Rejoice, the Lord is King

How does one become a U.S. citizen? As most of you probably know, if you are born in one of the fifty U.S. states or one of its territories, you are automatically a citizen, regardless of the citizenship of your parents. Anyone born here, even the child of foreign nationals, is a U.S. citizen. If you are born abroad to U.S. citizen parents, all your parents have to do is register your birth with a U.S. embassy or consulate, and, again, you are automatically a U.S. citizen. If you are born anywhere else, you may become a naturalized U.S. citizen. You must be at least eighteen years old, must have lived here at least five years as a resident alien, i.e., have a “green card,” you must have a reasonable command of English, and you must pass a citizenship test. After that, you have all the rights and responsibilities of U.S. citizens. You may vote, and you are expected to abide by the law and pay taxes.

How does one become a citizen in God’s realm? For those residents of God’s realm who acknowledge Jesus as their leader, the process is something like that of becoming a U.S. citizen. If you were “born into” the church, i.e., if you were baptized as an infant, you became a Christian by virtue of the promises and commitments of your parents and sponsors. If you were baptized as an adult, you made your own promises and commitments, promises and commitments that you affirmed or reaffirmed in confirmation. As a citizen in God’s realm, you are assured of forgiveness of all your sins, you may share in Christ’s Body and Blood, and you may receive, as the old Book of Common Prayer put it, “all other benefits of his passion.” But what else? To what else have we committed ourselves, and, more important, what are our responsibilities as citizens of God’s realm?

This is a good question to ask ourselves today. We are at the very end of the liturgical year. Next Sunday we will begin a new year, with a new set of Scripture readings. You’ll notice that your bulletin cover and Scripture insert says that today is the Last Sunday after Pentecost and the feast of Christ the King. Why, you might ask, are we reflecting on Christ as a king? Jesus strongly resisted those who would have made him a king. The Gospel of John tells us that, “When Jesus realized,” after multiplying the loaves and fish, “that they were about to come and take him by force to make him king, he withdrew again to the mountain by himself.” Even so, the gospels frequently use royal imagery for Jesus. The gospel of Matthew begins by announcing straight out that Jesus is God’s Anointed One. In the same gospel, when the Persian astrologers arrive in Jerusalem after Jesus’ birth, they ask, “Where is the child who has been born king of the Jews?” And towards the end, when Jesus enters Jerusalem in triumph, Luke tells us that people shouted, “Blessed is the king who comes in the name of the Lord!”

Even so, the feast of Christ the King is not an ancient feast. In the Book of Common Prayer that preceded our current book, the so-called 1928 Prayer Book, we had a one-year lectionary, i.e., the same readings year after year. The last gospel reading for the Sunday next before Advent, as this day was known, was the story of the Loaves and Fishes from John. And this is a strange feast for those who live in a democracy, especially for citizens of the U.S., whose forebears either fought a war to detach from a monarchy or fled tyrannical regimes and persecution elsewhere in the world.

Actually, the feast of Christ the King only dates from 1925. It was created by Pope Pius XI, who also suggested today’s readings. Fascism was rising in Italy and Germany, the Great Depression was looming in Europe, and war was clearly not far off. Pius wanted to remind the faithful that our allegiance as Christians is to something other than earthly rulers. When Protestant churches adopted the three-year lectionary in the 1960’s and ‘70’s, they also adopted the feast of Christ the King with it.

So, as citizens of God’s realm, to what have we committed ourselves, and what are our responsibilities? In our reading from 2 Samuel, we hear the last words of the dying King David. In reflecting on how he has fulfilled God’s covenant with him, David alludes to the just ruler, who is a blessing to all people, and who will eventually triumph over evil. In our reading from the gospel according to John, we hear Jesus confront an earthly despot. Despite facing his own death, Jesus reminds Pilate that the realm that Jesus has proclaimed is totally unlike earthly realms and has its origin and continued life in God.

Our reading from the Book of Revelation gives us more clues as to whom we have committed ourselves and what that commitment might mean for how we actually live. But first a word about Revelation: it’s often misunderstood, especially by those who make the mistake of taking it literally. It was written towards the end of the first century to a persecuted fledgling Christian community. Its writer was most likely not the writer of the gospel of John, but rather the leader of a Christian community in Ephesus, who was exiled by the Romans to the Greek island of Patmos.

Curiously, the book brings together two kinds of writing. First, it is apocalypse, i.e., a vision of a future realm in heaven that contrasts sharply with the present corrupt times. Many of the early scenes take place in heaven, while in the latter part we witness the defeat of Babylon, the writer’s stand-in for the Roman Empire. But the book is also a letter to seven of the Christian communities in cities near Ephesus. The greetings and the praise of God at the beginning of the passage we just heard are standard fare for ancient letters. Even so, in this opening section, complete with quotations from two Hebrew prophets, we have suggestions as to what it might mean to be a subject of this king, a citizen of God’s realm. And what do we hear? We hear something about who Jesus is, what Jesus has done for us, and how we are to live as Jesus’ followers.

Who is Jesus? Jesus is, first of all, a martyr, which literally means “witness.” Jesus is a faithful witness to God’s power and an instrument of it. Jesus is also the one who, though a martyr, overcame death. Most important, Jesus is a ruler, the final authority over all earthly political rulers, indeed of all creation. As a descendant of David, he too has kept God’s covenant, and he will be the just, generous, and merciful ruler to which David alluded in his dying words.

What has Jesus done for us? Jesus “loves us and freed us from our sins….” Notice the tenses. Jesus is present to us now, loving us and caring for us now. More important, Jesus’ saving work is completed. “It is finished,” Jesus said from the cross in John’s gospel. Finally, Jesus “made us to be,” or perhaps enabled us to be, citizens of his country, whose work as citizens is to worship and serve.

So how indeed do we live in this realm? How do we worship and serve? As those who wish to be faithful followers of Jesus, we are, first of all, called to follow Christ’s example as a faithful witness ourselves. We are to acknowledge that our first loyalty is to him: not to our family, not to our social class, not to our friends, our team, our school, our political party, or even to our own country. And here let me say that loving one’s country is not a bad thing, it’s a good thing, but our first commitment as Christians is to God and to God’s realm. As Pius XI reminded faithful Catholics, nationality and all other identities come second. If we are serious about our allegiance to Christ, then we must also be prepared for hard choices, when we must intentionally and prayerfully try to align our will with God’s will.

Truthfully, the only way we can align our will with God’s will is to be in close relationship with Jesus. And that is our second responsibility as citizens of God’s realm. We are called to worship regularly, pray daily, and continue to grow as Christian through study of Scripture, theology, history, and ethics. If we wish to do the works are truly of God’s realm, we must be servant-leaders. Even when the forces of darkness threaten to overwhelm us, as they did in Beirut, Paris, and Mali, we are called to work diligently for peace. We are called to demonstrate compassion for all, as Jesus did, care for those in need, and welcome to our table the least, the lost, and the left behind. In so doing, we are to bring others into Christ’s gracious realm, serving as windows and instruments of Christ’s mercy.

Finally, as citizens of God’s realm, we are called to remember that we have committed ourselves not to a tyrant or a despot, but to a God of love, a God who deeply loves us and all creation as beloved children, a God who has promised to love us forever. “Rejoice, the Lord is King!” This is the good news! Proclaim it and live it!

O Blest Communion

As most of you know, I spent last week in New Orleans. Among the places my husband and I visited was an exhibit dedicated to Hurricane Katrina. Needless to say, although the hurricane struck New Orleans a little over ten years ago, the terrible memories of the breach of the levees following Katrina are still fresh, and the city is still recovering. Over eighty percent of New Orleans was under water following the breach, and 1,833 people died. Many thousands fled the city, and to this day not all of those who left have returned. In addition to the more than 175,000 homes that were lost to the flooding, priceless cultural artefacts, religious objects, and personal items were lost forever. To compound the tragedy, three weeks later, just as the city was beginning to dry out, hurricane Rita roared by. While only seven people died, countless more homes and businesses were flooded again.

Of course we in southern Ohio are no strangers to destructive weather. We too have seen floods and tornadoes. Early last month, extreme rainfall caused disastrous flooding in the Columbia, South Carolina area, destroying homes, businesses, roads and bridges. Almost three years ago to the day, Hurricane Sandy, as a hurricane and a post-tropical cyclone, caused at least 147 deaths in the Northeast United States, Canada, and the Caribbean, according to the National Hurricane Center. And, of course there was the earthquake in Haiti in 2010 that caused monumental destruction and havoc in that small country.

We could go on and on with hurricanes, earthquakes, tornados, cyclones, and tsunamis. To so-called “natural disasters” we can easily add those caused by human folly. In fact, the curators of the Katrina exhibit in New Orleans admitted that Katrina was a “natural force with an outcome compounded by human error.” And who can forget the BP Gulf oil spill or that of the Exxon Valdez? Add to them, on the macro level famine, war, ethnic cleansing, and violent political dictatorships, and, on the micro level, rape, illness, addiction, domestic abuse, injustice, and accidents. In the face of so much human need, our elected officials seem more than ever to be handcuffed by extreme partisanship and totally unable to agree on even the smallest steps. No wonder some of us want to cry out, “Where are you, God? What are you doing about our messy, broken, sinful world? Are you totally disconnected from all these disasters?”

And yet, we are also people of faith. We admit our brokenness and sinfulness, and yet we trust that there is more to human destiny than one disaster after another. Our Scriptures, so full of God’s promises, tell a different story than that of the daily news. Today’s Scripture readings in particular give us an assurance, a “blessed assurance,” that God is with us in all the disasters that crash in on our lives. What is more important, in the midst of these disasters, God offers us hope for the future, for a restoration of creation, and for life lived on a new plane. Addressing a people in exile, the writer of the first part of the book of Isaiah assures his readers that God knows their plight and sorrows with them. Although their world had been turned upside down, in much the same way as for those suffering from the hurricanes, Isaiah suggests that God will ultimately bring about a different future for the exiles. Can you picture that heavenly banquet? All the wonderful food and the best wine? After my week in New Orleans, I certainly can! Wouldn’t you be comforted to hear that God will perfect creation, and that a future without death, a future of joyful abundance that is open to all, is part of God’s plan?

Our Gospel reading puts “skin” on Isaiah’s vision, so to speak. Do you have any doubts that God knows our pain? Jesus’ visit to Bethany is the last of the signs that John’s Gospel offers us that Jesus is the Word made flesh, that Jesus is sent by God to be God in our midst. And what does God-with-us do? He weeps! He knows our pain and loss and grieves with us – then and now. And then, pointing forward to his own resurrection, he releases his friend Lazarus from the bonds of death and assures the crowd, the gospel readers, and us, that eventually all of us will be set free from the bonds of death, that all of us will, with the readers of Isaiah, feast at God’s great banquet.

Surely the writer of the book of Revelation also understood God’s promises of restoration and wholeness. He was writing to Jewish Christian communities that had suffered martyrdom at the hands of the Roman Empire, so he used different images to capture his vision of God’s future. In the image of the new Jerusalem, he gives us a wonderful symbol for perfected creation. Can you picture that perfect city, so different from any known on earth? Shining, sparkling, gem-encrusted, perfect in its dimensions, a place where all is new, where death has been banished, and where the gates are open to all? And more: in this newly perfected Jerusalem, the compassionate God who comforted the exiles and wept over Lazarus knows all of God’s people intimately. And lest we think all this is a vain hope, John declares that, “It is done!” God has already acted decisively, and, despite our doubts, God is even now bringing God’s plans to fruition.

At this point you might be asking, “Wait, isn’t this All Saints Day? Aren’t we celebrating all those saints ‘who from their labors rest?’ Why do we hear all these readings outlining God’s compassion for us and God’s promises of a restored creation? What about all those holy women and men?” Here’s the answer. To begin with, by saints we do not mean only holy people who lived centuries ago and are now enshrined in icons and stained glass windows. The true saints, both those on the official calendars, and those known only to a few friends and relatives, are those who have caught the vision. The true saints are those who have experienced God at work in their own lives and who trust God’s promises. The true saints are those who can see past the grief and pain of this life and can glimpse God’s future with their own eyes. The true saints are those who, seeing this future in their mind’s eyes, have accepted God’s invitation to share that vision with others.

The saints do indeed constitute a “great cloud of witnesses” for us. Certainly the saints of history, those ancient martyrs in whose memory this feast day began, are among their number. So too are those like Francis and Clare of Assisi, who turned their backs on wealth and adopted a life of service to the poor. Who can forget the scholars among them, Dominic, Thomas Aquinas, or Catherine of Siena? Or the mystics, Hildegard of Bingen or Julian of Norwich? Or Brother Lawrence, who knew God’s presence with him in the pots and pans of a monastery kitchen? More contemporary saints are also alive in that “cloud:” people like Philander Chase, the founder of the Episcopal Church in Ohio, Julia Chester Emery, the founder of the United Thank Offering, Mother Ruth, the founder of the Community of the Holy Spirit, Thomas Merton, Trappist monk and teacher of mysticism to us all, or Martin Luther King, Jr., whose martyrdom helped break down the walls separating the races. And then there are the saints known only to you: those relatives, friends, and teachers, who shared their vision of God with you and led you to trust in God’s promises. Truly the saints are beyond number.

And what of ourselves? What is our call on All Saints Day? Certainly, we are called to remember the saints with gratitude, to give thanks to God for the courage they showed in their day in sharing their visions of God. And are we among the saints? When our time is past, will we be among that “cloud of witnesses?” You and I could not stop Hurricane Katrina in its tracks. We cannot solely by our own individual efforts stop war and erase poverty. But can we too catch the vision? Can we deepen our relationship with God? Can we see ahead to God’s future and accept God’s invitation to join in bringing that future nearer? Lane Denson reminds us that in our readings from Mark’s Gospel this fall we have been called to be servant leaders. On All Saints Sunday, we are charged with accepting that call and falling in with all the rest of the saints, with the apostles, martyrs, and mystics, all the founders of communities, all those who have gone to the aid of those suffering in disasters, all those who gave their lives for racial and ethnic justice, all those who care for God’s creation, and all those who seek to eliminate poverty and injustice. On All Saints Sunday we too are called to join the communion of saints and proclaim the good news. We too are called to see beyond the limitations of this life in the present, beyond the disasters, beyond the social inequity and racial discrimination, beyond the abuse and destruction that we have visited on nature. With the saints we too are called to claim the promise of God’s reign now and forever.

O blest communion, fellowship divine! God grant that we may know ourselves to be numbered among them!

Continually Given to Good Works

“What must I do to inherit eternal life?” It’s a real question. And it’s a question that people throughout the centuries and throughout the world – including all of us at one time or another – have asked in some form. The questioner in today’s Gospel reading from Mark is sincere. Although wealthy, he reports that he has conscientiously followed the commandments dealing with proper human relations. Perhaps he is a searcher, someone who is dissatisfied with the life he knows and is looking for something deeper. And so he accosts Jesus on his journey, humbles himself at Jesus’ feet, and puts his question.

Why are we hearing this story now? We are more than half-way through the gospel of Mark. In the first half of the gospel, we watched Jesus heal, teach, and commission others to spread his message. Three of Jesus’ closest friends have witnessed his Transfiguration. Now, post mountain-top, Jesus and his disciples are headed for Jerusalem. Mark’s readers and we are allowed to listen in as Jesus prepares his followers for life without his physical presence. We hear Jesus teaching them what bearing the Cross really looks like, and how a community committed to him actually will live out its life.

Jesus reminds his followers that the realm of God is neither a place nor a political system. It is not “pie in the sky by and by.” Rather, Jesus has proclaimed that they begin living in God’s realm now, as they pursue a way of life that will enable them to live in God’s realm forever. As Jesus has taught his friends, in God’s realm, there is no one who is “the greatest.” Jesus has talked about marriage and divorce, encouraging them to live in faithful committed relationships and stable families. He has exhorted them to live as spiritual children, realizing their dependence on grace and each other and recognizing that all are members of God’s family. Now, speaking especially to those of his followers who are wealthy, Jesus takes up the questions of their relationship to their resources and, more important, how they are to use their resources.

“Good teacher, what must I do to inherit eternal life?” So how does Jesus answer the man’s question? To our surprise, Jesus scolds the man for calling him “good.” In his scolding is an implicit reminder that all that is good in life comes from God. Jesus then reminds the man that the old rules of life, those that have governed the Jewish community for centuries, still hold. And notice that Jesus includes a rule not found in the original Ten Commandments: don’t get wealthy by fraudulent means.

Apparently, this answer doesn’t satisfy the man, as he continues to press Jesus. Jesus answers – but subtly shifts the question: he answers a slightly different question from what the man had posed. In his answer, he suggests that the goal of religious life is not “getting into heaven,” i.e., worrying about some life after this one. Rather, Jesus suggests that the goal of religious life is living in God’s realm now, i.e., beginning now to enlarge the self that the man will have when he comes to the end of his life. The man must not, Jesus implies, be overly concerned with self-preservation, with saving himself – what must I do. Rather, Jesus invites the man to cultivate lifelong wisdom, humility, passion for justice, lovingkindness, mercy, and hospitality. In inviting the man to “sell,” Jesus suggests that earthly possessions may become an obstacle in the way of pursuing such a way of life. Although he himself was an itinerant who owned nothing, Jesus knew – and cautioned the man – that the man was in danger of focusing on his possessions, on acquiring and maintaining them, rather than on his relationship with God and with other people. Finally, in inviting the man to “give,” Jesus reminds him of his obligation – and his joy – to make sure that others have adequate access to the goods of this world, to food, shelter, clothing, and all those other things that enrich life.

“What must I do to inherit eternal life?” This is not the real question. When you think about it, there’s nothing anyone can do to inherit anything. No, the real question for us is, how do we begin to live in God’s realm now, so that we may continue living in that realm when we pass from this life? In other words, how do we use our resources in a way that leads us to spiritual health and a larger soul? It’s a question all of us must grapple with, but it’s an especially daunting question for those of us whose monetary resources exceed our immediate needs.

So how do we live in such a way that our resources contribute to our spiritual health? Do we close all our bank accounts, draw out all our retirement savings, and give all the proceeds to charity – or to the homeless person in the next street? Traditionally, those who enter convents or monasteries do just that. Many courageous nuns and brothers go into poor neighborhoods and live simply, owning nothing, while working to end poverty and homelessness. For the rest of us, is Jesus suggesting that we go on welfare or join the homeless population?

There’s a part of me that would like to say “Yes, he is,” but I also know that there would be no Christian community without resources. So how do we live if we are Jesus’ disciples and truly want to become spiritually rich? To begin with, we are called to recognize the source of what we have. No one is self-made. Ultimately, all we have is God-given. Knowing that, we cultivate a sense of gratitude. And we can be conscientious in expressing our sense of gratitude. As spiritual teacher Henri Nouwen has taught us, ““Gratitude...goes beyond the 'mine' and 'thine' and claims the truth that all of life is a pure gift. In the past I always thought of gratitude as a spontaneous response to the awareness of gifts received, but now I realize that gratitude can also be lived as a discipline. The discipline of gratitude is the explicit effort to acknowledge that all I am and have is given to me as a gift of love, a gift to be celebrated with joy.”

Second, as citizens of one of the world’s wealthiest nations, and as members of a culture that encourages us to amass vast amounts of physical possessions – indeed an array of goods unthinkable in the ancient world – we can begin to recognize the consequences for the earth of all our possessions. Just think about what goes into making the things that you own. And think about what happens to them when you are ready to throw them away! All of us need to learn to live more simply and to begin finding ways of life that are less destructive of our one and only planet, “this fragile earth, our island home.”

We can remember that ultimately we will all surrender every single thing that we own. And so, we can begin to use what we have more intentionally. Scrutinize your checkbook or your bank statement. When I do that, I cringe when I see, for example, how much I am spending on communication: on cable, internet, cell phone, and land line. Are you using your resources in ways that reflect your commitment to Jesus and growing a spiritually healthy soul?

We can commit to sharing what we have. When Jesus talks about selling and giving, what I hear is using intentionally and sharing. So ask yourself, who is benefiting from your resources besides you? Can you use some of your resources, even a small amount, to make life less harsh for others, to open doors for others, to partner with God in bringing about what in Hebrew is called tikkun olam, the repair of the world?

Finally, we are called to remember that we all have resources. Our “possessions” are all that we have been given, not only our physical possessions. And we all have resources beyond economic resources. Even if you are living paycheck to paycheck, even if you are retired, even if your health is limited, we all have resources. “No arm so weak but may do service here,” as the old hymn puts it. Besides our money, we have resources of talents and time. So, in addition to scrutinizing our bank statement, we must ask ourselves how we are using the rest of our God-given resources. Are we using all our resources in ways that contribute to spiritual health for ourselves and others?

The man in today’s gospel story chose to turn away from Jesus. We can hope that perhaps he thought about his choice and eventually came back to Jesus – maybe that’s how the later Christian community knew his story! However, we have promised to follow Jesus, to “obey him” as our Lord, as the baptismal covenant puts it. In having made the choice to follow, we can be assured of blessing and grace. We can be confident that God’s grace will indeed anticipate what we need and accompany us in our efforts to grow spiritually. With that confidence we can trust that our lives may truly “continually be given to good works,” and to enjoying God’s grace forever.

Why?

The dead ranged in age from 18 to 67. One of the first-year students was active in Future Farmers of America. Two had just started college. Another was studying chemistry and volunteered at an animal shelter. One of the dead was one of six daughters of a local landscaper. Another had just returned to college to study alongside her daughter. Another student had come back to school after recently turning his life around. The oldest of the dead was an adjunct professor who loved literature and was also an avid outdoorsman. Despite the best efforts of an Iraq war veteran to protect them, in all ten people died, and another nine were seriously injured.

By now you know that I am talking about the shooting at Umpqua Community College in Oregon. Along with the devastated families of the dead, perhaps you too are grieving. I can’t even place myself in such a situation or begin to imagine what those families are experiencing. Perhaps too you are thinking of those who died at Mother Emmanuel Church in Charleston, SC, or of the children in Newtown, Connecticut, or of those who died in a movie theater in Aurora, Colorado, or of Gabby Giffords, whose rising Congressional career was tragically cut short in Tucson, Arizona by a deranged gunman. As those other tragedies flash by in your mind, perhaps you are tempted to ask what those who died or their families and communities did to bring about such suffering. After all, isn’t that basically what the disciples asked Jesus when they saw the blind man, “Rabbi,” they asked, “who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?” And maybe, as you grieve, perhaps the only word that comes to mind is “Why?” Why do tragedies happen? Why do we suffer?

Why? It’s an age-old question. It’s the central question of the book of Job, but it’s not unique to Job. In fact, long before Job was composed, ancient writers of the Near East asked these questions. And every faith community since has some version of this question. Actually, the book of Job is a strange and difficult book. We will hear three more readings from Job in the coming weeks. It is part of what is called Wisdom literature, which includes the Book of Proverbs, the Wisdom of Solomon, Ecclesiastes, and other similar books. Often there is no mention of God in these books, as their goal is to teach us something about how to live moral and upright lives.

The book of Job is essentially a fable. It is intentionally not set in any recognizable time or place. Like the opening of Star Wars – long ago in a galaxy far, far away – it’s intended as a universal story, applicable to everyone. It begins and ends with a frame story. In between the frame are many dialogues between Job and his friends – his tormentors, some would say – as wells as complaints from Job to God, and God’s final answer to Job. Today, we’ve heard the opening scenes of the frame story, in which the Lord has convened a heavenly council. The Adversary has posed a challenge to the Lord concerning the steadfast commitment of Job. An aside here: Satan here is not the devil of later popular lore. This Satan, rather, is a kind of check or challenger to the Lord. The Adversary, the word used in the Jewish Publication Society translation, is one of the Lord’s councilors whose role is to make sure that the Lord considers all angles of a situation. So today, we hear the Adversary’s suggestion that Job would forsake the Lord if any harm came to Job’s body. It would be as if you lost your faith if you came down with shingles. Next week we’ll hear Job’s complaint that God has abandoned him. Two weeks from today we’ll hear God’s response to Job’s questioning, and, finally, three weeks from today we’ll hear the end of the framing fable.

As a fable with much embedded dialogue, the book of Job raises many difficult and important questions, even for us Christians. Perhaps the most serious question is, why do we have faith? Why indeed do we hold fast to a belief in God? Isn’t that what Job’s wife is really asking when she says, “Do you still persist in your integrity? Curse God and die.” Job holds fast to his commitment to God. But why? What has his commitment given him? When he was wealthy and happy, was it his faith that blessed him? Does faith save us from suffering? Clearly, Job, as well as the faithful Jews who were murdered in the Holocaust, the innocent people who have been condemned to death, and the families of victims of mass shootings would emphatically say no, faith does not save us from suffering. So what good is faith? Why does Job, why does any of us, believe? Is belief just a habit, something we’ve always had without thinking or questioning? Or do we believe, as the Prosperity Gospel suggests, so that we might be wealthy and happy? If we’re not wealthy and happy, is it because we don’t have a strong enough faith? At some point in our lives – perhaps at many different points, perhaps even in response to personal tragedies – all of us must grapple with these questions – and there are no easy answers.

The story of Job also raises the question of why people suffer. Do people bring their own suffering on themselves? Are they responsible for the bad things that happen to them? That was surely what the disciples thought when they posed their question about the blind man. And wouldn’t we agree? We moderns don’t believe in fate, so it must be our own fault when something bad happens, right? The book of Job says emphatically, “No!” Despite all the attempts of Job’s “friends” to get him to justify his suffering by “confessing his sins,” Job steadfastly maintains his innocence – and is ultimately vindicated. And in our hearts we know that Job is right. In truth, most of what people suffer it totally undeserved. None of the people who died in Oregon deserved to die. None of their families deserved to have to mourn their deaths. Gabby Giffords did not deserve to be shot in the head. The children and teachers in Newtown did not deserve to die. Suffering and death simply are.

However, the book of Job also reminds us that we don’t have to accept suffering stoically or uncomplainingly. As we will hear next week, Job vigorously questions God and complains to God. Job knows that God is part of what’s happening to him, and Job expects answers! Towards the end of the book, Job succeeds in getting God to answer him. And does Job get the answers that he wants? For many of us, as we’ll hear in two weeks, Job does not. Spoiler alert! Speaking out of the whirlwind, God will say, “Who is this that darkens counsel by words without knowledge?” God then goes on to thunder questions back at Job, “Where were you when I laid the foundations of the earth…. Who determined its measurements – surely you know….” Can you make it rain, or send forth lightening, or create dust storms? Did you create the animals? Whether or not we want to hear it, God reminds Job that the nature of God is a mystery, that truth is more complex than we with our limited minds can comprehend, and that ultimately humans cannot know the reasons for suffering – or often for anything that happens to us.

So what can we take from the story of Job? There are no easy answers to the questions this book poses. However, even if we find God’s answer in chapter 38 unsatisfactory, we can be assured of this: God is present in the complexity of our lives, in our griefs and sorrows. God doesn’t cause our suffering – please no trite sayings, “God doesn’t give us more than we can bear,” or “God needed another angel in heaven” – but neither is God divorced from our sufferings. God is with us in our suffering. While life offers us no guarantees, Job reminds us that nothing can separate us from God’s love. Other books of the Hebrew Bible affirm God’s nearness in our suffering. What is more important for us Christians, we believe that in Jesus God experienced all that we humans experience, including suffering and death, and that eventually all our suffering will be redeemed through Jesus, as we will hear repeatedly in the Letter to the Hebrews this month. And we cling to the hope that in God’s good time, we will be reunited with those we have lost, and that all creation will be made whole.

Meanwhile, we pray for forgiveness for the sufferings and wrongs that are within our responsibility, most especially for those we have inflicted on others. We pray for the grace to trust in God’s love for all of us and to have compassion for those who suffer and mourn. Perhaps most important, we pray for the energy to do what lies before us to mitigate suffering: to seek sensible gun laws, to work for the end of capital punishment, to broaden the availability of mental health services, and to actively work for justice. As we live out own brief lives, may God help us to do justice, to love mercy, and to walk humbly with God, as children worthy to bear the name of the Prince of Peace.

Speech has Power

What is your greatest regret? Is it, “I wish I hadn’t said that?” And your second greatest regret? Is it, “I wish I had said that?” Speech has power! As hearers of Scripture, we know that. The very first sentences of Genesis portray a God who literally speaks creation into being. God said, “Let there be light”; and there was light. And God said, “Let there be lights in the dome of the sky …, and let the waters bring forth swarms of living creatures …, and let the earth bring forth living creatures ….” Like the ancient Hebrews, ancient Hindus also knew that creation came forth from speech. In the oldest Hindu scriptures, the Vedas, the goddess of speech, Vac, speaks creation into being.

Speech has power. Sound, speech, and language, are inherent in all creation. In the psalm for today, we hear that, “The heavens declare the glory of God,” and “one day tells its tale to another.” For all we know, plants and insects may have language. Unquestionably animals have speech. Any birdwatcher knows all the distinctive tweets, burrs, whistles, and knocks of the many varieties of birds. Acoustic biologist Katy Payne has decoded the language of elephants and the songs of whales. Lions, bears, hyenas, all animals, except possibly giraffes, which are said to be voiceless, have distinctive vocalizations in different circumstances. If you live with cats or dogs, you know that there’s a difference between the meow of hunger and that of “Pet me,” or between the bark of “Who are you?” and that of “I’m ready for a walk.”

Even in this age of electronic communication, speech is still the primary form of human communication. Writing is a relatively recent invention, only within the last 5,000 years. Scripture, whether Hindu, Jewish, Christian, or Muslim, was written to be heard, not read silently. Try it yourself: the next time you read Scripture at home, read it aloud. You will experience its power in a fresh way. It wasn’t until the middle of the nineteenth century that a majority of the people in the first world could read and write. Even today, there are many places in the world that are still predominantly oral cultures. And if we’re being honest, though we may appreciate the advantages of electronic communication, most of us still prefer oral communication. We still would prefer to hear the voices of those we love rather than receive an e-mail or Facebook post from them. Speech has power.

Speech has destructive power. Today’s reading from the Letter of James acutely reminds us of the destructive power of speech. This reminder is especially poignant for those in positions of authority, as we confess our tendency to say the wrong thing. What frightening metaphors James uses: that the tongue can set ablaze an entire forest, that it can produce brackish water! Of course, none of this news to us: James could have been writing yesterday! Don’t we tell our children “Watch your mouth. Hold your tongue. Pipe down.” Don’t we know that the old comeback, “Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words can never hurt me,” is patently false? Don’t we wince when our child comes home from school crying because some thoughtless tyke has told him or her, “Boys don’t …, girls don’t ….” We know that words can hurt. Isn’t that why we so deeply regret the unkind words we’ve said in ignorance, pride, haste, or anger? Isn’t that why we instinctively know that hate speech and racist, sexist, ageist, homophobic, and other similar slogans are wrong? Isn’t that why we fear someone who can, through the sheer power of their rhetoric, incite a mob to violence? Speech has power, and words can hurt.

Speech has power, and words can also heal and bless. In the second half of last week’s gospel reading, we saw Jesus restore a man to speech. In today’s reading from Proverbs we hear that God’s wisdom comes to us in the interactions of our daily lives. The psalmist reminds us that God speaks to us through both natural phenomena and the written words of the Torah. And can’t you just picture Peter in today’s Gospel reading? Jesus has put the disciples on the spot. He wants them to not just parrot back to him what others have said about him. He wants to hear them declare for themselves how they understand who he is. “But who do you say that I am? Don’t just have some vague thoughts, put it in words! Who am I for you?” And there’s Peter looking into Jesus’ face, making eye contact with him. He doesn’t hang back, he doesn’t waffle, he doesn’t say, “Uh, let me think about that. Let me consult my theological dictionary.” In his sudden realization of who Jesus is, Peter blurts out, “You are the Messiah.”

Now, clearly Peter didn’t understand what he was saying. He really had no clue as to what kind of a messiah Jesus might be. Peter expected that Jesus would be a super-powerful king who would toss out the Romans and re-establish David’s kingdom. When Peter tried to deflect Jesus from the path that led to Jerusalem, Jesus firmly rebuked him (“Watch your mouth, Peter. Shut up!”) Then Jesus began leading Peter and all the disciples into a fuller understanding of what lay ahead. Even though Peter’s understanding was vague, Peter at least had had the courage to say something, to put into words what he was beginning to discern about Jesus. Speech has power, and the words that Peter spoke that day began a transformation in him that eventually enabled him to lead the newly-fledged Christian community.

Speech has power. Isn’t that why we appreciate compliments, why we treasure words of gratitude, encouragement, apology, consolation, welcome, and good counsel? Isn’t that why we regret so deeply the words we didn’t say when we should have and give ourselves a tiny pat on the back when, by the grace of God, we do say the right thing? Isn’t that why we distrust politicians whose speeches are long on self-congratulation and short on solid policy proposals? Isn’t that why we admire those who can inspire us through the sheer power of their words? Who can forget the moving simplicity of Abraham Lincoln’s Gettysburg address or John Kennedy’s charge to “ask not what your country can do for you – ask what you can do for your country?” Wouldn’t you too want to respond if you had heard Pope Francis call Catholic parishes and religious communities in Europe to take in refugees? And isn’t that why in the end we need to talk to God? God may “know our needs before we ask,” but we still need to say directly to God, as Peter did to Jesus, those words of praise, contrition, intercession, and gratitude that begin the transformation of our own souls.

Tom Gordon tells the story of Fraser, on old fisherman on the North Sea coast.1 Even though he’d already celebrated his seventy-second birthday, “fishing was in his blood.” When the herring of his youth gave out, he turned to shellfish, then to lobsters, for which the local restaurants paid well. He took his boat, the Mary Anne, out three times a week, always with another “retired” fisherman aboard – since his daughters had expressly forbidden him to go out alone. But when his grandson Stuart was home from college, the retirees stayed home, and Stuart was all the crew Fraser needed. They’d become best mates, those two. As they worked Fraser told Stuart stories about his mother or grandmother. Stuart, in turn, confided his problems and questions to Fraser. One day, on their return to shore, Stuart persuaded Fraser to come have a pint with him at the local pub. As they sat at a corner table, Stuart told his grandfather about his struggles in college. He was thinking about dropping out and coming back home, perhaps spending more time fishing. Fraser listened intently. At the end of his confession, Stuart said, “Haven’t you felt like that sometimes? When you’d worked really hard, or when the fishing grounds were empty, weren’t there times when you wanted to pack it in?” Smiling, Fraser said, “Well, laddie, you may be right enough, but then, fishing’s in my blood, so there’s nothing I can do about that.” Pausing for a minute or two, and then looking Stuart in the eye, the old man told the story of William Greenough Thayer Shedd, a nineteenth-century Presbyterian theologian. “Whether this man was a sailor,” he said, “or had fishing in his blood, I don’t know, but I heard that he did say this. ‘A ship is safe in harbor. But that’s not what ships are for.’ Whether it’s a great ship or the Mary Anne, we could tie her up and keep her safe, or we could take her out and go fishing with her. Eh?” Stuart understood and returned Fraser’s smile. Speech has power.

Christianity proclaims incarnation. We are called to do, not just think. Yes, hands are important. But we are made in the image of a God who spoke, who spoke creation into being, who spoke to the Israelites while delivering them from Egyptian slavery, who spoke through the prophets, through the Word made flesh, through the Desert Fathers and Mothers, through missionaries and mystics. We believe in a God who continues to speak.

We are called to speak in return. Speak to God. Tell God what is on your heart and mind, what you fear, and what you hope for. Then while you still can, speak to each other. Speak the word of loving counsel, as Fraser did to Stuart. Thank a parent, spouse, teacher, or friend for their gifts to you. Say, “I’m sorry.” Say “I love you.” Speak out in favor of a cause close to your heart. Speak out especially for peace. Partner with God and help speak a renewed creation into being.

1. With an Open Eye (Glasgow: Wild Goose Publications, 2011), 272-4

Walk the Talk

Did Jesus really say that religious people shouldn’t wash their hands? Of course, washing our hands is one of the common, habitual actions that we do. You know that ubiquitous sign in restaurant rest rooms: “All employees must wash their hands before returning to work.” In the winter we’re told that the best way to prevent spreading flu and colds is to wash our hands. It goes without saying that hand-washing is standard practice in any healthcare setting. However, for religious leaders in Jesus’ time – and no doubt thirty or so years later when the Gospel of Mark was written – hand-washing was not a hygienic practice but, rather, a religious practice. In suggesting that all Jews followed this practice, Mark may have been exaggerating, or perhaps responding to questions put to followers of Jesus. Certainly, working class people, like most of Jesus’ followers, would not have been able to regularly practice the ritual washing of hands.

So did Jesus really condemn hand-washing? Our gospel lection for today is an odd one. We really should read all twenty-three verses – and I urge you to do so when you get home. Following the quote from Isaiah is an example of real hypocrisy, viz., the way some pious people disobey the commandment to honor one’s parents by entrusting their money to the temple. Then Jesus moves into a private conversation with the disciples. He explains that true piety has nothing to do with food, but rather with what is in their hearts. If you think that our lection, as we have it, doesn’t hang together, you’re right!

So did Jesus condemn hand-washing? Notice what Jesus did not say. He did not condemn tradition. He was not against hand-washing or other similar ritual practices. As a good Jew and a rabbi, he may well have followed such practices himself. Nor did Jesus condemn the Pharisees as people or as religious leaders. Again, as a rabbi, he knew full well that the Jews’ distinctive religious practices, dress, and diet helped ensure their survival as a minority community in a religiously diverse world.

What Jesus did condemn the Pharisees for was emphasizing tradition and custom, indeed the many minute and trifling customs which pious people had devised, and neglecting the larger demands of God’s commandments. Moreover, the practices of hand-washing and other similar practices of ritual purification were available only to a select few and enabled those privileged few to see themselves as superior to working class people, artisans, and peasants, indeed any people who worked with their hands. Most important, Jesus was condemning the religious leaders for focusing on their own practices, what I do, rather than on the needs of others. If our text hangs together it is in this: that focusing on oneself and one’s own needs, seeing the world only from our own point of view, our own limited understanding and lifestyle, is ultimately the source of the evil intentions which Jesus names.

So the answer to the question is “No.” Nevertheless, let’s be clear: Jesus did not condemn religious practices as such. Rather, he condemned practices that were self-referential, that led to the exclusion of large groups of people, and that did not reflect the Torah and the foundational values that underlay God’s covenant with the Jews.

Our lesson from the Letter of James, which we began today, reinforces what we’ve just heard in the gospel. Like the letter to the Ephesians, this letter too was probably an encyclical, i.e., a letter not addressed to a specific Christian community but intended for circulation among several communities. It lacks the parts common to letters in the ancient world, and it seems to keep changing topics – you can hear that even in the portion we heard today. But there is an over-arching theme to this letter. As you could hear today, James emphasizes the importance of good works, of good practices if you will. If the Pharisees had asked Jesus what they should do, he might have answered with much of James’ letter.

So what practices does James commend to his hearers? To begin with, the writer says, we must remember that whatever we have comes from God – there are no self-made people in this world – and that God expects us to use God’s gifts to advance God’s reign. Secondly, James asks us to listen carefully to the needs and concerns of others, not jumping in with our own ideas and observations, but attentively taking in what other people are offering us. Finally, James reminds us that as followers of Jesus we are called to take care of the most vulnerable members of society, the “widows and orphans,” i.e., those who have no economic or social support. In a word, like Jesus, James calls us to actualize our faith in our behavior, in truly loving practices, in a word, to “walk the talk.”

What does that look like in real life? What religious practices might help us to avoid Jesus’ condemnation and fulfill James’ criteria? Serious Christians have asked these questions since the earliest Christian communities began to gather. Actually, even before Jesus’ time, the Essenes, the writers of the Dead Sea Scrolls, retired to separate communities where they followed an austere lifestyle and devoted themselves to prayer and study. In the twelfth century, Francis and Clare of Assisi tried to create communities that followed Jesus’ own way of life. They took literally Jesus’ commands to “take nothing for the journey, eat what is set before you, wear no shoes, and work for your wages,” i.e., to live exactly as Jesus had lived. Thus the earliest Franciscans lived among and served the poorest in society, owned nothing, begged for what they needed, and took comfort in being far from the seats of power. However, like many similar communities – like the Desert Fathers and Mothers, the Celtic monastics, the Beguines, and the Bruderhof – they found it difficult to sustain this lifestyle, despite their commitment to Jesus and to Francis’s teachings. Like others, the Franciscans eventually also became clericalized, settled, and wealthy. Fortunately, in the twenty-first century, Francis’s “alternative orthodoxy,” as Richard Rohr calls it, is being rediscovered by the Franciscans themselves, by the Nuns on the Bus, and by intentional communities like the School for Conversion in inner-city Durham, North Carolina.

And what of us? What does faithful practice look like for us ordinary folks in the twenty-first century? We are not monastics or even members of intentional communities – although it is possible to be an associate of a religious order or support the work of alternative intentional communities. “If you were on trial for being a Christian, would there be enough evidence to convict you?” What would that evidence actually look like? First of all, we are called to be clear about what we do profess. We say the Nicene Creed every Sunday. We say the Apostles Creed and repeat the baptismal promises at every baptism. Do the statements in these creeds or promises mean anything to us, or do we just repeat them? One of the reasons I like Joan Chittister’s book In Search of Belief, which I mentioned in the e-news, is that she fleshes out the implications for our lives of every phrase of the Apostles Creed. I commend the book to you.

I am going out on a limb. In addition to our secular lives, our lives involving work, family, and friends, I’d like to suggest a minimum set of practices that will enable us to live a little more as Jesus lived, that will help actualize our faith, and that will strengthen our ability to “walk the talk.” The first practice is some form of daily prayer – even five minutes worth. You can say “good morning” to God before you get out of bed, you can pause at your lunch hour, or you can review the day with God before going to bed. A couple of weeks ago, the comic strip character Ziggy is shown looking up towards a sunbeam. He says, “Oh, I’m not asking for anything…. I just wanted to know how you are doing today!” Did you ever consider saying that to God yourself?

The second essential practice is some form of Sabbath. Yes, ideally, we all ought to be able to take an entire day – and just do nothing! If an entire day isn’t possible, pencil in some time, any amount, to rest from your labors – and from all electronic devices, to study, pray, enjoy nature, or just rest. The third practice is regular worship, ideally every Sunday. If we are to continue to grow as Jesus’ followers, we need regular spiritual nourishment, just as much as our bodies need physical nourishment. The fourth and final practice is some regular form or self-reflection. We need to take the time to periodically ask ourselves these questions: how does my life reflect my faith? How do my practices, my habitual behaviors, my daily life both draw me closer to God and increase my compassion for others?

And then we can trust that, when we ask for God’s grace to do all this, God will lavishly bestow that grace on us. We trust that God is indeed “the giver of all good things,” who will enable us to show forth our commitment to Jesus and our praise of God not only with our lips but always in our lives.

Stand Up for Jesus

Where is Ephesus? For the last seven weeks we’ve been hearing sections of a letter addressed to a Christian community there. Where is this place?

Actually, you can visit the ruins of ancient Ephesus. Today, Ephesus entertains many tourist groups, and cruise ships regularly call at the port of Kusadasi nearby. The city lies on the southwestern coast of Turkey on the eastern shore of the Ionian Sea. Archeologists have been at work there since the 1860s and have to date unearthed about 15% of the ancient city. So visitors can see wonderful Roman ruins. There’s an imposing gate and a second-century library. There’s the Temple of Artemis, one of the seven wonders of the ancient world, and many other temples, including one dedicated to the emperor Domitian. Among other sites you can even see an ancient theater and a marketplace.

The city had been founded in the early 10th century BC by a Hittite king. By the time that Christian communities were being established there, i.e., in the first and second centuries AD, Ephesus was a thriving commercial center with a population of about 50,000 people. Of those, a small minority had become followers of the itinerant rabbi who had been executed by the Roman establishment in Jerusalem. Comprising a small number of Jews among many gentiles, these earliest Christian communities were socially mixed and were subject to persecution and discrimination, chiefly for refusing to worship the Roman emperors.

We’ve been calling what we’ve been hearing an “epistle” or “letter,” but scholars believe that our text was probably more like an encyclical, i.e., a letter not addressed to a specific community but rather intended for circulation among several different communities. We are not sure who wrote it. Traditionally it was ascribed to Paul. However, much internal evidence suggests that it was probably written by a disciple of Paul who was writing in Paul’s name – a common practice in the ancient world.

The first half of the letter, as we’ve heard this past month and a half, deals with theological issues. The writer begins by warning the gentiles not to return to their former pagan religious practices. This was not a trivial issue for them, as much of their business and social life would formerly have centered around the temple – not unlike our own society a generation or two ago. What is more important is the reminder that, through Christ, gentiles have been brought into the covenant that God had established first with the Jews: “So then, remember that at one time you Gentiles by birth … that you were … without Christ, aliens from the commonwealth of Israel…. But now in Christ Jesus you who were once far off have been brought near by the blood of Christ (2:11-13). Therefore the followers of Jesus now constitute a new community, unified by the work of Christ: “So you are then no longer strangers and aliens, but you are citizens with the saints and also members of the household of God, built upon the foundation of the apostles and prophets, with Christ Jesus himself as the cornerstone. In him the whole structure is joined together and grows into a holy temple in the Lord; in whom you also are built together spiritually into a dwelling place for God” (2:19-22).

In the second half of the letter, the writer explains what it means to be a Christian community. Christians are called, we have heard, especially to live lives that reflect their commitment to Jesus, to honor his call to live in unity and peace, to give up immoral practices, and to seek wisdom. Because “the days are evil,” Christians are also called to “be careful then how you live, not as unwise people but as wise, making the most of the time” (5:15-16).

Now, finally, we have come to the end of the letter. We have come to what scholars the “peroration.” This is a technical term for a “battle charge.” This is what a general would say before sending troops into battle, or a coach would say before sending players onto the field or court. It’s the rhetorical equivalent of “Go get ‘em!” Now Christians were called to be peaceful, to even fly under the radar, so why did the writer use military imagery here? Think about it. What did ancient people see around them all the time? Roman foot soldiers! People were as familiar with the foot soldiers’ armor as we are today with the uniforms of law enforcement officers or Girl Scouts and Boy Scouts. But there is more here than simply familiarity. Jews are also reminded of similar images in the Hebrew Scriptures, especially, for example, Isaiah’s description of Israel’s coming savior: “Righteousness shall be the belt around his waist….” In the third part of Isaiah, we hear again that God, in avenging injustice, “put on righteousness like a breastplate, and a helmet of salvation on his head….” And finally, all the hearers, both Jews and Gentiles, are reminded that they, as followers of Jesus, are not lone rangers, but rather, like common soldiers, are part of a community, a company or platoon, a regiment in God’s forces.

What is the battle charge for the Ephesians, and by extension, for us? To what are we called as committed followers of Jesus? First, we are called to stand firm, to stand ready to do God’s work, even if that work is not popular. More important, we are called to acknowledge that there are real forces arrayed against us. These forces are not “enemies of flesh and blood,” that is our personal enemies. In the ancient world, for the writer of the letter to the Ephesians, these forces are characterized as demonic forces: rulers, authorities, “cosmic powers of this present darkness,” and “spiritual forces in the heavenly places.” We might characterize those forces differently. Certainly we can point to human beings whom we consider evil. Just this week Islamic State extremists beheaded Khaled Asaad, the eighty-two year old Syrian archeologist who gave his life defending the Roman ruins of Palmyra. However, beyond even ISIS, reprehensible though it may be, some of us might name those systemic forces against which we feel powerless. What might be such forces for us? Consider these: segregation, apartheid, and racism, the Mafia and other organized crime, terrorism of all kinds, the easy availability in this country of deadly weapons, drug and alcohol addiction, human trafficking, a celebrity culture of Bad Boys and Girls, global warming, political corruption, and unjust incarceration, just to name a few.

As Christians, we are called to participate in the struggle against all these forces of darkness. But – and this is a huge but – we are called not to depend solely on our own selves and our own efforts, but always on God’s grace. We are called to be first and foremost members of Jesus’ regiment, to put on the armor issued to us, the belt, breastplate, and shoes that are standard issue in his service. We are called to accept the protection and word, the helmet and the sword, that come from him. We are called to remember that, even with God’s grace, Christian life is a struggle against powerful forces, especially if we are imitating Jesus, who exemplified for us the ultimate struggle against evil. Finally, we are called to remember that we are already victors in this struggle, that Christ, through his resurrection, has already won for us the victory against evil and death.

And how might we remember all that? We gain the strength to combat the dark forces by remaining always in prayer, our writer tells us, prayer both for ourselves and for others. We do have spiritual resources available to us, if we would but avail ourselves of them. We do have the encouraging words of Scripture, especially Jesus’ promise that “The words I have spoken to you are spirit and life.” We do have the nourishment of Christ’s Body and Blood and his promise, which we have been hearing all this month in one form or another, that, “Those who eat my flesh and drink my blood abide in me, and I in them….” And we do have the encouragement, grace, and experience of transformation that comes to us through our own practices of prayer. When we remain firmly devoted to Jesus, through reading Scripture, letting ourselves be regularly nourished in communion, and deepening our relationship with him in prayer, we begin to become the Christians described by St. Teresa of Avila, when she reminded us that, “We are all vassals of the of the King. May it please his Majesty that, like brave soldiers, we may look only where the banner of our king is flying and thus follow his will.” As we follow his banner, we also have his promise that we will grow in our ability to share the good news with others and establish a community of peace, love, and unity.

You’ve heard the call to arms. With the Ephesians, go, stand firm against indifference, scorn, and evil in high places. Stand firm in your commitment to Jesus. Stand up, stand up for Jesus, ye soldiers of the cross!