Job 23: 1-9, 16-17
Hebrews 4:14-16
Common Biblical wisdom speaks of the patience of Job—as the model character of one who endures great hardship and yet remains steadfast in his faith in God.
But the term “patient” implies someone who suffers silently, who does not complain, who remains confident that this too shall pass. Job does endure. He does not give up on the existence of God. But he doesn’t do it gracefully, without complaint, without loosing hope. The fact that Job is alive at the end of the book with a new family and fortune does not mean that he was patient during the darkness.
Job is a righteous man. There are only so many of these men in the Bible. And God is having a conversation with the imperial court—God from time to time seems to have these conversations with others in the divine realm. And one called the Accuser steps forward, his name is Ha Satan, and he’s not our modern concept of Satan, he’s not evil, he’s on God’s side, but he’s more of a CIA operative in God’s service. And he questions how faithful and good the people really are to God. And God says, “See Job over there, he hasn’t given me any trouble, Job and I are just fine.” To which Ha Satan says, “Of course he loves you, you spoil him! You give him everything he wants, you give him the easy life, he’s never had any difficulty ever.” And so God and Ha Satan come up with a test, Ha Satan will take everything away from Job, except for his life, says God. Job must stay intact, but his family, his home, his livestock, his career, even his health—it all has to go, and all at once. And then, God will know what Job is made of and if he still believes and serves the almighty God.
And so, Sebeans kill Job’s oxen, fire falls from heaven and burns all his sheep and servants. Chaldeans run off with all of the camels and kill more servants, a great wind sweeps across the desert and collapses his eldest son’s house killing all of his sons and daughters inside.
In today’s passage, we get a glimpse of how Job is doing with all of that. After his friends blame him and are largely unhelpful, Job speaks of his desire to go to God himself, to plead his case, to discuss his plight with God, like two rational human beings, so that he might find relief. He would argue and God would listen.
Job is furious. He wishes he had never been born. He wishes he could disappear into the darkness.
When I think of anger at God, I always think of a scene from The West Wing
At the end of season two, in an episode called “Two Cathedrals,” we see President Bartlett’s life and presidency spiraling out of control. He’s just lost one of the most important people in his life to a senseless accident involving a drunk driver. He’s announced that he covered up the fact that he had MS, and he’s facing the usual array of national and global crises that a President faces.
The scene takes place in National Cathedral just after the funeral of his beloved secretary and advisor. Clearly agitated, he asks Secret Service to seal the door. As the door thumps shut, we see him turn toward the High Altar and begin to walk down the nave. As he goes along he starts cursing God in English and then in Latin.
He quotes Graham Greene: “You cannot conceive nor can I the appalling strangeness of the mercy of God,” but says the President, “I think you’re just vindictive.” He goes through the list of disasters: both natural and manmade. And then turns to his own confessions: “Yes,” he says, “I’ve committed many sins, have I displeased you, you feckless thug?”
He then runs through a list of all the good things he’s done for the country: creating jobs, setting aside land for conservation, to his personal triumph of raising 3 children. “That wasn’t good?” he asks, “That’s not enough to buy me out of the dog house?”
He stands at the entry to the high altar and continues to rail curses in Latin, telling God where he thinks God should go. He then lights a cigarette and stamps it out right there in the crossing.
Job assumes that God is reasonable. That he could sit down with God, and speak man to man with God, that if God would just listen he would grant mercy. The problem for Job is that he doesn’t know where to find God.
For President Bartlett, he knows where God is, at least metaphorically. He paces down the Cathedral nave like a Lion stalking his prey. If he could just get his hands on God, if God really were just a man like him, we get the impression that he’d let God have it—the stamped out cigarette on the floor is as close to physical assault as he can get, and he has to settle with a verbal rampage—and silence, because God doesn’t talk back.
Job believes God is reasonable and just, God’s just missing.
The psalmist cries out, my God, my God why have you forsaken me? Why are you so far from helping me, from the words of my groaning? Do not be far from me!
The Bible is full of accounts of God near and far, the promise that God is compassionate and ever-present, but these scriptures remind us that believers from long ago also felt distant from God just as we do sometimes—feel close or far, depending on where we are and what’s going on in our lives, not where God is.
Our Hebrews passage gives us further assurance. We have word on the character of God; fearsome, sharp, piercing, dividing, a fierce judge from whom no one can hide. But also a high priest, one who has great sympathy for us. This priest is Jesus, and he is not unsympathetic--he knows our weaknesses, because they are his weaknesses, he was tested and challenged.
And that means Jesus continues to work on our behalf—Jesus prays for us and is with us in our darkest times. We cannot vanish into darkness, into oblivion, because Jesus will always be with us and will not forsake us.
Even though God does not respond and act the way we want God to, or the way we imagine God should, we can still communicate our desperation and confusion to God.
In the end, Job is not punished for his words. God speaks to him and humbles him. Job repents and his livelihood is restored.
We can take the easy way out and reject God, or we can stand tall and engage the almight—to wrestle, to argue, to curse if we need to because God is big enough to handle our frustration and anger and will not reject us. Thanks be to God.
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
Monday, September 28, 2009
Esther Enchanted
Once upon a time about 2500 years ago, in the far way land of Persia, there lived a powerful king name Ahasuerus. King Ahasuerus ruled from India to Ethiopia. The king was not a bad king, but he wasn’t a terribly good king either. He relied on the advice of his officials, instead of his own wisdom. And his favorite part of being king was getting to live like a rock star with lots of wine and lots of women. One day he decided to give a huge banquet for all of his kingdom. He wanted to display his wealth and the splendor and pomp of his majesty. In the court of the garden of the King’s palace he threw a banquet that lasted for seven days. The palace garden was decorated with white cotton curtains, fine linen and purple and silver rings and marble pillars, couches of gold and silver on a mosaic pavement of marble and colored stones, tables heavy-laden with food, jars of royal wine, the fine china and golden stem wear. And the king ordered everyone to drink without restraint and do as each person desired—to experience the life of the king: to drink as much as he liked and to do as he pleased, and to leave the decision making and ruling of his empire to those who were more clear-headed. Wise to her king’s recklessness, the Queen Vashti threw her own banquet for the women of the palace.
On the seventh day of the feast, the King, full of wine, asked his servants to bring Queen Vashti in her royal crown out for all of his guests to see for he wanted to show off her great beauty. But the queen, impetuous as she was, refused to parade around for a room full of drunken men.
The king was enraged, but he didn’t know what to do. He asked his lawyers to find out what should be done to Vashti according to the law. One of the officials spoke: “Vashti has not only caused dishonor to the king, but to all of the officials and all of the people of the kingdom. We cannot have the queen disobeying the king for soon all wives will disobey their husbands. We must issue a degree that all women must honor and obey their husbands or we will have total chaos.” The king liked this idea very much and wondered why he couldn’t think of ideas like this for himself. Vashti was banned from the kingdom and it was ordered that every man should be master of his own house.
With Vashti gone, there was no queen to keep King Ahasuerus happy. He was sad, but he didn’t know what to do. He didn’t feel like throwing a banquet and he didn’t feel like drinking as much as he wanted. Concerned about his well being and zest for life, his officials suggested a competition: they would gather up all of the beautiful young girls throughout the land and bring them to the palace, and after extensive makeovers, the king could choose the one he wanted. The king liked this idea very much and wondered why he couldn’t think of ideas like this for himself.
Esther was a young beautiful woman living in the kingdom. Esther’s parents had died when she was young and so her cousin Mordecai had adopted her and raised her as his own daughter. They were Jews, living in a Persian empire, and Mordecai had been captured from Jerusalem and brought to Susa. Esther’s real name was Hadassah, but Mordecai had changed her name to Esther so that they could blend in with the local culture better. It wasn’t dangerous to be Jewish in Persia, but they were a definite minority and had learned to be careful and private about their identity. While most of the Jews longed for their own land again, they had learned that life in Persia wasn’t so bad.
When Mordecai heard of the king’s request for all the young women, he brought Esther forward as a candidate. She was collected with all of the other women and brought to Hegai, a eunuch, who was in charge of the king’s harem.
There were women from all 127 provinces and Esther was intimated. Esther of course, was quite beautiful, but with women from India and Ethiopia, she wasn’t sure just how much the king would like her. She wasn’t sure she could learn all of the appropriate courtly rituals, wasn’t sure she could entertain the king with her singing and dancing, wasn’t sure she could endure the months and months of beauty treatment, teeth whitening, and plastic surgery. What if she had to diet and give up cake for a year?
She also wasn’t sure about the king: a man who spent most of his time drinking and doing as he pleased was not the sort of man she was used to. Her father had been such a hard worker and kind man—and death had claimed he and her mother much too soon. Mordecai—who she now thought of as her father—was also so kind and protective. They lived alone, just the two of them, and they worked in the garden together and they shared a love of their family, their Jewish religion and culture—they had a peaceful, comfortable existence, and Esther wasn’t sure she wanted to trade their small cottage for all of the riches in Persia. But Mordecai, always planning for the future, thought this would be a good chance for them and indeed, for all of the Jews living in Persia--the thought of a Jewish queen was so scandalous and wonderful that Mordecai couldn’t help encouraging Esther to join the other young women at the palace.
Hegai was in charge of this new assortment of girls. When she arrived, he noticed Esther at once, she was different from the other girls, there was something he couldn’t quite name, but she reminded him very much of his sister when they were young—beautiful, but also full of spirit, as if the deity somehow shined out of her . . . he liked her more and more as the days went on, and like a fairy godmother, gave her special treats, found her the best maids, carefully monitored her progress, and advanced her quickly.
After an entire year of beauty treatment and training, it was finally Esther’s moment to go before the king. Her maids helped her dress in her finest blue robes, they braided her hair with flowers. As she entered his room, the king wondered if he had ever seen someone so beautiful before and he felt himself fall quickly in love. He put a royal crown upon her head and made Esther his queen. Then he threw an elaborate banquet in her honor. And the lived happily ever after, the Jewish Queen and her Persian King.
But wait. It turns out that there was trouble brewing in another part of the palace. During the time that Esther had been at the palace, Mordecai visited every day to find out how she was doing. Since he spent so much time by the palace gate, he heard lots of courtly gossip including a plot to assassinate the king which he had shared with Esther who told the king, and ultimately saved King Ahasuerus’ life.
The king’s highest official was a man named Haman. For his own reasons, Haman had decided that he would like everyone to bow to him and everyone did except for Mordecai. This made Haman furious and he decided that he would kill not only Mordecai but also all of the Jews. As the king’s advisor, he told the king that a lawless people were living in the kingdom and that they needed to be destroyed. The king, full of wine and happiness, liked this idea very much and wondered why he couldn’t think of ideas like this for himself and sent forth a royal decree for the destruction of all of the Jews to happen in a few days.
Mordecai heard of this news and showed Esther the written decree and charged her to go to the king to make supplication for her people. Knowing that the king could kill her for approaching him when she has not been called, but that if she would be killed with her people anyway, Esther decided that she would do what she could. Summoning the strength of Mordecai’s words “perhaps you have come to royal dignity for just such a time as this,” she began her planning.
Esther had dreamed of doing something important, and even though she was now queen, something she still didn’t believe sometimes, she still wondered if there weren’t something more, she had heard all of the stories of her people, of David and his bravery before Goliath, . . . there weren’t many opportunities for her people to be brave anymore, living as they were in another land—they were scattered from each other, and even felt separate from God, as though Yahweh were no longer guiding them as once before, but had left them up to their own . . . but with destruction so close at hand, it seemed miraculous that Mordecai had even heard of the plot against their people, and perhaps even miraculous that Esther should just happen to be queen right now, perhaps it really was God, working mysteriously to ensure their survival, and if it was truly meant to be, then Esther would succeed her in attempt to change the king’s decree. Surely God would give her the wisdom and the strength to face this horrible task.
There was no magic wand, no fairy god-mother, she could not blink and make it all disappear. Esther would have to do this herself, she would have to use all of the tricks she knew to work for the king’s favor.
She dressed in her finest robes of royal blue and carefully adorned herself in her full regalia including her crown and approached the king’s room—where he was drinking. Even though he had not seen her in a month, the sight of her so dressed up caught the king’s breath and he wondered why he had no summoned her himself. The king liked this idea very much and wondered why he couldn’t think of ideas like this for himself. His heart was soft as he asked her “What is it Queen Esther? What is your request, it shall be give you, even to the half of my kingdom.”
With relief, Esther smiled, and made her very simple request, for the King and Haman to kindly join her for a private banquet the following evening. The king happily acquiesced, for he loved banquets.
With the two men now in her own territory, Esther offered a fine meal and good wine. Sensing she really wanted something else, the king asked again: “what is it Queen Esther? What is your request, it shall be give you, even to the half of my kingdom.” It wasn’t quite the right time. Esther needed to find a way to save all of her people, including Mordecai and herself, but she needed to make sure that Haman’s role in all of this was clear.
And so she invited them to return for a second banquet the following night. Haman was so thoroughly pleased. He thought to himself, “I dined with the king and queen alone! I am nearly the most powerful man in all of Persia.”
On the second night of feasting and drinking in Queen Esther’s quarters, King Ahasuerus asked: “what is it Queen Esther? What is your request, it shall be give you, even to the half of my kingdom.” Gathering her strength, Esther plunged in: “please spare me and my people for our lives have been sold—if it was merely into slavery I would not ask, but we have been sold unto death.”
Enraged, the king asked, who is it that has done this?
Esther replied, “a foe and an enemy, the wicked Haman!”
The king, in great anger, didn’t know what to do. An official suggested he order the destruction of Haman and the salvation of all the Jews. The king liked this idea very much and wondered why he couldn’t think of ideas like this for himself. He promoted Mordecai to be his new vizier and ended his decree to destroy the Jews.
To celebrate their deliverance from death, the divine providence in their lives, Esther and Mordecai decided to inaugurate a great feast for all the Jews living in the province, they called it Purim. The king liked this idea very much and wondered why he couldn’t think of ideas like this for himself. There was great gladness and joy and they all lived happily ever after.
Centuries later, a group of Jews living in a different empire, gathered secretly in a room. Stories of their ancestors weighed heavily upon them, the story of Esther included. And while they shared a meal, their Rabbi told another story of love and bravery, one of triumph in the face of death, one of great sadness and fear, with a happy ending after all.
On the seventh day of the feast, the King, full of wine, asked his servants to bring Queen Vashti in her royal crown out for all of his guests to see for he wanted to show off her great beauty. But the queen, impetuous as she was, refused to parade around for a room full of drunken men.
The king was enraged, but he didn’t know what to do. He asked his lawyers to find out what should be done to Vashti according to the law. One of the officials spoke: “Vashti has not only caused dishonor to the king, but to all of the officials and all of the people of the kingdom. We cannot have the queen disobeying the king for soon all wives will disobey their husbands. We must issue a degree that all women must honor and obey their husbands or we will have total chaos.” The king liked this idea very much and wondered why he couldn’t think of ideas like this for himself. Vashti was banned from the kingdom and it was ordered that every man should be master of his own house.
With Vashti gone, there was no queen to keep King Ahasuerus happy. He was sad, but he didn’t know what to do. He didn’t feel like throwing a banquet and he didn’t feel like drinking as much as he wanted. Concerned about his well being and zest for life, his officials suggested a competition: they would gather up all of the beautiful young girls throughout the land and bring them to the palace, and after extensive makeovers, the king could choose the one he wanted. The king liked this idea very much and wondered why he couldn’t think of ideas like this for himself.
Esther was a young beautiful woman living in the kingdom. Esther’s parents had died when she was young and so her cousin Mordecai had adopted her and raised her as his own daughter. They were Jews, living in a Persian empire, and Mordecai had been captured from Jerusalem and brought to Susa. Esther’s real name was Hadassah, but Mordecai had changed her name to Esther so that they could blend in with the local culture better. It wasn’t dangerous to be Jewish in Persia, but they were a definite minority and had learned to be careful and private about their identity. While most of the Jews longed for their own land again, they had learned that life in Persia wasn’t so bad.
When Mordecai heard of the king’s request for all the young women, he brought Esther forward as a candidate. She was collected with all of the other women and brought to Hegai, a eunuch, who was in charge of the king’s harem.
There were women from all 127 provinces and Esther was intimated. Esther of course, was quite beautiful, but with women from India and Ethiopia, she wasn’t sure just how much the king would like her. She wasn’t sure she could learn all of the appropriate courtly rituals, wasn’t sure she could entertain the king with her singing and dancing, wasn’t sure she could endure the months and months of beauty treatment, teeth whitening, and plastic surgery. What if she had to diet and give up cake for a year?
She also wasn’t sure about the king: a man who spent most of his time drinking and doing as he pleased was not the sort of man she was used to. Her father had been such a hard worker and kind man—and death had claimed he and her mother much too soon. Mordecai—who she now thought of as her father—was also so kind and protective. They lived alone, just the two of them, and they worked in the garden together and they shared a love of their family, their Jewish religion and culture—they had a peaceful, comfortable existence, and Esther wasn’t sure she wanted to trade their small cottage for all of the riches in Persia. But Mordecai, always planning for the future, thought this would be a good chance for them and indeed, for all of the Jews living in Persia--the thought of a Jewish queen was so scandalous and wonderful that Mordecai couldn’t help encouraging Esther to join the other young women at the palace.
Hegai was in charge of this new assortment of girls. When she arrived, he noticed Esther at once, she was different from the other girls, there was something he couldn’t quite name, but she reminded him very much of his sister when they were young—beautiful, but also full of spirit, as if the deity somehow shined out of her . . . he liked her more and more as the days went on, and like a fairy godmother, gave her special treats, found her the best maids, carefully monitored her progress, and advanced her quickly.
After an entire year of beauty treatment and training, it was finally Esther’s moment to go before the king. Her maids helped her dress in her finest blue robes, they braided her hair with flowers. As she entered his room, the king wondered if he had ever seen someone so beautiful before and he felt himself fall quickly in love. He put a royal crown upon her head and made Esther his queen. Then he threw an elaborate banquet in her honor. And the lived happily ever after, the Jewish Queen and her Persian King.
But wait. It turns out that there was trouble brewing in another part of the palace. During the time that Esther had been at the palace, Mordecai visited every day to find out how she was doing. Since he spent so much time by the palace gate, he heard lots of courtly gossip including a plot to assassinate the king which he had shared with Esther who told the king, and ultimately saved King Ahasuerus’ life.
The king’s highest official was a man named Haman. For his own reasons, Haman had decided that he would like everyone to bow to him and everyone did except for Mordecai. This made Haman furious and he decided that he would kill not only Mordecai but also all of the Jews. As the king’s advisor, he told the king that a lawless people were living in the kingdom and that they needed to be destroyed. The king, full of wine and happiness, liked this idea very much and wondered why he couldn’t think of ideas like this for himself and sent forth a royal decree for the destruction of all of the Jews to happen in a few days.
Mordecai heard of this news and showed Esther the written decree and charged her to go to the king to make supplication for her people. Knowing that the king could kill her for approaching him when she has not been called, but that if she would be killed with her people anyway, Esther decided that she would do what she could. Summoning the strength of Mordecai’s words “perhaps you have come to royal dignity for just such a time as this,” she began her planning.
Esther had dreamed of doing something important, and even though she was now queen, something she still didn’t believe sometimes, she still wondered if there weren’t something more, she had heard all of the stories of her people, of David and his bravery before Goliath, . . . there weren’t many opportunities for her people to be brave anymore, living as they were in another land—they were scattered from each other, and even felt separate from God, as though Yahweh were no longer guiding them as once before, but had left them up to their own . . . but with destruction so close at hand, it seemed miraculous that Mordecai had even heard of the plot against their people, and perhaps even miraculous that Esther should just happen to be queen right now, perhaps it really was God, working mysteriously to ensure their survival, and if it was truly meant to be, then Esther would succeed her in attempt to change the king’s decree. Surely God would give her the wisdom and the strength to face this horrible task.
There was no magic wand, no fairy god-mother, she could not blink and make it all disappear. Esther would have to do this herself, she would have to use all of the tricks she knew to work for the king’s favor.
She dressed in her finest robes of royal blue and carefully adorned herself in her full regalia including her crown and approached the king’s room—where he was drinking. Even though he had not seen her in a month, the sight of her so dressed up caught the king’s breath and he wondered why he had no summoned her himself. The king liked this idea very much and wondered why he couldn’t think of ideas like this for himself. His heart was soft as he asked her “What is it Queen Esther? What is your request, it shall be give you, even to the half of my kingdom.”
With relief, Esther smiled, and made her very simple request, for the King and Haman to kindly join her for a private banquet the following evening. The king happily acquiesced, for he loved banquets.
With the two men now in her own territory, Esther offered a fine meal and good wine. Sensing she really wanted something else, the king asked again: “what is it Queen Esther? What is your request, it shall be give you, even to the half of my kingdom.” It wasn’t quite the right time. Esther needed to find a way to save all of her people, including Mordecai and herself, but she needed to make sure that Haman’s role in all of this was clear.
And so she invited them to return for a second banquet the following night. Haman was so thoroughly pleased. He thought to himself, “I dined with the king and queen alone! I am nearly the most powerful man in all of Persia.”
On the second night of feasting and drinking in Queen Esther’s quarters, King Ahasuerus asked: “what is it Queen Esther? What is your request, it shall be give you, even to the half of my kingdom.” Gathering her strength, Esther plunged in: “please spare me and my people for our lives have been sold—if it was merely into slavery I would not ask, but we have been sold unto death.”
Enraged, the king asked, who is it that has done this?
Esther replied, “a foe and an enemy, the wicked Haman!”
The king, in great anger, didn’t know what to do. An official suggested he order the destruction of Haman and the salvation of all the Jews. The king liked this idea very much and wondered why he couldn’t think of ideas like this for himself. He promoted Mordecai to be his new vizier and ended his decree to destroy the Jews.
To celebrate their deliverance from death, the divine providence in their lives, Esther and Mordecai decided to inaugurate a great feast for all the Jews living in the province, they called it Purim. The king liked this idea very much and wondered why he couldn’t think of ideas like this for himself. There was great gladness and joy and they all lived happily ever after.
Centuries later, a group of Jews living in a different empire, gathered secretly in a room. Stories of their ancestors weighed heavily upon them, the story of Esther included. And while they shared a meal, their Rabbi told another story of love and bravery, one of triumph in the face of death, one of great sadness and fear, with a happy ending after all.
Thursday, September 17, 2009
Wisdom of God
James 3:1-12; Proverbs 1: 20-33
Though fashion experts will tell you that it’s okay to wear white. Practically of course, it’ll soon be too cold for white sundresses or linen pants. One theory behind this custom, is that once upon a time, the wealthy would take off most of the summer and head for resort locations where they would trade their dark, drab city clothes in favor of cool, white summery ones. The white clothes were a sign of their wealth and time for leisure. Putting them away after Labor Day, marked a reentry into normal, city life. The change of clothes helped mark the change of season.
We are also feeling the change, the weather change, the season change, the back-to-school change. We mark the passing of time with pencils and backpacks, and soon pumpkins and candy. At church, we return to Sunday School and choir, to TOW and to lectionary sermons.
Even if we’re not going back to school, even if it’s been years since we’ve had a “first day” of school, even if we’ve been at work and church all summer and this is not a time for reentry, this is still a great time for renewal, to dust off our brains, to learn something new, to engage God in a new way.
James writes about teachers, and the scrutiny for those who teach, based mostly on the words they choose. He explains that our speech guides our bodies, the way a bridle guides a horse, or a rudder a ship.
He speaks of the tongue as a small body part that guides the whole and can have the impact of a small fire or a small stain. With our tongues we proclaim both praise and insult. And as springs only produce one type of water and trees only produce one type of fruit, we ought not produce both blessings and curses.
For our own reentry, as we gather together more, in our worship, in our fellowship, in our meetings, in our Bible studies, in our choir rehearsals, in community to choose our words with care—speaking to each other with love, or at least respect, speaking up when we need to and being quiet when we need to . . . remembering the fragile human beings all around us.
It is Wisdom that helps us . . . discern when to raise our voices and when to lower them. In the book of Proverbs, wisdom is personified as a woman. She stands on street corners and public squares crying out to the men. Woman Wisdom stands in direct contrast to another type of woman found in Proverbs: Woman Stranger. This woman also stands on street corners and public squares crying out to the men, but her offer is somewhat different . . .
Woman Wisdom offers knowledge and counsel, offers the fear of God—but if ignored, she offers laughter, mocking, destruction. Wisdom is a path for salvation, for security and ease. Not following her is a path to disaster and dread.
She has a striking amount of power, addressing men in the busiest parts of the city, speaking where judges and prophets speak their condemnations and Prostitutes call out to customers and to ignore her teachings equals death.
Proverbs 3 speaks of Wisdom’s relationship to God and to creation. In the very beginning God acquired her and through her all things came into being. Through and with her, God created the world and placed Wisdom within creation so that people could live in harmony and right relation. She is connected or perhaps the same as that Word that was spoken to create the world. In Greek: the male form of Word is called Logos, the female counterpart is Sophia: Wisdom. It is the spoken Logos that is with God from the beginning who is then born in a manger in Bethlehem. Even in the NT, we find Jesus closely associated with Woman Wisdom.
The figure of Wisdom has close connections to goddesses in Mesopotamia and Egypt. She could be a survival of this tradition. Or she could be a combination of all the positive roles of wives and mothers in Israel, just as Woman Stranger is a synopsis of male fears of female temptation.
Proverbs begins and ends with female imagery, both positive and negative, but it is not a book about or for women. The primary audience is male as the book offers advice about the proper type of wife to acquire in order to have the good life. The original was addressed to “my sons” and even though the NRSV changes this to “my children” it is still far from gender neutral.
Nevertheless, the female imagery provides resources for women readers despite the male-centered perspective . .. .
The wisdom tradition starts with experience, as a way of doing theology. The focus on daily life can offer a way of knowing and being for those who have been largely excluded from participation in the older traditions—in the forming of covenant, prophecy, the canonization of scripture . . .
Wisdom is not just about following set rules and ethics,
Wisdom is a path to God, a mediator, a way, a union.
It is learned through life and experience.
The more we see, the more we do, the more we try, the more we survive, the wiser we become.
It is wisdom that helps us know when to speak and when to keep silence
Helps us form right relationships with God, to live well and simply, to live peacefully and harmoniously, to pay attention to creation, to our experiences, to our practices.
During their last supper, Jesus didn’t tell his disciples what to believe, he told them what to do: for the bread and for the wine, do this and remember me.
Though fashion experts will tell you that it’s okay to wear white. Practically of course, it’ll soon be too cold for white sundresses or linen pants. One theory behind this custom, is that once upon a time, the wealthy would take off most of the summer and head for resort locations where they would trade their dark, drab city clothes in favor of cool, white summery ones. The white clothes were a sign of their wealth and time for leisure. Putting them away after Labor Day, marked a reentry into normal, city life. The change of clothes helped mark the change of season.
We are also feeling the change, the weather change, the season change, the back-to-school change. We mark the passing of time with pencils and backpacks, and soon pumpkins and candy. At church, we return to Sunday School and choir, to TOW and to lectionary sermons.
Even if we’re not going back to school, even if it’s been years since we’ve had a “first day” of school, even if we’ve been at work and church all summer and this is not a time for reentry, this is still a great time for renewal, to dust off our brains, to learn something new, to engage God in a new way.
James writes about teachers, and the scrutiny for those who teach, based mostly on the words they choose. He explains that our speech guides our bodies, the way a bridle guides a horse, or a rudder a ship.
He speaks of the tongue as a small body part that guides the whole and can have the impact of a small fire or a small stain. With our tongues we proclaim both praise and insult. And as springs only produce one type of water and trees only produce one type of fruit, we ought not produce both blessings and curses.
For our own reentry, as we gather together more, in our worship, in our fellowship, in our meetings, in our Bible studies, in our choir rehearsals, in community to choose our words with care—speaking to each other with love, or at least respect, speaking up when we need to and being quiet when we need to . . . remembering the fragile human beings all around us.
It is Wisdom that helps us . . . discern when to raise our voices and when to lower them. In the book of Proverbs, wisdom is personified as a woman. She stands on street corners and public squares crying out to the men. Woman Wisdom stands in direct contrast to another type of woman found in Proverbs: Woman Stranger. This woman also stands on street corners and public squares crying out to the men, but her offer is somewhat different . . .
Woman Wisdom offers knowledge and counsel, offers the fear of God—but if ignored, she offers laughter, mocking, destruction. Wisdom is a path for salvation, for security and ease. Not following her is a path to disaster and dread.
She has a striking amount of power, addressing men in the busiest parts of the city, speaking where judges and prophets speak their condemnations and Prostitutes call out to customers and to ignore her teachings equals death.
Proverbs 3 speaks of Wisdom’s relationship to God and to creation. In the very beginning God acquired her and through her all things came into being. Through and with her, God created the world and placed Wisdom within creation so that people could live in harmony and right relation. She is connected or perhaps the same as that Word that was spoken to create the world. In Greek: the male form of Word is called Logos, the female counterpart is Sophia: Wisdom. It is the spoken Logos that is with God from the beginning who is then born in a manger in Bethlehem. Even in the NT, we find Jesus closely associated with Woman Wisdom.
The figure of Wisdom has close connections to goddesses in Mesopotamia and Egypt. She could be a survival of this tradition. Or she could be a combination of all the positive roles of wives and mothers in Israel, just as Woman Stranger is a synopsis of male fears of female temptation.
Proverbs begins and ends with female imagery, both positive and negative, but it is not a book about or for women. The primary audience is male as the book offers advice about the proper type of wife to acquire in order to have the good life. The original was addressed to “my sons” and even though the NRSV changes this to “my children” it is still far from gender neutral.
Nevertheless, the female imagery provides resources for women readers despite the male-centered perspective . .. .
The wisdom tradition starts with experience, as a way of doing theology. The focus on daily life can offer a way of knowing and being for those who have been largely excluded from participation in the older traditions—in the forming of covenant, prophecy, the canonization of scripture . . .
Wisdom is not just about following set rules and ethics,
Wisdom is a path to God, a mediator, a way, a union.
It is learned through life and experience.
The more we see, the more we do, the more we try, the more we survive, the wiser we become.
It is wisdom that helps us know when to speak and when to keep silence
Helps us form right relationships with God, to live well and simply, to live peacefully and harmoniously, to pay attention to creation, to our experiences, to our practices.
During their last supper, Jesus didn’t tell his disciples what to believe, he told them what to do: for the bread and for the wine, do this and remember me.
Thursday, September 3, 2009
Star Wars
Genesis 1:1-5 and John 1: 1-5
A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away . . .
There was a complex, multifaceted saga that spanned science fiction, space exploration, technology and most all types of mythology and religion. It was called Star Wars.
These movies essentially chronicle the story of the Skywalker family—the earlier movies detail the lives of the children Luke and Leia, as they meet, and later realize they are twins, and as they battle the evil Dark Lord Darth Vader, who in one of the greatest movie twists of all times, turns out to be their father. The prequels detail the story of Darth Vader before he became evil, when he was called Anakin Skywalker, fell in love with Queen Amidala, and fathered Luke and Leia.
George Lucas, the man behind the movies, interweaves mythological elements from many different cultures and religions: we find echoes of Greek myths, Arthurian legends, and various bits of theology. He covers near universal, archetypal themes of journey, faith, and redemption. We also find more themes of family and friendship, machines and technology, faith, hope—the exploration of humanity—what makes us choose evil or good, and our capacity to have faith in that which we can sense but not see.
In the Bible, both Genesis and John both speak of beginnings, and of the light that has existed since that beginning. In Genesis, the light is a literal light, one that God separates from the darkness to create day and night, sun and moon. In John, the light, is the light of Christ, of the logos who has been with God and is God from the very beginning. In Genesis, the light and the dark are rather equal, things to be separated and balanced so that we can have two good things: day and night. In John, it’s important for the light to have a more powerful and positive quality, so that it is the light of Christ. As John writes: “the light shines in the darkness and the darkness did not overcome it.”
In Star Wars there is a constant battle between good and evil, between The Force and the Dark Side of the Force. As Yoda explains: “Fear is the path to the Dark Side: fear leads to anger, anger leads to hate, hate leads to suffering.” (Episode 1). But both sides are encompassed in the Force. It is the Dark Side of the Force that seduces and destroys Anakin, it is not more powerful, but “quicker, easier, more seductive.” The Dark Side depends on greed, fear, anger, control, but patience, discipline, humility are traits of the Force.
Throughout these films. Lucas explores evil and the capacity that each of us has to be evil. In Christian theology, we refer to this as Free Will and Original Sin. We all make choices, just as Anakin and Luke Skywalker make different choices as to how they will handle the temptations to come over to The Dark Side. As Lucas says, “The film is ultimately about the dark side and the light side, and those sides are designed around compassion and greed. The issue of greed, of getting things and owning things and having things and not being able to let go of things, is the opposite of compassion--of not thinking of yourself all the time.”[1]
Not to spoil the ending, but the light wins. Ultimately, even the most evil, dark character is redeemed: In the end, Darth Vader and Luke battle and Luke says to his father: “I’ve accepted that you were once Anakin Skywalker . . . It is the name of your true self you’ve only forgotten. I know there is still good in you.” Luke finds the good in Vader he knew was always in there somewhere, to his dying father he says: “I can’t leave you I’ve got to save you” His father’s response is: “You already have.” This father is saved through the love and trust of his son, because as far as he had gone into the darkness, there was still good in him, there was still something holy and sacred that could be redeemed.
It’s not always easy to determine a director/producer’s goals when it comes to spiritual themes in a movie. Many times they are not wholly conscious of it either, but in a Time magazine interview with Bill Moyer, George Lucas spoke about his intentional decisions to make the Star Wars movie highly spiritual and theological, if not specifically religious.
Lucas has faced some criticism for supporting a New Age religious view, based on a nebulous divine substance and a faith system based on feelings. Lucas, however, did not set out to create a religion in his galaxy, but to address a basic level of truth found in all religions. He said that in the late 1970s, he was worried that young people were no longer curious about faith, that they were no longer asking if God existed or what God would look like or how God would feel or what God would do and he found that to be truly terrifying. It was his hope that his movies, with their emphasis on good and evil would reawaken that hunger for spirituality. That the Force would inspire kids and adults to wonder about God. He doesn’t pretend to be offering answers in the Star Wars movies, but providing a starting point—a place to ask questions.
Lucas created a cosmology to go along with his galaxy, an ancient belief system that permeated the lives of everyone. Lucas also wasn’t attempting to portray any particular religion, though he does find organized religion to be important: He believes that “Religion is basically a container for faith.” And that he hoped to “awaken a certain kind of spirituality in young people--more a belief in God than a belief in any particular religious system. I wanted to make it so that young people would begin to ask questions about the mystery.”
Even with Light sabers and wookies, ewoks, and death stars—These movies are about The Mystery. The mystery of the evil inside all of us, the mystery of the good inside all of us, the mystery of how we are able to (or not) hold the dichotomies together, and the mystery of the Force, the energy, the divine, the supernatural, the God, that holds it all together.
We may not have the opportunity to battle Sith lords, to fight to save an empire from total corruption, to be the one person who restores balance to the force. Our lives, though full of adventure and important moments, will probably not be such epic stories—and while we may not be able to save the world in a grand gesture, we can each work in small ways.
The choice is the same as Anakin’s, the same as Yoda’s, the same as Luke’s, the same as Obi Wan Kenobi’s, the same as Leia’s, the same as Padmes—we can work with the Force, we can use patience, peace, compassion or we can slide into the Dark Side and use fear, greed, coercion. As Christians, we can use our faith in God, our worship, our praise, our prayers, our good works, our fellowship for justice, compassion, righteousness, mercy, peace, and love. Or we can use it for control, oppression, injustice, fear and anger.
As citizens of the world and the
Will we fight against hatred, greed, oppression?
Our
For those of us who are not as familiar with our history,
We are certainly not the same church today, but our history serves as a powerful reminder of the Dark Side of faith.
As in our membership vows, may we continue . . . to accept the freedom and power God gives us to resist evil, injustice, and oppression in whatever forms they present themselves.
Amen.
Monday, August 17, 2009
A River Runs Through It
Genesis 4:1-7, Matthew 12:46-50
A River Runs Through It is a movie about fishing and faith—about family and all of the complexities of knowing and yet not understanding our loved ones. It’s also a story of failure: failure to communicate, failure to help, and failure (ultimately) to save.
It’s set in beautiful Montana, with the 1930s life of church, schooling, family dinners, fights, gambling, and speakeasies. It is mostly a story of two brothers, Norman and Paul Maclean and their supporting family and friends. Their father is a Presbyterian minister and their teacher: both in academics and fishing. As the older brother tells the story, he says: “In our family, there was no clear line between religion and fly fishing.”
It’s not really about a River and not really about fishing. It’s not really about religion either even though the father is a Presbyterian minister and there are lots of scenes in church. On a side note, my Hebrew Bible professor in seminary was both a Presbyterian and an avid fly fisherman. When Norman says, he and his brother were left to assume all great fisherman in the bible were fly fisherman, it’s like Dr. Petersen’s famous lecture in which he attempts to prove that Moses was also a fly fisherman. This lesson came complete with casting lessons for all of us students out on the Emory quad.
In our Genesis reading we had the story of the first brothers, Cain and Abel, and their rivalries before God that ultimately lead to murder.
Norman and Paul MacLean are not exactly like Cain and Abel. They have their rivalries and their fights, but instead of killing his brother, Norman wonders if there was anything he could have done to save Paul from his untimely death—wonders in fact, if it could have been possible to be one’s brother’s keeper. Helping brothers, or mostly not being able to help, is a recurring theme between both Norman and Paul, even Jessie—Norman’s girlfriend tries to get Norman to help her own brother.
But like Cain and Abel, the two brothers are different. Cain tends the fields and Abel raises sheep. Norman travels away for college and Paul stays close to home. Norman becomes a literature professor in Chicago and Paul becomes editor of the local paper. Norman gets married and Paul dates an “unsuitable” woman of a different race. Though they love each other, there is something that inhibits them from truly communicating and understanding each other. After their big fight in the kitchen, (their closest Cain and Abel moment) instead of talking it over and analyzing it, they simply each agree, privately, to be kind to each other again.
If all else fails, if they are disconnected from each other, they can fish, and in fishing, they find away to be together and to communicate their brotherly bond without words. Fishing is an activity that, since childhood, has brought them together. It’s a language they can speak together, to honor their shared childhood and connection.
Their identities, their knowledge of who they are comes to them in different ways, as Norman says: “I knew I was tough because I had been bloodied in battle” “Paul was different. His toughness came from some secret place inside of him. He simply knew he was tougher than anyone alive.”
They are similar though. The MacLean brothers, who fish, who work with words, and yet who fail to understand each other on a fundamental level. And this misunderstanding would not be problematic, but for Norman who wonders if he could have ultimately prevented Paul’s death. His father wonders this too, asking questions about the younger son with a darker, hidden side.
We see Paul’s self-destructive tendencies early on as a child—his desire for danger, for wildness, to push the boundaries—and that only increases as he consumes copious amounts of alcohol in prohibition times, and gambles his way into high stakes debt. Norman observes all of these, joins in at times, and seems unable to intervene in any meaningful way. We are left wondering, with Norman and Rev. Maclean, if Paul could have been saved—if anyone could have done something to alter his path . . .
Toward the end, we see an older Norman, now alone, fishing again—back in the place where it all makes more sense to him and he says: “Now nearly all those I loved and did not understand when I was young are dead, but I still reach out to them.” Communicating in ways without words—at the river, casting his line.
It’s a melancholy, yet hopeful movie—of carrying those who we love around with us.
We remain mysteries to each other--spouses, children, siblings—who surprise us—either in small or big ways. We can never understand other people the way we understand ourselves, never know exactly what it is like to be someone else, sometimes not really comprehending what it’s actually like to be ourselves.
Sometimes the families we are born into end up not being the best for us.
Sometimes we are adopted into new families early on—
Sometimes we learn to form new families as we get older.
In the gospel, Jesus chooses everyone to be his brothers and sister and mother—not rejecting the family he had—but opening up his family to include the whole world.
Maybe we never truly understand each other—in all the deep nooks and crannies of our identities—But we know that God knows every little details—knows us better than we know ourselves.
In church, we bump into each other, we see each other, we pass the peace, we commune over bread and wine and coffee and cupcakes. But in so many ways we don’t really know each other. We don’t know each others stories, we don’t know each others hurts and scars, we don’t know each others great moments of happiness.
Of course we rely on the grace of Jesus for our salvation, but Jesus also relies on our work: our ministry in his name to all the world.
There’s a certain loneliness in our “developed” world—rich with resources, technology, and yet poor in relationships and love. We are reluctant to open ourselves up to other people to be available to hear their stories to be vulnerable to tell them ours. There are lonely, wounded people sitting all over this room right now. Part of our salvation from this isolation lies in what we can do for each other. The church is God’s best idea for saving the world. And the church is a community of people, a family of believers who work to help save each other, who provide love and support and understanding and the comfort that no matter what, we are never alone, and not just because God loves us, knows us, and is always with us, but because other people also love us, know us, and are always with us: ready to listen, ready to help.
Writer Anne Lammot says the most powerful sermon in the world is two sentences: “Me too.” In the midst of our pain, embarrassment, suffering, humiliation—if another person can look at us and honestly say “me too,” it can save us.
The movie ends with a mixture of geography and mysticism “all things merge into one and a river runs through it.”
We are all one: one people, one family, one loaf of bread—In the name of Jesus Christ.
A River Runs Through It is a movie about fishing and faith—about family and all of the complexities of knowing and yet not understanding our loved ones. It’s also a story of failure: failure to communicate, failure to help, and failure (ultimately) to save.
It’s set in beautiful Montana, with the 1930s life of church, schooling, family dinners, fights, gambling, and speakeasies. It is mostly a story of two brothers, Norman and Paul Maclean and their supporting family and friends. Their father is a Presbyterian minister and their teacher: both in academics and fishing. As the older brother tells the story, he says: “In our family, there was no clear line between religion and fly fishing.”
It’s not really about a River and not really about fishing. It’s not really about religion either even though the father is a Presbyterian minister and there are lots of scenes in church. On a side note, my Hebrew Bible professor in seminary was both a Presbyterian and an avid fly fisherman. When Norman says, he and his brother were left to assume all great fisherman in the bible were fly fisherman, it’s like Dr. Petersen’s famous lecture in which he attempts to prove that Moses was also a fly fisherman. This lesson came complete with casting lessons for all of us students out on the Emory quad.
In our Genesis reading we had the story of the first brothers, Cain and Abel, and their rivalries before God that ultimately lead to murder.
Norman and Paul MacLean are not exactly like Cain and Abel. They have their rivalries and their fights, but instead of killing his brother, Norman wonders if there was anything he could have done to save Paul from his untimely death—wonders in fact, if it could have been possible to be one’s brother’s keeper. Helping brothers, or mostly not being able to help, is a recurring theme between both Norman and Paul, even Jessie—Norman’s girlfriend tries to get Norman to help her own brother.
But like Cain and Abel, the two brothers are different. Cain tends the fields and Abel raises sheep. Norman travels away for college and Paul stays close to home. Norman becomes a literature professor in Chicago and Paul becomes editor of the local paper. Norman gets married and Paul dates an “unsuitable” woman of a different race. Though they love each other, there is something that inhibits them from truly communicating and understanding each other. After their big fight in the kitchen, (their closest Cain and Abel moment) instead of talking it over and analyzing it, they simply each agree, privately, to be kind to each other again.
If all else fails, if they are disconnected from each other, they can fish, and in fishing, they find away to be together and to communicate their brotherly bond without words. Fishing is an activity that, since childhood, has brought them together. It’s a language they can speak together, to honor their shared childhood and connection.
Their identities, their knowledge of who they are comes to them in different ways, as Norman says: “I knew I was tough because I had been bloodied in battle” “Paul was different. His toughness came from some secret place inside of him. He simply knew he was tougher than anyone alive.”
They are similar though. The MacLean brothers, who fish, who work with words, and yet who fail to understand each other on a fundamental level. And this misunderstanding would not be problematic, but for Norman who wonders if he could have ultimately prevented Paul’s death. His father wonders this too, asking questions about the younger son with a darker, hidden side.
We see Paul’s self-destructive tendencies early on as a child—his desire for danger, for wildness, to push the boundaries—and that only increases as he consumes copious amounts of alcohol in prohibition times, and gambles his way into high stakes debt. Norman observes all of these, joins in at times, and seems unable to intervene in any meaningful way. We are left wondering, with Norman and Rev. Maclean, if Paul could have been saved—if anyone could have done something to alter his path . . .
Toward the end, we see an older Norman, now alone, fishing again—back in the place where it all makes more sense to him and he says: “Now nearly all those I loved and did not understand when I was young are dead, but I still reach out to them.” Communicating in ways without words—at the river, casting his line.
It’s a melancholy, yet hopeful movie—of carrying those who we love around with us.
We remain mysteries to each other--spouses, children, siblings—who surprise us—either in small or big ways. We can never understand other people the way we understand ourselves, never know exactly what it is like to be someone else, sometimes not really comprehending what it’s actually like to be ourselves.
Sometimes the families we are born into end up not being the best for us.
Sometimes we are adopted into new families early on—
Sometimes we learn to form new families as we get older.
In the gospel, Jesus chooses everyone to be his brothers and sister and mother—not rejecting the family he had—but opening up his family to include the whole world.
Maybe we never truly understand each other—in all the deep nooks and crannies of our identities—But we know that God knows every little details—knows us better than we know ourselves.
In church, we bump into each other, we see each other, we pass the peace, we commune over bread and wine and coffee and cupcakes. But in so many ways we don’t really know each other. We don’t know each others stories, we don’t know each others hurts and scars, we don’t know each others great moments of happiness.
Of course we rely on the grace of Jesus for our salvation, but Jesus also relies on our work: our ministry in his name to all the world.
There’s a certain loneliness in our “developed” world—rich with resources, technology, and yet poor in relationships and love. We are reluctant to open ourselves up to other people to be available to hear their stories to be vulnerable to tell them ours. There are lonely, wounded people sitting all over this room right now. Part of our salvation from this isolation lies in what we can do for each other. The church is God’s best idea for saving the world. And the church is a community of people, a family of believers who work to help save each other, who provide love and support and understanding and the comfort that no matter what, we are never alone, and not just because God loves us, knows us, and is always with us, but because other people also love us, know us, and are always with us: ready to listen, ready to help.
Writer Anne Lammot says the most powerful sermon in the world is two sentences: “Me too.” In the midst of our pain, embarrassment, suffering, humiliation—if another person can look at us and honestly say “me too,” it can save us.
The movie ends with a mixture of geography and mysticism “all things merge into one and a river runs through it.”
We are all one: one people, one family, one loaf of bread—In the name of Jesus Christ.
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
Buffalo Springfield - For What Its Worth Video by Rab - MySpace Video
For What It’s Worth
Ecclesiastes 3: 1-8
Buffalo Springfield - For What Its Worth Video by Rab - MySpace Video
Shared via AddThis
This could be a song about almost any human strife that’s gotten out of hand.
It’s a cry for reasonable thinking in the midst of paraonoia and conflict.
It could be a song about Palm Sunday and Holy Week—a field day for the heat, standing in the street, waving signs, worry about the men with weapons, the ones who will take you away if you step out of line.
It could be a song now about Afghanistan or Iran. Or any of our current political battles: Healthcare Reform, Gun Control—all of the things that divide us by opinion, political party, national loyalty.
It’s a song that seems largely about politics, about the Viet Nam war and the upheaval of the 60s. But the song was written for something a little narrower: the closing of the club Pandora’s Box in West Hollywood, California—that did have to do with local politicians acting against the youth who attended the club, clogging up the main road and not spending very much money—it is still a song that is critical of authority and institution.
For What It’s Worth was written by Stephen Stills and performed by Buffalo Springfield. Stills said that the name of the song came about when he presented it to the record company: He said: "I have this song here, for what it's worth, if you want it." Later they decided that should be its name. It is considered the 99th greatest song of all time by Acclaimed Music
Part of what I am discovering in preaching this series, is that there is a certain holiness in film and music: in our cultural art. Now, not all art is sacred, not all art is well-done or meaningful—plenty of movies and songs seem to be cheaply slapped together. But the ones that are genuine communicate something important about who we are that transcends the decades—how we find meaning in our lives and what’s important to us.
It’s pop culture, but it’s also sacred. Scripture, too, says something about who we are and who we were.
A 2006 documentary on Bob Dylan discussed his uncanny ability to name so many universal and timely sentiments. It also talked about how prophetic his music was, especially in the 60s, but it also showed clips of him discussing how he didn’t really feel like he had his thumb on the sentiments of the American people, but was just writing what came to him—almost as if he were channeling these words without understanding their power, and not wanting to take credit for something he didn’t feel he was really doing on purpose.
For What It’s Worth strikes me as a similar situation—a song that ends up speaking to many people, even now, not so much because of the writer, or the band, but because of it’s call to stop and look and listen to the world around us.
Not a child of the 60s myself, this is a song I usually here in movies. It was in both Forrest Gump and Lord of War. In fact, I really like this song, but didn’t know what it was called until Sean Hagan suggested it. Because the title doesn’t appear anywhere in the lyrics, it’s a song that I hear in a movie and think – I love this song, what is it?—and then forget all about it until the next time that it pops up in a movie and I tell myself that I really need to figure out what this song is. So it’s a song that I associate with movie scenes: with olive green choppers flying over a rice field, with soldiers in Vietnam, or protestors in DC.
I’m poaching the following form a news article about the song—because I like the way it’s written—Lewis Black wrote this paragraph about leaving a protest rally and hearing this song play on the radio:
“Music has always been a balm of enormous healing properties for my soul and well-being, but for a half-decade or so around that time, it was also reporting from the front. The relevance was beyond rational and not even rooted in reason. By its very nature, it was not a typed broadside, a considered political opinion, or an ideological speech; it was a chunk of unconscious reaction ripped up from all of us and offered as a way of dealing with all that was going on around us. They were just people; they weren't leaders, but more akin to impressionist poets, offering complex, emotional snapshots of a truly blasted environment. ”
Scripture is also a complex, emotional snapshot—of a moment in history, but with language and grace that transcends the centuries.
The war and strife mentioned in the Bible is real, and particular—actual battles in historical time and space. And yet, when Ecclesiastes tells us that there is a time for peace and a time for war, that still speaks to us today. Joel tells of beating plowshares into swords, for a battle of judgment against neighboring nations. Isaiah tells of final days, when war will end, when we will beat swords into plowshares.
There is a time to fight and a time to listen
There is a time to act and a time to stand still
There is a time for the things that divide us and a time for the things that bring us closer together
In the midst of conflict, it’s important to remember that our whole lives are not conflict and strife. Paranoia, fear, darkness are not the end of the story. Separation, distrust, division are not the end of the story.
God is not the “man with a gun over there.”
We can all continue in our own battlegrounds, arguing for our opinions, beliefs, and worldviews—we can argue blindly in a “you’re either us for us or against us” kind of way, or we can stop and listen and look at everything around us.
Maybe we don’t all agree on having a government run health care program, but maybe we can agree that all people deserve to have decent care. Maybe we don’t all agree on the path ahead for the church: for The UMC or Washington Street, but maybe we can agree to trust in God’s spirit moving among us. Maybe we don’t all trust each other, but maybe we can each learn to be more trustworthy. Maybe we don’t all agree on all the finer points of theology: but we do believe in all-powerful, all-loving God, who can save us all.
Ecclesiastes 3: 1-8
Buffalo Springfield - For What Its Worth Video by Rab - MySpace Video
Shared via AddThis
This could be a song about almost any human strife that’s gotten out of hand.
It’s a cry for reasonable thinking in the midst of paraonoia and conflict.
It could be a song about Palm Sunday and Holy Week—a field day for the heat, standing in the street, waving signs, worry about the men with weapons, the ones who will take you away if you step out of line.
It could be a song now about Afghanistan or Iran. Or any of our current political battles: Healthcare Reform, Gun Control—all of the things that divide us by opinion, political party, national loyalty.
It’s a song that seems largely about politics, about the Viet Nam war and the upheaval of the 60s. But the song was written for something a little narrower: the closing of the club Pandora’s Box in West Hollywood, California—that did have to do with local politicians acting against the youth who attended the club, clogging up the main road and not spending very much money—it is still a song that is critical of authority and institution.
For What It’s Worth was written by Stephen Stills and performed by Buffalo Springfield. Stills said that the name of the song came about when he presented it to the record company: He said: "I have this song here, for what it's worth, if you want it." Later they decided that should be its name. It is considered the 99th greatest song of all time by Acclaimed Music
Part of what I am discovering in preaching this series, is that there is a certain holiness in film and music: in our cultural art. Now, not all art is sacred, not all art is well-done or meaningful—plenty of movies and songs seem to be cheaply slapped together. But the ones that are genuine communicate something important about who we are that transcends the decades—how we find meaning in our lives and what’s important to us.
It’s pop culture, but it’s also sacred. Scripture, too, says something about who we are and who we were.
A 2006 documentary on Bob Dylan discussed his uncanny ability to name so many universal and timely sentiments. It also talked about how prophetic his music was, especially in the 60s, but it also showed clips of him discussing how he didn’t really feel like he had his thumb on the sentiments of the American people, but was just writing what came to him—almost as if he were channeling these words without understanding their power, and not wanting to take credit for something he didn’t feel he was really doing on purpose.
For What It’s Worth strikes me as a similar situation—a song that ends up speaking to many people, even now, not so much because of the writer, or the band, but because of it’s call to stop and look and listen to the world around us.
Not a child of the 60s myself, this is a song I usually here in movies. It was in both Forrest Gump and Lord of War. In fact, I really like this song, but didn’t know what it was called until Sean Hagan suggested it. Because the title doesn’t appear anywhere in the lyrics, it’s a song that I hear in a movie and think – I love this song, what is it?—and then forget all about it until the next time that it pops up in a movie and I tell myself that I really need to figure out what this song is. So it’s a song that I associate with movie scenes: with olive green choppers flying over a rice field, with soldiers in Vietnam, or protestors in DC.
I’m poaching the following form a news article about the song—because I like the way it’s written—Lewis Black wrote this paragraph about leaving a protest rally and hearing this song play on the radio:
“Music has always been a balm of enormous healing properties for my soul and well-being, but for a half-decade or so around that time, it was also reporting from the front. The relevance was beyond rational and not even rooted in reason. By its very nature, it was not a typed broadside, a considered political opinion, or an ideological speech; it was a chunk of unconscious reaction ripped up from all of us and offered as a way of dealing with all that was going on around us. They were just people; they weren't leaders, but more akin to impressionist poets, offering complex, emotional snapshots of a truly blasted environment. ”
Scripture is also a complex, emotional snapshot—of a moment in history, but with language and grace that transcends the centuries.
The war and strife mentioned in the Bible is real, and particular—actual battles in historical time and space. And yet, when Ecclesiastes tells us that there is a time for peace and a time for war, that still speaks to us today. Joel tells of beating plowshares into swords, for a battle of judgment against neighboring nations. Isaiah tells of final days, when war will end, when we will beat swords into plowshares.
There is a time to fight and a time to listen
There is a time to act and a time to stand still
There is a time for the things that divide us and a time for the things that bring us closer together
In the midst of conflict, it’s important to remember that our whole lives are not conflict and strife. Paranoia, fear, darkness are not the end of the story. Separation, distrust, division are not the end of the story.
God is not the “man with a gun over there.”
We can all continue in our own battlegrounds, arguing for our opinions, beliefs, and worldviews—we can argue blindly in a “you’re either us for us or against us” kind of way, or we can stop and listen and look at everything around us.
Maybe we don’t all agree on having a government run health care program, but maybe we can agree that all people deserve to have decent care. Maybe we don’t all agree on the path ahead for the church: for The UMC or Washington Street, but maybe we can agree to trust in God’s spirit moving among us. Maybe we don’t all trust each other, but maybe we can each learn to be more trustworthy. Maybe we don’t all agree on all the finer points of theology: but we do believe in all-powerful, all-loving God, who can save us all.
Monday, July 20, 2009
Trust and Obey
1 John 1:71 Samuel 15:22
The hymn: Trust and Obey is certainly a classic in our hymnal. Written in 1886, it’s been sung for much longer than any of us can remember. It is one of those hymns in which the lyrics and music were written for each other.
The story behind the hymn goes something like this: In 1886, Daniel Towner was leading music for a revival in Massachusetts. During the service a young man stood up to testify. An observer commented that the man didn’t seem to know too much about the Bible or acceptable Christian doctrine, but he closed his speech with the following words: “I am not quite sure—but I am going to trust, and I am going to obey.”
It was these words that struck Towner with their power and simplicity, so that he wrote them down and sent them to his Presbyterian pastor friend, John Sammis. Based on those few words, Sammis composed this hymn and Towner then composed the music.
The simple words of a young man, whose name is unknown, have been sung for so many years and have been important for so many people.
Who knows what happened to him after that revival—if he continued with his new faith, if he learned more, if really did continue to trust and obey.
As he wrote these four verses, Sammis considered the different areas of our life.
Verse one concerns our daily walk with God.
When we walk with the Lord in the light of his word,
What a glory he sheds on our way!
While we do his good will, he abides with us still,
And with all who will trust and obey.
This first verse is very happy and energetic. It focuses on the light of God’s word, glory, good will, abiding with us. It is the promise of companionship of light, of love, of shared journey. Here is the covenant: that if we walk with God and follow God’s will, then God will live with us.
If the song ended here, it wouldn’t do justice to the full spectrum of life and of faith.
This is the first step of seeing the goodness of Jesus, the delight of a God who loves us, who lives with us, and stays with us. It’s the conviction that we need the presence of God in our lives. But following Jesus isn’t about having the good life—it’s not all about happiness and protection.
Which is exactly why the song doesn’t stop, but moves on to verse two: the darker side of life—the difficult times.
Not a burden we bear, not a sorrow we share,
But our toil he doth richly repay;
Not a grief or a loss, not a frown or a cross,
But is blest if we trust and obey.
This verse expresses the assurance we have that God will bless us even during times of burden, sorrow, and toil. If we continue to have faith during these times, we will be blessed even more. Here, our burdens and sorrows—are our toil, our hard labor that God will repay. Here, our grief, or loss, or sadness, and suffering—will all be blest if we are obedient.
It does seem to be true, at least by observation—that our struggles really do make us stronger—the pain we face in life can give us character and wisdom. The most interesting people in life are usually the ones who have survived—and the ones who are shallow and vapid, usually haven’t had to deal with very much.
Too often though it is said that we are facing a particular trial because God wants to test us, God wants to teach us a lesson. Too many helpful people—particularly pastors—are quick to say to those who are sick or grieving—that God can use our pain for good. Sometimes this is comforting, sometimes it simplistic and dismissive. Even if good does come from our pain, it can take a long time. Even if we look back at that pain and think of all of the good that has come from it, that doesn’t diminish the fact that we had to endure that pain and live through it in the first place. Sometimes we just have to sit in our pain and looking at it, knowing that we have to find a way to live through it.
The redemptive part of our pain is that beauty can come out of it. But that doesn’t make the pain necessary.
All of the Bible is written by the oppressed—those without power and authority—and this is the kind of line that gives us courage—that at the end of the day we will in fact triumph, that our suffering will not have been in vain, that it’s all worth it in the end.
What to do in the darkness Marilyn Chandler McEntyre
Go slowly
Consent to it
But don’t wallow in it
Know it as a place of germination
And growth
Remember the light
Take an outstretched hand if you find one
Exercise unused senses
Find the path by walking it
Practice trust
Watch for dawn
Verse three concerns our total submission to God:
But we never can prove the delights of his love
Until all on the altar we lay;
For the favor he shows, for the joy he bestows,
Are for them who will trust and obey.
Laying everything on the altar is the ultimate test of our obedience.
This verse details the lightness of letting go, but not the absolute difficulty of knowing what to let go. Handing over to God that which hinders us while holding on to that which emboldens us.
Verse four is about following God's call for our life:
Then in fellowship sweet we will sit at his feet,
Or we’ll walk by his side in the way;
What he says we will do, where he sends we will go;
Never fear, only trust and obey.
This is the reality of obedience: sitting and walking with Jesus, following his way, do what he says, going where he says, and without fear.
Achieving a sense of peace and sweet fellowship,
Aligning ourselves completely with God.
Dr. Carlton Young points out that this hymn “is concerned with the rewards of trusting God’s word and obeying God’s will.” The ultimate reward, a heavenly one so common in our hymns, appears in the final stanza.
The entire hymn embodies:
Being with God
Trusting God even in the bad times
Submitting to God
Following God
The hymn begins and ends in Communion with God.
The hymn: Trust and Obey is certainly a classic in our hymnal. Written in 1886, it’s been sung for much longer than any of us can remember. It is one of those hymns in which the lyrics and music were written for each other.
The story behind the hymn goes something like this: In 1886, Daniel Towner was leading music for a revival in Massachusetts. During the service a young man stood up to testify. An observer commented that the man didn’t seem to know too much about the Bible or acceptable Christian doctrine, but he closed his speech with the following words: “I am not quite sure—but I am going to trust, and I am going to obey.”
It was these words that struck Towner with their power and simplicity, so that he wrote them down and sent them to his Presbyterian pastor friend, John Sammis. Based on those few words, Sammis composed this hymn and Towner then composed the music.
The simple words of a young man, whose name is unknown, have been sung for so many years and have been important for so many people.
Who knows what happened to him after that revival—if he continued with his new faith, if he learned more, if really did continue to trust and obey.
As he wrote these four verses, Sammis considered the different areas of our life.
Verse one concerns our daily walk with God.
When we walk with the Lord in the light of his word,
What a glory he sheds on our way!
While we do his good will, he abides with us still,
And with all who will trust and obey.
This first verse is very happy and energetic. It focuses on the light of God’s word, glory, good will, abiding with us. It is the promise of companionship of light, of love, of shared journey. Here is the covenant: that if we walk with God and follow God’s will, then God will live with us.
If the song ended here, it wouldn’t do justice to the full spectrum of life and of faith.
This is the first step of seeing the goodness of Jesus, the delight of a God who loves us, who lives with us, and stays with us. It’s the conviction that we need the presence of God in our lives. But following Jesus isn’t about having the good life—it’s not all about happiness and protection.
Which is exactly why the song doesn’t stop, but moves on to verse two: the darker side of life—the difficult times.
Not a burden we bear, not a sorrow we share,
But our toil he doth richly repay;
Not a grief or a loss, not a frown or a cross,
But is blest if we trust and obey.
This verse expresses the assurance we have that God will bless us even during times of burden, sorrow, and toil. If we continue to have faith during these times, we will be blessed even more. Here, our burdens and sorrows—are our toil, our hard labor that God will repay. Here, our grief, or loss, or sadness, and suffering—will all be blest if we are obedient.
It does seem to be true, at least by observation—that our struggles really do make us stronger—the pain we face in life can give us character and wisdom. The most interesting people in life are usually the ones who have survived—and the ones who are shallow and vapid, usually haven’t had to deal with very much.
Too often though it is said that we are facing a particular trial because God wants to test us, God wants to teach us a lesson. Too many helpful people—particularly pastors—are quick to say to those who are sick or grieving—that God can use our pain for good. Sometimes this is comforting, sometimes it simplistic and dismissive. Even if good does come from our pain, it can take a long time. Even if we look back at that pain and think of all of the good that has come from it, that doesn’t diminish the fact that we had to endure that pain and live through it in the first place. Sometimes we just have to sit in our pain and looking at it, knowing that we have to find a way to live through it.
The redemptive part of our pain is that beauty can come out of it. But that doesn’t make the pain necessary.
All of the Bible is written by the oppressed—those without power and authority—and this is the kind of line that gives us courage—that at the end of the day we will in fact triumph, that our suffering will not have been in vain, that it’s all worth it in the end.
What to do in the darkness Marilyn Chandler McEntyre
Go slowly
Consent to it
But don’t wallow in it
Know it as a place of germination
And growth
Remember the light
Take an outstretched hand if you find one
Exercise unused senses
Find the path by walking it
Practice trust
Watch for dawn
Verse three concerns our total submission to God:
But we never can prove the delights of his love
Until all on the altar we lay;
For the favor he shows, for the joy he bestows,
Are for them who will trust and obey.
Laying everything on the altar is the ultimate test of our obedience.
This verse details the lightness of letting go, but not the absolute difficulty of knowing what to let go. Handing over to God that which hinders us while holding on to that which emboldens us.
Verse four is about following God's call for our life:
Then in fellowship sweet we will sit at his feet,
Or we’ll walk by his side in the way;
What he says we will do, where he sends we will go;
Never fear, only trust and obey.
This is the reality of obedience: sitting and walking with Jesus, following his way, do what he says, going where he says, and without fear.
Achieving a sense of peace and sweet fellowship,
Aligning ourselves completely with God.
Dr. Carlton Young points out that this hymn “is concerned with the rewards of trusting God’s word and obeying God’s will.” The ultimate reward, a heavenly one so common in our hymns, appears in the final stanza.
The entire hymn embodies:
Being with God
Trusting God even in the bad times
Submitting to God
Following God
The hymn begins and ends in Communion with God.
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