Tuesday, March 2, 2010
February 28, 2010 - Lent 2
“Jerusalem, Jerusalem... How often have I desired to gather your children together as a hen gathers her brood under her wings, and you were not willing!”
Jesus speaks these words as he looks ahead to the day when he will come to Jerusalem. The Pharisees in this tale are trying to get him to leave Galilee, Herod's territory, telling him to get outta town while the getting's good. Jesus won't be rushed by Herod's threats though. He'll leave Galilee soon enough, but it won't be because of Herod. He has more work to do, God's work that will lead him from this place. At this point, Luke tells us that Jesus had already set his face to go to Jerusalem, where his work will be completed. Jesus knows what lies in wait for him there, knows that he will be rejected by the people and killed by the powers that be.
And as he looks ahead, he can't help but mourn. He can't help but cry out in lament. “How often I have desired to gather your children together as a hen gathers her brood under her wings, and you were not willing.” Over and over throughout their history together, God has reached out to the people of Israel. Over and over, God has longed to draw them close, to have them nestle under God's protective arms, longed for them to realize and acknowledge their utter and complete dependence on God for their very life – and over and over, the people of Israel were not willing. They resist God's invitations, they rebel against God's care. It starts with Adam and Eve in the garden of Eden, when God sets them up with everything they could ever need – a place to live, food to eat, a loving relationship, meaningful work, a God who walks among them – and they turn away in favor of rebellion, of the illusion of independence.
It continues from them through the stories of all the people in the Bible, who time & time again turn away from the love and protection and closeness that God offers – and even now to us. What Jesus says about Jerusalem, he is saying about any place in the world. “Lynbrook, Lynbrook – how often I have desired to gather your children close, and you were not willing.” Jesus longs for us to stay close to him, to be near his side, to run to him when danger threatens, to look to him for life and love and contentment, and so often, we are not willing. God wants us to trust God to protect and provide for us, to acknowledge our utter dependence on God for our very lives, to let God gather us close – not like an over-protective parent who can't let their kids out of their sight, but one who has our best interest at heart.
But we are like teenagers who hit that phase where they can't bear to let the world know that they still need their parents – who want to be dropped off at school 2 or 3 blocks from the front door, lest anyone see mom or dad bringing us, who squirm out of their parents' attempts to hug or kiss us, because we're too big for that now. With kids, it's a normal & healthy part of growing up, of declaring independence even though we're not quite there yet.
But in our relationship with God, it's not just a normal stage of development. We were never meant to be independent from God. We were created to be in relationship with God, to live in love and trust and reliance – but we don't want to rely on anyone; we can take care of ourselves – that's what we want the world to believe, what we want to believe - so we push back against God's attempts to draw us close. We push God away. Jesus mourns that we would have it this way, he laments the loss of that closeness, that trust, that willingness to depend on the One who made us and gives us life.
But even though Jesus knows that that's the way it's gonna be, even though he knows that people will welcome him to Jerusalem, shouting, “Blessed is the king who comes in the name of the Lord,” and then shout for his crucifixion just as loudly mere days after that, even though he knows his offer of love and life will be resisted and rejected – even though he knows all this, Jesus goes to Jerusalem anyway. He goes as a mother hen, longing to draw her chicks close, prepared to defend them at any cost.
You know, I never really thought it about it much until this week – what it means for a hen to gather her brood close under her wings for protection. A hen is not a fearsome or ferocious animal. She has no strong line of defense, no teeth, no claws. She doesn't even have an easy way to escape – chickens aren't much for flying very far. All she has is her determination to save her chicks from whatever threatens them, her willingness to do whatever it takes to save them, even if it means using her own body for a shield, even if it means that she must die herself to take their place. When it comes to the mother hen, if the fox wants her chicks, it's gonna have to be over her dead body.
This is the image Jesus uses to describe what he's about to do for the people of Jerusalem and for all people of every time and place. He goes to Jerusalem to face the foxes of the world, the powers of sin and of death and of fear – all of the things that threaten to pull us from God and the life God longs for us to have, the things that threaten to kill us, spiritually, emotionally, physically. Jesus goes as a mother hen – with no weapons for defense, with no plan for a quick and easy escape. He does not fight death in order to hold on to his own life – but instead stands between death and us – his children – staring it down, and telling death that if it wants us, it's gonna have to go through him first. Like a mother hen, extending her wings so that her chicks may come to her for life, Jesus spreads out his arms on the cross, defenseless, vulnerable – self-sacrifice instead of self-protection.
And from that cross, he calls us to gather there, he reaches out to embrace all – even those who would resist and reject him. That's how much he loved Jerusalem. It's how much he loves each and every one of us. It's a love so deep that it's willing to sacrifice itself that we might have new life. This is the love that saves the world, and Jesus gives it, gives himself as a gift. He longs to gather us close – oh, today, let us be willing to let him.
Amen.
February 17, 2010 - Ash Wednesday
“Return to the Lord, your God, for he is gracious and merciful, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love...”
These are the words of our gospel acclamation during Lent, words taken from the Old Testament lesson from Joel. There's another version I know (you know how they take all these same basic words and put them to different music...) - & the words are a little bit different. They say, “Return to God, with all your heart, the source of grace and mercy. Come, seek the tender faithfulness of God.” Same basic words, slightly different feel to them though.
But “tender faithfulness” is not exactly how God sounds in this reading from Joel. What's going on for the people of Israel seems neither tender nor faithful on God's part. The people of Israel are in the middle of a crisis. Chapter 1 talks about swarms of locusts, sweeping across their land, devouring everything in sight, leaving nothing behind for food or drink. It's not clear if Joel's talking about literal locusts, or if it's a metaphor for an invading army – but either way, the Israelites are in deep trouble. And the way the prophet Joel sees it, it's because the people have screwed up. Somehow or other – he doesn't give us the specifics – the people have neglected their relationship with God. They've broken away from the covenant God has made with them. And now the day of the LORD is coming, says Joel, so watch out! Pay attention! Sound the alarm! Because God is coming, and God is mad. Joel sees what's going on & what might be about to happen as punishment from God, punishment for an unfaithful people.
Now, Lutheran theology doesn't really agree with Joel's perspective here. Lutheran Christians don't look at wars and natural disasters and diseases as direct punishment from God's hand, although certainly there are people in other Christian circles who do – and we certainly heard from them at the time of Hurricane Katrina and again after the earthquake in Haiti. But Lutherans do see what Joel is talking about when it comes to the state of our relationship with God. We recognize that we are sinners, that we have screwed up. We know that our natural inclination is to turn away from God & seek our own way, do our own thing. Left to our own devices, we neglect God and our relationship.
But it's easy to forget that it matters, easy to go about our merry ways without giving God much of a second thought, easy to forget that we owe God everything. It's easy to forget that we are formed from dust by God's own hand, that we breathe because of God breathes life into us.
And so sounds the trumpet of Ash Wednesday and the season of Lent that we enter into today, not as an alarm sounding God's imminent and angry return to punish us, but coming as a call for our attention. Ash Wednesday comes each year as a gift, a chance to refocus our attention. Once every year, and for the 40 days of Lent that follow, we are invited to reflect on our lives, to look at ourselves as individuals, to examine our relationships, to see how we are doing as a community of faith. Especially on Ash Wednesday, we have an opportunity to recognize where, when, and how we have created a disconnect between ourselves and God and each other, to see the damage we have done, sometimes intentionally, sometimes just out of neglect. Of course we can do that every day, but usually we don't. Ash Wednesday and Lent come every year to remind us of how important it is to recognize and name our sin – which, when you get right down to the heart of it, is basically just that we turn away from God every chance we get, taking for granted the grace and forgiveness that is so freely given, yet costs God so much.
“Yet even now,” says the LORD, “return to me with all your heart, with fasting, with weeping, with mourning; rend your hearts and not your clothing.” Hear God's trumpet call this Ash Wednesday to come back, with sorrow for the ways that we have turned away from God; with sincerity, and not just for some religious show. Because in every relationship, there comes a time when you have to say, “I'm sorry.” In every relationship, there comes a time when you have to say, “Please forgive me.” Because inevitably, we do things that hurt the other, and in order for healing to come, we have to repent, to change. And our relationship with God is no exception.
So hear God's invitation to repent today, and take it seriously. Accept that invitation. But please don't look at it just as some burden. God doesn't want us to wallow in our guilt and shame and sorrow. This call to repentance is an offer of forgiveness. When we repent, we get a chance to start over. We get a chance to re-center our lives in the one who gives life. God loves us and longs to restore us to wholeness – in our relationship with God, with others, within ourselves. Repenting is the way we re-turn, back through God's always-open door of forgiveness and love. Return to God with all your heart, the source of grace and mercy. Come, seek the tender faithfulness of God. Amen.
February 21, 2010 - Lent 1
A few years back, there was a TV show called “Jericho”. It wasn't on TV long – I caught its 1 full season after it came out on DVD. It was kind of this post-apocalyptic scenario, set in the small town of Jericho in rural Kansas. All at once, nuclear bombs detonate across the country in all major cities. Jericho isn't hit, but finds itself cut off from the outside world, isolated, with no idea of what is going on “out there”. TV, radio, internet – all forms for communication are disrupted by the attack. No one knows for sure the extent of the damage, if the national or state governments are still functioning, when help might come.
Suddenly, without warning, the people of Jericho find themselves plunged into a situation they never could have imagined. They are afraid, uncertain, vulnerable. No one knows how long it will be until life goes back to normal, when food might be delivered again, when the situation will be resolved. So, you won't be surprised to hear how the people react. Even though they've all been friends and neighbors for years, the crisis brings out the worst in people. They squabble over food and supplies and medical resources, they battle over who should have power and control of the town's government & who should get to make decisions for the group. In a pure struggle for survival, it becomes a struggle over what is good for the one vs. what is good for the many. And sometimes the clearer heads and better nature of folks wins out, but sometimes, fear, anger, selfishness get the upper hand. Because when people are scared and worn-out, they don't always make their best decisions.
It's why we can relate to this story of Jesus' temptation in the wilderness. It's always the story we hear on the 1st Sunday in Lent, whether it's from Matthew or Mark or this year from Luke. Each gospel writer tells it a little differently, with slightly different details (or almost no details at all, in the case of Mark). And here in Luke's version, we hear that Jesus was tempted by the devil for 40 days in the wilderness. All that time, he didn't eat anything, and by the end, he is famished. Not just hungry – Jesus is starving!
Imagine this situation – Jesus out alone in the wilderness for 40 days – no friends to keep him company, no radio or TV or computer or books to distract him or keep him from getting bored, no comfy bed to sleep in – probably no shelter at all, really, and no food. I think lonely, isolated, uncertain all probably describe his state of mind, on top of famished. And for all we know, he had no idea how long this state of affairs would last – we know that it was 40 days & out, but did Jesus? It's into this situation, at the end of a long 40 days that the devil comes again with 3 final tests for Jesus.
“Hungry, Jesus, son of God? Go ahead, just turn that stone into bread. God couldn't fault you for getting some food, right? Oh, not interested? Well, how 'bout this – you see all the kingdoms of the world laid out in front of me? Well this could all be yours – but wait, there's more! You could have their glory & authority over every nation, for the low, low bargain price of worshiping me. Act now, this deal won't last long! Not buying, huh? Well, how about you prove this God to be a God of his word – If you really are the son of God, God wouldn't let anything bad happen to you, right? Let's see what happens if you throw yourself off the highest point of the temple...”
We hear this story, and Jesus' temptations maybe don't seem so related to the temptations we face in our own lives every day. How often does the devil show up & identify himself & whisk us off to different locations to tempt us? Our temptations tend to be much more subtle, not so black and white. Our temptations are not often so clear-cut and obvious, less easy to identify as temptations to sin. And yet the types of temptations that Jesus faced are similar to the ones we encounter Рthe temptation to rely on ourselves to get what we think we need, to grasp and reach and struggle, much like the people of Jericho did, looking out for number 1 Рinstead of trusting God to provide enough; the temptation to follow the voices of the world that say it's more important to be successful and powerful and admired than it is to be faithful to who God says we are and are to be; the temptation to avoid pain and suffering at any cost, to make it a test of God's love for us, rather than holding fast to God's promises within us. From the slightly shady business deal to the embellished resum̩ that makes us look better than we are to the many ways we numb ourselves to our own pain and the pain of the world, temptations are all around us, and they are hard to fight on our best days, let alone the times when we have been wandering, famished and alone, in the wilderness of pain and fear and uncertainty for awhile.
The people of Jericho face temptations in their wilderness time too, one after another in a series that seems like it will never end. And it went off the air too soon for us to know how their situation would have resolved in the end. Would the good guys win, or the bad guys? And how could you really be sure who the good guys and bad guys were, anyway? But we know how the story ends in the Bible. Jesus faces the tests of the devil, and one by one, he overcomes them. One by one, he conquers the devil's lies with God's truth. But he doesn't do it alone. Right back at the very beginning of this reading, we hear that Jesus, full of the Holy Spirit, was led by the Spirit in the wilderness. Just as God led the people of Israel for 40 years through the wilderness, the Holy Spirit was with Jesus that whole time, leading him in his own wilderness experience. Jesus has been soaked in the baptismal waters of the Jordan, soaked in scripture, and he does not fight this battle alone. When the devil tries to twist God's words and God's intentions for Jesus' life, Jesus turns back to the Spirit and to scripture to sustain him.
And the good news for us in the face of our temptations is that we never face them alone either. The Holy Spirit is within us – she came as a gift in our own baptismal waters, when we were washed clean of our sin; when we died to our old selves and were raised again to live a new life in Christ. When that sign of the cross was traced on your forehead, the pastor said these words, or something very like them, “Child of God, you have been sealed with the Holy Spirit and marked with the cross of Christ forever.” The Holy Spirit is part of you, leading you and guiding you, helping you to hear God's voice over the voices of temptation, calling you to seek God's way instead of the quick and easy way, to believe God's promises instead of temptation's lies, to trust God more than yourself or the world, knowing that whatever happens, we are marked with the cross of Christ, who went before us, who knows the temptations of the wilderness, who walks with us still, and will never let us go.
Thanks be to God. Amen.
February 14, 2010 - Transfiguration Sunday
I was struck this week by this line in the gospel, verse 32, where it says “Now Peter and his companions were weighed down with sleep.” Because I can identify with that. I think most of us know that feeling, where you can barely keep your eyes open, where your eyelids just stay closed longer and longer, where you start to do the little head bob, as you fight to stay awake for whatever reason. Seems lately, for me, it happens most as I watch TV at the end of the day, snuggled up under a blanket on the couch – and you just want to give in, to drift off, to stay right where you are, where it's nice and cozy and warm.
Well, that's not so bad at the end of a long day, although I'm usually better off getting off the couch & just going to bed, but I think this gospel story speaks to another kind of sleepiness – a spiritual sleepiness. Just last Sunday, we heard how Jesus called Peter and the brothers James and John to follow him, but this week, we've fast-forwarded quite a bit. And since then, they've been a lot of places with Jesus, and they have seen and heard some amazing things – healings, and feedings, and teachings.
But most recently, all this stuff has taken a rather unpleasant turn. Just 8 days ago, Jesus sat them all down and told them for the 1st time how it's all gonna end, how he's going to undergo great suffering and rejection and be killed & how following him will mean losing their lives to find them, denying themselves, and taking up their cross every day. Not really what they signed on for, you know?
The next thing we know, “8 days after these sayings”, Jesus calls these 3, Peter and John and James, and takes them up on the mountain to pray. And Luke doesn't tell us what time it is when they go up there, or how long they were there praying with Jesus and each other – but by the time the action starts taking place, they have almost nodded off, their eyelids are drooping, they are weighed down with sleep. But somehow they manage to see this mystery take place – Jesus' appearance changes, just like that, and his clothes become brighter than even Clorox could make them, and then Moses and Elijah are there, talking with Jesus, just like that!
But there's a part of Peter (and probably James and John too, but Peter always seems to be the spokesman for the group) that hasn't quite woken up yet. Because as Moses & Elijah are about to leave, Peter says, “Hey, Jesus, let's build some booths and stay here a while.” You know, we'll just camp out here a little bit. Because while maybe the mountain wasn't physically nice and cozy and warm, it sure was tempting to stay up there. Because up on the mountain, they were far from the demands and pressures of the work Jesus had called them to. Up on the mountain, nobody is asking too much of them, and they've seen some of the heroes of the faith, and most of all, all those scary things that Jesus had just told them about Jerusalem and the cross and death all seemed a world away – and just like us on a cold winter day, it was so tempting to just stay where they were, to snuggle down under the blankets and pretend the world doesn't exist. This moment on the mountain is kinda like the snooze button – just 5 more minutes, Jesus.
There are a lot of times and places in our lives where we'd like to do that – where we find ourselves somewhere that's nice, and cozy, and warm – and boy is it tempting to stay there! And a lot of times for us who are trying to follow Jesus, it's church! Not that we want to stay here forever, we all know that unwritten rule about not going much more than an hour in worship ;) – but the feeling that we have about church is that it's a safe haven, a place to hear and see the heroes of the faith, where we can just sit by and watch the action unfold, and not have to be take part in it. We want to hang out with the people we know and let the demands of the world take care of themselves. It's a nice little escape, and some days, we just want to capture it, to set up camp and stay a while, and settle down for a long winter's nap.
But just as Peter's saying this, a cloud comes down & overshadows them, and they hear a voice from the cloud – and it says, “This is my Son, my Chosen; listen to him!”
“This is my Son, my Chosen; listen to him!” That's what the voice says, but you know the funny thing is, when the cloud is gone & they look around and realize that it's just them & Jesus again, Jesus doesn't say a thing. He doesn't say a thing – the next day, he just heads back down the mountain.
Jesus goes down the mountain, away from glory, away from security, away from complacency and comfort; Jesus goes back down the mountain, back to the great crowd that's waiting for him, back to the people in need, back to the man who's only son is struggling to survive. Actions speak louder than words, and Jesus comes down... down into hurt, down into pain, down into desperation. Jesus comes down from all that the mountain represents, to where the people are.
Jesus comes down – because that's what God always does. Jesus comes down because it's the story of his life from the very beginning, when the Word became flesh and lived among us. Jesus came down to show us the Father's heart, to make God known. Jesus came down, to walk with us, to meet us in the places of our deepest needs. Jesus came down, to offer us healing and wholeness and mercy, wrapped in infinite love. Jesus came down, he's right here for us now – we don't have to climb up some special mountain or up into heaven to find him. Jesus comes down to us.
This is the one God calls us to listen to, and his example calls us to wake up and follow him, to come down from the mountains where we feel safe, and cozy, and sleepy, to come down with him into the valleys where there are real people with real needs, to reach out to them, as Jesus has reached out to us, so that all, not just a select few, may be astounded at the greatness of God.
Amen.
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