One of my earliest memories of evangelism was my brother's Vacation Bible School pageant. I don't remember how old we were, but I remember my brother wearing a paper sailor's cap like those we made out of newspaper and holding a fishing rod while singing, "I will make you fishers of men, fishers of men, fishers of men, I will make you fishers of men if you follow me . . ."
What did that mean? I will make you fishers of men?
In the version of the Christian Scripture used today, the clever invitation from Jesus is now "come, I will make you fish for people." It doesn't have the same humor to my mind, but it's message is the same. Jesus has arrived at Capernaum and is watching the local fishermen pull in their nets, trim the sails, whatever fishermen did, and he invites them to drop their nets and come with him to start a ministry of proclaiming the kingdom of Heaven and pull in those people who hear the message and are drawn to it, building a new community with the Good News.
Peter, Andrew, James and John, dropped everything, gave up their familiar, work-a-day lives to become disciples of this young rabbi from Nazareth called Jesus bar Joseph when he stopped by the lake and called to them.
I don't know if I would have had the strength to do something so brave or monumental. In all honesty, I would have said, "Yeah, but first let me finish typing this." or made any number of excuses to delay the departure.
I also don't know if Jesus would have waited in the front room for me to finish whatever it was I thought was so important that it couldn't wait until I returned.
What I do know is that Jesus offers the invitation to me, just as he offers the same to you every day. I think sometimes we're just too wrapped up in life to hear His voice. But think of the new possibilities and challenges, new lives through Christ, when we drop the nets and come along.
And what is this new life? It is life made complete by the love God gives us through Christ.
That love is offered freely and is sustaining; we are guided and supported by love - from the Trinity and from one another.
Come follow me, Jesus invites. Drop the phone, drop the remote control, shut down the laptop, put down the Sudoku puzzle. That's what Jesus is saying to us now. Put aside the concerns and stresses of life and come to me and I will show you there's a better way to live.
Now excuse me while I'll log off . . . .
Go in peace, to love and serve the Lord!
Ellen+
27 January, 2008
19 January, 2008
Wade in the Water
It's a safe bet that a majority of people raised in the church don't remember their baptisms because they were infants or toddlers when they were emmersed, sealed and marked as Christ's own. Then there are those Christians who for whatever reason weren't baptised until they were older children, youth or adults. I'm in the second category.
Actually, I'm not.
My baptism happened when I was eight years old on a warm August evening. For days I'd been pestering my mother about becoming Christian. All of my friends were Roman Catholic (the largest denomination in town) and I wanted to be part of that exclusive club. Not because everyone else was doing it, mind, but because from an early age, I felt it was necessary for me to be who I was.
Let me give you the back story: my parents were Roman Catholic on my mother's side and Lutheran on my father's. My parents were married in the middle of World War II in a civil ceremony. Because of this, we weren't baptised as children due to the prohibitions of the church in those days.
I pestered my mother with questions about God, religion, Jesus, Mary and Joseph - which is what she used to sigh when I posited yet another question: "If women can't do anything in the church like boys, why did Jesus see Mary first?" - "Jesus, Mary and Joseph, Ellen! The questions you ask!"
I continued my quest for baptism until one night my mother had had enough of my questions and sent me to bed.
I climbed under the covers so my sister couldn't hear my sobbing. When it was quiet and I was sure everyone was asleep, I went to the bathroom and turned on the taps. Filling up a glass of water, I tossed it on my face saying, "Father, Son, Holy Spirit - you're baptised! Amen!"
That's not what my mother said when she came in and saw the water all over the bathmats and tiles.
I didn't mind the week of restriction for payment for audacity. I felt I had done the right thing.
My truly Christian baptism came 34 years later at the age of 42, at my home parish of St. Mark's Episcopal Church, at the Great Vigil. Here I was sealed and marked, and seared - the baptismal water was a tad warm and I was the first to be baptised that evening. The rector whispered to me, "It's a little warm," as she baptised me. I still have a mark on my forehead where the first drops of water landed. I consider it my outward and visible sign.
Why did it take me so long to be baptised?
I went through Roman Catholic catechism and I read the baptismal covenant. Frankly, I didn't think I could keep the promises I was being asked to make: "Will you proclaim by word and exaple the Goods of God in Christ?" Well, I figured, in order to do that, I'd have to be better than others - act better and live a better life than most. "Will you seek and serve Christ in all persons, loving your neighbor as yourself?" For me, it was hard to find a loving Christ in fellow office workers, family members, even myself - and serving them!
For years I struggled with these questions, and then I realized that God doesn't want me to be perfect, just do God's perfect work. Christ said, "Be perfect as our Father is perfect." But what does that mean? God created our world! God is everywhere! How am I able to do that?
Creation is full of little mistakes and imperfections, just like me. God wants me to to strive for the holiness one can only have with a deep and committed relationship with Him through Christ and creation, through my brothers and sisters.
Baptism, I discovered, doesn't make you holy, it sets in motion a wonderful, frightening journey towards the Kingdom of Heaven. Eventually, we all get there. How we get there is up to us and God and it begins with one step at a time, the first when we put a toe in the Jordan River.
Go in peace, to love and serve the Lord,
Ellen+
Actually, I'm not.
My baptism happened when I was eight years old on a warm August evening. For days I'd been pestering my mother about becoming Christian. All of my friends were Roman Catholic (the largest denomination in town) and I wanted to be part of that exclusive club. Not because everyone else was doing it, mind, but because from an early age, I felt it was necessary for me to be who I was.
Let me give you the back story: my parents were Roman Catholic on my mother's side and Lutheran on my father's. My parents were married in the middle of World War II in a civil ceremony. Because of this, we weren't baptised as children due to the prohibitions of the church in those days.
I pestered my mother with questions about God, religion, Jesus, Mary and Joseph - which is what she used to sigh when I posited yet another question: "If women can't do anything in the church like boys, why did Jesus see Mary first?" - "Jesus, Mary and Joseph, Ellen! The questions you ask!"
I continued my quest for baptism until one night my mother had had enough of my questions and sent me to bed.
I climbed under the covers so my sister couldn't hear my sobbing. When it was quiet and I was sure everyone was asleep, I went to the bathroom and turned on the taps. Filling up a glass of water, I tossed it on my face saying, "Father, Son, Holy Spirit - you're baptised! Amen!"
That's not what my mother said when she came in and saw the water all over the bathmats and tiles.
I didn't mind the week of restriction for payment for audacity. I felt I had done the right thing.
My truly Christian baptism came 34 years later at the age of 42, at my home parish of St. Mark's Episcopal Church, at the Great Vigil. Here I was sealed and marked, and seared - the baptismal water was a tad warm and I was the first to be baptised that evening. The rector whispered to me, "It's a little warm," as she baptised me. I still have a mark on my forehead where the first drops of water landed. I consider it my outward and visible sign.
Why did it take me so long to be baptised?
I went through Roman Catholic catechism and I read the baptismal covenant. Frankly, I didn't think I could keep the promises I was being asked to make: "Will you proclaim by word and exaple the Goods of God in Christ?" Well, I figured, in order to do that, I'd have to be better than others - act better and live a better life than most. "Will you seek and serve Christ in all persons, loving your neighbor as yourself?" For me, it was hard to find a loving Christ in fellow office workers, family members, even myself - and serving them!
For years I struggled with these questions, and then I realized that God doesn't want me to be perfect, just do God's perfect work. Christ said, "Be perfect as our Father is perfect." But what does that mean? God created our world! God is everywhere! How am I able to do that?
Creation is full of little mistakes and imperfections, just like me. God wants me to to strive for the holiness one can only have with a deep and committed relationship with Him through Christ and creation, through my brothers and sisters.
Baptism, I discovered, doesn't make you holy, it sets in motion a wonderful, frightening journey towards the Kingdom of Heaven. Eventually, we all get there. How we get there is up to us and God and it begins with one step at a time, the first when we put a toe in the Jordan River.
Go in peace, to love and serve the Lord,
Ellen+
12 January, 2008
An Epiphany
Christmas is behind the secular world for another 365 days, and fast another year comes before us. I work as a legal secretary for a law firm in the financial district of San Francisco and on Monday, we hit the ground running. Our clients were back in their offices and it was business as usual.
I had a hard time concentrating this week. I'd like to say that it was forgetting my medication three days out of five, but no, the images and words of Matthew's retelling of the visit of the Magi to the Christ Child played over and over in my thoughts. I imagined what it would have been like for all parties in this drama - the paranoid king Herod, the mysterious seers, wise men, kings, whatever they truly were, the amazed parents living in a cave or something like it during the census in Bethlehem.
Popular culture has the Magi arriving in Bethlehem within hours of Jesus' birth, when it reality, it was probably weeks, or months. I think Franco Zeffirelli's retelling of this event in his series "Jesus of Nazareth" showed it best: the journey following the star takes several weeks, months, and they finally arrive where Mary and Joseph are lodged. Mary and Joseph with Jesus are returning from a day in Bethlehem and who should be waiting on their doorstep are three impressive gentlemen with their retinues and camels.
Well, I don't know about you, but I'd be afraid, and a bit wary - okay, I'd be paranoid. Who are these people and why are they here, and why are they bringing my son these expensive gifts? Sure, the angel Gabriel told me that I was giving birth to a child who would save the world - but maybe I hadn't thought it out, understood what it really meant. As a mother of three, I can tell you the months of pregnancy can be distracting as one goes through every day life. Maybe I'd fall asleep every night, looking at the baby in my arms, glancing over at the expensive gifts and wondering . . . can I do this? Can I be the mother of Emmanuel? More importantly, can I let my son be Emmanuel, can I let go and watch him become someone extraordinary.
Can I stand by and watch him die?
These thoughts were in my mind, along with the paranoia of Herod, who was worried that someone was going to take his job; how could someone want to kill a child? And the Magi, these men with education and wealth who come to pay homage to a little boy swaddled and no doubt sleeping in his mother's arms. Looking at the baby, I wonder if the Magi smiled, and softened and let the infant grab a finger, made silly noises like all people do when they see babies.
What came out of these musings was a sense of hope and love.
The birth of a child comes from an act of love in most cases. Looking down at a newborn's face, counting fingers and toes and wondering if he or she has Dad's eyes and Mom's nose, a sense of hope surfaces. With every child born there is hope for the world, there is a wellspring of promise and goodness, another chance for humanity to get it right with God.
And that was my Epiphany this week. A new year; a new child. There is love and hope once again in the world, and it's up to us to keep that light shining.
Go in peace to love and serve the Lord!
Ellen+
I had a hard time concentrating this week. I'd like to say that it was forgetting my medication three days out of five, but no, the images and words of Matthew's retelling of the visit of the Magi to the Christ Child played over and over in my thoughts. I imagined what it would have been like for all parties in this drama - the paranoid king Herod, the mysterious seers, wise men, kings, whatever they truly were, the amazed parents living in a cave or something like it during the census in Bethlehem.
Popular culture has the Magi arriving in Bethlehem within hours of Jesus' birth, when it reality, it was probably weeks, or months. I think Franco Zeffirelli's retelling of this event in his series "Jesus of Nazareth" showed it best: the journey following the star takes several weeks, months, and they finally arrive where Mary and Joseph are lodged. Mary and Joseph with Jesus are returning from a day in Bethlehem and who should be waiting on their doorstep are three impressive gentlemen with their retinues and camels.
Well, I don't know about you, but I'd be afraid, and a bit wary - okay, I'd be paranoid. Who are these people and why are they here, and why are they bringing my son these expensive gifts? Sure, the angel Gabriel told me that I was giving birth to a child who would save the world - but maybe I hadn't thought it out, understood what it really meant. As a mother of three, I can tell you the months of pregnancy can be distracting as one goes through every day life. Maybe I'd fall asleep every night, looking at the baby in my arms, glancing over at the expensive gifts and wondering . . . can I do this? Can I be the mother of Emmanuel? More importantly, can I let my son be Emmanuel, can I let go and watch him become someone extraordinary.
Can I stand by and watch him die?
These thoughts were in my mind, along with the paranoia of Herod, who was worried that someone was going to take his job; how could someone want to kill a child? And the Magi, these men with education and wealth who come to pay homage to a little boy swaddled and no doubt sleeping in his mother's arms. Looking at the baby, I wonder if the Magi smiled, and softened and let the infant grab a finger, made silly noises like all people do when they see babies.
What came out of these musings was a sense of hope and love.
The birth of a child comes from an act of love in most cases. Looking down at a newborn's face, counting fingers and toes and wondering if he or she has Dad's eyes and Mom's nose, a sense of hope surfaces. With every child born there is hope for the world, there is a wellspring of promise and goodness, another chance for humanity to get it right with God.
And that was my Epiphany this week. A new year; a new child. There is love and hope once again in the world, and it's up to us to keep that light shining.
Go in peace to love and serve the Lord!
Ellen+
31 December, 2007
Light!
I used to call the time between Christmas and the middle of January the dark time. This started when I was a little girl and continued until I began to understand the difference between darkness and light where it concerns God.
Why did I call it the dark time?
Christmas was over – Christmas trees were kicked to the curb; gone were the shiny decorations, the bright, colored lights, the fake snow in a can, the Glass Wax snowflake stenciling on the windows, the endless carols on the radio stations – the happy season of peace on earth and good will towards all was torn off the block of calendar sheets for another three hundred and sixty four days. It seemed to me, and this is my humble and personal observation, that the smiles on the faces people from Thanksgiving to Christmas, that look of expectancy, the sounds happy greetings and optimism, faded, and people looked grim, worried, preoccupied – again.
The dark time was upon my world.
But, like so many other times in my life, I was dead wrong.
There was light in the world. It wasn’t a pale beam of winter sunlight that crosses the floor during the day, but a spark that was ignited on Christmas, an ember that smoldered deep within, and I believe it was within me, maybe within you, and you. All that’s required is fanning the flame with love, trust and belief. And that kindling came from a sentence as simple and as powerful as they come:
“In the beginning was the Word.”
It has been said that the prologue to the Gospel of John, is a synopsis of the Gospel itself, it is a summary of Christian life -- conversion, baptism, Eucharist and quest for higher spirituality -- and a revelation of the true identity of Jesus and his connection to God. It has been called an apologia written in a time when the Johannine community was divided over the question of Jesus’ divinity. Or it is all of these.
I like to think that this prologue continues the mystery and beauty of the Christmas story, and, that you and I are invited to carry that mystery and beauty with us during the rest of the year, to move out of the dark spaces and corners in our lives towards the light that embraces, offers grace. John’s poetic language perhaps tells us that God wanted to lift us out of the darkness so very badly, that he did something deities and monarchs rarely do – God climbed off whatever throne we frail humans planted him on, and came down to our level. What’s even more amazing is that when God arrived, it was in the form of a frail, helpless, infant, born to common, yet uncommon people, and as he grew into manhood experienced the joys, sorrows and delights of your average first century Galilean, and inconceivable pain.
Why? Why did this extraordinary incarnation happen?
The obvious answer is atonement for humanity’s sinful nature, to bring us closer to God.
Love is another answer.
God loves us and went to a great deal of trouble to show us how it is to love perfectly and completely in the form of Jesus.
No, I’ve discovered that the dark time is really a time of light, it started with the story of a child born in a manger, and continues with healing, of power beyond belief, a fullness of being, of humanity receiving grace upon grace and to be blessed with the gifts God has bestowed upon us through Jesus. Unfortunately, there were and are those who for whatever reason cannot recognize that Jesus is the light of the world and rejected the man and the message. But to those who did accept him, then and now, and that is to say, put their trust in him, and made a commitment to the Word, a deeper relationship was formed with Jesus; he became our brother, and therefore, we became children of God.
Whatever darkness may envelop the world, whatever gloomy clouds may hang over us in our own lives, it cannot dim the light. We have grace from God to keep the light going. The smallest gesture of kindness, act of compassion, or work of mercy will light up the life of someone else, and in turn, will light up the world.
"The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it."
We are embarking on a new year with new possibilities, new hopes and dreams. As with every New Year there is a fresh canvas before us, waiting for us to apply the first brush stroke. Do we want to live in light and experience the love and grace offered to us, follow a path of endless possibilities in a life in Christ, or is it going to be business as usual with grim, set, faces, preoccupied with matters that we have no control over and live in a dark time?
Or we can dispel the darkness and walk in the light.
I pray you; walk with me towards the light!
In this new year, I invite you to go in peace to love and serve the Lord!
Ellen+
Why did I call it the dark time?
Christmas was over – Christmas trees were kicked to the curb; gone were the shiny decorations, the bright, colored lights, the fake snow in a can, the Glass Wax snowflake stenciling on the windows, the endless carols on the radio stations – the happy season of peace on earth and good will towards all was torn off the block of calendar sheets for another three hundred and sixty four days. It seemed to me, and this is my humble and personal observation, that the smiles on the faces people from Thanksgiving to Christmas, that look of expectancy, the sounds happy greetings and optimism, faded, and people looked grim, worried, preoccupied – again.
The dark time was upon my world.
But, like so many other times in my life, I was dead wrong.
There was light in the world. It wasn’t a pale beam of winter sunlight that crosses the floor during the day, but a spark that was ignited on Christmas, an ember that smoldered deep within, and I believe it was within me, maybe within you, and you. All that’s required is fanning the flame with love, trust and belief. And that kindling came from a sentence as simple and as powerful as they come:
“In the beginning was the Word.”
It has been said that the prologue to the Gospel of John, is a synopsis of the Gospel itself, it is a summary of Christian life -- conversion, baptism, Eucharist and quest for higher spirituality -- and a revelation of the true identity of Jesus and his connection to God. It has been called an apologia written in a time when the Johannine community was divided over the question of Jesus’ divinity. Or it is all of these.
I like to think that this prologue continues the mystery and beauty of the Christmas story, and, that you and I are invited to carry that mystery and beauty with us during the rest of the year, to move out of the dark spaces and corners in our lives towards the light that embraces, offers grace. John’s poetic language perhaps tells us that God wanted to lift us out of the darkness so very badly, that he did something deities and monarchs rarely do – God climbed off whatever throne we frail humans planted him on, and came down to our level. What’s even more amazing is that when God arrived, it was in the form of a frail, helpless, infant, born to common, yet uncommon people, and as he grew into manhood experienced the joys, sorrows and delights of your average first century Galilean, and inconceivable pain.
Why? Why did this extraordinary incarnation happen?
The obvious answer is atonement for humanity’s sinful nature, to bring us closer to God.
Love is another answer.
God loves us and went to a great deal of trouble to show us how it is to love perfectly and completely in the form of Jesus.
No, I’ve discovered that the dark time is really a time of light, it started with the story of a child born in a manger, and continues with healing, of power beyond belief, a fullness of being, of humanity receiving grace upon grace and to be blessed with the gifts God has bestowed upon us through Jesus. Unfortunately, there were and are those who for whatever reason cannot recognize that Jesus is the light of the world and rejected the man and the message. But to those who did accept him, then and now, and that is to say, put their trust in him, and made a commitment to the Word, a deeper relationship was formed with Jesus; he became our brother, and therefore, we became children of God.
Whatever darkness may envelop the world, whatever gloomy clouds may hang over us in our own lives, it cannot dim the light. We have grace from God to keep the light going. The smallest gesture of kindness, act of compassion, or work of mercy will light up the life of someone else, and in turn, will light up the world.
"The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it."
We are embarking on a new year with new possibilities, new hopes and dreams. As with every New Year there is a fresh canvas before us, waiting for us to apply the first brush stroke. Do we want to live in light and experience the love and grace offered to us, follow a path of endless possibilities in a life in Christ, or is it going to be business as usual with grim, set, faces, preoccupied with matters that we have no control over and live in a dark time?
Or we can dispel the darkness and walk in the light.
I pray you; walk with me towards the light!
In this new year, I invite you to go in peace to love and serve the Lord!
Ellen+
25 December, 2007
Father Figure
On the last Sunday of Advent, December 23rd, the Gospel told the story of Joseph, Mary's husband and Jesus' father.
Joseph is one of those shadowy persons in the New Testament, like Phoebe, our sister the deacon - real, but not much else is known about them. Joseph was descended from King David and traditionally is known as a tradesman, a carpenter, from Nazareth. We know he marries Mary, the daughter of Joachim and Anna, and is the human father of their first son, Jesus.
Paintings of the Holy Family have tended to show Joseph as a circumspect, elder man, balding and gray, looking a bit bewildered. Wouldn't you have the look of a deer in the head beams if you found out your fiancee was with child by the Holy Spirit? If the son you were going to raise was the savior of humanity?
I am not a proponent of the Virgin Birth theology -- it's my opinion that the first child born to every woman is a virgin birth -- but I do believe in the power of the Holy Spirit and God's plan for us. Mary of Nazareth must have been a pretty amazing young woman to have been singled out by God. I heard a joke in a Rowan Atkinson film, "Keeping Mum" that goes something like God fell in love with a young Jewish girl two thousand years ago and everyone is still talking about it. Well, Atkinson's character says, it's something worth talking about. And so it is.
What about Joseph? How special is this guy???? Being a parent is daunting, but consider what Joseph the carpenter had to contend with. He had to decide whether or not to break off his engagement to Mary and was ready to quietly put an end to their relationship when the Holy Spirit intervenes and tells him it's going to be okay, to take Mary to wife and raise the child, name him Jesus. He is also warned about King Herod's slaughter of the innocents and escapes with Mary and the baby into Egypt. The family returns to Galilee after Herod's death and settles down, perhaps as a normal family. Matthew 12:46-47 mentions that Jesus' mother and brothers wait while he is teaching a crowd of his followers, and perhaps stands in the back wanting to speak with him, so it is not impossible to believe that Mary and Joseph had other children - indeed, one of the brothers, James, was the leader of the church in Jerusalem after Jesus' execution and resurrection.
It's not hard for me to personally believe a young and virile husband like Joseph, rather than the elderly sage leaning on his staff watching his wife and infant son from a safe distance; it's easier to understand and believe that the man was like almost all fathers and husbands -- caring for his wife and children, teaching his sons and perhaps daughters, or watching with patience and fear as all parents do, when the children grow up and move on to make their ways in the world, or watching a sleeping child and wondering what the baby will look like in twenty years, what the baby will become.
Just as Mary was singled out among all women to bear a son and raise him up to lose him to the world and ultimately a criminal's shameful death, so too was Joseph chosen among all men to be the role model of father and teacher, gentle lover, the provider and protector; I wonder if Joseph had premonitions of his eldest son's future and if he fretted over what would happen to Jesus. If he was a father, I would say yes, and yes again to that question.
Mary accepted the role delegated to her by God, and so did Joseph. Mary has been revered over the ages, made an equal to her son by some. Joseph of Nazareth deserves the same love and reverence.
Go in peace to love and serve the Lord!
Ellen+
Joseph is one of those shadowy persons in the New Testament, like Phoebe, our sister the deacon - real, but not much else is known about them. Joseph was descended from King David and traditionally is known as a tradesman, a carpenter, from Nazareth. We know he marries Mary, the daughter of Joachim and Anna, and is the human father of their first son, Jesus.
Paintings of the Holy Family have tended to show Joseph as a circumspect, elder man, balding and gray, looking a bit bewildered. Wouldn't you have the look of a deer in the head beams if you found out your fiancee was with child by the Holy Spirit? If the son you were going to raise was the savior of humanity?
I am not a proponent of the Virgin Birth theology -- it's my opinion that the first child born to every woman is a virgin birth -- but I do believe in the power of the Holy Spirit and God's plan for us. Mary of Nazareth must have been a pretty amazing young woman to have been singled out by God. I heard a joke in a Rowan Atkinson film, "Keeping Mum" that goes something like God fell in love with a young Jewish girl two thousand years ago and everyone is still talking about it. Well, Atkinson's character says, it's something worth talking about. And so it is.
What about Joseph? How special is this guy???? Being a parent is daunting, but consider what Joseph the carpenter had to contend with. He had to decide whether or not to break off his engagement to Mary and was ready to quietly put an end to their relationship when the Holy Spirit intervenes and tells him it's going to be okay, to take Mary to wife and raise the child, name him Jesus. He is also warned about King Herod's slaughter of the innocents and escapes with Mary and the baby into Egypt. The family returns to Galilee after Herod's death and settles down, perhaps as a normal family. Matthew 12:46-47 mentions that Jesus' mother and brothers wait while he is teaching a crowd of his followers, and perhaps stands in the back wanting to speak with him, so it is not impossible to believe that Mary and Joseph had other children - indeed, one of the brothers, James, was the leader of the church in Jerusalem after Jesus' execution and resurrection.
It's not hard for me to personally believe a young and virile husband like Joseph, rather than the elderly sage leaning on his staff watching his wife and infant son from a safe distance; it's easier to understand and believe that the man was like almost all fathers and husbands -- caring for his wife and children, teaching his sons and perhaps daughters, or watching with patience and fear as all parents do, when the children grow up and move on to make their ways in the world, or watching a sleeping child and wondering what the baby will look like in twenty years, what the baby will become.
Just as Mary was singled out among all women to bear a son and raise him up to lose him to the world and ultimately a criminal's shameful death, so too was Joseph chosen among all men to be the role model of father and teacher, gentle lover, the provider and protector; I wonder if Joseph had premonitions of his eldest son's future and if he fretted over what would happen to Jesus. If he was a father, I would say yes, and yes again to that question.
Mary accepted the role delegated to her by God, and so did Joseph. Mary has been revered over the ages, made an equal to her son by some. Joseph of Nazareth deserves the same love and reverence.
Go in peace to love and serve the Lord!
Ellen+
20 December, 2007
Are You the One?
On the third Sunday of Advent, traditionally called "Rose Sunday", or "Refreshment Sunday", "Gaudate Sunday", the bright spot in a contemplative season, we hear of John the Baptist sending a disciple to ask Jesus, "Are you the one?" While in prison, John wants to know if Jesus is the one coming, or if he should wait for another. Perhaps his uncertainty stems from his own firery words: ". . . he will thoroughly sweep his threshing floor. He will gather his grain into the barn, but the chaff he will burn with inextinguishable fire."
Once again we have a message quite different than what we expect from a season of joy and love.
And we have Jesus a chapter earlier stating that he did not come to cast peace on Earth but came with a sword. He would divide a family, husband from wife, mother from son. Yet in response to John's query Jesus lists works of healing and restoration that he has performed. Is it any wonder that John is curious? There's a bit of inconsistency in his prophecy about Jesus and Jesus' works.
What about we Christians today?
Since childhood, we have been taught that Jesus is love, and yet, in the Gospels we see a very different messiah than the blue-eyed, serene, Christ of illustrations that hung in some of our houses.
The Jesus that gives John the Baptist pause is a man whose teaching wakes up disciples, yet he shows a very gentle and loving dimension in his works of healing and evangelism.
Was John, in his prison, wondering if he got it right?
He got it right, this extraordinary prophet and kinsman of Jesus of Nazareth. John is the bridge between the old order - the law and the prophets - and the new order - the Kingdom of Heaven where all have a place - that Jesus brings. He is the transitional prophet, as it were; someone whose presence marks the end of exile, separation and alienation, and at the same time bears witness to the blossoming of the long-anticipated, long-awaited fulfillment of the prophecies of Isaiah and the other prophets. John begins the revolution that is full blown with Jesus.
The season of Advent is like John - it is a time when we straddle the old and the new, we anticipate and wait for the light to come out of the clouds and illuminate our hearts and minds in the guise of Christ the Redeemer and Savior. And don't we have moments of uncertainty ourselves, when we read these contradictory stories of Jesus - the Jesus bringing a sword and the Jesus offering love?
I like to think, and it is this deacon's opinion, that the separation and division Jesus speaks of and the violent actions John preaches about will eventually lead to restoration and healing. We are compelled to sit up and listen harder, take a closer look about us. Maybe we have to go through that unquenchable fire in order to see that the blind are given sight and the lame will walk - see that all are welcome in the Kingdom of Heaven, and that is the true joy and good news of the season.
Go in peace to love and serve the Lord,
Ellen+
Once again we have a message quite different than what we expect from a season of joy and love.
And we have Jesus a chapter earlier stating that he did not come to cast peace on Earth but came with a sword. He would divide a family, husband from wife, mother from son. Yet in response to John's query Jesus lists works of healing and restoration that he has performed. Is it any wonder that John is curious? There's a bit of inconsistency in his prophecy about Jesus and Jesus' works.
What about we Christians today?
Since childhood, we have been taught that Jesus is love, and yet, in the Gospels we see a very different messiah than the blue-eyed, serene, Christ of illustrations that hung in some of our houses.
The Jesus that gives John the Baptist pause is a man whose teaching wakes up disciples, yet he shows a very gentle and loving dimension in his works of healing and evangelism.
Was John, in his prison, wondering if he got it right?
He got it right, this extraordinary prophet and kinsman of Jesus of Nazareth. John is the bridge between the old order - the law and the prophets - and the new order - the Kingdom of Heaven where all have a place - that Jesus brings. He is the transitional prophet, as it were; someone whose presence marks the end of exile, separation and alienation, and at the same time bears witness to the blossoming of the long-anticipated, long-awaited fulfillment of the prophecies of Isaiah and the other prophets. John begins the revolution that is full blown with Jesus.
The season of Advent is like John - it is a time when we straddle the old and the new, we anticipate and wait for the light to come out of the clouds and illuminate our hearts and minds in the guise of Christ the Redeemer and Savior. And don't we have moments of uncertainty ourselves, when we read these contradictory stories of Jesus - the Jesus bringing a sword and the Jesus offering love?
I like to think, and it is this deacon's opinion, that the separation and division Jesus speaks of and the violent actions John preaches about will eventually lead to restoration and healing. We are compelled to sit up and listen harder, take a closer look about us. Maybe we have to go through that unquenchable fire in order to see that the blind are given sight and the lame will walk - see that all are welcome in the Kingdom of Heaven, and that is the true joy and good news of the season.
Go in peace to love and serve the Lord,
Ellen+
09 December, 2007
In Your Face Theology
We're at the second Sunday of Advent, now and this morning we hear from Matthew about a prophet named John the Baptist.
John the Baptist? The guy who ate locusts and honey and wore animal skins? The guy who yelled at Pharisees and Sadducees and shouted at people to repent, for the Kingdom was drawing near?
Maybe you're trying to figure out what he has to do with the Christmas story that most of us grew up with. At this time of year, we expect images of the Holy Family: the serene mother Mary, the father Joseph, perhaps a bit perplexed at his situation, and the sweet infant Jesus being adored by his parents, shepherds, farm animals and foreign dignitaries, not a dirty, dissheveled prophet who lived out in the desert and plunged people into the waters of the Jordan to wash them clean of their transgressions and make them new, to bind them to the people of Israel who also came up from the water of the Red Sea transformed, delivered; that's what 'baptise' means in Greek: to plunge. So this week, we await the coming of Christ with the introduction of John - the plunger.
This is the one Isaiah told us about - the one crying out in the wilderness to prepare a straight path to God. Not what we're used to in this season of joy and giving, of peace on Earth and good will towards all, is it?
The navitity scene makes one pause to take in the beauty and humanity of this, the greatest of stories, doesn't it? It touches the heart and makes one feel good.
What John gives us is in your face theology - a wake up call.
"The Kingdom of Heaven is near! You don't know the hour or the day, but you'd better get your lives in order, get your souls in line with God! Someone is coming that is really going to rattle you, make you think and act differently, and you won't even know it at first! So, are you ready? Are you up for it?"
Imagine some guy standing near the shallow end of a community swimming pool shouting this at people as they take laps; or imagine a guy on a street corner near Union Square during the Christmas season shouting scripture at you. Or, what about the occasional eccentric that wanders into church on Sunday morning, the person who brings you out of your reverie on the sermon, or that list of things you made and forgot to follow through on?
That's what John the Baptist is doing: taking us out of our selves and our lives such as they are and bringing us to the realization that there is something more, something better.
This morning in his sermon, the homilist mentioned how different it might be, if, rather than have a vested deacon proclaiming the Gospel from the nave, a wild man came up the center aisle screaming this scripture, how might we react? How would it affect us?
I think, and it is this vested deacon's humble opinion, that it would be a Sunday to remember.
We've had moments during our ten o'clock service where one of Berkeley's many homeless citizens wanders in and joins the congregation, dragging a bag or backpack of all that he or she possesses, settling into a pew and quietly laughing or talking to oneself - or not.
Disruptive as this may seem, look at it this way: what if this is God's way of getting us to pay attention to something other than the altar linen needing pressing, the deacon's stole being inside out or falling off her shoulder for the tenth time, or the candles not burning properly, or the sound system squealing and popping, like turning our hearts and minds to humanity and creation, working together to make the Kingdom a place for all, that reaching out to those less fortunate than ourselves is one way of acknowledging our work in the Kingdom? God made the Kingdom and we should think of ourselves as the stewards of that eternal home. I don't think the Kingdom is a place where we go to have God take care of us; but rather, we go to take care of one another and show God that we get it, that we have the capacity to love and serve as we are called.
Last week, Jesus asked us to pay attention. This week his cousin John demands that not only do we need to pay attention but get our lives and hearts in line with God, and when the one who comes after John appears in our lives, we put down what we're doing and give him our hearts as well as our ears that listen.
So . . . when you're out grocery shopping, or Christmas shopping, or shuttling from home to work, treking from the BART station to the office, take a moment to notice that guy on the street corner, the one with the dog wrapped up in a blanket. Is that who we're waiting for? Find out by saying hello and asking how he's doing. Sure, that may not be the Messiah, but you're one step closer to being in the Kingdom.
Go in peace, to love and serve the Lord!
Blessings,
Ellen+
John the Baptist? The guy who ate locusts and honey and wore animal skins? The guy who yelled at Pharisees and Sadducees and shouted at people to repent, for the Kingdom was drawing near?
Maybe you're trying to figure out what he has to do with the Christmas story that most of us grew up with. At this time of year, we expect images of the Holy Family: the serene mother Mary, the father Joseph, perhaps a bit perplexed at his situation, and the sweet infant Jesus being adored by his parents, shepherds, farm animals and foreign dignitaries, not a dirty, dissheveled prophet who lived out in the desert and plunged people into the waters of the Jordan to wash them clean of their transgressions and make them new, to bind them to the people of Israel who also came up from the water of the Red Sea transformed, delivered; that's what 'baptise' means in Greek: to plunge. So this week, we await the coming of Christ with the introduction of John - the plunger.
This is the one Isaiah told us about - the one crying out in the wilderness to prepare a straight path to God. Not what we're used to in this season of joy and giving, of peace on Earth and good will towards all, is it?
The navitity scene makes one pause to take in the beauty and humanity of this, the greatest of stories, doesn't it? It touches the heart and makes one feel good.
What John gives us is in your face theology - a wake up call.
"The Kingdom of Heaven is near! You don't know the hour or the day, but you'd better get your lives in order, get your souls in line with God! Someone is coming that is really going to rattle you, make you think and act differently, and you won't even know it at first! So, are you ready? Are you up for it?"
Imagine some guy standing near the shallow end of a community swimming pool shouting this at people as they take laps; or imagine a guy on a street corner near Union Square during the Christmas season shouting scripture at you. Or, what about the occasional eccentric that wanders into church on Sunday morning, the person who brings you out of your reverie on the sermon, or that list of things you made and forgot to follow through on?
That's what John the Baptist is doing: taking us out of our selves and our lives such as they are and bringing us to the realization that there is something more, something better.
This morning in his sermon, the homilist mentioned how different it might be, if, rather than have a vested deacon proclaiming the Gospel from the nave, a wild man came up the center aisle screaming this scripture, how might we react? How would it affect us?
I think, and it is this vested deacon's humble opinion, that it would be a Sunday to remember.
We've had moments during our ten o'clock service where one of Berkeley's many homeless citizens wanders in and joins the congregation, dragging a bag or backpack of all that he or she possesses, settling into a pew and quietly laughing or talking to oneself - or not.
Disruptive as this may seem, look at it this way: what if this is God's way of getting us to pay attention to something other than the altar linen needing pressing, the deacon's stole being inside out or falling off her shoulder for the tenth time, or the candles not burning properly, or the sound system squealing and popping, like turning our hearts and minds to humanity and creation, working together to make the Kingdom a place for all, that reaching out to those less fortunate than ourselves is one way of acknowledging our work in the Kingdom? God made the Kingdom and we should think of ourselves as the stewards of that eternal home. I don't think the Kingdom is a place where we go to have God take care of us; but rather, we go to take care of one another and show God that we get it, that we have the capacity to love and serve as we are called.
Last week, Jesus asked us to pay attention. This week his cousin John demands that not only do we need to pay attention but get our lives and hearts in line with God, and when the one who comes after John appears in our lives, we put down what we're doing and give him our hearts as well as our ears that listen.
So . . . when you're out grocery shopping, or Christmas shopping, or shuttling from home to work, treking from the BART station to the office, take a moment to notice that guy on the street corner, the one with the dog wrapped up in a blanket. Is that who we're waiting for? Find out by saying hello and asking how he's doing. Sure, that may not be the Messiah, but you're one step closer to being in the Kingdom.
Go in peace, to love and serve the Lord!
Blessings,
Ellen+
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