Matthew 22:34-46
Change is one of those things that happen whether we like it or not. Usually, we don’t like it. We fear it. As mortal human beings, we know that nothing ever stays the same, and that in some sense stability really is a myth.
Today we celebrate Reformation Sunday, as the anniversary of the day that Martin Luther made his dramatic break with the Catholic church. As Protestants ourselves, we generally think of this as a good change. Of course as Methodists, we trace our denominational heritage back to the Church of England which broke away from the established church through its own reforms, both theological and political.
Phyllis Tickle and many other current church scholars see overall church history as a series of change and settling, change and settling. They have suggested that every 500 years the church goes through a giant rummage sale. About 1000 years ago the church split between the West and the East. About 500 the Protestant Reformation began. Now, we find ourselves in a general state of decline and social change and confusion: some say the overall church is dying and some say it is being transformed into something new. There’s no doubt of a “decline” of mainline Protestantism: we see it here in all that empty space in the pews, the empty overflow chapel downstairs and the balcony seating that we don’t really need. But we can hope for a transformation and renewed life. The fact is not that the church will change, but that the church is changing.
If this is true, then current forms of church will not die out and end. The Eastern Church continues to exist. The Roman Catholic continues to exist. During the period following Luther’s reform, the Catholic Church underwent its own changes and adjustments.
The Protestant Reformation didn’t destroy the established church, instead new branches arose and everyone changed and transformed into something new.
Like 500 years ago, we find ourselves in the midst of great social and technological change. We now have a global culture and limitless information at our finger tips. We’ve taken our sense of individual identity quite seriously to the neglect of our communal nature. Many people are suspicious of institutions that remind us that we are dependent on each other and not merely individuals. And so we hear lots of folks say they are “spiritual” but not “religious.” They believe in God, but not organized religion. They may have been hurt by religion, or jaded by its sense of hope, or just don’t want someone else telling them what to believe. Sadly, the church sometimes looks like a place where not everyone is loved and accepted, is full of empty platitudes and a false kindness, or a narrow set of beliefs that demand strict adherence or else. Ideally, the church is a true community, where each person is strengthened and challenged in faith and loved and accepted. That it is a genuine place where folks can come with their questions and wrestle to find answers together—can be genuinely caring and yet fully cognizant of the depth of the mystery we find in God. And that we ultimately arrive at our beliefs together, that there is room for doubt and questions and no one has to take what the preacher says as law.
About 2000 years ago there was a reformer. He looked at the current religion and showed them a way to live more faithfully: more by grace and less by law. He taught amazing lessons about love, about feeding the hungry, about loving God, and loving all other people just as much as we love ourselves. Like other reformers who would follow, he made the status quo uncomfortable, he rubbed religious and political leaders the wrong way and they sentenced him to capital punishment just like any other radical renegade. But this guy wasn’t just a crazy fool, he was also God. Christians are not alone in worshipping God. But we are unique in that we believe in the kind of God that would become so humble, who would walk in our shoes, who would show us what love really looks like, and would willingly die because of it. God incarnate, in human flesh.
One way we celebrate this incarnation is through Communion.
We eat every day. In most homes, the kitchen is the central place for family and friends to gather. It’s an obvious, basic part of human survival. But, for the most part, it is also something inherently pleasant. If most human beings did not enjoy food, we wouldn’t have so many restaurants, and so many types of food, and so many chefs. We’d eat something basic and move on. Because they were all human, Jesus and his disciples ate meals. They physically had to, but they also did it for the fellowship.
John Wesley actually participated in Communion as frequently as he could because he found it to be a source of daily sustenance for the spiritual journey. Wesley also called it a “means of grace” meaning that the Lord’s Super is one of the ways that God communicates directly to us: we have prayer, we have scripture, we have communion.
In early American Methodism, churches could only have communion every few months because that’s how long it would be before a traveling preacher could be with them to preside. Then they bumped it up to once every four months and now to once a month. Those days are long gone and we still tend to treat communion as an occasional element of worship instead of a regular one.
When we share in this meal, we have to get up, if we are able, and come forward. We might bump into each other, we might be clumsy, but there’s no wrong way to come to the table. We touch and taste the bread and the juice, we can kneel at the altar, we can sing, we can smile at each other, we can pray. We have the chance to be awake and alive and connected during worship. We’ll see how worship can’t always be something that we can do all alone in our living room, watching a service on TV or listening to a sermon pod cast. It isn’t just a walk alone in the woods. There’s a reason to get out of bed and come to church. It’s not something we can do alone or online, it’s not personal enlightenment, it’s not just “me and God.” Christian practice is loving God and loving all other people. Worship requires coming together because the love and grace of God comes to us and then immediately must go back out. Our communion liturgy reminds us of this. The bread and cup become the body and blood of Christ so that we can be Christ for the world: so that we can work Christ’s loving, sacrificial redemption in a hateful, selfish, unforgiving world. Communion reminds us of who we are and how we’re supposed to be.
Jesus broke bread with his friends and followers on many occasions. He ate with sinners and saints alike. He fed 5000 with a few loaves of bread on the shores of the Sea of Galilee and turned water into wine at a wedding in Cana. He described the kingdom of heaven as a glorious feast and spoke of food for the hungry.
Jesus loved his disciples and he loves all of us. He was willing to let his physical body die in order to show us what sacrificial love truly is. His sacrifice would feed our spirits. Before he died, his disciples never quite understood that Jesus was going to die and then live again. Before he was arrested, Jesus shared one last meal. And in an attempt to help them understand, he took a loaf of bread and blessed it and gave it to them and said: this is my body: physical food with spiritual meaning, for you to eat when I am gone and to remember me when you can no longer see me. The wine, he took and blessed, and said this is my blood, its new wine, poured out for you as my love is poured out for you: when you eat and drink, remember me.
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
BookShelf
There are some books that are floating around WSUMC. Almost literally. Take This Bread by Sara Miles is one such book. It has popped into my life, it found its way into one of Mike's recent sermons, and I spied a bag of copies in the sanctuary on Sunday. The Shack by William Young is another one. I know a few folks have read it, I saw it on a coffee table in 112 a few weeks ago, I bought my own copy yesterday, and then a stack found its way to a committee meeting this morning. I haven't read this, but you can be sure that I'll be reading it as soon as possible. I am also reading The Year of Living Biblically: One Man's Humble Quest to Follow the Bible as Literally as Possible by A.J. Jacobs. I've only read the first chapter, but its enjoyable and interesting so far. So here you have three books: one I've read, one I intend to read, and one that I am reading. I invite you to join me, share your thoughts as we go along, and add to the list of books we all ought to be reading!
Monday, October 6, 2008
It's Not Ours
Matthew 21:33-43
Generally, vineyards are lovely places. Think of picturesque wineries in France, California or the hills of Virginia. The wine makers watch as the grapes grow and then turn that fruit into a new creation—all on one estate. The kingdom of heaven, the new earth, must look a bit like this too: plump grapes growing on a hillside, people who take pride in their work, and fine wine and delicious banquets for everyone. Jesus talks so much about vineyards and wine. He talks about himself as the vine and us as the branches. He turns water into wine to quench the thirsts of wedding guests at Canaan and he turns his blood into wine to quench our thirst.
Let me tell you a story.
There once was a deity who built a church. He had lots of churches, but he placed this particular church in Old Town Alexandria. He built a fine sanctuary and a large education building. He underestimated the need for parking. Then he leased the church to tenants. These tenants were charged with the responsibility of nurturing the faith community, with genuinely reaching out to strangers, with worshipping the deity with vigor and thoughtfulness. Throughout the decades the church saw many changes in the world. It struggled and grew and struggled again. The congregation wrestled with who it was and who the deity wanted it to be. In times of growth they were strong and confident, in leaner times they became anxious and distraught.
Jesus doesn’t say much about the vineyard tenants. Whether or not they grow grapes and make wine, if they drink it all themselves, or sit around and do nothing. All we know, is that when the owner sends slaves to collect the produce, the tenants kill the slaves. Twice. When the owner sends his son to collect the harvest, the tenants kill him as well.
The tenants are wicked because they seem to have forgotten that the vineyard isn’t theirs and they are willing to murder the landowner’s messengers. The owner should then take that vineyard and give it to responsible tenants who will produce and yield fruit. So too, Jesus says, God will take the kingdom of heaven and give it to people who will produce fruit.
In our local vineyard on Washington Street, are we producing fruit?
Are we deepening our spiritual connection to God? Are we praying and exploring other spiritual disciplines? Do we bring our full selves to worship? Do we allow ourselves to invoke and experience the Holy presence of God? Are we deepening our relationship with God?
Are we welcoming the strangers in our midst, are we hospitable to our visitors and our new members? Are we nurturing and caring for one another?
Are we risking our comfort level and reaching out to those in need in service and mission? Are we sharing God’s love and connecting deeply with our broken, suffering world?
Are we using our financial gifts to benefit the kingdom of God?
Are we opening the doors to our community? As a down-town church on the cusp of Washington DC, how are we finding and living out our unique calling?
If it is at least our desire to do and be these things, then our hearts are in the right place. But that’s not enough. We need to work harder in our vineyard.
Drive around the countryside and you may find a closed, abandoned church. Travel through the city and you may find an old church with a new congregation now residing in it. To stay alive and vibrant the church has got to want to live. The people must produce fruit and gifts and graces. It must exist for reasons other than itself. It must engage God and its community.
Church is more than a Sunday morning activity, it’s a faith community that really hopes to help God change the world. We need to give our tithes, not out of guilt, but out of joy, as an investment in the life and vitality of our spiritual community. We need to make a commitment to be present, to be here for ourselves and each other, to nurture our community, to reach out to the suffering, to plant our spiritual roots and reach out in love to others.
Our church is a family. It is a place for us to tend our spiritual lives, to feed our physical bodies, to connect to our human family, and to reach out to our broken world. Your giving keeps everything going here. The hope is that we will give, not because we have to, but because we want to.
Being fruitful is not an option. Jesus comes across a fig tree without fruit, curses it, and it withers on the spot. He speaks of taking away a vineyard and giving it to those who will produce fruit. Those who will carry out his message, those who will do what he’s talking about, those who will comfort the poor and challenge the rich those who will love the unlovable, those who will risk everything for truth and justice and mercy.
As much as we may love our church, we have to remember that it does not exist solely for our purposes and joy. It is not a private winery. It’s not ours. It’s God’s church. It is God we worship we when come here, God that we seek for relationship, God that we look for in each other, God’s word that we proclaim and God’s word that we feast on. When we come to the table we realize that this act is one of the few that make us uniquely Christian. We speak of body and blood and bread and wine, flesh and food. The Eucharist is not supposed to make sense in our minds. It’s meant to connect our bodies to Jesus and to each other throughout the world. Christ is as near to us as the food that we eat. How could he communicate such closeness other than to lift the bread and say take this as my body. I’m going to die, to show you what it means to take love seriously, to live a life of integrity, to stand up for your convictions even when facing death. Jesus showed us how to live and love and he had to die for it because the status quo couldn’t handle what he was saying. Rather than search themselves for the truth, they murdered him. Jesus is God incarnate, God in human, fleshly form, fully human, fully God. Facing his death, Jesus knew he wouldn’t share that human form for long. He knew that his followers would no longer have a savior that they could physically touch. With bread and wine, Jesus created a symbol, a physical element that they could see and touch and smell and taste to represent a God they could no longer physically experience. Jesus didn’t shy away from the ickier parts of being human. He could talk about blood without being grossed out, because he knows that without blood our bodies cannot exist. When he took the cup, and said that the wine is his blood, he simply meant that blood gives us life and his blood gives us life. His cup is one of renewed life, of restorative wine. We’re acknowledging our human bodies and Jesus’ human body and we’re sharing the spiritual food that Jesus has prepared for us. Jesus provides us food, the way a mother’s body feeds her baby. This Sunday in particular we celebrate World Communion Sunday. Various other churches, or other denominations, in other towns and states and countries are also coming to the table of Christ. Together, we make up the body of Christ and together we seek to honor love and peace in a violent and broken world, to bear fruit and bring about unity for the present and coming vineyard of heaven.
Generally, vineyards are lovely places. Think of picturesque wineries in France, California or the hills of Virginia. The wine makers watch as the grapes grow and then turn that fruit into a new creation—all on one estate. The kingdom of heaven, the new earth, must look a bit like this too: plump grapes growing on a hillside, people who take pride in their work, and fine wine and delicious banquets for everyone. Jesus talks so much about vineyards and wine. He talks about himself as the vine and us as the branches. He turns water into wine to quench the thirsts of wedding guests at Canaan and he turns his blood into wine to quench our thirst.
Let me tell you a story.
There once was a deity who built a church. He had lots of churches, but he placed this particular church in Old Town Alexandria. He built a fine sanctuary and a large education building. He underestimated the need for parking. Then he leased the church to tenants. These tenants were charged with the responsibility of nurturing the faith community, with genuinely reaching out to strangers, with worshipping the deity with vigor and thoughtfulness. Throughout the decades the church saw many changes in the world. It struggled and grew and struggled again. The congregation wrestled with who it was and who the deity wanted it to be. In times of growth they were strong and confident, in leaner times they became anxious and distraught.
Jesus doesn’t say much about the vineyard tenants. Whether or not they grow grapes and make wine, if they drink it all themselves, or sit around and do nothing. All we know, is that when the owner sends slaves to collect the produce, the tenants kill the slaves. Twice. When the owner sends his son to collect the harvest, the tenants kill him as well.
The tenants are wicked because they seem to have forgotten that the vineyard isn’t theirs and they are willing to murder the landowner’s messengers. The owner should then take that vineyard and give it to responsible tenants who will produce and yield fruit. So too, Jesus says, God will take the kingdom of heaven and give it to people who will produce fruit.
In our local vineyard on Washington Street, are we producing fruit?
Are we deepening our spiritual connection to God? Are we praying and exploring other spiritual disciplines? Do we bring our full selves to worship? Do we allow ourselves to invoke and experience the Holy presence of God? Are we deepening our relationship with God?
Are we welcoming the strangers in our midst, are we hospitable to our visitors and our new members? Are we nurturing and caring for one another?
Are we risking our comfort level and reaching out to those in need in service and mission? Are we sharing God’s love and connecting deeply with our broken, suffering world?
Are we using our financial gifts to benefit the kingdom of God?
Are we opening the doors to our community? As a down-town church on the cusp of Washington DC, how are we finding and living out our unique calling?
If it is at least our desire to do and be these things, then our hearts are in the right place. But that’s not enough. We need to work harder in our vineyard.
Drive around the countryside and you may find a closed, abandoned church. Travel through the city and you may find an old church with a new congregation now residing in it. To stay alive and vibrant the church has got to want to live. The people must produce fruit and gifts and graces. It must exist for reasons other than itself. It must engage God and its community.
Church is more than a Sunday morning activity, it’s a faith community that really hopes to help God change the world. We need to give our tithes, not out of guilt, but out of joy, as an investment in the life and vitality of our spiritual community. We need to make a commitment to be present, to be here for ourselves and each other, to nurture our community, to reach out to the suffering, to plant our spiritual roots and reach out in love to others.
Our church is a family. It is a place for us to tend our spiritual lives, to feed our physical bodies, to connect to our human family, and to reach out to our broken world. Your giving keeps everything going here. The hope is that we will give, not because we have to, but because we want to.
Being fruitful is not an option. Jesus comes across a fig tree without fruit, curses it, and it withers on the spot. He speaks of taking away a vineyard and giving it to those who will produce fruit. Those who will carry out his message, those who will do what he’s talking about, those who will comfort the poor and challenge the rich those who will love the unlovable, those who will risk everything for truth and justice and mercy.
As much as we may love our church, we have to remember that it does not exist solely for our purposes and joy. It is not a private winery. It’s not ours. It’s God’s church. It is God we worship we when come here, God that we seek for relationship, God that we look for in each other, God’s word that we proclaim and God’s word that we feast on. When we come to the table we realize that this act is one of the few that make us uniquely Christian. We speak of body and blood and bread and wine, flesh and food. The Eucharist is not supposed to make sense in our minds. It’s meant to connect our bodies to Jesus and to each other throughout the world. Christ is as near to us as the food that we eat. How could he communicate such closeness other than to lift the bread and say take this as my body. I’m going to die, to show you what it means to take love seriously, to live a life of integrity, to stand up for your convictions even when facing death. Jesus showed us how to live and love and he had to die for it because the status quo couldn’t handle what he was saying. Rather than search themselves for the truth, they murdered him. Jesus is God incarnate, God in human, fleshly form, fully human, fully God. Facing his death, Jesus knew he wouldn’t share that human form for long. He knew that his followers would no longer have a savior that they could physically touch. With bread and wine, Jesus created a symbol, a physical element that they could see and touch and smell and taste to represent a God they could no longer physically experience. Jesus didn’t shy away from the ickier parts of being human. He could talk about blood without being grossed out, because he knows that without blood our bodies cannot exist. When he took the cup, and said that the wine is his blood, he simply meant that blood gives us life and his blood gives us life. His cup is one of renewed life, of restorative wine. We’re acknowledging our human bodies and Jesus’ human body and we’re sharing the spiritual food that Jesus has prepared for us. Jesus provides us food, the way a mother’s body feeds her baby. This Sunday in particular we celebrate World Communion Sunday. Various other churches, or other denominations, in other towns and states and countries are also coming to the table of Christ. Together, we make up the body of Christ and together we seek to honor love and peace in a violent and broken world, to bear fruit and bring about unity for the present and coming vineyard of heaven.
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
As We Forgive Our Debtors
Matthew 18: 21-35
When it comes to forgiveness, we’re in a double bind. We like to be forgiven. But it’s much harder to forgive. We ask forgiveness for our sins just as we forgive those who sin against us.
We’ve domesticated forgiveness to the point that it’s become something soft and fluffy. It has some supernatural powers since God forgives all of our sins, and the baptismal waters wash them away. It sounds kind of easy, but we still sin, and we still need forgiveness, both to be forgiven and to forgive.
There are some other wilder, scary words, that we don’t hear as often: confession, confrontation, reparation, reconciliation.
Jesus’ answer to forgive those who sin against us 70 times 7 times has become a sound bite to encourage Christians to be forgiving. But that’s it. Be willing to forgive. If someone wrongs you—no matter how atrocious and painful—you forgive them and let it go. Turn the other cheek. Do what Jesus would do.
You know, there’s a certain movie rental company that I’m not pleased with. I rented movies from them a few years ago and stopped when they decided to threaten me with charges for a movie I had long returned. They informed me that I would own this movie within a few days and that might have been fine if I hadn’t already returned it. They did, at the last minute, discover that I was telling the truth and they had the movie all along.
When we moved up here and that was the closest rental place to us, I thought, well, it’s been a while since that last indiscretion maybe things will be different. Then I returned some movies that we’d rented last week. And on Thursday, got a phone call that I would once again be the proud owner of these movies sometime next week if I don’t return them. I’m feeling that perhaps I forgave this company a second chance too quickly. Here we are, in the same position we were a year ago and nothing has changed and I’m just as irritated as I was the first time. But you see, that first forgiveness was a one-sided deal. I did not confront them with their mistake and they did not apologize. They did not confess or offer any sort of reconciliation action. There was no coupon for a free rental. They did not reform their organizational structure to keep better track of their inventory.
Obviously, this is a minor insignificant example, but I’m just saying. I don’t like being accused of things I didn’t do. Forgiveness in this situation is just a mechanism for me to get over my frustration. It doesn’t invoke or require true transformation and change.
The most classic example—and obviously more serious—is in cases of domestic abuse. For too long, abused women seeking help from their priests have been exhorted to forgive their abusers and go home. Victims have been told to “suck it up” more or less, forgive and move on. Because Jesus says to forgive infinitely.
Except that forgiveness is about more than getting over something. And in cases of violence, it’s about more than going home to a never ending cycle.
When Jesus tells the story of the master and the slaves, he demonstrates a true change in behavior—at least the expectation of true change. As the master pardons the debt of that first servant, he assumes that this goodwill ought to trickle down and the slave would go and do likewise. Instead, the slave is just as vindictive and petty to his debtor as we might have expected the master to be. Instead of offering forgiveness and pardon, he shows no mercy. Upon hearing this news, the master takes back his forgiveness and severely punishes that offending slave.
Jesus says that God will do no less to us. Refusing to forgive can result in feeling spiritually tortured.
To the ones that God has forgiven, we must also forgive.
I recently ran across this story of a small California family. The daughter, Amy, went to South Africa to work against apartheid. While there, she was murdered by a mob. Her parents, in an unbelievable act, left California to finish their daughter’s work in South Africa. They started a service foundation in Amy’s name and now, two of her killers are working for that foundation as an act of atonement. Her parents have forgiven them and even befriended them.
This seems like almost a perverse level of forgiveness. To pardon and befriend a love ones killer?
We all know what happened this week 7 years ago. And seven years later, we know that justice, while dramatically sought, has not come full cycle. We have neither revenge nor reconciliation. But what about forgiveness? Can we forgive while our attackers are still out there? Do we need them to confess, repent, and atone before they can be forgiven?
The following is a statement from Desmond Tutu, Archbishop of Cape Town: regarding the US and 9/11. He says:
“Forgiveness is not to condone or minimize the awfulness of an atrocity or wrong. It is to recognize its ghastliness but to choose to acknowledge the essential humanity of the perpetrator and to give that perpetrator the possibility of making a new beginning. It is an act of much hope and not despair. It is to hope in the essential goodness of people and to have faith in their potential to change. It is to bet on that possibility. Forgiveness is not opposed to justice, especially if it is not punitive justice but restorative justice, justice that does not seek primarily to punish the perpetrator, to hit out, but looks to heal a breach, to restore a social equilibrium that the atrocity or misdeed has disturbed.”
This isn’t a comfortable place to be in. It’s not a distinction between forgiving and forgiven, wrong and right. Instead, we’re both. We are to offer an open, loving forgiveness to those who have sinned against us. And we hope for a change, for true reconciliation and repentance, but we can’t require it. We can only hope. And for us, as people who know we are forgiven, we need to remember that that forgiveness comes with a price. God forgives us abundantly, but not without cost. Like that slave that took his forgiveness and turned it into retribution against his fellow slave. As forgiven people, we must also be able to forgive.
The acts of forgiveness remind us that we are all connected to each other. Our actions have consequences and affect the wider web of humanity. We sin, both as individuals and as groups. We sin as a church, as a nation.
We are all forgiving and forgiven. Its not about being nice, but about being honest. Not about escaping accountability—for ourselves or others—as we also have to be accountable.
We can ask God to help us forgive and thank God for forgiving us first.
As forgiven and reconciled people, we are to go and do likewise
When it comes to forgiveness, we’re in a double bind. We like to be forgiven. But it’s much harder to forgive. We ask forgiveness for our sins just as we forgive those who sin against us.
We’ve domesticated forgiveness to the point that it’s become something soft and fluffy. It has some supernatural powers since God forgives all of our sins, and the baptismal waters wash them away. It sounds kind of easy, but we still sin, and we still need forgiveness, both to be forgiven and to forgive.
There are some other wilder, scary words, that we don’t hear as often: confession, confrontation, reparation, reconciliation.
Jesus’ answer to forgive those who sin against us 70 times 7 times has become a sound bite to encourage Christians to be forgiving. But that’s it. Be willing to forgive. If someone wrongs you—no matter how atrocious and painful—you forgive them and let it go. Turn the other cheek. Do what Jesus would do.
You know, there’s a certain movie rental company that I’m not pleased with. I rented movies from them a few years ago and stopped when they decided to threaten me with charges for a movie I had long returned. They informed me that I would own this movie within a few days and that might have been fine if I hadn’t already returned it. They did, at the last minute, discover that I was telling the truth and they had the movie all along.
When we moved up here and that was the closest rental place to us, I thought, well, it’s been a while since that last indiscretion maybe things will be different. Then I returned some movies that we’d rented last week. And on Thursday, got a phone call that I would once again be the proud owner of these movies sometime next week if I don’t return them. I’m feeling that perhaps I forgave this company a second chance too quickly. Here we are, in the same position we were a year ago and nothing has changed and I’m just as irritated as I was the first time. But you see, that first forgiveness was a one-sided deal. I did not confront them with their mistake and they did not apologize. They did not confess or offer any sort of reconciliation action. There was no coupon for a free rental. They did not reform their organizational structure to keep better track of their inventory.
Obviously, this is a minor insignificant example, but I’m just saying. I don’t like being accused of things I didn’t do. Forgiveness in this situation is just a mechanism for me to get over my frustration. It doesn’t invoke or require true transformation and change.
The most classic example—and obviously more serious—is in cases of domestic abuse. For too long, abused women seeking help from their priests have been exhorted to forgive their abusers and go home. Victims have been told to “suck it up” more or less, forgive and move on. Because Jesus says to forgive infinitely.
Except that forgiveness is about more than getting over something. And in cases of violence, it’s about more than going home to a never ending cycle.
When Jesus tells the story of the master and the slaves, he demonstrates a true change in behavior—at least the expectation of true change. As the master pardons the debt of that first servant, he assumes that this goodwill ought to trickle down and the slave would go and do likewise. Instead, the slave is just as vindictive and petty to his debtor as we might have expected the master to be. Instead of offering forgiveness and pardon, he shows no mercy. Upon hearing this news, the master takes back his forgiveness and severely punishes that offending slave.
Jesus says that God will do no less to us. Refusing to forgive can result in feeling spiritually tortured.
To the ones that God has forgiven, we must also forgive.
I recently ran across this story of a small California family. The daughter, Amy, went to South Africa to work against apartheid. While there, she was murdered by a mob. Her parents, in an unbelievable act, left California to finish their daughter’s work in South Africa. They started a service foundation in Amy’s name and now, two of her killers are working for that foundation as an act of atonement. Her parents have forgiven them and even befriended them.
This seems like almost a perverse level of forgiveness. To pardon and befriend a love ones killer?
We all know what happened this week 7 years ago. And seven years later, we know that justice, while dramatically sought, has not come full cycle. We have neither revenge nor reconciliation. But what about forgiveness? Can we forgive while our attackers are still out there? Do we need them to confess, repent, and atone before they can be forgiven?
The following is a statement from Desmond Tutu, Archbishop of Cape Town: regarding the US and 9/11. He says:
“Forgiveness is not to condone or minimize the awfulness of an atrocity or wrong. It is to recognize its ghastliness but to choose to acknowledge the essential humanity of the perpetrator and to give that perpetrator the possibility of making a new beginning. It is an act of much hope and not despair. It is to hope in the essential goodness of people and to have faith in their potential to change. It is to bet on that possibility. Forgiveness is not opposed to justice, especially if it is not punitive justice but restorative justice, justice that does not seek primarily to punish the perpetrator, to hit out, but looks to heal a breach, to restore a social equilibrium that the atrocity or misdeed has disturbed.”
This isn’t a comfortable place to be in. It’s not a distinction between forgiving and forgiven, wrong and right. Instead, we’re both. We are to offer an open, loving forgiveness to those who have sinned against us. And we hope for a change, for true reconciliation and repentance, but we can’t require it. We can only hope. And for us, as people who know we are forgiven, we need to remember that that forgiveness comes with a price. God forgives us abundantly, but not without cost. Like that slave that took his forgiveness and turned it into retribution against his fellow slave. As forgiven people, we must also be able to forgive.
The acts of forgiveness remind us that we are all connected to each other. Our actions have consequences and affect the wider web of humanity. We sin, both as individuals and as groups. We sin as a church, as a nation.
We are all forgiving and forgiven. Its not about being nice, but about being honest. Not about escaping accountability—for ourselves or others—as we also have to be accountable.
We can ask God to help us forgive and thank God for forgiving us first.
As forgiven and reconciled people, we are to go and do likewise
Tuesday, September 2, 2008
The Church Around the Corner
There's so much talk about the decline of Mainline Protestantism that I’m bored just writing these words. Mainline churches are suffering. We are low in numbers and low in money and Washington Street UMC is no different. Our ability to sustain ourselves is on shaky ground. For many churches it’s because it’s no longer the 1950s and people are not flocking to church and giving it their time energy and funds. So many fixtures around our buildings have not changed since then. So many plaques date to that period as if nothing substantial has taken place within these walls for 50 years.
In many ways, that’s the simple truth. Our culture has massively shifted and so have our churches, but we have not done anything to catch up except wallow in the self-pity and loss of our golden era.
Have you watched the Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks flick You’ve Got Mail? I feel like we’re The Shop Around the Corner. We’re the local store that’s trying to survive. But there are Fox Books churches out there that are easier to drive to, offer slicker merchandize, intoxicating interiors, and cheap grace.
People should come to us for some of the same reasons that they don’t want to go to a super store. Some of it might be out of an interest in reconnecting to the local, the organic, the fair-trade side of life. We do have fair-trade coffee on Sunday mornings. We do serve organic meals on Wednesday evenings. We are a local church with local folks.
We live in such a time of anxiety and uncertainty. The churches that are growing are ones that can offer stability and certainty. You have questions? We have answers!
Well, let me tell you I have questions too! More questions than answers really. And my answers do not always satisfy me. We don’t have certainty here. Stability is a myth. Security never really existed anyway.
But if a church doesn’t offer answers, then what good are we?
Is it worth your time to go to a place where everyone, including the pastors, have just as many questions and doubts as you do? Is it worth it to sit in a Sunday School and wrestle with issues and never come up with anything definitive? Is it worth getting to know people who don’t have it all figured out?
It turns out that I do have an answer: Yes. It’s worth it to come together with other people and wrestle and fight and question and talk and cry and sing and pray. It is good to not be alone. It is good to find other believers and doubters, to figure out what that means, to figure out who we want to be, and to figure out what we can do for those suffering around us.
I don’t know how the story at Washington Street ends. I hope that we don’t fight a good fight only to close our doors anyway. I hope it doesn’t “become something really depressing like a Baby Gap.” Like everything else, we’re facing great times of change. I’m not sure what its going to look like, but I hope you’ll join me in figuring it out.
In many ways, that’s the simple truth. Our culture has massively shifted and so have our churches, but we have not done anything to catch up except wallow in the self-pity and loss of our golden era.
Have you watched the Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks flick You’ve Got Mail? I feel like we’re The Shop Around the Corner. We’re the local store that’s trying to survive. But there are Fox Books churches out there that are easier to drive to, offer slicker merchandize, intoxicating interiors, and cheap grace.
People should come to us for some of the same reasons that they don’t want to go to a super store. Some of it might be out of an interest in reconnecting to the local, the organic, the fair-trade side of life. We do have fair-trade coffee on Sunday mornings. We do serve organic meals on Wednesday evenings. We are a local church with local folks.
We live in such a time of anxiety and uncertainty. The churches that are growing are ones that can offer stability and certainty. You have questions? We have answers!
Well, let me tell you I have questions too! More questions than answers really. And my answers do not always satisfy me. We don’t have certainty here. Stability is a myth. Security never really existed anyway.
But if a church doesn’t offer answers, then what good are we?
Is it worth your time to go to a place where everyone, including the pastors, have just as many questions and doubts as you do? Is it worth it to sit in a Sunday School and wrestle with issues and never come up with anything definitive? Is it worth getting to know people who don’t have it all figured out?
It turns out that I do have an answer: Yes. It’s worth it to come together with other people and wrestle and fight and question and talk and cry and sing and pray. It is good to not be alone. It is good to find other believers and doubters, to figure out what that means, to figure out who we want to be, and to figure out what we can do for those suffering around us.
I don’t know how the story at Washington Street ends. I hope that we don’t fight a good fight only to close our doors anyway. I hope it doesn’t “become something really depressing like a Baby Gap.” Like everything else, we’re facing great times of change. I’m not sure what its going to look like, but I hope you’ll join me in figuring it out.
Sunday, August 24, 2008
Holy Innocents
Exodus1:8-2:10.
Exodus makes it clear that Pharaoh finds threat in the sheer numbers of the Hebrews. In the midst of hard labor and difficult living conditions, God has allowed the Hebrew people to flourish and multiply with their numerous descendants. This Egyptian king is not pleased. With this possible threat to his security and authority he enacts his plan of ethnic “cleansing.”
This great evil is thwarted by two women who refuse. Pharaoh’s command is a state-issued eugenics movement. It’s not about one woman and one baby, one life or one choice. It’s about a whole lot of women and families and no choice. The midwives offer their action, their noncompliance with evil. They refuse to obey Pharaoh. Baby boys continue to be born and to live.
It should not escape our attention that the scripture gives these two midwives names. With so many generic wives and sisters, they could have simply been “the midwives,” but instead, they are also Shiphrah and Puah. Also striking is the fact that Pharaoh has no name. Our unnamed Pharaoh is afraid of the Hebrew men. He finds two women to take care of this matter for him and reduce the number future Hebrew men. In commanding Shiphrah and Puah, he is expecting total obedience. He underestimates these tenacious midwives, two Hebrew women, and his own daughter. Ironically, even though he fears the Hebrew males, it’s actually Hebrew and Egyptian females who are responsible for his undoing.
Shiphrah and Puah are not acting out of political convictions. It’s not clear whether they are Hebrew or Egyptian or something else. As “midwives to the Hebrews” we don’t know. It’s not clear that they disobey Pharaoh on the basic principle that they will always disobey Pharaoh. It has nothing to do with their view of his foreign policy or general treatment of the Hebrew immigrants. It’s not as if this is the last act against the Hebrew people and they are FED UP with his treatment of them. Or maybe it is.
What is clear is that they are midwives. Their job is the sacred task of bearing both mother and child safely, of caring for both. Their job is to deliver babies safely and to help them live. Pharaoh’s command is a direct affront to their life’s work. They’re going to help the babies because it’s their ethical concern that all babies be born safely. It doesn’t matter who these babies are, it’s just what they do. And so they defy Pharaoh. When he calls them back in to see why all these babies are still surviving, they are willing to lie to this king about the reality and nature of childbirth. Knowing no better, he falls for it.
Shiphrah and Puah not only have a commitment to life. They also have a fear of God. Pharaoh fails to grasp their allegiance to God and their secret knowledge of childbirth. The midwives live into the courage of their convictions. In their lies, they speak to a different truth. They side with life and love.
When Pharaoh’s plan with the midwives did not work out he turned to “all of his people” to carry out the genocide. And yet, there is a mother and father who have a small son. This mother hides her child for three months. When hiding him is no longer possible she does indeed cast her son into the Nile, but she does so carefully, in a water-proof basket. The child’s sister looks after him and eventually Pharaoh’s own daughter comes to rescue and raise the child.
Like the birth of Moses, the birth of Jesus brought out a similar massacre. Again, a human king, feeling threatened by the people of God, orders a mass killing of babies.
It’s almost exactly the same story. On one hand, it places Jesus squarely in the plot of a rich story of a people who escaped from Egypt. So too, Jesus’ birth is touched with a death threat at the very beginning. We come to see just how close God was to being foiled by an evil human being and yet still manages to prevail against all odds. It takes a dream for Jesus, an angel to appear to Joseph and a flight to Egypt. For Moses, it takes his mother and sister who refuse to abandon him and a princess who feels sympathy and adopts the foundling.
Moses ends up growing up in Pharaoh’s household, grows up with a sense of privilege and good education and the ability to see how his people are treated and more importantly see how this shouldn’t be continuing.
This is a story of human power feeling threatened or disgusted. From Pharaoh, to Herod, to Hitler, it’s all basically the same sad story. For the Biblical stories, these tyrants are always outsmarted in the end. The midwives disobey, the wise men disobey. In small ways, tyrannical authority is thwarted.
The midwives found a way in their daily lives, a natural way, to act. They simply would not allow themselves to be used for corrupt political purposes. Their king could not sway them. They feared God and did what was right.
His mother, his sister, and Pharaoh’s own daughter. A whole team of women who say no, out of love for one baby.
Jesus taught a message of love. We are also a people, who stand and say “no, out of love for one baby.”
In our daily living, may we be as brave. May we act out of love, may we be instruments of good, may we be noncompliant with evil , may we reject apathy, may we examine our choices, may we serve as midwives to the birth of love in the world, may we witness the in breaking of the Holy Spirit, may we live with the courage of our convictions, and may God deal well with us.
This sermon has a footnote:
I have to admit I’m wrestling here. In researching this sermon I discovered that Pharaoh may have been asking these midwives to kill the male babies before they were born, a form of abortion. I’m not sure if this text has been used as a rallying cry for protestors at clinics, but I think it could be. I don’t want to talk politics here, to get into pro-life or pro-choice, but I am taking a bit of pastoral license here.
I feel confident in calling acts of eugenics or genocide evil. The state mandated killing in Exodus is very wrong and Shiphrah and Puah were brave and right in their actions. God blessed them.
I approach this carefully because we never know who is among us. I cannot, as a pastor, leave this sermon with the idea that all abortions are acts of evil. I don’t wish to be that judge.
Once upon a time I was talking to a young woman who I’ll call Rebecca about religious topics. She wanted to know how I felt about big issues like abortion. I told her what I thought in the most honest terms.
Rebecca later confided in me that she had had an abortion a few weeks earlier. She explained all of the factors that went into her decision.
She described an excruciating decision. She was not asking for my judgment, but for me to listen. To hold her story and her secret, to let her speak it out loud. She said that it was absolutely the right decision for her but if she had to do it over again, she wouldn’t have. The aftermath was worse than she had anticipated.
The only thing to do now is to grieve and move on. She doesn’t need anyone to condemn her. She needs comfort and acceptance that she is still a child of God.
Sadly, the church is not always a good place to come with our full selves. I want to offer a safe space. For anyone here who has been touched more personally by the reality of abortion, someone who has faced that dilemma, or has a sister or friend or aunt or cousin or daughter who has. Rebecca didn’t have enough people in her life to talk to and she didn’t have a faith community or a pastor, but her grief was very real and she needed someone who could help and not cause more hurt.
Exodus makes it clear that Pharaoh finds threat in the sheer numbers of the Hebrews. In the midst of hard labor and difficult living conditions, God has allowed the Hebrew people to flourish and multiply with their numerous descendants. This Egyptian king is not pleased. With this possible threat to his security and authority he enacts his plan of ethnic “cleansing.”
This great evil is thwarted by two women who refuse. Pharaoh’s command is a state-issued eugenics movement. It’s not about one woman and one baby, one life or one choice. It’s about a whole lot of women and families and no choice. The midwives offer their action, their noncompliance with evil. They refuse to obey Pharaoh. Baby boys continue to be born and to live.
It should not escape our attention that the scripture gives these two midwives names. With so many generic wives and sisters, they could have simply been “the midwives,” but instead, they are also Shiphrah and Puah. Also striking is the fact that Pharaoh has no name. Our unnamed Pharaoh is afraid of the Hebrew men. He finds two women to take care of this matter for him and reduce the number future Hebrew men. In commanding Shiphrah and Puah, he is expecting total obedience. He underestimates these tenacious midwives, two Hebrew women, and his own daughter. Ironically, even though he fears the Hebrew males, it’s actually Hebrew and Egyptian females who are responsible for his undoing.
Shiphrah and Puah are not acting out of political convictions. It’s not clear whether they are Hebrew or Egyptian or something else. As “midwives to the Hebrews” we don’t know. It’s not clear that they disobey Pharaoh on the basic principle that they will always disobey Pharaoh. It has nothing to do with their view of his foreign policy or general treatment of the Hebrew immigrants. It’s not as if this is the last act against the Hebrew people and they are FED UP with his treatment of them. Or maybe it is.
What is clear is that they are midwives. Their job is the sacred task of bearing both mother and child safely, of caring for both. Their job is to deliver babies safely and to help them live. Pharaoh’s command is a direct affront to their life’s work. They’re going to help the babies because it’s their ethical concern that all babies be born safely. It doesn’t matter who these babies are, it’s just what they do. And so they defy Pharaoh. When he calls them back in to see why all these babies are still surviving, they are willing to lie to this king about the reality and nature of childbirth. Knowing no better, he falls for it.
Shiphrah and Puah not only have a commitment to life. They also have a fear of God. Pharaoh fails to grasp their allegiance to God and their secret knowledge of childbirth. The midwives live into the courage of their convictions. In their lies, they speak to a different truth. They side with life and love.
When Pharaoh’s plan with the midwives did not work out he turned to “all of his people” to carry out the genocide. And yet, there is a mother and father who have a small son. This mother hides her child for three months. When hiding him is no longer possible she does indeed cast her son into the Nile, but she does so carefully, in a water-proof basket. The child’s sister looks after him and eventually Pharaoh’s own daughter comes to rescue and raise the child.
Like the birth of Moses, the birth of Jesus brought out a similar massacre. Again, a human king, feeling threatened by the people of God, orders a mass killing of babies.
It’s almost exactly the same story. On one hand, it places Jesus squarely in the plot of a rich story of a people who escaped from Egypt. So too, Jesus’ birth is touched with a death threat at the very beginning. We come to see just how close God was to being foiled by an evil human being and yet still manages to prevail against all odds. It takes a dream for Jesus, an angel to appear to Joseph and a flight to Egypt. For Moses, it takes his mother and sister who refuse to abandon him and a princess who feels sympathy and adopts the foundling.
Moses ends up growing up in Pharaoh’s household, grows up with a sense of privilege and good education and the ability to see how his people are treated and more importantly see how this shouldn’t be continuing.
This is a story of human power feeling threatened or disgusted. From Pharaoh, to Herod, to Hitler, it’s all basically the same sad story. For the Biblical stories, these tyrants are always outsmarted in the end. The midwives disobey, the wise men disobey. In small ways, tyrannical authority is thwarted.
The midwives found a way in their daily lives, a natural way, to act. They simply would not allow themselves to be used for corrupt political purposes. Their king could not sway them. They feared God and did what was right.
His mother, his sister, and Pharaoh’s own daughter. A whole team of women who say no, out of love for one baby.
Jesus taught a message of love. We are also a people, who stand and say “no, out of love for one baby.”
In our daily living, may we be as brave. May we act out of love, may we be instruments of good, may we be noncompliant with evil , may we reject apathy, may we examine our choices, may we serve as midwives to the birth of love in the world, may we witness the in breaking of the Holy Spirit, may we live with the courage of our convictions, and may God deal well with us.
This sermon has a footnote:
I have to admit I’m wrestling here. In researching this sermon I discovered that Pharaoh may have been asking these midwives to kill the male babies before they were born, a form of abortion. I’m not sure if this text has been used as a rallying cry for protestors at clinics, but I think it could be. I don’t want to talk politics here, to get into pro-life or pro-choice, but I am taking a bit of pastoral license here.
I feel confident in calling acts of eugenics or genocide evil. The state mandated killing in Exodus is very wrong and Shiphrah and Puah were brave and right in their actions. God blessed them.
I approach this carefully because we never know who is among us. I cannot, as a pastor, leave this sermon with the idea that all abortions are acts of evil. I don’t wish to be that judge.
Once upon a time I was talking to a young woman who I’ll call Rebecca about religious topics. She wanted to know how I felt about big issues like abortion. I told her what I thought in the most honest terms.
Rebecca later confided in me that she had had an abortion a few weeks earlier. She explained all of the factors that went into her decision.
She described an excruciating decision. She was not asking for my judgment, but for me to listen. To hold her story and her secret, to let her speak it out loud. She said that it was absolutely the right decision for her but if she had to do it over again, she wouldn’t have. The aftermath was worse than she had anticipated.
The only thing to do now is to grieve and move on. She doesn’t need anyone to condemn her. She needs comfort and acceptance that she is still a child of God.
Sadly, the church is not always a good place to come with our full selves. I want to offer a safe space. For anyone here who has been touched more personally by the reality of abortion, someone who has faced that dilemma, or has a sister or friend or aunt or cousin or daughter who has. Rebecca didn’t have enough people in her life to talk to and she didn’t have a faith community or a pastor, but her grief was very real and she needed someone who could help and not cause more hurt.
Monday, August 4, 2008
Us, Bread for the World (Matthew 14:13-21)
We need to back up to what has just happened. The disciples have just told Jesus that John the Baptist has been killed. Jesus’ cousin and fellow prophet, the one who leaped in his mother’s womb at the news of Jesus’ conception, the one called to announce the coming of Jesus, to be the voice crying in the wilderness, the one who baptizes Jesus. Go back to the beginning of chapter 14, on your own time, to read about the ridiculous way that John dies. Suffice it to say though, that John was killed in a callous and careless act, for palace entertainment.
Imagine if you’re Jesus hearing this news. Jesus gets in a boat and withdraws to a deserted place. He is seeking space for himself. To be alone. To be away from all of the noise and chaos of everyday life. To begin to mourn. To perhaps try to grasp what this death will mean for himself and his followers.
But he can’t get away. Many people know what’s just happened to John and the crowds follow him immediately. They coming streaming out of the towns. What could they be thinking? Are they looking for a revolution? To go storm Herod’s palace in an act of revenge?
When Jesus sees them he feels compassion for them, he knows they feel this sorrow and confusion too. Instead of turning away, he goes to the crowd and heals the sick. He’s hurting too, but turns that energy into healing power. He can’t bring John back and make that right, but he can work in the lives of other people.
He does this healing work for a long time. So long that day turns into night and the disciples come up to him and say “you know, Jesus, it’s getting late, we’re all getting hungry and restless, let’s send everyone away so they can go get something to eat.” Instead, Jesus says, “no, feed them.”
Since when is this our problem? We ask God to “give us our daily bread,” but does that mean we have to give it to others?
The disciples have never cooked for this many people before. They don’t know where to start. The crowd, it turns out, is not your average summer gathering. It’s 5000 people. And by people, we mean men. So there are at least that many women and children as well.
The loaves and the fishes is one of the stories that makes Jesus so amazing. He shows such utter love and patience. He’s already been tired and sad for hours, but he keeps going. He’s still teaching the disciples and showing them how the world ought to be. When people are hungry you feed them. It’s basic human care. If people are hungry, not much else matters. We can talk about world peace all we want. We can take military action and mandate sanctions. But if people are hungry, there won’t be progress. We all need to be fed before we can work together.
We live in a time of plenty. Statistically, there is enough food in the world that no one should have to miss a meal. According to a study by the U.S. Department of Agriculture, we waste 96 billion pounds of food in America each year. Jesus demonstrates good stewardship of their food sources. They are able to pull together their resources and share them across a wide expanse of people. There ends up being so much, that after everyone has eaten, there are still leftovers.
There’s a long history of debate in the church about how Jesus was both human and divine. Some have thought that Jesus was all God and only appeared to be human, or had a human body and a divine mind. This would save Jesus from have to deal with the messy parts of being human. He was an apparition of sorts. God doesn’t have to eat or do other bodily functions. Some that Jesus was all human with an unusually close relationship to God. In 451, the Council of Chalcedon declared that Jesus was both “truly human and truly divine.” The standard mathematical formula is that Jesus is 100% human and 100% divine and of course, that may be good theology, but it’s terrible math.
The point of the incarnation, of God becoming incarnate among us, means that God has to go all out and be fully human as well. Christ is united body and mind with humanity so that he can redeem us fully. The gospels do a good job of reminding us that Jesus was completely human. Of course he is also God, but he lived the full life of a human and took no short cuts.
Jesus weeps. Jesus goes off to be alone to rest. And Jesus eats a lot. It’s clear that Jesus thinks that meals are a wonderful thing. He eats them with everyone he can find including those people that he’s not supposed to eat with like tax collectors, lepers, and sinners. Jesus also sees meals as a great time to get to know people. The food and the fellowship are two of Jesus’ favorite things. Now, this is not to give you a permission slip to jump off of your diet, Jesus is not telling you to eat that extra piece of cake. But Jesus does think that proper nourishment is a good thing. He worked hard. He traveled much. And he knew how to sit down and eat. He didn’t do this alone. He didn’t sneak off for a granola bar and keep going. He gathered whoever was near him, regardless of who they were, and called them to sit around his table.
This was the best way that Jesus could literally demonstrate how he thought people should behave. Like a family. We are the children of God, the body of Christ. And we ought to act like it. We are to sit down and talk and share bread with everyone.
Jesus frequently describes the kingdom of heaven as a banquet. It’s like a large banquet that a rich man planned for his closest friends. And when the time came, his friends were busy and would not attend. And so this man sent his servants out to the streets, to invite everyone they could find to come inside for a good meal and a fine party.
Jesus demonstrates this sort of radical hospitality with the loaves and the fishes. Rather than sending folks away to fend for themselves, Jesus says to his disciples, you will feed them. It’s not enough to heal the sick and pray for them and show compassion. They need to eat too. We don’t live by bread alone, but by the word of God. But Jesus knows that we also physically need food. Spiritual food can only take us so far, and then our bodies start to complain.
In a troubled world, Jesus gives us all the tools that we need. Prayer, healing, and bread. These are our mighty weapons in the face of great evil. In response to the death of John, Jesus heals the sick and breaks bread. What more can we do? If we are Christ for the world? We, who are just little bits of time and energy? What gifts can we give?
Jesus says “for I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, I was naked and you gave me clothing, I was sick and you took care of me, I was in prison and you visited me.” And we say, “when? When did we do these things?” And Jesus answers, just as you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family, you did it to me” (Matthew 25)
Jesus offered bread on another night too. And then he offered himself. He gave everything that he was. Don Saliers, says that “Jesus loved meals so much he became one.”
When we share the common loaf, we share much more than a bit of bread. The bread satisfies more than a physical hunger. As United Methodists, we believe that jesus is spiritually present in the bread and the juice. We ask the holy spirit to pour down and make the elements Jesus’ body and blood. We also ask for the Holy Spirit to transform us gathered here that we might be Christ’s body for the world. Communion is not just about us and God. It’s also about us and the world. Jesus thanks God for the bread and fish, then breaks and gave it to the crowd. So, too, Jesus thanks God for us, then breaks and gives us to the world.
Imagine if you’re Jesus hearing this news. Jesus gets in a boat and withdraws to a deserted place. He is seeking space for himself. To be alone. To be away from all of the noise and chaos of everyday life. To begin to mourn. To perhaps try to grasp what this death will mean for himself and his followers.
But he can’t get away. Many people know what’s just happened to John and the crowds follow him immediately. They coming streaming out of the towns. What could they be thinking? Are they looking for a revolution? To go storm Herod’s palace in an act of revenge?
When Jesus sees them he feels compassion for them, he knows they feel this sorrow and confusion too. Instead of turning away, he goes to the crowd and heals the sick. He’s hurting too, but turns that energy into healing power. He can’t bring John back and make that right, but he can work in the lives of other people.
He does this healing work for a long time. So long that day turns into night and the disciples come up to him and say “you know, Jesus, it’s getting late, we’re all getting hungry and restless, let’s send everyone away so they can go get something to eat.” Instead, Jesus says, “no, feed them.”
Since when is this our problem? We ask God to “give us our daily bread,” but does that mean we have to give it to others?
The disciples have never cooked for this many people before. They don’t know where to start. The crowd, it turns out, is not your average summer gathering. It’s 5000 people. And by people, we mean men. So there are at least that many women and children as well.
The loaves and the fishes is one of the stories that makes Jesus so amazing. He shows such utter love and patience. He’s already been tired and sad for hours, but he keeps going. He’s still teaching the disciples and showing them how the world ought to be. When people are hungry you feed them. It’s basic human care. If people are hungry, not much else matters. We can talk about world peace all we want. We can take military action and mandate sanctions. But if people are hungry, there won’t be progress. We all need to be fed before we can work together.
We live in a time of plenty. Statistically, there is enough food in the world that no one should have to miss a meal. According to a study by the U.S. Department of Agriculture, we waste 96 billion pounds of food in America each year. Jesus demonstrates good stewardship of their food sources. They are able to pull together their resources and share them across a wide expanse of people. There ends up being so much, that after everyone has eaten, there are still leftovers.
There’s a long history of debate in the church about how Jesus was both human and divine. Some have thought that Jesus was all God and only appeared to be human, or had a human body and a divine mind. This would save Jesus from have to deal with the messy parts of being human. He was an apparition of sorts. God doesn’t have to eat or do other bodily functions. Some that Jesus was all human with an unusually close relationship to God. In 451, the Council of Chalcedon declared that Jesus was both “truly human and truly divine.” The standard mathematical formula is that Jesus is 100% human and 100% divine and of course, that may be good theology, but it’s terrible math.
The point of the incarnation, of God becoming incarnate among us, means that God has to go all out and be fully human as well. Christ is united body and mind with humanity so that he can redeem us fully. The gospels do a good job of reminding us that Jesus was completely human. Of course he is also God, but he lived the full life of a human and took no short cuts.
Jesus weeps. Jesus goes off to be alone to rest. And Jesus eats a lot. It’s clear that Jesus thinks that meals are a wonderful thing. He eats them with everyone he can find including those people that he’s not supposed to eat with like tax collectors, lepers, and sinners. Jesus also sees meals as a great time to get to know people. The food and the fellowship are two of Jesus’ favorite things. Now, this is not to give you a permission slip to jump off of your diet, Jesus is not telling you to eat that extra piece of cake. But Jesus does think that proper nourishment is a good thing. He worked hard. He traveled much. And he knew how to sit down and eat. He didn’t do this alone. He didn’t sneak off for a granola bar and keep going. He gathered whoever was near him, regardless of who they were, and called them to sit around his table.
This was the best way that Jesus could literally demonstrate how he thought people should behave. Like a family. We are the children of God, the body of Christ. And we ought to act like it. We are to sit down and talk and share bread with everyone.
Jesus frequently describes the kingdom of heaven as a banquet. It’s like a large banquet that a rich man planned for his closest friends. And when the time came, his friends were busy and would not attend. And so this man sent his servants out to the streets, to invite everyone they could find to come inside for a good meal and a fine party.
Jesus demonstrates this sort of radical hospitality with the loaves and the fishes. Rather than sending folks away to fend for themselves, Jesus says to his disciples, you will feed them. It’s not enough to heal the sick and pray for them and show compassion. They need to eat too. We don’t live by bread alone, but by the word of God. But Jesus knows that we also physically need food. Spiritual food can only take us so far, and then our bodies start to complain.
In a troubled world, Jesus gives us all the tools that we need. Prayer, healing, and bread. These are our mighty weapons in the face of great evil. In response to the death of John, Jesus heals the sick and breaks bread. What more can we do? If we are Christ for the world? We, who are just little bits of time and energy? What gifts can we give?
Jesus says “for I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, I was naked and you gave me clothing, I was sick and you took care of me, I was in prison and you visited me.” And we say, “when? When did we do these things?” And Jesus answers, just as you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family, you did it to me” (Matthew 25)
Jesus offered bread on another night too. And then he offered himself. He gave everything that he was. Don Saliers, says that “Jesus loved meals so much he became one.”
When we share the common loaf, we share much more than a bit of bread. The bread satisfies more than a physical hunger. As United Methodists, we believe that jesus is spiritually present in the bread and the juice. We ask the holy spirit to pour down and make the elements Jesus’ body and blood. We also ask for the Holy Spirit to transform us gathered here that we might be Christ’s body for the world. Communion is not just about us and God. It’s also about us and the world. Jesus thanks God for the bread and fish, then breaks and gave it to the crowd. So, too, Jesus thanks God for us, then breaks and gives us to the world.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)