Proper 26 - October 31, 2010

Isaiah 1:10-18

This is a good reading for those of us who like our liturgy, because it tells us that worship, if divorced from a good life, is actually a burden to God: the most beautiful songs sounding horribly off-key, the most sincere-sounding prayers just a grating nasal whine.    Bummer.  In seminary we learned (from the liturgics professor, of course) that “good worship can save bad preaching,” but apparently it can’t save bad practice.  Why?  Because, as verse 15 puts it in some powerful imagery, when we stretch out our hands to God in the worship service, they’re stained red from our participation in evil and injustice.  The solution?  “Cease to do evil, learn to do good; seek justice, rescue the oppressed, defend the orphan, plead for the widow.”  In other words, work to right the wrongs in the world, dedicate ourselves to the cause of the poor and vulnerable.

But we’re not on our own here, nor is this something that God expects to happen all at once.  Notice, the text says, “Learn to do good.”  Also, we’re invited to “argue it out with God” (verse 18).  Like a court case, it’s not a one-sided process: we make our case, God makes God’s case, and in that two-way conversation we learn how to wash the blood from our hands.

2 Thess. 1:1-4, 11-12

            The letters to the Thessalonians are thought to be some of the earliest of Paul’s letters, and we get a hint as to why that is in this week’s reading.  Again, this is a reading that skips over several verses, so we miss some important information.  Paul first gives thanks for the congregation’s hanging in there in the midst of persecutions.  What kind of persecutions?  We don’t really know, but in verses 5-10 it seems apparent that Paul expects Jesus’ return and the fulfillment of God’s kingdom any time now.  This is partly why these letters are though to be relatively early: Jesus had talked about the arrival of God’s kingdom, then the events of his death and resurrection sure seemed like kingdom-size events, so for a while his followers figured the fulfillment of God’s reign was right around the corner.  It stands to reason, then, that the letters reflecting this view would be earlier. 

Anyway, Paul sees two sides to the fulfillment of God’s Kingdom – relief to those who are being afflicted and destruction for those doing the afflicting.  Good news for the suffering Thessalonians, bad news for whoever was persecuting them.  We mainline Christians don’t tend to like this apocalyptic-judgment stuff very much, which may be why it tends to get left out of the Lectionary readings.  But I actually think it’s a really important piece of the puzzle because it reminds us that, when we talk about “God’s kingdom” and “heaven,” we’re not talking about some bland city in the clouds or individualized “personal paradise” – we’re talking about God’s reign, and it’s possible to be on the wrong side of that (see the Isaiah reading, for example).  Having chewed on this, we can hear more clearly verses 11-12 of this reading, where Paul prays for the congregation to receive God’s power to bring their faith to fruition.

           

Luke 19:1-10

This text begins by telling us that Jesus is in Jericho, a reminder that he’s on his way to Jerusalem (and we know what happens there) and he’s getting closer.  I like this story for its details and for the character of Zacchaeus, who represents a kind of scrambling of Luke’s familiar categories.  Luke says he’s not just a tax collector but a  chief tax collector (i.e., a serious outsider – see 7:34); he’s also rich (does that mean insider? See 14:12); then, too, he’s short enough that he has to climb a tree to get a better view of Jesus (suggesting childlike-ness - see 9:47).  To top it off, his name means “innocent.”  Presumably, though, as a chief tax collector he did not become rich through innocent means but rather through extortion, which makes the thought of him being this little guy climbing a tree that much funnier to me. 

So Jesus sees him up in the tree and calls him down, saying he needs to take Jesus into his house.  This too is a kind of scrambling – Jesus has himself welcomed tax collectors (see 15:2) but here he’s being welcomed by one; that said, Jesus is the initiator here, sort of playing host where he’s the guest (we see this again at Emmaus, 24:30).  The reaction from those watching, though, is as expected – they grumble at him hanging out with a “sinner.”

The next exchange is also somewhat category-defying.  Previously we’ve heard Jesus demand that his followers give up all their possessions (see 14:33).  Here Zaccheus, apparently in response to Jesus’ friendship, offers to give half of everything to the poor and pay punitive quadruple damages for any fraud he’s committed.  Which, any way you slice it, is a lot to those of us who make a big deal about 10%.  So maybe it’s the fact that it’s a voluntary response.  Or maybe it’s the fact that Zaccheus offers to hold himself to the Torah’s strictest restitution requirements (see, e.g., Exodus 22:1) – after all, Jesus has said that Moses and the prophets offer enough guidance in the matter of possessions (16:31).  Whatever the case, Jesus says that “Today salvation has come to this house.”  It seems Zacchaeus has recognized the presence of God’s kingdom in Jesus and has made a sufficiently kingdom-size response.

Proper 25 - October 24, 2010

            I’m not sure which OT lesson we’re using at St. Andrews this week, so I’m going for Jeremiah.

Jeremiah 14:7-10, 19-22

            This text comes from a section of Jeremiah which is a series of laments, the context of which is presumably the siege of Jerusalem by the Babylonians.  (For a good lament, cue up U2’s “If God Would Send His Angels” or “Peace on Earth.”)  Gene Tucker tells us that this section was “edited into its present form by the deuteronomistic editors…probably during the Babylonian Exile.”  That is to say that it reflects some hindsight as well as the theological view that the Exile was the consequence of the people’s disobedience to God. 

So the text begins with God’s people admitting their sins to God.  It occurs to me that we don’t tend to think of ourselves as deserving of God’s judgment, or that our sins might have serious consequences.  (I would take this opportunity to recommend Anne Tyler’s novel Saint Maybe, a fantastic book which was required reading in my div. school Christian Ethics class.)  God’s people here take the reality of their sin seriously; at the same time, they feel abandoned by God and long for God’s intervention.  A series of images (verses 8-9) illustrates their desperation and disappointment: God is like a “stranger in the land” (“Do I know you?”), a “traveler turning aside for the night” (“I’m tired”), “someone confused” (“I – what?”), a “mighty warrior who cannot give help” (“I’m hit!”).  What strikes me most about these images is their irreverence – we never talk about God this way!  But notice that God’s people here aren’t talking about God; they’re talking to God. Why are you acting this way?  They are aiming their disappointment and confusion in the right direction by voicing it right to God.  That may be why there’s then a turn in verse 9:  “Yet you, O Lord, are in the midst of us…”  In verse 10, God gives the people the bad news, reminding us that God didn’t prevent the Exile but instead allowed the people to be overrun and taken as captives to a strange land.   Harsh, but I have to hand it to the Lectionary people here for actually including this unpleasant verse in the reading.  I should say that I find it more helpful to think in terms of God letting the people suffer the consequences of their sins, rather than God “punishing” them. 

Verses 19-22 follow a pattern similar to verses 7-9, beginning with a string of bewildered questions for God, following with a confession, then an appeal for God not to cast them off, and ending with a declaration of faith: “We set our hope on you…”  Could be that, in order to be able to make the declaration of faith in the midst of suffering, we must also be able to voice our anger and disappointment to God.

2 Timothy 4:6-8, 16-18

            A word about the Pastoral Epistles (1 & 2 Timothy and Titus).  One of the things I value about these letters is their very personal character.  Each of them purports to be from an older Paul to a younger protégée in ministry.  Whether they are or are not genuinely Pauline, one aspect that distinguishes them from most of Paul’s other letters is that they are addressed to an individual rather than a congregation.  So when I hear the author giving advice and offering support, to an extent I put myself in the addressee’s place and hear those words addressed to me.  In this way I have at times found comfort in these letters.  It’s ironic because often we make the mistake of reading letters like Romans and 1 Corinthians as if they’re addressed to us as individuals, but those letters are written to a corporate “you,” entire congregations.  With these letters, though, I think it’s appropriate to hear them addressed not just to “us” but to “me.”

            Today’s reading reminds me of a character from one of my all-time favorite books by one of my all-time favorite authors, Father Ignacio Blazon in Robertson Davies’ Fifth Business.  Father Blazon is an elderly Jesuit monk who hopes that, when Jesus returns, it will be as an old person – because Jesus died so young that we have no model for embodying God’s love in old age.   He says that, due to his age, he has thought and felt things that Jesus never thought and felt.  He’s a compelling character, and I thought of him because this text seems to me to address concerns of (relatively) old age and the end of life.  The author is looking back on his life and journey in faith and ministry.  He says he feels pretty much spent, and that it’s about time for him to go.  But I notice his descriptions are theological: he is a “poured out as a libation,” i.e. he’s spent because his life has been an offering to God.  Also he’s “finished the race” in order to get the “crown,” i.e. he’s given his all to his life of faith in order to see God’s reign.  He expects God to meet us at the finish line as “righteous judge.”  We tend to be uncomfortable with the idea of meeting God as judge, but I’m reminded of something theologian Robert Capon wrote – that we should understand God’s final judgment not as “vindictive” but vindicative – that God will view us in the light of Christ’s redemptive grace.

            In the next verses, the author observes that he feels rather deserted and alone, also – I imagine – a familiar feeling for those reaching the end of their races.  But he says that “the Lord stood by me and gave me strength,” and so he believes God will see him through. 

Luke 18:9-14

            Today’s Gospel text has some parallels with last week’s: it’s a parable that contrasts two figures, and Luke opens with his understanding of what the parable is about (thank you, Luke).  The two opposing characters in the parable are a Pharisee and a tax collector.  Pharisees are religious insiders, knowledgeable and fastidious about the Torah and its requirements.  Tax collectors are outsiders, seen as collaborators with Rome and to some extent extortionists, unpopular with most other people.  Jesus portray these two basically standing next to each other at the Temple, praying.  He says the Pharisee’s prayer consists of (1) thanking God that he’s not like “other people,” Law-breakers like the tax collector, and (2) listing his spiritual practices such as fasting and tithing.  By contrast, the tax collector’s prayer is a simple and earnest plea to God for mercy.  The point, says Jesus?  The one who went home “justified,” i.e. “in a right relationship with God” is the tax collector; because he humbled himself before God (a posture from which God can work with him) whereas the Pharisee presented himself to God with a “Ta-da!!” not inviting any involvement whatsoever from God.  A significant note from David Tiede: the verb for the “praying” that the Pharisee is doing means literally “praying to himself.”  Nice.  It would be interesting to compare the prayers in this parable with those of God’s people in the OT text.

            This reading continues a familiar theme in Luke of contrasts between the exalted insiders who will be humbled, and the humble outsiders who will be welcomed into God’s kingdom and exalted.  (See, e.g. 5:29-32; 7:29-30, 36-50; 9:46-48; 10:25-37; 13:10-17; 14:7-24; 15:1-32).

Works Consulted or Cited:

Gene M. Tucker’s commentary on the OT text in Preaching Through the Christian Year, Year C

David Tiede’s notes on the Gospel text in the HarperCollins Study Bible
Robert Farrar Capon, The Youngest Day
Robertson Davies, Fifth Business
Anne Tyler, Saint Maybe

Proper 24 - October 17, 2010

Genesis 32:22-31

            I find the Genesis stories fascinating because of their shadowy character - there’s a lot that’s left open to interpretation.  As in, why does God like Jacob, exactly?  He’s devious (see 25:29-33; 27:1-29; 30:25-43); he’s always in conflict (even fighting with Esau in the womb!).  At the same time, he seems to recognize when he’s been in God’s presence (28:10-22; 32:30).  And the “fight” in him seems to be part of what God likes, since the new name he gets in this text denotes his “striving” with God and other people.  Another hazy part of today’s text is this “man” that Jacob wrestles – who is he, exactly?  He’s described as a “man,” but Jacob understands that it’s God.  Why is that?  It reminds me somewhat of the story of the “three men” who appear to Abraham and Sarah in Genesis 18, except in that story we’re told from the beginning that it’s/they’re really “the Lord.”  

            So this “man” finds Jacob and grabs him, and they wrestle all night.  The word for “wrestle” is apparently a play on “Jacob” (and maybe also “Jabbok,” the river where it happens).  Anyway, Jacob is not letting go, so finally his sparring partner has to resort to an unfair move, giving Jacob a mean charley-horse.  He says, “Let me go, for the day is breaking” -- I suppose God doesn’t especially want to be seen.  But Jacob refuses to let go until he gets a blessing.   Before any blessing, though, he receives a new name: “Israel,” meaning something like “strives with God” or “God strives.”  Jacob asks the other’s name, but instead of a straight answer he now gets his blessing.  I’m reminded that naming denotes power – think Adam naming the animals.  So here, the power relationship between Jacob and God is reestablished: Jacob can wrestle with God, refusing to let go even when he’s been hurt; but God has the power to know and shape and define Jacob’s very identity.  At the end of the story Jacob knows he’s been face-to-face (hand-to-hand?) with God; he’s even got the limp to prove it.

Psalm 121

            This is one of the psalms of “ascent,” psalms for praying while on pilgrimage to the Temple in Jerusalem (cue Track 2 from REM’s “Murmur”).  The images remind of dangers on the road, and it ends with a promise that God is with us in all our goings-out and comings-in.  This psalm reminds me that God is with us on our pilgrimage through life, in the pilgrimage of the church’s life, in our weekly congregational life of worship and meetings and caring for each other and service, even in our daily going out to work and coming in at the end of the day.  Thanks be to God.

2 Timothy 3:14-4:5

            Just a very few quick observations on this one.  In the first couple of verses, the author reminds his protégée how he has been shaped by his faith through his years.  He observes that the same scriptures that have shaped him are able to prepare us all for our pilgrimage of faith (ala Psalm 121).  Then he urges his protégée to “be persistent” and to “endure suffering” – which reminds me of Jacob-style wrestling with God.  Finally, I notice that the author urges persistence and endurance “in view of [Christ’s] appearing and his kingdom.”  In other words, we can endure not just because we understand that God is “with us”, but because of our faith in God’s final victory, that God’s kingdom is on the way!

Luke 18:1-8

           

            This is the Lectionary text that caused one of our seminary professors, Richard Hays, to proclaim in a div. school worship service that “Bible translators are spineless weenies.”  It was awesome.  And I’ll get to the reason in a bit. 

The first verse of this text frustrates me because Luke tells us up front what he thinks the parable means.  It’s like explaining a joke - “see, it’s funny because…” and suddenly it’s not nearly as funny anymore.  I like my parables straight up, with all the strangeness intact.  Oh well.  The parable itself is wonderful – simple, entertaining, and powerful.  There are two characters, a judge and a widow.  Perfect: a judge suggests power and authority; a widow, vulnerability and limited means.  The Law had special regard for widows because of their vulnerability (see, e.g. Deuteronomy 10:17-18).  Problem here is, this judge didn’t fear God or respect people, so he was apt to rule unjustly.  Taking matters into her own hands, the widow (apparently involved in some kind of legal dispute) kept coming to the judge over and over demanding that he rule in her favor.  (A risky move to my mind, as (1) judges get tired of seeing the same person over and over in court, and (2) they really don’t like somebody coming to them outside court about a case.)  Anyway, so the story goes, neither the widow’s legal arguments nor any regard for the Law has any effect on the judge, but her pure persistence convinces him to do what she asks.  In short, he actually becomes frightened of her, and this is the part that got Prof. Hays.  The NRSV translates verse 18 as “I will grant her justice so that she may not wear me out by continually coming.”  But if you check out the footnote, that part of the verse literally says, “so that she may not finally come and slap me in the face.”  You’ve got to admit, it is much juicier – it suggests to me that she was more upset every time she came, and the judge finally just gave in because he didn’t want to know what the next time would be like.

Jesus’ point?  If this judge, who didn’t have a just bone in his body, could respond favorably to the widow’s repeated pleas, how much more will our just and loving God respond to our prayers for justice! 

I have to admit, verse 8 tripped me up at first: after this nice parable about prayer, Jesus raises doubts about our faith?  But then I pulled back and looked at the context of this parable – Jesus has just given some stern warnings about needing to stay watchful for the fulfillment of God’s kingdom (17:20-37).  So Jesus isn’t talking here about just any prayer; he’s talking about eschatological prayer, “Thy kingdom come.”  He’s talking about praying for God’s kingdom of justice to finally overtake and supplant the injustice of our world.  He’s talking about prayers for justice for the outsiders (see 14:13), the poor (16:19-31), and the vulnerable (e.g., widows).  So with that in mind, Jesus’ pointed question at the end of the text makes sense.

Works Consulted

Joel Rosenberg’s notes to Genesis, and David Tiede’s notes to Luke in the HarperCollins Study Bible

Harper’s Bible Dictionary

Proper 23 – October 10, 2010

NOTE:  I’m going ahead and posting some quick thoughts today because I won’t have time the next few days.

2 Kings 5:1-3, 7-15c

            I’m always glad when the OT lesson is from Samuel or Kings, because the storytelling in these books is so wonderfully detailed.  And this story does not disappoint.  As with last week’s OT text, I think there are important details that get left out in the editing.  This text is to me about the healing power of God, the universality of God and appropriate human response to God.  Notice that there’s a basic misunderstanding of God’s healing power: the Aramian king thinks it can be bought (verse 5), and Naaman thinks more of a show is needed to stir it up (verses 11-12).  Naaman is so overwhelmed when just washing in the Jordan like Elisha said to do is enough – as in, God’s healing power is just there – that he realizes he can’t worship any other god but the Lord now.  And ultimately, as we see in verses 15-19, worship – giving ourselves to God – is the only truly appropriate response.  Contrast Naaman’s understanding to the Israelite king’s complete ignorance of God’s healing power at work in Elisha, verse 7.  And note, too, that Naaman is a foreigner; when Jesus pointed this out to the hometown crowd in Luke 4:27, it got him in some trouble!

2 Timothy 2:8-15

            This text also has some important points about God’s power and our response.  The author says that, even though he may be imprisoned, God’s word is not chained.  God’s power works in spite of our limitations, even through them.  I love the verses 11-13.  At first I get kind of tripped up, as the last couple of lines seem to be inconsistent: if Christ will deny us for denying him, then how is it that he can also remain faithful is we’re faithless?  I think, though, what it’s saying is that God’s reign will ultimately prevail, whether we’re on board or not; but if we are on board then we get to participate in it rather than opposing it.  Again, God’s power is just there, the question is how we’re going to respond.

Luke 17:11-19

            And the Gospel text follows this same theme nicely, as Jesus gives God’s healing to ten lepers and just one of them responds.  Note that, as lepers, these are outsiders (cf. Naaman).  They live on the edge of town, they keep their distance from him.  Notice that all that is needed is for them to act on Jesus’ instruction, and they’re healed – i.e., “as they went [to show themselves to the priests], they were made clean.”  And one of them makes the connection: he’s so overwhelmed by God’s healing that he can only respond with worship.  He praises with a loud voice, he lays himself out, he gives thanks.  And then Luke gives the punchline – he’s a Samaritan, a foreigner.  What I hear in Jesus’ words (“where are the others?  Go – your faith has made you well”) is that the “circuit” of our participation in God’s healing is not really completed until we respond with our worship.