdens of the world on his own shoulders.
Both sons need the grace of restoration to family and community: one for the unholy life that he has lived, and the other for a life solely focused on himself. Both need to know that they are truly God’s beloved, if imperfect, children. Both need to know that God continually seeks them out, finds them, and rejoices over them. “Rejoice with me, for the child that I have loved has come back to the family.”
Where are we in this insightful parable? Some of us may feel like the younger brother. Perhaps we have intentionally cut ourselves off from community. Perhaps we have committed unspeakable crimes. Sue Klebold, the mother of Dylan Klebold, one of the two shooters at Columbine High School in Littleton Colorado in 1999, has just broken her silence about what it has been like to have been the mother of such a son. Others of us have severed our ties with our families or communities through addictions, either to such harmful substances as alcohol or drugs, or to ostensibly good things like work, sports, or computer or smart phone screens. If we are like the younger brother, God is always waiting for our return, eagerly seeking us, and yearning to draw us back into community.
The truth is that most of us are probably more like the older brother. Priest and writer Henry Nouwen reminds us of our need to acknowledge “the fact that what God has for us is really there all the time….” What we really need are eyes to see. Nouwen continues, “Celebration belongs to God’s Kingdom. God not only offers forgiveness, reconciliation, and healing, but wants to lift up these gifts as a source of joy for all who witness them. In all three parables which Jesus tells to explain why he eats with sinners, God rejoices and invites others to rejoice with him.”1
As we respond to God’s invitation, we are also called to emulate the third son, the teller of these parables. God also invites us to seek out the lost and invite them into community. Episcopal Relief and Development is at work all over the world doing just that. Many of their stories touch my heart. However, this month two stories in this month’s Rotarian reflected a similar commitment. In one, a woman was working with women who had been trafficked as young prostitutes and were trying to come off the streets. In another, a team of young Rotarians were delivering 2,400 durable non-inflatable soccer balls to countries where young people have been seen playing soccer with bundles of trash or rags. Wherever they stopped, the team played a lively game of soccer with the recipients of the balls.
In this parish, we know the joy of welcoming our Loaves and Fishes diners. I wonder, who else should we be inviting? Ultimately, all are welcome in God’s realm. All are invited, sought, and rejoiced over. God rejoices over you and invites you to bring others into the celebratory feast.
1. The Return of the Prodigal Son: A Story of Homecoming (N.Y.: Doubleday, 1992), quoted in Synthesis, Lent 4 2016, p 4.
Monday, March 31, 2014
As God Sees
One day Sherlock Holmes, the great detective, and Dr. Watson, his assistant, went on a camping trip. They ate well, enjoyed a bottle of wine, and then lay down. Soon they were fast asleep. Some hours later, Holmes woke up. He nudged his faithful friend. “Watson,” he asked, “Look up and tell me what you see.” Watson replied, “I see millions and millions of stars.” Holmes then said, “Well, Watson, what does that tell you?” Watson thought a bit and then replied, “Astronomically, I observe that there are millions of galaxies and potentially billions of planets. Astrologically, I see that Saturn is in Leo. Horologically, I deduce that the time is about a quarter past three. Theologically, I understand that God is all-powerful, and that we are small and insignificant. Meteorologically, I suspect that we will have a beautiful day tomorrow. Why, what does it tell you?” “Watson, you idiot,” Holmes replied, “Someone has stolen our tent!”1
It’s Laetare Sunday, also known as Refreshment Sunday or Rose Sunday, for the rose-colored paraments and vestments that are traditional for the day. Since we don’t have rose-colored paraments and vestments, we’re still using our purple paraments and vestments. Even so, we’re halfway through Lent. Just for today we can ease up on our Lenten disciplines and look forward to the joys of Easter. And because we anticipate Easter, today is also a traditional day to tell jokes, even in the midst of this solemn Lenten season.
Just as Holmes chided Watson for not seeing what he most needed to see, today’s Scripture invites us to question whether we are seeing what we most need to see. Is it possible that we might see the world around us differently? In our reading from the first Book of Samuel, we encounter a venerable servant of God, who learned to see differently. Samuel had served God since he was a young boy, since he first said to God, “Speak, Lord, for your servant is listening.” On God’s instructions, he had anointed Saul as king. When Saul failed to be the king the people of Israel needed, Samuel followed God’s instructions and sought a new king from the family of Jessie. Even though Samuel was able to hear God speaking, he still needed to be tutored by God in how to see. Wasn’t his first choice for the next king just the one we would make? Big, handsome, regal, yes? No, for “the Lord does not see as mortals see.” Wasn’t David, as the youngest, the least likely person to be the next king? Yes, yet God already foresaw the powerful leader that David would eventually become, and God taught Samuel how to see a little of what God saw in David.
In our Gospel story, it is the disciples who learn to see differently – at least we hope so – and the Pharisees who cannot or refuse to see differently. Walking along, Jesus and the disciples pass by a blind man. The disciples see the man and do what Watson did – or what we might do, or think when we see a beggar or homeless person. They see an “it.” They focus on the past and look for someone to blame for the man’s condition. They see a theological problem, an abstraction. Jesus models a different way of seeing. Jesus sees a human being, a “thou.” Jesus looks into the future and sees what the man might become. Jesus sees someone in need. Jesus looks for a way to transform evil, not just talk about it.
And then Jesus acts. He does something concrete to change the man’s condition. He doesn’t let himself get mired in process. He doesn’t wonder what the systemic reasons are for the man’s blindness or his need to beg. He doesn’t wonder why the man’s family isn’t taking care of him. He doesn’t wait to mix the mud paste until the man says he believes that Jesus can heal him. He doesn’t care that the Pharisees will criticize him for healing on the Sabbath. He sees someone who needs help, he takes action, and he enables the man to see.
The now-sighted man is, as we would be, ecstatic that he can see. When he finally finds Jesus again, he worships him. Unfortunately, the Pharisees have a different reaction. They are not impressed by Jesus’ healing of the blind man, and they are offended that Jesus healed on the Sabbath. Have they, as we often do, put God in a box? Are they unable to see beyond the lines of their dogma and tradition? Do they try to fit God into the confines of their own understanding, instead of seeing the sign that God might be doing something entirely unprecedented?
What do you see in this story? Are you like the disciples, willing at least to wonder what Jesus might be up to? Or are you more like the Pharisees, unable to believe that God might do things in an untraditional, unexpected way? I wonder what would happen if we could put aside our preconceived ideas about how things are and ask God to help us to see as Jesus saw, as God sees – even just a little.
Might we see ourselves differently? Might we be able to admit honestly who we are? We began our Lenten study series on forgiveness looking at the need for honest, intentional self-examination. This past week we talked about recognizing our enemies, both those people we actively dislike or believe wish to harm us and those elements of our own personality or lifestyle that we dislike. Is it possible that we are not seeing either our external or internal “enemies” clearly, or as Jesus sees them? Might we also admit how and where – and more often than we like – we miss the mark? Might we be able to ask God to open our eyes to those places in our lives we could begin to change?
By the same token, might we also be able to see ourselves as God’s beloved and gifted children? Think of all the images just from Scripture that remind us of how dear we are to God. We are like the protected sheep of today’s psalm, watched over by the Good Shepherd. We are the guests at God banquet, fed with the rich wines of Isaiah’s prophecy or with the bread and fish of the gospel accounts. We are the ones who are healed from our diseases by God, whose eyes are opened by God, and who are taught by God to have faith in God’s promises. We are those who in baptism were “sealed with the Spirit” and are now part of Christ’s body.
If we could see as Jesus saw, as God sees – even a little – might we also see others differently? If we knew our family and friends to also be God’s beloved children, might we be more understanding of them? Might our anger flare up less often? Might we treat our co-workers, our clients, those who wait on us, guests, and strangers as fellow human beings with real needs of their own? Might we be slower to judge those who look, talk, smell, or behave differently from us? Might we be more willing to take the practical steps needed to meet their needs for healthcare, housing, clothing, or work? Might we even see other faith communities differently? Might we be more willing to partner not only with those of other Christian denominations but with Jews, Muslims, Hindus, Buddhists, or even with those of no religion, to begin addressing the world’s myriad needs? If we could see as Jesus saw, as God sees, might we be able to recognize signs of God’s presence in the world? Might we see that God is already working a transformation in us – if we would but cooperate?
One day people saw a blind man sitting by the steps of a building with a hat by his feet and a sign that read, “I am blind, please help.” A creative publicist came by and noticed that the blind man had only a few coins in his hat. He dropped a few coins in the man’s hat. Then, without asking the man’s permission, he took the sign, turned it over and wrote another message on it. Then he put the sign back by the man’s feet and left. That afternoon the publicist came back to check on the blind man. The blind man’s hat was full of bills and coins. The blind man recognized the publicist’s footsteps and asked if he was the one who had rewritten his sign. The blind man wanted to know what he had written on it. The publicist said, “Nothing that was not true. I just phrased your message differently.” He smiled and went on his way. The blind man never knew that his sign now read “TODAY IS SPRING AND I CANNOT SEE IT.”2
God is continually transforming us into Jesus’ likeness. As we trust in “the slow work of God,” perhaps we can also begin to comprehend the work to which we have been called as members of Christ’s body. As Teresa of Avila, one of the great Christian mystics reminded us,
Christ has no body now on earth but yours,
No hands but yours, No feet but yours,
Yours are the eyes through which is to look out
Christ’s compassion to the world;
Yours are the feet with which he is to go about doing good;
Yours are the hands with which he is to bless men now.3
1. Told in Synthesis, March 30, 2014.
2. Ibid.
3. Parminder Singh Summon, Summon’s Compendium of Days (New York: Seabury, 2007), 96
It’s Laetare Sunday, also known as Refreshment Sunday or Rose Sunday, for the rose-colored paraments and vestments that are traditional for the day. Since we don’t have rose-colored paraments and vestments, we’re still using our purple paraments and vestments. Even so, we’re halfway through Lent. Just for today we can ease up on our Lenten disciplines and look forward to the joys of Easter. And because we anticipate Easter, today is also a traditional day to tell jokes, even in the midst of this solemn Lenten season.
Just as Holmes chided Watson for not seeing what he most needed to see, today’s Scripture invites us to question whether we are seeing what we most need to see. Is it possible that we might see the world around us differently? In our reading from the first Book of Samuel, we encounter a venerable servant of God, who learned to see differently. Samuel had served God since he was a young boy, since he first said to God, “Speak, Lord, for your servant is listening.” On God’s instructions, he had anointed Saul as king. When Saul failed to be the king the people of Israel needed, Samuel followed God’s instructions and sought a new king from the family of Jessie. Even though Samuel was able to hear God speaking, he still needed to be tutored by God in how to see. Wasn’t his first choice for the next king just the one we would make? Big, handsome, regal, yes? No, for “the Lord does not see as mortals see.” Wasn’t David, as the youngest, the least likely person to be the next king? Yes, yet God already foresaw the powerful leader that David would eventually become, and God taught Samuel how to see a little of what God saw in David.
In our Gospel story, it is the disciples who learn to see differently – at least we hope so – and the Pharisees who cannot or refuse to see differently. Walking along, Jesus and the disciples pass by a blind man. The disciples see the man and do what Watson did – or what we might do, or think when we see a beggar or homeless person. They see an “it.” They focus on the past and look for someone to blame for the man’s condition. They see a theological problem, an abstraction. Jesus models a different way of seeing. Jesus sees a human being, a “thou.” Jesus looks into the future and sees what the man might become. Jesus sees someone in need. Jesus looks for a way to transform evil, not just talk about it.
And then Jesus acts. He does something concrete to change the man’s condition. He doesn’t let himself get mired in process. He doesn’t wonder what the systemic reasons are for the man’s blindness or his need to beg. He doesn’t wonder why the man’s family isn’t taking care of him. He doesn’t wait to mix the mud paste until the man says he believes that Jesus can heal him. He doesn’t care that the Pharisees will criticize him for healing on the Sabbath. He sees someone who needs help, he takes action, and he enables the man to see.
The now-sighted man is, as we would be, ecstatic that he can see. When he finally finds Jesus again, he worships him. Unfortunately, the Pharisees have a different reaction. They are not impressed by Jesus’ healing of the blind man, and they are offended that Jesus healed on the Sabbath. Have they, as we often do, put God in a box? Are they unable to see beyond the lines of their dogma and tradition? Do they try to fit God into the confines of their own understanding, instead of seeing the sign that God might be doing something entirely unprecedented?
What do you see in this story? Are you like the disciples, willing at least to wonder what Jesus might be up to? Or are you more like the Pharisees, unable to believe that God might do things in an untraditional, unexpected way? I wonder what would happen if we could put aside our preconceived ideas about how things are and ask God to help us to see as Jesus saw, as God sees – even just a little.
Might we see ourselves differently? Might we be able to admit honestly who we are? We began our Lenten study series on forgiveness looking at the need for honest, intentional self-examination. This past week we talked about recognizing our enemies, both those people we actively dislike or believe wish to harm us and those elements of our own personality or lifestyle that we dislike. Is it possible that we are not seeing either our external or internal “enemies” clearly, or as Jesus sees them? Might we also admit how and where – and more often than we like – we miss the mark? Might we be able to ask God to open our eyes to those places in our lives we could begin to change?
By the same token, might we also be able to see ourselves as God’s beloved and gifted children? Think of all the images just from Scripture that remind us of how dear we are to God. We are like the protected sheep of today’s psalm, watched over by the Good Shepherd. We are the guests at God banquet, fed with the rich wines of Isaiah’s prophecy or with the bread and fish of the gospel accounts. We are the ones who are healed from our diseases by God, whose eyes are opened by God, and who are taught by God to have faith in God’s promises. We are those who in baptism were “sealed with the Spirit” and are now part of Christ’s body.
If we could see as Jesus saw, as God sees – even a little – might we also see others differently? If we knew our family and friends to also be God’s beloved children, might we be more understanding of them? Might our anger flare up less often? Might we treat our co-workers, our clients, those who wait on us, guests, and strangers as fellow human beings with real needs of their own? Might we be slower to judge those who look, talk, smell, or behave differently from us? Might we be more willing to take the practical steps needed to meet their needs for healthcare, housing, clothing, or work? Might we even see other faith communities differently? Might we be more willing to partner not only with those of other Christian denominations but with Jews, Muslims, Hindus, Buddhists, or even with those of no religion, to begin addressing the world’s myriad needs? If we could see as Jesus saw, as God sees, might we be able to recognize signs of God’s presence in the world? Might we see that God is already working a transformation in us – if we would but cooperate?
One day people saw a blind man sitting by the steps of a building with a hat by his feet and a sign that read, “I am blind, please help.” A creative publicist came by and noticed that the blind man had only a few coins in his hat. He dropped a few coins in the man’s hat. Then, without asking the man’s permission, he took the sign, turned it over and wrote another message on it. Then he put the sign back by the man’s feet and left. That afternoon the publicist came back to check on the blind man. The blind man’s hat was full of bills and coins. The blind man recognized the publicist’s footsteps and asked if he was the one who had rewritten his sign. The blind man wanted to know what he had written on it. The publicist said, “Nothing that was not true. I just phrased your message differently.” He smiled and went on his way. The blind man never knew that his sign now read “TODAY IS SPRING AND I CANNOT SEE IT.”2
God is continually transforming us into Jesus’ likeness. As we trust in “the slow work of God,” perhaps we can also begin to comprehend the work to which we have been called as members of Christ’s body. As Teresa of Avila, one of the great Christian mystics reminded us,
Christ has no body now on earth but yours,
No hands but yours, No feet but yours,
Yours are the eyes through which is to look out
Christ’s compassion to the world;
Yours are the feet with which he is to go about doing good;
Yours are the hands with which he is to bless men now.3
1. Told in Synthesis, March 30, 2014.
2. Ibid.
3. Parminder Singh Summon, Summon’s Compendium of Days (New York: Seabury, 2007), 96
Sunday, March 10, 2013
Ambassadors for Christ
Is anyone beyond God’s redemptive love? There’s a story told about Karl Barth, the great Swiss Reformed theologian. It is said that Barth was asked what he would say to Hitler, if he ever had a chance to meet the man who had tried to annihilate the Jews and had wreaked so much destruction on Europe. The person who asked Barth that question most likely assumed that Barth would prophetically thunder God’s vengeance against the perpetrator of so much evil. Instead, Barth replied that all he would do was to quote Romans 5:8, “The proof of God’s love is that Christ died for us even while we were sinners.” Barth knew that accusation and judgment would have provoked Hitler’s self-righteous defense and self-justification. Only the knowledge of God’s boundless mercy and forgiveness, only the good news of God’s infinite grace, could possibly have wrought a change in Hitler. Do we believe that? Could you have said what Barth said? Could you have said those words to Pol Pot or Bull Connor, to Saddam Husain or the September 11th terrorists? Can you say them to Bashar al-Assad or Jared Loughner? Can you say them to yourself? Is anyone beyond God’s mercy, forgiveness, and love?
I hope that if I were called to answer the question put to Barth – and it would be a very hard one for me – I would be able to say, “In Christ God was reconciling the world to himself, not counting their trespasses against them, and entrusting the message of reconciliation to us…. We entreat you on behalf of Christ to be reconciled to God.” For, once we hear Paul’s statement of the good news, then we see the world and all other human beings differently. We “regard no one from a human point of view.” We understand that no one is beyond the reach of Christ. We understand that, whether we or they think so, Christ has died for all. Not some, not a chosen few, but all. Christ has died for Hitler, for Pol Pot, for Saddam Husain, for the September 11th terrorists, for Bashar al-Assad, and for us. Such is God’s infinite mercy and grace.
Is God’s grace too unbelievable? Does God’s grace offend our sense of fairness? Don’t we always expect God to mete out justice, vengeance, and punishment? Do some of us live in fear of God’s justice, or even secretly pray for God’s punishment to rain down on others?
Make no mistake. If we cannot trust in God’s mercy – for all – then we have no basis for hope of any kind. For if we give up hope for anyone’s salvation – even the most evil person we can imagine – then we give up hope for ourselves. Indeed, if we can engage in honest self-examination, or if we are fortunate enough to get a glimpse of how others see us, then we know that we are not engaging in false humility when we say to God, in the words of the old confession, “We acknowledge and bewail our manifold sins and wickedness, which we from time to time most grievously have committed, provoking most justly thy wrath and indignation against us.” Can we then hope for redemption for ourselves, while denying that others can be saved? Theologian Hans Urs von Balthasar reminds us that the church has never, in any place, declared anyone definitely to be damned – not all those consigned to Hell in Dante’s Inferno, not the killers of martyrs, not even Judas. “There’s a wideness in God’s mercy,” and in Christ God has definitively demonstrated that God’s mercy extends to all.
Is that too unbelievable? Perhaps the saints among us – in whose number the church has dared to include those from “every nation, tribe, people, and language,” – are those who have accepted God’s all-inclusive grace, and are already living in that new reality. Jesus proclaimed that, “The Kingdom of God has come near.” Indeed, as members of Christ’s Body, as those who have been made new by his death and resurrection, we are living in that new realm now. Not in some life to come, but now. We are living under a new dispensation, inaugurated by Christ’s life and teaching, Christ’s death and resurrection. We are citizens of a new country, and we are ambassadors of a new way of living. God has reconciled the world to Godself, and we are called to proclaim that message of reconciliation to others.
Let’s look at that word “reconciliation.” Notice that Paul doesn’t say “sacrifice,” or “justification,” or “redemption.” “Redemption” means release from slavery. “Justification” is a legal word. Sacrifice” reminds us of rituals that have little or no meaning for us moderns. The word “reconciliation” is different. It comes from the world of international diplomacy. Elsewhere Paul uses military images and speaks in terms of spiritual warfare. Here he tells us that we are diplomats, ambassadors, and representatives of God. Now we no longer see the world in us/them terms; we look at the world as if we were diplomats, called to bring peace to a world full of conflict.
Of course, it is God who has made us citizens of a new country, it is God who has called us to be ambassadors and diplomats, it is God who has called us to be peacemakers. As one commentator tells us, “God reconciles and humanity is reconciled! For Paul it is never Jesus the loving son stepping into the gap to protect humanity from an angry father. It is God the Father who takes the initiative by sending Jesus the son to accomplish the work of reconciliation. God is not an angry tyrant “out to get us,” but one whose reconciling love has taken flesh in the life and death of Jesus.”1 It is that work of reconciling love in which we are called to participate. We are charged to be the advance guard proclaiming and showing forth the new creation and the ministry of reconciliation. As individuals, and more importantly, as the church, we are called to join the Peace Corps of God, the Red Cross of Reconciliation, and the embassy of Christ.2
Can we do that? As those who are now part of Christ’s Body, can we know ourselves to be recipients of God’s love? Do we believe that we are living in the new country that God has created? Can we share that good news with others? Are we willing to be agents of God’s love?
Where do we begin? Can we even conceive of the new creation we are called to proclaim? Perhaps we begin by attempting to see the world through God’s eyes. Such vision begins in prayer, in a way of seeing that God gives us when we pray. When we stop talking and take time for holy silence, when we open ourselves to God, we strengthen our ability to see as God sees. We begin to see all people, people nearby and people farther away, good and bad, healthy and sick, legal and illegal, addicted and clean, rich and poor, all people, indeed all creation, as reconciled to God, as beloved by God, as worthy of God’s and our forgiveness, care and concern.
When we see with God’s eyes, then we begin to have empathy. We begin to see through others’ eyes and begin to understand how the world looks to them. After that, we can begin to take concrete action. The children of St. Mark’s Episcopal Church in Jacksonville, Florida have already begun to act as God’s agents.3 Every year during Lent, the youngest Sunday school children raise money for Episcopal Relief & Development. In 2012 they learned about malaria and raised $550 for Nets for Life. This year, the children decided to purchase a dairy cow from the ERD catalogue in order to help a family in need. They wanted to raise $630. Parents and parishioners gave them donations and cleaned out the extra change from couch cushions. The children went a step further and set up a lemonade stand to raise even more money. They encouraged members of the congregation to buy animals of their own and even set up a Noah’s Ark on the parish hall bulletin board filled with purchased animals. They hope to fill the ark by the end of Lent. “Our children continue to amaze and inspire us with their genuine desire to help others,” said Margaret Cavin, Sunday school coordinator at St. Mark’s. “I've loved hearing stories from parents about their children's efforts to raise funds. One student emptied his entire piggy bank so that he could be sure to contribute a mosquito net last year. I've already heard parents say that any bit of change found in their home or car has been scooped up and deposited in a mite box. We can't wait to see how much the children will raise!"
The children of St. Mark’s have already become ambassadors for Christ. Young as they are, they have already become emissaries of God’s love to children whose names they will never know. Can we do any less? God has decisively demonstrated God’s love for us and for all humanity. Whom are we called to embrace? To whom is this parish called to reach out in love?
1. Hulitt Gloer, “Ambassadors of Reconciliation: Paul’s Genius in Applying the Gospel in a Multi-cultural World: 2 Corinthians 5:14-21,” Review & Expositor 104, no. 3 (Summer 2007): 591, quoted in L. Susan Bond, “Fourth Sunday in Lent,” New Proclamation (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2012), 169.
2. L. Susan Bond, ibid.
3. http://www.er-d.org/Friends-February-2013-St-Marks-Jacksonville
I hope that if I were called to answer the question put to Barth – and it would be a very hard one for me – I would be able to say, “In Christ God was reconciling the world to himself, not counting their trespasses against them, and entrusting the message of reconciliation to us…. We entreat you on behalf of Christ to be reconciled to God.” For, once we hear Paul’s statement of the good news, then we see the world and all other human beings differently. We “regard no one from a human point of view.” We understand that no one is beyond the reach of Christ. We understand that, whether we or they think so, Christ has died for all. Not some, not a chosen few, but all. Christ has died for Hitler, for Pol Pot, for Saddam Husain, for the September 11th terrorists, for Bashar al-Assad, and for us. Such is God’s infinite mercy and grace.
Is God’s grace too unbelievable? Does God’s grace offend our sense of fairness? Don’t we always expect God to mete out justice, vengeance, and punishment? Do some of us live in fear of God’s justice, or even secretly pray for God’s punishment to rain down on others?
Make no mistake. If we cannot trust in God’s mercy – for all – then we have no basis for hope of any kind. For if we give up hope for anyone’s salvation – even the most evil person we can imagine – then we give up hope for ourselves. Indeed, if we can engage in honest self-examination, or if we are fortunate enough to get a glimpse of how others see us, then we know that we are not engaging in false humility when we say to God, in the words of the old confession, “We acknowledge and bewail our manifold sins and wickedness, which we from time to time most grievously have committed, provoking most justly thy wrath and indignation against us.” Can we then hope for redemption for ourselves, while denying that others can be saved? Theologian Hans Urs von Balthasar reminds us that the church has never, in any place, declared anyone definitely to be damned – not all those consigned to Hell in Dante’s Inferno, not the killers of martyrs, not even Judas. “There’s a wideness in God’s mercy,” and in Christ God has definitively demonstrated that God’s mercy extends to all.
Is that too unbelievable? Perhaps the saints among us – in whose number the church has dared to include those from “every nation, tribe, people, and language,” – are those who have accepted God’s all-inclusive grace, and are already living in that new reality. Jesus proclaimed that, “The Kingdom of God has come near.” Indeed, as members of Christ’s Body, as those who have been made new by his death and resurrection, we are living in that new realm now. Not in some life to come, but now. We are living under a new dispensation, inaugurated by Christ’s life and teaching, Christ’s death and resurrection. We are citizens of a new country, and we are ambassadors of a new way of living. God has reconciled the world to Godself, and we are called to proclaim that message of reconciliation to others.
Let’s look at that word “reconciliation.” Notice that Paul doesn’t say “sacrifice,” or “justification,” or “redemption.” “Redemption” means release from slavery. “Justification” is a legal word. Sacrifice” reminds us of rituals that have little or no meaning for us moderns. The word “reconciliation” is different. It comes from the world of international diplomacy. Elsewhere Paul uses military images and speaks in terms of spiritual warfare. Here he tells us that we are diplomats, ambassadors, and representatives of God. Now we no longer see the world in us/them terms; we look at the world as if we were diplomats, called to bring peace to a world full of conflict.
Of course, it is God who has made us citizens of a new country, it is God who has called us to be ambassadors and diplomats, it is God who has called us to be peacemakers. As one commentator tells us, “God reconciles and humanity is reconciled! For Paul it is never Jesus the loving son stepping into the gap to protect humanity from an angry father. It is God the Father who takes the initiative by sending Jesus the son to accomplish the work of reconciliation. God is not an angry tyrant “out to get us,” but one whose reconciling love has taken flesh in the life and death of Jesus.”1 It is that work of reconciling love in which we are called to participate. We are charged to be the advance guard proclaiming and showing forth the new creation and the ministry of reconciliation. As individuals, and more importantly, as the church, we are called to join the Peace Corps of God, the Red Cross of Reconciliation, and the embassy of Christ.2
Can we do that? As those who are now part of Christ’s Body, can we know ourselves to be recipients of God’s love? Do we believe that we are living in the new country that God has created? Can we share that good news with others? Are we willing to be agents of God’s love?
Where do we begin? Can we even conceive of the new creation we are called to proclaim? Perhaps we begin by attempting to see the world through God’s eyes. Such vision begins in prayer, in a way of seeing that God gives us when we pray. When we stop talking and take time for holy silence, when we open ourselves to God, we strengthen our ability to see as God sees. We begin to see all people, people nearby and people farther away, good and bad, healthy and sick, legal and illegal, addicted and clean, rich and poor, all people, indeed all creation, as reconciled to God, as beloved by God, as worthy of God’s and our forgiveness, care and concern.
When we see with God’s eyes, then we begin to have empathy. We begin to see through others’ eyes and begin to understand how the world looks to them. After that, we can begin to take concrete action. The children of St. Mark’s Episcopal Church in Jacksonville, Florida have already begun to act as God’s agents.3 Every year during Lent, the youngest Sunday school children raise money for Episcopal Relief & Development. In 2012 they learned about malaria and raised $550 for Nets for Life. This year, the children decided to purchase a dairy cow from the ERD catalogue in order to help a family in need. They wanted to raise $630. Parents and parishioners gave them donations and cleaned out the extra change from couch cushions. The children went a step further and set up a lemonade stand to raise even more money. They encouraged members of the congregation to buy animals of their own and even set up a Noah’s Ark on the parish hall bulletin board filled with purchased animals. They hope to fill the ark by the end of Lent. “Our children continue to amaze and inspire us with their genuine desire to help others,” said Margaret Cavin, Sunday school coordinator at St. Mark’s. “I've loved hearing stories from parents about their children's efforts to raise funds. One student emptied his entire piggy bank so that he could be sure to contribute a mosquito net last year. I've already heard parents say that any bit of change found in their home or car has been scooped up and deposited in a mite box. We can't wait to see how much the children will raise!"
The children of St. Mark’s have already become ambassadors for Christ. Young as they are, they have already become emissaries of God’s love to children whose names they will never know. Can we do any less? God has decisively demonstrated God’s love for us and for all humanity. Whom are we called to embrace? To whom is this parish called to reach out in love?
1. Hulitt Gloer, “Ambassadors of Reconciliation: Paul’s Genius in Applying the Gospel in a Multi-cultural World: 2 Corinthians 5:14-21,” Review & Expositor 104, no. 3 (Summer 2007): 591, quoted in L. Susan Bond, “Fourth Sunday in Lent,” New Proclamation (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2012), 169.
2. L. Susan Bond, ibid.
3. http://www.er-d.org/Friends-February-2013-St-Marks-Jacksonville
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